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The Gamer Chapter 1909 – New Orleans Council 4 – Casualties
🕑 Added 2025-06-13 16:09:53 +0000 UTCThe fungal body burst. Screeching horrors were born from corrupted tissue flapping in the wings of the otherworldly conjuration. Manta-like creatures that rose into the air, soon tearing through the windows and stone walls in their search for chaos and prey. Dragon-like creatures shaped out of deformed humans. Human-like creatures, all their muscles diminished to let leathery wings carry them.
What had been the legs of Rodaclam spread into a disgusting root network. Individual veins of wet, entrail-like branches burst into capillary caterpillars, each smaller than a hair, crawling at rapid speeds in every direction.
“Such splendid material,” Izha laughed.
Romulus roared with the anger of a warlord. The last John saw of him was him turning around, Luna’s item form in hand. Then massive arms came down. Flat, oddly shaped things, but dangerous all the same. Hands sprouted from hands sprouted from hands, grasping at John and those with him as they all backed away from where the original limbs had slammed into the floor.
The ability of the Apex could not be questioned. Even if Izha was a Latebloomer on John’s level, thus having the same ability to rival Romulus, the Gamer doubted that the telepath had the power and mind to actually take down Romulus. Izha likely didn’t even have the ambition. It would be more pain to everyone involved if Romulus survived.
John made for the outside. The Horned Rat appeared next to him with a series of Magus Step-esque spells to match his own. “We have many, many issues after this.”
“No, really?” John drawled sarcastically. “I feel like stating that aloud is a waste of air.”
“You will have my alliance in the aftermath. That is all I needed to say.”
They burst out the front door of the cathedral to the sight of hell on Earth. The swarms of Lorylim horrors were diving at stationed soldiers and sheltered civilians. Many deliberately missed, splattering against towers, walls, and the ground. One of the manta-like creatures slammed into a bell. It rang two times before the spreading web of corruption glued it in place. The body of the creature mutated into a disgusting flower, opening in a bellowing of spores, and giving birth to a cascade of humanoid bodies. They dropped from the tower, breaking on the pavement below, only to knit themselves back together in wrong ways. The resulting monstrosities shambled towards the nearest cluster of people.
For as horrid as that sight was, what truly escalated the situation was not the presence of the Lorylim, it was the pushback they received. Two of the, if not the, two mightiest armies of the Abyss were present in this Illusion Barrier and their firepower was manifest.
Knights of the Greater Empire charged through the arena in their manifold forms. The elemental nobility of Austria rained down magic on the enemies. The swordmasters and riders of Italy and Spain weaved through enemies with dancing steps and broke through them on mighty steeds. Elephants held a charging line with gryphons and horses. All was followed by the levies, the squires and the mercenaries, filling the gaps in the ranks and cutting down the chaff that lay broken but living in the dirt.
And then, it took a step.
“BETTER DEAD THAN RED!” Liberty Prime declared. The gargantuan robot launched an equally gargantuan grenade like it was a baseball. Ria’s favourite tool of mass destruction caused an enormous explosion, blasting an entire mound of Lorylim matter apart before it could mature.
The Illuminati were not to be outdone by this. The French had a spectacular military history in the mundane and this streak was unbroken in the Abyss. Like its leadership, the army that the Divided Gates member had brought was tripartite in nature.
The aristocrats marched forwards in tight formation. Hundreds of individuals, each above level 50, operated as one under the command of Celeste. Her cries were the signals to which the uniformed soldiers moved and fought, breaking into lesser groups as soon as their orders were given.
“BIGGER ROBOTS ARE NOT AUTOMATICALLY BETTER!” Norahnon’s voice blared out of the speaker grill of his GUNDAMN. The 4-metre hunk of arcano-tech blasted Lorylim all around with missiles and laser beams, while Malady led an army of augmented humans into the frey.
And for every human on the field, there were two rats.
The people of the Horned Rat streamed all over the monastery estate of the Order of the Golden Rose. Some were hulking beasts made in the image of the Horned Rat himself, others were just little ratmen, armed with alchemical or mechanical weapons. “EAT, EAT MANASTONES!” shouted one familiar Hobomice, unloading enhanced projectiles via machine gun.
For as awesome as each component of it all was to behold, for as much as there was an inner child in John that considered the sight of all of these embodiments of high and urban fantasy clashing with eldritch body horror, there was ultimately no joy in all of this for the Gamer.
Because it wasn’t an abstract clashing of assets on his screen.
The mutated bodies of humans, of his people, threw themselves at enemies in a suicidal charge. They laughed, they cried, they moaned, they gasped, they groaned, they screamed, all to the ethereal cacophony that the Lorylim brought with them in any meaningful concentration. Works of art were shattered, buried under gore. Spears of filth were rammed through the abdomens of soldiers. The lucky ones died from shock, the others felt their minds decay as fungal stalks converted flesh into black goo and fruiting bodies of eyes and teeth.
Men and women died. Every warcry for glory was another scream against the horrors of death.
“Kill them all,” John gave the only order that mattered.
Salamander and Sylph took to the sky as a twisting helix of green-blue and red-black. They reached a zenith above the battlefield, then unleashed a combined attack of firestorm and lightning. The smell of ozone washed over the Illusion Barrier, immediately followed by the stench of seared flesh and hair. Hundreds of horrific entities fell from the sky, their bodies breaking on shelters of stone that Gnome swiftly erected.
A Synapse creature barrelled towards a contingent of allied forces. It appeared like a centipede of human limbs and tendrils. Skittering limbs touched the ground, then fell to the side, sliced off by the shadow spirit that stormed up the elongated back of the monster. A swish of her claws took the head off the monster.
In all of the confusion, Stirwin remained by his summoner’s side. Out of the range of the Guild Hall, he was bound to a juvenile state, but even that was enough to manifest projectiles of silver that brought devastation upon the enemies.
Such a carpet of attacks was nothing compared to what Metra inflicted upon their enemies. The First of Wrath was a storm of carnage. Although her unique ability was sealed by the presence of allies, she was still the Breaker of Armies. Rex Magnar cut through enemies, then through the space between her and the next cluster of meat to be butchered.
Lydia chose a more indirect approach. She leapt atop a tumbled pillar and drew metal from her rapier, shaping the prismatic, almost glass-like material into lances that rained upon the enemies. The lucky enemies were killed instantly, the unlucky ones had their insides skewered by branching needles. That first wave was only the beginning of Lydia’s deadly concert, the Hydra Steel necklace of Astria providing her with ever more shreds of metals to hurl at her enemies.
Where Lydia wielded one element, Lyndell wielded many. Runes cycled over her skin, each a different string of negotiations with the world and manipulations with the flow of mana universal. Fire roared, electricity arced, pure arcane unmade, water crashed, and all Lorylim that were struck died a true death.
John remained in the protective overlap of the combatants’ reaches, lending his mana to their efforts. With Purgatory claws and conjured estoc of fire, he fought lesser Lorylim in melee. To be idle in this situation was against his nature, even if he made himself a secondary player in this game. Momo hovered far above, his eyes in the sky, while Nightingale circled, bringing confusion and chains to the creatures that commanded this infestation.
‘Am I to deploy, Sir?’
The voice reached John while he squashed the head of a three-eyed, insectoid goo monster. Fianna was inside this mess. He had stationed her in New Orleans after the crafting crew had installed the initial upgrades. It had been a decision purely based on where his presence was lacking. It turned out to be a poor one. This was exactly the kind of situation he did not want the sniper in.
‘Continue fighting as part of the ground forces,’ he instructed her. Fianna could and did hide herself as a combatant of average strength. Perhaps there was a lesson not to keep secrets from his allies in all of this, but John did not take lessons from events brought by Izha.
John was about to dispatch another enemy with a Blast Ray, when the creature was dragged down mid-jump. Gravity invoked its yoke on the body of the Lorylim, slamming it into the ground. A reinforced boot of expensive leather and metal crushed the monster’s neck with a swift strike. The crawling caterpillars that were all around were squished mindlessly under Maximillian’s boot when he advanced towards John.
The gravity king stopped less than half a metre from John. “Is it true?!” he asked, his expression betraying conflicted emotions.
John felt the vibrations of Romulus’ fight against the heart of corruption beneath his feet. A shrieking tendril, big enough to flatten a house, broke through the ceiling of the cathedral, only to be minced to pieces by a thousand flying slashes of silver light.
“…Yes,” he admitted.
Maximillian inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. “Fuck, buddy.” A deep, wobbling sound filled the air as another creature was casually flattened into black slime by the quarter elemental’s potent magic. “I… fuck.”
The Gamer clenched his teeth. Acting against Romulus’ trust had been a pragmatic calculation. Disappointing his friend by keeping this revelation from him as well hurt in a different, true way. “I’m sorry. I knew you’d have to tell him if you knew.”
“You should have told him.” Maximillian opened his eyes again. Their dark colour shimmered a faint purple. “But… I get why you didn’t. At least I think I do.” He grabbed John by the shoulder. “Politically and morally, I still believe in my emperor. You, John, are my friend. Whatever the aftermath of this battle, you have that loyalty.”
“…I mean this in the most flattering sense possible, I have never been this close to saying ‘I love you’ to a man before,” John responded.
“…I’ll do you the favour and never tell Jane you said that.” Maximillian released his shoulder. John grabbed his arm before the battlefield separated them again.
“I will never forget all the things you have done for me,” John told him. “Brother.”
Maximillian gave him half a smile. “I’m sure I can find something that you owe me. Brother.” They tightened their grips on each other’s forearms for one fraternal squeeze, then separated again. Maximillian manipulated gravity to fly to another part of the battlefield, while John remained where he was.
For all that the allied forces were throwing at the Lorylim, the eldritch horrors matched their aggression. Izha was truly utilizing the powerful conduit he was given to its fullest, forcing ever more bloated spawning pods to grow. An entire building suddenly burst open, a previously hidden infection now unfurling and rapidly growing even larger.
“NORAHNOOOOOON!” the voice of the Horned Rat bellowed over the battlefield. “GIVE ME, ME THE WEAPON!”
“Well, it’s your money!” Norahnon answered.
One of the larger ships that lay in the Order’s bay was suddenly covered in the exhaust steam of a rocket flying into the air. The heavily reinforced casing tore through three flying Lorylim, before ramming a fourth one broke its momentum.
Salamander lent a hand to it, kicking the rocket along its path. Like a thrown javelin, it headed straight for the Horned Rat, who caught it with a portal. Through the dimensional gap, the rocket impaled a six-armed, legless giant, before coming to a halt, tip buried in the dirt.
The Horned Rat ripped the head off the giant. Simultaneously, a hatch in the side of the rocket opened. Reaching inside, the god pulled out a massive construction. Seven staffs had been welded to three Baelementium rings, all of them ending in a crystal of prestigious size and enchanted power. That front part was attached to a rotatable axis, above which a protruding crystal connected the butt of one staff at a time with a rune-covered piece of artifice.
The exact working of the machine was a mystery to John, but he understood the shape and principle well enough to know what would happen next. ‘Leave that to him!’ he ordered Metra and Sylph, who immediately returned to other busy corners of the battlefield.
The contraption had two handles, one at the top and one at the back. Somewhere was a trigger, one that the Horned Rat pulled, causing the staffs to begin whirling like the barrels of a machine gun. That was because this was, for all intents of purposes, a machine gun.
“AHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAA!” the Horned Rat laughed maniacally, as mana swords were launched from the contraption by the dozens per second. Each time the crystal made contact with a staff, the power of the Horned Rat was channelled through and an arcane projectile released. The longer the trigger remained pulled, the quicker the barrel spun, the more mana swords tore through the building sized mound. Within a few seconds, the Horned Rat turned it into mincemeat.
For all of the power Izha brought to bear in this battle, its outcome was clear.
This was no battle for the Guild Hall, no desperate struggle against an overwhelming force. If anything, this was the foolish attempt of an occupying power to prevent a superior enemy from holding a beachhead. Masses of Lorylim were exterminated, and as soon as the benefit of confusion had worn off, the established lines turned the entire Protected Space into a killing floor.
Only the heart of battle was different. The earth trembled and shook from the fight that occurred within the halls of the Order’s innermost sanctum. That the walls still stood by the time the battle began to quiet was one of the miracles of magic that was unexplained in its details.
After an hour of fighting, everything inside and outside the cathedral was quiet.
‘I have to bite this bullet,’ John thought and headed inside. He deemed it best if he met the wrath of the Apex head on.
Through a ruined archway and around the remnants of a wall, John walked to access the chamber that had been there before. It was now a crater, fifteen metres deep and twenty wide, its walls covered in glass. The air was filled with a thin fog of silver and gold, excess magic from the two celestial goddesses that had intertwined their might with that of the Apex.
Romulus stood at the bottom of the deep crater, beneath him what remained of Rodaclam. It was just a head, a bit of collarbone sticking out beneath a severed neck. The top of the skull was open, the brain unfolded and squirming about like a confused worm. “You will leave these remains, abomination.”
Izha just cackled, tired, hurt and malevolent. “But where would be the fun in that?” he asked with the mouth that was meant to be and the mouth in the forehead of the creature.
The flesh and bone that remained unravelled into crawling maggots, turning into a sea of nothing but Lorylim matter to Romulus’ feet. Steady of hand, he raised his shield, one of Sol’s two item forms, and unleashed a blast of sunlight. All that remained of Rodaclam was turned to nothing, burned with such completion that not even ash remained.
John began to step away, to give Romulus at least a moment to grieve on his own.
“Stay.”
It was not an order John, even in his most prideful moments, would have disobeyed.
Comments
Mikkel Nielsen
Does Stirwins forms require that John use the mana or just generate it? Because if John generated around 1,1k mana a second, he could use the final form of Stirwin every 24h
icequeen52
Shit
