I Summon Female Knights

The central transit plaza of Sector 3 was choking on thick, sickly emerald fog.

Where long-haul freight trucks and shipping loaders normally operated, the ground was split wide open. Massive, petrified roots as thick as storm drains had ruptured the concrete, twisting together to form a dark, impenetrable barricade that sealed off the main exit toward the sector overpass.

Trapped against the cracked concrete retaining wall of the overpass were Officer Elena and her four-man Bureau Recon Team 4.

Their tactical black uniforms were torn and caked in damp green lichen and pulverized stone. Two of her men were kneeling on the ground, holding their bleeding ribs while trying to clear jammed tactical rifles. Elena herself stood at the front of the line, her face pale beneath her tinted visor, her arms trembling slightly as she held a heavy, high-output mana-pistol aimed into the murky gloom.

”Director Vale, this is Recon Team 4,” Elena spoke into her helmet comms, her voice tight, quiet, and hyper-controlled despite the panic rising in her chest.

”The central rift node has manifested a Class-2 apex construct. Our high-frequency plasma rounds are deflecting off its grain. We cannot breach its chest cavity. Requesting heavy tactical artillery at coordinate Sector 3-Bravo...”

Static crackled over her receiver, followed by Captain Vale’s distorted, urgent voice: ”Elena! Heavy artillery is delayed by the root blockade on the main highway! Fall back into the subterranean drainage network immediately!”

”Negative, Director,” Elena whispered, her visor reflecting a looming silhouette stepping through the spore fog. ”The drainage hatch was crushed behind us. We’re cornered.”

THUD. THUD. THUD.

The concrete floor shuddered under heavy, rhythmic impacts that vibrated straight through the soles of their combat boots.

Stepping out of the dense spore mist was the primary rift entity, a towering, fifteen-foot-tall Ironwood Sentinel.

Unlike the lesser treants, this B-Tier construct was fully armored in dense, petrified black bark that resembled polished obsidian plate armor. Its broad, massive chest cavity glowed with an intense, fiery-green heartwood core that hummed like a high-voltage generator. In its left hand, it held a massive, broad-headed club forged from fused petrified timber; its right arm split into four long, thorn-covered root-whips that scraped against the pavement, sparking violently against the concrete.

The Sentinel raised its towering head, its hollow eye sockets burning with cold, vegetative mana.

It let out a low, grinding roar that sounded like two continental plates rubbing together. The four root-whips on its right arm coiled back like steel cables, snapping forward through the air with an ear-splitting, supersonic crack aimed straight at Elena’s position.

”Shields up!” Elena screamed, raising her tactical barrier emblem.

The four Bureau officers activated their emergency kinetic barriers, glowing blue energy shields overlapping in a desperate arc.

BOOM!

The thorn-covered whips slammed into the barrier with bone-crushing kinetic force. The blue energy shield held for less than a second before shattering into thousands of glowing fragments. The kinetic impact threw the two injured officers onto their backs, while Elena was knocked skidding across the wet pavement, her mana-pistol sliding uselessly out of her grip into the gutter.

Elena pushed herself up onto her elbows, her breathing ragged, her visor cracked.

She looked up to see the fifteen-foot Ironwood Sentinel towering directly over her. The giant construct raised its massive petrified timber club high into the air, its hollow chest core flaring with violent green light as it prepared to crush her into the concrete.

Elena closed her eyes, her hand instinctively reaching for the secondary knife at her chest, knowing full well steel couldn’t stop three tons of petrified ironwood unless she used her ability. But she had been sanctioned by the higher-ups.

ZIP.

The sound that followed wasn’t the sound of an explosion, nor was it the crack of a sniper rifle. It was a subtle, whisper-quiet chime, like a blade being drawn from a polished sheath in a quiet room. Suddenly, the suffocating pressure of the Sentinel’s looming shadow stopped moving.

Elena opened her eyes.

Standing directly between her prone body and the fifteen-foot arboreal monster was a towering figure. He stood six-foot-seven, broad-shouldered and broad-backed, clad in a heavy, midnight-black coat that absorbed the green glare of the spore fog. His deep hood was pulled low over his face, shading his features in absolute darkness, leaving only a faint, luminous silver glow visible from beneath his brow.

He didn’t wear Bureau tactical armor, nor did he carry a heavy mana-rifle. Across his back was an empty dual scabbard harness, and in his hands were two matte-black adamantine blades: a four-foot longsword held in his right hand and a curved parrying dagger in his left.

To Elena’s utter shock, her suit’s high-grade tactical visor, capable of detecting even minor A-Tier mana signatures, did not register the towering man’s presence at all. The digital overlay on her screen flashed a glaring, nonsensical prompt:

[TARGET EVALUATION: ZERO SIGNATURE]

[Classification: Non-Awakened / Civilian Baseline]

[Threat Level: None]

”Civ... civilian...?” Elena gasped out, her voice cracking in pure disbelief. ”Get back! That’s a B-Tier apex construct! You can’t...”

The Ironwood Sentinel, sensing an obstacle beneath its swinging club, didn’t hesitate. It brought the massive three-ton petrified club down with full kinetic force, aimed straight at the hooded stranger’s head to crush him along with the concrete floor.

But Raphael didn’t dodge. He stood at his full, imposing height, his silver eyes glowing cold under the shadow of his hood. His Sovereign’s Veil remained pinned at maximum density, compressing his godlike presence beneath his skin while his mind calculated the construct’s structural grain in a fraction of a millisecond.

As the massive wooden club descended to within three inches of his face, Raphael raised his left hand, clad in the Sovereign’s Shadow-Grip Gauntlet.

BANG!

A shockwave of air blasted the spore fog outward in a thirty-foot ring.

Elena stared with wide, horrified eyes as the hooded man caught the three-ton petrified timber club with his bare, gauntleted palm. The massive impact shattered the asphalt beneath his boots, but he didn’t bend an inch. His arm remained locked, holding the giant construct’s weapon completely motionless in mid-air.

The Ironwood Sentinel let out a confused, creaking groan, its green heartwood core flaring wildly as it tried to push the club down, but Raphael’s grip was like an anchor forged into the bedrock of the world.

He slowly looked up at the towering monster, his deep voice cutting through the howling wind with cold, terrifying calm:

”You’re in my way.”