Grímr and I fly north, descending the Alps as we go. Well, we intend to. That is, after we backtrack south to cross the crevasse over the bridge left in the Titan’s wake. Grímr adamantly refuses to flying over the chasm.
I know the wind is strong, but he’s a big bird; more relevantly, he’s a heavy bird. He should plummet as long as he closes his wings; it’s not the Euroclydon’s gust, after all. But he is determined to take the safe path.
I wonder if the mermineae attempted to cross the crevasse before they found this bridge, or did they simply follow the titan’s path down? There’s no reason they would have known about the chasm until they came across it themselves. On the other side of the alps, there is no crevasse. Is that a result of the Titan’s winds too?
Once clear of the bridge — and the mermineae swarming it — we agree to head back to Meja. That’s the most likely place we’ll find our team, assuming the pact nations aren’t completely overwhelmed yet.
The invasion has long since begun. We knew that coming in, but to see the defensive structures along the Alps destroyed is troubling. Nothing remains of the garrison I’d learnt to play Bleed. Hopefully, the mercenaries fled and held the mermineae away from people’s homes.
We won’t know until we leave the Steppes if they succeed or not. Are they holding the mermineae at bay, or have they been overwhelmed? It is unfortunately clear they have not pushed them back, but one can hope that all is not yet lost.
“When Spenne comes to have you join him in battle,” Grímr says. “I would prefer if you don’t enable him.”
I look down at him, confused. Grímr keeps his eyes locked ahead, refusing to look back at me. “What do you mean?”
“It’s hypocritical of me to say, considering I have no intention of backing down in this war, but I don’t want you to kill unless necessary.”
“Why not? They’re our enemies, and I’ve already hundreds already.”
Grímr twists his beak back to me. “That is exactly the problem.” He pauses, his eye flicking over my body before he turns ahead again. “I’m afraid for the day you learn exactly what that means.”
I scowl. Of course I know what it means. They’re dead. There’s not much more to learn. And good riddance. Gloria, the General, the mermineae; they all deserve death. What does he think he knows that I don’t? Why doesn’t he just say it if it is so important?
I don’t respond, and we descend into silence.
I force my eyes to the horizon. It’s strange not to see a perfectly flat line anymore. The hills and mountains paint the landscape with definition that the plains lacked.
Doesn’t Grímr realise I’ve killed because I couldn’t have survived otherwise?
The moon still hides behind the Alps above, so I can’t check if the scar beneath it is still there. What could it mean if it really is only visible on the other side?
Does Grímr really think killing is bad? What about hunting? Or survival? Is killing to live wrong in his eyes?
I wish I could see the wasteland again.
Is Grímr disappointed by the actions I’ve taken?
No matter what I try to think about, my mind always drifts back to Grímr’s words. The tension of this silence doing me no favours. I want to be mad. I want to shout why he’s wrong, but the words get stuck in my throat.
I’ve done nothing wrong.
It was too much to hope that they held the mermineae at the nations’ borders.
Hundreds of metres in the air, I stand upon Grímr’s back as he flies over the ruins of what was once a city. Portions of the defensive walls are simply gone, as if removed from existence.
I’d been told that the Forvaal go slightly blind each time they used their decay eyes. Was that a lie? They’ve been incredibly quick to burn their own eyes if that’s the case.
The city is silent, so we move on.
I would like to imagine the residents evacuating and the mercenaries deciding to hold defences further back to wait for reinforcements. While everyone’s homes are destroyed, they are still alive in the safety of some other city further ahead. They have trains here after all, they can still move faster than the mermineae can run.
I would like to, but the red soaked streets dispel any illusion.
This isn’t the first settlement the two of us have come across. Neither is it unique in its residents’ misfortune.
The bodies do not remain, and I can only assume what the mermineae have done with them. Despite the murder, I see no problem with the mermineae returning their bodies to the cycle, but I can tell Grímr is struggling with the thought.
I pat him slightly on the back, but I’m not sure if it’s helpful at all. It might be easier to console him if I were to share his beliefs, but I try not to be annoyed for now, not about his strange counter-intuitive traditions nor his words from days ago that never seem to leave my mind.
The mermineae could have approached our nations with diplomacy, but no; they chose to invade. Each metre we fly is another ripped from the dead hands of those who once called this place home. When will we find the border? How far have the mermineae already pushed?
Even with the Henosis Empire’s clear military advantage over the ursu — ignoring Hund — they’d taken over six months to push to the heart of New Vetus. The more land we find overrun, the worse the situation appears.
Grímr changes course, angling a touch further east. I soon hear why. Slight popping and crackling prelude the tiny bursts of light on the horizon. Explosions. But none so big as what the centzon are capable of.
Finally, we’ve found the war.
I rise to a crouch, ready to jump into the fray with my spear in hand.
Rather than rushing in, Grímr slows down.
I tilt my head at the giant bird, but he gathers his thoughts and speaks. “Solvei, I…”
His eyes roll over my form. Something makes him pause.
“Please be careful.” he turns toward the approaching battle.
I don’t know if battles are supposed to be like this, but it is pure chaos. Thousands of mermineae wail on a defence of pact nation races numbering only in the hundreds. With coordination, the mages unleash varied elemental attacks while the more physically attuned try to hold the swarm off.
Their attempts, while somewhat effective, are pointless against the continual onslaught of mermineae. Some particularly powerful warriors amongst the defenders hold off good portions of the mermineae advance by themselves, but even they can’t stop each bounding over their line.
A continual rain of metal is the source of the explosions. Each missile of iron drops from the sky and explodes on impact. Unfortunately, they only seem to kill upon a direct hit. Shrapnel tears into those close by, but they survive. I follow the trajectory back to their source and spot hundreds of cannons similar, but far smaller than the ones centzon use. Each supported by large wheels.
Many volans fly above the battle, some dropping to the cannons and their crew every few moments. Unlike how I’m used to seeing Jav fight, none of these seem to actively participate in the battle.
A few metres behind the front line, which I assume are the mercenaries, is a mess of disorganised soldiers holding guns like I’d seen the Henosis. The mermineae that have already bypassed the mercenaries’ defence tear into these soldiers. The gun wielding races panic and fire blindly. Just as many shots hit the backs of a friendly soldiers as they do mermineae.
The bullets do nothing more than slow the beasts down, while each bullet into a soldier almost guarantees death. The mercenaries hit by the panic fire appear to come off less injured, but the mages are vulnerable. Several collapse from rather unfortunate shots.
I haven’t even seen a Forvaal use their eyes yet, and the defence is already crumbling.
Some mercenaries riding beasts chase mermineae going for the line of cannons, but their rides cannot keep up, and soon the rear weapons are being torn apart.
Grímr and I finally reach the battle. The portian comes in at full speed, tearing through the dozens that don’t dive out of the way in time. I throw myself off Grímr and ram my spear into the back of a rather unfortunate merminea that just survived my friend’s devastating swoop.
Heavy scraping and a cloud of dirt tells me they pulled him to the earth, but even without the ease of flight to cut through mermineae, Grímr has enough weight that he just slides along, crushing those still in his path. I look back to my own fight once Grímr rises to his feet.
I plan to steer clear of the mercenaries’ defence. There’s no chance I want to be anywhere near the water mages as they fight. I’d wanted to practice only my spearmanship, but they look like they’re struggling, so I have no choice but to unleash my fire while running around with my spear. I shouldn’t go so far as to create a firestorm; its uncontrollable nature is a bit much to let loose so close to friendly fighters.
As I dash around, shrouding my spear in physical flame to boost the strength of my thrusts with a momentary blast, I keep an eye on the mercenaries. There is one particularly tall albanic that tears through mermineae like they are nothing but rodents. In his hands is a longsword with a ripple-like blade. A flamberge… which is strange that I actually know that. I guess Bunny’s been rubbing off on me.
I wonder where she is right now?
An explosion from my side peppers me with hundreds of tiny bits of shrapnel. I should focus. Stop letting my thoughts wander. My eyes drop and I find my outfit in shreds. Really?
I’m ready to turn up the heat and burn these mermineae where they stand despite the source of my irritation being from my side, but my eyes land on the albanic again. In moments, an arm and a leg disappear, leaving him to crumple to the ground in agony.
I dash toward him, intending to help, but a wall of water rises before him, startling me. With as much physical flame as I can handle in the moment, I blast myself backward, hoping the water won’t chase me. It remains still.
Through the distortion of the liquid, another mercenary drags the albanic flamberge wielder to the rear of their line.
I jerk my head to the side, looking for the grey eyed Forvaal hidden amongst the swarm. Are they waiting for the stronger mercenaries to show before burning them? My flames spread to cover as much ground as I can reasonably control and I push the heat to my max. Bright yellow flame burns through hundreds of mermineae. Their screams bring up Grímr’s words to the forefront of my mind, but I quickly shove them out.
The mermineae that aren’t dying in my fires are the ones I need to target.
I dash to the first, spear raised at its chest. The Forvaal notices me coming and leaps back, eyes already flicking my way. I’d seen this coming though, and add mass to the flames surrounding us. It stings a bit as the Forvaal decays through my physical flame, but it is manageable compared to the pain a direct sight-line would bring. With all the clear open ground around us, I can keep the physical flame fed without digging too deep into my reserves.
I run at him again. This time, he stands still for me, absolutely trusting in his ability to kill me before my spear can touch him. To his credit, he eats away at quite a lot of the flame coating my weapon before I pierce him between the eyes. No need for anything fancy, if he’s going to just stand and take it.
Not that I’d trust myself with anything fancy, yet.
I don’t wait and move toward the next, trying my hardest to hide within my flames so this one doesn’t notice my approach. I almost succeed too, but the creature’s round ears twitch and it leaps out of the way at the last moment. Still not enough to avoid the spear running them through, but it saves the creature’s life.
It hisses at me, but once again, the flames block its eyes from turning me to dust. This Forvaal is quick to realise, and it backs away, limping as it does. I press my advantage, raising my spear for another lunge, but there is no need.
In the chaos I’ve brought, the mercenaries finally push back. A volley of stone projectiles clatter against the Forvaal as it backs away from me. The rock knives barely pierce its fur, scratching or bouncing off without so much as a flinch from the creature.
Now realising it’s stuck between me and the mercenary army, it turns to attack the easier targets. Well, I won’t miss the opportunity if it wants to show its back. With a jet of flame, I burst forward, my spear ready to thrust.
I’m knocked away before I can reach it. Another Forvaal collides with me and sends us tumbling to the ground.
Damn! I haven’t been paying attention to my surroundings. The Forvaal doesn’t even try to use its eyes, instead it scratches at me and tears my outfit apart even more.
Seriously, I need to find clothes that won’t be destroyed in a single fight. This is getting frustrating.
As the Forvaal wails into my chest and throat without result, the concern and fear becomes palpable in its eyes. They glow a deep grey, but I’ve already got my physical flame burning into them, both blocking his decay ability and boiling its eyes in its head.
It shrieks a high-pitched wail and doubles its efforts into my chest and head, which simply flicker around its claws. It may not have the strength to hurt me, but I’m mad about my outfit.
My spear slams into the side of the Forvaal’s head. It jolts to a stop for a second, but quickly resumes its assault. I’m sure I hit its brain, but the damn thing still moves. Well, whatever, it isn’t much of a problem. I move my flames along the length of my spear and in through the wound in its head. With easy access to the brain inside its head, it quickly burns away. Inner organs tend to be much less resistant to my flames than fur and skin.
I scorch the blood off my clothes and spear and rise to my feet. The mercenaries are as far as a few metres from my fire now, hesitant to move inside. Do they think I will burn them too?
The defensive wall of water before many of them is a bit too close for comfort, so I back off my flames, exposing the few Forvaal that have yet to flee. They don’t last long. Even if the mercenaries were having trouble till now, they are quick to push their advantage and flank the mermineae my flames could not reach.
The battle is soon won. Too bad thousands of soldiers from the rear now lay dead. The unenhanced truly have little hope against the mermineae. Considering the lack of strength even their weapons could provide, I struggle to understand why they are even here.
Is there a reason they all had to lose their lives?
Grímr and I fly north, descending the Alps as we go. Well, we intend to. That is, after we backtrack south to cross the crevasse over the bridge left in the Titan’s wake. Grímr adamantly refuses to flying over the chasm.
I know the wind is strong, but he’s a big bird; more relevantly, he’s a heavy bird. He should plummet as long as he closes his wings; it’s not the Euroclydon’s gust, after all. But he is determined to take the safe path.
I wonder if the mermineae attempted to cross the crevasse before they found this bridge, or did they simply follow the titan’s path down? There’s no reason they would have known about the chasm until they came across it themselves. On the other side of the alps, there is no crevasse. Is that a result of the Titan’s winds too?
Once clear of the bridge — and the mermineae swarming it — we agree to head back to Meja. That’s the most likely place we’ll find our team, assuming the pact nations aren’t completely overwhelmed yet.
The invasion has long since begun. We knew that coming in, but to see the defensive structures along the Alps destroyed is troubling. Nothing remains of the garrison I’d learnt to play Bleed. Hopefully, the mercenaries fled and held the mermineae away from people’s homes.
We won’t know until we leave the Steppes if they succeed or not. Are they holding the mermineae at bay, or have they been overwhelmed? It is unfortunately clear they have not pushed them back, but one can hope that all is not yet lost.
“When Spenne comes to have you join him in battle,” Grímr says. “I would prefer if you don’t enable him.”
I look down at him, confused. Grímr keeps his eyes locked ahead, refusing to look back at me. “What do you mean?”
“It’s hypocritical of me to say, considering I have no intention of backing down in this war, but I don’t want you to kill unless necessary.”
“Why not? They’re our enemies, and I’ve already hundreds already.”
Grímr twists his beak back to me. “That is exactly the problem.” He pauses, his eye flicking over my body before he turns ahead again. “I’m afraid for the day you learn exactly what that means.”
I scowl. Of course I know what it means. They’re dead. There’s not much more to learn. And good riddance. Gloria, the General, the mermineae; they all deserve death. What does he think he knows that I don’t? Why doesn’t he just say it if it is so important?
I don’t respond, and we descend into silence.
I force my eyes to the horizon. It’s strange not to see a perfectly flat line anymore. The hills and mountains paint the landscape with definition that the plains lacked.
Doesn’t Grímr realise I’ve killed because I couldn’t have survived otherwise?
The moon still hides behind the Alps above, so I can’t check if the scar beneath it is still there. What could it mean if it really is only visible on the other side?
Does Grímr really think killing is bad? What about hunting? Or survival? Is killing to live wrong in his eyes?
I wish I could see the wasteland again.
Is Grímr disappointed by the actions I’ve taken?
No matter what I try to think about, my mind always drifts back to Grímr’s words. The tension of this silence doing me no favours. I want to be mad. I want to shout why he’s wrong, but the words get stuck in my throat.
I’ve done nothing wrong.
It was too much to hope that they held the mermineae at the nations’ borders.
Hundreds of metres in the air, I stand upon Grímr’s back as he flies over the ruins of what was once a city. Portions of the defensive walls are simply gone, as if removed from existence.
I’d been told that the Forvaal go slightly blind each time they used their decay eyes. Was that a lie? They’ve been incredibly quick to burn their own eyes if that’s the case.
The city is silent, so we move on.
I would like to imagine the residents evacuating and the mercenaries deciding to hold defences further back to wait for reinforcements. While everyone’s homes are destroyed, they are still alive in the safety of some other city further ahead. They have trains here after all, they can still move faster than the mermineae can run.
I would like to, but the red soaked streets dispel any illusion.
This isn’t the first settlement the two of us have come across. Neither is it unique in its residents’ misfortune.
The bodies do not remain, and I can only assume what the mermineae have done with them. Despite the murder, I see no problem with the mermineae returning their bodies to the cycle, but I can tell Grímr is struggling with the thought.
I pat him slightly on the back, but I’m not sure if it’s helpful at all. It might be easier to console him if I were to share his beliefs, but I try not to be annoyed for now, not about his strange counter-intuitive traditions nor his words from days ago that never seem to leave my mind.
The mermineae could have approached our nations with diplomacy, but no; they chose to invade. Each metre we fly is another ripped from the dead hands of those who once called this place home. When will we find the border? How far have the mermineae already pushed?
Even with the Henosis Empire’s clear military advantage over the ursu — ignoring Hund — they’d taken over six months to push to the heart of New Vetus. The more land we find overrun, the worse the situation appears.
Grímr changes course, angling a touch further east. I soon hear why. Slight popping and crackling prelude the tiny bursts of light on the horizon. Explosions. But none so big as what the centzon are capable of.
Finally, we’ve found the war.
I rise to a crouch, ready to jump into the fray with my spear in hand.
Rather than rushing in, Grímr slows down.
I tilt my head at the giant bird, but he gathers his thoughts and speaks. “Solvei, I…”
His eyes roll over my form. Something makes him pause.
“Please be careful.” he turns toward the approaching battle.
I don’t know if battles are supposed to be like this, but it is pure chaos. Thousands of mermineae wail on a defence of pact nation races numbering only in the hundreds. With coordination, the mages unleash varied elemental attacks while the more physically attuned try to hold the swarm off.
Their attempts, while somewhat effective, are pointless against the continual onslaught of mermineae. Some particularly powerful warriors amongst the defenders hold off good portions of the mermineae advance by themselves, but even they can’t stop each bounding over their line.
A continual rain of metal is the source of the explosions. Each missile of iron drops from the sky and explodes on impact. Unfortunately, they only seem to kill upon a direct hit. Shrapnel tears into those close by, but they survive. I follow the trajectory back to their source and spot hundreds of cannons similar, but far smaller than the ones centzon use. Each supported by large wheels.
Many volans fly above the battle, some dropping to the cannons and their crew every few moments. Unlike how I’m used to seeing Jav fight, none of these seem to actively participate in the battle.
A few metres behind the front line, which I assume are the mercenaries, is a mess of disorganised soldiers holding guns like I’d seen the Henosis. The mermineae that have already bypassed the mercenaries’ defence tear into these soldiers. The gun wielding races panic and fire blindly. Just as many shots hit the backs of a friendly soldiers as they do mermineae.
The bullets do nothing more than slow the beasts down, while each bullet into a soldier almost guarantees death. The mercenaries hit by the panic fire appear to come off less injured, but the mages are vulnerable. Several collapse from rather unfortunate shots.
I haven’t even seen a Forvaal use their eyes yet, and the defence is already crumbling.
Some mercenaries riding beasts chase mermineae going for the line of cannons, but their rides cannot keep up, and soon the rear weapons are being torn apart.
Grímr and I finally reach the battle. The portian comes in at full speed, tearing through the dozens that don’t dive out of the way in time. I throw myself off Grímr and ram my spear into the back of a rather unfortunate merminea that just survived my friend’s devastating swoop.
Heavy scraping and a cloud of dirt tells me they pulled him to the earth, but even without the ease of flight to cut through mermineae, Grímr has enough weight that he just slides along, crushing those still in his path. I look back to my own fight once Grímr rises to his feet.
I plan to steer clear of the mercenaries’ defence. There’s no chance I want to be anywhere near the water mages as they fight. I’d wanted to practice only my spearmanship, but they look like they’re struggling, so I have no choice but to unleash my fire while running around with my spear. I shouldn’t go so far as to create a firestorm; its uncontrollable nature is a bit much to let loose so close to friendly fighters.
As I dash around, shrouding my spear in physical flame to boost the strength of my thrusts with a momentary blast, I keep an eye on the mercenaries. There is one particularly tall albanic that tears through mermineae like they are nothing but rodents. In his hands is a longsword with a ripple-like blade. A flamberge… which is strange that I actually know that. I guess Bunny’s been rubbing off on me.
I wonder where she is right now?
An explosion from my side peppers me with hundreds of tiny bits of shrapnel. I should focus. Stop letting my thoughts wander. My eyes drop and I find my outfit in shreds. Really?
I’m ready to turn up the heat and burn these mermineae where they stand despite the source of my irritation being from my side, but my eyes land on the albanic again. In moments, an arm and a leg disappear, leaving him to crumple to the ground in agony.
I dash toward him, intending to help, but a wall of water rises before him, startling me. With as much physical flame as I can handle in the moment, I blast myself backward, hoping the water won’t chase me. It remains still.
Through the distortion of the liquid, another mercenary drags the albanic flamberge wielder to the rear of their line.
I jerk my head to the side, looking for the grey eyed Forvaal hidden amongst the swarm. Are they waiting for the stronger mercenaries to show before burning them? My flames spread to cover as much ground as I can reasonably control and I push the heat to my max. Bright yellow flame burns through hundreds of mermineae. Their screams bring up Grímr’s words to the forefront of my mind, but I quickly shove them out.
The mermineae that aren’t dying in my fires are the ones I need to target.
I dash to the first, spear raised at its chest. The Forvaal notices me coming and leaps back, eyes already flicking my way. I’d seen this coming though, and add mass to the flames surrounding us. It stings a bit as the Forvaal decays through my physical flame, but it is manageable compared to the pain a direct sight-line would bring. With all the clear open ground around us, I can keep the physical flame fed without digging too deep into my reserves.
I run at him again. This time, he stands still for me, absolutely trusting in his ability to kill me before my spear can touch him. To his credit, he eats away at quite a lot of the flame coating my weapon before I pierce him between the eyes. No need for anything fancy, if he’s going to just stand and take it.
Not that I’d trust myself with anything fancy, yet.
I don’t wait and move toward the next, trying my hardest to hide within my flames so this one doesn’t notice my approach. I almost succeed too, but the creature’s round ears twitch and it leaps out of the way at the last moment. Still not enough to avoid the spear running them through, but it saves the creature’s life.
It hisses at me, but once again, the flames block its eyes from turning me to dust. This Forvaal is quick to realise, and it backs away, limping as it does. I press my advantage, raising my spear for another lunge, but there is no need.
In the chaos I’ve brought, the mercenaries finally push back. A volley of stone projectiles clatter against the Forvaal as it backs away from me. The rock knives barely pierce its fur, scratching or bouncing off without so much as a flinch from the creature.
Now realising it’s stuck between me and the mercenary army, it turns to attack the easier targets. Well, I won’t miss the opportunity if it wants to show its back. With a jet of flame, I burst forward, my spear ready to thrust.
I’m knocked away before I can reach it. Another Forvaal collides with me and sends us tumbling to the ground.
Damn! I haven’t been paying attention to my surroundings. The Forvaal doesn’t even try to use its eyes, instead it scratches at me and tears my outfit apart even more.
Seriously, I need to find clothes that won’t be destroyed in a single fight. This is getting frustrating.
As the Forvaal wails into my chest and throat without result, the concern and fear becomes palpable in its eyes. They glow a deep grey, but I’ve already got my physical flame burning into them, both blocking his decay ability and boiling its eyes in its head.
It shrieks a high-pitched wail and doubles its efforts into my chest and head, which simply flicker around its claws. It may not have the strength to hurt me, but I’m mad about my outfit.
My spear slams into the side of the Forvaal’s head. It jolts to a stop for a second, but quickly resumes its assault. I’m sure I hit its brain, but the damn thing still moves. Well, whatever, it isn’t much of a problem. I move my flames along the length of my spear and in through the wound in its head. With easy access to the brain inside its head, it quickly burns away. Inner organs tend to be much less resistant to my flames than fur and skin.
I scorch the blood off my clothes and spear and rise to my feet. The mercenaries are as far as a few metres from my fire now, hesitant to move inside. Do they think I will burn them too?
The defensive wall of water before many of them is a bit too close for comfort, so I back off my flames, exposing the few Forvaal that have yet to flee. They don’t last long. Even if the mercenaries were having trouble till now, they are quick to push their advantage and flank the mermineae my flames could not reach.
The battle is soon won. Too bad thousands of soldiers from the rear now lay dead. The unenhanced truly have little hope against the mermineae. Considering the lack of strength even their weapons could provide, I struggle to understand why they are even here.
Is there a reason they all had to lose their lives?
