The Years of Apocalypse - A Time Loop Progression Fantasy

“What’s going on?” Betella said, still terrified. “Who are you? Who are all these people?”

“Betella, this is the staff of the Akanan Embassy you were sent to murder. Embassy staff, Betella. Now that we’re past the pleasantries—” Mirian started, but was interrupted by Betella bursting into tears.

“I’m sorry!” she wailed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want—I never wanted to—but they had—” Her sobs overcame her ability to speak.

Mirian stared at her. It hadn’t been the reaction she’d been expecting. Is it a show? Or were some of these mercenaries less than eager participants?

It took some time, but Betella recovered enough to speak. “Draythus started to question what we were doing. Then he said he wouldn’t do it, he was out.” She took a deep breath, then continued. “He was dead the next morning. The guard said it was a mugging gone wrong. No one believed it. Especially when the next day his family was found dead in their home. A home invasion gone wrong. All carved up. Except, no one took anything. Draythus was my friend. He… he was the one that recruited me.”

“What is this organization?”

Betella seemed surprised. “You don’t know? The Pure Blade.”

Mirian sighed. “I’ve never heard of them.”

It was Celine that piped up. “A private mercenary group. They’re run by Decian Corrmier.”

Mirian made a face. “Are the other noble families stupid? Give one brother the army, another brother a private army?”

“The Corrmiers have always been heavily a part of the armed forces,” Celine said.

Mirian paced around. What would Nicolas say? “There’s two more army groups, but they’re busy in Persama. Even before the lo—before this all started, they’d be pinned in place until it was too late. There’s another division, another general, but she gets sent north. All of a sudden, there’s no balance of power.” She snapped her head over to the embassy workers. “How much do you know about Akana Praediar’s plan to declare war on Baracuel?”

“What!?” Kathera exclaimed.

Mirian muttered, “Not much, apparently.” Louder, she said, “Your Ambassador knew, obviously. Or at least, knew he had to get out before everything started.”

“But what… why would we do that?” one of the embassy workers asked. “You’re our ally! Even with the attack, it’s obviously a group of terrorists. The crown and your Parliament can denounce them—”

“Not if Palendurio is suddenly put under siege by chaos. Not if they already knew it was going to happen. I doubt they even bother to send zephyr falcons, I bet the Akanan newspapers have already published news of the attack. And Parliament cannot denounce anyone if it is occupied by the army. At least, not meaningfully.” Also, there’s that whole bit about your Prime Minister being assassinated. She decided not to tell them. What she knew was already suspicious enough.

Another Akanan asked, “But why?”

“Power,” Mirian said, waving her hand vaguely. “If you’re going to ask me why they want power, I haven’t the slightest idea yet. They don’t seem to want to do anything with it except get more, and then make sure no one else can have any. Either way, it leads them to be completely blinded. They’re so busy grabbing for power they’ve missed that the very edifice they’re building their towers on is crumbling out from under them.” Thinking about how many structures collapsed in Ducastil and Charlem Palace, she added, “That’s not even a metaphor,” under her breath.

“I don’t understand,” Betella said. “And how… how do you know Daith anyways?”

“Met him at Torrviol Academy. Long story. Tell me more about this Pure Blade. The rest of you, I need more information about communications with the Corrmier family to Akana Praediar. I think most of the deals were done behind closed doors and wouldn’t be in the records, but there must be signs. And any of the other noble families.” Realizing that not all the Akanans in the room spoke Friian, Mirian repeated her instructions in Eskanar.

Then she turned to Betella. “Tell me everything about the Pure Blade and the operation. Especially the little details. Names. Locations. Who they’re using to keep everyone in line. Who the masterminds are. Everything. If you can do that, I can make sure Daith stays safe.”

It took some time for Betella to explain. Mirian listened, occasionally jotting down notes.

Celine’s source, Philus, had clearly discovered the missing armor the Pure Blade ended up using in the attack. Betella could confirm that they’d been getting the pieces in small shipments over the past month. She told a long story about how she’d gotten into the Pure Blade for good reasons and to support her family, how she’d never wanted to kill anyone, but she felt trapped. When she’d seen Draythus’s family killed, she’d only thought of her own family. Her parents, two aunts, an uncle and three cousins all lived in Palendurio.

She had no idea who was responsible for the assassinations. Behind the mercenary group was another organization, making sure they stayed in line. All she knew was that they seemed to know everything.

“The Deeps?” Mirian asked, finally dismissing the bind person spell. She thought Daith’s sister was trustworthy enough, and she had her orichalcum-enhanced spell resistance anyways.

“I don’t know. But… it couldn’t be them, could it? They’re responsible for protecting us. And… and that’s not their purview, is it? The Department of Public Security is supposed to be focused on counter-espionage, protecting us from other countries. I mean, sure, it has spies but….”

Mirian could sympathize. She’d once been so idealistic. “Where are the Arcane Praetorians in all this? They could act as a powerful counter-force.”

It was Celine who apparently knew the answer. “A huge group of them left Palendurio on the 4th of Solem. Some sort of secret mission, but none of my sources would talk about it. They went to Alkazaria is all I know.”

That’s right, Mirian remembered. Rumor was it they left the city. But the 4th is too early for them to be reacting to the southern time traveler. So they weren’t even reacting to the Dawn’s Peace and their surprising victories, they were already scheduled to go there. No wonder they can’t seem to change that event.

So why doesn’t he try something else? Mirian had been stuck in a rut defending Torrviol, but she’d been making progress, and had reason to believe it had to do with the leyline collapse. Is there another Divine Monument down there? Is that why the southern traveler is so hellbent on seizing Alkazaria?

She spent some time pacing around again. Then she turned to Betella. “Where does Decian Corrmier live? What’s the security around his manor like?”

More wary glances were passed around the room.

“He lives on Kingmont Hill, with all the other noble families. They… there’s a lot of guards. You can’t even walk around the area without special papers. I’ve never been there. He always came to the headquarters.”

“Hmm. Anything incriminating at the headquarters?”

“I don’t know,” Betella said. “I was just… just another mercenary. I thought it’d be regular contract work, the kind I’d done a million times. And it was! For a whole year! And then… and then….” She shivered again.

Mirian looked around. Here were all these people that knew things, but they didn’t know the things she needed them to know. How many cycles would it take to unravel the conspiracy? Does it even matter?

Her thoughts shifted again. If I could cut the leashes on the Pure Blade… maybe I could even get the mercenaries as allies. But if it’s the Deeps in charge, they’re the ones that can actually threaten me. Specter was short-sighted enough to curse me, and if they’re the ones behind this, they have no qualms killing thousands of innocent people. But if it’s just the Corrmier family…

“How do they track you?” Mirian said to Betella.

“What?”

“Is it divination? Skin samples they use in a long-range divination device? What’s to prevent someone from just packing up and fleeing with their family?”

“I don’t know,” Betella admitted. “Rumor was, they could hunt anyone down.”

Mirian sighed. “So what I need to know is, can they hunt you down right now?”

Betella’s face blanched. “Oh Gods.”

“Great. You don’t know. Hold still.” She paged through her spellbook. She’d only scribed a few divination spells. What I really need is a spellbook that lasts, she thought, for what had to be the thousandth time. She checked Betella over for glyphs, then started searching her. “This. What is this?” Mirian asked, pulling an amulet she’d been wearing from beneath her shirt.

“It’s a protective artifact. Helps disrupt spells,” Betella said. “That’s what they… oh no.”

Mirian ripped it off her. Most of the glyphs were worked into a layer of the metal that had been sealed over, so she used shape metal to crack the outer shell open. She grimaced.

“Next question,” Mirian said. “How long does it take the Pure Blade to organize an emergency operation? Were there other units ready and waiting if things went wrong? Where were they deployed?”

That thought was interrupted by one of Mirian’s wards around the area triggering. Elnu glyphs. Generally only found in fire combat spells.

She cast detect life, then scanned around the building, looking through the walls. “Never mind. Answered my own question,” she said. “Everyone upstairs, now.” When they didn’t move, she said, louder, “Now!” then repeated the command in Eskanar.

The nearby pedestrians had all cleared out. Through the walls, she could see seven people moving to take up positions around the building. As everyone else scrambled for the staircase, Mirian flipped through her spellbook.

“You’re surrounded. Surrender, and no one gets hurt!” came a male voice from outside. He’d likely heard her talking and realized they’d been spotted.

“Liar,” Mirian said, and started to cast.

There were two people at each of the cardinal points, plus a seventh standing at one of the corners. She couldn’t take them all on at once, so she cast four simple light spells, enhanced for brightness, at eye level behind her. Then she cast hide in shadows and quickly moved to the side.

All at once, the men surrounding the building moved to fire through the already broken windows, using infernal cone spells that cast wide sprays of fire. Blinded, and clearly not sure where Mirian had just gone, the attacks went wide, but Mirian put up a hasty heat shield up in case a stray cone hit her. She had the orichalcum, but its spell resistance would only be partially effective against spells that started transforming into heat before they hit the target.

Parts of the building began to burn, including the piles of documents from the embassy.

Mirian internally let out a curse, but she had to take care of the attackers first. She levitated herself up to the ceiling, holding herself steady while she cast filter air to prevent the smoke from choking her, then got her greater lightning spell ready, which was quite the balancing act. She could see the attackers hiding behind the walls, moving into new positions for another attack. One of them used a counterspell on her lights, and the room darkened.

She was glad she had her celestial magic to give her an edge they didn’t know about.

Mirian saw the seventh mercenary touch something on his wrist—likely a signaling device of some sort. As soon as he did, all the other mercenaries attacked at once, this time using a mix of force, fire, lightning, and magnetic spells. The bolts and blasts created a cacophony as they burst apart the remains of the printing press and sent furniture flying.

As soon as the first head was up though, Mirian sent a precise lightning bolt straight through the caster’s head. Then she moved into a new position.

“Fuck! Where is he? We have one down.”

The speaker was bent over the corpse of his colleague. Mirian swapped to force blades and slashed the air by him. The mercenaries were all wearing armor with glyph protections, so most of the blades did nothing, but at least one found flesh, causing him to scream and dive for better cover.

Mirian moved again as a third flurry of spells criss-crossed the building. This is taking too long. The fire is spreading, she thought. She flattened herself horizontally, then quickly flew through the broken window where the two mercenaries were down. She felt at least two quick spells impact her, but the orichalcum was incredibly effective at dissipating the energy; she barely felt anything as she zoomed by.

“Holy shit,” one of the mercenaries said. “Why does he ha—”

Mirian sent a lightning bolt through him, then dodged to the side as two more mercenaries pointed wands at her and lanced another one.

Three down, one injured, she counted. There were screams coming from the second floor of the building. She needed to hurry, before the fire smoked the people she was protecting out or collapsed the building on top of them.

Mirian dodged again, circling around the building from above. The mercenaries on the other side that hadn’t seen her fly out didn’t even know to look up. She took out two more before they’d even realized she was attacking them.

“He’s flying! Shit!” one of them called out as he dove behind a wall. “And look for the shadow spell he’s using!”

Mirian was hemorrhaging auric mana, and now they knew what to look for, so she dismissed her shield and camouflage. There were only two mercenaries left, scanning the sky from the other side of the building. She landed. Between them was the building, the first floor now full of smoke and flames. She could still see them clearly with her detect life spell giving their forms an ethereal glow. Low on auric mana, she decided to conserve what she had left, and pulled out the curse wand from the assassin. Aiming carefully, she targeted the first man and channeled from her soul repository.

He clutched his chest, screamed, and then collapsed to the ground. A black spot had erupted in his soul, the tendrils expanding out.

The last man looked at his companion with horror. “Oh Gods. They’re all dead. I surrender! I surrender!” he called out, and dropped his wand.

Mirian circled around the building, holding the assassin’s wand level at the man. “Do you have any fire-fighting spells?” she demanded.

“N-no,” the man said.

“What about gather smoke?”

“I’m just a sorcerer. All I have are—”

“Useless,” Mirian said. “Lie on the ground over there. If you move, I’ll kill you.” As he complied, she flipped through her spellbook. She didn’t have enough time to levitate back and forth with everyone, nor any of the larger heat displacement spells that might instantly kill the fire. She could try it with raw magic, but that would be too inefficient, and she was already low on mana.

She already knew she had no precise spell to put out the fire. Once again, she’d have to use the trick of combining glyphs from different places in her spellbook.

Her best bet was gather smoke as a base. The spell gathered particles from a bounded area into a smaller area. What she needed was to change what it did with the particles. Mirian flipped through her spellbook, noting pages where she had the right glyphs to modify the resulting area where the smoke would be gathered, changing it from a small spherical area to a large rectangular area the size of the building.

There was nothing. She knew the glyphs, but she hadn’t scribed them yet in her book. Cursing again the fact that she had to scribe each cycle for hours and still didn’t have what she needed, she changed her mind on how to modify the output. I can add a mental component that describes where the particles I gather go.

It was unconventional to the point that she’d never heard of anyone doing that with the a particle-movement type spell. It would take flipping between three pages.

The screams from the second floor told her she needed to hurry.

Mirian channeled, keeping the the flows of mana through the shaper glyphs steady as she flipped to the second page, then the third. Then she held the shape she wanted in her mind, much like an illusion spell shaped light like the picture she imagined.

She strained, holding the spell in place. The fire was trying to suck air in from the outside to feed it, but she needed to starve it of oxygen. She compressed the smoke downward, then waited. At first, she could still see the red and orange tongues of flame lashing out, but soon enough they choked on their own smoke. It built up until it was an impenetrable layer of bubbling black. Then she gathered it up.

Her peripheral vision caught movement behind her. The mercenary who had surrendered had decided she was too busy to keep her promise, and had broken into a sprint towards her, dagger out.

Idiot, she thought, but there was no time to cast a different spell. What he didn’t seem to realize is that with the mental component, she could change the parameters of the result at a whim, and that she was still channeling.

She moved the smoke she’d gathered into a column and sent it at him.

The mercenary had a brief flash of terror in his eyes before the deadly black cloud hit him. She fed it into his face, coiling into him like an inky python. He wouldn’t have even had time to choke; it probably burst open his lungs. He twitched violently once, then twice, then was still.

That was when she heard the wooden floor of the building begin to groan. The floor’s about to collapse, she knew. “Back downstairs! Hurry!” Mirian said, hoping that someone else would do the translating. She sprinted back into the building, where only cinders glowed. This time, there wasn’t even time to cast a spell. She tapped into her arcane catalyst, then created a barrier of force using raw magic to reinforce the buckling wood above her.

Her body trembled with the strain as she fed more and more auric mana into the improvised spell. Some part of her registered that the people were coming back down now and running out the door, but her focus was fixed on the ceiling.

“That’s everyone!” she heard someone say.

Mirian released the spell then dove to the side. There was the sound of cracking wood and tumbling furniture, and then the center part of the floor collapsed. Sprawled out on the ground, she watched as the collapse continued, the structural failure spreading. She activated her levitation wand so that it dragged her sideways out the door, and just in time. Chunks of the building came crashing down, along with heavy furniture. A thick dust cloud spread out, and she realized she was still maintaining her filter air spell.

With a groan, she stood, then used gather smoke again—just the normal spell—to turn the dust into a harmless gray ball, then dismissed the spell.

By then, a crowd had gathered, including several guards.

One of the guards was just standing there, gaping. “What in the five hells?” he asked.

The crowd didn’t seem sure what to think. On one hand, she’d just saved an entire group from a burning building. On the other hand, there were seven corpses strewn about the ground.

Great, Mirian thought.