Chapter 521 – Terror in the Mists

“Master! Wake up!” Miria’s voice rang loud, boisterous, and evidently animated. “It’s today! There’s no time to waste!”

Asterios groaned as he came to, partially due to the lively noise and partially due to something slamming into his stomach. Something suspiciously foot-shaped, judging by the impact and the weight it had carried behind its descent. Throwing a forearm over his forehead, he cracked his eyelids open slowly.

And there she was, his ever-so-energetic furry-eared mate, jumping all over the bed without a concern in the world. She was also ever-so-fully-naked, her lean, taut figure rippling and bouncing with glee, emphasizing every single bit of feminine charm possessed by the warrior feline.

With one more bounce, Miria landed right above Ast’s prone form, her feet fortunately missing his body this time as they sank into the mattress around his waist. She grinned down at him, propping her hands on her hips, her tail flicking eagerly behind her pert behind. Moving his arms behind his head, Asterios met her gaze, the corner of his mouth curling a bit in an amused manner.

It never got boring waking up to such incredible sights.

His lovely mate seemed to realize her position after witnessing his expression and relaxed posture, making a flinching motion to cover herself. Especially that fuzzy patch of fur adorning her most intimate bits. But, it was obvious that motion was subconscious as she immediately fought it back, returning her palms to where they had been, even pushing her hips forward a little.

Miria’s cheeks darkened deeply as she felt her beloved Master’s gaze rake over all of her appreciatively. In a small bout of boldness, she twirled around, faked a yawn, and stretched ahead, leaning forward, very much so like a cat would, Asterios noted. Unsurprisingly, the action laid even more of her secrets bare to his eyes, her black tail standing at attention so as not to obstruct anything.

Shaking his head, Asterios patted the bed next to him. “Come here.”

Taking a peek over her shoulder, Miria flashed a wide smile at him before dropping to his side like a boulder, snuggled into his chest the next moment. Contented purrs tickled his shoulder as she nuzzled her face into his skin adorably.

Running a hand down her back, he pulled her closer and placed a tiny peck on the bridge of her cute nose. “Morning, gorgeous.”

Miria giggled quietly, peering up into his eyes. She shuffled a tad, and Ast’s palm slid lower, cupping her bubbly butt. The way her canines poked out of her lips with the cheeky smile, he knew it was intentional. So, he gave it a little pat, just short of a rebuking smack, remaining playful.

“You are full of energy today. Maybe more than usual. Do you need a hand in expelling some of it?” Asterios twirled her tail between his fingers, making her shiver. “As much as today is a great show, it’s also equally dangerous. We’ll need to be extremely careful.”

“I know, I know.” She hugged him tighter, her ample chest grazing his arm. “I promise I’ll slow down soon. If we do that right now, Master, it will only get worse! I would end up so full of your energy I could burst!”

That was certainly true. Especially after the whole deal of reassembling her spiritual foundations. Now, even if he didn’t intend to share much of his energy with her, she somehow got quite a fair deal of it during their time together.

“Then, there’s only one solution to this issue.” Asterios sat up, pulling Miria into his lap.

“Oh?” She peered at him curiously, pressing herself into his warm front. “What is it, Master?”

“An ancient technique that best cools off such unbridled enthusiasms.” He hoisted his legs off the edge of the bed, leaning forward. “A good, old, tried-and-true dunk in ice-cold water!”

Asterios bolted straight for their compact personal bathroom.

“What?! Wait, no, wait, wait, wait, Masteeeeeeeeeer!” Miria gasped, starting to kick and flail as he ran.

Then, there was a gasp, a splash, and a high-pitched scream, followed by a few chuckles. Those got interrupted by another splash and a few loud curses, overshadowed by victorious giggling. The pattern continued for a little while.

Later, during breakfast, a certain panthergirl kept pouting and crossing her arms as she sat an arm’s length away from her cold mate, much farther than she usually did, which hadn’t gone unnoticed by the others. They shared hidden smirks and grins, sensing the tension in the air. However, Miria’s facade didn’t last long. When Tina took advantage of the empty gap to insert herself into Ast’s side, her cheerful sister-mate shot to secure his other flank immediately, forgoing whatever beef she had with their man.

It was all fun and games until everyone gathered in the war room. Even Miria grew quieter, mustering all her available focus to listen well and participate in the meeting.

“Everything seems to be in place,” Silvia began, the fiery princess leaning over the enchanted table. “I’ve received word from our allies that the Power Suit is at the peak of its capabilities. They are ready to sweep this event clean.”

“Still, we should expect the worst,” Noir chimed in from near the door, leaning against the wall. “Even if the legit approach succeeds, there’s no guarantee they will step down just like that. And those explosives might not be the only surprise they have prepared.”

“She is right.” Grea nodded. “That’s why most of us should focus on watching the situation unfold. I’ll be here, of course. Bryn could cover the sky, but I need her with me in case I push too far and need someone to help my unconscious ass recover. I know this might be pushing, but I have to ask. Would you be willing to help us out a bit, Abyss?”

“I would simply be observing things, as always. There’s no issue in that,” the dark-skinned lady answered.

“Thank you.” Grea’s shoulders relaxed. “Asterios, Miria, and Noir will make up the main force. They are best suited for it with their abilities and can act independently if the need arises.”

Miria preened under the praise, clearly enjoying the trust placed in her.

“Well, there’s not much else we can do now to prepare,” Tina shared her thoughts. “We can rack our brains and try to guess their tricks, but that will be pointless. Let’s focus on more tangible things. We can do it. With our bond, we can react to anything in a flash. We’ll spread through the city. It should be easy to get by during the festivities.”

“We did what we could,” Selene agreed. “It’s time to see through it. They might be backed by a True Dragon, but we have two.”

Everyone cheered at that, save maybe for one of those Dragons, and they all moved out.

The main trio made contact with Patriarch Garm for the final check, and he promised that they wouldn’t be disappointed in the project. They headed for the Clash’s site separately, just in case. Though Umbra spied on their dwarf friends constantly, making sure no one interfered with them during the last stretch.

As for the place of the grand challenge, there could be only one.

The city itself was tightly packed and knit together, the small testing range they had seen previously being one of the few bigger open pieces of land. Except for the ornamental front yard of the massive entrance into the mountain. The tall metal gate towered over the stone plains, though there was nothing plain about the ground, which was carved in traditional markings at every step. Everything was dark and matted, a high contrast to the copper shine Ast’s group encountered underground, but they could tell that the fortress that merged into the cliff could be just as impenetrable.

Gilded booths and embroidered canopies lined up the side of the mountain, spots prepared specifically for the ruling clan to watch over the proceedings from a step higher, looking down on the community. The other direction, from the side of the city, was riddled with simpler stations bearing the crests of the qualified contestants.

There were no audience stands or cascading benches like in Glimmervale. People gathered around the stone expanse from the sides, from within the alleyways or streets, balconies or windows, even on the roofs. They formed a sizable arena with the first line of spectators serving as the boundary. Wintercrown’s population was low enough to somehow squeeze in everyone interested in witnessing the challenge into the limited space of the shelf settlement.

Positioned atop one of the buildings and hidden beneath the cloaking ability, Ast’s small party enjoyed the festivities while remaining vigilant. It might not have looked like it with Miria sitting at the roof’s edge with her legs flailing excitedly, but she put lots of effort into keeping her thoughts from spiralling into pure entertainment. Yet, she didn’t hide how much fun this outing was to her. She didn’t have to. Even Noir was starting to grasp the panthergirl’s free-spirited nature by now, the occasional scowls directed at the feline girl reducing in both intensity and frequency.

The Clash of Forges began unhurriedly at first.

Smaller challenges and tournaments took place before the leading event. Clans competed in specialized divisions, presenting their creations and inventions across a variety of categories and scientific fields. They weren’t aiming for the throne, but for the publicity, the free advertisement, and a chance to catch the eye of the current and upcoming leaders of their community.

Granted, the contenders won their respective battles, of course.

Those who lost retreated in shame and disappointment.

Asterios had to admit, the show was more thrilling than he had expected it to be. Witnessing so many unique artifacts, machines, trinkets, and gadgets was very entertaining. Like, for example, the family who introduced a new carriage type meant to completely ignore even the worst road conditions, including heaps of snow. Using a combination of weird metal plates, lightning magic, and obviously many other not-so-easily recognizable methods, they made the main body hover above the ground with a faint hum.

Sure, flight or levitation wasn’t unheard of, but both magic and runes needed mana to function continuously. And long-lasting enchantments were costly. But here, in front of them, a contraption was born, consuming barely any amount of stored power compared to the other means. It still required that power, supplied in the form of some kind of charged crystals, replaceable on the move, but that didn’t change the result.

Numerous other inventions clashed against each other for hours, only one coming victorious in its class. The show went on. Families won, families lost. The crowd cheered and booed the contestants, depending on the spectacle. Not all presentations went according to plan. Things broke midway, some exploded, and a few didn’t even start up. For some households, the result was undeniably cruel, possibly even leading to their fall.

Because here, effort was visibly sidelined by the result. Underneath the captivating display, this was a risky battle for fame and status. Just like some races followed the hierarchy of the strong, these people dominated with smarts.

About six hours in, the contests had run their course. The atmosphere changed amongst the spectators, the locals having experienced the festivities more than once already, looking forward to the main reason behind the Clash of Forges. The crowd moved, making more space in the middle, widening the makeshift arena. The distance was necessary, as the clash in the name of the tradition was more literal than the outsiders would have thought.

There was a reason barely any combat and military categories had been introduced before this moment.

A quiet lull fell upon the gathering. Everyone waited with bated breath for the upcoming announcement. One of the aged dwarves wearing the most prominent robes, his beard and hair showing considerable streaks of gray and white, stepped down from the central booth and made his way to the presenter’s podium. The host relinquished his position with a bow, standing aside.

The man’s heavy gaze scanned through his kin. “And so, we arrive at the most important, the biggest, the riskiest, and the most lethal part of the Clash. Only those who have the courage to back their creations with their life on the line dare to partake in this part. And amongst them, only those recognized by the jury receive the honor of representing their clan in a desperate struggle to seize power. It is time to witness the finest minds and the most talented hands this place has to offer. And, no matter the outcome of this ceremony, every participant deserves respect and applause, in life… and in death.”

Three rounds of unanimous roars shook the mountain as the people shouted in sync.

“However, this is as far as the traditional template goes today,” he continued, and the silence that followed was filled with frowns and confusion. “We are all aware of the dangerous attempts some turbulent group has been making in our efforts to follow the ancient customs. This very Clash of Forges hung at the edge of being cancelled, even. The powers that lie hidden are still here, scheming in the darkness. They might even be amongst the exalted participants in this sacred rite, aiming to put an end to today’s congregation.”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd.

“Therefore, having the safety of everyone here in mind, the final Clash of this evening will take place in an altered form,” the man stated strongly. “All the contestants, please gather in the arena. This round has been titled King of the Mountain. On my signal, you will enter this battlefield where only one can reign supreme. Hidden plots, alliances, and tricks won’t be of help to anyone. Armed only with your prized inventions, you have one chance to secure your success. Persevere, and you will achieve your goal. Do not show mercy. The enemies amidst us certainly won’t. Get ready.”

Bafflement and turmoil made waves amongst the spectators, even as the contenders prepared to enter the fateful ring. They couldn’t really back out right now after getting this far. The rules might have changed, no longer bothering with bracketed duels, but the prize remained the same.

“We knew they would try to pull another one over us,” Miria growled, kicking the wall underneath her strong enough to crack it. “But to not even hold the trial that the tradition demanded and everyone was excited to see? That’s miserable.”

Asterios tracked the movements of Truvi’s grandfather as he wheeled the Power Suit covered by a thick sheet of material into the arena. The man didn’t look nervous. His expression was fully confident and eager to prove himself.

“Let’s trust in Garm for now,” Asterios said, conveying his request to all his mates. “If things take a turn for the worse, we step in. Truvi is in the audience with her family. We don’t want to make her sad.”

“They won’t get a chance to try anything.” Noir gazed down into the challenge like a hawk. “I won’t miss a thing.”

~Neither will we,~ Grea added in their minds. ~If they even as much as think about messing with us, they will be fucked beyond comprehension.~

About twenty participants entered the field. Over half wielded weapons of some sort, every single one more elaborate and intriguing, making it nearly impossible to judge their full performance and capabilities. The rest was split fairly evenly between big mobile contraptions and peculiar armors. Patriarch Garm’s entry could be considered the latter in the eyes of many. Which would result in a lot of shock and disbelief when inevitably underestimated.

The last warning was issued, and those who had concealed their creations pulled the tarps away. Truvi’s grandpa sprinted away as he wasn’t the one wielding the armor. From what Asterios could see, the suit received a few upgrades. It now had folded draconic wings along its back, and a massive, double-headed maul attached on top of them, stylized into vicious draconic mugs.

To the sound of a loud horn, all chaos broke out.

Neighbors jumped at each other immediately, intent on taking out their closest opponents. The contestants operating rather unwieldy machines were on the losing foot in a flash. A turret spitting violent frost that froze one man solid was dismantled in the next second by a rogue arc of stone that cleaved through the piping guiding the icy solution.

Only one contraption survived the initial assault, and it looked like a giant metal ball placed atop a pillar surrounded by rings of increasing size going down its length. Its activation made the operator’s hair rise upwards like the gravity was suddenly inverted, and countless pieces of metal flew towards the vibrating orb, including the greatsword and the sickle of the nearby challengers. No one else dared to approach the grinning man. Even projectiles succumbed to the might of his device.

At least until the ground started shaking. The dark, bulky Power Suit stomped towards the weird contraption, shrugging off occasional attacks that grazed its scaly plates. Noticing the approach, the ball’s inventor tightened some bolts. But, while the power output spiked, going as far as to even yank a random full-plate armor bearer into its orbit, it didn’t affect the thick humanoid Dragon figure.

The man began sweating furiously, smacking his creation with the wrench, whipping it to work harder. Yet, it was all for naught. The weird pulling force completely ignored the hulking calamity. Now standing in front of the buzzing pillar, the Power Suit raised its maul over its head, to its very back, and swung.

As the swing reached the peak of its arc, one of the Dragon faces spit flames, which further propelled the weapon down its path. The maul crashed into the contraption from above with an unimaginable force, tearing through solid metal like through rotted wood. A loud explosion sent the wrench-holder and the trapped fellow flying and swallowed the walking armor.

When the dust settled, the Power Suit was hardly scratched. The battlefield turning silent for a second made its operator look around. Nearly everyone was looking back at him, gears turning in their heads. He could pinpoint the moment when something settled over the remaining contenders.

There was no warning as all ten dwarves rushed at him in a surprising bout of coordination. They had decided to temporarily band together and take down the toughest guy in their midst. After that, they would return to the usual business of duking it out until the last man standing.

First came a greathammer user, swinging wildly and relentlessly. The Power Suit blocked all blows with its thick arms, not giving up any space. But, while the physical strikes were negligible, the aftermath wasn’t. The head of the hammer emitted whitish mist each time it connected with its target, and slowly but surely, that invasive frost crept up the armor’s limbs, seeping through the thin gaps between the plates.

That could be dangerous.

Parrying the next swing into the ground, the Hammertingle representative directed both arms towards his rival. Palms raised flat, something clicked in them. Circular openings were revealed in the center of each hand. The red glow outlining the edges of the whole armor intensified as the dwarf with the hammer stared at the holes, completely mortified.

With a deafening thump, a wave of compressed air blasted the man so hard he shot through the arena like a ballista bolt, smashing into the audience on the other side and causing an avalanche of bodies. But, there was no time to celebrate his elimination as more people jumped at the draconic fighter.

Multiple blades struck the Power Suit from all angles. One managed to slip beneath a gap between the layered plates, then started to oscillate violently. The entire suit rattled from head to feet, its motor functions restricted. Bold taunts were shouted at the wielder, presumed too stunned to react.

Then, those were proven badly wrong.

After a few long seconds of standing idle, the armor’s arms extended to the sides. The nearby attackers dodged out of the way, but they weren’t the target. Instead of lashing out at them, the suit then… struck a flexing pose inwards, which served only to confuse the assailants. And that was why they weren’t ready for the wave of thick steam that hit them like a relentless storm.

Half of the arena disappeared in the white cloud as the Golem released all its accumulated heat at once. It yanked the vibrating weapon out of its body and initiated the hunt. Only its crimson glow could be used to track any movement inside the curtain of steam. The blood-red blur zigged and zagged throughout the smoke, and every time it stopped, a scream of pain followed, the owner flung out of the mists with a merciless blow. One by one, the contestants were eliminated, the Power Suit’s wielder somehow able to see clearly when no one else could.

When the steam dispersed, a field of roughed up bodies was revealed all around, some unconscious, some groaning in agony. But none seemed permanently unmoving. A maul had been a good choice of a weapon. Unless the owner literally mauled his rivals to death, they would most likely survive the clash.

The Dragon-themed Golem raked its glimmering eyes over the arena, ready to face more challengers. Leftover smoke ominously wafted off its jaws. Paired up with its dark, ferocious body, it nearly felt like facing a real bipedal Dragon. Nothing seemed to work against its scales. The prospects seemed hopeless.

And as soon as the others realized that, they didn’t even bother to get up. Those who were still standing exchanged glances amongst themselves and dropped their weapons. They had been bested.

Just as the Hammertingle representative was about to raise his own weapon in a victorious cheer, slow clapping echoed throughout the stone expanse. Every face turned to watch the man who had orchestrated this very scenario make his way down to the arena with an unhurried step.

“Wonderful.” The old dwarf stopped at the rim of the trial ring. “Looks like we have a clear winner. You, sir or madam, have bested everyone here and earned yourself the right to challenge the throne.”

~What bullshit is that guy spouting?~ Grea scoffed in their minds. ~This was the fight, wasn’t it?~

Judging by the expressions of the spectators and the contestants, they shared her internal musings.

“It is now time to prove that your house has what it takes to attain the glory of the greatest clan under the sky!” the man boomed, spreading his arms theatrically. “It is now time for the grand finale!”

Something akin to an explosion resounded slightly above. A glimmering object launched out of the cliff, a trail of dust behind it as it arced down towards the ground like a comet. It landed just like one too, smashing into the pavement slightly in front of the Rubytongs speaker. The dust settled quickly, and everyone froze in their spots.

“What is this… mockery?” Noir’s entire frame trembled as she let out a low growl.

Another construct made of dark crimson plates and filled with scarlet energy on the inside, just like the Fe-Lines, stood before them. But this one was tall, lean, and eerily similar to a True Dragon’s Battle Form. Somehow, it lacked wings, but the size, the claws, the head, the horns, and the tail were there, filled with gaps between the layer of its outer shell, just like its smaller cousins.

The four-legged Golems might not have been the secret weapon of the Rubytongs as much as the other clans thought.

And this one certainly wasn’t hiding the draconic influences anymore.

The question was, just how far did those go?