ΔV Pt. 16

They had joined the column as it drove on Berlin and the home of Reinhardt Hydrich.

Annie sat on the edge of a tank, riding on it without a worry for the bullets that stitched across the armor plating from time to time. Several zipped into her shield every few times the tank was sprayed down by the infantry that tried to block their way. The field ahead of them was grassy and littered with the burning wrecks of several dozen Soviet tanks that had been dragged from their graves in the deserts of Afghanistan, with a pair of 21^st century Abrams retreating backwards, their main guns speaking almost as fast as the tank she was riding.

Annie saw one such shell -- a dart of depleted uranium glowing with eldrich light -- zip in a shallow arc and plunge through the armored hull of the tank fifty yards to the left of hers. The turret ripped off with a roar and a flare of smoke that circled into the air. The tank Annie sat on turned its turret and fired back -- the impact of their armor piercing shell on the rear of the Abrams could be traced by the sudden explosion of smoke and the half bent projectile, whipping into the air and away. She pointed at the tank in question as it continued to drive -- albiet slower now -- towards the trees that provided a break around the arcology.

"Nope," she said.

Her finger glowed and a bead of red light shot from the tip. It lobbed in a higher arc and came down on the top of the undead Abrams. The fireball flash was bright enough to make her wince and look away -- and she felt a momentary flare of irriation with herself. The fighting was only going to get worse as they had to abandon the tanks and start cutting their way through the arcology itself. But she still felt the uncoiling snake of cold satisfaction as her ride drove past the smoldering ruin of the Abrams. Then they were through the trees and in the broad, flat walkways that led to the Arcology herself.

The defenders here were even fiercer and even more well dug in. Coal-miner helmets and brown khaki both showed on the skeletons that manned the anti-tank guns and the machine gun nests -- bullets sparking and clanging off the tank around her. Annie saw the APCs emerging in a wide ring. Now was her moment to shine. She floated off the tank that had been her ride from France to here and landed on the ground, her palms spreading out as she gathered magic into herself.

The anti-tank guns spoke, tongues of flame roiling from the barrels. The projectiles struck the air fifteen feet ahead of Annie and several hundred to the left. The air rippled and the explosions bloomed, like roses, and the APCs that had been their targets were able to open up with their turret mounted machine guns. Flechettes filled the air with a wine and hiss, like swarms of furious bees. Skeletons came to pieces, and their anti-tank blast shields shredded under modern weapons. The undead started to fall back into the arcology properly as the marines in the APCs emerged from the backs and unhooked themselves from the sides.

Mixed among the marines were elves -- elves that charged with a bellow, swords drawn. Annie was about to call out to them -- but then they were at the doors and in. Gunshots and hisses and screams filled the air, but the silence came shockingly fast. The marines, their rifles at the ready, advanced in a more orderly fashion.

An elf stepped out -- a red headed elf with a golden blade -- and then cried out as blood exploded from her shoulder. The marine that had shot her snapped their rifle down, and despite having a face mask covering their face, managed to look horrified.

"Gods!" The elf sobbed and screamed at once, clutching her shoulder. Annie flew forward, her feet skimming across the ground. She landed beside the elf and saw the rifle's bullet had mangled her somewhat badly. Blood pumped past her fingers in great gouts, but she was still alive. Annie let her magic crackle through her fingers and touched them to the wound, which knitted, then closed. The elf, her teeth clenched so tightly that Annie could hear them groaning and creaking, sagged with relief as the marines advanced -- and then she snarled. "The entryway is fucking clear, you Starker bastards."

The marines and Annie confirmed that a few seconds later. The elves had taken two casualties: Without open fields and without time to sight and aim, the undead had been cut down by elven sword and impaled by elven spears. Annie looked over the carnage in the antechambers into the main habitation levels of the arcology with slow wonder. "Elves..." She whispered -- and then yelped as the blunt faced, tough as nails Glorious Prince of Heaven stepped up beside her and added his own two cents.

"I suppose they have been practicing for this for a while," he said, dryly. Annie clutched at her chest, then turned towards him as the elves and marines began to break off. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and rang with the wailing alarms of the arcology. Millions of people lived in the massive structure -- and now, their whole lives had just become a battlefield. The undead outnumbered them in staggering numbers, and more were being brought in by every method that Heydrich had available to himself.

They only had a narrow winder to cut to where he was located and kill him and end the nightmare.

But before Annie could force herself to push on, she noticed something. "Where's your dragon companion?"

Qasim shrugged one shoulder, his face unreadable. "On his way back. Someone killed that frigate. I sent him after it. Seems like he did his job -- but if I can, I want to end this before he had to see any more danger."

Annie nodded. "Come on."

She and he started to float forward. Annie had been given a communicator -- keeping her head solid enough so the communicator didn't fall out took a constant, minor effort. She heard the reports from the rest of the marines. The undead were numerous, and they fought hard. But the marines had power armor and were trained in this exact kind of nightmarish fighting. They used every trick and tool they had learned -- some that would have been impossible in Stalingrad. Attacks from below, attacks through walls, circumventing avenus of defense by abusing the metro and sewage system. All towards the aim of narrowing in on the command center of the whole arcology.

Annie and Qasim found a squad of marines at a hard point -- a corridor that had been locked down using the riot response programs and armed with ghostly Great War machine guns, machine guns that chattered remarkably slowly compared to the sheet-cloth ripping sounds of later guns. The marines were returning bursts from their rifles, while their officer -- a naval Lieutenant in lighter exo armor -- spoke on her coms. "They've welded down the access hatch? Blow it the fuck open."

"There are civilians hiding in the room, ma'am," the gruff voice over the line said. "We blow it, they get blown."

"Well f..." The officer paused as she saw Annie -- who stepped around the corner without a care. Bullets whiffed and zipped through her ephemeral body as she glared at the skeletal figures crouched behind their machine gun. They paused as they saw the lack of an effect.

"Hey guys," she said, then threw out her hand. "Sorry about this."

Beads of white light shot from her fingertips -- zipping out and impacting the skeletal figures, striking their chests with unerring accuracy. They swelled outwards and exploded each of them into a spray of fine dust. The dust settled to the ground and Annie kept going forward. "Come on!" She called over her shoulder. "Are we going to end this or not?"

"...hot," the officer whispered.

"Quiet, Helen," Qasim said, not bothering to pitch his voice down.

***

Qasim had expected the battle through Berlin to be a hellish slog. And, in one way, it was. Time crawled by on hands and knees as he and the marines around him fought their way past undead hardpoint after undead hardpoint. They took casualties -- bullets found chinks in armor and the undead began to get more and more desperate as they fought closer and closer to their leader. They began to drop from the ceiling with knives, not caring if they would be blown to pieces, so long as they could find a weakness in their enemies armor.

Qasim picked up a knick here, a scratch there. But he kept going, doggedly, as Annie DuPont made the enemy before them melt away into nothingness with magic, with a pointed finger, with a word. And that was where the battle shifted for Qasim -- shifted to something that felt like a guided tour, rather than a battle. Annie used magic with a proflegate, almost careless amount. Her body crackled with black lightning and her fingers sparked and flared as she blew apart monster after monster, striding forward, glaring after the smoldering ruins she left behind herself.

And finally, their reduced group penetrated into the large, broad interior room that served as a reminder of the pleasures of civic life to the citizens of Berlin. In the center of it, rising out of the ground like a building within a building, was the government center. It had some name, some obscenely long name, but all Qasim knew it as was where the Dark Lord was lurking. The Dark Lord that he had come so far to finally put down, to end this prophecy and...

Well.

And could wait for later.

The field between where he stood and there was covered by dozens of machineguns, manned by hundreds of dug in skeletons, all of them hardened veterans of the greatest wars that humanity had ever fought. He frowned, slightly, then looked back at the rest of the marines.

"We have more reinforcements coming in from the east and zenith fronts," Helen said, pausing to swig from her canteine, gritting her teeth as she sighed. "But we're still outnumbered heavily as fuck. Got any magic wand to waggle, Annie?"

"Yes," Annie said, then stepped from cover. She began to incant -- her fingers spreading. Black lightning buzzed and crackled along her body as the machine guns swung around to face her. Bullets began to spark and flare along the ground, others zipping through the ghostly body that stood before them. She lifted her palms, hefted them outwards. A glowing sphere of lightning flared to brilliant life and then she lobbed it down range. Any concerns about collateral damage that Qasim might have raised were brought up, then discarded as the sphere reached the government structure and detonated. Brilliant white light flared and he covered his eyes with his hands, grunting.

When the light flared, the front of the building had been torn open, leaving behind a cherry red bubbling ruin. It looked like a diorama blown to full scale, with the front opened up so someone could look inside at the rooms, rooms that were flash fried by the brilliant heat. A few skeletons that had survived the initial wash of flames stepped out, their bodies burning before they tumbled to the ground. And there, in the wreckage, a ghostly figure stood, a phone in one hand, gaping at the ruin.

"There he is!" Annie pointed.

Reinhard Hydrich turned and ran for the door in the back of his room -- and Qasim sprinted forward into the ringing silence that now filled the vast space. His powered exoskeleton chewed up the terrain at incredible speeds, while Annie flew right after him. He slammed, shoulder first, into the door that Heydrich had ducked into -- and Annie darted past him.

"Nazi fuck!" She shouted.

Heydrich spun back and flicked his wrist. While he may have been an administrator, he had also been in the brutal struggles of the Nazis rise to power -- and that had included no small practice with weapons. It was enough to strike Annie, who didn't even try to dodge. She staggered, looking down at the sharpened black blade that protruded from her chest. It looked like a piece of scrap metal, which had been sharpened and crafted into a crude knife. Her mouth opened as glowing ectoplasm started to flow from her mouth.

Qasim caught her up in his arms, but she fell through and onto the floor. Her eyes looked at the ceiling. "G-Go...get the..." She whispered, then closed her eyes. She gritted her teeth, her hands grasping the weapon, whatever it was. "I'll...live. Kind of."

Qasim nodded, then stood. He drew his blessed pistol, then came around the corner. Heydrich was pressed to a wall, trying to phase through it. He had been solid, to throw the weapon, and seemed to be having some trouble with his shifting of forms. Qasim hefted his pistol, aiming it at the ghostly figure. He fired -- but Heydrich moved with the alacrity of a born survivor. He flung himself around the corner, ducking up against a decorative vase as the bullets sparked off the emergency exit. The air was filled with klaxons and the wails of sirens and the distant chatter of gunfire.

Heydrich started to sink into the floor.

Qasim stepped froward a few more feet, his feet splashing in the gathering puddles, and got a clear line of fire.

Funny.

A part of him had expected a battle to be climactic -- the final duel between good and evil.

He pulled the trigger and the ghost's head exploded like an overripe melon, splattering the wall behind him with ectoplasm. He slumped down -- then dissolved away, as most of the undead did, scattered back towards whatever dubious afterlife waited for the undead. Slowly, the sounds around Qasim faded, and he was left with only the klaxons. No more gunfire was ringing out, because no more undead were fighting back.

Qasim just felt tired.

He turned and started to walk back -- and then something slammed into his back. He sprawled forward, adrenaline exploding through him as claws skittered along his armor -- shoving against him as he desperately scrambled, rolled -- and found himself on his back, looking up at the inquisitive face of Hua. "Hey!" his dragon companion said. "Some jerkass dickwad stole my frigging kill! They stole it! Like some kind of...kill...stealing jerkwad!" He flared out his wings agressively, water gleaming on his tiny scales. "I swear! I swear, I...I...honestly, I wasn't super looking forward to having to fight a bunch of undead. I'm kinda tired."

He curled up on Qasim's lap as Qasim sat up.

"Is the war over, by the way?" Hua asked.

"Yup," Qasim said. He stood, then placed Hua on his shoulder. "Come on."

He turned -- to find Annie.

***

The only sensation that Annie felt was indignation. Pure indignation.

She had been stabbed in the chest, nearly into her ghostly heart, by a chunk of her lover's phylactery, the very chunk that Heydrich had used to wrest control of the undead from her. She knew all the theoretical underpinnings of why the object could harm her undead form -- it was too rich in magic for it to anything but. Thinking that theory through, inch by inch, was what helped her keep her magical focus on keeping the tip from slicing deep enough into her magical body to stay...

Alive.

After a fashion.

She had just barely gotten the makeshift dagger from her by the time Qasim returned, ambling forward with his dragon companion on his shoulder.

"Ah!" Hua cried. "You're hurt."

He flew down as Qasim grumbled. "She's also the Dark Queen, Hua."

"Pff..." Hua began to nose gently at her chest. "Is this helping?"

"Kinda," Annie lied -- laughing softly as she got the final tip of the weapon free with a slow groan. Her body ached all over and she closed her eyes as she felt her ectoplasm settling within her. "Thanks, little dragon."

"Iiiii helped!" Hua danced on her lap.

Qasim meanwhile was looking around himself -- at the ruined front of the governmental building. "This is going to take a hell of a lot of work to clean up."

Annie had the sinking feeling that he was right.

***

It, in fact, did take a lot of work.

Once the tallies had been made, the dead counted, and the destruction fully surveyed, the destruction wrought on Stark was not quite on par with the damage of a total global war -- simply lacking the time to truly do the damage of one. But it was still terribly grim. The drone carrier that had been driven into Los Angelous had flattened the arcology and killed fifteen million people and left another ten million critically wounded. The ashy pall it sent into the atmosphere had measurable weather effects for months afterwards.

The orbital disaster was just as bad. With climatological satellites knocked out and their payloads of heat reflecting, biodegradable nanoparticulates released in a single massive gasp, Stark faced two years of harsh winters and short summers and the near complete destruction of their orbital infastructure -- communication and weather satelites, as well as suborbital transport.

Each government had been run out into the wilderness, and their attempts to fight back had left cities in ruins around the world. Civilian uprisings against the undead had been just as bad -- and then made inifnitely worse when the civil war between undead had pushed one group to chaos and another group to vicious, racist authoriatrianism. The dead were being tallied for weeks, and the disruption to food production and consumables was so intense that even with factories that ran on magic, large swaths of Stark had to be put onto rationing.

And yet...

And yet, the people of Stark emerged from the confusion and into the long winter nights that would come with a strange sense of growing optimism. Optimism that was fanned and flared by the news cameras recording Annie DuBois, still glowing and ghostly, holding a synthetic diamond in one hand, chanting quietly, above the corpse of a twelve year old German boy who had been shot dead during the Battle of Berlin. They watched as the small, nut brown body glowed gold -- then flared, then twitched and sat up and looked around in confusion.

Which was why, as the fires still burned, and governments still tried to tabulate the disaster, let alone come to grips with it, a very loud, very heated meeting was going on in Geneva.

***

Hua was playing under the table as Qasim listened to the Secretary-General bang his gavel down. In the old days, before the United Nations Enviromental Colaition, the UNEC, there had been hundreds of people in the main meeting halls of the United Nations. But the UNEC had been founded along the same lines as the security council, with only the most powerful nations allowed at the table. The smaller countries had formed into power blocs, and those blocs had sent their representatives to the UNEC.

So, rather than facing hundreds of ambassadors from hundreds of nations, Annie only had to face a paltry twenty one: The United States, Russia, China, India, the European Union, the North African Bloc, the Congolese Confederation, the South-West Oceanic Confederation, Oceanius, Brazil, Nigeria, the South American Economic Prosperity Sphere, Norqua, the SocDem Bloc, the Baltic League, the Faelands nobility, the T'row Nations, the Dragon Empire, the Sur Principalities, the Vedas Theocracies and, of course, the Undead Confederation.

The last was the most contentious part -- but as it had a population on par with Russia and the United States combined, and a population that could not be killed by starvation or disease or orbital bombardment and, in fact, needed to be rooted out and stabbed and shot to death by magical weapons, the UC had quite a lot of political pressure it could bring to bear. The fact that it was also made up of the ancestors from every single Stark Nation made it considerably trickier to deal with than it might have been otherwise.

No one wanted to look their greatest historical heroes in the face and tell them to fuck off, after all.

"Order!" The Secretary-General said again. The Russian ambassador, the one who had just used her sentorian voice, to bellow 'we should burn the witch at the stake on all net television', glared at him, but the Secretary-General remained stubbornly dedicated to the queer new power that he had been granted by the sheer chaos of the situation. The UNEC had been slowly defanged during the Second Space Race. But with the orbit rendered nearly unusuable for the near future by the Kessler Syndrome and each nation in some form of chaos, the United Nations had a certain measure of pressure it could bring about now.