Chapter 18-465: Fiery Consequences (1/2)

The feedback damage from a Spellflare was equal to the level of the interfering spell times d6... plus my Warcaster bonuses, plus the Kickers I could attach via Clavus and whatnot, and of course the extra Smites from all the Paladins and Champions, just for kicks.

Did I spend ki to Consecrate it, boost it with literally a ton of alchemical fire, pour thousands of Heartsong uses into it, and add Wrath in for another +21d6 to the recipients? Surely I wouldn’t be so rude, would I?

I’d happily blown extra Pool to give it the whole loadout I could, and while I doubted it would actually kill anything there of note, any lesser undead participating in the spell were probably going to end up messily immolated.

So, I imagined it raged right through the Shroudlord’s spell, unraveling it violently and setting it alight, and then came down through its own conduits of power onto the sources of their Ritual.

Those explosions going off on everything were probably nice and exciting. I was thinking in the nature of 15d6 Topped to 90, +35 Boosts, +30d6 of extra Kickers. That would totally toast most of the lesser undead and lesser Congregants, although it would only injure, not destroy, an actual advanced Congregant, and be a flyswat to one of the Dark Clergy.

Also, very personal, very distracting. Possibly so distracting it didn’t actually realize the ominousness of what was going on.

We had pushed back the Haze, and very pointedly, we had pushed back the Shroud. Under the Curse of the Sun, that also meant we had pushed back the Deadzone.

One hundred miles, minus twenty for the old Deadzone, was eighty miles of push-back. That meant that everything beyond the ‘new’ Deadzone, also twenty miles out from the Shroud, had to turn around and proceed that way, ignoring all other actions, until they once again came firmly into the Shroudlord’s control.

In other words, there were millions of undead there who were nothing but running ducks.

“LINK IT UP!” I wrapped the spell up, and it Sang through the Pattern. Other Casters contributed, tied into it, as the Pattern suddenly became one huge Teleport Focus, and thousands of formerly somber Ritual participants suddenly swapped out comfy clothes for their fighting duds. Weapons burned to life in many hues, but black and white were on all of them.

Disks were deployed, ready for use. Ranged attackers got ready, Melee combatants prepared to find their targets, focusing on the Constructs who weren’t under obligations to pull back.

The majority of ALL the forces ringing the Shroud were right here, right now, today. Tens of thousands of people, nearly one hundred thousand, gathered together to help the Ritual out... and then do this.

“GOING!” And my Teleport VII went out, thousands of others went off with it at the same time, and picked us up and sent us over thataways, Without Error.

Because the Shroud was gone, and so was its Interdiction against Teleporting.

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We materialized right in the middle of literally thousands of local undead heading back to the east, people materializing right out of nowhere in and around all these undead.

Undead killing instincts are always ready, but right now, they were being overridden by the total urge to head east and get back under their Shroudlord’s control. So, while they might take a swing or bite at someone, they immediately kept moving east and would leave them for others to finish.

We, of course, also promptly took swings back at them.

I started blowing off Shard cycles like no tomorrow, jetting up just above the walls as I popped my wings, and began to shred everything around. A grand Alliance was already in place, dozens of Allegiances large and small participating here, and I blew the Heavens-Up Display through it with the assistance of Casters from each Allegiance.

The sky was full of X’s and O’s in various colors almost instantly, and the numbers of X’s next to O’s dropped precipitously as everyone started letting go.

Everyone who could simply got airborne. The number of undead who could fly relative to those who could not was small, and fliers were always the first to go, especially swarmers and incorps.

I specifically focused on every damn incorp within two hundred yards of me and began to shoot them, even as they juked and altered course to fly past the living in their way. Chained Shards blew in every direction in wild rainbow jetsilver streaks, painting the earth and sky with undead. My first set wiped thousands of them just by itself, while the ground below exploded in multi-colored magical flames of the undead-extinguishing kind.

The Warlords were out and calling orders, with Briggs right there at the top of the whole pack, looking at the overall scene from inside the devoted Markspace, watching the entire arena of combat and the entire HUD even as he was bouncing into the attack against a Possessed Tank, burying Endure in its engine before shattering off its hatch. Helix flew past, dumping a single burning Arrow inside the Tank, which detonated and lit off all the ammunition stacked within, instantly doing for the thing in a black-green deathfire explosion whose flames were devoured by the rising vivus feasting on it.

I watched the squads forming up with magical speed and the information-processing speed of Tens. The central area was cleared of undead within twenty seconds, forming a center that wounded or overwhelmed combatants could retreat to for healing, or Healers could position themselves at in order to reach those fighting at the fringes.

The Melees without major levels of mobility arranged themselves into Dragon-Teeth lines across a front over fifty miles wide, with an overwatch of the less-experienced but still lethal Archers or Gunners shooting clean-up. There were support Casters and Healers, and plans quickly spinning out to deal with some of the largest undead creatures coming this way, but all in all, I had no worries for them with Briggs commanding that line.