“The Traveler's arrival was initially seen as a boon for all, strangers from a new world with fantastical ideas and already highly advanced and advantaged in the system. Only in the decades after when they never appeared out of the valleys of Aetheria did the problems arise.” - History of the Traveler’s War, Volume 1

Acrid smoke poured into a thundering sky, billowing black tendrils reaching the grey storm clouds above. Lances of lightning stabbed down at the ground below, the clap of thunder sounding after, the sky making its displeasure known for the intrusion.

A burst of lightning backlit a falling tower, the gargantuan spire squealing the sound of metal on metal as it fell to the earth. A hundred feet of blackened steel and iron toppled as quickly as a felled sapling. It crashed into a concrete wall below. The ground shuddered as it smashed through the wall before landing on the water-logged earth.

Another tower slumped to the side, continuing its slow slide to the ground. Magically enchanted steel would not bend or collapse, even under the forces thrown at it. Its foundations were not as strong, the rain-soaked earth shifting underneath it. Another burst of light turned an overcast evening into a brilliant noon as a beam smashed into the side of the tower. It shuddered and shrieked as its descent toward the ground hastened.

Only two of many felled tonight. The impossible had occurred. One of the great Malden River fortresses had fallen. Mighty Trost had held for three years. It would not last another night.

The Enemy had demolished countless towers, bastions, bunkers, walls, and other fortifications. Travelers collapsed much of the extensive tunnel network. The fields of mines and traps remained untriggered. They had arrived from the air and seized control of the sky with their storm.

The planners of Trost had never thought attackers would wrest the skies from the children of the dragons. Otherworlders had deflated a hundred years of arrogance in less than four.

Markos Veller, private of the Scaverian army, watched from two miles away, staring at the remnants of his posting. The central spire still stood, stabbing four hundred feet tall in the sky. Explosions shook it, rocking the gigantic structure as chunks of stone broke free. Some of the remaining sponsons occasionally opened fire down below, but the structure was dead. They had removed any hope for relief to the garrison from any forces outside, and the spire already began to list.

For now, it kept the enemy busy. A last stand for the fortress Trost and the last one of its defenders. The other towers and fortifications were little more than skeletons of blackened metal and concrete. Travelers had devoured chunks out of them, leaving eviscerated husks.

A stream of vehicles and soldiers moved from the wreckage, making for the only crossing they had: the railway bridge over the Malden River. Either make it across the bridge, attempt to fight thirty miles to the fortress at Vual, or swim the entire fifteen-mile width of the Malden.

A plain of ash and fields occupied the space between them and the hills on their side of the river. Nothing but open ground, a slaughter for when Travelers passed overhead. But that path remained the only option. Markos’ feet hurt just from thinking of the trek he’d have to make. Then again, his entire body already hurt from the night’s events.

His company had been garrisoning one of the underground docks that led out onto the Malden River while barges and boats came and ferried as many across as they could. They’d held off the regular Aethereans for hours. Then the Travelers came.

Travelers had blown three of the four walls of the hangar up at once. He still couldn’t guess what they had done. All he knew was that his unit was gone. Dead in the depths, collapsing rubble crushing them or drowning in the rushing waters.

Best not to dwell on it. If Markos thought about it, he felt he would find himself back in that dock, unable to leave.

He had swam out of that hanger, emerging into a Malden river on fire. As far as he knew, he was the only one to make it out of that structure alive. He’d barely reached the shore as flames tried to eat at him through the water. Some Travelers showing off their crafting skills in alchemy.

He had no weapon, no mask, just a uniform and a skinny boot knife. Enough to kill the first Aetherean he’d run across and take the enemy soldier’s weapon.

She couldn’t have been older than a teen. Aethereans sent their youth in to die first. It made sense for denying XP, but it hadn’t made watching someone younger than his youngest sister choking on their own blood any easier.

He’d walked into an entire squad of Aethereans right after. It should have been the end of him. Instead, they ended up dead, thanks to the one standing beside him.

“You see anyone from your unit yet?” He asked the soldier next to him.

Hervosare shook her head, steel-plated mask clanking as she did so. The Stormtrooper who’d led an ad-hoc squad of survivors to his rescue. They were the only two survivors left of that squad.

She was the only reason he had survived, between her higher level, better stats, and the fact she was about seven feet of dragon-blooded muscle that had torn through the Aetherians trying to form a perimeter to catch retreating Scale forces.

It hadn’t been enough for the rest of their group. Markos had never gotten their names or their tags. They had fled, spears of pure sunlight stabbing into the earth behind them before they reached the trees. Now, the shame ate at him. Not enough to try and head back, though.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“No luck? You?”

“Same. Although I don’t expect much.”

He might be the only survivor from his company. She was the only one from hers. Stormtroopers tended to be the first to engage Travelers. Casualty rates were never low.

Then again, casualty rates from any battle involving Travelers trended towards the catastrophic at best.

They’d stopped to catch their breath. Markos could stand now, an improvement from just a few minutes ago. No one from their units had come. There was no reason to stay then and a few new reasons to leave.

By now, fewer soldiers and vehicles traveled down the road. Cracks of gunfire grew louder. The rear guard was catching up with them. Travelers would soon be on their tail.

The vehicles driving by were always crowded. None had stopped to let anyone on yet. They would have to march.

***

The Lancer looked down from the walls of Trost.

He felt empty at the sight. He shouldn’t, not after the weeks of fighting to take this fortress. Slowly prying the Scales out of their hiding holes and bunkers, going from tower to tower till all that remained was the central spire.

Instead, he felt tired. He should be sleeping after six weeks of fighting through tunnels, under gray clouds, under constant artillery, under actual fire, and stormtroopers charging in throwing grenades.

Being the team leader, he let the rest of his team sleep while he tried to find another way to keep himself entertained. Standing on top of a ruined wall, there wasn’t much to occupy himself with. But he’d found something.

Far below him, a Scale wriggled, screeching in its incomprehensible language as it tried to pull itself out of collapsed rubble. Maskless, he could see the exertion on its draconic face as it strained in futility. Claws dug into the muddy ground around it, pawing through pools of water for anything solid to grasp. A piece of rubble the size of a man lay on top of its legs.

He didn’t have any pity for the creature. It had charged him from a hiding place on top of the wall when he first had arrived here. He’d chucked it down to the ground below, then dropped the chunk of rubble on top.

The Scale reached back, trying to shove the boulder off. Stubborn creature.

“You know, even if you could move that, your legs should be paste, right?” He yelled down to it. It hissed back at him angrily in some tongue he didn’t understand. Loud enough to reach the top of the wall, though, and shrill enough to be a drill in his ear.

He didn’t need to understand it. It was a rhetorical question anyway. The thing should have its own UI giving the damage notification, much like his own.

You have inflicted 54 environmental damage to a Scale Shocktrooper. The target’s left and right legs are crippled. Their left and right knees are destroyed. Their left ankle is destroyed. They are at 18/100 HP overall.

Other notifications crowded out the UI as well. He’d given up on handling them an hour into the fighting, ignoring all the most recent ones. The system annoyed him like that.

He grabbed a fist-sized piece of rubble and tossed it in the air. It dropped down, splattering the Scale’s face with water as it landed a few feet away.

“My aim’s getting sloppy,” The Lancer muttered before reaching for another rock. A lie. He wasn’t aiming, just letting go and letting fate take the wheel. Huh, was that enough distance between the final blow that he wouldn’t get XP from this?

Out of the corner of his eye, something moved through the sky toward him. He spared it a glance.

An armored figure skated around the sky as if on invisible planes of ice, bow in hand as they gracefully moved through the sky. The Skyrider. Must be carrying orders.

He tossed the rock again, and this time, it flew straight into the back of the Scale. The creature screamed as the ten-pound stone smacked into the small of its back. Even with its armored uniform, it should be enough to…

You have inflicted one point of damage to a Scale Shocktrooper. You have not done enough direct damage to cause an injury to a body part. Your target is at 17/100 HP.

“What the fuck are you doing, Trevor?”

The Skyrider had landed next to him and stared down at the Scale. She looked upset. Oh, she was one of those kinds. He didn’t think many were left at the tail-end of this campaign.

“Handling an enemy combatant,” he replied. Another rock went down, again with the sound of splashing water.

“You’re torturing it.” She looked at him, eyes hard. “This isn’t handling it. This is for your self-gratification.”

“Hey, they tried to jump me from behind. If I hadn’t thrown him down, I’d be the one there.” He tossed a rock between his hands but kept it in his grip for now.

“So? He can’t hurt you. That fall wouldn’t hurt you! I’ve seen that armor of yours in action. You barely would have been scratched!”

He sighed. “It’s the principle of it. It certainly wanted to kill me. All of its friends have been trying to kill me for weeks now. Why should I give it mercy?”

“There’s a difference between not giving it mercy and what you’re doing. Just kill it and get it over with.”

“Well, you’re right now. Doesn’t matter. Just passing time till you came along anyway.” He gripped the rock for a throw instead of a toss. Recognizing preparation for an attack, all of his talents and feats came online.

The rock flew down faster than any baseball pitcher on Earth could have managed. It smashed into the Scale’s head and blew it apart in a burst of gore and bone fragments. The headless body twitched once, then went still.

You have killed Greszor Volement, Level 3 Peasant/Level 3 Forager/Level 4 Soldier/Level 4 Shocktrooper/Level 2 Grappler. You have earned 160 XP.

Not as much as he’d hoped for. Ah, well. “You have orders for us then?”

The Skyrider still stared down at the body, seemingly lost. He repeated the question, louder this time.

Her gaze snapped back to his face. She swallowed something down, probably bile or perhaps just verbal venom for him.

“Yes. Aetherean High Command decided your group is to handle the bridge. Everyone else is busy mopping up what’s left of the main citadel, but there are easily forces twenty times that trapped garrison trying to escape. Fleeing targets should be easy for you to handle.”

“As if they won’t try to fight back.” He snorted. “Tell Mack I got his message. Guessing he wants someone to take over the storm as well?”

She nodded, gesturing towards the clouds above. “The Arcanist has been keeping it going for nearly eighteen hours now. He needs a rest. I’ll communicate your answer to Mack. Stay safe.”

Watching her skate off into the sky towards the central tower, he wondered if she meant that. He did wish her well. The central spire would be the tougher nut to crack.

His group, though, just had to kill fleeing Scales. It should be a relaxing end to this campaign.