Loopbreaker

The sound of horns announced the start of the battle, and seeing the armies advance from Francis' position left him breathless.

Rows and rows of soldiers moved out — the one he had been with was far out front, before the real fighters.

No longer was the enemy hidden by a row of men standing before him on the battlefield.

Now Francis could see that it looked like colored water running across the land toward the people of his kingdom, ready to sweep them all away.

Two large rows of minotaur creatures stood at the front of the enemy, their size dwarfing the others behind them. At least twenty rows of wolf- and tiger-kins came next, arranged in random patterns.

Behind them were shapes he couldn’t recognize or figure out, but Francis knew there had to be casters and, most likely, other animal creatures of some kind.

The scariest sight was the creatures that dwarfed the entire army, even from so far away. A single row of at least fifty creatures, each five stories high and wider than a house, had siege weapons strapped to their backs. Long levers were filled with boulders. The very sight made him want to shake in fear.

“It’s a horrible image,” Nehemiah stated as he stood on a platform set up behind their army. “Those in the front have no idea what is before them.”

“Death,” Francis said softly.

Sighing, the older man nodded and motioned to a higher platform off the side.

The king came up the stairs, moving in a dazzling suit of black plate armor that shone like a mirror, somehow polished to a bright luster. Behind him were a variety of men and women, most wearing robes, a few in chain armor.

“Those are the generals and some of the heads of the different mage guilds,” Nehemiah said. “Be prepared for when they speak, as it might be a little overwhelming and cause you to react.”

Nodding, Francis was able to keep himself from smiling, already having endured the king’s encouragement and orders multiple times before.

After they were all in position, a pair of crystal orbs was uncovered, and the king placed a hand on each.

"Warriors! Know that your King honors your bravery! Survive and be rewarded! Find wealth and a new life by proving ourselves today!”

The same speech continued to play out as the first time, and Francis felt the sensation wash over him, yet it didn’t have the same impact.

When the army let out a loud roar, and men cheered, he spotted Nehemiah gazing at him, scratching his chin and frowning.

“Something wrong?” Francis asked.

“You didn’t shout… How did you resist that? Is it…” Shaking his head, Nehemiah paused. “Do not tell me. Forgive me. It is impolite to ask about your skill, especially since you are a sage.”

“It’s okay,” Francis replied. “It doesn’t affect you either, so I’m assuming you have a form of mental resistance of some kind. Right?”

“I do. Still… Jeagours' balls, boy!” cursed the older man as his eyes widened. “You really do have that skill? Now you have my mind in a fit. So young, a sage, and aware of skills you shouldn’t be. I mean, if you were at least a third son, I would expect it… but a…”

“A ninth?” Francis finished Nehemiah’s sentence. “It’s okay. I’ve been treated far worse, so don’t feel bad. Now tell me, how many times have the armies fought against each other?”

“Every month. Our troops are starting to run out, yet it appears we are making no headway on thinning their lines. It might not be my place to say, but the belief is that somewhere over there is a portal. I have heard it said that these creatures come from a different world or plane. Some say they are demons. Others say they are nothing but summoned creatures. Still, a few think it's a world like ours, and our foes are seeking a new place to live.”

“Does that happen a lot? I mean,” — Francis bit his lip, watching as the first lambs to slaughter moved forward — “We both know people don’t share information with someone like me, and without any real schooling, everything I have learned has been through pain and hard work. Where are our gods and how is such a thing possible?”

Picking at his teeth a moment with a fingernail, Nehemiah winced as the first row of men died, the minotaurs or bull-kin — a few called them — running over them while barely slowing.

“That’s something for philosophers and priests. I’m more of a lover and someone who has learned to live an easy life due to my skill.”

“Which is?” Francis asked.

“That’s not polite to ask,” Nehemiah replied. “You want to tell me yours first?”

Grinning, Francis shook his head. “Well, I know you can see the rank of my skill, but you can’t see what it is. I know there is an identification skill for items as well as people. That would mean you most likely have some version of that, but that’s just me guessing based on the little I know.”

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The older man didn’t reply, but nodded, then pointed at the line out front.

Francis cringed as he saw that the second line had managed to kill a few of the large enemies, but most were still dying; it was only when the third wave of men engaged that they did any real damage to the oversized foe.

Spells began to fly over the troops, and the siege weapons on both sides started to fire. Large stones raced above the field as if someone had picked them up and lazily hurled them. Boulders the size of a horse almost vanished from his vision before crashing into the waves of enemies.

Glowing shields appeared in the air above both sides, deflecting both the spells and rain of deadly objects, sending them flying to the sides or back at the front lines, seemingly unconcerned with those in front who died.

As the fourth and fifth lines engaged, most of the minotaurs were now dead, replaced by a sea of tiger and wolf-kin who sliced through the fighters.

A pang of guilt filled his chest at the truth of what those like himself were facing.

Each of them is going to die. There isn’t a hope for them — I can already see how they will get crushed by the troops behind them.

Time felt like it passed faster and yet slower. When he had been down there fighting before, it was upon him in a moment. Now, Francis watched as both men and beasts died, counting down the waves of fodder.

It’s time…

The seventh line engaged. Staring at the spot he knew Gregory and Henry were, Francis knew what was about to come.

As if on command, the entire left side of the battle line turned, running back toward the army.

"DO NOT FLEE! STAND STRONG!"

The command came quicker than before. Francis could sense the power behind it, watching as the king's face turned red. He wore no helmet, and they locked eyes for a moment. There came the slightest nod as the ruler of their kingdom frowned.

“You were right,” Nehemiah said, his tone and open mouth conveying the shock at that truth.

“I wish I weren’t,” Francis replied. “Tell me, are there enough scouts and warriors in the forest?”

“Yes, and I have no doubt they are already near the spot you marked… Still to have that ability… perhaps…”

He stopped talking as the king ordered the men to stand firm again, the same presence washing over the two of them.

“Perhaps we can finally turn the tide,” Nehemiah said, finishing his thought.

Francis’ stomach knotted up at the thought of the faith they seemed to have in him. The little knowledge he had was about to play out, and then Francis wouldn’t know what happened next. He hoped things would get better for the army, but if they didn’t, Francis knew the only way for him to help again would be to see something new and then die.

I don’t want to go down that path for a while… I need to learn everything I can and get a little stronger before I risk it again.

Men fought and died; soon, the ill-equipped leather fodder of the human army was almost gone. The first row of ten lines of men in chainmail moved forward, their weapons sparkling in the morning sun's light.

“How good are these troops?” Francis asked.

“Advanced, at least,” Nehemiah replied. “They’ll do a good chunk of damage, but we’ll probably lose a fifth again before the king calls them back and sends the next group in. What is more important is this next part.”

“What is next–”

Clouds began to form above the army, and then green rain fell as the waves of well-trained men collided with the first rows of beastkin.

His mouth fell open as the first thirty seconds passed. As far as he could see, none of the human warriors seemed to fall.

A glow surrounded the men as they cut through the enemy. A massive number of beastkin fell each second the spell rained down.

“It’s a healing spell cast by every mage who knows it, and the group casting it is using a powerful artifact. There are only a few uses left, but the last three months have shown us how important this part is. We lost so many of our advanced warriors. That is why the King summoned you and the others.”

Eight lines of beastkin lay gone, and the clouds finally began to disperse; men started to fall when they were no longer covered by whatever magical spell it was.

I… I knew there was magic that healed, but… how strong does that spell have to be? What kind of power do the nobles keep for themselves and the children they love?

As the spell faded away, a wave of darkness swept across the field from the enemy like a sheet of black silk, covering all ten lines of men out in front of the main army.

“What is that?” Francis asked with a glance at Nehemiah, who was biting a finger.

The old man said nothing, his teeth chomping on his nail.

Francis waited, wondering what would come from the magic he was witnessing.

A few magical shields formed, diverting part of the black spell, but the screams that reached their ears told a story of pain and death.

Horns blasted, and the men, who had prepared to advance, halted immediately. Horses stopped as soldiers controlled them, turning slightly to keep the prancing beasts at bay.

A minute passed, and wails and cries came from inside the spell; those who had been protected by the magical barriers were cut down by the horde of beastkin waiting to get their turn.

“Call down the lightning!” The king’s order rang out in his head, almost causing him pain, and Francis saw that Nehemiah had suffered from it as well.

As the sheet of black magic began to sink into the earth, only metal armor and weapons remained. All life, including the grass and beastkin, was gone for a hundred-yard section on the battlefield.

“Dear gods,” muttered the old man before a loud crack came from the sky and clouds formed once more.

Bolts of lightning larger than any he had ever seen began to fall from the sky, impacting the enemy and sending up chunks of bodies and dirt.

Shields blocked some, but a large amount of damage was done. The horns sounded again.

“PULL BACK! STAY IN FORMATION!”

Under the cover of the spells and the renewed wave of boulders across the ground, the army retreated, drawing closer to the camp. Their eyes were fixated on the enemy, who roared and waved weapons and arms.

Baxter moved from his original spot to appear before Francis in a second. The king’s thick hand grabbed Francis by the throat.

“How? How could you not see that was going to happen?!” the King shouted. “Why didn’t you warn us of what they’d do?!”

“It doesn’t work that way!” Francis exclaimed. “I didn’t see… that far! It’s not… my fault that–” His words got cut off as he was lifted off the ground.

It was impossible to breathe or to focus on anything but the man who held Francis’ neck between large fingers.

The king was shaking, his face matching those red eyes. “It’s your fault! You told me–”

A popping sound came, and Francis felt the world shift. His view changed as everything rotated, and the last thing he remembered seeing before the darkness took him was a surprised look on Baxter’s face.