The Years of Apocalypse - A Time Loop Progression Fantasy

The last cycle, Mirian had missed several days of classes because of her early departure. This time, Professor Marva had given her some valuable tips on the mental component of an illusion spell. It wasn’t just the spell itself you could practice, you could also practice rehearsing the image or sound you wanted to produce. Some people with poor visualization capabilities found it easier to have a small painting to sketch to look at. On one hand, it could be a problem if you used the same disguise over and over again, but it was interesting to learn that practicing art or music could enhance the quality of illusions.

Professor Runer, on the other hand, hadn’t said much that Mirian hadn’t already picked up in her independent studies. It was certainly useful to practice all the different kinds of spells she might encounter, but the class was too focused on the basics. That made sense for a 200-level class where she was one of the few sixth years. She resolved to get her second combat certification level next cycle, though, and see what Professor Cassius had to say in a 300-level class.

Two cycles ago, Mirian had seen one of the Akanan spies atop Bainrose. Her newest spellrod was designed purely for combat, and though it still had too narrow a focus, it had a wide array of force spells and a grounding spell that would deal with the lightning wands she knew the spies liked to use.

After classes, she told Lily she was heading to Bainrose to study.

“Again?” Lily said. “You’ve been really busy lately.”

“Yeah. See you tonight,” Mirian lied.

She couldn’t bear to say goodbyes. She just didn’t want to know. If she didn’t know, she could imagine they met peaceful ends.

Mirian got an early dinner from the dining hall by annoying one of the cooks for something quick. There was no way she was going to miss dinner again. That always made her miserable when the next cycle started. Then she went to the front door. It shouldn’t have been locked so early, but it was.

“Library’s closed,” the guard said.

“I need to study,” she said piteously.

He shrugged. “Study tomorrow.”

“But the test is tomorrow!”

“Sorry,” the guard said, not sounding sorry at all.

“Why is the library closed? It’s not supposed to close. I know the door locks after eight, but even then we’re allowed to come in. So what’s going on?”

“Dunno. Just following orders.”

“Whose orders?”

“Captain’s.”

“Captain Mandez? He must have said something about why. Also, isn’t it up to the Academy when the buildings are open?”

“Captain gives orders, I follow them. Law’s the law. Hurry along now.”

Mirian sighed. She could definitely keep annoying him, but even though the world would end soon, she didn’t think fighting him and trying to break open the door would go well for her. She walked away, then when she was out of sight from the guard, she doubled back and headed around the side of Bainrose.

She stared up at the museum tower with a look of determination. It was about ten feet up until the start of the old lavatory shaft. She cracked her knuckles, then went to go find something to stand on.

The cafeteria held the answer. The back of it was absolutely full of empty crates. They were there for when the Academy wanted to reuse them to ship something back down by train—eventually, they’d probably be full of the magical artifacts and spell engines the Torrviol spellforges produced—but until then, they were relatively light and sturdy enough to stand on. And easy to steal.

In the distance, Mirian heard the loud echo of thunder. The fighting had begun. She wondered what the hell they were firing at. The Baracuel military would only just be unloading by train now, and none of them were in the western edge of the city where the shells were landing. Maybe the Akanans had overestimated the readiness of the military response? Or did they just want to slaughter civilians? If it was the latter, how had the soldiers turned so fast from comrades at arms with Baracuel to bloodthirsty opponents?

Questions for another time. Mirian hoisted one of the crates on her shoulder, then used the enhanced lift object spell from her spellrod to grab another. She hurried back to Bainrose, circling around the back again so the guard wouldn’t see her, though it was possible he’d fled because of the fighting. The castle wall was slightly sloped at the bottom precisely to prevent the kind of shenanigans she was attempting, but the castle side was no longer smooth. Once she was high enough, she could jump over and grab some thin looking handholds where the stone jutted out slightly and the mortar had eroded. She stacked the crates on top of each other. The ground was uneven, so it was a wobbly structure, but there wasn’t time to figure out anything else.

The crack of gunfire erupted west of her, as did the shouting and screaming that came with it. She could see some of the flashes. Mirian missed her first attempt, scraping her fingernails and sending her satchel into the mud. The damn thing was unbalancing her. She rifled through it to grab the glyphkeys—maybe one of them worked on the doors here?—then tossed everything else aside. At least she didn’t have to worry about her spellbook or notes. They’d both be back when she died. For now, the spellrod would have to do.

As she was balancing on the crates again, an artillery shot smashed into one of the buildings south of Bainrose, sending a shockwave that knocked Mirian and the crates over. Shit. She had to hurry. The Akanans would advance rapidly from the hills to the perimeter, and she was running out of time. She stacked the crates one more time, carefully climbed up so they wouldn’t topple, then leapt.

Her fingers dug into the rough stone, but she had a grip! She hoisted foot up so she could stand on the stone and reach up for the latrine’s chimney. Hasn’t been used in a hundred years, she reassured herself. With one hand pressed against the far side of the chimney and her feet on the stone below, she was able to leverage herself into the chimney. Once she was in, it was easy climbing—she just braced her back against one side and her hands and feet against the other. It was slow going, and she started to cramp slightly, but her wiry frame easily fit.

When she got to the top, she had to heave against the wooden cover over the latrine. It rattled, but it didn’t open. Damn, it’s latched, she realized. Carefully, she steadied herself and reached for her spellrod. Fortunately, it was already configured for lift object so she didn’t have to fiddle with the dials in the dark while bracing herself. She channeled, and the lid burst open. Hopefully, all the artillery and gunfire had masked the sound of wood splintering and metal clattering.

Mirian groaned as she emerged from the latrine shaft and immediately dusted herself off. Chunks of long-dried something fell down. Crumbling mortar, she decided. The alternative was way too gross to consider. She stretched, working out a kink from her back. In this cycle, she’d never told the guards some tall tale, so the museum tower door was unlocked.

She crept over to the walkway-balconies that overlooked the first floor, changing her spellrod’s setting to force shield as she did. Bainrose was empty. No librarian. No students. She heard the next explosion clearly, even through the stone walls of the castle. The floor shook hard, then there was another cacophony and the place kept shaking. That had to have been Torrian Tower getting hit. With the first and second floors apparently deserted, it was decision time. In the second cycle, the spy had gone to the roof of Bainrose. But there’d been a lot of disruptions to that cycle, and they’d been watching Torrviol’s evacuation. Still, she didn’t remember Bainrose getting hit, and clearly, the spies had arranged for the castle to be deserted and locked up, probably so they didn’t have to deal with the one building in Torrviol that could withstand a prolonged artillery barrage. My history teacher would be so proud, she mused. And she’d had the temerity to ask him why they had to study stupid war stuff involving cannons. When am I ever going to need to know that? she’d said.

She decided to head up. The third and fourth floors were where secure and rare materials were stored, and therefore off-limits to students. She headed up the northwest tower’s spiral staircase, ready to try her glyphkeys.

But when she got to the top, the door was open. So was the fourth-floor door. Well, someone was definitely here, and they clearly didn’t think they needed to worry about locking the doors anymore. At the top of the fourth floor landing, she climbed up the old steel ladder, quietly opening the trap door. She’d never been on the battlements of Bainrose before. It was rather exciting.

She peeked her head out. No one on the northwest tower turret. It didn’t look like anyone was on the nearby parapets, either. Mirian kept close to the battlements of the tower so she didn’t form an obvious silhouette and looked around.

Light flashed all around Torrviol as spellfire shells rained down. Chain lightning erupted from craters, fireballs flattened roofs, and everywhere, people were running and screaming. The Akanans were coming across the fields, with their western flank cutting through the northern dormitories and the hills. That group was moving slowly, because, as she could see, the soldiers were busy shooting the fleeing students. She felt sick watching it, her stomach twisting into a knot of disgust and rage. In the more open areas, she could see the Akanans advancing as squads of soldiers, each with a support vehicle trundling along, usually with some sort of gun attached. In the back, the artillery were just in front of the treeline, their positions obvious because of the bright flash that erupted when they fired. There were so many of them. How many did Xipuatl say were in an army? Twenty thousand? They outnumbered the population of Torrviol. What chance will we ever have?

The center of the Akanan army was pushing fast into the city, while a large group of them seemed to be breaking off to go around to the north. Mirian wracked her brain for the terms that book on battles had used. Is that… an encirclement? It’s not making a circle, though. She couldn’t make out what the Baracuel army was doing. Well, panicking, certainly, and firing on civilians too for some damn reason.

Mirian crept from the tower across the parapet. The northeast tower was empty, but sure enough, there was one of the Akanan spies, looking out from the southeast tower. Right. Obviously. He was watching the Baracuel army assemble. And he had a wand in his hand. Probably some sort of communication spell. Sending, maybe? Or some spell she’d never heard of. Well. His back was turned to her. Now was her chance.

She readied force push. That should knock the combat wand or gun he pulled out of his hands. She snuck closer to him until she was a dozen feet away. She pointed her scepter at him and said, “Hands up! Don’t move!”

The spy immediately whirled around, then reached into his jacket.

Mirian channeled.

The blast of force slammed into the spy. The wand he’d been reaching for went tumbling, but so did he, smashing into the lower part of the battlement and then over the edge. With a short scream, he fell, but the scream was drowned out by the sound of gunfire. She didn’t hear him land.

Shit, she thought. She’d killed him. Actually killed someone. Gods, that felt strange. Mirian had only meant to disarm him, but he’d reached for—well, it was self defense, wasn’t it? And his death wouldn’t last, anyways. But she didn’t like the feeling that was roiling in her gut, this weird sense of guilt and horror and—and satisfaction. After all, these were the people who had killed her friends. Had killed her. Didn’t they deserve to die?

All around her, the Akanans were slaughtering people like animals. She didn’t think the Akanans deserved mercy, but… it didn’t feel right for her to kill someone. Mirian watched—until she couldn’t anymore, then tore her gaze away, feeling revulsion twisting through her. And hate. She hated them for what they were doing.

Mirian walked back to the northwest tower and descended, this time heading for the second basement level. She opened the door carefully, slowly, then looked around. She couldn’t see anyone. She headed for the secret door to the third basement level to see if it was open.

As she was walking through the bookcases, though, she heard the rumble of stone, then soldiers speaking Eskanar. She couldn’t understand them; the words came too fast, and her vocabulary was still dismal, but she thought she heard the words, “out” and “search.”

Mirian cursed to herself, then turned the spellrod to force blades. Of course the Akanans would send a group to secure Bainrose. And of course they wouldn’t need to use the front door—the spies had been busy mapping all the secret passages, and using seekerstones to track all the professors to find any that were in use that they’d missed. Five hells, they could pop up from underground amidst the Baracuel army—they wouldn’t have even needed an airship! There was just no chance of a defense. None of this spoke to a last minute attack. How long had they been planning this for?

She heard the Akanan word for “door” next as she crept around one of the bookshelves, then she heard soldiers approaching from another direction as well. Mirian looked around. Unless there was a secret passage right next to her, she was surrounded.

Through the books, she could see the blue and white of the soldiers moving.

She was trying to creep behind a shelf when one of the soldiers she hadn’t noticed abruptly turned a corner and spotted her. He shouted a warning then raised his rifle. Mirian cast her force blades, but the spell came out incredibly weak. The blades tore holes in his uniform, but only gave him shallow cuts. Fuck, the auramancers, she remembered. How was she even supposed to deal with them?

The soldier raised his rifle.

The last thing she remembered was just how loud the rifle sounded, echoing about in the library, and just how sharp the pain was, before she died again.