The trio of mounted and armoured men below pause, angling their helm clad heads to look up but not quite at me, shielding their eyes from the radiance of my halo. All are fully encased in steel, gilt and intricately engraved, with my new trained ability I can tell that this is far more protective than mere metal and there is a terrible weight of potency to the weapons they carry, lances and swords, the only visible skin is their faces below open visors.

The man in the lead calls out. “I am Magister Tribune Sisenna Horatius! We are here to liberate this town, if you are a divine messenger then stand aside from our holy cause!” Then, brusquely directed back to his fellows and the assembled soldiers. “Smash the gate! She will stand aside or else she is a woman under an illusion. Go!” The troops with the improvised battering ram are clad in near complete plate and mail, visors closed. Where they had hesitated they now jog rapidly forward. A snap from the other tower follows as the trio of guards there fire crossbows. The armoured soldiers with the ram do not hesitate but continue to rush forward as bolts ricochet off metal.

I am torn. If I start burning people then I may well be able to incinerate a hundred or more but that would leave me drained and vulnerable, more to the point do I actually want to get involved in whatever this is? Then again whilst they speak of 'liberation' this town has been under it's current rulers for seventy years and I am under no illusion that a sack is going to be anything but horrible. Fuck it, I cannot just passively stand by.

I turn, the two guards in the tower with me looking shocked, shielding their eyes from the glow above my head. “What did they say?” The man, I think the sergeant type who was on duty when I first arrived a few days ago asks this. I am slightly confused, why was he unable to understand? “They are hear to assault the city and will do so regardless of my presence. Work those crossbows! I tuck in my wings as I grab for a spear, as with every other weapon I have held since my incarnation into this new body it feels like an extension of my arm and it is with improbable precision that I lob it down toward the onrushing soldiers. Improbable precision and frankly inhuman force given my terrifying strength, there is a muffled scream as the spear point punches through mail links and deep into a burly woman's shoulder, she drops to the ground as the ram team continue forward.

More crossbows fire from the towers but there are only five guards here and I have no idea how long it will take for more to arrive or for the town's militia to arm themselves, none of them seem to succeed in doing anything against the armoured troops rushing the ram to the gate.

There is further shouting below as blocks of organised infantry move forwards and I flinch back only just in time as soft crumps echo from one. Stone splinters whine lethally overhead as metal impacts the crenellations, though the crossbow wielding woman next to me collapses with her head a ruined mess beneath her open helm. This is no crisp volley, it is a ragged barrage as probably a hundred people fire crude hand cannons by touching burning slowmatches.

I take the woman's crossbow, spanning it by hand rather than bothering with the ratcheted crank and slotting a bolt into place. Then, having no intention of popping back up in the same spot, I crawl across the stone, though this may be a futile effort given the glowing ring burning above my brow. Then I stand between two battlements and loose, the bolt unerringly aimed for the open visor of one of the mounted men below, the self identified 'Magister Tribune'. Of course something surges and the bolt is deflected some inches away from his face, the trio slamming down their visors as they spur their horses away. I duck back down as several crossbow bolts then fill the space I occupied a moment ago.

Should I burn them? I could no doubt cause horrible disruption to the hand cannoneers, but.

Crunch.

The ram hits the gate far harder than it should. I feel something surging from one of the mounted and armoured men, what should 'merely' be a huge beam of oak being swung by twenty burly soldiers strikes with inhuman force and I can hear the iron banded planks of the gate below cracking after a single blow.

I reload the crossbow, crawling back across to the side of the tower that will allow me to fire down upon the ram crew below.

Crunch

They strike again, faster than I would have expected and again with that impossible force. I look to the terrified guard in the tower with me. “Keep firing. I will hold the gate.”

Crunch

I vault over the battlements and drop fifty feet to the ground below, flaring my wings as I descend and making a better go of landing this time as I impact behind the buckling gates. The cross bar is already splintered and the brackets for iron bolts pulling free, I close my eyes. A deep breath, I draw my sword and settle it into a relaxed two handed grip as I wait.

Crunch

The gates burst asunder, the ram is dropped, twenty fully armoured men and woman rush toward me with a roar, axes, maces and swords readied though most of them keep shields angled to ward off continued crossbow fire from the towers. I do not step forward, I lunge, a snap of huge wings propelling me in impossibly fast as I slide the point of my blade over the top of a shield and below the rim of a helmet into the face of a bearded young man. He does not get to scream, he simply dies as I flicked steel through into the back of his skull before darting back.

These are not cowards though and whilst they flinch at the incandescence surrounding me, the soldiers move to circle around my flanks beyond the reach of my sword, three rush in. They move together as if they have practised, a woman leading with a short sword and large shield, a man with an axe to the right, a figure anonymous behind a full face helm to the left with a heavy singled edged chopping blade. The woman to the fore appears to be some kind of officer, I sense protective enhancements upon her armour and she is clad in articulated plate better than that of Dame Gregoria, though designed for infantry, it leaves her unprotected below the knee.

I block an axe blow with a wing, slamming the feathered limb up and forward into the haft hard enough that it hammers the weapon back into the man's iron clad skull. A strangled mewling gasp follows as that skull is caved in and he stumbles back in a state that could barely be described as alive, an eye dangling from a socket, crumpling into a heap as I block a blow from the office in front of me with my sword. I parry her blade to the left, the point of my weapon cutting under the guard of the fully armoured figure there and taking their gauntlet clad hand clean upon a finger.

Metal buckles and something snaps but they merely flinch back behind their shield without losing grip on their sword. The woman in front of me is more active though and punches me with her own shield, leaving me wincing as a metal bossed piece of wood is rammed into my unarmoured form. I am huge compared to the people I am fighting though, towering easily a foot taller than them and as I have observed, weirdly durable.

The impact hurts but I do not feel anything break until I grab hold of the top of her shield with one hand and ram it hard down upon her booted feet. That shatters bone and she falls screaming to the floor, but now I am near surrounded. I have no choice it seems.

Whilst I have had only a few days to learn how to channel magic I have now a very basic idea and this time I do not simply unleash an uncontrolled stream of power, instead I emit a brief, focused pulse. A narrow torus of flame, burning bright enough to be a searing liquid white, only an inch across at at waist height. It retains this coherency for an eyeblink before then emanating in all directions and the effect is horrifying.

Those closest to me are simply bisected through shields and armour. Steel melts, wood is seared, bodies boil. The next ring of people perhaps survive if their armour was particularly good and shields raised, but are left writhing in agony with cauterised limbs half turned to ash or flesh charred by molten metal. Those further out still might even live, potentially, but right now they are very much on fire as I stand looming in the gate, my wings flared and glowing like the dawn.

The officer survived though, she is groaning on the floor with broken feet and my attack passed clear over her.

I wonder how many times I could repeat this and so I bellow to the soldiers arrayed outside. “Leave this place! Heucia shall not be yours this day!”

One of the mounted individuals urges a block of infantry forwards, they do not look to be as heavily protected as the party with the ram, wearing mail under breastplates rather than more extensive armour worn by the first group, but they all have long spears in combination with oblong shields. “She is a mage trying to trick you, not an angel, and will be exhausted soon. Forward before the militia form behind her!”

I am conscious that there are people moving behind me but do not take the time to glance back as the wall of spearpoints advance. Unarmoured, wielding a sword? I am definitely not achieving anything through conventional force of arms but I am conscious that my ability to unleash magic is finite and wait for the last moment. I also try something new for greater efficiency and focus power into my sword.

It is not a magical weapon, this is not something it will survive for more than minutes, but the weapon starts to glow in much the same way Dame Gregoria's did, only brighter. Bright enough that it is likely retina searing like my halo and certainly bright enough that I doubt any of the soldiers advancing can directly look at me as I step forward and cut through their spears as if they had the consistency of soft plastic. Their shields fare no better, mail clad bodies only moderately so. Half blinded, they find themselves helpless and I shear through fifteen or twenty before I feel a spike of agony as one stabs me through the calf.

Another half dozen people die, pain in a wing, blood is flowing freely now and I barely avoid losing a finger as my left hand is sliced open. This is using far less magical power but I am paying for it in blood and would likely be incapacitated if not for the ludicrous durability of this body. Another two handed sweep kills three men and women, I roar in pain and fury. At this point they break and I refrain from striking down any of the fleeing troops as they run, many dropping spears and shields, several nursing the seared stumps of severed hands.

I stand panting, bleeding, also wincing as one of the fleeing soldiers drops unmoving to the ground with a crossbow bolt in their spine. “Captain Alessandra?” It is Markos, I glance back to find him in obviously borrowed armour and holding a pole axe, a steadily growing crowd of variously armoured townsfolk with weapons from spears to enchanted blades, along with a trio of knights who are still being strapped into their plate as they assemble behind me.

I take a deep breath. “There are about five hundred of them, three armoured mages on horseback, a company of gunners. We probably need to get more people with ranged weapons onto the walls if we are going to hold the gate but for now I can kill anyone who tries to get through. For now.” I put particular emphasis on the last words.

He nods, one of the knights steps forwards, I recognise the man from when I first visited the count's keep. “If you can hold for now that is enough. The rest of the militia and garrison are on the way, they must have been hoping to storm by surprise. I-”

He cuts off as one of the mounted 'magisters' comes into view through the open gate in front of the hand cannoneers, a hundred or so men and women in half armour with rapidly levelling weapons and smoking slow matches. Two tumble to the ground as they are shot from the walls. “Get back!” I turn to the gate as I shout to the assembling militia. No point holding back now, I raise my bleeding left hand and unleash a focused lance of flame.

I feel myself draining as I attack at range, it is not as bad as it was when I used magic purely by instinct in the minutes after my arrival, but this is still not something I can sustain for long. The mage attempts to block, raising an intangible barrier ahead of his troops. It lasts for all of half a second before buckling and then a wave of fire rolls across the company of gunners. He starts to scream. “She is a real ang-!”

His horse dies first as the wards upon it's enchanted barding fail, then runes set into his magnificent armour starts to glow as fire washes around him to play across soldiers who die like guttering candles. Twenty, thirty, forty, maybe fifty men and women are simply gone within a second and I begin to sweep across their line. Several explode as their gunpowder detonates, most try to run but none have time to react.

Then I feel an agonising pain in my side and collapse to the ground. The fire dies, the world begins to spin, turning grey as I sprawl bonelessly. Of course. Somebody shot me. Everything fades.