Chapter Two Hundred and Fifty-Seven: The Voice (Patreon)

<Belessar>: Did you hear that?

<Nanocloud>: Yes. … Everyone did.

INDEED. 

A WELL EXECUTED MOVE, SMALL ONES. 

<Belessar>: Whoever that is, he’s talking to us. Directly.

<Nanocloud>: New Hierarchy trick.

ONE SHOULD BE CAREFUL WITH TRICKS, THOUGH. YOU NEVER KNOW WHO MIGHT TAKE OFFENCE.

<Belessar>: Can we pin it down?

<Nanocloud>: Folks are trying. Bit of a mad rush here.

Mysterious voice wasn’t attacking at the moment - unless you counted freaking out the entirety of our forces as an attack - so I quickly surveyed the battlefield. The Hierarchy troops were … mostly dead and shattered, with broken shells of thirty-foot-tall Grizzeloid tanks littering the landscape. Several were dwarfed by the even more massive wrecks of the Hierarchy shuttles, almost all of which had been overturned by the blast. 

Save for one.

High above its fallen compatriots, a solitary Hierarchy shuttle floated. 

Unaffected by the chaos below it. 

Unmoved. 

<Belessar>: Anne. The floating shuttle?

<Nanocloud>: Yeah, I see it. Telepath could be on it.

<Nanocloud>: Pemberley says we’re going to test its defences.

<Belessar>: How?

The answer streaked in from the skies. 

A swarm of missiles descended, each headed for the shuttle…

And slammed ineffectually against it.

The explosions were large. And pretty. And utterly useless, as the shuttle remained unmoving, shrugging off the best weapons humanity could throw at it.

Shields, perhaps? Focusing on the shuttle, I cast Observe.

The pain that slammed through my head was the first warning of something wrong.

OBSERVE SKILL NEGATED.

ONE-TIME NEURAL FEEDBACK APPLIED. 135 DAMAGE (UNBLOCKABLE).

… the hell?

It felt like I’d been stabbed in the brain with a rusty knife. For using Observe. 

A notification popped up in my interface.

ENEMIES EQUIPPING A NEURAL FEEDBACK GENERATOR CAN DEFLECT STEALTH-PENETRATING OR PSIONIC SKILLS. HOWEVER, SUCH GENERATORS HAVE A LIMITED NUMBER OF CHARGES. 

Of course, the enemy had weapons that could kill you for looking too closely. Why was I not surprised? 

However, the ‘limited number of charges’ was a boon. With my HP standing at 285/420, I could take the hit and drain it, rather than having someone like Mirantibus kill themselves.

Speaking of which….

“Enemy shuttle has a weapon that can kill you if you attempt mind-control,” I announced. “All Masters, avoid.”

Nods around from the assembled ultras confirmed their acknowledgement.

AS YOU HAVE JUST DISCOVERED, I HAVE A FEW TRICKS OF MY OWN. ISN’T THAT FAIR, BATTLELORD?

The voice was back. And - from the tone of it - taunting me. 

I could use a Mindspeech channel. The cost - 1 CP per second - would have fazed me, once upon a time, but with the massive boost I’d received at Level 60, my regen was now up to 8.6 points per second. 

That assumed, of course, that the enemy would accept one.

OPEN MINDSPEECH CHANNEL TO <UNKNOWN>? COST: 100 CP, 1 CP/SECOND. WARNING: IF <UNKNOWN> DOES NOT ACCEPT THE CHANNEL, INITIATION CP WILL STILL BE CHARGED.

Yes.

<UNKNOWN> HAS ACCEPTED MINDSPEECH REQUEST. 

<Belessar>: Who are you?

<Unknown>: LITTLE BATTLELORD. SO NICE TO HEAR FROM YOU.

<Belessar>: I suggest you drop the taunting. You brought your troops to my world, and we’ve killed most of them.

<Unknown>: THE PREDATOR DOES NOT CONCERN ITSELF OVERLY ABOUT THE CONDITION OF PREY.

<Belessar>: Aren’t these species all your subordinates? What would they think if they heard you say that?

<Unknown>: THEY KNOW THEIR PLACE. AS WILL YOUR KIND, IN TIME. FOR NOW YOU STRUGGLE FOOLISHLY AGAINST THE GUIDING HAND OF THE HIERARCHY. 

<Unknown>: IT IS WELL PAST TIME THAT YOU GREW UP. ACCEPT YOUR PLACE IN THE GALACTIC ORDER, AND SUBMIT TO THE WILL OF THE HIERARCHY. ONLY THEN CAN YOU TRULY PROSPER.

<Belessar>: We’re doing just fine without the Hierarchy. In fact, we’d be better off if they left Earth alone.

<Unknown>: AN INSECT DOES NOT DICTATE WHETHER OR NOT THE SUN SHINES. WE ARE INEVITABLE.

<Belessar>: Big words from a telepath hiding in a shuttle.

<Unknown>: HIDING, YOU SAY? BUT I AM IN PLAIN SIGHT. 

<Belessar>: You’re on the shuttle. Show yourself, if you dare.

A faint tinge of amusement suffused the link. 

<Unknown>: PERHAPS YOUR EYES NO LONGER SERVE YOU, BATTLELORD. SHALL I REMOVE THEM?

What? 

Unless…

A chill ran my spine, as words from memory returned. 

Invincible flying engines of destruction.

Steeling myself, I cast Observe. 

HIERARCHY SHUTTLE (MASKED)

TEST OF PERCEPTION: PASSED.

ARCHON FRAGMENT

LEVEL 180

HP: 1,000,000,000 (1 BILLION)

DAMAGE NEGATION: 

PHYSICAL/KINETIC/EXPLOSIVE/RADIOLOGICAL: 10,000,000

PSIONIC: 100,000

RADIATION RESISTANCE: 99.9%

CHEMICAL RESISTANCE: 99.9%

The shuttle’s shape rippled before my eyes. 

It twisted, changing colour. And form. Into…. 

A vaguely human-shaped outline, thirty feet tall. Made out of white light. 

It floated above us, its head tilted to the side in an almost human mockery of form.

Observe continued to populate data for me.

SKILLS:

FLIGHT

GRAVITY CONTROL

MIND CONTROL IMMUNITY

SHAPESHIFTING

MINOR PRECOGNITION

ENERGY BEAM

GRAVITIC SHIELD

Even as I digested the numbers, my mind was racing. A damage negation of ten million, on top of a billion HP, meant that nothing in my inventory would scratch it. 

The radiation resistance also meant than a nuke capable of killing it would need to do - about a trillion points of damage? 

That meant a forty-kiloton blast. In the open. 

The warhead we’d used had buried most of its power under the earth, leaving comparatively little to harm the surroundings.

Using another nuke, so close by, would kill everything in a twenty-kilometre radius. Including us, and the nearby city. 

And that was assuming the Archon - fragment? - didn’t just dodge it. Or block it with the gravitic shield skill, or something equally ridiculous.

<Belessar>: So we finally get to meet an Archon. 

<Archon Fragment>: MERELY A FRAGMENT OF ONE. DO YOU UNDERSTAND THE FUTILITY OF YOUR RESISTANCE?

<Belessar>: Actually, I thought you’d be taller. 

<Archon Fragment>: THIS FRAGMENT POSSESSES THE POWER TO WIPE YOUR PITIFUL FORCES OFF THE MAP. FLIPPANCY IS UNWISE.

<Belessar>: If you’re as powerful as you say, why don’t we test it? I have a network of tunnels under the earth. Fight me in there, if you dare.

<Archon Fragment>: SO YOU CAN TRAP ME IN A CAVE AND TEST YOUR PITIFUL NUCLEAR WEAPONS? I SHALL DECLINE THAT OPPORTUNITY.

…. I hate smart enemies. Dumb ones are easier to kill. 

<Belessar>: Why don’t we call a truce? You’ve taken significant casualties. How about gathering what’s left of your warriors, and leaving? We won’t hassle you on the way out.

<Archon Fragment>: BUT THEIR TASK IS NOT YET COMPLETE. ONCE IT IS, I SHALL TAKE YOUR GENEROUS OFFER.

<Belessar>: And what task is that?

<Archon Fragment>: YOU MAY CEASE YOUR DECEPTION. WE KNOW YOUR INTENTIONS WITH THE WARBASE. IT WOULD ENABLE YOU TO STRIKE AT THE XERANAI SIEGE SHIPS, AND THAT WOULD BE INCONVENIENT FOR US. THE XERANAI DO THE DRUDGERY OF MONITORING THE LIRAEAN EXPERIMENTS, SO THAT THEY DO NOT EXCEED THE PARAMETERS. IF THEIR SHIPS ARE NOT ABLE TO CONTROL THE SITUATION, FRAGMENTS WILL BE CALLED UPON. 

<Archon Fragment>: THIS WOULD INCONVENIENCE US. HENCE, YOU SHALL NOT BUILD WARBASES.

<Belessar>: You don’t get to decide that.

<Archon Fragment>: THE INSECTS QUESTION. WHEN THE SUN BURNS, THE INSECTS DIE.

A beam of golden light lanced out from the Archon Fragment’s hands. Bright. Blinding.

The beam struck the walls of the Earth Defence Base. The walls - disappeared.

The searing heat reached us seconds later. 

The beam of light had been hot enough to vaporize the walls. Hundreds of tons of concrete and earth - flash-boiled, flash-vapourized in less than a second. 

The beam turned, raking across the men and women of the Third Brigade. Tanks melted into piles of slag from less than a second’s exposure.

The furrows it raked in the earth glowed red, lava pooling where the heat had not been enough to boil the melted earth.

Energy beam - the Archon Fragment’s ability.

<Nanocloud>: Andrew! What’s the plan?

The plan?

The beam moved, and people died. 

I had to stop that. 

Kill the Archon? At this point, more fantasy than plan.

So I did the only thing left to do.

As the beam moved across the Rapid Response Division, my portal spun into place. 

The beam lanced through the portal, and out the other side…

… into the space that the Archon Fragment had occupied just a second ago. 

It dodged, of course. But the beam shut off.

<Archon Fragment>: CLEVER, CLEVER.

More portals spun into existence. Short range, only a few feet from each other and easy to replace. 

The Archon fired its beam again, and another portal flickered into existence. Almost lazily, the Archon dodged the beam. 

<Archon Fragment>: YOU CANNOT KEEP THIS UP FOREVER, BATTLELORD.

<Belessar>: I can literally do this all day. Don’t you have better things to do, though?

<Archon Fragment>: YOU MAY. BUT HOW WILL YOUR FORCES FARE WITHOUT YOU?

As if in response to the Archon’s words, an ominous rumble filled the air. 

While the Archon had been verbally sparring with us, the Hierarchy troops on the ground had dug themselves out. Arranged some semblance of order. 

We’d eliminated two-thirds of the enemy. 

That still left - a third. 

From where I stood, I could see the remaining Grizzeloid Siege Tanks. Several were moving. Scratched, dented, in places with armour scraped off in large chunks - but functional.

And with them, marched the Carnotaurs. 

Nine Greater, and quite a few Lesser and Medium. Any one of them would have been a tough fight for the base or the Rapid Response Division. 

Together, they made for a terrifying sight. 

<Belessar>: How many tanks are moving?

<Nanocloud>: A hundred and twenty-two Grizzeloid Stealth Tanks. We have roughly two hundred and sixty-one tanks from the Division, and another three hundred that arrived from our hosts. 

<Nanocloud>: Artillery is trying to hold them back. 

In tune with Nanocloud’s comments, shells whistled through the air, falling amidst the moving troops. The Carnotaurs - the ones moving - dodged some of them, while the tanks took the impact head-on.

And then, one of the Grizzeloid tanks fired. 

The average Grizzeloid Stealth Tank mounted two heavy weapons. The Turret-Mounted Plasma Cannon, which I’d first seen in Singapore, would do 550,000 damage to any target foolish enough to get in its way. 

At Tanisport, I’d done everything in my power to avoid being hit by one of those. A single shot could destroy a Wolf Armour suit - or one of our tanks.

This shot did the latter. One of Tansy Partridge’s units was at the receiving end, and the bright green ball of plasma left it a burning wreck.

As if a signal had been lit, tanks on both sides began to fire. Smoke and plasma belched across the battlefield, mountains of steel and titanweave on both sides letting loose in an orgy of fire and steel.

Partridge’s units were well drilled. They sped across the battlefield, weaving and dodging as best they could, even as the Grizzeloid tanks let loose with their cannons. 

The Challenger-IIIs were good tanks - among the best humanity could build - but their total armour points added up to about 250,000. A single hit from a Grizzeloid plasma cannon was enough to burn through their defences - a fact we’d known, when preparing for this situation. 

After Second Tanisport, Pemberley had ensured that the Third Armoured Division was prepared to fight Grizzeloid tanks. The average Challenger-III shell delivered 150,000 damage, which was barely noticeable to the 14-million armour points of a Grizzeloid tank.

That was why we’d gone with artillery. A single artillery shell could deliver between 600,000 and 800,000 damage - if it hit. 

Which required the Grizzeloid tank to be standing still, more or less, and the absence of a shield tower. 

That was the reason for the elaborate setup with our underground nuke - to knock down the Hierarchy shield towers, and devastate the Grizzeloid tanks while they were standing more-or-less still. Plus, bonus benefits from flipped-over tanks…

However, artillery shells - due to their time-of-flight - weren’t that effective against moving targets. Especially not when the Grizzeloid tanks were moving rapidly across a rocky, uneven battlefield. 

(Rocky and uneven because that’s what happens when a nuke goes off underground.)

The other advantage the Grizzeloids had was a hover drive. Which meant that, on the now broken and uneven ground, they could move smoothly and swiftly. 

The Challengers were dodging, but the cracked and uneven ground meant trouble for their treads.

The Third Armoured had practiced assaulting Grizzeloid tanks, and I knew the mathematics:

To take out a single Grizzeloid tank, the Challenger-IIIs would need to hit it ninety-four times. 

The Grizzeloid tank needed to hit them only once.

The Third Armoured had less than three hundred tanks. Their shells were flying true - the gunners had practiced way too much to miss under these stakes - but there were too many of the enemy.

As to our hosts - the Indian tanks were also deploying on the battlefield, I noticed, but in penny-packets. Single regiments of sixty to eighty tanks each, not the concentrated firepower of a full division - and they hadn’t practiced hunting Grizzeloid tanks. 

The Indian tanks were firing at whatever enemy tanks they could see. 

Partridge’s tankers were concentrating fire on a single Grizzeloid and trying to take it down.

Under the concentrated fire of the Third Armoured, I saw one Grizzeloid tank crumble from one too many hits. Another had begun to slow down.

But Tansy Patridge’s men and women were paying the price. Even as I watched, balls of plasma incinerated one Challenger-III after another. 

Someone was screaming over the radio for air support. 

<Nanocloud>: Andrew - it's time.

<Belessar>: You got it. 

With that, I opened a portal and lobbed a Jammer Beacon through it.

The Mark IV Jammer Beacon was a vast improvement over the primitive version I’d used on the Grunter nightclub two years ago. The newest version shorted out all electronic, gravitonic and optical sensors within a one-kilometre radius.

So when the Jammer Beacon erupted in the middle of the Grizzeloid formation, the effects were as good as we could hope for.

Grizzeloid Tanks were completely sealed against the environment - a necessity for the NBC-dominated battlefield. They knew the world around them based on sensors. 

Which meant that the Jammer Beacon effectively blinded them.

It wouldn’t last long - all the enemy needed to do was move out of the beacon's range - but it worked enough for what we needed. 

The Beacon wasn’t there to protect the tanks of the Third Armoured. It was there to blind the enemy to the skies. 

Screaming through the air, the forty-eight aircraft of the Close Air Support Wing hurtled into the fray. 

They’d been sitting ‘hot’ - missiles loaded and ready - since the start of the battle, with ‘special’ loadouts now that we knew what we were up against. And unlike tanks, they had no issues carrying very heavy missiles. 

Against each of the Grizzeloid tanks, the jets unleashed their Harpoon Block VI anti-ship missiles. 

Weighing in at nearly half a ton, each Harpoon hammered into its target, its three-hundred-kilo warhead detonating for a total of 5.6 million damage. 

Knowing the resilience of the Grizzeloid tanks, each was bracketed by three Harpoons. 

The jets of the Close Air Support wing would not have stood a chance against the Grizzeloid tanks if their sensors had been on. At this range, even the tank’s tertiary armament - the rapid-fire plasma blasters - could pepper them with enough damage to bring an aircraft down in flames. 

However, the Jammer Beacon had blinded them. For just long enough that the jets could jump into action and attack. 

Each jet carried a total of eight Harpoons. In a matter of seconds, three hundred and eighty-four missiles had made their displeasure known on the surviving one hundred and twenty Grizzeloid Stealth Tanks. 

Light and sound strobed across the battlefield, even as the surviving Lynxian Rovers and the handful of infantry took note of the counterattack. 

And so did the Archon.

The beam of golden light lanced out, raking the aircraft one by one. Three aircraft fell from the sky before my portal popped into place, diverting the beam. 

This time, the Archon didn’t dodge. Instead, the beam bounced off him, unharmed. 

<Belessar>: What the… is he immune to his own weapons?

<Nanocloud>: No, he dodged it the first time. This must be low power. 

The Archon moved the beam, forcing me to spin up more portals. 

To no avail. Every time a portal inserted itself in the path of the beam, the Archon just moved it a few degrees, avoiding the portal entirely - but not the aircraft, which burned whenever the beam touched them. 

And from above us, new beams of green light lanced out, striking down the remainder of the Close Support Air Wing. The remaining Strikefighters were diving, strafing what remained of Miller’s brave pilots. 

Burning aircraft crashed to the ground.

<Belessar>: Do you see any parachutes?

<Nanocloud>: … no. The beams aren’t leaving them time to eject.

<Belessar>: Miller?

<Nanocloud>: She’s with the choppers. They’re to deploy next.

<Belessar>: Against the Archon, that’s not going to help. Can the tanks - ours and the Indians - handle the Carnotaurs?

<Nanocloud>: They can try. The good part is that there’s hardly anything moving among the Grizzeloid tanks. 

<Belessar>: We need to deal with that Archon. 

<Nanocloud>: Got any ideas? Because the folks here are fresh out. 

Ideas….

Shattering Strike might remove their radiological resistance, but then we’d have to hit them with a billion damage within the time it took to wear off - which meant detonating a nuke at close range, something I definitely wouldn’t survive.

Ranged options - nothing I packed could scratch that thing.

Mind control immunity.

The only thing that seemed to work was … portals.

<Belessar>: Anne - I’m going to try something. Wish me luck.