A team of three imperial thaumaturges cleared the street wide stone arch with wind and heat controlling skills as streams of people moved to where the three sky skimmers were hastily being pulled around the sides of the bluff. On the side Leif was standing, a temporary barricade was being hastily erected.
The undead still rushed through the outpost in a near continuous stream. Fortunately their progress was being stalled by teams of soldiers holding the winding choke points of Far-reach’s streets.
Leif was at the rear of the expedition group as they crossed the natural bridge. As the expedition members made their way through the less developed secondary bluff, they rounded a bend and saw the skimmers where they were parked.
He saw several groups manoeuvring the hovering vehicles with ropes all while keeping them from impacting the rocky side of the bluff with long sticks. Men were shouting and pointing away from the outpost, but through the thick sheets of rain Leif couldn’t make out what they were gesturing towards.
At the centre of the smaller bluff was an obelisk standing over four metres tall. Its dark purple exterior letting the angular structure stand out against the backdrop of near endless water. Faint runes glowed along the circular base of the obelisk, each pulse sending streaks of violet snaking up the object’s sides.
He tried peering into the distance, trying once again to make out what it was that was making the imperials anxious. Above Far-reach were the distant roars and thrum of battle, though the howling wind and endless rain drowned out the worst of it.
“It’s the larger skimmer.” Marcus said, his tone low. “They must be bringing it into the dock.”
Leif gave the man a sideways look, then returned to studying the near solid sheet of water and mist surrounding the bluff. “These are small jetties, how is something that big going to-
Then he saw it. A looming shadow barrelling down on the docks. Soldiers screamed and support staff scrambled into action. Leif’s amber blood ran cold and the wind buffeted his cloak. Those around him shielded their eyes and fought against the weather but due to his nature Leif was less affected.
The skimmer was coming in far too fast, its dark silhouette rapidly materialising into the clear visage of a large, well adorned ship. Wooden staves, over three metres long, cracked and shattered as they tried to prevent the vehicle from colliding with the rocky side of the bluff. Aboard, Leif could see the skimmers crew doing the same but in reverse, their own staves snapping against rain slick stone.
Skills were launched as Leif rushed forward, pushing aside gawking soldiers and students alike. Adriana was at the front, facing away from the near horizontal rain she unleashed a wave of wind.
Half a dozen golden arms cracked into existence as Leif reached the very edge of the bluff. Palms of glowing amber met the half turned skimmer and pushed. He felt the distant sensation of conjured limbs cracking and splintering under the force.
He channelled as much cultivated vitality into his next use of [Gold Iron Physique] as he could, another half dozen arms burst from his back, shoulders and side. These too strained against the skimmer, desperately fighting for any leverage against the momentum of the flying ship.
Leif felt not just his skills, but his very body tremble as it groaned under the strain. His clawed feet dug into the solid ground as he used every fibre of his being to prevent the crash. Moments passed but they felt like minutes, the skimmer struck the side of the bluff. The polished wood of its hull smashed against stone as the skimmer’s mass tipped from the impact.
The skimmer rocked back, its crew tumbling down to the deck and out of sight. The entire vehicle heaved, then stilled. Damaged, more than a little battered, but hopefully still functional. They had done it, disaster had been averted. Exhausted cheers rose from those who had prevented the worst of the crash, a moment later the slack jawed onlookers behind them joined in.
Leif fell to a knee, breathing out a stream of heated air from his slit of a mouth. That had been too close. Strong hands grabbed him under one shoulder and tried to pull him up, Sieg shouted something but what the man had said was lost under the pounding ache of skill overuse.
The spriggan’s attention was arrested by something else. Something was wrong, the malevolent, hungry gloom that had been a constant presence beneath their feet had… changed. It was almost indescribable, like the orientation of a nozzle having been turned ever so slightly.
Then violent intent swept over Leif and the surviving humans. It was as though a starving beast had slipped its leash.
A bloodthirsty screech washed over the imperial outpost. Followed in turn by hundreds of feral howls and screams.
===
“To think.” Kaan said, his voice carrying effortlessly on the wind. “That your kind’s invasion of the northern kingdoms brought this old man out of retirement.”
The enslaver didn’t respond. They rarely did in his experience, a habit of their innate pheromone communication if imperial researchers were to be believed. Regardless, he tried again. Getting under one’s foes nerves, while immature, was a noticeable advantage.
“It’s been almost a decade since the last of your hosts was turned back at the gates of Ahle-ho. Tell me monster, were you at that battle? Did we once cross swords?”
Despite his bravado, Kaan had no hope of defeating the opponent he faced. His level would make him be regarded as one of humanity’s elites, but his speciality was large scale warfare. A duel in the sky was much less his forte.
Though he did possess certain strengths his opponent may underestimate. His bond, Pocht, was much of his personal strength. Almost half his total levels were dedicated to his promoted [Tamer] class. If Kaan guessed correctly, the coatl was less than half the level of the enslaver he now faced, but if they fought together that disadvantage in power should narrow significantly.
Being a bonded companion had its perks. Pocht roared as he rocketed upwards, his connection to Kaan allowing the feathered serpent to effortlessly swim through the rain and clouds. With a flex of will Kaan channelled a not inconsiderable amount of power into the coatl, bestowing the serpent with enhanced strength and speed.
Both struck out at the same time, the momentum of their attacks causing them to trade places, Kaan’s condensed blasts of water and wind were replaced with Pocht’s searing white and blue flames. But even united they couldn’t drive the monster away. It flittered back at their assault, never straying far from its protective position above the undead queen below.
Though inelegant in the air, the humanoid enslaver had little issue staying a step ahead. The glowing fire reflecting off the creatures blackened carapace. Through his ability to sense what the rain touched, Kaan noticed an imminent opportunity sneaking up from below.
He smirked. Years of experience raising children, then grandchildren, had made him quite proficient at being a distraction.
“Say, ant. You realise this quest of yours is impossible. You’ll never bring her back, the dead remain such.”
The enslaver's head snapped in his direction. “Lies!” She hissed, sending a lance of dark blue screaming through the air.
Kaan stepped to the side, never breaking eye contact. “Were you at Ahle-ho when we broke your army and slaughtered your kin. I remember battling something very similar to yourself over the city’s great docks.”
“I care not for your miserable hives, human.” The ant spat. “They’re irrelevant to me, to us.”
“So it was you who invaded?” Kaan asked, laughing as he sent a serpentine whip of water at the enslaver. A probing attack to keep her occupied. “And the queen below us... I remember bringing her low myself. I have the medal to prove it.”
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That was a lie, Kaan hadn’t been there when the ants retreated underground, his duty had been the protection of the city. But the enslaver before him didn’t know that. She twitched, intent locking onto him, hostile and heavy. Kaan’s own aura brushed it aside, redirecting it like the land redirects a river.
“If I recall correctly, it was I who landed the finishing blow. It was so easy that I had forgotten. An unimportant-”
The enslaver let out a scream of fury. Then she blurred forward.
Fast, way too fast.
A domain of gravity sprung up around the ant as she attempted to pluck out Kaan’s throat. If his own domain of weeping skies didn’t hold prominence in their immediate surroundings he would have lost his life then and there.
Pocht roared in outrage and unleashed a gout of flames. It bathed both him and the enslaver as they danced through the sky. Kaan’s bond with the feathered serpent protected him from the worst of the damage, even still he made sure to not place himself directly in the path of the fire. But the enslaver seemed more than willing to shrug it off, the flames seeming to have little effect as she maintained a relentless onslaught.
The enslaver's black carapace armour had grown, covering the parts of her humanoid appearance and gleaming like the night sky. She reached out, a clawed fist extended as gravity gripped him from all sides.
Kaan’s breathing became difficult, his vision blurred. Pocht roared again. Then an arrow of light shot up from below and pierced the enslaver through the neck. The monster’s entire body stiffened, then twitched. She reached up and ripped the arrow out, a spurt of blood followed. Hera fired a second arrow, then a third. The enslaver blurred away, avoiding the follow up attacks and responding with a lance of gravity.
“Pests.” The monster said, her voice barely carrying over the storm. “Pests, pests, pests, pests…”
“Your ship almost crashed, Kaan!” Hera called as she appeared at a falling arrow’s location and sliced at the enslaver's legs. It was her real blade, the enchantments humming. Blood sprayed as the steel seemed to entirely bypass the natural obsidian armour.
The ant screamed and blurred backwards. Sending twin beams of crushing gravity out at both humans. Hera vanished and Kaan let the wind carry him to the side.
The man laughed, his voice booming like thunder. “Welcome back Hera. When the Academy sends its people, they always send their best.”
“Hardly.” Hera replied, having caught herself on a barrier of light. “I’m the lowest ranked of the Academy’s ten blades.”
Kaan cocked an eyebrow, admittedly he knew little about that particular institution. “Really? That-”
Then a screech came from below. Through his perception Kaan saw the enslaver queen begin to move, the host of undead that had been held in reserve rushing forward.
===
Deep below the ground, sharpened steel carved into smooth stone. Silver light bathed the geometric cavern as undead carved sigils into the flat rock. The pattern that was being woven was circular and perfectly partitioned.
It wouldn’t do for the teleportation circle that would lead them home to be incomplete or unstable. A skeletal figure stood perfectly still, an arm outstretched and boney fingers twitching. An outside observer may have described the motions erratic, even random.
But as the puppeteer moved, the undead it had spent months patiently preparing to raise sliced into rock with conjured silver. Permeating an environment with enough death energies to naturally form a dungeon wasn’t exactly easy, doing it without being caught was something else entirely.
It was all to protect the grand secret that only its kind knew of, if any other faction possessed that particular tidbit of ancient knowledge they weren’t parading it around. The secret in question was how the vessel that housed the system's power could be both reused, and maintained. That the rarest and most powerful of classes would persist even through death, though only if the reanimation was delicate enough.
It was pained that only a few of the valuable specimens had survived coming into contact with that human expedition. It had been a freak accident that had nearly cost it months, if not years of progress.
But the puppeteer rarely held a grudge. One could hardly blame the worms beneath one’s feet for writhing and squirming. It was in their nature, just like control was in theirs.
The strings that connected it to the horde above were gradually severed. Each loss was like a prick against its consciousness, but despite the near constant distractions its work continued. It would need to suppress the humans and any they might have told their discovery to. It had been tracking the groups from its position below the ground.
The humans that had already evacuated wouldn’t be privy to any secrets, they could be allowed to escape. That clan of nomads was a potential threat, one that would be dealt with after the Puppeteer was done with the imperials.
But it was time to prepare a swift means of escape. The battle above ground was getting a little too rowdy. It wouldn’t do to remain should any other faction come snooping around the aftermath. The humans likely would, but they hardly mattered, the real powers of the world didn’t live in disgusting cities and revel in their collective weakness.
As the Puppeteer’s prized undead finally finished their work, its attention drifted upwards, along the tether of death that linked its mind to that of the formian queen. Though the attempt would likely be classified as greedy, it wanted to orchestrate a situation where the ant princess it had lured to the fight would either fall entirely under the queen’s control, or die trying to save her.
But how… The Puppeteer considered its options. There were a multitude of possibilities, but many were far too elaborate, possessing too many points of failure. Something simpler would have to do.
It let out a low, harsh cackle as it ran fleshless fingers along the carved runes that made up the now completed teleportation circle. The portal would be one way, and wouldn’t last more than an hour or two. The anchor back in the homeland was only temporary after all.
“Oh my wondrous creations.” It murmured. Gazing upon the undead with glowing silver eyes. “You will become my masterpieces, soon even the Underlords and Tombsires will bow and scrape at the mere hint of my passing…”
Something moved in the distant shadows of the vast cavern, pulling them from its reverie. The Puppeteer whirled, a staff carved from two interlocking spines appearing with a blur.
“Who dares interrupt my work?” It hissed. The ghostly green flames resting in its partially melted eye sockets darting back and forth.
“I was wondering who was making all this racket.” Came a deep, amused voice. The shadows stirred, the darkness oozing forward like the sap of a tree. “And you seemed so happy too. We can’t have that. A naughty child who has strayed from the bounds of the compact should be… punished.”
“I have overstepped no such bounds.” The Puppeteer snapped. “This is neutral territory, abandoned by the humans and unclaimed by the Formians.”
“Oh, I know.” Said the voice. “To be perfectly honest, I couldn’t give less of a shit about the rules. I just want to break some of your toys.”
Then the shadows surged forward, twisting and writhing, of each oncoming tendril sharpened into blade-like spears. The Puppeteer’s staff smashed into the ground, the sheer force of the impact cracking stone and causing a shockwave to wash out from the epicentre.
It lurched back and slammed a skeletal hand into the outer ring of the teleportation circle. To the side a silver eyed undead was engulfed in a writhing mass of darkness, the tether of deathly energy snapping as it was carried away.
“NO!” It screamed. “YOU DARE?”
A baleful green light flared into existence as the portal burst to life. With a panicked mental command the remaining few mythical undead were ushered towards the glowing frame.
The sudden light fought back the shadows, the Puppeteer briefly saw the outline of a tall, muscular figure welding a wickedly long sword. Then the figure vanished, and another of its prized undead was slain as steel severed bone.
The thing. No, the orc, strode out of a pool of darkness and casually removed a skull from the body it was attached to. Silver light flickered, then was extinguished. The Puppeteer twisted and unleashed a roaring inferno of green flames at where the vile interloper was standing.
But he simply stepped back and was carried away.
“You’ve been holding out on us.” The orc mocked. “Keeping such a juicy secret from your peers. There’s going to be lots of very upset powerhouses knocking at your door.”
“SILENCE! I WILL WRING THE MARROW FROM YOUR BONES!”
One of the silver undead reached for the portal, it was an instant from being whisked away to safety when a tendril of shadow wrapped around its femur and tugged it into the darkness.
Another torrent of emerald fire thundered across the vast chamber, it was followed by another round of mocking laughter. The orc appeared once again, this time in the midst of the final three undead, slithering up from the shadows between their legs. For a terrifying instant the Puppeteer thought all three would be butchered.
The dark, shadow wreathed sword flashed. Two undead were culled in an instant as the orc’s blade carved them in half. So much potential, so much promise, gone. All but one, it reached the portal and vanished in a flash of green light.
The orc let out a tsk of annoyance and turned to face the Puppeteer. “Aw, one got away. Too bad.” Shadows swarmed through the chamber, like a wall of angry snakes. “You planning on sticking around? I could do with a warm-up before the main event. ”
The undead didn’t reply as it blitzed past the orc in a streak of green fire. It vanished through the portal, a moment later the gateway snapped shut.
The Puppeteer slammed a fist into the cool, blackened marble of its laboratory. It screamed in rage. Then every single one of its tethers except for the single remaining silver eyed skeleton snapped.
It froze mid tantrum.
Uh oh.