Teresa: Everybody Loves Large Chests (Vol.5)

by Neven Iliev

  “Shams and Duds, I want a ramp, now!” barked the ever-vigilant Sergeant. “The rest of you, wake the fuck up! Don’t just stand there gawking at the sky and provide cover! Let the big boys fight it out among themselves, we got our own job to do!”

  The Shamans and Druids in the unit spread out and began a synchronous chant while the others quickly established a perimeter. The Republic forces tried to fill the gap in their defenses and to put a stop to what the humans were doing. However, the second wave of Imperial troops were already in range and doing everything in their power to keep the defenders pinned down. Thomson could do little but hover over a crouching brown-haired Druid while the man channeled as much of his magic as he could into the drenched soil.

  “Mudslide!”

  The wet ground churned and groaned as a large mound of mud rose up. It flowed between the Caster group like a miniature tidal wave and crashed against the stone wall. A quick serving of fire magic courtesy of an allied Pyromancers quickly dried up and solidified the dirt, creating a solid ramp that went up to a height of about one and a half meters. It was far too short to allow anyone to climb over the wall, but it was the first step. The Shamans and Druids had to perform this Spell four or five more times before the foot soldiers could scale the fortifications. They could have done it in one go if they had more people, but there were only four of the nature-benders left in the entire unit.

  There was a sudden, loud crash several meters to the side of them. Thomson instinctively shifted his stance to shield his comrade from whatever caused the disturbance. He was surprised to see someone clad-head-to-toe in an elaborately decorated set of silver-colored armor had slammed into the wall with enough force to make a visible dent in it. The man peeled himself off of the stone surface and fell down to the ground, landing in the mud on all fours. He rose immediately to his feet in one smooth motion while grabbing hold of the large, two-handed warhammer he’d dropped during his fall. He glanced down at the boot-shaped dent on his chestplate and then looked up at the winged, black-haired angel staring him down with a cold glare.

  “Alright, Jennifer,” he mumbled under his breath. “Hard way it is then!”

  Lichter demonstrated his Level 100 Paladin Job by unfurling his own set of angelic wings before bolting upwards to meet his former teammate in single combat. He should’ve known talking to her wouldn’t accomplish anything. Hilda had already made it abundantly clear the woman who now called herself Zone was not only the enemy, but also the one who killed Faehorn. And yet the old Paladin couldn’t help himself and tried to reach out to her with words rather than force.

  It was a mistake he would not make a second time.

  The Imperial troops had no desire to stand in the way of the second enemy VIP to grace them with their presence, mostly because they wouldn’t do much. Leaving that Paladin to their own Ranker was the right call. If nothing else, they had to be ready for the improvised ramp’s completion in about half a minute. Their job was to charge up and over that wall before enemy had a chance to undermine the foothold. Time was of the essence, especially since they didn’t know whether that terrifying high elf Wizard would come back and finish what she started.

  “Heads up, men! We have backup! Get that ramp up even if it’s the last thing you do!”

  Sergeant Smith’s unit quickly cheered as their allies approached. Judging from the markings on the leader’s armor and helmet, this infantry company was headed by a 2nd Lieutenant. They were clearly raring to make use of the nearly finished ramp. However, the honor of being the first over the wall belonged to Thomson and the rest of the vanguard unit.

  “Alright, we have our way in!” his commander bellowed. “Go! Go! Go! Break those twigs!”

  Dozens of Imperial soldiers began scaling the dried-up, hard-packed slope of dirt and climbed onto the top of the stone wall. The invading infantry split and flooded the narrow fortification as they tried to push the enemy off of it. The 2nd Legion’s Scouting corps rapidly abandoned the high ground and fell back from the fortifications. The invaders poured in from only one spot, so they focused their ranged attacks on that chokepoint while silver-plated heavy infantry attempted to box in the Imperials.

  Private Cohen Thomson managed to slip through after impaling an enemy archer with his spear and was currently fighting an elf knight. The two crossed spears and traded blows as the battle raged around, below, and above them. Thomson felt like he was gaining the upper hand when the elf suddenly received a blast of ice to the side of his face, causing him to stagger. The human seized that chance and lunged forward, piercing his opponent through the neck. The Private received a notification signifying he’d reached Level 39 of his Warrior Job, but he really couldn’t afford to pay attention as he charged forward towards the next one.

  The humans and the elves fought each other fiercely, but the Empire was clearly taking control of the wall. It wasn’t just Thomson’s section. There were numerous breaches within the Republic’s line, which rapidly fell into chaos. Seemingly routed, the defending troops in the area were given the order to fall back. Ranged and melee infantry alike retreated into the city with all due haste, their boots clattering loudly against the cobblestone pavement.

  The Imperial army tried to give chase, but their vanguard forces were far less nimble when leaping from the fortifications and stumbled or fell en masse. The defenders clearly anticipated that they wouldn’t hold their position for long and were prepared to disengage. That was only natural, but Private Thomson noticed something odd as he regained his footing. There, at the edge of the open area between the walls and the nearby buildings, was a chest-high metal post poking out of the muddy soil. A weird iron box the size and shape of a brick was attached to it. A Republic soldier bearing a fancy helmet ran up to that odd container and did… something. Thomson couldn’t tell due to the distance and angle, but the elf had inserted a key and pushed a plunger.

  “Forward men!”

  The private’s training took over as his Sergeant’s voice hit him like a bolt of lightning.

  “Circle around and pincer the enemy still on the wall! Watch the buildings and give the twigs no quarter!”

  His momentary hesitation evaporated as he and his fellow soldiers moved forward and spread across the other side of the wall. He felt his left foot sink a tiny bit deeper into the mud than it should have. This was accompanied by a barely audible click, followed by the momentary sensation of something erupting from below.

  [Your body is enveloped by flames. HP -342.]

  [Your body suffers internal damage from a shockwave. HP -184.]

  [Proficiency level increased. Toughness is now Level 9. END +4.]

  [You have been pierced by numerous sharp objects. HP -1,264.]

  [Proficiency level increased. Toughness is now Level 10. END +4.]

  [You have died.]

  Part Two

  Humans clashed against dwarves, each side giving a rallying cry of their own. Shield clanged against shield and spears tangled together as the Imperial troops and dwarven ‘mercenaries’ fought in the middle of the street. Like two tidal waves of steel trapped in a small canal, they slammed into one another with all their might, neither willing to back down a single step. The housing on either side of the road was reduced to smoldering ruins that were still alit with magical fire despite the freezing rain pouring down from overhead. The only ground given or taken came down to footing as both sides gradually sunk into the muddy road.

  “Bash ‘n’ bolt!” came out a deep yell.

  The dwarven front line suddenly unleashed a unified Shield Bash Martial Art, blowing back the Imperial troops and breaking their defensive posture despite the height difference. What followed was a small volley of steel-tipped bolts released from the crossbowmen in the rear. They flew low over the objectively shorter soldiers’ heads and poised to strike the Imperial troops dead-on.

  “Braaace!”

  The humans, not willing to suffer any more blasted projectiles, took cover behind their shi
elds, be they metal or magic. The ones in the rear defended successfully while those at the very front were still off-balance and took a few hits. However, these projectiles didn’t have a Ranger’s Skills and Attributes behind them. Even if crossbows were more powerful than bows, the damage the dwarves inflicted was far less fatal than that ungodly hail of arrows and explosions the Imperials suffered through at the start of the battle.

  “RRRAAARRGH!”

  The dwarven phalanx, not willing to let the enemy rebuild their formation, surged forward and once again clashed against them. At that time, a unit of thirty or so Imperial Wizards flew in dangerously low over the wrecked houses. They unleashed a barrage of fire Spells onto the dwarves, cooking several of them in their armor. The flyboys prepared for another salvo to finish them off, but were then struck by Imiryl’s Triple Chain Lightning as she was passing by. Arcs of blue-tinged electricity bounced between them, and at least a third of the humans fell to the ground as charred corpses.

  Imiryl did not stop to confirm the damage, nor did she fly back around to finish the job. The man codenamed Hook was still on her tail, and she couldn’t afford to deal with him. The high elf had been warned to expect a Caster VIP from the Gilded Hand, so she knew he was formidable. However, this was her first time tangling with a Psionic, and she wasn’t prepared for his absurd amount of defense. Every Spell the Wizard flung at him was either nullified, redirected, dodged, or otherwise avoided. Imiryl even attempted to get into melee range for a point blank Paralyzing Shock, but the cocky human threw her back with a flick of his wrist when she got close. The high elf felt confident she could get through his absurdly dense defenses eventually, but her allies didn’t have that kind of time.

  The solution was simple. Rather than trying to beat down this one guy that wasn’t even a Ranker, Imiryl instead focused on doing fly-bys on the Imperial lines while keeping her distance from the Psionic. During their bouts, she had discovered the output of the human’s Force Magic fell significantly the farther away his target was. The most he could do at maximum range was to disturb her flight path or interrupt her incantations, but the actual damage he inflicted was minimal. The man could also wield Domination Magic, but the clarity of mind and magical defenses of a Level 100 Wizard were more than enough to repel his psychic attacks.

  However, despite being incapable of anything more than hampering Imiryl, Hook refused to give up. In his mind, ‘she cannot defeat me’ was the same as ‘I can beat her,’ so he dogged her relentlessly. It wasn’t as if he was stubbornly wasting his time, though. One of them had to run out of MP eventually, and he wasn’t the one throwing lightning bolts around. Hook was, of course, aware of the monumental amount of MP a Level 100 Wizard had at their disposal, so he was in it for the long haul. And when that snooty bitch finally ran out of energy, she would be powerless to stop him from torturing her to his heart’s content.

  Unfortunately for the Psionic, his superiors did not share his… enthusiasm.

  “Operative Hook!”

  A voice blared in his head. It came through the telepathic link Hook was maintaining between himself, his commanding officer, and the other VIPs.

  “What is it?!” he responded without trying to hide his irritation.

  “We have sightings of the Tempest of Rage in the eastern side of town! Disengage from your current target and go put a stop to that monster’s rampage! She’s mowing down our men like they’re weeds!”

  Hook really didn’t like that order. He wanted to make that haughty bitch pay for costing him his left arm and leg during their confrontation years ago. Just thinking about that day made his magically restored limbs ache with the phantom pain of having them burnt off his body. He wanted to catch that cunt and put her through much the same, mostly for his own satisfaction.

  “Weeds are notoriously tough survivors, Major,” he replied defiantly. “I’m sure they’ll be fine without-”

  “Do it now, you cocky piece of shit!”

  The Psionic disliked that stuck-up officer’s tone, too. Did he realize the man he talked down to could turn him into a drooling vegetable even from this distance? No, he definitely knew, yet still did not hesitate to boss the Gilded Hand around. Hook somewhat respected that the Major had balls befitting his rank, and rank was pretty much everything in the Imperial army. The Psionic was in danger of getting court-marshalled if he further disobeyed orders, which would cost him his cushy job and fat paycheck. Last but not least, he’d piss off Edward, and that was a thought far more unpleasant than letting that twiggy bitch ‘off the hook,’ as it were.

  “Understood, sir,” he replied spitefully. “Disengaging and acquiring new target.”

  Hook made an abrupt ninety-degree turn as he broke off his aerial pursuit and headed towards the location given by his handler. Flying through the open air naturally made him a target, as arrows and Spells launched from the ground flew at him as he passed by. Of course, such disorganized and spontaneous anti-air measures had no hope of hitting him at his speed. Even if they did, they’d just bounce off his Force Field. In fact, given how even Imiryl had given up on attacking him, his invisible barrier saw far more work as an umbrella than a form of defense.

  It wasn’t all bad, though, since Hook hated getting his threads wet.

  As for the ground battle, it had more or less descended into chaos ever since the wall was breached three hours ago. The elves had the advantage in numbers and knowledge of the terrain, but the Imperial war machine was still going strong. The humans’ superior equipment and tactics regarding urban combat allowed them to push into the city despite repeated ambushes. Explosive traps were a huge problem, too. Only elves would be crazy enough to rig their own positions to blow up, Hook thought. Surely they had some kind of trick to make sure they didn’t accidentally blast themselves to bits, but it was currently unknown to the Empire.

  Ultimately, all the petty shenanigans did was slow down the invaders without fully blunting their advance. The unstoppable one-dwarf army called Hilda was the only exception. Her position wasn’t difficult to locate since all Hook had to do was follow the screaming and yelling that was clearly audible over the rest of the battle. Once he closed in, the Psionic rapidly descended towards a small alley where a gruesome massacre had unfolded. Enough body parts to glue together thirty Imperial soldiers were strewn all over the place. The rain did its best to wash the blood from the walls, creating huge puddles of red water in the process.

  Standing right in the middle of that filth was a lone dwarven Berserker. Her dented and scratched up armor was so thick with blood and viscera that she looked as if she’d crashed through fifteen butcher shops in a row. Which might have been the case given the dwarf-shaped holes in the surrounding buildings. Hilda’s grip was tightened around the shaft of an impractically massive axe, its saw-toothed edge glowing ominously with a crimson light. The dwarf appeared to be leaning on her weapon, trying to catch her breath. Additionally, it seemed as though some of the blood stuck to her was her own.

  It was difficult to tell her exact condition since that helmet completely encased her head and face. However, given how she had yet to notice her visitor, Hook guessed she wasn’t doing too great. Feeling confident, he decided to give her a little greeting.

  “Ground Coffin!”

  The ground Hilda stood on suddenly split apart. Two slabs of road rose up and smashed into her from either side as if someone had dramatically closed a book made of cobblestone. If an ordinary soldier had been hit by that, then nearly every bone in their body would have broken in an instant.

  “Bloody cunting cock-maggots!”

  But, this being Hilda, she broke out of the ‘coffin’ while cursing her lungs out seemingly none the worse for wear.

  “Alright!” she shouted. “What suicidal twatface just signed their death warrant, eh?!”

  Her furious, searching gaze instantly locked onto the Psionic floating some fifteen meters above her.

  “Was it ye up there, ye slimy pooftah?!”

/>   Without even waiting for the answer, the fuming Berserker grabbed a loose cobblestone from the ground and threw it straight at the Psionic’s head. It smashed against his Force Field with enough energy to turn the piece of pavement into a cloud of dust upon impact. However, it didn’t even make Hook flinch, which only upped the intensity on Hilda’s unyielding fury even further.

  “C’mere, ye pajama-wearin’ pansy!” she taunted. “What? Think just cuz yer up in th’ air yer better ‘n me?! I’ll fuckin’ wreck ye, mate!”

  “Quite. Mind Crush!”

  After finally obtaining a suitable target for his prided Domination Magic, Hook wasted little time putting it to good use. Hilda dropped her oversized axe and fell to the ground writhing as the human’s mental assault attempted to completely shatter her psyche. The strain it put on her was completely unexpected and unlike anything else she’d experienced. It was as if someone was trying to rip her brain out of her skull through her ears and nose, pulling on it in every direction.

  The dwarf’s extremely volatile nature as a Berserker made her a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield, but that was only at a physical level. The Job required a volatile state of mind which actively worked against her when it came to mental attacks. Indeed, for all her martial might and force of will, she was ultimately nothing more than a loudmouthed toddler before Hook. The sadistic Psionic fully anticipated this. His earlier irritation at being ordered to give up on Imiryl disappeared as he reveled in the dwarf’s roars of pain and impotent rage. He really enjoyed easy wins like this. Honestly, was this supposed to be a Level 100 adventurer? Was she seriously that unprepared for such an obvious counter?

  In the next instant he realized that no, she wasn’t. He broke off his assault on her mind and dodged rapidly to the side as a stalker demon tore through the air he occupied a moment ago. Her primary claws missed her mark, but her back-mounted scythes still managed to clip the Psionic’s Force Field. Normally, they would have bounced off, but their anti-magical properties allowed them to rip through and ‘pop’ the invisible bubble.