"Fifteen hundred," Toothpick, Duck Hunt's spotter, says. He lifts his eyes from his rangefinder, a long grass hanging from his lips.
Duck Hunt opens the bolt of his Tac-50, pressing against the chambered round to put it back in the magazine. He pulls out an APEI round from his plate carrier and chambers it.
"You killing a man, not a tank," Toothpick quips.
"They beat estimate by a day; I'm not risking another inhuman feat," Duck Hunt retorts. The army before them was predicted to be two days away from them. Yet here they are, jogging for hours towards the fort. "How are they still running? They would be exhausted if they ever reached the fort."
"We could do it," Bling-Bling says. He stops cleaning the dirt on his handgun to glance at them. "Forty-five kilometers in a day; easy."
"We're fucked if every peasant on this side has the stamina of a ranger," Toothpick says.
"They wouldn't be here if we hadn't engaged them," Duck Hunt says. The team opened fire on a small group four days ago, killing fifty soldiers. The order came from their hierarchy and not the major they are helping on this side of the portal. It was a matter of discontent until it happened, and ever since.
"I told you to stop mentioning it," Toothpick says. "It was an order, and we were explicitly told to shut the fuck up about it."
Duck Hunt grunts; arguing won't get him answers. It seems to him that they are the conquistadors taking their world from the natives. As if they haven't evolved since. He asks, "Why didn't they bomb the guy with the Reaper? That would have stopped them last night."
"They didn't bring bombs for it. And that's a SkyGuardian," Toothpick answers. "They were spent on its previous mission. They requisitioned it for observation; they didn't think they would need to neutralize someone in particular."
"Same thing," Duck Hunt quips. "Just a little more battery life; ten more million per unit."
"We're seriously not going to talk about it?" Ratata asks. He sets up a second ammo box beside his machine gun.
"Nop," Duck Hunt answers. He refocuses on his left eye to glance at the monsters. Forty beasts, each twice the size of a man, march at the forefront of the army. They are armored head to toe in heavy, rusting metal. Their helmets leave no opening for their eyes or mouth, making him ponder how they see. In their gauntleted hands, they carry axes and warhammers big enough to crush a car. "We told the major, that's her problem now."
"The drone saw them hours ago; they could have told us," Toothpick comments.
"They aren't part of the mission," Bling-Bling explains. "We didn't need to know."
The radio set beside Duck Hunt crackles. Toothpick picks it up and says, "Say again, over."
"You are cleared to engage, over," the radio transmits.
Duck Hunt readjusts his aim, following the up-and-down rhythm of his horse-riding target. He confirms, "On target."
"Three…" Toothpick begins. "Two… One…"
Three suppressed shots echo around their twelve-man squad. Duck Hunt folds his rifle’s bipod, stashing it on his back as the bullet flies. The APEI round strikes its mark, slamming into their leader's helmet. The impact sends faint sparks flying; a plume of smoke rises from the scorched red metal.
"Hit head at fourteen hundred meters. Damage minimal," Toothpick says.
Duck Hunt's heart skips a beat, and he places his rifle back down. Through the scope he sees the knight pressing on, his crimson-dyed armor only marred by the strike.
Besides the target, his two underlings, each bearing their own flag, are less fortunate. The other two snipers struck them in the head and neck, each shot piercing through their target's armor.
Toothpick whistles low. "Knight in shining armor just ate it like its nothing."
Duck Hunt chambers another round from his plate carrier and readjusts his aim. The other sniper duos move away from their position, descending from their elevated spots.
"Piercing shot," Duck Hunt murmurs. It exhausts his Ether, leaving his chest feeling empty. Compensating for the reduced drag, he aims as if shooting five hundred meters closer.
"We aren't supposed to use abilities," Toothpick grumbles. "You know it can send you to the hospital. Thirteen hundred and fifty."
"On target," Duck Hunt informs.
"Send," Toothpick confirms.
Duck Hunt stares through his scope as the round flies towards its target. A knight in silver armor – a woman they saw at their first engagement – protects him with her shield. The bullet splatters against it, its load burning away pointlessly.
The light bends around an archer, air swirling around the tip of his arrow. He fires it, and it flies towards them in a high arc. 'No way he can hit that with a bow,' Duck Hunt thinks.
"Move out," Toothpick commands. The entire team moves back behind their cliff, regrouping around their three GMVs. The arrow strikes where Duck Hunt lay, digging up to its shaft into the dirt. They look at it for a long second and get in, Ratata taking the top-mounted M2 Browning.
"Fear not for my safety, lady Drevoss," duke Felspar says. "This armor has served my family since the time of the great unification of Aldoria. No human spell will ever breach it. I dare say it is as impressive as yours."
'Spell…' The word lingers in Althea's mind. She looks at her shield; it is marred by a black, scorched stain. It was still too fast for her to properly see, but it seemed complex – a cylindrical shape with colors that disturbed the air in its path.
Honor guards secure the marquises, bringing them back to their own healers before Althea can intervene. The duke unsheathes his long sword, the blade crackling with electricity as he holds it high.
"The enemy strikes us from afar; they fear the taste of our steel," the duke roars. His voice reaches the entire army, empowered by an ability. The Ether answers him, the surrounding threads diving into the army's ranks. Althea can feel it giving her strength and stamina, easing her steps and breaths even further. "Onward soldiers! Bring the fight to them! Cleanse the kingdom of these wretched creatures!"
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War horns roar from the many formations. The Bards, who were supporting their hastened pace, are joined by the rest of their squad. Standing on carts, dragged in the middle of their ranks, they breathe in deep. Tambours rumble at a running pace; bagpipes rise into a blood-pulsing concert. Althea senses her body reaching the cap of all the boosts she can receive.
The army breaks into a charge, the ogres at their forefront. Heavy cavalry splits to the sides, galloping past the main formation. They ride to where the spells came from, lances at the ready.
Griffins take to the skies from the back lanes. Their crews, pairs of riders and archers, scan the ground. One of them takes a war horn from his saddle and blows its signal. This sound means they stopped enemy riders.
'We finally see them!' Althea thinks. She outpaces Felspar's horse but then slows down, restraining herself from running at them.
"Go!" Leofric orders. He runs to their level, taking the duke's other side. "I'll take care of the duke."
"I need not be taken care of," the duke roars. "Go, champion of the light! Make your god proud."
Althea breaks into a sprint, the weight of her armor crushing the ground and rocks below her feet. She outpaces the heavy cavalry, clearing the distance between the army and its griffins in moments.
"Contact on our six!" Ratata yells. He spins the mounted machine gun around, aiming it behind them. "She's… she's running at us!"
"Engage!" Toothpick commands. He brings the radio to his mouth and unfolds his map. "Command, this is ODA-3423. We are pursued by heavy cavalry, enemy air support, and an armored woman running fifty an hour. Request immediate air support. Request fire for effect: HE; grid mission; Grid E2P 110 470; Grid E2P 110 478; Grid E2P 105 474; over"
The M2 browning roars above them, drowning out their voices. Duck Hunt turns to see their pursuer and shoulders his M4. He sees Ratata's bullets cratering against her armor, digging through the metal yet uncapable of slowing her down. He aims and fires at her knees, to no better effect.
"ODA-3423," the radio crackles. "Fire mission approved; Grid E2P 110 470; Grid E2P 110 478; Grid E2P 105 474; fire for effect; HE; over."
A griffin dives down on them; Rico, who's manning the Browning of another vehicle, fires towards it. The bullets dig themselves into its feathers, drawing blood in geysers of crimson. It falls down, hitting the side of Duck Hunt's Humvee.
Bling-bling struggles in the driver's seat, trying to keep them stable. The uneven, rocky ground spites them for driving this fast. It throws upward one wheel after the other, threatening to tumble them to the side at any moment.
Althea twitches her head to the side to avoid a projectile. Maintaining an angle to ensure deflection, she moves her shield as her enemy tries to bypass it. The chariot before her is deeply disturbing. No creature pulls it, and yet it moves faster than any non-bonded horse.
Their spells, shot from a metal catalyzer, pierce the additional plates she demanded. Duke Felspar's armorers did a great job creating and affixing these new parts that act as an overlayer of armor. But they simply didn't have iron of sufficient quality. Nonetheless, her true armor below doesn't yield against their magic.
She reads that each of them killed hundreds, if not thousands. Their bloodlust fills Althea's sight – a crimson aura that obscures everything else. Her oath beckons her to end them, a thrill she openly gives herself to.
'Strengthening, toughness,' she thinks as she leaves the Bards' range. Breathing in deep, she draws in the surrounding threads, feeding her abilities to the limits of her body.
The man holding the catalyzer of another chariot, the one who killed the griffin, retrieves a metal log from it. Althea's mind races at the sight. Fire bursts away from it, and she dives to the side; her shield catches something heavy. An explosion blasts through a rock behind her, cracking it in half.
A man in the chariot throws something at her – a wide, rounded cylinder orders of magnitude slower than their spells. Fearing it to be their last resort, she shields herself from it. It explodes, sending bits of metal that skid against her armor. The sound fills her ears with high-pitched whistles, drowning everything else.
The chariot swerves as another griffin dives from the sky, aiming for their top riding mage.
'Radiant Lord of Light, grant me your strength. Bless this shield, carried in faith, so no darkness passes unscathed by your light,' Althea prays. Her shield brightens until it turns into a beacon of golden light, flames licking its sides. Althea leaps, closing the last few meters in a bound. She slams her shield into the side of the chariot, the impact lifting it onto two wheels.
Unleashed with a thought, the power she called through her oath explodes, sending the chariot tumbling. The two others turn around, their mages handling green boxes. One charges at her, clearly aiming to ram their ride into her.
Althea unsheathes her sword, holding it towards the approaching beast of metal. 'Radiant Lord of Light, bless this blade, held with purity of purpose. Grant it the strength to slay the darkest night.'
She jumps instants before the collision and rams her blade in the man at the front. The chariot stops, and she's thrown back onto the ground. The top Mage fires at her once again. She bursts forward, dashing along the chariot as her blade cuts through it. It beheads the dying first man, sections the chests of two others, and splits the Mage's legs from his torso.
The last chariot stops, its crew firing weak spells at her as they try to recover the first chariot's wounded.
Duck Hunt wakes up as liquid splashes on his face. He flicks it off with his gloves but realizes that it is blood. Screams and gunfire echo, noise to his clouded mind. His sight is blurred, unable to focus on anything. The situation comes back to him in a flash – a rush of urgency and adrenaline. He tries to stand, but his legs refuse to obey.
Duck Hunt draws his handgun. With his left hand, he pushes on his personal radio. "ODA-3423 to command." He struggles to stay coherent, his mind as if he were drunk and filled with pain. "We are engaged with an enemy combatant. She's taken one of our vehicles. Request immediate extraction! Over!"
The line hisses with static. Duck Hunt's eyes dart to the wreckage he flew from, flames licking at its frame. The guns go silent; the only sound left is a grind of metal, of stomping, heavy armor.
"ODA-3423, this is command," a voice finally responds. Blood squeezes out of his throat as pain bursts in his chest. The hulking frame of their demise steps on him, her hand grabbing the radio and tearing it from his grasp. She holds it before her, listening to command's response.
Duck Hunt levels his handgun at her head and presses the trigger. The round splatters against her chin guard – nothing but sparks. He fires again and again, to no avail. She lifts her blade above his head and slams it down.
Their language is unknown to Althea, as is the strange Echostone. It is rumored so rare that she only knows of one pair, and yet they all had one. The battle's chaos recedes to a ringing silence, broken only by the distant hooves of the cavalry.
Blinding light flashes where the left cavalry unit stood. Nine other explosions shatter their ranks, sending chunks of men, horses, and armor into the air. The sound comes after, louder than any spell or thunder she ever heard.
The right cavalry formation is taken by the same fate, scattered like straw, their bodies torn in an instant. Ten thousand men vaporized by spells of ancient times. Yet no Mage was present; something fell out of the sky.
Another series of projectiles falls on the main army; they explode in the air, halted by a large, overhead shield. Several Mages fall unconscious, the attack draining the Ether of those feeding the protective spell.
Althea stands immobile, her breath heavy as she takes in the carnage. The stench of burnt flesh and scorched metal mingles with the air, seeping through her helm.
Her gaze sweeps over the remnants of the army's riders. Men and beasts alike reduced to shreds. Experienced, powerful soldiers clad in heavy armor obliterated as though they were nothing. Those who survived crawl away, limbs torn from them.
Her knees threaten to buckle, not from exhaustion but from the weight of the realization. 'This is not war.'
For a fleeting moment, despair claws at her faith. How can she, even with the light on her side, stand against an enemy that wields such powers? How can she protect anyone when countless deaths are a moment away?
Her eyes fall on the remnants of the enemies and their creations. Strange, disturbing, deadly to the common man, yet not invincible. The men she fell screamed in mortal pain when she ended their wretched existences. They are no more than common men and die as such, regardless of the artifacts they wield.
Her mind focuses on a singular, horrifying truth: if this enemy is allowed to survive, Valloria…, the continent will burn. Althea straightens, her resolve returning. She can feel her oath beckoning her to press onward.
She steps forward, the army joining her. They wear expressions of profound sorrow, that of people who accepted their fate. Their faces are pale, their lips quivering as they murmur silent prayers. She can read in their eyes – even if all of them must die, they will stop this enemy before it becomes too late.