But they were met by a wall of desperate, unyielding iron.
The warriors stationed on the walls… the archers who had run out of arrows, the wounded who had refused to retreat, and the reserve guards… didn't break. They dropped their bows and drew their bone-swords and heavy hand-axes.
It was brutal, hyper-close-quarters combat. The Hook-Claw Stalkers lunged, tearing through leather armor and flesh. Veynar defenders screamed, tackling the massive beast, using their own body weight to pin the beasts down while their comrades drove spears directly into their skulls.
Blood… both human and beast… spilled across the ancient, polished wood of the ramparts, raining down on the gates below. The defenders fought with the frantic, cornered fury of men and women who knew that if they failed, their children sleeping in the inner rings would be eaten alive.
Sol risked a glance upward as he crushed the throat of an attacking wolf.
