DAY IV-I

DAY IV-I

The first keening wail of the alarm system jolts me from my peaceful sleep.  A feminine voice calls out throughout all the corridors of the main hall.  “Incursion detected,” she states, pauses, and then repeats.  By the first repetition, my clothes are on.  By the second, my right boot.  By the third, my left.  I'm out the door and into the suddenly flooding corridors by the fourth.  Dozens of men moving double-time head inward, toward the center of the hall to await orders.

I follow in with the group around me, and find myself moving into the central courtyard in an impromptu military unit.  It's not five seconds before the imperator himself with a number of men and women appears from the double doors before us, marching toward the front of the central column.  The klaxons die down, and he bellows.  “Paladins of Megalos!  It would seem that the last of the lilims has grown tired of hiding.  This morning, surrounded by the last remnants of its foul army, it began its assault on the capitol.  It thinks that we have been found unawares and unprepared.  Paladins, let us show them what twenty years of preparation looks like!”
I raise my voice with the others, blood pounding in my ears.
“You who know your positions in the city, head out!  Those who do not, remain here.  Now!”

I am one of the quarter of the men and women standing who are unmoved in the resulting flurry of activity.  The people accompanying the imperator spread out, taking control of the various groups.  He himself, however, moves in a straight line toward me.  “Victor.  We'll be needing your capacities especially.  You'll be the tip of the spear.”
I try to stand slightly taller.  “I stand honored, sir.”
“Don't just yet.  We're sending you out, without armor.”
I nod once.  “Very well, sir.”
He perks an eyebrow as he looks down on me.  “I would understand if you had questions.”
“I trust in your decisions, sir.”
He smiles.  “Well then, head to the southern gate, sentinel, and await further orders.”
I salute, step back, and turn, heading back into the hall without hesitation.

The voice is calmer now, reciting oaths from our school years, and thus helping everyone to remember their training.  “Those who permit the monster to live share in the crime of its existence,” it reminds us in calm, soothing tones.  A handful of armed and armored souls still march determinedly toward whatever destinations they're headed toward, but otherwise the hall has emptied out.  I continue that trend.

I step out under the overcast skies, and can already hear the dull sounds of impacts to the south.  I make my way down the steps, and then I march down the emptied roads of the city.  By now everyone has made their way to the old shelters, and whatever mages that are too old to man the walls will be setting up wards.

I see the collected figures massed before the massive stone gate.  Unlike in Min, this place actually had to hold the line during wartime, and its thirty foot white stone walls are nowhere near so flimsy.  Paladins in full plate, with a handful in the newer, experimental armors utilizing the highest grade technological and magical protection.  They tower eight seven feet into the air, gleaming in the morning sunlight, with pauldrons that all but obscure their helms.  One of them notices me, and takes a dozen paces out from the groups to meet me.  The seal of the Order Stoneheart sticks out proudly from the metal of his chestpiece.  “I wondered if you'd ever show up” projects from the speaker in his helm.  It's a bit tinny, but not so much that I don't recognize the heckling that I always received.
“James,” I hazard.  “Did they really give you a set of powered armor?”
“The Order Stoneheart protects its investments,' apparently.”
“Someone should point out that they'd get the same combat efficacy from a catapult filled with cat piss.”
There's a slight whirring sound as he sticks his hands on his hips.  “Yeah, yeah, don't be too jealous, Victor.”

Whatever he said next was muffled as a significantly louder impact strikes the wall near to the gate, and white dust rains down from the stone.  Someone calls out “They're playin' our song, boys,” and the collected mass moves into formation.  It's not hard not to laugh; for the first time in my life, I'll be engaged in actual combat.  While I might be safe throughout all of this, I worry for those around me.  I can't see their expressions inside the helms they wear, but I know what I would feel at the prospect of being taken by one of those things.

Our commander steps forward, turns, and then calls “Victor.”  I step out of position, and forward toward the commander and the gate.  “Ready yourself,” she states, before turning to the ground-level gatehouse.  “Ready the gates!”
I feel the urge to actually find out what tactics I'll need to employ.  “Do I have any specific orders, ma'am?”
She turns back to me and, without any hint of mirth, answers “Yes.  According to the imperator, you're to 'grab the armor and go.”  I'm about to ask her what she means, but she turns and calls out “Open them!”

The massive structures, for the first time in years, begin to grind open, and I am ushered forward.  Stepping out into the wild grass, pressed down by the shifting stone, I see the small army arrayed before us.  Bolts of magic strike the hard light of the wards, only to be harmlessly diverted away.  These stop, however, as do the cries and cheers of the motley collection that is the opposing force.  Barely a thousand colorful monsters stand and stare at me from the hundreds of feet between us.

I ready my sword, and begin to advance.  They, after a moment's pause and a few confused shouts, do the same.  We are both brought to a stop as a single explosive shot is heard from the city behind me, and then we see something coming from high over the walls.  I step back as it appears to be aimed in my direction, only to realize that that's entirely purposeful.

The white hunk of metal slams into the ground at high speed between me and the horde, and yet isn't harmed in the least.  “Grab the armor,” I remember, and step forward just as it itself stands.  The massive suit of platemail opens up from behind, permitting me to see the cushioned, wire-laden systems therein.  I drop my sword and step inside, putting my arms into its own, and pressing my head up against the imaging sensors that I might still see the enemy in front of me.  A dozen images appear in the corners of my eyes, telling me the state of the armor, its wards, and the demonic energy signatures within line of sight.

Another flashing light informs me of movement behind me, and in a boxed-off, smaller screne I can see dozens of figures in the same powered armor moving through the gate before it begins to close.  The armor shifts and closes behind me as I grip the hands – I've only practiced in the simulators before this; but it feels almost so natural that I wondered if I needed to.  I reach back, grabbing my sword from the ground, and the ward sensors all blink, and read (UNKNOWN).

I don't pretend to understand how magic works.

As the three dozen other armored paladins move forward, I step into place, and we advance as a single column.  The horde hasn't resumed its movement; I assume that their leader is trying to figure out how to deal with such brazen tactics.  It doesn't matter.  A tinny voice next to mine asks, “How does it feel?”
“Comfortable.  Can barely feel the suit moving with me.”
“I meant marching into combat.”
“Comfortable.  I'm not the one who'll need put down if he's captured.”
His helm turns, and it's as though an appraising look is somehow transmitted through it.  “We've had twenty years to fiddle with those collars, you know.  You think we couldn't put them in armor if we needed to?”
I shift my sword in my hand, getting ready as we get near enough to the wall of creatures – minotaurs, armors, lizardfolk – to make out the individuals and say, worriedly, “I've never heard about that.”
“Yeah.  I think our wizard just told all of them, too.”

I smile at how much of an ass James is, and we quickly move forward to within fifty feet of the shifting, disorganized first column of monsters, propelled by the servos in our mechanized joints.  There's a moment where we all glance at each other, double checking that the time is right.  One of us nods, and I raise my sword high along with my battle-brothers and sisters, and the speaker on my helm relays my yell to the things in front of us.

Tactically, I almost feel bad for them.  If they all broke rank and ran, it would be a slaughter.  They're monsters, though, and suddenly any magic that they would normally use has just ceased to be an option.  In the brief moment as my armor pounds the earth beneath me and I charge forward, I can already see the reflection of this moment echoing outward through history.  This was the battle that proved that any attempt to overturn the status quo would only end in slaughter.  This was the battle that cemented human dominance.  Perhaps this would be the battle that would crystallize our hatred of them, and monsterkind would cease to exist for it.

I lift my blade up before the confused salamander closest to me, and I bring it down.  Several things happen after this:
My sensors go half-black, unable to register the shape in front of them.  I can tell that it wasn't the same thing as before, though.
It lifts up something to block my sword, and the two connect as I swing down.
My sword shatters into a thousand pieces.
It then immediately reforms as I complete my swing, and cleave into the creature in front of me.

It falls, and I advance upon the rest of the scattering, already routed monsters, rending them one by one.

---

I would learn later that the very first loss in what would be known as the final strike was the lilim commander.  Sensing some potent magic wielded against one of its subjects, it teleported forward to shatter the offending weapon before it could do harm.

I suppose it succeeded.

Its original plan, we learned, was to strike quickly and take the hall.  They wanted to finish the battle before anyone felt that the threat was so great that they would resort to putting on the shields of saint Rylan.

I suppose it succeeded at that, too, technically.

The fear that the innocent men and women of Megalos felt that day had not been felt for twenty years, and what they felt afterward was outrage.  Even given equal rights, and the ability to marry and have men of their own, the monsters had chosen war yet again.  They chose the desperate odds given in open warfare rather than to simply try to get spouses the same way everyone else did.  The vague sense of history unfolding proved prescient; humanity would tolerate that madness no longer.

Twenty-three years after the reconciliation, the policy was revoked.  Monsters and incubi were given twenty-four hours to leave the cities, and one year to leave all Megalan lands.  Pre-incubus husbands of monsters had the choice to stay and retain their citizenship, or to leave with their wives.

The other nations quickly began similar programs, and soon only the monster-filled land of Araterre was a safe haven, and even then, only for a single generation.  Whatever monsters need spirit energy will probably die out long before then.  I imagine, in a few hundred years, that Megalos will probably claim the archipelago for itself.

One age ended, and another began.