Chapter 643: Make Love, Not War

Chapter 643: Make Love, Not War

As Argrave felt the stampede of the hounds of hunger come ever closer, it felt as though he was witnessed a stampede of wildebeests charging at him. Predators seldom worked in herds, but these cooperated to sate the hunger eating them from within. He began to see these blackened, indistinguishable creatures as hyenas—and like that, the image crystallized.

In his mind’s eye, color returned to this blackened world as a vast savanna took shape. Golden grass sprouted from the flat ground, and the black hyena-like hounds dodged the sparing few trees that disturbed the endless flatness. He was a lone hunter facing a riled stampede, and behind him, he had to protect the village of his mind. He sent out his blood echoes, preparing to rain hellish spells down upon them, until he thought of something.

He had never truly faced any fight alone, had he?

Then, manifesting his mind’s thoughts, his blood echoes became imitations of his closest allies. Anneliese, Elenore, Orion, Galamon, Durran, Melanie, the houses of Parbon and Monticci... all his echoes manifested as these people, taking up arms like it was natural to do so. Steeled by this, Argrave was able to step forward, all of his power at hand.

Orion rushed forth toward the hounds, confronting them with his brutal strength and insurmountable will. Galamon loosed steady arrows to catch those that broke away from the herd—then, at his command, Argrave’s royal guard erupted into the flank of the coming hounds, punching a great hole into the stampeding horde. Durran soared on his wyvern, casting S-rank spells that burnt away great sections of the hound army. Melanie and the noble houses coordinated closely to create skirmishes that brooked no retaliation.

As for Argrave and Anneliese... as they were in the Shadowlands versus its denizens, so too were they versus these hounds of hunger. His bloody magic raged against the tide, conjuring all manner of spells he knew and simultaneously inventing some with his imagination on the spot. She reenergized him with her brilliant white scepter forged of Veid’s heart, but was also a force unto herself. She carried herself with the same ferocity as she had in the battle against the tephramancers that earned her the alias Stormdancer.

Then, a voice cut into his head (despite the fact he was already in his head). Elenore told him, “Argrave. I’ve prepared a trap for our enemies. Have everyone fall back, following you so as to avoid the dangerous locations.”Diiscover new stories at novelhall.com

Argrave ceased his relentless disassembly of the enemy, got some distance, and looked back. His mind filled in what would be there—beyond the savanna, there was the jungle. He could see his mind formulating the dense rainforests in real time. He’d never born witness to them, so they were surely altogether infinitely more foreboding than such places actually were.

He saw Elenore, aback Vasquer, head deep into the rainforests. Her words pierced his skull, guiding him. He echoed them to his allies, and they followed the safe path through the jungle. Galamon’s Veidimen covered their retreat, and they headed far into the jungle with their pursuers hot on their tail. But Argrave—a native to the jungle of his mind—walked unimpeded, rapidly making his way through. The hounds of hunger, meanwhile...

Argrave heard an explosion behind. When he looked back, he saw a fragmentation mine explode, tearing dozens of the hounds of hunger and the surrounded trees to bits. These mines continued to violently explode. Alongside it came artillery. Heavy bombardments of shells broke past the canopy, blowing the dogs to bits.

Realizing his uninspired American mind had conjured what little he knew of Vietnam as Elenore’s trap, Argrave continued back to their camp within the jungle. As he walked forward, his companions passed by him. They wore excellent camouflage and military gear, bringing with them rifles and grenades all with a peculiar logo—ARTUR. Then, Argrave heard a terrible noise, and whipped his head.

Huge machines bore through the rainforest. They were tanks, but not tanks as Argrave knew them. Instead, they looked to be made in the same fashion that the golems Dario had made were. Argrave could see enchantments shining along their surface, and even spotted golem cores powering them. Instead of a cannon, they had strange mounted machine guns that took strips of ballista as ammunition.

These semi-modern instruments of war descended upon the coming hounds of hunger who’d just managed to brute-force their way past the mines. Now, gunfire, grenades, and ballistae shot from tanks rained down upon these vicious characterizations of the Shadowland’s endless hunger. Each of these weapons were born from Argrave’s blood, and they chewed through the opposition like nothing else. The battle was one-sided, yet it could be said their enemies were without an end.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

The dog obediently performed the trick, and they shook hands. Then, Argrave gave him the treat; the briefcase. With it, the hound of hunger departed, not quite satisfied, but... cowed. And then...

#####

Argrave opened his eyes just in time to see the Hopeful stagger away, falling back upon a mesa for support. He couldn’t deny he felt some extreme whiplash coming from that vibrant and ridiculous mindscape to this dreary, gray world. He again felt the pressure of the bearing shadows, but... it was only for a second.

He blinked, coming to terms with the fact his mind concocted a blood-nuke to bomb the hounds of hunger. He’d also made peace with the prime minister of hunger, who he’d had perform a doggy trick to get the memory the Hopeful been seeking from him. Argrave strongly considered there was something fundamentally wrong about his brain, but... he had won. He had fought back the hunger.

“Argrave. Did it... I mean, how much was lost? You look embarrassed, but...” Anneliese began uncertainly. It was unpleasant to hear her voice lose the dynamism it had in his mindscape.

“I’m fine. I didn’t lose anything, actually, except perhaps some self-respect. But him...”

All of them studied the Hopeful, who still leaned up against the mesa as if he couldn’t stand without it. The pressure of the darkness slowly waned until it wasn’t pressing down upon them so fiercely, so inexorably. Argrave did wonder if he hadn’t taken it too far, done some serious damage to this gargantuan fellow.

“...your world is sick and twisted,” said the Hopeful, straightening himself. “It is a world already amply damaged by the hunger I carry. Perhaps it was imprudent of me to assume so much about what burden you could handle.”

Argrave frowned at his judgmental tone. “That was self-defense,” he pointed out. “Nobody asked you to pursue us into the jungle. But enough of that. I assume you’re satisfied?”

Argrave couldn’t even remember what memory he had surrendered. But the Hopeful gave a certain nod, that fake teethy smile still across his face.

“My people will no longer impede your search. One of my own shall take you to Traugott.”

Argrave smiled. “Brilliant.”

It was rather wonderful what nukes could do for the diplomatic situation.