Glass Plains

The ceramic-composite plate mail rattled from the impact of the landing pod. I could dimly feel the thud of the other pods dropping nearby. There was a whoosh as the pod matched pressures with the outside and sprayed itself with coolant. I waited a second. I liked to wait before I came out of the pod. It gave them a chance to fire.

The sizzling hiss of energy weapons fried off some of the coolant on the outside but otherwise did little damage to the pod. Probably some low-grade tech that they’d scrounged up from merchants. I twitched my arm forward just a tiny bit, and the manual release lever in my hand caused the pod to burst open. I chanted words of battle, and used the environment to shield myself. I was betting they still had chemical or mechanical based weapons if the energy weapons sounded cheap. They cursed as they realized their expensive weaponry would no longer work.

I pulled the war-hammer off my back and whipped around to the front. I read the runes along the haft and lightning arced off the hammer to my nearest opponent. The smell of charred flesh filled the air. Elsewhere around me my fellow Legionaries drew the weapons and threw their spells at our opponents. I felt the bite of a slug thrower as some intrepid recruit tried his sidearm. It hit the magic around me and sizzled. Whatever material he was using for ammunition had turned the projectile incendiary as it hit the magic, leaving the plate mail I was wearing to soak up the rest. I looked at him and pulled a javelin made of stone out of the very ground. The cacophonous harmonies of 250 battlechanters rang out as our magics became non-stop. The recruit managed to evade the javelin toss, even bolstered by the omnipresent chants.

A voice sang out over the chanting, and it was not from our side. Out of the opposition a man rose, taller than our opponents, wearing trader insignia on his jacket. He sang the song of the spellsingers, our peaceful colleagues. I did not know the words, could not tell the spell, but I knew that it caused my comrades to falter. Several of them were so shocked that their spells stopped. The harmony of the Legion was broken.

Still, we had weapons. I smashed into the closest militia member as he was reaching for his gun, they were trying to follow suit from the recruit that I had missed. He ran over to the spellsinger, protecting him. I knew the Legion’s song had to be resumed; the ending magics of the battle were woven into our individual songs. I chanted louder, lightning arcing off my hammer and around my body, and I became as the savage hurricane, spinning and roiling with both energy and crushing blows. I grunted as each of the slugs hit me, biting into my armor. One of them smashed into my face-plate, breaking my nose. I almost lost my chant, but still held strong.

Eventually the Legion-chant was completed, and the plain where we had landed became as glass.

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