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Chapter 1157: The Battle of Taquila (III)

The flares changed everything.

Ursrook understood it in the moment they ignited — not slowly, not after analysis, but immediately. The humans had launched detection balloons and stopped their artillery fire at five miles. He had read it as hesitation. He had been wrong.

The balloons were the signal. The artillery pause was loading. The darkness he had depended on for three hours — the darkness that had blinded their observers and forced their shells into approximate trajectories — dissolved in the time it took for the first flare to reach its apex and ignite.

Multiple points of white light, hanging under tiny parachutes, drifting down over the battlefield. Each one burning with the intensity of a close sun. The shadows they cast were sharp and precise. The demon formation — the cylinders, the Spider Demons, the Mad Demons he’d spent the night maneuvering into position — was suddenly as visible as a painting.

He had seen human beings learn. He had watched it for six months. He had factored it into his planning.

He had not, apparently, factored in fast enough.

The flares meant there was no darkness anymore. The Artillery Battalion had correct targeting. The space between the God’s Stone shields and the main body of his force — which the shells had been probing blindly — was suddenly a corridor of light and falling iron.

He looked at his force.

He looked at the rate at which they were dying.

Then he made the second decision of the night.

He dropped into the encampment at maximum velocity.


The anti-aircraft squads tracked him across the sky. He counted the tracking arcs and moved through the gaps the way he always moved — not by speed alone but by the specific geometry of their reaction times. He reached the nearest observation balloon, took the basket in both hands, and killed the observer. He dropped the body and threw back his head.

The command went out through the Red Mist.

General assault. Now.

And the Fertile Plains erupted.

The junior demons came out of every position simultaneously — from the flanks, from the spaces between the cylinders, from the hidden approach routes he’d dug for exactly this moment. Thousands of them, moving toward the encampment’s perimeter at the full speed their bodies allowed. Mad Demons hurling stone spears at the bunker slots while other Mad Demons collapsed from the return fire and were replaced by the ones behind them. Spider Demons extending their range across the lit battlefield, taking losses, not stopping.

The First Army’s machine guns found their rhythm within seconds.


Iron Axe heard the encampment change.

For three hours it had been artillery — controlled, directional, the sound of the First Army shaping the battlefield. Now it became something different: the sustained overlapping roar of close-range engagement, machine guns and mortars firing at targets they could see, the sharp staccato of individual rifles between the heavier sounds.

He picked up the command telephone and gave the orders he’d prepared months ago.

Above the underground headquarters, the First Army fought in the light of falling flares.


The battle ran from midnight to dawn.

Sylvie watched it through the Eye of Magic from the observation room — or watched as much of it as the Eye could reach, still blocked in sectors by the God’s Stone cylinders. She relayed targeting data to the artillery and position reports to the command. She tracked the Magic Slayer as he moved through the encampment perimeter, too fast and too agile for any single gun position to hold, repulsed each time by concentrated fire when he lingered too long.

She saw the moment, close to three in the morning, when the Mad Demon assault lost its coherence. Not broke — didn’t route, didn’t flee — but the coordinated pressure became individual demons fighting independently, and individual demons could be isolated and killed.

She saw the Devilbeasts arrive at dawn.

They came in the grey light of early morning — dozens of them, more than had appeared in any single engagement over the previous six months. She understood what it meant. These were not harassment forces or intelligence scouts. The demons were spending what they had left.

The anti-aircraft squads repositioned. The Seagull came down from altitude. Tilly held the aircraft steady while the God’s Punishment Witches engaged from above, and Wendy shaped the wind around the wings to keep the machine in the narrow corridor of air that let the witches work.

The Magic Slayer drove into the encampment twice more. Both times the gun positions answered in mass and drove him back.

By noon, the guns had stopped.


Agatha and Iron Axe walked out of the underground headquarters into the midday light.

The air was heavy with gunpowder — the particular smell that was neither pleasant nor unpleasant anymore, just the smell of things that had been done at high speed. She breathed it in and felt, for the first time in hours, the difference between the underground and the surface.

The Fertile Plains meadow — which had been green when she’d last stood above ground — was not green anymore. The ground between the encampment perimeter and the edge of the demon formation was rutted and torn, the grass beaten down or burned away. Demon bodies were everywhere. The distance between the furthest advance and the perimeter wall was marked in blue.

Blue blood. Mad Demon blood. It had soaked into the soil in long irregular patches, catching the noon light with a faint iridescent sheen.

She looked at it for a moment.

She thought about all the blood that had soaked into the ground at Taquila four hundred years ago, and about all the ground between here and there, and about the silicon tablet men whose bodies had become the desert before any of this happened.

The land absorbed everything, eventually.

“We won.”

She didn’t know who said it. It came from somewhere along the perimeter — a soldier, a witch, one of the workers who’d emerged from the bunkers. The voice was not particularly loud. It didn’t need to be.

The encampment erupted.

Not shouting, exactly — something more complicated than shouting. It built from the near perimeter outward, from the people who had seen the field to the people who were hearing the news secondhand, a wave of sound that was noise and release and the specific relief of a thing you have dreaded for a very long time finally being behind you rather than in front.

Agatha stood in the middle of it and did not join it.

She looked south, toward the ruins.

The Giant Skeletons were still standing. Taquila was still there. But the demon force that had held it for four centuries had spent itself against the First Army’s line and left its dead on the Fertile Plains, and when the railway reached the edge of the ruin — a matter of days, now, a matter of days — there would be nothing left to stop them.

We’re coming, she thought, at no one she could name, at something that was less a thought than an orientation. We’re almost there.

Iron Axe stood beside her and looked south as well. He said nothing for a long time.

Then: “The God’s Punishment Witches should fire first.”

She looked at him.

“You asked,” he said. “The order stands.”

She turned back to the ruins.

The cheering continued around her, and the noon light fell on the blue-stained grass, and the Fertile Plains breathed in the quiet after the guns.

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