With a sudden burst of power, the gateway between worlds screamed open. It was not the squeal of pleasure, a shriek of fear, or a whooping war cry, but one akin to the same energy as a rabbit with its neck in the jaws of a hungry fox. Without delay or hesitation, the enemy, “The Devourers”, poured forth as an unending tide of misbegotten flesh and warped anatomy.
Centipede-creatures with hands for legs were the most numerous down on terra firma. Far too many fingers and knuckles to be anything strictly humanoid, those hands scurried across the obsidisteel ground with unfettered zeal to close the distance to their prey. Some were a few inches in length, others nearly the size of a man, but all a deadly mess of spikes and gnashing pincers that promised venomous tidings. Hundreds perished every second to a non-stop barrage from [Artillery Mages] safe in their perches upon the high road. Yet, for all their deaths, none faltered to press forward, and countless more eagerly awaited to spill into this world.
Aberrations and abominations of all sorts followed, creatures of gray flesh and disproportionate limbs. The rejects of the enemy’s experiments with fleshwarping, these thralls trundled forward only to be cut down, the sum of their lives no more than cries of impotent anguish upon the wind. Grotesqueries of bile and lard burst upon death, each one launching great swarms of insectoid creatures from their ruptured innards. Worms covered in armored plates wriggled through, their bodies used as no more than bulwarks against our fury for others to hide behind.
And though none of our own troops had died to the enemy, minute by minute, we were losing in our battle for containment. We simply could not blast the gateway fast enough, and few dared approach the insidious aura of decay that radiated from it. And as ground was lost and their own barriers were erected, something resembling conventional troops took the field.
Shapes and sizes varied, but through squinted eyes and flexible interpretations of anatomy, one could vaguely consider them humanoid for their base forms, albeit ones devoid of any warmth of positive emotions. Most sported extra limbs and appendages, with supplementary tentacles and wings being favored. Though incapable of true flight, their wings aided in great leaps to help them close the gap, which they utilized with relish.
Our skelie boys pulled their weight. Without reservation, they met the enemy head-on, interdicting the enemy advance and hauling biomass back to our ravenous hydras. A few brave defenders still among the living and with Abilities to withstand the decay launched probing attacks, their efforts aimed more to determine the combat capabilities of the enemy and the composition of their forces than to make decisive blows. Even my own traps were detonating one after another to control or kill the enemy in an effort to turn the battlefield into a quagmire.
Simultaneously, the battle raged in the sky. Though most of our aerial defenders lingered outside of the one-way shields over World’s Hope to blast the enemy with impunity, some had to meet the enemy in melee to distract and inhibit them. Bodies of the fallen, both friendly and enemy alike, rained down upon those below indiscriminately. Each side coveted the biomass and weaponry of the fallen, with fights breaking out out over the juiciest of morsels with the best loot. Weakened specimens for research purposes were in demand, after all.
Indeed, we had entire retrieval squads specialized in the recovery of prized weapons and armor from our fallen. We quickly learned that the enemy was no fool, for they too remained strategic and insidious in their approach to stealing our stuff. I am inclined to believe that some foul magic is at play here, the deaths of their chaff intended to embolden our warriors and inspire them to take bigger and bigger risks, only for their hidden assassins to pounce at just the right moment to catch someone out of position and engage in suicide-tactics to ensure that they were the ones to recover our corpses. Many of ours fell for that trick despite updated instructions to be cautious for such elaborate ruses.
Our vanguard fell back, the press of the enemies overwhelming as the concentration of their survivors near the gateway reached critical mass. Powerful magics were utilized to teleport our own combatants away from danger just as lethal blows were being struck, but for every one of ours that had the privilege of such a safety net, a dozen more were left to fend for themselves. The enemy, well aware that a war of attrition favored their victory, pressed forward without respite, with towering behemoths now pouring through to aid in their assault, each one covered in creatures and weaponry that returned fire upon our forces.
All manner of magical disciplines came to the forefront as the enemy inched closer. We jammed their attempts to interrupt our magical communications or to slip in their own false orders. We likewise blocked their attempts at mind-control, illusions, and supernatural suggestions. Spatial magic was used to block enemy teleportation, and a myriad of tricks were deployed to prevent invisible or undetectable enemies from getting the jump on us. However, it quickly became a series of jabs, feints, ruses, and adaptations as each side sought to lull the other into complacency while also sneaking in a clever ploy.
For all our successes, we experienced bitter failures. Not everything could be stopped, and soon, enemy assassins and insurgents began running rampant upon our defenders. Key personnel, like [Shield Mages], [Spatial Mages], [Batteries], [Aura Twisters], [Dancers], [Healers], [Commanders], and the like were picked off one by one. We adapted, but far too slowly for the likings of myself and those with me in the command center. Though our casualties mounted, to deploy our aces now would be to show our hand. Begrudgingly, we had to admit that we were experiencing “acceptable losses''.
Most of our Diamonds had enough experience and discipline to endure sitting around looking pretty. Only those that did not have a role of direct combat, such as Erethel Starweaver in how she helped maintain the shields, were currently engaged in tasks. These individuals were critical personnel, and even the loss of a single one could cripple our defenses. Each one had a squad of [Body Guards] and kobold [Stunt Doubles] to ensure that they would not die. Probably. Hopefully. The day is yet young.
Speaking of kobolds, choirs of them were singing all over the place to keep morale high and to support the troops with magical effects. They also scurried hither and thither to deliver supplies or rush the wounded to medical stations. Most were not from my flight, and they could be a bit prickly with one another from different flights. Still, they appeared to at least maintain some semblance of professionalism, for while I could not exactly pinpoint what it was they did, I knew stuff was getting done.
As the enemy neared the perimeter, their advance found itself stymied by endless barrages of breath attacks from hydras that clambered for the succulent spoils of the deceased. The 9-headers especially were going to town, for they had the longest range and the most destructive blasts. The 8-headers were only half-hearted in their contribution, for they mostly served to protect their elders, and the 7-headers likewise to them. The 6-headers were there to catch pockets of whatever made it though. Anything that survived the gauntlet had to contest with the remaining hydras, quite often in melee as the greedy buggers gobbled down a few light snacks.
The hydras were not alone, for mortal defenders acted as a screening force to keep them safe. As depressing and perhaps disgusting it is to say, people can be replaced, but hydras take a long time to mature. More to the point, finding cooperative hydras would be more than a challenge without The Boys here to lead them. There were few [Beastmasters] and the like here with noteworthy beasts under their control, and to my knowledge, only three of them had hydras among their menageries.
And out there, lurking in no man’s land, very large and equally hungry spiders set about finding their next meals. Some roamed in packs, their bodies similar to wolf spiders, but much larger in size. Others took the approach of trapdoor spiders, for they somehow created extradimensional space within the obsidisteel floor for their lairs. I watched one spider die, torn apart by the insectoid creatures of the enemy, only for her abdomen to burst as thousands of babies poured out of her to find their first taste of fresh air and fresher meat. I found myself greatly appreciating my current physical position and the nature of my role that kept me apart from such nightmares made flesh.
The Phoenix causally rained down fire upon the enemy. The meteors were tiny, barely enough to kill a man, but they numbered in the tens of thousands and the Phoenix never relented or showed signs of fatigue. He provided a constant threat to the enemy, that they could not remain idle lest random chance find them burned to a crisp. His children, the Lesser Phoenixes, provided aerial support, each one sniping enemy fliers with pinpoint accuracy, one at a time.
Upon occasion, and seemingly through the coordination of our own fliers, the enemy would clump up near the dome created by the shield. While they desperately tried to smash their way free, a few Sky Whales would descend from their storm clouds to devour the enemy, each one feasting upon their corralled prey that found themselves trapped by the press of bodies upon them by their fellow kin. For good measure, they also let out strong downward drafts of wind to push enemy fliers back towards the ground, all of that interspersed with forks of lightning to shock the unwary.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
We Emperors and a handful of Kings and Princes remained at the command center. We each carried out some semblance of coherency and attentiveness in communications with one another, but I could tell that we were all busy with our equivalents of [Parallel Minds] to keep tabs on multiple fronts. Each of us also constantly poured mana into S.M.A.R.T. crystals that were integrated into the network that powered the whole fortress. It was far easier to attune a few dozen of such crystals to the movers and shakers than to make hundreds of thousands for everyone and his brother, and I left it to each flight to find ways to siphon mana from the gathered masses so that it could be put into the grid.
Mana was king in this battle. If we ran out, we died, plain and simple. Constant modifications to our shield networks were required to ensure they ran as efficiently as possible to the latest strategy the enemy employed to break them, and said shields were our biggest strain on the grid. Likewise, [Artillery Mages] needed to be constantly topped off so they could keep blasting. Somewhere out there, Garro and Rarro, the poster children for what I saw as [Artillery Mages], were happily blasting away. Give it another few hours, much less a few days, and we shall see if that enthusiasm still holds up.
And such concerns are the secondary issues we have to deal with: morale, complacency, sudden attacks, betrayal from within, exhaustion, shift rotations, logistics, hygiene, biomass processing, communications, and many more tasks besides are still important to our defense. Soldiers need to eat, sleep, and visit the brothels. Bodies and viscera need to be cleaned away and fresh troops inducted into their duties. Coin has to be paid out and spent in equal measure in order to lubricate the wheels of commerce and leisure. Sure, these are just the opening hours, but this whole operation will quickly become routine, and we have to ensure that the reality holds up to the theory of how we planned it all to work.
The real wrench in the plan comes from the various saboteurs, insurgents, opportunists, traitors, [Cultists], and other nefarious elements. With new intelligence gained from our latest guest, some “housecleaning” was underway within the bowels of the fortress, for we suffer not the heretics to live. Alterez, working in tandem with Gambino and Bambina, were judge, jury, and executioner via my carte blanche to ensure that the defense would hold. I can only imagine that there would be certain “liberties” taken on the part of Alterez to weed out any competition or people he doesn’t like. Ultimately, I am fine with that so long as he doesn’t go too far, but it remains difficult to truly quantify how much is too much when it comes to such matters.
While I am aware of the battle as a whole, I also understand the emotions of those bonded to me. Skull remains within the Shadow Path. While the enemy has either not yet accessed it or is incapable of doing so, there are “things” that are being drawn by the calamity of battle. She hungers to join the fray, but her obligation to protect me stays her hand. I try to send calming emotions to assuage her, and I communicate directly via telepathy that she will undoubtedly get her fill before too long. Alterez radiates glee like a kid in a candy shop, so at least he loves his work. Gambino feels insulted by someone, and Bambina is ready to tear out the throat of said insulter, but both are keeping their cool for now. Nabonidus is too busy for emotions; he is keeping them bottled up to process later.
My beloved Chooka is still in my arms in a princess carry, a position of closeness to me for which she has aired no complaints. As for Tamadora, I don’t even need a bond with her to understand. She is both very happy for Chooka and seething with jealousy that she isn’t getting the same treatment. Kaisadoro is nervously stroking his mustache and beard at how this whole “fight for survival of our world” thing is derailing his schedule. It-Has-Pockets is nearby and dancing her heart out, and from what I can glean by my glances around the room, she is doing a good job of distracting a great many people with her gyrations. My whelps, deep beneath the fortress proper, are hearing colorful dwarven language and the banging of metal on delicate machinery, so Torborg is no doubt enjoying himself with tasks related to maintenance. I know very little dwarven, but I have most of the curse words down pat, which tend to be the bulk of the vernacular for such esteemed dwarven professionals in the midst of their craft.
Jericho, or at least most of her, is out there limit-testing her new equipment and Skills. A good number of them are stashed around the fortress so that she can both generate duplicates from anywhere at a moment’s notice and so she realistically won’t experience true death. Some of you may be wondering where all that mana comes from that her clones use. I have found out that at least some of it comes from me, for while concepts of mana are not available to me in exact numbers, at times I can feel my mana regeneration plunge into the negatives when she uses many clones and I am otherwise not using my mana. It isn’t consistent enough to break the bank, but it certainly complicates my calculations for how to proceed. Additionally, I will need the others who are bonded to me to go all out to see if they are also leeching my mana, but now is not the time to suss out the fine details.
I feel like I am forgetting someone, but it must not be important. The action is heating up again as a new development has caused heads to turn. According to Polemarch Kirov, the enemy has deployed a new variant, or at least one he has not seen before. These creatures are roughly humanoid and composed of metals and crystals. They stand between two to four times as tall as a man and are armed with conventional weapons like swords and shields. One may be inclined to notice they bear a resemblance to the crixtali, even if that vision of them has been twisted beyond how imitation can be a medium of flattery.
These new specimens are rather resilient to our artillery and pack a mean punch of their own. Collectively, they are blasting back the full range of elements at our defenders. Some of them have, for lack of a better explanation, giant cannons or rayguns on their backs. They drop down onto all fours, aim, and then death follows in that general direction. Our [Shield Mages] are scrambling to find a solution, and if we do not find one soon, the elite Platinums or perhaps a Diamond or two will be needed to resolve the issue. Loath are we to show our hand so soon, but the enemy seems intent on forcing an exhibition of our capabilities.
Insult to injury, the enemy has also deployed crystalline tanks. They are armored vehicles with wheels inside a track. They also sport a big main gun and smaller ones that shoot out elemental attacks. While many of us in the command center are familiar with the concept, such technology is forbidden to us. The enemy appears to manifest their tanks through more arcane means rather than mechanical, but I would say that they have moved far past flirting with the boundaries of what one can get away with. Many of us are grumbling and uttering curses at how unfair or at least unsportsmanlike it is for them to use such devices.
If only it had stopped there; they also have flying machines that I am quite familiar with due to my memories of past lives and my perusal of dwarven schematics: gyrocopters, helicopters, planes, blimps, and levitating mines that will explode if touched. A few prayers from a handful of priests have confirmed that, yes, the ban on such technology is still in effect. While such clarification provided no end of consternation for our disadvantage, we agreed to abide by the ruling of the gods. We could only wonder as to what calamity would be called down upon us if we did not adhere to the will of the gods, for even in the face of complete annihilation, the gods were sticking to their guns, or perhaps more accurately, the lack thereof. Granted, we still had our siege cannons and the like, but they are so fundamentally arcane in nature as to be completely removed from the concept of black powder and bullets. The weapons of the enemy blur that distinction far more than that, and theirs are strictly superior to ours.
What few crixtali warriors we had available were sent forth to engage these new threats. None were to overextend or truly risk death, but we needed to determine our enemy’s weaknesses and capabilities. These warriors are elite veterans, each one hand-picked to be the survivors of their race, and thus, they probably would not die easily. Each one has an escort of Platinum Adventurers to help ensure they do not get in over their heads. Everyone, both enemy and friendly alike, gave these battles a wide berth, for no one wanted to become collateral damage in such a clash.
While these new threats were concerning, we had yet to see the counterpart to dragons. Those would be the biggest threats without question. We had no credible reports of them existing or ever being fielded, but from our knowledge of other worlds and tales of those who have walked between them, we know that each planet has its own apex lifeforms. These “Devourers” have indeed devoured many worlds and incorporated mockeries of the defeated into their own ranks. Surely they would have something nasty planned for us, but whether we would see it soon or in another couple hundred years remained a mystery.
And so we Emperors and Kings waited in the wings. We observed, devised strategies, and issued orders. Countless lives, each one a unique experience and a collection of passions and desires, were boiled down to numbers on sheets of paper. With but a few casual words, good men and women were sent to their deaths in hopes that their sacrifice would make the difference for our collective survival. Bloody was the altar upon which their lives were offered in tribute to the continuation of our world. If anything, we mused that warfare on such a devastating scale and scope would birth a new god or two themed around Strife or Sacrifice. Perhaps such musing served to distract us from the reality of how we dictated who lived and who died. Even the most callous and indifferent among us dragons can’t ignore the carnage around us and our responsibility in shaping it.
We waited, each of us fully aware that we may be next on the butcher’s block. We were all prepared to lay down our lives if needed, moreso the Kings and Princes who would automatically resurrect upon death. But for us Emperors, we had no such luxury, and as juicy of targets that we made, we wondered which of us would be the first to die.
