The Unrelenting Spirit | Tales of the Knights IV

  The earth rumbled, rolling outwards in rippling waves. At the source of this disturbance, a battleship ploughed through softened stone like water, the red-glow of the molten surface reflecting upon what might be considered the waterline of the titanic vessel. Its visible appearance was primarily utilitarian: blocky shapes painted thickly in shades that ranged all the way from dark grey to light grey to protect it from corrosion. But at regular intervals along its length, banners displaying it's crews heraldry atop backgrounds of crimson and carmine fluttered in the rushing air. Hidden underground, thermal arrays studded the entire length of its hull and poured out a constant stream of power to maintain the plasticised rock. Within its bowels, under the auspices of a dozen highly-experienced members of the technological priesthood, a set of carefully balanced reverberators pounded the rock into liquid waves.
  Around it, the enemy had already gathered. A pack of wheelless buggies - guard dogs belonging to the master of this territory - that rocked over the quaking ground even with the cushioning of their anti-gravity propulsion. Their equipped guns spat and barked at the aggressor, yet fear and the increasingly unstable surface kept them from moving into effective range. Ignoring the pests, the warship's cannons fired a mighty salvo into the distance, displacing another tremendous shudder into the roiling dirt. The shells sailed through the air in a parabola miles long, before striking hard into an invisible barrier and vaporising as they detonated with an explosive flash. Unscathed within the imperceptible dome, a towering structure slowly crept forwards on a path to meet the attacker.
  Like a skyscraper on wheels, it rolled forwards on a set of cast rails, laid in matching octuple, that constantly extended before it, as more, freshly forged, tracks were fed out of the mobile building's front gates and then set into the ground by manipulator arms built into its base. It too was surrounded, by a flock of aircraft that veered dangerously close towards the defensive field in attack runs that placed their sponson-mounted weapons at its very edge. Showers of metal rained off the side as bursts of diamond tipped projectiles scattered off, some reflecting back into the firer in the process, but only causing cosmetic damage as they glanced off; a handful of shots successfully penetrated through the shield, enabled by the pilots' daring attempts, but were too few in number to be of any significance to a machine of that scale.

  Inside the cockpit of the lead fighter, Arossa thumbed the communication switch which flashed steadily to indicate an incoming transmission.
  bszzt
  "This is Flagship command. Our next bombardment will commence shortly. Arrowhead squadron, how fares your mission?"
  Her reply was relaxed, even as she dropped through repeating patterns of anti-air laser fire into a steep dive for the next run. "This is Arrowhead leader. We've confirmed that the repulsion force equalises at measures two-one-four to two-one-six. We're getting through, but not enough to make a mark yet, command."
  bszzz...
  The signal temporarily cut out as she changed angle sharply, just above the above the point that she knew the wall would be. Through the windshield, she could glimpse the wash of orange flame spreading across to momentarily reveal the surface, as the downward-burning jets brought the craft to a turbulent halt just before it would make impact. Then came the rumble as her gunners, positioned further back in the fuselage, loosed a barrage straight beneath before the engines launched them off for another try.
  ...zzzt
  "-is more than sufficient, Arrowhead leader. You need only test the barrier in advance of our arrival. Then our armaments shall bring it to ruin."
  She grinned as the reply came in, picturing her commander's expression as Arossa once again worked to entirely outstrip her projections. She and the rest of the detachment from the Seeking Arrows were all aware of the task they had been briefed on, but exceeding expectations was their order's pride and they would push the foe's defenses for all they were worth before the time came.
  And if they could topple the tower before that, then all the better for the reluctant praise that the feat would earn.

-------------

  Every floor of the spire was a scene of frenzy and panic. With the conflict raging in the skies, Hunt-Commander Brunn's transport had been forced to return through the lower entry bay, and now he would have to continue the whole way up to the control centre at its peak. Even as he pushed and barged his way through streams of indentured menials, furiously carrying materials to and from the rail forges to match their accelerated pace, his communicator was pinging non-stop with reports of shield breaches and deterioration of the outer armour. He began fighting his way up the stairwell against a press of movement heading back down, and out of the corner of his eye spotted a jumbled assortment of limbs and torsos piled under the metal frame. Evidently, some of the workers had attempted the same before him only to be shoved over the side by the opposing tide. Brunn could just about hear the collars buzzing in an attempt to punish their slovenliness.
  The veteran mercenary was more than strong enough (and, more importantly, exempt from the shackles) to beat back the weight of the emaciated horde and reach the comparatively subdued middle layers. Along banks of consoles, clan guards busily manned the laser turrets, seemingly unware, despite the visual feedback on the screens, that their duty had been outsourced to a new, transiently popular machine-intelligence solution. At this point he could safely take an elevator to cover the remaining portion and, as he depressed the button for the top floor and the doors closed, he began preparing himself for the ugly welcome that was sure to await him above.