“Mom always said that technology should be used to improve the lives of the people. She strove to create inventions that would make the world a better place—one where the burdens of everyday life could be made just a little bit easier. That tenet of hers burned bright even after she was elected, and for a moment, our nation was unified unlike any before. I still remember her warm smile, covered in dirt and grease after tinkering away in her workshop, and the gentle touch of her fingers as she wiped away the mud smudged on my face; she always scolded me for getting too dirty from playing outside. Truth is, I did it on purpose because it gave me a chance to visit her—to see her even though she was busy with being a Ruler. I miss those days so, so much, and if I could go back in time, I would tell her just how much her love meant to me. But those days are long gone, and now only the thought of slicing Xeros’s neck is all that keeps me going.”
Luxanne, Commander of Nox Caelum
———
Sarathiel
Nox fortresses have always been a pain in the ass to take down, but The Magnus Murus is on a whole ‘nother level. The nation has vastly improved in warfare ever since Xeros took the mantle of Ruler, and the countless death machines that litter his domain are all brought forth from his twisted imagination.
From weapons that fire bits of steel and flame at extreme speeds, to bulging suits that grant the bearer great power—they’re all designed to turn even the most inexperienced man into a warrior. There’s no effort, no blood or tears shed, only mass-produced carnage.
Although, Sarathiel isn’t really different in that regard. His peers once praised his talent, proud that a fellow brother-in-arms rose so quickly through the ranks, but then came the madness; then came the fall.
One mission. Hundreds dead. All by his hand.
Friends, now gone.
Sarathiel’s body, although not invulnerable like Ascalon’s, is nigh impenetrable to both sorcery and weaponry. He’s a living, breathing battering ram—a vessel of pure destruction. But this power comes at a cost, and that cost became too great.
“Remember you brute…” he whispers. “Control it. Don’t go too far, just enough to break through. Everyone’s counting on you.”
He charges forward—the Polus army following from behind. This is not a one-man show; he can’t afford to lose control here. All he has to do is siege the gate and attract as much attention as he can while the others take advantage of the confusion to assault the sides. It’s different, having to work with others, but a nation is a collective. He can’t fly solo forever.
The walls of the fortress begin to shift again as he gets closer. Giant armaments spring forth from the openings, and in an instant, a maelstrom of bullets rain down upon him—blotting out the sky in a sea of steel. They fire upon his body, desperately attempting to slow his advance, but he shrugs off the barrage and keeps charging forward.
“Sarathiel, is everything alright so far?” Lorelai’s voice enters his mind.
Simon has managed to link everyone with her using some fancy sorcery that Sarathiel doesn’t quite understand—something about connecting unique auras with each other—but it allows communication even through great distances.
“Just a little rain, nothin’ I can’t handle,” he replies through the metal storm.
“And what about your lucidity? How is the burden upon your mind?”
“Bloodlust is leaking but I’ll be fine. I can maintain a semi-transformation like this for a while; it’s only when I go all out when the madness takes hold.”
“You understand your body best, but please do not strain yourself.”
“Heh, I’ll try my best, but I have to pull my own weight you know?”
Explosions begin to erupt around him as the storm grows stronger. Flames surge forth from the resulting blaze and engulf his body within a swirling inferno; It looks like they’ve started to bring out the enchanted bullets—how quaint.
The shield of aura surrounding him is able to prevent the smoke from entering his lungs, but the same cannot be said about his field of view.
“Damnit…can’t see a thing,” he grunts as the wildfire intensifies around him. “How’s everyone behind me?”
“Cain and Abel’s divisions are still out of the armaments’ range. The fortress is concentrated entirely on you.”
“Going as planned then. In front?”
“Nox foot soldiers and mechanical legionnaires have begun to gather around the gate. At your current pace, you will exit the range of fire in ten minutes. You will encounter their forces after another five.
“Damn, looks like there’s still a bit to go. It’d be nice to have my wings right now.”
“You cannot. The force of the barrage is too much to withstand in air; it will be much easier to push you back. You must ground yourself to the earth and advance slowly if you are to make progress.”
“Yeah, I get it. Gotta let them exhaust their firepower on me anyway—slow and steady it is.”
After the inferno comes the blizzard. The flames surrounding Sarathiel dissipate, and explosions of ice and rime replace the burning bullets. His breath becomes hazy as frost creeps up from within—the ground littered with icy surfaces. They do nothing to slow his advance though, and the force of his weight is enough to shatter the crystals beneath him.
But his exhaustion is mounting.
“This…damn cold,” he gasps. “Even my aura’s starting to crack. I almost miss the heat.”
“Is steel the only material that you can combine your body with?” Lorelai questions.
“I mean, even though my title is Throne of Steel, it’s not like my armor is actually entirely made of steel. It’s specially forged with multiple types of metals and minerals. Whatever was used to form its structure and base, I can manipulate it throughout my body.”
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“What about flint?”
”Flint? Probably’s in there somewhere. Why-”
Oh.
“Lorelai…do I have to?”
“Yes.”
“…For Polus.”
Sarathiel’s body begins to shift and change as the metals within him transform into flint. Although not much oil can be naturally produced by the human body, it is enough. With a spark, his entire body erupts into flames. From his blood, to his flesh, to his very core—everything is trapped within the conflagration.
The aura inside is enough to protect his vitals, but unlike the explosive bullets on the outside, the source of the heat comes from within; it can’t be easily blocked.
He surges forth, his visage akin to a raging fireball as the ice and water around him turns into steam—the rime nothing but a hazy mist. At this pace, breaking through the gate will be much easier than planned.
But such words only invite disaster. More armaments emerge from the fortress’s crevices, and now, giant ballistae line the walls. Javelins pulsating with electrical charge are hoisted onto the loading dock—locked and prepped for fire.
Hundreds of bolts are sent piercing through the air straight at Sarathiel. Unlike the bullets, these projectiles are not to be trifled with.
“Shit. If these wings can’t be used for flight, then I may as well put them to good use!” he roars.
After concentrating the aura behind him, a pair of fleshy, metallic wings materialize onto his back. He stops his charge and bunkers himself to earth, focusing all of his energy on creating an immovable bastion, bracing for impact and covering his body with the wings.
The bolts pound at his barrier—the force excruciatingly heavy—but Sarathiel grits his teeth and endures, intent on shouldering the entire assault.
But, as it turns out, metal is a potent conductor of electricity. The aura blocks the worst of it, but he is unable to prevent the electric current from entering his body, shocking his entirety as everything is consumed by the discharge; it burns, it stings, its thunderous grip latches on tight, and it really damn hurts.
He screams amidst the pain but manages to hold steadfast. If he falters for even a moment, the javelins will penetrate the barrier and impale him with the force of a surging comet.
“Sarathiel, you must transform the metals within into a mineral that can insulate the electricity!” Lorelai’s voice rings in his ears.
“I-I-I d-don’t know what t-that means,” he says through the shock.
“Quartz; Barite; Magnesite; do you have any of these mixed into your armor?”
“Q-Quartz.”
“Use it.”
“B-by your word.”
Since Quarts is a more brittle material, Sarathiel only transforms part of his body into the mineral—covering his vitals and blood. Although the force of the barrage becomes more intense, the electrical shock is much easier to bear, and he is able to start moving, albeit slowly, forward.
An eternity seems to pass until eventually he exits the firing zone and enters the combatant area. Panicked cries can be heard in the distance as the Nox operators desperately hurry to replenish their ammunitions.
“Well, I’d say I did my job pretty well,” he groans, trying to loosen his burned, frozen, and shocked muscles.”
“The only obstacles left in your path are the Caelum soldiers,” Lorelai reports. “How is your physical condition?”
“I‘ll survive.”
“That is too vague, Sarathiel.”
“I’m fine Lorelai. Just a bit of wear and tear in some places, but my aura’ll regenerate it eventually. What about everyone else?”
“Gunfire is still raining down upon them, but the intensity is subdued. Likewise the ballistae are currently in the midst of repair. Ascalon is recovering from shielding the death ray, but he intends to join the charge upon his renewal.”
“All that’s left is the gate, huh? Should be a lot simpler from here on.”
“Be careful. Nokron still hasn’t been sighted, but I am unsure if he is awaiting us within the fortress or if he is lurking elsewhere in the shadows. You are not in your best condition so I do not recommend engaging with him. If you must, then Deborah will cover your rear and attempt to distract him while you aim for the gate.”
“Got it. Onwards it is.”
Sarathiel transforms his armor back into its original state and continues his charge. As he gets closer, the Nox soldiers come into view armed with their grotesque machinations. Muted bronze, darkened steel—their appearance is both bulky and unwieldy with segmented plates littering their bodies in excess weight. Saws, cannons, and more simple weapons are attached to the arms of the suits. They are not designed to survive; they are designed to destroy—to create as much carnage as they can before their inevitable end.
‘Exoskeletons’ are what they call their armor. Unlike the beauty of naturally forged breastplates such as the one Sarathiel dons, the Nox utilize a combination of sorcery and machine to create a powered suit that augments the physical ability of the bearer. Speed, strength, agility—it increases their martial ability to great levels, but that power comes at a dangerous price.
Lorelai would bring some of the suits back to the capital for Simon to tinker with when she still commanded the front line. They studied the Nox armor in order to gain a deeper insight into their technology, but what they found sickened them to their very core.
In exchange for their augmentation, the Nox soldiers have to be put under excruciating pain and mental stress—their minds subjected to constant anguish. Their aura is continuously drained, and to offset this, the suits supply a steady stream of drugs, volatile substances, and numbing agents to the user.
But these suits are only supplied to people the Nox deem ‘expendable’. The exoskeleton of a captain Lorelai slayed did not have any of these substances, instead outfitted with powerful incantations that lessen the burden.
Sarathiel pities the poor wretches. He knows all too well what it feels like to have one’s mind consumed by insanity—to be treated as a hollow, killing machine—but he has a duty to complete, and perhaps their souls will find peace within Cosmos’s embrace when their torture finally comes to an end.
“Contact with Nox soldiers imminent. Deborah is on standby if you need help clearing a path.” Lorelai advises.
“Nah, don’t need any. Tell her to save her strength for Nokron. If there isn’t a path, I’ll just have to make one.”
Sarathiel hardens his armor and sprints straight ahead. His step becomes heavier; his speed becomes faster; his image becomes blurred in a comet of ash-grey aura as he charges straight into the group of Nox legionnaires. They panic and attempt to form a defensive position, but it is no use.
With a bestial cry, Sarathiel smashes straight through the barricade and continues his advance. The soldiers blocking his way become trampled beneath his feet, blending into a trodden clump of flesh and metal as he effortlessly stampedes through the sea of bodies.
The legionnaires are unable to even strike his body. His charge is more akin to a force of nature rather than that of a man. The moment they get too close, they’ll become one with the bloody trail left in his wake.
He stamps through the last of the soldiers and comes face to face with the main gate. All he has to do is crash straight into the wall and bring it toppling down for his duty to be complete. He braces for impact and surges forth.
But suddenly, a malevolent figure materializes right in front of his charge.
“To think they would fail such a simple task,” the masked man rasps. “No matter. I shall reverse this mess. I shall obtain more time.”
Without warning, Sarathiel is teleported back in front of the Nox legion. He stumbles over himself as he attempts to process what exactly just occurred. Just what in Cosmos’s name…?
“Sarathiel?” Lorelai questions. “What happened?”
“I-I don’t know!” he cries out, bewilderment etched onto his face. “I was just at the gate when…”
But he doesn’t have time to finish the statement; the Caelum legionnaires descend upon him in an instant, just as confused as he is and eager to avenge their fallen brethren.