Returning from nearly-paused time, I loose my grip on the non, the absence of the flow, and slip back to reality. I’ll deal with the bangle, the clips, and these organs and bodyparts in a bit. We still technically have a bunch of Draconiac Spellknight lords and ladies to overthrow. There’s a commotion from the fortress, and Lucky is still screwing around with the Callipygian. FFS, to me please. Lil, if Lucky and Lu are safe enough facing off against that ancient Blue, to me as well please. I’m putting back on my anti-brainblast-enchanted circlet, so I won’t be able to hear telepathy again for a while.
I stride swiftly back towards the fortress, glancing behind me to make sure that Lucky is okay facing off against the Callipygian. He doesn’t seem to be taking it too seriously, or really need to either. It seems he and Luni are plenty a match for the Blue. Still, if he keeps screwing around, I worry that he’ll get hurt. I’ll put my faith and trust in the two of them to take care of themselves though. I need to get back to our original mission.
Gazing about, it seems like Triorgraiz has done an admirable job of putting out the fires, figuratively and literally. She’s collected the wounded, stacked the dead, other than the corpses that I stole, and it seems she’s even attending to her mount, as it breathes heavily, weakly, in pain. I’m assuming the incredibly burly, heavily armored, massively ensorcelled jerk shouting at her is Vorzog. He’s got that kind of tyrannical-ass air about him, and the vanity that screams, “Name my keep after myself? Perfect!”
Hm, more and more of the wounded, the healthy, and troops that were stationed near enough to become part of our earlier assault are lining up behind Vorzog. This isn’t good. Oh hell’s bells, that’s not fair either. So—. Grr. I made the inside of that magitek-mecha unsafe, by sealing in thousands and thousands of degrees of heat. I know it’s incredibly well insulated, basically perfectly insulated. It’s better than any thermos. Even if the other pilots had the magic available to undo my arcane lockings, they’d have to contend with lava levels of heat to safely pilot it.
The jerks are circumventing that, by channeling animating magic on the stupid thing. It’s little more than an ambling, or alternatingly floating, giant bludgeoning weapon. At the same time though, it’s a nearly-indestructible, giant, ambling-or-floating, bludgeoning weapon. Heaving a sigh, I roll my eyes. I can see Triorgraiz, and a small faction that seem to trust her, basically backed up against a wall figuratively, well, and literally. They’re in the rear of one of the stables that’s been quickly converted into a triage and treatment center. She seems to be arguing the case for surrender, and has apparently gotten Zelshiz to be at least on the fence, since she’s addressing Zelshiz in particular.
Vorzog and Adkre are most definitely not having it, and I can feel the tension mounting. This is about to turn into a bloodbath. Most of the people siding with Triorgraiz are wounded. Guess what time it is Reggie. What time? You know darn well what time. Oh, right. Bluh. I roll my eyes at myself and suppress a chuckle. Gods I hate bragging, but here goes.
Approaching the confluence of the various subfactions at play here, I bark my titles in an authoritative manner, “Stand down and shut up! I am Reggie Shellcracker, a Hero of the Order of the Onyx Dawn, an archmage Aliased Schism, and I am the Void Dragon Honoris Causa! I also happen to be a slayer of Damnations. Go on, check for yourself. Do you see any Damnations hassling my friends behind me? Laombigla lay dying in the grasp of Ephlomseestiph as the larger flees my wrath.”
Oh, right, I look like a smurf right now, a devilish smurf. I’m incredibly blue. That really isn’t selling the threat. Still, this new body is completely and perfectly uninjured, since it was just created for me a few minutes ago. Triorgraiz eyes me warily, raising an eyebrow as she tilts her head ever so slightly to attempt to peer beyond me. Zelshiz similarly tries to take a surreptitious glance beyond me. I suppose having Lil’s hulking form behind me is playing counter to what I’d just said, but oh well. Having an almost-undamaged adult Red, after having faced down two ancients, and two Damnations, speaks plenty well enough as to our capabilities.
Of course Vorzog spits and scoffs, growling in Draconic, likely something sarcastic in the manner of, “Yeah right.”
I’m really too tired to deal with bullcrap like his right now. Shapeshifting towards my normal RS2 form, I decide to keep the horns and tail, but at least my pigmentation, and hair color return to normal. Oh, uh oh. I’m wearing the exploded, burnt tatters of Chuck’s uniform. I can vaguely recognize the two male lovers that’d stopped briefly in the latrine, and they’re putting two and two together. There was an explosion from the latrine area, I’m wearing Chuck’s clothing, and some of his private magical equipment. It doesn’t take a genius to guess where this thought train is going.
One, rushing towards a pile of weaponry, in order to find his enchanted crossbow, cries out, “You bastards, you killed Chuckie!”
Triorgraiz, to her credit, rushes to intercept the lad, and succeeds, but his lover darts around behind her to finish what he started. Rolling my eyes, I unfurl the portable hole, and place it on one of my telekinetic squares. I intercept several quick crossbow bolts by the grief-stricken lover on my TK shield, before leaning the portable hole towards the assembled, out of the way of the incoming crossbow attacks.
Continuing to roll my eyes, as I respond, “I’m assuming you mean Chuck, the man whose clothes I’m wearing, that I’ve safely bound and stored away in my portable hole? Hi there Shlendtikuar, sorry, you’re not a bargaining chip or anything. I’m just trying to prove that I saved and granted mercy to some of these forces already. Are the other three alright? Still breathing? Good. I’ll get them medical attention as soon as I’m done here and returned home. Sorry, putting you back in my pocket again.”
There’s a bit of a stunned silence as several of the gathered recognize either Chuck and the lovebirds, or Shlendtikuar, either by name or appearance. Breathing deeply and loosing a long sigh, I start again, “I am yada yada, etcetera etcetera. I hereby politely request your surrender so that I don’t have to massacre the lot of you in my ongoing war against Terrorzin and all those who follow his insane plan of razing the world.”
As several of the gathered begin to take aim at me, I growl out, “Seriously. I will kill every last idiot that stands between me and ending Terrorzin’s reign. If you don’t at least cease hostilities, and put your weapons down, you will absolutely pay for it. You offer me no threat, and you have no hope whatsoever. I hate bragging, but bragging and threatening seem to be the only way I can get through to the mass of idiots I continuously encounter during this war!”
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
When Vorzog calls on his forces to fire, I almost laugh. Making sure I’m equipped for the occasion, I pull a number four from my QCR once again, as I push outward with my internal electrokinesis. Ow. Ow. Ow, that organ is fresh and tender. Newly created, weak. My electrokinetic magnetic field organ is not strong enough to do this. I guess we’re going to take a bit of a blast and put the QCR back to five. That’s fine, being struck by lightning and standing around like it’s nothing is almost as good as creating a massive spherical shield of lightning. Almost.
It takes me a moment to realize who Vorzog’s forces fired on first. He had them fire on the traitors. He had them fire on the defectors. The bastard! Triorgraiz is now in melee combat with Vorzog, and being overpowered, as she’s not in her armor, and wielding only the nearest sword she could grab. Friggin’ hell, all of my current abilities are area of effect. If I tried to help Triorgraiz, I’d get her killed. I’m so used to having to do things solo! I can’t protect allies locked in single combat! She stripped half of her armor to be able to better field-dress the wounds of her subordinates, so she’s too vulnerable for me to even aid. If I tried to intervene with my sloppy swordsmanship, I’d similarly likely get her distracted and killed. This, this just, I—. I—. Grr!
Shouting, I plead, “Lil, cover the wounded! Sorry to ask this of you buddy. FFS, are you nearby? Ice walls when you can manage!”
Despite having been working to kill these people only minutes ago, Lil immediately acts on my request. He shields them with splayed wings, taking crossbow bolts, magical blasts, and even firearm shots to the face, and to his dactyl-leathers to prevent them from suffering any further. I’m sorry Lil buddy, please be okay. I sniffle and blink back tears as I gulp back my feelings.
What the hell can I do? I, I’m hesitating. I don’t know what to do. Watching the swordplay unfold, Triorgraiz is agile, adept, and working out the few advantages she has, but Vorzog is heavily armored, stronger, and quite likely equally as skilled. He might even have been able to act more skilled than Triorgraiz if he weren’t hampered by his equipment. He’s beginning to weave spellwork, increasing his powers, while Triorgraiz is—. I gulp back more of my emotions. She’s using her spellwork to protect and enhance the resilience of the wounded. She must be almost certain she’s going to die, and she’s using her final moments to protect her subordinates. No. No.
I throw TK squares in the path of Vorzog’s attacks, trying to trip him up, but he’s so powerful that he’s shattering them, only slowing slightly. My tears stream forth as Vorzog’s broadsword bites into Triorgraiz’s shoulder, shatters her clavicle, and rends flesh and scales from the area of her neck down nearly to her pectoral ridge. My TK square just barely reduces his momentum enough to prevent his strike from reaching her heart and lungs.
The world slows as I engage my Steely Body spell’s adamantite form once more, and LBBTKSL to intercept the next stroke of Vorzog’s sword. Taking the blow on my now near-invulnerable right forearm, I haul back as I backhand Vorzog away from Triorgraiz. He only stumbles a few steps. Glancing back, Triorgraiz lay bleeding out, gasping for breath, gulping down air. She looks to be in incredible pain and Wrath decides to remind me of another reason to hate these people.
Growling an order, I try to temper my ire, “What does the name Leezahna Dimineros mean to you?”
The fact that he pauses his battle stance to tap his chin and appear ponderous is as close as I could get to an advantage over someone so much more skilled right now. My guts twist as Vorzog responds, “Dimineros, Dimineros. Oh, right, those traitors. That pretty little thing? Weren’t my turn, so I let my boys have a bit of the spoils of war if you know what I mean. Just barely clutching a—.”
Frostburn’s blade enters and exits Vorzog’s skull from beneath his chin, below his ornate helmet, before he can finish his sentence. Or, an illusion of his skull, or a simulacrum of him. I’m uncertain, because he claps and whistles from nearby.
Looking more closely at Vorzog as he struts perpendicular to me, hardly caring about my having slaughtered whatever he’d been using, it’s clear he’s got powerful magical equipment. The helm alone is made of carved bone and gilded horns from some cunning Fel creature. Actually, I’m almost certain it’s from a Felcun, and an alpha Felcun at that. Why is he walking away from me? He’s walking towards—. The wounded.
As Vorzog grasps a weakened individual by driving his claws beneath their ribs, he hurls the wounded man at me, ripping their lungs, shattering their ribs, and evicerating them simultaneously. As the wounded Draconiac man is dying in midair while sailing at me, he bursts into a column of hellish Fel fires. It singes even my eyebrows, and painfully dries out my eyes, flashing brightly as the deadly flames lap up everything that could be fuel on the poor Draconiac.
The helm’s skull’s eyes shone brightly with hellish fire when Vorzog activated this ability. What’s more, the skeleton of the Draconiac man, still blazing with hellish flames, Stands up and begins to attempt to gnaw at me. It grapples me, preventing me from pursuing or subduing Vorzog as he picks up, slays, and throws more of the wounded subordinates at me. When the fourth corpse becomes a skeleton, the first one finishes immolating away to ash. Upon the fifth throw, the second one sizzles away to ash upon the breeze as well. It seems he can only keep three hellish skeletons animated simultaneously, but he can just keep creating hellfire bombs out of people.
It’s taking all I have to keep Triorgraiz shielded from the heat of the Fel fires. I know their cursed flames would all but ensure her demise. I can’t think straight, or get a moment’s peace as Lil is now stuck attempting to heard wounded away from their own commander as Vorzog seeks them out to use them as hellish missiles of Fel fires. Growling in frustration, I smash the skulls of two of the flaming Draconiac skeletons together, and use their now-disintegrating bodies to bludgeon the third that is attacking me, so that I have a moment’s reprieve before the next load of bodies become skeletons.
Unfurling the portable hole again, I telekinetically swipe a load of medical supplies into it, and carefully lower Triorgraiz into it, pleading, “Save her! Keep pressure on her wounds. If you have an anesthetic poison breath, ease her pain, please.”
Having to quickly fold back up the portable hole once more, in order to prevent the next series of explosions from cooking my protected prisoners, I spy the two male lovebirds from the latrine. This is a gamble. Calling out to them in a hoarse whisper as I doff my circlet, I request, “Your commander, Triorgraiz, and your friend Chuck, and several others are in here. Save them! Get them off of the battlefield! Hunter and Muse will protect you, the Hound and woman facing the ancient Blue outside. Run!”
Telepathically sending to Luni and Lucky, I get them to agree to protect the fleeing pair while all hell is breaking loose as a civil war breaks out amongst the subfactions. Some of the ones previously allied with Vorzog are sickened at his actions, slaying and temporarily reanimating their compatriots. Some are torn, being ordered to assault and slay wounded, others are on Triorgraiz’s side or Zelshiz’s side, plenty are fanatically loyal. It’s absolute chaos. I can’t tell who’s fighting who, or for whom, at the moment. It seems I sent those two away just in time.
I don’t know if Shlen can field-dress a wound, much less one that’s as deep as the one on Triorgraiz. Hopefully her subordinates can do so, if Luni buys them some time. Maybe Lu can even perform some stop-bleeding song or something. I have no idea the scope and limits of her powers. I recognize psionic attack spellwork being crafted. Crap. As I feel an immense ripple in the ground, as of some concussive force striking the surface of the land outside the fortress, I could swear I hear the word, “Mercy,” across one of the telepathic wavelengths from outside as I’m replacing my circlet.
If I’m guessing right, the Callipygian was just grounded, for perhaps the final time, and she caused a tremor, a minor earthquake. Oh hey, those are my goggles over there, what’s her name Zelshiz is looking into them. What— what’s got her face so aghast?