American Gate

Author's Note: I am so, so sorry this took so long to get out. Life's been getting in the way and draining my motivation to write. As an apology, here's an extra long chapter!

There is a blood and gore warning for the last section of this chapter. The blood and gore is not until the very end of that section though. I put a warning at the start of the section and again at the start of the mature content. If that sort of thing bothers you, I advise that you stop reading after the final warning.

August 31st, 2053

United States Duremar Territory, South Duremar Plains

Teos'Khat was growing weary of the flying creature's constant buzzing. He could feel himself getting more irritable from the lingering pain in his hand. It wasn't severe, but just bad enough to stay on his mind. He gazed up at the accursed creature and red magic particles swirled around his good hand as he prepared a fireball to drive it off. But before he could take aim, he heard a much louder buzzing sound approaching from the north. He clenched his fist, extinguishing the flames.

"There's more of them," Nik'Dhish said.

"No, these ones look larger," Mahrak'Nesaht countered.

The two of them debated the size and distance of the newcomers until they got close enough to agree that the archmage was right. Two larger versions of the creature were heading right for them. The smaller one stayed high in the sky, but the larger ones were closer to the ground.

Gheso'Fhor was sulking off to the side, ignoring them. He had become more and more disagreeable ever since Hetho'Dehkt's untimely demise. Teos'Khat knew the two of them were close, that's why he picked them for this quest. He wasn't handling the loss very well.

As the creatures got closer they looked less like anything he was familiar with. They had a central body with four large disks protruding from the corners. They made a loud buzzing sound as they flew in a perfectly straight line right next to each other. They had plate metal armor over their entire bodies; they were mounts of some kind, though he couldn't see any riders. As they got lower to the ground he noticed waves of grass blowing beneath them. Even though they weren't too close, he could still feel a bit of wind.

"Look there! They're somehow using air magic to stay aloft," Mahrak'Nesaht pointed out.

"How bizarre," Nik'Dhish commented.

They stopped ahead of them and hovered in the air. Two human shaped golems swung out from each one. They really looked like golems, but how could these creatures be carrying them?

"Are those…" The archmage began, but before he could finish, they dropped to the ground and landed on their feet. The golems immediately stood up, unfazed by the fall, and raised a black two handed short staff. The way they held them was unusual; they didn't resemble any magic wand or staff he was familiar with.

"HALT! You have entered restricted territory," one of them shouted in a booming voice. It was so loud he imagined it would carry across the width of the Krass'Ebri. He'd never heard of a golem that could speak, but this was a fitting voice for one. "Drop your weapons and identify yourselves."

"I do not reveal my name to mere constructs!" Teos'Khat challenged. "Either let us pass or take us to your master!"

"You are trespassing in a territory of the United States." This time the voice was unmistakably different. It was a person's voice, but they remained unseen. "Drop your weapons!"

"Where did that come from?" Gheso'Fhor asked as he twisted his head around, scanning for the owner of the voice.

The United States? Was that some sort of alliance of city states? Their magic was clearly advanced. Elves perhaps? From the great northern mountains? He didn't much like the idea of cloaked elven mages surrounding them.

"Show yourself, mage!" Mahrak'Nesaht demanded. "Your golems do not frighten us!"

They heard an exasperated sigh as the disembodied voice continued, "I am not actually here. We have a machine called a radio similar to mana comms. It lets me speak to you through our droids even though I'm not actually anywhere near you."

Whoever was speaking sounded like he was reading a script; and he sounded annoyed, as if he had recited it many times before.

"Is such a thing possible?" Teos'Khat asked his archmage.

"Mana comms require a sender and a receiver to operate the device," Mahrak'Nesaht answered. "I suppose if a golem was as intricately conjured as these, then they might be able to do it. But I can't sense any mana coming from them."

"The mage called them 'droids'," Nik'Dhish said. "What kind of golem is that? And what did he call their mana comms? A ray-dee-oh?"

"I do not know," the archmage answered, shaking his head. "I've never heard of such things before."

"There are only four of them," Gheso'Fhor said. "We could dispatch them easily."

"Their weapons are strange, but look as well crafted as the golems themselves, and are obviously magic in nature," Mahrak'Nesaht observed. "But I don't see any claws or teeth on their mounts."

"These people evidently control a swath of territory between us and our destination," Teos'Khat said. "I would rather not make an enemy of them."

"The voice said this land was ruled by an alliance called the United States," Nik'Dhish interjected. "Has it occurred to any of you mighty warriors that the Kingdom of America might be one of those states?"

Teos'Khat exchanged ponderous looks with his soldiers. They looked back at him with sheepishly blank expressions; apparently they hadn't considered it. He couldn't necessarily fault them though, it hadn't occurred to him either. But Nik'Dhish made an excellent point.

"Does the name America mean anything to you?" He asked the disembodied voice.

"Of course it does," the voice replied. "That's us. The United States of America."

August 31st, 2053

United States Duremar Territory, Crystal Coast

Captain Frank Miller in the command rhino coordinating the effort to set up their base of operations. He opened up the door and hatches to let a nice breeze blow through the cramped vehicle. Outside, supplies were being unloaded and brought to their designated areas for unpacking. Droids scoured the beach while his men set up a chain link fence and barbed wire around the camp. Civilian scientists milled around, sorting through their equipment. They seemed eager to get to work.

Spirits were high and things were going well. Until they weren't. An urgent radio call from Lieutenant Wagner flooded the channel. "Cap'n, come in! The town is under attack! We need reinforcements!"

He could hear screams and gunfire in the background. It sounded like a crowd of civilians.

"Mendez, get second platoon and the rest of first platoon ready to move out, on the double!" He ordered.

"Yes sir!" The officer replied.

"Wagner," he said, talking into the radio. "What's the situation? How many hostiles?"

"–call them cardinal crabs," Wagner exclaimed. The first part of his sentence was cut off by gunfire. "They're coming out of the water and pushing into the town! The ports are already overrun! Small arms are useless, we're falling ba–"

He flinched as screams and gunfire flooded the radio again. This time he took his earpiece out and switched to the speakers at his terminal. "Wagner, come in! Wagner!"

No response yet. If he knew Wagner, and he did, he wouldn't waste time talking on the radio. Wagner wasn't one to delegate from the back. He always had to be in on the action. No, he'd be in the thick of it.

"Hang tight, Wagner, help is on the way," he said, hoping it got through.

He checked the status of first and second platoons. Yellow lights. That meant they were combat ready, but not ready to move out yet. They were spread out patrolling the perimeter of the camp, so they must still be regrouping. He cursed himself for not having a designated QRF on standby.

He could have had just one squad standing by in case anyone ran into trouble. Especially after sending Wagner to make contact with the town. But so far the local people had either been friendly, or not a significant threat. He was more worried about aggressive wildlife, but didn't expect anything to overpower the locals like this. What did Wagner say? Cardinal crabs? It made him realize just how dangerous this world was, even for the people who lived here.

The lights blinked green. Captain Miller contacted his platoon leaders. "Garza, Woods, are your platoons ready to move out?"

"Yes sir!"

"We're locked and loaded, cap, just give us something to shoot!"

"Regroup on my location and then we'll move out," he told them.

While first and second platoon returned from securing the outpost's perimeter he contacted Lieutenant Horne of third platoon.

"Horne, you copy?" He asked.

"Loud and clear, sir!" He replied.

"I want third platoon to guard the supply trucks and civvies. Wagner said something came out of the water, so keep your distance."

"Yes sir!"

He climbed into the command Rhino with Mendez and his other officers. "Have we heard anything else from Wagner?"

"Nothing coherent sir. Sounds like they're busy with a firefight."

"Then we'd better get out there. Are first and second platoons back yet?"

"Almost," Mendez replied.

"Corporal," he shouted up to the front, "I want us underway the moment they get here."

"Yessir!" she replied.

In short order, his command Rhino was lurching back and forth over the uneven terrain, followed by two of the finest platoons in the US army. They were almost halfway there when Mendez proclaimed, "Sir! I've got him! Putting him on now."

"Wagner, SITREP," he asked. "The hell is going on out there?"

"We're under attack by giant crabs sir!" Wagner frantically shouted. "I repeat, giant freaking crabs! Small arms can't penetrate their armor. The .50 cal's about all that kills these things."

"What about the people in the town?" Miller asked.

"They're fighting back as best they can, but it ain't good. The captain of the guard is dead and the situation's devolving fast." Miller heard a spray of bullets on the other end. "We're getting hammered, sir. Permission to use heavy ordinance?"

Miller sighed. "Granted. But minimize collateral damage if you can."

"Will do, sir," Wagner replied. "Diaz! We're cleared for heavy ordinance. Bust out the spikes and blow those bastards away!"

Spike B missiles were portable short range rockets. A single soldier could carry several rockets without much difficulty. They didn't pack a huge punch, but enough to obliterate most targets too heavy for small arms in a close quarters environment. Their ease of use and reliability made them the heavy ordinance of choice for urban warfare.

As they neared the town, Miller checked their recon drone footage. A group of civilians on the edge of town were running away from a huge crustacean. He zoomed in on it to get a better look.

It was absolutely massive. Not as big as an MRAP, but larger than their humvees. It had two huge claws that looked like they could cut a person in half like a hot knife through butter. It had a spotted red and white shell that, according to Lieutenant Wagner, was impervious to small arms fire. At the front of its body were two small eye stalks; difficult targets to be sure, but an identifiable weak point. Just below the eye stalks was the creature's mouth, a hideous mandible of chitinous teeth, powerful muscles, and jagged edges. Around its mouth were four small, T-rex sized claws.

He watched helplessly as it grabbed one of the civilians with its huge pinchers, instantly cutting them in half. It didn't seem to mind that it only got half its meal and lifted the rest of the body to its mouth. The smaller pinchers plucked off pieces of its prey and shoved them into its maw to be shredded. Blood and bits of flesh stuck to its claws and mandible.

The gunner didn't wait for his order. The .50 caliber machine gun sputtered to life, firing shot after shot into the beast. It kept going after the civilians until eventually it hit something important and the crab tripped and slammed to the ground. The gunner fired a few extra rounds into it, just to make sure it was dead. They drove past its twitching body and into the outskirts of town.

Captain Miller assessed the situation on his screen. Drones had constructed a tactical map of the town showing where the crabs were and where the largest concentrations of friendlies were. Wagner was surrounded in the town square with a large group of civilians. The biggest threat however was the sheer number of crabs flooding in from the ocean. They came like a never ending wave, some picking at scraps of flesh left behind by the others.

"Second platoon, secure the ports." He ordered over the radio. "Don't let any more of those things onto dry land."

"Yes sir!" Lieutenant Garza replied.

"Lieutenant Woods, your platoon is coming with me to the town square to reinforce Wagner's squad."

As second platoon veered left towards the ocean, the command Rhino led a procession of armored vehicles straight for the center of town. They cleared a path forward using the active denial system and only fired on the crabs with the .50 cal once they were out of the way. If they killed the crabs while they were in the middle of the road, their vehicles wouldn't be able to get through and they'd have to dismount and proceed on foot. He did not want to go through the town on foot with those things roaming everywhere.

The droids stored on the Rhinos fired at the crabs from inside their canopies. Their assault rifles weren't effective against the crabs' shells, but they could still aim for the eyes. It was proving to be a challenge for their targeting algorithms. The eyes were small targets and they were riding on vehicles driving on dirt roads and lurching over debris, crab appendages, and mutilated bodies. Still, they managed to get some good shots, taking down a few crabs as they drove by.

They approached a tight intersection that led right to the town square. The humvees wouldn't have any trouble, but the rhinos would just barely fit. As they slowly made the narrow turn a cardinal crab right in front of them exploded in a fireball. Bits of chitin and flesh made plunking sounds as they bounced off the armored hull.

"Shit! Sorry cap'n," Wagner said over the radio. In the background Miller heard him say, "Damnit Jones, I told you to check your fire! We got friendlies incoming!"

The Rhino plowed through the charred remains of the cardinal crab and into the town square. Open air markets and stalls lined the buildings around the town square. People were tearing off pieces of cloth roofs to use as bandages and stretchers for the wounded. There was a huge mana crystal, much bigger than anything described in the briefing, in the center spewing water into a fountain which led into a small aqueduct network.

One of Wagner's humvees was on its side, and the other was firing down a long narrow road at a horde of crabs rushing towards them. It was effective, but it could only be in one place at a time. Locals were keeping the rest of the crabs at bay with pikes, but they had a hard time penetrating the crabs' armor. And they were taking casualties.

Droids deployed off the sides of the Rhinos and reinforced the defenses. Their guns were as useless against the shells as the locals' pikes, but now they had a much easier time shooting the eye stalks. Once blinded, the crabs lost focus and rampaged out of control–plunging their exposed mouths directly onto the villagers' pikes. Without the threat of being grabbed by claws they were much more effective.

With the immediate threat of the defensive line collapsing resolved, Miller turned his attention to finding Wagner and the local leaders. His TAC visor automatically brought up his second in command's IFF tag on his HUD once he got close enough. There were a few men in armor standing around him, presumably the local authorities.

The command rhino slowly made its way through the square as the wounded townspeople instinctively moved to the side. A rolling multi-ton metal box heading straight towards them was enough motivation to move on their own.

Miller dismounted his rhino to link up with Wagner, leaving Mendez to coordinate first platoon's defense of the square. Everything was absolute chaos. It reminded him of the emergency operations center after the quake of '48. The injured screamed and wailed while blood collected in pools on the ground. Most of the wounded were missing arms or legs and would bleed out before they could be treated by his medics, much less get to a proper hospital.

"Wagner, sitrep," he said, walking over.

"It's a disaster, Cap'n," Wagner said, wiping blood off his face with the back of his hand. "Shit's really hit the fan. Civilian casualties are heavy. We rounded up as many people as we could and led them here, but Baron Hakavo says most of the town's population is unaccounted for."

Miller turned towards the men behind Wagner. It was easy to pick out the Baron. He wore an elegant, but utilitarian suit adorned by glowing blue crystals as opposed to the armor worn by the others. Despite being covered in blood he still managed to maintain a look that said 'I'm in charge'.

"These are the reinforcements you promised?" one of the armored men exclaimed at Wagner. "Getting butchered by our side is all the good you'll do."

"You've heard the rumors, Gento," the Baron said. "If there's even a sliver of truth to them, the Americans can help us."

"Cap'n, this is Baron Hakavo," Wagner said. Changing his tone he continued, "And that's Gento Forsorn, recently promoted captain of the town guard. Baron Hakavo, Gento, this is Cap'n Miller."

"How much can a handful of men do against this many cardinal crabs?" Gento shook his head. "For all we know their strange machines are what displeased Doruuk and brought this scourge upon us."

"We don't have time for this," Miller stated authoritatively. "Wagner, split first platoon into fireteams and have them sweep the town street by street. Fireteams without a vehicle get the spikes and droids."

"Yes sir!" Wagner replied.

"Baron, this is your town, you know the people and the layout," Miller continued. "We'll need your help."

"And you shall have it," Baron Hakavo assured him. "The town guard is at your disposal. Isn't that right, Gento?"

"Yes," Gento begrudgingly conceded. "We welcome American assistance."

While the four of them worked out a plan, the medics began treating wounded civilians. First platoon made quick work of the attacking crabs with their vehicles and spike B missiles. The immediate situation was starting to stabilize.

August 31st, 2053

United States Duremar Territory, South Duremar Plains

Teos'Khat was off to the side, trying to heal his hand. Green particles swirled around it as he tried to heal himself. The pain temporarily subsided, but his life magic was weak. When he could no longer sustain it, the particles faded and the warming sensation returned. He wished he could have Mahrak'Nesaht heal it, but he did not want to show weakness in front of the Americans, not even their droids.

He had been in discourse with them for hours through their 'radio' machine. The droids were so masterfully crafted that they contained the devices within themselves. It was strange to face a golem and yet converse with a person. He managed to negotiate entry into the United States, albeit under heavy escort. He spoke with someone in their army called Colonel Mason who sent more of their flying machines, much larger ones, to take them to their army camp.

From that singular camp, they managed to conquer most of Duremar from the Rontak Empire, though they didn't say where their homeland was. For some reason they didn't press their invasion and instead signed a truce to end hostilities. How permanent that arrangement was remains to be seen, but it meant that for now the Rontaks could turn their attention back towards his people.

If only he could contact Nekhcamhet and warn Pharaoh; unfortunately they had long since passed out of mana comm range. Without a network of outposts to relay messages back home they had no means of contact. For all he knew, the Rontaks had already begun planning for a new invasion. Perhaps he could persuade the Americans to–

"They're here!" Nik'Dhish exclaimed.

Teos'Khat looked north and saw two flying machines heading towards them. They were here much sooner than he thought. He expected it to take at least a full day. It would have taken Rontak wyverns at least that long if he understood the distance correctly. He gave up on his attempts to heal his hand and slithered over to his companions.

"They're so big…" Mahrak'Nesaht murmured.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

"And like the other flying machines, they're made of metal," Teos'Khat added.

"I can't fathom how they stay aloft," the archmage muttered in dismay.

"They look more steady than Rontak wyverns," Nik'Dhish commented. "Maybe those extra wings let it fly faster?"

The machines had an astonishing four wings. A pair of shorter ones in front and a longer pair in the back. There appeared to be a thin disk at the end of each wing. The machines spun around to face away from them as they lowered to the ground. At first he thought it was a sign of disrespect. But as they touched the ground they opened their maw, as if they were beasts instead of contraptions. As the noise died down he saw the disks were actually thin sheets of metal spinning very, very fast.

"Why are they so loud!?" Gheso'Fhor said, exasperated.

"That's the most powerful air magic I've ever seen," Nik'Dhish said. "It's as powerful as a sandstorm!"

"I've never seen anything fly like that before, " Mahrak'Nesaht shouted over the noise. "I wonder what kind of magic powers them."

As the doors to the machines touched the ground, many bipeds emerged from inside and made their way towards them. He couldn't tell if they were humans or elves because of their helmets, but they certainly weren't short enough to be dwarves.

"I'm sure you'll get a chance to ask them," Nik'Dhish said.

"Ha! They'd be utter fools to reveal such secrets," the archmage replied.

The four of them grouped up and slithered towards the bipeds to meet them. They were clearly experienced soldiers; he could tell from the way they moved with purpose and discipline. They flanked their leader in a spread out line. They didn't make any overtly threatening gestures, which was good, but he could tell they were prepared to if it became necessary.

"Do not give them reason to doubt our motives," he told his companions. "We are guests in their land and we will conduct ourselves accordingly."

They all nodded, heeding his instructions. If not for the aura of command the biped leader held, Teos'Khat wouldn't be able to distinguish him from the others. They all wore identical clothes, but no identifiable armor. It was not lost on him that their clothes would make them very difficult to spot if they did not want to be seen. They didn't carry any swords or spears, so they must rely on magic in combat.

The leader came up to them and raised his hand to his eye in a strange gesture. "Lieutenant Kurt Hall, 2nd Deep Recon Team. Are you Lord Commander Teos'Khat?"

"Yes, and these are my companions," he replied, gesturing to his fellows. "Archmage Mahrak'Nesaht, Battlemage Gheso'Fhor, and Nik'Dhish."

"Damn, they really are giant snakes," one of the bipeds snickered. "Looks like I owe the sarg fifty bucks."

"I told you grunts to lock it down!" Lieutenant Hall snapped at his men.

Before Teos'Khat could respond to the insult, the warm sensation in his hand started to burn with the fury of the scorching desert, and it engulfed his entire forearm. He grimaced, startling the Americans. The burning sensation intensified and he gripped his arm, holding it up in his good hand. The pain intensified, like his hand was being thrust into boiling water.

"I'm sorry, we didn't mean to…" Lieutenant Hall trailed off, confused.

"Lord Commander, what's wrong?" Mahrak'Nesaht asked.

He tried to answer, but his voice came out as a blood curdling, agonizing scream. Gheso'Fhor took hold of his hand and pulled off his glove, revealing a fractured web of glowing orange fissures across his forearm. It looked disturbingly similar to what happened to Hetho'Dehkt. Was he to share his fallen comrade's fate? Was this penance for striking down one of his own?

"The demon!" Nik'Dhish exclaimed. "He touched the mist, this must be some sort of poison!"

Upon hearing the word demon, the Americans visibly shifted their demeanor. He heard them frantically say a lot of things that didn't make sense. He couldn't focus on them much though, the pain was too overwhelming.

"Scan for anomalous heat signatures!"

"Contact command and inform them of a possible demonic encounter!"

Most of it was lost on him, but he got the gist of it; they were afraid, borderline panicking, but not in a chaotic, out of control way. It was the way soldiers react when they realize the danger they're in.

"Fear not. The demon was slain. I'm–aaggghhhhhh"

He doubled over in pain and fell to the ground. One of the Americans bent down by his side. "Medic! We need some morphine!" He called out.

"No! Don't give him anything!" Another man shouted as he ran over. He had a bright red insignia on his helmet. "Our medicine could be toxic to them."

"Look at him, we have to do something!" The other one argued.

"Mahrak'Nesaht!" He called out. The pain was spreading up his arm. He could feel his mind slipping away, succumbing to the torment.

"I'm here, Lord Commander," the archmage replied.

"Complete Pharaoh's quest! Lead the others home and–agh–tell Pharaoh what we–ugh."

The archmage took his good hand and said, "I will, Lord Commander. I give you my word."

"No one's dying today," Lieutenant Hall declared. "We can take you back to Fort Roanoke. Our doctors might be able to do something."

"We don't know these people!" Gheso'Fhor exclaimed. "We cannot entrust the Lord Commander's fate to their care."

"They are the reason we are here, Gheso'Fhor," Nik'Dhish interjected.

"I cannot heal demonic wounds," Mahrak Nesaht added. "Their mages, might. His fate is sealed if we do nothing."

"We need to go, right now!" Lieutenant Hall ordered. "Alpha squad, secure a perimeter! Bravo squad, get this guy into the albatross!"

The Americans tried to pick him up and carry him but he was thrashing around too badly. He accidentally knocked one of them off his feet, and sent another flying back five meters. He knew it would never work. Maybe if he could control his agonizing spasms. He did his best to help them, but the pain was uncontrollable.

"What are you doing?" He heard Mahrak'Nesaht ask."Just lift him with magic!"

The Americans backed away as light blue particles swirled around his body. They lifted him off the ground and floated him towards one of the flying machines. His arm spasmed in agony as they gently set him down. The floor was uncomfortably cold, but it was a welcome distraction from the inferno raging within his hand.

Everyone else followed him in. The Americans took seats along the walls while his companions just stood on the floor around him. The last thing he saw before his mind became an incoherent mess was the sunlight dimming as the ramp closed up.

August 31st, 2053

Jakklobian Island Outpost, Grebian Archipelago

Commodore Makklok sat in his office going through paperwork. The amount of deskwork for such a backwater outpost would never cease to amaze him. It was one of the things he hated most about being stuck out here. Nothing ever happened. Fleets would make port and restock, their flag officers would brag of their tantalizing exploits, and then they would leave and he would stay. It was a never ending cycle as mundane as the sun and moons.

The most interesting thing that happened in the past year was a transport fleet lost at sea making its way to the archipelago. Fortunate for them, but not for Makklok; interesting didn't mean good, it just meant something. A few of their land dragon transports survived, and they needed a lot of food. He had to ration supplies for weeks while new fishing vessels were built just to keep them alive. He wished he could just put them down, but they were vital military assets. He had been ordered to house them until a fleet could retrieve them. The surviving transports weren't seaworthy, so he had them scrapped to repair his own meager fleet.

He desperately wished for a real command. The Grebian archipelago was in the middle of nowhere with nothing but vast oceans on all sides. There was just nothing out here, this far east. The only ships that ever passed through were the occasional minotaur slave merchants returning from Kraffnia, or patrol fleets hunting sea monsters. And those only came here because there was nowhere else to make port.

He craved action. He wanted to found a new colony, or slay a leviathan, or civilize a society of barbarians. He sighed. Such thoughts were folly. The closest he would come to those dreams were the Greebians, but they were utterly worthless.

Those oversized slugs were complete pacifists. He tried enlightening them when he first arrived in this forsaken archipelago, but they just refused to work. No matter how many times he flogged them, no matter how many examples he made, they just refused to do anything productive. They just lazily roamed around the island, only fishing for the food they absolutely needed. Eventually he got fed up with them and resolved to drive them away from the outpost so they would just be out of his way.

A few still came poking around now and then, but they were only a minor personal nuisance. They didn't cause any trouble. They only showed up to complain and ask for their land back. Foolish snails. If they want it, they could always fight for it and try to take it. They'd fail, obviously, but they don't even care enough to try. They were utterly pathetic.

They didn't even have anything of value to loot. They just eked out a meagre existence on the jungles and beaches. It's hard to even call them barbarians because they lack even the most basic qualities of civilization, even a primitive barbarian civilization. They were somehow less than even that. He almost pitied them. He would, if they weren't so annoying. He absolutely hated dealing with them.

Knock knock knock

"Sir, I've got some papers for you," his personal assistant said.

"Come on in, Wilag."

Although a mere boy, Wilag showed promise. He was a bit scrawny for a lad of his age but he was on track to become an officer in a few years. With the right tutelage and a bit of experience, he'd make a fine captain one day.

"Good afternoon, sir," he said, carrying a hefty amount of paperwork.

"Ah, Wilag my boy! Keeping busy I see?"

"Oh, yes sir," he answered. "I've taken the liberty of sorting through these reports for you. The most important ones are at the top. The rest are mostly minor logistical matters, "

Makklok took a few papers from the top of the stack and skeptically skimmed through them. Fishing hauls… another petition from the Greebians (he'd throw that one in the fireplace later)… An update on fertilizing the crop fields with land dragon manure… "Wilag, this is what you call important?"

Although, to be fair, this far out on the edge of the civilized world there was hardly anything worth reporting at all.

"Aye, sir. The rest of it is truly unnoteworthy," he said. "I believe there's a five page report on one sailor's flogging in there somewhere."

"Five pages? For one man?" Makklok asked, shaking his head. What could the poor sop have done to warrant a five page report? He made a mental note to go through and find it later, just to sate his curiosity. "Remind me to have a talk with my officers about the concept of brevity. I'll see to it that they filter through some of this garbage before it reaches you."

"There is one thing that stands out, sir," Wilag said, pulling one last folder from his pristine uniform. The boy certainly dressed like an officer. "This was compiled from mana comm transmissions sent by a slave convoy from Kraffnia set to arrive in a few days."

Makklok took the envelope and opened it. He skimmed its contents and busted out laughing. "Those Rontak savages finally got what they deserved!" He said. "That's what they get for messing around with portal magic."

As his amusement subsided he read through the situation more seriously. Otherworlders from a portal of the Rontaks' own creation humiliated them on the field of battle and are currently waging war against them. A war they are winning.

"What do we know about the otherworlders, these… Americans?"

"Not much, sir. This is a fairly recent development. All we know comes from the slave convoy. Merchant sailors are hardly the most reliable source of information. They say American armies rampage across north western Kraffnia, laying waste to all who stand against them. Some of the stories are clear fabrications though, and it's difficult to tell how much truth they have left."

"I could use a good laugh," he said. "Tell me some of the sailors' tall tales."

"For one, they say the Americans control an army of flying, talking golems," Wilag said with a chuckle. "And that a single American soldier can smite an entire army."

"And what do you think of the more reliable rumors," the commodore asked.

"Well, some of the merchants described weapons that resemble magikets and magi cannons, but others claim that American weapons don't magic at all," he said, after a pause. "I believe they're using black powder weapons to dominate the battlefield. Without any magikets or muskets of their own, the Rontaks would be helpless against them. And if they used concealment spells to hide their true numbers that would explain how a 'single' American could 'smite' an entire Rontak army."

"Very astute, Wilag," the Commodore said. He was impressed the boy could come to such a sound conclusion with so little to go on. "I'd hardly expect the unsophisticated barbarians of Kraffnia to be able to distinguish between black powder cannons and magi cannons."

"Indeed sir," Wilag said. "Black powder would look very much like magic to barbarians not familiar with it."

"What else can be discerned from the rumors?" Makklok asked.

"They say their weapons can fire at absurd rates. I would infer that they have a well drilled, highly disciplined army. Perhaps capable of firing three or four shots per minute."

"And if their formations practice proper firing patterns, their army as a whole would appear to fire continuously" Commodore Makklok added. "Now, Wilag, can you see the opportunity here?"

"The opportunity, sir?"

"What do you know about the Jakklobian Empire's colonization of Kraffnia?"

"Well, it was the furthest colony ever attempted," he began. "It was hard to send supplies and materials to get the colony started. The local barbarians were used as labor to replace the provisions we would normally send via ship."

Makklok gestured for him to keep going.

"Eventually they encountered the Rontak Empire and they overwhelmed the colonists with sheer numbers. No matter how many savages the colonists shot down, they just sent army after army. Not enough soldiers or magikets made it to Kraffnia in time, so they were eventually overwhelmed and slaughtered by a horde of primitives. King Jarrkel III decided it wasn't worth the effort to retake the colony, so colonization of Kraffnia was abandoned."

"Very good, Wilag. I see you know your history."

What he said was spot on. The colony had a massive logistical disadvantage. Every ship, every magi cannon, and every soldier had to spend over a year at sea just to reach Kraffnia, while the Rontak Empire merely had to march army after army through their own land.

"If news of the Americans reached the western ports and assuming they still create their portals in Duremar, then the Rontak Empire has been entirely cut off from Crystal Coast. The Americans are no doubt occupied to their east with the Rontak Empire. That leaves Crystal Coast ripe for colonization. We can conquer it for the Jakklobian Empire, Wilag! We can conquer it."

"Us? Sir, if you don't mind my asking, how are we supposed to do that?" Wilag exclaimed. "Won't we just get killed by endless waves of Kraffnian savages like the colonists?"

"You're not seeing the big picture, Wilag," Makklok eagerly explained. "Back then, the colonists didn't have water engines. With modern magic, a journey from Jakklobia to Kraffnia would only take a fraction of the time. If we send word to the eastern fleet before we depart, the first reinforcements would arrive in as little as a few months after we do!"

"Thats plenty of time for us to run out of ammunition, sir," Wilag pointed out.

"But with the Rontak Empire focused on the Americans, and the western coast of Kraffnia fending for itself, we can establish a base and fortify it." he said with a smile. "And by the time the otherworlders and the Rontak Empire stop fighting each other long enough to notice us, we'll have reinforcements from Jakklobia."

"You're awfully excited sir," Wilag said. "I can see there's no talking you out of this."

"Just imagine it, Wilag! We'll finally get off this wretched island! Tell Colonel Bekklen to get his act together. I want his troops to stop lounging around and start acting like the proud Jakklobian soldiers they are. I want firing drills from dawn till dusk! I want to hear two shots per minute by the end of the day and three by the end of the week!" He ordered. "And send a patrol to escort that slave convoy. I don't want them getting sunk by some random sea monster before I've had a chance to question them."

"At once, Commodore!" Wilag saluted.

Without the manpower of the entire Kraffnian continent opposing him, holding a small stretch of coastline would be easy. After all, black powder weapons were inferior to their magical equivalents. That's how the Jakklobian Empire dominated their colonies, and even a few civilized kingdoms. The versatility of magi cannons gave them an enormous advantage over black powder cannons. This could finally be his escape from this ridiculous backwater archipelago.

August 31st, 2053

United States Duremar Territory, Duremar Plains, Fort Roanoke

(blood and gore warning)

If you're sensitive to that sort of thing, reader discretion is advised.

Ellinda was wearing a bright white American nurse outfit. Actually, from what she recalled, the Red Cross wasn't just an American medicine guild; they recruited healers from all over their world. And now from Tempestia too. She shifted some of her silvery blonde hair so that her hat would stop chaffing her ears. She appreciated being welcome alongside American healers, but the hat just wasn't designed for elves.

She wasn't technically part of the American army, but her mentor, Dr. Jaime Lynn was. Her uniform was the same ugly mix of greens and browns all American soldiers wore. At just fifty years old, she was still young for an elf. Unlike Dr. Lynn, who was nearly ten years younger than her and already showing signs of aging. Ellinda on the other hand had her whole life ahead of her. And thanks to the Americans, she finally looked forward to it.

Back in Rontak's Reach, she was forced to work in a dirty artisan shop making mana comms ever since she was a kid. But she had an aptitude for life magic and always found joy in secretly healing the other slaves' cuts and bruises. She was a bit skeptical when the Americans attacked the city and liberated her from slavery. Like the others, she thought they would just be their new masters. But instead, they set her free and asked her to become a full fledged healer! She was overjoyed at the prospect of finally being able to pursue her magic. Something she chose to do. And they paid her. That was nice too, even though it was with the worthless green paper they called money. At least she could spend it here at Fort Roanoke and the refugee center.

"Good afternoon, Ellinda." Dr. Jaime Lynn said. "Enjoy your lunch?"

"It was amazing!" she said cheerfully as she walked into the room. "I bought some kalaberry sauce from a trader in the refugee center and put it on a hamburger. It was incredible."

"I'll have to give that a shot, then," Dr. Lynn replied. "What did you say they were called?"

"Kalaberries," she said. "They grow in rivers and prey on fish that get too close."

"Wait, hang on. Did you say the berries eat the fish?" She asked warily.

"Yeah. I bet there's a bunch of them in the Induran River, that's probably where he got them," she said. "We could go pick a few sometime."

"I… Think I'll pass on that for now," Dr. Lynn replied.

The two of them got to work packing their first aid kits. She checked all the basic supplies she needed. Bandages, gloves, painkillers, a thermometer, an… an-tii…'bye-ot-iks'. This was the worst part of her training. Remembering the names of everything. The names didn't have equivalents in her language, so she had to learn the en-ga-lish words the Americans used, and most of them were unpronounceable. She sighed out of frustration and moved on.

There was no shortage of patients at the refugee center. Most minor injuries she could heal easily, but Dr. Lynn insisted on only using her magic on people who really needed it. She called it 'tree-oj'. Ellinda saw the wisdom in it. The Americans could handle minor cuts and scraps with their own non magic medicine. They had that in abundance. They treated her life magic as something special and only allowed her to use it on more serious wounds they couldn't heal as easily as she could. Even though she wasn't practicing her magic as often as she'd like, Dr. Lynn was teaching her all about American medicine.

"Can you pass me some epinephrene?" Dr. Lynn asked.

She knew what that was. It was an emergency device with a needle you stick someone with if they're having an allergic reaction (she knew what that was too!). But as hard as she tried, she just couldn't pronounce it right. She knew that's why Dr. Lynn asked her for it. She needed to be able to communicate quickly and clearly during an emergency. She understood that. But that didn't make it any easier.

She grabbed the device and handed it to her mentor. In front of the other nurses she would just call it an epi pen. They all pronounced its full name so easily she was a little embarrassed it was so difficult for her. But she knew Dr. Lynn was testing her. "Epp…in… eff…ren…" She pronounced each syllable slowly and deliberately.

"That was pretty good!" She exclaimed. "You're getting better."

"I guess," she meekly replied.

"Learning a new language is hard, much less all this medical jargon. You're not the first one to have trouble with it. Just keep practicing and you'll be able to say all our fancy American words," Dr. Lynn appraised. "Ready to get back out there?"

Ellinda packed the last piece of standard equipment and with a big smile said, "Yep. Let's go."

But before she could snap it shut, an alarm blared, startling her. "Aahhh!"

She jumped and clumsily dropped her kit to the floor, spilling its contents. "Sorry," she said over the alarm, as she bent down to pick them up.

"Leave it," Dr. Lynn ordered. "Quick, come with me! We have more in the Rhino."

She raced out of the room without looking back. Ellinda quickly followed her. The hallway was busy. She dodged and weaved her way after Dr. Lynn.

"T-the Rhino?" she asked nervously? "What do we need that for? Where are we going?"

"That alarm is for incoming casualties at the airfield," she explained. "The rhino's got more gear than we can carry and we don't have time to walk out there anyway."

Ellinda was terrified of those things. She'd only ridden in them once before, when they rescued her from Rontak's Reach. Luckily Dr. Lynn wasn't like most Americans and didn't mind walking, so she's been able to avoid them ever since. Something about them was just… wrong. They're so big, so loud. Whenever one of them drove by she would instinctively step off the sidewalk, just to get a little further away before it passed her. She could feel her legs shaking as she ran after Dr. Lynn.

They burst through the doors to the parking lot where the medical rhinos waited. They looked so still and calm... Until they roared to life like monsters, like she knew they would. Ellinda froze as Dr. Lynn climbed inside. She turned back around to face her.

"Look, I know you don't like these things, but this is an emergency," She said calmly. "There are hurt people out there who need your magic. We need you, Ellinda."

Those words hit her like a bucket of cold water. She still felt inadequate next to someone like Dr. Lynn. American doctors could do so much without any magic at all. Compared to what she could do, they were the ones who wielded magic.

And yet, an American doctor, who knew more about medicine and healing people than she ever imagined was possible, needed her. Her. Everything she knew about life magic and healing she had to learn herself. She didn't have any fancy moving pictures or an experienced life mage to apprentice under. She was just a simple elvish slave who practiced her magic in dark alleys when no one was looking.

No. She wasn't a slave anymore. She was free. She was a Red Cross nurse. She couldn't let Dr. Lynn down. She put one foot on the ramp and hesitated for a moment, then grabbed her mentor's outstretched hand and climbed inside.

Other doctors and medics climbed in after her. Her face turned bright red when she realized they were probably all waiting behind her. Too embarrassed to face them, she followed Dr. Lynn to the front. She fell back into a seat as the vehicle lurched into motion. She gripped the armrests so tight her knuckles turned white as they drove down the road.

"What kind of emergency is it?" She asked.

"I don't know. We'll find out when we get there," Dr. Lynn replied. "Whats important right now is that we get there prepared for anything."

"B-but I'm still just learning the basics!" She exclaimed. "What can I do?"

"You've got your healing magic," Dr. Lynn said curtly. "I know I give you shit about using it, but it really can help. If someone's hurt bad and you can heal them, don't wait for my approval, just do it. Understand?"

She nodded, feeling a bit overwhelmed. The rhino sped around a tight corner and she could feel her heart beating furiously. Her chest felt tight and she was breathing in and out rapidly. She tried to stop but couldn't. She knew what this was, she remembered learning about it. She was high-per-ven… Damnit! She couldn't pronounce the damn word! But she knew it was a common reaction to anxiety and panic attacks. She focused and walked herself through the treatment.

She loosened her grip on the armrests, that wasn't helping things. She tried to breathe deeply and fully with each breath. She took her mind off being in the rhino by going through all the hard to pronounce American medicines. As-et-a-men-oh-fenn… Al-bute-er-all… Oh-meh-pruh-zol… Moo-or-feene… After a few more, she started to feel her breathing normalize–it was working. After another few minutes she felt much better.

"Hey, kid–damn, it's weird calling you 'kid' you're older than I am for Christ's sake," Dr. Lynn said as they approached the airfield. "Are you ready for what you might see out there?"

"I think so," She said softly.

"Have you ever seen someone dead or dying, or somewhere in between?"

"You showed me those pictures," she said. "Of different–"

"I don't mean in a classroom, I mean with your own two eyes," Dr. Lynn uncharacteristically snapped. "Right in front of you, close enough to get sprayed with their blood."

"Y-yes," she stammered. Life as a Rontak slave wasn't easy. She did her best to heal her fellow slaves after beatings, or worse. But she had to do it slowly over time or the Rontaks would catch on that she was using magic. Once when she was only twenty eight years old, still a child really, she healed another slave's lashes too quickly. The slave master, a cruel and sadistic man, noticed. He made her watch as he cut the scars back open with a knife. He told her she was free to heal him again, but that if she did, he'd kill him. Then, when the Americans invaded the city, she saw the slave master's head explode right in front of her. She knew those memories would haunt her for centuries."I-I've seen things like that before."

"Good," Dr. Lynn said. "That's good. Just remember, it's not about who we can't save, but who we can. I'm sure you'll do great."

Ellinda held on for dear life as the vehicle came to a sudden stop.

"We're here," Dr. Lynn said, unbuckling her seatbelt. "Let's go!"

She eagerly followed Dr. Lynn out of the Rhino. She couldn't wait to get out of it. Somehow the American flying machines didn't freak her out the way the rhinos did. They were just too alien. Climbing down the walkway she saw a huge, long stretch of paved stone, the runway, along with several of their planes and drones. Soldiers shouted and gathered on the runway. Something was going on besides just a medical emergency. Oddly, some of their droids carried swords. What did they need those for when they had their guns?

One of the soldiers ran up to Dr. Lynn like a charging minotaur. She instinctively shrunk behind her mentor.

"You the doc?" He thundered.

"Yes!" Dr. Lynn replied over the commotion. "What's going on?"

"Some giant snake people tried to cross the border so we sent some guys to bring'em in," he said. "But one of them has some kind of demonic infection."

"Demonic infection?" Dr. Lynn asked. "What the hell does that mean?"

"You tell me, doc!" the soldier replied.

Dr. Lynn turned to her as if she had the answer. "I…" she began.

The soldier's eyes went wide. She recognized the look. All the Americans got it when they noticed her ears.

"Shit, you're an elf?" he said. "So you know all about demons and snake people? You can bust out some magic and heal him, right?"

"What?" she exclaimed. "You mean the serpentfolk? No! I–I don't know anything about them! Or demons!"

What did he expect her to do? Hold out her hand and wave away the emergency? That's not how magic works! She couldn't heal something she didn't know anything about! When she was younger it took her months just to figure out how to heal a minor cut. Broken bones were harder, but she figured those out too, with enough practice. But demonic wounds? She was grateful she'd never had the opportunity to heal those before. Until now at least.

"Then I sure hope Elmot knows what to do, otherwise we're screwed," he said.

Elmot? That's an elvish name… She looked past the soldier and saw a proper mage holding a staff, complete with a mana crystal embedded in it. Relief washed over her. Thank goodness she wouldn't have to do this alone. She could let Dr. Lynn handle the American side of things and just assist the mage, Elmot, with his healing magic.

"Benny!" A soldier shouted. "Get the medics over here, they're almost here!"

"Come on," the soldier, Benny, said. "We need you guys right away. Lieutenant Hall says it's bad. And based on the screams we heard on the comms, I believe him."

Ellinda nervously ran after them. She's never seen anything demonic before. She's heard the myths and legends, and what they can do to you. She couldn't imagine the agony that poor serpentfolk was going through right now. She literally couldn't imagine it. Stories about demons say that they invent new forms of pain just to make you suffer more. She shuddered. She didn't want to think about it

But she was about to come face to face with it. Blood she could handle. She could even manage watching people get tortured, though she's never seen death up close before like Dr. Lynn. But demonic poison? That was… something else.

"Lieutenant Ramirez," one of the American soldiers introduced himself. "Nice to meet you, doc. I assume you've been briefed on demons?"

"Yes, but I don't think there's anything I can do," Dr. Lynn admitted. "If what they say about those things is true, I can't imagine how the poor bastard is still alive."

"Then I hope our two resident mages can figure something out," he said, looking at her and Elmot.

"I'm not really a–" Ellinda began softly.

"Here they come!" Someone shouted, cutting her off.

Everyone stopped listening to her and looked to the sky. She followed their gaze and saw two of their larger flying machines coming towards them. As they came in for a landing, she brought up her hand to shield her eyes from the gusts of wind the machines produced.

As soon as the door cracked open she heard the screams. Blood curdling cries of agony that could even be heard over the roar of the machines. Before the door even touched the ground, two columns of soldiers ran out, carrying a writhing serpentfolk between them in some kind of thick cargo netting.

Three more serpentfolk followed them out. One of them stuck out immediately because he carried an even more intricate staff than Elmot. They had their own mage! Maybe they wouldn't need her after all. But wait… why didn't their mage heal him? Because he couldn't, she thought. If their own mage couldn't heal him, they'd probably expect her to.

"Set him down over here!" Dr. Lynn ordered. The serpentfolk's flailing body knocked down several soldiers. "Hold him down, goddamnit!"

She crouched down and examined him while the soldiers and droids did their best to keep him pinned down. His forearm had a spider web of glowing orange fissures growing on it. Like something demonic was inside him, trying to break out. And it was spreading.

She overheard Dr. Lynn shouting over the engines with one of the American soldiers. He had a red cross on his helmet signifying him as a medic.

"I need to know what you gave him!" She shouted. "Did you give him any morphine?"

"Negative," another one replied. "The medics wouldn't let us."

"Good, that's good." She turned to Elmot. "What the hell am I looking at here?"

"It looks like his arm is being consumed," Elmot said. He turned to the serpentfolk mage hovering to the side. "What happened?"

The roar of the engines was dying down now, so she could hear the mage recount the story more clearly. They fought a two headed demonic bird in the Kashir forest. They managed to kill it, but lost one of their own. Teos'Khat, the one with the poison, touched some kind of demonic mist and this was an after effect.

"Is there anything you can do?" Elmot asked her.

Why was he asking her? "No, I have no idea what to do! Don't you know how to heal him?"

"My life magic is very weak. I could never heal something like this."

"What about you?" She asked the serpentfolk mage.

"I tried to heal him in the flying machine, but all it did was slow down the poison," he replied. "But my life magic is also weak. Please, elf, can you save him?"

Well that was just perfect. Out of the three of them, she was the best healer.

(Final warning for blood and gore. If that kind of content bothers you, I advise you to stop reading here)

"Then that leaves us with just one option," Dr. Lynn said. She turned to the other medics gathering around her. "We have to amputate and hope the poison hasn't spread past his arm yet. Get me a tourniquet, and gauze–lots of it. We're also gonna need a bone saw and something for him to bite down on."

As the medics rushed to get the unusual equipment, Dr. Lynn turned to her. "Elinda, do you know of any plants that have numbing properties we might be able to find in the refugee center?"

"N-no, I don't think so," she stammered.

"Shit. He's gonna have to do it without anesthesia then. We can't risk giving him meds without knowing how they affect his species."

"You're a fool if you think losing a limb compares to the pain of demonic poison," one of the serpentfolk hissed.

"Calm down, Gheso'Fhor, they're doing the best they can," the serpentfolk mage said, putting his hand on his friend's shoulder. Turning back to Dr. Lynn, he continued, "But he's right. Numbing the pain is not necessary. He is already suffering more than anything you could inflict on him."

"Then let's get started," she said, her eyes glossed over with professional distance. "Droids! Hold his arm down here! Where's that goddamned tourniquet, private!"

"Here you go, sir!"A medic said as he brought it over. She tied it just below the shoulder.

"Ellinda, while I cut, I want you to heal the wound."

"But I can't–"

"I just need you to slow the bleeding," she clarified. "He's gonna lose a lot of blood and I don't know if any of these guys are compatible donors. Shit, I don't know how to find out if they're compatible donors. Hell, I don't even know if they have blood types at all! Damnit! Keep as much blood in him as you can!"

"I-I think I can do that," she said.

"You two," Dr. Lynn said to the other mages. "Start healing the poison. Slow it down as much as you can."

Elmot and the serpentfolk mage found a way to cram themselves in between her, Dr. Lynn and the droids holding the arm down.

A medic brought her a bone saw and Dr. Lynn attached a piece of plastic to it to keep blood from splattering everywhere. Then she turned it on and it spun to life with a high pitched buzzing sound. Ellinda had a hard time believing that it was a medical tool and not some sort of torture device.

"Are you ready, Ellinda," Dr. Lynn asked.

She nodded.

"Then let's do this."

She wanted to turn away, but didn't want to accidentally lose a finger to the bone saw. Keeping her eyes focused, green particles swirled from her hands to where Dr. Lynn started to cut. Despite the shield and her magic, blood flew in all directions and splattered across her face as her mentor cut through the serpentfolk's arm. Ellinda's white uniform was ruined.