The first scream didn't come from a person.
It came from the wind.
A low, thrumming roar swept through the forest, rattling the trees like drums of war. Birds burst into the sky, then vanished. The earth trembled.
Then came the eyes.
Dozens. Hundreds.
Glinting amber, red, and gold in the shadows beyond the wall.
Ethan was the first to sound the horn.
One short blast, warning.
One long, ready.
They weren't creepy. They ran.
Fangs bared, limbs gnarled, eyes maddening by something older than hunger, masses of twisted beasts poured from the treeline. Winged shadows that sliced through the air like knives, wolves twice the size of horses, and crawling creatures with an excessive number of legs.
The wall trembled.
However, it held.
They braced Spears. Arrows were launched.
Instead of screaming in terror, the frontline screamed in rage.
The town stood resolute against the darkness for a heartbeat as the battlements were illuminated by flames from oil-pitched torches.
They tried to rip through the southern gate first, slamming into it in packs and tearing at the wood.
Ethan fought alongside the villagers. His dull sword, which had been forged from an old plow and beaten into shape, sang in his hands.
Black, steaming beast blood smashed against the stones.
Garren's men poured flasks of fire onto the trench near the north wall, creating a wall of flame that scorched the first flankers.
However, they continued to coming.
They have since changed.
The second wave was more intelligent. They made an attempt to ascend. They discovered holes. In order to check for weaknesses, some beasts turned around and made a wide circle.
This tide wasn't mindless.
It was a hunt.
A crash, a splintering cry, reverberated from the western bend.
A hurriedly constructed timber brace collapsed.
Two beasts could fit through the opening in the wall. They arrived quickly: blind-eyed, bone-plate-hidden, serpentine hounds.
Ethan turned. "TO THE WESTERN WALL!"
From the top of the tower, two men was already there, throwing a flaming javelin. One creature was stunned back when it was hit in the eye.
Villagers poured into the opening. They used fists, tools, and kitchen knives in their fights. They screamed as they battled. They didn't break.
The battle raged for hours.
Screams, roars, steel on bone, blood on stone.
The wall burned. The gate cracked.
But the town didn't fall.
By the time the sun rose, the field outside the wall was littered with bodies, beasts and men both.
But the wall still stood.
And the town, bruised, bloodied, burning, was still breathing.
The beast tide had begun.
But it hadn't ended.
And something worse had yet to arrive.