Chương 5: No difference between one mile and twenty

Rebecca Malven ripped her knife out of the Scale's throat, her body instinctively moving above the flailing counterblow. Uncanny Dodge helped her out of the way, a light pressing of her foot on the ground sending her five feet into the air. You have hit Alsos Dirmivin for 24 damage. You have inflicted status effect: Bleed 118. You have inflicted Maiden's Tears Poison. You have inflicted Harkol's Rot Poison. You have inflicted Affliction of the Bowels Poison.

You have inflicted- It was a low-damage roll, not that it mattered. The Scale dropped, gurgling helplessly as status conditions overwhelmed their body. She paid them no mind as she landed back on the ground, as soft as a Feather Fall. You have killed Alsos Dirmivin, Level 3 Peasent/Level 2 Grocer/Level 2 Soldier. You have gained 120… Shut up, She thought, minimizing her UI for now. More corpses dotted the landscape around her.

She paused, scanning around, eyes and ears bolstered by several talents trying to find any sign of a hiding Scale. None. The mana supply to her Invisibility was cut off, and she flickered back into existence. She must be getting closer to the rail bridge. She'd encountered larger and larger groups of Scales in the past half-hour. Fleeing units converged on their main route out of the swiftly forming bridgehead. None of them had noticed as she slaughtered them.

What few lasted beyond the first half-minute never had enough time to contact anyone else. Picking them off as she headed there herself had been a fleeting pastime. She didn't like it, but if enough died, then maybe this theater of the war would end. And there wasn't much else to do, just disrupt the retreating Scales as best she could and wait for any other order- Her UI flashed, and an unread message notification popped up. Well, speak of the devil. She reached up, finger pressing in on the inbox.

Rebecca, the Scales have a shield over the bridge-land connection. Lewis can't destroy the rail line till it's taken out. How soon can you get there? She frowned. Making it to the high ground would be required to answer that. But she had questions of her own. Message was a simple spell, thankfully. A shield? And not an anti-magic field? Are you sure? Both would have the same effect on Lewis' magic but very different effects on her stealth abilities.

She possessed many non-magic ways of hiding, but magic remained the most efficient way as long as she could feed them mana. Definite. We had artillery target it. Shells detonated a few hundred feet in the air. When can you get there? I'm not sure. I need to get to high ground. I can't be too far from it. Wait for one minute. She moved towards the highest ground she could find. Boots squelched into wet mud, and one stuck, sinking into the muck. She grabbed onto it and pulled it up.

Her measly strength score failed her. She considered using Morph to take flight. It would leave some of her clothes behind. And be a mana hog. And probably strain the ability to the limit she'd invested in it. Dignity and ability, or walking barefoot through a battlefield? Hopefully, there wouldn't be many metal fragments. As she walked away, the swamp claimed both Rebecca's boot and most of the surrounding corpses. Half up the hill, the clouds to her right began to open, scattering.

She shut her eyes a second before the entire world turned white. Damn it, Lewis. What was he thinking? Then again, what had Trevor been thinking, ordering him back into combat so quickly? She could only hope he would save enough mana to crater the bridge entrance. They needed a large enough hole smashed in there to prevent vehicles, trains, and anything but forces on foot from crossing. Travelers could bypass such mundane obstacles quickly enough. The large-scale forces of the Scales? Not so much.

They had airplanes and flying beasts to use, but deploying them was another story altogether. In response, the storm above rumbled, lightning forking down from the sky. The Scale mages must be running for the river's other side to leave it unopposed. That or they were dead. Either was believable, considering the number of half-Dragonoid forces dead in that fortress. She could hear the echoes of walking up ahead. Scales crested the hill cautiously, trying to sneak.

Whispers between them echoed in her ears as she removed the Morph points she'd invested into them. She didn't need it that high to hear them. They might as well have been screaming and walking with metal garbage can lids strapped to their feet. Low-levelers could be so pitiful with their efforts. It made Rebecca feel even worse, killing them. They could barely fight back. Rebecca drew a knife. Time to get to work. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

Markos wanted to die. His vision was nothing but big white blotches. Shrinking, more of the world coming into focus, but even shutting his eyes hadn't saved him from that sun blast. He looked at the world through a dozen pinprick-sized holes. The ground shifted underneath, the heat of the blast having baked the top part into a hardened crust. The rest underneath was still mud, though, as Markos' arm went through the crust into the wet earth. His leg sunk in through the crust, tripping him.

The soggy ground grasped at his boot as he pulled it back out. A surface-level baking. The conjured sunbeam, lacking real depth and focused so tightly, its heat had just touched the surface. Underneath, mud still pooled. No more rain pounded down from above for now. The beam of light had chased away the clouds, and from the slowly closing hole in the storm bank, Markos saw the stars in the sky.

"Private! Still alive?" A familiar voice yelled out. The voice belonged to the Captain, a good fifty feet down the hill. Hervosare was there, still clinging to the door, although she wasn't moving. She looked…dead. He checked his UI quickly. You are at 25/120 HP. Your right arm is at 35/40 HP. Your Left Leg is at 12/45 HP…

"According to my HP bar, I am. I won't lie; I don't feel it's telling the truth. How's Hervosare?"

"She's still breathing. Faint, same for her pulse. Is there anything left up there?"

"Haven't taken a look yet, sir. I don't really want to, to be perfectly honest. Can't imagine it's a comforting sight up there." The Captain looked up at where the rising side of the hill curved out of sight.

"Can't say I disagree. But no use trying the door with only two of us here. I'll keep the wounded company. You go see if there are any nearby survivors, maybe something that will be easier to transport her on." Markos frowned, was about to say no but then closed his mouth. Would there be anything to gain by disobeying an officer over this? What was he afraid of? Would the Traveler spend even more mana blasting a hill he already had roasted?

He turned away without another word, beginning the march towards the top of the train station. Arguably, he could attempt to find survivors anywhere else. It's more likely that way. But the highest point would be the best place to get a good look, which meant back up the hill towards the train station anyway. His feet dug into the earth, crumbling remnants of the outer layer tumbling downhill. Less give on the wet, slick mud underneath meant barely any give as he struggled step by step up.

A body lay ahead, two legs sticking out over the hill's edge. Charred sticks, blackened remnants of flesh sticking out, heat-scoured bones underneath. Only forty feet from where he had been. How that had scorched this poor soldier, and he was only lightly toasted, was a question he couldn't answer.

"You alive up there?" He asked. The lack of response as he continued to climb only reinforced how dumb it had been to ask. I hope it was quick. Only ten feet to the lip now. Markos could smell the charred meat and the urge it gave his stomach. Five weeks of terrible rations were his only excuse. The lip of the hill now. A couple more steps through the dry earth, bits of it collapsing downwards under his tread. That and the mud forced him to scramble until he finally crested the hill.

What lay on top of the hill was simple. There was nothing. A level glass field greeted him on top of that hill, nothing else. The other side of the corpse was nothing, just a clean cut where the glass began, charred black where it touched. No burnt-out remains of a train station, no scorched remnants of the train and its cars, no scoured skeletons. No ash even. Nothing but a circular field of translucent glass extending across the hill. He lightly stepped onto the glass field, and immediately, his foot sank.

Glass cracked and shattered as his leg went in. He pulled back, stumbling, almost yelling from the pain as shards sliced through his pants leg at scales and flesh beneath. Cracks spread around the hole he made, but no more glass caved in. He tried to peer over without stepping near the circle. Utter darkness greeted him from the spot in the glass. How was that even possible? How had it hollowed out the earth underneath with the power of the sun?

A moan broke his contemplation, cutting through his thoughts On the side of the hill, what he had thought was the sunscarred surface moved. Another soldier, so burned they merged with the blistered surface of the hill. He hurried over, trying not to fall down the hill as he ran. Cracked, drying skin broke as the other soldier tried to move, moaning in pain. His, her, he couldn't tell which anymore, and their scales were wholly gone. Either they'd been seared off or were part of the dried skin.

Markos got on his knees. He didn't even know where to start. Even if he was a doctor, he probably couldn't help. The light of the sun had scoured the other soldier thoroughly. Already bits and pieces of skin had fallen in, revealing something moving underneath as the moaning rose. Markos hesitantly touched the other soldier. Skin crumbled under his grip as whiffs of steam emerged. The moaning rose, a ragged scream from a scoured throat as blood poured out. It boiled, turning into steam in front of his eyes.

Something moved inside the husk of blackened skin. He reached for his weapon. The other soldier had turned over. Eyes, withered, tiny, stared at him. They were so small they might as well be pinpricks. A heartbeat passed. He raised the rifle, finger on the trigger. The other soldier tried to move, more skin breaking, revealing blackened flesh underneath. Another heartbeat. A choked, muttering gasp rose from the soldier as they tried to move, their skin cracking and breaking as they did.

Unintelligible with their injuries, they went still, eyes focused on his. When Markos returned, the Captain was still trying to move Hervosare. A few other soldiers were now within sight, working towards them. He couldn't see any sign of Velas.

"Wait for a train, perhaps?" A corporal, artillery corps from their shoulder patch, green scale pattern disrupted by a still-bleeding gash carved into the side of their face, blood slowly coloring a bandage.

"As far as I understand, with the entire station destroyed and the command realizing they are no longer in contact with the station, all trains will have been ordered to stop and go to other stations. That or just go across the bridge. Either way, no, I don't expect a train." No one could speak against that logic. Still, faces fell at the prospect of what that meant.

"We'll have to attempt a march along the tracks. It's the fastest route we can take," The Captain reached for the front of the door, and Markos joined him. More reluctant hands went to the sides. No one had any illusions about trying to make it on foot. Markos figured the only reason no one suggested leaving Hervosare was that they were doomed with or without hauling the door. Hands lifted, and the march began. One mile or twenty, they were doomed.