The troopers knew the drill. Five of them immediately broke down their long pikes, the segments clicking apart for easy storage. Lance Corporal Brenton started passing the word, her voice calm and carrying. “Looks like a climber. Ranged weapons. Watch the walls, the ceiling. Every surface is a potential attack vector.”

  The troopers slung their pikes and tugged out incredibly heavy-looking mag-crossbows, weapons that would require their enhanced Copper-rank strength just to cock. The air hummed with the sound of magical capacitors charging. Mag-crossbows were cheap compared to most magical equipment, since their ammunition could be created en masse by low-ranked enchanters, but were perfect for this sort of thing.

  I moved to the center of the chamber, the most defensible spot, and started setting up the portable node. The device unfolded with a series of satisfying clicks and hums, its central crystal pulsing to life. A moment later, I felt it—a cool, calm, utterly alien presence flowing through the connection. Dienne-Lar. His essence was like a still, deep pool, devoid of the raging currents of emotion I was used to sensing from humans. I relaxed my control of his golems, letting his consciousness flow into them.

  Fortunately, his essence didn’t get grabby or intrusive. It was a professional handoff. I was secretly glad I wouldn’t have to cut his nose off. The thought was a flash of dark humor, a remnant of my old, brutally pragmatic self. Some traditions were best left in the Penal Battalions.

  “Okay,” Brenton said, her voice cutting through the low chatter. She gestured at the growing ranks of drones and golems assembling on the flanks. “Remember that these are disposable. Pure damage sponges. We haven’t had this level of support before, so I am hoping we aren’t going to lose anyone this time. Last time we did this raid, we lost three. Protect yourselves and your teammates. Let the boxes soak up the damage.”

  She started pointing. “Dirk, Lindsay, your sole job is protecting Reynard. If you need to, toss her out of trouble. She’s probably tougher than you are now, but she will be distracted, especially if we take any hits. Granite, Bomer, you’re on Casparov. You can fight, but she’s here in case one of us takes a hit. Casparov, I know you have a toughness enhancement and life mana as well as regeneration, but this thing is most likely peak copper or low bronze… don’t take risks.”

  I nodded to Casparov. She was an attractive blonde woman with striking yellow eyes that glowed faintly in the chamber’s dim light. A true healer, not a patch-job artist like me. “I have an energy surplus from my new class,” I told her. “I don’t heal nearly as well as you, but I can do light heals fast. If you hit a snag, or your pool starts to flag, scream at me or just wallop me to get my attention. Goal is zero casualties.”

  She laughed, a surprisingly warm sound in the tense cavern. “Zero casualties. I like that.”

  I grinned. “Except Dirk. He’s dead meat walking.”

  He snorted. “Why you cursing me, gremlin?”

  I chuckled. “Because I figure you are unkillable. It’s always the ones who seem immortal who buy it. So, fess up. Are you planning to retire soon? Got a family full of kids somewhere that will miss you and depend on your for support? Secretly developed the cure for necrotic contamination that you plan on giving us as soon as this dive is done?”

  He shook his head, genuinely looking puzzled. “If I have kids, I don’t know about them.”

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  Brenton laughed. “I get it. Cinematic consistency means he doesn’t have any of the classic flags for dead meat walking.”

  I nodded. “Yep. If any of us has a death flag, it’s me.”

  Dirk glared at me, suddenly serious. “How do you figure?”

  I shrugged, trying to keep it light even though the words felt a little too true. “Well, I am young, arguably goofy-looking, kind of a prodigy, and have never been with a man, and really, really like the big, silver-haired paladin who’s practically a walking monument to tragic backstory. If anyone’s going to die to provide motivation and pathos, it’s going to be me. It’s basic narrative structure.”

  Brenton nodded seriously, playing along. “She’s actually right. She needs to die to set him on the path of righteous vengeance, although I think she’s safe for now. This is just a regular raid. We aren’t fighting any significant evil presence that he can use as a story driver. Still,” she said, fixing Dirk and Lindsay with a look, “drag her ass out of trouble if you have to.”

  “Is she serious?” Dirk whispered to Lindsay, genuinely concerned.

  Lindsay shook her head, patting his armored shoulder. “Nope. So far, things haven’t been grim enough. If anyone’s going to die for dramatic effect, it will probably be a trooper she hasn’t had a chance to properly meet yet. You know, to show that the story is serious without killing off a named character.”

  Dirk seemed to take this absurd logic to heart. For the next few minutes, as we made final preparations, he started diligently introducing me to every single trooper in the squad I hadn’t already spoken to. “Reynard, this is Jax, he’s from some water world, breathes through his skin or something… and that’s Mora, she cheats at cards… and that’s…”

  I tried to remember the names and faces, but I was sort of busy running final diagnostics on thirty-seven drones and twelve golems. Besides, it wasn’t like this was some staged narrative. This was life. And I expected, I demanded, that every single one of these people would make it out alive. Even if it cost me every single drone, every ounce of energy, and every secret I had to keep.

  It turned out my prediction was pretty accurate. Brenton was right. The boss was a nightmarish, giant centipede-thing that scuttled out of a giant crevice in the wall. It was the size of a ground car, with four razor-sharp claws and a forest of poison-tipped tentacles running down its spine that lashed out like whips anytime someone got within twenty feet.

  The waves of ‘adds’ were mostly smaller versions of itself. The troopers switched to picks and axes, better for smashing through chitinous armor, and my combat drones, each now equipped with a giant, crude blade I’d forged for them, rushed forward en masse. Dienne’s golems swung their massive hammers with earth-shattering force.

  We were, to be honest, overloaded for the raid. The boss was definitely low Bronze, a real threat to an unprepared Copper team. But with a small army of automatons to soak its attacks, it never stood a chance. The only injury we had was Lance Corporal Brenton herself, who got a little too bold and took a barbed tentacle through the gap in her armor at her hip.

  I moved to help, but Casparov was already there. I was not joking about her being a better healer. Her hands glowed with a soft, golden light. She neutralized the venom that was already turning Brenton’s skin black, knit the ruptured organs and muscle, and sealed the skin. She then slapped a recovery potion into Brenton’s hand. The Lance Corporal drank it, grimaced, and was back on her feet and swearing creatively at the centipede in less than a minute. It was a breathtaking display of magical medicine.

  The fight was brutal, loud, and chaotic. But it was also… clean. Controlled. My drones died by the dozen, smashed to scrap by claws or dissolved by venom. It was oddly satisfying, watching them fulfill their singular, sacred purpose: dying so others might live.

  Finally, with a shuddering, screeching wail that echoed through the cavern, the giant centipede collapsed, its ichor pooling on the stone floor. The last of the smaller adds were turned into pulp by the surviving golems.

  Silence descended, broken only by the heavy breathing of the troopers and the ticking of cooling metal.

  The portable node chirped, a cheerful sound utterly at odds with the gore-splattered chamber. A hovering, sourceless hologram projected from its core.

  Raid Complete!

  A few troopers cheered, clapping each other on the back. Dirk gave me a thumbs-up.

  And that’s when the work really began.