The ashes of the dead fell from the sky as grey snow. A macabre display of the lives spent in defense of this stack of stone and wood.

Alaster watched them fall slowly through the sky from atop the tower, a tower that he overheard the soldiers now calling the 'Bone Spire'. He personally thought it strange, but he did not care.

It was not as if Alaster had done anything to the tower to change its appearance. The Soldiers had begun calling it that because Alaster was almost always there and he left behind piles of bone behind.

So long as the Soldiers stayed out of his way, and continued to obey his orders, he did not care.

Alaster held out his hand, catching some of the ash in his gauntleted hand. He pinched a flake between his fingers smearing soot across his fingers.

It had been falling since yesterday evening, when the fire was started. Combined with the ash of the numerous fires within Onigas, the ash fell.

The engineers around him kept a respectful distance from him as they manned their machines. The truce had ended when the sun rose many hours ago, yet the Demons had not attacked. Not yet.

It made everyone tense.

The Builders worked as quickly as they could to do whatever repairs they could. The Medics scanned through the soldiers to ensure they were all capable of fighting while the stretcher bearers examined them and hauled off any injured that had been missed.

Archers stood at the battlements, fingering the taut strings of their bows, nervously hoping they wouldn't need to test the strength of the wood.

Infantry sat or even laid across the battlements and stairs, holding to keep themselves as rested as they could. Some held their swords across their laps, sharpening it. Others held their shields, hugging it, knowing that above all else, that slab of wood with a thin metal sheet over it was their best chance of surviving the next battle, whenever it happened.

The Mages studied their spells, checking their belts for the Mana Potions strapped there. Potions that would allow them to sustain their spells throughout the several hours long battles.

Lord Siphas was in the main Hospital deep underground, helping the Medics and Doctors, making sure the supplies they needed were in stock and where they needed to be. His management kept the Hospital running despite the constant movement, screams, death, and influx of new patients.

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The City Lord continued to received reports from the city as a whole. The walls, the numerous hospitals, the fire crews, the Mages, the blacksmiths, the food houses, the evacuation, and the reinforcements from Galmore. All of it had to be managed and studied.

Dark clouds hung in the sky, threatening to drench the world below, yet no scent of rain blew in the wind.

Alaster watched all of this through the eyes of his Shadows, just as he watched the Demons begin to mobilize, marching out from their camp and past the crews loading their trebuchets.

They formed their lines, as they prepared themselves to charge forward.

Shouts of alarm were echoed down the wall, bringing everyone to attention.

The Archers lined themselves up across the wall, nocking arrows to their strings.

The Infantry formed up in tight ranks behind the Archers ready to step forward at a moment's notice.

The Mages prepared their spells and counterspells atop the towers, prepared to destroy any large groups or to defend the towers from any spells.

The builders rushed their tools and materials down the wall and out of the way as Medics prepared their satchels of bandages and ointments.

Engineers armed their machines, zeroing the weapons on the enemy. Their machines would rain hell upon the enemy.

Several minutes passed before the Argalon General ordered his first wave forward.

As they marched forward, Alaster raised his hand to the dark sky above, not summoning any Necrotic spheres of death, as all Soldiers, Human or Demon had grown accustomed to him summoning, but instead summoning Monsters of Bone, Metal, and Blood.

Down in the mud and blood beneath the walls that towered overhead, rank upon rank of Dread Knights clawed their way out of the ground, their serrated greatswords and bladed armor glowing with increasing intensity as they absorbed the lake of blood they found themselves surrounded by.

Alaster had long since suspected that the first Minion he ever handcrafted, a "Simple" design, was anything but.

He had first suspected this when he had to fight it to earn its loyalty and respect. This suspicion had only grown when he saw it summon itself to defend his sister. But now he knew for a fact. It was not just his subconscious that had summoned the Knight at that party.

Belgroth had suggested creating the Dread Knight for its simplicity. After all, how complicated could a rage-filled murder machine be? However, Alaster suspected that this simplicisty, and perhaps his own inexperience with Weaving, had allowed the Dread Knight to evolve on its own.

A suspicion that proved accurate.

The Dread Knights moved as one, lowering themselves as if to pounce. Their arms were nearly brushing against the mud as they tensed their clawed fingers and angled their swords forward.

They glared at the enemy before them, basking in the blood that they would soon spill.

The Human Soldiers stared over the battlements at the Dread Knights. They could feel the bloodlust radiating off the Knights from atop the wall. A feeling of imminent doom. A feeling of hopelessness. A feeling of terror.

A feeling that only amplified by magnitudes as one by one the helmets of the Dread Knights cracked open, revealing their pointed teeth and pale skin of their mouths. The pieces of the helmet that had once covered their mouths seemed like they had been sewn onto the tight skin of their cheeks.

The scent of fear reached Alaster atop the wall, but it was not coming from the Humans.

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