Spires

Galen’s hand shook.

It was all he could do to dodge the flying scissors by turning into cold mist in short bursts.

The Skill was draining his stamina into the danger zone judging by the headache. Like the kind he sometimes got from ice cream before he had upgraded his warrior class.

Even with his best efforts, the Tsingtao Wanderer still had to save him by a fortuitous shove or kick in the backside every fourth or fifth step.

“Throw me at her!” he hissed.

The wanderer had him under one arm like a sack of rice as they slipped, tripped and spun their way through a storm of scissors.

“Stamina drain.” The wanderer had time to nod sagely while he slapped a giant pair of scissors off target with his only slightly bleeding stump of a left arm. “It stirs your thoughts like a wooden spoon does to the dirt at the bottom of one’s mug.”

“You are so fun to watch! I should’ve gone after one of you drunken cultivators sooner!” the mahou shoujo giggled and clapped, skipping through the sky from one rooftop to another.

The drunken wanderer belched a cloud of visible fumes.

Scissors flew through it and promptly wobbled out of the sky like… well… like drunk birds.

“Oh!” the mahou shoujo grinned. “Good job!” She flashed a thumb’s up.

“Is your helmet sealed?”

“Yeah, why—”

Galen’s stomach lurched as the wanderer used snipping scissors the size of a small car as a springboard to propel them both high above the mahou shoujo.

“May the great Buddha forgive this one for his reckless regard for the health and safety of a young friend.” The wanderer belched. This time the fumes shot out in a tight stream before billowing into a large, thick cloud in front of the mahou shoujo. He tossed Galen in front of him. “Heavenly Buddha Belly Bump.”

Galen flew as though shot out of a cannon.

The impact and acceleration were only survivable because of his Threnium armor.

Time seemed to slow.

The mahou shoujo’s eyes widened.

Scissors zipped down in his path to protect their mistress.

After all, there was no party without the hostess.

Cold Mist Step.

Pain stabbed his brain, but he managed to hold his concentration.

Snipping blades cut nothing but mist.

He thrust his sword out as he re-materialized.

A pair of sword-length scissors hovered in front of the mahou shoujo poised to block or parry and riposte.

They snapped shut like a crocodile’s jaws and found mist.

A slight shift of the wrist.

Mist returned to steel.

The cracked blade reached for her eyes.

She jerked her head back at the last moment in a display of superhuman reflexes.

The tip nicked her forehead.

He hit the rooftop, skidding on his front as she flipped over him and aimed her scissors at his vulnerable back.

Threnium wouldn’t save him from the ghostly versions.

He waited for the snip that signaled his end, but heard a booming thump instead.

Galen tried to rise and fell.

It took everything he had to simply roll over.

Stars danced in his vision even as the darkness closed around the edges.

All he could do was lay there and watch the battle in the sky.

The mahou shoujo leapt and rode her scissors like deadly sharp skateboards.

Just like the Tsingtao Wanderer.

“Cheater!” She stuck her tongue out and pulled her bottom eyelid down for some reason.

The nick he had given her shed red in a thin, but constant stream.

Forehead cuts bled like no other outside of a severed artery.

Unfortunately, the blood ran down the side of her brow and not into her eye.

The wanderer stumbled across the flying scissors.

Fist and feet flew in a blur.

The mahou shoujo squealed as her scissors only managed to block and deflect some of the thudding strikes.

“No touching! Dirty old man! Fat drunk!” She swept both arms forward. “Scissors Forcefield!”

They responded to her call, flying like a swarm of bees around her until she was barely visible within a sphere of scissors of all sizes.

The Tsingtao Wanderer leapt straight up.

“Belly Thunders From The Heavens.”

Galen flinched at the sound even with his helmet automatically dulling it.

The flash of light blinded him for a moment.

Armored gut crashed into the swirling blades, scattering them and exposing the mahou shoujo.

The wanderer belched in her face.

She grimaced.

He ignited the alcohol cloud by turning up his body heat with Qi manipulation.

The mahou shoujo screamed.

She leapt away, her uniform on fire as her scissors swarmed the wanderer to protect their mistress.

Milky skin was singed and burned ugly red in places.

The ribbons in her twin pony tails were ash, releasing her midnight black hair, which was frayed and smoking, significantly shorter than it had been.

She patted the flames, smothering them quickly.

“Uguu… no fun anymore.” She pouted. She sucked in a deep breath. “Servants! Help! Come To Your Master!”

Reality shifted.

What was a one on one fight turned into a one on many in an instant.

The Tsingtao Wanderer landed on the edge of the rooftop not too far from Galen. He slipped, windmilling his arms, sending blood spraying out to blind a shadow leaping ninja.

“Finger Poke of Death.”

The wanderer shoved a fat finger in the ninja’s eye.

The black-clad woman dropped like a puppet with cut strings.

High level Skills were bullshit.

The wanderer took a step and tripped over her corpse.

Throwing stars, spikes and darts whistled over his armored back.

The wanderer popped right back up and swept the next barrage of gleaming projectiles with his voluminous sleeve.

Another finger poke, this time to a throat, laid another black-clad lump on the roof.

“Stop letting him kill you!” The mahou shoujo stomped her feet. “It’s supposed to be the opposite way, stupids!” Her eyes narrowed as they fell on Galen. “Go after that one, dummies! Dirty old fat man drunk won’t be able to fight if he has to protect him.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s, like, how you hunt bears. Go after the baby first so the mommy can’t run away or fight properly… or something like that. I’m not a bear hunter.”

Galen could only watch as leaping shadows carried his death.

He summoned the energy to push himself up to a sitting position.

Stars, spikes and darts.

They seemed unending.

Bags of holding?

Skills?

Probably both.

He had no illusions that the wonder armor would stop all of them.

The ninjas had his measure.

They’d use armor-piercing Skills or ghost weapons or even more esoteric attacks until the Threnium finally gave.

He held his head high and forced himself to look.

From the first moment that he had stared death in the face down in those caves and to a handful of other times over the last few years, he knew that his tomorrow wasn’t promised.

One day the end would come.

Tonight was it.

The Tsingtao Wanderer had other ideas.

The big drunk appeared in blur.

A stout bulwark against Galen’s swift flying death.

“No fair!” the mahou shoujo stomped her feet. “Fat people shouldn’t have flash step like us fit people.”

The Wanderer fell to one knee.

“Go! Use shadow slash!” the mahou shoujo crowed with glee. “Use poison darts! Use tackle!”

The ninjas obeyed.

Dark blades met ham-sized fist.

Glowing green darts bounced off Threnium chestplate.

“Use poison ghost darts!”

Those struck home.

Galen could tell by the way the wanderer’s broad back jerked.

He still had the shotgun strapped across his chest.

Galen’s hand shook.

A ninja slipped around the melee.

Galen tried to bring the shotgun on target, but his arm felt like it had been chained to the roof.

The wanderer ducked low under a slashing blade, his back foot slid across the rooftop, almost in a split he punched the ninja’s nethers with the power to shatter stone.

Galen felt the almost feathery touch of the wanderer’s slippers on his armored boot.

A sudden surge of energy rushed up his body.

The ninja leapt, hazy blade poised to thrust through his faceplate.

He brought his arm up. The one that the mahou shoujo had cut in two.

The hazy blade went straight through the Threnium.

He didn’t feel it, which meant it must’ve stabbed his severed arm.

The tip grazed his faceplate.

He shoved the shotgun barrel in the man’s gut.

War crimes burned white hot straight through enchanted cloth, light chain and enhanced skin.

The ninja jerked back, desperately digging for the burning phosphorus.

The wanderer put an end to that with a fiery belch.

“Use— damn it, stupids!” The mahou shoujo sighed.

All of the ninjas were dead.

“My my?” she tiled her head to one side. “Are you… finished?”

The wanderer had fallen to one knee in front of Galen, shielding him from her view.

Scissors dived like angry sparrows.

He slapped them away but he moved much slower than before.

His gray robes were damp. Stained red in places.

The ghostly scissors continued to cut flesh without needing to cut armor and cloth.

“Ohohoho!” the mahou shoujo held a dainty hand over a wide open mouth. “Was it the shadow blades? Or the ghost poison? I think I should know for the next time I have to fight a drunken cultivator.” She smiled suddenly. “You have the honor, you know? Of being my first.” She blushed.

“Young lady,” the Tsingtao Wanderer gasped.

Galen didn’t like how labored the indefatigable man’s breathing had become.

“I am truly sorry. You didn’t deserve it. You did nothing to bring it on.”

“Shut up! You don’t know anything, stupid, stupid!”

They moved like blurs in short bursts.

Across the rooftop and the sky above.

The push and pull, the give and take of a dance.

The mahou shoujo was like a charging bull, forcing the fight down to Galen’s position.

The Tsingtao Wanderer was the matador, redirecting, teasing her away.

A bull with dozens of horns flying independently of the deadly giant pair in her hands while the latter only had one hand with which to strike, block or parry.

How many times?

How many exchanges?

Galen had lost count.

The two broke apart.

The young woman gasped.

The wanderer remained poised, yet Galen could see the broad back heaving.

“You revisit the pain a hundred-fold on those that are more like you once were than those that hurt you. Should not the tiger hunt the poacher rather than kittens?”

“The tiger rules the jungle. The boar has no say in the tiger’s prey.” She giggled. “I made a rhyme! Any more proverbs to share before I end your suffering? The poison is painful, isn’t it?”

“The crow shouldn’t caw when the flying ship with the guns and missiles is just a few kilometers away… as always, the wisdom of such things is in the hands of those that received them.”

The mahou shoujo’s eyes darted to the western sky. A hiss escaped her lips.

“Stay and try to finish me off and you risk a very large bullet to the head. Can your scissors cut one the size of your arm? One traveling at tremendous speed? The longer you wait—”

“I know! Shut up, stupid!”

“Your ninjas are—”

She growled and tugged at her hair.

“Fine. Whatever. You’ll die from the poison or them anyways. You killed my servants, so you have their points, but I did the most damage to you and I’m still alive, which means I’ll get all those points when you die. I win! Bye bye!” She winked and waved as a pair of flying scissors carried her away to the southeast just above the rooftops.

Galen didn’t dare relax, he reloaded his shotgun.

One working hand made it a clumsy struggle.

“Why aren’t you using the anti-poison potion?”

The Tsingtao Wanderer sighed.

“She wasn’t wrong. Their poison is rather potent. The potion will fail.”

“Shit! Okay! Do your Qi healing thing? Like, can’t you purge it or something?”

“Yes. That has a good chance of working. However, I will need to enter a meditative trance.”

“No problem. Let’s get inside. I’ll stand guard. The others need help, but they’ll just have to handle it without us.”

“I’m afraid that will not be possible.”

Galen noticed them then.

Shining eyes peering over the edge of the rooftop.

Dark-scaled heads.

Clawed fingers, webbed for swimming.

They were surrounded.

“I’ve got nothing left, man.” Galen sighed.

“Yes. The stamina I gave you will not last much longer. Just enough for you to get inside, I suppose.”

“No way. We don’t leave anyone behind.”

“That isn’t what you’ll be doing. You will call for reinforcement while I hold their attention up here. It is the only chance those women and children we left inside have of escaping the fate these creatures intend.”

The fishmen climbed over the edge silently.

Water glistened on their scales.

They waved weapons of bone menacingly.

Galen spat a curse.

“I’ll get help.”

Cold Mist Step brought him from the roof to somewhere on the second floor.

His stamina emptied at that moment. He had just enough to fall into a nearby storage closet.

Soft towels made a cushy sleeping spot.

“Can anyone here me? On the spa’s roof. The wanderer needs assistance. At least 20 fishmen. We’re protecting women and children.”

He didn’t know how long the comms remained quiet as he drifted into darkness.

“— do you copy? This is Swan Princess. Do you copy, Wormslayer? I repeat— no reinforcements. We can’t send— do you copy?— on your own.”

Galen woke up.

15 minutes had passed going by the clock in his HUD.

He stood with a groan.

Stamina just enough to walk.

He had drained himself so much that drinking a potion would’ve been hazardous to his continued existence.

No choice, but to do what he could even if it would amount to nothing except his death.

Ironic.

Better that then to run and leave the wanderer alone up there.

He found the big, fat drunken master surrounded by fishmen corpses.

Gray robes were wet, as if he had been showered with blood.

Bone spears and spines made him resemble one of Ms. Daniels’ pincushions.

His battered helmet lay on his lap.

The Threnium had held well enough against the fishmen’s superhuman strength, but it wasn’t enough.

A mortal wound in the chest.

Somehow a bone sword had been thrust through his chestplate.

“Ah… young Galen—” the wanderer wheezed suddenly, coughing up a river of thick crimson.

“Shit, man! Don’t try to talk! Potion! I’ve got potions!” He dug frantically in his bag of holding.

“Save it for those that still know thirst. Or something like that. My mind hasn’t swayed this much since I found my Dao.”

Galen ignored the wanderer until a ham-sized hand caught his wrist.

The grip was as firm as always.

“I would have you hear my last words. My will.”

“No,” he said flatly. “Not letting you die, so, please let go and let me try.”

“No,” the wanderer said flatly. One eye gazed into two. “My time is done. I go back to the cycle. Thus, my words?”

“Okay… fine,” Galen lied.

When the wanderer released his wrist he would splash the potion over… the blade in the chest.

No!

Pull it out first. Then pour the potion.

Had to be quick.

The wanderer didn’t let go.

“My nearly bottomless gourd and all my belongings I leave to Cal to disburse. Tell him, he has my trust to find the worthy or the needy. I am not one of those hidebound sect masters that are obsessed with the legacy of their Dao. It is and will always be the path for an individual to travel.” Bloody coughs wracked the wanderer, shaking Galen along with them. “Tell the Fox that she was right.”

“Got it. Now let me go.”

“No. Your intent is as clear as a high mountain lake where… never mind. My thoughts fade to the past that I have longed to forget. I wasn’t a good man before the spires. To seek belonging I traded my soul. Violence unending and not always on those that deserved it. I’ve drenched my fingers in innocent blood. One could say that it wasn’t a lot, but once is already too much. Whether I have done enough to atone is not in my hands. My last words of wisdom for you, young Galen. A life of violence leads to a violent end. So, that young man you’re fond of… consider—”

The grip on Galen’s wrist loosened.

The meaty hand flopped to the rooftop.

He reached down to close a sightless eye.

Galen’s hand shook.

The mace in her raised hand felt thrice its size. The plate and chain hanging from her shoulders made her think of Jesus’ cross.

No.

It was prideful to think she was anything like him. His suffering was beyond anything she had ever endured. His service was something she could only aspire to. Never match, nor surpass.

Lauren Le, Monsignor, Rayna’s Ranger pulsed her healing aura over an area half the size of a football field.

Holy light radiated out from her and the glowing flanged head of her weapon.

She uttered soft prayers with the fingers of her other hand moving along the comforting warmth of rosary beads.

To heal the local fighters was to doom them in the end.

Perhaps if they stepped away from the fight and let her faith do its work they’d survive.

None of them ran.

How could they when their loved ones were in the buildings behind them?

Thus, a limit would be reached.

Their bodies would fall from the accumulation of fatal wounds.

How long had she been doing this?

Minutes? Decades?

Her youthful days before the spires had appeared seemed like a distant story of another person.

Now, she was a woman over 50 years old.

Fair skin had grown weathered from many days under the sun and elements across 4 different continents. She had accumulated scars like she had passport stamps from those dream-like days. Black hair had turned gray. Eye’s blurred, hearing faded. Not that the latter had been close to a hundred percent in the last 15 years. The price of improper ear protection at times. Combat tended to be a loud affair.

The Threnosh helmet had been a godsend in that regard.

“Monsignor. Sakura’s going to try for their leader. Can I get a smite evil? Timing’s got to be near perfect.” Swan Princess’ voice was calm and crystal clear in her ears.

Some said that evil was relative.

She didn’t see it that way.

The wild-eyed woman atop the wall exhorting her band of marauders reveled in the bloodshed. She had a man’s severed arm in one hand, using it as a weapon along with submachine gun in her other. Crimson gore covered her mismatched armor. Her face was a mask of red from the man’s arm after she had drank from it like a beer can.

“What’s the signal?”

“Once I bring down her magic shield.”

“I’ll have to stop my healing aura if you want the full-powered effect.”

“She’s somewhere between Level 43-46. Lots of physical Skills. I think we’ll need that, but I trust your judgment. I’m shooting in 10.”

“Copy.”

A brilliant spell orb the size of a beach ball streaked from the roof of the building.

The gore-drenched woman emptied her magazine with a steady arm.

The spell orb split into dozens of smaller balls, curving in multiple arcs.

Every attack element in Swan Princess’ arsenal blasted the woman.

Her magic shield shattered like stained glass.

Monsignor uttered a prayer.

Smite Evil.

The wild-eyed woman cursed, falling to one knee. 5 to 10 levels lower and she would’ve been knocked unconscious. Lower and death was on the menu depending on how much Monsignor wanted it.

A small sharp object glinted across the distance.

Sakura appeared behind the wild-eyed woman in a puff of white smoke.

The ranger stabbed a throwing knife with a small strip of paper attached to the small ring pommel into the side of the wild-eyed woman’s neck.

She vanished in another puff as the wild-eyed woman swung a man’s severed arm like a club.

The log that had taken Sakura’s place was turned into kindling.

She reappeared behind the wild-eyed woman.

More stabbed knives.

She twirled one around her forefinger as the wild-eyed woman turned and roared.

The ranger merely pointed to the sky before hurling the knife straight up.

How high did it reach?

Close to 250 meters according to Monsignor’s helpful HUD.

Not that far from the hazy ceiling that was, apparently, only visible once one got close enough.

The wild-eyed woman vanished with a pop. Her marauders wailed in near unison as half their number turned from the fierce battle with the local defenders to target Sakura.

She flashed them two middle fingers before disappearing and leaving a log that was only too happy to take the barrage of bullets and spells.

A long scream ended with a loud splat as the wild-eyed woman crashed back to the street on the other side of the partially-destroyed wall.

“Push! Give it everything you have!” Swan Princess roared.

The locals, the ones that hadn’t died instantly when Monsignor had temporarly turned off her healing aura, surged with the courage of men and women that knew they were already dead.

Without their leader’s Skills the marauders fell one by one, though they didn’t go meekly.

So much death.

She could smell the stench even though the helmet was supposed to filter it.

“Another group’s inbound. Larger than this one. Looks like they’re splitting up. One for us. One to hold back the monsters and one for Chandra’s and Ibra’s building.”

The middle building was separated from theirs by a parking lot.

On the other side of it was the third building, the spa, which had gone silent.

A Skill or spell since their commas had been good at the start of the battle.

The Tsingtao Wanderer had taken it upon himself to guard that building.

Swan Princess had sent Galen to act as a messenger, but the young man hadn’t returned.

“I believe both may need help.”

“I can go, but—” Sakura switched to the private channel. “The locals are running out of fighters.”

There were less than a handful left out of the 40.

“No one over Level 40 and the reserves are too old and too young.”

And that was accounting for those with a combat class as their primary.

“We have to give up the wall. Sakura, use up all your traps then get back inside. Same with you, Monsignor. Bring them in and drop your healing aura,” Swan Princess said.

“They’re only alive because of it.”

“The medics will take over. A few half dead fighters won’t be as useful as you actually fighting. I need you to hold the front. Tank them for the others.”

Calling them medics was generous.

Only a few had relevant classes.

At least most had some first aid training.

Only fools neglected that.

“I c—”

“There’s a doctor. He’s assured me that he’ll do his best to keep them alive.”

She had been about to violate one of the commandments and say she could do both.

“Okay.”

“What about me, sarge?” Sakura said. “After I set my traps.”

“You’re still on leader assassination duty.”

Bernice Sanders, Chandra, Rayna’s Ranger.

It had taken months before she had understood what her ranger name had meant.

Then-sergeant Spiritwalker was a dork.

Still, it was also a regular person’s name, which was better than some of the names rangers tended to get stuck with.

She had been ‘Chandra’ since then.

No one alive left to call her ‘Bernie’ or ‘Bernice’ when her parents had been mad at her.

That part of her life seemed like a dream that faded the further away she walked forward.

Time and age had done nothing to dampen the fires of vengeance that had been ignited by the small spark of the murder of her family by the Meat Parade so long ago.

On that terrible night, she had taken up one of Heddy’s enchanted flaming swords.

She had failed.

Never again.

Her contribution to the destruction of the New American Republic, that odious, short-lived nation of slavery reborn, had granted her an upgraded class.

Flamesword avenger.

Level 46 currently.

8 levels in the 15 years since then was on the upper end of the scale when compared to other rangers.

It was practically astronomical when compared to the whole population.

The fires within were hungry and she had embraced it despite the costs written on her body.

Several magitech fingers in place of the ones she had lost.

Scars that wept flame when things got intense. None more noticeable than the one cutting a jagged line diagonally across her face from temple to jaw.

“You’ve got incoming,” Swan Princess said.

She had a tiny receiver in her ear.

Her abilities were hell on the equipment in her custom helmet despite the blend of high technology and high-level enchantments.

They had yet to create something that could withstand her at her hottest for more than a day or two.

She exchanged a nod with Ibra.

The ghazi of the manticore’s venom sat on a chair near the barricaded front doors of the building’s lobby.

She tapped her watch.

“Copy that. We’ve abandoned the wall. Left the last of our traps. Will hold the front of the building.”

“Be careful. Radio silence from the spa. I can’t rule out the possibility that you might get some adds.”

“What about the civilians? Maybe we should move them to your building while we’ve got the chance?”

“Not enough time. They’ll get caught out. It’s not just the slashers. The fishmen are pressing Hayden’s group. Hold as best you can. The Raynanaut will get our message.”

Chandra wasn’t so sure.

Spires fuckery had messed with their comms the whole contest.

It had gotten a lot worse over the last few days.

“Copy, sarge. Me and Ibra’ll hold. We’re not letting the garbage get past us.”

Nope.

Definitely not.

There were a few dozen little Bernices inside that she wasn’t going to let set off on the same path she had taken.

“Good luck, ranger. Burn them to ash.”

She grinned despite herself.

The fires were always hungry.

“Same to you, over.” She regarded Ibra.

The middle-aged man was scarred up even worse than her.

Sun-browned skin weathered by years in the harsh sun of the North African Desert.

He was part of the magus’ crew.

Sometimes it still boggled her mind that they had gotten from Egypt all the way to California without the use of airplanes.

She only had stories of those things to go by.

Traveling by skyship beat them handily.

Though, nothing was better than flying by Air Rayna or Cal.

“I’ll fight outside, you shoot?”

Ibra wasn’t part of the ranger chain of command.

He was older.

She was higher level, but only by 4, maybe more or less depending on how the rest of the Slasher’s Spree turned out.

Plus he out-grizzled her.

Hence, why she didn’t give him orders.

“That sounds efficient. If it becomes difficult, I suggest you retreat and we have them add their fire.” He glanced up at the second level balcony.

Locals with guns and other projectile weapons lined the barricaded railing.

“Then you and I will fight them here where it is narrow. They will die like pigs in the slaughterhouse.”

“Just remind them not to hit us.”

She grabbed her helmet from the counter.

It was dark gray like the rest of her Threnium armor. It differed from the standard design through the thin slits that ran from the front to the back and the greater bulk of the portion that covered her face. Even the faceplate was different. Instead of covering the whole front, it was T-shaped with a nearly-invisible slit that mirrored her scar, which she could open and close as needed.

Many such slits covered the rest of her armor, mirroring her many scars.

They all remained closed for the moment.

She drew her longsword. Threnium and enchanted with Heddy’s best to both channel and withstand her flames. When she’d have turned a steel blade into slag three times over during the course of the last fight, the dark gray blade still showed no signs of stress.

“May our enemies burn beneath your vengeful flames,” Ibra said.

Chandra rolled her eyes.

He couldn’t see them through her darkened faceplate.

“May your stingers poison them… er… deeply,” she shrugged. “Sorry, I’m not good with the poetic shit.”

Ibra smiled before donning his standard helmet.

“It’s technically venom, however it is the sentiment that matters in the end, not the words.”

“Well,” she held out a hand.

He took it firmly.

She grunted.

“We did this the first time, so here’s to the second time. Good luck, break legs, venomize the murderous scumbags.”

“Indeed.”