Chương 251: Chapter 324 - The Battle of Mayat Shadr - Arrival of the Titan

Elias had just hopped down from his spellcart when he heard the roar. He felt it pass through him like his entire body had just been slapped. The rest of the squad all turned in that direction. The driver turned in that direction. He was pretty sure people in Mercanton turned in that direction. The trenches west of the city had been cleared, and the defenders were in full retreat. The Sorcerer Elite were pushing into the defenders of the heretic prophet.

All around him were armored spellcarts, guns roaring out, and the battered infantry who'd made it through the gauntlet of death they'd passed through, had persevered as they drove and fought for two full days. As one by one, the anti-air artillery of the heretics fell silent, their airships circled ever closer. Despite the horrors, Elias had felt a surge of hope as they moved towards the city. The leyline weapon would be destroyed! Akana would be saved. Now, terror seized him. His mouth fell open.

It was like an entire hill had come alive, except no hill had jaws like that, and it sure as hell didn't have a mess of glowing red malevolent eyes. Nothing that big should have been able to move that fast, and yet all eight legs of it were galloping directly into the Akanan lines. Elias could feel the vibrations beneath his feet. The damn thing was a mountain of dark carapace, and from near its mouth, flailing tendrils were waving madly about. The spellcarts looked like children's toys before it.

While Elias stood there gaping, not everyone did. Dozens of armored spellcarts turned their guns towards the beast as infantry rifles fired en masse at the beast. Then it stepped to the side and vanished. Shouting soldiers fired in every direction, but they were hitting air. Then it appeared again, looking like it was emerging from the thin air—and then it hit the southern line of their forces. Its tendrils came down, snatching up and crushing spell carts before hurling them away.

Then it let out another roar, and dark beams shot in every direction. One of them passed over him, and he startled. It felt—strange. Like something had brushed his skin all over, except it wasn't his skin, it was some other sense. He raised his rifle—the beast seemed an impossible target to miss—pulled the trigger, and… He looked at the rifle. The glyphs were all dead. He looked at the spellcart. Most of the glyphs he could see were sparking, and the spell engine's conduit crystals had all gone dark.

"Gods' blood," he whispered. There was shouting, though he was too deafened by the gunfire to hear more than ringing in his ears. All he knew is that suddenly, he didn't have a weapon, and that thing was coming their way. It was plowing through the Akanan lines like a train through fresh Ferrabridge snow, and now it wasn't just picking up spellcarts. He watched in horror as it picked up people—and those people withered as it consumed them. It was an apocalypse beast. Had to be.

"Ominian save us," he said, and Elias turned and ran. All around him, the Akanan infantry broke with him, running as hard and fast as they could, though in the sand and ash he was having trouble getting traction. Elias kept looking back to see if it was gaining on him. It was. The myrvite beast was wading through the army like it was the shallows of a lake.

As soon as anyone trained a big enough gun on it, it would vanish, sometimes erupting from the ground, sometimes coming in from some direction that hurt his brain to think about. Fuck, he thought. Nothing that big should be able to move that fast. Then he saw a commotion to the southwest. There were what looked like a thousand soldiers, wearing tattered uniforms, running at them. Reinforcements? Are they crazy, running towards the apocalypse beast? Then another thought: Where did they come from?

Where are the spell carts that brought them here? And: Are those swords? They're wielding swords? Who in the five hells carries a sword into battle? There was a faint violet glow to their eyes. He realized where he'd seen them before: Urubandar. It was the necromancer's personal legion. The one who'd allied with the Dawn's Peace warlord, which technically made them allies. He thought, Aren't they supposed to be in Urubandar still? right as one of them used a sword to bisect an Akanan soldier.

That's when Elias pissed himself. He didn't even notice, because the thinking part of his brain was off—pure terror drove him. The infantry were scattering in every direction, and the ones heading that way were now blocked by an undead legion that was tearing them apart, sending limbs flying as blood splashed everywhere. The pounding of elephantine feet on sand continued as the apocalypse beast tore its way through the army.

Elias panted for breath as he ran north, weaving between craters, scrambling down then up a trench that was before him, moving around spellcarts. More black rays shot out in every direction. A spell cart flew by, ten meters to his left, before smashing into the ground with the screech of twisting steel. Then there was an explosion close enough that he felt sharp pain in his ears and a pressure wave at his back. Elias fell to the ground. When he looked up, he saw the dreadnoughts.

The sun was nearing the horizon, and the glint off the orichalcum hulls was blinding to look at. The apocalypse beast had paused. He got up to his knees. This time, his prayers weren't to the Ominian. Prophet Liuan, please, he thought, staring up at the airships. He just wanted to live.

Glyph alarms wailed across the Might of Liberty, an endless scream that was fraying what was left of Grand Marshal Emera Cearsia's nerves. Two teams of artificers were out on the port stabilizer wings working on emergency repairs, which was the most pressing fix, but looking at one of the charts on the bridge, every single repair team was deployed right now. Two skiffs were landed on the forward deck, while in four different places, fires rose from damage.

All across the ship there were cracked conduits and sparking glyphs, and the sacred artifact powering the primary engine was being pushed to its limit. They'd been suicidally aggressive, and the airships had paid for it; magnetic detonation rounds and storm shells had been bursting in the air around them for the past hours, and it was only by the Ominian's grace they hadn't received worse hits. Even these marvels of Akanan technology could be overwhelmed.

She overheard a communications officer saying, "Observation, please confirm with divination. No allied forces should be at that location. The nearest Dawn's Peace soldiers should be hundreds of miles away." A pause.

"What do you mean 'running at us?'" Then she was distracted by another officer bursting into the bridge.

"Sir, reports are—there's a massive myrvite. I… it's hard to describe. It—" That's when Cearsia heard the roar. She felt a prickling sensation at the edges of her aura. She burst from the bridge and leaned over the railing to see for herself. She could easily make out the source of the noise. It could only be the myrvite titan that spies had reported as moving into Alkazaria. But how was it here? Why was it here?

Her eyes widened as the beast disappeared for a moment, then reappeared closer to the army and began tearing it to pieces. Prophet Liuan levitated down beside her, unable to hide her fury. It was hard to hear over the glyph alarms and the constant roar of the guns, but she thought she heard her say, "How exactly did she…?" Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Hells," Cearsia said.

"I'm ordering the Seventh Division to withdraw from the assault on the city and reinforce."

"No," Liuan said, face masked in calm again.

"There's no time for that. Order the dreadnoughts to focus fire on the beast." Cearsia felt like burning needles were crawling through her. Her jaw clenched involuntarily. Then, with all her willpower, she forced the next words out of her mouth to be calm. Not quite respectful, but the closest thing she could manage.

"Sacred One, we're currently suppressing and eliminating heretic anti-air. Relieving the pressure will risk more damage to the airships. Furthermore, artillery at that proximity will kill more of our troops than that beast will. Artillery has a margin of error in the accuracy of thirty-eight meters, plus a lethal radius of—""What have I said about lectures?" Liuan snarled.

"We can't risk it disrupting the push of the Archmage Company. They have that bitch on the back foot—they're nearly to the device. Kill that myrvite titan. All three airships. Now." The Grand Marshal swallowed. That's when the communication officer she'd overheard came at them, waving a piece of paper and shouting.

"It's Atroxcidi's legion! It's hitting the flanks! Divination didn't pick it up because—""Fuck. Well, use the broadside guns on that, too." Cearsia reeled, and her face twitched. Steady as she could, she told the officer, "Relay that order. All airship guns are to cease fire on the western city defenses and focus on the Prophet's objectives. Align our holding pattern to that." Ominian forgive me, she thought. She'd done what the Prophet asked. Now she needed the Prophet to listen.

"That means Dawn's Peace has broken the alliance. It means our assets in Urubandar and north of the Setarab are already under attack. Our victory here is assured, is it not? Then I need to start organizing the rear divisions. Give me five skiffs with skeleton crews and twenty officers—""No. Our priority is here. If the leyline reg—weapon, is allowed to come online, it won't matter what happens to the army. Continue leading the offensive." She levitated away. The Grand Marshal ground her teeth.

That doesn't make any sense. We still have local superiority in numbers and spellpower here. What in the five hells is she thinking? If there's no Akanan army left, then her enemies will crush her after this. Even these airships need ammunition and supplies for the crew. With no logistics and the army groups routed, they wouldn't need the heretic weapon. Akana's future…

Her thoughts trailed off, and she looked towards the foredeck where Liuan was watching through a lens spell over the railing at the assault on the leyline weapon. Four Sorcerer Elite stood by, looking in every direction. The rest were down with the Archmage Company, throwing everything they had at the defenders. The spells from that battle were bright enough she could easily pick it out. Unless this works like the heretic's letter said. Unless it's not foresight, but a time loop.

She stood there, one hand clutching the railing. She glanced down, but only could see the open desert to the north as the airship swung back around in a lazy arc. The Republic's Justice was the one facing the titan, and she heard the voices of its guns. She tried not to think about how many of her own soldiers were dying right now. But what do I do? Liuan was an archmage, at least as powerful as Luspire, though she was keeping her capabilities hidden.

The Sorcerer Elite guarding the Prophet wouldn't listen to her, especially if her source was the enemy. She could start contradicting the Prophet's orders, but all that would do was get her sent to the brig—if she wasn't executed on the spot. The latter scenario seemed most likely. Her gaze turned to the battlefield below as the ship came into position. Below was the beast, a bubbling hole in its carapace already leaking ichor, and thousands of her soldiers nearby. Some were fighting bravely until the end.

Some were fleeing. Far too many of them were within the blast radius. She forced herself to watch. The beast roared, and the guns thundered their reply.

When the soul-amalgams belonging to the soul-stitched one joined the fray, Apophagorga let out a hiss of triumph. The souls here weren't as nourishing as the prey in the jungle, but they were so plentiful. It reveled in the feast, but there was desperation in their rampage too. Memories had been returning of the other paths in the fields of time. All that was left was desolation. The small powerful one had told the truth: there was only one potential path forward. One path to survival. Apophagorga would survive.

Of all their spawn only they had stayed alive. There were times to hibernate. Times to hunt in secrecy. Now was the time to feast and destroy. Souls poured into Apophagorga's maw as they lashed out with their feeding tendrils, stuffing corpses into their mouth, letting the soothing flows of energy in so it could be properly digested into mana. There was a problem, though: There was a lot of prey, and it had a nasty sting. But they had an advantage. The prey was bound in its movement.

Cripples that couldn't even perceive all the directions they should be able to travel in. Apophagorga dragged itself to the side using the claw-limbs that the prey couldn't even see, letting more of the projectiles slip by them. Then they emerged from that little cleft and let out another disruption beam, nullifying their ugly little toys and the nasty stingers on them. It used a lot of energy, but Apophagorga had been feasting well these past many-days. It had energy to spare.

And if it meant survival, they would do what they must. But there were so many. As they snatched up metal shape after metal shape, more just kept coming, some trying to ram it, others, lashing out with those nasty stingers. Then it saw the floating constructs. It was like the things the small powerful one had used, only far, far larger. And, Apophagorga could sense, they had stolen trinkets of the Ascended. They felt the static of mana building up.

The myrvite titan dove into the earth, finding the hidden crevasses that the prey animals couldn't see or crawl in. Pain erupted in their back as one of the stingers smashed into their carapace. Their ichor oozed out, working to close the wound and protect the injury. Those stings were the worst yet—worse even than the ones the small powerful one had used that had killed them in one of the paths. Apophagorga roared again, unleashing their outer aura in a shockwave.

Two nearby metal constructs deadened, while some of the prey using juvenile magic collapsed to the ground as their weaker auras were torn away. Pathetic. Weak. But so numerous. They swarmed about, too many to track, biting and stabbing with spells. Above, the sky constructs rained down more magical stings, and Apophagorga was running out of places to hide. The unseen crevasses were being collapsed as more explosions rained down.

The stings were powerful enough that even when there was a place to hide, they could feel shockwaves mushing up pieces of themself, fire scouring their carapace and boiling away some of the protective ichor, lightning creeping through their body. They raged, diving further into the swarming prey, snatching them up two at a time and crushing the ones underfoot that they didn't have time to eat. They needed those souls, not just to satiate their hunger, but to fuel the regeneration that was being overwhelmed.

There were few pieces of themself they couldn't afford to lose; their biology was far superior to the prey, which they had learned ceased functioning without specific tissue-groupings. But even such perfection could be overwhelmed. More stingers rained down, and Apophagorga placed a metal box above itself and consumed more soul energy to blast the metal box up with force energy. The box went flying—but not high enough. The sky constructs were too high. Their stingers, too numerous.

The titan looked to the soul-amalgams that had arrived to help. They were well crafted, far less frail than the swarming prey, but the sky-stingers could still smash them to pieces. From the thousand that had arrived, cutting through the prey with ease, ignoring the weaker juvenile spells, already half were missing. Black craters dotted the landscape. Apophagorga did not understand the large device the small powerful one had created, only that it was important to the Ascended. Their favored Ascended.

The one that had brushed their carapace just right. The one that hadn't cared that their nestmates had cast them out. The one that had loved them. The one that had… There was a smaller swarm of prey fighting towards the device, still juveniles, but their spells were strong. Strong enough they might destroy the device. The titan knew they needed to reach them, but it was still too deep in the prey-nest, and the stingers were relentless. More rained down from the sky, gouging deep holes in their carapace.

The titan lashed out with disruption beams, but at this distance, the spells missed or did little. Another stinger exploded on their back. Apophagorga reared up, roaring again, letting its wings flash out in its most intimidating threat display. Before it, prey fled and cowered! But the air constructs cared not. More stings came at them, searing needles, sending their precious ichor splattering about, cracking open more and more of their shell.

They unleashed their own spells at the tormenting constructs above, but they glistened with protective manametals, and the distance sapped their spells' potency as well. Again and again, the stingers came down, and all Apophagorga could do was burrow into the cracks of the unseen holes, churning their soul in such a way to stifle the stings. Pain. So much pain. They wished to tear the constructs from the sky, but it had failed. The special prey was too far.

The small powerful one's mate was being pushed back by dozens of the swarming prey, nearly to the device. Great barriers by the device flickered and hissed as spells bombarded them. Then, their perception caught a glimmer of two souls coming from the north. These were no juveniles. They used soul magic like a proper grown spawn. The first wielded a blade coated in soulfire as he sprinted towards the battle. The second was the soul-stitched, no doubt furious at the prey for breaking so many of its amalgams.

The titan watched as the first one leapt up, and his blade sliced through one of the attackers completely, cutting through shield and artificial metal carapace alike. The second one unleashed a black beam in the midst of the attackers. Apophagorga couldn't help. It was too far, and the thundering stingers above had forced it deep into hiding, and their wounds were extensive. But perhaps the hivemates of the small powerful one would be enough.