Brenna fought with the wall to her back, doing her utmost to not get caught up in the madness that had driven the defenders from the ramparts and out onto open ground. It's much too late for that, she thought, fending off sword blows and cudgels, her own blade whipping out to cut and graze when possible. It was difficult to keep everything together. The soldiers to left and right pushed and pulled, swung and stabbed and died. Sometimes they tripped, sometimes they shied away. Fear, self-preservation, rage; it all became entangled, the bugs succumbing to it just as much as those they called their enemy. Brenna had been wrong about them, she decided, nimbly avoiding an odd-shaped axe. They wanted to survive as much as she did; they wanted her head as much as she wanted theirs. She didn't know their origins, where they came from, how they thought and felt, but she couldn't deny the fact that they were eerily familiar in some sick, twisted way. That scared her more than the threat of a bloody death.

She slapped aside a bug as it leapt at her, the buckler crunching as the disk met flesh and bone. She kicked another off of a fallen mercenary, helping the stout young man to his feet as her allies leapt to her own defense. She was tired, breathing heavily as her lungs burned. Her limbs felt heavy, yet she persevered. She parried an attack, turned the blade away, then retaliated. Another bug down. She hooked one insectoid's leg out from underneath it, slamming her shoulder into it's chest to hurry it along. A spearmen killed it, and she carried on. 

The sound of a divan hitting a giant bee told her that the madness was reaching it's grand finale. Stools, seats, sofas, and great big cushions rained from the sky to splatter bugs; a spell gone horribly wrong or a deities wicked intervention, she couldn't possibly contemplate the why, only that it was happening. Blessed ancestors! She cursed, watching as a three piece suite hurtled from the clouds to pulp a group of ant-men. When the dust had settled, Brenna saw that it was still intact. "What magic is this?" She asked aloud, a ball of mage-fire setting the seat alight. "Does this mean the bugs get to die in comfort?" Someone shouted to a staccato of laughter, a bar stool slamming into the ground precariously close to where the man stood. It bounced off a corpse, rolled a few meters, then stilled as an insectoid tripped on it.  

She was on it before the thing could rise, a boot to the face leaving it astral planing. She turned on the man, her hair whipping wildly about her, a bloodied bastard sword coming to rest on her stained tunic. "No. It means we'll have somewhere to relax once the fighting's done. So hop to it!" She shouted, legs propelling her back into the fray. 

The seemingly endless swarm was finally thinning out, more corpses on the field than moving bodies. A little levity broke up the tension that had been building these past hours; hours that felt like a lifetime. Downing another mana potion, she send another sweep of tornadoes to clear out the perimeter. Sweep, dump, repeat. Calling her constructs and staff one last time, she ordered an all-out attack. There would be no survivors. Those who had been told to stay back now surged to the front, rushing like a sudden tide. No efforts were spared in cutting down every last one of the insects. The Centipedes and whip-scorpions formed a near-impassable line against the jungle, pressing inward. The invaders were trapped in the middle, their only option being death. They would either win or die trying–that very phrase rang true for both sides in the fight. And one of them was going to die today.

The next moments were a massacre, then an eerie quiet fell over the battlefield as the clang of weapons stopped. A moment of silence to take in the bloodshed that had happened here. The beautiful sands of Apoy were stained with blood from man and insect. Shiloh leaned on the ramparts propping herself up with her arms. "It's finally over." Thank the gods. It was an odd thought coming from a deity, but that was how she felt. Now, it was time to clean everything up. Healers were dispatched to find any fallen allies and began raising the dead. Those alive but injured were sent for healing, while Erasmus and Archytas took a record of those being brought in. Apoy had been secured, and soon an incursion would be sent into the jungle to weed out any invader strongholds still standing. Fighters who had taken part in the war effort could return home.

Those who wished to stay were allowed, while the constructs designed to destroy the enemy forces were put to work. Centipedes reduced the bodies to a pulp, dumping their processed remains into large pits dug as mass graves. A grisly way of optimizing burial space, but necessary. Thelyphonida constructs scavenged items of interest from the insect corpses too damaged for study, corpses relatively intact that had not been seen before were analyzed by mages and alchemists. Bakulaw spider machines poured the remaining acid and incendiary liquid from their tanks on the grave pits when they were full, and the pits were set ablaze. A great mass of funerary pyres were made to give the enemy's fallen their last rites. There were some who thought it was unnecessary, but Shiloh insisted on it. These were precautions to prevent the possible return of legions of vengeful dead. The souls went to Dalanesca, as they should. In an ironic twist of fate, they would be meeting the very goddess they killed at the beginning.

The beaches were cleared, then mages pulled in the tides to wash the sands clean. Kinigoh Village was being repaired, and soon the natives who had been evacuated could return home at last. The next weeks would be busy with returning life on the island back to how it once was. Even if the war was over, there was still the looming possibility of the volcano's eruption, something she had managed to push back when she was loaned the domain of Time. When that happened, Kinigoh Village would need assistance again, only this time nature would run its course. 

"Everything is accounted for. There have been no losses, and our campaign has been a success. Once the Clephsydra has been outfitted to handle the unusual conditions to the west, we will fly towards the origin of the invasion. Good work, everyone. We've done it–Apoy Island has been reclaimed." Shiloh spoke through a transmitting device, her words sent to her employees, staff, and associates. The fortifications were being disassembled and used for Kinigoh's restoration, the siege machines already sent back to Antikythera. Once everything was finished, she would go back and finally sleep.

Brenna didn't expect to carve right through the horde, nor did she expect to make it through the entire battle without being skewered by some bug or t'other. Yet here I am, she thought, plopping herself down in camp as the cleanup drew to an end. Great plumes of smoke marked the numerous graves dug by both man and machine. The air reeked of blood and viscera and shit- Smells that accompanied battles, and small-scale skirmishes. She tried to block it out; she was safe and sound in her own mind. The horrors she had witnessed couldn't be unseen, so she thought happy thoughts. Drinks with friends, a quiet stroll through flower-pocked meadows, the gentle lapping of waves on a beach of warm sand. The colorful chirping of birds, a heated debate with a clansman on 'who's sword is bigger'. Good things…normal things. 

The battle had ended hours ago, and now the sun was setting, disappearing over the horizon. Light reflected from the waves, and the sky went from orange to purple to a deep grey. Goodbye, old friend. She smiled wanly, tired despite the healers' best efforts to revive and revitalize the defenders. Those who had died were brought back; physically they were fine, but mentally? Brenna couldn't say if there was magic powerful enough to remedy such hurt. Cuts mended, scars vanished, limbs regrew. But how do you heal ones soul? "So, what happens now?" A militiaman asked, his knees tucked into his chest, arms encircling, holding them tight. "Now, we go home."  Another answered, staring blankly as a campfire was lit; the flames shone dully in his glazed eyes, eyes cold as the coming night. 

What do I do now? The mercenary asked herself, lying back, fingers interlinked beneath her head. I could leave Apoy, catch a ship to Endapano or Mamlak, look for work there. Or perhaps go back to the Highlands, see my family; they must be worried by now, I haven't written in-…Gods know how long! She followed a gull as it swooped overhead, drawn here by the carnage. There had been few looters and scavengers, she got to thinking. The centipedes and Bakulaw Spiders had kept them away from the blood-smeared grounds; the archers on the earthen wall helped to dissuade them to, until it had been taken down. Reconstruction of the nearby villages was already underway, and people were packing up and leaving. The camp teemed with life, but Brenna was content to just rest. 

A sudden idea popped into her head. Maybe I can still help out here? The Lady Shiloh will need help with hunting down any remaining bugs, and since when have deities turned away able swordsmen? "Maybe I should go talk to her sometime…wonder if she'll even have the time for a simple warrior like me."