Jackal Among Snakes

Emperor Ji Meng waved away the servant that was attempting to help him with his armor, and pulled the strap tight on his own. He walked to the decadent mannequin holding up his armor and pulled the last piece of equipment free—the helmet with its great crescent moon perched atop and his demon-like mask. He fitted the helm over his head, while the mask hung loosely from his left hand. His armor had grown somewhat loose over these years where nothing stimulated his appetite, so he tightened it yet further.

Ji Meng walked to the wall where his formidable dadao hung. Long ago, his court had insisted he discard this ‘peasant weapon.’ In response, he’d had one of the divine weapons of the Great Chu reforged inside it. He felt unfathomable strength surge as he took hold of it. He called upon the vital force within him, feeling it rumble like a storm.

“If the enemy has boarded, I will meet them,” he declared, turning around to where one of his bodyguards stood. “With spell and blade, I will cast their bodies into the sea. I will overturn this ambush, and slay them to the last.” He hefted the large blade over his shoulder and walked to the door. “I will take command. If they came here, they seek to cut off the head. They seek either Admiral Tan Shu or myself. I will have an ambush of my own ready. You—relay my orders,” he pointed to one of his men.

Emperor Ji Meng lifted the mask in his left hand up to his face, and it slotted into the helmet perfectly. The demonic face that it depicted hid something of an eager, if nervous, smile on his face. Even if he himself had not known it, he’d longed for the feeling of being near death once again. He felt fear at the coordination, the ferocity, and the sheer strangeness of his foes.

That fear was turning out to be sweeter than any food in the imperial court, and his hunger was finally roused.

#####

The Great Chu had two sorts of spellcaster combatants. There were those who used traditional magic; namely, spells cast from matrixes. And then there were those who used weaponry to manifest the magic within themselves. It was not so dissimilar to enchanted weaponry within Vasquer, yet rather than implant the magic through [Imbuing], each and every combatant imbued the weapon with their own magic to enact the blade’s enchantment—though they called magic ‘vital force.’ In turn, these weapons were not called ‘enchanted.’ They were so common in the Great Chu that they did not have a name at all. It spoke to their power.

The sheer number of troops that ran to confront them when they landed was so overwhelming that Argrave knew any attempts to be mobile initially would be utterly fruitless. Hundreds of archers took their place on elevated positions all around them. Soldiers wearing the lamellar armor of the Great Chu ran up from the deck, forming disciplined ranks. These were no raiders—they would not rush foolhardily, but instead intended to gather their forces in a defensible location before they had forces enough to ensure a rapid and total victory.

But their time to gather played into Argrave’s plans, too. When they landed on the deck the first thing that Argrave did was call upon his Brumesingers. They scrambled from his heavy coat, bounding across the deck while singing their chiming, melodious song. Their barely-perceptible gray mist blessed by the dryads spread out all around them. Everyone in this group had been touched by the dryads, and so this mist would not affect them… yet for all others, it would be a plague unlike any others.

The faint gray wisps of the Brumesingers burst out across the deck. For two years they’d been feasting on the souls of the greatest warriors, and now that gathered power made its grandest entrance yet. The Brumesingers used this fog to protect themselves in the wild, but Argrave had been filling that role for them. As such, they’d built a glut of power within themselves—a glut that Argrave felt was perfect to spend here.

Indeed, the timing was so perfect that out of everyone, these Brumesingers would be most vital for this entire operation.

The Brumesingers vanished into mist, and yet their song continued deeper, deeper into the fortress. The troops seemed uneasy as the fog fell upon them, but they could not know what it was that seeped into their lungs, their skin, their very soul. This whole ship would, soon. But just as they surrounded their foes with the brume, their foes surrounded Argrave’s group.

With the blow of a horn, the archers began their first barrage at the heart of Argrave’s small party. Each of the archers here possessed the magic capacity of a B-rank spellcaster, and each of their weapons were capable of harnessing magic. In response, Castro cast the S-rank [Cradle of Gods], and an S-rank ward encircled them.

“In this domain, any attacks made against my allies are greatly weakened!” he shouted, calling upon the Domain of Law. It took shape around them. Argrave knelt to the ground, looking to those around him. “Don’t get distracted for a second. Soon, their spellcasters will come here.”

Another deafening crack burst into Argrave’s ears, and he opened his eyes wide as a ward scattered around him in golden fragments. He stood up. “I’ve found him!”

“About fucking time!” shouted Hegazar.

“I’ll lead!” Argrave continued, stepping ahead of everyone. “Move on up!”

Argrave, his spellcasters, and his Veidimen retinue advanced straight toward the giant square building that was the heart of the Sea Dragon. A thousand troops had massed to block them. Though smaller than the snow elves, these were elite troops, equipped with Great Chu weapons and trained in martial arts for decades.

But the rot had already set in.

As Argrave and his companions dealt with barrage of magic-imbued arrows and spells, the Veidimen confronted the first of the troops. Argrave could see the magic—their ‘vital force’—within, moving slow and sluggish like mud. The first few of them managed to imbue their magic-harnessing weapons with their vital force, and sent forth blades of wind, of fire, and great arcs of electricity… but the Veidimen shrugged these attacks off with deft parries, and then fell upon them.

This elite troop, the emperor’s personal army, had impeccable techniques. Their footwork was coordinated, their attacks were precise and wasted no energy, and they were decade-long veterans of combat with unrivalled adaptability. But their muscles were failing, their eyesight was off, and nothing functioned as it ought to have. It was like a thousand elite ­five-year-olds. They lacked strength, they lacked coordination—their soul wasn’t aligned with their body.

Argrave’s Veidimen honor guard effortlessly dismantled person after person. One blow was enough to send these hollow shells tumbling. Some of them, once on the ground, couldn’t even stand back up. Argrave wasn’t too confident about his martial prowess, but he felt he could take these people. But even still, he dismissed such arrogant thoughts, keeping the emperor’s location close in his mind.

Leaving behind hundreds, Argrave pressed into the heart of the Sea Dragon.

#####

Those beyond the flagship engaged in battle could not help but peer at the Sea Dragon. Following Argrave’s descent, the whole of it had been consumed by an unearthly fog, billowing out ever so slowly before being contained by the ward protecting the ship. It seemed to have become a ghost ship. Those nearest to it would hear faint chiming, like a siren’s song. Before long, it stopped moving entirely.

Just as the heart of their fleet was consumed by a dark fog, so too were all others feeling the fog of war. The wyverns, the longships, and the great ice dragon blocking any hope of retreat… this battle was expertly coordinated. And behind it all, an ill omen brewed. It stood as proof. Proof that mortals alone were not behind this battle.

Far behind the Great Chu’s navy, a great storm took shape far quicker than it had any right to. Powerful winds churned the surface of the ocean—nay, the ocean itself seemed to writhe with a will of its own. And gathering at the heart of both, a storm condensed into a towering hurricane. The skies had been clear not minutes ago, yet now a great tsunami and hurricane both threatened to sweep across this battle, consigning both armies into oblivion.

Sataistador stood at the shore, watching this brewing storm with a wide smile on his face. “The gods behind this voyage finally show themselves…” He savagely licked his teeth with anticipation, then rolled his shoulders. “Such panic… I’ll enjoy you, little triplets of the Qircassian Coalition. You’ll scream louder than your storm.”

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