Artillery

The trumpets of war rang across the Red Plateau.

Their thunderous call rolled over the barren earth like a living thing, echoing along the crimson mountains and carrying all the way to the walls of the Vermelionne.

The sound did not simply travel, it pressed against the stones, against the chests of every soldier, and every civilian. Dust lifted in thin sheets from the plateau floor, stirred by the force of the blast.

Then came the drums, hundreds of them. Their skins stretched tight and beaten with relentless purpose.

BOOM.

BOOM.

BOOM.

Their rhythm shook the ground beneath the feet of the soldiers gathered along the battlements. Armor rattled. Loose stones skipped across the walkways. Mother held their babies tight. The Demon King’s fourth company had arrived.

Beyond the walls, the horizon had disappeared beneath an ocean of black and red. Thousands upon thousands of figures stood across the Red Plateau, their silhouettes stretching as far as the eye could see and then farther still, lost in the shimmering heat that already rose from the blood-colored stone.

Banners bearing the symbols of the Demon Kingdom rose above the army in the morning wind, snapping and twisting. They had been planted carefully around the outermost limits of the heavy rail cannons range, a deliberate line drawn in the dust.

“At least try to make it less obvious that you guys know.”

Shiro stood on the inner wall, Geraltavin and Johnaquil at his flanks, a ring of guards close around them for protection.

The one part of the army began to advance. One step after another, the earth trembled beneath them. Not the sharp jolt of the drums, but a deeper, slower vibration that climbed the walls.

Inside the city, bells began to ring. From the high clear ones of the watchtowers, to even the deeper bronze of the churches, and every smaller bell in between.

War was here.

“They know they’re in range but still move in?”

“Not all of them though,”

Johnaquil answered first, followed by Geraltavin

“Sending some in to draw yer fire.”

Shiro felt his stomach turn. The first ranks were already leaving the safety of their own marked line. small clusters of an assortment of demons marched forward with the deliberate pace of men who knew they were about to die.

“What a cruel strategy…”

He let out a long breath and steeled himself. He had spoken with Azura about the cruelty of demons already. A cold clarity came over him as he knew the killing was about to start.

“Whatever. They’re all going to die here anyways.”

He raised one arm and pointed to the line of banners the demons had set to mark the edge of the heavy rail cannons’ range.

“See the limit they drew? Have the heavy rail cannons on the outer wall aim for the edge of it. Then have the inner wall cannons aim lower for any rushes from their cavalry in between shots. Only basic rounds for now.”

Geraltavin matched his view beside him.

"Should we bring out yer modules?”

“Not yet. They know our current range and probably our fire rate. Let’s see how they plan to handle the rail cannons before we bring out the modules.”

Johnaquil's voice cut in, sharp with curiosity and a trace of irritation.

“Sorry to interrupt, but what modules are you two talking about exactly?"

“Improved ones for the rail cannons we had hidden,”

Geraltavin said without looking away as he patted the treasure on the back.

“Don’t worry, yer already paid for them in the initial budget.”

“Better than you spending more of the budget, but what you’re telling me is that I overpaid on the original proposal.”

“Try not to worry about it too much.”

Geraltavin turned, slammed the butt of his bunker hammer against the stone for emphasis, and raised his voice so it carried along the wall.

“OUTER CANNONS! FORTY THREE DEGREES! INNER CANNONS! TWENTY TWO DEGREES!”

The respective commanding officers repeated the orders down the line in a cascade of call outs that rolled from tower to tower like an echo made of human throats.

“Outer Cannons! Forty Three Degrees! Inner Cannons! Twenty Two Degrees!”

“…outer cannons… forty three degrees… inner cannons… twenty two degrees…”

The heavy rail cannons came alive. Slow cranking of gears, the measured tick of metal as the crews raised the massive barrels to the correct elevations. Ceramic insulation plates gleamed dully in the morning light. The reinforced frameworks stood immovable, waiting.

“Whenever yer ready, Shiro.”

Alright, Here goes nothing.

“READY!!!”

“Ready!”

“…ready…”

The runes charged in a cascading surge, each cylinder coming alive with a deep, resonant hum that climbed the scale until it sat just below the edge of hearing. Insulated cells swallowed the arcs of waste energy that used to leap and scorch the decks. The air itself seemed to thicken.

“AIM!!!”

“Aim!”

“…aim…”

The ceramic plates did not so much as crack under the electromagnetic strain. The metal frameworks remained silent, absolute, as the forces within them grew.

“FIRE!!!!!!”

“FIRE!!!!!!”

“FIRE!!!!!!”

In an instant the capacitors struck down on the rails, completing the circuit. The aluminum rails erupted in blinding white light as an enormous torrent of energy rode along them. Lightning crawled across each bolt as it raged forward. The sound that followed was not a simple crack; it was a physical blow that punched the air from lungs and left ears ringing.

Vermelionne and the Demon King’s army watched with held breath as the pure aluminum bolts vanished out of sight, streaks of white that tore the sky. For a heartbeat there was only the afterimage and the fading roar. Then they came down.

The ground ripped and tore under pure kinetic energy. Stone exploded upward in geysers of red dust and shattered rock. The groups that had been sent forward as sacrificial pawns disappeared inside those plumes, erased so completely that not even bodies remained.

Only smoking craters and the lingering smell of scorched earth.

Before the smoke could settle, the Ironback Cavalry rushed forward. Demonic knights atop fat, leathery beasts whose tiny legs somehow carried them faster than any horse. Horns pointed forward, they charged through the settling dust with a speed that made the remaining infantry look like statues.

“INNER WALL CANNONS!!!! FIRE!!!!”

“FIRE!!!!!!”

“FIRE!!!!!!”

Again the capacitors struck. Again the rails flared white. Again the bolts vanished and returned with tremendous force. Again the ground ripped open. More sacrificial ranks vanished inside fresh plumes of red stone and dust.

The battlefield went silent for a single long moment.

Then nine Kilorean Crabs marched forward.

Slow, hulking steps from eight massive, spike covered legs. Each footfall sent tremors through the plateau. They moved with such slow pace that a single heavy rail cannon could reload and take them out one at a time long before they reached the city walls.

From the archer towers that sat on the flat of each's back, walls of magic began to form. Shields made of each element rising above the creatures.

Water. Fire. Earth. Wind. Ice. Electric. Poison. Light. Dark.

One crab for each element...

“…They’re still measuring us,”

“Measuring what? They already know the range and fire rate.”

“They’re checking if the information is right. Testing the rail cannon power, looking for a gap. They’re hoping to wear down our weapons and then strike when there is an opening.”

As grim as it was, each sacrificial unit is a successful reconnaissance mission. They were willing to spend their lives the way we spend our bolts...

“Shiro, the cannons are ready. At your command.”

Do we play the game of attrition? They’ll run out of men before we run out of bolts. We have backup rails too, not to mention the modules…

He turned to Geraltavin.

“Geraltavin, I’m going to leave command of the heavy rail cannons to you.”

“What are yer going to do?”

“I’m going to launch the airship. Once we pass the city walls, switch to the new module and give them everything you’ve got.”

Shiro tossed a large bag over his own shoulder began climbing down from the castle wall.

“Alright!”

Geraltavin slammed the butt of his bunker hammer into the ground once more, the impact cracking like a fire stone.

“FIRE!!!”