Dark Crow Rising

A ball of fire erupts from the end of the gun.

The heavy, heated metal tube recoils back and forward cleanly. Stumbling backwards with the tremors, I turn to the exit. Shooting into the tunnel, I burst out into the open in time to watch the still-showering debris and rising cloud.

Youthful, but rapidly ageing warmth simmers in the air and I have nothing to say... I look at the tattered burning banner as it steadily vanishes from view. He has broken divine law. Maybe even two if Waionr ignores my efforts...

I turn to look at the army and my enhanced gaze sees it all. Few are cheering, most are confused and concerned. I see the terror in them the most, especially in those closest to the start of our defences. They saw it directly; they saw the law being broken.

"...is to invite defeat upon your army if you command it." Many find themselves muttering.

Tears form in my eyes, and I start to feel something. I feel cold and terrified. An immense power far beyond anything I have ever felt before suddenly rages above the clouds. He has seen it...

"Waionr saw it..." I rapidly breathe out.

His wrath is descending upon us, this power, the sound that comes with it, it's him! Yet, whilst I could've sworn I saw a brief visage of an armoured giant with an equally large battleaxe. That isn't what breaks through the clouds, rather, orbs do. Glowing, pulsating orbs, hundreds of them!

I skittishly avoid the one coming for me and turn to watch them, damning the men behind. There are so many of these orbs, they're everywhere and they are all approaching the army. Then, a series of flashes forces me to close my eyes. Whatever has just happened, when my eyes open. I see no army.

Only craters.

Perfect spheres of destruction are across our position. Blood and torn apart steel decorate their rims and the thin lines of men that remain. Like me, they slowly look around and consider what has happened, shaking as they do so. Silence takes hold everywhere.

Then... One man screams.

He runs with all he has. Then another and another. Howls of terror fill the valley and the noise forces its way up the mountainsides on either side of our position. The stampede of charging roars forces the sound back down.

Bright, wind-stained lances pierce through the clouds and armoured riders make themselves clear. For all the noise of the lancers, though, something else has me in its grip. As if Thurnmourer, the God of Thunder, has struck his mighty hammer so close by. A more powerful hornish sound announces a dark, valley-covering shadow.

"Waionr, forgive me, please!" I pathetically squeak as Moonrim light fills the far end of the valley. Six streams of it, six pure, potent lines guide down a wall of solid metal. I can barely comprehend it and my eyes follow the destruction they cause. It is barely between the valley's parting top, but it is carving apart the lowest depths, regardless!

As the clouds make way for this impossibly giant thing, a detail becomes clear. These orbs are the shots of the thousands of guns lining this colossal wall of metal. It happens again. Hundreds of orbs shoot past me again, and that awful, distorted noise follows.

This is my fault, it has to be... Punishment for my failure to stop Pathort.

"RYPHYURGOKS!" scattered voices behind me scream, drawing me back to our horrible reality.

It was as if Waionr heard those words that came out of blasphemer's mouth. But there's no way Waionr would punish us under the guise of red-feathered lancers. Everything that had happened and is happening... It's the enemy!

These are their heavy lancers, and they certainly make a point of it. Powerful, explosive gallops shatter the stone skin of the mountains. Their roars fill the air as an avalanche of splintering rock follows after. The light of their lances leading the way down into the valley.

Hundreds of them are coming down the mountainside.

Something!

I have to do something! Our position is lost. Too many have died and too many are fleeing. The famed Redfeather Lancers are primed to flatten what remains. The Redfeathers will slaughter them if I do nothing!

But how am I going to stop them!? I have lost myself in everything that is happening. The lancers are too far down both sides of the valley! It is too-

"NO! I must save them... I must..." I tell myself.

The surrounding air explodes conically and I shoot towards a mountain. Sliding into the rock, I plough myself and sword towards the closest lancer. Upwards, through the mount's plate and meat. Through the rider's armour and flesh!

Readjusting myself as I arrive in the air, I focus on another one. The sky booms once again and I slam against them with body-crushing force. Noticing a clear path I can take, more Redfeathers follow suit and I go into the air again trailed by blood, a body leaving my hand. Turning to the untouched mountain, the sky erupts.

I crash against the mountain and dig my way in until I am kneeling in the crater. Blade stabbed even deeper into it. Throwing rubble behind me at those charging down, I charge up at the rest, gouging a boulder out as I pull my sword to my side. Going for the closest one, I slash at him, sending him flying with his dead mount. Breaking through to the top, I slide around and position myself to go back down the mountain.

Pebbles dribble over my back and my heart wavers.

It hasn't been enough, my efforts have been too narrow-minded. The Redfeathers and their ryphurgoks have broken through. The army is getting trampled, the men I was entrusted with. Some manage to reform into lines and squares. Seeing that death come for them either way. But, without the trenches, barricade and stakes...

The bulk of the armoured lancers trample and run them down. The thin, grey lines of Ironcoats turn to more red splatters. Boom-pikes echo their name in ultimate defiance. My chance to save them vanishes. It's gone, I've failed.

I have lived up to what I am, an unworthy runt.

"When I do die, Waionr, if this is truly not your bidding... Please do not judge me harshly for the sins of others." I plead with my god as my gaze snaps to the great machine. Whatever it is, I do not know. Rumours and facts, nothing comes to mind as I look at it. But, despite my failure to save the army, this thing presents a chance for redemption.

I will prove the might of the Valkinvar, I will prove my strength and I will avenge the army!

Clenching my blade tightly and barely hearing the stretching leather, I bend my legs. Focusing my magic on the tip of my blade and my aura, I wait for a brief, nerve-wracking moment. I am going to force my sword straight through that armour as if it is a pig iron sheet. I will shatter, not pierce it!

Roaring my defiance, I shoot out to the machine. A shattering mountain face following my heels. I keep my blade straight. I put all I can into my speed and the sword's point. The machine nears closer. Closer, closer.

Impact!

A sharp screech fills my ears instead. My blade goes wayward and I crash against the superficial scratch it made. Blinking, I lean away from the machine as its power continues to spear below. Slamming my blade. Again and again, nothing happens.

I slow down. Looking up past the endless sight of cannons, I spot the top of the wall. My breathing is flat, and then it shakes. Power heaves through me as well as my emotions and I lean back as my fingers tremble.

Throwing myself into the air, the deck of the machine appears and I crash with intent onto it. Standing up, I gaze around with a trembling body. Excitement, fear, confusion, I can't figure it out. The alerted soldier charging me has no such restraints.

He is weak, though, and my hand grasps his neck. He doesn't change even then. With his beautifully made sabre, he thrusts or slashes. He fails to hurt me. Even then... These beady, orange eyes in darkness do not waver.

"WHAT'S GOING ON!?" I scream with struggling breath. Their troops arrived far sooner than expected with weapons I have never heard of. The officers who had led my army reminded me more of the heretics than men of the Theocracy. And the men, the army...

The men I failed to save, they are running like the heretics usually did.

I scream.

I scream with all the fury I can find within me and throw the struggling heretic over the side. My eyes follow him down, but my ears cannot. He doesn't scream, not even when a flashing burst of red taints that indomitable, emerald light.

Where was the scream?

"Valkinvar-Imdvarce." a voice says behind me. Instantly, I turn on my heels, giving myself room to move, and I hold my sword up. Oddly, the fact I can see his face, the fact there is a face to look at. It makes me... Stop.

I take a step back. My eyes lock onto his most defining feature. I think of the Zaphadren-Valkinvar and how impressed I was by her stained-glass hair. This man, his hair, is almost divine in comparison.

Shimmering, Heir Emerald hair, the brightest... Purest I have ever seen, more than even the legs of this machine. His eyes are much the same. In fact, his whole body just seems to glow with power. Pure, unfiltered power.

But, he contradicts himself with his pale skin, so clearly visible despite all that he is. His sickly visage and how his body is threatening him with a sudden collapse. For the sake of the pride and honour that ornaments him, however, he doesn't. He stands proud and his blade remains sheathed up along his back in an upward curve, as is the tradition for his people.

"Who are you!?" I demand to know, gloves stretching.

I want to hide my fear. But I can't. Not after everything that has just happened. Not with what I now see in front of me. I can't remain calm. My breaths are haggard, nerves electric and my posture is trembling as wobbling threatens to collapse my legs.

He leaves the traditional sword grip behind and mint-tinted steel appears before us. With a high-pitched, energetic whistle, a straight blade made from solid wind magic shoots from the guard. He takes a step closer and I take one back. All the way until one of my hands suddenly panics and grabs the edge of the machine.

"It matters little to you, Valkinvar-Imdvarce." he answers, and he comes to a stop. Turning to his side, he straightens his grip to be in line with his posture. The steel blade hides the body of the magic one, but the tinting remains eerie. Regardless, I force my next step forward, striking it down from a lack of control.

He is powerful. His hair wouldn't be like this if he wasn't. I need to focus, no more fear, no more falling into pits of bafflement. Only the dedication to my duty. That is all that I need right now.

Marking my choice with a sonic boom, I charge with my blade at my side- Sudden pain.

I stumble cluelessly ahead. My sword's tip smacks against the decking. Looking around, I touch my gut. My numb hand moves along the pointed tips of my armour. And I hold my hand in front of me.

I stare at my blood as it seems to fizz...

Even if I am not the strongest of the Valkinvar or its greatest warrior. This armour is some of the single most master-crafted steel on the whole continent. Let alone the Theocracy. But, to this man, it might as well be thin tin.

Hearing his footsteps, I stumble forward with a copper-wet mouth.

"Now," he goes.

My sword vanishes from my hand, leaving it empty to all but a phantom grip. Passing me, he stops and turns. He grants me the final honour of meeting my gaze. I dribble as he remains straight.

"Get off my airship," he says, a magic-rich palm shattering my chest plate. Leaving him a small dot in the distance as the wind rushes by me.