Heavy Metal

"Don't let them through! Use the oil!"

The order rang out like a thunderclap across the battered battlements. Several adventurers sprang into action, dragging barrels toward the edge of the wall. Thick, dark liquid sloshed violently as they pried the lids open. The sharp scent of tar and pitch filled the air.

Rusty was caught off guard by the strange, viscous substance. Unfamiliar with city defense tactics, he had no idea what to expect. But he was about to learn that there was more to city defense than he could have imagined.

"Archers, get your flame arrows ready! On my mark!"

'Oh?'

Earlier, a different set of arrows had been prepared. There weren't many, and each had been soaked in a sticky raisin-like mixture. Rusty didn't need to do anything as before he could react, the young adventurer who had been shielding him stepped forward, handed him one of the arrows, and lit its soaked tip with one of the torches that were mounted on the wall. It burst into flame almost instantly and burned close to the intensity of a lower-grade magical spell.

Below, the orcs charged forward, screaming as they brought the battering ram closer to the eastern gate. The metallic skull at the front gleamed wickedly in the firelight, clearly created to intimidate its foes. The wooden palisades around the gate were now weakened and the monsters were able to surge through. If the monsters managed to get their ram in place, the gate would not last for long.

Finally, when the moment came, the defenders tipped the barrels. Thick globs of boiling oil spilled from the walls, cascading down like a waterfall of sizzling darkness. The liquid splashed over the orcs at the front, hissing as it met their flesh. Screams tore through the air, terrible and raw. The creatures writhed in pain, flailing wildly as they caught fire or were scalded by the heat.

"Now!"

Flaming arrows were launched into the sky. Rusty nocked his on the string and let it fly. It soared in a graceful arc before landing true. The instant it struck the oil-soaked grass, flames erupted. A wall of fire roared to life with a violent whoosh, turning the battlefield into a raging inferno. More arrows followed, sparking fires along the winding trail of oil that had spread unpredictably across the uneven slope.

The Orcs closest to the gate screamed as they burned, their flesh blackening. Some tried to stop, but momentum pushed others forward. Those carrying the battering ram stumbled, one tripping into the fire and dragging the rest with him. The ram crashed to the earth, half in the flames, catching fire as the wood hissed and cracked under the heat.

"YES! That's it, keep the fire going!"

Their leader shouted as they watched the monsters burn. Panic had given way to hope, but the fight was far from over. These weren't humans. They were monsters, and their thick, leathery hides could withstand more punishment than any soldier could expect.

Some of the front-line orcs had fallen, their bodies mangled and charred, turned into grotesque pin cushions filled with arrows. Yet more kept coming. For every one that died, another stepped forward to take its place. The battering log was lifted again and again, each time with renewed force, as fresh orcs surged forward to carry the assault.