V5: Chapter 8

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Interlude: Conquest

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Our home burned to the sound of distant thunder.

The King of Wisdom has shown us his hand.

No.

All this time, he bared the cards face up, as to prevent all other nations from playing against him. Ever since he unveiled his wonderous creation, all scholars and generals of all nations knew that what we now looked upon was possible, yet to look upon it was humbling.

Even if the defenses we set were present, could we have stopped this siege? This endless tide of flame and explosives from the skies? The Descendants rode upon their winged horses and attacked with impunity. Mimicking the formations of migrating birds high in the sky, they struck with steep dives almost too fast to react to, and loosed their payloads with great accuracy, before rising once more into the sky.

They did this thrice, bombing the base of our Citadel, until they could no longer. They could no longer, because their assault created an inferno. A crown of writhing flame formed at the crown jewel of our capital, staining the pure white Citadel a dark black, as everything at its base burned. The walls of flame were high, aided by the sharp winds that billowed across the plain, and even from a distance I could see them leaking into the city beyond the Citadel walls.

Though the King of Wisdom was aiding us, I could only see our people suffering the same fate, if we chose to oppose him.

Then, suddenly, a horn resounded from afar.

I looked at his command center and saw three yellow banners being swung.

Yellow meant an approaching enemy force.

Three banners meant three groups of a thousand each.

There had been five thousand left behind in the Citadel due to our weakness. All of whom suffered the cruel fate of being corrupted and killed by those who were infected with demonic corruption. We expected to receive them all, to lay down our lives, so that we can grant them honorable deaths. Yet, with but the blast of battle horns and the waving of three banners, the King of Wisdom proclaimed his actions already killed two thousand of those who we couldn't save.

We have yet to lift a finger, yet the battle was nearly halfway done.

"Chieftain?" Breaker spoke and drew me from my thoughts. His eyes were on the battlefield ahead. Scarred from his battles, but still whole, he looked across the plains towards the enemy force composed of those we couldn't save. Those we had to kill, because of our weakness. I locked those thoughts away with a breath to refocus on the battle at hand. I followed his gaze, and felt a leaden ball fall deep into my gut. "Your father is at the head of the army."

"Of course, such an assault couldn't have killed him." I regathered my thoughts and focused. I laid my eyes upon the battlefield prepared by the King of Wisdom. It was immaculate. Hazards that would slow and impede, set before lines and lines of hardened, professional soldiers armed with fearsome weapons. One alone could not harm us or fell us, but they derived strength from more than just numbers. They stood shoulder to shoulder unflinching, each one ready to fight beside one another, and when the warnings came, the pikes descended. Walls of sharpened steel, held by steadfast soldiers, in dug-in positions, with mages, rifles, and aerial cavalry at their back. "But that will."

"If we do nothing, we will be shamed forever." Breaker said.

"Honor is a luxury. In this case, a luxury that the King of Wisdom has bought for you. Will you accept it?" Breaker's brow furrowed at my words, but soon his jaw tightened at the realization. "Those thoughts you have now, of honor and vindication, are only possible through him. Will you owe him that, as well as your life?"

"No." Breaker spoke with a low rumble, and my words were heard by the remains of my force, and those who answered the call. Half were with me on the right flank and the other half was on the left flank. Our task was simple: ensure the enemy could not escape the jaws of death that awaited them. "I will not."

"Good." I looked forward, at the coming mass of corrupted led by my father. Strengthening my eyes, I could see them clearly, despite being so far away. I drew my weapon on instinct. "Stay fast, until I give the word."

The people who I once called my own were now malformed abominations. From their bodies came forth sharpened bones. They bled wherever they tread, leaving a sickly sludge of scarlet that corrupted the soil and killed plant life. They charged across the plains, from the city and the inferno that was blackening the Citadel at their backs, without any sign of tiredness, a stampede of mutilated flesh. Many sported the bones of other Conquerors as armor, had weapons stolen from soldiers in their hands, and some had torn off their hands entirely and their bones fused into horrific blades they chipped into existence.

As they charged, their figures blurred and warped, as their innate magic seemed to enhance their howling run at us. I recalled how difficult they were to hit, how to evade so many attacks sent against them, and I idly wondered how their power would fare against what was arranged against them… then, I received my answer.

I knew what was coming before it happened, as the mass reached the first range marker.

The hundreds of mages who maintained spells to allow hundreds of transports to stay aloft had been resting for the past several days. Besides moving earth and casting fires to illuminate the camp, they did little else but rest and march with us. Now, after days of rest, they were behind a sturdy wall, behind a whole army, behind innumerable defenses, and given so much time to prepare the spells that Jack wanted.

The first that was cast was a great deluge of mud. It was a spell taught to amateur mages the difference between substances between learning to create earth or water, before more esoteric powers such as lightning and flame. Many forgot the spell, marking it a mere fragment of a memory for many mages, but Jack had not forgotten.

He had it cast, pre-ranged, as soon as our enemy reached the first marker.

The whole enemy army was, thus, carpeted in a blackish mixture of gritty dirt mixed with water. What did not hit the enemy fell onto the ground, and in their charge, they themselves furthered the King of Wisdom's plans: they churned the soil, they threw around the mud, and they embroiled themselves in it. No amount of innate magic, or even technique, could stop what happened next: the mass slowed down. Some tripped and fell, others roared in rage as they were forced to slow, and many others sank into the sludge, their weight simply too heavy, as the spell also softened the hard ground beneath and invigorated it with water.

In the meetings during our trip here, as he constructed his maze of death, he'd described it such:

"Best to try and slow them down as much as possible, right? We get more if we do it right at the start, too."

I would deem the idea elegant in its design, if not for the sobering sight of three thousand Conquerors, empowered by demonic corruption, finding their charge completely ruined in an instant.

Making them prey for his next attack.

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Once again, his words resounded in my ears, while in my mind's eye I watched him smash a fist lightly against his open palm while directing his gaze at our simulated battle.

"Then, we break them up into more manageable pieces. Make sure they don't hit us all at once."

Many preferred flame and lightning for mages to attack from afar. Flame would've dried the mud. Lightning would've faced insulation from the sludge, as well. Even wind would've undone the slowing effect of the attack. Floods would've washed the quagmire away as well, thus there was only one option left: earth.

With another general, with another leader, it would've boulders hurled at the enemy.

Nonesuch was the King of Wisdom's desire.

Spinning spikes of earth spun and surged forward through the air and smashed into the slowed, haphazard charge. He bid his mages to make them brittle, so that they could not be used as cover upon landing, but there was another effect. The torrent of earthen spikes shattered upon colliding without anything, sending shards hurtling in every direction. They were fragile things, breaking apart against even bodies, but that just made them more deadly. Shards flew in every direction, like broken pottery amplified to the greatest of extremes, and their impacts scattered the enemy while sending innumerable shards upon them.

How many armies would've broken with just those two attacks alone?

Could I have led a force against such an attack?

If I had the right shamans, if I did not allow him to prepare, if I did everything in my power, then I could've avoided those two attacks… then what of the rest?

The third and last brigade of mages attacked with a storm of dust for a brief, but terrifying moment. The whole enemy army was engulfed by flensing winds carrying abrasive particulate. Particulate that Jack had a singular hope for:

"Then, once they're slowed and shocked, we'll blind them and rid them of as much of their senses as possible. Permanently, hopefully."

He aimed at their eyes, ears, and noses with this final barrage. He hoped skin would tear off, eyes would burst, throats would be scoured, and ears filled with sand and dust. The sandstorm whirled and spun around the enemy force, swallowing them whole, until suddenly fading away and falling into the sludge… which it had spun and thrown around and about the enemy army alongside all the shards of earth.

Thus, the terrifying force that I had looked upon emerged changed because of the King of Wisdom's orchestrations. I could see no sign of burning blood or self-mutilated injuries. The horrific bone weapons were slathered in in mud, and many who spilled their own entrails or weakened themselves to bleed more were dead. Some who had slipped into the mud were felled by their own people, crushed underfoot in their desperate rush forward.

The mass of death rushing towards us, that shook my heart and that of many others, looked like monsters still… but mindless, unthinking, and feral monsters that lived in mud huts and caves at the mercy of civilization.

Ah.

That's what meant with final words in our last meeting last night with all the others:

"Once they're not so scary anymore, we'll kill them all."

I had thought that he aimed to weaken them, thus making them less 'scary.'

When, in fact, he truly meant what he said.

The enemy reaching for us now was no longer to be feared.

It was to be pitied, and put down with the last dregs of dignity it had left.

As that thought occurred to me, the first of the struggling mass reached the first ditches, the first sets of anti-cavalry barricades, and entered the range of hundreds of rifles layered upon a hillside all directed at them.

As the first bullets hurtled forward, I looked at the command post, and I already knew what command we would be given.

A golden banner swung in the air, one that I had no hope for, until I witnessed the start of the battle.

Jack's words, once again, reached me despite being so far:

"This one means victory is likely, and to pursue secondary objectives." He looked at me as he held the golden banner, shimmering in even dim torchlight. "For you, that means capture your father, or whatever's left of him, alive along with anyone else… so that we can try to save them."

I had let that hope die in my heart when I first faced my father, but now it was rekindled in full.

"All men, with me! Ready the chains! Ready the bindings! Shamans be ready for capture!" I roared as a flame came to life within my chest, as my hearts burst into life, and as a darkness in the corners of my vision suddenly faded. Instantly, upon seeing that golden banner, I felt alive once again. I felt as though there was some victory to be grasped, rather than a prolonged defeat. I can save my father, or at least try! "We have been shamed once already! Shall be shamed once more!?"

The answer to my question was a resounding roar of refusal, drowning out even the constant crack of rifle fire from the King of Wisdom's troops.

From the tops of the mounds, I saw that his Champions were moving forward. The Sword of Wisdom flanked by Rita and Ayah burst forth, and the pikemen began to march forward with their forest of steel moving with them. Behind them the mages took to the top crest of the mounds and began to reign magic upon targets of their own volition, and behind them still… aerial cavalry was rising up.

The enemy was still dangerous, many of his army will die, but less than if we do not capitalize on this opportunity.

"Go! Go now! Run! Charge! Onward!" I screamed, I yelled, and I forced my lungs issue commands even with most limited of air within them. I heard Breaker and my remaining officers yell the same, and I began to chant my magics. I lightened their feet, strengthened their bodies, and granted them all the protections I could, as we charged ahead, as our feet cracked dry soil, and as dust arose from around us. "Ready weapons!"

I blessed their weapons with lightning, their armor with winds that would divert blows, and even as my reserves depleted… I empowered myself for battle, too.

I will live.

I won't die here.

I heard a roar building with my troops, as we charged together, each one resounded with hundreds of voices as we ran headlong into battle together.

"For Conquest!"

We ran and we charged, until finally I saw the first of my foes, of those who I failed, with all that stood by me charging alongside me.

At their front, the King of Wisdom's pikes, shot, artillery, and Champions were grinding them down.

"For Crusher!"

At their back, they were being bombarded from the skies with near impunity.

"For the Deliverer!"

And, finally, from both sides my people were charging in to meet one another right in the middle of the battlefield.

"For the Conquerors!"

A face from my people came into view, with eyes filled with madness and hate, covered in blood, muck, and wounds.

A face that should've stopped me as it did in all my nightmares since my defeat.

Instead, I clenched my free hand into a fist and smashed it into the man's face.

This day… we will save all who we can.