Everything around Quill slowed. The voices and cries of his squadmates sounded muffled and distant. Only one thing remained clear: Trevin's lifeless corpse laying mere feet from him.

A firm hand yanked his shoulder, pulling him from the haze just as another giant arrow screamed past. It was Wil. The knight already had his sword drawn and shoved Quill behind him. 

"From the trees!" Wil shouted. 

The rest of the squad had quickly readied their weapons and turned to face the oncoming threat. Nearby, Quill could hear the other scout squads in the throes of combat. This wasn't some random attack. This was coordinated.

Vardok, Wil, Deckard and Yoran moved to form a line. Quill still reeled from the shock. Slim knelt beside Trevin's corpse.

He sucked his teeth and nocked an arrow. "Anyone see them?"

"Rankers, there!" Deckard barked, pointing his warhammer toward a stand of trees. "Bound to be an Overseer!"

Quill spotted Rankers emerging from the tree line. A group of ten human sized skeletal figures whose bones were made of pulsing grey flesh. Hallowbound that mimicked men, and mimicked their tactics. The front rank bore shields and swords. Behind them, bows were drawn and nocked. And wherever a group of Rankers marched, an Overseer was sure to follow. Behind the infantry Hallowbound stood a towering figure, ten feet tall and skeletal. Shrouded in the shadow of the trees, it loomed in silence. Its four arms were clasped behind its back like a general surveying the battlefield. Not moving, just watching.

The Rankers marched forward with a disturbing, synchronized cohesion. Slim loosed arrow after arrow their way, but each one clattered harmlessly off raised shields.
“Fuck,” Vardok grunted, wincing as he gripped his shield.
Quill stepped forward next to Yoran, blade drawn. They were outnumbered. The other squads were locked in battle. It was just the six of them. If the flank fell, the rest of The Order would be exposed.
They had to hold.
They had to fight.
The Hallowbound halted. The Overseer stepped out of the shadows, it had no skin, only the same gray bones as the rest, but Quill thought he saw a smile on its face. One of its four skeletal hands hung raised in the air. It met Quill’s gaze, sending a chill down his spine. It cocked its head, then slashed its hand down, commanding its his terrible squadron to attack. The archers loosed a volley, then reached into their own flesh to tear free another round and fired again.

“Shields!” Deckard shouted

The men braced as giant arrows rained down. Quill dove to the side to avoid Trevin’s fate as a spear sized arrow thudded into the ground where he’d been standing. The front Rankers had dropped to all fours. Quill watched, horrified, as they absorbed their weapons back into their flesh. They bounded forward like hunting dogs. They were as fast as the Needlemaws had been, but more coordinated.

“We have to take down the Overseer!” Deckard ordered. “Vardok, get there! We’ll cover you!”

Quill understood the plan, but not how they could possibly pull it off. The frontline of Rankers crashed into them, blades reemerging from their flesh. Yoran cleaved clean through one as another jabbed its sword into his side. The big man thrashed and howled with rage, drawing most of their attention as Quill engaged one alone.

It was man-sized. Wielded a sword like a man. Even moved like one.

Quill had fought men before.

It was savage and relentless, swinging its blade in wild, brutal arcs. Quill sidestepped, keeping his distance, just as he was taught. Dodging rather than deflecting, waiting for an opening. He feinted left, stepped right, and hacked at the Ranker’s leg. His blade cleaved through. The creature lurched, collapsing to one side. Its shield came up hard and smashed into Quill’s face.
His nose crunched and blood fill his mouth as he stumbled backwards into the snow. His eyes watered, vision swimming. Whether by instinct, dumb luck, or the will of The Weaver, Quill rolled aside just as another arrow punched into the snow.
He scrambled to his feet and froze. The Ranker he’d crippled was hopping toward him on one leg, unfazed. It lunged forward with reckless abandon. Quill deflected the blow, throwing his shoulder into its shield, knocking it off balance. He kicked its good leg out, sending it to the snow. With a savage cry he swung down, cleaving head from body. He lifted his eyes and scanned the field, wiping blood from his face.

Yoran bled from multiple wounds, but two Rankers lay in pieces at his feet. The big man had lifted a third over his head and Quill watched him tear it in two with a primal savagery he’d never seen possess a man. The four of the archers had traded bows for blades and were locked in a vicious melee with Slim, Wil, and Deckard. Vardok had just finished crushing the last archer under his mace just as the Overseer stepped onto the field.

It stepped forward casually lifting its four arms. From each hand, a long curved blade slowly oozed into being from its flesh. Quill heard it before he saw it. The crunch of snow, the rustle of movement. Every fallen Ranker that lay in the snow began to twitch. To move. To reform. Their fleshy bones drawn back together, drawn by some unnatural force. Yoran stood, stomping his victims, trying crush them before they could rise again.

It had taken everything the squad had just to kill them the first time. Quill was spent. He was drained before the fight began, now he could barely breathe and his nose was a faucet of crimson. Every man was wounded, exhausted… waning. Wil was on one knee, clutching his shoulder. Slim had a deep gash over his right eye that poured blood down his face. Even Yoran, unstoppable Yoran, was slowing. They fought with everything they had. Desperate. Valiant. And it wasn’t enough.

This is it, Quill thought. We've done more than anyone could've asked.

But it was not in the men of The Order to surrender in the face of certain doom. Vardok had broken past the others, eyes fixed on the Overseer. One final chance. One final push. The rest of the squad tried to follow, struggling in the chaos to reach him.But it was too late. The fallen Rankers had regained their form and were rising to their feet once more. They held the promise of death. No matter how many times they were cut down, they would not stay dead. Not until the Overseer fell. The squad was driven back by the risen Rankers. Quill and Yoran rejoined the others, as the Hallowbound surrounded them.
All hope rested on Vardok now.
Vardok the criminal.
Vardok the brigand.
Vardok the murderer.
Vardok the fearless.

He charged the Overseer, shield and mace held high. He didn’t falter. He didn’t hesitate or freeze, even when coming face to face with death. Quill felt a flicker of hope, if anyone could do it, it was Vardok. A seasoned warrior who’d seen more battles than he could count.

But the Frostwood had no room for hope. Experience meant nothing to the Hallowbound. All the battles you fought before did nothing but wear you down.

It was over quick. The four arms of the towering Overseer slashed, whirled, and arced faster than what seemed physically possible. Vardok blocked a few and even managed to swing his mace a single time. But it was knocked aside, harmless. The Overseer’s blades didn’t just cut. They carved. In seconds, Vardok was reduced to ribbons. Pieces of his body lay strewn about around him, the snow under him now soaked a dark red. The big man fell to his knees, or what remained of them. The Overseer leaned down and cocked its head, mocking him. With his last breath, Vardok spat a glob of blood in the creatures face. Then he collapsed face first into the snow.

The squad was surrounded now. None of them flew into a rage seeing Vardok fall. None cried out in anguish, or cursed their fate. After that... they knew it was over. They had accepted the inevitable. Soaked in sweat and chests heaving, squad S-22 prepared for its final stand. Quill tried to repeat his mantra, tell himself that he would not perish. But he couldn’t. As the Rankers closed in, all he could think about was that he'd never finish his book.

The Overseer waltzed closer, its hands clasped behind its back once more, watching its soldiers finish the job. Quill swore it was smiling again. But in an instant, that smile faded. Its head jerked to the side. Arms quickly uncurling and forming blades. The Rankers reacted too, halting their advance, some moving to the Overseer’s side.
Wil and Yoran seized the moment, striking at the two nearest Hallowbound.

But Quill wasn’t watching them.

He was watching what the Overseer saw.

What could put a creature like that on edge?

A single man strode onto the field. His white cloak billowed in the wind, a black feather pendant swung from his neck. He moved with a cold, calculating purpose and had a blade in each hand: one long, one short. What unfolded in the moments that followed was surely the epitome of what a human could accomplish in swordsmanship. Five of the Rankers charged Cross, sprinting on all fours. And Cross met them.  Every duck or dodge he made flowed into his next strike. No movement wasted. His blades carved clean arcs through flesh and bone. The nightmares fell one by one, cut down like they were nothing. Though five relentless nightmares threw themselves at Cross, never once did his pace slow. He didn’t retreat. He didn’t pause. Not a single scratch marked him. Not a single step misjudged. Every sword stroke was perfect. Efficient. Unforgiving. But they were not his target. They were nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

The Overseer twirled its blades and began to circle. Cross had no time for games. He lunged forward, reckless. A feint. Two blades slammed into the snow where he’d been. He thrust his longsword toward the creature's chest. Another feint. It moved to parry the blow, but Cross had already pivoted, reversing the grip on his short sword as he spun. It pierced a rib bone of the Overseer before Cross yanked it back, leaping over a blade that swung for his legs. Black blood oozed from the wound, but the creature didn't falter. It was on the offensive now, all four blades arcing with lighting speed. The air rang with clashing steel as Cross was forced back.
Parry.
Dodge.
Dodge.
Parry.
Parry—
COUNTER.

Cross endured the flurry long enough to find a single opening. He batted away two blades before slamming his weight into the creature. It staggered one step. But one step was all he needed. He ducked low, blades carving into its thighs as he slid beneath it. The Overseer dropped to its knees. Cross rose behind it, blades ready to strike. But the creature's head snapped around. All four arms twisted with sickening pops, rotating backwards into position as it reversed its whole body one bone at a time. One by one, its broken parts rebuilt themselves. It rose again to its full height.

It resumed its relentless assault. But this time Cross didn't budge. His feet didn't move. Quill thought the creature seemed slower. Just slightly. And Cross... Cross was getting faster. Each stroke, each parry was sharper, cleaner, impossible to follow. To Quill’s untrained eyes, it was a blur. But he realized that it was the Overseer on the defensive. It was losing ground. One step, then another.

Cross landed a grazing blow on one of the creature's arms. It gave him just enough time to reposition, stepping to his right and forcing the Overseer to turn. Cross stepped into its momentum rather than away. He hacked the top arm of the creature clean off as he kicked the second away. Whirling he deflected the third with his short sword, simultaneously pinning the final arm to the ground with his longsword. The creature lurched forward. There was no hesitation. No scream or taunt. Just one clean movement. Cross slashed his short sword through the Overseer's neck. Its head landed with a muffled thud in the snow. 

He'd already retrieved his blade and stepped away before its the body even dropped.

Then something strange happened.

The remaining Rankers fled. Quill wasn't sure if a Hallowbound had ever run from a fight before.
But to be honest...
He couldn't blame them.