by D. Rus
Pleased with the result, the goddess stepped aside. The bindweed greedily reached for the nearest headstone. Once the plant felt the cold granite with its tendrils, it rose off the ground and threw itself upon the stone with effort.
The weed formed a thick wreath, digging its thorns into the granite. There was a crunch as cracks covered the grave. The stone exploded with a deafening sound. All right! One down!
Yavanna nodded with content, lifted her arms and sang louder.
The bindweed bloomed and became studded with pods. Within the next few seconds, it cast off a hundred seeds which insantly sprouted. They grew strong, going through their entire life cycle in a mere dozen heartbeats.T seeds repeated everything from the beginning.
The wind spread the seeds, planting them on the bloodied battlefield with immaculate precision. Blood puddles worked perfectly as a fertilizer for the omnivorous desert weed. The jungle of sprouts expanded and grew like mad, its shoots enveloping the granite gravestones.
This process took a toll on Yavanna. Her voice grew shaky as she began to wheeze and break into a hacking cough. Divine blood trickled from underneath her fingernails. Beads of sweat ran down her graceful arms along with green sparks of power.
The bindweed became incredibly strong. The sands, NPC corpses, and heaps of gravestones all disappeared beneath the moving green mass. Then it began to thunder. The gravestones burst with deafening sounds. Their fragments whistled through the air like shrapnel shells, bounced off armor and pierced flesh and the surrounding sand dunes. They made more noise than an ambushed motorized infantry battalion shooting all their weapons at once.
Soon, the racket began to die down. The weeds had served their purpose and now quickly withered. The green field turned into a sandpit filled with dead standing trees.
"I did it," the goddess whispered hoarsely and fell to the ground.
"Yavanna!" cried Aulë, rushing to his wife.
The Fallen One kneeled at her side and put a hand to her chest. He sat still, listening for something to determine Yavanna’s condition. "Complete depletion of magic. Rupture of astral channels, shortage of vital forces. She didn’t have enough prana to finish the ritual. She was drawing strength from her own flesh toward the end, and that was highly disadvantageous."
"But why, love?!" The shocked Aulë tossed aside his axe and shook Yavanna by her slender shoulders. "What are we to do now?"
"We’ll take her to the Halls of Heaven. They offer maximum protection. She’s in for a long rehabilitation period. A week, a month. Possibly even a few years…But she’ll be all right in the end. This is just a bad time to drop out of the race…Boy, we could sure use the loyal Asclepius with his ability to share powers of the right color."
Aulë lifted his wife off the ground and wrinkled his brow as he concentrated on summoning a long range portal. We heard a deafening clap, and they were gone.
The Fallen One walked over to me and embraced me tightly. I hissed quietly, hearing my bones crunch. Here we go with the hugging again!
Fall stepped back, admiring my battered, heroic appearance. "You fought well! The Lights got their share. A victory so great deserves divine gratitude. The universal balance has no choice but to allow it. I present you with a gift!"
Status alert! You have received a divine right: Restoration.
By the power and the word of the Supreme God, you can reset all previously chosen characteristics of a player’s avatar. All points are conserved and will become available for repeated reallocation.
Rollback: 24 hours.
This is it; reroll! Many players would have given their right arm for this baby. It was a free opportunity to correct any mistakes you may have made in your character’s development. You could get a completely new build and change your avatar’s class; thief to stealther, bomber to portalist, mule to warrior, you name it. An inexhaustible source of money. Thanks, Fall!
Status alert! You have received a new priestly ability: By the Power of the Fallen One.
The Head of the Pantheon gives you one chance to resurrect a fallen creature with all of its gear, a full refund of all experience points lost, and nullification of ability rollback timers.
Cooldown: 24 hours.
Ha! Dear Snowie! By the Power of the Fallen One, head on home. Dinner’s ready, your wife’s waiting, and your floury maggots are crawling away.
Chapter Five
The piercing clap of the long range portal echoed in my ears as the Fallen One and the other gods left for the Halls of Heaven. They left a trail of Sparks of Divine Presence which blew into our plane of reality like a blizzard of light.
I shook my head, trying to get rid of the ringing in my ears. I was on my way to acquiring the occupational deafness of gunners from the main tower. A tank helmet would have been better than the delicate mithril helmet which the narrow-minded game designers labeled as state-of-the-art armor.
The security goblins which reverently stood nearby suddenly lost their habitual imperturbability. They broke into two different-sized groups.
The first group quickly formed a circle around us and turned their backs to us, their sharp eyes scanning the premises. Their agile green fingers would reach either for their slender blades dripping with poison, or for their pencils and tattered notebooks from yellowish low-grade paper. It was hard to say which of these the people feared more.
This fierce formation scared away all the nearby gapers. It was rumored in the clan that the meticulous spies had dirty files on everyone. The ratings of each clan member kept changing based on usefulness and dependability. And it was also said that every time the great and mighty Laith decided to award someone a grand title or some other fancy decoration, he would be sure to consult the clerical folder which contained everyone’s records…
I laughed to myself as I looked at my subordinates hurrying away in fear, but had no intention of telling them the truth. Orcus and I had just spent an entire afternoon perfecting the clan’s internal security system, so this type of response was for the best.
The second group of goblins rushed to the sacred trails of the four gods. They took out vials and alchemist spoons. I heard the rustling of archaeologist brushes. Bone tweezers swiftly pulled large greenish diamonds out of the sand. This was Yavanna’s crystallized blood.
I nodded approvingly, seeing that they closely followed the secret protocol for physical evidence collecting. After dear Winnie stole the blood of the Fallen One, I had a fit of rage which vented itself into a few pages covered with handling instructions for divine blood. Later, after I cooled off, I fine-tuned the details and passed on the instructions to the goblins for execution.
These instructions aimed at achieving a few things. The first was obvious to everyone, even those without a greedy pig. It was all about collecting rare goodies and stocking up on the precious Divine Spark supply.
The second goal was not quite so obvious; preserving traces of divine activity. Hard evidence would assure that even ten thousand years from now, no huge-headed geek wearing huge glasses would dare ask the provocative question: "Did the Fallen One ever exist?"
That is why my goblins now carefuly made photos and videos and uploaded them to the virtual storage. Later, they would be transferred to parchments and crystals. The bindweed left-overs were put into a burlap sack. The goblins poured plaster on the spot where the Beautiful Yavanna had kneeled, then carefully cut out that piece of the ground.
There was a fight over Aulë’s axe. The dwarves, still hot from the battle, wanted to take the artifact to their great father’s temple, uttering their monotonous chants on the way.
Upon my command, the goblins reluctantly stepped out of the way. One of them held a vial behind his back. But it was empty. The cunning officer had failed to take a sample as mithril scrapers didn’t work on divine weapons.
Another goblin in the outer ring tripped over a massive piece of iron in a pile of stones. He cussed quietly, saying something about stallions ridiculing the Sun God. Jumping on
one foot, he pulled out a huge two-hilted sword from the debris. It shone with a rich assortment of Power Stones.
It seemed as though no one saw what my goblins were doing. Everyone was busy with things like resurrecting the fallen, looking for hiding stealthers, and guarding the salvaged graves of their clan mates. But they were just putting on a show. The second they saw the sword, a true gold rush began on the battlefield. Any loot they were able to find added fuel to the fire.
Our clan members found the most random things. There was useless junk such as hare hides and stale sandwiches. And then there were safe deposit box keys and unique artifacts with a “no-drop” status. Distribution happened on a first come, first served basis.
Trying to restore some order, I cried at the top of my lungs: "Hey, no stealing! All loot is considered Clan Resources, and it goes in the treasury, now!" Turning to Orcus, I whispered: "Get the dwarves outta here. They’ll take everything down to the granite, leaving nothing but sand."
The demons weren’t interested in loot. The remaining soldiers of Inferno sat in a circle around the mighty Lightfighter in a temporary nirvana-like state, absorbing and subjugating the fragments of captured souls.
There were more survivors among the dwarves, enough for a large battalion, in fact. But they had a different nature. They needed a celebration with lively discussions and magniloquent boasting. They also required a funeral feast in honor of the fallen, which would be followed by a commemoration of the resurrected, then finally by a three-day mourning of those who had disappeared in the Great Nothingess for good.
In other words, they would definitely not go into another battle very soon. These short guys could be temporarily relieved from military duty. Now had I asked them to defend their home caves, then they’d fight to the death without a second thought. But everything else just wasn’t worth it in their eyes.
The dragons did a great job storming the battlefield. The only downside was the amount of ammo we had spent; twenty thousand flechettes per run. Even the Crypt’s time anomaly couldn’t help replenish that very fast.
Military aviation can only thrive in an industrial society. A labor-in-vain team of loner mechanics simply couldn’t produce enough supplies.
A couple of orcs appeared from one of the windy portal arches. Their armor was covered with chalk and watercolor stains. Kindergarten security. What are they doing here?
My mom appeared with them. The eternally-blooming wreath of a Top Priestess on her head had lost its lustre and had a sickly, wilted appearance. But with Yavanna’s sudden misfortune, all of nature’s creations in our lands began to look unwell. Fall came unexpectedly to the Russian cluster.
Mom smiled, a shade of sadness upon her face, then whispered something into a private channel. Children walked out of the massive portal single file. They were in couples, holding hands, bows and baseball caps moving side by side; boy-girl, boy-girl…
I was about to protest, but Mom would hear none of it. She said sternly: "It is important to set a good example for the children. Many defenders of the First Temple had proven themselves heroes right here on this field. The little ones absolutely have to see it for themselves!"
I shrugged. She had a point. Let the kids play war as the fearless dwarves of the Third Copperhead Hird, the loyal she-elves of the Inner Circle, or the invincible and legendary Snowie. It was much better for them than those dumb cartoons our possible enemy put out, or those single-key shooter games you could get for yout tablet.
I nodded to the limping Tamerlane, the goblin leader. "Give the kids a tour. Let them touch whatever they like and make sure they’re safe."
But Mom blushed and said: "We don’t need security. We have vamps and Simon…er…Medved Nikolaevich…Ugh! You know, that mighty paladin!"
I raised a brow, not sure what she meant. Only when I saw Major Medved’s stocky frame appear from the portal did I catch on and grin knowingly. Medved was the ex-Commandant of the Vets’ East Castle, which now lay in ruins.
My words must have really imprinted themselves on her mind when I told her about all the worthy, mature men pining away without women to back them up and support them. After the first signs that her youth was returning and hours spent in front of the mirror in admiration of her looks, she began to wonder; where are the crowds of promised admirers?
So I nodded at the major. Here’s one, without a horse of his own but a good person no matter how you look at it. He looked like a perfect square with his bulging muscles, almost like some ancient superhero.
Geez, some Romeo! But then, why not? I asked myself. Mom was quickly growing younger, and anyone who would dare call her an old lady would get punched in the eye. Not because it would be an insult, but because it would be a lie.
I wondered what was this major doing in the rear while the Vets were fighting on the wall of Tianlong? My question must have been written on my face because Medved suddenly tried to explain the situation: "Planned rotation. We’re transferred to the reserve for four hours after a day of fighting. So I thought I’d…see how you guys are doing…I better go…" He added, sulking.
He was one shy character.
"Halt!" I said. "Major Medved, I’m putting you in charge of the children’s security. You will have temporary command of four hounds and a special ops lieutenant. Any questions?"
"Sir, no, Sir!" the paladin replied, habitually standing at attention.
I didn’t have any rights to order him around, but we both ignored this slippery issue to get what we wanted.
"Carry on!"
"Sir, yessir!" the major saluted me and gave me a cheerful wink.
I smiled and asked in a familiar way: "How are things at Tianlong? Our guys holding up?"
The major wrinkled his face. Now he definitely looked at least fifty. "It’s hard. Just physically hard. There’s too many of them…The enemy is constantly trying new things, different tactics, different attack and formation structures. The analysts on both sides are locked in a chess tournament. But the weight categories are different. They’re heavyweights with crowbars, and we’re flyweights with toothbrushes for swords. We do deal damage, but the longer we waltz around them, the higher the chances of them finally knocking us out with those crowbars."
A pessimist, it seems. I guessed that he still hand’t recovered from the loss of the East Castle. That place had been like a child to him. They said he knew every stone, that he would read children’s books to the controlling artifact, and that the crystal would pulse in tune with the words.
As if affirming Medved’s words, the staff channel began to blink to get my attention. They never used the urgent message option unless they had to. Could it be that the enemy broke through our defense again?
Waving Medved goodbye, I ruffled the hair of one of the boys who was petting my purring snow leopard, then switched to my internal interface.
Sir, all is lost! The Lights came back with countless warriors. We can no longer resist!
Well, perhaps I chose a bad time to crack wicked jokes. It’s just that I was rather optimistic after our huge victory and the massive sack of Lightsiders’ graves. It felt like we were capable of solving any problem, no matter how hard.
On the other hand, I was subconsciously expecting the enemy to begin a general siege, so I wasn’t that surprised. We obviously failed to weed out all the enemy stealthers fast enough, and the Lights already knew about the fate of their graves.
The bomb we had planted amidst enemy hordes began to tick. Once the warriors would find out that they risked losing an invaluable set of expensive gear, there would be no way of telling how many of them would choose to remain with their English-speaking instructors…
But when I took a portal to Tianlong’s siege machine sector, my euphoria quickly disappeared. The fortress could not be seen. Heavy flaming clouds of magic were wrapped around the dragon’s bones like multiple tourniquets. The swarm of enemy spells kept getting thicker, forming a sandstorm. A hail of arrows accompanied the work of enemy casters
.
Three thousand of our warriors were moving back, yielding to the immense pressure of the magic. They would attempt futile counterattacks from time to time, diving into the chaos of elements in order get closer to the enemy and fire a few arrows. Very few managed to make it outside.
I ground my teeth. The enemy had turned our advantage into our weakness. We were planning on a heroic fight inside the narrow pass so that we could hold back the Sun God’s hordes like the 300 Spartans.
But instead, the enemy allotted a hundred casters per every square yard of the dragon’s head. Because of them, it was now tougher to survive inside that head than on Venus. We would all inevitably get pushed back into the Valley. Once there, the one-hundred-thousand-strong enemy force would fully expand, proving that the gods favor large batallions.
We were in trouble. Our artillery was firing blindly, launching projectiles over the heads of our retreating soldiers. The tar-covered junctions smoked, the wooden bearings flew to pieces, the breaking cords harvested lives.
Everything has its price, and speed buffs for siege machinery attacks are no exception. Our ammo supplies were dwindling fast, but the strength of the machines dropped even faster.
A warrior on a slim-legged stallion emerged from the line of retreating soldiers. Swiftly breaking through the clerics of the second line, he rode up to the artillery park and made his horse rear. “Did you not hear the orders to retreat?! Grab yer machines and beat it! The wizards are holding portals open for you! In five minutes, even the stones are gonna melt in this place!”
"Hey Dan!" I called. "Starting to panic?"
"Finally! Howdy, Sir! I hope you can stack the deck, ’cause we need miracles right now. Those bastards sure discovered the right tactic. They’re attacking under the cover of barrage fire. The magic pressure reached six thousand damage points per second, and it’s not dropping! They are constantly rotating casters!"