by James Hunter
I had a buttload of Divine Essence Points, and that maneuver only took nine. Nine. I whirled with a manic grin on my face and hit a nearby naga with another lightning blast. His hands and arms burst, and his bow and arrows disintegrated to ash. Again, the electricity arced to a horde of nearby spider pigs. The scent of grilled pork hit my nose in a wave.
I chopped down another werewolf and used Lightning Lance three more times in rapid-fire succession, the godstone burning like the sun. Twice, I got lucky and it scorched the monsters around me—ash drifting through the air as bodies fell.
For a brief moment, I was free from fighting. I’d hacked or blasted a fifty-foot circle around me, though my back-to-back barrage of Lightning Lances had left me breathing hard, even though I’d only used a measly forty-five Essence Points. I had a ton more, which was so different from my early days on the island. Back then, I’d only had ten Essence Points to begin with.
“War God!” Antiope called from the battlements. “Above you!”
The evil air force swooped down and hit me like a battering ram of wings and beaks and claws. Harpies on the left, Stymphalian birds on the right. Bronze feathers slammed into my shield, rattling my arm with the force of their impact.
A harpy came at me talons first, and I lopped off one of her wings for the trouble. She dropped like a box of rocks, but she still had some fight left in her. She lashed out with her feet, claws slashing through my calf, nearly down to the bone, carving out a huge chunk of my HP in the process. Fury had finally worn off, and I was feeling the effects of its absence. Still, this was no time to lose focus. I drove my sword down, straight through her heart before a stork-like Stymphalian slammed into my side, its filthy muck-covered feet scratching at my helm. Other bronze birds joined it …
First one, then another, then another still.
The remaining harpies piled on next, the press of their bodies driving me to the ground. In a handful of heartbeats, I was covered in nasty black-feathered beasts and vicious bronze-feathered birds until I hit them with another Lightning Lance. The Stymphalian were especially vulnerable to electrical attacks. Blue-crackling lightning leapt from bird to bird to bird, roasting them and the harpies in a chain of screaming annihilation. I was in a sea of electricity and frying birds, but only for a moment, until all the monsters were obliterated.
A plume of thick smoke drifted up.
With a heave, I shoved the smoldering corpses off me and struggled back to my feet, feeling weary from the battle and weak from blood loss. Bloody gashes littered my body and my HP was down by half. I heaved and doubled over for a beat, resting a hand on my knee as I struggled to catch my breath. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
But before I could fully recover, the ground quivered beneath me as the final wave of enemies charged in for the attack.
Sea centaurs. Huge horse-legged animals with the chests of men, but the heads or arms of sea animals. Holy crap, there were a lot of the horse critters. At least a hundred of them. The dust of their hooves swirled into the air, obscuring the sun further as their pungent animal stench assaulted me like a sucker punch.
The centaur vanguard all had octopi for heads, and instead of arms, they had long tentacles dotted with pink suction cups. Behind them were lobster centaurs with relatively human faces—assuming you didn’t pay too much attention to the black dots for eyes and long antennae sprouting out from the scarlet flesh of their hairless heads. Their arms were massive and capped by saw-toothed pinchers. Shark-headed archers cantered behind, flanked by melee warriors on either side.
And something bigger, stranger was near the back …
I had one new ability I could use—the Lycanthrope Polymorph ability which came courtesy of the War Blade in my hand.
I was loath to use it, however, since unlike my other miraculous abilities it wasn’t tied to my Essence and could only be used twice per day. But it looked like I wasn’t going to have much choice, not at this point. Not if I wanted to survive another five minutes.
I clenched the War Blade tighter, readying myself to unleash the beast within …
But then the long brassy blare of a war horn stayed my hand as the cavalry showed up right when I needed them most.
Damn, but I loved my Amazons.
TWO
Counter Attack
Antiope was the first to join me. She scampered down the wall and sprinted to my side. She was a short, thick Battle Warden with a faux-hawk that ended in a ponytail. She wore a breastplate, greaves, and bracers and carried twin katanas in her scar-covered hands; the blades glimmered gold in the hazy sunlight. Her dark eyes flashed, and a smile curved her lips. “Gods, I am glad to be off that wretched stone and on solid ground.”
I nodded my understanding.
In our climactic fight against the bat-winged Praxidike and her armies, Antiope had given her life to take out a cyclops with one of the sidewinder missiles from my Harrier. She’d died defending a tower not so different from the gatehouse above, so her apprehension was well-earned. Still, she’d saved a lot of lives doing so, and because of her heroic sacrifice, she’d been the first Amazon I’d resurrected after the dust of that battle settled. Bringing Amazons back from the dead still felt strange beyond belief, but so long as I thought about it as a game respawn, I could wrap my mind around it.
Reanimated Amazons had to start over completely, at level one, and their memories were muddy from their time before. However, I’d restored Antiope’s Burst Speed ability and kept her fighting, so she’d racked up experience points. She was already back to level five and kicking some serious monster ass.
A moment later, we heard the snarl of a monstrous grizzly bear—more reinforcements arriving. The thunderous growls echoed across the field of battle, drowning out even the pounding hooves of the incoming sea centaurs.
Asteria swooped down in the form of a giant blue-feathered eagle; she was large enough to carry my Beastiamancer Euryleia and her golden grizzly, Buttercup. Euryleia was a dark-haired, dark-skinned woman dressed in supple leathers and armed with a long, broad-headed spear. She could’ve easily been a Bollywood movie star. Asteria’s wings pumped—great gusts of wind flattening out the grass—as she gently touched down, setting Buttercup on the ground. The colossal bear and her rider didn’t miss a beat, changing straight into battle.
They hit a trio of centaurs head-on, scattering them like bowling pins.
Behind us, the gates creaked open, and Myrina bolted out with a unit of Battle Wardens following hard on her heels. Behind the Wardens came the support element. A pair of Beastiamancers riding ginormous bulls and my crew of Elementalists: Aella the Aéras Mágissa (Air-Witch), Otrere the Neró Mágissa (Water-Witch), Calla the Flóga Mágissa (Flame-Witch), and Sabra, one of my Dasikí Mágissa (Forest-Witches). We had a few more Elementalists manning the other gates—including a pair of Gi Mágissa (Earth-Witches)—but these four were the spellcasting A-Team.
My Rune-Casters didn’t join us, instead manning the gatehouse and the wall-mounted siege equipment in case we had to fall back to the city. I glanced over one shoulder and caught sight of my Rune-Caster general, Phoebe, standing watch over the other Rune-Casters. She was a willowy woman with brunette hair, gray-green eyes, and a definite girl-next-door vibe.
“Nice of you to join us,” I called up, my heart beating a hair faster.
She grinned down, her teeth white, straight, and dazzling. Asteria squided out and mauled the invasion force. Took out two platoons before they even knew what hit ’em, she sent back through the mental link. And the attack against the Northern Gate was particularly pitiful, I hear. So, we thought we’d come give you a helping hand. But enough talk, broski, let’s put these shit-suckers down! Her smile widened as she pulled free a massive crossbow covered in gears, cogs, and steam ports.
She raised it to her shoulder and pulled the trigger, laying down a blanket of suppressive arrow fire. I’m motherfucking Rambo! she screamed inside my head as centaurs fell.
I shot her a
finger gun and turned back to the battle, only to find Myrina at my side. Her blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail. Fierce blue eyes peered out of a face Aphrodite might’ve been jealous of. Her olive-colored skin was smooth and perfect.
Myrina had been crafted to be both beautiful and deadly. And overprotective of me. “War God! Again, I find you putting yourself in danger. When will you ever learn?”
“Playing it safe is way overrated,” I replied with a shrug. “Now let’s see who can rack up a higher body count!” I charged forward with a whoop, Antiope and Euryleia on my left, Myrina on my right. I swept aside a shark centaur’s lance and cut through one of his front legs before chopping off a rear leg in a single strike. The creature went down with a groaning squeal. The beast flopped and thrashed on the ground, shark head snapping at me until Buttercup stepped on its skull with a clawed paw the size of a sewer lid. Bone crutched like Cheetos underfoot.
Euryleia drove her spear into the chest of an approaching octopus centaur, then slashed off a lobster centaur’s claw with a short sword and followed up the attack by splitting a third centaur’s crustacean skull right down the middle. Fatality.
Harpies dropped from the sky, screaming and gnashing their teeth. But Asteria, in her monstrous eagle form, was on them like stink on shit. She shredded skin, tore out huge chunks of meat with her hooked beak, and ripped harpies in half with her claws. She was damn near a force of nature.
Toxaris—riding her Pegasus named Flutterhoney—swooped in behind the Beastiamancer general, firing a barrage of arrows into the creatures congregating below.
A pair of Stymphalian swerved toward Toxaris, unleashing a rain of bronze feathers, but she was ready. The mounted Beastiamancer dug her heels into Flutterhoney’s side and jerked back on the reins. The Pegasus banked hard right, flipping into a blazing fast barrel roll, avoiding the projectiles by inches. As her mount righted itself, Toxaris came up firing, dealing out a fresh wave of death with her bow.
We were making up ground, pushing back the onslaught, but I knew my troops could use a little extra boost. I accessed my combat interface and triggered my Burning Aura spell with a thought. The godstone blazed beneath my skin as my Essence dipped by fifteen points. A comforting warmth filled my body, radiating outward as a translucent golden sheen covered my skin and wrapped around my War Blade. The aura felt as light as air and didn’t restrict my movement in the least, though the gentle comforting heat remained.
The light spread, enveloping Euryleia, Buttercup, Antiope, and Myrina in the same golden gleam. When Antiope struck next with a katana, the blade slid through an octopus tentacle like a hot knife through a pad of butter. Euryleia’s own sword was as bright as star fire when she brought it down on the back of another centaur. And Buttercup’s claws? They were the best of all, gleaming like bottled sunshine as they shredded the horse monsters around us.
Thanks to Burning Aura, each attack was augmented with magical flame dishing out an additional seventy-five points of damage.
A squad of lobster-headed freaks charged from the right, trying to flank us, but they were in for a nasty surprise. A cyclone of cutting wind swept through their ranks, carving a path for our reinforcements.
In front of us, a tangle of vines erupted from the ground and hardened into a wall of greenery—thanks to Sabra, my Forest-Witch—giving us additional cover from the Stymphalian above.
More centaurs raced around the barrier and headed for Myrina, but ran headfirst into a firestorm instead, tongues of orange and yellow scorching flesh and skin. Calla’s handiwork at its finest. The shrieking centaurs slumped to the ground, charred into calamari steaks.
Myrina, armed with spear and shield, raced to meet the centaurs that had survived the flame blast. No arrow touched her. Every sword stroke and spear thrust she caught on her shield, turning them aside with contemptuous ease. Meanwhile, her slashing spear found hearts, heads, and vulnerable skin as she danced and twirled through Hade’s forces like a death wind. She leapt onto the back of a hammerhead centaur, speared it through the chest, then sprang into the air like an acrobat, hurling her weapon into the brain of an oncoming enemy.
She was amazing, and though I had my own shit to handle, I could watch her fight all day long. She was the Mad Max: Fury Road version of a ballerina.
On my left, one of my bull riders cannonballed into a centaur and skewered it with horns as big as elephant tusks. Another bull rider hurled a flurry of javelins, her aim uncanny. Horse-bodied creatures toppled as gold-fire javelins took them through throats and faces and chests. My Water-Witch, Otrere, slipped through the Amazonian ranks, healing the Battle Wardens who’d taken damage. Her voice filled my head a second later—we were all connected through the messaging system.
War God! You are hurt. Come to me, and I’ll heal you!
That was the one bad part about this gig—I had divine powers and could do just about anything, including healing my warriors. But I couldn’t heal myself. Not yet, Otrere, I sent. I’m fine. And we’re in the home stretch. Focus on the others.
“Incoming, War God,” Myrina bellowed, her voice a whip crack carrying over the din of battle.
I turned and faltered.
Barreling in from the rear was a bizarre, gargantuan monstrosity: part wooly mammoth, part human, part squid. Like the other centaurs, this creature had the lower body of an animal—in this case a fucking mammoth—and jutting up from the “waist” was the oversized body of a humanoid giant. And the freak had a goddamned octopus for a head, complete with writhing tentacles trailing down from his chin like Davy Jones from all of those Pirates of the Caribbean flicks. It carried a spiked tree trunk in its human hands and wielded deadly spears in its writhing face tentacles.
It opened its puckered mouth hole and offered a roar that I felt all the way in my molars.
Well shit. That was a new one. It looked like it belonged between the pages of a Lovecraft story.
You’re hurt, Jacob, Myrina messaged me. Retreat for the walls and let me destroy this newest threat.
You wish, Myrina. I’m not going to let you take all the glory. I broke into a run, a feral grin stretching across my face. This sucker’s mine.
Now that sounds like what a good god of war would say, she shot back as she swerved toward me, legs pumping even faster, picking up her pace to match mine. You’ve come a long way since our first battle with the arachnaswine.
That was certainly true enough.
During one of my dustsup as the newly minted war god, Asteria had needed to step in and save me—and that had been against a couple of nagas. Needless to say, Myrina hadn’t been pleased. There was nothing that disgusted her more than weakness; in her eyes, it was the gravest sin. Especially in a leader. But now? Now I could take a small army by myself. At least so long as it was these cannon fodder troops. An army of Woolly Mammoth Nightmares, on the other hand?
Nope. Not just yet.
You take him from the back, I messaged. I’ll hit it from the front.
Throw me! the Battle Warden suggested, shooting me a sidelong look and a fierce smile.
I grinned in return and nodded. I put on a final burst of speed, streaking past her before stopping abruptly. I pivoted, cupped my hands, and dropped to a knee. She sank a foot into my palms and pushed, her shapely legs flexing as I lurched up, hurling her high into the air. I spun and watched her sail up and over the mammoth boss, flipping head over heels in a graceful arc.
I bent and scooped a fallen javelin from the dirt and sent it sailing into the chest of the great beast, drawing its attention. The monster fixed its gaze firmly on me and didn’t even seem to notice when my general landed on its massive back as light as a kitten. At least not until her blade lashed out, stabbing through the coarse hair and into the muscle below.
The mammoth roared in defiance and anger, but still focused on me as though I were the one who’d just shanked it in the spine. It lurched forward, swinging its spiked weapon like an oversized golf club. I dove right, narrowly a
voiding the tree trunk of iron, which slammed into the ground with bone-rattling force, dirt and debris spraying up in a geyser. I rolled back to my feet and shot in high, chopping into one of its massive arms at the elbow. Almost got my blade through the joint, but then it hit dense bone and was unceremoniously pulled from my hands.
The handle protruded from the creature’s meaty arm like a metal splinter.
A tentacle holding a spear stabbed down at me, and I took the blow on my shield. Quick as a snake strike, I grabbed the spear out of the thing’s coil and promptly drove it into a vulnerable kneecap. Not a killing blow, but maybe a crippling one. As I continued to provide the distraction, Myrina went to town, hooking and jabbing with the best of ’em. With a thunderous war cry, she leapt up, spear clutched in both hands, tip pointed down. As she landed, she drove her weapon into the base of the creature’s skull, forcing it in deep with raw strength and momentum.
Unfortunately, this freak was tougher than a salty master sergeant with twenty years under his belt.
One of its tentacles snaked out and plucked her from its back, before another shot out, wrapping around my chest like a python. In a blink we were both airborne, held aloft by the ropy limbs, legs dangling. I grabbed the spongy flesh encircling me and ripped it apart with my bare hands. The gemstone in my chest liked that little maneuver and flared brightly in silent approval.
The frayed tentacle loosened and I somersaulted to the ground, landing on my feet. But Myrina was still trapped, her hands clawing at the rubbery appendage while her HP tumbled toward zero—the creature was quickly squeezing her into meat paste.
But once again, the cavalry was on point: A flickering purple flare erupted in the air, five feet above the creature. The potent stink of rotten eggs followed, punching me squarely in the nose as my blonde Teleporters, Vara and Sophia—who both could’ve passed for Swedish volleyball players—popped into view. And they weren’t alone. Vara carried Calla, my Fire-Witch, and Sophia clutched Loxo beneath her armpits!
