Icarus Awakens

Beautiful women appearing out of midair was a fantasy weaker minds commonly fell prey to. Ornithar had possessed one, once. Then he’d grown up, made a family, lost… started a business, and was getting around to accepting that he was in the twilight years of his life. So, when a young Bard whose beauty could be expressed in objective terms practically fell onto the ground with no warning, the strongest emotion he felt was annoyance that she hadn’t used the door.

“Please don’t teleport into my store. Some of these are fragile.” Frustratingly, the Bard was more preoccupied with something else. Telepathy, he guessed, by the way her lips were moving. Didn’t she know it was rude to ignore someone talking to you? “I’m closing in a few hours and this storm’s likely to last longer than that. Shouldn’t you be running home, young lady?” Something flickered in his head, a feature clicking over. Ah. A repeat customer. Or, no, but she was with, ah. Recall Customer. Incredibly useful, and at his level it extended to the circumstances surrounding each sale.

Evalyn blinked a few times, becoming more present as the telepathy was severed. “Here? Why here?”

Ornithar frowned. “Is everything alright? There isn’t a monster about, is there?” Foreigner, another mental ping alerted. “There are these bats that can hide in these storms. Terrible nuisances most of the time, unless a big one has spawned.” She’s a monster hunter! “Has one?”

“No sandbats. Worse.” Her hands began moving over her instrument, the music making some of the pain in Ornithar’s joints go away. “Can you fight?”

“Me?” Taken aback, Ornithar gestured to his shelves. “I am a Craftsman. If there is something dangerous out there the only thing I should be doing is locking my door.” He quickly appraised the situation, noting that while he was probably at a higher level than the Bard, she was far more experienced in combat. That in itself could easily bridge the gap in levels, not that he was looking for a fight.

The bell above the front door rang. “Ah, one moment. We may be closing early today.” He was too preoccupied, running through the list of products in his head that he should secure before taking shelter. Evalyn backed up slowly, and the figure blocking the light of one of the torches brought him out of it. “What are you- oh, gods!” His hands shook slightly just seeing the chest wound. “We, we’re not too far from the Divine Quarter. Or, if you could heal, what are you doing?”

The Bard was blocking the half door separating the back of the counter from the rest of the store. From behind, he watched as her instrument melded into her, music cutting off. Evalyn winced as the higher draw on her mana drained a reserve that hadn’t been replenished this morning. “I can’t read his emotions,” Evalyn said. There was a very faint undertone to her voice, almost unto an incantation though more reminiscent of the music she’d just been playing. “I think he’s missing his heart.”

Ornithar stepped back. The blank look on the other dusker’s face, the stiffness with which they walked. He thought it had just been shock and blood loss. “What happened? How is he moving? Did a monster do this?”

“I don’t know. There’s at least one high level individual sieging Aughal.” She was talking fast, though the intruder just slowly stumbled forward. It’d take him half a minute to make it to the counter at the rate he was going. “I think he’s dead. Is something controlling his body?”

“How do we stop that if it’s already dead?!” Ornithar asked breathlessly. This wasn’t good. Bards were notoriously indirect hunters. No other class excelled at supporting large groups like they did. They were a force multiplier but, as an unfortunate math fact, zero multiplied into zero no matter how large the other number was. “Where’s the rest of your team?”

“Scattered over the city, I think. The storm’s blocking our Telepathy.”

“How?”

Evalyn shrugged. “Slow it down if you can. I’m charging something.”

The intruder’s pace was increasing, now at a normal walking pace, navigating the rows of displays. “You’re not going to fight it?”

“I’m not going to get close to something I don’t understand. Slow it down!”

The shopkeeper groaned as he resigned himself to it and realized what he had to do. “Oh, but I must. Nothing too expensive, please.” Evalyn shot him a glance, but Ornithar was watching his shelves with trepidation. “Animate Inventory. Attack! Wait, no!” Ornithar cried out as one of his finer creations sailed through the air and collided hard with the intruder’s head, knocking him back. The wooden mock-bird was sturdier than the sum of its parts, but not strong enough to be used as a projectile and remain flawless. Still it sailed, coming around for another pass.

The heartless avianoid recovered and tried to swat the toy down the second time. It failed then, but had more success in blocking a copy of Khare’s turtle, though that came with the crack of chitin. Both Ornithar and Evalyn grew concerned by the lack of reaction to the pain, as well as the dusker growing more coordinated over time. The store wasn’t that large, and Evalyn didn’t want to abandon the shopkeeper.

Time was bought as a storm of a dozen toys harried the intruder. All the while Evalyn stayed mostly still, moving from leg to leg to a beat only she could hear. Ornithar was about to plead with her to do something when she raised a hand. A bolt of pure magic shot towards the intruder, almost in arm’s reach, who burst where it impacted. Unfortunately for Ornithar that was an appropriate word choice. A pair of smoking legs was left on the ground while the shelves, still with hovering toys between them, had a new red coat of paint. The shopkeeper choked slightly.

“We need to get to the Spires,” Evalyn said quickly, holstering the instrument on her back as it reappeared.

“Are you insane!? What if he could have been saved?”

“I doubt it.” She walked to the door, not even arguing with him. “I’m meeting my team there. It’s probably the safest place for civilians. Like you. You can come with me or stay here.”

“What if there are more of them out there?”

Evalyn paused, opening the door a crack and wincing as the wind blew sand into her face. “There probably are. What happens after they break down your door?”

“But the watch…” Ornithar didn’t need to finish that protest. The watch of today? At best, they were forming a defensive line around the Spires. There simply weren’t enough of them to defend the entire city if something got past the walls. Hunters were supposed to fill in at that point and, well, here one was. “Ooh, damn it all. Maybe they’ll leave the store alone if there’s no one in here.”

Evalyn tapped her foot impatiently as the man shoveled various items and coin into a bag of holding. Ornithar wasn’t foolish enough to try and save everything and he was out the door in a minute. He pulled on a long coat to protect himself from the whirling sand, while the Bard just had to deal with the improvised cowl of cloth she wrapped around her head. Ornithar could barely see a foot away from him, and he grimaced as he locked the door. “I’ve never seen a storm this bad.”

“There’s magic in it. There has to be.”

“How are we supposed to get to the Spires in this?” There was no sky. Looking up only invited the sand towards his eyes.

Evalyn had to half-shout to be heard. “We find one of the main roads! If we don’t turn, do you think you can tell which way goes to the city’s center?”

Oh. Damn, which direction does my storefront face? Ornithar thought for a moment and then nodded.

“Good! Stay close. Do you have anything that could help us outside of your store?” Ornithar shook his head. “Well, if more find us, we’ll just have to run.” She looked to where the sand blotted out the wall and continued along where it should be. “I need to find my team. Come on.”

Ornithar followed, struggling to keep up with the younger woman as his bones hurt and the wind constantly threatened to topple him. He kept going though. Even when the screaming started.

…

Yellow sword was bleeding. The initial squad that had been sent to secure the area was gone. Most were dead but two, something had happened to them. The first man had taken the equivalent of a ballista bolt to the face, dead instantly. The others had received rupturing wounds to the chest from the being who’d emerged from the basement. He, and the hunters who were now clearly not thieves, quickly realized they were outmatched. Only the dusker’s arrows had enough punch to phase the robed one, not that the guard was eager to get close after seeing what had happened to the vanguard.

Most on the street had died. He’d been deployed with a team of ten to respond to possible rampant hunters, catching up with them when they stopped to drill into the vault of the city’s only Artificer. It was a bad assignment. He was the only one with levels and in two classes. Martialist and Cleric. Not a common choice, but then again he felt he’d only hit level 3 at most. Why not try for some variety and give himself a unique spread of powers? That alone could lead to a command position down the line.

It had worked so far. He’d be granted a few pieces of enchanted gear himself, and his squad’s kit included a brace of enchanted bolts that his unleved companions could still use to even the odds. Enough to make a rampaging Berserker pause and consider their actions, or hold on long enough for a lieutenant or the Commander herself to respond to truly dire situations. Only, she hadn’t come, and he had three men left including himself. The dusker’s bow had become useless when the storm fully blew in and they were retreating across the rooftops now. It was following them.

An event like this was unprecedented, at least over the watch sergeant’s tenure. There had been that bad business with a botched ‘practice’ assassination a few years back that had been very political. The younger sergeant of then, and he was only in his early 30’s now, had kept well clear of that mess. No luck this time. At least there was protocol.

Civic emergency, city-wide. High-level combatants. Indeterminate hunter response. The sergeant ticked off the various factors in his head and added another with a pang of remorse. Capable of overtaking/assimilating members of the guard, although the damage to the armor and chest makes infiltration unlikely. He didn’t let it get to him, he was the ranking man here and in the running for strongest Blessed now that the Arcanist was gone. “We need to head for a watchhouse!”

“Sarge, it ripped through our squad in seconds and you want to take it to HQ?” one of his men asked incredulously. None of them were out of breath from their run, this squad trained well and the hunters could naturally keep up.

“It needs to be taken down. Better it rampages there than an apartment block. Distracting it is enough for now.” He put a hand to the arrow wound on his arm and nodded when it came back clean. “Crest, I’d take it to the Hunter’s Guild if it wasn’t on the other side of the city.”

“I’d take it to the Crest itself if it meant we both died,” one of the others muttered darkly. They were feeling the losses too. But his men were dedicated. The entire squad hadn’t lost anyone to the horrible attrition rate of the last months, only to make up for it in a few minutes. There would be time to mourn later.

“That’s a Geomancer!” The dusker with the bow shouted. “Lograve said it summoned a golem.”

“Didn’t look like an earth golem,” the sergeant observed. “And I haven’t felt a mana pulse besides what your team did. No way anyone with a class can do this below level 4.”

“What about a Tyrant, sir?”

The sergeant digested that. “If it’s a Tyrant-”

“Ledge!” His second, Vascott, gave the warning too late. The line of buildings they were running across had hit a main road. The storm had grown so thick that they’d be choking but for the dust masks. One of the others, assuming the half wall was another separating the roofs of individual homes, had started to leap over it. The sergeant surged forward, trying to catch the man before he fell off the roof and out of sight, but he was in the back of the formation. He’d be too slow.

The dusker launched an arm and snagged his man by the ankle. She started to drag him up, but the sergeant made a snap decision. “Stop! Let him down. Everyone else, we’re getting down here.” He didn’t want this to happen again. This storm could drown out the cry of a man falling. “Your arms should be able to reach far enough to let us fall without issue. Can you do that?”

“Um, I, yes!” She nodded, and the sergeant updated his impression of her. The dusker had experience, especially with that bow, yet still seemed green when it came to high stress situations. The gestalt he had no idea about, but was glad it hadn’t caused trouble.

He turned around as the glorified ladder continued her work, watching the distance. There wasn’t much he could make out, not even the giant monoliths that normally dominated the skyline, but if he squinted and knew what to look for, he could make out a darker shape moving in the clouds of sand. Normally he could put auras around creatures to track them, but this one was resistant to it. He swore as he barely caught a glimpse of what had been following them. “It’s turning off, the bastard!”

Vascott, one huge hand encasing his arm, groaned at the prospect of being lifted back up. “Do we give chase?”

“And have Martin fall off another roof? Alright, our primary objective’s changed. We’re on SAR.” The dusker held out a hand and he shook his head, jumping off the roof and landing neatly on the flattened road. He’d beaten the gestalt who was still climbing down the side of the building, though the dusker was just as quick as he was in getting down. “We’re going to sand clump this. Go door to door, rapid evac to the Spires. Any guardsmen we find on the way we take in under my authority. Save who we can. Dusker, you two with us?”

“I’m Khiat. I-I’m sorry, but we need to go to the Spires right away.” She sounded apologetic.

“Watch Sergeant Doran, High Urgency Response Team. Don’t worry. A roving monster we take to the closest batch of idiots with swords and put the HURT on them. Civilians? Well, the Spireborn will need to double bunk tonight.” Vascott laughed despite himself, and he smiled at her. “Are you with me?”

…

A storm had come to Aughal. Yet for how sudden it seemed, the roots had been laid by Assassins long ago. Jeras Stillfeather knew that now, just like he knew Aughal was past saving. There were hardly any left of those who’d followed Sherman. Jeras saw how deep the preparations ran and thought only of Kelra. She was out there somewhere, in danger.

Now that his overseer’s plans were coming to fruition, there was also little need to worry about a warning getting out. They were loose ends, though the woman in robes trusted in fear to keep them in line rather than be rid of them now. He wasn’t any less damned either way. His one chance was to break away, find Kelra, and make a run for the border. Threst would take them. They may throw him in a cell, but if he told them everything, he should escape execution. And when Kelra learns what happened? Gods, she has to know I had no choice. That I didn’t want to. His thoughts trailed off as the shapes moved in front of him. Jeras couldn’t think of them as people anymore.

She’d done it to them just like Sherman, and every other ‘deserter’ that refused to serve or died in the process. Claws through the chest, into the heart. Dusker abodes were well insulated since they slept when most of the city was awake. A silent killer could do much before being noticed, especially if they could move through the sand itself. If there were only one of these horrors, they might not have done so much.

Three had reaped blocks of duskers over the course of a day. Not the entire population, not by half, and yet they had created hundreds of ambling servants while sparing no one. A ready made army the likes of which Jeras had never seen. None with levels, if the process left enough of a person to keep their powers, but with the raw strength and durability of their kind. Perhaps more than that, considering they remained alive without a heart to move blood. Were they weak to the sun anymore?

The order came. Not to him directly, or the other few still living here, but to the… Jeras searched for a word to describe the horror before him and failed. Converted? But converted to what? Madness. They all turned towards the nearest exit and walked, unsteadily at first, but growing more adept in their movements. The Vanguard followed for this was his chance. Play along, keep walking, and hope the gods would still listen to his prayers.

…

Of all the scattered team, Lograve landed in the best and worst place possible. The room itself seemed nondescript, some sort of broom closet, and he reserved further observation until after he’d coordinated with the others. A high-level Geomancer and his friends were sieging the city at the same time a sandstorm was blowing in. Oh, and one of his lungs had been punctured. Things weren’t going well.

Once his Telepathy was countered, he began to worry. And were those voices coming from the other side of the door?

“-precautions! Break out the reserves, we’ll bill the city later. Expect lacerations and aspiration injuries to be most prevalent, but inspect any avianoid patients for broken bones. Winds like this, Hand, I can’t remember a storm this strong. I don’t think we can perform any house calls, not unless we want more patients and fewer healers.” Lograve blinked as he opened the door and saw what would be, at any other time, a competent emergency response. Perhaps one of the only places he wasn’t needed.

Someone saw him stumble out of the closet. “Sharise!”

The head Cleric of the church of the Hand took in the sight of Lograve and felt her careful preparations begin to come apart at the seams like a poorly made splint. “Who are-” Sharise began, before remembering what Thomas had said of his time in the Thormundz. “Lograve?” The Arcanist tried to say something pithy and coughed up more blood. “Get him on a table!”

A voice entered her mind. I’m afraid the city needs more of a hand than I do. Despite saying this, he didn’t fight as a junior Cleric led him to one of the spots set up to accept anyone injured in the sudden sandstorm.

“The patient is capable of telepathy,” Sharise announced, abandoning her spot at the door to come to the bedside. “Please include everyone else immediately caring for you within this power, if you can do so. I will relay what you say if not.”

You shouldn’t be worried about me. We need to see to the other guy. Anyway, I’ve had worse.

The younger Cleric’s eyes darted towards Sharise and she nodded. “With scars like those I can imagine. If there is something more dangerous than the storm out there then the best thing we can do right now is tend to you and go from there. I’m assuming you can control this armor? We’ll need you to remove it so we can inspect the wound.”

“He’s a Blessed, Sharise. Shouldn’t we use Flash Heal on him?”

She shook her head. “It’s a penetrating wound, and that’s just what I can see through the ice. I don’t want to risk leaving something in him, especially if we’re dealing with poison.”

You’re just like your sister.

“I’d hope that’s a compliment.” She stared him down, and Lograve reluctantly exposed the wound in his side. “Are there any other injuries?”

He almost got my throat, but no.

“Hmm. Show me that area as well. You froze your blood?” She frowned at the white skin surrounding the stab wound roughly a decimeter in diameter. Only a Blessed could crack jokes with something like this. “You’ve risked frostbite to the surrounding tissue. For someone as smart as you, you should have realized the risks of icing an internal area that close to your heart.”

The Arcanist grimaced. Well, in the moment, I thought not leaking all of the blood out of my side was more important. Ah! Sharise inspected the wound roughly, ignoring the mental protest.

“There’s particulate matter in the wound. Sand? To be expected. Nothing we’d need to worry about with standard healing, and I’m not detecting poison.” She prodded his neck next. “Frank hemoptysis. The airway is undamaged. Vallra! You’re first on rotation. One cast should be enough.” Another Cleric, avianoid this time, obliged. Within seconds Lograve was groaning and repairing the gaps in his armor. The level 3 Cleric who’d healed him hadn’t been able to fully restore him due to the level difference, but appeared to have some kind of auxiliary power that helped her overcome the normal penalties of healing someone above her level.

“Normally, I’d insist on doing a full body inspection on anyone coming to me with an injury like that,” Sharise commented, not yet returning to the flurry of activity around them.

“I’d be happy to take you out for a drink tomorrow,” Lograve croaked, breath still a little unsteady as his lungs started working properly again.

“I’m sure they normally fall for that, but I’d rather discuss the dire warning you were hinting at before my Cleric stitched your lungs back together.”

“Right.” Lograve rose unsteadily, growing serious. “There is a region tier individual, level 5 at least, assaulting this city. The sandstorm is crippling our ability to respond. Bastard’s probably responsible. The Divine Quarter needs to go to war.” He hesitated for a moment, rethinking what he was about to say but nodding eventually. “Contact the church of the Scythe first. Wake any reapers they have. We’ll need them.”

…

Hunter let off another Lion Charge, frying an enemy. It seemed the most effective attack against them. These strange living but not living creatures didn’t bleed, didn’t react to pain, and attacked with little regard for themselves. The fact that they were people troubled Hunter less than the other person in this trap whose confidence had shattered when the first dusker to have a hole seared through their head just got up again.

He still wouldn’t free Daniel, but the reason now was he was afraid the Artificer would be picked off after exiting. Arpan didn’t deny they needed help. The lances of green fire did injure their enemies, throwing the room into a green filter by the flames that occasionally caught. He was entirely capable of hitting the enemy, stopping them was another matter.

Arpan was on the ceiling now, his feet somehow clinging to it. Still within reach of the tallest species in the city but the clear ‘floor’ made it easier to move. The Artificer needed every edge he could get. A punch from the maddened duskers wouldn’t kill him, though as demonstrated, they strained his shields which could only imperfectly screen the percussive damage. Worse, he sucked at fighting.

Bolts of fire aside, it was all the Artificer could do to avoid being hit hard enough to knock him down. The surge from Hunter’s Lion Charge did more, slowing or outright killing an enemy if he was lucky enough. The issue was there were dozens of them and, unlike Arpan, each one grew better at fighting the longer they did it. Fast learners who were individually attempting to outdo their instructors. It was like fighting the greater skink over again, a race against time as Hunter ran out of ways to survive.

Only here? He wasn’t sure anyone was coming. His nose wasn’t picking out anyone else nearby, friend or foe. All Hunter could do was dance across and under tables, constantly wary of arms and legs striking with terrible power. If one managed to grab him, he’d lose a second limb in so many days. Dodge, jump, and Jaunt. Daniel wasn’t here to give him other tools, and of the ones he’d received more recently, they were little help. Force of Fear, an ability that damaged enemies based on how much they feared him? Useless against apathetic enemies. Feline Charm? Worse than useless. Mantle of Predation may be making Arpan more alert, but there was an unfortunate downside to multiplicative powers.

And of course, the new, undiscovered power from the bond Hunter shared with his greatest friend. Not his best friend, Daniel, but Tak. If the two of them were in this together they’d have a chance. Instead, Hunter was far out of range of what their Telepathic Link had allowed and Mirror Strike was also out of the question. The duskers did stop moving if enough damage was done to the body, but the combo attack would have obliterated them. They might have even figured out the new power. But Hunter was alone, and friends could only help when they were there.

“Let Daniel go!” Hunter roared while narrowly passing under a punch. Arpan didn’t deign to reply. He flipped backward from the assailing enemy, not a true backflip but one peeling off to the side. Evasiveness, one of the features he’d acquired after coming to Aughal. Useful, making his already lithe movements flow in combat and improving his chance to dodge.

The charge was already building in him again. It had been slow with Arpan, but that was it was similar to Evalyn’s charge ability. In place of pure mana, it took a bit of his momentum and ferocity to store for a later attack. Daniel had kept calling him a battery after he’d first used it. At some point it would release on its own if Hunter didn’t will it to or allow it to disperse.

Fire. Not Arpan’s limited flame, but a mental command. Hunter channeled it through his claws as he raked across one’s back. Not enough this time, he’d been impatient, but it did something. They’d killed, how many, 9 now? Seven to Arpan’s two, which the man had accomplished by steadily cutting off limbs like he was shooting arrows in a line. Inefficient with his aim.

A straight run away from one he recognized as an experienced dusker. Smaller and slower than most of the others, ignored up until they had vaulted a table to try and grab Hunter. The ringcat was beginning to fear that small one, but if he focused on them, the larger ones would grow dangerous instead.

Three coming from two sides. He jumped away, using Springing Strike to get some use out of the maneuver, only to almost lose a claw or two when his target closed sections of its body in response. They were learning to try and trap his paws between armored plates, just like the duskers from Duststone caught the blades of the shank stompers.

Too much, Hunter thought. He was trying to be an entire team by himself, attack and defense. Normally Tak would be by his side, Daniel and the others watching his back. Lacking them he could run, outpace these duskers. Leave Arpan behind. Daniel would appear in the middle of experienced fighters, perhaps not recognizing the danger until it was too late.

“Can’t you do anything else?” he cried out in frustration and despair, recognizing that they were losing.

“This is all your fault!” Arpan howled back. “If this was my store I could do something. I’d have the artifacts I enchanted to back me up. If, ah!” Arpan hastily sidestepped an attempt to knock him from the ceiling before blasting the offending dusker. “If you want your friend to live, you need to give me an opening, then keep them off me.”

He’s asking me to die for him, Hunter realized. If someone else had asked, he might have considered it. “No. If you die, Daniel comes out.”

“And then he’ll die!” Arpan shouted, exasperated.

“So let him out now and he can help!” There it was again, that deadlock. Also, a kick from- Hunter twisted into a side roll, nearly colliding with another dusker before he recovered and angled towards a group of them. That was a strategy he’d learned. The slow ones were poorly coordinated and got in the way of each other, which provided an opportunity to attack the tangle of limbs. As long as he made sure there wasn’t a fast one-

Under the table! Hunter yelped and jumped away as the small dusker shot out a hand toward his foreleg. It had been waiting for him! It was hunting him. How smart would it get? Would it stop once it became as intelligent as the one it had originally been, or would its intelligence grow without limit? A body fell to the ground, smoking, but Arpan was killing them too slowly. Hunter was killing too slowly. There were still thirty odd enemies filling the space.

Hunter set himself on a table, a scrap of burning insect flesh casting a grim light on his fur. He thought of how far he’d come from the mindless thing so weak it was completely overwhelmed by a simple feature. After all that, it still wasn’t enough? His friends weren’t here. These things were to be his death, then. They had no names, no hearts. Like him, in reverse.

Hunter leapt at the small one. It had to die. To his surprise, it didn’t try to defend itself. Hunter sank his fangs deep into the neck. Despite the thick carapace segments, his teeth were sharp enough to break through. His jaw could bite with more force than all but the strongest duskers here could match. If only he could punch with his mouth.

The chunk torn out of the small one’s neck wasn’t enough. Neither was there anything in its eyes as its head rolled to the side with what little muscle it had left. It was offering the rest to him? Too tempting a target. Hunter was biting before he realized the trap. The small one died. So did he. From behind, one of the more experienced larger ones reached for him. To his credit, Arpan blew off one of the elbows. The other hand grabbed Hunter’s back leg and pulled with all the ferocity of Gtoll.

Hunter felt pain.