About ten seconds after striking the gong, all hell broke loose. Hundreds, if not a thousand or more glowing circles appeared all over the fortress. From them, the chaff of our elemental opponents poured out non-stop. However, people rallied to take control of these areas, and the tide found itself stemmed as long as our forces occupied these areas.
The elementals were not what we expected. The influence of The Devourers was apparent in their features and Abilities. While elementals as individuals can assume all manner of forms, usually those based on existing creatures, these ones were warped and lacking symmetry, often appearing chimeric as they slapped together odds and ends of different creatures together. So far, they were also of the basic four elemental types: air, fire, earth, and water. They were also a noticeable shade of a sickly green.
And, like The Devourers, their attacks were laced with corruption. Where flames landed on bare flesh, necrotic tissue remained as a disturbing reality for those who survived. The winds of air elementals carried pestilence, and those affected became covered in boils and pustules as their wounds wept ichor. Water elementals petrified those they struck, leaving behind withered limbs and drained husks as easily as they swept through our ranks. The earth elementals seemed to do nothing special, at least to the untrained eye, but anyone nearby received deadly doses of radiation poisoning, with some unlucky people sprouting cancerous growths within a few minutes of being near such elementals.
In short, it was a disgusting and disturbing brawl where one had to not only contend with the traditional Abilities of elementals, but also disease and corruption of insidious natures. As the only individual with the mobility and durability to travel around to help people, and indeed the only one with the potency, speed, and impact area of what was needed, I spent much of my time flying around while spewing out my ultimate breath attack: [Empowered Breath of The Emperor of the Crossroad Wayfinders - Holy Purification: Celestial Aspirant].
Now, while these elementals were not truly part of The Devourers, they had a similar wrongness about them. As such, while my breath attack did not kill them, it did hurt and weaken them, oftentimes purifying them back into normal elementals, which did nothing to remove their desire to kill everyone. For my own forces, while their afflictions were remedied, my breath did nothing to actually heal their wounds, which necessitated them to seek medical attention elsewhere. The tide of battle shifted in our favor wherever I went, but I could not linger lest another area buckle and break.
My impact made me a prime target for the enemy, for they appeared to be guided by some grand intelligence. For earth elementals in particular, that would both be a requirement and a low bar to surpass any of them in intellectual prowess, but I digress.
Skull zipped all around my figure as she cut through anything that got near me, with the grip of the earth’s gravity being suspended in favor of my own body being the center of her world. Unfortunately, the elementals behave too mindlessly to manifest fear, but with there being plenty of mortals nearby who do, she found herself empowered. However, her patron deity, Gulthar, is not just a god of Fear, but also one of Courage, and there was also plenty of the latter going around, especially anywhere that I showed up. The cycles of my presence and absence as I made my circuit around the fortress created a feedback loop of our forces rallying and faltering, and so Skull continuously ramped up in power. Unfortunately, she had yet to gain new and consecrated equipment from her deity, but what I had crafted for her was more than enabling her to give a good account of herself.
If only that gave me peace of mind, but such remained ever elusive as something stank. I don’t mean the gore, carnage, and corruption below, but rather something metaphorical. While I haven’t talked about it with anyone, I have noticed that I have not gotten a single [Deed] since I entered The Tower. Considering the depth and breadth of experiences and triumphs I have had since then, one would think I would at least get something for my efforts. But no, not even a participation trophy was tossed my way, and I suspected that something was amiss, to put things mildly.
I would be having words with that egg person before long - strong words, most likely. Until then, I just breathe on everyone. Well, I am used to doing that, but normally, it is in the form of a hot breath and hotter words whispered into a lover’s ear during a moment of intimate passion. This is far from being the same, but to those on the receiving end of my purification, it may just be the more preferable of the two. Until such time as I find the opportunity to indulge in the former, I will continue in my contribution to the raid, even if it makes me a one-trick pony for this phase.
“Patience, my dear, patience! Your anger is precipitously close to rage. Temper your anger and resolve both to forge yourself into something stronger so that you may complete the task at hand.”
Nanu’s words do manage to piece through the tempest of my frustration, even if they are delivered telepathically via the network I have set up for us. Though it vexes me, the words of my voice are far too powerful and precious to waste on idle conversation. Granted with the Blessing of [World-Speaker], every word I utter has weight, and not even in private dare I speak to myself. I barely even know the sound of my own voice, for I have only ever spoken a handful of words in my whole life.
And if words are not the medium of my communication, then my anger suffices. The Devourers had not just humiliated me, but they made me into a liar and a failure as I could not protect my staff that entrusted me with their lives. The assault on my holdings at World’s End had been an affront to my pride and prowess, and my reputation had been tarnished in a way that only time and effort could hope to remedy. Few had been the opportunities to pay back that insult, and yet, though these elementals are only a facsimile of The Devourers, even such pale reflections deserve my wrath.
And at such a moment, she dares to restrain me! ME! Father’s chosen Broodmother and his only Queen thus far! It rankles almost as much as knowing that she is right and that she has the best in mind for me as my minder and mentor. Nanu is my senior as a dragon and as a daughter both, and her experience and wisdom have proven useful time after time.
“I am sure that your Father would be proud of you if you enable his plan to see fruition.”
And there it is: the twist of the knife. She knows I crave Father’s love and approval over anything else. She knows that I know that she knows, and so on. I know I am supernaturally predisposed to such feelings, and it is only the kindest of illusions that delude me into thinking that it has always been my choice to crave Father in all ways. But damn and double damn if her words don’t encourage me to reign myself in.
I want to cut loose, to ravage, to bring the tempest of devastation upon my foes, but I remain in formation to Nanu’s right, my brother, Kaisadoro, to her left. Though Nanu is only a Princess, she has far more expertise in actual combat than my brother and I combined a dozen times over. Her efficiency is deserving of compliments, her positioning and timing envious in how it makes everything she does appear easy and natural, and her quick decisions to disengage at the drop of a hat, even we were apparently winning, has spared us no end of devious attacks at the hands of our foes.
She says that I lack vision, that I cannot see the flow of things. I remember how those words angered me during our training, how I lashed out at her childishly. Now, I am starting to piece together how right she had been. It is both glorious and frustrating how I have fleeting moments of understanding as I sporadically tap into that state of flow.
And, it is no secret that Father favors her, for he takes her to his bed as often as he does me. I want to be everything that she is, to have that level of mastery, and I know there is no better medium for me to learn than to be quite literally at her side. No matter how I try, I cannot find it within me to hate her, for she is and acts precisely as she should to bring more glory to Father. How could I fault her when I also want to be as she is? Such a quandary vexes me to no end, for the list of women I both admire and envy within Father’s inner circle seems to grow by the day.
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But, to admit that I am inadequate is both unacceptable and the only logical conclusion, which only stokes the fires of my rage.
An errant fire elemental gets too close for comfort as we dive down to help our mortal allies. With casual disregard, I turn my head and blast it without really putting it in my eyes, as the saying goes. It is larger than others, and so my [Onomatopoeia Breath] needs to hit it with “Kaboom!” instead of my usual “Boom” or “Pow”. Thousands of literal words made of motes of light are expelled by my breath, and they bring destruction to those so struck by the weight of their meanings.
It perishes, much as thousands before it have, and yet my anger seems to not be lessened as a result. Perhaps then, the cure for anger is not found outside of oneself, but inwards. Perhaps then, anger and its source must be found within oneself.
These are troublesome thoughts that I reflect upon as we continue in our duties. With fortune, I will unravel this mystery before the end of this raid and bring enough glory to Father that he will shower me with accolades.
Another icky one, one of those water elementals that looks like a ball of stagnant tentacles, reaches up for me. I blast it with [Manfred’s Magnificent Meteor], which smashes and vaporizes it to satisfaction. Another unsanitary and unsavory elemental likewise reaches for me, and I deliver [Manfred’s Magnanimous Malice] upon it, which smashes it as if by a giant hammer. I don’t know why it is considered “Magnanimous”, and I suspect that I misheard my gnomish instructor about “Malice”. Considering the effect, it is much more likely that he said “Malleus”. That would coincide with Reginald’s Fourth Theory on Force-
“Pay attention, Kaisadoro! And stop panicking every time an enemy gets near you! You are using too much power and expending far too much mana in your attacks.”
Big Sister Nanu’s words admonish me appropriately. I had been far too enthusiastic and rambunctious in my ministrations with these corrupted elementals. But, they are just far too icky, and I have seen the pestilence that they spread to our mortal allies. I do not want my scales to rot like that poor bastard’s skin. The way it sloughs right off is enough to give me nightmares. Why, it reminds my of the time I was training under Archmage Ferdinand in The Garden of Eternal Bloom when the flytrap captured that poor-
“Disengage! We depart on a swift rise to make an approach vector on the next Hill.”
Ah yes, this whole “King of the Hill” thing is really quite the remarkable feature of this particular raid. We need our troops to occupy the Hills, and by that, we mean many individuals. A big dragon like me still only counts as one person, and with most of the Hills only being perhaps 30 or so meters wide, that is not a lot of space for me to fight freely in, much less to allow others to safely share it with me. It had been a strategic choice to allow the mortals to occupy the Hills while we dragons and other heavy-hitters break up contests for them or protect ones that are in danger of being massacred.
It seems that this phase only ends as a result of the total time we spend occupying these Hills, with each Hill’s contribution being more impactful in relation to the total number of Hills occupied at the same time. This harkens back to my studies on math with Professor Yvette on exponential growth and how one can apply it to [Tarrare’s Limitless Hunger] when modified by-
“Big fucker off to our left. Kaisadoro, take it down while Tamadora and I cover you.”
What? Me, take that behemoth down? By myself? It is some aberrant earth elemental covered in barnacles and other parasitic creepy-crawlies. I don’t want to touch that with a ten foot pole, no sir! I size it up as we circle it, and I detect several weak points in its body. Now, Father knows a thing or two about rock and has taught me about the subject of geology. This elemental is made of soapstone, so using heat to destroy it would be foolhardy. It is durable, but soft, and so something to cut through it would work wonders. [Samwise’s Serious Sawblade] is the right tool for this job, and I manifest it and throw it right at the elemental's midsection. The elemental turns far too slowly to react, and even then, its dimwitted nature makes it a poor candidate for quick thinking.
The sawblade spins and cuts as my calculated instructions dictate, and only a few breaths later, the elemental is bisected. With a groan of surprise and protest, its two halves crash down hard, with parts of it shattering. Some poor souls nearby are spattered by the caustic gore of the smooshed critters that made their home upon it. There is no cleaning agent for my eyes that can scour that sight from my memory. It is almost as bad as the time that I witnessed Professor Archibald accidentally deglove himself when he-
“Good work, Kaisadoro. Let’s make good time to the next Hill and repeat the process there.”
Good time! I am most certainly not having a good time! And, at the rate we are going, I will have to rearrange my entire schedule for the next month at the very least just to get things back on track. That soapstone elemental took more out of me than I would have liked in terms of mana. I will need to find a better solution to clean up these pockets of resistance. Speaking of soapstone and cleaning, I should probably double the amount of soap issued to citizens in my cities. So many of them are from the unwashed masses of foreign and fallen polities, and they must carry all manner of germs with them. I do not want another outbreak of magical scabiei; the [Healers] really had a hard time combating those little vectors of disease. Why, it reminds me of the story told to me by…
My little charges have grown so big. If only their character and confidence kept pace with their bodies. Poor little Tamadora is her own worst enemy. If only she could accept herself for who she is and not demand such utter perfection from her actions, she might be able to see the love and affection that her father has for her. I hope for her children’s sake that she learns that the fulfillment of such needs are not earned but freely and generously granted.
Kaisadoro is a whole different can of worms. Such a comparison would have had his face turning green only a year ago, for the little germophobe cannot stand to get his hand literally dirty. He had been far too defensive during my tutelage, his actions designed to prevent all assault on his person while his reactions were overkill to protect himself. Our sparring matches proved that his reserves of magical and physical fortitude are not inexhaustible, and so I had hoped to impress upon him the need to find clever solutions that economically remedy his issues.
Unfortunately, real combat brings back bad habits. He is a dragon, one with nearly unparalleled regeneration, so he should learn when to take hits rather than waste mana on blocking. I will need to redouble my tutelage, most likely with our training arena being in the nastiest quagmire in the biggest swamp I can find. I will dunk him in raw sewage if that is what it takes for him to realize that his fear of disease is senseless given his physiology.
By contrast, his sister is too eager for combat. Well, not that she shows true martial mastery, but rather that she soothes herself by breaking things. Fortunately, she has shown restraint in not throwing tantrums, but that does lend itself to a dragon’s instinct to jealously protect one’s resources and not to squander one’s hoard or [Hoard]. But here, where she can cut loose, it is all I can do to manipulate her into not making childish decisions.
But for all that, she is still a child, one only a few years old. Tamadora and Kaisadoro may have come into this world fully formed in the bodies of adults, complete with a host of knowledge, but they have little practical experience or wisdom. The saving grace is in their instinct to adhere to my expertise as their senior sister. Kaisadoro is too small and timid of a soul, and he needs to grow into his true self. Tamadora is too large, and she needs to chisel away at the parts of her that hold her back until she reveals her hidden potential. Nothing but time, experience, and the refusal to wallow in their failures will solve that. And they will fail, time after time, of that I am certain. I just hope they have the resolve to get back up and try again.
Part of me wants to be charitable, for I am over 900 years old and I still have much to learn. Another part of me wants to force shortcuts upon them by bestowing my wisdom so that they do not make the same mistakes I did. However, mistakes are an essential part of growth, and coddling them too much will only stifle their ability to make their own deductions that lead to wisdom. All I can do is show them the path, and I must resist the urge to drag them down it kicking and screaming.
Was I ever this headstrong? I remember my first mother’s veiled frustrations and quiet words of remediation and she slowly corralled me onto a path that led to true mastery of the self. My own sons and daughters, each now surely perished since my previous Emperor perished, were not so difficult. However, they had not come into this world as fully-formed adults, and such a shortcut is known to cause… idiosyncrasies. These two are certainly a handful, and they tax the limits of my experience at teaching dragons to be dragons. My only solution is to grow so that I may better my chances at finding a way to teach them in the manner that they are best suited to learn. And, before this raid is over, all of us will need to grow lest we perish here and now.
