Castle Kingside

Ground-shattering quakes more powerful than any before rocked Malten’s streets, and plumes of white smoke pulsed unnaturally across the sky.

Saphiria’s heart skipped a beat. She knew not what calamity struck the western gatehouse, if the city would remain standing after tonight, yet she could not stop. The gangsters who assaulted Dimitry’s chemistry laboratory were escaping.

She suppressed her worries and continued her mad dash across Malten.

Leandra held out her palm.

Without a word, exhaust coalesced around Saphiria’s legs like green mists, and seemingly endless vigor propelled her every stride. Her pace more than doubled—the effects of a court sorceress’ hastia.

Awe welled within Saphiria. “Where to?”

“Those vermin escaped to the east!” Leandra vaulted over a panicked man’s shoulder. “I believe they seek to escape through the gatehouse and into the wilds.”

A prudent plan. Most devils emerged from the ocean to the west or from the northern lands, leaving the wilds east of Malten safer than the city itself. Her targets would fare comfortably once they fled beyond the wall.

“These vermin are organized,” Saphiria said.

“Indeed.”

“Does Mother confront gangs often?”

“Gangs?” Leandra shouted between heavy breaths, her words barely audible amongst the rush. “No. Only lowly scoundrels like these and the bandits that pillage the countryside. The occasional hedge knight as well.”

Saphiria bit her lip. Yet another nuisance ransacking her home, and few seemed to know they existed.

But she did now.

Buildings melded into dark green blurs as they flashed past, and the utterances of observers became meaningless whispers upon hammering winds that blew into Saphiria’s hood with terrifying force. The walls ahead grew taller as they neared.

But when the gatehouse came into view, the doors stood shut, and the portcullis was lowered. Not a gangster in sight. Only two archers watched down from the battlements.

“You!” Leandra yelled.

“M-madam Leandra?” one archer mumbled and knelt. The other stumbled while following his example.

“Speak quickly. Have you seen four cloaked men approach?”

Both archers pointed south.

Saphiria and Leandra pivoted, white bricks rushing by.

A rope ladder brought their sprint to a halt. It hung from an unguarded stretch of wall wedged between the eastern and castle districts. Three men stood on the battlements, tossing shattered vials and rusted iron plates to the forest beyond the city.

Their haul didn’t resemble Dimitry’s technology. Did they burglarize the chemistry laboratory in vain, with Dimitry moving his black powder manufacturing equipment in anticipation of this?

Saphiria glanced back. “I’m taking one alive for questioning. Don’t cast ignia and cover me.”

“You mustn’t endang—”

Leandra’s protest faded amongst deafening winds as Saphiria dashed away. Her palm gripped Father’s knife, but she didn’t throw it yet. Alerting the enemy now would lower her odds of preserving a witness. She had to get closer.

Saphiria jumped up and latched onto the ladder’s roughly hewn rungs, climbing with massive leaps.

A gangster looked down. “Sorceress!” He glanced over the wall. “Go, go! You know what to do with my share!”

“And mine!”

“I vow to Zera herself!” someone yelled from beyond the city walls, their voice growing distant.

All three gangsters grabbed crude longbows from the battlements.

One notched an arrow, but before he could launch it, his belly tore from his chest, bloody entrails bursting onto the battlements, the stench of raw excrement fouling the air.

Praising Leandra’s well-timed dropia, Saphiria swung from the ladder and latched onto the wall. She threw her dagger into the furthest man’s heart.

An arrow whizzed towards her forehead but clanged against a protectia barrier, dropping with an iron rattle.

The last gangster dropped his bow and stabbed forward with an arrow.

Saphiria twirled around the makeshift weapon. She grabbed his arm and tossed the gangster over her shoulder.

His face slammed into white brick.

She pressed her knee to his neck and looked to the forest.

A horse cantered between trees towards emerald horizons. Atop the animal was a cloaked man carrying two full sacks over his shoulders. The curvatures of his loot hinted that glass shards and assorted debris lay inside.

Saphiria absorbed a vol pellet, snapped the head of an arrow from its shaft, and fit the barbed iron head into her hand.

“Propelia.”

The arrowhead launched from her palm and lodged into the cloaked figure’s back. He shouted incomprehensible slurs as he disappeared into moonlit woodlands.

Saphiria clenched her fist as he escaped. Blatant thievery, children forced into assaulting the hospital, the public murder of royal guards.

Malten was ailing.

And she would neglect her duty as princess no longer.

After the blast, Dimitry kept running. Even as the world swerved and his head rang and lungs heaved and a shaky ground sought to disrupt his balance, he darted through ajar gatehouse gates, which sluggishly shut behind him.

Vision blurry, he clambered up a gatehouse tower.

A low and loud screech echoed from the wilderness.

In an instant, the supersonic crackles of voltech rifles regained their crispness, the movements of three sorceresses atop the battlements hastened, and Dimitry stumbled under the pressure of a worsening vestibular migraine. His arm shielded his face as he fell.

“That was fucking awesome!”

“Is that… the Jade Surgeon’s holy power?”

“I-I think so. I still don’t understand how it works.”

“Hey! Can you hear me?!”

Someone pulled his arm.

Dimitry vomited green and yellow bile onto tattered boots and looked up to see a sorceress, curly red-brown locks falling to her waist.

She aimed at an overhead flying devil. “Propelia.” A lead pellet soundlessly shot from Angelika’s no longer glowing rifle.

The beast plummeted into the roof of what was once a luxurious tailor shop.

Angelika kicked his puke off her shoes. “You alright?!”

“F-fine!”

“Then get up!”

Dimitry stumbled to his knees and glanced sideways.

The carapaced devil rammed its shell into the gatehouse, and the battlements quaked. Blood oozed from countless pores in its vast shell and neck. Further back, nine flying devils lay disassembled on the ground alongside twelve crawlers. Several more limped or dragged across the dirt, swinging their remaining limbs forward. Around twenty heathens still lived.

If the carapaced devil broke the gatehouse gate—which remained damaged since last night’s raid—how many would die? Crawling devils would maim everyone huddling on the streets!

A catastrophe he had to prevent.

Hoping to cast accelall once more, Dimitry used Angelika’s arm to pull himself up. He reached for a pure vol pellet, only for her to slap it out of his hand.

“Oh no you don’t!”

“You need—”

“No! You need to stay still and behave! I’m not letting the hope of Malten die from overload. Let the professionals do their damn job!”

Although Dimitry sympathized with Angelika, accelall was the only way they would survive tonight. Between all of them dying or only him getting hurt, the choice was simple.

“Dimitry!”

His head twisted to the side.

Approaching him, Leona cast protectia to thwart a barrage of incoming stone feathers. She threw aside her red robe to reveal the leather armor beneath. “Hurry!”

His eyes shot open. Of course!

The carapaced devil whipped its blue-streaked shell into the gatehouse, and the battlements shook once more.

A panicked shriek came from a nearby watchtower.

Who was that?

Dimitry ignored the question, instead fitting his palms onto the cores of Leona’s upper back. “This might hurt!”

“Hurry!”

“Accelall!”

Four vol pellets vanished from Leona’s hand. She grimaced, enduring the spell’s feedback just as she did when channeling accelall enchantments onto voltech rifles. Her arms fell limply to her sides.

Angelika and Elze shared a glance, and after exchanging indecipherable time-accelerated babbles, aimed through holes in the battlements. Their rifles thundered with every lead ball fired.

Elze purged flying devils and carapaced devils.

Angelika punched hole after hole into the carapaced devil’s neck as it slammed into the walls.

“Jade Surgeon!” a man shouted.

An ambulance ran closer, carrying a sorceress on a stretcher. She moaned and squirmed as blisters formed on her arm, abdomen, and leg, some peeling away like thin rubber to reveal bright pink dermis beneath. Second and third-degree burns covered a fourth of her body.

Electrolyte imbalances and dehydration would kill her soon.

Despite inflamed organs and dizzying nausea, Dimitry displayed the calmest facade he could muster. “What happened?”

The bald and muscular giant Milk shook his head.

His paramedic co-worker dragged his eyes away from the carapaced devil. “A f-flyin’ devil popped right over madam sorceress’s head. We mopped up all the c-corrupted blood, but—”

Stressed metal resounded from below.

That of hinges.

Massive gatehouse doors squealed across their iron frame before crashing onto west main street with a deafening metallic rattle. Crawling devils darted onto the road and past a smoldering field hospital. Flying devils provided air support from above.

The heathens had breached Malten.

“No! No!” Leona shouted. “Propelia!” She shot a crawling devil limping between buildings, two remaining legs pushing it forward, but the bastard kept trucking on, leaving a trail of viscous blue liquid wherever it went.

Another magic-purging screech resounded from the carapaced devil, which rammed its shell into the city walls only to be decapitated moments later. Endless blood poured from the neck. The blue liquid seemed to want to drown the city. Although the mountainous beast tried to squeeze through the gatehouse, its movements swiftly came to a halt.

Angelika’s movements returned to normal. Without a moment to spare, she rushed to the downed sorceress’s side and grabbed her hand. “Cedany! Can you hear me?!”

Cedany responded with hushed murmurs.

“She’s worried about her grandmother,” Elze said. “She lives near the market square.”

“I’ll kill any heathen that so much as looks in her direction!” Angelika rushed down the gatehouse stairwell. “Don’t you worry about a fucking thing!”

“Wait!” Leona pointed to sorceresses rushing in from the northwestern battlements. “The reinforcements are almost here! We should wait!”

Her words came too late. Angelika was already dashing across heathen blood-drenched roads and towards the market square, where over a hundred refugees stampeded past stalls and buildings, hoping to flee incoming beasts.

Elze chased after Angelika, sparing a moment to glance back. “Jade Surgeon. Take care of our friend.”

“I will.”

The sorceress hastily bowed and rushed away.

Leona’s fingers fiddled with the reflectia fabric around her rifle, which had yet to regain its glow.

“Aren’t you going to go with them?” Dimitry asked.

“They can only fight because I’m here with you.”

Dimitry sighed a relieved breath. He couldn’t watch his back and treat a patient at the same time. “In that case, follow me. Milk, bring the stretcher downstairs and help Raltz and the others make a path of neutralized heathen’s blood through the gatehouse. Signal the knights to come. Angelika and Elze will need all the support they can get. Let’s move!”

Angelika pressed a hand to her legs and muttered a chant through heavy breaths. “Hastia!”

Her pace quickened, but not by enough.

Two crawling devils darted towards the crowded market square. People were trying to escape, but the congestion provided little space, leaving many trampled or trapped. The prelude to a fucking massacre.

Angelika had to stall the heathens. She absorbed two vol pellets and held out her hand, focusing the power surging through her arms and chest into a wide yet thin barrier thirty strides away. “Protectia!”

One of the six-legged assholes rammed into an unseen wall—only green mists of exhaust hinting at the barrier’s existence—and rolled wayside into a shoemaker’s shop, the impact shattering a central limb.

The second crawler waited for the barrier to dissipate before proceeding.

Shit.

For as long as Angelika could remember, the morons would rush forward even after watching their asshole friends fall into a trap. What the fuck was going on? First a lull in the night, then flying devils started moving in squadrons, and now crawlers predicted the future. Were they actually getting smarter?

Or worse.

Maybe they were learning.

Frantic refugees shoved aside a woman, who tightened her grip around the baby she cradled as both fell to the ground. The woman’s eyes slammed shut as a heartrending plea for Celeste’s guidance escaped her mouth.

Approaching her was a crawling devil. The front limbs rotated into sharp horizontal pincers, slicing like overlapping scissor blades while drawing nearer.

Angelika clenched her jaw.

Now was a poor time for bullshit rumination.

She had to focus!

Her gaze fell to the rifle cradled in her arms. The golden glow of reflectia still hadn’t returned since the crawling devil purged the magic, meaning Accelall’s enchantment fared little better. Her weapon was useless. A single unenchanted rifle wouldn’t cull the threat in time, and casting magic directly on a heathen was ineffective.

The circumstances necessitated a swifter solution.

Angelika’s eyes scanned the surroundings for environmental weapons. A lack of roofing to collapse onto the advancing crawler eliminated dropia, freezia couldn’t shatter the stone of a dry core, and liquefying the road with meltia to trap its legs would take too long for her alone.

A single option remained.

Vol pellet burning into Angelika’s arms, the heaviness of feedback accumulating further, she targeted a stretch of road twenty strides away. “Slipia!”

For a moment, the crawler’s sharp and slender legs glided across the street, no longer able to support a heavy body. It fell sideways. The bottom pincer snapped off, sliding forward, and the spherical core crashed to the ground, newly developed chinks spluttering heathen’s blood everywhere.

Angelika smirked, proud of her work, but her joy was short-lived.

The flying devils soared back towards her.

And the crawler that crashed into the cobbler’s shop was clambering to its spear-like feet.

She absorbed another vol pellet and aimed at the roof. “Dropia!”

Super-heavy bricks pummeled into the bastard’s body, pulverizing him into rubble and flowing blue blood creeks.

“That’s right! Stay the fuck down!”

A volley of feathers.

Unable to grab a pellet in time, Angelika raised a hand to shield her face.

“Protectia,” Elze’s voice chanted from behind.

Stone projectiles shattered against an unseen barrier in front of Angelika’s face, the blood within the quills splashing to the sides.

Before she could thank her savior, the flying devils split into two: a group that strafed towards Elze, and another headed for the market square.

“Go!” shouted Elze. “I’ll manage!”

Angelika suppressed the dread in her gut, which warned that she was leaving a comrade to die, and rushed ahead. She cast as many protectia barriers as she could, saving all the lives she could, refugees and citizens alike. But she wouldn’t last. Feedback burned through her body, taking its toll after the seventy-eight pure vol pellets she consumed that night.

And then the crackle of a voltech rifle. And another. Dozens shot in volleys.

Lead ball after lead ball murdered flying devil after flying devil.

Sorceresses emerged from alleys, the windows of buildings, and across the market square.

Reinforcements!

Then came the rhythmic beats of hooves hitting the ground.

Angelika’s head shot back to find dozens of knights riding closer. One rode ahead of Elze to absorb a wave of feathers with his green-glowing steel breastplate and helmet, while others spread throughout Malten, slaughtering crawling devils that lagged behind or diverged.

A man whose lustrous armor bore the red and gold crest of the Kuhn family approached her. Valter held up his rock hammer. “Vogel! Where’s the rest of the raid?”

A grin floated onto Angelika’s face. “They’re fucking dead! We killed the bastards!”

“Is that what—” The dense end of Valter’s weapon slammed into the core of a crawling devil struggling to stand, its legs twitching one last time before lying forever still. “Is that what the earthquakes and the thunderous rage was all about?”

“Blame that on Dimitry!”

“I’ll be sure to send the Jade Surgeon my warmest regards!” Valter laughed heartily as he rode away.

One by one, victorious shouts echoed from every corner of Malten. Iron hilts banged into walls and buildings and carved brick roads as thousands celebrated despite the most ferocious night of repentance this city had ever seen.

They were alive.

Realizing she too survived, the frantic fluttering within Angelika’s gut bubbled and morphed into an exhilaration that rejuvenated her entire body with an overwhelming burst of vitality. Rifle in hand, her fist pumped into the air. “Fuck yeah!”

As she celebrated, yelling every obscenity that came to mind, a gentle tug pulled back on her leather vest.

Angelika turned around.

A woman knelt by her boots. Baby clutched to her chest, she was the same one that almost died to the bladed legs of a crawling devil moments ago. She bowed. “I am in your eternal debt, madam sorceress.”

The man behind her knelt as well. “My savior!”

“Celeste guide you and the apostle!”

“Long live the kingdom loved by Zera!”

Watching a sea of refugees express their gratitude, the euphoria of victory drained from Angelika. She stood paralyzed. They were supposed to be the leeches that consumed Malten’s resources and crippled the kingdom, plotting to take all before moving on to the next country, and yet, a sensation snug and loving and cozy welled within her.

Mind desperately searching for the proper response, her gaze darted from a kowtowing man to his kneeling neighbor. What could she do to end their praise? To regain her dignity? If someone saw a combat sorceress crumbling under the gratitude of refugees, the resulting gossip would tarnish her family’s reputation.

However, despite every attempt, Angelika could not muster the esteemed posture of a Vogel. Her heart was melting, and she wanted to shout that none of them deserved to suffer. That Malten nearly ended up like the crumbling kingdoms they escaped from. That tonight, Angelika could have become a refugee herself.

That she was sorry for disparaging them.

But her quivering lips managed not a word.

Tears welled in her eyes, and she turned away, hoping no one saw them. “I um… I hafta go. The apostle needs me. Please be safe.”

Her forearm mopped her face as Angelika ran back towards the western gatehouse.