Zachary Scott
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Chapter 114 - The Outpost
🕑 Added 2025-07-17 15:30:30 +0000 UTCThe blood and mud I’d smeared on my face was crusting into a thick mask that stung the edges of my eyes. The morning sun had barely moved since we were dropped from the airship, and it was low enough to be directly in our eyes as we all squinted for a better view at the wooden fort ahead.
It was relatively large and wedged into the valley, but I thought it would be possible to walk the steep valley walls on either side and pass the fort without too much difficulty. That wasn’t our plan, though. We needed the fort, along with any advantages it would provide us for the tourney.
The strange portals still swirled silently behind us. Without people trying to kill me, I noticed the sound only seemed to come from certain portals. Maybe the ones where the announcers were speaking. It was easy to forget they were there, though, as most kept several dozen feet of space from us or hovered high overhead.
A moment of unreality washed over me. I thought back to normal days on Earth. Normal, boring, life. And then I remembered all of that was hundreds, probably thousands of years ago. One way or another, that world was gone and this was my life now.
But what a strange fucking life.
I grinned a little, amusement quickly faltering when I got my first real look at the things Hector had asked about. I hadn’t seen them at first, but now I saw the strange shapes moving high up on the outpost walls.
The fort was made with vertical wooden stakes crudely shaved into spikes at their tips. Each was maybe twenty feet high. There were equally ramshackle towers with darkened slits for archers to fire arrows through. Judging by the shapes moving back and forth behind the pointed spikes of the wall, I had to assume there was a walkway on the other side of the wall.
But what the hell were those shapes?
I cupped a hand over my eyes in a futile attempt to block the sun. I could make out a gate reinforced with metal bands and the fact that the wood looked freshly sanded and almost shaped to appear battle-worn. But that made sense, given this was likely built just for the tourney and probably only a few weeks old at most.
As we got closer, I could see the things patrolling the tops of the walls moved… wrong. There was a jerkiness and predictability to their patterns that looked artificial. Maybe even mechanical.
“Can you make out what they are?” Lyria asked from my side.
“Not quite,” I said as we continued toward the fort. The valley finally curved just enough that a mountain range blocked out the sun, and then the details of the fort and the figures were immediately clear.
One of them turned toward us at the same moment, as if just now realizing we were coming.
Where a face should have been, there was only smooth, polished wood. No eyes, no mouth, no features at all. Just a vaguely head-shaped knob atop broad wooden shoulders.
“Constructs,” Thorn said quietly. “I’ve seen something similar in the fighting pits. Animated by magic.”
More of the wooden figures kept appearing, forming a thickening cluster atop the wall. It was eerie. They appeared as if from nowhere and formed up in neat rows, standing completely motionless. Even without eyes, I felt the weight of their combined gaze pushing down on us.
The constructs carried weapons that looked ceremonial at first glance, all curves and artistic flourishes carved into the wood. Beautiful, but also deadly. I had no doubts about that.
A portal drifted closer, and I noticed it was the grommet viewing party. But their group had dwindled significantly since the last time I saw them.
That was… odd.
Before, there had been a large crowd of the hairy creatures jostling for the best view. Now there were only three of them, and all three seemed highly agitated, or maybe excited?
I didn’t know what that meant, but I had a feeling it wasn’t good.
“THE FIRST OUTPOST CHALLENGE!” The announcer’s voice boomed from multiple portals all at once. “WILL BLOODY BRYNN’S MONGREL ARMY PREVAIL?”
With the arrival of the announcers, more portals zoomed in from every direction, including one of the large ones showing the arena and the packed stands.
“Mongrel army?” Sylara muttered.
“I could think of worse titles,” Thorn said with a shrug.
I did a quick count as I kept half my focus on the gathering army of constructs up on the outpost wall. We had sixteen people total. Four aspirants and twelve slaves. Not exactly an army, but better than I’d hoped when we started this morning.
“Alright,” I said, raising my voice so everyone could hear. I was aware of the portals and the thousands watching, but ignored them. My attention was on our group. On the people I needed to rely on if this was going to work. “They expect all of us to lose,” I said, pausing to let that sink in as I moved my eyes across our allies one by one. “They think we’re just fodder to demonstrate how superior the nobles are. They want to show that—”
To my surprise, the portals suddenly zipped away. Almost every one of them. The only remaining portal was one where I could see King Theon, the terrifying Diamond Rank woman, and several other royals who looked very important. The grommet viewing portal also remained, though I didn’t know how.
The tomte king leaned forward on his throne, brows furrowing and lips twitching.
Had they forced the portals away? Were they worried about what I might say?
“Go on,” Lyria urged. “Fuck them.”
I spared one more glance for the tomte king and looked back to my “mongrel army.”
“They want to use us,” I said simply. “All of us. So we can either run and hide in this place and hope we last longer than they expect, or we can take that goddamn outpost for ourselves,” I emphasized my point, jabbing Sylara’s dagger toward the fort where more constructs continued to gather. “We can get whatever reward waits, and we can keep taking territory and growing our army until we pose an actual threat. And if we’re lucky, maybe we won’t just survive this thing. We’ll win it.”
There was a moment of silence—long enough for me to see King Theon watching me with dark blue eyes that burned hot and angry. Long enough to see the three grommets cheering, apparently in favor of my little speech.
And then Thorn punched his chest three times. “Bloody Fuckin’ Brynn!”
There was a quick cheer, some smiles, and a roll of the eyes from Lyria.
“Enough talk!” Hector growled. “If we’re gonna take the thing, let’s take the thing!”
Before I could stop him, he charged.
“Hector, wait—”
Too late.
He sprinted up the slope, sword raised high, roaring like a madman. The wooden constructs responded immediately. Three of them dropped from the wall, landing with impacts that shook the ground and kicked up thick clouds of dust.
Each was easily eight feet high and twice as wide as a human, with oversized weapons to match.
They moved toward Hector with that unnerving, jerky gait, like marionettes controlled by a drunk puppeteer.
“Shit,” I muttered. “Everyone, move! If you don’t have weapons, hang back and support however you can.”
We rushed after him, but Hector was already engaged. His first swing took a construct’s arm clean off, sending it spinning through the air. He laughed, wild and triumphant.
But the construct’s torso could move independently of its legs, and it spun in a sudden 360 degree arc, its remaining arm whipping out. A wooden mace cracked into Hector’s ribs so hard I could hear his bones snapping from fifty feet away.
Hector went flying, blood spraying from his mouth. He landed in a groaning crumple. A construct with whirling blades in both wooden hands rushed him. I reached into his body for healing, but realized it wouldn’t be enough. Even if I healed him, he wouldn’t have time to recover and dodge the attack that was coming.
“Yolo!” I shouted.
“On it!” The tomte was already rushing toward the fight. Emerald green light exploded beneath Hector. Two thick vines punched out of the ground, wrapping around his body and lifting him as the vines twisted, forming a solid base before huge leaves grew and completely closed Hector in.
Within seconds, a magical green tree nearly ten feet high stood, its top glowing faintly as Hector was healed inside.
The constructs slammed into the base, hacking at it and throwing away chunks of plant matter that shook the whole structure. It wouldn’t hold forever, but it would buy a minute, at least.
More constructs were pouring from the outpost now, shaking the ground with thunderous booms like a raging storm as they landed and charged. The number of viewing portals was growing by the second, too.
I tried to count the constructs coming our way. It was at least two dozen, maybe more. They formed rough ranks, as if some kind of tactical strategy was programmed into whatever magic kept them moving and fighting.
Elora stepped forward, fire dancing between her fingers. “Burn, you wooden bastards!”
“Wait!” I shouted, but it was too late.
A pair of slaves were rushing in from behind Elora, and they cut directly in front of her just as twin jets of fire sprayed from her hands. The slaves caught the brunt of it, falling and screaming as they tried to extinguish themselves.
I reached into their bodies, almost instantly exhausting their mana pools to heal the worst of their wounds, but unable to completely fix them.
“I got ‘em,” Yolo said, skidding to a stop beside me. More vines crept out of the ground, lifting the wounded slaves up high. At the same time, Hector’s vine was chopped down and he emerged from the cocoon, bloody, smiling, and swinging.
Unbothered by the mistake, Elora was grimacing as she tossed another gout of flames at a construct. It caught on fire, but didn’t even slow as the flames raged. Instead, it turned into a whirling fire tornado of death that was pummeling Thorn and Sylara.
“I got it,” Tamrin said. He raised his hands, that blue orb of water magic spinning between his palms. “Let me—”
His Water Snare shot out, wrapping around the flaming construct’s legs. The thing slowed, movements becoming even more sluggish. But it didn’t stop. It raised its weapon, a wooden spear that vaguely resembled a very very sharp corkscrew. It hurled the spear without any windup, and it flew so fast I didn’t even see it move.
One minute, Tamrin was beside me. The next, he was several feet back, pinned through the chest by a spear that had embedded itself several feet into the bark of a tree. Tamrin hung from the spear, feet dangling inches from the ground and twitching as he gripped the wooden shaft. “Ugghn,” he gasped, coughing as blood spattered his chin.
I rushed toward him, tried to break the spear in half but found it was far too thick for that. I used Zahra’s dagger to start sawing at the part in front of his chest. With the strength I’d gained from advancing to Iron, the knife made surprisingly short work of the wood, and I was able to take enough of Tamrin’s weight and ease him off the shaft.
He coughed warm blood on my back as I pulled him free, shuddering with agony from the twisted shape of the weapon dragging through his open wound.
But I got him free and set him down in the grass, trying to be quick without rushing. The sounds of intensifying battle raged all around me, and I knew I needed to do what I could to help.
I used Tamrin’s mana to heal the wound, which earned me a sleepy smile from the pale-faced and sweaty kid, who then promptly passed out.
When I turned, I saw Lyria’s Spear of Torment suddenly extend, using its magical ability to grow in size. It reached high, punching straight into one of the construct’s heads and knocking it off the body. The effect was instantaneous.
The whole construct slumped and went lifeless.
“The heads!” I shouted. “Go for the heads!”
A slave with a hammer only a few feet from me nodded, nearly getting his own head chopped off in his momentary distraction. He ducked the attack, feinted, and then lunged in, swimming his weapon hard and knocking away a construct’s head.
At a glance, the battle looked like it could go either way. People were suffering wounds but aspirants or slaves were pushing in, buying them space to retreat back. Yolo was using his ability sparingly, seeming to save it for only those in desperate need.
Then I saw a slave girl who was separated from the group. She was backed against a boulder, bleeding from several wounds as two constructs drifted closer to her. Nobody else seemed to notice, and when I reached in to heal her wounds, I found her mana was already empty.
I had only taken one step toward her when a figure with dark hair and a long sword like liquid shadows stepped out from behind the boulder.
Cassian.
He looked small next to the huge constructs, but nothing in his posture showed alarm or concern. He glanced at the girl, then at me, and finally turned his focus to the automatons.
One slashed for him and his sword met the blow, knocking away the creature’s arm with the force of the block. Cassian slipped another attack, ducking inside its guard and slashing upward in a diagonal arc that left an odd after-image in my eyes—a smear of light that started purple then tinged black before fading.
The top half of the construct slid free, falling to the ground as its lower half followed shortly after.
Cassian slapped away a strike from the surviving construct, flipped his sword and stabbed it straight in the center of mass before dragging the sword upward. It cut through the wood like it was water, leaving another one of those purple smears of light before the construct split in half and fell to the ground twitching.
He gave me a two fingered salute, and then his sword ballooned suddenly into a perfect sphere of purple light. It sparkled black, and then was gone, and so was Cassian.
“Did anyone—” I started, but nobody was near me. Nobody had seen except the slave girl.
I saw her look incredulously to where Cassian had just been, then back to me.
“Help them!” I shouted, pointing my dagger toward our forces trying to go for the heads.
By the time I looked back to the battle, it could have only been twenty or thirty seconds, but the tide was shifting. More constructs had landed and the number of wounded had grown. I reached my senses around the battle, healing those who had mana but knowing I was also draining them dry, making them less effective because they wouldn’t be able to use whatever spell they’d brought into the tourney.
I needed to think of something.
I watched a construct whirling, blade arms spinning so fast it nearly caught a nearby automaton in the mayhem. And then it clicked.
I ran toward the fight, hoping my voice would carry enough over the clatter of weapons, shouts of the wounded, and roar of the crowds and announcers coming from the portals.
“Circle them!” I shouted, gesturing as a few heads turned toward my voice. “Don’t back up! They spin to fight. Push them into each other!”
Lyria nodded, and Thorn, who was fighting on the opposite end seemed to understand as well.
Little by little, the slaves and aspirants pushed the constructs inward and backed them toward the walls of the outpost. It was going to work.
And then my heart sank when I realized a new problem.
We didn’t have enough people to circle the automatons and force them close in the open field. We needed the wall of the outpost, but that meant pushing the fight closer to the fort.
And that meant getting closer to those archer towers. But maybe they were empty…
My hope only lasted a few seconds. I saw a blur of movement from the direction of the tower on the left and then saw an arrow as long as my leg and twice as thick punch into the ground inches from a slave. Dirt exploded from the impact.
I swallowed hard.
Fuck.
I needed to find a way to deal with that. But there wasn’t time to fall back and regroup or think of a new plan. I was healing all I could and keenly aware of how low our whole group’s mana reserves had already run. Useful as my ability was, it came with a price, especially when almost all my allies were Wood and had relatively small mana pools.
One of the slaves looked up just in time to see an arrow coming. I braced for the impact, knowing it would be deadly, but her skin turned reflective, almost like a diamond.
The arrow slammed into her, shattering into shards of wood and sparks instead of punching through her. The diamond-skinned girl was thrown several feet and landed hard, but cut off her protective spell and managed to stumble to her feet and rejoin the efforts to push the constructs together.
I was racking my brain for a plan to deal with the archers, but couldn’t help admiring the way the slaves fought together.
They didn’t need my orders to fight in pairs or groups. They did it naturally, covering each other with a fluid grace that spoke of long practice. They’d spent years, some of them decades, learning to work together. In the mines, in the fields, in whatever hells they’d survived.
The voices of the announcers rose above the din of battle, several different voices overlapping in their excitement.
“UNPRECEDENTED COORDINATION FROM THE SLAVE FORCES!”
“WILL THE NOBILITY STAND FOR THIS? CAN THEY WORK TOGETHER LIKE THAT?”
“BLOODY BRYNN SEEMS TO HAVE SOME TACTICAL TRAINING, BUT THOSE ARCHERS ARE GOING TO MAKE PINCUSHIONS OF THE MONGREL ARMY BEFORE LONG!”
A man with a graying beard screamed, going down hard with an arrow in his back.
Yolo lifted him instantly into a vine cocoon and I rushed to find Elora. She was lobbing balls of fire over our forces and seemingly doing more harm than good, as the flaming constructs were more deadly than the normal ones.
“Can you burn those towers?” I asked.
She considered half a second. “If I’m closer.”
“Then let’s get closer,” I said.
The others kept pushing the constructs inward as I grabbed Elora’s arm and dragged her around the fighting and toward the outpost, eyes constantly trained on those darkened arrow slits in both towers. One arrow to the head would be the end of things. But this was the only way.
As we passed the melee, I saw the first constructs get too close to their allies. Both spun up for an attack, arms and weapons colliding with each other in an explosive impact that sent pieces of wood pelting out like shrapnel in all directions.
Good. It was working.
“What are you doing?” Lyria shouted as she saw me passing with Elora.
“The archers.”
She understood, nodding and turning her focus back on prodding the constructs with her long spear.
“This good?” I asked when we were maybe fifty feet from the tower.
She looked up, squinted, then nodded and began to form a growing ball of fire between both palms.
I watched her ready the spell, nervously looking toward that arrow slit and bracing for the inevitable attack.
Just a few more seconds…
Elora pulled her arms back then threw the ball of fire hard and high. It arced through the air, leaving a trail of smoke before finally slamming into the tower’s top with a woosh. I felt the wave of heat even from far below and nodded with satisfaction as the tower quickly caught fire and began to burn.
“One more,” I said. But the others had already pinned the constructs up against the wall, so we had to circle the long way around the chaos of the fight to get to the east side of the outpost where the final archer tower was.
I saw a slave go down with an arrow through the belly and grimaced, pushing myself to move even faster as I pulled Elora along.
It felt like an eternity as we circled around and people screamed in every direction, but we finally reached the base of the last tower.
“Almost dry on mana,” Elora warned as she gathered another ball of fire.
“That’s fine. I think we just—”
I heard the whistle before I saw it.
My body clenched with anticipation, expecting impact, but then I felt the thud shake the ground and turned.
It was Elora.
There was a huge arrow sticking out of her chest and she was leaned back diagonally, pinned to the ground by the thing at an unnatural angle. Her eyes went wide, brows twitching as if she was surprised. She coughed once, blood spattering her lips and chin, and then her body went slack.
I was already reaching inside her, trying to heal the damage as I sawed at the shaft with Zahra’s dagger, but my movements slowed when I felt her core.
It was black. Empty.
No…
My stomach dropped as I realized it. They had turned off the fucking protective wards for her, hadn’t they? It didn’t matter if she was an aspirant and supposed to be protected from death. She was part of my “mongrel army” and a threat to the balance of things.
She was dead, maybe in part because of my stupid speech.
I clenched my teeth tight until my jaw hurt, rage boiling inside me so hot it burned.
I turned to my right and saw something among the swarm of portals drifting above the chaos. King Theon was leaning forward, a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes. He nodded to someone I couldn’t see, then sat back in his throne, smiling slightly.
“Fucking bastard…” I muttered, then I got to my feet. Elora hadn’t been a particularly good person, but she didn’t deserve to die. None of these people did.
But there was no time to mourn or feel sorry for ourselves. If I didn’t find a way to stop that archer, more people would die. Even Lyria could be next, and I knew now that none of us could count on the wards.
I studied the outpost, looking for something I could use. Even as I looked, I saw another arrow blast out of the tower, nearly catching Yolo, but he moved at the last second by accident.
The tomte was staring at the arrow sticking out of the ground with a look of bemused horror.
I had to get up to that tower. Now.
There was one way I could see. The valley sloped up on either side of the outpost at a steep angle. It would be dangerous as hell, but I thought if I got high enough, I could probably jump from the valley wall and clear the spiked tops of the wall.
Maybe.
There wasn’t time to question the choice, so I got moving. I scrambled up the hill. It was steep enough I had to crawl on hands and knees, climbing more than walking. I stopped once I was a dozen or more feet higher than the wall. There was a small, semi-flat area I could use to stand upright.
I got to my feet, took a steadying breath, and didn’t let myself think too hard about how bad this was going to hurt.
I took one step and jumped as high and far as I could.
My legs kicked through the air, arms pumping as I stretched, leaned forward. My stomach rose to my throat as I just barely cleared the top of the spiked wall and then slammed hard enough into the wooden planks on the other side to crack and splinter them.
A whispery groan slipped out of my mouth as I winced, curling inward and flooding myself with healing to fix all the things that had broken or bruised in the fall.
I stumbled to my feet and ran toward the tower where that archer was. Every second it lived was another ally who might fall to one of those massive arrows.
I spared a glance as I ran, surveying the outpost from the inside. I saw small buildings along the inner wall and a thankfully empty courtyard. Maybe there weren’t any more of the things. Thank God for that.
Viewing portals drifted up higher, nearly all of them seeming to focus in on me as I found the stairs to the archer tower and began climbing, taking the stairs two or three at a time. I circled upward, momentarily seeing hints of people sitting comfy back in Thrask and watching through the view portals.
Fucking bastards.
I eventually burst into a cramped room that reeked of oil and sawdust. A thinner variant of the constructs was inside, manning a mounted crossbow. It was loading another bolt and turning a winch to tension the string.
I rushed forward, tackling it and slamming us both into the wall.
“HERE HE GOES AGAIN, FOLKS! BLOODY BRYNN DOESN’T TAKE SHIT FROM ANYONE, DOES HE?”
The construct flipped its torso like an alligator’s death roll, flinging me upward so fast I slammed my back into the ceiling and landed on top of the crossbow.
Gasping for breath and using Devour Mana to heal some internal bruising, I got up, yanking the huge arrow from the crossbow and holding it like an oversized spear. I pointed it at the construct, backing up as I gave a few warning jabs.
I could feel the enhancements to my strength from reaching Iron and was grateful for them. It made the oversized arrow feel like a deadly weapon in my hands.
“Come on, asshole,” I warned. “Come closer.”
It moved toward me jerkily, long arms lifting as if it was preparing to simply rip me in two.
I jumped toward it once I thought it was close enough, jabbing as hard as I could straight for the center of its knob-like head.
I winced as I saw both of its arms slicing in toward my torso, ready to split me in half.
But the tip of the long arrow made contact. There was a moment of resistance, then some kind of magical binding snapped and the head popped backward. The construct froze, slumped, and stayed motionless.
Relief washed over me as I sank to my knees. I suddenly felt how exhausted I was.
“Jesus,” I breathed. When I looked to my left, I saw a swarm of portals all watching me from outside through the narrow arrow slit. Below, I saw my allies standing around a pile of destroyed constructs.
I stood suddenly as I heard something rushing up the tower. I was tired, but it sounded like the fighting wasn’t over. Dammit.
I hoisted the arrow and pointed it at the door, steadying my breath as I prepared to fight for my life. But a flash of red hair and wide blue eyes made me relax, lowering the spear.
“Brynn?” Lyria said, lowering her own spear as she saw me and the downed construct. “Are you okay?”
“They turned off the protections for Elora. King Theon did it on purpose. I know that’s what happened.”
Lyria’s features darkened.
“Yeah,” I said, seeing she understood perfectly. “I don’t think anybody in the ‘mongrel army,’ aspirant or not, can count on getting out of this alive unless we win.”
“Well, we finished off the constructs below. I saw you heading up here and came to see if you needed help.”
“We’re good now. I think there were only two archers. Elora burned one and I just got this one, but—”
The ground shuddered and the crowd roared with excitement.
I met Lyria’s eyes, seeing my own alarm mirrored in them. We both rushed down the stairs of the tower without a word, only to see a fresh wave of constructs emerging from the small buildings within the fort. They were pouring out the front gates. But these were different.
Bigger.
Their wooden armor was reinforced with iron bands, and their weapons looked heavier and more brutal. Great clubs and two-handed swords that could pulp a human body in one swing.
I reached into Lyria’s body, confirming she had enough mana for what I was thinking. “We have to jump and get down there to help.”
“Jump?” Lyria asked, eyes wide.
“I’ll heal our legs. Just… try not to hit your head. Let your legs break if you have to.”
“Are you serious?” But there was less venom in her words. I could see she was already mentally preparing.
“There aren’t stairs to get down to the courtyard, and we need to get down there fast. I can heal you. Just don’t fall so bad you die.”
She gave me a look of disbelief, then took a deep breath, blowing out slowly through pursed lips. “I hate you for this,” she said, then she ran and jumped over the wall, disappearing with a brief scream and then a gut-wrenching thump far below.
I looked down, saw her on the ground with one leg bent badly to the side. I reached into her and healed the wounds as quickly as I could. And then I jumped before I could have time to doubt the choice.
The ground rushed to meet me as I caught sight of something to my right. A construct even bigger than these new ones. Some kind of—
My legs both snapped the moment I hit the ground, and the shock of the pain was almost enough to knock me instantly unconscious.
I knew the worst pain would take a few seconds to settle in, so I healed quickly, mending bones and tendons before the full agony could hit. It mostly worked.
I was back on my feet, limping for a few seconds as my brain struggled to accept my legs were fine. Lyria hooked an arm around my back, helping me to hurry toward the others. They were forming up in a loose formation, inching backward as the huge constructs approached.
“Nice of you two to join us,” Thorn said, eyes never leaving the enemy.
“Oh, come on,” Hector wheezed. He was covered in blood, all of it his own, I assumed. But he was still standing. Still fighting. “That’s not fair.”
“Get used to it,” I said. “Shit is going to be unfair for us going forward. Our job is to win anyway. “Form up tight!” I said, looking at the constructs and realizing these ones were built differently. It didn’t look like they would spin. They might just swing like a human would.
Damn it.
It meant pushing them into a crowd wouldn’t be nearly as effective.
We pulled together, those still able to fight forming a rough circle with the wounded in the center. Yolo worked frantically, vines pulling the worst injured into healing cocoons. But his magic had limits, and I could see the strain on his face. When I reached into his core, I saw he was running on fumes. If he was lucky, he might have one or two more cocoons worth of healing in him. And I knew I’d already healed almost everyone here.
Almost everybody was out of mana, and that meant I wouldn’t be able to help them if they got hurt again.
The new constructs approached with measured steps. Behind them, I took a better look at the extra large construct. It stood in the outpost’s gateway, half again as tall as the others. Its body was carved from a single piece of dark wood, polished until it gleamed. It held a huge staff that gleamed in the sunlight.
“I have a really bad feeling about this,” Tamrin muttered.
The commander raised its staff. The wooden sphere at its top pulsed with brown light, and every construct on the field stopped moving. For a heartbeat, I dared to hope they were shutting down.
Then they all turned to face us at the same moment.
“Shit,” I said.
They charged as one. They came like a wooden wave, weapons raised to crush and kill.
“Hold the line!” I shouted, knowing it was hopeless. We were outnumbered three to one, half our people were wounded, and—
The ground exploded.
Dirt fountained up in a dozen places around the charging constructs. For a wild moment, I thought it was some kind of spell the construct commander was casting, that we were about to be hit from below as well.
Then I saw the hair.
Grommets. Hundreds of them, erupting from the ground all around the battlefield. They were swarming up the constructs like insects, ripping them apart with their bare hands, teeth, or a combination of the two.
The sound of womps mingled with the roaring crowd, the shouted surprise of the announcers, and the thunderous steps of the constructs.
Comments
William Hein
Grommet Ex Machina. Love it
Ben Bass
TYFTC! I really think the Grommets are/will be his first large group of followers on his rise to his second divinity. They are definitely helping out now!
