Icarus Awakens

Dunestep Street was a primarily human-settled corridor branching from the western main road of Aughal that looped back on itself before returning to the main road. While this did give the street the prodigious honor of having a crossroads with itself, there was little else to draw denizens of the city there except for cheap housing. Only one of its buildings was painted brick, and this was because there’d been no way to redo the building behind it without taking down the home as well. You wouldn’t know it from the outside, though, as the present owners kept it concealed with mud to avoid reverse notoriety.

The greatest hit to its property values was the proximity to the dusker section, which invited noise complaints and aversion among those with a fear of insects. Today it also put the denizens in the path of the duskers under the Mirage’s thrall. No more were being created, each of Casia’s kind was needed elsewhere. One was needed here, in fact.

The horde had moved down the street like water with instructions only to cause panic and terror, with some receiving special instruction to go after pillars of the community. The sandstorm had crippled the guard, and for some reason the Hunter’s Guild was having a hard time mounting a coordinated defense. Hundreds had died, and while the rate was declining as people fled, every street bordering the initial invasion should have been scythed clean.

This one held. Not without casualty, and the wall of buildings along the back loop had broken down, but Dunestep Street was holding despite pressure from two sides. No, Ashier observed, they were pushing the enemy back.

They were hovering above the internal crossroads of the street, observing each line whilst possessing Famar. One of her Proxies. It turned out the only thing they needed to find one was patience. And creative wording. Ashier truly was a servant of the gods and intended to defend who they could. Put it that way to desperate people and offer power, without any mention of their exact class, and they now had a multitude of followers.

Not everyone received Proxy as a class. Those that didn’t either attained one of the traditional ones or, in disappointing cases, only a single power from Vassalize without any hope of gaining more. It was wasteful considering each use consumed their advancement potential, but that in itself was enough to turn day laborers, lesser merchants, and the like into a workable fighting force. Throw in the gestalt’s ability to shuffle powers among their Proxies and the strangely formidable duskers could be beaten. If only I still had Regeneration to work with, Ashier mused. Equally unfortunate was that Draconic Avatar only worked one way, otherwise they could have taken over the city then and there by creating dragons from commoners.

Saving lives was the immediate goal. “Gelina, fall back! The Saint is reinforcing another side.” Ashier let Famar convey their wishes, rather than usurp his control. It was nice, having followers that were neither cowardly nor narcissistic and murderous. If they were fortunate, they would never have to rely on such control again.

Saint, though, that was an assumed title that would probably cause problems later. It was a better explanation than the truth, which was that Ashier needed these people as much as they needed them. In this storm the gestalt couldn’t run as easily, leaving them vulnerable to whoever or whatever was behind this cursed army. Someone this powerful, perhaps as strong as those that remained in the Thormundz, could challenge Rorshawd easily. Those beings were doubtlessly in the city’s center attempting to take control. In the meantime, they needed to rally as many people to their side as possible.

At the center of the crossroads, people were kneeling. Once one Proxy had been established, as well as their defensive lines, Ashier had made a proclamation. Any who wished to serve would go there to take up arms. The bond was entirely voluntary, especially now that all those still alive on the street were safe. In fact, Ashier had run into a limit of how many people they could affect with Vassalize as they were running out of stored potential. Still, this street would become a crucible. Those that survived would truly be the best to assist them in turning back this invasion.

Ashier was debating which of those offering their service to choose when a problem occurred. One of the would-be adherents was too small. The child seemed to sense this, and the Tyrant’s dismissal of them. “Please. I can help.”

“You’re too young Sedric. Crest, I don’t think you’ve even hit your wall yet. You may not need this, and it is a heavy burden.” Famar spoke without prompting and Ashier let him after a moment’s consideration. It was presumptive, especially when the man radiated with their presence granting them their presumed authority. On the other hand, it was wise.

“Should I have done that?” Famar whispered to her as he hovered back into place. “Saint, I’m sorry if I overstepped, but he-”

You did well, Ashier commended him, through the bond. It was nice to have people who could understand you again. Of course, their internal expressions weren’t in line with what Famar heard in his head, but their Proxies could far better understand them compared to other mortals. I would have stepped in otherwise. He was too young. That comforted the Proxy. They were sure this was all very sudden. Assuming they all survived this, there would be some who would question the bond they formed.

One of the buildings suddenly exploded. The sandstorm, which the street had some protection against due to the narrow streets and no clear through path, came on thicker. “Everyone, pull back!” Ashier gave her Proxies just a second to relay the order, a few were too slow and had to be forced. Something was coming from the rubble. It was hard to see, but from the closest Proxy-

Gone. Ashier felt something pierce the chest of the human before the connection broke. The gestalt’s bond with their Proxies was one of the only things that could cross the sandstorm. Ashier weighed releasing Rorshawd now as they gathered those unsworn into one of the larger buildings with a basement. They could certainly play that off, but how to command the dragon not to speak without raising suspicion?

“Saint! They’re dying!” Famar’s voice was anguish as he witnessed the less valuable servants try to hold off the thing coming down one of the roads. The storm seemed denser around it, sand spearing those too slow to dodge them. Only four at a time, Ashier noted. In the center, there was something like them? But no, they would sense it through the air gestalts’ shared link even while hidden from it, and no other element appeared like that.

That monster. I have never seen its like.

“Octyrrum save us.”

“What?” one of the other Proxies asked, frightened and confused. Ashier could network communication between them, but that had only been relayed to Famar. “What do we do? Those things, we were holding them off, but what do we do now?”

“Spread out around the courtyard?” Famar said it as a command he was unsure of. “The Saint will channel divine fire through us.”

“If that is not enough?”

“Do not question the will of the gods!” another fiercely rebuked. Unsurprisingly, those who had agreed to the bond were of the street’s most devout.

“But, but those duskers…”

This new threat is one you cannot face alone, Ashier thought to all of them without any of the uncertainty they were feeling. With it here, no one may survive. I will not lie, defeating it will require sacrifice. Had I the choice I would stand with you, but that is not my nature. Fear not, for no matter what, I will be with you. That last part at least was fully the truth.

Famar looked over his shoulder as if to glance at Ashier who was technically possessing him. “We’re with you, Saint. For our families, for the Octyrrum, we will take this down.”

“It’s coming.”

Go! I will guide you, but you all must be far enough apart that it may strike only one of you at a time. There was a central creature to the spontaneous weapons of sand in the storm, and from their observations of it picking apart the last of the defenders, Ashier could tell that much.

The Tyrant’s confidence slipped when, instead of a monster approaching, they saw a man speak. “I don’t know how you found your way here, Tyrant, but this city is ours. You will never have it.”

…

Hunter’s only complaint with his new power was that, despite the name, it didn’t seem to do much for the actual pain he experienced. Beyond that, it was everything he needed. The duskers were naturally strong, enough to threaten his limbs or life directly with the right blow. Any one of them could do that, forcing him to continuously be on the defense. With Tak taking half of the damage, he no longer needed to fear anything but a full grab.

It still hurt. Fists crashing into him that should have broken ribs, cuts from those that had started picking up broken pieces of the furniture to use as weapons. Healing. His greatest advantage, because his enemies stayed injured and dead. Their numbers weren’t infinite, and now they were few. Only, Hunter had stopped fighting.

The move was underpawed considering his earlier help, but Hunter doubted another opportunity like this would come. “Wh, what are you doing?” Several dusker surrounded Arpan, and at this point any alive were smart. These were the only ones left. A couple had dead limbs from where the Artificer had hit joints, though his ray attack took time to directly kill them. Arpan still tried, the shield around him continuing to weaken as it did. The man was tired, panting, and scared. No fighter. He was going to die.

“Let Daniel go.”

“Oh come on!” Arpan held up an arm and grunted as he narrowly blocked another hit. “You’re not just going to leave me or he’ll die too!”

“You die, Daniel comes out. I protect him.” Hunter didn’t necessarily know this, but did Arpan know that he didn’t? This kind of bluffing was hard for the ringcat, though for Daniel he’d try.

And succeed. Rather than argue the point, Arpan pointed a finger. “I can kill you before I die if you don’t help.”

That had been an impressive threat before Hunter had seen the man actually fight. “I can dodge,” Hunter scoffed, as Arpan was forced to block another hit. “You still die.”

The duskers weren’t right on top of the Artificer. Get too close and they’d bunch up, block each other, and give an opportunity to slip out. Instead, they just used their longer arms to rain punches with near impunity. The Artificer’s feet could stick to the walls and ceiling, though that was useless here. His storage power could provide a way out, for anyone but himself. “They will kill me.”

“You die faster here. Maybe less painfully,” Hunter added thoughtfully, no pity in his words. Social rules and empathy were a second language to him, one he didn’t speak now. Arpan had something he wanted, and Hunter was going to get it. “Let him go.”

Arpan yelped as he took another blow, and a small crack appeared at the impact point. The gem on his chest, which he had almost continuously fed mana, grew dimmer. “Alright! Gods dammit alright.” A large mirror, visible from one side, appeared behind the duskers. “Just get him and help me!”

Hunter dashed through, briefly drawing the attention of the remaining enemies before, to their eyes, vanishing. The Ringcat appeared in a room painted stark white, chests and sacks piled against the walls in an orderly yet cramped fashion. A twin of the mirror was fixed to the wall Hunter had come through. On the ground, sprawled as if they’d just been tossed there, was Daniel and a woman whose scent faintly reminded him of Tlara. It obviously, and thankfully, wasn’t her.

“Daniel.” His friend didn’t wake up. Hunter sighed and started pressing on one of his legs. Without a protective shield, it didn’t take nearly long to wake him. “Wake up. Hurry.”

“Wha.” Daniel felt the back of his head, wincing at the memory of pain that had already healed. “Hunter?”

The ringcat assessed his friend’s mental state as groggy and made a snap decision, opening the floodgates. Their Empathic Link didn’t transmit memories, but it could inform Daniel of the stakes. The sharpness and adrenaline of Hunter right after a fight would be enough of a jolt. Daniel jerked, also spiked by a repeat traumatic experience of every time he’d woken up before they figured out how the link worked.

Daniel cut off the link from his side as he groaned, taking far too long in Hunter’s opinion to get a weapon out of his bag. Fortunately, that hadn’t been taken. “Who’s that?”

Don’t know, Hunter replied mentally, as he had an arm in his mouth. Bad things outside. Maybe monsters? I can tag them, but no name comes up. They look like duskers but hard to kill. They don’t die unless you bite off the head or hurt the chest enough.

“Zombies?” The word, unlike most Hunter heard for the first time, made no sense. Daniel cocked one of the arm bows and looked around. “Wait, where are we?”

Hunter began dragging the woman, who was starting to wake up, towards the mirror. Arpan trapped you. He is outside, in danger, but not trustworthy. They threatened him.

“Who?”

Right, he should probably mention that. The city is under attack.

…

“Oh, good. The hurting stopped.” Tak had started bleeding from some of the injuries his bond inflicted on him, though Regeneration kept him on his feet. Considering the people they were shepherding, he wasn’t the slowest. The journey down the road had been dangerous at times, more of the strange bloodthirsty duskers appearing out of the storm. Gadriel was more than able to cut them down, they couldn’t avoid his sword well and never appeared in large enough numbers to matter.

“I assume that’s good news?” Belonna asked. The songbird hadn’t left Gadriel’s side yet, making things very obvious. Not that the mostly avianoid crowd was of a mind to gossip. Perhaps if Thomas was here he would have gotten some chatter started, to distract if anything else. It’s not like the Cleric would be fighting with them.

“Yes. I would know if he is dead, but he isn’t.”

“Have you tried asking?”

Tak cocked his head at Gadriel. “I cannot. Lograve said something was blocking telepathy.”

“It was my understanding your bond provided a Telepathic Link, which would defeat typical suppression. Have you attempted to reach Hunter?”

“Uhm,” Tak looked sheepish. Hunter?

Tak?

The Totem Warrior frowned. “Ah. You are right, I can talk to him.” In fairness, they’d only been able to converse over a long distance with their bond for just a day. Where are you?

With Daniel. And Arpan, Hunter added begrudgingly. And ‘Willow’. Underground. There are bad things here. Duskers.

Yes, we know. Not just duskers, though. Gadriel saw a few humans and others like me.

Tak, I think they’re zombies! Daniel’s voice still sounded a little out of it, but came through clearly. Try anything with radiant damage if you have that option.

Zombies? Why?

You don’t know about them either? Huh. Look, it’s just a thought. We need to talk to Lograve. Everyone’s heading to the Spires?

Tak nodded. “Ah, this is very good. Hunter has gotten Daniel back. I’m letting them know what we’re doing.” Gadriel nodded back. Yes. I am with Gadriel, the pretty songbird from last night, and a lot of people. We are almost at the southern Spire. Come here, but be safe.

We will. Hunter replied. After a pause, he added, Thank you.

You are welcome. I will always be there.

Somewhere underground, Daniel blinked. Uh, guys, what are you talking about?

…

He’d walked these streets a thousand times. Ten thousand? He could find his way around half-blind, as he did now. Sword flashing, a monstrous weapon half his height again dancing in his grip. Enchanted from material so fine they’d spent months getting enough of it for the blade. First against the dragon, the wyrm, the taurex, never to fall. It was all going wrong. Vanguard? No one took that class. That was the class you took when you wanted to die. Barely any way to defend yourself, completely at the mercy of your allies, and if one slipped up, you died. He hadn’t heard of anyone getting it in the last decade.They fell, one by one. Unable to withstand him. One man, an edge so refined he could cut impossibility. Stupid. It was a stupid dream!

Jeras couldn’t block the old fantasies. They were of no comfort, just a reminder of how far he’d fallen. He was lost, but he was not dead. There was one thing left in this city he cared about, and he was going to get it, get her, and get out. The noble Vanguard. The broken man. Coming home to face his-

The front of the guardhouse was destroyed. Oh, the building was there, but the doors weren’t. They were blown in, one off its hinges. This is the main guardhouse, Jeras thought shakily, focusing. If anyone ever got past the walls we’d used this like a fort. What happened? It was shift change, or it had been. The day crew and those with reports from the walls should have been here, waiting for the dusker guard to take over once the sun went down.

Reception was empty. There were no bodies and, just like outside, it seemed like there should be some here. Jeras already knew the answer, but he tried to disillusion himself. They retreated. Fortified the armory and prison. Fallback positions. I have to find her. He sprinted, faster than he’d ever been in armor. Past the blood and broken weapons scattered across the sandy ground. The wind from outside howled through the halls. It was all around him and he could ignore it. He had survived so long, so much.

The armory was breached. Someone had closed the door but the heavy bolts securing the bars had been torn out. Everything, no. Almost everything was gone. They’d forced open the obvious containers, broken weapon racks, even torn up carpet in case of hidden caches. Which, there were, but Builders could be more inventive. There was a trick wall, behind which Jeras found a collection of smaller artifacts sequestered in a hidden safe. He reached for one and grimaced as it buzzed in his grip with a not-quite electrical shock. Jeras laughed, deliriously. My class. I can’t use these because of my class. It didn’t matter, he wasn’t here for them. Jeras left the door open as he ran for the prisons. This part, strangely, was untouched.

He barely felt his legs moving. Stunned, Jeras found people who had survived the attack. All of them were in cells, but not all of them were prisoners. “Let us out! Let us out!” they all cried, though the handful of guards did so with more expectation. There were maybe ten in all, not counting the actual criminals.

“What happened?”

“Our worst nightmare,” one of the caged guardsman said. Jeras faintly recognized him as someone who worked with Kelra up front. “Something, someone? High level either way. It broke its way through when the sandstorm was kicking up and just, just started killing. The damned hunters never showed up. And the city? The Council? Where are the damn storm wards! They put them to use for a storm half this bad for a party last month but for this?”

“The new lieutenant told us to stand our ground, right before he got picked up and thrown against the wall!” another protested. “So we said fuck that.”

“Why the cells?” Jeras was looking in at each one, not finding who he was looking for and fearing to ask.

“There were others, down here.” The first guard who’d spoken glanced at pools of blood on the ground. “All of us backed into whatever was open towards the end. Not sure why but that thing was leaving the prisoners alone. Once it’d seen it had gotten everyone in the hallway it left. And, and they followed it.”

“Where to?” Most shrugged or looked uneasy, but a prisoner closer to the main entryway spoke up.

“I heard the voice as it was leaving. Telling all of them to lie in wait for it to come back. It kept repeating things like the guards were having a hard time hearing.” The man, who was likely just here for drunken and/or disorderly conduct, didn’t take any pleasure from the memories either. “One time, I think it let slip they were going to attack the Spires. Honestly? Leave me in here. Whatever’s out there, gods, but I’ll never drink again.”

“Screw that, if this is a siege the cells could cave in. Look, whoever you are, let us out! Hey! Hey!” Jeras turned and started to leave. The question was on his beak, but if he asked, then he would know. And he didn’t want to-

“Wait. It’s him. That bastard traitor that left with Sherman. I thought he looked familiar, and how many idiots in the guard carry a greatsword?” Jeras froze as the first guardsman to speak pondered. He was suddenly very afraid because he’d recognized this one too. “Yeah. Jeras. You’re with them, aren’t you? You fucking traitor. You told them everything, and now everyone’s dead!” Shaun, one of the desk guards, took in a shuddering breath. “They’re all dead, you bastard. She’s dead. Why did you do it? Kelra’s de-”

Jeras’ sword, briefly sparking with lightning, impaled him through the neck. It was easily able to reach the man despite the bars. Amidst the cries of shock, fear, and outrage, the incantation echoed after the blow. “Lightning Strike.” He didn’t let anyone go, neither did he kill anyone else. Jeras did pause briefly at the stairs. “Hey. That voice. What did it sound like?”

The older prisoner by the door quailed at Jeras’ unsheathed sword. “I, i-i-it sounded like a person,” he stuttered. “A woman. One of the, the, like you.”

Of course. Jeras put the prison out of his mind as he walked away and into the heart of the Crest. There was nothing left for him in this world, save for a monster he’d take out with him.