Chapter 101 How to Fight in Ditches

Arc 10: Undead Trench Combat

“Welcome to trench Adder, you must be Captain Genjam.” The grizzled soldier greeted briskly.

“Yes, sir!” Genjam climbed down into the trench. 

“I’m field commander Du Lenn. This snake here will be your home for the next week. Get acquainted with all its curves and pockets.” Du Lenn was a man in his mid fifties aged twice that from his line of work. Senior trench commander. 

Du Lenn talked rapidly as Genjam tried to take it all in. “This right here is the reserve line. These trenches are for the wounded, supplies, munitions and troops who are cycled out.” As Du Lenn spoke he led Genjam through the narrow and winding trenches, constantly touching, fiddelling or else just messing with any wooden beam, sand bag or mound of dirt that didn’t look like it had been pressed randomly by his hand in recent days. 

“You keep your trench clean, open and solid and you’ll find that you suffer less casualties. Trench combat is as much a battle of attrition as it is man to man fighting. You never will have enough reinforcements, ammunition or food.” Du Lenn kicked at a soldier laying down, stuffed in a small cavity designed for sleeping or sitting. The soldier sprung awake only to be nodded to by the field commander. “Or sleep for that matter.” Du Lenn continued the tour. “The line between sleep and death is a thin one. Keep tabs on your men, make sure each and every person has a buddy. The smallest wound needs to be addressed in this flee and shit infested hellhole.” Du Lenn found a rotting bag of some expired ration and tossed it out of the trench. “Infection will kill all your wounded men if you do not keep this place spotless, remember that.”

“Yes, sir.” Genjam said. Du Lenn had a loud projecting voice that clearly started as a high pitched shout and forged like iron into his full bodied and fast paced vernacular.

Genjam paid as much attention to Du Lenn’s every move as he did his every word. The old commander didn’t miss a millimeter in his inspections. Any nearby soldier that saw the commander touch something or point to something immediately went to work on figuring out what was wrong. The minute upkeep details that Du Lenn could absorb even in passing as he tutored Genjam displayed his experience in this element. Despite the commander’s pedantic mannerisms and over the top speech, Genjam could see how respected he was as a leader.

“We are in the spring season now, so expect cold nights, hot days and plenty of rain. Whenever you see sunlight, you dry clothes and socks, especially socks. Change into a fresh pair and let the next rain clean them out. Water buckets will collect rain for cooking and drinking. Medical supplies will run out faster than you expect so keep your trench clean and you’ll save lives.”

Genjam noticed the route of the reserve trench was a jagged but horizontal line. This was intersected at various points by another vertical line.

“This is your communication line. This trench is how you get from reserve to support to fire and back. Traveling in the open will get you killed. Stay in the trenches and ferry supplies to and fro. During a charge or a retreat, the worst thing that can happen is your communication line gets congested. Nothing should be in the walking path.” Du Lenn picked up a sandbag that had fallen in the path and hauled it up on top of another sandbag that supported the structure of the trench.

“Your ditches will flood, they will be swarmed with rats, wind will blow debris in and enemy fire will destroy parts of your trench. Maintain the integrity of your trench and do not neglect your barricades. Repair daily, hell, even hourly as you need to.”

“Yes, sir!” Genjam had little opportunity to speak so just said what seemed like the best answer for acknowledging Du Lenn’s instruction.

“Coming into the support trench you have soldiers preparing to move to the frontlines, resupplying from the reserve trench or offering suppressing, sniper or artillery fire.” 

Genjam noticed several soldiers with binoculars keeping watch. 

“As you can feel the land dips under from here. This is your highest point and therefore the optimal location for long range fighting and surveying the battle. The boys in the support trench will feed you intel and fresh troops.”

Genjam saw an assortment of tarps, nets, boxes, boards, beams, sandbags, nooks and crannies used in a thousand different ways. Many soldiers had their own little space set up. Pits in holes in the nooks had pots for cooking or places to stretch and lay down. Guns were propped up and helmets were used as chairs for those with nothing to do. 

Of course every soldier that wasn’t asleep snapped to salute when the commander walked by. Du Lenn said the names of more people than Genjam had ever met, it appeared. The commander must have known everyone of his soldiers by heart.

“Know your men,” Du Lenn said as if reading Genjam’s mind. “These lads are out here following your command and are entrusted with your care. Screw up, and people die. Learn their names, you owe them that much. Keeps morale high and fighting spirits up if they see you care.”

“Yes, sir!” This point seemed especially important so Genjam made sure to sound enthusiastic. 

“Connecting your support line to your fire line or your frontline is another series of communication trenches.” Genjam followed the commander, passing through a much busier and crowded trench. Soldiers were bringing bundles of wire, planks of wood, bags of sand, boxes of ammo, shovels, guns and other close combat weaponry such as combat knives and hatchets.

“You may notice that there is not a single machine gun here. The Generals have agreed to confiscate all automatic weapons to conserve ammunition. Our enemy is undead humans by the hundreds of thousands. Bullets cannot be wasted. Garghent expects to be in a long war with Ophir and after that the possibility of other city-states declaring war means lead shot is a prized commodity. You will use marksman rifles at a distance, pistols in close range and melee weapons if they get any closer than that.”

Upon entering the fire trench, the frontline trench, Genjam saw an endless line of troops milling about or setting up their station, adjusting positions and fixing the trench boards, the part that allows for a soldier to stand and fire over the trench to the enemy line.

Du Lenn stepped up to one trench board and looked over at the clearing. It was still early in the morning and the mist made the field in front of the trench low visibility. Wooden stakes and barbed wire blocked off strategic sections of the space in front of the trench. This would serve as a way to encourage tight funneling of enemy troops into kill zones where soldiers could focus fire.

Heavy sandbags created a small wall along the perimeter of the trench on the offensive side. This offered extra bullet and shock protection from enemy fire while giving a stable rest for mounting guns on. 

Genjam realized the subtle genius of trenches. No part of the trench was a straight line for more than a few meters, neither the three parallel trenches nor the communication trenches. This zig-zag layout mitigated casualties from enemy fire being able to take out lines of troops. In order to defend a large border, the trench provided an easily constructible, highly defensible position that could be created with minimal resources, provided there were men available to run it. Building a border wall would be next to impossible and costly beyond worth, but create a wall by digging ditches and suddenly an open space could be held for months.

“Scouts report you’ve got about fifteen hours before the first horde makes contact. You will be captain of trench Adder. From end to end of the fireline is a kilometer and a half. That is your trench. You keep it running and you hold it for a week.”

“Yes, sir!” Genjam repeated.

“I understand that your assignment here was last minute. Captain Magun was supposed to be holding this location on account of his heavy fire power Aspect. However, his recent injury is causing him problems and will need more time to recover. Now I don’t give a rat’s ass what your Aspect can or cannot do but every soldier here is fighting tooth and nail so if you can’t contribute with your Aspect you grab a gun and fight with the rest of the lads!”

“Yes, sir!” Genjam said once more. Genjam, a product of old school military deportment, would follow and respond to Du Lenn’s every action and directive by the book. No hesitation or second guessing.

“Now what you are up against is a horde of the undead. The husks of former humans. They die when you destroy their center of mass or head. Some of them are just bones, others look alive. The type you need to really watch out for are the mudmen. These are sod and dirt clumped together around old bones. The bones are the center of their animation and can be anywhere and they won’t stop until you destroy it. They always follow human anatomy so it could be a ribcage, a spinal cord, a femur, a skull, or a collarbone. Conserve ammo and make your shots count.”

Genjam just nodded, not wanting to interrupt Du Lenn’s explanation.

“Scouts report that this horde does not have any weapons. They are skirmishers testing our defenses. They will come at night, in the morning, in the rain, in the day while you’re pissing. Do not be fooled into thinking that a skirmish means Ophir is not serious about taking over our trenches. They are conserving weapons just as we are. Now you hold this trench at all costs. We lose this trench or any trench for that matter we give Ophir a foothold into Garghent.”

Du Lenn turned to Genjam for one of the first times and addressed the Specter face to face.

“Do you have any questions?”

“No, sir.” Genjam replied. In reality he had about eighty questions but most he couldn’t remember or knew there wasn’t time to answer.

“Beatal.” Du Lenn saying Genjam’s surname, “I fought with your father.”

Genjam blinked in surprise and grinned. The uncanny ability of Du Lenn to recognize everyone was infectious. “You come from strong stock. You hold this trench and don’t disgrace your family name.”

“Yes, sir.” Genjam said, feeling himself growing excited.

“I’ve got more trenches to oversee. Familiarize yourself with the layout and the troops. Prepare for a long week. Good luck son.” Du Lenn departed back through the trenches, leaving Genjam officially in command of trench Adder.

Genjam wanted to meditate and prepare his Aspect but he knew figuring out the ins and outs of the trench was paramount. Showing himself to the troops was important in establishing who was currently at the top of the chain of command. A leader should be recognized. Genjam knew he couldn’t learn every soldier’s name in a week so he prioritized the faces that stuck out to him. 

“Are you the new trench commander?” A nervous soldier asked within a few minutes. He was carrying a box of something with another soldier.

“Captain Genjam,” Genjam announced himself. “What do you have there?”

“We’ve got about four racks of shrapnel grenades in here.” They were anti-personnel weapons designed to deal as much small damage to as many targets as possible within the radius by exploding into high speed pieces of metal.

Genjam had no way of knowing where to send the two soldiers. The two soldiers clearly were unsure of what to do either. An operating system, in this case a military one, existed in a state of constant movement, a host of working parts functioning independently for a greater whole. The military system was a body, a living moving mass of soldiers, supplies, terrain and weapons. To exchange brains successfully meant allowing for the body to operate without hiccups.

Genjam had just replaced Du Lenn, and to the average soldier that meant you talked to a different person in charge without considering the possibility that the new captain may not be competent. The brain was designated as the brain and would always be the go to place for questions and direction.

Genjam thought on his toes. “Where have you come from?” he asked.

“The support line, sir.” the second soldier answered.

Those grenades had likely been ferried from the reserve line to prepare for the upcoming combat, reasoned Genjam. “Distribute them out to soldiers. One grenade per man, use for emergency only.”

“Sir.” The soldiers said together and saluted. They picked up the box and went down the lane handing them out. Genjam could not tell by their response whether that was a normal order or not. Genjam decided that supplying some soldiers with explosives couldn’t hurt in a hoard situation.

He made his way through the trenches, making his presence known and meeting dozens of soldiers. There were a decent number of troops still sleeping but the primary routines of the day appeared to be underway. Meals were being cooked, lanes were being swept and guns were being cleaned.

“When do we expect to see the enemy, captain?” asked a soldier. 

“Nightfall.” Genjam responded, maintaining eye contact with the fidgeting soldier.

The soldier nodded several times anxiously. “You’re a Specter right?”

“That I am.”

“So we should be able to hold.” He said, trying to convince himself.

“We will hold because we have to. That is our duty, and I’ll be damned if I fail any of you.”

The soldier breathed a sigh of relief at the reassurance. “You’re one of the strong ones?”

“Is this your first conflict?” Genjam countered.

“Yes, sir. I signed up after the Siege, thought I should protect my city.”

“What did you do before you joined?” Genjam asked.

“I painted houses, sir.” The soldier was in his mid twenties, a few years older than Genjam himself.

“Were you any good?” Genjam questioned.

“It wasn’t a very technical job, captain. Just painting walls in houses. It was manual labor but not complicated. I’d say I did my job well.”

“Combat is like that.”

“Like painting walls?” the soldier said, confused.

“No, uncomplicated. There is nothing which makes a soldier strong. Me and you have the same capacity to be strong. The difference is your belief in yourself. Did you notice when you were painting that there were days that seemed to fly by. Like you went in a trance and the walls could’ve painted themselves.”

“Yeah, I suppose I had days like that.”

“And don’t you think painting someone’s house that you know made the work more enjoyable? A friend’s house or a family member or even a likable customer.”

“Yeah… I mean yes, sir.” The soldier was unsure of himself or where Genjam was taking this.

“You said you joined the military to protect your city. Self doubt has no place on the battlefield. You stay in your post and you protect the men to your left and your right. The enemy will come from right over there. That’s where you shoot. You eat when you can and sleep when you can. It’s not so complicated. Every day we hold and every undead thing we slay means your family back in Garghent will be safer. Don’t get caught up in numbers or panic at the thought of the scale of the war. Your part is here and it’s just as important as every other post. When you painted houses, did you get overwhelmed at the thought that there were thousands of other houses that needed to be painted? I doubt it. You just did your work and you did it right. Out here we’ll become strong, you’ll become strong. Just by surviving and fighting. Live in the moment. Cherish each breath. Enjoy the sun on your face and the night sky. Your senses will be heightened beyond your wildest dreams. The trance will come over you and you will feel like a god of war. So yeah, I guess it is a bit like painting. This clearing is your wall, the rifle a brush and the bodies of our enemies are the paint. Make something beautiful and teach Ophir to never step foot on our border again.” Genjam came from a long line of soldiers and leading was in his blood. It’s true he was just as anxious, if not more anxious than this soldier as he had never led the defense of a trench before. But Genjam knew combat, was confident in his Aspect and reveled in the rush of war.

Genjam clasped the man’s shoulder and nodded. Already the soldier seemed more at ease and Genjam turned to continue down the trench when he saw that several dozen troops had gathered to listen. Genjam’s little speech would be carried down the line and inspire the men.

Genjam turned back to the soldier who looked contemplative. “Oh and I am one of the strong ones, you can be sure of that.” The soldier grinned along with most of the others who had been listening in. Arrogance was reassuring if done correctly, Genjam was compelling.

Moving about the trench gave Genjam a good sense of the general atmosphere. People were relieved that the enemy didn’t have weapons, no chance of stray bullets or artillery to randomly injure them. Anticipation was the main feeling. They just wanted it to begin so they could get optics as to whether or not they needed to be worried. It seemed redundant but Genjam felt it too. Who could guess what fighting an undead horde would be like?

It took Genjam ten hours to make his way through the entirety of the trench with frequent stops to chat with soldiers, give directions and make judgments. Scouts reported updated movements as the morning became day and day descended into night. Genjam ate a meal and finally sat down when he reached the frontline trench again, exhausted from talking and walking. He was in the center, figuring it would be better to find a neutral position between both flanks.

Genjam took the opportunity to close his eyes and quiet his mind. The hours flew by without interruption.

Genjam woke up to the sound of alarmed chatter. Apparently the scouts on the support trench spotted the first wave of undead coming from the clearing ahead. The troops took up arms and moved into position as the warning spread.

The night had progressed far and was actually closer to dawn than midnight but the clouds kept it dark. There were nearby woods that a slight breeze carried the fog of. Emerging from that mist was the horde, shambling ever closer to the trenches.

“Steady!” Genjam shouted. If his men were to fire now without proper visuals and the guarantee of a hit they would need to reload by the time the first of the undead came upon them.

“Chaos Blue.” Genjam activated his Aspect and the swirling mass of black and blue floated overhead.

Since the Death Aspect was nowhere near, the undead’s orders would remain rudimentary, attacking relentlessly until one side was wiped out, either the dead or the trench defenders.

Nothing complex, just a mob of bumbling corpses against trained soldiers.

“Steady!” Genjam reminded his troops.

In the silence they could hear the footfalls of the dead approaching. A speechless horde whose imperative was to kill. It was unnerving to face such a quiet mob.

“Make your shots count!” Genjam called and swung his hand down in a spread. Five blue steel spears materialized from his cloud and lanced into five separate undead, all square in the chest. Four of them crumbled but one staggered on. Genjam threw out a pinky finger and another lance speared the undead, taking off its head and finishing the corpse off.

Volleys of rifle fire rang out repetitiously.

Genjam made a fist with his left hand, recalling the used spears as disintegrated particles while his right hand deftly pointed in various directions with a different finger each time. An index finger pointed one way, a thumb pointed another way while still his middle finger aimed for a separate target. His left hand continued to resupply his cloud as he rapidly depleted his Chaos Blue and restored it.

Genjam’s Aspect worked in a way that allowed his hand motions to control the shape and motion of his materialized steel from the cloud. A finger made a spear and each hand could fire five out at once. But he could do two at a time, or three or four as well as one. Once fired, the spear would go only in the indicated direction and stay in the ground where it landed until he recalled it with a fist, summoning the spear back to his swirling cloud as particles.

Genjam knew going into this fight that his Aspect was less effective against large amounts of enemies. While consistent and easy to use, it lacked the ability to clear whole lines of enemies. Genjam noticed from the soldiers that a well placed bullet could take out an undead in one shot. But hitting the head in the dark was not always easy and a chest shot didn’t guarantee a kill either. At this rate, they would struggle to survive a day as the horde gained ground.

The drowning noises of gunshot, bolts locking and unlocking in place and bones crunching under the velocity of lead were the only real sounds being produced by the fight.

To Genjam, this was the sound of life, that his troops were alive and holding their territory. He paid attention to the droning noises as a sign that each flank held. A reduction in the noise could indicate a breach.

So far the trenches held.

Genjam made a flat hand with palm facing toward himself, the form of a tower shield, and slid the fingers of his other hand in between the fingers of his flat hand so that a tower shield with large spikes would be created. Genjam then chose the motion for this spiked shield to move in. He pushed his hands forward in a straight line.

The spiked shield materialized and launched forwards, impaling and smashing a column of undead. Genjam cursed as only six or seven probably sustained real enough damage to be destroyed.

He recalled the material and resumed his regular spears.

“Think dammit.” Genjam muttered to himself. He needed a better way to use his power. He had his Cerulean Knight that covered his body in armor and provided him a spear but such a strategy was again not effective to battle a horde with.

A soldier to his right was smoothly firing round after round without missing a single target. He picked off undead like a machine and reloaded from a box of ammunition he had claimed for himself. Obviously a veteran, the soldier felt Genjam’s eyes on him and flashed a smile which lacked several teeth without missing a beat on his reloading.

“Hold this.” Genjam ordered.

The soldier replied, “Will do.”

Genjam moved along the trench checking on how the defense was progressing. Elsewhere there were similar soldiers who kept their cool and fired like an assembly line of workers. Morale and confidence was as high as it could be given the situation. Genjam realized his worries were unfounded. The troops here could hold for days. No undead were breaching.

Genjam could trust his soldiers as he needed to think, to meditate on a solution. They would be fine without his Aspect for the morning. In fact Genjam felt his power contributed less than some of the soldiers here.

Genjam needed something big. Something that could take out many at a time. His limited amount of resource, though it was infinitely reusable, meant there was a cap to the scale of his weapons. A large spear would be slow and still only impale a few at a time. The spike shield was not worth the resource cost and the Cerulean Knight would mean he would have to leave the trenches to fight the undead.

A large block? It wouldn’t cover a wide enough surface area to be feasible since his ability to control the motion of his Chaos Blue weapons had to be set before the weapon was launched and created.

Genjam thought through the process of his Aspect, a hand with fingers together created a solid wall of steel, which was how he made a shield. A fist was the recall trigger. Only his fingers when not touching decided tapers, points. A single finger equaled a spear point. Two fingers together equaled a thicker spear that was more blunt, three fingers together even more like a block. Keeping those fingers separate meant multiple spears instead. Genjam could also command more complex movements, such as a spear going left, then right, then straight, then left, then right again by simply pointing in those directions. That would be a waste of time as eventually the spear would lose momentum hitting undead and not finish its ordered move pattern.

While meditating, Genjam kept his ears listening to the cycle of firing to be sure that the fighting was still going favorably. A muffled explosion and a cry interrupted the usual sounds.

Genjam jumped to his feet and rushed through the trenches. About seventy meters from where he had been meditating, a soldier lay dead next to another soldier who was in shock. The other soldiers had to keep firing as the undead threatened to overwhelm this spot. Genjam stood on the trench board and fired a spread of ten spears with both hands. He destroyed several undead and recalled the spears before firing again.

One undead managed to fall in the trench and pull a soldier down, swiping and clawing at him. The closest soldier was the one in shock who was still frozen in place mumbling to himself.

Genjam unholstered his pistol and threw the undead off the struggling soldier and shot it four times. He helped the man to his feet who seemed to only suffer some light scratches.

The man thanked Genjam before returning to his post.

“I can’t I can’t I can’t.” The soldier in shock was rocking back and forth, sitting near the remains of another soldier and partly covered in those remains.

“What happened!” Genjam shouted, trying to wake the man out of shock.

“Oh no. No no no.” He was sobbing.

Genjam grabbed the man, hauled him to his feet and slapped him hard in the face.

“What happened?” Genjam asked again. The slap stunned the man briefly but broke him out of the catatonic state.

“I… there was a group of undead and I tried pulling out a grenade but I fumbled it after removing the pin and couldn’t pick it up somehow and then this soldier next to me, I don’t even know his name.” The soldier started sobbing again. Genjam shook him violently.

“Then, then… he shoved me to the side and put the grenade under his vest and then..” The soldier turned to puke at the thought of the death.

“Shit.” Genjam knew the grenade was a shrapnel one, the type he ordered to be distributed out. It didn’t cross his mind that a nervous wreck could receive one and try to use it against a couple of undead.

“You should send him back to reserve.” A soldier down the line said. “We don’t need any screw ups.”

“Yes, please, I can’t do this.” the man begged. Genjam saw that the dead soldier’s gun was destroyed but the weeping soldier’s gun was fine.

“If he goes back now, he will stay pathetic for the rest of his life.” Genjam replied to the man. “Grab your rifle and come with me.” Genjam ordered.

“But…” the soldier protested.

Genjam picked up the rifle, shoved the gun into the man’s hands and practically dragged him.

Genjam led the shaking man back toward the center of the trench.

“Sir, I can’t aim right now. I can’t.” the soldier complained.

If Genjam hadn’t felt responsible for putting a grenade in his hands, he’d have dismissed him from the military altogether. But right now, they were down a man and losing this wreck would mean they were down two men.

Genjam had a job for him and wasn’t ready to let the man spend his life feeling guilty until one day he eats a bullet. They had bigger, undead horde related issues than being consumed over a mistake.

Genjam set the soldier down next to the efficient marksman with the box of ammo.

“You will load your gun and set it right here. When this soldier finishes his clip, you will load his rifle. You understand? You keep a weapon loaded for him at all times. If he shoots faster than you can load, then you learn to load faster.”

Having a menial task helped to give the man purpose and something to do with his hands. He wiped his face of blood and tears and went to work loading his gun and propping it up on a sandbag so that it was already in position to fire.

The marksman turned to his new support soldier. “Wipe your hands on some sand. Dry them out or the shells will slip.”

Genjam noticed one of the sandbags had a small incision made where sand could be scooped out. Genjam meant to ask the marksman’s name but was already heading back to the spot of the accident.

During the rush to get back, Genjam found his solution. It was simple, probably something he could have come up with months ago but it was the shrapnel grenade that triggered his thoughts.

“Chaos Blue.” Genjam said his Aspect like the answer was in the name the whole time.

Genjam since awakening his Aspect had stuck to conventional weapons. A spear, a shield, a knight’s armor. His military upbringing put his creativity in a formulaic process of standard combat theory. Efficiency lay in the simplicity and usability of a weapon. Just as the crossbow replaced the bow for ease of training and use, the rifle was even less difficult to train than the crossbow. Even a grenade was a simple tool, provided the user respects the lethality of the weapon.

Genjam had a creative power, a cloud of limitless possibilities. Genjam had always thought his Aspect lacked options simply because it was confined to what his hands could make it do. But hands created the bow and the crossbow. Hands created the rifle and grenade. They built cities and dug trenches. Hands did all that.

Genjam reached the part of the trench where the accident occurred and found the men there were struggling with two less soldiers.

“We need backup!” shouted a soldier as the undead came in spitting range.

“I need to reload,” a soldier warned in a panic.

Genjam clasped his hands together and interlocked fingers while leaving a gap between his palms. He made a ball with his hands with his fingers jutting out. He moved his hands in a back and forth motion, then forwards, then to the sides again and forwards once more. At last he activated the weapon and materialiIng in front of him with his entire cloud was a giant steel ball with massive spikes.

Genjam’s Death Ball rolled around in the motion he had decided, crushing, impaling and just flat out obliterating dozens of undead as it barreled through unstopped by old bones and preserved flesh.

With a moment of relief, Genjam called a soldier to remove the undead that had breached through and throw the remains of the soldier over the side as well. Genjam recovered the dog tag but nothing else was salvageable and they had to keep the trench clean.

“Go back to support and get two more soldiers here. I’ll hold here until you return.”

“Sir!”’ The solder set off at once.

Genjam recalled his Death Ball and put both arms out in front of him with two fingers together and the thumbs sticking out. He swiped his arms out and the Chaos Blue materialized into two large razors with hooks that spun out and cleaved, dismembered and decapitated whole groups of undead, clearing out the funnel of enemies.

Genjam throughout the use of his Aspect always thought it best to keep a reserve of his Chaos Blue at all times. But it wasn’t meant to be used in that way. He needed to create whole weapons of irregular shapes and sharpened deformities and send the messy thing in odd patterns and motions to maximize killing potential.

Genjam recalled the razors and made another Death Ball, this time sending it in a straight line to the side some thirty meters out where a significant amount of undead were conveniently in a line. Genjam moved through the trench with this motion, ensuring he ordered the Death Ball to move along the row for as long as possible.

The sight of a giant steel spiked ball rolling through the undead and killing hundreds of corpses roused some whoops and cheers from his men as they were reassured that a strong Specter was fighting with them against this horde of undead.

Dawn evaporated the mist and light restored visibility. Genjam stood over the trench and saw the horizon line was hidden behind a wall of the dead.

Genjam’s response to the sight was a strange motion of his hands that combined his two hands into a mess of fingers and signs.

A pole with a rotating disc of three blades, the result of a thumb alone, an index and middle together, a gap and the ring and little finger. The blade spun on the pole at chest level and tore through the mindless undead that walked into it unable to adjust their march.

When the blade slowed down Genjam recalled it cracked his knuckles. 

To Genjam, this next week of fighting in the trenches against swarms of former humans would be a murder simulator for him and his Chaos Blue Aspect. And so far, the Death Ball was his favorite.

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