by James Hunter
We knew from recon intel that the inner capital was where the majority of the Darklings lived. It was also home to Thanatos’ stronghold, the Empirical Library. That’s where the Overmind of Death and Destruction would be waiting—the final Boss in a battle for the entire world. Getting into Skálaholt wasn’t going to be a walk in the park, though. There was no way to disable the Arcane Spell generator from the outside, and even if we could get inside the dome, we’d have every Darkling in a ten-mile radius to deal with.
One nightmare piled on top of another.
“Well, I guess that answers that,” Osmark said, sounding rather smug. He carefully stowed his pocket watch and offered me an uneven smile. “Now, let’s just hope we can pull this thing off and be the heroes everyone thinks we already are.” A series of horns blared, and drums pounded furiously as the first wave of Imperial forces lurched toward the door turned interdimensional portal. “Good luck with the other doors, Jack.” He extended me a gloved hand, which I took. “I’ll see you on the other side.” He hesitated for a moment, something Osmark rarely did. “And I swear, we will talk soon—just make sure you survive long enough to hear what I have to tell you.”
<<<>>>
Quest Update: The Road to War
Congratulations! Not only have you swayed the War Council to your cause, you have officially launched an assault against Morsheim—let’s just hope it’s not too late! As a reward, you have received 20,000 XP, +100 Renown, and the Guidance of Sophia! Although Sophia will not be able to accompany you or physically manifest in Morsheim, she will aid you and your allies by dispatching strategic quests, guiding your hand toward victory and hopefully tipping the balance of the war effort in your favor! Luck favor you, Jack.
<<<>>>
I dismissed the quest notice as Osmark turned, short cape flaring out behind him, and strode into the breach as though he were going for a stroll in the park, not invading the foreign realm of a literal god.
I just hoped to have his calm when the time came for me to lead my own troops from the vast plains of Rowanheath. But, as Osmark had said, only one way to know for sure. It was high time to get moving and open the last two doors to the Dark Realm. It was time to bring the fight to Thanatos.
No Turning Back
DEVIL AND I CRUISED high above the desolate landscape, which stretched out below us like a dirty white blanket. If I pressed my eyes shut tight, I could almost pretend we were flying near the frosty peaks surrounding Rowanheath—just me and him, out for a ride in the crisp morning air as the rising sun warmed my skin. I could almost imagine touching down on the Keep’s sprawling balcony, waking Abby with a kiss, then settling in for a long day of tedious administrative reports.
Unfortunately, the roar of the army below shattered that fantasy to pieces.
We weren’t in Eldgard, soaring through the oh-so-familiar skies I’d come to love over the last few months. No, Devil and I cut through the hazy gray and green light of a Morsheim dawn.
After unleashing Osmark’s forces on the Dark Realm, I’d hopped a portal to Cliffburgh and opened the second doorway for Captain Raginolf and Otto—ready to launch their own assault with a twenty-thousand-man contingent of Dwarven heavy infantry, rebel Soulbound, and the ferocious members of the Vastatores Vitae. The infamous double-V. Raginolf and Otto would attack from the east, roughly seventy miles from my position, hoping to capture the Vog city of Einnheimr. Osmark, invading far to the north, would strike at the Vog stronghold of Oxrus, which would act as an invaluable foothold during the siege to come.
Which just left me and the rest of the Alliance, striking from the east.
Far below, thirty thousand armed and armored warriors tore across the blighted, snow-packed ground and toward a sprawling Vogthar town of cut marble, polished glass, and cruel black obsidian. The buildings were all vaguely Greek inspired, though everything was twisted: the angles subtly wrong, the buildings covered in jagged script that bled fallout-green corpselight into the air like an unnatural aurora borealis.
Idruz. The third and final city we needed to capture and home to just shy of fifteen thousand enemy Vogthar.
Like both Einnheimr and Oxrus, Idruz was a Vog-occupied city within striking distance of the Necropolis. Taking down Thanatos’ stronghold would be a war of brutal attrition and slow grinding—the work of weeks if we were lucky and months if we weren’t. Camping out in the cold and snow for that long just wouldn’t be feasible. Thanatos would hit us at every opportunity, whittling down our defenses and supply lines until we had no option save retreat. But maybe not if we had a city of our own, this side of the portal. Enter Idruz. This little slice of frozen paradise would act as the Alliance’s main base of operations while we ever so slowly pulverized Thanatos’ capital into icy dust.
Taking Idruz was mission critical to our long-term success, but I had a feeling it was going to prove to be a significant challenge in its own right. Especially since Sophia had sent over a rather ominous Quest Alert shortly after I opened the last of the three doorways in Eldgard and ushered the remainder of our forces into Morsheim:
<<<>>>
Quest Alert: The Path to Victory Part 1
As the Champion of Order, you have launched an invasion against Thanatos and the forces of darkness. Now all that’s left to do is win! If you and your faction forces have any chance at taking the Necropolis, you must first capture Idruz and secure the city before Thanatos can muster a proper counterstrike from his capital. Taking the city at all will be a tricky endeavor, and doing so fast even more so. Secure the main gatehouse at all costs—that is the key to victory—but be warned, there may be trouble lurking in the shadows. Thanatos has dispatched a deadly creature to keep the gatehouse from falling...
Quest Class: Rare, Champion-Based
Quest Difficulty: Infernal
Success 1: Take the gatehouse and capture Idruz before Thanatos can muster a counterstrike from his capital.
Success 2: ???????
Success 3: ???????
Success 4: ???????
Success 5: ???????
Success 6: ???????
Failure: Fail to complete any of the objectives.
Reward: ???????
<<<>>>
I read the missive over for the hundredth time. Take the gatehouse, take the city. Simple enough on the surface of things, though I doubted it would actually be that simple in execution. Things with Sophia rarely were.
“You ready to do this, Jack?” Abby called over the Officer Chat. She rode Valkyrie fifty feet to my right, the Hoardling Drake leaving a trail of golden sparks and orange flames in its wake.
“Not even a little,” I shouted back, though I knew my voice would never reach her if not for the chat feature. Not with the frigid wind screaming around us as we flew. “But when has that ever stopped us before, huh?” I pulled back on my reins and nudged Devil with my knees, urging him higher. The Drake climbed and circled, banking hard so I could more easily survey the battlefield. So many men and women, so many lives balanced on the edge of chaos. Down on the ground, it probably just looked like one huge jumble of bodies—all madness and fear—but from my vantage, it was like watching synchronized swimmers in action.
Battalions, platoons, and squadrons all moved in perfect harmony.
A clockwork machine that would’ve done Osmark proud.
Honestly, I couldn’t take much credit for any of that. People much smarter and more accomplished than me had come up with this plan—I’d just studied that plan until I could run through it half dead and with my eyes close.
I patched in my other officers: Cutter and Amara on channel two. Vlad and Li Xiu, leading our mobile Siege Unit, on channel three. General Caldwell with the aerial fliers on four. Chief Kolle with the mounted cavalry on five. And Sir Berrick and the Legion forces on six. “This is Grim Jack. Things are looking good topside, and everyone looks to be in position. Bring the thunder on my mark.” I raised my hand and fired off a quick succession of Umbra Bolts, leaving viol
et slashes across the sky like falling stars in reverse.
The world erupted in thunderous noise as each of the various commanders rattled off orders and thirty thousand warriors responded as one.
The Artillery Brigade unleashed our opening salvo:
Portable Arcane Shadow Cannons on wrought iron wheels vomited globs of burning purple fire at the glassy black wall of ice encasing Idruz in a frozen ring—a miniature version of what we would face at the Necropolis. Idruz’s outer walls boasted a number of different defensive siege weapons, including bulky ballistae manned by stoic-faced Vogthar Weaponeers. Elite Vogthar archers, [Haryk Marksmen], flooded the ramparts, readying arrows and crossbow bolts, while a torrent of heavily armored Eloyte Knights with deadly hooked halberds prepared to repel anyone trying to scale the wall.
The Shadow Cannoneers homed in on those defenders, focusing primarily on the town’s siege weapons.
Vogthar shamans responded at once, chanting with upraised hands, conjuring shimmering green domes of light to protect their equipment from the sudden onslaught. But that was fine. If the enemy ballistae were shielded, we couldn’t destroy them outright, but they wouldn’t be able to fire them either, which eliminated them from the fight just as effectively.
At the rear of our formation, the less mobile mangonels and catapults kicked into action, lobbing a variety of projectiles clean over the high walls and into the city proper. The enormous siege weapons hurled everything from one-ton boulders, conjured by high-level Stonewalls, to tire-sized balls of goopy pitch, set to burn with unnatural Firebrand flames. We even had oversized alchemic grenades, each the size of a bowling ball, that could unleash all manner of nasty AoE spells.
Elsewhere, our own fleet of mobile ballistae had finally moved into range, unleashing a payload of specially crafted Javelin missiles, designed by our own Alchemic Weaponeer, Vlad. The Shadow Cannoneers were supposed to pin down the wall’s defenders, but the Alliance ballistae were aimed at the walls themselves, their missiles designed to punch through the stone and ice, opening fissures our men could scramble through. A trio of the javelins hit with earth-shaking force, a thunderclap splitting the air as a wave of terrible heat billowed up and out, enveloping anything unlucky enough to be within fifty feet of the impact point.
Surprisingly, the thick, supernaturally spelled walls were still intact when the smoke cleared, but there were fine cracks spreading along the surface of the black ice. It wouldn’t be long until we punched a way in through brute force.
The main gates creaked open by a few feet and the first wave of horn-headed Vogthar defenders rushed out. But they were unorganized and drastically underprepared for what we had waiting for them. Our Combat Engineers, mostly Dwarves from Stone Reach, had used the siege weapon onslaught as cover. They’d already staked out mobile palisades—moveable walls of sharpened pikes—which effortlessly funneled the Vogthar first responders into a killing corridor with a wall of Legion infantry waiting at the far end. With nowhere left to go, and no ability to retreat—thanks to all the onrushing troops, still pouring out from the gates—the Vogthar found themselves up against an implacable shield wall, punctuated by stabbing pikes and cutting blades.
To make matters worse for the Vog, a company of Murk Elf archers waited behind the mobile palisades, peppering their flanks through special arrow slits carved into the walls.
Sending out defenders was a terrible idea, and the Vogthar quickly seemed to realize it. The front gate swung shut, staunching the flow of new troops, but simultaneously stranding Vogthar defenders on our side of the wall. Abandoning them to die, though saving the town for at least a little longer. Once we took the gatehouse, though, it would be game, set, match. And that wasn’t far off since Cutter and the crew of the Hellreaver were already moving into position.
A double X of fiery light blazed above the battlefield, horns sounding in time below. Long-range archers, grouped into neat formations regardless of class or faction, drew and fired. A tsunami of arrows arched up and over our forces, raining down on the defenders on top of the wall—killing many outright, the rest bolting for cover from the deadly barrage. Suppressive cover fire. Our mounted spider riders, each player permanently bound to one of Lowyth’s terrifying children, exploited the momentary opening. Furry legs and bloated bodies scuttled across the barren plains, moving faster than most horses could gallop.
A detachment of Dokkalfar mounted cavalry joined the charge.
They all rode the towering war giraffes, who managed to outpace even the spiderkin with their long legs and lightning-fast gait. The Rippers reared up on their hind legs as they reached the walls, planting spiked hooves against black ice, then craning unnaturally long necks upward. Almost impossibly, their blocky heads reached over the upper lip of the wall, allowing the nightmare giraffes to bite at the Vogthar defenders cowering behind the merlons. And, instead of staying seated, their riders quickly climbed up the creatures’ arching necks, using the spikes poking out like the hand and footholds of a ladder.
In seconds, Murk Elf raiders were on the walls, beating even the spider riders to the top.
This was the first time I’d ever seen the war giraffes in action, and suddenly it wasn’t so surprising why the Dokkalfar valued the Grassland Rippers. They were perfect war machines and basically acted as fast, agile siege towers. Hyper-intelligent siege towers that could bite, bludgeon, and trample anything that got in their way.
The hail of arrow fire ceased, since we didn’t want to skewer our raiders with friendly fire, which gave the Vogthar their first opening to mount some semblance of a counterassault. Towering, fish-faced guards in dusky gray leathers swarmed out of stairwells and from behind the black-ice merlons. By then, though, the spider riders had gained the wall as well, arrows flashing, swords and axes lopping off arms and legs while gossamer strands of silk webbed the unwary, dragging Vogthar to the ground, where the spiders pounced. Arachnoid fangs punched through armor and flesh with equal ease.
The Vogthar weren’t quite ready to give up the fight, though.
Against the regular Vogthar occupants of Morsheim, our army was an unstoppable force of nature. Thing was, the Vogthar were a monstrous race and had access to a fair number of deadly beasts all their own...
A swarm of inhuman bat-like creatures, covered in scaly flesh, leapt from the roofs of Idruz, quickly filling the airspace above the city with flapping wings, tearing claws, and wicked fangs. The [Vogthar Abami] were deadly aerial fighters who could go toe to toe with the elite members of the Accipiter Skyraiders or even the mounted Iron Horses. A streak of prismatic light, courtesy of Ari, lit up the sky like a disco ball, signaling for our air force to scramble. Several Accipiter squadrons swooped down with swords and bucklers, ready to slit throats and clip wings, followed in short order by Lieutenants Astra and Godhand—both special unit aerial commanders.
Astra led a squadron of Inquisition Griffin riders, thirty deep. They flew in a low V formation, and each of the Griffins clutched giant stone boulders—at least a couple hundred pounds each—in their lionesque front paws. As they passed over the walls, they dropped their cargo with uncanny precision, crushing unseen enemies and crippling active siege weapons before lurching heavenward to join the fight against the Abami. Godhand’s squad hung back from the majority of the fighting since her unit, The Triple Nickels, was predominately composed of Accipiter clerics and winged bards, who cast healing buffs over our frontline raiders.
The Abami were just the tip of the iceberg, though.
Worse nightmares crawled their way over the high walls of Idruz, appearing like conjured demons from the hellish city.
A squad of deadly Vogthar Drakes, built entirely from magma and charred corpses, took shape on the horizon, defiantly vomiting ash and flame into the air. I’d tangled with their like before, and they were fiery murder machines of the highest order, but Abby was already on it. She flicked her reins, and Valkyrie deftly peeled away from the main formation. A score of other hard-hitting mounts
followed her lead. Bringing up the rear was the Druid who’d helped me out during the battle of Ravenkirk, mounted on a grizzly-sized dire wolf built entirely from a tapestry of living vines and multicolored flowers.
Devil shifted uncomfortably beneath me. He was straining toward the fiery murder Drakes, eager to join the fight. Ready to rip and shred. To tear and kill.
We’re missing out, he growled inside my head. This is the greatest battle since Ravenkirk and we are... watching it.
Both his enthusiasm for killing and his disgust at watching the fight unfold were palpable.
Two minutes, I sent back. We just need to make sure the Hellreaver gets into position, and then you can go wild until I call for you.
Below, a pack of Ragna Wolves, each one the size of a city bus, crested the fortifications and leaped over our Legion lines, landing like cannonballs of death and fur behind our main force. It would’ve been a massacre if not for Chief Kolle. The Ak-Hani chief sounded a curling war horn and led a mounted charge across the open landscape, falling on the Ragna Wolves with monsters of our own.
Above, Vogthar Hell-Toads covered in heavy plates of iron and wicked barbed spikes launched themselves from the walls as well. But while the Ragna Wolves were nimble, these things were sluggish battle tanks. Juggernauts that careened into our moveable palisades, they smashed them to pieces as though they were made of toothpicks and bubblegum. The Legionnaires responded in a flash, forming up their lines and trying to box the nightmare creatures in, but the Hell-Toads were living battering rams. The legion shield wall fell just as quickly as the defensive barriers had, and the creatures’ thick scales turned every blade and spear without missing a beat.
Legionnaires screamed as they fell beneath the goring spikes and razor-sharp toad teeth. The sound of their anguish carried over the din of the battle, and I was somehow sure those screams would be paying me a visit in my nightmares for a good long while to come.
