The cannons exploded with more force than weapons of their size ought to have been capable of. A Rot Behemoth unfortunate enough to have been in the way of its trajectory found its hulking form dismantled in a matter of milliseconds, sending great heaps of sinew flying across the battlefield. Unperturbed by the death of their comrade, however, the army marched on.
"Load the Pale Fire! I want those monstrosities dead before they reach the walls!" The commander responsible for the cannons' deployment continued to bark orders, "Those of you with empty hands - get your arses down to the battlefield and join the vanguard! Don't let a single monster enter this fortress!"
He spoke with all the frustration of leading a defensive counterattack with nothing but soused warriors at his disposal. Even the frontliners below, brandishing their axes and greatshields, were having trouble keeping themselves up on two feet. And that was to say nothing of the situation within the walls, where those of a less loyal persuasion were well on their way to disappearing as far east or west as they could possibly go.
Those alleged freedom-seekers, however, would find themselves trapped between a pair of equally gruesome fates. Just as the chorus of battle simmered into the distance, another verse of screams pierced their drunken ears. Soon, other Dwarves were passing them in the opposite direction, faces contorted into expressions of horror.
"The Order!" One of them shouted, "The Order's attacking us! Get to the gate!"
"Fuckin- they're here as well!?" An escapee replied, "Where the fuck are we meant to go!?"
Lieze's Deathguards had already begun their pincer attack in earnest, cutting off any escape routes for deserters while tightening a noose around the neck of the wall's stubborn defenders. Unlike the main gate, there was no hastily-assembled vanguard to delay their entrance, allowing Gravewalkers, Horrors, and Fleshbags to infest the border unimpeded.
Meanwhile, the main force was contending with the supposedly 'brave' warriors who emerged from the walls to combat the incoming horde. With the aid of the cannonballs, they were able to work the procession of Rot Behemoths into a standstill, cleaving their axes through the rotten skulls and bulbous bellies of shambling corpses.
"To think a few cannons could be this effective…" Lieze muttered, "I suppose we're only losing thralls by delaying the inevitable, so why don't we extinguish this troublesome hope?"
[Summon Supreme Flesh Golem] Activated
Remaining Heavenly Favours - 3
[Strengthen Undead] Activated
Remaining Heavenly Favours - 2
The effective range of her Flesh Golem summoning was less generous than Lieze would have liked. She could only tolerate the horror of communion so much, and the more distance she attempted to cross with the favour, the more her mind was assaulted with terrible visions. At the very furthest, she could place the sigil about 10 metres from her current position.
[Strengthen Undead] was a measure to ensure that she wouldn't be losing too many thralls. Unlike in the Sovereign Cities, there was no great abundance of corpses to rely upon for replenishing her manpower. Every thrall that survived the battle was another that would contribute to her conquest of the mountains.
Just as the Flesh Golem began to emerge from its void-stricken circle, Lieze's vision was engulfed in a white light, and her hearing was deafened by an explosion. She clenched her eyes shut and placed both hands over her ears, raising her head as the flash darkened to spot a gargantuan, smoking crater where three of her Rot Behemoths once stood. Silver flames lapped at the cracked soil, leaving no trace of the thralls - or Dwarves - unlucky enough to have been caught in the blast radius.
"What was that!?" Lieze could barely hear herself over the ringing in her ears.
"They're using some kind of enchanted shot!" Drayya yelled, "We need to get rid of those cannons before they punch a hole in our vanguard!"
"How do you like that, you milk-supping troglodytes!?" The Dwarven captain atop the wall raised his arms in an expression of fury and confidence, "In the name of Alberich, whose feet are free of warts and whose voice could charm a dragon, we shall push the Order back to their barren-"
A beastly roar from above cut his proclamations short. The poor captain was given barely a second to crane his neck upwards before the Manticore landed on top of him with enough force to shake the foundations of the walls. Dwarves manning the cannons drew their sidearms and crossbows with poignant bravery, but their war cries were silenced in an instant by the undead beast's claws. Ribbons of portly belly flesh and shattered chainmail fell from the walls like cursed raindrops. A single cannon teetered over the edge, flattening another bearded warrior as it landed on the battlefield with a hollow clang.
"The Captain's dead!" A Dwarf leapt onto his back to avoid the Manticore's heft, "Who's next in the chain of command!? We need reinforcements up here!"
"No! Retreat into the walls!" Another was already sprinting towards the ladder leading down from the battlements, "We'll regroup on the other side of the gate!"
As soon as he stared down the open hatch, something amorphous and elongated lashed out at him from below, striking out one of his eyes with deadly precision. He howled in pain, clutching his bleeding wound with both hands, oblivious to the Void Beast leaping through the hatch in a single bound. Not one second later, a blackened axeblade bisected him at the waist, showering the felid with blood.
The situation on the ground wasn't developing quite as hopefully as the Dwarves intended. With [Strengthen Undead] augmenting the thralls' strength beyond Lieze's already-formidable enhancements, even those equipped with enchanted weapons couldn't contend with the unending horde. As soon as one Gravewalker fell, another lurched forward to replace it, unaffected by the mortal concerns of morale or fear.
The Flesh Golem was the final nail in the coffin. As soon as the defensive force caught wind of the hulking giant, there was no longer any hope for victory. Even the most patriotic and unfettered Dwarves came to realise the horror of their situation, preferring to desert over the possibility of becoming the very same monsters who opposed them.
"The cannons are gone." Lieze watched the Manticore's rampage from afar, "I'll send the Manticore to run down any routed enemies. Drayya - I want you to take a detachment of Gravewalkers and Briarknights into the walls. Head east to support the Deathguards."
"What about the west?" Drayya asked.
"Lüngen is heading the assault in that direction. I trust that he won't be in need of any support." She answered, "Be careful. Don't put yourself in harm's way. Rely on your thralls to do all the work."
"Oh?" She flashed a grin, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were worried about me."
Lieze tilted her head, "What's wrong with that?"
Again, her lack of inhibition sent Drayya for a spin. Her expression morphed from surprised to content to embarrassed. "You're starting to get pretty confident, aren't you?" she blurted, walking off in the direction of the battlefield before Lieze could fathom a response.
Confident? Is that how she was acting? No - Lieze had always been confident. Ever since she'd been granted the power of a Scion, she could count the number of times her confidence had wavered on one hand. But she was free. Free to follow her own path. Free to act on her own desires. Free to see her own goals through to the end.
The chaos before her was a microcosm of that beautiful realisation - carnage, fear, blood; the imperfection of mortality, and the pathologic, instinctive resistance to death. She had spent so many sleepless nights working out a strategy to overcome the supposedly impenetrable Dwarven border, so caught up in her own obsession with perfection that the simple idea of approaching the walls from behind hadn't occurred to her until the last moment.
There wouldn't be any more of that wastefulness, she thought to herself. With her mind wiped of all doubts, her purpose couldn't be clearer. She would sweep her incontestable army across the continent, vanquishing any and all opposition foolish enough to stand in her way. Alberich and his impregnable kingdom represented an ankle-length hurdle on her journey towards total annihilation.
She observed the conclusion of the battle from her perch on the landscape, watching as the last remnants of resistance blocking her army from entering the walls were torn to pieces and eaten alive by her thralls. "To think all of this is the result of my own effort…" she thought to herself, "I was expecting this battle to last for hours. The Order has always been getting by on whatever scraps we could dredge up, but we've built more momentum than I could have ever imagined..."
Next would be the mountains. There would be no back-handed tactics to rely upon when forcing their way into the Dwarven homeland. Lieze would have to rely on Marché and Roland's efforts to weaken the mountains from within.
Once it was safe for her to descend from the hilltop, she slid down the incline and used the thralls lingering on the battlefield as cover to protect herself from any surprise attacks. The Flesh Golem was lumbering its way along the battlements, swatting away any foundations that betrayed even the slightest hint of movement.
Lieze had a mind to examine the ballistae. If Alberich was the Scion of enchantment, she wanted to ascertain the extent of his powers before leaping headfirst into the lion's den. Making her way to the top of an intact tower, she ran a hand over the mechanism's impeccable woodwork. A modified trough bolted to the ground held at least two dozen bolts that were nearly twice as tall as Lieze herself.
The metallic segments of the ballista glowed with an otherworldly sheen. She could only assume that its capabilities had been enhanced through the use of enchantment magic. There was no telling just how dangerous it was, and Lieze wouldn't be satisfied with anything less than a practical demonstration.
Once she'd gathered enough able-bodied (and intelligent) thralls to operate the winch, insert the gargantuan pin, and load the bolts, Lieze took a few steps back as she heard the sound of the bowstring straining under the incredible tension. When she gave the order to fire, the winch sprang with a rusty screech, and the bolt disappeared into the night, flying further and with more ferocity than Lieze was prepared to see.
"Hm…" She frowned, "With a good vantage point, these weapons could strike from several kilometres away, especially with a trained operator. Approaching the mountains with these in play will only earn us a quick defeat…"
She needed a counterplay. Something fast enough - or small enough - to consistently evade those enormous bolts. Her mind strayed towards the idea of deploying weaker thralls - Fleshbags and Nightcrawlers, but either of the two would be overwhelmed by a competent infantry. No - if she wanted to stage a successful attack against the mountains, a new kind of thrall was required.
"I wonder if Drayya has any ideas…" She muttered, "I'll ask her once we're done slaughtering any routed Dwarves."