War God's Mantle_Ascension

by James Hunter

  All of my rage and frustration reared up inside my chest, and suddenly I was glad the bat-winged she-devil had come to pay us a visit. Now, I had a punching bag to work my issues out on. “What the hell do you want?” I snapped, drawing my sword, the rasp of steel on leather carrying through the clearing.

  “I have come to admire your stunning victory,” she replied with a condescending sneer. “Though I must admit that while I am no god of war, it seems foolish to leave your city weak and undefended. In the warfighting business, I do believe that is known as a tactical error.”

  A worm of fear wriggled in my gut. We hadn’t left the city completely undefended, but I had split the party—a cardinal sin in any D and D campaign—though it was out of sheer necessity. Still, I pushed the fear and doubt away, drawing instead on the fiery rage emanating from the godstone in my chest. I was mad as hell, and surprisingly it felt good. Time to earn my keep as war god. “No, a tactical error was coming here,” I said, my voice confident and hard as steel. “And now you’re going to pay for fucking around with me and mine. I’m done with your shit. Attack,” I barked, my voice a whip crack of command as I thrust my sword forward.

  Loxo and Euryleia responded at once, firing at the demoness. The arrows, glowing with golden light, sliced through the air. But in a blink, Praxidike whipped the arrows out of the air, her smug smile growing. After seeing Asteria’s stunning display of speed moments before, I shouldn’t have been surprised. But I was. I was also annoyed.

  “While I have no doubts that I could easily destroy you on my own,” she crowed, oozing condescending confidence, “I did bring additional help. Unlike you, I try to be prepared. Stymphalian! Sea centaurs! Attack!”

  A dozen centaurs exploded out from the dense foliage near the pool, galloping toward us.

  Though they were centaurs—horse body, human torso—they were also like nothing I ever could’ve imagined. These monstrous creatures had been spliced with a variety of marine animals. One of the centaurs had the belly of a man, but all human aspects ended at the octopus face complete with eight long tentacles. The freak was a dead ringer for Davy Jones from those Pirates of the Caribbean movies—well, except for the horse legs.

  Another of the centaurs held a curved scimitar in one human hand, and his other hand was actually a giant crab claw, which could easily snap me in half. A third had the head of a lobster, as did another, whose arms ended in sharp points like a lobster’s long legs. A shark-headed centaur wielding a longbow leered at us with rows upon rows of jagged teeth.

  Sea centaurs. What the hell?

  And the horse creatures were only the beginning of Praxidike’s forces.

  Huge birds, each the size of a puma, erupted from the trees, massive wings beating at the air as shrill cries filled the clearing. There were thirty of them, at least, and these weren’t run-of-the-mill jungle birds. Ah, nope. Their eyes were cherry-red like hot coals, and their beaks were fashioned from razor-sharp bronze—as were their feathers. Honestly, at a glance, it seemed impossible that those things could fly—what with all that damned metal—but they were surprisingly agile and graceful in the air.

  Stymphalian, Praxidike had called them. The name tickled at the back of my mind, and then it hit me like a bag full of bricks. I’d read about them once, back in high school. Slaying the Stymphalian was one of the labors of Hercules. Though if I remembered correctly, they were supposed to be able to launch their feathers like awesome ninja stars—

  “Incoming,” Myrina hollered as the birds circled around overhead, then whipped their wings forward. Oh shit. Sure enough, a hail of whirling, razor-sharp feathers rained down on us. Vaguely, I was reminded of Archangel from the X-Men/X-Factor comic books.

  “Evasive maneuvers,” I shouted, dropping down to one knee. I dragged Asteria with me, pushing her behind me as I lifted my shield, offering us both protection. The bronze feathers thudded into the wood, nearly puncturing the shield completely. A white smear of bird shit crusted the feathers. Yep, that’s right, not only could they hurl their feathers, but according to legend, the Stymphalian also had crazy-poisonous dung.

  Super gross.

  We’d been caught flatfooted. I could only imagine that this had been Praxidike’s plan all along. Give us a few harpies, which we could take out easily enough, and then, when we were celebrating, bring in her main force to wipe us out.

  Praxidike cackled. “You will all die while my armies break through the walls of your city and destroy the sigil. Soon, Hades will walk across the stones of this world once more, and all will worship him and die!”

  It wasn’t a matter of worship him OR die. Nope. Worship him and die.

  Well, that was just great.

  “Not on my watch,” I shouted, the godstone in my chest growing hotter and hotter as my rage built like an inferno flame.

  On instinct, I sent orders through the mental link with my party. Euryleia, take Buttercup and get in front of those centaurs. Slow them down, no matter what it takes. Antiope and Loxo, form a line—I don’t want those fucking centaurs flanking us. Keep them contained. Myrina, you’re on Stymphalian duty. I doubt any of our regular weapons will penetrate their bronze feathers, but bronze is conductive, so I bet they’re super susceptible to lightning-based attacks. So, hit them with your lightning javelin. And Asteria, engage Praxidike. But don’t die! That’s an order.

  The command in my voice was evident since the Amazons leapt into action, following my orders to the letter without so much as an ounce of sass.

  Buttercup barreled forward like a cannonball, smashing into the centaurs, breaking their charge like a cheap toothpick as the bear sheared through tentacles and exposed limbs with razor-sharp claws. Enemy swords and spears lashed out, slicing fur and drawing blood, but the she-bear didn’t seem to care. And Euryleia fought like a bobcat, spear whipping around in vicious arcs, beating enemies back—at least until a centaur with a crab claw limb caught the spear shaft and clipped the weapon in two with a snap of his pincher.

  Meanwhile, Loxo darted left, emptying her quiver with maniacal, frenzied speed. A flurry of arrows peppered a centaur with the face of a sword fish, putting the creature out of his misery in an eyeblink. And then she was dancing forward, a short sword in one hand and a dagger in the other as she engaged with an orca-whale-headed monster wielding two flails in human hands the size of dinner plates. Antiope maneuvered to the right, wielding a deadly katana with both hands. She roared and leapt forward, her blade opening the belly of a shark centaur.

  The monster lunged, his maw yawning wide. But Antiope was already backpedaling out of reach, then juking right and beheading the creature with a single strike.

  I tore my eyes away, trusting my warriors to do what they did best, and I focused on an incoming lobster centaur with sharp spiny arms, bright red and jagged. He howled, thrusting a spear toward my chest, but I was fueled by Divine rage and ready to slay some bodies. I brought my shield up, deflecting the spear with a clang as I pivoted at the hips and swiped my sword around, going low. The War Blade sliced through the centaur’s front legs. Seawater-colored blood spurted out, and the creature went down with a screech, unable to hold himself upright.

  With a twirl of my sword, I slammed the blade down, severing the creature’s head with as much effort as it took to slice a tomato. As a level-eight war god, I was one strong son of a bitch, and it was starting to show. And I was just getting started. I pulled my blade free and whirled, scanning the battlefield. I caught sight of Myrina dancing through the ruins, using the columns as cover while she engaged the Stymphalian with her lightning javelin, which was impressively effective—just as I’d suspected.

  Already, a handful of the bronze-winged monster birds littered the ground, their cherry-red eyes dark, smoke rising from their corpses in plumes.

  I put the general from my mind; she was clearly in control. Unfortunately, I couldn’t say the same thing for the lower-level Amazons. Buttercup the war bear was covered in wounds, blood flowing freely
, matting her dark fur. Her eyes were glassy and her movements languid. The she-bear was dying, her Health already dipping below a quarter. Euryleia didn’t look much better, though she still fought on, holding a trio of sea-centaurs at bay with a wild series of thrusts, jabs, and slashes from her short sword.

  “Incoming,” came Myrina’s cry from among the columns.

  I shot a look up as a dozen of the Stymphalian dove, wings whipping forward with terrible speed, hurling more bronze feathers toward me and the other Amazons.

  I dove to the right, avoiding several feathers which slammed into the dirt, and rolled up onto a knee, catching more of the deadly projectiles with my shield. But my Amazons hadn’t fared nearly so well. Buttercup looked like a pincushion—her life flashing at ten percent—and Antiope was down in the dirt, a grimace on her face, a pair of feathers protruding from her left leg. One was lodged in her thigh, the other in her calf.

  Only Loxo, with her incredible speed and agility, had managed to avoid any damage.

  The Huntress bolted right, positioning herself between the downed Antiope and an incoming centaur with the head of an eel. I used the lull in action to bolt forward, quickly closing the distance between me and my warriors. In a blink, I pressed a hand against Buttercup, letting Divine Essence flow from me as I healed the dread bear, before turning my attentions on Antiope.

  “This is gonna hurt,” I yelled, reaching down and yanking the metal feathers free, one after another. Surprisingly, the Warden took it without so much as a grunt of protest, though the pained grimace on her face told the real story. Once the metal was loose, I hit her with a Healing Touch—dropping my Essence down to 121—and pulled her upright with a heave. But I didn’t have time for chitchat. Loxo was holding Eel-head at bay, but another centaur was closing in on her from the right, and that would be game, set, match for the Huntress.

  I bum-rushed the creature, a war cry on my lips, and thrust out my left hand, triggering Lightning Lance. Raw energy, primal and deadly, tore its way down my arm, exploding from my palm. Blue-white death arced through the air, slamming into the flanking centaur, throwing it back. The massive monster—graced with the horrifying head of a giant catfish—dropped, limbs convulsing violently as its eyes liquified and melted inside its skull.

  Gruesome, but oddly satisfying.

  I caught a flash of movement to my left and spun, shouldering Loxo aside just in time to save her from a hellish sword slash, courtesy of Eel-head, that would’ve cleaved her head in two. As it was, the blade passed only inches from me, but close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, and this was neither. I slipped right and planted my foot in the centaur’s chest, driving him back a few paces, then followed up with a brutal hack from my War Blade. Sparks flew as the creature managed to get his weapon up in the nick of time.

  But he wasn’t fast enough to deflect a lightning-fast lunge from Loxo. The Huntress planted her short sword in the creature’s guts, putting him down in an instant.

  “Good work,” I shouted at her, offering her a fierce grin, which she returned in kind. “Now let’s do it again! Everyone, form on me,” I called over my shoulder. And then I was sprinting forward, straight into the arms of three more centaurs. Intellectually, I knew the move was reckless, but the godstone inside me burned with unholy intensity, spurring me on. It was almost like the stone was feeding off my rage, propelling me to fight. To kill. I dropped my shoulder and slammed it into a hammer-headed freak with gnashing teeth.

  The weight of my body knocked him back, arms pinwheeling, and I followed it up with a sword slash, removing one of his arms before blasting him in the chest with another Lightning Lance.

  Another one down for the count.

  “Incoming!” Myrina shouted, fighting to be heard over the din of battle. I glanced up in time to see the flock of Stymphalian strafing us yet again. More bronze feather-spikes thudded into the dirt around us, kicking up dust and debris. I avoided being hit by sheer luck, but poor Euryleia took a stomach full of bronze feathers. Blood bubbled from her lips and I knew I needed to act that instant or she was dead.

  Myrina! We have to take care of those goddamn birds! I hollered through the mental link as I beelined for the dying Beastiamancer.

  I am doing my best, War God, but they are too many. And too fast. Even the lightning javelin is insufficient to the task.

  The cogs whirled away in my head. Alright, you come over here and help against the remaining centaurs, I sent while simultaneously slapping a hand against Euryleia’s thigh and unleashing another wave of Healing power.

  As you command, War God, the Battle Warden replied. She streaked across the battlefield in a blur of churning legs and pumping arms. Ten feet away, Myrina leapt up, cartwheeling through the air, impaling a manta ray warrior through the face with a hurled javelin. I turned away from the ground battle, fixing my gaze to the sky. The first thing I saw was Praxidike, tangling with Asteria near the towering trees on the edge of the clearing. The shifter was currently in her giant black widow form, and giving the demoness one helluva a fight.

  Somehow, Asteria had snared Praxidike in several thick strands of webbing, slowing her movements and preventing her from escaping into the air. And while the bat-winged monster struggled to free herself, Asteria bit the shit out of the Fury over and over with her fangs—six inches long and dripping with deadly poison. Praxidike fought like mad, of course, furiously trying to bat Asteria away, but, like my Beastiamancer had said, she was incredibly fast. The minute Praxidike aimed her cudgel-like atlatl, the spider would shift and find a new section of skin to fang.

  Damn fine work.

  But the Stymphalian were still a real problem. Myrina had managed to take out eleven of the massive birds, but that left nineteen in the air. Nineteen. Worse, they were getting ready to make another bombing run. Every time they attacked, one of my Amazons ended up in desperate need of healing, and I knew in my gut we couldn’t go on like that for much longer. Every Miracle depleted me of more Essence. Eventually, I’d be tapped out. I needed to end these things and I needed to do it now.

  I lifted a hand, ready to fire off a Lightning Lance, but then inspiration slammed into my head like a baseball bat. I was going about this all wrong. These things were highly susceptible to lightning-based attacks, Myrina had already proved that, and I had a one-off ability that might just do the trick: Shockwave. Since I could only call upon the ability once a day, I’d been saving it for the right moment, but there couldn’t be a better moment than now. With a feral grin, I raised the War Blade high over my head, fingers flexing tight around the grip, and triggered the ability from my combat display menu.

  For a long beat nothing happened, and trepidation mounted inside my chest. This had to work. Had to. But then, just as I was about to panic, the clouds above us turned gray then black, followed by a roaring BOOM as thunder cracked and a single bolt of jagged blue lightning streaked down from the heavens. Instead of plowing into my enemies, the lightning bolt connected with the tip of my sword, and power exploded through every cell in my body. My jaws clattered, and my limbs trembled as I battled to keep my feet.

  And then that power rushed out of me, down into the ground.

  But it didn’t stop there. Oh no.

  Contrary to all laws of nature, I could feel the raw electricity spread out around me in a circle, the earth itself thrumming with primal energy. Then, in a flash, a hundred jagged bolts of lightning erupted from the ground like geysers in some sort of reverse lightning storm. Bolts of terrible power wreaked absolute destruction, boiling centaurs on the spot, then streaking up, up, up, blasting those no-good Stymphalian from the sky like ground to air missiles. Bronze-feathered bodies rained down, slamming into the earth with beefy thuds.

  And most miraculous of all? The reverse lightning never even came close to touching my troops.

  After a solid ten seconds of light and noise and destruction, the energy flowing through me guttered and died, along with the lightning bolts exploding from
the earth. But the damage was done. As I scanned the battlefield, there wasn’t a single centaur left standing, and a quick glance at the skies—suddenly clear once more—revealed the Stymphalian had likewise been wiped out root and branch. Awesome, though there was still one pest who had managed to survive the onslaught.

  Praxidike.

  Not that I was really surprised. She was obviously the hell-spawn equivalent of a cockroach, and it would probably take a concentrated nuclear blast to put her down for keeps.

  With that said, she wasn’t looking so hot. She’d broken free of Asteria’s black widow web, but her skin had gone an ashy gray, and her wings flapped in starts and spurts. Sadly, Asteria wasn’t in great shape either. The huge spider lay in the clearing, one leg missing, several puncture wounds marring her belly. I checked her stats—injured, but stable. I’d be able to fix her up just as soon as I drove Praxidike off.

  “You lost,” I said, fury simmering just below the words. “You underestimated us, and now you’re gonna pay the price. I’m gonna put you down here and now.” I raised my sword.

  “As if you could kill me so easily, little god. Besides, this is an empty victory,” she snarled while loading a wicked black javelin into her atlatl. “Perhaps you won this battle, but the war is mine. As we speak, the sigil in Lycastia City is being smashed. I will win! And when I do, I will pick the flesh from your bones and use your entrails to break every fast for days on days on days.” She sneered, hate burning brightly in her gaze. “It is time for me to go, but a parting gift before I leave.” Praxidike moved like smoke, flinging the javelin, the atlatl giving it extra force.