Much as I enjoy cutting down my enemies like chaff, I wholeheartedly regret my decision to leave the triple crossbows and catapults behind.

Clumped together at the river crossing, the Defiled horde make for perfect targets as they scream and dance on the other side, impatiently awaiting their turn to cross while wholly indifferent to the fate which awaits them. Said fate is likely a messy death at the end of my glaive as it carves a figure-eight through the air and slaughters any Defiled caught along the way. Bear Form – Standing Fury is one of the last Insights Baledagh left me with, but I completely forgot about it following the whole reveal. After unearthing the memory and working out the specifics, it’s come in handy for these long, drawn out engagements despite how silly it looks and feels.

It’s a little like waving a giant flag on a pole back and forth while trying to stay level on a rocking boat, minus the actual flag or boat. Odd, but effective. Not as odd as Song reciting poetry on the battlefield, but her delivery is surprisingly evocative.

Though what I’m doing seems simple enough, it’s physically and mentally engaging to pull off. There’s a flow to the continuous movement, with arms, shoulders, hips, and knees all working in tandem to minimize effort and maximize effect, with each pass of the glaive building on the last. Still, minimizing effort is not the same as no effort at all, and after twenty minutes of repetitive motion, the strain is building up in my knees and obliques, those rarely used muscles at the side of my abdomen. Add in my lack of sleep and dwindling Chi reserves thanks to constant Reinforcement and repetitive Amplification, I expect to topple over in exhaustion in ten or so minutes, but there are still many, many enemies left to kill. Bloodthirsty though they might be, the Defiled aren’t stupid, and even though we hold the terrain advantage, they have the numbers and they mean to wear us down.

Having learned from observation, my latest opponent avoids running headlong into my glaive and tries to feint at the edge of my range, but I simply loosen my grip and Unity slides out to catch him between the ribs. Without Chi, the attack would probably glance off my opponent’s bones, but thanks to the magic of Amplification and Honing, it rends his chest open and slices through lungs and heart. Eyes wide with surprise, my latest victim falls to his knees where he’ll soon join the other corpses at his feet, to be stepped over or kicked aside by the next idiot dumb enough to approach.

Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

Or maybe not.

Surprise turns to panic in my fallen foe’s eyes, which then gives way to hatred and resignation, his accusing glare first directed towards the water and then at me, blaming the slippery terrain for getting in his way and condemning me for killing him, even though he meant to do worse. Murky blood spills from his mouth as he moves his lips, his voice silent due to the lack of connected lungs, yet for some reason, it’s like he’s gaining vitality when it should be draining away. Back straight and shoulders squared, he lifts his head high in a silent cry of triumph, not what you’d expect from a man who’s already drawn his last breath. A small part of me marvels at his tenacity and wonders how he’s still alive, even as Unity swoops back around to take his head and offer the small mercy of death.

I’m just glad his face is covered with a headwrap. It dehumanizes him and makes it easier not to empathize.

Just as Unity is about to reach his neck, someone grabs me by the scruff and pulls me away, my feet lifted off the ground while the blade cuts through empty air. “Fall back!” Argat booms, his Chi-infused voice rising over the din of battle. “Fall back to the wagons!”

Irritated at being dragged around like a misbehaving kitten, my angry snarl dies on my lips and a chill runs down my spine as the Spectres circle around my ‘dying’ foe in a vortex of coordinated chaos. For the first time, I witness the Spectres affect the physical world as they surge into the Defiled warrior’s chest wound, bringing multiple spiralling streams of water along with them. No, not just water, but blood and flesh too, the corpses of his fallen comrades melting as the Spectres pass by, then carried along by the gushing water and fed into his chest cavity. Body swelling like a balloon, his skin bulges and stretches from the excessive fluids before contracting inwards, then expanding even larger than before as his unholy feast shows no signs of slowing. Growing with each throbbing pulse of his body, his headwrap explodes to reveal a water-logged face, and the rest of his skin takes on the same grey-white cast, no longer dried and wrinkled but smooth and engorged as if he’d been submerged underwater for several days and stretched out over a too large frame.

The detached, clinical part of my brain which isn’t gibbering in terror notes the Spectres are being consumed in the same manner I Devour them, though these ones appear willing to go along for the ride. Then again, the Spectres back in Sanshu were pretty happy to be Devoured and I didn’t encounter resistance until coming to the front lines. Another piece of another puzzle I cannot comprehend, but I see that water, flesh and Heavenly Energy are required to fuel this particular horrific metamorphosis.

What good this does... well... who knows.

The Demon’s Aura collides against my own and snaps me out of my fugue, a stark reminder I’m still alive and should probably do something if I want to stay that way. Tearing my eyes away from the burgeoning, water-logged abomination, I ask, “So... wouldn’t now be a good time to kill it? You know... while it’s busy... growing?”

My question earns me an inquisitive stare from Argat, a single eyebrow raised in minor bewilderment. Giving a slow shake of his head, he drawls, “Best to leave the Demon alone and let things run their course; Ichor will ruin a Spiritual Weapon and cripple your Core if you strike before it’s finished. Besides,” he adds, turning his eyes back to the Demon, “The Father often casts His gaze upon His birthing children, and I’d rather not draw His attention any more than I have to.”

...Wow. Glad I couldn’t kill Vivek before he finished transforming. Just another time where my failure was actually a success, I suppose.

Now that Argat mentions it, I realize none of the Defiled are moving either, having withdrawn out of the shallows and back to dry land to celebrate the birth of their new Transcendent. A fresh wave of dread leaves me reeling in place as I realize where the epithet came from, my captured Spectres howling the title in an uncontrolled frenzy while demanding I release them to join their comrades to form what surely must be the fattest, ugliest Demon in existence. A thought crosses my mind to Devour the errant Spectres and keep them from the Demon, but I discard it immediately as I track down the source. My captured Spectres want me to try because doing so would offer them the escape they so desire, their subtle manipulations made obvious by crazed desperation.

Okay, mental note: My Succ is less than Demon birthing Succ.

...I wish my life wasn’t so weird.

“Move these wagons and make a space.” Swaggering out of the crowd with wine gourd in hand, Lei Gong’s confident demeanour is reflected in his steady, unwavering Aura, uplifting everyone out of their shock as they scramble to obey. Marching over to my side, he puts the gourd away, which is usually a sign of tough times ahead. “The water’s receding, so reposition yer line to meet a wider front. I suggest ye send yer tired boys to guard the back and bring yer second up with the Death Corps. No more arrows fer now, no sense inciting a charge before we need to, but leave ‘em to rest in reserve.” Switching to Sending, he eyes Argat and Jochi before adding, “Ye stick around too. Best keep all the heavy hitters nearby, cuz this big‘un is gonna be trouble. It’s clear as day the creature has Awakened to Water, which means it won’t be easy to kill.”

Deferring to his expertise without questions, I give the orders and move back as my people scramble into position, keeping XinYue, Sai Chou, Dastan, and Sahb nearby just in case. Daxian is already here, having arrived sometime during my stupor to pose beneath the moonlight with his spear pointed down and head held high, the very picture of unconcerned composure beside Jochi and Argat. Tenjin and Tursinai also make their way to the front, while Li Song shuffles to my side with uncharacteristic fatigue, her ears flat and tail lashing as the Death Corps form up on either side. The seconds tick by as my people move into place, Wang Bao and Ulfsaar joining my second string of Experts while the fresh members of Phoenix Squad set about reinforcing Tiger. The stifling atmosphere threatens to overwhelm us as the Demon pulsates and grows, already standing over three metres high with a rotund belly almost double that in girth, a corpulent behemoth with bulky legs thick as tree trunks and arms longer than I am tall.

I shall name him Pudge, because he is a fat and disgusting abomination.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Bulat and the others loading up their Spiritual Guns and I curse myself for not doing the same. Fumbling around the cross-guard, I hit the release and twist the haft, turning the elegant glaive into an ugly axe with a series of crisp, mechanical clicks. Holding the weapon point down, I work the crank to compress the spring while fumbling around my side pouches for ammunition. Finally finding the right pouch, I give a quiet, triumphant cry as I slam the spherical steel bullet into the readied chamber and hold Unity ready, my finger close to but not on the trigger and the barrel pointed down.

Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

Conscious of the curious stares, I find an open line of fire behind the first string Experts and gesture for my other gunmen to join me. Sounding calmer than I have any right to be, I say, “Wait a moment before you attack, let me and my people take a crack at it first.”

Though he’s seen us practising with our spring-loaded guns and was suitably impressed, Lei Gong thinks them too cumbersome and inconvenient for something we’ll maybe use once per battle, but he’ll humour me if I insist. “Won’t be much time to let ye know when it’s safe and no telling if it’ll stand still and smile pretty. Might have to move against it and I’d rather not get shot in the back.”

Eyeing the diminishing cloud of Spectres around Pudge, I give a reassuring nod. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Easy to say when it ain’t yer hide.” Regardless of his misgivings, Lei Gong shrugs and settles into place, smacking his cane against his meaty palm in anticipation of the battle ahead. Annoying as always, Daxian stops posing to move to the far side of the group, putting as many bodies between my guns and himself as he possibly can, though to be fair, I would do the same in his shoes. Sparing a moment to glance at my soldiers, I say, “Wait for my signal, then fall back into line. My beloved betrothed worked hard on those weapons, and I’d rather not see them turn to junk right after their debut.”

Their new Runic shields strapped across their backs, Bulat, Viyan, Birca, and Silva chuckle nervously from beneath their open faced helmets, looking sharp and heroic in the best steel armour money can buy. Similarly armoured minus the shields, Pran and Saluk grin and nod, eager to test their precious weapons against a Demon and unlikely to care if it’s with gun or hammer. Standing still as a statue, Siyar barely acknowledges the order until Ravil elbows him in the ribs, which earns me a scowl as if I’m somehow to blame. While the two of them couldn’t be any more physically different, they’re both cut from the same cloth, refusing plate armour and Runic shields with the same excuse, claiming it would slow them down in a fight.

Having seen them in action, I believe it. Ravil was always a dangerous bastard, but instinct tells me Siyar isn’t far behind.

These are my elites, the soldiers I’ve invested so much into, standing at my side to fire our inaugural volley. If this works, then maybe I can finally convince Mila of their effectiveness and get her to make more. Much like any artist, she’s a little touchy when it comes to her work, preferring to follow her muse and test her limits instead of buckling down to go with what works. I –

...

Nice try Spectres, but I’m razor focused today.

Raising my gun, I take aim and prepare to fire. The pond recedes and the river slows to a trickle as the Spectres direct a continuous torrent into Pudge’s gaping chest wound, and a fetid stench assails my senses, a combination of raw sewage and rank mold alongside a few other high notes. As more Spectres are consumed and fewer remain, the torrent slows enough to reveal a cavernous maw where the wound once stood, large enough to fit a grown man inside and complete with razor sharp fangs and long, sinuous tongue. The face itself has no nose or mouth, its feature smoothed over with slick, greyish skin under blue, bulging, hate-filled eyes which are still fixated on my own.

So... I guess Pudge still remembers me. That’s not unsettling at all.

It feels like an eternity since the transformation started, but by my best guess it’s probably been three minutes at most. Three, stressful, intense, unnerving minutes, but judging by the few Spectres still left, not much longer to go. When their numbers dwindle to a dozen remaining, I say, “Steady.” Trigger. Pause. Hammer. At five left, I focus on my Amplification Keystone, the natal hammer raised and ready to drop. “Aim.” Trigger. Pause. Hammer. Not at the same time, but not too long a pause. You can do this. Trigger. Pause. Hammer.

And as the last Spectre slips into the horrifying chest-mouth, I pull the trigger, pause, drop the hammer, and shout, “Fire!”

Our guns roar in thunderous salute as the Demon comes to life, cordially greeting the newborn monster with nine bullets moving at the speed of sound. Rocked by the impact, Pudge reels in place as seven, Ichor-spurting craters form across its abdomen, the majority of shots including my own aimed at its broad belly. As Pudge straightens up, we see its two ruined eyes courtesy of Ravil and Siyar, and the battlefield falls silent as Imperial and Defiled alike struggle to come to terms with what we just witnessed.

Is it dead? A living creature would be dead, but Demons aren’t exactly living, so...?

Opening its chest-mouth wide, Pudge reveals a reddish-pink gullet and lets loose with a bestial roar of fury, confirming my suspicion that it is indeed, not dead. To my great dismay, its sightless eyes track me as I move back into line with my soldiers, somehow still able to perceive my location despite its lack of vision. Chalking it up to another unsolved mystery, I debate reloading for a second shot when Pudge’s scream is cut short by a blinding flash of light followed by a deafening clap of thunder.

Wooo, Lord of Thunder Lei Gong!

My vision clears and high spirits give way to consternation as Pudge stands unscathed behind a shimmering shield of water, one which covers its entire hefty frame. A second bolt of lightning crashes into the Demon, but again, the shield stops it cold. Reacting to an unseen attack, Lei Gong dodges aside as something smashes into the ground a few meters behind him, raising a furrow of mud and dirt before knocking three Death Corps Soldiers off their feet. A water bullet maybe? Luckily, Pudge is tall and the projectile was angled downwards, else those Death Corps soldiers wouldn’t have escaped with just a few scrapes and bruises.

The Defiled stomp and cheer in the background, content to stand and watch their Transcendent clean up, so I signal my soldiers to do the same. It makes sense, because if Lei Gong really wanted to go all out, he could easily wipe out a good portion of the Defiled on his own, and the same could be said of Pudge. Hell, the fat fucker could lie on the grass and roll over my retinue and we’d probably be helpless to stop it.

No longer playing around, Lei Gong unleashes a storm of lightning. When the light show dies down and my vision returns, I find the battle in full swing as Pudge chases Lei Gong, throwing wide, predictable punches which most people would be hard pressed to avoid, given its incredible speed and tremendous reach. That said, the Lord of Thunder can hardly be counted as ‘most people’, nor can Tenjin and Tursinai who take the field. Each falls into their respective roles with ease, as if this were the umpteenth time they'd fought side by side, rather than their first time ever. Lei Gong holds Pudge’s attention with dazzling blasts of lightning, while Tursinai impedes its movements by tangling its legs, a dangerous game of push and pull which could end in disaster. Too much slack and the Pudge roams freely, but not enough a single yank could pull her into the Demon’s crushing embrace. Meanwhile, Tenjin nips at its heels, unleashing a storm of mundane throwing knives which puncture soggy flesh, but doing little damage otherwise.

The three remaining Experts on the field each pick a partner and stick close by, their spears held at the ready to help defend should their partner require it. Wondering why Jochi, Argat, and Daxian don’t just rush in and nail a foot down or something, my unspoken question is soon answered by the Demon itself. Weary of chasing Lei Gong, the Demon’s water shield collapses and the liquid adheres to its fists, forming six rippling tendrils which lash out independently at its foes. The Imperial Experts back away to avoid its reach, though if they’d been any closer, then they undoubtedly would’ve been caught. Freed from Tursinai’s ensnaring chain, the Demon charges at Lei Gong to end the incessant bolts of lightning, but the Lord of Thunder is not so easily caught. Hurling his cane like a javelin, the Spiritual Weapon smashes into an empty eye-socket and pierces clean through Pudge’s head. Staggered but not downed, its tendrils go wild but Daxian is in place to defend, his spear fending off multiple attacks while Lei Gong gathers his Chi and unleashes the most powerful strike yet. Night turns to day as an orb of lightning emerges from Lei Gong’s cane, covering Pudge’s face in an explosion of electrical discharge. A rapid-fire series of thunderclaps deafens my ears and shakes me to the bones, but right before the world fades back to dark, I see Tenjin sailing through the air with his blazing twin daggers aimed at Pudge’s wide, unprotected back.

Wishing I had some way to protect my vision, I set to repairing my ruptured eardrums the old fashioned way while blinking repeatedly, hoping to see or hear something to tell me what’s going on. Long seconds pass before my eyesight returns, and once it does I wish it hadn’t. Though its face is a blackened mess and its back spurting Ichor, Pudge continues its rampage against the Imperial Elites. Tursinai’s weapon dangles in its fist while the wielder herself kneels by her fallen hubby, laying in an indent in the dirt where he’d been slammed. As I watch in horror, a watery tendril slips past Jochi’s guard to strike his leg and his bones crumple like tissue upon impact. A follow up strike misses as Argat drags his screaming brother away from battle, paying no heed to pain he’s causing in order to save a life.

Only Lei Gong and Daxian remain on the battlefield, and neither one looks in good condition. Planting Unity in the dirt, I draw Peace and launch it without thinking, hoping to get lucky and kill in a single blow, but the Honed blade sinks into Pudge’s skull with almost no effect. Reminded of my existence, it turns those empty sockets towards me, an almost comical sight with my sword stuck through its skull and Lei Gong’s cane in its eye. Raising a meaty arm, Pudge extends a razor-tipped finger and reforms its shield, the water rippling briefly before firing out. My throat tightens as my vision goes dark, and a metallic crash sounds out, but not the chime of a bell or the ring of a sword, more of a crumpled bang you’d expect from driving a car into a solid stone wall. Taking a step back out of reflex, a brigandine chest-piece comes into focus, the word ‘Virtuous’ neatly engraved in the centre.

Holy shit, did Daxian just leap in front of me to take a water bullet?

Peering around my prickly would-be hero, I’m relieved to see yet another person standing in front of Daxian, my hero’s daddy dripping wet from head to toe in his ragged shirt and all the sexier for it. With a throaty growl which echoes over the silent battlefield, GangShu scowls at his ruined clothes and declares, “This one is under my protection, Demon. I’ve been ordered to keep to the Treaty to not escalate the situation, so best you fuck off now.”

Sightless eyes narrowed in rage, Pudge advances a single, step, but GangShu suddenly appears in front of the Demon, standing right up against the shimmering shield of water. “Seems you don’t understand Common, so let’s try a different language.”

GangShu is neither particularly tall nor wide, a lithe man who is broad of shoulder and slim of waist, with a shocking amount of body hair beneath his torn shirt. Arms crossed as he stands in Pudge’s path, he looks like a hairy, petulant child trying to bar the path of a massive adult. As the Demon winds up to punch, I can’t help but wince in anticipation. Even if he’s an Ancestral Beast, the laws of physics still apply, which means –

Jack shit, it seems.

A full-on haymaker hammers home into GangShu’s shoulder and the Ancestral Beast barely shifts, though the wind from the attack is enough to send clumps of wet dirt flying. Rather than a meaty thunk, Pudge’s fist emits a crumpled bang and implodes on impact, the same sound I heard earlier while Daxian was blocking my vision.

So GangShu didn’t put up any fancy Chi shields and just blocked the water bullet with his bare body. Cool. Cool, cool, cool.

Retracting its broken fist, Pudge raises its other arm and lands another haymaker to the same effect. Metallic crumple, broken flesh, Ancestral Beast standing in place. Still unwilling to give up, the Demon leans forward as if intending to swallow GangShu whole, but with a wave of his hand, he sends Pudge flying back to crash into the clustered ranks of Defiled, water shield and all. Rolling to its feet, its shield melts away and gushes out to dissolve the Defiled who’d been pulped by its passing. Before long, the liquefied remains flow back into Pudge’s gullet, though its injuries show no sign of recovering.

Well, that’s one thing to be grateful for. It’s strong, fast, durable, has a shield, multiple whips, and speedy bullets, but at least it doesn’t Heal too quickly.

Ripping Lei Gong’s cane, Tenjin’s daggers, and my sword out of its flesh, Pudge screeches one last time before marching west, reaching decent speeds with its squelching, ponderous stride. Heart pounding and knees weak even though all I did was stand around, my mind blanks as GangShu flashes his charming smile and says, “Well, my part’s done here. I’ll leave the cleanup to you.” Before I can ask him to clarify, the forgotten Defiled horde scream their battle cries and charge across the shrunken pond and trickling river, unfazed by the herculean battle we all just witnessed. Screaming back to calm my nerves, I take up Unity in its axe form and charge into the fray, happy to abandon all thought and kill some Defiled.

If that’s what top tier fights are like, then maybe I’m better off not getting stronger...

Chapter Meme