Ogre Tyrant: Chapter 83 - Against the Unknown - Part Two

 

The obelisks scattered throughout the Dominion’s territory made all forms of known teleportation impossible. Which meant our incursion across the border had to be made on foot.

 

A silver lining lay in the fact that the Quest System would continue to function regardless. Eliminating the need to carry extensive supplies and draw slow-moving wagons.

 

The majority of the Human forces had been provided mounts by their respective Factions or already possessed their own. Riding atop large carnivorous Beasts, they would outpace the Ogres in a contest of speed but not endurance. The Beast riders and their leaders would need to find a balance while on the march because we planned on taking as few rest stops as possible.

 

A token contingent from the scaled Kobolds Fireheart Faction was set to provide a high-Rank Synergy to delay the onset of Fatigue and Exhaustion. Assuming the stockpile of provisions within Sanctuary held out, only short breaks would be required to restore small amounts of missing HP before pushing onward again.

 

With my champions serving as both vanguard and remote viewing point for our departure site, I was made aware of an otherwise unexpected development.

 

Without warning, Agents of the Midnight Caravan had established a camp a short distance from our own.

 

Initially caught unawares, my champions had quite understandably assumed the strangers were a potential threat. After all, we were trespassing on foreign soil. Inclined to undertake a preemptive strike to secure prisoners for interrogation, my champions had cancelled the attack at the last moment after detecting several of my subjects amongst the ranks of the strangers.

 

During a tense confrontation, the strangers had named themselves as agents of the Midnight Caravan. The organisation was committed to liberating Slaves of all humanoid Species, by any means, up to and including murdering the Slaves' masters if necessary.

 

During my previous interactions with their representatives, I had been given the impression that they had a few hundred members at most. From what I was seeing by remotely viewing my champions, it was now clear that those assumptions and impressions had been actively encouraged to conceal their true numbers.

 

Conservative estimates made from observing their camp had already surpassed a thousand and more were arriving with each passing minute.

 

Unlike the Asrusian and Semenovian soldiers, the agents of the Midnight Caravan were, for the most part, lightly armed and armoured. The overwhelming majority bore scars that marked them as former Slaves. Which wasn’t particularly surprising, given their current allegiance. Recruiting from the Slaves they liberated was guaranteed to be an easier proposition than recruiting from a population that was generally, at best, indifferent toward Slavery.

 

Beasts amongst the ranks of the Midnight Caravan were few and far between. Which didn’t bode well for them. While they possessed no shortage of hand-drawn carts, there was little chance of their army keeping pace with ours over the long march ahead. Limiting themselves to the handcarts also reduced the amount of supplies they could carry.

 

Assuming that they intended to care for any Slaves they liberated, their margins for a return trip would be quite small. This was strange, considering their entire reason for entering the Dominion’s territory in such numbers was presumably to liberate as many Slaves as possible.

 

“Majesty, a representative of the Midnight Caravan, wishes an audience,” Randle announced to the command tent at large to draw my attention away from his cousin, Faine, whom I was remotely viewing at that moment.

 

Shifting focus to Randle, I watched in silence as he marched out of our relatively small camp and toward a trio of men and women gathered outside of the sprawling camp belonging to the Midnight Caravan.

 

“My Majesty is with me,” Randle announced imperiously. “What you say will reach His Majesty’s ears as if speaking with him directly.” He then removed a small leatherbound stone slate from a pouch on his belt and waited for their response.

 

A dark caramel-skinned man in his late fifties with elaborate facial tattoos stepped forward and fixed his gaze above Randle’s right shoulder. “I am Imram, speaker of the Midnight Railroad. We have learned of your intention to invade the Dominion and wish to negotiate terms for a formal alliance in the field.”

 

Randle scowled but remained silent, diligently watching the stone slate for my response.

 

<We have a standing alliance already. What do they want?>

 

“His Majesty wants to know the specifics of your request,” Randle paraphrased with an air of overt suspicion. Applying pressure by reminding them they were not invited and their presence was suspect.

 

Imram’s lips tightened for the briefest moment and his eyes narrowed before regaining his composure. “I am certain your master-”

 

“His Majesty!” Randle interjected curtly.

 

“His Majesty...” Imram amended with visible distaste. “Has been made aware of the desolate expanse that lies in the way of your intended destination-”

 

“What do you know of our intentions?!” Randle demanded, interrupting the Midnight Caravan’s representative for a second time and with greater hostility.

 

The other members of Midnight Caravan retreated a handful of steps and reached for their weapons.

 

Imram calmly motioned for them to hold fast, his gaze shifting to the hulking Lizardman Trask who was coming up behind Randle. “Only that the-His, Majesty, intends an incursion into the borders of the Dominion,” he answered evasively. “Such an incursion will provoke a long-established response in the form of armed contingents of Slaves. Slaves, which we intend to liberate.”

 

“You intend to trail behind our forces then,” Randle accused with disdain. “Is that the cause for your request?”

 

Imram pursed his lips and took several moments to regain his composure. “We wish for mutual cooperation,” he replied with stiff formality. “The desolate expanse within the Dominion’s borders is treacherous. Reliable sources of fresh drinking water are few and far between. They are also well fortified and guarded...”

 

“That is not a problem for us,” Randle stated dismissively.

 

“We are aware...” Imram replied, his voice straining slightly. “Your master, His Majesty, has established mutually beneficial arrangements with our organisation in the past. We desire to establish another arrangement.”

 

“What do you have to offer?” Randle asked sceptically. Mirroring my own thoughts. After all, there was precious little that I couldn’t acquire on my own and in far greater quantities.

 

Smirking confidently, Imram slowly withdrew a sheathed dagger from a satchel at his side. “The Midnight Caravan has several Artefacts that may take His Majesty’s interest,” he offered Randle the dagger.

 

Randle accepted the dagger and through our link, I was able to identify it.

 

Named Needle, wounds delivered by the dagger have a chance to apply the Stunned Condition. Its second ability could be activated by expending MP, allowing the weapon to ignore a target’s Toughness similar to the spear, Shiverfang.

 

It was obvious that they had done their research or otherwise had someone who was capable of making astute observations. After all, the value was relative, and to me, denying a potential enemy access to that weapon was worth several fortunes.

 

Accepting so many strangers into the expeditionary force would invite a certain degree of risk. However, unless I committed to running them off, many of those same risks would exist solely from their relative proximity anyway.

 

<Establish terms. Do not relinquish the dagger under any circumstances.>

 

Randle took a moment to read my directions and nod in the affirmative before returning his attention to the Midnight Caravan’s representative. “His Majesty is willing to negotiate. State your terms and we will determine fair compensation.”

 

The gathered representatives relaxed, quietly confiding their relief in one another for securing peaceful negotiations.

 

“Protection and provisions for any Slaves that are encountered,” Imram demanded firmly.

 

<Protection condition, elaborate.>

 

“Protection is vague,” Randle qualified. “What are your expectations?”

 

Imram smiled shrewdly. “That is what we must negotiate,” he admitted somewhat begrudgingly. “If His Majesty is amenable, we would have this condition defined as liberating, shielding, and escorting all encountered Slaves back to a place of safety.”

 

Randle baulked at the sheer audacity of the demand.

 

“Of course, we are not averse to any or even all of the liberated Slaves being taken into the fortified Labyrinth under His Majesty’s control,” Imram added somewhat hastily. Shrewdly positioning the care of the liberated Slaves onto my shoulders while framing it as a concession. Mistaking a key element in my established motivations for taking in Slaves in the past.

 

Biting back a response of his own, Randle looked to the stone slate for directions on how to proceed.

 

<Too much. Too Greedy. All Artefacts or no deal.>

 

Randle’s frustrations evaporated and he grinned maliciously for a few moments before assuming a cool demeanour. “You are asking His Majesty to accept a considerable degree of risk and responsibility. So it is only natural that His Majesty is appropriately compensated...”

 

Imram’s confidence wavered and was slowly eroded by doubt. “One Artefact is not sufficient?” He asked uncertainly.

 

Randle assumed a haughty stance and incredulous expression. “As I am certain you are aware, a single Dominion army could have as many as a million Slaves. Any city would have ten or twenty times that number. So what price would you place on the lives of so many people?” He asked, shifting the moral imperative back to Imram and the Midnight Caravan members. If they were to lowball an offer of compensation, it would now appear as if they didn’t value the Slaves' freedom or lives. A concept that was antithetical to the ideals that bound them.

 

Recognising what Randle had done, Imram’s right eye twitched from the stress. “Our organisation has paid for liberty before,” he cautioned. “While we firmly believe that the lives of such people are priceless, we are not so detached from reality that we cannot comprehend basic economic principles...” Imram levelled an honest and somewhat intimidating stare against Randle. “How much does His Majesty want?”

 

“Everything,” Randle replied smugly.

 

Instead of growing frustrated or crying out in outrage, Imram nodded slowly in understanding. “Am I to assume that this would extend a line of credit?”

 

Randle looked at the stone slate.

 

<That is agreeable.>

 

“His Majesty agrees to these terms,” Randle announced magnanimously.

 

If the Midnight Caravan had only required provisions for themselves, it would not have been difficult to accommodate the request.

 

The problem arose with the prospect of feeding, watering, sheltering and protecting potentially millions of people. That was many times beyond Sanctuary’s ability to support for any real amount of time.

 

Which meant the resources would need to come from the other Factions. Factions who were entitled to the goods produced through their sweat and labour.

 

While I ‘could’ take what I wanted, it would defy the point of awarding them such autonomy in the first place. It was far better to approach them with a mutually beneficial offer.

 

Once the threat posed by the beetlemen was dealt with, or at least reduced to a reasonable degree, the Factions would be allowed to resume their efforts in seizing labyrinth territories. A practice that would be accelerated with access to additional Artefacts. Artefacts I would be willing to loan on the same existing principles we had already established.

 

Fulfilling the roles of both middleman and participant, I would ensure everyone came out ahead. In exchange for the Artefacts, the Midnight Caravan would have my assistance in liberating, feeding, watering, and safeguarding the Slaves. The Factions would provide the necessary supplies, and receive access to the Artefacts, allowing them to expand their borders. Which would increase the size of my Realm and provide powerful weapons that could be used in the event of a true crisis.

 

A crisis that was not all that different to what I was dealing with right at this particular moment.

 

With the deal settled, the gathered leadership of the Midnight Caravan were invited into the expeditionary forces by a myriad of groups so they could benefit from the Synergies.

 

Within the hour, Randle accepted four more Artefacts. A sword, a crossbow, a breastplate, and a vambrace.

 

Silverite was somewhat underwhelming as far as Artefacts were concerned. Seemingly forged from pure silver, the blade of the one-handed sword shone with an impossibly immaculate finish. Blows dealt by the sword would apply detrimental Conditions against the undead, but that was it. Silverite was otherwise little different from any other magical sword.

 

Ghost was more interesting. The crossbow, mechanism, body, string and all, was completely silent. Spending one point of MP would render a loaded bolt invisible for ten seconds. Allowing the owner to ambush enemies with ease, so long as they had a decent hiding place to strike from.

 

Sineater was...disturbing. The wearer of the breastplate would take on negative Conditions generated by allies so long as they were within ten feet of one another. By spending MP, the wearer would temporarily become immune to the effects of negative Conditions and gain a damage bonus equal to the number and overall severity of the negative Conditions they possessed. In theory, you would want to place the armour on a loyal Bodyguard to gain the greatest benefits. However, the Artefact didn’t restrict the source of the Conditions to just one ally, making it incredibly dangerous.

 

The vambrace...well...I couldn’t read the description without wondering if someone who knew of Earth had made them. Named Submission, the vambrace would negate the momentum of any object that made direct contact with it. Spending MP would actively draw projectiles off target and toward the vambrace.

 

Taking Submission for my personal protection was a no-brainer.

 

With the issues regarding the Midnight Caravan resolved, and the Faction Leaders arranging and debating matters in the Faction Council, I spent the final hours of preparation time with my family.

 

I didn’t know what to expect once I entered Dominion territory but there was a mounting sense of unease growing in the back of my mind. A mounting certainty that I was going to do something that would erode or compromise what was left of my original self.

 

What was left was what made me human...and I didn’t want to find out who I was without it.

 

But I couldn’t just ignore the threat either.

 

Spending this time with my family made me more certain than ever that there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t sacrifice if it meant I could keep them safe. Even if it meant giving up that final part of me...

 

If a monster was what they needed, then I would become that monster.

 

After kissing Lash and my children goodbye, I relocated to our remote staging ground site.

 

Technically, any one of my champions who had visited the staging area near the Dominion’s border could calibrate and activate the Dimensional Breach. However, given the gravity of the situation, there was a certain degree of expectation that I would be the one to signal what was technically an invasion of a hostile power.

 

For practical reasons, my forces were sent through first. If the Dominion or locals were to initiate an ambush, the Ogres were far better suited to weather those attacks than anyone else. Not only would they survive, but they would quite possibly reverse the situation outright.

 

The Cultivators went next but made a point of maintaining their own respective groups. While each group trusted, or at least, respected me. They knew very little of one another, so it was somewhat understandable.

 

As a compromise, acknowledging the political jockeying between the Asrusians and Semenovians, I had them send their forces through at the same time. Each Faction was allowed roughly one-third of the Breach’s width to transport their forces.

 

The Kobolds from the Fireheart Faction were last, but not without good cause. Working in cooperation with the Dwergi, the Kobolds had crafted what I could only describe as a primitive wooden tank. Although they insisted it be called the dragon turtle.

 

Besides being powered by tamed Carnifexes, I knew very little about how it worked. All I knew for certain was that the bunker-like shell housed at least one ballista and that the Dwergi had sworn up and down that it was the pinnacle of their engineering art.

 

Once the wooden tank was through the Breach, I closed it and banished the magical mechanism to an isolated territory.

 

Left on my own, except for Mud, I waited a couple of minutes before remotely viewing Gric and Sebet’s progress on the other side. Confident that things were well enough in hand, I opened a smaller Breach and joined them.

 

Accommodating the Midnight Caravan meant assigning one of our Empowered Anchors for their protection. We still weren’t sure how far the Spell’s effect would carry, so there was a possibility it would prove to our overall benefit by slightly improving the overall coverage.

 

Baldr’s Cultivators took the front of the formation. He and his warriors were far more individualistic fighters and didn’t hold ranks while marching. Instead, they banded together in small groups and conversed with one another as they struck out across the barren scrublands. The groups would drift apart and reform with different members every so often, but never seemed to grow larger than six or seven men and women per group.

 

The Asrusians and Semenovians were strikingly similar in almost every respect. The Knights of each Faction maintained strict regimented lines while their mounted Rangers roved about on the periphery. Small detachments of Rangers would be sent out at fixed intervals to scout the horizon in whichever direction their commanders were feeling most paranoid about at that given moment.

 

Kang and the Oba clan’s elders were perfectly content to travel alongside me, my Bodyguards, Gric, Sebet and Mud in the centre of the formation amidst the Ogres.

 

Marching in time with the beating of the drum, the Ogres effortlessly kept pace with one another while singing ‘The wheels on the cart go round and round’, ‘Food tastes nice’ and ‘Twinkle twinkle little sword’. Which sounded far more ominous and menacing than they otherwise had a right to be. Although, I supposed anybody who wasn’t familiar with the original nursery rhymes probably wouldn’t be as inclined to share my opinion.

 

As the hours passed by without incident, it became increasingly difficult to maintain the original levels of wariness and constructive paranoia.

 

Faced with potentially a week or more of the same before reaching the Dominion’s capital city, I decided to constructively pass the time by creating a mobile Chi Gathering Formation. Formed using stone pillars, the act of keeping those pillars in correct alignment and constantly on the move required a considerable degree of concentration and focus. However, I couldn't just blank out on my surroundings either, which made for a taxing but rewarding mental workout.

 

Hours passed into days and tensions began to rise from the Midnight Caravan’s camp. We had passed several towns and made no attempts at making contact with any of them. While I could understand their frustrations and the reasons they might think I was reneging on our deal, I had spoken with their representatives several times already and made my position abundantly clear.

 

The beetlemen were my primary target. Diverting focus was out of the question. Once they were dealt with, then I would begin liberating Slaves.

 

If we were going to make ourselves responsible for protecting thousands of Slaves, I would prefer it was undertaken while on the return trip.

 

As the fringes of the Dominion capitol came into view, I was still struggling to understand why we had been left alone.

 

Then I saw the army of beetlemen amassed outside of the city walls and the lone towering figure standing before them.

 

Easily five times my own size, the beetleman’s chitinous shell was adorned with gold and jewels that would have bankrupted entire nations back on Earth.

 

They had been waiting for us. Waiting for me.

 

With a complete disregard for its own safety, the giant beetleman began purposefully consuming the distance between us. Although unarmed, that could change in an instant. “Finally-k-k-k. After an eternity of waiting-k-k-k. I will see my duty fulfilled-k-k-k.” The beetleman’s mandibles clacked and clattered like the grinding of tectonic plates and its footfalls made the ground tremble with every step. “Now-k-k-k. You WILL come with me-k-k-k.”

 

The arid scrubland to the left, right and rear of our position collapsed, stranding us atop a plateau as thousands more beetlemen surged out of the ground and surrounded us.

 

“Follow-k-k-k.” The giant beetleman gestured toward a trench branching outward from the collapse and toward the city. “Follow-k-k-k, and none shall be harmed-k-k-k. Resist-k-k-k, and they will all die-k-k-k.”

 

I felt hundreds of minds begin pressing on the boundaries of my own.

 

They had made their position absolutely clear.

 

I could go with them willingly, or they would take me by force.

 

“No!” Gric snarled, “I will not allow it! Not again!” He seized my arm and anchored his claws into my flesh. “We can fight them! You can escape!”

 

“I don’t think we can...” Sebet muttered darkly. “They were hiding before...but there are hundreds of them now...”

 

“Not for long!” Gric hissed, closing his eyes and growing deathly still.

 

I felt one of the minds encroaching upon my own, die. Then, everything went dark.

 

***** Sebet ~ Dominion Capital *****

 

Sebet had only a moment's warning to recognise what her rival Gric intended, but it was so monumentally stupid she refused to believe he would do it.

 

Then, the Tyrant had collapsed.

 

In exchange for taking a single life, the enemy retaliated against the Tyrant directly.

 

Eyes wide with doubt and fear, still clinging to the Tyrant’s arm like a lost child, Gric watched looked on with horror as the Tyrant fell.

 

Sebet felt what was coming and barely managed to shield her mind in time.

 

Gric arched his back and screamed, extending his psychic presence in all directions with reckless abandon.

 

Dozens of their enemies fell into vicious seizures and convulsions while others fell to their knees and tore at their heads with their claws. However, the warriors were not Gric’s targets. They just happened to be in the way.

 

Gric was now locked in a desperate battle against the hundreds of minds who had assaulted the Tyrant, and to Sebet’s shock, he was winning.

 

The Tyrant was not dead and the enemy refused to surrender their hold on his mind. A feat that was proving far more difficult than Sebet would have expected after they overwhelmed him so completely just moments prior.

 

Savage howls of rage rose from the ranks of the Ogres and they began pelting the enemy with stones, javelins and anything else they could lay their hands upon.

 

“FOR WODIN!!!” Baldr bellowed, raising a thundering spear to the sky as he leapt the gorge and led his warriors in a charge against the giant Coleoptera warrior.

 

“FOR HIS MAJESTY!!! FOR SANCTUARY!!!” The three Ainsleys roared, sending out a surge of mana as they formed bridges across the encircling trench.

 

“FOR ASRUS!!!” A senior Asrusian Knight cheered and charged across the nearest bridge, triggering a wave of fur and steel as his fellows proclaimed the same and followed.

 

“FOR SEMENOVIA!!!” Prince Vidam howled, leading his Knights into a packed charge on the opposite side.

 

Without saying a word, the Tyrant’s Bodyguards and remaining champions formed a defensive ring around him.

 

When the Coleoptera began leaping across the expanse, the Ainsleys erected stone palisades to slow them down while more physically gifted champions, like Trask and Brok, moved to engage the enemy directly alongside Kang and the Oba elders. Leaving the Naga Itzal to support them with venomous ranged attacks from the rear.

 

“Potions!” Lurr commanded, pulling free the Tyrant’s helm and doing his best to raise the Tyrant’s head and shoulders.

 

In short order, twenty healing potions were emptied into the Tyrant's previously empty helm.

 

“Wait!” Sebet ordered, “Using them now would be a waste!”

 

Lurr scowled darkly at Sebet from beneath his helm. “Why?!” He demanded.

 

Bound by Oaths that predated those she had made to the Tyrant, Sebet had to tread a very fine line. “The enemy is still battling within his mind!” She pointed to Gric, whose body was frozen at the peak of his scream of rage. “Gric is driving them out, be patient!”

 

It was not a lie, but it also wasn’t anything close to the truth either.

 

The Tyrant should be dead, but he wasn’t, and after witnessing the attack firsthand, Sebet now knew that it was his authority that was keeping him alive. Through his authority, Tim had made himself functionally immortal.

 

The problem lay in the fact that the enemy appeared to be aware of this fact, and had known about it for quite some time. Which complicated matters since the enemy didn’t need to worry about the Tyrant being accidentally killed.

 

There was also the subject of their motivations for seeking him out in the first place.

 

So far as Sebet was aware, the Dominion’s search for Ogre Variants had preceded the Tyrant’s arrival by centuries. So unless the Tyrant was some form of defective perpetual, Sebet wasn’t sure how the Coleoptera would have known to look for him in the first place. Let alone what they could want him for.

 

“WITNESS ME!!!” The exultant howl of triumph broke Sebet from her musings and snapped her focus toward Baldr and his horde of Cultivators.

 

Storm clouds had gathered above their battle, and Sebet could see the Valkyrja triplets lazily drifting amongst the clouds, watching the battle unfold below them. One Cultivator in particular had garnered their undivided attention.

 

Covered in wounds, his chain hauberk hanging useless over his waist, the Cultivator was beset on all sides. Despite the loss of his armour, each new wound taken was shallower than the last. Howling with psychotic laughter, the Cultivator cleaved through Coleoptera limbs and weapons as if they were nothing more than mud.

 

He crippled or killed thirty-one Coleoptera warriors before taking a blow to the back of the head and falling lifeless to the dirt.

 

The Valkyrja released a keening wail and the storm clouds rumbled ominously. A bolt of lightning arched from the three sisters and struck the corpse of the fallen Cultivator. When the light faded, the corpse of the Cultivator was gone.

 

“FLOKI IS CHOSEN!!!” Baldr roared with fanatical zeal and threw himself back into the fight against the giant Coleoptera.

 

“HE IS CHOSEN!!!” The other warriors roared in a savage chorus.

 

There was another flash of lightning, this time arching to the faltering ranks of the Asrusian knights.

 

An ash-white twin of the fallen Cultivator leapt out from the lightning and into the unprepared flank of the Coleoptera. “AHAHAHA!!! ETERNAL BATTLE AWAITS!!!” The Einheri howled with glee, disembowelling a Coleoptera twice his size with a vicious backhanded blow from the axe in his left hand and amputating one of its arms with the sword in his right.

 

Faster and stronger than he had been in life the Einheri cut a swathe of devastation through the Coleoptera’s left flank and showed no signs of slowing.

 

The Tyrant’s right hand twitched.

 

“The Tyrant! He moved!” One of the Bodyguards shouted, pointing to the Tyrant’s right hand.

 

“WITNESS ME!!!” Another Cultivator roared.

 

The Tyrant’s face twitched.

 

“WITNE-” A third Cultivator was cut short and a pair of lightning strikes arced through the sky in rapid succession.

 

Nearly blinded by the Valkyrjas’ display of Divinity, Sebet almost missed it.

 

The Tyrant had awakened.

 

The Tyrant rose to his feet with an eerie and deathly silence. Bereft of his helmet, Sebet could see the inky blackness of his eyes and knew something was terribly wrong.

 

“Fall...” With a wave of the Tyrant’s hand, dozens of the closest Coleoptera warriors collapsed to the ground and disintegrated into clouds of dust.

 

With the Tyrant’s revival and the death of the Coleoptera, the Ogres were whipped into a rabid frenzy. Breaking ranks, they surged across the bridges, past the embattled Asrusians and Semenovians and smashed into the Coleopteras’ lines.

 

Sebet watched with morbid fascination as an Ogre tackled a Coleoptera warrior three times his size to the ground and began eating it alive. Biting down and swallowing anything and everything that entered its mouth, shearing through magical steel as if it were nothing.

 

Confused, the Coleoptera were slow to react and took heavy losses from the vicious counterattack.

 

Strangely, the small Ogre, Mud, had not joined the others, instead standing vigilantly at the Tyrant’s side.

 

As Sebet continued to observe, the reason became clear.

 

Lifting the smaller Ogre as if he weighed no more than one of his Children, the Tyrant looked toward the giant Coleoptera warrior. Mana flooded from the Tyrant's hand and into the smaller Ogre’s body, causing Mud’s skin to crack and burst from the strain.

 

Stunned by the Tyrant’s callous disregard, Sebet watched as the small Ogre was launched through the air and toward the giant Coleoptera warrior.

 

To his credit, Mud managed to raise his machete midflight. However, despite being preoccupied with defending against Baldr’s vicious assault, the giant Coleoptera managed to materialise and raise a massive shield at the last moment, blocking Mud’s attack.

 

Or so it seemed.

 

Expecting the little Ogre to detonate in a hail of bone, blood and gore, Sebet was stunned into stupified inaction by what happened instead.

 

Opening his mouth wide, Mud unleashed a torrent of superheated plasma against the shield, boring a hole through the magical metal and into the Coleoptera’s bejewelled carapace.

 

Caught off guard, the giant Coleoptera lurched to one side, doing its best to evade.

 

After hitting the ground, Mud renewed his assault on the giant Coleoptera, incinerating half of a chitinous arm before the Coleoptera managed to retreat into the ever-thinning ranks of its remaining warriors.

 

Now beset on all sides, Mud released short bursts of plasma into the ranks of the Coleoptera, turning any who approached into mounds of ash.

 

Distracted by the destruction Mud had unleashed, Sebet hadn’t noticed the Tyrant was on the move.

 

Walking at a leisurely pace, seemingly without a care in the world, the Tyrant had begun making his way toward the trench leading to the city.

 

Worried that one of the Coleoptera had managed to gain control over his mind, Sebet was disturbed to find that it wasn’t the case at all. The Coleoptera had all but retreated from the Tyrant’s mind, and those that remained were engaged in a life-or-death struggle with Gric.

 

There was something else pulling the Tyrant’s strings. Something deeply embedded within the Tyrant’s own mind. An irresistible instinct calling and demanding that he answer.

 

Recognising the potential threat for what it was, Sebet gathered her will and attempted to suppress it but found that she couldn’t. Her contract explicitly forbade her from tampering with the Tyrant’s mind, and whatever this was, it enjoyed those same protections.

 

Frustrated, Sebet tried reaching out to Gric but found he was too far gone to be reasoned with.

 

Briefly entertaining the idea of somehow restraining the Tyrant, Sebet had to dismiss the idea because anything they could attempt, the Tyrant could do better or reverse outright. There was also no telling what would happen to anyone that provoked him.

 

The only consolation was that the Coleoptera were now in full rout, streaming down the trench and back toward the city. Putting the majority of the Tyrant’s army right behind them, and providing a buffer between the enemy and the Tyrant.

 

Demonstrating no fear whatsoever, Baldr and his Cultivators didn’t hesitate for a moment when the trench descended into a tunnel leading beneath the city walls. Charging ever forward in their bloodlust and desire for a warrior's death.

 

The Ogres were right behind them with Mud leading the charge.

 

For their part, the Asrusians and Semenovians were more reserved, leary of what could easily prove to be a trap. Or at the least, wary of an environment that would afford the enemy any number of opportunities for ambush. All the same, they diligently brought up the rear, refusing to remain behind.

 

The Kobold contraption was damaged beyond repair, but the scaly little things showed no reservations in hitching a ride with the mounted Humans and urging them forward.

 

With the Tyrant moving at such a sedate pace, the fighting disappeared around distant corners and a maze of branching passages. Were it not for her ability to remotely view the battle from the minds of their allies, Sebet would have had grave concerns regarding a potential counterattack. However, that was the thing. The enemy WAS trying to launch counterattacks, they just aren't working.

 

The Cultivators didn’t care about taking losses and the Ogres soaked whatever damage the ambushers could deliver, then they hacked the Coleopteras down and continued forward. In the Ogres' case, ripping free hunks of flesh or entire limbs to feed upon and regain their HP.

 

With each successive failure, the Coleopteras' numbers grew thinner and their warriors grew smaller. What had seemed like an invincible tide of chitin-armoured bodies, was being torn apart by raw unadulterated savagery.

 

The fighting rapidly intensified as the Coleopteras initiated what Sebet assumed had to be their last stand.

 

The fighting was still strong when Sebet followed the Tyrant out of the tunnels and into a massive carved stone chamber.

 

Mangled, and mutilated, but still desperately holding its ground, the giant Coleoptera was leading a desperate defence of a large passageway located on the opposite side of the chamber. Outnumbered and losing warriors with every passing second, their defeat was all but guaranteed. However, the Coleopteras had descended to the same primitive savagery as the Ogres, launching themselves at their enemies and trading their lives to inflict horrific injuries on the Cultivators.

 

Contrary to Sebet’s expectations, the Tyrant did not continue his leisurely chase of the Coleoptera. Instead, he changed direction, heading for a passage built into the wall to the left of where they had entered.

 

Gric, who was being carried by Lurr, began to stir. Lethargic and weak, he tried to speak but the effort seemed to be beyond him.

 

Uncertain how many of the Coleoptera mind hunters remained, Sebet cautiously opened her mind and established contact with Gric.

 

As drained as he appeared on the outside, it was nothing compared to the state of his mind. Beyond exhaustion, Gric’s Psyche was balanced on a razor’s edge and felt unbelievably fragile. <All...except...one...> His thoughts frayed and came apart as quickly as they were formed, making it difficult for Sebet to understand. <One...left...> With an effort that appeared to cost him most of his remaining energy, Gric passed along the message again. This time, more insistently.

 

Sebet felt Gric’s intentions and recognised that she now had a decision to make. She could stay beside the Tyrant and follow him to wherever it was he was going. Or, she could hunt down the last of the mind hunters and finish what Gric had started.

 

After a few moments of consideration, Sebet made her choice.

 

Unfurling her wings, Sebet raced across the open floor of the chamber with incredible speed. Even without extending her senses, Sebet knew that the Coleoptera warriors were guarding the approach to the final mind hunter. The last female of their Species within the Dominion’s borders.

 

Sebet had seen bits and pieces of the other females strewn about the tunnels, but not enough to have belonged to the hundreds she had felt at the onset of the battle. However, Sebet knew better than to question Gric’s skill at seeking out rival telepaths. Once he had their scent, it was all over.

 

Selecting a javelin as a quest reward, Sebet cast the Thundering Strikes Spell upon it and hurled it at the giant Coleoptera.

 

Bereft of weapons, and already on its last legs, the giant Coleoptera attempted to lurch out of the way but wasn’t fast enough. The javelin bore deep into an exposed wound on its left side and then exploded, ripping free chunks of flesh and chitin and causing the giant Coleoptera to lose its footing.

 

The moment the Coleoptera struck the ground, it was set upon from all sides and viciously hacked to pieces.

 

Numbering less than a hundred in all, the remaining Coleoptera warriors were overwhelmed in a matter of seconds. Torn limb from limb and devoured in an orgy of bloody violence.

 

With the Coleoptera warriors dead, the fervour of Baldr and his Cultivators began to ebb.

 

The same could not be said for the Ogres. Like hounds that had caught the scent of fresh game, they continued charging down the passageway with single-minded determination.

 

Following behind the Ogres, Sebet withdrew into herself, raising her mental defences as high as they could go. She was a natural manipulator, but she lacked Gric’s raw power, and if he couldn’t defeat the final mind hunter, then Sebet knew better than to risk a direct confrontation on the mind hunter’s terms.

 

After only a couple of minutes, the curving passageway opened into another large chamber. At its centre, a massive Coleoptera female, nearly the same size as the giant Coleoptera warrior, lay in wait in the centre of the chamber.

 

In stark contrast to the males, female Coleoptera were thinner, lighter, and had segmented claws as sharp as swords.

 

Wing’s beating so loudly it made Sebet dizzy, the female Coleoptera slowly ascended toward the ceiling.

 

<In the name of The Creator! Leave!> The mind hunter’s thoughts tore through Sebet’s mind with almost effortless ease.

 

Stunned into immobility, Sebet was surprised to find that the Ogres, while moving much slower than before, were still on the move. Settling to serve as a distraction, she did her best to push back against the mind hunter and occupy its attention. <Why?!> Sebet demanded. <You attacked us first!>

 

<We served the will of The Creator!> The mind hunter retorted incredulously. <Your lives are of no consequence before The Creator’s majesty and divine edicts!!>

 

Sebet staggered under the mental assault but forced herself to remain standing. For all of the mind hunter’s power, it appeared acutely accustomed to pain, surrendering its advantage and retreating each time the Tyrant’s protection was brought to bear.

 

The Ogres were gathering beneath the female Coleoptera now but had no way of reaching her.

 

<Call off your mongrels!> The mind hunter demanded impatiently, betraying a hint of fear.

 

The ogres began clambouring atop one another, forming a living pyramid of flesh.

 

Taking a chance, Sebet struck back. It amounted to little more than spitting into a raging bonfire, but it was enough to loosen the mind hunter’s grip and provide Sebet with an opportunity.

 

Or not.

 

Sebet shrieked in pain as the mind hunter struck deep into her mind and began excavating everything within reach.

 

A bright flash of light illuminated the chamber and brought an immediate end to the pain.

 

Crumpled on the ground, Sebet gasped for breath and watched in stunned silence as the female Coleoptera crashed into the far wall, leaving a trail of acrid smoke in its wake.

 

One of its six wings had been reduced to a smouldering stump and the female Coleoptera was struggling to reestablish a semblance of balance.

 

Acting as one, the Ogres began surging after her. Those who had formed the higher levels of the living pyramid tumbled to the ground.

 

Pushing herself to her feet, Sebet tried to gather her MP but was knocked down to her knees as the mind hunter renewed its assault. However, before the mind hunter could regain a proper foothold, a ball of liquid fire erupted from the horde of Ogres, narrowly missing one of the female Coleoptera’s five remaining wings and forcing her to focus on the more immediate threat.

 

Releasing a chittering clattering scream, the female Coleoptera dove low over the Ogres and swiped at the source of the fireball.

 

Acting with freakish unity, two of the Ogre Sergeants leapt into an intercept path and impaled themselves on the female Coleoptera’s claws.

 

Drawn off course by the unaccounted-for weight, the female Coleoptera was too slow in recognising the danger.

 

Seizing the Coleoptera’s legs, the Ogres dragged her to the ground and pinned her beneath a mass of bodies.

 

Sebet felt the mind hunter’s fear and desperation. The mounting terror as the Ogres ripped the remaining wings from her body and began tearing free her carapace to feed upon the flesh beneath.

 

Lingering just long enough to make sure the mind hunter wouldn’t get back up or perform a miraculous retreat, Sebet then retreated back down the passageway to rejoin the Tyrant.

 

Spotting the Asrusians and Semenovians trailing down the passageway the Tyrant had been heading for earlier, Sebet gingerly pressed onward while nursing her head. Feeling thoroughly abused in one of the few ways that generated absolutely no pleasure whatsoever, Sebet was sorely tempted to down one of the emergency Healing Potions just so she could clear her head and think clearly again.

 

Reaching the end of the passageway and entering another large chamber, it took Sebet a few moments to realise that the Tyrant was missing.

 

Looking toward the far wall, Sebet found the Tyrant’s champions and Bodyguards gathered before a pair of giant steel doors. Polished to a mirror shine, the steel doors couldn’t have looked more out of place if someone tried.

 

“Where is the Tyrant?” Sebet demanded, fighting back the urge to panic. She could not feel his presence and couldn’t help but fear the worst.

 

Slumped against the left door, Gric was feebly striking it with his fist.

 

“Through door...” Lurr answered grimly.

 

“His Majesty touched the door and disappeared...” Faine elaborated grimly. “We tried to follow, but we couldn’t...”

 

“The doors are too heavy?” Sebet asked, feeling a pang of panic despite herself. She rushed forward without waiting for a reply and pushed hard against the door on the right side.

 

Jayne and Randle’s reply fell on deaf ears as Sebet stared at the notification that appeared the moment she touched the door.

 

[ Access Denied - Administrator Authority {Insufficient/Corrupted} ]

[ Suggested course of action - Seek out {Tier 1} Administrator for resolution. ]