It was simply incredible how fast time can fly and yet feel like it was moving at an unreasonably slow pace. John had passed out soon after arrival, body burning with a pitched fever and the Curse unbound from its shackles tearing through his body, and with resources stretched as it was, there was nothing to do but pray he made it out the other side in one piece. Cobalt’s return had allowed them to do the work of at least two more Cultivators on top of the already impressive workforce they had already, Cinnabar had helped shore up the haphazard formations to the best of her ability, and Elder Phago’s uncanny regeneration seemed to be well on track to waking him up. However each victory at best felt like buying time, to escape to the nearest safe harbour would have been an undertaking that required days of work even for a group of Cultivators, three hours was a stretch even without the limited space provided by the cloaking formation. It was never going to be possible for the evacuation to be sufficiently complete by the time the warlord at the gates ran out of patience, but even so when the time came a sound of hundreds of layers of rolling thunder rang through the skies of the Sect.
“Time enough has passed. Those who have accepted my offer have found refuge in my ranks, and when the time comes you will be appropriately rewarded for the trouble. As for the rest of you… you have squandered my mercy, do you believe my threats hollow? Am I so meaningless to you? But very well, struggle all you need, nothing will change.” The words formed by the trembling air itself intoned, almost disappointed.
“Cipactli, make your father proud.”
A beam from the heavens above tore through the already damaged defensive formations and melted through steel, concrete and natural rock with equal, laughable ease. Even those who could not innately sense the sheer force of its radioactive might could tell simply from the trembling of the Earth this was a blow of legends, the type of which had not been seen on the continent since the Red Star was struck down centuries ago. The intricate cloaking formation flickered as the Si flowing through it was inevitably disrupted, the mere feedback of the previous attack damaging the esoteric circuitry that channeled its psychic effects. Roan was knocked unconscious by the feedback immediately, giving his all into allowing the formation to persist despite the chaos and paying dearly for it. His efforts were hardly wasted, after all, the effect persisted, but neither was it quite enough.
Magni saw the flow of Si die at several key places and swore. “Shit! This is going to take some time to repair, but the most crucial elements will not be covered under the remaining core formation!”
“More importantly there is nothing stopping the enemy from simply walking through the gates now, and indeed if they find the rest of the Sect deserted they will know to search underground, for there is no other route in which we could have escaped during the time frame we were provided.” Elder Aurelium said with almost eerie composure, though if he had to guess the strange undulating movement of heat travelling across the Elder’s body was likely a way to vent anxiety in a form those who would be most likely to lose morale would not be able to see. “We must draw attention away from the most vulnerable and those who have important tasks like repairing the formation and leading the vulnerable to safety, and for that, some of us must stay behind to defend.”
“That fool Liverwort has already abandoned us along with half of the representatives of his Sect, the Formation must remain sufficiently powered to cover well over a thousand people mortals and otherwise, surely you cannot seriously propose all of us join in on this suicide mission?” The Wolf Creek Elder presently standing over the indistinct blur that hid Roan’s unconscious form growled. Siegfried if memory serves correctly.
Elder Cinnabar stood up next, eyes narrowed in certainty and acceptance. “They will know of us Lead Cave Elders at least, the absence of a single one of us will draw attention. We must fight, it is not a question. The rest of you may also stay behind if your duties demand it, but it is clear sacrifices are a grim necessity.”
“Auntie! You can’t possibly mean-” Cobalt stammered out before being quite literally silenced by a show of psychic might. Cinnabar sent a message conveyed in a bright purple thread of psychic energy into Cobalt’s head, which she seemed to receive judging by the newly steeled expression in her tear-soaked eyes.
At this point Elder Phagos too seemed to have started to stir to full consciousness, either from the force of the previous explosions, the powerful Si suffusing the air or simply good luck. The massive reptilian man let out a scream of abject rage as he forced himself up, causing a hundred gathered mortals and even some Cultivators to scramble back in fear.
“I have heard enough! I am not going down without a fight! TO THOSE WHO WISH TO STAY BEHIND, I WILL NOT BEGRUDGE YOU YOUR DECISIONS, BUT I AT LEAST WILL NOT BE REMEMBERED AS A COWARD THIS DAY! WHO IS WITH ME!” The man screamed, half mad with rage.
Even some of the previously hesitant members of the congregation seemed to get swept up in Elder Phago’s madness, a chorus of violent cheers erupting from those eager to spend their lives on the defence.
“Father, the others are going out of duty, but are you simply so eager to die?” Cobalt asked with a mix of more emotions than even Magni’s enhanced senses could parse, though she clearly seemed to regret the question the moment it left her mouth.
Elder Phago’s rage seemed to turn to a lower frequency, a dimmer shade of purple swirling around his skull, as he turned to his daughter. “I was never going to have a peaceful death. Remember what we are Cobalt, this will be my last lesson to you. I do not intend to die chiding you like a child.”
And with that the Elders charged forward to war, taking with them some of the more brave and loyal souls. Immediately the crushing weight of the daunting task ahead hit Magni like a crushing weight, of those that remained none could see the flow of psychic energy like he did. Lives were on the line, not only his own, not only his friends, but nearly everyone they ever gave a shit about. The world spun and fragmented as his brain failed to keep up with his vision, forcing him to stumble to his knees.
He felt a warm hand pat him on the shoulder, an unspoken reassurance. He didn’t need eyes on the back of his head to know it was John’s mentor and apparent adopted father, a warm and determined smile on his face. “I remember helping out my friends, dual cultivating twins they were, carved similar formations in my time before. I will not take any chances on my charges, and I will not take any chances on you young Magni. You are not alone in this.”
Shakily he forced his vision back into a coherent mass and nodded. This was no time to be Magni the useless street urchin, surviving off cowardice and being invisible. This was no time to be Magni the shitstain, putting on a performance for himself as much as the rest of the world.
It was time to see who he really was when the fire came burning at the gate.
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With a burst of power, the Elders came flying through the horde of men and machines that had already entered the Sect, inching dangerously near its heart and the crowded refugees hidden now in equal measure by the rubble of the hill and what remained of the Formation. Steel and gore flew in all directions, split apart by nuclear powered fury stoked by the potent desperation of a last stand. The Dustriders with their own smaller, more nimble vehicles buzzed through like a small swarm of insects to pick apart the massive siege engines clawing at the gates, the Wolf Creek members focused almost entirely on the traitorous elements of the gathered Sects and Greenhouse members who have taken their chances and staked their place with the enemy with all the sheer rage of angered beasts. And in the center of it all the Lead Cave, still shaken from that ill fated expedition and repeated treachery and sabotage within their own halls during these fateful few hours but still pound for pound surpassing all but the great champions of their foes, endless as their numbers may have seemed. This was war, not the pale imitation of conflict in the Tournament, not the chore of beating back insurgents and the armies of uppity warlords. Life and death truly on the line!
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Agamemnon Phagos knew this was what his father must have felt like in his last moments, the Curse boiling over in his veins ravaging through injured Meridians into singed organs, the steady flow of adrenaline and agony keeping him awake enough to partake in the feast. Really could he have truly expected another way his life could have led him?
Channeling his power to the absolute fullest Agamemnon Phagos burned four decades of cultivation, the power of countless consumed dantians, and demonstrated the full might of the Fifth Step of the Aberrant Realm, wounds bubbled shut, not quite fully healing so much as being swallowed by a confluence of cancerous flesh, but it wouldn’t matter anyway. He would go down in style. Shedding his human form and letting go of his tight control over his mutations, Agamemnon became a writhing, nearly blind beast of gnashing maws and countless tumours. If not for Rusty ripping out two of his own eyes and planting them in his expanding flesh at the start of the transformation doubtless he would, in fact, be totally blind. With a blast of masterfully controlled radiation enough to render entire cities practically uninhabitable for years he let out a beam of ionized air briefly splitting the sky above in full defiance of the dragon lurking in the clouds and cleanly cleaving apart hundreds of foes in his warpath mortal and cultivator alike. Briefly, the world flickered black as his attack washed across all directions, the very radiation of light itself being drawn into his sphere of command. His many jaws turned upwards in a rictus grin as he smelled the fungal scent of Samuel Liverwort being eviscerated by his strike, a traitor down was always a worthy cause for celebration even in such times.
It did not go unnoticed, it was hardly a second before a roar of challenge was issued and this Cipactli flew down onto the ground. Agamemnon could hardly see him at this point with how swollen his flesh was, but he could feel the power, raw and untamed and far beyond him. If this was to be his end then it was a worthy one. Barbarians they may be, but strength could recognize strength, there was no faking what he felt. If his mouth could still form a grin it would have, his heart and perhaps a dozen redundant versions of the organ beating in time. Krack it all, he was having this!
At speeds a mortal could barely comprehend two colossal masses of flesh, albeit with one being far larger than the other, slammed into each other with supreme force a few hundred feet or so from the Sect. The shockwave alone carving a great furrow into the earth below. Agamemnon briefly felt blackness overtake him as even his impressive durability was stretched past its limits and a concussion of a scale no ordinary mortal could even comprehend was inflicted onto his brain. All in all, it probably cost him a half-second, but that was enough time to feel his entire body set alight from within.
He felt a massive psychic blast impact the Dragon before it could take advantage of his lapse in concentration. Though it appeared to have barely irritated the beast. To the side he could barely see the exhausted figure of Lione, brain totally exposed from her face peeling back and missing most of the skin on her centipede lower body. He didn’t need psychic senses to feel her body tearing itself apart at the unstable energies she was forced to commit, and a small flash of something other than bloodlust pierced his many hearts. He couldn’t even see where Rusty went, was he even alive? How would he know until the dust had settled, and by then it wasn’t likely for anything to be left anyway.
“Stand down Cipactli, you have done enough.” An almost fatherly voice spoke gently, cutting through the chaos of war despite its softness as though it was the only sound that mattered. The Dragon, seemingly understanding, flew away as his master reached out with his massive blood-red hand and made a motion to grip something. A silent scream escaped Lione’s mouth, and a massive wave of a psychic death-scream rattled out in all directions, before being smothered by an equally potent barrier of pure Si. Next, the man focused his attentions onto Agamemnon, an aura of intense radiation so strong it cut through the oppressive blackness that surrounded Agamemnon like a funeral shroud at all times when he was using his true power like it didn’t even exist flared, and though the Cultivator was perhaps half Phago’s current size he felt simply titanic to every sense that actually mattered in the here and now. This, Agamemnon knew, would be the man to strike him down.
Idly he wondered about his daughter. Ideally, she would be ready, when the time came, to face this titan and do better than he. But that hardly mattered here and now. Now he, devourer of legions, would face his ultimate predator with a fight.
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Alexander spent some time with his Rats before departing, it was the least he could do. He called forward Oliver, the oldest and most responsible Rat he has had for the past few years and gave him his careful instructions, for the near future and in case of the worst.
“Listen carefully boy, my mutations make me well suited to the task of redrawing broken formations and with manpower stretched enough as it is I will be leaving the relative safety of the core formation to ensure the evacuation remains successful to the end.” He explained. “You are in charge in the interim, and should the worst come to pass I expect you to lead the Rats in my stead, whatever that would mean. I apologize for hoisting such a burden on you so suddenly, but do you think you are ready.”
The honestly shockingly well built Rat who had grown from a typically scrawny boy into a teenager who could barely fit into most holes nowadays sniffled. “I… I understand… but what if I…”
Alexander placed a reassuring hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “While John may have been named my successor in the Sect, he never had a good head on his shoulders. Your strength of character far exceeds your strength of form, I was already arranging opportunities for your future when you inevitably leave the Rats soon enough anyway. Assuming the worst, I could ask for no better replacement.”
“Alright Supervisor… I understand…” Oliver said quietly.
“Please, call me Alexander.” He responded with a smile.
“Old man, get ready, I hear the fighting getting closer and I don’t think we have much time!” Magni shouted out.
Alexander nodded, patted Oliver’s head to an amusing pout, and briefly walked over to the rest of the Rats.
“Do not wait for me, when it reaches your turn to run down that tunnel I do not want any of you to turn around. For those of you who remember when John was with us just think about what he would do… and do the opposite. Am I clear?” He commanded softly, yet firmly.
“Yes, Supervisor.” A chorus of voices of varying certainty called back. He nodded contently, he would trust them all. He had to.
“Alright, I'll see you all on the other side, promise!” He swore, trying to project as much confidence as he could. Once several shaky nods of understanding were returned in his direction he simply smiled and turned away, running over to Magni’s side in a blink of an eye.
“Alright, I may be slightly rusty, but this should not be any problem.” He told John’s psychic friend. “Let’s do this, to the front?”
“To the front.” Magni said quietly, devoid of all usual snark.
Unbeknownst to them, far away presently on the other side of the battlefield, an angel of charcoal skin and flaming organs engaged in a fierce battle with the many-limbed Elder of the Dustriders. Producing twin blades of modified chitin and coating them with focused radioactive power he struck true to the heart of his foe’s vehicle, cutting it in twain as though it didn’t exist and through it the cultivator riding atop. Gabriel spent a moment to pay his respects to a worthy enemy, and turned his head towards the collapsed core of the Lead Cave. Iktan had given him a task to cut through the chaff and search for anything of interest at the core of the Sect along with a small advance force. So far it seemed most of the enemy forces were concentrated on the border of the Sect, which was certainly unusual and needed investigation. Little matter, it would all be over soon.
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Cobalt stared with unblinking eyes at the strange, jerky movements of John’s body. Not John, she could feel something off in her instincts. At first, she thought he had somehow managed to recover enough to awake already, but in the few minutes that had already elapsed it became apparent something else was at play. And so she followed him, shifting her colours to camouflage in the shadows so well even Magni would have trouble finding her, and when the time was right…
Extending her claws she pounced on her target, careful not to actually slit him open. She hissed into ‘John’s’ ear, slow and dangerous. “Who in the bomb-cursed wastes are you?”
“Ah, was it so obvious?” A strange, robotic, humming voice mused.
“Spit it out before I cut it out of you! What did you do to John!” She growled.
The imposter gave a lopsided smile. “He is presently recuperating, rest assured. In the meantime, I am ARTOS, a pleasure to formally be acquainted!”
Cobalt’s blood curdled in her heart.