Chen Yao's fingers clenched around the pull ring of the bronze tube, her fingertips whitening from the force. She stared at the slowly advancing black mass at the mountain pass, her throat dry, yet she did not blink. Wind swept up from the valley floor, carrying a fishy, rotten stench—the smell of dead things left to stew beneath the blazing sun for three days.
She suddenly raised her hand, and the bronze plate scraped across the rock—Screech!
The sound was so shrill it made teeth ache. The trap crossbows on the eastern slope sprang into action. Three main ballistae shuddered at once, steel needles raining forth and weaving a net of death through the air. The first row of blood corpses had barely stepped into the trap zone before their chests and bellies were pierced through. Their limbs twisted as they fell, yet they kept crawling, severed arms dragging across the ground and leaving streaks of dark red behind.
"Again!" Chen Xuan stood on the western heights, striking the rock wall with a wooden stick in a rhythm that sped and slowed without pattern. The second volley followed close behind, its angle shifted to target the gaps within the blood corpse horde. Several corpses were blasted over, crushing those behind them and throwing the formation into brief disarray.
Mo Feng crouched beside the central stone platform, eyes fixed on the power-conduction groove. The S-shaped bronze channel was faintly hot, and dark currents seemed to flow through its patterns. He swiftly adjusted a latch and set a metal component into the recess of the base. Runes flashed across its surface, and the vibrations that had been dispersing were drawn back in reverse, instantly pouring into the main ballista mechanisms.
"Charging complete!" he barked, slamming down the trigger lock.
All three ballistae