It wasn’t like the Outsider was subtle. He was pulling in negative energy and all the Death Qi he could to himself, creating a black whirlpool in the sky which turned and began to reach right in our direction in a howling vortex, a congratulatory gift for ridding him of the annoyances of the native undead here.

There were only two light-offs from the undead going up in sacrifice to Aru, but that was still enough for a handful of elite warriors to get laenwork Weapons from them.

One of them was The Mick. He took the ex-Cardinal’s head and blew ruby bloodfire through its deathflaming carcass, which exploded into vivus as the last of its Shroudlink went off. The sheer amount of power rose towards the thick and churning Shroud overhead, pushing it back with the death of the other ex-Bishop a couple hundred meters.

Smior looked like a perfect arc of frozen blood around milk now. Very impressive. The Mick would be able to take it all the way to Zehn Slots...

They all looked at the horizontal tornado coming at us, and then sort of glanced my way.

I stuffed a Spellflare down its throat.

The coruscating comet of jet and silver trailing polyspectral arcs went spiraling down the middle of the incoming vortex, and detonated in a multi-hued explosion, much like a high-grade firework with electrical effects.

Those arcs of wild magic went into the whirling, howling mass of shadows and darkness coming our way.

In slow motion, the tornado pulsed once... and that pulse headed back the way the vortex had come, faster than it had arrived.

Perhaps the Outsider knew it was coming, but there wasn’t anything they could do about it. Their magnificent spell headed right back into them, and on the second pulse, the structure of the spell Flared with magic, and fed back into the Caster.

The BOOM of it going off was like a signal for us, while the earth and sky lit up with a reality-twisting display of magic fed by vivus into a children’s paradise of bubbles and butterflies and fluttery birds and flowers and clouds in all sorts of gentle pastel hues, and some very strange rainbows going every which way, before it all fell down to the ground in many-colored vivus to be Fed to the Land, and incidentally totally cleanse the landscape between us and them.

I really hoped they tried that again. I was sure they had monstrous amounts of Health Qi as a Shroudlord from Outside, some realm where powerful Daoists got to go, but that didn’t mean it enjoyed eating its own backlash.

------

Alas, but no. We proceeded the rest of the distance quite smoothly, as buildings that had been infused with necroic energy crumbled to white dust along our path, erasing the heritage of centuries. That spot of black light grew ever larger, the thousands of undead Cultivators in the air waited patiently for us, and we stepped into Tiananmen Square.

The Old Steed stepped out ahead, his horns up and burning, one blue, one crimson, tinged in white, totally ready to do something messy to these guys.

“” I called out conversationally in the old Daoist language, “”

The undead didn’t flutter, but there was a flaring of more darkness from inside that dark star, and the owner stepped forth.

Ho, my mistake. The Outsider was female.

She was probably beautiful, except her skin was more like chalk than cream, much gaunter than was optimal, her hair looked like she’d slept in a coffin too much (I was looking for spiders in it), and those nails! Nobody needs nails eight inches long unless all you do is claw stuff all day.

Not even Sama did that! (Sama snickered.)

“” she sneered at me. “” she laughed, exuding boundless confidence, while I wondered how to tell her that the cut of her robe really did leave something to be desired, as my sisters and mother and cousins were all on top of it instantly.

“” I sniffed back, and she actually blinked in shock. She was threatening my soul with eternal slavery, and I was mocking her hair? “” She had painted them black. “”

“” she roared, and raised her hands, and the Death Qi gathered to her...

And then a couple thousand Forsaken put their feet down, and charged.

All us fliers knew it was coming, and were prepared, but they were not. Down we fell, as the Purgers charged forwards. Yeah, there was a good two or three hundred yards to cover, but for some people, that wasn’t actually all that much distance.

I blew the spells in my Eldritch Tapestry, Reach Spell letting me do it to everyone I targeted, and suddenly forty people, most of them Shield users, and the rest of them Very Dangerous, doubled in size, got really fast, and headed for the enemy.

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For me, Feather Fall was enough.

The Cultivators weren’t actually hurt by crashing to the ground, it just ate up more of their Qi, couldn’t be even a hundred points on average. What it did do is mess them up as they hit the ground, jolt them, and make spellcasting impossible for a few seconds as they strove to stop their brains from knocking around and regained their focus.

The ones in the lead were naturally Sama and Briggs, both of them twice their normal height and moving with just terrifying speed. Tremble and Endure were Singing and Beating in Tandem as they smashed into the first of the Cultivators, and began to rip into and through them.

Sama took out the first one on the charge, the second one with a crit, Hewed through to kill the third, and didn’t manage to destroy the fourth one.

Okay, in excess of two hundred Health, probably close to three hundred, probably from all that fat Death Qi they were venting desperately. That fact blurred through to everyone, and Valences were dumped, Forms went off, and concentrated fire converged with uncanny coordination. Cultivators were blown from the world as the giant-sized Shield wielders, all of them endowed with Death Wards and Spell Resistance, formed a wall for those behind them from the ranged assaults that were suddenly exploding forth at them.

I just glanced that way, and one of the forty Call Lightnings I’d Cast while softening up the Congregation came falling down from the sky with a sound like a heavenly gong going off. It totally blew the fuck out of one of those undead Cultivators, as well as two others standing too close to one another as they instinctively moved together to take the incoming charges.

Undead Cultivators are Vulnerable to lightning, not fire. +50% damage, baby!

Then ten more Thunderbolts fell on the biggest concentrations of undead, and one more on the Outsider, just to keep things even.

She was getting up from making an impact crater, the stone all reduced to dark slime under her malefic Aura, and simply swung her hand up to manifest a Ward to take the descending stroke with a sneer-

My Spellflare hit her Ward at the same time it came up, and the Thunderbolt came slamming down on her for all the damage.

That was nominally 20 d10’s+7, Topped, and increased +100% by Purity, Blessed, and her own Vulnerability. Holy Metas are soooo nice against their proper opponents. Plus some incidental Kickers, so 700ish damage.

Not only did she not block it and even ate more feedback for trying to do so, she couldn’t evade it. Her scream of disbelief as she took the hit was impressive, but she was a Twenty or something, sucking power from the Shroud, and there’s no way that would kill her.

However, her dark Aura was noticeably dimmer, and she wasn’t restoring it. I smiled as the Blooding didn’t allow her to recoup her Qi, effectively lowering her maximum until the next Renewal and making sure she couldn’t regain it.

Another humorous thing happened when she started to sprint towards me, flashing into motion... and then, along with hundreds of other Cultivators trying the same shit, she went skidding and falling across the ground wildly as their attempts to bend space and try to move laterally to time also didn’t work. Instead of Flash-Stepping here and there and getting into position to flank or attack, they went sprawling as the dimensions didn’t give way, and King Gravity slapped the ground a few hundred times with them as they went sprawling wildly across the bricks out of control.

Seeing she was momentarily discombobulated, I flicked a Shardray sideways, Split it, and drove the two Rays through twenty-six Cultivators. It was quite as effective as the Thunderbolt, of which another one came ringing down from On High, right through the Shroudcloud, to slam the Outsider into the bricks with some more Condemnation for her to eat.

Commander Haru’Ara and the Angelos were both in angelic forms now, both of them wielding Disrupting Holy Weapons. One slash was all it took, and the undead exploded with every swing, regardless of their defenses. Elemental attacks, poisons, Summoned blades/spears/darts/whips/whatever all broke harmlessly against their skin, and their limits were how fast they could reach their next target, and how fast they could swing. Their wings couldn’t keep them aloft, but very much could influence how smoothly they moved and turned, and they worked together with the ease and skill of those with centuries of experience.

On top of that, their Auras prevented spells from flying past them, giving cover to the men coming up behind them. The giant Purgers slammed into the lines, led by the likes of The Mick, who had Blood Lightning Orbs exploding through Smior with every blow; the Windgraf, who was racing about on a whirlwind vortex with complete maneuverability, even if he couldn’t fly; Sir Pellier, who had a Shield up and Lady Florentine in handgun form on nonstop firing, picking an opponent to Smite or leading a dozen shooters behind him in choosing a target to focus on, depending on what was needed.

Father Bower was also playing point for a group of shooters, Burning rounds drawing a line to his target that were promptly followed up by a full volley from those behind him.

Helix had fallen from the sky back down onto his Disk, and was simply shooting as fast as his Windbow allowed, putting out endless arcs of 18d6 arrows with cool precision, also leading for other shooters.

The crashing impact of the reinforced Shields hitting them, combined with the Giant-Sized men actually having massive strength to go with it, naturally shattered the lines of the Cultivators, which weren’t at all solid to begin with. Teams of Melees drove in together, surrounding those who got in close and cutting them down as they moved back and forth between targets, everything being run and guided by Sama and Briggs in combination. The Cultivators found almost nobody just facing them in a fight, but streams of Melee boys moving back and forth around them.

The Dragon Warriors were in their elements. A lot of their pride and competition had been driven out of them in the past few months, and they worked together like oiled machines. Those with softer styles would set the undead Daoists up, defenders would deflect and endure attacks, and the best attackers were given the openings to make themselves look really good. Without the protection and set-up, they wouldn’t have been nearly as effective, and they knew it. Explosions of fire and cold and lightning erupted, spiritual beasts and glowing weapons and hands manifested, bone-crunching impacts slammed this way and that, and Daoists were beaten back and down, exploding as their Qi was exhausted, and blasts of vivus erupted as they died.

Shvaughn/Windwise was laying about with her Claymore, crackling with lightning-oriented Wrath, hurling undead about like toys as her strength overwhelmed them. Of course, for grandiose displays of swordsmanship she still didn’t compare to Sama, who was with Briggs ripping a path through toward the Outsider now getting to her feet. Windwise’s Warlock and personal followers were happy to blow the shit out of anything she Whirlwinded in the meantime, and happy not to go that way.