Cripes. Hey. What’s that rumbling? Oh boy! Taking a deep breath, holding it, I jettison myself out the bottom of this ancient Sand’s no-longer-whole jaw. Thunder incoming! Not sure whether friend or foe at this point. But genre senses or retrocognitive scene-painting are telling me to get the hell outta the blast zone. Signaling for everyone who’s dogpiling the Sand to fall back, I rocket along with Lil, Lucky, Vylon, and several others, a fair distance eastward.
Oh crap. I think it was both friend *and* foe. Shiz! I mean, argh. I mean actually Shiz, our Thunderer ally. One of our foes is a Thunderer. That was the seventh dragon whose breath I didn’t make note of visually. Or maybe an eighth dragon showed up. I can’t even keep track of the number of bodies bodying us any longer. Some of Terrorzin’s forces are beginning to ignore us and dash on by. Mostly skirmishers, or scout-looking folk, but that’s still no good. Loosing a few holy halefire double-barreled crossbow bolts, I ping them in the back with the energy bolts from the crossbow, and load the crossbow with the cataclysm bolts. A really dramatic name for slightly explosive-effect bolts.
Launching a few spell rays at the disengaged foes, I follow those up with the explosive bolts, specifically the ones that leave annoying little shrapnel or ice-shard effects in an area, discouraging Terrorzin’s troops from outright dashing past us. Pointing, I direct Lil, Zelshiz, and a gaggle of Spellknights and Lil’s little cult to fan out and stop any of our foes’ who’ve advanced past us. No questions asked, each nods resolutely, or looks to their direct commander, who nods and they follow suit. Yui and Yuri are catching their breath on Lucky’s back, good, they should be fit for whatever next horror Terrorzin throws at us. I’d kept them out of the path of the breath weapons that drenched Boetah and Shaylon.
Our nearly-invincible defenders are rolling off eastwards to the next chokepoint. Good. By the time we retreat that far, they’ll have had at the very least several minutes to harden after engaging their Latents. Everybody knows the stakes. Everybody does their best to take the most efficient actions they can at any given moment, and listens to the plans of others if anyone offers one up. The Strategists Eight announce any dire needs, changes in plans, or time to swap waves of defenders for rest.
We’ve bought several hours, if we lose this chokepoint right now, it’ll hurt our timetable, but not completely ruin it. Yui soloing out here for an hour or two before I got here, or half an hour to an hour before Teuila got here, is about as good as I could have hoped for holding my Wistenzlia disaster-cade. It’s still odd that Terrorzin had some of his Spellknights tunnel through and begin chipping away at it from both sides, if he had big plays like those plasma attacks. Again, really feels like he was holding out to go gunning for me.
Well. I am pretty good at pissing people off. Maybe I got under his skin, or, uh, scales, the other night. Nothing quite says, “incompetent overlord and useless army,” like a single creature rolling in, loudly announcing themselves, wreaking havoc, and escaping. So I probably wounded his pride too. Not that I did great or anything. It was a spectacular disaster trying to escape. Still. Why isn’t he pushing harder, faster, with more of his forces? Sending respectably-sized waves after us and a few hard hitters spaced out? It really doesn’t seem like the style of someone who’s fated to die and wants to watch the world burn.
Wait. That’s right. He doesn’t want to die. He’s actually a coward. He’s been cowed by the Celestial Emperor, ordered to remain in the Spine of the World. Specifically via the Damnations. Where did I get that info? How do I know that? Is that intuition? Retrocognition? Genre senses? Was it in some of the history texts Nala was using to fill me in on things? Well, however I learned it, things are starting to make more sense. Terrorzin is actually afraid of dying. Terrified of it.
He—his soul, his dragonforce. Either the Celestial Emperor is going to claim it, via the Damnations—or perhaps even personally—or it will have to face the judgement of whatever afterlife awaits dragonkind after one of the Onyx Dawn absorbs his essence. He’s responsible, at least in part, for the repeated death of The Platinum, psychopomp to dragonkind. I can’t imagine a warm reception awaiting him. After all this blow and bluster, this pompous jerk is scared of getting what’s coming to him, trying to buy every last second avoiding his fate.
I’m starting to lose track of time, something that’s quite unlike me when I’m not intentionally shutting my brain off during monotonous activities. The exhaustion is setting in, but we’ve got a whole week of slogging through constant engagements like this. We’ll be constantly trying to buy each other one to six hours of rest, at each and every opportunity, with less and less of us able to rotate in as defenders. Whether that’s because some of us are injured and exhausted… or… dead. Biting my lips and clenching my eyes shut, I try to remain centered, grounded in the moment. Growling, I virtually vibrate in discomfort.
Where’s Te? Hm, sneakily coaxing injuries from others into herself and her Honoris Causa. I want to chastise her, but, well, it’s her prerogative, and us Can’Z’aasians have a lot of legs up over our Rayileklian allies when it comes to injury recovery. Glancing back towards the west, I try to take stock of the situation. The two thunderers are clashing, duking it out with horrendous barks of discordant booms. It’s difficult for me to parse what damage, if any, each thundrous blast is doing to either dragon. The explosive sound and shockwaves however are driving back the other ancients, the high commanders, keeping them from interfering in the duel. That’s almost surprising.
I think Shiz’s breath weapon is nowhere near the potency of our foe’s though. Grimacing, I worriedly fully turn back towards the fray, intending on joining him. Still, despite not being a blaster, Shiz is giving as good as he gets, if not better, by staying up close and personal against his foe. He’s proving handily why he was the co-leader of a domain, one of Terrorzin’s prized experimental outposts.
The ancients who’d unleashed upon us look quite pissed that their breath weapons were diverted, and now their dragonfright has been subverted by both me, and Lucky. That’s to be expected I suppose. I truly seem to excel at pissing people off, and it seems Lucky does too. Lucky probably got that from me. Pft, as if that’s a genetic trait Reggie. Hell, we don’t even have genetics to pass on traits, being part-digital. Reggie? Mhm? Focus goober.
Hey, which feed is that? Glancing through the scrying sensors, I see one flitting along and above thousands of Terrorzin’s troops. That’s gotta be Illy. Yeah, that’s the plexiglass box labeled for Illy’s goggles’ scrying sensor. It’s hard to read around all the bodies flitting about the security center. Based on the canyon walls, she’s heading eastward, this way. Well, she did say she wanted a shot at these high general thingies. Commanders? Somethin’ like that. Based on the movement of her head, I think her neck is stiffening as she charges her breath weapon to maximum.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Scribbling a note, I give directions to the security center to pass along a message to Illy, about the situation, so that she doesn’t nail us with friendly-fire. Also, so that we maximize and capitalize on the chaos she’ll be bringing down upon these commanders’ heads. Glancing at Lucky’s boots, I flick a brow towards them, and he whuffs affirmatively. Good boy Lucky. He knows what to do, but I hold up a hand signaling for him to wait. Not just yet. Whistling a staccato series of notes that I think Shiz will find familiar, and funny, I signal for him to back off.
Things are about to get interesting. Or ugly. One of the two. Possibly both.
To Vylon, I quickly request, “Rend, get your claws on the horns at the base of the Acid’s skull, and twist as hard as you can until you hear the snap. Do a cartwheel if you have to.”
Jutting the bottom of his jaw out appreciatively, Vylon blinks once at my casual brutality, and probably a bit that I have the nerve to toss him a command. Still, he charges towards the black dragon whose acid breath is almost recharged. If Vylon can at least incapacitate the acid—better yet, hopefully kill it—then Illy comes streaking in, with no targets immune to her breath. She’ll unleash a torrent of fully charged acid of the second-most-powerful black dragon on the planet. We’ll get Lucky to barrier off this lost ground beyond our chokepoint in order to let these high commanders stew in a tidal wave of Illy’s potent acid.
If I recall correctly, the barrier from the boots only lasts maybe a minute, max. Unless that was Adkre manually dropping the effect. Hard to say. I haven’t worn or attuned to them. My son, our Hound, Hunter, Lucky, went scavenging and looting mid-battle, to pick them off of Adkre’s corpse. He somehow used the magical hands from the scarf I gave him in order to affix the boot-coverings to his own greaves. My life is so friggin’ weird. At least it’s filled with great people.
Glancing at Vylon, he can be a bit brutish, but beneath that, he’s an eloquent—nearly poetic sometimes—ally whose strength lies in far more than his muscles. Muscles that he happens to have plenty of, beneath his bulky, rough, gold-scaled exterior. Crap. Flaw with the plan Reggie. Vylon’s right arm still looks a bit limp. I’m not sure he’s going to have the leverage.
I don’t think we can hold this chokepoint any longer. Despite the plan I’d intended to put into motion. Still, I mutter my titles under my breath in order to exert my Honoris Causa. The spiritual Void Dragon within me manifests, and I lumber into the fray alongside Vylon. There’s a bit of sulking bravado, wounded pride, in the glance he shoots me, but he nods, accepting the aid. I loose my void-breath in bursts about the field, disorienting each of the ancients that are still kicking, and Shiz raises a brow my way, since I just signaled for him to back off.
Tapping my goggles, I nod at Shiz, so he falls back with the others and glances through the scrying feeds. Hopefully he sees Illy streaking this way at a rapid clip, likely in her human-form, but with her wings. I’m sure he doesn’t want to get caught in the crossfire of her breath weapon. Even I’m not sure I’d survive Illy’s acid for long. I’ve only got something like, crap, what was it, was it sixteen, thirty, fifty, or sixty or so percent acid resist? Gorrammit, I need to start writing this stuff down. Really Reggie, writing it down? What’re you gonna do, pull a notebook out mid-battle and look up your own stats? Pft. Okay, okay, snark later, fight now.
Drawing a full breath, and exhaling smoothly, I lock limbs with Vylon as we batter the ancient Acid foe, until we can get a grip along the base of its skull somewhere. Preferably the lower rear horns, for extra leverage. There we go. Let’s see if I can help Vylon out a bit. Concentrating on my Latent, voiding out his gravity along parts of Vylon that overlap with my semi-ethereal Honoris Causa, it costs me hundreds of days worth of dragonforce. It’s worth it though, because Iylynila’s coming in hot, and nearly here. Vylon and I roll hard, resulting in a squeal of fear from the ancient Acid that’s cut short by a resounding snap. Oof. Brutal. Like I said.
Flicking my head, Vylon nods at my gesture and retreats swiftly. Whistling a staccato burst of five chirps to Lucky, he understands I’m counting down. Another burst of four whistles. Another burst of three whistles. I remain in Illy’s path, unfortunately, as I try to keep the septuplet of ancient high commanders off their game, and corralled in one spot at the edge of our lost chokepoint. I’ve certainly got all their attention. Another burst, two whistles this time. I’m rapidly flickering my Honoris Causa’s intangibility on and off like some sort of shadowy cat superhero full of pride, as attack after attack is leveled my way. Ugh, it’s blowing through my dragonforce reserves.
Crap, I’m gonna have to take a few hits in order to fall back safely. I remain fully tangible across my Honoris Causa, gripping two claws of two attackers lunging at me in order to guide their momentum down into the ground, planting them at my Honoris Causa’s feet. Last whistle, and Illy’s within range to loose her acid, but thankfully my plan was communicated.
Trying a judo throw I’d seen Teuila do once, it doesn’t perfectly translate to draconic bodies. But I do manage to topple the ancient Poison into the ancient Fire as they’re both loosing their breath weapons, causing them to blow up in each other’s faces, disorienting them. I raise my fist, zero whistles, Lucky comes streaking my way, and glides up the north face of the canyon walls as Illy dives to land right behind me. In an instant, she’s as large as she can safely be beneath the Worldstorm with her smooth transformation skills, and has about-faced to the west. I dive towards her jaw while dropping my Honoris Causa so that I can slip beneath her stream of acid as she unleashes an absolutely hellish torrent, a full charge that’d normally last a couple of minutes, with her powers. She sets it free though in the span of the two seconds it takes for Lucky to streak across from the north canyon face, to the south canyon face, with his boots activated.
Sadly, the field that Lucky’s item conjures doesn’t entirely reach the Worldstorm, especially since we couldn’t get our foes back inside the chokepoint. Still, I’m proud of him, so I flash him a warm smile. If those ancients have survived Illy’s torrent, they’ll have to either sit in the giant pool of acid, or try to retreat, regaining us the chokepoint, or fly above Lucky’s barrier in their smaller human forms. Either way, we—Iylynila punches me hard across the jaw, demanding my attention. Well she’s certainly got it. She reaches for my face, drawing me close, before freezing and sighing.
Letting loose her grip on me, Illy’s muscles slacken, and every bit of her sags wearily before she mutters, “Headed home Schism, will send the next wave of defenders. Just… stop dying out here. Alright? You ass. You’d better make it through this. All of it.”
My face droops as I watch Illy take off eastward. She needs to be relieved, since she’d been on covert ops nearly all day, behind enemy lines, taking out problematic targets as best she could. Still. After being socked in the face, I was sure she was going to kiss me. I think she was sure she was going to kiss me too. Something dawned on her, and dropped her emotio—Kinzul.
My wife, her mother. She knows what Kinzul is doing, and what it’s costing her. She knows that she’d be wrapped up in me, obsessed with my position and safety in the final battle. She’s been trying this entire time that she’d requested there not be an “us” until after this war, to focus on being able to focus when the moment of truth comes.
She asked me to fight time and tide, not to mention fate. She’s going to put everything she can into delaying or discrediting the prophetic painting. The portent it showed, of me standing at Kinzul’s corpse, looking regretful. I think each of the three of us are sure that it somehow comes before our war is entirely finished. My heart pinches, and pauses, in my chest, aching at the thought. My love, my Lady, my wife. You’re the most merciful, kindest, compassionate being in any realm. Without you, how can I foster and nurture mercy, while continuing on? We’ve still got at least two more apocalypses to deal with, if we can even suppress this one fully.