12-89. Overmatched
As he stared into the crystal orb, Greffyn Cornelius clenched his fists in frustration. It was a trivial piece of artifice attached to a pendant worn by one of his scouts, but despite how common it was, it had proven to be very useful. In this case, it gave him an unrestricted view of the ongoing siege.
The scout must have been perched high in a tree, and the perspective let him see everything. The first emotion that had come to mind was anger.
When he’d picked Heaven’s Bastion and Nico Song as a proxy for the Green Mounting Mining Guild, he’d clearly chosen poorly. The man was an unmitigated idiot, too wrapped up in respect to see what was in front of his face. By all rights, he should have long since taken Ironshore, but he was too stupid to use all the resources at his disposal.
The only reason he’d managed as much limited success as he’d experienced was because he had the wherewithal to ally himself with someone truly competent. The necromancer known as Lau Hoi-Yan was not the sort of man that anyone would trust. Conniving but competent, he would only be as loyal as the situation demanded. The second it was more beneficial to betray his masters, he would do just that. And he wouldn’t lose a wink of sleep from that decision.
Yet, a man like that was useful, so long as one understood the limitations of the relationship. And Cornelius did. It was just bad luck that he’d met Nico Song first, and due to that misfortune, he was now forced to filter everything through that petulant child of a man.
Because of that, the siege had gone incredibly poorly. Victory was still all but inevitable, largely because, for all its economic might, Ironshore was no military power. Generously speaking, their defense forces were adequate, but only in times of relative peace. When it came to war, they were woefully outmatched.
Especially when their opponents had the capability of reusing the dead. From what Cornelius could tell, those zombies could be harvested and reconstituted with only minimal effort. Not indefinitely. Every death meant that the rebuilt bodies would come back a little weaker. But in a war of attrition, reusable soldiers became an incredible boon.
That was even more true when the necromancers’ other variations of undead minions came to the fight. The hulking abominations were walking siege engines that would terrify even established forces, and the necromancers had a half dozen other varieites based on the intended purpose.
As small as it was, it was still an impressive force, especially when it was augmented by the living soldiers from Heaven’s Bastion. Many of those men and women were just as ridiculous as Nico Song – some even more so, given their propensity to cloak the system in their native mythology – but they could be effective in the right situations.
No – the besieging force was not the problem. The issue was leadership.
And more than once, Cornelius had considered simply removing the problem. So far, he hadn’t, but the time when he needed to make a decision was rapidly approaching. He only had a couple of potions left, which meant that he had less than two weeks before he would be forced to return home.
The other option was to slowly experience ethereal suffocation until someone got it in their head to take advantage of his weakness.
He knew which he’d choose.
He watched through the orb as a squad of abominations rammed the recently repaired wall. It shattered, and the undead flooded in. Nearly half a mile away, another squad had destroyed one of the city’s gates. And even further on, another assault was underway.
If Cornelius had been in charge, he would have circled around with the human army and attacked from the other side. Doing so would have split the defenders, making it much easier to take the city.
Nico Song was not smart enough to do that, and his underlings were too afraid of offending him to offer advice he might not like. It was a terrible system, and one that would eventually get the idiot killed. But even so, the undead were such a potent weapon that success was almost inevitable.
When he saw them swarming through the breaches in the walls, he couldn’t help but wonder if they were the true treasure of Earth. That death-attuned Primal Realm had created a perfect environment to nurture necromancers, and it wouldn’t take much of a push to put them on the path to becoming a truly dangerous force that could sweep across any unruly planet.
But that wasn’t his charge.
He’d been told to make an example of Ironshore, and that was precisely what he would do. When he was done, he would go home, collect his reward, and hopefully get back to a world that could support his progression. It had been too long since he’d gained any appreciable levels.
Even longer since he’d worked on his cultivation, which had stagnated at the second stage. An embarrassment and proof that he was no great talent. But he worked with what he had, advancing through sheer force of will and hard labor.
So it had been since the very beginning, and it would remain the case until his end. Hopefully, that was still centuries away.
Suddenly, he saw something flash by at the edge of his scout’s vision. Then, something else. Just a shadow, but enough to raise the alarm in his mind.
He shouted, “They’re coming!”
It was an expected turn of events, and his people immediately took up their positions. The camp was already reasonably defensible, but with even a few minutes of preparation, they could make it impregnable.
They never got those few minutes.
A giant fireball manifested above the encampment, looking like nothing so much as a miniature sun. But it didn’t fall. Instead, a thick-bodied serpent flowed out, curled around the fiery orb, then let out a soundless roar. The fireball winked out, leaving only the flame-wrought serpent behind.
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It dove.
The passive shield surrounding the camp could not hold up to the explosion that followed. It shattered, dissipating into motes of ethera and admitting a wave of billowing heat that scorched through their tents and other supplies. Mages raised personal shields just before the rolling fire swept over them, and Warriors erected skill-based barriers to protect themselves and their allies.
Despite those efforts, many people were burned.
Thankfully, Cornelius had brought enough Healers to deal with that. Even as the fire dissipated, the air was suffused with vitality from a dozen different men and women. Burns scabbed over, then flaked off, only to be replaced by new skin.
When the dust settled a few seconds later, only a few members of the force had died.
An acceptable loss after a surprise attack.
The fact that they would attack had always been inevitable, and choosing Cornelius’ people was probably the smartest course. After all, they were guarding the world’s teleportation network. If they wanted to escape – or clear the way for help – they would need to do something about that.
Only the timing was a surprise.
A short figure clad head-to-toe in silver armor and armed with a huge hammer burst free of the wood line. Her pace suggested a decent amount of strength – a suspicion confirmed when she hit the reforming shield. It shattered under an explosion of ethera that knocked her back a few feet.
The Blacksmith.
Cornelius had done his research, so he knew about the city’s elites. A Tradesman who fought wasn’t that rare, though it was uncommon to find one that could hold her own among people of her level.
A group of dogs hit the shield from the opposite direction, and they were followed by a wild-looking man armed with hatchets. That would mean that the fiery serpent had originated with the smallest member of that pack. Escobar. A tiny creature with an uncommon affinity for fire.
Cornelius could respect that. Any dwarf would.
Next came a wood-clad Warrior mounted on the back of a stag. Miguel. A protector of the Hartwood Grove. That he was there gave Cornelius pause. He half expected the Druid to show his face. If that happened, things would get very interesting.
The man wasn’t a demi-god, but he was close enough that he could hold out against someone like Cornelius. Maybe not indefinitely, but long enough to cause issues.
When Elijah Hart did not show up, he breathed a sigh of relief.
It was short-lived, because only a second later, the fighters converged on his camp. To an outsider, it might have looked like chaos. But to Cornelius, the battle was as organized as any melee could be. Everyone did their jobs, with the Warriors shielding their much more deadly companions. Spells flew in every direction, while the attackers bore down on the encampment.
He was willing to consider everything in hand until Miguel lanced in, moving faster than anyone of his level could move. He beheaded one of the Healers before he and his mount darted away on a beam of moonlight.
Cornelius sighed, stowed the crystal orb, and pulled one of his potions out. He downed it after a moment, then stepped forward, ready to put an end to the battle.
* * *
Carmen smashed her hammer into a Warrior’s ethereal shield. It shattered, but the barrier slowed the weapon enough that he managed to bat it aside. It slammed into the ground, kicking up a shockwave of dirt and grass.
A blade of wind clanged off her armor, not even leaving a mark as she bulled ahead, taking the dwarven Warrior with a shoulder tackle. Holding Runefall in one hand, she summoned her blacksmithing hammer with the other. The sudden appearance of the crafting implement clearly surprised the dwarf, because his eyes widened in shock.
Carmen brought it down with all the force she could muster.
It took him directly in the face, shattering bones and caving in his skull. When she yanked it free, it came away with a wet squelch. But then, a wave of vitality washed over the man, healing the wound before he could die.
Confused, he blinked.
Carmen hit him again, and this time, it stuck.
She didn’t have time to revel in her victory because only a moment later, something hit her in the side of the head. Her helmet dented, and her neck snapped to the side, the momentum sending her tumbling away. She didn’t stop for a few dozen feet, when she hit what was left of the palisade that had once surrounded the camp.
Idly, she smelled mud and ash from Escobar’s spell.
Shaking her head, Carmen pushed herself to all fours. Then, she sat up to see a scene of absolute chaos.
The dogs raced among the army, wreaking havoc in their ranks. Miguel fought one-on-one with an elven swordsman, and Oscar faced off against a trio of Warriors. All the while, ranged attackers leveled spells and arrows at her small squad.
A wave of vitality hit her, clearing her head.
She didn’t look at the source. Ron needed to stay hidden, lest he become a target.
Everywhere, his presence was felt. Miguel took a multitude of wounds, but Ron kept him alive. The same could be said of Oscar and the pack.
But to Carmen, it was obvious that they were going to lose.
They would have brought more people, but that was complicated by two issues. The first was that Ironshore simply couldn’t afford to lose any more defenders. They could scarcely manage to man the walls as it was. Second, it wouldn’t have done any good. No matter how many Legionnaires they brought along, they would’ve just been cannon fodder for the powerful offworlders.
Even Carmen shouldn’t have been there. The only reason she’d insisted on going was because she refused to let her son go without her.
But now, she was beginning to regret that decision. By all rights, she should have followed Anupriya’s advice and fled the city. Even if she’d had to drag Miguel by the ear to get him to go, at least he would be alive.
Now, that seemed like a fairy tale.
Carmen rose, Runefall in hand. She’d already used Meteor to shatter the shield, but it was still a powerful weapon. And besides, by now, it was an old friend.
She waded back into battle.
A dwarf stood before her. From the scouting reports, she knew who he was. Maybe not his name, but his position within the invading army. He was the leader. A demi-god.
He wore simple clothing. Just a leather jerkin and matching pants. On his feet were sturdy boots, and his hands were wrapped in what looked like copper wire. Until that moment, nobody had figured out what method he used to fight. But given that he wasn’t armed, it seemed clear now.
He was a pugilist.
He banged his copper-clad knuckles together and stepped forward.
“You really shouldn’t have come,” he said, lacking the accent Carmen usually associated with dwarves. “We don’t want any of you dead. Just the mayor.”
“You know this won’t end well,” Carmen said, slowly circling. She was a veteran fighter, so she could tell from the man’s aura that he was so far beyond her that she might as well be a child, for all the good her attacks would do.
His eyes flicked toward the ongoing battle. “Seems like it’s already going pretty well.”
“Elijah won’t stand for this.”
“The Druid is not here.”
“He’ll be back. And he won’t be happy.”
The dwarf shrugged. “And he’ll have a target for his rage. Meanwhile, we will be gone. He will never see any of us again.”
At that, Carmen laughed.
“Did I say something funny?”
“You really don’t understand him. He won’t stop with Hong Kong. He’ll come after you. Maybe not soon, but eventually. Then, he’ll come after the people who sent you. He’ll destroy your whole planet if he has to.”
“Perhaps. But by then, I’ll be long gone.”
Without another word, he threw himself at Carmen.
He moved so quickly that she never had a chance to react. She barely even saw his path before his fist hammered into her stomach. Her breastplate shattered, sending shards into her ribs. And she flew backward, tumbling across the ground for a hundred yards until she slammed into the Conclave compound’s outer wall.
And then, he was standing over her, entirely unbothered by what he’d just done.
Ethera swelled.
His hands glowed.
And he brought them down with utter finality.