The Imperial Hunter - Episode 134: Fragrance of Rebellion (14)
Just as I reinforced my magical barriers, five thunderbolts slammed into the churning surface above. Fewer than before, but with greater precision—a wide-area barrage. The five torpedoes plunged in with trails of white foam, spiraling less than a single turn before all locking onto me. Like a school of piranhas scenting blood, the sturdy warheads whipped around in unison. Their talismans, linked to guidance systems, pointed toward the heart of my mana field like compass needles to true north.
The sonar pulses beaming conically from each fused into a high, piercing concerto. Barely a breath had passed since impact. No time to evade, no time to weave a new incantation. The ignition suppressor I'd barely managed to conjure stifled the nearest two in sequence. It had output to spare, but the range on the third went awry.
The next instant, their proximity fuses—gauging my distance—ignited brilliant sparks within the warheads.
Boom!BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!
The air sphere encasing me crumpled violently. The water surface meeting it shuddered white-hot, belching savage blasts. Even the dense telekinetic barrier I'd packed inside couldn't fully absorb the shock. I nearly lost control of every spell save body reinforcement to the brutal low-frequency assault. Long-wavelength lows penetrated far better than highs.
Thud! Boom! The remaining two detonated as my suppressor faltered. Dazed, my roiling guts heaved up bile. Urk—stomach acid spewed sideways, defying gravity. Sideways? No, illusion. My senses, warped beyond up or down, had tricked me. Body reinforcement's regenerative base swiftly reset them. I layered on life incantation to accelerate the mend.
By then, the third wave bore down. Meteors lancing the surface, they spiraled into search patterns. Twenty this time. Aiming for heavier sorcery punishment, but scattered farther than the last volley. My prior suppressor delay on the close pair had misled their targeting. Still far nearer than the first wave—enough to curdle my blood from the defender's view.
I bolstered defenses and hastily spun another suppressor, retarding only the nearest fuses. To further muddle their fix on me. Soon twenty warheads erupted in chain reaction, birthing destructive resonance and turbulent currents. Shallow depth bounced some shock back from the bottom; seabed silt billowed like ink, riding waves into a sandy maelstrom.
Noise over two hundred decibels could kill. I'd endured blast after blast, reeling my stunned mind back. Blood trickled from nose and ears, beading at my chin before dripping free. Snapping to, I saw the foe exploiting my attack lull: minions fanning into a semicircle, closing fast. Elite picks—speeds rivaling skipjacks, if shy of blue sharks.
Torpedo fire halted. Finite stockpile, husbanded for contingencies? I smashed a corner of their advance with plasma burst. Gaps between them widened, ours narrowed sharply; no more initial thunderclaps, but I could dial down power for rapid repeats. Five bursts shredded nine bodies. Survivors, panicked sans my position, opened fire blindly.
Thwip! Ssssh! The water-slicing roar of heavy .50-cal rounds bore no resemblance to aerial cracks. Dozens of tracer lines slashed the murk. Profligate bastards. Round Table lackeys hosed supercavitating rounds—Norwegian specialties lethal to sixty meters underwater. They lavished these hundreds-fold pricier than AP, relying solely on mana-field sense for suppression fire.
Most missed wide, but the occasional deadlier 20mm demanded vigilance. Lines stretched past two hundred meters—lethal reach submerged. Blindfire odds forced me to waste circuit processing shoring defenses.
'20mm? Thought even prototypes were vaporware…'
Custom imperial order? Or superpowered pirates spurring developers? I loaded fresh plasma into my circuit while tracking the big fish. A minute since engagement? A grand magus donned tailcoat with minion aid, topped a hat. Nobility's dignity outstripped a gentleman's. Irritation wrinkled his face; his slow, deliberate staff-assisted stride bespoke no battlefield prowler.
Bursting another minion, I marveled at the perceptual gulf between Round Table master and me. What a specimen. Mindset worlds apart. Had he maxed his mana field to pinpoint me, his dogs could've fought smarter. Seconds-earlier locks, launches. Any fighter worth salt knew those instants' worth.
Yet he shunned exposure. Unsure if me—witch Grace or traitor Crowhurst—what traps lay, he hunkered. Why twin cruisers otherwise? Shields for his presence. Effective feint against Grace. I'd anticipated; reality confirmed. Never a projectile, never to be. Nobles' "hunts": mounted, loosing hounds, directing underlings in leisurely sport.
Boom! Fresh blast, fresh death below the waves. Half a minion's face I'd pulped drifted by, wobbling downward.
'Thanks for staying true to form, Sir West Burton.'
Teacher-pupil memories bred doubt in all my inferences. Mere extrapolations from old data. They might've evolved. Then foe lines wavered. Massive mana field approaching southwest.
Unhindered by turbid currents or silt storms, I easily pinned its core. Shark? Awakened beast drawn by blood, projecting presence proportional to bulk. Blast din kept it circling short; that prowl spiked foes' paranoia, provoking overkill.
Flames of torpedo-rockets streaked from Platinum Crown's deck. Twenty plummeted toward the shark's patrol zone. My opening.
Before it pulped to chum, seize divided focus for max gain. I double-tapped plasma into their disrupted ranks, then rocketed to the blast site, snatching a relatively intact diver's gear. Telekinesis reeled weapon and ammo to hand like a winch.
Instinctively, I gulped air, minimized mana-field radius. Vaporized the air sphere; stripped circuits to bare essentials—posture telekinesis, body reinforcement. Utter self-concealment.
My erasure spiked their dismay, tension. Racing heartbeats charted the turmoil.
Thoom! Muffled compared to airbursts. Muzzle brake belched combustion gases; supercav round speared an unlucky throat—effortlessly, sans resistance. Water and telekinesis absorbing recoil, aimed shots rivaled land sniping.
Thoom! Thoom! Thoom! Deaths per trigger-pull. Underwater firefight mimicked null-g. Gas-cored casings ejected slow.
Thoom! Fifth shot cycled empty, locked open. Mag drained; breath still ample. Non-awakened limits? I could sustain half an hour per inhale.
Swapping mag, racking bolt—foes still blind in silt-choked tides. Ordinary eyes? Useless organs.
Thunderous blasts rolled from southwest: shark-targeted torpedoes chain-detonating. Like my first wave, inaccuracy let it survive indirects. Stunned directionless, it thrashed seabedward in death throes. Second salvo poured in. Third unnecessary.
My luck's window closing. Airless now, near-miss blasts meant at least severe wounds.
I burned three more mags in seconds, ditched the gun, bloomed mana field in the corpse-vacuum to amp telekinesis. Propulsion hurled me projectile-like through their line's four-second fissure.
My kills neutrally buoyant, drifted slo-mo. Unglued weapons plummeted fast sans retention straps; telekinesis snagged one—a 20mm anti-materiel rifle.
20mm bore marked man-portable limits. Even for superhumans; bigger guns bulked unwieldy. Lug one sloppily? Prime target. Hence the rifle/cannon divide.
Fittingly, it packed portable-artillery punch. Normals strained mere transport. This South African beast especially.
High-speed dash pierced minimum rocket-torpedo range. Halting five meters subsurface, I stabilized for sniping.
Rifle nigh spear-length, elementary-schooler's heft targeted a black-painted helo spooling up from Platinum Crown's top deck. Mag held three. Eyeballed half a klick. Supercav rounds flew fine topside; minor trajectory dip on breakout fixed by telekinetic air-tube from muzzle to surface.
Add refraction-ignoring sight, and sub-to-deck sniping was routine.
Scope set, I squeezed.
KRA-WHOOOM! Muzzle thrust bloated nearby water. Supercav round punched helo cowling, shredded turbine.
Between corpse-puppets and followers' human wall, the puppeteer's advance toward the bird halted. Fury creased his face.