Reidar rode one of the Terror Condors.
He could also get a raven, but he wanted to change for the time being, especially because the two creatures couldn't be more different—and because showing up on a raven felt like he was cosplaying as a goth kid who'd gotten really into their role-play character.
The ravens were black, and while cool and large, they were still ravens, but the Terror Condors were different. Different in the way that a utilitarian car is different from a fighter jet strapped to a flamethrower.
The bird's feathers were pure white, and from a distance, against the sky, it would have looked almost peaceful—like a majestic snow goose, perhaps, or a really ambitious seagull—if you ignored the 60-meter wingspan, the serrated beak capable of shearing through steel armor like a can opener on steroids, and the trails of shadow and ash that followed each wingbeat like a signature written on the air by a deity with both a flair for the dramatic and a complete disregard for sky regulations.
Behind him, 109 more Terror Condors followed, because apparently one giant death bird wasn't enough to get the point across.
Reidar had committed to the full parade, complete with synchronized wing flaps and what could only be described as an avian light show of shadow and ash. If he entered, it would be so dramatic that people would talk about it for weeks, maybe in therapy.
Below, the landscape shifted, revealing collapsed highway stretches and scorch marks left by monsters that had ravaged the region in the months since Reidar's departure.
He passed over the remnants of two settlements that had not survived—just foundation outlines and debris fields now, the kind of thing that no longer even had the decency to look like it had once been a place where people lived.
His Vorathid Abyssal Horrors were still out there in the city, combing through the streets and buildings, running their search patterns for Martha and Marcus.
But so far, they have found nothing. Kingsgate was enormous, after all. So he redirected his attention forward and looked around.
The settlement appeared as he crested a low ridge of collapsed industrial buildings.
"I finally found it."
The place had been built near the industrial district. He recognized the bones of the area because his old company's building was still standing at its edge, the concrete frame untouched despite everything.
Whoever chose this location had been thinking clearly. The large structures gave natural cover and building material for the walls and interior buildings. The open land surrounding the cluster provided sightlines in every direction, which meant any monster approaching would be visible early enough to respond.
There was room for farming in the cleared ground to the east, and the spacing between the outer walls the survivors built and the nearest buildings left space to make more defensive stuff as the settlement grew.
Aegis Phalanx ships were even parked around the perimeter, and those things were so comically oversized that Reidar was pretty sure they'd been designed by someone who had lost a bet, then doubled down out of spite.
They were nothing like human vehicles—they were built on proportions that suggested the designers had either never encountered a human or had encountered one, taken detailed notes, and then designed the exact opposite out of what could only be described as architectural spite.
In a sense, it was like the ships looked like someone had asked an AI to design a comfortable vehicle, but the AI had been trained only on geometry textbooks and images of medieval torture devices.
Barriers had been erected along the settlement's edge. The multi-layered magical walls needed both vendors and serious mana investment to maintain, and Reidar could see the shimmer of the fields from the sky.
He directed the condor lower.
As he crossed the barrier's boundary, he felt the resistance of the mana fields pressing against his body and against the pressure his summons generated, but he still went through it.
The barriers held against monsters and lower-level threats, but they were not strong enough to stop him. They were definitely not strong enough to stop 110 Terror Condors flying in formation like the world's most aggressive air show, or the Vorathid Abyssal Horrors, who were probably looking at the barriers the same way a toddler looks at a baby gate—as a suggestion, not a rule.
The people who built those barriers understood what that meant; he was outside the range of what they could stop.
The condors landed in a wide clearing just inside the settlement's outer edge. The ground cracked under the weight of the creatures as they touched down.
The screeches they made when they landed had not been quiet. The sound of 110 Terror Condors was not a sound that anything with ears could ignore, and by the time Reidar's condor settled, and he stood from its back, the people nearest to the landing site had already fled in every direction.
Survivors scattered behind cover—behind market stalls, around building corners, and into doorways. A man dropped the crate he was carrying and did not stop to pick it up. A woman pressed herself against a wall, pulling two children behind it without looking out.
Reidar watched them go and understood it. From the ground, 110 avian chimeras with 60-meter wingspans and bone-plate crests and talons that gleamed like metal drills looked exactly like what they were—a very aggressive bird-watching club that had taken things way too far.
He did not blame a single person for running, especially since he was pretty sure at least three of the condors were eyeing the settlement's livestock with what could only be described as menu-browsing energy.
Before the last of the crowd could disappear around a corner, Reidar raised his voice.
"I need to talk to the Aegis Phalanx."
The words carried across the open clearing. A few of the retreating figures glanced back. Most kept moving.
He waited.
Less than five minutes later, a formation came around the far end of the clearing—100 fighters in tight order, their armor bearing the marks of Aegis Phalanx. The level tags above their heads all read numbers in the same range, from 420 to 435.