Without warning a tentacle, thick as a thousand year old tree and a hundred paces long or more lashed out of the dust and scythed through the ranks of the Baasgarta. Many were flung through the air but some stuck to it, screaming as it withdrew into the cloud.
Soldiers began to fire. Bullets and crossbow bolts vanished into the cloud. Another tentacle speared out of the dust. Its tip split into dozens of smaller tentacles that pierced a score of soldiers then lifted them up and away. In some small part of his mind Engvyr felt pride for his brethren as their firing gradually went from individual shots to merge into volleys.
WHAM
WHAM
WHAM
Every two seconds like clockwork, the sound imposed order on the chaos of the battlefield. Even the Baasgarta began firing their crossbows in time to that metronome of destruction. Wave after wave of bullets and crossbow bolts vanished into the cloud.
As the dust began to settle a nightmare form was revealed. Though he hadn’t seen it in decades, it was familiar to him. He had last seen a ghost of this shape made from swirling wind and sand. The reality of the being, in the flesh, was a thousand times more horrible.
It was all colors and no color, seeming to glow faintly from within, but shed no illumination in the pre-dawn gloom. It was a hundred feet tall or even more, and it trampled the remains of the Baasgarta city beneath mismatched feet of all shapes and sizes.
A tentacle formed and again swept through the ranks of soldiers, scattering scores and scooping up dozens more. As the tentacle retreated the body split into a great maw lined with teeth to receive it. The tentacle, covered in writhing, screaming men was inserted into the mouth and bitten off, the stump withdrawing into the body as it slammed shut with an audible crash. Other tentacles formed and swept or speared into the ranks, lifting more soldiers to the maws that formed to receive them.
Each volley sent a rain of lead, bolts and quarrels rippling across the creature’s surface to no discernible effect. As Engvyr watched a ball formed from the surface of the massive body, then compressed into a tube and burst, sending a spray of spears far and wide over the formation. One of these weapons transfixed a nearby soldier. As he fell the end of the spear protruding from his chest collapsed into a plate. The portion standing out of his back writhed like a snake and spouted hundreds of legs and began to drag him back towards the creature. There was a ripple of movement across the battlefield as the same happened to other soldiers, some still screaming. With a cry of disgust Engvyr sprang forward, slashing through the 'spear' with his bayonet. It squirmed on the ground for a second before dissolving into foul-smelling smoke that made the dwarf choke and cough.
He heard shouted commands passing through the ranks before him. Someone down there was thinking; as the next sphere formed, thousands of guns focused on it and it burst almost instantly, some form of liquid rolling down the things flank. The soldiers cheered as the creature shuddered. The flesh around the wound did not immediately heal.
Another tentacle slashed through their ranks, reaching deeper and deeper into their formation as it advanced. Well, thought Engvyr, that's about it for the Baasgarta. Now the tentacles slashed into the ranks of the dwarves.
A bolt from one of the siege engines smashed into the creature. That got its attention. Small tentacles formed and probed at the wound. Another fired and this bolt too vanished into the creature’s bulk. A psychic scream hammered them to their knees once again, but the effect was less this time and they recovered quickly. Another tentacle lashed out towards the siege engines and the tip broke off, separating into dozens of balls that landed among the massive weapons. Screams rose from that direction and the firing stopped.
The creature now bled from three wounds but it did not even slow its advance.
“We can't stop it,” he heard someone shout.
Engvyr noted that Grimnael was not looking at the battle spread out before the command post, but back towards the valley that his forces had emerged from the night before. He was muttering something that sounded like, 'Any time now…'
Just as Engvyr turned back to the carnage, flashes lit up the valley from opposite the city. Great rents appeared in the eldritch horror's flesh at the same time a massive 'BOOM' rolled across the battlefield. As the creature actually staggered back, another psychic scream washed over them, but either they were growing accustomed to them or it was weaker.
Engvyr looked back towards the flashes and saw the area was obscured by white smoke. He peered at the cloud trying to pierce that veil to see what had happened but he couldn't make out what lay behind it. It was just beginning to disperse when a dozen huge blasts of red-orange flame burst forth spreading still more smoke. This time he actually heard the projectiles whirring overhead and he turned to see them smash into the leviathan.
The scream that blasted through their minds this time was less of pain than despair as the Dead God toppled backwards, crashing into the ruined city. Fluid gushed from the massive wounds that peppered its body, and it seemed to collapse into itself as the ground shook under the impact of the titanic being.
Cannon! Engvyr thought as a cheer rose from the surviving soldiers. He looked at Grimnael in disbelief. That lunatic brought Cannon!
The mighty guns spoke a third time and as the projectiles slammed into the Dead God the cacophony of alien perceptions faded from the background of Engvyr's thoughts, then winked out like a snuffed candle. The pain in his head slowly began to diminish as he looked out over the carnage of the battlefield before him.
We've won, he realized, It's not over, but we've won.
As the dawn broke they stood and stared out over the devastation before them. The command post was naturally situated on a rise to give the officers a good view. There was still much to do in the aftermath but for now, just for this moment they could only contemplate the havoc wrought in the night.
The great city of the Baasgarta was in ruins; what the siege engines and fires had not destroyed was smashed by the advance and fall of the Dead God. The mountain had collapsed into the underground city, and Engvyr doubted that any that close to the resurrection had survived anyway. Tens of thousands of Baasgarta and Braell wiped from the face of the earth in mere hours, he thought, we’d have shown them scant mercy but some would have survived…
As for the field of battle itself the Baasgarta forces were simply gone. Less than half of their own force appeared to have survived. He watched as regimental banners were raised by the survivors. There were none for the 2nd and 4th Heavy Infantry regiments that had led the assault. There might be scattered survivors but the regiments had effectively ceased to exist. Other banners were missing as well, from the Eastern force, but he was too tired to recollect which units they represented. In any event he guessed that they had taken fifteen to twenty thousand casualties, more than the dwarven kingdom had ever lost in a war, let alone a single battle. Add to that seventy to eighty thousand Baasgarta dead in the city and on the field… The numbers were just too big for him to wrap his mind around. He felt anguish, sorrow, jubilation all at once, but mostly he felt tired, exhausted of body and soul. He dragged himself away from his reverie and turned to the commanders. There was much yet to do.