Mecanimus
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A Journey of Black and Red 210: The Great One
🕑 Added 2022-10-11 20:47:17 +0000 UTCRows of smelters lay cold and quiet. The giant machines forging the guns of tomorrow no longer beat with heavy hammers, pounding steel into the perfect shape. The Dvergur engineers who manage the enchantments that make IGL the best supplier on the planet are nowhere in sight. I walk among the assembly line with a calm step, then a more cautious one.
The smell is slightly wrong.
Overheated metal has a specific aroma that I find lacking here. I look down and see I am missing my usual clothes, replaced by a horribly unfashionable dress. A century out-of-fashion to be precise. Someone is playing me.
How did I even get here?
A growl makes me turn, though I move at human speed. A humanoid shape emerges from behind a cold press with soft steps. Blood drips from a vicious, massive cleaver made of a glassy stone that cannot exist on this plane. Humans might call it a devil from the red skin and corded muscles, but they would be wrong. The face is cruel yet handsome, under quills and not horns. Those are crystal and serve an interesting array of functions, the most basic of which is to infuse its wearer with a bloodlust that will only be extinguished when he is. I have seen the creature’s likeness before, though I have never faced it in combat.
Too weak. I did kill a commander in the arena, however.
Its presence on earth is surprising but not impossible, though a single detail allows me to take a step back and expand my consciousness. It is too early.
The warrior roars and charges. I allow its ghostly blade to trail across my chest. At the same time, a dream Aurora manifests over my shoulder and I grab with my recovered power.
The warrior disappears and a woman avoids my grip at the last moment. My fingers close around wisps of hair that fade like spider silk in the wind. Nevertheless, the cogs of the nearest machines grow thorns as they close around us.
I find myself face to face with the intruder, unmoving. I wager she is a Berber from the traits and the deep blue eyes. She wears a scarf, though black strands of lush hair escape from it in a deceptively graceful manner. The dark dress she wears expands to cover her shoes, but a simple belt gathers around her lithe waist. This is the garment of a woman who displays modesty but invites attraction. A contradiction.
“You have some nerves to invade my dreams,” I start.
Then, because the jab is simply too tempting.
“Are you one of Amaretta’s minions?”
I see a sudden flash of anger, soon repressed.
“You know who I am, though we never met, Ariane of the Nirari.”
“Can you not send a telegram like everyone else?”
Amaretta, Progenitor of the seer bloodline hisses, her composure cracking ever so slightly.
“Girl, you have no idea what threats I survey, the responsibilities I shoulder. You would be wise not to waste my time with pointless provocations.”
“Yet you find enough time for a pathetic power game. Your kind are always the same. It is beyond you to show respect and merely ask. You tried to crush me, and only when that failed did you decide to talk instead. You rude bitch. Everything has to be about power, so spare me your remarks.”
“I had to impart the importance of the threat onto you.”
“I know better than you what the Court of Blood can achieve, you sleepy wench. Which leads me to your presence. They should not be here yet. In fact, they should not even be the first. Say what you have to say.”
“Rivers of blood and rotten ichor. An earth plowed by fire and steel. Anguish the likes of which this world has never seen. The perfume will be too sweet for them to resist. They will spend much to cross the void between realities but they will succeed, and if allowed to stay, they will turn our planet crimson before the eldest can manage it. You are the best suited to stop them because you understand while I merely see. You have two years at most.”
“This is a short notice to stop the most warlike court of the spheres.”
“They will be weak for a time. You must strike precisely and without hesitation.”
“I suppose you will be joining me on the front line, oh, ancient one?”
“This is not who I am. Be our blade, and you shall be rewarded…”
Her features start to fade, but I catch her essence fleeing downward. The factory roof parts to show a night sky and the Watcher’s domineering gaze. Hedges rise everywhere, while a sheer wall grows in the distance. Roots lash out, bearing fragrant white flowers. Most miss but I spot a single droplet of black blood staining a lonely petal. At the same time, I taste the barest hint of her essence.
“Next time, call,” I warn the fleeting form.
The midnight wind carries an offended hiss.
Serves her right. A step carries me inside of the palace, where I find a discarded copy of the Chicago Gazette waiting on a desk. The Headline shines under the strange light, reading its fateful message.
July 28th, 1914.
The central powers declare war on Serbia. Austria shells Belgrade!
Europe’s suicide has begun.
Thiaumont, near Verdun, June 1916.
Hell on Earth.
It was night.
Perhaps, three years before, this could have been a place. Perhaps grass covered the slopes under the shadows of old trees. Perhaps young lovers came here for a kiss, or perhaps it used to be a field. It could have been an orchard for all he knew. There was nothing left of it now. Nothing but scorched earth raked again and again by the same artillery batteries, the landscape remade every night. Not even the hardiest grass had survived the constant fury of an unhinged mankind as they fought for the same length of dead field again, and again, and again. Holes as deep as mine entrances led to the false promise of security. There was none to be had here. None at all. If you huddled against the powdery earth you could spot pieces of shoes, broken metal, or the scorched remains of viscerae of those who had tried before. Once, Maurice had seen a glassy eye staring at him from the abyss, then a shell had hit and cast the ghastly piece in a hellish radiance. It was just skin glued to a broken helmet by the terrible heat. This place was hell, and it was made by men.
The only thing that survived here was lice. They jumped from the corpses to the living with frenetic vigor, biting to extract blood before a bullet stole it. Maurice ignored the itch in his beard. It wouldn’t help.
A terrible explosion turned the world red beyond the nearby ridge. The sound carried through the tissue Maurice had stuffed in his ears, making his teeth shake. The earth shook. It shook again a little later. It shook nearby. Shrapnel beheaded a man from C company. Maurice kneeled though his officer wouldn’t have it. It didn’t matter. The screaming political officer couldn’t be everywhere at once. He kept screaming something about the republic.
Maurice looked up to the striated rays of light far above where the sky battle took place. He hoped the Minotaur-class cruisers held again before the onslaught of the Luftmarine. If not, they would be picked off from the sky by well-placed bombs, slowly and without a chance to fight back.
The order to hold spread across the lines. He could spot figures moving in the distance.
“Les schleus! A droite! Feu, feu!”
Enemies. Maurice lined a shot and pulled the trigger. He didn’t know if he hit and he didn’t care. More explosions rocked the ground around the trench. Maurice shot again.
Someone said ‘les schleus’, the Germans, were running as if it mattered. The order to countercharge came from some Saint-Cyr ‘connard’ back in his bunker. Maurice was numb. There was no escaping this time. Still, he fixed his bayonet to look in front of him, towards the lava-tinged darkness of the battlefield.
“Chaaaaa —”
The world went white and upside down. A warcry died in Maurice’s throat just as it was filled with soil. It was dark. He was lost. He could not breathe. He could not scream. He was so, so very scared. He was in so much pain.
Maurice died an ignominious death, too much in agony to even curse.
***
It was wrong to think that if a tree fell in the woods with no one to see it, it did not make a sound. The world remembered if someone had sung or remained silent. The world remembered if a person died on the spot or after twelve agonizing hours. The world remembered even if no one sang or wrote what had happened. The world was remembering five million dead over a period of two years. It remembered all those lives cut short and the atrocious suffering and anguish that came with it. The song of agony resonated through it, unheard by humans but so, so very loud. It called to them across the void and they searched for the source, for the cause of so much delectable pain. A pain on an industrial scale.
Even they couldn’t have done better.
They were not meant to resist that call. They didn’t even want to.
The radiance of the moon caught the line of buried bayonets and the dying man beneath just as they perished. Two years of unceasing horror rang across eternity like the most horrific of beacons. Above, people died as well. Around, people died as well. It never stopped, the fracas and the blood and the pieces of human bodies squished under boots.
The first thing a human saw was a head pressing against the air like a baby’s head against a placenta. The German officer thought he had gone mad and lowered his head in prayer, and why would he not? The traits of the face were male, cruel and beautiful. It showed orgasmic pleasure as well as unspeakable suffering and it did not stop. With a sound like ripping sails, the creature crossed into earth.
Instantly, the fires grew more dire. Bones and molten steel turned to grasping limbs begging to be severed and wielded. The earth grew unyielding under foot so that even a pick could not scratch it. The creature that came out was three times the size of a man and rode atop a creature half horse half tiger, and in its wake, the numberless hordes of the Court of Blood raced out to reap their bloody harvest.
The wave that reached Citadelle Verdun was mistaken for Germans and bombarded without mercy, but those that reached the empire’s lines found them ready to attack and unprepared before the onslaught. On the first night, the Prince collected over ten thousand skulls. He killed five masters and one lord, turning them to ash as they tried to stop the onslaught..
The frontline collapsed.
***
Night had fallen over Berlin.
Far over the Kaiser's head, the last rays of the sun hit high, cottony clouds. A light wind chased the heat of the day. They rustled linden leaves all along the street, providing a relaxing background to the stressful moment.
The Kaizer wondered if the perfect weather showed that God had not abandoned his empire. No matter how dire fate seemed, His grace would never leave them. Or perhaps their sins had grown to be too much, and they had been forsaken. And God no longer cared.
The skies should rain with blood. It would only be fair.
A tall man walked by his side, his aide, always helpful to wake him up from his melancholy.
“I still do not trust the Nachtsritter. You should not be in an enclosed space with him, your highness.”
“They have paid a heavy price trying to keep our foe at bay. And besides, we have crosses.”
“I still don’t trust him.”
“That is why I keep you around, Jodl.”
His carriage was there. Mages of the ‘Garde du Corps’ stood on each corner of the heavily armored and enchanted frame. More were inside. It was a large carriage.
The interior was dark and foreboding. Konrad sat in the corner with a relaxed, predatory posture. His armor reminded the man of pieces found in private collections, but this was genuine apparel. It was told they could stop bullets. Gardes du corps glared at the Nachtsritter contact from the other side of the carriage. As usual, it left him completely unfazed.
The vampire sat properly, then greeted his kaizer with deference.
“Mein Herr.”
“I am told your guest has arrived?”
“We have learnt that she made her way to Königliche Oper. She booked it for the afternoon.”
“Since when do we allow foreigners to dispose of our orchestras as they please?” Jodl asked.
Konrad delicately coughed in his sleeve.
“Ah, I understand that she made a significant monetary contribution for a single afternoon of performance. She requested works director Blech favored and was familiar with. He found her knowledge intriguing.”
“Hmph!”
The carriage made its way across the deserted streets. Many of the citizens of Berlin either huddled in churches or bars now, made despondent by the news. Calls for repentance echoed calls for peace with concerning regularity, but the Kaiser knew there could be no peace with whatever had come for them all.
“Why do we need a stranger? Is there no warrior among your secretive kind who could take on this beast you mentioned?”
“The beast commands fire with a mastery this world has never seen. We are powerless before its might.”
“But this woman is not?”
“No…”
Konrad leaned back and blinked, a rare display of emotion. When he spoke, it was with polite hesitation.
“Masters like me could defeat a regiment. You know this to be true. I would stand almost no chance against a lord, a lord would stand no chance against a trained warlord, and several trained warlords would stand no chance against that woman.”
He sighed.
“She was born an American. They are a chaotic, irreverential lot, often unaware of their status and the status of their interlocutors. I would not put it past her to provoke you. She is well known as a firebrand among our kind. She has even engaged in acts of piracy.”
“Scandalous!” Jodl interjected.
“None of it matters for two reasons. First, we need her to kill the devil, or whatever that thing is. Second, and I cannot overstate it enough…”
Konrad turned unusually serious.
“If she wishes to cut a bloody path from here to Brest or Copenhagen to catch a ship back to her home, there isn’t a single force in the empire capable of stopping her. Even among our kind, she is monstrously powerful. Do not see her as a woman. See her as a pagan goddess, Athena, or perhaps Nemesis. You cannot threaten her. Do you understand?”
“If we cannot threaten her,” Jodl said, “then perhaps she can be swayed by the fate of her airships’ crew? Mein Herr, give the order and I shall have them arrested.”
“If you decide to do so, please give me time to leave the city first so I am not caught by the consequences of your actions,” Konrad calmly retorted.
“Enough,” the Kaizer said. “I have been aggressive in the past, and it has cost the empire dearly. As much as I dislike the English and their many offsprings, we must forfeit all propriety if we ever hope to stop the apocalypse.”
“What if… what if it was God’s will?” Jodl whispered, his facade cracking.
“Then we will fail.”
***
They stopped below the opera house’s portico on Unter den Linden boulevard. Bodyguards lined the steps and the greco-roman colonnade, but they were not alone. Around fifty men waited nearby at attention, their advanced weapons shining with runes in the light of gas lamps. They wore armor that could belong in some fantasist gazette on the future of warfare, each one costing enough to outfit an entire regiment.
Anger sparked in the Kaizer’s breast. IGL, the armament juggernaut, flexing its muscles on his very doorstep! How much more abuse would he need to face, he wondered.
It was dark inside. Gardes du corps stood face to face with IGL private soldiers. Masks covered the foreigners’ faces and, quite shockingly, he thought some of them might be women. The Kaizer silenced an impulse to forfeit all his responsibilities to find shelter in the nearest church and repent for his crimes, like some of his generals had done. He had a responsibility to his people, however, and he would not give up until he faced the pearly gates.
Music played in the deserted venue. A violin danced with its orchestra in a tight and breathless air, a far cry from the solemn hymns he favored.
“What is that?”
“Introduction and Rondo Capriccioso in la mineur, by Camille Saint Saens,” Konrad whispered. “We are here a little early.”
The Kaizer removed his watch from his breast pocket. They were, by a few minutes. The song reached a crescendo as they climbed to the second floor and the private lounges there. The Kaizer had to admit that music was universal and that the violin’s unceasing rush brought a measure of beauty to an otherwise grim situation. It occurred to him that the situation was terribly incongruous. Him, listening to degenerate socialist music on his way to meet a woman.
The group stopped in front of the lodge because its approach was guarded by a titan in black armor of a make he had never seen before. The colossus waited with his arms crossed over a prodigious chest, while an axe as dark as the night rested on his shoulders. No human could possibly wield such a weapon. He raised a hand as they approached.
Despite heading an empire of almost 70 million people, the Kaizer felt compelled to stop. So did Konrad. The vampire facing them emitted an aura of calm determination that dulled the outrage the Kaizer should have felt. The gesture was not a personal insult or the result of petty games. This man would have asked God himself to wait and thought nothing of it.
It took thirty more seconds for the music to finish, during which the man didn’t move, merely listened. After the last note faded, he waited two more seconds before opening the door.
Instead of going in, it was the vampire who came out.
Were it not for her attire, she would have been the least vampire-like creature the Kaizer had ever met, not that he had met many. Her flush skin spoke of a healthy constitution, though she was a little pale. Her smile betrayed a confidence a woman her age should not display in front of her betters. Her blue eyes vivaciously inspected them in turn. Hers was the beauty of a Junker’s daughter used to walks and horse-riding, not the wan composure of capital waifs.
“Thank you for your patience, gentlemen,” she greeted.
Her German had a distinct Saarland touch, but old. It revealed her true age.
Then, the vampire curtsied lightly.
The Kaizer took this for the voluntary mark of respect this was and returned a small nod. Those were strange times but appearance, as ever, were important. The curtsey also gave him a good view of the lady’s apparel. While she wore the mask of mortality, her dress was a thing of living ice straight out of some of the Brother Grimms’ fairy tales. Blue and whites cascaded from her shoulder in icicles. Hypnotic diamond patterns covered her flanks while the hem disappeared in a mirage of vapor. Clearly it was a masterpiece of tailoring and sorcery. It also told the Kaizer exactly how the foreigner intended to stop the devil’s inferno. She would extinguish it.
“I had a room prepared for our discussion, if you will follow me. Your guards are welcome as well.”
“Of course they will come,” Jodl grunted.
He was ignored. Everyone knew that if half of what Konrad said was correct, they would not make any difference.
He hoped that this was not all a morbid farce played on him in his hour of despair… but no. The Nachtsrittern would not dare. They were not a group prone to jests.
The vampire led them to a receiving room on the second floor — he had almost expected to be led to a secret crypt. It was well-lit. A table with refreshment awaited the humans in a corner. Her giant bodyguard stayed outside, but the rest of the group moved in towards a central table. The Kaizer forbade his guards from searching the room with a gesture, which the foreigner did not comment on. Her attention was on a table holding a map and a pulpit showing a trio of ghastly faces. She waited until everyone moved around to speak.
“For the past two days, you have been invaded by a scourge called the Court of Blood. I will go back to them later. For now, I would like you to pay attention to this map. This marks the epicenter of the invasion, with elements advancing as far as the Rhine. There are infiltrated elements farther in.”
“Infiltrated elements?” Jodl asked.
“The Court of Blood is as insidious as it is destructive. Brute force is not their only weapon. I digress. Most of you must be familiar with the current developments, I was merely setting the stage to my demonstration. Now, let me tell you what you are facing. The Court of Blood is technically part of a group of worlds quite different from ours called the fae spheres. It is one of the larger, yet is fully separate due to its denizen’s absolute inability to engage in any form of diplomacy.”
“Fae? As in… elves?” Jodl asks.
“The fae are humanoids from other worlds who get lost in ours,” Konrad explains. “Or at least they were. Ariane of the Nirari sent them home around forty years ago.”
The Kaizer does not miss Konrad’s frozen traits, or the woman’s smug expression.
“And you know of this… Court of Blood through your association with the fae?” he asked.
“I know about them because I traveled to faerie and faced their deadlier warriors in single combat. For sport. My friend there warned me of the Court as there was a chance they would be the first to make contact when we align with them, in… three thousand years at the very least.”
Stunned silence welcomed this statement.
“I have a very real chance of being there to see it,” the woman gently reminded them.
“But then,” the Kaizer asked, “how are they here now?”
“Over six millions dead soldiers in two years over a relatively short span of land. Everything has power, and death most of all. Such a slaughter could not escape their attention. Fortunately for us, this world is yet hostile to their presence. They cannot deploy the full extent of their powers, and they will be slow to turn the land.”
A chill crossed the room.
“What do you mean, turn the land?”
“The Court of Blood transforms the land they dwell on into more Court of Blood. They had devoured an estimated four other spheres before being found and contained.”
“Four spheres? As in four planets?”
“Yes.”
The revelation was welcomed in sullen silence.
“For all we know, you could be lying through your teeth! Faeries? Planets? Nonsense!”
“You can call them demons for all I care,” the woman replied with a shrug. “I am merely providing background information for the main point: wherever they go turns into their domain and if we wait for too long, that change becomes irreversible. This world is young and vulnerable, as far as magic goes. It will not resist for very long. We will have to destroy the portal before we reach the point of no return. Without their connection to their domains, the warriors already here will eventually fade, if they are not killed before.”
“Are you telling me that our world is connected to theirs, and theirs to the other… spheres you mentioned? Would they be willing to help us?”
The vampire considered the question for a few seconds.
“How can I explain? The allied courts and we stand at either side of a narrow path. A path filled with traps and enemies. Their world is so vast that even I may not cross it without being overwhelmed. You see, the Blood Court has no industry, no fields, not even vegetation. What passes for city are merely transitory structures used by current warlords to muster their troops against the spheres or each other. Blood warriors are born from the soil. They rip their weapons from geological formations growing through the hard red ground. They only gather when a more powerful warrior demands it, otherwise they fight each other to gain strength. It is an accursed place.”
“And it cannot be purified?”
“Even the Court of Blue hasn’t found a reliable and reasonable way. The alliance prefers to lance the boil periodically, allowing their armies to meet on the Fields of Eternity every so often. It builds characters for the young nobles. But I digress. All that matters is that we stand alone facing this.”
The woman moved to the pulpit to reveal a familiar quilled visage. They recognized him from the reports.
“The Prince, unnamed as of now. We know little about his powers save that he wields fire, a whip, and rides atop a colossal blood beast that seemed invulnerable to conventional weaponry. He leads the attack. He has two lieutenants we can tell, a duke and a duchess.”
“They have nobility?”
“The spheres do, and they used the same method to classify their foes. This one seems to be the most problematic.”
The woman pointed at a rendition of a tall and extremely lean figure that resembled a mantis. Its chest and waist ratio lent it a disturbing, vaguely feminine air. It wielded thorny spears in each of its four hands. The shape of a man had been drawn by its side. That creature was massive.
“Fortunately, I have an ally interested in crossing blades with her. The other feels more straightforward, but my subordinates might not be up to the task of stopping him. Sir Konrad’s friend might want their pound of flesh, however?”
“We would like this very much, yes.”
The Nachtsritter eyed the lumbering figure of a toad-like humanoid with a promise of violence rarely seen on his cool traits.
“Those are nobles, creatures that have distinguished themselves through bloodshed to rise to individuality. Those are the reports I could obtain on my way here.”
“May we know who gave you those reports?” Jodl demanded.
“You may not,” she deadpanned. “There may be others we do not know about because they left no survivors. Below them are troops that can be regrouped in several categories: infantry, cavalry, war beasts, living siege ram, living transports, flying monsters, and finally, the lemure. This one will be the most problematic.”
“How so?”
“They steal the appearance of dead soldiers, revealing themselves at an inconvenient moment.”
Most of the table gasped in horror.
“Should we…”
“They cannot be here yet, and besides they do not steal the memories of the deceased. Vampires and werewolves can detect them from their smell. Mages can use an aura reader. I can provide the schematics.”
“One more question: how do we close the portals?”
“I have a spell that will work. It is the same that is used to seal the deadland portals.”
“Will it suffice?”
“It will if I cast it. I was the first one to wield it against the liches. The world remembers.”
The Kaizer turned to Konrad for confirmation. The vampire nodded. Between closing portals, hunting elves, and piracy, that woman had been quite busy.
“Then we know our enemy and we know our objective. I shall order the troops…”
“Not so fast. There are three important details to solve first.”
The Kaizer frowned. The woman was smiling now, showing her fangs without pretense. His cross remained cold, yet a chill crawled up his spine.
“The first is that a land force will be too slow. We will need your skyfleet.”
The Kaizer and Jodl exchanged a glance. They knew the state of the Luftmarine. Right now, biplanes were the best tools they had to keep the combined French and English fleets at bay and even that cost hundreds of lives every month.
“The prince and his lackeys are too mobile. We need to tie them up where they cannot afford to retreat. We need to tie them up at the portal. For that, we will need airships and airborne troops to hold the ground, or they will not follow.”
“If the goal is to close the portal, can you not do it yourself?”
“As a matter of fact, I can.”
The casual comment stunned everyone around.
“What? But then…”
“And I will, whether you want to or not. However, that will not solve your prince problem.”
She shrugged, the movement sending her dress to shimmer under the light of the gaslamp.
“What do you want?” the Kaizer asked, a rising sense of dread filling his chest.
“Two point three million marks.”
“You… you madwoman!” the Kaizer sputtered.
“Ah, this is just for me. The operation will require many more ships than what you have left. We need the fleets of all of Europe for the operation to wipe out most invaders at once. And there is only one way for the Allies to agree to help.”
“Oh! You want us to capitulate!” he bellowed.
“Face it, you have already lost. The allies merely have to wait then pick up the pieces.”
“Never, you hear me? Never!”
“And thus our negotiations end tonight.”
She smiled. It was quite sharp.
“See you tomorrow.”
Comments
Ekko
Well, that all is true and the point about the officers is one I'm also often quite annoyed by. I love the history lesson, but this is alternate history with MANY differences to our world's timeline. This world has mages, vampires, communist France and many more things that change the course of history as we now it. Mecanimus has also mentioned in his posts that, by the American Civil War the timelines started to diverge from our own. So you can realistically say that Germany was losing, if the author wants it to be that way.
Mitch
So a couple problems with this chapter. The first is small, but as someone who has studied the first world War, the perpetuation of a myth can not be stood. The insinuation that officers hid behind the lines while their men did the dieing. In every combative army the officer class suffered a higher proportion of casualties then the enlisted men. It got so bad in Britain that they had to institute new regulations that forbade there officers from marching IN FRONT of there men on attacks. They were losing them faster then they could be replaced. The entire French cadet class of 1915 died or was wounder durring the war. The second issue, and this one is a major ot hole, is that by the end of 1916 Germany and the Central Powers were winning. France was gutted with many of its Divisions one bad battle away from open mutiny. Russia was 2 months away from revolution and their soldiers refusing to follow orders. The British Empire had done its best on the Somme and suffered horribly for it. The USA was still a year from joining the war. No from the german perspective surrendering at the end of 1916 would be simular to America surrendering to Japan in 1944. Why would you give up when you were winning?
Add_Identity
"Europe's suicide" is actually so accurate to describe WW1, so much was lost, there was no victory. Great chapter
