Shattered Sovereign

On the other side of the rift, the Underside district sprawled before me like a vision of apocalypse. The transformation was staggering in its completeness. Where bustling streets had once teemed with the enclave's seedier commerce (brothels advertising their wares with gaudy banners, gambling dens echoing with dice and laughter, slave houses conducting their grim transactions) now only devastation remained.

The Dancing Maiden, a prominent establishment I remembered from my previous visit, stood gutted like a fish. Its colorful tapestries hung in charred tatters from broken windows, while the distinctive red door that had welcomed countless patrons lay splintered across the cobblestones. Smoke billowed from the building's interior, carrying the acrid stench of burning wood mixed with something far less pleasant.

Further down the street, the Copper Coin gambling hall bore massive holes in its walls, as if something enormous had crashed through repeatedly. Gaming tables lay overturned and shattered, their felt surfaces stained with dark patches that could only be blood. Dice and coins scattered the floor like confetti from some macabre celebration.

The architectural damage extended beyond individual buildings. The district's characteristic black brick construction, which had given the Underside its unique aesthetic, now showed extensive scarring. Scorch marks traced abstract patterns across walls, while deep gouges suggested the passage of massive claws or weapons. Several structures had collapsed entirely, their rubble blocking portions of the street network.

What struck me most profoundly was the complete absence of bodies despite overwhelming evidence of violence. Bloodstains painted the walls in artistic splatters, pooled in street corners, and created dark trails leading in various directions. The sheer volume suggested catastrophic casualties, yet not a single corpse remained visible. The implications were deeply unsettling.

My Tireless cohort moved with mechanical precision behind me as I navigated through the damaged streets. Their steel feet rang against the cobblestones with rhythmic cadence, creating an oddly comforting sound amid the destruction. Each unit maintained perfect formation despite the debris-strewn terrain, stepping over rubble and around obstacles with fluid grace.

The first contact came sooner than anticipated. Rounding a corner near what had been the Red Lantern district, we encountered our adversaries: a mixed patrol of living humans surrounded by shambling undead. The sight of the zombies immediately explained the missing corpses, as every fallen defender and attacker had been conscripted into undeath by necromantic magic.

The undead presented a grotesque tableau of reanimated violence. Former human soldiers stood alongside zombified orcs, kobolds, and lizardfolk, their racial differences now meaningless in death. Fresh wounds gaped on their grey flesh, indicating recent demise and resurrection. Their movements carried the distinctive jerky quality of corpses animated by magical compulsion rather than natural locomotion.

The patrol leader, a living human bearing sergeant's insignia, spotted our formation and barked orders to his mixed forces. His voice carried the professional authority of a career soldier, though I detected underlying tension at our unexpected appearance.

"Shield wall formation! Undead advance!"

The living soldiers, perhaps two dozen strong, formed a defensive line with practiced efficiency. Their shields locked together while spears protruded between the gaps, creating a bristling barrier. Meanwhile, thirty zombies lurched forward in a shambling wave of decay and malice, their pale eyes fixed on my mechanical children with predatory hunger.

My Tireless responded without requiring verbal commands. Through our divine connection, I transmitted tactical instructions directly to their consciousness. They shifted into combat formation, front rank wielding shields and spears, second rank prepared with swords and hammers, creating overlapping fields of defensive coverage.

The undead crashed into my formation like a tide of putrefying flesh against an unyielding steel seawall. The battle proved immediately educational regarding zombie physiology. Unlike living opponents who could be disabled with precise strikes to vital organs, these reanimated corpses required complete dismemberment to neutralize their necromantic animation.

My Tireless adapted quickly to this challenge. Their four arms allowed simultaneous defensive and offensive actions, blocking with shields while delivering devastating sword strikes, using hammers to crush joints and bones, employing spears to pin zombies for finishing blows. Each construct fought with mechanical efficiency, showing no fatigue or fear as they systematically dismantled their opponents.

The sight was both beautiful and terrible. My steel children moved like dancers in a choreographed performance of destruction, their weapons catching the volcanic glow filtering through the smoky air. Zombie limbs separated from torsos, heads rolled across cobblestones, and gradually the necromantic energy sustaining the undead began dissipating.

Once the last zombie fell in pieces, my Tireless turned their attention to the living soldiers. The human formation, which had held firm against the undead assault, began wavering as fifty armed constructs advanced with inexorable purpose.

The collision was brief but decisive. My children's superior strength and fearless coordination shattered the shield wall within moments. Spears bent, shields cracked, and the disciplined formation dissolved into chaos as soldiers scrambled to escape.

"Fall back! Fall back to base!"

The survivors fled through winding streets, abandoning equipment in their haste. I commanded my Tireless to pursue at measured pace, recognizing the tactical opportunity. Panicked enemies often led directly to their strongholds, and these soldiers proved no exception.

Our pursuit continued for several blocks through the devastated district. The fleeing humans led us past more ruined establishments, such as a collapsed inn, a burned-out market stall, and another brothel with its distinctive carved doors torn from their hinges. The trail of destruction seemed to follow no particular pattern, suggesting either random violence or systematic demolition intended to demoralize the enclave's defenders.

The soldiers' destination became apparent as we approached the district's central area: the slave house that Fargill had once operated. The irony wasn't lost on me. The humans had converted a symbol of the enclave's moral failings into their military headquarters.

The building showed extensive modifications for military use. Barricades constructed from furniture and debris created defensive positions around the perimeter. Windows had been boarded up except for firing ports, while the flat roof bristled with archer positions. The former slave pens, with their sturdy construction and secure entrances, made ideal command facilities.

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The scale of the human presence was impressive. Hundreds of soldiers occupied defensive positions throughout the surrounding streets, while countless zombies shambled in loose formations between buildings. The necromancer responsible for this undead army had been thorough in their work as seemingly every corpse from the district's battles had been conscripted into service.

Alert shouts echoed as our escaped quarry reached their lines. Within moments, the entire enemy force oriented toward our position. Archers drew arrows, mages began casting preparation spells, and officers barked orders to coordinate their response.

The zombie vanguard lurched forward first, a writhing mass of reanimated flesh advancing with mindless hunger. My Tireless met them with clinical precision, their weapons cutting through undead ranks like scythes through wheat. The constructs' steel construction made them immune to zombie bites and claws, allowing them to operate with complete impunity against these particular foes.

Arrows and crossbow bolts began raining down from human positions. Most projectiles glanced harmlessly off steel armor, though some penetrated joints and gaps. These caused no functional damage as my children lacked vulnerable organs or circulation systems that archery could disrupt. Several archers targeted me directly, their arrows bouncing ineffectively off my Invulnerable Flesh.

As my Tireless finished clearing the zombie screen, they advanced toward the human defensive line. The real battle commenced as steel met flesh in earnest combat. These soldiers proved significantly more capable than the patrol we'd first encountered, with their levels averaged in the mid-thirties, with corresponding improvements in skill and equipment.

Class abilities began manifesting as the humans fought desperately. Swordsmen used Blade Skill to dent steel armor, Rogues employed Shadow Steps to flank my formations, and Axemen channeled mana to enhance their weapons' effectiveness. Several of my children sustained meaningful damage for the first time, their mechanical systems sparking under concentrated assault.

The enemy mages presented the greatest threat. Working in coordinated groups, they combined their spells into devastating composite effects. Lightning chains arced between my Tireless, while fireballs exploded in their midst. Ice spells froze joints and hydraulics, reducing mobility and effectiveness.

Through our connection, I felt the first of my steel children fall as concentrated magical assault overwhelmed their systems. Then another. The sensation was distinctly unpleasant; not physical pain, but a diminishment of my divine presence as extensions of my will were severed.

The humans were proving more formidable than anticipated.

My tendrils lashed outward with serpentine grace, grasping whatever debris littered the devastated Underside streets. Chunks of black brick from collapsed walls, splintered furniture from destroyed establishments, even the iron-banded doors torn from their hinges; everything became ammunition in my arsenal. The mechanical precision of my new form allowed me to calculate trajectories with mathematical perfection as I hurled these improvised projectiles at the human defensive line.

The first volley caught them completely unprepared. A massive piece of masonry, easily weighing several hundred pounds, sailed over my advancing Tireless and crashed directly into a cluster of mages. Their protective barriers, designed to deflect arrows and melee weapons, crumpled like paper before the sheer kinetic force. Bodies scattered like broken dolls, their concentration shattered along with their bones.

"Mages! Priority target!"

I adjusted my aim accordingly, focusing my bombardment on the spell-casters whose coordinated magic posed the greatest threat to my steel children. A heavy oak table from some destroyed tavern spun end-over-end through the smoky air, its iron reinforcements gleaming as it pulverized two lightning-flinging mages who'd been channeling a combined spell. Their magic discharged harmlessly into the ground as their corpses hit the cobblestones.

The pattern repeated with methodical efficiency. Grab, calculate, hurl, devastate. A wrought-iron fence section impaled three fire mages through their formation. Chunks of volcanic stone, still warm from the enclave's geothermal systems, crushed Ice Specialists before they could complete their frost barriers. My divine strength allowed me to launch projectiles that would have required siege engines for mortal beings to manage.

Return fire proved utterly futile against my Invulnerable Flesh. Arrows shattered against my pale skin without leaving marks, while magical spells dissipated harmlessly on contact. Lightning coursed over my form like decorative static. Fireballs burst against my chest, their flames parting around me like water around a stone. The frustrated cries of enemy mages grew increasingly desperate as their most powerful spells accomplished nothing.

"Fall back! The creature's immune to everything!"

But retreat wasn't an option for them. My Tireless pressed their advance with mechanical determination, their formation intact despite casualties. The human defensive line began buckling under dual pressure: my aerial bombardment from behind while steel soldiers closed from the front. Panic crept into their voices as discipline started fragmenting.

Then the monster's roar shattered the battlefield's rhythm.

The sound was primal, otherworldly; like a bull's bellow mixed with a gorilla's rage, amplified by necromantic magic until it resonated through stone and bone alike. The wall of a nearby building exploded outward in a shower of debris as something massive forced its way through the barrier.

What emerged defied natural description. The creature stood twelve feet tall, its body a grotesque fusion of human and monster parts bound together by necromantic artifice. Arms of varying sizes sprouted from its torso. Orc limbs grafted alongside human appendages, kobold claws fused with minotaur muscle. Its head combined bull-like horns with gorilla features, while its legs showed clear signs of multiple species merged into functional locomotion.

The craftsmanship was undeniably impressive. Whoever had created this abomination possessed masterful understanding of both healing magic and necromancy. Enchantments rippled across its patchwork flesh like aurora lights, maintaining structural integrity despite the biological impossibility of its composition. Mana poured off the creature in visible waves, testament to the enormous magical investment required for its creation.

My appreciation ended when it reached my Tireless formation.

The beast's charge scattered steel soldiers like shattering glass. Its massive composite arm, three different limbs bound together by magical sinew, swept sideways with devastating force. One of my children simply disintegrated under the impact, its torso caving inward before separating completely from its legs. Another construct flew backward, hydraulic fluid spraying from ruptured systems.

I abandoned the bombardment immediately, charging forward as my tendrils extended to maximum reach. The dragon heads at their tips opened wide, revealing razor-sharp teeth that sank deep into the monster's enchanted hide. The flesh resisted initially, its protective spells deflecting penetration, but my divine strength overcame the magical defenses.

The creature roared again as my tendrils began their work, tearing through fused muscle and bone with systematic precision. Its composition made dismantlement particularly challenging since destroying one component might not affect the others, but I adapted quickly. Instead of targeting individual parts, I focused on the necromantic bindings holding everything together.

Magical threads snapped under my assault. Enchantments unraveled as their focal points were severed. Piece by piece, the magnificent abomination came apart in my grasp. The creature's struggles grew weaker as its animating forces collapsed, until finally it collapsed into a pile of disconnected parts, each reverting to natural decay without magical preservation.

Throughout my battle with the composite monster, my remaining Tireless maintained their assault on the human forces. The brief distraction had cost us, but my steel children showed no hesitation or fear. They simply adapted their formation and continued the advance, stepping over fallen comrades with mechanical indifference.

The real battle was just beginning. Within the former slave house were the two level 100 champions of the gods. I needed to face them and end this siege.