V5: Chapter 10

…

Interlude: Conquest

…

The creature controlling my father’s body was cruel and malicious.

With a bestial roar, it swung its demonic blade my way. The arm that held it was covered in layered plates the color of dried blood. Blood dripped from innumerable, self-inflicted channels upon its skin. It removed its eyelids, its cheeks, and its nose. Tattered skin and muscle hung like a beard from my father’s face, while the smiling smile of a skull bore down upon me. Above that horrible smile were unblinking, wide eyes filled with malice.

I evaded the strike, letting it flow just past me as I swiveled my body to make it parallel with the descending blade.

From the surface of the blade suddenly came a deluge of needles, directed by the numerous eyes growing on its surface, which were bright yellow and filled with hunger.

The needles were swept aside by my defenses, and once more I struck against the creature holding my father’s body hostage.

My blade struck true, scoring a deep wound at the same spot I hit him last: where his demonic arm met with the rest of his body.

I needed to tear it off of him, but the creature knew that.

“Ha-ha! Are you trying to save me, daughter!? I’m flattered… but if you want to save me, you need only close your eyes and let me kill you!” He ripped away from me and roared. From his back came forth tendrils of blackened flesh, which surged at me like spears. I cut them apart, and their insides were hollow, but still they remained hard to cut through. “Die for me! Die for those who truly own this world!”

My father would never speak this much in battle, but still I saw fragments of him in the creature’s movements.

How he raised his elbow just a bit higher than he should when striking with a weapon.

How his brow furrowed when he lined up a thrust with his blade.

How a snarl flitted across his face as he readied his spare hand with magic to attack from point blank.

My father was right here in front of me, while a monster was using and lacerating his body, and giving everything else up to protect itself.

I can defeat my father, but I lacked the strength to save him. The more that we fought, the more that I tried to remove the corrupted arm and weapon from his body, the more I realized the truth. It was simply beyond my ability. I used too much power to empower my warriors, I lacked the skill that it would take to overwhelm my father, and the demonic limbs and attacks kept me on the defensive.

If I diverted his blade, spikes would fire upon me and intercept my riposte.

Striking at him with a closed fist enhanced nearly resulted in me losing my arm.

Without magic, without my focus on healing myself and never falling, I would be dead a dozen times over as I had to set aflame any wound I took from him.

I can kill him.

I can destroy this beast.

But I couldn’t save my father… not without risking everything, or perhaps even dying in the process.

As that thought thundered in my mind, as I diverted blows that gouged great furrows onto the ground around me, the moment came.

The moment that I knew would come.

The moment when the King of Wisdom would intercede in order to tip the scales in the direction he favored.

It was an arrow that broke through the barriers of wind and flame that coiled and spun around us.

It was an arrow that I barely noticed until it was in the corner of my vision, despite my senses being sharpened to the point where I could sense the battle around me in near-perfect detail.

It was an arrow suffused with magics against curses and disease, as well as magics to heal and mend wounds.

An arrow fired perfectly through the entire battlefield, into my father’s right shoulder, thorough his heart, out of his chest, then finally into the armored hand that held the demonic sword. At once, the magics laden upon it were imparted. The deep furrows of ritualistic wounds filled in and became normal flesh, the flesh hanging off his jaws fell away and regrew anew upon his face, along with his nose and the lids of his eyes. The black tendrils that surged from his back wilted and crumbled away, while the armor around his corrupted arm faded.

However, most importantly of all, for a fraction of a second his eyes regained their normal, bright blue hue… and he was able to bare his arm for me to cut, while the blade grew a mouth and began to scream and scream.

I did not hesitate.

With a cry, while empowering myself, and while infusing the Deliverer’s blade with so much lightning that it began to crack and glow white-hot… I cut through my father’s demon-infested arm and severed it completely from him.

Despite being an instant, it felt like an eternity as I watched my father’s corrupted arm surge away from his body, tendrils emitting from the limb to try to return to him. I had committed too much, my blade shattered and breaking apart from my swing.

Despite everything, was I simply fated to lose my father to this malign curse?

That question was answered by a single phrase.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“No longer, foul beast.” My father’s voice. Not the malign and corrupted insanity that I heard earlier, left my father’s body. With his remaining hand, he called upon lightning and wind as he always did, as I wished I could. An axe of pure lightning, shaped by invisible winds, formed in his hand, and with that weapon he burned and smashed apart his former limb.

Then, before me, he stood tall, with eyes filled with regret and missing an arm… but it was him and not another.

The demonic blade, scoured of all flesh, lay in the destroyed ground for but a moment before with a grunt he sealed it in stone that erupted from the rock with a gesture of his remaining hand.

Then, he offered me that same hand.

“There will be time for talking later. There are more of our people who need saving.” I wondered if I was dreaming, as I took his hand. However, as soon as I did, I felt it. The weakness and the price of his possession. His power was spent, perhaps forever, even if he retained his body the vessel he forged his entire life was broken. He would live, but today… today will be the last day he could call himself a Champion. Without a shred of hesitation, he wreathed himself in and armor of storms, called a weapon forth in his remaining hand, and looked me in the eyes as I drew my own weapon. “You did well, daughter.”

Those words threatened to break apart my composure, but I held fast.

Father was right.

There still remained a battle to be won.

And, with his return, there was truly a victory ahead and not just one filled with ash and regret.

…

Right.

No point in hiding it.

“I’ll be honest, I did not believe that it would work.” Crusher sat across from me in all his usual glory sans an arm and with at least a kilometer of bandages wrapping up his body. His regeneration was shot, so his whole stint of charging into battle covered in lightning armor hadn’t been the best of ideas. “Good to see that it did, even if it did come at a cost.”

“I awakened from a nightmare, given all my power and might for one last battle, and then the rest of my life. No one would flinch at paying such a price.” Crusher turned my way. The battle winded down fast after the Demonic weapon was removed from Crusher. The enemy started going unconscious or were immensely weakened. It took a while to get people to stop firing and attacking, getting a lot of people killed, but I gave the order to stop as soon as I saw what happened. They did the best they could. “I owe you my life. All of us who survived this day do.”

“You’ll have your chance to pay me back. That thing that took you over has plenty of friends, and they’re coming. We have a half a decade at most.” It wasn’t looking good. A lot of the established military of the Conquerors died here. If this were the game, it’d be a few turns and the army would be replenished. Rookies, but upgrades via research upped stats just fine, and you can farm mobs for experience. “I’d prefer you pay me back in full, but I won’t mind taking in installments. A few soldiers here. Some warriors there. You know.”

“You have us in a vice. Your true army marches here now. The strongest of your Champions are unspent, while we are struggling to stand. You hold three Citadels, one you swore to return to us, yet we don’t have the strength to keep it… let alone take it.” Crusher usually didn’t speak this much. I had to wonder what he was getting at. He turned my way. All over his body were ritualistic scars from where he’d been forced to bleed, one of his massive arms was missing, and over his heart from an entry wound on his shoulder was a pure white scar from the passing of the blessed arrow. Sick skin, honestly, would use. “You wouldn’t live up to your name, if you did not take this opportunity to make the Conquerors yours.”

“If it would take bloodshed, violence, and putting you all under a yoke to do so, then I’d gladly be called the greatest fool of all for ignoring the opportunity.” Crusher took a seat across from me. The bench we’d put together on the fly barely held him. Morgan watched him over my shoulder. I was forgetting she was there more and more often. It’s honestly scary how skilled at concealing herself now. “Crusher, I know your people hold much hate against the Academy and the Descendants. But I am not those men. I was born into slavery, and only luck gave me this position. I wouldn’t do such a thing.”

“Then, why did you come to our aid?”

“I came here to help a strong trading partner and someone I hoped to make an ally. Oh, and stop you from making poor decisions that’ll get you killed. I’d rather do that myself, if I can’t convince you otherwise.”

“Hm. I would almost prefer your armies besieging us, you tyrant.” Crusher chuckled and reached for the pitcher of water between the two of us. He did so with his missing right arm and grimaced, before using his left. Morgan, stop being so testy. The guy’s not that dangerous anymore. “Then, I believe that the path forward should be as the Deliverer envisioned. A duel to decide the fate of our nation. Your champion against our finest. The winner takes everything.”

It was a good offer, but…

“I would’ve had no problem having the Deliverer die in the Kingslaying Rite, but the Conquerors need you and your daughter now, and you two are the only ones who can keep them together.” As much as I liked the guy, and appreciated the fact that he was alive, I would have him commit death via Ilych or Rita or Morgan without a second thought, if the negatives didn’t outweigh the positives. “Too many of your nobility have died. The two of you are needed. The political force and influence needed to push that Rite through for everyone to believe is just gone.”

Many of the traditionalists, Warhawks, and established elders of the Conquest were just dead. That wasn’t just a massive amount of culture and experience lost, it was the people with power and influence that the Deliverer trusted to carry his will after he died in the Kingslaying Rite. Tradition is just a word. It takes people to believe in it, and act on it, for it to have meaning.

Again, Crusher snorted derisively and shook his head.

“So, this is how you are when you are in the position of true strength. You stride upon the finest of paths, regardless of the concerns of others.” Crusher hit the nail on the head, and I didn’t hesitate to nod.

“I put the work in. I paid the price. I lost good, honest men, treasure, transports, and more.” I leaned back and extended my hands outward. In my attempt to look arrogant, Crusher lightly laughed. “I want it all, Crusher. Not just your people becoming part of mine. I want your people, with all their power and might, as my citizens, as my soldiers, and as my Champions.”

“And, you cannot have that, unless we walk the path you have chosen.”

“Exactly.” I cast my gaze outside. The command tent was mostly empty now. People were taking a break. Outside, on the burning battlefield filled with corpses, soldiers were guiding carts pulled by donkeys to take the dead away. The ground was a mess of blood, mud, and bodies. Trenches were being filled up with dirt, barricades were being broken apart, and the stench of death drifted towards us. In the distance, the Conqueror’s blackened tower cast a shadow upon their empty capital. “What do you think, Crusher? How do you feel about uniting our people, while your people stay whole and hale… for the most part ”?

Casualty reports were coming in. 1 in 2 of the pikemen were either injured or dead or dying. That’s 1,500 casualties. Maybe half were going to come back in full condition with serious stress. The other half were… people who could’ve paid taxes, worked, and done all sorts of other things besides die. Hell, they probably would’ve had kids, who would’ve done the same decades in the future, and that was gone too.

A damn shame.

War’s upfront cost is eye-watering, but the cost in terms of future potential was downright tragic.

With that in mind, I wasn’t at all hesitant about securing everything I could, regardless if I looked like the bad guy.

I didn’t have to worry about it, though.

Crusher saw things the same way.

“I will speak with my daughter. We will ally permanently with you. The specifics will be written. Protections will be afforded to my people, and we shall be equals.” Crusher stated, and I didn’t hesitate to stand and nod at his words. The man snorted, but stood as well and took my offered hand. I’d like this in writing, and CC’d to everyone, but this’ll work for now. “I am placing my people’s future in your hands, King of Wisdom. Do not fail us. Please.”

“I’ll do my best, Crusher. I swear.”

Unfortunately, that means throwing your people at the front when shit starts going down, but just know that I’m not doing it out of malice.

I’m doing it because it is the best choice that we have.