"Mono/Dialogue"
'Inner thoughts'
Narration
[Message/communication apparatus]
Date: Late-September 1089
Location: Kazdel
POV: Meteorite
‘There are still more coming from the south!?’ Biting back my curse, I reloaded my grenade launcher and fired up another colored flare. It is quite convenient that the primary cargo had gone through the encirclement, so we can all focus on all these people swarming our position.
[Meteorite, come in!]
“Send it.”
[We need support, reference at blue smoke at bearing 2-4-7, how copy over?!] Using my binoculars, I spotted the blue smoke and even people hiding behind rubbles while shooting back. Some hostiles managed to reach them but got eliminated by CQC specialists or other mercenaries.
“Copy, reference blue smoke, stand by for support.”
[Appreciate it!] Ranging my grenade launcher, I aimed up and let gravity do the rest of my work. Using my binoculars again, I confirm the effect on the target while also receiving confirmation through comms.
[Right on target, thanks for the assist.] Shouts of joy could also be heard in the background. Hell, some even waved at me for that. Bewildered looks between the Sarkaz around them tug a little grin on my lips. I had been working with Cordelia for a while, sure, but they definitely know how to appreciate help… Are they that scared of Nyx or something? Eh…
“Heh, sure thing.” I should be up north, but got pulled back on the ground that managing comms is harder than expected with sporadic infiltration being made. There were instances when our enemies slipped past, or deliberately ignored our perimeters. I was forced to guard the makeshift camp below me, the CO rated my performance to be worth several badly needed manpower. So here I am…
[This is Hoederer of the Eastern defense line, we got several more cannons!] As on cue, multiple explosions could be heard coming from the eastern defensive line. I couldn’t do anything but watch as screams and groans filled up the air.
[We got more wounded coming from the northern line, make way!] Casting my eyes towards the north, I see Sarkaz mercenaries and PMCs hauling wounded using stretchers back towards our barricaded first-aid station. They just left them close to the entrance before immediately running back to their post while the medic, deathly tired, staggered but resolutely took the wounded inside relative safety.
[All units try to conserve your strength and do not, I repeat, DO NOT try to play heroes. If you go any further than 100 meters away, we will not bother covering for you. Break. Eastern unit gives me sitrep over.] I forgot the CO’s name because everyone never bothered to say it. It is a good thing that he could command without sounding panicked.
[Eastern unit is managing to hold. We are in bad need of resupplies though an- shit, get down!] Statics and rustlings could be heard from their comms. Hoederer then continues.
[Sorry, those cannons are making it harder for us. Just keep the ammo going and we’ll hold.]
[Copy that. You’re not too bad as a merc, whaddaya say working for Cordelia?]
[Nah, I don’t talk contracts on the job.] The man sounds calm amidst explosions and screams on the battlefield.
[Affirm. North, how is your status over?] They made their reports and I was quite relieved to hear them to be holding strong. I know that they
“Meteorite!” Turning my face away, I could see Vaskiela, with wounds all over her body, trying her hardest to come up the wooden plank. This makeshift overwatch position is the best I could make around these ruins.
“Grab hold!” She took my hand and I pulled her up, she immediately collapsed with heaved breaths. Despite all that, she doesn’t spill the contents within that bag of hers. The Banshee started unloading and unpacking supplies from it, a bit of food and water but mostly ammunition and flares.
“Here is another batch of ammo, we had tried to get the comms back online but no dice.” That’s when I noticed a particularly concerning gash on her left hand. She appears to be wholly unconcerned with it.
“You’re injured, you should take it easy.” The stubborn girl shook her head.
“No, I already applied balm on it and each line needs at least 2 or 3 people as supplies carrier or runner. This is the least I could do.”
“Hah… just don’t die alright.”
“Yep, thanks.”
[Vaskiela, we got more people needing supplies. Get your ass back here!] That startled her, enough to make her shriek cutely. She seemed to notice my stares and coughed before replying to that surprisingly such a slave driver CO.
“Sorry, I’ll be back soon! Stay safe Meteorite and good luck on the watch.” She slides on the plank, gets to the makeshift ladder, and slides down the ladder. She staggered a little when touching the ground, and I saw her hands were red, but that didn’t stop her from bolting off to do her task.
‘This girl has become so reckless… where did that pessimistic and self-pitying brat I remembered go off to?’ Shaking my thoughts off from that, I continue dutifully. I provide much-needed fire support while evading some of their counter fire. Their artillerists have been hunting me down, but ironically some of these ruins proved tougher than expected. Thus I continued my duty.
“Hopefully nothing bad happened…”
POV: Hoederer
“We got more incoming!? Bollocks, do they even know when to quit?!” A PMC grumbled and shouted seeing more flares being shot up to the skies. I look towards where the voice came from and see a Zalak woman without her helmet, despite being the smallest amongst us, she still has such an imposing presence. She hefted her battleaxe like nothing while her other hand clutched the Cordelian Pattern shield. It helps enhance the image with a scar running down the side of her face.
“Welcome to Kazdel, it is our specialty.” Reloading my crossbow, I aimed and nailed a charging Sarkaz right on the head. I used to feel truly conflicted when taking the lives of my own. I hold no illusion about what I’m doing, but this is how life has been for us; the Sarkaz people.
“I must say I hate this kind of specialty!” After she roared that last part, she broke a ballista bolt in mid-air. The projectile fell harmlessly to the ground, but she wasn’t finished. Stabbing her battleaxe on the ground, she lifted the broken bolt and made a throwing motion. She takes a deep breath and starts running.
“I DON’T NEED THIS YA CUNT!” Quite a furious one. Her throw cut through the air, almost as fast as when it was launched by a ballista. Her aim was true and skewered 3 people, only stopping when it got embedded in the ground.
“Nice throw.”
“Thank- Wait! No! GRRRHHHH!” Did she get angrier? I sometimes couldn’t understand women or this one is just beyond special. This is getting surreal, but hey? This is a step up from working with people who looked down on us… which was most of our clients.
“Please forgive her, she is- whoa, that’s close… one moment.”
“Hmm?” I turned and saw a masked and helmeted Archosaurian never stopping his hands in reloading and shooting his repeating crossbow. If I recall correctly, he is Jordan who has been going around trying to smooth out our differences along with that Banshee princess of ours.
“Cranky around guys.” He said after turning several Sarkaz into a pincushion. His nonchalance is a good thing. He is also the reason why we need constant resupply of crossbow bolts. I could try to close in with my sword, but that is just plain stupid when we are so outnumbered and already in a solid defensive position unless we have to.
“Duck.” Jordan did so, avoiding yet another projectile coming his way. This time it is a rather poorly constructed ball of wind, their Arts casters are back huh?
“Whoops! Thanks, my man.”
“You’re something else and sounds like you guys were having a rough time.”
“Oh, believe me, ever since she caught a glimpse of the Instructor, she has become like that.”
“Instructor?”
“Nyx, she doesn’t allow us to call her name during training… I tried once, and thank Terra for a soft and warm hospital bed. Every day I shuddered about the people who got extended training from her… Then again, some people would like that sort of treatment.”
“Hey guys, hate to say this but the bloody cannon’ sights are back on us!” The Zalak woman screamed at us. When the whistling sound was heard, we dived onto the ground. Just in time to avoid being vaporized along with our cover.
“We need to do something about the cannon, else there is nothing left to use as cover.”
“Got any idea?” Jordan asked me.
‘Hmm… this is tricky. Ines would have been really helpful right now. I could try to ask for help from Meteorite since W is also unavailable… or…’ Peeking out of cover, I spotted meager tree lines and trenches or holes along the way. Those Columbian cannons or that’s what I thought anyway, are dug in with more than a few obstacles along the way while not counting streams of armed hostility.
‘Guess there is no choice.’
“I got one.”
“Yeah?”
“I could open up a path through, but I need someone with me.”
“Oh joy, are your whole race filled with lunatic wackos and crazy loonies?” The Zalak woman questioned, but her tone indicated she was not fully against the idea I proposed.
“I have Arts that, while useless most of the time, could be used to get us close. How about it?”
“… Fine. This bloody-fucking-plan is on you and I’ll try to tank some shots along the way.” She turned her head to Jordan, he nodded back.
“Don’t worry, I’m not our finest marksman for nothing.” She shook her head and readying herself to move. It sounds reckless, but it is how we live our lives. PMCs or Mercenaries are the same essentially; trading blood for blood.
“One, moment. What is your name-”
“I don’t give out names to guys.”
‘Is this woman for real? Who is the crazy one here?’
“… Fair enough, what should I call you?”
“Sil.”
“Alright, on 3?”
“On 3, and Jordan?”
“Yep?”
“Tell that Sarkaz woman to give us a hand.”
“Can do.” He radioed Meteorite and we saw her silhouette moving and looking for an angle. Once there she starts her preliminary barrages. It managed to stall their advance, while she made herself scarce once more. One or two of those cannons are now aiming back at her.
“1.” Holstering my crossbow, I crept closer while crawling. Sil did the same and was not remotely disturbed by the mud and blood.
“2.” Unsheathing my sword and preparing to stand, I could hear how the cannons’ were getting less intense.
“3!” Like a spring tautly coiled, we dashed forward like a pair of arrows being launched simultaneously.
“Suppressing fire!” Jordan, and by extension every ranged capable combatant, peeked out of cover and peppered the charging hostiles coming our way with bolts of steel.
‘I need to watch my steps, I could still be fooled to mistake solid ground for a muddy sinkhole.’ Sil did the same, her eyes never rest from scanning and returning on track. She is still very athletic while carrying that weapon as tall as her, the picture would have been comical if not for a wrathful expression on her face.
Of course, our foes are not so kind to let us freely have this wonderful late afternoon stroll. More and more attention shifted our way, starting with 3 volleys of arrows raining down on our position. While I needed to exert more effort, Sil only covered her face with that shield while her armor did its job.
2 hostiles snuck themselves on our left. I took care of one while she mauled the other to death using her battleaxe like a club. 4 more came into our vision, and one of them immediately charged forward with a lance in hand. We were about to brace if not for a bolt nailing the incoming lancer in the head.
Deflecting a downward swing my way, I riposted their hit and caught them by the armguard before stabbing my sword into their throat. My eyes locked onto theirs as a shred of decency I could show anyone I killed or just a self-centered consolation.
The Zalak woman roared with fury bellying each swing of her arms. She broke an enemy in two, slicing their body in two while doing the same on the other but vertically. No armor or weapon could bar her battleaxe. Each swing brought forth a gale of wind and force to shatter her foes. She killed and killed and killed, yet not once did I see traces of satisfaction.
From the corner of my vision, I see how one of the cannons is moving to face our way. We never stopped, that’s for sure, but it is painfully obvious how they are both faster and undoubtedly loading a canister shell to blow us into the next realm.
“Sil it’s time!”
“Bloody finally!”
She retreated to my side, deflecting what she must but otherwise let her armor do most of the work. I focused my Arts on my palm and spread on our surroundings. Dirt and dust, ash and air coalesced into dust clouds.
“Smoke screen… Really?”
“You have better ideas? I’m all ears.”
“Mrrh…”
“Thank you.”
I kept up my Arts while she focused more on repelling foes approaching to stop us. Her battleaxe cleaved a way through with me following ever closer to the cannon position. Sporadic shots rained down on our position, but the dust cloud prevented them from scoring anything meaningful coupled with us moving in a zigzagging or chaotic pattern.
When we finally made it out of the dust cloud, the entrenched gun should be within 100 meters from us. Sil positioned herself up front, shielding up, and never stopping. Javelins, arrows, energy balls, and even explosions rang out around us, but she was undeterred. I could hear how her armor and shield were doing their best and while deflection after deflection occurred, tiny grunts and hisses of pain could still be heard.
This woman belongs in the ‘something else’ category.
“IF YA CUNT THINK THAT’S ENOUGH TO STOP OF ME, YOU’RE DEAD FOCKING WRONG!” Her manner of speech needs more work, it wasn’t as bad as W’s, thankfully…
We breached through their defense line and were promptly assailed by dozens upon dozens of enemies. I evaded a hammer coming to smash my head to bits, repaying such courtesy with an elbow bash and thrust into their heart. Side-stepping another, I cast my Arts to make the ashes rise and blind my surroundings to dash for the cannon.
I see from the corner of my vision how Sil just wreaks havoc in combat. Zalak is rarely known for their physical strength, yet her display of raw might is more than enough to flip such a notion. A swing is all it takes to cleave shields, break swords, and sever flesh. Her shied is an extension of herself, how it is used to balance her over-swing and keep her rooted firmly.
While she did show finesse, the number of foes circling her meant that she must grit her teeth when hit does land. I decided to focus on my task so we could retreat sooner. I was surprised when I saw bolts and arrows hitting their mark. Looking back I saw Jordan and a few marksmen moving as close as possible to keep up with the cover fire, Vaskiela could also be seen among them carrying as much ammunition as possible.
Weaving my way amidst ground laden with hostiles and supporting fire from the rear, I managed to reach the cannon. As I suspected, the cannon is indeed of Columbian origin.
I wonder… not.
It doesn’t take a genius to know who is behind this.
‘General Theresis is dead serious…’ Lamenting such a fact would do little in our line of work; especially for Sarkaz like us. Banishing such a thought, I rapidly disposed of the guns of their crews, suffering several hits here and there.
While I was about to throw a makeshift explosive, courtesy of a certain white-haired rascal, the cannon blew up before I could do so and knocked me backward. Thankfully I managed to recover quickly, only to make eye contact with those two. Looking quite beaten up but alive.
“Tsk, I thought I would get him.” W said with mirthful annoyance in her voice. Ines groaned before vanishing into her shadow, showing up right next to me. Her eyes look back at the sword in my hand, no… she knows how I feel. I could see a glimpse of concern, she hid it once more before pulling me up.
“Get up, idiot, we need to get back.”
“I take it the cannons are done for.” Ines shrugged before flowing into a dodge and cutting down an encroaching hostile; her combat awareness was as sharp as ever. Her noteworthy agility is yet another proof to deny her admission of being suck in combat. W then ran up to me, throwing me her detonator, and joined Ines on their impromptu death duet.
“These girls, I swear…” Running further away from the rigged-to-blow entrenchment, I pressed on it and a huge explosion plus shockwaves reverberated on the land. My body was forced to withstand the brunt of it, and several hostiles around me were knocked off their feet. Recovering rapidly once more, I finished off those who were too out of their depth and rejoined the girls.
Shouting, curses, and even accidental mistakes become the norm when those 3 are wreaking havoc. W overshoot her grenade launcher, having it almost smack Ines in the face. The Caprinae is less than pleased with it, and using her leg she trips her steps. W face-planted on the mud but was ultimately saved from a spear thrown her way.
Which unfortunately hit Sil’s shield; she flew off the ground from the unexpected impact and crashed into 4 hostile mercenaries. She stood up first and beheaded all of them in a single swoop. She turned her face to the duo who were busy carving their way through, she glowered at them but focused back on her problem.
Once I rejoined, we moved in concert to rush back. We could concentrate on retreating while Jordan and the rest are repelling our pursuers. Smoke grenades are being shot to provide much-needed concealment and we finally make it back toward the friendly line. Sil’s growls yank my attention; she is pissed.
“What a bloody fucking moron you both were!” She gripped her weapon so tightly her knuckle might have gone white.
“Oho, the pipsqueak can talk? Surprising.” W doesn’t let herself be talked down. She has her dagger at the ready, she is that close to assaulting anyone else trying to push her around.
“Enough, you guys are wounded and there are still more enemies converging on us. All of you could continue to tear each other out later when we make it out of this shitstorm.” Vaskiela gets in between them. Fortunately, either side backs down from the Banshee’s reprimand. Not before W flipped Sil off, which the latter answered by spitting on the ground and returning to her unit.
Ines sighed seeing W’s needless provocation, then again she has a hand on that. She turned her eyes to me and brought a grim confirmation of who is our enemy this time around.
“Hoederer, meet me after this.” She cast a discreet glance at Vaskiela who is engrossed with bandaging her head. I only noticed that dried blood could be seen on her, I suppose W had done a serviceable job beforehand.
“Sure thing, if we’re still alive that is.”
“Is this job really worth- gh, couldn’t you be gentler?” Ines shot a displeased look at the Banshee who doesn’t mind her and continue like nothing. Ines just sighed and decided to abandon her question.
“Hah… I’m tired, especially after lugging that nutjob around.”
“… Good work.”
“Hmph, you could thank me by-”
“God…” I turned my head toward Vaskiela. The girl had gone pale, expression grave, and her body couldn’t stop trembling. Her whole demeanor just screamed terror. Ines was naturally alarmed, and that’s when I realized…
The battlefield had gone ever so quiet…
POV: Vaskiela (Fas’Kyrieas)
Like being drowned straight through a glacial surface, an unimaginable but familiar chill struck deeply into my psyche. My heart thumps loudly, blood feels like going solid after reaching the nadir point of a corpse.
‘No, even a corpse would have the luxury of seeing the end… but what about the living?’ I desperately hoped that this feeling to be false. Facts prove the contrary, however…
The battlefield turned into a hush, screams, and wails whimpered out quietly into obscurity. Slashing of blades, clashes of arms, and even roaring of war revelry petered out into nothingness; akin to ever existing in the first place. Storms of combat felt like a relic from a bygone era, an era that even we the living are not privy to.
I stood up fearfully, and soon my gaze pointed in one singular direction.
I see him, he is here.
“The Sanguinarch…” I know not nor cared who uttered his title; a key to a horrific labyrinth of nightmares. A deluge of repressed memories flows back like a tidal wave and recedes into an all-engulfing flood, I couldn’t stop trembling at each single image playing back in my mind. Choked out sobs, and tears, and empowered by the desire to run yet too powerless to do so made me rooted on the spot.
“…” His eyes languidly trace my direction. I could see and feel his utter disgust, my blood crawling beneath my skin; each iota seemed to be carving itself along my bloodstream to seek a way out. I so, so, so desperately wanted to scream. Only for despair to stop my mind from even working properly.
‘No… please… no…’ I shouldn’t have come here. I should have heeded Nyx’s words… but my hubris, and stupendously blind bravado, made me here. In the end, it is my choice.
His gaze left me, and only then did I cry openly like a child, fresh air should have filled my lungs but it only caused me to be burning inside. His hands then moved so bored, so lazily, and yet blood seeps out of the dead like soldiers marching when their King marshals them to war. Even dried-up blood around us obeyed him, not a single speck defied the Duke of Crimson’s will.
At this point, I couldn’t notice my surroundings anymore… this was the end…
POV: Narrator
“What the fuck…” Confusion.
“It can’t be…” Fear.
“I-It’s him! It’s The Sanguinarch!” The Sarkaz mercenaries are rattled to their core, no doubt wanting to run but knowing that such a thing is futile. Hoederer, Ines, and that new W wore grim expressions. The white-haired girl lost her grin, her hands were already clutching enough explosives to level a city block.
Cordelian PMCs don’t seem to really understand the gravity of their situation yet, but they understand that the one they’re facing would be unlike anything they had ever fought before.
“Battle line! Double rows! Contact the other units, we need reinforcement!” Someone rallied them and their discipline compelled them to move. A wall of steel is erected towards the King of Vampires who doesn’t even bat an eyelid from such a deliberate hostile stance.
“What the hell is that thing?”
“We need reinforcement. I say again, we need reinforcement.”
“Our Sarkaz collaborators said Sanguinarch, seems we are in deep trouble.”
“Tell Meteorite to send everything she has to our sector, collateral be damned.”
“Bothersome…” With that word, the blood coalesced into numerous round shapes full of jagged teeth. The blood-sucking creature keeps on multiplying, to the point that the ground itself is repainted red. The mercenaries on the opposing side become the first victim.
“Get it off! GET IT OFF”
“AHHHHHHHHH!”
“HELP!”
“RUN!”
“SOMEONE HELP ME!”
“CURSE YOU DUKE OF CRIMSON!” He rarely shows any regard for his allies. Those creatures then start stripping his ‘allies’ clean, flesh is torn, blood is drained, and even bones are crushed. There is nothing but red, red, and even more red. A crimson river ran beneath his feet and only crimson.
In a bout of mania, a Sarkaz ran up to him with a huge hatchet in hand… then burst into nothing but a fountain of blood out of thin air. No scream, no trace of a living being there, and not even said blood dared to so much as latch on his booth; much less his royal regalia. With every step he took, the ground trembled and the tsunami of calamity followed ever so closely.
Not everyone on his ‘side’ was killed, those around the edges could only look on hopelessly. They too are rooted in their spot. The most primitive form of submission is to do nothing and hope that the predator does not take any interest in you.
Cordelian, all of them without a doubt, had been muted with grave looks on their faces. They now understood the gravity of our situation, yet they stood defiantly to face the encroaching death. A Zalak woman stood at the forefront and discarded her shield. Jordan's gaze did not leave the King of Vampire, his hands trembled briefly before bracing himself for the worst.
“Shouldn’t we retreat? This is not going to end well for us.” Ines asked Hoederer for order who just shook his head. He knows that it is futile.
“You can run using that shadow of yours, we mercenaries fought to survive after all, or look… that wall of dead men over there?” He pointed towards the desperate Sarkaz and the ignorant Cordelian making up a wall.
“That got breached too quickly means morale will fall and that’s certain death.”
“I could still bring you and W out, then we can-”
“Then we can what?” He dropped his cloak and pulled both of his crossbow and sword. His company is more or less finished, even if they survived there will be no peace. The trio had sizable bounties on their head, and who knows how long they would survive while being so battered.
“…” Ines could only bite her lips, she knew that Hoederer was right. It doesn’t take a genius to know just how desperately she wanted to run and even if she could, Ines is too injured to do so. Using her shadow to hide the both of them from their previous encounters before regrouping was too much on her.
“W, calm down.” he noticed her shaking hands and patted her head.
“I am calm! I’m so fucking calm I could even hear my heartbeats.
The Sanguinarch then willed the flood to crash upon these insects soiling his views. Other than the loathsome embarrassment of a Banshee blue blood, he has yet to show any interest to lower himself of stomping a bunch of bugs personally. The King of Vampires was disappointed, he thought that the infamous and brazen worm would show her face. Alas, she is nowhere to be found, no doubt just a part of song and dance between lower lifeforms’ politics.
“What a letdown…” Moving a single finger, spear-like tendrils formed and sped through the air; slamming onto Cordelian’s battleline. The ground shook from impact, the first volley saw 2 mercenaries and a Cordelian slain. The former bore the unfortunate fate of not being covered by the shield wall while the latter was crushed from beneath the weight of what might be dozens, if not hundreds, of dead bodies.
“BRACE!”
“Screw this! Tell them all to evacuate! We’ll hold the rear!”
“Ma’am! We couldn’t get in touch with HQ!”
Cordelian PMCs and what’s left of the mercenaries formed a steady line to withstand the encroaching onslaught and barrages of tendrils. Their Babel-contracted mercenaries are divided between those who huddled together in supporting the wall's integrity and those who lost all hope; either being devoured or running away in a bid to survive.
Wet squelches and screams of pain or despair filled the air. They tried over and over to hack their foes into pieces, yet they could understand that these horrors were tougher than they looked. Sil tried over and over to use her battleaxe in wide motion, she gritted her teeth when one such creature latched on her neck and bit her.
Hoederer makes use of his ash-based Arts to wrap as many as possible around the creature. Visibly harming and slowing them down, but there are just too many of them. Ines moved from and fro in between possible breaches, a small solace that they could form a defensive position around a relatively enclosed ruin.
W couldn’t care less about where she threw her explosives, she understood that even putting their all would give but a slim chance of survival. Cordelians and mercenaries are entrapped in between literal rock and bloody tides of death. Like a curtain of a tsunami after the tsunami, what little that could pass through their crumbling defenses started wreaking havoc wherever it touched.
Meteorite tried her best to support them, she even called into HQ’s channel nonstop for reinforcement. She had moved up to give support as per Jordan’s request, but now she is being forced to watch her colleagues being killed off one by one; just like how she was powerless when Firewatch’s village was burnt down.
Then tragedy struck.
W’s grenade launcher was hit, causing it to explode in her hands. Her misfortune has yet to end, before she could even vocalize her agony; 3 dull thumps hit her like a truck. Sounds of tearing follow suit, it was like someone had taken a hot sizzling metal and jammed it deep into her lung. Her eyes are facing the sky, the same old skies she sees every day… yet she starting to feel so… weightless; free…
“W!” Hoederer’s voice cut through the air. He watched how 3 sharp tendrils tore the white-haired Sarkaz’s body open, one of them even got dangerously close to her heart. Ines was alarmed and abandoned her frontline duty. After she made a cursory glance, W was hit on her thigh, shoulder; the exact same spot, and just below her heart.
“Goddammit! Don’t die!” Her hands fumbled momentarily before she got her out of combat, the Sanguinarch’s tendrils left nothing after doing their work and back to where they once were. She is being forced to use her hand and shadow to close W’s wound. Hoederer followed after them, and more and more wounded were being evacuated.
Sil could be seen commanding who she could reach to retreat, this fight is hopeless but no one would be abandoned. There is still a chance that HQ knows what is going on and already started packing up, they need to catch the train or die trying. Her battleaxe is being swung wildly, cutting current after a current while for each passing second her armor is being chipped away by the Sanguinarch’s foul creations.
“S-shit... got... *cough!* *cough!*” W sputtered through blood streaming from the corner of her mouth. She could feel how each step was taking its toll on her body.
“W! I swear to god, stop talking you little shit!”
“Ha hah… Man… I suck…”
“Hoederer! She’s losing too much blood!”
“Don’t stop! Keep moving!” He takes her other flank while his other hand is busy dealing with whatever manner of the abominable creature still tailing after them. Ines did the same and her mind is going through a thousand possible ways for them to get out of this mess. She used her shadow sparingly, most of it is being used to constrict W’s bleeding and stem her gaping wounds.
Pandemonium was raised around them. Ironically, the Sanguinarch’s tide does not touch a certain Banshee he appears to hate so much. Vaskiela only stands in between rivers of lost souls and damned futures. Her mind was being bombarded by the screams of everyone and no one simultaneously, she was lost in her own madness-induced psychosis.
-
-
-
Valiantly they fought and yet the sheer amount of these incomprehensible creatures meant that slowly but surely they were being pushed back and overwhelmed. Bits by the most unstoppable bits; hopes are being eroded by the cruel sands of time.
An ear-piercing scream full of agony and anguish ripped through the air. One could only wonder what sort of horror had happened at the frontline if the backline has become hell right now. They could do nothing but ignore it until the scream was silenced once more. Morale had reached its nadir, but desire to live reached its utmost zenith; no matter how unrealistic that is.
Ines, Hoederer, and anyone he could rally are fighting back to the best of their ability. W had pretty much gone unresponsive; face vacant and heartbeat weakened. The Sarkaz Commander is occupied along with those who still have the strength to fend off their foes while Ines and 1 or 2 people are doing their absolute best to patch up the wounded.
They had been cornered in what appears to be an old plaza, no doubt destroyed centuries if not millennia ago. Screams had long been substituted by exhausted groans and battle cries it appears that it is the end of the line for them.
That’s when W who is staring up to the sky saw… an angel. A Saint descending from heaven in all her glory. Her mind must be playing tricks on her, because what sort of Saint would be coming to their rescue? Much less riding a black dragon… She choked out an amused laugh through her drenched-with-iron throat.
Said Saint then dismounted from her steed, and gently lay her hand on her wound. She feels… at peace… content…
‘Why?’ She could hardly remember any deeds that would warrant anyone rescuing her, Ines and Hoederer notwithstanding because they are cut from the same cloth; they are all bastards. Perhaps reading her mind, the angel smiled at her.
“Shh… It is alright, and I do owe you an apology.” W consciousness vanished, but not before the saint’s warm smile was imprinted in her memory.
The truth? It is much wilder. Everyone could see said Saint’s descent, but that was no saint.
“Y-Your Majesty?!” Every Sarkaz in the vicinity was gobsmacked about why their King would risk herself coming here. But she smiled all the same, and with the use of her esoteric arts, a shield of purest white was erected around them. They could feel their fatigue and wound ebb away, and the horrors are backing off.
Soon, reinforcement starts trickling in.
“That was truly reckless, Your Majesty.” A Feline woman scowled seeing her friend’s nigh-suicidal attempt. She even glowered at her longtime companion, Mon3tr, for going along with the King of Sarkaz’s crazy antic.
“Kal’tsit?” The King said without ever stopping to look at her longtime friend, she is too busy stopping W's bleeding. Her people and the Cordelian watch as not even the blood of her least chivalrous people could deter her resolve. Someone then came out from another end of the barrier.
“She is right you majesty.” Ascalon arrived soon after, her hands were already bloodied with numerous creatures she had to vanquish and her scowl was duly terrifying yet concern was all Theresia could hear from her voice. The King of Sarkaz doesn’t mind their admonishment and instead assumes a commanding role because Kal’tsit is now the one taking care of the wounded.
“Everyone head west immediately, Babel and the rest of Cordelian forces have erected a defensive line. Once there, Operator Logos, Ace, and Sharp under the Doctor’s command would be directing the evacuation. Rest assured, we still have more on the way.” As if on cue, more and more Cordelian and Babel PMCs and operators arrive reinforcing them. The wounded are being carried on the stretcher while the able-bodied are being sent along to provide protection and much-needed rest.
“Go, I’ll maintain the barrier and I beg of you to prioritize the wounded. All of you have suffered enough, and weak as I might be; I'll do my duty to the best of my ability.” For the first time in their life, they all see what the King of Sarkaz is all about. She doesn’t wait and do her bidding through minions, no. She led from the front, and thus she pushed back against the horror as the flag bearer against insurmountable odds.
Her steps made the creature cower from both fright and awe while her servants and soldiers cut a path forward. She is adamant about saving as many people as she can. For she believes…
“For this land to fall into peaceful slumber,”
-
-
-
If it’s any consolation, Nyx had trained Cordelian PMCs to always stand their ground and stay in formation under pressure. To the point that some would say she trained them to die standing and nothing else.
Amidst the chaotic retreat, Jordan noticed Vaskiela had gone missing. He couldn’t let her be left behind thus he asked anyone he could. Most said that they saw her being swallowed by the tide, but he didn’t buy it until Meteorite’s garbled voice could be heard through his comms.
[I *bzzt* back *bzzt* Vask- *bzzt* left behind *bzzt* east!] He climbed over anything he could find to avoid the encroaching flood. His legs moved with coordinated and measured steps plus jumps, then he saw a small patch of brown amidst the crimson sea. He saw her having a total psychotic breakdown, she doesn’t even so much as shudder from where she is anymore.
He pushed back against the tide, against his rationale, and braved the storm of jagged teeth mixed in rotting flesh. He perseveres even when pieces upon pieces of himself are being torn to shreds. The Archosauria can see how these creatures are in essence nothing more than a bottomless pit of maws, and these things are getting closer to her. He keeps reminding himself that the pain was nothing more than just mosquito bites, he had already gone through much worse during training. Yet all he did was do nothing else than play mind games with his rationality.
“Oh?” The Sanguinarch noticed the Archosauria’s suicide attempt to rescue the Banshee. He shows the faintest of interest; akin to watching a colony of ants being submerged underwater.
A quarter way through, Jordan feels like wading through the marshy pit back in Acahualla filled with bloodworms. Less poisonous but much more brutal.
Halfway through, he feels that his armor was breached, and these things start gnawing his flesh directly. It feels like he hears their chittering and clattering jagged teeth sneering at him, wordlessly calling him a colossal and misguided fool.
Third, the Archosauria roared in defiance. Pain, pain, and even more pain… but he could not tear his eyes from the shocked full of tears, empty-eyed, and catatonic girl that was lost in the center of the storm of blood.
Once he reaches her, his body is bloodied all over. Yet he hugged her tight, which appeared to rouse some measure of sanity back to the purple-haired girl. Although her empty eyes could only stare at him like seeing a ghost from the past.
“Don’t worry, I’ll get you out of here!” He doesn’t think twice, and once more ready to brave the wave… yet that’s not what happened.
Vaskiela fell off his arms, crashing to the ground. Jordan’s body had become rigid, his eyes were bloodshot. She is surrounded by a sea of blood-lings once more. The Sanguinarch strode closer to the frozen Archosauria.
“It appears she still has her charms… fitting for her to ensnare primitives such as you.” He stood beside him, his gaze fell on the girl. He glances to the side and sees Jordan’s bloodshot eyes raging a thousand languages of bloody murder to the King of Vampire. His defiance is intriguing for such a fleeting moment.
“Defiant… noteworthy.” He moved his finger, and Jordan moved like an obedient doll. His blood has been controlled, he tried his damnedest to resist yet it's futile. His trembling hand reaches for a knife sheathed by his hip. Vaskiela sat up from the ground, she gazed at the trembling man… she eyed the steel in his hand… and smiled.
“Hmph. No attempt to reach your bone pen, no raging tantrum against fate, nothing that shows you’re a proud Banshee… Just a mere maggot crawling on the ground.” He lost interest and left them to their device. He continues his afternoon walk, straight toward the struggling and dying mortals who are being vanquished piece by piece. If there is one thing he would admit, strength is something worth looking out for.
Jordan's entire being trembled. He couldn’t help how his vision blurred, yet despite that… he could still vividly see Vaskiela showing him a grateful smile. His hand had gone white, blood drenching through his gloves, and the knife’s edge fell on the girl.
She tastes iron on her lips.
The crestfallen maiden thought that she finally saw the end… only for reality and clarity to set in, Jordan had stabbed his palm; down to its very handle guard. Jordan pulled it off, gripping it straight, before he roared and raged against the heaven, he ran past Vaskiela and straight towards the Sanguinarch whose eyes blinked in surprise.
“BASTARD!” His muscles contracted, his blood vessels burst, and he knew that he was done for… but not before he could smash that bored face clean.
Duq’arael expression changes minutely, he feels like observing a scaled lizard with an interesting color. His Blood Arts still wreak havoc inside the stubborn man, and it is impressive to see that this Archosauria is still capable of moving.
Vaskiela tried to beg him to save himself, yet before she could even utter a sound…
The Sanguinarch merely flicked his fingers…
…and Jordan vanished into a rain of truest of red.
Vaskiela was bathed in Jordan’s blood in her entirety. Her vision is naught but red, her body is a fresh, deranged, canvas for the Duke of Crimson, and then…
“a…” Disbelief.
“Aaaa…..” Hate.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Anguish.
A miniscule part of her wonder… Were her sins that grave to warrant so much suffering?
“Quiet.” He controlled her arms, to choke her own neck. She sputtered and gagged, but not once did she try to resist. Her vision gets dimmer with each passing breath… She only has one last regret.
‘I couldn’t thank them, after everything…’ The Banshee is about to close her eyes when an arrow cuts through the air. The Sanguinarch’s bloodlings erected a wall, but it too was pierced. An earthshattering boom cracked the earth and threw the Banshee high. She then feels a pair of arms cradling her. The King of Vampires was not at the slightest surprised by it and landed on stairs courtesy of his prowess.
The Sanguinarch's eyes vividly tracked the interloper. She is dressed in all grey military garb and coat, her body is supported by what appears to be a state-of-the-art exosuit. Her hand tightly clutched a mighty bow with an equally mighty arrow held in place. Guns, knives, and grenades are fastened neatly on her figure. All that paled in comparison to a grey, dull, and bereft of reflection, blade on her hips. He could feel an esoteric aura seeping through its scabbard.
“I got you! It’s okay, I’m here!” The Grey Serpent had arrived.
She landed with the sea of blood making a clear wide-berth from the ashen-haired Pythia. Her graceful descent derives some measure of amazement for those who catch a glimpse of her. Eyeing her surroundings, Nyx was hardly bothered before she directed a crimson glare of her own at the Sanguinarch who felt some measures of amusement, he felt that glare and she might be worthwhile prey in this sophistry of a war.
“Please, do wear that crutch of yours. I won’t mind.” He gestured at her exosuit, but she replied by spitting on the ground before putting Vaskiela in the empty armored vessel. It locked her in place and several needles could be seen injected into her body, the Banshee soon fell asleep. She gave one last wipe on her tears, she had wept enough.
“Conrad, get her out of here.”
[Acknowledged.] The Exosuit moves on its own, much faster than before and even evading all attempts to strike it down. Nyx’s great bow was gripped tighter, and even the abominable creature seemed to shiver ever so slightly with the rivers of blood rippling beneath her frigid countenance. Of course, her complete disregard to even answer Duq’arael’s query left him in a disagreeable mood.
Nyx cold gaze met the King’s own, and thus the curtain rose…
A Catastrophe Messenger Paramilitary Chief facing against the King of all Vampires.
A soul who was born beneath the earth and a being that made the earth its plaything.
A woman who drenched herself in blood and the one who ruled over blood.
A Pythia of dubious origin and claim against the Vampire who has ample claim on his reign.
The battle between the Grey Serpent and the Duke of Crimson had just begun…
[END OF CHAPTER]
Author’s Note:
Yo there, this is me, myself, and I, the author who feels not so great but that’s life.
Finally, 7500-ish words in this chapter to make an Unstoppable Force meet another Unstoppable Force; to put it mildly with a significant amount of bias.
Would you look at that? That piece of shit Vampire could just flip the battlefield because he can. This will give also give better incentives on how W would be even more motivated for the payback. I personally think that some of the mechanics on how to deactivate his bullshit dmg reduction in the game would be nice material for this fic and long into the Londinium Arc… (If I even get there…)
I would not go too in-depth with Darknights memoir because the entire event realistically spanned for the next 4-5 years in-universe…
How would the Grey Serpent fare against the King of Vampire? We’ll see in the next chapter.
Update is… I’m not sure. Shit is happening.
Ciao.
"Mono/Dialogue"
'Inner thoughts'
Narration
[Message/communication apparatus]
Date: Late-September 1089
Location: Kazdel
POV: Meteorite
‘There are still more coming from the south!?’ Biting back my curse, I reloaded my grenade launcher and fired up another colored flare. It is quite convenient that the primary cargo had gone through the encirclement, so we can all focus on all these people swarming our position.
[Meteorite, come in!]
“Send it.”
[We need support, reference at blue smoke at bearing 2-4-7, how copy over?!] Using my binoculars, I spotted the blue smoke and even people hiding behind rubbles while shooting back. Some hostiles managed to reach them but got eliminated by CQC specialists or other mercenaries.
“Copy, reference blue smoke, stand by for support.”
[Appreciate it!] Ranging my grenade launcher, I aimed up and let gravity do the rest of my work. Using my binoculars again, I confirm the effect on the target while also receiving confirmation through comms.
[Right on target, thanks for the assist.] Shouts of joy could also be heard in the background. Hell, some even waved at me for that. Bewildered looks between the Sarkaz around them tug a little grin on my lips. I had been working with Cordelia for a while, sure, but they definitely know how to appreciate help… Are they that scared of Nyx or something? Eh…
“Heh, sure thing.” I should be up north, but got pulled back on the ground that managing comms is harder than expected with sporadic infiltration being made. There were instances when our enemies slipped past, or deliberately ignored our perimeters. I was forced to guard the makeshift camp below me, the CO rated my performance to be worth several badly needed manpower. So here I am…
[This is Hoederer of the Eastern defense line, we got several more cannons!] As on cue, multiple explosions could be heard coming from the eastern defensive line. I couldn’t do anything but watch as screams and groans filled up the air.
[We got more wounded coming from the northern line, make way!] Casting my eyes towards the north, I see Sarkaz mercenaries and PMCs hauling wounded using stretchers back towards our barricaded first-aid station. They just left them close to the entrance before immediately running back to their post while the medic, deathly tired, staggered but resolutely took the wounded inside relative safety.
[All units try to conserve your strength and do not, I repeat, DO NOT try to play heroes. If you go any further than 100 meters away, we will not bother covering for you. Break. Eastern unit gives me sitrep over.] I forgot the CO’s name because everyone never bothered to say it. It is a good thing that he could command without sounding panicked.
[Eastern unit is managing to hold. We are in bad need of resupplies though an- shit, get down!] Statics and rustlings could be heard from their comms. Hoederer then continues.
[Sorry, those cannons are making it harder for us. Just keep the ammo going and we’ll hold.]
[Copy that. You’re not too bad as a merc, whaddaya say working for Cordelia?]
[Nah, I don’t talk contracts on the job.] The man sounds calm amidst explosions and screams on the battlefield.
[Affirm. North, how is your status over?] They made their reports and I was quite relieved to hear them to be holding strong. I know that they
“Meteorite!” Turning my face away, I could see Vaskiela, with wounds all over her body, trying her hardest to come up the wooden plank. This makeshift overwatch position is the best I could make around these ruins.
“Grab hold!” She took my hand and I pulled her up, she immediately collapsed with heaved breaths. Despite all that, she doesn’t spill the contents within that bag of hers. The Banshee started unloading and unpacking supplies from it, a bit of food and water but mostly ammunition and flares.
“Here is another batch of ammo, we had tried to get the comms back online but no dice.” That’s when I noticed a particularly concerning gash on her left hand. She appears to be wholly unconcerned with it.
“You’re injured, you should take it easy.” The stubborn girl shook her head.
“No, I already applied balm on it and each line needs at least 2 or 3 people as supplies carrier or runner. This is the least I could do.”
“Hah… just don’t die alright.”
“Yep, thanks.”
[Vaskiela, we got more people needing supplies. Get your ass back here!] That startled her, enough to make her shriek cutely. She seemed to notice my stares and coughed before replying to that surprisingly such a slave driver CO.
“Sorry, I’ll be back soon! Stay safe Meteorite and good luck on the watch.” She slides on the plank, gets to the makeshift ladder, and slides down the ladder. She staggered a little when touching the ground, and I saw her hands were red, but that didn’t stop her from bolting off to do her task.
‘This girl has become so reckless… where did that pessimistic and self-pitying brat I remembered go off to?’ Shaking my thoughts off from that, I continue dutifully. I provide much-needed fire support while evading some of their counter fire. Their artillerists have been hunting me down, but ironically some of these ruins proved tougher than expected. Thus I continued my duty.
“Hopefully nothing bad happened…”
POV: Hoederer
“We got more incoming!? Bollocks, do they even know when to quit?!” A PMC grumbled and shouted seeing more flares being shot up to the skies. I look towards where the voice came from and see a Zalak woman without her helmet, despite being the smallest amongst us, she still has such an imposing presence. She hefted her battleaxe like nothing while her other hand clutched the Cordelian Pattern shield. It helps enhance the image with a scar running down the side of her face.
“Welcome to Kazdel, it is our specialty.” Reloading my crossbow, I aimed and nailed a charging Sarkaz right on the head. I used to feel truly conflicted when taking the lives of my own. I hold no illusion about what I’m doing, but this is how life has been for us; the Sarkaz people.
“I must say I hate this kind of specialty!” After she roared that last part, she broke a ballista bolt in mid-air. The projectile fell harmlessly to the ground, but she wasn’t finished. Stabbing her battleaxe on the ground, she lifted the broken bolt and made a throwing motion. She takes a deep breath and starts running.
“I DON’T NEED THIS YA CUNT!” Quite a furious one. Her throw cut through the air, almost as fast as when it was launched by a ballista. Her aim was true and skewered 3 people, only stopping when it got embedded in the ground.
“Nice throw.”
“Thank- Wait! No! GRRRHHHH!” Did she get angrier? I sometimes couldn’t understand women or this one is just beyond special. This is getting surreal, but hey? This is a step up from working with people who looked down on us… which was most of our clients.
“Please forgive her, she is- whoa, that’s close… one moment.”
“Hmm?” I turned and saw a masked and helmeted Archosaurian never stopping his hands in reloading and shooting his repeating crossbow. If I recall correctly, he is Jordan who has been going around trying to smooth out our differences along with that Banshee princess of ours.
“Cranky around guys.” He said after turning several Sarkaz into a pincushion. His nonchalance is a good thing. He is also the reason why we need constant resupply of crossbow bolts. I could try to close in with my sword, but that is just plain stupid when we are so outnumbered and already in a solid defensive position unless we have to.
“Duck.” Jordan did so, avoiding yet another projectile coming his way. This time it is a rather poorly constructed ball of wind, their Arts casters are back huh?
“Whoops! Thanks, my man.”
“You’re something else and sounds like you guys were having a rough time.”
“Oh, believe me, ever since she caught a glimpse of the Instructor, she has become like that.”
“Instructor?”
“Nyx, she doesn’t allow us to call her name during training… I tried once, and thank Terra for a soft and warm hospital bed. Every day I shuddered about the people who got extended training from her… Then again, some people would like that sort of treatment.”
“Hey guys, hate to say this but the bloody cannon’ sights are back on us!” The Zalak woman screamed at us. When the whistling sound was heard, we dived onto the ground. Just in time to avoid being vaporized along with our cover.
“We need to do something about the cannon, else there is nothing left to use as cover.”
“Got any idea?” Jordan asked me.
‘Hmm… this is tricky. Ines would have been really helpful right now. I could try to ask for help from Meteorite since W is also unavailable… or…’ Peeking out of cover, I spotted meager tree lines and trenches or holes along the way. Those Columbian cannons or that’s what I thought anyway, are dug in with more than a few obstacles along the way while not counting streams of armed hostility.
‘Guess there is no choice.’
“I got one.”
“Yeah?”
“I could open up a path through, but I need someone with me.”
“Oh joy, are your whole race filled with lunatic wackos and crazy loonies?” The Zalak woman questioned, but her tone indicated she was not fully against the idea I proposed.
“I have Arts that, while useless most of the time, could be used to get us close. How about it?”
“… Fine. This bloody-fucking-plan is on you and I’ll try to tank some shots along the way.” She turned her head to Jordan, he nodded back.
“Don’t worry, I’m not our finest marksman for nothing.” She shook her head and readying herself to move. It sounds reckless, but it is how we live our lives. PMCs or Mercenaries are the same essentially; trading blood for blood.
“One, moment. What is your name-”
“I don’t give out names to guys.”
‘Is this woman for real? Who is the crazy one here?’
“… Fair enough, what should I call you?”
“Sil.”
“Alright, on 3?”
“On 3, and Jordan?”
“Yep?”
“Tell that Sarkaz woman to give us a hand.”
“Can do.” He radioed Meteorite and we saw her silhouette moving and looking for an angle. Once there she starts her preliminary barrages. It managed to stall their advance, while she made herself scarce once more. One or two of those cannons are now aiming back at her.
“1.” Holstering my crossbow, I crept closer while crawling. Sil did the same and was not remotely disturbed by the mud and blood.
“2.” Unsheathing my sword and preparing to stand, I could hear how the cannons’ were getting less intense.
“3!” Like a spring tautly coiled, we dashed forward like a pair of arrows being launched simultaneously.
“Suppressing fire!” Jordan, and by extension every ranged capable combatant, peeked out of cover and peppered the charging hostiles coming our way with bolts of steel.
‘I need to watch my steps, I could still be fooled to mistake solid ground for a muddy sinkhole.’ Sil did the same, her eyes never rest from scanning and returning on track. She is still very athletic while carrying that weapon as tall as her, the picture would have been comical if not for a wrathful expression on her face.
Of course, our foes are not so kind to let us freely have this wonderful late afternoon stroll. More and more attention shifted our way, starting with 3 volleys of arrows raining down on our position. While I needed to exert more effort, Sil only covered her face with that shield while her armor did its job.
2 hostiles snuck themselves on our left. I took care of one while she mauled the other to death using her battleaxe like a club. 4 more came into our vision, and one of them immediately charged forward with a lance in hand. We were about to brace if not for a bolt nailing the incoming lancer in the head.
Deflecting a downward swing my way, I riposted their hit and caught them by the armguard before stabbing my sword into their throat. My eyes locked onto theirs as a shred of decency I could show anyone I killed or just a self-centered consolation.
The Zalak woman roared with fury bellying each swing of her arms. She broke an enemy in two, slicing their body in two while doing the same on the other but vertically. No armor or weapon could bar her battleaxe. Each swing brought forth a gale of wind and force to shatter her foes. She killed and killed and killed, yet not once did I see traces of satisfaction.
From the corner of my vision, I see how one of the cannons is moving to face our way. We never stopped, that’s for sure, but it is painfully obvious how they are both faster and undoubtedly loading a canister shell to blow us into the next realm.
“Sil it’s time!”
“Bloody finally!”
She retreated to my side, deflecting what she must but otherwise let her armor do most of the work. I focused my Arts on my palm and spread on our surroundings. Dirt and dust, ash and air coalesced into dust clouds.
“Smoke screen… Really?”
“You have better ideas? I’m all ears.”
“Mrrh…”
“Thank you.”
I kept up my Arts while she focused more on repelling foes approaching to stop us. Her battleaxe cleaved a way through with me following ever closer to the cannon position. Sporadic shots rained down on our position, but the dust cloud prevented them from scoring anything meaningful coupled with us moving in a zigzagging or chaotic pattern.
When we finally made it out of the dust cloud, the entrenched gun should be within 100 meters from us. Sil positioned herself up front, shielding up, and never stopping. Javelins, arrows, energy balls, and even explosions rang out around us, but she was undeterred. I could hear how her armor and shield were doing their best and while deflection after deflection occurred, tiny grunts and hisses of pain could still be heard.
This woman belongs in the ‘something else’ category.
“IF YA CUNT THINK THAT’S ENOUGH TO STOP OF ME, YOU’RE DEAD FOCKING WRONG!” Her manner of speech needs more work, it wasn’t as bad as W’s, thankfully…
We breached through their defense line and were promptly assailed by dozens upon dozens of enemies. I evaded a hammer coming to smash my head to bits, repaying such courtesy with an elbow bash and thrust into their heart. Side-stepping another, I cast my Arts to make the ashes rise and blind my surroundings to dash for the cannon.
I see from the corner of my vision how Sil just wreaks havoc in combat. Zalak is rarely known for their physical strength, yet her display of raw might is more than enough to flip such a notion. A swing is all it takes to cleave shields, break swords, and sever flesh. Her shied is an extension of herself, how it is used to balance her over-swing and keep her rooted firmly.
While she did show finesse, the number of foes circling her meant that she must grit her teeth when hit does land. I decided to focus on my task so we could retreat sooner. I was surprised when I saw bolts and arrows hitting their mark. Looking back I saw Jordan and a few marksmen moving as close as possible to keep up with the cover fire, Vaskiela could also be seen among them carrying as much ammunition as possible.
Weaving my way amidst ground laden with hostiles and supporting fire from the rear, I managed to reach the cannon. As I suspected, the cannon is indeed of Columbian origin.
I wonder… not.
It doesn’t take a genius to know who is behind this.
‘General Theresis is dead serious…’ Lamenting such a fact would do little in our line of work; especially for Sarkaz like us. Banishing such a thought, I rapidly disposed of the guns of their crews, suffering several hits here and there.
While I was about to throw a makeshift explosive, courtesy of a certain white-haired rascal, the cannon blew up before I could do so and knocked me backward. Thankfully I managed to recover quickly, only to make eye contact with those two. Looking quite beaten up but alive.
“Tsk, I thought I would get him.” W said with mirthful annoyance in her voice. Ines groaned before vanishing into her shadow, showing up right next to me. Her eyes look back at the sword in my hand, no… she knows how I feel. I could see a glimpse of concern, she hid it once more before pulling me up.
“Get up, idiot, we need to get back.”
“I take it the cannons are done for.” Ines shrugged before flowing into a dodge and cutting down an encroaching hostile; her combat awareness was as sharp as ever. Her noteworthy agility is yet another proof to deny her admission of being suck in combat. W then ran up to me, throwing me her detonator, and joined Ines on their impromptu death duet.
“These girls, I swear…” Running further away from the rigged-to-blow entrenchment, I pressed on it and a huge explosion plus shockwaves reverberated on the land. My body was forced to withstand the brunt of it, and several hostiles around me were knocked off their feet. Recovering rapidly once more, I finished off those who were too out of their depth and rejoined the girls.
Shouting, curses, and even accidental mistakes become the norm when those 3 are wreaking havoc. W overshoot her grenade launcher, having it almost smack Ines in the face. The Caprinae is less than pleased with it, and using her leg she trips her steps. W face-planted on the mud but was ultimately saved from a spear thrown her way.
Which unfortunately hit Sil’s shield; she flew off the ground from the unexpected impact and crashed into 4 hostile mercenaries. She stood up first and beheaded all of them in a single swoop. She turned her face to the duo who were busy carving their way through, she glowered at them but focused back on her problem.
Once I rejoined, we moved in concert to rush back. We could concentrate on retreating while Jordan and the rest are repelling our pursuers. Smoke grenades are being shot to provide much-needed concealment and we finally make it back toward the friendly line. Sil’s growls yank my attention; she is pissed.
“What a bloody fucking moron you both were!” She gripped her weapon so tightly her knuckle might have gone white.
“Oho, the pipsqueak can talk? Surprising.” W doesn’t let herself be talked down. She has her dagger at the ready, she is that close to assaulting anyone else trying to push her around.
“Enough, you guys are wounded and there are still more enemies converging on us. All of you could continue to tear each other out later when we make it out of this shitstorm.” Vaskiela gets in between them. Fortunately, either side backs down from the Banshee’s reprimand. Not before W flipped Sil off, which the latter answered by spitting on the ground and returning to her unit.
Ines sighed seeing W’s needless provocation, then again she has a hand on that. She turned her eyes to me and brought a grim confirmation of who is our enemy this time around.
“Hoederer, meet me after this.” She cast a discreet glance at Vaskiela who is engrossed with bandaging her head. I only noticed that dried blood could be seen on her, I suppose W had done a serviceable job beforehand.
“Sure thing, if we’re still alive that is.”
“Is this job really worth- gh, couldn’t you be gentler?” Ines shot a displeased look at the Banshee who doesn’t mind her and continue like nothing. Ines just sighed and decided to abandon her question.
“Hah… I’m tired, especially after lugging that nutjob around.”
“… Good work.”
“Hmph, you could thank me by-”
“God…” I turned my head toward Vaskiela. The girl had gone pale, expression grave, and her body couldn’t stop trembling. Her whole demeanor just screamed terror. Ines was naturally alarmed, and that’s when I realized…
The battlefield had gone ever so quiet…
POV: Vaskiela (Fas’Kyrieas)
Like being drowned straight through a glacial surface, an unimaginable but familiar chill struck deeply into my psyche. My heart thumps loudly, blood feels like going solid after reaching the nadir point of a corpse.
‘No, even a corpse would have the luxury of seeing the end… but what about the living?’ I desperately hoped that this feeling to be false. Facts prove the contrary, however…
The battlefield turned into a hush, screams, and wails whimpered out quietly into obscurity. Slashing of blades, clashes of arms, and even roaring of war revelry petered out into nothingness; akin to ever existing in the first place. Storms of combat felt like a relic from a bygone era, an era that even we the living are not privy to.
I stood up fearfully, and soon my gaze pointed in one singular direction.
I see him, he is here.
“The Sanguinarch…” I know not nor cared who uttered his title; a key to a horrific labyrinth of nightmares. A deluge of repressed memories flows back like a tidal wave and recedes into an all-engulfing flood, I couldn’t stop trembling at each single image playing back in my mind. Choked out sobs, and tears, and empowered by the desire to run yet too powerless to do so made me rooted on the spot.
“…” His eyes languidly trace my direction. I could see and feel his utter disgust, my blood crawling beneath my skin; each iota seemed to be carving itself along my bloodstream to seek a way out. I so, so, so desperately wanted to scream. Only for despair to stop my mind from even working properly.
‘No… please… no…’ I shouldn’t have come here. I should have heeded Nyx’s words… but my hubris, and stupendously blind bravado, made me here. In the end, it is my choice.
His gaze left me, and only then did I cry openly like a child, fresh air should have filled my lungs but it only caused me to be burning inside. His hands then moved so bored, so lazily, and yet blood seeps out of the dead like soldiers marching when their King marshals them to war. Even dried-up blood around us obeyed him, not a single speck defied the Duke of Crimson’s will.
At this point, I couldn’t notice my surroundings anymore… this was the end…
POV: Narrator
“What the fuck…” Confusion.
“It can’t be…” Fear.
“I-It’s him! It’s The Sanguinarch!” The Sarkaz mercenaries are rattled to their core, no doubt wanting to run but knowing that such a thing is futile. Hoederer, Ines, and that new W wore grim expressions. The white-haired girl lost her grin, her hands were already clutching enough explosives to level a city block.
Cordelian PMCs don’t seem to really understand the gravity of their situation yet, but they understand that the one they’re facing would be unlike anything they had ever fought before.
“Battle line! Double rows! Contact the other units, we need reinforcement!” Someone rallied them and their discipline compelled them to move. A wall of steel is erected towards the King of Vampires who doesn’t even bat an eyelid from such a deliberate hostile stance.
“What the hell is that thing?”
“We need reinforcement. I say again, we need reinforcement.”
“Our Sarkaz collaborators said Sanguinarch, seems we are in deep trouble.”
“Tell Meteorite to send everything she has to our sector, collateral be damned.”
“Bothersome…” With that word, the blood coalesced into numerous round shapes full of jagged teeth. The blood-sucking creature keeps on multiplying, to the point that the ground itself is repainted red. The mercenaries on the opposing side become the first victim.
“Get it off! GET IT OFF”
“AHHHHHHHHH!”
“HELP!”
“RUN!”
“SOMEONE HELP ME!”
“CURSE YOU DUKE OF CRIMSON!” He rarely shows any regard for his allies. Those creatures then start stripping his ‘allies’ clean, flesh is torn, blood is drained, and even bones are crushed. There is nothing but red, red, and even more red. A crimson river ran beneath his feet and only crimson.
In a bout of mania, a Sarkaz ran up to him with a huge hatchet in hand… then burst into nothing but a fountain of blood out of thin air. No scream, no trace of a living being there, and not even said blood dared to so much as latch on his booth; much less his royal regalia. With every step he took, the ground trembled and the tsunami of calamity followed ever so closely.
Not everyone on his ‘side’ was killed, those around the edges could only look on hopelessly. They too are rooted in their spot. The most primitive form of submission is to do nothing and hope that the predator does not take any interest in you.
Cordelian, all of them without a doubt, had been muted with grave looks on their faces. They now understood the gravity of our situation, yet they stood defiantly to face the encroaching death. A Zalak woman stood at the forefront and discarded her shield. Jordan's gaze did not leave the King of Vampire, his hands trembled briefly before bracing himself for the worst.
“Shouldn’t we retreat? This is not going to end well for us.” Ines asked Hoederer for order who just shook his head. He knows that it is futile.
“You can run using that shadow of yours, we mercenaries fought to survive after all, or look… that wall of dead men over there?” He pointed towards the desperate Sarkaz and the ignorant Cordelian making up a wall.
“That got breached too quickly means morale will fall and that’s certain death.”
“I could still bring you and W out, then we can-”
“Then we can what?” He dropped his cloak and pulled both of his crossbow and sword. His company is more or less finished, even if they survived there will be no peace. The trio had sizable bounties on their head, and who knows how long they would survive while being so battered.
“…” Ines could only bite her lips, she knew that Hoederer was right. It doesn’t take a genius to know just how desperately she wanted to run and even if she could, Ines is too injured to do so. Using her shadow to hide the both of them from their previous encounters before regrouping was too much on her.
“W, calm down.” he noticed her shaking hands and patted her head.
“I am calm! I’m so fucking calm I could even hear my heartbeats.
The Sanguinarch then willed the flood to crash upon these insects soiling his views. Other than the loathsome embarrassment of a Banshee blue blood, he has yet to show any interest to lower himself of stomping a bunch of bugs personally. The King of Vampires was disappointed, he thought that the infamous and brazen worm would show her face. Alas, she is nowhere to be found, no doubt just a part of song and dance between lower lifeforms’ politics.
“What a letdown…” Moving a single finger, spear-like tendrils formed and sped through the air; slamming onto Cordelian’s battleline. The ground shook from impact, the first volley saw 2 mercenaries and a Cordelian slain. The former bore the unfortunate fate of not being covered by the shield wall while the latter was crushed from beneath the weight of what might be dozens, if not hundreds, of dead bodies.
“BRACE!”
“Screw this! Tell them all to evacuate! We’ll hold the rear!”
“Ma’am! We couldn’t get in touch with HQ!”
Cordelian PMCs and what’s left of the mercenaries formed a steady line to withstand the encroaching onslaught and barrages of tendrils. Their Babel-contracted mercenaries are divided between those who huddled together in supporting the wall's integrity and those who lost all hope; either being devoured or running away in a bid to survive.
Wet squelches and screams of pain or despair filled the air. They tried over and over to hack their foes into pieces, yet they could understand that these horrors were tougher than they looked. Sil tried over and over to use her battleaxe in wide motion, she gritted her teeth when one such creature latched on her neck and bit her.
Hoederer makes use of his ash-based Arts to wrap as many as possible around the creature. Visibly harming and slowing them down, but there are just too many of them. Ines moved from and fro in between possible breaches, a small solace that they could form a defensive position around a relatively enclosed ruin.
W couldn’t care less about where she threw her explosives, she understood that even putting their all would give but a slim chance of survival. Cordelians and mercenaries are entrapped in between literal rock and bloody tides of death. Like a curtain of a tsunami after the tsunami, what little that could pass through their crumbling defenses started wreaking havoc wherever it touched.
Meteorite tried her best to support them, she even called into HQ’s channel nonstop for reinforcement. She had moved up to give support as per Jordan’s request, but now she is being forced to watch her colleagues being killed off one by one; just like how she was powerless when Firewatch’s village was burnt down.
Then tragedy struck.
W’s grenade launcher was hit, causing it to explode in her hands. Her misfortune has yet to end, before she could even vocalize her agony; 3 dull thumps hit her like a truck. Sounds of tearing follow suit, it was like someone had taken a hot sizzling metal and jammed it deep into her lung. Her eyes are facing the sky, the same old skies she sees every day… yet she starting to feel so… weightless; free…
“W!” Hoederer’s voice cut through the air. He watched how 3 sharp tendrils tore the white-haired Sarkaz’s body open, one of them even got dangerously close to her heart. Ines was alarmed and abandoned her frontline duty. After she made a cursory glance, W was hit on her thigh, shoulder; the exact same spot, and just below her heart.
“Goddammit! Don’t die!” Her hands fumbled momentarily before she got her out of combat, the Sanguinarch’s tendrils left nothing after doing their work and back to where they once were. She is being forced to use her hand and shadow to close W’s wound. Hoederer followed after them, and more and more wounded were being evacuated.
Sil could be seen commanding who she could reach to retreat, this fight is hopeless but no one would be abandoned. There is still a chance that HQ knows what is going on and already started packing up, they need to catch the train or die trying. Her battleaxe is being swung wildly, cutting current after a current while for each passing second her armor is being chipped away by the Sanguinarch’s foul creations.
“S-shit... got... *cough!* *cough!*” W sputtered through blood streaming from the corner of her mouth. She could feel how each step was taking its toll on her body.
“W! I swear to god, stop talking you little shit!”
“Ha hah… Man… I suck…”
“Hoederer! She’s losing too much blood!”
“Don’t stop! Keep moving!” He takes her other flank while his other hand is busy dealing with whatever manner of the abominable creature still tailing after them. Ines did the same and her mind is going through a thousand possible ways for them to get out of this mess. She used her shadow sparingly, most of it is being used to constrict W’s bleeding and stem her gaping wounds.
Pandemonium was raised around them. Ironically, the Sanguinarch’s tide does not touch a certain Banshee he appears to hate so much. Vaskiela only stands in between rivers of lost souls and damned futures. Her mind was being bombarded by the screams of everyone and no one simultaneously, she was lost in her own madness-induced psychosis.
-
-
-
Valiantly they fought and yet the sheer amount of these incomprehensible creatures meant that slowly but surely they were being pushed back and overwhelmed. Bits by the most unstoppable bits; hopes are being eroded by the cruel sands of time.
An ear-piercing scream full of agony and anguish ripped through the air. One could only wonder what sort of horror had happened at the frontline if the backline has become hell right now. They could do nothing but ignore it until the scream was silenced once more. Morale had reached its nadir, but desire to live reached its utmost zenith; no matter how unrealistic that is.
Ines, Hoederer, and anyone he could rally are fighting back to the best of their ability. W had pretty much gone unresponsive; face vacant and heartbeat weakened. The Sarkaz Commander is occupied along with those who still have the strength to fend off their foes while Ines and 1 or 2 people are doing their absolute best to patch up the wounded.
They had been cornered in what appears to be an old plaza, no doubt destroyed centuries if not millennia ago. Screams had long been substituted by exhausted groans and battle cries it appears that it is the end of the line for them.
That’s when W who is staring up to the sky saw… an angel. A Saint descending from heaven in all her glory. Her mind must be playing tricks on her, because what sort of Saint would be coming to their rescue? Much less riding a black dragon… She choked out an amused laugh through her drenched-with-iron throat.
Said Saint then dismounted from her steed, and gently lay her hand on her wound. She feels… at peace… content…
‘Why?’ She could hardly remember any deeds that would warrant anyone rescuing her, Ines and Hoederer notwithstanding because they are cut from the same cloth; they are all bastards. Perhaps reading her mind, the angel smiled at her.
“Shh… It is alright, and I do owe you an apology.” W consciousness vanished, but not before the saint’s warm smile was imprinted in her memory.
The truth? It is much wilder. Everyone could see said Saint’s descent, but that was no saint.
“Y-Your Majesty?!” Every Sarkaz in the vicinity was gobsmacked about why their King would risk herself coming here. But she smiled all the same, and with the use of her esoteric arts, a shield of purest white was erected around them. They could feel their fatigue and wound ebb away, and the horrors are backing off.
Soon, reinforcement starts trickling in.
“That was truly reckless, Your Majesty.” A Feline woman scowled seeing her friend’s nigh-suicidal attempt. She even glowered at her longtime companion, Mon3tr, for going along with the King of Sarkaz’s crazy antic.
“Kal’tsit?” The King said without ever stopping to look at her longtime friend, she is too busy stopping W's bleeding. Her people and the Cordelian watch as not even the blood of her least chivalrous people could deter her resolve. Someone then came out from another end of the barrier.
“She is right you majesty.” Ascalon arrived soon after, her hands were already bloodied with numerous creatures she had to vanquish and her scowl was duly terrifying yet concern was all Theresia could hear from her voice. The King of Sarkaz doesn’t mind their admonishment and instead assumes a commanding role because Kal’tsit is now the one taking care of the wounded.
“Everyone head west immediately, Babel and the rest of Cordelian forces have erected a defensive line. Once there, Operator Logos, Ace, and Sharp under the Doctor’s command would be directing the evacuation. Rest assured, we still have more on the way.” As if on cue, more and more Cordelian and Babel PMCs and operators arrive reinforcing them. The wounded are being carried on the stretcher while the able-bodied are being sent along to provide protection and much-needed rest.
“Go, I’ll maintain the barrier and I beg of you to prioritize the wounded. All of you have suffered enough, and weak as I might be; I'll do my duty to the best of my ability.” For the first time in their life, they all see what the King of Sarkaz is all about. She doesn’t wait and do her bidding through minions, no. She led from the front, and thus she pushed back against the horror as the flag bearer against insurmountable odds.
Her steps made the creature cower from both fright and awe while her servants and soldiers cut a path forward. She is adamant about saving as many people as she can. For she believes…
“For this land to fall into peaceful slumber,”
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If it’s any consolation, Nyx had trained Cordelian PMCs to always stand their ground and stay in formation under pressure. To the point that some would say she trained them to die standing and nothing else.
Amidst the chaotic retreat, Jordan noticed Vaskiela had gone missing. He couldn’t let her be left behind thus he asked anyone he could. Most said that they saw her being swallowed by the tide, but he didn’t buy it until Meteorite’s garbled voice could be heard through his comms.
[I *bzzt* back *bzzt* Vask- *bzzt* left behind *bzzt* east!] He climbed over anything he could find to avoid the encroaching flood. His legs moved with coordinated and measured steps plus jumps, then he saw a small patch of brown amidst the crimson sea. He saw her having a total psychotic breakdown, she doesn’t even so much as shudder from where she is anymore.
He pushed back against the tide, against his rationale, and braved the storm of jagged teeth mixed in rotting flesh. He perseveres even when pieces upon pieces of himself are being torn to shreds. The Archosauria can see how these creatures are in essence nothing more than a bottomless pit of maws, and these things are getting closer to her. He keeps reminding himself that the pain was nothing more than just mosquito bites, he had already gone through much worse during training. Yet all he did was do nothing else than play mind games with his rationality.
“Oh?” The Sanguinarch noticed the Archosauria’s suicide attempt to rescue the Banshee. He shows the faintest of interest; akin to watching a colony of ants being submerged underwater.
A quarter way through, Jordan feels like wading through the marshy pit back in Acahualla filled with bloodworms. Less poisonous but much more brutal.
Halfway through, he feels that his armor was breached, and these things start gnawing his flesh directly. It feels like he hears their chittering and clattering jagged teeth sneering at him, wordlessly calling him a colossal and misguided fool.
Third, the Archosauria roared in defiance. Pain, pain, and even more pain… but he could not tear his eyes from the shocked full of tears, empty-eyed, and catatonic girl that was lost in the center of the storm of blood.
Once he reaches her, his body is bloodied all over. Yet he hugged her tight, which appeared to rouse some measure of sanity back to the purple-haired girl. Although her empty eyes could only stare at him like seeing a ghost from the past.
“Don’t worry, I’ll get you out of here!” He doesn’t think twice, and once more ready to brave the wave… yet that’s not what happened.
Vaskiela fell off his arms, crashing to the ground. Jordan’s body had become rigid, his eyes were bloodshot. She is surrounded by a sea of blood-lings once more. The Sanguinarch strode closer to the frozen Archosauria.
“It appears she still has her charms… fitting for her to ensnare primitives such as you.” He stood beside him, his gaze fell on the girl. He glances to the side and sees Jordan’s bloodshot eyes raging a thousand languages of bloody murder to the King of Vampire. His defiance is intriguing for such a fleeting moment.
“Defiant… noteworthy.” He moved his finger, and Jordan moved like an obedient doll. His blood has been controlled, he tried his damnedest to resist yet it's futile. His trembling hand reaches for a knife sheathed by his hip. Vaskiela sat up from the ground, she gazed at the trembling man… she eyed the steel in his hand… and smiled.
“Hmph. No attempt to reach your bone pen, no raging tantrum against fate, nothing that shows you’re a proud Banshee… Just a mere maggot crawling on the ground.” He lost interest and left them to their device. He continues his afternoon walk, straight toward the struggling and dying mortals who are being vanquished piece by piece. If there is one thing he would admit, strength is something worth looking out for.
Jordan's entire being trembled. He couldn’t help how his vision blurred, yet despite that… he could still vividly see Vaskiela showing him a grateful smile. His hand had gone white, blood drenching through his gloves, and the knife’s edge fell on the girl.
She tastes iron on her lips.
The crestfallen maiden thought that she finally saw the end… only for reality and clarity to set in, Jordan had stabbed his palm; down to its very handle guard. Jordan pulled it off, gripping it straight, before he roared and raged against the heaven, he ran past Vaskiela and straight towards the Sanguinarch whose eyes blinked in surprise.
“BASTARD!” His muscles contracted, his blood vessels burst, and he knew that he was done for… but not before he could smash that bored face clean.
Duq’arael expression changes minutely, he feels like observing a scaled lizard with an interesting color. His Blood Arts still wreak havoc inside the stubborn man, and it is impressive to see that this Archosauria is still capable of moving.
Vaskiela tried to beg him to save himself, yet before she could even utter a sound…
The Sanguinarch merely flicked his fingers…
…and Jordan vanished into a rain of truest of red.
Vaskiela was bathed in Jordan’s blood in her entirety. Her vision is naught but red, her body is a fresh, deranged, canvas for the Duke of Crimson, and then…
“a…” Disbelief.
“Aaaa…..” Hate.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Anguish.
A miniscule part of her wonder… Were her sins that grave to warrant so much suffering?
“Quiet.” He controlled her arms, to choke her own neck. She sputtered and gagged, but not once did she try to resist. Her vision gets dimmer with each passing breath… She only has one last regret.
‘I couldn’t thank them, after everything…’ The Banshee is about to close her eyes when an arrow cuts through the air. The Sanguinarch’s bloodlings erected a wall, but it too was pierced. An earthshattering boom cracked the earth and threw the Banshee high. She then feels a pair of arms cradling her. The King of Vampires was not at the slightest surprised by it and landed on stairs courtesy of his prowess.
The Sanguinarch's eyes vividly tracked the interloper. She is dressed in all grey military garb and coat, her body is supported by what appears to be a state-of-the-art exosuit. Her hand tightly clutched a mighty bow with an equally mighty arrow held in place. Guns, knives, and grenades are fastened neatly on her figure. All that paled in comparison to a grey, dull, and bereft of reflection, blade on her hips. He could feel an esoteric aura seeping through its scabbard.
“I got you! It’s okay, I’m here!” The Grey Serpent had arrived.
She landed with the sea of blood making a clear wide-berth from the ashen-haired Pythia. Her graceful descent derives some measure of amazement for those who catch a glimpse of her. Eyeing her surroundings, Nyx was hardly bothered before she directed a crimson glare of her own at the Sanguinarch who felt some measures of amusement, he felt that glare and she might be worthwhile prey in this sophistry of a war.
“Please, do wear that crutch of yours. I won’t mind.” He gestured at her exosuit, but she replied by spitting on the ground before putting Vaskiela in the empty armored vessel. It locked her in place and several needles could be seen injected into her body, the Banshee soon fell asleep. She gave one last wipe on her tears, she had wept enough.
“Conrad, get her out of here.”
[Acknowledged.] The Exosuit moves on its own, much faster than before and even evading all attempts to strike it down. Nyx’s great bow was gripped tighter, and even the abominable creature seemed to shiver ever so slightly with the rivers of blood rippling beneath her frigid countenance. Of course, her complete disregard to even answer Duq’arael’s query left him in a disagreeable mood.
Nyx cold gaze met the King’s own, and thus the curtain rose…
A Catastrophe Messenger Paramilitary Chief facing against the King of all Vampires.
A soul who was born beneath the earth and a being that made the earth its plaything.
A woman who drenched herself in blood and the one who ruled over blood.
A Pythia of dubious origin and claim against the Vampire who has ample claim on his reign.
The battle between the Grey Serpent and the Duke of Crimson had just begun…
[END OF CHAPTER]
Author’s Note:
Yo there, this is me, myself, and I, the author who feels not so great but that’s life.
Finally, 7500-ish words in this chapter to make an Unstoppable Force meet another Unstoppable Force; to put it mildly with a significant amount of bias.
Would you look at that? That piece of shit Vampire could just flip the battlefield because he can. This will give also give better incentives on how W would be even more motivated for the payback. I personally think that some of the mechanics on how to deactivate his bullshit dmg reduction in the game would be nice material for this fic and long into the Londinium Arc… (If I even get there…)
I would not go too in-depth with Darknights memoir because the entire event realistically spanned for the next 4-5 years in-universe…
How would the Grey Serpent fare against the King of Vampire? We’ll see in the next chapter.
Update is… I’m not sure. Shit is happening.
Ciao.
