"Yesterday is not ours to recover, but tomorrow is ours to win or lose."
- Lyndon B. Johnson
Winter hated today.
Despite the situation she was in and the focus she'd ordinarily demand of herself, it was all she could think about. First she'd let who she now admitted was her best friend die, and just minutes ago she'd left Tortuga — her teammate — to risk the same fate. And if she didn't die, Shiro, Percy's friend, almost certainly would. The voice in the back of her mind telling her she couldn't have done anything just sounded like a feeble excuse.
Cursing, she flinched back as a spray of bullets burst through the corner of the hallway, sending concrete scattering past her.
Right. People dying. War. Mission.
She'd faced some resistance since her encounter with Wan, but in the hallway just outside of the main control room it seemed the officers inside had decided to mount a final defense. There were dozens of them and one of her, but they were soldiers and she was a specialist.
They didn't stand a chance.
Dashing out into the hallway and flicking her blade in a quick but precise pattern, a lazily spinning glyph of a snowflake appeared before her to catch the suddenly increased volley of lead mid-air. Letting her blade fall, Winter relaxed and let them continue to fire to no effect for another several seconds before suddenly lifting her blade's tip to the center of the glyph, dipping it down and to the left minutely and then sharply up and to the right.
The bullets trapped in her glyph suddenly reversed momentum, sent spinning back at those who had shot them.
Winter stood in the hallway alone.
She suppressed a grimace, this was war. They'd do the same to her in a heartbeat — had tried to.
"Specialist Schnee, this is fleet command. Come in, over."
Quickly pressing the button on her earpiece, Winter responded. "This is Specialist Schnee. Send message, over."
"What's your team's status, Specialist? Your commander is unresponsive."
Winter tensed. That… didn't bode well, but it also could have been because Tortuga was deeper in the rock than she was. Her current level was quite a bit higher than Tortuga.
That was the reason. It had to be.
Snapping herself from her thoughts, Winter backed out of the hallway and around the corner so as to not be caught off guard by anyone who might still be in the command room. "I'm sorry, I'm not sure you're authorized to know that, sir."
"You must have a faulty signal. The order was broadcasted five minutes ago, Specialist."
Though she couldn't see the man, Winter's eyes narrowed. "What order, sir?"
"Specialist Schnee, this is Vice-Admiral Aneda. General Order 4 has been declared."
Winter's eyes widened. There were a number of general orders for the Atlesian military. Some classified, some not. Some of the classified Winter was privy to, many she was not, but order 4 was public knowledge.
In the event of the General being incapacitated, overall military command shall fall to the next ranking officer until a successor is appointed or alternative authority has been identified.
The next ranking officer was Vice-Admiral Aneda, but…
"Where's General Ironwood?" She asked quickly, "Has The Dutiful been destroyed?"
"No, Specialist. According to Specialist Ebi, your target survived the airstrike with credit to a powerful semblance. General Ironwood has departed to deal with the matter personally. Before departing, the General declared General Order 4, and authorized General Order 46."
Winter choked on air. Percy was alive? But… how? And- Ironwood was fighting him? And what the dust was Order 46?
"Now Specialist, it's of critical importance — I need a situation report. What is your strike team's status?"
"I'm close." she managed to form words, her mind racing a million miles an hour. "Specialist Tortuga stayed behind to distract a huntsman. There's minimal resistance between me and the command center, but-"
"Good work, Specialist. Finish the mission. Atlas is counting on you."
"What's General Order 46?" Not wanting the call to disconnect without getting any answers, Winter spat out the question closest to the forefront of her mind that wasn't likely to have her branded a traitor. While Order 4 was public knowledge, she didn't have the slightest clue what Order 46 was.
There was a short pause from the other end, the Vice Admiral discussing with someone if he should tell her, she guessed.
"In the event a hostile military presents a strong strategic denial to Atlas forces, the Atlesian military is authorized to utilize weapons of mass destruction to deny the enemy their strategic or tactical objective, disregarding excess loss of life or property."
Winter was silent.
"It's the reason your mission is of such critical importance, Specialist. General Ironwood ordered that if we could not confirm that he was able to subdue Perseus, that I enact General Order 46 and deploy an Atlas bomb to be placed in the center of the valley, to ensure Atlas will win this war. For our forces to safely land with the bomb, we need their anti-air defences down. Finish your mission, Specialist Schnee, and you will win the war for Atlas and her people single-handedly. General Ironwood was right to put his faith in you, Specialist. Is that all?"
Winter couldn't breathe.
"Yes, Sir."
"Very well, specialist. Atlas is watching. Report back as soon as you've reached the objective. Out."
Winter stood there for what felt like hours after the line cut, but at some point her body had started moving of its own accord. Step after dreaded step carried her to her objective, and yet her mind remained elsewhere.
There was so much — too much — to process.
Stepping over what used to be someone's son into the control room, her traitorous legs carried her through the empty room to the front console, where she saw the terminal she'd been trained to identify and the data port that constituted her main objective. She stared at it for some time, thoughts racing and yet mind reacting sluggishly slowly.
Reaching into her pocket, Winter pulled out the tiny drive that would give her access to everything here — everything in Mistral. Everything defending it.
Was what the Vice Admiral said true? Was Percy really alive? But… how? She'd seen it herself. But why would Aneda lie? To manipulate her? But if so, how would that even benefit him?
What about Tortuga? Was she alive? They'd apparently missed some messages which could mean she wasn't responding because she was too deep into the mountain, but they also could have been deeper when those messages had been sent.
"Specialist, this is the Vice Admiral requesting an updated sitrep. Come in, over."
If Percy was alive, what would happen to the Ace Ops? What would happen to him? What was happening to him right now? Would Ironwood and his legion arrive to finish Percy off, or would the rest of the Ace Ops do it before he even got there? Did Percy have a chance? Would she change anything by disarming Mistral? If she went through with it and Percy did escape General Ironwood somehow, she'd be damning a hundred million people, the Ace-Ops, and herself, not to mention Percy. If Ironwood did kill Percy and she didn't disarm the defenses, it would be clear she'd betrayed Atlas and she'll have lost him anyways, along with everything she'd spent her life working towards.
"Say again, Specialist Schnee this is Vice Admiral Aneda requesting a sitrep. Report in. Over."
Was this just a test? Was that it? Percy had surely been killed, the battle had to be all but won, and this was just a test of her loyalty to Atlas. They knew she was personally connected to Percy, they had to know if she would be loyal or not. They had to find out. Percy couldn't have survived that barrage. She was sure of it.
And yet…
Agonized, Winter's gaze flitted between the stick in her hand and the port in front of her.
She knew she couldn't remain indecisive any longer.
Percy had been expecting a lot.
Well, that wasn't quite true. He'd been prepared for a lot, but he hadn't been expecting much if he were being honest. But that shouldn't have mattered, because he was being cautious. So cautious that he'd be going all out from the beginning, even against just two people and a bunch of automatons.
He had not been prepared for a giant laser.
As a result of the giant green laser sent straight at him, the large tidal wave he'd been riding towards his targets had mostly evaporated in a matter of seconds and Percy was left to stumble into a recovery. Luckily, he'd never been accused of being bad at improvising.
Condensing the remaining water, he let it carry him through the contingent of automatons and behind one of Haven's dorms. He knew he couldn't stay here forever even if there wasn't someone who could wield a giant green laser of death on their side, but he needed the time to rethink his approach. It could be that the weapon required a recharge time, but that was conjecture and without aura risking it would be a foolhardy endeavor.
So he had a few options. The first was to try to engage them from out of sight with nothing but torrents of water. That was… possible, but even if it worked out it would likely be a while, given the presence of an ocean-evaporating cannon in their arsenal. Time was a luxury he wasn't sure he had, and that left open the possibility Atlas' fleet would open up on him once more, even if he was out of sight of the main party.
He was in no hurry to repeat such an experience.
And the fleet… it would need to be taken care of either way. Left to its own devices, there was a very good chance they'd outgun Mistral's defenses and then the battle will have been lost anyway.
Or, he could kill two birds with one stone. After all, a storm would make it rather hard to aim that laser of theirs…
Closing his eyes, Percy focused. It wasn't as easy to manifest a storm when he was sitting safely away from his enemy as opposed to right in the thick of battle, but with a bit of willpower the sky slowly began to darken as clouds condensed and centered over Mistral. For miles around vapor began to gravitate towards the eye of a rapidly developing storm.
Knowing he'd stayed in one place for too long, Percy left the storm to continue its formation and commanded the water around him to sweep him up and away, making sure to avoid the sight of the center plaza and the weapon there. He'd have to be careful — the automatons were more dangerous than regular soldiers on account of not having any water for him to sense. He didn't know if they'd be right around the corner or heading down the mountain. As such, he'd be running blind.
Unless he brought the fight to them. Then, he'd know exactly where they were.
The storm wasn't properly formed yet, but for now a decoy wave would have to do. Grunting with exertion as the tug in his stomach intensified, Percy brought forth tens of thousands of gallons from Mistral's upper aqueduct system to the surface near him and with a heave sent it all around the corner in a large fanning wave.
As predicted a large green laser cut through it, but Percy wasn't there.
Instead, he was busy coming from the other side.
Allowing a pillar of water to lift him into its grasp, Percy commanded it to carry him forwards. Urging the ground to shake and throw his opponents off their balance, Percy kept a shallow layer of water between him and his opponents, spotting the murky figures of the machines spread around the plaza. As expected they hadn't had much of a defense for a tidal wave suddenly appearing thousands of feet above sea level, and most of those who hadn't been around the laser-wielder lay broken on the ground.
Quickly refocusing on what was in front of him as he barreled towards his enemy at the speed of a car, Percy scanned for where the laser could be coming from. That was the priority target.
First his eyes came across an Atlesian soldier — one of the squad who'd come to kill him, and if his sopping wet clothes were any indication, the one he'd hit with the torrent of water and sent careening off the mountain. That he'd survived was not unbelievable, but that he'd apparently made it back so quickly was surprising.
More surprising was the man standing next to him.
Ironwood himself turned to face Percy as he approached, brandishing his pistol and calling out to his comrades.
His… two comrades?
Because next to Ironwood was a girl who looked no older than Pyrrha, hands extended towards where Percy's wave had been a moment ago, surrounded by a plethora of spinning blades which were slowly coming to a stall. His target.
But… Percy definitely only felt two people here. Something that blocked his powers? Or, more likely but still far fetched, an automaton.
With no more time to think, Percy commanded the water to serve left and avoid Ironwood's pistol fire, bowling straight into the Atlesian soldier standing next to him.
A large surge of water followed behind him, sweeping over the remaining automatons and crushing them like tin cans. Ironwood and the… machine girl? Escaped the worst of it. A trick the machine had up its sleeve, Percy guessed.
As for the third?
Tearing away from the much-diminished group of assailants, Percy grabbed onto the staggered soldier and grappled with him, grunting in pain as he felt a stabbing pain enter his abdomen but pushed through it and kept his grip on the soldier. Leveraging Riptide, he stabbed back with a few wild jabs and felt them connect. Briefly through the tumultuous water, he spotted the tell-tale flash of aura cracking.
Percy carried him away behind a small building and deposited him at speed, stopping suddenly himself but letting the soldier skid across the ground until he slammed into a low stone wall.
Only looking down briefly to tear out the short knife sticking out of his torso, Percy quickly approached. He held Riptide in his right hand and reached to grab the soldier by his neck with the other, lifting him up and against the wall he'd slammed into.
Looking down slightly, Percy could see where he'd done a number on the soldier. His torso had several long gashes torn into it, which were bleeding profusely. Percy's mouth suddenly felt bitter as he watched the man look down at himself with a resigned acceptance.
"Winter." He coughed, flecks of blood splattering his teeth. "You'll… spare Winter."
Percy hadn't decided that much. He'd like to, but he'd already decided that anyone who stood against him in the battlefield…
"Give her…" the dying man reached a hand halfway up his torso, before it fell limply. He seemed distressed that he couldn't find the strength, but Percy thought he might have known what the soldier was getting at.
Reaching down to the small pin of a four leaf clover on the soldier's uniform, Percy held it up.
The soldier's distress eased and his face turned to a small, content smile. He gave Percy a small nod, to confirm his guess or as thanks Percy had no idea, but the next moment he lay slack against the wall, Percy the only thing holding him up.
Deciding he could deal with it later, Percy respectfully (if a bit hastily) lowered the body and tucked the small pendant into his pocket, tearing his eyes from the body falling unceremoniously to the ground. Necessary or not, war was never pleasant. He was just glad that this time he was spared from his own friends being the ones on the frontline.
Deciding to save such thoughts for later, Percy concentrated on his next move. The priority had to be destroying that automaton with the laser weapon. The other automatons were already mostly scrap, and then Ironwood would be alone.
He'd be fresh and full on aura against Percy who was neither of those things, but there was no point thinking about that now. Percy would win because he refused to consider any other option.
The storm, now beginning to kick into full force, levied rain down upon his surroundings and soaked every roof, rock, and blade of grass. Checking his wound, Percy was thankful to see that it had mostly been closed by the water soaking him. There'd be a scar there for a long time he was sure, and it'd be sore for a while, but he'd be fine.
Without Aura or a ranged weapon he couldn't afford to continue engaging them at range, even with the hit-and-run tactics he'd been employing. Another hit like that about a foot higher and he'd be done, or if even a single stray bullet caught him off-guard. He disagreed with the Romans on many things, but one thing he'd never disagreed with was that offense is the best defense. If he made them focus on protecting themselves, they wouldn't have time to consider attacking him. He would have to be careful, however. A suicide attack from a robot disguised as a schoolgirl was not how he wanted to go out.
Using the growing storm to mask his approach, Percy gripped control of all the scattered water he could and ducked into a dash around the corner. For almost a mile around him every raindrop, stream, and droplet of water froze, before collapsing suddenly at a center point not all that far from Percy himself.
Ironwood and the remaining automaton soldiers suddenly found themselves in the center of a dense tornado of water that may as well have been an above-ground whirlpool. Percy spotted the expected flash of green light and watched as much of the water was forced to evaporate into the distance. It hadn't quite won him the skirmish, but it had bought him time and that's all he'd needed.
Ironwood kneeled on the grass a dozen feet away, hacking his lungs out and clearing them of water. Unfaltering, Percy sprinted the last few meters and brought Anaklusmos down in an arc of bronze.
His blade was met by another.
Ironwood looked up, startled to find two blades locked just a handful of inches from the back of his neck.
"I will hold off the terrorist while you recover, General Ironwood!"
Percy scowled. That… that thing acted too human. If he didn't know for sure there wasn't a drop of water in it, Percy would begin questioning if Atlas might have brought a child to war. The only thing that gave it away was how… cheerful it sounded, in the middle of a life or death battle like this.
Ironwood didn't respond verbally, instead scrambling backwards and away from the clash of blades with another cough.
Considering the machine didn't actually have arms holding its sword in place, Percy found it difficult to force a dislodge. Instead he had to duck just barely in time to avoid his head being taken off by another one of the free-floating blades, which went on to crash into Riptide's other side.
Spotting another sword — how many did it have?! — coming from above, Percy slid Riptide out from between the other two swords and rolled backwards through the mud and grass, recovering just in time for Anaklusmos to intercept a blade swinging in from the left.
Another began to swing from his right, but the left wouldn't yield. What was this, some sort of huntsman-bot?
He kept the pressure on the blade to his left and, using Riptide as leverage, swung himself under it, keeping Riptide pressed against the sword both to keep it back and block the other one coming from what had been his right.
He'd engaged in close range to force Ironwood on the defensive but this thing was keeping him on the defensive, giving Ironwood time to recover and the battle time to turn in their favor.
With a flex of will and an excruciating tug in his gut a bolt came striking from above, hitting the machine directly in the chest and sending it spiraling away before it got the chance to bring another blade to bear against him.
Tensing suddenly, Percy had a split second to consider a sensation he was getting far too used to before his arms were acting of their own volition, swinging Riptide up and intercepting a bullet in mid-air. Diving to the right, he could hear three more bullets ripped through the air where he'd been standing. Quickly, he formed a barrier out of water that quickly caught another two bullets.
Percy willed the barrier to grow in size while he scrambled to his feet, adjusting his grip on Riptide and charging with all the energy he had towards where he knew Ironwood was. The wave carved a path before Percy, redirecting any bullets Ironwood fired to spit out on either side of him. Slowing down just before he reached the General, Percy concentrated and mentally reached deep, deep down to the bottom of Remnant's crust and tugged. He pulled with all the strength he could muster for that moment, stumbling but continuing his charge.
For a moment, nothing happened. Ironwood stopped firing to prepare for his assault, and Remnant stood still.
As the wave rocked into Ironwood, the ground began to shake and tilt chaotically, turning what should have been a small hit Ironwood could recover from into a devastating blow that knocked him off his feet entirely. Percy swung Riptide down in an overhead arc of death that connected with Ironwood's prosthetic forearm, lopping it off entirely but losing a large amount of the blow's force in the process. Ironwood's real hand made it in time to intercept Riptide's tip, aura coming to the fore to clash with the blade. Percy could see the general's silver-gray aura brightly flickering on his skin, struggling to take the full brunt of Riptide. Percy didn't draw Riptide back for another swing, instead keeping up the pressure on the man's remaining hand.
He was forced to dislodge when, once again, the multi-bladed automaton returned to save the man's life.
The center of its torso was scorched, Percy noticed, but otherwise it was in great condition. That was some serious technology. He couldn't think of anything he had that would've survived a hit like that without more than a burn mark. Hades, a battleship would've had some dead crew and a power failure if it was hit head on with a charge like that.
It stood on unsteady feet. It had an easier time adjusting for the earthquake than Ironwood — who himself had now climbed to his feet — did it seemed, but not quite as easy as Percy himself, who rocked and rolled with the movements of the ground as if they were waves on the sea.
Panting to recover breath, mud caking his back, the entirety of his right side, and his hair, sweat and rain covering every square inch of his body, half a dozen wounds slowly recovering and with his shirt half burnt off, Percy stared down Ironwood and his automaton and did the one thing he knew he could do well in this world.
He fought.
Leaping forward, Percy's world became a blur of clashing blades, parried swings, precisely timed kicks, and chaotic melee combat.
He could recall flashes of coherence. Swinging Riptide so hard it split one of the robot's swords in half, levying a punch at Ironwood who blocked it with the remainder of his metal arm and returned one of his own, severing the metal cord connecting the automaton to its floating blades, and a bolt of lightning striking a sword that was inches from cutting into him from behind.
Otherwise, he was so busy combatting the two that he couldn't think of anything else. He fought harder than he had since dueling Hyperion. There were giants that had been easier than this — Polybotes, Encelaedus, who he'd fought at his best and walked away from unscratched. Instead, he had entered this fight far from fresh and as a result he had no choice but to push himself to the limit or die. All that mattered was that he win and live to see another day.
He loved it.
The next Percy remembered, Ironwood was kneeling before him. He was heaving in exhaustion, chest rising and falling laboriously in an attempt to deliver him as much oxygen as it could. There was a downpour for as far as he could see, clouds blotting out the sun and soaking them both to the bone. A handful of feet to his left, the advanced automaton lay in several pieces.
Ironwood clutched his stump of a hand with his… other stump of a hand? The man's flesh arm gushed blood that was quickly washed away by the torrential downpour, while the metal prosthetic sparked lightly where it had been cut away. On Ironwood's torso Percy could see a dark splotch of crimson spreading, and briefly recalled the swipe of Anaklusmos that had caused it.
"So, this is it." Ironwood was the first to speak, his voice weak and raspy. Percy struggled to hear him over the storm.
"Well," Ironwood looked at him expectantly. Resigned. Defeated. "Are you going to get it over with, or are you going to make me wait?"
"You wouldn't have given me the same courtesy." Percy breathlessly pointed out.
"I would have." Ironwood told him. He wasn't arguing or rebuting, Percy could see. He was stating a fact.
"It didn't have to come to this." Percy told him.
"It did." Ironwood paused to cough, blood splattering from his lips down onto his pristine white uniform. "I didn't want war, and what you did may not have justified all this death and destruction, but you knew damn well that your actions would provoke a war whether it was a good idea or not."
Percy scowled, "If you know it's not worth fighting a war over, why fight the war?"
"I wouldn't expect you to understand." Ironwood snapped. "Before anything else, that's the difference between you and someone like me. Mistral serves you. I serve Atlas. Sometimes, you have to put what's necessary before what you think is the right course of action."
"I don't accept that." said Percy, "You can do what you consider is right because it's necessary. If you consider something necessary that you don't think is the right thing to do, you're simply choosing to continue living in delusion."
"I have no more patience for talking philosophy with my killer. Get it over with, or leave me be. I'll be dead in minutes whether you'd like me to be or not."
Percy kept silent.
"After this." Ironwood began to ask, as Percy raised Riptide. "What… will you do to Atlas?"
"I won't enslave it, if that's what you're asking," Percy told him, "The people will be able to choose their own future."
Percy had no idea what he planned to do with Atlas, but he didn't think it involved anything running through Ironwood's head.
Ironwood spat out a glob of blood and mucus. "Well, I suppose you don't have much of a reason to lie to me. Good. That's good."
"Is that all?" Percy readied his blade.
"Ozpin." Ironwood said. "Listen to Ozpin, if you make it away from here alive. He'll… he'll be able to sort all of this out."
His piece said, General James Ironwood shared a final nod with Percy and closed his eyes. James exhaled, forcing his body to relax as best he could.
The breath was his last.
Percy turned away from the body and directed his attention at the one thing left standing in his way.
Atlas' fleet.
"Specialist Schnee, this is The Dutiful, report in! What is the status of your mission, over?"
Winter ripped her earpiece out and threw it clumsily away with a cry of frustration, the little plastic implant clattering across the floor. She threw the small stick of data in her hand harshly at the ground and stomped on it with the heel of her combat boot, shattering the drive into several pieces.
No. No. She wouldn't. Court martial her, arrest her, imprison her for life or shoot her. She wouldn't be the one to murder a hundred million innocents.
How many times had she told herself she couldn't change the past today? How many times had she made excuses for her failure to change the future when it mattered?
There were no excuses now. She was done regretting the past.
Letting out a deep, shuddering breath, Winter half-sat half-collapsed onto one of the low stairs behind her, eyes locked onto the shattered pieces of plastic spread across the floor.
There was one thing she'd felt consistently and unbendingly through everything that had happened in the last few hours.
Winter hated today.
Thunder crashed, lightning flashed, and the tracks splashed through mud.
It was a slaughter.
It was such a slaughter, that Major Speirs thought he might have started to worry about how bad a light this would paint Mistral in if these were all human soldiers instead of automatons. The deaths from this battle alone would be double Mantle's losses during the great war, he guessed.
Once the order had been given to transition to phase three, there had been no mercy. Speirs, being a good officer, had always said they had a chance at winning this battle, but he hadn't believed it until their tanks met the Atlesian ranks and rolled right through. Up until that point, he'd fought knowing he'd be dying for king and country.
Well, for country anyways.
And then suddenly, the monsoon came. It was a bright blue sky, a clear day one moment and a maelstrom the next. Unlike most Mistralians Speirs hadn't been religious since he was a kid, but with such a sudden change in weather so shortly after their counterattack? Some nervous soldiers nearby suggested that the gods might be displeased with them somehow, and the storm was a bad omen, or was the gods striking against them outright. Speirs knew they were just saying what everyone else was thinking.
But they'd kept going. It got dark quickly and with the darkness a downpour of water quickly ensued, turning the dirt to mud and the fields to swamps. Most of the light they had to go by was the result of flashes of lightning periodically lighting up the fields, or the explosions from Atlas' cannons. Where before it was clear the battle was turning in Mistral's favor, now it was… less certain. It had turned from a battle to a brawl, where before Mistral's tanks rolled through their ranks and calmly sprayed explosives, leading the charge into Atlas' army, now Speirs doubted the gunners could see the end of their barrels, much less where Atlas' army was.
It was a similar situation for the soldiers. They kept charging — they all did — but the lightning would illuminate his surroundings for a brief moment and Speirs would find an enemy soldier standing mere feet away from him. Considering he was a couple hundred meters behind their main infantry force, that… was not supposed to happen.
But it had, and so they dealt with it.
The fighting continued like that. Thousands of roaring engines and firing guns, thunder and lightning, mud and rain, man and machine.
Time ticked by achingly slowly, seconds feeling like minutes and minutes like hours. He shot and fought and crawled, and even found himself wrestled to the ground once by an Atlesian soldier he'd literally bumped into. He was standing up from the ground slick with mud, leaving behind a man with a knife in his collarbone when he noticed it.
Lightning flashed to illuminate the sky, but it didn't strike the ground, instead striking what appeared to be a shadow in the sky. He thought he'd imagined it, until it happened again. And again.
It happened frequently enough that Speirs actually got a decent view of what was happening — large bolts of lightning descending onto Atlesian airships one after another, striking with the force of a hammer slamming into an anvil. The lightning brought Atlas' entire fleet into view, the bright flashes becoming more common than the darkness that replaced it. Some ships began to move seemingly against their will, dragged down or spun around, by what he had no clue. Wind… couldn't do that to an airship. At least, it shouldn't have been able to while leaving soldiers like Speirs on his feet.
But water could.
For another long moment he thought he was hallucinating. Lightning striking a ship was one thing. The water reaching up from the ocean to grab one and drag it back down? That was another.
The impossibly strong wind battered ships until they were slammed into the ground, the lightning struck at them until they cracked and fractured, breaking in two or dissolving into dozens of pieces which would careen to Remnant, leaving trails of black smoke in their wake. The seas reached out to scrape the sky, enveloping the largest of the ships and dragging them to the depths.
Speirs would admit he hadn't given much thought to gods and spirits before today. But now? Now, as his dimly-visible comrades charged with wild abandon, shouting praises to the gods?
He didn't hesitate to join them.
Hello everyone! Hope you enjoyed. I don't have anything super specific to say today, but I've been meaning for a while to talk about my discord, and how much it's grown. When i started this story it was a hundred-odd people, with only me, my readers, and periodically greed720/seagate talking. Now it's thousands of people, hundreds of authors, with 1000+ people visiting a week and a partnership with Discord. Weird flex i know, but I just wanted to take a second to mention the growth the server's had, because I noticed that the way I talked about my 100 person active once a month server vs how i talk about the emerald library now is identical, despite them being universes apart.
Anyway, ramble over, just needed my nostalgia dose.
Hope you enjoyed the chapter :)
PS, if anyone has feedback or criticism I'd love to hear it in the reviews, but if you just don't like the story and never have, please go away i have no idea why you're here.
PPS please come to discord and talk to me i require positive affirmation for my incredibly fragile ego
PPPS pat-reons ya'll are goats, thanks for all the support.
Next Chapter November 27 so i can pull another allnighter saturday-sunday when i inevitably need to