Chapter 7: The Siege of the Forgotten Fort

The storm raged on as the Imperius disappeared into the clouds, leaving Marcus and his men huddled behind the cracked stone walls of an ancient Roman fort deep in the wilderness. The structure, half-buried by creeping vegetation and forgotten by time, stood as a last defense between the Iron Wolves and the heart of the empire. With no reinforcements in sight, they had no choice but to make this ruin their battleground.

"Hold that barricade!" Marcus shouted, his voice cutting through the howling wind. "Don’t let them through!"

The soldiers hauled timber and broken furniture into the gateway, working fast to reinforce the ancient iron gate. Rain battered their armor, mixing with mud and blood, but they moved with grim determination. Their hands were steady, but their eyes betrayed the creeping fear—they knew they were outnumbered and trapped, and the enemy would soon be upon them.

Seneca crouched beneath an archway, fiddling with a cracked communication console. His fingers moved quickly, adjusting dials and rewiring circuits in a desperate attempt to contact the Imperius. "I just need five more minutes," he muttered to himself, frustration tightening his voice.

"We don’t have five minutes," Marcus replied, his gaze locked on the treeline beyond the fort’s crumbled walls. The Iron Wolves were coming, and they wouldn’t stop until every man inside was dead.

Gaius Varro paced along the wall’s edge, his sword drawn and ready. He scanned the forest with narrowed eyes, listening for the telltale hum of eterium-powered armor. "They’re too quiet," he muttered. "No war cries, no drums. I don’t like it."

Marcus stood beside him, his jaw set. "They’re waiting for us to drop our guard."

The silence pressed down like a weight, amplifying every creak of wood and drip of rainwater. Marcus could feel the tension among the men—like a taut rope ready to snap. He needed to say something, anything, to keep their spirits from breaking.

"This isn’t just a fight for survival," Marcus said, raising his voice so every soldier could hear. "This is a fight for the empire. Every moment we hold this fort, we give Rome more time to prepare. We stand here not as men, but as a wall—unbroken and unyielding."

The men nodded, their faces hardening with resolve. Gaius gave Marcus a sly grin, though it was tinged with exhaustion. "You always did have a way with speeches, captain."

Marcus allowed himself a small smile. "Let’s hope it’s enough."

The eerie silence shattered as the Iron Wolves charged from the forest, their armor gleaming under flashes of lightning. They moved with terrifying speed, their jagged weapons crackling with blue energy as they stormed the fort’s gate.

"Archers!" Marcus shouted. "Loose!"

Arrows rained down from the walls, striking the Iron Wolves with deadly precision. Several fell, but many more surged forward, seemingly unfazed by the wounds. Their eyes burned with an unnatural glow, and their movements were swift, relentless.

The gate shuddered under the weight of the assault as the first wave slammed into it with bone-jarring force. Marcus watched as his men struggled to hold the barricade, their boots slipping in the mud, their breaths ragged with effort.

"They’re breaking through!" a soldier yelled.

Marcus sprinted to the gate, driving his shoulder into the barricade to help brace it. "Hold the line!" he roared, sweat mixing with the rain on his brow. "We stand or we die here—there’s no retreat!"

The battle at the gate intensified as the Iron Wolves began hacking at the barricade with axes laced with eterium. Every strike sent sparks flying, illuminating the grim faces of the defenders. Gaius fought at Marcus’s side, his sword moving like a blur as he cut down the first enemy to breach the gate.

"They just keep coming!" Gaius growled, parrying a blow that would have cleaved his skull. "Do these bastards ever tire?"

Marcus gritted his teeth, slashing through the neck of an armored warrior. "Not until we make them."

Seneca shouted from his position behind the barricade, "The console’s almost ready! Just a little longer!"

"We won’t last that long!" a soldier cried, his shield shattering under the force of a blow.

Marcus’s mind raced. They needed a way to turn the tide, and fast. His gaze darted to the old cistern at the back of the fort—a massive stone tank filled with rainwater. An idea struck him, dangerous but their only chance.

"Gaius!" Marcus barked. "Get the men clear of the gate!"

Gaius frowned, but he trusted Marcus’s instincts. "You heard him! Fall back—now!"

The soldiers pulled back just as the Iron Wolves breached the barricade, surging into the courtyard. Marcus sprinted to the cistern, slashing through the ropes holding its lid shut. With a powerful shove, he toppled the heavy cover, releasing a torrent of freezing water.

The flood crashed through the courtyard, sweeping the Iron Wolves off their feet. Their armor, heavy with eterium plating, dragged them down into the rushing water, and many of them struggled to rise under the sudden deluge.

"Now!" Marcus shouted. "Cut them down while they’re off balance!"

The Roman soldiers surged forward, swords flashing in the rain as they dispatched the fallen enemies. Gaius fought like a man possessed, his blade slicing through armor and flesh with merciless precision. Marcus joined the fray, his sword a blur of steel as he carved a path through the chaos.

At the far end of the courtyard, Seneca gave a triumphant shout. "The console’s online! Sending the signal now!"

The ancient device sputtered and sparked, but the green indicator light blinked on. A high-pitched tone echoed through the fort, carried by the wind—a call for the Imperius to return.

"Fall back to the walls!" Marcus ordered. "We hold until the ship arrives!"

The remaining soldiers retreated to the upper levels of the fort, raining arrows and javelins down on the Iron Wolves as they regrouped. Below, the enemy forces gathered once more, their glowing eyes filled with fury. But the tide had turned—if they could just hold out a little longer, salvation would come.

Thunder roared across the sky, and the Imperius emerged from the clouds like a leviathan, its engines thrumming with power. The sight of the warship bolstered the soldiers’ spirits, and cheers erupted from the walls.

"Get the wounded aboard!" Marcus shouted. "We leave no one behind!"

Ropes descended from the ship, and the soldiers quickly began hauling themselves and their comrades aboard. Gaius stood at Marcus’s side, his expression fierce but triumphant.

"We did it, captain," Gaius said, clapping Marcus on the shoulder. "We held the line."

Marcus gave a weary nod, though the weight of what lay ahead still pressed heavily on his mind. This victory was only a small step. The real war was far from over.

As the last soldier climbed aboard, Marcus turned to the battlefield below. The Iron Wolves retreated into the shadows of the forest, but he knew they would return—and next time, they would be stronger.

"Let’s go," Marcus said quietly. "We’ve done all we can here."

The Imperius rose into the stormy sky, leaving the ruined fort behind. But as Marcus stood at the ship’s helm, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something far worse was waiting beyond the next horizon.