12 Miles Below

Marsella wasn’t a great person. In fact, half the city openly despised her, while the other half grudgingly worked with her - and only secretly despised her. She was quite used to it after all, having moved in from a different city a few years ago. Or rather, been chased off from said city.

She took one more long drag of her smoke, tossed it to the ground, and stamped on it. The lack of any relic armor boot pissed her off to no end, but reality had to be faced. Her thugs were far more skilled at using those, and they were in short supply these days. She’d spent too much time being a desk and working with paper instead of dagger. Tonight she’d be watching from the rooftop as a city fell.

She stared at the objective, far across the city landscape, past the water. At the center of the massive lake, with only a single bridge that connected the pillar to land. If there was at least one thing to look forward to, it was a live view of the match between that surface savage sword saint and To’Wrathh. She’d seen the recording of the first round, and it had been something out of a movie. Noone she knew could ever move that fast. Rather, she didn’t know such constant speed was even possible. Deathless can’t do that, and they were demi-gods. Only Feathers fight at that speed. Which was why it took a team of Deathless to fight off a Feather. And yet, here was a regular human who went toe to toe and lived.

She hoped the sword saint would survive all this scrapshit. That woman could easily sneak past the machine cordon. Deserved to live really. But the good always die early, while the wicked like herself tended to live. Blame the world for being unfair, she always said. The game had to be played with the real rules, not the pretend rules everyone made up.

An hour remained before the pillar heart would power down. The city had gone from innocent festivities to dire dread. For an entire week, that fancy general had been utterly unable to shove the machine threat off their throats from the city gate. Worse - the machines brought behemoth after behemoth and had slowly ripped more and more holes into the gatehouse over the days, despite the tireless work of that sword saint and the group of rangers that flew with her. As good as the general was rumored to be, even he couldn’t hold his own against the unified might of a machine army out for blood. A human army would have been different. Machines were simply unending. Both a goddess damned sword saint and veteran general in the same city and they had only managed to beat back the machine offencive for one measly round. What hope did they have if even this hadn’t been enough?

What was left of the original defensive structure was less than worthless, and the only reason it hadn’t been overrun was due to the pillar heart blocking any machine from stepping foot into the city. Not munitions, or lasers, or explosives, those ate up the fortress without issue. That constant erosion had been what convinced Marsella to switch sides. She’d always been good about picking the winning side so far, and everything in her gut screamed that there was no surviving the next few days without becoming one of those cultists.

The city had to face reality, same as Marsella. The machines were coming for them all. This sort of organized campaign hadn’t been seen in centuries.

Cities that fell, were cities that had slowly fallen to disrepair, being whittled down by lack of resources and having an unlucky defense against a typical machine wave. To’Wrathh had done a concentrated and continuous attack on the city. The last known city to have ever been wiped off by a continuous attack like this had been some two hundred years ago, by some no-name city state thousands of miles in the hillsides, away from any trade routes. It was always no-name hicks who decided just because a pillar existed there, it was a good place to settle. Idiots.

Of course, no one would really give up on Capra’Nor. No, people were too dumb to read the room and give up early. So she’s given her recommendations and that Feather, Wrath or whatever strange name the machine went by, had been oddly agreeable. No discourse, no need to argue, just clean acceptance that she had a good idea and to implement it. Oddly fresh considering how much work needed to be done to convince anyone these days.

When the attack began, Wrath was expected to broadcast a simple message. Twist the knife in a bit, make everyone more agreeable to the orders Marsella would send out. She tuned in to the local broadcast. Propaganda right now, filled with newscasters of different political agendas, all going over the preparations the military were doing. At least what wasn’t classified.

A minute of drivel later, and all broadcasts ceased, replaced by a single voice. Showtime.

“Humans of Capra’Nor. I am the Feather To’Wrathh. The pale lady has ordered me to destroy your city, however your ultimate fate has been left to my decision. I have offered your soldiers, your leaders and your general generous terms of surrender - multiple times. You have refused. This will be your last chance for a more peaceful solution, and I offer it directly to you, the citizens. The city’s pillar heart will beat its last today. If it is destroyed by my army, I will raze the rest of the city to the ground with it. If the pillar is destroyed by your own hands, before my army reaches it, I will grant mercy. Do not make the wrong choice. And do not believe I will be lenient on technicalities. You know what I demand. Comply, or be crushed. There will be no other alternative offered.”

The message ended. Stunned newscasters took back to the air, uncertain how they had been hijacked. But the moral damage had been done. Now, she’d call up all the little gangs and groups left, and have an easy time gathering up the last of the stragglers up. She lit up another smoke, and took a deep inhale. Time to work again.

“Chokepoint beta is down. Alpha and Delta holding. Theta sustaining light enemy fire.” An aid said to the side. General Zaang watched the battle reports come flooding in. The initial assault happened exactly as predicted. Twenty minutes and he expected both the other three chokepoints to be breached. After that were the mines, a few traps and the fight would escalate into the city proper, where the defenses had been far more spread out and the machine numbers would really start becoming an impossible wall to contend with.

“We’re not going to hold.” He said bluntly, to the man behind. “It’s happening exactly as I told you it would, consul. The moment we couldn’t hold them off in the plains despite all our preparations is the moment we’ve lost the war. You need to call for surrender.”

“I can’t do that, General. You know the other two consuls would overrule me that that'd be that.” The poor man looked haggard. He’d been trying to talk reason into his two co-rulers for the past week, but nothing was getting through to those fools. If anything, they’d gotten - justifiably - paranoid his insistence on surrender would mean his betrayal.

“Declare surrender, and you can deal with the micro revolts when they come up. Some of the city would get purged for it, but it will be better than all of the city.” Zaang said. He knew a losing battle when he saw one. could smell it from a mile away. This had defeat written in bold. Worse, he’d been forced to station half the city knights around the pillar heart because of that damned Feather’s poisonous message.

Not his own personal knights or men of course. By that point, the other two consuls had grown suspicious of him as well, and done their best to purge any loyal men out of the pillar defense force.

Not that he could blame the city much, he’d have done the same in their boots. Probably done it with far more brutality as well, if he were to be honest. Some foes needed to be put down fast, before they even noticed a bloody nose. A mistake on their part to leave him in charge of things.

“I’ve considered going that path, but the other two saw it coming and already closed it before me.” The consul said, saying nothing new to Zaang. “They’ve got those imperials all greased up and in their palms, even if I could command the city guard to turn on the pillar, they’ve placed their own loyal men up there.” The old man took a step forward into the war room, watching the reports fly by with unpracticed eye. “Do you trust her?” He asked, eyebrow quirked. “That Feather I mean. They’ve never behaved like this before. I would know, I had a few of my city historians do a deep search for all encounters with Feathers, first thing I did once I heard the offer she made. This is unprecedented as far as machine lore we've got.”

“I see little point in that question.” Zaang said. He didn’t bother to look at the man, keeping his eyes peeled on the screen.

“Chokepoint Alpha’s gone dark.” Another aid announced. “Minefield showing activity. Estimate seven minutes until depletion at current rate.”

Zaang raised a hand. “Prime the explosives by city point.” They’d cleared out an entire neighborhood right by the gatehouse entrance. Setting it all off would blunt the spear of the attack and provide rubble to work with as shelter, but that was a double edged sword. These machines were far too smart. Like an army of veteran machines, far less feral and more sneaky. They would absolutely be using the cover to their advantage. Those explosives should be used near the last hour, and yet they were already being primed this early.

“Why is there no point in trusting her?” The consol asked, still stuck in the past.

A vapid question, but the man’s strength was politicking. Not warfare. The general could answer with his eyes closed for that one. “Your situation is too dire for such things like trust. Either the machine lied and you’re all dead already, or she didn’t and you might live. Belief in her is optional. Nothing you do will change the outcome. Dead. Not dead. It's already been etched into the metal.”

“You speak like you’re not in the same boat as all of us.” The man chuckled. “You’re trapped here like the rest of us, general. Even smugglers aren’t able to escape the machine cordon.”

You would know, thought Zaang. He was certain this particular blood tick likely had plenty of backchannels to the smuggling ring. Likely he'd tried to find his own way out of the city. Not that Zaang could blame the man. He’d already tried to get himself and his men out of this deathtrap, but the jaws had already gripped his ankle and refused to let him escape. He could escape by himself with a small group of elites. Yet that would have required abandoning the rest of his men and he wouldn’t do that. Not after so many years. So he’d taken his own preparations.

“I suppose you’re right.” The general said, fingers folded together, watching the battle unfold.

“Sir!” An officer shouted out, “Activity by the pillar. Visual confirmation on fifty three rogue knights approaching, along with a mob of non-armored combatants.”

Fifty three was slightly above the estimated average, but within margin. The real question was the queen piece. The game was already rigged against him, but the position of the queen piece here would spell out everything that followed. “The Feather?” He asked.

“Visual confirmation, back line. She’s just standing there right now, likely waiting for the sword saint to appear.”

Zaang nodded. He’d had some spark of hope perhaps, that the city might survive this round. But this would be the bell ringing the end of the match. "Well. There it is then."

"What is?" The consul asked.

"The way the game goes." Zaang said. This meant she had indeed been kept offline or in some sort of stasis inside the city, while waiting for the pillar to be shut off and survived the original wave. All his preparations had made assumptions to hold the Feather back and stop her from crossing the gatehouse. Her being already inside and leading the rebellion was the death kneel. The situation that he had no hope of outmatching without spreading himself too thin. He’d made his wager, and he’d lost.

Not that he had a choice. Sometimes, there really was no winning move. All the right moves, and defeat still clamps down around his neck. The way life goes. He’ll either die or live through interesting times. On one hand, nothing would matter anymore anyhow, so why worry? On the other hand, it would be quite an interesting time, the first in all of human history. Attempting to co-exist with machines. Novel. In either case, it was all out of his hands now. There was only one single optimal move left for him to play.

He turned to the consol, and gave the man a polite nod. “Let’s see how those prized imperials handle the protection of the pillar. Everyone else,” He said, turning to the assembled clerks and officers in the war room. “Remain focused on the gatehouse. We have no official authority on the pillar heart. Dedicate screen three to the pillar battle, I do want to keep an eye on what happens there. Call it morbid curiosity.”

This would be the difficult part. The surface envoy had a strong sense of loyalty and commitment. He hadn’t bothered to try to turn her over to his side, instead, all he had to make sure of was that she was pre-occupied with the Feather. If she noticed what he’d planned, that woman could single handedly wipe out his team. They hadn't started calling her a sword saint without reason. Sometimes such things were propaganda, embellished and shined up to spark some sense of hope. But occasionally, the reality really did match up and no such polishing is needed.

Surface dwellers were not to be messed with, given all the dangers of mankind the clans had to contend with up there. Battle fanatics, ready to die for their cause without question. All of them elites with extremely convoluted combat styles that required an entire culture to support and produce, with decades of training and propaganda from infancy. Extremely inefficient, but the result that came out was of high quality, albeit at the cost of very, very low quantity. But even with their reputation, the sword saint was something else.

The other chokepoints turned dark on the screens, and more reports were called out as his forces continued their fighting retreat through the gatehouse ruins and into the city proper. Zaang didn’t care for that, the theater of war had shifted to the pillar. Nothing else mattered now. He just played his part for plausible deniability.

The Feather and surface dwellers fought. Or rather, the sword saint and the feather dueled, and everyone else kept a fair distance from the two. It was beautiful to watch, he would admit that without hesitation. Zaang would have given a quarter of his army to have lady Winterscar as a retainer on his roster, and he'd consider that a bargain trade. A shame she was wasted on the likes of this city.

The battle raged on before the pillar, imperial crusaders and squires holding off the rebel wave of thugs and dissidents. Clear military discipline against a mob. It was a shame really, by all rights they should have wiped the rebellion outright in due time.

And then the city would have been wiped a few hours later. By the time that fighting block would be free again with that Feather downed, all tactical advantage would have been lost. It would have been a completely different story had the mob been just a mob.

He put his hands down a pocket by his vest, resting his index on a tiny transmitter. He operated the small device, tapping out the signal. On the far side of the screen, a small group of pillar knights continued to fight off the rebels, until the last of that pocket of traitors were taken care of for that sector. And then the knights turned as a group and made their way to the pillar, instead of continuing on against the rest of the rebel force. They moved with precision, quickly passing by friendlies without contest and no one the wiser. Everyone was paying attention to the spectacle of a Feather fighting off against the famous sword saint from the surface after all.

He watched the team of knights reach the inner defenses, amicable for a moment, until the inevitable betrayal when the inner defenses wouldn’t allow them to pass by. In moments, the surprised reserve guards were eliminated. The now officially rogue group of knights stormed through the long bridge, racing for the pillar itself, no longer masking any intention. There, to the base of the pillar, a group of dedicated imperial crusaders met them in combat.

Not the small time imperial squires, these were true crusaders, with experience and years behind each. Held in reserve specifically against saboteurs that would attempt to sneak past the war outside. But Zaang knew the rogue knights wearing the Capra’Nor colors were enough of a match. Comandos, far more skilled than regular rank and file knights their armor identified them as. Tailor picked for their opponents such as the Imperial crusaders Zaang knew would be the final guard. It would be bloody, but the result was already predetermined.

He saw the sword saint try to make her way to the bridge herself, likely having heard over the comms chatter what was happening. But the Feather kept her locked in combat. To’Wrathh. Yes, that was her name. Without that Feather to hold off the sword saint, those rogue knights would never have had a chance at the pillar. However, neither would they have gone rogue in the first place if Kidra was an opponent to contend with.

A few of the other surface dwellers attempted to make it to the bridge. Those could be more of a problem. Surface dwellers had long earned their reputation as knight killers, given their combat style was exclusively made to fight other knights. They were far too late to catch up. Zaang could even hear the explosion from here, deep in the war room. The way the ancient pillar crumbled on its own base, fragmenting and falling into the lake. The war before the bridge stopped as everyone stared at the breaking tower. The last hope of the city.

It was all over now, goddess save them.

Zaang turned to the consol, who was ashen faced, watching the screen. “It seems the imperial garrison here was not enough to hold the pillar. Your mob problem ran deeper than just separate factions outside the pillar guards. I recommend we quickly connect with the other consuls, and agree to the surrender, and pretend like it was our intentions all along.”

The man nodded, rushing to his own comms station to make the calls and report the situation. If Zaang had to guess, likely the consul was relieved himself. The decision was now no longer a matter for debate. People would be noticing soon, either from their windows or through the news. The city’s back had been finally broken.

Zaang wondered what would happen next. If he lived, he’d be rather pleasantly surprised, he supposed. Assuming life under machine rule wasn’t a different kind of nightmare.

He slowly sat down on his chair, taking out a glass bottle filled with amber liquid. Half filled, the bottle had only ever seen use a few times. A prized gift of the world's finest. He'd already prepared a single glass to the side. He had no intentions of sharing with anyone, of course. “May we live in interesting times.” He said, lifting the cup up to nobody in particular, taking a sip and savoring the flavors.

Today he’d finish the rest of the bottle.

Next chapter - Counter offense

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