B4 Chapter 459: Ancient History, pt. 1

Its form was perfect, a rendition of man cast from bronze that was almost entirely untouched from their previous assault.

From his position on the floor, Kaius ogled at the hard lines of its features. Its entire existence was a testament to craftsmanship. Yet it was also a terrifying monstrosity that had ripped off his leg with casual ease — one that could have slaughtered them to the man in barely a dozen more seconds.

Now it stood at attention, sword planted firmly in the moulded stone below. For him. It knew him, knew his name, called him scion. Kaius blinked, still unable to do anything more than stare. He’d come into the room with an open mind, but this?

“Master Unterstern, this Castellan-Executor apologises for the lawless assault of your person and your retainers. May we know the reason for the unscheduled demolition of this facility’s mainframe?” With its back ramrod straight and its gaze straight ahead, the automaton spoke once more. Its metallic timbre scraped against his skin, raising the hairs on his neck just as easily as the sparking arcane that filled the chamber.

Though its lips remained sealed, sculpted into a perfect expression of neutrality, its voice filled the space. Commanding and loud, the deference it held was undeniable all the same.

This…this was simply too much. The damn thing had cut off his leg, and now it apologised?

Kaius groaned, leaning forward to feel the stump of his leg. His flesh had already knit, sealed whole.

The thumping ache of his missing limb paled in comparison to the agony he felt flowing across his bond with Porkchop. The intensity of it filled him, gathered in his stomach, where it curdled into dread. Gods, he hoped his brother was okay. He damn near felt the crunch himself.

Kaius pushed the castellan from his mind. If the metal monstrosity had deigned not to kill them, then they needed to make sure Porkchop was healing.

The sight of the ruined pile of cracked metal and bone at the base of the wall ripped at his heart. Solid orichalcum plates, multiple finger-widths thick, had been shattered like eggshells. Porkchop’s unassailable and mighty chest had been caved in, a depression so deep that his ribs must have been blown nearly a full stride into his body.

The stone wall behind him was cracked, a spiderweb of devastation streaked with Porkchop’s blood. Yet despite the devastation, he still lived. His chest fluttered as desperate breaths gurgled from his lips.

Gods, the agony — even through the dulled haze of Porkchop’s unconscious mind, Kaius could feel it seeping through their bond. Every single one of his limbs was splayed at unnatural angles, pink bone jutting out from blood, sod, and fur.

Never had he seen Porkchop so desperately injured. The very sight of it caught him off guard; strangled his breath.

Just how close had they come to death?

The kick that had so nearly killed his brother had been a casual thing — a backhanded rebuke. Not the focused and desperate attack of a warrior, but the violent dismissal of a lesser being by something greater.

They might as well have been gnats compared to the Castellan’s strength.

Seeing his brother’s flesh writhe, his health yanking bones back into position and restitching meat into wholeness, snapped Kaius from his daze.

“Ianmus,” he cried desperately. “Healing.”

Snapping his head to where his back line had been running for their lives, he saw that the mage had already turned back for them. Regardless of the improbability, all of them had adjusted to their sudden change of fate.

Sprinting along the wall, the half-elf dipped into a slide, solar mana already coursing around his staff as he came to a halt by Porkchop’s head.

In the back of his mind, Kaius knew that such a move was foolish. The mage should still have been running. In a situation where the front line had been wiped out in seconds, their only chance at survival was to flee. Yet he couldn’t deny the relief he felt at his friend running into what should have been certain death to help them.

It rankled, that the only reason he still breathed was that the gods had decreed that today was not his day.

Kenva, however, was nowhere in sight. Before he could question her absence, his answer came in the sound of heavy footsteps landing immediately behind him. Slender arms wrapped around his shoulders as Kenva let out a desperate pant.

He was moving — leaving a red streak in his wake.

Kenva dropped something in his lap. His own leg, still dripping with blood.

“Hold your leg, you fool. Ianmus might still be able to reattach it if we’re fast enough,” the ranger hissed.

Kaius clutched the limb, unsure of what else he should do as the ranger dragged him across the floor towards Ianmus and Porkchop.

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“And would you please explain to me what the fuck is going on? What is that thing? Why is it level Five-fucking-hundred?! And why does it know your gods’ damned name?!”

“I wish I knew,” Kaius whispered back. He stared at the automaton, lost. It was still just standing there, not even watching them as it held its position.

Kenva unceremoniously dumped him beside Porkchop’s head, where Ianmus was crouched.

Kaius grunted as he rolled onto his side. Porkchop’s helm was caved in. Not by much, but his skull was fractured at minimum. Kaius clenched his teeth, feeling the confused daze through that bond.

Bloody gods — if it had been anyone else!

“Ianmus!” Kenva cried. “I have his leg. Can we attach it?”

The mage snapped his head over, inspecting Kaius’ stump before he scowled.