The archpriest Agrianos held a human effigy made out of brittle wood in front of a courtyard full of bedraggled warriors. He raised it into the air and shouted, “Remember the tenets of the old.”
“Honor the ancestors,” the warriors responded in kind as they also raised their own effigies made out of dried branches or flimsy twigs.
“Remember that we are all alone.”
“There is only us and Humanos.”
“Stand true, and may Humanos accept us all in our moment of triumph.”
“And reject us in our direst.”
With the sermons finished, the warriors and Agrianos crushed their effigies and scattered the remains onto the ground. The warriors then stepped onto the remaining pieces and left the courtyard, only to be replaced by a new set of warriors.
As the priest handed a new effigy to Agrianos, he whispered, “They’re Eskilians, my lord.”
Agrianos subtly examined the tribal men who sat on the ground and took out their fragile statuettes. “From the south?”
“The south-eastern, my lord. The Pypor Region.”
“Do they speak Old Pypor or New Pypor?”
“Old Pypor.”
“Good, good. It’s hard to find a teacher for New Pypor, what with the Greatians suppressing any foreign cultures in their sphere of influence…” Agrianos coughed and readied himself.
But before he could start his sermons anew, the fort’s bells started ringing. The defenders on the ramparts started panicking as a hailstorm of stones crashed against the fort’s concrete walls. The warriors on the walls started to shout and howl, but it was hard to understand any of them as the mishmash of languages melded together in the air. Agrianos and his entourage scrambled to get onto the walls to find out what was causing the commotion, only to be greeted by the appearance of the whole might of the Church.
At last, after a long wait, the Church’s main army had made their move. Lines of undead footmen raised their pikes up high as they followed their lich overlords who confidently rode atop their undead steeds. Skeletons carrying a variety of ranged weapons, from slings to outdated bows, followed closely and took position behind the trenches. And, of course, there was still the mass of undead, mindless minions swarming the castle.
However, at the center of the army was the elite force of the Church. Their beak-like helmets decorated with blood-red feathers, combined with their worn and ragged scale armor, struck greater fear into the hearts of the defenders than the moving half-rotted carcasses of the Church.
“Templars! So the Weapon has finally arrived!” Agrianos exclaimed as he studied the center of the Church’s army closely.
The templars were guarding a wheeled machine pulled by undead workers. It was a black glassy box surrounded with chains, as if the undead were afraid that whatever was inside might escape. A man wearing a bear pelt stood on top of it, screaming loudly to the skies.
“Behold, the will of the Pontiff! The Church will set us all free! Let me, Brother Farold, guide your souls into servitude for the greater good!”
Though the humans couldn’t understand what the man was saying, their spines tingled with cold. Some started to become hysteric, a few even went blind from fear.
As usual, a certain Vyssian stood defiantly on the ramparts of the castle. “Oi! You dung-filled, sacks of maggots! You whoresons have nothing against the greatest weapon of Humanos!”
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Oyuf and his companions turned around and showed their backside for the entire world to see. The Vyssians laughed like maniacs, their voices almost overtaking the chaos of the battle. Seeing this act of jest, the humans cheered and regained their fighting spirit. On the other side, the receiving end wasn't pleased at all.
“Those fools don’t even realize they are about to die!” Farold howled with rage boiling inside of him. “Unleash the Weapon!”
“L-Look! They’re removing the chains!” a defender screamed.
“W-Why aren’t the Varangians attacking?! The Weapon is in range of their magical weapons!” another soldier screamed.
Agrianos knitted his brows anxiously as he looked at the great towers. “Humanos save us all…”
“Something is coming out!”
“Humanos guide us!”
“No! I don’t want to die!”
The zombies opened the large glassy box and slowly revealed a figure. It was a bizarre creature crucified onto a wooden cross. Its head was that of a crocodile’s, while its body was surrounded with shards of crystals. It had eight limbs, and a missing tail as evident by the chopped tailbone.
As soon as the figure was revealed, the humans felt that the air had become much, much heavier to the point that some had trouble breathing. The mages also realized that they had lost control of their powers.
Agrianos clutched his chest and almost dropped onto the floor, but he managed to grab onto the parapet in the last minute. Out of desperation, he took out an intricately carved statue of a sleeping human and crushed it. “Humanos! Hear my plea!”
A shockwave of light burst forth from the castle, washing over the undead. However, its effects were… inconsequential. While a lot of the weaker undead disintegrated, the main force of the Church was completely unaffected. The archpriest, dejected from his failure, leaned against the ramparts. He noticed that the undead was actually avoiding the area around the box, though there were a lot of fresh dead bodies surrounding the box. “What is that thing?” Agrianos muttered under his breath.
However, it was too late for questions now. Agrianos closed his eyes and prayed, “Humanos save us all. Humanos save us all…”
He repeated himself until he realized something was off. The great towers were strangely too quiet. There weren’t any drones standing on the inner keep walls as well. As his consciousness slipped, he begged, “Varangians, save us all…”
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‘Are you seeing this, Master Custodian?’ Exarchi asked in hivespeak.
‘Yes. This is quite unprecedented,’ Custodian replied.
‘Unprecedented? This is beyond our calculations! A lot of plans are thrown out of the windows now!’ Exarchi groaned.
‘Wow, this is waaaaaay too scary!’ Niner shouted.
‘Indeed. This development has thrown a wrench in my stratagem. Master Plan B has been confirmed hence all units are now to operate under Master Plan B,’ Custodian commanded, and a collective ‘Affirmative’ resounded within the hivespeak.
‘What’s the plan now, Master Custodian?’ Exarchi asked.
‘Master Plan B. Are your communication modules suffering from errors?’
‘No, I’m not deaf. I mean, what do we do about the so-called Weapon of the Church?’
‘Ah… about that…’ Custodian hummed for a while before deciding at last.
[ACCESSING UNIT INFORMATION…]
[UNIT OWNER: %ERROR%.]
[UNIT LEVEL: Daedelus-level.]
[UNIT INTEGRITY: VERY LOW.]
[Analysis: Restoration possible.]
[This unit has no owner. Would you like to take over this unit?]
Yes,’ Custodian replied.
[UNIT COMMAND TRANSFER COMPLETED. Unit NULL enslaved to master unit CUSTODIAN. For more information, contact %ERROR%.]
‘Now this will be awkward, but I suppose it’s time we kidnap a weapon from the undead,’ Exarchi proclaimed. ‘Princeps, move in overdrive mode. The human meatshields will not last long.’
‘Affirmative,’ came the reply.