Unfortunately, I’m Not A Hero: Roseanne Alternative Part 10: Interlude: A Knightly Hero

Unfortunately, I’m Not A Hero: Roseanne Alternative Part 10: Interlude: A Knightly Hero

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Commissioned by Lastmanstanding

Wordcount: 2500

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Wings.

Wings of flame.

Wings of flame erupted from their backs whenever they landed upon the earth.

The most merciless amongst their number flared their wings closer to the ground and unfurled them mightily. The weight and size of their great armaments shattered stone beneath their feet and sent tremors that threatened to topple even the sturdiest of buildings. The flames that roared from their backs flooded over streets for seconds and killed all in their path. They were primal creatures who wielded massive weapons and swung them with fury and savagery that devastated all in their path.

I preferred them over those who chose to silently land. They who landed in such a manner were true heralds of ceaseless, invincible destruction. They landed only when they had an objective, only when their flames from the sky could not suffice, and only after they knew exactly what they needed to do. From the skies they watched, practically invisible in the grand expanse even with their size, and they did their utmost to limit the noise of their great, terrible works of magic as they moved through city streets. More than once they surprised groups walking through the city until their closest footfall, and at that range they were ready to strike with lengths of enchanted metal the size of buildings that turned whole groups of men into nothing more than paste. They did this repeatedly, crashing through buildings they knew too weak to hold them, and slaughtering with efficacy unmatched by their more aggressive counterparts.

But, without a doubt, I could barely fight against either.

For all my life, I had trained in the mystic and physical ways of war to become a champion of my beleaguered fellows. I strove to uphold the vows which had their mystics come to our world and spread fertility to our fields and ensure that our lands would never have droughts. My father told me about their practices, how their treatment of those they deemed monsters sickened him, but he extolled me of the need to fight for them in exchange for our land’s fertility. He told me that he was willing to argue on my behalf, to have another sent in my stead, but I had refused him.

I wished to go to another world, to continue to bless the lands of my fathers and ancestors, and find my own land in this other world through martial might. I knew that I was strong, that I was without peer in the land of my father, and I was praised for my strength by the people I came to aid. Though I found their means of gaining power as distasteful as my father, I strove nonetheless to fight for them to uphold ancient vows that brought prosperity to my people, and for the future that I wished to have.

Now, I found myself fighting desperately and hiding like a rat against a foe that I could have never imagined using all that I could at my disposal to try and fight against them.

Not for ancient vows.

Not for honor.

Not for glory.

Not even for a land to call my own.

Simply to live.

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The sewers of the city were expansive and built with evacuation and defense in mind. It was reinforced heavily to not only hold the city above, but also to serve as a place for an army and the people of the city to dwell and fight from while the skies were filled with arcane bombardment. Even against the powerful, scorching rays of the Hellbringers the layers of soil, stone, and reinforced tunnels held and protected us all.

Those who could not fight were told to use the routes to safety whilst those who could fight were conscripted.

We operated under lamplight within the tunnels. Much of the sewage was channeled to other, unused sections and the place was cleansed of magic to prevent disease from wracking its tolls upon us. Weapons, armor, and food were all sequestered away into rooms once used by the tenders of the sewers, itemized, and doled out only when necessary by the logisticians who remained within the city. Cots were set up and tents were salvaged to create walls and rooms for the most meagre measures of privacy, while we all did our utmost to fight against the threat that was besieging the city.

The city was prepared for massive, magical bombardment. Those who built it knew that if the Frontier of the Empire fell that their city would be the first shield of the Empire’s vital lands. So they gave it thick and sturdy walls, trained a strong force of knights and professional soldiery, and ensured that they can hold the city against the strongest army of the Kindred. The noble heir of the city who I’d met told me that the Hellbringers created by the Kindred would fall against his family’s legacy like waves breaking upon sheer cliffs.

He perished valiantly ambushing one titan that landed with ballistae hidden inside a fortified building.

Now I led the defense and I was at my wits end.

Food was plentiful, but we had no true weapons to use against the Hellbringers. The arcane artillery we had were slow and cumbersome even when shouldered by stout Knights. Our mages and sorcerers could not chant quick enough, let alone fire with enough concentrated magic, to strike at the massive heralds of destruction. Any attempt to overcome it with sheer numbers and enchanted weapons was doomed to failure with their footfalls alone wreaking havoc, let alone their immense melee weapons.

So, I turned to the vile practices of the Empire that I had abhorred.

The smiths of the Empire created powerful magical weapons and armor that my people could never match. They did so by using Kindred with innate affinities for flame. These Kindred were prisoners of their own bodies, their ability to think and reason stripped from them by both magic and the work of chirurgeons. For weapons imbued by flame, their blood quenched the blades, and the bones of their useless limbs were ground to dust to imbue metal with mystical power. Their innate magics were activated without their input, as they lived as sources of magical flame for great furnaces, and they were forced to live as resources.

I had hated being armed with weapons and armor crafted through suffering, but now I looked at the dozen “Ifrits” and “Salamanders” bereft of limbs and lying bereft of thought on cots as my only hope.

“Are the enchantments finished?” I stood in armor whose outermost layers were charred by flame that could melt stone. While others were crushed and turned into pulp by the mere shockwave of the sweeping attacks of the Hellbringers, I was sent flying aside and crashing into a building, allowing me to escape. I had asked why and I was told that the bones of a Dragon were used in crafting my armor. I lived only because of the sins wrought by the Empire and I would now live because I committed those sins myself. “Are they ready to be used?”

The sorcerer whom I bid to turn the Kindred into living bombs dabbed at his forehead while his assistants covered them. They were normally not even given that decency, but I did what little I could in hopes of the most meagre amounts of forgiveness.

“They are, oh Hero. They are ready and they will wreak immense destruction as all their power and might shall be unleashed. With this twelve, the city will become undone, but we can hope to slay the abominations which hound us now.” Hate filled the man’s eyes. His head was bare and his hands were covered in bandages. He had attempted to shield his apprentices with a magical barrier against a direct strike of the hellfire that the titans of destruction could unleash. Only a handful of his students survived, while he and those closest to him suffered great burns. His anger was terrible and I could see the madness in his eyes as vengeance loomed before him. “It is a worthy price to pay in exchange for those unholy things!”

His students spoke in support of him, each one as hungry for death and destruction as he was. The end of the entire city, the sacrifice of twelve mortal bodies and souls, deterred their path of violence not in the slightest.

I understood why, because I survived the same horrors as they did.

I was about to speak when there the cover for the “room” was pushed aside.

Confusion filled me for a moment as I saw who had come forth. They were nuns of the Empire’s Church who worshiped their goddess. A few stayed behind to provide healing and care to the wounded as the rest of the congregation had left. There were no more than five dozen of them whilst the number of troops within the city numbered in the thousands across all the sewers, which meant they typically stayed in the medical section and rarely left. Our command section was the closest to the medical section in order to know exactly how many of our number perished at all times.

Eight of them weren’t supposed to be present, and the question as to their arrival was on my lips, when my instincts told me to prepare to attack them. Those instincts, as well as the question upon my lips, confused me as I felt no ill will from the nuns, and no power coming forth from their bodies… and suddenly the sound of whizzing projectiles filled the air as they fired something from their hands hidden within the pockets in their long skirts.

My eyes allowed me to see them in their passing.

From holes formed in the skirts came forth spinning lances which sped through the air at great speeds. Each of the eight faux-nuns arrived with two of the weapons each and they fired into the room in perfect synchronicity. Gossamer-like threads followed in the wake of the weapons, but that mattered not. What truly mattered was the fact that they did not target myself of the most experienced sorcerer or his students within the tent.

They each fired upon the last hope the city had at defeating the hellbringers.

The small, spinning, and speeding lances they fired bore straight through the receptacles of power and might that we had hoped to use as a weapon. They pierced through their tough hides and strengthened bones with ease, killing the loathsome, pitiable creatures and putting an end to their miserable existence by suddenly coursing with incredible lightning through the treads. Their projectiles returned to their barrels with great speed, bloody and charred after their work, ready to be fired again.

They each fired at our last hopes and scored hits on each, and eight died within that singular moment.

“No!” The sorcerer cried out in agony as he tried to shield the living bombs, while my body moved the instant I realized my threat and my flaming sword swept towards the assassins. However, even as my blade cleaved through two in a single strike, the others had their projectiles return to their weapons and they fired once more. The sorcerer was quick to create a shield, while his students were barely able to react, but the weapons were tools of assassins of the highest caliber and meant to kill Kindred with ease. They projectiles punched through his body and entered one of his four final attempts at vengeance and killed both him and the living bomb. Still, even as he lay dying and bleeding, he still cried out. “NOOO!”

My sword pierced through another and brought the Kindred low, but she gave no cry, and when her projectiles returned, she tried to fire again until my blade struck through her skull. Her other three companions were set alight by the Sorcerer’s students and they died after being blasted apart by spells. Their habits offered them no protection, and they were weaker Kindred who could look human, and so they died.

But, in the end, they did their duty.

I turned back to our works after the eight false nuns died, while the sorcerer was aided by his students.

His words echoed through my ears even as he was healed.

“No! Please, no! Even this!? Not even this!?” He cried and cursed and sobbed as his students tended to him. Their faces were grim as he held up, bandaged hands towards the dark, reinforced stone above us. The cooling bodies of the Ifrits and Salamanders bled behind us, the ambient heat that the exuded no more, while the bodies of the Kindred we slew lay behind us. They were turning inky black and sloughing and caught fire with ease. Doppelgangers, my mind reminded me, but I pad the thought little heed. “At least… at least let me die bringing low one of those wretched abominations! Please… please!”

His wails attracted the guards and others close by.

All who entered looked upon the carnage and the destruction of our last hopes with darkened, heavy gazes, before I bid them all to leave. The sorcerer was carried away with his students, madness and sorrow overtaking him, and he was followed by the rest of those who came.

I was left amidst twenty bodies of Kindred.

Though a part of me breathed more easily, as I would no longer have to use mortals turned into resources and fought against foes who gave their lives to give mercy to their own, most of me trembled in fear. For the first time in my life, even as I wore mystical armor and a sword which could turn all it struck into ash, my entire body trembled with terror. The more I tried to summon courage, the more the grim truth loomed over me, and my knees threatened to buckle and break.

Yet, still, I held fast.

Because, even though I wished to desperately live, I was not alone in my goal.

Thousands were under my command and I would see some of them live after this and I could not do that by lamenting my choice.

I summoned my voice after a moment and called for the nearest messenger.

Tonight we will find all the weapons that we could.

Tonight we will feast.

Tonight we will see off those who cannot fight beside us tomorrow with smiles and bids to live long and happy lives.

And, tomorrow we shall fight like demons.