Chapter 9: To the Rescue
The Wraiths came first, unleashing a hail of explosive projectiles that collapsed a vast section of the palace's eastern battlements and quaked the proud citadel to its very foundations.
Then, as if disgorged from the sun's disc itself, did six of their monstrous controllers appear, stowing the returning scout aircraft safely beneath their wings before accelerating towards the ruined structure over Floristica's countless rooftops and commencing a bombardment of their own.
But the coup de grâce was not to be, for the water from the canals encircling the palace leapt up and formed a swirling, protective wall more solid than any concrete, which their missiles and shells erupted deafeningly but harmlessly against.
This development sent the Shadow Reapers into a brief confusion; it was at this juncture, when their ranks wavered, that the immense water curtain parted, like the Red Sea before Moses, to reveal a knot of Roshtarian airships, arrayed in the battle-tested Nine-Unit Octagon with eight skirmisher craft forming the 'sides' and a flagship at the centre.
And it was from the flagship's tower-like bridge that a fiery beam of heat arced across the sky towards the leading Reaper, clipping him across the face and knocking him off course.
Shayla and Nanami whooped with glee from their lofty perch as the Reaper's fellows swerved wildly to avoid colliding with him, the two young women's exclamation of triumph boisterously echoed by the airships' crewmen.
"They're gonna cloak now, I'm sure of it," said Shayla, charging up for another shot. "Keep those eyes skinned, girlfriend."
"Roger dodger," assured Nanami, her eyes glued to the oversized field glasses Londs had issued to enhance her spotting ability.
Sure enough, the first trio of Reapers vanished from view and the second soon followed suit, but where everyone else saw only empty air, Nanami could discern flickering shadows.
"First three spreading out," she yelled into a voice pipe. "One climbing up above us and two coming in from port and starboard!"
"Affirmative," Londs bellowed in reply from the deck below, where an ingenious system of acoustic tubing amplified Nanami's instructions for all to hear. "Miss Miz, over to you! Signalman - alert the skirmishers!"
A nearby soldier let loose a flare that spurred the skirmisher craft to turn on their axes, presenting the smallest possible targets to the flanking Reapers, while Miz, standing with Fujisawa at the flagship's prow, raised one arm in acknowledgement of Londs' command before sweeping it downward.
From the fluid walls that loomed to either side of the Octagon flew balls of high density water in their hundreds, which lengthened and crystallised into spear-like ice shards as they sought their marks.
The Reapers approaching from port and starboard, evidently underestimating what confronted them, hurtled headlong into this veritable blizzard of frozen flechettes, ricocheting sparks betraying them as the whetted fragments rained upon their invisible, arrowhead-shaped forms.
For a instant it seemed as though the frigid gauntlet was making little impression, and the skirmishers apprehensively readied their weapons, training them on the two rapidly approaching clusters of scintillations that indicated where ice was smashing repeatedly against the speedy intruders' metallic hides.
Then sheer force of numbers won out, and the Roshtarian crews cheered once more to see the twin masses of sparks lose height, emitting thin trails of smoke, before turning sharply away to avoid further damage; up above, the first Reaper was also taking evasive action after being subjected to a five-second, continuous dose of Shayla's heat ray.
"Watch out!" Nanami's horrified scream interrupted the gaiety. "The other three are coming in from below!"
First redirecting her ice barrage, Miz then closed the water curtain, but these measures sent only one Reaper retreating - the initial echelon, though damaged and staved off, had served their purpose of misdirection, and two of their comrades were within the barrier now, rocketing up from under towards the airships' keels.
At Londs' desperate command, nine pairs of ventral cannons, normally hidden behind trap doors, slid their muzzles out and opened up as one, turning the space beneath the Octagon into a maelstrom of fire and shrapnel.
But from this seething cauldron the Reapers sprang unscathed like fiends out of Tartarus, fully uncloaked now, saw blades whirring with vengeful intent.
Then four of the skirmisher craft were ripped in half down their middles as if they were little more than plywood models, debris and human beings, both living and lifeless, violently ejected from the wreckage in all directions like the contents of grotesque Christmas crackers.
Miz rushed to save as many of the falling men as she could, sending enormous columns of water rising from the canals to break their descent and deposit them safely on terra firma.
Her own safety soon became a more pressing priority, however, as the Reapers, after punching straight through the skirmishers and soaring high above the Octagon, turned and dived down upon the formation at a near ninety degree angle with guns spitting death.
Shells struck the flagship and in seconds, the bridge, sails, masts and rigging were blazing fiercely, showering all and sundry with red hot cinders.
Hoarsely shouting Miz's name, Fujisawa pushed her out of the way as part of the mainsail landed where she had been standing, bringing with it a tangle of burning canvas that smothered him from head to foot.
A cry of terror began, rose and died in the Water Priestess' throat - for Shayla was on the scene, magically extinguishing the roaring tongues of orange and crimson with a snap of her fingers before Fujisawa sustained any serious burns, and enabling him to extricate himself uninjured.
"Who says starting fires is all I'm good for?" she quipped before similarly assisting several soldiers, howling in agony with their hair and uniforms wreathed in flames one moment, free of their torment and left with only minor wounds the next.
"We owe you one," said Miz, helping an equally grateful Fujisawa to his feet. "Is Nanami all right?"
Shayla blanched. "I told her to stay on my ass when we were fleeing the bridge. Nanami, where the hell are you?"
"So many dead," the brunette whispered as she, almost in response to Shayla's query, stumbled out of the smoke that enveloped the entire ship, seemingly oblivious to the fact that her left upper arm was badly gashed and bleeding fearfully. "All because of me. Didn't spot those bastards quickly enough."
Shayla caught hold of her and cauterised the wound with a needle-thin version of her heat ray, an action that Nanami did not so much as flinch at.
"Poor kid's in shock," noted Fujisawa, doffing his cloak and wrapping it around his student, who slumped wordlessly against him, staring absently; he gently laid her down in a cloistered alcove, away from the danger.
What a time to lose our only warning system, thought Shayla, grasping frantically at a railing as the deck lurched to the sickening impact of the Reapers landing upon it.
The first one singled her out, striding forward with saw blade swinging viciously as he attempted to cleave her in two.
Caught off-guard by the speed of his attack, Shayla was barely able to duck out of the way, let alone bring her heat ray to bear.
The razor-sharp, spinning disc seemed poised to inflict a final, fatal strike when its wielder turned to look behind him, distracted by a large-calibre round that had glanced off his back.
"Over here you cur," Londs' voice rang out, he and half a dozen of his troops manning the wheeled artillery piece that had just bought the Fire Priestess precious, life-saving seconds... which were all that she needed to regain the initiative and deliver a counter-attack, her heat ray, unleashed at point blank range, blasting the Reaper overboard.
His teammate took aim at the Roshtarians, only for her shot to go wide as Fujisawa's foot connected with her head in a magnificent flying kick.
Both man and monster crashed onto the deck before grappling like pro wrestlers, the Royal Champion restraining the Reaper's saw blade hand, its edge mere inches from his throat, with a grip of iron, while delivering juddering punches to her armour plating that would have turned a lesser opponent to paste.
Fujisawa gritted his teeth and a prolonged growl of exertion escaped his larynx; never before had his strength been so sorely tested.
His entire life seemed to flash before his eyes, the predominating visions being those of his father - who was also his karate coach - telling him to never give up no matter what the circumstances, and those of Miz, beloved Miz, whose fate would be sealed should he lose.
Then with a sudden convulsive effort, and his growl reaching a crescendo that would turn a young listener's hair grey, he lashed out with both legs, launching the Reaper off him and straight into what remained of the bridge, which crumbled down upon her - a great javelin of ice hurled by Miz subsequently skewered the fallen Reaper's head to the floor beneath, straight through the eye.
To everybody's horror, not only did the Reaper sit bolt upright, plucking the icicle from her cranium as though it were a mere splinter, but the missile racks on her shoulders sprung open to reveal their deadly contents - there was no way she could possibly miss.
What happened next unfolded as if in slow motion.
Fujisawa flung himself, a human shield, between the Reaper and Miz - her knight in shining armour to the very end.
Shayla's fingertip glowed with the beginnings of a heat ray - at least she would get one last lick in before giving up the ghost, she thought.
Londs, of much the same persuasion, brushed his petrified gunners aside and made a grab for the cannon's lanyard himself - the Roshtarian Royal Guards would go down fighting.
The whine of 'target lock' filled their ears.
And a lightning-like bolt streaked from the blue, hitting the Reaper before she could fire, right where Fujisawa had so vigorously hammered her armour earlier, engulfing her bulky form in a crackling nimbus of electricity.
She contorted in agony, limbs and body trailing bluish snakes of light that earthed themselves to the surrounding metal debris, then toppled heavily, inert at last.
Everyone turned to see where their salvation had come from, and beheld a spectacle that renewed their faith in miracles.
Emerging from a bank of cloud was a ziggurat-shaped vessel of prodigious size, its gleaming hull covered with arcane symbols and punctuated with ports from whence more energy bolts whizzed in their dozens at the Reapers.
The one Shayla blasted overboard, now recovered from his rude reversal and closing back in on the flagship, was in for another nasty surprise.
With his armour already buckled from her heat ray, he did not stand a chance - an energy bolt tore through the weakened area and he dropped like a stone.
His confederates hastily cloaked themselves as Shayla and Miz, wasting no time, added to their torment with heat rays and ice shards.
There was a heart-stopping moment when the Priestesses wondered how they would fare against invisible enemies now that Nanami was hors de combat, but the surreal silence that reigned in due course, broken only by the intermittent groans of injured Roshtarians, told them they need not have worried.
"They're gone," Shayla breathed incredulously. "They've bugged out."
"All thanks to whom?" Fujisawa voiced the question on their collective minds, gawking at the flying ziggurat.
The answer came in the form of three figures who, accompanied by a person-sized steel capsule, floated down from its apex to meet him.
"Sorry we took so long," said Makoto apologetically as he, Varic and Ura landed before the flabbergasted assembly. "The Great Sepulchre doesn't travel as fast as Afura does."
"Don't you give me that nonsense, boy," Fujisawa laughed, crushing Makoto to his chest in a bear hug. "You showed up in the nick of time."
"I couldn't agree more," said Miz. "Makoto, who is this gentleman? And where IS Afura?"
"We'll fully explain in a bit," Makoto replied. "But in short, as fantastic as it sounds... General Varic's from the distant past, and he's here to help. He knows how to fight the Reapers, and about so very much more."
"Afura Mann will recover from her wounds in a week or thereabouts," said Varic, indicating the pod, its opaque surface turning transparent to reveal the bruised, battered Wind Priestess, immersed in a pale violet rejuvenating solution - she weakly but reassuringly smiled at her friends from behind a glassy breathing mask. "Few have dared to take on a section of Shadow Reapers single handedly - this brave woman was lucky to escape with her life. The Sepulchre contains enough of these healing tanks to manage a mass casualty incident - please prepare your most serious cases for pickup and I shall tend to them, too."
As a huge transportation beam lifted the casualties into the Sepulchre as if by unseen angelic hands, Varic turned to regard Nanami, who stood observing these events with a vacant expression; Makoto and the others were comforting her, but she was not responding.
"Is this the girl who can see them when they are veiled?" he asked.
"Silly goose doesn't want any more treatment," Shayla grumbled. "Nanami, come on. Just because I sealed up that cut doesn't mean you shouldn't have it checked out - along with the rest of yourself, for that matter."
Nanami's eyes blinked for the first time in minutes as Varic, crouching down beside her, stared straight into them with his golden ones - it felt as though he was staring through to her soul, the previously innocent soul of this vivacious high schooler and restaurateur, now forced to confront the harsh reality of war practically overnight.
"You not only performed a task that electronic devices are still hard pressed to fulfil, but helped lay the enemy low, and enabled this defending force to hold out much longer than anyone could have predicted," he said softly but matter-of-factly. "Think of the ones you DID save - the ones who would have perished had you not been there. Not of the could-haves, nor of the might-have-beens. None of us can aid them all, so stop blaming yourself. The guilt will eat you alive."
"My troops and I knew from the get-go that we were hopelessly outmatched, Nanami," added Londs. "But we gave battle anyway to avoid being pointlessly destroyed on the ground, to give the Priestesses a platform from which they could mount a response, to distract the foe from razing the palace and the rest of Floristica. And," here he pointed at the virtually untouched city, plus a flag flying from the palace's tallest tower that signified Princess Rune was safe, "our objectives have been fulfilled, thanks in no small measure to you."
The others, including the surviving Roshtarian soldiers, voiced their agreement, and Nanami blinked again before her eyesight began to swim with scalding tears that flowed freely down her cheeks.
Her body was then racked by long, piteous sobs, and Makoto responded by holding her close, tenderly rocking her and stroking her hair.
A yowl from Ura split the air and heads turned to see what had startled her so - the Armour Cat, curiously pawing at the vanquished Reaper's torn breastplate, had inadvertently dislodged it to reveal a sight that shook everybody but Makoto and Varic to the core.
Within the monster's chest cavity, cushioned by shock absorbers and surrounded by a myriad of circuitry that was grotesquely embedded into almost every square inch of her skin, was curled a small white furry animal, no larger than Ura, which looked not unlike a Holland Lop to the Earthlings.
Now they understood why blows to the Reapers' heads had no effect - a Reaper was nothing so much as a transformable suit of powered armour, the head merely containing sensor arrays, while the chest was where the controller resided.
It was evident that these naturally defenceless beings relied wholly on their fearsome exoskeletons, to which they were permanently grafted, for strength and protection.
The rabbit-thing's pink eyes flicked open, and despite the copious blood oozing from her mouth that clearly indicated mortal injury, she summoned up enough strength to screech at the aghast onlookers with as much vitriol and loathing as any of them had ever experienced.
Varic, his face etched with sadness, swiftly and cleanly put the creature out of her misery - although her dying curse would linger long afterwards in the memories of all present that morning.
"You have now seen Zheveryn's pets for what they truly are," he said soberly. "A hitherto docile species that has known naught but how to hate, and enact that hate, for centuries."
"I need a stiff drink," muttered Shayla.