Ascending a sloping Underworld canyon I burst through dense layers of leaves and trunks, shredding all manner of plant life and sending animals scattering before me in my headlong flight.
The ground shook as a pillar hammered down mere paces behind me, dozens of limbs reaching from its surface to grab at my legs as I hurled myself away.
Hitting the floor once more I rolled through a dense patch of moss and creepers, smashing a large beetle of some sort under my knee as I scrambled upright. Another stain to apologize to Patch for… but first I had to make sure she didn’t die in the raid.
Kicking off again my feet gouged solid rock as though it were sand, propelling me clear of the giant’s second swing.
A third arm was already flying out however, aiming for me mid-leap.
Having just spat out a mouthful of sap and splattering insectoid viscera I had no spell prepared, and nothing to hand to adjust my path.
Gathering essence to my palms I anchored myself by my hands alone, a jolt running through my body as I forced myself to come to a sudden halt, my skin glowing with accumulated energy. Pushing off and timing my release I propelled myself downwards instead, just barely evading the tangled horns and spines of the main arm, and the clutches of its’ smaller tributaries.
Touching down I paused only to tense my legs and anchor once more before I shot myself out horizontally, just in time to escape the tsunami of black, oily sludge the titan vomited down at me.
Running while dodging was becoming an area of some expertise for me, but the calls were getting ever closer.
My mind was wholly dedicated to evasion and sensing obstacles ahead, my thoughts given over to concocting a path through, my senses pushed to the limit in feeling for the essence of monsters, formorian or otherwise, ahead and behind – I had totally lost track of the path I was supposed to be on, simply forging ahead regardless and hoping I would come to Northastr soon, before my mind or body finally reached their limit, and I made a fatal mistake.
It was only as I felt the huge circulation of energy ahead, at the edge of my awareness, that I realized I was approaching my target at last – and I would be upon it in mere seconds. Had I noticed any later I would have run headlong into the barrier with no means ready to break through.
I would have cursed myself for the mistake, but I had no oxygen to spare for that.
Snatching one final breath I began to chant, incanting a spell as I ran and dodged.
Any mistake now, any slip of the tongue or waver of my focus and the intent, and the woven meaning of the supernatural words would unravel – with no time to try again.
Less than a mile out from the gate, I was dimly aware of the perimeter defenses activating, essence moving to power the hydraulic weapons built into the metal barrier and dotted around the canyon ahead.
Had I the mental capacity to spare I might have read their trajectories as I had with the Kajatora, but my own accumulating mana and the need for absolute concentration blurred out the details.
The first cannon fired, a booming crack filling the lush valley as a projectile the size of a utility pole lanced down towards me.
I dodged to one side on pure instinct, but the shot crashed instead into the towering mass of formorians and chitin to my rear.
The wave of relief was so great I almost blew my spell – the defenders were just as frightened of the monster as I was! They might not even have noticed me at all, given the scale of the thing pursuing me.
Lightning cruelly disabused me of that notion.
The white claws raked through plants and beasts alike, ripping all apart with a wash of acrid ozone as they tracked me, crackling and popping with deafening intensity.
Fast as I might be, I couldn’t outrun a thunderbolt, and four branching rivers of arcing electricity converged inexorably upon me as I sprinted towards the gate.
My last thought before they hit me was to wonder if Patch would ever forgive me for destroying her clothes.
~~~
After consuming his gemstone ration and a hearty meal of mushroom stew, coordinator Vurkli of Northastr control had just fallen into a comfortable sleep when there was a chime from his voice crystal.
Groaning, he pulled himself up and reached over to touch the gemstone.
“What is it?” he slurred, voice still hazy from his unexpected awakening.
“W-we need you in the control room! Right away sir!” said assistant Aeja.
“There are no arrivals scheduled, Aeja, and I’m trying to sleep!”
“But we’re picking up a signal, sir!”
That made Vurkli sit upright in bed.
“Identification, assistant?”
“U-uncertain, sir, there’s too much interference, a-and multiple sources, but the signal’s massive! Possible formorian attack!”
“On my way! Sound the alarm and send warning to Northastr proper,” he said, already on his feet, pulling on whatever clothes were to hand in the darkened room.
Gate control was a small complex of chambers, nestled within the metal surround directly above the giant circular gate proper. The control room itself was at the outer edge, with a movable armored shield to cover the windows and protect against attack, but as he arrived Vurkli found that despite multiple warnings blaring the shield was down, the operators clustered around, leaning over their work stations to peer out into the glowing valley below.
“Report!” he barked. “What are we dealing with?!”
Wordlessly, Aeja raised a trembling hand, and pointed down the canyon.
Following her gesture, he crossed to the window and looked out.
For a heartbeat he thought the whole cavern was collapsing, some sort of colossal avalanche of mud and rock and glowing debris flooding uphill towards them, but then his eyes made sense of the sight.
The stalagmites overhead were shattering and crumbling into dust as something plowed through the narrowing space, a shape many times larger than any crawler, bristling with twisted black horns that shone with a foul, spectral essence.
“It can’t be,” he murmured, under his breath.
The thing reared up higher, horns gouging through the rock overhead with ease and he saw the endless nightmare of limbs… the horrendous fusion of bodies into appendages, into musculature… the sickening eyes that shone out to curse all they surveyed.
“Hraekadr….”
“Th-that’s not right, they’re n-not real,” Igg muttered from the corner.
The young Pharyes was trembling, clutching his face, not even noticing the pink lines his nails dragged as he backed away from the window.
Somehow the sight pulled Vurkli to his own senses.
“Everyone back to your posts!” he screamed.
He couldn’t begin to think of hiding his own terror, but he had a job to do, and people counting on him. Forcing his shaking hands onto the controls before him, he started sending a second message to Northastr actual.
“Mother t-told me they’re just a legend, p-put about to scare us,” Igg was moaning.
“Recruit!” Vurkli snapped, “man the weapons, or I’ll feed you to the hraekadr myself!”
If Igg noticed the high pitched, childish tone of his supervisor, the boy said nothing. More importantly, he started activating the bolt launchers.
Aeja and the others had snapped out of their own stupors too, activating systems, silencing alarms and filling the room with the rush of pumping fluids as the gate defenses powered up.
Shots flashed out, beginning with the projectiles as soon as the giant was in range, but the metal spears broke against thick chitin plates or gouged minor pinpricks in the hide of the colossal monstrosity.
“Coordinator! The essence signature’s growing, it’s past anything ever recorded from the Formorians! The reading, it… it can’t be real! Even for a hraekadr!”
The warning wasn’t needed – everyone present could feel the pressure by then, the weight as if they were plunging underwater, their bodies heavy, their bones throbbing in resonant pain.
“No, n-not like this, no…,” Igg whimpered, “the system’s overloading! This can’t be real! It’s… it’s all just a nightmare!”
“Locate it! Find the source!” Vurkli barked, even as his own outputs went haywire.
“Source is approaching rapidly!” Aeja confirmed. “Can’t get a fix! It must be massive!”
Looking up from his controls Vurkli searched for some explanation, for a blinding eruption of mana capable of overloading their systems – a mythical titan beyond the horrors of even the hraekadr.
There.
With such dense, oppressive essence surging from it the thing was unidentifiable to his eyes, but the blurred shape was accelerating towards them at terrifying speed, wreathed in arcing and pulsing energy.
It was tiny, smaller than a Skidbladnir, only around the size of a footsoldier, yet a single glance filled Coordinator Vurkli with dark, coiling dread, clutching at his heart and squeezing the air from his chest.
“F-fire! Fire everything!” he howled, pointing down towards the thing. “Destroy it!”
All four of the arc cannons converged on the target and there was a blinding flash.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
For a moment Vurkli felt relieved. They might face attack, even death, but the unknown monster was destroyed – they would at least stand a chance.
Yet somehow the awful pressure persisted, grew even.
Then his vision caught up with the scene outside the control room.
The hraekadr was smoking, quivering in rage and pain from the blackened burn around its chest and second set of arms, yet the tiny figure they had targeted appeared entirely unharmed!
Far from being destroyed, it was charging towards the gate, wreathed in white-hot tongues like jagged flame. It commanded lightning of its own.
Despite the sustained fire of all weapons the gate possessed the monstrosity kept coming – the thing moved with impossible arcs and enormous bounds, somehow jumping or pushing off thin air, abruptly killing it’s momentum at unexpected moments only to hurtle forwards once again, as if all sense of physics were a mere joke to it.
“This isn’t happening,” Igg was chanting, even as he worked the guns. “It’s impossible, it can’t be….”
Vurkli was starting to agree with him.
~~~
Channeling lightning through my body felt deeply unpleasant – as if some alien substance were surging and boiling through and over me – but seeing the smoldering wound I’d blasted into my pursuer it was hard to argue with the results.
The injury was little more than cosmetic to a behemoth like that, but the pain and shock had been effective in slowing its pursuit – a godsend given the circumstances.
It had only been possible thanks to my own modified lightning magic, already being charged, and a last moment, desperate attempt to use the magic in a new way; adjusting the flow of my electrified mana to let the spell act like a lightning rod, channeling the incoming energy harmlessly away. I even still had my hair and eyebrows for once.
But there was no time to revel in this triumph of… moderate essence control. Already the other weapons of the gate were redirecting their fire from the formorians to myself, huge bursts of screaming fire and giant projectiles added to the ear-splitting galvanic blasts.
It took everything I had to evade them, but I only needed to last a few moments more.
Rock and earth were pulverized to dust as I swam as much as sprinted forward through the exploding chaos birthed by the storm of fire, all the while charging my spell to the limits of my power.
Another vast surge of charge arced out to strike me, and once more I flowed with the attack, guiding rather than resisting, channeling the lightning bolt from one hand around to the other, then out to return to the source.
A lightning weapon built into the gate exploded in an instant.
But it was only a pockmark in that huge face. The gate was a colossal structure, so vast multiple crawlers could traverse it abreast, forged of the densest and hardest armor plating.
Mere yards from the surface, I leapt up towards the centre of the impenetrable wall.
My leg tensed, my body coiled as I hurtled towards the sheer plane, focusing all the accumulated essence into a point.
Hammering into the surface I kicked with all my power, releasing the spell and anchoring myself with both hands.
White lightning exploded out all around me, drowning out my own scream and obliterating metal into plasma, the force of my strike shattering layer after layer even as the magic bored through them, blinding fangs curving out in all directions to gouge and shred everything about me!
Throwing myself forward I passed unharmed through the molten wound punched through the heart of the gate, untouched by the electricity that had wrought such devastation.
In a flash I passed by the inner defenses too, past the docking bay and the swarming golems, and out of the metal cylinder like a lock in the bedrock wall, leaving it all behind before the defenders could react.
Northastr itself was no more than a few miles away now.
~~~
Interminable as all formal diplomatic events were, Colonel Malmr’s welcome party was at long last wrapping up, with insincere thanks and compliments being exchanged and promises of future engagements made to be broken. In some few minutes Lord Uldmar and his people would be free to return to their rooms – and then on to their Skidbladnir to prepare for the coming attack.
Uldmar could only hope the delay wouldn’t prove as deleterious to the plan as it had his mood.
Hlesey was still nowhere to be found as the others were gathering to bid their host a sound wheel, but he assured himself once again that the man couldn’t mean to betray them. No matter what Idavoll might have feared, her concerns were paranoia. He knew his companions too well to be so easily misled, and there were none among them so disloyal.
That still put them down one of their three ancestral Skidbladnir however.
“My thanks again for your company, Lord Uldmar,” Malmr was saying, “shall I have my aide escort your party to the guest quarters? Northastr is a large installation after all….”
“Guidance will not be required,” Uldmar responded firmly.
At that the colonel moved away, on to try his luck one last time at ingratiation with Idavoll.
A cold, crystal chime cut through the murmur of the warm room.
The officers were alert in an instant, despite being well sedated by wine and rich delicacies.
“Colonel Malmr,” came a voice from the gem by the door. “Please respond, sir!”
The man crossed quickly to the voice gem and conversed in hushed tones to the speaker.
Idavoll caught Uldmar’s eye, and the two shared a minute nod.
Neither could hear the words exchanged, but the tone was grave and hurried.
“Officers on duty, return to your posts at once!” Malmr barked.
“Well, you will excuse us,” Uldmar said, moving past the remaining guests.
Given the alarm still sounding, no-one seemed interested in stopping the cadre of nobles as they moved towards the exit.
“Lord Uldmar! A moment please!”
Malmr’s tone was raised, insistent rather than deferential.
Uldmar stopped, turning with a weary look back towards the colonel.
“My Lord, I believe you were… certain that your Captain Beyla had eluded the Formorians, and that no attack was imminent, despite the warning message we received.”
The challenge in his tone was obvious, but Uldmar feigned ignorance.
“Indeed so. Is there a problem, Colonel?”
“Gate 8 just sent an urgent message to control; Formorian attack.”
The nobleman ignored the officer’s accusatory tone entirely as he gave a light nod.
“Unfortunate news, although within expectations for a frontier fortress such as Northastr I should imagine. Will you require assistance in the defense of your post?”
Malmr’s already pink cheeks reddened at the prick to his ego, but the jab succeeded in deflecting the glimmer of suspicion formerly playing around the man’s eyes.
“Not at this time, My Lord, I-”
A second chime was struck, louder and harsher, the plain greens of the base lighting flashing a deep, bloody crimson as the piercing note rose urgently.
It was the warning for a critical threat, one imperiling the very lives of all within the fortress.
Malmr was already rushing back to the voice gem, while the other officers piled out of the room, heading back to their posts as fast as their varyingly inebriated legs would carry them.
Uldmar’s people joined the flow, making for the door furthest from the colonel, however once more they were stopped.
“My Lord!”
Malmr spoke breathlessly now, having run the length of the room after them.
“The Formorians are coming! Please, get your entourage to their Skidbladnir at once!”
“What is the meaning of his, Colonel?” Idavoll asked, her manner as haughty as ever it could be. “A moment ago you were confident you had no need of our assistance!”
“The report,” he said, coughing as he spoke. “Ah, it’s… they’re reporting a horde thousands strong, perhaps more, led by… a hraekadr!”
Idavoll’s gasp was no act.
Nor were the murmurings of dismay from the others.
“Are you certain of this?” Uldmar asked. “The Formorians have not deployed one in decades!”
“The readings are clear,” the colonel replied, his hands gasping and clenching at nothing as he spoke. “The energy readings are unprecedented too, it… it must be far larger than previous hraekadr! I-I must go now, but please, get to your Skidbladnir – even with the reinforcements, the base may be breached by an attack of this size!”
As the colonel ran off the nobles were left alone in the room, swapping stunned glances.
“How could… did she really lure out a hraekadr?” Idavoll murmured under her breath.
No-one had an answer for her, but somehow as short as their association had been, Uldmar found it to be entirely in keeping with what he knew of the strange and frightening organism which called herself Safkhet.
The run to the Skidbladnir bay was silent save for the alarms, but once they reached their machines and established voice communication the standard back and forth began, each member of the team making their vehicle ready to deploy.
Lord Uldmar was back in Gres-Jarn, thanks to the dedicated work of Ivaldi’s team, however while his precious heirloom weapon was fully repaired it lacked the broken spear and cutting wires Safkhet had so thoughtlessly destroyed. Ivaldi assured him they could be restored, but not with the time or parts which had been to hand.
He felt oddly exposed without them, but Gres-Jarn was still well equipped for battle. More painful was Hlesey’s absence. The foolish young noble must still be cavorting with his ‘friend’, or more likely passed out drunk on her bed. They would have to have words about the matter later, if they were both still alive when the time came.
Idavoll was by his side at least, her own machine Rikvidjur back to full working order, it’s operator stalwart as always in her support, despite her fears.
Uldmar shook his head once more. There was simply no possibility that the traitor was one of his own.
Regardless, they had work to do.
Setting off, the group deployed from the habitable lower levels of the fortress, emerging up into the higher dock level and the disciplined chaos of golems, Varangians and crawlers all preparing for battle.
“Will the golems really be ready?” asked Slettr. “Can Ivaldi really do all that alone?”
Lord Uldmar would have liked to remind the boy that their voice transmissions could be intercepted and decoded, but the chances of that during the chaos of an urgent rush to defend the fortress were functionally nil. Rather, it was the unwelcome reminder of his own doubts which irked him.
“The Chief Aulogemscire has thoroughly proven his courage and intelligence,” he replied as they drove through the docks. “We can trust him to accomplish his task – instead focus on ensuring you do not fail in your own role.”
Had anyone been watching them closely they would have found it strange that the group of noble visitors who had been quite willing to volunteer their Skidbladnir for the protection of Northastr were moving against the flow. Rather than running towards the docking bay gates they moved towards the ramps up to the top levels, where the holding cells were located, overfilled with captives from all over the Harpy Empire.
Fortunately no-one was looking anywhere but towards the source of that awful, oppressive aura, radiating out from the approaching enemies. Even at that distance, Uldmar could feel Safkhet without looking at the measurements from his Skidbladnir.
The monster had gotten even more powerful.
But that made her and the formorians the perfect distraction.
They took the ramp up unchallenged, but at the top a detachment of Triskelions awaited them, surrounding the exit. Their weapons turned to face the nobles as they lurched to a halt.
Could Ivaldi have been caught after all, or have failed to reach the golem core? Scant choice had been available in who to send, yet all the same, perhaps it had been a mistake….
Both seemed like very real dangers. Once more Lord Uldmar regretted entrusting so much to near strangers and aulogemscires with no experience of warfare… but as he stepped forward the machines parted way for them.
The golems fell in line as they moved into the access corridors, and he breathed a muted sigh of relief.
While they were far smaller than the cavernous docks below each passageway was sized for crawler traffic, branching out to access various storage areas, depots, mechanical and aulogemscic substations and other low-priority locations undeserving of space on the prized lower floors.
Most defenders were already down in the docks or deploying outside the fortress, giving the team a relatively clear path to the cells.
Ivaldi’s manipulated golems were spreading out as they progressed, footsoldiers and more Triskelions appearing from side areas as they went, deploying into a perimeter force to block off the path behind them.
Anyone who tried to enter this part of the base would be informed that the defenses ahead had been breached and the defenders were withdrawing. They would be instructed to pull back to the critical areas.
It was just as he reflected on how well things were going that a tremor shook the fortress around them, fresh alarms sounding as a terrible boom resounded through the structure of the base, the gemstones dimming overhead.
It wasn’t only Safkhet’s essence they could detect now. The titanic formorian’s power was unmistakable too.
“They’re here,” whispered one voice.
A moment later a greater quake made Uldmar’s steps falter, minute particles of metal and dust falling from the seams in the ceiling overhead.
“It… it really is a hraekadr, isn’t it?”
“Will they be alright? The Varangians I mean,” asked another. “Even with the reinforcements, can the fortress really stop a horde of thousands, led by a hraekadr?”
“We don’t have to worry about that,” Idavoll reminded the frightened young nobles. “The fortress is well defended.”
“Naturally,” Uldmar said.
The worries of the others echoed Uldmar’s own concerns, but he didn’t allow his anxiety to alter his tone.
“Focus now. They have their battle as we have our own.”
Up ahead the first obstacle was already visible; a team of four Varangians in their production Skidbladnir, along with more Triskelions and footsoldiers, stationed at a crossroads between two of the largest passages, where heavy mechanized doors sealed shut the arterial routes to compartmentalize any intrusions which might occur.
“Lord Uldmar?” asked the officer as they approached.
It was no wonder that the squad leader sounded confused – young lords and ladies from the Deephold had little reason to wander up to the top levels of the fortress, especially during an emergency.
“Report!” he demanded.
Varangians weren’t to be intimidated or browbeaten, but even they could be confused – and bore an appropriate respect for their betters. In particular those of royal blood.
“Sir, no sign of seismic activity in this sector,” the man said at once.
That was excellent. Lord Uldmar had always believed that in such situations it was important to establish authority immediately.
“Are you here to assist us in the defense, Lord Uldmar?” the lead Varangian asked, as Uldmar and his followers gathered around them.
“We have reason to believe that there may be an intrusion in the vicinity of the holding cells. Colonel Malmr personally requested we provide assistance, to ensure the captives aren’t harmed.”
“Yes Sir,” the Varangian replied. “I’ll inform control you’ve arrived right away.”
“Now!”
Gres-Jarn’s twin arm-blades hissed out as Uldmar struck, with all the speed and power of an ancestral weapon, but even caught off guard the Varangian stopped the blow with the shaft of his spear.
He never saw Rikvidjur’s glaive behind him however.
With the precision of an aulogemscire Idavoll drove the relic weapon through the chest of the machine, the humming blade slicing through armor with frightening ease, penetrating just below the cockpit to sever the core connections and disable the vehicle.
As it fell the other Varangians were under attack too, each shocked by the lack of reaction by their mechanical servants and overwhelmed by the enemies they had unknowingly allowed surround them. There was no need for Gres-Jarn and Rikvidjur to join the fighting – it was already over.
“Did they get off a voice message?” Idavoll asked.
“No sign of it.”
The officer’s cockpit opened with a weak hiss, the man having to push the hatch with both hands as the pistons bled out rapidly.
“What… what are you doing?! What’s wrong with the golems?!” the man asked, looking up furiously at the nobles towering over him. “Who are you? Where is the real Lord Uldmar?!”
“Lock them into the nearest store room – we lack the time to bind or disable them further,” Uldmar ordered, ignoring the question.
With that done they were on the move again.
The base around them trembled, floors shaking and lights dimming as huge impacts reverberated through the bedrock all around.
Racing through the corridors leading to the cells, Uldmar’s heart was racing too, as they neared the entrance to the prisoner control room, and the cells beyond.
It was traditional that prisoners be held suspended above their captors, their ignominious exposed elevation a mark of their shame, however military fortifications such as Northastr yielded to pragmatism, and placed the guards in the ignoble position of overlooking the chambers in which their captives were confined. As such the control room was near the very top of Northastr, one of the most exposed areas of the base, closer than anywhere else to the surface and the heart of the Formorian Wilds where no Pharyes dared venture without an army at their back.
Little wonder that to the Varangians it was an ignominious posting, however they would never complain, or indeed voice anything but pleasure that they could serve the King. No, they would be as alert and guarded as those on the front lines, and they would certainly never allow anyone into the prisoner containment area during an attack on the fortress.
“Voice check.”
In response to their leader’s command each of the young nobles sounded off in turn.
It felt strange not hearing Hlesey’s voice after Idavoll, but he wasn’t the only one missing – they had lost multiple Skidbladnir during their tumultuous journey, and they might well be about to lose more.
This time the pilots might not get to sit out future battles in the safety of the crawler either.
With the mirror-sheen of his blade Uldmar dared a brief look around the corner at the forces awaiting them.
There were multiple golems to be seen, but Ivaldi had performed his task admirably – they wouldn’t interfere. That just left the duo in charge.
“Two Varangians at the door. The gemstone panel is on the left. Idavoll, secure the door controls. Your team shall take the left target, mine the right. Remember, we must breach the chamber immediately; there will be mere seconds before the squad inside realizes the situation and raises the alarm.”
After a moment to receive the confirmation that all knew their role, they rounded the final corner.
Sprinting towards the shocked Varangian duo in their production machines the two ancestral and nine production weapons must have been as intimidating sight, but the soldiers were undaunted, both unleashing an immediate barrage of electricity.
At the fore, Gres-Jarn and Rikvidjur met the assault with their own lightning gems, catching the crackling bolts in their palms.
Arcing tongues of excess energy raked his Skidbladnir, bespoiling the elegant inlay of his armor and setting off alerts within his cockpit.
Uldmar ignored the warnings as he closed with his foe, blades humming as they bit into the lesser weapons of the mass-built opponent.
The pilot was quick to react, pulling back their sword before Uldmar could sever it, covering the opening with a plume of emerald flame that seared the headpiece and detectors of Gres-Jarn.
Uldmar pushed through the scorching blaze, even as the heat warnings became dire, and with his greater bulk and power slammed the smaller machine back into the wall.
The flames were forced away from his vision.
Freeing an arm the Varangian brought their sword up to target the core in his middle chest, but Uldmar was already driving his own blade deep into theirs.
The enemy fell with a hissing gurgle.
That just left the door, and the charge into the control room itself.
But something was wrong.
There were panicked voices in his ears, and a struggle still occurring on the far side of the corridor.
That was when the scream of the alarms filled the air, the lights flashing red anew overhead.
Idavoll must have failed to keep her opponent from hitting the emergency alarm.
Through the chaos he saw her, standing by the panel even as their followers were still battling the surviving Varangian machine.
Her Skidbladnir’s hand lay upon the alarm switch.