The battle is finally over, so I am safe enough to tell you about it. I don’t know how long I can write, because we are only taking a break before continuing our long march home.
We marched all day yesterday, for the size of our army was too large to waste magic on teleporting. There were hundreds of us, probably just shy of a thousand. By the time we reached the Fuckboys, the sun was setting. We were right about their base. It is in the middle of a desert, and it is in Nevada. What we weren’t expecting was the amount of buildings. It looked like an abandoned town, yet somehow the old and crumbling buildings looked… new. As if they had been built to purposely look dead.
On the other side of the buildings, sillhouted against the decaying sunlight, were the Fuckboys. There had to be at least 2,000 of them, and I won’t lie, many of us were scared by the sheer size of their army. But we stood strong, the air eerily still as neither side moved. There was no sign of the magical entity that had been in New York. We waited, our newly summoned magicians hiding at our backs. We knew we couldn’t reveal them until it was absolutely necessary.
The sun set, and all was still silent. Then one of the Fuckboys yelled, and it began.
They surged forward, brandishing swords, knives, bows, and garish weapons that seemed to be nothing more than mutilated lengths of steel. We gave out a scream of our own, and charged forward with our own weapons. Our armies met midway through the small town, the air filling with the sound of clashing steel. Screams soon followed, and I silently appreciated the fact that I was too far back to be hurt just yet.
It soon became apparent that we weren’t going to be able to beat them this way. There were more of them than us, and they were strong. Slowly, they were cutting their way through us, swords slicing through bones as if they were tissue. We gave another yell and then scattered, running to take posts inside as many of the buildings as we could. The more we could separate them, and protect ourselves, the better our chances were.
I ended up in a two-story building with three other soldiers. One of them -and I was so lucky for this- was a low-level magician. He immediately began working a spell over the doorway, moving his sword about in the air and muttering.
For a second, it was quiet. Then we heard the sound of feet marching in all directions. One Fuckboy ran through the doorway- except, he didn’t really make it past the doorway. His legs kept running for two or three more steps, but his upper body slid away and plopped on the ground, spilling out blood and what looked like a stomach. The next Fuckboy to run in was met with a similar fate, his head landing on the stomach of his fallen friend and causing it to burst.
“Get ready,” the magician said. “That was all I’ve got.”
More footsteps approached, and I tightened my grip on my sword. Another Fuckboy entered the room, and I leaped forward, sword embedded in his ribcage before he could even react. Then another came through the door, then two, and the real fighting began.
I lost track of how many there were. I whirled and dodged, parried and struck. It was a constant clash of steel on steel, and if I paused for even a moment, I knew I would be dead. At one point the magician’s head was lopped off, and I nearly tripped over it as I was battling one of the Fuckboys. They just kept coming. My hip bone was burning from where I believe I had a cut, but there was too much blood everywhere to know if any of it was mine.
Suddenly, the air got cold. The Fuckboy I was fighting froze, and before I could react, he had run out the door. I glanced around and saw that only one skeleton was left in the building, and the both of us were coated in blood. A low rumble shook through the ground. I stiffened.
It was here.
-M A R T Y