Icarus Awakens

There were many benefits to their monstrous nature. If not for the cost, and the weaknesses, the ones who had provided the means of their rebirth would surely have inducted as many of their retinue as possible. Not that the process was painless, though it was quick. A stab to the heart was rarely a slow death.

Rasalia Stoneclaw, the Ironrush Ravager, discovered that. She would have lived if she’d run, but Casia imagined that you couldn’t expect cowardice from a class derived from Hero. Instead she’d made herself vulnerable, transmuting most of her body with a power. Against most that armor would present an impressive defense, but their immunity to mortal powers had allowed Casia’s hand to go through as if it wasn’t there.

No matter. While she returned to the city she communicated with the others. It wasn’t telepathy, which was currently blocked, but some aspect of their forms that allowed for spoken communication to be carried to others so long as there was a possible connection through sand. “Fredreick, Ytaya, the Commander is dead. It seems the Assassin’s power is still keeping everyone else suppressed. Report.” The former Council members waited too long in their reply. “Answer me!”

“A group attacked the Artificer’s store after you left,” Ytaya replied. “Fredreick failed to contain them, though I have succeeded in my task at the Hunter’s Guild and am moving to our next goal.”

“Casia, the beast you wanted, I think it was with them!” Fredreick cut in. His voice wasn’t too desperate. There was no formal hierarchy between them, though Casia was the first and the only one with prior knowledge of the plan. “They teleported away, most of them. I was chasing the rest when, well, I think we have a bigger problem.”

“The churches? Ytaya should be enough with the forces under her control, though I will send you my latest addition to our ranks should you need them. As for the ringcat, it is of little matter. Mark has made his promise. Failing that we can return for it once the Spires fall. Focus on timing the siege wards appropriately. The pieces are in place. Bennar and Claret’s authority will ensure-”

“Casia,” Fredreick spoke up, interrupting her. “It’s not the churches. There is a Tyrant in the city and they are rallying people. The Assassin warned us when they ‘became active’ but refused to help.”

The woman paused midflight. “How? We were careful with how far we pushed. One should not have been created.”

“Fredreick broke off to deal with it,” Ytaya explained. “Everything is still proceeding as planned. The will of this city is still doomed.”

“Not with a Tyrant on the board! Gods’ damnation!” Casia abandoned flight altogether for the less dignified, yet faster traversal by the dunes. Though without a proper mouth, her voice reached the others. “I will join you. Every minute that Tyrant lives our surety slips.”

…

The temples of the gods were always built in a basic pattern with little regard to the kingdom or even Realm they were in. The Hammer’s church in Aughal was not physically grander than the others, even if it had more adherents as part of his domain and had better funding. Rather, the entire complex was shaped like an octagon with a large courtyard in the middle. Other regions didn’t build their Divine Quarters as exact copies of Aughal’s, you just had to look at Threst’s to know that, but they still preserved the pattern and relative positions of each god.

Strangely, the holiest of sites within each city defied the nature of the Octyrrum. The church of the Hourglass, a mostly abandoned building in the majority of regions, was along the side instead of sitting within the center. The other churches joined it, filling out the ring around the central courtyard. The last wedge of the octagon sitting opposite where the Hourglass was placed was empty, providing the main entryway into the quarter.

Old stories told that this was meant to resemble the way of the Octyrrum before the great fall. Others cited the open space in the ring as a metaphor for how all peoples and all gods, even the Hourglass, had to come together against the threat of the Crest. In this moment, Sharise felt the design of the Divine Quarter did make for an excellent staging ground. The previous plan of setting up her church to respond to widespread storm injuries shifted into forming a support core with the Cloak’s church. All Clerics had combat powers to some degree, but it was best to leave the followers of Scythe and Hammer to their work.

Three in that retinue made her shudder. Black robes or armor with red accents, colors unpretending in their devotion to death. That she could see them was thanks to the Star church’s hastily manufactured wards shielding them from the wind and sand. That left Knowledge’s church, which had been rendered ineffective due to some suppressive power underlying the storm, and him.

Hourglass’ lone Cleric in Aughal. Every region needed a representative from each god. Where the reapers made her feathers itch, the sight of that man standing alone inspired actual fear. She, a sociable member of one of the friendliest churches, didn’t know his name. “We’ll need him. Like sharp knives to dig out arrowheads, maybe, but there is a point”

She turned to face Lograve. “I know. Are you still unable to reach them, despite the storm’s repulsion?”

“Yes. My guess is someone summoned it, and someone else enchanted it. Multiple high-level enemies, as if one wasn’t enough.” Lograve was manipulating a complex floating ice sculpture resonating with as much mana density as the storm. Something she hadn’t realized until she looked for it, prompted by the complaints of Knowledge’s clergy.

“You aren’t of the level to have evolved into a Ritualist.”

“I’m not a Ritualist,” he replied evenly, not caught off guard that she recognized the power.

“Then how?”

“A mystery I haven’t had the time to fully investigate. Don’t worry, I’ve added it to my list.” His posture relaxed for a moment, pausing the minute changes to the structure. “To be honest I’m not sure what this rune will do. Nothing harmful or, at least, nothing you can’t fix.” He frowned in what Sharise was beginning to recognize as an ironic way as he asked, “You do still have someone with Resurrection here, right?”

“You’re telling me you’re going through all of that to target just one person?”

“W-well,” Lograve spluttered, then shook his head. “I think this rune is tied to a life effect. Healing or prevention of damage perhaps? Some sort of vital resource. I have another that improves speed, though with most of the city engulfed by that,” he gestured to the raging storm, “I’d just be making you run into a wall faster. This may buy a group a few more seconds against that Geomancer.”

“It could be another class. You’re hardly an Aquamancer.”

“Despite having their cardinal power? But I take your point. That’s all I have. For all my practice with my feature I could hardly summon a monsoon with a snap of my fingers, even were your god to appear before us and grant me a few bonus levels. This is not just someone with Geokinesis. They have powers expanding their control, maybe even automating creations akin to other animation abilities.”

“The sandstorm could be natural.” Sharise didn’t believe it herself, but it was a better alternative than facing down a treacherous level 6 mortal.

Lograve crossed his arms and thought for a moment. “If it is, then they’re just damned fortunate. That doesn’t change the fact that someone’s empowering it and that I faced an enemy that stabbed me with a spear of sand.” He rubbed underneath his shoulder. “I’ll have to submit a complaint about the quality of service I received after all of this.”

Sharise eyed him. “Have I mentioned we’re billing you for the broom you landed on?”

“That’s hardly necessary.”

“It was a good broom.” She sighed. “I need to direct my clergy. This has already taken too long. We should be marching to the Spires. The churches alone can’t hope to hold everyone, and if this turns into a full siege-”

“Did you see that?” Lograve pointed to the roof of Torch’s church where, true to the name, great sconces would illuminate the night and devalue surrounding property. The storm had been pushed back to the first third of the roof, leaving a stark separation between clean air and thick, whirling sand. Even that was enough to block sight after a foot or so. This was the worst of the storms Lograve had seen in the region.

For a brief moment, he’d caught movement that clashed with the random patterns. It seemed he wasn’t the only one amongst the assembled who’d noticed. “Of course. They’re trying to hit us before we mobilize. Another force at the Hunter’s Guild too, likely.”

“Finish that rune Arcanist. And someone from the Cloak get over here to cover him!” Sharise ran towards where the reapers now stood, alert. Figures began to appear out of the storm, running along the main road and into the square.

“Sir, come with me.” Someone from the illusion church extended a hand. Like most of the clergy they were physically unremarkable, and probably not appearing as their true form. Lograve took the hand and blinked as five copies of himself, the Cleric, and his rune appeared and moved in separate directions.

“What level of power is this?” Lograve asked distractedly.

“Higher than 1, lower than 9.”

“I see. Is there any question you’ll give a straight answer to?”

“Yes,” the Cleric answered helpfully.

The forces of the gods did not appreciate the true threat at first, because here there was a difference from the freshly-deceased faced elsewhere. They moved with a mockery of life, equipped with weapons they had learned over months how to use. Most importantly, they were in a uniform that painted the perfectly wrong picture.

Mirage. A group said to be at the heart of many of Aughal’s troubles, at least if you asked the elite. But what had they done really? ‘Liberated’ caravans moving throughout the desert, spreading discontent through propaganda no one could truly find the source of, and acting as a magnet for the malcontent. Oh, there were rumors of their involvement in assassinations as of late, but could anyone prove that?

Perhaps their greatest claim to fame was that a member had never been captured alive. Even when caught unawares in the deserts outside the city, cornered rebels would round a dune and just disappear. Thus, the name. The truth? While many thought the Mirage had been building a resistance against the city, all the effort was toward making something else entirely. An army.

The head of the Hammer’s Church in Aughal was a level 4 Cleric by the name of Therodin, strongest of all the Clerics present. Middle-aged, but that was to be expected of those who took more to the church than hunting. Advancement was slower but stabler and the larger the church, the more opportunities for advancement. The focus this man carried was a tall staff tipped with horizontal bars off the top from which hung ornaments of various shapes and sizes. The collection was constantly changing, individual pieces in flux as they caught the light. It barely took a thought for the Cleric to expand his lungs and issue a challenging bellow.

“MIRAGE! YOU TRESPASS ON HOLY GROUND. ALL THOSE WHO CONTINUE WILL INVITE THE OCTYRRUM’S WRATH.” The hundreds of individuals in mismatched cloth and metal armor adorned with roughly painted symbols ignored him. Arrows began to appear from the walls surrounding them in an uncoordinated reply. The clergy was outnumbered, though a full half could be counted as effective Blessed. The churches attracted those chasing the dream of leveling, especially those who had failed by other means. How many in the Mirage, even after surviving the deserts for months, could claim the same?

Very little judging by what Hammer’s champion could see. None before him spoke incantations or carried any Foci he could appreciate. “Brothers, sisters, it appears they wish to drown us in waves of impious flesh. They will find no weakness here more than once. We are the ever changed, bending where others break thrice over. We command the bones of the earth and the freedom of the skies, making them unto each other. Through our Lord there will always be a path to victory!”

Standing with him at the vanguard was the head of Scythe’s church. She carried a less endowed Focus, a simple medallion with her god’s symbol in line with what most adherents first bound themselves to. The avianoid squawked an order to her followers. “Hey. You three. See them? Go kill ‘em. The rest of you too.”

“One would recommend a more pious rebuke of these infidels as would befit your station, Cleric… Killana.” The Hammer Cleric spoke the name with reluctance, knowing full well she’d changed it after joining her church.

The first of the Mirage was a hundred meters away. The arrows and rarer bolts found the occasional mark without major casualty. The prepared Hand Clerics were tending to battle wounds while Cloak Clerics created diversions and covered them. Star Clerics focused on their creations to push back more of the storm while Torch Clerics flexed their limited organizational ability within the safe zone. Time’s church… well, he couldn’t see that Cleric and was frankly more comfortable that way.

Therodin realized his counterpart had ignored him and decided to let the matter drop. Both she and her reapers looked bored. No sense of decorum, even now. His clergy were preparing themselves solemnly. They were about to kill mortals, people of the gods even if they had turned against them. For the church of Destruction that was something to look forward to, unless it seemed the process was to be more akin to a slaughter than something that would take effort.

The head Cleric took in a breath to order the charge and kept inhaling as Hourglass’ Cleric appeared beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. He’d just appeared there, and it hadn’t been teleportation. The man spoke in what was an unnervingly conversational tone. “You lasted about twenty seconds. They’re all harder to kill than normal, you have to destroy the head or chest enough or they won’t stop. One big dusker in robes is even worse. That one targets the head Clerics, turns to sand to get around and hide. Ignored pretty much everything we threw at it, reapers included. Doesn’t have a problem killing us though. Comes up from the ground after the first wave hits. No other big powers, though they might have caught on to what I was doing. Couldn’t figure out much more. Sorry.”

Then he set off in the direction of his church, mana no doubt fully expended. Wasn’t that terrifying? Clerics devoted to a specific god specialized in that domain, and the power of the Hourglass was time. Once, Therodin had been informed by that man how he’d died in a duel between them, which had just taken place in his relative past. A favor so that he could improve was the justification. Madness, but that was the way of the seventh Realm and its patron god.

Therodin swept his staff forward, several of the baubles flinging off towards the Mirage’s charge. The move was clearly out of practice but effective enough. The ornaments exploded and released stored transmutative energies, converting the air around them to fire, noxious gasses, and fields of arcing electricity among others. A wide palette of elemental death. It was probably how he’d started the battle in the version the time Cleric had seen, but he grabbed Killana’s arm before she followed up on the ability. “No. That is to buy time. We fall back until we observe this greater threat and make of it what we can.”

Killana stared at him incredulously, both for the interruption and because you didn’t just grab a Scythe Cleric and expect to keep the arm. That warning about the reapers made her reconsider her instinctual response. “Fine. Fine. Let’s-” Her words cut off as the first of the Mirage made it through the affected areas. Not unscathed, but unbothered. And of those who’d passed through fire or a similar insult, trailing smoke as they ran, the hole in the chest made it very clear something was wrong.

Hammer and Scythe fell back as walls rose from the cobblestone to buy however much time they could. Ytaya, from her vantage, hesitated. That was odd. The Assassin’s power should have blocked anyone from warning them if there even was someone to call the alarm. And they were sure, completely sure, no one had learned of the spawn’s nature before tonight. So why the caution? Maybe one of the tunics had fallen off during the charge. Maybe that balding fool with the staff was craven.

Either way, Ytaya decided to hold back for the moment and mark her targets. She wouldn’t need to wait for backup since she was the strongest of the three brought back by those daggers. With immunity to all mortal powers, nigh invulnerability in these conditions, and the natural strength of her race boosted by her new form, Ytaya couldn’t lose even if she had to fight this entire army alone.

It was a shame she wouldn’t be the one to claim Armafus’ last legacy, but then again she did owe Casia her new, eternal life. It wouldn’t matter in the end, when they broke the Spires and freed this place from the poison that was the Octyrrum.