ORIGIN

Galgrin grinned, and raced not yet for the exit, but the infrastructure of the Forge--its very skeleton: the towering poles and tanks that held the entire thing upright. Snarl was already turning, ripping down the exhaust piping, letting it crash down into the molten rock.

Piru kept watch for those last few moments.

At last, mere moments after Gravedigger opened them a new exit and began to dig, there was an enormous explosion behind him. Or if not an explosion, something collapsing: something enormous, falling, destroyed so completely that the ground shook, a cloud of smoke and dust blackening the air and filling the new tunnel just behind him. Metal beams, scaffolding, shelves and valves, rods and poles and fencing, all came crashing down: entangled, a domino effect of the outside of the place losing all stability and dragging itself into melted oblivion. The Valkhounds wouldn't see what it looked like by the time the smoke cleared, unless they lingered for the view. But the only word for it would be devastation: tangled, melted metal half-crushed by fallen rock. Piles of boulders, the molten rivers overflowed and covering the entire floor of the pit, destined to burn and seethe and bubble for days to come before at last hardening decisively over all the the technology these men had worked generations to build up.

Their forge--the source of their weapons, their armor and their machines--was destroyed.

Already, shouts of dismay were rising from the city around the Pit; but there was no one to spare, no army left that was not already struggling to engage with the forces that were already tearing through the city.

Gravedigger and his small crew had time to escape at their leisure, if they so chose. "Let's GO!" came a voice, as they piled in behind. It wasn't clear if it was urgently alarmed, or cheering.

The stone was breached, and the muffled heat of the earth replaced with the roar of battle and the tang of blood on the air.

The trio raced out into the open, eager to engage. Almost at once, they skidded to a halt, thrust back by the momentum of bodies. Living bodies, at least: Valkhounds, but pushed back at spearpoint. Most were snarling. Some were still tearing weapons from the hands of their bearers, or thrusting aside shields. A few were still scoring kills, and clearly, the battlefield behind them--what had been the market square of a city, by the looks of things--had gone mostly in their favor.

Human remains were strewn about, a field of gore so thick that the ground squelched underfoot, the thin layer of earth atop the black rock turned to scarlet mud. But while the monsters had slaughtered civilians, the soldiers holding the walls had turned. It left the walls largely undefended, but did they need to be defended? No; the enemy was now inside. There were fewer than a hundred men and women pressing the Valkhounds back, but the beasts were finding it surprisingly difficult to rend past the thick armor. And all it took was the lash of a blade, or a well-placed spear thrust, to send a Valkhound staggering back, choking up its own Oily blood.

The battlefield had a few of these monstrous corpses scattered among the men already.

The chokepoint ahead--a narrow gate between city districts--was being retaken by the men; the Valkhounds were being pushed back toward Gravedigger's location. He could join them and attempt to push forward, perhaps. Or offer his escape route; or something else entirely. Though it was likely hard to think straight, with the tantalizing scents of murder on the air.

Gravedigger barged past the Valkhounds who were tumbling back, his bulk forging his path. When his jaws fixed around the stone of the wall--in one place, and then another, rending and tearing--the wall began to crumble. Metal struts along the frame of the gate sputtered and hissed, and began to glow, as his saliva sprayed with his snapping tears.

It began to bleed: a horrifying sight, rust-colored dissolving metal sludge sliding down the chiseled stone and smooth black steel like blood. The men behind the wall began to cry out in horror, unsure of what they were seeing--and when at last the rock began to tumble, a new gate tearing open in the inner wall of the city, the soldiers who'd been atop it were thrown down to their deaths.

"NOOOOOooooo-" One of them died loudly; the rest let out sharp cries cut short as they either impacted the earth, or were pounced upon by a Valkhound and torn to pieces an instant later.

The flood began to shift, the tide to turn, the bodies to flow back into the breach. Gravedigger's army began to cheer him, the combined voices a roar of bloodlust, a chorus on the stage of rising smoke and pooling blood.

The roar of battle was a backdrop to the more personal scene that Gravedigger now orchestrated: a single death, life slipping--or torn--away beneath his massive claws.

There was a brief moment of eye contact: light brown eyes, wide and brimming with emotion. Gravedigger likely didn't care to pause, to analyze those feelings, but there was terror there. Horror, at the monsters' maliciously misshapen bodies, at Gravedigger's alien and predatory form. Defiance, a desire to defend her people. Rage, so light as to be drowning beneath the terror. Agony, as her ribs snapped beneath his lunge--and her single, choked cry of pain was all she managed. There were no last words: no rallying cry, no final clever rejoinder.

There was a brief acceptance, or maybe relief, as his jaws closed in. At least it would be over now.

Then the taste of crushed metal as her helmet was imploded. Blood and flesh and sweat pouring across his acidic tongue. Her body was engulfed by the blooded mud below, pressed in like some horrifying clay form by his sheer massive weight.

It was easy. It was easy to kill them, despite the armor, despite their numbers, despite the walls.

He tore them down: the armor, the people, the very walls themselves, and yes, he dug their graves. Witness this first true victim, still crushed and sinking into hers.

Gravedigger was not alone in his compulsion toward pure violence. The screams that rose around him now weren't human voices raised in horror, or fear: they were howls of delight, shrieks of indulgent rage, choking snarls of thrilled satisfaction.

The sounds of bloodlust began to drown out the cries of the damned.

They pressed on, to either side of him, pouring through the gap he'd opened and tearing into the men beyond. His way, to his left and his right, was clear. And anyone who stood before him--a swinging axe, a thrust of a blade... whether a few hit their mark, whether they granted him the molten blood flow that might later heal into the scars of brutal battle... they were soon tossed aside, leapt upon, torn apart.

The way forward was not clear, but by fang and claw, it would not be blocked. The wall lay ahead, through smoke and flowing blood.

The battle horns were blowing, but no one was left to answer their call.