Brent Stinebaker
patreon
32-8 Warfare (I)
🕑 Added 2024-12-09 19:01:33 +0000 UTCEvery Guild has their own philosophy to combat, their own strengths, capabilities, logistical weaknesses, and oversights. But there is one consistency between all guilds: At the core of every army is a Godclad cadre or a Knot of golems. For all the ordinance that every battle platform can deliver. For the encompassing control that drone swarms allow and the ground, any tree can hold.
We fight over the fabric of reality. We define the laws of reality. And it is upon these laws that all the battles are fought.
As you have experienced in combat, these laws are constantly in flux. And more often than not, the tapestry will tear when rival canons clash. Cadets, most of you have undergone personal combat training operating on a tactical level. As you receive orders from above, you are no longer at a tactical level.
As of today—today—you learned what it means, what it truly means, to fight as part of an army. And that means no more thinking of things in terms of dueling. This is not a duel. You are not an individual asset. You are a component to a well-oiled, well-coordinated war host.
And sometimes, that means creating inputs, ruptures, denying enemies any room for encroachment by preemptively destabilizing their domain. Other times, that means performing lightning runs, striking along the enemy’s battle lines to discover if there are any weaknesses.
But most importantly, it is important for you to learn how to defend, to enact a fluid defense to handle metaphysical breakdowns and buy time for your forces to mass.
Remember that though you are the core, there are hundreds of thousands of others in your companies that rely on you, that fight for you, that die for you. Every victory will come at the cost of blood and metal, and every defeat makes those losses hollow.
So. Today, we’re going to learn when to break reality and how to properly spend the lives of your forces…
-Mem-Lecture of Santanando Mondelles: Fluid Front Defense
32-8
Warfare (I)
Every Heaven had a domain, a concept it reigned over in the most absolute of ways. After all the minds Avo burned, after all the battles he experienced, he was well-versed in facing gods, Heavens both esoteric and common. But every now and again, someone would unleash something against him that was novel, unique, or just altogether strange.
If judged from the tapestry, Osjan Thousand's heaven had something to do with swords and war. Such was where its foundational patterns were rooted, yet the way the patterns expressed themselves was more akin to a paintbrush cleaving infusions of order into the world rather than destroying anything outright.
The glittering blade that was her metaphysical form traveled across reality like a blade would skin the surface of water. Yet, as ripples spread out from its hewn path, the world around it grew clenched as if in a fluid bubble of stasis. Everything flowed slower. Everything aside from the blade itself. It alone glided, a curved tower-sized blade nearly three hundred meters long, held in a jewel-encrusted hand—a hand that resonated with privilege and nobility.
But Avo wasn’t idle. He responded to Osjane’s encroachment immediately, his invisible flames flowing across his forces, the gestalt his nervous system. Twelve thousand rail-cannons fired from behind the spatial defense screens projected by his Hunts. A half second later, 12,000 Rendbomb detonations promptly expanded in a semicircular expanse. An arc shaped rupture about sixty kilometers long tore across the fabric of reality, denying easy access to anyone in the area.
This formed his foremost moat—a defensive perimeter that needed to be drained or bypassed before a rival force could reach Avo's frontliners. It also allowed Osjane to be contained—at least for a moment.
True to his expectations, the silvery blade halted, but far behind from the jaws of the valley came logistical golems laden with heavy Rendsinks. Soon, Osjane’s forces would begin draining entropy.
Time was short.
THE SWORD OF SWORDS, BEARER OF ROYAL BURDEN [[EST. 31,551,341 Thaum/c]] (RULERSHIP/STRATEGY/SWORDS/WAR/CHRONOLOGY)
She came to a halt a mere ten meters before his moat. Spatial reality quivered before her like a stirred bowl of soup, and all that was within the ruptured arc swayed and drifted, neither rubble nor ash able to escape displacement. Osjane wasted no time with her parley: From her burst forth a thoughtcast. Avo felt its projection magnified by Hysteria's influence, but the sub-mind was not fused to her, neither was the Definement.
No. That was still in the valley, pouring forth with the rest of her forces. Well. Now he knew what he needed to hit.
+Esteemed Dreamer,+ Osjane said, her voice vaguely resembling her father's, though there was a bit more vivacity behind it — youthfulness further blunted by a touch of anxiousness. +It does honor me to do battle against you. The greatest adversary Highflame has known, usurping even the insidious hand of the Ori.+
[Fuck me,] Advisor-Naeko muttered within Apo's mind. [Little sow has a stump speech planned. Her dad rubbed off on her in all the wrong ways.]
+To make my intentions known beyond doubt,+ she continued, +I am the leader of Warhost Extinguisher, tasked with one purpose: your containment and the elimination of your schemes. To preserve the righteous resurrection of her Highest, Veylis Avandaer.+
From within the valley came movement, swelling movement that couldn’t be ignored. Thousands upon thousands of light craft rushed forth, each one forming a massive defensive cloud-style screen around four thaumic signatures.
+Golem Knots,+ if Avo was to guess. They wouldn’t be risking Godclads.
Even with the moat established and the rupture spreading to the shimmer, the invading warhost had forty kilometers to set up. Forty kilometers was practically a knife fight for Godclads. Such a range was laughable even for Third Spheres—making Avo think of his Bolstride. Ah. The Woundmother. The Fardrifter. His old Heavens. He wondered if they were fragmented as well, lost somewhere within the Substance. Losing them was another blow as well—infested his mind with a forlorn ache.
If he had more time—and if Ancar wasn't such a fool—he would have tried to secure the district’s perimeters better; establish a chain of Rendbombs to ambush anyone that passed through the Substance.
Too late for that now.
With each passing second, more forces continued pouring forth, all of them holding to the drone cloud golem-Knot configuration — a combat lance. Already, there were dozens of combat lances bleeding out from the game. Thousands of drones became tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands, and the metaphysical presences of hostile heavens grew as well. Even deeper into the valley, Avo could feel heavier Heavens—actual Godclad cadres encroaching.
All Avo had were two partially operational hunts. It wouldn’t be long until he was absolutely outnumbered by the Golds. Simulations already estimated the Warhost to be eight times his Great Hunt’s total thaums. And that was the better metric. The ephemeral forces on Osjane’s size likely dwarfed him about ten times over if judged by present density.
But it wasn’t all bad.
+We have an opening right now. You see how they're just pouring in?+ Advisor-Naeko noted.
+Yes,+ the Hidden Flame replied.
+That means for this moment, no matter how much more material and personnel they have compared to us, we actually outnumber them. And if we do manage to bottleneck that valley, well, we can create one hell of a kill box. Force them to fight at the choke point. Pour Rend down into that pit and rupture them. Save your bombs now, though. Odds are they’ll get intercepted if you try to dump them all now.+
+Silence is unnecessary, Esteemed Dreamer,+ Osjane spoke again. The thoughtcast resonated across the district, and Avo considered the lives of the civilians. Survivors moaned and writhed beneath the rubble. Some of them emerged from the ruins—even those currently caught within the rupture and waved and hollered, calling to the arriving forces. But no drones came for them. They were not the important party here.
For a moment, he considered replying to Osjane, applying rhetoric as a delaying action.
However, another thought occurred to him. He didn’t need to talk to her himself. No, he could try to bluff her instead.
+You know Osjane?+
[Not particularly well,] Naeko replied. [It's not exactly like I'm her uncle or anything. I barely consider her dad to be human to begin with.]
+Didn’t Zein take him as a potential glaive.+
Chief Paladin's modified template simply snorted. [Yeah, sure, but she learned to regret that real fast. I guess she was getting sentimental in her old age, made her want to try making something out of nothing. Listen, this girl… she's not a person. She's a tribute to Veylis. A love letter from a worm. Tribute that goes barely noticed because, guess what? A toad like Osjane Thousand ain’t got it in him to make another Veylis Avandaer.]
[Don’t matter how much he spends on augments, tutors, upgrades. None of that shit means anything. Because he didn’t have it. And neither does she. Look at her—she’s talking to us. Trying to treat this like an honorable battle from a story. A feather in her cap. A story for her legend. Juv’s fucked. She just doesn’t know it yet. And all because daddy shaped her a specific way. Never had a chance.]
And Avo ruminated on those words. It was truly a rigid fate, being born to a parent with aspirations beyond their capabilities. Thus far, this was the greatest venom Highflame ingested. Parents mutilating their own offspring in mind and body to pursue a goal they could never meet themselves.
Little wonder the world was broken, when the old abused the young before they even came to be.
As Avo observed his opposition through the rupture, pitched frequencies oscillated across his side of the moat. It was clear that his hasty rupture might have stopped Osjane's approach, but it didn’t halt Omnitech’s Frequency-Jumpers from harassing him like the mosquitos they were.
That also meant everything he was doing right now was being watched. If he drew any units or golems out of his current units, Osjane would know. But they couldn’t get to the bulk of his forces hidden behind the hurricane, so he had one layer of secrecy. Whatever plot he concocted needed to arise there.
Preferably via his Godclads.
He needed to find a way to box her forces in—unexpectedly as well. It had to be sudden. She couldn’t see it coming.
Avo receded from direct control, leaving only the slightest tethers to the few hundred thousand units he was connected to. Golems, combat platforms, bioforms, mechs, infantry, Godclads, and more continued their Naeko-cognitive-overwrites in the background of Avo’s Soulspace. The Hidden Flame meanwhile generated new thousands of branching sequences every second to simulate potential options, consuming a full 88.25% of his total cog-cap to process the rapidly iterating mem-data.
Direct engagement was likely impossible. He had only two Hunts available. Pushing those forward would just result in an entropy cascade—another military term describing how a chain of overloads might befall golems or Godclads should an important enough individual suffer a severe enough backlash or paradox.
The most positive outcome of a frontal assault was the death of Osjane Thousand [66.42%]. Even with her at the Eighth Sphere, the bulk of his Godclads were going to have Naeko’s mind installed in them soon, and there was only so much strength could when you faced a few thousand peerles Godclads using wolfpack tactics to grind you down.
But that was as far as they could get. And it would come at the price of losing most his Ensouled—resulting in a total force collapse for his Great Hunt after.
Osjane was an eighth sphere herself, around Naeko in terms of thaumic mass before his recent infusion. Her Heaven remained mostly an enigma, and ultimately, she wasn’t priority. The open valley where the rest of her forces were coming from was.
More asymmetrical means were required.
A few thousand simulations multiplied to a million. Avo’s cog-cap reached [97.11%]. He even disabled the wards for most of his forces to squeeze out a bit more processing power. Skirmishing wouldn’t work because of the Frequency Jumpers. Omnitech could hound and raid better than he could. Launching ordinance created from thaumic-laced loci using Shredder Missiles had more potential—but a thoughtwave detonation was all it took to counter that.
And to that point: Thoughtwave detonations. There was a major issue he needed to contend with. Just a single disruption would see his control over his forces severed. If they managed to draw close, they could take him apart, blast by blast. Without the Definement of Synchronicity, he was as vulnerable as he was when he first gained the warmind of Ignorance.
Then, suddenly, the solution materialized, but it wasn’t from all the countless hours he now had related to tactics and strategy.. Rather, it was Avo’s own experience—a fond memory he had of traversing the Sunderwilds alongside Draus and Dice.
Dice.
He wondered where she was… if she was still alive—
He needed to survive this first.
Scar charts. A specific channel of stability made from a series of mutually canceling ruptures born from Fallen Heavens. Pairing that with his newly obtained knowledge of Naeko’s Heaven, and he had the chance to create a very interesting mutually sustaining collapse while taking Osjane’s forces by surprise. And with him being an Ark—an Overheaven that existed nearer to the very foundations of the tapestry, he could observe the chances he inflicted reality better than any other.
But he needed more time. Time to update a few Heavens—to prime a few Godclads as sacrificial bombs.
This was going to hurt his forces—he didn’t have that many Godclads to begin with. But if this insane ambush went well, what was hers would soon belong to him.
+Naeko,+ he sent through their link, +keep her attention. I’m going to try something.+
At once, he dispatched new orders to all the active Godclads with his gestalt. It was time to engineer an ordered collapse.
***
—[Osjane Thousand]—
Osjane Thousand’s insides felt like a string on the verge of snapping. Everything she’d done, all she’d worked for—it was resting on this moment. Another opportunity like this wouldn’t come. Not easily, anyway.
With Highflame’s unification with Omnitech and Scale’s destruction, nothing was the same as it had been. Her father had returned from the first battle of the Fifth Guild War alive and bestowed her a new command worthy of the merits she earned. More than that, she gained a new Heaven from Omnitech’s loyalist Agnosi, bringing her from the Fifth Sphere to the Eighth in an unprecedented leap.
It was through them that she gained her new Heaven as well.
Yet, despite the auspiciousness bestowed upon her, it came at a terrible cost.
The High Seraph had unmade herself to defend the Dream. But this was not the end. Both she and their greatest rival, their hidden nemesis, the Burning Dreamer, were embraced, melding, merging. But one would triumph at the end. One would rule over the other as the culmination of both their beings.
And so, it was with heavy burden that she came here to face a fragment of her Guild’s great enemy, in the name of her High Seraph, for the continued existence of her High Seraph.
{Lance Omurta in position.}
{Lance Whisperer in position.}
{Lance Decat in position.}
{Hammer forming,} Osjane said. Within her mind’s eye was a real-time map of the battlefield. Already, her logisticals were draining the Dreamer’s moat. Soon, she would be primed for another push—and there she would unleash her surprise—have another opening materialize behind the hurricane to deploy a second, even larger force.
Thus, a hammer and anvil strike. Absolute. Overwhelming. Shattering.
{Anvil here. Formation established. Ready to collapse the substance whenever at your order, Authority Thousand.}
Authority. That title made her feel a weight instead of satisfaction. There was so much weight on her shoulders right now…
She couldn’t fail.
She wouldn’t fail.
Despite everything, the Dreamer’s fate was already sealed. She had the forces. She had the power. She had every advantage possible. The only question was based on her orders: containment if possible, elimination if practical.
+Dreamer,+ she said again, but a countercast interrupted her.
+No Dreamer here, I’m afraid,+ a deep, lisping voice replied.
She knew that voice. Her stomach dropped. The Chief Paladin?
No. Reports were that he escaped, that his palm was currently pressing down on the Warrens beyond, keeping the other Guilds pinned in place. This was a deception. Yes, the Burning Dreamer could mimic minds, copy them, and merge with them. The very thought disquieted her. Of all the powers one could possess, this, more than anything else possessed by Ori-Thaum or the Hungers, made Osjane feel true dread.
After all, what was the measure of a person when you could be casually rewritten by the whims of another? It was power that no one should have.
No one except the High Seraph.
+There is no need for these theatrics,+ she said, steadying her voice. +I know that Chief Paladin escaped containment and currently assails the rest of the city.+
+Assails?+ the thing using Naeko’s voice snorted. If this was a copy, the Burning Dreamer was doing a fantastic job of emulating the Chief Paladin. +I ain’t assailing shit, juv. This is my city,+ the voice said again, steady and sharp, like the edge of a whetted blade.
Osjane's thoughts churned, but she kept her composure. This was no time for hesitation.
+Now,+ the voice continued, +your High Seraph has burned down my home a second time, and I feel some kind of pissed about that. You cancers… you keep fucking everything up. And I kept letting you get off easy.+ The voice grew colder, quieter. +Well. Those days are dead and done. You talked about my palm? Well. Here’s a close-up look.+
Then, all at once, Osjane felt it.
A pulse rippled across existence, twisting the fabric of reality itself. A miracle. A redefining of the structure of everything she stood upon.
This… this was—no, it couldn’t be.
Her breath caught. Her mind screamed. Her Frame rattled.
A massive hand burst out from above the Stormtree hurricane, shaped from fog and peace.
THE SAGE OF SUNDER>RERR> [EST.ERR]
Above the hurricane, the palm flexed its fingers. Massive, celestial, and radiant. It loomed impossibly large, larger than any force she had prepared for. With a terrible finality, it drifted closer, the tumbling clouds visible even through the rupture.
Across the battlefield, her forces felt it too. Panic swept through them like a plague.
+What the hells is that?+ someone screamed through the comms.
+That’s—+
+That’s the Sage! That’s the fucking Sage!+
+Intel said he was outside!+
+Intel’s full of shit!+ another Instrument roared. +Jaus! We’re so fucked!+
Comments
Mimic
Thanks
