Home again. Peace again. And the daily grind again. As I was promised, I'm sitting in the home region. Building, overseeing the workshop, and learning how to manage it. I'm talking about bureaucracy, of course. Paper-pushing is eternal! I just groaned:
"Who was the Demon who invented bureaucracy!" which elicited a chuckle from the scribe sitting at the other end of the office.
"I can answer your question, lady."
I waved him off.
"I know, it's a rhetorical question. This trial is more exhausting than a battle with the Undead!"
No, seriously, all of this eats up a massive amount of patience. And that's considering our local bureaucracy is generally simpler, and they don't give me everything, just enough to learn and figure it out. If anyone tells you they want world domination, they are underestimating the scale of the headache. Sit them down with paperwork for a week and they'll change their mind, I guarantee it. I want back in the field!
"Alright, alright, let's keep working... I understand."
And yet, I can't say that bureaucracy is a stupidity. Reporting is both order and protection. Because if, according to the papers, lithium was delivered to me, the papers are signed, but in fact there is no lithium, then it's our fault that there is no production. But if the lithium didn't arrive and it was noticed, then the supplier gets it. The simplest, but most illustrative, damn example. Also, all of this is needed to know what and how much we need, where it can be ordered or has been ordered, and when it will be here.
Or remember our mission on the Echo Isles, when Mother figured us out precisely because of a discrepancy in the documents. We just came and quietly took it. Our own production. But a hole appeared in the reporting, which Mother noticed, and that's how she found out what we did. It turned out badly; I still feel uneasy about that situation. And Father too... Tsk.
Actually, the control over this paper mess shouldn't fall on me, but on the supply officer. But as part of the training... To work with Goblins, knowing this is absolutely necessary. They'll play you. Here, the engine of progress was the Magister:
"Do not underestimate bureaucracy, apprentice. Goblins possess many skills; they are clever. And they will use any holes in contracts against you."
Given that I have no spare resources, the claim is more than valid. So I have to learn. The Goblins, by the way, haven't shown up yet, but that's quite logical. Even with the airship, I don't expect them for at least a couple of weeks, if they show up at all. They still need to find the new city and plot a route. But hope dies last.
In general, things are going, frankly, not bad for Theramore. The city is gradually becoming full-fledged and autonomous. Even a place where you can live with comfort. There are difficulties; the food is expected to be mediocre. Mussels, basic grains, and lizard meat. The people are getting a bit agitated due to the lack of alcohol, but excuse me, for now, all the grain grown with the help of hydroponics and a Druid will go toward food, not booze. Go to the brothel. Why else did we build it? Or the smoking, for which people are trying all sorts of herbs, which has resulted in queues at the healers with all kinds of poisonings.
The smarter ones went straight to Alastir. I don't know how, but they somehow reached an agreement, so smoking materials are now available in the city, and all sorts of them. Including some for which I was promised a whipping if I was caught. I tried it anyway. In my bunker, a little and in secret. A very... surreal experience, although most of it is still a bitter, rare nastiness. Which I can tell the adults with a clear conscience. That it stinks, the smoke is unpleasant, and it probably tastes just as bad. They seemed to believe me.
The base is being built slowly but surely. After all, laying tunnels is a slow business. And then building the mechanisms. For example, there is an assembly block underground, like the one on the Pepelats. Finding the right tools for it was quite a quest, but it's absolutely necessary. The workshop on the surface has orders, and spending time on my... is irrational. In the end, it's both reputation and small money on the potential difference. And now, even if not quickly, I can produce parts for the internal needs of the base without harming the process.
A separate headache is digging the dock. Obviously, it will be recessed into the ground, simply because there is literally no room in the city. And also—it will combine the functions of a dock and a shipyard. So an exit to the sea, closed by large gates, is also strictly mandatory. On the bright side—under these conditions, the city will sponsor and help dig this part of the base. Of course, at the cost of orders for ships in the future. For ordinary ships. Flying ones, when they exist—my exclusive. The nuance of the dock is its size; it's almost half a kilometer long, over a hundred meters wide, and almost fifty meters deep. A huge pit that needs to be equipped with galleries, cranes, and other infrastructure.
And yes, I would like the dock and the shipyard to be separate, but there's just not enough space. Plus, a reasonable argument followed: once I build as many ships as I need, a massive structure will just be taking up space. This way, if I don't want to build myself, I can just rent out the equipment. In general, it's logical; we thought about it and agreed. Especially since having the shipyard in our hands will mean no one else has it. Well, no one is going to build two shipyards for one city; it's excessive for everyone.
Veni... is temporarily sitting in the city, recovering from dehydration, and in general, she's on medical leave. Actually, she's the one helping me with business, working as a negotiator and Alchemist. The "bad cop" during negotiations, and just for punching people in the face. I'm damn glad to see her, even gladder to dump some of my work on her, because there's no reason to be drinking in the tavern; you're important now too. But Dartaola rarely appears in the camp; as a Paladin with healing skills, she's more needed on the front lines. As is The Teacher, whatever he's doing there.
So it turns out they are there, and I am here. A perfectly quiet life, if you think about it. Of course, there are enough adventures, but they are specifically adventures, not a "die or die" situation. You can live, be friends, learn, discover new things. Cool, right!
And if you think about it further, for me these months are literally the first experience of city life in the conditions of Azeroth. Not bad, I won't deny it. Many people know you because they are neighbors. You know many people. The Elf district is generally quieter than the Human one, and more expensive. Plus, the rank of Surveyor immediately gives, if not a bonus to respect, then to understanding—for sure. Here is everything that sentient beings fled from in Lordaeron, from Quel'Thalas. And even from Gilneas; citizens of that kingdom, though few, are present in the city.
Quiet and order. Theramore has become a new beginning for these people, away from the bustle, kingdoms, taxes, and decrees. Even our ruler has ended up in a very interesting position. She's not exactly a legitimate representative of the nobility, not a king, and not an Admiral. But no one disputes her contribution and leadership. At least, not to her face. For now, Theramore is that very dream. Much like America after its discovery. And yet, I can't sit still.
My nature demands action. Or, at the very least, activity. Apparently, it's my age; sitting still and waiting is physically difficult; I have to force myself. It's all The Teacher's fault; I got used to his extreme teaching methods, where every lesson is a trial. Definitely him! And I don't have an itch anywhere! There.
"Alright, what's next..." the papers won't study, write, or sign themselves. Sucks.
One way or another, when another morning, while I was sitting over papers in the Chancery, a soldier ran in for me and reported:
"You are summoned to headquarters, lady. Urgently."
I flew after him almost faster than he ran. I was curious. Did Archimonde finally deign to bring his Eredar backside to Kalimdor? And then there was a loud "bong-bong-bong" of bell origin... An alarm signal? Exactly, that's it. Not good. Ahem, my notifier hadn't found anything yet. Speed up! Something is happening.
In the headquarters, or rather the castle, an active and very businesslike bustle began. What on earth is going on here? Soldiers are lining up; they clearly have an alarm. Gnome hydroplanes flew overhead. They've scrambled the aviation? I really don't like where this is going.
"What's happening?" I stopped the nearest person.
He looked me over, apparently satisfied with the Surveyor emblem, and answered:
"The Undead have blocked the approaches to the city. They will be here the day after tomorrow, lady. That's all I know. Forgive me, I must hurry."
I let him go; let him run where he was going. Oh shit, we aren't exactly ready to meet a Demon horde. Of course, there's a chance they didn't consider us an important target and just sent someone unimportant, but in the canon, it was very much not like that. Everything is definitely not going according to plan!
I assumed we'd learn about Archimonde's arrival in Kalimdor from the Night Elves, but here's how it's turning out. So, run to the tactical table, which is absolutely crowded. Pushing through the gathered people—I'm the tactical table operator here. It's not easy; everyone here is bigger and heavier than me, especially in Armor. I don't have the strength to push them aside. I had to call out:
"I'm here, Captain."
Our pale-faced commander Samayl, seeing me, nodded and waved his hand. Then he demanded:
"Let her through," and as soon as I reached him, he continued, "Davilinia, we need to conduct reconnaissance here, north in the ocean, and right here, along the road from the city. Send a bird along the road; let it look for the enemy, updating the data constantly. According to preliminary data, the Undead await us in both places. I take it you can send the birds further than what's on the map?"
I nodded.
"I can, right now. It will take time; they don't fly instantly."
"It's better than what we have now. Do it," the man nodded and immediately forgot about me.
I can understand. All that's left is to get moving and send the birds on the mission, yes. The people continued the discussion, assessing the expected enemy forces and our resources. And from our side, everything is not very good. Lady Jaina took most of the forces; we'll be fighting back with literally whatever is at hand and the remnants. Shitty...
No one dares to encroach on our... I completely agree with you, schizophrenia. There's nowhere to retreat and nothing to retreat on. Which means the only option is to give the enemy such a punch in the teeth that he runs away himself.
What I saw an hour later can hardly be called good news. Sixty Undead ships, supported by five larger ships and a Necropolis. And all this goodness is flying and sailing in our direction. Considering that on our side, the fleet cannot field comparable forces. Most of the ships are gone, and what's left... maybe fifteen of them are combat-ready. Plus the coastal defense, yes. Not enough. Especially considering they have MANY Gargoyles. Which means the strike will come not only from the water but also from the air.
On land, the situation is much better. Yes, there is also a Demon and Undead base there. Also with a Necropolis. And quite a large one. And I saw a real Pit Lord, a living tank the size of a bus with wings and a huge spear in his hands. Roughly the same beastie that Grommash killed, but this one is alive.
But we have natural and artificial fortifications in that direction. And also Mages gorged on Mana. We can set up a wall of fire and ice in front of the city, and those who pass through it because they are tough, we'll finish off with cannons. The swamp will be a problem even for the dead. Slimy, liquid—any large beast that goes that way will get bogged down. Catapults can't be dragged through it either. Which means the Undead won't be able to set up an adequate siege.
The only problem is Warlocks with Infernals, who can drop that garbage right onto the city. Но for that case, I—or rather, we—have a little something prepared. My very first version of an attacking kamikaze golem, made even before the Pepelats. A combination of a gargoyle-golem and a fragmentation mine. Но they have a problem with targeting in dense forest; they easily lose their target. That was a huge problem in the case of the Trolls.
But guiding them to the magical Fel trail of the warlocks summoning Infernals—and thus radiating like hell—will be MUCH easier than tracking trolls who hide so well that even our Farstriders can't always find them. Dropping the bird's controls, I switched to the assembly block salvaged from the Pepelats. The necessary schematic was there.
Order — "Hornet" Schematic — Enable — Execute.
Speaking of which.
"And Lady Jaina? Will she arrive?"
The officer, who was showing where to direct the birds so as not to shout across the entire hall, shook his head.
"She and some other mages are absent. At the moment, we are on our own."
Great. Presumably, if the demons have started an attack here, they've also been cut off from the city, caught in a separate trap. And even if we fight them off, it won't be enough; the Undead base still needs to be demolished. But that's all for later. Divide and conquer, in its purest form.
The command's mood isn't funeral-like, but it is unpleasant. This time I'm actually listening to what they're saying, and their conclusions match mine. At the very least, we can hold out in a land defense for as long as needed. The main headache will come from the air and the sea. After all, the main forces are currently on the front lines. We need to fight back. But what about the fleet? We simply don't have enough firepower for all that. We'll just be suppressed by fire. Not guaranteed, but it will be difficult.
This is my fault. Fact. There was no information about a Legion attack directly on the city. Archimonde, upon arriving in Kalimdor, concentrated on his main problem—the Night Elves. And if not for the other races, he would have succeeded. But here... the Nathrezim—and I'm sure they were watching us—had time to assess the situation. And send troops to divide the factions. In any case, they'll have to deal with the current situation now. And I'm in Theramore, and the attack must be repelled, yes...
Hmmmm. An idea. Okay, I need someone. Oh, another workshop owner, a real Gnomeregan Gnome. One of the few individuals actually shorter than me. Though for a Gnome, that's perfectly normal. Funny, but I've heard Gnomes often have complexes about their height. It's fine for Dwarves, but for Gnomes, being the shortest of all is uncomfortable.
Anyway, that's not the point. What matters is that these guys are standing apart from everyone else, apparently invited so they know what resources and capabilities the city has. Right now they aren't busy while the global planning is underway. Which means I can talk to them, since the bosses are occupied with themselves. I'll move closer.
The Midget is talking to another short but powerful individual—a Dwarf. Kuplus Ironbeard, leader of the Dwarves who came across the ocean and my direct competitor. While I don't share anything with the Gnome—his products occupy a different niche—the tunneling, underground bases, and my interest in the docks are a different matter. The master mechanics were surprised that a project they would usually oversee was snatched up by someone else. Especially an Elf. Especially a tiny Elf. And when they raised the question of building a shipyard... it suddenly turned out that the spot was already taken and the project approved. This could cause complications.
The Dwarf was the first to notice me. A bearded man in quite decent seventeenth-century business clothes. A shirt, a kaftan, trousers, and yet—leather gloves with army boots. He bowed slightly, smirking.
"Oh, Surveyor Davilinia. Has something happened that you cannot handle?"
You shouldn't have said that, really, really, really. I shrugged.
"Who knows, Mr. Kuplus. I prefer not to be neighbors with the Undead. It's bad for both health and prospects."
The Dwarf chuckled into his thick and magnificent beard.
"Hard to argue with that. So, you have an idea, right?" I nodded. "Well then. In that case, I am certainly interested. Surely you are ready to surprise us? Right, Mr. Shikoshmyak?"
The Gnome nodded.
"I am also glad to meet you. The situation is difficult, and I can assume we should join forces. For our own survival in such a trying situation. After all, I am an inventor, not a fighter. And I am not a competitor to the young lady either. The people of Gnomeregan welcome talent, regardless of age."
The Dwarf grimaced.
"I am quite ready to cooperate under conditions of mutual benefit. And I will not allow such a mistake next time. So, what do you want to offer us?" The Gnome nodded at this.
Touchy, isn't he? So what if my golems proved themselves well in tunneling? Is it my fault the city started burying itself rapidly? That's a fact, by the way: Theramore is frankly a bit cramped on the island. And it's no surprise that all possible infrastructure is being moved underground. Both workshops and warehouses, wherever possible in the city. And the monopolists, represented by this specific square gentleman, suddenly found themselves not being monopolists.
It's good that they are, at least in words, ready to cooperate in such a difficult situation. I shrugged.
"While the more, in every sense, 'high' representatives of the species are deliberating, I had an idea. I wanted to clarify—what do you colleagues have in terms of explosive reserves?"
The Dwarf chuckled.
"We have plenty of that stuff. But much of it will go toward cannon charges and bombs. So it would be good to decide on a project. Aviation needs resources too. But if it makes sense, why not?"
I nodded, pointing to a sketch from the tube fastened to my back. Since the tactical table was occupied, I'd made a habit of carrying either a bag or a tube so I could write or draw if needed.
"Torpedoes. For launching from the shore, or, if possible, from planes. Not the best solution, but our time is limited."
The Gnome looked, and his eyes immediately lit up.
"Oh, I see. I suspected something similar myself. A means of delivering explosives under the hull of an enemy ship. The water will serve as protection from surface attacks. And it will direct the explosion along the path of least resistance. Upward and into the hull of the enemy target. But there is a problem—besides explosives, we need engines, a guidance system, and a sealed casing. My workshop alone cannot handle building such a weapon in significant quantities. However, if you are ready to temporarily unite, colleagues?" He looked at me and Kuplus. Strange name.
The Dwarf chuckled.
"Torpedoes are as long and powerful as Dwarven hammers. And as destructive as our will. A truly masculine weapon. Hm. We will make the casings. But you must ensure you enter the right place. So that the detonation is powerful and all-consuming, chilling them to the bone, tearing their insides apart. So they scream from the sensation of this power. So this power rips them from within. The clan is in."
I decided... not to pay attention. And to answer simply and factually. And yes, the Dwarf clearly indicated that since the project is shared, the dividends will be split three ways.
"I don't see a problem. Shared contribution—shared victory."
The Gnome also nodded.
"Agreed, that would be wise. So, Lady Davilinia, what ideas do you have? I suggest comparing them with mine and deriving the most effective solution to the problem."
I smirked. This was going to be interesting.
"Golems can be used for guidance. They are dumb, but there aren't many hiding spots in the ocean. A magical trail or the dark silhouette of a ship's hull. A fairly convenient target; the only question is quantity."
"And the Necropolis," the Gnome immediately reminded, "it flies. The city's air defense, frankly speaking, is modest. And if the Necropolis reaches the city, even if destroyed, it will crash onto it. We won't like the consequences. I've heard of the magical plague these structures spread. If it spills onto the streets, the city could be gripped by an epidemic."
Yeah, there's nowhere really to retreat. The only road out of the city is blocked by the Undead. In the jungles... even experienced fighters find it hard to survive. Let alone thousands of civilians. Which means the entire Theramore project will go to hell. Unless we go underground, but that would make the situation even more difficult, and it's not a fast process. In short, the Necropolis cannot be allowed near the city. No way. Pawns of the dead master... Yeah, Ner'zhul really screwed us all over. Maybe I should build another "satellite" and help Illidan out for the occasion? I'll think about that later.
"There is one option," both of my interlocutors turned at my remark.
"What do you mean?" the Dwarf clarified immediately.
I sighed. We really need a huge cannon. But for now, there is no cannon. There isn't even a Pepelats. I'll have to do the work myself. I know this is a purely suicidal decision. Literally make or break, victory or death. But if I'm in the right place at the right time... I have to be there. I need to be there. No one dares encroach on what is ours. There it is, the voice in my head. I think so too.
"If we can get close to the flying complex, we would need an ultimate attack. A bomb, which we don't have. Or a spell. Of course, it won't destroy the Necropolis, but we don't need it to. It has a vulnerable point, under the tower at the top."
The Dwarf immediately raised an eyebrow:
"Are you sure? Such data looks unreliable."
I nodded, ignoring the skepticism radiating from the Dwarf.
"A risk, I know. But the structure of the Necropolis is sufficiently known. It's like... a hollow pyramid placed on a finger. The crystal is where the finger would be; the load is distributed across the construction. If the structure is disrupted, that will be enough."
The Gnome nodded.
"Enough for it to sink. So far from the coast, the living won't manage."
The Dwarf immediately reminded:
"The Undead can walk along the bottom too. Though without ships and cannons... it will be easier. Much easier."
I was reminded of "Pirates of the Caribbean" and the Black Pearl... but generally, yes, that's a problem. But a future one. Without heavy support, the Undead will be a manageable problem. To be blunt, the dead aren't known for their intellect.
In short, after a small presentation, our group set off to order the torpedoes. Even if we only manage to disable some of the ships, it will be easier. Of course, we had to design the engine, the delivery method, and distribute duties. Command just waved us off, saying if you get it done—good. Just move lively, time is limited.
And yes, I outlined my plan to my friends, but not to my parents. If we head to the Necropolis—and we will—I'd like to do it with support. There won't be much room on the plane. Dartaola took the matter easily.
"Protecting one's home is the highest virtue. As is respect for one's elders. Holy will bless us. We shall return with victory."
But Veni... she was her usual self.
"You know, for someone who talks about sitting in the rear under artillery volleys, you look too much like a berserker Troll. Truly, DaVi."
I threw a piece of fruit at her, which she caught.
"Thanks, Midget."
She's so unbearable sometimes...
"Veni. Are you laughing? If you don't want to, you can just say 'no.' I don't think anyone would judge you."
She snorted.
"Well, I just thought an inventor like you could build an analogue of your cannon, attach it to a magical battery, and stay out of the fight. But you're acting like you're rushing to the front lines. Like a berserker. And I want to understand why."
I thought about it.
"First of all, such a device can't be built in a day. Second, one battery won't be enough. Third, that beast won't fit on a plane without a global overhaul of the machine. Fourth, it would be single-use. And fifth, it would be heavy, which would be bad for the plane."
The Rogue nodded.
"And sixth, it's a great chance to die with a whistle. Fine, fine, I get it. We won't leave you; I just wanted to make sure you'd thought it all through."
How could she! She's mocking me! Dartaola's plate gauntlet rested on my shoulder.
"Don't take her words too literally. Venidan is just worried. After all, the plan is indeed risky. And yet, I am ready to accept death in the same rank as my dear comrades. In the name of the Holy!"
I snorted. Но let the hand stay.
"I know. And thank you for that. But I really don't see how we can reliably do something to solve the problem for sure in just twenty-four hours. A stone multi-level structure reinforced by magic. We need a dreadnought as soon as possible. Until we have one, we'll have to solve the problem with whatever is at hand. Punch through a few stone floors to cover the area and hit the target precisely. I know the plan is idiotic, but I don't have a better one."
Venidan nodded.
"We're with you. Let's go get ready in case we get stuck there."
The Elves left, and I also headed to the workshops. Time is limited; I need to finish things quickly. Assign tasks to the guys, write a will. And stock up on Alchemy. Stims, healing and regeneration potions, endurance. Magical concentrates. Everything will come in handy. Through the deserted streets, it's not hard; I can even fly above the floor at full available speed. It seems we're on a timer again. It's becoming a bad habit.
The city went still; people hid in their houses. Everyone found shelter, ready to sit out the coming days. And just in time. With the help of my real Dwarves, raising and lowering their hammers, I was forming the contours for the future torpedo-golems when screams rang out from outside.
"They're here!"
"In the sky! Save yourselves!"
And a howl. A very characteristic howl that I hadn't heard since the days of Quel'Thalas. And also the hum of seaplanes and the firing of rifles and machine guns from the Dwarves. Sometimes it's very useful to have weapons within walking distance. So I shouted to my brothers who had jumped up:
"Stay here. Protect the equipment. I'll handle this."
And I rushed outside, switching my gauntlet to Power Shield mode. Howling, screams, bells ringing, shooting, and crashing. I had barely run past the workshop gates when I collided with a figure sitting on a fence. Leathery wings, a distorted noseless bat face, a gray-purple body with long claws. A stone Gargoyle.
We noticed each other simultaneously. The Gargoyle howled, spitting some spell resembling an arc of purple energy. I rolled awkwardly to the side, falling rather clumsily on my stomach. But that didn't stop me from raising my hand and blasting it with the power hammer. The Gargoyle's projectile missed, and the creature itself was blown away, shattered into purple fragments along with a piece of the fence, leaving a hole in it. The good news—it was enough; the beast won't pull itself back together from those scraps. The bad news—there are another couple dozen like it circling over the city, not to mention those already inside.
Seaplanes roared overhead, cutting a path through the flock of Gargoyles. A couple fell down, stripped of wings and limbs. Clearly hitting the ground hard, they froze like stone statues. Which immediately began to heal the damage. As if!
"Thunderfist!"
The statue shattered into stone shrapnel, and then the second one. Now that's more like it. A stone Gargoyle can regenerate if given time. We shouldn't give it to them.
Noticing the guys with rifles peeking out from the agricultural gates of my workshop, I brushed myself off. They were constructing a barricade of steel tables at the entrance. Not the best protection, but not bad. Set up a machine gun, and the Gargoyles would have a very fun time. The guys clearly saw me take that clumsy tumble; now they're smiling. Oh well, at least I'm alive.
"Physical training isn't my forte."
And a Mana shield isn't exactly useful against spells. For that, you need Elemental shields.
"Watch out!"
Shots rang out from above, and a Gargoyle trying to sink its claws into me lost its flight path and simply crashed down on top of me, pinning me. It had clearly been hit by the gunfire. My Mana shield immediately sparked from both the mass of this carcass and its claws, which it tried to sink into my body. Or bite me with its teeth. Not that it has a chance, but this is outrageous!
It took a second to recover from the surprise. Another second to aim the power hammer at the creature literally crushing me with its weight. After all, it's rigidly attached to my hand, and the limb has to be turned entirely. Fortunately, the Gargoyle didn't understand the looming danger, more concerned with sitting on top and taking sweeping claw swipes at the shield.
"Thunderfist, you bastard."
This time the strike hit tangentially; I was being tossed around too much by each of the monster's blows. The winged thing had an arm, a leg, a wing, and about half its body torn off, literally turned into a mist. This didn't stop the Gargoyle's frantic attempts to bite through my shield. Nor the fact that this... isn't my first meeting with the Undead in close combat. Disgusting, but I never considered you alive to begin with. I don't pity you.
At that moment, a hammer blow hit the Gargoyle, literally smashing its skull. The Scourge beast slumped to its side and went still. And above, in a golfer's stance, appeared the elder Dwarf brother.
"It's none of our business, Boss," he smirked, extending a hand, "but if you ask me, this creature is a poor choice for a relationship. What do you think?"
The second brother chuckled, then fired a shot from his rifle, carving purple goo from the flesh of another Gargoyle. It didn't fall, but it banked into a turn, disappearing behind the houses. Judging by the falling roof tiles, it's climbing across the roofs.
"The key to a healthy relationship—the wife must be understanding. And she must have a square head," the younger one noted with satisfaction.
I didn't get it.
"Why?"
"So it's easier to set a mug of beer on it!" the brothers laughed. "Go on, Boss, we'll handle things here."
I, having assessed the dead scraps of the Gargoyle, headed into the city. The air raid siren hadn't stopped; Gargoyles were flying over the houses, spitting spells, sometimes diving onto the heads of residents and warriors. The Dwarven planes were chasing them, but there were frankly too many of the creatures. Mages and marksmen were helping from the ground too. Well, me too.
This time I decided to act more cautiously, for sure. Knock down the target with magical arrows or icicles, then pelt them with fireballs. If it tries to turn to stone—we put it in an ice block, and it's fine. The others were doing the same.
The Magister was blasting spells from his balcony; I'd always recognize the Teacher's casts. Who else could hit such large areas? Fireballs, ice lances knocking down those who tried to get near him. He also covered the city with a blizzard. Not the city itself, but above it. It became very dark, as if everything was covered by a gloomy shadow. But, importantly, the Gargoyles' wings started freezing up, and they descended. Down to where a Warrior with a sword could reach them. And with that, the air raid ended. That's good news.
Specifically, *this* raid ended. Bad news. Because over the next night, the Gargoyles raided three more times, focusing on the defensive towers and marksmen. Waking up to crashing, shooting, and screams:
"They're back! They're here!" — An experience well below average.
And just as you lie down to sleep, calm down, fall asleep... and it starts all over again. I could kill the author of this brilliant idea.
These raids didn't cause a lot of damage, but they wore us down. And they left behind many wounded. While the Gargoyles' magic wasn't very effective against buildings, the Footmen received jagged wounds, and their armor helped little against them. Fortunately, we have Paladins and Priests in our ranks.
But Jaina isn't here. Nor is there contact with the forward camp.
Worse, by morning the people were sleep-deprived and angry. And when the Undead attacked along the road in the morning, they did so with the support of... those same Gargoyles. Abominations in the first wave. While they and the Gargoyles occupied the defenders, Necromancers, Ghouls, and catapults—meat wagons—moved into position. We responded with the howl of artillery mounted on the towers. Yes, we have cannons, and quite a few of them. Rather primitive, black cast-iron cannons of early times, but they do their job, hitting the largest and fattest targets. They stopped the first wave.
The Abominations were quite effectively stopped by cannon fire. Shells from the guns and Dwarven mortars were perfect for tearing apart the bloated corpses of the monsters. They have no nervous system, they don't feel pain, but even they cannot ignore holes through their bodies and chunks of flesh being torn off. And shattered bones make it quite difficult for the Undead to move.
The Scourge Undead resisted with all their speed and fury. The artillerymen had to not only fire the cannons but also fight off the flying creatures crawling into the embrasures. Losses from sudden Gargoyle raids, specifically targeting the artillerymen, increased. Ghouls moved through the swamp and tried to cross the body of water along the bottom in a wave.
Mana saved us. Lots of mana. The Teacher and other mages, like me, have no problem replenishing supplies; they just flooded everything with fire, indulging in magical alcoholism. While the Abominations were smashing the gates with huge cleavers, a Hellfire opened up beneath their feet, from above, and from the sides. The Ghouls found out from personal experience that nine units of water make ten units of ice. And when you're bound on all sides, this ice simply rips you apart, crushes, and breaks you. Meanwhile, the marksmen worked on the Gargoyles—everyone available, even while taking losses.
And then a bloated corpse flew into the left tower. And instead of a completely insignificant hit for stone walls, the corpse exploded with purple magic, making the gates shudder, and leaving a melted hole in the tower filling with green gas. And after the first corpse came a second and a third. And the sky began to redden rapidly.
The seaplanes sped forward, clearly to attack the catapults. As for the close combat—that's on us. Everything that made it, including Infernals.
"Uuugh..." I groaned, switching my left gauntlet to Uomo Universale mode, while simultaneously typing commands for the golems with my right hand.
Takeoff. Forward. Find and destroy. Mark — Fel.
Need to take out the damn warlocks. There are too many problems even without them. I won't give them this city. Ahem, when you start agreeing with the voices in your head, that's not very good.
But that wasn't all the surprises for today, as it turned out. Something blew up in the back. And then came a rising whistle. And another. And another.
"Ships! Ships at the city!" a guard screamed, pointing into the distance.
And we all got distracted, turned around, peering into the ocean. To where a chain of ships, visible even from this distance, was positioned. Large ships. With the symbol of a sword, Paladin hammers, and arrows with skulls impaled on them. All of it stylistically frozen over. Scourge. They actually brought the dreadnoughts.
Boom! Boom! Boom! F-shhh, boom!
Which immediately opened fire with cannons on the city. Too fast, tsk.
Wait, a second. Zoom in—are they alone here or... alone, good. At least the Necropolis isn't visible yet. Nor its numerous escort.
Boommmm.
I flinched when a shell hit a building nearby, crushing the top floor of the house along with a greenhouse in an explosion of purple flame; it collapsed and seemed to catch fire. Okay, the soldiers in the port know how to use the torpedoes. We have a different problem here.
A problem of two Infernals, three Abominations with a pack of Ghouls, reaching the gates. Too tough. The nearest Infernal, approaching the walls, took a wide swing, and its fist crashed into the wall with a thud, making stones chip off, while the demonic golem's green flame began to melt them. A second strike punched a hole in the gates, which immediately caught fire. The Undead roared, ready to rush into the attack. Ignoring the shelling, trying at any cost to get past the walls. No, not today.
"And even though I know you're a replica, I don't care! Uomo Universale!"
A sphere of energy left the walls and went down, vaporizing the dead and the golems in a flash of an explosion.
"Watch out!" someone shouted from the right.
A Gargoyle with frost on its wings dived from above and sank its claws into a soldier's shield, trying to rip it from his hands and sink its fangs into the man's face. Or scream magic at him. A second one fell onto the wall nearby, ready to attack a warrior stripped of protection. A third fell behind, sinking its teeth into a warrior's leg.
"In the name of the Holy!"
A yellow beam of Holy struck the Gargoyle that bit the soldier's leg from the heavens, charring it; it fell motionless like a stone from the wall straight into the crater left by the Abominations. He impaled the second one with a blade. The third, still holding the shield with its claws, was knocked off the wall by a Paladin who ran up to the soldier. He immediately fried another flying creature with light. How many of them are here?
Boom! Boom! Boom! F-shhh, boom!
And the dreadnoughts hadn't gone anywhere. It's not all bad; the first dreadnought, having lost two masts, turned its bow toward the city and, firing its cannons, is closing in. However, the list to the bow clearly reveals the reason for the haste.
Seaplanes hummed toward the dreadnought. Three planes, just like World War I machines. But not simple ones. Skimming over the water, they turned sharply. Alas, from this distance, it's impossible to tell why. The answer came about thirty seconds later.
BOOOOOMMMMMM!
The ship's bow was jerked upward, after which both the mast and the bow itself exploded into wooden shrapnel. The ship's bow was literally torn apart, after which it began to rapidly "bury" itself in the water, sinking. Slowly, managing to fire from time to time. The Undead don't panic or flee, continuing to carry out orders to the end.
BOOOOOMMMMMM!
Everyone turned at the last explosion.
"Look! Another ship is falling apart!"
A smile crept up on its own. The second dreadnought clearly broke in the middle; the masts of the ship of the dead are falling, showing how the ship is collapsing. One of the halves, the front one, began to tip toward us, while the second clearly settled, filling with water. Judging by the destruction—another torpedo hit.
"Yes! Yes! Take that!" shouted the sentient beings, mad enough to watch what was happening.
Unfortunately, there's no time to admire this explosion, or the one following it. Because besides the Abominations, three stone figures the size of a three-story building are trudging along the road, burning with green magical flame—Infernals. Much larger than the ones Grommash had. And the ones in the first wave.
"Tremble, mortals! There is nowhere to run! Your final day has come!" a voice swept over the city, penetrating every ear.
I don't know what anyone else felt, but I felt anger and irritation. Damn Archimonde cosplayers. At least the Gargoyles have started running out. And the artillery is no longer firing; presumably, the pilots handled their task. And the ships?
I turned around; out of five dreadnoughts, only one looks intact, hiding behind its sinking colleagues, continuing to shell the coast. No matter, they'll sink now, and we'll get to you. Though the power of each explosion created by this ship causes considerable damage. They aren't aiming precisely, just bombarding the city. I won't lose anything, unless it hits the workshop, but it's still unpleasant. This is my city, jerks.
Apparently, the Magister was fed up too, as instead of a torpedo, a block of fire headed toward the ship. Literally, a small but wildly bright and hot sun. However, usually these are thrown about fifty meters. It seems the Teacher is one of the artillerymen. In any case—the ball streaked across the sky and hit the water near the ship, raising a considerable cloud of steam. The Teacher wasn't upset, and a minute later the ship flared up like a giant wooden torch. Excellent, we've won some time. The Undead burn well.
"They're retreating!"
Turning around, I exhaled. The Gargoyles, those that remained, flew north. The Undead stopped trying to break through, presumably gathering strength for the next attack. No targets left on the water, except for the burning hull of a dreadnought, but it's no longer firing.
The Infernals, as it turned out, don't hold up well against cannon fire. The stone figures simply crumble. Even better, having fallen apart, their carcasses blocked the passage, creating a solid stone embankment for us. Not that it will stop the Ghouls—they're crawling out of the forest—but it won't be easy for the Abominations. For now, I don't know for sure if my flying golems got the warlocks, but I hope they did; it will be much easier.
"I hope that's all," a soldier said quietly. "Beasts."
I exhaled, leaning against the stone battlements.
"I don't think so, soldier," said Dartaola, who had approached. "The Undead do not fear or doubt. They will return until every last one has perished."
"Or until we're devoured," a Dwarf marksman chuckled, looking into the distance through his optics. "Relax, man. We're still alive."
Rest was not an option. The dreadnoughts' artillery, though not very numerous, caused some damage. As did the Gargoyles, leaving behind many wounded and killed. Including those who hid in houses and couldn't escape. Smoky trails of fires, melted walls, clouds of green poisonous gas coming from some buildings—the work of meat wagons.
All of this needs to be cleared, the Ghouls caught—a group of them managed to break into the city along the embankment. Likely from the ships. And yes, I had to release the Hacks, get on the Crane, and catch them. Instead of resting—thankfully I had stimulants. This whole situation is wildly exhausting.
It was in this state that I stumbled into headquarters to find out the latest news. Commander Samayl looks just as worn out; I caught one of the secretaries so as not to interfere. The secretary sighed but answered the question, showing the bags under his eyes.
"Good news—they won't be able to repeat the land attack. The road is blocked and trashed. Unless those green things fall directly on the city."
I found the warlocks' corpses with the bird. I hope there won't be any more Infernals.
"Bad news—superior enemy forces are still coming at us from the sea. This will be a difficult siege."
Even without dreadnoughts, a landing force can be deployed against us. And all we can hope for is that the torpedoes, cannons, and my "Universale" will be enough to knock down all the crap coming at us. And yes, they have a landing leader sitting somewhere out there, in the Necropolis. Almost certainly—a demon. Given that he hasn't broken into the city yet—more likely a Nathrezim than a Pit Lord. A Pit Lord was seen in the camp on land; he hasn't shown himself yet. And here you have to guess which is worse: Pit Lords are living tanks, and who knows what a Nathrezim will pull. If what I remember about Archimonde is true, it's better not to report defeat to him. He does not tolerate defeat, which means the demon will keep charging into the attack until the end.
Still, I managed to carve out a little time for rest. Check the workshop, where Dwarves and humans are jointly assembling torpedoes. Visit the hospital, where Dartaola and the Priests are getting soldiers back on their feet, and Veni is right there brewing Alchemy. Nothing special, but healing potions and simple stimulants. Check myself; I took a couple of nasty hits from the Gargoyles. Had to drink some Alchemy.
And sleep for an hour. Until a soldier knocked on the door. The man straightened up and said:
"Lady Davilinia," the Dwarf can't see my sleepy face because of the helmet, "we've managed to prepare the planes. Ready to depart."
And yes, there is no runway in Theramore; there's simply nowhere to put one. But at the same time, Dwarves love putting skids on their aircraft, allowing them to land on snow and water. So the city has seaplanes.
I stretched, ignoring the soldier's gaze. I hadn't rested completely, but it felt easier. A snap of the fingers, and heat spread through my body along with the stimulant, and my head cleared. The injector worked as it should.
"Excellent, I'm ready. Lead the way. What's the plan?"
The man gave a short nod, and we headed down the stairs to the hangars. There, Kuplus was already waiting for me, along with a dozen Dwarves in pilot suits and Gnomes in helmets. The elder nodded to me, inviting me to approach.
"You said you could destroy the necropolis's weak point, right?" I nodded. "The crystal controlling this building is located in the upper part of the pyramid. In the center. We fly in there, blow it up, and it falls into the water. The boys will cover us. And, well, buy us time if everything goes south. That's the plan."
Risky. A flying base will clearly have an escort. And they clearly won't want to let us leave alive. But personally, I don't know a reliable way to ground this thing far enough from the city. Unless it's something big and concrete-piercing, which can't be assembled in a day. Here, we have to go in ourselves. I need a dreadnought, and fast.
I should look into a tracking system... rob Ulduar. They definitely have the schematics for the necessary equipment, and resources can be gathered just by grinding down their army. Fine, if all that happens, it'll be later. For now, though...
"Yes, I can. If you get the machine close enough, I'll bring the necropolis down into the water in one or two salvos."
My colleague grunted.
"I've got the boys and a low-observability plane. Usually, Invisibility can't be cast on it, so we have a slightly different plan. Climb higher, and then drop onto that flying box from above. There will only be one attempt, as you understand," the Dwarf suddenly squeezed my glove. "You know, maybe I don't like you much. You're an elf and you took my boys' jobs. But if you win, the drinks are on me. For all your friends. If we stay alive."
I nodded. I was even almost touched. Damn, this really is a suicidal decision. Why am I even going in there? I could steal a plane at any time and fly off to the Goblins. But...
I've grown attached to them. Fine, I could live with cowardice because I'd be alive. But I just don't want to lose them all. I don't want to betray them. And so, I'm going to go there now and do it. Yes, DaVi. I'll tear them all apart. Everyone! I'm the boss here! I have the biggest gun!
I replied calmly to the Dwarf:
"Obvious enough. I don't think we'll have a better solution anytime soon."
Laughter came from behind. And a very familiar voice.
"With you, every mission is suicidal, huh?"
Turning around, I found... Veni. And Dartaola. In full Armor and helmets. Well, of course—did I make the air supply for the helmets for nothing? My heart felt warmer; they hadn't abandoned me. We're going together.
"Glad you're here."
The Rogue shrugged, her whole appearance projecting a terrible insult.
"Did you even doubt it? I'm almost disappointed. Let's go already; the faster we start, the faster we finish."
Passing through a small gate in the military part of the city, through the city wall, we descended to the planes standing here hidden under a canopy. The canopy looked like fishing huts, disguised as them. And the gargoyles, like the ships, aren't particularly interested in them. That's the calculation.
Generally, Theramore's air forces are represented by griffons and more classic planes. There aren't many griffons, plus Jaina took them with her to the front lines, so they're unavailable. That leaves the planes. I liked them immensely; they're little machines almost identical in design to World War I aircraft. Two pairs of wings, a fuselage with a propeller engine. Or two, on the wings at the sides. And a pair of frontal machine guns on the nose.
Ours is a cargo variant, with a fully enclosed fuselage. It reminded me somewhat of the plane from "Chip 'n Dale." We have a big cheese-lover, though he's a Dwarf, which makes him short and square. I'll be Gadget. As for Veni and Dartaola... well, whatever, they wouldn't get it anyway.
Just in case, I studied both the plane itself and its construction. The machine is quite intact; the gargoyles seem to have focused on ground communications. It won't work to turn it into a launcher; the machine simply isn't adapted for that. As I told Venidan—you can't stick a Death Lazor in here, there's simply nowhere for it. For such a weapon, a separate combat platform needs to be created, and we don't have time.
Actually, all the planes launch from the water, like seaplanes. A very stylish machine from the WWI era; I was mesmerized. Our gruff Dwarven pilot is just as colorful as his transport. Jar-goggles over his eyes, leather pants, jacket, gloves, and a cigar. He led us straight to the transport machine and patted the wing.
"Here she is, my Little One. I'll get you there in top form."
I immediately clarified. No, I realize he's a volunteer, but I just had to ask.
"You do realize this might be a one-way flight?"
The Dwarf snorted.
"And if we don't fly out, then I'll croak on the ground from disease or old age," he squinted. "Are you actually afraid?"
The attempt to bait us didn't impress anyone, but we didn't press him. If he wants to, it's his right. All that was left was to wait for the moment and start. The necropolis flies slowly, but it is flying, the damn thing. And dozens of ships are sailing with it on the water. Small ones, with harpoon guns on the nose, but full of various Undead. Clearly, their role is to fire a salvo and land a boarding party however they can. If they drown, it's not a big deal; the Undead can walk along the bottom. Everyone understands this, so the battle will begin very soon. Torpedoes will keep them busy, but the problem will remain. Yes, there will be a flock of birds with us—meaning interceptors. But that will already be enemy territory. I harbor no illusions about the danger of what's coming. It won't be easy.
We loaded up; we had to spend time squeezing in Dartaola's tower shield. Still, the plane's fuselage isn't quite designed for a Paladin of non-Dwarven proportions in full Armor. But we work with what we have. Especially since all that was left was to wait.
When the planes finally took off, we were able to assess the state of the city.
"It's not that bad," Venidan noted. "A bit of paint, clear the trash, and it's fine."
And it's true, looking in perspective, the city looks quite good. I mean, yes, there are smoke trails, and some hits landed on buildings. The worst is the collapsed tower of the elven quarter, which crushed nearby houses. But looking at it overall—in a city of tens of thousands, at worst ten percent of the housing stock is damaged. If the necropolis doesn't make it, nothing particularly critical will happen. And we'll do our best to make sure everything goes as planned.
It's important to understand that multi-story human-hives aren't the norm in Azeroth; we're talking about one- or two-story houses, at best for ten to fifteen residents. Or barracks for fifty to a hundred. No more. That's a lot of houses. And even five cannonballs hitting ten times might leave a couple of hundred people homeless at worst. Not good, I won't argue, but not terrible on the scale of a city of a couple of tens of thousands. Calming down a bit, I settled into the plane, looking around.
The planes don't have an Invisibility mode, so we'll be flying "above the radar," so to speak. The plane's engines are screaming; the altitude is excessive for it. But, considering the necropolis is flying about two hundred meters above the ground, over the ships, it suits us just fine.
"How convenient that everyone relies on the flight range of an arrow. Or a Catapult shot. Or a rifle," the Rogue grunted, looking ahead.
We gathered behind the pilot. Dartaola, being the tallest, sat in the co-pilot's seat. I can just stand and look through the windshield, as can Veni. By the way, the Dwarf put on his goggles, even though the wind isn't blowing in. He himself is perfectly calm, looking ahead, even seems to be smiling. To Venidan's comment, he announced:
"Inertia of thinking. Want to hear the stupidest thing I've heard about this?"
Veni nodded.
"Surprise me."
"That underground dwellers shouldn't fly," the Dwarf burst out laughing. "That we should have that, what do you call it, fear of open spaces. Rubbish! We are children of the mountains, not worms sitting in burrows. When I heard such rubbish, I knocked out all their teeth."
I nodded with a knowing look.
"Theorists, what can you expect from them."
We would have kept chatting if Dartaola hadn't drawn our attention to the view through the windshield.
"Approaching."
The pilot immediately demanded:
"Sit down and strap in, it's going to get bumpy."
We all complied, after which I released Hacks, looking through its camera at the mass of the necropolis flying ahead and the ships. It looks quite threatening. Numerous dark silhouettes of ships, and above them—a monstrous stone pyramid that, ignoring all laws of physics, logic, and common sense—is flying. A large green crystal hangs beneath it on massive metal chains. Made of dark stone, with stylized huge human skulls, bound with metal plates and towers on which... I zoomed in on the image through the helmet. Four towers at the corners, a fifth at the top. Somewhat similar to a human Castle, though the style is radically different, of course, more necromantic.
And there's such an aura that even looking at the necropolis feels... wrong. Like a distant howl of the wind, like the focused gaze of... someone. Fine, doesn't matter. We're not here to admire this thing. There are other problems. For example, on the four small towers at the corners of the necropolis, there are hemispheres. Somewhat similar to telescopes, but I have a strong suspicion they aren't. And I'm not the only one. Dartaola asked:
"Is it just me, or do I see guns on the towers?"
The Dwarf immediately looked away from the instruments, peering at the necropolis. I don't know what his eyesight is like, but he replied thoughtfully:
"It's not just you. There really are guns there. We'll break through! Where are we hitting?"
I pointed forward and down.
"We need to hit the base of the tower. That one, right in the center. The crystal should be there, at the very top of the pyramid. This whole structure hangs on it. If we break the crystal or disrupt the structure..."
"They'll all drown along with the necropolis," Venidan nodded. "I like deaders without artillery better than deaders with it."
The Dwarf nodded.
"I'll do it now. Get ready, it's going to be very fun. But maybe not for long."
The Rogue burst out laughing.
"DaVi, you have to promise me!"
I, and the Paladin, turned to her.
"What is it?"
"If we die here, invent the most shapely and beautiful Lich body for me of all. Worthy of the great me!"
I snorted.
"The first Death Knights used Orc souls and Human Knight bodies. I'll put you in an Orc. In a man."
She poked me in the shoulder, fortunately not hard. But here the jokes had to stop.
"We're starting the run! Hold on! For Khaz Modan!"
And that meant the plane, with a strained hum, rushed downward, trembling slightly from the load. And I leaned out of the hatch, held by the scruff of the neck by Venidan, who was preventing the gusts of wind from blowing me away, deployed the analysis module, and began charging. Apparently to announce that we had been found, a strained howl rose from below. And black shadows began to detach from the ships. Many black shadows. Very many black shadows.
"Gargoyles!"
The creatures, it seems, had swarmed the ships in the best tradition of seagulls. And now they're launching. Fortunately, there is a fairly large distance between us and them. Enough to make a shot.
The planes accompanying us rushed down, trying to delay the enemy at the cost of their lives. To buy us seconds. They will shoot down many creatures, but I don't think anyone can save them. Not here and not now. And they understand this perfectly well themselves.
A gun thundered; a shell whistled past the plane. Now the necropolis's gunners want us too. The pilot jerked the machine, going into a bank. If it weren't for Veni hugging me, I would have flown out. But the Rogue is holding tight. The plane's engines are howling under the strain, the wings are quivering, and in general, we're shaking slightly. I pointed my hand at the necropolis, feeling Mana flowing into the glove.
"Give me a couple of seconds of level flight. And we'll win."
The Dwarf burst out laughing.
"Moment! Hold on back there, it's going to be a bit tough now. AND... we're on!"
At that moment, the plane sharply banked into a turn, and it became very, very difficult. More importantly, a second later, the machine leveled out. And we were practically point-blank to the necropolis, flying right over the outer towers.
"READY! FIRE!"
And we fired. Actually, the roof of the necropolis is a square platform, about twenty meters wide, on which stands another roughly twenty-meter tower. In general, the Undead love gigantism. And the Uomo Universale sphere, tearing away from the glove, went straight into the base of the tower, at the junction point. And then it blew.
The explosion didn't look particularly impressive, though the necropolis did shudder, right through, entirely. And then, with a crack and a roar, the structure began to fall apart, as if it were hanging on this tower. Though why "as if"—it was precisely hanging on the tower and the crystal beneath it. The hit clearly damaged the frame, which, about ten seconds later, began to tear like paper with a deafening screech. The tower, torn out with chunks of stone and with a glowing blue crystal at the base, remained hanging. After which it began to rapidly gain altitude, no longer constrained by the mass of the necropolis. And the other hundreds and thousands of tons of the necropolis suddenly learned about the acceleration of free fall. And they obeyed it, falling down.
The structure crashed onto the ships below with a resonant splash, raising huge waves. It lingered for a few seconds, allowing us to see the small towers begin to fall from the impact, after which it began to list rapidly. The necropolis clearly wasn't airtight. The stone crumbled from the impact and water rushed inside.
Unfortunately, we weren't allowed to celebrate. A nasty screech rang out, and with a loud whistle, like anti-air tracers, arcs of magical attacks from gargoyles flew at us. The creatures had finally gained enough altitude. The battle below continues, but there are simply too many gargoyles. They managed to find about two dozen to pursue the plane.
"Climb! Take it higher, they're slow!" Dartaola demanded, but the Dwarf waved her off.
One of the interceptors flared up, falling onto a ship like a fiery torch. It went for a ram... Farewell.
"No chance! Too..." at that moment something exploded very loudly, "we won't get away!"
The left engine exploded. A magical sickle sliced through the steel, leaving a gash from which flames are erupting, and the rotor is slowing down. It didn't get better; we began to slow down, and the gargoyles began to hit. Every hit leaves a notch on the plane. Tears the fuselage.
The plane tilted when a gargoyle, managing to close in, hung onto the wing struts, after which it screeched deafeningly. Venidan emptied her carbine into the creature. Didn't kill it, but knocked it off. Dartaola and I burned a second one with magic. Eighteen. The survivor, with bullet holes in its eye socket and torso, flew behind. But a Fireball quieted it down. Seventeen.
And to make things even more fun, the ships below us began to explode. Glancing down briefly, I saw numerous dark shadows rushing toward the Undead ships, raising bubbles—they had released torpedoes. And if a dreadnought could still withstand a hit, these literally fall apart when the front half of the ship's hull disappears in a flash of explosion or a chaos of magical energy. After all, these boats are quite small, and they sink fast.
And we're falling on them too; the wings are shredded, there's a hole in the belly. The plane shuddered again when another gargoyle climbed onto the nose. The pilot killed it, shattering it with a burst from the nose machine guns. Three more are coming in from the flank. I leaned out of the open door.
"Magical Arrows," the first was shot down, two banked away.
And we have to fight off sudden passengers clawing at the fuselage. A gargoyle tore away and fell into the water. Fourteen. Dartaola's blade flared, after which she plunged it into the roof. Judging by the screech—harpies. The creature slid down the fuselage, leaving gashes.
"We need a plan, and fast! We're in the very epicenter of the battle!"
"Tail stabilizer is junk, controls are almost dead!" the pilot "cheered" us up.
A plan, hm? Oh, an idea!
"Ice. We'll make a boat out of ice. Reinforce the fuselage and hope that a block of ice won't interest them. I'll cast Invisibility. Just land us, man. Somehow!"
Veni nodded.
"You're a psycho!"
But the Dwarf approved:
"That's a better plan than a minute ago! Well, whatever, hold on, it's going to be hard and painful! Hurraaaah!"
The impact was indeed strong. No protection from inertia. But, more importantly, we were able to brake. Yes, we were partially flooded, but the frozen ice pushed the plane up. Its fuselage ended up in a kind of icy "rosette." And then I used all my strength to turn it into a block of ice, covering it from above as well. And I cast Invisibility so they would definitely leave us alone. Perhaps the most heartbreaking sight was when the last two pilots led the stupid gargoyles away from us. I hope they survived, though I'm not sure. There are many of them, very many.
A battle is boiling all around; gargoyles are flying, ships are sinking from guns and torpedoes. But the block of ice, quietly drifting toward the city, is of interest to no one. Invisibility is a terrifying power. And the necropolis successfully sank, which means we completed the mission.
We warded off the biggest problem. The city will handle the rest. I believe in them.
"DaVi!"
I turned to the Rogue, who had been watching the battle through a crack until then.
"What?"
"We need a dreadnought. This... is not okay at all."
True. When we get back—I'll deal with that issue. That was close, too close. I... I'm a bit scared. I don't want to repeat that. Never again.
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