Mismatched opposition

Before you can give the order, you hear a barked command from the other ship. There’s a flash of light which startles everyone, including yourself, as tendrils of glowing magic lash out towards the Horizon. With the sounds of splintering wood, the tendrils embed themselves into the hull before retracting, dragging the two ships together with a lurch. As your crew recovers from the surprise, another command rings out, and the Order’s troops leap to the attack.

Cursing yourself for getting caught off guard, you look to Ferra and Alex. “Let’s go. If I can take out that commander, I doubt they have anything that can stop either of you.”

Ferra nods, shifting her body into her combat form. “Follow me, then.”

Alex clenches her fists, fire wreathing her arms. “I’m guessing we don’t need to be gentle with these ones?”

You shake your head as you follow Ferra, pushing your way towards the front. “No. These are dedicated Order troops. No holding back.”

Despite being caught on the back foot, your crew seems to be doing well. The fight is vicious, and there are fighters down on both sides. Though it’s fairly even so far, you know that soon the better armor and skill of the Order troops will begin to tell if you don’t do something. Fortunately, you reach the front of the lines, and Ferra explodes into motion. Hacking her way into the enemy, her bladed arms hack through armor as if it was made of paper.

You and Alex follow in her wake, protecting her back as you push forward. You note that Caliburn doesn’t shatter their weapons, telling you that they’re magical. Their armor, though, does nothing against your enchanted blade. Alex takes a far more inelegant approach, the flames from her body superheating metal as she lashes out. More than one opponent falls to the ground, cooked within his glowing hot armor.

Even so, the occasional blade slips through. You’re bleeding from several shallow cuts, and you see some gashes on Ferra’s shoulders from lucky blows, though it hasn’t seemed to slow her. Alex has been better off, but you can tell she’s feeling the strain of generating so much fire. Thankfully, you break through into the open behind enemy lines, finding your foe waiting with a look of smug satisfaction on his face.

The two robed wizards block your way, but the man waves them aside. “Finally. I was worried you wouldn’t be a challenge to me.”

Ferra steps forward, but you stop her. “Go deal with the rest. I can handle this guy.”

Ferra nods, turning back to the battle and hurling herself at the nearest warrior. Alex looks suspiciously at the blue armored warrior before doing the same. The robed mages part, bowing to the warrior as he rolls his shoulders, walking towards you. “So sure of yourself? You’re fortunate that my orders are to bring you in alive. You really have no chance against me, even with your pretty little sword. Next time, let your pet war machine do the fighting.”

You raise your sword as he approaches. “Big talk for someone who hasn’t lifted a finger in this fight.”

There’s a flash of anger in his dark eyes. “Do you know who I am? I am Victoria the Silver’s prize apprentice! A chosen champion of the Great One! My name is Patrus, and you are nothing to me!”

You sigh. “While you preen, others die. Fight me, and let’s get this over with.”

Without waiting for an answer, you lunge forward, bringing Caliburn around in a flashing arc. And you catch nothing but air. Patrus seems to blur, flowing to the side as if liquid. You spin and thrust towards him, but he moves again, faster than anything human. With a sigh of his own, he lashes out with his sword, slamming the flat of the blade into your elbow. Your arm spasms, and your blade drops to the deck with a clatter. Before you can react, Patrus is behind you, an armored arm wrapped around your neck.

“I told you, you have no chance. Next time, send your little toy after me. As it is, she’s probably won the battle for you, although I doubt she’ll survive me in the end. As for you…”

The two mages approach, each taking one of your arms. You struggle, but their grip is iron hard, and Patrus tightens his grip around your neck. Your vision begins to fade, and you see smoke boiling up around you from the mages. The last thing you hear as the world fades to black is Patrus’ voice.

“Send my regards to the Great One.”

—

As the smoke fades, Patrus stands alone. In the midst of a slaughter, he sees the golem girl staring at him, burning orange eyes wide. Her arms blur, the blades shifting into massive, clawed hands. She rips her way clear of the fight, and with a feral scream, hurls herself towards him.