Yggdrasil Highway Saga
Chapter 35: Escape Of The Trolls
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In and out and among the flaming tents, streaked low flying griffin. The griffin each had two small, thin, and extremely sharp ceramic swords. They wrought havoc among the stumbling, smoke blinded surviving Demons. The low flying meat slicers left a silent trail of tears behind them.
The Troll JailBreak was thus provided with excellent diversions.
Any resistance the escaping Trolls met was eliminated by a arrow swarms from their flying dragon backups or, if too close, it was just plowed under. All of the Trolls escaped or died during the jailbreak. Alive or dead no one was left behind.
When the Trolls had left the only species that remained in the camp were Demons , very unhappy one. Demons would now have to do all future dirty work themselves.
The liberated Trolls followed Berg and Berg followed the lead Griffin. They made a forced march as fast as they could go back to the SkyFort. Not all of the Trolls could stand the pace...especially the wounded. Those that could not keep up were carried. NO ONE was Benghazied.
Dragons dropped supplies and caches of ready to eat food along the way. It was eat on the run. No stopping. Behind them other griffin and dragons left little surprises along their back trail. The Demons were strongly discouraged from following.
Mennor was snuggled up to his old bear who was quietly stalking the sentry. The bear had developed a taste for Demon liver these last few years. That was convenient since Mennor was quite taken by the taste of Demon heart. The two of them were quieter than one would imagine it was possible to be for two tons of meat and gristle.
Suddenly the sky lit up with streaks of fire. The Demons camp was being bombarded. The two Dwarves, Mennor and Cleander took immediate advantage of the distraction. Instead of completing the stalk they charged.
All around the camp other raiders made independent decisions. All of the decisions were the same. ATTACK while the Demons were distracted. All around the Demons camp the distracted sentries were attacked and slaughtered by the Kindred.
Even so the attacking Kindred were not officially noticed. All official attention was toward the Troll jail break. The Kindred had a field day. They run totally amuck in the enemy's rear quadrant. They killed and destroyed to their hearts content. The enemy was chasing the escaping Trolls and the Old Kindred were systematically destroying those who stayed behind.
It was Glorious. It was like slaughtering lambs in a pen...shooting fish in a barrel. The Old Kindred killed, and killed, and killed some more. They exhausted, broke and wore out their weapons and stole more armament from the enemy. They Pillaged, they Burned. The Demon Camp BURNED! They did their dead level best to destroy it.
They could not, it was too large, too big, too immense. Though it was a fraction of what it had been before, so too, were they. They just didn’t have the wherewithal to completely ruin the enemy camp.
But they tried.
They tried really hard. They succeeded more than they knew. In their orgy of destruction they destroyed the Demon replicators. All of them. The enemy was from that moment bereft of a source of food, new manufacture or repair.
All of the Demons that were knowledgeable about their mobile infrastructure, died.
As did their reproduction facility. The clone tanks were destroyed. There would be NO more new Demons produced.
The Old Kindred had won. They’d destroyed the enemy to all intents and purposes. The remaining Demons was it. They were ALL that would ever be until resupplied from off continent. That seemed to have been a problem.
The hordes of Demons pursuing the escaping Trolls didn’t realize that they were already dead but still walking.
The Old Kindred didn’t realize that either. They kept killing, and killing and killing until finally, weary unto the bone. Barely able to stay in the saddle they withdrew. Taking all the weapons they could carry and destroying every thing else that they could they withdrew.
The Demons that had chased the escaping Trolls returned to find devastation. They learned to their horror the extent of the damage inflicted by them by the Kindred while they were chasing the escaping Trolls.
The leadership went a little bit (more) insane that day. There were actually a good number of suicides. They were doomed.
(Weeks later..)
Fjalar rolled over and nudged Galar awake. They’d been trying to get a little sleep. They and the rest of the harassing force were in very loose crescent formation behind the Demons . They’d been chasing the Demons for, quite literally, over a decade. During that time they’d come thousands of miles across the mesa. It couldn’t be much further to the other side now.
The Pursuing Elves and Dwarves had given up all hope of surviving and returning home to the Ark. They lived to kill. All they wanted was to kill one more Demon . Each day that was their goal. Kill one more of the enemy, and then another, and then another.
It was quite simple in their minds. If they managed to kill all the Demons then the Ark might survive, even without them. If the Demons survived then they would all die.
End of story.
The vengeful, hopelessly outnumbered , surviving Kindred had pursued and harassed the Demons across a continent larger than the Pangea of earth’s geological past. They were all perpetually exhausted, worn out and tired. Gone were the high tech warriors of the past. They were raider’s. Pure and simple.
A few hundred dwarves and elves riding bears and big cats. They were the last of the Great Armada. They were the remaining assault force. The Titanic Elders, the Great Mantas, were all gone. The Dragons and the Griffin had all perished behind them. Most died during Armageddon but a few during the chase.
Now it was but the few, the merry few, to continue the sacred quest. To eliminate the foe.
Then last night had happened.
It was almost worth it. Little did they know how much it WAS worth it.
Monnor wanted a Beer. As he relaxed and attempted to get comfortable his mind wandered back to that day so long ago, where it had all started. The tale he’d been told by the survivors of that fatal flight.
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