Prince Arel insured his master and managed to attack along the way. He beat the opponent with force in the legs and then in the head. He knocked down the helmet, dissecting the forehead and the vessels above the eyes, so that the blood flooded the face and interfered with the view. Without giving the enemy time to recover, he beat the stunned red on the arm, breaking a bone and knocking the sword out of his hands. If the red warrior, losing his weapon, tried to cover himself with a shield, Arel quickly bypassed him and beat in the neck area, breaking the spinal column. The fighter lost his orientation in space and couldn’t keep his balance, with a strong kick of the leg Arel knocked over the red one, completing his attack with a thrust blow to the face or neck, where there was no defense. All this often lasted less than thirty seconds. Arel did it reflexively, automatically, with practiced movements at maximum breakneck speed, immediately switching from the fallen disabled enemy to the next one, which took the place of the killed one. At the same time, he managed in a couple of seconds to hit the red one, who was trying to get around him or Nikto from the side.

At some point, they still managed to throw the reds behind the wall, there was a short pause as a respite. The unclean quickly moved, putting on the first line those who were previously on the second. It was necessary to have time to rest a little and take a breath. Kors, breathing heavily, bending over, leaned his back against the bars of the cage with the bear, without even noticing it. Nikto grabbed him abruptly by the shoulder and pulled him back:

“What are you doing! Don't lean against it, there’s a barla!” He shouted, calling the bear as the unclean called it.

Kors turned and saw the beast rushing about the cage. Nikto’s shoulders trembled, apparently he laughed, because of the noise Kors didn’t hear it, and on Nikto’s face was his deaf, faceless mask and the slits for the eyes were obscured by black glass. Kors knew, and Nikto had told him before, that daylight and especially the “fiery lighters” of the reds blinded him greatly. No longer able to restrain his emotions, Kors rushed to him, dragging him into some kind of broken arch in the wall and ripping off the mask from his face. He remembered that in the morning, after Lis announced to them about the attack of the reds and the attack on the Fort, Nikto immediately rushed to dress and to his weapons.

He didn’t have enough time to stick the mask to his face, Kors was sure of this and was not mistaken, – the mask gave in, and Nikto looked at Kors with his bright eyes:

“What are you doing, Kors?! I will stop seeing now!” Nikto shouted, however, quite good-naturedly.

And Kors leaned towards him, rushed, no worse than Arel, his face was tense, with excitement, doubt – what would Nik-Demon do him now? Would he give him a cold shower of indifference, or…

But Nikto was all towards him, embracing, hugging him.

“I missed you, I missed you terribly,” whispered Kors, seeing that Nikto was in tune with him, and reciprocated, “I love you, I love you!”

Nikto gently pressed a hand to his forehead and the white strand that had been knocked out during the fight, and Kors’ body was pierced by a convulsion: demonic energy filled with pleasure that didn’t belong to this mortal world. Kors groaned, arching and cumming right in his pants. Nikto kissed him on the lips, and Kors answered him feverishly with all his passion.

“Kors, you get stoned with me,” Nikto laughed, “you are the same as Arel. No wonder you got along and were lovers for so long.”

“Yes, let me get stoned, let… my Demon…”

Nikto pulled away:

“Be patient a little, now is not up to this, you see.”

Kors didn't care, he had been alone for too long, tired of being alone and now he wanted to be near this creature and feel pleasure. Nikto put on the mask again. They came out of the arch, and Kors saw Arel’s grim gaze. He stood nearby, but didn’t interfere.

The unclean warriors divided into three lines of defense in order to repulse the attacks of the reds in turn, since it was clear that the attack could last for several more hours at least, and it would not be possible to withstand it, without the opportunity to catch their breath and recover.

The sky was covered with smoke, and it was already impossible to determine whether it was sunny or not. Kors didn’t feel his hand, and his pace slowed noticeably. Incessant flashes from the reds’ weapons hit the eyes, their feet slipped into a mess of blood and mud. Nikto, and oddly enough, Prince Arel, insured him, and Kors was very pleased by it. The unclean ones fought as if they were wound up, and Kors was already beginning to doubt that they were flesh and blood creatures, not machines. All around was littered with corpses. Fortunately, the reds were also tired, slowed down, and by the evening it became noticeably quieter.

Lis rode up to them on horseback. He apparently decided to bypass the positions. His horse squinted with his eyes and constantly strove to stand on its hind legs, emitting a nervous whinnying, there was foam on its face, the incessant roar and red lighters finished off the poor animal, but Lis didn’t pay attention to the almost distraught animal.

Atley Alis’ face, stained with soot, was focused, and at the same time somehow strangely joyful:

“How are you?!”

“We are coping!”