“You will never reach the tower in one piece, kindred soul,” the Templar said, placing a hand on Augustus’ pauldron. “Not with the war raging on.”
“Irrelevant.” Augustus shrugged his hand, receiving an update that Eliza had been injured in the back. Rowen had three of his ribs snapped, and Elina’s knuckles on her right hand were broken. His fault and responsibility. He should never have let his emotions take over and endanger the children, Abnormals or not. “It is my duty.”
“Then let us take the burden of duty off your shoulders for a while.” The troll pointed up. “You won’t reach them in time, but we never leave our allies alone. The blessed champion will preserve their bodies and souls from all earthly harm.”
Champion? Augustus looked up. Iterna had the Elites, the three greatest fighters in the country, three pillars of morality and heroism to inspire and lead the people to a better tomorrow. Three angels, known as the Redeemer, Artificer, and the Lightbringer. The Reclamation Army had three warlords, tyrants who spread their will across the lands. Wyrm Lord. Outsider. Devourer. And the Oathtakers had their own champions. Dominator. Hive. Lord Steward. Dominator was still at the border with the Reclamation Army, and Lord Steward oversaw the advance of the Northern Army. Is he…
A dragonfly soared from the clouds, creating a wide front of clarity and dispersing the columns of smoke rising from the ground with a single graceful beat of its shining wings. It was an ordinary looking dragonfly, except that it was longer than the Oathguards and bigger than most battle tanks. In a streak of blur, the body flew toward the Ascension Tower; its front legs struck, and a whole section of tower was sliced open, allowing the insect to enter.
Of course. Augustus relaxed, chastising himself for missing the clues. The insects on the roads—that strange creature who stuck with Eliza for a while. A self-styled hero was among them tonight.
“Sir!” a concerned voice joined the transmission. “The Factory’s energy readings are off the charts! The output is similar to the one of the Steel Keep…”
“All forces, retreat from the town at once! Avoid the streets, abandon the bastion, disperse and seek cover underground, and leave the heavy armor and weapons behind if needed.” Crawler’s voice grinded. “Helicopters, take off and retreat from the battle zone. Mobile groups stay clear of Birchshell. Operator! Contact Lord Steward; we need him at the site…” the rest of his voice was lost in the sound of tearing metal and shaking ground.
The ground trembled. In Birchshell, the tremors were coming out of the Factory. Its structure turned white, shining through the night like a rising sun. The structural integrity didn’t last, and the metal turned liquid, allowing a pillar of blackened metal to pierce its surface, rising to the sky. Not a pillar. Augustus corrected himself, witnessing the steel fingers moving as if trying to grab the distant disk of a moon in the sky.
A steel limb the length of a street came down, bisecting the molten cocoon and slammed the tent city into nothingness, driving a small mound of stone upward, creating a mushroom of earth. The creature climbing out of the Factory’s ruins roared, announcing its birth with the sound of tens of thousands of working industrial furnaces, and the surrounding buildings started melting. The stone picked fire and started flowing like rivers.
Even before they could see the new opponent clearly, the Oathtakers ran, grabbing the wounded from both sides. The Templars and Crusaders picked up Normies and jumped into cracks in the ground or tried to flee the town all together. The Oathguards abandoned any thought of facing the rising tide of metal. They pushed their wings to the limit, flying in and out of Birchshell, evacuating whoever they could, and leaving their expensive weapons behind. Jumail made the wise decision to allow his allies to climb on top of him before running as fast as he could away from the bastion, rather than try his luck underground where a single shift of the titanic body could’ve caused stone to smash him.
“The fresh hell is this!?” Carlos roared. “Since when did the dust dwellers know how to build a mech, let alone a moving skyscraper-sized one?”
“Archeotech,” Vasily swallowed, securing his weapon to his back with a shaking hand. “Chosen Prince had found some ancient cache of weapons, and his engineers reverse engineered the designs with the materials at hand, replicating horrors of the Old World. We are done for.”
“Stop panicking.” Augustus calmed himself, looking through the eyes of a troll on the bastion. He linked the vision of his students with that of the troll. “Calm down and think. No one in the Old World would have stylized a fighting machine of this size after a living being. The people of the Old World valued utility; their city killers were mobile platforms filled with weapons. Even a small cyborg we had encountered during the training lacked a head. And their bioweapons lacked innate steel implants in their bodies. This,” he pointed to the lurching mass, “is a product of today’s time. Observe its limbs straining to shift the limbs; hear the agonizing screeching of pistons and gears trying to move this body. And,” he called the image of a skull head with two great black holes for eyes, “its lenses can’t even get online. The thing is collapsing under its own weight.”
“But why, sir?” A note of hope mixed with disbelief appeared in Carlos’ trembling voice. “Surely, if these peasants spent the obscene amount of man-hours and resources to build it, it should be the centerpiece of their forces. It should, no, it must work! No one places one’s strategy around an experimental wonder weapon.”
“No, the Instructor is right!” Vasily laughed. “See the light on its chest?” The kid summoned the image of a burning circle in the beast’s belly. “It is the generator! No way a mere raider gang would have something that could power a mech this big. It must be from the Old World, and its output alone is threatening to melt its way through the cavity area and fall out.” He exhaled and sat. “Morons. Their inventions—the horrid harnesses, the brutish line breakers, the creation of oracles, and similar things—required Chosen Prince’s personal intervention to work. And since the fucker…”
“Language, trainee,” Augustus said, without breaking eye contact off the thing in Birchshell. “Two weeks of cleaning duties.”
“Sir, yes, sir!” Vasily salted. “Chosen Prince is dead, and without his power, the mismatched parts do not work. Look!” The youth jumped, pointing his hand at the crests across the mechanical beast’s spine. Augustus commanded his HUD to zoom in and recognized them to be turbines. Their propellers tried to start working, turning into a blur, only to stop a moment later, u unable to expel the overheated air from the metal bowels. “The Condemned are using an outdated cooling system, and they can’t even turn it on because of their fusion generator…”
“How do you know they are using the fusion generator?” Augustus asked, testing Vasily’s knowledge.
“Because nothing less would suffice to move this mass and overheat it to such an extent. And because it was found within the ruined Steel Keep, sir! If Chosen Prince had used such obsolete rubbish for their main mobile base, then we have no reason to believe that they have access to anything more advanced.” Vasily saluted. Augustus nodded, probing him to continue. Torosian had advised him to try to encourage the students more, and Rho had decided to try his method. The trolls listened carefully to the boy’s explanation, relaying each word to Crawler. “Notice how its limbs are free of rust and Chosen Prince marks. There are no flesh parts; my guess is the Condemned tried to assemble it based on some lost plans during the war, but without their master, it won’t work…”
With the tearing sound, the flesh coverage of the Ascension Tower shivered, releasing green fumes into the air. Shamblers came to a halt, dropping dead; their bodies became swollen and exploded, releasing similar pungent stenches of green. Diseased trees, the fungal cover that had taken hold of Birchshell and its surroundings, exploded, adding their own diseases to the wicked cloud that was gathering over the town. And the monster moved, climbing out of the Factory with the jerking motions of a clockwork mechanism. The cloud passed over the monstrous mech, lowered itself, and entered the turbines at its back. A faint green light appeared in the black lenses of the metal skull, and the thing twitched with all eight limbs, sending slight tremors through the town. Entire cathedrals bristling with high-caliber turrets and cannons rose from beneath the frame of metal. The barrels moved, tracking targets all around Birchshell at random.
“So much for not working,” Carlos said in a dead voice, opening up communication with the rest of the group. “Sorry for being an ass. You are all awesome, and it was a great honor to be your friend. Instructor, despite being a worthless Rho, you were pretty good, sir. Elina, if you hear it, I regret not inviting you to our place more often. Stay alive, please.”
“But… But…” Vasily stuttered, witnessing how the overheated spot on the machine’s belly has started cooling off. “How? Why? It’s just a bacterial cloud! A damn cloud! How can a mere microorganism stabilize the excess energy?” He clenched his fists. “Armor, make a secure record; store it in our aircraft. It is to be released posthumously. Sis, grandma, you were a ray of light in my life. Thank you very much. Mom, dad. I am so sorry for being born a freak.”
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
“None of you are going to die,” Augustus said coldly.
“How about you all shut up and start running?” Jumail inquired over the communication. “Apologies for being rude, instructor.”
“Yeah,” Elina chimed in, panting heavily. “A good day’s leg work keeps a death away, Carli, or something like that... Damn it!” Her visor relayed a metal hand reaching to grab her.
The Condemned stopped fighting, throwing down their weapons. Some allowed themselves to be drawn away by the Oathtakers, but most gazed at the machina raging on the horizon, repeating their mantra ‘Scar the world’ over and over again. For once, they were at peace. Too bad it was the peace of a coming slaughter for everyone involved.
“I won’t stop until you are dead!” A metallic voice roared, proclaiming its hatred to the world, each syllable produced by the flicker of flame and the grinding of gears.
Shaking the last droplets of molten metal off its form, the monster fired, wiping out entire town blocks at once, its rounds creating new, lacerated roads across Birchshell. A single volley liquidated a dozen trolls, along with a hundred Condemned and several squads of Normies. The battle machine brought two of its limbs to the ground, almost smashing Crawler into paste, and Augustus felt this impact all the way here and struggled to keep standing. The general jumped, bouncing between the walls of a skyscraper-sized chunk of stone bulging out of the earth.
All the gains the Oathtakers had made were reduced to nothing. In their chaotic retreat, they were losing soldiers and territory in equal measure. Augustus had always thought of the Condemned as a pack of rabid beasts, but they had proven him wrong. Those bastards were cunning; they planned for the arrival of the Northern Army. If its soldiers were staging a full-scale assault, that behemoth would’ve caused a truly colossal number of deaths.
“Sir, I entrust the rest of the operation to your capable hands! Save my troops!” Crawler yelled, and an enormous fist connected with him. The general used all of his legs, trying to break through the metal surface to start destroying the beast from within. But his opponent had proven itself to be made of sturdier stuff. The blow sent Crawler across the city, slamming him into the barricade and puncturing it with his body. The sentient insect moved on, disappearing into the distance.
“Is this…” One of the soldiers in the hollow gulped. “Is this Stonehelm all over again? Did Chosen Prince come back to life?”
“As much as I would love to indulge in a theoretical discussion about the possibility of returning from beyond the grave, I suggest we follow dear Elina’s idea and evacuate the vicinity with all possible haste,” Carlos said.
Another set of tremors, very familiar tremors that sent shivers down the spine of anyone who had the misfortune to work in the Ravaged Lands for a long time, came from behind Augustus’ back. The land on the horizon rose, struggling to make space for the titanic body traversing beneath it. And the explorator knew damn well what was approaching Birchshell.
“Oh, great. Another wonder of the brave new world heading our way.” Vasily shook his head. “Squeezed between one monster and another. Well, the situation can’t get any worse.”
“Blessed be all souls who live in our world.” The Templar pushed Augustus deeper into the pit, taking the worried soldier gently with another hand. “Have faith, brother. Chosen Prince had been vanquished; this mechanical horror is but an echo that refuses to pass on. Let us stay hidden for a while longer, friends from Iterna. It shall soon be over. Trust in the champion.”
Explorators shouldn’t be involved in a full-scale war. Augustus threw the two boys to the ground and covered them with his own body when he heard the familiar sound of a charging energy weapon from Birchshell.
“Ah, so this is where the excess heat is going,” Vasily muttered, watching through the cameras as a vein of crimson moved from the red spot on the mech’s belly to its skull.
“Vasily,” Carlos said.
“Yes?” the other trainee replied.
“I am so kicking you in the nuts.” Carlos punched the ground. “Can’t get any worse, my ass!”
“Well, I thought it couldn’t! At least now we know that the situation can’t…”
“Shut up!” Carlos and the Normie soldiers shouted in unison.
****
Ratcatcher charged at Hustler, dragging the mancatcher’s blade across the platform’s grating. She spun in the air, bringing the blade down in a full arc. As she expected, Hustler circled around her, and the trainee hit him with the butt of her staff, leaving a small dent in his armor. A hail of blows was her reward; Hustler didn’t even think about retreating or paying any attention to her brief attack. His tail moved, the stinger aiming at the spot further down the platform.
Only this time, she didn’t retreat. She closed the distance to him, taking blows on the shaft of her long staff, waiting for the moment when he would strike with his wounded arm. Instead of countering with the weapon, she let go of it with her right hand, stepped closer, and struck with full force, landing a blow against the Oracle’s exposed jaw. She even turned her hand in the middle of the swing to add a thrust to the blow. The long length of her weapon obscured her initial strike, and the pestilence fiend staggered and reeled on his wobbly legs. Augustus’ lessons on the use of feints, the fights she had watched at the Academy, Yura’s words, Dad’s and Mom’s teachings all paid off, and Ratcatcher followed her prey, raising the mancatcher for an overhead strike.
Suddenly, pain exploded through her left leg. The Oracle, still coughing blood and shaking his head, kicked with perfect precision. One kick. A second kick that Hustler had used in this gruesome duel had brought her down in an instant. The impact went through the surface of the armor, crumpling it. It reached the bone above her knee, cracking it and damaging the muscle, sending reverberating waves of pain through her body and sending the girl to one knee. Confusion was indeed an art of war. And she had been a fool to think she alone could use it in a fight.
In her advance, Ratcatcher observed only his arms and tail, and now she was paying the price. He, too, had taught her to expect the wrong things.
He can attack from such a position? It boggled the teen’s mind. Her blow was a full hook; she put all her power and the strength of her power armor into it, almost certainly breaking his jaw. His brain should have experienced a rapid concussion from the bouncing within the confines of his skull. He should feel disorientation and weakness in his body. And unlike his sickness, her blow dealt the physical damage; no medicine should’ve let him shrug it off!
He was simply this tough. What can I… Ratcatcher let go of the mancatcher, firing darts, both poison and sleep ones, at Hustler in the desperate hope that one of them would reach him. But his tail had moved behind him, swatting the flying projectiles out of the air as he retreated to the edge of the platform, breathing heavily. The three remaining lenses focused on her, their slits narrowed, and a signal came to Hustler’s helmet. He frowned, spit out a tooth, reached for his belt, tossed a grenade, and leaped from the platform into a small opening in the wall.
No. Ratcatcher picked up the mancatcher. No, no, not fair. I should’ve won. I’ve made all the right choices… The grenade slowed to a crawl in the air, filling the panicked girl with dread. She should have had enough time to jump out of the way, but then it would explode in the middle of the platform and the debris would fall on the people below. And? I did everything I could! What, am I supposed to die here? A selfish thought came. Selfish? The same voice asked in her head. Leaving Mom, Liam, and Dad alone is selfish? Letting your team mourn your death is selfish? We can’t save everyone!
And the people below? What if they too have families? Ratcatcher bared her teeth.
Why are we always such an idiot… The voice in her head sighed. Don’t die, ‘kay?
“Of course not; I want to walk on the moon!” Ratcatcher laughed and prepared to swing her weapon, praying to Planet for salvation. Keep the grenade from exploding, just for a little, please. “Armor, please record that I love my family very much in case... of unexpectancy.”
She wasn’t sure what happened next. An explosion, but not that of a grenade, pieces of steel flying across the platform and a body, an enormous dragonfly pushed itself before her, piercing the grenade with one of its long stalk legs. The grenade exploded, spreading corrosive acid on impact, which hissed harmlessly against the creature’s leg. Its head turned, examining Ratcatcher through a myriad of glittering eyes. A semblance of sentience in these eyes had made the girl’s blood go cold, and she found the end of her weapon secured by one of the dragonfly’s legs.
The insect was blue, with its vast four wings shimmering with the colors of the rainbow. Its head moved not with jerky movements, but with a graceful and elegant fluidity as the creature shifted its gaze from Ratcatcher to the battle above, and then to the mindlessly mewling humans below. Ratcatcher didn’t dare move; she didn’t even dare try to wrestle her weapon free. She understood how Elina must’ve felt about Jumail. There was nothing rational about her fear; she was ready to fall against Hustler, but the newcomer almost gave her a stroke with its mere presence.
“Phew, barely made it in time,” the dragonfly’s upper legs moved, scratching words out of meat hooks serving it for jaws. “Kids these days are way too reckless. C’mon, hop on my back.”
“Beg your pardon…” A rustling sound made Ratcatcher avert her eyes from the monster. Bugs! Hundreds, if not thousands, of them were pouring out of the tower’s walls; some of them were disgusting creatures, a mixture of metal and flesh, like the one she had encountered underground. And they were running over people. “No!” she screamed in desperation, imagining the jaws closing on the helpless bodies.
“Don’t worry, they are being rescued and secured until evacuation is possible,” the dragonfly screeched. “Took me a while to master all, but since you helped me find the tunnels and we found the big ones, it was a breeze to dig a series of tunnels under the place.”
“Rescued… Helped…” Ratcatcher felt her head spin. She led it here? But her only insectoid friend is Jumail! The dragonfly let go of her weapon. “Just who are you?”
“Really? I thought we were buddies.” The dragonfly’s jaws opened in a parody of a smile, filling the girl with dread. Up close, she could see that, in addition to the large cluster of compound eyes, the insect also had three simple eyes at the top of its head. They were called ocelli, if she remembered correctly what the teacher had told her. The teacher also warned them to flee from any dragonfly larger than a car, as these creatures were either mutated or altered in the Old World or during the Extinction and served as a constant source of menace to the people of the far west.
“Name’s Hive.” A leg picked her up, throwing the girl behind her massive head. “And trust me, buddy. There won’t be anything scary anymore when a hero is around. Hold on tight; it’s time to make things right.”
“You tried to bite my finger off!” Ratcatcher fired without thinking and felt the body underneath her stiffen.
“Guilty as charged, and sorry about that. Had to spread myself too thin and pretend to be a mere insect... I was reasonably sure that your armor could withstand my bite and would’ve stopped if something… Listen, how about I do you a favor, and we’re even?” Hive muttered.
“Save my friends, and all is forgiven!” Ratcatcher pleaded.
“A favor it is! Better make it a good one, because a hero never leaves anyone in trouble!” Hive laughed, and his wings spread.