Suiteonem Prime, Empire of Man, The Imperial Shield, May, 2058

  Zinna groaned.

  The foul taste in her mouth was more than the usual morning stink breath.

  She distinctly tasted the bitter notes of pure bile amidst the vomit.

  “Hey, you. You’re finally awake. You were trying to get to Third Wall, right?”

  “Third Wall?”

  Her brain felt like mush that was trying to bash its way out of her skull with many sharp nails and even more hammering hammers.

  “Almost made it till you took an explosion a bit too close.”

  The voice’s hands gently held her head in place while shining a blazing light in first one eye then the other.

  “Ow! Watch it with that shit! Gods that hurts!”

  “The stone that cracked your skull wasn’t just a bit too close. It was just about dead center on that hard forehead of yours. Lucky for you those Silk Mothers were close enough to keep your brains from performing an untimely escape.”

  “Brains? Huh?” She thought hard, which was hard and painful. Only bits and pieces of the last night came back. “Shit! Dansy? Where’s Dansy?”

  She’d have leapt out of her bed if it wasn’t for those same hands restraining her with contemptuous ease.

  “Careful there, soldier. Your skull’s back together and your brain’s in one piece, but everything’s still tender. Is Dansy a small girl? Probably shouldn’t be out here fighting the undead hordes like most of you kid soldiers? Holding your hand?”

  “Yeah, she should’ve been with me. Unless… I can’t remember.”

  “Don’t worry. She’s right there.”

  The voice pointed to the cot next to Zinna’s.

  Dansy was sleeping and aside from being wrapped up in pink bandages seemed fine.

  “My squad?”

  “All alive. Although most are, well, once your head stops spinning you can see for yourself. They’re all around you and I don’t mean that in a metaphorical, spiritual sense. They are literally in the beds next to you.”

  “Not a bed,” she muttered.

  The cot was even more uncomfortable than the barracks’ poor excuse for a bed.

  She had questions.

  Mostly about her current situation.

  Did he say something about Third Wall? That meant Second Wall had fallen, right? Were they going to retake it? And, if so, was she and her squad too wounded to participate? Gods willing that was the case.

  But it was hard and painful to think and formulate said questions.

  “Sure is,” the voice said as a finger tapped her gently on her forehead, “now, rest. I’m sure your Imperial overlords will throw you back in harm’s way as soon as they can. Best try to heal up from that traumatic brain injury. Lucky for you I can fix that. No C.T.E! You’ve got two legendary shots ahead of you, yet!”

  …

  “How did none of us get eaten?” Ettyre said.

  “I’m just happy that I didn’t get my soul taken and turned into an eternal zombie servant of the,” Dansy lowered her voice, “you know who.”

  Bilmyth sniffled.

  The poor kid tried to put on a brave face, but the fall of Second Wall had been something else in regards to running for your life from dread skeletons and fleshy abominations while artillery fell from behind and in front.

  He had been crying on and off since they had been discharged from the healing tent.

  Apparently, it was a new, special thing put together by the Silk Mothers.

  Zinna shuddered at the thought of Lady Sela di’Seta, especially since the powerful lady and mage had taken an interest in her.

  Nothing good ever came from the nobility taking notice of a commoner like her.

  They always wanted something and would do anything to get it regardless of the subject’s consent.

  She glared around at the others to remind them of what she had told them earlier.

  No one was to get on Bilmyth for crying.

  It wasn’t like the rest of them hadn’t sneaked a cry and minor breakdown in what little privacy they could snatch amongst the masses of conscripts packed into their fortress-cell behind Third Wall.

  It was just her luck that the particular fortress they had been assigned too was in the bullseye for the Frozen Empress judging by how much of her horde she had directed at it.

  If Zinna listened closely she could hear the flesh abominations slavering in between the thumping explosions rattling the massive walls and shaking the ground on the other side.

  “Dead man’s land,” Benali whispered.

  “Speak up.” She tried not to snap at the older man, but found it difficult because the reedy man reminded her of her father and it felt like he was mocking the memory.

  From his thin limbs that made it seem like a strong gust of mountain wind would blow him away to his battered glasses held together by the same adhesive tape the medics used to stick bandages over wounds.

  It spoke of a man that should’ve been hunched over books doing book things.

  Not holding a shaking rifle in her vicinity.

  It was irrational, which was why she tried not to let it get to her.

  It didn’t help that he was probably twice her age, yet looked to her if a sergeant wasn’t around.

  Incidentally, she hadn’t seen her sergeant, nor her commanding officer since that night in Second Wall, which was perfectly fine with her.

  “Dead man’s land,” Benali said a little louder. “It’s spreading.”

  She gestured at him to continue, trying not to make it look like she wanted to hit him.

  “It was all of the Frozen Valley. Then it was between First and Second Wall. Now it’s all the way up to Third Wall.” He took his glasses off to wipe at a nonexistent smudge with a small square of fabric he managed to keep clean through it all.

  Apparently, it had the right amount of fibers to keep scratches off his glasses while keeping them clean.

  He had explained it to her after he had gone mad like a rabid cat after a couple of the others had stolen it from him as a joke.

  “Then we retreat to the next wall.” Ettyre shrugged.

  “That’s not doctrine. I— I— I— researched”— Benali coughed. “After I received my conscription notice.”

  “How’d a fancy guy like you get lumped in with useless people like us anyways?” Ettyre said.

  “My wife is pretty and much younger than me…”

  “How’d a guy like you get a young and pretty wife?”

  “Shut it, Ettyre! Let him finish.” Zinna was interested in the doctrine part more than anything else at the moment.

  Benali tried to look her in the eyes, but failed. He decided to study the floor as usual.

  “Each fortress is meant to hold independently. To force the undead to continue to expend resources until they take it. If they rush past into the rest of the Shield then we’re supposed to be able to launch attacks continuously from behind their front lines. That means we’re stuck here until the end. Whatever form that takes.”

  “No way…” Dansy squeaked like a mouse that had just learned its home was a trap.

  Bilmyth started crying.

  Zinna quickly glared at the others to keep their mouths shut.

  “There’s nowhere to run even if we wanted to. This time the walls are all around us,” Benali said.

  So what?

  Zinna didn’t care much.

  She had a task to do, a debt to repay.

  Whatever it was didn’t matter all that much.

  Her mother and brother were safe, so all that she needed to do was pay the not-demon’s price.

  Although… she was starting to think that she didn’t want Dansy, Bilmyth, even Benali and the others to die or get turned into an undead abomination or get used in one of the empress’ foul experiments that command had showed them recordings of.

  Maybe she could make more deals with the not-demon?

  Then again that seemed like pushing one’s luck too far.

  A deep bellow split the fortified barracks.

  “Break’s over! Get up and grab your gear! To your stations! Triple time! Undead are coming in hot!” A big fat sergeant banged his gauntlet on his breastplate.

  “But they’re cold,” Dansy muttered as she grabbed her rifle.

  “I hope he’s not our new sergeant.” Ettyre grimaced.

  …

  “How are the demigods behaving, Sarnathan?”

  “My lord. Within your expectations.”

  “Not being annoying about being kept away from the siege?”

  “Ah, I surmise that they would be if not for the rigorous schedule you have devised to keep them occupied. Any cries about a lack of challenges are easily beaten out of them by the ‘sparring’.” The fat revenant grinned evilly. “There is no shortage of my kind with grievances laid at the feet of their father. And if he is out of reach then, well…”

  “As long as everyone remembers that the kids aren’t responsible for his actions. They have time and opportunity to choose their own paths. So, keep the beatings constructive and within reason.”

  Cal poked around in Sarnathan’s thoughts.

  A standard precautionary measure to make sure that the revenant wasn’t backsliding into the whole kill the living and take the death energy thing.

  There was plenty of death energy to go around from all the monsters he was having them kill.

  The flavor, as they experienced it, might’ve been different, but it was more than enough to sustain them.

  He would accept no complaints.

  None had yet taken him up on the standing offer to fight for their complete freedom from his rules.

  “It’s time to send them out to kill some monsters again. Suggestions?”

  Sarnathan remained silent for a few minutes, giving the question the proper amount of thoughtfulness.

  Cal floated, watching the revenant’s process every step of the way like a conscience standing over the shoulder ready to drop the sword if necessary.

  “They did well in the operation to destroy that super maul of snow bears. A straightforward battle,” Sarnathan mused. “You desire to test them mentally. The empress maintains— maintained many encounter challenges and spawn zones through the valley by seeding them with her undead until they took on their nature. Populate with numbers and for long enough and the spires took over eventually, sometimes the monsters they created branched in interesting ways, which sometimes informed her future creations.”

  Cal already knew all of this, but it cost nothing to let Sarnathan feel useful.

  “Good idea. What will make them uncomfortable? Something that, to them, isn’t a clean battle. Maybe something gross and disgusting to wipe off that golden aura they wrap themselves in.”

  “Excellent idea my lord!” Sarnathan actually steepled his fingers and tilted his head forward so that the light from the roaring hearth cast evil, distorted shadows across his face.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Sadly, there was no one else in the chamber to appreciate the commitment to the aesthetic.

  “Yes! Tarnish them with filth and muck. Bring them down to the common level. Teach them that their blood is no shield from the true monsters lurking in the dark.” Sarnathan stifled brewing laughter and cleared his throat. “I may have some ideas. If it pleases you?”

  “Shoot. I’m listening.”

  “Ass worms.”

  “Okay…”

  Cal knew about the ass worms.

  They were on his list for extermination, but they were in a location of the frozen valley far from any sapient life, which put them lower.

  “Foul things. Created and bred by the empress to seek warmth in the cold. To hunger for the feces of the living. They burrow deep and feed in the bowels. Multiplying and turning the unfortunate living into a shambling undead. Bloated, straining at the seams until it is time to erupt with more worms to burrow into more living.”

  “Would the demigods be vulnerable to that whole process?”

  “I don’t know, my lord. The divine blood may provide protection in a magical sense enough to destroy the worms since they are undead. From a purely physical sense, I believe their strength is enough to prevent entry, so long as they clench and are able to hold said clench.”

  Cal thought for an instant.

  “No to the ass worms. In fact, I’m going to destroy them myself.”

  He moved them up the list.

  “Very good, my lord. I apologize for my failure.”

  “I told you to stop that. I see right through obsequiousness.”

  “Of course, my lord. Habits are hard to break for short-lived mortals. Thrice so for the undying. Please let me make up for my failings with salubrious service.”

  “Still obsequious. Shall I send you to the heart of the empire?

  “I shall obey if you will it.”

  The revenant’s thoughts quailed.

  He wasn’t high level enough to mask his undeath in that place.

  “Just keep brainstorming for the kids’ practice.”

  “Ah, wonderful! Then may I suggest tentacled bone ravishers? Perhaps, Ice-born Ghoul Ravagers?”

  Sarnathan rattled off a string of progressively worse undead before Cal cut him off.

  “How about ones that aren’t likely to commit sexual assault?”

  Silence.

  “The Sleeper?”

  “Now, that’s interesting.”

  The empress had typically done one of two things with revenants that had failed to meet her standards.

  The first was straightforward. She simply destroyed them.

  The second was to entombed them in tombs, crypts, labyrinths, dungeons and such all over the Frozen Valley, deep underground, within the mountains, glaciers and ice sheets.

  These revenants guarded great treasures, powerful weapons and artifacts for heroes and adventurers to seize.

  The insidious nature of this system would often not be discovered by the victorious until many years later when the truth was revealed.

  The delve was an audition and triumph over the revenant was the final interview.

  The empress took great pleasure when the realization dawned on these heroes that all they had won and accomplished in those harrowing dungeons was a place in her Ten Thousand Fingers.

  Pending passage of the probationary period, of course.

  Cal had left these places alone.

  Those revenants remained in stasis.

  “He fits your criteria for destruction,” Sarnathan said. “A foul thing, The Sleeper. More crucially, of a level suitable for the demigods. His prison is one of the smaller ones, which suits matters. Unless, you wish to keep them occupied for longer. Then I have other suggestions.”

  “No. I believe this will be good enough. Make sure they have everything they need to know to be successful. Do not withhold anything. And send Sslamako with them. She’s overkill, but I don’t want even the tiniest chance that The Sleeper might escape. It would be annoying to me and irresponsible of all of us if that were allowed to occur.”

  “Your will be done, Lord Cross.”

  Cal shifted his thoughts away from the fortified town on a lake and to a different set of young demigods.

  …

  General Stormpyre stared down at the preening Arsenalian like he was nothing but a colorful insect.

  The red and white-clad revenant spellsword wilted like a winter bloom in direct sunlight.

  “Pay attention.”

  “Yes, general.”

  “Do I need to start over?”

  “No, general. I am to lead the assault on the gatehouse of Fortress 3-9. Known informally as Thunder Giant’s Shackles by the imperials. I am to almost capture it before being defeated and driven away by a demigod counter attack.” He cleared his throat. “May I inquire as to…”

  “Out with it. Time is precious for all of us.” She glanced at the magical clock projecting the time on the wall of her command tent.

  “Well, um, I believe that the demigods were fighting at Fortress 3-2 as of this morning. How do we know that they’ll be at 3-9?”

  “The Lord Cross says it shall be so.”

  “Wonderful!”

  “Any further questions?”

  He scanned the paper with the complement of undead troops he was granted for the Quest.

  “May I request more undead or perhaps substitutions? A frontal assault against demigods—”

  “Denied. My strategists and I have perfectly calculated what you need to carry this out successfully.”

  “Then I shall.” He saluted. “In your name, general and Lord Cross’.”

  With all the details shared and sealed the notification popped up in his eyes and ears.

  One could often glean how dangerous Quests were based on the rewards or lack thereof.

  He grimaced as soon as he exited the tent and was out of sight of the general and her command staff. Scary revenants, each one. And not solely because of their authority to order him to, say, launch a frontal assault on a fortress.

  The rewards were disappointing for a dangerous assault on a well-defended fortification with the added demigod complication.

  He guessed it was because he wasn’t fighting to the death.

  It was more of a show really.

  Perhaps, his showmanship and flair weren’t serving him well?

  No matter, he thought, I will do as Lord Cross commands and I will be rewarded for my very loyal efforts.

  His attack force consisted of seven undead aerial transports.

  The giant bird monsters had been partially desiccated, frozen and hollowed out.

  His undead were almost finished with the loading process.

  He studied the list again with a sigh.

  Heavy undead, but most were on the basic level.

  He had an undead magic-user for each squad to help with command and control.

  They were crucial, otherwise he’d be forced to rely on verbal commands, which were rather clunky when it came to the undead that lacked independent intelligence, or mental commands, which he had never been the most adroit at performing, especially when he needed to focus on his own fighting.

  At least he had been allocated one elite level undead to each transport.

  These were more intelligent and were capable of following moderately complicated commands with a living child’s level of interpretation and independence.

  A sigh escaped his lips again.

  A few spirit-type undead would’ve been nice.

  The imperial walls had magic defenses built into the stone and metal, but time and substandard upkeep had dulled their potency. Enough damage of all types and he could slip a few specters inside and kill the defenders holding the gatehouse before they knew what was happening.

  It truly was strategic and tactical malfeasance on the part of the imperials to throw young conscripts in the walls. Instead of mixing the conscripts with proper professional veterans.

  Well, it was a good thing in the end as it fit into Lord Cross’ plans.

  The thought made him chuckle.

  If only the stupid living knew what was happening to their stupider conscripts.

  He longed to cross sword and spell with a true challenge. One that he wouldn’t be forced to hold back against. One of the emperor’s champions seemed suitable, but none had yet to take the field.

  It was that damn Blue that had earned glory first by defeating and capturing that emperor’s champion at the beginning of the Calamity.

  “Arsenalian. You goon. Don’t get cocky.”

  The voice struck like lightning out of a clear sky.

  He glanced up into the encroaching night made darker by the black smoke from the constant barrages of artillery from both sides of the siege.

  “My Lord Cross. You grace me with your presence. What may I do for you?”

  “Stick to the Quest. This isn’t about winning individual glory. I care about you following orders. You’ll get a chance at your glory, but only when I say.”

  “I understand completely and without reservation, my lord.”

  “Good. You’ve been doing well. I expect you to ascend to your best self, not descend back into bad habits. I’ll be watching your assault. There is pressure on you, but that’s how coal is turned into diamonds.”

  Arsenalian opened his mouth to verbally prostrate himself further, but remembered the Lord Cross had told him not to do that, so he shut it and hurried to climb inside the undead bird monster’s empty stomach cavity and strap himself into a free harness.

  Undead gazed at him blankly with glowing eyes of the eternal winter.

  He focused his thoughts on the mental image of his target and pushed it into the undead bird monsters.

  Artillery fire provided cover for their approach.

  Smaller undead fliers, mostly birds and monsters provided a screen to catch projectile fire from the imperials.

  Bullets and spells ripped them apart.

  A glowing arrow of fire streaked out from the wall and set a wide swathe ablaze.

  A second fire arrow screamed through the opening and set an undead transport’s wing on fire.

  “Foolish living.” He sneered. “Your magic fire is no match for my— er— the empress’ rime.”

  So said, the fire sputtered out.

  She may have been destroyed, but her magic would yet live on for a long time.

  As long as there was death energy to fuel it.

  Stones arched past him, trailing dark and freezing magic.

  They crashed into the road in front of the gatehouse erupting with a burst of death and frost.

  Ice grew like a carpet of grass coaxed by a powerful druid all the way up to the massive iron bars where it stopped and began to melt as the air around the dark metal shimmered with a heat enchantment.

  He directed two transports to make for the top of the wall above the gatehouse with a simple command for the undead within.

  Kill the living.

  The remaining five, including the one he was in, he directed to land in the cratered street a few hundred meters from the wall. Craters meant the likelihood of mines was lower.

  “Heavies to the gatehouse.”

  The armored skeletons and zombies charged with more vigor when in the presence of several things. A revenant, a mage-type or elite undead or a source of death energy.

  Arsenalian, the undead mages and death magic-generating gems inside the transports.

  “Ranged, suppression.”

  He directed them to the firing slits in the towering wall where the living cowered and spat out their little bullets in between pissing out their terror.

  “Mages, provide defense to all. Priority is this: Yourselves, transports, ranged.”

  He stood tall in his red and white armor.

  His blade sheathed at his waist.

  His cape— gone, consigned to the trash heap at Lord Cross’ command.

  His beautiful face and perfect hair— hidden beneath a helmet. Also at Lord Cross’ command.

  Well, one couldn’t have everything.

  He had learned that recently.

  “Now, we wait.”

  He scanned his surroundings warily as his undead began the battle with the weak living.

  “Conscripts,” he sneered. “When will you send your real soldiers? I’m getting bored waiting.”

  …

  “Oh my Gods! They’re so much worse than before!” Dansy said as she vibrated like she was out in the freezing mountain air without her winter kit instead of inside a rapidly warming wall.

  The girl shook so much that Zinna wouldn’t have bet a single toenail that Dansy had gotten closer than three arm lengths on any of her slow shots down at the undead assault.

  To be fair, the huge skeletons and zombies armored in thick, dark steel and sparkling blue ice charging up to the gatehouse weren’t anything like the ones they had fought at Second Wall. Those had been flimsy by comparison.

  “Why do we always get the worse spots?” Ettyre spat.

  The chubby young man was faring better.

  His hands were steady and Zinna saw his shot hit a magic shield.

  To be fair to him, the trajectory looked like the bullet would’ve actually hit the skeleton’s forehead.

  Would it have been enough to penetrate the ice armor and thick bone? Would it have destroyed enough to disrupt the magic keeping the skeleton moving and thirsting for the living?

  She didn’t know, but it was hopeful sign of Ettyre’s improvement.

  Not that she could cast aspersions.

  She kept trying to shoot that red and white-armored revenant through the helmet slit, but those undead mages kept blocking her bullets.

  She briefly wondered if she should let everyone know that there was a revenant. Then decided against it because she didn’t know if the man-looking undead was a revenant. And there wasn’t anyone higher up on the chain of command in sight to kick the trash up to.

  They had been shouted at to go to this spot and that’s what they did.

  The fact that it was above the gatehouse was just their bad luck… again.

  It hadn’t even been a week since Second Wall had fallen.

  The quick healing they had gotten by virtue of her luck with the Silk Mother’s had seemed like sixes on all three dice at the time.

  Now?

  She would’ve taken a longer convalescence with the less fortunate conscripts away from the wall.

  “Step away from the slit when you’re reloading!” she snapped.

  Dansy and Bilmyth squeaked like mice caught in the cookie box when the light gems were turned on.

  The undead ranged, skeletons and zombies, opened up to reveal a pair of spine shooters in their torsos to go along with the built in shooters in their arms. Some had multiple arms stuck on seemingly random parts of their bodies.

  It meant each could shoot anywhere from four to eight spines at a time.

  So unfair.

  With that weight of fire it meant that it was only a matter of time before a shot got through the shooting slits.

  Someone cursed.

  Zinna cursed her ill-timed thoughts.

  “I’m hit! I’m hit! Am I dead! Am I dead, guys!”

  More cursing.

  “Stop wriggling!”

  “I can feel it moving! It’s in my face! It’s in my face!”

  “Shut up! That’s just a flap of skin. Stop moving and I’ll bandage it.”

  “Oh Gods! Suiteonem, please grant me your rage! Don’t let me turn into an undead! I don’t want to devour the living!” Whoever it was that got hit started sobbing out all sorts of prayers.

  Zinna put the young man out of mind to focus on shooting.

  If he was still blubbering then it meant that the spine wasn’t the undead-making kind.

  It was a different kind of crying and screaming that came along with undead in the walls.

  Those she’d never forget.

  “Zinna…” Dansy looked to her with wide, watery eyes.

  “Don’t. Just focus on shooting and reloading. Quick in and out of the slit. Don’t stick around too long like that dumbass. We’re in Thunder Giant’s Shackles. We’re in the gatehouse. Next to the fortress, it’s the most well-defended place in Third Wall. They have to get through an enchanted iron-barred gate before they can even enter the kill tunnel where the actual enchanted doors wait. I read that they’re made out of living wood that counters undead just by their presence.”

  A sudden shriek rang out from outside.

  It sounded like tearing metal.

  Zinna really felt like the Gods had decided to make sport of her today.