Trapped in Another World With No Magic
Author: Silas_Kriegsende
Chapter 223: The Messenger of Calamity
Magnir sails towards the battlefield, carefully observing where the vehicles are working to both attack and defend from the enemy by maintaining a useful distance while machine guns and tank cannons fire, and the P3 ‘Poorkyupyne’ is still landing barrages that cause chaos, though the more spread out the enemies are, the less effective it is.
The blue dragon is about to do something similar, but hopefully, with far more devastating results.
He withdraws a device from his void bag that has a hand crank attached to a chain which extends into the void bag, similar to the continuous fire machine guns that have been developed. The continuous feed void bags like this one are still experimental, and in some cases, the gun will lose its ammunition supply when the void bag fails. Thankfully, between Ahok, Wenlianna, Doephluev, and Reignleif brainstorming with Xyreko, that is generally the worst to be expected.
Magnir calls out to no one in particular, since he has neither a radio nor a need to connect to anyone via telepathy at this moment, “Behold the might of the Jomsviking, the pinnacle of the Einherjars and masters of the skies!” His voice darkens as he feels his heart race. “Mukori is standing by to choose who among the slain shall be taken forth to the afterlife. I am here to slay you.”
He starts cranking the handle, and the chain feeds through breaking apart just like the machine gun belts in order to minimize the clutter and weight of a large continuous chain after the projectiles have been successfully fed into the weapon. The device Magnir is using was tailored to the dragons
, but this will be the first official test. Regardless, the thing that is attached to the chain and which emerges from the void bag to reach the device that looks like a strange musical instrument or hand-powered tool.
The object is the first of many attached to the continuing chain, and it possesses a bulbous, loosely-arrow shaped design, though it’s more like a metal egg with metal fletching or fins.
And, one after the other, these metallic eggs follow the first in close succession from the device as the first one reaches the crank device. Immediately, the weight of the objects combined has increased to over 70 pounds, but this is insignificant to even a lesser dragon child, let alone Magnir.
The first drops, followed by the second and third in a quick string, with Magnir drifting forward in the air at a moderate clip, picking up speed as he grows more comfortable cranking the device faster, now that he has the weight already balanced in his hands. All he has to do is keep the crank steady, and his profile low while remaining high in the sky.
Gravity will do the rest, at least as far as his attack goes.
It’s the first true otherworldly attack that Daniel has entrusted Magnir with; weapons designed for him, even if it could be used from a shuttle as well.
After all, the things falling from the sky are far more than simple metal eggs.
A steady stream of thundering beats coming from explosions reaches upwards as a string of fiery blooms ignites on the ground.
Magnir starts chuckling, and he banks and swerves through the air, speeding up to scatter the bombs as he cranks them out in a continuous line.
“Yes! Flee! Flee, you foolish weaklings! I am but a mere servant of the Harbinger of Calamity! Hearken to the call of the Messenger of Calamity! Hahahaha!”
He’s getting into it because Daniel got him pumped up with reviving him (again) and then informing him that he could help Roeta defeat an army of demon-kin and earn a stronger reputation for even the less-powerful dragons.
Magnir needs virtually no mana of his own to operate this weapon, which has been tentatively called the ‘Chain Bomber’. Following Magnir’s flight pattern in the sky, the explosions continue on the ground, just a solid handful of seconds behind. And, mixed in with the explosions are a small amount of polonium, which has a very short half-life, meaning it won’t last long. Since much of the landscape is being destroyed just to try to drive back the demons, Daniel opted to step up the destruction, but to avoid dragon fire if possible, since it could spread. The bombs run the risk as well, but to a much lesser degree, since they use high explosives centered around throwing the shrapnel more than damaging with the blast and throwing flames. The lead shell of the bombs protects the void bag from the effects of the polonium, which could possibly be overcome by the mana of the mages present.
But, with the sheer number of bombs Magnir is dropping, it’s only a matter of time before the Hegemony is forced to give up completely. Their desperation is understandable. It’s unknowable when the next time the Citadel will have a mana depletion severe enough to cripple its defense.
But, like most who end up against him, they have completely underestimated the industrious and paranoid Harbinger of Calamity.
And, with the support of his Empresses, Brother-by-name (and in law, once he’s married to Geirahoel formally), Magnir and Roeta, and the Stalvaltan family, he has various teams working on many different ideas. Time is Daniel’s greatest adversary, since most of the tanks and other heavy weapons are deployed to the Stalvaltan territory to hold it, as well as a few that were deployed to the Fort Twilight lake to keep the area secured.
Suddenly, a feeling quakes over Magnir as he’s bombing the demons continuously, criss-crossing his chains of explosions to maximize the chaos, demoralizing destruction, and the likelihood of negating the mana of any mages in particular. The blue dragon in his humanoid form looks over his shoulder towards the Citadel. It’s not a terrible feeling, but it is one he knows well enough. Normally, it’s a continuous static feeling to the air while
the perimeter. But, a somewhat fountain-like crest to a faint dome shape has appeared above the Citadel. The barrier is only normally visible when touching it, though it’s easily detectable for anyone with mana.
This isn’t quite the same barrier as normal, but the Citadel is doing something.
Whatever that means, hopefully, the mana is recovered enough to deter the Hegemony finally. Hekate is giving as much of her mana as she can as quickly as she can, but she is still a mortal being.
“Ah, it looks like I can take my time now and simply focus on your destruction, rather than defending. Lucky you.”
Magnir takes a breath and lets out a roar as powerfully as he can. His human form is limited, but he is still able to fill the air with a sonic wave that reaches far. He’s mainly letting everyone present know that a dragon is above them, whether they can see him or not. Given the destruction, which negates magic, it’s unlikely that they’ll be able to fully determine what ‘spell’ is being used.
The blue dragon scans around the battlefield. There is the glow of healing magic, some defensive spells, especially where mages have gathered to try to compound their protection.
Magnir grins, revealing his sharp dragon teeth. Like Hekate, the weaker dragons mostly preserve their sharp, carnivorous teeth even in their human form, but they minimize the impact of this by not showing their teeth often through smiles or grimaces. Still, he has good reason to smile. “There you are.”
As would be expected in any deteriorating combat situation, the highest ranking person would be most likely to be surrounded by defenders in order to protect them. Daniel abides by this when allies are present, with the exception being when he’s intentionally trying to draw out his enemies.
But, a mana-less human from another world has faced off against every beast imaginable with nothing more than the creations of science and sheer force of will, rather than the god-like power of magic.
Magnir stows the chain bomber, and he withdraws a pair of revolvers from his standard void bag on his other hip along with a very special lead container.
Like the creator of the weapons, Magnir doesn’t need mana to fight. He flips open the lead canister, revealing a pack of twelve revolver rounds with an intentionally painted pink and yellow projectile tip.
The paint, of course, is not meant for the bullet or its target. It is a reminder to its wielder. He can feel his own mana disappear in direct exposure to it, and though Daniel has expressed some concern about the longer term effects, he has weight that against the effectiveness of being able to shut down mages on the spot. And, because mana has an inverse relationship with radiation, as far as they can tell, those with mana should be most safe.
Of course, the conversation about who is the least safe has not been shared with many beyond Magnir and probably Neith.
In his heart, the blue dragon knows what he needs to do about that, but he also understands
the human would want to keep it quiet. The reaction of the Empresses would likely be overly cautious, if not appropriately restrictive of Daniel’s recklessness.
Magnir loads both revolvers, storing the lead container and flexing his shoulders.
He has twelve shots and one real target by the looks of it.
“Grant me your words that I might deliver them upon thine enemies, oh wise and mysterious Harbinger.”
The dragon flies into a dive towards the cloistered group of Demon Hegemony officers gathered around someone of high rank. Teleportation is an uncommon ability because it requires a lot of mana, typically, and either recklessness or a deeply-ingrained understanding of moving oneself and others to another location. Return is significantly safer and easier, but requires an anchor location to return to, such as the Citadel.
The leader of the Hegemony forces appears to be an Uhl’tall, which is a little surprising, since most of them defected to the Fievegal along with Vaergraes, Illianna, and Thymeria. But, Thymeria, of course, proved that not all Uhl’tall are on the side of Vaergraes, or peace for that matter.
The blue Jomsviking takes a deep breath as he closes in on his target. It seems like the Uhl’tall is casting something, but it’s not teleportation or return.
Magnir rolls over in a flip as he plummets, preparing to land on his feet at the maximum speed he can sustain without injury, which is significantly faster than a human could withstand.
He bears his sharp, intimidating teeth with a bright grin. His heart is racing in both fear, anticipation, and exhilaration. He might die once again in the service of the Fievegal, and he’ll definitely be scolded and likely put on restriction to avoid any more dangerous behavior. But, ever since his beloved Mukori Roetta laid their first egg, Magnir has felt a furious pride that has made him want more and more to earn stories and legends and other things to make his child-to-be proud to be his. He doesn’t have to be as strong as Neith or the Empresses, but he wants his name to be found on some of the same pages as those powerful beings for deeds worthy of the name ‘Jomsviking’.
Most Uhl’tall could defeat a lesser dragon, or ‘greater wyvern’ in battle.
But today, Magnir intends to prove he truly is a dragon of the Fievegal.
***
The complex magic circles continue to assemble as Djihnlierr keeps guiding her mana and chanting the various spells she needs to stack to unleash her ultimate magic.
Many of the Uhl’tall have followed Vaergraes to the Fievegal out of fear of the rumored Harbinger of Calamity, in spite of the storied legacy of the Covenant, which became the Hegemony when Zolorad took over. It’s widely becoming common knowledge that the ‘Harbinger of Calamity’ is actually a powerless human who serves the true master of the Fievegal and the Citadel, Hekate, who does possess enough mana to be a threat to even multiple Uhl’tall sorcerers working together.
“Archpriestess! We must flee! We are losing too many!”
“No!” cries out her tertiary mind doppleganger. Two ghostly images of herself attached to her at her sides are helping her cast magic and split her focus, but it is extremely taxing doing so. She is draining every ounce of her mana for this chance to break through the defenses of the Citadel and strike at its heart in order to free Vaergraes. “I am close! Just keep the attacks off of me a little longer!”
The Hegemon sent her at the head of this intended siege force in order to attack the Citadel. How he knew that the Citadel would be vulnerable is a mystery, but the attack has been catastrophic. Before they could even establish a forward operating base, the sky opened up and dropped hell itself down upon the Hegemony forces, and even though someone managed to launch a frenzied attack on the defensive wall, but it was swiftly extinguished by the dragons.
Djihnlierr accepted command of the siege force because she wanted to use it to try to reach and help her friend, who surrendered herself to the Fievegal as a sacrifice, believing it was the only route to protect the Uhl’tall from the immensely powerful fiend that captured the Citadel using her decoy human as a distraction. Vaergraes was always a noble-hearted woman and the greatest leader the demon-kin have seen in Djihnlierr’s lifetime.
Just as her two primary voices, her real body and the first doppleganger, are reaching the crescendo of the spell that will crack open the Citadel like an egg, a crackling sound comes from above before several of the barrier sorcerers cry out. The barrier shatters with a thunder-like boom, and something slams into the ground slightly to the left of directly in front of the Uhl’tall archpriestess, sending out a rolling cloud of dust as soil and grass blast across Djihnlierr and her fellow officers trying to hold out long enough to finish the spell with a long casting time.
She screams over the sound to finish the enchantment, but horror grips her heart as the glow from the complex magic circles that she has been painstakingly assembling for the last twenty minutes suddenly vanishes, along with the intricate spiritual symbols that formed slowly rotating rings and circles around and beneath her.
As an Uhl’tall Archpriestess, Djihnlierr is trained to use powerful magic in battle. Vaergraes was strong enough to keep Morthybargaron the Red Lord in check, though it’s rare for an Archpriestess to need to demonstrate the depth of their power. Djihnlierr is a bit younger than her predecessor, and only ever truly admired her from afar. But, she knows she could at least wound the Red Lord, and likely be able to slay any of the other dragons.
As such, she knows she should be able to at least fight, but as a voice crawls out of the cloud of dust and debris like the slithering grasp of the stench of death, she can’t help but freeze in terror.
“Hearken to the words of the mighty Harbinger… No, the Silencer of Magic.” A being rises to his full standing height amidst the rolling cloud, which seems to part away from him like the emergence of a god of the underworld. Her mind recognizes him for what he is, armored, but bearing the distinctive horns and tail of a dragon in humanoid form. What’s more, she can sense no magic. She can’t even feel her own magic with the terror that has gripped her soul.
The winged warrior lets out a deep, truly sinister laugh. It is more of a malicious cackle than a joyful guffaw, starting deep in his throat and employing the powerful lungs of a dragon to project an almost threatening purr of warbling, rumbling pulses that rattle and shake the souls of all who hear it. It rises into a full, gleeful cacophony as he lets his murderous glee blend into the devilish tone. His devious chortle is only a precursor to the dark and warning words that follow.
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It is a voice of cold finality that the blue Einherjar employs as he declares, “Behold, ‘Serenity’ and ‘Tranquility’, the requiem to your folly and the crescendo of your demise.” As he says each name, the human-disguised dragon brandishes each of the recognizable weapons of the Harbinger of Calamity, right and then left respectively, with a single gunspinning flip for each before aiming it at the Uhl’tall mage being protected by the various other barrier sorcerers.
The dragon continues with his commanding tone that oozes with masculine confidence, “I am Sir Magnir of the Fievegal, Second Jomsviking to our Glorious Empresses, and the Messenger of Calamity. Surrender now or face your final Serenity and Tranquility.”
Djihnlierr is speechless. Several Uhl’tall, Oni, Dattakorien, and Cambion mages are gathered around her, having bolstered defenses to the maximum just to buy her time against the Fievegal’s unreasonably powerful weapons. Barriers are the only way to defend against the attacks, even if the explosions hit relatively far away. Wounds have piled up on the battlefield, and a sizable portion of the demons have been eradicated. Some have already fled, fearing the Hegemon less than the wrath of the Fievegal, which they have had demonstrated first hand for the entirety of this exhausting night.
Even when Djihnlierr tried to retreat their forces, the iron carriages pursued, not granting them time to regroup and rest. It’s why she abandoned the overall strategy in favor of simply trying to wipe out the command center of the Citadel, which should be just inside the flyway, where a massive flying vessel is parked and idle.
Her heart skips a beat when Magnir turns his right revolver, ‘Serenity’, towards her. He shouldn’t be right in front of her, meaning the demon wands of the Fievegal should be harmless to her behind the barriers of her allies.
Someone calls out, “Defend the arch-!” in a moment of restored battle senses before Magnir effortlessly aims Tranquility at the man and fires.
Screams and cries of pain come from all around; screams that Djihnlierr has been hearing all night. It startles her, and she feels truly helpless for the first time in her life.
The dragon managed to wound or kill whoever tried to come to her rescue from her defender group without even looking, and his gaze is boring into her.
“The first lesson one should learn before any battle, particularly when on the attack, is to carefully choose your enemies. I am merely the Messenger, and you have threatened the home and family of the Harbinger himself. If you cannot handle me, then the only logical conclusion is that you are an utter fool.”
One of the dattakorien mages, Mourva, dashes in front of Djihnlierr and holds her arms out. “Please, hold your attacks! If you are a Messenger, then we have not yet received your message! And, we have not attacked you yet!”
The dragon cocks his head a little, but he retorts with a taunting dryness to his voice. “Here in the Fievegal, you don’t shoot the Messenger. The Messenger shoots you.”
Everyone is horrified and silent, and Magnir adjusts his aim on Mourva, who noticeably winces and closes her eyes.
“Please stop! I-... I surrender…” The words leave Djihnlierr’s mouth before she can really think, but her heart drives her to say them. If she had no other reason, then to spare Mourva is enough.
“Your holiness!?” exclaim a few of her compatriots, but she puts her hand on Mourva’s shoulder to try to calm herself as much as the young feline woman who tried to protect her for even a moment.
“Stand down. He’s right.” She steps around Mourva to face Magnir herself, though she is trembling with every step in spite of the air of confidence she is doing her best to project to her allies. She is resigned partially to her fate, so she is able to look at everything more objectively.
She’s not scared out of her magic, her magic is being suppressed. And, Magnir is the cause of it. This is consistent with the rumors that the Fievegal’s weapons can sometimes penetrate magic barriers, even ones crafted by barrier masters. It’s also consistent with the fact that Thymeria’s mana presence has disappeared completely, which usually takes a bit longer when someone like her dies.
That means Magnir is likely no more than a lesser dragon, since he wouldn’t need his mana nearly as much as a greater dragon, who become so accustomed to their magical prowess, that they eventually become subconscious about the use of passive spells to reduce their weight, fly faster, amplify their fire, and many other uses. Magnir is sacrificial in the sense that his mana is to him what a dagger is to anyone else; a tool that can save his life, but far from enough to win a battle alone.
But, sometimes, a mere dagger can win a war.
Djihnlierr remarks, “Please… Messenger of Calamity, allow me and my forces to retreat. The message has been heard loud and clear. Even when vulnerable, the Fievegal is beyond our reach.”
Magnir starts to reply, “Very convincing. But…”
Just as the dragon is about to start his full reply, she notices his shoulder shift a little. It’s a small movement, and not a full disarming of his stance so much as an ever-so-slight relaxation. It will probably be the only opening she will get, and she whirls as fast as she can move, slapping the demon wand Serenity off of its aim of her and Mourva before she spins all the way around, using the velocity of her spin to add to her left hand, which is tucked in close to her hip, gripping her last resort.
Magnir stumbles from her smacking his wrist, which should have struck her as odd. She intended for his weapon to miss if he tried to fire it, but the force she used shouldn’t have been enough to stumble a warrior in the midst of his enemies.
The Uhl’tall Archpriestess realizes her folly while she’s trying to spear her hand its the dagger she snuck into it upwards inside of his right arm, which has Tranquility.
The dragon isn’t stumbling.
He’s spinning.
Djihnlierr sees it only at the last second, swooping in from her peripherals as her focus desperately narrows on his neck.
An appendage about as wide as a large man’s thigh for much of its length sweeps in sharply towards her head.
The leathery metallic blue scales of a dragon’s tail slam into Djihnlierr’s face before her dagger can catch up to his neck, and she blacks out briefly. Only after her vision clears with Mourva trying to drag her back by the shoulders as gunshots sound out does the Archpriestess fully realize what happened. She was momentarily dazed by the impact, and her allies tried to spring an attack at their own detriment.
The sky and Mourva’s face are still blurry and spinning, but the desperation returns to Djihnlierr.
The words don’t come out at first, but she finally manages to croak out, “No… No! Please… stop!”
A body tumbles across the ground haplessly, thrown off of Magnir as he fires the weapons repeatedly, one after the other in turns. Sorcerers topple, flop back, flinch, and otherwise spray blood from wounds that are quickly dropping their numbers from the fifteen that were defending Djihnlierr to only a couple.
One of the cambions tries to latch onto Magnir’s left hand and Tranquility to either steal the weapon or at least prevent him from using it, since cambions are rather strong without their magic, like the dragon obviously is.
Regardless, Magnir keeps his grip on his weapons, and he whips his arm in, yanking the cambion close and headbutting the sorcerer in the top of the head, breaking the upwards-pointed horns of the cambion with the impact and dropping him into a flopping movement on the ground, unconscious or dead in an instant.
Magnir whirls and fires at two more of the sorcerers, one shot hitting a thigh, and the other hitting low in the middle of the abdomen. Both sorcerers cry out in pain and topple before the dragon, leaving him standing alone amidst a pile of bodies. He inhales deeply, breathing out a long, slow flame that extends only a foot or so from his helmet.
The dragon turns towards Mourva, and the dattakorien sets Djihnlierr down quickly to draw her own magic wand. It’s made from the finger bone of a dragon who let the dattakorien keep it after she managed to slice it off during a battle.
Magnir gives a devious chuckle again, rolling his shoulders fearlessly as he steps towards the feline woman. She begins chanting, and only a faint glow starts to build around the dragonbone wand.
“Wait… Mourva… No,... Stop… This is… my fault… Please…”
Tears start to trickle down Djihnlierr’s face, and she reaches in futility at her dattakorien friend, who is willing to sacrifice everything alongside the others just to protect the foolish Uhl’tall Archpriestess who failed to heed their advice when she could have saved them by simply retreating.
“No!” whimpers the Uhl’tall woman desperately.
Magnir walks close enough that the end of his revolver is within inches of Mourva’s wand, which is trembling as she tries in futility to generate even a scrap of an enchantment to fend off the dragon. Only Djihnlierr is in a position to notice the miniscule glow that Mourva did manage to generate dim in direct proportion of Tranquility’s proximity to the wand.
“I shall grant you one last mercy,” growls the dragon. Tranquility is as steady as its name in his hand, while the dragonbone wand of Mourva shakes like a leaf in the wind, tears falling from the dattakorien’s eyes. “Speak your final words, whatever they may be, and I shall deliver them as the Messenger. I will personally ensure these words transcend your Final Rest, and I shall personally endorse your entry into Valhalla.”
These words are grandiose, and ‘Valhalla’, specifically, has no meaning to the demon-kin or beast-kin, so far as Djihnlierr knows. But, it is a very final speech, and Mourva is too terrified to even speak.
“Wait!” screams the Uhl’tall Archpriestess she gains a desperate surge of vitality through pain. Her voice is nearly broken, and her body burns as she tries to desperately scramble up from her position on her backside to turn over on her hands and knees. She places her forehead on the ground as she uses every last shred of her vocal cords to plead, “Spare us, Messenger Magnir! Please, spare us! If you must claim vengeance for my foolish attack, please, take me and only me. These men and women have only tried to defend me, who is unworthy. Please…”
Metal-armored boots creak and thud against the grass as the footsteps approach her. She can hear the bone wand of Mourva thump softly to the ground, followed by knees hitting the dirt as well. She didn’t hear Tranquility fire, nor a strike, suggesting that Mourva has surrendered as well. But, Djihnlierr dares not look up. She is afraid for her people, and she understands why Vaergraes surrendered.
Magnir’s voice growls, “Raise your head and look at me.”
Djihnlierr flinches, but she does as she is bid. She lifts her gaze slowly and cautiously, feeling her stomach drop and her heart clench when her eyes meet the maw of Serenity aimed directly at her. She must force her eyes to shift the small amount in order to meet the dragon’s gaze, and in spite of being a lesser dragon, as far as she can tell, he is the most terrifying being Djihnlierr has ever encountered.
Magnir instructs, “How did you intend to signal your troops with instructions if magic was not an option?”
This confuses the Uhl’tall Archpriestess for a moment, but she realizes what he’s asking. He wants her to spread the word immediately for the army to stand down.
She takes a hand around a whistle on a leather string around her neck. The whistle produces a sound only dattakoriens can hear, and depending on the number of blasts and which of the three notes it has determines what message the real signaller gives, who is located much further back.
She replies as she holds the whistle in her palm, too afraid to make sudden movements. “Th-This whistle… I… There is a signal… for retreat…”
“No. I’ll signal our defenses to hold fire for a time, but you must gather your forces. Your officers will be arrested, and the soldiers will be encamped and held until reparations are made. The time for retreat was before I arrived.”
“I… I’m sorry. I just… I wanted… I wanted to save…”
“I may be a messenger, but you have surrendered for real, this time, have you not?”
She twitches, but she clutches the whistle and nods. “Y-... Yes. But, I have no signal for a surrender…”
“I understand that. I mean that you will confess your motives and all other details of this attack to those far wiser than myself. If you do not actually convince your troops to gather and surrender, or you successfully manage to kill me, you, personally, will still be captured, but your treatment will be far,
worse. And, we will ensure to hunt down every survivor to the last and eradicate everyone who set foot on our soil unlawfully during this invasion. I would eagerly
you to challenge the Fievegal on this matter.”
Djihnlierr closes her eyes tightly as she looks down in immense sorrow. Her choices are limited, especially with her magic sealed by Tranquility and possibly Serenity in tandem. It feels almost unfair.
But of course, utilizing unfair means is just one more tool in the scope of war.
After all, the ones most likely to claim unfairness are also likely to be on the losing side. But, there are very many levels to losing, and only time will tell what the scope of losing to the Fievegal truly means.
The Uhl’tall Archpriestess finally nods, and she looks into Magnir’s eyes with tears still trickling down her cheeks. “With your permission, I will signal for our troops to regroup.”
The dragon nods, but he says, “Wait one moment.”
He holsters Tranquility on his hip, meaning Mourva is no longer in immediate danger of instant death, and the dattakorien gasps as if she was holding her breath, falling forward to catch her breath on her hands where she is already resting on her knees. Her expressive ears are flattened in terror, and tears are streaming down her own face, but she can’t even bear to look at Djihnlierr.
She watches as Magnir withdraws some sort of smaller wand with a glass front, and he points it at the Citadel, clicking something on it. A small cone of light flicks on and off in that direction, as if it is nothing more than a device for projecting light. But, she notices a blinking light coming from a tower inside of the outer wall of the massive fortress, backdropped by the titanic castle itself.
Shortly after, the booms and pops of the distant Fievegal attacks come to an end, fading into only the ghostly residual echoes that slowly dissolve into silence in turn.
Magnir then says, “Signal quickly. If the attacks continue, we will mercilessly snuff out all resistance.”
Djihnlierr nods desperately, and she quickly fumbles with the whistle, doing her best to remind herself of her own signals. She was so ready to call for retreat when they had Vaergraes, Illianna, and Thymeria at a minimum, or for victory if the Fievegal was defeated.
Instead, she must call for a regroup in order to order her troops to stand down; whatever’s left of them.
She blows into the whistle with the second and third notes, pulsing two long pulses, three short pulses, and then one last long pulse.
Only a couple seconds more pass before a deep rumbling groan from the massive multi-directional horn sweeps through the air from behind her. It blasts three times in this long, drawn out bellow to signal a return towards the horn itself, which is the regroup point.
She says with a numb sorrow in her soft voice, “Everyone will begin heading to the horn as quickly as possible. Only a handful of officers have these whistles, so they’ll be looking for us.”
“Good. Start walking.” Magnir flicks Serenity to signal Djihnlierr to her feet and towards the horn.
The Uhl’tall Archpriestess places her hands on the ground to try to lift herself, but her legs won’t move. She is too weak from all of the terror the dragon has brought upon her and her allies, believing with enough magical prowess, she could defeat even Hekate, yet even the weakest of the dragons has completely defeated her.
“I… I… can’t stand…” whimpers the Archpriestess. She looks up desperately and sorrowfully. “I… My legs… they won’t… I’m sorry, please… Just…”
Magnir sighs. He glances around them briefly before growling, “Let me remind you clearly; you might be able to kill me, but you will condemn everyone from the Hegemony in the Fievegal currently to death.”
She nods. “I just need a moment. Please, show mercy…”
The dragon gives an exasperated roll of his shoulders, and he walks closer. He crouches close to her and says, “Put your arms over my neck.” With his free left hand, he scoops up her legs, and she realizes what’s happening. She obediently holds onto his shoulders and neck, and he supports her back with his right forearm as he keeps Serenity pointed forward of himself. He stands up cradling the Archpriestess, and he asks, “You, dattakorien; can you walk?”
“I-I-I… I think so…” whimpers Mourva. She has significantly more luck rising to her feet, though she’s still fearful and trembling. She is weak in the knees, but able to at least stand and walk.
“Reclaim and store your wand. I think I know who gave it to you, and she’ll be irritated if it is left to rot in the dirt.”
Mourva is surprised, but she nervously stumbles closer to and crouches down to pick up her dragon bone wand. She stores it in the wand holder of the pouch parallel to her belt at her backside. It keeps it out of the way and secure, while also hiding it from normal view under the somewhat poncho-like swallowtail mantle that she wears, looking like a pair of wings with her tribe’s and familial patterns on each of the two ‘wings’.
Djihnlierr is embarrassed to be cradled almost affectionately by the enemy that crippled her final desperate attack, but she asks, “M-Messenger… About… the wounded…”
“Magic will not work on them for a time. But, those who are the least injured are welcome to bandage and preserve the lives of their allies, so long as they understand that the battle is over.” Magnir looks around. Several of the sorcerers are trying to sit up, while others are clutching injuries. Not everyone survived, but those who have and are conscious quietly acknowledge his words.
He then faces Mourva again, saying, “Walk.”
“I-I will be enough to convince everyone else…” remarks Djihnlierr. “If you’ll permit it…”
“She is my leverage against
,” retorts the dragon. “For your sake, she will cooperate, and for her sake, you will cooperate. Your pleas for mercy have been granted mercy. There will be no additional chances.”
She looks down, knowing he’s right and understanding why he is doing it this way. He only needs to kill one of them to hurt the other, meaning they both are inclined to cooperate if they don’t want to doom the other. Sacrifices are much easier to make when it’s oneself, but when needing to weigh the life of someone for whom one has already plead for mercy, that decision is much more difficult.
The Uhl’tall Archpriestess nods at Mourva who bows her head respectfully and starts walking with her back to Magnir and Djihnlierr. It’s far too late to try any last-ditch efforts with everyone wounded, their magic sealed, and Magnir armed and strong enough to defeat them at present. He’s also alert enough to ensure surprise attacks are limited in effectiveness, and with Djihnlierr in his arms, anyone hoping to ambush him will likely be far more hesitant to do so.
It’s a bitter feeling to lose, but there is a certain relief in being able to survive and experience mercy. The fact that he could have beaten her to her feet, dragged her, or otherwise chosen a more brutal method of dealing with her is not lost on her.
She only prays that her fate will at least be one where she has a chance to redeem herself of her massive failures.
***
The blue dragon is about to do something similar, but hopefully, with far more devastating results.
He withdraws a device from his void bag that has a hand crank attached to a chain which extends into the void bag, similar to the continuous fire machine guns that have been developed. The continuous feed void bags like this one are still experimental, and in some cases, the gun will lose its ammunition supply when the void bag fails. Thankfully, between Ahok, Wenlianna, Doephluev, and Reignleif brainstorming with Xyreko, that is generally the worst to be expected.
Magnir calls out to no one in particular, since he has neither a radio nor a need to connect to anyone via telepathy at this moment, “Behold the might of the Jomsviking, the pinnacle of the Einherjars and masters of the skies!” His voice darkens as he feels his heart race. “Mukori is standing by to choose who among the slain shall be taken forth to the afterlife. I am here to slay you.”
He starts cranking the handle, and the chain feeds through breaking apart just like the machine gun belts in order to minimize the clutter and weight of a large continuous chain after the projectiles have been successfully fed into the weapon. The device Magnir is using was tailored to the dragons
, but this will be the first official test. Regardless, the thing that is attached to the chain and which emerges from the void bag to reach the device that looks like a strange musical instrument or hand-powered tool.
The object is the first of many attached to the continuing chain, and it possesses a bulbous, loosely-arrow shaped design, though it’s more like a metal egg with metal fletching or fins.
And, one after the other, these metallic eggs follow the first in close succession from the device as the first one reaches the crank device. Immediately, the weight of the objects combined has increased to over 70 pounds, but this is insignificant to even a lesser dragon child, let alone Magnir.
The first drops, followed by the second and third in a quick string, with Magnir drifting forward in the air at a moderate clip, picking up speed as he grows more comfortable cranking the device faster, now that he has the weight already balanced in his hands. All he has to do is keep the crank steady, and his profile low while remaining high in the sky.
Gravity will do the rest, at least as far as his attack goes.
It’s the first true otherworldly attack that Daniel has entrusted Magnir with; weapons designed for him, even if it could be used from a shuttle as well.
After all, the things falling from the sky are far more than simple metal eggs.
A steady stream of thundering beats coming from explosions reaches upwards as a string of fiery blooms ignites on the ground.
Magnir starts chuckling, and he banks and swerves through the air, speeding up to scatter the bombs as he cranks them out in a continuous line.
“Yes! Flee! Flee, you foolish weaklings! I am but a mere servant of the Harbinger of Calamity! Hearken to the call of the Messenger of Calamity! Hahahaha!”
He’s getting into it because Daniel got him pumped up with reviving him (again) and then informing him that he could help Roeta defeat an army of demon-kin and earn a stronger reputation for even the less-powerful dragons.
Magnir needs virtually no mana of his own to operate this weapon, which has been tentatively called the ‘Chain Bomber’. Following Magnir’s flight pattern in the sky, the explosions continue on the ground, just a solid handful of seconds behind. And, mixed in with the explosions are a small amount of polonium, which has a very short half-life, meaning it won’t last long. Since much of the landscape is being destroyed just to try to drive back the demons, Daniel opted to step up the destruction, but to avoid dragon fire if possible, since it could spread. The bombs run the risk as well, but to a much lesser degree, since they use high explosives centered around throwing the shrapnel more than damaging with the blast and throwing flames. The lead shell of the bombs protects the void bag from the effects of the polonium, which could possibly be overcome by the mana of the mages present.
But, with the sheer number of bombs Magnir is dropping, it’s only a matter of time before the Hegemony is forced to give up completely. Their desperation is understandable. It’s unknowable when the next time the Citadel will have a mana depletion severe enough to cripple its defense.
But, like most who end up against him, they have completely underestimated the industrious and paranoid Harbinger of Calamity.
And, with the support of his Empresses, Brother-by-name (and in law, once he’s married to Geirahoel formally), Magnir and Roeta, and the Stalvaltan family, he has various teams working on many different ideas. Time is Daniel’s greatest adversary, since most of the tanks and other heavy weapons are deployed to the Stalvaltan territory to hold it, as well as a few that were deployed to the Fort Twilight lake to keep the area secured.
Suddenly, a feeling quakes over Magnir as he’s bombing the demons continuously, criss-crossing his chains of explosions to maximize the chaos, demoralizing destruction, and the likelihood of negating the mana of any mages in particular. The blue dragon in his humanoid form looks over his shoulder towards the Citadel. It’s not a terrible feeling, but it is one he knows well enough. Normally, it’s a continuous static feeling to the air while
the perimeter. But, a somewhat fountain-like crest to a faint dome shape has appeared above the Citadel. The barrier is only normally visible when touching it, though it’s easily detectable for anyone with mana.
This isn’t quite the same barrier as normal, but the Citadel is doing something.
Whatever that means, hopefully, the mana is recovered enough to deter the Hegemony finally. Hekate is giving as much of her mana as she can as quickly as she can, but she is still a mortal being.
“Ah, it looks like I can take my time now and simply focus on your destruction, rather than defending. Lucky you.”
Magnir takes a breath and lets out a roar as powerfully as he can. His human form is limited, but he is still able to fill the air with a sonic wave that reaches far. He’s mainly letting everyone present know that a dragon is above them, whether they can see him or not. Given the destruction, which negates magic, it’s unlikely that they’ll be able to fully determine what ‘spell’ is being used.
The blue dragon scans around the battlefield. There is the glow of healing magic, some defensive spells, especially where mages have gathered to try to compound their protection.
Magnir grins, revealing his sharp dragon teeth. Like Hekate, the weaker dragons mostly preserve their sharp, carnivorous teeth even in their human form, but they minimize the impact of this by not showing their teeth often through smiles or grimaces. Still, he has good reason to smile. “There you are.”
As would be expected in any deteriorating combat situation, the highest ranking person would be most likely to be surrounded by defenders in order to protect them. Daniel abides by this when allies are present, with the exception being when he’s intentionally trying to draw out his enemies.
But, a mana-less human from another world has faced off against every beast imaginable with nothing more than the creations of science and sheer force of will, rather than the god-like power of magic.
Magnir stows the chain bomber, and he withdraws a pair of revolvers from his standard void bag on his other hip along with a very special lead container.
Like the creator of the weapons, Magnir doesn’t need mana to fight. He flips open the lead canister, revealing a pack of twelve revolver rounds with an intentionally painted pink and yellow projectile tip.
The paint, of course, is not meant for the bullet or its target. It is a reminder to its wielder. He can feel his own mana disappear in direct exposure to it, and though Daniel has expressed some concern about the longer term effects, he has weight that against the effectiveness of being able to shut down mages on the spot. And, because mana has an inverse relationship with radiation, as far as they can tell, those with mana should be most safe.
Of course, the conversation about who is the least safe has not been shared with many beyond Magnir and probably Neith.
In his heart, the blue dragon knows what he needs to do about that, but he also understands
the human would want to keep it quiet. The reaction of the Empresses would likely be overly cautious, if not appropriately restrictive of Daniel’s recklessness.
Magnir loads both revolvers, storing the lead container and flexing his shoulders.
He has twelve shots and one real target by the looks of it.
“Grant me your words that I might deliver them upon thine enemies, oh wise and mysterious Harbinger.”
The dragon flies into a dive towards the cloistered group of Demon Hegemony officers gathered around someone of high rank. Teleportation is an uncommon ability because it requires a lot of mana, typically, and either recklessness or a deeply-ingrained understanding of moving oneself and others to another location. Return is significantly safer and easier, but requires an anchor location to return to, such as the Citadel.
The leader of the Hegemony forces appears to be an Uhl’tall, which is a little surprising, since most of them defected to the Fievegal along with Vaergraes, Illianna, and Thymeria. But, Thymeria, of course, proved that not all Uhl’tall are on the side of Vaergraes, or peace for that matter.
The blue Jomsviking takes a deep breath as he closes in on his target. It seems like the Uhl’tall is casting something, but it’s not teleportation or return.
Magnir rolls over in a flip as he plummets, preparing to land on his feet at the maximum speed he can sustain without injury, which is significantly faster than a human could withstand.
He bears his sharp, intimidating teeth with a bright grin. His heart is racing in both fear, anticipation, and exhilaration. He might die once again in the service of the Fievegal, and he’ll definitely be scolded and likely put on restriction to avoid any more dangerous behavior. But, ever since his beloved Mukori Roetta laid their first egg, Magnir has felt a furious pride that has made him want more and more to earn stories and legends and other things to make his child-to-be proud to be his. He doesn’t have to be as strong as Neith or the Empresses, but he wants his name to be found on some of the same pages as those powerful beings for deeds worthy of the name ‘Jomsviking’.
Most Uhl’tall could defeat a lesser dragon, or ‘greater wyvern’ in battle.
But today, Magnir intends to prove he truly is a dragon of the Fievegal.
***
The complex magic circles continue to assemble as Djihnlierr keeps guiding her mana and chanting the various spells she needs to stack to unleash her ultimate magic.
Many of the Uhl’tall have followed Vaergraes to the Fievegal out of fear of the rumored Harbinger of Calamity, in spite of the storied legacy of the Covenant, which became the Hegemony when Zolorad took over. It’s widely becoming common knowledge that the ‘Harbinger of Calamity’ is actually a powerless human who serves the true master of the Fievegal and the Citadel, Hekate, who does possess enough mana to be a threat to even multiple Uhl’tall sorcerers working together.
“Archpriestess! We must flee! We are losing too many!”
“No!” cries out her tertiary mind doppleganger. Two ghostly images of herself attached to her at her sides are helping her cast magic and split her focus, but it is extremely taxing doing so. She is draining every ounce of her mana for this chance to break through the defenses of the Citadel and strike at its heart in order to free Vaergraes. “I am close! Just keep the attacks off of me a little longer!”
The Hegemon sent her at the head of this intended siege force in order to attack the Citadel. How he knew that the Citadel would be vulnerable is a mystery, but the attack has been catastrophic. Before they could even establish a forward operating base, the sky opened up and dropped hell itself down upon the Hegemony forces, and even though someone managed to launch a frenzied attack on the defensive wall, but it was swiftly extinguished by the dragons.
Djihnlierr accepted command of the siege force because she wanted to use it to try to reach and help her friend, who surrendered herself to the Fievegal as a sacrifice, believing it was the only route to protect the Uhl’tall from the immensely powerful fiend that captured the Citadel using her decoy human as a distraction. Vaergraes was always a noble-hearted woman and the greatest leader the demon-kin have seen in Djihnlierr’s lifetime.
Just as her two primary voices, her real body and the first doppleganger, are reaching the crescendo of the spell that will crack open the Citadel like an egg, a crackling sound comes from above before several of the barrier sorcerers cry out. The barrier shatters with a thunder-like boom, and something slams into the ground slightly to the left of directly in front of the Uhl’tall archpriestess, sending out a rolling cloud of dust as soil and grass blast across Djihnlierr and her fellow officers trying to hold out long enough to finish the spell with a long casting time.
She screams over the sound to finish the enchantment, but horror grips her heart as the glow from the complex magic circles that she has been painstakingly assembling for the last twenty minutes suddenly vanishes, along with the intricate spiritual symbols that formed slowly rotating rings and circles around and beneath her.
As an Uhl’tall Archpriestess, Djihnlierr is trained to use powerful magic in battle. Vaergraes was strong enough to keep Morthybargaron the Red Lord in check, though it’s rare for an Archpriestess to need to demonstrate the depth of their power. Djihnlierr is a bit younger than her predecessor, and only ever truly admired her from afar. But, she knows she could at least wound the Red Lord, and likely be able to slay any of the other dragons.
As such, she knows she should be able to at least fight, but as a voice crawls out of the cloud of dust and debris like the slithering grasp of the stench of death, she can’t help but freeze in terror.
“Hearken to the words of the mighty Harbinger… No, the Silencer of Magic.” A being rises to his full standing height amidst the rolling cloud, which seems to part away from him like the emergence of a god of the underworld. Her mind recognizes him for what he is, armored, but bearing the distinctive horns and tail of a dragon in humanoid form. What’s more, she can sense no magic. She can’t even feel her own magic with the terror that has gripped her soul.
The winged warrior lets out a deep, truly sinister laugh. It is more of a malicious cackle than a joyful guffaw, starting deep in his throat and employing the powerful lungs of a dragon to project an almost threatening purr of warbling, rumbling pulses that rattle and shake the souls of all who hear it. It rises into a full, gleeful cacophony as he lets his murderous glee blend into the devilish tone. His devious chortle is only a precursor to the dark and warning words that follow.
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It is a voice of cold finality that the blue Einherjar employs as he declares, “Behold, ‘Serenity’ and ‘Tranquility’, the requiem to your folly and the crescendo of your demise.” As he says each name, the human-disguised dragon brandishes each of the recognizable weapons of the Harbinger of Calamity, right and then left respectively, with a single gunspinning flip for each before aiming it at the Uhl’tall mage being protected by the various other barrier sorcerers.
The dragon continues with his commanding tone that oozes with masculine confidence, “I am Sir Magnir of the Fievegal, Second Jomsviking to our Glorious Empresses, and the Messenger of Calamity. Surrender now or face your final Serenity and Tranquility.”
Djihnlierr is speechless. Several Uhl’tall, Oni, Dattakorien, and Cambion mages are gathered around her, having bolstered defenses to the maximum just to buy her time against the Fievegal’s unreasonably powerful weapons. Barriers are the only way to defend against the attacks, even if the explosions hit relatively far away. Wounds have piled up on the battlefield, and a sizable portion of the demons have been eradicated. Some have already fled, fearing the Hegemon less than the wrath of the Fievegal, which they have had demonstrated first hand for the entirety of this exhausting night.
Even when Djihnlierr tried to retreat their forces, the iron carriages pursued, not granting them time to regroup and rest. It’s why she abandoned the overall strategy in favor of simply trying to wipe out the command center of the Citadel, which should be just inside the flyway, where a massive flying vessel is parked and idle.
Her heart skips a beat when Magnir turns his right revolver, ‘Serenity’, towards her. He shouldn’t be right in front of her, meaning the demon wands of the Fievegal should be harmless to her behind the barriers of her allies.
Someone calls out, “Defend the arch-!” in a moment of restored battle senses before Magnir effortlessly aims Tranquility at the man and fires.
Screams and cries of pain come from all around; screams that Djihnlierr has been hearing all night. It startles her, and she feels truly helpless for the first time in her life.
The dragon managed to wound or kill whoever tried to come to her rescue from her defender group without even looking, and his gaze is boring into her.
“The first lesson one should learn before any battle, particularly when on the attack, is to carefully choose your enemies. I am merely the Messenger, and you have threatened the home and family of the Harbinger himself. If you cannot handle me, then the only logical conclusion is that you are an utter fool.”
One of the dattakorien mages, Mourva, dashes in front of Djihnlierr and holds her arms out. “Please, hold your attacks! If you are a Messenger, then we have not yet received your message! And, we have not attacked you yet!”
The dragon cocks his head a little, but he retorts with a taunting dryness to his voice. “Here in the Fievegal, you don’t shoot the Messenger. The Messenger shoots you.”
Everyone is horrified and silent, and Magnir adjusts his aim on Mourva, who noticeably winces and closes her eyes.
“Please stop! I-... I surrender…” The words leave Djihnlierr’s mouth before she can really think, but her heart drives her to say them. If she had no other reason, then to spare Mourva is enough.
“Your holiness!?” exclaim a few of her compatriots, but she puts her hand on Mourva’s shoulder to try to calm herself as much as the young feline woman who tried to protect her for even a moment.
“Stand down. He’s right.” She steps around Mourva to face Magnir herself, though she is trembling with every step in spite of the air of confidence she is doing her best to project to her allies. She is resigned partially to her fate, so she is able to look at everything more objectively.
She’s not scared out of her magic, her magic is being suppressed. And, Magnir is the cause of it. This is consistent with the rumors that the Fievegal’s weapons can sometimes penetrate magic barriers, even ones crafted by barrier masters. It’s also consistent with the fact that Thymeria’s mana presence has disappeared completely, which usually takes a bit longer when someone like her dies.
That means Magnir is likely no more than a lesser dragon, since he wouldn’t need his mana nearly as much as a greater dragon, who become so accustomed to their magical prowess, that they eventually become subconscious about the use of passive spells to reduce their weight, fly faster, amplify their fire, and many other uses. Magnir is sacrificial in the sense that his mana is to him what a dagger is to anyone else; a tool that can save his life, but far from enough to win a battle alone.
But, sometimes, a mere dagger can win a war.
Djihnlierr remarks, “Please… Messenger of Calamity, allow me and my forces to retreat. The message has been heard loud and clear. Even when vulnerable, the Fievegal is beyond our reach.”
Magnir starts to reply, “Very convincing. But…”
Just as the dragon is about to start his full reply, she notices his shoulder shift a little. It’s a small movement, and not a full disarming of his stance so much as an ever-so-slight relaxation. It will probably be the only opening she will get, and she whirls as fast as she can move, slapping the demon wand Serenity off of its aim of her and Mourva before she spins all the way around, using the velocity of her spin to add to her left hand, which is tucked in close to her hip, gripping her last resort.
Magnir stumbles from her smacking his wrist, which should have struck her as odd. She intended for his weapon to miss if he tried to fire it, but the force she used shouldn’t have been enough to stumble a warrior in the midst of his enemies.
The Uhl’tall Archpriestess realizes her folly while she’s trying to spear her hand its the dagger she snuck into it upwards inside of his right arm, which has Tranquility.
The dragon isn’t stumbling.
He’s spinning.
Djihnlierr sees it only at the last second, swooping in from her peripherals as her focus desperately narrows on his neck.
An appendage about as wide as a large man’s thigh for much of its length sweeps in sharply towards her head.
The leathery metallic blue scales of a dragon’s tail slam into Djihnlierr’s face before her dagger can catch up to his neck, and she blacks out briefly. Only after her vision clears with Mourva trying to drag her back by the shoulders as gunshots sound out does the Archpriestess fully realize what happened. She was momentarily dazed by the impact, and her allies tried to spring an attack at their own detriment.
The sky and Mourva’s face are still blurry and spinning, but the desperation returns to Djihnlierr.
The words don’t come out at first, but she finally manages to croak out, “No… No! Please… stop!”
A body tumbles across the ground haplessly, thrown off of Magnir as he fires the weapons repeatedly, one after the other in turns. Sorcerers topple, flop back, flinch, and otherwise spray blood from wounds that are quickly dropping their numbers from the fifteen that were defending Djihnlierr to only a couple.
One of the cambions tries to latch onto Magnir’s left hand and Tranquility to either steal the weapon or at least prevent him from using it, since cambions are rather strong without their magic, like the dragon obviously is.
Regardless, Magnir keeps his grip on his weapons, and he whips his arm in, yanking the cambion close and headbutting the sorcerer in the top of the head, breaking the upwards-pointed horns of the cambion with the impact and dropping him into a flopping movement on the ground, unconscious or dead in an instant.
Magnir whirls and fires at two more of the sorcerers, one shot hitting a thigh, and the other hitting low in the middle of the abdomen. Both sorcerers cry out in pain and topple before the dragon, leaving him standing alone amidst a pile of bodies. He inhales deeply, breathing out a long, slow flame that extends only a foot or so from his helmet.
The dragon turns towards Mourva, and the dattakorien sets Djihnlierr down quickly to draw her own magic wand. It’s made from the finger bone of a dragon who let the dattakorien keep it after she managed to slice it off during a battle.
Magnir gives a devious chuckle again, rolling his shoulders fearlessly as he steps towards the feline woman. She begins chanting, and only a faint glow starts to build around the dragonbone wand.
“Wait… Mourva… No,... Stop… This is… my fault… Please…”
Tears start to trickle down Djihnlierr’s face, and she reaches in futility at her dattakorien friend, who is willing to sacrifice everything alongside the others just to protect the foolish Uhl’tall Archpriestess who failed to heed their advice when she could have saved them by simply retreating.
“No!” whimpers the Uhl’tall woman desperately.
Magnir walks close enough that the end of his revolver is within inches of Mourva’s wand, which is trembling as she tries in futility to generate even a scrap of an enchantment to fend off the dragon. Only Djihnlierr is in a position to notice the miniscule glow that Mourva did manage to generate dim in direct proportion of Tranquility’s proximity to the wand.
“I shall grant you one last mercy,” growls the dragon. Tranquility is as steady as its name in his hand, while the dragonbone wand of Mourva shakes like a leaf in the wind, tears falling from the dattakorien’s eyes. “Speak your final words, whatever they may be, and I shall deliver them as the Messenger. I will personally ensure these words transcend your Final Rest, and I shall personally endorse your entry into Valhalla.”
These words are grandiose, and ‘Valhalla’, specifically, has no meaning to the demon-kin or beast-kin, so far as Djihnlierr knows. But, it is a very final speech, and Mourva is too terrified to even speak.
“Wait!” screams the Uhl’tall Archpriestess she gains a desperate surge of vitality through pain. Her voice is nearly broken, and her body burns as she tries to desperately scramble up from her position on her backside to turn over on her hands and knees. She places her forehead on the ground as she uses every last shred of her vocal cords to plead, “Spare us, Messenger Magnir! Please, spare us! If you must claim vengeance for my foolish attack, please, take me and only me. These men and women have only tried to defend me, who is unworthy. Please…”
Metal-armored boots creak and thud against the grass as the footsteps approach her. She can hear the bone wand of Mourva thump softly to the ground, followed by knees hitting the dirt as well. She didn’t hear Tranquility fire, nor a strike, suggesting that Mourva has surrendered as well. But, Djihnlierr dares not look up. She is afraid for her people, and she understands why Vaergraes surrendered.
Magnir’s voice growls, “Raise your head and look at me.”
Djihnlierr flinches, but she does as she is bid. She lifts her gaze slowly and cautiously, feeling her stomach drop and her heart clench when her eyes meet the maw of Serenity aimed directly at her. She must force her eyes to shift the small amount in order to meet the dragon’s gaze, and in spite of being a lesser dragon, as far as she can tell, he is the most terrifying being Djihnlierr has ever encountered.
Magnir instructs, “How did you intend to signal your troops with instructions if magic was not an option?”
This confuses the Uhl’tall Archpriestess for a moment, but she realizes what he’s asking. He wants her to spread the word immediately for the army to stand down.
She takes a hand around a whistle on a leather string around her neck. The whistle produces a sound only dattakoriens can hear, and depending on the number of blasts and which of the three notes it has determines what message the real signaller gives, who is located much further back.
She replies as she holds the whistle in her palm, too afraid to make sudden movements. “Th-This whistle… I… There is a signal… for retreat…”
“No. I’ll signal our defenses to hold fire for a time, but you must gather your forces. Your officers will be arrested, and the soldiers will be encamped and held until reparations are made. The time for retreat was before I arrived.”
“I… I’m sorry. I just… I wanted… I wanted to save…”
“I may be a messenger, but you have surrendered for real, this time, have you not?”
She twitches, but she clutches the whistle and nods. “Y-... Yes. But, I have no signal for a surrender…”
“I understand that. I mean that you will confess your motives and all other details of this attack to those far wiser than myself. If you do not actually convince your troops to gather and surrender, or you successfully manage to kill me, you, personally, will still be captured, but your treatment will be far,
worse. And, we will ensure to hunt down every survivor to the last and eradicate everyone who set foot on our soil unlawfully during this invasion. I would eagerly
you to challenge the Fievegal on this matter.”
Djihnlierr closes her eyes tightly as she looks down in immense sorrow. Her choices are limited, especially with her magic sealed by Tranquility and possibly Serenity in tandem. It feels almost unfair.
But of course, utilizing unfair means is just one more tool in the scope of war.
After all, the ones most likely to claim unfairness are also likely to be on the losing side. But, there are very many levels to losing, and only time will tell what the scope of losing to the Fievegal truly means.
The Uhl’tall Archpriestess finally nods, and she looks into Magnir’s eyes with tears still trickling down her cheeks. “With your permission, I will signal for our troops to regroup.”
The dragon nods, but he says, “Wait one moment.”
He holsters Tranquility on his hip, meaning Mourva is no longer in immediate danger of instant death, and the dattakorien gasps as if she was holding her breath, falling forward to catch her breath on her hands where she is already resting on her knees. Her expressive ears are flattened in terror, and tears are streaming down her own face, but she can’t even bear to look at Djihnlierr.
She watches as Magnir withdraws some sort of smaller wand with a glass front, and he points it at the Citadel, clicking something on it. A small cone of light flicks on and off in that direction, as if it is nothing more than a device for projecting light. But, she notices a blinking light coming from a tower inside of the outer wall of the massive fortress, backdropped by the titanic castle itself.
Shortly after, the booms and pops of the distant Fievegal attacks come to an end, fading into only the ghostly residual echoes that slowly dissolve into silence in turn.
Magnir then says, “Signal quickly. If the attacks continue, we will mercilessly snuff out all resistance.”
Djihnlierr nods desperately, and she quickly fumbles with the whistle, doing her best to remind herself of her own signals. She was so ready to call for retreat when they had Vaergraes, Illianna, and Thymeria at a minimum, or for victory if the Fievegal was defeated.
Instead, she must call for a regroup in order to order her troops to stand down; whatever’s left of them.
She blows into the whistle with the second and third notes, pulsing two long pulses, three short pulses, and then one last long pulse.
Only a couple seconds more pass before a deep rumbling groan from the massive multi-directional horn sweeps through the air from behind her. It blasts three times in this long, drawn out bellow to signal a return towards the horn itself, which is the regroup point.
She says with a numb sorrow in her soft voice, “Everyone will begin heading to the horn as quickly as possible. Only a handful of officers have these whistles, so they’ll be looking for us.”
“Good. Start walking.” Magnir flicks Serenity to signal Djihnlierr to her feet and towards the horn.
The Uhl’tall Archpriestess places her hands on the ground to try to lift herself, but her legs won’t move. She is too weak from all of the terror the dragon has brought upon her and her allies, believing with enough magical prowess, she could defeat even Hekate, yet even the weakest of the dragons has completely defeated her.
“I… I… can’t stand…” whimpers the Archpriestess. She looks up desperately and sorrowfully. “I… My legs… they won’t… I’m sorry, please… Just…”
Magnir sighs. He glances around them briefly before growling, “Let me remind you clearly; you might be able to kill me, but you will condemn everyone from the Hegemony in the Fievegal currently to death.”
She nods. “I just need a moment. Please, show mercy…”
The dragon gives an exasperated roll of his shoulders, and he walks closer. He crouches close to her and says, “Put your arms over my neck.” With his free left hand, he scoops up her legs, and she realizes what’s happening. She obediently holds onto his shoulders and neck, and he supports her back with his right forearm as he keeps Serenity pointed forward of himself. He stands up cradling the Archpriestess, and he asks, “You, dattakorien; can you walk?”
“I-I-I… I think so…” whimpers Mourva. She has significantly more luck rising to her feet, though she’s still fearful and trembling. She is weak in the knees, but able to at least stand and walk.
“Reclaim and store your wand. I think I know who gave it to you, and she’ll be irritated if it is left to rot in the dirt.”
Mourva is surprised, but she nervously stumbles closer to and crouches down to pick up her dragon bone wand. She stores it in the wand holder of the pouch parallel to her belt at her backside. It keeps it out of the way and secure, while also hiding it from normal view under the somewhat poncho-like swallowtail mantle that she wears, looking like a pair of wings with her tribe’s and familial patterns on each of the two ‘wings’.
Djihnlierr is embarrassed to be cradled almost affectionately by the enemy that crippled her final desperate attack, but she asks, “M-Messenger… About… the wounded…”
“Magic will not work on them for a time. But, those who are the least injured are welcome to bandage and preserve the lives of their allies, so long as they understand that the battle is over.” Magnir looks around. Several of the sorcerers are trying to sit up, while others are clutching injuries. Not everyone survived, but those who have and are conscious quietly acknowledge his words.
He then faces Mourva again, saying, “Walk.”
“I-I will be enough to convince everyone else…” remarks Djihnlierr. “If you’ll permit it…”
“She is my leverage against
,” retorts the dragon. “For your sake, she will cooperate, and for her sake, you will cooperate. Your pleas for mercy have been granted mercy. There will be no additional chances.”
She looks down, knowing he’s right and understanding why he is doing it this way. He only needs to kill one of them to hurt the other, meaning they both are inclined to cooperate if they don’t want to doom the other. Sacrifices are much easier to make when it’s oneself, but when needing to weigh the life of someone for whom one has already plead for mercy, that decision is much more difficult.
The Uhl’tall Archpriestess nods at Mourva who bows her head respectfully and starts walking with her back to Magnir and Djihnlierr. It’s far too late to try any last-ditch efforts with everyone wounded, their magic sealed, and Magnir armed and strong enough to defeat them at present. He’s also alert enough to ensure surprise attacks are limited in effectiveness, and with Djihnlierr in his arms, anyone hoping to ambush him will likely be far more hesitant to do so.
It’s a bitter feeling to lose, but there is a certain relief in being able to survive and experience mercy. The fact that he could have beaten her to her feet, dragged her, or otherwise chosen a more brutal method of dealing with her is not lost on her.
She only prays that her fate will at least be one where she has a chance to redeem herself of her massive failures.
***