by M.C. O'Neill
***
Overcast skies shrouding the wastes seemed to collect deeper grey clouds underneath, as if they were mourning the tragedy about to take place that afternoon. Unwary elves were celebrating their easy victories against every one of their enemies’ efforts. As more darkness gathered over their heads, those cheers would become cries and their voices fewer.
Jussi’s laandbaarg rushed to take on the looming monument for a final assault. Soon, he imagined that he would be able to go back home to Nieder’borg a hero with his beloved May’digg and get some well-deserved rest. Perhaps she would deign to make a more permanent commitment to him, he pondered as he watched her lead the gore-soaked cheering.
The elven general failed to hear Gabriel’s hasty warning to halt the attack as he was deep in a happy daydream of tomorrow. May’digg punched at the uncaring clouds in valiant celebration while her sanguine subordinates followed her every move in an angry ballet. She was so bright and full of life. Her brightness grew to blinding pain as the Royal Duck consumed her in fire. The blaze chewed her fellow maidens and then the lower deck before General Ter’dienne realized that the light wasn’t his swirling angel, but a hellish detonation. At 3:14 p.m., the hopeful elf never knew the fireball that hit him.
Thelemic Ark Royal Duck was charred to sooty ash. There was nothing left of the structure as Lord Mammon’s dreadful order immolated it and all the captured elves as well. Nothing was left but a grim, obsidian stone nestled in a bed of blackened ice.
The city of Dim’borgir was all but destroyed and not one building, tavern, circle, or statue remained intact. The Royal Duck blew the city not to sticks or rubble, but dust. Of the two thousand elves laying siege to Mammon’s redoubt, only twenty-seven remained alive under the gilded, weeping wings of their angelic commander and his fluttering, heavenly cohorts. It was the only battle that elfdom had truly lost during that whole counterattack.