Jonathan watched as the soldiers lined up, anticipating an address from their leader. For once, it was not him, but Edgar. He stood to the side as the wind mage began to speak, floating above the land.
“My soldiers! Over the last month, we have become allies, and in the future, I hope friends. You fight for me because of my strength, and many simply want a chance to grow in power. Those are admirable goals, but the leader of my faction has something larger in mind. He wishes to not only liberate Mire, but all of the Hells.”
A murmur rose up from those below. Many had no idea what the end goal of Edgar’s quest was, and they had simply joined his forces for the chance to make a difference in Mire, or go out in a final blaze of glory. This was unexpected.
“I know that you are all an honorable sort, but I understand if you see this as a final hurdle too steep to climb. If we win here, this is not the end of your battle. It is only the beginning. I promise that you will be granted the ability to ascend the Hells, and gain power beyond your wildest dreams. To achieve this, you must fight your all, and never surrender. Who’s with me?”
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, before Kendal let out a cheer, the aged mage pumping his fist. In response to this, a growing bellow of anticipation and excitement circled around the massed forces, until the air itself was shaking with the noise. Jonathan lent his own voice to the spectacle. Notably, Hushar was absent, remaining silent.
As the noise died down, Jonathan stepped forwards. “None of you know me yet, but I am your ultimate leader. In joining Edgar, you joined my faction, even if not officially. It is time for that to change.”
With a mental command, Jonathan extended an invitation to his faction to all of those present. The number of people in it had already swelled to hundreds of thousands from those in the Ash Heaps, but the small boost was all the greater because of the strength of those involved. He could say for certain that the small force here was stronger than the entirety of the Ash Heaps’ fighters put together. It was an army that could have conquered Earth had they been sent there. Soldiers with the power of tanks contained within their muscles, and the speed of bullets. It was an army of supermen, but considering their predicament, it was hardly enough.
Jonathan waited for all of those present to join. Surprisingly enough, nobody left. The decision was unanimous. “I thank all of you who added your names to the faction. One day, you will come to see this as the most important decision of your life. I promise you that.”
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.
Hushar barged forwards, pushing Jonathan out of the way. “Enough waiting!” He roared. “WHO'S READY TO DIP THEIR BLADES IN THE BLOOD OF THE ENEMY?”
A resounding cheer rose up from the army. Hushar let out a wordless howl of rage and challenge, and an answering roar rose from the army. Then he turned and charged off into the distance, holding his sword high. Jonathan sighed, and followed. There was little else to do at this point. Edgar flitted along the thermals, following the Uthraki. Behind them, the army built up speed, their footsteps shaking the earth beneath. War was coming to the realm of Mire.
As they crossed the Waste Warrens, the rest of the forces that had gathered under Edgar’s banner joined them, swelling the army to a force over ten thousand strong. It was small, compared to forces like the Dread Legion of the Ash Heaps, but it was filled with powerful fighters.
It was not until they reached the border of the Spillway that they met their first resistance.
Jonathan gazed down from a hill upon the line of filth demarcating the end of the Waste Warrens and the beginning of the Spillway. Behind him extended his army, and before him was a far larger force, standing in the muck that made up the festering circle of the realm before them.
The Spillway was perhaps the most disgusting part of Mire, a landscape marred by pollution. Jonathan still had no idea what the factories that dotted the filth encrusted land were for. Perhaps they simply existed for the purpose of scenery. Jonathan knew that the Hells were modeled after different sins, similar to some of the mythologies on Earth. It was similar in a way to the expanse layered out by Dante in his famous book, but far larger and more detailed. Currently, he was in the section of the Hells devoted to the sin of Sloth, and Mire was supposed to represent unfettered decay and an unwillingness to change.
As Joanthan stood there, he watched as the legion before him began to march. There were easily twenty or thirty thousand fighters arrayed on the border, their average level sitting somewhere around the 240 range. It was a force that would have struck fear into the hearts of most, but not that of Jonathan. He had honed himself on the endless hordes of Mimics in Tartarus, whose levels were higher by far than these poor fools.
The ranks ahead parted, and a figure strode out from between the dark armored fighters. A woman, clad in the robes of a mage. She crackled with arcane potency. Quite literally in fact. Lightning bolts played across her form, and the ground charred beneath her feet. Jonathan gazed down, schooling his face to not show any emotion. Judging by the power he could sense, she was easily level 270, if not higher.