American Isekai -Chapter 321

AN: So sorry for the late post! I may have gotten a bit intoxicated last night. But hey, the chapter is a bit longer so silver lining!

Hope you enjoy! And maybe cry a little.

“Why does it feel so weird?!”

Blackblood shouted as he cleaved through yet another Royal, their armor already destroyed from repeated attacks by his heavy hand. 

He scratched his helmeted head before lunging to the side, a dense bolt of serrated metal flying past him from a Corrupted. Its grotesque body meandered toward him, and as Blackblood watched it cast more magic, his ears rang with its ‘Song.’

So long as he listened to it, he could predict its actions with near-clarivoyant ease. It hurt his head if he listened too closely, but nonetheless, it made battles significantly easier. 

His only gripe was how… external his actions felt. Like the Song was guiding his limbs instead of himself. Like the voices he heard drove his brain instead of his own consciousness. 

He wasn’t the only one. Nearby, Aki drove her fingers through the throat of a large grizzly beast, grabbing its spine through its neck and pulling. Overcome with weakness, it died as soon as she removed its bones, her breathing steady, her armor coated in blood and tar from the rain. 

Inwardly, she could feel a stinging sensation in her brain when she leaned into the Song. Using it excessively hurt. Trying to glance beyond it invited disturbing screams from dimensions unknown. 

“Just kill them as fast as possible! John might just kill his soldiers if this fight gets prolonged! They can hear it too, and I don’t think they can handle it as well as we can!”

Jaya shouted while removing more of her alchemical works. Most were explosive in some way. Poisons simply worked too slow in a battle like this. Still, most of her fights lied more in utility than direct killing power. With the onboard enchantments in each Iron Legion Standard Issue Armor System, she could disperse smokescreens and mana disruptors without affecting the troops around her, cutting off her enemy’s eyes and senses. 

She tossed a spatial grenade, watching it make impact with the chest of a Royal fighting another soldier. Upon detonation, the grenade collapsed into a spatial fissure, ripping in everything around it, including the Royal’s chest. It evaporated into nothing, leaving the Royal with half a torso and a sliver of life left. 

That’s when her head suddenly spun around, another grenade in her hand when she heard a scream. 

“HAAAAAHHHH!!!”

Katta flew through the air with that war cry, tackling a random Corrupted and landing on the top of a tank. She grabbed its neck with both hands, and with her maniacle grin, started slamming her head into its own. 

“Die. Die. Die. DIE. DIE. DIE. DIE! DIE! DIE!”

Over and over again she pounded skull against skull, using the metal of the tank as a backplate. Eventually, the Corrupted’s skull gave out first, her forehead caving its face until it finally stopped moving. 

Aki cringed as she saw a wound open on her face, a laceration from one of the Corrupted’s skull fragments. She wondered why the hell Katta didn’t have her helmet on, but was too busy to start reprimanding. 

Katta lunged toward her next enemy, eager to repeat her new fighting style, not noticing the horrified looks being thrown her way. 

Kwon and Song worked perfectly together, holding down multiple Authority 10s by themselves, either outright killing them or buying enough time for some other Brigadiers to help them. Their actions were fluid and without the excitement of the rest of the army, their fighting styles turning brutally efficient as time went on. 

Perhaps the two having the hardest times were Aria and Blackblood. Both utilized similar fighting styles, but whereas Blackblood was lamenting his every life choice that landed him in the middle of a platoon of psychos, Aria was busy mustering every ounce of power and potential within her. 

Despite both Umara and Aki reassuring Aria multiple times that she continued to remain with the Desert Eagles because she was competent enough, she constantly felt like she lacked the flair they did. Blackblood went out of his way frequently to keep her from changing that, claiming that he needed at least one other normal person on the team with him. But that never helped the feeling of inadequacy she held. 

Every fight, every battle was an opportunity to prove herself. She pushed her body to the limits constantly, trying things that brought her close to death’s door regularly, yet were actions that held the creativity which would propel her abilities forward. Thankfully she had plenty of inspiration to pull from, being around so many eccentrics and anomalies. 

When her axe cleaved down, it hit the chest of her enemy and then exploded, Vigor tearing it to shreds, a new hole in its body. She was as explosive with her movements as her Vigor was. She didn’t need to be as fast as Feiden or Shadowbane, but what she lacked in speed she made up for in weight. 

Besides, it wasn’t like she didn’t have her own ace. 

Her axe glowed with a bloody light as she felled more enemies. Its hunger for the carnage she wrought grew, especially as she put more strain on herself. The axe could feel her desperation, and it fueled it. 

Her mental acuity grew alongside her bloodlust. It never stood out in battles like these, where everyone was thirsting for every last Scourge kill. But as John had told her not long ago, her Axe was a tool to sharpen her intent. 

The Bloodsworn had always been a mystery to her, until the past few months when John had requested to study the axe while they were in between battles. That study of his lasted all but two days before he returned it. 

The verdict? The axe could feed on the Magika within blood to amplify her Vigor, a function she had already guessed. But the secondary functions were entirely Psykic. The bloodlust she felt, the desire for slaughter, the way her mind focused and honed around her enemies, was all by the design of the axe. 

After informing her of this information, he had left some advice regarding its usage. 

As much as it could overwhelm her should she let it, the Bloodsworn was as much of a tool as it was a weapon. While made with the intent to kill, its functions could be exploited for her own gain. As it turns out, the power it granted her wasn’t necessarily exclusively amplification, but also came in the form of a channeled mental state. 

Did it make her bloodthirsty? Of course. Did it also turn her into a killing machine? Absolutely. John told her that there was much to learn from it, and that the day she could wield the mental acuity that the Bloodsworn granted her without the axe and its emotional afflictions would be the day she found her niche.  

For now, she fell into the flow of her slaughter, the songs of the enemies around detonating with satisfying shockwaves. 

The battle continued to rage, and for a time, it seemed like Iron Legion had lost its edge. Despite being able to annihilate a large chunk of the army before it could reach them, despite having high-magitech armor and gear, and despite being augmented by John’s army-wide mental radio, the Scourge had pierced their defenses and were doing what they did best. Given so many tools to lean on, the soldiers had lost the edge that Kingdom forces had. No longer being forced to risk your life while sitting behind entire feet of steel for months at a time wasn’t good for keeping sharp, no matter how motivated you were when the time came to get your hands dirty. 

And yet even that had been compensated for. Flickers filled every inch of space between the soldiers. These veteran beasts were just as in their element as the Scourge was. 

Not only that, but there had been no shortage of bonds being made over the months of the campaign. So many Flickers and humans being in close proximity, fighting alongside each other, socializing, and becoming familiar had resulted in many pairs initiating bonding rituals. Several hundred Flickers had become companions to the soldiers of Iron Legion, and the only reason that number wasn’t higher was because most of the Flickers were older, more intelligent, set in their ways and unwilling to go so far. There was a reason it was optimal to bond with them while they were young. With no impressions made, they could easily grow to like their master like a normal pack-bonded animal. 

Still, the benefits the companion Flickers received were often substantial. A bonded human was an invaluable lifeline, a way to escape, a partner to rely on, and most importantly, a power source to grow from. Flickers always adjusted to the power level of their master, and more often than not, that meant they got stronger. Whether it was by sheer strength or by simply absorbing their master’s magic, the gains weren’t to be underestimated. 

Which meant even if Iron Legion soldiers had lost their edge, they were more than compensated for. 

Nevertheless, losses were sustained. The Scourge cared little for their lives if it meant they could bring humans down with them, and Royals and Corrupted only had a slightly greater sense of self preservation. Their lives were dedicated to taking others. They would live for that purpose until the time came to give their lives for that purpose. 

Soldiers fell all around the tanks, body parts strewn about as monster and beast tore each other to shreds. More monsters continued to flood from the city as Royals tried to break down Iron Legion formations. 

But the tanks kept their cannons trained on the masses ahead. As if uncaring about their brothers nearby, they kept their firepower forward, killing as many monsters as possible before they could reach them. Close air support assisted to this end, while artillery and bombing runs engaged the Nexus beyond, leveling buildings, no Sovereign there to protect it. 

Ironheart’s battle was no less fierce than any other. Both he and his enemy had already engaged before, both sides understanding just about every card the other had to play. But the wound to Ironheart’s pride could only be healed in this battle, and he engaged with such intensity that others might think his life hinged on whether he could kill his enemy before it could escape again. 

And yet, all the while, even as the battle approached its climax, that second Scourge Sovereign refused to make a move. 

John found a brief moment of respite, gazing toward the Nexus. He felt another gaze point back at his, the two communicating in ways others couldn’t understand. 

“You’re smart. But are you sure your hesitation will matter?”

He chuckled from behind his helmet. He knew that the other Sovereign was unsure. There was one glaring question that he knew was wracking its mind well before the battle even started. 

Why would John engage two Sovereigns with just one?

It was suicide, unless he had another Sovereign to help him. It would only make sense that he did. That would be the only reason he would ever consider engaging in this battle. The chances he was bluffing about having another Sovereign on standby was abysmally low. 

Yet, there was no other Sovereign that could be detected for hundreds of miles. There were only three Sovereigns present and two of them were doing battle. The other sat within the holds of the Nexus, scattering dense pulses of Psyka, utilizing every Conceptual tool it had in order to find that other Sovereign, only to turn up with absolutely nothing. 

But it refused to believe John was bluffing. Therefore, the only other conclusion was that the Sovereign he had called on was so strong as to be undetectable to even it. 

There were only a handful of those in the world, a handful of Sovereigns that could escape the Conceptual detection of not just itself, but the Kings. Still on the continent, Anarchy could sense all Sovereigns upon it, only except for those that could escape even Anarchy’s detection. 

So if there had been no warning about another Sovereign being present to help Iron Legion, its ultimate conclusion was correct. 

And that meant the only thing keeping it alive was its inactivity. 

After that the only question it had to answer was how long it had to live anyway. Would it be allowed to escape? Was there any reason to allow that? Where was John’s supremely powerful help, and if its fate was sealed anyway, why hadn’t they engaged yet? 

Perhaps it was being searched for. Just because two Sovereigns knew that the other was there didn’t mean they could see through the labyrinth of power around each other. While the Sovereign didn’t have access to the Psykic Conceptual, it was still surrounded by the most complex arrays of biological computational systems on the continent. The place was so tangible with Psyka that one could see it around them in the air. It was a fluid thicker than air, the movement of a hand stirring up visible currents. 

And it was laced with illusions and mazes of neural activity. Quadrillions of computations were firing off across the complex every second, all of them drawing paths across biological networks that branched beyond the Nexus and through the vessels of the continent. To those incapable, it was impossible to get anywhere close to the Sovereign without being able to decipher illusion from reality. They’d have their nervous systems fried just by walking near. 

If a Knight or Warlock were trying to find it? Well, even a Sovereign among them would have a hard time. 

That meant it had time, so long as it didn’t engage beyond its Nexus. That would draw a clean path straight back to it. 

So it remained within its holds, simply watching, making plans for the future and sending them across dedicated neural lines deep underground that pointed back toward Scourge territory. 

And John watched it, his eyes piercing through the walls of the Nexus to see the intangible structures of Psyka deep within. It was an intellectual fortress, like his Mind Palace, but less refined, filled with thousands of sub-minds instead of just one. 

And he laughed. 

He laughed as jets streaked overhead. He laughed as the blades on his arms sheared through the flesh of his enemies, tearing them apart while he felt Psyka course through the mechanical limbs of his exosuit. He laughed as artillery and bombs send constant shockwaves across the battlefield. He laughed as Tanks fired, as Flickers snarled and launched toward their prey, as Royals screamed and cut at his soldiers, as waves of dimensional frequencies and Psykic powers resonated across the landscape. 

As his Desert Eagles listened to his Song and engaged with impunity, as helicopters let loose volleys of missiles and gunfire over their heads, as other Companies of tanks moved away from the formation to begin flanking maneuvers, as Ironheart battled that Sovereign and cleaved scars into the planet below. 

Even as a Superheavy Tank, weighing 640 thousand pounds, was tossed dozens of yards away by the crossfire of a fight between Marshals. 

Umara felt her heart sink as that tank landed in the midst of a crowd. Most were able to evade since a flying Superheavy Tank was pretty obvious, but others weren’t as lucky. 

And yet she saw John laugh. 

“Yes! YEESS! This is it!”

He jammed Totenstahl’s nearly molten barrel into the skull of a Corrupted, putting a dozen rounds through it before ripping it out and jumping. 

He landed on top of a Command Tank, his boots crashing against steel. 

Totenstahl no longer fired, John gazing across the entire battlefield. 

His Song changed. Umara could feel it. She gazed upon him, feeling the satisfaction of every instrument playing in harmony. 

Every piece of his puzzle was in place. Every pawn in his game was making the movies he dictated they would. His army moved by his rythm, and Umara could sense the flow of the troops around her. They didn’t speak. The TACNET was nearly dead. Every voice that did echo through was lethally calm, speaking of their maneuvers like they were a boring routine instead of strategic movements that were manipulating the tide of battle. 

She smiled when she felt it, smiled when she felt John’s ecstasy. This battle was a culmination. Months of constant campaigning across the northern regions of the continent, sweeping through Scourge territory and annihilating all in their way, was coming to a head here. The army was flowing like they never had before. Everyone, even the Flickers, were playing their part perfectly. 

Even the individual battles were moving according to John’s intent. Victory was merely the end of a symphony being played, and John’s orchestra was in perfect tune and time. 

Catching himself, John began firing Totenstahl once more, his target priority flowing with the tide of battle. Umara watched him as he fought, Royals and monsters alike clawing their way toward him for any chance to kill the Commander of Iron Legion. 

They couldn’t know that he was the most protected one on the battlefield. His symphony dictated so. 

And he continued laughing, screaming out to the world, his voice audible to those listening to his song. 

“This is what I’ve told you about! By my grand design, this is what I’ve created! I have manufactured this war, as I told you I would. Look at my beautiful tanks, and my harmonious birds in the sky! Get up here Nonnen! Come gaze upon my work! Did I not tell you my tanks would change the face of warfare?!”

John turned around, glancing between the groups of his troops. 

Umara watched him, hearing his song start to shift with a growing pit in her stomach. 

“Nonnen! Hurry your sorry ass over here! I need to tell you about my favorite piece of engineering on these things, and you’re not allowed to ignore my comms this time! I’ll even share one of my sandwiches with you!”

Umara started running as he spoke, hearing a voice whisper in her ear from beyond the mortal plane, flickers of someone’s figure appearing in her mind. 

She jumped, air magic carrying her and lowering her to the top of the tank John stood on. He spoke to her when she arrived. 

“Umara, good timing. Can you help me find Nonnen? Do you know where he went? Matter of fact I can’t find any of the Doves. Did they head off with the flanking force?”

“John, I…”

She choked on her words, those whispers in her mind resurfacing, overpowering the explosions coming from the nearby cannons. 

Then, when she finally spoke, her words came with the same power of the voices from above. 

“It’s glorious, John. I knew you’d pull it off.”

Words not her own left her mouth, John slowly turning his head toward her. 

“I was right. You were worth it. So keep fighting, and we’ll all be watching over you, the last Snow Dove.”

The whispers faded from Umara’s mind, John’s song going mute. 

She heard the drops of rain more than she heard bombs in the distance as she watched John fall to a knee. As fast as he ripped off his helmet, she cast her barrier over them, washing the air and protecting him from the tar. 

And yet it proved to be unnecessary. Only a few drops struck her barrier before light began to seep through the clouds, splitting them apart and putting a stop to the rain. 

“I forgot…”

John muttered, his face twisted in pain. 

“I can’t believe I forgot them… What is happening to me? I’m sorry Nonnen. I forgot. I can’t believe I forgot…”

He groaned in pain, Umara standing there, not knowing what to do as she watched her husband unfold. 

Then, he looked up at her, with a look in his eyes that she hadn’t seen in a year. 

“Umara… I haven’t slept in months. Please, when this battle is over, get me to Maxwell. I need his help, otherwise I’ll be fucked for my next advancement. I’ve already got tongues echoing through my Mind Palace…”

His words drifted off, a few seconds going by before he suddenly slipped his helmet back on. 

Totenstahl glowed with greater fury. 

“I’ll need to speak to Maxwell, wife. I just need to make sure I’m protected when I do. He’s wielded the powers of the Outer Waters before, after all.”

He stepped back up to his feet, letting out a long sigh. 

Then he turned back to the battle, his Song phasing back into her mind. 

“Ah, what a wonderful tune. I can’t believe I almost disturbed it. Hopefully Anderson will move soon. I’d like to peer into that Nexus personally.”

Umara felt herself cry as she watched his back, her teeth grinding against each other as wrathful hatred bubbled within her. 

“What did those monsters do to my fucking husband?”