Author's Note: Finally, we'll start to get to the heart of the story. A word of warning, it starts to get pretty dark from this point on.
Chapter Twenty-One
Many warriors say that once the smell of blood reaches their nose, and the sound of clashing steel reaches their ears, that the battle becomes a haze to them; they can't exactly recall what happened, what they did, or how they got all those wounds that finally started to hurt once the conflict had ended.
For Devona, it was exactly the opposite. Battle sharpened her senses, combat made her perception keener, fighting made her analytical mind faster. She could tell you at any given moment in any battle where every person in her group was, what they were doing, and how effective they were at doing it.
She knew that Coran was seven yards behind her, his spear flashing with its lightning fury roughly every five seconds, striking with its telltale electrical sparks and lethal force, the crackling lance of energy often passing mere inches from her ears or shoulders. She also heard his voice chanting the paragon litanies that enhanced the capabilities of all around him, either by inspiring their spirits, or magically infusing their own prowess.
The warrior had never had much chance to fight with a paragon, the exception being General Morghan… but he had been more of a traditional fighter, rather than the support personnel that Coran seemed more inclined to assume, so she had not heard the professions battle chants all that often, and allowed herself the opportunity to spare half her attention to capture the words of one litany as it carried with astonishing clarity to her ears despite the din of battle.
Take heart my friends, if ill or fair,
Strike now comrades, bring blow to bear!
Fret not their shields or armor tough,
Your arms shall all pierce deep enough!
As if prophetic, Devona's next strike finally broke the defenses of the Blademaster that had been stymieing her attacks and had given the hammer wielder occasional pause with his counterattacks. The hammer hit with such force that it splintered the Charr fighter's shield, and she heard the satisfying crack of his forearm breaking from the impact. Her next blow served to be the killing one, as the Charr's sword proved unsuited to parry the much heavier weapon, striking the beast's chest, and killing him with its concussive force near instantly.
To her right, the ranged units had pushed forward, now focusing on specific targets, usually casters and healers that had grouped together in formation. The gunners, as Coran called them, drew her attention simply due to their newness in her mind. The long metal sticks they used were indeed the source of the popping explosions she had heard, but whatever magic they used was invisible to her eye; a flash, pop, and a dead Charr collapsing as if slapped by an unseen hand.
At that point, the Charr had assembled, organized, and began providing a more staunch defense, clearly forming ranks, and momentarily pushing Devona and the central charge back. At that point, the secondary charge from the Asuran krewe to her left made their presence felt.
They advanced directly into the breadth of the first and second lines of Charr, in a tight box formation, with their gleaming silver domed shields above their heads, deflecting the blows of the Charr that tried to stop them. Occasionally, one Charr fighter would fall, and the Asuran formation would simply walk right over him, leaving a horribly slashed corpse in its wake.
Once the little warriors had drawn a sizable amount of attention from the rear guard and front lines of the Charr, it stopped its advance, and then Norrit's voice screeched, "Flurry offensive phalanx stratagem, initiate!"
It was like adding flesh ripping fish into a stream filled with crossing dolyaks. The surrounding Charr crumpled and were shredded by the Asuran's weapons as the box morped into a circle of whirling steel, wielding glaive like weapons with broad sharp cutting edges and long handles that they propped under their arms as they swung for balance and stability.
Devona found herself awestruck by the coordination and strategy and tactics the small beings used. They were using their smaller stature to their advantage, the considerably larger Charr unable to gain an effective angle of attack without contorting themselves in ways that reduced their brute strength to near nothing, while the Asura themselves chopped at knees and ankles, forcing their adversaries down then with cold precision slicing out throats or slashing mortal wounds across abdomens as the Charr lost balance.
The twelve tiny machines of death began rotating through the Charr ranks, maintaining close disciplined positions relative to one another, their defense as fluid and precise as their offense, ravaging their opponents with what Devona could only describe as practiced ease. It was a side of the intellectual and unassuming race that she had never imagined they could have.
And through it all, the ranged and primary melee teams took to clearing the peripheries, pressing their advantage towards the casters and healers, the rapidly diminishing front line and occupied rear guard unable to assist. The Prophets and Menders were first to fall, and as those collapsed, the Charr forces began to diminish at an even more furious rate.
The Flameshields came under intense duress as Devona saw the leader of this band become exposed to the chaos. It appeared this Seer didn't exactly have the foresight implied by its name, because she sensed it was surprised, steadily retreating from the field of battle and stirring whatever reinforcements it could towards the front lines.
So, she took the initiative, knocking one Charr sword bearer of his feet with an uppercut swing of her hammer, and sprinted towards the shimmering onyx monstrosity.
Yet, it recovered fast enough to turn square to Devona, and for a brief second, her eyes met the deep, inky blackness within the eye sockets of the Seer…
… And that was all it needed.
Instantly, Devona froze… her body went rigid, every muscle wrenching taut with painful tension. She found it near miraculous that she even remained upright. Her hammer dropped from her lifeless hands, her own body refusing to obey her mind's commands.
The sounds of battle vanished from her ears, replaced by a hideous sinister voice that she new from experience was the shrill, near condescending intonation of the Seer in front of her.
"Submit to my will, and your death will at least be delayed."
Devona wanted to refuse vehemently, but found not even her lips were her own. Not that it mattered, since the Seer clearly sensed her decline.
"It matters not. You and your allies have already lost."
The world before her vanished, replaced with an artificial scene that reminded her of Tyria's depths, but with the feeling that wherever she was, it was even older. Before her, stood a massive, dull gold sculpture of a gigantic throne that had to stand at least two hundred feet in height, filled with a misshapen monstrosity that Devona couldn't clearly see; as not even her eyes would move by her will. A foreboding sense of terror slid like ooze from the top of her head slowly to her toes. It wasn't from the Seer... this sensation felt different; similar... but far more intense, far more pervasive, consuming with its power rather than subtle.
Her vision slowly became filled one by one with the faces of her friends and comrades in arms, all ritualistically slain, with their throats scoured, eyes gouged out, and gaping empty holes where it looked like the chests had been ripped clean with bestial wrath, loose remnants of ribs barely held in place by torn muscle and flesh outlining the now empty cavities. All of those she had just fought with… the Asurans, many of which she couldn't name… Norrit… Vekk… Pyre… the other members of the Fierce clan… Grazz… Yue… Cynn… Mhenlo… Aiden… Gwen… saving the prince for last.
She begged her eyes to shut as Coran's corpse filled her vision, but again, her own body betrayed her, showing the mutilated man to her horror.
The Seer appeared from thin air just behind the prince, its body barely visible in the darkness of the scenery around her. "We gouged out their eyes so that they could see their bodies defiled." It said with casual ease, as if it were merely issuing a statement of the current weather.
No… Devona protested to herself. This isn't real… it's only an illusion…
"The world you believe in is the illusion. An illusion I and my grand master will soon dispel." The Seer corrected. It seemed to phase through Coran's body, stopping inches from Devona. A long, prehensile tongue as black as the rest of its form snaked out of its mouth, and slowly licked the warrior's throat and chin. Despite her revulsion, she had no more command of herself as she had when this entire vision started, unable to even so much as grimace in disgust.
"It is of little effort to control the minds and bodies of livestock, human." The Seer crowed. "Now… it's your turn to join your allies…"