Buffet
Fifty kilometers to the west, at an elevation that kept them beyond the range of any human mana sense, six Outer Gods watched.
It was almost all of them, save for Parasitic Sovereignty and Devoted Malice.
One had to hold the line against the Custodian Order, while the other was simply too precious to let tag along.
Fearless Hiding was barely visible even to the others. His outline shivered in the dark at the ridge's edge, present and not present, which was his natural state whenever he felt cooperative. Cooperative, tonight, meant he had agreed to come at all.
Beside him, Self-Consumption sat on the rock's edge with his legs hanging over it.
For once, he wasn't eating himself, but what appeared to be a Narkal's thigh.
Gnrrk... chrk...
He watched the battlefield beyond with genuine interest.
"That little gold-haired one down there," he said between bites. "She's been going for four days without stopping."
"Hm." False Mercy stood with both hands behind his back, his expression mild as he observed the distant threads of Seraphine's light weaving through the formations below. "Remarkable."
"The sniper woman is also still going." Self-Consumption tilted his head. "I do not understand how humans do it."
"They don't," False Mercy said. "Something does it for them. That's the mechanism."
Reshaping had shifted into a female form and was watching with attention. Something in particular seemed to interest her. Despite her deep interest, one hand continued arranging small stones beside her knee into pairs.
"The healer keeps pairing people to the right parts of themselves," she observed. "Returning them to what they should be. That's... actually quite correct."
She sounded genuinely approving.
"Don't be seduced by the method," Mandate said from behind her. "The pairing is incomplete. None of them have been properly aligned. I could fix all of this."
He watched the formations below with barely leashed frustration, like he was observing an easily solvable problem being handled incorrectly and was itching to fix it.
"The waste is significant..."
"Nobody asked," Fearless Hiding said.
"That's never stopped me before."
Love stood slightly apart from the rest, and the flowers on her gown were withering noticeably faster than usual, blooming and blackening in rapid succession.
That small phenomenon made it clear she was not as fine as her outward appearance suggested.
That was predictable, since her adversaries had somehow taken hold of her abilities with suspicious speed and had begun countering her at every turn.
Despite that, she was smiling at the distant form of Lola moving above the eastern wall. The smile had been there since they'd arrived.
"She's magnificent," Love murmured. "Do you see how she gives herself? How she pours herself out for all of them?"
If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
The warmth in her voice was a warmth that had rotted past its own sweetness.
"I've always thought we'd get along famously. I do love a woman who understands devotion."
Nobody responded.
"Shall we discuss when?" False Mercy asked.
Fearless Hiding's outline solidified briefly.
"The collective exhaustion will peak within the next twelve hours. Waiting longer may be wiser, but we are also on a time limit."
"Most of those soldiers will not last that long either way," False Mercy said.
"They would last longer if the healer were removed," Love said pleasantly. "I could handle her myself. Our dance over the past few months has been sublime. I'd like to offer her one last waltz."
"No." False Mercy's voice was even. "We do not split focus at this stage. The conditions are correct. We move together."
Self-Consumption set the half-consumed thigh on his knee and considered this. "I'll be honest. I had my doubts about this working." He resumed eating. "The plan to divide their army by simply... offering the cowards a door." A sound that was probably a laugh. "The simplicity of it. Who would have thought they'd walk through it so readily."
"People always choose the door," False Mercy said. "It only requires that you build one."
Reshaping had finished her stone pairs and was starting over with a new arrangement. "It's a little sad," she said, not unkindly. "All those soldiers down there, holding so hard, and three of the five who should be holding with them decided to leave." She tilted her head. "The ones left behind are the ones who stayed. That's the most aligned thing about this situation."
Silence settled.
Below, the battlefield burned and screamed and held.
They watched like people waiting for a slab of meat to finish cooking before digging in.
When twelve hours passed, Fearless Hiding's outline sharpened into its most distinct form.
"It's time."
***
Ashen's instinct screamed at him as though he were inches from death before he saw anything.
He lifted his head and looked forward.
Something was moving in the darkness beyond the Narkal lines, as though the air itself had begun to sizzle.
His perception tried reaching outward, but it was repelled. The mana radiating from the black horizon was so immense that it formed a natural wall against his mana sense.
His hand tightened around his spear.
‘Old man.’
{I know.}
The Twin Soul's voice was quieter than usual.
{There are six of them.}
‘Six…?’ he repeated the number in his head with a numb look.
The Narkal lines parted.
Unfortunately, it was not some tactical withdrawal. The monsters simply moved aside to clear a path, and what emerged through the gap was a set of presences the human army discerned before they could see with their naked eyes.
Some men's bodies reacted first, a crushing pressure sinking across their chests, followed by the sudden awareness of their own heartbeats. Others felt it in their minds instead, their instincts sharpening enough to know what was coming, even if logic offered no explanation.
Bodies or minds, the end result was the same.
Everyone ran.
The unfortunate few who froze instead were greeted by Love.
She came through first, walking at the same pace she always did, and the flowers on her gown were now all black.
SPLAT—SPLAT—SPLAT
Whoever she laid her eyes upon exploded into a shower of flesh and gore.
Beside her, False Mercy walked with both hands folded, wearing that same grandfatherly expression. He looked upon the soldiers kindly but made no move to act, allowing his companion to continue her grisly display.
The others spread out.
Somewhere along the way, Self-Consumption's meal had ceased to be Narkal remains and become a human skull.
Reshaping's surroundings were the most vomit-inducing.
Around her floated soldiers. They were not dead yet, but at that moment, they wished for nothing more than death.
Each of them screamed at the top of their lungs as they were arranged in the same ways Reshaping always arranged the stones she played with.
But the source of their wails was something else entirely.
Their faces constantly writhed and changed. Sometimes they appeared female; other times they became male again, though most of the time they were something in between.
Below, their genitals changed to match each transformation. Even their voices shifted, rising and falling, feminine to masculine and back again.
Some unfortunate souls had genitals erupting across their faces, chests, and over the rest of their bodies.
It was the most repulsive sight one could lay eyes upon.
Worst of all, it was obvious each transformation was carried out in the most agonizing, pain-filled way imaginable.
"Finally," she... he... it... they said to no one. "I can liberate you from your outer shells and show you your true selves! AHHH~~"
Mandate, despite driving whoever met his gaze into insanity until they clawed out their own eyeballs, was apparently the most reasonable among them.
As for Fearless Hiding, his outline had, predictably, vanished completely.
Perhaps...
That was the most frightening one.