Hacking, slashing, stabbing, burning, crushing, maiming. An incessant circle of death, and he gloried in it. It was dark… it dirtied him with blood and grime… yet he fought on, yelling like a heathen and cutting a swathe through his foes, directly into the heart of the army.
“Forward! To me! To your king! Fight on! Slay them all!” Lauro screamed, spinning the Midnight Sword faster than the eye could follow, beheading a Kinn, slashing the gut of another, shearing limbs and weapons alike. No armor could withstand the white blade, and inferior weapons melted at its touch.
The deeper Vastion plunged, the harder it would be to retreat… but retreat was not an option. The battle went on, and the Remnant fought on… and still, Automo did not show himself. Blood soon soaked Lauro’s sleeves, and jacket, staining his face and hair. His voice grew hoarse, but he only cried the louder.
It could have been an hour, or five, or twenty. All the king knew was that suddenly he ran at his enemy, and there was no one there. He stumbled, falling to his knees, and immediately raised himself back up with a Stride. With a quick glance around, he saw that he was still at the head of his men. They were ragged, bloodied, and somewhat less than they had been at the start of the charge. But for the most part, they were alive.
One of the Wind Clerics trotted up to him, a candlestaff in one hand and a dagger in the other. Lauro recognized him as the leader of the eight, but for some reason couldn’t recall his name.
“Your Majesty,” the cleric said, bobbing his head in an awkward half-bow. “They’ve pulled away from us… and we’re encircled. When next they charge… we’ll be done for.”
Lauro looked around. His men were standing, tense and wary, in a rough circle. The Golden Nation had drawn back around them, letting them plunge in and kill, but slowly drawing the noose in around them. Ahead, the ranks of golems and destroyers rumbled slowly forward; behind, the ranks of shrieking Kinn warriors were finally closing in.
Lauro wiped blood out of his face, spitting. “They bleed like us, they’ll die like us,” he snarled.
“Your Majesty?” The cleric was nervously regarding their position, fingering his dagger. Lauro stabbed Ker’junas into the blood-sodden earth.
“Part Two,” he said, nodding. “The Plan. Get word to Magnin Bogley.” His head swam. There was something else, but…
Shrieks broke out in the midst of the armored destroyers. A series of thundering explosions erupted behind the receding Golden Nation line.
“Ah, there we are,” Lauro said, trying to laugh but coughing instead. “That’ll be Berne, holding up his end of the agreement.” He turned to the cleric. “Where’s Bogley? Did you summon him yet?”
The man stabbed his candlestaff into the ground. Its flame flared, sparked, and suddenly let loose with an impossibly large jet of white flame that soared into the sky, painting a swathe of bright light across the air. “That’ll do it,” he said.
“A Fellspark?” Lauro said in astonishment. “You can summon Fellsparks?”
“Yes,” was the only reply. “But we must be careful not to play our hand so quickly. If…”
“Nonsense,” Lauro snarled. “King Gram didn’t die so you could fight in this war and be careful. From now on, we fight with everything we’ve got!”
The cleric nodded. “Understood. Watch it, though… we’re out of time.”
Lauro spun. The Golden Army was almost upon them. Any closer and they’d lose the space they needed to gain momentum in another charge. The young king raised the Midnight Sword high, closing his eyes and calling upon the Power of Sky.
Lightning flashed down from above, striking his blade and splitting into a storm of blue-white arcs.
“For Avarine,” he whispered. He shifted his weight, ready to lead another charge… the last charge…
…when everything changed.
~
Gramling ran through the night, forcing his Stride Giant to insane speed that stretched his own stamina past its maximum. Dawn had just broken over the horizon when he reached the base of Goldenmount. It had strained him far more than he wanted to admit… but there was nothing to do.
Now, it all ends, Gramling thought, and he lifted his huge, earth-shod foot to climb the mountain…
The moment he touched the slope, everything changed.
The mountain was no longer a barren, rocky titan in the middle of the desert. It was an enormous black pyramid that shimmered with an inner heat. The steps were as high as his Stride Giant was tall, and almost as wide. The sky was no longer cloudy… instead, it was lit with crimson fire.
Instead of a mountain, a temple of darkness. Instead of the browns and blues of the World, the reds and blacks of the Otherworld. The grayness. The wasteland.
The image flickered, and Gramling glimpsed the rocky mountain and cloudy sky once more. His head reeled, and he stumbled, putting out one Stone-Stridden arm to stop from falling.
It hit black marble. The pyramid again. What in Vast…?
The image shimmered, and held. Shimmered, and broke. It was as if two radically different versions of reality were striving for dominance.
Two versions of reality…
The World and the Otherworld. So it was true. They had collided, just as the Aura had said.
I’m out of time, he realized. One second he was standing on marble, the next on soiled rock. Fire lit the air at random, and yellow lightning flickered overhead. The two worlds were struggling, and, he realized, combining. The earth buckled and twisted beneath him, slowly solidifying as a twisted hybrid of the two realities.
One last shudder, and the world stood still. Gramling looked about dizzily, almost dropping his Stride Giant form in sheer shock.
The sky was a churning storm of clouds, lightning, light, and flame. Red and yellow, white and orange, and a deep, angry purple that slowly sucked them all into black oblivion. A vortex, centered over the top of the black pyramid, was the focal point of the storm. But the pyramid itself was no longer the same. It was cracked and broken, twisted, yet merged in an almost deliberate fashion with the Golden Mountain, which seemed to be pushing its way up from inside the massive monument.
The Day of Norne had come, and brought apocalypse with it. At the top of the mountain, or pyramid, there was an eerie golden glow, seeping through the cracks in a ruined tower at its peak. Cursing, Gramling Strode his Stride Giant into motion, forcing it to begin the tortuous climb…
You will pay, Sheolus. You will pay. If it costs me my life, I will stop you. You will pay. The winter will bleed with the vengeance I will wreak. You…will...pay.
Chapter Fifteen: Medeo Nox
Lauro Vale fought in a world of bloody twilight.
The White Marshes had lit up with an Otherworldly light, and reality had warped itself. He didn’t know why, or how, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered were his men.
“Hold! HOLD!” he shouted. Blinding steams of light fell from above, burning anything they touched. Kinn and human alike ran amuck as enormous, glittering, diamond spikes smashed through the ice, jutting upward like giant teeth. The marshes themselves began to melt; explosions sent the mucky water spraying, only to freeze again in fantastic shapes of every kind.
It was a disaster of all-encompassing proportions. The only comfort Lauro found was that the Golden Nation was faring just as badly. While his men broke and fled, gathering into small clumps and fighting guerilla-like among the new, dangerous terrain, the enemy seemed to be attempting to keep their former formation, pushing forward as if they still hoped to crush Vastion by numbers alone.
Thunder rumbled overhead, though there were no clouds. Lauro looked up, just as a light rain began to fall. He thought fast.
“Blast it, Magnin… where are you?” he grunted. Well… he’d have to make do.
The nearest ally was a Mancaptain in dented armor, with a wild mane of hair instead of the usual warrior’s topknot. The king beckoned him over… perhaps there was a way to turn this rout into a victory, after all.
“Spread the word as best you can,” Lauro said. “Stay in groups. Hunt the enemy around these spikes. Use Striding whenever possible. Lead them on chases. Ambush them. But stay alive, no matter what. Try to find some of the rogues, if you can. They were supposed to hit the golems and destroyers from underground… I think they did, too, right before this world went to the Blazes.”
“Understood, Sire,” the man said, nodding and saluting as best he could with his shield-arm. “But… Sire?”
“Yes?”
“What will I tell the men, when they ask where you are? Will you stay here, near the center?”
“I…” Lauro began. But something caught his eye, a far-off flash of red, and screaming men, and the whirr of machinery.
“Sire?”
Lauro looked grim. “I have a false god to slay. Tell the men, wherever you find them… that their king is hunting the Red Legion.”
The man’s eyes grew wide, but he nodded and trotted away, calling men to him as he ran. The cloudless storm raged overhead, as Lauro turned away, slogging through the marshy slush with Ker’junas gripped tightly in his hands.
He walked past the jutting diamond spikes, not even looking at them. He searched the ragged battlefield, lending aid to his men whenever he came upon them, but all the while searching… searching… and avoiding the Golden Nation. He had a hunch Automo would not linger too long with his own inferior troops, now that the battle had deteriorated.
Whatever abilities you may have, Traitor… being a good general isn’t one of them. Your army’s falling apart. How much time passed, Lauro did not know.
Then, unavoidably, the end came.
Lauro rounded a particularly large clump of the diamond spikes, finding himself in a clearing, ringed in by the teeth-like protrusions. There, in the center, was a small group of Coalskin corpses, surrounded by the bloodied bodies of one of his own battalions.
He ran forward, plate-jacket and armored leggings clanking. This had been no ordinary fight. Both friend and foe had been blasted apart by some inexplicable force in the midst of a skirmish. Then, it appeared, the bodies had been piled in a heap, at least twice as tall as he was.
“Automo…” Lauro gritted his teeth. This had the Red Legion’s work written all over it. Had the fool lost his mind? Killing his own men? Did he even care about the battle anymore?
“You called?” came a booming voice from behind him. Lauro spun, Midnight Sword at the ready, and found the huge figure of the traitorous Aura glowering at him from the place where he had entered the circle, only seconds before.
An angry red glow surrounded him, as before, but the rest of his form was entirely changed. He was taller and stronger than any man… but he walked with a hunch, and his silvery mask of a face was melted and twisted beyond recognition. He wore a flowing, ragged black cloak, and large portions of his mechanical flesh bore jagged tears, revealing red-hot clockwork machinery underneath.
With a shock, Lauro realized that Automo’s corruption was killing him… from the inside out. The Aura take on the physical form that remains truest to their actual self. So Automo was a wretched amalgamation of his former self, and the demon he had chosen to become.
“Are you ready to end this, Traitor?” Lauro called across the clearing.
“More than,” the Red Legion rasped. “You don’t stand a chance against my divine might! That’s what Sheolus showed me, little fool… I am a god, just as he is! You will die on my altar!”
“Not today,” Lauro snarled, raising the Midnight Sword. He had let it drag in the muddy water, yet its blade shone clean and white… untarnished. Automo actually stepped back, fearful of the blade he had once forged… once held. But then he seemed to gather wicked resolve, laughing coldly and metallically as he stepped forward.
“Fate is broken, Boy! Your holy weapon has no power over me! No longer! I forged it! Me! I did it!”
“We’ll see,” Lauro said.
Automo just laughed again, raising one metal-clad fist to the sky. Lauro looked up to see a flock of bloodhawks soaring towards the clearing, screaming in their native tongue, driven on to battle-rage by their riders, Sky Striders and skilled warriors led by none other than Magnin Bogley… right on time.
“BACK, FOUL DEMON!” the grizzled ranger roared, firing his fire-hurler in mid-air. The ball actually caught Automo in the neck, and oily fire spurted from the wound.
“NO!” Lauro screamed, leaping into the air, hoping against hope to protect the airborne warriors…
Automo whipped his head around to face the attackers, bellowing in hideous rage. Fire streamed from his mouth, a Fellspark of deific intensity that engulfed Magnin and his sky corps, burning them to ash in less time than it took for Lauro to leave the ground. He cursed, Striding a bubble of air to blow the ash away, twisting to avoid the remnants of the Fellspark.
The wind lifted him easily to the top of the diamond-spike cluster above Automo. Lauro perched precariously, Ker’junas held above him.
“You’ll pay for that, Automo!” he shrieked. “If you’re a god, try your god strength against me! No more waiting!”
“How many more must die before you admit the truth?!?” the Red Legion hissed. The air around his arms shimmered, and suddenly instead of hands he bore huge, wickedly curved black blades that flickered with red fire.
“Just you,” Lauro sneered.
Automo opened his mouth, spewing fire, and leaped into the air, every bit Lauro’s match in Sky Striding. Lauro leaped backwards, spinning in a circle, soaring skyward in a corkscrew motion that even Automo would find hard to follow.
Mid-motion, a thought hit him. The World and the Otherworld have collided. That means… I’m seeing as true a version of Automo as I ever will. This is literally my last chance to end him forever… he’s on the same level as I am, now, no matter how powerful he may seem.
Lauro flew higher and higher, feeling the heat on his back as Automo pursued him with fire and hatred. But he knew the Legion’s secret, the reason he was so reluctant to engage in battle. Because he knows he might lose. So he’d lead him on a chase. Fight him with everything he had.
Then kill him.
~
Gramling made it to the top… barely. As he reached the summit of Goldenmount, he let the Stride Giant fall to pieces around him. It might have been his imagination, but the light seemed to flare for a moment as he stepped onto the pinnacle. At its peak, Goldenmount most resembled the black pyramid of the Otherworld. A vast, flat expanse of ebony marble stretched in front of him, the remnant of an enormous black tower rising from its center… much like the enclave of the Faithful, but larger… more ruinous. The sight of the unholy relic gave Gramling new strength. He had taken part in this! He had fought for this!
Now he would tear it down, alone if need be.
As he trekked across the top of the mountain, the wind began to pick up. With each step he took, its shrieking strength increased, until he was forced to anchor himself to the black marble with Stone Striding, straining for every inch of ground covered. A thunderous rumbling came from the ruins of the tower, and as he watched, awe-struck…
…it began to rebuild itself. The faster and harder the wind blew, the hotter the air became. As the heat increased, the pieces of the black tower began to glow with a deep violet light. Gramling plodded forward, watching in disbelief as the wind actually picked the boulders and fallen chunks up off the ground. It was hurling them through the air in a current of invisible power… and slamming them back into place, one by one, again and again.
The tower was becoming whole again. As if…
“Holy Heavens,” Gramling breathed, “the Legion’s prison!”
He knew, instinctively, that Sheolus was at the core of it. Somehow, this rebuilding was giving him the power he needed to enter deep into the prison… and free his brethren from its bonds. Gramling could not allow that to happen… but he needed Gribly! He felt as if half his strength was
ripped from him… because it had been. It was.
Fine, then. Find Sheolus. Take the Dagger. Rescue Gribly. We fight him together… and we beat him until he can’t fight any longer. Then we rip a hole in this prison, let Ashen out… and seal it up again. Even if it kills us.
The sheer impossibility of his task hit Gramling like a punch to the gut. His eyes watered, and he dropped to his knees, gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut in total frustration. He was going to lose, and he knew it. There was no way out… and yet he had to walk to his death!
The winds howled faster and faster. The tower continued to re-form. Lightning flashed in the skies, and fireballs fell to the earth around Goldenmount.
Storm Kings (Song of the Aura, Book Six) Page 13