He wasn't sure if he would describe the blade as monomolecular, but he did know that it was very fucking sharp. If he applied his fire to it, he hoped to create something like a welder's torch. Combined, with the softness of the metal as the air around them became the approximate temperature of the middle of a volcano, he hoped to finally dispatch his opponent. Before providing the enemy a limb it could potentially damage, Slate decided to test the ability on his claws.
He applied flame to the claws on his hand as he was weaving through the golems blows. As it overextended itself on a cross, he ducked underneath the arm and responded with an uppercut with his claws extended. He felt his claws rake into and through the metal flesh of its chest. It bellowed in rage and immediately disengaged, creating a space between the two combatants.
Slate watched as small furrows in the golem's chest began to close. He felt elated as his theory was proven right. It didn't matter that the golem could heal itself. He would dismember it and then bathe it in cleansing fire until the souls that powered it dispersed. He chased after his enemy and led with his tail blade. It struck over his shoulder like the stinger of a scorpion. He planted the flame-coated blade directly into the face of the golem.
Once the hit landed, he channeled more fire into tail blade began to glow with white effulgence as the metal became superheated. The golem tried to scream as its face began to melt and drip to the ground, but all that came out was a garbled mess. It began to scrabble at the tail impaling its face, but when its hands grasped the tail, those began to burn as well. A barrier of superheated air had surrounded Slate's entire body, and the structural integrity of the golem was starting to fail.
Slate's tail drifted slowly downward as if it were mired in quicksand. As it drew ever downwards, more of the golems form rendered. Slate covered his palms with fire and held onto the arms of the golem before they too began to look like a muddy copy of their former selves. Soon, the entire thing had dissolved and began to fuse with other parts of each other. Once its arms had commenced connecting to its legs, and the whole thing began to liquefy onto the ground, he stepped away.
He still hadn't received a system message so that he knew the creature was still technically alive no matter how damaged its physical form was. He drew in a deep breath and then began to bathe it in white flame-like he had planned. Within a few minutes of constant flame, he was finally rewarded with the message he had been waiting on.
Congratulations! You have defeated a Vallyrian War Golem. You have been rewarded with 953,750 experience. You have increased to level 40. You have reached your level cap. You have not completed the faction requirements to evolve.
Slate sighed in relief. He didn't care that he had reached his cap. He was just happy the nightmare was over. Now all he had to do was help the guardians defeat the shades. In a perfect world, destroying the golem would have banished them as well, but he knew he didn't have that kind of luck.
He sprinted towards the northern gate where his guardians fought off the violet-colored shades. As he neared them, he could tell that the guardians were simply trying to hold on. Even in their desperation, they were an extraordinary sight to behold. The Guardians threw fireballs and summoned brilliant chains of luminescence. Both attacks seemed especially effective against the shades, but the sheer number of opponents was overwhelming.
The shades fought like feral beasts. Slate didn't slow as he plowed into the formation of guardians and shades. He became a whirlwind of claws and tail as he shredded through his opponents like they were paper. Similar to the possessed armor, they didn't provide him with any experience, but he was notified occasionally by the system as they died.
Time lost all meaning as Slate mechanically and systematically destroyed his foes. The world became a series of cutscenes displaying savage fighting, thunderous explosives, and the screams of the dying. Combat erased the border between seconds as fatigue, and conscious thought became unimportant footnotes in the narrative of their battle.
Abruptly, reality returned as Slate as the Heritor continued to search for the next enemy and couldn't locate one. His Guardians were eyeing him warily. They had never seen anything dance with death the way that the Heritor had. Each execution had been a morbid monument to the Scourge itself.
Slate breathed heavily and studied them in return. His lungs were burning, and his limbs were heavy with exhaustion. He saw the same exhaustion mirrored in the faces of his Guardians. They were battered and bloodied, but he could feel cautious jubilation in their energy.
He smiled. The expression should have put them at ease, but he noticed that even more of them blanched. He mentally shrugged. Oh well, I tried. "Good job, Guardians." He said simply. He stopped channeling his aspect of cleansing fire, and his body returned to its normal state. Now wasn't the time for lengthy speeches. It would take time for them to realize that they were alive and to take care of their dead. Slate noticed a score of bodies behind them, and he sighed. His power wasn't meant for healing, but at that moment, he dearly wished that it did. It was never easy to lose comrades. He needed to keep his troops' minds on the mission and the best way to do that was to start issuing orders, even if they were simple ones.
"Where's Lieutenant Winterborn?" He asked. No one immediately answered. He watched as a figure forced its way through the crowd and he sighed. It was good to see a familiar face alive. Her face was covered with dried blood and Slate noticed a vicious cut from one side of her temple that stretched to the other side of her face. It was a brutal, ugly wound. Despite her obvious pain, the warrior grinned and the effect was even more ghastly.
"Right here, my Lord." She said with a wavering voice.
He didn't dishonor her by noting the quaver or the wound. Instead, he saluted her. "It's good to see you, Lieutenant Winterborn." He said with a proud voice. She wearily saluted him back but didn't reply.
"Set up a cordon and begin to process the citizenry. I want to be leaving this city as soon as feasibly possible. Lighthaven is under attack." He said with forced calm.
Shocked gasps met his declaration, and he let his face grow stony. "We do not have time to panic. We have to trust that our comrades can defend the compound and if they can't, we're not going to taint their sacrifice by not finishing what we started here." The gasps were quickly silenced from embarrassment. Instead of saying anything else, Winterborn began shouting orders at the shell-shocked guardians, and they scurried to comply.
Seeing that his orders were being followed, he turned away to return to Shale. Now that the immediate danger had been removed, he would be lying if he didn't admit that he was worried about her. Now that the noise of battle had died away, citizens had been exiting their homes to see what had become of the town. Slate pushed his way through them as he made his way to where Shale waited. Many of them didn't even move as he walked by them. Slate assumed that they had seen worse things than a monster like him during their occupation by the Vallyr.
When he reached the building where Shale was resting, he leapt onto the roof to join her there. She was awake and was watching the sky above them. He could sense relief radiating through their bond. He lay down next to her and watched the firmament with her. Soon they would have to rush to the aid of Lighthaven, but right now he just wanted to take a moment to breathe. Rushing off to another battle unprepared would only get everyone killed. Sometimes, being a commander meant knowing when to push your troops and knowing when to let them recover. This was the latter.
Now that the adrenaline was fading, his body felt battered. He didn't have the luxury of biomass to consume, so he waited there with Shale while the minor regeneration of the Scourge worked its magic on them. Neither of them had fatal injuries, and after a short period, they had recovered enough to carry on.
Are you ready to seize the city? He asked her.
She looked at him quizzically. Haven't we already done so? She replied.
No. I'm assuming this city has a token, just like Lighthaven. We'll need to grab it before we can
call the mission of success.
Shale sighed, unwilling to move. She lifted her knees to her chest, rocked backward, and then used the momentum to spring to her feet. I guess so. She grumbled. Slate merely laughed as he copied her movement and regained his feet as well.
They used the roofs as an avenue to the center of the city. They did their best to avoid the crowds of people that were forming in the street. Occasionally, they would have to use the ground to traverse their path, and they could tell that the citizens of Bastion had no clue what had happened over the last few hours.
They reached the inner city and almost felt a pang of nervousness as the gatehouse was utterly empty. They had been so used to fighting their way through the town that this degree of freedom was unnerving. From what they could tell, the inner city was completely void of the living. Even using their mana vision, they couldn't find a mana signature larger than rodents and other pests that plagued a city this size.
Soon enough they had reached the small citadel in the center of the city. The building itself was entirely square and roughly made. It had large walls that surrounded a small compound inside. Even here, the two Scourge leaders couldn't find a trace of its previous occupants. They entered the citadel through an open portcullis and made their way to the building proper. Opening a thick wooden door, they made their way inside.
Inside the structure, there were banners in Vallyrian colors and large murals that decorated the walls. Strangely enough, many of the paintings depicted purple bedecked Valylians fighting and killing creatures that eerily resembled Slate and Shale. Slate was further convinced that this city had been established for the sole purpose of watching out for the Scourge. It had been no coincidence that Lucidus had transported him to this particular place in this specific time.
He glanced over to see what Shale's reaction would be to the artwork, and instead of fear or wonder, he saw a small smile plastered on her face. Probing the Scourgemind, he could feel a quiet sense of pride and accomplishment as she studied the paintings. To her, this was just a sign of the Lord of Light's foresight. They had been sent to this place to cleanse it of its taint. To Shale, this artwork was simply an ironic tribute to their victory. Slate supposed that was one way to look at it. He was more of the mind that Lucidus was playing games and using his people as the pieces.
They didn't dwell on looking at the artwork. Instead, the Scourge monarchs made their way up a winding flight of stairs that eventually let out into the top floor of the citadel. When they reached the top, Slate couldn't help but be disgusted by what they found. The entire story had been turned into a ritual chamber. Slaughtered bodies nearly coated the floor from wall to wall.
In addition to the twenty-five remaining Vallyrians that Slate could see, there were hundreds of bodies in various twisted poses. They had clearly been brought up here, one after another, and sacrificed to fuel the dark ritual that had summoned the giant golem. Judging by the number of bodies that were up here, they had to have begun the first night that Slate and Shale had begun their attack.
He could feel Shale's absolute disgust as well. This is proof that the Vallyrians deserved to die, and we did the right thing. Shale snarled. Say what you want about Lucidus or about our purpose, but we didn't do…this. She gestured to the spectacle of blood and flesh. Slate made a noncommittal noise and picked his way through the bodies to arrive at one that was dressed in an elaborate costume.
If Slate were in charge of a crazy death cult, it was something he would wear too. Picking his way through the body, he eventually found what he was looking for. A tiny replication of the citadel in blue crystal was contained in a purse along the Valyrrian's waist. He fished it out and held it in his palm. Surrounded by innumerable corpses, he had to wonder if the conquest was worth it. As he beheld the token in his palm, it began to shine.
Congratulations, you have conquered the city of Bastion. Bastion is a level 43 settlement. Would you like to fuse your two settlements now and join their territory?
Slate mentally declined. He wasn't sure what that would do to the city, and he didn't want to make a mistake while Lighthaven was still under attack. That being said, he knew what he needed to do next. Shale, we need to consume enough of these bodies to unlock the next versions of our minor mutations. The Guardians will take a while to round up most of the citizens and explain to them what happened. Soon enough, the word will spread and we'll either have a bunch of new converts or a bunch of new victims.
Shale looked around the room in disgust. She wasn't keen on the idea of eating something that she hadn't killed herself. Still, she knew the practicality of what he was saying. They weren't sure what they were going to encounter when they made their way back to Lighthaven, and she could already feel Slate's desperate desire to get back to the compound and see what was going on. For her own part, she was just as ready. She was afraid that she would return to find her entire clutch destroyed. Not only would that set the Scourge behind, but she wasn't sure how she would feel about her children being killed before they had the chance to be born. She sent her acceptance through the Scourgemind to Slate, and they began eating.
They had only eaten about 150 points worth of biomass each which was equivalent to about ten bodies when they were interrupted by one of the guardians. It was Lieutenant Winterborn. When she crested the staircase and saw what remained of so many people, she immediately stumbled back down the stairs and begin to vomit noisily. Slate and Shale looked at each other, not judging the Guardian in the slightest. If they didn't have their monstrous sensibilities, they probably would have been disgusted themselves.
They stood up from their respective meals and made their way to the staircase. The lieutenant was still hunched over, trying to reclaim her bearing. Slate tried to ease her conscious.
"It's ok, Lieutenant. These people died so that the Vallyr could summon that monstrosity. We're merely trying to make use of the biomass." The lieutenant wiped her mouth with a rough sleeve. All thoughts of casually seducing the Heritor had been banished. It was one thing to flirt with the leader of the Scourge, it was quite another to watch him liquifiy and eat bodies that could've been her. Until this moment, it hadn't occurred to her what the predators did with their bodies.
Regardless, the Lieutenant had a job and so did they. "I won't judge you and the Lady's ways, my Lord. I know that the Lord of Light has set us upon different paths for a reason." She looked uneasily at the scene behind them and continued on, visibly controlling her gag reflex. "I merely wanted to inform you that the Guardians are ready to move on." Slate and Shale shared a surprised look.
"So soon?" Shale asked.
The lieutenant nodded at her question. This wasn't the time for their rivalry and Slate was pleased that the lieutenant recognized the fact. "Yes, Lady Consort." The Guardian began to look uncomfortable. "We've had some help organizing the citizens."
Slate thinned his eyes, sensing a power play from someone he had yet to meet. "From who?" He asked icily. The lieutenant gulped and met his eyes.
"A group of men and women calling themselves the Circle. It seems that they're representatives of the people within Bastion. They've been an unofficial government for the citizens while the Vallyrians took a mostly hands-off approach to governance. As long as they got their taxes in the form of slaves and gold, they were more than willing to let the Circle keep the citizens peaceful and under control."
Slate sighed. Once again, he would have to end up murdering some people. As soon as he tried to leave the city with his guards in tow, they would take over the town, and he would find himself stuck in between two hostile forces. One would be attacking Lighthaven, and the other would be defending Bastion. There was not a bone in Slate's body that told him that would be an intelligent decision.
He looked at the lieutenant. It really wasn't her fault that she couldn't see the machinations of the "unofficial government."
"Set up a temporary throne room for my Lady Consort and me." He ordered. "We would like to meet a r
epresentative of this circle."
The lieutenant saluted and replied. "At once, my Lord Heritor. I'll come grab you when we've selected a suitable location." She looked uneasy at the two of them. "It may be best that we don't allow others into the citadel, for the time being, my Lord and Lady. I understand that the Lord of Light has made you this way, but I'm not so sure someone else will. Killing and eating on the battlefield makes sense. But this feels…wrong."The lieutenant looked afraid that the admission would cost her life. On the contrary, both Shale and Slate were pleasantly surprised at her candor.
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