Chapter 94: Demi-Divine 3
Henri dove to the ground as a fire bolt slammed into the wall above his head, sending chunks of stone and dust raining down. The searing heat singed the back of his neck.
A flurry of rifle shots rang out behind him, and someone shouted, “Got the bastard!”
Gripping his rifle tightly, Henri pushed himself back up to a crouch, his heart pounding.
The street ahead remained clear, but the Monevoians had taken an avenue above them.
Their fire mages periodically popped out to unleash flaming destruction, forcing Henri and his squad to stay low. Crossbowmen sometimes showed themselves too, but they were insignificant in number and armed with only small crossbows.
The only silver lining was the absence of any Golds among the enemy ranks. The Silvers had held the elite Monevoian soldiers back for now.
Henri stood up, gesturing down the street toward the enemy landing barge. The front line of the Monevoian column pushed forward, their armor glinting in the flickering light of the fires.
“They’re in sight!” he shouted.
“Traps are set,” another squad member confirmed, nodding grimly.
They began moving up the street, falling back toward the Neftasu District’s Tower.
So far, their tactics had been to snipe at the enemy and retreat, but Henri knew they would soon be forced to make a stand.
Gaston had assigned him to the retrieval squad, tasked with grabbing men who were stuck or injured. Other squads leapfrogged ahead of them, evacuating as many casualties as possible.
Everything had gone to hell when the enemy unexpectedly seized the higher level.
Henri followed two of his squad members carrying a stretcher with a wounded man. As they reached the next block, he turned and aimed, firing into the roiling mass of enemy infantry jogging after them.
Bombs fell from the sky periodically, scorching sections of the city—mortars or artillery from the city’s defenses. With everyone in bunkers, the indiscriminate fire increased as the Monevoians gained more ground.
An explosion ripped through the street above them, sending a cascade of debris raining down on his squad.
“We need to pick up the pace!” he yelled, urging them forward.
They began to jog, but the sound of enemy boots and shouts grew louder behind them.
They reached the next block.
His lungs burned from the exertion. Another squad waited for them, providing covering fire from behind and above.
The sharp cracks of rifles echoed through the street, and the Monevoian advance faltered momentarily as they came around a corner right into the waiting volley.
Scanning the rooftops, Henri spotted a fire mage poking out from behind a chimney. He stopped, aimed, and fired in one fluid motion.
The yellow-robed man jerked backward and tumbled off the roof, hitting the ground with a sickening thud.
“Get the wounded to safety!” the covering fire squad’s leader shouted.
“Thanks!” Henri yelled back, grateful for the support.
As they pushed forward with the man on the stretcher, Henri noticed a group of men bunching up ahead.
He quickened his pace, pushing past his squad mates to investigate. The wounded were laid out on the ground, and confusion reigned.
“What’s going on?” Henri demanded, pushing through the circle of men.
“Healing potions!” someone shouted, and Henri’s gaze fell on Allie, a large square pack filled with dozens of healing potions slung over her shoulder. She moved from one wounded soldier to the next, administering the life-saving elixirs.
“Don’t bunch up like idiots!” Henri barked, realizing the danger. “Spread out!”
The men began to disperse, and the wounded slowly got to their feet, their injuries mended by the potions. As the group started streaming back toward the Neftasu District Tower, Henri turned to Allie.
“Why are you here?” he asked. He swore she’d been with Elania’s servants at her estate.
Allie met his gaze, her eyes determined. “I wanted to help. We had extra potions, so I brought them. If we don’t tend to the soldiers, we’ll all end up dead anyway. I don’t want to die in a bunker.”
Henri let out a tense breath, understanding her reasoning but still worried for her safety. “For now, we’re all retreating to the tower,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Allie nodded, patting her pack. “I have all the extra potions if you need them.”
Henri took her hand, pulling her along with the squad as they ran toward the relative safety of the tower.
Henri pulled Allie along, his grip tight on her hand as they followed his squad up the street’s slope.
The sounds of gunfire and battle haunted them, growing louder as they approached the junction where the two streets connected, leading into the square with the Neftasu District’s main buildings.
“I see the tower!” Allie shouted, pointing ahead.
Henri looked up, catching sight of it. A glint of gold caught his eye, and his heart skipped a beat.
He tugged Allie back just as a giant Gold landed in the middle of the squad, the man’s massive form crushing two guards beneath his feet. The Gold swung a giant axe, cleaving two more soldiers in half with a sickening crunch.
Panic surged.
Henri shoved Allie into a nearby alley, causing her to yelp in surprise. He aimed his rifle at the Gold and fired, the shot ricocheting off the giant’s helmet with a loud clang.
The Gold’s head snapped back slightly from the impact, but he quickly recovered, turning his attention to Henri. The giant stomped towards him, his heavy footsteps shaking the ground.
Henri fired again, aiming for the man’s neck.
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The shot glanced off the Gold’s armor, leaving a dent but failing to penetrate.
Henri fired as fast as he could, the proximity making it impossible to miss.
Other Neftasu Guards nearby joined in, their rifles cracking as they unleashed a barrage of shots at the Gold.
Dozens of ricochets pinged off the giant’s armor, the damage evident but not enough to slow him down.
Henri’s rifle clicked empty. He fumbled with his belt, pulled off the plug spike, and jammed it into the barrel. The Gold swung at him, but Henri jumped back, narrowly avoiding the deadly blow.
The Gold closed the distance with impossible speed, his axe whistling through the air. Henri fell back, landing hard on his ass. The massive weapon cleaved downward, but he rolled out of the way at the last second.
Somehow, he still had a grip on his weapon. He stabbed at the Gold’s leg, but the bayonet merely glanced off the armor. The Gold raised his axe again, ready to deliver the killing blow.
A splash of liquid landed on the Gold’s head from behind, coating him in a gray substance. Immediately, the giant’s armor caught fire, the flames licking at the golden metal.
Henri seized the opportunity, scrambling back out of reach. The Gold dropped his axe, clawing at his damaged armor, trying to pull it off as the green flames bit at him.
Charging forward, Henri stabbed his bayonet into the boiling golden armor on the man’s head.
The Gold let out a guttural cry before crumpling to the ground, his massive form still.
[You have defeated an enemy over 50 levels higher than you and received extra experience.]
[You have gained five levels and the skill Bayonet Charge.]
Henri sucked in a breath. It had been a long time since he’d gained a new skill, and he was slightly perturbed at what it was.
Allie peered out from the alley, her eyes wide with worry. An empty vial was clutched in her trembling hands.
He moved around the fallen Gold. “We have to run,” he said urgently.
Allie nodded, and he grabbed her hand and pulled her along.
He glanced behind them. More Golds were decimating the covering fire squad. The enemy giants tore through the guardsmen, their massive weapons cleaving through armor and flesh with terrifying ease.
The delay would only last a few more seconds, he realized.
He sped up their pace to the point where Allie could barely keep up.
They ran after the rest of the Neftasu Guard, who were shooting at the Golds with their rifles. The shots seemed to have little effect on the heavily armored giants, ricocheting off their golden plates.
Suddenly, a screeching sound filled the air, growing louder by the second.
Death was coming.
He grabbed Allie, shoving her to the ground. He landed on top of her, covering her body with his own as best he could.
The area behind them exploded violently, the force of the blast shaking the ground. Dirt and shrapnel rained down on them, pelting Henri’s back and legs, the explosion ringing in his ears. A searing heat scorched his leg, the pain momentarily overwhelming his senses.
He rolled over onto his back, groaning in agony. His vision was blurry, but he could see Allie looking down at him.
“Go,” he said. “Hurry.”
She didn’t listen, moving to his leg and ripping the tear in his pants wide open. A jagged piece of metal was embedded in his thigh, blood pouring from the wound.
Without hesitation, Allie gripped the metal and pulled it out with her fingers.
Henri was vaguely aware of his screams.
“Hold still,” Allie instructed.
She reached into her pack and retrieved a healing potion, soaking the wound with the glowing liquid.
The pain died almost instantly, the healing properties of the potion knitting the flesh back together. A few seconds later, Allie was helping him back onto his feet.
The echoes of the pain and daze reverberated through him, but his eyes darted around, looking for any immediate threats.
A fire mage looked down at them from on top of a roof.
The man was casting a spell at them.
Panic gripped his heart as he realized his rifle was nowhere to be seen.
He stepped forward in front of Allie, spreading his arms wide. It wouldn’t be enough to save her, but he had to try, anyway.
Looking up into the sky, a line of airships filled his vision. They plummeted from above, hurtling directly toward them, cannons belching projectiles at the enemy army.
***
Harlock held on to the railing as the Heart tilted backwards, the deck pitching beneath his feet. His knuckles turned white. It turned out that airships couldn’t just drop—they had to pitch and dive.
Doing so in a turn meant taking a wide spiraling curve downward. That was a problem, because the city was surrounded, and they needed to drop into it without being caught by the enemy.
A native Contian crewman had approached him with the maneuver: tilt the nose down and fall forward. Tilt the nose up and fall backward. Zig-zagging back and forth, they could make it all the way down to where they wanted to be.
It was the fastest way straight to the city without popping their own balloon, and that would be invariably fatal.
The commands had gone out via flag twice, but when the Heart led the descent, half the ships didn’t follow.
At least until they realized they were being left behind. The squadron was already so small that doing anything with a reduced group was suicide.
“Pitch nose down!” Harlock ordered.
The ship creaked and groaned as the helmsman complied, the ship’s flight surfaces and weight reduction ringlets adjusting with agonizing slowness. Harlock peered out the window, watching the larger airships manage the feat with much greater smoothness.
That was frustrating.
The Heart should have been able to do better, but the crew’s relative inexperience at shifting the flight surfaces made them slow.
A crewman burst into the bridge, his eyes wide. “Captain! The city is less than five hundred feet below!”
“Level out!” Harlock commanded.
The helmsman yelled back, “Make up your mind!”
The ship groaned, the central spire of Contia flashing through a window as they corrected. The hum of the city’s arcane fields flowed through the ship as they passed through the barrier.
Harlock strode out onto the balcony, seeking a better view of the situation.
The rest of the Contian airships had come to a safe stop higher than the Heart—a sane precaution, he thought, noting the Heart had nearly slammed into the ground.
Crew members were running around the ship in a frenzy, an undisciplined sight that made Harlock grimace.
He turned his attention to the battle nearby.
They were just above the Neftasu District, and Monevoians poured out of a downed invasion barge.
Harlock grabbed a passing crewman by his uniform and pointed toward the enemy soldiers storming up the streets. “To the gunnery master: Have the gunnery crews blast those ranks!” he ordered.
The man nodded and scrambled down to the gun deck, relaying the command to the gunnery master.
Within seconds, the ship’s light cannons roared to life, sending flame bolts hurtling toward the advancing Monevoians.
Harlock’s gaze swept across the sky, taking in the sight of Monevoian airships flying in a circle around the city, bombarding it from every direction.
It was a constant pressure, but one the city seemed to be handling.
More Monevoian warships crashed, and a realization dawned on him—they were doing it on purpose.
Were they unloading more infantry or just trying to kill as many people as possible?
From his vantage point, Harlock could see the landed invasion barges strewn around the nearby islands. Half of them billowed smoke, while others appeared more intact.
A flash of movement caught his eye, and he spotted a blue-winged demi-divine engaged with two black-feathered ones. There was nothing they could do there without risking hitting their ally.
Harlock strode back into the bridge, his mind racing.
He ordered the artillery to target the enemy barge before turning his attention to the flight map.
Searching through the parchment, he located the large, blown-up view of Contia’s islands and began marking the positions of the enemy barges. With quick, decisive strokes, he sketched out their flight plan.
Looking up, Harlock met the eyes of his crew. “We’ll be hunting the enemy landing zones,” he declared.
The helmsman acknowledged his order, and the Heart surged forward.
The bow artillery guns erupted, spewing black powder shrapnel clouds that engulfed the closest enemy barge. The Heart’s lighter guns unleashed a rapid barrage, tearing through the Monevoian troops on the streets below.
The destruction to the buildings and streets was immense, but given the sheer number of enemies, Harlock deemed it a necessary cost.
Deciding they were taking too much damage, several enemy airships broke formation, punching through the arcane barriers to engage them.
The largest pointed its bow at the Heart, its massive frontal gun unleashing a stream of corrosive acid.
The caustic liquid struck the bow, and the metal began to melt away. Damage control crewmen scrambled to pull men from the compromised artillery cannons.
Harlock turned to the gunnery officer, preparing to reroute their targeted fire, when a colossal purple lightning strike arced from Contia’s central spire.
The bolt instantly vaporized the balloons of the enemy ships breaching the barriers, savagely battering their hulls.
The electric onslaught continued, relentlessly zapping the Monevoian vessels until they shook apart and shattered into pieces.
That was why the enemy fleet had maintained its distance, circling the city like vultures.
They dared not risk the wrath of Contia’s central demi-divine.
As he surveyed their path, a glint of silver caught his eye. A massive wave of Contian Silver Soldiers poured out from the central spire, their flight packs propelling them into the fray.
The Silvers were launching a counter-attack en masse.