Chapter 30.7: The Final Battle - To The Better End
Personal System Calendar: Year 0009, Days 1-28 Month XII: The Imperium
Imperial Calendar: Year 6854, 12th month, 1st to 28th Day
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Obliteration
The battle continued to rage for days that blurred into a nightmarish continuum of violence and magic. The earth was now saturated with death and power, creating a landscape that was simultaneously beautiful and horrifying. It was a scene of terrible serenity, a dark majesty in the midst of the apocalyptic destruction.
A contrast of colors and visual palettes painted across the devastated terrain as the powerful magic of differing forces terraformed the landscape beyond recognition. What had once been ancient forest was now reduced to a gooey, semi-molten state, truly horrendous and uninhabitable to any conventional life form. The ground itself had been transmuted by concentrated magical energies, becoming something between solid earth and liquid slag.
Many had died to take this contested ground, only for it to be covered in seas of molten flames, crystallized lightning, frozen time-warped zones, and other magical anomalies. This catastrophe would echo throughout generations to come, a memorial and warning about why there should be limits on how powerful beings acted even when wielding all their strength.
These scenes were all being ingrained into August's memory with perfect clarity, his personal system recording every detail with mechanical precision. This would become a pivotal moment in his development, the experience that would convince him that all the power he possessed should be carefully restrained unless absolutely necessary. Otherwise, catastrophes like this would happen again and again, each one worse than the last.
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Relentless
But the enemy remained relentless even walking across terraformed earth that melted flesh, through boiling water that stripped scales from serpentine bodies, over shattered ground causing earthquakes not from tectonic plate movement but from the sheer accumulation of released magical power. The corrupted beasts of Shadowfen pushed through even as they melted and died, driven by Pico's iron will and the shadow magic that overrode their survival instincts.
Many of the enemy had fallen, their bodies creating literal mountains of corpses. Many defenders had also perished, each death diminishing the forest's future. The behemoths, those walking catastrophes that had seemed unstoppable, had now been reduced to a mere eight survivors from the original twenty.
Aetherwing had definitively won his engagements, having personally slain four aerial behemoths through a combination of superior skill, intimate knowledge of three-dimensional combat, and the desperate fury of protecting his adopted home. He had irrefutably established his rule as the sovereign of the sky, his dominance absolute and unchallenged. But he would require significant recuperation after this battle, his body bearing wounds that would have killed lesser creatures dozens of times over.
Duke Maximilian had also managed to kill three of the land behemoths personally, his solar fire burning through their corrupted essence with purifying flames that left nothing but ash. The remaining defenders, working in coordinated groups, had managed to eliminate additional behemoths through tactics that maximized their diminishing strength.
But the cost had been catastrophic. The defenders had lost two of their four Forest Guardian Beasts outright. Quincunx Maru the Apex Predator of the South had fallen defending his territory against five behemoths simultaneously, his magnificent composite body finally overwhelmed by sheer numbers. The Arbor Hydra Weaver of the East had been torn apart by concentrated attacks that exploited the vulnerability of its articulated limbs.
The two surviving Guardian Beasts, Osteo Tyranus Rex of the North and Drake the Iron-Horn Bulwark of the West, were effectively incapacitated, their injuries so severe that they couldn't continue fighting without risking death.
There on the devastated battlefield lay thousands upon thousands of beast corpses littered throughout massive craters, their bodies piled so deep they actually filled in the damages their deaths had created.
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The Human Casualties
The regional imperial troops had suffered catastrophic casualties, losing more than 60% of their combat effective strength. Another 20% were incapacitated and actively dying despite medical attention, their injuries too severe for field treatment. Only 20% remained combat capable, and even they were exhausted beyond normal human endurance.
The Dragonguards had proven their elite status, having lost only one of their warriors so far. That single death was mourned deeply, for each Dragonguard represented decades of training and selection. But their survival rate was a testament to their skill and the quality of their equipment.
The Solar Guard stood strong as well, their coordination and combat capacity proving impeccable. They had lost approximately 10% of the force Duke Maximilian had brought, roughly 200 warriors from the original 2,000 had died. Each loss represented veterans who had served the ducal household for decades, some for centuries. Their sacrifice would be remembered and honored, but that didn't diminish the pain of their absence.
The beasts of Lonelywoods had lost nearly 80% of their major combat population. Regular boss-ranked beasts, creatures that would normally be apex predators in their territories, had been slaughtered wholesale. The ecological damage would take generations to recover from, if it ever fully recovered at all.
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Village Defense
Back at Maya Village, Talon One and Talon Two engaged the beasts that had managed to slip through the front lines. These creatures were weaker than those being fought at the main battlefield, but they were still dangerous enough to threaten the civilian population.
The village defenders had suffered some losses, though thankfully no deaths among the core combat groups. Several defenders had lost limbs, injuries that would permanently change their lives but at least left them alive. The enhanced healing capabilities provided by Angeline and Betty, combined with the imperial military medical personnel, had prevented many deaths that would have been inevitable otherwise.
The village's defensive structures, so recently upgraded by House Solmane's engineers, had proven their worth. The damage was kept to a minimum of approximately 5%, mostly superficial impacts that could be repaired relatively quickly. The walls had held. The towers remained functional. The fortress carved into the mountain remained secure.
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The Arbiter's Final Battle
The battle between Ozythalos and Pico had not diminished in intensity even as everything else devolved into exhausted slaughter. It was continuous, as if a bubble of distorted reality had been erected between the two of them, a space where only they could exist while they battled with powers that transcended normal comprehension.
No other beast could enter their combat zone. The sheer concentration of magical energy would have destroyed anything less powerful than a Guardian Beast instantly. Even Duke Maximilian hesitated to interfere, recognizing that inserting himself into that clash of titans might destabilize it in unpredictable ways.
Ozythalos moved through created waterways like liquid lightning, his serpentine form coiling and striking with precision that belied his massive size. Each movement displaced thousands of gallons of water, creating waves that crashed against Pico's shadow barriers. His light magic blazed like captured sunlight, dispersing darkness wherever it touched.
Pico dove and struck from impossible angles, her talons enhanced by shadow magic that could pierce even Ozythalos' legendary scales. Her wind magic created localized hurricanes that disrupted the water serpent's movements. Her darkness magic created zones of absolute void where even light couldn't penetrate, forcing Ozythalos to fight blind.
They were evenly matched in ways that suggested this battle could last for weeks if both had sufficient endurance. But endurance was the one resource both were rapidly depleting.
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The Bitter End
It seemed everyone had made it their goal to fight until the bitter end, and that is precisely what they did. A few more days passed in a haze of exhausted combat. Three more behemoths fell, their deaths each marking a significant turning point in the overall battle.
Master Ben had finally run out of mana reserves, having burned through centuries of accumulated power in mere days. He collapsed on the battlefield, his body unable to maintain consciousness without the magical energy that had sustained him through inhuman exertion. Aetherwing too had reached his absolute limit, landing heavily on shattered ground and unable to rise, his wings too damaged to carry him further.
Only Duke Maximilian still possessed ample reserves of power. He had managed to regulate his use of mana to an extraordinary degree, cycling between full-power combat and more conservative techniques with strategic precision that only centuries of experience could provide.
August, having been informed through the party chat system that a significant horde of beasts was attacking Maya Village directly, made the difficult decision to withdraw from the main battle. He along with half of the Dragonguards returned with him, led by Grand Captain Commander Lex Draconis, while the other half remained to support the final stages of the battlefield engagement.
They also transported their fallen brethren to the relative safety of the village, though calling any place "safe" felt like a bitter joke given the circumstances. Even the Dragonguards and Solar Guard were experiencing profound fatigue from days of continuous combat. And the other side was feeling it even more intensely, their casualties mounting to unsustainable levels.
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Territorial Loss
The battle had pushed deep into Lonelywoods territory. Approximately 20% of the Northern region had been contested or captured. Of that 20%, at least 3% was now completely destroyed, rendered uninhabitable for the next several generations. The magical contamination alone would take decades to dissipate, and the physical destruction would require centuries of natural recovery.
But the end was finally in sight. Even the two leaders, locked in their private war, began to understand that this was already a battle not worth continuing. The costs had exceeded any conceivable benefits. Victory would be indistinguishable from defeat.
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Pride and Ego
Before any negotiation could occur, before any peace could be established, Pico made one final attack. Perhaps it was desperation. Perhaps it was the last gasp of her wounded pride refusing to accept stalemate. Perhaps she genuinely believed she could still win if she committed absolutely everything.
She dove from an impossible height, her form cloaked in shadows so deep they seemed to consume reality itself. Her talons, extended and enhanced by every scrap of remaining power, struck with precision born of centuries of hunting. She managed to tear out Ozythalos' left eye in a spray of blood and vitreous fluid that crystallized instantly in the magical cold surrounding their battlefield.
But Ozythalos was no passive victim. As soon as Pico's talons grabbed hold of him, attempting to lift him for the killing strike, he coiled his massive body through and around hers with speed that contradicted his injuries. His powerful tail whipped around, striking her with devastating force while simultaneously constricting her body with crushing pressure. He was simultaneously binding, biting, and striking her with every weapon his serpentine form possessed.
And Pico was doing the same, her beak tearing into his scales, her talons rending his flesh, her wings battering his coils. It was a mutual execution, both combatants committed to killing the other even if it meant their own death.
For a creature as intelligent as Pico, this was the ultimate irony. She was being defeated not because she lacked tactical prowess or strategic intelligence, but because she was ultimately conquered by her own ego. She had self-destructed through pride that wouldn't allow her to retreat or negotiate when victory became impossible.
Ozythalos had lost enough blood that his coils loosened, his massive body weakening as his life drained away. But Pico was in even worse condition, unable to move or fly significantly. Her bones had been turned to pulverized fragments by the crushing constriction. The venom Ozythalos had injected into her system was already shutting down her organs.
This created the opening Duke Maximilian had been waiting for. He swept in with speed that left afterimages in the air, his sword blazing with concentrated solar fire. The blade, enhanced by his full power released from all restraints, cut through Pico's neck with one perfect strike.
The Wise Old Owl's head separated from her body, her eyes widening in final recognition that she had been outmaneuvered not by Ozythalos but by her own assumptions. She had thought the human duke would never interfere in an Arbiter-level battle. That assumption had killed her.
Her body fell from the sky, impacting the ground with such force it created a new crater. Duke Maximilian gently caught Ozythalos before the great serpent could fall as well, using his magic to slow the descent and cushion the impact.
"You have fought well, Great Serpent," the duke said quietly. "Rest now. Your forest is saved."
Ozythalos, blood flowing from countless wounds including his ruined eye, managed one weak telepathic response: "Thank you... for waiting... for the right moment..."
Then the great serpent lost consciousness, hovering on the very edge of death but not quite crossing over.
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The Great Retreat
The death of Pico broke the Shadowfen forces completely. Without her will driving them forward, without her shadow magic coordinating their movements, they simply... stopped. The surviving behemoths, having witnessed their leader's death, made the collective decision to retreat immediately.
The remaining corrupted beasts followed their masters, fleeing back toward Shadowfen territory with speed born of terror. They left behind mountains of their dead, abandoned the body of their leader, and the territories they had captured at such tremendous cost. It was a combination of fear, exhaustion and the selfishness they have hidden deep within them that they were able to do so. For them the next battle would be to decide who amongst them would be chosen as the new Arbiter Guardian Beast of the Lonely Forest of Shadowfen.
This was unquestionably a defeat for Shadowfen. They had lost more than they gained, sacrificed their leader and most of their military strength for a campaign that ultimately failed to achieve its primary objective.
But calling the defenders' victory anything other than Pyrrhic would be dishonest. The cost had been catastrophic. If anyone tried to calculate whether this could even be considered a true victory, the answer would be ambiguous at best.
In the end, it seemed like there really was no victor in wars of this magnitude. War only brought death and ruin, consuming both sides regardless of who technically won the final engagement.
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The World Keeps Spinning
As soon as the battles stopped and everyone retreated to their respective corners, the world that seemed to have frozen in time to watch this conflict unfold began to turn again. The snow fell once more, peaceful and indifferent, it was already beginning to cover the wounds sustained by the earth.
The temperature dropped as winter reasserted its grip on the land. The snow would eventually bury the corpses, hide the scars, create the illusion that nothing had happened here. But the land would remember. The survivors would remember. The children born in the aftermath would hear the stories and understand what their elders had sacrificed.
This battle that had started over a year ago, escalating from a local beast dominion war to a full-scale conflict between two great forests, had finally ended. The conclusion sent ripples throughout the entire central continent of Arkanus.
Remarkably, the end of this war seemed to trigger a cessation of beast dominion wars throughout all the great forest regions. As if the sheer destruction witnessed here had convinced every other forest that such conflicts simply weren't worth the cost. The battles in other forests had been just as brutal as what occurred here, and everyone was exhausted.
There had also been significant collateral damage to neighboring kingdoms and sovereignties that bordered the great forests. Millions of humans, humanoids, and demi-humans had died or lost their homes to beasts that had spilled over from the primary conflict zones. The humanitarian crisis would take years to fully address.
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The Disappointing Peak
The war had reached its climax, the peak that had been building toward for months. And yet the conclusion felt oddly disappointing relative to the buildup. Not because it lacked drama or decisive moments, but because the sheer cost made any satisfaction impossible.
The end wasn't worth it. The beginning of the fight wasn't worth it. Everyone had lost something irreplaceable, and the gains achieved seemed meaningless in comparison.
The Lonely Forest of Shadowfen, seeing how catastrophically they had failed, would need to carefully consider whether holding the small territories they had initially secured was worth the continued enmity of both Lonelywoods and the Imperium. Unlike humans, who had complex systems of compensation and reparations after wars, beasts typically didn't negotiate such arrangements.
But what about Maya Village? As part of this unlikely alliance between beasts and empire, they too had lost defenders. They had suffered damage to their infrastructure. Surely they would seek compensation. But from whom?
The empire could already see opportunities for profit, particularly from the corpses of powerful beasts that littered the battlefield. Beast materials were immensely valuable for crafting weapons, armor, and magical implements. Surely the empire would claim rights to harvest those resources.
The village's claims would need to be discussed separately, their unique status as both imperial protectorate and forest ally creating complicated jurisdictional questions.
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Aftermath
August stood on the village walls, looking out at the returning survivors. They came in small groups, supporting each other, carrying the wounded and the dead. The victory celebration he might have expected was completely absent. Everyone was simply too exhausted, too traumatized, too aware of what they had lost.
Duke Maximilian arrived with the last group, personally carrying Master Ben's unconscious form. The old wizard would survive, but he would require months of recovery. Aetherwing had been carefully transported on a massive sledge built by the Solar Guard's engineers, his injuries too severe to allow flight.
The Dragonguards returned with their casualties, having lost a total of three warriors across the entire campaign. Each name would be recorded in the imperial registry of honored dead, their sacrifices memorialized.
The beast defenders (Grimfang and Peregrine Eagles) came as well, those who had survived. They moved with the weary acceptance of creatures who had won but felt no triumph, only relief that it was finally over.
Chief Red and the village council were already organizing relief efforts, coordinating healing resources, arranging shelter for those whose homes had been damaged, and beginning the grim task of recording casualties.
August found his companions from Talon One and Two. They were all alive, though several bore fresh scars that would never fully fade. No one spoke. There were no words adequate to the moment.
The bloody, pointless war had ended. Whether it had actually achieved anything meaningful, only time would tell.
But for now, the survivors would simply try to heal, to rebuild, to find meaning in the ruins of what they had defended at such terrible cost.
The snow continued to fall, covering everything in white, creating the illusion of peace in a land that had known nothing but violence for months. And somewhere in that peace, perhaps, they could begin to find themselves again.