Drakonis would claim today to be the strangest day of his life.

Unfortunately, he was pretty fucking certain ALL of humanity would put this exact date as theirs.

Still, he did have one thing that most other humans out there hadn’t gone through: A sentient fungal infestation lurking within nearly every part of his body, steadily in homeostasis against his Deathless regeneration.

As a Rotsworn knight - because Knight of Bob was universally put down as a non-starter - his contribution to battlefields was far more significant than ever before.

He had the powers, resilience, and training of a Deathless. And often none of it was used other than his legs to move him into position.

Bob was an eldritch monster capable of unleashing spells like the greatest of the warlocks.

The only being more powerful than the sentient occult-connected bioweapon built to eradicate humanity… was the golden era AI built to manage snobby guests for humanity’s last luxury cruise liner.

And somehow that made sense.

He held the small plate in front of him, as the armor’s spirit wrapped within it, eating away the image of a fractal. He’d done this several dozen times now, and just like the prior times, he reached for his already overloaded staff, found an empty chain loop, and secured the plate onto it, trusting the armor would handle the rest in powering the fractal up.

Soon, his tiny plate began to glow, jangling with all the others on the staff.

Good. The voice in his head spoke. This spell will allow me to obscure your location with a thicker mist. It has proved useful in prior engagements other knights have fought within. It will serve us well. What comes next comes with great threat.

“Lovely.” Drakonis said to the empty chamber. “Not like anything else today has been exactly that.”

No. Nothing you have seen will compare to what comes next. Prepare yourself. The greatest fight lies moments away.

That was… highly disturbing. And worse, this came only moments after he’d seen an ‘old friend’ for all of thirty seconds before the portal between them closed off, leaving him in the dark chamber to finish the new plate.

His staff rattled with the sheer amount of those dangling off of it, all glowing occult blue. The Icon would send his armor just about every fractal she could find recorded among the relic armors.

If a Deathless had once wandered deeper and found a pillar heart that had never been found again, so long as the armor had recorded the travel even a single time, centuries ago, the Icon would now have her hands on it.

And replicating that fractal was the next step.

But as a Deathless, Drakonis couldn’t use any of these spells waiting on the staff or etched over his armor.

Bob could.

According to the Icon and Bob itself, it would reach a soul tendril out of his body, connect with one of those glowing fractal plates on his armor or staff, and cast spells from there. He’d seen it in action hundreds of times now, Bob moving with easy grace among the hundreds of knights now under its pact.

All that mattered to Drakonis was that for once he was actually doing something for the greater good. Putting everything he had, and all his faith into the Icon’s decisions, and Bob’s questionable motives.

Half the time, she would send him from battlefield to battlefield, unleashing Bob wherever the fungus was needed. The other half was to step into a room or another, greet a waiting Deathless, and wordlessly cut palms to shake hands, spreading the contagion further, blood to blood.

They all knew what was at stake. And they knew what Bob was. The Icon regularly spoke with the fungus, capable of doing broad multitasking on a level no other living being could match. In many ways, it was her peer.

But for all the fear that surrounded the fungus, Drakonis had gotten a better measure of the beast: It was a goddess damned oversized mushroom that just liked to sit still and exist.

It didn’t care for humanity’s survival or eradication, it already knew the Deathless would outlast even a complete defeat. And the more Deathless it collected, the larger its margin of existence grew.

It needed grovekeepers around its territory, to trim its overgrowth, and maintain its environment. And it needed sentient intelligent life infected so that it too would remain aware and intelligent.

That bioweapon’s main objectives had already been satiated. All that mattered now was to keep the Deathless on good terms with itself, in order to continue the symbiotic relationship into the future. And to equally get the Icon to convince further Deathless to join the Rotsworn.

I am learning new abilities. The fungus spoke. From the one who named me. It will be used.

Drakonis had no idea what was going to happen, but each time the Winterscar got involved in anything, it was always a shitshow after. Hopefully it would be a shitshow in the name of humanity.

And not even a minute later, the Icon and Bob both announced the work was ready.

Your original abilities will be required. Bob spoke. The Icon informs me of her plot. I will follow. You will lead.

“And that plot is?” Drakonis asked, watching a new portal rip into existence. Leading to a lower rocky bridge, filled with what looked to be glowing strings in the distance.

He got up off the rock he’d been sitting on, the staff in his left hand clinking with the plates, his right hand holding his old blade at the ready. For all the good it had been used for, with Bob channeling power there had hardly been a moment he needed to swing the goddess damned weapon.

He didn’t even bother asking what was on the other end of the portal ahead, or why he was being sent.

A step later, the portal behind him closed up. And all around him, he saw more portals being opened, and more Deathless stepping out. All carrying a staff like his own.

Rotsworn. Many of whom he even recognized the armors of, having personally infected them not even a few hours prior.

Off to his side, he even spotted people he’d known before this whole shitshow began.

“Lirian.” Lionheart spoke, turning to greet him, the gold armor remaining unmarred by the war. The staff in his hand on the other hand was a strange sight to see on his old mentor, who had always carried a single blade and used his other free hand for spellcasting.

The man gave him a fond nod. “I am pleased to see you remain fighting.”

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Death at this point wouldn’t be permanent, but it would absolutely knock a Deathless out of the fight. By the time Drakonis would return alive to a pillar heart, an entire day or perhaps three might have passed.

Not dying was critical at this moment in time. But this fight might very well be the last one given how many of them were gathering up here for a final stand.

For this many Rotsworn knights to be brought together was an ill omen. The Icon wouldn’t have wasted this much power in one location unless that location was critical to the war effort.

“What’s the mission?” Drakonis asked, certain the Icon was giving the very same briefing or similar messages to the rest of the Deathless gathering here.

The Icon pinged his HUD, and he turned to watch far ahead into the biome. A single orange square lined up over a distant figure walking forward.

“There is a man up ahead on the bridge that will soon reach this position.” She said, “You’ll need to charge him and constantly attack using your occult nullification blanket spell. It will need to be cast on rotation with other Deathless nearby, so that at all times there are three nullification blankets active at minimum. We suspect it will not completely dampen his powers, but it may reduce him enough for Bob to overwhelm the rest. During the fight, I will not be able to spawn portals nearby due to the occult nullification, although I will remain active further away from the fight in order to prevent intrusion.”

“Right, throw balls at this guy on your command until I’m killed or he is. Anything else to watch out for?” He had no idea who this was, but that wouldn’t be the first time he was walking into a mission with next to no context. “Is it just him that’s going to be a problem?”

“We believe at this junction Relinquished will attempt to heavily interfere, if not personally command Feathers into action.” The Icon showed him a quick three dimensional battle map of the area, and there was a huge amount of red dots gathering up on the far other end of the bridge, constantly shifting forces against green dots sporadically appearing deep within the enemy held territory. “She is likely observing the details of this particular combat segment now. Machines will begin an attack on your position, we are already tracking a massive movement gathering for a push. Some will inevitably slip through my attempts to prevent them.”

“Oh shit, you aren’t kidding.” The map twisted around, showing their sides and the sheer amount of dots gathering there.

“Your priority is to remain alive and hold off enemy combat units to the best of your ability. Bob is handling a critical function in this theater of combat. Remain within fifty to twenty feet of the priority target. Do not engage closer. Other units are taking that role and will hold off the man in close quarter combat.”

Bob would be the one in charge of really fighting this guy then. Drakonis would do what he did best, use his legs to keep himself out of danger. And potentially stab and slice anything that made it all the way here.

His HUD zoomed in and he could see a massive amount of machines were gathering up. Or attempting to. The Icon was waylaying them with portals and knights storming through, fighting.

Not just any knights. The HUD returned names. Surface clan knights. And from Altosk.

The Winterscar’s clan. Which he’d run into a few times thus far, generally only a small group of three to five escorted by a larger set.

They were always victorious against anything.

And the Icon was sending an entire army of them into this region to waylay the forces.

A few hundred golden portals appeared all at once in that distance, and the knights stormed right through, vanishing from the fight in under a second. The wind picked up an instant later, and Drakonis saw what those strings were doing now.

This location was safe at least, the wind buffeting against him. Threatening to knock him over but unable to carry that threat out as his armor was too heavy to be bowled aside. The open terrain here was wide enough none of those occult strings were in range.

It was possible this was one of the few safe zones in this entire biome, that or those tiny rocks suspended by smaller bridges leading up to them. But there was no room to fight there.

Around him, activity had not stopped. Portals opening up to have a Rotsworn step through, closing right after to build space for the next. They were all being brought here as soon as their prior duties had been completed. Or perhaps even in the middle of their mission.

It almost seemed as if.. “Is this all of the Rotsworn put together?”

“It is not.” The Icon sighed. “Some knights must remain in safety in accordance with Bob’s requirements. Although you cannot die and will return to life in critical failure cases, and thus are not threatened in any logical way, Bob will not take a chance to have all of its Deathless in one location at one time. What surrounds you is every knight I could compromise on bringing.”

The most the Icon could bring. Drakonis looked up at the massive shitshow happening further off, as more Altosk knights were being portaled into the enemy backlines, ripping apart the attempts to gather up.

And in between all of them, the man on the bridge remained undisturbed. He seemed to have noticed the gathered army further ahead of him, and kept walking directly at them regardless, sword held off to his side without any kind of threat.

“How strong is this asshole?” As far as Drakonis could tell, the man had nothing but rags and matted white hair, no rifle, gear or anything other than the blade in his hands.

“Extremely. Assume this is the most dangerous human warrior on the planet.” The Icon answered. “His actual identity will not assist your combat abilities and I predict you will be negatively affected knowing.”

“All right, I won’t ask.” Drakonis shrugged. “You need this guy nullified, we’ll keep him down.”

Ahead of him, portals opened and a group of surface knights walked out, followed by outright Feathers. Aligned with humanity, according to the HUD. Nine of them.

He recognized the armor colors of the surface knights before the HUD even displayed the names over the Feathers and knights here.

Altosk Knight Retainer - Captain Sagrius Winterscar.

The one at the very lead was likely a high ranking clan member among Keith’s family.

He wasn’t certain who Sagrius was, but he knew the one standing next to him.

Lionheart himself tensed up next to him, recognizing in an instant who that was: Tenisent Winterscar.

And if they were bringing Tenisent fucking Winterscar out here at the front of the formation, whoever was walking down that bridge had to be someone insane.

“Forty seconds until engagement. Prepare ground.” The Icon spoke, and the Rotsworn around him all fanned out into a semicircle formation, ready to collapse inwards at the foot of the bridge.

The Winterscar knights remained at the front, ready.

More Altosk knights were being portaled in on the flanks of the formation, along with what Drakonis recognized as guild warlocks. Grand High Warlocks at that. And Deathless who’s ages boggled his mind. People who were heroes of humanity several times over.

She was bringing out the best of the best.

It is as I spoke. Bob rumbled deep in his mind. You face an opponent that requires everything.

The man reached the base of the bridge, stepping off into their far more open ground. He looked up, as if recognizing the army gathered ahead of him.

Drakonis was surrounded by hundreds of relic knights. Some of the Deathless here were outright legends. Others, like Tenisent, were monsters in a league of their own. And nine entire Feathers, all showing a Winterscar IFF tag.

“Hold.” The Icon spoke. “Allow him to walk further inwards, open combat space will be required.”

The man ahead shambled forward, and now Drakonis could feel something in the air. The static hum of occult. The entire army behind him began to glow its color. Radiating off their armors, the Deathless assembled and prepared. It was as if their army was giving a direct warning to the approaching target.

For a moment, the man stopped, lifting his head. Confused. Aware of the occult radiating ahead of him, struggling to understand what it meant. There was a flicker of recognition, a ghost of joy even as he beheld the assembled Deathless ahead of him.

And then it was gone.

Instinct seemed to move him now. His blade slowly drew up. A rough, old voice spoke from his throat. Filled with doubt, uncertain of anything. “I am… I… am…” He blinked, eyes fading again, scanning over the gathered Deathless, as if reading something about each.

Drakonis could outright see blue light flicking in the iris of the man, as if he were part machine. “You are not…" He paused, blinking. "Stand aside, I must find him. To the citadel. He is there. The two…”

Tenisent drew his own blade, and flourished it in a salute.

The madman returned the gesture with a half-forgotten salute of his own almost in the same moment, mind gone and yet body still moving on pure recognition.

“I.. will fight. They must be whole…” He muttered to himself, looking over to his blade, surprised to find it before his face. Forgetting he’d even given a salute. “I have… I will… the citadel. I need to be there. The two… It has to be me.”

None of the Deathless moved. Tenisent remained at the ready, blade drawn.

The madman fell silent, eyes looking back up to the gathered Deathless ahead. He slowly extended his blade horizontally to his side, in a stance Drakonis didn’t recognize. But what he did recognize was the occult.

It surged forward around the strange man, all at once, thick clouds of it so condensed, lighting crackled within.

And deep within the occult mist, Drakonis felt a single pulse of something terrifying rip outwards, slamming into the gathered army. His armor buckled down for a moment, holding its ground.

The man took a final step forward. “The citadel.” His eyes grew sharper, lucidity returned in small amounts. “The two must be whole again. It must be. I have to be the one. I promised it.”

The Icon spoke one word in answer: “Engage.”