A tendril of gore stretched through a gap between two men and went straight for the child wielding the shining, crimson dagger. If he were too late to respond, it would latch itself to his chest and assimilate with him—consuming his ribcage and then everything within it all in one go.
He wasn't going to be caught by something more sluggishly, though. Because now that his mind was being heightened by the divine ichor of the Lord of Hope, he could clearly see the path the tendril was taking.
Moments before it reached his body, he leapt out of the way, and once the nasty appendage stretched past him, he used his dagger to sever it from the rest of its body. Carrying on fluidly, unlike anything experienced in all his years alive, he closed the gap between him and the monster. Slipping beneath the two men who were already taking steps to create distance of their own, the child impaled the abomination, and soon he felt the reaped rewards flowing through him yet again.
It was an almost addictive feeling. If he were this physically capable, he doubted he would've been beaten so miserably the night before he set out into the Tower.
He wouldn't delude himself into thinking he could do something unnatural like work in a construction field. He wasn't far off from being that strong either, though.
By now, he was much stronger than a child should be. He wasn't as strong as a grown man, but he might've been easily faster than one. His small stature and surprising agility made him a difficult target to reach. As abominations swung their hungry mass at him, he remained just out of reach. While fighting these beasts, and efficiently slaying him, his awareness expanded to his surroundings as well.
Worthy recognized that the retreat was flowing smoothly, much smoother than he expected.
Under the guidance of War and the Knights, the army of Climbers did not falter beneath the burden of their slowly dwindling numbers. People were reserving their energy for when they would need it the most, and that would be win they received their signal to retreat.
Nobody moved from their part in the line. If they were behind someone, then they knew they would be leaving first. If they were in front of someone, they knew they'd be leaving last.
The most important component was to ensure they maintained a position behind the Knights who carved through the swarm.
Straying too far ahead of them would bring the threat of getting killed by one's own ally. Being behind them, on the other hand, was a good way to raise your chance of survival.
The defenders were by no means immortal, though.
Just a few feet away, Worthy saw a tentacle wrapped around a man and yanked him into the approaching swarm of horrors. His screams were disturbing, his pleas for his life falling on deaf ears—assuming the abominations had ears to begin with—and soon those screams stopped altogether.
Though there were many who could save him, all of them were preoccupied with their own battles. Falling victim to an attack would be the same as death, as few could save you before damage was done. If you were lucky, you would suffer a loss of a limb or a portion of your body. That way, there was at least something that could be healed if you made it to a healer. But, none of that mattered once a person was dragged into the embrace of the swarm. By then, it'd be better taking one's own life before they experienced the excruciating agony of being eaten alive.
Dipping his head down instinctively, Worthy watched as something shot past his head. It was a projectile, unleashed by a monster in the distance. It was just like the sharpshooter that'd almost taken him out back on the mountain. These ranged abominations were far too pesky.
Without ranged options, there wasn't much he could do except raise his weapon and try to deal with the attacks as they came. Severing the limbs that approached was a surefire way to disable one monster. There were just far too many coming from the wall of flesh. None of that dissuaded the boy, however. If anything, it made him feel a thrill in his heart he'd only felt a few times in his life. He was experiencing unadulterated excitement.
It wasn't the thrill of fighting for his life getting to him. Instead, it was the thrill of being powerful. Being able to move his body the way he hoped to move his body over time was so satisfying, it was like he'd been crippled his entire life until today. The Tower rewarded him for killing Furfur, and the boy was grateful that the demon had died. Now that it was gone, all that was left was the boy's newfound ability to kill and reap the rewards from the creatures that horrified him so much.
Seeing them as predators was becoming harder as time passed; they were prey for him to hunt, morelike. He received more from killing them and assimilating the divine ichor of their being, as well as the nutrients their flesh carried, than they did by absorbing him.
Reversing the grip of his knife to now be used for thrusting, the child moved in and avoided the approach of a bone made of spikes coming from one of the heavily armored monsters at the front of the horde. Using his knife, he effortlessly cut through the spike, and soon his arms thrust out and the dagger with it. He felt no resistance, but knew he hit the abomination as a new influx of energy entered his being.
There had to be something more. Perhaps if he could reach the center of one of those flesh mountains, he'd find an abundance of nutrients that would push him even further. The divine ichor flowing through it had to be more than a river's worth. How much would it change him? Would he grow horns from his head, or slowly begin sprouting wings from his body?
He was tempted to see. It was too tantalizing of the opportunity for him to let go.
Sadly, after killing so many, he had no choice but to let it go. A new voice sounded in the distance, issuing a command that none could ignore. They'd either follow it or be left out here to die, and that would be unfavorable for everyone.
"Next group, retreat through the gate!" War's voice did not leave room for negotiation. If he commanded them to retreat, it meant this was one of the few opportunities where they could do so safely.
The man was still steaming beneath his armor, but he showed no sign of giving up his duty. He held the highest authority. The Holy Knight held more power than even a Knight Captain, and they'd quickly recognized this without even having to speak to War directly.
'No, I'd bet they did talk with him immediately.'
There was a brief window where the knights had the chance to meet War, when they all were transported. Worthy hadn't seen it, but he didn't doubt at least one of the Knights had met and communicated with War. That short period of communication was more than enough for them to establish a chain of command and a plan to keep the city safe.
Worthy pulled his dagger free from the lifeless husk of flesh, and took some steps away as an attack from the wall moved toward him at a blinding speed. He could track it, but in such an awkward position, he was unable to get out of the way in time without risking being caught by the extending piece of gore. It was going to rip a chunk of him out and devour it, adding it to its mass—just as it'd done to plenty of people before.
'A—Ahh! Crap!'
The appendage never found him, thankfully. Several silver lacerations ran across the length of the extending appendage, and soon it fell to the ground in a pile of mincemeat.
One of the nearby Knights had intercepted the attack, and then wordlessly carried on with the fighting. They were doing everything in their power to ensure as many people as feasibly possible returned to the Prime Settlement.
Without wasting time with formalities, Worthy turned and broke into a sprint toward the wall, where the retreating fighters were being aided through the gate.
They'd fought as much as they could.
Soon, when the Knights themselves were given the order to retreat, it marked the end of their grounded melee.
The horde could no longer effectively get in the way of their travel. They'd either be run over or defenders on the wall could knock the flesh abominations off. Not to mention, the mighty artillery on the wall that was blasting holes open in the sea of enemies.
That left the mountains as the only things in the way of the city, perhaps purposely so.
And for that, War Reaver tightened his grip on his Divine Sword. Indifference must've been plastered over his burning face, as finally, he exhaled. As a cold breath escaped from his lips, the flames and smoke that raged underneath his armor finally subsided, carried away by a cold breeze.
The Holy Knight crouched momentarily, and tightened his grip on his Divine Sword.
Briefly, the child thought he saw a flame burning in the slits of the Holy Knight's visor.
There wasn't any time to study it. Seconds later, he launched from the top of the wall, and in an instant, closed the distance with the mountainous bone monster in the distance.
In the second after he closed the distance, his Divine Sword swung, and a blinding explosion engulfed the whole mountain.