The walls of the dugout collapsed. Skeletons crashed into a heap, pikes clattering down like felled trees. The protective abjuration around the female mage glowed but held, just as Devon had calculated before the setup of the defenses.

  A wave of dust and debris washed over Adarin, cutting down vision into a brown static. In an instant he was out on the hillside, running. Dust still obscured him, his sensors fouled by raining mud, rock, stone, and what he assumed were pieces of flesh as he ran toward the crater they had made.

  He checked in with the other units—with the ships, with Gavin, with the sergeants in the town militia. Everything was fine. Everyone was recovering from the shockwave. Everyone was vulnerable if the wyverns rallied fast.

  As the rain of debris calmed down and Adarin was no longer pelted by pieces of earth, the air filled with fine dust. He stumbled down a sudden crater lip and something moved in front of him.

  He was hit by something long and fast. Only when his scattered memory snapped back did he understand: a long arm, shattered skin hanging from it like laundry from a line.

  A wyvern’s wing.

  He jumped toward the creature. In the thinning dust he assessed it must have been one of the ones circling close by. Its wing membranes were shredded, its lower body a bloody mess where shrapnel had torn into it. The beast curled on the ground in its death throes.

  Adarin morphed the manipulator with the diamonoid dagger and extended the blade out of his body. Two other manipulators grabbed the creature’s head, pressing his weight on the flailing beast. With a quick, practiced slice, he cut its throat. It stopped struggling.

  More shadows appeared around him. Adarin dashed and two more wyverns that had been shredded by shrapnel were ended in quick succession. The blade is great. Goes through flesh as if it's warm butter.

  Through the dust storm he could finally make out the ships and the city, at least in silhouette. He took stock and looked around at scattered pieces of bone and flesh. I just got three. The four at ground zero are… he poked a piece of scorched meat. All over and around me. Eight of the fuckers remaining.

  Several others had crashed to the ground, some near the ships, some near the town, they were rallying into small huddles—one pair, one triplet. Three were still flying: the big one and two companions.

  The duplet was being engaged by skeletons scrambling out of one of the dugouts. He was about to order the cannoneers to target the triplet when suddenly the big wyvern screeched.

  The scream tore the world open, jagged and raw.

  Adarin’s body froze for a few seconds. What is— His mind was sluggish, shuddering, and then restarted slowly, like breaking himself out of ice. He regained control, only now noticing his senses had gone black.

  I’m blind. In the middle of a battlefield. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  He reached out with sheer force of will, restoring the noospheric link. He hissed over the general channel, overriding everyone else’s voices.

  Francesco answered, his voice awed and shocked. ‘The big one. It’s a dungeon boss. It has magic. It just cast an area-wide magic disruption. We are visible. Dungeon bosses—’

  Adarin kept himself from cursing aloud—barely. Not because he didn’t want to, but because it would be unproductive. They’re stronger. More intelligent. They have magic.

  He flicked the blade, testing the restored flexibility of his manipulators. And they give a lot of levels if you kill them.

  Adarin watched as the pair of wyverns cut down skeletons that had engaged the duplet. The mages were on the run. One of the big one’s companions was diving for a lone mage who had unwisely left skeleton cover.

  Adarin started toward him, running over the loose, freshly plowed soil of the crater. He reached out. ‘On my command you drop to the ground. Got that?’

  The man didn’t respond. Adarin hissed louder. ‘Got that?’

  Stupidly, the man stumbled, rolled, and got back to his feet. He shook his head. Then he saw the descending wyvern. Stop panicking, you idiot.

  If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

  Adarin growled but reached out to the musketeers. ‘Survivor incoming. The target is running toward your ships. Hit it as soon as it’s in a steady arc and you’re confident you can get it with musket fire. Understood?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ was the only answer. Adarin cut his involvement. Either they handled it or the man is dead. Nothing more I can do.

  The big wyvern squawked angrily at its descending companion, then swooped in a wide arc.

  Adarin visualized the battlefield again. We won’t get a good angle with the cannons. He looked at the duplet. “Cannoneers, go for the two fighting the skeletons. Kill them now.”

  A volley of grapeshot thundered after a few seconds of adjusted aim. The shockwave buffeted Adarin just before he was engulfed by the sharp tang of powder smoke. An explosion of soil, steel, and blood. Two more wyverns vanished. Then he was again pelted by ejecta from the new bloody crater.

  Seconds later the musketeers fired a volley straight over the head of the stumbling mage into the descending wyvern. The muskets thundered and the sapphire-scaled creature hissed, stalled, and crashed to the ground, rolling. Soil was thrown in the air and Adarin heard something crack as it hit the ground. Through sheer luck, it tumbled over the mage instead of on top of him. The man screeched like a child and ran in the opposite direction. Not much of a warrior’s mind in that one.

  But the volley hadn’t done enough damage. Its pseudo-ceramic scales splintered, shedding shards that bled off the bullets’ force, leaving it half-plucked and raw.

  Hesitantly it shook its vicious head. Then it screeched, beat its wings and rejoined its kin.

  Adarin felt something cold and ancient assessing him. He looked up and met the eyes of the dungeon-boss wyvern. Its anti-magic aura emanated outward, disrupting spell structures, slowing energies.

  The illusions are down. Any magic outside the body has become ten times harder.

  He looked to the city as the creature turned its head. Adarin understood he was facing a foe that was not stupid on any level.

  The great wyvern cawed and swooped over the triplet on the ground, and they began scrambling toward the town. The torn wing membranes apparently not causing them any issues beyond the loss of flight. They are still three times 3000 kilograms of angry dragon. Adarin scrambled after them, but the wyverns were faster. Their wing membranes might have been torn, but their clawed forelimbs were still powerful and long.

  As they scrambled forward, archers and musketeers readied themselves under the cover of pikemen on the walls.

  Part of Adarin knew what would come next. He knew anti-magic wouldn’t be its only trick.

  But he didn’t expect what came next.

  The gigantic deep-emerald wyvern swooped low. The air felt charged just before the first lightning strike connected between its body and the ground. Adarin inhaled sharply. It charged itself like a capacitor. If it controls the channels for the potential—

  Adarin screamed a warning, but it was too little, too late. A sizzling sound filled the air. Hundreds of lightning bolts descended from the wyvern’s body. It became a storm of white fire.

  A third of the city’s defenders died in seconds. The wall erupted in flames as nearly 200 bodies dropped. The gate collapsed under the onslaught, trunks turning to tinders.

  A quarter of Adarin's sensors were burned out by the sheer brightness and energy of the strike. He smelled ozone as he ran over the loose ground, each stride shaking his body. Attack this creature? How do we kill it?

  He looked up the hill. Still 300 meters to go. The other wyverns would reach the gate sooner. The rest of the militia was scattering into the town, not an ordered regrouping, but a desperate rout. I can’t be charging after them blindly.

  Adarin diverted into a valley beside the hillock, sending one manipulator up like a periscope to observe. Then he reached out to his sub-commanders.

  ‘Report in. We need a plan.’

  He heard groaning. ‘Francesco?’

  ‘I… the spell… feedback…,’ the young master mumbled deliriously. Adarin simply cut the man out of the channel. No time for this. If he can complain he is doing fine.

  ‘Liora. Can you kill that thing? Is your range greater than its electric spells? It struck at roughly fifty meters.’

  ‘I think I can try the same thing I did to the swamp troll, but—’

  The grounded wyverns reached the gate and charged straight there the inferno with a flapping hop. We are running out of time.

  ‘Good. Get under guard as fast as possible. Do not leave the pikemen behind. Get to the town.’

  He considered his other assets and options. Grimaced as he realized there were few good ones.

  ‘Ashfield. Devon. Gavin. Do we have range with the cannons?’

  ‘No. Not a chance,’ Ashfield responded simply.

  ‘Land the ships and bring the troops. Keep them together and under mage cover.’

  He knew he was out of time when screams erupted from the town. A building was torn down. Adarin reached out, and the mage-captain confirmed his fears.

  “They’ve broken the gate. The big one—it’s going after the shelters. It just put fire to the building on top of it.”