Frying the bastards was easier said than done.
Arkk stood out in the gale caused by the tower’s defensive spells, staring up at where he thought the enemy craft should be. He couldn’t see it. Even if the twisting winds weren’t there, he doubted he would have been able to see the ship. It was just so far above them that his pitiful human eyes couldn’t see more than a black spot that the rest of the sky bled over.
Electro Deus didn’t like not having a target. On the rare occasions he had tried to use the spell without anything around, such as the attention-drawing lightning bolt during his and Vezta’s defense of Langleey Village, he could force it eventually, building up the magic until it had to go somewhere. He was hoping that, with a target up above, it would naturally gravitate toward the ship despite his inability to see or aim clearly.
Lightning sparked around Arkk, branching out from everywhere on him to the ground and the tower’s walls. They were far from the tower, but stray bolts of lightning seemed especially attracted to its stone walls. He could feel each as a tickle, as if they were grazing his own skin. But the tower’s magical reinforcement took the energy of the bolt and just channeled it straight back to him.
He had chanted the incantation two minutes ago and had spent the intervening time holding it in and building it up. He was trying to prevent as much lightning from escaping him as possible. Unlike at Langleey Village, he wasn’t trying to blast it off the moment he could.
He needed more.
Every scrap of power he could muster.
His hair stood on end. A spark jumped from his fingers to his thigh. It pinched, hurting more than it hurt when striking the tower; the magic of the spell still reentered him, joining with the rest of his pooling power. It did, however, burn a small hole through his trousers.
A larger bolt escaped, crackling through the air as it struck a nearby tree. Splinters of wood exploded into the air, showering down around Arkk and the others while the rest of the tree went up in flames.
“Keep it steady!” Rekk’ar shouted in perhaps the least encouraging tone he could manage. “Igvile, get these flames out.”
The syren nodded his head and promptly started a much longer incantation than Arkk’s usuals. He conjured up a small stream of water, drenching the ruined wood with a loud hiss barely audible over the swirling winds and crackling lightning.
“Lelith,” Rekk’ar barked. “Status?”
The tower’s resident geometric dark elf gave the orc a withering look. “Based on the levels of magic around Arkk, I’m not sure we’re back far enough.”
Arkk’s defenders, watching for any even minor failure in the shield, ready to defend him with knives that sliced through reality—the same ones he had used against the Eternal Empire’s attack on Cliff—had once been standing at his side. Then they took a step back. Then another step. Now, they were distant enough that Arkk could only hear the louder arguing that went on between them.
And it was apparently still too close.
“Not what I was asking.”
Lelith ground her teeth together. “I don’t know, alright? Can Arkk damage it? No idea. What is it made out of? Does it have any defenses? Any magical reinforcements? If it were a regular ship, I would say try now. But it isn’t. The only thing I know for sure is none of this should be possible.” Her red eyes flicked to Arkk. “Human bodies can’t contain that much magic. He should have exploded by now.”
“We’ve done a lot of impossible things,” Arkk shouted back. His tongue tingled as he spoke. He was positive that lightning was jumping around between his teeth.
He swallowed, somewhat nervous all of a sudden. How much magic could a human body hold before it turned into a spray of chunky red mist?
“But maybe we’re ready to try,” he added with a nervous flick back overhead. “Is the ship still in place?”
Following a quick consultation with her crystal ball, Lelith nodded. “Hasn’t moved relative to the tower. Oddly, the volleys have slowed down. Half the cannons haven’t fired in the last minute or so. Running out of magic or alchemical munitions?”
“More like they’ve realized they aren’t doing any damage since Zullie altered the shield spell,” Rekk’ar said, softer and barely audible over the crackling and the distance. “Now they’re just keeping us pinned.”
“Or they’re about to change tactics again,” Arkk said with a scowl. He did not want to deal with whatever they were planning. “Now or never. Lelith, I’m sending you back to the ritual room. Give us sixty seconds to prepare. Then take down the shield the moment it looks safe enough. Between volleys, if possible.”
“Understood,” the dark elf said, disappearing the moment she finished speaking.
“Igvile, Bertram,” Arkk continued, addressing the two members of the bombardment team who were here to assist in defending him. “We’re about to be vulnerable. You know what to do.”
The syren and the goose beastman nodded their heads in turn. Only Igvile moved, returning to his position after having extinguished the burning tree. Both were much closer than Lelith and Rekk’ar’s position further out. Bertram had one hand on a ritual circle meant to protect from Arkk’s lightning and another hand on a smaller version of the large shield that enveloped the tower. If anything got through, he was to activate the shield.
Igvile, on the other hand, stalked closer, clearly wary of the lightning that was practically cascading off Arkk at this point. His scales, seemingly freshly polished, reflected the dazzling light of the lightning back at Arkk in a million different directions, faceted and diffused. While his purpose was to act as a backup for Bertram—being the one holding the void blade—he also had one important task.
A ritual circle under Arkk’s feet, designed in haste by Zullie, should provide something akin to a tunnel for his lightning to travel through. It didn’t extend to the airship, only just above the tower, but it should keep the lightning from veering off and striking the tower. As long as Zullie hadn’t made any mistakes in its design.
He couldn’t activate it himself, not without sending all his accumulated magic straight into it, likely blowing it—and him—up.
Thus, Igvile.
Unfortunately, with the lightning cascading off Arkk, getting close was a hazard. That hadn’t been in the plans. Arkk watched as Igvile muttered the incantation for a variant of Zullie’s spell, one designed to counter magic rather than projectiles. With all the magic and lightning coursing through his veins, Arkk wasn’t sure it would be enough.
He teleported a flat sheet of metal from the armory. One of the scrap pieces meant for Perr’ok’s walkers. It appeared just at the edge of the ritual circle, partially embedded in the ground. It wasn’t much, but it would hopefully take the brunt of any stray bolts of lightning. The spell Igvile had on would protect from anything else.
Igvile huddled behind it, barely reaching out with a scaled wing to touch the ritual circle under Arkk’s feet. Most of the lightning flowing out of Arkk went to the makeshift shield, as he hoped. A few stray sparks jumped to the syren, but Arkk felt nothing from the employee link to indicate pain—just a tense worry.
The ritual activated. Nothing visibly happened. No additional shields or tornados of wind. He felt a slimy, slick presence in the air around him, though that could have been his imagination.
Arkk cast his gaze back to the skies. The swirl of the dome would stop in a moment, as soon as Lelith saw an opening. He had to be ready.
Sixty seconds felt like an eternity. The bombardment team was one of the few teams in the entire fortress that could even measure seconds, having a fairly precise sandglass. It was needed to make full use of Lelith’s geometrics. Most of the rest of the fortress used water clocks which reset every hour. Because of that, he knew that she knew how long sixty seconds was.
But it still felt like forever.
Then, all at once, he felt it. A few last bright spots appeared overhead, the last shots in the airship’s volley hitting the shield dome. Before the final spot faded, the entire dome collapsed. The swirling winds slowed to a stop and the taste of magic in the air dropped.
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
Arkk didn’t hesitate. He squinted, spotting the dark smudge in the blue sky, adjusted the aim of his arm, and released the tension in his stomach.
Magic flooded from his fingertips in an unbridled fury. He stood his ground for a fraction of a second. A sudden, violent explosion erupted with a sharp, searing crack, as if the air itself was shattering to pieces. The sound was immediate and overwhelming, a deafening roar that engulfed Arkk’s senses.
He wasn’t quite sure why he was flying through the air. One moment, he had been standing in place, the next, he found himself flung off his feet and into the sky. Pain erupted in his mind, both his own and some from an employee link. Almost automatically, subconsciously, he moved Igvile to the infirmary for Hale to handle. Bertram and Rekk’ar followed him, both in some level of pain that was mostly concentrated in their ears.
His back clipped one of Fortress Al-Lavik’s legs, turning his soaring arc into a nauseating spin even as a fresh blast of pain raced up his shoulder and down his arm.
A teleport righted himself. He stood, inertia reset, atop one of the legs. Half his shirt was gone, torn off from the impact. Blood rushed down his arm from a fresh gash. He was pretty sure something back there was broken.
But he paid it little mind.
Not yet. Pain could be dealt with in a moment.
Now, he squinted, trying to see up into the sky.
The black smudge on the sky was… larger? It was hard to tell. Almost like a dark cloud had spread around the original dot. Smoke from a fire?
He could only hope.
The tower rocked, knocking Arkk off the leg. Fresh impacts struck it all along its front side, blasting bits of brick off. The protective dome returned, slow wind picking up speed as it blocked the remainder of the volley.
Arkk teleported himself from his fall straight to the bombardment room.
“Did it hit?” Arkk called out.
Lelith turned to him, eyes widening as her gaze traveled over him. She opened her mouth, clearly speaking, but Arkk could only hear ringing. He tried to wiggle a finger in his ear, only to find he couldn’t raise his arm at all.
He looked down at his arm with a grimace.
“So that’s what hurts,” he mumbled, wobbling in place. Overwhelming lightheadedness hit him in a sudden rush. He staggered, vision swimming, and fell into Lelith’s arms. “Hale…”
----------------------------------------
Lexa beat a hasty retreat. Her hands, moist with sweat, clenched the cloak of darkness around her. If she never had to enter one of those Light-forsaken whale ships again, it would be too soon. Just considering the slimy, fleshy walls of that creature’s heart chamber made her ears ache. The blank faces of the people, merged with the meat of the walls… The bright red tendrils of flesh pulsing, swelling, and deflating, within their noses, mouths, ears, and even eyes.
Lexa shuddered.
She wasn’t quite sure about their opponent. Evestani, obviously, was under the control of the Heart of Gold’s avatar. There was no doubt about that. But the Eternal Empire, unless something had changed recently, was supposed to be involved with the Almighty Glory’s avatar. Nobody was quite sure if that avatar was present in person, if they used a similar possession ability to keep themselves safe like Evestani’s avatar, or if Evestani had only called in regular soldiers for aid and left the other avatar at home.
The whale ships didn’t feel like something the Almighty Glory would use. Granted, Lexa was far from an expert on any god. She never once attended a sermon with the Abbey of the Light or any other organization. Outlaws like herself weren’t typically welcome in such environments.
But the Almighty Glory, to the best of her knowledge, was the god of pride, strength, and power. Lexa couldn’t begin to imagine how meat ships piloted by people fused to the walls could possibly represent pride. Vezta might know better, but at the moment, Lexa was wondering if they had the wrong god. If one of the Pantheon hadn’t disguised themselves as the Almighty Glory… or if the Almighty Glory wasn’t what everyone thought they were. His domains did seem to overlap with those of the Red Horse, the only major difference being the swap of pride with war.
Then again, she hadn’t questioned it before, but it seemed a bit strange for gods to constrain themselves to categories that could be summed up in a few simple words. A handful of concepts.
What were gods?
Lexa shook her head, continuing her run. The topic of theology was far beyond her pay grade.
At least, out here, she could breathe in some fresh air. It didn’t have that tang of iron-filled meat that the entire interior of the whale ship possessed. There were still two of those things intact. One in the air—which she wouldn’t be able to do anything about unless she suddenly grew wings, thank… whatever. Another one was still on the ground. Arkk might want her to try to take it out, but she would have to return for more bombs.
Lexa used up everything she had on the one she was trying to distance herself from. When Mercury, a relatively newly hired alchemist, had first loaded her up with the bombs, she had thought it would be overkill. Enough to blast apart a keep if all the orbs had been placed strategically enough. It wasn’t the overwhelming explosion the larger clay jars were capable of, but a single one would certainly have demolished stone brick load-bearing columns with ease, plus all the surrounding walls and pillars.
And she had placed every last one of them around the heart of that whale.
Lexa paused her running and looked back over her shoulder.
It should be right… about…
Lexa had heard about real whales. Sailor tales. Who could tell if they were true, exaggerations, or outright fabrications? But she had heard about the massive creatures swimming in the depths of the ocean. Some of the larger haulers even managed to fish them up. But the story she remembered at this moment was that whales, when they surfaced, tended to blast up a spray of water through holes in their tops.
The top of the whale ship ripped open, filling the air with thick, meaty chunks of flesh that flew higher than the tops of the surrounding trees. A red mist followed the chunks, coating leaves, grass, and the several workers outside the whale all in a glistening sheen. The noise of the blast rocked Lexa back, hitting her just after she watched the whale ship fall apart, collapsing in on itself in the wake of the explosion, which was quickly followed by a long, droning whine.
That whine made every nerve in her spine tingle. It could only be the sound of the whale ship, hopefully its dying breath.
If it survived that…
Lexa shook her head. The workers outside the ship, some of whom fell to the ground following the blast, were now scurrying about. Lexa stayed where she was, watching for a moment. Could the workers fix the ship? She had half a mind to run down there and stab them all in the backs of their necks. Just in case.
Best not to leave matters up to chance.
Lexa took a step.
The loudest crack of thunder that she had ever heard hit the trees with enough force to rattle their leaves and needles. A long, shaking rumble in the air followed, coming from almost directly opposite the whale ship. Lexa whirled around just in time to catch a fat beam of lightning fading out high in the sky over the tops of the trees.
That had come from the direction of Elmshadow. Of the walking tower.
Something was going on back there?
Lexa threw one glance over her shoulder, frowning at the workers even as her eyes roamed over the ruptured hull of the whale ship.
Could they fix it in the time it would take to march the tower forward?
Was she needed back at the tower?
Lexa bit her lips, gnawing.
She had been assigned a mission. And that mission was to ensure that as few of those whale ships took to the skies as possible. Arkk and the others could handle whatever was going on back home. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind about that.
Lexa drew the blades from under her cloak and stalked back toward the whale ship, hoping she wouldn’t have to enter it again while dealing with the workers.
----------------------------------------
“Welcome back.”
Arkk blinked, trying to clear up his fuzzy vision. A long streak of jagged darkness ran from the top to the bottom of his vision, making everything within harder to see. It happened occasionally when he fired off lightning bolts. Usually, a few moments would have the afterimage burned into his eyes fade away.
He blinked a few more times, frowning at its continued presence obstructing his vision.
“I think I can fix that, but you might not like how.”
Arkk blinked again and focused on himself through his connection to the fortress rather than through his own eyes. Blackened skin marred part of his face. Long lines of burned skin that fractaled out in jagged streaks. It ran down his neck, down his bare chest, and curled around his left arm. Judging by the thickness of the lines, it must have actually started at his right arm, then moved up and down him from there. He couldn’t tell for sure, however.
He didn’t have a right arm.
“I can fix that too. Much easier, even, though it would be faster if we could recover your arm.”
He adjusted his focus, finding Hale seated across from his bed. Her black twin-tails were tied back to keep them out of the way.
She had taken off the cloak she had been wearing since returning from Leda’s tower. That left her shoulders and arms bare. They were… far more muscular than they should have been. Scaled as well. Draconic. Yet she seemed perfectly at ease, relaxed in the chair as she looked over him.
“Did I hit the ship?” Arkk asked.
His tongue felt too big in his mouth. Was he slurring his words? Was that from Hale’s healing or him hurting himself?
“I heard that you did,” Hale said, not having any trouble understanding him. “Scorched it all along its side. Didn’t destroy it but you did enough to get it to back off. Temporarily, I presume. Once they realize that you won’t be able to do that again…”
Arkk ground his teeth. All that and he hadn’t destroyed it? He supposed he should count himself lucky that he had hit it at all. But…
“Actually,” Hale continued. “I think you could do that again. Again and again, even. All we have to do is rearrange your insides a bit, make you a bit more resistant to electricity, and maybe even put in something akin to a dragonoid’s elemental crucible.” She tapped a claw-like finger to her own chest. “Something that acts like a magical capacitor. Could even do a few of those big lightning bolts in a row if my ideas work out. I put a crucible in myself—based off Priscilla, so it is a bit colder than I would like—but I think I can modify it to work better with your lightning—”
“I hear talking. He’s awake?”
Arkk shifted his focus, moving it to encompass the rest of the infirmary. It was mostly empty—no fight had yet broken out. Rekk’ar marched through the open door, scowling down at Arkk.
“Sorry,” Arkk said, trying to enunciate as best he could. “Should have been more careful with the lightning.”
“Don’t care. It worked. For now. But we need you up and ready. Reinforcements are here.”
Arkk tried to push himself up, only to stumble as his right shoulder pivoted uselessly without an arm attached. He wasn’t in any pain, likely thanks to Hale, but… “Agnete?” he asked, using his trembling left hand to push himself up. “She made it?”
Rekk’ar scoffed. “I wish,” he mumbled. “They ain’t our reinforcements.”
A sinking sensation settled into Arkk’s heart as he processed those words.