Chapter 25 – The Shadow of the Titan
“Ninety-five leagues north of here,” said Farah softly, holding the compass-like pointer steady in her hands as though it were something delicate and temperamental.
The device itself looked deceptively simple at first glance, but closer inspection revealed careful craftsmanship. It was an iron disk, cool and dark, with a smooth circular face sealed beneath a clear film of managlass that shimmered faintly when it caught the overhead lights. Within the glass enclosure rested a shallow pool of mercury, its silvery surface trembling almost imperceptibly with every subtle movement. Floating atop that liquid metal was a slender arrow of electrum, which pointed with unwavering certainty toward its unseen quarry.
Around the outer ring of the disk, more electrum had been inlaid in delicate etchings. Carved in were sigils and calibrations worked so finely that they seemed almost engraved by a jeweler rather than a blacksmith. The entire device hummed with restrained intention, as though eager to be obeyed.
Umbra leaned in slightly to examine the direction more closely, her expression darkening as she calculated the distance.
“That far already?” she murmured, her brow furrowing. “That is not good.”
She straightened, folding her arms as she thought aloud. “I had assumed she would entrench herself in the wilderness nearby,” Umbra continued, frustration threading through her voice. “There are forests and reserves aplenty in the surrounding region. It would have made strategic sense to establish a foothold there before advancing.”
Farah’s wings shifted subtly behind her, the faint rustle of feathers underscoring her thoughtful demeanor.
“There is no divining the motives of the divine themselves,” she replied carefully. “Especially one as unstable as the Witch.”
Umbra huffed faintly at that. “True enough,” she conceded. “Insanity has a logic of its own.”
She turned away from the pointer and paced a few steps, already moving from analysis to action.
“I can run along the highways at full speed,” Umbra said, glancing back at Farah. “If I do not concern myself with subtlety, I can cover that distance quickly. Can you keep up?”
Farah’s lips curved into a small, polite giggle, the sound incongruously gentle given the topic of pursuit.
“I suppose,” she said lightly, “we should find out.”
Umbra exhaled through her nose, though there was a hint of amusement beneath her seriousness.
“Before we depart,” she added, gesturing vaguely around the operations floor where military personnel and analysts lingered within earshot, “we should inform them of our movements. They will almost certainly insist upon following us.”
Her gaze shifted toward the broader room.
“We should probably let them know as well,” she added, meaning the wider command structure beyond the immediate staff.
Farah inclined her head in agreement.
“I concur,” the angel said. “They are our allies in this matter, and they are, at the very least, the appointed defenders of your homeland.”
Umbra made a noncommittal sound in her throat. “Defenders, perhaps,” she replied dryly. “Though whether they are equipped to defend against a dead god remains to be seen. Still, cooperation is prudent.”
Scanning the room, Umbra spotted Gareth Murphy, who had arrived roughly half an hour earlier and was now engaged in a quiet but intense conversation with another officer near a bank of screens.
She raised a hand slightly to catch his attention.
“Caer Murphy,” Umbra called in greeting as he approached.
“Mrs. Steelblight,” Gareth replied with a respectful nod. “Do you have news?”
Umbra nodded once.
“We do. Tell me, do you have a map of New Zealand readily available?”
He frowned slightly at the specificity of the request.
“We do,” he answered cautiously. “Why?”
“The Witch has relocated,” Umbra said evenly. “Approximately five hundred and thirty kilometres north of our current position.”
Gareth’s expression tightened as he performed the mental calculation.
“That would likely place her in or near Hamilton,” he said after a moment.
“Ah, I see.” Umbra replied quietly.
“Why would the target move so far in such a short span of time?” Gareth pressed.
Umbra released a slow breath.
“I cannot say with certainty,” she admitted. “However, I can surmise that whatever her intention is, it is unlikely to be benevolent.”
Gareth nodded grimly.
“We can have an aircraft ready within the next few hours,” the Captain offered, his tone measured but decisive in the way of a man accustomed to mobilizing resources quickly. “We can fly you there and have you deployed on the outskirts of the city without attracting too much attention.”
Umbra glanced sideways at Farah, who still held the managlass-covered pointer carefully in both hands, its electrum needle unwavering in its northern insistence. Then she looked back at the Captain, her expression thoughtful but edged faintly with amusement.
“I am not entirely certain what aviation regulations an angel might be beholden to,” Umbra replied with mild dryness, “but I can run there in less than two hours if I follow the highways and do not stop. And my wife can likely match me stride for stride.”
There was no boastfulness in her tone, only calm certainty.
The Captain frowned slightly at that, his posture stiffening as he folded his arms across his chest.
“I would prefer,” he said carefully, choosing his words with visible restraint, “that we keep the two of you hidden from the public as much as possible while this mission is ongoing. Your walk back to this base caused quite a stir.”
Umbra tilted her head slightly.
“Problems have arisen from it?” she asked.
“There are reporters outside the compound gates as we speak,” he replied. “Satellite vans, freelancers., and international press are out there now. Social media has already identified this location as a point of interest. We cannot afford that kind of spectacle while an active operation is unfolding.”
He paused, then added in a slightly softer tone, “Afterwards, well, you are a free woman, and technically a citizen of New Zealand. We cannot prevent you from taking interviews or making statements, provided you do not divulge military secrets or compromise national security.”
He exhaled slowly and rubbed at his clean-shaven chin, the gesture betraying the strain beneath his otherwise composed exterior.
“We are attempting to avoid an uproar,” he continued. “Or worse, a panic. There are groups already forming online and in certain communities that are… very interested in Countess Steelblight, for obvious reasons. Religious factions, conspiracy circles, and activist groups have all shown great interest in her. For now, we would prefer to keep you under wraps as much as possible.”
His eyes met hers directly then, the professional distance thinning slightly.
“I have already lost men to your enemy,” he said quietly. “So I understand the gravity of this situation more than I would like to.”
Umbra’s expression shifted at that. The faint dryness in her demeanor softened into something more solemn.
“I understand,” she said thoughtfully.
For a moment she was silent, weighing possibilities, considering not only speed but strategy. Then her eyes sharpened slightly, as though a new idea had taken form.
“Actually,” she said, “I might have a way to allow you to fight back more effectively.”
The Captain’s brows shot upward at once.
“Yes?”
“I may not be able to bless your weapons personally,” Umbra explained, gesturing subtly toward Farah, “but Farah can. They should function exactly as normal in mundane use, but with additional efficacy against the Witch’s creations.”
The Captain blinked once.
“Truly?”
Umbra translate for her and Farah inclined her head.
“It was the duty of priestesses in my homeland to bless blades and bows before battle,” Umbra elaborated. “While handheld gunpowder weapons were not common in my era, cannons certainly were. Those too could be consecrated against the Witch of the Void’s more… ambitious constructs.”
The Captain’s skepticism warred visibly with cautious hope.
“Should I ask what difference that makes?” he said.
Umbra folded her hands behind her back.
“I once single-handedly brought down an aberrant titan,” she said evenly. “Roughly eighty metres tall, formed of layered flesh and bone reinforced by void-thread. It would have been considerably more difficult if not for the divinely blessed cannon fire that had already weakened it.”
She met his gaze steadily.
“Hypothetically speaking, if she were to create something of similar scale here, you would need to bomb it. Then bomb it again. And again, each time it reassembled itself. Her larger creations are rarely static. They regenerate, reconfigure, and adapt.”
A faint tension crept into the room as nearby personnel pretended not to listen.
“The only reliable methods of permanently destroying one of her constructs,” Umbra continued, “are magic, blessed weaponry, or to be a creature of magic yourself. This is why I am capable of killing them with nothing but my claws. My body is not entirely mundane.”
The Captain absorbed this information in silence, his expression caught somewhere between professional composure and the dawning realization that the parameters of his reality had shifted far beyond conventional military doctrine.
“You took down something of that size?” he asked at last, the corners of his eyes betrayed his disbelief.
Umbra regarded him evenly.
“Are you familiar with the old game Shadow of the Colossus?” she asked, as though the comparison were perfectly reasonable.
Gareth blinked.
“I have never been much into video games,” he admitted.
Umbra’s shoulders dipped slightly in mild disappointment.
“Drat,” she muttered. “There goes that example.”
She paused for a moment, clearly reorganizing her explanation into something more grounded in reality.
“It was… large,” she continued. “Its hide was layered in coarse fur and hardened plates of bone. It walked on four limbs thick as towers and its breath alone could level structures. Conventional weapons had limited effect. That is why the blessed artillery was necessary.”
Her gaze drifted briefly, as though replaying the memory.
“I climbed it,” she said matter-of-factly. “Anchored myself in its fur. It attempted to dislodge me several times, of course. Shaking. Rolling. Striking at its own flanks. I persisted.”
She demonstrated with one hand, fingers curling as though gripping an invisible surface.
“I drove my holy spear into the weak points along its spine and shoulders. The blessed metal disrupted the void-thread binding its flesh together. It resisted, regenerated, and tried to swat me from its back.”
Her voice remained calm, almost academic, which made the content all the more unsettling.
“Eventually I reached the base of its skull. I embedded myself there and forced the spear through the thinner bone at the rear of its cranium. Once inside, I tore upward.”
She made a small upward motion with her hand, as though illustrating the direction of force.
“It fell shortly thereafter.”
There was a long silence.
Gareth stared at Umbra in sheer disbelief, the kind that left a person blinking slightly too slowly as their mind attempted, and failed, to neatly file the information away. For a moment it looked as though he might attempt to ask a follow-up question. Then something in his expression shifted. It was the unmistakable look of a man consciously deciding not to overanalyze a situation that was already far beyond his preferred scope of comprehension.
“Understood,” he said at last, the word carrying the weight of resignation more than clarity. “If your wife can bless our equipment, then I would greatly appreciate it. We will begin preparing a selection immediately.”
Umbra inclined her head once in approval.
“Good,” she replied. “Gather what you can as soon as you can. Blades, ammunition, artillery shells… anything that may reasonably be brought to bear.”
Her tone grew more serious.
“I would prefer to mitigate the damage the Witch can cause. The longer she is allowed to operate unchecked, the more elaborate her creations will become and I would rather not have to climb another titan in the middle of one of your cities.”