There were just over five thousand soldiers in the caravan of Menat-Ha'mait. A paltry amount compared to the full militaries of Terran nations, but for a single city like Menat-Ha'mait it was a disproportionately large amount.
Such numbers were thanks to extra forces dispatched to them from the central government of Sargon. Nominally their purpose was to help ready vehicles and protect people during the migration but an unspoken true purpose was in ensuring the numerous treasures from the ancient city were well defended.
Thanks to that the forces the caravan could bring to bear were significant, and comparable to a full division.
Those numbers and the fact that there were still three landships to lean on, though they were, should have led to everyone feeling confident about challenging enemies riding chariots of all things. Even with four times the forces the difference that long range weaponry and mobile landships made would normally be more than enough to make the fight a full route in the caravan's favor.
But hearing who Pasha believed was pursuing them poured ice cold water on that ember of hope.
"Pasha, how…how certain are you that's what this is? That could easily be some creatures we've never seen before. There's no reason to think that those are the sun worshippers!"
Pasha only shook her head and turned towards Nishka. "I'm almost positive Nish. The structure, the pace, the direction they're coming from, not to mention my own gut. All of it is pointing to them." She closed her eyes and let out a slow breath before grabbing Nishka by the shoulder. "We need to order a retreat, get everyone to head east and link up with the fuel team. Then we can just keep going through the canyon and maybe make it past the storm wall."
Nishka looked up at Pasha with wide and fear filled eyes. She hadn't seen Pasha acting like this since the early days of the collapse years ago, when Pasha herself had been displaced and sent westward alone.
It had been nearly a year later that the Feline woman drug herself back to Sargon's western border amidst one of the by then frequent skirmishes with the natives of the lands to the west.
Pasha had smashed into the rear of an enemy formation and tore through it with strength equal to some of the strongest warriors or soldiers to ever grace Terra. The sight of a lone Sargon woman suddenly appearing from no-man's land ripping enemies apart like a raging sandstorm had been a shock for everyone present.
Despite handling that battle exceptionally well and returning stronger and empowered by the strange techniques of the natives of this world, Pasha's eyes hadn't shown even a glimmer of bravado of joy. Instead she wore a grim expression of pure dread for months after her return.
Now Nishka was seeing that same grim and fearful look once more, and it certainly made her want to give in and agree with Pasha's plan. Anything that could rattle the pillar of strength that the older woman represented in her mind was surely something Nishka wasn't equipped to handle.
That perception was one shared by every member of the command staff in the bridge as a wave of fearful murmurs began to spread through the crew.
"That's a good point. A small group of them killed so many of us when we ran into them before. If that's a whole army of them..." A lidar technician muttered at her station.
"Do you remember what happened to the Coalition forces before the storm wall went up? They practically got culled to a man. We… We can't fight against them! Running is the only possible option." Another soldier frantically whispered to his neighbor.
With every hushed whisper and muttered word of doom the mood on the bridge grew more and more dire. It seemed everyone was actively working to convince themselves that running and fleeing was the only option for them to take, and all that remained before they fled was the approval of the official commander of the caravan.
It would be so easy for Nishka to fold here. In fact it would honestly barely be her choice. She was a young Padishah, following the advice of her more experienced retainer. If she stopped here and followed Pasha's plan she would most likely survive this all and even be able to weather whatever fallout comes. At least that way she and her people would be likely to survive.
All it would take is her ignoring the glaring issue with Pasha's plan and nodding her head.
Nishka's inner struggle with that choice was silenced when Ozen stepped forward beside her. "Pasha, if we do that won't the enemy just follow us through the canyon? They managed to make it this far and found the exact square kilometer we're sitting in out of all this desert. Theres no reason to doubt that they can keep following us all the way to the other side."
His words silenced the whispered murmurings in the room and soon all eyes turned back to Pasha. "You're… not wrong Ozen. The fact they are heading for us even through the storm makes it likely they can track us. But if we move quickly, get all the civilian craft ready and moving immediately we can keep our lead and make it through the canyon to the otherside without engaging them."
Her words had a desperate edge to them, and even the logic of her plan reeked of
"Pasha, even if we manage to find the fuel to do that… we'd be leading them past the best defense Terra has against the collapse and the Sun Worshippers. This canyon runs all the way into eastern Sargon, if we run we'd be practically inviting an army to scatter and pillage or exterminate anyone they find."
"AND IF WE FIGHT HERE WE DIE!" Pasha slammed her fist on the wall behind Ozenhard enough that the vibrations traveled through the room and left her fist embedded within the metal. "You didn't see what I saw, Ozen! No one here has seen what I saw! Forget about the skirmishes we've had with them before. Even the forces that managed to destroy some of our transports won't compare to whatever is leading a force of that size."
As Pasha spoke she reached forward and grabbed Ozen's shoulders, shaking him as she spoke. "This isn't the time for playing a game and being a hero Oz, an army of that size won't be led by an [Awakened] or an [Ascended] like me. Something far worse will be leading them and if we fight, we and everyone behind us will DIE!"
Even as he was being shaken back and forth, Ozen's expression didn't falter. His face didn't crumple into a look of fear. He didn't turn his head to the side out of shame and cowardice like so many other people in the room. And his eyes kept staring ahead, firm in a conviction that Nishka suddenly understood ran deeper than she had even thought. "Even so, we can't trade countless lives just to save ourselves."
Seeing him like that had always stuck with Nishka. Everytime he stood firm where he probably shouldn't, or seemingly pulled the character of a chivalrous and valorous knight out of the pages of some ancient book and draped himself in them, Nishka would be silently rooting for him. It was rarely a success, his sparing record could attest to that, but it never stopped being inspiring.
And right now it was even more inspiring than ever. Right now it would be so easy to agree with Pasha, in fact it might well be the smartest move. Nishka was young, and Pasha was her closest remaining advisor so following her lead would be the best course. Not to mention that running might well guarantee them a chance to survive. After they slip under the storm they could scatter to the north and avoid their pursuers entirely.
A solid chance at survival was right in front of them. All it would take is leading an army straight into the terran heartland and the millions of civilians traveling through there.
When Nishka thought about it that way, it really was an easy choice to make.
"Pasha, if… if what you say really is the case then we absolutely cannot run, least of all to the east." Nishka grabbed Pasha's hand from Ozen's shoulder and held it between her own, doing her best to make it clear to her family's most loyal soldier how serious she was. "If they really are sun worshippers then we can't allow them to get past us and into the canyon. They'll spill through it and have a chance to make it straight into the terran heartlands. I refuse to allow Menat-Ha'mait's legacy to be the cowardly city that doomed millions to save their own skin."
Pasha's shaking stopped as she looked down at Nishka with a horrified expression. "You… you can't be serious Nish." Her hands fell limply from Ozen's shoulders as she turned back to stare Nishka down. "I expected this kind of foolishness from him but I thought you at least had some sense! I'm telling you we can't fight them and you're here asking to." A broken laugh escaped Pasha's lips as she dragged her hand over her face. "What about all the civilians in the caravan? What about what happens when they kill us all and still find the canyon? What about what happens when you get yourself killed and I'm the only one left to bury you!?"
Even as Pasha screamed loud enough to have others turning their heads away, Nishka's eyes held firm, just as much as Ozen's had moments ago. "We can send all the civilian craft into the canyon. If we load them with the extra fuel the battleships have, they'll be able to meet up with the mining team and brave the rest of the journey. Once they pass… once they pass through we can collapse the eastern canyon entrance. From the top you can barely see the canyon until you're up against it. If we use all the mines and explosives we have we can collapse a huge chunk of canyon, enough to maybe hide the eastern pass."
"Nish…If we do that we'd be stranding ourselves here…you'd be stranding yourself…"
Nishka reached forward and grabbed Pasha's head, pulling the taller woman down into a hug. "I know. I know perfectly well what this would mean, but as soldiers of Sargon, as a leader of its people we can't take a cowards path, I can't. If we fold here, how many families will be destroyed to balance the scales against our weakness? How many bodies will we have to answer to when we walk through the sands of the afterlife?" As she hugged the older woman one more time, Nishka walked past her and turned her attention to the bridge and the expectant eyes of everyone there.
"You all obviously heard what was just said. It's a tall order for all of you I know. Quite frankly I wouldn't be surprised if anyone here has suddenly began to find the thought of following a young Padishah like me to be an issue." Nishka closed her eyes and took a deep breath, her posture shifting and straightening as inhaled until she seemed to stand that much straighter and taller than before.
"Despite that I would ask everyone of you to stand with me. Regardless of your backgrounds, regardless of your past, regardless of your own feelings for our home I beg you to stand with me. Not for an abstract notion like national pride or soldierly duty, but to protect the lives of the countless families that would be broken and destroyed if we falter."
"Fighting here does not mean a Padishah or Lord Ameer gains new territory or treasure. It doesn't bring glory to a far off leader or serve to move a line on a map that most will never care for. This enemy following us wants to see our people exterminated, and fighting here gives life to those innocents who look to our back for safety and guidance."
"I know I don't have a right to drag everyone down this road with me. I know that I'm young and have barely proven myself since my father's passing. But still I beg you all to stand with me and fight!"
There was a moment of tense silence aboard the bridge, but it lasted only long enough to be noticed before it was broken by a soldier standing and snapping into a salute, soon followed by another two, then five, until the entire bridge was standing ramrod straight with their hands pressed to their chests.
As every soldier on deck stood at attention a faint sound began to echo in from beyond the bridge, slowly growing in intensity until the faint roar of cheers and clamour could be heard coming from outside. The sight of the soldiers and the sound outside were both enough to leave Nishka looking surprised, but that surprise ended when the captains of the other two battleships appeared on the main screen, focused looks on their faces. "We heard everything, Padishah. Our troops are already making the preparations."
Hearing those words left Nishka blinking in confusion until she spotted Ozen standing beside a communications officer and a screen showing the blinking words NETWORK WIDE COMMUNICATION CHANNEL OPEN.
Suddenly being faced with the fact that her audience had been more than ten thousand people as opposed to the just bridge crew was enough to knock Nishka clear out of her trance-like state of ideal leadership and brought her back to being the 14 year old girl she really was. As the weight of so many eyes and ears on her began sinking in, she was mercifully saved by a strong hand on her shoulder.
Pasha looked down at Nishka with a sad look in her eyes, contrasted by a faint smile on her face. "I guess I don't have a choice about this do I? What kind of Royal Guard Captain would I be if I folded after hearing you talk like that?" Pasha turned towards the crew awaiting their orders and stepped towards them. "Well then everyone, you heard her. If our Padishah is ready to stand and fight we better not be caught lacking. We've got less than an hour before our visitors arrive, so we better have a proper Sargonian welcome ready for them!"
The caravan came alive like a swarm of ants after the orders were passed down and after a scant twenty minutes the defensive line to the south was reinforced and hardened with the full force of the entire caravan.
The three land Battleships were arrayed bow to stern forming a nearly kilometer long wall of steel and armaments between the three of them. Their guns remained aimed south into the swirling sands, waiting for the moment when the last of the defensive preparations were complete to begin bombardment so as to give as much time to prepare as possible.
Along the decks of the ships every ballista and automatic bolt launcher that could be moved had been mounted and pointed south. In ever open gap between them archers, crossbowmen and Ć̵͖ȃ̶͕͍ş̸̓͑t̷͚͛è̴̙r̸̻͠s stood ready, waiting for the first sign of the massive enemy force lurking in the desert sands.
In front of the ships, crude trenches were being hastily dug by soldiers and maintenance vehicles. The completed sections of trench were bolstered by prefab fortifications and stuffed to bursting with soldiers wielding a vast array melee weapons and protective gear.
And standing atop the Light of Lugalszargus's Bridge looking out at all of it were Pasha, and Shirou. Both were dressed in their full combat gear, Shirou outfitted in newly reinforced plate armor with a fresh helmet, and Pasha wearing armor that looked similar to the armor she had since the day he first met her. The only difference now was the numerous faintly glowing gems positioned across her body and mounted into the armor itself. Each one was faintly glowing even through the sand around them and, if Pasha was to be believed, worth enough to buy a district in a Sargonian city.
Considering the severity of the situation there had been no resistance to opening up the treasure wagon and taking as many ancient circuit gems as possible.
Down below the two, feverish work was still underway to get the trenches as ready as possible for what was about to fall upon them. They, like every person on the defensive line, were busying themselves as much as they could with last second preparations as the civilian craft continued making their way through the canyon to the east.
Shirou was standing in between three locker sized crates of arrows, easily holding hundreds of them even with their massive size. What's more, one of the crates had arrows tipped with shimmering and faintly glowing gems, a selection of the more volatile treasures taken from the treasure wagon and repurposed for use in defense.
Those gems were each one treasures and antiques from an ancient part of Sargon's past. A time in its golden age when scholars pushed the bounds of O̸̝̕ř̵̺i̶̮̋g̸̰͒i̴̼͠ṉ̴̿i̴͚͗u̴͋͜ḿ̷̖ research and learned to carve circuits of it into gems. Unlike the far more valuable and useful gems mounted to Pasha's armor, the functions of the gems Shirou would be shooting were truly varied. Some were allegedly as dull and banal as cooling a wielder under the sun, while others were as esoteric as being able to slow someone's aging.
When overloaded, and strapped to arrow heads though, all of them become explosive arrows to try and keep Sargon safe from its enemies. "Are you ready Ozen?"
Shirou looked down at the bow in his hand and at the blades on his hips and back, and at the crates of arrows splayed around him. He was certainly armed to the teeth and ready for war but the thought of actually having to hurt or kill people was still weighing on him.
His time in the nightmare had dulled the lesson he had been told about none of the people here being real, and all of them being little more than illusions. Looking out into the storm he couldn't help think of the army approaching them as being just like the soldiers he had spared when he first arrived here. They were as human as everyone he had grown close to in the caravan, and being forced to kill any of them felt wrong.
But it felt even more wrong to let those he had grown close to die. Slaying beaten foes was one thing but war wouldn't have any place for such weakness.
He offered Pasha a stern nod before knocking an arrow.
Pasha only gave him a nod before turning her head back to the south, staring deeply at the swirling sands of the storm as though she could somehow see through it. "Good, if this goes how I fear it will the beginning won't be too bad. Just focus on thinning the horde and easing the weight on the troops. The real battle will come after that though. I'm expecting a lot from you once it gets serious enough that I have to take the field."
Shirou nodded at his senior's words. She had given him a rough rundown of her plan before they left the bridge and it broadly made sense to him. There was one issue in his mind though "I still don't understand why you are so worried about their forces, Pasha. The numbers will certainly be an issue, but what you described sounds like a horde of primitive melee fighters. The cannons, bolt launchers, and Ć̵͖ȃ̶͕͍ş̸̓͑t̷͚͛è̴̙r̸̻͠s will be able to ravage any force charging across the sands, not to mention the difficulty in climbing aboard these ships with only chariots to use."
Any way Shirou tried to slice it in his head the idea of an army of men and women riding chariots trying to take on skyscraper sized battleships was insane. Not to mention that those same ships were armed with long range weapons and individuals who could practically wield magic.
"I'm not worried about the numbers Ozen, honestly they could stick as many regular people in there as they want and I could carve my own way through them like butter, especially armed with these." As she spoke a series of rumbling explosions echoed out from behind them, evidence that the civilians had made their way through into the canyon and the entrance had been collapsed as best it could be. "What I'm worried about are the kind of people leading a force this large."
For a few moments there was no sound but the clatter of falling rocks and collapsing stone as a large dust cloud formed behind the defenders and was then swiftly swallowed by the raging winds. Soon a new noise joined in and the familiar whine of the Ȁ̵̱̀ŗ̸̔t̶͔̎s̴̢̊̓ cannons began.
Just as they had thousands of times over the past few days the drone grew louder and louder until a wailing whine overpowered the sound of the winds. Then with a staggered set of roars three hypersonic Ȁ̵̱̀ŗ̸̔t̶͔̎s̴̢̊̓ strikes shot into the swirling sands, the blinding flashes of light that followed each shot giving everyone a slideshow style look at the enemy before them.
Each cannon was firing just after the former, to maintain a constant rain of explosions on the enemy. As a result, the first volley seemingly never ended and was followed seamlessly by more blasts. Each one of the great flashes of impact cut through the blinding veil of the sandstorm and allowed the soldiers a chance to see what was coming.
The enemy force had closed in on them since they were spotted and was now a mere four kilometers away. It was a distance still too far for anything but the main guns to fire upon, yet still close enough to be seen when the bursts of blinding light cut though the sands.
Their forces looked to be just as Pasha first described, a massive force of chariots charging forward in what began as a tight formation nearly a kilometer wide. The same rigid formation that first tipped Pasha off about their nature quickly fell apart once the cannon fire began however, and soon they were all charging forward at full speed.
By the time they crossed the two kilometer mark Shirou already had his bow aimed and ready to draw back, the gem tipped arrow lance at its end glimmering with barely restrained light.
As soon as the next flash gave him a view of his targets he [Reinforced] his arms and drew back the string, holding it for barely a moment before releasing and sending the arrow screaming forward.
His shot flew as true as all his others had and landed inches in front of the same chariot he had seen moments ago. Rather than simply hit the ground and stop though, a burst of light erupted as soon as the arrow fell and a fireball erupted.
[You have slain a Dormant Human, Unnamed]
[You have slain a Dormant Human, Unnamed]
[You have slain a Dormant Human, Unnamed]
[You have slain a Dormant Human, Unnamed]
[You have slain a Dormant Human, Unnamed]
[You have slain a Dormant Human, Unnamed]
[You have slain a Dormant Human, Unnamed]
[You have slain a Dormant Human, Unnamed]
[You have slain a Dormant Human, Unnamed]
[You have slain a Dormant Human, Unnamed]
A flurry of text sped across the peripheral of Shirou's vision even as the voice of the spell echoed out his kills in his mind. The thought of what just happened was equal parts horrifying and strangely, mundane. He was feeling a pit of guilt in his chest considering he had just slain ten people like that and yet at the same time his body moved seamlessly to grab and knock another arrow, moving without pause to take in the sight of another chariot before firing on them as well.
The battle didnt stop or pause for Shirou's introspection. With his first arrow almost serving as the signal, all the heavy ballista and bolt launchers on the battleships began firing as well, sending a rain of hundreds of meter long chunks of metal careening towards the enemy.
Their accuracy was much less than Shirou's own and a number of the shots failed to hit anything, yet even those that missed managed to lodge themselves deeply enough into the sand that they became hazards for the charioteers. Through the flashes of cannon light the sights of chariots flipping over stakes were clear to see.
Through the hail of stakes and a barrage of cannon fire raining down the enemy did not stop their assault. Even as a cannon shot rang out every second and claimed dozens of lives, every one of the enemies continued their charge as fast as their strange vehicles could.
Only two minutes after the cannons began firing the first of the enemy chariots closed in enough that they could finally be seen clearly through the sand storm.
The first line of soldiers who had navigated the storm of cannon fire did so through luck more than anything else. The attacks heading their way were indiscriminate and coming through a storm so these were not the soldiers who had dodged or tanked blows to make it. Rather they were the ones lucky enough to get through on the weight of numbers. Because of that fact they should have arrived intact and whole, yet the force riding down at the Sargonians looked anything but.
True to Pasha's words the enemy was riding in chariots, each one holding three soldiers though a closer look made the idea of calling them "chariots" something of a stretch.
They were each made of wood and bore flared adornments along their sides that almost looked like short stylized wings. The main platform to the rear was large enough that the three riders were able to stand on it comfortably though it didn't seem to have much in the way of defenses.
The truly oddest part of their design though was the fact that they had no wheels and seemingly nothing pulling them forward. They floated above the sands and rather than straps for a horse, they simply had a long protruding front covered in metal and adorned with spikes and blades. To Shirou's eyes they looked like some kind of bastard lovechild between a sci-fi hoverbike and a classical sailing ship.
The sight of the strange vehicles was certainly novel, but it wasn't the most striking thing that came to mind once their foes were in clear view. Instead it was the dreadful state of the enemy soldiers that stuck in Shirou's mind.
They were wearing the same simple armor that the soldiers he met during his first moments here had been, which rather tragically did not include a gas mask or respirator. Normally that would hardly be an issue but the journey of the last four days took place on the outer fringes of massive catastrophe storms, and based on everything Shirou had been told, breathing unfiltered air here was guaranteed to afflict someone with a dreadful disease.
Shirou had not thought too hard before about the strange illness everyone in the caravan mentioned. He was constantly wearing a respirator and being cautious, not to mention he was still aware of the transient nature of this nightmare. If his borrowed body caught some long term illness it wouldn't follow him back to the waking world.
Looking at the afflicted forms of the enemy charioteers riding at the Sargonian lines made Shirou reconsider everything he had thought about the strange O̸̝̕ř̵̺i̶̮̋g̸̰͒i̴̼͠ṉ̴̿i̴͚͗u̴͋͜ḿ̷̖ borne illness though.
Every one of the charioteers barreling towards the Sargonian forces had jagged black crystals growing out of their body, with no rhythm or reason in their placement. One man had a shard of crystal growing out of his still bleeding eye socket while the man next to him had a lance of it sticking out of his shoulder. A woman driving a chariot forward while screaming her lungs out had bleeding wounds on both her legs as onyx black crystals pushed through. Another had his left arm consumed so thoroughly by the rock to the point that his skin had torn completely off, leaving only bloodied muscle and bone.
Each and every one of them had glassy black stones growing violently out from their bodies. The sight of it was enough to make Shirou gag, and disrupt his rhythmic volley of arrows. He recalled the description of the illness when he first heard it. Soldiers had called it Oripathy, a name that was only meaningful to Shirou due to the fact that it was a word he could seemingly hear clearly unlike the name of the stone that caused it.
The soldiers had made mention of being consumed by the O̸̝̕ř̵̺i̶̮̋g̸̰͒i̴̼͠ṉ̴̿i̴͚͗u̴͋͜ḿ̷̖ once it gets into someones blood, but the image it called forth in Shirou's mind was stone growing over you, or maybe you becoming stone. Looking at the enemy before him though Shirou realized the reality was far crueler. The O̸̝̕ř̵̺i̶̮̋g̸̰͒i̴̼͠ṉ̴̿i̴͚͗u̴͋͜ḿ̷̖ was growing out of those people as though they werent even there, more like they stepped in the way of a force of nature rather than being parasitized by something.
It didn't seem to offer them any benefit in battle and in fact even before the two lines managed to clash some of the charioteers fell from their mounts, legs severed or broken by the very stone growing from their bodies. Despite the agony no doubt ravaging them the enemy still charged on like men possessed, speeding forward as fast as they could, intent on driving straight into the Sargonian soldiers awaiting them.
Before the enemy could finish their charge and reach the soldiers in the trenches they faced another line of deadly ranged defense. Atop the warships, standing in every open space between the heavier bolt launchers, were hundreds of crossbowmen, and archers.
As the first enemy chariot crossed an unseen line in the sand, hundreds of bolts and arrows arched through the air. Each one was far weaker than the cannons and heavy anti vehicle bolts fired by the shipboard launchers earlier, yet quantity was a quality all its own.
The winds were still enough to throw off the aim of such small arrows and bolts mid-flight, but hundreds of them still became an impassable wall.
Those first lucky enemies who made their way past the cannon fire killing field, swiftly met their ends to a rain of arrows raining down from the ships. Dozens of the fastest who lead the pack were riddled with fletching and fell from their chariots into the sand below, their mounts soon tumbling to the ground without them.
Yet even as a storm of arrows took shape above them and began to rain down the numbers of enemies continued to grow, and the bulk of their surviving forces closed in. With numbers at their back and their own fanatical drive pushing them forward the enemy soldiers began to gain ground against the force of the archers killing them.
Aboard the ships every archer was firing as fast as they could, yet the enemies refused to go down even when shot dozens of times. Unless an arrow bit their heart or skull they would keep screaming and roaring as they charged forward, forcing more archers to strike them.
Even worse the stream of forces flowing into the fray wasnt slowing in the slightest and more and more kept coming.
Like a damn bursting it finally hit a tipping point when a swarm of hundreds of chariots surged into view from the sandstorm and pushed past the line of their comrades corpses.
Yet even still there was a final line of defense for them to traverse. One last boundary to conquer before they could close into a melee. Above the ships standing in between the archers were a scant three dozen Ć̵͖ȃ̶͕͍ş̸̓͑t̷͚͛è̴̙r̸̻͠s, everyone that could be spared from operating the cannons. As the chariots closed the last 30 meter mark before the trenches each Ć̵͖ȃ̶͕͍ş̸̓͑t̷͚͛è̴̙r̸̻͠s raised their arms and pointed at the enemy.
Within the maw of a catastrophic sandstorm, amidst a raging battle drowning in the sounds of roaring screams and the scent of spilled blood, a new storm formed. Lightning bolts struck forth and smashed into chariots. Fireballs sailed down and consumed men and women in searing flame. Jagged rocks and stone rose up from the ground and smashed through oncoming chariots like matchstick toys. Blades of glass formed from desert sand rose up like the viscous teeth of a predatory creature and impaled soldiers upon them as they rode past. Men and women clutched their heads in agony as a sound aimed straight at them ruptured their ears and organs.
The sight of it all left Shirou stunned as he took it in. Even more so than the arrows, the volley of Ȁ̵̱̀ŗ̸̔t̶͔̎s̴̢̊̓ crashing into the enemy ripped their momentum from them.
The land in front of the trenches was rapidly twisted and unmade, scorch marks blackening the sand just as spikes of glass and rock rose from it. Yet far more gruesome than that was the mounting number of corpses scattered across the field.
The small bit of desert that was visible through the swirling sands was well and truly stained red and slick with blood now, and had hundreds or perhaps even thousands of corpses scattered across it.
But still the enemy was coming, still their numbers were increasing as the slowest of them traversed the cannons' killzone, still they were charging forward riding over the tops of their slain kin with no hint of fear on their faces.
And just as they had against the archers, their weight of numbers finally overpowered the Ć̵͖ȃ̶͕͍ş̸̓͑t̷͚͛è̴̙r̸̻͠s. The opening barrage of Ȁ̵̱̀ŗ̸̔t̶͔̎s̴̢̊̓ had taken much out of them, and unlike arrows, the price of using Ȁ̵̱̀ŗ̸̔t̶͔̎s̴̢̊̓ was much more physical, making rapid fire a challenge. Once more the enemy gained ground finally free to strike at the Sargonians and smash into their line.
By all rights the Sargonians in the trenches should have been cowering or gripped with fear at the sight of the screaming fanatical soldiers barreling down on them. Yet when the first chariot finally reached the trenches the soldiers within simply side stepped its bladed front thrust up at it with spears in hand
For a moment Shirou could almost feel the world standing still. He knew what should have happened next. Even with a fragmented and splintered memory he recalled enough to know that a cavalry charge smashing into infantry would be a slaughter. These chariots should have been even worse considering their weight and vicious front mounted blades.
He knew a normal human would have been blown back by meeting such a charge head on. Striking a cavalry charge on foot was a fool's errand in any circumstance if for no other reason than the difference in mass. The spears, blades, and axes in the Sargonian's hands should have been knocked back by the sheer momentum of the enemy.
And yet every Sargonian soldier that struck the chariots seemed to be far stronger than their enemies were, far stronger than Shirou had imagined people should be.
Lances were ripping men clean off their chariots, and holding them aloft in the air like scarecrows. Axes were slicing women clean in two like they were made of butter. Shields were turning back whole chariots themselves and sending them crashing into the sand, riders and all.
If there weren't still a mounting number of deaths from mistakes or strokes of ill fortune Shirou would have almost mistaken the Sargonian army for a legion of immortals as they held firm against the onslaught of enemies. The sight of the enemy crashing over and past the trench like it was some kind of blender was enough to leave Shirou stunned, and it almost made him feel foolish for getting worked up over this fight.
But despite seeing how well they were doing, and despite the numbers of the enemy plummeting like a stone, something in the air still felt wrong. It was an unexplainable sensation, like that primal itch that comes from being too close to a deadly wild animal for you to escape.
"Don't lose focus Ozen. These are just the dregs of their forces, probably sent to get the range of our weapons, or maybe just to get rid of. Ancestors know how much food they're going through." Her words were cold and tense, her own wariness seeping into her voice. As she spoke she walked in front of Shirou and looked out at the raging battle below, and to the brightly flashing slideshow of lights within the sandstorm.
It was hard to tell what exactly she was looking for amid the carnage laden battlefield that was now stained deep crimson but after only a moment of looking she found it. One flash of cannon light that illuminated not a crater of broken chariots and bodies, but rather the sight of a glittering force field protecting a swarm of chariots below.
The next flashed showed the same radiant barrier holding back the cannons, as more and more enemies gathered under it and stormed forward, gathering more momentum as they moved as well as more chariots beneath them.
As the shielded enemy continued their charge Shirou took sight of them and raised his own bow. As soon as they entered his range he fired a gem tipped lance forward, yet just like the cannons his shot was again blocked by a shimmering barrier.
Seeing the issue he knocked another arrow and counted down the time for the next cannon shot while visualizing the path of the unseen enemy. A mere moment before the cannon fired and the light revealed the enemy he let loose his arrow, timing it to his at the same time the cannon round did.
Despite that he was not greeted by a crater or an explosion. Rather another, entirely different barrier of shimmering water absorbed his arrow and flung it away, while the same barrier from before held back the cannon.
The new formation of chariots charging from the back of the enemy continued to swell, even as hundreds more threw themselves into the meat grinder and wore away at the stamina and ammo of the Sargonian defenders. Each bolt, or cannon shot heading their way was intercepted and turned aside with increasingly frightful ease.
The closer they grew and the more numerous the shots heading their way the more clear the sheer variety of defenses on display became. Barriers or water, sound, wind, ice, and light. Tentacles of sand or mud. Even shots of their own flying up to snipe bolts out of the air mid flight.
As the force before them continued its charge forward almost unimpeded Pasha stepped towards the edge of the bridge and crouched down in a runner's stance. "This is where the real fight begins Ozen, and where we part ways."
Her words were accented by a crack of thunder and a wreath sparks covering her body. "Listen up! Now that the [Awakened] and [Ascended] are on the field it's up to you and I. Make no mistake about it, they alone are easily ninety percent of the power of this army but they aren't gods. Pick your shots well and they will still die like anyone else. Don't be afraid, don't hesitate, fight smart." As she kept speaking the sparks arcing across her body grew more and more intense as she turned around and looked at Shirou with tired weary eyes. "And by every ancestor I have, on my blood my honor, on every fucking thing I care about I need you to promise me you'll take Nishka and run as soon as this goes south. I know she won't run to save herself and you won't run to save yourself so I'm telling you now that you have to save her. Promise me Oz… please."
As the enemy charged forward, drowning the horizon in flashes of undulating light and mystical feats, Pasha stood wreathing in thunder and lighting, looking down at shirou with a pained yet expectand look on her face.
Despite the moment, and the severity of everything going on around them he suddenly understood that if he said no right now she would do the job herself and grab Nishka. He understood that what she was looking for was the freedom to fight without worrying about her duty to protect her ruler.
He didn't know if he could follow through on it. He didn't know what was going to happen in the next minute, let alone the day. But even still there was something he could say with absolute certainty. "I swear that so long as I live I'll do everything I can to protect her."
Pasha didn't move for a moment until she shook her head and turned around, facing the wave of fast approaching shield enemies as she crouched down in a runner's stance.
As soon as the mass of [Awakened] and [Ascended] troops came into view of the battleships a deafening roar of thunder echoed out across the battlefield. The boom was violent enough to force back the sand across the battlefield in a wide if fleeting buble of clean air and forced ever mundane person in earshot to clutch their heads in pain.
But before the sound even registered in anyone's mind, an explosion of sand erupted from the middle of the enemy formation, throwing chariots into the air and sending people flailing. Unlike their mundane counterparts, being thrown into the air was hardly fatal for these soldiers, but the blast still served to slow their charge, not to mention the shock of something making it past the [Ascended] defense specialists leading the charge.
As the sands at ground zero cleared the source of the impact was clear to see though, as was the fate of their defensive specialists.
Standing in a crater of her own making, was an armor clad feline woman. She was covered from head to toe in metallic armor plating, even her tail sporting segmented metallic plate mail. Across her armor dozens of grape-sized gemstones twinkled and sparkled beneath a crackling shroud of lightning.
Both of her gauntlet covered hands were clutching severed heads, still caught in a rictus of wide eyed terror and behind her, held in a vice grip by her tail was a corpse whose neck was snapped like a twig.
With a flex of her gauntlet covered hands the heads she held were ground into pastes of meat and bone, and with a flick of her tail the corpse she held was slung at an oncoming chariot hard enough to drive its nose into the sand and flip it over.
"C'mon then show me what passes for fury among you miserable little shits!"