Cycle of Strife
Paris, France
1100 Hours
A raid.
On the first plane the humans wandered around dazed. A few hardened soldiers and militia stood guard.
On the higher planes the world was a mesh of activity. Imps and Foliots repaired ruined battlements and ruptured shields. Djinn stood guard inside the city walls; the countryside was empty was activity. I sensed powerful magic just off the horizon.
By now I had learned powerful equals to British.
The whole British army had parked itself outside Paris. Not good.
We separated. I head to the center of Paris; a maze of nexuses. Eventually I found my master. He and some more Czech magicians were seemingly engaged in packing their bags and preparing to run.
"Ah; tactical withdrawal?"
"Something like that. You will stay here and report on events." I just had to open my mouth.
"Report on events! What reporting do you need! The British are coming tomorrow; Paris will offer token resistance and become a part of the British Empire! And then- Ouch!" OK, scratch hysteria.
"I said report on events."
"Will do."
…
1500 Hours.
OK. Reporting on events: My master and co. had long gone. The French magi ran the show now. Meanwhile the British surrounded the city and preparing to storm the city. And I'm still bound to 'report on events'
The planes shuddered.
The magic was strong; it seeped though the battlements, everything seemed to glow in the seventh plane.
By morning everyone will be dead.
How am I supposed to 'report on events' them?
…
1800 Hours
Iron cannon balls began raining on the city, with the intermittent detonation. Any hope of miraculous French resistance was fast drying up.
….
2100 Hours
The British attacked, by time it was almost a mercy killing. We were that bad. (Even my presence couldn't save us.)
The 'Battlements' exploded. Well, not exploded. Dissipated into atoms is a more correct analogy.
It took about two detonations to kill all the defenders. (I decided that if I am to 'report on events' I best stay alive. And fighting the onrushing mass of death and magic wouldn't improve my odds of survival.)
We retreated to mesh of nexuses were the magicians resided. It was a bloody battle. The British were slowed by tenacious street to street combat.
I joined them with my customary haste.
…
…
…
I hit a Ghul with a nova. Then another with an inferno.
Convulsion. Detonation. Spasm. Inferno. Pestilence.
They just kept coming.
Too many, far too many; we lost ground, one house at a time. It had been a age since I witnessed the true horror of war.
There! The dying shriek of a Djinni.
Here! A pestilence consumed an entire battalion of humans.
It was hard to distinguish between friend and foe. It was only a matter of time before even the great Shah al-jinni, the serpent of the silver plumes fell.
An inferno hit me. My essence was burnt.
…
A limping rat managed to escape the fighting. This was intensely embarrassing.
Time to lay low until the summons.
…
Sorry for this pathetic excuse for a ending chapter. Part II will come soon.