Castle Kingside - Chapter 121: Noon of Repentance

Molars clenching in her jaw, Angelika recognized the fucker at once. The iron ball-sized hole cratering its chest identified this watcher as the one she shot two days ago, and probably the same bastard that preyed on her incompetence during the first assault on the settlement. This would be their third meeting.

She wouldn’t make things so easy this go around. If her grandmother had mustered the courage and tenacity to become an archbishop, Angelika could at least handle this. Her mom and sisters’ safety relied on her ability to counter the heathens’ unprecedented maneuvering. Dimitry, his troops, and thousands of unarmed refugees depended on her, too. Fucking up wasn’t an option.

Angelika steeled herself against the self-doubt slithering within her abdomen as heathens funneled through the opening between naval mines. Their predictability ended there.

Stroking two massive wings of blue-etched stone, the watcher stayed beyond the shoreline, dwarfing the many fliers that swarmed nearby or launched from the carrier birthing decks below. Over a dozen soared past their master into thick gray clouds. Out of sight.

The heads of the vast column of soldiers manning the heathen barrier shot up. Bloodshot eyes scoured the sky, desperate to find the flying devils before they found them.

One waved the trembling muzzle of his gun. “W-where are they?”

As if in response, feathers hailed from unseen heights, plinking and cracking and snapping against the chiseled crawler cores that served as overhead shields.

Angelika’s palm squeezed the cold iron of her voltech rifle. The watcher was using suppression tactics. Again. Dimitry’s plan relied on eliminating the ground forces, and nothing could happen while the crawlers and carriers observed from the coast. She had to coax them out. Luckily, Warnfrid had shown her how. “Load dispersion charges!”

Tearing their gazes away from the deathly rain, the assistant in each soldier pair grabbed a handful of tiny steel pellets—made by dripping molten meltia blots onto vellum—and poured the shot atop the black powder already clumped within their battle buddy’s gun. Ramrods scraped barrel walls to pack the ammunition.

Perceptive amethyst eyes narrowing beneath the shadow of her yellow hood, Leandra pointed ahead. “They’re adapting!”

Crawlers rammed boulders onto the tails of carriers, pronged like huge skeletal fish spines. The sweeping organs whipped forward, launching demonic projectiles over the shore, crashing down from above.

Angelika’s mouth twitched open. “D-defensives!” she caught her words and held out her palm. “Protectia!”

Leandra and Anelace chanted the same.

Some boulders flew too short, plummeting into dunes with heavy thumps. Others slammed into arcane walls before rolling down into pits. But not all missed. Two stayed on track, pounding through the heathen barrier, crushing the soldiers cowering beyond.

Jagged screams peaked into abrupt silence.

Six dead.

The cove tightening around her, Angelika heaved for air, vision squeezing into a narrow corridor bordered by darkness. The watcher was using artillery. They out-ranged her. If she ordered a retreat, feathers would pick off her troops, and if she held, the carriers would siege them down. How the fuck was she supposed to lure the crawlers into Dimitry’s trap? Everyone would die before the ground-based heathens even left the watching devil’s side!

“Mad’m!” a panicked sergeant yelled. “More are coming!”

“We’re gonna die!”

“Angelika!” Leandra barked. “Stay focused!”

Angelika forced herself to move even as her ribcage ached with bewildered breathing. She couldn’t lose control now! All she had to do was think. Think!

She waded through fields of insecurity and latched onto an idea that bloomed in her mind like the only flower in a gorge of shit. “Infantry, listen up! The assistants will hold up their assigned bunker! Everyone stay close and fall back on my mark!”

Leandra’s gaze snapped from carriers being loaded with yet more boulders to Her Royal Highness, who stood in wait beside a giant gun. “Are we fleeing? I need to know, Little Angelika!”

“Just trust me!”

One soldier in each buddy pair lifted their crawler shell. They scrunched together to form an overhead shield wall.

“Fall back!”

The troops peddled away from the heathen barrier like a mobile bastion, feathers beating in waves like raindrops against a roof.

The crawlers finished loading the carrier catapults, and their bony tails snapped forward once more. Eight boulders hurtled closer. Every projectile rolled across the beach or pounded into a now vacant barrier.

“They can’t reach us!” called a voice overflowing with war’s vigor.

“Shooters forward!” Angelika commanded. “Aim high!”

Soldiers shoved through the linear formation, barrels glinting silver with midday glares as they jutted up from between bunker crevices.

“Leandra! Anelace! Light up the sky!”

The court sorceresses lifted their palms. White erupted across voluminous clouds, outlining the gray silhouettes of the fliers soaring within.

“Wait for them to loop around. Wait, wait, wait, release!”

The wax in Angelika’s ears could barely dim the rage of seventy guns blaring in tandem. Crackles whipped across the shore as a thousand pellets launched like a wide-spreading net into the cloud.

Silence. Pellets poured back down through black powder’s foul-smelling mists, tip-tapping against the bastion.

Fliers followed. They dropped like pheasants at a hunt, except heavier, splashing into the ocean, pummeling into the beach and the steep hills bordering the cove. A graveyard of grounded heathens. Almost a dozen dead in one volley, pits of blue sand marking their corpses. The survivors glided back to the watcher.

Soldiers hooted and hollered. One screamed so loudly that veins bulged from his throat, eyes burning with vengeance.

Leandra smirked. “Well done, Little Angelika.”

“Y-you really think so?”

“Of course. We’re too far for them to siege us, and we’ll continue to shoot down flying devils if they try. You left them two choices: walk into the trap or leave. After seeing the apostle scorch that crawler, I think I know which they’ll choose.”

Angelika choked on a trapped breath. Unsure how to react to a compliment from a venerated hero of the Gestalt Wars, she kept still. But not for long.

The enemy retaliated.

Carriers gathered speed as they rounded the sea and rammed onto the beach, blocky bodies gliding across the sand, forming a four-linked barricade. The bulky row tumbled forward like siege engines of stone. Crawlers must have been pushing them from behind, rolling faster, ground quaking with each rectangular flop.

Just as predicted. The horde would reach the trap soon.

“Status on the fuses?” Angelika asked.

A chemist responsible for setting off the explosives rushed closer, his expression a tangled mess of distress. “No good!”

“Why the fuck’s that?”

“The barrier collapsed on the main bundle when the carriers attacked! W-we can’t reach them!”

Crap. Plan B it was.

Leandra stretched like a messenger preparing to sprint. “Then Anelace and I will ignite them ourselves. Cover us, Little Angelika.”

“Wait!” she interjected before the court sorceresses left the safety of the bastion to operate compromised weaponry they had never used. Their poor understanding would screw up the timing on which the entire operation hinged. “Let’s give it a moment.”

“Now’s not the time for hesitation.”

“I’m not hesitating. Everything’s going to plan.”

“You predicted this would happen?”

“Uh… kind of.” Angelika looked up at an orange speck gleaming off a flier’s back. Everything was up to her now.

Frigid wind blasting into her nostrils and disheveled golden bangs probing her squinted eyes, Precious held on for dear life. One arm hung around the spinal prong of a flier, who kept looping over the raging horde, and her other clutched a pouch whose orange glowing ignia contents prickled her skin. Soon, she’d have to deliver the enchanted sand past very many very angry heathens to set off a big boom.

She never should have agreed to this. Just earlier that day, Precious was minding her own business in the comfort of the cellar, lying on a bed of willow leaves, tempting uncivilized faeries into behaving. And then Loudmouth had to burst in and ruin everything! ‘I really need your help,’ she begged. ‘Long fuses aren’t reliable near water, ignia spells can’t pierce carriers, you can easily fly past them to ingite the explosive trap. Get the timing right and I’ll personally bring you fent forever.’

Precious saw through her. Humans weren’t averse to oversimplification when they reeked with desperation, but tears had long lost their savory luster. Wilting foliage did, too. That’d be the last time she took pity on anyone—ever! Not only did she brave danger from heathens but also gun-toting peasants. Their pellets had nearly hit her flier!

Why did they shoot up? Didn’t Loudmouth know the safest place for Precious to carry magic in a horde was atop a heathen? They never came close enough to hurt each other, which was how she stayed safe during raids now and in the past, munching berries on the cores of crawlers as they razed villages, prodding them towards the local chapel with illumina. There was nothing like seeing a deacon break down at the sight of approaching devils. Those days seemed so simple now.

Precious rolled across a stony spine to peek down at the beach. She located a cross in the sand—the marker Loudmouth had left to help her time the ignition. The central fuse connecting to all others should already be burning when the horde reached that point.

Four carriers barreled close.

She had to dive now!

If only it were so easy. Precious rocked to the flier’s wing, but dread icier than the gales pulled her back into a central groove. Clearly, her instinct was smarter than her. She huffed a few shallow breaths, and despite good sense warning not to, jumped, cheeks flapping under the barrage of whistling air as she plunged down the horde’s center.

Fliers bolted near. Their razor wings cut past.

Precious turned. Jagged stone slicing overhead. A wad of golden hair drifted behind, falling slower than her.

She slid a hand down her ponytail. Dimitry’s gold ribbon—still there! Unfolding both green wings from her chest, Precious glided along the underbellies of crawlers, peering through the sandy fog for the central fuse.

Scrawny legs stabbed, and she tumbled. Speared, she ducked. Lunged, Precious tucked, locating the tangled black wires Loudmouth had mentioned. There! Just behind the carriers! A quick tug unraveled the pouch. Orange dust blew countless magical pinpricks into her face. She sprinkled the ignia powder onto the fuse.

The fire raced down a black wire, weaving into a mesh of many that disappeared beneath the trembling sands.

Hissing.

They were gonna blow!

Hands pressing to her sides, Precious launched sideways. She had to get away. Explosions probably looked nicer than they felt.

Blasts bellowed behind, and heat followed. Not the comfy kind. The tear you apart kind. They grew louder, angrier, vibrations jolting her wings and shoving Precious off course, throwing her up with vicious warmth.

Stone shards flew past. Blue blood as well.

Dodge, dodge!

The chaos stacked and compounded until the perilous cacophony reached an apex. Loud ringing bludgeoned Precious’ ears such that she couldn’t hear herself scream as she fled the madness.

The shuddering of the ground rattled into Saphiria’s gold-plated greaves. She stood agape at what she saw. Orange flashed beneath the sand and blossomed into towering clouds of white, waves of warmth reaching far enough to caress her winter-numbed nose. Each blast pumped the mist higher like forge bellows, casting the drifting specters of spent force further across the beach.

Crawlers at the center of the blast disintegrated from the sheer strength of holy munitions, while many more leaked trails of blue from stumped limbs before squirming dances of death upon the stained field. The survivors found little salvation. Land mine tripwires caught them along the edges of the cove, leaving only a few alive to scramble back to the watcher’s side. And the carriers fared no better—four wretched mounds of bleeding rubble.

Awe-inspiring beauty. Intangible power.

Was this the might that won last month’s Night of Repentance? Saphiria had heard the tales from those present, but never did she envision a display so vigorous yet elegant. She glanced at the man at her side.

Face indecipherable as always, his pale green eyes hawked the soldiers celebrating down the beach, medium hair of blond and brown frolicking to the lilt of black powder’s symphony. No doubt Dimitry spawned another scheme or evaluated the effectiveness of this one.

Saphiria found the will to speak at last. “You chose a capable officer.”

“Yeah. I’m not even sure how Angelika executed the plan from so far away with such good timing.” He paused. “Still, don’t you feel like things were a little too simple?”

She looked to her gauntleted hand, which rested on a cast steel cannon resembling a gargantuan gun without the ignition mechanisms. This weapon she crafted was for the most devastating heathen of all. “Perhaps we are fortunate for once. This month’s raid may not see a—“

The world rumbled once more. Not with the concussions of explosions, but stomping, growing louder and closer.

A feverish chill consumed Saphiria. She, her knights, the guild enchantress, Dimitry, and the mercenary accompanying him all looked north. None spoke lest they hear the words they all feared.

“Carapaced devil!” a scout shouted from the treetops. “Carapaced devil, headed for the outpost!”

The soldiers ceased their jollity as fliers beamed overhead and crawlers skittered around the shoreline.

“Angelika!” Dimitry’s breathless tone echoed across the dunes.

Vogel raised her voltech rifle. “To me!” Troops rallied behind the sorceress to chase the fleeing foes. They and the court sorceresses rushed past.

The clattering of overturning boulders. Crawlers and fliers encroached from the cove’s southern flank.

“Ride, Your Highness!” Sir Meir dismounted. “We’ll hold them here!” He withdrew his war hammer as did the other knights. Stone and steel collided.

Biting her lip, Saphiria turned to the watcher, the gems on its otherwise monstrous abdomen eying the tents atop the coastal cliffs. She understood at last. That was why the carapaced devil didn’t strike with the rest of the horde as they had predicted. “This is but another distraction. The watcher’s true objective is the settlement! We must deliver the cannon before the massacre!”

“No time,” Dimitry said. “It’s too heavy to drag out of the sand.”

“Floatia can lighten the load.”

“Won’t be fast enough.” He grabbed her pauldrons, the embers of a ruse burning in his stare. “Listen, do you think Katerina and your knights can secure the beach?”

“They can, but—”

“Good. I’ll bring that thing here, so make sure the cannon’s ready to fire.”

Saphiria’s eyes widened. Bring that thing here? Her thoughts flurried to uncover whatever perilous stratagem had Dimitry conceived, and the need to warn him of the dangers welled within. Yet only a fool would doubt the apostle after his numerous accomplishments. She whistled.

A mare trotted near, lustrous white mane sweeping over her painstakingly forged scale mail.

“My love,” she whispered. “Get him there and back safely.”

Dorothy exhaled a resolved breath onto her arm.

“I am in your debt.”

“Nartuya!” Dimitry shouted.

Saphiria pivoted to discover the mercenary mounting Sir Schwarz’s horse. She galloped away. Such was the issue with those blinded by coin—their allegiance reached beyond the pouch only for themselves. “Leave her! A mount is not worth a thousand lives. We shall manage here, now go!”

Leaning in, Dimitry gripped Dorothy’s reins tighter, the leather burning into his palms. Screams whipped around him. From settlers evading toxic feathers, from soldiers and their guns unloading into the sky, from the wind pounding his ears as he swerved past tents and people to thwart the pith of the watcher’s assault.

Through the northern forest across the settlement, fliers accompanied a monstrous tortoise silhouette. Legs thick like silos crushed wood stumps. A blue-streaked neck hung above the barren canopy. The ground’s convulsions intensified as a carapaced devil rampaged towards where civilians concentrated most.

If the gargantuan heathen reached the colony, the overwhelming casualties would bring a swift end to Dimitry’s ambitions. The watcher seemed to know that. Or perhaps it aimed to spite him by causing as much misery as possible.

The bastard wouldn’t get the satisfaction. Aiming to cut the carapaced devil off before the worst came to pass, Dimitry squeezed his thighs around a sapphire-encrusted saddle reinforced by a muscular physique. “Go!”

Dorothy sped up, leaping over a timber beam and the man cowering beneath.

His objective drew near.

Hoping the plan would work as well as it did in his mind, Dimitry fumbled in his pocket, vol pellets cold and smooth against his skin. “Come on, Dorothy. I need you to go faster.”

The horse’s galloping hastened. Soon, the quaking became palpable through her jouncing. She rode ahead, and when the carapaced devil’s neck loomed overhead, casting a shadow long and arched, a swift tug on the reins killed her momentum. Dorothy slid across the frozen forest floor, restlessly clopping in place as four massive legs of stone advanced.

“Easy girl.”

She whinnied.

“Yes, I know. We both have places we’d rather be.” Dimitry inhaled a sharp breath and held his palm towards the heathen. Here went nothing. “Impedeall.”

The beast paused.

Yes!

Its massive head swung towards its nearest foes—Dimitry and his mount. A fierce screech blared from a gaping mouth of stone.

Yes!

The carapaced devil turned. Just as it did crawlers, impedeall severed this heathen from the watcher’s control, coaxing the super-sized turtle into a bewildering frenzy. Perfection.

“Now!”

As if understanding Dimitry’s intentions, Dorothy sped off, a massive heathen in pursuit. His hand slipped down her neck, pulse pounding beneath the thick skin. Her heart raced as did his. Like partners in crime, they shared an air of exhilaration, but rather than screeching tires and sacks of money on the backseats, steel hooves battered dirt to extract the loot that was countless human lives.

Fliers dove from the clouds.

Euphoria turned to despair.

Feathers whizzed by and clanged against Dorothy’s armor. Discovering no injuries to himself or her, relief flashed across Dimitry. He glanced towards the coast.

Edging over the abandoned heathen barrier, the watcher glared at him, undoubtedly upset that he commandeered its carapaced devil. Was it trying to regain control?

The fliers returned. More projectiles. Heading right at him.

His arm rose to cover his face.

“Protectia!”

The feathers crashed into an unseen barrier by his neck. Gulping at what should have been the end, Dimitry looked to the magic’s source.

A stolen warhorse closed in, robed figure on top, stacked earrings chiming beneath a black hood. She flicked a sawed-off voltech rifle out of her sleeve. “Propelia!”

A flying devil split into halves, splattering against a cliff face.

Dimitry couldn’t believe who he saw. “I thought you ran away.”

“I did.” Nartuya rolled another iron ball down the barrel. “And then I saw you ride into battle against a carapaced devil. Alone. Propelia!” Another dead flier. “No swindler I’ve met would risk their lives for clout.”

“Appreciate the vote of confidence.”

“You’re welcome.” She peeked back at the enclosing behemoth. “Now, what do we do about that? Doubt we can outrun it.”

“No need.” He grinned. “It’ll be dead soon enough.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“Stay with me. I could use the help.”

Nartuya fending off fliers amidst the mad dash, Dimitry explained his plan. Sand soon crunched beneath their horses.

Across the beach, crawler and flier corpses lay beside Saphiria. She watched them approach. The clever girl quickly grasped his intent, breaking free from her daze. “Katerina, ready a shield! Men, flee with your mounts!”

“But Your Highness—”

“I will not repeat myself!”

The royal knights hesitated before riding away.

Dimitry grabbed a handful of vol, the metal’s dense green edges jabbing into the creases of his palm. “Dorothy! Faster! Make space!”

“You too, horse!” Nartuya said.

The steeds huffed and puffed, and the gap between them and the carapaced devil widened.

Hopefully, the space would suffice. Dimitry absorbed the arcane fuel, surging through his arms and chest like searing flames. He pulled up to the gourd-shaped cannon and slapped his hand onto the barrel. “Accelall!”

Power flowed into the cast steel and the ammunition within. A dozen pure pellets worth.

Woozy from vol consumption, Dimitry sent the horses away. He joined Saphiria behind Nartuya and Katerina.

The carapaced devil’s figure loomed over them.

“Protectia!” both sorceresses chanted.

Saphiria held out her palm. “Ignia!”

Dimitry plugging his ears did nothing to muffle the cannon’s empowered roar. He heard only high-pitched ringing when the breech shattered, showering the protectia barrier with steel shards flying at lethal velocities.

A time-accelerated cannonball shot forth. The steel orb blasted through the carapaced devil’s torso and ejected from its shelled spine, a tunnel tracing the munition’s path. Organs broken or missing. Blood pouring to plug the cavity. The heathen fell to its knees. After a prolonged stare, it collapsed with a crash that raised clouds of sand.

Mouth ajar, Nartuya lowered her arm. “So this is divine fury.”

“One shot…” Katerina uttered. “Just one shot. The girls at the guild won’t believe this.”

Settlers observing from the coastal cliffs erupted into cheers. It seemed Angelika had won her battle as well.

Saphiria stepped away from an expanding blue puddle. “Apostle.”

“Thanks.” Dimitry took her gauntleted hand and helped himself up. After admiring his work, he turned his gaze towards the final piece of the puzzle—a flying devil halfway across the beach, retreating to the ocean.

It couldn’t leave. Not after testing his defenses. Dimitry withdrew his remaining vol. “Nartuya, mind killing that thing for me?”

“It’s a little far, no?”

“We can fix that.” He tapped her shoulder. “Accelall.”

The mercenary spun in abrupt circles, doubtless amazed that the world moved slower than conventional wisdom could explain. But she learned quickly. A garbled chant escaped her lips. Nartuya sprinted down the beach with superhuman agility and speed, leaping onto a carrier corpse, jumping from crawler core to crawler core with the frivolity of an adult playing hopscotch.

The watching devil flapped erratically, finally passing the shoreline.

Too little, too late.

Nartuya was already sprinting down an adjacent stone pier. With a tall vault, she aimed her rifle mid-air at an overgrown flier escaping into the clouds. The crackle of a pierced sound barrier resounded across the dunes. She splashed into the ocean.

The watcher followed, dropping from the sky, bleeding all the way down from a shattered spine.

Dimitry felt no pity watching the devil try to squirm its way out of drowning. For he was the apostle. And the coast was his. Heathens would threaten his people no longer.