Chapter 8-224: Out of the Frying Pan (1/2)
The Old Steed burst into motion, his flames going up as he trod on air, and began to smoothly ride the winds as I directed.
Target acquisition was my major concern. Each set of initial targets had to start in the same twenty-meter circle, and each successive target had to be within twenty-meters of the prior one. Blanketing the entire area in burst damage had to be calculated, and the effects centered on the areas where the undead were the densest.
The Chain effects would go off whether I directed them or not. They’d also double, triple, or whatnot-up on single targets, hampering efficiency. To assure maximum spread and efficiency, I had to delegate targets.
That takes a hissing bloody hell amount of concentration when you’re going into four digits of targets, and were rounding up towards five!
The Rays were spent on the larger, tougher undead, mostly monstrous creatures larger than the size of a human. If any weaker undead were nearby, they were blown apart, too. As those Rays were horrendously strong, and hitting for base double damage, even a Burst was something like 9d6+63 base damage, and with the Kickers were fully capable of blowing apart a Ten undead easily.
Thusly armed, I announced my presence, painting manifold targets and spiraling patterns of Chains in intricate webs of interconnected stars on Earth, and began to clear acreage.
I was a good mile away from the old god on His icy throne, who slowly turned His beaked and fanged head towards me, slow and casual, as if not really believing I was doing what I was doing. Cold mana was swirling towards me, getting set on fire, and just a whole lot of Heaven was coming down on His undead minions.
I’m pretty sure He blinked at the flaring of holy light blasting his servants to rotting corpses, and leaving the ground carpeted in eager vivus.
I wasn’t worried when his incorporeals started coming my way. Not only could Master Fred just put up a Wall of Fire around us to burn them up if numbers got too close, they made ideal shots for Rays as they converged in on us.
Wendigos, Elementals, ice fey, frozen undead spirits of the north; it didn’t really matter. When those cold-dwellers ran into those Rays of fire so bright they were lighting up this entire valley easily, they basically evaporated. Only if they weren’t close enough together did the Rays fail to paint a new Seal of burning Heavenly vengeance in the sky.
I was operating on full burners, Concentration going full out with every bit of my +54 modifier as I tracked my shots with one thoughtstream, kept the Sublime Chord going with another, kept track of everything within view and assessed threat status with two others, all while focused on keeping my seat and maneuvering myself and Master Fred as we moved through the sky above this undead horde as acres of them exploded around and beneath us.
Oh, yeah, Allegiance management and broadcasting with two other thoughtstreams, most of the viewers gawking as they watched the show.
My second series was exactly twice the size of my first one, as Repeat Spell and Admixture swapped in with Residual Metamagic, with consequences as might be imagined.
I didn’t need to be gesturing at all, as all my spells were Stilled, but I couldn’t help it, Clavus spinning in a dance of mana draw, pulsing with massive amounts of energy moving through him and the gleaming skull of an undead old fire god, which would become a Dreadskull if I ever got that good.
If you could see the thaumaspectrum, this fell and frigid sky was alive with colors, exploding out of the icy and necro-infused air, consuming it and burning all the brighter as they did. The magical aurora was streaming excitedly towards the burning harvest I was reaping, a blazing sacrifice and feast for The Land... and by the way the Land was responding, it didn’t want me to stop any time soon!
Six hundred Casting Cycles an hour, ‘rounds’. Two spells per round. Two hundred greater undead, incoming incorporeals or elemental beings tied together by explosive, Seeking beams of starfury, while around them the lesser hordes of their kind died in primal heavenly fire.
Fourteen thousand and more at one time.
Eight million undead an hour!
Singing Doom upon them!
Sama had her Trembling Song, and the warriors of the Steel had long hammered it into the Akasha. Anyone who could Sing that song deserved to, and anyone who heard it knew they were in for a momentous can of whoopass when that Song broke out.
Aelryinth didn’t have a Song with verse and refrain, stanza and meter.
He had the Sublime Chord, the Concordance of the Arcane and Heartsong, the primal Music of the Spheres, uniquely ringing with the manifestation of dozens of Metamagicks and the screaming force vectors of Shards... and all the millions of undead who had fallen to them, and the souls who had been freed from the doom of undeath before them.
I had that Song too, playing on the threads of magic, all of Creation around me my instrument. These undead looked up at me, there on the burning steed that used to be the mount of a god, and saw light and life and holiness, and what was left of their souls recognized it.
This was the Song of the Last Day; it was All Hallow’s Eve, and they knew I brought their Last Day!
No words, only song, glory, and the spheres responding and coming to my call with terrible and fell purpose.
It was their Last Day, their release; their regrets were gone, their chance to rest had come. Starfire took them, and as it did, this Shroudzone began to boil and burn and collapse as I advanced, moving away from the old god who I had no need or desire to face right now.
The Veil shuddered at the juxtaposition, but that independent space over there stayed firm even as the dimensions about me locked solid; Teleporting to catch up to me was now impossible.