War of Drekis, Rearmed - Chapter 8: Inevitable Storm

[Justin Law]

Chapter 8: Inevitable Storm

 

Segment 99: Tiara's Search

On day one of Tiara’s assignment, the acolyte initially took to combing New Xaelis street by street, block by block as she took to the city skyline to glide from one building to another. From her elevated position, the disciple of the Powers That Be scanned the passing crowds with her keen eyes, trying to spot someone who matched the physical descriptions of Timothy Shinestar given to her by Maya – hours flew by without Tiara getting any results to show for her effort. 

‘This is getting me nowhere,’ the acolyte of the Powers That Be thought on the afternoon of her second day, during a short break as she sat on the head of a gargoyle adorning an Art Deco styled skyscraper, her legs dangling idly as the lavender-haired maiden munched on a kimbap she’d purchased from a street food stall minutes prior – even during her break, Tiara remained alert as a hawk as her eyes continued to scan the streets below her, observing every pedestrian in case someone who matched the physical description of Tim showed up. 

Tiara glided back down to street level at the end of her break, having come to the conclusion that trying to spot Tim among the crowd was an exercise in futility. ‘If he's being posted to New Xaelis as an operative from a heroic institution such as the SLJ, then perhaps I should ask the local authorities,’ she thought as she disposed of her food wrapper in a trash bin and headed towards a nearby police station.

“That went about as well as I expected,” Moments later, Tiara stepped out of the police station with a dejected sigh – her enquiries yielded no satisfactory answers. Not one to dwell on her failures, Tiara checked into one of the city’s cyber cafes. The acolyte spent hours laboriously combing the websites of New Xaelis’ various municipal services, going through hospital records, tax statements, trying to look for something, anything, that could point her in the direction of Timothy Shinestar. The digital approach proved no more productive than her earlier attempts, until she tried searching on various social media sites for Timothy Shinestar’s profile. 

It didn’t take her long before she came across an account belonging to the young man she was looking for, and the profile picture matches the physical description provided by Maya – there was no mistaking the silvery-gray hair and bright turquoise eyes. But most telling were recent updates made to the profile by the owner. Most salient of all was one made several days ago, geo-tagged at Araelgrad with a statement declaring, “Guess who made it into the Sentinels of Liberty and Justice today?” accompanied with an animated GIF of a 3D SLJ icon doing a majestic slow spin. 

Tiara’s violet eyes flared wide as she scrolled further down, reaching the latest update that was timestamped a few hours ago a jubilant declaration from Tim, “It’s been a long journey chasing my childhood dream, but becoming a Sentinel isn’t the end… it’s only the beginning. New Xaelis will be the crucible where legends are forged, wish me luck. Thanks to everyone who’d believed in me and stood by me every step of the way!” 

“Now that’s what I call progress… finally,” Tiara monologued with a weary smile as she finished her iced caramel macchiato, relieved that she no longer needed to spend any more time inside the cramped confines of the cybercafe. Footing the bill at the counter, the disciple of the Powers That Be left the premises and stepped out into the open. Feeling the open air wash over her body and caress her face after hours of being cooped up within a gaming cubicle made Tiara tingle with joy that bordered on euphoria. “Next order of business, the SLJ branch,” the lavender-haired maiden smoothed out the creases on her coat and skirt as she proceeded to her next destination. She figured her next order of business was to ask around at the local branch of the Sentinels. 

Tiara stepped into the reception lobby of New Xaelis’ SLJ branch, the soles of her boots making a faint rubbing sound against the polished marble tiles of the floor as she made her way to the nearest service counter, staffed by a female Sentinel – a human woman in her twenties who presented the image of an immaculate professional, her silken black hair styled in a prim and proper ponytail, and garbed in a press-ironed white and lavender SLJ duty dress uniform and necktie. The Sentinel smiled as the disciple of the Powers approached, addressing her with clinical cordiality. “Welcome to the Sentinels of Liberty and Justice, miss. How may I be of service?”

“I’m looking for a specific Sentinel,” Tiara replied as her amethyst-violet eyes met the other woman’s sapphire-blue eyes, “I’m wondering if you could help with that?” the lavender-haired maiden smiled as the fingers of her left hand tapped gently against the polished marble counter top.

“My apologies, miss,” the Sentinel receptionist gave her black-haired head an empathetic shake, “What you requested is classified Sentinels information that I am not at liberty to disclose to civilians.”

“Is it possible to at least share if Timothy Shinestar is among the Sentinels serving in the New Xaelis branch of the SLJ though?” Tiara asked, maintaining a friendly and cordial tone – neither forceful nor imploring. “We’re old classmates from middle school, and it’s only recently that I got back in touch with him over social media…” the lavender-haired acolyte knew that it was a lie, but if she couldn’t get information about Tim through a professional enquiry, part of her wondered if taking a more intimate approach might work.

“I… I think I could make a special case then,” the female Sentinel remarked, the silence of the lobby broken by the faint tapping of fingers striking a computer keyboard. It only took her seconds to bring up information on Timothy Shinestar, although to Tiara it felt like an eternity. The black-haired woman’s eyes beamed with triumph as she located what Tiara was looking for, “Timothy Shinestar, Sentinel Grade C, he’s officially posted to New Xaelis as of today, except…” the receptionist’s voice trailed off.

“...Except?” Tiara folded her arms and raised an eyebrow. The female Sentinel’s voice trailing off was a cue for the acolyte to suspect that things weren’t going to be as straightforward as she’d hoped.

“He’s not technically assigned to the New Xaelis SLJ,” the Sentinels receptionist clarified, looking up from her computer monitor at Tiara. “Due to reports of Drekis legions advancing through the Greater New Xaelis region towards the city proper, all recent Sentinel postings to New Xaelis have not been to our local SLJ branch, but as part of a joint defense force with the Khazan Armed Forces tasked with defending the capital.” 

“So if he’s not in the local SLJ branch, where in New Xaelis can I find him then?” Tiara asked.

The Sentinels receptionist tapped lightly on her chin in a fleeting moment of deep thought, before addressing Tiara in a solemn tone, “There’s one place past the outskirts of New Xaelis – it’s the largest military installation in Xaelon, Fort Abdiel – but as a military base it’s off-limits to the public.”

‘Fort Abdiel, of course…’ The lavender-haired acolyte thought, realising how it made perfect sense. The latest news to make the airwaves had been about how a Drekis legion of unprecedented size had been steadily sweeping through the Greater New Xaelis region in the direction of the Xaelonian capital. No doubt both Khazan Armed Forces and SLJ assets would be using Fort Abdiel as a mustering point to plan and coordinate the defense of New Xaelis. As if to confirm Tiara’s theories, the acolyte’s eyes wandered to a holography display terminal showing the latest newsflash about “Operation Walshin Shield”, where the Fort Abdiel reinforcements were shown in the midst of mobilising for deployment to the sprawling plains west of the capital known as the Fields of Walshin, to join a formidable defensive line that would meet the incoming horde.

Tiara’s eyes narrowed as she stayed to watch the newsreel, going through footages on the ongoing mobilisation; airships docked at the military airstrips to allow soldiers and ground vehicles to disembark, mechanics and logistics officers conducting inspections on mechanised forces and supplies, and a quick interview with the commanding officer of the Xaelon theatre of operations, Major General Percival Yang – a rugged-looking, square-jawed man with a crew cut, clad in an olive green and tan coloured dress uniform of the Khazan Armed Forces, the general giving the reporters a run-down of Operation Walshin Shield, where a defensive network of bulwarks, gun emplacements and trenches reminiscent of the Maginot Line had been created.

Before the newsfeed cut out to a different story, the lavender-haired maiden was treated to an aerial drone footage of trucks, mechs, tanks, AFVs, self-propelled guns and other military vehicles in a massive convoy stretching as far as the eye can see leaving Fort Abdiel’s grounds. There was no question where this kilometres-long convoy was headed. ‘The Fields of Walshin, of course… a major battle is going to start soon, perhaps it is on the frontlines of Walshin that I must continue my search,’  Tiara thought, knowing that what might be the largest battle on Greater Khazan to date was about to be fought to the west of New Xaelis, and that Timothy Shinestar would be among the many soldiers and heroes sent to defend the capital. “Thanks for your assistance,” the acolyte remarked as she walked out of the SLJ branch and as soon as she was outdoors, rode off into the sky on a gust of wind in the direction of Fort Abdiel.

 

Segment 100: The Pact Essentia

The strong winds of Khazan’s upper atmosphere howled like a host of tormented souls as Devyn Soyokaze stepped onto an open-air observation deck – one of many perched on the upper levels of the Fallen Tower as the levitating landmass the tower was situated on drifted above Khazan’s surface, at this extreme altitude, he was able to make out the shape of Greater Khazan’s coastlines. A quick glance on the screen of a tablet held in his hands showed that the Fallen Island was currently travelling over the ocean, north of the state-kingdom of Cretalia and charting a course towards Khazan City.

It was in the aftermath of the Fallen Council meeting with himself, Zalrafel, and Kaas that a consensus was reached – that they would propose a truce with the Sentinels of Liberty and Justice in Khazan City itself on the grounds that the Drekis Empire was as much an enemy to the Fallen as it was an enemy to the Sentinels, and as the old saying went, “the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

What the three councilmen of The Fallen weren’t able to reach an agreement on was how to approach their historical adversary. The Twilight Dancer himself was in favour of playing the rational self-interest card by proposing an alliance of convenience; Zalrafel on the other hand favoured handling the negotiations like a protection racket, with The Fallen offering to fight by the Sentinels’ side on the frontline in exchange for concessions from the Central Government. Either way, an unholy alliance with the Sentinels would present a unique opportunity for The Fallen to learn about the SLJ’s strengths and weaknesses in a way that would never be possible under regular circumstances.

As Devyn’s thoughts dwelled on what Kaas had shared with them on what he knew about Drekis during the earlier meeting, it was clear to the Twilight Dancer that this was something that had to be done regarding this looming threat.

Devyn’s sharp eyes picked up dark shadows darting through the white masses as the Fallen Island drifted over a sea of clouds, keeping pace with the floating landmass. There was no room for doubt in his mind that they were the Drekis Empire’s Bio-Fighters, spying on Fallen Island by shadowing it in flight. “Pathetic… did these biomechanoids think they could hide their presence from me?” Devyn remarked under his breath as a mocking smirk crossed his lips. He had to give the enemy credit for trying though – flying at subsonic speed to stay silent, and using the clouds as cover. But alas, to a master of the Secret Dance such as himself, even the slightest movements through the air creates a rhythm that he could perceive with ease.

“Felt their presence too, did you?” Zalrafel’s voice alerted Devyn to the fact that the fallen angel has joined him on the observation deck, but the Twilight Dancer’s gaze remained fixed on the sky even as Zalrafel stood by his side, leaning forward to rest his forearms against the handrails, the wind causing locks of his voluminous white hair to flap like war banners.

Devyn acknowledged Zalrafel with a nod and a sly smirk, “That I did, seems the Drekis Empire has been paying attention to our activities just as we have to theirs.” Without warning, the Bio-Fighters decelerated in their flight to allow the Fallen Island to fly ahead of them, before breaking off into smaller groups and flying away in different directions, vanishing beneath the cloud cover. The Twilight Dancer wondered if this was because they’d completed their task, or because they realised that The Fallen had become aware of their presence. 

“Nothing but lowly pawns,” Zalrafel noted, hardly a flicker of emotion in his voice as he watched the biomechanoids fade from view. “Intelligence reports note that they are fully combat-capable, although they would not stand a chance against the tower’s defenses had they attacked. No doubt they were on a reconnaissance flight… spying on us.”

“You understand the implications, don’t you?” Devyn shot a glance in Zalrafel's direction, trying to read the fallen angel’s expression. 

“That was a rhetorical question, isn’t it?” The fallen angel closed his eyes and bowed his head in contemplation, a chuckle escaping his lips. There was no reason for him to think Devyn didn’t know something that was obvious to the two of them. “But I shall humour you nonetheless, Mr. Soyokaze,” Zalrafel remarked as he looked down at Khazan’s surface with a disdainful sneer. “Drekis regards us as a threat – the fact his thralls are spying on us means he has plans to strike at The Fallen before setting his sights on Khazan Prime.”

“My thoughts exactly, Zalrafel; great minds certainly think alike,” Devyn steepled the fingers of his white-gloved hands – it was indeed a rhetorical question as the fallen angel had guessed. “Those biomechanoids did more than just visually survey Fallen Island and the tower; the Void detected the presence of powerful scrying magics – they are not only trying to get a lay of the land, but also to probe the defenses of the tower and the surrounding island. It’s like they fear the terrain more than the Fallen themselves.”

“They will have every reason to,” Zalrafel stretched out his right hand, fingers splayed as if to grasp at the horizon line in the distance, “But underestimating the Fallen – especially the members of the Fallen Council will be the last mistake they will ever make. The meticulousness of their spying operation only means one thing – when they attack Fallen Island, they plan to pursue the most optimal strategy possible.”

“I wonder… just what would an attack on the Fallen Tower look like?” Devyn mused, looking at Zalrafel with a poker-faced expression. “Do you think they’ll send a massive legion, perhaps on a scale comparable to the one marching towards New Xaelis?”

Zalrafel let loose another chuckle, sensing that it was another rhetorical question – despite the Twilight Dancer’s countenance being an inscrutable mask, the dark glimmer in his eyes betrayed Devyn’s intentions to the fallen angel. “Another rhetorical question, Devyn. But I shall deflect this time… do you think Drekis himself will lead the attack on Fallen Island?”

Devyn smirked at Zalrafel’s question, stroking his chin on the back of his left hand. “I have every reason to believe so – an assault on Fallen Island would no doubt be the fiercest battle to date in Drekis’ campaign. Given the criticality of such an operation, I have a feeling that Drekis will not be content to leave this solely in the hands of his subordinates.”

“Well, all the better for us,” the Twilight Dancer continued, his hands making gestures in the air as though he were the conductor of an unseen orchestra. “This way we can personally teach Drekis that the Void has staked its claim over Khazan long before Chaos did. If he seeks Khazan as his trophy, he will have to wrest it from us. One way or another, he will have to come before us in person.”

“Confident, are you? Not that I have any reason not to be,” Zalrafel chorused, placing his hands behind his back. “Still, it bugs me that Drekis is going to have the advantage of drawing the first blood – had our roles been reversed, had we known where his home base is located, The Fallen will be the ones making the first strike.”

“Yes, it is a rare twist for the Fallen to not be the ones having the initiative,” Devyn rested his hands on the handrails as he stared at the horizon. “After all, the primary reason Quietus himself built this tower on a floating island was exactly with the intent of allowing the Fallen to always be the ones striking first.” The history of conflicts between the Fallen and SLJ had shown that more often than not, the Fallen were able to make the first strikes by virtue of them having an easier time accessing their enemies’ turf than the other way round. 

“Yes, the inaccessibility of Fallen Island has always been our first line of defense – but their Bio-Fighters have shown that even this does not make us unassailable,” Zalrafel replied, joining Devyn in staring into the distant horizon. “But no matter, The Fallen have terrorised Khazan for decades, and we’re not about to fold to a bunch of offworld upstarts,” the fallen angel’s right hand wandered from the handrails to the grip of the sheathed sword at his hip known as the Elder Blade. “Still, I think this tangent has gone on far too long – you know as well as I do, that what’s on the forefront of our minds right now is not the impending attack on the Fallen Tower, but what Kaas shared with us earlier during the Fallen Council meeting.”

The Twilight Dancer’s expression hardened upon the mention of Kaas and the council meeting they had concluded moments ago, “You wanted to talk about the Pact Essentia, don’t you?”

“Could there be anything else more important than this?” Zalrafel looked Devyn in the eyes, his hand never leaving the grip of the Elder Blade. “As the Archon of Darkness put it earlier, it is Drekis’ greatest trump card.”

“Yes, that is certainly a thorn in our side to say the least,” the Twilight Dancer concurred. From what little Kaas knew of it, the Pact Essentia was a divine mandate from powers that allegedly outranked the Archons of the Cosmic Precepts, the Pact Essentia decreed Drekis’ existence as an immutable constant of the universe. Any attempts to kill the Archon of Chaos results in a cosmic paradox, which the universe then “corrects” by restoring Drekis. “I think either of us have the power to stand up to Drekis in personal combat, but the Pact Essentia dictates that any battles with Drekis can only lead to an indefinite stalemate due to his absolute immortality. There is no one among The Fallen, and possibly all of Khazan who can truly defeat Drekis one-on-one.” 

“How true do you think this is?” Zalrafel paced back and forth with deliberate, measured steps. “I know that immortality takes on many different forms, and my own existence is a cosmic paradox in and of itself. The Pact Essentia sounds like something only The Almighty himself could pull off, yet in my entire existence as an archangel I have never heard of Him laying down such a decree anywhere.” As far as Zalrafel was concerned, the only higher powers in the universe that outrank the Archons, who could lay down an edict like the Pact Essentia would be none other than God himself.

“Do you have any reason to doubt the Archon of Darkness himself? The only way to test the veracity of Kaas’ claims would be to face Drekis himself in mortal combat,” Came Devyn's retort as the Twilight Dancer spun around on his heels to make his way back indoors. “If the Pact Essentia is indeed true, and that Drekis is above the concept of death itself, then you will be our trump card in keeping him at bay until we can figure an alternate strategy. In the meantime, I will contact Marc Dollar and the Chronomancer to update them on the details of our meeting. We’ll make an example of these upstarts who dare to cross swords with The Fallen.”

The Twilight Dancer headed back indoors, leaving Zalrafel alone on the observation deck, still staring down at the surface below with only his thoughts and the howling winds as his companion. “Could there be another similar to myself, yet it is not by the decree of The Almighty? Another wound on the face of creation? Intriguing…” the fallen angel took his right hand off the grip of his sword and held it in front of his face, his fingers becoming hazy and indistinct for a fleeting moment before regaining form and substance as he flexed them.

Such was the nature of the fallen angel’s moniker, the Wound on the Face of Creation, his memories wandering back to the time when he was expelled from Paradise. When The Almighty commanded, “Begone from my sight, Zalrafel,” He did not simply mean physical expulsion from Paradise, but to banish the former archangel from the face of His creation as a whole. The Almighty had decreed that Zalrafel vanish from His creation, yet through his sheer anger and hate, Zalrafel managed to hold his form and essence. The fallen angel was for all intents and purposes, a glitch in reality itself.

But the Pact Essentia was something else – it was a divine mandate, or a cosmic decree that allowed Drekis to transcend death itself by virtue of him being deemed “essential” to the cosmic order. If the universe is a story, then the Pact Essentia is plot armour. “Surely it can’t be as absolute as Kaas made it out to be,” Zalrafel monologued as he turned around to head back indoors. In the former archangel’s mind, there had to be some kind of loophole that could be exploited, some kind of clause that could render the Pact Essentia null and void. But if such a weakness existed, it was outside the scope of Kaas’ knowledge; the only way to learn more about it would be to face Drekis himself in battle.

 

Segment 101: Throwing Down the Gauntlet

Deep inside the Endless Caves, in the heart of Drekis’ citadel, Relinqiest made his way down its numerous umbricite-lined hallways as he made a beeline for the Archon’s throne room, the hurried pace of his steps conveying an urgency that made Deminites and Discordant Scions alike get out of the Magister’s way with haste. The twin portal doors of the throne room swung open at Relinqiest’s approach, granting him access to its amphitheatre-like interior. One by one, ghostly blue flames lit up in concentric circles, starting from the outermost perimeter of the chamber, and ending at Drekis’ throne proper.

“Relinqiest…” Drekis’ multilayered, chorus-like voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere as gray smoke poured from vents in the walls and ceiling to coalesce into a dense cloud with an amorphous dark silhouette in its centre. “Why do you enter my throne hall in such a hurry? You, of all people should know well my disdain towards sudden interruptions to my solitude.” A pair of baleful red eyes glared from the dark silhouette as arcs of white and crimson lightning crackled all around.

“My humble apologies, Eminent One,” The Magister bowed his head and got down on his knees in reverence, “I come bearing information that you might find of great interest; I have dispatched Roving Eyes to the Fallen Island to spy on the activities of The Fallen… the conversation between the ones known as Devyn Soyokaze and Zalrafel might interest you greatly.” 

“Ah, members of the Fallen Council, or at least that’s what the pretenders claiming to run The Fallen in the absence of their Archon call themselves,” Drekis snickered, an arm extending from the shifting dark mass that was his body and grasping the crown of Relinqiest’s head to probe the archmage’s mind. “I see they have been concerning themselves with my activities… I suppose I’d have to give the one they call Kaas some credit for uncovering something about the Pact Essentia; then again, one shouldn’t expect anything less from the Archon of Darkness,” Drekis’ eyes narrowed, their glow dimming a notch as he went over the discussion between Devyn and Zalrafel.

“But if that’s all he knows, too bad for them – that measly scrap of knowledge won’t be enough to help them in the battle to come,” the arcs of red and white lightning crackling around Drekis danced with increased vigour as the Chaos Archon’s laughter reverberated through the throne room.

“I see that Your Eminence has been paying close attention to The Fallen,” Relinqiest remarked as Drekis removed his hand from the Magister’s head, the Archon having telepathically gleaned everything he needed to know from the archmage’s mind. “I shall not bore you by parroting that which you already know, but what do you make of this? It sounds like they’re issuing you a direct challenge.”

“Coming to blows with The Fallen was never a matter of if, but a matter of when. This is an eventuality I have been preparing for ever since I arrived on Khazan,” The Archon of Chaos scratched his chin, or what passed for a chin in the ever-shifting, amorphous dark cloud that is his body. In Drekis’ mind, Khazan is a prize which could only be claimed by one winner, and from discussion between Devyn and Zalrafel, The Fallen felt the same way. “I must commend them for their initiative though, they have demonstrated a level of proactiveness that the other major institutions in Khazan have not shown thus far. This alone makes them harder to deal with than say, the Marauders.”

“Aye, the fact that The Fallen are considering an alliance with the Sentinels of all people is proof positive that what you pulled off with the Marauders isn't going to work with them,” the Magister added, rising to his feet as he adjusted his robes. One thing the Drekis Empire and The Fallen have in common is that both of them saw the acquisition of power and wealth as means to an end, unlike the Marauders who see them as an end to itself. And as an old belief goes, the most dangerous enemy isn’t one who lacks virtues, but one who has the same virtues as oneself. 

“But it would seem that they have yet to come up with a concrete plan of action,” The Magister replayed the footage of Devyn and Zalrafel’s conversation inside the crystal skull topping his staff, “It appears that they need to consult the rest of the Fallen Council, namely Marc Dollar and the Chronomancer. But in spite of this they remain confident of their ability to repel any attack made against them on their home turf… even with you leading at the front, Your Eminence.”

“So they’re really throwing down the gauntlet? How quaint,” More peals of laughter echoed through the chamber as the smoke cloud enveloping Drekis’ form flowed from the throne to a balcony overlooking the subterranean city overlooking The Citadel, where the hives and forges continued their unending toil to produce more minions and DrekisTech armaments for the legions. “As tempting as it may sound to shatter The Fallen’s delusions of grandeur, I have no intention to meet them in battle in this phase of my campaign. However, when that fateful day arrives, I shall lead the assault on Fallen Island in person.”

“As encouraging as it would be to our troops to see Your Eminence on the frontline, would that be the wisest thing to do?” Relinqiest wondered as he phased back into reality to stand by Drekis’ side, having shadow-walked from the throne room to the balcony. “With your Magisters fighting on multiple fronts and you personally leading the attack on The Fallen, The Citadel would be unguarded save for lesser minions. Perhaps you should issue an edict to have the Einherjar recalled?”

The black mass within the cloud shifted into a humanoid form, raising a right hand, “You need not concern yourself with the defenses of The Citadel, Relinqiest… for I have made special arrangements for such.”

Relinqiest bowed his head in deference, “Very well then, Eminent One. When do you plan on setting off for Fallen Island?”

“At any moment of my choosing, even right now if I so desire,” Drekis did not turn to face Relinqiest in the conventional sense, but rather the pair of glowing red eyes on his humanoid silhouette repositioned themselves from looking down at the hives below, to staring directly at his Magister. “But that would go against my plans for the campaign… the attacks on The Fallen can wait until Avalon and Zekruel have reported victory in their respective campaigns. In the meantime, focus on your current assignments.”

“Of course, my Archon,” Relinqiest rubbed his hands to demonstrate his eagerness to carry out Drekis’ orders. “We are almost done analyzing the MARS units that we’ve stolen from the Khazanians. Any moment now, we will be able to assimilate their combat capabilities into your legions. I think you will find the outcome most pleasing.”

“Excellent work, my Magister,” Drekis rumbled, raising an index finger, “Then I have one more task for you.”

“I humbly await your orders, Eminent One,” The Magister bowed.

“See to it that the hives’ production rate for Terror Beasts is stepped up,” Drekis turned his gaze back downwards at the sprawling fortress complex below. “We will be needing a lot more of those bio-ships, not just for the siege on Fallen Island, but also for the next phase of my overarching campaign,” the Chaos Archon held up his right hand, conjuring a hologram-like mockup of Khazan as the glow of his eyes dimmed a notch.

“Once Jon Avalon and Aigonis Zekruel have subjugated Xaelon and Araelis and I have crushed The Fallen, my next step will be to blacken the skies of Khazan,” the mockup of Khazan began to darken as a black fog began to spread through its atmosphere, until the blue sphere turned completely black. “As a figure of speech, not literally… I want to have enough Terror Beasts in orbit around the Nexus to enforce a planet-wide blockade, so that no spacefaring vessel can enter or exit Khazan’s atmosphere.”

“Brilliant move, as expected of our Archon,” Relinqiest flashed a devious grin, his robes swishing as he prepared to depart from Drekis’ throne room. “It would seem that ever since that female Seeker arrived on Khazan, it has paved the way for more agents of the GDF to commence operations on this planet. With a planetary blockade in place, not one more ship will make its way within Khazan’s orbit!”

“Indeed, the activities of my old enemy have not escaped my notice,” The Chaos Archon translocated himself from the balcony back to his throne, “Pathetic fools, seems they have not learned any lessons from their crushing defeats in the last war – their dogged persistence is a quality that I find both respectable and irksome… but they are of little concern to me at this point in time. I will deal with them at my own leisure once I have accomplished my primary objectives on Khazan,” still in a humanoid shape, the dark silhouette of Drekis slouched in his throne, waving a hand in the air as a gesture for Relinqiest to get going.

“You have your assignments, Relinqiest, go now,” Drekis commented, crossing his left leg over his right and propping his chin under his left hand. “When the time comes to attack the Fallen Island, you will be leading as the deputy commander of that campaign.”

“Of course, my Archon, I shall not disappoint,” with that, Relinqiest turned around and exited the throne room.

 

Segment 102: Preparation

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Just what in the Powers’ name are you doing to my darling Stormbringer!?” Cpl. Kurt Arlington’s voice rose above the constant din of machinery as he paced back and forth in the repair bay where his mech, the Stormbringer was being worked on by a team of mechanics assisted by various labour droids – some of them were stripping away sections of buckled plating from the mech’s armour, and resorting to using heavy-duty plasma cutters to outright cut away areas where the armour was so badly damaged that they could no longer be detached. Others were replacing damaged components and reloading the mech’s weapons. “By the Archons, my baby is undergoing worse abuse at your hands than at those of the Drekis legions!” the young corporal threw his hands up to grasp at his hairs.

The supervisor of the repair crew, a middle-aged man with a graying crew cut and distinguished by his bright red overalls as opposed to the workers’ dull blue, grumbled and lowered his antigravity platform to bring himself to eye level with Kurt, pushing up his polarised work goggles to rest them upon his forehead before addressing the pilot. “I would appreciate it if you could cut me and my team some slack, soldier,” the head mechanic said in an exasperated tone. “Everyone’s mechs are getting the same treatment – they’re built to withstand punishment. But that same quality also makes it difficult at times to take them apart for repairs, and our job is already as tough as it is without you playing backseat engineer! You want us to go gentle on your darling? How about you bring her back in better shape next time?”

Kurt rolled his eyes at the head mechanic’s remark, “It’s easy for you to say when you’re not the ones bringing these mechs into the thick of battle.”

An electrical tension built in the air between the two men, until Lt. Sara Foster stepped in, positioning herself between Kurt and the head mechanic, “My apologies, mister. Do forgive the corporal here – he’s new to the squadron and has much to learn when it comes to trusting the process.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ve all been there once… I get it,” the head mechanic closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh of resignation before tapping on the screen of the smartphone-like device strapped to his forearm to bring his antigravity platform floating back up to the Stormbringer’s shoulder level to continue his work, but not before muttering something about “kids these days.”

As the single largest industrial complex in New Xaelis, the New Xaelis Mechwerke was nicknamed the “Spine of New Xaelis” due to how the sprawling network of factories, workshops and hangars ran down the entire length of the capital’s northernmost industrial district like a backbone. Facility 8 was a building so massive that the naked human eye could not see from one end of the building to the next, and stretching as far as the eye could see were rows of servicing bays, the ceiling a network of transport rails that ferried material containers and machines to carry out repair works.

The sight of the facility was equal parts impressive and depressing; upon stepping inside, the scenery that greeted the eye was a sea of muted grays with splashes of bright industrial yellows and reds from the heavy machinery. With the war in Xaelon reaching full swing, the facilities of New Xaelis Mechwerke operated at full capacity day and night, filled with the constant buzzing of heavy instruments and the screeching of cutting tools. The facilities were designed to optimise workflows for maximum efficiency, which made repairs fast. But said efficiency also brought dread to many mech pilots, for they knew that they would only get a brief downtime before being thrust right back into the crucible of combat.

While many pilots opted to occupy their downtime with leisure activities, the pilots of the 478th Squadron under Capt. Kitazawa’s leadership were built different. Treating their mechs like cherished companions rather than simple tools, they stayed by their machines’ side as they underwent repairs, even helping out the mechanics when they could with the devotion of tending to a loved one while they were in hospital.

The Stormbringer, piloted by Cpl. Kurt Arlington is a Blazeon-class mech – like all current-generation Khazanian mechs, it sported a distinctly bipedal, humanoid frame that is on the tall and lanky side, with a black paint job with silver accents. The most eye-catching feature on its head was a cyclopean optical array shielded behind a translucent emerald-green visor. In contrast to its wiry-looking upper body, its legs were thick and stocky with wide feet, giving it a bottom-heavy appearance. It was a design choice to keep the mech balanced while supporting multiple shoulder weapon mounts. Though well-suited for direct combat, the Stormbringer was optimised as a scout unit by Kurt, who had it equipped with state-of-the-art sensors and communication equipment.

Docked in a repair bay opposite to the Stormbringer was Sgt. Matilda Cole’s Tristar, a Cataphract-class mech. Designed originally for ground and airborne operations, the sergeant had customised the Tristar to grant it space flight capabilities; powerful repulsors that allowed her mech to reach escape velocity, but in the air that translated to superior speed and manoeuvrability; it had a sleek and curvy design that stood in stark contrast to the blocky and angular frames of most other war mechs. With its white paint job with opalescent highlights, combined with the repulsor arrays extending from its back that resembled wings, the Tristar had an appearance that was often described as “feminine” and “angelic”.

In the repair bay to the left of the Tristar was the Pharis’ Blade, a Triton-class mech piloted by Staff Sgt. Katie Park – painted in deep red with orange tigerstripe highlights – originally a specialised amphibious assault mech, the staff sergeant had the Triton customised into an all-rounder for land, sea and air operations. Her gun nut tendencies were on full display on the Pharis’ Blade’s kit – the large shoulder-mounted missile launchers housed within its pauldrons giving it a broad-shouldered look, but otherwise it occupied a middle ground between the Tristar’s curvy design and the other mechs’ angular designs.

Docked to the right of Pharis’ Blade was Sgt. Major Paul Graham’s pride and joy, the Senki. Typical of a Grenadier-class mech, the Senki was a lumbering behemoth. Armoured like a walking bunker and bristling with gun mounts, the Senki was slow and bulky. But it didn’t need to catch up to its targets – its ability to deliver devastating firepower over long distances more than compensated for its lack of speed and manoeuvrability. Paul’s lack of imagination when it came to aesthetics showed in its entirely battleship-gray paint job, the monotony broken only by its optical array’s light blue protective visor.

In a repair bay opposite to the Senki was the Fortune, piloted by 2Lt. Carl Dezzman. Compared to the other mechs in the 478th Squadron, it had the most unusual-looking frame. A vintage from an earlier generation, the Chevalier-class lacked the humanoid chassis of modern mechs; it was more of a combat walker, its upper torso shaped like a vehicle hull, supported on a pair of digitigrade legs resembling those of an ostrich. A pair of elongated arms ending in manipulators resembling crab claws extended from the sides of its upper body, each forearm mounted with a Mk. 44 Bushmaster II autocannon serving as secondary armaments, while its primary armaments were a set of quad-linked particle beam cannons mounted on its undercarriage. A man of practicality, Carl had his mech painted in a utilitarian drab olive with dull tan accents. Though production of the Chevalier-class was long discontinued, the few units still in service with the Khazan Armed Forces continued to undergo extensive modernisation programs to keep them viable on modern battlefields, and the Fortune was no exception. 

Docked to the left of the Stormbringer was Lt. Cecelia Angelhart’s Derringer. At only a little over 4 metres tall, the Hussar-class was easily the smallest and lightest mech in the squadron, considered by many to occupy a middle ground where the categorisation for mechanised armour transitions from powered armour to mech. What it lacked in armour and firepower, the Derringer made up for in agility and speed; its frame being the most humanlike of the 478th mechs in terms of bodily proportions, and finished in an orange paint job with yellow-and-black checkerboard accents. 

In an opposite repair bay to the Tristar was the Dragonflare, a Hoplite-class mech piloted by Lt. Sara Foster, the second in-command of the 478th. Like all mechs in its class, the Dragonflare was optimised for both long-ranged and close-quarters combat. The lieutenant had her mech fitted with special burster-series repulsors capable of withstanding repeated, short-duration overclocking, made in mind for explosive bursts of extreme speed that were helpful for evasive manoeuvres or making rapid advances during offense. Due to its customisations, the Dragonflare had the most top-heavy look of the 478th’s mechs, second only to the Senki, and sported a jet black paint job with royal purple highlights.

In a repair bay next to the Dragonflare, the 478th Squadron’s mech lineup was rounded out by Capt. Kitazawa Takuma’s Gemini, a fellow Hoplite-class mech, but distinguishable from the Dragonflare with its matte silver paint job with ultramarine accents and less top-heavy proportions. Takuma kitted the Gemini as a jack-of-all-trades – be it firepower, sensors, engine output or speed, the captain’s mech had above-average specs in all areas of performance, but lacked a single field where it truly excels at; while it traded away specialty for versatility, it also minimised the drawbacks of overspecialisation. 

The sound of bubblegum popping somehow cut through the din of machinery as Cecelia Angelhart took a step back to admire the handiwork of the mechanics. “I knew New Xaelis Mechwerke had a reputation for timeliness, but I never expected this level of punctuality; we’ll be back in action in no time!” the lieutenant twirled her pink-tipped blonde locks as she continued chewing the wad of gum in her mouth. Despite the cold weather of the current season, the interior of the facility was sweltering due to the constant hot works being carried out – and because of that Cecelia wasn’t shy about dressing to suit the situation; the top half of her pilot suit was peeled down to her waist and tied in place by its sleeves, leaving her shapely and well-toned upper body clad only in a camo-print sports bra, her smooth and fair skin glistening from a film of sweat.

“Not all of us have the energy of a caffeinated gerbil, lieutenant,” Sgt. Matilda Cole interjected in a weary voice as she sipped on an energy drink, the bangs of her dark brown hair plastered to her forehead by sweat. “I was hoping the repairs would give me enough time to get some shuteye, but looks like that’ll have to wait until after our next combat assignment.”

Sgt. Major Paul Graham walked up to the two women, making sure to first get their attention with a comically-exaggerated yawn as he interlaced his fingers and raised his arms above his head to give them a good stretch, “Cole’s right, nothing like a little rest and relaxation during the post-combat downtime – this might be our last chance to have some real fun, so why so serious eh?” At six feet, three inches the sergeant major towered over the female pilots, easily the single tallest pilot on the Squadron, with dirty-blonde hair kept in a side-parted undercut. However, with a physique that leaned towards wiry rather than muscular, his height only ended up giving him a comical “beanpole” look rather than appear physically imposing.

“Yeah, one can only hope… at the rate the repairs are going along, our mechs will be back to full operational capacity in thirty minutes, and in another ten, high command will have issued us our next assignment,” Cecelia blew another bubble with her wad of gum until it burst with a dull pop. 

Paul flashed a shit-eating grin at Cecelia’s remark and stepped behind her, leaning in close until the lieutenant swore she could smell his breath. “Oh, I think that’s more than enough time to entertain ourselves,” the sergeant major purred as his grin changed into a feline smile as he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. “To suck the marrow out of life, you gotta seize every moment it offers, don’t you think?”

“Eww… what kind of lame pick-up line is that!?” Matilda found herself cringing at Paul's statement, the disgust was real, but the expression on her face was exaggerated for comedic effect as she found it hard to believe how anyone could repurpose a quote from Henry David Thoreau into a pick-up line of all things.

The lieutenant smiled coyly, “I’ll give that one an A for novelty… but F for class.” Without warning, Cecelia grabbed hold of Paul’s wrists and gave them a twist – applying just enough force to let the sergeant major know that had he been serious about making advances on her, he wasn’t going to enjoy what comes next.

“Okay, okay!” Paul laughed as he broke off and gave Cecelia her personal space. “You’re a little too spicy for my tastes anyway.”

“You expected a jalapeño, but I’m the Carolina Reaper!” Cecelia giggled before mimicking the snarl of a panther, raising her hands like a big cat baring its claws.

“Has it ever occurred to you that you might in fact be enabling him?” Matilda joined Cecelia by her side after Paul went off on his own business. The three of them graduated from the same class of cadets in the Khazan Armed Forces’ Mecha Training Institute, and even back then Graham had built up a reputation as a skirt-chaser; although both women had come to view his antics as his crude, puerile idea of humour rather than predatory creepiness, knowing that at the end of the day he was never serious about his advances. The fact that Paul went in for a waist clinch rather than groping women in more… private areas being proof that he was the sort of man who got his jollies from testing boundaries without outright crossing them. 

Cecelia’s willingness to initially play along with Paul showed that she too can be flirtatious in her own way, but Matilda saw the lieutenant’s style of flirting as stemming less from lewdness and more from whimsicality – for as long as she could remember, Cecelia had an almost magical way of getting around people by matching their vibrational frequency. Perhaps it was this social skill of hers that allowed Cecelia to have more stomach for Paul’s antics compared to just about any other woman he’s had interactions with. Cole knew that if he tried to pull off such a stunt with her, she’d have him singing in falsetto for days, and Cole was already easygoing compared to Park and Foster. It was no wonder to her that Paul almost always gravitated towards Cecelia; it was the safest route for him.

“Hey, has anyone found it odd that Dezzman’s not with his Fortune?” Cecelia glanced at the repair bay where Carl’s Chevalier-class walker was being worked on, but the 2nd lieutenant was nowhere to be seen, a sight that Cecelia found odd. If there was one pilot on their squadron who would stay by their mech the whole time it was undergoing repairs, there was no-one else save for maybe the captain himself who could match Carl’s due diligence. 

“Well, speak of Cao Cao…” Paul Graham chimed in as 2nd lieutenant Carl Dezzman strutted down the aisle, his brows knitted and the corners of his lips downturned in an intense expression, a far cry from his usually chill demeanour. “Yo Dezzman, what gives?” 

Carl was physically the opposite to Paul. While the sergeant major was a lanky beanpole, the 2nd lieutenant was a stocky powerhouse. At five feet, eight inches Dezzman was the shortest man on the squadron, but what he lacked in verticality, he made up for in horizontal development. The old soldier was built like a brick – broad shoulders, mountain-like traps, barrel chest and arms as thick as an average man’s legs. Even his older generation pilot suit – a bulky and slightly baggy outfit that contrasted starkly with the more streamlined and body-hugging “plugsuit” style designs of modern pilot suits – did little to hide his powerful frame. Combined with his bald head and thick black horseshoe mustache, Carl gave off the impression of an old timey strongman from Vaudeville shows.

“What gives? Try attending a budgetary hearing with the quartermaster,” Dezzman muttered as he held up the tablet in his hands. Angelhart, Cole and Graham leaned in to look at what’s displayed on the screen, and their jaws dropped at the numbers shown. “Someone’s got to give them a justification for why our budget is nearly double that of a typical mechanised squadron. That’s where the good captain and I come in.” Judging from the expression worn on the older man’s face, they figured that the quartermaster had not given him an easy time.

“Oh, no wonder I didn’t see the captain with the Gemini either,” Cecelia stole a glance at the repair bay where Capt. Kitazawa’s mech was docked, and was quick to notice the captain’s absence while mechanics and labour droids applied finishing touches to the Gemini’s repairs.

“I don’t think the QM set out to make things hard for you, if there’s anyone to blame, it’d be the suits in the Central Government… y’know, the politicians who start yapping about “fiscal responsibility” every time military spending is brought up,” Matilda rolled her eyes as she adjusted the gauntlets on her pilot suit. In the sergeant’s mind, there was an even worse enemy to Khazan than The Fallen or the Drekis Empire, it would be the politicians in Khazan’s Central Government. 

Paul chuckled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head, “I’ll admit that I might’ve also gotten a bit too trigger happy with the Burst-Cannon back there despite knowing the ammo ain’t cheap… but you’ve seen those beasts back there, Carl. It was overkill, yes; but better overkill than risk having one of those biomechs pop right back up when we least expect it… who knows how many it could’ve killed if we allowed such a thing to happen? Those bean-counters just don’t get that lives can’t be measured in dollars.”

“I mean, we have the results to show that justifies the budget, right?” Cecelia added.

Dezzman sighed, folding his arms in front of his chest, “No one is questioning that for sure, but just saying… you kids could learn how to make do with standard issue kits sometimes.” The 2nd lieutenant glanced over to where his Fortune was docked. “Nothing but factory-spec kits since the day she rolled off the production line, and she pulls her weight regardless!” the older man raised his arm and gestured towards his Chevalier-class walker. “Nothing against your new-fangled custom kits, just… needed to blow off some steam,” And with that Carl left the trio to their own devices as he went over to check on the repair status of his mech.

“I get that he means well, but he certainly stresses out a bit too much, doesn’t he?” Matilda huffed as she looked in Carl’s direction, who was on the head mechanic’s terminal, going over the results of diagnostics run on the Fortune’s systems. As the oldest pilot on the 478th, Carl’s service in the squadron predated even Takuma’s posting-in as the captain, and it was little surprise he took it upon himself to play the role of the team dad; though he at times got a bit too immersed in said role, as there were moments where the younger pilots found him to be overbearing and paternalistic.

“I second that,” Graham nodded, stretching his arms behind his head. “He’s acting like we're children or something.” Although given the sheer difference in age between Dezzman and younger soldiers such as Cecelia, Matilda, Paul and especially Kurt, he was old enough to serve as a fatherly figure. 

“Oh, but that’s because you mentally are one, Paul,” Matilda purred, wagging her brows as she leaned to one side against Paul, digging her elbow into his ribs.

“That’s cold of you, Matilda,” Paul chuckled at the sergeant’s ribbing both figurative and literal.

“He’d probably fuss 50% less the moment you stop making those lame jokes or pick-up lines,” Cecelia giggled as she piled onto Paul.

“You too, Cecelia!?” Paul gasped in mock disbelief, trying to make his best Julius Caesar “et tu, Brute?” impression at Angelhart joining in the roast.

The hacking of a throat being cleared loudly cut through their group banter like a blade. Turning around, the trio caught sight of Lt. Foster standing behind them – and from the looks of it she’d been listening in the whole time. “Did I miss anything fun?” Standing at exactly six feet, Sara Foster was the tallest woman in the 478th, and one of the tallest pilots on the squadron for that matter, dwarfed only by Takuma and Paul. Her toweing stature, coupled with her lean whipcord physique and rich bronze skin gave her the aura of an Amazon, topped off with her waist-length dark olive hair tied back in a braided ponytail, while the side bangs on the right of her head were braided into a rattail and adorned with colourful beads, in accordance to local customs from her homeland to show that a woman was ready for marriage. 

The atmosphere took a quick turn for the serious at Sara’s rhetorical question, the trio catching on to the subtext; they’d been under Lt. Foster’s command long enough to know that questions like these do not mean she was looking to join in the banter, but to inform them that fun times were over, and it was time for them to switch gears into a professional’s mindset.

“Lemme guess… assignments from high command just came in?” the sergeant major asked; the smile never quite left his face even as his voice took on a more serious tone. 

Lt. Foster brushed her bangs away from her eyes and gave the mechs a long, hard look. “Yes, we’re not officially re-mobbed yet, but the assignment is out – Col. Freebird has informed the captain and I that the 478th will be among the Mechanised Squadrons assigned to Operation Walshin Shield. Once repairs of our mechs are complete, we will have exactly ten minutes to suit up and get mobile to proceed to Fort Abdiel for briefing.”

“I knew it, no rest for the weary,” Matilda added with a tired sigh. 

“Relax, Cole,” Cecelia gave Matilda a reassuring pat on the shoulder, before getting herself suited up for the upcoming action as she began pulling the top half of her pilot suit back on and securing the fasteners and seals. “Between the transit to Fort Abdiel for briefing, and actual combat deployment at Walshin, I reckon you’d have plenty of time to catch a cat nap.”

Matilda nodded, and with that the pilots headed to their mechs to oversee the finishing touches to the repairs and prepare for mobilisation.

 

Segment 103: Ruin

In the airspace above western Araelis, Vincentzo’s personal transport shuttle tore through the skies at top speed. It was unlike the royal archmage to travel with such urgency, as hurrying was something that he deemed an antithesis to his life philosophy of savouring every moment. But extreme situations called for out of character behaviour, and this situation was as extreme as they came. 

True to Uberman’s word, the Central Government had approved an aid package to Araelis, and over the course of days following the cyborg’s reassignment to Xaelon, several regiments of the Khazan Armed Forces arrived in Araelis. Most of these soldiers and mechanised forces were deployed the the western reaches of Vincentzo’s domain to defend West Matriarch City and the surrounding countryside following the fall of Rugedelon. 

Despite the sterling reputation of the Khazan Armed Forces, the archmage didn’t think any more highly of them than the newly-formed and combat-untested Araelis Free Legion, and when all contact was lost within hours of first reports of enemy contact at the town of Meliora, some 40 miles west of West Matriarch City. “These plebs just can’t do anything right unless I’m leading at the front,” he grumbled, brushing his blonde bangs before folding his arms.

The archmage’s eyes went wide as sudden taps on the window broke his train of thought. Glancing sideways to where the knocks came from, he was stunned to see Tanin clinging to the side of his shuttle, giving the Sentinel a goofy grin as he waved – clearly enjoying the ride. “Tanin, just what in the Powers’ name are you doing, clinging to my personal shuttle like that?”

“Sorry about that, ‘Centzo,” The Archon of Light chuckled. With a short-distance teleport, Tanin went from clinging to the hull of Vincentzo’s personal shuttle to sitting right next to the archmage inside the cabin. “I could get there under my own power, but when your vehicle overtook me I figured I could save myself the time and energy by hitching a ride. So… how close are we to West Matriarch City at this point?”

“Your unfamiliarity with this land is showing,” Vincentzo leaned back in his seat before sipping a cup of tea. “At our present speed, we will reach the city in fifteen minutes, give or take… and that’s assuming there’s still a city standing.”

“That’s a rather bleak prognosis on your part, don’t you think?” Tanin locked eyes with Vincentzo.

“What else could I expect when West Matriarch went silent within hours of contact with the enemy!?” Maiinverno slammed his fist against the armrest of his seat, his teeth tightly clenched. “I should’ve personally overseen the defence of West Matriarch City than to entrust its fate in the hands of a bunch of commoners! I don’t know what possessed me back then to heed your counsel and put Woose in charge of the city’s defenses!”

“Don’t sell your people short like that,” Tanin reassured, “We know too little about the enemy at this point in time, but everyone is still giving their all regardless.”

“How is this supposed to be reassuring!?” Vincentzo slammed his fist against the armrest before burying his forehead in his palm. His worst fears were confirmed as the skies went from a rich azure to a hazy gray the closer they got to West Matriarch City. 

The intercom in his cabin buzzed to life as the captain addressed the archmage, “Your highness, we’re still unable to establish contact with West Matriarch’s air traffic controller! We’ll be initiating an emergency landing at the city outskirts!”

“Do as you see fit, just get me there!” The exasperation was evident in Vincentzo’s voice as he gave his hand a dismissive wave – a gesture for “go and do what needs to be done,” forgetting in the heat of the moment that the captain wasn’t physically present in his cabin.

Moments later, Vincentzo’s shuttle deployed its landing gear as it touched down at an open grassland just beyond West Matriarch’s city limits. With a faint whine of hydraulics, the tail ramp was lowered to allow the archmage’s personal hover carriage to disembark, gliding softly on an antigravity field, escorted by a pair of Caracal hover IFVs from his honour guard contingent.

On the ground, the full extent of the destruction was revealed to Vincentzo, a painful sight that hit him like a brick to the head. During past visits to West Matriarch City, he remembered the surrounding countryside as an Arcadian sight – a sea of emerald, of vibrant meadows and lush woodlands that stretched as far as the eye can see. What greeted his eyes now was a wasteland; large patches of charred vegetation, the ancient woods burning, and the terrain scarred with blast craters and molten fissures.

“By the Powers, what went down in here?” Vincentzo’s voice trembled with shock and barely-contained rage as his vehicle drove towards west Matriarch City  – the scene of utter devastation grew bleaker the deeper they pushed into the city. The once idyllic suburbs were littered with the still-smouldering husks of destroyed houses, and once-bustling commercial districts were turned into charnel houses. The destruction appeared to be a recent event, as many of the ruined structures continue to smoulder and belch columns of smoke into the air, staining the sky the same hue of ashen gray that they’d seen from the shuttle windows.

“How could anyone do this?” Tanin gritted his teeth at the painful sight, his voice burning with righteous indignation. For all of Vincentzo’s pessimism, every bleak forecast about the fate of West Matriarch had come to pass.

“Keep going!” Vincentzo ordered as he felt the hovercraft slow down. “Take me to the heart of the city, I want to personally assess the aftermath.”

Vincentzo’s royal convoy rolled deeper and deeper into West Matriarch City, passing more scenes of carnage and chaos – entire neighbourhoods burnt to the ground, brave defenders cut down where they tried to make a final stand. Eventually, they pulled to a stop at executive district where the city’s governing council was based – judging from the remnants of the defensive barricades and the bodies of both Khazanian fighters and Discordant Scions piled up in the streets, Tanin and Vincentzo came to the conclusion that this was where they made the ultimate last stand to hold back the encroaching Drekis legions to buy time for civilians to evacuate.

With a grim expression etched on his face, Vincentzo disembarked from his ride and cast a simple divination spell, sending a gentle green wave of energy rippling through the vicinity. “Nary an ember of life to be found… such unspeakable cruelty, such brutality…” the archmage’s voice dripped with disgust. It was one thing to hear about the barbarity and ruthlessness of the Drekis legions through reports, but witnessing the aftermath of their acts firsthand hits differently. “There’s no place in the Multiverse fit for these fiends, save for the lowest circles of hell,” the archmage glared at the body of a Discordant Scion, dressed in a piecemeal combat outfit that was cobbled together from a mix of KAF fatigues, a plate carrier from the Zel’Mier Armed Forces, and civilian hunting gear.

Nearby, Tanin knelt over the body of a civilian – a man in his late thirties who still had his right hand clutching the grip of a pulsed plasma rifle in a vice grip. Lying in the ashes next to him was an antique pocket watch with a pewter clamshell case with Baroque-styled gold filigree and a silver chain. The Archon of Light flipped the case open, and on the underside of the lid was a photo of the same man from his younger days, his arms lovingly placed on the shoulders of a woman around his age carrying a baby in her arms, the then-young couple smiling without a care in the world.

“What’s his story, I wonder?” The Archon of Light murmured under his breath. From the man’s attire, Tanin could tell he was a noncombatant, and wondered what were the circumstances that led to him going down in a bloody last stand. Perhaps he made a valiant choice to man the barricades to buy time for his family to evacuate… or more perhaps more tragically, his wife and child perished during the attack, and with nothing left to live for he sought to join them in the afterlife, but not without taking as many monsters as he could with him. 

The little trinket felt heavy as a rock in Tanin’s hand as he weighed his choices of either taking the watch with him so that he could locate the man’s family and return it to them, or to leave it with the body so that its owner could take it with him to his eternal rest. With a sigh, the Archon of Light closed the lid of the watch case and pressed it into the dead man’s free hand, wrapping his fingers around it.

“They deserved better than this,” Vincentzo bowed his head, his fist clenched tightly by his side. “I’ve heard that Khazan holds a reputation as the sanctuary of the multiverse… that it’s the place where people go to seek a second chance at life after having lost everything. Sanctuary, my foot! How can we take pride in being a sanctuary world, when people come here only to lose everything all over again!?”

“Reality is often complicated and messy… and war, death, and grief are unfortunate reflections of said complexities,” Tanin gave one last, solemn look at the dead man before rising to his feet. “You are right in that they didn’t deserve any of this…” the Archon’s voice trailed off as his quiet mourning of the fallen was replaced by vigilance, his hand darting towards the grip of Chrysilium and went into a battle-ready stance. 

“Be on your guard, all of you; we are no longer alone,” Tanin’s eyes narrowed as his divinely-honed senses as an Archon tipped him off to a human presence nearby. At its current distance, he could not discern whether it was friendly or hostile, and the Archon of Light wasn’t about to take any chances.

The soldiers from Vincentzo’s honour guard, who had positioned themselves in a circle around the archmage the whole time, sprang into action as they tightened their ring formation to allow their individual fields of vision to interlock, forming a 360-degree line of sight, their pulsed plasma rifles raised and ready to fire. Vincentzo pushed his guards aside as he stepped to the front, glowing glyphs orbiting around him as a blazing aura of pure mana enveloped him. “Where are they!?” The archmage demanded, fire gathering in his hands as he readied his Judgement Flare spell. “Tell me where they are, Tanin, so that I may incinerate every single one of them!”

Through the smoke haze, Maiinverno made out a human silhouette; the distance and clouds of smoke obscured most of its features, but one thing that was certain is that the silhouette was approaching his position. Its body language shifted abruptly, conveying what appeared to be shock as it jumped back, before dropping into a martial artist’s horse stance. Then with a high-pitched, whooping war cry, the mysterious figure charged through the smoke clouds towards the archmage and the Archon! 

“Blackhearted miscreant! You’ll burn for your crimes!” Vincentzo responded to the war cry with his own roar of fury as he raised his hands, a glowing spell circle appearing beneath his feet as he prepared to channel all his fury into a Judgement Flare.

Tanin however, recognised the Bruce Lee-like whooping cry and knew he had to act fast to prevent a friendly fire incident. “No, Maiinverno! Hold your fire!” In a blink of an eye and a flash of golden light, Tanin appeared behind Vincentzo and put the archmage in a full nelson before he could release his spell. 

“What in the Powers, Tanin!?” Vincentzo growled as he found himself restrained by Tanin. The archmage kicked and bucked and thrashed against the Archon of Light’s grip to no avail. “Have you been whacked in the head? Unhand me this instant!”

Seconds later, the familiar sight of Woose Brain – in his POWAAA!!!-Man persona – burst through the smoke screen, still charging in readiness for battle. Upon realising the figures he’d seen through the smoke were in fact Vincentzo and Tanin, Woose forced himself to a halt, only to trip over a chunk of rubble, causing him to flail his arms in the air in panic before landing face-first in the ashes.

“Vincentzo, my liege! Am I relieved to see you!” Woose sprang back onto his feet, adjusting his Tokusatsu mask before patting the dust off his pink gi. “Sorry that I mistook you for enemies; I could hardly make anything out through all that smoke!”

“Woose?” Vincentzo’s voice cracked with astonishment and thinly-concealed relief as Tanin released his hold on the archmage. His tone soon hardened into a more businesslike one as he sought to learn from the pugilist what had transpired in West Matriarch City. “Woose, I want to know what happened here.”

Woose nodded; unlike his usual rambling self that was prone to beating about the bush when answering even the simplest questions the martial artist got straight to the point. “Their forces… the Drekis Legions. They were far stronger than the initial intel reports suggested – there were so many of them, they were like a wave of black sludge sweeping through the terrain! The Araelis Free Legion fought them with everything they had at Meliora, but even with the Khazan Armed Forces, SLJ and Maniacal Heroes backing them up, we were pushed back to West Matriarch in a matter of hours.”

“Are you able to elaborate on this?” Tanin inquired, “It’s obvious you were defeated here, but I see signs that the Drekis legions had taken a bloodying as well.”

“Oh yeah, we gave em’ a good mauling; but those devils barely acknowledged their losses,” The normally happy-go-lucky martial artist’s voice dripped with scorn towards the Drekis legions. “They have no sense of honour, slaughtering women, children and other noncombatants as readily as our soldiers. And they have no concept of self-preservation, they throw themselves recklessly at our heroes – for every one of those beasts that fell, five more trampled over their dissolving remains to press the assault!”

Woose continued, “They attacked with such fury and in such great numbers that they even managed to overwhelm some of our Sentinels and Maniacal allies! But the mightiest champions in our ranks managed to hold their ground; I had the honour of fighting alongside them.” The martial artist cast a glance at the body of a Sentinel, dressed in the tattered remains of a yellow and green superhero costume. “We fell back to our last line of defense at the Executive District, and turned it into a highly-effective meat grinder – for a moment it looked like we had regained control and thought that we might be able to exhaust the attackers through attrition… until a new enemy showed up.”

“A new enemy, you say?” Vincentzo’s eyes widened, “Tell me Woose, what does he look like!?”

“I’m not the best at remembering faces, but even I could not forget what I saw back then,” Woose rubbed the back of his head, “I couldn't identify the exact species… but we were set upon by some kind of tall and lanky reptilian humanoid. I dunno… a lizardman maybe? Or perhaps a dragonkin… Like I said, I’m not good at identifying species. His skin was covered in scales white as pearls, but he sported a pair of white feathered wings that contrasted sharply with his otherwise devilish appearance.”

“His rampage was the stuff of apocalyptic legends. The only clue we received of his arrival was his silhouette swooping down from the skies; and before we even knew what hit us, three of our heroes had been cut down as he landed in the middle of our ranks,” Woose recounted the exchange to the best of his scatterbrained memory. “The rest of us encircled him, but every time we tried to flank him his weapon changed shape, adapting to our formation and tactics in real-time. What happened next was a bloodbath; the battle felt like an eternity, but in reality he took no more than forty seconds to kill nearly a dozen Sentinels and Maniacal Heroes!”

“I have some familiarity with that being you spoke of,” Vincentzo stepped back from Woose to stare grimly into the smoke-filled sky, recalling an encounter from many weeks ago. “It was months ago, at the Boreal Wilds in the far north of Araelis that I first laid eyes on that darkspawn, leading an entire legion. He must be the mastermind behind the attacks on Araelis’ cities.”

“Wait!” Woose piped up, bouncing up and down on his feet. “I remember that day! That also when we encountered that bearded baldie in black armour! From the looks of it, he must be one of that white-skinned dragonkin’s deputies!” 

“I’d wager that creature must be one of them ‘Magisters’, or at least that’s what I hear the Discordant Scions refer to them as,” Tanin added, connecting the dots in his head and cross-referencing his own experiences during the battles for Xaelis. “During the second siege of Xaelis, I’ve fought the one called Jon Avalon, and he’s as formidable as they come; I figure they are few in number though.”

“A single Magister was all it took to turn the tide of the battle then,” the pink-clad martial artist continued. “Everything went downhill after that white lizard dude singlehandedly wiped out the hero contingent, and his legion just swarmed over the perimeter. Didn’t see him after that though – he must’ve stood down, thinking the battle was as good as won. We continued to fight, but by then the army and Mobile Police were too short on manpower and ammunition to mount any meaningful resistance.”

Woose’s normally jovial tone took on a darker tone at what came next, “That was where we made the fateful decision to split up our already depleted unit – what few heroes and what’s left of the KAF, KMP, Araelis Free Legion and a number of civilians volunteered to hold back the advancing legions, while I joined a smaller group in leading the civilians and wounded fighters to safety. The evacuation airships sent distress signals to Araelgrad to inform the capital of the situation in West Matriarch and to request reinforcements… but reinforcements never came.”

Tanin arched his eyebrows at Woose’s mention of distress signals from West Matriarch. “Vincentzo, Araelgrad never received any correspondence from West Matriarch City following reports of enemy contact at Meliora, aye?”

The archmage shook his head, “No distress calls, nothing of the sort.” It was the lack of correspondence between West Matriarch and Araelgrad that provided the primary reason for the royal archmage to put his own boots on the ground. “I have no reason to doubt Woose’s claims… this could only mean the enemy either found a way to block the distress calls, or attempts to call for aid were sabotaged from within by Discordant Scion infiltrators.”

“What’s the current status of friendly forces here then?” The Archon of Light queried. “Are there any lingering threats nearby?” 

“I don't know the exact figures, but as a ballpark, I think we have enough soldiers here to form about a dozen squads, and about two mechs. Between the SLJ and Maniacal Heroes we have just under ten heroes give or take,” The martial artist counted his fingers as he struggled to provide more exact numbers.

Vincentzo’s right eyelid twitched as Woose gave his account; there was a fleeting moment that the archmage entertained the idea of giving the pink-clad martial artist a harsh reprimand, to blame him for the fall of West Matriarch City. But as Tanin’s words on board the shuttle about how everyone was giving it their a came back to haunt him, Vincentzo could not bring himself to act on that urge. True to what the Archon of Light said, Woose, like everyone else involved in the defense of West Matriarch had clearly given everything they have, and beyond. 

“Wait, one more thing!” Woose suddenly shot a hand into the air, shaking it left and right to emphasise the urgency. “Towards the end a small unit broke off from the main enemy force, I overheard one of the Discordant Scions say they’re heading to Astra Canyon to report back to Aigonis Zekruel.”

“Aigonis Zekruel… could that be the name of that Magister?” Vincentzo rubbed his chin in contemplation as he paced back and forth. The destruction of West Matriarch City might not be a complete loss if he was now armed with knowledge of where the enemy headquarters is, and a once-in-a-lifetime chance to strike directly at one of the Drekis Empire’s top brass. 

“My recommendation is that the remaining forces here be pulled out and consolidated with the units stationed in the nearest town of Riverwatch,” Tanin stepped over to Vincentzo’s side. “They may have taken a beating now, but these losses mean nothing to them in the long run. It’s only a matter of time before that Aigonis fellow sends another force here to verify the reports, and when they know there are still holdouts stationed here they will commit everything they have to finish the job.”

“With due respect, Archon, but my answer is no,” Maiinverno stared into the distance in the direction of Astra Canyon, fire in his eyes. 

“Maiinverno, this is madness! Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” the Archon of Light protested.

“Oh I know what I’m doing… and I’ll even add that I’ve never had a greater clarity of purpose than right now,” the archmage’s retort came with burning determination and a laserlike focus. “I came all the way out here to defend West Matriarch City, and since there’s no longer a city for me to protect then by the Powers I will avenge the fallen. Those who bring ruin to my domain will not get away with this!”

“Look at me, Vincentzo… I understand how you feel, but right now you need to rule with your head and not your heart!” Tanin placed a firm hand on the archmage’s shoulder. “Your soldiers have just been through hell, and they’re in no condition to fight again! You’ll only be ordering them to a pointless death if you march them forward.” 

“Then they won’t have to,” Maiinverno brushed Tanin’s hand off his shoulder. “It’ll just be you, me and Woose and anyone who volunteers. We’ll strike at the enemy at their base before they replenish their forces!” 

“But…” Tanin tried another appeal to Vincentzo’s rational side, but before the Archon could say anything more the archmage placed his hands on his shoulders, gripping the pauldrons on Tanin’s mithril armour. 

“These men and women bled for West Matriarch… we cannot let their sacrifices be in vain! The enemy will likely replenish their forces overnight and be ready to strike at the next city by the next sunrise! If there’s any opportunity for us to behead the serpent, it will be right now!” Vincentzo’s voice thundered with unshakeable resolve, but amidst the righteous determination there was an undercurrent of imploration, an attempt to appeal to the Archon of Light’s inherent sense of justice. 

“You know what, Maiinverno? I think you made a solid point there,” Tanin replied, glancing in the direction of Astra Canyon. As far as he was concerned, the real danger came not from the enemy garrison which in all likelihood would be few in number, but the Magister himself. His mind raced back in time to his duel with Jon Avalon, of how he sensed a spark of Drekis’ divine authority within that man. With Aigonis Zekruel, it was going to be the same thing. As powerful as the Magisters were, Tanin handled himself well during his battle with Avalon, and figured that Aigonis should be well within his league as well. “Order what’s left of the military and heroes to fall back to Riverwatch; us three are headed for Astra Canyon.”

 

Segment 104: In the Field Stained Red

Uberman flew back and forth several rounds in the skies above Walshin, taking in a bird’s eye view of friendly positions. Over the past several weeks, this particular stretch of the plains had been fortified to meet the massive Drekis legion that was headed in the direction of New Xaelis. Even now, the convoy from Fort Abdiel showed no end in sight as mechs, combat vehicles and soldiers arrived and took position at their assigned control zones. The Walshin Shield defense line was a formidable network of trenches, pillboxes, tactical bulwarks, and gun batteries, designed to not only slow the advance of the enemy, but also to funnel them into designated kill zones.

Surveying the terrain, the cyborg felt a pang of regret over what had to be done to Walshin. What was once an Arcadian scene of unspoiled nature with rolling green fields and verdant woodland is now crisscrossed with trenches and other defensive structures like a patchwork of scars. It conjured memories of his time on Earth, of scenes from Verdun, Passchaendale, and many other battlefields from the World Wars – the sight of once-lush greenery transformed into graveyards was a poignant reminder of what was soon to become of the fields of Walshin, undoing what generations of Khazanians had worked so hard to accomplish.

As the Nexus of All Realities, Khazan was a place where in the distant past, pastoralists who favoured rustic lifestyles close to nature once clashed with industrialists who sought to evangelise the wonders of technology and the comforts of urban living. But both camps eventually came to a consensus that Khazan should not meet a similar fate as some of the urbanised worlds in DSA space where the cities eventually grew into a planetwide ecumenopolis. The land that would come to be known as Walshin was the result of such treaties, ensuring that its natural scenery would be preserved for all time as long as the treaties were honoured.

Walshin’s significance in Khazanian history is that it was one of the sites that marked how even clashing cultures and ideologies could work together for a common good when they learned to look past their differences. But soon, Uberman knew that Walshin was about to gain a new significance in the annals of Khazan’s history as the site of one of the bloodiest battles for Xaelon. As the Sentinel leader scanned the distant horizon with his optics, he resolved to push the enemy back a hundred miles before his own forces yielded an inch.

As the day gradually drew to a close, Uberman’s gaze shuffled back and forth between the distant horizon where the last rays of twilight were giving way to darkness, and display windows on his suit’s HUD showing drone feeds of enemy positions, where the enemy had stopped their advance just outside the effective range of their artillery. “But why the pause?” the cyborg muttered under his breath. It was a behaviour uncharacteristic of any Drekis legion, which would normally advance relentlessly no matter the cost. 

Uberman ruled out the possibility that they might be waiting for nightfall to attack under the cover of darkness. Given the heightened state of battle-readiness all across the Walshin Shield, such a move would not offer any tangible tactical advantage. As reports of more and more Walshin Shield units reporting in reached Uberman’s comms, the cyborg could only deduce that the legion paused their advance on the orders of the Magister leading them, Jon Avalon. Perhaps, given Jon’s code of honour, he sought to postpone the battle until all units on both sides were fully prepared?

The thought of Avalon offering a crutch to Uberman and his allies only served to sicken the Sentinel leader, who saw it as condescension rather than charity. “If you think following your twisted code of ‘chivalry’ makes you any less of a butcher, Jon, you must be more delusional than I thought,” the cyborg monologued as he descended from the sky, landing near the operations command post.

Timothy Shinestar fought back the butterflies in his stomach as he made his way over to Uberman’s side, trying his best to appear as steady and collected as his leader. “Uberman… why do you think they’ve halted their advance? Could it be that they’re changing their strategy? Do you think it might be because they’re trying to figure out a way to get around the Walshin Shield instead of breaking through it?” 

Uberman turned his head in Tim’s direction, but before the cyborg could respond, a familiar voice spoke first.

“Have you learned nothing from your past battles with the Drekis legions?” Telissa sat up, giving her equipment a final check before looking at Tim with what appeared to be pity in her eyes.

“Telissa? What do you mean by that?” The newly-minted Sentinel found himself taken aback by the female Seeker’s expression and words.

The blonde sighed, shaking her head. “Just saying, you must be more naive than I thought if you haven’t figured out by now the nature of the Drekis legions. Time is Drekis’ greatest weapon – his legions grow with each passing hour, at a rate where attrition losses hold no meaning to them. They have no concept of ‘overwhelming odds’ because there’s no opposing force they can’t eventually wear down through endless meat grinder assaults,” Telissa stared into the distance; the horizon still empty as the Drekis legion remained past her line of sight. “You better harden yourself, because this is going to be the first of many battles for you… if you wanna stay alive, you better master that sword of yours ASAP.”

“I don’t understand, Telissa… what’s with that tone?” the silver-haired swordsman stepped forward, confused and more than a little hurt over the Seeker’s sudden coldness, which came as a shock to him given how she’d spent weeks gradually warming up to him.

Before any further words could be exchanged between the two, Uberman placed a mighty arm in the space between Timothy and Telissa. “Ms. Ravan, while we are indebted to the intel on Drekis and his legions that you have so graciously shared with us, I would like to ask that you refrain from treating my people in such a patronising manner,” the glow of the cyborg’s optics inside his visor flickered briefly. “True, we do not possess knowledge or familiarity with this enemy like the GDF and Seekers, but we Khazanians are rising to the challenge – every man and woman standing here today has shown great courage.”

For a brief moment, the blonde Seeker locked eyes with Uberman before averting the cyborg’s gaze, hanging her head as she muttered, “My species rose to the challenge too… the Thal’Vri showed great courage too… but where are they now? Reduced to a historical record...”

Tim inched towards Telissa’s side, raising a quivering hand as he contemplated putting an arm around her shoulders to comfort her. “Telissa…” but no other words left the young Sentinel’s throat as the realisation hit him like an ice shower; what could he say to reassure Telissa that only reinforces everything she’d said earlier about his naivete? He could not say he fully understood what was on the blonde’s mind, only that she wore this coldness as an armour for her heart. The loss of everyone and everything she held close to her heart was something that scarred her so deeply, that the only way to prevent herself from being wounded a second time was to keep everyone at arm’s length.

Tim’s arm came within an inch of resting on Telissa’s shoulder before the Seeker gave him a firm nudge in the ribs, fire returning to her eyes as she looked Tim in the eye with a ‘let’s get dangerous’ smile. “Sorry for getting melodramatic; it’s just that knowing I’m about to face a full legion of Drekis thralls in battle brings back… memories,” the female Thal’Vri stared towards the horizon as her mind replayed a flashback of the day her homeworld fell to the Drekis legions. She recalled how her parents pushed her onto the evacuation ship, her mother smiling as she reassured her that they would get on the next available ship.

“Let’s just say that having the courage to face them is only the first step,” Telissa concluded, fine-tuning the optics of her LR-2X molecular disruptor rifle’s scope.

“Hey Telissa, thanks for babysitting Shinestar while I was away,” another voice familiar to Tim’s ears giggled as Raea descended from the sky, powering down the flight repulsors of her Centurion battlesuit. “I hope he wasn’t too much?” the redhead joked as she joined Timothy and Telissa.

“It’s not the first time, y’know,” Telissa shot back at Raea with a smirk. “If you’re gonna keep doing this, I think we may have to discuss payment.”

“Hey Raea, why are you piling on me like that? Just whose side are you on anyway!?” Tim stared at Raea with a comically-exaggerated pout. He knew full well that Telissa was talking about the time when she accompanied him on his jaunt into Zel’Myas that culminated in their daring rescue mission in Trovol.

“Anyway, I think you’ll be pleased to learn that the last of the mechanised squadrons have left New Xaelis Mechwerke and are reporting to their assigned positions on the frontline,” Raea’s tone took on a serious turn as she addressed Uberman, bringing to him reports from the rear echelon. 

The cyborg nodded at Raea’s report. “That’s good to hear. We’ll need every gun we can field.”

Raea strutted over to Tim and grabbed him by the shoulders, giving them a firm massage, “Feeling nervous, Tim? The stiffness of your shoulders say it all,” the redhead grinned as her fingers kneaded the swordsman’s deltoids and trapezius like dough.

“Who wouldn’t?” Tim forced a laugh.

“Fair enough, I feel the same too,” Raea removed her hands from Tim’s shoulders as she took a step back. “You remember what we talked about on the way to Walshin, don’t you?”

“No way I could’ve forgotten,” the young Sentinel gave his girlfriend a reassuring nod, drawing his heirloom sword from its scabbard and giving it a flourish and holding it in front of his face, watching his reflection on the gleaming surface of its flat side. “Like I promised, we’re getting through this together…” Tim arched an eyebrow as he noticed his reflection wavering – were his hands shaking? “C’mon, I’m not feeling that nervous anymore,” the Sentinel tried to reassure himself with a forced laugh, but his chuckling faded as the realisation set in that it wasn’t his hands shaking, but the blade itself vibrating. Without warning, a brilliant turquoise light burst forth from the sword blade, causing Tim to squint his eyes and lower his weapon; the vibrations ceased after several seconds, but the blade continued to emit the turquoise glow.

“It’s that power again!” Telissa’s eyes widened at the sight of the glowing sword.

“Attention all units, this is Maj. General Percival Yang of the 3rd Strategic Division – we have detected resumed movement from the enemy! We estimate 20 minutes before the first wave enters the effective range of our artillery,” The voice of the Walshin Shield division commander buzzed over the global comms as a massive Valkyrie-class airship loomed over the Walshin Shield’s rear line, escorted by fighters, gunships and airborne mechs. “Uberman, I am deferring command of the 3rd Strategic Division’s assets to you – the Khazan Armed Forces will act as you see fit.”

“Well, this is it!” Telissa activated her Seeker battlesuit, the nanomachines forming glowing blue hex-shaped panels that covered her body from neck-down before shaping and hardening into her signature form-fitting powered armour, followed by more glowing panels appearing over the upper half of the Seeker’s face to form her AR visor. 

“The fated moment has arrived,” Uberman noted as he took to the skies one more time to get a bird’s eye view of the battlefield on the side of the enemy – zooming his optics, the cyborg made out the familiar hordes of Deminite Soldiers, Reptillions, Reavers, all demonic thralls and biomechanoids that he’d gotten familiar with. But among them were also creatures that he hadn’t encountered during the battles of Xaelis. It was a quadruped with bodily proportions similar to a large wolf; but that was as far as the resemblances went – its body was covered in a leathery hide more akin to that of a komodo dragon’s than any canid, and the head resembled that of a horned lizard that reminded Uberman of a basilisk. 

“Could those be the Deminite Wolves your intel files spoke of?” Raea wondered as Uberman broadcast what his optics picked up to the global comms channel.

“They are indeed Deminite Wolves,” Telissa nodded grimly. “Be wary – they may not be particularly strong or durable, but they are far quicker on their feet compared to Deminite Soldiers and Reptillions, and on top of that they have the ability to manipulate the hearts of mortals.”

“Manipulate… hearts?” Tim scratched his head as he glanced over at Telissa’s position. “What does that mean?”

“Deminite Wolves radiate a psychic aura that amplifies feelings of fear and uncertainty… I suppose one can call it a form of empathic projection or emotion control,” Telissa repeatedly balled up and relaxed her right fist. “With enough Deminite Wolves in their ranks, a Drekis legion can bring an entire army to its knees before even a single shot is fired.”

“Is that why they paused their advance? To allow the Deminite Wolves to reach the front?” Uberman wondered as he descended. Before the cyborg touched down, his optics picked up a familiar silhouette above the horizon line – there was no mistaking that draconic outline for anything other than Zegrin, Jon Avalon’s mount. The Magister was personally leading the attack on New Xaelis, and Uberman resolved to halt the enemy dead in their tracks. 

“Orders, Uberman? All units are standing by,” General Yang came in a second time on Uberman’s comms.

“We’re going to hit them fast and hard,” the cyborg replied. “Order the units at the front to hold positions. Once the first wave enters our artillery’s effective range, commence saturation bombardment with cluster munitions in sync with fighters and airborne mechs conducting air strikes on their rear lines with plasma and thermobaric payloads – once what’s left of the enemy wave enters line of sight, have half of the front line charge in to finish them off.”

“We will need to take out their Deminite Gunners to prevent the enemy from conducting counter-battery fire, so point taken. Relaying orders to battalion and company-level commanders; Maj. General Yang, out.”

The instant the division commander’s orders were communicated, the Walshin Shield erupted to life as thousands of guns played a symphony of steel. Mechs, howitzers and Valkyrie-class airships opened fire, sending missiles, shells and energy beams over the horizon. The scream of flight thrusters and repulsors echoed the roar of guns as squadrons of fighters and mechs scrambled towards the horizon line to commence air strikes. 

As twilight made way for darkness, all units stationed along the Walshin Shield saw the distant horizon light up from their air strikes and artillery bombardments; the distant rumble of explosions were chorused by the guttural roars and chilling shrieks of wounded and dying Deminites, the noises blending into an infernal choir that drew increasingly closer towards the Walshin Shield.

“This is it,” Uberman zoomed his optics to establish visual contact with the first line of enemies, still advancing with otherworldly fury even as Khazanian artillery ravaged their ranks. “General, we now have visual of the enemy! Get the mechs and aircraft to circle back for close air support, we’re going on the offensive!” The cyborg turned around to face the assembled heroes and soldiers, pointing towards the horizon.

“Heroes! Soldiers! Brave defenders of Khazan!” Uberman’s rallying cry boomed across the global comms channel like a war horn, “Now is the time we show the enemy what Khazanians are made of! At my call… Forward!” The cyborg pointed towards the horizon line, at the rows of glowing red eyes in the distance before firing up his suit’s flight repulsors.

No further words were exchanged between Tim and Raea, the two looking each other in the eye and nodding in unison before Raea engaged her suit’s battle mask, as armour plates extended from the collar of her battlesuit and snapped into place over the lower half of her face before the couple turned their gaze towards the advancing enemy in the distance before following Uberman’s lead. 

A cacophony of spirited war cries echoed across the front line as Sentinels, Maniacal Heroes and freelancers climbed, leapt or flew out of the trenches to follow Uberman’s lead. Not far behind, the armoured corps consisting of tanks, AFVs and mechs covered the heroes’ charge with heavy fire support as waves of infantry made their methodical advance behind the armoured corps, rifles and machine guns blazing as the first line of the Walshin Shield’s forces plunged headfirst into hell. 

 

Segment 105: The Battle of Walshin

“Target neutralised!” From the sky, Lt. Cecelia Angelhart confirmed a kill on a Deminite Gunner as a charged Buster Shot from the Derringer’s ion pulse rifle struck the lumbering minion’s bio-plasma cannons right before it could unleash a devastating bolt of long-ranged plasma, the artillery beast self-destructing in a cloud of blue-white superheated plasma that consumed nearby lesser minions.

“Capt. Kitazawa to 478th! Uberman is leading a countercharge against the enemy, and the general is ordering air units to give them close air support!” Takuma’s voice buzzed over the squadron’s comms.

“On it!” Cecelia performed a yaw to change her mech’s flight path, bringing the Derringer to circle back towards the enemy’s front lines before strafing the ground with its twin 30x113mm chainguns to devastate a column of Deminite Soldiers and Reptillions, followed by performing a series of sharp barrel rolls to the side to dodge a volley of fireballs launched into the air by surviving Deminites. “Damn, look at them go!” Lt. Angelhart whistled as the combined firepower of the heroes – energy blasts and spells of all kinds – tore through the horde. 

Chorusing the heroes’ attacks, the Khazan Armed Forces’ infantry and armoured corps provided support fire. Guns of every type and calibre roared, sending a withering torrent of kinetic projectiles, explosive munitions and energy beams that felled monsters like stalks of wheat before a farmer’s scythe, splattering their vile remains across the terrain. Even when faced with a tsunami of gunfire, the surviving Drekis minions pressed their assault with unabated ferocity, retaliating with volleys of hellfire blasts and energy bolts.

Responding to the general’s call for close air support, Cecelia joined numerous other pilots in circling their mechs and aircraft around, expertly weaving past volleys of enemy fire as they conducted air strikes and ground strafes on the enemy to soften them up for the Khazanian countercharge. “New objectives, 478th! Take out as many enemies as possible before our allies enter close quarters engagement!” Takuma’s voice buzzed on the squadron comms.

In the adrenaline-pumped moment that followed, the Khazanians’ perception of time slowed to a crawl, making the passage of an hour feel like an eternity as they kept up the pressure on the Drekis legions. As darkness fell over Walshin, the plains transformed into a light show as mages cast spells, elemancers channelled the untamed fury of the elements, and metahumans and martial artists projected energy beams and threw blasts of ki. Behind them, the might of the Khazan Armed Forces advanced as a single, cohesive unit as their guns continued to blaze – pausing only to reload or to replace an overheated barrel. The frenzied roars and cries of dying Deminites petered out as the minutes rolled by, until eventually there was nothing but silence.

“Cease fire! Cease fire!” General Yang’s voice came over the global comms channel as Khazanian defenders advanced cautiously through the dense cloud of smoke and dust.

“Excellent job, 478th,” Takuma radioed to the rest of his squadron as the Gemini circled over a now-silent battlefield, the terrain scarred with blast craters and burning vegetation. Below him, heroes and soldiers picked off stragglers from the Drekis legion, the silence broken by sporadic bursts of gunfire as ground forces conducted a methodical mop-up of what’s left of the enemy.

“Something doesn’t feel right, captain,” Cecelia stared at the Derringer’s HUD inside her cockpit, her eyes narrowing with apprehension even as video feeds from her mech’s optics showed some of the soldiers starting to celebrate – yelling cries of victory, pumping their fists into the air, and exchanging high-fives with their brothers-in-arms.

“I agree,” Matilda came in next on the squadron’s comms as the sergeant’s grip on her cockpit’s control handles tightened. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned fighting these Drekis bastards is that if your operation is going too smoothly, they must be up to no good.” It would not take long for the sergeant and everyone else to realise her assumption was correct. 

It began as faint vibrations under their feet, barely noticeable at first – but as minutes ticked by the vibrations intensified into palpable tremors. It was as if something massive underground was digging its way to the surface, and was approaching fast!

The Arachnis Queens struck without warning; the soldiers and heroes at the front barely had time to shout a warning over the global comms as the massive centipede-like demons burst out of the ground, seizing the nearest targets in their mandibles before dragging them into the burrows. As the panicked cries of the Khazanians’ comrades vanished into the darkness, a new cacophony of noises echoed from the depths – the familiar scuttling of Arachnii feet, accompanied by the growls of Deminites and hissing of Reptillions. 

Like pus erupting from a septic wound, waves of Drekis minions poured from the Arachnis Queen shafts as the soldiers, armoured vehicles and heroes quickly redirected their fire at the holes in the ground – demonic thralls were gunned down as soon as they cleared the edge of the hole, but for every minion sent tumbling back into the abyss, three more clawed their way to the surface. Before long, the Khazanians found themselves fighting a brutal close-quarters battle against an enemy that practically popped up under their feet.

Elemancers and mages responded swiftly, harnessing the power of the elements and mystic arts to transform the Arachnis Queen shafts into lethal weapons – collapsing their walls and causing the minions still emerging from them to be swallowed up by the depths of the earth. But the damage was already done, and their countermeasures amounted to little more than a desperate whack-a-mole as new Arachnis Queen shafts opened up elsewhere, allowing more Drekis minions to ambush the Khazanians from right under their feet.

While the frontline of the Walshin Shield was still reeling from the subterranean ambush, their troubles only continued to pile up as intense blue-white bolts of plasma arced through the air from beyond the horizon – landing with deadly accuracy within the ranks of the Khazanians, destroying armoured vehicles and wiping out entire squads of soldiers; even a few heroes fell to the devastating bombardment.

“Damn! Have they positioned the bulk of their forces beyond the range of our sensors!?” Takuma did his best to provide intercepting fire against the incoming volleys of plasma bolts from distant Deminite Gunners, firing every available weapon system on the Gemini to destroy the hellish orbs of energy in midair before they could explode against friendly forces on the ground.

“A second wave of monsters are advancing towards the frontline!” Sgt. Cole gasped as a nigh-uncountable number of enemy signatures appeared on the periphery of her the Tristar’s scanners, showing up on the HUD as a sea of red – the captain’s hypothesis had proven true; the first wave of minions were a vanguard meant to test the Khazanians’ defenses, and their countercharge had them right where the Drekis legions wanted. 

“For a swarm of mindless beasts, they’re surprisingly cunning bastards – we can’t call down artillery barrages or air strikes at this range without inflicting catastrophic friendly fire casualties!” 2Lt. Dezzman’s voice buzzed over the Gemini’s comms. “Captain, I recommend that we redirect our fire at the second wave, at where the enemy is most densely packed.”

“The general thinks the same too,” Takuma concurred as seconds after Carl’s recommendation, new orders from Major Gen. Yang were issued to the mechanised squadrons over the global comms. “478th, with me! We fly high and get ready to strafe the enemy!” The Gemini’s frame trembled as the captain dialled his mech’s flight repulsors to maximum output, making a beeline for the incoming wave of demonic thralls.

Several other mechanised squadrons joined the 478th in the air, their numbers over a hundred strong as they swept through the air to rain ordnance on the enemy. Positive developments began pouring in over the radio chatter on the global comms, as officers and heroes reported successes in neutralising the Arachnis Queens. The Deminite Soldiers on the ground slung bolts of hellfire into the air at the mechs, but their demonic projectiles barely registered against the mechs’ shields. For a moment, the pilots believed that they were once again in control, that the Walshin Shield would be where the Drekis lance shatters. But as the mechs circled back to the rear defense line for resupply, volleys of particle beams streaked through the sky, punching through the shields of several mechs and destroying them instantly, sending their flaming wrecks plummeting to the ground.

“Where the hell did these come from!?” Sgt. Major Paul Graham exclaimed over the comms, his voice burning with rage.

“The beams are fired from the air!” Lt. Foster replied as the Dragonflare’s sensors tracked the path of the enemy beams – based on the angle the particle beams were fired from, it was clear that they were fired not from surface-to-air but air-to-air.

“What are they!? Ptera-Deminites?” Takuma performed a series of evasive manoeuvres with the Gemini, skilfully weaving his mech out of the way of volleys of enemy fire.

“Captain, I’ll have to take the Senki to the ground! My mech’s shit aerial manoeuvrability will only make me a liability in a dogfight – I’ll be more useful providing support fire from the ground,” Paul landed the Senki and angled its weapons towards the sky. “By the Archons… here comes the enemy’s air power!” The sergeant major’s eyes widened as another sea of red began to appear on the edge of his HUD as scans picked up numerous hostile aerial units.

“That’s a lot of Ptera-Deminites! It’s like a plague of locusts!” Staff Sgt. Katie Park stared at the scanner feed on the Pharis’ Blade’s HUD with growing disbelief. 

Cpl. Arlington was the first pilot in the 478th to realise the true nature of the threat as the Stormbringer, equipped with the best sensors and optical instruments in the squadron, made visual contact with the swarm of flying minions. “You’ve gotta be kidding me! It’s not just Ptera-Deminites! They’re accompanied by Bio-Fighters!” The corporal broadcast what the Stormbringer’s scans picked up – and true to his word, the pterosaur-like thralls were mixed with the familiar crustacean-like biomechanoids known as Bio-Fighters, instantly bringing back memories of their harrowing encounter at Leibrook.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me!” Matilda slapped the dashboard of the Tristar’s cockpit. Two Bio-Fighters were already enough of a headache, but now there were entire squadrons’ worth of the fiendish biomechanoids filling the sky alongside Ptera-Deminites.

“The Ptera-Deminites are an annoyance at worst,” Takuma radioed to the Libra's comms as the Gemini began powering down its repulsors to make a controlled descent back towards the ground, “The Bio-Fighters though? Those things are the stuff of nightmares. General, my recommendation for you is to order the mechanised squadrons to touch down and provide anti-air support for the ground forces. Air-to-air combat with so many of these biomechanoids would be suicide!”

“Point taken, Capt. Kitazawa,” Maj. General Yang’s voice buzzed across the global comms. “This is Maj. General Percival Yang to all mechanised squadrons – mechs on the ground!”

The ground shook as hundreds of mechs touched down in the open field, their feet leaving imprints on the ground while infantry and combat vehicles moved past them to engage the incoming demonic thralls.

“These things are gonna be a pain, but at least we know how to handle them after our encounter in Leibrook,” Sgt. Major Graham radioed to the rest of the 478th over the squadron comms as supply trucks rolled up to the mechs on the ground and logistics crews disembarked to reload their weapons. “Let’s hope that high command has analysed our unit’s combat data and formulated a viable strategy.”

“You’re right, sergeant major,” Takuma sighed as he ran a quick diagnostics on the Gemini’s systems. “But that was just two Bio-Fighters; I think fighting entire squadrons of them will be a whole other ball game.”

 

Segment 106: Valley of Corpses

Tim dived to the ground and rolled forward to avoid an incoming fireball as it whizzed past him; the soldier right behind him wasn’t as fortunate as the incandescent projectile originally meant for Tim struck him instead, exploding on impact and engulfing him in flames from head to toe. The unlucky rifleman screamed and thrashed around in agony, but before a medic or healers could attend to him, he had already succumbed to fatal burns.

‘Terrible, such brutality!’ Tim glanced over his shoulder with a pained expression as he sprang back onto his feet, before locking eyes with the Deminite Soldier that targeted him with the hellfire blast, already forming a second fireball in its claws. The young swordsman raised his heirloom sword to cut down the beast, but another rifleman dashed past him with a war cry and threw himself at the Deminite Soldier, thrusting the bayonet of his K-39A2 assault rifle into its gut. 

The Deminite Soldier roared in pain and rage as it doubled over, but in its inhuman resilience the demonic thrall raised its claws in an attempt to grapple the soldier, who ripped his bayonet out of the wounded Deminite’s midsection to perform a diagonal slash across the chest, followed by swinging around to strike it across the jaw with his rifle butt, before ending the combo with a stab to the throat. The heavily-wounded Deminite Soldier croaked and gurgled as it attempted a last-ditch strike on the rifleman, who simply wrenched his weapon out of the Drekis minion’s neck, shredding its throat and spilling its ichor all around before firing a point-blank burst of shots into its face and chest to kill it. 

The silver-haired Sentinel stood transfixed at the bloody CQC bout that he failed to pay attention to another Deminite Soldier launching a blast of hellfire in his direction, only to be tackled to the ground by Raea as the redhead swooped down from the air to knock Tim out of the line of fire before grabbing his arm and pulling him back onto his feet, her voice modulated behind her battlesuit’s mask, “What are you doing, Tim? You’re making yourself a target by keeping still! Stay mobile!” Raea moved ahead of Tim, clearing the path ahead for the swordsman as she fired her suit’s forearm-mounted pulse laser on full auto in stereo with her ion pulse blaster.

“Right behind you, Raea!” Tim nodded as he spun around to cut down two Deminite Soldiers, before intercepting a Reptillion trying to flank his girlfriend, catching the lizardman-like minion with two quick slashes, a powerful uppercut slice and finally sending it flying with a roundhouse kick to the head.

A plasma bolt from a distant Deminite Gunner descended from the sky like a hellish comet to hit a Lynx battle tank, the initial explosion of the energy blast followed-up by a second, larger explosion as the explosive ordnance carried in the tank’s ammo banks cooked off and detonated, ripping the vehicle apart and sending out a powerful shockwave together with a hail of shrapnel that showed no discrimination between friendlies and hostiles alike. Tim and Raea responded swiftly by throwing themselves to the ground, allowing the blast wave to wash over them without harm. 

Raea sprang to her feet first to respond to a Deminite Soldier bearing down on a still-prone Tim, a crackling energy sheath enveloping the right gauntlet of her battlesuit as she threw herself at the attacking Deminite, intercepting the beast with an electrified right straight to its face, followed by firing a three-shot burst from her ion pulse blaster to its chest. As Tim picked himself up, the two looked at each other and nodded before pressing forward.

Uberman thrust himself into the thick of battle, where the fighting was at its most intense, firing volleys of concussion beams from his armour’s forearm blasters and crushing Deminites with thunderous punches and kicks. Many heroes and soldiers rallied around the Sentinel leader, covering the cyborg’s blind spots. The Valkyrie-class airships remained in the sky, but they were no longer providing fire support for ground troops, having redirected their fire to handle the new threat of the Bio-Fighters and Ptera-Deminites.

The lack of fire support from the Valkyries was sorely felt on the frontline of the Walshin Shield. Without their constant bombardments to thin the horde, the wave of Drekis minions were able to advance with minimal impediment, using biomechanoids like Tanker Beasts and heavy shock troops such as Devonoxes to soak up gunfire from infantry and ground vehicles, while light shock troopers such as Reavers took advantage of the diversion to slip into the Khazanian’s ranks.

Making matters worse were the Hive Guards who coordinated a portion of the Deminite Soldiers to use their innate pyrokinesis to manipulate the surrounding flames – be it from the burning wrecks of disabled military vehicles, or from ignited vegetation – bending and shaping the random conflagrations into a coherent wall of fire that advanced towards the Khazanians’ frontline, forcing the soldiers back. As the wall of fire drew nearer, the powers animating the inferno gave it the shape of packs of hellhounds accompanying hosts of flaming skeletons; it was as if the souls of the damned had risen from hell, intent on taking the living with them.

“They’re using the flames to force us back and cover their own advance!” Uberman’s voice barked over the allied heroes’ comms. “I want elemancers and sorcerers on the front to counter that, stat!” 

The allied heroes from the SLJ, Maniacal Heroes and various freelancers took positions at the front; water-mages and hydromancers summoned torrential downpours and blasting jets of water and directed them towards the blaze, quenching the moving wall of fire, section by section. Cryomancers and ice-mages achieved similar results by rapidly chilling the environment, dropping temperatures below what was necessary to sustain combustion, while aeromancers and wind-mages generated pockets of vacuum that put out sections of the inferno by starving the flames of oxygen.

“Excellent work, heroes!” Uberman nodded as most of the advancing inferno was extinguished, the way ahead now clear for the ground forces to press on their counterattack. “We have this! Now let’s put the pressure back on the enemy while we’ve negated their advantage!” Instead of coordinated volleys of return fire as anticipated, the cyborg instead saw only sporadic bursts of fire as many guns remained silent. 

Glancing around, Uberman spotted many of the troops on his side hesitating in place instead of attacking, and some of the soldiers even began falling back. “What are you all doing? We’re still in control here; the wall of fire has fallen, we can still push the enemy back!” 

The SLJ leader turned immediately to the closest soldier – a rifleman from the Khazan Army – and noticed him shaking in fear. The man’s finger was resting against the trigger of his K-39A2, he looked ready to shoot, but unable to commit to the action. “Why are you not firing, soldier?” he demanded.

“I… don’t know… it’s like my body refuses to obey my mind!” the rifleman replied in a shaky voice. Uberman performed a quick scan on the soldier’s vitals, and quickly noticed telltale signs of physiological responses to fear even as he made a conscious decision to engage the enemy.

Uberman caught sight of the creatures referred to as Deminite Wolves, advancing in packs ahead of a wave of Deminite Soldiers and Reptillions, the quadrupedal minions’ eyes glowing red as their bodies emitted an ominous black aura. ‘It’s as Ms. Ravan had said, they have the ability to manipulate fear!’ the cyborg thought. Under the influence of the Deminite Wolves’ aura, the Khazanians showed physiological responses to fear that either paralysed them into inaction, or compelled them to break ranks and flee. Uberman tried to rally his allies, to spur them into fighting back against the fear aura; but only four in every ten men proved capable of successfully regaining their composure and fighting on. 

The next wave of attackers slammed into the frontline like a tidal wave, capitalising on the Khazanians’ demoralised state. Hive Guards roared as they projected their empowering auras, boosting the strength and ferocity of lesser minions; their eyes glowing red as a black smoky aura enveloped their bodies. Deminite Soldiers lobbed several more volleys of fireballs as they closed in for brutal melee combat, tearing apart infantry units with claws and fangs. Reptillions advanced with their shields raised, forming defensive phalanxes that deflected small arms fire before charging as they entered close quarters combat – spitting corrosive acid into the faces of their targets and hacking and stabbing away with their umbricite-edged swords.

Then came the heavyweights of the Drekis Legion – the ground shook as the Devonoxes lumbered into the fray, the ogre-like beasts shrugging off small arms fire as they went straight for the Khazanians’ armoured units; flipping armoured vehicles over and throwing them into the ranks of the infantry.

The beetle-like Tanker Beasts spewed jets of bio-napalm from their mouths while firing bolts of plasma from the bio-cannons on their backs, cutting swathes through the Khazanian infantry – soldiers who couldn’t get out of the way in time were either consumed by hellish blue flames or trampled underfoot. Some of the biomechanoids during their advance as sections of their carapaces opened up to reveal hollow compartments housing Deminite Soldiers and other lesser minions who leapt out of them to join the battle with sadistic glee as the situation for the Khazanians continued to deteriorate.

On the ground, mechs stood back-to-back in either threes or fours and turned their weapons towards the sky to provide support fire to the Peregrine fighter squadrons that were engaged in fierce dogfights with the Bio-Fighters, giving it their all to protect the Valkyrie and Bahamut airships. Surface-to-air fire tore the flying biomechanoids to shreds as the mech pilots relied on overkill to overwhelm the Bio-Fighters’ accelerated healing factor – but there were far too many of them. For every Bio-Fighter that was successfully shot down, five more would slip by to open fire at the airships.

One by one, fighter craft burst into flames and plummeted from the sky as the Bio-Fighters flew circles around the massive Valkyrie-class battleships and Bahamut-class carriers. Despite the airships’ potent shields and heavy armour, the sheer volume of enemy fire was able to disable the airborne behemoths, sending their burning wreckages crashing to the surface. As the Khazanian’s air power dwindled, the Ptera-Deminites turned their attention to the ground forces as they swooped down and rained volleys of ball lightning on the heads of disoriented ground troops.

“Shinestar, enemy to your three!” Tim dived towards the ground and rolled as soon as he heard Telissa bark a warning to him over the comms, right as a hellfire blast whizzed past where his head was scant moments ago. As the young Sentinel got onto his knees, a molecular disruptor beam from Telissa streaked past him to obliterate a Deminite Soldier. “This is where you and that sword of yours come in!” the blonde Seeker yelled as she ducked under a sword strike from a Reptillion. The lizardman-like minion swung at her a second time, but Telissa extended her katar-like blade from the bracer of her battlesuit to parry the blow, before countering with a Spartan kick that sent the creature reeling, and before it could regain its balance, the Seeker wheeled around to smash the butt of her disruptor rifle against its face to knock it onto its back and finish it with a point-blank shot to the chest from the LR-2X.

Tim tried to reply to the Seeker, but quickly lost sight of her as explosions created a thick smokescreen that obscured his vision. “Raea?” the swordsman pinged his girlfriend over the comms, having been separated from her when the Devonoxes entered the fray.

“I’m holding up, Tim… but kinda busy right now!” Raea’s voice crackled over the comms as a Devonox loomed over him. Tim felt his heart in his mouth as he caught sight of its glowing red eyes and smoking black aura. ‘The Hive Guard auras enhance those things too!?’ the silver-haired Sentinel thought as the Devonox raised its fists above its head and brought them down in a mighty hammerblow. Tim evaded the devastating attack by diving towards the ground and sliding between the Devonox’s legs as its fists left an impact crater on the ground where Tim once stood. Roaring, the crimson-skinned brute spun around with a low swipe, but Tim dodged again by cartwheeling out of the way to put distance between himself and the brute. The Devonox roared and clawed at the ground as it attempted to charge at the swordsman, only to get intercepted by a military mech that tackled it to the ground like a defensive linebacker. 

The two giants wrestled on the ground, the Devonox roaring as it grappled the mech’s shoulders in an attempt to rip its arms off. The mech countered by firing a quick burst of rounds from its head-mounted machine guns point-blank into the Devonox’s face, blinding its eyes. Taking advantage of the distraction, the mech drew its giant combat knife and stabbed the Devonox multiple times in its chest before seizing it by the face and slicing its throat. 

A pack of Deminite Soldiers tore their way through a squad of infantry troopers to get at Tim, leaving trails of black smoke in their wake. The heirloom sword’s turquoise glow intensified, Tim’s eyes glowing with the same light as his weapon as he met the Deminites’ charge with a charge of his own. The Sentinel’s vision turned black-and-white, as though he was seeing the world through a grayscale filter. In his state of heightened perception, time appeared to slow to a crawl for Timothy as he ducked under a Deminite Soldier’s leaping claw strike to close the gap between himself and another Deminite Soldier that was readying a fireball, cleanly decapitating the monster with a horizontal stroke of his sword. The Deminite that Tim dodged earlier charged in to strike at the swordsman’s back, only to be bisected at the waist as Tim spun around while simultaneously performing a roundhouse slash.

Two more Deminite Soldiers attempted to flank Tim from his left and right, but in his hyper-perceptive state they appeared to move in slow-motion as he ducked under a horizontal slash from the Deminite to his left to drive his sword through the chest of the Deminite to his right. The silver-haired youth momentarily released his weapon to perform a half-spin and deliver a side thrust kick to the midsection of the first Deminite Soldier, sending the demonic thrall flying before turning his attention back to the second creature, tugging his sword out of the beast’s chest and delivering two mighty blows in swift succession – the first hacking off its left arm, and the second slicing its head clean off.

A Deminite Wolf scampered towards Tim, but instead of closing in to pounce as the swordsman expected, the quadrupedal minion paused in its tracks to open its jaws wide. The creature’s maw glowed a ghostly green before a searing stream of energy blasted out of its mouth. Tim acted on raw instinct as he raised his sword in front of himself. The halo of turquoise light surrounding him and his weapon condensed into a shield of energy before him that harmlessly dissipated the Deminite Wolf’s breath weapon. 

Its ranged attack ineffective, the Deminite Wolf continued to close the distance towards Tim, looking to tackle the swordsman to the ground to sink its fangs into his throat. The silver-haired Sentinel ducked under the demonic quadruped as it leapt at him, causing it to sail right over his head. Tim spun around as the Deminite Wolf turned to make another leap at him, countering with an uppercut slash that split the creature’s underbelly along its length, before spinning around once more to deliver a tornado kick that sent the Deminite Wolf’s disintegrating carcass flying.

“Out of my way!” Uberman charged forward like a freight train, delivering a thunderous right straight at a phalanx of Reptillions while simultaneously unleashing a concussive blast from his forearm blaster, sending a powerful shockwave on impact that scattered the demonic thralls like a bunch of ragdolls. The cyborg glanced around the battlefield, noticing that while the Drekis legion initially advanced in straight rows, at this point they were now starting to fan out in an attempt to encircle his allies and box them in. To make matters worse, the enemy’s air power was beginning to gain dominance of the skies, as yet another Valkyrie burst into flames and plummeted towards the surface – slowly but surely, the Khazanians’ air support was being chipped away by squadrons of Bio-Fighters and flocks of Ptera-Deminites. 

The Sentinel leader performed a repulsor-boosted leap to evade a volley of hellfire blasts, using his brief moment in the air to take stock of his surroundings. In that moment, he caught sight  of Timothy Shinestar, who was giving a fine account of himself in the heat of battle. The young man moved so fast that Uberman had a hard time visually tracking his movements, leaving blurry trails of turquoise light in his wake. But what caught the cyborg’s interest was how Tim appeared unaffected by the Deminite Wolves’ fear aura despite his inexperience as a warrior as he cut through entire squads of Deminite Soldiers like a hot knife through butter. 

From the edge of his peripheral vision, the Sentinel leader noticed a flash of energy. Through a combination of his cyborg frame’s predictive algorithms and honed instincts, Uberman’s response was swift as he rolled out of the path of an incoming green sword beam that carved a fissure in the ground. Rising to his feet, the cyborg’s audio receptors picked up a familiar flapping of wings as a draconic silhouette that he instantly recognised descended from the sky, carrying none other than Jon Avalon on its back. 

“Uberman, how I missed you; it's not an everyday affair that I can fight an opponent that makes me feel truly alive,” Jon smirked before pointing at Uberman. His draconic mount Zegrin roared in response as he swooped towards the Sentinel leader like a hawk, but the cyborg easily rolled out of the way as the talons of Zegrin’s hindlegs gouged the ground where Uberman once stood. Uberman counterattacked by firing a concussive blast from his left forearm blaster towards the dragon’s saddle, but Jon raised his sword just in time to deflect the incoming beam on its energy blade.

“The feeling isn’t mutual, Avalon – so spare me your flattery!” Uberman’s voice burned with righteous indignation as Zegrin reared up on his hindquarters and barrelled forward, raking at the cyborg with its right foreclaw. The Sentinel leader telegraphed the beast’s attack, leaping backwards to get out of the way of the incoming slash. “Your hands are stained with the blood of innocents… thousands of them! How dare you speak so casually of it, like it was some kind of sport!”

Jon’s draconic mount roared as he spun his massive body around to swing his powerful tail at Uberman, but the cyborg evaded the attack with a timely repulsor-boosted leap, before twisting his frame around in midair to deal a mighty Superman punch to Zegrin’s snout. The dragon roared and shook his head in pain. The Magister patted Zegrin on his rump to calm the creature down, “You've done enough, Zegrin. I’ll take it from here.”

At Jon’s command, Zegrin stopped thrashing around and crouched low, placing his belly against the ground to allow the Magister to dismount. As soon as Jon’s armour-clad feet touched the ground, he gave his mount one last pat on the snout, eliciting a growl from Zegrin before he took to the skies once more, leaving the Magister to face the Sentinel leader alone. “Blood of innocents, you say? Is this how a hero of Khazan thinks then?” Jon cast a contemplative look at Uberman, oddly not raising his weapon in readiness for battle.

“Isn’t that obvious? As the commander of this foul legion, every innocent life lost at the hands of these fiends is your responsibility!” Uberman clenched his right fist before pointing at Avalon, his T-slot visor glowing red as the cooling vents on his armour unleashed a jet of steam.

The Magister gave a wry smile, closing his eyes as he tilted his head to one side, “Tsk, tsk, that is where I must correct you, Uberman,” as Avalon opened his eyes, he held up his left hand and wagged his index finger like a primary school teacher admonishing a student. “No-one commands the Drekis Legion save for His Eminence alone – I am but a representative, someone who leads the Archon’s forces on His behalf. My orders are but extensions of His will.”

“Nothing but a fancy way of saying ‘I was only following orders’,” The Sentinel leader scoffed, his armoured feet digging into the dirt. “A quick history lesson for you from where I came from – at the end of the 2nd World War, during the Nuremberg Trials, many Nazi leaders, from frontline officers to Hitler’s inner circle, all claimed they were just carrying out orders from above. That didn’t absolve them of their moral failings, and neither will it absolve you of yours.”

The Magister chuckled coldly at Uberman’s accusatory remarks, “By that logic, aren’t your hands just as bloody? Every death in Xaelon reflects your inability to save those who looked up to you as their hero, their saviour. Your weakness led to their deaths, Uberman,” the Magister pointed back at the Sentinel leader. “And besides, the concept of a ‘hero’ can be rather subjective, don’t you think? After all, to the Discordant Scions, I am a hero.”

“What kind of mind games are you up to, Avalon!?” Uberman raised his fists, his forearm blasters emitting a faint, high-pitched whine as the cyborg powered them up, but instead of firing a pair of concussive blasts at the Magister the Sentinel leader made a quick about-turn to grab at a faint rippling outline in the air behind him. A Hunter-Killer was forcefully decloaked as it struggled against the cyborg’s powerful grip, trying in vain to pry Uberman’s fingers off its throat as its legs kicked and flailed at thin air.

“What’s this, Jon Avalon?” The Sentinel leader turned around to face Jon, holding up the Hunter-Killer that was still desperately thrashing around in his grip. “Is this the honour and glory you speak of? To keep me occupied with dialogue so that one of your lackeys could blindside me?” The cyborg tightened his grip, and the demonic thrall went limp as its neck vertebrae snapped – Uberman continued to maintain a stranglehold on the Hunter-Killer before casting its body aside.

Jon gave a casual shrug as he glanced at the Hunter-Killer’s corpse as it disintegrated into black dust, “My honour only applies to personal combat with worthy opponents… not how each and every thrall in the Drekis Legion is expected to conduct themselves – they’re driven by instinct to carry out His Eminence’s will through any means available to them. Like I said, my orders are but extensions of His will,” The Magister held up his energy sword and gave it a swing, unleashing a sword beam not aimed at Uberman but around him, leaving a fissure on the ground that ran in a perfect circle. “If you want honourable conduct, then face me one-on-one,” Jon held up his free hand to beckon Uberman, “So what shall it be then, Uberman?”

“You're such a disgrace, Avalon. I can tell you’re an intelligent man… it’s a shame that you use your intellect not to think critically of the doctrines you’ve been fed, but instead to rationalise them,” The Sentinel leader stepped forward, staring down the Magister in the middle of their makeshift duelling ring as he raised his fists and assumed a fighting stance, “Know that I take no pleasure in this… for violence breeds violence.” The time for words was over, and the only way out at this point was trial by combat.

Jon chuckled as he gave his sword a flourish before pointing its tip at Uberman, “But in the end, it has to be this way!” 

With that, both fighters shouted in unison as they charged forward, closing the gap as their one-on-one battle commenced.

 

Segment 107: Double Agent

Seryko Rheomyr descended the winding staircase into the bowels of the Fallen Tower, where the infamous labyrinth was located. Through a combination of his instincts and experience as a seasoned member of The Fallen, Seryko navigated the passages with ease – the corridors were all dimly-lit, and of uniform width and height, which made the architecture highly monotonous. But the monotony was what made the labyrinth so difficult for intruders to navigate, as no matter which fork they took the adjoining passages all looked the same. In Seryko’s mind, it wasn’t the most creative concept – but it certainly worked well enough.

Still, he could only wonder why Quietus even saw the need to incorporate a labyrinth as part of the Fallen Tower’s defenses to begin with. In his five years in the ranks of The Fallen, not once had he ever had to deal with intruders who managed to gain access to the tower itself. Those who even managed to reach the Fallen Island first had to contend with the steaming swamps that dominated the island’s landscape – many would either be swallowed up by the treacherous terrain, or preyed upon by vicious predators lurking in the shadow of the mangroves or hidden beneath the fetid waters. And the few who made it past the swamps never made it beyond the Fallen Tower’s outer compound, which was heavily-guarded 24/7 by a combined force of Fallen cultists, automated sentries, and a contingent of heavily-armed, highly-trained and fanatically loyal troops from Dollarcorp’s private military contractor.

In the end, Seryko could only conclude that the existence of the labyrinth was ideologically-driven, perhaps some kind of symbolism about the nature of the Void; in the eyes of many a Fallen, perhaps it was as much a functional defense for the tower as it is a work of art.

Rheomyr continued to navigate the labyrinth, skilfully avoiding dead ends, booby-trapped hallways and wandering monsters until he eventually found what he was looking for – or rather, who. The green-haired Fallen entered a cube-shaped room that looked like it was once a lair for one of the many beasts that prowled the labyrinth, now converted into someone’s living quarters. The room was modest in its furnishings – consisting only of a bed, a desk and a chair and a bookcase.

In the centre of the room, a pale-skinned young man – barely out of boyhood in his appearance – paced slow circles on a threadbare carpet with his head hung low. In contrast to his corpselike pallor, his clothes and short but unkempt hair were black as obsidian. “Alexander Shadowcast…” Seryko remarked, his voice a notch above a whisper. But it was enough to catch the young man’s attention as he looked up, and Seryko found a pair of lightless jet-black eyes affixing a thousand-yard stare on him. “They say the rest of The Fallen short of the Council and Four Calamities dread being in your presence.”

“And yet, you do not,” the young man identified as Alexander Shadowcast replied in a low voice devoid of emotion as he stopped his circular pacing and started to inch slowly towards Seryko. “Only two types of Fallen end up here… those who stumble upon me during some random errand in the labyrinth, or those who seek me out with a purpose.” Alexander looked Seryko up and down, appraising the other Fallen’s facial features, physique and attire with his doll-like gaze. “Which might you be, Seryko Rheomyr?”

“You know me? That’s surprisingly well-informed of someone who hasn’t set foot outside of the labyrinth in two decades,” the green-haired Fallen replied with a sly smile. After all, if Shadowcast had indeed secluded himself in the labyrinth for 20 years, there was no way he could’ve learned the name of a fellow Fallen who joined the organisation only 5 years ago; and yet he had his way of knowing. 

“You’ve been in the Fallen for some time, but apparently, not long enough to know that word always has a way of getting around in these walls,” Alexander scoffed as he paced in circles around Seryko. “But, back to my question… why do you seek me out? Has the so-called ‘Fallen Council’ tasked you with talking sense into me?” At the mention of the Fallen Council, Alexander’s normally deadpan voice took on a sarcastic, mocking quality.

“No, of course not, I think at this point the Council has accepted the futility of any attempt to bring you back into the fold,” Seryko replied plainly. “But you are quite the enigma to me, Shadowcast… you were among the old guard of The Fallen. Word has it that you were the first to be recruited by Quietus himself into his Brotherhood of Null, yet I couldn’t think of anyone short of the heroes of Khazan to have such a visceral hatred towards The Fallen.”

“So you’ve done your homework on me,” Shadowcast ceased his pacing around, his voice sounding like he might’ve been impressed by the research Seryko had done on him. The black-haired young man folded his hands behind his back, staring at the ceiling. “My disdain towards The Fallen is not a rejection of the call of The Void, but because of the current state our organisation is in… the Fallen Council claim to carry the torch of our founding Archon, but they have instead led it astray. Under their leadership, The Fallen have gone from being scions of The Void to a loose confederacy of opportunists and bandits not unlike the Marauders. With the current sorry state of The Fallen I see no place for me within its ranks, so I have secluded myself in the labyrinth since.”

“Take heart then, for I come here not on the behest of the current leadership.” Seryko’s remark drew Alexander’s doll-eyed gaze back to his eyes.

“Fallen Council or not, I do no favours for anyone in this organisation,” Shadowcast spoke with what looked like a hint of a frown, as if he viewed the entire interaction so far as a waste of his time. 

“I see…” Seryko mused, tapping his chin contemplatively, “It feels like a regrettable waste of potential, to have a man of your talent be content to spend eternity brooding behind these dank walls. Surely, as one who views himself as the last of the true Fallen, there’s a part of you that still longs to carry out the edicts of The Void, no?”

“Quite the contrary, things have not been dull of late,” Alexander walked towards his desk, staring down at a crystal ball resting on a sculpted mahogany dais fashioned in the likeness of a pair of skeletal grasping hands. “I have been watching the events play out on the surface… all the destruction and carnage, and the Khazanians hoping against hope as they rally against an ineluctable tide of demons sweeping away their cities. It is… exhilarating to behold. Reminds me of what The Fallen were capable of under Quietus’ leadership, and what it could still be had it not lost its way under the so-called Fallen Council.”

“Seems like the activities of the Drekis Empire have not escaped your attention,” Seryko sauntered over to the bookcase and picked a random tome off the shelves, flipping through its pages. What greeted his eyes were indecipherable scrawls written in eldritch symbols, and drawings capturing alien geometries that strained the eye to look at. 

“My eyes turn to wherever the shadow of death hangs,” Alexander closed the cover of the book Seryko was browsing through, plucking it from the green-haired Fallen’s hands.

“Then guess what? There’s someone outside of The Fallen who regards you as a person of interest,” Seryko commented as Alexander returned the book to the shelves. “And I come to you on the behest of that certain someone…”

“Tell me, who is that someone whom you claim to speak for, if he or she is not of The Fallen?” Shadowcast inquired, placing his hands behind his back. 

A dry smile crept across Seryko’s lips as he gave a slow nod, “Drekis.”

For the first time since they exchanged words, Alexander Shadowcast displayed visible emotion, his brows knitting in anger as he raised his voice, “You dare blaspheme against The Void by invoking the name of a rival Archon in the presence of Quietus’ chosen? Did you come all the way down here just to make a clown of me!? Explain yourself!” Alexander glared at Seryko, his usually dull and inexpressive eyes now a pair of embers that appeared to sear the soul under their withering gaze.

“Now there, let’s not broadcast this conversation to the entire tower,” Seryko held up his right index finger and placed it in front of his lips, the supercilious smile never leaving his countenance. “Allow me to explain myself by letting you know that my true allegiance lay not with The Fallen, but the Drekis Empire. It was none other than Drekis himself who tasked me with infiltrating the ranks of The Fallen in order to get close to you.”

“To think that a rival Archon could take this level of interest in me, I don’t know whether to regard that as flattery or a threat,” Alexander snorted, his rage visibly subsided at this point though a derisive tone lingered in his voice.  

“I have spoken to Drekis about your disdain towards the current leadership of The Fallen, and he has decided that your real calling and purpose no longer lie with The Fallen, but with the Drekis Empire.”

“So you’re one of those Discordant Scions… and your Archon seeks to recruit me, the last of the Brotherhood of Null, to his cause?” Shadowcast’s eyes narrowed as he leaned in to put his face inches away from Seryko’s. “Please, do continue…” the dark-haired Fallen tried to read Seryko’s poker face, and from what he could observe there were no signs of treacherous intent on the Discordant Scion’s part.

Seryko nodded, affirming his identity as a Discordant Scion. “As you said earlier, the activities of the Drekis Empire reminded you of the bygone glory days of The Fallen, before the Fallen Council led the organisation astray. What if I were to tell you, that by aiding in Drekis’ campaign, you will regain that sense of direction and purpose you have long yearned for?” The green-haired Scion’s smile widened, “Pledge your allegiance to Drekis, and you will have it all… more power than you once held, a renewed sense of purpose… and perhaps most importantly, someone who has a better appreciation of your talents and abilities than the Fallen Council.”

“More power, you say? As tempting as that may sound, know that I am a devotee of The Void from the moment Quietus breathed life into me, and I intend on remaining as one until the day I become one with The Void, yet…” Shadowcast stepped back, resting his chin against his knuckles in contemplation. “To think that a sleeper agent from the enemy could spend five years among The Fallen without raising any alarms is proof positive of how far The Fallen have strayed from my Archon’s vision.”

“They are indeed more lost than you can imagine…” Seryko turned his head towards the door leading out of the room, “But I think we will have to continue this discussion another time, for I sense the approach of another.”

“You assume I am interested in your offer? That is certainly a lot of faith, given how I haven’t even weighed in on your Archon’s proposal,” Alexander retorted, folding his arms over his chest as Seryko turned to leave his personal quarters.

“The fact you did not make a move against me even after knowing I’m a mole proved that you have harboured thoughts of turning on The Fallen… or at least its current management,” as soon as Seryko was done speaking, the door swung open to reveal Tundra’s burly frame, partially shadowed under the lintel, the cryogenic chill radiating from his body causing the very moisture in the air around him to condense into a white mist that constantly shrouds him and form a glistening sheen of frost on exposed areas of his skin.

“Tundra…” Seryko addressed the cryomancer in a patronising tone, “Seems like the Fallen Tower is smaller than I thought, or have you nothing better to do than to shadow me like a restless spirit?”

The icy Russian sneered at Seryko’s statement, “I have more important duties to attend to than to probe into your personal affairs, Seryko – but it just so happens that some of the higher-ups have been inquiring about your whereabouts. See… the Fallen Council have big plans about things to come, and it is during such critical junctures that maverick behaviours aren’t appreciated,” to add emphasis to the point, Tundra fixed an icy stare at Shadowcast.

Alexander ignored Tundra’s remarks as he retreated to a corner of his room, sitting down on the floor in a lotus position, his eyes closed as though entering deep meditation.

The cryomancer continued, “That being said, what are you doing down here in the labyrinth? I don’t recall the higher-ups assigning you any errands that would necessitate going down here, much less talking to Alexander.” As far as Tundra was concerned, if the Fallen Council could not talk Shadowcast back into the fold, no-one in the organisation could.

Seryko responded with a dismissive wave of his right hand, “That does not concern you, Tundra – I was only taking a walk in the labyrinth as a form of self-reflection when I stumbled upon Shadowcast’s quarters by chance, that’s all. And if you would excuse me… I think it’s about time I returned to the upper levels.” With that, Seryko sidestepped around Tundra’s husky frame to reach the door, never making eye contact with the cryomancer the whole time. 

Tundra grunted with disdain as Rheomyr left Alexander’s quarters, giving the still-meditating Fallen one last disapproving glare before following the mint-haired Fallen out of the labyrinth to the tower’s upper levels.

 

Segment 108: Astra Canyon

Vincentzo’s royal convoy pulled to a halt at the canyon pass to allow him and Woose to dismount, accompanied by Tanin and escorted by Vincentzo’s honour guard contingent as they stood at the opening of the geographical landmark known as Astra Canyon; with a width of 800 metres and a depth of 200 metres, the canyon served as a natural marker for the borders between the Rugedelon region and Central Araelis, with the primary access point between the two regions being the Great Rugedelon Bridge at the town of Astra’s Crossing. 

“Return to the royal shuttle,” Vincentzo ordered the captain of his honour guard, gesturing towards the convoy of Caracal IFVs. “Contact Araelgrad to keep units on standby; if you don’t hear from myself, Tanin or Woose after 24 hours I want a full strike force deployed to Astra’s Crossing, is that clear?” The officer acknowledged Vincentzo with a salute before ordering his men to fall back, leaving the three heroes to proceed towards Astra’s Crossing on foot. 

Entering the town, they found that it too had been the site of a fierce battle, the streets littered with the bodies of both Khazanian defenders and Discordant Scions. But unlike the scene that greeted them in West Matriarch, the battle at Astra’s Crossing had clearly taken place a longer time ago, though no less intense.

Tanin shook his head sadly at the sight, “It’s like everywhere we go, it’s the same scene of death and senseless violence.” The Archon of Light stared into the distance, his expression a mask of grim resolve, “I sense the presence of Drekis minions here… I believe they are the remnants of the legion that attacked West Matriarch City… and they are moving towards us.” 

“I thought they were cowards who’d slink away into the shadows now that their numbers were depleted, but it seems that they viewed their lives as expendable,” Woose remarked as he cracked his knuckles in preparation for an upcoming fight.

“Let them come then!” Vincentzo growled, his cloak flapping behind him. “They only saved me the trouble of hunting them down; they will pay for their crimes in West Matriarch! Every last one of them!”

“Look, I understand how you feel but right now, you need to rein in your emotions and keep a clear head,” Tanin stepped in front of Vincentzo, interposing his right arm in front of the archmage to keep him from acting impulsively. Stepping forward, the Archon of Light found that the bodies on the street were randomly lying where they fell; someone or something had gathered the fallen combatants and arranged them in a circle with a strange symbol in its centre. To make matters worse, some of the slain heroes – Sentinels, Maniacals and freelancers alike – were associates of his, fellow heroes whom he’d worked alongside with before. Now they lay dead, their bodies used to make a profane symbol. “Who could’ve done this?” 

“It’s the work of that Magister; we saw a similar symbol at the outskirts of West Matriarch hours before the attack,” Woose chimed in as he joined Tanin by his side. “My best guess is that it was his ‘signature’ – his way of either announcing his arrival ahead of time or his way of saying ‘I was here’.”

“I see…” Tanin replied, his eyes narrowing as his keen senses picked up slight movements from the bodies making up the unholy symbol. A Deminite Soldier burst from the pile of corpses and leaped straight at him, but in the space of time it took for the creature to get within arms’ reach of the Archon of Light, he’d already unsheathed Chrysilium and performed a vertical slice that bifurcated the Drekis minion in mid-leap.

“Heads up, here they come!” Tanin warned as he swung Chrysilium around in circles to parry automatic gunfire as Discordant Scions burst out of nearby houses, dressed in patchwork combat outfits cobbled together from scavenged military gear and civilian hunting wear, their arsenal ranging from old PPSh-41 submachine guns, to DrekisTech particle beam rifles. Their numbers were soon swelled by Deminite Soldiers, who were drawn to the area by the sounds of fighting and announced their arrival by slinging bolts of hellfire at the heroes.

“You fiends! I’ll slay each and every one of you!” the royal archmage roared as arcs of electricity snaked around his body before being unleashed as a bolt of lightning at the nearest Deminite Soldier. Upon striking the Drekis thrall, it split into several smaller arcs of electricity that struck nearby enemies, as over a dozen Deminite Soldiers and Discordant Scions dropped dead to a single spell.

A Hunter-Killer dodged one of the lightning bolts by leaping into the air and onto the roof of a nearby building, issuing a guttural laugh from behind its armoured mask before taking aim at Vincentzo with its DrekisTech rifle and firing an organitech missile from its underbarrel launcher at the archmage.

“Don’t worry, ‘Centzo! I got this!” Woose jumped in front of Vincentzo with his palms placed together, a halo of pink ki building up his the martial artist’s hands as he unleashed a doughnut-shaped blast of energy that intercepted the enemy missile, causing it to explode in midair.

The explosion left a cloud of ash and smoke in the air that obscured vision for both sides. As the dust settled, Vincentzo stood ready with his right arm extended, a ball of energy gathering in his hand. The Hunter-Killer growled and prepared to fire again, but the archmage beat the demonic commando to the draw as he fired off a purple beam of energy that pierced straight through the Hunter-Killer’s chest armour and obliterated its body from waist-up. 

The explosion stirred clouds of ash and dust into the air, creating a momentary smokescreen that obscured the heroes from view – and when the dust cleared, Vincentzo was standing ready with his right palm outstretched, a ball of energy gathered in his hand. Before the Hunter-Killer could take another shot, the archmage unleashed a potent energy blast, as a beam of purple energy shot from his palm and blasted a hole through the Drekis commando, and an instant later its entire upper torso ceased to exist. Looking around, Vincentzo saw that Tanin and Woose had already taken care of the attacking Deminites and Scions, standing over a heap of defeated foes. 

Before any of them could give a report on the situation, the ground beneath them rumbled, followed by the tarmac cracking and chipping scant seconds before an entire section of the street collapsed into a massive sinkhole as an Arachnis Queen burst out of the depths, its mandibles clacking hungrily as saliva dripped from its mouth. Wherever drops of its saliva landed, the ground hissed and gave off wisps of white smoke that left a pitted texture on the ground, revealing the creature’s drool to be a deadly corrosive. “Arachnis Queen! Get back!” Tanin warned.

The Arachnis Queen reared up before launching itself forward like a striking cobra, setting its sights on Tanin. The creature’s mandibles slammed shut against thin air as it bit into an afterimage left in the wake of Tanin’s teleport, the Archon of Light having already repositioned himself by the side of the Arachnis Queen’s head, Chrysilium raised high to deal a decapitation strike. The beast reacted surprisingly fast for its size as it raised one of its forelegs to block the swing, sacrificing a limb to save its head as the Archon of Light’s slash sent the leg flying. 

The Arachnis Queen didn’t even flinch at the loss of its limb, instead responding by swinging its entire body at Tanin like a giant flail. The Archon of Light raised Chrysilium in front of himself to block the attack, but the impact sent him flying across the street, his back slamming so hard against the side of a building that it left an imprint on the rockcrete wall as Tanin landed on his hands and knees with a grunt.

With a shrill cry, the Arachnis Queen reared up once more to reveal its underbelly, lined with dozens of gelatinous sacs that detached from its underside and burst upon landing to spawn a host of spiderlike Arachnii that scuttled towards Tanin, who levitated himself into the air to avoid getting swarmed – and in turn they turned their attention towards more accessible targets in the form of Vincentzo and Woose even as Tanin returned to the ground to hack and slash away at the Arachnis swarm. 

“Vincentzo, could use a little crowd control here!” Tanin exclaimed as he slayed multiple Arachnii with each swing of his sword, but more continued to swarm the Archon.

“It would be my pleasure… as soon as I get the huge one out of the way!” Maiinverno yelled back as the Arachnis Queen burst out of the ground near him, the archmage conjuring a vortex of air to launch him into the air and avoid getting seized by its mandibles, dodging by the skin of his teeth as the Arachnis Queen slammed headfirst into the tarmac.

 The giant minion lifted its head from the ground with a car-sized chunk of rockcrete between its jaws, making an angry screech as its powerful mandibles easily crushed the rubble and prepared to strike a second time at Vincentzo. With a whooping Bruce Lee-like war cry, Woose launched himself through the air like a human rocket to intercept the Arachnis Queen’s strike with a thunderous flying kick to the left side of its face, causing a section of its carapace to buckle under the impact. The Arachnis Queen recoiled and screeched under Woose’s onslaught, but quickly recovered as it pulled its head back to reveal a set of spinneret-like glands on its chin that sprayed streams of white fluid that quickly turned into silk-like strands on contact with the air, snaring the martial artist’s arms with a material resembling spider web.

Woose grunted as he fought to escape his bonds, only to find that the substance that ensnared him to be something even stronger than spider silk. The Arachnis Queen spawned another brood of Arachnii, the spiderlike minions scuttling towards the struggling martial artist with a single-minded intent to sink their venomous fangs into Woose’s flesh. “Uh ‘Cento, a little help here?” Woose asked as he tried to fight back to the best of his ability with just his legs, punting the Arachnii like footballs.

“Woose! Tanin!” Vincentzo yelled as he rolled out of the way of a Deminite Soldier’s hellfire blast. “Hang in there, both of you!” The archmage returned fire with a salvo of magic missiles that homed in on the Deminite Soldier and pulverised it before turning his attention back to Woose. Chanting a curt incantation, the archmage conjured a swirling column of fire that resembled a small tornado and directed it towards Tanin, incinerating the Arachnii in its path before guiding the flaming column towards Woose, burning the lesser minions away before moving his spell just close enough to the pugilist to weaken his silk bonds without harming Woose.

“By the Archons, Woose… couldn’t you learn to stay out of trouble?” Vincentzo grumbled as his brows knitted with concentration, the archmage working with surgical focus as he repurposed his spell to burn away the strands of Arachnis Queen silk encasing Woose’s upper body.

“For the record, that thing could’ve grabbed you in its jaws had I not intercepted it,” Woose replied a matter-of-fact as he summoned every ounce of strength to burst free from the remaining strands of webbing, seconds before the Arachnis Queen burst from the ground again, this time behind Vincentzo. “Vincentzo, that queen beast! It’s on the attack again!”

“What!?” Vincentzo gasped as he spun around and found himself face-to-face with the Arachnis Queen, its compound eyes glinting with primal fury as it rapidly clacked its mandibles together before rearing up to strike, its jaws opened wide. At the same time, Vincentzo began to utter an incantation as a circle of glyphs materialised beneath his feet, but the archmage feared that he would not be able to get his spell off before the creature struck.

Tanin teleported in front of the archmage as the Arachnis Queen struck, angling the blade of Chrysilium upwards towards the colossal minion’s chin as its head descended. Due to its massive inertia, the Arachnis Queen was unable to stop itself or move out of the way as it ended up throwing itself onto the tip of Tanin’s sword, which skewered the Arachnis Queen’s throat as its clacking mandibles stopped mere inches away from Vincentzo’s face. The Archon of Light clenched his teeth as he pressed his armour-clad shoulder against Chrysilium’s pommel, using the full weight of his body to drive his holy sword even deeper into the Arachnis Queen’s neck.

Meanwhile, Woose joined in by delivering a machine gun-like barrage of punches to the Arachnis Queen’s head, punctuating each and every blow with a whooping cry, “AAAATATATATA!” The Arachnis Queen’s carapace buckled under the relentless assault, with sections of its armour even breaking in places. As a finisher, the pink-clad martial artist raised his right hand above his head and brought it down in a powerful knife-hand chop between the Arachnis Queen’s eyes while making up a name for his attack. “Ganzan ryozan ha!” Woose declared as his chop caved the beast’s head in.

At the same time, Tanin tugged his weapon free, vertically splitting the Arachnis Queen’s head in the process. The creature thrashed around before its body crashed onto the tarmac, showering the heroes with its foul-smelling ichor in its death throes. Before the trio could even catch their breath, a Devonox smashed through the side of a building and roared as it charged down the street, sending tremors through the ground with its approach.

“These cretins are seriously testing my patience here!” Vincentzo spat, his voice dripping with disgust as he pointed his right hand at the charging beast, his hand surrounded by a circle of glowing glyphs as energy built up within his hand. “Disintegrate!” the archmage declared as a white-hot beam of energy blasted from his outstretched palm. The Devonox halted its charge to raise its arms, blocking the incoming beam as the force of the spell sent the heels of its feet skidding backward. “Tough bastard, I’ll give you that… but not enough!” the royal archmage growled as he poured more of his mana reserves into turning up the spell’s power output.

“Allow me to lend a hand!” Woose declared jubilantly as he took position by Vincentzo’s side and powered up another pink-coloured ki blast before launching it at the Devonox that was still struggling against the archmage’s spell. The bolt of ki spiralled around Vincentzo’s beam in a helical path before merging with it in front of the Devonox’s outstretched hands, resulting in a massive explosion that sent a powerful shockwave rippling down the street, shattering every window within the vicinity and blowing a thick pall of smoke in the heroes’ direction.

The dust had not even settled as Vincentzo spotted a hulking silhouette within the smoke screen, and moments later the Devonox burst forth from the smoke, its arms now reduced to a pair of cauterised stumps at the elbow. Despite the catastrophic damage, the armless Devonox continued to charge headfirst at the heroes, intent on using its entire body as a giant battering ram.

“Not even Woose is this single-minded!” An exasperated Vincentzo grasped at his blonde hair, annoyed by the Drekis heavy shock trooper’s stubbornness.

“That’s what it wants you to think, ‘Centzo! But I’ll prove otherwise!” Woose retorted as he jumped in front of Vincentzo and struck a crane stance, ready to throw himself at the incoming Devonox to deliver an epic beatdown.

The archmage rolled his eyes at Woose, finding it hard to believe that the martial artist saw single-mindedness as a positive trait.

Tanin teleported himself in the way, intercepting the charging Devonox with a slash from Chrysilium as it thundered past the Archon. The red-skinned behemoth continued to barrel forward for a few more strides before it split in half at the waist, the lower body taking a few more strides before collapsing, while the upper half landed on the ground, just several paces away from Woose and Vincentzo’s feet. Even at death’s door, the armless upper body spent its last breaths attempting to wriggle its way towards the two heroes, gnashing its teeth as it tried to bite the archmage’s knees before the fire in its eyes went out. 

Tanin quickly flashed-stepped in front of the creature’s path, and the Devonox, without its arms and unable to overcome the inertia of its own bulk, could only watch as its upper body was separated from its lower body – the top half rolling across the dirt and coming to a stop a few feet away from Woose and Vincentzo while its lower torso skidded behind. The behemoth’s remains fell to the ground hard, but the other minions lost none of their tenacity.

“Is that the last of them?” Woose wondered. The pugilist received his answer in the form of a rocket-propelled grenade whistling past him to explode against a building a few blocks down, blowing a large section of its wall apart. Woose’s eyes tracked where the RPG came from, quickly spotting a Discordant at a traffic cross junction reloading an RPG-7. Packs of Deminite Soldiers and Reptillions converged from the adjacent avenues, along with a guntruck ferrying yet more Discordant Scions.

“There’s at least fifty of them coming right at us! It’s gonna be a long day!” Woose ducked and weaved around with great skill as the Discordant Scions’ guntruck opened fire in the heroes’ direction with its pintle-mounted M2 Browning, with the Deminite Soldiers following-up by unleashing volleys of fireballs while the Scions on foot let loose bursts of small-arms fire as they advanced. But in true Woose fashion, what he thought of as “skillful ducking and weaving” appeared more like “tapdancing with two left feet” to a casual observer.

“Don’t bother counting,” Vincentzo wiped the Arachnis Queen ichor and sweat off his forehead as he steadied his breaths. The archmage began to levitate into the air as a fiery golden halo enveloped his body, his voice now carrying an echo effect. “I’m taking them all out in one fell swoop… this time there will be no more velvet-gloved treatment for these blighted filth.”

“Apollo of the Sun, lend me your authority to punish these upstarts!” Vincentzo floated into the air, aglow with a golden radiance that made him appear like a second sun, staring down at the incoming wave of enemies as the irises of his eyes changed from light blue to gold with orange rims. “Judgement Flare!” The archmage raised his hands above his head as a ball of fire that resembled a miniature sun materialised above his hands.

“Come on, Tanin!” Woose waved frantically at the Archon of Light as he pointed at one of the shafts in the ground left behind by the Arachnis Queen. “Even if you’re the Archon of Light, trust me when I say you don’t want to be anywhere near that thing when it goes off!” With that, the pink-clad martial artist jumped unceremoniously into the hole in the ground. 

“You needn’t tell me,” Tanin replied as he teleported himself above the Arachnis Queen burrow’s opening, positioning himself just high enough above the entrance to allow him to perform a backflip in midair before diving into the hole after Woose.

“This is for my people!” Vincentzo declared as he threw his Judgement Flare at the wave of enemies, his spell’s projectile descending towards them like a falling star. The archmage briefly closed his eyes to allow the image of the deceased civilian who fought to his last breath to flood his mind, the pocket watch with a photo of his wife and child. Vincentzo’s eyelids flared open moments before the spell detonated.

From the other side of Astra Canyon, the skyline of Astra’s Crossing was momentarily blurred out by a blinding pillar of white light flashing into the sky, followed by the roar of an explosion as a mushroom cloud rose into the air. 

 

Segment 109: Aigonis Zekruel

Across the Rugedelon Bridge, the dragonkin-like Magister known as Aigonis Zekruel perched on the uppermost branches of an ancient tree, his white-feathered wings folded. The Magister’s lizardlike face turned in the direction of Astra’s Crossing as the column of light erupted into the sky. Moments later, the blast wave from the Judgement Flare explosion swept across the terrain, even reaching the other side of the canyon as a powerful wind that caused even the mighty tree to sway. “That wasss no ordinary explossssion,” Aigonis spoke in his signature lisp as he lifted his snout and sniffed at the air by flicking his tongue around. “I sssmell magic in the air… powerful magic.”

The Magister rose from his perched position and retrieved his halberd-like weapon known as the Staredge, spreading his wings before leaping off the tree and gliding back down the the ground, landing in front of a massive assembly of Drekis minions of all breeds ranging from the diminutive Reavers to hulking Hive Guards, together with an entire contingent of heavily-armed Discordant Scions with armoured support ranging from captured Armadillo APCs from the Khazan Armed Forces, to scavenged T-90M tanks from the former Zel’Mier Armed Forces that still bore their Marauder insignia. 

Yari the Thronebreaker stepped out from the ranks of the assembled Scions, the bearded baldie’s well-crafted medieval-looking black and indigo plate armour and uncovered face making him stand out from the rank-and-file Scions, most of whom sported piecemeal tactical gear and had their faces hidden behind cloth hoods, balaclavas or face-concealing helmets. “Magister, we humbly await your orders,” the bearded baldie placed a clenched right fist over his chest and bowed. Acting on Yari’s cue, the rank-and-file Discordant Scions stood to attention and raised their hands to salute Aigonis.

“At eassse, Sssscions,” Aigonis’ forked tongue darted in and out of his mouth as he gestured at the Discordant Scions under his command. “Firssst we wait for my sssscout’s return.”

The air in front of the Magister rippled as a Phantom Sorcerer phased into reality, the robed apparition placing his hands together and bowing before Aigonis, “Your servant has returned from his assignment, Magister.”

“I already detect the presssence of powerful magic coming from acrossssss the canyon, Sssorcerer,” Aigonis’ tail wagged from side to side in a display of growing impatience, “Tell me of the eventsss that transsspired at Asssstra’s Crosssssing.” 

The Phantom Sorcerer bowed his head again before delivering his report in an echoing voice, “I bore witness to the arrival of three Khazanian heroes at Astra’s Crossing; they engaged the remnants of the West Matriarch invasion force in battle, and they appear to have won.”

“Three, you sssay?” Aigonis mused as he tapped the ground with the butt of the Staredge, “The heroesss of Khazan are renowned for their toughnessss, but thessse three must be legendary by even their sssstandardsss to be able to wipe out an entire army on their own.” 

“They would have to be, for I was able to discern the identities of two out of the three heroes,” the ghostly minion continued. “One of them is none other than the Archon of Light himself, Tanin. Though he normally operates under the callsign ‘Dragoon T’... the other is a highly-accomplished archmage known as Vincentzo Maiinverno, who is the ruler of this land, and a renowned hero in the ranks of the SLJ.” 

“Asssss expected of heroesss of their calibre…” the Magister chuckled as his fingers drummed against the shaft of the Staredge, “They will be disssappointed to learn however, that the Wessst Matriarch legion isss but a sssplinter unit while the main body of my legion remainsss here in Rugedelon.”

“Shall we head for Astra’s Crossing then milord? This could be a golden opportunity for us to wipe out two of their prime assets in one swoop,” Yari chimed in with a suggestion. 

“Yesss… and no,” Aigonis Zekruel held up his right hand, his tongue flicking around wildly, “You will lead my legion acrossss the Grand Rugedelon Bridge, but you will hold position passst the outskirtsss of Assstra’s Crossssing; do not set foot into the town, for I will handle the heroesss myssself.” 

“Are you sure about that, milord?” Yari had to make sure he hadn’t misheard the Magister, “We could get the Deminite Gunners to conduct saturation bombardment of the town, and then surround it with Deminites to have the heroes boxed in should they survive the bombardment, surely you needn’t-” before the high-ranking Scion could say another word, his ears picked up a faint swish in the air as Aigonis spun around and pointed the tip of his halberd mere inches away from Yari’s eyes, a move that made him fall silent in an instant.

“Yari, you of all people ssshould know better than to quessstion a Magisssster’s orderssss,” Aigonis hissed as he thumped the ground a few times with his tail before lowering his weapon. The Magister thrust the Staredge into the ground before raising his hands to the air, “The Khazanianssss sssent three heroesss againssst an entire army… to cower behind my legion would be a losssss of face. There can be only one way… champion versssussss champion.”

With that, the Magister retrieved his weapon and sprang into the air, his powerful legs easily launching him over a dozen stories upwards. At the apex of his jump, Aigonis spread his wings out wide, flapping them to carry him higher and higher into the air before gliding off in the direction of Astra’s Crossing, occasionally flapping his wings to maintain altitude.

“Yes, Magister,” Yari bowed as he thumped his mailed fist against his chest, metal ringing against metal as gauntlet met breastplate. Turning around to face the assembled Deminites and Discordant Scions behind him, the bearded baldie raised his glaive above his head and pointed towards the Grand Rugedelon Bridge in the distance. “We move! Hail Drekis!” 

“Hail Drekis!” the lesser Scions shouted in unison as they started up the engines on their combat vehicles, the air filled with the rumbling of engines and smell of exhaust as the Discordant Scions gave a final check on their arms and equipment before clambering on board waiting APCs, IFVs and trucks. Some others hitched rides on the hulls of tanks, and many others simply marched forward on foot. The mechanical growls of vehicle engines were echoed by the ghoulish shrieks and roars from the Drekis thralls as they charged ahead of the column of Discordant Scions as Aigonis Zekruel's legion advanced towards Astra’s Crossing. 

 

Segment 110: Shattered Confidence

A Devonox roared as it loomed over Tim, the crimson goliath so close that the young Sentinel could smell the musky odour of its breath as it raised its massive arms above its head and brought its fists crashing down like a pile driver. The swordsman hissed as his body moved on sheer reflex, raising his weapon above his head to block the incoming blow. The turquoise light from his sword glowed brighter, forming a protective barrier a fraction of a second before the Devonox’s fists landed. Tim grunted and clenched his teeth as his knees wobbled and his feet imprinted into the ground as the kinetic energy from the Devonox’s attack was dispersed by the force field. Without it, the silver-haired swordsman was certain that the creature would’ve hammered him into the ground like a railway spike.

Undeterred by the ineffectiveness of its attack, the Devonox growled as it performed a wind-up and swung itself around like a centrifuge, its right hand almost raking the ground with its fingers as the ogre-like minion performed a roundhouse open hand strike at the still-blocking Timothy. The barrier absorbed the brunt of the Devonox’s strike, but it still carried enough force to launch the young man across the battlefield, sailing a good ten metres through the air before rolling across the dirt by several more metres.

Tim landed on his back, coming to a halt against a heap of bodies. “S-sorry…” the young Sentinel murmured as he plunged his sword into the ground to provide support as he hauled himself back onto his feet, muttering more apologies to the dead for his unintentional desecration before wiping the dirt and blood off his face and raising his glowing sword to face down the Devonox once more as it thumped the ground with its fists before charging towards Tim.

“Come on, you ugly brute!” the silver-haired swordsman hissed as he got into a combat stance as the crimson goliath closed the distance, only to lose its head to a big gun fired from somewhere. In his tunnel-visioned state, Timothy had no idea where the shot came from, but he assumed it likely came from a friendly tank or mech. The Sentinel had no time to catch his breath, as his senses detected incoming danger from his rear

Tim spun around in time to notice a Deminite Soldier bearing down towards, already leaping towards him with its claws outstretched. The swordsman ducked to avoid the jumping slash, but not completely unscathed as the tip of the Deminite’s claws grazed his left cheek to draw a drop of blood. The Deminite Soldier growled as it spun around to follow up with a roundhouse slash, only to be impaled in the chest by Tim’s sword before the Sentinel extracted his weapon by tugging on it while kicking the Drekis minion back, followed by raising his heirloom blade above his head to vertically split the creature’s skull.

An artillery strike went off in Tim’s proximity, sending enemies flying into the air as the Sentinel flinched and threw his arms over his face to keep the flying dirt and debris out of his eyes. Remembering Raea’s words earlier, Tim kept moving, weaving about to evade particle beam fire from a Hunter-Killer’s DrekisTech rifle as he closed the distance. Every ally that Tim saw fall on the frontline only fuelled the young man’s resolve – if his efforts were in vain, then he would rather not return home at all! The Hunter-Killer reached for its sword as Tim entered melee range, only to lose an arm to a powerful swing of the Sentinel’s glowing sword, before taking a slash across the midsection and a final stroke that sent its head flying off its shoulders.

A Reptillion hissed before spewing a stream of corrosive bile from its mouth, but Tim telegraphed the Drekis minion’s attack as he rolled under the spray of foul liquid to put himself within sword’s reach of the lizardman-like thrall. The Reptillion brought its sword down in an overhead chop while Tim was still in a half-kneeling position, but the Sentinel raised his weapon just in time to block the Reptillion’s sword strike, before wheeling around to catch the Reptillion’s feet with a sweep kick, knocking it onto its back. Before the Drekis minion could recover, Tim was already on top of it, driving his sword through its chest before giving its blade a few twists.

Tim had barely risen to his feet before a second Reptillion bore down on his position, its tongue lashing around wildly as it jumped through the air with the intent of bringing its sword down on the young Sentinel’s head. Tim’s eyes narrowed as the creature moved in slow-motion under his enhanced perception, but before the swordsman could commit to the decision, a thrown axe arced through the air to intercept the leaping Reptillion, its blade biting deep into the Drekis minion’s chest as it crashed onto the ground.

Tim’s eyes tracked where the axe was thrown from and caught sight of a tall and powerfully-built warrior with long braided ebony hair and an equally impressive beard. Dressed in furs and leather armour, the warrior had the trappings of a fantasy barbarian as he moved with confident strides, smashing Deminite skulls left and right with powerful swings from a massive mace wielded in his left hand. The barbarian paused to rip his axe free from the dead Reptillion’s chest before looking at Tim in the eye, and in that moment there was a noticeable glimmer of respect in the musclebound warrior’s eyes as he nodded at Tim. “Ich bin Thunk,” the barbarian grunted, thumping his chest twice, his mighty pecs like slabs of iron.

“Thank you, uh… Thunk,” Tim returned Thunk’s nod as he rose to his feet, wondering if that was indeed the barbarian’s name.

“Ich bin Thunk!” Thunk bellowed as he charged at an advancing Deminite Soldier to deliver a thunderous headbutt that caved in the Drekis minion’s skull; as the Deminite staggered back, the barbarian sent it flying with a powerful Spartan kick, before spinning around as a Reaver leapt for him to bat it out of the air with his mace before leaping into the middle of a pack of Deminite Soldiers, bashing and chopping away with an almost reckless abandon with his brutal two-weapon fighting style.

 Tim caught a glimpse of the heroes fighting alongside him – the bravery and resolve of his fellow Khazanians inspired the young Sentinel as he advanced with renewed confidence. Nearby, a hero came to the aid of a platoon of soldiers embroiled in combat with a Tanker Beast – a wizard in red robes lifted his staff into the air as he chanted an arcane incantation that caused a fissure to open in the ground beneath the beetle-like biomechanoid; sending a blast of flames and molten rock directly into its lightly-armoured underbelly.

A cheerful girl with blonde twintails and dressed in a sleek silver and black bodysuit with glowing pink accents raced past Tim, carried by an array of repulsors built into her back and high-heeled boots. The young Sentinel could only presume that she was either a cyborg or gynoid of some sort as she spun a giant rocket-hammer around to slam a Deminite Soldier into the ground, leaving its mangled remains in the middle of a crater, before twirling her oversized weapon around to smack a Reptillion so hard that the Drekis minion was launched several stories into the air. 

Elsewhere, an athletically-built bearded man in a suit and tie with neck-length dark hair moved like a phantom through the Deminite packs. Tim found himself momentarily mesmerised by the way the incongruously-attired man fought – he was armed with only a STI Pit Viper, but despite his seemingly weak choice of pistol he fought with ruthless efficiency, weaving his way out of incoming fireballs to get into extreme close quarters with Deminite Soldiers to dispatch them with a combination of precise knifework to the vitals and point-blank headshots.

Despite everybody’s best efforts, the Khazanians found themselves losing ground at a slow but steady pace. Even as Deminites and other thralls fell by the scores, hundreds more pushed forward to encircle the heroes like sharks in a feeding frenzy. Some of them were overwhelmed by the sheer weight of numbers, buried under an avalanche of bodies and torn limb from limb. Others managed to fall back, firing their weapons and blasting away with spells and powers in a desperate bid to put distance between themselves and the advancing monsters, but some found their efforts in vain as the tide of bodies caught up to them anyway and overpowered them, their bodies joining those of their allies on the charred and blood-soaked ground. For every inch the heroes and armed forces moved back, the Drekis legions crept an inch closer towards the Walshin Shield. 

Everywhere he looked Tim witnessed unrelenting courage and sacrificial resolve, but those who stood their ground to the bitter end accomplished nothing save for a violent death. The young Sentinel fought to stay focused on his objectives, but as casualties piled up on the Khazanian side he found it increasingly difficult to shake the realisation that the nagging voice in his head was not the fear for his own mortality, but for Raea’s well-being. Having lost his comms piece somewhere during the frenzied melee, the swordsman had no way of contacting his girlfriend. Though in all likelihood even if he hadn’t lost the device, trying to reach Raea would be an uphill battle as the global comms channel at this point was flooded with radio chatter that made it almost impossible to make out coherent signals amongst the noise.

Tim’s eyes darted anxiously around the battlefield, and in his attempt to spot Raea amidst the chaos he instead found Telissa falling back towards the Walshin Shield, firing her molecular disruptor rifle with one hand while using the shoulder of her other arm to prop up an injured Sentinel until she was relieved of her burden by a combat medic, who with the assistance of another infantry trooper strapped the wounded hero onto a stretcher and loaded him onto the back of a guntruck for evacuation. The blonde fired several more shots into the enemy formation before she grabbed onto the side of the vehicle as it prepared to retreat.

“Telissa!” Tim hewed down a pair of Deminite Soldiers to get to Telissa’s side as he ran alongside the military truck. “What are you doing, why are you falling back?”

“See for yourself, Tim!” The Seeker raised her voice to make herself heard above the cacophony of the battlefield. “The frontline is collapsing, and there are still more waves of enemies from over the horizon! We’ll have better chances holding them off at the Walshin Shield!”

“But Uberman hasn’t issued any orders to fall back!” The young Sentinel tried to protest, but by then the truck had accelerated beyond his ability to keep up with on foot. Tim found himself torn; the part of him that is an idealist wanted to lambast Telissa’s decision as selfish – but his inner realist understood the pragmatism of her choice. At this point, attempting to hold the line appeared suicidal. The enemy was close to attaining air supremacy at this point, as the number of Valkyrie airships and their complement of mech, fighter and gunship escorts at this point had dwindled to a fraction of their original number. Without friendly air assets to contest the skies, the Drekis Legion’s air power were free to bomb the Khazanians’ ground forces with impunity. 

Yet, even in the face of such grim prospects, something inside Tim screamed at him to stand his ground, to keep fighting. And Tim believed it, believing that he still had the power to make a difference, to turn things around as long as he could better understand the secrets of his heirloom sword and unlock more power from it. The young swordsman desperately wanted to be a Sentinel that his fellow Sentinels – no, the people of Khazan as a whole – could look up to for his dependability. And to retreat without an official order from Uberman felt like an insult to everything he believed the SLJ stood for!

Against the protests of his inner realist, Tim pressed forward, his sword strokes a frenetic dance of glowing turquoise trails as he carved through entire packs of Deminite Soldiers and Reptillions like a blender, their attacks easily telegraphable to his enhanced perception. To him, his foes were moving in slow-motion; but to those nearby, Tim’s movements were barely perceptible as the young swordsman appeared to be one place at one moment, and then another the next, with nothing save for a trail of turquoise afterimages in the wake of his movements. In that moment, Tim felt like it was his calling in life to fight these abominations, a destiny he was born to fulfill.

Eventually, the Sentinel arrived at a circular zone in the middle of the chaotic battlefield where neither Khazanian nor Drekis minion treaded – save for two. Tim stumbled upon Uberman’s face-off against Jon Avalon, right when the two warriors threw themselves at each other while roaring their respective challenges.

Uberman fired up his armour’s repulsors to launch himself at the Magister like a missile, his right fist cocked back as his forearm blaster powered up. The cyborg threw a mighty right straight aimed for Jon’s face, but the Magister raised his energy sword to block the Sentinel leader’s attack a mere heartbeat before it found its mark. Jon grunted under the tremendous impact of Uberman’s punch, his armour-clad feet leaving skid marks against the dirt as his timely defense stopped the damage but not the knockback.

“Not bad, Uberman, but do you think the same trick will work twice-” The Magister had barely finished his taunt when Uberman followed-up his punch with a fully powered-up concussive blast from the same arm’s forearm cannon. The beam interacted violently with the energy of Avalon’s sword, unleashing a pulse of energy that rippled outward to send both combatants flying back. Uberman’s feet carving a pair of skid marks into the dirt, while Avalon landed on his knees and drove his sword into the ground to act as a brake. “Yes… more,” the Magister smirked as he lifted his head and rose to his feet.

“...much obliged!” Uberman obliged the Magister’s demand by once more closing the distance, winding up with a left hook as he entered arm’s reach in the blink of an eye. Jon crouched like a cat as Uberman threw his punch, causing the cyborg’s fist to whiff past where his head had once been. The Magister followed-up with a breakdancer-like spin on the ground, his sword swinging in a wide arc as he looked to slash the Sentinel leader across his midsection. Having telegraphed his opponents counterattack, Uberman took countermeasures by discharging a double concussion blast at the ground between them both, using the recoil from his forearm cannons to blast himself backwards, out of the reach of Jon’s sword.

The beams’ powerful impact against the ground kicked up a cloud of fine dust into the air, obscuring Jon’s vision. Through the dust cloud, the Sentinel leader witnessed Jon’s silhouette swinging wildly to unleash a volley of sword beams in his general direction. Uberman ducked and weaved to evade the green eldritch blasts, before returning fire with a concussion blast the moment Jon raised his sword to unleash another sword beam, the cyborg’s attack hitting the Magister square in the chest.

The results were devastating; it was as if Avalon took a head-on collision from a speeding 18-wheeler, but with the force of impact concentrated onto a single point the size of a fist. The Magister flew back a good fifteen metres, and when the dust settled Uberman saw Avalon struggling onto his knees; a section of his chest armour was severely buckled, and his eyes appeared glassy and unfocused as he gasped for breath, and a trail of blood ran down the corner of his mouth.

“Time to end this,” Uberman remarked grimly as he walked towards Jon with a series of calculated, purposeful strides. As the cyborg stood tall over the kneeling Magister, Jon struggled to look up at Uberman, and in doing so coughed up another spray of crimson. Uberman’s optics glowed bright behind his visor as he stared down the wounded Jon, who appeared unusually calm about his predicament as he laughed, only to cough up yet more blood in the process.

As the Sentinel raised his right fist to prepare a finishing blow, seeing Jon’s current deplorable state stirred up a fleeting tinge of pity in Uberman. The cyborg shoved the feeling down, steeling himself by reminding himself that his adversary isn’t some misguided crook who was rebelling against society out of desperation, but a remorseless, stone-cold killer who made it his calling in life to mock everything Khazan holds sacred. The window of philosophical introspection only lasted a few seconds, but that window of hesitation – however brief, proved to be a costly mistake for the Sentinel leader.

By the time Uberman committed himself to his decision, Jon had managed to catch a second wind as the Magister yelled, his voice almost a guttural roar as tongues of spectral green flames danced around his body and his irises glowed so brightly that his eyes appeared to be nothing more than two blank pools of ghostly green light. Milliseconds before the cyborg’s finishing punch landed, Jon performed an uppercut slash with his energy sword to catch Uberman dead across the chest with a point-blank sword beam. 

The sword beam exploded against Uberman’s armour, sending him flying clear out of their makeshift duelling arena. The ten-foot tall, heavily-armoured cyborg was launched with such a terrifying force that a stray Devonox that happened to be in Uberman’s trajectory was instantly pulped when the cyborg collided with it. The Sentinel leader rolled across the dirt, ploughing a trench through the ground before he came to a stop lying face-down.

Uberman grunted as his hands clawed at the dirt, dragging himself onto his fours as sparks leapt from the joints of his cyborg frame. The Sentinel leader tried to get back onto his feet, but only succeeded in raising himself into a half-kneeling position as his right leg refused to respond. On his HUD, a status message window appeared, warning the cyborg that the power to the hydraulics in his right leg was offline. The self-repair systems in his armour kicked in, rerouting power from redundant systems to restore power to the offline hydraulics, but as the progress indicator began to tick down, Jon was already on the move as he advanced towards the fallen Sentinel leader with sinister intent.

“I’d hoped you wouldn’t go down this easily,” the Magister smirked as he wiped the blood from his chin and mouth with the back of his hand. “I don’t know why you chose to throw away your victory when it was right within your grasp.” As someone who took pride in his ability to accurately assess the strengths of his enemies as well as that of his own, Jon was certain that there was an ephemeral window of time where the Sentinel leader had him dead to rights, only to abdicate his claim to victory.

“Because unlike you and your kind, I do not believe in striking down my adversaries while they are helpless,” Uberman lifted his head to stare Avalon in the eye, his optics glowing bright red behind his T-slot visor, recalling how he stayed his hand for just that brief moment due to a tinge of pity towards Jon’s helpless state.

With a poker-faced look, Jon’s eyes narrowed as he rested the blade of his energy sword against Uberman’s neck. “I could end you right here and now… but that wouldn’t be too sporting of me, now would it?” The Magister’s neutral expression slowly changed into a sneer as he lifted his weapon off Uberman’s neck and stepped back. “After all, I believe you Khazanians have this thing called the ‘Golden Rule’, isn’t it? To treat others the way you want to be treated… in that case, I shall repay your earlier generosity with my own generosity then,” Jon lowered his sword as he gave the Sentinel a formal bow.

“What games are you playing, Avalon!?” the cyborg demanded.

“See, in order to repay your charitable act, allow me to show you my trump card,” Jon smiled as he rose from his bow to hold up his free hand, now wreathed in spectral green flames that burned with greater and greater intensity as they coalesced inside his grip; with a faint whooshing noise, the energy condensed into matter, revealing an armoured visor bearing that’s aesthetically identical to the rest of his battle armour. “You should feel honoured, Uberman – you’re the first opponent in years that could force me to play my pocket ace… behold my Darkenfire form!”

The Magister donned the armoured headgear, and as soon as his eyes were covered the visor expanded into a helm that completely covered Jon’s head and face – despite the lack of any sight slots or breath ports, the Magister appeared to have no problem seeing and breathing through the fully-enclosed headgear. Jon growled as the energy sheath surrounding his body burned with increasing intensity; the buckled section of his chestplate repaired itself as the armour underwent a transformation, the spectral green accents glowing brighter and taking on more intricate patterns, while the rest of the armour became more bulky and gnarled in appearance, as if to accommodate the physique behind it becoming more muscular.

“Of course, no-one who witnessed it has ever lived to tell the tale,” Jon’s voice echoed from within the enclosed helmet as his sword also transformed, its handle lengthening to transform it from a bastard sword to a claymore as its energy blade lengthened and burned hotter and brighter.

“Then prepare to be disappointed,” by this point, Uberman’s self-repair systems were almost done rerouting power, and the cyborg’s right leg finally began to respond, allowing him to rise unsteadily to his feet.

“Yes! That’s the spirit, Uberman!” Jon flashed an unseen grin as his eyes went wild. “That’s what I want more of!” The Magister raised his enhanced weapon into the air, the sword emitting a beam that appeared to extend all the way to the clouds like a pillar of light as Jon anticipated an explosive second round to their showdown.

“Uberman!” Timothy screamed as he charged straight at Jon Avalon, his heirloom sword glowing a radiant turquoise as he closed the distance in a heartbeat and took a swing at the Magister. “Not on my watch, you devil!” 

 “Shinestar, no!” Uberman yelled back; he wished he could stop the young Sentinel, but he was already upon the Magister and the cyborg wasn’t confident of his ability to intervene without getting Tim caught in friendly fire. The Sentinel leader’s armour blew a jet of steam out of its cooling vents as a show of frustration over his inability to act – if the rookie got himself killed fighting Jon, it was going to be another death that would weigh heavily on Uberman’s conscience.

“And who might this unruly brat be?” Jon lowered his sword to parry Tim’s strike – the young man was fast and his strength was impressive, this much the Magister had to give him credit for; but Jon could tell that his experience was lacking due to how wild and telegraphable his swings were. “This is a sacred ritual, boy. A trial by champion!” Their swords clashed one more time and for a moment the two warriors engaged in a blade-shoving match before Jon gained leverage over the silver-haired youth and forced him back several paces.

“Like I care about your Archons-damned rituals! I’ll stop you!” Tim spat his words with disdain as he threw himself at Jon once more, redoubling his efforts as he swung faster and harder, his movements a blur to the unaided eye. Yet, Jon was always two steps ahead as he read Tim like an open book, guarding against each and every swing, every thrust with perfect timing and no wasted movements. Tim found himself thrown off-balance as he overcommitted to a thrust that his opponent sidestepped. As the young Sentinel regained his footing and spun around, he found Jon standing without a care in the world, beckoning him with a gauntlet-clad hand.

“And what do you plan to stop me with? That sword of yours?” Jon raised an eyebrow behind his helm before pointing his own sword in Tim’s direction. “It is a rather interesting weapon though… so I think I can spare a moment to test you.”

“Beware of what you wish for then,” Tim wiped the sweat off his brow with the sleeve of the plaid flannel shirt he wore underneath the Araelisian ceremonial armour that was gifted to him by Vincentzo. With a roar, the rookie Sentinel threw himself at the Magister again, his eyes aglow with the same turquoise light as his sword. Inside his peripheral vision, Tim saw the Drekis minions moving in slow-motion as time seemed to slow to a crawl, and Jon himself appeared still as a statue. As Tim swung his sword at the Magister’s head, each millisecond that passed felt like an hour as the blade drew nearer and nearer, and in that instant, the swordsman dared hope that maybe he had what it took…

Reality proved to be a cruel mistress as Tim found himself slashing an afterimage, his eyes growing wide with disbelief as the phantom Magister faded away, and his disbelief was soon accompanied by fear as Jon Avalon’s voice called out behind his back, sarcastically purring just two words, “Too slow.”

The young Sentinel spun around in a vain attempt to catch his opponent with a spinning slash, but the Magister executed a perfectly-timed parry of Tim’s attack. Tim felt a powerful jolt run down his arms as his sword bounced off Jon’s own, the recoil so powerful that the silver-haired swordsman almost lost his grip on his weapon and staggered back. This time, Jon didn’t give the Sentinel a chance to recover as Tim received a powerful Spartan kick to the midsection that knocked the air out of his chest and sent the rookie rolling backwards across the dirt before coming to a stop lying face-up with his heirloom sword stuck in the dirt next to him, the turquoise glow of its blade dimming before going out altogether.

“What a disappointment,” Jon sauntered over to where Tim lay, pointing the tip of his energy sword at the young Sentinel as he sat up. “Pick up your sword, boy.”

“What?” Tim coughed as he clutched at his chest with one hand and the other clawed at the dirt.

“Pick up your sword,” Jon reiterated, pointing his weapon at where Tim’s sword remained planted in the dirt like a tombstone. “I could put you down like a dog for violating the sanctity of trial by champion… but executions are not my style. I am throwing you a bigger bone than you deserve by allowing you the honour of a duel to the death.”

“And if I refuse?” Tim coughed again as he glared at Jon.

“Then my legion will do what I will not, and your death will be messy and undignified,” Jon replied plainly, “Don’t you see? It’s better to face me in personal combat with an illusion of hope, than to face true despair that is coming from over the horizon as my forces continue their inexorable advance.” A pack of Deminite Soldiers, two Reptillions and a Hunter-Killer moved towards where Tim sat, bloodlust painted on their faces as they looked set to tear the young Sentinel to shreds, but as soon as the Magister raised his gauntleted hand, the thralls stood down and went off to find other targets.

Seething with disgust, Tim spat the blood out of his mouth, rose to his feet and snatched his sword up, swinging it around a few times before pointing it at Jon, its blade once more emitting a turquoise light, but at a diminished intensity. “I’ll end your terror, even if it costs me my life!”

Within the confines of his helm, a smile crept back onto Jon’s lips as he raised his energy sword, “Good! Then let this encore be your swan song.”

 

Segment 111: Wind Blaze

Tiara had till now kept a low profile during the initial clashes, having made her way to the frontline under a cover identity as a local heroine who responded to Uberman’s call for volunteers in her attempts to locate the young man called Timothy Shinestar. The lavender-haired maiden manoeuvred through the air with great skill and dexterity, dodging Ptera-Deminites and Bio-Fighters as her eyes scanned the ground for any combatants who matched the physical description that was given to her. Tiara’s eyes widened at the sight of a powerful turquoise glow in the distance, wondering if her objective was within grasp – with a nod of resolve, the winds carrying Tiara through the air gained intensity as she flew faster towards the source of the light.

Soundtrack: Two Steps From Hell | Elementum

Behind his helmet, Jon smirked as Tim raised his sword and closed the gap with fleet-footed strides. ‘I shall end it in one strike,’ the Magister thought as the stance of his feet shifted, preparing to sidestep Tim’s charge, and then turn around to stab him in the back with his energy sword. But before the two fighters could get near enough to cross swords, a powerful vortex of air resembling a small tornado descended between them. The sudden intrusion forced both swordsmen to break off from each other and leap back, vigilant of the new threat.

Tim’s eyes went wide with astonishment at the sight that greeted him – a stunningly attractive and stylishly-dressed woman with short lavender-hued hair and amethyst -violet eyes who appeared around his age made a slow descent from the eye of the wind vortex, her hair and coat tails flapping from the tempest. As the woman’s booted heels touched down against the dirt, she flashed a cryptic smile at Tim. Despite her youthful appearance, the silver-haired swordsman noticed a certain fire in the woman’s eyes that inferred wisdom beyond her years.

“Who… are you?” Tim managed to find his words after several seconds of stammering and stuttering as his mind struggled to process the situation.

“For now, all you need to know is that I am your ally… Timothy Shinestar,” Tiara brushed the side bangs on the left side of her head before turning around to face Jon Avalon, “That is your name, am I right?”

“Y-yes, I’m Tim… but how do you know who I am? And why-” baffled by the turn of events, the young Sentinel found himself having questions for his mysterious new ally, but before Tim could finish his enquiries the young-looking woman cut him off by holding her right hand up.

“I understand you have many questions, young Shinestar; but the answers can wait,” Tiara did not look back to where Tim stood as her gaze remained fixed on Jon Avalon and slowly lifted her hands, “Head back to the Walshin Shield, I’ll keep this one busy.”

Part of Tim wanted to protest – he had no idea what the capabilities of this mysterious young woman were, but he couldn’t bear to have her put herself in mortal danger for his sake. Yet at the same time, she carried herself with a certain air of authority that convinced the young Sentinel that her act was no reckless bravado, that she clearly knew what she was doing. Before his conscious mind could even fully process her words, Tim’s body already acted on reflex, his feet carrying him backwards towards the Walshin Shield.

But Tim hadn’t moved as quickly as the woman had instructed, allowing him to stay just long enough to witness her coming to blows with the Magister before several soldiers dragged him along, the infantry troopers dropping the stunner of a revelation that through Uberman, General Yang had issued an order for all units to fall back to the Walshin Shield.

Tiara waved her raised hands like a conductor guiding an orchestra, and the ambient winds responded to her cues to blow towards Avalon, starting as a cool breeze that quickly gathered power and speed until it became a chilling blizzard that sped towards the Magister at hurricane speeds, leaving a sheen of ice on the ground where they passed.

Stunned by the double elemancy attack, Jon Avalon found himself staggering backwards, but the Magister quickly regained his footing and dug his heels in, planting himself in place like an immovable fort. “A multidiscipline elemancer? Interesting!” the Magister flashed an unseen grin as he got over the initial surprise, the halo of eldritch energy around his sword blazing and flaring as he held his weapon over his head.

With a downward chop of his eldritch energy blade, Jon unleashed a sword beam that cut clean through Tiara’s blizzard, the freezing winds having no meaningful effect on the trajectory of the energy attack.

On Tiara’s end, the acolyte had telegraphed Jon’s attack and conjured a powerful updraft of air that launched her skyward to avoid the sword beam. The acolyte’s eyes narrowed as she watched Jon wind up and perform an uppercut slash to send another sword beam into the air after her. With a few deft gestures, Tiara gathered the air in front of her to compress it into a forcefield-like barrier that dissipated the sword beam on contact.

“You’ve got some neat tricks, lady…” Jon remarked as he lowered a sword to give his opponent a bow. The Magister had no idea of the woman’s identity or origins, but from what he could gather she was definitely an elemancer or mage of no small note. Her mastery over weather effects was top-notch, but in Jon’s mind if she thought that was all she needed to take him, then she must be almost as naive as that young SLJ swordsman; and the Magister was all too happy to show her how pride comes just before the fall. “...But do you really think blowing air and throwing snow around would be enough to stop me?” Jon snickered as the energy sheath around his body powered up, as tongues of black flame joined the halo of spectral green.

“Behold, you’re not the only one here who can call down the storm,” the Magister spread his arms out as the wind around him picked up speed until he stood in the middle of a swirling maelstrom that crackled intermittently with lightning.

A brief moment of uneasy silence descended over Tiara, even as she put on a brave front by maintaining a calm expression as the maelstrom conjured by Jon continued to gain size and strength, the sound of the wind in her ears reminding her of the weeping of tortured souls. “You underestimate me, Magister,” Tiara retorted as she performed a series of circular hand and arm motions reminiscent of Tai Chi moves; the winds moved on her command, swirling in circles as they gathered inside a spherical field inside the elemancer’s hands. Tiara looked up at Jon with a determined expression as she floated an elemental construct in her hands that resembled a crystal ball containing a swirling maelstrom of snow and ice in its heart.

The acolyte of the Powers stretched her arms out in Avalon’s direction, levelling her snowglobe-like elemental construct at the Magister and spoke one word, “Destroy.” The sphere exploded on Tiara’s verbal command, unleashing the fury of a raging ice storm as a focused stream that when viewed from a distance resembled a white beam of energy with clouds of snow and chunks of ice spiralling around it as it surged towards her adversary.

Behind his helm’s faceplate, the Magister chuckled dryly as the spiralling blast of freezing air and flying ice collided with the maelstrom surrounding him. For a moment, the raging elements swirled together as one; then Jon held his sword up high and Tiara’s blast began circling around him in the direction of the wind storm surrounding the Magister, before being compressed into a sphere hovering above the tip of his sword. 

‘What manner of abomination is this!?’ Tiara’s eyes widened in shock, finding it hard to believe that the Magister had the power to wrest control of the winds from her. She was one who took great pride as a mistress of the skies, who could guide the winds – from a soothing zephyr to a raging hurricane – like a conductor leading an orchestra… and her opponent usurped control of her domain in a way that felt almost violating.

“Lady, your mastery over the weather is commendable!” Jon pointed his energy sword at Tiara, and the sphere of raging elements floated down to reposition itself in front of where the Magister pointed. “But if those are the only cards you can play, then I shall be blunt – you do not hold a winning hand.” With a pirouette, Jon executed a backhanded slash with his sword to turn Tiara’s own attack against her, sending a same spiralling blast of air back at the lavender-haired maiden. Except instead of a white blast of ice and snow, Jon’s corrupted version took the form of dark, roiling storm clouds that crackled with green lightning.

Tiara’s body acted on pure instinct and muscle memory, her hands already moving before her mind had fully processed the situation. The acolyte’s hands still gestured with the same elegant conductor-like grace, but her knitted brows and squinted eyes betrayed the herculean effort she was putting in as Tiara fought a battle of wills against Jon to wrest back control over the winds. ‘It… it’s not responding to me!’ She could sense that Jon hadn’t just turned her own technique back against her, there was another force corrupting the very winds itself that prevented the acolyte from reasserting control.

At the last split-second, the elemancer made the decision to dodge, leaping out of its path and riding on air currents to put herself further out of harm’s way as the blast hit the ground where she once stood, sending plumes of earth and stone flying as the winds drilled through metres of dirt and soil, right down to the bedrock. 

Before the dust had even settled, Jon was already on the attack, first sending another sword beam in Tiara’s direction. The acolyte of the Powers backflipped to avoid the wave of eldritch energy, but Jon never expected the sword beam to land – it was a feint to allow him to close the distance as he was upon Tiara in a heartbeat. “Not bad,” Jon monologued as the lavender-haired maiden was able to keep up with him in melee, skilfully leaping, weaving and tumbling out of the way of his chops, slashes and thrusts.

Tiara backflipped over Jon as he performed a wide slash, seeking to reposition herself behind the Magister, but Jon spun around to deliver a sword beam through a backhand slash. The acolyte of the Powers conjured a wall of air in front of her to disperse the energy blast, but before she could follow-up her defense with a counterattack, the Magister beat her to the draw as he landed a spinning side kick to Tiara’s midsection, sending her flying backwards to skid along the dirt.

Tiara groaned as she picked herself up onto one knee, clutching at her midriff as Avalon stood over her, holding his energy sword over his head in a two-handed grip. “That was an exciting performance; but I’m a busy man,” Jon remarked as a beam of sickly green erupted from the blade of his sword, rising into the sky like a pillar of light that could be seen miles away. “And it’s time I moved on to more… pressing matters. Goodnight, whoever you may be,” Jon brought his sword down, looking to end his opponent with his hyper sword beam.

At the last millisecond, a powerful set of twin concussive blasts tore across the arena towards Jon Avalon. The impact beams exploded against the Magister’s energy sheath; the first caused him to stumble and swing his sword off the mark, unleashing his hyper sword beam into a random direction away from Tiara that destroyed everything in its path, friendly and hostile alike as it left a smoking canyon in the ground where it struck. Before the breach in his energy sheath could close up, the second blast struck Jon in his chest, knocking the Magister onto his back as he skidded across the dirt as he grunted in pain.

“Look who just returned to the fray,” Jon sat himself up, planting his sword into the ground to use it to prop himself up as he rose back to his feet. The Magister turned in the direction the concussive blasts came from, and there stood Uberman, the Sentinel leader now back on his feet, his forearm blasters still making a whining noise that indicated they were still primed to fire again. “So, Uberman… ready to continue where we left off?”

“I think not,” Uberman retorted; during Tiara’s clash with Jon Avalon, the Sentinel leader had received distressing reports of the front line on the verge of being overrun, and Uberman had concluded that attempting to hold the line was an exercise in futility. “General, relay the order to all remaining units on the frontline – we’re falling back towards the Walshin Shield!” the cyborg radioed the Libra using his armour’s comms.

“Well, talk about an anticlimax,” Jon shrugged, his voice laced with disappointment. “Well, if that’s the case…” the Magister thrust his right hand into the air, fist tightly clenched; this was immediately followed by dropping the same hand towards Uberman while splaying his fingers out wide. With that single gesture from Jon, every Drekis minion in the vicinity, from the diminutive Reavers to the hulking Devonoxes went from idling around to swarming Uberman’s position with animalistic bloodlust.

“I have a duty to protect my allies, and I will not allow more lives to be lost just to settle some prideful duel!” Uberman ducked under a Devonox’s claw strike to deliver a point-blank concussive blast to its midsection, causing it to double over and cough up a spray of ichor. The cyborg followed-up with an uppercut to the brutish minion’s jaw, his punch landing with such force that the hulking brute was rocketed into the air to land on its back. Uberman spun around to face over a dozen Deminite Soldiers leaping towards him, but before the gray-skinned thralls could bear down on the cyborg, the surrounding air rippled as a gust of wind blew towards the Deminite Soldiers at supersonic speeds and focused into a narrow stream. The wind itself was shaped into a blade that sliced clean through the Deminites, littering the ground with their sundered remains.

Uberman turned his head in the direction of where the razor wind came from, and found Tiara back on her feet. The cyborg gave the lavender-haired woman a nod, and she returned his gesture, but not without sending a blizzard in the direction of a pack of Reptillions that first slowed their movements before freezing them solid in a matter of seconds. “Thank you, miss, but I would advise you to fall back towards the Walshin Shield.”

“Just returning the favour,” Tiara replied as the air swirled around her, carrying the acolyte into the air. “My work here is not yet done – I must continue to ensure the safety of Timothy Shinestar; he is not yet out of danger, for the Walshin Shield will not hold… we must retreat to New Xaelis,” with that cryptic mission statement combined with an ominous forecast, the lavender-haired young woman flew off into the distance, in the direction of New Xaelis. 

“What does she mean by this?” Uberman wondered as he too, engaged his flight repulsors and took to the skies. The cyborg had only begun flying back towards the Walshin Shield when the Libra came in with an urgent comms from Maj. General Yang. “Mein gott im himmel…” Uberman muttered as the general reported that the Walshin Shield too was getting overrun, and the new orders now were to order a full retreat to New Xaelis – preparations for evacuation of the civilians from the capital were already underway, and Scout had been instructed to prepare to initiate Operation Hammer Down.

Jon watched as Uberman and Tiara became distant specks on the horizon before vanishing altogether from his line of sight, and a cold smile crossed his face behind his faceplate. “You can fight me again in a different battlefield, but it makes no difference where our next battle is fought – one way or another, New Xaelis is mine,” Jon raised his sword and from it shot a beam of light into the air; moments later, Zegrin descended from the clouds and landed next to the Magister. As Jon mounted the dragon’s saddle, he pointed his sword in the direction of New Xaelis as a wordless command for his legion to press on.

 

Segment 112: Death

Capt. Kitazawa yelled as he spun the Gemini around to face a Devonox that was charging towards his mech from behind. The fingers on the Devonox’s hands interlaced with those on the Gemini as mech and monster locked hands in a grapple. However, the captain had no intention of getting into a wrestling match with the crimson goliath. Kitazawa fired his mech’s twin head-mounted M240B machine guns point-blank into the Devonox’s face. Blinded and in pain, the Devonox broke the grapple and staggered back, clutching at its injured face.

Capitalising on the opening, a particle beam blade extended from the Gemini’s right forearm as Takuma brought his mech forward to seize the Devonox by the shoulder with its left hand, while at the same time delivering an uppercut with its right – the forearm-mounted energy blade skewered the Devonox’s head like a kebab; entering from its chin before exiting through the crown of its head. The creature rocked side to side a bit, before falling over as the Gemini delivered a Spartan kick to its midsection; the Devonox hit the dirt with a resounding thud and did not rise again.

A volley of ball lightning rained from above, causing the Gemini’s shields to flicker one last time as it absorbed the enemy fire before a warning flashed across the HUD informing Takuma that his mech’s shields had been depleted. Aiming his mech’s plasma rifle into the sky, the captain fired it in unison with its shoulder-mounted vulcan at the Ptera-Deminites circling overhead, shooting down the winged fiends one after the other.

An explosion near the Fortune sent violent tremors running through its frame that 2Lt. Dezzman felt inside the cockpit. On his HUD, he noticed six blips converging into an arrowhead formation as the fast approached the 478th’s general location. “Defensive positions, we’ve got Bio-Fighters coming in from my six!” Dezzman barked over the squadron comms channel.

“I’ve got your back, Carl!” Sgt. Major Paul Graham acknowledged as the Senki took point and fired its burst-cannon into the sky, sending a volley of canister shells that exploded into clouds of armour-piercing flechettes. The first volley depleted the flying biomechanoids’ shields, and the second volley was where the damage was done as the submunitions punched holes in their carapaces and sheared off whole appendages.

“Do not let up, they’ll only regenerate if you do!” Carl warned as the Bio-Fighters showed their damage; the blue-white plasma jets emitting from their tails turned into smoky orange flames as the biomechanoids began sharply losing speed and altitude. Even then, an oily black fluid began oozing from their wounds to regenerate damaged sections of their carapaces and even regrow entire appendages. 

“Oh no, not on my watch!” The 2nd lieutenant levelled the main weapon of the Fortune, its quad particle beam cannons – of which only three were still functional – at the descending Bio-Fighters and opened fire. The beams tore through the biomechanoids as they attempted to regenerate, damaging them beyond their healing ability as the pieces that fell to the ground writhed and twitched before going still for good. Four of the six attacking Bio-Fighters were destroyed, while the remaining two broke formation and flew off in separate directions, presumably to join different Bio-Fighter squadrons. 

Carl made a quick assessment of the Fortune’s condition, a display window in the corner of his HUD showing a wireframe model of his mech that offered a summary of the Chevalier-class walker’s current operational state. The old soldier gave a bitter, sardonic laugh at the sections of the wireframe highlighted in reds and yellows. The Fortune remained combat-capable, but it was far from tip-top at the moment. “All that budget sunk into repairs and kit optimisation… for this? Heads are gonna roll during the next budgetary hearing with the QM, I tell you.”

The Derringer blocked as a Devonox punched at it; with the Hussar-class’ shields running on fumes at this point, the crimson goliath’s attack easily breached the shields and forced the armour to do the rest of the work. The Derringer staggered back from the impact, its cockpit rocking so violently that if Lt. Angelhart wasn’t securely strapped into her seat, she would’ve been thrown face-first into the dashboard. “Alright you ugly son of a bitch, my turn!” the lieutenant hissed as the Derringer raised its ion pulse rifle, ready to charge bayonet-first at the beast.

Before the lieutenant could bring her weapon to bear against her enemy, nearby mechs from the 357th Mechanised Squadron fired on the Devonox, bringing it down with their concentrated fire. With the Devonox no longer an issue, Cecelia turned her attention to the horde of Deminite Soldiers launching volleys of fireballs at her mech. The Derringer rolled to the side to avoid a large volley of incandescent projectiles before returning fire with its twin rocket pods and chainguns. Enhanced by the Hive Guards’ aura, the Deminite Soldiers unveiled a new trick – as some of them chucked fireballs, other stood by the sides and used their innate pyrokinesis to cause the hellish projectiles to merge together in mid-flight to form larger, blue fireballs that they guided towards their targets. 

Cecelia sidestepped as she saw the Deminites let fly the fireball, thinking that it would miss her mech; she ended up receiving a rude shock as the enhanced fireball self-corrected its trajectory and zeroed in on the Derringer, exploding against the armour on its shoulder as the Hussar-class staggered back, the reactive plating showing scorch marks. “How long can we keep this up?” Cecelia wondered as a nearby mech was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of enemy fire and was consumed in a catastrophic explosion as its armour was breached and its reactor went critical. “We’re dying from a thousand cuts here!”

“Hey guys, you all reading this?” Cpl. Kurt Arlington chimed in over the squadron’s comms channel. “The general’s given orders for all units at the front to fall back!”

“I got it, Kurt. And about damn time too, we’re down to just eight active mechanised squadrons at this point!” Takuma acknowledged as he ran a quick diagnostic on the Gemini’s systems, steeling himself for what was to come next. “Alright 478th, hold nothing back! We’ll provide cover fire for the infantry for as long as we can, Dezzman, with me!” At the orders of the captain, the mechs of the 478th coordinated bounding overwatch with the remaining mechanised squadrons on the field. The mechs took position at the front, taking turns between half of the remaining mechanised squadrons moving with the retreating infantry while the other half opened fire into the advancing enemy swarm.

“By the Archons… shit’s really hitting the fan this time,” Sgt. Major Paul Graham muttered as updates came in from Maj. General Yang that even the Walshin Shield was getting beaten back – with this apocalyptic revelation, new orders came in, not to fall back to the Walshin Shield, but a full retreat towards New Xaelis. The sergeant major felt his blood run cold as the general announced the commencement of Operation Hammer Down. In the event of Walshin Shield’s failure, the next phase of the campaign was to conduct saturation bombardment of the former Walshin Shield line – a desperate scorched earth tactic to wipe out as many enemies as possible before the reach New Xaelis proper. 

“At your side, captain!” The hydraulics of the Fortune’s digitigrade legs whirred as Carl opened fire with every available weapon system on his Chevalier-class walker. Deminites and other lesser minions caught in the line of fire fell in droves, cut down like stalks of wheat before a farmer’s scythe, and even heavies such as Tankers Beasts and Devonoxes fell from taking a few high-powered particle beams from the Fortune’s main cannons.

Capt. Kitazawa performed a defensive roll in the Gemini to dodge a strafing run from a Bio-Fighter; as the crustacean-like biomechanoid swooped past, the Gemini raised its plasma rifle into the air to return fire, the enemy staying just ahead of bursts of plasma fire from his weapon. Seconds later, the Bio-Fighter circled back – but instead of attempting another ground strafe, a pair of shrimplike symbionts detached from its underbelly and launched themselves towards Kitazawa’s mech on biological plasma jets. The captain immediately recognised what they were from his last encounter with them at Leibrook – they were organitech analogues to missiles.

Takuma wasted no time in firing at the enemy missiles with everything the Gemini had; knowing full well how devastating this enemy weapon was, the captain was determined to not let any of those things explode near his mech. He managed to score a hit on one of the missiles, causing it to explode in mid-flight. Instead of continuing towards the Gemini, the remaining missile changed course without warning, making a sharp turn away from Takuma’s mech to acquire a new target.

“The hell!? Do these missiles possess some kind of intelligence?” For a split second Takuma could only stare wide-eyed in shock and disbelief, until he realised where the missile was headed. There was no mistaking its trajectory, the organitech missile was headed straight for the Fortune, approaching the Chevalier-class walker from its six o’ clock position while Dezzman was preoccupied with providing overwatch for the retreating ground troops. The most insidious aspect of the organitech missiles was their invisibility on radar – with sensors failing to register missile lock warnings, pilots were forced to rely on visual tracking, and the one targeting the Fortune was smart enough – if such a word could be applied to it – to attack from a blind spot.

“Carl, enemy missile to your six!” Capt. Kitazawa screamed a warning over the comms.

Carl’s initial confusion over the captain’s warning and the lack of a missile lock alert on the Fortune’s radar lasted only milliseconds. Due to years of fire-forged comradeship, the 2nd lieutenant’s instincts drove him to trust Takuma over any instrument reading or lack thereof. His instincts proved correct as usual as the Fortune’s upper body swivelled around to make visual contact with the incoming missile. Through a combination of battle-hardened experience and the mech’s predictive algorithms, the Fortune darted to the side to allow the enemy missile to whizz right past.

“Motherfucker!” 2nd Lt. Dezzman cursed as the missile turned around to re-target his mech. In response, Dezzman opened fire at the incoming projectile – the Fortune’s arm-mounted autocannons and main particle beam cannons blazing as he desperately attempted to shoot down the enemy missile, but his actions came too little, too late as the missile found its mark between the Fortune’s legs and detonated right underneath the Chevalier-class’ main body.

“Carl, no!” Lt. Foster screamed as the Dragonflare spun around, the lieutenant too late to intervene on the behalf of her brother in-arms. Over the squadron’s comms channel, all they could hear was Carl’s screams cutting out to static, and then a chilling silence. As the flash of plasma from the organitech missile’s explosion died down, all that remained of the Fortune was a smouldering hunk of scrap metal and scattered limbs in the middle of a smoking crater.

“Dezzman!” Takuma yelled again. The Gemini swung around and aimed its weapons at the sky as the captain made a desperate attempt to at least avenge his subordinate and trusted comrade by shooting down the enemy biomechanoid responsible for destroying the Fortune – but even that proved to be an exercise in futility as the Bio-Fighter was indistinguishable from the dozens of identical Drekis biomechanoids soaring through the skies. 

Once more, the Bio-Fighters circled around and got into formation to perform another ground strafe with their beam cannons, forcing Takuma to fall back with the rest of the mechanised squadrons; the only thing he could do at this point was curse the enemy as the 478th Mechanised Squadron headed towards New Xaelis. “You were a good man, Carl… nobody deserved to go out like this; and most of all, certainly not you… I’ll send these demons to the lowest circle of hell! That’s the least I can do for you now… I swear.”

 

Segment 113: Hammer Down

“My, the Khazanians are getting desperate, aren’t they?” Jon tutted as the sky lit up with the incandescent trails of hundreds of cruise missiles being launched from the outskirts of New Xaelis. The Magister had to admit scorched earth tactics like these were highly out of character of the Khazan Armed Forces – throughout the entirety of the Xaelon campaign, he could tell that his enemy’s doctrine revolved around discretion and proportional escalation. But if the reports from his Discordant Scions were anything to go by, New Xaelis is the capital of Xaelon – that would explain the Khazanians’ desperation. Jon figured that his enemy knew full well that should New Xaelis fall into the Drekis Empire’s hands, then the rest of Xaelon would fold in short order.

Behind his helm’s faceplate the Magister grinned as he stood up in Zegrin’s saddle and lifted his hands to spread his arms out wide as if to embrace the incoming missiles, “The viciousness of a cornered prey, the brutal drive to survive at all costs… this is what I want to see more of!”

Overhead, the plasma jets of Bio-Fighters left burning trails in the sky as the biomechanoids scrambled to intercept the Khazanian cruise missiles. Equipped with state-of-the-art targeting systems and evasive algorithms from Kill-O-Matic Big Guns, missiles weaved between volleys of particle beams as the Bio-Fighters opened fire. But the sheer volume of enemy fire proved too much for even the onboard systems to handle, and the Bio-Fighters were able to shoot down a significant portion of the missiles.

The next line of defense for the Drekis legions came from the stout Deminite Gunners and beetle-like Tanker Beasts; the big guns of the Drekis legion angled their bio-cannons into the air and unleashed a curtain of intercepting fire, lighting up the sky with a combination of streams of superheated plasma and enemy missiles exploding in midair.

“Looks like it still comes down to me in the end,” Avalon monologued as his grip tightened on the reins of Zegrin’s bridle before giving it a gentle tug. In response, the Magister’s draconic mount flapped his wings and flew higher and higher in the air. In Avalon’s other hand, his energy sword glowed brighter as a spectral green beam extended from its blade, visible from afar like a pillar of light.

“BEGONE!” the Magister declared as he swung his sword in a wide arc, unleashing a hyper sword beam towards the remaining missiles. The sword beam’s energy was diffused over a wide area, giving it the appearance of an aurora rather than a potent blast of energy; as the missiles passed through the energy field created by Jon, the circuits in their onboard guiding computers burned out, resulting either in the missiles’ payload detonating prematurely, or veering off-course.

All in all, about two-thirds of the Khazanians’ cruise missiles were successfully intercepted by Jon Avalon’s legion. The results were still devastating as the remaining missiles managed to deliver their payloads – cluster warheads packed with either thermobaric or plasma munitions. From the saddle of his flying mount, Jon watched as what was once the Walshin Shield line was engulfed in a firestorm, incinerating entire hordes of minions. 

“Impressive, but still enough!” Jon gazed down upon the scorched earth below him. Had they not managed to intercept the majority of the enemy missiles, the Magister knew the outcome would potentially be even more catastrophic – perhaps the Khazanians might buy themselves a few more weeks as he would be forced to fall back to Xaelis to await reinforcements from The Citadel. 

But as it now stands, even with the savage losses inflicted on his legion, Jon remained confident of his chances of taking New Xaelis with what he had at the moment. Nothing more needed to be said, as Jon pointed his energy sword in the direction of New Xaelis as Zegrin roared as if to echo Jon’s command. With a chorus of grunts, growls and other inhuman noises, the next wave of Drekis minions treaded over the smoking remains of the last and continued to inch ever closer towards the outskirts of New Xaelis. 

 

Segment 114: Prelude

Vincentzo slowly floated back down to the ground, his face glistening with sweat that plastered his blond bangs to his forehead as his breath came in ragged gasps. A spell of such a calibre was well within his capabilities; after all, he’d demonstrated it before at the Boreal Wilds. But energy expenditure and the strain it puts on his body, mind and spirit made this something that the archmage generally sought to avoid unless forced to by extreme circumstances.

The rubble near Vincentzo’s feet shifted, as a manhole lid was shifted aside and Woose climbed back onto the surface, caked in dust and ash. “Well just look at that! I just wished it didn’t have to come down to this though,” the martial artist surveyed the scene of utter devastation around them. As far as the eye could see, there was hardly a building left standing in the aftermath of Vincentzo’s Judgement Flare – the town was already in ruins when the trio arrived, and when Vincentzo was done an entire district had been wiped off the map.

“I did as I promised for the people of West Matriarch,” the archmage replied grimly, wiping the sweat off his brow. He tried to do the same with his head, but trying to wipe the sweat off only ended up with his blonde hair standing out in spiky locks that made him look like a JRPG protagonist. “I said that if I can’t protect my city, then I will avenge its people.”

A moment later, Tanin too emerged from the manhole as he levitated upwards and floated towards where Woose and Vincentzo stood before placing his feet on the ash and rubble-strewn ground.

“Yo Tanin, what’s wrong?” Woose asked as he turned to glance at the Archon of Light – with the threat eliminated, the pink-clad pugilist was expecting Tanin to either make some kind of jovial quip, or perhaps offer some reassuring words to Vincentzo. But the divine swordsman did neither; Tanin stood with his body tensed up, his eyes narrowed and scanning the horizon like a hawk as he reached behind his back for Chrysilium.

“Another threat approaches, be on your guard!” The Archon of Light warned as he unslung the sheathed Chrysilium from his back and slammed it against the ground, causing the sword to fly out of its scabbard – Tanin caught his weapon in midair and twirled it around before taking hold of it in a two-handed grip and entering a fighting stance, allowing the empty sheath to drop to the ground with a dull thud.

“Wait, you mean there are more?” Woose wondered, his head snapping side to side as he tried to scan his immediate surroundings for enemies.

“How many exactly, if I may ask?” Vincentzo chorused as he retrieved a small glass phial from a pouch hanging from his belt and gulped down its contents before casting the container aside.

“Only one… but this one is exceptionally powerful,” Tanin kept his gaze fixed on the distant horizon, in the direction of Astra Canyon. First it was a distant speck in the sky, but it quickly drew nearer and nearer, until the trio could make out its appearance. Sailing through the sky on a pair of white feathered wings resembling those of an angel was a lizardman, or perhaps dragonkin-like creature, its body covered in a pearl-white scaly hide bearing red warrior tattoos and a long dragonlike snout with a mouth full of needle-sharp teeth.

“Oh no, it’s him!” Woose exclaimed, grasping at the crown of his head as the creature’s features became visible to him. “It’s the enemy Magister!”

“He’s attacking, duck!” Tanin shouted a warning to everyone as the white-skinned dragonkin raised what looked like a wicked-looking halberd in its hands and made a hissing noise as its jaws opened wide, a serpentine tongue flicking around and licking its lips before it made a sharp dive and swooped towards the trio. The three of them rolled out of the way as the creature swung its weapon while diving, slicing through thin air where their heads were milliseconds ago.

The talons of the dragonkin’s feet raked the ground with a hideous screech, sending a shower of sparks as claw marks were carved into the cobblestones as it skidded forward before thrusting its polearm into the ground to bring itself to a stop. The creature slowly turned around to face the three heroes, where they noticed that its eyes were closed – but despite the fact it appeared to have no problem seeing Vincentzo as it pointed at the archmage with its left index finger.

“You mussst be the one they call Vincentzo Maiinverno,” the dragonkin hissed, its tongue flicking back and forth, “I can sssstill sssmell the magic on you.”

“And I think I heard one of those Discordant Scions address you… Aigonis Zekruel, am I right?” Woose remarked as he stepped forward and got into a martial arts stance.

“Yesss… I am Aignonissss Zekruel, and I catch another familiar ssscent,” The Magister identified as Aigonis nodded as he folded his wings behind his back and pointed at Woose, “You mussst be one of the ssssurvivors of the battle of Wessst Matriarch – you have much courage, coming here with jusssst the three of you.”

The Magister’s tail wagged side to side, “If you think you have dessstroyed my legion, you are sssorely misssstaken; all you took out wasss the vanguard – the bulk of my forcessss remain ssstationed on the other side of the Grand Rugedelon Bridge, ready to cross at my command.”

Tanin shook his head and sighed as he ran his fingers through his hair, “I should’ve known it wouldn’t be easy…”

“Regardlessss, I have no need for my legion at thisss moment,” Aigonis remarked as he flapped his wings, carrying himself into the air, “For with the Staredge in my handssss, I will persssonally sssend you to meet your comradesss in the afterlife!” The dragonkin-like Magister cackled as he twirled his halberd around before diving towards the trio of Tanin, Woose and Vincentzo with murderous intent painted all over his reptilian face.

 

Segment 115: Swarm

Tim watched as the distant horizon lit up with explosions at what was once the Walshin Shield as the Khazan Armed Forces executed Operation Hammer Down. ‘Just how did things come to this?’ the young Sentinel thought. Only hours ago, it felt like they were in control, that the countercharge led by Uberman could actually push the enemy back – but now the enemy was advancing inexorably in the direction of New Xaelis, and the military was forced to use their most desperate strategy… all to buy the Xaelonian capital time. But inside, the swordsman only had one question, ‘But just how much time can we buy?’

Tim’s heart skipped a beat as a familiar voice reached his ears. The silver-haired swordsman spun around just in time to witness Raea running up to him, the redhead retracting her powersuit’s battle mask to expose her face before throwing herself into Tim’s arms, placing her own arms around his shoulders.

“I’m so glad you’re safe!” Raea’s voice gushed with relief as she buried her face into Tim’s right shoulder, “Do you know how worried I was when I lost sight of you and you went silent on the comms?”

Tim gave a nervous chuckle as he pointed to his right ear, where he once wore his comms earpiece, “Sorry, I lost my comms piece not long after I lost sight of you… but yeah, I’m just as worried too that you might be in grave danger.” The swordsman placed his arms around Raea’s back and gave her a firm, reassuring pat before nuzzling his cheek against the side of her head – after a torrid moment of a mutual embrace, Tim stepped back and looked Raea in his eyes, beaming with optimism, “See? We’re both making it out of this alive.”

The mysterious lavender-haired beauty who’d interfered in Tim’s duel with Jon glided down from the skies and placed her arms around both Tim and Raea’s waists – a powerful wind swirled around them, and the trio found themselves airlifted into the sky as they began to fly in the direction of New Xaelis. “I’m sorry to interrupt your intimate moment, Mr. Shinestar… but I advise you to save your reunion for when you are in relative safety within New Xaelis.”

“Just… just who are you anyway? There’s just so many things that don’t make sense…” Tim wondered, lifting his head to look the aeromancer in the eye, “Like for starters, how did you know my name when we’ve never met… and what’s so special about me that you have to help me in particular, out of the thousands of soldiers and heroes present on the frontline?” The young Sentinel wasn’t exactly ungrateful for the mysterious aeromancer’s assistance – and the fact that she was extremely easy on his eyes certainly helped. But the fact that she came from out of nowhere and spoke to him like he was someone super-special did little to ease Tim’s doubts, and he just didn’t feel right accepting her help without at least understanding her motives first.

“I know you have questions, Timothy,” the female aeromancer replied, “But please be patient; the answers can wait until you’re in the city.”

“Ahem, if you don’t mind, miss… could you let go of me?” Raea cleared her throat as she interrupted the conversation between Tiara and Timothy, “I prefer to fly on my own terms.”

“If you insist,” Tiara nodded as Raea reactivated her suit’s battle mask and fired up her armour’s flight repulsors as the aeromancer slowly released her grip around the young redhead’s waist. The two women flew side-by-side with each other, with Raea periodically stealing glances in Tim’s direction to make sure the other woman wasn’t handling her boyfriend in an improper way. Following a military convoy that was pulling away from what was left of the Walshin Shield, it wasn’t long before they arrived at the outskirts of New Xaelis, where they arrived at a fortified compound that served as a joint base of operations for the SLJ and Khazan Armed Forces. The winds holding the mysterious young woman aloft grew progressively gentler to allow herself and Tim to make a slow, controlled descent towards the ground as their feet touched down.

“Thanks for everything you’ve done, miss,” Tim remarked, smoothing out the creases in his clothes as Raea landed next to him, powering down her suit’s repulsors as she retracted her mask. “But I still don’t understand-”

The aeromancer cut him off mid-sentence as she placed her hands on Tim’s shoulders, “Mr. Shinestar, I assure you that you will get your answers in due time; but our first priority is to make preparations to evacuate from New Xaelis.”

“Now hold up there,” Raea snapped back as she grabbed Tiara’s wrists and removed the aeromancer’s hands from her boyfriend’s shoulders. “We can’t just abandon New Xaelis! Not while Uberman and General Yang have yet to officially order an evacuation!”

“I understand your desire to protect the city and its people – your courage is commendable, but something tells me that the fate of New Xaelis might be a foregone conclusion at this point,” the lavender-haired maiden glanced at where Uberman stood, the cyborg currently conversing with Scout as they presided over a briefing between military officers and militia leaders.

“...There’s only so much we can do using long-ranged bombardment alone,” Uberman pointed to a computer-generated map on a holography terminal showing the layout of New Xaelis and the surrounding area. “Operation Hammer Down failed to achieve the projected kill count on the enemy, and once they’ve passed the Walshin Shield, what’s left is bombardment with howitzers and rocket artillery and drone strikes; which won’t stop them before we’re forced into brutal street combat, and that’s where they will encircle and overwhelm us – we need a more defensible position, somewhere our forces can dig in and fight a battle of attrition with the enemy.”

“Unlike the old capital, New Xaelis doesn’t have a walled inner city,” Scout interjected as he highlighted New Xaelis’ districts on the map. “If we fight the enemy in the streets, the entire city will be reduced to rubble in no time.”

“The decision to abandon the Walshin Shield wasn’t one I made lightly,” Uberman’s shoulders slumped as a tiny jet of steam escaped from his armour’s cooling vents, “But the attrition rate we were suffering out there was staggering – I had to concede that Walshin was indefensible by that point. Rather than throw more bodies into the meat grinder, I came to the conclusion that we might have better odds if what’s left of the Walshin Shield division was consolidated with the New Xaelis division.”

The cyborg continued, his finger pointing at a wall that ran through the length of the city that almost cleanly divided New Xaelis into northern and southern districts, “There is one fortified position in New Xaelis we can hold though; during the 2nd Age of Conflict, the Fallen managed to occupy the southern districts of New Xaelis, and as the records go, during that time a formidable wall was erected to quarantine Fallen forces, to prevent them from taking the rest of the capital.” 

“I am familiar with that structure – that’s the Mid-Gate you’re talking about,” Scout remarked, first staring at the map of New Xaelis before looking at Uberman dead in the optics. “Wait a minute, Uberman. Are you suggesting that we abandon the southern half of New Xaelis without a fight, and consolidate behind the Mid-Gate?”

“Do you have a better alternative, colonel?” Uberman pointed to various display windows on the holography showing live drone cam footages. Already, the first wave of Drekis minions had made their way into the outlying suburbs like a blight spreading across the land. Deminites and Reptillions ran through the streets, leaping over the fences of suburban homes and scaling the walls and roofs of houses. Meanwhile, heavies such as Devonoxes and Tanker Beasts plowed through the abandoned residences without a care, the buildings barely posing an obstacle to their advance. Periodically, the Khazanians’ artillery would hammer the incoming wave of demonic thralls, but even saturation bombardment barely put a noticeable dent in their numbers.

“...fuck,” Scout facepalmed. He could only wish that Operation Hammer Down had achieved a better outcome – perhaps then it might sufficiently dent their numbers that engaging the Drekis legion in street-to-street fighting in the outlying districts might be a less suicidal endeavour. “Alright then, you can let General Yang know that all units will be falling back to Mid-Gate.”

With the new orders laid down, Uberman took to the task of coordinating the relocation of military and Sentinel assets to the northern half of New Xaelis, as forces still in the south received their instructions and began making fighting retreats towards the Mid-Gate. Whether on foot, on wheels or by flight, Khazan Armed Forces, civilian militia and Sentinels alike operated under explicit orders to engage the enemy only when absolutely necessary as the southern half of New Xaelis was ceded to the Drekis legions – one city block, one street at a time. It was at the mighty set of fortifications that divided the capital in two that the fate of New Xaelis would be decided.

On the top of the Mid-Gate’s ramparts, Uberman joined military officers in organising the wall’s defenses, identifying key positions to set up artillery and anti-air batteries and directing personnel and materiel to parts of the wall where the Drekis Legion is most likely to mass for an attack based on their observations of current enemy movements. Looking around, the cyborg could see that joining him on the ramparts were Tim, Raea, as well as the mysterious aeromancer who’d come to Tim’s aid earlier when the swordsman fought Jon Avalon. 

One after another, Uberman received updates on his comms from platoon commanders and various Sentinels who reported successful evacuation of the civilian population from the southern districts of the city, as well as how all active units have taken positions at and around the Mid-Gate. “Good work, everyone. Looks like we all made it,” the Sentinel leader acknowledged the reports as he pondered the next course of action. 

Uberman’s train of thought was broken by a sudden comms signal from a military drone operator, her voice carrying a tone of urgency, “Uberman, sir! I've got visual of a civilian still in the southern sectors of New Xaelis!” The drone operator broadcast the feed from her drone cam to Uberman, as a display window opened up on his suit’s HUD to show him what the drone’s cameras picked up. 

“Mein gott…” the cyborg muttered as the drone cam footage showed what looked to be a young woman – almost a girl by the Sentinel leader’s reckoning – dressed in a bloodstained and beat-up gray hoodie over a red plaid schoolgirl-style skirt. She ran desperately down a street, a pack of Deminite Soldiers hot on her tail. “How could this be? I thought all civilians were accounted for when we relocated to Mid-Gate!?” 

“I-I have no idea! The official documents say the civilian populace had been accounted for, and then this. She doesn't seem to match any available citizen records, that’s why I am requesting your advice on the situation,” came the drone operator’s reply. 

“She could be a foreigner, a tourist or exchange student perhaps; regardless, I must do what needs to be done. Tell Col. Freebird that I will be back in a bit,” regardless of the girl’s status as a Xaelonian local or a foreigner, in Uberman’s eyes an innocent is an innocent and part of him cursed the fact that they could make such a critical oversight during the evacuation of New Xaelis’ civilians. As long as he still had the time and the means to set things right, the cyborg wasn’t about to idly sit by. Without another word, Uberman jumped over the palisades and sailed off the top of the Mid-Gate as he fired up his flight repulsors and took off in the direction of the girl at top speed.

The girl in the hoodie yelped as her foot struck a large chunk of rubble, twisting her right ankle as she tripped and fell. She struggled to pick herself up, limping along as the Deminite Soldiers caught up to her. “S-somebody! Anybody! Please help!” she screamed, her voice shaking with fear. The Deminite at the front of the pack leapt at the civilian, eager to sink its claws and teeth into her flesh. A beam of pure kinetic energy raced down the street, striking the demonic thrall in the chest with the force of a speeding truck; the Deminite’s ribs and sternum went crack as the impact caved its chest in and sent it flying.

“Leave that civilian alone, or you’ll have to deal with me!” Uberman’s stern warning echoed as the heavily-armoured cyborg stepped forth to position himself between the girl and the remaining Deminite Soldiers, the optics behind his T-slot visor glowing red as he held up his right fist. The Sentinel leader wasn’t surprised when the Deminites ignored his verbal warning and began gathering flames in their claws, eager to get what they viewed as an obstacle out of the way. 

Seconds later, the entire pack of Deminites lay dead at Uberman’s feet, the remains slowly disintegrating into black ash that scattered in the wind as the Sentinel leader approached the girl. “It’s alright now, you’re safe,” the cyborg remarked in a reassuring tone as he got down on one knee to place a firm but gentle hand on her shoulder.

“F-for real?” The girl turned her head to look at the Sentinel leader, and in doing so the hood of her jacket slipped down, giving the cyborg a clear look of her features. The glow in Uberman’s optics flickered briefly in astonishment as he found a youthful-looking face with round cheeks and delicate features staring back at him – but what caught Uberman off-guard were her long silver-gray hair and brilliant turquoise eyes. The girl sniffed, her eyes shimmering as tears welled up in their corners, “I tried to escape the city with my friends… but those monsters… those monsters caught them! I didn’t know what to do, I just…” she became increasingly distraught as she tried to recount what happened, until her speech just broke down into incoherent sobs as she buried her face in Uberman’s arms.

“Easy girl, easy… I know you’ve been through a lot, and for your loss you have my condolences,” Uberman tried his best to comfort her as he patted her on the back, acting on his old fatherly instincts before scooping her up into his arms in a princess carry. “Come, let me take you past the Mid-Gate – you’ll be safe there, and I’ll see to it that you receive medical attention for your injuries.” The cyborg fired up his suit’s repulsors, and took to the air, albeit flying at a significantly reduced speed as he took into account the fragility of his passenger.

“Thank you, sir,” the girl whispered as Uberman set off in the direction of Mid-Gate.

“Think nothing of it, miss,” The Sentinel replied as he flew over the Mid-Gate’s ramparts and brought her to a civilian shelter, where a paramedic was quick to set her on a gurney; before she was to be wheeled off to the shelter’s medical centre, the cyborg asked her one last question, “But just one thing if you don’t mind… what’s your name, young lady?”

The young woman nodded weakly as she looked at Uberman, her reply barely above a whisper, “It’s Maria, sir. Maria Halesinger.”

 

To be continued...

[Justin Law]

Onward to Chapter 9: The Power That is Yet to Be

[Justin Law]

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