I force my torso from the grass and hurl myself forward, partly worried for Virgil and half annoyed that we can't just escape. But it is not to be. Virgil is beelining straight for the kneeling butcher surrounded by the bodies of short men clad in confusing equipment. Who the hell is Tomas, anyway?
Following the Nightshade, I come close to the man in question, his breath wheezy and troubled. Virgil glances at me for only a moment before kneeling down and speaking to the fallen.
"Tomas? Is that you? The Wolf? Why are you out here? Shouldn't you be in Bent?"
Tomas, the man's title starting to awaken some memories in my mind, stubbornly raises his head to meet our eyes. And for a moment, I pause, the intensity in the pupils never before seen. Deep yellow saturates the whites of his eyes as his pupils are midnight black.
At least understandable Chero comes from his mouth, unlike the Rougarou from before. Though, when he speaks, blood flows from his lips, and he spits out a chunk of what I can only assume is his lung.
"It is me. Who are you two fellows? Come to join the war? You're both accepted. Now, help me up. Marshall needs me."
His words are demanding yet carry a sense of righteous urgency, as if only his words should be followed. For a moment, I worry he has a Conman or Lawman, but I quickly realize he doesn't. The effect doesn't disperse with a casual use of Rapturous. He is just honest and truthful.
Virgil pats the man's shoulder before moving to his side, motioning for me to get his other. I acknowledge him and help even if I'm unsure of what we are doing.
"Aye, don't you worry about that, Wolf. Johnny Caldwell is on his way. Hopefully, he can buy some more time with Marshall."
Tomas, the Wolf raised by Marshall Travis, the heir to the Bent Fortress, stands with our help. Once on his feet, he pushes aside our support and pivots to the east, where Bent should lie beyond the horizon. The Wolf raises a human hand with the power of the sharpest blade to his stomach, sealing his blood within from his wounds using his claws to shut the injuries.
"Hmm... Good. Marshall could use another set of wings. C'mon then, runts. We got distance to cover. Our spy found out that those High Weavers who just escaped were carrying loads of explosives. Enough to send Bent to Hell if they made it beyond the wall. Still, the siege of the Pygmies begins in the morning. And right now, the men are fighting the demons' siege alone without me."
Tomas steps forward, his body gradually gaining strength, but I don't move. Instead, I glance at Virgil, bewildered. The tightly dressed man shakes his head and pulls his goggles from his eyes and hood off his head, introducing himself as Tomas walks away.
"I'm Virgil. This is Wyatt. We work with Johnny. There is a 7th Sigiled with us, along with one 6th Sigiled, seven 5th Sigileds, several 4th Sigileds, and many below that. And of our group, there exists four Absolutioners."
This gets a response from Tomas, the man, despite his words, twisting around on a dime. The man's face breaks into relief as he takes an audible sigh, the fog of his breath more noticeable than his noise.
"So, I get my first reinforcements from a band of Outlaws? Very well. Better than the Estates, I suppose. Go get your boys, then. I'll meet you there. It should be smooth travel until you see the walls. Most prefer to fight on the battlefield ."
The dispersal of knowledge onto the Unyielding Wall's right-hand ends without much applause or event as Tomas stumbles away, gradually gaining speed before leaving us in a sprint across Vallens back to his home. Blood drips constantly, only serving to seep more and more as he lengthens the distance.
Virgil glances at me and shrugs, explaining shortly before cloaking himself in the night again and heading back to where we came from to inform Johnny.
"Tomas is an odd man. Always about duty, just like Marshall. I only recognized him because of his eyes, the piercing yellow. We best get moving, though. If he's willing to sprint with such injuries, shit must be grave at Bent. At least they got plenty of 'docs."
I nod as I flow Ether into myself again, following right after him.
****************
"You two met the Wolf? Hmm... How lucky... No. It's not luck. It can't be. Earl's been busy working on his tools. Something else is going on here."
Johnny paces in front of Virgil and me, the three of us moving toward Bent first. We need to clear the odd mishmash of people we have with Marshall and Tomas so no one gets hurt. I doubt they will be all that welcoming of a Stoneclad, an Undead, and over two dozen Bado. And the son of the Viceroy.
As we walk, Virgil pipes up a question to Johnny about artifacts.
"Speaking of luck, did Ray have an artifact? I know you kept his body and how important Gamblers are. I was just wondering. And what about those Pygmies? I'm sure Earl could use their Sigils, but he can only take it if they form into an artifact."
Johnny shakes his head at the former and nods to the latter.
"No artifact from Ray yet. Those things with 6th Sigils sometimes take a few days, let alone an Angel. It might be a month or so until it appears. As for the Pygmies, one of them did, yeah. It had a Craftsman, too, so we're saving it for the little genius."
I merely listen to them talk as we continue to move, a shape appearing on the horizon, far in the distance. But alongside that shape is a rising sun, the hours passing rapidly between returning and getting Johnny. The radiance from the sun blocks our vision, yet it only makes us move faster. The deadline for the subsequent siege is soon to arrive.
***************
As I approach from afar, the coming sun paints the horizon with hues of orange and gold, its warm rays partially obstructing my vision. The air is heavy with the acrid smell of gunpowder and blood, mingling with the faint scent of smoke. The distant echoes of cannon fire reverberate through the air, punctuated by the sharp cracks of gunfire. I can feel my skin shake even from this distance, Bent but a mile away.
Columns of thick, billowing smoke rise from various points across the battlefield in front of the fortress, and some even originate from the massive stone walls, obscuring the landscape in a haze of gray. It coils and twists, carried by the gentle breeze, creating an unearthly dance against the backdrop of the morning sky.
As I draw nearer, Virgil and Johnny moving beside me swiftly, the details come into focus. Even this far out, the ground is littered with remnants of warfare—a symphony of spent casings, discarded ammunition, and shattered fragments of weaponry. The soil itself bears the scars of many years of conflict, marred by deep craters and churned earth. Innumerable blood has been spilled on these grounds, countless bones buried, and a heartbreaking number of lives permanently lost, only to be eventually etched on the Heights Of Hope.
The deafening sounds of battle intensify, each explosion shaking the ground beneath my feet. The rhythmic symphony of cannon fire and gunshots creates a threatening backdrop to the chaos. In the distance, the fortress stands tall, its walls a formidable barrier against the onslaught. Plumes of dark vapor rise from its ramparts, evidence of the fierce resistance mounted by its defenders. They hold their ground, as they always have.
Amidst the tumult, I can see, even from here, figures dart and weave, their movements proof of the skill and experience of Marshall's men as they strike at the invaders. Marksmen atop the walls, their faces etched with determination, hunker down behind hastily made ramparts of wood, their stone ones broken or shattered from use without time for repair. Yet despite the horrible position and losing atmosphere, their weapons are poised and ready. Arrows fly, bullets sing, and cannons roar with every step we take, the scale of the battle beyond anything I've ever seen in my whole life. It is beyond anything I could have imagined.
At just a glance, I see dozens of people die, their blood dyeing the ground with their crimson. Though... more Pgymies are killed than humans. If that was not the case, we would have lost this place long ago. No place has better soldiers than Bent, of heart or body.
Johnny shouts to me as we move, hardly loud enough for me to hear him clearly.
"This is war, kid. Real war. It comes and goes in other places, but our Wall never stops. Let's keep it that way."
Feeling the emotion in the older man's voice, I agree. I can hear screams of pain and yowls of triumph, but the things that hit me the hardest are the silent cries. The ones that I can't help but try to ignore are the faces of dying men slumped against mounds as we get closer and closer to the battlefield. I want to remove the Temper upon my eyes, but I don't. I need to keep my eyes peeled.
And the cause of all this devastation, at least now, is the Pygmies. Well, them and their creations that were born of Ether and stolen human ingenuity. These creations are deployed to a devastating result, catapults launching fiery projectiles into the fortress walls, trebuchets hurling massive rocks that shatter upon impact. The ground trembles beneath the weight of their armored units clad in even heavier steel than the Councilmen of the High Table, their movements synchronized and relentless. Some soldiers can deflect or otherwise counter these machines of war, but they are few and far between. The strength of Sigil needed is too high to break a flying cannonball. Most end up repairing and healing from the destruction.
Blades twirl out of the hands of these Armaments, as they are called, just as guns join their brutal symphony to slay the defenders of Bent. From afar, the distance closing every second, I see a 3rd Sigiled man get rushed by an Armament and swiftly taken down. Sadly, I can't see the Sigils of the Pymgy in the armor as it somehow blocks my sight.
Yet amidst the chaos, I catch a glimpse of a figure, weathered by time and adorned in tattered military clothing. He stands at the forefront of the battle. His fists are clenched at his sides, radiating an aura of raw power as they vibrate with Ether before my very eyes. With each strike, he becomes a whirlwind of motion, his movements defying the limitations of age. But that is not all he defies.
Three Pygmies clad in violet fetters stand behind the army that Marshall approaches, yet they do not strike. They must be fearful of the man every boy once looked up to. Instead, Marshall Travis, the one-man army, comes to meet them head-on.
Each swing is a statement of power, each step a view to will, and each shout a declaration to the world.
The Wall is here. And he will not fall.
No candle may be snuffed without a sound.
I cannot help but think of his words, those that every human with a Sigil ought to know as he pushes forward, alone yet unstoppable. Even in his old age, he refuses to topple silently.
The old man pummels through the Pygmies with unrivaled strength, his blows landing with bone-crushing force. Each strike kills dozens of Pygmies thrown at him, using every weapon they have to even slow him. Ravines are built into the ground with a swing of his arm as he grapples an Armament and uses him as a weapon against a wall of shields. His fists blur as he strikes, his every movement a symphony of violence and precision. The years might have hindered his movement, stalled his growth, and weakened his muscles. But the Wall's has only grown sharpened edges, removing any hints of grime or dullness from the stone that adorns his form.
But as the old man battles, showing he is full of energy, the three Angels step forward, metal and steel hovering beside them. One is clad in his steel, some kind of dark-steeled Armament, while the other two raise their weapons, one a gun with dozens of barrels and the other a blade crackling with plumes of flame, orange gas, and dripping acid.
Without hesitating, Marshall shakes the entire landscape with a stomp as he disappears from my vision. But he reappears, slamming into the Pygmy with the dark Armament, the two spiraling across the landscape. A trench is inlaid from the single attack, placing an eternal mark upon the world. That is, until he ruins it with another.
The clash of weapons intensifies on the battlefield as the leaders clash, the fortress walls standing as a final bastion against the relentless onslaught.
The battlefield is a maelstrom of chaos, a dance of life and death. The air is thick with the scent of blood and smoke, mingling with the desperate cries of the wounded and the triumphant shouts of those who stand defiant. And we are so close, close enough that Johnny starts letting out shots of his pistol toward the Angels, the man signaling that Marshall is not alone. He was saving his ammo for the more significant threats. Otherwise, he could have started shooting minutes ago. He can reload with Glitch, but otherwise, he only has a few hundred rounds in total for Fate Sealer.
I inch closer, my heart burning within me. The scene is a testament to the resilience and courage of humanity, standing against the overwhelming odds presented by the Pygmy invasion. The clash of forces is a symphony of disorder, an epic struggle between survival and annihilation. It seems we will have to wait to speak to Tomas or Marshall, not that I see the former anywhere.
With bated breath, I prepare to join the fray, my skills and resolve ready to be tested. Ether flows through my body as Arbalest shoots me forward, hurtling right for a Pygmy raising a gun toward a man's head. Reckless flies from my sheathe and, with Whetting, which I recently improved to handle large weapons, carves right through the shorter creature as I continue my sprint, heading for the center of the battlefield.
Virgil huffs as he shadows me, the dual daggers in his hands, weapons of mass destruction for any who attack me in the back. Johnny diverts from our group as he speeds up, his from blurring momentarily. The Angel spent most of our time through Sinscreak practicing with his Ether, and he finally made a breakthrough. Johnny didn't achieve Living Strand or Excavator, but he can now combine his newest Sigil skill with Accelerate.
Grit, the simple yet powerful skill he got as an Angel that allows him to bolster any skill of his choosing, the only limit being how much pain he can withstand and the difficulty in forcing the skill to work with his others. And Johnny? Oh, he can hurt a hell of a lot.
Like a whirlwind, the Iron Consul moves through the battlefield, gunshots ringing out constantly as he plows his way to Marshall. Meanwhile, Virgil and I clash our way toward the center.
As I plunge deeper into the heart of the battlefield, my friend moves like a shadow beside me, seamlessly blending with the smoky haze and dark recesses. Virgil disappears and reappears with each step, striking swiftly and silently, leaving only chaos and confusion in their wake. Flicker is an underrated yet supremely deadly skill. I envy Virgil and his Absolution skill, but at the same time, I don't envy how he got it.
Armed with my towering greatsword, Reckless with its gleaming blade twice the length of a Pymgy, I carve a path. Thankfully, it appears at this point, as a 5th Sigil, I am a minority, a force to be reckoned with against the Pygmies. Only a few are dangerous enough to give me pause. But not all are weak. Their weaponry showcases a macabre ingenuity born from their twisted minds. In particular, some wield weapons capable of spitting flame, casting forth torrents of searing flames that lick hungrily at anything in their path.
I slam Reckless into the ground, contorting myself as I hide behind the sword, flame washing around me, scratching at me through Adumbral. The blade lightens in color, slowly turning a dark red from the head as the Bloody Palm groans in pain. But as the pain surges through my arm and my skin, a cool sensation at my waist lightens the burden, Lily speaking to me softly in my mind.
"So many dead. It's... delicious. Have some. Only during such feasts can I talk to you like this. Could you join a few more? I like the company. It's almost like I'm standing next to you."
I quickly thank her in my mind even as her words unsettle me. Nevertheless, I appreciate her help as the flames finally die, my hand fighting against the burn as I fast pat down the blaze on my overcoat. Thankfully, Adumbral is severely resistant to all forms of damage, for even Alexos had problems piercing through it with his daggers. Though... he managed to get through anything I ever tried to defend myself with, physical or not.
My eyes meet the Pygmy as it slaps its creations, the flame barely puttering out. The short man yells at me in its language, some kind of curse, as it runs away. Not having that.
I chase him, my blade light red in color as I cut him in twain, two sections of two feet tall Pymgy falling to the ground. Without peeking at his body, I move on, spotting a Pygmy in the air.
A Pygmy with metallic wings swoops down from above, raining down a barrage of explosive projectiles in front of me. I deftly sidestep the deadly rain, my feet carrying me swiftly with the aid of Arbalest, extending the distance between us. Then, I lean forward and dart back ahead with a double dose of Arbalest, throwing myself into the smoke from the attack.
And as I do so, I spot, Pygmies clad in heavy armor emerge like behemoths, their footsteps reverberating with an ominous weight. They wield colossal hammers and axes, their strikes capable of toppling even brick walls and stone barricades. And on their arms lie rudimentary cannons, the weapons ready to fire at any moment.
The soldiers are using the smoke for cover!
Resolutely as I dart to the ground not to be shot, I take a deep gasp, Strugglers Gasp filling my lungs with air and Ether. The giants in solid armor stumble, lights going out on the Armaments as I hear a whistle above me. Thinking it is another set of bombs, I Arbalest away only to slam into a falling Pygmy with wings.
Realizing I threw him off balance and out of the air by siphoning the Ether a moment ago, I tackle him to the ground and quickly stab him in the neck with his own dagger. The fight is so short and swift that the Pygmy doesn't even have time to blink as he dies.
But behind me clomp heavy thuds, and I turn around to see two figures push through the smoke toward me, arms raised. I can see down the dark, thick barrels as they prepare to fire the cannons, but before they do, a blur of shadowy tendrils grapples both.
Virgil raises their arms toward the sky as his dagger, tipped in Necrosis, stabs through a gap in the armor at the shoulder. He then bounces off of one, but not before firing his Colt right into where the ear would be of the Pygmy, tossing it off balance. The Armaments might be much taller than the Pygmies, but that's because they sit on the top of the armors, sporting a higher ground than usual.
But even these things they took from humans, Eli Weiss' Coiled Steam being the first Armament in existence. Nows not a time for thought, though. It's for action.
Jumping forward, I heave Reckless toward the Armament before me as Virgil focuses on the other, fading in and out of reality constantly with Flicker.
And I can't help but think these Pygmies have some really odd creations as the Armament raises a circular disk toward me, the thing spinning rapidly in his hand.
I force my torso from the grass and hurl myself forward, partly worried for Virgil and half annoyed that we can't just escape. But it is not to be. Virgil is beelining straight for the kneeling butcher surrounded by the bodies of short men clad in confusing equipment. Who the hell is Tomas, anyway?
Following the Nightshade, I come close to the man in question, his breath wheezy and troubled. Virgil glances at me for only a moment before kneeling down and speaking to the fallen.
"Tomas? Is that you? The Wolf? Why are you out here? Shouldn't you be in Bent?"
Tomas, the man's title starting to awaken some memories in my mind, stubbornly raises his head to meet our eyes. And for a moment, I pause, the intensity in the pupils never before seen. Deep yellow saturates the whites of his eyes as his pupils are midnight black.
At least understandable Chero comes from his mouth, unlike the Rougarou from before. Though, when he speaks, blood flows from his lips, and he spits out a chunk of what I can only assume is his lung.
"It is me. Who are you two fellows? Come to join the war? You're both accepted. Now, help me up. Marshall needs me."
His words are demanding yet carry a sense of righteous urgency, as if only his words should be followed. For a moment, I worry he has a Conman or Lawman, but I quickly realize he doesn't. The effect doesn't disperse with a casual use of Rapturous. He is just honest and truthful.
Virgil pats the man's shoulder before moving to his side, motioning for me to get his other. I acknowledge him and help even if I'm unsure of what we are doing.
"Aye, don't you worry about that, Wolf. Johnny Caldwell is on his way. Hopefully, he can buy some more time with Marshall."
Tomas, the Wolf raised by Marshall Travis, the heir to the Bent Fortress, stands with our help. Once on his feet, he pushes aside our support and pivots to the east, where Bent should lie beyond the horizon. The Wolf raises a human hand with the power of the sharpest blade to his stomach, sealing his blood within from his wounds using his claws to shut the injuries.
"Hmm... Good. Marshall could use another set of wings. C'mon then, runts. We got distance to cover. Our spy found out that those High Weavers who just escaped were carrying loads of explosives. Enough to send Bent to Hell if they made it beyond the wall. Still, the siege of the Pygmies begins in the morning. And right now, the men are fighting the demons' siege alone without me."
Tomas steps forward, his body gradually gaining strength, but I don't move. Instead, I glance at Virgil, bewildered. The tightly dressed man shakes his head and pulls his goggles from his eyes and hood off his head, introducing himself as Tomas walks away.
"I'm Virgil. This is Wyatt. We work with Johnny. There is a 7th Sigiled with us, along with one 6th Sigiled, seven 5th Sigileds, several 4th Sigileds, and many below that. And of our group, there exists four Absolutioners."
This gets a response from Tomas, the man, despite his words, twisting around on a dime. The man's face breaks into relief as he takes an audible sigh, the fog of his breath more noticeable than his noise.
"So, I get my first reinforcements from a band of Outlaws? Very well. Better than the Estates, I suppose. Go get your boys, then. I'll meet you there. It should be smooth travel until you see the walls. Most prefer to fight on the battlefield ."
The dispersal of knowledge onto the Unyielding Wall's right-hand ends without much applause or event as Tomas stumbles away, gradually gaining speed before leaving us in a sprint across Vallens back to his home. Blood drips constantly, only serving to seep more and more as he lengthens the distance.
Virgil glances at me and shrugs, explaining shortly before cloaking himself in the night again and heading back to where we came from to inform Johnny.
"Tomas is an odd man. Always about duty, just like Marshall. I only recognized him because of his eyes, the piercing yellow. We best get moving, though. If he's willing to sprint with such injuries, shit must be grave at Bent. At least they got plenty of 'docs."
I nod as I flow Ether into myself again, following right after him.
****************
"You two met the Wolf? Hmm... How lucky... No. It's not luck. It can't be. Earl's been busy working on his tools. Something else is going on here."
Johnny paces in front of Virgil and me, the three of us moving toward Bent first. We need to clear the odd mishmash of people we have with Marshall and Tomas so no one gets hurt. I doubt they will be all that welcoming of a Stoneclad, an Undead, and over two dozen Bado. And the son of the Viceroy.
As we walk, Virgil pipes up a question to Johnny about artifacts.
"Speaking of luck, did Ray have an artifact? I know you kept his body and how important Gamblers are. I was just wondering. And what about those Pygmies? I'm sure Earl could use their Sigils, but he can only take it if they form into an artifact."
Johnny shakes his head at the former and nods to the latter.
"No artifact from Ray yet. Those things with 6th Sigils sometimes take a few days, let alone an Angel. It might be a month or so until it appears. As for the Pygmies, one of them did, yeah. It had a Craftsman, too, so we're saving it for the little genius."
I merely listen to them talk as we continue to move, a shape appearing on the horizon, far in the distance. But alongside that shape is a rising sun, the hours passing rapidly between returning and getting Johnny. The radiance from the sun blocks our vision, yet it only makes us move faster. The deadline for the subsequent siege is soon to arrive.
***************
As I approach from afar, the coming sun paints the horizon with hues of orange and gold, its warm rays partially obstructing my vision. The air is heavy with the acrid smell of gunpowder and blood, mingling with the faint scent of smoke. The distant echoes of cannon fire reverberate through the air, punctuated by the sharp cracks of gunfire. I can feel my skin shake even from this distance, Bent but a mile away.
Columns of thick, billowing smoke rise from various points across the battlefield in front of the fortress, and some even originate from the massive stone walls, obscuring the landscape in a haze of gray. It coils and twists, carried by the gentle breeze, creating an unearthly dance against the backdrop of the morning sky.
As I draw nearer, Virgil and Johnny moving beside me swiftly, the details come into focus. Even this far out, the ground is littered with remnants of warfare—a symphony of spent casings, discarded ammunition, and shattered fragments of weaponry. The soil itself bears the scars of many years of conflict, marred by deep craters and churned earth. Innumerable blood has been spilled on these grounds, countless bones buried, and a heartbreaking number of lives permanently lost, only to be eventually etched on the Heights Of Hope.
The deafening sounds of battle intensify, each explosion shaking the ground beneath my feet. The rhythmic symphony of cannon fire and gunshots creates a threatening backdrop to the chaos. In the distance, the fortress stands tall, its walls a formidable barrier against the onslaught. Plumes of dark vapor rise from its ramparts, evidence of the fierce resistance mounted by its defenders. They hold their ground, as they always have.
Amidst the tumult, I can see, even from here, figures dart and weave, their movements proof of the skill and experience of Marshall's men as they strike at the invaders. Marksmen atop the walls, their faces etched with determination, hunker down behind hastily made ramparts of wood, their stone ones broken or shattered from use without time for repair. Yet despite the horrible position and losing atmosphere, their weapons are poised and ready. Arrows fly, bullets sing, and cannons roar with every step we take, the scale of the battle beyond anything I've ever seen in my whole life. It is beyond anything I could have imagined.
At just a glance, I see dozens of people die, their blood dyeing the ground with their crimson. Though... more Pgymies are killed than humans. If that was not the case, we would have lost this place long ago. No place has better soldiers than Bent, of heart or body.
Johnny shouts to me as we move, hardly loud enough for me to hear him clearly.
"This is war, kid. Real war. It comes and goes in other places, but our Wall never stops. Let's keep it that way."
Feeling the emotion in the older man's voice, I agree. I can hear screams of pain and yowls of triumph, but the things that hit me the hardest are the silent cries. The ones that I can't help but try to ignore are the faces of dying men slumped against mounds as we get closer and closer to the battlefield. I want to remove the Temper upon my eyes, but I don't. I need to keep my eyes peeled.
And the cause of all this devastation, at least now, is the Pygmies. Well, them and their creations that were born of Ether and stolen human ingenuity. These creations are deployed to a devastating result, catapults launching fiery projectiles into the fortress walls, trebuchets hurling massive rocks that shatter upon impact. The ground trembles beneath the weight of their armored units clad in even heavier steel than the Councilmen of the High Table, their movements synchronized and relentless. Some soldiers can deflect or otherwise counter these machines of war, but they are few and far between. The strength of Sigil needed is too high to break a flying cannonball. Most end up repairing and healing from the destruction.
Blades twirl out of the hands of these Armaments, as they are called, just as guns join their brutal symphony to slay the defenders of Bent. From afar, the distance closing every second, I see a 3rd Sigiled man get rushed by an Armament and swiftly taken down. Sadly, I can't see the Sigils of the Pymgy in the armor as it somehow blocks my sight.
Yet amidst the chaos, I catch a glimpse of a figure, weathered by time and adorned in tattered military clothing. He stands at the forefront of the battle. His fists are clenched at his sides, radiating an aura of raw power as they vibrate with Ether before my very eyes. With each strike, he becomes a whirlwind of motion, his movements defying the limitations of age. But that is not all he defies.
Three Pygmies clad in violet fetters stand behind the army that Marshall approaches, yet they do not strike. They must be fearful of the man every boy once looked up to. Instead, Marshall Travis, the one-man army, comes to meet them head-on.
Each swing is a statement of power, each step a view to will, and each shout a declaration to the world.
The Wall is here. And he will not fall.
No candle may be snuffed without a sound.
I cannot help but think of his words, those that every human with a Sigil ought to know as he pushes forward, alone yet unstoppable. Even in his old age, he refuses to topple silently.
The old man pummels through the Pygmies with unrivaled strength, his blows landing with bone-crushing force. Each strike kills dozens of Pygmies thrown at him, using every weapon they have to even slow him. Ravines are built into the ground with a swing of his arm as he grapples an Armament and uses him as a weapon against a wall of shields. His fists blur as he strikes, his every movement a symphony of violence and precision. The years might have hindered his movement, stalled his growth, and weakened his muscles. But the Wall's has only grown sharpened edges, removing any hints of grime or dullness from the stone that adorns his form.
But as the old man battles, showing he is full of energy, the three Angels step forward, metal and steel hovering beside them. One is clad in his steel, some kind of dark-steeled Armament, while the other two raise their weapons, one a gun with dozens of barrels and the other a blade crackling with plumes of flame, orange gas, and dripping acid.
Without hesitating, Marshall shakes the entire landscape with a stomp as he disappears from my vision. But he reappears, slamming into the Pygmy with the dark Armament, the two spiraling across the landscape. A trench is inlaid from the single attack, placing an eternal mark upon the world. That is, until he ruins it with another.
The clash of weapons intensifies on the battlefield as the leaders clash, the fortress walls standing as a final bastion against the relentless onslaught.
The battlefield is a maelstrom of chaos, a dance of life and death. The air is thick with the scent of blood and smoke, mingling with the desperate cries of the wounded and the triumphant shouts of those who stand defiant. And we are so close, close enough that Johnny starts letting out shots of his pistol toward the Angels, the man signaling that Marshall is not alone. He was saving his ammo for the more significant threats. Otherwise, he could have started shooting minutes ago. He can reload with Glitch, but otherwise, he only has a few hundred rounds in total for Fate Sealer.
I inch closer, my heart burning within me. The scene is a testament to the resilience and courage of humanity, standing against the overwhelming odds presented by the Pygmy invasion. The clash of forces is a symphony of disorder, an epic struggle between survival and annihilation. It seems we will have to wait to speak to Tomas or Marshall, not that I see the former anywhere.
With bated breath, I prepare to join the fray, my skills and resolve ready to be tested. Ether flows through my body as Arbalest shoots me forward, hurtling right for a Pygmy raising a gun toward a man's head. Reckless flies from my sheathe and, with Whetting, which I recently improved to handle large weapons, carves right through the shorter creature as I continue my sprint, heading for the center of the battlefield.
Virgil huffs as he shadows me, the dual daggers in his hands, weapons of mass destruction for any who attack me in the back. Johnny diverts from our group as he speeds up, his from blurring momentarily. The Angel spent most of our time through Sinscreak practicing with his Ether, and he finally made a breakthrough. Johnny didn't achieve Living Strand or Excavator, but he can now combine his newest Sigil skill with Accelerate.
Grit, the simple yet powerful skill he got as an Angel that allows him to bolster any skill of his choosing, the only limit being how much pain he can withstand and the difficulty in forcing the skill to work with his others. And Johnny? Oh, he can hurt a hell of a lot.
Like a whirlwind, the Iron Consul moves through the battlefield, gunshots ringing out constantly as he plows his way to Marshall. Meanwhile, Virgil and I clash our way toward the center.
As I plunge deeper into the heart of the battlefield, my friend moves like a shadow beside me, seamlessly blending with the smoky haze and dark recesses. Virgil disappears and reappears with each step, striking swiftly and silently, leaving only chaos and confusion in their wake. Flicker is an underrated yet supremely deadly skill. I envy Virgil and his Absolution skill, but at the same time, I don't envy how he got it.
Armed with my towering greatsword, Reckless with its gleaming blade twice the length of a Pymgy, I carve a path. Thankfully, it appears at this point, as a 5th Sigil, I am a minority, a force to be reckoned with against the Pygmies. Only a few are dangerous enough to give me pause. But not all are weak. Their weaponry showcases a macabre ingenuity born from their twisted minds. In particular, some wield weapons capable of spitting flame, casting forth torrents of searing flames that lick hungrily at anything in their path.
I slam Reckless into the ground, contorting myself as I hide behind the sword, flame washing around me, scratching at me through Adumbral. The blade lightens in color, slowly turning a dark red from the head as the Bloody Palm groans in pain. But as the pain surges through my arm and my skin, a cool sensation at my waist lightens the burden, Lily speaking to me softly in my mind.
"So many dead. It's... delicious. Have some. Only during such feasts can I talk to you like this. Could you join a few more? I like the company. It's almost like I'm standing next to you."
I quickly thank her in my mind even as her words unsettle me. Nevertheless, I appreciate her help as the flames finally die, my hand fighting against the burn as I fast pat down the blaze on my overcoat. Thankfully, Adumbral is severely resistant to all forms of damage, for even Alexos had problems piercing through it with his daggers. Though... he managed to get through anything I ever tried to defend myself with, physical or not.
My eyes meet the Pygmy as it slaps its creations, the flame barely puttering out. The short man yells at me in its language, some kind of curse, as it runs away. Not having that.
I chase him, my blade light red in color as I cut him in twain, two sections of two feet tall Pymgy falling to the ground. Without peeking at his body, I move on, spotting a Pygmy in the air.
A Pygmy with metallic wings swoops down from above, raining down a barrage of explosive projectiles in front of me. I deftly sidestep the deadly rain, my feet carrying me swiftly with the aid of Arbalest, extending the distance between us. Then, I lean forward and dart back ahead with a double dose of Arbalest, throwing myself into the smoke from the attack.
And as I do so, I spot, Pygmies clad in heavy armor emerge like behemoths, their footsteps reverberating with an ominous weight. They wield colossal hammers and axes, their strikes capable of toppling even brick walls and stone barricades. And on their arms lie rudimentary cannons, the weapons ready to fire at any moment.
The soldiers are using the smoke for cover!
Resolutely as I dart to the ground not to be shot, I take a deep gasp, Strugglers Gasp filling my lungs with air and Ether. The giants in solid armor stumble, lights going out on the Armaments as I hear a whistle above me. Thinking it is another set of bombs, I Arbalest away only to slam into a falling Pygmy with wings.
Realizing I threw him off balance and out of the air by siphoning the Ether a moment ago, I tackle him to the ground and quickly stab him in the neck with his own dagger. The fight is so short and swift that the Pygmy doesn't even have time to blink as he dies.
But behind me clomp heavy thuds, and I turn around to see two figures push through the smoke toward me, arms raised. I can see down the dark, thick barrels as they prepare to fire the cannons, but before they do, a blur of shadowy tendrils grapples both.
Virgil raises their arms toward the sky as his dagger, tipped in Necrosis, stabs through a gap in the armor at the shoulder. He then bounces off of one, but not before firing his Colt right into where the ear would be of the Pygmy, tossing it off balance. The Armaments might be much taller than the Pygmies, but that's because they sit on the top of the armors, sporting a higher ground than usual.
But even these things they took from humans, Eli Weiss' Coiled Steam being the first Armament in existence. Nows not a time for thought, though. It's for action.
Jumping forward, I heave Reckless toward the Armament before me as Virgil focuses on the other, fading in and out of reality constantly with Flicker.
And I can't help but think these Pygmies have some really odd creations as the Armament raises a circular disk toward me, the thing spinning rapidly in his hand.
