Technomancer: Birth of a Goddess

Emily ducks behind a tree with a bored expression, letting a shard of rock slam harmlessly into her cover and glancing back at her squad.

Sandman is channelling mana into his staff, using it to control a large magic circle while Ice Petal and Pretty Boy stand on either side of him, picking off the rocky howlers dancing through the trees around them. Every time the screeching monkeys throw a conjured shard of earth towards them, Sandman’s circle pulses and a chunk of the ground below them flies up to intercept it.

Emily’s gaze drifts up to Whistler perched in a tree above them, surrounded by Sandman’s rotating ring of floating rocks protecting her. She has her heavy cannon pressed to her shoulder, surrounded by two glowing green magic circles as she mutters a chant.

She squeezes the trigger and her gun kicks with a silent crack, releasing a bright flash and a wall of pellets that punch through the trees between her and her targets, who drop to the floor, filled with holes.

Emily absentmindedly raises her arm, shooting one of her Claws into a monkey’s throat as it leaps overhead, before stepping out from behind the tree and swinging the blade into two more approaching beasts.

It’s been a few days since they set foot in The East Woods and, without seeing a single Denrosi Mage, they have quickly adapted to fighting beasts as a group. Whistler, Sandman, and Pretty Boy all showed their experience, following Emily’s instructions and performing their roles to perfection, while Ice Petal stumbled over their first few engagements but quickly fell into the groove when the others picked up her slack.

Emily retracts her Claw and scans the canopy above, locating six remaining howlers before raising her hands and pouring out mana, forming six small magic circles. They burst, releasing six small needles of wind that bury themselves into the heads of the target monkeys in an instant, dropping them from the trees as silence falls over the woods again.

“Whew,” Pretty Boy lets out an exaggerated sigh, wiping some sweat from his brow before patting Sandman and Ice Petal on the shoulders. “Good work guys!”

Emily walks over to them as Ice Petal recoils from their squad mate’s touch, and Whistler scrambles down from the branches above.

“Strip the fangs and claws then bury the rest,” Emily commands, glancing at the darkening sky above. “We’ll continue for a bit longer and set up camp a few hours after dark again.”

Everyone silently nods and complies, even Pretty Boy, and they clear the battlefield within minutes. After piling the corpses up for Sandman to bury, the others turn to Emily standing at the edge of the group with her eyes shut, scanning the woods ahead through the eyes of several scouts.

They don’t bother her as Sandman works, with Pretty Boy turning to Whistler and Ice Petal, talking at them incessantly as they both ignore him.

Emily finally opens her eyes as she feels Sandman finish his task.

“Pretty Boy,” she says with a cold tone, growing tired of hearing his voice. “Shut up.”

He cuts off mid-sentence and flashes her a grin, miming zipping his lips as the two women give Emily appreciative nods.

“Let’s go,” she says, turning on her heels and setting off into the trees again.

It doesn’t take long for Pretty Boy to start quietly whispering to Sandman again, despite her warning.

I wonder if I have the right to kick people off the squad. I’m cutting his tongue out if he tries to flirt with me again at least.

Emily tunes the chatter out and focuses on her scouts, leaving her body on autopilot as she searches for enemy movements around them.

“-mily.”

A soft voice pulls her attention back to her body a short while later as moonlight starts to leak through the leaves above. She turns her head back and sees Ice Petal close behind, staring up at her.

“Yes?” she asks the young mage, noticing her fidgeting with the hem of her cloak.

“How close are we to no-man’s-land now?” Ice Petal inquires, glancing out into the shadows around them. “Shouldn’t we have run into someone by now?”

“We’re already in no-man’s-land,” Pretty Boy answers before Emily has the chance.

“Right.” Emily nods, glancing at the talkative man.

I guess he’s paying attention at least.

“We entered what can be considered no-man’s-land at midday. As for not seeing anyone? No-man’s-land covers a large area, it’s not surprising we haven’t run into anyone this close to our territory,” Emily explains.

“Given how much noise we’ve been making, it’s still a bit surprising,” Whistler comments.

“Really?” Ice Petal questions, turning to the more experienced mercenary.

“Yes. Squads like this get sent out to patrol no-man’s-land all the time. I’ve been in several before,” Whistler continues, glancing at Emily. “We should have at least run into someone from our side.”

“I haven’t seen any through my scouts if that’s what you’re thinking,” Emily responds, turning to look ahead again and narrowing her eyes as she spots an odd patch of discoloured earth, slightly too bright for its surroundings, through one of her birds, quickly redirecting a spider to head towards it. “I’m guessing they were either pulled back when Denros started sending stronger teams after whatever we’re looking for, or they were killed.”

“Who would have killed them if no-“ Ice Petal is cut off as Emily raises a hand, signalling for silence as she focuses on the confusing blur of information she’s receiving from her spider.

She shuts her eyes, breaking apart the twisted scan and quickly spotting a pattern in the distortion, hinting at manual interference. A savage grin stretches her lips, sending chills down even her experienced squad mates’ spines.

“Found them,” she hisses with glee, injecting machina into her vocal cords without a thought and turning to race off into the darkness.

She pulls another bird from her belt as she goes, this one with a light pack mounted to its chest, tossing it up and unfurling it before her squad to guide them as she vanishes faster than they can keep up.

Emily weaves through the trees, watching the discoloured earth through the bird perched on a branch above as she approaches.

For a few seconds, nothing happens. Then, as Emily steps within thirty metres of her target, heading in a near-straight line towards it, the ground erupts, revealing several men in robes scrambling out of a pit in the ground.

They rise from the dirt without noticing the bird watching them from above, ducking behind nearby trees while pulling knives and small, hand-held crossbows from the folds of their clothes, silently waiting for her to arrive as the only one not pulling out a weapon continues silently waving his hands, maintaining a glistening brown magic circle at his feet.

Idiots. Why would hiding help if I’ve already spotted you?

Emily kicks off the floor, launching herself up into the branches above, landing on one deftly before pushing off it, propelling herself closer to her enemies.

She notices the mage casting a spell panic as she leaves the ground, but he barely has time to react before she reaches them.

“I’ve los-“ she hears the mage start, cutting off in shock as she fires one of her Claws down into the top of her first target’s head.

The others’ heads turn to their teammate as he slumps to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut, and Emily whips the Spitter from her thigh, squeezing the trigger three times and delivering bullets into the skulls of the other three wielding weapons.

“Shit!” the mage cries, looking up and wildly gesturing, trying to cast another spell as Emily slips from a branch and falls towards him.

His eyes widen in disbelief as her boot connects with his forehead, slamming him down to the ground and knocking him unconscious in an instant.

“Even running would have been smarter,” Emily mutters to herself, stepping off the man’s head and crouching down to check he survived.

Her fingers press to his neck, feeling a faint pulse, so she casts Bandage and places a layer of the featherlight cloth across his forehead before standing back up and waiting for her squad to arrive.

It only takes a few seconds for them to charge through the treeline, following the light mounted to the bird leading them, with their weapons out and at the ready. They all grind to a halt as the bird flutters down to rest on Emily’s shoulder, being joined by a second mechanical bird from above, and their eyes drop to the fallen mage at her feet.

“Pretty Boy, watch this one and make sure he doesn’t wake up,” Emily commands, kicking lightly at the unconscious mage before gesturing towards the corpses with her head. “You three check those guys for anything useful.”

“Understood,” Pretty Boy and Whistler say in sync, causing Pretty Boy to flash her a flirtatious grin at which Whistler audibly gags.

Emily turns her attention away from them, walking over to the pit their would-be ambushers left behind as she packs one of her birds away and sends the other back out into the trees. She looks down into the hole illuminated by faint moonlight, finding it just large enough to hold five people with a little extra room to breathe.

They can’t have stayed here long.

A few bags are lying in the corner of the pit, and a brown magic crystal is embedded in the centre, powering an array etched across the floor and walls.

So, this is what blocked my detection.

Her eyes scan over the runes, but she picks out several inconsistencies and quickly realises that at least half of the carved runes are dummies left to obscure the real workings of the spell.

Smart, but not smart enough.

Committing the array to memory, she sets one of her cores to decipher it and hops down into the hole to check the bags. She only finds a collection of spare crossbow bolts, tools for sharpening their blades, and dried food rations. She leaves everything in the bags, slinging them over her shoulders, so her squad can go through them for anything useful later.

Emily stomps on the magic crystal while releasing a burst of mana to contain the subsequent detonation before clambering out of the hole.

“Shit!” she hears Pretty Boy curse as she’s pulling herself up.

Emily frowns, looking over at the mercenary and seeing the captured mage convulsing and frothing from the mouth as Pretty Boy frantically checks his pulse.

“Fuck’s sake,” Emily growls, walking over slowly as the mage’s convulsions stop. “You had one fucking job.”

“I don’t know what happened!” Pretty Boy exclaims, looking up at her with a pleading expression. “He just started freaking out.”

“Move.”

Pretty Boy scrambles back, standing up and dusting his trousers off as Emily crouches down and checks for a pulse.

Nothing.

Gritting her teeth, one of her hands drifts down towards The Clock as she pours machina into the dead mage’s body, trying to work out what killed him.

She finds the culprit within seconds, finding a false tooth in the back of his mouth, cracked open and leaking something down his throat.

“Poison,” Emily mutters, letting out a sigh as her anger drains from her, leaving only cold hindsight. “I should have checked him for suicide measures first.”

She activates The Clock, resigning herself to repeat the day’s dull trek.

***

Night falls again and Emily heads straight towards the ambush.

She approaches in the same manner, drawing the squad of enemy combatants out of their hiding place before taking to the trees. She drops on the mage from above, knocking him out cold before ending the unawakened fodders’ lives with a silent dance of blades, leaving four slashed throats in her wake.

Her squad arrive shortly after, and she sends Pretty Boy into the pit to collect the bags and dismantle the array as she checks the mage for his last-ditch contingencies. She only finds two, so Emily slips the bracelet from his wrist, finding a nasty-looking vial of green goo tucked beneath the plain leather exterior without a visible activation mechanism. She slips it into her belt to look at later before ripping the false tooth from his mouth, waking him up in the process.

He tries to scream, but Emily clamps a hand over his mouth, keeping him silent.

The man tries to struggle against her, his eyes widening in panic and fear as he watches her pull a strange vial of silver liquid, the sleeping draught she prepared for her escape from Modo, from her belt, but Emily straddles his chest, pinning his arms down with her knees as she pries his mouth open and pours in a few drops of her brew.

“Ple-“ he tries to say before she rams her palm into his chin and pinches his nose, forcing him to swallow.

The moment he does, his eyes roll into the back of his head, and he goes limp. Emily lets out a small, satisfied huff before looking up to check on her squad.

She sees Ice Petal glancing between her, the sleeping mage beneath her, and the neat corpses with their necks slashed open with a slightly fearful look in her eye, but the girl flinches as she meets Emily’s gaze, looking down and focusing on rummaging through one of said corpse’s clothes instead of saying anything.

Emily barely spares her reaction a second thought, her eyes flitting over to Sandman and Whistler, both stripping their corpses without batting an eye at the bloody scene.

Pretty Boy throws the bags out of the pit and begins to climb out, so Emily turns her attention back to the man beneath her, searching his body for anything important. It only takes a few small bursts of machina to find a hidden pouch in the folds of his robes, sealed with thin strips of magnets.

She reaches inside and pulls out a handful of lesser earth crystals along with a milky-white lesser mental crystal etched with tiny runes.

Ignoring the small eruption of dirt as Pretty Boy fires one of the fallen soldier’s crossbows at the crystal in the array, Emily reaches to her back and drops the earth crystals into a pouch on the side of her bag with one hand, holding the mental crystal with the other and pouring a small stream of mana into it, drawing out the information within.

A rough map of The East Woods flows into her mind, with several points marked in a line, including their current position. With the map comes a set rotation schedule, explaining which point the squad should move to and when.

What the hell? Who keeps something like this on them?

Emily glances at the man with confusion while slipping the crystal into her belt to inspect later.

“Nothing but food and weapons,” Whistler calls out to her, drawing her attention away from their prisoner and towards her squad, standing beside a filled-in hole with no bodies in sight.

“This one had a map,” Emily says, standing up and slinging the man’s limp body over her shoulder effortlessly. “Let’s find somewhere to set camp and question him.”

“Why not just do it now?” Whistler questions.

“I have something to prepare first,” Emily responds vaguely, turning on her heels and setting off into the woods with her squad hot on her heels.