Commander Murdon looked to the north with a troubled expression. It was not some second sight of the peril his strongest fighter now found themselves in, but the mass grave. Every new arrival to the village brought wounded or dead. Those that couldn’t be saved had to be treated properly and with respect. The problem was that the expanding population of the village was threatening to spill over onto the new graveyard.
It had been a month since the Upswell and at this point, any village that had yet to arrive wasn’t expected to. Only one had fully refused evacuation through some disillusioned belief that the plan was a conspiracy by himself to amass power. Whispers of that had been circling Hagain as of late and made Murdon regret not taking Lograve’s advice about delegation. At least he had been getting enough rest. Eight hours of sleep was the bare minimum for draconoids. After running the evacuation for days on end he was grateful for it. The Roster practically ran itself after the revisions did away with the weekly rotation. Preparing for the inevitable fight in the pass meant taking everyone with levels and training them as best and as long as he could, so everyone was hunting near the village.
The only exception was the garrison at Roost’s Peak. They would need to hold out until the empty fortress could no longer sustain itself. Then, Lorgave and Kob would bring them back to safety. Their retreat would signal the beginning of the end.
A knock on his door. "Ashier?"
"Dispute," the voice on the other side called, and Murdon sighed. He was the Commander of the Thormundz region, but also still the Headman of Hagain Village. The latter hadn’t mattered much, though as he hadn't named an official replacement civil matters fell to him to arbitrate. It was only natural something would flare up. Overcrowding and rationing would eat away at any amount of resolve. Two avianoids, neither with class levels but carrying some sort of grudge, stepped into the office as Ashier closed the door behind them.
“What is the complaint?” he asked wearily.
“He stole my tent!” one proclaimed, and Murdon cursed internally. He knew housing issues had been among the foremost. Micromanaging who slept where was an impossibility given the over one thousand people living in the space meant for a hundred. That had led to something akin to musical chairs and no small amount of turmoil. Even his friend’s library was now occupied. Murdon had held off for as long as he could, but they needed the space. Beyond a few key buildings, there was no point in trying to enforce universal rules other than preventing people from stabbing one another over a bed.
The other piped up with a raspier voice, uncommon to those of his kind. “You know the rules. You left and I found an open spot.”
“Rules?” Murdon asked with a raised eyebrow. “The only common rules governing the tents and village proper are those concerning the medical tents, armory, and food stores. Beyond those, the headman of each village oversees allotments of the territories they’ve staked out. Are you both from one such zone?”
“What?” the second asked incredulously. “The posting on the Roster was clear! If you hadn’t complained then I would have somewhere safe to sleep tonight!”
“My wife was holding the tent for me!” the first argued, adding a nervous glance to Murdon for some reason. “Which is allowed!”
“That wasn’t in the-“
“Stop.” Murdon held up a hand. “What are you talking about? I’ve authorized no such posting.”
Both look confused. The second explained, “I saw it this morning along with the others. It’s inconvenient to wake up so early, but if you know the most recent camp rules then you get a leg up over the ones that don’t.” He smiled at the other villager who glared back.
“Show me.” Murdon stood, and the others gave him another odd look.
“Well, they’ll be gone now,” the first said.
“How long has this been happening!?”
“S-sir, shouldn’t you know? Your seal is on them.”
The armored draconoid walked up to the Roster in simmering fury. Someone was playing games with people’s lives and using his seal to do it. It was bold but clever. A Commander’s seal was magically produced and unique, sourced from Rikendia at the kingdom’s center. No one here could copy what had been lost to the Upswell. A headman’s seal, which he had been forced to use lacking anything else, was waxen and more susceptible to forgery. “You there!” he shouted at the guard posted at the Roster. Janice. The one that had told him about Lograve’s return. His tone softened. “Janice, I have just learned of fraudulent postings being added to the Roster. What do you know about these ‘camp rules’?”
“Commander? Fraudulent, I-” she paused, grip tightening on her spear. Not in hostility, he would know, but in anxiety. “They had your seal, sir. I found them odd but the instructions were clear. I posted this morning’s list and burned them an hour later when the sun rose, as instructed.”
“Where did these come from? How long has this been going on?” This was quickly becoming a deadly problem. Murdon, as a high end level three Knight, had a wide variety of powers. Of those, several features empowered his ability to command and lead. One was reviewing the events of the past few days in a new light and recognizing the conspiracy for what it was. No one forged a Commander’s seal for just a prank. Whoever was doing it had waited until he had started fully resting to initiate this plan. That he found more insidious than anything else.
“A week today, sir. As far as where they come from, I don’t know. I received the parchment from the night watch.”
“Who specific-“ Murdon was cut off as he caught the sound of a far off scream. It grew louder as more voices joined. Both immediately began running, prepared to meet whatever was causing trouble in the north camp. Monster invasion? Murdon thought. No, we have scouts. We should have been warned. Unless- “Janice! What rules were posted this morning?”
The spearwoman was having a harder time keeping pace and her labored breath gave it away. Murdon’s armor weighed three times her body weight, and yet the level disparity between them made the greater difference. “Housing first come first serve,” she said quickly. “Reduced rations, the-“ Fresh screams seemed to give her an idea of the most important rule and she skipped down the list. “No stable feed!”
“For how long?” Murdon’s tone was dangerous.
“The beginning. Six days. Well, seven now sir.”
Murdon heightened his Agility feature to level three, a costly expense of near mid-range mana consumption. Janice was left in the dust and the armored knight moved ludicrously fast through the busy streets. Just before he turned the corner, Janice saw him draw the ax from his back. The red banner of the stables was absent from the space above the tents when Murdon charged through their lines. That was a bad sign. He was running against the flow of fleeing people and had to use his free hand to force his way through. Dozens were tossed to the ground, but there was simply no time.
Tamed monsters were far different from dominated ones. In a way, taming was like an elongated, more durable charm effect. A tamer’s hold over their monster was hard to break, but starvation would certainly do it. For the weeks before their food supply had been cut off entirely, the monsters in the stables were being fed only enough to subsist on.
Now hungry, angry, and free, these beasts were overwhelming the northern camp. I should have kept them further away! Murdon cursed, but he had! The only fault was not moving them when the tent line reached the stables. How he would have found the people to do that and the time necessary when he was barely sleeping, he didn’t know, but it would have bought people more time now.
Injured were among the throngs he charged past. Some seriously, some wouldn’t make it to the medical tents. Without breaking his stride, Murdon tore a post from the nearest tent and hurled it at a nearby spark raptor. Agility helped his aim and the target was below his level, so it fell over when it struck. Did it die? Did it matter?
People were fighting around him. These were from the tents surrounding the area immediately sieged and were keeping the outpouring of monsters contained. Murdon left them to it. The most dangerous creatures wouldn’t be found here, they would be closer to the pens. The stables had held level three monsters and those would seek to feed on other monsters instead of the smaller mortals until hunger was sated and their instinctual hatred won out. Murdon had to stop them before the stables ran out of food and they moved elsewhere.
Devastation. People were packed too close to run in the first, crucial moments. The density had been an issue, but so had been expanding too far to protect. Had they pushed to the tree line, those at the edge would be at constant risk of predation. But now, now there were more bodies around Murdon than those that lay in the mass grave.
He leaped and struck a monster dead as he landed. Fighting with his Agility heightened wasn’t something he’d done in some time, but here he didn’t need enhancement of his Fortitude. He just needed to kill as quickly as he could. If there was time, he would even take off his armor if that meant he could stop this faster.
A hand fell out of the mouth of the creature at his feet. The victim wasn’t moving and Murdon had no time to assess them for survival. The screams had never stopped. He Jumped again, powering the ability with mana, towards the next enemy. Jumping was faster than running, the joints of his unenchanted armor wouldn’t let his legs move as fast as he needed them to even if it was his Focus.
One of the spark rhinos was his next target. He was prioritizing the level twos, trusting the guards to handle the lesser threats. Many of the monsters running rampant were lightning-based. Those who could tame or dominate had come here for many reasons, but one was to have access to beasts not found elsewhere. Metal armor and lightning didn’t mix well, but that was only if Murdon’s enemies had a chance to use it. The Commander was, without a doubt, the strongest combatant remaining in the Thormundz. Kob was higher level but had too much level disparity to contend with the likes of Murdon. All of the Commander’s attributes were level three, and his endurance was 38. Only Kob’s was higher, and the gestalt had paid for their attributes with an imbalance that Murdon didn’t have.
Gravity empowered Murdon’s strike as he aimed once more for the neck. The large beast sensed his approach and turned to use its huge lightning spine horn to parry the blow. Murdon had equipped himself with his enchanted ax, and that was enough to carve through the hard, crystalline material in addition to his strength. Still, the spark rhino had saved itself with the maneuver and made to charge away.
A scaled foot wrapped in metal struck the earth as Murdon used Stomp. The powers of Knights bent defensively, but Murdon was high enough level to have found a few exceptions. Earth rippled from the strike to the creature, dealing little damage but causing it to stumble. Murdon was on it in seconds, finishing the beast with a decapitating strike.
A leap took him closer to the fallen banner, the carnage of the stables now in sight. One of the level threes, a turbine bellower, had broken away from the primal war there to gorge on the mortals felled nearby. It was more grazer than predator. That didn’t make it any less dangerous or hateful of mortals. It was broad and bulky, supporting the frame with four powerful legs. The turbine bellower was native to the region and was adorned appropriately with lightning spines that poked out like points of a compass from the ball at the end of its long tail. They were jagged and could be used as weapons, though the bellower had another purpose for them.
As Murdon approached, the beast faced him and the tail began to spin. As it rotated faster, sparks began shooting off while most of the energy was channeled forward. It was fortunate the Knight had heightened Agility, for now he needed to dodge. A spray of lightning emitted from the creature in front of him coinciding with a deep, echoing bray. He leaped up and over the electricity, not fully avoiding it as his armor drew in fringe jolts. Murdon felt the pain as much as the dwindling reserve of mana within him. He had about half left, but it would be enough for what he needed to do at the stables.
For the bellower, he led with his ax. The creature was as formidable as he was and one strike wouldn’t be enough. Murdon landed on its back and used his free hand to tear into and establish a sturdy position on his prey. The apex of its skull was flat with toughened bone that resisted the bite of his weapon. Instead of fully giving to it, the first blow only cracked bone.
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The tail swung upwards towards Murdon. He expected that and pivoted with his hand. The ball of the tail struck him, but the spine penetrated the creature’s back instead of his head. That was his next target. As the creature tried to withdraw the tail he drove his ax into it and pushed down. It was moving now, trying to knock him off but there were two points with which the Knight was steadying himself. Both hands occupied, he resorted to Stomping on the area of broken bone until the heel punched through into softness. The bellower stumbled and came to a rest. One of the major threats was dealt with. The rest lay in wait at the stables.
He Jumped again, landing next to the banner. It had fallen when the post supporting it snapped in half. Which of the creatures in front of him were responsible, if it had been them, Murdon couldn’t know. He observed the crushed fences, blood-soaked earth, and corpses that littered the open space. It looked like a battlefield, or perhaps a colosseum. Nothing within it was mortal, nothing living.
The Commander’s senses were sharp enough to pick out those dominated creatures acting with coordination against the feral ones. Had their masters been present when the spark had been lit they might have been able to snuff out the flame before it had spread. But then again, if the Beastmasters had died in the attempt, their creatures would be joining the chaos instead of holding it at bay.
There was only one thing Murdon could do against that many creatures. It would harm those assisting him, but there had been too much death to do anything but end this as quickly as possible. The Commander breathed deeply, shedding the remainder of his mana and drinking it in with his lungs as he did air. Energy writhed within him as it was changed, then propelled by furious exhalation. Writhing black clouds spread out amongst the fighting monsters, streaks of blue and gold flashing within. It was like the night sky had come as a rolling fog to shroud the battle in darkness. Where it intersected with living creatures they decayed, destroying the lesser level zero and ones among the throng.
The dominated creatures fled and the enraged monsters pulled back. Those that were still able to. The field of shooting stars remained. Red-stained silver armor moved across the churning, sparkling smoke. Murdon, and other midnight draconoids like him, were immune to the effects of the breath attack. Mana depleted, Murdon stood to challenge the assembled beasts with just his ax. One of the level threes, a young skyshock wyvern, was the first to brave the night sky. Hundreds would be dead already if it were older and fully capable of quick flight, yet it could still approach from above the damaging field.
When speaking in terms of combat, mortals were distinguished from monsters by the variety of their powers above everything else. Even dangerous monsters such as the frost strangler, with troublesome damage immunities and an attack that mimicked a mortal power, did not have the full suite of powers and the mind to use them that mortals did. Standing in front of the charging wyvern, Murdon had nothing but those features already active and heightened and the enormous advantage of making the ground itself his ally.
The wyvern was fast enough to make running attacks that left the draconoid with little window to attack. Even with its youth, it was able to control the lightning within it and keep it from uncontrollably arcing into any of the multitude of lightning spines that littered the battlefield. The monster could have tried to circle Murdon and used its lightning to overwhelm him, but it lacked the cunning of older monsters. The large draconoid was opposed to it and its struggle for supremacy. He was also a hated mortal and needed to be struck down quickly before its ego fell further. The wyvern circled in the air and kept its wings locked, before coming around and attacking from behind, angled downwards to strike at Murdon’s nape. He was wearing no helmet, and the jaws of the wyvern were strong enough to pierce the skull if it had had a chance.
Murdon turned and let the creature bite his arm. The plate held and he punched forward to carry the creature’s momentum into the ground. The wings clipped his head during the maneuver but that barely phased him. His other arm drove the ax into the wyvern’s head that was still latched onto him. “Amateur.” It was the first word Murdon spoke since he had left Janice. The wyvern’s scales and flesh were melting under the effect of the shadowy smoke. It was held by a steady foot pinning one of its wings to the ground. The beauty of the fog was contrasted by the terrible things it did to the living.
After that display, none of the other monsters would dare encroach on the mist. That was good, it separated them from the majority of the tents where screams and battle cries fought for the majority of the noise assaulting Murdon. It was more terrible than the monsters in front of him because of what it meant, and because there was nothing he could do to stop them. Murdon stepped out from the other side of the fog and brandished the ax as if to guard the boundary between his domain and the rest of the Octyrrum. The skull of the wyvern was still attached in death to his arm and he shattered the bone away. Every creature there regarded him as the greatest threat, which only stoked their natural inclination to end mortal kind.
The mix of creatures was primarily lightning-based, though a few oddities such as ringcats were among them. The other surviving level three, an alpha shock runner, kept its distance and allowed the others to wear down the new threat. It instinctively knew it would have to choose its moment, and that without walls to run along it was at a disadvantage no matter its level parity.
Four struck together against Murdon. Rather than defend himself, he dropped the ax and grabbed two to hurl into the death behind him. One bounced off his breastplate, while the last struck him with a charged lightning spine. The electricity channeled easily into the draconoid and while the stun from the level two creature was resisted, it hurt terribly.
He picked up his ax and struck both creatures down as the energy only caused his muscles to tremble slightly. Murdon moved forward. This was about drawing the creatures in towards him and preventing them from running away to become a later problem. He would be safe if he remained next to the death cloud, but the village would not be.
For all he had done to reduce their number, the beasts in front of Murdon were still at least a dozen. He was at the heart of the disaster. All but the alpha shock runner charged by way of ground and sky to overwhelm the lone Knight. Of the classes, Murdon’s was best suited for an overwhelming assault. He fell two and received like in kind. The attacks against him were focused but not coordinated, the actions of mere beasts swarming on the current king of the hill. Had he his shield on the other arm Murdon would have avoided any injury. It was in his office, however, felt unneeded and left unattended.
Claws and teeth found gaps in the armor through trial and error and scored through the leather reinforcing the metal plate. Normal mortals would have been grievously wounded. In Murdon’s case, the strongest, luckiest hit pierced only shallowly through his scales. The scramble was chaotic and Murdon could only keep a few of the enemies in sight at all times. What made the difference was that his blows were decisive while his enemies only scratched him.
The real danger to the Knight was the lightning. Some of these creatures were discharging wildly. At the center of the throng, he was positioned to take the brunt of it. His scales could not blacken further, but the silver of the armor was being stained by repeated conduction of the purple electricity. His left arm finally went limp. Even with the difference in levels, the creatures began to wear him down magically where physical attempts had failed. Accomplishing that feat had been too costly for his opponents, however. The last was felled by Murdon’s sure ax arm before he could be critically wounded. That just left the level three shock runner which was-
Dead. A man, a human, stood over it with a handful of militia at his back. Heldren Storm, known in the local regions of the second Realm as the Storm of Righteousness. You could tell how quickly a Hero had chosen a moniker for themselves by how inane it was. However, in Heldren now there was no sign of that distant youth.
Murdon expected a speech. Even a line, humble or bragging, would have been the natural follow-up to a Hero’s sudden arrival in a battle that brought about its end. Instead, Heldren looked behind Murdon, past the dissipating dark star field, in indication of the screams still painting the background with noise. He took off without a word and the others followed. The Commander might have taken a moment to rest had he not noticed the distant smoke. It was not from his ability, and it was not among the small fires started in the tents when tarp was scattered over open flames. It was in the village’s center, and Murdon knew exactly what was burning.
By the time he reached the ruin, the catastrophe was over. Teams were combing the trampled tents for any survivors and evacuating those suitable for healing. None would be found here. His manor, the largest building, had been immolated down to the basement. There was just a hole in the earth where what had been the center of the village was collected as charred wood and stone. With everyone focused on the beast attack there had been no witnesses. None living.
Bones were among the debris that Murdon inspected. Like every free space in town, his manor had been used to house people. The deaths here hit him the hardest and not just because they’d perished under his roof. Ashier would have been with them if there was anything to leave behind. Fire was as dangerous to air gestalt as it was to earth because of the updraft. An uncontrolled fire such as this would have scattered their essence beyond the point of recovery. Leveled gestalt could gain powers to resist these dangers, but Ashier hadn’t had any.
He found his shield and his other ax eventually, along with the weapons from his hunting lounge. They, along with his armor, would need repairs that would be simple enough for any Craftsman to perform. Soot and scars could be worked out, but the memory of ashen blood would remain.
“Sir.” It was Janice, again. Her post was the Roster today and with everything under nominal control, she’d returned to it. It had taken her a long time to work up the courage to speak. “The village, everyone needs to hear from you. People are going to need.” She gulped, but it had to be said. “People are going to need answers.”
Answers, Murdon thought with cold fury. He wanted to tear through the village until he found whoever was responsible, but he knew that was what they wanted him to do. He smiled, despite it all, because they had made a mistake. The camp rules and the disaster today had eaten away at his reputation and credibility. But this? Burning his house down had been an attempt to send him over the edge, to the point where the other headmen would step in. The fight had taken enough from him that it would be easy if there was a reason. Murdon kept his head. The gesture was also obvious, a targeted action that hadn’t touched the surrounding buildings. No monster did this, no unthinking one that was, and that revealed a conspiracy. “The avianoids that accompanied me this morning, do you remember them?” he asked, not addressing Janice directly.
“What?”
“Do you remember them?”
“Somewhat, sir. Why?
“One of them has done this.” Murdon stared into the ruins of the manor. “The sallower one had I a guess. Revealing the camp rules to me had been timed with the monsters.”
“How did you not know before today?” Janice immediately tried to walk back the question, but it was a fair one. He had let his guard down, and even though he deferred delegation, he had not watched the village as closely as he should. Murdon had disillusioned himself into thinking the current crisis would forestall machinations and politics. Should he be removed from power, or should he have fallen to the monsters today, his successor would take all the credit for what sleepless nights had wrought.
Murdon turned and climbed out of the pit of death. “Gather the headmen. Spread word of the two avianoids and bring them to me if found.” Can I trust her to do this? he thought and then decided. She had been one of the original village guards, and she had told him of Lograve. “From today you are absolved of all former duties and are under my direct service. It does not need to be said that we now have enemies within Hagain. Guard your words carefully.”
“I-” She gripped her spear tightly. “I understand. Where are you meeting them?”
The Commander looked around like it was obvious. “Here. If any balk, then we know they cannot face what they have done. We will find which one of them has done this, and then you will get your answers, Janice.”
…
From far away, though not across a regional divide, the observer dismissed the illusion replicating the scene. “Interesting.” The man who spoke first was human. They all were, in fact. He was tall, wearing a robe of flowing, iridescent colors as mutable as his talent. His skin was wrinkled, giving off the appearance of an elderly man even though he could have chosen whatever form he’d like.
The scrying room he and the half dozen others were in was small, dark, and left only enough room around the pool to stand. None seemed to mind the lack of chairs over the hour they’d spent observing. This man spoke first not only on a whim, but because he was the first among the group. The Prime of this shard of the Illustrious. Among the others waiting with deference, he singled out a woman whose robes were fitted with loops to accommodate a variety of magical tools. “Your assessment, Sasha?”
The woman stiffened. She didn’t necessarily fear reprisal for a poor analysis, but this was also a spotlight cast on her with a question outside her specialty. “The godbound are fracturing and our plans are in danger, Master Helioc. Yet, you have not intervened, even when our primary subject diverted from his expected course. In addition, while I do not have your Foresight, it is clear this new Tyrant poses a significant threat to our plans. The halfborn draconoid was meant to take that mantle after the first died, though it seems someone close to him was randomly chosen by the Octyrrum instead. If we risk our secrecy, a surgical strike could excise them to give us another chance at developing the right Tyrant. The current one is quite feeble on their own.”
“No.” The one named Mavar Helioc spoke in impartial judgment. “A fair suggestion, but that choice would only lead to further chaos. I entreat you all to use this as an object lesson of unintended consequences even a minor change can make. It is my estimation that the awakening of the second Tyrant was thwarted due to the unpredicted survival of that Arcanist, and we have all seen the consequences of that play out. We will continue to observe, with the exception of one careful adjustment my most recent Foresights indicate is necessary.”
“What of the spirit anomaly? It is my understanding that this also goes against our projections.”
Mavar nodded, acceding to the point. “Merely more randomness affecting our design.” The magic in the pool fully faded, reversing the transmutation of the liquid and returning it to plain water. He touched the surface with a finger and it froze in the rough pattern of the current Octyrrum, six wedges with a circle in the center, each with the symbol of the corresponding god. “I, and the other Primes, have had millennia to carefully consider the plans now in motion. Even our combined intellect would fail to account for every eventuality, and no one can fully eliminate chance. We can, however, make it negligible.” The ice shattered, the cracks beginning from the symbol of the Hammer. “With any luck, the anomaly will die from its wounds before it poses a threat to our plans. Even should it live I have no great fear of it. Have none yourself, Sasha. Our wider aims are still on course. The gods of this world will learn the price of deceit, arrogance, and betrayal.”