Cataclysm War | Chapter 96: The Price of Hubris (First Draft) (Patreon)

Friday, August 12, 4 S.E.

Artur stared at the ruins of his army in numb disbelief.

Everything was falling apart. His Legions were being routed by deluded collaborators aided by their Fantasy overlords, his allies—expendable, but useful—had been obliterated by twelve monstrous Fantasies that had exploded through their ranks like a natural disaster, rending humans like wheat before the scythe, and shattering their morale within the same timeframe as it took for him to rally his Cavalry.

The fools had fled before they’d lost even half their number, surging away from the brutality of the Cultivators like blithering cowards—the same Cultivators that were even then ripping through his backline ranks like unchecked living weapons. He almost considered going there personally, but shock and survival instinct held him back. The field was lost; he saw that already.

Of his fifteen thousand proud patriots, less than a third remained fighting, and his Cavalry…

Artur turned his gaze back to the charnel field that had been his mounted forces and felt his spine rattle with a shiver of fear. A line of eighty Fantasies had turned three thousand sons and daughters of Terra into food for the crows, obliterating them with a methodical efficiency that froze his blood in a way few things ever had. He’d done more tours of duty than he could count on both hands, and nothing in his four decades of military service had horrified him the way that the Fantasies had.

They’d turned his Cavalry charge into a lesson in slaughter, butchering his soldiers like they were annoying mosquitoes, instead of a titanic force of destructive power. The flying wedge had been the centerpoint of endless strategic and tactical victories throughout human history, and before the invention of modern warfare, had been the unquestioned path to victory for thousands of years.

The Fantasies had rebuffed it like an annoyance, and proceeded to slaughter his army like it were an offending mite.

Not all was lost. A rough count of his forces showed he still had a little under five thousand left, but could he win with those numbers? He knew the answer. The Cavalry had been his last-ditch effort; an attempt to turn an unfavorable tide into his grasp. The irregulars had been his second backup, and they’d been thoroughly routed before he even knew what was happening to them.

His [Terran Reclaimer] Title allowed him to fight almost any Alien on equal terms, granting him a 100% increase to all of his Attributes, and yet it felt useless to him in that moment—staring down at the remnants of his proud mounted warriors, and seeing the last of them fleeing into the hills as fast as their horses could bear them.

Even Bucephalus was afraid, whinnying under him as he gripped the reins, and clearly desiring nothing more than to gallop from the deadly field of destruction that had been created. His gaze drifted toward Elijah, riding hard toward him with Collette and Gwendolyn at his sides, bearing down on him as he stood, powerless, on the hill overlooking the ruins of his dream.

Leonidas, son, I’m sorry. He thought to himself, turning his gaze toward the defiant City.

The Svartfenn would still be fighting, but that meant nothing to him. Let the wretches die and take the Haelfenn with them. What did he care about their idiotic racial conflicts? All he wanted was to save his grandson and destroy a threat to his people. Instead, he’d been defeated—not just defeated, soundly smashed by the Black Knight and his forces.

“Artur!” Elijah called, pulling the Iron Duke’s attention. “We have to retreat, Artur,” Elijah said, his voice exhausted and hoarse from yelling. “I know what this means to you, but we can’t continue. We can return to Texas, form a new plan, and gather a new army. This setback is unfortunate, but—”

“No, Elijah,” Artur said, cutting off his loyal lieutenant and shaking his head slowly. “There is no recovering from this. Even two decades won’t be enough to erase this nightmare from the minds of our soldiers, and they’ll tell everyone what happened here. By the time we rally the strength to try again, this City will already be an Empire. We both know it. We’ve lost, old friend.”

Elijah looked stunned by his words and turned to Gwendolyn, who trotted her horse up to Artur and, wordlessly, slapped him across the face.

“Get ahold of yourself, Artur,” his wife said sharply, pointing down the hill. “Our grandson is being held by these people! There is nothing, nothing we cannot do to liberate him. So what if they grow stronger? This is our fucking world, Artur Paendrag. We won’t surrender it to alien scum!”

Artur, face stinging, turned to his wife and tried to muster the fire she appealed to, and found nothing but guttering embers. She didn’t understand. She didn’t truly comprehend war, not the way Artur did—not the way Collette did, even. The Warmender had at least been a part of the Navy; she’d been a field surgeon. She understood; he could see it in her haggard and haunted features.

There was no path forward for the Alliance to defeat these enemies.

Artur opened his mouth to end the argument and say as much, but was distracted by the sudden advance of a familiar face.

His eyes narrowed, and his companions turned to look at what he was staring at, and then collectively went still.

Kairi Yunalesca Paendrag was walking toward them, her hands on her weapons, and a cold look in her blue eyes. The same eyes she’d inherited from Reginald, and Reginald from Artur himself.

Wordlessly, Artur heeled Bucephalus forward, followed by his wife, Elijah, and Collette as they met his granddaughter halfway. When they closed distance and reined in, Kairi eyed them blithely, her eyes roving over them flatly.

“Pops, Nana, Elijah, Collette,” she greeted them neutrally, her voice devoid of warmth. “A right and proper shitshow you’ve made of yourselves. Well done.”

Gwendolyn winced at the words, and Elijah and Collette grimaced, while Artur just leaned forward on Bucephalus’ reins, staring down at his tough-as-iron granddaughter with a mix of confusion and, despite the situation, quiet pride. The girl had made a legend for herself in the New World, and despite the circumstances, Artur couldn’t help but be proud of his granddaughter.

“Kairi,” he said to her more calmly than he felt. “I’m surprised to see you aiding the people who kidnapped your brother.”

Instead of reacting with anger, as he expected, his youngest descendant simply snorted at him.

“Jeeze, Pops. Your intelligence sucks,” Kairi said flatly, and jerked her head over her shoulder. “Look, I don’t care about that stuff. There’s someone who wants to talk to you, to negotiate your surrender. I suggest you take the offer if you actually care about Ace as much as you claim to. You could say the Black Knight over there holds his life in his hands.”

Artur narrowed his eyes at that and looked past her, toward where the armored figure was giving inaudible orders to golden-armored fantasies and sending them sprinting away, along with a large number of his defenders. The silver-armored professional soldiers from the City were also collapsing onto the last of the Humanity Alliance, though the fighting was beginning to stall as the City’s superior numbers began to hem in his forces, and the threat of the demonic-looking woman and her lance-wielding accomplice cowed the resistance wherever they went.

“I see,” Artur said simply, and glanced at his companions. “If something happens, ride for Texas and don’t stop. I’ll—”

“We’re going with you, Artur,” Gwendolyn said firmly, glancing at her granddaughter, and then back to Artur. “Whatever happens, we’re in it with you.”

Elijah and even a shell-shocked Collette nodded, and Artur shook his head.

“This isn’t the time to—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Kairi said acerbically. “Enough with the melodrama. You’re all walking out of here alive, despite my objections to the contrary. Hurry up and follow me.”

All four of them glanced askance at the fiery Reaper’s Shadow, but Artur let out a sigh and shrugged.

Well, she is Gwendolyn’s granddaughter. She definitely got her temper.

With a final round of nods from his wife and lieutenants, Artur heeled Bucephalus after Kairi, soothing the horse with strokes of his neck as the four of them trotted their mounts after the retreating form of his granddaughter and toward the black-armored figure she was angling toward, who was himself standing with ten golden-armored guards, a demonic Fantasy with golden horns, and what looked like an alien with the red cross on his robes, a Svartfar, and a blond alien who was idly chattering to the horned one.

They wound their way around the charnel house that was all that remained of their Cavalry, and eventually made their way toward the presumptive leader or champion of the defending forces, while the golden warriors around him fanned out in a ready posture, weapons held low but at the ready, and winged helmets reflecting the sunlight as they watched Artur’s approach.

His [Terran Reclaimer] Title ignited as he drew closer, but Artur made no sudden movements. He would see how things played out, first, especially when his grandson’s life was potentially in the balance. Kairi was known for being caustic, after what had happened to her, but she never joked about her brother. The two of them were far too close for that.

Artur finally drew Bucephalus to a halt ten feet from the Black Knight and, after a moment, dismounted from his horse—folding his arms over his chest and walking forward two more feet before halting. He heard the sound of Gwendolyn dismounting behind him and glanced over when his wife joined him, smiling at her tightly before turning back to the silent enemy that had bested his Army.

“Well, we’re here,” he said gruffly, fighting down his disgust at negotiating with his enemy, who reached up toward his helmet. “Our granddaughter says you have information on our grandson, and hold his life in your hands. I’ll tell you right now, if you’ve harmed—”

Artur’s words died in his throat when the helmet came off the Black Knight’s head, and a pair of mirrored blue eyes stared straight at him as the man handed the helmet to one of his Guards.

Behind him, Elijah audibly cursed, and Collette let out a ragged, mirthless laugh while Gwendolyn froze in shocked disbelief.

“Hi, Pops,” Leonidas said calmly, his voice deep, assured, powerful. There was a weight to his grandson’s eyes that hadn’t existed before, a steady wisdom mixed with quiet certainty that changed his entire aspect. The boy he’d remembered in his moments of paternal fear had been replaced by a war-tempered warrior, one who had fearlessly shattered his entire Army. “Sorry that we had to meet like this, but I figured you wouldn’t listen until I forced you to.”

Artur felt a ringing in his ears and stepped forward, ignoring the blades that rose from the bodyguards, and only distantly noticing when Leonidas motioned them to stand down, his hands reaching out to grip his grandson’s shoulders as he looked up at him, remembering only belatedly how damned tall he was.

“How?” Artur asked, his voice raw to his own ringing ears.

“It’s a long story,” Leonidas answered calmly, regarding him with the same composed, steady gaze. “A really long story, but before we get into that, I’m going to need to ask you something a bit difficult, Pops.”

Artur’s eyes searched his grandson’s, and his shoulders sagged.

“You were never a prisoner, were you?” he asked wearily, suddenly feeling his age in a way he hadn’t for years.

“No,” Leonidas said quietly. “I’m not a prisoner, Pops. I’m their King.”

“Their King?” Gwendolyn asked from behind him, while Elijah cursed again, and Collette started to weep for some unknown reason. “Why? How?”

“I was taken in by one of the City’s Regents,” Leonidas said, turning his gaze toward his grandmother. “Taught by her, actually. I ended up marrying their Princess-Royal after killing her brother in ritual combat. You’ll probably be great-grandparents, soon, actually. Aylar’s relatively confident we’ll conceive before the year is out.”

Artur felt his head spin at the words, and he leaned on his grandson as he tried to process them.

“You… You married one of them?” Gwendolyn asked in disbelief as she stared at their grandson. “One of the invaders?”

“Yeah, he did,” Kairi said flatly, “and I’m fucking one. Why? Got a problem, Nana? Maybe I’ll let him—” she pointed at the Fantasy with the Red Cross on his robe, who looked alarmed “—knock me up, next! Then you can have two dirty little half-alien great-grand—”

“Kairi,” Leonidas said firmly, and shut his sister up in the act, making her fold her arms and glare at them in silence as her brother looked between Artur and Gwendolyn. “A lot has happened,” Leonidas continued simply, while reaching up to gently take Artur’s hands and remove them from his immense pauldrons. “But I’m going to need you to surrender, Pops. I don’t need or want your Dominion—I’ve got a feeling you’re not going to be a threat to us again, after finding all this out, but I still need your formal surrender, as the lawful ruler of the Three Rivers Duchy.”

Artur shook his head at the words and straightened, slowly coming back to himself as the futility of his efforts crashed down on him. It all made such terrible, terrible sense. How could his grandson ever be a prisoner? The enemy forces had chanted his name, chanted Achilles like a delivering prayer. Leonidas wasn’t hoodwinked or mind-controlled; he was their symbol. Of course he was. His grandson was exceptional. How could he have ever believed anything else could be the truth?

“What will happen to my soldiers?” Artur asked instead of the myriad other questions raging in his mind. “You’ve won, son. I recognize that, but I need to know—”

“They’ll be released back to your authority,” Leonidas said calmly. “I don’t want or need them in my Dominion. You’ll take them back to Texas, and you’ll announce to everyone there that you’ve entered into a formal non-aggression pact with the [Kingdom of Avalon], which is ruled by your grandson, Leonidas Achilles Romulus Altera Pendragon.”

Artur jolted at the added name and surname, but Leonidas wasn’t done.

“You will pay reparations equal to ten platinum for every one of my people you’ve killed, a number we’ll finalize after we’re done here. You’ll also make it clear that while we will allow trade after a year of no hostilities, anyone coming from the Iron Duchy, or the Humanity Alliance, whichever you prefer, will have to wear a clear demarcation of their citizenship on their attire. Anyone found entering my Kingdom without such will be detained, and if they’re discovered to be a spy, we’ll execute them,” Leonidas said in the same calm, steady voice.

“Leonidas, you can’t—”

“Sorry, Nana,” Leonidas cut in as Artur stared at him, his grandson’s blue eyes as hard as steel. “This isn’t a negotiation. This is the price of your hubris. Either you accept my terms, or I’m going to kill your soldiers, down to the last person, and send their corpses back to the Iron Duchy as a warning. I appreciate you wanting to save me, but you’ve cost me over a thousand of my citizens, and brought war to my people—you would have killed my wife if I hadn’t stopped you, and I can’t accept that. I can’t accept the hate you represent.”

Artur’s grandson took a breath and straightened his shoulders, bracing his hands at the base of his spine and looking from Artur to Gwendolyn in cold, steely silence.

Artur had never been prouder of him.

He’d also never felt like more of a failure.

“Very well,” Artur said softly, hearing the defeat in his own voice, and hating it. “I accept your terms, King Leonidas,” he said more formally, and straightened himself, recognizing when he was thoroughly defeated. “I, Artur Mordred Paendrag, do hereby acknowledge your Victory over the Iron Duchy and Humanity Alliance, as its System-avowed Ruler.”

The System chimed, loud enough this time that even the battlefield seemed to hear it, and Artur suppressed the alert when it tried to pop up.

Leonidas watched him after he spoke, and then nodded once.

“Take your people and go, Pops,” his grandson said with an echo of sadness, wrapped in unyielding steel. “Maybe we’ll meet again one day, but there’s no room for family reunions today. If you’re still within sight of my City in the next two hours, I’ll have no choice but to assume you’re violating the terms of your surrender and unleash my Army on you in totality.”

Leonidas turned away after he spoke and walked toward his silent companions.

“This is my final mercy, grandfather,” he said as he did. “Please don’t force me to kill you.”

Artur watched him go in silence, watched his grandson walk away, back straight, head raised, and already giving orders as he marched back toward the City.

Silence followed in his wake, and Artur turned toward his companions.

“Well,” he said in a voice that was hollow to his own ears, “we lost.”

No one said anything, even as Gwendolyn started to weep, and Collette vomited over the side of her horse.

There was nothing more to say.