Chapter 293 - The Bursting Sky

The sky above Tornatus was always filled with clouds. It was not the climate that drove the phenomenon, but rather the industrious folk that called the city their home. Each of its seven hundred ateliers was constantly pumping smoke from its chimneys, with every last artificer working day and night to further his prowess and reputation.

Such was life in the City of Progress. In other places, the people were derided for making slaves of themselves. And to some degree, it was not untrue. The city’s denizens were always pushing their limits, working as hard as they could to chase their dreams, for the capital of the Pollux Marsh was nothing if not a paradise for the fiercely intelligent.

Anyone could make it big, so long as their theories were correct and their hands stood up to par. There was no such thing as a brainless job involved with the industry. Janitors studied so that they would not accidentally ruin the work of others, suppliers emulated sensitive measuring techniques to provide materials exactly to spec, and even bards learned technical jargon so that they could sing thrilling tales of discovery and flaunt the minds that lay behind them.

Gloria Lincoln was one such industry-adjacent individual. Working as a waitress at a cafe, she had initially only learned the various terms and theories so that she could sell gossip to the local broker. But that soon changed as she was swept up by the city’s zeitgeist and impassioned by her studies. Every night, she returned home just to pore over the most recent books, articles, and papers. She often studied late into the wee hours, drinking mandrake extract to stay awake instead of allowing her body to rest.

It was not at all the lifestyle she had expected when she first moved to the city. Being the most beautiful young lady in her hometown, Gloria had left the nest under the assumption that she would easily find a well-off husband. Alas, reality was not so kind. Back home, the average woman would bear roughly a hundred children in her life; she would have a litter of three or four every other year, with older groups helping to raise younger ones until they were ready to have families of their own. Tornatus, however, saw the ratio nearly flipped on its head. There was an average of one birth for every seventy-two women; only eccentrics had any time to waste on such pointless biological endeavours.

At first, Gloria had found the concept appalling. There were many cottontails among the city’s faces. Like her, they should have been stricken by an uncontrollable sex drive each time the mating season struck at the end of the week. And yet, it had only taken a month for her to find herself sucked into the city’s fervour, for her entire salary to vanish into hardware and tools, and for an artificer’s certification to fall soundly into her lap.

In the two years that followed, she acquired a doctorate in applied circuitry, as well as a tier eight rating on the dexterity of her paws. Just one more licensing exam would open up the opportunity to seek employment at a high-end workshop, but she was yet undecided on whether she would jump the gun. The waitress-turned-scholar was not particularly fond of any of the three main schools of thought. The Clearminds were too traditionalist. They believed only in the lowest level of operation and refused to abstract their circuits, claiming that the logical processes were only slowed by the overhead baggage. Their resulting products were easy to follow, but almost impossible to read. Even if the flow could be traced, it made no sense for one looking to get a bigger picture of the part’s function at a glance, though it could eventually be deduced with enough time and effort.

Standing at the exact opposite end of the spectrum were the Syllogifaiths, who based their advancements on that of their peers without any concern for the inner workings. They were known for haphazardly sticking other people’s circuits in their modules so long as they provided the correct results in enough of their tested scenarios. Their work had the exact opposite problem. It was easy to tell what a part was meant to do at a glance, but it was almost impossible to troubleshoot if anything went wrong. It was always a struggle to determine exactly which of the countless parts used was not quite functioning to spec.

Finally, there were the Freethinkers. While they did occasionally leverage the strengths of the other two groups, it was largely not in their combination that they were based, but rather the invention of radical new approaches and techniques.

Each school had its undeniable strengths. The Clearminds’ products were most often used in military applications, thanks to their reliability, while the Syllogifaiths’ drew the most attention. Their goods were in a constant cycle of innovation, with every new product applying the last in some creative way or other. The biggest jumps in technological advancement were guided by the Freethinkers’ theories, however, as it was they who drove the principles used in the other groups’ applications.

Even with all three options laid out before her, however, Gloria was uninspired. A part of her wanted to open up her own workshop and chase her own school of thought—as the god of the inner flame had ordained upon gifting his blessing—but she was still far from the requisite level of skill or knowledge. She had a few ideas loitering around in her back pocket, but there was no way for her to produce an innovation potent enough to cover the cost of such an expensive investment.

Moreover, she had yet to give up entirely on her dream of marrying into wealth. The chance was still non-zero, and seeing so many faces going in and out of the bar, she could say with confidence that she was one of the prettiest young ladies around. Unlike the overworked researchers, she had time to take care of her grooming. The fur coat that covered her meter-tall body was pristine and without any tangles or knots, and her rabbit ears were more shapely than most others of their kind; the midsections were thin enough that she was at least somewhat confident in her ability to appeal to a potential centaurian mate.

It was precisely to find such a gentleman that she greeted each and every tired researcher that made his way through the door, smiling and waving, and attaching herself to the arms of those short enough as she guided them to their tables.

But as usual, a full day of effort yielded no results. She was greeted with no proposals—though one researcher had invited her to work at his lab, after they shared an extended conversation on the hereditary nature of magic circuits.

And it was with his business card in her paws that she ended her shift and ventured out into the streets.

“It’s okay, Lori,” she said to herself, “there’s always tomorrow.”

Squeezing the card tight, she tucked it away in her pocket and looked up at the sky, where the moon was shining brightly through the clouds.

For a moment, she thought nothing of it—such sights were common where she grew up, after all—but she soon recalled her location and the oddity therein.

“Is it the summer solstice already?”

There were only two occasions during which the city’s workshops would shut down all at once. The Marquis himself had mandated the law after seeing the exhaustion that plagued his people, and ordered that there was to be no artificing done during either annual celebration. The date, however, did not check out. Her tier nine dexterity exam was to be conducted two weeks before the Day of Atonement, and that was still a fair ways off.

Though it was certainly a strange phenomenon, she thought nothing of it until she approached her home near the edge of town. She was not so poor that she had to live right next to the wall, but with her finances dumped into books and tools, she was at least close enough to pick up on the commotion by the gate. And she was not the only one. There were a number of open windows with curious onlookers sticking out their heads and turning their eyes on the city’s walls. The crowd by the entrance was growing by the moment, with large swaths of people gathered on both sides.

It was certainly an uncommon event, but not so far out of the ordinary that she felt the need to stop and look. The bipedal rabbit went home instead, burying her face in her books until a voice rang clearly through her head. It began as a wordless song, beautiful, sombre notes that for some unknown reason drew tears from her eyes. She could tell, even before the words were formed, that the song’s grief was something the singer had felt and weaved.

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“Greetings, people of Tornatus. The time for judgment has come.”

A spectre formed in front of her, bearing the form of a shadowy, humanoid figure with a pair of massive ears and a sinister grin as dark as the night. A demonic beast sat on top of its head, a distorted four-legged creature with a massive gaping maw. Gloria screamed reflexively, nearly jumping out of her seat. Similar cries could be heard all around, filling the girls’ dorm with cries of terror.

“And you have been sentenced to death.”

Gloria scanned her desk in a hurry and grabbed the first weapon she could find. She pointed it in the intruder’s direction as quickly as she could, but the person in question was missing. Looking around the room confirmed the thought—both the foul beast and the voice were gone. She pressed a hand to her chest and collapsed in her chair with a tired sigh. She closed her eyes, taking deep breaths as she reasoned that stress was the cause of her confusion.

But then, when she beheld the world again, it was right there in her face. Upside down, smiling, smirking, reaching for her neck.

Another scream escaped her throat as she sprang from her chair and flew out the window. Her heart was beating like a drum, only accelerating as she realised that they were as many as the stars in the sky.

“We have been wronged.”

The shadowy figures wandered the streets, giggling, cackling, running about as they basked in the chaos that ensued. Only those that ran were allowed to live. Everyone that stood their ground was slain, easily consumed by the jagged teeth that lined the creatures’ smiling jaws.

But then, all of a sudden, they stopped, opening their mouths as another set of words rang through her ears.

“It was your lord that committed the crime. And all of you that will pay the price.”

A commotion spread throughout the city. Some screamed a lack of fairness, declaring that they had no hand or knowledge in the schemes the voice described, while others were simply panicked, unable to process the events as they were.

“It is only the faithful who shall be granted a chance at salvation. Those of you who know our forms are free to pierce the veil placed around the city, and to take with you the lambs who you believe should be spared the sword of judgement.”

The confusion only grew. People began discussing the circumstances, with most, Gloria included, concluding that it was simply some sort of enemy attack. The voice, they reasoned, most likely belonged to a bard—there was a broadcast skill that would serve the function so long as one had the wisdom to overwhelm the target’s magical defenses.

“Behold, raise your eyes and repent before the heavens descend and deny your chance at redemption.”

It began with just a small handful of people. Only those gullible enough to blindly believe the voice’s claims looked towards the sky, and even fewer among them picked out the glowing speck from the wayward stars that littered the cosmos. But there it was, glimmering brightly in the celestial sea, changing, warping with every tick and tock.

People began pointing at it before long, detailing its existence to the non-believers and assuring them of their mistake. When Gloria was finally made aware of the object, she immediately returned to her room and examined it with one of the handheld magnifiers she had made for practice. The first thing she noted was its size and structure. It was a massive, crystalline object with a faint purple shade that made it difficult to spot amongst the stars. At a glance, it looked like a malformed arrow. The blade was circular, like a lance, with spiralled, sharpened edges growing out of the side of its tip. It could have easily served as a harpoon, had its shaft not been only a tenth of its total length. And it was spinning towards them, flying directly toward the city.

She immediately ran for the gates after noting its rate of acceleration. She didn’t know how far her legs could carry her, being as weak as they were, but at the very least, she knew she needed to run. Grabbing her tool belt, as well as a few other choice objects, she dashed downstairs and out the door.

When she arrived at the city’s outer wall, she fired a hook that allowed her to scale it. She climbed right over the top as soon as she was in range and leapt off the other side. A tiny hand glider only a few centimeters wider than her paw served as a parachute that carried her beyond. But soon, like everyone gathered on the ground beneath her, she crashed headfirst into an invisible wall.

She tried firing her hook shot again. The rope contained within it was an artifact in its own right, capable of stretching as long as it needed, whereas the hook could track the top of any object, magical, physical, or otherwise. But there appeared to be no such end.

The rope went on for almost a minute before the tool drained its battery and died in her hands.

Gulping, the budding artificer spun around and looked towards the sky again. The sword had already grown to the point where its shape was discernible to the naked eye.

It was already on the verge of eclipsing the moon, and it was only growing even larger yet.

Gloria twisted her face into a grimace. She returned to the wall posthaste and immediately dug a hole near its base. She placed a number of star-shaped tools all around her, portable barrier devices she had developed herself, and activated them all to form a defensive matrix.

The city’s shield sparked to life in the meantime, enveloping the metropolis in a protective layer as powerful as the capital's. Like most of Cadria’s major settlements, Tornatus was built upon a leyline, and it could easily draw upon its power to ensure the integrity of its shield. The barrier itself was made with cutting-edge technologies and had been rated to withstand the Grand Magus’ most powerful spells.

But even knowing that, Gloria was too nervous to do anything as her drone observed the sky.

She began to pray as she watched the sword draw closer, first to the god of the inner flame for his eternal protection, and then the unnamed goddess whose wrath the city undoubtedly felt. It drew closer and closer, soon hiding the aether itself from the city’s inhabitants. A meteorite in such a scenario surely would have been glowing hot, but the heavenly sword experienced no such phenomenon. The air in front of it was magically parted, making way for a projectile that refused the concept of terminal velocity.

It continued to accelerate, speeding up until the final impact.

There was a moment of conflict, a brief pause when the sword met the shield.

The sky burst.

The heavens fell.

The world shuddered.

For the seventh time in its history, the planet known as Mara was struck and displaced by a piece of the moon. A distortion was introduced to its orbit, evident not only in the twinkling stars but also the land itself. If not for the gods’ intervention, the lunar strike would have introduced an age of disaster. The system suppressed the scope. It prevented the impact’s debris from catapulting into the atmosphere, orbiting the planet, and passing the moon. It suppressed the shockwave as well, allowing only the hundred kilometers around the attack to feel the full extent of the force.

But even Flitzegarde’s—the mightiest god’s—protection was imperfect.

The attack could not be fully contained.

All of Pria shook. There was not a place on the continent entirely free from the impact. Everything from the thousand-leveled beasts that inhabited the Langbjernns to the southernmost tips far below the equator felt the violent, seismic shake.

The shockwaves gave birth to towering waves that swallowed cities a full continent away.

Needless to say, Ground Zero did not survive.

People and buildings alike were ripped to pieces by the explosion, and Gloria was no different. Her flimsy shield failed to hold. She evaporated into thin air before she could even be sure of the impending doom.

Those lucky or durable enough to survive the initial wave were hardly any better off. Sixty seconds after the lunar impact, the sword unleashed a second attack.

Its mana swelled, spreading through the crater before igniting in an icy flame. The blast was so tall that it extended into the heavens, freezing everything within its permitted range. The air, the water, the ground, the survivors. Everything was held in place as the assailant assumed control of the shredding winds.

One centimeter at a time, the storm shrank.

It closed in on the city’s center, swallowing its prey piece by piece and adding to its rich and vibrant colour. It didn’t matter who it touched. The warriors, whose levels ran as high as eight hundred, were murdered with the same ease as the newly born.

Everything was unilaterally destroyed.