Jäger looked up from a body slumped over a wooden table. "Sabine," he said with a smile. For a moment he pondered how she'd been able to find him in the midst of the chaos around them but quickly realized that his men must've given her directions.
He nodded towards the senior officers and soldiers accompanying Fallensteller.
"My forces are currently securing the castle with the support from Pawlitzky on one side and light tank from the Eisenstrasse on the other. Therasmus is around here somewhere and is hunting down a coven of sorcerer. Tao of my best are with him."
"I see," Fallensteller replied with a cool confidence which suggested she was unconcerned with the details of the operation. However, the mention of a "coven" of sorcerers intrigued her greatly, and she made no effort to disguise it. Although it was a bit difficult to tell when looking through the lenses of her mask, Jäger was certain that Fallensteller's eyes had gone wide at the mention. "Aha... ha. I suppose that demon can handle the issue even more elegantly than I can manage, but I do want to investigate the scene once he's had his fun. There's no telling what sort of interesting tricks we could learn, or what trinkets of power might be left behind. These Nadeshi put up more fight than they ever had right to; imagine a Gothian or Teutonic army shielded from the air attack by an invisible barrier... their armors impervious to the enemy's bullets," she raved, half spurred on by her Lord's inspiration. "Oh, Wilhelm, Pavlovia would crumble from the fear alone!"
Meanwhile, Mesahri sheepishly entered the room and caught sight of Yarah. It had been weeks since she had intentionally left behind her journal on the Gothian submarine. Surely, the succubus had found time to write something inside the journal by now, but whatever magic had inspired Mesahri to take interest in the demon's plight had long-since worn off. Now she only felt a burning sense of embarrassment as Yarah immediately noticed the red leather collar adorning the bat's neck. At least my Master is a god, and not some chauvinist womanizer, Mesahri found herself thinking. She sighed and cast her gaze to the floor between her feet. So that's all I have left to fall back on...
---
Down, down into the ship, Braam took the stairs two steps at a time to reach the engine floor, where he knew there were loads of nooks and crannies where he could stow himself away. Maybe, he thought wildly, maybe I can wait until nighttime and then sneak to the skiff launch. Maybe there'll be a life preserver and I can paddle my way out, and keep swimming until... until... I don't know, he thought in a dead panic. The other ships would never take him, they'd loathe him like the disgusting thing he was becoming and kill him. The Nadeshi wouldn't take him in, either. He was just another foreign heretic who didn't speak their language, and after all the death and destruction raining down on them today, they'd make sure his death was extra-painful.
But I'm still a child, he thought desperately, if I land all alone in the middle of the night, and go inland, away from the city, maybe I can find a house, somewhere out in the woods or the countryside where some old couple lives, and beg my way in. His thoughts slowly turned to more and more desperate measures. And... and if they try to hurt me, and they're old enough, I can fight back. I could kill them and live in their house, and drink all the blood in their bodies- NO. GODS, NO. MOTHER PLEASE HELP ME.
He burst into the engineering deck and shoved his way past a few of the technicians, bounding toward the water-pumping station where the bats liked to sleep during the day, but they were all gone at the moment, gone away with Fallensteller. As soon as Braam crossed the threshold, it was as if all the light in the world had been extinguished at once. The lights had all been disabled here, and he was utterly and completely blinded. Slowing now to a painfully cautious shuffle, he forged onward, probing the darkness with his hands in search of someplace deeper and even more hidden. He kept pushing, kept bumping into things, until, at last, he found a passage through which a pair of pipes were routed and wound up inside of an uncomfortably tight crawlspace- small, even for a child.
He wriggled and turned, now realizing that he could go no further from here, and eventually was able to lay down flat on his back in a way which was at the very least somewhat comfortable, and crossed his arms over himself for warmth. He stared into the black void in front of his eyes, and might have believed that he was in a wide-open space if not for his own breath steaming off the steel bracing inches in front of his face. His stomach churned. The lifeblood that had tasted so sweet earlier was curdling inside his stomach, and he found it impossible to relax and allow the time to pass. Instead, his mind agonized over his actions and searched fruitlessly for an explanation.
Something bit be, he thought. What bit me!? If it got me, then it's probably gotten others, right? Is the whole ship going to get cursed? ...But what was it?
He went around and around in circles like this for a while, until his head began to hurt as well. The disgusting feeling in his stomach seemed to settle down, oddly pooling in his back with a eerie sensation. Involuntarily, his mind wandered back to that house in the countryside. Now, Braam was approaching at night. There would be no begging, no childish tears in search of pity. He would instead climb up to a window, and find an old widow, frail and alone in her winter years, and he would sneak in undetected. Stop it, he commanded himself. Stop picturing it!
It was no use.
Down, the dagger teeth plunged, and soon he would be sucking the blood right out of the neck, where the flow was good and he could take his fill. An old woman would die and he would get stronger, sustained for a time longer, enough time to disappear again and stake out his next meal... Just as the fantasy began to feel almost darkly romantic, he felt something shift at the small of his back, some strange muscle pulling in directions he didn't think should be possible. There was no telling what it meant, but over time, he was more and more convinced that there was some sort of growth at the base of his spine.
Lunaire, he finally realized. She changed a lot when she became a servant. She bit me, and now I'm changing, too. It seemed glaringly obvious, in hindsight, but he had been so caught up in the horror which gripped the very fiber of his being that he couldn't think straight. I'm going to have a tail, he suddenly thought afterwards with growing apprehension. I can cut it off, but please, please, let that be the end of it. He reached down and cautiously touched the spot where he believed the tail would come from and found nothing but a bit of painful swelling. I won't be able to hide this. Please, I beg you... he continued to plead in his mind, and slowly he began to realize that he was bargaining with none other than the enemy Himself. If a pact with Raum could create this curse, perhaps a pact could break it as well. He had to try.
Lord Raum, take my blood and fix my body. Take this curse off of me, please! Take as much as you want from me but save me from this nightmare, he prayed before forcing his arm up to his mouth across his chest and slicing open the veins with his teeth. He felt the warm blood spilling and trickling over him, and he could smell its sweetness, but somehow his body knew that it wouldn't sustain him as food to drink his own, and he easily resisted it. All of this is for you... Lord.
"You'll get your support. But we'll stay close. If anything we can scout the entire citadel for safe passages once we're inside seeing as we're trained pathfinders and not just marksmen."
"I'm sure you can, dear, but lets not get ahead of ourselves. We're not even in the building yet!" said Von Strauss, with a bit of a laugh.
Landing Zone Powder
Therasmus crept forwards towards the sorcerers, supported by Gavrilov and Fallstrom. Arcane energies and magicks were swirling invisibly in the air here, resembling static electricity as tiny sparks were occasionally felt, but not seen. As the demon crept into the circle, a shudder went through the seven supporting sorcerers, all of them groaning out or shaking in some way but not acting upon the intrusion. In fact, they seemed incapable of doing so, their minds so far gone into a different reality that they were unable to focus on the world they physically existed in. There was no recognition in their eyes despite the fact the demon's imprint on the world around him warned them of his approach and entry into the ritual circle. Perhaps safeguards had been constructed to stop him, but if there was, Therasmus only felt them as light pops against his mind.
His tentacles reached out towards the lead sorcerer, who remained immobile with a look of stern concentration on her face. The wind and energy in the air began to pick up until their was a weak swirling cyclone around the sorcerers and the intruders, kicking up dirt, grass, and debris. Raw, etherial magic began to manifest in the air as sparks and snaps of all possible colors, like miniature fireworks bursting. There was a real and very dangerous tension in the air, but the demon pressed on, forcing the tentacles against the woman's head.
Much happened at once. For Therasmus, there was an intense burst of pain as the conduit of energy exploded into his own psyche. The only possible word he could use to describe the situation was bewilderment. The etherial, magical energy they were channeling was not simply the essence that all magic derived from, or coincided with such as with abyssal energy, but it was the power of the in-between. The raw shearing wind of eternity which erased all who stood before it. It was just a little bit of it, a mere scrape they were attempting to harness, and it was enough that it hurt even him. If the magic they were attempting to withstand could be likened to a gardening hose on full blast, this was like an industrial pressure washer at point blank range. A minute amount of intense energy and pressure.
Therasmus entering into the ritual connection was like causing a faulty wiring to short. He became the path of least resistance as the energy, no longer forced entirely into the woman, was now being forced into him in a torrential flood. It was simply maddening that these humans - mortals - would attempt to utilize such power. The toll was clear on the bodies of the already dead supporting sorcerers and the ones still struggling, but their methods were so utterly organic and primitive that he didn't realize just how low the bar was for their methods. What he took as intrinsic, basic fact of the energy he used was treated haphazardly by these sorcerers. The potential to wield enormous magic was there, but the danger of it was so high to the user that no individual would reasonably justify it. And yet, these sorcerers did. The energy was so overpowering, it simply overrode his ability to look into her mind, as if her consciousness was literally a needle in a haystack the size of a field.
Momentarily frozen from the pain and onrush of pure ether, he could do little more than simply stand there and take it, weathering it as a lighthouse stood in a hurricane.
Then Gavrilov and Fallstrom entered into the equation, hoping to further interrupt the circle. Their knife blades plunged into their chosen sorcerer's at the same time, and the effects were instantaneous.
The translucent sorcerer Fallstrom stabbed exploded instantly into an atomized mess of human gore. It was like a grenade going off. The shards of bone embedded themselves into Fallstrom like shrapnel, but even worse, the blood was boiling hot. His skin seared and smoked as the blood which covered him from head to toe burned him. His knife had simply evaporated into dust as he was blown away from the circle. The blood and gore splattered all of those nearby, burning the other sorcerer's, but Fallstrom's body had taken the brunt of it.
Gavrilov had picked one of the groaning sorcerers who were already suffering from the overload, and was fortunate in the fact that his interruption had not caused a release of the magic all at once, but had already been occurring gradually against the sorcerer. Their eyes had already melted from their head and they were bleeding profusely from their nose and ears, and their skin was showing signs of hemorrhaging. The feedback into the sorcerer was strong - but not as strong as against Fallstrom, and only a fraction of it ended up targeting Gavrilov. His knife acted like an energy conduit, channeling the magic into him as a lighting rod grounds electricity. The resulting force of the magic irreversibly burned out all nerves in the arm directly holding the knife, killing his body's ability to feel the arm or move it. It only hurt for a fraction of a second until there was simply nothing to feel as the nervous system within his arm was simply burned out instantaneously. Still, a few splatters of blood from the exploding sorcerer sprayed him, causing parts of his skin to smoulder.
The sudden break of the ritual magic sent a feedback into the other remaining five sorcerer's, killing them all in a variety of horrific ways. Two of them also partly exploded, their heads bursting open from the intensity of the force, while one imploded in on himself as if he was sucked into a miniature black hole, all the matter in his body being crushed into a pinprick which floated in the air. One of the remaining two ignited like a torch doused in kerosene, his entire body engulfed into a blinding flare of white hot energy that bathed the nearby area in intense heat, as if he were a star going supernova. The final sorcerer was perhaps the most unfortunate as his death was slow enough to allow him to shriek madly - gravity, a constant, changed for him as his body was forced against the ground by an intense pressure. It was like an invisible foot was stepping on him and crushing him, and his body and bones cracked under the pressure until he was nothing more than flattened out paste.
The pull of energy from the ritual had now been abruptly stopped, but what had been drawn still remained and needed to be channeled. Most of it was being forced into Therasmus and dispelled, but the break of the ritual caused some of this magic to spill out into the world around them, causing anomalies. Arcane fire ignited in some spots on the ground, while electric arcs shot through the air. Gravity wobbled and rocks started to float, some floating permanently up, and up, and up. Wind swirled even faster around what remained of the sorcerer's circle until a small tornado like funnel had formed around them, as if in anticipation of some great release. The magical energy had to go somewhere, and it was thus left upon Therasmus to dictate the release. It was possible to refunnel it back into the ether, or to translate the magic into a spell, or to simply let it burn out painfully within him like an oil well fire - this, the latter, being the safest to all. The risk of an enormous explosion from a rift also existed, but so long as the magical energy was going somewhere, that possibility was at a minimum.
---
The pressurized bubble protecting the few Nadeshi within collapsed when all this was happening, allowing the poisonous gas to lurk back in. They seemed to realize this and threw down their arms, running every which way as if they could escape the very air around them. Soon, they were collapsing as they panicked, gripping their throats and heaving as their eyes turned red and watered. However - it was apparent by their prolonged suffering as they fell upon the ground that the gas had finally diluted enough to no longer be immediately fatal, and perhaps serve only as a severe irritant. The possibility of taking these men as prisoners was there, if medical care was to be provided.
The rune knights retained their power, but seeing the collapse of the sorcerers and the defenders of the courtyard sent them into a zealous, indescribably intense rage. None held back or hid as they rushed the Gothian troops, but this did not end in their favor - the Gothians were well prepared now and took advantage of the raging knights, focusing intense gunfire upon them to take them down. A few soldiers still fell, regrettably cut down, but they were all avenged as the rune knights soon lay entirely dead amid the rubble.
Atop the walls of the fort, the Nadeshi were entirely overwhelmed, their human minds shattering at such horror. Many began to flee, jumping over the walls of the fortress into the sandy occupied dunes below in hopes of running. The gas was still here, weakened, and brought most down into a choking, but alive, mess. Others collapsed to their knees and began to wail and pray at the sight of the slaughter and the magical funnel which was growing bigger within the fortress.
The Carmilla tank had entered shortly before the rout, and was in an excellent position to cut down the Nadeshi as they fled wildly. Only a few dozen meters away was the magic funnel cloud, and the radio and electronic equipment in the tank began to act out. The radio spoke by itself, voices of some unknown population screeching out in pain or in hope of being heard, even if it was turned off. The driver would find the tank misbehaving and not always obeying his control, the vehicle sometimes turning slightly one way, or accelerating when not desired, or even refusing to budge altogether like it was a scared draft animal. One of the Gothian drill vehicles on the other side of the courtyard suddenly reactivated, regardless of the operators intent.
---
Jager and Fallensteller were in a small meeting room, from the looks of it, which was mostly bare brick and vaulted ceilings, with tiny doorways that housed squeaky metal doors. Several bodies littered the room, one of which being a man slumped over a large wooden table. He looked to be an officer maybe, given his more upclass looking apparel - a gilded red doublet and puffy cravat. A few torch-lamps were burning along the walls, but there was also ventilation ports that served as small windows along the upper sections of the wall, most closed but a few open. They looked out into the main courtyard where the fighting was coming to an explosive end.
Even without seeing it, Fallensteller could sense the tumultuous swirl of arcane power in the courtyard as Therasmus, Gavrilov, and Fallstrom disrupted the ritual up close. It could be likened to an oil well spewing out black crude, except instead of oil, it was simply magical energy. In this case, Therasmus was serving as the cap, and she could sense his demonic imprint standing within the whirlwind. If the cap blew, then there was no telling what might happen, but he was a powerful demon with great capability. Still, it was somewhat disconcerting as she could see the immense power that was at hand. It was almost painful to look in that direction, as she could do little to not sense the magic. It was like an eternal light in her minds eye.
Yarah-kei was standing with her arms crossed, glaring at Jager, Fallensteller, and everyone who happened to be near her for forcing her to wear such peasant like attire. The helmet she was wearing made her feel like some child playing dress up, and her servitude kept her from lashing out. Her eyes soon spotted Mesahri - and the red collar around her neck. The succubus couldn't help but snicker, always one to bask in the misery of others for her own amusement. She drifted around the room until she was beside the bat, and she leered down at her, quietly whispering.
"I can see a little bat with her wings clipped. I warned you to fly away when you had the chance."
-POST BREAK!-
At Landing Zone Royal
On the beach, the fight had come to a gristly end as hundreds now lay dead, mangled with other bodies and those of the horses which were ridden into battle on. The groans of wounded was like a harrowing siren's call, as Old Worlder and Nadeshi alike lay in various states of misery. A number of the Nadeshi wounded were hostile to any who tried to help, but some didn't seem to care, or were otherwise too far gone to have the energy to realize what was happening around them. The very sand of the upper and mid beach was coated in blood, giving it the texture of the damp, solid sand at the edge of the shore.
A number of horses were not dead, and simply wandered the battlefield and beach at random. Several had ended up gathering near some sand dunes, and they chowed down on tall wild plants and whatever else they could find. Most, like their riders, lay dead dead on the beach.
The cheerful call of Albion battle hymns echoed across the field of the dead and dying.
---
Another pack of ghouls made their appearance before Vunor and Graves' group, howling like wolves before setting out at a sprint. They clambered down the broken streets and sidewalks, dashing and running at surprising speeds. Vunor was ready with more magic, despite the pain it brought him, and of the dozen attacking ghouls, a few of them went down in stunned pain. The Columbian's were sharp and ready this time as well, and powerful shotguns barked in a scattered chorus as men fired back against these necromantic monsters.
The steadiness of Graves and his orders reigned supreme for his men, as they rallied themselves to fight against the ghouls. One after another, the ghouls dropped dead or seriously wounded from their gunfire. A few of the monsters scrambled around the defenders, and another man was taken down by the undead creatures. Another was wounded when one slashed at his legs, but the casualties remained very low as the beasts attack and finally retreated again. Vunor's warriors had helped fight off the mutts.
They carried further on down the street until they saw a man, standing in the middle of a street which was higher up than the other collapsed roadways. He was dressed in dark garb, a robe and hat. Once he had been clearly spotted, he retreated down a nearby alleyway.
At Landing Zone Spyglass
The Brunswicker troops, along with their Mariner and Ungrian allies, continued the firefight against the Nadeshi defenders at the citadel. Modern rifles picked off those who showed themselves too clearly, while the blackpowder weapons were far more inaccurate - but still deadly. Already, a couple were dead and wounded from the gunfire.
Just aside in the main square, hundreds remained trapped there, many already dead, but most wounded or too scared to advance. It was a waste to shoot at these people, though any who attempted to run oftern became targets for the advantage of the invaders.
"Admiral, sir, we've found a large basement. Its large enough that it should be good enough for your ritual," a marine reported, stepping aside as Mannfred and a small group of men followed him down into the basement. Indeed, it was fairly large, capable of holding a several dozen men if all packed in tight. There were some barrels and dusty crates pushed against one wall, and a wooden table and stool by the other, but some men pushed this stuff aside so that Mannfred had room. A man hauled down a jug of water and poured it on the stone floor, making the center of the large cellar damp as the water slowly expanded across the ground. Another man hauled down a large metal pail that was filled with sparkling gemstones, while another followed with a leather case filled with red vials and various tinctures. They set these things aside as they helped prepare for the ritual, and a marine handed the admiral some chalk.
"Estimates on sacrifices?" He asked, rubbing the chalk against his thumb to test its quality.
"About one hundred and forty-six - a safe minimum estimation stands at one hundred and twenty, or one hundred ten depending on how you feel. Our men have also drawn about seventeen circlet and connecting runes, with a minimum safe estimation of fifteen," a man with a bristly mustache explained, examining a small leather bound handbook. He looked almost like a bookie examining bets than a man evaluating the amount of murders they had committed.
"Acceptable," the admiral nodded. "Yancy, start assembling the crystals. I'll draw the circle and runes."
He examined the damp ground before kneeling, and he started to draw the chalk across the stone floor. Instead of making it harder for the chalk to stay, the water instead amplified its integrity, resulting in thick and clear chalk lines. Private Yancy and another marine were placing the gemstones and crystals on the ground in certain locations, while two more men began to pull out all sorts of magical craft items, from salt and oil to exotic fish bones and blood.
---
The area where Von Struass and her tank were waiting was mostly quiet and devoid of any action, save for a few people here and there running down streets but keeping well clear of the metal hulk which idled on the cobbled road. However, a small child - a little girl in a simple gown - strode out calmly on the street and faced the tank down from a few dozen meters away. She didn't appear at all afraid, and she was staring right at them. Her gaze was unsettling enough that it seemed as if she was looking at everyone in and on the tank.
Several tense moments passed before Braam noticed any reaction to his desperate plea, but when it came, the regret was more intense than the relief. It began near his upper back: the warm blood which had run down his sides and collected in a pool underneath him had gone cold, ice cold. The freezing sensation began to spread in a circle, encompassing the entire puddle he had created which trailed all the way to his hips. His heart was beating harder and faster, trying to maintain pressure as he now gripped his wrist, fearing an accidental death, and all at once-
He began to sink.
It wasn't immediately clear, in the pitch black crawlspace, that he was sinking downward until he felt the strain on his back, the rising, freezing surface of the puddle swallowing him from behind. He screamed in shock and panic, banging his hands against the interior of the compartment fruitlessly searching for something to grab hold of as the icy blood - no, ink - crept up his neck and flowed into his hair. Only his legs were safe, sitting outside the puddle on flat ground, but unless he could pull out of the tunnel he would tip over backwards, falling head-first into the abyss portal he had inadvertently created. The longer he struggled, the more blood would join the pool and increase the chances of his demise. He placed his palms against the roof of the crawlspace and pushed, trying to slide himself free while keeping his back stiff, and nearly succeeded in lifting himself out when some horrid abomination of a creature, unseen in the dark, reached its rotted, gnarled hand out of the ink and wrapped it around the boy's throat.
Braam let out a terror-filled grunt as he fought the creature's strength, and eventually resorted to screaming. "Nnggggh... Help me! Somebody help!!"
And then, there was a glimmer in the darkness. He wasn't sure how he knew, but there was a small opening in the bracing that he could slip his fingers through and get a grip. But just as he reached to grab on, the creature jerked his entire upper body into the abyss, and an immediate illness seemed to settle over him, as if he had just been spun around. His legs began to lose their hold on the crawlspace floor, and as his feet reached the lip where the pipes entered the structure, the heel of his shoe caught on the lip and pulled the whole thing off. Instinctively, he kicked upwards with his exposed foot and sought the same opening he had tried for with his hand, and somehow, he caught it.
Dangling halfway into the abyss, some horrid creature's hand around his neck, tugging, urging him deeper, he clung impossibly by one foot to the opening in the tunnel. He could hear for miles around him, thousands of icky, clicking creatures gathered around his entry point, waiting for their meal to drop. Fruitlessly, he batted at the unseen creature with his arms while pulling desperately with the strength in his hooked leg. Raum, I gave you my soul. Why!? What more could I give!? The thoughts dominated his conscience as he felt doomed, all until he felt an intense discomfort in his opposite, free foot. It was so sharp and so sudden that at first he believed something was gnawing on it, and he kicked and thrashed violently while screaming. His remaining shoe came loose in the process, and again, somehow, he caught sight of something in the absence of light.
The mutations hadn't stopped. In fact, they were accelerating. His foot had been curved and molded into something vaguely resembling another hand, but with fearsome, sharp claws. He jammed it into the portal opening and caught the same hold where his other leg had been locked, and with the combined strength of both, he struggled to lift himself. The creature clinging onto him growled in a gurgling, choking sort of way, and in a rage, Braam let out an inhuman screech and clawed at its hand with his steadily sharpening fingers until at last, he felt the rancid flesh on the creature's digits give way and tear open, which caused it to release him. Lightheaded and weak, he pulled himself up with his legs and clawed awkwardly out of the tunnel, dropping into the pumping room in a daze. He carefully checked his wrist, which felt utterly alien to him, and found that he was no longer bleeding as the wound had closed itself up.
He was silent at first, contemplating the series of misfortunes he had suffered that morning, and in fact, in the several weeks leading up to the moment, and a hatred welled up inside. "...Is this Hell?" he asked, to no one in particular. "Am I in hell!?" he yelled at the darkness, hearing his voice echo off the walls and pipes, and seeing them in his mind's eye. Well, not quite seeing them, but sensing them nonetheless. Echolocation. Now he understood how he had seen the opening in the crawlspace that saved his life. But was he really saved at all? He licked and nearly cut his tongue on his fangs, then felt in the darkness for, and found, his spaded tail and pointed ears. Deep down he knew it wouldn't stop, and that he would soon have wings to wrap himself in, as he had done before with his arms when he had been cold. And as the minutes passed by, his body continuing to slip away from him, he knew that the thirst was returning.
What was the point!? What did that get me!? he agonized as tears trickled down his misshapen face. How am I supposed to live like this?
A tiny voice, barely a whisper, answered him. It came from the direction of the bloodied crawlspace, its words sounding honest and cruel. "Slake your thirst and kill, boy... Servitude requires sacrifice to honor."
"...Will my humanity return if I kill someone, then...?" Braam asked cautiously, unsure of who he was speaking with. "...Are... are you Raum?" he asked.
There was an evil snickering from the Abyssal opening. "Appearances are only temporary, and a creature of the night serves best under the Moon's watch," it hissed. "And no... precious boy, I'm only another servant, like you..."
---
Fallensteller was startled by the sudden outpouring of magics within the fortress, and she knew from the lack of reaction on Jäger's face that he couldn't sense what was happening. "Wilhelm! That demon... it's gone and done something. Something of major importance is happening out there," she said, pointing in the direction of the vortex. "I don't know whether to run toward it or away from it," she mused. Her senses had grown much stronger than they had been at Catten, thanks to all the sacrificing that had gone on on the Zulfucht, but it was still too raw, too unrefined to tell her what she was seeing. She only had a vague sense that it was dangerous.
Mesahri gave a grimace. "Thank the little one," she said simply, nodding in Lunaire's direction. Lunaire, close to Commander Schuster, was agog at the the fighting and exotic warfare, and her spaded tail was swaying for all to see.
Fallstrom cried out in pain as the shockwave flung him several meters back. His agonizing screams and cries for help echoed across the area. Gavrilov on the other went pale as he realized that he couldn't feel his arm. His training then kicked in and despite his handicap he rushed over to Fallstrom.
Using his left hand he uncorked his canteen while using his legs to keep it still. Cold water was poured over Fallstroms face while Gavrilov called for a medic.
"Therasmus! You need to help him! He's fucking dying!"
---
Jäger had just ordered two of his men to inspect the body of the Nadeshi officer when Fallensteller spoke up. "We must go then," he said before checking his ammo. Four men and Yarah were ordered to follow while the remaining Cavaliers were detailed to search through the room at a careful pace.
Jäger nodded towards Fallensteller. "Lead the way."
---
Once it was clear that the battle had more or less been won the Gothians sweeped through the fortress like a steel wind. Several Nadeshi soldiers were captured and dragged back to the landing zone while others were simply executed on the spot or crippled and tossed over the walls.
At the same time the wounded and dead marines were collected and returned to the Falcon and the Raven were they would receive medical care.
Finally a squad of marines climbed to the top of the fortress, raised the flag of Gothia and shot a red flare up into the sky. Around them their comrades cheered.
---
"This feels like a trap," said Kahleen. She gestured towards Dahl and the two of them hopped off of the tank and flanked the girl some seven or eight meters away as to not end up in the tank's line of fire.
"How the hell are we supposed to talk with her?" Asked Dahl as he trained his rifle on the girl.
Kahleen shook her head. "That I do not know. Strauss?"
Therasmus' hands remained outstretched, curled into an incomplete vice as his wrists shook and he maintained his focus as best he could. The unbelievable pain of psychic and magical backlash registered as a burning stab that reverberated throughout his mind, a crack in the mirror-like surface of its illuminated halls and fractal paths before order was gradually restored. Yet none were sparred the otherworldly shriek that was heard throughout the fort, a fraction of the pain he felt registered within each and every mind that was unfortunate to be within its radius. It was high-pitched, bass-heavy, and terribly unpleasant - as if a pair of mangled nails scratched across the chalkboard of reality for a split moment. The amount of energy being poured in this ritual was intense, far too much for mortal kind to wield. It had not been the first time the demon had witnessed the folly of men wielding powers they did not understand, and it would not be the last. He understood that whatever spell they were casting was out of pure desperation, and would likely spell ruin for far more than the enemies of the Nadeshi.
Yet he was not out of the proverbial woods yet, he had to steady himself despite the reeling backlash he had just suffered from linking with the prime sorceress. His goal was still fresh in his mind, Therasmus wished to add her mind to his collective but found it wrapped in layer after layer of chaotic energy. Yet this energy was enthralling to him despite the visible strain taking place in his form, the well of cosmic light that served as his visage was starting to emit brighter and brighter beams of light that poured forth like the sun peaking through gaps in clouds. Even parts of the demon's form was starting to open and spill out that brilliant light, only to be resealed before another 'leak' occurred. This type of magic, this primordial energy moving through him, he had felt it all before. Like a memory that had been blocked out for some time it became more and more fresh as he focused on it, and Therasmus soon recognized that this was the energy found between worlds, what his infantile form drank of in his plummet throughout the realms. There was some comfort in familiarity, yet it meant he had no time to dawdle as the situation grew more dire.
It only took a slight amount of deliberation, he would have to endure the pain of dispelling this energy back where it belonged as he used himself as a catalyst. If he would try to cast a spell, however small, it would likely spiral out of control. The walls between realms were now weakened due to this meddling, arcane anomalies of various severity taking place all around him. Cobblestone melted like liquid, blades of grass flash-froze while their neighbors burst into flames, air pressure climbed and dropped at levels that were felt as miniature sonic booms all around him. Perhaps his effort and pain would be rewarded, he might peer into the various timelines for guidance, he may even be able to look at the road map of the universe itself to get some semblance of an idea where his home was hidden.
Yet through the slight unraveling and rapid reassembly of his mind(s) and the dilation of time itself, he heard a plea from help. It was distant, distorted and faint, yet he heard it nonetheless. While it was possible he could convert all of this power into healing energies to assist both of these men he knew the risks. What he had wielded was simply too much power, and in a timeline he peered into in that instance Therasmus saw that any overcharged restoration of damaged cells would turn his assistants into piles of tumorous growths. Best not to press his luck, he had to safely dispell the energy back in its place between realms and glean whatever he could from the experience.
"If you truly wish to save him, flee while you still can." came his voice, scratchy and distorted like a radio transmission underground, yet demonic screams and screeches scratched at the outer reaches of their minds.
Gavrilov cursed as he realized that Therasmus was doing everything in his power to prevent a disaster. "Fuck, alright. Give me two minutes to clear out."
With that said Gavrilov managed to tie parts of his chestrig around the shoulders of Fallstrom before slowly dragging the screaming man away from the area.
Von Strauss gazed upon the little girl from where she sat atop the tank, a wide smile on her face. Rather interesting, really...this little girl just standing out in the middle of the street like this. Braving invading forces and standing up to an armored behemoth. She showed no fear...Von Strauss liked that.
"How the hell are we supposed to talk with her?"
"That I do not know. Strauss?"
Von Strauss chuckled, then grinned as she leaned forward. She stretched out her hand to the little girl from where she sat, and moved her index finger in a 'come here' motion. A simple, universal gesture. It was likely that the girl knew it. She had a few ideas for what to do with her. All in the name of Veritas.
---
The Carmilla tank attempted to move backwards, stopping just inside the gate and shutting off when it could so that they could simply cut down the Nadeshi still inside the courtyard. Once things were settled, the Ungrian platoon fanned out to eliminate survivors of the ordeal. Nadeshi that were just wounded or crippled in the battle.
---
As the Albionans sang their songs of victory on the beach, and the Ungrians and Columbians dealt with the dead or dying, Victoria put her cigarette out and drew out a small notebook and pencil. She through the notebook, through several pages marked with tally marks, before finding a blank page. She listed the date and location, before marking down ten tally marks. Ten kills. A moment later, she put it and the pencil away. Mentally satisfied.
Vunor considered chasing the sorcerer, however he restrained himself as he looked back to Graves and his men. "The necromancer is retreating. Perhaps an attempt to lure us into a trap." Vunor stated bluntly as he though of the next course of action to take. "What do you suppose we should do?" he asked to Graves, awaiting an answer.
---
Wollisfend looked over to where the soldier pointed to this Sergeant Reinhard he spoke of. "A crack shot she is it seems." Wollisfend commented before turning back to his men. "Cut it out you lot, help
our allies with their wounded, now."
---
Nita was somewhat unnerved with the girl fearlessly standing in front of their vehicle, it seemed almost an unnatural bravery coming from her. She also noticed von Strauss beckoning the girl to approach. "Are you sure that's a good idea?" she asked.
"Are you sure that's a good idea?"
"Maybe. Maybe not. I like surprises." responded Von Strauss. "Just in case, keep the machine gun leveled on her."
Graves examined the area where the necromancer was. Vunor was most likely right as there were probably more running corpses around waiting to jump them behind every corner, but they couldn't afford to sit and wait for them to be attacked.
"We push on carefully. Heavy duty soldiers in front" He said pointing towards the bovine soldiers "And us flanking and keeping the back clear. We find the scrawny shit and we put him in the ground." He gave the signal for the men to start forming up. They were already behind schedule and time was running short.
---
Back with the rest of the Columbians a small group approached Fontaine
"Captain, not to get on your nerves, but me and the other guys are getting a little bored here."
"Is that so?" Fontaine turned to face them. A group of five, one big man at the back with a flamethrower along with them. It dawned on him that it wasn't fear that was the biggest hit to morale, but boredom. And apparently it was pushing some of them "Your accent, you're from New Jeshire, right?"
"Ye, we are! We were part of the 7th during the Kiripolu uprising. So you know we're top of the line soldiers." He sounded very gleeful. Fontaine of course knew about the uprising and what happened. Columbian interest had moved towards the north seeing as the territory was still under savage control. It was taken and for a few decades things were going as usual, until the Kiripolu decided they had enough and took up arms against their new benefactors. Killing and scalping a good number of the civilian population of a few small towns. So the cavalry was called in to deal with the upstarts. Veterans of that conflict liked to pretend they were up against impossible odds, but in reality it was shooting fish in a barrel.
"What's your name again?"
"Sargent Douglas, sir." The answer was ever so gleeful
"You're in luck. We received word that there was fighting on the beach. And you're going to be performing a very important task." Fontaine smiled under his mask "You have a flamethrower with you, so it will be easier." Now he got their interest. It was easy to tell once Douglas and crew leaned forwards to listen "You're on corpse disposal duty. Bury our own or whatever the appropriate action is and burn the enemy. Just like you boys did to the Kiripolu." They were obviously upset, but he didn't care. They were bored while waiting for commands, they could make themselves useful. Besides, Fontaine hated the ego the 7th dragged around with themselves. "Did I stutter? Go!"
The five left the larger group for the beach, murmuring curses under their masks.
As Fallensteller, Jäger, and their combined entourages descended toward Therasmus's location within the fortress, all present could hear an unpleasant screech echo through them. "Ohh, what was that?" Lunaire asked excitedly.
Fallensteller hesitated. "It sounds like danger to me," she reluctantly answered. She wanted to get closer, get at whatever magical prizes the sorcerers might have been keeping before meddling hands could sweep in and take them away, but as the effects of the immense power transfer became more perceptible, even to those without magical sensitivity, she began to have second thoughts. "I want to at least see what's happening out there. I wouldn't want to dishonor this fleet," she added almost sarcastically, "by turning tail too soon..."
The group emerged from a doorway and finally caught sight of the source of the disturbance. Immediately, Fallensteller's eyes went wide. "We need to leave. Now!"
"What about those men down there?" Mesahri asked, and the Captain turned back to see Gavrilov pulling Fallstrom away, both men clearly wounded.
Fallensteller's lip twitched nervously. "Yours?" she asked Captain Jäger.
He confirmed.
"I suppose can be of use, now..." she said, pulling the Necrolan and blood quill out of her overcoat. "Mesahri-"
"Yes, Captain," Mesahri said woefully as she leaned over, allowing Fallensteller to jab the tip of her quill into the bat's neck. Once it was full, Fallensteller yanked the macabre tool out. Jäger looked on curiously as Fallensteller trotted down to the two men, instructing them to hold for a moment so that she could assist them.
Gavrilov, clearly exhausted, looked up at Fallensteller. "Lady you need to leave. Therasmus is struggling to keep the magic contained and while he's holding for now I wouldn't want to stay around for long."
Jäger looked at two of his Cavaliers. "Help them."
The soldiers nodded, shouldered their weapons and jogged over towards Gavrilov and Fallstrom.
Fallensteller paused a moment with widened eyes, clearly taken aback at being called "lady" in such a dismissive manner. She was accustomed to the utmost respect from her own ship and at least passable decorum from sympathetic vessels, and hadn't expected such rude disregard for her rank. The calmness which she had brought along to the battle melted from her face, replaced with a frighteningly intense glare. "You will refer to me as Captain, soldier," she corrected him, "and unless your own sees fit to overrule me, you will stay when I instruct you to stay."
The Cavaliers hesitated a moment as Fallensteller's tone turned threatening. She cut a glance at Jäger as if to say this would only take a moment. She then took her quill and began to flick it about, the runes hanging in the air before her as she focused on the two injured men. Her spell was merely inquisitive at this point, identifying the extent of the damage and comparing it her own capabilities.
"I see..." she muttered, bitterly. "I see. The damage is to your arm is extensive. I cannot fix you, but perhaps someone else can," she said to Gravrilov. "And as for your comrade," she said with a wicked smile, tucking the Necrolan and her quill away for now, "I sense great potential for his recovery. Now that didn't take long, did it? Shall we?" she asked, beckoning the Cavaliers to do what they had previously been ordered to do before turning on her heels gracefully and walking away toward safety. "Mesahri, bats," she said idly, "gather up what artifacts you can carry from the fallen sorcerers and meet us outside."
"W-what!?" Mesahri said as she came to a halt. "But they said- You said it was dangerous and that we needed to leave right now!"
"Then move quickly," Fallensteller ordered, waiving her away with her hand. Mesahri did a double-take in the direction of Therasmus before bolting back to the scene.
Mesahri let out a nervous, chirping sound before translating the captain's orders to the other bats present.
Fallensteller took a few more steps before turning around. "And one more thing," she shouted. "Lunaire, whatever you find, you can keep!"
Lunaire grinned and danced around a bit excitedly. Finally, a chance to get a magical tool, like the Captain's amazing book and quill! Her imagination ran wild with images of all sorts of amazing trinkets, and she set off for the disturbance surrounding Therasmus twice as fast as the others.
---
Beating his wings hard, Chiri finally caught up to Von Strauss with the last of his energy, hitting the ground on the bombarded streets a short distance behind the tank, doubling over from the exertion before approaching curiously, simply watching as the Ungrian officer beckoned at what appeared to be a lost Nadeshi child.
Vunor nodded in agreement with Graves as he prepared his defensive spell once more, charging the orb with energy again until it flickered ready. However, this time he situated the orb on the top of his staff in order to more easily direct it at any oncoming threat.
At Landing Zone Royal
The mysterious sorcerer which had shown himself, only to disappear down a nearby alleyway, remained hidden as the group continued down the street. The effects of the gas this far in must have been more distilled, as there were few if any bodies in the streets, demonstrating the fact that this far into the city the people here must have managed a swift escape from the invisible death. All of the nearby streets remained collapsed, with several more building facades having crumbled apart into the canyons below. Several blocks up one of the perpendicular streets leading out of the city showed that the collapsed streets didn't extend much further, and while most of the immediate streets were obscured by corners and blocks, they must have also been at the edge of the collapse. If the gas was thin or not present here, and the streets not destroyed, then they were entering into uncharted territory where more enemies may be lurking.
Several blocks away, the looming castle and palace that was their ultimate objective stood rather untouched. The walls surrounding it were obscured at this distance from the streets, but the spires, towers, and upper sections of the palace were able to be seen. There was limited damage to what was visible, and unlike the burning buildings scattered around the city, it seemed like the palace was surprisingly unscathed at this distance. Perhaps that would change when they arrived, but it was possible magic was involved. The palace had been a target for bombardment - it should have been smouldering ruins under the rain of modern artillery.
A number of bovine warriors led Vunor, Graves, and the others through the street, weary of the sorcerer they were hunting. They were stopped outside of the wide alleyway he had disappeared into, with some men peering into it. A dead end, utterly. Carefully searching it showed that there was no possible exit, yet somehow the sorcerer had made it out. Not entirely unexpected, given their capabilities.
Upon a brick wall at the end of the alleyway, just as the men were making their way back out, a light began to shimmer upon the surface of the brick. The illumination grew in size so that it appeared to be a large doorway of some sort, or a window, or a portal in more apt terms. Retreating away from this sudden portal, the invaders prepared themselves as a gnarled, twisted hoof of flesh and melded bone stepped out from the portal like something materializing out of a blank wall. Following the hoof came another, and then the bulk of this fresh horror emerged. It was difficult to give words to what it was - a giant monstrous ball of flesh and broken bodies, propelled like an elephant on four legs, with several disjointed arms latched together to form an array of tentacles around its front side. A gaping maw that reeked of a morgue on a summer day came from its mouth, which was framed by shattered bone shards for teeth.
The flesh beast bellowed and charged the invaders, who by now were already mounting their attack against it.
---
On the beach, the dead were collected and placed into piles to be burned. It was a typical procedure after battles to burn the enemy dead and collect the friendly casualties for burial elsewhere. Bodies were looted, but the Nadeshi soldiers had few trinkets of notable worth - plenty of rings, amulets, and charms, but these were clearly not noble or wealthy troops. Many Nadeshi wounded were executed on the spot, most too far gone to realize their fate, while some tried to fight on or crawl away.
From Royal beach, a pillar of light could be seen on the far side of the small bay at landing zone Powder. It was a multicolored swirling vortex of energy, rising right up out of the smoking fort. For those familiar with tornadoes of the open plains and grasslands, this structure seemed just like a thin twister, but stationary and without widespread wind. The waters on the beach were beginning to become more turbulent as the surf came in harder, like the tide being forced upwards out of schedule as it does when a storm comes in from the sea.
Despite the fierce cavalry battle they had weathered, the beached remained secure and quiet once more. A haze had settled on the beach and land ahead of it, but visibility remained fair.
---
Cornered like a rat, the sorcerer the two demons had been hunting was forced down into the root cellar of some partially collapsed town home. The man was panting and out of breath, his skin sallow and eyes bloodshot. His fingernails were all bleeding and his hands were twisted from some sort of sorcery he had performed, which, evidently, failed as he now pressed his back against the dark wall of the cellar. Across from him, descending the stairs gracefully like an angel from the heavens, was Lady Kyndreth. Hraban was perched on her shoulder, and the beak of the demonic bird was stained red and was splattered with flesh.
"Foul demonic wytch, evil heretical whore, the fires of eternal damnation are too good for the likes of you," the sorcerer wheezed, clutching at his chest and glaring at the demonic pair.
His words were translated instantly and automatically by Hraban to Kyndreth, who no doubt did not know the language. But the scholarly bird had magic for such feats, and upon translating, he blinked and cocked his head.
"Forgive the filth, his words, not mine, Lady Kyndreth," he intoned politely. "I can remove his tongue if you so wish."
Kyndreth shook her head, somewhat bemused. "It is alright, Hraban. I'm still getting used to the King of the Roost answering to me. Your status has changed much since Lady Shalo's reign."
"Indeed, but my limited role now is somewhat peaceful, I must admit," the large raven responded, a scrap of flesh falling from his beak.
The sorcerer was torn between annoyance for being ignored and fear for his life, and he raised his hand with surprising reflexes, his fingertips glowing suddenly.
His severed hand hit the floor only a second later, Kyndreth having closed the gap in the blink of an eye with her sword humming in her hand. The man gaped at the stump of his arm and suddenly realized that his head was now on the floor as well, his eyes bulging from the speed of the demon swordwoman.
"They are all so pathetic. Its a wonder how they call themselves sorcerers," she sighed as Hraban fluttered off her shoulder and down to the severed head.
"Indeed. This one was rather rude, too," he replied quietly, pecking at the eyes of the dead man. "But they all taste relatively the same."
At Landing Zone Powder
The phenomenal energies of the Ether, supported by extraplanar magicks, continued to swirl madly around the courtyard as Therasmus performed to his utmost to dispel these dangerous forces. It was not an easy process to act as a conduit to safely dispel the energy, as it was like a tidal wave of force and pressure demanding to break free. The most accurate way of describing the method of dispelling the energy back to where it had came was pouring a cup of boiling water into a pinhole - simply holding the cup seared one's hand, and the turbulent water spat and bubbled all over the place. If too much was spilled, it would go out of control, and could only be safely done away with if it was poured into the pinhole. This pinhole being the safest connection back into the Etherial realm, as anything larger would cause a backflow as the winds would struggle to escape the hole and into the mortal world, preventing the boiling water - the magic already summoned - from being able to return.
Only a demon or powerful sorcerer could withstand the pain of handling such power. However, much like a burn, the intensity grew to such an excruciating level that it no longer hurt Therasmus. While the lack of pain was welcome, logical reasoning warned that this was a serious issue and a sign of the severe internal damage he was taking. He wouldn't be able to fully understand the extent of the damage until he had safely dispelled the energy, and until then, he had to focus entirely on that task.
The mind of the female sorcerer remained a pearl trapped within an oyster, the scouring energy keeping her consciousness hidden within. She had used the very momentum of the magic they had summoned not only as a shield for herself, but as a sort of windmill - it kept the magic turning and moving so that it didn't accidentally leak into the real world. Now, since it was being transferred away, it crackled and poured out into the mortal realm in the form of the vortex. The vortex was predominantly blue, the wavelength of light neutral energy often took, but the entire spectrum of color was visible within its walls like strings of yarn. It rose up high into the clouds so that its top wasn't even visible, and the clouds it pierced were starting to roil and rotate around it like an actual weather cyclone, hinting at the possibility of a more natural, but no less intense danger.
Yet, mercifully but minutely, the magic was being forced away. The spillage of the process contributed to the vortex and the anomalies which were occurring around it within the courtyard. Electrical snaps and sparks appeared like fireflies over the dead, burned, or frozen grass while dirt turned to mud without the addition of water. Pebbles rose up into the air without any care for gravity, forming small solar systems of their own as larger rocks demonstrated their own newfound gravity wells. The air displayed freezing and scalding temperatures, the imbalance of such creating wind around the vortex which had no proper or clear direction. As alarming as these developments were, they were only the result of a small amount of leaked energy. Twice as much could prove to be entirely deadly to anyone nearby, and much more than that could lead to far more bizarre effects.
At Fallensteller's behest, she and the main command group began to move, fearing what could become of this vortex and the energy Therasmus was dispelling. Yarah, who had been irritated but smug to Mesahri, had lost her edge and was nervously clutching her arms as if she was experiencing a freezing wind. Even Fallensteller could feel some physical affect from the vortex and active energy, but it mostly registered as pressure and as internal discomfort given her undead state. Her sensitivity to sorcery was still developing, but her mind was well aware of the danger of this energy.
Gavrilov and Fallstrom were unable to be healed by Fallensteller. With the help of the dark Necrolan, it was apparent her prospects for healing were not entirely concerned with whether the subject actually got better. Or would be alive for the process. The information was enough for her to piece together the nature of some of the magic she was capable of using. It was meant to break and destroy, not to reconstruct and heal - but it could do so, but in a way that was clearly twisted. Necromancy. It was, after all, the opposite of traditional healing. Gavrilov and Fallstrom needed the help of someone who could wield more neutral, or lighter, magic. Real world medical practices would be unlikely to heal them much given the extent of the damage they had taken. The men were safely and quickly carried out of the area while the command group began to move further away from the danger.
However, under Fallensteller's command, her cadre of bats remained to pick through the remains of the sorcerers which were scattered around Therasmus' immobile but energized form. The area was most certainly dangerous, and some would find simply moving through it to be a struggle. Sometimes the ground lost friction and grass behaved like ice, while at times their legs would move slowly as if they were stepping through molasses. The smallest bats would find that, on occasion, their entire bodies would begin to float upwards before being dropped back down a few feet as their figures were subject to the impossible fluctuations of gravity. Rocks and dirt pelted all like an earthy rainstorm, kicked up by the wind.
The fear of the unstable environment set them to work quickly. The dozen or so sorcerers were not all perfect cadavers, allowing some bats to search bodies together since little remained of a couple bodies but paste and gore. From what could be recovered, each sorcerer seemed to have a ring they wore on their right hands. It was a steel and silver ring holding a smooth ebony gemstone, upon which a green snake was imprinted on. The craftsmanship was remarkable, especially for the bats who had not seen such work often even in Cattan. One sorcerer had a necklace of wooden chips, each one imprinted with a strange symbol. A few had money, daggers, and more mundane materials on their persons. All wore robes of some kind.
Lunaire found two things of note. The first item was a whistle made of a pink and white seashell. It had been carefully carved down into a thin tube with two small finger holes at the end, making it out to be somewhere between whistle and piccolo, but neither exactly, and given its diminutive size and shape, it was not a horn. The second thing was a crystal ball. It looked like a glass orb with fog inside of it, and it wasn't very big, but large enough that she had to hold it in both hands. It had the weight of a cannonball but was only perhaps half of the size of one.
Mesahri, less enthusiastic of sifting through a magical minefield, searched one of the further bodies and uncovered a curious metallic disc. It looked like a small silver bowl, but the texture and sheen was not quite typical of normal silver, if that was indeed what it was made out of. The luster appeared rather opaque and brushed and not reflective at all. The item didn't appear to have any obvious use, and its only notably magical property was that the small disc did not cast a shadow. She had almost missed that trait, but realized it soon enough.
---
Despite the magical show occurring within the courtyard, Gothian, Ungrian, and Teutonic troops carried out a variety of cleanup duties under the looming form of the vortex. Most soldiers were split between securing their own casualties, rushing them down to the beachfront where basic triage could be performed before they were sent back to the operating rooms of their ships, and executing the remaining Nadeshi. The rout of their enemy was a wild one. Many fled every which way, being cut down left and right as some stumbled into groups of Old Worlders or were caught out in the open by riflemen. Most of the wounded were left behind to be dispatched, and a few Nadeshi fell to their kneels to beg for their lives in their unintelligible language. It sounded vaguely familiar but unknown to the Old Worlders. It had the fluidity of Fusangese but with the cadence of Columbian and syllable stress of Low Gren.
The dead were pilling up as the Nadeshi were executed without second thought by many troops, though the toll of such clinical purging was unsettling to most soldiers. Only those hardened veterans of the Colonial War were perhaps more partial to such killing, and it was possible that some marines and troops allowed surrendered Nadeshi to flee, unwilling to shoot unarmed and fleeing soldiers. Some prisoners were taken, and they were led down to the beach. Their uniforms were tattered and dirty from the fierce fighting, and some had discarded their jackets for one reason or another, showing off their light copper skin and complexions. Most of the soldiers were grunt troops, some startlingly young, but some officers had been recovered, and they were separated. These men had sashes and embroidery on their jackets signifying some sort status. They had uncertain looks on their faces, while many of the lower infantry seemed relieved to be out of the fight - but all remained weary, no doubt fed rumors about what the invaders would do to them. The mass executions certainly went a long way to show that some of those rumors would be true, but these were broken men, and the fight had left their spirits.
-POST BREAKER-
Landing Zone Spyglass
The little girl facing off the tank glanced somewhat curiously around before slowly stepping towards the tank at Von Strauss' gesture. As the girl got closer, her attire became more clear. Her dress was a somewhat poor quality but modest peasant garb, with short sleeves, a laced up front section, and a sewn in apron around the front of the skirt portion. She actually had shoes, which showed that she was perhaps not a peasant, but they were old leather and appeared to be made for men. Her hazel colored hair was whipped up by a light wind, but her grey eyes appeared rather blank, despite the attention she showed.
She remained silent as she stepped closer up to the tank, peering up at those on top of it, heedless of the danger the machine posed.
---
The constant report of rifles sounded through the ground and echoed in the basement of the building as the admiral and his men worked to construct a large ritual circle. Each of the dozen men were at work like engineers, every one playing a small part to create something massive. Their movements were like clockwork, betraying a familiarity for their work. Mannfred dragged the chalk across the ground at seemingly random intervals, but the mural he was creating slowly came into form with the help of his men. The main perimeter of the circle was framed with crystals, simple colorless chunks which were set around the circle like hours on a clock. Each one was flanked by a wax candle, each and every one of them cut down to an exact length.
One trooper carried over a bag of marbles, one third black, another third white, and the final portion red. With the help of a second trooper, the two men arranged the marbles on the ground in straight lines, extended from the crystal and candle duos outwards from the circle, like rays of light being depicted from the sun. One man stepped into the center of the circle and arranged three copper bowls in a proportional manner, and he used a ruler and leveler to make some unknown measurements to ensure their correct placement.
The admiral continued to mark chalk on the ground, hunched over and never stopping, like a painter using an infinite brush on a canvas. His men worked around him, careful not to interrupt his writing.
"Did we bring along a bleached skull or do we need to get a fresh one?" Mannfred asked casually, not looking up from his work.
"We have two, sir. The bleached skull of a blind man from Albion with the iron spike through the top of the crown, and the more exotic He-who-cries. That one is safely secured in its container," one of the troopers announced, looking over two leather bound boxes.
"He-who-cries will suffice. Please pay him the proper respect."
"Absolutely, sir."
The marine pulled one of the leather boxes towards him and pulled a key out from a hidden necklace around his neck. He latched the key into a simple metal latch on the box, and set it aside. Another trooper stepped up beside him and offered him a basic handkerchief, which the soldier took and grinned wearily.
He opened the box and within was a bleached white skull, thorny copper wire strung around the brim of the crown. Two little nails were drive into the eyes, both also made of copper. They were dripping with condensation from the moment the lid of the box was removed, and the marine looking down at it twitched slightly, his eyes going damp and his lips curling.
"Please forgive the intrusion upon your rest, but your master calls upon you to perform the duty of your station. You will not be harmed," the man said, tears now streaming from his eyes and face breaking into the expression of a sobbing man. It was clear he was trying to hold himself back, but when he reached in and touched the skull, he openly began to weep without being able to hold it back. He carried the skull carefully to the center of the room and placed it in the center of the circle, which was also in the center of the three copper bowls. He was sobbing like a grief stricken man, his body shaken and his eyes squinted shut from the contraction of his facial muscles. Finally, once he set it down and stepped away, he stopped sobbing. He took the handkerchief he was provided and dabbed away the tears on his cheeks and his wet nose, looking tired.
"Good work," the admiral murmured, still drawing but nearing completion of the chalk lines.
The skull which had been placed on the ground was also weeping, the copper nails acting as miniature faucets that leaked onto the ground.
Wollisfend took a moment to observe the landscape as he and his men got comfortable on the beachside. Some of them had already begun reinforcing their positions and had begun digging into the sand. Others walked and chatting amongst each other and their allies and some even began to play a game of dice on a crate, an unusual sight amongst the carnage. Then he noticed an unusual sight in the sky. Colors swirling and going into the air, perhaps it was some sort of witchcraft? He frowned as he also took notice of the increased turbulence of the water as well. A coincidence?
A storm's rolling in? he thought to himself as he looked to the pillar of strange light again. No.
"Something's off." he remarked to some of the officers near him. "I don't like it."
---
Vunor's eyes widened as the monstrosity came charging at them. Something this gruesome and disgusting was the thing of nightmares yet it was here in front of them, materialized by the ill will of dark magic. He quickly brought his staff up and launched the orb at the creature.
["Bring this beast down!"] he cried out to the warriors who also looked shocked at the appearance of such an entity. The warchief was the first to break out of his shock as he bellowed and charged at the aberration, spear and shield ready, which soon rallied the other warriors to attack as well.
As she rifled through the belongings of a fallen sorcerer, Mesahri paused as she lifted an innocuous-looking object she had previously set aside. Her shadow, flickering beneath the strange and impossible lights, seemed to hold nothing as light streamed between her clawed fingers. Recognizing the significance of the object, she hastily stuffed it into one of her jacket pockets and turned to the others. "[As soon as you have something, get the hell out of here!]" she called out.
A number of the other bats held up tiny, shining trinkets that they had picked off the bodies to signify their progress before stuffing them into their pockets or even their feet, beating their now-free wings to escape the maelstrom around them. Flying away proved challenging but not impossible, and the further they flew from the vortex, the safer and more normal their task became. Bitara remained behind, however, urging Lunaire to move on despite the little girl's obvious enthusiasm and lack of concern for the danger. Upon locating the crystal ball, Lunaire realized she needed help transporting it. Bitara finally had a bargaining chip: "[I'll carry it for you if you come with me now,]" she urged.
Lunaire gave a reluctant, worrisome noise as she looked over all the carnage and imagined what sort of treasures might be lurking under the broken and twisted forms. Nonetheless, the crystal ball was clearly something she would regret leaving behind, and she agreed. Bitara placed the orb in the clutches of her feet as Lunaire raced into the air, and soon Mesahri joined them in flight as the final trio to leave the scene.
Outside the fortress, Fallensteller caught up with Pawlitzky, who was leading the Teutonic portion of the mass executions rather intently, as if it were a race to kill off as many of the Nadeshi as he could before the other forces present could do the job. He might not have had the same artistic flair as his captain, but he was determined to prove himself a truly loyal servant to Raum through his deeds. "How many have you dispatched, Mr. Pawlitzky?" Fallensteller asked him.
Pawlitzky turned and quickly saluted the approaching command group. "I've lost count," he admitted, giving a cynical chuckle. "This is dirty work, Captain. I still haven't found anyone worth sparing."
"Keep at it," Fallensteller replied with a nod. "Sooner or later we'll encounter someone who can teach us something, but until then, your service is greatly appreciated, Lieutenant." About then, the bats began to set down on the sandy beach before trotting up to the Captain, who greeted them with increasing enthusiasm. "Aha! And here are my brave new recruits," she said, clasping her hands. "Let's see what you've brought me..."
When all had been counted up, the bats had returned with seven serpentine rings. There had likely been more, but this was all that could be found among the grotesque display. Mesahri set her silvery disk before Fallensteller, quickly noting the lack of shadow when she felt the Captain's skeptical gaze. Lunaire danced around on the sand joyously with her strange whistle, which Fallensteller doubted was actually magical, and she was mildly disappointed until Bitara approached with the large crystal ball in her hands. Immediately, Fallensteller sensed that she had found something special, and her lip twitched as she stared at the foggy interior of the ball.
Then, Mesahri spoke words which gave the Captain pause: "Lunaire found that."
Fallensteller had told Lunaire that anything she found was hers to keep, but now she felt a surge of jealousy. Why couldn't one of the other bats have found it first? Were they all just dying to leave? On the surface, however, she gave a gracious smile. "Well then, I suppose we'll just have to find a good place for it on the ship," she replied, and for a moment, wasn't sure whether it was her own thought or a divinely inspired one. Perhaps she had become so accustomed to receiving the Lord's wisdom that she was beginning to anticipate it. Of course, she soon thought, if we were to set up a shrine, then we could share the plunder. The chapel would be perfect...
After Reverend Pfeiffer's death, the chapel was temporarily a free space for worship on the Zuflucht. A few of the more devout members of the crew had filled in for the late Reverend, providing reassurance and spiritual guidance for those who sought it, but within a day or two of leaving Cattan, when conditions really began to turn and the orchestration of the cult's takeover became nakedly visible, services there reached an abrupt end. The informal Diothesis studies became prime hunting grounds for the servants, and soon, public prayer disappeared entirely as the devout found themselves targeted. Now, the room sat empty throughout the day, and at night, there were rumors of vandalism and debauchery taking place within.
Fallensteller took one of the serpentine rings and slipped it onto her ring finger, and then opted to give another to Lunaire, who had to be interrupted from her attempts to play a song on the whistle. The rest were placed in a small bag and slipped into the Captain's coat pocket along with the metal disk. The crystal ball was given to a rifleman with the instruction that it be placed aboard the skiff for the time being.
"So what now?" Pawlitzky asked Fallensteller.
Fallensteller glanced at the acropolis where the observatory loomed and pointed at it. "The fortress is now practically secured. We have other instructions, and so I'd advise you to round up the men while I speak with Captain Jäger," she explained before stepping up to the Gothian leader.
"Wilhelm, I have a proposal for you," she said. "We have very nearly taken our primary objective. The Admiral has ordered us to proceed to the food stockpile once this stronghold was taken, but I have an alternative I'd like to discuss with you, if you're interested. This city holds great secrets, and my Lord has revealed to me where I might find true power... power that I feel I should share with you, as we are, shall we say... like-minded in our intentions for when we return to the Old World. It may only take a fraction of our combined forces to take this additional action, but I do not believe my own soldiers are properly equipped and trained to get the job done alone. And of course, one cannot understate the importance of a courageous leader."
The journey through the broken streets continued at almost a crawl, as the soldiers attempted to traverse the damage without falling or getting crushed by crumbling buildings. Meanwhile, the tank with them continued on almost unhindered. Just simple rubble to rumble over. The Ungrians kept their eyes and ears open, though, looking about for any sign of the enemy. Krantz stayed to the right side of the street with the comms officer, while Váradi had moved to the left with a few of his storm troopers.
The palace and its walls were getting ever closer. The question was would they be able to reach it and breach through without resistance. Krantz paused for a brief moment, looking up towards the palace then back at his men. Hopefully Kyndreth and Hraban were doing well, wherever they were. The Columbians too.
----
Victoria found herself staring out over the waves, in the direction of landing zone Powder. The sudden change in the weather and the tornado that had formed over that particular area felt rather ominous. She lifted her rifle, peering through her scope to see if she could get a better view of things from where she was on the sand dune.
----
As the little girl neared the tank, Von Strauss took the time to inspect her. Hazel hair, grey eyes...very young from the looks of it. Just a small, curious child...whom wasn't scared of these strange invaders riding a steel monster. Eventually, Von Strauss climbed out and off the tank. Her boots hit the street with thud, and she knelt down as the child came ever closer. Still smiling.
"Hello there, little one...my, you're rather brave! Cute too!" she commented. She fully expected the child to not understand her in the slightest. It was more her thinking out loud, really. She then pulled her gasmask up, revealing her face and her gleaming yellow eyes. "One as young as you shouldn't be out wandering the streets alone...I know! You can come with me! I'll take wonderful care of you...and we'll become the best of friends!" she said, offering her hand to the little girl and giving her a genuine warmhearted smile.
Jäger eyed Fallensteller with renewed interest. Behind him several officers were busy delegating out new orders. "An interesting proposal, Sabine."
He smirked. "The city is dangerous for a lady of your status, perhaps my men and I should accompany you to ensure your safety. I doubt anyone would think twice about that."
With that said he looked to the Cavaliers. "Prepare to move." Yarah was also ordered to follow.
Once Fallstrom and Gavrilov had been hurried back to friendly positions at the Gothian landing zone and new orders had been given to the officers Gothian forces slowly began to pull out from the castle.
A platoon of flamethrower soldiers, two rifle platoons and the Ungrian tank Carmilla would remain at the site and disengage once Therasmus was done.
---
Back at the beach Nadeshi officers were round up, stripped of all their clothing and put inside large cargo cages mounted below deck on the landing craft Raven and Falcon. Weathered sailors armed with submachineguns, pump-action shotguns and pistols watched over them.
Meanwhile grunts were chained together and forced to kneel in the wet sand. Anyone found to be wounded was executed and thrown into a large fire. It would be impossible to bury the Nadeshi soldiers on the beach.
-----
Kahleen and Dahl eyed the girl suspiciously. Even with Von Strauss approaching their fingers remained on their triggers. "Strauss, are you sure about this?" Asked Kahleen with a concerned tone.
Dahl glanced briefly at the bat and did a quick nod to greet it.
Therasmus weaved his fingers through the air with a tightened grip, each tip appearing as if it was tugging on an invisible rope attached to the prime sorcerer's head. He was locked in a sort of tug-o-war with nothing, his tentacles mirroring the slight movements of his hands as they undulate and straighten at varying intervals. The electrical current moving through them continued to remain visible, and if the demon could breathe he would be panting at this moment, the closest equivalent to that state being the flashing the wells of light pouring out of openings in his form were now subjected to. The pain had subsided, which was good in a sense, the distraction meant that he was now able to focus on the task at hand much better and clearer than before - though his body taking any damage at all would prove to be a terrible deficit. As with most things it was of little concern for the here and now, and it would even be less of a concern if he was able to retrieve the sustenance he craved. Her mind had remained focused to create this vortex, so he would simply use his superior mental fortitude to spin the current in the opposite direction. Once he had made his opening - his tentacles would strike and find their mark.
It was such an idiotic, short-sighted, and stupid plan. All of this energy drawn and gathered for what? Did they hope to eradicate all living matter in the vicinity around them? This ordeal had only shown Therasmus that humans had little concept for the powers they mettle with. To think that this sorceress would believe herself to be a master when she used her whole coven as a battery for some unknown gambit. A real practitioner of magic knows to leave nothing to chance, every action is to be meticulous or at the very least carefully measured. The demon was very reserved when it came to his emotions, having only vague concepts and flashes of pain, happiness, and tranquility unless he was to be reminded of them over an extended period of time. So it would be far off to say that he was infuriated by the development, yet more accurately irritated. The woman had managed to create a powerful barrier around her psyche by channeling all of this power into her body, where the slightest misstep would either have her eradicated or transported to some other location in the universe. Irritated indeed, as her folly was the greatest defense she possessed, but Therasmus was no less determined to see his task through to the end. Vent the excess energy carefully, responsibly, and see his task through to completion.
He went about his defusing of the energies with great focus and efficiency, yet he kept his mind open to any revelations the bombardment of this cosmic energy might bring. It was through this crucible that the demon had formed this physical body, had gained his map of the timelines. This might not be why he was sent here, but any scrap of knowledge was invaluable to him. Though in the chaos his mind started to register blurs and chattering, panicked expressions and fearful waves of thought. They were most assuredly not human, but Therasmus was not quite able to recognize what had surrounded him. Judging by their apprehensive nature he knew that they were not enemies but... there were shifts in the magic within the vortex. Not anomalies, but little blips that clung to their forms as they scurried out of the danger. They were pilfering the tools of the coven! Who sent these things, and why would they wish to replicate this event in any way? There was nothing he could do, his focus eaten up by keeping himself and this whole fortress intact.
"Meddlesome pests." he crackled out in his static-ridden, near-incomprehensible voice. The mental feedback loop of 'hearing' him speak was now at the levels of creating a migraine to those unfortunate enough to be in its range due to the sheer instability.
"Strauss, are you sure about this?"
"Sure! It'd be best to spare this young girl the fate of the others, don't you agree?" said Von Strauss, glancing towards Kahleen. For that moment, her eyes seem to glow a bit brighter as they met Kahleen's. "She's young enough that she likely does not know of the things her elders do. I want to spare her a brutal punishment for something she had no hand in."
"Form up, take that thing down!" Graves yelled as soon as he saw the grotesque creature emerge. "You three, keep our backs secure, if they try something I want you on it!" He gave an additional command to those at the back. The running corpses unnerved him when he first saw them, but as soon as they started falling on the ground dead, the fear quickly dissipated. But this new horror would take some getting used to if there are more. 'If your friends can die a second time, then so can you.' he started to rationalize trying not to lose his cool at the sight of the thing fast approaching. 'Just another corpse. Just another corpse.' He kept repeating in his head. Refusing to acknowledge the human features that are clearly visible. 'Just another fucking corpse!'
Graves aimed at the creature's head as it got closer and closer. "Just a few steps more" he waited patiently and fired. The company men following after him.
Stepping up aside Wollisfend, a man in an Albionian uniform lit a cigarette and took a good, long, hateful look at the magical pillar of light. "Friend or foe, I wonder..." Ackermann said cynically before taking a deep drag before giving a smirk. "It's good to be back."
A few hours prior
"I can't stand much more of this," Ackermann said as he paced the room, Dobbs and Wollisfend in the doorway. The fire had finally returned to his eyes, the product of anxious, sleepless nights treated with inadequate medication aimed at symptoms, while the disease still festered inside. Scripture, both modern and pagan, buzzed in his head, calling for action, calling for the righteousness that he had nearly forgotten in his self-pity and obscurity. "I've been trapped ever since I left port... I tried resisting this heresy and the Admiral put that witch back in command of my ship. I tried to take matters into my own hands and she turned the tables on me! She broke me down in front of the entire fleet and made me think I was losing it. But I wasn't- I never was. I just... I just didn't have the tact!" he ranted.
Dobbs looked on him critically. Had he learned anything since being humbled, or was this simply the same, reckless young man charging yet again on a hopeless rally? "And what are you planning now, then? Going to storm up the beachhead and seek out Rabenschwarz again? In case you haven't realized, the fleet is preoccupied today."
"No," Ackermann replied with a cynical chuckle. "Gods no. I've had enough of running headlong into fool's traps, sir. But I can't stay here in this room any longer. I've got to get out there and fight, to prove that I'm still a worthwhile part of this expedition. If I've got to do it in your country's colors, it'll make no difference to me. I was a soldier of fortune, once. I can fight under any flag if I believe in the cause."
"We haven't heard from Kirsch in a while," Wollisfend contended. "Maybe we could send Ackermann in to check on him."
"I don't want him anywhere near the Zuflucht's landing party. We can't trust a single damned soul aboard that ship. Even Kirsch has given his blood to the enemy... But he's also mentioned that the witch has been carousing with Captain Jäger as of late, calling him by his first name," Dobbs replied, disgusted. Ackermann grimaced and suppressed the urge to lash out at Jäger's name. Justice would come in due time. Wollisfend merely sneered at the wretchedness of it all. "That being said," the Vice Admiral added, "Ackermann might be the right man to regain contact with our friend aboard the Gothian vessel: Kahleen- that mystic with the enchanted rocks. She might give us more insight into this mutiny."
---
Braam had been lying on the floor of the pumping room for an unknown amount of time before he finally decided to reopen his eyes and confront his living hell once more. When he did, it took him a few moments before he noticed that he could see the entire room- it wasn't perfect, but he could definitely see the contours he hadn't seen before, and the glistening residue of his misguided sacrifice to Raum trickling out of the crawlspace. He looked down on himself, at the monstrous body he was trapped within, and found himself to be just like Lunaire, and yet... There was something immediately fearsome about him, something predatory. While Lunaire had become a sort of impish hybrid, she was at least cute in a morbid sort of way. The same couldn't be said for Braam.
Every feature on his body had become sharp, disgusting and sharp. His clothes had split and twisted themselves to accommodate this form, possibly by magic as he didn't even feel them tear. He was the sort of creature that wasn't meant to see the light of day, and until he could see the sun again, he wasn't sure if such a thought shouldn't be taken literally. He had feared becoming a monster when he first felt the thirst, but what he imagined was so much more benign than... this. And yet, as he stood there, flexing his claws, stretching out his wings, lost in the sensations of otherness, he didn't feel the pangs of suicidal depression which plagued him before. He felt... powerful. It was a scary thought- one he felt he barely had control over. If he acted upon his urges, to take revenge, to make them all pay for leading him to this demise, he might as well be dead after all, as the boy Braam had been before was lost among the mixed urges to hunt, drink, and kill.
If killing would restore his humanity, would the fear return? And if it did, could he live with himself for taking the life of another? He wasn't sure, and it was hard to care. There was only one way to find out.
Ephraim was, as he had been tasked earlier in the day by Von Strauss, still on board the Eisenstrasse after having helped in the deployment of troops prior to the real intensification of the assault. While he had assisted in some other things onboard, at this point, he largely concentrated on his given task of watching over the new recruits. It had helped that his circle of comrades, including Gawain, Lanzo and Dagobert, had also been chosen to remain onboard, likely also the doing of Von Strauss, and Kass being with them was very much a godsend for the destitute and the kobolds.
Free couldn't help but wonder though about what was going on at Nadesh. From what they had been told, and what they had been preparing for, there's likely intense fighting going on right now. If Blackstone was the closest he had been to a military campaign, Nadesh was the closest he had been to a full-blown war, was the impression that he had at least. He scratched his chin, and pondered about the implications of the conflict, not regarding the island itself, but for the fleet, as he had heard something about there being divisive opinions on the matter. Whatever the case may be, one thing was for sure - change was coming, and he feared for what was to come.
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