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The Rifleman - Bk1 - Ch.55
🕑 Added 2024-07-21 08:00:06 +0000 UTCChapter Fifty-Five
The Sundered Day
Rupert, for all he looked like the usual gormless posh boy, was right on the money when it came to them facing a completely different enemy from the previous night.
Their first clue came when the creatures reappeared, clad in the scavenged armor of the bandits they had killed. Their approach varied, and very few pieces were correctly used, but it was undoubtedly effective. One Wesley remembered mainly—one of those images that just burns itself into your brain for some reason—was one covered from head to foot in armguards. Tied, woven, or even seeming to be nailed together, armguards covered the entire creature, with only a few openings for eyes and mouth. It would have been funny. It would have been. If the creature wasn’t trying to kill them all at the time.
Armor was apparently their next tactic. Instead of a ravening horse running at them hell for leather, the enemy came forward carefully, armored to the gills, and spread out over the hillside. Armor enough to stop most of the arrows.
It might even have been a winning strategy if Wesley and his sims hadn’t had the firearms or the archers hadn’t had skills. As it was, they made even less progress than their strange, savage suicide run the night before.
The moment the last of the armored fell, the horde burst over the top of the hill, sending the defenders scrambling back into their positions from the night before. In a worryingly strange act, the creatures didn’t attack, however.
They merely grabbed the dead and pulled them back over the hill. Only the armored dead were recovered, Wesley noted. The dozens that died in the attempt were simply left to rot.
“I don’t like that,” Wesley said quietly to Malia as they watched the last of the horde disappear over a rise. “They must want to try other things with the armor.”
“Maybe,” Malia nodded. “The bit worrying me is that they clearly are looking for more options. I have to wonder what else they might find out here.”
“Shit, I hadn’t even thought of that.” Wesley shook his head. “Tomorrow, we need to clear every remaining tree or rock in the area.”
Whatever Malia was about to say was cut off as a loud cracking sound split the air. Wesley jumped, staring around frantically until he noticed Malia staring up into the sky.
He saw others doing the same and looked up.
The Sundering has begun!
The zone will remain sundered until all ground is claimed!
Current land owned: 23%
Randomizing landscape:
3…
2…
1…
“I stake my claim!” Rupert yelled, and the surrounding hexes began to pulse and shimmer. Flowers burst from the ground, a riot of color before their petals closed in the night air. A sweet fragrance filled the air, and the area rose sharply, sending everyone to the floor before it settled.
Looking over their wall, Wesley saw a long, steep bank covered in flowers and long, waving grasses. Wesley saw several trees sprout, winding upward as their trunks thickened into large, gnarled, oak-like trees. Several large crystals burst out, giving off a gentle glow in ever-shifting, pastel shades of color.
“What is that?” Malia growled, peering over the wall.
“My chosen design,” Rupert looked a little embarrassed. “I understand it is not typical, but.”
“It’s bloody incredible!” Wesley watched a gentle breeze blowing, the flowers and grass shifting like the waves on a sea. “Holy shit, that’s beautiful.”
“What?” Malia frowned. She peered over the edge again and rolled her eyes. “Okay, it’s very pretty, but how is it practical?”
Rupert blushed again.
“Well, we have light on the entire approach now,” Wesley said thoughtfully. “And with the constant shifts, they won’t be able to camouflage themselves easily.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Malia admitted. “They could hide in the grass, though.”
“And we can set it on fire if all else fails,” Wesley countered, grinning over the wall.
This was the kind of thing you expected in a fantasy world. Not just ugly crap all the time, but honest-to-goodness magical landscapes.
“I would rather have a castle,” Malia countered, but her heart wasn’t in it.
“I don’t have that choice,” Rupert said somewhat more confidently. “My family is famous for flowers used in alchemy and crystals used in lighting. We are not soldiers.”
“And we did get the height,” Wesley smiled.
“Would you quit being so happy?” Malia mock glared.
“What?” Wesley asked. “This place is going to look blooming beautiful come morning!”
No one reacted.
“Blooming? No?” Wesley tried again. “Like flowers? Blooming?” He huffed. “No one appreciates a good pun anymore.”
“I appreciate a good one,” Malia replied drily. “Know any?”
Any further bickering was halted as the hills around them began to change. A black soil, empty of a single plant, replaced the grasses. Large, round growths that pulsed slightly with sickly pink energy burst from the ground while white, bone-like rocks jutted up like spears.
Clusters of strange, tall succulents grew, and the ends pointed like spears as they curved. In the dark, it was hard to see clearly, but they ended up looking like grasping hands of blood-red bone where they were visible against the sky. Their enemy was immediately visible, harvesting the fresh plants and stone alike with a feverish intensity.
“I think that might be the world they came from,” Malia swallowed. “Looks like we will be the first to see what they are truly capable of.”
“Aren’t we lucky?” Wesley sighed.
“We may have other problems,” a shaky voice replied. “Ma’am? If you could spare a minute to see to an emergent situation?”
Malia turned and swore, which was all Wesley needed to hear.
Still in the grip of a dreadful fascination, Wesley turned.
////////////////////
Their rear had undergone something of a change while they had all been watching their enemy claim the ground to their front and side. Snow met Lava in a burst of steam as a light rain fell into a deep jungle.
“What the ever-living fuck is that?” Wesley asked.
“A combination hex,” Rupert said, his voice quavering. “They only happen during a sundering. There could be anything in there.”
“Any chance it will stay there?” Wesley asked.
“None,” Malia said, her voice empty of emotion. “Every hex will be filled with creatures that want nothing more than to claim their own ground.”
“Mechanical, elemental, and what is jungle?” Wesley asked quickly.
“Animal or reptile,” Malia answered immediately.
“Will they be combined too?” Wesley asked.
“I fucking hope not,” Malia winced. “Okay! Everyone listen up. We want at least five people watching the rear at all times! The rest of you, get back on the wall.”
Wesley counted himself under the ‘rest of you’ and moved back to the wall, facing what was about to become a very nasty enemy indeed.
He could feel it.
An hour passed, the silence only broken by the sounds from the hex behind them. Animals roared, something hissed, and on one occasion, something that sounded like a large metal object being repeatedly smashed into a rock.
Wesley resolutely kept his eyes facing forward.
“Here we go!” Wesley called a warning.
The enemy came over the rise, completely changed. Clad in some strange armor made of strips of succulent woven together into body armor, their legs hidden by long skirts of the same material, they now moved in ordered squares.
Shields made from those strange growths adorned their arms, somehow still glowing with that same sickly pink hue while bunches of spears were lashed over each shoulder. Worst of all, they were carrying something else, something he couldn’t quite make out.
“Malia,” He called. “I think we need to start firing earlier.”
“Got it,” Malia nodded.
Tensely, they watched the squares approach, forming a line at the base of the rise before they locked shields.
“Fuck,” Wesley muttered.
The second line reached forward, creating a second line of shields.
“Fuck,” Wesley said.
The rest raised their shields above their heads, forming a testudo.
“Fuuuuuck,” Wesley kicked the wall ahead of him.
“We can deal with this,” Malia said uncertainly.
“Right,” Wesley huffed, trying to think.
“Any ideas?” Malia asked anxiously.
“Give me a second here,” Wesley equivocated. Most of the strategies he could think of required either a trebuchet or a tank. Something to bust open those shields.
The first of the squares began to move.
“Okay, I have one idea, but we are gonna have to be bloody lucky for it to work,” Wesley muttered, shaking the tension from his shoulders.
Wesley drew a bead on the central shield, then shifted slightly to the left, where there were three that overlapped. It was the strongest point, but if this worked, it would give them a bigger opening.
“Ready,” Wesley said, pushing a charge of Armor-Piercing Round into the rifle.
“Draw!” Malia called.
“Three, two, one….” Wesley pulled the trigger, and the bullet's spiral trail traced a perfect line to his target. The shields burst apart, none of them destroyed, but at least knocked wide and out of formation. A hole opened in their defense.
“Fire!” Malia called, and fifteen archers unleashed their arrows into the gap.
Wesley fired ten rounds, aiming for arms and hands holding shields, widening the gap further.
The formation collapsed.
“Fire!” Malia called, and another ten archers opened fire, finishing off the attackers.
“Next,” Wesley shifted his aim. “Right of center.”
“Draw!” Malia called.
Now, they just had to hope their enemy abandoned the plan before Wesley and his simulacrums ran out of A.P. rounds.
They got five of the dozen or so squares before their enemy got in range to return fire. The moment they did, spears began to rain down. Each one was tipped with a jagged tip designed to cause the most damage possible.
Malia was incredible, using her new sword in its widest form to protect the archers as they kept up fire.
Two more squares were destroyed before the ‘other’ thing the troops carried was revealed.
When the next set of spears was thrown, only a couple of dozen feet separated the defenders from the enemy. Wesley dodged one, ducking down in time to avoid being impaled, only to see a glowing pink rope tied to the end.
Too late to shout a warning, Wesley could only watch as the woman next to him was hit in one leg. It was a minor injury, easily healed.
Or at least it would have been.
A fraction of a second later, the rope was yanked, and she was pulled over the wall with a scream of terror.
Wesley stood and unleashed an entire clip of ammo, taking down five of the enemies before she was pulled inside the formation. The sounds of her being torn apart echoed through the night.
Only three of the formations reached the wall, and the melee battle was brutal. Malia switched to her Warhammer, smashing the shields aside while archers she had stationed on top of the safe room fired at any attacker who dared give them an opening.
Wesley focused on his section but had detailed his sims to a simple task: Shoot any of the ropes attached to a spear that hits anyone.
He waited for the enemy to break and was still waiting when the last one rolled down the steep slope, dead.
Joy was already waiting when Wesley began to treat the wounded. There were fewer of them this time, but only because more lay dead. Wesley followed Joy’s calls. She had been ready; the injured had already been assigned an urgency rating according to her simple system—dead, dying, bleeding, injured.
He had eight charges of healing and used most of them on the first six injured, not wanting to have that many off the line for long. As soon as they were up and mostly healed, Wesley sent them back to the wall.
He didn’t want to, but with no idea when the next attack would come, what else could he do? His Sara simulacrum was with Joy, and its healing charges were used as needed.
“Nice idea with the shields,” Malia said as he bandaged her bleeding arm. She had taken a couple of glancing blows, and his last sim was on watch. The bandage would let them wait until Lesser Regenerate came off cooldown.
“It won’t work twice,” Wesley sighed.
“I know,” Malia rested her head against the tent pole. “I won’t say unless you want me to.”
“How many?” Wesley asked.
“Fifteen,” Malia said. “We lost another fifteen.”
“Sixteen,” Wesley amended. “I couldn’t save one of them.”
“They have to be running out of people, right?” Malia asked.
“Let’s hope so,” Wesley said. “You know, I don’t even know if this blood is ours or theirs.” Pulling at his uniform, he found it wet, the blood not quite dry yet.
“Ma’am?” Justin held open the tent flap. “Sir? We have movement.”
“Here we go again,” Malia sighed and rolled her shoulders.
“Here we go again,” Wesley agreed, grabbing his rifle.
///////////////////
They were fast, their new attackers. With a spear in each hand, they were naked as they ran at a full sprint, dodging randomly to avoid the bullets and arrows.
Wesley’s bullet hit the knee, more by luck than judgment, and it went down, wailing a high-pitched keening of pain. The following bullet snapped the head back, silencing the dreadful sound.
“Left, front!” A spotter called, and Wesley wheeled, finding the target a second before the archers, and his bullet his home this time. The thing dropped, sliding to a stop before the grass and flowers stood back up, hiding it from view.
“Right, rear!” Malia called. Wesley moved and started again.
Three hours of this, three hours of counting bullets and charges of Reload, and never more than a couple of seconds between the sprinting attacks.
It was war by attrition. Already, he was starting to miss, the archers getting just a little slower, and there were still hours left before sunrise.
“New target! Hilltop, front and center!” Malia called as he finished off the latest sprinter.
Wesley turned his rifle automatically, seeing an armored figure standing on the hill, its head adorned with a large stone crown.
“Well, shit,” Wesley sighed and rubbed his eyes.
He exchanged a look with Malia.
It was almost over now.
Row after row marched over the hills, gathering in the valley below. There were at least fifteen squares, and Wesley could see sprinters on either side of them. Behind them were loose lines of lightly armored creatures with short, hooked spears.
At a rough guess, almost two hundred enemies. Coordinated and armored.
They had less than forty people able to fight left. That included Malia, Wesley, and even Joy.
Their only hope of escape? Through the combination zone behind them. If they could possibly move fast enough.
Which they couldn’t.
“You three should make a break through the back,” Rupert said quietly. “When the time comes.”
“We could all go,” Malia offered.
“No,” Rupert shook his head. “I will stand my post—till the last.”
“I’m not running,” Joy said, making them all turn. None of them even knew she was there.
“Joy,” Wesley started.
“No!” The squirrel-kin yelled. “I won’t leave people to die.” She turned and looked Wesley directly in the eyes. “It’s not about them.”
Malia reached out and clipped him around the back of the head.
“What?” Wesley asked.
“Your stupid ideas get in people’s heads,” the knight sighed. “We came for you, so we stay for her.”
“Okay,” Wesley gripped his rifle a little tighter. “But when it goes bad, which it will, get back inside the safe room. We can fight in the doorway—for as long as we can.”
The sprinters were the first to reach the walls, and they dove over it without hesitation. They stuck about wildly, trying their best to maim and injure rather than kill. Their job was to give the squares an easier time.
While the melee fighters did their best, Wesley and the archers on the roof of the safe room did their best to take out as many of the squares as they could.
The A.P. rounds ran out quickly, so they were reduced to taking advantage of stumbles or shifting shields.
They managed to take out almost eight squares; he just hoped it would matter.
The moment the squares reached the walls, they began to tear them down.
From his position on the safe room's roof, Wesley saw the lightly armed forces begin to run as the shield formation shifted, forming ramps.
“GET BACK!” Wesley yelled, firing as fast as he could.
“Light it!” Malia yelled up at him.
Wesley nodded and launched every charge he had of Improved Flare into the long grass and flowers covering the hill. Blood had damped much of it, but enough caught, and it spread fast.
The sounds of creatures screaming as they burned joined the sounds of battle.
A pain in his hand was all the confirmation he needed.
Reload was out of charges.
They fought with their backs to the safe room, their last archers bravely firing from the roof as the small camp was overrun.
Malia was on his left, while Joy was already inside the safe room. To his right was Rupert. His uniform was torn and covered in his own blood. He fought with a rapier, just like Earnshaw, but he didn’t have the skill.
Surrounded and pressured on all sides, they were driven back, more and more pushed into the safe room, or dragged screaming in there by Joy when she could.
“Time to fall back!” Malia called. “Everyone in the safe room, now!”
Her mecha sword shifted into its widest form as they filed in until only Wesley and Malia were left in the doorway, fighting side by side.
He turned and fired a Healing Flare into the middle of the room, doing what he could while guarding Malia’s flanks and blind spots.
His arms burned, and his shoulders shook as he parried another spear. A shadow fell over the top of the doorway, and Wesley instinctively cast My Shield upward.
A massive paw slammed down, turning enemies into mush and sending Malia and Wes flying backward.
Desperately, Wesley cast every charge of My Shield remaining over the doorway, cutting off a view of the outside.
“Think it will hold?” Malia gasped as they lay side by side on the floor.
“No idea,” Wesley groaned and rubbed his aching arm. Firing off that many charges at one hurt like hell. “But I doubt it.”
“What even was that?” Malia asked as they got to their feet.
“I really hope we don’t find out,” Wesley winced as two of the shield charges broke.
//////////////////
Crammed into the safe room were the total surviving members of the garrison. In total, there were twelve not including their own party.
“How many charges left?” Malia asked.
“Four,” Wesley called. “No, make that three.”
“Everyone get ready,” Malia called.
Someone sobbed quietly in a corner.
Two more shields popped, and Wesley and Malia joined the others in peering through the slightly transparent door. Outside the safe room, a titanic battle was taking place. A massive bear, large beyond all reason and covered in metal plates that acted as armor, was fighting their enemy. Both sides were bloody, and the crowned one was here now, a giant spear twirling in his hands as he fought.
Wesley cast his shield again, and the door went opaque.
“Five minutes to next charge….”
Almost twenty minutes later, the shield spells failed.
Wesley was waiting in the doorway, a fresh clip in his rifle as he lay in the firing position, Armor-Piercing Round chambered. Malia stood over him, legs astride his waist and sword ready to stab out.
He saw a flash of the stone crown and emptied every bullet, using every spell, as fast as he could.
Malia roared and slashed once, a head rolling into the safe room.
There was a breathless moment, and then the doorway filled with enemies.
Wesley and the others held the line at the door for almost an hour before one finally got all the way in. It scrambled and twisted through the legs of its kin before leaping onto the Sara sim.
Malia swore, and Rupert tried to get his blade to it, but the thing charged the defenders and leaped for the injured at the back.
Wesley didn’t have a word for the sound of chittering fury that Joy let loose at the sight. She hit it in mid-air, a large butcher knife in one hand and the heavy skillet in the other.
Her thin arms were a blur as she stabbed, the knife moving back and forth like a piston. The last image Wesley saw before he was forced to turn away and fire again was Joy rearing back, both hands wrapped around the skillet, which was swinging with absolute finality toward the twitching intruder pinned beneath her feet.
“Push!” Malia yelled, so they did. Wesley jabbed his rifle forward, the bayonet lengthening with a click, and stabbed into the jugular of a hissing enemy. One step forward, then another.
Soon, they fought in the doorway.
Then, they pushed outside for the first time in hours.
They saw nearly twenty of the creatures in the camp and tore through them with the fury of the desperate and exhausted. Wesley didn’t even consider mercy. They had simply lost too many for those kinds of thoughts.
Not that any of the creatures asked for it. Every single one did their best to kill them. Not one ran.
Wesley looked around, failed to find another target, and simply sat down.
