Chapter 15
The four suits, two adorned in black and orange, the other two in black and yellow, streaked down the hillside, their metallic armor reflecting the sunlight in bright flashes. Around them, the bizarre mixture of plastic and concrete structures of the foundry surrounded them like an alien landscape.
As they rounded the corner their heightened senses were assaulted by noise. A cacophony of terror battered them. Screams, shouts, gun shots, monstrous rumbling sounds, poured out of the factory. Foundries such as this were islands of Order, they often generated their own order fields so that they could function, and this meant the defenders could use higher order weapons.
The four figures plunged on. The closer they came, the darker their combined emotions grew, their hearts beating faster even within the protective embrace of their enhanced armor.
Brightforge, ever the fearless leader, now found himself plagued by doubts. Even a mighty Griidlord like him could never grow wholly accustomed to the unpredictability and destructive power of the fiends. They were born of entropy, of chaos. A Fiend's actions could never be predicted with certainty. Their powers and physical attributes defied the laws of nature.
As they approached the centre of the chaos, more sensory input became available. None of it was nice. The coppery smell of blood beat at their senses. They could sent the foul contents of bowels being loosed, from terror or carnage. The bitter chemical scent of chordite flitted on the air. And the sounds grew louder. They could hear and feel the vibrations of the beasts. Even Thorn felt a tension gripping him as they raced.
They clustered together as they grew closer to the source of the chaos. The streaked under arches and passed columns. They moved with terrible urgency. The Pittsburghers needed to protect this precious facility, one of the prides of their nation. Brightforge and Arcstone felt no less a need. They were depending on the deal they hoped to strike here, the weapons produced here would be used cleave the chains that bound them to the Empire. Steeling their resolve, they took a collective breath, unsure of what awaited them but knowing that they must protect their cities, their people, and face the darkness head-on.
The scene that met the four Griidlords was nothing short of abject horror. Bodies lay strewn across the floor. It might have been more accurate to describe it as parts of bodies lay strewn across the floor. Swordsmen dressed in Pittsburgh's black and yellow colors lay lifeless, their once fierce visages twisted into agonized grimaces. Workers lay in grotesque heaps, their bodies dismembered beyond recognition.
The four Griidlords took only a moment to absorb the carnage, for there was no time to dwell on the terror that the fiends had wrought. The sound of auto rifles firing in rapid succession near the foundry door drew their focus. The sounds were close now, but still obscured by the structures of the factory. They were on the trail, a road of blood would lead them to the fiends.
Brightforge, known for his stoic calm in the heat of battle, steeled himself with the resolve to show Hammerfist and Thorn what he was truly made of. Hammerfist and Arcstone were both shields, they would be steady. They had less to fear, their strength was in their defence. But they had less to offer in terms of offensive capability . Thorn, unlike the others, seemed to hunger for the fight, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he reveled in the chaotic scene around him.
As one, they moved forward, drawn to the epicenter of chaos and destruction that was unfolding before them. Each gripped their respective weapons tightly; their individual resolve unwavering, as they prepared to engage in what promised to be a harrowing battle against the fiends.
As the four suits rushed toward the sound of gunfire, they were met with a sight that underscored the magnitude of the disaster that had befallen the foundry. The aura of Pittsburgh's Order Field, which had allowed the foundry to operate so seamlessly, now served as a tragic backdrop for the vicious melee that unfolded before them.
Two dozen Pittsburgh soldiers, their armor singed and dented from the violence of the battle, fought desperately to hold their ground. Some wielded auto-rifles, while others brandished spears, striking out at the creatures with ferocity and determination. Yet it was clear that the three monsters they faced were unlike anything they had ever encountered before.
Two of the creatures were massive, standing at least eight feet tall, with thick, sinewy limbs that seemed to defy the very laws of nature. Their bodies were a grotesque combination of bear and lizard, boasting features of each in a nightmarish conglomeration of muscle and scale. Their claws, seemingly carved from stone, slashed through the air as they lunged at the beleaguered soldiers. Each of the abominations bore the metallic glint of Order Field insignia, hinting at the horrors that had laid waste to the foundry.
The third monster dwarfed even its monstrous brethren, an enormous, bloated creature that sprawled across the battlefield. Spanning at least twenty feet, the beast possessed an unsettling mix of mammalian and insectoid features. Its many limbs groped and grasped at the soldiers, crushing some in their vice-like grip while impaling others in a hideous display of savagery. The creature's reflective metal plating shimmered ominously in the foundry's light, a mockery of the Order Fields that had once protected this place.
For a moment, the Griidlords hesitated, taking in the grisly scene before them, fully aware that the battle to reclaim the foundry would not be easily won.
The four Griidlords could only watch in horror as the giant fiend belched forth a torrent of flames that engulfed three nearby spearmen. The unlucky soldiers perished in an instant, their screams lost in the roaring inferno. Meanwhile, one of the bear-like creatures impaled a spearman on its stone claws, lifting him high in the air as the soldier gasped in futile pain.
Despite the violence and terror they'd just witnessed, the Griidlords shook off their hesitation and sprang into action. The Pittsburgh suits were determined to protect the foundry at all costs – it was an invaluable asset that produced the very power weapons that armed their city and that they could sell at great value. Across from them, the Cincinnati suits shared a similar goal: they desperately needed to trade for those power weapons, and they were willing to fight bitterly to secure them.
Arcstone and Brightforge formed a formidable front line, with Arcstone bearing his massive, glowing shield at the fore. The shield shimmered with power, a bastion of protection that covered both him and Brightforge as they stood shoulder to shoulder. Brightforge, with his sword raised, released a concentrated burst of energy that streaked across the battlefield, tearing through the air and slamming into one of the bear-like creatures.
The impact knocked the beast off balance, and its thundering howl caught the attention of the other bear-lizard monstrosity. Sensing the threat posed by the Cincinnati Griidlords, the creature's eyes gleamed with rage as it charged headlong toward Arcstone and Brightforge, its stone claws raised in anticipation of the brutal confrontation to come.
Hammerfist, recognizing the mortal threat to the Pittsburgh soldiers raced in. A Shield suit was slow compared with other Griidlords, but he was lightning against a mortal man. He positioned himself between the soldiers and the fiends. His shield pulsed with blue light. As the monstrous giant prepared to unleash another torrent of flames, Hammerfist raised his shield high. The light of the shield flared, widening and brightening. The flame washed over him, but to no effect.
Meanwhile, the bear-like creature collided with Arcstone's shield like a meteor, sending tremors through the ground. The shield protected Arcstone from the physical impact. Still the ground buckled beneath his feet and his arms bent back at the force of the impact. He let the beast press itself against his shield. As the full force of it's charge was expended, and the weight reached that moment of deadness, Arcstone pushed back. He pushed energy through his shield, surging it's repulsive power. In a boom of light and energy the fiend was thrown back.
At the other end of the battlefield, Thorn engaged the other bear-lizard monstrosity, his eyes a mixture of excitement and bloodlust. They were two monsters locked in a dance of death. It was hard for an observer to ascertain who the truer beast was. Each was ferocious, mindless. Each was eager for the violence that was to come. The creature snarled, betrayed by its own primal urges, seemingly echoing Thorn's readiness for the brutal duel that was unfolding before them.
The gunmen never let up. They fired every cartridge they had at the creatures. If it was to no effect, then it was to no effect, but they would tell their children and grandchildren about this day, and they would be able to say with honesty that they left nothing undone that could be done.
Hammerfist continued to stand firm between the soldiers and the menacing giant. It was the nature of the Shield to protect. He knew how easily the lives of the soldiers could be wasted, and he wouldn't see it come to pass. When the huge fiend shot fire, Hammerfist was there, absorbing it. His power was consumed with each wave, but he had time, and he would spend as much of it as he could spare to protect these men. When the creature tried to move closer, he was there, the repulsive surges of his shield driving it back, limb by he limb.
The scents of the battle continued to assault them. The flames of the giant creature seemed to burn with the odor of sulphur. The ozone fumes of the Griidlord's energies mingled with the metallic smell of bloold, the foulness of ichor, the stink of ruined human bodies.
Arcstone and Brightforge were in the least danger. The bear monster was huge, but it was certainly manageable for the two practiced team mates. As the creature charged Arcstone again, Brightforge sent the pulse of Order towards his friend. The boost made his shield immovable. The creature hit it hard, the crack of bones could be heard as it ricocheted away. Brightforge swept in as it regained its feet.
Brightforge danced around the creature like a predator, his sword flashing wildly as he landed blow after blow, pushing the monster back with each slicing strike. Arcstone, whose shield had been so critical in their earlier success, now provided the offensive, timing his energy blasts perfectly to exploit the beast's weaknesses. As they fought in unison, they began to gain the upper hand, their combined prowess proving too much for the monster to withstand.
Though the battle was far from over, and the screams of the dying still punctuated the air, a newfound sense of hope began to swell among the Griidlords and their allied soldiers. They had seen the raw power and malicious intent of the fiends firsthand, but beneath the unyielding resolve of the men and the unwavering determination of the Griidlords, it seemed that victory might yet be within their grasp.
Arcstone, building on the momentum of the battle, charged the monstrous beast, driving it further back with each calculated thrust of his shield. Brightforge, seizing the opportunity, circled around to the other side of the creature, his energy sword blazing with lethal intent. As Arcstone charged the beast, unleashing a tremendous pulse, the creature flew back to Brightforge's waiting blade. He impaled the monster, his sword tearing through its flesh.
As Brightforge twisted and pulled the sword, the creature's death throes echoed throughout the foundry. With a final flourish, he slashed the energy blade outwards, rending the beast into lifeless, smoking pieces.
Taking a brief respite amidst the heat of battle, he glanced around the battlefield, swiftly assessing the ongoing carnage. Brightforge's gaze lingered on Hammerfist, who continued to provide an awe-inspiring defense for his comrades, fending off the colossal giant. While Hammerfist seemed more like an immovable force than a mere Griidlord, Brightforge knew that even with his incredible power, bringing down the enormous monster alone was a near-impossible task. He turned his attention to Thorn, hoping for a different picture.
Amidst the fray, Brightforge witnessed a sight that both astonished and unnerved him. Thorn was a whirlwind of violence, fully immersed in his brutal combat with the bear-lizard behemoth. There was a raw, unbridled ferocity to Thorn's movements, his axe cleaving through the air and crashing into the creature's form. He dominated his opponent, becoming ever more comfortable in the chaos, relishing the adrenaline and primal satisfaction of battle.
With each strike, Thorn hacked away at the creature, driving it to the brink of defeat. The beast, as fearsome as it was, seemed to cower beneath the unrelenting power of Thorn and his axe. Here was a warrior who walked the line between humanity and beast, relishing the opportunity to unleash his instincts and prowess on anything or anyone that dared to stand in his way.
As Brightforge observed Thorn's performance, he felt a sudden understanding wash over him. He had heard countless tales of Thorn Jaxwulf's legendary battles and his insatiable desire for destruction. But to see him, now, in the heat of the moment – it was as if Thorn had become a greater fiend himself, a force to be reckoned with in his own right.
Like an unstoppable juggernaut, Thorn continued to decimate his adversary, each heavy blow from his axe sending the creature reeling. The fiend seemed to be barely holding on, succumbing to its injuries as it fought to maintain some semblance of control in the face of such a terrifying onslaught.
Finally, as Thorn saw his opportunity, he raised his axe high above his head and struck one last, mighty blow. The impact was monumental, the sheer force of his axe's power causing the creature to explode in a shower of gore and debris. The death knell of the beast rang out across the foundry, a remainder that Thorn Jaxwulf was not just a legend, but a living, breathing force, capable of unspeakable acts of violence.
For the soldiers and Griidlords who bore witness that day, the image of Thorn – triumphant, brutal, and merciless – would remain seared in their memories, another story in his legend. More evidence to his tale of raw, primal power.
As the dust settled from Thorn's brutal display, he, Brightforge, and Arcstone shifted their attention back towards the giant fiend which still wreaked havoc on the battlefield. The three Griidlords regarded their remaining adversary, preparing to join forces and bring the final beast to its knees.
The three untangled themselves from the mess they had made and moved to join Hammerfist against the titan. Even as they did, they saw the fatal move. It felt as if time had slowed to a crawl, each second heavy with tension and dread, as they watched the monstrous behemoth rear up on its hind legs. The creature's malice glittered in its eyes. The immense gravity of its gigantic form was breath taking. Its body hovered above Hammerfist, owner pointed limb aimed downward at the Griidlord, ready to deliver all of its might in an irresistable blow.
Despite his previous success holding the beast at bay, even Hammerfist seemed to sense the gravity of the giant's impending strike. He redoubled his grip on his pulsing shield, bracing himself for the impact of a force so much greater than he had known thus far in the battle. Yet his comrades remained several heart-stopping moments away from interceding. It was clear to them that even Hammerfist wouldn't be able to resist the coming blow.
Chapter 16
"It's amazing," Clive breathed. In his hands he held one of the precious relics from the Tower vault. The artifact appeared to be a conventional semi-automatic pistol from The Before, but its design had undergone some modifications. The surface of the gun was covered in a lattice of veins of a goldish metal. Smaller veins radiated from larger veins, creating a network that covered the entire surface of the item.
What truly excited Clive, what drew his eyes, was a tiny orb embedded just above the grip. It was no bigger than the tip of his finger, but there was something there that captured his inventor's imagination. The orb flickered with an otherworldly light of its own. The light shifted in hue and intensity as he tilted it. He had seen the likes of this before. He had seen this material before his reality had come crashing down. Hypnotized, he tilted the weapon to catch the light and was rewarded with a kaleidoscope of a thousand colors.
Clive looked up to see Elder Jarway and his advisor, Sephilous, watching him closely. They were standing in an antechamber to the throneroom, an intimate, private space; Jarway didn't want the priests to know he was sharing such a relic and allowing Clive to inspect it. They were jealous in guarding their special knowledge of Order and Entropy, fiercely protective of their monopoly on power. They wouldn't be pleased at the thought of an outsider infringing upon and possibly diminishing their authority.
Clive, his head spinning with questions, asked, "And it works? Even outside the Order field? Where do you get bullets? Do you still have a supply? Do you manufacture them?"
Jarway, smiling at Clive's onslaught of questions, raised a hand and replied, "Yes, it works. It's an amazing power to have a gun that operates outside of Order fields. It provides a tremendous advantage when your opponents are left with only swords. Artifacts like this are very rare, incredibly valuable."
Clive nodded, trying to fathom the implications of such a weapon.
"But how often is it used?" he asked.
Jarway sighed, "We use the weapon only when the need is dire. We must protect and preserve such a treasure. Occasionally, our special operations forces are equipped with the relic, but only in situations of the greatest importance. It would be terrible to risk its destruction, or worse, its capture by another city or a roving gang."
Clive stared at the pistol. He felt the gravity of the moment. He was being honored by being allowed to just hold it.
As Clive's hands traced the webs of shining metal, he spoke with a tone of realization, "I recognize this orb. It's not that different from what we were working on in my lab, in The Before. It's an Order Generator. The field that captured me...preserved me...what you call the prophet – it was a concentrated Order field generated by something similar to this."
Jarway and Sephilous exchanged puzzled glances before focusing back on Clive. Jarway, his interest piqued, asked, "Are you suggesting that the technology used to create this gun and the mechanism behind your arrival here are somehow connected, developed from the same source?"
Clive nodded slowly, deep in thought, "Yes, that's exactly what I'm suggesting. It seems that the Order Generators in my time have evolved over the centuries to become embedded within artifacts like this gun, providing a sophisticated control of Order and Entropy, while in The Before, we were only at the early stages of understanding and developing this technology."
Sephilous, skeptical but intrigued, questioned Clive further. "If they are indeed connected as you say, how exactly did your work in The Before lead to the concentration of Order that brought you here, to our time?"
Clive let out a deep sigh, struggling to think of a way to explain such advanced technology to people who had no context for it. "The technology was in its infancy during my time - newer than new. Only a few companies in the world were working on it, and development was tightly controlled by the government, or governments. I don't know what the situation was in other parts of the world. They controlled the understanding of it and didn't want any group, person or entity to have full knowledge. We didn't even know about the manufacturing process; we were given raw generators and were expected to experiment and develop means of manipulating Order fields."
Jarway, excited, eager, and hungry for more information, asked, "So, you have expertise in manipulating Order and Entropy?"
Clive, nervous, replied hesitantly, "Expertise might be a strong word. We were experimenting, investigating the effects of gravity, magnetism, and electricity on Order and Entropy – that kind of thing. We studied how these forces cause the fields to expand, contract, intensify or diminish. I'm an engineer, and I was actually hired to write software for the equipment, but I found myself on the team directly working on the generators because I displayed a knack for achieving the desired effects."
Jarway's eyes shone with eagerness as he said, "That knack of yours might make you invaluable, and it could make you rich. The priests control such arcane wisdom, and the leaders of the cities need them to speak to the oracle, control the local Griid, and transfer Flows between cities. This creates a power dynamic where both leaders and priests have their own agendas. The priests have the power to strangle the leaders if they choose to, and it's frustrating, as we are always caught in the middle of their dealings."
Clive held his hands up defensively and replied, "The technology evolved a lot before The End, a century after I entered stasis. I don't recognize all of this. I could learn, as my trick is in learning and improvising, but I need time, I need to disassemble, experiment, and understand."
Jarway's face paled in horror, "You can't disassemble this artifact, it's over a thousand years old. It's priceless!"
Clive held his hands up reassuringly, nodded, "I've been thinking – I'm willing to bet there are a lot of non-functional relics around, perhaps even in the treasury. There could be trinkets that are broken, that do nothing, and are therefore less valuable. What I need is time with those items. It's a win-win: I might learn more about the technology by working on them, and I might even make the old broken relics functional again, adding new treasures to your collection."
Jarway paused. Those eyes, every considering, grew unfocused as the thought. That hum that he like to employ buzzed from his throat as he thought. After a few moments, he nodded approvingly, his eyes twinkling at the possibilities.
Jarway said, "You will need a workshop, a secret place far from the tower and away from the prying eyes of the priests, in order to work. This is very exciting, and I'll provide you with any resources necessary."
Clive pointed out a potential problem, "But far from the tower, the Order levels will be low, and high-tech equipment won't work. I'll need electricity and specific tools – meters, measuring equipment, computers. It might be challenging to learn without these things and to find them in the first place."
Jarway looked troubled. He always seemed to grow deeply contemplative when the subject of the priests crossed his path. "It's true that allocating such equipment will be difficult, as most of it belongs to the priests. Computers, especially, will be hard to come by, but I will see what I can do."
At that moment, Sephilous chimed in, "Finding a suitable location will be difficult as well. Near the tower, the priests' eyes will inevitably discover what we're doing, resulting in a bloody conflict and putting your life, Clive, in grave danger. It would definitely cause trouble for us, but, Lord Jarway, I have an idea."
Jarway waited, clearly impatient. Clive noticed that Jarway didn't seem to respect Sephilous, and he appeared to be suspicious of the slimy man. Sephilous continued, "My lord, there is the oil field where the Griid is usually set high to facilitate extraction. Currently, production is low as we can't spare enough Flows. As a result, there are many empty, disused buildings and storage facilities. We could establish a workshop there, where nobody would be looking, as the priests wouldn't be interested in such a place. That location would also have enough Order to serve Clive's purposes."
Jarway pondered Sephilous's suggestion, seeing the potential benefits of setting up a hidden workshop in the disused oil field. He finally spoke, "Very well, we will make arrangements for the workshop and gather the necessary equipment. Clive, prepare yourself for this new endeavor; we're about to embark on a fascinating journey together."
Clive, feeling dismissed yet relieved, exited the antechamber through a side entrance and stepped out into a corridor. The tower's construction, with its metal, plastic, glowing lights, and humming air conditioning, stood in stark contrast to the medieval world outside. There, in the hallway, he found Aerilyn waiting for him with a bright smile and beautiful eyes. Clive tried his best to treat her as a mere tower servant, but she was fast becoming a friend, and he couldn't help but find himself attracted to her. She had an air of innocence and sweetness that made her all the more endearing.
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"I hope I'm not intruding," she said, "but when you told me you were meeting with Jarway, I thought I'd find you here. I have some free time and thought we could share lunch together." She patted her satchel, which Clive imagined must be brimming with delicious food from the tower kitchen.
Clive, relieved and pleased, replied, "That sounds wonderful. It's been such a pressure talking to Jarway, and having a relaxing, easy conversation and a bit of easy company would be so nice right now."
Aerilyn blushed, clearly touched by his words. "I'm very happy that you find my company easy. I know you've had a hard time - arriving here, learning our ways - but I find you easy to be around as well."
Clive, now blushing as well, joined Aerilyn as she started walking. "A picnic in the gardens sounds perfect. It will be peaceful and quiet there – a welcome change. And you can ask me all about my meeting with Jarway."
They walked in silence for a while, navigating the maze of corridors and descending the stairs meant for servants. Eventually, they exited through a side door of the tower and entered the gardens. Clive was always taken aback by the sheer beauty of the area – the expanse of lush greenery, carefully crafted topiary, and the mix of familiar and exotic plants. He delighted in the symphony of birdsong and the fresh air, a welcome reprieve from the artificial atmosphere within the tower.
As they meandered down the path in search of a quiet spot for their picnic, Aerilyn couldn't contain her curiosity any longer. "So, did you inspect a relic? Which one? That's such a great honor – those are precious treasures that ordinary people are never allowed to see, let alone touch."
Clive replied, "It was a gun – one that works regardless of Order Fields."
Aerilyn's eyes widened with excitement. "I would love to see something like that. Lord Jarway must think you're truly special to have entrusted you with it."
Clive had kept some observations to himself since handling the weapon, not wanting to share everything with Jarway. It was probably a bad idea to confide in anyone about the technical details, but he felt so isolated in this new world and longed for someone to confide in.
"Aerilyn," he said, his voice low, his eyes darting, "I didn't tell Jarway about every observation I made. I think I understand more about the technology than I've lead him to believe."
Aerilyn leaned in, watching his face closely. There was a touch of the gossip about her, she seemed intrigued.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
Clive said, "The modifications that make the gear work outside the Order Fields aren't necessarily bound to one specific relic. I believe that, with time and practice, I could transfer the modifications from one relic to another, thus making other things function outside of Order Fields. I might even be able to replicate the modifications. There could be a lot of broken gear in the world that I could potentially fix."
Aerilyn, surprisingly eager and furtive, said, "It's wise not to reveal everything to Jarway; you can always keep some things back and reveal them later, making it look like a new discovery. In this world, secrets are power, and what you're talking about could make you rich beyond imagining – it could even change the world."
Clive closed his eyes. His brow furrowed. There was strain in his voice as he said, "I don't want to change the world, and I'm not even concerned about the riches. Everything is stress here. I'm sad, I've lost everyone and everything I've ever know. There's no going back for me, I need to live here. I have to make a life here. I no greater a desire to be a hero here than I did in my old life."
Aerilyn gently reached out and touched his arm. She waited for him to make eye contact with her before she spoke, "I promise, Clive, you are valuable – more valuable than you can possibly imagine. I'll help you figure things out and make sure you find safety and comfort."
Clive looked into her eyes, hardly able to believe the sincerity he saw there. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't help but be uncertain. But deep down, he truly wished to believe her.
Chapter 17
In this slow, elongated moment, Brightforge realized that time had given him just enough space to attempt something unprecedented. His Sword suit's greatest strength was its ability to channel energy to his allies. While Hammerfist was a Pittsburgh warrior – and Brightforge had never even heard of channeling to a Griidlord of a different faction before – he felt certain that it was the only option to alter the outcome of the devastating strike the fiend was poised to deliver.
As Brightforge concentrated, he focused his own power. He'd done this many times before, the manipulation of the fields running around, and through, his suit came like instinct. He sent the tendrils of energy reaching across the space between them and felt the connection forged with Hammerfist. There was a moment of rejection, just a flicker. Hammerfist could feel the connection forming, could feel the reach coming from someone foreign to him.
The air around them seemed to shimmer, the boundaries between two rival warring factions blurring for the first time, as Hammerfist's suit absorbed the radiant energy that pulsed with the force of two cities' weaponries. His massive shield took on a brilliant aura, its edges glowing with a new intensity. It flared as though he was pulsing it, but brighter, a dozen times brighter. The very air around his suit seemed radiate a haze of distortion as the new power pulsed through him.
As the titanic fiend plunged down, tilting its form, directing all the power of it's massive form, momentum, strength and pure mass toward Hammerfist, the Griidlor's posture shifted. Where, a moment before, he had been recoiling, trying to gather every iota of power that he could in the feint hope of surviving the attack, now he leaned forward. The blazing light of his shield met the plummeting tip of the creature's appendage, and the light flared hotter and brighter at the moment of contact. The kinetic forces crackled, the air popped at the impact, and then Hammerfist was pushing through, sending the attack away from him with terrible violence.
The giant fiend staggered back. It tottered on its legs for a moment. Some of these things were smart, and this one seemed capable of understanding that something unexplained was happening. Hammerfist, recognizing the source of the channeled energy, turned to acknowledge Brightforge with a terse nod, the unlikeliest of bonds having been formed between them, if only for a fleeting moment.
Not wasting the opening, the four Griidlords surged towards the surprised creature. It was off balance, unsure, unprepared. These godlike warriors moved with a fluid grace and speed that belied their size, their Suits responding to their every thought, as the wind whispered and caressed around them.
Blades hissed and ichor flew, sheilds pulsed with the impact of thunderclaps. But the beast was huge, a rare monster. It had a lot of blood to lose before it could be downed and it pressed back. Fire cascaded over them, razor sharp claws of stone sought them. The Griidlords held their ground well against its relentless onslaught, their skill and weapons matching the enemy's frightening ferocity.
Yet despite their impressive prowess and united front, the Griidlords were not making a significant dent. The colossal beast before them was so unimaginably massive and powerful that it seemed to casually shrug off each blow and attack, an insurmountable wall of twisted, demonic resistance. They would need to come up with a new strategy or plan, for brute force alone seemed insufficient to overcome this nightmarish adversary.
As the battle wore on, Brightforge could feel his energy draining, his limbs growing heavy with the exhaustion that comes from pushing one's body and abilities to their limits. He stole a glance at his fellow Griidlords – Arcstone and Hammerfist – wondering if they, too, were nearing the precipice of exhaustion.
Their monstrous foe was not tiring, however. If anything, the fiend only seemed to grow in strength and ferocity as the battle raged, fueled by its own seething rage. Brightforge knew that they couldn't keep this up forever. Eventually, each of them would falter, leaving valuable openings – and with such a cunning, relentless enemy, any weaknesses would surely spell the end for them all.
Desperate, Brightforge called out to Arcstone and Hammerfist. His voice, usually steady and strong, betrayed the strain he was feeling. 'Arcstone! Hammerfist! To me, I need your shields!'
His gaze fell upon Thorn, cackling madly as he continued to clash against their seemingly undefeatable foe. As much as Brightforge was loath to admit it, he could hardly contain the thrill of recognition that he felt deep within him. He had an idea, one that was both brilliant and terrifying in its simplicity. What if he could strengthen Thorn's power by channeling his energy into the fearsome warrior, the same as he had done earlier with Hammerfist?
Doing so would be monumental – even foolhardy. Thorn Jaxwulf was already a veritable force of nature, a figure who inspired both awe and terror in all who crossed his path. Enhancing him further seemed a gamble that could just as easily backfire. He had seen Thorn's hunger to slay him earlier. But, Brightforge thought, it might just be the edge they needed to tip the scales in their favor.
Hammerfist, could appreciate the desperate measures his new ally was considering. Through gritted teeth, he shouted across the cacophony of battle, "Brightforge, as much as it pains me to admit, your crazy plan might just be the bravest and most ingenious thing I've ever witnessed! Let's do this!"
With a nod of agreement and determination, Brightforge focused all of his remaining energy into channeling his power into Thorn Jaxwulf. As the energy coursed into him, Thorn's powerful aura intensified, its glow enveloping him before concentrating into his already fearsome weapon. His axe blazed like the fires of a hundred suns, illuminating the battlefield with a searing light.
The onlookers watched in awe as Thorn unleashed his devastating attack on the monstrous insectoid creature. His enhanced axe now sliced through the air with near-divine speed and precision, slicing through the heavy carapace of the fiend like a hot knife through butter. Each strike carried the force of the united realms of Cincinnati and Pittsburgh, chipping away at the seemingly-impervious defenses of their mutual foe.
Meanwhile, Arcstone and Hammerfist did their best to protect Brightforge from the flurry of fire that the beast breathed upon them, their combined shielding forming an almost impenetrable barrier around the vulnerable energy channeler. The creature's dark intelligence realized that something had changed, that its destruction was all but ensured if it could not stop the surge of power boosting its formidable adversary.
The disruptive change startled the beast as it fought to repel the channeling of energy between the allied Griidlords. Furiously it tried to break their defenses, cocking its massive head back and spewing torrents of flame to disrupt the trio's newfound bond. However, its efforts were in vain, for the determination and sheer force of will of the Griidlords had united them in the most improbable and desperate of alliances.
Thorn paused. He looked down at his arms, his hands. Not since the days of Thoddeus had he been supported by a Sword of Brightforge's capacity. The pulses of energy ran through him, dissipating from the surface of his suit like alien fire. He could feel the power, feel it in his suit, feel it throughout his form. His muscles felt ready to burst as he swelled with strength.
Thorn had never wanted for confidence. Now, though, he felt truly invincible. Thorn positioned himself to press the offensive. His axe surged up like a meteor, a flaming comet that met the beast bodily. The report and shockwave reached out to stagger his comrades as they watched. Like a lightning demon he move, sweeping below the fiend. His axe flashed as he severed limbs, rendering it incapable of charging the trio. Next, the Pittsburgh Griidlord expertly hacked off more of the steel claws, a grim smile playing on his lips as the creature let out a pained howl, the severed limbs falling to the ground with a resounding crash.
His fellow Griidlords looked on, amazed at the sheer might and brutality of Thorn Jaxwulf as he systematically took the creature apart. Arcstone and Hammerfist, exhausted but undeterred, remained by Brightforge's side to ensure his channeling went uninterupted. They could barely believe their eyes as the once-unstoppable fiend began to crumble under the force of Thorn's relentless assault.
Seeing an opportunity to finally end the battle, Thorn readied himself for his coup de grâce. He leapt into the air, his movements guided by determination, even as his axe blazed brightly, the energy swirling within it summoned by the newfound alliance. With one last roar, he brought the axe down upon the creature's head, the leading appendage that seemingly housed its intelligence.
In a dizzying display of force and skill, Thorn Jaxwulf decapitated the massive fiend. The severed head fell to the ground with an almost eerie silence. The Griidlords watched, breathless but triumphant, as their once-invincible adversary lay lifeless on the battlefield, the final testament to the power of their unlikely alliance.
As the lifeless, decapitated fiend collapsed onto the battlefield, its enormous body heaving and pulsing, Thorn Jaxwulf stepped away from the carnage he had wrought and moved towards the trio of Griidlords. The energy that had burned so brightly within him moments before now began to dissipate, fading like the glowing embers of a dying fire.
Even Hammerfist couldn't help but look upon his own comrade with admiration, silent awe present in his eyes as he watched Thorn's strong figure approach. The entire battlefield was now eerily quiet as the flames expired, only the distant cheers of the surviving soldiers and workers breaking the stillness.
The air was charged with the afterglow of victory, and the victory roar that rose from the exhausted onlookers seemed to crescendo like a tidal wave, filling all those gathered with a renewed sense of hope. Despite their fatigue and pain, the tremendous surge of pride and joy that coursed through their ranks was a sensation they'd never experienced before.
As Thorn approached the trio, his movements seemed almost threatening, causing Brightforge to instinctively brace himself for a possible confrontation. The berserker’s blood was up, and he feared that madness was holding the Pittsburgh Axe. Without warning, Thorn pointed a finger directly at Brightforge, his eyes locking onto his newfound ally.
For a brief, tense moment, they all held their breath, not quite sure of the intentions behind his gesture. Then, as though an unseen mask faltered and fell away, Thorn's posture slackened. His raspy, menacing voice carried the glimmer of humor as he said, "Don't think this little favor will get you too much of a discount."
Laughter bubbled up from the Griidlords, spreading contagiously to the surrounding soldiers and workers who had witnessed their miraculous victory.
As the laughter subsided and the adrenaline in their veins began to dissipate, Brightforge found himself regarding the dead fiends strewn across the battlefield. Though he was the youngest of the four Griidlords present, he had still faced fiends before, but nothing quite like the giant that now lay in a lifeless heap.
In the wake of the battle all four removed their helmets, a sign of increased truce between them, an earned trust.
Brightforge turned to the others, a sober look on his face that mirrored the gravity of the situation, and said, "I've fought my share of fiends before, but have any of you ever encountered a giant like that?"
The other Griidlords exchanged glances, their expressions indicating that they, too, recognized the unspoken implications behind Brightforge's question.
Hammerfist, the elder and veteran of the party, said, "I've seen my fair share. On campaign, in the wilds, you'll encounter 'em. We steer clear when we can, but the fuckers have a way of being around an Orb when it lands, and then you've got to. At the height of old Chief Thoddeus' powers, when the world thought we might be the ones to rend the Empire back to pieces, there were waves of the beasties. Some of those fuckers were serious business."
Yet, after a moment's contemplation, he admitted, "This may very well be the largest and most fearsome fiend I've ever seen or fought."
Brightforge nodded, his eyes suspiciously scanning their surroundings. "It's peculiar that we'd encounter a fiend of this size so close to a city," he mused. "And it's amazing that it could approach without warning. A creature that big should leave a trail of destruction in its wake."
Hammerfist, sensing the unease in Brightforge's voice, recalled a fragment of ancient knowledge. "According to legend, great fiends appear at momentous times," he explained, his voice solemn. "They can alter the course of destiny."
Brightforge waved a dismissive hand, scoffing at the idea. "Superstition and myth," he laughed. "Give me hard facts and real tactics, not old wives' tales."
Undeterred, Hammerfist pressed on. "You should read the histories," he insisted. "There are accounts of empires that stalled because of fiends. Some even claim that the Blood Prince himself disappeared from the Empire after encountering one of these beasts."
Brightforge's laughter subsided, but whether he found truth in Hammerfist's words was impossible to decipher from the unreadable expression now set upon his face.
Thorn, his mood lightened after the victory, let out a hearty laugh, the sound booming over the battlefield. "Well, I'm glad for it," he said, still chuckling. "I've been itching for a good battle, and this was a nice taste when the campaign season seems so far away."
Brightforge's expression, however, remained somber. He gestured to the fallen Pittsburgh soldiers around them and said, "They might not share your enthusiasm for battle, Thorn. Sad households in Pittsburgh tonight. There will be widows and children crying."
Thorn's laughter ceased and his demeanor sobered somewhat. "You're right," he conceded, his voice more measured. "I can't change what happened, and it's not my fault I took pleasure from the fight. But it's a shame that good men had to die."
For a moment, silence enveloped the Griidlords as they stood side by side, the once-rivals and currently temporary allies. As they surveyed the carnage surrounding them, a deep undercurrent of respect for the lives lost hummed through each of them.
Brightforge looked over to Hammerfist, the weight of their conversation heavy on his brow. "How will this affect our bartering?" he asked. "Our cities can look after themselves, but we seem quite capable when we're together. Maybe we can remain independent but still find a way to direct our energies and forces. We could create a better age for all and push back against the Empire."
Hammerfist offered a jaded smile in response and said, "As I've told you before, I can't make such a commitment. Only the Sword can do that. When Roland Windrake is chosen, he will be the one who can speak for our city and make a real deal." But then, with a nod, he added, "It's hard to argue that Cincinnati isn't entitled to some reward. Today's battle might not have been won without your help."
Arcstone laughed heartily, joining the conversation. "That's gotta be worth a discount, eh?"
Hammerfist couldn't argue, but his smile was tinged with sadness. "No argument there. It's a strange feeling, really – knowing you both from this battlefield, forming these bonds and camaraderie, but realizing that in a few months' time, we'll be fierce enemies again."
Thorn, ever battle hungry, chimed in, "I respect you two, none more than you Brightforge. There are few Swords, few I've ever seen, who can stack up well against you. But, make no mistake, that won't stay my axe the day we meet out there, in the wilds. I want my shot at you. That's how things work."
Brightforge, his expression betraying determination, said, "Maybe it's time to find a new way."
The other three Griidlords stared at him in astonishment. Hammerfist replied, "Since recorded history, the cities have stood alone, unless conquered. Cincinnati is a great power, but you're not ready to form an empire. And Pittsburgh has never bent the knee – and we never will."
Desperate to redirect the conversation, Brightforge responded, "That's not what I meant. I have no intention of forming an empire, and I never implied that Pittsburgh would bend the knee. But why can't we direct our forces together? We'd be stronger that way."
Amused by the younger Lord's naiveté, Hammerfist said, "It's a nice idea, Brightforge, and the sentiment is appreciated. But in reality, politics, leadership, and greed will always keep cities from pairing well for long."
Thorn, part humor and part hunger for battle, added, "Besides, if we were allies, I'd never get the chance to take you down."
Chapter 18
Clive tightened the rope binding the tarp to the wagon. Although an Order field extended from Denver to the oil fields in a narrow corridor – enabling motor vehicles to function – Sephilous felt that using them would draw unwanted attention. Instead, he argued that a horse-drawn cart was a less noticeable choice. Moreover, the palace stables were a discreet location, a good place to gather equipment.
The guards around the stables were among the most trusted by Jarway, handpicked by Captain Hearthguard, Caelin's brother and a man Jarway seemed to trust implicitly. Even the stable hands had been replaced with disguised agents. Security simply had to be present to ensure the safety of the treasures housed here. But, to prevent the eyes of the priests being drawn too closely, the elite soldiers were forced to wander the stables, brushing horses and forking manure, their weapons secreted in burlap sacks and under piles of hay.
As Clive took in the sights and sounds of the stables. He liked the smell of the horses. It wasn't a clean smell, not exactly, but it was wholesome. He observed the well-kept horses and the carefully disguised agents attending to their duties. A sense of excitement and insecurity filled him.
Clive glanced around the wagon, considering the relics from the treasury and the pilfered equipment hidden beneath mundane goods. He felt a mix of excitement at the prospect of being away from the tower for a while, sadness about parting from Aerilyn, and a growing sense of nervousness as he imagined priests sending assassins after him.
His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden realization: there was a man sitting on a straw bale in the corner. Clive, stunned to recognize the mysterious figure of Trident from their encounter in the garden days before, stammered, "Tr-Trident, what are you doing here? I thought you weren't welcome in the tower."
Trident, appearing as utterly relaxed and disinterested as during their previous meeting, replied, "I just wanted to see you embarking on your journey. It's very exciting, what you have planned – a secret workshop. I can only imagine the marvels you might discover."
Clive urgently hushed him, saying, "Be quiet. People will hear you. There are guards everywhere. The man forking the manure over there is one of the elite guardsmen. Don't get me in trouble."
But Trident remained cool and unconcerned. "Clive, I've been doing this for a long time. I know how not to be discovered. Just relax."
Clive, breathlessly, said, "Doing what for a long time? You told me you were just a messenger!"
His skeptical eyes flicked down to his own attire, indicating the precious gear and armor concealed beneath his cloak. "Don't be dense," he chided. "It's clear that if I'm a messenger, I'm not one of the mundane sort."
Clive took a moment to observe the bizarre weapons Trident carried, now seeing them with a newfound appreciation after having learned more about the relics. While several pieces of equipment, such as the sword, appeared common enough, it dawned on Clive that Trident was also equipped with gear just as precious – if not more so – than the items he'd been shown from the treasury. Suddenly, he understood that the man was wearing a king's ransom in rare and deadly technology.
Clive, now more curious than ever, asked, "Who are you really? What are you doing here and how did you find out what I'm up to?"
Trident smiled, faintly amused, "I'm really just a messenger, but perhaps a special one. I could be a good friend to you, and maybe even help you."
Clive raised his head and countered, "I'm not interested in getting mixed up in intrigue. I just want an easy life. My knowledge is the key to finding a place in this world – I'll trade it to Jarway in exchange for comfort and security."
Trident calmly replied, "I told you before: you can't trust Jarway, or anyone for that matter. You're a secret weapon, and you can't even begin to imagine the potential you have to disrupt the world order and change things. Everywhere you go, leaders will want to use you, and priests will want to see you dead. Someone like me could be the key to keeping you alive."
Clive stood firm, insisting, "I'm going nowhere. Denver is just fine. I'll give Jarway no reason to have a problem with me, and I'll give the priests no reason to know I exist. I just want some time to be safe and to rest."
Trident smirked and added, "To rest with that little maid friend of yours?"
Clive, taken aback, asked, "How do you know about her? You still haven't told me how you know about all this!" He gestured toward the wagon as he spoke.
Trident, ever dry and amused, said, "We need to build trust. I'll tell you more about my ways and means, but I need more from you too. It's a two-way street, building a friendship."
Exasperated, Clive replied, "I don't want any more friendships. I have enough already. I just want to do my job and be left alone."
Trident's smile remained, but his eyes grew cold and dark. "You need friends, Clive. Terrible things can happen to someone like you, someone with the potential for so much power. There are those who would rather see you dead than in the wrong hands."
A chill ran down Clive's spine. He couldn't tell if Trident's words were a threat or a warning, but he knew the man was dangerous. His thoughts turned to his own safety – and to Aerilyn's. As much as he resisted the idea, part of him couldn't help but think that Trident might be right about needing allies in this world.
Emotions bubbling and feeling trapped, Clive desperately asked, "What do you want from me exactly? Why won't you just leave me alone?"
Trident explained, "I want your knowledge. I want to build a better world, for everyone. By working for Jarway, you'll only make a better world for Denver's nobles, including him. In a world of limited Flows, every city that grows wealthy and powerful can only do so by depriving another city of Orbs, making them poorer and weaker. It's a zero-sum game, Clive, we can't make the world better when the only way to help one person is to hurt another. "
Feeling too small in such a big world, Clive replied, "I barely know this world. How can I choose sides, and disrupt paradigms? I just want peace."
Trident nodded. He was oddly soothing, but there was an unmistakable condescension to his tone. It was as though he didn't care to hide it. "I understand that you need time, and I'd rather have you come willingly."
The unsettling implication of his words left Clive chilled. If Clive wouldn't come willingly, would he be taken by force?
The enigmatic figure continued, "I won't rush you. There's plenty of time. Of course, the priests know you exist, but they seem to have no notion of your arcane knowledge. Their interest in you is mainly for the canon and ceremony, so you're not in immediate danger. I'm happy to allow time to pass and let you learn, but I want to build that friendship. I'd like to be kept up to date on the wonders you discover in your secret workshop."
Feeling desperate and cornered, Clive pleaded, "So, if I promise to keep you informed and tell you what I discover, you'll leave me alone and not cause trouble for me or..."
He cut off, not wanting to reveal the power that could be held over him by threats to Aerilyn. But Trident was already ahead of him and finished the sentence, saying, "Or your little maid? Of course, for now, that would be more than enough."
He continued ominously, "But you should be warned, Clive. It was nothing for me to discover this secret plot, this refuge in the oil fields. I can count to a man how many secret security agents are patrolling here. I could list you their names. I know the name of the guard who will drive your wagon, and I even know the names of the horses, Penny and Hazel if you care to know, who will pull the wagon. Do you think for a second that you could learn things in that workshop and keep them from me without me finding out?"
Clive gulped, feeling overwhelmed, and slowly shook his head.
Trident's cool smile remained, exuding an unsettling sense of danger.
"Good," he said, "Openness and honesty are the keys to building a friendship. I just want you to be aware that openness and honesty are your only options when dealing with me."