Chapter 40 - Last Stand (Patreon)

AN: Releasing a new tier for the new years, since everything seemed to be coming together for it, and it's the start of the month too. This new tier goes all the way to the end of book 2!

With that out of the way, back to the story~

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“So, how're we gonna drag the kid back? Can’t exactly bring him outside without a suit.” One of the slavers asked. 

“Yeah, this is a fuckin’ mess.” Another said. “Zain’s shipment ain’t even scheduled for another two weeks. What’s our exit plan now boss? We’re way off the map here. Those undersiders should’ve been with us too, fat lot of good they’re doing now, pissing with their dicks out in the freeze.”

“Enough. We don’t need a godsdamned suit.” The knight holding me down said. “And this chance was once in a lifetime. It paid off see? We’ve got the brat. So shut the fuck up and do as I tell you. Yaggril, go out and keep the courtyard clear. Make sure they don’t entrench guns around the area. Clanners are insane enough to do anything if you look away for even a moment.” One of the knights stood at that, nodding. “Rest of us, we’ll wait here till the team groups up and then we all punch a way down together. If we get split up, that’s the one way these fucks can snatch victory from us.”

“How did you scrapheads get into the colony in the first place?” I asked, wheezing through what little of my throat was still capable of breathing. My lungs were on fire, and that gauntlet was stopping the much needed air, but still, part of me hadn’t given up.

The knight on top stopped mid-brief and looked down on me. “Well, wouldn’t you like to know huh? Too bad.”

“Clan lord is a Deathless.” I snarled back. “You think you're going to get away? He'll chase you to the ends of the world. You’re not getting out of this alive.”

“I don’t think your little pet Deathless is going to be moving around for a few months with the gear our patron gave us to deal with him. By the time he's back, this miserable shithole will be a crater, and we'll all be long gone like the snow.” He chuckled darkly at that. “You won’t be around either, come to think of it. So both of you are going to miss all the fun that’s coming. Saw a lot of pretty faces at that dance, can’t wait till I come back for round two.”

“I’ll br-”

He shushed me then, spare finger pressing down on my lips, the gauntlet metal cold to the touch. “You’re lucky the knights with knock-out's aren’t here yet, but keep pressing your luck and I’ll find novel ways of shutting you up. Got that?” He lifted his head next, turning to the others. “Don’t let this brat get into your head. The Deathless isn’t going to be our problem, trust the other team. I know we’re deep in enemy turf and this hasn’t gone anywhere close to the outline, but so long as we stick to what we’ve got, we should pull through all right. Don't panic, do what I say and we'll be fine.”

There was a sound at the doorway entrance, and everyone snapped their heads to see who’d arrived.

Three figures stepped through the open doorway. Three soldiers in the Winterscar deep black uniform. Each wielding one of my new blades. I’d seen these three before at the feast, or sometimes gathered around the training yard watching Kidra and I spar. Back then their faces seemed so jovial. Now, they were dead set, a quiet sort of intensity to each.

They raised up the black blades in unison, taking stances, igniting the occult edges.

The slaver holding me down laughed. “You lot don’t even have armor, and we outnumber you. This some kind of joke?”

The soldier at the center narrowed his eyes, then met my own. “Master Keith, third corridor down. We’ll buy you time.”

The raider constricted his hand on my throat. “Don’t even think about it, kid.” He growled, then turned to the other knights. “Kill these fucks, I’ll make sure the brat doesn’t bounce in the meantime.”

The other three nodded, drawing their blades out, stepping forward to meet the common soldiers.

The center Winterscar raised his blade in the traditional salute to the dead. “For honor. For House Winterscar.” He spoke in deadly calm.

The slaver closest to them had the gall to return the salute, more a mockery. “For fun, and for pleasure.” He said, chuckling all the while.

That didn’t matter to the Winterscar, he charged forward wordlessly, blade whistling through the air. The other two followed behind like his shadows, matching the movements perfectly.

The slaver slammed my face back down on the ground, holding me down and forcing me to see nothing but the cold metal ground and synthetic carpet. I heard the sound of Occult blades clashing, shouting, screams, and relic armor shields flaring up.

“What the fuck do you assholes think you’re doing?” The one holding me down shouted. “Stop playing around and kill them already!”

More crashing blades, more yelling. Then the hand holding me down let go with a loud curse, and I heard the sound of blades clashing right above me. Something grabbed my collar, lifted me up and threw me back on my feet.

I had enough time to turn around and see one of my soldiers spin past an executing blow, delivering a counterstrike of his own before another slaver impaled him from the back, knife going in and out. The Winterscar guard grunted, falling on his knee for a moment before standing back up and swinging wildly with his blade. His opponent took the blow on his shields, gauntlet snaking out and grabbing the man’s wrist, blade and all. A sound of crunching bones, followed by a furry of knife stabs into the soldier, all the while the slaver screamed in fury. After a few more stabs, he kicked the man hard into the wall, powered relic armor easily breaking through the ribcage.

The dying soldier’s eyes met my own for a half second. Go. He mouthed out. 

My feet turned me on autopilot and I sprinted through the hallways, searching for the third corridor. The sounds of fighting were dying out behind me, the ringing of a occult blade striking another slowing down, the sound of a relic shield breaking, then, no other sounds.

No, there was something. Heavy footfalls, many of them, right at my heels again.

The third corridor came into view and I understood why I’d been told to flee this direction. At the end an entire crew of five Winterscar soldiers had set up an auto cannon turret, the heavy caliber rounds already loaded in, the gunner at the front aiming straight down, hand on the trigger. The crew behind waved me to stick to the side of the wall.

I did exactly as instructed, sprinting on the far end of the hallway. The crew continued to aim down sights for a moment longer. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath.

A muzzle flash blinded me as they opened fire, while I was still halfway through the corridor.

Shockwaves struck me from the side like a physical force as heavy caliber rounds sounded off, one after another, zipping a few inches to my right. The sound instantly deafened me, cutting out any noise of the chasing footfalls. Disoriented me. But still my feet pounded forward.

In another few seconds I ran past the crew, which were busy keeping the cannon fed. But I knew those relic shields were only taking small percentages with each shell. This wasn’t going to be enough.

One of my soldiers grabbed my shoulder and yelled something. I couldn’t hear anything of course except for a high pitched whining. He seemed to realize instantly, and shifted to sign language.

Vault. Armor. Prepared. Run.

I gave him confirmation, turned and continued my sprint, the high pitch covering any sense of what was happening behind me.

Another checkpoint forward, I saw a second autocannon getting setup by another crew of five. How they had managed to carry such heavy ordinance all the way here, I have no idea. But they done it. And behind them were the vault doors. Those were wide open, with another ten servants already rushing around inside, moving dark metal plates of Journey around, preparing.

I was all but shoved into the vault, where the soldiers outside slammed the heavy thing on my face with barely any acknowledgement, locking me in while they remained outside. The servants moved with mechanical precision, two of them sealing the door shut from the inside, while the rest were already lifting the prepared armor pieces and snapping them into place on my body. There wasn’t any time to put me into an under armour, they just shoved the plate pieces directly on my dress suit, tearing the fabric if they had to.

Despite the panic, they didn’t let it get to them. The high pitched sound ringing in my ears slowly died away, replaced by muffled shouting and the booming of the cannons, along with rifle shots behind the door. Normally, at an average pace, it would take a team about two whole minutes to dress someone up in armor from start to finish.

They had already gone past the halfway point, the armor already powering up and gratefully taking the stress off my body. My wind wasn’t coming back to me, the armor was holding me up now, and just in time.

Sounds of fighting suddenly died off behind the door. It was quiet for a moment, and then a massive rattling explosion sounded off behind the vault. It shook even our own room, though the vault held firm. The servants flinched, but didn’t stop in their preparations. They must have already expected this to happen.

An Occult knife stabbed into the door, followed by another other at the opposite end. They took wide sweeping movements, cleanly slicing through the vault.

The servants didn’t pay any attention to that. I knew they must have heard it, or seen the blades in the sides of their vision. They didn’t speed up nor did they slow down. They remained laser focused on their task, taking each step as quickly and accurately as they could. No mistakes.

Click. Click. Click. Each section of the armor was coming together, nearly there. A pair lifted the shoulderplates, locking them in place. Another was working on attaching the smaller leg parts, the more intricate pieces. As soon as they were done, they’d instantly weave away to the side, cycling around, letting the next person attach parts while they went to fetch the following one.

The knives continued across the vault until they reached each other, then drew out. A heavy grinding sound came from the door as the cut section began to push inwards.

Click. Click. Click.

The servants all took a step back as one, the last plate piece affixed and humming with power. They’d managed to assemble the whole armor in under thirty seconds. A ridiculous speed.

My helmet was passed over to me as the final piece and I slammed it on. The familiar hiss of pressurization surrounded me, along with the expanding foam clinging to the sides of my face and body. Orange lines and markers loading into place, coming to life.

The shields flared, Journey testing all the subsystems were operational and fully prepared.

I probed my occult sense around for what I knew I had left inside the armor. The soul fractal lit up like an old friend. I dove into it, far more practiced this time, fury and rage bubbling through the link, remaining present even deep inside the soul trance.

The other fractals inscribed within the armor lit up in my sense, ready to be used if need be. Ready to burn and maim the intruders.

Power flowed into my mind, the options I had expanding out. Occult senses flooded into me, but my attention was solely on the enemy I felt directly behind the vault door.

“Good work.” I told the servants. “Stay behind me, I’ll handle the rest from here.”

The servants backed off, giving me room, a few sitting down as their adrenaline crashed. Most of them seemed to fully snap back to their senses with their work done, like they had been in a trance and were waking up only now. A few muttered quiet prayers, one after the other, eyes closed. The others were looked at me like I was their last hope.

They’d done their part. All of them, from soldier to servant. Everything they could, each in their own way. Many dying for it.

Now, it was my turn.

“What’s going on?” Cathida asked in my ear. “Never seen you this angry before, heart rate is off the charts. Some girl reject you at your dance?”

“No. A few rabid animals need to be put down.” Maybe there was something in my voice, maybe it was the situation, but Cathida went quiet. No banter this time.

With one last heave, the whole vault door collapsed downwards and two slaver knights stepped inside, their armor red with fresh blood, the skull designs seemed almost gleeful. One stopped, looking me up and down in the armor. “You fuckin’ wackin’ it on the snow or something? Just fuckin’ surrender already, princess.”

His partner grunted, his accent more clearly understood. “Gods damned pain in the ass you are. You’re a royal brat fed off a silver spoon, you think being in armor is going to change anything?”

“You have no idea." I hissed. My longsword lit up in my hands, ready for blood. "A moment ago, you had a chance. Now, your chance is gone."

One of the slavers took a step into the room, occult knife spinning idly in his hand. "Oh no, Lenrad, hold me, I'm shaking in me boots. Guess I'll just have to call up the boss and warn him everything's lost."  

I took my own step forward and drew into stance slowly, longsword held perfectly still, tip pointed directly at the enemy. “You're not going to live long enough to. None of you will.”

• Next chapter - The knight of House Winterscar