Seventeen Seconds to Eternity

6 - The Screeching Swarm

16th Year, 1st Month, Winter

In her infinite wisdom, she bestowed upon her adherents the first grand order.

Let it be strength and not blood that leads.

For it is blood that drives the cloaked dagger.

And strength that sees it repelled.

It was by her words that nations were founded, and by her words that nations were felled. For though she imparted her insight to man, man was too foolish to follow.

It would be by blood that they raised their flags, and it would be by blood that they were torn and tattered.

Scripture of the Savage Gods, Verse 17-42

___

Slowly raising my eyes towards the goddess’ throne, I clenched my fists, steadied my breathing, and pushed my feet forward.

I realized as I continued along the path that the added weight was hardly the only challenge I met; the air itself was slowly growing thicker. It had practically become something of a liquid, pushing back against my forward momentum. Like a thin veil, it resisted each of my motions, dulling them further with each step I took. The effect was so pronounced that I felt like I was swimming, albeit not through anything as dense as water. The mystical sensation was likely derived from the goddess’ divinity. Perhaps it may have even been a curse. But even so, I remained unbothered.

Having made it roughly a third of the way, I could see the goddess more clearly. At some point, she had leaned forward in her seat and started watching me with a twinkle in her eye. She tapped her legs rhythmically against the side of her throne—a rapid but consistent cascade. She was like an open book. But that was precisely why I couldn’t help but swallow my spit.

The most frightening part was that I had no idea what her delight entailed. If anything, I had assumed that she would punish my lack of patience and intensify the ambient pressure. But it never happened. The viscosity of the air and the almost global weight both grew at the expected rate. It was impossible to tell what she had in mind—a thought that terrified me far more than any of her obvious schemes.

My next opponent phased into the space in front of me as my heart quickened. Unlike any of the foes I faced before him, he needed no introduction. I recognized him. Knew him. Because I had been present for the moment he fell in battle.

“He is Lupercus of Amrinia, champion of a once-mighty fallen force. Perhaps you would know this better than I with your history entwined.” The goddess smirked. “He is the man who has come closest to killing you, the warrior who first taught you the meaning of fear, and one of the greatest obstacles that you have never surmounted. He judged you as unworthy during your first encounter, and now he has elected to evaluate your abilities again.”

He was a thoraen warrior, a fighter that hailed from a land we had just absorbed. Lupercus stood head and shoulders above me. His rear was an insectoid abdomen that featured a stinger and his jaws came equipped with a second set of external teeth. His skin was green with large black stripes running down the full extent of its length. Everything from his legs to his stinger to his four muscular arms was covered in natural tattoos.

Lupercus smirked at me when our eyes met. He flexed his biceps, showed off his ludicrous musculature, and greeted me with the exact same smile that he had back then. He looked like he was about to say something or other, but no words left his mouth.

He was already dead by the time he thought to try.

There was nothing he could do to stop me from slugging him in the gut and ripping him apart. Blood burst from every orifice, draining from his body through even the pores of his skin. He was left as dry as a shell, dead as a doorknob, while my mind was painted over again.

Only about half of my vision was eventually released from the colourless veil, albeit not because the trial and its contents had changed.

The accompanying landscape was covered in a sheet of white. The grasses, the shrubs, and even the trees were hidden beneath the ten-odd metres of snow that had accumulated over the course of the previous night. And yet, I remained on duty, watching over the northerly checkpoint in nothing but a set of standard-issue rags.

Such was all that grunts like me were given. We were left to freeze in the cold, to pointlessly monitor the fields as our enemies hibernated the season away. Of course, our superiors took no part. They sat in their cozy offices, smoked their expensive cigars, and twiddled their thumbs on the king’s dime. Or at least that was how it would have been on an ordinary day. On that particular morning, oh so many years ago, the colonel and his lieutenants were out and about.

We were expecting an enemy attack. If the rumours were to be believed, the thorae had chosen to charge the fort in the midst of winter. It was something that half the men thought to be impossible. Their species burrowed into the ground and hibernated through the colder months. It wasn’t impossible for them to adapt to the cold through their ascensions, but it was only their royalty that generally took on such traits. The general population was sound asleep, locked beneath a thick layer of frost enforced by the goddess of the frozen wilds; they were unlikely to attack until spring returned. Just as how we were unlikely to attack them, lest we wished to incur her wrath.

“Do you think they’re really coming?” I muttered the question as I hid a visible breath with my hands. It was a little chilly out, especially with the wind pounding against the fort, but even dressed in just two thin layers of fabric, I felt like I was doing just fine.

“I sure hope not. I’d rather not think about what they’d have to have planned to launch an attack in weather like this.” The bipedal rabbit beside me was not quite as nonchalant. Her species was supposed to be fairly cold-tolerant—their children loved to play naked in the snow—but Allegra’s buck teeth were chattering. Even with two full coats wrapped around her metre-tall frame, four cloaks to keep her dry, and three full layers of scarves for good measure, she was shivering up a storm.

Her clothes had at least doubled her total width and tripled her body’s length. Frankly, she was more cotton than cottontail, but I kept my mouth shut. She would no doubt smack me over the head the moment I brought it up. In her eyes, the outfit was inconspicuous; the higher-ups had failed to lecture her because they had yet to notice. Of course, the truth of the matter was that they simply chose not to complain. The twice-ascended caster was one of the brass’ favourites; I could easily imagine the colonel jumping through hoops just to please her.

Her being my superior officer certainly didn’t help the situation. I was ultimately beholden to her orders, no matter how silly they were. Such was the role of a soldier.

“It’s not even that bad today,” I said. “It was much worse last week, you know, when you were holed up in that dump of yours.”

“It’s not a dump, it’s a lab.”

“I’m on Virillius’ side on this one. You’ve filled that whole damn thing with garbage.” A familiar voice came from the officer’s other side, with its owner flashing a bit of a toothy grin.

Like Allegra, Ragnar was covered from head to toe in warm garments. It was a clear abuse of his family’s power. We were the same rank. I knew for a fact that he wasn’t supposed to have anything beyond the standard issue.

“Another word out of you, Private Ericson, and you’re going three days without dinner.”

“Nice try. Might’ve actually made for a half-decent threat if it looked like we were going to get out of this alive,” said the Kryddarian prince.

“Oh, shut up already.” The rabbit lightly whacked him with her staff before suddenly snapping to attention and turning her eyes east.

Following her gaze, I carefully peered through the endless snowscape. It was hard to tell with the sun still in the midst of rising, but there was a slight distortion on the horizon. They were just specks in the light, growing every larger and more numerous as the clock continued to turn. Even from afar, my ears caught wind of their violent buzzing.

There were too many of them to go unheard. Their number was well into the thousands, perhaps even the tens of thousands, while we were just a few hundred strong.

“Fuck,” said Ragnar.

Though I remained silent, I was largely of the same opinion. We were probably dead. The war plan was predicated on the longstanding fact that the thorae never attacked in winter. Nearly all of our troops had been relocated for the season, shifted further south so they could be made more useful while the northern front stayed silent. Those who had stayed behind were all eccentrics like Allegra, important foreign guests like Ragnar, or pathetic sacks of shit like myself. Needless to say, the most useless group was by far the vast majority. It was a skeleton crew to say the least, and chances were, one part of that description would be more true than the other come morning.

We weren’t there to serve our time abroad like the prince, nor were we allowed to stay behind to wrap up our research like the mage. We had simply been left in the northern lands because it wasn’t worth taking us elsewhere. It went for everyone from the grunts to the commanders. Only the colonel himself was exempt. For anyone but the man who owned the fortress, to be asked to stay behind was to be branded a burden.

I had been one-sidedly given the label. And frankly, I couldn’t disagree.

Still, even as a burden, as a useless level forty with just one evolved class, I gripped my bow and prepared for the enemy’s arrival.

“We’ll begin by bombarding them. You’re free to open fire as soon as they enter your range.” Allegra stepped out in front of us and positioned herself on the parapet. “Stay on the walls even if you run out of ammo. We don’t stand a chance on even ground.”

I reluctantly nodded along, took up my position, and steadied my massive bow. For a regular centaur, its length would’ve made it an impressive sniping tool, but for me, it was a tiny weapon meant for rapid fire, as per the four quivers mounted to my back. I had about a hundred arrows in all, not nearly enough, even if each one could slay a target.

I took a moment to look around the section of the wall to which our squad was assigned. There was enough space for a small platoon, maybe something in the range of thirty to fifty men, but we had only twelve in all.

Any complaints I had would only fall on deaf ears. The whole fortress was severely understaffed, with only three hundred heads to square up a structure built to house twenty thousand. The rest of the wall might have looked better off, as there were twenty to thirty men covering each section, but ours marked the safest location. Despite being only twice-ascended, Allegra was worth as much as a full squad—a fact only made clear by an observation of the wall’s remaining, densely populated positions.

The enemy was sure to overwhelm us. And it seemed that most of our squadmates had that understanding as well. Most of them had blades on their waists for when we failed to rout our foes. I hadn’t the faintest clue as to where they had picked them up, but whatever the case, I found my own preparations sorely lacking. All I had was the tiny dagger hidden in my sleeve.

“Focus up,” said Allegra. “It won’t even be a minute before they’re in range to charge us.”

A small group had broken off from the rest of the swarm and run ahead. There were about twenty of them in all, with the darker colour of their skin becoming more apparent the closer they got. They were twice-ascended variants—individuals who had two racial evolutions, with at least one deviating heavily from the norm.

In the advance party’s case, it was their speed that marked the difference. They zipped across the open plain at a blinding pace. My blood ran cold just watching them. I couldn’t imagine a world where my arrows would land on target.

Still, I nocked one of the barbed missiles against my bow and drew it as far as I could. We, the longbow archers, launched our attacks as they crossed the thousand-metre checkpoint. All eight of us fired away. I loosed seven arrows in five seconds, none of which found anything but snow. The others were just as inaccurate, but it was to be expected. Ragnar was the only ascended marksman, and his bow was too small to match a centaur’s range.

Ten, maybe fifteen seconds later, our enemies crossed the five-hundred-metre mark. Some of the mages had already chanted their spells in advance, while others didn’t bother with the process at all. The specifics varied within each school of magic, but whatever the case, the results were unchanged.

The field was flooded with our allies’ attacks.

Only two of our enemies made it through the barrage unscathed. Another seven were injured, but still capable of moving, while the rest lay either dead or dismembered, bleeding out as they collapsed in the snow.

I nocked another arrow and loosed it right away. I aimed at one of the injured targets—one of his veiny, insectoid wings had been blasted to bits—but he easily avoided the attack. He kicked off the ground and charged across the snowy banks, dodging another three shots before I finally landed an arrow on target.

It sank into his skull and halted his legs, leaving him to collapse in the snow.

He was the first enemy soldier I had ever killed. But there was no time to rejoice. One of his uninjured companions was already at the wall.

Perhaps having identified her as the greatest threat, he charged straight for Allegra. He dove at her with his falchion drawn and his sharpened teeth bared, but even up close, he was no match for our ace. She rolled out of the way, raised her staff, and turned his guts to ash.

Another thoraen warrior rose from the other side of the parapet and appeared right behind her as his compatriot collapsed. He stood in one of her blind spots with his massive, four-handed sword raised overhead.

I loosed an arrow as soon as I saw him. By some impossible stroke of luck, my aim was true, perfectly dead center. I struck him right in the back of the neck. But even empowered by the force of a three-metre bow, the tiny blade was ineffective. I failed to pierce his armour, let alone his skin.

Kicking off the ground, I gritted my teeth, drew my dagger, and extended my arms as far as they would go. But I knew I wouldn’t reach her. And even if I did, nothing would come of my intervention. My arms were only half as thick and numerous as the thoraen assailants’. They wouldn’t even serve as functional shields. The battle was over. Our already slim chance at victory would go up in smoke the moment she fell.

It was far from the most ideal circumstance, but it was one that we had all understood.

I was not the only one with my eyes set on the line of fire.

Another cervitaurian soldier threw his body between the mage and the assassin.

He held a spear in front of him. His stance was decent enough for him to take the blow. But neither his weapon nor his muscles were even remotely up to par.

The greatsword crushed his spear, his arms, and his chest without mercy. It went straight through his shoulder. The back of his humanoid frame was crunched into its cervine lower half. And then, he collapsed, falling onto his knees with blood dribbling from his lips. The deer was dead. Slain through an otherwise perfect parry.

Allegra spun around, but weighed down by all of her clothing, she was slow to react. The thoraen warrior had already transitioned into another attack. I was still too far, and though Ragnar’s arrows landed on target, they were too small to halt his advance. Thankfully, a rabbit with a sword and a shield squeezed into the gap at the last second. He placed the metal bulwark between himself and his enemy and took the blow head-on. His equipment held true. But his legs gave way. He was effortlessly flung off the rampart and thrown into the snow below. He wasn’t dead just yet, but there was no saving him. The eastern gate had already been barricaded shut, and the mages couldn’t afford to waste their mana with his relocation. It would only be a matter of time before the rest of the thorae caught up and tore him to shreds.

But it was a worthwhile sacrifice.

Allegra poured a wave of fire from her staff and engulfed the would-be assassin. He screamed in pain, howling in a way that a man never should as he was cooked from the inside out. It only lasted for two, maybe three seconds before he fell silent. Yet another warrior popped up without delay, but she shifted the fire with a wave of the hand and sentenced him to an equally ashen grave.

Allegra clicked her tongue when she looked at the corpse beside her, but she quickly returned her eyes to the battlefield again.

The rest of the swarm had advanced while the vanguard kept us busy. They were only two kilometres away and quickly closing in. And they had already launched a preliminary attack. It was not a standard magical assault, nor even magically driven at all. The preemptive strike was crafted entirely by the movement of their wings.

The buzzing only grew louder as they closed in. Before long, it would completely blot out our communications by way of destroying our eardrums. Cervitaurs and centaurs had it bad—we were fairly sensitive to sound—but the cottontails had it the worst. Allegra was already gritting her teeth, hating every moment that the incessant insects filled her ears.

Still, she held her fire. Her staff against the rampart’s wall and her giant pointy hat half-falling off her head, she took a brief moment to catch her breath.

“The second wave’s coming. Don’t let your guard down.”

I was already one step ahead of her. I had my bow primed, pointed upwards with my arrow held steady. I released it before long and launched the remote weapon in an arc through the air. It looked like it would land on target, but like a school of fish with a shark fast approaching, the crowd parted and allowed it to pass.

The same phenomenon repeated itself as the other archers unleashed their arrows. The whole crowd moved as one, dodging and swerving away from the danger. Of the thousands of enemies approaching, only six fell in the initial volley.

Our arrows grew more accurate as the enemies drew closer. Shifting from arced to direct shots boosted our accuracy tenfold, but even then, only half of us were landing our shots, and even fewer proved to be fatal. Many of the fallen, thoraen warriors ripped the arrows from their wounds, mended their wings with bits of leather, and returned to the incoming flood.

It took half a quiver for me to kill just one. At the rate that things were going, I would need a hundred thousand arrows just to wipe out the enemy’s grunts. And I was down to seventy-five. Though there were archers amongst their corps, the thorae did not return fire. Like every other Cadrian fortress, ours was enchanted to ward off their spells and arrows.

They would have to either overpower the defensive mechanism or break through the gate and assault the spell at its core. But that was not to say that they did nothing but charge. Their mages guarded their warriors from our magical bombardment and their archers parried our arrows with their own.

Over half of our spells were negated. But Allegra’s shone through.

A wave of the staff was all it took to transform the snowscape.

The winter melted away. But the trees and grasses hidden beneath its carpet were never once revealed. They were taken by the conflagration, sublimated in an instant and released into the air. The molten jet that burst from the earth was practically a solar flare. It rose into the heavens, scorching the very sky as it overwrote the world with its colour.

Even at present, I thought the feat absurd. Hundreds died in just that one attack. For the average twice-ascended sorceress, it was the sort of spell that would demand her life as tribute, the sort of spell that could only be cast once following days if not weeks of preparation.

But Allegra was already in the midst of casting another. Sweeping her staff horizontally, she glassed the enemy lines, evaporating every soldier caught in its path.

Every soldier except for one.

While all of his peers fled from the flaming wave, he alone stuck out a hand and met the attack head-on. The flames almost seemed to converge on his location, sucked into the palm of his hand in which they were readily dispersed.

A distinct, cocky grin appeared on his lips, easy to make out, even from afar. It was an intimidating smile, only amplified by his absurd appearance.

Most bee-ogres were large and muscular, but the supposed enemy commander was exceptional even among his kind. He far exceeded the size of the average specimen, and in the morning light, his skin almost seemed to glow.

Allegra attacked him again. She was joined by mages and archers alike. Having seen for ourselves that he was a threat, we pelted him with everything we had. Arrows whizzed through the air. Bolts of fire and ice, blades of wind, and spears of darkness ran across the morning sky.

And yet, he remained unscathed. He was practically as impervious as the fortress; his three balled fists deflected arrows while his remaining hand stayed open and sucked in our spells. All of our attacks were negated.

Simply and effortlessly, he dismantled the barrage.

I bit my lip as I reached for another arrow, only to find my last quiver empty and my mind as blank as a fresh canvas.

Even as I returned to reality, I found my heart pumping in my chest.

The goddess was right.

I had feared him back then. But while the feeling remained no longer, he took a form that hid my shame and became a helmet that obscured my face. It was not one of the traditional bucket helms that our people so often preferred, but a visored, bascinet resembling those that adorned her walls.

“Though an arrogant fool who indulged in vices aplenty, Lupercus was kind to those he deemed deserving of his care. He was a wise philosopher, a true friend, and an honourable warrior. He did not spend his days honing the edge of his blade, nor studying the art of war, but reciting poems to his beloved and frolicking with his daughter within the evergreen meadows that he once called his home. He was truly a great man. But perhaps it was also that greatness which ultimately led him to his downfall.”

The goddess smiled, sadly.

“Your nation shall remember his death as a glorious upset, perhaps even the moment you began your ascent to your position as champion.” She leaned forward in her seat and rested her chin atop her fingers. “But how will you remember it now, having learned the taste of the fruit that you have denied so many?”

I paused briefly to compose myself, to take a breath to steady my voice before looking the goddess in the eyes. “I feel no different than I did on the day we slew him. We only did what was necessary. And we will only continue to do what is necessary in the future to protect our people and their interests.”

“Then what will you do, when the children whose fathers you slew come knocking on your door?”

“I will stand proud.” I clenched my fists, and turned my eyes to the place where Luperucus once lay. “I will stand proud, face them head-on, and demonstrate the full extent of my might. Because that is the only manner through which I might honour the soldiers who fell to my blade.” I took a deep breath. “It is only by remaining stalwart and invincible, by proving myself worth their hate and retribution, that I can bring myself to face their children.”

“Then so be it.”

The goddess said nothing more. Her face was unreadable, almost expressionless. Perhaps, I thought, she was dissatisfied with the answer I gave. But whatever the case, I saw no reason to change it. Even if I was in the wrong, I would live by my code of honour.