“I thought they would try to hide the weak points instead of so openly defending them,” Victor said.
“I do not think they had a choice with this one. Look - they were trying to shore it up when we interrupted them,” Zefaris said, pointing to a shredded corpse with what looked vaguely like the remains of painting supplies. A bottle of crimson-red paint spilled out across the cobbles, the puddle somehow remaining separate from the actual array pattern. “Come, help me break the barrier.”
That process entailed Victor forming a large devilbone blade around his spear, its surface covered in an upscaled version of the same pattern as the Terminal Fangs. The vortex split open around it, and while he held a section of it wrenched-open in this manner, Zefaris fired several small Black Nails into spots around the barrier glyph’s perimeter to further weaken the vortex.
All this, in an effort to possibly save the man being used to power it. The moment Victor came into the cocooned man’s vicinity, though, he knew. It was fairly obvious just from the fact he seemed to go comatose the moment the barrier dispersed, but Victor knew for certain.
“He’s doomed. Whatever they did to him caused similar internal and spiritual deformations as the flesh beasts. They turned him into little more than a… Living battery.”
He looked up at Zefaris, whose attention seemed to be on the pillar of ice which her eye was carving from thin air at this very moment, though he knew she was listening.
“Do you mind?”
“Hm?”
“I can do the same thing I did to the flesh beasts. Remove the spiritual restraints and turn what’s left of him against the Order.”
“Go ahead,” she deadpanned with a grim detachment.
Compared to the flesh beasts, a living battery was trivial. The energy within it, though seething and resentful just like the flesh beasts, didn’t lash out at him. Instead, the moment he undid the Order’s security enchantments, the battery’s energy eagerly reshaped itself to his intent. Its return into the body induced a violent transformation into a hulking, musclebound biped with three-segmented arms. Bony plates formed over its skin, spurs erupting from its elbows, knees and heels. The ape-like Flesh Soldier began feverishly patrolling around them, only to catch sight of two Flesh Unions engaged in battle with a Blue Robe. Screaming in mindless rage, the beast went bounding towards them.
Victor didn’t have time to observe, as he immediately had to focus on helping Zefaris construct the array disruption pylon. While they worked, Victor recalled his servitors to guard them, while Zefaris recalled all of her Phantoms to dedicate every iota of spiritual strength to this task.
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Meanwhile, a short time earlier across the city…
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Zelsys hadn’t enjoyed herself this much since Borea. Sure, this bunch wasn’t anywhere near able to truly push her, but what did that matter? They were good enough to stretch her wings, to really get a good feel for how Carnifex worked against a near-peer enemy. The hardest part of piercing deeply into the city had nothing to do with keeping herself safe, and everything to do with safekeeping the tankmen and her fellow sect members.
A handful of unique foes made a clear effort to halt her advance as she neared the inner city, but none of them managed to do more than slow her down. None of them were Red. Well, quite a few of them were red in terms of clothing, but none of them were Karmesin.
Streaks of draconic flame tore through the sky, the thunder of cannons in the distance, Zero’s absurdly loud speakers screaming derision at whatever poor fool tried to argue his way into a few extra seconds of life. Zel found herself faced with a trio of Red Robes, all clad in a unique version of the garment. Two men and a woman; one man and woman had cloudy, flowing patterns in silver thread embroidered into their robes, while the third, apparently the leader, had a more complex version of those same patterns in gold. All three were Ikesian, resembled one another as siblings would, and looked as youthful as one could, but Zelsys could see the decades behind their eyes, no less than fifty or sixty for each of them. She mentally nicknamed them Silver Sister, Silver Brother, and Gold Brother.
Refreshingly, they didn’t try to talk down to her, or to do the whole outraged cultivators gimmick. The only thing she got was a question: “One, two, or three?”
“Three,” she answered out of curiosity.
A faint nod and a series of gestures later, and the trio’s auras flared in unison as they floated into a triangular formation with the Silver Sister in front. Something was different about them; though still tainted and tinged crimson, their aura didn’t come off nearly as revolting as the others. Perhaps a different cultivation method, or a different sub-faction of the same sect. Of course, none of the still-lingering trash on the periphery stopped circling her and trying to take pot shots, but that was fine. They put on a rather impressive show, revolving about one another only to end up with the woman in silver facing Zelsys, with the other two’s aura seemingly pouring into her. Veins bulged under her skin and her eyes blanked out with a bright glow, drawing out a bayonet-like stabbing sword and a small buckler with razor-like edges. Powerful aura blasted out from the woman, only to implode back into her and enshroud her armaments. Meanwhile, the brothers brought out their own weapons. Silver had a long, slender basket hilt sword in one hand and a crossguard dagger of the same slender countenance in the other. Gold, meanwhile, brought out seven heavy knives attached to long, glyph-embroidered ribbons that moved as if alive. It would’ve impressed anyone other than Zelsys.
The trio set upon Zelsys with an utterly perfect synchronicity, the Silver Sister unleashing attacks of impressive power and accuracy. For once, she actually had to pay attention and take some care not to get hit. A part of her wanted to just use every opportunity available to break the three of them as quickly as possible, but she felt something there.
So, she played with them just as she had done with those before them, pushing the fight further and further into the city.