Chapter 15— The Solo Stand
The hill was nothing special.
It rose from the plains like a bent back, uneven and rocky, covered with scrub grass that had long ago given up on growing tall. The dirt was dry, cracked in places, and the wind scraped across it, tugging at cloaks and rattling loose stones as if testing which ones might come free.
Cassian stood alone at its crest.
Below him, the battlefield stretched wide and ugly. Broken shields lay like fallen doors. Spears stuck out of the earth at bad angles, abandoned in a hurry. Smoke drifted low, dragging its feet across the ground, reluctant to leave. The air smelled of iron and burned leather.
Five thousand demons moved at the base of the hill.
They did not charge.
They waited.
From the kingdom's lines far behind Cassian, no one spoke. Soldiers watched in silence, hands clenched so tightly around weapons that knuckles shone white. No horns blew. No banners moved forward. Everyone understood what this was.
Cassian had volunteered.
He rolled his shoulders once, slow and careful. The weight of his armor settled into place. His sword—la hoja que bebe sangre—rested in his right hand, angled down, its edge dark and quiet. It did not glow yet. It waited, like a blade that knew its job.
The demons began to move.
The first wave broke into a run, claws scraping against stone, hooves pounding like rain on hard earth. They came uphill in a wide arc, spreading to surround him, howling as they ran.
Cassian exhaled.
He stepped forward.
Not downhill. Across the slope.
His boots dug into the loose dirt. He kept his knees bent, weight centered, never leaning too far. He raised his sword as he moved—not high, not dramatic—just enough to bring the edge level with his chest.
The first demon reached him.
Cassian turned his torso slightly to the right and cut diagonally upward. The motion was compact, driven by his hips rather than his arms. The blade entered beneath the demon's jaw and exited behind the ear. The creature fell without slowing Cassian's step.
He kept moving.
Two more came at once. One swung wide. The other lunged low.
Cassian shortened his grip, sliding his right hand closer to the guard. He stepped into the low lunge, letting the attack pass behind his leg, and brought the sword straight down. The edge bit cleanly through spine and shoulder. He twisted his wrist as he pulled free, redirecting the blade into a backhand cut that opened the second demon from collarbone to hip.
Blood sprayed across the dirt.
The sword darkened.
Cassian climbed.
Demons pressed in from all sides now. He moved like a man cutting brush—clear strokes, steady rhythm. Each swing followed the last without pause. He never overreached. Never chased a kill. If a demon fell, it was because it had been in the way.
A heavy demon charged from the left, shield raised.
Cassian planted his foot and met the charge head-on. He lowered his center of gravity and struck the shield's rim instead of its face. The edge slid along metal, sparks jumping like startled insects, until it caught at the wrist behind it. Cassian wrenched sideways.
The shield dropped.
Cassian stepped inside the demon's reach and drove the sword forward, short and sharp, straight through the sternum. He pulled it free with a turn that widened the wound, then kicked the body downhill.
The sword drank.
Its surface shimmered faintly now, like metal heated by the sun.
Cassian adjusted his grip again. His breathing remained steady, timed with his steps. He did not look back. He did not look down.
He climbed.
The demons adapted.
They began attacking in pairs—one high, one low. Cassian answered by changing angles. When a claw came down, he slipped under it. When a spear thrust forward, he rotated his shoulder and let it slide past. His blade moved in tight arcs, edge shifting with each motion, always finding soft gaps between bone and armor.
A demon leapt at him from behind.
Cassian felt the air move. He dropped to one knee, let the demon sail overhead, then rose into an upward thrust that skewered it midair. The body landed behind him with a wet thud.
More came.
Cassian's arms burned. His shoulders tightened. Sweat ran down his back beneath the armor. The hill seemed steeper now, as if it had decided to resist him.
The sword pulsed once.
Cassian did not react.
He kept climbing.
By the time he reached the halfway point, bodies carpeted the slope. The dirt had turned dark and slick. Cassian adjusted his footing, shortening his steps to keep balance. His boots slid once. He corrected without looking down.
Three demons rushed him together.
Cassian stepped toward them instead of away.
He cut the first across the throat, shallow but precise. Blood fountained, blinding the second. Cassian pivoted on his heel and drove the pommel into the third's jaw, snapping the head back. Before the body fell, Cassian reversed his grip and stabbed upward through the ribcage.
The blinded demon swung wildly.
Cassian caught the wrist, twisted, and broke it. The sound was sharp, like a snapped branch. He finished the kill with a clean thrust to the heart.
The sword glowed red now, bright enough to reflect in Cassian's visor.
From the kingdom's lines, someone whispered his name.
Cassian reached the crest again.
Only half the demons remained.
They hesitated.
Cassian did not.
He charged downhill.
Gravity joined him. His stride lengthened. His cuts widened slightly, momentum carrying the blade through flesh and bone with heavier force. He used the slope, letting fallen bodies trip those behind them. His sword rose and fell like a pendulum, steady and relentless.
A demon commander stepped forward, larger than the rest, horns crowned with steel.
Cassian met it head-on.
They exchanged three blows. The commander struck hard but wide. Cassian blocked once, parried once, then stepped inside the third swing. He slid his blade along the demon's weapon, guiding it aside, and drove his sword up under the ribcage.
He leaned close as the demon fell.
Then he moved on.
By the time Cassian reached the bottom of the hill, fewer than two thousand demons remained.
They broke.
Cassian did not chase.
He stood where he was, sword dripping, armor stained dark. His chest rose and fell steadily. The sword's glow faded slowly, like embers settling after a fire.
Behind him, the hill stood silent, littered and scarred.
Far away, horns finally sounded.
The war continued.
But the hill was taken.