Chapter 95

Chapter 95

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The Guilded Tavern, The Guild Hall, Medea Island

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Haythem knocked back another drink, smacking his lips. "Five of these in ten minutes... and I'm still not drunk. Why am I cursed so?" Bertram grunted from his position on the bar, face buried in his crossed arms.

The bartender snorted. "You know why. It's your own damn fault. The more powerful you get, the less stuff like poison and alcohol affects you. I've seen stronger Guiders guzzle barrels of mead and barely reach tipsy. It's only the really strong stuff that can still get Platinums drunk, and I don't think you two are rich enough to buy a bottle or two."

Haythem seriously considered whether to spend some of his savings on a bottle. It sounded great, and the idea of not thinking for a while was seductive. What was the point of saving that gold anymore?

Flasa was dead, after all.

It wasn't until she was gone that he realized how much he'd found her presence comforting. She was always there, with a friendly smile. They'd been getting closer recently, and he'd thought... He sighed.

He knew what she'd say about this, him attempting to drink his problems away, and he wasn't drunk enough to throw his money away despite that. He sat up at the sound of commotion through the door to the reception area, then nudged Bertram. "Get up, you sad sack. Wasting our time here, anyway." Bertram grunted and slipped off his stool, following Haythem as he left the bar.

They left the tavern with a dozen other curious guilders and found themselves swept out the front door by the crowd. Only when outside did they see what was causing such a fuss.

Offshore, a vast, unnatural cloud system sat. It was unnatural because the sky everywhere else was a clear blue, not a single cloud to mar it. This storm, though, looked dangerous. Huge, black, mile-high clouds that flashed with lightning every second or so. Now that he was outside, he could hear the faint rumbles they gave off.

He thought he saw two deep-blue birds flying in and out of the clouds, but it was so far away he couldn't be sure, even with his enhanced vision. The guilders soon found themselves on the beach, where they found The Voice and her entourage standing with a group of... blue, white-furred Lizard men? They had the same general shape as the monsters from the Third but were so different in color that they could only be a subspecies.

They weren't talking much; instead, they stared toward the pillar of black clouds. When none of the others stepped forward to ask what was going on, Haythem gathered his courage and stepped forward.

"Miss Voice? What's going on out there. Is this the... 'Creator's' doing?" The human-shaped monster pinned her shifting rainbow-colored irises on him and nodded.

"Indeed. The Bahrain thought to restart their invasion before the ceasefire had ended. They are currently experiencing His wrath for their folly."

"And, uh, what does that entail?" He asked again. His newfound confidence faltered slightly under her piercing gaze, but by the set of her brow, she seemed to be considering how much to share. Her eyes were unfocused, and after a few moments, she nodded, muttering to herself. Was she asking the dungeon itself what to say? Well... she was called The Voice. Haythem wasn't sure what he was expecting.

"Pyry and Thor are maintaining the storm. Sdhe stirs and directs its full fury against the fleet, and Calypso and her kin ravage the fools from below." The Voice explained, dropping names Haythem had no context for. He felt a spark of anger, though. Why now? Why had the dungeon not attacked like this before? When the Voice responded, Haythem realized he'd spoken aloud.

"Because that wasn't what was bargained." Haythem felt himself deflating at The Voice's brutal honesty. "In exchange for a Voice in the island's council, He would aid the defenders. I, my guards, Calypso, Davy Jones, and Jormungandr, were that force. The rest of the defenses were left to you. But the situation has changed, and The Creator has claimed the surface. Though He cannot do so in the same manner as He has His dungeon or the sea around us, He has still claimed it. You should be happy. None of you will be asked to fight and die in our defense today."The source of this content nov(el)bi((n))

The crowd grumbled at that, and Haythem understood why. He felt the same way. These were Guilders. Warriors. Ones who had lost brothers and sisters in arms the day before. Their killers were on that fleet, and not having the chance to deliver vengeance upon them rankled. "What if we want to fight?" Haythem shot back. The Voice paused, her gaze skating over the crowd. Measuring.

"When the desperate survivors of the storm reach the island, then, by all means, slake your bloodthirst against them. It shouldn't be long now."

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Bahrain Flagship Fist of The Emperor, Bahrain Invasion Fleet, The Kalenic Sea

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High Archon of Fire Izza found his role changing as the fleet limped to the island. He'd been reduced to putting out fires on the ship rather than fighting off the crab monsters himself. One of the varieties spewed flames with abandon, though not every ship was plagued with them. Only ninety-eight ships had survived the storm; since then, they'd lost two dozen to the crabs. Displaying shocking intelligence after slaughtering the sailors, the crabs had coordinated themselves. They somehow managed to crew the ships themselves despite not possessing hands. Izza, being the most mobile mage in the fleet, had been able to 'reclaim' a few of the stolen vessels, but he wasn't quick enough to catch them all. The crab-pirates escaped with eleven ships of varying classes.

Once the remaining crabs were fought off and fires put out, Izza returned to the flagship and immediately returned to Jal Sagar's bedside. The frail old man showed his advanced age as he breathed shallowly, totally unconscious. The mage had stood on the deck for hours, doing his best to counter the storm as it ravaged their fleet. The water Archon had described his struggle, explaining that it was like the sea and sky fought him. As time passed and he grew weaker, he'd reduced the area he could protect. The High Archon of Water collapsed as soon as they'd passed out of the storm. He'd yet to wake.

The one surviving healer had said there was nothing physically wrong with him to fix. He was healthier than any man his age had any right to be.

He looked up as the Grand Admiral entered the room. "We approach the beach soon. You will lead the invasion force." The admiral ordered. Izza nodded, leaving his vigil. Once abovedeck, he looked to the island. The port and beach where they'd fought the day before wasn't in sight. They'd circled around the island to land on a beach on the opposite side, where the jungle was thick.

"Your first task is to burn the jungle down." the admiral ordered, stopping at Izza's side. "I have no doubt it's full of the island's defenders, either setting traps or moving through it to reach us from the port. You will burn it to the ground, then when they're all dead, we can set up camp."

Izza nodded. The original plan had called for preserving as much infrastructure as they could. After all, they wanted to use the island and its resources as a springboard to invade the Phenoc.

That plan was little more than ash on the wind.

However, with the Phenoc kingdom fractured, future fleets would find it easier to invade and claim land on that continent. A small consolation. This fleet, however, wouldn't be the one spearheading such efforts anymore. Still, they were ordered to take the island, to deny it and its resources to the Phenoc, if little else.

If they needed to burn the island clean and build it up anew, they would.

As the transport ships beached themselves on the three small coves they were targeting, the few soldiers who jumped off into the surf cried out in pain, were dragged beneath the waves, and never seen again. The rest were sure to stay well away from the red, frothing waves.

Izza flew above the jungle and began to gather his mana for the spell. The ball of flames in his hands grew more and more unwieldy, cackling and writhing. When he could hold it no more, he threw it to the ground. To his astonishment, the spell lost size and power as it flew away from him until it was the size of a candle flame. That tongue of flame was caught by an honest-to-the-gods elemental.

A Fire Elemental.

It stood at the jungle's edge, bright and blazing, but the vegetation around it was unburned. That kind of control was extraordinary, especially for a being that longed to burn and consume everything around it. From either side of it, monsters began to filter from between the trees. The majority were lizardmen of a kind. Either short, spindly creatures or larger and muscled like that one from the previous day. Some were of a kind with the other of the Voice's guards, but they were a minority. A few dozen among hundreds. A roar had him spin in place, and his eyes widened as transports were raised on pillars of ice, directed by yet more lizardmen standing in the foaming water. These were blue and white, resembling the smaller green lizardmen. The roar itself had come from a huge winged lizard. It had launched from the ocean, burning the fleet still on the water with its fire breath.

Their mage contingent had been sent along with the troops in the transports, and there were only a couple remaining who could possibly fight back.

As he turned to fight the flying lizard, determining the loss of the fleet a more significant setback than the soldiers, he caught the glow of flame from the corner of his eye. He flung himself sideways. A lance of fire seared past him. When he turned around, he saw that the Elemental had launched itself into the air, blazing bright as it headed right towards him. It was joined by The Voice, and a quick glance showed the Phenoc Guilders were interspersed amongst the monsters as they charged the invasion force on the beach.

After that, too much of his attention was dedicated to dodging to do anything else.

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