'Quite an odd story, that one,' said Worwal. 'And rather long, as well.'
'I should like to hear it another time, then,' said Garovel.
'And I should like to tell it.'
"Regardless," said Abbas, "I only meant that it is familiar in its strangeness and intensity. I do not mean to imply that you are the same at heart as this Jara character. I did not even know the man."
That was a bit of a relief, Hector supposed. It sounded like Jara Hanseth wasn't someone he wanted to emulate, though he was admittedly still curious. Moreover, he figured he could offer some elaboration of his own now. "The Wrobels call it 'aura,'" he said.
Abbas' head reared back, and he blinked at him. "You are in contact with a nest of Wrobels?"
Hector had a hunch that Abbas would know of them. The dude was old as hell, after all, and the leader of the Golden Council besides. "I am. But I can't say more than that without betraying their confidence."
"That must be quite helpful, indeed," said Abbas. The surprise on his face was not going away. "Aura, you said? How did you come by this strange power?"
Even though he trusted Abbas Saqqaf and felt like they could gain a lot by swapping information, Hector didn't want to give too much away too quickly. Not to mention, there were more pressing questions on his mind. "That, too, might be best saved for a different conversation," he said. "Right now, I'm more interested in hearing what your current plans are."
"Ah." Abbas' expression returned to its more rigid state. "At the moment, making repairs to my armor is the priority. That battle would have gone much more smoothly if its functionality had not been so greatly compromised by those damnable abominations of the Mad Demon."
A dark serial novel. Set in a modern fantasy world called Eleg. Mature language. Updates every night at midnight PST by ~400 words.
Monday, November 30, 2020
Page 2821
"There is something very peculiar about you, Lord Goffe." Abbas' dark brown eyes held on him, seeming somehow more penetrating due to how deeply sunken into his long, thin face they were. "Something familiar."
Hmm. Hector had a feeling he knew what the man was getting at, but he wanted some elaboration first. "Familiar in what way?"
"It is difficult to describe," said Abbas. "I have felt its like before--I am sure of that. But it has been a very long time since I felt it so... strongly."
Garovel interjected before Hector could answer. 'When WAS the last time, if you don't mind my asking?'
Abbas gave him a look. "So you are aware of it, then."
Garovel gave a light chortle. 'Maybe just a bit. But please, answer my question. I'm quite curious.'
Abbas took a moment to think, and his gaze grew distant. "I was but a child. Not yet a servant, even. My grandfather introduced me to a man named..." He shut his eyes, perhaps to help him concentrate. "Hanseth. Yes, that is what it was. Hanseth."
'Jara Hanseth?' said Worwal.
Abbas looked at his reaper. "I don't recall his first name. And you and I had not met yet, so I don't know if we are referring to the same person."
'Mm. You're probably thinking of Jara. Or perhaps his brother, Kizo Hanseth. They were both friends of your father around that time.'
'Hanseth, you say,' said Garovel. 'I've heard that name before. And not in the most flattering of contexts, unfortunately.'
'That does not surprise me,' said Worwal. 'Jara had a reputation for being something of a... "kook," to put it nicely. Many a strange idea were born from that man's mind.'
'Is Jara still alive?' said Garovel.
Worwal's skeletal face twisted awkwardly. 'Ah... no. He was killed. By Kizo, no less.'
'Oh.'
Hmm. Hector had a feeling he knew what the man was getting at, but he wanted some elaboration first. "Familiar in what way?"
"It is difficult to describe," said Abbas. "I have felt its like before--I am sure of that. But it has been a very long time since I felt it so... strongly."
Garovel interjected before Hector could answer. 'When WAS the last time, if you don't mind my asking?'
Abbas gave him a look. "So you are aware of it, then."
Garovel gave a light chortle. 'Maybe just a bit. But please, answer my question. I'm quite curious.'
Abbas took a moment to think, and his gaze grew distant. "I was but a child. Not yet a servant, even. My grandfather introduced me to a man named..." He shut his eyes, perhaps to help him concentrate. "Hanseth. Yes, that is what it was. Hanseth."
'Jara Hanseth?' said Worwal.
Abbas looked at his reaper. "I don't recall his first name. And you and I had not met yet, so I don't know if we are referring to the same person."
'Mm. You're probably thinking of Jara. Or perhaps his brother, Kizo Hanseth. They were both friends of your father around that time.'
'Hanseth, you say,' said Garovel. 'I've heard that name before. And not in the most flattering of contexts, unfortunately.'
'That does not surprise me,' said Worwal. 'Jara had a reputation for being something of a... "kook," to put it nicely. Many a strange idea were born from that man's mind.'
'Is Jara still alive?' said Garovel.
Worwal's skeletal face twisted awkwardly. 'Ah... no. He was killed. By Kizo, no less.'
'Oh.'
Sunday, November 29, 2020
Page 2820
Abbas held his gaze for a long moment, not saying anything.
Hmm, perhaps he was waiting for Hector to take the initiative. Uh. Shit. There were plenty of things to discuss, weren't there? He thrust his uncertainty into a background thought process as he tried to think about what to say.
This handshake was going on for a bit too long, Hector suddenly realized. He tried to pull his hand back, but Lord Abbas maintained his grip.
And the man tilted his head at him. "So I wasn't hallucinating," said Abbas.
Hector didn't know what was happening, right now. He tried to pull his hand back again, and this time, Abbas let him go.
"Everyone," said Abbas, apparently addressing the small crowd around them, "would you mind giving us a moment, please?"
A string of acknowledging murmurs ran through the onlookers, and a minute later, they had all dispersed. Only the handful of Rainlords remained behind, and Hector noticed that they were looking at him, as if expecting something.
Hmm.
He gave them a nod, and then they dispersed, too.
Abbas' gaze lingered on those departing Rainlords for a bit longer before returning to Hector again. "The Rain is very attached to you, it would seem. Asad did not mention that."
Again, Hector did not know what to say, so he merely remained quiet.
A mild smile crossed Abbas' face. "Perhaps he thought it too unbelievable. The idea that these frigid puddles would act so deferential to someone not of their own blood--if I had not seen it with my own eyes and heard it with my own ears, I may have simply thought him a fool."
Deferential? Eyes and ears? What exactly had he been seeing and hearing from the Rainlords over this past day, Hector wondered?
Hmm, perhaps he was waiting for Hector to take the initiative. Uh. Shit. There were plenty of things to discuss, weren't there? He thrust his uncertainty into a background thought process as he tried to think about what to say.
This handshake was going on for a bit too long, Hector suddenly realized. He tried to pull his hand back, but Lord Abbas maintained his grip.
And the man tilted his head at him. "So I wasn't hallucinating," said Abbas.
Hector didn't know what was happening, right now. He tried to pull his hand back again, and this time, Abbas let him go.
"Everyone," said Abbas, apparently addressing the small crowd around them, "would you mind giving us a moment, please?"
A string of acknowledging murmurs ran through the onlookers, and a minute later, they had all dispersed. Only the handful of Rainlords remained behind, and Hector noticed that they were looking at him, as if expecting something.
Hmm.
He gave them a nod, and then they dispersed, too.
Abbas' gaze lingered on those departing Rainlords for a bit longer before returning to Hector again. "The Rain is very attached to you, it would seem. Asad did not mention that."
Again, Hector did not know what to say, so he merely remained quiet.
A mild smile crossed Abbas' face. "Perhaps he thought it too unbelievable. The idea that these frigid puddles would act so deferential to someone not of their own blood--if I had not seen it with my own eyes and heard it with my own ears, I may have simply thought him a fool."
Deferential? Eyes and ears? What exactly had he been seeing and hearing from the Rainlords over this past day, Hector wondered?
Page 2819
'We appreciate your kind words,' said Garovel, 'even if you are only being polite. It still needs quite a bit more work before it will be deserving of a term like "magnificent," I feel'
'Oh, you are being too harsh, surely,' said Worwal. 'Why, this castle is a wonder and a half. The size alone is enough to leave a lasting impression in the mind, but the fact that it is also underground makes me think that it could only have been the work of a true artist of the architectural craft.'
'Ah, that artist would be one Stasya Orlov,' said Garovel.
Worwal's hollow eye sockets widened a little. 'That name is familiar, though I have not heard it since before the banners of Al'Imbratur were flown in Kuros.'
'Indeed. My friend Voreese would be able to tell you more of her, if you are interested.'
'I would be. Perhaps we could--'
"I'm afraid I must interject before the entire day disappears during this conversation," said Lord Abbas. "Unfortunately, there are more pressing matters to be discussed than that of your lovely home, Lord Goffe."
'Of course,' said Worwal. 'Forgive me. I have something of an obsession when it comes to the matter of grand masonry.'
Oh? Hector's head perked up a little at that.
Abbas seized full control of things before Hector could respond, however. "Firstly, please allow me to thank you for coming to our aid. I believe it is no exaggeration to say that your efforts saved the lives of my entire Hahl, and I could not be more grateful."
"Oh. Uh... er..." Shit. He should've practiced for this or something.
"If the situation had grown any more dire, I would have been forced to do something quite drastic indeed," said Abbas. "So thank you for stepping in when you did." And he offered him a handshake.
Well, Hector knew how to do that much, at least. He shook it.
'Oh, you are being too harsh, surely,' said Worwal. 'Why, this castle is a wonder and a half. The size alone is enough to leave a lasting impression in the mind, but the fact that it is also underground makes me think that it could only have been the work of a true artist of the architectural craft.'
'Ah, that artist would be one Stasya Orlov,' said Garovel.
Worwal's hollow eye sockets widened a little. 'That name is familiar, though I have not heard it since before the banners of Al'Imbratur were flown in Kuros.'
'Indeed. My friend Voreese would be able to tell you more of her, if you are interested.'
'I would be. Perhaps we could--'
"I'm afraid I must interject before the entire day disappears during this conversation," said Lord Abbas. "Unfortunately, there are more pressing matters to be discussed than that of your lovely home, Lord Goffe."
'Of course,' said Worwal. 'Forgive me. I have something of an obsession when it comes to the matter of grand masonry.'
Oh? Hector's head perked up a little at that.
Abbas seized full control of things before Hector could respond, however. "Firstly, please allow me to thank you for coming to our aid. I believe it is no exaggeration to say that your efforts saved the lives of my entire Hahl, and I could not be more grateful."
"Oh. Uh... er..." Shit. He should've practiced for this or something.
"If the situation had grown any more dire, I would have been forced to do something quite drastic indeed," said Abbas. "So thank you for stepping in when you did." And he offered him a handshake.
Well, Hector knew how to do that much, at least. He shook it.
Saturday, November 28, 2020
Page 2818
An unfamiliar pair of men pushed through the crowd and gently put their hands on the woman, pulling her away from him. They didn't say anything, perhaps because they didn't speak Mohssian, but they did give him nods of acknowledgment.
Hector just stood there for a minute longer, watching them go.
Wow, he thought. He had no idea who that woman was, and he felt like she might've been giving him a bit too much credit; but all the same, he was unbelievably glad to have played a part in helping her.
He was abruptly reminded of why he was doing all of this, why he wanted Warrenhold to become a bastion of safety in the first place. He hadn't forgotten, of course, but still. Seeing all these people like this... battered and in need...
It was an odd mixture of emotions. Sorrow and frustration. He hoped he could do more for them. With every fiber of his being, he intended to keep them safe, at the very least.
He was starting to draw even more attention, just standing here like a weirdo, so he moved on.
Garovel led him out into the main plaza, around which stood all of Warrenhold's eight great towers.
The reaper pointed out Lord Abbas, who was overlooking the underground lake on the far side of the plaza.
The man wasn't in his armor, but he did seem to be tinkering with something in his hands. He wasn't alone, either. A sizable crowd was gathered around him, most of whom Hector did not recognize. A few Rainlords were sprinkled in there as well, however.
They all turned to look his direction as he approached.
Abbas' reaper--Worwal, as Hector recalled--was the first to speak up. 'The Lord Darksteel of Warrenhold. This is a magnificent fortress you have here.'
Hector just stood there for a minute longer, watching them go.
Wow, he thought. He had no idea who that woman was, and he felt like she might've been giving him a bit too much credit; but all the same, he was unbelievably glad to have played a part in helping her.
He was abruptly reminded of why he was doing all of this, why he wanted Warrenhold to become a bastion of safety in the first place. He hadn't forgotten, of course, but still. Seeing all these people like this... battered and in need...
It was an odd mixture of emotions. Sorrow and frustration. He hoped he could do more for them. With every fiber of his being, he intended to keep them safe, at the very least.
He was starting to draw even more attention, just standing here like a weirdo, so he moved on.
Garovel led him out into the main plaza, around which stood all of Warrenhold's eight great towers.
The reaper pointed out Lord Abbas, who was overlooking the underground lake on the far side of the plaza.
The man wasn't in his armor, but he did seem to be tinkering with something in his hands. He wasn't alone, either. A sizable crowd was gathered around him, most of whom Hector did not recognize. A few Rainlords were sprinkled in there as well, however.
They all turned to look his direction as he approached.
Abbas' reaper--Worwal, as Hector recalled--was the first to speak up. 'The Lord Darksteel of Warrenhold. This is a magnificent fortress you have here.'
Page 2817
The Tower of Night was busier than he'd ever seen it--which wasn't too surprising, really. If all three hundred of Abbas' refugees had made it to Warrenhold, then the number people within the castle had almost doubled overnight.
He wasn't too concerned about having enough room for everyone, but food was another matter. No doubt, Ms. Rogers was having a hell of time with all of these new guests.
On every floor, he could see the Rainlords and Sandlords intermingling, but they were easy to differentiate from one another. Even if their bronzier skin, head coverings, and robes didn't give them away, it would still be obvious because the Sandlords looked like they'd all been through hell.
So many wounded.
He was glad to see they were being tended to, though.
Hector was a bit worried how the Rainlords and Sandlords were going to get along under one roof, but this was an encouraging sight, he felt. And they'd shared a country for ages, so maybe there was hope.
With each room or crowded corridor that he passed, Hector sensed a lot of eyes on him and heard plenty of hushed whispers.
It was making him self-conscious. These clothes weren't making him stand out too much, were they? They couldn't be. They practically blended into the nightrock.
As he neared the first floor, a crying woman stumbled in front of him and all but fell at his feet. She was saying something, but he couldn't tell what it was, either because she was sobbing too hard or because she was simply speaking a different language--or perhaps both.
'I think she's thanking you,' said Garovel privately. 'Ah. For saving the lives of her grandchildren.'
Hector's brow peaked in the center, and a somber frown split his face as he helped the poor woman back up to her feet. When he looked her in the eye, it only seemed to make her cry harder.
He wasn't too concerned about having enough room for everyone, but food was another matter. No doubt, Ms. Rogers was having a hell of time with all of these new guests.
On every floor, he could see the Rainlords and Sandlords intermingling, but they were easy to differentiate from one another. Even if their bronzier skin, head coverings, and robes didn't give them away, it would still be obvious because the Sandlords looked like they'd all been through hell.
So many wounded.
He was glad to see they were being tended to, though.
Hector was a bit worried how the Rainlords and Sandlords were going to get along under one roof, but this was an encouraging sight, he felt. And they'd shared a country for ages, so maybe there was hope.
With each room or crowded corridor that he passed, Hector sensed a lot of eyes on him and heard plenty of hushed whispers.
It was making him self-conscious. These clothes weren't making him stand out too much, were they? They couldn't be. They practically blended into the nightrock.
As he neared the first floor, a crying woman stumbled in front of him and all but fell at his feet. She was saying something, but he couldn't tell what it was, either because she was sobbing too hard or because she was simply speaking a different language--or perhaps both.
'I think she's thanking you,' said Garovel privately. 'Ah. For saving the lives of her grandchildren.'
Hector's brow peaked in the center, and a somber frown split his face as he helped the poor woman back up to her feet. When he looked her in the eye, it only seemed to make her cry harder.
Friday, November 27, 2020
Page 2816
After a while longer of rifling through his clothes, Hector was finally able to pick out something to wear that wasn't black.
Garovel was still not entirely pleased with the outcome, however. 'Of all the possible colors, you choose GRAY?'
It was his undershirt that he had changed. It contrasted with the black of his suit and also made his black tie more visible. "Yeah, y'know, it's like, thematic. Because we live in Gray Rock."
'So you're trying to wear the environment?'
"Look, I don't know fashion, alright? But I think it looks decent, at least. You never said I looked bad."
'No, you look fine. Very lordly. I guess. Doesn't change the fact that gray is the most boring color in the world.'
"I don't know if I can trust your opinion on this, Garovel."
'That's hurtful. In fact, I think my wound from Crowe just reopened.'
He was finally ready to leave the room, until he reached the door and remembered yet another thing that he should probably ask about. "Where's the Shard?"
'Oh, it's under your pillow,' said Garovel.
Hector gave him a look.
'What?'
"You had Dimas put it under my pillow? Like the Tooth Fairy?"
'Yeah, what's wrong with that?'
"I just... I mean... why the pillow?"
'Why not? Clearly, it was a pretty good hiding spot, since you were just sleeping on it and didn't even notice.'
Alright, whatever. Hector ventured over to the bed and grabbed it. "Did you tell Dimas how important it is, too?"
'I think so. Sort of. My memory's a little fuzzy on that one. I don't think I went into detail about it being your personal hotline to an ancient warrior god of his ancestral rivals.'
"That does seem like it would be a little hard to explain..."
As they left the room, Hector briefly wondered if perhaps he could've located the Shard without asking Garovel where it was. He recalled having some weird kind of... extra awareness of its location in the past. Maybe if he'd concentrated, he could've sussed it out on his own.
Hmm. Maybe he'd try to test that theory out later.
Garovel was still not entirely pleased with the outcome, however. 'Of all the possible colors, you choose GRAY?'
It was his undershirt that he had changed. It contrasted with the black of his suit and also made his black tie more visible. "Yeah, y'know, it's like, thematic. Because we live in Gray Rock."
'So you're trying to wear the environment?'
"Look, I don't know fashion, alright? But I think it looks decent, at least. You never said I looked bad."
'No, you look fine. Very lordly. I guess. Doesn't change the fact that gray is the most boring color in the world.'
"I don't know if I can trust your opinion on this, Garovel."
'That's hurtful. In fact, I think my wound from Crowe just reopened.'
He was finally ready to leave the room, until he reached the door and remembered yet another thing that he should probably ask about. "Where's the Shard?"
'Oh, it's under your pillow,' said Garovel.
Hector gave him a look.
'What?'
"You had Dimas put it under my pillow? Like the Tooth Fairy?"
'Yeah, what's wrong with that?'
"I just... I mean... why the pillow?"
'Why not? Clearly, it was a pretty good hiding spot, since you were just sleeping on it and didn't even notice.'
Alright, whatever. Hector ventured over to the bed and grabbed it. "Did you tell Dimas how important it is, too?"
'I think so. Sort of. My memory's a little fuzzy on that one. I don't think I went into detail about it being your personal hotline to an ancient warrior god of his ancestral rivals.'
"That does seem like it would be a little hard to explain..."
As they left the room, Hector briefly wondered if perhaps he could've located the Shard without asking Garovel where it was. He recalled having some weird kind of... extra awareness of its location in the past. Maybe if he'd concentrated, he could've sussed it out on his own.
Hmm. Maybe he'd try to test that theory out later.
Page 2815
The reaper did have a point, Hector knew, but he was still far from convinced. And worse, it was starting to sound like there was no way that he would be able to make Garovel see reason here.
'Hector, I refuse to be one of those reapers who gets sniped by some low-level douchebag while their servant is distracted. I'm sticking with you. I don't care how dangerous it gets.'
Fuck.
'And I REALLY don't want to be one of those reapers who allows their servant to get captured for twenty years or some shit, either. That would be hell.'
"Garovel, you're being unreasonable..."
'I know I am. But I didn't take you on as a servant because I wanted to be reasonable. I took you on because I wanted to save some fucking lives. To be involved in some heroic-ass shit! And you still need my help, goddammit! I mean, don't get me wrong! I'm super proud of you and all, but battles are crazy, and my experience is invaluable to you!'
Hector held up both hands. "Alright, you're getting a little worked up..."
'I've BEEN worked up! For thousands of years, I've been worked up! You know how much bullshit I've seen and couldn't do anything about! I go through these phases of feeling incredibly powerful and then incredibly useless! I'm not gonna become your fucking pet reaper, okay?! I'm gonna do everything I can to keep being useful, and you're not gonna stop me from doing that! We're in this together, you little shit!'
Wow. Hector just kind of stood there, not even sure what to say anymore.
Garovel seemed to be done now, though. And an awkward silence arrived.
After a while, Hector scratched his cheek and looked around the room again. "So... about that splash of color you mentioned..."
'Hector, I refuse to be one of those reapers who gets sniped by some low-level douchebag while their servant is distracted. I'm sticking with you. I don't care how dangerous it gets.'
Fuck.
'And I REALLY don't want to be one of those reapers who allows their servant to get captured for twenty years or some shit, either. That would be hell.'
"Garovel, you're being unreasonable..."
'I know I am. But I didn't take you on as a servant because I wanted to be reasonable. I took you on because I wanted to save some fucking lives. To be involved in some heroic-ass shit! And you still need my help, goddammit! I mean, don't get me wrong! I'm super proud of you and all, but battles are crazy, and my experience is invaluable to you!'
Hector held up both hands. "Alright, you're getting a little worked up..."
'I've BEEN worked up! For thousands of years, I've been worked up! You know how much bullshit I've seen and couldn't do anything about! I go through these phases of feeling incredibly powerful and then incredibly useless! I'm not gonna become your fucking pet reaper, okay?! I'm gonna do everything I can to keep being useful, and you're not gonna stop me from doing that! We're in this together, you little shit!'
Wow. Hector just kind of stood there, not even sure what to say anymore.
Garovel seemed to be done now, though. And an awkward silence arrived.
After a while, Hector scratched his cheek and looked around the room again. "So... about that splash of color you mentioned..."
Thursday, November 26, 2020
Page 2814
~~((Thanksgiving Special - page 30 of 30))~~
"You were wounded in the battle," said Hector, displeased--both with Garovel for hiding it and with himself for having allowed it to happen in the first place.
'It was nothing. I'm already back in top form.'
"...Are you?" said Hector. "That's why you had to let Dimas carry the Scarf, isn't it? Because you couldn't revive me?"
'Listen, I was just feeling a little woozy. I could still talk. Kinda. For a while. Anyway, I'm fine now.'
Hector's frown only deepened, however.
'There's no point in worrying about me. And besides, reapers are more durable than you give us credit for, Hector.'
"...I just killed one of you, Garovel. And it wasn't that difficult."
Garovel fell quiet at that remark.
"I knew you should have stayed behind with Voreese," said Hector.
'And I knew you would reach that conclusion if I told you about my wound. Hector, I'm not going to just keep sitting on the sidelines while you do all the heavy lifting, alright? I need to be with you when shit hits the fan. I need to be useful. I'll lose my fucking mind otherwise.'
"Garovel, this isn't... agh..." How was he supposed to explain? Technically, the reaper was supposed to be the one in charge here, but Hector didn't know if he could put up with this.
'I helped, didn't I?' said Garovel. 'I warned you about that missile from Bloodeye. Gave you the chance to intercept it with a big dome, remember? Maybe that doesn't seem like a big deal to you, but if that thing had hit, it could've shifted the entire tide of the battle. I mean, when you think about it, I saved all our lives.'
Hector just sighed.
'And besides, the safest place for me is by your side,' said Garovel. 'You may not think so, but it's true. With all those invisible assholes in Abolish, you're one of the few people who can actually sense their presence and protect me from them. Am I wrong?'
"You were wounded in the battle," said Hector, displeased--both with Garovel for hiding it and with himself for having allowed it to happen in the first place.
'It was nothing. I'm already back in top form.'
"...Are you?" said Hector. "That's why you had to let Dimas carry the Scarf, isn't it? Because you couldn't revive me?"
'Listen, I was just feeling a little woozy. I could still talk. Kinda. For a while. Anyway, I'm fine now.'
Hector's frown only deepened, however.
'There's no point in worrying about me. And besides, reapers are more durable than you give us credit for, Hector.'
"...I just killed one of you, Garovel. And it wasn't that difficult."
Garovel fell quiet at that remark.
"I knew you should have stayed behind with Voreese," said Hector.
'And I knew you would reach that conclusion if I told you about my wound. Hector, I'm not going to just keep sitting on the sidelines while you do all the heavy lifting, alright? I need to be with you when shit hits the fan. I need to be useful. I'll lose my fucking mind otherwise.'
"Garovel, this isn't... agh..." How was he supposed to explain? Technically, the reaper was supposed to be the one in charge here, but Hector didn't know if he could put up with this.
'I helped, didn't I?' said Garovel. 'I warned you about that missile from Bloodeye. Gave you the chance to intercept it with a big dome, remember? Maybe that doesn't seem like a big deal to you, but if that thing had hit, it could've shifted the entire tide of the battle. I mean, when you think about it, I saved all our lives.'
Hector just sighed.
'And besides, the safest place for me is by your side,' said Garovel. 'You may not think so, but it's true. With all those invisible assholes in Abolish, you're one of the few people who can actually sense their presence and protect me from them. Am I wrong?'
Page 2813
~~((Thanksgiving Special - page 29 of 30))~~
Where was it? He looked around, but the Scarf was black, and just like Garovel had said, so was the whole damn tower.
'By the bed,' said Garovel, apparently not needing an explanation of what Hector was after.
And indeed, there it lay, on the nightstand next to the amber lamp.
Hector breathed a sigh of relief and went over to pick it up again.
Immediately, the fullness of the room filled his mind as he could sense the flow of air all throughout it.
'I'm surprised you didn't notice you weren't wearing it sooner,' said Garovel.
"You said you regrew me from scratch, right?"
'Yup.'
"So then..."
'Dimas Sebolt carried it back for us,' said Garovel. 'At my request.'
"Ah..."
'Yeah.'
"So now he knows what the Scarf is capable of."
'Yes, he does. I didn't exactly explain it to him, but he was touching it for several hours while you were busy being dead.'
Hector squinted. "Wait a minute. Why didn't you just resurrect me then and let me carry it back myself?"
'Oh, um. Well, y'know. I probably should've, huh? Guess it slipped my mind. Probably would've saved us some time, too. Bit of a BONEHEADED move on my part. Heh. Get it? Boneheaded?'
Hector did not react.
''Cuz you see me as a skeleton, right? Skeleton joke.'
Hector just kept staring at him.
'You could at least pretend to laugh. It was a little funny.'
Still, Hector made no response.
'Alright, stop that. You're freakin' me out. Say something, damn you.'
The truth was, something else was bothering Hector. He stepped closer to Garovel, looking the reaper up and down, searching for signs of anything amiss. Hmm.
'Excuse me, but my eyeholes are up here.' And after a beat, he added, 'They ARE up here, right?'
Hector ignored him. He didn't find--
Ah.
There was a gash on Garovel's backside. Small but there. Smoldering with ethereal, black-and-white smoke.
Where was it? He looked around, but the Scarf was black, and just like Garovel had said, so was the whole damn tower.
'By the bed,' said Garovel, apparently not needing an explanation of what Hector was after.
And indeed, there it lay, on the nightstand next to the amber lamp.
Hector breathed a sigh of relief and went over to pick it up again.
Immediately, the fullness of the room filled his mind as he could sense the flow of air all throughout it.
'I'm surprised you didn't notice you weren't wearing it sooner,' said Garovel.
"You said you regrew me from scratch, right?"
'Yup.'
"So then..."
'Dimas Sebolt carried it back for us,' said Garovel. 'At my request.'
"Ah..."
'Yeah.'
"So now he knows what the Scarf is capable of."
'Yes, he does. I didn't exactly explain it to him, but he was touching it for several hours while you were busy being dead.'
Hector squinted. "Wait a minute. Why didn't you just resurrect me then and let me carry it back myself?"
'Oh, um. Well, y'know. I probably should've, huh? Guess it slipped my mind. Probably would've saved us some time, too. Bit of a BONEHEADED move on my part. Heh. Get it? Boneheaded?'
Hector did not react.
''Cuz you see me as a skeleton, right? Skeleton joke.'
Hector just kept staring at him.
'You could at least pretend to laugh. It was a little funny.'
Still, Hector made no response.
'Alright, stop that. You're freakin' me out. Say something, damn you.'
The truth was, something else was bothering Hector. He stepped closer to Garovel, looking the reaper up and down, searching for signs of anything amiss. Hmm.
'Excuse me, but my eyeholes are up here.' And after a beat, he added, 'They ARE up here, right?'
Hector ignored him. He didn't find--
Ah.
There was a gash on Garovel's backside. Small but there. Smoldering with ethereal, black-and-white smoke.
Page 2812
~~((Thanksgiving Special - page 28 of 30))~~
'Not to mention, there's that OTHER matter to look into,' said Garovel.
Fully dressed now, Hector poked his head through open bathroom doorway before walking out. "What other matter?"
'Oh, c'mon, you know the one. The other matter.'
"Uh..."
'The one involving the thing. Inside the other thing.'
Ah, wait a minute. "Hmm. Weirdly enough, I think I actually know what you're talking about..."
'Heh. Good. Then there's no need for me to ramble on. Our reaper-servant communication skills are doing excellently.'
"If you say so."
A beat passed, and Garovel tilted his head at him. 'Again with the all black getup, huh?'
"Hey, these are the nicest clothes I've got." It was true. Ms. Rogers had picked them out and gotten them fitted for him. She said they belonged to the Umbral Heart line from Domingo. He didn't know what any of that meant, but they sure felt nice on his skin and didn't restrict his movements as much as other fancy clothes he'd worn.
And apparently, they were "expensive but not TOO expensive." According to Ms. Rogers, they would allow him to appear respectable and distinguished in front of people who cared about these sorts of things without looking like he was showing off.
That all sounded good to Hector.
'I wasn't questioning their niceness,' said Garovel. 'It's just a lot of black, y'know? A black man in a black suit in a black tower. Don't you think a splash of color might do you some good?'
Well, the reaper had a point. Hector scratched the back of his head as he looked around his room. He went through the dresser near the closet, searching for something he could wear with color on it. Some extra piece of clothing he could wear with or perhaps on top of--
He popped his head out, suddenly realizing.
He wasn't wearing the Scarf of Amordiin, right now.
'Not to mention, there's that OTHER matter to look into,' said Garovel.
Fully dressed now, Hector poked his head through open bathroom doorway before walking out. "What other matter?"
'Oh, c'mon, you know the one. The other matter.'
"Uh..."
'The one involving the thing. Inside the other thing.'
Ah, wait a minute. "Hmm. Weirdly enough, I think I actually know what you're talking about..."
'Heh. Good. Then there's no need for me to ramble on. Our reaper-servant communication skills are doing excellently.'
"If you say so."
A beat passed, and Garovel tilted his head at him. 'Again with the all black getup, huh?'
"Hey, these are the nicest clothes I've got." It was true. Ms. Rogers had picked them out and gotten them fitted for him. She said they belonged to the Umbral Heart line from Domingo. He didn't know what any of that meant, but they sure felt nice on his skin and didn't restrict his movements as much as other fancy clothes he'd worn.
And apparently, they were "expensive but not TOO expensive." According to Ms. Rogers, they would allow him to appear respectable and distinguished in front of people who cared about these sorts of things without looking like he was showing off.
That all sounded good to Hector.
'I wasn't questioning their niceness,' said Garovel. 'It's just a lot of black, y'know? A black man in a black suit in a black tower. Don't you think a splash of color might do you some good?'
Well, the reaper had a point. Hector scratched the back of his head as he looked around his room. He went through the dresser near the closet, searching for something he could wear with color on it. Some extra piece of clothing he could wear with or perhaps on top of--
He popped his head out, suddenly realizing.
He wasn't wearing the Scarf of Amordiin, right now.
Page 2811
~~((Thanksgiving Special - page 27 of 30))~~
"Shit..." As he got changed, a different question occurred to him. "So wait a minute, how do these soul compasses work, exactly? Can they help you track down ANY soul you want?"
'No. Only souls that you are bonded with, such as that between a reaper and servant.'
"Ah..."
'Which is why Abolish actually might NOT be using a soul compass to track Ivan, just yet. Because it means that Ivan's reaper has to be involved in the chase. Which is risky. And with the war going on, they probably can't spare that much high-level manpower to protect the reaper while they go on some long ass soul hunt across the world.'
"Hmm."
'Such hunts have been known to last for years or even decades, in extreme cases. I remember one time, about 1500 years ago, when a prince of the Mohssian Empire was captured by a famous general of the Valgan Empire. Now THAT was a hunt. A half century of constant clashes spanning the entire planet, including the Undercrust. I've heard it called the greatest chase in history.'
"Geez..."
'It finally ended when the chase led them to Exoltha, and a group of feldeaths annihilated both parties.'
"Holy shit..."
'Yeah, it was pretty fucked. And also a valuable lesson. Don't screw around in Exoltha.'
As Hector finished getting ready, one last thought occurred to him, and he frowned. "Aw, shit, I was supposed meet the Queen in Lorent, wasn't I?"
'Well, you didn't HAVE to. It was an open invitation, I think.'
He straightened his black tie. "I really don't want her to think that I'm ignoring her."
'She might like to meet Abbas. Perhaps it would be a good idea to take them. You were thinking of getting the Sandlords settled in Lorent, anyway, weren't you?'
That was true, he supposed.
"Shit..." As he got changed, a different question occurred to him. "So wait a minute, how do these soul compasses work, exactly? Can they help you track down ANY soul you want?"
'No. Only souls that you are bonded with, such as that between a reaper and servant.'
"Ah..."
'Which is why Abolish actually might NOT be using a soul compass to track Ivan, just yet. Because it means that Ivan's reaper has to be involved in the chase. Which is risky. And with the war going on, they probably can't spare that much high-level manpower to protect the reaper while they go on some long ass soul hunt across the world.'
"Hmm."
'Such hunts have been known to last for years or even decades, in extreme cases. I remember one time, about 1500 years ago, when a prince of the Mohssian Empire was captured by a famous general of the Valgan Empire. Now THAT was a hunt. A half century of constant clashes spanning the entire planet, including the Undercrust. I've heard it called the greatest chase in history.'
"Geez..."
'It finally ended when the chase led them to Exoltha, and a group of feldeaths annihilated both parties.'
"Holy shit..."
'Yeah, it was pretty fucked. And also a valuable lesson. Don't screw around in Exoltha.'
As Hector finished getting ready, one last thought occurred to him, and he frowned. "Aw, shit, I was supposed meet the Queen in Lorent, wasn't I?"
'Well, you didn't HAVE to. It was an open invitation, I think.'
He straightened his black tie. "I really don't want her to think that I'm ignoring her."
'She might like to meet Abbas. Perhaps it would be a good idea to take them. You were thinking of getting the Sandlords settled in Lorent, anyway, weren't you?'
That was true, he supposed.
Page 2810
~~((Thanksgiving Special - page 26 of 30))~~
'And what if the iceberg melts one day?' said Garovel. 'Or simply shifts? Or if a reaper happens to wander by? Or something else, perhaps?'
Hector gave a shrug and stood up. He was naked, he suddenly realized. He decided to sit back down and pull the bed sheets over him again.
'I've seen it all before, buddy,' said Garovel. 'No need to start getting embarrassed in front of me now.'
That was probably true. If only it was as simple as deciding not to feel embarrassed. He pulled the sheets with him as he got up again and made his way over to the closet to fetch some clothes.
'Anyway, even if you did find a really good place to hide the head, there are artifacts out there that are capable of helping reapers locate their lost servants. The Vanguard has access to a few such things, so I'm sure Abolish does, too.'
"Artifacts?" said Hector. "Magical ones, you mean?"
'You could say that. They can look like all sorts of different things, but we generally refer to such items as "soul compasses." They're rare but highly valued. I wouldn't be surprised if Abolish was using one to help them track down Ivan, right now.'
Clothes in hand, Hector waddled over to the bathroom. "Doesn't that mean the people who escaped with the head are in a shitload of danger?"
'It sure does. They'll have to keep moving until they find a place they think is secure enough to store the head.'
"Does such a place even exist?" said Hector. "I mean, if they're being chased by friggin' Morgunov, then..."
'Yeah, it's a tall order. Short of asking Sermung himself to look after it, I'm not sure what you would do in such a situation. I don't envy their position, right now.'
'And what if the iceberg melts one day?' said Garovel. 'Or simply shifts? Or if a reaper happens to wander by? Or something else, perhaps?'
Hector gave a shrug and stood up. He was naked, he suddenly realized. He decided to sit back down and pull the bed sheets over him again.
'I've seen it all before, buddy,' said Garovel. 'No need to start getting embarrassed in front of me now.'
That was probably true. If only it was as simple as deciding not to feel embarrassed. He pulled the sheets with him as he got up again and made his way over to the closet to fetch some clothes.
'Anyway, even if you did find a really good place to hide the head, there are artifacts out there that are capable of helping reapers locate their lost servants. The Vanguard has access to a few such things, so I'm sure Abolish does, too.'
"Artifacts?" said Hector. "Magical ones, you mean?"
'You could say that. They can look like all sorts of different things, but we generally refer to such items as "soul compasses." They're rare but highly valued. I wouldn't be surprised if Abolish was using one to help them track down Ivan, right now.'
Clothes in hand, Hector waddled over to the bathroom. "Doesn't that mean the people who escaped with the head are in a shitload of danger?"
'It sure does. They'll have to keep moving until they find a place they think is secure enough to store the head.'
"Does such a place even exist?" said Hector. "I mean, if they're being chased by friggin' Morgunov, then..."
'Yeah, it's a tall order. Short of asking Sermung himself to look after it, I'm not sure what you would do in such a situation. I don't envy their position, right now.'
Page 2809
~~((Thanksgiving Special - page 25 of 30))~~
Hector let out a small laugh of his own and rolled out of bed. He was abruptly reminded of how sore and stiff his body was. He stretched his neck. "What about the ocean, though? You didn't explain why that wasn't an option."
'Well, that one has multiple reasons. In general, it's just a bad idea to abandon any captive's head, no matter how remote you think the location might be. Anything could happen to it out there. For example, a temperature shift could cause it to thaw, and if brain function returns, the servant would be able to communicate telepathically with the reaper again.'
Hector rubbed his chin. "So it would be better to hide it in like a snowy tundra region or something..."
'Methinks you've missed the point about it not being a good idea to abandon captured heads in random places. But technically, you're not wrong. There've been a number of notorious prisons throughout history that were located in frozen regions for precisely that reason. In fact, I'm sure there are still a few being used to this day.'
"Really?" said Hector. "I was just kinda talkin' out of my ass..."
'I could tell. And yeah, that's a thing, though it's probably less common than it used to be. A few hundred years ago, there was a series of wars often referred to as the Icy Clog that took place in northern Ardora. They were all about trying to free captive servants from various prisons. Lasted decades. A real shitshow, if ever there was one.'
Hector allowed a beat to pass before turning to look at Garovel again. "I still feel like it'd be possible to hide the head somewhere that no one would ever find it."
'Are you fucking kidding me, right now?'
"Look, I'm just saying, like, what about a super deep hole in an iceberg or something?"
Hector let out a small laugh of his own and rolled out of bed. He was abruptly reminded of how sore and stiff his body was. He stretched his neck. "What about the ocean, though? You didn't explain why that wasn't an option."
'Well, that one has multiple reasons. In general, it's just a bad idea to abandon any captive's head, no matter how remote you think the location might be. Anything could happen to it out there. For example, a temperature shift could cause it to thaw, and if brain function returns, the servant would be able to communicate telepathically with the reaper again.'
Hector rubbed his chin. "So it would be better to hide it in like a snowy tundra region or something..."
'Methinks you've missed the point about it not being a good idea to abandon captured heads in random places. But technically, you're not wrong. There've been a number of notorious prisons throughout history that were located in frozen regions for precisely that reason. In fact, I'm sure there are still a few being used to this day.'
"Really?" said Hector. "I was just kinda talkin' out of my ass..."
'I could tell. And yeah, that's a thing, though it's probably less common than it used to be. A few hundred years ago, there was a series of wars often referred to as the Icy Clog that took place in northern Ardora. They were all about trying to free captive servants from various prisons. Lasted decades. A real shitshow, if ever there was one.'
Hector allowed a beat to pass before turning to look at Garovel again. "I still feel like it'd be possible to hide the head somewhere that no one would ever find it."
'Are you fucking kidding me, right now?'
"Look, I'm just saying, like, what about a super deep hole in an iceberg or something?"
Page 2808
~~((Thanksgiving Special - page 24 of 30))~~
Hector exhaled a long breath. Frankly, he'd been trying not to worry too much about the problem of Ivan simply because he didn't fucking know what to do about it. So to hear that it wasn't an immediate issue was an enormous relief--more so than he'd realized, even.
'That being said,' Garovel went on, 'we still can't ignore the threat that Ivan poses to us now.'
That put a bit of a damper on Hector's little relief party. Primarily because he knew the reaper was right. Dammit.
'We have to assume that Abolish is tracking the group who escaped with Ivan's head. Freeing him is probably their top priority, right now.'
Yeah, that sounded about right.
'If they find and revive him, he's going to be pissed. At two specific people, most likely.'
"Me and Abbas."
'Both of whom are here at Warrenhold.'
Hector sighed. "Couldn't they just, like... drop his head to the bottom of the ocean somewhere? Or better yet, launch it out into space?"
'Ah. If only. You're not the first to have had that idea. Launching captives into space, that is. Unfortunately, it doesn't work.'
He kinda figured as much. Seemed too easy. "Why?"
'Because for whatever reason, the servant-reaper bond is constrained by Eleg's atmosphere. If you send a servant into space, the bond will fade until they simply die. Or in other words, if Ivan's head leaves the planet, then his reaper will be able to resurrect him from scratch again.'
"That blows..."
'Kinda, yeah. But it's also good that Abolish can't do shit like that to us. I can only imagine how different history would be if such a tactic were possible. By now, there'd be countless reapers who'd lost their servants like that.'
"I don't care about history. I care about how upset I feel."
Garovel chuckled. 'That's exactly the type of level-headed thinking we need, right now.'
Hector exhaled a long breath. Frankly, he'd been trying not to worry too much about the problem of Ivan simply because he didn't fucking know what to do about it. So to hear that it wasn't an immediate issue was an enormous relief--more so than he'd realized, even.
'That being said,' Garovel went on, 'we still can't ignore the threat that Ivan poses to us now.'
That put a bit of a damper on Hector's little relief party. Primarily because he knew the reaper was right. Dammit.
'We have to assume that Abolish is tracking the group who escaped with Ivan's head. Freeing him is probably their top priority, right now.'
Yeah, that sounded about right.
'If they find and revive him, he's going to be pissed. At two specific people, most likely.'
"Me and Abbas."
'Both of whom are here at Warrenhold.'
Hector sighed. "Couldn't they just, like... drop his head to the bottom of the ocean somewhere? Or better yet, launch it out into space?"
'Ah. If only. You're not the first to have had that idea. Launching captives into space, that is. Unfortunately, it doesn't work.'
He kinda figured as much. Seemed too easy. "Why?"
'Because for whatever reason, the servant-reaper bond is constrained by Eleg's atmosphere. If you send a servant into space, the bond will fade until they simply die. Or in other words, if Ivan's head leaves the planet, then his reaper will be able to resurrect him from scratch again.'
"That blows..."
'Kinda, yeah. But it's also good that Abolish can't do shit like that to us. I can only imagine how different history would be if such a tactic were possible. By now, there'd be countless reapers who'd lost their servants like that.'
"I don't care about history. I care about how upset I feel."
Garovel chuckled. 'That's exactly the type of level-headed thinking we need, right now.'
Page 2807
~~((Thanksgiving Special - page 23 of 30))~~
He'd done what he had to, though. He'd protected Garovel. And their allies.
If the Man of Crows and his reaper hadn't wanted to die, then the motherfuckers shouldn't have been trying to kill them.
Pretty simple.
Still strange, however. Despite how much death and destruction he'd seen, this sense of permanence still felt weird to him. Servants could come back from so many things. Even the bloodiest and most gruesome of fights often didn't carry much sense of finality to them.
Perhaps Garovel had some idea of all the different thoughts that were going through his head right now, because the reaper wasn't saying anything. He was giving him time to think, seemingly.
Still on his back, Hector decided to break the silence with a question. "...What happened to Bloodeye?"
'Still alive, unfortunately. He escaped.'
Hmm.
'Which means the rest of Abolish will know that Abbas found allies near the Lorent-Callum border.'
"Shit. You think they'll be able to identify us?"
'Well, it's a bit of a toss up at this point. None of our reapers recognized Bloodeye's soul, so our individual identities might still be safe--at least until any of us run into him again. But then again... you've gotten kinda famous lately. And your armor is pretty distinctive. I wouldn't be terribly surprised if they figured out who you were.'
"Fuck..."
'Plus, some of them probably know that you were at Dunehall. With Ivan. Which is another matter, by the way.'
Hector hadn't forgotten. He'd been hoping to talk to Abbas about that very subject as soon as possible, in fact. "Just tell me that Ivan isn't free."
'He's not free.'
Hector opened his eyes and turned to look at the reaper. "Wait, really? He's not?"
'As far as Abbas knows, at least, a small group of Sandlords managed to escape from the Golden Fort with Ivan's frozen head before Abolish showed up to sack it. There's no telling where it is right now, though.'
He'd done what he had to, though. He'd protected Garovel. And their allies.
If the Man of Crows and his reaper hadn't wanted to die, then the motherfuckers shouldn't have been trying to kill them.
Pretty simple.
Still strange, however. Despite how much death and destruction he'd seen, this sense of permanence still felt weird to him. Servants could come back from so many things. Even the bloodiest and most gruesome of fights often didn't carry much sense of finality to them.
Perhaps Garovel had some idea of all the different thoughts that were going through his head right now, because the reaper wasn't saying anything. He was giving him time to think, seemingly.
Still on his back, Hector decided to break the silence with a question. "...What happened to Bloodeye?"
'Still alive, unfortunately. He escaped.'
Hmm.
'Which means the rest of Abolish will know that Abbas found allies near the Lorent-Callum border.'
"Shit. You think they'll be able to identify us?"
'Well, it's a bit of a toss up at this point. None of our reapers recognized Bloodeye's soul, so our individual identities might still be safe--at least until any of us run into him again. But then again... you've gotten kinda famous lately. And your armor is pretty distinctive. I wouldn't be terribly surprised if they figured out who you were.'
"Fuck..."
'Plus, some of them probably know that you were at Dunehall. With Ivan. Which is another matter, by the way.'
Hector hadn't forgotten. He'd been hoping to talk to Abbas about that very subject as soon as possible, in fact. "Just tell me that Ivan isn't free."
'He's not free.'
Hector opened his eyes and turned to look at the reaper. "Wait, really? He's not?"
'As far as Abbas knows, at least, a small group of Sandlords managed to escape from the Golden Fort with Ivan's frozen head before Abolish showed up to sack it. There's no telling where it is right now, though.'
Page 2806
~~((Thanksgiving Special - page 22 of 30))~~
'You did well, Hector,' said Garovel. 'Perhaps a little TOO well, in fact.'
"...What do you mean?"
'You slew the Man of Crows.'
Ah...
He remembered now.
The reaper. He'd killed the reaper.
His eyes eased shut, and he lay back down again with his forearm pressed against his forehead.
And he sighed.
He'd been in so many fights now. So many life and death situations. It felt a little strange to think about it, but... he still wasn't really used to killing. Especially people. Reapers.
In fact, that might've been the first reaper he'd ever killed. It was a bit hard to be certain, thinking back on some of the more chaotic fights he'd been involved in, such as the one at Dunehall where there'd been tons of invisible enemies around.
If nothing else, that was the first reaper he had knowingly killed.
Yes. The first.
He didn't much like that word. First. It implied there might be many more to come.
Egh.
While he didn't exactly feel bad about it, he didn't feel great, either. Hell, he hadn't even known the reaper's name. Or the crow guy's for that matter. When it came down to it, he'd barely known anything about them. Beyond the fact that they were the "enemy" and that they were infamous, they'd been mysteries to him.
It made him question things.
Could he have taken the reaper captive, instead?
Hmm.
Not likely. The way those crows had been gunning for him, they would've killed him and freed the reaper immediately thereafter. And the Man of Crows would have escaped. And Garovel might've been dead now, too.
Or maybe not. Maybe he was lacking imagination in some way.
Ugh.
He didn't like how... unbothered he was, right now. He felt the weight of his actions, the importance of them, but he didn't feel guilt. Like, at all, really.
That was a good thing, he supposed. And not wrong, perhaps. But it was still... concerning, in its own way.
'You did well, Hector,' said Garovel. 'Perhaps a little TOO well, in fact.'
"...What do you mean?"
'You slew the Man of Crows.'
Ah...
He remembered now.
The reaper. He'd killed the reaper.
His eyes eased shut, and he lay back down again with his forearm pressed against his forehead.
And he sighed.
He'd been in so many fights now. So many life and death situations. It felt a little strange to think about it, but... he still wasn't really used to killing. Especially people. Reapers.
In fact, that might've been the first reaper he'd ever killed. It was a bit hard to be certain, thinking back on some of the more chaotic fights he'd been involved in, such as the one at Dunehall where there'd been tons of invisible enemies around.
If nothing else, that was the first reaper he had knowingly killed.
Yes. The first.
He didn't much like that word. First. It implied there might be many more to come.
Egh.
While he didn't exactly feel bad about it, he didn't feel great, either. Hell, he hadn't even known the reaper's name. Or the crow guy's for that matter. When it came down to it, he'd barely known anything about them. Beyond the fact that they were the "enemy" and that they were infamous, they'd been mysteries to him.
It made him question things.
Could he have taken the reaper captive, instead?
Hmm.
Not likely. The way those crows had been gunning for him, they would've killed him and freed the reaper immediately thereafter. And the Man of Crows would have escaped. And Garovel might've been dead now, too.
Or maybe not. Maybe he was lacking imagination in some way.
Ugh.
He didn't like how... unbothered he was, right now. He felt the weight of his actions, the importance of them, but he didn't feel guilt. Like, at all, really.
That was a good thing, he supposed. And not wrong, perhaps. But it was still... concerning, in its own way.
Page 2805 -- CCXLIX.
~~((Thanksgiving Special - page 21 of 30))~~
With his soul pressed into it, the iron branches skewered the reaper dozens of times, shredding its soul in the blink of an eye.
Hector didn't get the opportunity to even process what he had just done, however.
Right as his own killing blow was struck, a flock of crows crashed into him, tearing his armor apart and ripping through his body like paper. He barely sensed the flock's form at the last moment, convulsing and scattering.
He tumbled through open air again, having lost all sense of direction. He reached out with the Scarf to get his bearings, only to sense that he was heading straight toward some kind of gargantuan wall.
Wait, no.
That was the ground, wasn't it? Because he was falling. And it was far too late do anything about it now.
Everything went black as he hit solid earth.
Chapter Two Hundred Forty-Nine: 'O, inciting tribulation...'
Click to display entire chapter at once -- (mobile link)
Hector awoke with a start, jolting upright and taking a moment to blink away the disorientation in his vision.
'Easy there,' came Garovel's echoing voice. 'I decided to wake you up a bit early, just because there's a lot of people who want to talk to you. So take it slow. It'll probably take you a full week to recover completely.'
Hector tried to think. Recover from what? Agh, his head was pounding. Everything was, actually. "What happened?" he mumbled.
'Don't remember?'
"I remember a battle... er, in the sky...?"
'Yeah, and you hit the ground like a ton of bricks. Killed you real good. Big splat. Blood everywhere. Even your brain didn't survive, so I had to regenerate you from scratch.'
It was coming back to him.
He was in his own bed, he suddenly realized. "We're back at Warrenhold already? How long was I out?"
'A full day.'
"Agh..."
With his soul pressed into it, the iron branches skewered the reaper dozens of times, shredding its soul in the blink of an eye.
Hector didn't get the opportunity to even process what he had just done, however.
Right as his own killing blow was struck, a flock of crows crashed into him, tearing his armor apart and ripping through his body like paper. He barely sensed the flock's form at the last moment, convulsing and scattering.
He tumbled through open air again, having lost all sense of direction. He reached out with the Scarf to get his bearings, only to sense that he was heading straight toward some kind of gargantuan wall.
Wait, no.
That was the ground, wasn't it? Because he was falling. And it was far too late do anything about it now.
Everything went black as he hit solid earth.
Chapter Two Hundred Forty-Nine: 'O, inciting tribulation...'
Click to display entire chapter at once -- (mobile link)
Hector awoke with a start, jolting upright and taking a moment to blink away the disorientation in his vision.
'Easy there,' came Garovel's echoing voice. 'I decided to wake you up a bit early, just because there's a lot of people who want to talk to you. So take it slow. It'll probably take you a full week to recover completely.'
Hector tried to think. Recover from what? Agh, his head was pounding. Everything was, actually. "What happened?" he mumbled.
'Don't remember?'
"I remember a battle... er, in the sky...?"
'Yeah, and you hit the ground like a ton of bricks. Killed you real good. Big splat. Blood everywhere. Even your brain didn't survive, so I had to regenerate you from scratch.'
It was coming back to him.
He was in his own bed, he suddenly realized. "We're back at Warrenhold already? How long was I out?"
'A full day.'
"Agh..."
Page 2804
~~((Thanksgiving Special - page 20 of 30))~~
He could sense more crows en route. Two other flocks. They weren't as rigid as the one he'd faced earlier, nor were they spewing ranged attacks; but he couldn't just wait around for them to skewer him. Garovel was with him, after all.
And, well. It worked before, so he did it again. Hector knocked himself out of the flocks' paths with an iron boulder, narrowly avoiding both streams of beaks and claws.
As he tumbled, struggling to keep the severed head in view of his eye slit, he caught sight of something that took priority over just about everything else in his mind.
He saw a reaper melt out of the Man of Crows' head.
The face was covered by the frozen, soul-infused mask, but the back was still open, which was something he'd been intending to fix. But that was where the reaper appeared from. Perhaps it was trying to flee during the confusion, believing Hector would be too distracted by the flocks and the utter mayhem of freefall to notice.
Hector didn't have to think. He hadn't even been certain that the Man of Crows had been using a hyper-state up until now, but it didn't matter. There was no need to be surprised or to question it.
The reaper was a servant's weak point. There was only one action to be taken here. Instinctual.
And for it, Hector had the perfect technique, something he'd picked up from a man he admired more than almost anyone.
He launched a crude iron javelin with a simple, straightforward velocity state. No orbiting or parallel thought processes required.
It missed.
But that was okay.
It just had to get close enough to the Man's reaper. Which it did.
The iron shaft branched out violently, becoming a deadly tree of blades in the direction of the reaper.
And it connected.
He could sense more crows en route. Two other flocks. They weren't as rigid as the one he'd faced earlier, nor were they spewing ranged attacks; but he couldn't just wait around for them to skewer him. Garovel was with him, after all.
And, well. It worked before, so he did it again. Hector knocked himself out of the flocks' paths with an iron boulder, narrowly avoiding both streams of beaks and claws.
As he tumbled, struggling to keep the severed head in view of his eye slit, he caught sight of something that took priority over just about everything else in his mind.
He saw a reaper melt out of the Man of Crows' head.
The face was covered by the frozen, soul-infused mask, but the back was still open, which was something he'd been intending to fix. But that was where the reaper appeared from. Perhaps it was trying to flee during the confusion, believing Hector would be too distracted by the flocks and the utter mayhem of freefall to notice.
Hector didn't have to think. He hadn't even been certain that the Man of Crows had been using a hyper-state up until now, but it didn't matter. There was no need to be surprised or to question it.
The reaper was a servant's weak point. There was only one action to be taken here. Instinctual.
And for it, Hector had the perfect technique, something he'd picked up from a man he admired more than almost anyone.
He launched a crude iron javelin with a simple, straightforward velocity state. No orbiting or parallel thought processes required.
It missed.
But that was okay.
It just had to get close enough to the Man's reaper. Which it did.
The iron shaft branched out violently, becoming a deadly tree of blades in the direction of the reaper.
And it connected.
Page 2803
~~((Thanksgiving Special - page 19 of 30))~~
He'd practiced creating truly cold iron during his training with Zeff, but he didn't have much confidence in it yet. Molten iron was much easier by comparison. It pulled on an "emotional" command from his mind, feeling something like anger and ferocious concentration. Lowering the temperature, then, seemed to be about summoning the opposite feelings, which still felt somewhat strange to him. He could do it, just not as easily.
It wasn't just the difficulty of the technique that concerned him, though. It was its efficacy. He didn't know if it would actually be able to freeze someone this powerful. By all accounts, the molten iron should have melted the Man's body within seconds, but clearly, his passive soul defense was so strong that he'd only ended up with burnt flesh, instead.
And if he relied only on the cold to subdue the Man of Crows, then nothing less than freezing would do.
Which was why he didn't intend to rely on cold alone.
Hector traced a quick outline of the Man's face with the Scarf and created a frozen iron mask for it in his hand. He might've liked to simply coat the guy's face in iron, instead, but he was certain the field density of the Man's soul would prevent his materialization from functioning that close to the skin. He had to do this the hard way.
It all happened within a few moments.
As he soared close, the iron mask was so cold that he'd immediately lost sensation in his right hand, even through the gauntlet he was wearing. Which was a good sign, at least.
But the birds were there, too. The quick little bastards.
He slammed the mask onto the Man of Crows' face and just barely twisted himself around in time to take the brunt of the first flock's attack with Haqq's shield.
It dented impressively but held together, and Hector went flying off course as the unshielded extremities of his iron armor shattered.
He'd practiced creating truly cold iron during his training with Zeff, but he didn't have much confidence in it yet. Molten iron was much easier by comparison. It pulled on an "emotional" command from his mind, feeling something like anger and ferocious concentration. Lowering the temperature, then, seemed to be about summoning the opposite feelings, which still felt somewhat strange to him. He could do it, just not as easily.
It wasn't just the difficulty of the technique that concerned him, though. It was its efficacy. He didn't know if it would actually be able to freeze someone this powerful. By all accounts, the molten iron should have melted the Man's body within seconds, but clearly, his passive soul defense was so strong that he'd only ended up with burnt flesh, instead.
And if he relied only on the cold to subdue the Man of Crows, then nothing less than freezing would do.
Which was why he didn't intend to rely on cold alone.
Hector traced a quick outline of the Man's face with the Scarf and created a frozen iron mask for it in his hand. He might've liked to simply coat the guy's face in iron, instead, but he was certain the field density of the Man's soul would prevent his materialization from functioning that close to the skin. He had to do this the hard way.
It all happened within a few moments.
As he soared close, the iron mask was so cold that he'd immediately lost sensation in his right hand, even through the gauntlet he was wearing. Which was a good sign, at least.
But the birds were there, too. The quick little bastards.
He slammed the mask onto the Man of Crows' face and just barely twisted himself around in time to take the brunt of the first flock's attack with Haqq's shield.
It dented impressively but held together, and Hector went flying off course as the unshielded extremities of his iron armor shattered.
Page 2802
~~((Thanksgiving Special - page 18 of 30))~~
That was useful information. He traced the positions of the arm and wing with the Scarf and located where the head should been below the iron. By now, the neck might've finished regenerating, or it might've been in even worse condition after that attack. There was no way to tell while it was covered.
If he wanted to decapitate the Man of Crows, he'd have to remove the molten iron first. He needed a better look, and he didn't want the iron to dampen the force of the blow, either.
But that would obviously expose him to danger, too.
No time to think about it. They were falling. That ground was coming up fast.
He annihilated the molten coating.
In that moment, he had a full view of the Man of Crows' smote and sundered body. It was in pieces and still trying to regenerate, but the head, neck, and most of the torso were intact. The limbs looked like they'd exploded out of their sockets.
And the guy saw Hector there, approaching from above. They locked gazes.
That was certain death in the man's eyes. Perhaps he saw the same thing in Hector's.
Hector had an orbiting blade already prepared. It didn't need to be big to sever the neck, but it was. Wide and flat, the size of dinner table. Better to overdo it than under.
He loosed it.
Straight and true, it flew--thanks again to the Scarf, most likely.
And it cleaved the Man's neck from his shoulders. Blood soared amidst the charred flesh and scattered feathers.
It still wasn't over, though. Hector could sense the crows around him. Three separate flocks, all twitching at once, all suddenly converging toward him.
Hector knew at once. So long as that head was unrestrained, those birds would probably remain within his control.
Finishing this meant doing something about that.
That was useful information. He traced the positions of the arm and wing with the Scarf and located where the head should been below the iron. By now, the neck might've finished regenerating, or it might've been in even worse condition after that attack. There was no way to tell while it was covered.
If he wanted to decapitate the Man of Crows, he'd have to remove the molten iron first. He needed a better look, and he didn't want the iron to dampen the force of the blow, either.
But that would obviously expose him to danger, too.
No time to think about it. They were falling. That ground was coming up fast.
He annihilated the molten coating.
In that moment, he had a full view of the Man of Crows' smote and sundered body. It was in pieces and still trying to regenerate, but the head, neck, and most of the torso were intact. The limbs looked like they'd exploded out of their sockets.
And the guy saw Hector there, approaching from above. They locked gazes.
That was certain death in the man's eyes. Perhaps he saw the same thing in Hector's.
Hector had an orbiting blade already prepared. It didn't need to be big to sever the neck, but it was. Wide and flat, the size of dinner table. Better to overdo it than under.
He loosed it.
Straight and true, it flew--thanks again to the Scarf, most likely.
And it cleaved the Man's neck from his shoulders. Blood soared amidst the charred flesh and scattered feathers.
It still wasn't over, though. Hector could sense the crows around him. Three separate flocks, all twitching at once, all suddenly converging toward him.
Hector knew at once. So long as that head was unrestrained, those birds would probably remain within his control.
Finishing this meant doing something about that.
Page 2801
~~((Thanksgiving Special - page 17 of 30))~~
The impact was far bigger than Hector expected. This was a genuine explosion. The aerial battlefield shook from the force of it alone, and molten iron splashed out in every direction at once, flashing bright enough that Hector had to squint from behind the eye slit in his helm as he watched.
The Man of Crows dropped. Covered in what was essentially lava, his figure was barely even humanoid anymore as fell, motionless as a statue, through open air.
The birds were still following him, though. Disorganized, but following.
That seemed like evidence that the job was not yet done.
Hector bounded off his platform, annihilating it behind him. He let himself fall--skydiving in a full suit of plate armor.
He watched the birds closely for any signs of life. With the Scarf, he could tell that the crow guy had lost some body parts in that attack, but it was tough to sense exactly which ones were missing beneath all that molten iron. He could annihilate it for a better look, of course, but that seemed imprudent, considering how much it must've been impairing the Man of Crows' senses, at the moment.
Was the head still attached? That was all he wanted to know, really. At this range, it would be difficult to target such a small point on the man's body with a powerful enough blow--which was why he'd resorted to this variant of his strongest technique first--but maybe it would be doable if he got a bit closer.
He pushed himself downward with velocity states on the back of his armor--an extra layer of descending iron.
It worked surprisingly well. He jolted closer to the Man of Crows by several meters, and he could see with his own two eyes the molten iron was being disturbed. A scorched arm and an inflamed wing were trying to wipe it away.
The impact was far bigger than Hector expected. This was a genuine explosion. The aerial battlefield shook from the force of it alone, and molten iron splashed out in every direction at once, flashing bright enough that Hector had to squint from behind the eye slit in his helm as he watched.
The Man of Crows dropped. Covered in what was essentially lava, his figure was barely even humanoid anymore as fell, motionless as a statue, through open air.
The birds were still following him, though. Disorganized, but following.
That seemed like evidence that the job was not yet done.
Hector bounded off his platform, annihilating it behind him. He let himself fall--skydiving in a full suit of plate armor.
He watched the birds closely for any signs of life. With the Scarf, he could tell that the crow guy had lost some body parts in that attack, but it was tough to sense exactly which ones were missing beneath all that molten iron. He could annihilate it for a better look, of course, but that seemed imprudent, considering how much it must've been impairing the Man of Crows' senses, at the moment.
Was the head still attached? That was all he wanted to know, really. At this range, it would be difficult to target such a small point on the man's body with a powerful enough blow--which was why he'd resorted to this variant of his strongest technique first--but maybe it would be doable if he got a bit closer.
He pushed himself downward with velocity states on the back of his armor--an extra layer of descending iron.
It worked surprisingly well. He jolted closer to the Man of Crows by several meters, and he could see with his own two eyes the molten iron was being disturbed. A scorched arm and an inflamed wing were trying to wipe it away.
Page 2800
~~((Thanksgiving Special - page 16 of 30))~~
Hector abandoned his previous orbital project and started a new one--with a quite a different objective in mind, this time. He gathered all of his focus in order to sense everything the Scarf could tell him about the Man of Crows.
The guy's black wing was regrowing. His movement was slowing. He was trying to steady himself. He would soon succeed, no doubt.
They couldn't have that.
Iron cubes orbited around the crow guy as he moved. Birds were circling around him, too, but they seemed pretty disorganized, still. Hector knew they'd be a problem again if the guy got his bearings back.
This time, wind was not the goal. This time, he had a clear target. He was just waiting for the bird guy to stop tumbling. There would be a perfect moment to strike, Hector felt, when the guy caught himself in midair. The cubes would be the least likely to miss.
In the meantime, though, he could do more. He still had mental room to work with. An entire thought process to spare, more or less.
He used it to fill the cubes with molten iron.
He'd only done this one before, so perhaps it was a bit risky... but it had sure been effective last time. That was undoubtedly his most powerful technique, at the moment, and this would be a new variant of it.
Would the Man of Crows be able to take it better than Chort had?
Probably.
Hector doubted it would tickle, though.
The moment arrived. The wing had completed enough of its regeneration, and the crow guy stopped himself in midair with a suddenly furious beating of both feathered appendages. From the look on his face, he only just barely glimpsed the four giant, red hot cubes around him before their orbits shifted.
And they all converged inward simultaneously.
Hector abandoned his previous orbital project and started a new one--with a quite a different objective in mind, this time. He gathered all of his focus in order to sense everything the Scarf could tell him about the Man of Crows.
The guy's black wing was regrowing. His movement was slowing. He was trying to steady himself. He would soon succeed, no doubt.
They couldn't have that.
Iron cubes orbited around the crow guy as he moved. Birds were circling around him, too, but they seemed pretty disorganized, still. Hector knew they'd be a problem again if the guy got his bearings back.
This time, wind was not the goal. This time, he had a clear target. He was just waiting for the bird guy to stop tumbling. There would be a perfect moment to strike, Hector felt, when the guy caught himself in midair. The cubes would be the least likely to miss.
In the meantime, though, he could do more. He still had mental room to work with. An entire thought process to spare, more or less.
He used it to fill the cubes with molten iron.
He'd only done this one before, so perhaps it was a bit risky... but it had sure been effective last time. That was undoubtedly his most powerful technique, at the moment, and this would be a new variant of it.
Would the Man of Crows be able to take it better than Chort had?
Probably.
Hector doubted it would tickle, though.
The moment arrived. The wing had completed enough of its regeneration, and the crow guy stopped himself in midair with a suddenly furious beating of both feathered appendages. From the look on his face, he only just barely glimpsed the four giant, red hot cubes around him before their orbits shifted.
And they all converged inward simultaneously.
Page 2799
~~((Thanksgiving Special - page 15 of 30))~~
Hector didn't know why. Maybe he'd been foolish to think he could create a strong enough whirlwind so quickly. Maybe the altitude had something to do with it. Maybe heavy wind didn't affect pan-rozum-created fumes like he thought it would. Or maybe Bloodeye was just too damn strong.
Whatever the case, Bloodeye was getting through. He was going to make it to Abbas. He was going to interfere in their fight and help the crow guy. He was practically on top of them, already.
The smoke bent visibly downward, and then Hector noticed Dimas there, still mid-regeneration as he tried to pull Bloodeye off of Abbas with pure gravitic force.
It wasn't entirely taking, though. The smoke resisted. As if it had a mind of its own. Because it did, of course.
Neither wind nor gravity was enough to deter Bloodeye's fumes. Hector's orbiting cubes were distorting with Dimas' gravity, too, making it more difficult to keep the wind up and the pathing correct.
Not a very good combination, unfortunately.
Bloodeye made it to Abbas. The red smoke became a red cloud, expanding continuously and enveloping the crow guy, too.
Hector racked his brain, trying to think of something. How the fuck were you supposed to fight smoke?! With the view of the fight obscured, he couldn't even tell what was happening anymore. Was Abbas holding his own? Should he jump in there and try to help? That seemed like a terrible idea, but launching iron boulders into the smoke blindly didn't seem much better.
Before he could decide, the crow guy came flying out, tumbling through the air with one wing missing and a dozen trails of blood following. His neck was still attached to his shoulders, but only just. A fist-sized chunk of it was gone.
Maybe that was the ticket, then.
Hector didn't know why. Maybe he'd been foolish to think he could create a strong enough whirlwind so quickly. Maybe the altitude had something to do with it. Maybe heavy wind didn't affect pan-rozum-created fumes like he thought it would. Or maybe Bloodeye was just too damn strong.
Whatever the case, Bloodeye was getting through. He was going to make it to Abbas. He was going to interfere in their fight and help the crow guy. He was practically on top of them, already.
The smoke bent visibly downward, and then Hector noticed Dimas there, still mid-regeneration as he tried to pull Bloodeye off of Abbas with pure gravitic force.
It wasn't entirely taking, though. The smoke resisted. As if it had a mind of its own. Because it did, of course.
Neither wind nor gravity was enough to deter Bloodeye's fumes. Hector's orbiting cubes were distorting with Dimas' gravity, too, making it more difficult to keep the wind up and the pathing correct.
Not a very good combination, unfortunately.
Bloodeye made it to Abbas. The red smoke became a red cloud, expanding continuously and enveloping the crow guy, too.
Hector racked his brain, trying to think of something. How the fuck were you supposed to fight smoke?! With the view of the fight obscured, he couldn't even tell what was happening anymore. Was Abbas holding his own? Should he jump in there and try to help? That seemed like a terrible idea, but launching iron boulders into the smoke blindly didn't seem much better.
Before he could decide, the crow guy came flying out, tumbling through the air with one wing missing and a dozen trails of blood following. His neck was still attached to his shoulders, but only just. A fist-sized chunk of it was gone.
Maybe that was the ticket, then.
Page 2798
~~((Thanksgiving Special - page 14 of 30))~~
Wind might be the trick, Hector thought. If a solid object couldn't stop the smoke, then maybe a tornado would. He'd recently gotten a crash course in tornadoes, after all.
But could he actually generate one with just his iron? In his battle with that tornado back at the airport, he'd been trying to smother and calm it, and this was basically the exact opposite.
He had an inkling of how he might attempt it, but not having pulled this off before, he couldn't help feeling enormously anxious in a background thought process.
He needed to create a whirlwind with orbiting iron cubes. The problem, though, was that the point of origin for the orbiting was not himself. It needed to be Bloodeye. Who was still moving.
If he'd had more time to think the problem through, Hector probably would have just been even more hesitant. Creating orbiting cubes around an enemy--much less ones that were moving fast enough to stir up a violent wind--that was a shaky idea, at best.
But he went for it.
His spatial awareness was key. Without a good sense for Bloodeye's exact location within Hector's own sphere of influence, this technique would be horrifically imprecise. Concentration, experience, and the Scarf of Amordiin were the deciding factors.
The literally fuming Bloodeye made for a terrible target. His amorphous body seemed like it was going everywhere at once--but of course, it wasn't. Bloodeye's aim was clear, at least. Hector used that to his advantage.
The cubes materialized around the red smoke, moving with it as they spun up, accelerating. The disturbance of the wind was made more visible by the distortions it created in Bloodeye's form. Perhaps that was hesitation on display as well, mixed with confusion.
But no. Fuck. It wasn't working. It was barely slowing Bloodeye down, if at all, even as Hector kept trying to ramp up the speed.
Wind might be the trick, Hector thought. If a solid object couldn't stop the smoke, then maybe a tornado would. He'd recently gotten a crash course in tornadoes, after all.
But could he actually generate one with just his iron? In his battle with that tornado back at the airport, he'd been trying to smother and calm it, and this was basically the exact opposite.
He had an inkling of how he might attempt it, but not having pulled this off before, he couldn't help feeling enormously anxious in a background thought process.
He needed to create a whirlwind with orbiting iron cubes. The problem, though, was that the point of origin for the orbiting was not himself. It needed to be Bloodeye. Who was still moving.
If he'd had more time to think the problem through, Hector probably would have just been even more hesitant. Creating orbiting cubes around an enemy--much less ones that were moving fast enough to stir up a violent wind--that was a shaky idea, at best.
But he went for it.
His spatial awareness was key. Without a good sense for Bloodeye's exact location within Hector's own sphere of influence, this technique would be horrifically imprecise. Concentration, experience, and the Scarf of Amordiin were the deciding factors.
The literally fuming Bloodeye made for a terrible target. His amorphous body seemed like it was going everywhere at once--but of course, it wasn't. Bloodeye's aim was clear, at least. Hector used that to his advantage.
The cubes materialized around the red smoke, moving with it as they spun up, accelerating. The disturbance of the wind was made more visible by the distortions it created in Bloodeye's form. Perhaps that was hesitation on display as well, mixed with confusion.
But no. Fuck. It wasn't working. It was barely slowing Bloodeye down, if at all, even as Hector kept trying to ramp up the speed.
Page 2797
~~((Thanksgiving Special - page 13 of 30))~~
How many of these damn things had this motherfucker swallowed?
Hector didn't waste time trying to confirm anything visually. He just materialized a giant dome high over everyone's head, adding as much thickness to it as quickly as he could. Thankfully, there was more time to react than with the last missile, because Dimas had flung Bloodeye so far away.
The iron dome lingered there in the air for a couple seconds, falling and beginning to pick up speed even as Hector kept beefing it up--until the explosion arrived.
The iron ripped and scattered into a million pieces, threatening them all with even more shrapnel than the missile itself provided. Hector did his best to annihilate what he could, but the twisted chunks of iron were like a heavy rain for a few lingering moments.
The smoke was the real danger, though. It obscured their view, and Hector had a rather strong feeling that Bloodeye would be pouring through it any moment now. He tried to focus on what the Scarf could tell him, but Bloodeye could also be smoke, so he had to be extra attentive.
And indeed, when the dark red fumes plumed diagonally out of the dark gray smoke, he almost didn't see them.
Bloodeye was headed toward Abbas now.
The two missile explosions seemed to have caused a mild disruption in the fight between the Sunsmith and the Man of Crows, but they were still going at it. Some of the birds had returned to harass Abbas as their master struggled to get away, but Abbas had a solid grip on one of his wings now and seemed to be trying to achieve the same on his neck.
Hector needed to keep buying time. And hitting Bloodeye with another boulder wouldn't be nearly as effective while the dude was in his smoke form.
How many of these damn things had this motherfucker swallowed?
Hector didn't waste time trying to confirm anything visually. He just materialized a giant dome high over everyone's head, adding as much thickness to it as quickly as he could. Thankfully, there was more time to react than with the last missile, because Dimas had flung Bloodeye so far away.
The iron dome lingered there in the air for a couple seconds, falling and beginning to pick up speed even as Hector kept beefing it up--until the explosion arrived.
The iron ripped and scattered into a million pieces, threatening them all with even more shrapnel than the missile itself provided. Hector did his best to annihilate what he could, but the twisted chunks of iron were like a heavy rain for a few lingering moments.
The smoke was the real danger, though. It obscured their view, and Hector had a rather strong feeling that Bloodeye would be pouring through it any moment now. He tried to focus on what the Scarf could tell him, but Bloodeye could also be smoke, so he had to be extra attentive.
And indeed, when the dark red fumes plumed diagonally out of the dark gray smoke, he almost didn't see them.
Bloodeye was headed toward Abbas now.
The two missile explosions seemed to have caused a mild disruption in the fight between the Sunsmith and the Man of Crows, but they were still going at it. Some of the birds had returned to harass Abbas as their master struggled to get away, but Abbas had a solid grip on one of his wings now and seemed to be trying to achieve the same on his neck.
Hector needed to keep buying time. And hitting Bloodeye with another boulder wouldn't be nearly as effective while the dude was in his smoke form.
Page 2796
~~((Thanksgiving Special - page 12 of 30))~~
Hector put out a hand, aiming to materialize an iron wall into the missile's path. Dimas raised both hands, perhaps trying to throw it off course.
It was Roman Fullister, however, who actually succeeded.
He just happened to be the closest to the missile's flight path. Why it hadn't picked him in the first place was impossible to say. Perhaps Bloodeye had simply thought the gravity user to be the bigger problem. Perhaps it was just pure chance.
Whatever the case, there was no time to question why or make an informed decision, no time to use logic or concoct a strategy. There was only time enough for Roman to let his instincts take over, to do what required as little thought as possible.
He put his very own body in the way.
Hector's eyes widened at the sight of the explosion, and in the back of his mind, he had to remind himself that Voreese hadn't been with him. Roman would be fine.
But the man had really just taken one for the team.
The aerial battlefield shook violently, and the resultant shock wave nearly knocked Hector off his hovering platform. Even at this distance, smoke and shrapnel still made it all the way over to him, piercing his armor in a couple places.
Dimas had been closer, though. He might've still been caught in the explosion a little, Hector realized.
He concentrated on the Scarf while steadying his platform simultaneously.
The air currents all around him were swirling like mad. He'd just gotten accustomed to the crazy winds at this altitude, and now everything was confused again. But he kept searching. Dimas had to be around here somewhere.
Ah. There. Below him.
Something wasn't quite right, though.
Dimas' left arm and leg were missing.
Damn. That could be fixed shortly, though. And at least he was still alive.
'Another missile above!' yelled Garovel.
Hector put out a hand, aiming to materialize an iron wall into the missile's path. Dimas raised both hands, perhaps trying to throw it off course.
It was Roman Fullister, however, who actually succeeded.
He just happened to be the closest to the missile's flight path. Why it hadn't picked him in the first place was impossible to say. Perhaps Bloodeye had simply thought the gravity user to be the bigger problem. Perhaps it was just pure chance.
Whatever the case, there was no time to question why or make an informed decision, no time to use logic or concoct a strategy. There was only time enough for Roman to let his instincts take over, to do what required as little thought as possible.
He put his very own body in the way.
Hector's eyes widened at the sight of the explosion, and in the back of his mind, he had to remind himself that Voreese hadn't been with him. Roman would be fine.
But the man had really just taken one for the team.
The aerial battlefield shook violently, and the resultant shock wave nearly knocked Hector off his hovering platform. Even at this distance, smoke and shrapnel still made it all the way over to him, piercing his armor in a couple places.
Dimas had been closer, though. He might've still been caught in the explosion a little, Hector realized.
He concentrated on the Scarf while steadying his platform simultaneously.
The air currents all around him were swirling like mad. He'd just gotten accustomed to the crazy winds at this altitude, and now everything was confused again. But he kept searching. Dimas had to be around here somewhere.
Ah. There. Below him.
Something wasn't quite right, though.
Dimas' left arm and leg were missing.
Damn. That could be fixed shortly, though. And at least he was still alive.
'Another missile above!' yelled Garovel.
Page 2795
~~((Thanksgiving Special - page 11 of 30))~~
It made no sense. Of course it didn't. Lengthwise, the missile was larger than the dude's whole body. It was physically impossible for him to have been keeping a missile in his freaking stomach--nevermind the implication that he'd had more than one in there.
Absurd. The missile was already active, too, with the rocket on its tail firing even as it emerged from Bloodeye's mouth.
'Garovel, are you seeing this shit?!'
'Worry about it later! Stop that thing before it achieves its top speed!'
The reaper was right. The last missile was so damn fast that it would've bridged the current distance between Bloodeye and Abbas in the blink of an eye. This one obviously needed time to accelerate, and that was their only window to work with.
With the way Abbas and the crow guy were locked in close quarters combat, Bloodeye should've been reluctant to use such a dangerous weapon for fear of hitting his own ally in the process; but Hector had a feeling that these these Abolish maniacs probably didn't give a fuck about things like that.
He loosed one of the iron boulders. At this range, he didn't expect it to hit and just wanted to give Bloodeye something to think about. But to that end, Dimas achieved better results than any of them.
Perhaps too much so.
Dimas did to Bloodeye what he'd just been doing the crows, yo-yoing him up and down with gravity. He ended it off by flinging the monstrous man straight upwards, even higher into the sky--and perhaps, Hector briefly thought, all the way out into space.
But not before the missile managed to slip out of the gravity well. And much to Hector's surprise, it didn't go for Abbas.
It went for Dimas.
And it was blindingly fast. There was barely a moment to react.
It made no sense. Of course it didn't. Lengthwise, the missile was larger than the dude's whole body. It was physically impossible for him to have been keeping a missile in his freaking stomach--nevermind the implication that he'd had more than one in there.
Absurd. The missile was already active, too, with the rocket on its tail firing even as it emerged from Bloodeye's mouth.
'Garovel, are you seeing this shit?!'
'Worry about it later! Stop that thing before it achieves its top speed!'
The reaper was right. The last missile was so damn fast that it would've bridged the current distance between Bloodeye and Abbas in the blink of an eye. This one obviously needed time to accelerate, and that was their only window to work with.
With the way Abbas and the crow guy were locked in close quarters combat, Bloodeye should've been reluctant to use such a dangerous weapon for fear of hitting his own ally in the process; but Hector had a feeling that these these Abolish maniacs probably didn't give a fuck about things like that.
He loosed one of the iron boulders. At this range, he didn't expect it to hit and just wanted to give Bloodeye something to think about. But to that end, Dimas achieved better results than any of them.
Perhaps too much so.
Dimas did to Bloodeye what he'd just been doing the crows, yo-yoing him up and down with gravity. He ended it off by flinging the monstrous man straight upwards, even higher into the sky--and perhaps, Hector briefly thought, all the way out into space.
But not before the missile managed to slip out of the gravity well. And much to Hector's surprise, it didn't go for Abbas.
It went for Dimas.
And it was blindingly fast. There was barely a moment to react.
Page 2794
~~((Thanksgiving Special - page 10 of 30))~~
Hector didn't mind letting someone else do the heavy lifting. That was the point of providing combat support.
'Bloodeye inbound on your right,' came Garovel's private warning.
Well, shit.
Hector couldn't sense Bloodeye yet with the Scarf, so he had to turn and look.
Okay, what the hell? The dude had wings now. He definitely hadn't had those before. And unlike the Man of Crows', Bloodeye's were not feathery at all. They were clearly more fleshy and gnarled. They barely even looked like wings, actually. It was like some sort of horribly deformed pterodactyl.
The fact that Bloodeye could apparently grow wings was strange enough on its own, but why had he grown them? He'd already been capable of flight via his red smoke form in pan-rozum.
Regardless, Hector knew at once what his task here was.
Delay, delay, delay. He just needed to buy time for Abbas to finish off the crow guy.
Or in other words, he just needed to be as obnoxious as possible.
And when he thought about it like that, this seemed doable. Obviously, he couldn't take either of these monstrous Abolishers in a fight. But he could almost certainly annoy the shit out of them.
Dimas and Roman both seemed to be thinking the same, because they were already pelting Bloodeye with scarcely visible attacks, trying to slow his progress. Hector, meanwhile, prepared a couple more boulders while circling around on his hovering platform. He wanted to wait for a solid opening before attacking again, because it seemed like Dimas and Roman might just provide one soon. That, and if he fired a boulder off too soon, the bastard would probably just dodge.
As Bloodeye entered the edge of the Scarf's range, however, Hector sensed him do something incredibly strange.
Bloodeye opened his toothy maw, reached his own hand deep into it, and pulled out a fucking missile.
Hector didn't mind letting someone else do the heavy lifting. That was the point of providing combat support.
'Bloodeye inbound on your right,' came Garovel's private warning.
Well, shit.
Hector couldn't sense Bloodeye yet with the Scarf, so he had to turn and look.
Okay, what the hell? The dude had wings now. He definitely hadn't had those before. And unlike the Man of Crows', Bloodeye's were not feathery at all. They were clearly more fleshy and gnarled. They barely even looked like wings, actually. It was like some sort of horribly deformed pterodactyl.
The fact that Bloodeye could apparently grow wings was strange enough on its own, but why had he grown them? He'd already been capable of flight via his red smoke form in pan-rozum.
Regardless, Hector knew at once what his task here was.
Delay, delay, delay. He just needed to buy time for Abbas to finish off the crow guy.
Or in other words, he just needed to be as obnoxious as possible.
And when he thought about it like that, this seemed doable. Obviously, he couldn't take either of these monstrous Abolishers in a fight. But he could almost certainly annoy the shit out of them.
Dimas and Roman both seemed to be thinking the same, because they were already pelting Bloodeye with scarcely visible attacks, trying to slow his progress. Hector, meanwhile, prepared a couple more boulders while circling around on his hovering platform. He wanted to wait for a solid opening before attacking again, because it seemed like Dimas and Roman might just provide one soon. That, and if he fired a boulder off too soon, the bastard would probably just dodge.
As Bloodeye entered the edge of the Scarf's range, however, Hector sensed him do something incredibly strange.
Bloodeye opened his toothy maw, reached his own hand deep into it, and pulled out a fucking missile.
Page 2793
~~((Thanksgiving Special - page 9 of 30))~~
The Man of Crows was on the ropes, Hector felt. But he also remembered what terrible shape the Sunsmith's armor was in. That was probably why Abbas was resorting to such a straightforward beat down now. His technological arsenal was limited.
Hector couldn't get too comfortable, he knew. Even as he saw the flock of crows chasing him slow down and begin to disperse, even as they stopped spitting deadly attacks in his direction, he was reluctant to conclude that the battle was already won.
He did, however, allow himself to reach the apex of an arc and land on a hovering iron platform. It was still wobbling and moving with his momentum, but the footing was mostly stable. And after all that, he didn't feel too disoriented. He'd expected a lot worse, quite frankly.
He took a moment to reassess the situation. None of the boxed crows had broken out yet, as far as he could tell, so he started collecting them and boxing up more.
It might have been a needless effort, though.
Abbas was still going hard. No doubt, the crows were losing their potency because of how badly he was slapping the shit out of their master. It seemed like every hit was landing now, drawing more and more blood, with only the occasional glancing blow being returned.
At this point, Hector couldn't even picture how he might assist in such a fight. A ranged attack would risk hitting Abbas, and trying to help up close would probably just earn himself a flying roundhouse kick to the face or something. Either that, or Abbas would have to start pulling his punches, and Hector certainly didn't want that.
Hector was watching in morbid awe. One of Abbas' metal boots caught the crow guy in the side, folding the man's body in half--and not in the normal direction. Abbas was trying to grab his head, seemingly--probably to rip it off his shoulders--but the guy was barely managing to wriggle away.
Honestly, the fact that the crow guy wasn't dead yet was kind of impressive in its own way. Abbas was moving like a man possessed.
The Man of Crows was on the ropes, Hector felt. But he also remembered what terrible shape the Sunsmith's armor was in. That was probably why Abbas was resorting to such a straightforward beat down now. His technological arsenal was limited.
Hector couldn't get too comfortable, he knew. Even as he saw the flock of crows chasing him slow down and begin to disperse, even as they stopped spitting deadly attacks in his direction, he was reluctant to conclude that the battle was already won.
He did, however, allow himself to reach the apex of an arc and land on a hovering iron platform. It was still wobbling and moving with his momentum, but the footing was mostly stable. And after all that, he didn't feel too disoriented. He'd expected a lot worse, quite frankly.
He took a moment to reassess the situation. None of the boxed crows had broken out yet, as far as he could tell, so he started collecting them and boxing up more.
It might have been a needless effort, though.
Abbas was still going hard. No doubt, the crows were losing their potency because of how badly he was slapping the shit out of their master. It seemed like every hit was landing now, drawing more and more blood, with only the occasional glancing blow being returned.
At this point, Hector couldn't even picture how he might assist in such a fight. A ranged attack would risk hitting Abbas, and trying to help up close would probably just earn himself a flying roundhouse kick to the face or something. Either that, or Abbas would have to start pulling his punches, and Hector certainly didn't want that.
Hector was watching in morbid awe. One of Abbas' metal boots caught the crow guy in the side, folding the man's body in half--and not in the normal direction. Abbas was trying to grab his head, seemingly--probably to rip it off his shoulders--but the guy was barely managing to wriggle away.
Honestly, the fact that the crow guy wasn't dead yet was kind of impressive in its own way. Abbas was moving like a man possessed.
Page 2792
~~((Thanksgiving Special - page 8 of 30))~~
They were closer now, so he didn't have quite as much time to work with as before, but was he still able to lessen their numbers and deliver another speeding boulder into the remaining flock before leaving.
And indeed, the birds crudely attacked the boulder again, splitting it apart and blanketing themselves in more iron chunks, just like before.
So they really were that primitive, then. Either the crow guy couldn't manipulate their behavior that closely, or he was simply too distracted by his fight with Abbas to spare that much attention for Hector.
The latter might've made the most sense, actually. He was close enough to sense Abbas' insane movements now at the edge of the Scarf's range. The Sunsmith was pressing his advantage with a flurry of hand-to-hand attacks in midair. The man was using the jets on his suit to put his entire body weight and more into his punches, which he weaved into spinning kicks and compounded with three-dimensional movement, zipping above and below the Man of Crows constantly.
Given the technology at Abbas' disposal, hand-to-hand combat seemed a bit quaint to be employing now, but Hector had to admit, it still looked pretty damn overwhelming. The crow guy couldn't even get away from him now and was only able to dodge maybe a fifth of the attacks overall--perhaps even less as the barrage continued, unabated.
Plus, Dimas appeared to have a rather strong matchup against the birds. While Hector had been trying to deal with one flock, Dimas had been dealing with three and was now even pulling another away from Abbas.
The birds were flying all over the place, being thrust up and down like yo-yos through the sky as gravity rapidly increased and decreased around them. Some dropped and just kept falling, unable to resume flying.
They were closer now, so he didn't have quite as much time to work with as before, but was he still able to lessen their numbers and deliver another speeding boulder into the remaining flock before leaving.
And indeed, the birds crudely attacked the boulder again, splitting it apart and blanketing themselves in more iron chunks, just like before.
So they really were that primitive, then. Either the crow guy couldn't manipulate their behavior that closely, or he was simply too distracted by his fight with Abbas to spare that much attention for Hector.
The latter might've made the most sense, actually. He was close enough to sense Abbas' insane movements now at the edge of the Scarf's range. The Sunsmith was pressing his advantage with a flurry of hand-to-hand attacks in midair. The man was using the jets on his suit to put his entire body weight and more into his punches, which he weaved into spinning kicks and compounded with three-dimensional movement, zipping above and below the Man of Crows constantly.
Given the technology at Abbas' disposal, hand-to-hand combat seemed a bit quaint to be employing now, but Hector had to admit, it still looked pretty damn overwhelming. The crow guy couldn't even get away from him now and was only able to dodge maybe a fifth of the attacks overall--perhaps even less as the barrage continued, unabated.
Plus, Dimas appeared to have a rather strong matchup against the birds. While Hector had been trying to deal with one flock, Dimas had been dealing with three and was now even pulling another away from Abbas.
The birds were flying all over the place, being thrust up and down like yo-yos through the sky as gravity rapidly increased and decreased around them. Some dropped and just kept falling, unable to resume flying.
Page 2791
~~((Thanksgiving Special - page 7 of 30))~~
Hector didn't bother collecting them yet. He didn't know if the birds would be able to break free without assistance, and he didn't want to bring them so close to his body and to Garovel while lacking that critical piece of information.
The flock as a whole still remained quite strong, though. The density of birds packed in there was even greater than he thought. Already, they were spitting fire and acid in his direction.
He had to move, but not before launching one of his boulders at them. It rocked through them, attracting lightning and acid attacks that caused it to crack apart and scatter--but that still didn't render it worthless. The broken chunks sprayed across the flock in a wide pattern, smashing clusters of birds out of formations and sending blood and feathers flying.
Hmm. He felt like that had done even more damage to them than if the birds had just tried to avoid the boulder altogether. Maybe they didn't expect it to have that much force behind it.
Or maybe they were just a bunch of stupid birds that attacked anything that came close.
If that was the case, then he could probably take advantage of that, couldn't he?
He knocked himself away from his upside down platform just as it was engulfed in flames and acid--a combination which combusted and sent him tumbling through open air again.
He was getting used to this, though. He still had more boulders in orbit around him, and it wasn't that much more difficult to keep them there even while moving like this, so long as he maintained his focus.
The flock was still chasing him, but it had lost probably a third of its number already.
Time to make it more.
He repeated his process, catching himself on another big slab of materialized iron that was moving with him through the air, then clapping more boxes around more birds.
Hector didn't bother collecting them yet. He didn't know if the birds would be able to break free without assistance, and he didn't want to bring them so close to his body and to Garovel while lacking that critical piece of information.
The flock as a whole still remained quite strong, though. The density of birds packed in there was even greater than he thought. Already, they were spitting fire and acid in his direction.
He had to move, but not before launching one of his boulders at them. It rocked through them, attracting lightning and acid attacks that caused it to crack apart and scatter--but that still didn't render it worthless. The broken chunks sprayed across the flock in a wide pattern, smashing clusters of birds out of formations and sending blood and feathers flying.
Hmm. He felt like that had done even more damage to them than if the birds had just tried to avoid the boulder altogether. Maybe they didn't expect it to have that much force behind it.
Or maybe they were just a bunch of stupid birds that attacked anything that came close.
If that was the case, then he could probably take advantage of that, couldn't he?
He knocked himself away from his upside down platform just as it was engulfed in flames and acid--a combination which combusted and sent him tumbling through open air again.
He was getting used to this, though. He still had more boulders in orbit around him, and it wasn't that much more difficult to keep them there even while moving like this, so long as he maintained his focus.
The flock was still chasing him, but it had lost probably a third of its number already.
Time to make it more.
He repeated his process, catching himself on another big slab of materialized iron that was moving with him through the air, then clapping more boxes around more birds.
Page 2790
~~((Thanksgiving Special - page 6 of 30))~~
Thank god for the Scarf of Amordiin. Without it, there would've been no way he could sense where anyone else was.
Roman was zooming around the crow guy but keeping his distance, probably caught in the dilemma of trying to draw attention but not too much attention.
Dimas had regained his composure and was on the way to attack again. Hector sensed him looking in his general direction, but the Lord Sebolt didn't move to catch him with gravity again. Perhaps he thought Hector knew what he was doing and so didn't want to interfere.
A very generous assumption, if true.
As he neared the midair combat zone again, Hector could still sense the flock of crows chasing after him from below. He would need to deal with them, somehow, else they would be a distraction for Abbas.
After one last aerial tumble, he managed to catch himself on an upside down platform of iron. And for a brief time, as his physical momentum remained with him, pushing the platform higher, his feet were firmly planted on it as he looked down through his visor at the ascending onslaught of murderous crows.
He didn't yet know how durable those little feathered bastards were, so perhaps it was a good time to test them out. With enough concentration in the Scarf, he was very aware of their individual spatial locations relative to himself.
So he started doing two things: spinning up a slew of new iron boulders in orbit around him, and clapping iron boxes around the birds at range. If he could thin their numbers a bit, then perhaps they wouldn't be quite so deadly.
Some of the boxes weren't quite on the mark, which wasn't too surprising considering how quick the damn things were; but some of them were dead on. And immediately, scores of iron cubes began dropping out of the sky, taking black birds with them.
Thank god for the Scarf of Amordiin. Without it, there would've been no way he could sense where anyone else was.
Roman was zooming around the crow guy but keeping his distance, probably caught in the dilemma of trying to draw attention but not too much attention.
Dimas had regained his composure and was on the way to attack again. Hector sensed him looking in his general direction, but the Lord Sebolt didn't move to catch him with gravity again. Perhaps he thought Hector knew what he was doing and so didn't want to interfere.
A very generous assumption, if true.
As he neared the midair combat zone again, Hector could still sense the flock of crows chasing after him from below. He would need to deal with them, somehow, else they would be a distraction for Abbas.
After one last aerial tumble, he managed to catch himself on an upside down platform of iron. And for a brief time, as his physical momentum remained with him, pushing the platform higher, his feet were firmly planted on it as he looked down through his visor at the ascending onslaught of murderous crows.
He didn't yet know how durable those little feathered bastards were, so perhaps it was a good time to test them out. With enough concentration in the Scarf, he was very aware of their individual spatial locations relative to himself.
So he started doing two things: spinning up a slew of new iron boulders in orbit around him, and clapping iron boxes around the birds at range. If he could thin their numbers a bit, then perhaps they wouldn't be quite so deadly.
Some of the boxes weren't quite on the mark, which wasn't too surprising considering how quick the damn things were; but some of them were dead on. And immediately, scores of iron cubes began dropping out of the sky, taking black birds with them.
Page 2789
~~((Thanksgiving Special - page 5 of 30))~~
Whatever the case, this ruled out flying, Hector decided. While it was true that he'd been practicing his flight quite a bit recently, he didn't think he had enough speed with it yet to warrant using it against these guys.
These motherfuckers were using pan-rozum. They might not have been able to keep up with Abbas, but they were still damn fast. Abbas could break the sound barrier, if he wanted to. The fact that he wasn't running circles around them was impressive enough on its own.
No, he had to prioritize speed here, Hector felt--even if it meant losing some of his control and maneuverability.
And to his mind, his flight wasn't even that stable yet. If it was just a matter of maximizing speed, then one of his most primitive techniques would be best here.
He pummeled himself with a big block of iron from the side. He took the hit with Haqq's shield, but it still sent him flying, just as desired.
He tumbled haphazardly through open air, which made it difficult to keep his bearings but not impossible. He maintained his concentration on the Scarf, using the oncoming flock of birds as a fixture point. Even if he couldn't be quite sure of his own location within this wobbly storm of air currents around him, he knew that he wanted the distance between him and those crows to be increasing, not decreasing.
They were getting closer, so he slammed another block into himself, even harder this time, aiming more upward and diagonally.
The impact was more disorienting, but it worked. It created distance.
For a moment, at least. The birds weren't letting up, of course.
So he did it again. And again. And still again, essentially ping ponging himself back up into the sky and toward the battle.
Whatever the case, this ruled out flying, Hector decided. While it was true that he'd been practicing his flight quite a bit recently, he didn't think he had enough speed with it yet to warrant using it against these guys.
These motherfuckers were using pan-rozum. They might not have been able to keep up with Abbas, but they were still damn fast. Abbas could break the sound barrier, if he wanted to. The fact that he wasn't running circles around them was impressive enough on its own.
No, he had to prioritize speed here, Hector felt--even if it meant losing some of his control and maneuverability.
And to his mind, his flight wasn't even that stable yet. If it was just a matter of maximizing speed, then one of his most primitive techniques would be best here.
He pummeled himself with a big block of iron from the side. He took the hit with Haqq's shield, but it still sent him flying, just as desired.
He tumbled haphazardly through open air, which made it difficult to keep his bearings but not impossible. He maintained his concentration on the Scarf, using the oncoming flock of birds as a fixture point. Even if he couldn't be quite sure of his own location within this wobbly storm of air currents around him, he knew that he wanted the distance between him and those crows to be increasing, not decreasing.
They were getting closer, so he slammed another block into himself, even harder this time, aiming more upward and diagonally.
The impact was more disorienting, but it worked. It created distance.
For a moment, at least. The birds weren't letting up, of course.
So he did it again. And again. And still again, essentially ping ponging himself back up into the sky and toward the battle.
Page 2788
~~((Thanksgiving Special - page 4 of 30))~~
Unfortunately, the crow guy seemed to have already noticed them. A flock of black birds came snaking through the air.
Dimas dodged, but an errant lightning bolt from one of the crow's mouths caught him.
And then Hector was falling through open sky.
Dimas had dropped him, he realized.
Shit.
What to do? His vision was limited through the slit in his helmet, and the Scarf was sending him all sorts of confusing information with how fast the wind around him was moving.
But he'd wanted to give it a second try, hadn't he? Well, now was the time.
He shut his eyes and concentrated, trying his best not to think about the fact that he was currently in freefall, the fact that he'd soon hit the ground and be turned into canned meat if he didn't do something about it.
High winds had intense effects upon the Scarf. He knew that from his first trip to Lorent, when he'd met Pauline Gaolanet, the Sparrow at the airport.
And the effects now were similar, perhaps even stronger. He could sense so many pathways in the air, all linking together, pushing each other or crash against one another. It was like trying to pick out individual strands of spaghetti within a giant bowl. One big mess.
But that was the wrong way of looking at it, wasn't it? Individual strands weren't that important. The groupings of strands were more informative, weren't they?
Yeah.
Some of the currents knotted together, creating nothing but chaos that disrupted his senses, but around them, the air could still flow. If he could ignore the holes and follow the other paths, maybe this was doable.
Oh hey, there was a flock of crows chasing after him from above.
Wow, couldn't they tell he was already falling out of the sky? That was pretty aggressive. What a bunch of dicks.
Hmm, maybe one of these thought processes was a little too calm.
Unfortunately, the crow guy seemed to have already noticed them. A flock of black birds came snaking through the air.
Dimas dodged, but an errant lightning bolt from one of the crow's mouths caught him.
And then Hector was falling through open sky.
Dimas had dropped him, he realized.
Shit.
What to do? His vision was limited through the slit in his helmet, and the Scarf was sending him all sorts of confusing information with how fast the wind around him was moving.
But he'd wanted to give it a second try, hadn't he? Well, now was the time.
He shut his eyes and concentrated, trying his best not to think about the fact that he was currently in freefall, the fact that he'd soon hit the ground and be turned into canned meat if he didn't do something about it.
High winds had intense effects upon the Scarf. He knew that from his first trip to Lorent, when he'd met Pauline Gaolanet, the Sparrow at the airport.
And the effects now were similar, perhaps even stronger. He could sense so many pathways in the air, all linking together, pushing each other or crash against one another. It was like trying to pick out individual strands of spaghetti within a giant bowl. One big mess.
But that was the wrong way of looking at it, wasn't it? Individual strands weren't that important. The groupings of strands were more informative, weren't they?
Yeah.
Some of the currents knotted together, creating nothing but chaos that disrupted his senses, but around them, the air could still flow. If he could ignore the holes and follow the other paths, maybe this was doable.
Oh hey, there was a flock of crows chasing after him from above.
Wow, couldn't they tell he was already falling out of the sky? That was pretty aggressive. What a bunch of dicks.
Hmm, maybe one of these thought processes was a little too calm.
Page 2787
~~((Thanksgiving Special - page 3 of 30))~~
The crows themselves were obviously abnormal, too, being the sources of much of the fire, lightning, and acid thrown around. And Hector could tell that they were even more dangerous than they looked, because Abbas was clearly trying his best to avoid them. If the Lord Saqqaf could just ignore their attacks and blast through, he assuredly would've been.
But what in the fuck was up with Bloodeye? Worwal's description of a "strange transformation power" was an understatement if ever there was one. The guy looked like some kind of demonic alligator-goblin, which might've also implied mutation, but his body was frequently shifting between its solid form and crimson smoke.
Hector had seen such shifting before with Xuan Sebolt's usage of transfiguration and pan-rozum.
Bloodeye's fumes seemed to be having a harder time keeping up with Abbas than the crow guy did, so perhaps that was why Dimas chose to go after him first.
A hail of gravitic bullets sprayed across Bloodeye's horned backside, peppering it with bloody holes and making the monster turn his head toward them.
An instant later, Hector had a present for him, too.
A giant ball of iron, as big as a car, launched via his orbital technique.
It clobbered him, carrying him off into the distance.
Which actually surprised Hector a little bit. He hadn't expected that to work quite so well. But then again, that was a quite literal ton of solid iron he'd just flung at the guy, and there was nothing up here for Bloodeye to brace himself against.
Inertia and momentum had been on his side for that particular interaction. He had no doubt that Bloodeye would be back, though--and soon.
But in the meantime, they could gang up on the crow guy with Abbas.
The crows themselves were obviously abnormal, too, being the sources of much of the fire, lightning, and acid thrown around. And Hector could tell that they were even more dangerous than they looked, because Abbas was clearly trying his best to avoid them. If the Lord Saqqaf could just ignore their attacks and blast through, he assuredly would've been.
But what in the fuck was up with Bloodeye? Worwal's description of a "strange transformation power" was an understatement if ever there was one. The guy looked like some kind of demonic alligator-goblin, which might've also implied mutation, but his body was frequently shifting between its solid form and crimson smoke.
Hector had seen such shifting before with Xuan Sebolt's usage of transfiguration and pan-rozum.
Bloodeye's fumes seemed to be having a harder time keeping up with Abbas than the crow guy did, so perhaps that was why Dimas chose to go after him first.
A hail of gravitic bullets sprayed across Bloodeye's horned backside, peppering it with bloody holes and making the monster turn his head toward them.
An instant later, Hector had a present for him, too.
A giant ball of iron, as big as a car, launched via his orbital technique.
It clobbered him, carrying him off into the distance.
Which actually surprised Hector a little bit. He hadn't expected that to work quite so well. But then again, that was a quite literal ton of solid iron he'd just flung at the guy, and there was nothing up here for Bloodeye to brace himself against.
Inertia and momentum had been on his side for that particular interaction. He had no doubt that Bloodeye would be back, though--and soon.
But in the meantime, they could gang up on the crow guy with Abbas.
Page 2786
~~((Thanksgiving Special - page 2 of 30))~~
Sure, there'd been extenuating circumstances, as Melchor and Xuan had still been exhausted from their own clash at Marshrock, but it was hard for Hector to just put all of his concerns out of his mind.
Because now they were facing two such people.
And in another thought process, Hector kept reevaluating their combat strength. On the ground, they had Salvador, Matteo, Rolando, and one other gunman in Rico Sebolt. Rico and Rolando were something of a duo, from what Hector had seen.
In the air, they had Dimas, Roman, Abbas, and himself. And that last one was pretty debatable, regarding aerial combat.
All things considered, this wasn't the most fortunate of match ups. If Abbas fell or was otherwise incapacitated, even briefly, then someone might just die.
Or they all would.
So more than anything, their role here was to support Abbas, Hector felt. They had to keep him alive, no matter what. Which meant they needed to keep Bloodeye and the Man of Crows separated. Whatever their powers were, they would be weaker in isolation; and allowing them to attack Abbas together one of the worst-case scenarios.
But that was exactly what was happening when they finally caught up.
There was barely any time to process what he was witnessing. So much going on at once. New enemies with new powers to assess. Everyone zipping back and forth in midair, wrestling and clawing at one another, throwing explosions and punches and explosive punches. Fire and lightning and acid and smoke and blood spraying everywhere in midair.
Perhaps now more than ever, the parallel thought processes were crucially valuable.
The enemies were easy to tell apart, at least. The Man of Crows was obviously the dude with all the fucking crows flying around him, but Hector hadn't expected him to have giant black wings growing out of his back, too. Mutation user?
Sure, there'd been extenuating circumstances, as Melchor and Xuan had still been exhausted from their own clash at Marshrock, but it was hard for Hector to just put all of his concerns out of his mind.
Because now they were facing two such people.
And in another thought process, Hector kept reevaluating their combat strength. On the ground, they had Salvador, Matteo, Rolando, and one other gunman in Rico Sebolt. Rico and Rolando were something of a duo, from what Hector had seen.
In the air, they had Dimas, Roman, Abbas, and himself. And that last one was pretty debatable, regarding aerial combat.
All things considered, this wasn't the most fortunate of match ups. If Abbas fell or was otherwise incapacitated, even briefly, then someone might just die.
Or they all would.
So more than anything, their role here was to support Abbas, Hector felt. They had to keep him alive, no matter what. Which meant they needed to keep Bloodeye and the Man of Crows separated. Whatever their powers were, they would be weaker in isolation; and allowing them to attack Abbas together one of the worst-case scenarios.
But that was exactly what was happening when they finally caught up.
There was barely any time to process what he was witnessing. So much going on at once. New enemies with new powers to assess. Everyone zipping back and forth in midair, wrestling and clawing at one another, throwing explosions and punches and explosive punches. Fire and lightning and acid and smoke and blood spraying everywhere in midair.
Perhaps now more than ever, the parallel thought processes were crucially valuable.
The enemies were easy to tell apart, at least. The Man of Crows was obviously the dude with all the fucking crows flying around him, but Hector hadn't expected him to have giant black wings growing out of his back, too. Mutation user?
Page 2785
~~((Thanksgiving Special - page 1 of 30))~~
'We'd better stick with him,' said Iziol.
Salvador Delaguna stepped closer with Matteo right behind him. "We'll head to that northern hill there," he said, pointing. "Send one of 'em our way if you want help up close. Otherwise--" He pulled out another heavy rifle from a duffel bag, though it wasn't fully assembled yet. "--we'll provide cover."
"Understood," said Dimas, and he gave Hector a look that seemed to be assessing whether or not he was ready to be carried off by gravity again.
Covered in full armor, however, Hector couldn't exactly answer with the expression on his face. Dimas must've come to the conclusion that he was indeed ready, because the Lord of House Sebolt did not waste another moment and launched away from the ground with Hector in tow.
It was a good thing he didn't have a problem with motion sickness. Holy shit.
They soared almost straight up, then arced toward direction of the enemy. Roman was keeping pace with them as well, though Voreese was not with him. She had stayed by the car with a few others, mostly reapers, including Levinox.
Hector's grip on his shield tightened as they drew closer. It was probably his best hope of surviving this battle.
He wanted to keep his mind clear, but a background thought process, he couldn't stop thoughts from manifesting.
Bloodeye and the Man of Crows. Very high-ranking Abolishers. Not top tier threats like Ivan or Jercash or Gohvis, perhaps, but they were probably on a similar level to the Marauder of Calthos, whom Hector had encountered at Dunehall.
That guy had been kind of overshadowed at the end of the day but definitely hadn't been a pushover. He'd taken on Zeff, Asad, Melchor Blackburn, and Xuan Sebolt all by himself.
'We'd better stick with him,' said Iziol.
Salvador Delaguna stepped closer with Matteo right behind him. "We'll head to that northern hill there," he said, pointing. "Send one of 'em our way if you want help up close. Otherwise--" He pulled out another heavy rifle from a duffel bag, though it wasn't fully assembled yet. "--we'll provide cover."
"Understood," said Dimas, and he gave Hector a look that seemed to be assessing whether or not he was ready to be carried off by gravity again.
Covered in full armor, however, Hector couldn't exactly answer with the expression on his face. Dimas must've come to the conclusion that he was indeed ready, because the Lord of House Sebolt did not waste another moment and launched away from the ground with Hector in tow.
It was a good thing he didn't have a problem with motion sickness. Holy shit.
They soared almost straight up, then arced toward direction of the enemy. Roman was keeping pace with them as well, though Voreese was not with him. She had stayed by the car with a few others, mostly reapers, including Levinox.
Hector's grip on his shield tightened as they drew closer. It was probably his best hope of surviving this battle.
He wanted to keep his mind clear, but a background thought process, he couldn't stop thoughts from manifesting.
Bloodeye and the Man of Crows. Very high-ranking Abolishers. Not top tier threats like Ivan or Jercash or Gohvis, perhaps, but they were probably on a similar level to the Marauder of Calthos, whom Hector had encountered at Dunehall.
That guy had been kind of overshadowed at the end of the day but definitely hadn't been a pushover. He'd taken on Zeff, Asad, Melchor Blackburn, and Xuan Sebolt all by himself.
Wednesday, November 25, 2020
Page 2784
Worwal informed them that their opponents were Bloodeye and the Man of Crows and that Bloodeye had some kind of strange transforming power, but there wasn't enough time to swap more intel than that.
'I sense them,' said Garovel.
'As do I,' said Iziol.
Hector had wanted Garovel to retreat underground, but the reaper insisted on tagging along for observational support. Hector hadn't been too pleased about that. Sure, Garovel had turned out to be correct in helping him take down the missile, but that didn't change how risky the whole thing was.
And now that they knew precisely who they were up against, Hector was even more uncomfortable.
'Garovel, you need to fall back,' thought Hector in the intervening seconds.
'Too late for that, buddy.'
Was it really, though? 'Go underground. Now.'
'No.'
Hector grit his teeth and wanted to argue. He didn't get the chance, because an ear-piercing gunshot rang out from a short distance away.
One of the Rainlords was there, nestled behind a large rock with one of the largest rifles Hector had ever seen.
"That's a hit on Crowe!" the man called out.
Hector looked toward the horizon and saw the black swirl of birds there. At this distance, he couldn't tell if the shot had done much.
The gunman was Dimas' cousin, Rolando Sebolt. As Hector understood it, he was actually older than Dimas by about fifteen years, so the soul power that he must've been pushing into that giant weapon was probably quite potent.
Lord Abbas still went over to him, though, and a laid a hand on the massive scope. "Do it again," he said in his Valgan accent.
Rolando gave him an acknowledging nod, and then Abbas blasted away from the ground, rocketing back up into the sky again.
'I sense them,' said Garovel.
'As do I,' said Iziol.
Hector had wanted Garovel to retreat underground, but the reaper insisted on tagging along for observational support. Hector hadn't been too pleased about that. Sure, Garovel had turned out to be correct in helping him take down the missile, but that didn't change how risky the whole thing was.
And now that they knew precisely who they were up against, Hector was even more uncomfortable.
'Garovel, you need to fall back,' thought Hector in the intervening seconds.
'Too late for that, buddy.'
Was it really, though? 'Go underground. Now.'
'No.'
Hector grit his teeth and wanted to argue. He didn't get the chance, because an ear-piercing gunshot rang out from a short distance away.
One of the Rainlords was there, nestled behind a large rock with one of the largest rifles Hector had ever seen.
"That's a hit on Crowe!" the man called out.
Hector looked toward the horizon and saw the black swirl of birds there. At this distance, he couldn't tell if the shot had done much.
The gunman was Dimas' cousin, Rolando Sebolt. As Hector understood it, he was actually older than Dimas by about fifteen years, so the soul power that he must've been pushing into that giant weapon was probably quite potent.
Lord Abbas still went over to him, though, and a laid a hand on the massive scope. "Do it again," he said in his Valgan accent.
Rolando gave him an acknowledging nod, and then Abbas blasted away from the ground, rocketing back up into the sky again.
Page 2783 -- CCXLVIII.
Chapter Two Hundred Forty-Eight: 'The Battle at the Border...'
Click to display entire chapter at once -- (mobile link)
Hector had to admit, Lord Abbas wasn't looking too good. His suit of mechanized armor was cracked and crumbling in a dozen different places, and tendrils of both smoke and steam were leaking out everywhere.
Not to mention the blood all over him.
Still, though, it wasn't as bad as it had been after that encounter with the Salesman of Death. Large chunks might've been missing, and yeah, it kinda looked like a giant shark had taken a bite out of his shoulder or something; but at least Abbas was able to stand up.
That was good. Because thinking about who could've done something like this to the freaking Sunsmith, of all people...
Well, it wasn't comforting.
That inbound missile had been a real problem-and-a-half to deal with, too. They probably wouldn't have even known about it if Worwal hadn't warned Levinox. And without Dimas Sebolt's help flying and Garovel's help aiming, Hector doubted he would've been of any use in that situation.
In fact, he was certain he wouldn't have.
The thing had been so damn fast. Dimas, flying at his max speed while also carrying Hector, had only been able to provide the two of them with a window of a couple seconds to attack.
But somehow, they'd managed it, via a combined barrage of gravitic bullets and iron slugs launched via Hector's orbital technique.
It was a pretty fucking intense experience, actually. Hector had never flown that fast through open air before. The Scarf had been going nuts with the howling air currents all around him. So much information pouring into his brain at once. Too overwhelming to be very useful.
But a part of him wanted to give it another try. Maybe he could get the hang of it.
And he had a feeling that in this fight, he might just get that chance.
Click to display entire chapter at once -- (mobile link)
Hector had to admit, Lord Abbas wasn't looking too good. His suit of mechanized armor was cracked and crumbling in a dozen different places, and tendrils of both smoke and steam were leaking out everywhere.
Not to mention the blood all over him.
Still, though, it wasn't as bad as it had been after that encounter with the Salesman of Death. Large chunks might've been missing, and yeah, it kinda looked like a giant shark had taken a bite out of his shoulder or something; but at least Abbas was able to stand up.
That was good. Because thinking about who could've done something like this to the freaking Sunsmith, of all people...
Well, it wasn't comforting.
That inbound missile had been a real problem-and-a-half to deal with, too. They probably wouldn't have even known about it if Worwal hadn't warned Levinox. And without Dimas Sebolt's help flying and Garovel's help aiming, Hector doubted he would've been of any use in that situation.
In fact, he was certain he wouldn't have.
The thing had been so damn fast. Dimas, flying at his max speed while also carrying Hector, had only been able to provide the two of them with a window of a couple seconds to attack.
But somehow, they'd managed it, via a combined barrage of gravitic bullets and iron slugs launched via Hector's orbital technique.
It was a pretty fucking intense experience, actually. Hector had never flown that fast through open air before. The Scarf had been going nuts with the howling air currents all around him. So much information pouring into his brain at once. Too overwhelming to be very useful.
But a part of him wanted to give it another try. Maybe he could get the hang of it.
And he had a feeling that in this fight, he might just get that chance.
Tuesday, November 24, 2020
Page 2782
Max burn. More flares. More evasive maneuvers. Both of the drones on his shoulders were broken, but he deployed them anyway. They just fell out of the sky, but that was fine. Anything to pull the damn thing off of him.
Still didn't work, though.
The mini-missiles were his best hope now, but he'd only get one good chance. They didn't have an AIM's range, speed, or tracking accuracy. If he deployed them too soon, that was it. If he deployed them too late, that was it. If the soul-strengthening somehow allowed the AIM to withstand their barrage, that was it.
Mind racing, he waited. Six seconds left. Five. Four. Three.
He loosed the mini-missiles.
They hit.
The AIM exploded.
The blast was close--and just as powerful as he'd feared. It rocked the sky, catching him with the edge of its radius and spiking him toward the ground.
So many system alerts. More than ever.
He was barely conscious of anything other than the fact that he was falling. Where had that missile come from? Where was he going?
Worwal was talking. Telling him he had to do something.
He hit the ground and left a running crater, an elongated trench, before finally grinding to a halt.
The suit was smoldering. Smoke and heat. Beeping, sizzling, crackling.
He tried to move and found it difficult. Still disoriented. Suit resisting him, too.
Another alert appeared on the visor, flickering harder now.
"Incoming AIM," it read again.
He just blinked at it, scarcely able to comprehend what he was seeing. A second one?
Worwal was talking again, telling him to move, among other murky things.
He was probably right.
Abbas struggled. Head was clearing but not fast enough. Needed to get up. Disorientation was probably affecting the suit's responsiveness. Missile contact imminent. Eleven seconds. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Fi--
It was gone. The tracking dot disappeared. Visor malfunction?
No.
He sensed someone there. Nearby. Then he saw them.
An armored figure. Not like his. Old. Medieval.
Was that... a knight?
Why was there a knight standing over him? Did that missile hit him so hard that he went back in time?
"Get up, Lord Abbas." The knight reached a hand toward him. "Fight's not done yet. And we're gonna need you."
By the gods, those words cut into his mind like a friendly knife. Clarity returned almost immediately. Almost involuntarily, even.
And he took the knight's hand.
Still didn't work, though.
The mini-missiles were his best hope now, but he'd only get one good chance. They didn't have an AIM's range, speed, or tracking accuracy. If he deployed them too soon, that was it. If he deployed them too late, that was it. If the soul-strengthening somehow allowed the AIM to withstand their barrage, that was it.
Mind racing, he waited. Six seconds left. Five. Four. Three.
He loosed the mini-missiles.
They hit.
The AIM exploded.
The blast was close--and just as powerful as he'd feared. It rocked the sky, catching him with the edge of its radius and spiking him toward the ground.
So many system alerts. More than ever.
He was barely conscious of anything other than the fact that he was falling. Where had that missile come from? Where was he going?
Worwal was talking. Telling him he had to do something.
He hit the ground and left a running crater, an elongated trench, before finally grinding to a halt.
The suit was smoldering. Smoke and heat. Beeping, sizzling, crackling.
He tried to move and found it difficult. Still disoriented. Suit resisting him, too.
Another alert appeared on the visor, flickering harder now.
"Incoming AIM," it read again.
He just blinked at it, scarcely able to comprehend what he was seeing. A second one?
Worwal was talking again, telling him to move, among other murky things.
He was probably right.
Abbas struggled. Head was clearing but not fast enough. Needed to get up. Disorientation was probably affecting the suit's responsiveness. Missile contact imminent. Eleven seconds. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Fi--
It was gone. The tracking dot disappeared. Visor malfunction?
No.
He sensed someone there. Nearby. Then he saw them.
An armored figure. Not like his. Old. Medieval.
Was that... a knight?
Why was there a knight standing over him? Did that missile hit him so hard that he went back in time?
"Get up, Lord Abbas." The knight reached a hand toward him. "Fight's not done yet. And we're gonna need you."
By the gods, those words cut into his mind like a friendly knife. Clarity returned almost immediately. Almost involuntarily, even.
And he took the knight's hand.
Page 2781
They'd been chasing him for a while already, having left all their subordinates in the dust. He was alone, too, though. Covering fire from his family would've certainly been welcome right about now, but they were too far away to do anything.
The suit could still outrun these two, however. If they doubled back to attack his family, he would have to turn and fight, but for now, at least, it seemed as though they were intent on chasing him down. Perhaps they didn't realize that he was purposely allowing them to keep up.
So much the better. It gave him time to think. Without Bloodeye and Crowe to worry about, he had confidence that his Hahl could handle the others. His sons were strong.
But this stalemate couldn't last forever. Something would have to give sooner or later.
'Abbas,' came Worwal's private words, 'our allies--'
A system alert cut him off. A bad one. "Incoming AIM," read the visor with an accompanying tracking dot.
Unfortunately, AIM stood for Air Intercept Missile.
Where the hell that thing had launched from, Abbas had no earthly idea, and there wasn't time to worry about it. The suit, even in its battered state, could probably withstand most air-to-air ordnance relatively well when accounting for his own passive soul defenses.
But he had to assume that it was soul-strengthened by someone very powerful. That was the protocol here. If it was normal, he'd be fine either way. But if it wasn't, and he didn't take it seriously, it could kill him instantaneously.
He could go supersonic, but that would only buy him a few extra seconds, because that thing was almost certainly capable of doing the same. And at this point, the suit might not hold together very well during supersonic flight.
He deployed flares and banked hard right, watching the HUD as sweat dripped down his face.
No dice. It didn't lose target lock. Contact in under ten seconds.
The suit could still outrun these two, however. If they doubled back to attack his family, he would have to turn and fight, but for now, at least, it seemed as though they were intent on chasing him down. Perhaps they didn't realize that he was purposely allowing them to keep up.
So much the better. It gave him time to think. Without Bloodeye and Crowe to worry about, he had confidence that his Hahl could handle the others. His sons were strong.
But this stalemate couldn't last forever. Something would have to give sooner or later.
'Abbas,' came Worwal's private words, 'our allies--'
A system alert cut him off. A bad one. "Incoming AIM," read the visor with an accompanying tracking dot.
Unfortunately, AIM stood for Air Intercept Missile.
Where the hell that thing had launched from, Abbas had no earthly idea, and there wasn't time to worry about it. The suit, even in its battered state, could probably withstand most air-to-air ordnance relatively well when accounting for his own passive soul defenses.
But he had to assume that it was soul-strengthened by someone very powerful. That was the protocol here. If it was normal, he'd be fine either way. But if it wasn't, and he didn't take it seriously, it could kill him instantaneously.
He could go supersonic, but that would only buy him a few extra seconds, because that thing was almost certainly capable of doing the same. And at this point, the suit might not hold together very well during supersonic flight.
He deployed flares and banked hard right, watching the HUD as sweat dripped down his face.
No dice. It didn't lose target lock. Contact in under ten seconds.
Monday, November 23, 2020
Page 2780
He remained at a low altitude for a while longer, knowing that most of the Abolishers were after him and that flying up higher would just make him an easier target.
He needed time to reevaluate the suit's condition, as well as the situation at large. So many failing systems. Was anything regenerating?
Here and there, it seemed, yes--and at a massively slowed rate. Both arms and shoulders torn to hell, as was his right leg. But the helmet was still working. And the mini-missiles. Jets, of course. Radar and sonar. The coolant system. Shock shield. Flares.
Ah.
And the Ro'Hada.
Even after the beating his right arm had taken, the ace up his sleeve was still fully operational. That was good news, at least. He had designed it to be even more durable than the rest of the suit. That was a necessity when it came to a last resort weapon. It needed to endure even when everything else gave out.
But was the situation truly that dire?
Debatable. The more this battle dragged out, though, the more the scales seemed to be tipping in its favor.
Either way, he would need to get up fairly close if he intended to use it.
That part, at least, looked as though it would not be an issue. Bloodeye and the Man of Crows were both on his tail now. No doubt, their murderous instincts were telling them that he was on the verge of death here. He could practically taste their bloodlust, their eagerness to claim the prize that was his head.
Of the two, Bloodeye now seemed the most problematic. Not knowing what he was capable of put a big asterisk next to any plan that Abbas could concoct. And if he reacted incorrectly like last time, with his armor in its current condition, Crowe's next strike might very well be a fatal one.
He needed time to reevaluate the suit's condition, as well as the situation at large. So many failing systems. Was anything regenerating?
Here and there, it seemed, yes--and at a massively slowed rate. Both arms and shoulders torn to hell, as was his right leg. But the helmet was still working. And the mini-missiles. Jets, of course. Radar and sonar. The coolant system. Shock shield. Flares.
Ah.
And the Ro'Hada.
Even after the beating his right arm had taken, the ace up his sleeve was still fully operational. That was good news, at least. He had designed it to be even more durable than the rest of the suit. That was a necessity when it came to a last resort weapon. It needed to endure even when everything else gave out.
But was the situation truly that dire?
Debatable. The more this battle dragged out, though, the more the scales seemed to be tipping in its favor.
Either way, he would need to get up fairly close if he intended to use it.
That part, at least, looked as though it would not be an issue. Bloodeye and the Man of Crows were both on his tail now. No doubt, their murderous instincts were telling them that he was on the verge of death here. He could practically taste their bloodlust, their eagerness to claim the prize that was his head.
Of the two, Bloodeye now seemed the most problematic. Not knowing what he was capable of put a big asterisk next to any plan that Abbas could concoct. And if he reacted incorrectly like last time, with his armor in its current condition, Crowe's next strike might very well be a fatal one.
Page 2779
He had never seen such a thing before. Monsters, yes. But never one like that--and more importantly, never one that at first appeared perfectly human.
He didn't get the opportunity to consult Worwal on it. Just as he finished wiping most of the blood off his visor, a warning of incoming attacks arrived. Blodeye's two remaining men were both blasting him with materialization, and he needed to evade.
Simple enough. But a third attack came with even less warning attached to it.
A flock of crows on his right side. Acid, flames, and lightning all obscured the assault, making it difficult to tell which direction to evade in. Even with the visor's aid, which was now flickering, he couldn't be sure. He had only a split second to guess.
He chose to dive down.
That was incorrect. The birds appeared like a hundred tiny spears with the speed of a freight train, shredding his entire right side and sending him into a tailspin as system alerts flashed across the HUD.
Armor integrity critical. Multiple power failures. Impact mitigation errors. Flight assistance errors. Weapons systems failing. Hostile targets closing in.
He was nearly in freefall. He had to stabilize. Flight assistance be damned. The jets were still working, the beauties. He could do it all in his head.
He twisted his body and angled himself down as he activated a hard burn. With the computer drilled into his thalamus and cerebral cortex, he could tell the suit exactly what to do with only his mind. It was more difficult and dangerous without the benefit of guidance vector calculations being pumped straight into his brain, but he'd practiced this scenario hundreds of times.
The suit swooped down low, clipping a line of tall trees and taking their tops off before finally achieving stable flight again.
He didn't get the opportunity to consult Worwal on it. Just as he finished wiping most of the blood off his visor, a warning of incoming attacks arrived. Blodeye's two remaining men were both blasting him with materialization, and he needed to evade.
Simple enough. But a third attack came with even less warning attached to it.
A flock of crows on his right side. Acid, flames, and lightning all obscured the assault, making it difficult to tell which direction to evade in. Even with the visor's aid, which was now flickering, he couldn't be sure. He had only a split second to guess.
He chose to dive down.
That was incorrect. The birds appeared like a hundred tiny spears with the speed of a freight train, shredding his entire right side and sending him into a tailspin as system alerts flashed across the HUD.
Armor integrity critical. Multiple power failures. Impact mitigation errors. Flight assistance errors. Weapons systems failing. Hostile targets closing in.
He was nearly in freefall. He had to stabilize. Flight assistance be damned. The jets were still working, the beauties. He could do it all in his head.
He twisted his body and angled himself down as he activated a hard burn. With the computer drilled into his thalamus and cerebral cortex, he could tell the suit exactly what to do with only his mind. It was more difficult and dangerous without the benefit of guidance vector calculations being pumped straight into his brain, but he'd practiced this scenario hundreds of times.
The suit swooped down low, clipping a line of tall trees and taking their tops off before finally achieving stable flight again.
Sunday, November 22, 2020
Page 2778
Abbas Saqqaf didn't even know what he was seeing. He didn't get much time to mull it over, either, because Bloodeye's now massive jaw lurched toward him. He pulled back at the last second, but the teeth still found his left shoulder and crunched through the suit's armor.
The bite was solid. It didn't take his arm off, but that was arguably worse, because now he couldn't even get away. He felt the teeth dig into his flesh and even pierce bone before Worwal numbed the pain entirely.
He called on the shock shield again. Electricity blasted out of the suit in fractured bursts, sparking badly around the broken shoulder.
But it worked.
Bloodeye spasmed and loosened his grip on him, allowing Abbas to grab him by his neck and twist with all the might that the suit and undead strength combined could provide.
A sickening crack arrived, but that was all. Abbas had wanted to tear his head clean off, but that didn't happen. The man's neck merely kept twisting and cracking, and Abbas could see in his crimson eyes that he was regaining his faculties, despite the shock shield still remaining active.
Abbas growled with frustration and flung him straight down to the ground, just wanting to give himself a moment to breathe. To think. To reassess what the hell had just happened.
Bloodeye sailed into solid rock with meteoric force, leaving a crater the size of a house behind and a cloud of dust to accompany it.
What sense did that transformation make? An illusion? No, Abbas had been able to feel the change. The weight differential. The thrashing, twitching movement.
A hallucination, then? Had some aerosolized drug made it past the suit's filters and even the system alerts?
Everything else seemed perfectly normal. He still felt clear-headed.
The bite was solid. It didn't take his arm off, but that was arguably worse, because now he couldn't even get away. He felt the teeth dig into his flesh and even pierce bone before Worwal numbed the pain entirely.
He called on the shock shield again. Electricity blasted out of the suit in fractured bursts, sparking badly around the broken shoulder.
But it worked.
Bloodeye spasmed and loosened his grip on him, allowing Abbas to grab him by his neck and twist with all the might that the suit and undead strength combined could provide.
A sickening crack arrived, but that was all. Abbas had wanted to tear his head clean off, but that didn't happen. The man's neck merely kept twisting and cracking, and Abbas could see in his crimson eyes that he was regaining his faculties, despite the shock shield still remaining active.
Abbas growled with frustration and flung him straight down to the ground, just wanting to give himself a moment to breathe. To think. To reassess what the hell had just happened.
Bloodeye sailed into solid rock with meteoric force, leaving a crater the size of a house behind and a cloud of dust to accompany it.
What sense did that transformation make? An illusion? No, Abbas had been able to feel the change. The weight differential. The thrashing, twitching movement.
A hallucination, then? Had some aerosolized drug made it past the suit's filters and even the system alerts?
Everything else seemed perfectly normal. He still felt clear-headed.
Page 2777
That was okay, though. The mini-missiles would serve just fine here. And the smoke would--
Bloodeye's movement changed suddenly. Instead of the red smoke enveloping Abbas, it shrank back down and compressed, reforming Bloodeye's human body.
The unexpected maneuver made Abbas wary as he waited for the attack to come. If Bloodeye wasn't going to try to smother him with smoke and acid, then what did he intend to do? Stall for time while Crowe recovered? There might've been wisdom in that, but Abbas wasn't going to let it happen so easily.
He pushed the jets for another full burn and torpedoed himself straight toward Bloodeye.
What happened next, however, was outside all possible predictions or expectations.
Abbas slammed into him, just like he'd previously done to Crowe and Konig, but Bloodeye held firm, holding onto Abbas' torso with both arms and legs as if trying to crush the armor with his bare hands.
That was most certainly impossible. The suit, even in its currently battered state, was more than durable enough to withstand the enhanced strength of any servant.
But then Bloodeye began to change. His face distorted, flashing between sickly grays and purples. His eyes and nose began bleeding, and he coughed up a nasty red glob right onto Abbas' visor, blocking most of his vision but not all.
The man's jaw stretched and grew, realigning itself, popping out teeth as big as a crocodile's. His eyes bulged grotesquely, looking as if they might burst until his skull reshaped itself as well--and not for the better. It became lumpy and stretched, with entirely new bones sticking out, looking like broken horns. His nose shifted, too, twisting diagonally. It flared out and grew, while also melting partway into the rest of his plumpening face.
And then other, smaller faces began to appear in the man's flesh. All horrified and screaming, like something out of a nightmare. A literal monster.
Bloodeye's movement changed suddenly. Instead of the red smoke enveloping Abbas, it shrank back down and compressed, reforming Bloodeye's human body.
The unexpected maneuver made Abbas wary as he waited for the attack to come. If Bloodeye wasn't going to try to smother him with smoke and acid, then what did he intend to do? Stall for time while Crowe recovered? There might've been wisdom in that, but Abbas wasn't going to let it happen so easily.
He pushed the jets for another full burn and torpedoed himself straight toward Bloodeye.
What happened next, however, was outside all possible predictions or expectations.
Abbas slammed into him, just like he'd previously done to Crowe and Konig, but Bloodeye held firm, holding onto Abbas' torso with both arms and legs as if trying to crush the armor with his bare hands.
That was most certainly impossible. The suit, even in its currently battered state, was more than durable enough to withstand the enhanced strength of any servant.
But then Bloodeye began to change. His face distorted, flashing between sickly grays and purples. His eyes and nose began bleeding, and he coughed up a nasty red glob right onto Abbas' visor, blocking most of his vision but not all.
The man's jaw stretched and grew, realigning itself, popping out teeth as big as a crocodile's. His eyes bulged grotesquely, looking as if they might burst until his skull reshaped itself as well--and not for the better. It became lumpy and stretched, with entirely new bones sticking out, looking like broken horns. His nose shifted, too, twisting diagonally. It flared out and grew, while also melting partway into the rest of his plumpening face.
And then other, smaller faces began to appear in the man's flesh. All horrified and screaming, like something out of a nightmare. A literal monster.
Saturday, November 21, 2020
Page 2776
He had just the thing. A sweeping laser "net," capable of covering seventy cubic meters of space in front of him with a single flash. It could also be concentrated into one giant beam--and empowered with his soul, of course--if he wanted to do some real damage, but the situation didn't call for that. Yet.
The suit opened up at six different points: the shoulders, waist, chest, and palms of his hands. Focusing lenses appeared from each compartment, varying in size relative to their location. Then red lights blasted out all at once, crisscrossing and weaving together to form a crimson web of glowing beams.
It filled his vision, illuminating the sky far more than the still rising sun. He didn't register any damage being done, though. The lasers should've been able to shred the Invisibility of any cloaked units--or simply shred the units themselves.
He swung the net wide across Bloodeye's last known location, searching to and fro.
There it was. A sudden splattering of blood and tumbling chunks of flesh arrived. The cloaking shuddered, and Abbas saw seven men there, less than twenty meters away.
Well. Three men, now.
The others were in bad shape, too, apart from Bloodeye himeself, who was only scorched across his face and chest but otherwise fine.
Time for concentration, then. Abbas locked onto the man with his visor and made every single laser converge on him at once.
In an instant, it burned a hole straight through Bloodeye's chest and set his black trench coat ablaze.
The man reacted by converting his entire body into red fumes. The flames were immediately extinguished, even while the fumes scattered out wide.
Abbas didn't intend to let himself be surrounded and smothered. He might've liked to use the laser net again to further scatter Bloodeye's fumes, but this was where the downside kicked in. The power draw. More than perhaps any other weapon in his arsenal, the lasers demanded power. The suit could regenerate its own fuel cells, but only very slowly--and only when it was functioning properly, which it most certainly was not.
The suit opened up at six different points: the shoulders, waist, chest, and palms of his hands. Focusing lenses appeared from each compartment, varying in size relative to their location. Then red lights blasted out all at once, crisscrossing and weaving together to form a crimson web of glowing beams.
It filled his vision, illuminating the sky far more than the still rising sun. He didn't register any damage being done, though. The lasers should've been able to shred the Invisibility of any cloaked units--or simply shred the units themselves.
He swung the net wide across Bloodeye's last known location, searching to and fro.
There it was. A sudden splattering of blood and tumbling chunks of flesh arrived. The cloaking shuddered, and Abbas saw seven men there, less than twenty meters away.
Well. Three men, now.
The others were in bad shape, too, apart from Bloodeye himeself, who was only scorched across his face and chest but otherwise fine.
Time for concentration, then. Abbas locked onto the man with his visor and made every single laser converge on him at once.
In an instant, it burned a hole straight through Bloodeye's chest and set his black trench coat ablaze.
The man reacted by converting his entire body into red fumes. The flames were immediately extinguished, even while the fumes scattered out wide.
Abbas didn't intend to let himself be surrounded and smothered. He might've liked to use the laser net again to further scatter Bloodeye's fumes, but this was where the downside kicked in. The power draw. More than perhaps any other weapon in his arsenal, the lasers demanded power. The suit could regenerate its own fuel cells, but only very slowly--and only when it was functioning properly, which it most certainly was not.
Page 2775
He needed an attack that would cover a wide area. The sonar couldn't give him pinpoint accuracy, so he had to account for that. The mini-missiles might work again, but he had something better in mind.
Abbas, Haqq, and all their researchers had spent considerable time breaking down the many problems that the Invisibility-inducing aberrations presented so that they could develop countermeasures. Discerning how they functioned was key to that effort, and the major issue there was figuring out how the cloaking "shadow" actually interacted with light.
Whether it should be regarded as "magical" or "a matter that was beyond science" was irrelevant. Obviously, it was not reflecting or refracting light as any normal material would, which meant there were really only two other options for how the interaction might work.
Either the light was passing perfectly through the cloaked entities as if they were not even there; or the light was being absorbed entirely and a perfect replica of what was "behind" the entities was being projected back out to the eye of the viewer.
The first possibility seemed less likely, because logically speaking, if light was truly passing through the cloaked entities, then anyone inside should have been rendered blind, as the light would also be passing through their eyes without touching their photoreceptors. And by now, they knew very well that the invisible aberrations were not blind at all.
The only reason they had theorized this as a potential explanation at all was because, well, these were aberrations they were dealing with. Much like servants, they did not always follow the conventional wisdom of science, to the chagrin of many lifelong academics like himself.
In this case, however, their extra caution was unwarranted. Through further field testing, they had indeed been able to confirm that it was the second method. The light was being absorbed and a perfect image was being projected back.
It was an incredible feat, far beyond what any "normal" technology was currently capable of. If it could be reproduced with said normal technology, that would be a tremendous breakthrough.
But right now, that didn't matter. What mattered was that first bit: the light was being absorbed.
A high-powered laser, therefore, would be especially effective against it.
Abbas, Haqq, and all their researchers had spent considerable time breaking down the many problems that the Invisibility-inducing aberrations presented so that they could develop countermeasures. Discerning how they functioned was key to that effort, and the major issue there was figuring out how the cloaking "shadow" actually interacted with light.
Whether it should be regarded as "magical" or "a matter that was beyond science" was irrelevant. Obviously, it was not reflecting or refracting light as any normal material would, which meant there were really only two other options for how the interaction might work.
Either the light was passing perfectly through the cloaked entities as if they were not even there; or the light was being absorbed entirely and a perfect replica of what was "behind" the entities was being projected back out to the eye of the viewer.
The first possibility seemed less likely, because logically speaking, if light was truly passing through the cloaked entities, then anyone inside should have been rendered blind, as the light would also be passing through their eyes without touching their photoreceptors. And by now, they knew very well that the invisible aberrations were not blind at all.
The only reason they had theorized this as a potential explanation at all was because, well, these were aberrations they were dealing with. Much like servants, they did not always follow the conventional wisdom of science, to the chagrin of many lifelong academics like himself.
In this case, however, their extra caution was unwarranted. Through further field testing, they had indeed been able to confirm that it was the second method. The light was being absorbed and a perfect image was being projected back.
It was an incredible feat, far beyond what any "normal" technology was currently capable of. If it could be reproduced with said normal technology, that would be a tremendous breakthrough.
But right now, that didn't matter. What mattered was that first bit: the light was being absorbed.
A high-powered laser, therefore, would be especially effective against it.
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