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  Primelord Nuem could barely shout orders fast enough. He scrambled forward to get the crossbow soldiers in place. Ten soldiers to their deaths for only a minute or two of time. It was worth it. The idiot Dalious was grabbing a net with forty or so infected ratlings assisting as they ran down towards the pit. It screamed at him to use non-lethals, but the Primelord practically spat in the monster's face. It didn’t take a renowned scholar to know the lizard would likely be skewed like hot butter by whatever lay below.

  “Six days….” The words caught on his lips. Six days until it woke. He would answer then.

  Nuem didn’t care what the master thought; all he knew was he was more useful alive than dead.

  He motioned to his second in command, a scruffy mercenary from the west. The man was a little rough around the edges, but he had seen combat more times than most imperials left standing. He was a veteran of the smearling front and house wars in the West’s fragile kingdoms. The two looked terrified. Another blast shot through the clouds, a seemingly opaque pillar of light which lit up the sky like a flare. It was unnatural, inhuman.

  “Byorick!, Byorick!!”

  The man rushed over. The two stood like singed pieces of grass flickering in the wind. They only had precious seconds before whatever in that pit emerged. The Primelord felt a surge of adrenaline in his veins. He almost got caught up in the feeling, savouring what it was like to feel scared for the first time in so long.

  “The ratlings are dead. Take the mages and as many soldiers as you can carry. We need to reach the edge of these watchers if we want to have a chance.”

  “Dead?”

  Barely a handful of creatures had been killed. All two thousand ratlings were still swarming the Dalious with nets at the pit's edge. Others heard this and were startled by his mixture of cowardice and fear. Their eyes trembled over what could make Nuem shake so much.

  “Do you want me to repeat it twice, or do you want to die too?”

  Nuem had to think fast; he couldn’t afford to be sloppy.

  Byorick shuddered and the Primelord cast a glance at the weapons they had in hand. He wasn’t used to seeing his leader this startled. There was more equipment stored in a tent a near three, four hundred meters away. Nuem gulped. He would never make it there in time. Regardless, there was a reason he was so damn old and it wasn’t because he liked taking chances. They had been torturing the stupid imperials in wooden cages to the left. Nuem’s eyes caught on the prisoners' bloodied and impudent faces and stopped for a moment. Paxter.

  “You two grab that Lieutenant, he’s coming with us, we need insurance….wait”

  Then he came to his senses.

  “No..no it might follow us more if we take him, leave him behind.”

  Two humans ran forward. Nuem would have recognized their scratched iron armour and scruffy faces anywhere. He had never liked Biolec. The man was a Jarr-Like, it wouldn’t be a shame. They had to think fast, every second was worth a lifetime. He was one or two bad choices away from death. From experience Nuem knew he just had to make the right choices.

  “You there, Bilan, Biolec, run and take the achemial bombs and throw them into the pit. Come back to me once it’s dead. They’re vapour magic but the components alone are deadly.”

  The others suddenly looked relieved. It was such a simple solution to their problems. The two looked at him with a sense of honour before rushing away. They took pride in thinking the Primelord had entrusted them with such important tasks. Only when Nuem started to walk in the other direction did the others begin to understand. A dark expression filled the second in command’s lips.

  “You sent those men to their deaths?” Byorick commented.

  He didn’t grace Byorick’s speech with another word. Regardless, the man was a Lopal-like, he was loyal and trustworthy. He would understand Nuem had just bought them time.

  More soldiers gathered. The others were confused at his lack of direction but they had worked with the Primelord for long enough to value his every word. Thirty or so bandits crowded around their leader. The rough group had been startled into shock and began to form ranks. Two hundred more humans began to wait instinctively for Nuem’s orders. Behind Nue,m could hear the ratlings start to fry. The smell of burnt chicken filled the air. Calculations raced in the general’s mind. The hilt of his sword felt cold against his hip.

  A semicircle would work, five rows of crossbows and a sixth row of mages; they could align it just outside the watchers. If they all attacked at once, the creature would surely perish. His mind flickered. More formations and battle movements came into view. Patterns, that’s all it was, life was a pattern with some to short or long to ever be perceived. He had said it to Perrin all those years ago and the fool didn’t believe him, now two hundred years and later and he still missed the traitor’s laugh.

  “I don’t understan, how can they use magic? Is it just one person down there? This doesn’t make sense?” One of his mages cried out in fear.

  “The ratlings are getting slaughtered!!” a human battle mage shouted in terror. Blood tapered to his face while the massive horde of creatures seemed to press against the pit. Few looked behind but those who did were left with their eyes transfixed.

  Confusion laced with utter defeat awe spread across the man’s face. The mercenaries were no fresh troops, the Primelord had made sure of it but even now, he could barely muster up the words that would be needed to set things straight. The scent of the chemical bombs filled the air. Sweet sulphur lisped to the tinges of every breath.

  “If it’s one mage, we can take them, not even an archmage can kill this many!” Another added.

  The rest looked up with puzzled expressions.

  “What was in that pit?” more soldiers questioned. They waited for an answer. Seemingly terrified beyond belief.

  “You’re not mean’t to understand, get on those horses now!”

  Nuem eyed the other tents greedily. He kept pointing and shouting to where their mounts rested. His mind raced in panic over their inventory. Crossbows, alchemical bombs, artifacts, slings, medical enchants, and ballistas. Millions of quands of equipment was about to be wasted. Regardless they would regroup with the main force soon. This was barely a raiding party compared to what marched only ten or twelve kilometres away. What he wouldn’t give for a ballista right now, they could strike early and pierce the half tin-man through the heart. They would set up a perimeter on the border. Split into groups of twelve or fourteen and regroup when they reached the main force. He could drop off a few loyalists with crossbows in the woods. That would slow the creature down. Orders and consequences raced like wildfire through Nuem’s brain. A few soldiers paused and looked stunned.

  “We need to reach the edge of the watchers! Ride, ride! Your lives depend on it!”

  Emotion broke through the old soldier's voice. That was if there was only one creature to fight. He cursed the Dalious. It had known. He cursed himself yet the test had showed clear. A tinge of ambition crept into his heart. A part of him didn’t want to flee, it wanted to sit at the edge of the watcher’s range and wait. Another part wanted to stay alive.

  “There aren’t enough horses, Primelord, we aren’t all cavalry…” Byorick echoed.

  Another shock ricocheted off the crater. Nuem gulped in hesitation. He had never seen an offworlder produce a beam so large. Let alone a regular mage. This was nothing like before.

  There was a silence between the two.

  “I want to stay,” Byorick responded.

  It was surprisingly honourable. To lay down one’s life against whatever monster the master had entrapped just for the sake of not abandoning the troops. Nuem almost smiled. Then he opened his mouth. Perhaps he had misjudged the man.

  “No, you idiot, you’re coming with me, that’s an order, what do you think this is, the only battle we're going to fight?”

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  Byorick shrugged before looking sheepishly back at their soldiers. He nodded before motioning to get his own horses.

  “What do I tell them?” He asked.

  “Crossbows……crossbows, anything ranged… you can’t get close.”

  “Tell them good luck and to treat it like a regular mage.”

  Nuem added the words carefully while mounting whatever steed was the closest. He cast a glance at his personal tent. He had some proud possessions lined in those wooden trunks and fabric walls. He would have to forget them. Six of his personal battle-mages stuck behind him on horseback while Byorick began searching hastily for more mounts. The others looked on in fear. A few of them stayed behind. Nuem scoffed. The ratling army had yet to be broken and the Dalious still slithered orders in the distance. The soldiers likely regarded it as hope, the Primelord knew better to think it was a hope for escape. It was only a child and yet it had hid it’s powers like a wolf among sheep. Nuem shuddered to think what this would mean for their plans. No, the only option left was to kill it, no matter what the Dalious said. Whatever was in that pit was a natural soldier. A death-defying monstrosity and a creature that would fight to the bitter end.

  “But Primelord, it is a regular mage?”

  “Is it not a regular mage?” Byorick asked again.

  No response came.

  —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  “You idiot!!! Stop missing!!!!!” Aloat screamed on top of her lungs.

  Alot of questions swirled through Jan’s head while he tried to simultaneously scrape bile from the edges of his mouth and fight off an impending horde of tiny little rat-creatures. Sadly, his companions were not giving him an ounce of leeway. Nor, allowing any time for him to practice.

  “What are you blind!!”

  She motioned to an entire army of hostiles infront while spell after spell slammed into the gravel-like ground. He had to get the hang of this slowly.

  “Jaaaaaaaaan!!!!!!” another voice screamed.

  A feeling of unbridled power soaked like a sponge through the scribe's veins. Whatever dark magic the rock had pulled had worked and the scribe could barely contain his terror and awe with the ancient magic had been bestowed upon him. He was channelling now, and directly infront of watchers, a surreal and numbingly strange sight. But this time it felt different, almost like an imitation of his true power. This was clearly a new branch of elemental magic, one that didn’t seem to understand but more created out of whim. Whatever it was, it certainly felt different and was far more brutal, uneloquent and simple. It was like wielding a brutish stick in comparison to the most elegant of swords. There was a limitation to his abilities aswell. For now it seemed to only muster weak slices of elements and it reacted badly to his commands, almost as would the same book in a different language for the first time, sloppy and weak, full of promise and ambition but lost in translation. Every action left a burning sensation to singe his mind in a potent mix of deja vu and confusion. Instinct drove Jan’s actions. Instinct saved them that day. A blood-curdling feeling in his gut swelled as he released strike after strike into the horde infront. Beside him the imperials gaped in awe. They still could barely understand what had happened. Six ratlings jumped at him at the same time. A single flick of his wrist caused them to crumble.

  “Commander!!!! You’re using too much power!!!! Don’t use too much power!!!!!!”

  “How am I not supposed to use too much power?!!” He replied in a state of pure panic.

  More ratlings approached.

  “Excellent, the enemy has completely surrounded us, Commanders!!!! We can attack in every direction!!!!”

  The rock’s voice didn’t entirely imbue confidence.

  “Sill how soon can you zap me too?” Laura screamed while parrying an enemy attack.

  “For the last time no one else is getting zapped Comman……”

  The first shot arced like a little whisp of sun over the ratlings' heads. It was brighter than normal magic and licked like the sun over windswept clouds. Laura’s eyes widened as she noted the colour. Aloat too stood shocked. It was a bright, sizzling blue, a shade that had never been seen before. They were each fighting ratlings on their own with drawn swords. The second shot found its mark and sizzled thirty ratlings to ash. Infront of the army of chittering creatures threw themselves at the mage, only to be pushed back like water onto rock. More lightning leapt from Jan’s fingers to singe another wave of the approaching ratlings. A hundred of the creatures died in a near instant. The attack chained between them like a cruel domino of curdled static. He tried his best to avoid collateral damage with the imperials, but soon was left blocking more spear-shafts. Sill kept muttering word after word, this time speeding up in a quick succession of disjointed sentences. Two ratlings jumped at Aloat, breaking through the shield wall. She parried in an instant and sliced them both dead.

  “What can you do?!” Laura inquired.

  The two were mid-battle with Jan repeatedly pulsing back the advancing horde with strikes. Regardless, like most battles, the ratlings above spent most of their time waiting in lines, with only a hundred or so able to climb down the pit and engage with the party at once.

  “I haven’t exactly had that much time to figure out!!!” Jan screamed while dodging an incoming spear.

  “Basic powers should include lighting, increased jump height, durability and pyromancy!! Anything more advanced is well…unique to the Jannic planet Commander!!!

  The scribe shuddered. These weren’t powers; they were actions. Ideas that had no considerable connection behind them. His face almost lit up in disgust at the power's abilities. This was nothing compared to the matter manipulation and more thought-based power outside the watcher’s domains. It was a cheap imitation, almost as if someone had haphazardly witnessed the majesty of an archmage and tried to replace it with parlour tricks and sanguine readings. A metallic taste filled his mouth with every strike. Still, the implications were enormous. This new branch of “electricity” magic would change magical combat forever. The face of warfare itself had been born ane,w and with kingdoms could be built and swept like chalk in the sand. Even if it was a pasty comparison to the true source, Jan could only begin to dream of the fate of entire armies, worlds, hopes and desires that would be traded for a way to bypass watchers.

  “Three percent battery, Commander!! Be careful!!”

  More ratlings approached. They seemed to want to die, sacrificing themselves in an almost hive-like string of desperate attacks. Jan barely had enough to understand why there was only three percent battery in their attacks when it was clear this would count as attempted murder.

  Sill kept screaming orders from Laura’s pocket, this time letting himself be heard by all three as the war above raged.

  “Jan over here!!” Aloat cried out.

  She had skillfully decapitated two ratlings with a single strike, but now was playing wack-a-mole with three ratlings and their sharpened imperial daggers. He turned and let one bolt loose, frying them instantly before focusing on the advancing creatures. Seconds later, Laura cried out in a similar predicament, practically holding hands with a ratling while being shoved into a cookpot.

  “What do I need to babysit all of you!!!” Jan replied.

  “Yes!!!!” All three and Sill cried out in unison.

  The sentence did make sense, given the fact that he was the only one with a mysteriously obtained gift for unceremonious magic.

  “Can someone can tell my why I’m covered in bile!!!!”

  “Long story, idiot, please fire in that direction!!” Aloat shouted.

  The shield wall of the imperials was advancing now. The troops hearts beated in triumph, each one of their faces bent from despair to courage in a near instant. More and more seemed to gape in shock at the mythical weapon they had just crafted. More ratlings attacked, some shooting down arrows but Jan expertly deflected them with more lighting to cause the shafts to splinter into scattered dust. Even Aloat seemed impressed as more arrows shot down to splatter her shield like a porcupine. The circular hail left a canopy of sharpened sticks to come crashing down. Human cross-bow soldiers stood in dirty iron armour at the top. Three imperials caught blows, perishing in an instant. They seemed transfixed on hitting Jan but each shot the edged closer would almost distort from whisps of air. A shaft almost caught his shoulder to snap in two and sprinkle to the ground. The scribe found himself acting out of pure intuition with his arms swinging and easily blocking the archers' every attack. Their skill reigned true and soon arrows pattered the imperial shields in seconds.

  “Glorryy!!!!!! Death to the jannics-hybrid-evil creatures!!!!!!!!!” Sill screamed enthusiastically.

  Three more arrows streaked directly towards Jan’s head. Another almost hit but he was able to deflect them into the pit-wall in time. His head flintched while Jan slammed another wave of ratlings backward. The creatures collapsed like sandpaper in a sickening crunch. Somehow no matter how many were killed the ratlings pressed on unrelenting. Their eyes unmoving, and hive-like actions making them slip forward, dodge and stab in unbelievable coordination. Jan could see more of the parasitic flesh and bulbous protrosions shooting through their skulls the more they attacked. Almost as if the disease was driving them forward and growing with every second of combat.

  “You were made to deflect 240 mm shells and ion pulses, Commander!! I’d like to see them try!!”

  The instant Sill said that an arrow hit his shoulder, drawing blood. Jan shrugged it off and coughed a little. Somehow, the new “electricity seemed to help alot”, causing the pain to fade quickly.

  Damn, rock never got things straight.

  Just then, Sill’s words reigned true as two humans appeared on the cliff's edge and started to lob oranted pots onto the ground below. Their blatant disregard for art history seemed to be a trivial matter among the uncooth swatch of uneducated until the shards started to leak.

  “Gas!!!!!”

  The four below ignored Sill’s words unsure what he mean’t at all unless he was referring to some form of sublimation of decondensation reaction. That was until Jan started to see ratlings collapse like sacks of potatoes from a falling tree. Only then did he realize the weight of chemical bombs and the fact they were likely polluting the air and disrupting the primordial ether of this world. They covered their mouths with cloth, taking anything to not take in the fumes. At first Jan’s breath rasped but in seconds he seemed to adjust. His chest heaved as the sulphuric air seemed to transform on his tongue.

  “Commander!!! Archaic chlorine gas detected in small amounts!! Advise using another percent of battery to keep you and the troops alive!!”

  Jan’s mind clicked and he quickly performed air magic to shoot the fumes away. His work helped in seconds, with rasping imperials able to quickly recover.

  “Jan! Shoot those humans!” Aloat was using infected ratling as pin-cushion practice while she cleaned her boot on the corpse of another three. Her voice rattled above the hell-scape.

  “I can’t, it’s not a ratling, it’s a person!!” Jan replied.

  Her face almost drooped at this into a bland expression. Laura, however, gave a similar innocent look. The two paused like lambs sitting at the gates of hell.

  “People die all the time!!!!! What do you want to send them? Flowers? Shoot the damn bandit!” Aloat screamed.

  Jan’s stomach quailed.

  He leaned forward, lightning seeping from his arms but it fell short, Jan’s body almost deliberately missed as more of the likely expensive pottery was eviscerated on the rocks below. Killing ratlings was one thing, they were sentient creatures but things of almost pure spite, malice, anamalistic cruelty and little intelligence. Stories tracing back to 3200 had accounted the tales of good ratlings and historic accounts of ratlings villages had helped jannic explorers and mercenaries in the past, including trade dealings. The most famed ratling of all time, King Chitter or King Popaeua in traditional tongue, had once led an army of a hundred thousand to besiege imperial walls. Six years ago, a count in the house-wars had even employed twelve ratling war bands to siege neighbouring estates, paying them in a small fortune of quands. A small portion of Kag’s library even included anthropological studies on ratling culture, pride and language. Hypocrisy and ethics, however, go hand in hand and in a world strife with abominations, debating the morals of killing these “subhuman” creature was a debate of luxury. Humans, however, were different. This was a person, a living, breathing person, with hopes, dreams, who was loved, who was….

  Aloat grabbed a crossbow from the dead below. In two swift motions, she turned and fired, piercing the bandits directly through the neck and causing them to slam into the ground above.

  “You killed them!!!!! You killed them!!! What did you just do?!” Jan screamed while sizzling more ratlings. His heart raced at this. A feeling of shock that was quickly laced over by adrenaline.

  She barely glanced at him.

  “I don’t care what kind of talking demonic rock you two picked up in god knows where, I’m still your leader here and I’m getting us out, because right now you’re about as trustworthy as that damn lizard!!!”

  Aloat pointed to the Dalious as she spoke.

  The remarkably trustworthy eight or so foot tall lizard had it’s full-platemale on and now wielded a greatsword. It’s scale-like skin reflected in the sunlight with its eyes full transfixed on Jan. The creature was at the edge of the pit with it’s tail slithering on the now blood-soaked grass. The dalious barked order after order with spit flying from its mouth to cake the ground. Infected pus streamed like a small river from its head as it coordinated the attacks of the army above. It was only then that Jan started to notice the nets being set in place. Hundreds of ratlings began to toss them downwards onto those below, but the scribe steadied his knees. The enemy in the pits was watering the rock with blood, but the enemy above still needed to be cleansed.

  Lightning crackled from the scribe's hands as it licked the humid air. In one swift motion, he jumped above with a single thought floating through his mind.

  Revenge.