Caleb roared as he exploded through the chest of a Scyther, metal and oil alike vaporizing off of the gorgeous contours of his glorious Hard Light Armor.
He dodged a keening mortar shot and twirled in the air, lances of pure light extending from each palm to cut down twenty of the creatures in a great swathe all around him, slicing them in half, the miniature explosions from ruptured fuel cells taking out even more.
To his left, a plasmic field protected a solitary android from his devastating assault.
The field dropped, the smoke cleared, and he beheld his sole surviving adversary. It was a tall, thin, near-skeletal humanoid robot, three long fingers stretching outward from each palm, twice again his height from head to toe. Like the others, it was forged of white-grey armor, but unlike them, smooth small lines of blood-red circuitry ran through cracks and crevices in its plating, signifying its status.
Marking it as commander.
A loose red robe clothed its gaunt, cybernetic form, and twin crimson orbs stared out at him from their deep-set position within a noseless, mouthless, machine-skull.
~~~
SUB-NODE #118H, UNIT DESIGNATION:
PSYKER
~~~
The Psyker let out an unnerving trill, a series of dull, mechanical clicking noises echoing eerily from all around as it stared him down. His Spectrum Sight couldn’t penetrate whatever exotic materials made up the unnatural creature’s armor, but Caleb didn’t flinch under its gaze. This was not the first Psyker he’d slain today, and neither would it be the last.
“Prepare yourself, demon,” he boomed, “To join your brothers in hell–”
THOOM.
Caleb was sent sprawling backwards, viciously unseated from his aerial hover, slammed into the concrete ground. A mortar had struck him directly, cracking his armor so hard it nearly shattered.
He’d gotten distracted. Foolish.
The Psyker screeched triumphantly, a computerized blare that drove sonic spikes into his mind. It dove towards him, screaming through the air, ripping off boulder-sized chunks of concrete and hurling them his way.
Caleb roared back, and blasted himself to the side, avoiding the massive improvised missiles by just a hair, feeling their wake scrape across his exposed skin. He pirouetted expertly over the incoming machine, flipping upside-down to grasp the Psyker’s skull in both hands and hold it firm between them.
“Damnable creature,” Caleb growled, as his palms glowed brighter and brighter. “Burn.”
The Psyker wailed as its metallic synapses melted, skull liquefied wholesale by the intense radiance, rivers of molten metal running down Caleb’s fingers to drip upon the concrete floor. With a satisfied grunt, he released the deadened husk of steel, which collapsed in a boneless heap.
Caleb heard the telltale high-pitched whistle of death that signified yet another incoming projectile, and soared immediately into the air, rising high enough to behold the battlefield, in its entirety, once more.
It was a grim sight.
A sea of white and grey. An ocean of killer machines. Endless. Deathless. Indomitable.
A cry rang out from afar, and Caleb’s head whipped around.
Rover.
With another growl and a surge of Entropy, twin plumes of laser fury erupted from his feet, melting the humanoid robots swarming him and rocketing him off towards his crazed ally. His reserves were running dangerously low, yet the army facing them only seemed to grow more numerous with each passing minute.
He swung low around the great grey ziggurat, the concrete behemoth they were tasked with defending, now besieged on all sides by the mechanical legion. The dauntless, emotionless creatures had nearly reached its summit.
If they managed to breach the line, all would be lost.
Caleb moved at breakneck speed, more at home here than on the ground, and soon laid eyes upon his companions. Rover and Quarrel were sequestered near the summit, too, trying desperately to hold the one remaining bridge that led to the ziggurat’s peak, now absolutely thronged by machines.
The mad lycan bellowed as he tore into their dispassionate ranks, giving nary a passing attempt to dodge their viciously-sharp scythe-arms, taking wounds all over. His axes had long gone dull, and the wolfman now relied on naught but his own clawed paws. They broke and healed and broke again, but Rover showed no fear, nor pain.
His face lit up as he noticed Glare.
“Hail, brother!” Rover gurgled wetly in greeting, his eyes rolling madly, his freshly-sliced throat spurting blood as it slowly healed. He chomped down hard, and wrenched, tearing out the throat of a nearby Scyther, who buckled with a tinny wail. Rover spat out the creature’s mechanical larynx and laughed.
“What a lovely day!” he howled. “Can you see me now, father? ARE YOU PROUD?”
Caleb grimaced as he approached. The young Therian had lost himself entirely, given in to a berserker rage. Rover’s black coat had undergone a change in color, now soaked and dyed dark red in splotches, clumped and matted in cold oil and hot blood.
The blood was his own. Robots didn’t bleed.
Quarrel was sequestered several leagues further up, crouched behind some meager cover, her eyes wide and white and frantic. Having long abandoned the notion that her bolts would do any meaningful damage to the cyber-horde, she’d now taken to tossing arcane explosives rummaged forth from the depths of her enchanted rucksack, hurling them at bizarre angles, always seeming to hit critical points in the legion’s ranks.
It wasn’t enough. Not nearly.
Caleb plummeted to the ground in front of Rover with a roar, and detonated, releasing a mammoth amount of stored light all at once. The closest robots to him melted, whilst those further back were thrown further still, left to tumble down the steep sides of the concrete pyramid, dashed to pieces in the process.
It bought them a moment’s respite, and nothing more.
Rover pounded his chest savagely, roaring madly at the ruined robots, and hurling a torrent of taunts and curses their way, but Caleb paid him no heed. Instead, he accelerated over to Quarrel as quickly as he could, landing so hard beside her that the thick concrete shuddered.
“Lancers closing in on our position,” Caleb reported, breathlessly. “Soon they’ll be in range. Saw a huge cluster of Psykers further out, too. Couldn’t tell you when they’ll arrive, precisely.”
Quarrel’s face drained of color.
“No–no!,” she stammered. “We’ve–we’ve nowhere to retreat! Once those Lancers close in, it’s all over…” she trailed off, eyeing her pack anxiously, her eyes darting back and forth between it and him.
Caleb shook his head in a vain attempt to focus. Exhaustion was setting in. The artificial lighting in this cursed place wasn’t near enough to refill his batteries. Soon enough, he’d be running on fumes.
“Glare.”
Quarrel’s suddenly calm voice roused Caleb from his reverie, and he turned to face her.
“You know what we have to do,” she said, her voice firm.
Caleb glanced behind him, to where their lupine companion was already loping towards the enemy ranks, all too eager to join the melee anew.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“No,” he said. He would not entertain this discussion again.
“We’re out of time, Inquisitor,” Quarrel continued, undaunted. “We can’t win this. You know we can’t. We’ve no other choice.”
“No!” Caleb boomed, enhancing his voice in an attempt to cow her, but the archer would not be denied.
“Look at him, Glare!” she shouted, gesturing towards where the Therian now fought, clearly enjoying the deluge of wounds carved across his mangy fur. They’d fought for hours, now. How long before Rover’s regeneration wore out?
“Look at him,” Quarrel repeated, more calmly this time. “He’s dead already. But we aren’t. We can still make it out of this alive.” Caleb knew she was right. He knew it.
But, this was all his fault. His words were what had gotten Rover into this mess, in the first place. He was the one who’d preached the merits of sacrificing oneself for a noble cause.
How could he live, and allow Rover to die?
The archer stood, and gave him a look that brokered no argument.
“Either we all perish here, or just he does.”
Caleb grit his teeth, and closed his eyes.
How had it all gone so wrong?
The three of them had reached the Spire yesterday evening, though back then the megastructure’s name had eluded them. Caleb had been eager to do so, eager to pass this test and leave. To get the fuck out of the World Titan. He and Quarrel were united in that, for once. He felt for Thaum, and even more so for Hero, but Caleb was a soldier, first and foremost.
And Vox was a high-level Master.
There were rules for that sort of thing. Rules were loose in the Agoge, where one might be paired with complete strangers, but even then, Masters were given special treatment.
If there was one thing that all Blessed, even Godkin, feared, it was being Mastered.
Thaum got something of a pass, because she was a summoner, incapable of controlling another Blessed. Even so, if she really was a Nycta, Caleb guessed that she’d had to go through rigorous evaluative testing prior to being cleared to compete. Such things were standard, after all. Some prejudices were justified.
And Vox wasn’t a summoner. He was an Enslaver, through and through.
Enslavers weren’t allowed to compete in the Agoge. It was an unspoken rule, one Caleb knew for a fact. Father Ian had briefed him on it. It was why he hadn’t worried about Thaum being their leader.
And yet, somehow Vox had gotten through.
How? There were ways of testing these things, many ways, and the Master had managed to elude them all. That was worrisome. It spoke of someone who wasn’t just a crazed deviant, someone who wasn’t a solo actor. No, it spoke of planning. Of backing.
Of corruption.
Corruption in the Coterie. An unthinkable prospect. The organization enjoyed an unmatched reputation for order and reliability, one guaranteed by their shadowy leader, the omniscient Sybil.
Perhaps the All-Seeing-Eye wasn’t quite what her servants claimed.
Ultimately, it didn’t matter. Caleb had a job to do. He wasn’t just here to make friends, he was here to prepare for the coming storm. If the organization really was corrupt, he had to inform Pylon, had to make sure that Vox could be questioned, that he didn’t have time to get away. But to do that, he first had to make it past this room.
So, the Spire.
The closer they’d gotten, the more the massive structure’s size had given them pause.
It was close enough to the largest building Caleb had ever seen, at least forty stories in height, each step tall enough for two and a half of him to stand on top of one another. Having no other option, and beholding no other manner of entry, the three of them had begun to climb their way to the top.
Caleb could’ve flown up to it on his own, of course, but he’d learned from prior mistakes. He’d no longer split the party unless absolutely necessary.
The journey had taken them close to two hours at a normal pace, and it was a strange one.
The Spire’s structure, at first glance, seemed incomprehensible. All along the pyramid’s levels as one ascended were…well, fortifications. Ramparts and bulwarks, lips of stone raising ten, or twenty feet off of the ground, shielding the edifice from those that might assault it.
They gave the Spire an almost maze-like appearance from up close, and caused their path to the top to be winding and circuitous, but eventually they did manage to reach their destination.
The summit.
As it turned out, the Spire was hollow, and at its peak a large platform was suspended by four thin, dubious-looking chains to each of the ziggurat’s four corners. The only method by which non-flyers might access the thing was via a small, creaking wooden bridge that connected it to the surrounding structure.
Caleb was happy he could fly.
Still, they’d made it to the platform without issue, where they’d come upon a single, tall pillar with a glowing, sea-green orb perhaps the size of a wagon’s wheel resting atop it. The remainder of the platform bore nothing worthy of mention save for more grey, featureless concrete.
But encircling the breadth of the pillar were written words in a bright green script;
~~~
SAVE THE SPIRE
Here lies the tomb of Geoffrey Pellick and his sycophants, who thought themselves Dragonslayers. May they rot forever in a hell of their own creation. For those cursed to wander here, escape is only feasible via Entropy channeled into the SPIRE’s orb.
Upon activation, the SPIRE will begin channeling atmospheric Entropy into the orb over the course of six hours. Alternatively, wanderers may sacrifice one another in order to fully charge the orb. After the orb is fully charged, wanderers may simply make physical contact with the orb and be transported away.
But beware.
The eternal legion mans this tomb, protecting it from trespassers. They are her wrath, relentless and numerous as grains of salt in the sea. Activation of the orb will disturb their slumber, whereupon they will immediately attack.
Should the eternal legion manage to destroy the orb, all will be entombed. Geoffrey the repugnant and his ilk are damned, but you are not beyond salvation.
Save the orb, wanderer. Save yourself.
Save the SPIRE.
~~~
That was Caleb’s choice.
To save all, or to save himself. He’d not known anything of the machine legion at the time, but he’d refused to sacrifice any one of their number to escape. Even Rover.
Especially Rover.
Quarrel hadn’t liked that, but she’d accepted it, and they’d made camp for the night, that they might have the best possible chance of surviving the horde. And when he’d awoken the following morning, much to Caleb’s surprise, she hadn’t attempted to go behind his back. She hadn’t tried to sneak to the pillar, activate the orb, and sacrifice their psychotic companion.
She’d simply gone about her business, helping him to clean up their camp, setting up her seemingly endless supply of stored traps all along the height of the ziggurat.
And when the time came, and he’d activated the orb, she hadn’t complained.
And when their first enemies revealed themselves, she hadn’t complained. She’d joined them in the fray.
And what enemies.
The eternal machine legion were just as dangerous and ruthless as the Spire described them, and more. Their foot soldiers, the Scythers, were bad enough. Tall, lithe, acrobatic androids that adroitly leapt and twirled over the makeshift battlements to greet them in melee, twin curved blades extending from each of the beings’ wrists to snare skin and skewer what lay beneath.
The Lancers were even worse, long-range bombards that launched devastating mortar shells at the inanimate structure of the ziggurat. They blew great holes and craters in its concrete architecture, sending shrapnel flying every which way, reducing their makeshift fortifications to rubble, and forcing Caleb and his companions higher and higher, in a perpetual struggle to escape their range.
But the Psykers were worst of all.
Flying telekinetics capable of devastating, surgical strikes. Quarrel and Rover were entirely helpless against them. They hadn’t shown up until about halfway through the orb’s charging, but immediately ruined what little resistance his team had managed, requiring Caleb’s personal intervention whenever one took the field, preventing him from fighting on the main front.
It…it was all too much.
Even on his own, with no one and nothing to protect, Caleb would have been hard-pressed to survive. And now, not only did he need to keep Quarrel and Rover alive, he had to protect the platform, as well. Lest they all be entombed within this terrible place.
“Glare! It’s now or never!” Quarrel’s shrill voice pierced his ears again, forcing him back to the present.
Caleb looked towards Rover, still drenched in blood. He looked towards the orb, barely three-quarters full. He slammed his fists into the ground, driving through the flimsy concrete with ease.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, turning to face the archer miserably. “I…I can’t.”
Quarrel nodded once more, firmly.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I can.”
The archer leaned back and touched the orb, which flashed slightly. Caleb’s eyes widened. He wanted to stop her. He wanted to stop her, so desperately. He begged his body to action, willed himself with all his might to step forth, and grab her hand.
But he didn’t move.
Quarrel paused, tilted her head as if listening to some inaudible voice, and nodded for one final time. Her hand still planted firmly on the orb, she pointed towards Rover with the other and said the words;
“Sacrifice.”
The orb flashed. Caleb’s face contorted with grief, and shame.
SQUELCH.
Quarrel’s body detonated in a shower of guts and gore.
One moment she was standing right in front of him, the next she’d turned into a sea of red and white. Her ruptured fascia speckled his flawless skin. Blood drenched his beautiful armor. Little shards of bone embedded themselves in his perfect hair.
Caleb choked, gasped, and stumbled backwards.
The orb went dim, and new words glimmered to life on the pillar.
~~~
Humans are all the same.
Lying, cheating, cowardly, corrupt.
Selfish.
Your kind has been the ruin of this world.
Your extinction will only benefit it.
The orb is dead, wanderer. Join Geoffrey in his tomb.
You do not deserve salvation.
~~~