General Draven's eyes narrowed as he saw the giant stagger from the first bolt that pierced its thigh. The immense creature let out a guttural roar, its massive form swaying under the sudden pain. Draven knew this was the moment they had been waiting for. His heart raced with a mix of excitement and determination as he raised his sword, signaling his men to tighten their formation. The giant, although still dangerous, was now a stationary target, its movements restricted by the injury.
The battle situation began to shift in favor of the defenders. With the giant no longer able to rampage freely, the soldiers found it easier to coordinate their attacks. The giant, while still formidable, stood rooted in one spot, swinging its massive arms and crushing anything within reach. The elite troops, now able to anticipate its movements, pressed their advantage, moving in and out of its range with calculated precision. Spears and arrows found their marks more often, and the giant's roars grew more frantic as the defenders' attacks intensified.
Kellan's second shot struck true, piercing the giant's shoulder. The beast bellowed in agony, dropping its massive club as the bolt embedded itself deep into its flesh. Seizing the opportunity, General Draven charged forward with a group of his best soldiers. The general's sword gleamed in the dim light as he closed the distance, his eyes fixed on the giant's vulnerable tendons. With a powerful swing, he cut through the tendons of the giant's other leg, causing the massive creature to buckle and fall to its knees.
"Now!" Draven shouted, and the soldiers moved in with nets and chains. They threw the heavy restraints over the giant, struggling to secure them around its massive limbs. The giant thrashed and roared, but the combined strength of the soldiers and the weight of the chains eventually subdued it. Bound and unable to move, the giant was finally incapacitated.
...
Meanwhile, a scout ran to Lord Arlyn, breathless and covered in grime. "My lord," he panted, "the giant is down! General Draven has it incapacitated with nets and chains."
"Someone fired the dragon slayer and pierced its thigh and shoulder."
A wave of relief washed over Lord Arlyn's face. His stern expression softened, and a rare smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Great work." The lord's joy was palpable as he turned back to the battlefield. "Let the giant be for now," he commanded his officers. "Focus on driving the enemy troops out of the fort. We've lost too many men to sustain a fight outside these walls for long."
"Also, bring him to me, the one who shot the giant," he ordered.
...
At the gates, the battle raged on, now a narrow, crowded brawl. Without the giant to tip the scales, both sides were evenly matched. The defenders fought with renewed vigor, spurred by the success against the giant. Swords clashed, shields splintered, and the air was thick with the sounds of combat. Blood flowed freely, staining the ground as bodies fell on both sides. The defenders, fueled by their determination to protect their home, fought with a ferocity that matched the Galdorians' desperation to take the fort.
General Draven stood amidst the chaos, his sword a blur as he cut down enemies left and right. His presence was a beacon of strength, rallying the men around him. On the battlements, archers continued to rain arrows upon the enemy, their sharp eyes picking out targets with deadly accuracy. Strategist Maxwell directed the flow of battle from a vantage point, his mind calculating every move with precision. Sergeant Brant led a group of swordsmen in a fierce charge, his bellowing voice cutting through the din of battle as he inspired his men to fight harder.
The battle at the gates became a brutal push-and-pull, a relentless struggle for control. The defenders would gain ground, pushing the Galdorians back with sheer force and determination, only to be driven back by the enemy's fierce counterattacks. The narrow space turned into a meat grinder, where every inch gained was paid for in blood. Swords clashed and shields shattered as the two forces met in a deadly dance, neither willing to give up their hold.
Draven watched as his men fought valiantly, their faces grim with determination. The Galdorians, equally fierce, pushed back with desperation. The air was thick with the sounds of battle, shouts of command, cries of pain, and the clang of steel against steel. It was a stalemate, each side struggling to gain the upper hand but finding themselves evenly matched.
The defenders, sensing the importance of this moment, redoubled their efforts. Archers fired volleys with precision, thinning the enemy ranks. Spearmen formed tight lines, bracing against the Galdorians' charges. The tide seemed to turn momentarily in favor of the defenders, only for the Galdorians to rally and push back with renewed ferocity.
As the sun began to set, casting long shadows over the battlefield, it became clear that the tide had turned. The Galdorian forces, battered and demoralized, began to falter. The defenders, sensing the change, pressed their advantage with relentless determination.
Lord Arlyn stood tall on the parapet, his eyes surveying the battlefield with a mixture of pride and sorrow. The cost had been high, but Fort Arkhaven still has not fallen. And as long as it stood, there is hope.