Torvynn sat perched on the roof of the leading Ironhauler, legs crossed and balanced with uncanny ease despite the speed and turbulence of the journey. A thin wisp of fragrant smoke drifted from the pipe wedged comfortably in the corner of his mouth, trailing behind them like a ghostly plume. His frame, though small and stout, commanded a sense of control and steadiness that radiated to those who dared glance up at him. The Ironhauler jolted over a rugged path, the tires digging into the dense, grassy terrain of the Verdant Valley, but Torvynn didn't flinch; he merely took another pull from his pipe, the scent wafting up to mingle with the chill morning air.
Despite the cold air whipping around him and the growl of the engine below, Torvynn remained serene, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon. He had long since developed a habit of inspecting the terrain with his own eyes. While they did have a diviner aboard, a low-ranked Fatewalker trained in essence detection and predictive techniques, he trusted his own instincts more. There was something to be said about the way the Tower warped and twisted in response to its inhabitants, as though it knew them intimately and adapted, sometimes deceptively, to thwart even the sharpest minds. Trusting only what he could see, smell, or sense in the shifts of the wind had served him well, even in his years as a seasoned Disciple.
"Boss! Boss!" came a voice, high-pitched and almost drowned by the rumbling Ironhauler.
Torvynn turned slightly, peering over his shoulder at the small, freckle-faced head poking out from one of the hatches below. Mallory, his assistant, wore a look of panic, her red hair dancing wildly in the gusts as she gripped the edges of the hatch for dear life. He raised an eyebrow at her, mildly amused by the sight of her half-emerging like a startled goblin. For a lesser being, sticking one's head out of a vehicle barreling through rough terrain was akin to a death wish. The thought nearly made him chuckle.
"Torvynn! Get down here! You're going to get thrown off!" she shrieked, her voice cracking with alarm. She squinted against the wind, her glasses fogging up slightly as she clutched the edge of the Ironhauler's roof.
With a huff, Torvynn turned his back to her, waving a dismissive hand over his shoulder.
"Bah, leave me be, lass. There's a refreshing breeze up here. Helps with the rusty smell down below."
Mallory's cheeks puffed up in annoyance, her mouth opening to protest when, suddenly, she froze. She saw Torvynn's expression shift ever so slightly, his shoulders straightening, the light in his eyes sharpening. His senses had caught something—a barely perceptible change in the valley's atmosphere, an omen whispered in the rustling leaves and the distant rumble of shifting earth. The calm before the storm.
"Mallory— Go." he muttered simply, turning towards Mallory.
In that instant, Mallory's own instincts kicked in.Nothing else needed to be said, she didn't question his change in demeanor. Without another word, she ducked back down into the Ironhauler, scrambling down the ladder. As soon as she hit the ground, she was barking orders, relaying Torvynn's commands in clipped tones.
"All units, combat positions! Captain's orders!" Her voice rang through the narrow corridors and echoed through the intercom system, sending a ripple of urgency across the convoy. Lesser beings and Fatewalkers alike responded to the sudden shift, the clang of metal and the scuffling of boots filling the silence as they readied themselves for what was to come.
Torvynn remained on top of the Ironhauler, his eyes scanning the horizon with the precision of a hawk. The rolling fog blanketed the valley, obscuring his view of what he knew was coming, but the tremors beneath his feet were unmistakable. He reached up, his hand closing around the hilt of a weapon that shimmered into existence—a double-handed greatsword that seemed almost too large for his frame but rested against his shoulder with a well-worn familiarity. The weapon was etched with runic symbols, the steel gleaming as though reflecting the eerie energy gathering in the distance.
"Looks like a big one," he muttered to himself, smoke billowing from his lips as he exhaled, steady and composed.
As he rose to his feet, balancing effortlessly on the roof of the Ironhauler, a massive shadow began to take shape within the dense mist. At first, it was barely more than an outline—a dark silhouette looming on the periphery of his vision. But as the fog parted, the sheer magnitude of the figure became apparent, towering over the landscape like a giant risen from the depths of legend. With each thunderous step it took, the ground quaked, sending tremors through the convoy.
Following in the wake of the colossal figure were smaller, writhing forms, slithering and sprinting with a ferocity that made the air tremble. Torvynn clenched his jaw, studying the figures—Abominations, no doubt about it. And not just any Abominations. They were drawn by the presence of a leader, something ancient, something powerful enough to command these mindless creatures.
"Here we go again," Torvynn muttered as he steadied himself, tightening his grip on his greatsword. His usual calm demeanor was still intact, though there was a flicker of resignation in his eyes. The cycle was unending; with every passage through the Tower's wild regions, they faced creatures that seemed to grow stronger, more relentless, as if the Tower itself were testing them. He was used to it. But that didn't make it any less dangerous.
Back inside the Ironhauler, Mallory's voice rang through the communication line, her usual calm now tempered with the urgency of Torvynn's orders.
"All units, brace yourselves. Heavy contacts approaching. Formation V. I repeat, Formation V!" she announced, her voice steady even as her hands trembled slightly.
The convoy shuddered into position, the Ironhauler and the rest of the vehicles aligning with military precision as the Fatewalkers and support crew prepared themselves. Lesser beings huddled together, clutching weapons or retreating to safer areas, while the Fatewalkers took their positions, their hands resting on their weapons, eyes fixed on the ominous fog rolling over the valley. This was routine for some, but for others, each encounter with an Abomination held the silent weight of potential death.
As the colossal figure finally emerged from the mist, Torvynn squinted, analyzing its shape and movements. A monstrous, armored creature resembling a titan, its body covered in flesh and bone, pulsating with an unholy light. Its eyes glowed like smoldering embers as it surveyed the convoy with a malevolent intelligence, one that defied the usual mindless aggression of typical Abominations. The creature raised one massive, clawed hand and bellowed, the sound reverberating through the valley and sending a chill down the spines of all who heard it.
Torvynn's grip tightened on his sword. This was no ordinary foe. The presence of such an Abomination meant only one thing—this was a regional lord— a creature that ruled over a small section of the Region, an entity powerful enough to draw in lesser Abominations and command them as a leader commands soldiers.
"Seems they sent out the welcoming committee," he remarked dryly, a flicker of grim amusement in his eyes.
As if on cue, the ground shook violently, and from behind the towering creature, a horde of smaller Abominations surged forward. Each one varied in size and shape, twisted forms that defied natural law, some resembling massive wolves with too many eyes, others appearing as writhing masses of tentacles and scales. They charged forward with unbridled ferocity, their shrieks blending into a cacophony that filled the air like the wail of a thousand banshees.
Torvynn took a deep breath, centering himself as he prepared for what lay ahead. He knew his strength as a Disciple was formidable, but protecting an entire convoy was a monumental task, especially against a horde of this magnitude. Yet, he bore the responsibility without flinching.
"Alright, you bastards," he muttered under his breath, raising his sword high as the first Abominations drew near.
"Come and get it."
The convoy began to rumble with the resonance of essence being funneled into the Ironhaulers' shields, a protective barrier that would hopefully buy them enough time to mount a defense after charging against the Abominations with the hulking beasts of steel. Inside the vehicles, the Fatewalkers braced themselves, weapons drawn, their eyes steeled with determination. Mallory, back at her post, clutched her notepad tightly, her knuckles white as she issued orders through the radio, her voice unwavering.
And as the first wave of creatures crashed against the convoy's defensive line, Torvynn launched himself into the fray, his greatsword slicing through the air like a beacon of silver light, a grim smile etched onto his face. The battle had begun, and in that moment, Torvynn's every move declared that he would not yield—no matter the odds, no matter the cost.
In the distance, the monstrous figure watched, waiting. Its glowing eyes narrowed as it observed the convoy's resistance, almost as if it were testing them, evaluating their strength.