B00M0CSLAM EBOK

by Mason Elliott

  This war had to end.

  More budding mages and sorcerers were being discovered among the Urth population. The Merge had awoken magical abilities in some.

  Of the ten secondary mages in the militia, the surviving six began teaching the newbs what they knew in small groups.

  By then, the six were up to eight or nine blasts of sorcery per battle shift. They continually strove to achieve more. But they did not want any of the newbs to burn themselves out, or be inadvertently destroyed by their awakening powers.

  As the foe continued to withdraw, people began to see just how devastated large portions of South Bend now were–both from the fighting and at the hands of the occupiers.

  The full extent of that devastation would not be tabulated until the war was finally over.

  An end to the war became a hopeful thing in itself.

  Now the defenders of Michiana had hope that the war could and would end, and most likely in their favor.

  It was possible for people to consider what they could and would do after the war’s end.

  And that made some troops eager, and some few careless.

  Mason knew very well that carelessness was never a good thing on the battlefield.

  The experienced enemy pounced on any opportunity to make the defenders pay a high price for not keeping their minds fully fixed and focused on the task at hand.

  Militia commanders reminded their forces that the enemy was not yet driven out, nor had they been defeated.

  Mason began to see himself and his unit as more or less a machine with a task at hand to perform and complete.

  Later that day, while the campaign continued, the sky clouded up very quickly. Yet the approaching storm looked unusual somehow. The storm clouds were black and gray, but with a sickly green light to them. Very strange.

  Blondie started watching those clouds form up as well.

  He rubbed and stroked his throat as if it suddenly went dry and tight.

  Mason took careful aim at a big, three-story house full of merc spotters and archers.

  More archers and two enemy mages were using that large, sprawling house for cover, and launching deadly attacks from it.

  Not for much longer.

  Six rapid-fire, devastator rounds should pretty much demolish the house.

  Another four to six more rounds should take out or scatter the knot of enemy troops and the mages around it.

  Fire for effect.

  The storm clouds cut loose right as he fired.

  A visible sheet of foul-smelling rain walked in over the militia.

  Black and green lightning struck among the defender ranks.

  “Get inside!” Blondie screamed, already choking.

  When the rain hit Mason, it seemed to burn and sting, as if it were acidic. His weatherproof duster protected him somewhat, but the very smell of the rain was rank and terrible. It made him want to vomit.

  “Poison rain. Poison rain!” Blondie kept shouting, and coughing.

  A sickly, greenish mist began to rise up from the ground where the rain struck and hissed.

  The fighting ended and the militia struggled to take cover under the nearest shelter they could find. Trees were not a good choice. Prolonged exposure to the poison rain burned the leaves off the trees, withered, and killed them. The grass scorched and turned first to gray-green dust, and then to acidic mud that burned flesh where it touched.

  It ate through shoes and corroded and pitted metal weapons.

  If there was no shelter at hand, the troops retreated, trying to get out of the burning squall.

  Strangely enough, the destructive show seemed to hover exactly over the front lines.

  Inside the nearest house, Blondie, Mason, and others threw up, and struggled to get the rain off of them, wiping it off on curtains, towels, blankets–anything that came to hand.

  Blondie guzzled some fresh water from his canteen, and coughed and choked. “That poison rain was no accident. It is a powerful magic that was prepared for days and directed against us.”

  “You don’t say,” Mason said, still trying not to gag. “How long can they keep it on us?”

  “Not long, I think. But they must have had a reason for doing so. It takes many mages working together in concert for three or four days to unleash such an attack. Or one very powerful archmage. But the effects will pass in about half an hour. A normal rain will wash it away, and we can continue our attacks.”

  “I wonder what they are doing while we hold back.”

  “We’ll find out shortly,” Blondie said.

  A regular rainstorm did come in on the heels of the poison rain. In less than another hour, the rain swept away the effects of the magic.

  When they emerged from their shelter, the enemy lines were nowhere in sight.

  Major Avery reported to them twenty minutes later. “Mace, we’re advancing to the old seventh defensive line. Our visiting friends have regrouped and prepared their new defensive positions there, complete with trenches and all of their remaining siege engines. They have some new kind of magical traps set up that go off when our people get too close to them–fire, explosion, ice, lightning. We’ll need you to clear the way for us.”

  “What does all of this mean?” Mason said aloud.

  Blondie grinned. “It means the enemy is scared, Mace. They know we’re going to beat them now. They want to slow us down so that they can try to get away. These are acts of desperation.”

  Thulkara grunted. “I agree. They’ll keep fighting us until they’re ready. Then they’ll pull some other kind of trick, and the bulk of them will make a run for it.”

  She spat on the ground. “Cowards.”

  59

  Dark vapor and ichor boiled and curled around the mirror. The demon’s master hesitated, on the brink of destroying the thing.

  The brief pause of silence filled the dark room. The demon clung to any thread of hope that might save its foul skin.

  It pressed its last bargaining point. “I know where she is, Master. The traitorous bitch is helping them! I alone can capture her for you.”

  “What? Lie to me again and your torments shall indeed be long before you perish!”

  “No lies, Master. Hear your faithful servant out. I can deliver her to you. She beds with a militia commander. If we plan it right, we can take her easily.”

  “You may just need to kill her outright,” the man said.

  Jerriel? That had to be who they were talking about.

  “Would you not rather bring her back bloody and in chains, as a prize to our masters?” the demon said. “Think of the fame and the rewards you would win. The daughter of their hated enemies, a blood offering to the Dark Ghods. She is in our grasp, even now!”

  “Do not attempt to deceive me, you gutless wretch.”

  “Aaiee! Stay your mighty hand, Master. Venting your rage on your poor servant will only cost you this golden opportunity.”

  The wizard paused once more. “You survive, filth. For now. Only until you succeed or fail in securing the girl. That shall decide your fate. Make it so, or your punishments shall be even worse before I crush you. I expect constant reports. None of your deceptions from this point on.”

  “Of course not, Master. I wouldn’t dream of it. I shall not fail you.”

  The face went out and the mirrors went dark.

  The demon reeled and shook with fear and rage all its own.

  One by one it began to reconnect with the mirrors.

  Then David realized: the creature fed off of its victims and the chaos it helped cause.

  This foul thing was nothing but a sickening, disgusting parasite. It had to be stopped.

  Movement behind him. The others finally made their way down the basement steps at last. Good. He would need their help once the thing became aware of them.

  They had to do something. The demon grew stronger all the while.

  David lifted his sword and sprang at the thing where its vile head bulged up in front of one of the mir
rors once more.

  His sword stroke cleaved right through the noxious goo that made up the demon’s physical form. The bulbous head splattered, reabsorbed by the rest of the body. David found himself stuck up to his ankles in the puddle of the thing as it convulsed and shuddered.

  The head swelled up again and took shape with a face trying hard to be like David’s.

  It had a hissing quality to its voice when it spoke, like snakes and hot steam. “Well, well, what do we have here? A pack of fools sent to ‘take care’ of me?’ Begone! Before I destroy you. None of you have the power to harm me.” It laughed insanely just before David destroyed its head once more.

  It popped up again on his left.

  “You can do that as much as you like, meatbag. You won’t defeat me that way. I’m going to slowly suck the flesh off your bones while your friends watch.”

  Jason Inada rang the bell he carried, once. The clear tone made the demon tremble and cry out for an instant. It turned toward the Buddhist, trying to assume the man’s face.

  But it couldn’t.

  “Idiot. You’ll have to do better than just an annoying bell!”

  Jason reached into a pocket and pulled out some type of beans and cast them to the four directions.

  “Enter good fortune! Demons depart!”

  The demon drew back slightly and rolled its eyes. “Amateurs. What a waste of my precious time.”

  Jerriel nailed it with a lightning bolt.

  David felt an agonizing jolt of power go through him, although much less than what the demon endured.

  “Do not listen to a word that deceiver says,” Jerriel told them. “It only lies or speaks in half-truths at best.”

  “Traitor witch!” the demon shrieked. “When the Masters finish with you, my brethren and I will torment your soul for centuries before we devour it. Just as we have the souls of your sweet, murdered parents. Their screams still echo in the lowest hells where we ravage them!”

  “You lie,” Jerriel said. Blasts of magic punched gaping holes through its flesh. “Keep at it–it will say anything to distract you!”

  The demon surged in several directions, absorbing the damage. It turned again at Jason Inada, the next closest, who fingered some prayer beads and recited a chant of some kind.

  “Stupid priest. What’s that nonsense you’re babbling?”

  Jason smiled. “The Heart Sutra. Enjoy its wisdom.” He went on chanting.

  “Hah! All it’s doing is pissing me off! Is that the best you fools have got? Poetry?”

  “Keep it up,” David said. Jason nodded.

  Rabbi Bergman stepped forward. “I know not what you are creature, or from whence you came. I only put my faith in the power of prayer and the might of Yahweh.”

  The thing drew back again and moaned. “A thousand curses upon you and yours, old man. This is a test of will. Your weak heart will give out before I do!”

  Bergman began to quote from the Psalms.

  The demon cursed and swept a heavy tentacle at the rabbi, the appendage covered in broken glass.

  Rabbi Bergman squinted his eyes shut.

  And vanished.

  He reappeared, wide-eyed, gasping, in the opposite corner.

  Father Michael Petrowski and Pastor Bryan Doran closed in on the demon from the other flank. Doran held his sword before him as if were a cross. Father Michael swung a smoking censer back and forth.

  Pastor Doran shouted out. “I cast you out, unclean spirit, along with every Satanic power of the enemy, every specter from Hell, and all your fell companions; in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.”

  The demon wailed again. And drew itself up to a menacing height where its presence cracked the already broken ceiling even more, and towered over them all. A tendril or some part of it stayed connected to each of the mirrors in some way.

  First it yawned as if bored. Then it laughed again. “I have heard rumors of this dead dreamer nailed to stick, whose name you sling at me like dung. His feeble power will not avail you!”

  “Don’t listen to him.” Jerriel said again. “It is all woorking. Keep it up. All of yoo. He’s weakening.”

  Father Michael strode forward, emboldened. “Depart, then, transgressor. Depart, seducer, full of lies and cunning, foe of virtue, persecutor of the innocent. Give place, abominable creature, give way, you monster, give way to Christ, in whom you found none of your work. For He has already stripped you of your powers and laid waste to your kingdom!”

  The demon gave up a terrible cry. David and Jerriel covered their ears and brought them away bloody. Blood seeped from their noses. Then their eyes.

  They struggled to wipe it away.

  “Do your worst. I’m not going anywhere!” the demon raged.

  Black tentacles swarmed and rushed forward like a tide of snakes and enveloped Pastor Doran.

  The big man struggled to lift his sword to hack at them, but they ensnared him too quickly. Yet the silver crucifix in Bryan’s other hand burst into white flame and dissolved the demon wherever it touched, causing the monster to shriek again.

  It knocked the cross from the pastor’s hand and flung it across the room.

  But instead, the cross bounced back and fell right into the demon’s body.

  The blinding blast that followed flattened them all.

  60

  Now that the tide had finished turning, Mason and the defenders kept on the offensive.

  Backed by reinforcements of troops from both Mishawaka and Elkhart, the Urth people of Michiana fought together as one to take back the rest of South Bend.

  And the Pistolero and the Shooting Stars were right there with them at every step of the way.

  For six solid days of fighting, the defenders kept up the pressure and pushed the mercenaries back, fighting around the clock–both day and night. The mercs fought a disciplined, textbook fighting retreat–nearly in imitation of the much longer, drawn-out efforts of the original South Bend forces. They continued to use the monsters as shock troops and distractions at night.

  All obvious tactics of delay.

  The mercs proved once again that they were skilled, professional soldiers, holding positions for as long as they could. They forced their foes to pay a price in lives and supplies for taking back every foot of territory the mercs gave up.

  They used nearly the same defensive points and lines as the militia, but, of course, in reverse.

  On the night of the seventh day, the enemy suddenly unleashed a massive counterassault without warning, made up entirely of monster hordes, surrounding and attacking the defenders almost from all sides.

  But the Urth forces had earned their stripes after months of difficult fighting that tested and honed their instincts and abilities. Despite all of their many losses, the Michiana forces were now competent and determined soldiers in their own right, who did not easily stumble or yield in the face of any hostile force, great or small.

  They knew how to match and outfight the monsters, and knew all of their cunning little tricks and ploys.

  Two hours before dawn, they put the rest of the monster hordes to flight. Then, as best they could, they pursued and continued to cut down the monsters at will, in a complete and total rout.

  Not many of those brutes escaped before dawn came up.

  The remaining mercenary forces, still believed to be quite formidable, numerous, and dangerous, had not only voided the field of battle, but apparently had also marched quickly out of the region entirely.

  All signs pointed to them passing either south or west, in full flight.

  The Michiana defenders had given them a bellyful, and it was most definitely not to the enemy’s liking. The foe had suffered grievous losses.

  For all intents and purposes, the war was over.

  Not that there would not be others, but the people of South Bend and Michiana had won this conflict. They had proven their right to survive and exist, against terrible foes and odds, and at great costs.

  Much of the southern a
nd especially the western sections of town were completely devastated, systematically burned, torn down, and reduced to utter ruin. Few buildings remained, and any of those that did–in the monster areas–had been so defiled by the darkspawn that they, too, would need to be demolished.

  Yet despite the heavy losses, life and a chance at survival was always preferable to the brutal finality of death and defeat. With August only weeks away, after the heat of summer, the weather would grow cooler all too soon. Then fall and winter would quickly follow.

  It would be the first winter since the Merge, and everyone would need to band together to make sure that as many as possible could survive.

  The victorious armies of Michiana could now explore and map the wilds properly, and seek out and pull in any other Urth human survivors that they could find. Any kind of crop or patch of crops had to be located and protected for the coming harvest. Any kind of livestock or game had to be managed and controlled. If there were further tribes of monsters, or other dangerous creatures or enemies nearby, that had to be known, as well.

  Perhaps they could even push east and north to reach the Tharanorian colonies at Kellendra and Tornhold before the winter. Such journeys through the treacherous wilds would be major adventures, and perhaps battles within themselves. But all of it must be attempted.

  There still might be many pockets of Urth humans hiding out and banded together in remote places for survival.

  There was no talk of going to Vaejan, since the mercenaries and the dark mages who hired them were thought to be from there. That was their apparent stronghold.

  And eventually, an attempt would need to be made to see if any Urth people had survived around former Indianapolis. There was no Tharanorian colony there, so the Urth people would have been on their own all this time. But they would have numbers, at least, to hurl against the threats of the monsters and the Wildlands.

  If Michiana could survive, perhaps other pockets of Urth humans could as well.

  The first tales and sightings of dragons came from travelers and refugees who somehow managed to survive, and come up from the southeast.

  Many refugees wished to return to South Bend and rebuild. The militia wanted to hold back the tide for a few days and make certain that everything was safe enough for civilians to return.