Project Seraphina [LitRPG, Magitech, GL]

Why are there dozens of copies of me standing in front of the dungeon entrance? What’s with that other Seraphina from that photo? And why do I not sense any life from these beings standing before me?

At least I understand what Clara meant when she said that I would need to wait, so as to cause ‘confusion in their ranks’. But what is it that she knows that I don’t? Some part of her statement was a lie; I know that beyond a doubt. She knows more about me and about this Project Seraphina than I do. It’s the only way that she would have known that this was going to happen.

More and more questions pop in my head, and yet, I know this isn’t the time to ask. Now is the time to act, and I will purge these cheap imitations who dare to wear my face.

Each of the sixty-four Seraphinas standing in an eight-by-eight phalanx wears its— I refuse to call them ‘her’— own eclectic armor. Some of them even have metal-colored left arms like my own. Others have other appendages that look like they were salvaged from the scrapheap. The shoddy craftsmanship sickens me, but by that same stroke of fortune, I’m able to blend right in.

[Dimensional Rift] makes this too easy. Simply teleport right behind the army of impostors, rip one of them out of formation, then drag the phony behind the nearest shrub. Stab it in the gut. Oil, not blood. Some sort of Ethertech android. That makes a lot more sense than organic clones of me. It also makes it easier to do what I was going to do anyway, cleaving its head from its neck with a single slice of Filia’s edge. No Experience awarded, but excising the violation is a pleasure all its own.

Still left questions of why this, why me, and why in the unholy annals of fuck do these silicon copies have the ability to [Glyphcast]? It’s inelegant, just random assortments of elemental magic being strewn about with no real finesse. But a lack of finesse doesn’t detract from the fact that each individual spell is still powerful, thousands of points of [Ether] being thrown about each second between the group of them.

I phase back into the open spot in the formation. The one next to me turns toward me for a brief moment, but as less than a second passed since I disappeared with the imitator, it doesn’t do anything but glance in confusion before returning to its assigned task.

“Hold your position,” Agent Duvall’s voice echoes in my consciousness. “If you can throw some inconsequential blasts around while avoiding striking any agents, that would help reinforce your guise. Avoid using too much [Ether]; you will need it for what is to come.”

Just more stealthy prodding, reminders that I’m stuck playing the role of good little pawn in a scheme much broader than that of which I’m currently aware.

However, I can throw some blasts. I am so damn tempted to have them accidentally land on my doppelgängers; their very existence fills me with nightmarish rage. But I hold myself back, reminding myself that so many lives depend on me not screwing this up.

As I throw around simple beams of [Light] and blades of [Wind], controlling my [Ether] output precisely, I notice that the agents are retreating, and moreover, that most of them are suffering no real damage from the attacks that profess to throw them back. It appears like a complete rout, the agents playing the role of actors, their poor attempts to show panic and pain going unnoticed by the autonomous Seraphina-bots who advance forward with robotic precision. All the while completely unaware— if they even are sentient in the first place— that they are but lambs being led to the slaughter.

I alone among my fakes can see the agents and soldiers regrouping, taking the lull in the fight to get healed and restore their [Ether] in anticipation of the next wave. Chloe’s [Mass Heal] again proves to be a goddess-send, able to stitch together hundreds of wounds in the span of seconds, all without having to reveal her position behind a large tree. I can only imagine what sort of mindblowing acts of restoration and rejuvenation she’ll be able to perform at even higher levels. Healing a city with the same ease as snapping her fingers? I’d be surprised if she couldn’t.

We march. Sixty-three Seraphina bots push outward, launching spheres of crimson flame to clear a path, while I imitate their actions as best I can. Though, I aim my [Fire Orbs] with a bit more precision, using targeted strikes like so many controlled burns to cancel out the flames before they can devastate the woods and surrounding grasslands as a whole. My little rebellion goes over well enough to not attract any attention.

Sixty Legion soldiers storm out of the dungeon, and only then does the plan snap into place. Pursuers chase into the flaming trees, eager to secure some cheap kills from the supposedly wounded and fleeing agents who’d come to storm this base. The fighting starts the moment the group breaks out of formation.

Our group’s soldiers emerge from behind trees, their Etheric presence and brimming vitality shrouded by Clara’s magic. What promised to be a rout proves to be exactly that, only with the sides inverted. But this lasts only for a few seconds, before my false duplicates begin channeling their own magic, homing beams of light and crackles of lightning that target my allies with uncanny precision.

“Hold position, Miss Mortensen. Wait for my signal.” The [Tactician]’s command feels off, but I don’t push forward. I just… play along, as I have until now. I guess in that regard, I’m no different than the other automatons, dancing to the strings of another.

The flow of Ether shifts, gathering over my head in massive quantities. The sky above me darkens, and the light of the flames around the Seraphina brigade starts to shimmer and distort. Horror sets in as I realize exactly what’s going on; it’s the very same attack I used myself a few months ago: [Black Hole]. And it seems that these faux-Seraphinas have figured out a way to cast it by combining each of their individual powers, not unlike what Nicholas coordinated just over a week ago.

Stupid, terrible, foolish… Whoever is controlling these hunks of junk is planning to sacrifice every last one of them. Too much [Ether], the growing force of [Gravity] in the air above us too strong. My first thought is to scrap the bots, but if they lose control of the sphere and it collapses… I don’t want to think about the potential consequences, but I know they won’t be good.

“Any suggestions on how to deal with this, Miss Mortensen?”

“Evacuate the immediate surroundings. The dungeon itself generates a distortion in the dimension which will keep those within safe from the gravitational force. As far as countermeasures, I can partially counter the spell by inverting the glyph combination they are using and annihilating the effect with equal force.”

“Will that work?”

“In theory, and with the few opportunities I’ve had to test it, yes, inverting a glyph serves as the glyph’s counterspell. You all will be responsible for slowly whittling down the cohort of my fakers.”

I start casting my spell. The bots don’t seem to notice that I’m partially negating their gathered [Black Hole], slowing the growth of the ebon orb floating about a hundred feet overhead, and whoever is behind this force hasn’t made their move yet either. “I can buy you some time. Maybe five minutes in total.”

“I will take care of that,” Chloe says. “You all focus on the stragglers and make sure they can’t call in for reinforcements.”

“Are you certain, Miss Jacobs?” This time it’s Clara who chimes in to the mental web. “It will be dangerous.”

“I know. But I need this for me. To prove to myself that I’m not just some meek little healer girl. I’m going to show everyone that I’m strong enough to continue to stand by Sera’s side! Besides, I can fly just as well as she can; that gives me a huge advantage against the majority of you, who all can’t.”

Chloe lets loose a roar as she flies in, low and fast, cupric-colored armor glistening in the twilight as her radiant blades cut through one of the Seraphina bots. Three more turn toward Chloe and start attacking her with spears tipped by a dense and heavy alloy. But Chloe is faster still. The piercing stabs score only the wind and the feathers in her angelic golden wings as she darts in and out of their attack radius.

While the majority of my mental focus is spent channeling my [Ether] to partially counter the looming spell above, I have enough brainpower left to aid Chloe in her assault. Nothing too overt, nothing that screams ‘I’m an impostor among these impostors’. But a subtle [Impulse] here and a barrier there and a misaimed [Lightning] glyph that sizzles one of my replicas? That sort of thing that could be dismissed as a malfunction. And if one spear rams into the back of another of these detestable androids and takes them both out of the fight?

Well, I’ve never been one to complain about the trash learning to take itself out.

Another android crumples, although it wasn’t Chloe and it wasn’t me who bring it down. Someone else in the background? Hopefully one of ours, but if it happens to be a third party working on our side, I won’t complain.

Chloe continues to work with precision. Two [Mirage Swords] flare forth in front of her, carving a path of destruction. But something seems off. It’s too easy. Chloe is strong, absolutely. And she was fast too. But the gap in power shouldn’t be this great, not by the standards of what power the Legion dickheads showed before. By now the mass of fake Seraphinas should be taking Chloe a lot more seriously than they actually are. Instead, it’s almost like they want to be cut down. They care more about the spell than they do about the–

“Everyone, get as far away from here, now! This whole spell is going to blow!”

“Are you sure?” Clara’s voice calls out through the mental link.

“No, I’m not sure. But we don’t fucking have any time to go into depth and see if my instinct is wrong! Take everyone and get as far away from here as possible, now!”

“Do it,” Clara says authoritatively. “And you two?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve cheated death in this manner.”

“Alright. I trust you. In return, you have to promise that you’ll both emerge alive.”

“We will.”

Just as the connection goes idle, I notice the issue of why my counterspell is causing a destabilization in the [Black Hole] rapidly breaking down. And it’s one that fills me with vicarious embarrassment. These automatons are using shitty, imprecise glyphs. It’s so subtle as to go unnoticed, just a small imperfection, the result of literal machine error in the programming of these cheap imitations, unguided by the appropriate Skills to properly [Glyphcast].

But in this particular case, my correct glyphs are not perfectly countering their wrong ones, creating a note of dissonance in what should be perfectly destructive interference. An error term which is dominating the intended effect as Chloe cuts down these automatons which dare to wear my face. And a concentrated mass of Ether without direction… explodes.

If I find out that all of this was by design, I might just be impressed. Right after I wring someone out to dry for ruining my good reputation with these cheap knockoffs!

“Chloe? Get ready to heal us; we’ve got about three seconds before we need to slip into subspace.”

“On it, Sera!”

Right as the spells fully desync, and in the instant before the explosion’s sonic boom hits us both, Chloe takes my hand and the two of us [Dimensional Slip] our way into subspace. Again it hurts like hell to stay here as the harshness of the secondary layer of space attempts to tear us apart, but it’s not quite as bad as it was a week ago.

Part of that is our higher stats and greater health, but more than that, it’s as Madison told me in my past life. We’ve gained a few levels between then and now, and become more magical in the process. Our bodies, less organic, less reliant on biology, are less affected by being in this space, and we’re able to hold out for nearly five seconds before I phase us back to the principal layer.

But it seems we’re not alone; the third wave is already encroaching to greet us.