Still, thirty to one was thirty to one. It wasn't as if we were sending a tank against a savage natives' army—we were on a battlefield opposing a matching force. The outcome was easy to predict. We weren't the three hundred Spartans and this wasn't Hollywood.
There were barely half of us left when the dome imprisoning the Dragon split open.
"Change of targets!" Widowmaker shouted without waiting for a command.
Right he was, too. The bonebag wasn't part of our group. We could easily smoke him or at least do him some serious damage with our friendly fire.
Now I could finally see why you needed a raid to capture a dragon. Spreading her wings and breathing venom, this spawn of the Dark began her deadly dance, striking her enemies down with direct emotional hits. Green peaks of poisonous gas spread around us turning the air into a viscous tide of swelling emerald. Not counting on her own accuracy, the blind dragon showered the area with acid rain and fragments of bone, guided by her hearing and glimpses of emotional echo alone. Still, somehow she managed to single out our group in the crowd, restraining her murderous surges whenever one of our mercs happened to cross her path. Thank God for that!
"Go away! Fly to the castle!" I yelled, realizing there were barely a hundred warriors left.
But the dragon was on a killing spree—alternatively, she could be dancing a sacral dance of death for all I knew and couldn't stop it halfway—I'm not big enough on Dragonology to know. The bone lizard kept swirling around like the harvester from hell, grinding thousands of sentients in her wake. I even got the impression that the battle had done her some good. Her eyes blinked once, then again, and lit up—the two pale-green search beams as I remembered them.
"I can see," a thunderous whisper swept over the battlefield.
"Go, now!" I yelled. "Your chicks are hungry! Go home! Shoo! Shoo!"
"Just a moment... A few more life sparks—then the primal seed will rebirth in my chest, the seed of a new heart!"
Pop, pop, pop, portals opened one by one, disgorging the white-clad sea of servants of Light. The unhappy Patriarch had sent in reinforcements although where he'd managed to find so many was a different question entirely. There must have been at least two hundred priests; most likely, the temples all over the cluster—if not of all AlterWorld—stood empty now. Had I known that, I would have asked Cryl to check out their treasury. Then again, they wouldn't leave their assets unattended even on Judgment Day.
The cables of sticky light sprang swirling upward from the servants' hands, entangling the dragon. She tore through them with ease, simultaneously counterattacking, eliminating the priests nearest to her. Still, her speed kept dropping until finally another power line entwined the dragon's bone body and, ringing like an overstrung string, resisted her attempts to break it. Another one lay next to it, and yet another... In less than a minute, the dragon was struggling in a powerful net, breaking her bones, entangling herself even further.
Shit! I bit my lip surveying what was left of my army. Fifty at the most. That was it, end of war. Some general I was.
Ding, the skies rang. The jingle of a billion little bells drowned out the battle.
Macaria! Today more beautiful than ever, in full makeup this time, shining like a Super Nova with divine energies.
"O the Sentient! I am giving you your reward and a purpose on the day of this glorious and equally pointless battle! Accept it as a sign of the gods' gratitude for your faithful service and this exceptional show!"
Ding! The goddess disappeared, leaving behind a few snowflakes floating in the sky. The players' interfaces flashed with a quest message:
New Quest alert: The Glorious Battle.
Divine Macaria will bestow her gifts on anyone for any victory in this battle! Take a look around and bury your blade into any enemy survivor.
Reward 1: 100 Faith points for every Light follower killed.
Reward 2: 200 Faith points for every guard or officer killed
Reward 3: 300 Faith points for every Light priest killed
Silence fell, replaced by cautious sideways glances. Then, simultaneously, the clashing of thousands of swords meeting swords. There were no idiots there. The new quest was exactly what the crowd needed. There were hundreds of mortally wounded lying around begging for the coup de grace, their bodies a promise of rich reward. Allies only a moment ago, now they turned to face each other, slaughtering everyone who still moved. For ten bucks a frag plus loot why wouldn't they?
"Hold the ranks!" Widowmaker shouted, still alive, bringing the remaining mercs into some sort of formation.
"Thank you, Macaria," I whispered soundlessly, activating Appeal to Gods.
The last thing I wanted to hear back was something along the lines of, You owe me one. But today was a day of surprises. With the gleam of her kind smile in the air, I heard a soft, I hereby pay part of my debt.
I shook my head in surprise but immediately switched my attention back to the battlefield. No one seemed to pay much heed to the mercs' thinning numbers anymore. Everyone was busy choosing easy targets: the already wounded and the low-level players, trying to earn themselves as many points as possible before they themselves fell prey to a stronger opponent. In any case, it looked like we'd lost the dragon. The priests had split into two groups, one of which made an outer defense circle, fighting off the attacking crowd while the other group kept tightening the net, breaking the unfortunate creature's bones, pressing her into a gigantic sphere.
"Dragon," I groaned, unable to stop myself.
"I'm sorry," I barely heard her. "Take care of the chicks..."
"Fuck you!" I exploded. "What's wrong with all you, people, everyone bossing me around? First it's those newborn gods, then it's that underage newblette telling me to go and get you, and now you? You're not just trying to die on me, you're giving me more tasks again?"
I was ranting and raving, all the while leafing through my by now quite considerable skill list trying to find something at least remotely relevant. Wait-wait-wait, what was that? The Help of the Fallen One? Completely restore health of any creature in AlterWorld?
I hastily selected the bonebag as target and gasped. 2% Life!
Activate!
Bang! The tangled mess of the white threads exploded, freeing the furious dragon. With a crushing sound, white-robed body fragments went flying. Attacked from both sides, the priests' ranks staggered and broke into helpless individuals. Slaughter had set in.
I glanced at the clock. Fourteen minutes since the start of the action. But the mercs were still fighting. I touched Widowmaker's shoulder. "Why are you still here? The time's up. The contract's closed."
He flashed me a grin. "It's personal now. Well, the dragon is free. You still need us?"
I shrugged. "I don't think so. Thank you for everything!"
"Well, then," he turned to the remains of his army and bellowed in a practiced commanding tone, "Formation type four, arrowhead, direct at the priests! Three, two, one! Barrraah!"
Ten minutes later, I stood amid a sea of tombstones roamed by occasional bediapered human shapes looking for their graves. Even more occasional armored ones studied each other suspiciously, not sure what to expect from the opponent. They'd soon discovered, by trial and error, that the repeat murder of a player brought no faith points, so those flashing their naked butts were mercifully left alone which made me wonder how many of those were genuinely smoked and not just being clever by removing their clothes and stashing them away in their bags. Either Macaria had shown some mercy or even the gods couldn't afford to allocate millions of extra faith points to the prize fund. Had it not been for that particular restriction, the place would have been Armageddon in the flesh. As it was now, it rather resembled a village cemetery on a Saturday morning.