Academy Warwitch

I winced behind my goggles, the air screaming past me, my black greatcoat flapping as I plummeted toward the defensive works of the People’s Democratic Republic of Auropa. Explosions rippled across the serrated lines of trenches, while bunkers spat gunfire or, more often, bursts of magic. Earthworks heaved into being as witches escorted green and brown-clad regiments of the Free States of Caldia, fighting their way forward. Bursts of arcane fire erupted elsewhere as screaming magic shells rained down, and I even spotted some golems plodding along, the tiny figures of their witch casters on their shoulders. But that was far behind me. I was going straight into enemy lines to clear them for the advance. Alone. As usual. Yay. A shell burst to my left, scattering shrapnel that missed me by a fingernail's length. Another went off farther to my right. Seemed like I’d been spotted. Oh well. Time to slow down anyway. I grit my teeth, channeling wyldcraft through my blood. This always stung. I clenched my hands, and blood erupted from my back. It fanned out, solidifying into a pair of crimson wings. I jerked back as they caught an updraft, slowing me suddenly as another burst of fire magic exploded beneath my feet. I coughed as I plunged through the smoke, yanking my blackened goggles up. Bullets and spell shots started to zip by me as I dove toward the artillery emplacements. I spread my wings and shot over the chewed-up earthworks, tearing over the barbed wire to land in the middle of a trench. Several Auropan soldiers stared at me in horror. Their helmets sat askew, and their grey uniforms hung heavy on their shoulders as they clutched riflewands and spellswords. “The Bloodletter!” one screamed as his wand swung up. I hated that name. A dozen other troopers belatedly took aim, but I merely flicked my hand and willed my innate magic to obey. My wings swept around me, the iron in the blood hardening them to a blackish hue. Oooh, that made me a bit lightheaded, but it worked as bullets and spell shots ricocheted off my sudden barrier. The gunfire stopped, every soldier having fired their shot. My turn. Another push of will had my wings unfurl, rising above me like monstrous spider legs. The troopers stared, horrified. My head spun from the sudden loss of blood, but—no worries—I was about to replace it. Crimson spikes shot down from my makeshift wings and slammed into the soldiers wherever they stood. They jolted, convulsed, then their skin sank against their bones as I sucked the blood right out of them. “Ah,” I sighed, dizziness fading as my spikes retracted, leaving the corpses to fall like mummies all around me. On some level, I hated how good that felt. But it was them or me, and I was a bit partial to me. Plus, I was feeling energized, ready! I straightened my black warlock greatcoat, glancing up at the roiling mass of blood around me as it shifted back into the great wings on my back, growing even larger from the blood I’d drained. Plenty of material to work with. I looked this way and that, hearing the tramp of footsteps. My now-empowered magic sensed the pounding of blood in hearts and veins. Fear. Anger. Adrenaline. All racing together in the heady drug of combat. Alright, let’s do this. Sending some extra blood flow through my legs to strengthen them, I shot off through the trenches in a flash. Troopers turned my way as I rounded corners, but they were always too slow. With a flex of my hands, the shallow cuts at the tips of each of my fingers split open, and blood formed scything claws. I tore through the soldiers, the cramped confines of the trench an abattoir, funneling them into me as I ripped forward with claws and blood spikes. “He’s here!” a witch with curling antlers screamed, her conical helmet grilled over her face as fire erupted from the foci gauntlets she wore. She raised her hands and threw them forward, washing the trench in flames, but I just jumped, leaping over the inferno. Her head tilted back, and I saw the horror in her eyes right before I landed on her shoulders, my boot kicking her head so hard it came right off like a football. I was gone before the body even hit the ground. I tore through some machine gun nests in a blur of violence and viscera. Some had mid-level witches manning them, but most went down before they could even cast a spell. Within minutes, I’d cleared a swathe of the Auropan defences, and I started heading deeper into enemy lines. The trenches were a maze, but one I was familiar with by now. I sent spears of blood shooting off, impaling soldiers who tried to stand against me, draining them down to the dregs to replenish my blood reserves. Orbs of blood gathered around me, fueling my massacre. I whipped around a corner and found a command bunker in front of me. “Intruder!” one of the sentries managed to scream before I stabbed a blood spear into his heart, draining him as I strolled forward. The door to the bunker suddenly burst open, and I caught a flicker of movement. I swung a wing up defensively, hardening it instantly. Just in time, as something smashed into it like a battering ram, nearly hurling me off my feet but instead sending me skidding back across the ground. My wings rose as I straightened, and I scowled. Shit. Another warlock. The male caster muscled his way out of the bunker, his greatcoat red trimmed with gold. It sat loosely on him, but as he sneered, I soon saw why. Bone began to form over him, spreading over his bald head and swelling under his suit until he stood before me with a second skeleton like a suit of armor. “Get to kill the Bloodletter,” he grunted, a shadow of a grin behind his second row of fanged teeth. “You will make the name of Agor Rone ring out in the Motherland.” I rolled my eyes. But he showed he wasn’t all talk as he flicked his wrists, causing electricity to crackle from a foci ring he wore over his fist like a gauntlet. Ah, that would make things trickier. As would the group of troopers who poured out of the bunker behind him and took aim, riflewands glowing with magic.