Chapter 386: Whipped Into Shape

The crux of this operation was simple. Retreat, to spread the attackers thin in their single-minded pursuit. Gather, to enable a swift and decisive advance to the enemy’s heart. And lastly, strike, aiming right for the heart.

And strike they did.

The battlefield descended into utter pandemonium once the giants and Amaroks were freed of the illusion. When confronted with enemies on every side, it was instinct that led. And instinct dictated to each and every one of them two options: fight or flight.

Some of them preferred more familiar enemies—the centaurs. Giants and Amaroks alike rushed into their groups, some engaging while yet others simply sought to get away. On the other end of the spectrum, some fought with the servants of Kirel Qircassia. What was once a war against the elves alone became a mutual struggle, and the forces Argrave painstakingly herded served precisely as they were intended—as distractions.

Argrave found himself in something of a dead zone as he tried to merge with the elves—first moving with Anneliese, Mina, and Orion, in due time he was joined by others. Artur, Vasilisa, Grimalt, Bastel, and Rasten all joined him in their steady advance towards the rear of their allies. Meanwhile, the elves moved forward, at least five Tumens joined together in tight-knit cooperation. The Supreme Myriarch commanded five myriarchs, who commanded the officers of groups of one thousand, who commanded the leaders of groups of one hundred, who commanded groups of ten. It was a simple yet brutally effective military hierarchy, combining autonomy with discipline in a show of unimaginable unity.

And with them came their gods, walking beside like a divine escort. Ghan, the patriarch, walked in the front. He was a walking storm, and all that flew near fell victim to lightning. The electricity struck without reason, warning, or source. Deafening bolts appeared from nowhere, smiting any fool that had wings and too much loyalty to their god.

Merata walked to the right, dragging his crook along the ground just beside his too-long hair. The trees responded to him like a pet reunited with their owner—and perhaps they were. Perhaps it had been him that planted all of these great trees that millennium ago, when gods last walked the earth. And in a show of obedience, all of the roots that had writhed out of place scrambled to retract and return.

Ahead, forming a perfect path toward their destination, the roots entwined together and then sank back into the earth. Though the ants of earth were thousands and small beside, this sieve of roots was enough to catch the finest of particles… catch them and crush them, namely. In but a moment, that which impeded them merged with the earth, leaving behind only a wicker path that served as the perfect road for the elven army. It continued as they advanced—a carpet laid out for a royal progress.

Argrave and his coterie struggled to catch up with the relentless elven push north. He felt eager to help these people out, looking for any enemies he might use his magic on. Before long, however… he realized that it was unnecessary.

Few of the winged demons made it past Ghan, walking storm and heart of the battlefield that he was. His lightning rocked the world almost gently, killing enemies while leaving even the leaves of the wilted forest untouched. He walked forward with conviction. Like a true patriarch ought to, he fought so that those behind him did not need to.

And what few enemies did escape Ghan’s wrath did not find easy foes in the other gods. Merata, the eldest son, ensured that all walked upon an easy road. The others dealt with any threats that neared—whether fire, water, or the brutal physicality of Chiteng, each of the elven gods protected those they would call Woodschildren with the ferocity of a neglectful parent trying to redeem themselves. Argrave just happened to be caught in the glow, he felt like.

“Is this what we deal with?” Orion said, aghast as he stared at the carnage around this procession of war. “Is that what threat knocks on the gates of our kingdom?”

Argrave looked around with him, taking in the scene. The forces that they faced from the front were greatly diminished, tangled with the other inhabitants of the forest as they were. That had been much of Argrave’s efforts, true enough. But when asked that question…

“Yes. This is what true gods are, Orion,” he confirmed. “But we brought them here. Don’t forget that crucial piece of information.”

“But… how…?” Orion looked at Chiteng, whose foot slammed a demon against a redwood. The tree cracked, breaking in the center. As it fell, Merata’s magic made the stump of the tree rise up, entwining around it until it was corrected. “How can we survive when this comes to us?”

“We can still grow stronger yet,” Argrave promised.

But even as he said it, in the face of these titans standing hundreds of feet tall, the words felt small. And looking at those who’d come with… be it Anneliese or the Veidimen, fearless as they were, or Artur and Vasilisa, Magisters at the apex of human power… none of them felt content beholding the terrible power of the gods.

Because behind that all was a promise that the same was soon to come to their kingdom.

Orion’s was the sole question voiced, and though Argrave did not feel he offered a satisfactory answer no more of its like came from any of his companions. The march was fast, passing by in an intense blur. He felt like he was trapped in a cage on the back of a car, the bars rattling as they sped ceaselessly toward their destination.

As they proceeded, Argrave could veritably feel life dying. It wasn’t the elves, but rather the redwoods themselves. The further they went north, the more the forest seemed unwell. The pine green became pine gray, and Merata’s weaving of the roots became sluggish as dying trees struggled to obey. Conversely, light became stronger, and the smells of the forest faded in way of an open plain.

When Argrave looked past the legs of titans, he realized that he could see no more trees. It ended here, making way for a vast area of simply land and sky. Just then, Ghan looked back, holding his arm toward them.

“Halt,” the god commanded, his voice low and commanding. “Hold the line.”

The Supreme Myriarch relayed that command to his Tumen, and only then did the elves obey. As Argrave watched, the elven gods stepped out into the open clearing, leaving the army exposed. At the edge of the forest, a thousand redwoods lay dead, toppled. Argrave thought there were strange twigs atop them, but when wings fluttered he realized they were moths of a kind, their wings perfect camouflage to bark. Their mouths worked vigorously to chew the wood, but their eating slowed as the gods neared.

In the center of this moth feast, something rose to a greater height, consolidating. Creeping plants sprawled across the ground rolled inward onto themselves, returning back to their source. The Earthenware Titan, a powerful servant of Kirel Qircassia, rose to his feet ever so slowly. His body seemed to be primitive clay pottery, and his face was modeled in the shape of an angry demon, the mouth baring sharp teeth and the eyes scrunched in murderous rage in a vaguely human expression. His nails were the creeping plants, slowly retracting back into himself as he prepared for battle. He retrieved a long mace from the ground and stood tall, towering over even the redwoods themselves.

The Earthenware Titan was likely the one responsible for controlling the Bloodwoods to absorb harmful substances like salt and sulphur… and as one of Kirel’s primary servants, his only match here would be the elven gods. The thousands of moths eating away the toppled redwoods came to life, fluttering around the Earthenware Titan like white petals in a storm as the elven gods walked forth to do battle.

“Hold the line, he said.” Anneliese grabbed Argrave, shaking him as a reminder.

Argrave was pushed back to reality and turned around, where already arrows soared over his head to combat the coming threat. He had no place in a battle between the Earthenware Titan and the elven gods. Instead, chasing foes awaited him… and though he was at the rear before, with their convoy paused he now stood at the front.

An army confronted Argrave, moving forth bravely against a thousand arrows soaring above their heads. Already, the dive-bombing bats birthed by the Sky Mothers assaulted their armies, suicidally rushing into all of them. It was an equal to any force he’d encountered before, be that the druids, the Lily Lurkers, the Guardians of the Low Way, the Vessels of Fellhorn, the abominations of the wetlands, or the tribals of Vysenn. But in the face of this threat, he did not reach for the Blessing of Supersession. After all, he had his own strength.

Argrave walked forward, holding one hand up in the sky where demons flew. And with all of them in the sky, partially hidden between his fingers, he lapsed into his practice in the elven realms. He called upon his blood echoes. Argrave became three—himself in the center, two blood echoes on his side. He walked forward with a confidence backed by desperation, calling upon the spells he’d practiced time and time again.

A wicked briar whip with nine tails erupted free from Argrave’s hands and from the blood echo to his right. On his left, the other prepared [Bloodfeud Bow], taking ample time to charge as he engaged with the enemy. Bloodbriar spells were B-rank blood spells designed by the Order of the Rose in the likeness of whips, and this one imitated the cat o’ nine tails.

Harpoon-bearing male harpies lunged at Argrave with their spears as the [Nine-Tailed Bloodbriars] surged forth, each of the nine maroon tails of the whip snapping to intercept a foe. The tails met flesh with a nauseatingly brutal crack that seemed louder than thunder, and the first of the fliers fell. Each tail that had struck a foe down dissipated into nothingness, but Argrave did not hesitate in casting the spells again as more came.

His nine-tailed whips cracked through foe after foe, Kirel’s servants assaulting from both ground and land. Dive bombing bats tried to end him, but Artur’s enchantments proved able to ward them off, deflecting the bats with wind. The harpies, the flying archers, the ants… the giant moths joined the fray at some point, and though the moths were fast-moving the whips could move to match them just as easily, turning them into a puff of broken white wings drifting through the air like paper. The cracks of his nine-tailed whips seemed a mirror to the raging fight Ghan led at the front, the god’s noise from thunder and Argrave’s noise from his whips. And when the spell was prepared, Argrave would fire off a [Bloodfeud Bow] to the distant Sky Mothers, killing the things that created the dive-bombers harassing all of them so.

Anneliese, Orion, and the others were present, surely, and helping as they could… but in the rote chaos of battle, all of Argrave’s focus was devastated towards himself and his destruction. If he used his hands alone, eighteen tails from himself, thirty-six with the echo… and indeed, he made certain they struck thirty-six foes as fast as he could manage. This was no time to hold back.

All of the land before Argrave became a battered mess of inhuman corpses and gashed earth, torn asunder from the sheer force of the whips. When he realized he struck at nothing, Argrave paused his relentless assault, panting. The enemies still came, though distantly. And looking back, Argrave had moved far ahead from the main force. He’d need to regroup.

As Argrave looked back, Gunlik shot three arrows of flame into the Earthenware Titan’s back as it swung at Dairi. Seizing the opportunity, Ghan raised his hand, conjuring a blade of lightning. He slammed it down upon the titan, and a boom of thunder echoed loud enough Argrave’s ears felt like they’d burst—seeing everyone look back in shock, he wasn’t alone.

When the intense light of the electricity faded, Argrave saw the Earthenware Titan crumpled. Ghan raised his foot and stomped his demonic face in, leaving a crater in the earth. The elven patriarch looked back and shouted, “Forward! We end this.”

Argrave turned and cast [Nine-Tailed Bloodbriars] one last time, striking all the closest foes. When the spell ended, he ran, consolidating his blood echoes back inside his person. He was in time to hear the Supreme Myriarch give the command, shouting, “March to the breach! March to the breach!”