Slipping the edge of her spear around a kobald shield, she swiped the edge of its blade across a kobald throat before guiding the dying body to the ground out of the way. The maneuver was performed so smoothly that she didn’t even need to alter her footing while she ran.

  Cathleen continued to dispatch kobalds, one after another, as she focused on the reports she was receiving through the command channel. While she would have preferred to be at the front line with the rest of the elite fighters, she knew Knight Angleton was too busy to maintain command.

  Wincing at the feeling of Mage Tallow’s over-stressed presence, she listened to his report on the status of the shield.

  “We’re having to pull more and more mages out of the group cast. We can’t wait for them to faint. The healers are already struggling to carry the ones that have. But, as long as we continue to get further away from the kobald siege casters, we should be able to manage,” he reported unemotionally, his presence doing the job of broadcasting his doubts about their likely success.

  “Understood. We should be under the larger buildings soon, and that should cut off their lines of fire well enough to allow our mages to recover,” she replied evenly.

  Turning her attention to the other team leaders that were giving their own reports, she continued to cut down kobalds while coordinating the formation change as they began making their way toward the throne room in between the buildings. While the Wackos hadn’t had the opportunity to train together, most of them had experience with large-scale formations from their time in the army. Those that didn’t were fully capable of following along with the people who did.

  They were making good time, and they were soon under the shadow of the larger buildings, drastically reducing how many siege spells the mages had to defend against. While there were still plenty of kobalds firing down at them from the windows above them, she couldn’t see that many groups working together to cast the more dangerous siege spells.

  Soon, they’d be at the throne room doors, and then they’d finish this.

  Her attention was pulled by Mage Tallow requesting a moment of her time again. Mentally connecting to him over the command channel, she waited for him to speak.

  Feeling her presence now listening to him, he said quickly, “One of my mages has requested to know the location of Lord Walker. Apparently, he has not been seen in a while, and he is no longer with the team he’d been assigned to.”

  Not even remotely surprised, Cathleen replied, “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure our lord is fine. No doubt -”

  Her reply was cut off by the sound of explosions going off behind the formation. While she couldn’t see what was happening, she could feel the buildings around her beginning to shake.

  Chuckling to herself, she continued, “As I was saying, no doubt our lord is doing what he does best… eliminating his enemies.”

  Disengaging from the connection immediately, she contacted Knight Angleton urging him to speed up their march. She had a feeling that remaining between the buildings might not be the best idea.

  —--

  “Shit, Shit, Shit…” Nero rapid-fire cursed as he ran as fast as he could through what was left of the buildings toward the throne room. Having turned his sticky fire spell form towards his rear, he left a blazing trail of fire behind him to ward off any pursuers. While in front of him, he blasted away with much more reasonably powered spell shells at any kobald groups he encountered.

  His personal assault on the encampment had been a great success, likely killing hundreds of kobalds and throwing their coordination into chaos. The few kobalds he came across looked just as surprised to see him as was to see them. He was sure they’d eventually realize he was no longer in the area with all the fires, but until then he was relatively free to move through the ruins toward his goal.

  Meanwhile, his mind was running at full speed trying to process the fact that the portal was already open.

  His first thought was that it was his fault for killing so many kobalds, thinking that they were likely the power source the ritual used to power the connection. Yet, looking at the ether and how the soul stuff was moving, he second-guessed himself.

  As far as he could tell, there was no steady suction coming from the throne room, nor did he ever remember seeing any. He was 90% sure that his gratuitous violence upon the encampment had nothing to do with the portal opening. However, as he was the only person he knew capable of seeing the soul stuff, he very much doubted anyone would take his word for it.

  ‘Cathleen is going to be so pissed,’ he realized with a wince as he jumped over a shattered kobald defensive position.

  Mentally chiding himself for thinking more about being in trouble than the fact that they might not end up making it out of here, Nero tried to instead focus on the problem.

  They, or more accurately, HE needed to close that damned portal. He’d done it before, and he could do it again. He just needed to get close to it.

  Considering how quickly he was moving through the ruins of the larger buildings he’d brought down, Nero made it to the rear of the Wacko formation in less than 10 minutes.

  On the way, he’d ignored the smoking piles of rubble and twisted kobald bodies that he’d been responsible for. Normally, he’d probably have enjoyed the opportunity to question his humanity and changing moralities in this new world, as if he were a good-natured hero who’d been forced to confront the horrors of war. Reveling in such a familiar scene would have been awesome. But, he didn’t have time. Instead, his focus was entirely on what his senses were telling him the closer he got to the formation.

  The incredibly tall throne room doors were now fully open, laying themselves flat against the sides of the entryway. Whoever had designed the place had done an amazing job of coordinating them into the walls, making it look like they weren’t even doors anymore, just part of the architecture. All that remained was a massive opening which was now filled with Wackos trying to force their way inside.

  The Wacko formation had transitioned into a large rectangle, with a majority of the melee fighters at the front. Which unfortunately left the rear open to assaults from the remaining kobalds from the encampment.

  The moment he was in range, Nero began supporting them with spell shells from his shoulder-mounted spell form cannon.

  While he hadn’t expected cheering at the sight of him appearing from the rubble, he couldn’t help but wince at the feeling come off the formation in the ether. There was nothing but panic and defeat rolling off them in waves.

  He crossed the last of the open ground between what was left of the larger kobald buildings and the formation as quickly as he could. As he did, he made sure to spread out as much sticky fire as he could to ward off any kobalds who might be following him.

  The rear lines were not all that dense, and the few people with shields were spread out. He could see that many of the people holding the lines weren’t normally frontline fighters. Some of them were even wearing healer robes. It was obvious that a majority of their stronger fighters were busy at the door trying to get the formation through the door.

  While he was met with some surprise at his arriving how he did, on the whole nobody questioned him. Aside from a few, ‘My lord! You’re here?’s, Nero passed through the line without issue.

  It must have been quite a sight to see him running out of the kobald encampment slinging death and destruction left and right, but he wasn’t mentally capable of thinking about that at the moment. He needed to know what was going on in the throne room on the other side of the door.

  Glaring up at the shield still being maintained by the mages, he was both happy to see it still protecting them while also being annoyed at how it was stopping him from just raising himself up so he could get a better look at what was happening.

  Now somewhat in the middle of the formation, he could see how poorly their assault was going. Dead bodies were being resuscitated by tired-looking healers, while injured soldiers tried to keep themselves alive for their turn. Interspersed throughout were mages who were looking on the brink of death from center overuse. Many of them were sitting down, having collapsed from the stress of trying to keep the shield over their heads from failing.

  It was NOT looking good.

  Gritting his teeth at the emotional pain of leaving them, Nero prioritized heading to the front. He needed to understand what was going on and come up with a plan on how he could help. He had access to plenty of soul stuff, his center was full, his collected essence was brimming, and his mage shield was practically humming with power over his skin. He knew he could turn the tide of the battle if he could find an opportunity.

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  Looking up, he could somewhat see the interior of the throne room through the door. The high ceilings were lit by the light of the portal. The blistering red sun on the other side filled the entire chamber with a sense of imminent danger and hopelessness. What was probably once a beautiful testament to human achievement, now looked like the setting for the finale of a horror movie. His perception field allowed him to see the frontline of the Wackos being held back by hundreds of kobalds pressing down on them. Still a football field away from them, the top of the massive portal loomed over everything like a grim backdrop.

  Seeing as the shield overhead was currently set around ten feet high, Nero realized he had a little room to work with.

  While standing maybe ten feet behind the frontline fighters currently struggling to cut down the veritable horde of kobalds, Nero raised himself a foot or two up onto his trusty pillar spell to get a better look at what was happening. He needed to see with his eyes as his perception field didn’t stretch far enough to reach the portal.

  Dropping his jaw in shock, Nero wasn’t prepared to see organized formations of taller kobalds in what looked like full armor and robes arriving slowly out of the base of the portal. They were not grunts or clones, or like any kobald he’d ever seen before. Even from the distance he was at, he could tell that the kobalds coming out of the portal were on par with the human soldiers he’d been fighting alongside.

  ‘This is… not good,’ he said to himself.

  Glancing around at the bigger picture, he could see mounds of dead kobald clones piled up alongside both sides of the portal. Seeing the portal for the first time in all its glory, Nero guessed it must be the size of an apartment building, five or six stories tall at least. For a moment, his mind stalled at the attempt of conceptualizing how many of their own kind they’d killed to power the damned thing.

  Kobald society suddenly made a lot more sense to him. They treated the kobald clones like multipurpose resources that were both cannon fodder and fuel for their wars. As nothing more than walking batteries that could be used to build structures, portals, or anything else they’d need through rituals, the kobalds in charge didn’t consider them part of their community. The casual disregard for their life was almost too much for Nero to fathom.

  All of this raced through his head in seconds as he looked around in horror at how badly the Wackos were doing.

  Snapping out of it, Nero began collecting soul stuff and charging his spell shell chucker. With enough power, he should be able to launch shells over the frontline fighters' heads directly into the kobald swarm and deal some real damage.

  Starting from the left, Nero began firing off shells at a rate of one every two seconds. He aimed for the kobald grunts that were moving to reinforce the front. When he strafed his fire toward the center, he fired a few shells off toward the ‘true’ kobalds who’d come through the portal, hoping to push them back and make them question whether it was even worth it to come through. Continuing with his sweep, he made it all the way to the right of the room with his careful targeting before he took a moment to evaluate his success.

  For the areas with the kobald clones, his efforts had been more than effective. The kobalds hadn’t expected a mage like him and were consequently obliterated. However, the same couldn’t be said about the true kobalds by the portal.

  His first shell near them looked like it had gone off as expected, causing some serious damage. However, now that the smoke had cleared, Nero could see that several of the robed kobalds had set up eerily similar blue shields that had stopped the rest of his shells cold. The speed at which they’d adapted was scary. What was worse was that they were now all staring toward the fighting, paying close attention rather than chatting amongst themselves like they had been.

  Not wanting to wait for their likely reprisal, Nero focused on clearing out the kobald grunts. He quickly resumed fire on the horde of kobalds filling the majority of the throne room with their screams and hisses. With his perception field, he could see that some larger kobald groups were arriving in the rear as well.

  Cursing under his breath, Nero began focusing on changing out the spell forms over his shoulders to both be spell chuckers. One for the front, and one for the rear. Closing his eyes, he focused on his perception field and began firing shells one after another in both directions. All the while standing in the center of the Wacko formation on his 3-foot-tall pillar of stone as chaos reigned around him.

  For about five minutes, his turret-like assault was a complete success, the mages even helping him a little by raising their shields a little higher to give him a better firing angle so he could arc his shots a bit. While he called them shells, his spells were more like mortars, and at the rate he was burning through soul stuff, he couldn’t waste energy speeding them up and instead focused on their explosive potential.

  The more he cast, the harder it was to concentrate. More and more thoughts seemed to intrude on his mind out of nowhere. His attention wanted to shift to questions about how spells actually worked. How much of an influence was intention versus the spell form’s architecture? Could he cast a spell shell without the aid of a spell form if he were able to conceptualize it? Dwarven runes worked without intention, didn’t they? Were rune casters just like reality coders, while human mages were more artistic douchebags focusing on their ‘feelings’?

  It was a grueling struggle to keep his attention where it needed to be… on his spells.

  All at once, everything changed. He felt the ether roil as the Wacko’s frontline began pushing forward. Without the press of kobalds bearing down on them, they finally had room to maneuver. At the head of the formation, Nero could see Harry and a few of the more elite fighters who used to probably be soldiers under his command rushing forward. Abilities flashed like strobe lights as they cut down kobalds and pushed deeper into the throne room.

  The entire formation bubbled, forcing the Wackos who were all around him to get off their asses and get moving. It was as if the entire assault force had gotten a second wind. Not wanting to stop his assault, Nero was forced to attempt to add his pillar spell into his rotation so he could keep firing. Every other spell, he had to pause for a moment to create a new pillar for him to move forward to, while remembering to dismiss the one behind him.

  Nero had never focused so hard in his life. It was a level of concentration that he’d not known he was capable of.

  Despite how much his mind wanted to wander, the entirety of his focus remained on what he needed to do. Even with his center constantly being refilled by soul stuff, he was beginning to feel strained. It was as if he were struggling to stay himself, or like he was slowly being ‘diluted’ somehow.

  As his eyes were still closed, he relied wholly on his perception field to keep moving. There was so much to pay attention to that he nearly faltered when the edges of his attention reached the area with the true kobalds. While he wanted to take a closer look at them, he knew he couldn’t afford the brainpower at the moment. Instead, he continued with what he was doing, finding opportunities to launch his shells both ahead of the frontline and behind the rear.

  Unfortunately, his adamant refusal to acknowledge them didn’t stop them from existing.

  With barely any warning, he felt himself being launched from his pillar. He’d barely noticed it, but someone or something had just headshot him. Whatever it was, it had sent him tumbling off his pillar and crashing into the Wackos who were following along behind him.

  Snapping back to reality, Nero winced at the forced break of his intense concentration. He could feel several people holding him up, each one talking over the other.

  “Are you alright, my lord?”

  “Do you need healing?”

  Waving them off, Nero tried to recall what had happened. He also reached out again with his perception field, checking to see how the fighters were fairing without his support. On that front, they were at least holding their own. The number of kobalds he’d already killed had drastically altered the battlefield, allowing the Wackos to somewhat take control of the chamber.

  Then, the memory of what had happened snapped into place for him. One of the true kobald casters had managed to thread a spell of their own between the shield and fighting, using the same firing arc he’d been taking advantage of to return fire. It had been a stone bullet of some kind. The son of a bitch had managed to snipe him.

  If it hadn’t been for his ridiculously over-charged mage shield, he’d be dead right now.

  ‘OK. Well, these guys are fucking dangerous,’ he said to himself as he struggled to get his feet back under him.

  Muttering thanks and reassuring them that he was fine, Nero disentangled himself from the Wackos who’d annoyingly been patting him down while checking for injuries.

  It was obvious that the true kobalds were not at all like the clones he’d grown used to fighting. They were more like real enemy combatants and not monsters. For a moment, Nero contemplated the fact that they all might actually die here. Wiping out monsters and facing kobald clones was one thing, but facing an organized force of equivalent power was something else altogether.

  Just as he was about to focus back on the fight, he felt something weird in the ether. Focusing his senses on the essence that was flowing around him, he noticed the soul stuff drastically disappearing. It was flowing toward the true kobalds in a flood.

  Widening his eyes in shock, he put his entire focus on the edges of his perception field to try and understand what was happening. What he was seeing didn’t make any sense. Several kobald casters were waving their hands around like lunatics while gesturing among their warriors as if they were flicking invisible balls of goo at them. If he hadn’t been able to see what was happening in the ether, he probably would have laughed.

  However, he could, and therefore he didn’t.

  One after another, the kobalds began gaining shells of essence much like the mage armor he’d developed. The kobald casters were passing out buffs. He couldn’t tell exactly how they were doing it, but the results were easy to see. The kobald warriors’ muscles swelled and the essence around their weapons became a little sharper. The process was incredibly inefficient, wasting tons of soul stuff, but they didn’t seem to care about that at all.

  However, Nero did. Without that soul stuff, he didn’t have an infinite center. Even worse, he wasn’t sure if he had sufficient power to overcome their essence fields without it. His center wasn’t all that developed compared to higher-level people… or at least he thought it wasn’t. These guys' essence fields were probably on par with people, not the paper-thin ones of the kobald clones. If he needed to rely on his own reserves to power his spells… he was screwed.

  But, the pace of the battle wasn’t waiting for him. The frontline of the Wackos continued to push forward, and the ever-increasing numbers of their wounded continued to be cycled back into the middle. All around him, more and more bodies and wounded began to pile up. While everything was happening quickly, even two or three minutes was enough to change what he was seeing considering how many people were fighting.

  As his body stumbled forward, his mind continued to focus on his perception field and all that he was able to see. They were getting closer to the portal, and he could only hope that Harry and the fighters would be able to get him close enough to reach it. The last thing they needed was more reinforcements coming through.

  ‘I swear to whatever gods that are watching that I better not have just jinxed us,’ he thought to himself.