The Colonies sought.

But they were not true colonies, not the kind that the Hive generated in its driving need to consume and spread. These colonies were different. These colonies were for war.

Twin black orbs almost as large as the dwelling of its ancient prey-animals drifting through the jungle, the Colonies sought the enemy.

They had been created out of need. The Hive had received a single message from its first Colony, a burst of frantic fear and pain, ended so suddenly as to only mean one thing. Death. The Hive's first Colony had found not prey nor a nesting spot, but something that had slain it outright.

The Hive had known defeat.

The Hive had known fear.

So it had spawned the War Colonies, for the first time in its life turning aside from its primary purpose to spread and consume. And it had sent them forth not to claim territory, not to feed, not to breed.

But to destroy.

The Colonies sought the Enemy. Through the twisting trails of the jungle they drifted, silent and still on invisible winds, casting out with their senses for any remnant of their fallen brother.

Almost two days and fifty leagues from the Hive cluster, they found it. A trail. Their fallen brother used this territory to hunt, marking its passage so that it could find its way to prey again and again as Colonies were supposed to. The War Colonies turned as one, following the trail. They did not think that prey had killed their brother. They did not truly think at all. They merely drifted in accordance with their new purpose.

The colonies sought the Enemy.

And then, in the distance, they both felt it. Power. Flowing like water from a fountain, bursting into the air, showering the landscape with its passing. The Colonies stopped in midair, testing, scenting, feeling. From the center of themselves they both extended a long flesh proboscis, using the sensory organ to sweep back and forth, triangulating without know the word the source of the power.

There. The power flowed from the same direction where their brother's trail led. Silent as the reaper's blade, they turned and drifted towards the power, their war directives churning within their core.

The Colonies no longer sought.

The Colonies found.

* * *

When Toraline had woken with her soul trapped within the very blade that had slain her, she had taken it fairly in stride. These things happened, in a world run by magic and governed by a capricious System. It had been something to adapt to, for certain, but there had been little in the way of what her new master would have called 'culture shock'. She still fulfilled her obligations as her lord's First, and as a guide to the Sojourners now under her care.

She had not yet followed her new lord into battle, however. And as Consul Matthew Albright tightened his grip around her hilt and charged at Mighty Caesar's malfunctioning sentinels, she felt something akin to shock course through her as something changed.

Trapped within the sword, she did not possess 'vision', not in the way she had thought of it when in her mortal body. Instead she had information, relayed to her by some sixth sense and translated by her own mind in the same way that it would have if she had been looking with her eyeballs but without the need for the crude organic input device. She could 'see' in a full 360 degrees on both the horizontal and vertical planes, and could 'hear' in roughly the same arc.

And suddenly, as a puzzle piece clicking into place, she suddenly had access to more.

Data flowed into her, and out of her. Confusing at first, but quickly parsed by whatever piece of her handled the raw input from her senses. Heartbeat, physical condition, mental condition, actual vision from stereoscopic eyes. Smells, tastes, sensations, everything she had lost from a physical body suddenly roared into her from…

From…

Oh, how peculiar.

From Consul Matthew Albright.

She felt his breath filling his lungs, she felt his muscles move and shift as he surged forward towards the constructs still in fealty to her old lord, felt the blood pounding through his veins as he lunged to battle.

She felt the impact as Matthew Albright drove himself and his shield like a living battering ram into one of Mighty Caesar's malfunctioning Sentinels. She felt the power of the Strength Of Home Warden skill flowing up into his body like an inferno, felt the ice-cold anger radiating out from his core, felt his iron-hard determination to destroy or otherwise evict these creatures that had trespassed on his home and threatened his family.

She felt him. Not intimately, not as she might know a lover, but more like she had known Mighty Caesar and his powers. It was as if a dozen lifetimes of studying the man had suddenly coalesced and condensed into this single moment. She knew how he would move, how he would fight, how he would think.

And how he would lose.

She saw him turn to old habits and reflexes. He had been a brawler in his early years, used to overpowering foes with his size and strength, and trusting his natural agility to dodge their return blows. But he was older, and slower, and the foes he fought were twice his size. The shield-ram had caught the sentinels off guard, but she knew that they would be on him in an instant, and he was not using the powers at his command to even the playing field as he should.

His connections to the System, to the new system, shone in her mind's eye like miniature stars against the warp and weft of his being. She saw his Arts, resting there, waiting to be called on. But his mind wasn't thinking of them, and his reflees were for a different kind of battlefield.

She saw his [Strength Of Home] skill burning brightest, active and feeding power into his limbs, drawn from the very soil of the land his wife had claimed for them. But the other skills, the other Arts…

Toraline's mind reached out to them, brushing against them. They were unfamiliar to her in name, but in function she saw them for what they were and understood instinctively how they were to be used.

[Draw Their Gaze] would force an enemy's attention onto the Consul, and at the same time grant the man extra strength, stamina, and hardiness based upon the number of enemies he drew towards himself. [By Their Side] would amplify the power granted to him by the [Strength Of Home] skill based upon how many allies were within a given radius, and then grant those same allies a portion of that strength in turn. The others were of similar bent, eschewing personal power in all but its basest forms while empowering or enabling those who fought by his side.

She saw his powers then, and understood. These were not powers designed to make a single man a force of nature, able to stand up to armies with naught but the strength of his bared arm. These powers flowed out from the man, bolstering allies to the point where they could take on armies with him at their center acting as their rock and foundation.

Had she eyes, they would have widened in shock. Mighty Caesar had made himself a god amongst mortals, hoarding power for himself to make him immortal and unstoppable.

Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

This man, this Matthew Albright, had powers designed to turn those around him into titans.

All this understanding took place in the space between seconds. On the battlefield, the sentinel Matthew had slammed into had already righted itself and was returning to the fray. The other Sentinel turned to meet the charge of Consul Lucas and his mount, the roar of the Thundercaller's footsteps drowning out all other noise as it sought to run down the sentinel.

But the Sentinel was not without its own power, and it braced itself, locked its arms, and caught the Thundercaller's charge with its massive stone hands. It was shoved back a dozen paces, its stone feet ripping up divots in the ground as its hands wrapped around the Thundercaller's tusks, preventing the great beast from savaging it.

"Dad! Duck!" Consul Lucas shouted. Matthew ducked, and there came the popping blast of Consul Lucas's small smokethrower. The pellets spattered off of the Sentinel's face, pocking stone and snapping the head to the side, but doing no appreciable damage.

Matthew had not trained with his powers. Had barely given them a thought since receiving them. He did not know their abilities, did not know how to incorporate them into his fighting style, did not know how to empower his allies.

He needed help.

Years of habit ingrained in her very being called out to her, demanding that she aid this sojourner in surviving his time here in Seroco. She reached out instinctively, brushing against the Arts she felt within him, drawing his attention–

Toraline?

The word was a shock of cold water in her mind, because it had come from without. From him.

But she did not have time for shock.

Follow my guidance, Matthew, she said within her mind, drawing his attention to his Arts once more. You will lose this fight unless you listen.

We are going to have to talk about boundaries after this is over, she felt his bemusement and concern echo down whatever this was, but also felt his resignation and agreement. Show me what you've got.

So she did.

* * *

[Standard Bearer Arts: Draw Their Gaze]

[Warden Arts: By Thy Side]

[Standard Bearer Arts: Blazing Banner]

Light and heat erupted from Matt and blazed outward in a corona. He felt power flow out of him, rebound, and slam back into him like a tsunami. Above his head, a fiery symbol that looked something like a tree blazed into existence. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lucas and Harry start to glow with brilliant white light. Then he blinked as Billy started to glow as well. And even Toraline. The sword blazed like a holy fire, her blade elongating and growing a pair of ripping fangs a quarter of the way up.

Oh my! I was not expecting that!

The sword's voice in his head–still getting used to that, by the way–sounded shocked, pleased, and just a little eager.

The Sentinels stomped forward, neither rushing nor dawdling as they came back to the fight from where they had been shoved by Matt and Harry respectively. Matt set himself, hefting Toraline and adjusting his shield so it rode higher up on his arm. He felt the power of the Coins and the Arts surging inside him, felt Toraline's eagerness for the fray, and felt himself start to grin in sympathetic anticipation.

"Luc," He called, watching the Sentinels approach. "You good?"

"Heck yeah!" the boy shouted, glowing like iron in a forge. "Let's get 'em Dad!"

Harry trumpeted loud and harsh, agreeing with the sentiment.

"I've got left, you take right. Don't let them hit you and don't get cute with them. Let Harry move if he needs to, got it?"

"Got it!"

Matt drove back in.

* * *

Toraline had not been aware the last time Consul Matthew Albright had used her in battle. She had only come to herself afterwards, after the bugs had been dispatched and the colonies destroyed.

She had not realized what she had missed.

Joy sang in whatever she had for veins as Matthew Albright wielded her against the foe–Against Mighty Caesar's Sentinels! She felt the air part around the razor edge of her blade as she was swung through the air. She felt visceral pleasure as that same edge bit into living stone, and she felt glee as the power within her reached out and struck at the power within the Sentinels, savaging and ripping at it like a shark on a wounded whale.

The Sentinel Matthew engaged staggered under the assault. Toraline struck once, twice, three times, each time biting into a different piece of living stone, each time driven in hard by Art-enhanced muscles and the pure grit of a father defending his home. Then she was yanked back and watched as Matthew ducked under a swung fist, dodged aside a second blow, and responded with a shield-backhand that rocked the Sentinel backwards as if it had just been struck by a charging bull.

Speaking of.

Toraline's focus shifted. The second Sentinel was on its heels, its hands once again wrapped around each of Harry's tusks, but this time the young Thundercaller had the upper hand. It's muscular trunk lashed out and slammed over and over into the Sentinel's stone head, breaking its features and cracking the living rock. One massive stone hand released its tusk and lashed out, striking the Thundercaller on the side of its head in a massive blow–

[Chirurgeon Arts: Healing Balm]

The blood hadn't even had time to hit the ground before the Thundercaller's wound was healed by the young Consul's Art. Harry trumped loudly and thrashed his head from side to side, first yanking the Sentinel one way, then slamming his now-free tusk into the stone man's side and sending him pinwheeling away to land heavily in the dirt.

"How you doing, son?" Matthew called, swaying away from another heavy punch from his own foe.

"Kicking ass, Dad!" Lucas called from atop Harry's back. "How 'bout you?"

Matthew missed a block, missed a dodge, and the heavy stone knuckles of a Sentinel's hand slammed into his midsection, lifting him off the ground and sending him pinwheeling through the air. He hit the ground, rolled, and came back to his feet. For a second his eyes were wide and Toraline felt panic flood his emotions as he checked himself over, only to be replaced by surprise and elation when he realized he was not badly wounded.

"One second," Matthew called back to his son.

Toraline, I'm going to try something, he 'said' to her, communicating his intention in an instant.

I am with you, Consul, she replied.

He regained his feet and charged his Sentinel again. The Stone man set itself and opened its stance to receive the charge, and Toraline almost spoke up to warn Matthew that the Sentinel would not be taken by a charging rush a second time… But she held her tongue. She had felt his intent, and knew he had a plan in mind.

Three steps away, Matthew hurled the shield into the Sentinel's face. The living statue raised its arm, blocking and brushing the shield aside. Two steps away, Matthew took Toraline's hilt in a two-handed grip. The Sentinel raised its other hand to strike.

One step.

Consul! Watch ou–

[Warden Arts: By Thy Side]

Toraline gasped as the power of the Art erupted once more from Matthew… But this time did not roar out in a ring of power into all the allies around him. This time it burst forth as a narrow singular lance of impossibly bright light…

Right into her.

I knew it! I can select who it affects! Matthew's thoughts were full of vicious triumph.

Toraline's blade erupted out of the back of the Sentinel, sending a spray of molten rock and shards of stone blasting into the air like one of Consul Lucas's shotgun blasts. The Sentinel froze, it's stone features morphing from anger into one of confusion. Toraline's blade had grown almost three feet in length with the infusion of power from Matthew's Art, the steel turning almost otherworldly from the energy, and the sharpness of her edge surpassing even the finest of Caesar's legions. It had sliced through living stone, found the core of the Sentinel, and ripped into it like a saw through cheesecloth.

Matthew flexed his arms, adjust his stance, and heaved. Toraline gasped again as sensation coursed through her. The power within her form reached out and shredded the power of the Sentinel as she was dragged up, through, and out the top of the Sentinel's head. Matthew freed her blade from the stone with one final twist, and left the stone man cleft in twain from sternum to scalp.

And then he stepped, whirled, and she felt her blade shear right through the Sentinel at the hip, separating top from bottom in one massive stroke.

The light in the Sentinel's cleft eyes died as its body fell in three pieces to the jungle floor to lay unmoving at last.

The clearing went quiet as four pairs of eyes, three mortal and one living stone, stared at Toraline and then at the pieces of the dead Sentinel.

"Liv is gonna be so pissed she missed this," Lucas said into the silence.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.