162 Chapter 8.17 - Death From Above

There is a sense of peace that comes with untethering oneself from the world. A peace of not belonging, even for a moment. For once the feeling of gravity was ignored, Serin found himself floating, if he ignored the fact that he was doing so in a rapidly downward trajectory. Their ships were specially made to fly at extremely high altitudes. It was an exercise in patience. For now, Serin knew a bit of calm, the calm before the calamity that was the besieged rescue and infiltration teams. The only thing he could hear was his own steady breathing and the beat of a heart unburdened by anxiety.

He knew as the vanguard, he would lead his country to victory or death. Their enemy had left them no option for parlay. But those higher level thoughts he had left behind. He tasted a few more moments of calm, and then readied himself.

Serin had a few more minutes before his team landed, but even now the bone flyers that were a circling storm above the cathedral were flying tighter. Serin did not know what the ground assault looked like, and he did not care. The rescue of his people he had left to the others. He was here to return his enemy to nothing.

As Serin came closer, he fired off several flares. Behind him the members that had served as Archangels knew what would happen. They knew what Serin's plan was as they had been briefed and had performed it in the past.

Several years back there was an incident with a Titan, Swarm class. It would have most likely avoided Haven, but such a large bundle of experience could not be ignored by Haven's Military Leaders. Like the Legionnaire, it was made up of a hive of hundreds of individual creatures in lieu of one oversized creature. The difficult part was that this nomadic swarm was aerial. So the archangels developed a methodology for taking out huge swaths of the creatures before the navy interceded.

One member would jump ahead, lighting flares to alert and distract the swarm, just as Serin had done now. And just like the swarm Titan, the bone flyers changed their pattern and flew to meet him and the approaching team.

Of course, this was by design. Serin himself used [incorporeal], a high level spell to change himself to a non physical form, passing through the enemies. It was rare he used this spell because of how much it opened him up to magic damage, which he lost all defense to while in his altered state.

The jumpers behind him in formation opened up large parachutes, except instead of the cloth used for the recreational chutes, this was a skeletal razorwire. The Archangels then disconnected the chutes, weighted down by a gravity stone, and let the chutes pass through their [incorporeal] bodies.

Without fail, nets of razor wire plummeted towards the earth at terminal velocity, catching all in their wake. In an instant, the flock of bone flyers were heavily reduced in number, as a majority of those not sliced to pieces by the initial contact with the chutes were quickly clumped together with other flyers, trapped by large nets and unable to move out or keep aloft. As the flyers stopped flying, they only added their mass to the earthbound object.

Serin returned to his physical form, and after quickly plotting the trajectories of the bony masses, determined he would not need to intercede to ensure their landing was safe. The bony masses all had veered away from the cathedral.

Serin landed and immediately opened fire, as he had landed not in the safety of the cathedral, but in the middle of the lines of besieging enemies.

Speeding spikes of ice, bolts of adamantine, and chains of lightning.

Sweeping Axe, sword, and blade.

Burning Acid, Melting Poisons.

Paralysis, petrification, Forced Splinching.

Serin's onslaught was as a painter paints. He had known this madness would come. He had purposely forced all his allies to glow green in his mind with [illusion] magic prior to losing himself. All others were nothing but materials for his next work of art, as he painted the town with blood and icor.

This was his release.

He was too powerful to let himself out normally. In Haven, in his efforts to soothe his burning grief, he had attempted to find solace in the dungeon. He had soloed farther than anyone else. He had spent years killing spawns of monsters, trying to fill a cup that had a hole in it. Nothing had helped. Others thought he had wanted to die, so they ensured he had more attachment to the earth. But here those tethers were gone.

Here, killing the humans responsible for his grief, even for a moment, he felt whole. He felt at peace. His cup was filled. The hole was still there, and it may not last, one day may come when there would be no more blood to fill his cup.

But that was a worry for tomorrow. Tonight, Serin would be at peace

The enemy had figured out quickly something was wrong. Their swords and bolts pinged off his armor. Their magic was negated by a mantle of protection around him.

The enemy had been lied to. They had been told that their touch would burn the unfaithful, the non-believers. They had been told that the abominations they fought would burn to their holy touch. They did not take into account two specific things. The first was that Serin was a human, and their abilities targeted only those of a different base race.

The other was that he was The Saint of the Keepers of the Gates, he was the messenger of Gideon, connector of worlds, and heavenly gifts would not bar his way. They were fighting an enemy outside their scope by orders of magnitude. They would not know victory. They would not even know defeat.

They would only know death, and with it, Serin had his taste of peace.