Otromah felt the ground shake and heard what could only be the start of the thunderous collapse of the wall behind him. Before his centurion could give the command, he was clambering to his feet, his free hand cinching the straps anchoring his arm to his shield before settling on his sword hilt as he stepped up to the mostly level rubble walkway to their defensive mound — as it didn't count as a wall in his opinion… Not that anyone has given a shit about my opinion since I joined the Legion.

  The construction was pretty straightforward, just a mound of rocks piled five feet tall across the hundred-foot road. However, the engineers got a little fancy and gave them a foot-and-a-half stone parapet and added staggered pedestals for lanterns along the wall.

  It was small, but it did a lot to cover their legs from those about to climb up the pile and attack them. Most of all, if you didn't have to drop then lift a twenty-pound shield every other second to block alternating low and high blows, it preserved their arms and psy, and Otromah, along with the rest of the First Century of the Prime Cohort, appreciated that.

  As a wave of dust burst into the air and rolled over the courtyard and then the street toward the over strength century holding the first line of defense, Otromah felt a wave of relief. Their Legatus was right. The wall was a trap, and now they had a chance to fight instead of dying helplessly smashed amongst house-sized blocks of stone.

  Reaching out to accept the tendril probing his mind, Otromah heard his centurion bark in his head, "Get your shields up and draw your swords and spears, you sons of bitches! Can't you tell it's time to start the party!?"

  As one, the fifty legionaries in the front row along the wall lifted their shields and drew their swords, placing the flat of their blades on the top of their shields. Behind them, the other three ranks defending the position lifted spears, readying themselves to thrust them through any gaps in the shields and bodies. "I don't really feel like partying tonight, centurion," Complained Tellot, "think if I go ask them nicely, they will come back in the morning?"

  Centurion Atticious didn't say anything but didn't need to. His mind radiated unamused disregard laced with a hint of menace. "Ouch," Teased Harper as the dust wave washed over them, cutting down their vision to a handful of feet, "that was worse than usual. And don't worry, Tellot, go out there and ask them. I'm sure they'll stand there and listen to what you have to say… I'm gonna wait here, though."

  "Yeah, Tellot, go on." Harkona egged on. "I'll be right behind you."

  "Don't worry, if you die, we'll avenge you." Snickered Dewvont.

  “…You know what?" Tellot said after a moment, "I'm tired of the shit I've been getting for communicating my ideas. Communication and debate is a patriotic and time-honored tradition of the Republic. This hostility is unwarranted."

  "How is saying you want to sue the Legion for psychological torture — where did you learn that phrase, by the way — for supplying us with only travel rations on long deployment patriotic?" Otromah asked. "Pretty sure that's the opposite of patriotic."

  "Or how you insist we should stain all our clothes white to be more comfortable in the heat, replacing the traditional colors of the legion." Added Harper, one of many mentally lining up to bring up one of the countless topics Tellot complained about over the last years.

  "Shut your traps and eyes forward," Cut in Centurion Atticious, "I hear something." At once, everyone's mind snapped from the banter and focused on the two feet of lit air they could see in the dust-filled street. Tension filled the mental network as the legionnaires lost the minor distraction of needling each other.

  Straining his ears, Otromah searched for any sound beyond the breathing and shifting of those beside him. And he could hear… the slight noise of dirt pattering against the ground as it fell. Beyond that, there was noth— Wait, what is that? So faintly that he thought it was his heart at first, the legionary made out a deep and steady boom, boom, boom.

  As soon as Otromah noticed it, the sound began to fill his ears and mind. It grew louder and louder until it was like he was a child and he was standing before a monstrous beast, listening to its pounding heartbeat. It would lung at him at any moment. If he didn't fl—

  "Control your thoughts!" Bellowed their centurion with both his lungs and mind. "Create a mental shield and keep out the fear! Are you so weak that you cannot withstand a simple mental attack? Where is your pride as the First Prime of the 15th!? Get back in line and show them your strength!"

  Like a wind blowing away a fog, Otromah blinked, and the fear was gone, replaced by the uncompromising demands and expectations of his centurion. Noticing that he had half-turned and taken a step in flight, Otromah felt a flush of shame as he threw his body back around to face the enemy again and stand next to his brothers.

  He was not the only one to feel such a way, as it seemed like only a third of the century resisted falling into the trap of the pounding drum. Now that he knew it was there, he could feel a slight foreign fear prickling at his mind, but it was… distant.

  If he welcomed it in, it would start to fill and consume him, but he would have to take that first step, and a minor effort would repel the force. Which was probably the point, as it would take a constant exertion on the legionaries' part.

  Before his — and many others' — thoughts could travel down the road of their own weaknesses and failings, the distinct thudding sound of many feet filled the air. "Brace yourselves!" Ordered Centurion Atticious.

  Tucking himself behind his shield, Otromah braced his shoulder and leg onto the top and bottom of his shield. In a tide of flesh, the goblins popped into his vision from the obscuring dust, clambering up the sharp incline to meet them.

  To Otromah, they looked more like running dogs than creatures supposedly close to humans. Their skin was black like charred wood, their arms were longer than a human's — almost reaching their knees — and their yellowed fangs glistened in the lantern light. However, what drew his attention more than all of that was most of them looked as if they had just come from fighting some animal.

  Long rents of half-scabbed-over flesh were in parallel rows over their chests and arms, disfiguring and, in some cases, maiming their bodies. Many of the wounds had broken open from whatever healing they had made and were dripping black blood onto the ground. A few had bandages partially covering the weeping wounds, but the wrappings were so dirty Otromah would be hesitant to wipe his ass with them, let alone use them as a bandage.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Unable to do more than note the oddity in the time he had, the creatures sprung forward like frogs from the base of the five-foot stone step. As they hung in the air, Otromah and his shield brothers shouted in their challenge in a wordless scream.

  A shout that continued as the legionaries pumped their shields out a moment before the goblin leaping at them landed. The action held more force than that which lay within their arms and chests, as every single legionary had stretched a strand of psy spread over the inside of their shield.

  Even over the pounding of hundreds of feet and thrumming throats, Otromah could hear the bones breaking under the strength of his shield bash. As fast as the front row of goblins came at them, they were being thrown back and into the ranks of their brethren, breaking up their lines.

  With the goblin's charge floundering, the creatures could only advance in drips and drabs, making them easy targets. Every goblin within range of the legionaries' arms had multiple blades slashed or stabbed at them for the next few moments. The ones who thought they were bright and stayed out of reach of the legionaries' front line found themselves skewered by the long spears of those in the human backlines.

  Unable to retreat thanks to the press of bodies and incapable of advancing with enough coordination to pressure the legionaries into falling back, the goblins were easy targets to be hacked apart and stabbed through by psy-aided blows. All across the street, goblins were dropping by the dozen every second.

  But they didn't seem to care and continued to press forward. The bodies quickly mounted, and still, the creatures pushed on, scampering up the corpse ramp like they were walking along an empty street.

  The advantage the legionaries had with the initial clash soon began to fade, and what was once a one-sided slaughter became a real fight as the creatures reached a level footing by standing upon their dead. As the seconds slowly thumped by, and the dust filling the air began to settle, Otromah and the others were greeted by the unending sight of more bodies rushing forward in wild abandon.

  Wherever these creatures came from, they were willing to take risks that would all but certainly lead to their deaths. They would leap at any opening, and if a legionary responded in time to counterattack or block, the goblin would latch onto anything to create an opening for one of their comrades.

  Whether it was ripping the gladius out of the hand of a legionary with its own body, grabbing onto the edge of the shield, or landing a blow on the humans' upper torso, the goblins didn't care. All they seemed to want was death, and that was precisely what they got and gave. While the goblins suffered far more losses, a steady stream of minds was disappearing from the century’s union.

  The lucky ones disappeared after being knocked unconscious by a hard hit to the head, but they were in the minority. Most minds vanished after suffering through long seconds of pain and increasing weakness, where their life steadily bled out of them. By far, the fewest number disappearing from the union were those wounded severely enough to be forced out of the line to seek medical aid.

  Time passed, and mortals fought and died until Atticious's voice thundered in Otromah's head, "Century! Retreat one step on my command! Now!" Over the cries of the injured and shouts of the desperate, the thud of the unified step boomed. Small as the space was, it gave them more room to fight from the press of bodies, taking some of the pressure off, not that the fighting was slowed more than a beat of the heart.

  "Dratulk, Bapthi, you better fill that gap, or I'll come down there and kill you myself! Harolok! Are you trying to skewer them or give them a nice scar for the ladies?! Fix your damn aim! Vinyops, where are you looking! Get your eyes back on your zone! That's how you do it, Quintill! The rest of you sorry sacks of shit can take some lessons or two from him! Keep it up, boys! Make them pay in barrels of blood for every step!" Their centurion was releasing a constant stream of orders, reprimands, and praise as they fought.

  Nothing, big or small, seemed to escape his notice. But no matter how many mistakes he called out, that didn't mean everyone could be saved. Harkona had a rock smashed into his head, knocking him unconscious. Even as someone in the back line grabbed his feet to pull him back, and another stepped into the gap, a goblin's clawed hand was around his neck, ripping open the veins in his throat.

  And it wasn't just him, as Harper was forced to fight off three goblins to his front at the exact moment those on his flanks had to take action to support those on their other side. The goblins didn't hesitate to use the opening to fight three-on-one and leaped into action.

  One grabbed the shield and was able to pull it to the side ever so slightly. The second went low to knock Harper off his feet, only to be skewered on his gladius for the attempt. But all Harper could do for the third was throw his head forward, attempting to head butt the creature going over the shield.

  While he missed the head-on collision with the goblin, he twisted his body enough so that the creature's jaw clamped down on his shoulder instead of his neck. Letting out a shout of pain and outrage, Harper pulled his sword pummel back, smashing it into the base of the neck of the goblin latched onto him.

  The creature immediately went limp and flopped to the ground, but it took with it a chunk of his flesh. Harper tried to slow the blood flow with his sword hand while keeping his shield up, but the bleeding was too much for him to stop as it seeped through his fingers, and Otromah's friend's mind was quickly fading from blood loss.

  Legionary after legionary fell, but for every human that died, they took ten of the goblins. It didn't fill the aching hole in Otromah's mind or soothe the prick of a new stake lodging itself into his heart, but it gave a certain grim satisfaction.

  It could not be denied that many would die this night. With that in mind, the more they could take with them in death, the less others would have to sacrifice. But it didn't seem like they were making much of a difference at this point.

  Hundreds of dead filled the street. As the dust settled and twilight settled into full night, the planes once blocked by the outer wall were visible. Or it should have been visible through the thousands-of-feet gap in the collapsed wall before them. Where the grassy land should be, the jostling bodies of ranks upon ranks of an army stood.

  Otromah couldn't tell exactly how many there were, but the number should be in the tens of thousands from his quick glance. Not that he would be able to give a better answer if he had more time to study the army.

  And that wasn't because he lacked the training to make a proper count. It was because as the sun settled behind the horizon, a thick fog was rising from the ground, concealing everything it enveloped.

  The stray thoughts passing through his mind vanished as Otromah and his brothers fought on. They bashed the goblins with their shields before tilting them to the side, allowing one of the legionaries around them to lash out in the moment the opening in the shield wall was available.

  With the tug-of-war of a battle taking hold of the street, one section of the line drove forward as another section danced back. The fight was a small thing in comparison to the powers at play. A dance of death and life between two forces that had barely grazed the tips of their fingers together. And yet, for those involved, it was all-consuming.

  Otromah could not say how long they fought and could only faintly feel his body screaming from the exertion. Finally, after what felt like hours, Centurion Atticious roared, "Fall back to the next line! Hurry the fuck up! Do I look like I care about your exhaustion! Move! Now!"

  Cutting down the closest goblin, Otromah turned, hearing the distinctive hiss of a volley of arrows in flight passing inches from his head a moment before they began thwacking home into flesh. Screams of pain sounded behind them, but no one looked as they turned and ran to the next pile of stone rubble.

  Of the two hundred to hold the first line of defense, one hundred and thirty-three were moving to the second. The majority of the Sixty-seven casualties they suffered were left for dead among close to eight hundred goblins.

  Otromah would stack those numbers against any prime cohort in the Republic… and yet it didn't seem like it was enough. They would need a far better ratio if they would achieve victory and survive this hellish night that had just begun.