An Age of Mysterious Memories

I need to get moving, get a headstart. I can feel it when my adamantite form dissipates into nothing, the tingling of energy, mana fizzling away into the ether. I had to quicken two adamantite body spells just to survive my own geological-scale explosion. That's what, seventy SP these days? I should keep better track, but, yeah, that seems to be about right. I can’t recall if those are the first SP I’ve spent in the day though. My head is throbbing, my skull pounding out the beat to the rhythm of the war drums. That is, even the distant vibration of Terrorzin’s army’s war drums feels like it’s rattling my skull. I’m not sure if that’s because of some spell, the sheer number of drummers in Terrorzin’s war machine, or the weight of the mountain I’d just toppled atop myself.

If they’re searching so thoroughly that they’re casting a wide net, it’s only a matter of time before they start casting that net above Worldstorm level through various nearby aeries. I can’t let that happen. Ixeyla is up there, and I didn’t think to equip her with a pair of goggles, so I have no way to warn her what’s happening down here. I can’t be as stealthy as I’d like after all. So, how do you get the attention of, and then lose the attention of, fifty-thousand-plus draconic forces? Well, dropping a mountain ‘twixt them and their destination is probably a pretty good start at getting their attention.

I’ve just gotta follow that up with a brazen display of my dragonforce. FFS and Zorro are both dissipated from the strength of the blast, so I’ve got no allies at hand. My eyes water, several tears slipping free, worried for Zorro. I believe Zorro is an elemental spirit that returns to the other side of the veil rather than dying, so I can call them back by baking the firefox icon in flames once again. But I’m not positive, and I worry it could be another Sylphie situation.

We’ll have to wait until we get back to Solace to even attempt it. Right now, even if I could summon Zorro, it would only be to put them back in danger. Similarly, even if I were to summon FFS back to the battlefield, there’re enough mages and dragons with acid breath weapons now that know FFS’s weaknesses, that they wouldn’t last more than a few moments. Hm, I don’t remember if I puzzled it out before, but since my Backpotter form is up, and it has a fair mastery over my inventory and Space skills, I can at least get it fully equipped. I’d better keep it up in order to use every advantage I can muster, though it’s only got a shallow pool of mana left, so it won’t last long, and can’t do any inventory shenanigans without dissipating. So, it comes down to this. How do you rein in a search party of thousands?

Well, first you swim out of the stone burying you in this mountain Reggie. Right, that’s done with, now you tug on that tail, pissing off the whole body of the horde. Bulking up my breath weapon organ, I thunder-shout my titles, announcing to the whole of Terrorzin’s forces who I am, and what I am. Simultaneously, I’m armoring up in my adamantite body, and dropping like a rock out of the sky once more. Sure enough, the entire net that was cast, weaving carefully about the valley and mountainsides is drawn back towards me.

Uh oh, it seems like even Terrorzin is on the move, much faster, now that I’ve announced myself so loudly. I guess he’s probably got a bone to pick with anyone titled Hero of the Order of the Onyx Dawn. I’m pretty sure the previous Hero was The Platinum. Huh, my thermal senses seem to be flaring, coming in bursts from around Terrorzin. Is he pulsing his Dragonforce to cause some kind of freezing effect? He hardly even cares, perhaps doesn’t even care, that he’s turning some of his forces into ice-sculptures, according to my senses.

That spells bad news for me, because I’m pretty sure some of those new lawn ornaments were the human forms of white dragons, creatures that should be virtually immune to cold and freezing effects. Crap. I’m going to need to collapse every aerie in the nearby area, to beneath Worldstorm level. There shouldn’t be too many, but we can’t let—what the hell? The Worldstorm is, well, ascending. My eyes widen in horrified realization.

The reasons Kinzul had to disappear this morning, and perhaps the reasons Iylynila disappeared later, are now evident to me. Kinzul had to head somewhere that she can exert control over the whole of the Worldstorm. Did she already know the bulk of Terrorzin’s main forces were on the move? Or is this a preemptive play? Whatever the reason, if I don’t hurry, none of the aeries in the region will be above Worldstorm level, and my escape path will be many dozens of miles away to the nearest hole in the Worldstorm. Heck, that’s if Kinzul is even leaving any of the holes that we’d planned for my assaults.

Erk, crap, I can’t spare a moment’s thought to plan my escape route. I’m being closed-in-on from all sides. Loosing my most potent magics, I conjure GSE Darkest Star’s Event Horizon, utilizing the expanded spell metamagic from The Platinum’s robe to cover a slightly wider area. I set up two, three, four of them, and weave in other spells to keep my foes guessing, to keep them from all realizing that the GSE magics are mostly illusory. Even though I buy myself some breathing room, I’m still trapped until I punch a hole in Terrorzin’s forces.

A voice as old as time, as hateful and spiteful as the dawn of war-torn ages past calls out, “Hero of the Order, you’ve breathed your last, come so that Terrorzin may feast on your pitiful essence!”

Um, how about no? How the hell are we even going to fight Terrorzin if his manifestation of his Dragonforce can instantly freeze anyone, and anything? Wait, the prophecy. The mate of the wielder of The Four is destined to slay the eldest evil in the lands. Kinzul is the only one that can fight Terrorzin? Her Dragonforce is old enough, powerful enough that Terrorzin exerting his won’t be able to affect her. But so much of it is spread so thin across the whole world. I hyperventilate in a panicked dismay, worried about what this means for Kinzul. It means she can’t produce an aura large enough to safeguard anyone else, and she’ll have to take on Terrorzin alone.

Maybe if she had a few months, or years, she could reclaim enough Dragonforce to generate an aura of safety against Terrorzin’s forceful frost emanation. She doesn’t though, she has perhaps a week, if she manages to submerge all the aeries in the lands in the Worldstorm, by altering its height. How did she know to do it now, on this day?

Luni, Muse of the Onyx Dawn probably has that answer. Oh, of course it was Lu, it had to be. Luni probably got ahold of Illy as well, while I was busy. She probably told both of them that they can’t tell me their plan for the Worldstorm, so that I wouldn’t, or couldn’t alter my own assault plans. Sighing, my eyes droop and my shoulders sag with the weight of worlds upon them.

Alright Lu, still keeping up with the mysterious foresight, I’ll keep putting my faith in you. Hm, waves. Light acts as both particles and waves, doesn’t it? A future light cone would be all the places in spacetime light originating from a certain point is visible from, more or less. Supposedly that determines causality too, that any effect could only have been affected by an originating point if it’s in that point’s future light cone. Lu doesn’t have perfect mastery over that, but did Kinzul’s efforts aid her Latent in being able to determine causes and effects across the timestream? Or is this still somehow related to my Time skill, despite having not really used it on this planet?

Reggie! Yup? Wrong time to be pondering things out! You’re on a time limit! Oh, oh crap, right. Not only that, but I’m blowing through resources, and, eep, dodge! Unable to get out of the way in time, I barely manage to Raven-port away from several devastating spells that seemed to seek out my position. Three are we, we are three, we wheel and—die. Oof, I’m back in my own body a ways away from a series of disintegrating blasts, as all three of my raven forms dissipate under heavy assault from breath weapons, spells, and ranged weaponry. Crap, I was really hoping to not dip into using that yet. I already used up Whisper’s port power for the day.

At this point, conjuring the mini meteor swarm, I keep them hovering about my body as temporary shields to block deadly incoming spells. Normally they’re meant to take down an archer or two, or bludgeon an enemy mage to death. But here’s me helping guide them with my telekinesis in an unintended manner. Just one more way Reggie Shellcracker bends and breaks rules I guess. Not that they’re going to last long at this rate, with all the disintegrating beams and other attacks leveled my way.

What else do we have? I’m out of daily uses of LSE, LSC, mini meteors, slowing fields, Frostburn’s Slashblast, my Cataclysm Bolts, pretty much everything other than my SP, and Raven-ports. Hell, it won’t be long til I’m out of Raven-ports too at this rate. I melded my greater-elemental conjuration with FFS when blowing the top off that mountain. How can things be going so—yipes!

Drawing a deep breath, and swapping to the Necrosteel chestplate, I plummet beneath a wide arc slashed by some elite Spellknight who brazenly flew right through my various GSE black holes and other spells I’d set up to dissuade just such a thing. Hoping that throws them off their game is no dice, as they dive after me, keeping up with my gravity-assisted descent. I’m forced to draw Frostburn to parry a series of blows, and I’m reminded once again that I’m no trained swordsperson. Even with my danger wraps guiding my motions, I can’t keep up with the assault from this Spellknight. Worse, now I’ve cratered into the muddy ground, and they’re laying into me while I’ve barely got mobility enough to parry perhaps half of their attacks.

I’m, I’m not sure how I’m going to make it out of this one at this rate. Even if I had a massive distraction on my side, things are looking pretty bad for my survival odds without some sort of deus ex machina. Huh, whaddaya know, mite-hulk adjacents from the ‘Neath are harrying some of the horde to my south. Not that that helps me much in this situation, but it’s funny to sense Terrorzin’s forces’ attention divided. They definitely aren’t the break I was hoping for. I need a new plan. Why did I think I could get the attention of Terrorzin’s entire army and get away?

Hurk, okay, this Spellknight’s got more in their bag of tricks than fast sword skills. There goes my adamantite body, and they’ve got me in some sort of paralytic spell hold. I can’t access any of my powers, or activate any equipment. I can’t even drop my Backpotter form. Frostburn is knocked free of my grip, and I can’t even engage my telekinesis to bring it back. This is gonna hurt.

Scrunching my face, I wince as the longsword hacks away at my armor, virtually destroying the Necrosteel chestplate as my foe's weapon flares with magic repeatedly upon each strike, smiting me with different magical forces one after another after another. Suddenly my archsorc staff is in my offhand. Not one to look a gift-horse in the mouth too often, I draw forth FFS from beyond the veil between realms. My elemental companion nods at me, intercepting blows meant for me while throwing my foe off balance by returning a brutal assault of their own.

Coughing, freed of whatever had been paralyzing me, I swap out the mostly-destroyed chestplate for the one with the feather-falling enchantment, and I try to armor up once more, but I’m out of adamantite shavings, so my spell eats away the few orichalcum shavings in my possession. I’ve got a bunch of mithril shavings from pouches I’d found in the interdimensional space, probably put their by Lu, but that metal is far less durable than the other two. FFS dissipates under the assault of our shared foe just as I’m getting my bearings. I stand and lunge sideways just in time to dodge a vertical cleave that flares with magical power loosed by the Spellknight.

Worse, it’s no longer one-on-one. I’m surrounded once again, my various deterrent spells are all down, I’m burning through SP like mad just trying to survive, and I still don’t even really have an escape plan. Using my Honoris Causa, I clear some breathing room for myself, swiping wildly, loosing void-breath, and buffeting foes with my wings and tail. Wait, someone’s trying to get my attention in the security center by holding up a note in front of my paired scrying sensor. Head directly southwest in thirty seconds? Wait, scribbled out, fifteen seconds? I’ve been so distracted I didn’t notice. In fifteen seconds, directly southwest is going to put me dangerously close to Terrorzin as he continues prowling my way at an almost leisurely pace.

Rattling my skull, fourteen, I try to catch my breath as I’m knocked for a loop by the tail of some enormous foe. I think it was a siege-drake, but it’s hard enough to keep track of attacks coming my way without trying to identify who’s making those attacks. Thirteen, I’ve got to Raven-port, three are—that didn’t last long. Twelve. Beneath the flicker of the Worldstorm, the scene around me is a nightmarish tableau of flailing limbs and slinging spells. Like a stop-motion horror film of old, each brilliant flash lights our melee for only a moment. The clang of steel, mithril, metal, fang and claw along with the snarl of my fanatical, ravenous foes drowns out all else. Eleven.

Ten. Suddenly I catch a whiff of something, something rusty. It’s my own blood. Crap, my form has worn off again, and I narrowly avoided having my jugular sliced open, only to take a nasty jab to my right torso. Yeah, you guessed it, I took yet another attack perforating my right lung once again. Or where my right lung would be. Does this form even have lungs, or any organs? Nine. Coughing up a spattering of blood, I roll rearwards, then vault, launching myself with my telekinesis. Eight. I don’t think I can make it far enough southwest for whatever plan is in motion.

Seven. I’m down to two uses left of raven-porting, and one use of my cosmic starfall—never mind, zero uses of my cosmic starfall. Six. Tossing out Whisper’s sheath, my world blurs as my position in spacetime warps, sending me into a crashdown strike surrounded by starlight a few dozen meters past a cavalcade of incoming attacks. Five. At this point, I’m neck-deep in a throng of bodies packed so tightly that I’m starting to get claustrophobic. Apparently, the weight of the horde, and my crashdown strike in this location just opened up a sinkhole.

A sinkhole that happens to open up into a narrow tunnel heading southwest, where it no doubt meets up with another tunnel heading to one of the few aeries in the region. Opportunity, I hear you knocking, but don’t bother coming in, because I’m coming to you. Four. I’ve got to apply a mithril body again, due to all the powerful attacks aimed my way that I just can’t avoid. This is more stressful than a… really stressful thing. Ah yes, the eloquent poetry of Reggie Shellcracker’s brain on stress. Pft.

Three. I have to raven-port again, to get beyond the throng of bodies, into the tunnel ahead of them. Now it’s time to LBBTKSL along this narrow tunnel, and—crap. Terrorzin himself must be nearby as an ice sculpture crashes through the roof of the tunnel ahead of me. My right hand, and tail freeze instantly as they come into contact with the aura produced by Terrorzin’s Dragonforce. His aura instantly dissipates my mithril body even though it barely nicks me, and I back off immediately, into the waiting arms of the horde scrambling up the tunnel after me. I have to reapply my mithril body again just to stay alive against the onslaught of spells, breath weapons, attacks, and magical items aimed my way.

Two. I can sense Terrorzin taking wing, pulling back so as to not decimate the main bulk of his forces, a lucky break for me. But a few dozen foes have clambered into the tunnel ahead of me where the ice-sculpture penetrated from above. Last port of the day Reggie, and the tunnel curves sharply upwards. Beyond the throng of foes now, having used my last teleporting ability for the day, I rocket along upwards through the tunnel structure within this mountain with my foes hot on my tail. That’s when my senses alert me of my surroundings, and my heart sinks in dismay.

Ahead is a dead end. I could dive into the stone, but I move slowly through it, and if the foes behind me start hacking at it, I die if they sunder the stone I’m moving through. One. My stomach, or whatever passes for one in my Backpotter form feels strange. Zero, from out of nowhere, Big O’Kuel tumbles forth from my inventory into a three-point landing, taking up nearly the entire tunnel behind me. I could swear the magitech mecha just gave me a solemn nod and partial salute, a goodbye-wave as its eyes reflected a single spark of the incoming breath-weapons and spells. My Backpotter form dissipates entirely, and the spells being slung around Big O’Kuel do a number on my actual body before I’m able to armor up with my own magics once again.

The ferocious volley of magics launched at and around Big O’Kuel leave me reeling. I hunch over, gasping for breath. The mecha is nearly impervious to harm, nearly, but even it seems to be wilting slightly under the might of the assault leveled our way. I’m far less impervious to harm, and I’m rocked and tossed about like a ship on the ocean in turbulent times. Spell after spell lands in this dead end, disorienting me, leaving me reeling. I’m not even sure what spells are being cast, by whom, if I wanted to try to counter some of them. Still, I’m fortunate to have a sturdy ally suddenly between me and the front faces of the horde.

I don’t have time to contemplate my fortune as Big O’Kuel shatters the stone wall blocking my path before turning to intercept the encroaching horde. The robot digs its heels in as its palms grasp the lead pursuers’ outstretched claws. The might of the horde sends the automaton skidding rearwards towards me, so I haven’t any time to contemplate how to save it. It isn’t loosing any blasts, or attacking with any sort of ferocity so much as simply standing in the way of Terrorzin’s army, intercepting the pursuers like any defensive linemen, and I fear that’s because its internal mana battery is low.

I’ve ascended enough that I sense the Worldstorm beginning to spill into the tunnel from above. We’re seconds away from having to contend with the might of the entire storm pouring down atop our heads. With tears in my eyes, I sprint and scrabble my way up the tunnel towards the slim opening to an aerie that isn’t yet buried beneath the storm. Just to dissuade anyone that might be able to teleport past Big O’Kuel, or otherwise make it past my robotic ally, I let loose an enhanced cone of cold from the archsorc staff, summon FFS once more, and send a GSE Darkest Star’s Event Horizon down the tunnel towards the approaching skirmish.

With that, I’m almost entirely spent. All I can do is LBBTKSL up through a thin layer of the Worldstorm before it totally engulfs the aerie and the tunnel. I’m certain that once it does, I’d have a hard time surviving a flight up to clear sky level without using a ton of Dragonforce having my Honoris Causa void it out while passing through the acid cloudbanks that are rolling in. It’s dusk, and the setting sun casts its orangey glow across the far horizon as I break through a painful stinging puff of acid cloudcover. Quite a ways in the distance, apparently having sensed numerous dragonforces rushing the tunnel I’d been climbing, I spy a tiny red blotch that must be Ixeyla.

Having survived an onslaught, and lost or slain any pursuing foes fast enough to keep up with me, I’m incredibly glad to see Ixey. The lanky Red sees, or mentally senses across our telepathic wavelength, that I’m in rough shape, and wings speedily to my side to catch me upon her back. Falling against spinal ridges between her shoulder blades, I can only murmur my thanks as I crash hard from the adrenaline rush of the chase. I sense myself falling into a familiar state of unconsciousness, the kind that Lil would claim I told him stories during. I hope it’s a nice dream, and nice story for Ixeyla.

As if in a dream, I walk onwards, knowing not where I am, or why. Approaching what’s undoubtedly the human form of two dragons, I decide to at least try to be merciful, though my mercy is stretched thin right now, having given…her… the benefit of the doubt. Clenching my eyes to prevent them from welling with tears, I gulp back my emotions. I don’t want to be mad at either of them. If I hadn’t been put under that whammy, would I still have fallen for the ploy? Would I still have gone a week w—. Just give it up Reggie. Focus on the now. My shoulders sag as my expression droops. We’ve lost so much. I’ve lost so much. Te—. Oh Teuila. I’ll never—.

I can’t help bursting into tears, knowing Teuila’s actions, and that I’ll never—. Sniffling, I furiously rub my face on my forearm. This is no time to crack up and wallow Reggie. You’ve got a few powers available to you, but you’re basically naked, about to probably fight two ancient dragons simultaneously. You should probably have been—. I know. I know. I can’t though. I’ll just deal with what I can, and burn my bridges as I come to them. Erm, you know that the phrase doesn’t go that way, right? The way you said it—. I know what I said.

Sighing as I approach the pair of ancients, I’m surprised that they startle when I call out, “Alright, where am I, and why am I here? Why’d you kidnap my corpse?”

The younger, thinner one stifles their near-scream of surprise to respond, “I’ll do you one better, *Who* are you!?”

That’s more than a tad confusing, seeing as I’m one of the most well-known members of the Onyx Dawn, and they kidnapped my body. Weirder, the elder, brawnier one asks, “I’ll do ye both one better, *What* are ye?” referring to me claiming having been a corpse.

Groaning, it dawns on me that I might not even be in the same period of history. I’m Reggie Shellcracker, whose Latent: “Nothing,” and skills of Time, and Space, from Can’Z’aas, having been on the fritz from some kind of poison, could have put me anywhere, anywhen. I retort, “I’ll do you both one better, *When* am I?”

To anyone else, this would be a comedy of errors. To me? It’s a serious question. What occurs in response though? It surprises me, to say the least. It starts with a half chuckle from the elder of the two, which is met by a snorted half-laugh by the younger, which in turn receives a full chortle from the elder, until they’re both nearly doubling over in laughter. I feel a lot less threatened, but this is weird as hell. Drawing a shuddering breath, trying to put all other thoughts out of mind, I focus on doing what I can in the now.

Interjecting into their humor, I grumble, “If you don’t even know who I am, what I am, or why I’m here, I’ll just be going to finish my war against Terrorzin’s forces, to finally wipe the Damnations off the map. I—.”

Crap. They’re both tense now. What if they’re uncounted members of the Evil Claws who were ordered to guard this location, without being told why? My own muscles coil with tension, ready to spring into action. The elder poses, “Again, what he said. Who are you exactly?”

Trying not to sigh or roll my eyes, I fall back on the old staple, “I’m Reggie Shellcracker, a Hero of the Order of the Onyx Dawn, an archmage Aliased Schism, and I am the Void Dragon Honoris Causa—, or was.” Blinking back tears, to distract myself from my emotions, I decide to play up a trope, “I guess I’ve died again, and don’t know where or when I am. If the war’s still ongoing, I have to get back to it asap. If you’re followers of Terrorzin or the Damnations, we might as well get to it then, and start duking it out. I’d offer you mercy, based on my late wife Kinzul’s wishes, but I’ll just emphasize the word late. So, hey, good news, there’s no need to wonder what I am, because I am vengeance, and I’m right here. And I’m fresh out of mercy.”