Alonso was shoved onto his mare before he could form a protest. As one of the monsters rushed forward at Serona, the Captain slapped the horse and sent it bolting. The King rocked in his saddle but held on, twisting to peer over his shoulder at the men he was leaving behind. God, what [i]were[/i] those things? What was all of this?!

Yesterday he was wearing motley and singing rhymes.

Kolbe’s demonic red face flashed in his thoughts, and Alonso squeezed his eyes shut. Two knights dead, and two more about to be. Beneath their armor, and even beneath the scars, they were still men who needed to believe in their cause. It was their duty to preserve their King. Even if he felt like a coward, even if it sickened him to his very core, he [i]had[/i] to run. 

The caravan was still up ahead. Wiping at his eyes with the broad side of his arm, the King momentarily considered running to see to his friends, but a wicked silhouette appeared just over the ridge. A monster, a beast, just like the ones attacking him. Alonso pulled the mare in a wide semicircle, changing course so he could circle widely around the Knights at a distance, riding at a full gallop.

Serona had barely had the chance to draw his sword before he was knocked off his feet by the dull side of the creature’s scythe arm. As he slid across the ground on his back, his weapon knocked out of reach, he was able to contemplate the sensation of his ribs snapping as if they had been mere twigs. He stared at the dusty sky above him as he fought to breathe, his entire body feeling stiff and wooden.

The beast was above him then, cutting into his vision as its spear-like feet struck the ground on either side of him. It was all Amon could do to stare up into its unfeeling, luminescent eyes, and know that he was staring at a messenger of death.

He’d failed his men. He failed his king. To die here would be merciful deliverance from his shame.

The creature leaned down over him, pinning him in place with both of its thick, bladed arms. Its viscous, yellow saliva fell in strings from the chaos of moving parts that composed its mouth, falling upon his neck and cheek. It was cold, surprisingly, but reeked of rotten meat. It was a poorly timed moment for his lungs to finally fill again.

Some of its mouth parts receded, revealing two finger-like appendages that ended in tufts of coarse bristles. They extended and felt over the contours of his face. The spider beast was almost tender. Amon twisted his head away and gritted his teeth.

Then the beast straightened, standing tall once more, and then turned to walk away.

Freed, Serona painstakingly lifted himself up so he could cough and gag into the sand below him. The pain from his ribs winded him again, and he fell face first into the sand, closing his arms around his midsection.

Apparently more concerned with Koble and defending  its leader, the creature scuttled off in the direction of the other Knight. It brushed passed a still panicked Mr. Hooves with a furious shove, but the animal retaliated with a swift kick of its hind legs. The creature hissed and lurched sideways, its carapace split open in two new places.

Before it could recover, its scythe arm was seized and pulled back further, enough for Serona to slide his sword to its hilt into the creature’s hulking thorax. Its legs failed and slid from underneath it, bringing the entire beast onto its side. Serona fell as well, pulling his sword free again and plunging it into the creature’s underbelly. Its four smaller arms grabbed at him, snagging his clothing and reaching for his limbs, but they were too weak to cause any damage.

He kept his weight on one scythe arm, which swiveled uselessly in the sand. The other swung around in a desperate attack, but Amon managed to grasp the limb with both hands. While the creature’s limbs felt air, refusing to die while a blade was thrust halfway into its undercarriage, it was caught in a stalemate with Amon, halfway onto his back, doing all he could to prevent the bladed limb from severing his head.

In time, the human’s strength would wane.

From his distant watch, Alonso witnessed the shape of Linus Kolbe emerge from the sand. His relieved laugh was coughed in astonishment.

“He’s alive!” the King cried.

The man’s shape was also noticed by Serona, who widened his eyes. Kolbe had been [i]victorious[/i]?

“You’re alive,” he croaked. “Brother…” Amon choked and faltered, his grip on the beast’s limb slipping. “Help—me.”

In contrast to its previous wielder, the scepter was warm to the touch in Kolbe's hand. Large citrine gems, set into the black chitinous material, in no small way resembled the creatures' hollow eyes. Most peculiar, when held the scepter almost seemed to feel intrinsically precious. Like gold, perhaps, but closer to the suggestion of an innocent living thing, completely subject to the mercy of whomever was holding it.