Day three of the final event was flat out…peaceful. After a subdued celebration and victory from the day before, the players waited in anticipation, spread out amongst the settlement targets as thinly as Mason dared.
He was tempted to change his strategy. But he still saw the best chance of keeping his players alive was to leave them in decent sized groups. It meant the locations they could defend were smaller. And that the western continent was pretty wide open. But between his allies and powers, he still figured he could defend it without much help.
The hours ticked by. The daylight dwindled without any sign of planar attack. The night passed as restlessly, Mason finally coming to his bed with most of his women, just wanting to hold them in the dark.
OK…Haley gave him a sneaky blowjob under the sheet. But he kept his aura off. And he didn’t say a word as his first wife finished him and cuddled up with a sly grin.
Dawn rose just as calmly on the fourth day. The system seemed like it had used up a few days worth of resources on day two. But Mason knew better than to think it was over.
After the death of Phuong, he did his best not to look forward to more violence. He really did. The portals started opening as the sun fell, and his heart raced with anticipation.
This time the enemy came at night.
Fortunately, the civilians, Arcane Order, and the elves had all given him warning. As time went on they were getting better and better at detecting spikes of planar energy. Or maybe the energy was just getting stronger. Either way, it helped coordinate defense.
“We believe there will be no planar lords this round,” Erik the Swede explained over their map in the scout enclave. “You can see there is a kind of signature from the greater creatures. And though I have no proof, my intuition tells me they are not able to appear just anywhere. They will only be permitted in major attacks.”
“So what’s this round, then?” Mason had raised a brow that morning. The arch-mage shrugged.
“Many minor attacks.”
He’d been exactly right. This time the destroyers were going with ‘volume’, hoping geography and the cover of darkness kept more of their raiding parties alive. Unfortunately, it worked.
Mason just didn’t have enough people to cover everything. His priority was keeping his soldiers alive—which he succeeded at. But it cost them.
Demonic and elemental attackers went after damn near every target conceivable. They were small in number. Usually only a single portal at most locations. But they didn’t need much if there wasn’t anyone there to stop them.
The destroyed or abandoned human settlements showed their vulnerability yet again. Orlon was also proved correct about ‘old battlefield sites’ and a number of other historically ‘interesting’ targets around the world.
Mason did what he could. He and his animal companions whipped through the fey (which was still a battleground but didn’t cause him any problems), warping all over the continent to butcher mostly abyssal demons or elemental planars that spasmed in terror as he arrived.
Yellow warnings became a constant in his profile, but no player group ever called for direct help. They fought off attacks all night. Then sporadically throughout the fifth day before another series of waves as the night fell. It was starting to feel like the Neutral Zone. Mason tried not to feel like he’d been ‘trained’.
When he had a moment to spare, he met briefly with Garet, Carl, Erik and Chinua to see if they suggested any change in strategy.
“All we can do is spread thinner.” Carl shrugged, eyes bruised and tired. “But…”
“But they’re probably waiting for it,” Mason finished. He shook his head. “Losing locations is bad. Losing people is worse. Combining all our settlements has hurt us so far. But my gut tells me if we hold the city and Nassau, in the end, we win. We just have to limit the damage before the last day. I suspect every loss grows their forces for a final attack.”
Erik looked between the other men and waited, speaking when it was clear no one disagreed or had any better ideas.
“Another piece of information, gentlemen. I had wanted to wait until there was more…evidence. But we believe the number of planar lords is detectable. From the energy signatures in our scrying. We think they have five more in total.”
The men all exchanged a look. Mason kept any expression off his face. Mostly because he looked forward to killing them but thought that might be weird.
“Five more of those fucking things that were strong enough to bring down Phuong?” Carl shook his head and glanced at him. “You think they’re all coming on the last day?”
Yeah, he thought. All of them. And something a lot worse. It’s gonna be amazing. I just wish it wasn’t maybe the end of everything we care about.
He saw flashes of the demon he’d pictured in his druid dream. A giant that toppled trees without effort, that pulled apart reality everywhere it moved. He’d also seen armies of undead, which they hadn’t dealt with at all. He suddenly had a very bad feeling about those conquered battle sites…
“Why five?” He turned to Erik. “And do you think they could add more?”
The careful ex-scientist met his eyes, and clearly didn’t want to speculate. When the other men all stared he winced and gave in.
“I believe the seven planar lords are to do with the number of committed gods of destruction.” He paused. “There are also many ‘neutral’ gods. I believe you are correct that our losses will incur penalties. Which is to say, if it looks like we will lose, the neutral gods may join the destroyers. If they do, there will be more planar lords and maybe champions against us.”
Mason knew it was right the moment Erik finished speaking. But what about the gods who wanted to protect the prime? Where the fuck were the ‘planar lords’ on his side? He asked as much.
Erik shrugged like his guess was as good as anyone else’s.
“They won’t be coming.” Chinua had lit a cigarette and took a slow, pleasure-filled sip of his coffee. “We are the protector-gods army. They sent us.”
Mason gave that a few seconds to settle in. Sounded about right. Have a buff and an artifact or two. That’s a good human. Now good luck against all that mighty cosmic power!
“Here am I. Send me.” Carl muttered wryly. He looked around the room. “I mean I’d fucking prefer he didn’t. Don’t act like I’m the only one. My knees hurt. And I’ve got a head ache. I got like two hours to sleep last night and the baby cried for one.”
Mason grinned, which spread around the room until Carl rolled his eyes, which started a round of laughter. It was a welcome moment in an otherwise not so great assessment of their situation.
“We could use the crucible,” Garet said when it was over. “We could talk to the civilians. Explain things again. Even a group of weak, new players could maybe hold a single portal off.”
Mason saw his own feelings reflected in Chinua’s eyes. That well was tapped and they knew it. You couldn’t convince sheep to become lions.
“We’ll ask the civilian leaders,” he said, expecting nothing. “But we’d better assume we’re alone. I’ll talk to Night Eyes. And maybe Blake’s orcs can defend some targets. But I wouldn’t count on that, either.”
“So we just give up and lose ground?” Garet looked between them. “That doesn’t sound like a great plan, chief.”
“We don’t give up anything.” Mason fought back the wave of anger, knowing it wasn’t Garet’s fault. He was basically right. “We’ll take even more of the city defenders and put them in the field. But I’m not breaking up groups and leaving players vulnerable. That’s how they trained—as teams. Most aren’t built to fight alone. Anything else to discuss?”
There wasn’t, so they split apart to go back to their various posts. Mason wandered and thought about the ‘neutral’ gods. And about ‘champions’. He was Cerebus’ avatar, and Demi was Gaia’s. But surely there were other players who were the same thing for other gods, who’d for their own reasons kept it quiet. Alex was likely one.
And Blake?
The answer had to be yes. He was the second most powerful player in the world. His god ‘Psion’ must have chosen him in the same way. Did that mean they could ask him for help? And could Mason ask his, for that matter? He hadn’t technically tried.
He warped and found his brother in the holy city making constructs in the square. He was getting better at making them more ‘uniform’ now, and less like rainbow-colored nightmares. There was a whole line of creatures that looked like green, Roman soldiers. Except with four arms. He crossed the gap between them with hurried steps, already planning his next visit.
“Is your god trying to protect the prime? Or is he still neutral?”
Blake turned with a polite smile. As Mason met his brother’s eyes, he decided he looked older. Their time in the game hadn’t just affected him. If he hadn’t been trying to save humanity, he’d have liked a few minutes to sit down and chat about things. Though he wasn’t sure where to start. There was still a pretty big gulf between them.
“Why hello, brother. How very nice to see you. How have you been?”
Mason stared. Blake sighed.
“My patron…is a swarm of talking fish.”
“Is that supposed to be some kind of joke I don’t understand?”
“It is not.” Blake put a hand to his chin. He also flared with magic, and was apparently still making a construct as they talked. “Though maybe it’s a joke by roboGod. If it is, I don’t understand, either. Psion is decidedly ‘neutral’. Though I think ‘they’ would prefer the prime to survive because it would be interesting longer. But who really knows.”
“Well get ‘them’ on board. We need help. Whatever you can get him to do.”
Blake’s eyebrows raised as he smiled. Then he laughed out loud.
“Oh you’re serious. I’m afraid we don’t really have the kind of relationship where I tell them what to do. It’s more like…the fish show up, and I try not to get consumed by insanity. That’s pretty much it.”
Why was it always so God damn difficult?
“Try. I’m calling in my wedding favor. Go get Psion’s help. And I need your orcs, too. They need to defend some old battlesites and close portals. Can they leave the towers in numbers?”
A not very pleasant expression flashed fast across Blake’s face. Someone else would have missed it, but Mason knew his brother well. He also didn’t have the time or patience for it.
“Some.”
How very vague. Mason tried not to be annoyed. He really did. And it was time to go get his next annoying powerful ally doing something useful. He turned away as if their talk was over, because he was a king, and it was.
“Do everything in your power,” he called back, then turned to look in Blake’s eyes one more time. “Promise me.”
“Good lord.” Blake rolled his eyes. “I said I’d help and I will. I promise, alright?”
It would have to do. Mason’s mind moved to the fey and to three different gods. To a centaur and a purple worm and elves who still hadn’t made themselves useful. He had a little time. The rest of his day, probably, while the attacks were light. And then he’d meet his true enemies and stop the world from being destroyed, or not.
He tried again not to be excited.
