Up on the upper-floor walkways overlooking the great hall, members of Hulson-affiliated non-ranking families had gathered, bearing in hand bows, crossbows, slings, guns, wands and staves, chief among them the Heiasons, their stripe-scarred skins pointing them out among all others. Each and every Heiason wielded a magical staff of some kind, some of their heads shaped into halberd-like axe heads, while others had spear-blades on their bottom ends, much like Victor’s staff.
The Hulson defenders indeed fought bravely against those who would see them snuffed out. Corpses littered the great hall, gore painted the floor and walls, hateful CP-T flames slowly spread through the entryway, only kept at bay by the efforts of a few casters and the constant flow of blood. The air was thick with evaporated life-ichor, a choking Rubedo-rich mist that further roused the viciousness of all combatants. In this atmosphere, Ismaar dashed into the great hall with an axe in one hand and a quill in the other, setting his eyes upon Gunnar. Thanks to the smoke, the steam, the chaos of battle, and his utterly inhuman physicality, he managed to reach his target… Only for Jorfr to conjure a statue of Wide-wuth in the way. Ismaar had anticipated this, spinning around to Gunnar’s other side, only to be met by another statue.
“So be it,” he thought, this time feigning a desperate, oblique attack, only to redirect his momentum at the bastard who had forced Kristina’s hand this early to begin with. The quill sunk into Jorfr’s back. With a manic grin, Ismaar triggered it and fled with an utterly inhuman acrobatic dexterity, running on the walls, cackling and gnashing his teeth as a barrage of magick followed in his path. He fled, his escape covered by his allies.. Jorfr doubled over, ripping the long-empty spike out of his chest as he coughed, and soon vomited blood. The vile acid within ate a gaping hole right through his chest, all the way through front to back where his heart had been.
Gunnar howled in utter wild-eyed fury while Merete dragged her brother out of harm’s way, while Ismaar’s howling laughter could be heard from outside. In his place, a force of maskless warriors entered the battle, people the Hulsons were actually familiar with, well-known and well-regarded members of the Aase and Buhaug clans. Though individually weaker than Hulson warriors, their force was blatantly superior to the Hulsons’ own numbers by virtue of both quality and quantity.
Any remaining humanity vanished from Gunnar’s face, its shape twisting fully into a bestial form, his eyes elongating to red-glowing gashes. His teeth became shark-like wedges, two extra rows bursting from his gums as his tongue whipped about in the sheer force of his true, unbound fury. In an instant he grew to nearly three meters tall and took Jorfr’s hammer in hand.
With his utterance, all those before him were brought to their knees: “RAMDALL! AASE! EISEN! BUHAUG! TO A MAN, YOU SHALL MEET YOUR ENDS! OUT. BY. THE. ROOTS.”
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The battle against Eisengeist raged on, level ground balanced on the razor’s edge of the dragon’s own stolen tendril. Two more of its tendrils had already been cut quite badly, weakening them such that they dragged on the ground and could no longer strike, and its body was littered with shallow wounds. Its leg, which Kyriak had stripped of protection, had been whittled down to a state nearly as skeletal as Teutobochus’ left arm. It had drawn to a little over half a kilometer from the Hulson longhouse, encroaching on important districts now; districts whose buildings were built such that they didn’t just crumble underfoot or even from glancing blows. Such was the strength of wood from the Crescent Jungle after being reinforced in myriad ways; stronger than stone, it was.
Karmesin’s voice resounded in Teutobochus’ control-cocoon: “It is done. Have you any means of opening a hole in the dragon’s flesh to ensure it works?”
“Yes. The titan will lose its strength once it is used. It will no longer be able to fight,” Victor responded using Koschei’s voice. A few seconds passed.
“So be it. We have no other choice.”
“Inverse Array. Maximum output.”
“Charging. Ready in twelve seconds. Must be discharged in twenty, or the reactor will collapse.”
“Excess power bleedoff will cause the Ruby-eye system to go into Overclock, giving us the improved performance we need to line up a good shot.”
“Don’t bet on it. Take no chances.”
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The four women could see it from atop the steam tower; the titan’s entire face unfolded, exposing the black bone of its skull. Waterfalls of blood poured forth from its eye sockets, only for blazing crimson coals to ignite within them, staunching the flow. Trails of bloody steam now rose from Teutobochus’ face. Jets of baleful blue began bursting from its body seemingly at random, its motions gaining a twitchiness and terrible speed that permitted it to go toe-to-toe with Eisengeist in a melee; a melee which, it seemed, Teutobochus was winning. Ten-dozen thunderclaps and bell-rings resounded as the great machine raged against Eisengeist.
Meanwhile, geysers of the self-same royal-blue shade flared out perpendicular to the opening of Teutobochus’ mouth in clockwise fashion, forming a ring of seven in seven seconds. Thereafter, they converged into a single blazing geyser of arcane power in a manner that Zefaris couldn’t help but recognize. It was the same type of energy-flare as certain beamwand techniques that Sigmund had helped the Newman sect’s scorchlander members re-develop.
And that sound, what was that sound?
It was…
It was screaming.
Teutobochus had entered into a screaming match with Eisengeist, setting upon him with a suicidal fervor, getting into a grapple with the great dragon even as Eisengeist tore open the titan’s back and stomach and blasted burning sap into its disemboweled torso.
Teutobochus’ head twisted and tilted at an utterly unnatural angle as the royal-blue flare in front of its mouth flickered out.
Then, the world shook.
Everything was bathed in blinding-white. Only Zefaris saw what transpired in that time, and even she only saw a blinding-white ray with royal-blue edges smashing into Eisengeist’s side, and in moments, it carved straight through him.