Stormblade 4 C43: Workshop (4)
43 - Workshop (4)
I didn’t stop trying to get the God of Thunder’s attention until Sarah’s hand tightened on my shoulder. “Kade, we have to keep moving. The mission comes first. Everyone, status check.”
As the S-Rankers rattled off Mana and Stamina numbers in the high four to eight hundreds, I stared at my resources.
Stamina: 201/500, Mana: 197/630
They were working their way up, but even with Cheddar’s assistance, they had a long way to go. There were some things I was on par with the S-Rankers on, but raw stats wasn’t one of them. They’d clearly been putting in the work at their cap, and I hadn’t had the chance to catch up yet. I would—and soon—but not yet.
Sarah nodded slowly as I stood and shared my resources. “Alright. Let’s get going. The boss has to be back here somewhere.”
“On it,” I said, and slipped into my spot on Bernard’s flank. We pushed back through the shattered walls and hardening brass splatters, ignoring the packs of Overseers watching us. Hugo took a few shots, but they seemed to be just past his maximum effective range, and while I could hit one with a Stormfire Lance, it wouldn’t be worth the effort. Instead, we headed back to the room where the Steam Hulk had been constructed.
And it had definitely been built there. Forges, still cooling from smelting and shaping its brass armor, lined the walls, and a gigantic pipe poured steam into the room from below. A second one was closed, but the water-stained verdigris on the ground below it made its purpose obvious; quenching the metal.
Bernard didn’t bother with stealth. He was a Hulk of his own, and he kicked the door on the room’s far side once, then gestured. “Terrel, take it down.”
“No one ever says please,” the Portal Tyrant said.
“Please,” Sarah said. “Now do it.”
The warhammer swung back, slammed into the door, and dented it. Terrel grunted in annoyance. “Stand back. Meteor Strike incoming.”
I took one step back, but when Bernard took three, I realized that wasn’t going to be enough. The warhammer’s head glowed orange as it accelerated, then hit the brass door. Its hinges and wheel-lock shattered instantly, and the slab of brass deformed around the warhammer’s head like a sheet of tissue paper. Then it flew into the room. The shockwave blew me off my feet, and I only heard the rest. The brass-on-brass impacts as the improvised missile ricocheted around like a bullet. The movement from inside. And the rest of the team rushing whatever it had hit.
The fight was in full swing as I picked myself up and threw myself toward the door; somehow, I was third behind Bernard and Terrel. Arrows slammed into A-Rank Steamsmiths, punching through their armor as the Meteor Strike-heated warhammer whipped around like a tornado. I ducked it, then jumped around Bernard’s shield. Nimbus Edge sank into a half-melted torso, severing silk strings and cutting into its cogs, and a Steamsmith died.
Three S-Rankers and I were enough to overwhelm the handful of other A-Rank Steamsmiths. They weren’t combat automatons—not really. They were workers in the massive forge, and they only lasted a few seconds.
And then, it was over.
They’d been building plates of brass, about an inch thick, and punching gears, cogs, and other parts out of them. Each of the Steamsmiths—there’d been ten or twelve, it was hard to be sure—seemed to have had a station, and the massive trip-hammers suspended mid-air looked like they weighed at least a few tons. Luckily, they’d stopped moving when the fighting started.
At the far side of the room was a door, and overhead, another catwalk ran the length of the room, then disappeared into the next one.
“I’ll open the door. I’ve got the code,” Terrel said as he gestured at the workroom’s far side. This time, I positioned myself behind Bernard, with the other members of the team, and Meteor Strike slammed through the door, opening the pathway to the room beyond.
It was wide and long, and a metal conveyor line that reminded me of the broken baggage claims at the Phoenix airport wove back and forth around the room. Dozens of Steamsmiths moved along the conveyor, tinkering with the product riding it. Twenty or so half-finished automatons were stopped in various states of incompletion, while a trio of them had piled up at the station just outside of our room.
“Assembly line?” I asked. “We’re taking it out, right?”
“Yes, and yes,” Sarah said. “Smash it all.”
We got to work.
Cyclone Forms. Lightning Chain into the center of the room, giving me a Wind Charge. Stance shift to one-handed Thunderbolt. Cutting Storm, echoing the damage onto all the Steamsmiths and the unfinished Overseers on the conveyor belts. It wasn’t much damage, but as far as an opening went, it was the strongest one I had. Lightning-infused wind blades ripped into the machines, tearing at brass armor; none of them broke through, but electricity coursed across the Steamsmiths’ arms and the Overseers’ wings.
The stun only lasted a second, but that was more than enough time for the S-Rankers. Bernard’s shield slammed down on a Steamsmith like a closing gate. Metal buckled, and the machine screeched as brass ground against portal metal. Another Meteor Strike slammed home. The conveyor belt shattered. Fire rushed into the room as Nathan joined the attack as best he could with half-healed wounds. And arrow after arrow found their marks.
But this fight wasn’t theirs. It was mine. I followed up the Cutting Storm with Thunderblade, then shifted into Mistwalk Forms just long enough to throw myself even farther into the room with Storm Dance. By the time I was done, I stood next to the three completed Cold Steam Overseers.
None of them had gotten airborne. Nimbus Edge lashed out as I shifted back to two-handed Thunderbolt stance and sliced into the closest one. The lightning rapier left a melted cut across the monster’s wing-blades, but didn’t sever them. The second strike—a lunge that left me exposed—punched into the thing’s other wing, right at the joint.
It wasn’t enough to kill it. That was fine, though. I turned my attention to the other two as wing-blades slammed down around me and the battle trance took over. Mistwalk Forms. Storm Dance behind the first one. Two Rainfall Charges. A quick stab that punched through brass like it wasn’t even there. Then Mistform as four sets of wing-blades slammed through me, one step back, and Cyclone Forms.
I started casting as all three Overseers closed the gap. Brendan’s Stormfire Lance, with Rolling Thunder active. The lance punched into the Overseer whose wings I’d cut. One of the other ones threw itself into the air. I followed with Lightning Chain and launched the rolling Stormfire Lance into the third Overseer. Lightning poured from my casting hand as I slammed into my target, blade-first, and punched two more Lances into the flying Overseer.
It was enough. We fell, and I leaped free, hitting the ground and rolling. Nimbus Edge came up. A wing-blade slammed down. I rolled with the hit, then danced back to Mistwalk Forms.
My Stamina and Mana were both tanking, and I needed to change tactics.
Luckily, I didn’t have to carry the fight. The S-Rankers had cleared the first half of the room, and as I parried and dodged wing-blades, the Portal Tyrant slammed into the wounded Overseer shoulder-first. The warhammer went up, then down, then up again.
It didn’t have to go down a second time.
“Clear!” Bernard yelled a moment later. “Let’s take this line apart!”
◄▼►
The next room was ready for us.
Not that any of us were surprised. We’d spent ten minutes tearing apart the conveyor room—longer than any of us had expected, but it was shockingly tough. The brass melted just fine, but the portal world’s boss had clearly designed it to function even after catastrophic levels of damage. The last thing we wanted was for enemies to show up behind us, so until it was wrecked beyond repair, Terrel couldn’t open the door.
As the door slammed open and we poured in, the Steamsmiths retreated to the far side. Bernard and Terrel charged into them, and Hugo shifted forward as he drew and loosed almost casually.
I didn’t, though. My Mana and Stamina were both low, so I was following Sarah Cullman’s orders. Not happily. But I was doing it; instead of ripping into the A-Rank monsters and the single S-Rank Brass Titan that was half-built, I stood next to Sarah as she continued to heal the Phoenix Reborn.
So, when half of the floor shot down below the attacking S-Rankers and the other half raised like an elevator below the three of us, I found myself cut off from anyone who was still combat-capable. It was just me.
But the room we’d found ourselves in was…empty.
One look at it, and I knew exactly what had been built here. The brass frames that had supported the massive drill head were still in place, and scaffolding wrapped around a huge void. The siege machine that had breached the 303 Wall had started here. How it had gotten out of Carlsbad Caverns, I had no idea, but this room was built specifically for it.
The cave-like space echoed as I stepped off our impromptu elevator. It had to be sixty or eighty feet tall, and a good thousand long. I could probably fit a football field along its width. And it wasn’t empty, either. The tools the Craftsman had used to forge the gigantic siege engine still stood in the scaffolding, and gigantic doors loomed overhead, with hanging conveyor paths moving through their tops.
“Team, status!” Sarah Cullman said.
“I’m okay. Resources are coming back slowly,” I responded. Once she and Nathan had checked in, I continued. “We’re cut off. Do we need to worry about those three?”
Sarah’s brow raised. “Do we need to worry about the Portal Tyrant, the Falcon’s Eye, and Bernard the Wall?” The sarcasm was biting.
“I mean, our last big fight was rough with six,” I clarified.
Nathan snorted. “No. They’re totally fine. In fact, they’re probably happy to stretch their limits a little. As long as they don’t get another Steam Hulk, they’re okay until we regroup.”
“We’ll head to the far side and look for a way down there,” Sarah said. That is, unless—“
She cut off, and after a second, I turned.
Nathan was back on the ground, bleeding from a neck wound. Sarah had hit the ground next to him, her scalp cut open and blood running down her face as her hands reached for the Phoenix Reborn’s wound to try to heal it.
And, between them and me, a figure in thick brass armor stood—brass plates, brass chain mail, and a sword longer and thicker than mine held behind a shield. The armor was vaguely feminine, but only vaguely, and the woman inside was bolted and welded into it. But even so, I knew exactly who it was.
Deborah Callahan: S-Rank
◄▼►
Deborah Callahan had already won.
Sure, Sarah Cullman could fix the Phoenix Reborn. And yes, he was a tough cookie; you didn’t get to be the strongest retired S-Ranker in the city by being weak. Even bleeding out from the kill shot she’d landed, he was still a threat if the fight went long enough.
But it wouldn’t go long enough, and Sarah’s skills, while terrifying, wouldn’t help her against an armored, highly mobile enemy. She needed to touch her opponent to transfer injuries and diseases, and Deborah was built for fighting. No healer would be getting a hand on her in combat. It just wouldn’t happen.
That only left Kade Noelstra. He stood on the Workshop’s floor, a small figure in his maelstrom armor, his sword in one hand. His aura, unlike hers, was suppressed. Was he waiting to surprise her with it? That wouldn’t work, because she knew every one of his tricks. He’d try to Stormbreak. With two friends nearby, he’d have to exclude them. That’d leave his fucking pet vulnerable.
And the cheese-snake was her next target.
The last time she’d fought Kade Noelstra, she’d lost because of the serpent, not because of anything special Kade could do. This time, she’d make sure she didn’t repeat that error. This time, it’d die first.
Her helmet cracked open, and the object in her free hand fell to the floor. It was a linen suit—or what was left of it. Burned out, cut in a dozen places, missing an arm completely, and covered in blood, the suit jacket had seen better days.
“Oops,” she said.
The Spark of Life’s gaze locked on it, and she froze. Good. Maybe that hesitation would be enough to kill the Phoenix Reborn. Either way, it took another threat out of the fight for a moment and let her focus on one target.
Kade’s eyes widened. Then they narrowed and locked onto hers.
She smiled. “You’re angry? Good. Hold on to that feeling as long as you can, because soon, it’ll be gone.”
The lightning sword came up in a guard. She snorted and slid her shield from its spot on her back, then pointed with her own sword’s tip. “You know, I used to look up to him. He was who I wanted to be. I was going to run the Roadrunners. It was going to be my guild.
“I didn’t always want that, though. I’ve been fighting my whole life to get there, from the moment I joined the Roadrunners. I wanted to be trusted. To be respected. Not to be feared or hated, but to be part of the team. No matter what I did, it wasn’t enough for him, and I don’t want that anymore. I deserve it all. The city. The guilds. Everything.”
“And you’re going to take it?” Kade asked quietly.
Deborah’s eyes widened, then narrowed as she focused in on the boy. “Fuck you. You don’t know anything about what I’ve been through. What I’ve had to do to get here, the promises I’ve made and the people I’ve killed.”
Her helmet closed over her face again, and she took a breath of the too-warm, too-humid air. “This won’t be like last time, Kade Noelstra.”
Kade didn’t react right away. Then his stance changed. One hand drifted behind his back, and he planted his feet as the sword tip flew up to eye level. “You’re damn right it won’t. This time, you won’t get out alive. This time, Sarah won’t save you. It’s just you and me now.”