Chapter 178: Ripper II
Matty did not think of himself as emotional. He strove to maintain a degree of calmness and rationality in the midst of strife. He had been a pilot in his previous life. His training and personality were suited to trauma-oriented situations. Even so, when Jules remarked, "Good Lord," he couldn’t help but purse his lips in silent agreement.
At first, as they flew over River Liffey and the areas west of the capital, the battle was what they expected. Two sides fighting each other in equal violence. They saw the greatest sorcerer of the land, Bróðir, fight his brother Ospak in what seemed to be a clash of a thousand soldiers, the Dublin forces having successfully cut off a decent portion of the Dal Cais.
But as Matty and Jules came closer to the capital, past Dugball Bridge, a fog of blood-red began to block their view. What was an ordinary war became something else. The stench rose up to the clouds and Matty grimaced, pulling Jules close to his chest to cover her. The flaps of his black vest whipped in the air, his dark attire tightened by the belt on his stomach holding a pouch of smoke screen. His brown tunic was underneath the vest and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The pair were high, high up—a thousand feet if his piloting experience served him well.
"Let’s go lower!" Jules exclaimed. "Lower!"
Matty frowned as their makeshift plane did as she said. Jules and Matty were perched atop the mighty Roc, their hands gripping the feathers of its majestic plumage as the massive bird soared through the sky. A thousand feet above the ground, the Roc went lower and lower, not quite diving but still building up immense speed.
The Roc itself was a sight to behold, a creature of mythic proportions and unrivaled majesty. Its wingspan, wide enough to bash away several humans at once, caught the wind with effortless grace. The physics were slightly out of the realm of possibility, so Matty tried not to think about it too much. It was Jules’ power and it was powerful. That was all that mattered.
The Roc landed with an audible crunch, its large feet unable to avoid flesh.
A thousand bodies. A thousand corpses. What should have been greenery was replaced by the blood of war. What should have been an even battle between the forces at Dublin City and Connacht was a slaughter.
"He’s alive!"
A player by the name of Cillian was lying amongst the bodies, the Templar helmet half broken, revealing terrified open eyes. He was trembling, his chest bleeding out, and Jules jumped right towards him. Matty wouldn’t have been able to stop her even if he tried.
"Summon: Ibong Adarna."