Chapter 83: tomorrow is a big day (ababababa)

Lower Fire Month, 18th Day, 600 AGG

Is it time already, Broodmother? His children draw near.

Keep some of your swarm in reserve, if it's all the same. They have five centuries of servitude to look forward to, and I'd hate to take that away from them.

My! There's no need to be cross with me, Broodmother. Who else would help a race of vermin: one that's made numerous enemies, no less?

Yes, yes… of course. It's irrelevant, really.

Hmph.

O Broodmother, Broodmother, Broodmother, what a fool you are.

Why work yourself into a frenzy because of the Republic? Are their deeds so odious to you, that you cannot bear to be patient? To compromise with them?

No matter. This suits my purposes just as well. You should understand; your grievances mean little to me.

Victory? I promise no such thing.

As for our contract… you wouldn't possibly dream of reneging on it, would you? The consequences might be unpleasant, and neither of us want that, Broodmother.

Calm, calm. Your impatience is showing again. Not every jape is made in malice, you see. Wouldn't it be foolish of me to be so wasteful regarding thralls with such potential? Not all of us are like Rhell, you know?

… Bold of you to harbor such a grand ambition. I suppose he's made plenty of enemies, hm? It's not your place, regretfully; someone else still desires the unfathomable from him.

'Why…?' What use have the Mac'tal for the reason? A word of advice from one matron to another: stay as far away from 'that person' as you can. 'Who?' Pfft… ahahaha!

F-Forgive—pffft—forgive me, dear Broodmother. Hearing such questions never fails to amuse me.

You do not need to know. Pray to whatever false deities your kind worships that the knowledge is left untouched. Give gratitude to the hidden stars for it is I and not them who you are dealing with.

Perhaps they are watching even as we converse, Broodmother. Frightening, is it not? I almost pity Rhell, that poor deviant. He will certainly be emboldened by this…

Well.

Shall we begin?

I have oaths of my own to uphold after all.


"They've cut down on the random attacks," Rogrek nodded along to his clansman's report. "Think the spiders realized it was pointless?"

He grimaced, wondering if that could really be the case. Sheer virtue of numbers meant a battle of attrition favored the Mac'tal. The Republic had acquired the Goddess's services, though resurrections limited to a single pool of mana were no match compared to the speed Mac'tal were laid, hatched, and grown. "Then they would've realized it decades ago. Stay on your toes."

Instincts told him there was certainly a trap lying ahead. Considering how much time the spiders had to prepare… it could be a variety of things, but Rogrek doubted said trap would do much aside from bloodying the Republic's nose. The Rajans participating in the operation were carefully spread out, and the kind of preparation needed to instantly envelop an army of this size required several months at minimum.

That wasn't mentioning the additional work needed to hide suspicious signs from rangers and other scouts. Rogrek chewed on the side of his cheek; it seemed the only path out was running headfirst into whatever nasty surprise awaited.

'From the sky?' Trees blocked the heavens. 'Teleportation ambush?' Mac'tal weren't specialized for nomadic powers, and the number of casters required to transport a force rivaling the Republic's was staggering. 'The ground.'

It shook.

And then it collapsed.

Warriors yelled in surprise as the earth beneath crumbled away, dumping the disorientated beastmen and humans onto a strangely marsh-like pit. Swordstalkers swarmed the victims on every side, flooding out of the now exposed subterranean tunnels. Psionics skittered behind to provide ranged support and enhancements to the first wave, casting defensive spells in an effort to foil the Republic's return fire. Scores of Swamp Elementals—did the Mac'tal develop druids somehow?—surged towards the fighters in a frenzied zeal only summons could display.

Thankfully, Rogrek and his clan were placed far from the vanguard which spared them from joining Enverak in falling; however, it was a comfort not meant to last.

Out of the darkness of the largest passage emerged a spider that could only be described as 'titanic.' Its limbs were sturdy tree trunks, its eyes the size of a Zoastia Lord, and its body a rival for any behemoth. The monster's abdominal bioluminescent markings casted an eerie, purple glow over the surroundings—and Rogrek shivered.

"Broodmother, huh? Can't say I've ever seen her before," The Kshatra beside him nervously grinned, but not yet completely cowed. "Seems to me she's 'bout to find out."

"『Focus on the Broodmother! Don't stop until she's a pile of mush!』" Enverak's unwavering boldness strengthened the hands of those with him. Such was the power of a competent lord.

"Rajan! We should join and bolster the assault—"

"No," Rogrek's raised arm held back his Kshatra. "『Support them from afar. Fighters stay on standby!』"

If the trap was only this much, there was no conceivable way the Broodmother would risk being caught in the open. Though a replacement might exist, her death was synonymous with the Mac'tal's extinction. A weaker substitute would result in weaker clutters, and invariably lead to destruction.

Furthermore, the appearance of Swamp Elementals here was too peculiar. Mac'tal never deployed summons; acquiring the capability meant straying off the path their kind adhered to.

"Overhead!" Someone screeched over the throng of battle. "Wyverns coming in hot!"

'Clan Parvatving? Mahasaans?' Hopeful delusions immediately shattered by the rain of arrows unerringly seeking out beastmen and humans. 'Allies of the vermin.'

"『They're hostiles! Shoot them down—urk!』" Rajan Nadhkrt stumbled, clutching the shaft sticking out her shoulder. A war priest rushed to the cougarwoman's side, hurriedly cutting out the arrow before applying healing. "Fucking poison."

Collusion. With who?

It wasn't a question Rogrek and his peers had to ponder for long. Out of the thicket of trees and vegetation, yonder over the far end of the marsh, came an existence none could claim ignorance of.

Dragon. Judging by the size, a Dragon Lord.

By the color of their sable scales, from which light did not escape, one the tribes of the Saramati feared above all else. A ghastly despot who the Republic and City-States treaded carefully around. Among her kind, an exemplar of their mightiest—and worst—traits.

Mirewood Dragon Lord.

'Urnsithilix Nezharthon.'

He had participated in dragon hunts before. Most of them were even successful.

The oldest had never exceeded two centuries in age.

Urnsithilix was slightly older than two centuries.

When one sought to slay ancient dragons, the foremost rule was don't.

Failing that, challengers needed extensive preparations and the stalwart resolve to sacrifice countless lives—a gathering of champions wouldn't hurt either.

But on the dragon's field? Playing by their rules?

Rogrek murmured a prayer to Isholranth, Dyurga, the elementals and nature spirits venerated by the ever-secretive Nemetons.

"Greetings, beastmen! Humans and those dreadful summons too, of course. I'm not much for discrimination."

What was she doing so far south from her domain? For centuries, the black dragon had been content to rule the mountain-swamps sitting between the City-States and Republic. That she decided to leave and assist the spiders was unprecedented.

Surely… surely she knew of the Goddess? Immortals didn't survive as long as the Mirewood Dragon Lord did by being foolish. 'She knows. She knows and she's confident that she can end up on top.'

Urnsithilix drew closer to the swamped pit, dappled sunset revealing the full extent of her features. Rogrek blinked; somehow she was more visible.

Demonic, pitch-black horns curving forward and down, each easily capable of goring any lord. Jagged teeth that protruded from the dragon's closed mouth out of which flesh-eating liquids steadily dripped. Green eyes set in deep sockets, gleaming with wicked intelligence and an endless greed. A lithe, catlike body that bespoke a deadly, graceful, cruelty.

Cruelty that was very, very, very unfortunately directed at them.

"No response…? This corner is well and truly the crudest corner of the world. Don't you think so, Sisava?"

A Yuan-ti that could've been mistaken for human, save for the patches of beautiful emerald scales and hateful slitted eyes, bowed her head. "They deserve nothing less than a thousand lashes each, my Lady. Then if they still live, Rot Grubs shall be poured in the wounds under the watch of our honored pit masters."

"What an inspired idea! Unfortunately, we haven't the time, dear," if he lacked experience, Rogrek would've boggled at how something so large could move so fast. He barely caught the Dragon Lord blurring and reappearing in the midst of the sinkhole. "I am mildly disappointed."

"This one sincerely apologizes, my Lady!"

'Bizarre byplay,' The two spoke as if a deadly struggle wasn't brewing around them, as if the few Kshatras and soldiers who had broken free of their opponents weren't striking the dragon's limbs. 'It's too strange. Too nonchalant. Not a trace of uncertainty to be seen.'

"Indeed, indeed… I'll have to settle for less. That is… a sin."

Vast wings marked with blobby stripes somehow unimpeded by the dense forest extended outwards, blotting out stray rays of sunlight. Shadows seemed to lengthen, ominously, casting a pall over the land despite his darkvision.

'Shit.'

Urnsithilix roared.

A rending clarion calling the abominable to the slaughter.

A primal, primordial toll reminding lower beings just who their ancestors once served.

Come, and bare your necks.

Everyone without countermeasures, from humans to Zoastia and even the angels, found themselves frozen where they stood. The ones who managed to resist the dragonfear fared no better, shocked as they were by the unexpected disaster. Their bodies betrayed them, courage and vigor deserting, hands trembling under the contemptuous gaze of an ancient dragon.

But the Mac'tal did not stop, nor did the Yuan-ti on their foul-fanged Wyverns: bodies accumulated with each second surrendered. Warriors were ripped apart from the ground and riddled with arrows from above all while Weblords and Sanctifiers bombarded the pit from the burrowed pathways leading into the killing field.

Rogrek shook off his bewilderment—thank Isholranth he was lucky enough to stay out of dragonfear range—and bellowed. "『Pick off the riders! Vanguards, hold fast!』"

It couldn't quite overcome the terror instilled by the dragon, but the command snapped a few out of the fear-induced trance: becoming a wave that slowly spread throughout the rest of the reclamation force. Rajans hurriedly reinstated order among the ranks, Enverak foremost among them, and pulled the struggling mass together.

'We have to retreat,' his throat grew sore from yelling rapid-fire orders. 'Gods know how long it'll take to recover if they take out more Rajans.'

"Hm…" Urnsithilix purred, the soft sound somehow louder than the tangled mess of combat. "This is something of a new record for me, isn't it? Sisava?"

"My Lady is too humble—"

"『Target the one on her shoulder!』" The two-legged Yuan-ti ducked behind her master's wings, barely avoiding the hail of missiles keen to pincushion her.

"So energetic! I suppose it wouldn't do to disappoint all of you then," anima dyed bile-green surged up the artery of Urnsithilix's throat, hissing as excess vitriol leaked out her jaws. She ignored the bullets peppering her scaly hide with an almost pitying scorn; aged dragonscale and layers of enhancement spells allowing only the most superficial of damage to mar her person.

"『Scatter! Spread the fuck—』" Enverak's shout was cut short. His gurgling followed soon after.

Torrents of corrosive acid bathed those caught in the trap. The Mirewood Dragon Lord didn't bother distinguishing between friend and foe—Mac'tal, Swamp Elementals, fallen Yuan-Ti and their Wyvern mounts were equally beneath her notice as the noxious cone sweeped back and forth, melting even angels in its outpouring.

There was a gleeful exhilaration to the butchering, a gruesome delight shared by Urnsithilix's thralls: one and all completely unconcerned with how the ancient black dragon was also slaughtering their own.

"Is this all?" Urnsithilix jeered while a claw the color of sun-bleached bones playfully disemboweled a struggling lionman. "I must say, I expected… more."

"Damn you to hell—" The armored human crumpled, squelched, splattering their innards outwards. Shimmering bullets and arrows battered the Dragon Lord's scales, some managing to barely stick: though none were treated as more than a passing inconvenience.

"『Wind Wall』," and then even the projectiles were scattered by the blast of invisible air, save for the scant few thrown by the Republic's renowned champions. "『Summon Nature's Ally Fourth』."

"『Fall back! Rangers and spellcasters: maintain distance and cover our retreat!』" Rogrek quickly rallied the warriors standing outside the pit before the newly summoned Swamp Elemental could drag them down. "『Humans! Tell your damn angels to deal with their skirmishers!』"

"My, oh my, your foes are fleeing, Broodmother," Urnsithilix's taunt carried across the chaos. Had he the luxury, Rogrek would've come to the conclusion that the alliance was hastily made, but the scaled harassers gave no such opportunity. "Sisava. Be a dear and kill as many as you can, will you?"

One of the pure-blood reptilians changed direction and led several of its Wyvern-mounted fellows in picking off their rear forces. The Republic's warriors didn't sell their blood cheaply though: each wound was repaid in kind—ranger snipers knocking down the winged monsters where fighters could tear into them and their riders with impunity.

All around him, Rajans frantically shouted commands to their sworn Kshatras. Bolts of wyrdfire screeched through the air, colliding with physical counterparts of mastercraft wood and metal that splintered, splashed, stained the combatants in various shades of blood.

In the thick of the mayhem, Urnsithilix had taken to the air and began charging another breath attack. Interceptors deflected the deadliest of the Republic's ranged strikes—sometimes with their bodies when might of arms proved insufficient.

Acid strafed the left wing, creating a horrendous scene reflecting the bowels of that artificial marsh. Sickly pea-green clouds lingered and separated his allies from one another lest the meat slough off their bones in goopy chunks. In a single attack, large swathes of the coalition were thrown into confusion once more.

'Around twenty riders left. How are they giving us this much trouble?' The answer was clear after a cursory survey. Though the coordination between Mac'tal and Urnsithilix's vassals left plenty to be desired, the Republic couldn't put a decisive end to the Yuan-ti riders with their master running interference. Neither could the army effectively push back the spiders and Swamp Elementals while being tormented from on high. 'Who am I kidding? The biggest problem is the dragon.'

Landing hits was already difficult given their surprising mobility in the forest's tangle—inflicting actual injuries, an entirely greater realm of 'challenging' considering innate draconic durability and Mac'tal blessings. In fact, most of them had given up on targeting the Mirewood Dragon Lord, choosing to focus on less absurd targets as the Republic fled.

"Sadly, I must express my deepest regrets for overstaying my welcome," Urnsithilix scanned the lucky people who had the dubious privilege of retreating, stopping longer on the angels. Venomous green eyes narrowed even further in thoughtful malevolence. "Being too eager can also be discourteous."

The Broodmother angrily screeched as titanic limbs seemed to take out its frustrations on the victims floundering in the sunken marsh. Their partnership, that reaction strengthened his beliefs on its fragility. If the bulk of the alliance could just regroup at the last checkpoint, hold out until a message got passed to the Goddess…

"Haaa…" Urnsithilix rolled her eyes. Rogrek didn't have time to contemplate what that meant, didn't have time to do anything other than try to get out of this alive with as many people as he could. "This is almost too much trouble.『Spike Growth』.『Summon Nature's Ally Fourth』."

The Kshatras a few meters to Rogrek's left grunted in pain, blood began spurting out of gashes created by the suddenly razor-sharp undergrowth. Thankfully, the Dragon Lord had slightly misjudged his location—a mistake he doubted she'd repeat. "『Avoid that patch!』"

Those who could, did, but the ones caught in the thick of the growth slowed—lagging behind as rot-laced arrows peppered their hides. Of the ones who escaped, he saw grayish pus ooze from their yellowing and greening injuries. He grit his teeth and pushed ahead, leaving the dying to their fate even while another『Spike Growth』ensnared the warriors a half-step behind.

"What are the damn angels doing?!" Getting toyed with and dismantled, obviously. Suited for the air, the white wings were, but how much more so the Wyverns? Summons lacked the ability to learn beyond the absolute basics, and in this case, true dogfighting experience. Out-maneuvered at every turn, pairs of Yuan-ti riders—even trios—would gracefully surround the empyreal beings, stabbing from manifold angles until they dissipated into motes of light. "Where are the better ones—?!"

'Here it comes.'

"Aren't you a little late?" Rogrek breathed a heaving sigh of relief at the sight of a Zebulian Sungazer weaving through the trees towards them. The four-winged vortex of fire furiously crackled, firing a searing beam that scorched Urnsithilix's dull-black scales. "Anyway, I do believe that's the cue to leave. You would do well to finish up soon, Broodmother."

Urnsithilix idly crushed a Swamp Elemental and its entrapped victims underfoot. "Sisava! That's enough now, dear—we'll be leaving the rest to our wonderful new friends."

The surviving Wyverns screeched as their masters returned to grab onto the expanse of inky scales. He caught a glint of orichalcum in the Dragon Lord's grasp before her and her thralls blinked out of existence, narrowly avoiding another blast of heat. 'Teleportation…'

Rogrek took a quick look behind him and scowled: the hapless souls caught in the initial ambush must have been butchered to the last by now. Clutters of Swordstalkers and even a cadre of Bladereavers were catching up, reinforcing their kin as the Broodmother surely vanished down the very same yawning passageways.

He slowed his pace, trusting the other lords to lead the survivors to safety, and fell to the rear. "『Those in the front, keep up the pace until you reach the transport golems! Rearguard to me!』"

The tigerman spat on the ground. This abject failure would absolutely not be received well—Rogrek shoved the gut-twisting distress far out of mind. Self-loathing could always be saved for later.

A grunt was forced out his gritted teeth by the Bladereaver's cleaving strike.

He'd have to make sure there was a 'later' first.


'What a pleasant surprise,' Isoleiryx was barely stopping himself from humming out loud. Happenstance rarely looked kindly upon the unprepared, but exceptions were a natural part of life. "A black dragon… I've never seen one before. Can't we defeat it with all the warriors we have?"

The tigerman running by his side looked at him in a way reserved for the mentally touched. "On a field she prepared? Im-fuckin'-possible."

"I see…" Chromatic dragons that lived for as long as Urnsithilix usually developed a modicum of sense that balanced their arrogance. Catching an ancient dragon off-guard was no mean feat, and defeating one after being caught in an ambush was an incomparably greater challenge.

Not for him, of course, nor for the Player and her higher-ranked summons, but the joint beastmen-human army stood less than a whisper of a chance.

"Hurry up and get in!" He was unceremoniously shoved into the body of an Ambulatory Edifice. Mana thrummed throughout the golem's construction. Spindly legs groaned as the rectangular body was lifted off the ground, bearing a weight beyond its rated capacity. "Shit… shit!"

'How fascinating. I wonder what drove her to such an extreme decision,' Isoleiryx ignored the grim atmosphere choking the interior of the packed golem. 'Some accord with the spiders… they certainly make for good raw materials, and a race of fast-breeding vermin are perfect for slaves—assuming she can exert her authority safely.'

Brightness Dragon Lord barely restrained himself from snorting in disdain. Urnsithilix's greed would lead to a horrific fate; there was no need for him to reprimand her for intruding on his domain. "Though she might weasel her way out of consequences for now."

" 'Course she is," a bear-like Orthrous mistook his murmurings as a conversational opener. "That the bitch flew out here means she's got a plan. Strike a treaty, give the angels some shitty tribute, gods know what's under her tongue…"

"We can only hope," Isoleiryx helplessly shrugged. Scorning the beastman for not reaching the same level of understanding as him would be juvenile. He had known of the Mirewood Dragon Lord since they first left her progenitor's nest over four centuries ago. 'Getting away with misdeeds will embolden her, tempt her to continue; a taste is rarely satiating. Against lower beings, taking liberties is manageable.'

The Player wasn't someone Urnsithilix could cow into obedience. Isoleiryx ponderously scratched his chin—putting on a pitiable persona would work the first couple of occasions, but nobody bore infinite patience.

'In any case, this removes a burden off my back. The setback I desired was kindly provided by an unsuspecting third party, and the amount of damage dealt should split the Player's attention for a good while.'

Enchanted steel joints creaked as the Edifice navigated the forested terrain with all the speed it could muster and still keep its balance. Behind, warriors fought to protect the valuable backliners, and even further behind laid hissing piles of melted corpses.

Yes, this concluded in a superbly fantastic disaster.


AN: Hello! I've posted a character sheet for Urnsithilix on the AO3 version of this story!

As for Yuriko... I do have a sheet made, but I think I'll hold it back for a while, haha.