by Ryan Rimmel
The size of my badger was a problem for them. The undead ranks would have stopped a ground-based force from getting close to the ram, but my huge badger’s Destructive Gaze fired directly over their heads. As the blast struck, two Shadow barriers sprang up. For an instant, two higher tier magics contested each other.
Then, I got an idea. I hadn’t tapped out my Mana, so I extended my palm, yelled out “Bub,” and just kept yelling. A Holy Blast accentuated each syllable and smashed into the magical barriers. Merideth saw what I was doing and fired off a far more blistering version of a Holy Blast. Every bit helped, and the barrier shattered under our onslaught.
As it penetrated, Badgelor’s beam fragmented. It blasted through the barrier’s shards into thousands of thinner beams. One of the undead casters stumbled backward, its body riddled with holes. Also, it was on fire. The Skeletal Ram got the worst of it, though. Instead of a focused beam, the creature's entire side had been punctured with tiny holes and lit on fire. I wasn’t sure if undead could feel pain, but then the ram screamed. I smiled.
“I’m fecking blind,” growled Badgelor.
“It heals in six seconds,” I chuckled, patting him on the side.
“I still don’t see their commander,” stated Shart.
“Any chance it's the Dungeon Master at the ruined temple?” I asked.
“Doubtful, I’d be getting a data stream if that were the case,” stated the demon.
Nick was yelling something about Sequoia's deep roots, as the first of the undead got into javelin range. The model Falcon soldier carried what amounted to a pilum, and they began flinging those weapons downrange at the charging undead. A pilum was an oddly heavy spear designed to incapacitate a shield, which no one in the undead horde was using. Of course, when one of those spears smashed through your rib cage and got stuck, the effect was the same. The undead's ranks broke, as they started tumbling. Those that fell were trampled by their fellows.
Our heavy cavalry was already engaging a force on the Sequoian flank. Feral ghouls attempted to outflank us, but they died against the horses. Jerry’s force was fighting a similar battle on the other flank. They were not enjoying the same success, though, until Merideth and a handful of truly heavy infantry moved to their aid. Both adventurers managed to fend off the attack for the moment.
“It's about time,” said Badgelor, as the undead reached the creek bed. The Calistogan army had also begun throwing their pilums and had formed up to receive the charge. Nick and Lorraine were safely nestled back with their forces. Both had been instructed not to charge at the first moment of combat.
“Rules for thee,” I thought to myself, as Badgelor and I held the center. The first ranks of undead closed.
As the undead charged us, I watched the morale of our army. We’d started steady, but, as the massive horde came at us, we were trending down. If that was a magical effect or just the result of hundreds of hostile, flesh-eating monsters coming at you, I couldn’t tell. I could tell you that having a tank did improve morale.
We didn’t hold back. Badgelor’s opening claw swipe ‘killed’ four undead outright. It also sent a half dozen reeling backward. Another swipe sent a half dozen more away in pieces. Then, something larger leaped onto Badgelor’s back.
● Mordros: Wight Captain
● HP: 320/320
● Stamina: 280/280
● Mana: 40/40
● A Wight Captain is a Wight that has undergone powerful binding rituals, making them a more powerful version of a Wight. Victims killed by a Wight Captain rise up as a Wight under their control. Their touch drains the life of their victims.
Badgelor snapped at it. The creature dug his hand into the badger’s furry back and held firm. I didn’t know if the Wight realized what kind of fire it was playing with or not, but I wouldn’t waste an opportunity.
● Powerful Smiting Hack and Slash: Cost 30 Stamina, 40 Mana.
My blade briefly glowed, as I slashed the Wight into burning chunks. My Smite spell was perfectly suited to attacking undead. It almost doubled the Damage of my strikes, which was enough to sever both the creature’s arms and cave in its left eye socket. I kicked it off Badgelor, into the tangled mass of undead.
I still hadn’t fully recovered from my earlier blast, and that attack had dropped my Mana pool dangerously close to a Mana Crash.
“Good work,” yelled Badgelor, flexing his shoulders. The Wight had attempted a life drain, but Badgelor’s natural resistance to Magical Damage had rendered it almost ineffective. What should have been a devastating blow had only resulted in a scratch.
“Problems,” yelled Shart, as Badgelor continued laying into the rank and file undead. “There are more of those Wight Captains, and they are killing your soldiers.”
Victims killed by a Wight Captain rise up as a Wight under their control.
I spotted three more of the creatures. Two were in the army of Sequoia. They hadn’t quite achieved the critical mass necessary to overwhelm that force, as Nick had rushed in. He was battling with one, while his troops tried to hold back the other.
Lorraine was fighting a third and holding her own, but only just.
“Badgelor, smash,” I yelled out, leaping off the badger toward the creature that was on Nick. I landed, shouldering my way through the ranks of troopers. Nick was trying to hold his own, but I instantly realized his problem. He was only at Journeyman in Swords. His attacker was at least Expert.
Thankfully, Nick had a couple of things working in his favor. First, the quality of his armor was excellent; I was convinced it was the only real reason he was still alive. Additionally, he was aided by one of his troopers, who threw himself bodily onto the Wight’s sword. That forced the undead captain to take several moments to divest himself of the added weight.
The creature was sneering at Nick. I executed Flash Steps, appearing right next to the monster. The Wight spotted me, as I executed Hack and Slash. It responded with its own multi-strike attack. I could manage five strikes to its four, but the old adage was “No kill like overkill.” I spent the Stamina to activate Quick Cuts, boosting my total to eight.
Unfortunately, I lacked the Mana to activate Smite for all my strikes. Instead, I focused on removing its sword arm. With my final strike, the shredded limb fell to the ground in a quivering pile. The creature hissed, grabbing at me with its remaining, oversized hand.
The Wight’s grip was nothing you ever wanted to experience, and I was without my Biological Aeromancy to resist it. I felt my Stamina starting to drain and realized I would have to execute something impressive. I didn’t, though. The hand suddenly freed itself from the creature’s body.
Nick stood tall, blood streaming down his side. His Felling Strike had removed the hand and lower leg from the Wight. It was the Wight’s own fault. It had been stupid enough to stand still in combat. Even now, it was thrashing on the ground, black blood pouring from multiple wounds. I grabbed Nick’s shoulder and cast Regenerate on him.
“Let's get the other one,” I stated, gesturing toward the other Wight. For the barest moment, Nick stood frozen, looking down in horror at the creature he had felled. I could read the look in his eyes. He was realizing just how many of his men had died to give him that opportunity. It was over in an instant. He nodded sharply, and we both charged toward the remaining Wight.
Nick only made it one pace. The trooper who had sacrificed himself to save Nick had already risen. He was accompanied by a half-dozen other soldiers, all intact enough to fight. They had not finished their transformations, but, with their captain dead, they were no longer smart enough to wait. While not individually as strong as a captain, there were six. They had created a hollow spot in the line that the rush of weaker undead was threatening to break through.
I didn’t have time for any subtlety. I launched myself into the air and activated one of my most devastating attacks.
● Powerful Smiting Unerring Falling Star Strike: Damage: 120 to the primary target, 90 points to all targets with
in 3 logs, Cost: 1 Force, 12 Mana, 40 Stamina
The landing was rough. There was a gory explosion that rippled outward from my point of impact. As close to our line as I was, that would have been an issue without Unerring Strike. It allowed me to use one of my three Force Points to hit exactly the way I wanted. In this case, I turned my Falling Star Strike’s typically circular landing explosion into something more akin to a claymore facing the undead.
With the lesser Wights suddenly wiped out, the remaining captain charged me. Its strikes came in fast and hard. I was forced onto the defensive, while I tried to regain my balance. Nick moved to seal the gap in his line, leaving me by my lonesome with the creature.
The problem was that it was slippery. When you blasted a half-dozen Wights into paste, it left a gelatin-like substance everywhere. Trying to get adequately balanced on that was tricky. The Wight Captain did not have any issues with it, though, leading me to believe he had a perk or something.
Grumbling, I activated my second big gun. Throwing all my remaining Stamina into my fist, I punched the Wight with my One Punch perk. My Stamina pool was still deep enough, and, the moment my fist impacted, the creature exploded. Gooey zombie bits flew everywhere, covering me in more gore. Then, the Stamina Crash hit me, and I fell on my butt.
“Going all willy nilly on your heavy attacks,” commented Shart.
“Had. To. Plug. The. Line,” I gasped out, before activating Second Wind. I quickly recovered 75% of my Stamina. Shart was right, though. I had rapidly gone through my inventory of potent attacks. What bothered me most was the use of the Force Point. I initially thought those replenished nightly, but I still hadn’t refilled them all since my fight with Charles. I only had one Force Point remaining.
“Form Line,” I yelled, activating Zorlando’s Form Up active power. The gap in the line started to seal itself. With crushing speed, the troops moved forward and began pushing back the undead. While the ability granted them some extra fighting power, it mainly seemed to tell them right where to move. All the soldiers got into their new positions almost instantly.
While getting to my feet, I checked on Calistoga. I found Lorraine was injured but alive. Her army was also more intact than the Sequoia was. The medical company was waiting in reserve, and Jerry’s forces seemed to be holding up. They were on the periphery of the real fighting, so it would have been disconcerting to find them doing badly. Of course, that left the heavy cavalry unit. Robin and his men were mired down in the enemies’ rear area. It wasn’t a bad tactic, but, from my RTS experience, I knew it wasn’t the best one. Fortunately, they weren’t fully committed, yet. I had a few seconds.
“Robin, what are you doing?” I gently asked.
“I’ve already smashed those ferals. Now, I’m attacking a target of opportunity, the enemy rear,” he replied haughtily.
“Well, if that is the best target, good work. I was hoping the ram would be put out of its misery and the Necromancers might be exposed,” I stated casually.
There was a pause, and I took the opportunity to rush forward, executing a Powerful Cleave into the front ranks of the undead. Several shattered, and I pulled back into our ranks. Our army advanced back up to the creek line.
“I’ve inflicted sufficient casualties here. We will push toward the ram,” stated Robin.
“Excellent, we’ll polish up the enemy infantry and try to catch up,” I replied serenely. Robin barked an affirmative, and I could see his unit breaking off in the Battle Map.
From our perspective, the battle was progressing well. The medical unit was worth its weight in gold. Ordinary people tended to stop fighting if their guts were spilling out, Hit Points be damned. There was something about horrific injuries and coming to grips with your own mortality that I could, at least, comprehend. A non-adventurer was much more likely to suffer a long-lasting, severe injury from a nasty wound or perish from internal injuries.
It was difficult for this former Earthling to fully comprehend the differences between ordinary people and adventurers on Ordinal. The easiest way was to think of adventurers like action movie heroes, while everyone else was, more or less, normal. If I took 75% of my Hit Points as Damage, I’d grumble, get up, and march straight back into the fire. Intelligent, non-adventurers were more likely to tuck their injured tail between their legs and avoid further injury.
Access to Healing magic changed all that. The ability to be mended by faster means than regular healers made ordinary men braver. The medical unit was made up of thirty Acolytes, who could cast a few limited clerical spells, and twenty Crusaders. Crusaders were heavily armored troops that carried the wounded back to the healers. The trick was that they typically carried the wounded back from the thickest of the fighting, all while giving as good as they got. It was a factory-like progression of wounded men being slotted into the healing lines.
On one side of the healing field, the Crusaders placed the worst, crisis patients. Without immediate attention, they were the ones who would perish. Some had lost limbs, some had massive injuries to their abdomens, but all were going to die, unless they were treated quickly. Half the medical unit was working on them, striving to prevent their deaths.
The other side of the line was for minor injuries, like a sword slash to the chest or burns from explosions. With armor, such wounds wouldn’t be immediately fatal. However, the soldier could perish from infection if not tended to by a healer. Not in this army, though. Here, the healers could cast Heal Damage and get those men back onto the field fairly quickly. As most wounds were just Damage, gruesomely damaged soldiers would get carried in but walk out, ready for battle, in minutes.
The middle was the strange area. There, people had multiple injuries that would normally prevent them from returning to battle. However, their lives were not in immediate danger, so they weren’t a high priority for the Acolytes. Those troops were where Merideth demonstrated the difference between an Acolyte and a high-level Cleric. The Acolytes didn’t have enough raw power to fix multiple injuries per man in the middle area, but she did. Instead of those soldiers getting tended to after the battle was over, Merideth easily fixed them and sent them back to the lines.
With that approach, there had been almost no deaths, aside from the initial Wight attack. The overwhelming majority of wounded soldiers were filtered to the back area, healed, and sent back into formation. After the better part of ten minutes of battle, we were only down around thirty men. Meanwhile, the undead were down hundreds.
This is the kind of unit I would have built for Jarra.
“Let’s move,” I announced to all my commanders. “I can see daylight between the ranks of undead. I would like to get to the other side of the creek now.”
“On your signal,” shouted Lorraine, already preparing her forces for the charge.
“I’m dealing with too many flankers,” replied Nick. I glanced at the map. While Jerry was screening his side of the line reasonably well, Nick’s flank was exposed. Robin was off at the front, preparing to smash the ram.
“Send fifty men from the newly healed to protect your flank. I’ll have Badgelor hook right and make a pocket for you,” I replied.
Nick acknowledged me, and I issued the orders on the Battle Map. He broke off his rear rank, and they moved over to fully cover his flank. Robin finally got into position to charge the still burning ram.
I signaled and heard two Rallying cries. “For the Sisters,” was shouted from Lorraine’s army, which rushed down the creek bank with only a few stumbles. They immediately began pushing back the weakened ranks of undead. The Sequoias screamed, “From the Heights,” as they rushed down the creek bed with considerably less caution. A few soldiers stumbled, and the undead attempted to pounce. They would have gotten away with it, too, if not for that meddling badger.
Badgelor didn’t understand what “Hook Right” meant, but he could interpret it. I’d basically meant for him to charge forward and hook right. Doing so would place him somewhere around the middle of the forces in f
ront of Sequoia. At least, he would be close. When you are a two-thousand-pound badger, close is good enough.
For someone less durable than Badgelor, what he actually did would have been suicide. He waded into the enemy line, slashing out. In turn, he received a pounding by all forms of undead. They surrounded him, but he seemed unconcerned by that development. Some undead even turned from our infantry to attack the badger. It was their worst possible strategy. Badgelor began to violently defend himself.
Our infantry followed right behind him. The undead that had received commands to fight Badgelor found Nick’s spears at their backs. The Sequoias ground forward, straight into the disrupted lines of undead. Lorraine’s infantry pushed forward through sheer dint of will. The undead began to lose cohesion, as we smashed them in ever-increasing numbers.
The undead attacking Badgelor turned from a flood into a trickle, as he resumed his point in the center of our armies. We were now all pushing forward into the undead’s ranks. Despite that, the undead horde was still operating somewhat as an army. Suddenly, that coordination vanished.
I checked the map. Robin was busy pounding on the few remaining undead outside Lorraine’s estate. The other two sisters had marched out with some of the household guard. They were assisting Nick in the grim task of smashing the last bits of attacking undead into stinking piles of meat.
At some point, they had either killed the enemy commander, or he had fled the field. When he departed, the orderly formations of undead unraveled. They turned into an unruly, easily smashed mob.
“That seemed anticlimactic,” I thought at Badgelor, who continued smashing through ranks of undead with abandon. I surveyed the battlefield.