Holly had acquired a working knowledge of magic, but she wasn’t as good as she wanted to be. She might be able to knock someone over with Senkilo’s Cannon, or create a semi-transparent haze with Shindalthi’s Cloud, but the purpose of the Cannon was to kill or maim, and the purpose of the Cloud was to conceal the caster as well.
Holly could do neither, and it pissed her off to no end.
She’d been at war for years and she was fucking sick of it; she wasn’t going to delay her plans due to her inability to master spellcraft. Forty of her best were currently on standby, ready to hop on their mounts and charge into the pass.
Flaysac and his allies had become complacent; Holly’s scouts reported that enemy guards would laugh and joke as they manned their posts. Some of the lazier ones would strut around without any armor, or take a quick snooze when they thought that no one was looking. They’d been kicking the shit out of Holly’s army, so even though it was unacceptable from a soldier’s perspective, it was understandable. Even the badasses were starting to relax. Continual victory bred complacency in the mightiest warriors, and Flaysac’s army was no exception. They’d been tearing the ass out of Holly’s barbarians like rabid frat boys going after some unsuspecting high school va-jay-jay.
(During her time as a cheerleader, Holly had gone to several college parties where she’d caught some would-be rapists trying to roofie her friends. She wasn’t one for altruism—that’s not why she uppercutted seven douchebags in their nutsacks and Krav Maga’d the shit out of their faces—she saw her peers as valuable resources. They were pieces on a chessboard—pawns she needed to advance her position.)
Just like the Indashi. These roided-out ape-monkeys were simply pawns—tools to help her return to Earth, so she could rip Peter’s face off and revel in his screams.
“Warriors!” she shouted, riding Braveheart-style before a line of mounted Indashi. “My Death Rider elite! Chosen for your ferocity in battle, as well as your gigantic fucking balls!”
Evil, approving chuckles rippled through the line.
“And now!” Holly swung her ferocious gaze from side to side. “Now I call upon you to do what you were born for! What you were DESIGNED for!”
The Death Riders erupted with raucous cheers. They banged their shields with weapons or gauntlets, screaming and hooting like meth’d up linebackers. Spittle flew and dotted the ground.
“That’s right!” Holly roared. “Let’s skullfuck Flaysac in his motherfucking FACE!”
The Death Riders went into a crazy-ass frenzy. They started spasming, shaking, bumping chests, slapping skulls, and shoving each other like they were in a barbarian mosh pit.
“TO WAR!” Holly screamed. She raised her sword high above her head.
“TO WAR!” An assortment of morning stars, spike-clubs, and squared-off swords punched toward the sky.
She pulled on Gucci’s reigns and galloped toward the encampment’s exit. The Death Riders followed hot on her heels. As they men made a beeline for the front, she inwardly smiled.
She might have been a coldhearted bitch, but she wasn’t wrong.