Firstborn of the Frontier

The sharp scent of Aether and blood hung heavy in the evening air as Errol unloaded his Whumper into the horde, feeling more alive and spirited than ever before.

A small voice in the back of his brain asked why, and for the life of him, he couldn’t say. An unending stream of greenies ran headlong towards their position, with beady red eyes opened wide and razor-sharp fangs bared in feral hunger. Their clawed hands held all manner of brutal, makeshift weapons as their muscled legs propelled them across the sands at a breakneck pace in utter disdain of the wall of Aetherarm fire hurtling their way. Penetrating Bolts pierced through spongey green flesh and black chitin underneath while electrifying streams of lightning Arced from one greenie to another to shock and debilitate. Mortar shells crashing down into the street less than a hundred metres away, and twice now, Tina used the Big Stick up top of Howie’s armoured wagon to clear the streets with a single reverberating blast of Force, but still the greenies kept coming.

Was downright terrifying to behold, a nightmare unfolding before him as he shot and reloaded and shot again in a desperate bid to keep the crazed and murderous green horde from reaching their lines, one made all the worse by the fact that he knew they were coming at them from behind him too.

There was no retreat and no surrender, for the enemy would not allow it, but Errol felt no fear or trepidation. With a fire in his chest and a hymn in his heart, he stood firm and carried out the Lord’s work while marvelling at how things had worked out. The people of Pleasant Dunes had not welcomed them with open arms, but they were His people all the same, so they deserved better than being left to die at the hands of Aberrations. That was the Rangers’ grand plan, to abandon the town and retreat into the mountains, but as they fell back, Errol saw that the townies weren’t coming along, choosing to seek shelter inside the scant few buildings or over in the towers at the corners of town, and he knew the Rangers were leaving them behind to die.

But not Wayne. The supposedly crooked Ranger chose to stand and fight, which might not have been the best decision tactically, but it was one Errol agreed with. Better to die in service to the Lord than to run and regret it for the rest of their lives, wondering what might have been if they’d only tried. For whosoever will save his life shall lose it: and whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it. Mathew 16:25. A verse which filled him with boundless fortitude as he stood beside his girl and gunned down every orc, goblin, and bugbear that appeared before him. In between shots, he took in glimpses of her beautiful profile, all grim and gorgeous like the Angel of Death, and though his heart ached to know they might die here today, there was no fear in his heart, for should they fall, they would soon be reunited again in the Kingdom of Heaven.

The Aberration horde pressed in close, and his Whumper unleashed hail after hail of kinetic spikes to throw them back, exulting in glorious purpose while seeing his allies shine in their own unique ways. Alfred who stood calm and stoic as could be with his giant Shield raised not to protect himself, but others beside him as his big 44 Special sparked and barked to illuminate him in a wispy white glow to match the Spectral blue of his Shield. Antoni who whooped and laughed with a wild look in his eyes while hurling makeshift Molotovs at the horde, ones he made himself after co-opting local supplies of moonshine in his spare time. Cold, calculating Michael who rarely spoke and let his actions speak for him as he gunned down orc after orc with his Strelky while standing two steps ahead of his squad with his bayonet fixed and ready so Abby would have to go through him first. Tina kneeling up top of the wagon and glowing with an Aetheric light as she slung Spells to bolster their spirits while watching and waiting for the right moment to unleash the Big Stick once again. Heroes one and all, and Errol was proud to stand alongside them while fighting the good fight.

A fight in which the Firstborn was notably absent. Curious that, seeing as Howie was the one who brought them all here in the first place and claimed he’d do everything in his power to keep them safe. Where was Howie now then? Even though Errol didn’t like the man much, he didn’t think the Firstborn was the sort to run from a fight. No, more likely he’d seen the writing on the wall and had fallen back to prepare another fighting position alongside the Captains or something, all of whom were also missing. A good thing, in Errol’s opinion, because if they were here and had fallen back as expected, then the people of Pleasant Dunes who stayed behind to defend their homes and their families would have been slaughtered to the last.

Where would these people have been without the Rangers and boots here to support them? There wouldn’t have been any beams of flashing Lances cutting through the Aberration ranks, no mortar shells delivering Bombard Spells from overhead, no Flaming Clouds or Entangling Growths to funnel Abby down the street towards the Ranger position. No, Captain Marcus’ plan might’ve been more tactically sound, but it overlooked the reason why they were here. To save lives first and foremost, and kill Aberrations second. That wasn’t Howie’s way, and it might not be the Ranger’s either, but by God it was Errol’s, and he would do what he could to protect as many lives as he could.

A blossom of heat and light erupted before them, and the boots cheered at the sight of the first Fireball unleashed and Errol’s voice joined in alongside them. Inwardly, he wondered how much time had passed since the battle began and how many Spells the Rangers had already expended. Even a practiced Magus couldn’t throw too many Fireballs a day, usually six or seven if they were starting from full strength, and Howie had gone on and on about the importance of Spell selection time and time again. Now wasn’t the time to hold back though, or at least, that’s how Errol felt, but he didn’t have any big and flashy Spells like Fireball, only support and medical Spells like Staunch Wound and Minor Regeneration, neither of which were of much use here.

Thankfully, there wasn’t much need for tactics or cover in this fight here. The storm of surging Aether had thrown the greenies into a berserk rage that saw them run headlong into danger without fear or hesitation, robbing them of what little wits they had to begin with and turning them from cunning, crafty foes to mindless beasts slavering at the jaws and eager to get in close. If they weren’t so crazed, they could have easily taken shelter behind the buildings, or gone around back and broken through to come at the Rangers from the sides. The single street was so short, the greenies could’ve hung back in the alleys and lobbed Bolts, Elemental Orbs, or even rocks and skulls at the defenders like they had over the last twenty-four hours and that’d be all she wrote for the Rangers and boots. All tactics he’d come to expect from orcs and goblins, but there was none of that here, just single-minded determination and reckless disregard for their injuries. Fearsome enough on its own, but it denied the greenies their most potent weapon, their cunning intellect, and left them ill-equipped to deal with the Aetherarms arrayed against them.

Didn’t slow them one bit though, because they weren’t to know it. Some greenies ran across the ichor-soaked sands on two feet with weapons raised over head. Others bounded forward on all fours like human-shaped beasts, robbed of all rationality by the warped magics driving them into this murderous rage. Still more climbed the walls and ran across the awnings to leap out at them from above without caring if they survived the fall. No matter how they came, Abby still died in droves, howling and gibbering right down to their last breath and coating the sands in green corpses and dark, sickly ichor that passed for their blood. Orcs and bugbears crushed goblins underfoot while stumbling over the bodies of their allies, only to succumb to Bolts and Blasts delivered by Aetherarms or burn from flames both magical and mundane, most notably the constant stream of sticky, smoky fire shooting from Sergeant Dixon’s outstretched palm. Flamethrower, a restricted Spell so fearsome it was illegal to use against people, and Errol saw why as Aberrations screamed and died by the dozens while burning to a crisp.

The people of Pleasant Dunes lent aid to the efforts too, shooting out of windows and down from rooftops with a wild sort of glee. While their guns weren’t the best or the fastest around, every last bit counted, and they weren’t without Spells of their own. Most favoured Elemental Orbs of the Acid variety, which flew unerringly towards any bugbears standing out from the crowd to cover them and any Abby around them in green, caustic fluids which melted away at the skin, armour, and bones. A select few would point down at clumps of Abby, and their targets would explode apart from within, a Spell-fueled detonation lacking any light, fire, or noise which Errol guessed was the Shatter Spell at work. They had their own Molotovs too, and were throwing anything they could get their hands on that might do some damage, showing the pluck and grit of people who survived in a place few cared to visit, much less live full time.

It was a valiant, no-holds-barred effort as everyone lent aid to the cause, but still the horde came on. There was no stopping Abby now, only slowing as they stumbled over bodies or struggled through Entangling Grasps, dying hundreds at a time just to inch closer and closer to the Rangers’ line. Seconds passed and turned to minutes as clouds of white, wispy smoke hung about, but they did little to obscure Errol’s sight as he gazed out upon a tide of green bodies packed in tight from here all the way to the fallen gates. Aberrations streamed in through holes in the wall torn apart by bared claws, sidled over the battlements and jumped six metres down onto the sands, shouldered and elbowed their way past one another in their eagerness to close in, and he knew they would keep coming until every last one of them was dead.

So he steeled his nerves and recited a prayer while firing his Whumper off into the crowd, the spray pattern set for twenty metres of range and ten metres of coverage at the furthest point. Ten metres was his sweet spot, the point at which he could shoot and hit not just the target he was aiming at, but any Abby around and behind it, so he waited patiently for his targets to step into range before unloading each Blast. Slow is smooth and smooth is fast, Errol was finally getting it, and his measured shooting meant he still had plenty of shells left when Antoni stopped shooting and shouted, “Empty!”

“Here,” Errol said, unslinging his shoulder bag and tossing it over. Was filled with clips he’d picked up in preparation for this fight, but he liked the Whumper much more so he stuck with it and fired off two shots to make up for his brief lapse of attention. Antoni was only the first though, and the Sergeants got to barking orders to get the boots forming ammo supply lines, ones that ran from Howie’s wagon and the hobbled horses amidst them and back to the shooters standing front and centre. The Aetherarm fire picked back up, but the horde drew closer and closer for the absence of a good tenth of their guns. The first time they got within ten metres, Errol’s hand went for his chain only for Tina to unleash the Big Stick with a clap of metal and thunder, clearing most of the street before them from the Sherrif’s office all the way to the saloon. Bought out a big cheer from Rangers and boots alive, as well as a few moments to breathe, but even though they redoubled their efforts, the horde was soon closing in once again.

At which point Tina fired off the Big Stick again, and again, it cleared the street, but like clockwork, more Abby arrived to fill their place. Didn’t matter how many big guns or powerful Spells they used, the horde wasn’t stopping until every last one of them was dead and gone. Was easy to fight when your blood was hot and your life on the line, but as the long minutes stretched on and there was no end in sight to the Aberration horde, Errol felt the mood shifting all around him. No longer did the Rangers cheer every time Tina unleashed the Big Stick, and the few boots that kept it up were feeble and half-hearted. The mortars had long since fallen silent, their shells spent and the weapons rendered useless, while the Lances and Arc rifles were running low too.

The Rangers were also running low of Spells, as Errol noted a marked decline in the number of Entangling Grasps and Flaming Clouds up at any one time. A necessity seeing how both Spells only lasted a minute at base and required Concentration to begin with, making it even more difficult to extend their durations through effort and familiarity. Broke his heart to see it happen though, as the throngs of greenies turned their attentions towards the buildings on either side of the street now that the way was clear. Didn’t matter how many the Rangers killed firing forward with Penetrating Aetherarms, they couldn’t keep the enraged Aberrations from tearing through the wooden walls of the saloon and sprinting inside for the kill.

Mercifully, Errol’s earplugs did more than merely muffle the sound of gunfire and explosions, sparing him from having to hear the screams of the dying, screams Sarah Jay no doubt heard as evidenced by her sharp gasp and sickly expression. All he could do was hope the women were all barricaded upstairs and able to hold out a little while longer, long enough for the Rangers to whittle down the Abby horde enough to advance to the end of the street.

A brilliant flash of white light and a wave of staggering heat. That’s all Errol caught before a wall of wind rocked him back on his heels and a sharp, deafening roar set his head to swimming and ears to ringing as the saloon erupted in a cloud of orange flame, black smoke, and miscellaneous debris. Rattled and spooked, he moved to cover Sarah Jay, only to stop in his tracks and gape as the smoke settled to reveal destruction unlike anything he’d ever seen before. The front of the saloon was gone, while the remaining walls clung for dear life, but only for a moment longer before collapsing in on its own weight. The acrid scent of burning wood and charred Abby filled the air, and a third, unfamiliar scent overpowered the foul stench of their black blood and the sharp tang of spent Aether. Wasn’t an entirely unpleasant smell, almost sweet, but also pungent and stinging at the same time, and he couldn’t for the life of him understand what Spell had blown apart the saloon like that.

An errant mortar shell? No, there hadn’t been any whistling beforehand, and the building exploded from within. Fireball was notorious for being ineffective against objects, as pure heat and a moment of flame wasn’t always enough to melt stone or even incinerate wood entirely. Would’ve taken the mother of all Shatter Spells to blow up an entire building, but that wouldn’t explain the smoke and flames.

“Fucking hell,” Sergeant Dixon exclaimed, his gruff tone cutting right through the ringing. “These idiots are using dynamite!”

The declaration sent a chill down Errol’s spine as his mind worked through the implications, a lesson Father Nicolas had instilled in all the children well. The use of chemical explosives was banned worldwide for many reasons, but the most alarming one was how easily they were set off using any Spell with the Ignite property. Oil, black powder, chemical, or even plastic, it didn’t matter what sort of explosive it was, if it exploded, then errant magic could set it off. There was no telling when it might happen, as the Spellcaster didn’t even need to be close; the lingering effects of a Spell cast last week could set off an explosive passing through the area today. The Napoleonic blunder, the Nobel catastrophe, the disaster on the Potomac, the Australian Sacrifice, all catastrophes of literally explosive proportions, and a warning to all not to dabble in man-made explosives. Useful though they might be, there was no safe way to produce, store, and transport them, not when any errant spark of Aether could set off a chain reaction dooming everyone in the area.

There were worse outcomes for the Frontier, but that right there was bad enough for everyone present, and Errol prayed that was the last of their explosives.

The fact that the dynamite hadn’t gone off in all the fighting did little to allay his concerns, because everyone knew man-made explosives were dangerous and unpredictable at best. How many other buildings in the area were rigged to detonate? How many people had been in the saloon when it exploded? Errol wasn’t sure, but he knew the other buildings had plenty of townsfolk taking shelter within. All the more reason not to give the people inside a reason to set them off, so Errol redoubled his efforts as the Aberrations came at them fast and hard as usual. The explosion had barely fazed them, but the same couldn’t be said of the Rangers and boots, whose job was made all the harder by the thick clouds of black smoke thrown up by the explosion and subsequent fires.

Gargantuan greenies came lumbering out of the blackened clouds from only three building lengths away, and Errol jumped to see it, unloading his Whumper into the beast and putting it down hard. No more time for slow and smooth, because Abby was coming out of the smoke in perfect range of his Blastgun, leaving the boots and Rangers precious little time to put them down hard. No more rifles picking them off from range, no more Fire Clouds to corral them in close, no the only Spells going out were Entangling Growths to buy their guns more time to shoot, reload, and shoot some more to keep the Abby horde at bay. The Big Stick sounded off once again to the clear the street of Abby and smoke, but both came billowing back towards them in the blink of an eye. It happened a second time soon after, giving him time to reload his Whumper, only for Tina to fire again before he clicked empty. Not because she was being trigger happy; the opposite in fact, as her discipline made Sergeant Dixon look antsy. No, she was shooting so often because she had no choice but to, as the alternative was to watch as Abby tore into her friends and turned this whole mess into an all-out brawl. Toe-to-toe wasn’t where you wanted to be in a fight against orcs, much less bugbears by the dozens, a thought which spurred Errol to great urgency as he widened the spread on his Whumper and set to clearing the street in between shots from the Big Stick.

A lunging orc barrelled out of the smoke from the right, a solid wall of black cloud trapped underneath the awnings. Whipping his Whumper around, Errol filled it full of holes just as it threw itself at their line, but there was no time to even breathe before a second arrived hot on the heels of the first. Pulling the trigger again, Errol’s heart skipped a beat when he felt the gun click empty, leaving him well and truly in the lurch. Snarling with a mouthful of fangs and tusks, the flat-nosed, thick-browed orc lunged at him with a clawed arm blackened by flames, and Errol’s chain came up with a vehement, “Wha-Pah!” An instinctive reaction, his heavy spiked head shot out like a snake and clubbed the beast square in the face, and the meaty thump was accompanied by a satisfying crack of bone. That wasn’t enough to drop the orc, only send it staggering back long enough for Sarah Jay to put two Bolts through its chest.

Flashing her a smile of thanks, Errol used the Cantrip once more to loop his chain away while stepping back to reload. Explosions continued to sound out off in the distance, but that wasn’t his concern anymore, not when Abby was so close to their lines. Bugbears were his greatest concern, but orcs and goblins weren’t something to sneeze at, and his spirits sank as he watched a crowd of diminutive greenies sprint out of the smoke and reach the Ranger’s lines. Cries sounded out, garbled greenie grunts and all too human shrieks of pain and alarm as the boots fought tooth and nail to fend them off. Not all of them were like Alfred or Kacey who shone in close combat, and most fared far worse in the second or two it took for the Rangers to come save them. Blink and you’d miss it, but the limping, bleeding boots being carried away were proof positive that when it came to hand-to-hand combat, Abby would always hold the upper hand.

Part of him wanted to fall back and go help tend to the wounded, but another part of him yearned to stay and fight the good fight. A prayer, that’s all he could spare for his injured comrades, because his job was to stand and fight, to hold back the green tides and deliver unto them the Lord’s Justice. “Though I walk through the valley in the shadow of death,” Errol bellowed, feeling the stirrings of Aether within him as he shot a bugbear point blank while quoting Psalm 23:4, “I will fear no evil, for you are with me.”

His words echoed out across the sands imbued with faith and magic, but there was no Spell Structure within his mind empowering his actions. This was more than mere magic, something Howie couldn’t distill down into numbers and mathematics, for this was no Spell or learned ability. As the power surged through him, Errol knew it to be Divine Intervention, the Lord’s hand guiding him in his effort to stand against the berserk Aberrations. There was no other explanation for it, because as the wave of Aetheric power washed over the charging green tide emerging from the smoke, the vanguard lurched and faltered in their advance as they were cut off from the magics fuelling them with rage and strength and left weak and enervated for its absence.

The transformation was instant and startling to behold. One moment, their Aberrant features were twisted in rage, hatred, and glee as they barrelled towards the Rangers’ lines with reckless abandon. Then the wave of Divine Power struck them and their expressions turned to ones of shock, dismay, and even outright panic as they quailed before the might of the Lord Above, a power brought to bear through Errol. Awestruck by His glory and holiness, he watched the Aberration battlelines fall into disarray as those closest to him slowed or outright stopped in their tracks and were pushed forward by their still berserk allies behind them. “You are my battle-ax and sword, says the Lord. With you I will shatter nations and destroy many kingdoms,” Errol quoted, this time under his breath, humbled before the Lord and honoured to have been chosen as His instrument in the war against Aberrations, for he recognized what he’d just done and knew his path was set.

Lay on Hands. Divine Smite. Channel Divinity. These were but a few of the Holy abilities available to the Warriors of God. It didn’t matter if they were Templars, Teutonic Knights, Order of Santiago, or some other denomination of Christian militants, so long as they were soldiers of the faith, their faith was rewarded with the strength needed to defeat their otherworldly foes. Sure, many were Spell casters much like the Rangers, but they also possessed these abilities which defied the established classifications of Spells. This was because they required no Spell Structures to function, only Faith, the same as their Rituals to create Holy Water or ward an area to dissuade Aberration attacks. Proof of the Lord’s favour, or so Father Nicolas had said, a reward for His soldiers that Arcanists and mathematicians alike tried and failed to replicate because they lacked Faith.

And now, Errol himself had been bestowed with His favour and chosen as the Lord’s sword and battle-ax, a role he devoted himself to wholeheartedly as he reviewed what he knew of his new ability. It was a familiar one, something Father Nicolas had used several times to keep them safe from errant Feral attack with only his crucifix in hand. Turn Aberration, an ability that censured Aberrations of any shape, size, and variation within range, forcing them to flee or face the Lord’s Wrath. It wasn’t fear or any other emotion driving them away, but the Lord’s might and majesty rejecting them from His creation, for though this world was a new Frontier, it was still most certainly a world of His making.

Errol’s only regret was his lacking ability, because he’d seen Father Nicolas use Turn Aberration to reduce a pack of wolf-life Ferals to blackened goo, unravelling their unholy existence through the sheer power of Faith. Modern science called it Radiant Energy, one that ran counter to the Corrosive forces that held Aberrations together and rendered their physical forms to plant matter and Aberrtin, but he wasn’t strong enough to do that. The other issue was his inability to hold the effect, because once those within range had turned to flee or were crushed underfoot, the next wave of Aberrations came out of the smoke undeterred. To make matters worse, the use had left Errol drained and emptied, but not tired or wearied, for he had seen the Lord’s hand at work, and others had seen it too. What’s more, he still had other abilities to use, ones he sensed lingering within just waiting to be taken up in hand. It was different from a Spell Structure embedded in memory, lacking the imagery of moving lights painting a picture in his mind’s eye. It was more abstract, yet also more familiar at the same time, a natural extension of his body and mind that felt like it’d always been there within, and he glanced at Sarah Jay beside him who was looking on with wide eyed awe.

Despite her milky white skin, her smokey eyes and auburn hair made her a dark and stormy beauty, one who looked gorgeous even while tired and afraid. She’d figured out what was happening here in Pleasant Dunes, knew what was coming the moment that wave of nauseating magic had hit them, and her first instinct was to protect him. It showed how much she loved him, and he loved her too, loved her with all his heart. Reaching out to stroke her cheek, one chilled by the night’s air and her internal fear, he grinned and activated the second ability he’d only just become aware of, one that only needed a touch. Warmth flooded out of his chest and out his fingers to warm Sarah Jay’s cheek and whisk away the fatigue of the last days’ worth of fighting without diminishing in the least. No, it grew stronger, stoked by the love in her eyes and the beauty of her half-smile as they shared a quiet moment on the battlefield, one in which she tried not to pout because she was thinking about how he could’ve used his Lay on Hands ability on someone more important.

There wasn’t anyone more important than her, not in his eyes, and he doubt it would have done as much for one of the Rangers. It was a matter of quality. Errol had only just been bestowed these abilities, or perhaps they’d always been there lying dormant within him waiting to be awakened. Either way, he lacked practice and familiarity which meant they weren’t as effective as they could be, nor could he use them all that often. One and done seemed to be the theme of his new prowess, but he had faith enough to see him through this day.

Another explosion sounded as he took up arms again, a smaller one, but closer too, and he glanced up just in time to catch sight of a shiny, metallic tube spinning end over end as it hurtled into the thick clouds of smoke, one thrown from up high atop the roof. Following its arc back, he saw the Vanguard National thugs cheering and whooping from their safe perch while readying another tube to light and throw, a reckless and irresponsible bunch who weren’t concerned with what might happen should one be set off. The tubes were likely lead, one of the best, common metals around to block Aetheric flow, but they weren’t foolproof since there had to be room for a wick to light and ignite.

Narrowing his eyes to remember their faces so he could report their crimes after the fact, Errol stopped looking up at the roof and turned his attention back to the problem before him. Even with explosives helping to even the odds, there was a long, hard fight in front of them, so he settled in for the long haul and readied to go down swinging if he had to.

And he would, because that was his purpose, his cause, one bestowed upon him by the Lord above, and one he would devote his life to. The tenets came to him even as he fought, the core beliefs he would adhere by to keep from becoming jaded or overstepping his bounds like others before him. Courage to act even if caution is advised, because to do otherwise is cowardice, tempered by wisdom so that he would not be taken advantage of. Compassion so that he might lend aid to strangers, protect the weak, and punish the wicked, tempered by mercy, for who was he to deny others a chance for redemption? Above all else, he would hold fast to honour by treating others as he would want to be treated and let his actions speak for themselves, even to those who would not listen.

Yes, these were the principles of a good man, the foundation upon which Errol Dillard would define himself. He was a Holy Warrior blessed by the Lord in Heaven, and he would uphold His will here upon the Frontier.

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The churning anxiety in my belly refuses to settle down, and there is no smile on my lips as I gun down Abby.

Not today, not with Marcus laid out on the cavern floor below while I stand here utterly helpless to save him. The Stinking Clouds down bottom will last for a full ten-minutes and keep Abby from swarming Captain Jung and Sergeant Begaye, but there are still plenty of Abby streaming out from the tunnel on the other side, the one the downed Proggie crawled out of. While our strike team dukes it out and strives to finish the meaty mouth-sac off, Tim covers them from on high with pinpoint accuracy, thinning out the Abby numbers and letting the close combat specialists do their thing. Again, I wish I could record all this, because that down there is a masterclass in dancing with Abby, but I got enough trouble up here to keep me from paying too much attention. They picked our spot well, and while me and Tim were scouting out the rest of the cavern, the others were busy fortifying this position, leaving only one way up to get at us. A path I’m responsible for guarding, and as I alternate between the Strelky and my Whumper to pick off climbing orcs and marching bugbears alike, I can’t help but wish I could do more to help.

If only I had prepped Lance and thrown one at the Proggie alongside them, then it might well have been enough to take it out. Prepped Spiritual Weapon to satisfy my own curiosity instead, as well as my Big Spell because I was feeling nervous about the horde of Abby topside. Thought we’d given up on delving down under dark, and might well have switched my whole loadout back to something more suited for rabbiting out of town if I didn’t harbour some suspicions as to why they were keeping me out of the fight. Can’t use my Big Spell either, because there are too many pockets of gas under dark, dangerous ones that you don’t want getting near any sparks. Ain’t seen any signs of them, but that’s what’s so insidious about the mundane dangers of delving. Firedamp, Whitedamp, Blackdamp, and Stinkdamp, those are the big four gases to watch for while delving under dark, and all four are colourless. Those first two are also odourless and explosive, so much so that even a non-Igniting Spell like Firebolt could set off a chain reaction and see us all buried under countless tonnes of rock.

Would solve our Proggie problem it would, but I ain’t about to die for Ronald Jackson’s benefit.

Marcus might though. A thought that takes hold of my chest and squeezes down tight, and I retaliate by shooting as many Abby as I can. Doesn’t help though, not when I got a moment to spare and glance down at the cavern to see him still lying there, a big man larger than life all crumpled on the ground like he is. Had no business being here, as he ain’t a delver. Not for a lack of courage, only an abundance of size, as there ain’t much room for giants in most Abby tunnels, not unless the Proggie got a thing for spitting out Behemoths. Man’s a Ranger through and through, but ain’t no squeezing him down any tunnels, not as he is. He’s only here because he’s looking out for me, no two ways about it.

Should’ve been me down there. Ready or not, it was the right choice, because I’m the Scout of this here operation, while Marcus is the muscle, both physical and magical. I can cast Levitate too, except no one told me to prep it. Sure, I can’t hold the Spell for longer than base, but Marcus could’ve taken over once it was dead and hauled. My daddy would’ve been the one down there if he were here in my place, because he was always first in and last out. Could’ve held the Spell for a good hour at least too, as he used to throw it on me, Chrissy, and Tina and smile as we floated about the treetops with strings tied to our ankles. He would’ve known the Proggie was playing dead, saw right through its tricks with his detection Spell and avoided the hit, then killed it good and well before getting gone right quick. Yes sir, the five would be well on their way out of here now, slipping out in the chaos while Tim’s illusions sent these leaderless Abby spiralling into chaos as they sort out their new pecking order and decide who gets to eat the Progenitor’s flesh.

None of that came to pass though, because I’m a damn sorry excuse for a Scout, standing up here on this ledge and completely powerless to help out. Shoot and reload, reload and shoot, that’s all I do as Captain Jung and Sergeant Begaye fight for their lives down in the base of the cavern. Don’t know much about how my daddy fought down under dark, but I know he didn’t have no sword or axe. Could dance with the best of them though, and I’m sure he could’ve shown Captain Jung and Sergeant Begaye a thing or two.

God I miss him. I can’t lose Marcus too. I can’t. Things ain’t been the same with Uncle Teddy since my daddy passed, and while we’ve all had more time to heal from Uncle Raleigh’s passing, his absence is still sorely felt back home in New Hope. Ain’t no impromptu duets from him and Aunty Ray, with him strumming on his guitar while she sings like a songbird for everyone to hear. Only ever had eyes for each other though, and I seen how Aunty Ray gets every fall when the anniversary of his death draws near. Can’t let Simone go through the same thing. She already lost Darren, so how am I supposed to look her in the eyes and tell her she’s lost Marcus too?

The worst part of all this? There ain’t a god damned thing I could do, even if I jumped down there to help out. Captain Jung’s Elemental Aura is a Concentration Spell, one that’ll damage any target around her slowly over time, and while she’s already excluded Sergeant Begaye from the Spell’s effect, she’d have to cancel it entirely if I showed up late to the party. The Sergeant’s Spiritual Guardian Spell is more discerning, but also much shorter in range, meaning he’s gotta stick right close to the Proggie and avoid all those writhing tentacles that could easily squash him flat. Only now do I work it all out and realize that their Spells were chosen for crowd control, to take out the stragglers still hanging around. They were counting on Marcus to take out the Proggie if it wasn’t already dead, because his Acidic Dragon’s Breath would’ve been perfect for slowly eating away at the Proggie’s flesh while staying a good distance away.

So what can they do? No fire, explosions, or sparks, which really limits their options. Fireball is a no go, same with Minute Meteor, Lightning Beam, Arc, Call Lightning, and so many other big Spells. Banishing Wave, like what I got in the Big Stick might work, but given the dispersed nature of the Spell, I can only imagine it’d smack the Proggie around a bit. Captain Jung’s sustained Burst Bolt is no good, because even though the Proggie ain’t armoured, its flesh is so thick with Aberrtin that four Maximized Lances failed to kill it, so what good will 192 Bolts do? Not much I’m guessing, like tossing pebbles at a Reinforced glass window. Might make a sound and even leave a mark, but won’t do nothing worth fixing.

Because Reinforced glass is made strong by adding Aberrtin, a substance so abundant in Proggie flesh that even the soft bits are harder than Darksteel, since they the ones what produce it. That’s why they’re so heavy and gotta drag themselves along, because nothing short of an army of bugbears can carry them around. The Levitation Spell is the best way to move them around, and even then, I hear their bodies don’t float all that high off the ground. To make matters worse, them Proggies don’t got any vital organs to aim for and kill it one go. Humans, animals, and Abby alike all can’t survive without their heads or hearts, but a Proggie’s whole body is its brain and heart. No idea how it works, but I’ve heard it said they can survive even in the vacuum of space, which might well be how they got here in the first place. Floating on through the endless sea of stars until they reach somewhere with biomass enough to wake them out of hibernation. Only then do they land planet-side and start feasting, eating to produce more Abby and also fuel the process of turning Immaterial Aether into crystallized Aether and raise the ambient Concentration levels to their liking.

Or maybe they lurk in the Immaterium to begin with, and were sent here by higher dimensional beings to prep worlds for their descent. I’ve heard all sorts of wild theories about Proggies. Some say they’re a plague from God, while others claim Proggies are creatures that seek organic perfection and must be guided towards that goal by feeding them ‘worthy’ sacrifices. Whatever they are, Proggies are damned hard to kill, and I’ve no idea how –

A warbling gurgle echoes out through the cavern, sending the berserk greenies into a tailspin. A dark and heavy presence lashes out and pierces through my head, similar to the lancing pain of the Mind Spike Spell only about a hundred times worse. Stumbling back into Tim, he stands firm and uses one hand to keep me standing while calmly shooting his Strelky with the other, unaffected by the psychic scream and utterly indifferent to the odds stacked against us. “You good?” he asks, and from his tone, I can tell ain’t no answer but yes will do, so I reply in the positive and find my feet while he continues, “Aces. They’re coming up with Marcus and the Proggie, so be ready to rabbit.”

What? “The Proggie’s chasing them up? How? It sprout legs or something?”

“It’s dead Howie.” Calm and collected as always, Tim stops to reload and chats like we a pair of gossiping gals at market. “Old Flemming carved it up good with his tomahawk and is bringing it back. Ava’s got Marcus on a Floating Disc, but no need to worry about her keeping up. She can snowboard better than I can, and I taught your daddy.”

…There are too many things to process, so many I can’t help but turn and stare, which earns me a glower out the corner of his eye. Suitably chastened, I turn back and pick out the path we’re gonna take while wondering who in the hell names their Native American son ‘Fleming’. Or what sort of expression Ava would have while snowboarding down a mountain. A smile I would presume, but I can’t picture it. “How’s Marcus?” I ask, dreading the answer even as I do, but better to know now than to find out when I lay eyes on him later and it’s time to focus for real.

“Don’t know,” comes the reply, which is better than I expected. “I’m up here same as you Howie, doing my job.” The implied, ‘so do yours’ follows silently after, and I marvel at his strength of mind. Everyone in town is always worried he’s gonna crack and go on a killing spree, but that’s because they don’t know the man. He might be a little mixed up in the head, but he don’t have any give, and he ain’t one to ever crack.

Thought we Frontier born were a tough bunch, but God must’ve broken the mould when he made Tim ‘Revenant’ Hayes.

“Clear.”

“Clear.”

Two confirmations sound out behind me, first Ava, and then Flemming, both of whom I will never call by their first names out loud for fear of what they might do. Tucking that tidbit into memory so I never forget it, I resist the urge to turn and check on Marcus for fear of what I might see. “Moving out,” I say, and I set off with Tim hot on my heels, taking the place of Sergeant Begaye as my shadow and protector because the Sergeant is busy doing something else.

Like keeping the Proggie afloat, or Marcus alive.

“Can’t make us invisible,” Tim says. “Can keep us concealed a bit, but it’s easier to draw attention away as we move. Speed is key, so go loud and kill anything in our way, no hesitation. Got it?”

“Sir yes Sir,” I say, feeling a pang of heartache as I picture Marcus’ good-natured scowl he always throws out in response to my cheek. Can’t focus on that though, not here and now, so I focus on the job and bring us out and away while studying the surroundings and maintaining my Detect Aberration Spell. The fact that the Proggie set its army of Abby off into a Berserk Rage works in our favour for now, because it means the gobbos, orcs, and bugbears we come across are all tired, drained, and cranky. Magical Rage will do that to you, as it draws on your reserves to fuel that rage, and the strength given to you by it. They’re still Abby of course, so even a weakened Abby ain’t something to sneeze at, but as I lead our delving party through the cavern, there ain’t much cause to be concerned. I use the dubsies and my Model 10 a few times to good effect clearing out tired groups of orcs and bugbears, mostly ones who just got done slaughtering another group of orcs and bugbears. Their berserk rage don’t leave them much choice when they ain’t got no obvious targets to hit, and they get awful snacky and tired in the aftermath. Even get a chance to stick one with my bayonet, though I shoot it a few times for good measure before getting in close, and lose a second or two struggling to pull it back out.

And as we move, Tim does all the heavy lifting, setting off his Shatter charges and throwing up illusions of us running into this tunnel or that, while a cacophony of guttural grunts echo throughout the cavern in a poor mimicry of greenie grunts, at which point the other shoe finally drops and I cotton on to what he needed all that beeswax for. Arcane Speaker, a Second Order Illusion Spell that’ll broadcast a recorded message, one Tim whispered into the hex and had it come out a thousand times louder to confuse anyone and anything listening.

The combination of stealth and misdirection keeps us good and safe as we trundle along the cavern side back to our exit with less than a dozen minor scuffles over the course of two hours and change. Move a fair bit faster since we don’t gotta be quiet, even breaking out into a run when I feel the way ahead is safe. Pick up a fair few tails along the way, opportunists who catch a whiff of the Proggie corpse and got a hungering for its flesh, but Captain Jung sorts them out right quick with Sustained Burst Bolts and submachine gun fire, leaving us free to continue onwards without slowing down. By the time we reach the tunnel we came in from, my shirt is soaked in cold sweat. More from nerves than exhaustion, though I wouldn’t say no to a nice cozy cot, or squeezing into my wagon for a good long sleep. Wouldn’t feel right letting Noora squeeze in with me, and can’t rightly kick her out either. Girl is gorgeous and eager, but while some might call her willing to boot, I’m thinking she’s wanting me for all the wrong reasons, and I ain’t about to take advantage of her like that.

Setting off the Shatter Charges to seal off our entry point, we trundle on back to the shaft before I can’t take it anymore and turn to look at Marcus. Meets my eyes right away, which comes as a great relief, and he’s got his big soft, smile stretched across his face as he lays back on the Floating Disc, like he’s settled in for an afternoon nap. Ain’t no overlooking bloodstains on his sunken chest, all sunk and indented where it ought to be bulging with muscle, and the sound that slips out of my throat is more animal than human.

“Hey now,” he whispers, comforting me even though he’s the one struggling to draw breath. “Don’t be like that. Didn’t shed tears for your daddy, so how can you shed tears for me?”

“Cried like a baby,” I bawl, kneeling down beside him to take his hand as my tears fill up my goggles and leak out the sides. His meaty mitt is so big it dwarfs both of mine, and he can barely hold it up at all, but I cling tight enough for the both of us. “Spent two weeks doing nothin’ but. Only pulled myself together b-because I was runnin’ out of food and had to get gone.”

“Smart,” he says, breathing out the word and still smiling for it. “Had the presence of mind to check. Not many kids would have, but you always were smart.” Opening my mouth to speak, Marcus gives me a look warning me to keep quiet, and I do because he’s got something to share, something he’s worried he won’t have time enough to say. “So don’t go doing anything stupid now,” he continues, holding my gaze with his steely stare despite struggling to draw breath. “Like blaming yourself for what happened here. Was my fault for rushing things. Slow is smooth, and smooth is fast, but I rushed in.”

Pain and regret flash behind his eyes, but he rallies right quick and comes back with a smile. A forced one, but a smile all the same, and it breaks my heart to see him struggle to be strong for me. “You did great on your first delve Howie,” he says, squeezing my hand for all he’s worth, and I squeeze back to let him know I’m here. “I’m proud of you. Know that. But I’m also scared for you.” Lifting his head with all the strength of a day-old wally, he pulls me close and looks me in the eyes. “Don’t let your anger consume you,” he gasps. “Don’t be like me. Let it go Howie. Revenge won’t change a damn thing. Take it from someone who knows.”

Lord help me, I can’t find the words in me to say yes, but Marcus has said his piece and knows how stubborn I can be. The strength fades from his body as he slumps back and relaxes, heaving a long and heavy sigh before drawing one more breath. “Tell Simone I love her,” he adds, but she knows, and he knows she knows, but he just wants her to hear it one last time from someone she knows, so I nod along as he continues in little more than a whisper. “Tell her I’m sorry, but that I’ll be with Darren, so there’s no need to worry. We’ll be good and patient, wait for as long as needed until we’re all together again on the other side.”

There’s so much I want to say, so much to ask, but ain’t no words coming out of my mouth. Ain’t no one to listen either, no one worth talking to, because my words are for Marcus, and as he rattles off his last, wheezing breath, I know he’s good and gone now. Taking a second for myself, I take a deep breath, and exhale while squeezing all my tears and emotions back down inside. Laying Marcus’ hand across his chest, I make sure his fingers sit over his star. A good man died here today, a Ranger Captain, and a man who I loved like a sometimes father, and who loved me like a sometimes son, but there ain’t no time to grieve just yet.

There’s still work to be done. The Abby army up top wouldn’t have just wandered away once its Proggie died. Would’ve been weakened sure, but it looked like there were more greenies than bullets in the Ranger armoury, which means it’ll be a hard, tough fight. If Pleasant Dunes is still standing by the time we topside, and Tina still in one piece, then great. All that’s left then is to handle Ronald Jackson and put this godforsaken town in my six, because even though we’ve won a great victory here, I would burn the whole town to the ground and slaughter everyone in it if that’d bring Marcus back from the dead. There ain’t no coming back though, so I stand and salute the corpse of a man I’ve known since the day I was born, and know that if it wasn’t for me, he’d still be alive.

A heavy burden that, but one I’ll have to bear, because the alternative is to quit, and there ain’t no quit in me.