The Power of Ten: Sama Rantha 86 Chapter Eighty-Six – The Marks and the Mechans - Novel Cool

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The Power of Ten: Sama Rantha 86 Chapter Eighty-Six – The Marks and the Mechans

My trophy belt of Tattoo Marks was proceeding apace. Only two of them were actually dominated by a succubus now, one being the lilithi priestess. I was still hoping for a lilitu for the other. Have to leave it up to the attractive power of the Curse, although I had my doubts. Demons weren't totally stupid, and those who'd gaffed out to Nightmare for a bit of fun not coming back was probably ringing warning signs.

But, demons. You never know with them, right?

But, damn, the Marks really WORKED.

Oh, oh, not just their little effects on me. On my soldier minions, and my hellpuppies.

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Lieutenant Markov's mind was overly simple. Spun out of the dreams of some officer somewhere, it had form and substance, but the nature of the Curse meant it was shaped into something that received orders and executed them. It was never intended to actually be a living being, or think like one.

But now, this was no longer the nameless officer commanding my longspears, this was Lieutenant Markov!

The proto-intelligence kind of swirled as he tugged his shirt down, and two helpers quickly fixed on his breastplate. "Captain!" he saluted me.

-Get back to your command, Lieutenant,- I /said crisply in his head. His eyes widened as he sensed the door in his mind there, and he raced smartly towards the spear line holding back a raging throng of orcs.

I watched him go, two thought-streams working. -Fido, Shirley, give me a One-Two on the right flank there,- I /told the hellpuppies, who raced eagerly to comply. -Lieutenant, the dogs are going to fold up that right flank. Be prepared to swing around the corner!-

-Yes, sir!- he /replied, immediately yelling out the needed orders as he ran up on his line.

I looked at the brawny sergeant laying down on the table, ready to receive his own Tattooed Mark, and my eyes gleamed.

Ignoring the fighting taking place not forty yards away with half my mind, Sparkie hovering above on overwatch and occasionally sniping away with a beam of golden and blood-green light that punched holes in an overly tall orc or two, I bent to making another Tat-Mark, synchronizing it to my own, and letting me toss Glory Karma into it to power it up.

At this point, I had over a thousand of these things to do, and that was without the possibility of being able to put more then one on the non-Casters. If some overly strong Champion popped up, I could race over and deal with it, but Tremble was out there Singing to buff them, and if they all died before the end of the day because I wasn't being so active… I still had to get these Marks done, and at five minutes per Tat, this wasn't going to take just one day…

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I'd lost the fight, and everyone had died but me, leaving me swimming in a sea of raging orcs. I had proceeded to start mercilessly slaughtering all of them, Tremble screaming out a Song in Orcish that was scaring them right out of their berserker rages while I heaped up the dead, butchered their shamans, slaughtered their champions, and chopped down their chiefs. There were hills and valleys of stacked orcs burning with vivus, and despite their terror in their eyes and lungs, they still came for me right up until the end.

Vivus washed the world, gray fog rolled over everything, and the field of carnage and gore rippled and was gone, like the dream and illusion it truly was. But since I was literally made of the same stuff, it was still real when it needed to be real.

I sighed as the gore on me burned away.

Fido and Shirley's collars rang as they trotted out of the fog, tongues lolling fire and frost, tails wagging as they looked around hesitantly, and yipped.

My eyes went wide.

"Did they just ask what happened?" Tremble asked me softly. We watched as the two dogs inspected one another, puzzled at their lack of injuries. They'd both been hacked down by numbers of orcs after frying and freezing a whole lot of them. Biggest killers on the battlefield, except for me at the end.

Metal clanked, leather creaked. There were coughs and breaths, and then soft curses. The two hellpuppies, Tremble, Stand, Fall, and Sparkie all watched with me as familiar figures walked out of the grey fog, the space here expanding to a much, much bigger size than ever before.

Their presences lit up in my brain like little spots of light, each as individual as the faces of the men and women in front of me, all very puzzled at what had happened. They were all radiating uncertainty, and looking to their Captain for an explanation.

Every single being I'd Marked had come into Renewal with me… and they remembered the day before.

-At ease,- I /stated crisply, rising to my feet. The gore was still burning off me, so I was really easy to focus on. -I am very pleased to see you all again.- I didn't have to feign relief and pleasant surprise. -Fall in, everyone, and I will explain to you what is going on.-

I laughed under my breath, and I'm sure my eyes were shining. Oh, you Curse, you. Outside Karma and Marks have just changed everything again…

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They were designed to fight, and knowing they could fight, get stronger, and even if they died they came back, was a kind of nerve-wracking gratification to these fighting men. Designed to serve, as long as I was willing to lead, they were willing to follow.

So, my first orders were simple… I needed to Mark as many of their fellow soldiers as possible. To do that, I needed time, and to Not get in fights.

Just being in telepathic contact with me was growing their minds, giving them texture and flavor as personalities began to build atop programmed knowledge. We went over the logistics of what needed to be done, with another kicker.

If they weren't a Caster, just Primos, I could tack another two Tats on them, and I could do it during 'downtime'.

+2 to three Stats was an impressive amount of buffage for no cost but killing the enemy. My eagerness woke all theirs. More buffs meant tougher troops meant surviving longer meant killing the enemy meant not having to experience dying and failure again.

And if they were Marked… they got to keep their Karma earned fighting other troops, even if they died…

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If they were good, obedient troops before, buffed with Bardsong and my Warlord bonuses to cover them, now, my officers and non-coms were freaking inspired. They wanted nothing more then to kill as many of the enemy as possible, get stronger, and buy time for me to Mark all their fellows.

And… work on magic Gear for them during downtime. If they lived, they could hold onto loot with me. Loot could be burned as goldweight, and give them magical Gear. Better weapons, better armor, I only had to make sure the QL was up to stuff, and I could make a Pattern and they could do the Investing.

I handled overview and coordination, they increasingly handled squad tactics and provided examples. I Tatted men for nearly eight hours before our lines buckled and fell on the second day, and I had to take up Stand, Doc, and Tremble, and show the Fey how unhappy I was with them.

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The anotxgin lyan carved his-its way through the spear line, stumbling once from the press of spears, and then looked up at me with rectangular eyes, as I stood there working on a rather nervous archer suddenly named Flavius.

The once-human lyan, a 'paladin of Law', straightened up, armor and unnatural, stylized form radiating merciless adherence to rigidity and structure. Mechan forces rampaged through the city, clearing it away so more perfect order might replace it, the slightest imperfection or disharmony with their impossible standards all the reason they needed to eliminate something.

The very imperfect human inhabitants were simply nuisances to be swept away. No malevolence in the fact, they simply weren't Mechan, thus inferior, thus to be dealt with and excised.

Sparkie promptly shot its twice, and the lyan jerked as Banefire crashed against its skinplate armor, barely showing disdain as it took the hits and marched towards me.

He/it didn't seem to realize he'd been let through the line, as the men who'd fallen to him got back up, wounded and all, and resumed their battle against the robotic Mechans and the magic-cyborg lyans who served them in the mortal realm. Lines of troops built on numeric progressions - spherical Unosi, linear Dosi, triangular Dasi, square Kwatrosi, pentacular Sincosi, and hexacular Sesi in command - formed the forces being unleashed here, with lyans and cyborg servants in support.

Yeah, we killed these heartless things of Law just as readily as demons and devils.

It got within ten yards before Fall snapped to my hand from his shoulder holster, his sprits snapped out, and I held down the trigger.

A +VIII bolt every half-second, even if it was from just a hand crossbow, is still +VIII Bolts punching through your armored skin and administering all kinds of banefire-aided havoc to your altered physiology. The already wounded lyan was spun around by the first two impacts, two more drove into the back of its neck, walked down its spine, and then Sparkie punched two more rays down into its heart without hesitation.

I held up Fall, eyes still intent on finishing this Tat, and Tremble spotted for me as I aimed for the Sesi in command, which was busying itself with mending some of the troops wounded in their relentless attempts to break our lines. The cavalry had performed particularly well today, as the forces of Law were rigid and strong, but didn't move very fast, and even with telepathic and robotic obedience, couldn't stand fast against all directions at once.

30 Intellect, two thought-streams is extremely convenient.

Glowing bolts of anti-Law began to streak out, covering an improbable two hundred yards as they sighted in on the Sesi behind the lines.

There was a twang as a hundred bowstrings glowing with a short-lived burst of magic followed my shot, and turned a ten-foot square of land into a small forest of hungry, driving arrows.

Lieutenant Argive's One Arrow finished the creature, bristling with Baned arrows buried in its metallic flesh, and it rapidly began to molder.

I slapped the Archer and had him hurry back to his unit, while a wounded Knight stumbled up to me for his turn. Since he couldn't ride, no reason not to get a Mark now, right?

I designated a new range and target for the waiting archers, and another volley sailed in, messing up a formation change by the mechans. They weren't set as the knights crashed into the spheres and lines of the basic troops, and mowed the creatures down before their little spears could do much.

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Succubus. Lilithi. Erinyes Fury, huntress from Hell. Mantissari, daemonic assassin. Fallen Ghaele Ahren leading einheriar of War. Hamadryad, Queen of Unseelie Fey. Wind Yai Oni, war queen of an army of Jotuns. Upsaduna Asura Master, who thought this was a swell place to practice destruction and didn't realize she wasn't so great a martial artist. Zalyakavat Rakshasa that thought she was a swords-rat going to duel a hero from Dream, and got more than she bargained for.

Last succubus slot being saved for a lilitu, if possible, although others might be suitable, who knew? After all, I'd hardly run into enough suitable evolutionary paths, and I should be able to use my other Tats as Binder Seals, too, as long as they weren't actually storing the spirit of something.

My army was improving every day, and it was showing in the results. We were lasting longer and longer, as the combination of buffs, retained Karma, and retained memories had cumulative effects.