Spires

Atlanta, Fall 2054

The city burned.

Suiteonemiades had pulled a whole army from another world.

A small one.

Roughly 2000.

They weren’t the problem.

It was their leader.

A dragon.

Lured by twin promises.

A mate and territory outside North America.

Cal probed at the dragon’s thoughts and found it like trying to scratch through a window with a toothpick.

Protective spells and a highly magical being’s natural defenses.

He could’ve turned the toothpick into a diamond-tipped glass breaker, but not without alerting the dragon.

Better to stay hidden in the clouds to do his work.

It was a shame that Atlanta had continued to refuse all aid offers even when he hadn’t attached any conditions.

Not that he wouldn’t help just because they had demanded he stay away.

At least they had accepted a mutual defense pact with Richellia.

He kept a portion of his mind dedicated to watch over the small contingent.

Less than a 100 Richellians.

Led by Kayla and a small squad of Cezi’s elite dragon-president guard.

The dragon-president wasn’t present.

She had blustered about the other dragon needing to come to her for battle, but the truth was that she, at a little over a century in age, was barely a teenager in dragon years.

Thus, her best was poised in the southern end of the city, waiting to be called.

On the opposite end to the north, forces from the American remnant waited as well. They continuously broadcast that the green-skinned, gold clad outworld invaders had nothing to do with them. All while having stealthy agents in the city, looking for sabotage and assassination opportunities and generally observing the fierce battle in the city streets and buildings.

The best lies were those wrapped in a skin of truth.

Only the highest echelon of the old American government knew the truth behind the small army and they hadn’t spread the word beyond the White House.

Necessary plausible deniability because they technically had a non-aggression pact with both Atlanta and Richellia.

How to help?

The easiest and quickest way was to simply make the evil dragon’s army fall unconscious.

The defenders could take care of it from there while he dragged said evil dragon elsewhere.

Doing so would reveal that he possessed that ability.

The old Americans had orders to observe every action in the battle and record it no matter how insignificant it seemed.

It was clear where that had come down from.

He decided that he would nudge the attacks and the defenders into favorable outcomes for the latter.

To that end he opened his mind to reach the many thousands below.

The outworld invaders weren’t goblins.

That much was clear from the deep dives he performed into their heads.

They were people not that much different in terms of anatomy and cultural mindset compared to Earthians.

The word they had for their kind translated into ‘The People”.

Green-hued skin.

A slight sweep into a point for the upper rear part of the ears.

Pointed, conical teeth.

A few extra organs. A few missing ones.

Same general size, muscles and bones.

Toddson Greshect-Gutter was an above average example of his species.

The dragon-touched face-smasher had been sold a few years before his age of maturity to the dragon. His potential had earned his family a windfall of gold coins that meant with smart investing they could create generational wealth. While he gained a higher-quality class, an extended lifespan that meant when his sister’s young son neared a natural death he would still be in his prime and a minimum of half a century of retirement in one of the pleasure cities owned by his dragon overlord where he wouldn’t want for nothing.

Images of his visits to one such city to observe retired warriors flashed across Toddson’s thoughts as they tended to do in battle. A bad habit he hadn’t been able to discard in the over 2 decades of service.

The new world city stank.

Acrid and metallic.

It might have been because of the fierce battle since flames belched smoke into the dark sky like a stinky blanket that stung the eyes and irritated the nose.

If only the scent of fear had been alone in the wind.

That would’ve made for a more pleasant battle.

Idle thoughts had no place in a warrior’s mind during battle.

He tried to force them away, but they persisted.

Stubborn intrusive thoughts.

He ground the tips of his teeth together.

Unbidden memories of his mother snapping at him.

He could hear her voice.

“Do you want blunt teeth? Hmmm? We can’t afford a teeth fixer. That means you won’t be able to enjoy ensymadadon steaks anymore. Is that what you want?”

He hadn’t thought of her in years.

He punched his spiked gauntlet into the ground as if that would banish the memory.

“Scan the structure.” Craitson Soil-Ruiner directed the unit’s scoutmage to the other side of the broad, gray-surfaced street.

Concrete, but of a decidedly lesser quality than the streets found in the cities of Toddson’s homeworld. He wondered how the Earth humans could stand walking or using their ugly, filth-spewing vehicles on the cracked gray surface. Let alone how they could stomach simply looking at them.

Had they no pride in their craftsmanship?

He supposed they didn’t when they made no efforts to curb the filth they spewed into the environment from what seemed like nearly everything they did.

The scoutmage cast a spell.

A faint, green outline of ethereal eyes appeared in front of her eyes.

“What do you want to know, leader?”

“Structure protection level?”

“Weak. One salvo should crack it.”

“Enemy disposition?”

“5 adults, 19 children. Weak. One mid rank ranged warrior-type. I was unable to glean class specifics.”

“Very good. Be our eyes in the sky.” Craitson dismissed the scoutmage.

The scouting corps attached members to each battle unit as needed rather than have scouts entrenched at all times.

“Dragon warriors,” Craitson said flatly. “We have our orders. Do not damage our overlord’s future breeding stock. I won’t accept any mistakes and excuses for such a weak group. Be aware of your attacks. We don’t want a repeat.”

Toddson felt eyes on him despite the fact that the unit was too disciplined to take them off their assigned quadrants. He rubbed his red-stained gauntlets on the ground.

How was he supposed to know that the huge, muscular Earth human had been too weak to take his punch?

The human had looked like a fearsome warrior-type.

It hadn’t even been a true face-smashing punch.

“Toddson?” The unit leader regarded him with an unblinking stare.

“Leader?”

“You will breach and continue toward the rear exit of the structure. It is imperative that you cutoff their escape route. Do not stop to engage. We will take care of that. Understood?”

“Yes, leader.” He broke into a sprint before the unit fired the salvo.

Spells and projectiles streaked above his head, crashing into the front of the structure like angry thunder.

A quick check with the spires confirmed that ownership protections were down.

All that was left was to make an entrance.

He turned the door into splinters with a two-fisted punch without breaking his stride.

Screams smelled enticing.

One of the gifts from his dragon overlord meant that he could perceive the world with a fraction of the acuity that the overlord did.

He bulled through the structure, scattering people, breaking furniture, carving gouges into the walls as he careened through a corridor built for slight bodies.

The rear exit loomed.

He skidded to a halt just before smashing through.

It didn’t matter because the door exploded in his face, spraying him with jagged splinters.

That, too, didn’t matter.

Mere splinters couldn’t penetrate his golden armor made from his overlord’s breath.

Toddson tamped down the irritation.

The scoutmage had missed the enemy hidden behind the structure.

“Enemy contact at my position,” he said into the tiny speaking stones embedded on the inside of his helmet’s cheek guards.

He could hear screams and the brief sounds of battle behind him through the stones and his normal hearing.

Strange?

There was a slight delay for the former.

He remained in the doorway, covering his eyes with an upraised arm.

Projectiles and spells splashed against his magic armor and were found wanting.

“Engage!” Craitson’s voice emerged.

Dragon Leap.

Toddson crashed through the ceiling and the wall on the second level, emerging into the dark night.

The lack of artificial lights were meaningless to all those entrusted with the overlord’s gifts.

Scatter The Weak.

He landed with an earth-shaking boom that created undulating ripples in the grass-covered ground.

The enemy stumbled, struggling to keep their feet.

Fire poured from what felt like every direction as his unit emerged from the structure to do battle.

He fulfilled his class with a leaping punch.

A helmet that provided at least some face coverage was a must against him.

The dark-skinned enemy must’ve favored greater visibility and ease of breath over protection.

A fatal mistake.

Teeth and bone shattered as he drove his spiked gauntlet into meat and brain matter.

One could tell by the lighter color of the latter.

The enemy gurgled as he dropped to the grass. Death rapidly approached with every gush of wet red out of the gaping ruin.

Toddson stomped an armored boot down to hasten it and end the suffering.

This was just combat.

He held no personal enmity.

“Mother fucker!”

Toddson blocked a burning spray of white hot metal from getting into his eyes.

Another dark-skinned warrior reloaded one of those ugly projectile weapons that reeked as loudly as it roared.

Powered by crude mechanical combustion rather than clean, elegant magic.

“Throw some taunts!”

The enemy tanks shouted or banged weapons on their shields.

He felt the pull, lowering his arm and ignoring the enemy in front of him.

“Counters!” Craitson snapped.

Toddson’s head felt like it had been suddenly stuffed with soft wool. Addled like idiotic sheep.

He tried to activate his own taunt Skill, but he couldn’t hold on to it in his mind as he clapped his hands together with all the adriotness of a tavern scum given free reign at the beer barrels.

“Taunt,” he mumbled.

Nothing.

From the sounds of it, the rest of his unit was having the same problem.

Only their golden armor and dragon gifts kept them from being killed by the enemy.

“Use the rage! In the overlord’s name, you useless whelps!” Craitson roared.

Well… that was easy enough despite the brain fog.

Dragon Rage triggered instinctively.

The golden curtain descended over his vision.

He leapt with a roar, landing on the enemy.

White hot shards bounced off armor or skipped off the sudden growth of gold scales over the exposed skin of his face.

When he landed the enemy ceased to be anything more than a red smear on the grass.

His outnumbered unit reaped a terrible toll on the enemy with dragon-like claws and teeth, with breath attacks of molten gold.

They would have trampled over the enemy like a herd of thunder bulls had reinforcements not arrived out of what felt like nowhere.

It was harder to think rationally in the throes of the dragon rage.

He would’ve questioned their sudden appearance, perhaps decided to fall back to assess the changing combat situation rather than continue to throw himself forward.

Perhaps, he would’ve understood that the reinforcements were stronger.

A mage cast a withering spell that ate away at their golden armor with one hand, while holding an orb of light that seared their vision away in the other.

Warriors fired those inelegant weapons that hit with the power of ship-mounted cannons many times their size.

He lunged many meters in a single bound for the mage.

Close enough to grab her in a crushing grip and smash her face like a grape.

Sure feet slipped suddenly, which should have been impossible since he had a portion, small though it was, of his overlord’s agility.

“Huge Hammer!”

“Focus Impact!”

“Double Impact!”

Skill.

Spells.

Three voices working as one.

The weakness of the rage Skill hit across the majority of the unit.

Coordination all but vanished.

A shadow descended on him.

Despite the overlord’s gifts, it was Toddson’s turn to become the smear on the grass.

Booker Tate shrank his warhammer back to its normal size.

Gold flecks glinted on its steel surface, poking out of the sticky red and small chunky.

The rest of the green-skinned humanoids in golden armor and with sometimes dragon-like physical bits were just about put down.

“Careful inside, but be quick. We’ve got more places to evacuate,” he said.

The sudden appearance and attack of the outworld invaders had swept over the northern part of the city.

They were on the back foot, trying to get civilians down to the safer southern part all while struggling to establish a line they could actually hold.

Still, it wasn’t all bad luck.

Case in point… the house in front of him.

It had been towards the end of their list.

Yet, sudden intuition told him to put it at the top.

Had he not done that, then the people being ushered out toward the waiting trucks in the alley behind him would’ve been on their way north to an uncertain fate like the others they had failed to evac in time.

At least that’s what the chatter was on the Omninet.

He hadn’t received outright confirmation from command, but he figured that them sending out teams like his solely to evac people was all the confirmation he needed.

“Get yo asses in gear like they on fire!” he barked.

Damn shame that some people decided to bunker down rather than run south at the start.

Then again, these were official emergency shelter sites, which shouldn’t have been so easy to breach.

They had overestimated their strength.

Trucks ran in blackout mode, relying on drivers’ Skills or nightvision optics to avoid obstacles.

The lead driver took them on a winding route for some reason, but Booker wasn’t going to say anything as long as they kept avoiding the enemy.

He could hear the explosions of spells and the pops of guns.

Some of the enemy used guns too, expect they were quiet and used magic to propel bullets that sometimes held deadly enchantments.

He had lost all the shields he had in his bag of holding to said bullets.

And his sister always laughed at him for carrying extra shields.

He couldn’t wait to let her know how wrong she was about that.

The last house on their list was a right turn and a long block away.

Booker was in the second truck, so he had a great view as the lead truck suddenly swerved left in the middle of its right turn.

“Abort! Abort!” Tamara, the lead driver, screamed through the radio.

Booker had just enough time to utter a curse as a bright ball of magic slammed into the side of his truck.

Metal shrieked, people screamed.

The world turned upside down, right side up. Back and forth several times as truck engines roared and tires squealed.

He tasted iron, spat out heat as he kicked the mangled door open with enhanced strength.

“Careful, it’s smokin’ hot. Don’t touch that shit.” He couldn’t hear himself over the muffled ringing. Couldn’t tell if anyone in the truck was alive to listen.

A civilian pick up truck wasn’t exactly the safest vehicle in a combat zone. Especially for those sitting in the cab with only some hastily welded iron plates for protection.

No seat belts back there and only canvas for a roof meant that a roll over was bad news.

Green-skinned men and women in gold armor advanced toward him.

He saw a few of his trucks stop in the distance and begin backing up.

“Keep going. Ain’t much left here to save.” He hoped they could hear.

Too many bodies were already wet smears against the asphalt.

His driver’s… Jason’s neck was twisted way too far.

He didn’t need to see those sightless eyes to understand that the boy was gone.

Died bravely? He thought bitterly. Ain’t no fool gonna remember it unless we win this shit.

A child’s cries caught his ear.

“Shit,” he muttered.

The truck had come to a rest on its right side.

He hurried around toward the sound.

The enemy was moving cautiously, from cover to cover like they were real soldiers or some bullshit, which gave him a bit of time.

Scattered bodies littered the ground.

The cries came from beneath a motionless woman.

He carefully rolled her over.

He might’ve recognized her had her face not been pulped like a tomato.

Somehow, she had save her baby.

“God damn. Ain’t it some bullshit, little homie? Yo mama saved you from all that only for those motherfuckers to come take you for whatever sick shit they got cooking. I ain’t the running type, but for you…” he scowled. He’d rather go down firing and hammering. Take as much of the green-skinned motherfuckers with him before he got got.

Still?

They fought for the future, didn’t they?

To ensure that the next generation would never be subjected to the evils of man.

Never again to slavery and exploitation. To rape. To torture. To the lash of the whip and the scraping edges of cold iron around their necks and limbs.

Never again.

He needed to give the green-skinned something to get them thinking they should stay behind cover for a little longer.

That might buy him a head start.

He pulled a grenade launcher from his bag of holding and thumped shells down the street until empty.

The baby bawled as he scooped him up and ran.

They caught up with him in a dark alley several long blocks away from where his convoy had been ambushed.

“Surrender,” the lead green-skinned humanoid grinned, revealing pointy teeth.

Booker brandished his warhammer, angling his body to keep the crying baby cradled away from the enemy as much as he could. “Ain’t about to let you eat him.”

The green face twisted. “What? We’d never do that. That’s sick! Is that what the humans of this world does? Barbaric!” he snapped. “The child will be taken care of. His potential assessed as he grows for his rightful place in the hoard. You appear to be a strong warrior. Pass the tests and earn a place for yourself.”

Huge Hammer.

The distance between them wasn’t as safe as it had appeared.

Booker crushed the greenskin through the side of the brick wall.

Gold armor sparked amidst crumbling red debris.

“Earthquake Hammer Slam!”

Aw, shit!

He was getting tired if he had to say the words.

In his defense, he had been fighting on and off for about 2 hours.

He drove the over-sized warhammer into the ground, sending violent waves of asphalt undulating in front of him.

The green-skinned enemy stumbled and staggered, falling to the ground as chunks from the buildings on both sides rained down on them all.

Booker jumped, barely clearing the railing on the second floor fire escape.

He climbed for his and the little homie’s life, taking steps 5 at a time.

Had to get to the roof.

Break line of sight and gain distance before figuring out the next move.

It never once occurred to him to leave the baby even with what the greenskin had said.

He grabbed the ledge at the same time that pain pierced his back.

A glance revealed a glowing golden hand, scaled and clawed had gone straight through his armor. Enchanted steel plate that had taken a mag-dumped AK a few times in the past, leaving him with some light bruising.

The clawed hand belonged to one of the greenskins, stretching all the way from ground level.

He pulled.

The greenskin pulled.

Steel and flesh tore, squealing and squelching in protest.

He muttered a curse.

Only thing he could do was put the baby on the roof and let go.

The greenskin hadn’t expected that.

He gave her a surprise warhammer to the face.

Golden Helmet or not, she wasn’t going to shake that off.

His Skill made the hammer huge, but in violation of the old laws of physics the increased surface area didn’t disperse the impact force.

The hammer head was 10 times its normal size, therefore it hit with 10 times its normal force.

Booker fought.

Thunder and blood filled the dark alley for a long time until inevitable silence fell.

All fights ended.

Lavinatoch Afogrev-Bane ripped the dented cheekguards off her helmet as she spat blood and teeth.

The Earth human had caught her by surprise.

Only the gifts from her dragon overlord had allowed her to survive the massive hammer to the face.

She had been luckier than most of her unit.

Only 4 remained standing amidst the carnage in that dirty alley.

“We are vulnerable.” Darlatoch Dark-Hider always had the gift of stating what was obvious to all. It didn’t come from the overlord. It was all her own. “The leader is dead.”

Lavinatoch tried to shake the cobwebs clouding her thoughts.

The human’s warhammer had cracked her bell, let alone set it to howling.

The other 3 looked to her.

Oh?

That was right.

She outranked them.

“Retrieve the child. I can hear it wailing. Unless that is the ringing in my skull. Then we retreat to our lines before the enemy finds us in our weakened state.”

Darlatoch climbed up the wall like a spidercat and was back with the human child before Lavinatoch could finish spitting the hard bits out of her mouth.

Had she swallowed some?

That promised an unpleasant time ahead when it was time to go to the toilet.

They moved swiftly through the dark streets.

Darlatoch struggled to muffle the child’s cries.

A gag would’ve worked, but small sapients could be delicate.

The dragon overlord would be displeased if they wasted a potential valuable member of the hoard through the carelessness of expedience.

She judged the risk of discovery through the cries a lesser one when factoring in the sounds of battle echoing across the entire night sky.

It had started fierce and showed no signs of easing.

Return to one of the forward bases. Receive healing. Rejoin the battle.

The spirit of their overlord filled them with an eagerness to test tooth and claw against worthy enemies.

The greater the challenge and struggle, the sweeter the treasures.

They weren’t that far from the front lines of the main conflict when a shout from above made Lavinatoch scowl in confusion.

The familiar words belonged in her tongue, not in the odd accent of the Earth human’s tongue.

“Dragon Dive!”

The remains of Lavinatoch’s unit scattered.

An instinctive reaction earned from many hours of sparring each other and in actual combat.

They didn’t get far before running into weapons made out of the teeth and spines of a dragon.

Oh yes!

Lavinatoch felt it deep with in her.

Instinctive enmity.

A bleed over from her overlord by virtue of his gifts.

He had warned them to avoid these bonded of the other dragon. The young one that had claimed dominion over the southern tip of this land. It wasn’t time for conflict with them. The true dance wasn’t meant to begin until they had fulfilled the first term of their agreement with the Americans and won them back their city.

“Give us the baby and you can retreat.”

The other dragon-bonded warriors were all clad in identical cerulean-scaled armor, like her own golden-scaled armor, but sleeker, more delicate, as befitting a child dragon.

Their helms concealed everything except for their eyes, which were hidden behind a clear glass of some kind. A thin fin swept back from the top of their helmet to the upper half of the back of their head. Translucent cloth, like silk, extended from this fin, waving around as if they were underwater.

Lavinatoch signaled Darlatoch with surrupptitious finger talk.

They were surrounded in the middle of a street.

Decisive action was their only chance for at least one of them to escape and bring word that the other dragon overlord had decided to enter the conflict.

“You mean this?” Darlatoch held up the squirming, crying child by the back of his tiny jacket.

“I don’t see any other babies,” the cerulean-armored dragon-bonded warrior said with a deep voice that suggested a male, if that hadn’t been obvious judging by his broad-shouldered form and lack of hips. “Put him on the ground, gently and all of you move over there.” He gestured with his dragon-spine spear toward the center of the street.

Darlatoch shrugged.

Then she hurled the baby into the air.