The Power Of Ten: Sama Rantha 367 Far Future – Ch. 77 – The Piper's Calling You To Join Her

Much time and Karma later...

-So, what have we got?- I /inquired of everyone. The conversation was downloaded to a tight Boole, and back up into the private Marks.p.a.ces of the girls' teams.

There was a Map of the Warpzone up in our heads, but the boundaries were somewhat amorphous. Unless under constant observation from the 'fixed' areas, they tended to s.h.i.+ft and shuffle in an irregular manner. Under constant observation... they s.h.i.+fted in a more regular manner.

-We've got broad confirmation on advancing tech levels as we progress in,- s.h.i.+era /spoke up for everyone, as approximate arcs drew up on the map. Arcs, because there was no way we had enough people to do a ring and encirclement and really measure stuff. The landscape flowed on and around the area locked down by us, and while that area was slowly broadening out, there was a limit to the ground we could hold, simply because of the endless incursions involved across such a broad area.

There was literally no limit to the numbers of creatures coming in, so even the most battle-happy bunch of kill-crazy Hags couldn't just 'free up' areas. More things were always coming in to have a go at you, both monstrous and sentient.

I watched as the girls reported encounters with ever-advancing technology, moving from blackpowder to sh.e.l.ls and rifles, handguns and grenades, crude rockets, and engine-driven vehicles with speed and power in open terrain. This didn't include magically powered stuff, which could be found in all zones. Demonically possessed vehicles didn't need a good power source or great engineering.

The most forward of the teams behind Briggs and I had gotten into the automatic weapons zones, where a crazy mix of machine gun suppressing trench warfare mixed with artillery fire and house-to-house combat. Upgrading or sidegrading to each new tech zone wasn't exactly hard, but it meant that a Named Weapon wasn't getting all the Karma and love. For that reason, Autobows were starting to get really popular among my rank-and-file G&G people.

Crossbows worked everywhere, and psionic-enhanced rapid-fire action-loading 100% kinetic energy transfer ones were useful anywhen. Basically, the only upgrade needed for a tech zone was 'special loads' and how powerful they were. An explosive head on a quarrel could easily take out a vehicle in the right place, and was more accurate than a grenade launcher. The brace of the Autobow could easily be swapped in and out with other kinds of firearms, leaving the foundation unchanged, depending if you wanted shotguns, stubguns, a rifle, or moved up to energy weapons.

Enchant the core of the weapon, and swapping out the underlying tech was not an issue.

Indeed, everyone went silly enthusiastic over the tech and the configurations possible, trying to make it modular, adaptable, and customizable. The fact that both Briggs and I were carrying them for a reason did make something of an impression.

The vanguards did have a great advantage over anyone that wanted to attack them, in that the Land we were on was not fluid. Thus, they could easily set up scouts, traps, ambushes, fallback positions, and so forth, chopping into and crus.h.i.+ng their enemies with knowledge of the terrain... and surely they wouldn't be so crude as to not take advantage of it, right?

The fighting effort had expanded with the territory. The girls naturally wanted big harvests, but weren't so stupid as to draw the attention of Greater Demons until they could actually handle them, which required Naming Karma and a slew of Masteries and stuff to be able to hack on them properly. Given how slow true Levels rose, they weren't overeager, just making steady progress and making sure their people stayed alive and progressed too.

There were losses, sure, but now I was sending in people from my training companies here to get real combat experience and blooded against the minions of the Warp... exactly what these people were supposed to be fighting. Even the most recalcitrant began to wise up after stepping onto these battlefields, what with Demons screaming for your soul, madness in the air, and all the horrors and myths rumored on the Boole there and obvious in front of their eyes.

The Elevator Music to Heaven kept them sane. Good teamwork and realizing all that training was for a d.a.m.n good reason had to suffice for the rest. The feeling of utter madness and depravity sliding over your mindclaw as you tore something apart was quite a stressor, I was informed many times.

There were losses, there were deaths. If they lived, they could be healed up, and go right back to the fight, both frightened and angry, and eager to learn how to kill the things that had killed them.

Killing fifty of a certain enemy made them a Foe Hunter. First goal. Harvesting a skull and getting it carved up for use as a Baneskull Totem was the second, and then advancing it by killing more of the enemy.

Karma poured in. Levels slowly rose, and the Marked grew stronger, meaner, harder. The enemy was only there to make them stronger, and despite themselves, they knew that if they retreated, the Warped would not be following them out of this zone.

The only thing they had to fear was instgibs and me being disappointed in them.

Soon the Beacon psions were coming in, making wargear on the spot for people, spinning psionic circuitry into killing tools, and then going out there to do their own kills and provide support, accompanied by Nulls to keep them alive and functional. Their Levels rose faster than they had believed would be possible, and even if some of them died to the lethal enthusiasm of the natives, the rest were stepping along that road to power faster than they had ever imagined.

Yes, they were sn.o.bbish intellectuals, and were now totally caught up in the crazed energy of team fights and the self-improvement that had once been denied them.

The girls were recruiting more, training more, and those young men and women were being shuttled and sent in here. The Levels didn't come as fast as a magic realm, but every day was an improvement, and that amount of improvement was only limited by how bada.s.s you were. If you wanted to fight and grow, there were places to do it.

Of course, moving people in such numbers naturally drew attention, as a whole lot of people wondered what we were doing out here as numbers pa.s.sed a thousand, five thousand, ten thousand, twenty thousand, fifty thousand... and finally we had a hundred thousand people fighting out here, with thousands moving in and out every day in a regular line of reinforcements, newcomers, and those resting and delivering supplies.

The Coronals and Umbrans were naturally eager to jump on the Bandwagon, and there were many blanket orders in place for the members of their Striker teams to hit Seven and get their Null Psion... and this was the place to do it. Unfortunately, only crude psi-powered mechlimbs worked in the outer zone, so the cybered had to get full regens and purges of implants to work in here.

For the chance at apotheosis, most were willing to do it.

While the Umbran Agents and Squires were welcome to come in and train, such as it were, this was not their job, it was merely combat practice. The Warped had been in here for thousands of years, they weren't coming out, and monstrous beasts and stuff aside, their job wasn't to lose themselves in blind combat all day. Their job was to protect humanity from dangers within and without, and not to just go out and have fun beating down the wretched sc.u.m of the Warp and feeding them to the Land in the Emperor's Name...

Ahem...

They did find a whole lot of new recruits for Striker teams after personally observing promising candidates in combat, however, and this vital duty was very eagerly sought after...
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Briggs and I watched the Map and conversations going on as every bit of military training and adventurous freebooting was on display. Strategy (expand the static zone, kill everything intruding on it) and tactics (how exactly to do that), logistics, positioning, movement, scouting, communication, coordination, raiding, training, blooding, recovery, and recuperation... everything was on the table and being used energetically. Different battlefields were there to train people in different aspects, while others were nothing but teams of individuals going out and wreaking havoc with maximum lethality.

Minds, bodies, and souls had to bear up under the ma.s.sive pressure of the environment, supporting one another was key, and if you couldn't take it, then you really, really had to get out. There were people who broke, and had to be put down, but that was rare... if they were Marked, they generally had enough mental support to make it out before they broke down completely.

Mental and spiritual infiltration and corruption were certainly attempted, but successfully AND unnoticeably charming, enchanting, possessing, and/or replacing a Marked was basically next to impossible... but it didn't stop a lot of demons and spirits from trying to do so. Ghost Knights rarely went a day without taking out an infiltrator or two trying to find a new host to wear. Ranthas with True Sight would spork them on sight, of course... and there were always more and more of them around, it seemed...

All in all, a Karmic banquet of the highest quality!

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Then there was Briggs and I, ranging out ahead, butchering, looting, leaving caches of loot behind, or teleporting them back to deliver them to the very-happy-to-receive-them Vanguard teams behind us... because we could teleport along the static zone, whereas only demons could do so in the s.h.i.+fting s.p.a.ce of the Warp zone.

Now, we had reached another boundary area, and were definitely looking it over before we went down there.

It was a modern battlefield. Energy beams, powerful explosions, cannon and artillery fire across leagues, numberless hordes of things fighting, aircraft ranging from hovercraft to jets racing overhead, great mechs and battlewagons stalking across the landscape, attracting fire and giving it out, blowing apart in great explosions utterly ignored by everyone present, just adding to the chaotic landscape of pits, tunnels, trenches, and ruined fortifications and vehicles every turning the battlefield into a chaotic, crazy mess, at once arbitrarily merciless and still decided by individuals.

"Well, they're being nice. n.o.body is using atomics," Briggs conjectured, as a castle-sized mech with half its structure replaced by flowing ectoplasmic ma.s.s, tentacles, and pincer claws fired a sun-bright lance at a rumbling landcrawler of at least equal ma.s.s two miles away, the fusion charge scattering off raised s.h.i.+elds, and provoking a booming cannon blast reply that sent the huge mecha staggering back for a moment when the sh.e.l.l detonated, and wiped out probably near a thousand cheering and screaming half-mechanized and possessed fanatics around its feet in a rain of actinic fire.

"While the Warp doesn't need a reason to fight, this seems... off. The forces of the Warp usually have interests or ambitions to pursue. This is just fighting for fighting, which, while entertaining, chews up your servants very, very quickly." I frowned as I studied it.

"It's probably timeless." I glanced at him, considering. "Yeah, it's probably a bunch of battles mixed together where time doesn't really pa.s.s unless someone from outside is watching," he went on.

"Part of the s.h.i.+fting spatial and temporal landscape," I agreed, watching a fight between ornithopters, gyrocopters, and helicopters taking place, zipping and swooping and swerving around blasted hills and fallen megamechs and landcrawlers. d.a.m.n, who would be dumb enough to make a million+ ton land engine? Who is 'The Warp', Alex!

"I've had the 'locks verify vehicles from at least a hundred different worlds or time periods, some of them from before the Empire. Even for the Warp, that's just a waste of time and energy. Something must be bringing them in here together, and equally quickly taking them away. Otherwise, this battlefield would simply be mountains of dead bodies and machinery."

There were at least fifty different shades of las-fire going on down there. Coherent light pulses were mildly radiant, unlike true lasers, but the name stuck, and n.o.body cared to correct it. It was hot, hard light; laser was a nice sub.

Fifty different forces was just crazy. Everybody was shooting at everybody!