V6: Chapter 14

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Interlude: Rita

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The gates opened.

The predatory gazes of the soldiers of the camp wandered over them.

Feigned screamed resounded for moments, as they were all dragged away to be used and discarded,

Then, the true screaming began within the camp of two thousand soldiers.

Past their frontline, past their armed companions, the rest of the camp had their arms and armor ready to be donned with aid from their fellows. Steel plates, sturdy shields, and sharp swords. More than enough to give the numbers that they had weight in these tunnels. Not only that but there were many mages and officers with equipment enchanted to greater heights, and there were Champions who held equipment scrounged from the ages of the Ancients.

However, they saw an already defeated foe, toys to be used, and thus lowered their guard.

So, mere minutes after their spoils were secreted away, true screams resounded through the camp, alarms blared for moments before being silenced, and then magic and explosives began to surge throughout the camp.

“That’s our signal.” I told Ilych, and her response was to pull down the snarling face of her visor, and heft her massive blade over her shoulder. Her body contorted like a spring, on hand steadying all her frontal weight along with her sword, and pushing her back against her contorting legs. The segmented armor around her legs threatened to buckle, as they molded to her form closesly, but before they had the chance to change shape… achieved the form she desired. A predator ready to pounce and bound just waiting for the signal. “Head to the northeast quadrant of the base. Attract them. I’ll kill them.”

Ilych nodded a singular time and then surged forward as a blur of black armor.

In her wake the bonfires lit by the base’s patrols were blown away, every time her armored foot collided with the floor of the tunnel, there was the sound of shattering stone, and soon enough she was leaping over the wooden walls of the encampment… and crashing into chaotic melee that had erupted within.

Then, I waited, closed my eyes, and listened.

I listened to the sound of crackling flames, the ripping and tearing of canvas tents, and the sound of flesh breaking or being torn. The sound of Iterants moving through the tunnels was like listening to large objects whistling through the air, their feet colliding with the floor was like glass striking glass, and I could hear the screams of their victims as they killed with their limbs turned into sharpened weapons.

Past those Iterants, I heard something else.

Morgan was attacking something, right after she left another individual gagging on blood pouring from his neck, and behind him was a woman desperately trying to right her broken neck as she wheezed through her contorted airway slower and slower with each breath. The man she was attacked was frantic, his footwork a scurrying stocatto against the tunnel floor, while he swung his sword at her. The sound of his blade was muddled, unclear, as panicked breaths left his lips and his heart beat like a drum. Morgan’s gait was steady, calculated, and I could hear the breeze created by her swift, deft movements as she flowed past the swipes of a sword.

Her constant, dedicated march grew closer and closer to her foe, until suddenly there was the sound of a whistling projectile and he gagged.

The neck moment a singular step of hers became heavy, a rock flew from the floor to her awaiting hand, and then there was the noise of skull and brain breaking beneath stone.

Then, Morgan went forth to find more opponents, so I listened for my friend.

Ilych was a mass of metal and power. She plowed through tents, breaking frameworks into splinters, and colliding with lesser soliders and destroying them simply by barrelling into them. Her steps were like that of a titanic beast composed wholly of metal and everything its charge met became broken flesh filled with cracked bone. The swing of her sword reminded me more of a falling tree branch arcing through the air than a blade, so thick and heavy it was compared to a normal blade, and when it crashed into mortal bodies I heard them break and crack and pop apart like vases filled with thick mud, rather than people.

I followed the sound of her charge, her existence was that of a hurricane gust surrounding a core of rippling metal, and listened to her cause havoc.

Then, I heard her blade get stopped and for an unfamiliar voice to cry out.

Three steps then came forth in unison after Ilych at that unfamiliar cry.

The moment that I heard those experienced, steps, I looked towards the two Iterants each holding one of my legs I crouched low.

“Launch me.” I commanded, they obeyed, and I leapt and launched myself off their palms as they finished throwing me upward.

I breathed deep, broke down every second of time to the tiniest fraction that I could muster, while forcing power and magic through my body.

I twisted and turned my body, making it so my feet would collide with the roof, and the moment I made contact I cast a magic that would adhere me to the ceiling of the tunnel.

Thus, I gained a vantage point that loomed over the whole battlefield, and when I opened my eyes I looked upon Ilych locked in battle with four Champions.

Everything I could do to put strength and power into my body came into effect, but more importantly so did other effects. I gave my mind greater clarity, my eyes the means to see farther, and for my body to respond more quickly to my own will.

I saw my targets.

I found weak points.

There were gaps in armor no larger than two fingers pressed side by side. Some were even smaller. The gap in a visor, the armpit when an arm was raised to bring a weapon up, and the side of a hip when a body contorted a bit to one side to swing from the right or left. I found them all, as I stood on the roof of the tunnel, swathed in darkness.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

Then, I let my body act in my stead.

Four times, I drew my arrows, pulled back the string, and fired. Each time felt like my body was pushing me out, like I was watching myself in action. Automatically, beyond my control, all my training and experience molded together. My nervousness, my concerns, and my fears faded into nothingness. All there was… were the targets I needed to hit which my body sent arrows towards.

The projectiles flew forth and my magic waned to minimal levels.

Darkness crept into my vision, and it took all that I had to fall into the waiting arms of my Iterants, and even then all I could do was breathe and recover in their arms as I struggled to keep my bow up… and listen to the battle.

My arrows found their targets.

Three struck true, one missed, but it was enough.

The three that struck penetrated the defenses of the three. They hit their protective barriers and used the power I imbued within them to drill past their defenses. Winds pushed the arrows through, each with a broad head and half as tall as I, and scored direct hits on my foes as they focused on trying to kill Ilych. Through the armpit of one, my arrow burrowed and struck both lungs and a heart. Through the slit of one’s visor, I skewered the brain. Finally, my last arrow went through a gap in the him armor and struck right where the spin connected with the pelvic bone.

Only the one with the destroyed brain died instantly, but I gave Ilych two half-dead, crippled enemies and one that had to retreat instead of attack in synch with their fellows.

She attacked, becoming like the center of a storm surrounded by hurricane winds guided by a hunk of metal more suited to be a ram than a blade, and the remaining three died.

I calmed down in the arms of the Iterants that remained with me… until Morgan spoke to me from the middle of the battlefield.

“Good work, but it’s not done yet. We need to poison the control room.” She spoke like I was right next to her, aware of my hearing. Around her there was the sound of blood escaping through wounds and the desperate, labored breathing of those struggling to live. One of her hands held a rock extracted from the floor of the tunnels, cracking in her grip, while her other hand held the skull of a Champion with broken limbs barely alive in her grasp. I could hear her fingers digging into the man’s skull. She grunted and got through and her magic seeped in. After a moment, she tossed him aside. “I have the means to get inside. Come.”

I heeded her commands, gathering the remains of my strength, and went forth.

It was time to take control of this Ancient Wonder and then put the Academy to the sword.

…

Good news.

The Academy can’t hide in the Ancient Tunnels since we managed to take over its ability to warp space.

Bad news.

Alistair and his most trusted escaped in the Ancient Transport, and Ilych and Rita were out for the count.

“It’s my fault. I pressed them too hard, since the mercenaries were incapable of tying down the Academy forces after we took hold of the control center.” Morgan, Ilych, and Rita arrived a few hours after I read their report on the situation below. Just enough time to put the basic facilities together to receive and care for wounded, even though we were in Celia’s lands. The Undead didn’t exactly have infrastructure needed to accommodate rapid healing at their frontline. “I have no excuse for allowing them to escape.”

“Besides being unable to follow an ancient construct that can fly faster and farther than anything we have?” I looked Morgan over, and she had a nervous grin on her face that made her eyes curl up. She scratched her cheek. Though Rita and Ilych looked battered and bruised after the battle, and most of the Forger mercenaries were dead, Morgan looked fresh and clean. I mean, she took some time to rest and relax before meeting with me, but she honestly looked fresh out of class rather than tracking down the Academy for months and then fighting two battles one after the other. “I’ll dock you two weeks’ salary for not achieving your primary objective, but you’ve achieved more than expected. Consider the lack of rest time after the mission your primary punishment, too. I want you working on intercepting them as soon as possible.”

“Understood, my lord.” Morgan nodded at my commands and gave a bow from the waist. “By as soon as possible, do you mean—

“If you believe you can do it efficiently now, then begin now.”

“Yes, my lord.” Morgan gave another bow, before turning on her heel to leave. However, she stopped at the flap of my temporary tent. “My lord, I’ll need a large budget and some select individuals—

I was already shooing her away before she finished.

“Your authority is not diminished. Do as I require you to with the powers you have been vested, Morgan.”

With that she nodded and left, satisfied.

Yeah, I get it.

I can’t take away the power I’ve given you, Demon Lord. Those troops and the connections you need are yours.

Honestly, I’m hoping that the Iterants under her command will obey me when I ask, but just in case… I was going to keep a full stack ready to deal with her inevitable betrayal.

But back to more important matters.

“Are the deliveries coming along fine now, Ayah?” Ayah had been waiting while I spoke to Morgan. Dressed in the classic, French maid style, Ayah was pulling off the demure look pretty well… as long as you kept your eyes above her neck. Sure, the clothes covered her up from head to toe, but the body shape it chose was well-proportioned and the clothes were meant to show that off. Not only that, but maid outfits don’t need to have miniskirts or be sleeveless or have stupid amounts of cleavage. French maid outfits with the headdress and glasses are pretty much peak design. Anyone who thinks otherwise has no taste. “No more disruptions because of the Harpies?”

Naturally, our enemies had a brain between their shoulders, so they discerned that allowing me to transport whatever I wanted across the skies was not in their best interest. Especially since their decision to not engage me in the air resulted in their current predicament, where they were being slowly enclosed and finding themselves fighting multiple fronts. So, now, they were working hard to disrupt my logistics web connecting the whole alliance.

Thankfully, Celia had a pretty good solution for the Harpies.

The swarm-based AA turret was honestly an amazing piece of hardware. It took the corpses of dead birds and bats and turned them into drone swarms, which were meant to fill the air, provide cover for troops on the ground, and heavily harass flyers if not outright bring them down. Now, most of my aerial cavalry knew how to protect themselves and charge against swarms of small creatures to pulp them, I didn’t want flocks of birds to fuck over my bombing runs, but Celia had more than just a few of the turrets.

In fact, she practically gave me a hundred of them without complaint.

“The defenses provided by the necromantic swarms have proven to be very effective. Our supply lines are secured against the Harpies of the Death Lord. Surplus supplies are flowing into the hands of the Guardian’s undead legions.” Ayah reported simply. Since I was out of contact with most of my bureaucracy, the task of taking in all reports and condensing them to useful information fell on the Ancient Administrator. Thankfully, Ayah was good at it and didn’t mind. “A few of the rifles and ammunition cases have disappeared, too.”

“Good.”

Celia was taking everything I was willing to give, taking some more, and not hesitating to ask me for more. She was losing face for it, but she wasn’t stopping, and I approved. Influence is generated over time, and the victories she was earning was going to outweigh the costs. No one will be complaining when they start getting better guns, they start winning more battles, and their people come back home whole and hale instead of in coffins.

Ayah cleared her throat and drew my attention.

“My lord, the force you’ve assembled is ready. Do you still intend to deploy them against the Death Lord when the Academy is ready to be hunted down?”

Now there’s a question for me to think about.

On one hand the Academy’s still a massive threat and they have a flying machine that I wanted.

On the other hand, the Death Lord needed to get put down before he built up even more.

Decisions, decisions… is what I would say, if I didn’t have Morgan hounding the Academy.

“We’ll hit the Death Lord with the Forgers. The Academy is Morgan’s prey.”

Think fast, you slimy weasels.

A ridiculously overpowered young woman is coming after you and I’ve told her to not take prisoners.