After several days of preparation, Elmore decided it was time to head into the valley. His mind had been consumed by the implications of his new abilities, and while his newfound connection to Aither had given him a strange sense of peace, there were still the ever-pressing duties of leadership to tend to. His family had come first, as they always did, but now it was time to step back into the broader responsibilities of being Chief. He made his way through the streets of the small, rugged village, eventually arriving at the Hall of Beginnings, the humble town hall of his chiefdom.
The hall was alive with activity. Men and women bustled around, whispering to each other in preparation for the meeting. As soon as Elmore stepped inside, heads turned, the atmosphere shifting to one of respect and quiet anticipation. His presence alone carried weight, the mantle of leadership settling naturally on his shoulders after much practice as he walked up to the false seat of authority at the head of the room.
Once seated, the people came to him with their reports, speaking of progress made since their encounter with the area boss. First to speak was one of the town's blacksmiths, who reported on the use of the scales from the massive fish they’d felled. "Chief," wiping his soot-streaked hands on his apron, "those scales ain’t perfect, but they’re workin’ out. The blacksmiths have been turnin' 'em into scale mail. It ain’t pretty, but it's tough—better than what most of our boys had before. There’s not many who know how to work somethin' like that, but we’re figurin’ it out."
Elmore nodded, pleased to hear that the resources from their victory were already being put to use. It wasn’t going to be perfect, but in times like these, “perfect” wasn’t as important as “functional.”
Next came reports from one of the town’s de facto strategists. "We’ve started buildin' up defenses on the outskirts, and at the base of the valley entrance" he said, rolling out a rough map onto the table before Elmore. "It ain’t much—mostly earthworks and some hastily made barriers—but they’re set up in key spots where we think they’ll do the most good. We’ve posted lookouts too. Gotta be ready. We have some guys weakening the road in places so the cliff will take some with them, and some other traps before they hit the killbox we have planned once they enter the clearing we have here” placing a finger at the start of the valley town.
Elmore studied the map, noting the strategic positions they'd chosen. It was clear the people had been busy. Even without proper military training, they were resourceful and determined. It was one of the things he loved about his people—their ingenuity. He nodded again in approval, giving them a quiet look of encouragement. With only two roads into and out of the valley there weren't many places to reinforce but he thinks they made good choices. One was a bridge on the low side of the valley and the other was the base of the one road that climbed the mountain up to town. Feeling years of chess and grand strategy games set in, he instructs them on changes he thinks need made and who should do it as he has slowly been reading through the documents detailing every person and their abilities they voluntarily handed over.
afterwards, the atmosphere shifted as the town preacher walked in. A mountain town like theirs, Baptist sermons were expected to be loud and full of fire. As the preacher began, the room filled with fervor. The people clapped, shouted "Amens," and seemed to come alive under the booming sermon. Elmore didn’t mind it. Faith kept people strong, and in a place like this, they needed all the strength they could muster. He listened respectfully, though his mind still wanted to churn with the other duties at hand, but he let his eyes close and let the Lord's words wash over him. The Sermon being about old battles and other such relevant scriptures. Eventually, the sermon ended, and the room’s energy subsided to a calmer state of contentment.
It was after the sermon that Elmore received the news he’d been dreading. One of the scouts rushed in, slightly out of breath but composed enough to deliver the message. "Chief, we’ve spotted the boon boys. Looks like they’re settin’ up camp in a valley about twenty minutes from here. They ain’t rushed us yet, but they’re preparing’ somethin’. Thought you should know."
Elmore leaned forward in his seat, the weight of the situation settling in. The scout continued, "We also got word from your pa. The armored dozer’s ready to roll. And we got a few more armored trucks Slapped together, you know how we do it, but they’ll run and they’ll protect. Some of the boys are pissed about their pretty trucks now look like shit but they will live.
The "armored dozer" was something his father had worked on —a half-bulldozer, half-tank creation, welded together with old scrap metal and the stubborn determination only a man from the mountains could have. If his father said it would roll then he expects not much will stop it, Elmore could expect a few surprises packed into that thing.
"Good," Elmore finally said, his voice carrying the authority everyone in the hall expected. "We’ll be ready when they make their move. Anything else?"
The people continued with smaller needs, discussing rations, ammunition counts, and the medical supplies they were low on. Elmore took note of it all, his mind already forming plans. There was much to do before the enemy attacked, and even though they had defenses, this fight would take everything they had. He knew his people would rise to the occasion. They always did.
But now, the countdown had begun. They had just enough time to finalize preparations before the enemy was upon them.
Elmore stood over the map, his eyes tracing the contours of the valley, the ridges, the river, and the narrow roads that snaked into his land. Him and a few of the more seasoned fighters—stood around him in a tight circle. They were all rough mountain men, their hands calloused from years of hard work, but each of them had become a strategist in their own right, out of necessity if nothing else. Plus with the level up he can tell they all invested in intelligence at least up to 10. They all held their own in ways only college intellectuals could dream. But as has always been the weight on Elmore's shoulders he is still the smartest man in the room, and it shows but unlike as a kid now he is a wise leader and not a know it all child.
As they discussed the finer details of the upcoming defense, Elmore felt a familiar sensation trickling into his mind—his Aither Memory was stirring. At first, it was a subtle hum, like the distant whisper of a forgotten thought, but then it swelled, bringing with it a flood of memories—old games, strategies he had honed over countless hours sitting in front of a screen. RTS games, strategy board games, even puzzle games—what had once been mere entertainment now seemed to form the backbone of something more practical —every short hand remark he had ever read about generals from the past, in school when playing tag as a small child, every team sport he had fumbled through, or in books about outlandish ideas that sounded like they could work—It all solidified until it felt like he had fully absorbed all the strategies he ever had or saw, leading him to create his own war philosophy in moments. feeling as tho his own mind had been organized and a very real chunk is now crystalized.
He could almost laugh at it. All those hours of leading virtual armies and managing resources—how ridiculous it seemed back then, but now... now those memories felt like they could make the difference between survival and defeat. Almost like he had a separate voice in his mind devoted to all things strategy and planning.
"Alright," Elmore said, his voice calm and measured. "Let’s focus on the two main roads into the valley. The one at the front, the winding path coming down the mountain—that’s where we’ll stage our defense. But the back road... we’ll need to cripple it."
He pointed at the map, where a thin line showed the back entrance to the valley. "We blow the bridge. It won’t stop them, but it’ll slow them down. Leave a small group of scouts there, armed with whatever they can carry. Their only job is to report back if the enemy hits that route. It’s old ground, the remains of that rafting company’s land. There’s enough cover there for them to hide and hold their position. If they manage to cross, we’ll know long before they get to us. But don't send many men only the fastest like Matilda's boy, send him and Gaven. they should be fast enough."
The conversation shifted to finer points—the placement of barricades, the best vantage points for the town’s sharpshooters, and how to arrange the vehicles for maximum effect. Elmore leaned over the map again, lost in thought. The winding mountain road was narrow, and any advance by the enemy would be funneled down its length. They needed to hit them before the bottom of that road, where the terrain worked against them the most, then surround them
Elmore tapped the map again, "we hit them there. Catch them before they come off the road, keep the damage manageable and fixable, so don't cause a mudslide, pop tires, and set up some booby traps. Next aim for the base of the mountain before they have a chance to spread out. The dozer, we’ll put that right at the front, let it charge in once they’re pinned. The trucks follow from this, this and ,this angle” as he has them flanking either side of the road and one hidden in the brush up on the hillside from behind. “We’ll keep them in a line and pinned, just behind the barricades. And make sure our flanking truck has a tough bastard" to this old frank volunteered
One of the good ol boys spoke up scratched his beard, nodding thoughtfully. "Reckon we’ll slow 'em down, alright. That road’s a death trap for anyone comin’ in on wheels. The trucks, though. They’ll take a beating, but they’ll hold. I do want a paint job when I get mine fixed after this shit is over Chief." with a chuckle elmore agrees
The dozer, was already in place, creaking down the concrete road that led to the valley’s front entrance. Its massive steel frame, welded together from countless pieces of old scrap, looked menacing. A giant spike jutted out from the bucket like a medieval battering ram. The trucks—a collection of old square-body Chevys and Fords from the 70s, armored with thick steel plating and tires filled with foam, their engines rumbling as they idled, ready to charge.
As the men and women of the town made their final preparations, Elmore and Brent moved into a small concrete building that had been hastily constructed from cinder blocks and reinforced with whatever they could scrounge. It wasn’t much, but it would serve as their forward command post. Elmore glanced out from behind the barricades, watching as people stacked river stones and chunks of shale into walls to protect themselves, some men using their skills to help reinforce it one younger boy filling the cracks with salt crystals another slathering mud over top of it and drying it out and with his fire skill, one man occasionally spitting giant gobs of green snot on the ground in front of the barricade that seem to bubble and hiss.
“Check 1 2 teams check in” came Elmore's voice clear through every radio and walkie-talkie in the valley.
"Walkie-talkies are workin’," Brent said, adjusting the volume on his radio. "We’ll keep in contact with the boys at the back entrance. as Long as the signal holds, we’ll know if somethin’s comin'."
Elmore nodded, his mind sharp and clear, the added intelligence from his recent level-up making his thoughts run like a well-oiled machine. He wasn’t just seeing the situation in front of him anymore—he was thinking ten, twenty steps ahead. Every contingency, every possibility was already unfolding in his mind. He could feel the Aither swirling around him, not just in the air, but in the pulse of the land itself. His people were ready. The defenses were in place.
Now, it was just a matter of time.
Elmore and Brent sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the impending battle settling in. Outside, the trucks revved their engines, then men and women checked their weapons, nerves tight but steady. The calm before the storm was upon them.
"How you feelin’ about this, Chief?" Brent asked, glancing over at Elmore.
Elmore took a deep breath, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at the map spread out before him. "I feel ready," he said, his voice firm. "We’ve done all we can. Now it’s up to us to hold."
They waited there, in that concrete bunker, ready to direct the coming battle, their walkie-talkies crackling softly as the minutes ticked by.
“I'm sorry this is happening Elmore” says Brent looking elmore in the eyes, the flicker of Guilt and sadness behind those ever feral eyes.
After a moment's pause “no one blames you Brent, I know they might be here because of you but somebody was going to challenge us eventually, you're one of us and I don't want our people to think we can just turn our back on each other because of a mistake from our past. Now get yourself ready, grow out them claws and fangs and be ready to fight for your family.” There was no tears shed just a nod of understanding
If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
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Elmore and Brent sat in the cinder block building that served as their makeshift command center, the air heavy with the anticipation of the impending battle. Outside, the steady hum of trucks idling filled the quiet valley. The people of Elmore’s land were positioned, waiting, ready for whatever was coming. From his seat, Elmore kept a firm grip on the radio, fingers brushing against the cool metal casing. He could feel the tension building, like the low thrum of a storm in the distance.
And then they heard it—the rumbling of engines, a deep, growing roar that echoed through the valley. Elmore’s heart thudded in rhythm with the sound, a grim reminder that the enemy was close now. He glanced at Brent, whose expression remained calm but alert, then moved toward the small window carved into the cinder block wall.
The enemy loudly rumbled through the tunnel at the top of the mountain before starting their way down the hill, a chaotic convoy of cars, trucks, and jeeps. Each vehicle was a monstrous patchwork of metal plates, scrap iron, and welded reinforcements, making them look like something out of a post-apocalyptic wasteland, Their steel exteriors gleamed harshly under the sun, jagged and makeshift, but no less lethal for it. Elmore counted at least a dozen vehicles, each one loaded with armed men, rifles and shotguns bristling from the windows. Dust kicked up behind them as they barreled toward the valley. Only to come around a curve and three vehicles tumble down the mountainside as parts of the cliffside road gave way.
But just as the first vehicle approached the boundary of Elmore’s land, the entire convoy screeched to a halt. Elmore leaned forward, narrowing his eyes as one man jumped down from the back of a truck, landing heavily on the ground with a metallic thud. His skin gleamed unnaturally in the daylight—his body coated in what seemed to be some kind of metal. He looked like a figure out of myth, something between a man and a machine.
"I am Nicholas Twilight" the man bellowed, his voice carrying over the engines and the distance. "King of Boone! You have five minutes to surrender this land and its people. If you do, we may spare a few of you. Refuse, and we’ll leave nothing but ashes."
He turned with a flourish, walking back toward the truck, the metal coating on his body absent a creaking with his movement. He jumped back onto the flatbed, the truck groaning under his weight, and sat there, arms crossed, as though he had already won.
Elmore’s blood ran cold for a moment, but he wasn’t shaken. His Aither Memory sparked to life, details sharpening with painful clarity. His eyes moved swiftly across the convoy—every vehicle, every weapon, every face. He memorized them all. The rusted plating on the trucks, the loose bolts holding them together, the tension in the way the men gripped their rifles. His mind hummed with adjustments, rapid-fire alterations to his plan, as he mentally shifted the positions of his own forces.
He grabbed the radio. "Move the dozer up. Keep the trucks in place for now. No one fires until I give the order," Elmore instructed, his voice even, calm. "Brent, you’re up."
Brent gave a quick nod, stepping outside. The soft glow of K9 Transformation filled the air as his muscles bulged and twisted, fur rippling over his body as he shifted into his wolfman form. In seconds, he was transformed, towering and savage, though still controlled. His eyes gleamed with a predatory focus. Without a word, he vanished into the brush, blending seamlessly with the shadows of the valley’s edge.
Elmore, still calm, strapped a bandolier of shotgun shells across his chest, each one glinting dully in the dim light of the command center. He slid his shotgun into his hands, loading it with precision. His senses felt heightened, sharp, as if the very air around him thrummed with the presence of Aither. He could feel the pull of it now, the way it flowed and twisted invisibly through the world, waiting to be harnessed.
Five minutes ticked by slowly, the sound of his heartbeat loud in his ears. Then, at the exact moment that the timer in his mind ran out, the engines of the convoy roared back to life. Nicholas Twilight’s forces charged down the winding mountain road, their vehicles kicking up dust and gravel as they surged forward in a chaotic mad dash.
The first car, leading the charge, smashed headfirst into the front of the dozer. The impact was deafening. The dozer, a hulking beast of metal and machinery, had a 10-foot metal I-beam jutting out from its bucket like a spear. It pierced through the car’s engine block with a sickening crunch, lifting the entire vehicle off the ground. The car's wheels spun uselessly in the air for a moment before the dozer heaved it upward and slammed it down onto a truck behind it. The twisted metal crumpled, folding in on itself, killing everyone inside.
For a moment, there was a stunned silence—then chaos erupted. The convoy hesitated, but only for a second. Gunfire crackled through the air as the enemy trucks tried to push past the wreckage, but the narrow road forced them into a bottleneck. From behind the barricades, Elmore’s people opened fire, their rifles cracking in rhythm. Elmore stayed calm, his mind still in overdrive, directing his men with quick, concise orders through the radio.
"Hold the line," he muttered to himself, watching through the window. "Let them come to us."
The battle had begun, and there would be no surrender today.
The battlefield erupted into a storm of chaos, the narrow mountain road transformed into a battleground of clashing wills and savage, unrestrained power. The crack of gunfire split the air in rapid bursts, the staccato rhythm of rifles and shotguns weaving through the desperate shouts and commands. Men shouted, cursed, and screamed, their voices nearly drowned out by the roar of engines and the thudding impacts of metal on metal.
Elmore stood at the heart of it, shotgun clutched tightly in his hands as the world around him blurred into a feverish dance of violence and death. His mind raced, Aither Memory flashing through possibilities with the speed of instinct. To the left, Charlie hurled bolts of lightning into an enemy truck, sparks crackling as the vehicle’s engine ignited in a fiery explosion. To the right, a gout of fire blasted from the hands of another, engulfing two enemy fighters in flames as they screamed and writhed before collapsing into charred husks.
Amid the clamor, Elmore saw one of his own—a man he barely knew—vomit a stream of acid onto a charging vehicle. The acid hissed as it ate through the metal like it was nothing more than paper, the car’s front collapsing inward as its occupants screamed in terror, their skin sizzling under the corrosive bile.
For a moment, everything slowed. Elmore’s senses sharpened, time stretching as if the Aither itself was distorting the world around him. He barked orders, his voice cutting through the haze of battle. "Move those trucks up! Hold the left flank! Brent, cover the right—don’t let ‘em get past the barricade!"
His eyes flickered across the battlefield, memorizing every movement, every shift in the battle lines. He took careful potshots with his shotgun, each blast from the barrel sending an enemy sprawling into the dirt. The heavy thump of his boots against the concrete was drowned out by the howling wind of chaos, and yet he felt eerily calm, his mind racing faster than the events playing out around him.
the armored dozer, plowed through the center of the fray, its massive I-beam skewering anything in its path. The machine was a nightmare of grinding gears and roaring metal, smashing through vehicles with savage efficiency. The dozer’s operator yelled in triumph as the machine lifted an enemy truck and tossed it aside like a toy, sending it crashing into another vehicle, both exploding in a violent burst of flame and debris.
The enemy fighters were relentless, their slapdash vehicles barreling forward, desperate to break through the defenses. Metal slammed against metal, the sound of screeching gears and groaning engines mixing with the chaotic symphony of war. Elmore’s side was holding, but barely. The enemy's numbers were thinning, but so were his.
Amid the chaos, Elmore caught sight of something that made his heart skip a beat. Ditzy!, his faithful pitbull, was bounding across the battlefield, her muscles rippling as she leaped between burning vehicles and collapsing barricades. She tore into enemy fighters with a vicious ferocity, her jaws clamping down on anything she could reach. He had left her at home, or so he thought, but there she was, a blur of fur and teeth, carving her own path through the battlefield.
For a brief second, Elmore considered calling her back, but he dismissed the thought. There was no time. Ditzy was here now, part of the fight, and she was holding her own. He’d have to trust her instincts, even as the battle raged around them.
A deafening explosion rocked the ground as one of the enemy trucks burst into flames, sending debris and shrapnel flying. Elmore ducked instinctively as pieces of metal whizzed past his head, embedding themselves in the dirt with a solid thunk. One of his own men fell nearby, his body limp, struck by a piece of the exploding vehicle. Elmore’s stomach twisted with guilt, but there was no time to mourn.
Another armored truck slammed into one of Elmore’s, the impact sending sparks flying as the two vehicles ground against each other. The grinding sound of steel against steel was deafening as both sides tried to push each other back. The dozer, still roaring through the center of the battlefield, slammed its I-beam into the side of an enemy car, flipping it into the air before crushing it beneath its massive treads.
But just as Elmore thought they might be gaining the upper hand, the enemy leader made his move.
Nicholas Twilight, the man with the metal skin, leapt from his truck with a fluidity that belied his bulk. His skin gleamed, the metal plating across his body catching the light as he landed with a solid thud. With a growl of pure strength, Twilight raced toward the center of the battlefield, his body a blur of metallic limbs and deadly purpose.
Elmore watched in horror as Twilight reached the dozer. The machine groaned as its operator tried to angle the I-beam toward the massive man, but it was too late. Twilight planted his feet and, with a terrifying display of strength, grabbed hold of the dozer’s side.
Time seemed to freeze again as Twilight, muscles bulging and straining, he flipped the massive dozer onto its side with a metallic screech. The sound of it crashing into the ground was deafening, the weight of the machine causing the earth beneath it to tremble. The battlefield seemed to stop for a moment, every eye turning toward the impossible sight.
Elmore’s heart pounded in his chest as he stared across the battlefield, locking eyes with Twilight. The metallic man stood tall, his chest heaving, a predatory grin spreading across his face. His gaze bore into Elmore, challenging him, daring him to step forward.
The world blurred around them, the chaos of battle continuing in the periphery, but in that moment, it was just Elmore and Twilight. They both knew it. The battle wasn’t just about trucks, guns, magic and skill anymore. This was a fight between leaders, and only one of them would walk away.
Elmore tightened his grip on his shotgun, feeling the pulse of Aither in the air, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. His mind raced through possibilities, but the time for strategy was over. Now, it was a battle of will and strength.
The battlefield roared with chaos, engines roaring, the crackle of gunfire, and the shouts of men echoing through the valley. But for Elmore, time had narrowed down to one singular focus Nicholas Twilight, the metal-skinned King of Boone, charging toward him like a relentless freight train.
Elmore leveled his shotgun, his breath steady as he pumped round after round toward Twilight. Each slug was infused with Aither, the energy coursing into the weapon, but as each shot found its mark, Twilight barely slowed. The metal skin dented, the force of each impact pushing him back, but still, he kept coming, his eyes locked on Elmore with a cold determination.
As Twilight closed the distance, Elmore knew he wouldn’t be able to hold him off for much longer. With a curse, he slung the shotgun onto his back, reaching for his ax. The weight of the familiar weapon felt comforting in his hand, but the doubt gnawed at the back of his mind. He was facing a man covered in metal, seemingly impervious to anything that wasn’t overwhelming force. He muttered a quick prayer under his breath.
Twilight was nearly upon him, his steps pounding the earth like thunder. Elmore let out a roar and charged forward, his ax swinging down with all his might. At the same time, his left hand shot out, trying to grab hold of the enemy leader, hoping to gain leverage.
The impact came like a storm.
Elmore's ax sank into Twilight’s shoulder, the force behind it enough to leave a deep dent in the metal skin. For a moment, Elmore thought he might have broken through, but the blow lacked the force to penetrate at all. The sound was a loud, echoing crack, but it wasn’t just Twilight’s body that gave way—pain exploded up Elmore’s arm as Twilight retaliated, grabbing his left wrist and twisting, bending it in the wrong direction until he heard the sickening pop.
Elmore yelled out in pain, staggering backward, his vision blurring for a moment as he pulled away. He saw Twilight doing the same, his left shoulder dented, his arm hanging at an unnatural angle, not responding to his attempts to move it. Both men locked eyes, their bodies damaged, but neither willing to back down.
They began to circle each other, the noise of battle fading to a distant hum, as though the rest of the world no longer mattered. Each of them struggled, weighed down by the injuries, but refusing to show weakness. Elmore’s thoughts ran a mile a minute, dissecting the enemy in front of him. Twilight’s skin was metallic, that much was clear, but the bones beneath… if he could break them, if he could find a way to bypass the protective shell, he could end this.
But Twilight was stronger—there was no denying that. Every movement, every strike carried immense force, far more than Elmore could muster. He needed to be smarter, needed to find a way to use Twilight’s strength against him.
In the periphery, the battle raged on. Men fought, bloodied and desperate, some pausing just long enough to see what their leaders would do. Trucks slammed into each other, their frames crunching and twisting under the force. One truck veered off the road, careening into the creek below, the driver barely managing to crawl out. A moment later, he shot a web-like strand of something out of his hands, grabbing onto another truck, pulling himself back into the fray.
Elmore kept circling, his breath coming in sharp bursts, the pain in his arm radiating through his body. Twilight, his left arm useless, still moved with a predatory grace, his eyes never leaving Elmore.
Elmore decided to make the first move this time. He lunged forward, his ax raised high as if preparing for a powerful swing. Twilight braced himself, but it was a feint. At the last moment, Elmore shifted his weight, his right foot kicking out and slamming down into Twilight's knee. He felt the satisfying *crack* as the bone gave way, Twilight’s leg bending the wrong direction.
Twilight let out a roar, a primal sound of pain and rage, and lashed out with his right arm, his fist connecting with Elmore’s face with the force of a sledgehammer. Elmore was thrown backward hard, his body slamming into the cinder block wall of the command center after a not so short flight. The impact was like being hit by a truck, the air driven from his lungs, the world spinning around him as he crumpled to the ground.
His head swam, the taste of blood filling his mouth as he tried to open his eyes. Only one responded, his left eye refusing to open, the socket swollen shut. He groaned, trying to push himself up, feeling his jaw hanging loosely partially detatched, his body refusing to move the way it was supposed to.
Across the way, Twilight was also struggling. His knee was completely shattered, his leg useless as he dragged himself upright, his body trembling with the effort. Elmore could see it now—the man’s vitality was high, his body already trying to repair itself, but his resistance was lacking. The metallic skin protected him, but it wasn’t enough to stop the damage from seeping through; he relied on it more than resistance. Twilight’s left arm still hung useless, the shoulder dented and unresponsive, and now his leg was the same, bent and broken.
Elmore’s own body was also healing, though slowly. He could feel the Aither pulsing through him, mending what it could, his left eye slowly opening as the swelling reduced. His arm was still useless, the elbow twisted, but he could feel it knitting itself back together, the pain slowly fading to a dull throb. In a moment of clarity he started channeling aither into his wounds feeling a screeching itch cover him but he knew it was helping.
The two men faced each other again, battered but unbroken, their eyes locked in a silent challenge. Around them, the fighting continued, but in this moment, it was clear—the outcome of this duel would determine the fate of everyone around them.
