The Exalt [Cultivation Fantasy]

"Don't let them through!" Hector barked behind in a grating shout and nearly tripped on his return as the Gravitaram fired once more into the endless accursed. Weak flames and embers spluttered in black fumes out of his furnace armor, matching the erratic heartbeat Oscar could hear from several feet away. The hammer anima tore off Hector's body, showing a messy, short old man, the hair drenched in sweat and uneven. Hector sat beside the Gravitaram and slumped down, resting his head on it for a quick second before he screamed from the intense heat reddening the surface of the war machine.

"Good work. Get some rest." Oscar put a plate of mutton chops before Hector and retreated with quick steps as the old fabricator lunged for the meaty morsel. Hector always had bad manners and general uncleanliness during meals, but today, he was more unruly and wild, tearing into the meat and crunching on the bone like ice cubes, a sound that made Oscar wince. Serit also returned and reached for a piece of mutton, but his hand was smacked away by Hector, who growled. Oscar passed another plate, "Here."

"Thanks," His brother-in-law gasped and chewed on a mouthful, closing his eyes and groaning in satisfaction. "How long has it been?" A simple turn of his head could have answered the question by looking at the burning strips of cloth, but he seemed too exhausted for that. Black blood dripped along the edge of his short sword, trickling on the ground with the foul stench of rotten flesh. Normally, Serit would do his best to remain clean, but there was no time for that.

"Three days. Three goddamn days." Three of the burning strips had already been burned to a tiny stub, the fourth starting anew. Oscar sat and panted, clutching his screaming lungs. He hadn't fought a single minute, sending out Erden in his stead. Using Volten's sword to reach far and wide across the plains drained every drop of Eirin he could muster. Oscar held out a jug of water, and Serit stole it with incredible speed and gulped down, not minding the spill on his clothes.

"Serit, I told you several times to mind your manners. But I guess there's no reason to scold you today." Avila said with an annoyed tone, but her voice softened with her golden eyes lowering. The ranged Exalts manning the walls rotated at slower intervals than the ones guarding the gates, and at this hour, their rotations coincided for them to meet. On Avila's back was Avril, who had her eyes closed in a deep sleep, still tightly clutching her staff made from grade-four elemental ore. Oscar hurried toward them and helped Avril off Avila, carrying his wife in her arms.

"You fought well, Avril." Oscar evened out her tense brow and tucked her hair properly behind her ears. He tilted a jug toward her lips, and she drank slowly in her sleep, absolutely adorable. From below, he had seen her fight her best, showing fine control over her roots and vines to drag many accursed into killing spots for others to cull them down. It was relieving to know she didn't use an ounce of Reis and risk her heart. Beside him, Avila and Serit argued, and his brother-in-law relented, enduring her teasing jabs on his cheek.

"Bah! I could barely handle one couple, but now there are two of you!" Hector snapped a bone in half in his teeth and chewed on the marrow, flaring hot air from his nostrils. He pointed a greasy finger at them and looked around, scoffing at the end. It was obvious Hector was looking for Helen. Oscar smiled at Hector's brashness and checked the situation on the walls. The Gravitaram had reached its limits, and the fresh soldiers charged in, having recovered for the past hour.

"My Lord!" Shallen rushed in, saluted, then bowed. "There's only one more round of ammunition for the cannons. Do we leave them for later?"

Next to the cannons rested a single round for each. Oscar looked up to see the swarm of accursed skittering on the thin barrier that constantly rippled and trembled under the pale limbs. Below them, rows of abominations screamed, the amalgamated limbs sticking out like needles. One rushed in, eliciting some pained shouts as some soldiers were flung away. Santen stabbed his arms into the abomination, forcing a painful wail from its dozens of mouths, and pulled it apart into halves.

"They're after the towers! Stop them!" But the warning came too late. A downpour of accursed passed through another gap wrenched open by an abomination and bashed onto the tower. Their hands clawed and gripped the tower, pulling out brick after brick in a ravenous state until it tumbled down. Rubble slid down the walls in a cloud of dust, and flames spread from the toppled braziers. Erden roared and trampled over the invading accursed in a hardened charge. But one of the cannons was now out of commission.

"Hector, get the Champions ready. Shallen, fire the usual artillery with the ranged Exalts. Once we fire the Gravitarams again, the Champions will switch in." The battle had gone out of control. Ideally, he wished to hold for another day or two before letting the Champions out, but reality often threw his hopes aside. Shallen bowed and hurried away, shouting orders to the ones on the walls. Hector wiped his greasy hands on his pants and ran past the inner walls to get the Champions.

'Is it the instinct of war engraved in their souls?' Oscar wondered how the accursed, mainly mindless brutes, could also identify and strike the key points of their defenses. The strange duality of how they so easily funneled through the entrances without regard for proper thought and coordinated attacks on the towers was worrisome. Oscar observed the accursed, unable to find a single clarity of thought or reason in the pale, dead eyes.

'They fought in the greatest war Talos had ever seen in its long history. Yes, those embers of instinct still flicker within their mindless husks.' Ignyres answered. 'Are you sure of using those things now?'

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'No choice.' Oscar waited for an hour and stood up, leaning Avril on the inner wall. Erden returned, his white fur covered in black blood. He mounted his friend and shouted an order to Shallen, motioning for them to fire. At his call, the remaining cannons on the watchtowers, missing three, fired a thunderous round for the last time. The soldiers on the walls showered the dark sky with a flurry of spells; then, the back cannons sang their last tune. Sweeping around, low and past the walls, Oscar saw several burning accursed climbing out of the burning chasm, flames bursting from their open mouths in a shout that sounded much like the blazing furnaces.

His banner flapped in the breeze, unfurling to a full stretch. Oscar poured all his reserves and dipped into Erden's Ein as well to extend his reach far beyond the norm. Volten's sword illuminated brighter than ever before, acting as a beacon for all to see and igniting cheers all over, everyone chanting his name. The accursed turned on each other, the converted fighting for the right side once again. The unfortunate souls were now given a second chance to kill their ancient foes, holding the line behind the burning craters of the last artillery strikes. The smarter ones sidestepped the abominations and used their speed to trip them, allowing a chance for others to kill them.

He returned right as the Gravitarams fired, vaporizing the encroaching accursed. For the first time in the long three days of conflict, a rather large gap formed between the accursed. One side was held back by the converted, who fought as if they were alive and full of valor, charging in with grace and bravery in their strides. The other side, closer to the outpost, either misstepped and fell down the chasm or stampeded toward the bridges to meet a death of ash. The chance was here, and he shouted in a rush, "Help the walls. Get the accursed off our barriers!"

A cry of affirmation rose. The soldiers by the gates swept up the walls and aided the ranged Exalts. Quickly, the writhing mass of climbing accursed waned into mere scatterings until they had been wiped off, letting the barrier gleam with a clean glint. Oscar sighed in relief at how efficiently they worked, the drills and training over the months coming to a great result on the final night.

"I got them!" Hector rushed to his side. "Took a long time to get those bastards out. Delicate contraptions they are. The others already have their own. Here's ours, boy."

A golem was taken out of Hector's space pocket and landed on the ground with a loud thud, its enormous greaves sinking into the hard earth, cracks spreading wildly from its ankles. Clad in thick golden armor, shoulders broad and limbs thick as tree trunks, the Champion stood firm, light blinking from its visor until two dense orbs glowed from within. It stared around and stomped, stopping in front of Oscar. The earth trembled from its knees, dipping into a bow, and the single-horn helmet, reminiscent of a rhino's head, lowered in deference.

"Champion. Designation: Uriah. Active And Awaiting Orders." Its deep, mechanical voice resounded. It held a hammer in its hand, tall enough for two men's height.

"Rise, Uriah. Once the Gravitaram ends, secure the bridge ahead. Give our forces some time to rest." Oscar nodded. "Report that your siblings."

"Received And Relayed." Uriah sprinted, the armor creaking under the weight of its seemingly impossible strides. Nothing in that thick armor should be able to run so fast in a flexible manner, but Uriah had done it, the gait of its sprint shocking the surrounding Exalts. The Gravitaram beam ended again, and everyone but a few of the ranged rushed in full retreat. It was a pity, but at least a few needed to man the walls.

Oscar settled back and slumped down the inner wall, sitting beside Avril. His drop shook his wife and made her head sway to the side, resting on his shoulder. The final night was deathly chilly. At least, the braziers burned well, warm and crisp, the crackling of the coals soothing to his ears. Her soft snores, as if coming from a muse, almost lulled him to sleep with her. But he forced his eyes open and watched Uriah claim the center spot on the bridge, banging the handle of its hammer on the ground like a drum, beckoning the accursed forward.

The gap had been closed. The accursed reached the bridge, five abominations stomping ahead and swinging their putrid weapons against Uriah. But Uriah was unbothered, standing still and unmoved by the powerful blows that even Oscar had to block and sway to deflect. The Champion raised its hammer, an earthen elemental force gathering around the head, and swung once. The upper halves of the abominations vanished, reduced to mere splotches of black blood and pale flesh on one side of Uriah's hammer. It swung again and painted a similar grotesque picture on the other side of the hammer, felling dozens of accursed in one blow.

"That idiot…" Oscar clicked his tongue and recalled a faint memory, one with Gol-4.

…….

"Can you imagine it, Oscar?! These Champions are the pinnacle of warrior-type golems. The Sentinels are mere rabble before them." Gol-4 laughed in a high-pitched mechanical tone.

'If you had so many devastating inventions and designs, how did you ever lose that war? As a Primaere, shouldn't you have had enough resources to field an army of these?' Oscar wiped the soot from his face and studied a clean plate of refined ore.

Gol-4 made an audible spat, though no spit came from its mouth. "Because they're failures! Failures they are! And I couldn't risk a single one falling into the enemy's hands. I could care less for the Sentinels and other designs. But even a half-assed imitation of the Champions could wreak devastation on them." Gol-4 sighed. "Perhaps I was too kind in that war. My descendants, my home, all destroyed with these damned ruins left as an afterthought. Perhaps, if I had truly created my arsenal, I could have won. But I didn't want to be the harbinger of doom the others saw me as and wanted to win on other terms. My inventions are indeed for war and battles, but I mainly wanted to create for the wellbeing of others."

"Really? You mostly talk about how your inventions have a great impact on killing others." Oscar asked, placing down the refined ore. "Why haven't I heard you say a single thing about an invention that helps others."

"That should all be somewhere. Well, it's not in my head…" Gol-4 rolled around.

Oscar paused and asked, "What if I want to use your inventions to kill my enemies? What if I realize your Champions?"

"Do what you want. I had my principles, but I won't impose them on you. If you need it, then use it." Gol-4 grumbled. "I really was a useless sack in my living days."

"Says who? I think you're a good friend. You may have screwed up badly in life, you're doing fine now." Oscar laughed, and Gol-4 let out a mechanical laughter.

…….

"Ah, I want to see him again. That idiot." Oscar sighed. He missed his friend.

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