Chapter 14: Siege Breaker

  Raven sprinted up the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time despite the burning ache in his legs. He couldn’t afford to waste a single second—Wilkes the guy in charge needed to know that the goblins would stop spawning. If they could just hold out, this fight might finally turn in their favour.

  As he neared what he assumed was the main hall, the unmistakable sounds of combat reached his ears—shouts, the dull thud of impacts, and the shrill screeches of goblins. His stomach twisted. The fighting was still raging. He picked up the pace, rounding the final turn into the hallway.

  Chaos met his eyes. Blood and bodies blurred into the shouting, the crack of weapons, the shrill screams of dying goblins. Raven’s pulse spiked, his breath catching at the sheer intensity of it all—the heat, the stench, the panic pressing in from every side.

  A line of officers in riot gear held their ground, police batons swinging in brutal arcs as they fought back a tide of goblins pressing in from the far end of the hall. Shattered furniture and bodies—both human and goblin—littered the floor. The officers moved in practiced coordination, forming a defensive wall, but they were tiring. Some had bloodied uniforms, others were already limping.

  Then, amidst the melee, Raven spotted something—or rather, someone—that made him hesitate.

  A man stood in the centre of the officers, his body somehow sheathed in dark, metallic armour—not plating, but as if his very skin had been forged from steel. He swung his baton with brutal efficiency, each strike sending goblins flying. The creatures shrieked in pain as his blows shattered bone with ease, his enhanced strength making him an unbreakable wall against the onslaught.

  No time for gawking.

  Raven gritted his teeth, cursing the loss of his bow. Without it, his options were limited, but that didn’t mean he was helpless. He quickly scanned the battlefield, spotting a broken table leg near his feet. Snatching it up, he tested its weight—heavy enough to break a skull, if he swung hard enough.

  The officers were holding their ground, but barely. The goblins surged forward, relentless and screeching, pressing against their battered defences. Raven didn’t hesitate. He rushed into the fray, bringing his makeshift weapon down on the nearest goblin’s skull with a sickening crack. The creature dropped, and he pivoted, driving his boot into another’s chest, sending it sprawling backward into its kin.

  The officers, noticing the unexpected support, began to rally.

  One last goblin tried to lunge at the armoured man’s exposed back. Raven didn’t think—he surged forward, knife in hand, and drove the blade into its spine before it could strike. The goblin shrieked and collapsed, twitching as it bled out onto the floor. Just like that, the wave was broken.

  Panting, Raven took a step back, scanning the hallway now littered with goblin corpses. The officers were doing the same, some sagging against the walls in exhaustion.

  The iron-skinned man turned to face him, his metallic sheen already fading, returning to what looked like normal human flesh. Despite his ragged breathing and blood-smeared uniform, his presence radiated authority.

  “You’ve got some nerve, kid,” the man said, his voice rough, but steady. “Charging in like that.”

  Raven straightened. “You’re Wilkes?”

  The man narrowed his eyes before nodding. “Sergeant Wilkes. And you’d better have a damn good reason for throwing yourself into this mess.”

  Raven smirked, wiping sweat and blood from his brow. “You say that like I had a choice. World’s ending, mate, figured I might as well get involved.”

  Wilkes snorted but didn’t argue. One of the officers, a young woman with a deep gash along her arm, eyed Raven suspiciously before speaking up. “Wait a second… You’re that archer. The one who was picking off goblins earlier.”

  Raven gave a lopsided grin. “Guilty.”

  Another officer, an older man with streaks of grey in his hair, frowned. “Thought you were dead. That big bastard went after you. We lit it up, put a dozen rounds in it, and the damn thing barely flinched.”

  Raven rolled his shoulder, feeling the lingering soreness from the brutal fight. “Yeah… tough son of a bitch.” His words were casual, but there was no mistaking the dark glint in his eyes.

  A few of the officers shared looks, some sceptical, others shocked. “You’re saying you killed it?” The disbelief in their tone was almost amusing.

  Raven nodded. “It wasn’t easy, but yeah, the big bastard’s dead.”

  Silence stretched between them. Some looked like they wanted to question him further. Wilkes folded his arms, his dark eyes studying Raven with a mix of scrutiny and disbelief. “You expect me to believe you killed that thing?”

  Raven shrugged. “Wasn’t easy.”

  Wilkes grunted. “No shit it wasn’t. I emptied half a mag into it, and it barely flinched. You expect me to believe you, a half-starved kid, put it down?”

  Raven met his gaze, unflinching. “I got lucky.”

  Wilkes snorted, shaking his head. “Luck doesn’t kill things like that.”

  Raven took a deep breath, forcing himself back on task. “Look, I was guided here by someone with a gift for foresight. That’s how I found you. And more importantly—I stopped the spawns.”

  That got their attention.

  Wilkes’ expression shifted, wary but interested. “What do you mean stopped?”

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  “I claimed the ether sink in the basement. It was fuelling the goblin spawns, it’s done. No more new ones.”

  A collective exhale rippled through the officers. Some sagged in relief, while others exchanged uncertain glances. Wilkes rubbed his chin, digesting the information. His narrowed eyes stayed locked on Raven, unblinking. The silence stretched long enough that some of the officers shifted uncomfortably.

  “You sure about this?” Wilkes finally asked, voice low, sceptical.

  Raven met his gaze without hesitation. “Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

  Wilkes exhaled sharply, shaking his head. He glanced at the officers, at the bruises, the blood-streaked uniforms, the fatigue in their eyes. “We’ve been fighting to hold this place all day, and you’re saying it’s over?”

  The older officer, the one with grey streaks in his hair, squared his shoulders. “If there’s even a chance, Sarge, we have to take it.”

  Wilkes let out a slow breath, rubbing a hand over his face. He looked at his officers again—their battered forms, the exhaustion etched into their movements. Could it really be that simple?

  He wanted to argue. To call bullshit. But the moment stretched long, and the desperate, unspoken hope in his people’s eyes made the decision for him.

  “…Alright, kid,” he finally muttered, voice gruff. “Let’s say I believe you.” He exhaled sharply. “That’s good news. Real good.”

  A pause. His jaw clenched. “But it doesn’t mean we’re out of this fight yet."

  Raven nodded, already expecting that response. “Right. Now we just need to clean up the bastards outside.”

  Wilkes rubbed a hand over his jaw. He turned toward the shattered doors of the hospital, scanning the plaza beyond. A couple dozen goblins still lurked out there, pacing, nervous now that reinforcements weren’t coming.

  He weighed his options. They were tired. Running low on supplies. But if they hesitated now, the goblins might regroup—might find a different way in. He ground his teeth before nodding sharply.

  “Alright. Here’s how we handle this.”

  Wilkes cracked his knuckles, his skin flickering back to that dull iron sheen. “I’ll draw ‘em in. I can take a hit better than anyone here.” He tapped his baton against his chest, the metallic thud echoing through the hall. “They see me standing out there alone, they’ll come running.”

  Raven could already see the plan forming. “And we’ll be ready at the doors. Create a funnel, take them down as they try to rush in.”

  Wilkes nodded. “Exactly.”

  The officers, renewed by the prospect of finishing this fight, quickly took positions. The main entrance doors were already damaged, but they used overturned hospital furniture and debris to shape a rough barricade—one with enough space for the goblins to force their way through but narrow enough to funnel them into an easy kill zone.

  Wilkes took a deep breath and surveyed his exhausted officers.

  “I won’t lie to you,” he said, his voice lower, steadier. “Some of you are hurt. Some of you are running on empty. But we hold this line, or we lose everything.”

  No one spoke. The officers stood tense, gripping their weapons tighter. Raven shifted his weight, scanning the doors, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Outside, the goblins still lurked, pacing, waiting.

  For a long, agonizing moment, the hospital held its breath.

  Then, Wilkes stepped out through the doors and tapped his baton against his chest. The sharp, metallic clang shattered the silence.

  The goblins snapped to attention. For a heartbeat, they held still, silent. And then, they charged.

  Wilkes waited just long enough for the wave to surge forward before turning and sprinting back inside. The goblins, shrieking and snarling, barrelled after him—right into the kill zone.

  The battle was brutal, but the defenders had the advantage this time. The tight quarters prevented the goblins from swarming them, and Raven, armed with a salvaged police baton, joined in the melee. The sound of bone breaking, bodies hitting the floor, and the shouts of the officers filled the air.

  A few officers took minor injuries, but unlike before, no one fell.

  And after a few minutes, it was over.

  The hospital was theirs.

  Uri stood at a distance, unseen as she observed the aftermath of the battle. She had followed Raven from the rooftops, keeping a watchful eye on his reckless approach and eventual infiltration of the hospital. Though she hadn't intervened, she had kept herself ready, just in case things took a turn beyond his control.

  Now, watching him interact with the officers, she felt the weight in her chest lighten—if only slightly.

  The bloodlust that had consumed him before had simmered down. He was still rough around the edges, still sharp and jagged with grief, but the interaction with these people, even in something as simple as fortifying a holdout, had dulled his immediate rage. He had been forced to think beyond himself, beyond his pain, and that small shift gave her hope.

  Perhaps she could still guide him to Asmodeus’s path.

  Perhaps, in time, he would even walk the full length of it.

  As the daylight faded, the hospital began to feel more secure. Wilkes, now more trusting of Raven, wasted no time organizing defences for the night. He set teams of officers and able-bodied civilians to work, barricading windows and reinforcing a ward on the second floor. The plan was to concentrate everyone in a single defensible location, ensuring they could hold out until morning, or longer if needed.

  Raven, despite his exhaustion, pitched in where he could.

  He helped move hospital beds to create barriers, stacking them against doorways in a crude but effective blockade. He assisted in relocating food supplies from the cafeteria, distributing whatever non-perishables they could scavenge among the survivors. The civilians, though shaken and weary, worked alongside him. Some were grateful, some merely going through the motions, but all of them clung to the structure of having something to do.

  A little order in the chaos.

  Raven interacted with them only as much as he needed to. He wasn’t here to play saviour or leader—he just needed to make sure this place stayed standing long enough to serve its purpose. Still, he learned some things as he worked. He met a doctor, an older man with tired eyes and a steady hand who had been treating the wounded nonstop. There was a woman who had somehow slept through the initial chaos and woken up to a warzone. A teenage boy, no older than sixteen, who carried a fire axe like it was his lifeline.

  Despite himself, Raven began to take note of them.

  To catalogue their faces.

  It was easier that way—if he saw them again, he’d know who had made it.

  As night fell, the exhaustion settled onto Raven’s shoulders like a lead weight. He hadn’t stopped moving since waking up in that ruined shop—fighting, running, bleeding. Now, the momentum that had carried him this far began to falter, the weight of everything finally pressing down.

  He needed rest.

  He found an empty cot along the far wall and sat down heavily, rubbing his temples. The day played out in his mind, memories flashing too fast to hold on to. Darryl. The goblins. The rage. The battle at the hospital.

  Darryl.

  The name alone made his chest ache.

  He exhaled sharply and forced himself to lie down, staring at the ceiling. He didn’t want to think. He didn’t want to remember.

  The cot creaked as he lay back, his body sinking into the thin padding. The rough fabric scratched against his skin, stiff and unfamiliar. It smelled faintly of antiseptic.

  Antiseptic.

  Just like the bandages Darryl had used to patch Raven up every damn time he got into trouble. The scent clung to his nostrils, pulling him backward through time, back to those moments when Darryl had grumbled and complained but still took care of him.

  His throat tightened. The memories came anyway. Darryl’s tired smirk. The warmth of his gruff but steady presence. The last breath he took. Raven swallowed hard, his jaw tightening. But even as he tried to hold it in, he felt a wetness slide down his cheek, soaking into the fabric beneath his head.

  He ignored it.

  Soon his exhaustion won out, and sleep took him.

  Uri lingered in the shadows, watching as Raven finally succumbed to sleep. Even in rest, his face was tense, lines of exhaustion carved deep into his expression.

  He didn’t look like a warrior right now. Just tired. Just human.

  “You're going to be ok,” she murmured, too softly for him to hear.