"Forward! Forward! For-!"

The shouted orders were drowned out by a defeaning crash as the battle lines met once more, steel and scale and flesh colliding in a cacophonous manner. Mateo braced himself the last moment, ducking down behind his shield and using his aura to make himself a rock against the tide. The demon that met him head on was crushed against his shield, the weight of the multitude behind it pressing it forward until it's chest caved and it's bones broke on the unmoving steel. The rest of the beleaguered line gave way, the fresh demons overpowering the worn men briefly before both sides settled into their new positions, leaving Mateo stranded several feet deep behind enemy lines and with demons on all sides.

He swung his sword in wide arcs, cutting down as many of the horde as he could by striking at their undefended sides and backs before they realised he was there and managed to clear a scant amount of space for himself. Those in front pushed him back, pressing their dead brethren against his shield, but his retreat was soon cut off as his back met the flanks of other demons who had closed in behind him to fight the line of defenders.

Pushing his aura further, Mateo dug in his feet and managed to hold himself in place so as not to be sandwiched between. He dropped his shield an inch and swung his sword over top of it to decapitate the Orc at the head of the pack, adding more dead weight to the push but making it harder for those further back to pressure him.

Those to either side had begun to notice him however and he soon found blades being pushed towards his ribs for both directions. On his right, his arm dropped and his elbow deflected one blow to skate along his back instead of burying itself in his kidney, but on the left he was undefended and a jagged blade pierced shallowly into the plate and found the gap between his ribs. His sword crossed over his shield arm in an awkward stab that saw the short Wulver bleeding from the throat in return, but this just left him vulnerable to another dagger from the right, this one finding a sliver of opening at his armpit that cut a burning line down the underside of his arm.

Somewhere beyond the lines of houses people were shouting. This was nothing new and had been going on for hours at this point, but the yells had taken on a fresh urgency and faint words that sounded like 'Ships' might have caused a wave of dread to pass through him, had Mateo been cognizant of anything happening outside of the five foot circle that was now his entire existence.

His shield swung to the left to crunch the snout of the next aggressor, the two dead demons finally collapsing to the ground and allowing those behind to climb over them towards him. Mateo was forced to swing and thrust his sword in a constant motion, bare of any technique, to keep the enemies in front and to his right at bay as the edge of his shield was wielded to fend off the creeping blades that seemed to appear at all angles. A sword struck the plate of his sword arm hard, not cutting through but shaking the bones painfully. A spear jabbed at his front, digging into his hip before being swiftly snapped in half before it could run him all the way through. A weight dragged his shield arm down as a Lizardman tried to climb over the damn thing and managed to score a cut across his cheek before being shaken loose.

More hands grabbed at his limbs, looking to pin his sword down, or pull his shield away or even strip the armour from his body as he still fought. He was being mobbed by sheer numbers and even if he had the strength to throw them away, each grab was a fraction of a second where he was unable to react and the demons too full advantage to make shallow cuts and stabs wherever they could. Or worse. A flash of movement to his left saw him leaning his head back instinctively, turning a near fatal thrust through the side of his neck into a scratch along his throat.

Sooner or later their weapons would find something vital, or he would be bled dry drop by drop. The only thing that seemed to be saving him now was that they were all pressed too close together, shoulder to shoulder, chest to chest, in a way that prevented proper form and aim.

He barely even noticed the pillar of golden light that flashed across the sky, nor could he spare the attention to feel a sense of hope at the patriarch's apparent arrival.