In. Hold. Release. Hold.
In. Hold. Release. Hold.
Slowly. Patience was required. The sharpest blade couldn't be forged in a day. The metal had to be unearthed, refined, smelted, shaped, heated and cooled over and over again until the final temper had been achieved. The perfect weapon was the work of a lifetime.
She was the Legion's weapon, its sharpest and most perfect. She had been forged over many years, placed in the fire, moulded, quenched, then thrown back into the heat once more.
In. Hold. Release. Hold.
As she repeated the mantra and controlled the air that flowed into her body, so too did she influence the mana around her. It pulsed, rising and falling along with her lungs. Vast quantities rushed into her body, were contained, and then released. Each time she drew it in, the energy within her grew that little bit more rich, more vibrant. It wouldn't be long now.
In. Hold. Release. Hold.
Deeper and deeper she sank. Her worries fell away. Her past fell away. Her joy. Her sorrow. With each breath, more pieces of her heart and mind were released into the dark, where they could not reach her. All that would remain was the pure core: her instincts, her training, and her unending warrior spirit. She honed her mind as the blade was honed, until it had reached the perfect, razor's edge.
The aura that rolled off her in dense waves felt as if it would cut the air. None dared to approach.
In. Hold. Release. Hold.
The mana roared through her body now in a violent torrent. A storm of energy that begged for release. Her mind had been reduced to the point of a blade, nothing remained to cloud her judgement. It was time.
Slowly, she opened her eyes.
Thick, moulded plates of steel stood before her. An impossible construct of complexity and engineering so profound it was nothing short of a miracle. A fitting partner for her. She was the greatest the Legion could produce, an example of martial perfection. Her equipment should match.
In the distant parts of her mind, she knew her peers were engaged in the same ritual as she. Those thoughts were ignored, allowed to drift away without touching her singular focus. With measured steps, she moved towards her armour, her balance effortlessly perfect. A ladder had been prepared, but she didn't need it, vaulting up to land on the wide pauldron and look down.
Blue. So blue it hurt to look at. A shimmering pool of intense light, so vibrant and filled with power it almost overwhelmed her senses.
One last time. Breathe.
In. Hold. Release. Hold.
Orrina placed her hands on either side of the opening and smoothly lowered herself in, plunging herself into the liquid in one motion.
The concentrated mana flooded her pores, seeping into her body and threatening to rip her apart. But it didn't happen. The vast rivers of magic that flowed through her came into contact with this new power source and found a delicate equilibrium. If she were any less saturated with mana, she would have died the moment she dropped in, but this was far from the first time for her.
With practised ease, even submerged as she was, Orrina found the straps that bound her in place, tying them off expertly before she reached up to pull the opening shut above her, sealing herself in.
The armour hummed to life.
Pressed against the unspeakably detailed enchanted matrix, she could feel herself meld with the metal, her unique skills, possessed only by the chosen few within the Legion, coming alive. The pain continued, but she didn't feel it; these were the moments she lived for.
Her mind expanded and suddenly she could see through the thick plates of metal in front as if they weren't even there. Her body moved, the armour moved, and Orrina was whole once more.
She couldn't feel the fierce grin that split her face as she reached out to her right, the gauntlet closing around the hilt of her beloved sword. Blade in hand, she strode forward, perfectly balanced, as each step was announced with a resounding boom.
The same sound came from her left and right as her fellows emerged from their pens, ready to fight. This was a rare occasion, one that hadn't happened in her entire career. Ten of them had been called up for this action. There was no chance of failure.
The battle was already well under way. Several kilometres distant, legionaries tangled with strange wooden creatures large and small as artillery and mage fire rained down from overhead. The Tree looked to be fighting back; bulbs sprouted all over the place, rising from the water, drooping down from the absurdly thick boughs overhead to launch spores and bladed seeds back.
She would need to cross the water using the land bridge the Legion had established in order to support the front line. It was quite a distance, it might take her as much as a minute.
[Simple mission: engage and eliminate. Once that tree is cut down, we can head home.]
Bruvae's mind felt as cold and distant as Orrina's own. She too had been divested of all that would impede her function as the perfect weapon.
[Engage as you see fit,] came the order.
The mental link was ended.
Orrina took a step, followed by another, then another. Her momentum built with impossible speed; the size and weight of her armour should have made it impossible, yet it happened regardless. By the fifth step, she was flying across the ground, each bound carrying her an absurd distance as the scenery whipped past. In fifteen seconds, she had reached the bridge and was still gaining speed.
Past the wreckage and broken stone. Past the dismembered and fallen roots. Past the fallen and dying soldiers who lay bleeding on the ground.
As the fighting drew closer, she leapt high, over the massed ranks of the Legionaries and down amongst the throng of tree people. She fell like an armoured star, her sword flashing, light from the blade sweeping out to carve through the wooden fighters like a scythe through wheat.
The faces of the soldiers lit with awe and pride as their finest members arrived on the battlefield like avenging gods. It was a privilege to fight alongside men and women such as these, and their efforts redoubled in the presence of the greatest warriors ever produced.
The Praetorians had arrived on the field.