Blacksmith of the Apocalypse

~Seth.~ a weak voice established contact as Seth was concentrating on quickly recovering his resources.

~Nas'Korn?~ the voice was weak but the bard immediately recognized it. ~What happened?~

Instead of an answer, he received a stream of information that consisted of snippets of memory that explained the current situation. Seth saw how his golems performed their duty only for most of them to get destroyed in the summoning of the avatar of a foreign god.

It started with the Tuatha De using some dark sorcery to weaken the deity's divinity, weakening the shield as a result. Followed by a long period of waiting for Minas Mar's reinforcement and what happened when the first wave of golems arrived.

He had seen what the glow people could do with blood when Cromwel exploded, but now he really understood why the defenders were so careful fighting the immortals, and how the barrier was broken. After witnessing that thing emerge from a puddle of blood, Seth also wouldn't want to spill too much blood within the city.

The only good news in the package of memories was that the giant statue was truly dead, or rather inert. While the Hangintree's sapling sacrificed its life to hold it down, Nas'Korn had to use its remaining divine powers to wipe out the behemoth's consciousness.

~Seth, there is not much time. More are coming.~ Another string of information was conveyed.

"You have to be kidding me..."

After a moment of stupor at the new information, Seth took out the communication Orb and called Alison, who was busy coordinating a squad of magicians in the city. With Evee not around, she was the most reliable magic expert in Minas Mar.

"Alison, set up plan A."

"Plan A? But they are already in the city?" she questioned puzzled.

"We are getting more visitors, so you better hurry."

Alison simply nodded grimly and cut the connection.

~What is plan A?~ Nas'korn asked quietly.

"You will see soon," Seth said out loud and opened the gates of Legion.

...

The past few days were not good for Cormac's heart. He may be a brisk and sometimes rough man, but he wasn't cut out for this kind of adventure. He had spent the past hours balled up in a fetal position as the cold and the guilt gnawed at him.

He wanted to help, but he couldn't. He knew he was far from strong enough to make a change. He hated himself for it, but he was too selfish, too afraid to throw away his life and charge into battle.

Hearing the wails of agony that suddenly echoed through the mountains some time ago almost broke him. However, ever since then, everything had fallen silent. Had it ended? Had these madmen really slaughtered the whole city?

If things ended, would the forces of Y-City leave? Maybe he could finally get away from here after being stuck for over a week. The least he could do was survive and report what happened here, and make the atrocities Y-City committed known to the world.

His face was covered in snot and tears as he looked over the edge of his shallow hiding spot. The city was in a terrible state with the lower part in shambles. But it had fallen silent and he didn't see nor hear people or battle. Maybe this was really his chance to get out of here. If he jumped on the back of the golden eagle, would there be anyone left to pursue him?

Hope, fear, and anxiety struggled against each other as he tried to make a decision. Ashamed of his cowardice, he decided to stay in his hiding spot for longer and observe the situation for longer. Soon after, he hated himself again at the feeling of relief he felt when he started hearing footsteps down the road.

Cormac was glad he had not left his ditch, but feeling glad while another wave of bastards encroached on the battered city, made him hate himself even more. As if to punish himself, he forced himself to watch instead of hiding from his sins again. He would force himself to watch it all and burn it into his memory for the future.

The people that came down the old road in the mountain pass below were distinctly different from the previous group. As a craftsman, their equipment was the first that jumped into his eyes. Although he was no tailor, he was the chosen of Hephaestus, so he could appraise their attire.

They all wore dark, intricate fabric armor made from textiles and leather. All of them were rare-rated and made them look like a CGI army from an old gangster movie. The only difference was that they didn't look mean or angry with hatchets and knives in their hand.

With empty eyes and a swaying walk, they looked more like they were in a trance, or sleepwalking. The dark veins protruded all over their bodies and the saliva was dripping from their lips. Something was seriously wrong with these people.

Cormac watched rows and rows of these mindless walkers pass by, before a group of people wearing black polyarkanate armor. Their faces were covered by modern-style helmets with tinted visors.

Compared to the gangster-looking walkers, they looked more like they exited from a science-fiction movie. The firearms they were carrying did nothing to disturb this image. Although Cormac was not involved in the making of firearms in Y-City, he knew quite a bit about them. He had never seen ones like these before.

It was the blacksmith's first time seeing epic-rated mana assault rifles. If the guys at the association had those during his escape, Cormac doubted he would have been able to escape as he did. What were they doing, leading such a huge force on an almost dead city?

Following the armed soldiers came more rows and rows of walkers, again followed by a row of armored soldiers. It kept going for a while, until the very first troop finally stopped in the distance, right before entering the valley at the foot of Mount Agra.

Cormac saw the spread out there, without advancing further. Only then he saw that they were not the only troop of soldiers. If those passing by him were hundred, then the ones assembling down in the valley were thousands!

…

"We are in position," he spoke into the communication orb.

"Good. Release the inhibitors and let the Serks run wild," it came back from the orb.

With a nod, he pressed a button on his bracelet. This happened among every group of armed guards, and a change went through the Serks, that had been in a docile trance up to now. A bottomless rage appeared in their eyes, as the dark veins bulged.

With a sudden burst of power, the horde of berserkers charged forward, to ward Agra. Despite having low levels, their body performed superhuman feats, like supernatural speed and strength.

With a smirk he watched them plow through the high snow as if it wasn't there.

It surprised him every time when he saw how much strength a useless vermin they caught from the streets could develop if they were pumped full with the Divine Strength Drug. Sure, they lost their mind and became beasts that just wanted to kill and destroy anything around them, but they could easily control them with the technology provided by Zeontech.

They were even granted the blessing of regeneration. He was sure they would be thankful if they still had the mental capacity to understand how grand this gift was. With an almost religious zeal, he watched the immortal, superhuman monsters charge toward the city to cause inhuman carnage. They were the perfect fighting machines-

Whoosh!

His face froze when the berserkers suddenly vanished in a screen of snow that exploded in a ring around Agra.

"I-Insects?" he exclaimed in shock as the snow finally settled. He found their perfect super soldiers in a struggle with giant, ant-like monsters. What confused him endlessly were the heaps of lifeless berserkers on the ground.

He felt his intestines ball up and his heart cramp. How could it be? They were immortal! How could they fall like this? They had been treated with the same immortal serum as them... did that mean there was a chance for them to die, too? It couldn't be, right?