Ethan gave the drawn-up blocks of armed and armored men a final, careful glance. They were ready. The wounded had been evacuated, near 40 men and one near irreplaceable charger. The results of taking low Tier 1 Hunters into a swarmer rift. As half-civilians, they lacked the armor or the skills to shrug off claws or bites. Not that it was only the civilians, about a quarter were armsmen, equally low-tier 1 troops who didn’t have those excuses.

  Conner would deal with them. Harm in war was a contest between Brunti, God of war, and Tycelus, the dual-faced goddess of fate and fortune. Sometimes, Tycelus’s star was ascendant and simple ill chance led to harm despite all precautions.

  But that was true far less often than the poets and historians liked to claim. For the most part? Brunti governed war. Skill, leveled skills, discipline and sufficient prior preparation would see a man through.

  Unfortunately, he was an unforgiving God, was Brunti, and sometimes, the other side’s preparations were better than yours. And sometimes, men in their infinite capacity to disappoint, failed to live up to their potential. They feel short of his standards, and in turn were turned over to Tycelus’s not indifferent care.

  Then you get to roll the Goddess’s dice.

  Now, he liked to think their preparations were sufficient. Compensating for the low tier of most of his men with a backing of solid veterans and sheer numbers. But discipline? Without the years of drill and experience to fall back on, men had fallen short. After four days, a slog of near constant conflict. Of no less than 19 pitched battles. Men lost their focus, grew inattentive, gave less than their very best.

  And in doing so, they rolled the dice with their fate. Sometimes she smiled on them.

  Sometimes she didn’t.

  He sighed, pushing the image of the nearly disemboweled charger propped up between two other mounts on a stretcher-like breast strap and limping slowly from the field. Without a Magister, he doubted she’d have survived. But with one she should be back in action in a day or so.

  Goddess, thank you for your blessing that my brother was born with the spark!

  He let his eyes fix on the monstrous, tall figure in the near distance. It was indeed time. “Forward – March!” He called easily, squeezing his mount's sides in time, as 8 large troop blocks began to march forward. Four in a wide spaced line facing forward, four in another line behind them and moving in time, but facing to the rear.

  Each a mixed force of alpine hunters in their hides and leathers. A quarter, concentrated to the sides and back with their bows cased on their backs and spears out and braced. The rest were ready to play the part of a Bowman core. Not as well as the Bowman would have, but needs must.

  The front of the squares was a different matter. Several lines of heavily armed and armored troops. A mixed group of blood spattered Hastati, most of it the thick black sludge of the spawn, and a thin but still deadly line of Phalangites. The former was mostly on the lower end of the 1st tier, with a few Tier 2 Principes to stiffen them. But the latter? Those were straight Veterans. Tip top Tier 1’s. Battle hardened and wearing excellent equipment.

  Ethan’s eyes lingered on them a bit sadly. They were the core of the old Band. The true strength on which he, his father, and grandfather had built the legacy that led them at last to nobility.

  And it was a mostly dead-end class.

  Making the sideways jump to Principus was possible, but required a shield skill they didn’t have! He had plans for buying a skill stone for it, but even so it was no easy thing maxing out a non-class skill, one that you couldn’t use in battle, to the top of tier 1.

  It was the same problem, and one they’d long dealt with, making the jump to Lancer. A maxed out riding skill was required. Possible? Certainly. Easy? No. Not by a long shot.

  And now Pahadi. 3 Tier 2 classes. It was a wealth he’d never dared to dream of. But it wasn’t much easier. They were trained, experienced to act as a unit, the long unwieldy spears presented as a solid wall, braced cheek by jowl with their brothers and with the courage and grit to stand together, no matter the circumstances.

  But to make the jump? They had to stand free of the line, free of team discipline, and walk out alone to make their mark on the world. A different kind of skill, of courage. And not a combination many had found. Not even with the Gate.

  He let the familiar guilt churn inside him for a few moments, then exiled it, along with worry and doubts. They had no place in what was coming.

  As they drew slowly but steadily closer to the upside-down whirlpool in the sky, with its twisting fluorescent threads, twisting and twining ever upward. And endless opening to some-

  He forcefully stopped the thought. He’d only looked up the once, and had the mind stat and wherewithal to look away immediately. Not like many others, found bleeding from the nose and eyes while their line brothers were forced to block their eyes.

  Fuck this place! May it burn in hell... oh wait! Too late for that.

  He snorted, letting his eyes stay locked on the massive figure slowly growing in front of him. He judged it, at 12 feet tall, but growing might not just be a trick of perspective.

  It was changing, visibly and dramatically. Like a heart spawning a new form with every beat.

  One moment it stood resplendent, towering above and coated completely in snake scales, its neck rising in a great arch, 5 or 6 feet long, from double shoulders and double mammary glands below. The 4 arms stretched outward topped with jagged, purposeful claws. It stood upright on a long barrel thick snake tail that extended a significant distance behind.

  A naga, complete with cobra like hood staring upwards into the sky abyss.

  Then the heart beat.

  The tail split apart and shrunk into two Z-shaped legs, the scales twisting and turning inward, devoured by the flesh to reveal dense, thick striped fur coat that he’d love to have on his wall. A rather prominent weapon hunt between those legs and the torso stretching out from them was some amalgamation of man and tiger.

  Only two arms this time, but they were shaped more like legs, ready to drop to all fours and sprint at any moment. Even the tiger head was anthropomorphized into something human related, but distantly so. With a protruding muzzle and upper canines that extended well below its jawbone. And its eyes, catlike black and gold, stared upward.

  The heart beat again.

  It was a six-armed pig on cloven hoofs and a sickening, hairless, pinkish white hide, rough and rugged enough to use as sandpaper. The acquisitive eyes above it became pure blue, crystalline in depth and radiating a perceptible light. Staring ever upward.

  The heart beat.

  It was a monkey, it had a mass of tentacles that made Ethan's stomach ache and mind threaten to shut down. It was an orc, an elf, a two-legged shark. A bipedal bull elephant.

  One and all, they stared upward. Inviting all and sundry to do the same.

  And yet they marched forward. Staring despite how it turned the very stomach. Because they knew better. No matter how unpleasant, no matter how disquieting that ever morphing play of features was, it was far better than what loomed above!

  Then it noticed them. The head came down, the eyes that had seen far, far too much took them in and it began to change again. In a much more disquieting way.

  Fur retracted, scales were swallowed, the hide smoothed. And what emerged was almost human. A rough imitation, but recognizably so. The bald head and body spawned hair. The fleshy hands grew nails. Scars appeared, turning a painting into something almost real. Then scales grew from the flesh and arranged themselves into scale mail, Lorica Squamata, complete with greaves and bracers.

  Its hands cupped and a spear grew to fill one, a shield to fill the other. Its height began to slowly decrease. Then another pair of arms broke through its sides beneath the first pair, small sickly twigs that grew and inflated to hold a large two-handed spear as the coat of scales morphed into plates of bone. Then a third set broke free and grew a bow and arrow while the armor shifted to wax boiled and hardened leather and fur.

  And slowly, carefully, its height decreased again. From 12 to 11, then to 10.

  It was… he had no words.

  Disgusting and enthralling. Show magic mixed with a freak show. Like a brutal wound or a drunk man mouthing off to a noble, it had that something; you didn’t want to see but couldn’t look away. You just had to see what would come of…

  Nope. Ethan forced his mind to stop. None of this nonsense. He was under no obligation to let the monster transform first. The odd thought plucked at his mind, but didn’t deter his voice.

  "Prepare to Volley." Ethan's voice shatters the atmosphere and men jerk as hands rose to obey. The power of repetitive drills coming through. Of days of battle. It didn’t take thought for arrows to find bow strings. "Area Target, 60 yards forward." Nor for bows to rise abruptly, angling to the sky as the men who held them pulled mightily to span the heavy composite bows.

  "Volley!" Fingers released and the grey flight rose into that impossible sky. Then rained down with an angry whistling, rattling whine!

  They fell onto and through the monster. Its image twisted and dispersed like smoke on a still day as a roar of pain, by parts and shifting between them with no pattern or explanation, animal, human, reptile and who knew what else.

  But all of it angry!

  A six-armed monstrosity appeared about 10 feet to the left of the fading image, several arrows from the standard widespread volley sticking from its tiger pelted shoulders and upper pair of arms.

  Its real form, if that was what this new image was, was as much a mix as the spawn. But, a deliberate mix. Purposeful and powerful.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  A dense coat of scales protected the chest, back and the bottom half of its limbs. Connected one to the other by a striped tiger like pelt reinforced at the armpits, all six of them, inner elbow, two-toed feet and the familiar outward pointed palms by the maggoty thick white hide.

  Its legs were the Z shaped spring loaded nonsense of the spawn, but thick with heavy defined muscles and a weight that felt graceful, rather than the awkward bouncing of the swarmer’s.

  Its head, one of two with the second a full snake as a tail, was mostly tiger, if stretched to fit a bipedal forward looking frame. Furred and with a protruding muzzle filled with a forest of exposed teeth that would make a shark jealous. Bone ridges and spike like antlers emerged above its eyes. Eyes that were slit-pupilled like a big cat's. Or a snake, perhaps. But Solid black around the outside, and the deepest blue for the pupils. Pupils that stared out at him, filled with boundless malevolence, with hate, with a promise of knowledge unknown and unknowable to humankind. If he could only get a little closer-

  Nope.

  “Prepare to Volley! Volley”

  It hissed in displeasure as the lethal rain rose again into the sky, then twisted and exploded into 12 images, random… or at least to no pattern he could tell. They darted in all directions, none looking like their former creator. Then each dispersed into mist as a new form appeared near the rightmost false image. A six foot tall lancer, complete with lance but no mount.

  Fuck… if that thing got into the middle of a formation.

  Then the arrows hit, dispelling the image and revealing the monster again, the same monster so perhaps it was its real form, a few steps in front of the image.

  12 feet. He judged. As the first time had been closer to 10. Range limits for its illusions?

  “Prepare to Volley – Volley!” He pitched his voice to hit the forward and rightmost two blocks of archers. Then let it spread out to hit the entire formation. “Target the image but keep your spacing.” Then to the forward leftmost blocks, “Prepare to Volley – Volley!” Then back to all four forward archer blocks. “Bow Captain, volley at will in order from north to south!”

  The arrows weren’t doing much damage. But they were revealing the beast. And that would have to do. Because they were about to get very, very busy. He glanced backward and resisted the desire to swear. In trickles and moving shadows he could see them emerging at the pained demands of their Boss, the Rakshasa no doubt.

  For they were the Raskshasa spawn. And as much as he’d tried to wipe them out, they broke too easily, and disappeared into their cracks and tunnels too quickly, to hope to get them all.

  “Go.” He offered to his brother Lancers, having discussed their options beforehand. A charge at an illusion wouldn’t do much. Better for them to help with the spawn.

  “Squire Adelbert, you have the rear. Do us proud!” The four blocks deployed out, volleys of arrows already pounding outward at a foolish knot of demonlings. Enough close together to make it worth the archer’s time.

  He wasn’t what Ethan would call ready for solo command, but then he didn’t have to be. This was a familiar foe, on familiar ground and with a detailed battle plan. He didn’t even need to win. He just had to keep them off Ethan’s back.

  “Guile, take your block to the rear, Leo to the right. Decurion Oswald to the left. I have the front. I want a soldi wall of spears and shields to pen this elusive shit down. Spears up in the rear ranks, ware the jump!” The four blocks moved forward easily, Ethan's own at a much slower pace as he kept an eye on the entire fight, calling out adjustments were needed, and always keeping his various buffs running, an indulgence if the fight would drag out for several hours, his head was already starting to ache in a slight, barely noticeable way.

  But it wouldn’t and he was more than ready to bear it.

  “Steady!” He bellowed as the beast, revealed for a moment with a line of arrows embedded in its scaled back, and as close as they were getting, the archers wouldn’t be able to keep that up much longer, dashed toward the right flank of Guile’s rear block. The man stepped free, slamming his two-handed blade out in a wide arc, area denial as much as an attempt to harm it, while Phalangites rushed to backfill. Bracing spears out and over his head to keep the beast back.

  It didn’t work. The blade cut through smoke as the screeching of rending metal announced a hit, and Guile flew backwards, tangling and knocking over a knot of spearmen. Ethan stared across the way, praying for a moment, then letting a breath of relief as the knot of fallen men moved.

  And perhaps he was wrong. It worked well enough. So long as the knight lived, the rest of his men had done their jobs. The Phalangites around the fallen knight closed ranks, forming a wall of spear heads and the bladed cross guards behind them. Eyes lied here, but space was space. Put enough spearheads in it, and a 12-foot monster wasn’t slipping through without notice!

  Then Oswalds block snapped into place; shields and more Sarrissa long spears forming an unbroken hedge. A few moments later Leo and Ethan formed the other two walls. The monster in front of them was everywhere and nowhere. Images popping up and rushing forward, only to disappear into smoke as they hit the spears.

  Then the real monster would appear. For a moment. Just a brief moment, then explode into more false images in a dizzying cycle.

  Ethan refused to care. “Collapse!” He called out, and each block began the slow, careful march forward, layers of spears steadily reducing the size of the square. Screams of claws on steel rang out as the Monster appeared to swipe its way through the line of long spears, throwing a set of four or five into chaos.

  But also waving a flag on where it really was.

  A flight of pilum ended that advance in a scream of pain and rage. Then on the left side it slammed into and through a single spear, eating the strike to get at the men behind it. A Hastati and his shield went flying in different directions, snarling the formation behind him. Not that it mattered. Men closed down, filling the breach with spear heads from the surrounding Philangites, then shields as the rear lines filtered forward. The 14-foot spears didn’t just deny either, they slammed spiked crossbars sideways, like a giants ice picks, or thrust out in full-body strikes from the ranks behind. If it was going to be so kind as to announce its location, they were happy to greet it properly!

  And slowly, steadily, the square got smaller.

  Smaller, as a man was thrown, a spear broken and its ragged end snapping out send another sprawling.

  Smaller, as shards of rock were thrown outward uselessly against metal or chitin helms.

  Gone.

  Sarrisa spears, nearly 50 of them, in a square 4 ranks deep on each side, thrust their bladed tips into seemingly empty space.

  No matter, it couldn’t be anywhere else. No matter what the silly image appearing in their middle tried to pretend.

  And black blood ran down the shafts as they pushed in, then braced them against the ground as the monster flexed and twisted uselessly like an insect on three dozen pins.

  The image failed, and the monster at last fully appeared, flickering but not longer able to do anything with it. Struggling, but that did nothing but drive the blades in deeper. Scream its rage and pain into their faces in impotent fury.

  And even that pointless noise and struggle grew weaker by the second.

  Then a single throw spear lanced out and through an overlarge slit-pupiled eye.

  Leo. Ethan nodded. A damn good throw. And not one he’d trust to many with allies on all sides if you missed.

  “Make sure.” Ethan ordered. Not that he needed to. No spears had been withdrawn, but that didn’t stop their bearers from twisting the blades.

  Nor a slightly unsteady Guile, his chest plate bearing a rather noticeable dent, pushing his way forward far enough to swing that edged bar in an upward arc, and remove the foul fanged mouth tiger head from its lightly scaled neck.

  “The other head too Guile.” Ethan reminded him.

  Guile looked down for a moment, then gave Ethan a disgusted look.

  “The tail smart ass.” Ethan choked out around a helpless laugh.

  “Ohhh!” A soft tchok sounded out from behind the beast before Guile could move, and Leo stepped into view, the snake head lifted on the tip of his spear.

  Ethan caught his eye for a moment, and only relaxed when he barely perceptible nod. If there was any trickery still going on, he’d be the one most likely to notice.

  “Back up a bit then.” He offered. Turning a bit, and using the height Celer gave him to give the fight behind him a glance.

  What there was of it. The only thing drawing the cowardly little shits to battle was their maker’s call. Without that? They were running as fast as their spring laden legs could carry them.

  A good job from Adelbert that.

  And as such, it deserved another!

  “Squire, Decurions. Post battle chores! Break up and get to it. One in five stays on watch. Stay armored except for the wounded. Helms may be removed, but keep them close at hand.”

  Ethan carefully untied the straps keeping him in his high cantled battle saddle and kicked his far leg over Celer’s back to slide to the ground. Giving her an absent pat, and a chunk of turnip in passing.

  He walked forward to give the 6-armed monstrosity, the Rakshasa, a look. It was… well, it reminded him a bit of that Yali rift. Not the same exactly, except for the snake tail, and what was with that? What sane creature grew a snake from their ass? But the ascetics….

  He shook his head, letting the evasive thought go as Leo sidled up at his elbow, his lips twisted ever so slightly at the edges. His eyes twinkling.

  For those who knew him he might as well have been dancing around and crowing. The bastard.

  “Not a greater Demon.” The scout offered succinctly.

  Ethan grunted. No, no it wasn’t. But… just maybe? He turned to look around- only for Leo to stop him and point.

  A four foot wide plinth had risen from the ground. It wasn’t… there wasn’t…. Ethan shook his head, refusing to think about it anymore. It rose randomly from the middle of the plain. Sure. That’s what it was. He walked over, giving the exposed core floating above it a long look, then casting about in a circle.

  Leo chimed in again- “No portal either.”

  Fuck. Or perhaps yay? If this had been a hell rift, a rift linked to the hell planes and used as an invasion route to the planes of man, then the portal to hell would have appeared with the exposed core.

  No rift meant this was a random core. A manifestation of the world, not the actions of a species within it.

  “The wine is yours.” He muttered, shaking his head. It was a loss, and yet a win. He wasn’t sure quite how he should feel about it.

  “What was that, My Lord?”

  “You were right.” He enunciated clearly. Giving the happy scout a quelling glance. Still, he was right. “It’s not a demon invasion rift.” He emphasized it, and in a voice loud enough to carry.

  A muted bit of muttering emerged from the men. No wonder it wasn’t too bad. Would have been worse if it was demons. Easy boss.

  Ethan hid a snort. Easy? Not hardly! It was a rift meant for a century. Smart men brought in more than that, but bringing in well over 5 centuries wasn’t exactly fighting it as intended!

  With less men and the adds coming in from behind, it would be a real pain in the ass to keep that tricky bastard from getting into the formations. And once inside? Ethan hid a shudder. A blood bath!

  Still, it had paid off. A nasty, dangerous rift, and a small handful of actual deaths from it. Of course… it also meant the reward was likely to be a bit lackluster.

  He shrugged; To gain one thing, you had to give up another.

  And even without packing the rift with men, it had been on the chincy side for rewards. No one was willing to dig about for minerals when the rocks could spontaneously ignite, but they had found, and harvested a few outcroppings of some crimson half crystalline metal, bloodiron the inspections said.

  The spawn scales were almost useful, if you didn’t mind the smell. The sinews from the beast's legs would make great bowstrings… again, if you didn’t mind the smell.

  Ethan sighed and shrugged his shoulders. It was done. Beaten. That would have to be good enough.

  That and whatever they did get out of the core.

  “An obeisance?” Leo asked, dragging him out of his musings.

  Ethan stared for a moment, then nodded. As much as he’d like to piss on the core instead, some things just weren’t done. Including deliberately pissing off, or on, the magical dimension that might or might not be sentient, and that existed beyond human understanding.

  It took a bit to set up, of course. With no cave or building to limit the watchers, the entire army was called back and set into ranks. Disciplined, regular ranks for the armsmen. Ranks you could have used as a ruler!

  For the hunters… not so much. Ethan had to look away. He’d seen straighter lines in a plate of pasta! They weren’t armsmen, they didn’t need to fight in disciplined, tight formations. The bow needed a bit of space to be used properly.

  It still irked him to see.

  “Ready!” Adelbert called out, looking around, then bowed to Ethan. Ethan nodded and turned to the core. “SALUE!” He slammed a fist to chest, echoing with every other fist in a ringing, resonant boom and bowed his head.

  Then he straightened and nodded to Leo. Given the honor for the purported killing blow on the boss, the man stepped forward and shattered the floating crystalline blue orb with the butt of his spear.

  Ethan twitched slightly, and he wasn’t alone as the resulting crack echoed well beyond the physical plane. He could feel it on something else. Something spiritual. And he didn’t like it!

  Fuck this rift!

  The shards of crystal fell free to tinkle down onto the plinth, then slowly dissolved into an iridescent mist that rose slowly upwards towards the hole in –

  Nope! Ethan kept his eyes firmly down, refusing to follow it. A clatter of motion and curses behind him told a tale of those who didn’t!

  Left behind on the plinth was a single delicate clay wine jar. One covered in carvings and sealed with a splash of green varnish.

  One wine jar. Perhaps the length from his fingertips to his elbow.

  For an entire fucking small rift!

  He glanced sideways, ready to swear and caught Leo staring at the jar, disbelief on his normally impassive face.

  “Sir Leo?”

  “Inspect My Lord. That is Tycelus’s Gift.”

  Ethan’s head snapped back to stare.

  The wine of fortune… Good fortune? Bad Fortune? Who could say? Tycelus ruled over both.

  Of course this was the reward.

  Ethan really, really hated this fucking rift!

  ___