283: Journey to the Lost City (Part One) (Patreon)

“Form up! Huddle together—as close as you can!” Vir roared at the top of his lungs. Lacking the armored Ash’va mounts the Chitran guards rode, Vir was forced to Micro Leap if he had any hope of having his orders heard. Hearing, however, was only half the battle. To his immense frustration, Vir was learning that hearing and obeying were two very different things.

Don’t they understand I’m trying to save their lives?

Vir focused on the positives in a bid to fight down his mounting frustration.

As far as silver linings went, there were precious few. With just a hundred under his command, Vir thankfully didn’t have to move far to address all of his troops.

So much was stacked against them on this excursion. Not only did they lack the protection of the mountains that loomed to their left, but they’d been caught with little time to prepare and no time to train. The ragtag mob of demons were as likely to hurt themselves as they were their enemies.

Complex commands and organized formations weren’t an option, and any attempt to force them to comply would only end in tragedy.

Instead, Vir Leaped around his company of troops like a shepherd, barking orders to huddle closer, encircling them like a closing noose.

By the end, he’d mustered them into a circular formation, though there was much left to be desired. Those who’d failed to earn Porcelain rank had no weapons at all, and yet, a worrying number of them were on the outside of the formation where they were most vulnerable. Vir wanted those with spears and shields to form the outer perimeter of the circle, but for now, he’d have to take what he could get.

Glancing at Balagra, Vir saw that the naga had attempted to do the same with his troops, but without Vir’s mobility, he struggled.

Vir was about to go help Balagra organize his troops when several figures appeared in the distance—their scouts. They were followed closely by another, much larger mass of black figures that could only mean one thing.

They’re not going to make it.

With this realization came another, more chilling one—Vir lacked the time to prepare Balagra’s troops and save the scouts. Doing one would condemn the other.

“Go!” Balagra shouted, sensing Vir’s dilemma. “Save them. If we lose them, we’re done for.”

Vir hesitated. In the few minutes they’d had before they were forced to sortie, Balagra and Vir had quickly scanned their troops and picked the ones who possessed tattoos well-suited for reconnaissance. Especially within the abandoned city, they’d be invaluable.

As such, they’d picked some of the best talent for the job—losing the scouts would be a hard blow.

As would having Balagra’s company decimated even before they’d arrived at the city.

It took only a split-second for Vir to comprehend all this, and he quickly made his decision.

Leaping to the scouts who were still a few hundred paces away, Vir readied himself to reave into the incoming Ash Beasts.

The talwar he wielded wasn’t bad, per se, but against the hide of most beasts of the Ashen Realm, most demons would struggle to do damage. Even beasts lacking much natural armor, like Shredders, would pose significant hurdles. While the blade would have done the job done when paired with demonic physical strength, it wouldn’t have been fast enough to take down so many.

Vir, however, was not most demons. A coating of Ash prana surged over the edge, wreathing it in a layer of lethality.

Vir reduced the power to prevent the black prana from turning visible, though even if it had, he doubted the terrified scouts would have noticed—running for their lives as they were.

Vir blurred past his scouts, leaving a wake of buffeting wind and ash behind. He flew into the throng of beasts… and he began to reave.

— —

Balagra had been dealt a stroke of fortune. He just didn’t know if it was good or bad yet, and whether to thank the gods or curse them.

Realistically, they had no chance. Balagra would wager gold that none of his troops had ever fought an Ash Beast before. Even if they had, there was no such thing as a guaranteed win against those monsters.

While Balagra had bested an Ash Wolf and a handful of other beasts in that blighted realm, he’d always had the good sense to avoid groups of them like the plague.

Anyone who saw what happened to even the mightiest Ash Beasts when beset upon a horde would. Balagra was hardly as mighty. As for his troops?

Well, at least Neel wouldn’t have to worry about his moral dilemma much longer. If Balagra was right, no one was getting out.

It wasn’t too bad, as far as death sentences went. Some were made to suffer for years before they were granted their sweet release.

At least it would be quick, which was far more than any traitor to their clan could expect.

And yet, Balagra found himself going through the motions, nevertheless. He barked orders to his troops in a vain attempt to force them into some semblance of a formation. He shouted words of encouragement and clapped their shoulders, hoping to instill some measure of confidence beyond what their failing Foundation Chakras could impart.

Balagra fully understood the hypocrisy of his actions.

Why even bother? Hadn’t he given Neel a long list of reasons explaining why surviving only lengthened their suffering? Better to kneel and let themselves be taken by the beasts. At least then, they’d deprive the Overseer of his sick pleasure. Maybe the kothi would be demoted for his failure.

Wouldn’t that be a sight to see?

Regardless of what his rebel acquaintance felt, sacrificing themselves was about the only thing they could do to make a difference.

Having fortified his troops as much as was possible, Balagra tapped into his Panav Bloodline tattoo—the art that marked him as different among his people. The brand had ostracized him ever since it’d been thrust upon him by his father in his coming-of-age ceremony.

The very tattoo that ruined his life might very well be what saved them now.

Searched the horizon for the gray demon who’d recklessly launched himself at the enemy, Balagra’s eyes came away empty.

I suppose I should assume command of his company, Balagra thought wearily. A pity. He seemed like a good kid, too. Naïve and reckless, like the rest of his clan, but good.

Balagra would mourn his passing, if given the chance.

The cloud finished forming. It was invisible, of course, being composed of prana. Which was why Balagra had no reason to doubt what his eyes showed.

His troops, who had been silently making peace with death, began to whisper.

“Impossible,” Balagra muttered under his breath.

The scouts had returned safely. Not only had they returned safely, but behind them was another form. Not Shredders or Ash Biters, but someone familiar.

He… killed them?

It was Neel, and he didn’t even look injured.

The idea was so ludicrous—so utterly implausible—that Balagra’s mind instinctively reject such an outcome. There must have been some explanation. Perhaps some hidden art that them away. Was he secretly of the Aindri? Had he communed with the beasts to pacified them?

Even as Balagra thought it, he knew it couldn’t be. More than a few Aindri had tested their taming skills on Ash Beasts. Most who tried had perished. To Balagra’s knowledge, none had ever succeeded.

Yet… If, by some miracle, Neel truly was strong enough to defeat so many beasts on his own…

Then maybe he isn’t as naïve as I’d thought.

Balagra shuddered. His heartbeat quickened. He clutched his spear tighter, and a feeling he’d not felt in a long, long time awakened.

It was that of excitement. For the future. That, perhaps, their fate may not be as bleak as he’d feared.

Almost before he’d completed the thought, a great avian beast slammed into the ground, kicking up plumes of Ash and rock.

A sickening crunch could be heard, followed by a gulp. The beast beat its great wings, clearing away the ash cloud and revealing half a demon. Only half.

“Shrikes! Get on the ground!” Balagra roared, hurling himself against the sooty dirt.

He almost made it. Just an instant earlier, and he’d have avoided its vicious beak.

As it was, his stomach lurched, the ground fell away, and Balagra managed a single wry laugh, filled with every ounce of spite, regret, anger, and desperation he could muster.

Then his body ripped with agony, and the world went dark.

— —

Vir watched in horror as the Shrike pluck Balagra off the ground and rose to the air.

He watched, but he didn’t freeze. That bad habit had been drilled out of him thousands of dead Ash Beasts ago.

Even before the Shrike took to the sky, Vir was crouching. An instant later, he launched, High Jumping on a trajectory that intercepted the avian creature.

Midair maneuvering was never easy, and while blasting prana out in various directions could somewhat alter his direction, its capacity was extremely limited.

Without hundreds of prior attempts to execute this exact maneuver within the Ash, Vir would surely have missed.

Vir did not miss.

An invisible blade of pure prana ripped forth as Vir sent a Talwar Launch flying. The unsuspecting Shrike never knew what hit it as its head was severed clean off.

Its body continued soaring, but its head, lacking wings to keep it aloft and weighed down with Balagra’s body, came tumbling down.

Right into Vir’s arms.

With his left hand, Vir gripped Balagra’s body securely, and with his right, he hurled the head away.

The naga was, thankfully, still in one piece, though that was all that could be said about his condition. The Shrike had shorn off Balagra’s left leg, forcing Vir to look away from the gruesome sight as they plummeted to the ground together.

Not out of squeamishness or disgust, but because Vir knew exactly what that meant for the demon.

Not even the Human Realm’s finest mejai could regrow limbs. Even if he survived, Balagra’s days as a warrior were over.

Vir’s eyes played over the field of slaughter, as more and more Shrikes swooped to the ground, each dive reaping yet another life.

Though Vir fired off Talwar Launches as they dropped, he hit none, accomplishing nothing other than delaying a few.

That situation changed the moment Vir’s boots found dirt. With Prana Current surging to its maximum, he Blinked forth, hoisting Balagra over his shoulder. While he worried for the crippled demon, if he went any slower, there would be no one left to save.

Vir’s form blurred as he decapitated, de-winged, and bisected Shrike after Shrike—any attempt at hiding his power long forgotten.

The ravenous Overseer’s eyes tracked his every movement. Vir’s collar allowed only a fraction of his normal prana usage. He shouldn’t have been able to do any of the things he’d done.

Which was why Vir was sure the kothi must’ve thought he’d just found the prize of the century.

The Overseer could think what he liked. Vir had known early on that protecting his people might require compromising his cover. He’d also decided that no cover was worth the lives of innocent Gargans. If he couldn’t overcome this crisis, then he had no chance of restoring his clan.

When the skies cleared, Shrike corpses lay strewn all over the ground. Too many demons had perished, though not as much as Vir had feared. Thanks, in large part, to Balagra’s Corruption Field persisting had even after Balagra been taken out.

It’d forced the Shrikes to hesitate. It was, perhaps, the only thing that had kept them alive long enough for Vir to reach them.

Which was all the more reason Vir couldn’t let the naga—his friend—die.

“Is there anyone with healing skills here? Anyone!” Vir roared. He placed Balagra gently upon the ground and whirled, eyes searching for any demon in sight who might’ve helped.

Malik was upon him in an instant, ripping off his shirt and wrapping it tightly against the base of Balagra’s leg. The blood raging out of the naga’s stump lessened substantially, though he’d lost so much blood already. Even with his demonic constitution, Vir was unsure how long he’d survive.

It was the Overseer who answered, a sickening grin plastered across his face.

“Congratulations, Neel. You are now the leader of not one, but two companies of demons. Rejoice, for this is the first field promotion we’ve ever given.”

“He’s still alive,” Vir said, turning to face the Overseer. “Surely you have a healer among you. Help him!”

“Watch your tone, prisoner,” the Overseer said, purposefully drawing out his words to anger Vir. “You may be a company leader, but do not forget the collar your wear. Yes, we have a healer. No, they will not help you.”

“Help him,” Vir demanded.

“The Naga’s dead. Not a big loss, if you ask me. Their ilk are always a—”

“One more word,” Vir said, barely keeping his prana and anger checked. The feat took every shred of determination he could muster. “One more word, and I swear to Adinat I will end you.”

Even if it risked his cover. Even if it risked punishment, Vir couldn't allow Balagra to die. He wouldn't. With such skill and experience, he'd be indispensable to the cause.

The Overseer snarled. “I take it back, prisoner. I was about to give you a promotion. I was about to give you the snake’s troops. I see now that I have made a mistake. What you need is not a reward, but rather punishment. Which I shall gladly award. After that demon is dead.”

The kothi turned to his guards. “Kill the naga! Remove us of this dead weight—”

The Overseer never finished his words. Rather, they devolved into garbled gibberish before suddenly ceasing.

For a moment, nothing happened. Those around the Overseer wondered why he had suddenly stopped talking.

Then, slowly, like a peeling banana, the corpse that only moments before had been the highest ranking Chitran present… Was split cleanly in two.