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2.44 When it crumbles
🕑 Added 2023-07-14 03:55:57 +0000 UTCDifference: Minimal
AN: *tired noises*
Irwyn sat up, confused. His head felt blurry as memories returned. It took him a moment to realize that he had been in the middle of fighting the undead. Then another for his head to snap towards his arm.
It was still there. Or perhaps there again as his sleeve was missing, exposing his - frankly subpar - arm muscles. He stared roughly where his wound would have been but saw no obvious issue. Felt nothing wrong.
“It’s just stitching magic,” Elizabeth’s voice sounded from the side, startling him. “The wounds will reappear when Finity causes the conjured flesh to vanish - and make overlapping wounds exponentially harder to re-stitch - but that will be hours after we either succeed or die today.”
“How long have I been out for?” Irwyn still felt disoriented, looking around. There was no fighting anymore, at least as far as he could see from his low viewpoint.
“Less than two minutes, I think,” she replied. “Good thing you are awake. Our ‘reinforcements’ are routing the last of the undead and I would rather have you there for the introductions.”
“Who is it that came?” Irwyn nodded, standing up with her help.
“You probably know better than me,” she shrugged, which earned a confused head tilt from Irwyn. Still, he followed her to where the officers were already gathering with several new people. Two of them Irwyn immediately recognized.
“I promised I would gather people,” Desir raised his arms theatrically with a grin as they approached – much to the visible disapproval of the major, “And I have delivered.”
“Rather, we found him, scurrying around helplessly,” the Old Ibis scoffed lightly, then he turned towards Elizabeth. “Your Ladyship, naturally, we are at your full disposal until the undead crisis is averted, as is the whole underworld that could be gathered.”
“Thank you,” Elizabeth acknowledged with a nod.
But there was one more person standing there in strange apparel: The old man wore a blindfold and a nose plug, besides those mostly normal robes. What was far more distinct than those though was the man’s presence. It was like… a dozen orchestras. Yet also a violinist playing in front of a crowd; a solemn flutist performing to mountain winds; a pianist obsessed with perfection in each note; a drummer, striking his instrument with each beat of their heart; a singer, heart jumping through the throat as it was laid bare; and so many many more.
It would have been an easy guess even if the man wasn’t standing next to Desir and another Fowl. But with them, it was blatantly obvious. The songs were a dead giveaway after all the things Irwyn had heard about the so-called ‘Singing man’ over the past months since he had arrived in Abonisle.
“Ibis. Hummingbird, a pleasure. What of the Thrush and Crane?” Irwyn interjected as soon as he made the connection. There were four Fowls in Abonisle after all. And the two he had met so far had set the bar high. And every competent mage could make a massive difference.
“Too far in the outer city. Pleasure is all mine, Mockingbird,” the Singing man waited a moment after Irwyn spoke but when no one reacted negatively to Irwyn’s interjection he explained. “Messengers have been sent but it is uncertain whether they will join us in time for assaulting the Spires.”
“That being said, we need to move,” the Old Ibis spoke up. “We have less than two minutes to get going or we risk another encirclement in half an hour.”
“Prophecy?” Elizabeth asked while the officers immediately set off to get the company on march. The clear magical superiority of the two men – as well as the timely rescue – stopped any doubts about following the Fowls’ instructions.
“I would have seen this attack coming if it was,” the Ibis shook his head. “No, just some minor divination and a cultivated sense of foreboding I have picked up along the way. My specialty is not the most useful against the undead but I have a knack for finding people in need of mutual help.”
“Ibis’ magic will let us consolidate forces rather than get picked off one by one,” Old Hummingbird nodded. “And I can hear most ambushes coming. There are some specialized abominations that can avoid my Sonata of echoes - so do not let down your guards - but I will know about any hordes well before they engage us.”
“The men are about ready,” the major looked back at the soldiers. He had a deep frown on his face for someone who had just been rescued from certain death though the man remained professional besides that. Whatever the source of the man’s grudge, the ongoing Undead incursion remained a higher priority.
“No significant forces ahead,” the singing man nodded.
“Then follow me,” Old Ibis did the same and then started walking North. “I should be able to navigate our way.”
And the company set off. With the help of Ibis and Hummingbird things were just… easier. It was not just the songs, one of which apparently also helped preserve and restore physical stamina, but also the benefit of having a competent seer along with them.
Despite downplaying his proficiency at divination, Old Ibis knew with unerring accuracy about every assassin attempting to ambush them - especially those which could somehow bypass the Singing man’s detection spell. The Ibis also knew about the worst traps before they could walk into them and, more importantly, exactly which way they had to go..
The two Fowls had also brought a significant troupe of underlings along with them. Few mages but their grunts were well equipped, particularly with explosives that Irwyn thought even he would need to be careful about. The only problem with them was that they were quickly running out.
That, however, could be compensated for by the fact that they went on to rescue a lot of additional firepower. Abonisle was a city with a lot of mages and not just those part of the army. Yes, most of those still in the streets were companies of soldiers making their way toward the meeting points Elizabeth had declared, however, there were also mages not related to either the army or the underworld. Civilians, some locals, some travelers. They rescued people on the way and added them to their ranks… most of the time.
Problems began to emerge as their numbers swelled. Namely, coordination. It was fine with just the soldiers - their training was relatively unified and compatible - however, throw in a hundred mages with no training or much of an idea what they were doing and they began getting more inthe way of things than helping.
Light magic was an obvious candidate for that. Most of the army mages wielded void magic – as did their enchanted gear - which was anathemic to Light. That meant a poorly fired Light spell could make a dozen Void spells ineffective. Even Irwyn found himself gradually relegated to mostly interception duty as the undead also liked to use that mutual destructiveness to their advantage.
But it was more than that. There had been several accidents where Irwyn witnessed mages literally killing themselves with the backlash of failed spells. It was… surreal. The only time Irwyn had seen any magical backlash was back in Abonisle when Rage - or Frederick von Blackmaw - was devoured by their own spell’s summoned Devourer demons… but that had been after getting struck unconscious with a stone in the middle of chanting. These were different. People under extreme stress making stupid decisions and dumber mistakes.
One mage Irwyn had seen set their organs on fire when trying to cast some kind of fire breathing effect, cooking themselves alive - even stitching could not help them fast enough with the broken remnants of the original organs in the way. Another miscalculated where to place a barrier and cut through half their head, dying instantly. A few managed to literally cut the connection between their body a soul through extreme strain, rendering them immediately and almost irreversibly comatose.
Also strokes. Lots and lots of strokes from the magical strain. In the high dozens and rising. Those could at least be stitched, although only with specialized spells. The vast majority of these stress test failures were actually from the independent mages. The army seemed to have been trained how to pace themselves and those accompanying the Fowls were clearly above average in competence.
Then, there were supplies. The regular soldiers relied on ammunition and alchemical creations to fight on remotely even footing against the abominations. Those were running scarcer and scarcer. By the time they were even approaching their target, there had been almost non-stop fighting for well over two hours. Even with spacial storage, there was only so much they could carry - especially since said expanded boxes or bags were inevitably not of the greatest quality.
Moreover, the shortage also applied to utility items. They were nearing a dangerous low on healing equipment. Grievous wounds were quite common given the kind of combat being partaken in, but then, so were Stitching magics. From potions, pills, balms, dedicated mages, enchanted wands or orbs, and such, there used to be a lot of them. But attrition had worn down the stockpile. And each battle more and more people who did not die immediately were encountering the so-called over-stitching: When temporary flesh conjured by prior stitching surrounded the entirety or majority of the new wound almost all these healing supplies became ineffective, leading to soldiers or mages bleeding out with technically mendable wounds.
Next was stock meant for replenishing the Vessel. Basically, liquid mana alchemically or otherwise treated to be more easily absorbable by living beings. Almost every single mage not deemed useless had taken some by that. Irwyn was one of the few mages who had not indulged thanks to his prodigious reserves - though apparently, it would have had barely any effect on him anyway as they could only restore a fixed quantity rather than a percentage of a Vessel. The only reason they had not completely run out was that many of the mages were experiencing so-called ‘Vessel strain’ - not to be confused with Vessel depletion apparently - caused by using more magic than their bodies could handle over a short period of time.
Attrition. From the beginning that was the game the undead had been playing. If they could take groups of survivors out, they would but ultimately, they would always have the numbers on their side and damn knew it. There was no way to estimate how much of the population had been turned to zombies or worse by necromancy, however, it was certainly an incomprehensively massive number – also growing every minute. There was no winning with quantity for the living.
“We should wait here for ten minutes. An urgent hunch, though I am not sure of the cause,” Old Ibis announced. Some eyebrows were raised but at that point not even the most skeptical soldiers would question the Fowl. His predictions had been too perfect until now. They were close to their destination from what Irwyn overheard - he had basically no idea where they actually were as it was practically his first time this deep in the inner city.
“A large force blocking the way ahead,” the Singing man added. “Nothing else around us.”
“You heard them, ten-minute break,” the major announced. The one from the original company since there were several people of matching rank. Irwyn was kind of regretting either not overhearing or just forgetting their name.
Not that he minded that much. Hopefully, it wouldn’t come up. Either way, he welcomed a short break despite the urgency of their advance. They had been walking for hours and his feet were sore. Elizabeth was gathering another meeting but a shake of her head after eye contact told him she didn’t think he was needed there.
Which was a good thing. Irwyn had been running out of his tolerance for social interaction just silently listening to the strangers during the march. He went off to the side to sit, though quickly he realized he was not going to have a moment of quiet. Desir approached him.
“You holding up alright?” the blue-eyed man questioned. He had been re-equipped since their last meeting. Desir now wore a thick combat vest and a rifle over the shoulder to supplement his magic. Riffles tended to have limited effect against undead but they were still better than nothing. The weapon actually seemed… almost familiar. “I heard you got roughed up pretty bad earlier.”
“I am all stitched up for now,” Irwyn flexed his sleeveless hand, glancing at the firearm. “And I have been promised care if we survive. I am doing just fine magically.”
“Fair enough,” Desir shrugged, turning to absentmindedly stare around the area. It just so happened that Irwyn could have a closer look at the gun, very much including the serial number still clearly visible on there. “It’s downright unfair how you also have a ridiculous Vessel along with everything else.”
“Well, on the other hand, I am not getting free weaponry,” Irwyn shrugged, staring at the riffle. He was almost certain that he had seen the number before… just earlier in the day. He glanced over at Desir and the blue-eyed man was staring back with intensity.
“Yep,” despite that his voice remained completely casual. “Turns out the Singing man had a whole stash of arms. Way too many in fact from what I have seen. Good thing this whole incursion happened before he ended up using them against the Ibis.”
“Do gang wars like that spark up often?” Irwyn changed the topic while controlling his expression. Desir did not say it out loud but Irwyn was getting his message quiet and clear: The secret warehouse full of enchanted military gear they had been tracking down a few hours ago… belonged to the Singing man rather than… Well, in hindsight, it obviously wasn’t the undead storing magical guns. Zombies were not dexterous enough to use them and most ghouls they had met so far had already been mages in life and therefore did not really require such to be effective at range. Not to mention all the firearms he had seen so far were essentially obsolete against anyone that could actually fight the greater undead.
“No, not really,” Desir kept up his stare to get the message across. “In fact, it is so out of character that the Singing man will probably claim that he was subconsciously influenced to plan a start of a gang war.”
“I get what you mean. Thank you,” Irwyn nodded and Desir stopped staring. They sure as the Void were not going to say it out loud, given that Old Hummingbird’s earshot probably extended two districts over. Nonetheless, it was good to know.
“Don’t worry about it,” Desir shrugged. “Still… a damn heiress to house Blackburg, heh?”
“I think you can understand why I was being rather secretive about her identity,” Irwyn nodded. Though there was a thought stuck in his head from before the death march that he now had a bit more time to think about:
‘My name is Elizabeth von Blackburg, sixth in line.’ That is what she had said when commanding the soldiers. And six was a rather low number, especially given that Elizabeth was in her teens while the current Duke of House Blackburg had been married for well over 40 years as far as Irwyn knew. Secondly, Elizabeth seemed very unconcerned about her family given she had implied her family had such sway over Abonisle. It truly made Irwyn wonder just how closely to the literal Duke she was.
“Absolutely,” Desir nodded, breaking Irwyn out of speculation. “I can still get mad at your luck. It’s just like you to find yourself connected to the ruling line of House Blackburg almost by accident.”
“You can hardly be certain how closely related she actually is,” Irwyn shrugged. “She has always been attempting to be secretive about her family. Attempting often being the keyword but I can only speculate.”
“I am sure a ridiculous prodigy like her is being allowed to just swagger around the Duchess’ favorite city unharmed without being irreversibly bound to the main House,” Desir scoffed. “Or did Old Crow not mention that House Blackburg has been at a cold war with itself since our dear Duke first took power?”
“He had not, actually,” Irwyn thought back. “I misinterpreted his cryptic wording as two branch houses having a disagreement and willing to sabotage each other over it. Now that hints are coming together… the landscape seems rather different than my assumptions had been.”
“Really?” Desir seemed genuinely surprised. “Why would… no, it makes sense I suppose. The Guild has some kind of beneficial deal with the main House so the underworld has an interest to keep them in power. I suppose he doesn’t need to tell you whose side to take when he sends you off right to them.”
“As if I could make a difference there,” Irwyn scoffed. He remembered Dervish. And the Shadow that had accompanied Alira. He knew quite well how little of a bug he was at the moment.
“A thousand cuts,” Desir shrugged. “Still, you must be in some serious trouble that your mentor would want you to be so secretive despite that.”
“You probably really don’t want to know,” Irwyn said after a second of thought. “But yes, big clumsy stomps on even bigger toes.”
“Well, I will wish you good luck before I get dragged even closer to that orbit,” Desir grinned. “And with that said, distance myself before it gets me killed.”
“You might be…” Irwyn began speaking but did not finish the sentence as there was a loud crash. A deafening creak and explosive groan so loud it seemed as though it had come from every direction. A shriek of tortured metal and stone that left Irwyn confused and disoriented for a split second. He looked around but saw nothing.
“ABOVE!” Irwyn barely heard. The earlier sound had apparently half deafened him. He did, however, look up, then immediately ran.
Because the damn ceiling was about to fall on their heads. Abonisle was, after all, built in levels, each 20 meters or taller that allowed the city to be built into incredible density. But because there were these layers, there was nothing really stopping the undead from dropping the one above.
Therefore, the massive and rapidly expanding cracks meant that thousands of tons of concrete were about to start accelerating towards them with the unrelenting force of gravity.
That would have wiped them out… if they had continued moving forward. But Old Ibis, bless him, had a hunch that they needed to wait. If they had kept going the collapsing ceiling would have wiped them out. Instead, it was now only endangering the frontmost few dozen people.
Irwyn sprinted. Away from the drop zone as he fully and completely focused on empowering his barrier. Was not willing to test if he could take that impact but he was damn well going to be ready if he had to. He gave up camouflage and the visibility that came with it and kept running forward half-blind as the Starfire always surrounding him became visible.
Rather than take the impact, perhaps he could burn the rubble before it could cause an impact. He could burn away concrete in the blink of an eye after all. Therefore, Irwyn opted for 2 layers of defense. The outer layer which would not physically block anything but would instead burn, incineratewhatever came into contact with it. Vaporize solid rock on touch.
The inner layer was meant to block what remained after that. Stop pressure, gas, impacts and any such force that would otherwise crush Irwyn. As solid and reinforced as possible. He hoped that turning concrete to vapor would reduce its impact enough to weather it. Hoped. Best if he managed to run out but the upper layer had already been falling but Irwyn could not know how large of a gap he had to cover.
Both barriers were imbued with 5 intentions. Two such spells would consume the vast majority of his focus but that was fine. He didn’t need to cast any other spells, he needed to damn survive. he first measures taken care of, he was thinking about…
The impact took Irwyn off his feet. It happed way sooner than he had expected, but then, free fall was fast. Irwyn fell over as the ground jumped. He felt the slightest impact on his barrier - the very back edge disintegrated, very much including the part of it which was not even meant to be fully physical. It would not have held. Not nearly.
He waited a few seconds with just his unceasing heartbeat and re-deafened hearing before slowly making the barriers transparentagain at the cost of one empowering intention each. He had just barelygotten out of the way, not that he had actually gotten that far. He couldn’t have run for more than 5 seconds, including the start of his dash.
Looking around himself, the dust was not quite setting as he sat there, adrenaline still spiking from the near miss. That had been way too close for comfort. Probably the closest call he ever really had with time to actually process it. So, he just sat there alone and stared at the half-obscured silhouette of debris. Alone.
“Desir,” he realised and his head swung around. They had been standing next to each other. Irwyn spotted no one.
