Mistborn #02 The Well of Ascension

remained of human bodies once they were hit by the brutal koloss swords.
    The thumping continued, like low drums, on the other side of the gate. The beating picked up to a frenzied pace, the gate shaking, as the koloss grew more frustrated. They could probably smell the blood, feel the flesh that had so nearly been theirs.
    "That board won't hold for long," one of the soldiers said quietly, a bit of ash floating down in front of his face. "And the hinges are splintering. They're going to get through again."
    Sazed stumbled to his feet. "And we will fight again."
    "My lord!" a voice said. Sazed turned to see one of Dockson's messengers ride around a pile of corpses. "Lord Dockson says that. . ." He trailed off, noticing for the first time that Sazed's gate was closed. "How. . ." the man began.
    "Deliver your message, young man," Sazed said tiredly.
    "Lord Dockson says you won't get any reinforcements," the man said, reining in his horse. "Tin Gate has fallen, and—"
    "Tin Gate?" Sazed asked. Tindwyl! "When?"
    "Over an hour ago, my lord."
    An hour? he thought with shock. How long have we been fighting?
    "You have to hold here, my lord!" the young man said, turning and galloping back the way he had come.
    Sazed took a step to the east. Tindwyl. . ..
    The thumping on his gate grew louder, and the board began to crack. The men ran for something else to use to secure the gate, but Sazed could see that the mountings that kept the board in place were beginning to pull apart. Once they went, there would be no way to hold the gate closed.
    Sazed closed his eyes, feeling the weight of fatigue, reaching into his pewtermind. It was nearly drained. After it was gone, he'd only have the tiny bit of strength in one of the rings.
    Yet, what else could he do?
    He heard the board snap, and men yelled.

    "Back!" Clubs yelled. "Fall into the city!"
    The remnants of their army broke apart, pulling back from Zinc Gate. Breeze watched with horror as more and more koloss spilled into the square, overrunning the few men too weak or too wounded to retreat. The creatures swept forward like a great blue tide, a tide with swords of steel and eyes of red.
    In the sky, the sun—only faintly visible behind storm clouds—was a bleeding scar that crept toward the horizon.
    "Breeze," Clubs snapped, pulling him back. "Time to go."
    Their horses had long since bolted. Breeze stumbled after the general, trying not to listen to the snarling from behind.
    "Fall back to the harrying positions!" Clubs called to those men who could hear him. "First squad, shore up inside Keep Lekal! Lord Hammond should be there by now, preparing the defenses! Squad two, with me to Keep Hasting!"
    Breeze continued on, his mind as numb as his feet. He'd been virtually useless in the battle. He'd tried to take away the men's fear, but his efforts had seemed so inadequate. Like. . .holding a piece of paper up to the sun to make shade.
    Clubs held up a hand, and the squad of two hundred men stopped. Breeze looked around. The street was quiet in the falling ash and snow. Everything seemed. . .dull. The sky was dim, the city's features softened by the blanket of black-speckled snow. It seemed so strange to have fled the horrific scene of scarlet and blue to find the city looking so lazy.
    "Damn!" Clubs snapped, pushing Breeze out of the way as a raging group of koloss burst from a side street. Clubs's soldiers fell into a line, but another group of koloss—the creatures that had just burst through the gate—came up behind them.
    Breeze stumbled, falling in the snow. That other group. . .it came from the north! The creatures have infiltrated the city this far already?
    "Clubs!" Breeze said, turning. "We—"
    Breeze looked just in time to see a massive koloss sword sheer through Clubs's upraised arm, then continue on to hit the general in the ribs. Clubs grunted, thrown to the side, his sword arm—weapon and all—flying free. He stumbled on his bad leg, and the koloss brought his sword down in a two-handed blow.
    The dirty snow finally got some color. A splash of red.
    Breeze stared, dumbfounded, at the remains of his friend's corpse. Then the koloss turned toward Breeze, snarling.
    The likelihood of his own impending death hit, stirring him as even the cold snow couldn't. Breeze scrambled back, sliding in the snow, instinctively reaching out to try and Soothe the creature. Of course, nothing happened. Breeze tried to get to his feet, and the koloss—along with several