Chapter 1039: He Took His Wife’s Name (Patreon)

The site of the dimensional bridge’s Australian anchor point had never been a bustling verdant place. Located in an outback town with a climate varying between veldt and outright desert, the town hadn’t been worth repopulating after the monster waves. When the magically enhanced nuke wiped out the new town that had risen around the bridge site, only desolation had been left. Now it was a flat land of scoured and half-melted rock, red dirt and sand, often blasted into glass.

In the wake of the destruction, and securing of the location by the Pallimustan invaders, another small town had been brought into being. This one had been magically shaped from rock and rammed earth. Holding the region’s signature reds and brown, the buildings were low, utilitarian affairs.

The town and its surroundings were shielded by powerful and sophisticated ritual magic, something Nigel Thornton was extremely wary of as he approached with his strike team on a moonless night. There was almost no cover, but five small drones flew overhead, theoretically shielding them from discovery. One of the newer advancements in magitech, the Combat Ritual Drones were a collaboration between Clive Standish and magitech savant Gary. Operating in groups of five, the drones were capable of a series of pre-programmed combat magic rituals. Alternatively, they could be operated remotely for more complex deployment.

Colonel Nigel Thornton had turned down overall command of the Asano Clan military, which was an unusual organisation as militaries went. Comprised entirely of what amounted to special forces teams, their training was a hybrid of Earth military tactics, Pallimustan adventuring skills and old Network protocols. Nigel was the leader of ST1, the first and most prominent of the clan’s strike teams. The Matriarch had given them the blessedly unimaginative moniker Strike Team One, shooting down numerous suggestions from Nigel’s subordinates. As the clan’s standard-bearers, the team had to at least pretend to be made up of professionals.

Scouts Orange and Woolzy were ranging out ahead, but not too far. With so little cover, they were reliant on the stealth combat ritual currently being employed by the CRDs floating overhead. Nigel glanced up at them for what felt like the hundredth time. He knew this latest model had performed perfectly in testing, but the testing ground and the field were two very different things. If the drones failed, his team would be extremely exposed.

Orange fell back to the group, spotting Nigel’s gaze.

“Are we sure these drones are hiding us?” he asked.

“Yes,” Nigel said, letting none of his own doubt colour his voice. “We are.”

“Look, I’m just saying that we’re ten people moving across open ground with a bunch of drones over our heads.”

“These drones completely mask our presence from most magical senses,” Damien Noble assured him. “As for visual identification, there’s a powerful camouflage effect that is especially effective in this monocolour terrain at night. Even gold-rank visual acuity won’t pick it up. You’ve seen the test results with your own eyes.”

“Yeah, and new tech always works in the field,” Higgy complained.

Damien, the civilian weapons expert, was the reason they were moving so close to the enemy base. The device they needed to set up needed calibration with expertise beyond what the team themselves could accomplish. Each of the five teams approaching the enemy base from different angles has their own expert.

A three-person perimeter patrol was taken down swiftly and efficiently. Green hit them with a silence spell to cut off any signal for alarm, leaving them to the mercy of Woolzy’s knife. Tough as silver-rankers were, Woolzy’s gold-rank assassin powers excelled in swift and silent death.

“We don’t know when they are meant to check in, so we’re on an unknown clock now,” Nigel said. “We get this done and go.”

“Should we signal the other teams?” Damien asked.

Nigel checked his watch and shook his head.

“We should still make our original timeframe. “We don’t know if they can intercept our communications, so we stay radio dark for now.”

“I believe you’re being overly cautious,” Damien told him. “Our new communication systems were rigorously tested in—”

He was cut off as Darce place a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“We don’t want to hear about testing,” she told him. “We were putting up with supposedly reliable new gear before you were even born. This isn’t a lab or a testing ground, and it means a lot more than a data point if our gear doesn’t do what it’s meant to. It means we die.”

“We know you magitech boys have been as rigorous as you can before putting this stuff in our hands,” Nigel said, his tone softening. “But there are always variables in the field, and we are far from knowing everything the enemy is capable of. For them, knowing things is a religious calling. We make as few assumptions as we can get away with about what intel they’ve gathered on our capabilities and what countermeasures they have in place. Understand?”

Damien nodded.

“Good. I know that being in a warzone is not normal for you. You don’t have your brother’s experience running around with a lunatic like Jason Asano, so we appreciate that you volunteered to come out here and set this thing up. But until we’re in place and you’re part begins, you do what I tell you to and, more importantly, you don’t do what I tell you not to. Got it?”

“Got it. I had it when you told me the same thing at the briefing. And the marshalling point. And in the transport.”

“And I’m telling you now, and I’ll tell you again. You have no idea how many times we’ve had to transport some specialist who, despite being told over and over, thinks that he knows better than we do. That being an expert in some technical field means he somehow knows better than trained and experienced soldiers about how to operate in a combat zone. Then he goes and does something stupid that knocks the whole damn op into a cocked hat. I know that sounds like the stupidest thing you’ve ever heard, so you’re not going to do that, are you, Mr Noble?”

***

The team were crouched barely a few hundred metres from the outer buildings of the enemy encampment. Magical disguises were all well and good, but it felt like they were exposed and out in the open. Orange had set out a stealth ritual to supplement the CRDs, but they still watched the camp with wary eyes. The exception was Green, whose eyes were locked on his watch.

“It’s time,” he said, and the others looked to Damien. If they were going to be detected, the most likely point was when each team removed their respective devices from dimensional storage.

“Eyes up and ready,” Nigel said. “It all seems quiet, so we have to assume the other teams are in place and on schedule, but keep an eye out for surprises. Mr Noble, you can begin.”

The device Damien produced from the bag looked like a drum stolen from the lair of a mad scientist, with glowing lights and tubes of glowing liquid flowing in and out of the aluminium housing. Damien crouched in front of it to manipulate a panel on the side, hitting buttons and then looking at the results on the display.

“So, this thing supercharges the drones?” Digit asked, peering over Damien’s shoulder.

“That’s the idea,” Damien said, continuing to work. “To remind you of the briefing, once this thing is activated, our stealth ritual drops. We’ll be open to anyone who sees us, or any surveillance and alarm magic the camp might have.”

“How long until it’s up and running?” Nigel asked.

Damien tapped a few more button and the display panel turned blue. He got to his feet.

“We’re calibrated,” he said, “but each of the devices need to be activated in sequence. Ours is unit two. If the panel turns green, until one has been activated successfully and we can run for it. If it goes orange, I need to recalibrate, and if it goes red, we really need to run for it.”

The team brought their weapons up to the ready as gunfire and flashing lights came from the far side of the camp. Vincent Evans-Asano’s voice came over the comm units.

“Team Four has been made, all teams go loud. We’re initiating Plan Power Princess.”

“It is not called ‘Plan Power Princess,’” Emi replied on the now-open channel.

“Please restrict comm use to tactical communications,” Vincent said.

“You’re going to hear about this when we get home, husband.”

Jonno winced as he conjured a hip-slung rotary cannon.

“Sound’s like Vinnie is going to cop it.”

“Yep,” Cobbo agreed as he retrieved from a dimensional bag the automatic spear cannon designed by Damien’s brother.

Darce conjured a heavy iron gauntlet and vambrace set that released steam from the jointed knuckle armour.

“So, we charge into the camp?” she asked, tapping her armoured fists together.

“No, the light just went green,” Damien said. “We run the other way and hope the containment works enough that we’re out of the blast zone.”

Nigel glanced at the drones floating above them, now flying in complex patterns that left a trail of teal lines sparkling in the air.

“It won’t take them long to spot that, so everyone move out to rally point one. Digit, you’re on baggage duty.”

“Baggage duty?” Damien asked. “I don’t remember that from the briefing—”

He yelp as Digit snatched him up in a princess carry and the team fled with gold-rank speed into moonless outback night.

***

“What is that?” the US representative asked, pointing at one of the monitors. “It looks like fireworks.”

“That’s an image from a magitech satellite that tracks mana flow,” Michael Mills told him. “The chaos comes from the combat ritual drones. Now they’ve been repurposed from stealth, they’re serving to protect the withdrawing teams.”

“Why is it so chaotic?” the French representative asked.

“Ritual magic, by its nature,” Lina Karadeniz explained, “interacts with ambient mana. Put incompatible rituals too close together and they start interfering with one another.”

“Is that the plan?” the US rep asked. “To have the drone rituals interfere with the defensive magic of the enemy’s dimensional beachhead?”

“It’s part of it,” Michael said. “Ms Karadeniz, would you be kind enough to explain the magical specialty of your best friend?”

All eyes turned to Lina.

“Emi Asano specialises in a very specific and difficult field of magic,” she explained. “In essence, she studies the interplay of rituals that get too close together.”

The US rep pointed at the fireworks-like image again.

“You’re telling me she can make sense of that?”

“She can make a lot more from it than sense,” Lina told him.

***

Emi, Gabriel and Arabelle were further back from the enemy base, around a kilometre out. On the ground in front on Emi was a metal plate resting in the dirt, covered with intricate engravings. Atop the plate was a mass of lights that mapped out the mana in and around the enemy base. Floating over the map were nine cubic magic tools covered in small runes, nine to a side. The devices were constantly twisting and shifting like Rubik’s cubes, reconfiguring their rune patterns moment to moment. Using these tools, Emi could work ritual magic much faster than through ordinary means, although they were painstakingly difficult to control. The map resonated with the devices now operating around the enemy base, and through them, the Combat Ritual Drones.

“I know you explained this at the briefing,” Gabriel said to her, “but I didn’t understand most of what you said, if I’m being honest.”

Emi’s gaze didn’t waver from the map, and her hands didn’t hesitate in their precise, delicate motions.

“I’m what is called a formation interactivity specialist,” Emi explained. “A formation is a ritual that has been set up to operate in the long-term.”

“Like the defences they have on the enemy base,” Gabriel said.

“Precisely. When setting up formations, you have to be careful. Incompatible formations break down when they’re too close to one another. They can also be disrupted by rituals taking place too closely. Normally, this kind of interference makes all the magic break down, and possibly explode. My specialty is predicated on understanding, and ultimately utilising, these normally chaotic forces.”

“Yeah, I still don’t get it,” Gabriel said.

“Basically, I’m using widespread rituals, powered by the emplaced devices and through the CRDs, to interfere with their formations. Further, I’m not just trying to bring those defences down but utilise them magic for our ends.”

“And that’s the bit I understand,” Gabriel said. “You use the magic to blow the place up.”

“Not exactly,” Emi told him. “When the invaders came here, they sent a magically enhanced nuclear device first. It wiped out all our emplaced defences and gave them a dimensional beachhead to land on. Thie thing about magic used with that much force is that it leaves a lasting imprint on the ambient mana, the same way it does on the landscape. The formations the invaders built are required to take that into account.”

“And you intend to use that?”

“I do. The idea is that between the various formations the bad guys have in place, they have a more or less complete record of the mana pathways to create a very big boom. One significantly larger than if we just disrupted those formations and let the mana run wild. I am currently conducting five simultaneous rituals to undermine those formations, tap into the appropriate mana imprinting, collect it into one construct and shore up any missing parts with my own rituals to reproduce at least a potent facsimile of the original blast.”

“Yeah, I’m lost again,” Gabriel said.

“What she is saying, dear, is that this place remembers the time it exploded and she’s going to remind it how so it does it again.”

“Is that even possible?” Gabriel asked.

“Not really,” Emi said, still locked-in on her work. “That’s why the bad guys didn’t try to do anything about the imprint.”

“Then why are we trying it?” Gabriel asked.

“Have you ever heard my uncle say that the impossible is kind of his thing?”

“Many times,” Arabelle said, mostly hiding the annoyance in her voice.

“Uncle Jason does the impossible because he’s stubborn, resolute, lucky and, from time to time, very, very stupid. I, on the other hand…”

She snapped her fingers and the map went dark as the cubes moved to orbit over her head.

“…am very, very good. You might want to get down.”

She dropped to the ground and tapped the comm badge on her lapel.

“Blast incoming everyone down.”

Arabelle lay down next to Emi and Gabriel followed suite. The cubes moved swiftly, reconfiguring themselves for a moment while trailing lines of glowing teal. A swiftly drawn ritual turned into a force dome covering the trio right before the blast hit.

Gabriel watched as dirt and dust blasted over their protective dome, the interior of which was oddly quiet.

“I sounds like rain on a tent,” he observed.

“It’s quite a bit louder outside,” Emi told him. “Even so, this isn’t a full replica of the blast. Our gold-rank teams should have reached minimal safe distance.”

“What about Knowledge’s forces in the camp?” Gabriel asked.

“Silver-rankers dead, no question,” Emi said. “Some of the gold-rankers probably lived. The tougher ones, and any with powerful enough survival items from Pallimustus.”

“Which will be most of them,” Arabelle said. “Gold-rankers are very good at staying alive.”

The comm channel opened, a sound like rushing wind coming through.

“Strike teams check in and return to combat zone,” Vincent’s voice came through. “I want any survivors swept up before they recover. Good job, Princess.”

Emi tapped her comm badge.

“You’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

Previous Next