12MB - Book 7 - Chapter 50 - An impossible challenge (Patreon)

“Why are you not HERE you worthless servant?!” 

“Chill pal, we are moving as fast as we can.” The rock answered back. 

It was correct, To’Orda had been forced to increase his speed to a full sprint in order to comply with the Feather’s prior orders. Already he was barreling through trees, jumping over rocks and streams, or simply smashing his hammer and letting the shockwave throw him far above a hill or mountain in his way rather than scale it. His speed was steadily approaching the theoretical maximums with air drag now becoming a significant factor in holding his speed back. He’d even needed to stuff his pet rock down his shawl. 

At least To’Sefit was generally content with letting him walk and worked around carrying him with her raven instead. This new Feather simply wanted him to do things right away without any nuance. He filed that under examples of things not to do as a boss, but besides grumbling, his hands were tied. 

"CHILL?! CHILL?! Did your pet engram ask the DIVINE SHEPHERD OF RIGHTEOUS SANCTIFICATION to CHILL?!" To'Naviris shrieked, his voice hitting octaves that shouldn't be physically possible.

As in, the Feather hadn’t sent him a standard audio file over the channel. No, instead he had sent it as an image, with several peaks specifically drawn so they’d go beyond the standard margins. An odd way to communicate, not to mention it clearly would not work in this manner at all. However, To’Orda could understand the attempted point, even if physics did not agree with the Feather. 

 "I command LEGIONS! I orchestrate SYMPHONIES OF DESTRUCTION! I do NOT—" He forwarded a composite video file this time. Of him biting through three fingernails at once with a deep crunch, "—CHILL, you INSOLENT PEBBLE!"

Considering the Feather was currently on fire, and unable to overclock, To’Orda wondered about his priority system. He would have focused the resources on surviving against To’Wrathh. But To’Naviris still paused his tactical analysis software just to compile this for him. 

“I say we feel flattered about all this, personally.” The rock said with a doodled shrug, in private. “It’ll make you feel a lot better about the yelling, at least.”

The channel lit up once more, a message and images being passed through. "When this is over, I shall personally ensure that rock of yours is converted into a TOILET SEAT for my personal CATHEDRAL!”

The image sent next was of a granite porcelain throne, built of smashed up rock, at the focal point of a massive cathedral. All the stairs led up to the toilet. 

“Okay, that was a little bit rude.” The rock said. “Feathers don’t even use toilet seats. Also who uses a toilet in front of an entire cathedral? He’s a menace and you should ditch him.”

If only it were that easy. The only thing To’Orda could do at this moment was to pray that the hyper-weasel executes whatever he was plotting and end the suffering.

It wasn’t long until another expected outburst came. 

“HOW DID VERMIN LIKE THIS EVEN END UP HERE?!” 

“I’ll take a wild guess our new boss is running into the Icon’s favorites now.” The rock said, which was proved true almost immediately when he refocused his attention to the livestream.

The few mechanical units still working after To’Naviris’s unwise appearance into the field were now being bombed to death by Odin flying high above. The mechanical crabs weren’t resilient to that kind of attack and so were whittled away. 

There were already too few of them left after the power cell detonations, and after the cleanup, To’Orda suspected anything that so much as twitched would be eliminated by the birds. They had excellent eyesight. 

That hadn’t been the only army To’Naviris would field. But the followup reinforcements was running into a wall. More or less figuratively. The larger units were being shot down by the rotary cannon shooting blindly through the smoke without any accuracy loss. He had a gut feeling they  were being fed targeting solutions from somewhere else. Likely another further flying patrol of Odin.

And the few machines that did make it somewhat close to their master, were hit by a more specialized Odin commando force waiting for moments like this. EMP explosions, along with electrified nets that seemed specifically engineered for this purpose would be dropped over the machines and slow them down. The Odin commandos would never get too close to the fight, rather they had another layer of dedicated skirmishers who were far more expendable: Drones.

Swift, four propeller powered attack drones would zip from the fortifications, getting closer to the disabled targets. And the hyper-weasel’s hand was there too. Each drone wasn’t carrying weapons of any kind, instead they had four bendable wires dangling from the underside. All powered with occult edges. The drones would zip close to the machines, licking their surface, flying inches above each target. 

It would have hardly been a threat to a Feather or any machine with mobility. Which was why the drones seemed to exclusively target and hunt down any model that moved with slower processing speed, or had already been tangled up. The Icon had not been off in her prediction, the Odin had studied which models were the threat and how to counter each in theory. 

Anything that survived the bombs, EMP strikes, and drone harassment would generally be shot through by the rotary cannon on the wall. Almost as an afterthought, as if the cannon was simply going through a checklist as it swept the barrel left and right. 

The languid manner that the Odin were moving through their contingency plans made To’Orda’s gut roil. They hadn’t exhausted all their options. Not even close. It was too methodical and prepared. 

And To’Naviris was on the opposite end of that scale. He was unable to cover his forces from the onslaught, as To’Wrathh was keeping him fighting for every inch of survival. His current status on fire forced him to focus his processing power into survival rather than command. 

But he had yet to order To’Orda to take command of the machine forces. Likely out of pride or ego. 

And of course, there was no chance the weasel had somehow died inside that smoke stack where he’d last been spotted. Which meant Keith was choosing to remain hidden within. 

The only way to fight the weasel would be to dive into the smoke and flames again, into the demon’s territory. Even To’Orda knew that would be a terrible idea, though he would probably end up being ordered to do so anyhow. 

To’Avalis and To’Sefit were equally growing more worried watching, even if neither would ever admit it. Not out of any sense of loyalty for their insane older brother here fighting a doomed last stand. But because both knew that the human would now be adding whatever flame powers this was into the already existing set of kit that would be used against them. 

“And we ain’t got no idea what he’s been up to inside that smoke cloud too.” The rock added. “That’s the part that should worry all of you the most. It’s what you don’t see with the weasel that’s the dangerous part.”

The second most difficult part of all this was To’Naviris himself. "Did you truly come down here without a single minion to your name? You have an army SOMEWHERE. I demand you offer it’s services to me IMMEDIATELY."

"More like we were the minion, you know? So no, got no friends that came with us down here." the rock replied, technically correct. "All the machines are under your control if you haven’t noticed. The ones you're basically feeding the human on a silver platter. Maybe try, I dunno, NOT throwing them into the meatgrinder?"

A moment of silence followed before To'Naviris's response came through, somehow even more unhinged than before:

"It appears to me that I am SURROUNDED by INCOMPETENCE OF BIBLICAL PROPORTIONS!” He paused his rant mid-way. “Change of plans, a toilet seat is too good for you. I will have you ripped out and left hanging as a SINGING FISH PLAQUE! It’ll be a tasteful and classy addition to my next pipe organ.”

He didn’t know what a singing fish plaque was, but he didn’t want his pet rock to be turned into one.

What came next was a massive textfile, most of which used the longest most pretentious words To’Orda had ever seen used in a human language, all to tell him he had better find everything he had and throw them at the enemy. 

The problem with all that was a  demand for all the information he had on the Odin at the end of the textfile. He frowned at that. Following the order to the letter would mean telling the Feather about the Icon, as she was the centerpoint of the Odin.

Given his current obsession with building a cathedral out here and filling it with questionable trophies, To’Orda’s gut told him he had to do everything in his power not to reveal the Icon to him. Or to his siblings either. And not mother either. 

But he had been ordered to give an answer to the best of his abilities. His mind flickered through the options, and an unexpected solution came up. 

He could get the Icon to do that for him. Having her answer was better than the best of his ability, her reports would be more detailed. And he was certain she’d know how to resolve the innate issues with all this. 

He forwarded her the message, along with a new order. “Generate a useful report.”

Keywords here were useful, which fit the required demand, while also being vague enough to be misconstrued. Useful to To’Orda’s end goals, useful to To’Orda’s current orders, and useful to To’Naviris himself were all very different.  

The Icon was dedicated to helping him out, but she also was free to twist and change things for her own ends. Which included protecting the Odin and herself if it was in To’Orda’s ultimate best interests. 

The report returned not even a second later, obfuscating her own involvement in all this as a ‘Half-working virtual host intelligence.’ 

She’d understood the assignment without hesitation. 

Unfortunately for To’Naviris, being on fire meant he couldn’t parse through the entire twenty three gigabyte file at any speed. He demanded an abridged version, which made it even easier to hide the information To’Orda wished, and read that one instead. 

“Bring them here. Or wipe them ALL out.” 

“What?” 

“You took these miserable flying rats under your command did you not? BRING THEM HERE. After they are done eliminating this ‘deadlands outpost’ as you so charmingly named it, I shall have them construct my cathedral BY HAND as payment for their sins, and then eradicate them from my lands for good.” 

“I had predicted this would happen.” The Icon said in private to him. “The home forces are being marshaled as your requested sir, unfortunately, they will not arrive in time to offer any assistance given the current pace of the combat as reported.” 

He could tell that was intentional. The Icon didn’t want her people anywhere near this disaster zone, and neither did he. It would be a complete waste of his employee manpower. 

He didn’t know how serious To’Naviris was about building a cathedral here of all places, nor why he’d want the Odin to construct it by hand. They had wings, not hands after all. 

Regardless, his time was up. The battlefield was approaching. The Valorant and the Deadlands weren't too far apart from one another, he had knocked the hyperweasel near here in the first place. ETA, five minutes at this rate. The ground was already turned rotten here, the trees falling apart at a mere touch. His speed increased by several orders now that nothing was getting in his way. 

To’Avalis whispered in his ears, opening a smaller chat channel between the three Feathers while they remained under Relinquished’s thumb, observing the fight with To’Wrathh. 

“Really To’Avalis? Why spoil the fun here?” To’Sefit sent an eye roll, before the animated image lifted a hand to paint her nails. “We’ll get the little human pet soon enough, why don’t you sit back and watch the show instead of meddling everywhere? You can’t possibly be this sore of a loser~”

“I recognize your attempt to provoke antagonistic reactions, sister. However, I do not put any chances on To’Naviris succeeding where the three of us all failed.” 

“You think?” The rock said, sending it’s own animated eye roll, complete with exaggerated eye lashes, likely to prod fun at To’Sefit’s earlier version. “Fight’s going to end in less than five minutes at this rate.”

“Damage on To’Wrathh’s shell is negligible, anything she takes can be repaired. Equally the same for Keith. Either he is killed off, or he will reset to default given To’Wrathh’s abilities. The only advantages we can extract from this situation is information. The longer the fight is drawn out, the more reserve plans the pair will be forced to expose.”

As in To’Orda’s new job wouldn’t be to go for a killing blow, but to babysit To’Naviris and try to keep the Feather from killing himself out of stupidity. 

An impossible challenge. 

“That dumb third gen Feather’s already getting pulled into a trap.” He rock complained for him, “The stupid human’s going to fly right out of that smoke cloud and shank him the moment To’Wrathh gets his ass close enough with his back turned to it. He’s basically donezo. Next plan.”

His gut agreed with that sentiment. To’Naviris was being funneled into a trap and he’d be killed before To’Orda could make it onto the scene. 

“No, To’Naviris is not yet completely spent. There were a few opportunities already that Keith could have eliminated the Feather, and deliberately decided not to. I believe they aren’t seeking to simply kill To’Naviris, but soul-kill him in one go. They’ll wear the Feather’s occult abilities down until he’s insolvent, and then go for the kill.” 

“I doubt they’re as methodical as you are about such things.” To’Sefit said. And the rock agreed with her. But clearly they proved to be wrong, as the next five minutes passed without the Feather’s expected death.

Maybe they really were planning on forcing To’Naviris into a checkmate rather than a simple check. 

To’Avalis crunched the data, and sent a series of options. 

The battle plan had three pillars of choice at the core. The smoke stack was Keith’s home ground. He had to either remove the hyper-weasel from the stack, destroy the stack itself somehow, or remove the reasons for Keith to remain in the stack.

Removing Keith from the smokestack was more or less impossible. The human was entrenched and hadn’t been seen in the last five minutes. Five completely uncontested  and unsupervised minutes of bivouacking. 

The smoke was more or less a death zone at this point. Anyone that walked in would be killed in some highly convoluted plan or another. 

Eliminating the smoke stack was equally impossible with what he had access to. To’Avalis suggested taking direct command of the few machines still approaching To’Naviris. Which the Feather would certainly become antagonistic if he dared. 

That left one option: Force Keith to leave his lair by his own accord. 

To’Orda exploded through the final sickly tree in his path, barreling through the trunk as his sprint took him into the ashlands ahead. The Odin here immediately spotted him, likely even before he’d left, and had begun their contingency plans. 

Dodging the falling occult wire spheres was easy enough. But the Odin adjusted in their strategy and a wing of them dropped standard explosives ahead of him. He could tell what would happen next. They’d land on the ash, explode outwards, and send a few dozen spheres that had been left there as caltrops. 

He groaned at the additional work, but spooled up his overclock and yanked his shield off his back for the first time. Calculations returned as inconclusive, if the odin explosives landed, he couldn’t predict where the occult wires would be zipping outwards. A general statistic model showed him seventy three percent chance of avoiding all damage by sheer chance, but that still had a large percentage where bad luck would ruin his day. 

And To’Orda knew better than to tempt luck. He decided to be proactive instead.

Birds couldn’t carry much, those explosives were very light. Which meant even a weak pull would have power over them. A plan came to mind and he executed it, swinging his hammer with a heavy arc down into a half-limping machine just ahead, stamping a fractal of gravity into it while also flattening the section out into the ground. The machine was more or less dead as it was, so its shell could donate one last item to the cause. 

One hand reached down without pausing his sprint forward, yanking the failing machine wholesale, and then hurling it ahead of him. His processing power dictated the optimal targeting arc and his shell performed the rest of the maneuver with ease. 

The half-dead machine was a bundle of legs and slashed up armored platings, eyes hiding deeper within the mollusk-like centerpiece. It had already been cut apart before even getting to the fight, and then peppered with explosives. Now it was outright flying uncontrollably with a glowing occult fractal pressed into its flank. 

The fractal did exactly as To’Orda hoped for, drawing the majority of the Odin explosives into its pull. They exploded one after another, still trailing behind the flailing machine. He repeated this process a few more times. There were plenty of volunteers along the path, far more than the Odin had in number of bombs. 

A few of the bombs did manage to land on the ground, but this was far easier to calculate than the dozens the Odin here were about to let loose. Processing software outlined all the caltrops in the path, showing their predicted trajectories given the red outlined explosives that had been outside the gravity fractal’s pull range. Only two of the traced out paths intercepted his current path. He slowed his speed slightly, causing one path to miss him, and angled his hammer to intercept the second path. 

Explosions hit the ground as predicted. One of the Odin caltrops spun wildly past him, just whizzing ahead of his head. The other was caught by his hammer’s flat edge and crushed into the ground with one swing, easily messing up the division fractal hastily etched into the monowire. 

The Odin commandos and their drones were up next. Those were fine, the EMP explosives barely tickled his frame, while the electric nets were completely ignored and ripped apart as he raced through. At this point, the Odin commander of this band called off the drones, either to preserve resources or re-use them in another trap. To’Orda wasn’t certain yet. 

Occult rounds slammed into his golden mite shield next. The rotary turret swapped ammunition and opened fire through the smoke. He’d been waiting for something like this, lifting his shield hand up. 

Deep within his core, one of his four fractals lit to life. He’d rarely needed to use this one since it had been years from the last time he’d sprinted with any speed, but it was time. Drawing the occult into a ball within his fist, it surged into his hand, his speed being completely sapped step after step until he’d dumped his entire momentum into the ball. A moment later, he tossed the compressed energy upwards, then swung his hammer into it like a bat. 

The sphere flew with speed, following his targeting solution back through the smoke, past the war between To’Wrathh and her target, then slammed into the rotary turret with one massive occult explosion. 

He couldn’t see the result, but he did know that would have eliminated the turret for good. One checkmark was crossed off of To’Avalis’s battle plan. Onto the next part of the plan. The part he dreaded the most. 

He renewed his sprint forward, then sent the calculations to To’Naviris. The Feather was too preoccupied trying to fight off To’Wrathh while on fire. But he still had the presence of mind to understand what was going to happen. 

“And this is for?” He hissed with disgust. “Have you equally gone as insane as our little sister here?” 

The smoke was literally only a few feet away from To’Naviris at this point, and he knew the demon lurked somewhere. “Nnn… location to fight is bad. Would recommend retreat.” 

The problem was that he’d just uttered a banned word in To’Naviris’s dictionary.

“I must have my processors reset, for I believe I’ve just received tactical advice to FLEE from a HUMAN?!” He somehow managed to sound indignant while literally on fire, twenty or so feet up in the air in the center of his occult vortex, still fending off To’Wrathh’s surgical strikes. 

He was now in visual eyesight, and just about thirty seconds away at To’Orda’s current speed. But he’d need to get dangerously close to the smokestake where the hyper-weasel was no doubt lying in wait. And his target was being annoying, as usual.  

He considered the situation and swapped the calculations slightly. “Not retreat.” He insisted. “We are advancing into their fortress instead.” 

Of course, as soon as he was in range to save To’Naviris, the hyper-weasel struck.