The girl, nearly a corpse, was crumpled in the midst of a battlefield filled with many other bodies in similar states of bloody disrepair. She would be dead soon and was cursing that the moment had not yet come.
Father… I won't be able to avenge you.
When the New Roman Union had launched its assault on Dover, the response of the Kingdom of Britannia had been swift. The port's shield had been deployed and was doing a decent job protecting the critical infrastructure from the ongoing artillery bombardment, though the non-critical areas couldn't claim as much protection. And while shield magic was strong, it wasn't designed to repel anything travelling slower than a bullet; the amphibious assault troops would land at the port soon, and the city was currently ill-prepared to handle them. They had soldiers and armaments aplenty, but they lacked enough anti-magic countermeasures to be effective.
This problem had its root not in Dover's mismanagement, but rather in the stance of Britannia towards magic at large.
The kingdom's magical society had been festering for many years, forcing the King to adopt a foreign policy based on bluffs and empty posturing. It seemed that the New Roman Union, Britannia's neighbor and eternal rival, finally got wise to the hollowness of Britannia's threats.
To make matters worse, Britannia was currently involved in multiple other global conflicts which had demanded much of their magical attention. The Peoples' Empire was making a move on the Maldives Protectorate after having taken the Philippines, various South African states were vying for control of the region, and Britannia's American colonies were in the midst of a war for independence. Any one of those conflicts threatened to take away a pillar of Britannia's support, and what the King feared most was the realization that those pillars were supporting a vacuous facade of a country.
Attacking at this critical moment in Britannian history was a calculated move by the New Roman Union, which had long envied Britannia's authority in matters of magic. This authority was theirs by random fate, as many nations had discovered the components of magic—magic activated by strong will or desire, known as instinctive magic—but the first man to create a science out of magic was Britannian. Lord Ravensleigh was a genius who created the first magic chants, allowing anyone to use magic with constant effectiveness. It was with his help that the first Great War had been won, and even after the second, Britannia rested comfortably upon the throne of magic.
But maybe the New Roman Union wasn't the true force behind this assault—there was one name feared throughout Britannia more than any other: Moriarty. It was an open secret that the powerful crime family held both Britannia and the Union it its vice-like grip, so if the Union was moving against Britannia now… the House of Moriarty must be permitting it.
Perhaps they were behind all of the wars in which Britannia was now embroiled; and perhaps Richard Moriarty was the Devil himself.
When it came to that family, there was no real way to identify truth from falsehood.
The first wave of amphibious assault troops had almost reached the port and were preparing themselves to be met by the Britannian army, who had no doubt taken up defensive positions in anticipation of their arrival. But they were ready for the Britannians; and they knew the Britannians were not ready for them.
Suddenly, an explosion rocked the assault craft as a plume of water erupted before them, followed by two more to either side.
"Magician! Two o'clock!" one of the men shouted, and within a few moments, the newcomer had dozens of M4-MA assault rifles trained on her position.
The magician was a young woman; blonde, with a lithe but subtly-muscular frame, who had clearly undergone some form of martial training. She was gliding across the ocean at breakneck speeds in a form reminiscent of ice skating: her body angled forwards, one leg extended downward and one trailing behind, with her right arm outstretched towards the assailants. Her downward leg appeared to be the activation point for a powerful wind magic which propelled the young woman while keeping her aloft; her extended hand, formed in the shape of a finger-gun, was the source of the explosions.
Overlooking the port from the white cliffs of Dover stood the commander of city defense and his aides, preparing to direct the response efforts from their observation post.
"Looks like she made it in time," said the commander, watching the initial salvos through a pair of magic-rune binoculars.
"The di Cadenza girl? But she's not enlisted, is she?"
"No, she's not, but all other Master-level magicians are out of the country at the moment," he replied. "Seems the King thought that the Union wouldn't try to attack—or maybe he was inviting an attack. But MI7 mobilized the chief's daughter not too long ago."
"She made the trip from London that quickly?"
"They had a jet waiting at Heathrow, & she dropped in a few miles north of Dover to avoid suspicion, or so I'm told."
The commander watched as the magician engaged the enemy; her strikes were quick and accurate, but they lacked the emphasis he knew she possessed.
Seems like she's holding back, he thought. This is her first time seeing active combat, though, so it's understandable.
Despite her naivete, the young woman made quick work of the attacking wave and made her way to the port itself, where she met the sergeant in charge of coordinating the local forces.
"Jessamine di Cadenza, at your service, sir."
"We appreciate your help, magician," he replied. "Are there any others coming?"
"Not likely. MI7 has obtained a report that the Moriarty family may be instigating conflicts against Britannia on many fronts in order to divert our forces."
"Bloody Moriarty family. We'll take what we can get. Any other information?"
"Sorry."
"'ts okay. Fall in with the boys here; they'll be expecting another assault from you and will come prepared next time."
"Aye, sarge."
Almost as confirmation of the sergeant's theory, the battleships sitting in the strait unleashed another barrage of artillery. Such was the standard strategy when assaulting an enemy location with a magical shield: throw enough explosives at the shield and wait for it to use all of its power. It was volume, not force, that would break the shield, and thus their current ammunition were duds used to deplete as much energy as possible.
But now that Jessamine di Cadenza had rendezvoused with the city's defense forces, the shelling seemed to pick up the pace.
It seems I've scared them, she realized. They believe I can hold my own as long as the shield is up, so in order to take the port, they need to drop the shield before they run out of reinforcements… I'm flattered.
She didn't have time to feel flattered, though, as the second wave was closing in fast.
"Look alive, men," said the sergeant. "We've got company."
Jessamine received an M4-MA from a nearby quartermaster, checked the magazine, and disabled the safety. Despite using magically-accelerated rounds, it was functionally identical to conventional weapons, and Jessamine had been well-trained on its operation.
Thanks, Mother.
The assault craft were well within range and were laying down suppressing fire to keep the defenders in check, but that was no issue. Nearly every military in the modern era used personal shield devices in conjunction with city-sized shields, and the Dover defense force was no different. Jessamine led the charge, leaping out from behind cover and running over the choppy port waters towards the enemy, firing her rifle non-stop.
Her goal was not to damage the craft, though that would have been nice, but rather to determine what manner of shield technology was employed by the enemy. A flash of light and dust when her magic rounds collided with the body of the landing craft told her all she needed to know; namely, that this army was better-equipped than them, and so the success of their defense would likely depend on her contribution.
I'll have to use counter-magic, but that's why they sent me here, isn't it?
As all magic in the world operated by modifying existing forms of energy, whether by chant, rune, or pure imaginative instinct, counter-magic was the most difficult application, as each instance of counter-magic must be tailored to the specific situation in which it was to be used.
Jessamine, as a Master-level magician, was one of few living Britannian magicians who could use counter-magic instinctively, and that made her valuable.
Here goes nothing.
Two hours and five enemy waves into the battle, Jessamine was beginning to show signs of exhaustion. It didn't help that the Union soldiers had adopted a rather annoying strategy, a dual-pronged attack where some units focused on landing at the port and engaging the defense forces while other units patrolled outside the shield, emptying their magazines in an effort to drain the shield's battery even faster.
Many of her comrades' bodies were decorating the port at this point, and Jessamine tried to ignore them as she continued fighting.
She threw out a quick chant—"Omnia, quae sub sole sunt, regnum meum sunt; Omnia magica discutiantur!"—and then rotated between the few targets left at her position, squeezing off a few rounds into each before moving on. Her counter-magic was the only useful way to breach the enemies' shield magic, and she had used this same strategy many times during this battle.
In the beginning, she had been the epitome of precise execution, but her precision had faded with every passing encounter.
As the sixth wave approached, the Britannian forces suffered a critical loss.
The Dover city shield finally lost power, allowing the enemy warships unadulterated access to the port.
Jessamine rallied the defense force—what was left of it, as they had lost over 50% of their troops—and rushed to meet the oncoming wave, only for their faint resistance to be snuffed out by offshore artillery.
Jessamine was thrown to the side with incredible force, and was suffering incredible pain even before she hit the ground.
The young woman didn't have enough strength to open her eyes for a few seconds, but when she did, the scene that greeted her was horrendous:
Body parts, strewn throughout a field of fallen soldiers.
Blood running down the hard asphalt of the port, pooling every few feet, congealing, soaking into the pavement.
The distant sound of gunfire, the enemy soldiers eliminating anyone the artillery hadn't finished off…
When, trying to identify the source of her pain, she looked down at her legs, she wasn't too surprised to see that they were gone.
Her torso had been severed, split messily in half by the artillery shell, and discarded among the other corpses like a used rag. Her left arm was nothing more than a stump, and she was bleeding profusely from what remained of her stomach, the blood mixing with the escaping stomach and liver bile in a foul concoction.
She would be dead soon, and her greatest wish—to enact revenge against the Moriarty family for the death of her father—would not be granted.
This thought filled her with hate; at least, as much as was possible, as her mind was already shutting down.
It was at that moment that she became aware of an intense pressure, a feeling almost completely alien to her, but which she was slightly familiar.
It was the feeling of a magician's aura, but this was no magician—
This was the aura of a god.
Frantically, in the remaining few seconds of her life, her brain capitalized on all available adrenaline and forced her eyes open once more.
I don't even remember closing my eyes.
She looked around for the source of the aura, but she didn't have to look far: kneeling in front of her was a human-shaped shadow, or maybe—a human-shaped hole?
It was a space where a person should be, but for some reason her brain couldn't understand the entity which knelt before her.
"Jessamine di Cadenza," it said, in a voice without words, "what an interesting specimen."
She attempted a reply but found her vocal cords lacking in the endeavor.
"It looks like you're not long for this world, so I won't waste your time," it continued. "I have an offer for you, one which I think you'll find quite agreeable."
Jessamine grunted, and hoped that the entity understood her meaning.
"Pledge yourself to me, and I will give you a new body—a strong body, invulnerable, and full of more power than you can imagine."
Two diametrically-opposed impulses battled within her mind:
Let me sleep.
Give me power, give me vengeance.
This internal battle did not last long, and she used every ounce of her remaining strength to force her vocal cords into submission.
"Yes."
Though she couldn't directly perceive the entity, she still felt its smile creeping across her defunct shell of a body.
"Excellent."
Jessamine watched in horror as wisps of light materialized around the entity before forcing themselves down her throat, where they integrated themselves into every molecule of her body. Tendrils of flesh and muscle began forming at the damaged locations, weaving new appendages together in a way which seemed not quite natural—the patterns of the muscles appeared like something you'd find in a biology textbook, yet Jessamine couldn't shake the feeling that they were wrong somehow. They didn't look like human muscles.
I'm a living Ship of Theseus…
Will I still be human after this?
Does it matter?
She felt the same tendrils working themselves into organs that were still functioning, as far as she could tell, and converting them into the same inhuman replica parts that made up everything else.
When she felt it reaching for her brain—she resisted for a moment, but the tendrils did not care, and soon her brain was wracked by a searing pain which dwarfed everything else she'd felt thus far.
But the pain only lasted for a few moments, even though the memory took a little longer to forget.
It was over.
She could tell it was over because that invasive power was no longer at work within her, and there was no sense of pain anymore.
Jessamine opened her eyes to survey her new body. She was nude, or in a state equivalent to being nude, but she appeared so distinctly inhuman that the word nude held no relevant meaning. Her skin held a similar appearance to carbon fiber, and she was missing some important anatomical elements; but more importantly, she could see rhythms of magic dancing along her carbon-fiber skin, and she knew for a fact that she was no longer human.
"What am I?" she asked, equal parts amazed and dismayed. She sat up, propping herself on her new elbows, reviewing the gift she had received.
"Something new," the entity replied. "Your body was previously a machine for processing energy in order to keep you alive. Now, it's a machine for executing the power you call magic."
"You speak as if you have a different knowledge of magic than I."
"Magic, to me, is what seeing is to you. It is such an integral part of myself that I do not consciously consider it."
"Who are you? A god?"
"I am Domino. I am the ultimate ruler of magic, and I bow to no one."
"What need has a god with a human like me?"
"That is for me to know, and for you to fear," Domino replied. "I have evolved your brain to be perfectly attuned to your new body. Your experience with magic should now be similar to my own, if only by a fraction."
It didn't take Jessamine long to put Domino's claim to the test. With a single thought, her body rose into the air to hover before her new master, an action which would have either taken a complex chant or sophisticated runic technology before.
It's like all magic is instinctive now, she realized. My synchronicity has been maximized.
The concept of synchronicity refers to how easily a magician's brain interprets and executes magical commands, and it's the very reason why some magicians are considered "Master" or "Ultimate" level while others are "Adept" or "Novice"; it's a measurement of how strongly the brain synchronizes with magic, which has a great effect on how strong that magician's magic can be.
"Now, then, Jessamine di Cadenza," said Domino, "listen closely. Remember that, from this moment on, you exist on my whim. I expect you to serve me faithfully, and know that I can force submissiveness from you as easily as that body was constructed—but I will only do so if you become a problem. We're going to have a lot of fun."
"I understand, my lord."