Path of Dragons 16 - Chapter 37 - A Mandate of Sacrifice (Patreon)

Bogoni tried not to see the apocalypse unfolding all around him.  Instead, he focused on the task at hand, which was guarding the main entrance to the Vengeance.  In that endeavor, he slammed his shield into an orc, knocking it backward before following the shove up with an overhand axe strike.  The weapon descended with a hiss, audible even over the sound of thunder, rain, and the ongoing screams of the attacking army.

The blade landed with a distinct thump, splitting the orc’s skull like slicing through a melon.  The impact sent bits of bone and hunks of brain splattering into the creature’s fellows, and even as the orc fell limp, a handful of others pressed against Bogoni’s summoned shield.

They hammered it with enraged strength, cracking one layer after another with each blow.  Bogoni funneled more ethera into the ability, but he knew he couldn’t hold indefinitely.

Few could.

Not even those vaunted defenders who’d managed to reach high deity.  Those were incredibly rare, owing to just how dangerous the chosen role was.  Bogoni had always known the risk, though.  He had chosen his archetype and class not because it was an easy path to power, but rather, because it was the right thing to do.

Lots of people had the appropriate attunements to justify such a choice, so in that way, Bogoni was no rarity.  Few became true defenders, though.  It was a thankless path, and one filled with pain and frustration, without any of the visceral reward that came with becoming a durable damage dealer.

Bogoni wanted to respect those sorts, but he found it difficult.  They were much more self-sufficient, but they were also selfish in a way that he found incredibly distasteful.  Who would choose that kind of role when they could do so much more good as a real defender?

Not Bogoni.

He’d considered it, too.  His parents had begged him to do so.  His mentors as well.  The only one who understood his choice was ultimately his grandfather.

In truth, Morin es Castori wasn’t truly Bogoni’s grandfather.  There was a good chance that they weren’t even related.  Not by blood, at least.  And if they were, the connection was so far removed that it might as well not have existed.  But Morin was the grandfather Bogoni had always deserved.  A true defender who’d reached high deity and had a real chance at transcendence.

He had the scars to prove it, too.

Once, Morin had revealed the depths of those old wounds to Bogoni.  It had happened on the eve of Bogoni’s demigod class evolution.  Before that, his path was far from set, and had he wanted to do so, he could have chosen something less punishing. 

When he told his parents and mentors his intentions, they’d sent him to Morin.  Assuredly, that choice had been reached because they believed Morin would dissuade him from that path.

After all, the life of a defender was not a glamorous one. 

Morin hadn’t held anything back, either.  He told Bogoni how he’d spent a lifetime in the mud, defending people who would never truly appreciate the sacrifices he’d made.  He talked about all the wounds he’d suffered.  All the friends he’d lost because he wasn’t good enough to keep them alive.  He spoke of his lifelong campaign to grow into a true bulwark who could protect more than just people.  He talked about becoming a shield against corruption itself, and one who could defend an entire way of life.

The way he spoke of his path made it sound almost like a religious calling – like the Priests so common among cultures that needed such things – but not in a romanticized sort of way.

“This is a punishing path, whelp,” Morin had said, taking on his dragon form.  When that transformation completed, the elder dragon’s scars were on full display.  Great rents cut across his body, with hunks of muscle missing.  There wasn’t a single pristine scale.  His wings were crooked, functional but malformed from thousands of past breaks.  His face was mostly intact, but he’d lost one of his horns.  It hadn’t been sliced away, either.  Instead, it looked as if it had been ripped away, leaving a jagged depression behind.

In short, he looked exactly like what he was – a dragon who’d dedicated his life to placing himself between danger and the people who needed his erstwhile protection.

But rather than horror, when Bogoni looked upon his grandfather, he saw only a life well lived.  Instead of recoiling, he asked for the tales behind each scar.  And Morin was more than happy to explain how he’d gotten every one of them, including stories of the people he’d saved.

He also told Bogoni about his failures.

Despite the common belief that high deities and transcendents were perfect, the reality was that no one truly was.  Everyone made mistakes.  Everyone failed.  And in that respect, Morin was no different.

“For any dragon that chooses the path of the defender,” Morin had said.  “The failures speak far louder than the victories.”

Since that day, Bogoni had lived that truth.

Each fallen ally cut him in a way that no blade ever could.  Blessedly, there hadn’t been that many.  Just a handful of true failures could be laid at his feet.  And yet, those blazed like bonfires within his mind.  They were accompanied by many blameless deaths that, despite knowing that he couldn’t have done anything differently, still haunted his self-perception.

He wanted to protect them all.

And simultaneously, he knew that he couldn’t.

Such was the plight of a true defender.  Not only was it impossible to account for everything, but Bogoni had discovered that his true choice wasn’t whether or not to push himself to the brink.  Rather, it came from the recognition of that ineffable truth, that sometimes, there were no good options.  Weighing one life against another was the most difficult part of his chosen role. 

So it was when he saw Palikina streaking across the sky above the fleet.  For once, she remained in full view, weaving between harpoons and attacks as a comparatively small orc pursued her.  The creature ran on nothing, his footsteps falling upon unseen planes of ethera. 

It was obvious that he was the strongest orc in the entire fleet.

Maybe their entire race.

While no orc could ever stand toe to toe with an equal level dragon, he was a deity, and Palikina was a demigod.  The difference meant that if he caught her, she would have no chance of survival. 

No one would.

A crack of thunder reminded Bogoni that that thought, conventional wisdom though it was, failed to tell the entire story.  Elijah Hart es Vyrin could do it.  He had already proven that.  Even if he’d failed to emerge victorious after his previous clash against the high-deity orc chieftan he’d fought in the last major battle, his mere survival told a story of greatness.  He was unique, and in a way that barely scratched the surface of his potential.

The other dragons hated him for it.

Even his allies, all of whom owed Elijah their lives, looked at him with a mixture of anger, disdain, and fear.  When they should’ve felt only gratitude.

He didn’t do himself any favors.  He refused to play their political games, ignoring social norms in favor of doing whatever he wanted to do.  He preferred spending time with the Farmers over currying favor with the leaders of other factions, and he didn’t fit into the normal command structure that dragons usually adopted.

And he had a habit of disappearing for long stretches.  No one really knew where he went or how he survived the wilderness, which only heightened the aura of fear that followed his every step.

Then there was the fungi.

Any dragon, drake, or serpentor who’d spent any time in She’evoth knew just how dangerous those creatures could be.  And Elijah had weaponized them, creating a nightmare scenario among those natives of She’evoth.

There wasn’t a single one of them who hadn’t imagined a planet overrun by fungi run amok.  It didn’t reach the level of enmity reserved for vespirans or the allies of those hated insectoids, but it wasn’t that far behind, either.

And finally, Elijah put himself at a social disadvantage with his flippant approach to the ancestral world.  He didn’t seem to care about winning the competition, which was an attitude that the other dragons simply did not understand.

He was an enigma, and a powerful one at that.  Their hatred for him was predictable.

For Bogoni’s part, he didn’t really like Elijah.  Nor did he hate him, even if he was often frustrated with his sometime teammate.  Instead, he recognized in Elijah a common thread. 

After all, he’d seen Elijah’s face when Shishinar had died.  Her demise had hit him harder than most, and they barely even knew one another.  That had been enough to earn Bogoni’s trust.  He’d done nothing to make Bogoni regret that decision, and yet, that wasn’t to imply that he felt none of the same frustrations plaguing the rest of the expedition.  He was just willing to set those aside in favor of the greater good.

Others weren’t so capable.

Those thoughts flitted across the surface of his mind, barely acknowledged as he smashed his shield into another orc.  This one didn’t move an inch, returning the blow with an attack of its own.  A jagged sword slammed into Bogoni’s ribs – not hard enough to break bones, but more than enough to cause significant pain, which he ignored.

He hunkered down behind his shield, pushing against it with all his might. 

Just then, a fungal tendril burst free of the ground to wrap around the orc’s legs.  It pulled, barely shifting the creature’s feet, but that was enough to throw it off balance.  Bogoni did the rest, finally tipping it backward. 

Another pair of orcs filled the gap in the line, and the battle continued. 

Bogoni refused to give ground.  Even when the orcs shattered his summoned shield, he held his position.  Behind him, the mages hurled massive flame strikes and wind storms at the oncoming army.  They were all but defenseless, save for Bogoni’s efforts.

There were other teams scattered across the Vengeance.  Some were confined to various towers, while others fought in the shadow of one hatch or another.  No one had the luxury of sitting the battle out.

The cannons continued to fire, but they focused more on the ships than on the orcish horde.  It generally took a hundred or more shots to take down a ship, but when one fell, it spilled hundreds or thousands of orcs into the open air.  Some were lucky enough to fall upon the decks of the ships below, but most ended up in an endless tumble toward the core.

Many had parachutes made of crude hide, but the storm made them useless.  The same was true of the glider squads that often proved so frustrating to fight.  With the wind so unpredictable and the everpresent lightning, even the orcs knew better than to venture into the sky.

A bolt of lightning hit the orc pursuing Palikina, allowing her to escape beneath the Vengeance.  The orc was barely slowed, and when he recovered only a couple of seconds later, he was less than happy about his failure.  He let out a massive roar, then plunged ahead into battle.

Dozens of dragons were on the field, and every single one of them recognized the danger represented by that orc chieftan – especially after he impaled a draconic Warrior.  The dragon snapped at the orc, but only a couple of times before he found that the chieftan had tired of the game and ripped his head free of his body.

From such a distance, Bogoni could recognize the absurdity of that image.  The orc was only eight feet tall – at most.  Meanwhile, the dragon had been a sizable representation of the race, having reached a length of more than three hundred feet.  Maybe even four hundred.  And his proportions matched that size.

It was like watching an ant single-handedly rip the head off a hornet. 

And it sent a shiver of fear down every witness’s spine.

“Retreat,” he growled as he watched three dragons swoop in.  They were among the smallest in the entire Vengeance, but they were also the fastest.  In addition, they’d gone against custom to form bonds with dragoons.  When the trial ended and they returned to the Empire of Scale, they would have to answer for that.

But for now, they represented a significant asset in the battle against the orcs.

As those dragons swooped low, their riders leaped free.  For a second, they all seemed to hang in mid-air. Their lances flashed with ethereal copies that overlaid the actual weapons.  The energy constructs grew to dozens of feet long before the dragoons finally descended.

Even from so far away, Bogoni could feel the blistering energy of the impending attacks.

The first hit with a massive explosion that sent hundreds of orcs tumbling backward.  Then came the second, with similar impact.  The third.  The others followed suit, one after another. 

The orc chieftan was lost among the cloud of blue-and-white energy that came in the wake of those explosions.  When the mist cleared, driven away by the howling winds, a surprising sight was revealed.

The orc was still standing amidst a massive crater.  He clutched a dragoon in one hand, holding her by the throat.  She wriggled, grabbing at his vice-like grip.  Her slance had fallen away, and her legs kicked uselessly against open air.

At the orc’s feet was what was left of another dragoon, his skull crushed and his body twisted into an unnatural shape.

Yet another had been impaled by that chieftan’s ivory spear. 

The others attacked, their weapons leaving little more than a scratch. 

Bogoni was moving before he knew what he was doing.  His mage squad had already followed his orders, retreating into the Vengeance.  They would emerge from another hatch.  But he barely gave them any thought.

Instead, he rushed across the battlefield, ramming through any orcs that got in his way.  When he drew within a hundred feet of the crater, he leaped.

Mid-air, he saw the orc crush the dragoon’s neck, and with enough force to decapitate her.  The body fell away, while he tossed the head in the other direction.

That was when Bogoni hit him.

His shield took the orc directly in the face, doing nothing.  He’d expected as much.  He knew he was no match for a peak deity.  But he wasn’t there to win a fight.  He was there to provide a distraction so the surviving dragoons could escape.

“Retreat!” he shouted for the second time in the past couple of minutes.

The dragoons didn’t hesitate, using their unique abilities to leap high into the air.  That left Bogoni alone to face off against the orc.

He rebounded from his charge, his feet hitting mud.  It offered no purchase, and he skidded backward for a few feet before coming to a stop.

For a brief second, he considered taking on his dragon form, but he decided against it.  Size didn’t always help, and he expected that it would only give the orc more of an advantage. 

The chieftan eyed him.

Then, with a casual dismissal, he swept his spear out.  The impaled dragoon slid free, then sailed across the battlefield.  Maybe he would live.

Probably not.

It was just one more failure to add to Bogoni’s total.  As he faced off against the orc, he pushed that thought aside. Such was the fate of a defender.