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Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School (154/?)
🕑 Added 2025-11-30 19:42:11 +0000 UTC(Author's Note: Hey guys! I hope this chapter was alright, I tried my best at it and I know it's something everyone's been looking forward to so I really hope it meets expectations ^^;)
Dragon’s Lair. Foot of the Hill. Local Time: 2200 Hours.
Ignalius
“LOSANTIA!”
I bore no harsh feelings for the child playing mercenary.
Indeed, if he survived this, I’d have played a vital role in his story. A role which I so enjoyed playing — the curator of the strong and the weak.
He’d grow stronger, become wiser to the world, and perhaps even learn a thing or two about things as they are outside of the colorful realm of delusions and flights of fantasy he was oh-so-clearly suffering from.
That was, of course, provided he did survive.
Which, in the flash that followed, didn’t seem likely.
I lowered my wand, but only ever so slightly, as I awaited the dust to settle, amidst an otherwise unsettling sound that tickled my ears.
=====
Dragon’s Lair. Cave Entrance. Local Time: 2200 Hours.
???
The air bristled with the wrath of a mother scorned.
Her features hidden, her presence muted, but her rage exposed through that sharp and steady droning — an elevating whiiiiiiiirrrrrrrrr that tickled my senses and nipped at my scales.
Energies swirled, manifested from nothing.
I opened my eyes, all of my eyes, watching through these pathetic ‘restraints’ with a curled snarl.
Do it.
=====
Dragon’s Lair. Foot of the Hill. Local Time: 2200 Hours.
Fisia the Swift
My job had always been simple.
Take care of the horses, stay behind with the mounts and wagons, be ready for any retreat no matter how sudden or swift… and of course, the dreaded clean up duty. A job which was clearly once again needed as surprise surprise…
The boss had done it again, right in front of me this time in fact.
Not that I minded.
In a repeat of the events at Rontalis, he’d disposed of another set of would-be travelers.
I could only hope that their deaths were of the corporeal variety, as I could already feel the tingly sensation of separating goop from armor when the call to loot eventually came.
Not that I cared much.
A ten, fourty, fifty split was decent, and unlike some other travelers who I felt for, the uptight self-assured aura this lupinor gave off simply made it impossible for me to sympathize with his demise.
So I waited, rubbing my eyes in an attempt to work out the ‘haze’ of that soul-splitting attac—
BANG!
The whole world shook, and my lungs gave in — air and wind forcibly squeezed out — as if some spiteful air elemental had claimed my breath as their own.
POP!
I heard… no… I felt something give, something inside my head, followed my a sharp piercing pain that sent me to my knees.
Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinngggggggggggg
I screamed out, but heard nothing, only the ringing in one of my ears, and my own cries echoing within my skull.
My hands reached out, grasping the sides of my head, deafened by the sound, and blinded by the pain.
Only a few seconds later, did I finally notice something else besides that infernal ringing.
It started as a thin mist of something warm and viscous, sticking and running down my exposed skin.
Then, an unmistakable metallic tang forcibly entered my nostrils, filling my lungs with a faint rusty scent.
My whole body clenched, freezing in fear, as curiosity finally overtook uncertainty in order to open my eyes to assess what had—
…
No.
Nonononononononono…
I struggled to my feet, only to find myself falling flat against my rump next to the pool of what had used to be the Alicorn.
My eyes quickly turned to the boss, who stood where the Alicorn had just stood, that fancy armor actually doing what it was supposed to… or at least, I think it did.
Because despite the sacrificial swap, the boss should’ve still been wearing it.
It couldn’t have just disappeared.
It couldn’t have just vanished.
The only reason why it could’ve been lost in the swap was if the counterattack had managed to irreparably damage it.
…
…
Crap.
=====
Dragon’s Lair. Cave Entrance. Local Time: 2200 Hours.
Emma
“What the hell?”
[RAILGUN DISCHARGE COMPLETE. AMMUNITION CYCLE… COMPLETE. CHARGE CYCLING IN PROGRESS...]
My eyes widened, as in what seemed like an instantaneous moment in time… I found that my target had quite literally just… swapped places.
The Alicorn… was gone, no sign of its existence remained save for the mist of red that caked the entire area.
And in the space that it had once occupied, was a now-armorless Ignalius, his pure-white gambeson and pants stained, as was much of the left side of his face.
Indeed, quite a few personal affects had scattered from his person following the swap and apparent disappearance of his armor. From sacks of gold, to belts of potions, to even daggers and…
…
No…
I motioned silently for the EVI to hone in on a particular bloodied artifact caked in dried blood at Ignalius’ feet.
A brief zoom, and a cursory glance even without the EVI’s forensics suite was enough for me to tell what it was.
Its suede brown cover, the built-in bookmark resembling a forked tongue, and that handwriting complete with a signature that looped around resembling the four ‘horns’ of a kobold… it beckoned a master that was no longer with us.
If there was any lingering doubt as to Ignalius’ involvement with Togor’s murder, then all of it, every last shred of it, died the moment my eyes landed on that book.
The whole world went silent.
But while all were shocked by the power of the railgun, raw, unmitigated, and loud, I remained silent because of something else entirely.
I fell silent… for silence. Or more accurately, the loss of a voice.
I let out a sigh, watching, staring, and glaring through tinted lenses at the sadist playing adventurer who’d just narrowly escaped that very thing he so wantonly loved committing.
Then, I unholstered my pistol, glancing momentarily towards Thalmin who seemed fixated not on the book but on some coins that had similarly scattered; each minted with a different adjacent realm insignia, portrait, and symbol.
=====
Dragon’s Lair. Foot of the Hill. Local Time: 2200 Hours.
Katiya
I couldn’t see.
I couldn’t hear.
My whole body trembled as the golem sent the skies cracking with the sounds of a terrible thunder.
Then, and only when the world had calmed, did I see the beast of beasts, the Master of the Skies second only to the dragonkin… disappear.
I… couldn’t describe it as anything else.
There was, without a shadow of a doubt, nothing else with which to describe what had happened.
A creature that should have been a nightmare for a fully outfitted adventuring party to dispatch, synonymous with an adventuring rank just beneath that of the draconics, had just vanished to an invisible thunder.
I felt my knees wobble, as the golem’s master moved forward to match its posture.
Then, and only then, did the world go mad.
=====
Dragon’s Lair. Cave Entrance. Local Time: 2201 Hours.
Thalmin
Shock and awe.
That was what Ignalius had attempted with his first strike, an attack whose shock served pure theatrics, and whose awe was to be inflicted on allies, all to serve the vapidness of ego, not the utility of battle.
Then came Emma’s rebuttal, a single strike that brought the army of cartmen and riders at the foot of the hill to their knees; their blood-curdling screams now filling the air as all clutched desperately to their bleeding ears.
The footmen fared no better, leaving only the patrolling mercenaries relatively unaffected by what was an air elemental’s attack in all but name.
I kept my silencing spells active, Emma’s clever battlecry serving not as a mechanism of ego, but a tactical warning as to the horrors she was to unleash.
Indeed, we’d drilled for this very occasion — for a time in which our communication would be done solely through that manaless conch as the world around me would be deafened for my own safety.
Suffice it to say, that drilling was now being tested in a trial by fire. One which I couldn’t help but to excitedly partake in, as that familiar surge of hot blood pumped through my veins, my senses sharpening, and the world becoming just that bit more clearer in what all Havenbrockians understood to be the thrill of the hunt.
My ears perked, focusing leftwards, towards a Shatorealmer who’d surprisingly survived this sonic attack by virtue of distance, luck, and perhaps sheer tenacity.
And in a testament to Ignalius’ competence as commander, his left-attending swooped in, flying in spite of the pain painted across his visage, quickly grabbing the otherwise catatonic elf under both arms; poised for flight towards some unknown rendezvous point.
“Emma, kill that guy.” I gestured to the evading party. “I’ll deal with the rest of his ilk.” I added under a growing and excitable breath, as I turned towards the amassing force of patrolling mercenaries. Their 29-strong forces grouping and regrouping, some uncertain, yet others clearly committed. As each of their eyes locked with my own, each committed to seeing this through to the end.
Despite this, there remained one obvious outlier. A suspiciously absent right-attending — the pack leader of this sorry troupe — the long-eared, red-eyed, white-furred leporidian.
But even without their party leader, and even with the sheer power of Emma’s attacks, their cohesion still remained.
Admirable.
However this sentiment was more sarcastic than genuine, as my eyes glanced at the coins scattered around Ignalius’ feet, and precisely what each and every ill-gotten sovereign meant.
I’ve always wanted to face off against the enforcers of Nexian primacy. I thought to myself with a bloodthirsty smile.
=====
Dragon’s Lair. Foot of the Hill. Local Time: 2202 Hours.
Salazan the Scaled
We stood ready.
29-strong.
My own party, 6 full-blooded Nexians.
This wasn’t our first foray into untenable odds.
In fact, this wasn’t our first fight with an uppity self-assured adjacent realmer.
From Rontalis to Anurarealm, and Aetheron, and even Havenbrockrealm itself… there was always the one, two, or even three and four ‘hero-types’ that believed themselves to be capable of defying the odds.
Perhaps they got one or two good kills early on in their careers.
Perhaps they may have bested many of the… less-than-capable Nexians who themselves underestimate the risk that was the adjacent wildlands.
But we weren’t here to play around.
And if my observations served me right, then it was clear we were evenly matched in our own right.
The lupinor was, very clearly, relying on some nth-tier enchanted artifacts, just as we were.
That golem merely being his trump-card, capable of extending his own reach… but not his own skills.
“Take out the head and the body shall fall.” I announced firmly, halberd at the ready, as we moved to charge on the lupinor’s position.
“Highground can only go so far, mutt…” I heard a voice echoing behind us, resonating with my own sentiments.
I craned back my head, looking at the two archer parties entrenched and ready to rain full hail of arrows.
Then, I grinned, knowing well that at least in this battle — numbers — would be the deciding factor.
A second more, and following a flinch and a breath, I waited for the whip-crack chorus of ten tense strings to be let loose all at once.
…
TWANG!
=====
Dragon’s Lair. Foot of the Hill. Local Time: 2203 Hours.
Katiya the Coward
I hid, peering from behind a cart, watching in horror and with baited breath at the hail of arrows expanding overhead.
From ten, to twenty, to fourty, to eighty, the enchanted arrows blotted the small patch of sky above Dreadwolf’s position; threatening to end it all with a hail of sharp mana-steel tipped fury.
My ears flinched downwards as the deathwail of falling missiles reached me, forcing me to look away in fear of what was assuredly a grisly sight.
…
“Heh.” A familiar voice sounded.
“Heh… hahahahaHAHAHAHAHAHA!” It continued, rising in volume and deepening in pitch, as I opened my eyes to see…
…
…the impossible made manifest.
The eighty or so arrows… had never reached their mark.
Instead, they all hovered overhead the maniacal Dreadwolf, his hands raised tauntingly by his sides, palms spread open as if holding the invisible weight of these arrows looming ominously.
“Good form.” He chewed out with a harsh growl, before raising a single finger, twirling it, and reorienting mana-steel to feather-tip, the sharp shafts now pointing towards their original shooters.
“My turn.” He spoke through an excited breath, as that wall of death now shot back at blistering speeds towards the forested bottom of the hill.
=====
Dragon’s Lair. Foot of the Hill. Local Time: 2204 Hours.
Salazan the Scaled
I stood, frozen and unmoving, my heart skipping one, two, then three beats as I witnessed the impossible.
The arrows—
FWEEEEEEEEEEEE…
—were now poised towards us.
“SHIELDS!” I commanded, raising my own up high, and feeling the disheartening thud thud PLINKS of arrows slamming against enchanted manasteel.
None pierced.
SHNK!
“AGH!”
Though the same couldn’t be said for the stray archer and skirmisher caught in the crossfire.
With our leader still absent, we did what we could only do in these circumstances.
“FORWARD!!” I cried out, corralling another party to my side as we surged forwards towards the hill.
I held no fear. Not when adorning my scales was the product of ten years of hard pay: layer upon layer upon layer of enchanted linens, hardened gambesons, and thrice-forged mana-steel.
And within my hand, was a weapon no fool could evade.
I lifted my weapon, poised to strike alongside the rest of my berserkers, halberds ready and—
ZAP!
I felt my whole body clench, my vision momentarily fading and then exploding into a flurry of colors and blurry wisps.
But I ultimately felt no pain, no real damage as a result of my enchants.
This brought a delighted smile to find home on my face, as I only had to endure the lightning, pushing through its paralysis and twitch-inducing properties by sheer force of will alone, before…
I felt my armor tightening. Skin pinched under armor that felt two sizes two small, and my head aching from crushing forces I couldn’t make heads or tails of.
Then, I heard it.
Screams from Elazen, Bellatri, and then—
CRACK!
I saw them fall, one by one, every comrade dropping like flies, until finally…
I met the lupinor’s gaze, seeing nothing but a focused, condensed rage.
Then, it all went black.
=====
Dragon’s Lair. Above the Forest Canopy. Local Time: 2204 Hours.
Lieutenant Hofar the Soarer
“Snap out of it boss!” I yelled, crying, desperately pleading for the elf to come out of… whatever had gotten into him. “Boss, PLEASE! I can’t… I can’t! Fuck, my ears! They hurt! Cast heal! Cast heal now, PLEASE!” I pleaded until my voice was hoarse, unable to make heads or tails of exactly where we could go, my whole world spinning, with the act of flying making my disorientation even worse.
But that was all I could do right now, hover above the mess, fly… anywhere, just to get some distance, even if it was only vertical.
“W-...wha… What’s…” The Captain finally began speaking, though his words were unintelligible, and his eyes looked absolutely glazed over.
“Captain I can’t… I can’t hold this for much longer, my head… it’s ringing. I can’t even hear my—”
WHIIIIIIZZZZ!
I felt, and heard something whizzing past—
“AGH!”
Something hit me, something… small, hard, sharp, and… it…
CRACK!
My eyes widened, craning my head to my wings as I saw holes torn into the membrane—
SNAP!
CRACK!
More sounds, more noises, more forces that felt as if I was being pelted with solid punches against my shoulders.
…
Pain surged through me not long after.
Then, even worse than pain or disorientation… I felt control slipping me.
My wings no longer responded to my will.
Nor did my hands and arms as the forces of leypull now conspired to drag me back down without mercy.
I desperately flailed, like a fledgling in distress, I lost all sense of poise, any degree of discipline, and was now at the mercy of the ground.
“U-ugh…” Ignalius came too once more, as he pulled out a scroll, fumbling with it against the forces of the wind. However, before he could use it, it was too late.
At first I saw treetops.
Then, a big swath of black and green.
SHRK!
=====
Dragon’s Lair. Somewhere in the Forest. Local Time: 2207 Hours.
Emma
I waded through the woods.
The EVI had calculated more or less the general location of where the pair would’ve landed.
Landed… being a bit of a euphemism here.
NVG and augmented sensors made short work of the dark, as I smashed treebark and branches alike, all in order to reach the small clearing the shatorealmer had landed in.
My body felt like it was running on autopilot, especially as I was met face to face with exactly what I’d wrought.
The Shatorealmer… was a bloodied mess.
His face resembled what he’d done to the dragon with that gauntlet just a few moments ago.
But in his arms, shielded from the impact by his own form… was the elf in question.
A part of me hesitated.
In fact, something at the back of my mind stopped my otherwise trained and poised trigger finger from taking the shot.
This was despite having everything lined up, and despite the current objective, as was helpfully highlighted by the EVI — to dispatch all local hostiles.
Ignalius, in this case was highlighted in red, target reticles trained on his center mass, and his head.
However, seeing him here completely unarmored, and seemingly unarmed… this felt different, somehow antithetical to the man I'd just shot a few moments ago.
He looked… pathetic, and most of all, completely helpless in this state.
The wrath and simmering rage within from the literal murder of Togor, wavered… if only slightly, at this sorry sight.
More importantly, my mind went through protocol and rules of engagement, combing through the best possible course of action following the incapacitation of an enemy.
…
Hors de combat might actually apply here, especially given how he was well and truly wounded and unable to fight.
And so… I relented, the pistol still raised, but a dialogue otherwise opened.
“LET ME SEE YOUR HANDS! DO NOT REACH FOR ANY WEAPONS. IF YOU DO, I WILL ENGAGE YOU!” I shouted, rehashing the few lines I did still remember despite the adrenaline pumping through my system.
The elf, surprisingly, complied. Or at least, he seemed to try to do so at first, feigning some difficulty in pushing the shatorealmer off of him, but otherwise preoccupied by something on his belt. “Speaking through a golem? Heh… That’s new. What? Are you too afraid to face me, Dreadwolf? Too scared to duel me one on one? Sparing my life for what? Capture? Like I’d ever allow animal filth like you to lay your hands on an actual pers—”
“SURRENDER, OR I WILL BE FORCED TO—”
Time, once again, slowed to a crawl. The elf, in a surprising degree of speed and dexterity, reached for a wand with clear and antagonistic intent.
My world narrowed to the weight of the trigger behind my finger. I felt the break, that thin, crisp resistance, then… I pushed past the slack.
BANG!
The tension, the intent, that life behind the man’s eyes and the animation of his body… just stopped.
Everything simply stopped. His arms, his features, his torso and everything else just… went limp.
I felt my breath growing harder, my eyes darting through the HUD out of protocol and in an attempt to just focus on everything.
Until finally, there was nothing else to address but the body that lay dead in front of me.
=====
Dragon’s Lair. Foot of the Hill. Local Time: 2212 Hours.
Katiya the Coward
They all fell like insects.
Each warrior, every mercenary, each much, much more powerful and far more intimidating than I, just… ceased at the foot of Dreadwolf’s domain.
From the mighty Salazan, who’d push me whenever he could, cutting in line, and even locking me in the trunk for amusement… to Ruroria the Resplendent, who’d revel in any chance to pull up insects and crawlies on my bedrolls just for his amusement… to even Yvir the Terrible, who’d force me and others to haul impossibly heavy gear and equipment despite that not being our jobs…
All of them, each and every one of these gifted heroes, had just crumpled and died. That word being more literal in the case of some than others.
By the end of these bloody few minutes of fighting, there was scarcely anyone left.
The archers had fallen to their own arrows, the skirmishers to a mix of impossibly powerful magical attacks, and what was left was picked off by Dreadwolf with little to no mercy shown.
However, I still counted two warriors who stood defiantly at the cusp of Dreadwolf’s precipice.
And beyond that, there existed the wild card that was Commander Ulther.
There had to be a reason for his sudden disappearance.
There had to be something that sly rabbit was—
My eyes widened, as I saw a shadow creeping behind Dreadwolf, just as he was about to face the two minotaur skirmishers in front of him.
Dreadwolf raised his blade, poised for a frontal assault, completely unaware of the dangers behind him.
Something within me broke at that moment, as if I finally pushed through a door that’d previously been locked.
Then, and only then, did I find my voice.
And I screamed.
“DREADWOLF, BEHIND YOU!”
However, before he could even react, Ulther reapparated. His enchanted blades poised for the lupinor’s back… only to have the Kelpie restraining his arms in place.
The lupinor grinned at the development, shooting me a wink from a distance as he moved to reposition himself, now fully focused on the two minotaurs in front of him.
“We do this as warriors!” He bellowed, before craning his head back towards Ulther. “Not as cowards.” He paused, taking a moment to glare at the commander. “I will deal with you later. Now…” He let out a satisfied breath, turning towards the minotaurs. “Shall we continue?”
The minotaur twins turned to one another, their features momentarily colored by abject fear.
Though despite that, through whatever loyalty or promise the Captain had promised them, they surged forwards anyways.
Blades clashed, as the lupinor managed to parry and push back against the physically superior opponents that towered over him.
Harsh CLANGS, and sharp TINKS echoed throughout the forest, as despite their best efforts, the lupinor always seemed to be one step ahead.
Finally, and seemingly out of frustration, the twins SLAMMED their warhammers on the ground where the lupinor stood… only for the wolf to surge upwards, jumping, and landing on each of their backs.
Two stabs, each through the gap in their armors, was all it took to take them down, as they fell unceremoniously down on the rocky hillside, before tumbling down without much fanfare.
Following this, did Dreadwolf turn back slowly, methodically, and menacingly towards the leporidian still bound in the Kelpie’s wet seaweed embrace.
“You ready, traitor?” Dreadwolf spoke through a bloodthirsty growl.
“You lupinor should understand by now… that there is no shame, but only glory, in embracing the winning side.” He countered, before just as quickly nodding, prompting the kelpie to finally unbind him from its vice grip.
No sooner than that happened did the rabbit leap upwards, far, far above Dreadwolf, as a hail of knives and throwing stars peppered the rocky surface beneath him.
Dreadwolf, in keeping to some duelistic honor, actually dodged these attacks, refusing to actively use his magics from before to simply return the offending objects to its sender.
What objects he couldn’t dodge merely CLINKED off of his armor, barely even scratching it, and most certainly not denting it either.
Then, after seemingly exhausting an armory’s worth of throwing blades, did the rabbit jump down, holding his signature thin blade poised for Dreadwolf’s head.
Yet despite this all-in assault—
CLANG!!!!!!
—Dreadwolf had somehow still managed to parry it.
This resulted in the pair returning to their starting positions, each now pacing around one another, trying to outmaneuver the other with blades in hand and eyes reading the other.
But unlike the initial assaults, it was Dreadwolf who struck first, his blade striking hard against the leporidian’s, very nearly shattering it, before rapidly sliding down his opponent’s blade and slicing deep into the commander’s gut.
Their faces remained barely inches apart at the end of the duel… if it could even be called that, as Dreadwolf moved to twist his blade, before sliding the now limp corpse off of it.
The whole thing felt far too fast, much too… quick for a duel.
But ironically, that was what Ulther had warned off, to many, many of his opponents.
There’s a difference between fighting and showmanship. If your fight starts to look like something out of a noble’s party, then either something very wrong is happening, or you aren’t fighting to begin with.
An uneasy silence eventually descended on the battlefield following Ulther’s death.
Indeed, I saw no movement, no attempts at anything else, other than the cries and whimpers from the riders, carters, and footmen that were in varying states of distress down at the foot of the hill.
“Alright.” Dreadwolf announced, breaking the silence, and garnering the attention of all present. “Anyone else?” He beckoned, gesturing at the devastation left in his wake.
Murmurs and cries of surrender came shortly thereafter, as what few knives, blades, or even picks were dropped from the belts and backs of the otherwise unarmed ranks of Ignalius’ troupe.
“Good. Now I want to make something very clear.” Dreadwolf began, as he made his way down from the outcropping. “Each of you…” He paused as sweat began running down the brows of all present. “... can leave.”
A collective wave of confusion echoed throughout the night, as footmen and riders alike began craning their heads to one another, all in varying states of disbelief.
“But understand one, very important thing. Should a word of the night’s events leave this forest, I will personally, and without hesitation, hunt each and every one of you down.” He began marching, feet stomping hard against the rock. “There will be no mercy, no quarter given, and no hesitation, as righteous retribution is called upon each of your souls.” His words caused even the most seasoned of carters present to shiver in place. “Should suspicions be raised, then look only to the dragon.” He added sternly, before ending up in front of the lead carter. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Y-yes, S-Ser Dreadwolf!”
“What was that?” He gestured towards his ear. “I don’t think I quite caught that.”
“YES, SER DREADWOLF!”
“Louder, ALL OF YOU!”
“YES, SER DREADWOLF!”
“Good.” The lupinor nodded, crossing his arms in the process. “You may all leave.”
Horrified footsteps and the clopping of horses erupted shortly thereafter, as I soon found myself left behind by the retreating ranks.
“Ah. Katiya. Are you hurt?”
=====
Dragon’s Lair. Foot of the Hill. Local Time: 2225 Hours.
Emma
I returned to what could only be described as a massacre.
My whole body felt like it was running on autopilot, even as I found Thalmin in the mess, tending to a passed-out Katiya.
“Thalmin?” I asked, gesturing to the baxi. “Did you—”
“Oh, ancestors no, Emma! She seemed to have passed out when I addressed her. Ancestors knows why, I even offered a friendly smile!” He explained, to which I could only let out a long sigh, gesturing at his armor.
“The blood might have something to do with that.”
“Eh, and what’s a bit of blood to a mercenary? This just proves she’s not meant for this life.”
“I guess…” I managed out dourly, as my mood and tone was quick to be picked up by the lupinor.
“What’ts wrong, Emma? You aren’t injured, are you?”
“No, no. I’m fine.”
“Then is it Ignalius? Were you unable to pursue him?”
“No, he’s…” I paused, my whole body clenching at the sight of it all. “He’s dead. Along with that shatorealmer.”
“Ah! Good! That’s good then!” Thalmin beamed excitedly. “So what seems to be the problem, Emma? We have the shards, we have your lost ‘drone’, and we’ve dispatched with the enemy! All should be well, yes?”
“Yeah… but I…” I trailed off, as Thalmin’s features shifted following my lost train of thought.
“I see.” He lowered his voice. “Am I to assume that this is your first kill? Aside from the null of course. Creatures like that are more like hunting animals than people.”
I blinked rapidly, my hand reaching for my shoulder as I slowly nodded. “Yeah.” Was my only response. “It is.”
“Then I must apologize for my… flippancy in light of everything you see. I understand how difficult it must be, and to be met with such attitude following your first blood must be jarring.” He spoke with a degree of compassion in his voice, clearing his throat before moving on. “If you feel the need to discuss things, I am more than willing to do so at your own pace, Emma.”
“Thanks Thalmin.” I managed out after a short pause, gripping my shoulder tighter as I did so.
“Now… we might need to discuss exactly how we are to move on from here. But in order to maintain our cover, might I suggest we set up an altar with these bodies as an offering to—”
“L I TT-LE… B-BEEINGS. CC-COME TO ME-EEET?”
A voice erupted from the dense foliage, prompting the both of us to turn, weapons raised, to meet a mangled shatorealmer. Its arms were limp but crooked, its head hung low, unsupported and ungainly like some twisted marionette. But from behind it, triggering EVI’s proximity sensors, was a large serpentine silhouette, with purple glowing eyes slitted and staring right at the both of us.
Comments
Coleman
So is the selector on that railgun remove that person, delete that area, and fine mist? Having to finish with a close up headshot is terrible. May the shock of seeing the light leave someone’s eyes always be a haunting mess. Lest ranged combat remove us from the terror of death.
Sunshine Lizard
So that guy said that that he didn't want to be captured because he said something like he didn't want your filth to lay your hands on an actual person is his realm like crownlands and do the elves not see non crownlanders as people?
