The Second Arcane War

  The world is at war!

  Its once lush fields of emerald grass and tranquil meadows now lie as dust-strewn wastelands filled with the burnt husks of tree trunks and its earth pockmarked with deep craters. All signs of the verdant lands they once were have been erased, replaced with a deathly silence, only broken by the mournful howling of the wind and the distant cries of carrion crows.

  Scattered across this desolate land sits the signs of a great and unnatural battle, as if the elements of the world themselves had gone to war. Sharp stone spikes pierce the ground, electricity faintly sparks between metal rods across muddy puddles, bombs embedded into the ground still emanating a chilling frost around them.

  Yet things in this lifeless no man’s land rarely stay quiet for long. For beyond the distant fog comes a rising rumbling, trembling the dirt and stone, while the slowly escalating growls of mechanical engines rise.

  Through the thick mist, the silhouette of a colossal war machine begins to materialize. A pair of heavy treads churn through the swampy mud, supporting a thick armored frame crowned with a large shielded turret, pointing out a long imposing cannon, whining as it slowly rotates and scans its surroundings.

  A Juggernaut—an armored titan of war—rolls forward daring any to oppose it.

  And from behind it another emerges, followed by one more. Pushing beyond the fog, their colors start to show. Painted with a regal red and gold, and a plate-like shield welded onto the front of the turret. Their forms eerily reminiscent of a gallant armored knight atop its barded steed, yet more cold and inhuman in nature.

  But the Juggernauts are not alone. Hidden within the destruction of the battlefield they move toward, something watches them approach. Footsteps clamor and shadowed forms begin to bear their long firearms towards the approaching threat from within their trenches, long muzzles begin to poke out of the holes of well-hidden bunkers, all while someone loads an glowing red shell into the breach of a long, heavy cannon and peers into the sights aimed at one of the approaching juggernauts.

  In a single moment, the silence is broken.

  First a whistle—

  Then a deafening bang!

  A glowing red bolt streaks through the air and pierces straight through the front of one of the advancing juggernauts.

  As it bursts into flames, its heavy turret catapults into the air before dropping back down with a thud into the mud.

  The battlefield erupts in light.

  From their trenches, the soldiers slice through the air with neon slugs—projectiles of burning energy in different hues of freezing blue, electrifying gold, and searing crimson—lighting up the haze of smoke and dust.

  And the Juggernauts take no time to retaliate. Their rapid-firing weapons spit out an unending barrage of glowing bolts while their cannons unleash thunderous blasts, sending shockwaves that rattle the ribs and blur the senses, each impact leaving scorched holes or blossoming into thunderous eruptions.

  Despite the resistance, the Juggernauts continue forward. The barrage of smaller bolts ricochet harmlessly off their thick steel armor, doing little more than cracking their glass sights and obscuring their view as they push forward.

  But the juggernaut's crew are reminded of their mortality as a large bolt strikes their armor. A reverberating clang ringing within, as the juggernaut’s armor barely deflects a blow that likely would have spelled their doom had it been more precise.

  So within the cramped, metallic confines of the juggernaut, the commander shouts an order and the gunner responds by grabbing hold of a nearby lever and pulling back with a determined purpose.

  As though spreading from the soldier’s touch, a bright orange energy courses through the juggernaut like blood through its veins, illuminating the inside and shining through every seam in the warmachine’s armor. It hums with the unmistakable sound of a charging power as that energy forms within its cannon until it reaches a blinding zenith and lets loose its cannon with an even louder roar.

  But, the bolt slams into the ground right before its would-be assailants, embedding itself into the ground with little effect.

  For a moment one would think the round to be a dud.

  Until the ground begins to rumble.

  Then shake.

  Then abruptly crack wide open as earth erupts, tearing the entire opposing trench line asunder from below.

  The other juggernaut follows suit, charging with a dissimilar blue energy before firing a round through the gaps of a bunker. Moments later, ice begins to burst forth from within—freezing tendrils spreading with unnatural speed, encasing the unlucky inhabitants in solid frost.

  With the lines broken, a commander's whistle rings out through the air. As if apparitions, waves of soldiers materialize out of thin air, giving a rallying cry that echoes across the battlefield as they charge into the breach.

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  These are not just any soldiers.

  These are Mage Soldiers.

  Clad in crimson, gambeson-like armor, bearing golden pauldrons, and red helmets with gilded facemasks obscuring their visages.

  At first glance, these soldiers may look like medieval warriors, but their weaponry and gear tell a different story.

  For, in each of these soldiers’ possession is a slugger—a long rifle-like firearm with rotund muzzles, each bearing a round magic gem inserted into its base, shining a different color for each soldier.

  They charge forward, unleashing a barrage of neon slugs—raw, magic-charged projectiles that give the slugger its name. And when greater power is needed, they slot a rune-etched cartridge into the weapon, steady their aim, and fire.

  At the pull of the trigger, runic symbols burst forth from the crystal, floating in the air for a brief moment before focusing their arcane formula back into the weapon.

  A fireball hurtles into enemy lines.

  Stone walls rise from the ground to shield against incoming fire.

  Magnetic pulses disarm foes, scattering their weapons in chaos.

  Each Mage Soldier—trained in their own specialized set of spells, each contributing a unique expertise to their unit.

  And their arcane mastery doesn’t stop there.

  Mortar crews rain shells that explode into razor-sharp gusts of wind.

  Medics stitch wounds closed with glowing magic scalpels.

  Juggernaut crews amplify their spells through their warmachines.

  Back and forth slugger bolts fly across the battlefield, punctuated by the continuous flare of sparking spells. The entire display is as beautiful, and mesmerizing as it is deadly and chaotic. The entire battle scene, just a small part of a greater ongoing battle with its front lines spanning miles and its combatants in the hundreds of thousands.

  Even the skies are not spared. High above the battlefield, the clouds flash and quake, lightning illuminating the darkened nimbus.

  Through the chaos, a colossal shadow emerges—a Flying Fortress.

  Like a massive whale breaching the waves, the massive steel craft rises from the clouds, held aloft by powerful air magic. Its hull bristles with rotating turrets, chain-sluggers, and flak cannons, manned by mage soldier aviators, ready to unleash devastation.

  Following in pursuit, a swarm of nimble, aluminum-winged Airobirds streak through the sky.

  Their crystal-powered engines scream behind their pilot’s cockpits as rotors push them at incredible speeds. The lightning flashes from earlier, reveal their true source—the elementally charged guns firing from the smaller aircraft.

  Like piranhas, they swarm the Flying Fortress, pelting it with streams of bolts and electrified spells that spark and dance across its steel hull.

  But the Fortress is no easy prey.

  Its many turrets erupt with firepower, filling the skies with bolts and explosions. Lacking the precision to strike their agile attackers, they overwhelm with sheer volume. The resulting storm of flak and magic forces the Airobirds to weave through a dazzling display of chaos that would put any firework display to shame.

  As more reinforcements arrive, the dogfight intensifies. The mage soldier pilots twist and turn around each other in an effort to get the upper hand.

  Their arcane skills shine even in flight.

  One slices through wings with a stream of pressurized water.

  Another creates a swirling cyclone in its wake to throw off a pursuer.

  And above that another tears through the wings of a foe with a spray of stoney spikes.

  Yet danger is ever-present. A single misstep or stroke of bad luck sends pilots and their aircraft plummeting like fiery comets into the seas far below.

  But even in those dark, endless oceans, war still looms.

  Where once sailors dreaded the gnashing teeth and clutching tentacles of sea monsters of the deep.

  Now, their nightmares are born of steel—for a new apex predator now rules above the waves.

  A Leviathan––a towering warship and the pinnacle of arcane engineering power—cleaves through the tumultuous waves with ease.

  Adorned in red and gold, with shield-like plates reinforcing its superstructure, the Leviathan resembles a castle adrift on the ocean. Massive twin-gun batteries dominate its silhouette, dwarfing the mage sailors below.

  Slowly and steadily, its massive weapons track their targets. When the turrets fire, it ripples the air and churns the waves as mighty bolts arc across the horizon, striking at distant targets barely visible against the sea.

  From the high tower of the bridge, a stoic captain and his command crew steer the battle. The dark room hums with the glow of flashing monitors and the rhythmic beeping of arcane sensors. A lookout’s urgent shout pierces the air, and the command crew looks just in time to see the faint blue glow of a torpedo slicing through the water.

  Moments later, it strikes into one of their escort ships.

  Crystalline ice explodes on impact, massive icicles piercing the hull and triggering a series of eruptions that send the ship lurching violently.

  Determined to strike back, the captain barks his orders. The intercom sputters to life, its warbling static carrying his command through the sterile, steel halls where the crew springs into action.

  Within the belly of the beast the crew responds.

  Deep in the Leviathan’s magazine, they haul massive shells, loading them piece by piece into the narrow elevator. Gears grind as the ammunition ascends, runic charges glowing brightly as they are mechanically attached. Crystal engines hum to life as they are calibrated with precision. The shells are craned into their barrels, the turret commander signals readiness, and the bridge gives the order.

  The turrets roar with the fury of gods.

  Twin shells launch skyward, streaking as blazing crimson bolts.

  The air vibrates as the bolts combine mid-flight, their resonance activating the projectile's mighty spell.

  Flames erupt as the projectiles form into the shape of a flaming phoenix, wings spread in flight.

  With a piercing screech, it lights up the sea, exploding in the air above its targets. The resulting scene an apocalyptic hellstorm as flames engulf the seas.

  Across the land, sea, and sky, countless lives are consumed in a grand struggle as immense industrial powers clash on a scale never seen before—turning the arcane into weapons of ruthless efficiency and engulfing the world in a total war from which there is no escape.

  This is the age of the Mage Soldier.

  This is the Second Arcane War.