VI
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Arc VI Chapter 22
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Anno Imperii 05.08.1936
Aurora jumped. A leap into the unknown. Such was her path. Propelled by the strength of her mana, Aurora hurled herself forwards, defying the forces of gravity. Time slowed. Airborne, midair, her body floated for a fraction of a second before plummeting like a stone. Her back straightened, Aurora plunged, diving headlong into the safety of the enemy trench.
Maintaining her balance, Aurora landed with all the grace befitting her. Her boots touched the ground first, her leather soles tasting the rich soil below. The soft earth beneath cushioned her impact, her boots compressing the loose soil. Her magic accompanied her, her shield and sword.
Glimmers of purple mana enshrouded her figure. Her magic field extended, summoning the forces from within her. Particles of mana shimmered, sparkling in the sun. A fine purple mist, an aerosol, permeated the air, spreading in every direction. Her mana saturated her surroundings, manifesting, its strength rising explosively, exponentially. Higher and higher before reaching critical levels. Her mana was armed and ready.
Her adversaries had been awaiting her, their bayonets far too eager. A hostile trench was never your friend. A temporary home perhaps, but never your friend. Her adversaries lay hidden. They lurked, protected by layers of sand and earth, dug in behind barbed wire and reinforced concrete. They erred. None of it would protect them. The trench would be cleared, and if by force.
A hexagonal magic circle lit up under her feet, glyphs, inscriptions, signs, lines glowing purple, their brilliance illuminating the day. Her formula guided her mana, channelling her magic in a fraction of a moment, in an instant. Chantless, of course. A mere thought, a mere command sufficed. Spell speed was essential, but so was control. As Father had taught her, not a shred of mana should go wasted. It was a lesson that he had drilled into her.
Strength. Precision. Perfection. Not even the smallest margin of error was permitted. Her magic was supposed to be the work of perfection, flawless, immaculate. Her magic would deliver.
The moment her boots touched the ground, the mana surrounding her coalesced, solidified. Charged to the brim, a single spark proved sufficient. The effect was immediate and the result devastating. Her aerosol ignited. Oxygen and mana intermixed. The cataclysmic explosion set the air ablaze with fury and fire. The detonation shook the very foundations of the earth, the blast pulverising the entire trench line. Her flare illuminated the sky. The shockwave reverberated through the entire training ground. The heat scorched everything in her surroundings. A plume of smoke rose, covering her further advance.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
As expected, her spell produced the desired results. By her standards, it was one of minor potency, mostly intended for tactical use designed to suppress rather than destroy. It was an approach that Father had recommended based on his experience during the war. A spell blunt like a sledgehammer, yet carefully calibrated and controlled. Disproportionate use of force on her part had been strongly discouraged. Father would scold her if anyone got seriously hurt just because of a training exercise. Losses in terms of matériel were, although regrettable, acceptable. Losses in terms of personnel, significantly less so.
Aurora gripped her sword, continuing to advance. The explosion might have rattled the defenders, disrupting them, but not for long. Her friends were shaken, yet they were quick to regain their wits. Trained and drilled as they were, it took more than a little bit of ordnance to make them keep their heads down.
The angry shouts of officers and sergeants erupted from everywhere. They cursed, swore, cussed, as they whipped their men into shape. Her adversaries reorganised and reformed. Time was of the essence.
Aurora moved swiftly, racing through the trenches. Her objective was her primary target, the flag. Her senses monitored her surroundings, scanning for the enemy. For very good reasons. They had located her.
Her shielding flared up, sparkles of purple blocking the incoming rounds. The bullets flew, cutting through the air. The machine guns opened fire, taking her once again under crossfire from every direction. Left. Half left. Ahead. Half right. Right. Hardened steel core. Furthermore, structurally enhanced and reinforced to increase force, speed and penetration. It was the work of magic. Lingering traces of mana left little doubt.
Undeterred, Aurora pressed onwards, around the corner, the trench providing a certain degree of cover. It did not take long for the first group of soldiers to greet her, their bayonets sharpened and their rifles, submachine guns, grenades and spells readied. More or less, 50 men in total.
The mages among them were already busy casting an entire array of spells, trying to fillet her. How nice of them.
Their formulas and glyphs were glowing. A dozen magic circles were aimed at her. Lightning. Fire. Darkness. The usual assortment of offensive elements. Their spells unleashed their power. Their barrage commenced. Bolts of lightning, bolts of heated plasma condensed into an infinite number of projectiles. Streams of devouring darkness. The beams converged on her, perfectly synchronised, the barrage saturating the entire area around her. They had chosen saturation over accuracy, leaving her no possible escape. Or so they hoped.
Aurora had anticipated their intentions. The projectiles had been identified, and so had been their respective vectors. Compared to when being hammered by heavy FlaK with velocities of 800m/s and above, calculating the trajectory of a handful of spells hardly proved a challenge. They were far too easy to predict, even on point blank. There were gaps in their firing pattern.
“...” Aurora moved, dodged, evaded. Her body slipped through the volley of spells, the bolts of plasma cutting past her, missing her precious little head, nearly grazing her cherished silken hair in the process. At times, being a girl of petite stature had its advantages. Each spell missed, which allowed her to close the distance. Her adversaries trained their guns on her, their index fingers on their triggers. Unfortunately for them, it was already too late. Their line of fire was blocked. She was already in melee range.
The first grenadiers and sergeants charged at her, full of vigour, their bayonets, daggers and spades drawn. They opted for a frontal assault. Too predictable, too formulaic, but their options were admittedly limited. Her adversaries were not blessed with the gifts of magic her bloodline provided her with. Their movements were sluggish. Their speed slow. Yet both were only far too human. Father was right. It was just as he had always said, they were not like her. Few were.
Aurora sidestepped, making her first victim hit nothing but through empty air. Her counterattack followed swiftly. Gripping the unsharpened ricasso of her blade, Aurora drove the metal hilt straight into his guts with the full potency of her mana enhanced strength. Though hardly lethal, it was most certainly a painful lesson. The poor sod gasped, a grunt of numb pain escaping his lips. The man staggered, before going down for good. Her first adversary was dispatched. More were about to follow.
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