Chapter 9-281: Oh, You’re Not Smiling Anymore...

Now, this Arhat was in a metaphysical state of transcendence: unable to harm, unable to be harmed, radiating submission and false holiness and a bunch of other mind-bending crap. Material objects and energy attacks should have simply gone right through it, treated as non-existent and made so by that belief that it was in tune with the universe and it defined reality about it, Om Mani Padme Hum.

Unfortunately, E-plumbum doesn’t care about what you think reality is; it’s about as hard and dense and real as reality gets.

The Greysphere riding the Wrath wrapped around the shot? That was just to make sure it stuck.

The light the Arhat was radiating went out abruptly as the armor-piercing round punched through its skin’s Golden Armor as if it wasn’t there, and plunged deep into its thick belly, incidentally making it a real pain to get the bullet out of there. Normally such a round going through mystical defenses might have just been annoying, and an entity that powerful could have ignored the pain and physical damage and just continued on.

The Greysphere I’d foisted off onto his shot taking effect, not so much. Arcane Archer Levels and Eldritch Theurgy ftw!

Suddenly that pillar of light the Arhat was floating down on couldn’t hold onto it, a new grey light absolutely blocking it. Nor could it fly by itself. The Arhat’s pious, grandiose, serene, composed, and regal descent from Heaven Westward became an abrupt plummet.

Now, a fall from any height wasn’t going to kill it, but there was no way it was going to be suddenly composed as it crashed down from the sky, slammed into the Dome which had not opened in time to let it through, rolled and bounced and began to slide in a very long way down off to the side.

While it would have been cool to watch the damn obese thing bounce and plummet its way down the half-mile-high Dome, that would also have been a waste of time.

I transferred another spell to Master Fred, who lifted Fred’s Grit, currently in Rifle form, and from Sleipner’s saddle out there, standing in mid-air stably amid the hurricane-force winds pummeling the city and the Dome, fired.

Normally it could have evaded a single shot, but One Shots are specifically designed to thwart auto-dodges, and the overweight thing could only try to dodge reflexively in a situation of no-flight and restricted maneuverability, uncontrolled kinetic energy, and no way to get out of the way in time

The bright golden light of holy Wrath followed the bullet into the Greysphere, went out at the ten-foot edge of its radius, and buried itself deep inside the folds of fat on the thing.

And that’s when the Paired Admixtured Topped Shards went off inside it. Oh, and Repeating, too.

The scream as a hundred Shards exploded out of its bulk all at once removed its dignity with its awkward scraping and sliding and a whole lot of pain. White stuff that might have been a blood analogue was spurting in all directions from the dumped spell, and its wide glowing eyes were fixed on us as it felt the ominousness of Heaven’s judgement coming down on it... the real Heaven, not whatever pissant Nirvanic Realm it had come from.

The Repeated volley from within it blew it apart, and the vivic explosion and Anarchic additions I’d foisted into the spell turned the explosive death into a hundred-meter radius of white fires and rainbow pyrotechnics against the raging backdrop of the black storm clouds and ceaseless heavenly lightning.

The explosion itself had a transcendent, sublime satisfaction to it. Ahhhh...

Since I was pretty much always Singing in such situations, it fell to Master Fred to make the accompanying snark for me.

“Thank you for your contribution to the Land. You’ve stolen so much from it, it is a welcome sight to see you bring in things that are actually a positive contribution.”

That fourteen-fold voice was echoing like thunder in the clouds with all 11d6 of Fred’s Wrath powering it up. Master Fred later told me the women were crowing like mad about it, enjoying sounding like the judgement of a goddess coming down.

“Don’t feel left out. You’ll be joining the Arhat shortly.”

The hexagon it had been sliding down was severely damaged, and the stunned Buddhists below were gaping up at the slowly fading phototechnics, their morale rather precarious, and didn’t quite react in time to reinforce it.

Paired Admixtured Spellflares blew it apart, and thousands of the Buddhists gaping up at me from below exploded from the backlash as it did.

Fifty different Thunderbolts, coming in from multiple angles and directions, plunged through the hole in that Dome instantly, crossing through one another as they went for all the most powerful creatures I could sense below. The thunderclaps alone blew the roofs off most of the buildings below, and they flattened the chanting acolytes instantly. The whole geodesic Dome wobbled at the melodious cacophony of the condemnation of the incoming SacredPrimal Thunder.

The odds the Buddhists could make the 41 Save weren’t good, if they even had a +21 to make it possible, which was unlikely. If they could, they could ignore the damage entirely, but their energy resistance wasn’t going to help them at all, either.

Raging Lightning a whole few Ranks above the natural detonated atop the most powerful locuses of control and Qi below, and abruptly removed them from existence. This particular Tribulation was not going to be something any of them got past.

20 x (D8+6), Topped to 14 and so 280 damage per shot, danced mad jigs through and around them, brighter, more furious, and grander than any lightning should be as it reminded them where Heaven truly stood on this.

Probably should have invested in a killer Concentration score and the Sun Saves, I reckoned, but I had no sympathy for them.

Shards descended from on high, and harvested a hundred on the impact, thousands on the Chains and Bursts that followed up in the packed masses below, golden glory rising up to rip apart their false benevolence for what it was.

My Pool refilled, and the Spellflares slammed down, jetsilver Orbs trailing psychedelic lightning, targeting three Hexes at a time. I began to disassemble this Dome with the deaths of tens of thousands of Buddhists below with every single round of Casting.

Their leadership was in tatters as I focused a dozen Thunderbolts just in that area. A few had gotten Qi Shields up and survived the falling sky, but were still totally staggered by the assault, and they were having trouble reacting for the all-important first couple rounds after the Called Lightning, shaken and dazed and being burned and half-stunned by the magic.

That naturally meant they didn’t get more defenses up, and when my volley of Shards came down to wipe the survivors, that was exactly what happened to them.

Sleipner gunned it in through the gaping hole, riding down through the air to get us closer to the action. Idle shots down below bloomed in Wrath-filled fireballs of small size, still potent enough to wipe any acolytes nearby, but the Walls of Fire soon to follow were what was going to really help with the reaping.

Bringing in a Twenty had only helped me kill them faster. You can’t ask for a more modest consideration than that from an infestation you are trying to wipe out.

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By the way the Sylunar were treating me, my Chosen of Sylune status was probably giving me a base Noble Rank equal to my Clerical Level... which was conflated with my Wizard Level at base 14. Plus 2, plus 3 or 5, and yeah, I was basically now the Saintess-Pope-Hierophant of the Church of Sylune in the eyes of any members of the faith.

Well, whatever.

The local Indians were very wide-eyed and respectful for some reason when they finally caught up with me... after the murderous hurricane pummeling Visag and all the Buddhists within went away, of course.

Having a blonde bombshell of an Amazon or Valkyrie driving for me and playing bodyguard didn’t hurt, either. The self-appointed warlords with their crappy Noble ranks, only holding onto power by personal power and links with similarly powerful allies, could only grimace as I regarded them coolly.

Being a Noble in a magical realm is not the same as being a well-born entitled piece of dirt. The unique ability of the Noble Class is that it is perceived to be important and respected from a societal standpoint. Your Noble Ranking indicates the level of position you are believed to be competent at, and what people respect you for.

Someone who was called an Emperor, the Noble Rank 20, and is a Two, was not respected as an Emperor. They were just an emperor, a pretender to the position, and they had neither the power nor the skill to actually hold the throne. The true power obviously lay elsewhere.

The Nobility Mastery could raise your perceived competence above your Class Level... it was how lower-Level Nobles vied for higher positions, without actually being adept enough to claim them. So, a Noble/6 vying for a position against a Melee/6 would be seen as more competent and able to handle a position of authority, regardless of the actual truth of the situation.

Of course, in individual interactions, Level and Skill Ranks tended to determine everything. A Noble/6 negotiating with a Ten of lower Rank was still going to get owned by them if the Ten had investments in social skills... and I most definitely did.

My Skill Point investments into Profession/Courtier, Diplomacy, and Intimidation were maxed out. Still no Bluff Ranks, as the Word of Truthfrowned heavily on such things. Etiquette and Courtier Ranks could get nicely around that problem. Duty was at 12, Faith was at 12, my Charisma of 38 was beating them in the face...

Yes, I crushed these men just looking at them. No female warlords here... hmm, a certain someone might want to change that...

“Lord Owat, you had something you wished to speak to me about?” I asked archly.

He was a Fire Tiger user, wielding two heavy Sabers in a glorious hackfest of his enemies, combining speed and power to overwhelm his enemies. He was also a Faux Seven, and was supremely unsettled by me.

He opened his mouth to complain about me not using his proper title of rajah, and it died on his tongue. That would be akin to him claiming he was my equal in status, and even if he governed more people than I did, his people had no love for him beyond his Warlord status. He kept his position because he was at war.

In magical parlance, he was a Noble Rank 2 or 3, maybe a Baron at best. Sure, as a Warlord he was pushing 9, making him a senior general or equivalent in status... but generals knelt to Queens.

Any Blessed who had Sworn Oath to me could raise my Banner, and generally they were happy to do so. The numbers of my Allegiance had been growing very rapidly as a result, as Good people liked to be part of Good things. My people also tended to have a lot of Levels, and were gaining more of them.

I could not be everywhere, and they knew it, but I could generally get anywhere... and that was awesome enough just on the face of it.

I was getting a lot of Bannerbound, too, following me basically on a Warlord basis, not giving me more than lip-service Loyalty... but my Duty to them was equally tepid, and they knew it. Still, as long as they followed me and mine, they knew I had their backs, and really that was all they wanted at this time.

This man, and his fellow warlords, were none of mine, and I owed them nothing. It was radiating from me, down on them, and they didn’t like it, but they couldn’t deny it.

“Great Lady,” the words left his lips unwillingly, but leave them they did, and I didn’t correct him with other than the mildest of frowns... which sort of made him swallow, feeling that he’d gotten away with something. “I, we, would like to know if you are planning to head down to Ceylon, or are intending to go west.”