Gunmage
Chapter 71: Beneath the war-torn streets

Chapter 71: Chapter 71: Beneath the war-torn streets

Deep underground, beneath even the labyrinthine drainage halls of Drakensmar, lay ancient runes of elvish origin. Their inscriptions glowed faintly, radiating arcane energy to the damp, suffocating air.

A drenched woman staggered through the dim tunnels, her shimmering white hair plastered to her pale face. Every step was a battle.

Pain ran through her body. Her right arm wrapped tightly around her left, which hung limp at her side, paralyzed and ruined.

Blood seeped through the delicate fabric of her robes, leaving a stark trail of red in her wake.

Each breath came shallow and strained, but her eyes burned with fury as she replayed the events that had led her to this wretched state.

Humans.

They had violated the accords. They had dared to wield magic in secret, despite the catastrophic consequences such arrogance could invite.

And worst of all, there was one among them, a mere human girl, who commanded an obscene amount of mana with unsettling ease.

A terrible omen. Something was stirring, something that could not be allowed to fester.

She needed to report this to the court. But first, she required the permission of that insufferable elf.

As she neared the chamber, the air thickened with a miasma of death, forcing her to suppress a grimace. The underground hall was vast, bathed in an eerie, artificial luminescence.

Ingeniously crafted vents siphoned fresh air from the surface, ensuring those who dwelled here would not suffocate. Even still, the presence of suffering, of unnatural experiments, tainted the very essence of the place.

"Selene"

A voice called out, detached, almost disinterested.

"Why are you here?"

The speaker did not look up from his work. Lord Emrys, his figure poised over a thick, ancient tome, continued to scrawl important notes with practiced precision.

The chamber’s occupants, three others clad in diverse clothing, remained silent. They knew better than to interrupt.

Selene, ignoring the pain in her body, knelt to the stone floor.

"I was beaten back, Lord Emrys."

The elf finally paused, though his expression remained unreadable. He did not appear surprised. Nor irritated.

For beings like him, those who had long outlived their mortality, emotions were often dulled to little more than dead echoes.

It was well known that half the expressions he displayed were mere illusions, mimicry meant for social convenience rather than genuine sentiment.

Still, if there was one thing that could rouse a reaction from him, it was an insult to his race.

Which was why Selene, gritting her teeth, bowed her head further in submission.

"Yes, Lord. They were much stronger than expected. I was... too reckless."

"Strong?"

Emrys echoed, amusement flickering in his otherwise lifeless tone. With delicate movements, he withdrew a syringe filled with dark crimson liquid from the arm of a pregnant test subject strapped to the table before him.

"Yes. Extremely"

Selene hesitated before adding

"We must report this to the Court."

"Oh?"

He sounded entertained by the very notion.

"And what, pray tell, would you say when they ask why you were down here? In the middle of a human war?"

"I—"

She faltered.

Emrys cut her off before she could scramble for an answer.

"And what exactly convinced you that a band of lowly humans were ’strong’?"

Selene recalled the battle in vivid flashes, gunfire, blood, the crushing weight of a power she could scarcely comprehend.

"One of them... could slow time."

Emrys finally glanced at her.

"Ridiculous."

"But—"

"And here I was expecting a valid excuse for your failure."

His voice turned sharp, dripping with contempt.

"A beast, whether it be a rabid wolf or a domesticated hound, remains an animal all the same."

Selene stiffened, as did another of the people in the room. Rage flared in their eyes, but neither dared to speak.

Not when they were so painfully aware of how powerless they had become. Their great hero, Lord Floyd, had met a gruesome fate in this very city.

Without him, there was no one left to shield them from the silent wrath of the elf before them.

"See to that injury"

Emrys said, already losing interest.

"We have the next phase to worry about."

Selene’s fingers curled into fists. Humiliation burned hot in her chest, but she swallowed it down. She had no choice.

"Actually, Lord Emrys"

Calling him Lord had never felt pleasant, but now it was akin to torture.

"I was hoping you could assist me with your healing magic."

For the second time, he looked at her. And then, he chuckled.

"I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that."

He leaned back.

"I’ll pretend you didn’t just ask me to lower my status and waste my illustrious magic on the likes of rabble."

His voice turned to ice.

"You are excused."

Selene clenched her jaw.

"Yes, my lord."

He turned away, addressing the chamber at large.

"Prepare yourselves. We leave in ten minutes."

...

Above ground, the war had transformed into something monstrous.

The streets of Drakensmar ran red. The Ashborn Corps, under Lovainne’s command, moved with brutal efficiency, yet they were losing ground with every passing minute. It was a miracle they hadn’t been overrun already.

And that miracle was none other than the civilians themselves.

Despite the horrific casualty rates, they refused to break. Their will burned like wildfire, consuming everything in their path.

They pressed on, unyielding, turning every alley and street into a battlefield.

Lugh stood in the thick of it.

His machine gun roared, sending out a stream of red hot bullets, forcing the enemy into cover. But he was not alone.

A puppet, one of his own, lay hidden at a vantage point, rifle in hand, executing high-priority targets with impeccable precision.

Squad leaders, gunners, none were safe.

Ahead, leading the vanguard, another of his puppets fought alongside Lyra. Once a sergeant, now something more.

She led with ruthlessness, her strikes coordinated with Natalia and her crew. Their efforts kept the soldiers of Heieg at bay.

They could not advance. But neither could they be pushed back.

The battle had devolved into a brutal gunfight were lives were getting harvested by the second.

Xhi and Vaelith brought up the opposite flanks, weaving subtle magic into their tactics, amplifying the devastation wrought by their weaponry.

Their presence was the only reason this ragtag resistance of rebels and survivors had not yet crumbled.