—— ? ——
> Location: Rockfall Stronghold
Oulirah watched as another stripped body was piled in the center of the square. The smell of the mass of dead bodies was disgusting, but at least it wasn’t as bad as when they were alive.
“Well done, Oulirah, well done!” A voice spoke from her side. Oulirah turned to see Baljoran and several others.
“It was a masterful performance,” Baljoran continued. “The look on their faces. Mmmmmmmm… They never saw it coming.”
The uncanny gathered around Baljoran, and all grinned, sharing glances of satisfaction.
“And so many delectable, delicious expressions to savor.” The reedy voice of Yurila added. “When the traps in the tunnels activated, and we all descended. So goooood.”
They nodded appreciatively towards Oulirah. “Deception at its finest. All thanks to you.”
Oulirah shook their head. While they had done their part well, it wouldn’t have been possible without their clan’s preparation and enthusiastic strike.
“I appreciate the praise.” Oulirah smiled at their admirers. “Did we lose anyone?”
Baljoran’s face fell. “Two. Kirferin and Parolin.”
All heads drooped at the news. A loss of any member of their community was always such a blow. They had lost many over the years. Any uncanny that was discovered was hunted to the ends of their old world.
That was just the way of the universe. The other disgusting races would not tolerate their kind. In turn, neither would they. Those others who assaulted their senses with their very existence.
That was not to say the uncanny would go out of their way to interact with other races. It was the opposite, in fact.
They simply wished to be left alone.
This resulted in their kind living solitary lives. The new world was an abnormality in their oral history. Never in all of their stories had this many of their kind been together.
“So, what now?” Oulirah asked as they watched more of their brethren gather. “Once we have finished burning the bodies, will we need to prepare for another attack?”
Yurila shook her face, her neck unmoving. “No, I do not think so. We captured some of the weaker ones and took them for your additional…” Yurila’s face twisted with glee. “Questioning. Most were quite resilient, but one was a coward and betrayed his own.”
Oulirah and the gathered uncanny all hissed in disapproval. It was taboo. One must never betray one's kind. No matter what anyone would put you through.
Yurila hissed with them, then continued. “The coward spoke of their world. It is one that began to chill. He said people believe it was created by forbidden magic. It is an unending frost that grows and never ceases. With every year, it grows faster, stealing the land from the living.”
Oulriah bit their lip. So the invaders had this fate they wished to escape. It was only natural for living beings to want to survive. Be it the Uncanny, or this race of humans. The fight for survival was never-ending.
“Their world devolved. Chaos is rampant as they all flee the frost.” Yurila continued. “But recently that has all changed. Their royals used to scrabble over the remains of empires. But then messengers from their god ‘Varrax’ appeared. Now all are unified under one cause. A campaign of conquest.”
“Doesn’t that mean that they will return?” Oulriah asked. The gathered uncanny grew in unease.
“They will surely wonder what happened to their invasion force. How can you think they will not?”
Yurila shook their head. “Because of the other information the coward spoke of. We are but one of thirty such invasion points they are attempting to conquer.”
Oulriah blinked. “Thirty? Their world has thirty of these portals within it?”
“That is what the coward said. While fractured, the sheer number of warriors they command is substantial. They have sent armies to each, much like the one that came here. They have countless places where their attention will be needed. The situation is dire, the frost is closing in.”
The gathering tension lessened at the news.
“I suggest we simply block the portal and watch for any that may come to learn what happened here.”
Nods of faces and heads. That would be the safest way.
The gathered uncanny began to disperse, conversations growing as they all discussed the news.
Oulriah stared out, an idea forming as their eyes searched the growing pile of bodies. Those warriors had so easily fallen for their ploys.
Could… Could they?
“My people!” Oulriah raised their voice. The dispersing members of their kind stopped and turned.
“I may have an idea of how to deal with these invaders. Something we may do in their world.”
The uncanny gathered again, Baljoran shook their head. “Surely you cannot be suggesting we go and fight against the disgusting creatures. We have lost enough for a day.”
“No. Not at all.” Oulriah replied. “But before I reveal my thoughts.” They turned to Yurila. “Did the coward speak of what they planned to do after they conquered one of the portals?”
Yurila’s head tilted. “He did. They have many waiting for news of conquest. They will move in and reinforce their victory. So that there will at least be one place for them free of the frost.” Their head twisted and tilted the other direction. “Why?”
In response, Oulriah merely smiled. Their body reflected the early morning light as it melted and contorted. Their face twisted and bulged, their legs elongated and filled out. The nauseating display lasted for several moments as Oulriah shifted into the difficult form.
Finally, the figure of the commander of the invader stood before the Uncanny. Faithfully recreated, his stern eyes looked out over the gathered members of their community.
In the man’s deep voice, Oulriah spoke. “Don’t you think it's time we tell our Lords of our stunning victory? One we gained at great loss and injury to our army?”
Oulriah strode across the square toward the pile of weapons. They found a worn, but well-serviced short sword, then moved toward the growing tower of corpses.
Uncanny gasped as Oulriah cut into one of the bodies, blood gushing out. Ones that were close, recoiled from the smell that assaulted their senses.
The man bent, hesitating for a moment, then continued. Blood coated their hands as he smeared the bright red fluid onto his bare arms, neck, and face.
The man turned back to the rest of the uncanny, who had all backed away after seeing such a gory display, their eyes wide.
“I just need to find his clothes and armour,” Oulriah muttered as they searched for where their kin had taken them to.
While many stared, one caught onto their most talented shifter's plan.
Baljoran started to chuckle. Then it grew into a barking laugh. Others turned and looked at Baljoran, then back to Oulriah.
“Do you understand what I plan, Baljoran?” Oulriah asked with a grin.
“Oh yes.. I think you are right.”
Flesh melted and flowed. Soon, a female invader warrior stood in the square. One of their eyes wasn’t right, obvious to the eyes of the gathered uncanny. The eye shifted, a gash forming across it. Scars and cuts formed, covering uncontrolled flesh.
“Captain Takgolvan.” The woman said, saluting. Some of the fingers of their hand twisted strangely. Flesh melted again, and the uncontrolled fingers became stumps. The woman moved to the body Oulriah had cut into. Seconds of gruesome application later, the gashes and cuts now looked fresh. The stumps of their fingers looked as if they had been hacked off.
“I apologize, Captain. I will need to clothe and bandage myself before we return.” The woman said with an unsettling grin.
“That is just fine. Make sure all your wounds are properly cared for.” Oulriah, posing as Takgolvan, replied. The massive man turned to the rest of the Uncanny. “Do you all understand now?”
A new member of the invaders stepped out, wounds and scars covering them. “Oh, but I do.” The shifted Yurila said. “It is quite unfortunate how many of ours perished. Despite this, we managed to swiftly take this amazing fortress.”
In a wave, all the uncanny in the square shifted. When they finished, they quickly clothed and armored themselves. Countless bodies were drained of their blood as even the most hesitant of the kin joined in.
To cover yourself in the smell of other beings was something any of their kind would balk at.
Yet this plan had so much potential.
A new army had appeared in Rockfall Fortress. One covered in bandages and blood.
Captain Takgolvan looked out over his battle-beaten warriors.
“It is time, my brothers and sisters,” his deep booming voice announced to the shape-shifted army. “Come, let us march back to our people. Let us trumpet our good fortune.”
Takgolvan smiled. The split of their mouth broke the illusion for just a moment as it raced to their ears. Oulriah schooled their face.
“We will alert the rulers of our victory and prize. A fortress where we can store the wealth of our world. A safe place where we can reinforce our many battlefields.”
A cheer went up over the army.
It was time for the uncanny to act…
Boots hit stone as the column of transformed soldiers marched in unison. The gates of the fortress swung wide as the remainder of their kin vanished into the fortress's dark spaces.
By the time the column of warriors made it to the gate, the illusion was flawless.
They would ‘help’ the people from ‘their’ world, and once all the goods were secured?
The uncanny would go shopping.
—— ? ——
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Magical constructs spun in Varrax’s divine realm. The air around the god practically boiled with his frustration.
He shouldn’t have been as frustrated as he was, but the information he read chewed at his patience.
As if to relieve his rage, the constructs all sparked to life.
The ‘system’ had finally deemed it appropriate for him to respond to the battlefields.
The constructs spun as he inspected each in turn. Most were going well. Most were within expectations.
There were abnormalities. He briefly looked over Rockfall Fortress.
Not a single one of his followers had survived. His fist slammed into his throne, the metal warping under the divine blow.
Those worthless mortals. Without at least one alive, he would have no way of knowing what happened.
But there were countless battlefields that he needed to examine. Varrax would send his spies to discover what had happened. He would make those who defied him pay dearly.
Still. Twenty-nine of the thirty from that doomed realm were going well. While unfortunate, it was an abnormality.
Varrax wondered. Could it have been the beast god? He had declared. If that was the case, he would leave it alone. Only beasts understood other beasts.
He moved his attention to other troubling battlefields. Varrax’s eyes studied the lists of combatants. So far, it was only mortal ineptitude that plagued him. No gods had yet challenged his battles.
Varrax stopped one construct as it spun past.
“The Town of New Beginnings.” He muttered. “Surely the fraudulent system is in error here.”
It must be wrong. Because right now, it said that a single being defied his advance. There was no direct interference from another god. None had given any extra boons. No divine energy was detected.
Yet.
One man.
Stood against his army.
“Aurelo Seraphar.”
—— ? ——
Gold flashed through red mist as the twin blades cut down the next enemy.
Aurelo danced to the side, an arrow passing the space he had just occupied. Sweat and blood fell like rain as he moved. His rapiers danced through the air, the glint of the morning rays barely visible beneath the sheen of blood that covered them.
Aurelo stepped back. He stepped forward. His dance of death was unending.
*Ding!*
—- SYSTEM NOTICE—-
> Level Up!
——————————
The notice of the system bent to Aurelo’s will, shortening its message and only alerting him when more power was available to him.
The stats of the level flowed into him, his flagging muscles revitalised. His tempo grew as the power flowed into him.
Glowing light from within blossomed brighter as if he were on fire.
Laughter escaped his lips as he contorted and bent backwards, the axe slicing the air above. Golden radiance responded in turn as the head of the scaled warrior fell at his feet.
The corpse joined the ever-growing pile as Aurelo did not stop.
He would buy his daughter time. He would rip every advantage from the grip of fate.
He was Aurelo Seraphar.
Parent of three.
Protector and father to all.
—— ? ——
Varrax watched the blade dancer through the eyes of one of his incompetent followers. His view was cut as the radiant man’s blades sliced through the worthless creature's neck.
Varrax’s eyes burned with desire as he replayed the image of the man in his mind. He glanced at the prompt.
He could give a boon to one of his army.
But that was not what he wanted.
Varrax’s face was ravenous as the image of those dancing blades played through his mind.
He didn’t want one of the wastes of flesh that bore down on the celestial. He wanted that man.
In every generation of mortals, there were always those with the talent. Those with innate power and strength of will.
Varrax would find a way to collect this one, as he had done countless times before.
He licked his lips in anticipation. Once the battlefields had resolved, he would march on that town.
The method to gain the mortals' allegiance was clear. That town held many of the youth of this integration. Varrax would use that to capture this tool of war that had brought himself to his attention.
It would be simple to find the ones that man held dear.
Constructs spun as Varrax moved his attention to battlefield after battlefield.
He paused on one. The snowy valley of Varnholt.
Varrax frowned.
More incompetence?
He had been careful in his selection for this one. Even in the countless realms, hive-minds that could be reasoned with were rare. Varrax needed that monstrosity to bring those weak crafters under heel. There were other places, but Varnholt was unique. It was to be one of the many sources to fuel his armies.
And yet, it was not yet within his grasp. His infiltrator still lived. The hive-mind still lived.
“Worthless mortals,” Varrax said, as he had many times that day. “Just what are you doing?”
—— ? ——
—- WARNING —-
> AREA UNDER ATTACK
> Location: Varnholt Artisan Enclave - Northern Wall
> Description:
>> The barrier surrounding the town is under assault by hostile forces.
>> Barrier Status - 42%...
——————————
Bolt after bolt rained down on the barrier, each one making the residents of Varnholt flinch.
In the guardhouse near the gate, a large thurgen protested, his booming voice echoing past the open door.
“Oie don’t care what yer’ say, Marden. I ain’t agreeing to use dem’ damned potions!”
Kurda stormed out of the building, wounds still visible.
“Please reconsider, Kurda!” Marden yelled in his thin, greasy voice. The healer rushed after the giant, his backpack brimming with golden potions. Across his chest, bandolier after bandolier of red healing potions glistened in the morning light. “It will truly heal our wounds! They work far better than the normal ones!”
“Oie don’t care.” Kurda snapped back as he headed for the wall. “Der useless, they steal der’ secrets from yer’ soul. And most importantly…” Kurda stopped and spun on his heel.
Marden nearly ran into the thurgen, who stared death from his eyes.
“Oie. Hate. Yer.”
With that, Kurda whipped around and stomped off.
Marden watched him go, his expression pained.
He understood why the stonemason didn’t trust him. But he couldn’t change that. Everything he had done in accordance with his goddess's plan. Even he didn’t know all of its many moving pieces.
“I have to agree with him.” A voice spoke from behind the healer. Marden turned, then frowned.
“Emrick, you shouldn’t be walki-”
“Enough, Marden.” Emrick spat the words. “Kurda’s right. You said those potions could heal me.” Emrick held up what remained of his hands. “And yet, I’m still like this.”
Marden gulped as he examined the strange appendage.
It was unlike anything Marden had ever seen. At a glance, it appeared as if Emrick still had all the fingers of his left hand. But up close?
Small gaps appeared in Emrick’s fingers as he flexed them. The tailor's pinky, ring, and middle finger were made of thread.
Countless woven threads, all moving together to form the shape of fingers
Even Emrick’s attention shifted from staring Marden down to his own hand. The hypnotic shifting threads were… bizarre.
Below the man's waist, the effect was even more profound. Metallic thread mixed with translucent strands made up the body parts the tailor had lost.
Emrick saw Marden staring in fascination at his ankle and leg, and a dark hiss escaped his lips.
“Marden. Why can’t your so-called goddesses' potions heal this?!” Emrick almost yelled at the healer. He took a step and nearly stumbled. His movements were clumsy, uncoordinated. Like an infant learning to walk.
“I don’t know!” Marden replied, his face downcast. “I truly don’t. I am sorry, Emrick. I have never seen anything like this.”
“Of course.” Emrick scoffed. With shaking steps, he slowly moved away, heading in the direction Kurda had gone. “How convenient for you.”
Marden watched him go. The ankle of one foot and his other leg glittered in the sunlight.
A long sigh escaped him as he headed back to check on Jorik.
He couldn’t blame them.
Marden hated the things he had to do.
Yet.
They were things he had been tasked by his god.
At the very least, he had accomplished one mission.
Marden had made sure that boy Simon was out of reach of this ploy.
He hadn’t understood it at the time. Sylira’s message had only told him that great danger was coming to Varnholt.
She had given him two tasks.
He was to build up a supply of potions in case of disaster. Then he would use those to help the town surpass whatever challenge faced Varnholt.
The problem was that the second task had made the ones he needed to help hate him.
The goddess of living records had been clear.
No matter what.
Simon Starfall needed to be removed from town.
For his own safety.
>> Barrier Status - 39%...
The bolts of the invading army never ceased.
—— ? ——
Varrax’s lip curled in disgust.
A barrier. They had somehow managed to create a barrier.
“But it is only a matter of time.” Varrax nodded to himself. “While that mortal failed to prevent the barrier from appearing, he did remove half of their forces from the battle.”
“Still unacceptable.”
Varrax’s view changed as he watched his infiltrator move up and down the line of ballistas.
The mortal was doing an adequate job with them. The bolts fired in rapid succession, the barrier sparking in the distance as they struck it.
Outside of the barrier, the vessels controlled by the hive mind massed.
Varrax scoffed as he took in what the phestun was attempting. Barriers were not so simple that one could just dig their way under them.
Would he really have to send his infiltrator a decree to tell the dumb beast to cease its dangerous and worthless endeavor?
Varrax glanced over the list of combatants. He wanted to personally punish the creature. He looked for a vessel that was close to where the creature hid near the outer wall of the town.
Then Varrax, the martial god, did something he hadn’t done in a very long time.
He froze.
For an instant, he could only stare at what was before him.
The list the fraudulent system provided had a section he hadn’t seen on other battlefields.
—- SYSTEM NOTICE—-
> BATTLEFIELD OVERVIEW
> Description: Active entities detected within the engagement area.
> Area: Varnholt Valley - Varnholt Artisan Enclave
> Defending Forces
>> Name: Resident.
>> Affiliation: ? - Varnholt Artisan Enclave.
>> Name: Resident.
>> Affiliation: ? - Varnholt Artisan Enclave.
>> Name: Resident.
>> Affiliation: ? - Varnholt Artisan Enclave.
…
> Invading Forces
>> Name: Murgrulen “Maelis” Forogun - ‘The Metal Maniac’.
>> Affiliation: Varrax the Unyielding.
>> Name: Vessel of Phestun.
>> Affiliation: Varrax the Unyielding.
>> Name: Vessel of Phestun.
>> Affiliation: Varrax the Unyielding.
….
——————————
> Note: An additional unaffiliated combatant was detected.
> Unaffiliated Forces
>> Name: Simon ‘Starfall’
>> Affiliation: None.
——————————
Varrax snapped from his momentary lapse, and his view descended into his army.
He shifted from vessel to vessel, taking in their sight at a speed only the divine could manage.
“Where.”
The word rumbled his realm as he moved to his infiltrator. Nothing. At lightning speed, he viewed the world through the eyes of his army past the outer wall.
Nothing.
Countless images snapped by in a blur.
He searched. The air around Varrax condensed with his anger.
“Are YOU!” His voice shattered the obsidian floor.
—— ? ——
“Shit shit shit shit. This is so dumb. This is SO dumb!” Simon shouted as his legs pumped beneath him.
*Thrummmmm*
The instrument in his hand vibrated as he rocketed towards his worst idea yet.
But Simon didn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop.
Never again.
He leapt and sailed off the cliff, the ears of his armor flapping in the air.
Simon plummeted towards the ground, wind whipping past his face as gravity took hold. His speed increased with every second as he descended toward the unaware and waiting army of Varrax.
“PLEASE FUCKING WORK!”
—— ? ——
— AUTHOR NOTICE —
The new series has a fiction page now! First chapters go live on Royal Road Feb 9th.
Currently, it's just the blurb, an announcement, and a call for coffee mug sayings! If you have a funny one, go ahead and drop it in a comment!
Here's the ad for the new story!
Oh yeah... SIMONS BACK BABY. LETS GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
