Crovacus simply downed a cocktail of various painkillers, high-concentration medium-suspended essentia, and alchemicals designed to ease its otherwise lethal toxicity. Despite the fact both of the noblemen possessed stormward talismans, neither planned to fight Ubul, rather deciding - independently of one another - to shore up the battle-line and manage the claymen, taking potshots at Ubul at opportune times.

Ozmir went through his silken bag. Normally, something from a beast aligned to Terra in concert with something that could defeat Terra would be a safe bet, but a safe bet wouldn’t work on this abomination. The quantity of Terra being drawn upward from the earth and concentrated within that giant egg was worrisome indeed, worrisome enough that the only option… Yes, this would work. He would hazard a full-body mutagen based upon a Fermented Sculptor Scourge Egg, the sterile egg of a rare symbiotic entity born from an Omniphage Strider laying eggs in a state of Viriditas toxicity. With this vine-enveloped, armored form, he would have the means to compromise even the densest of rock, given even the smallest opening… And he trusted his allies to provide that. Now he just had to remove a sufficient amount of the egg and dissolve it in his precious, mutagenic amplifier that the old nobles had hounded him in search of. He pulled out a small gourd half-filled with the substance, uncorking it just long enough to drop in the pinkie-sized chunk of egg, then closing it up and swirling it about. The mutation would be fast, violent, and neither pleasant nor pretty, but he couldn’t hope for an assurance of safety from friendly fire much better than all soldiers having orders to exclusively fire on claymen or Ubul regardless of how much something looked like a monster.

The tension in the air threatened to become unbearable, the Blue Moon hanging overhead for minute after minute, until, eventually, there came a terrible cracking sound, as if the earth itself threatening to split apart.

All at once the stone egg burst, sending a small mountain’s worth in boulders flying overhead and into the treeline, exposing the terrible form within. Towering over even the Guardian of the Wall, in the crater stood a gigantic stone humanoid at least twelve meters tall, his form obscured by dozens of horrific tentacles, structured like arms with uncountable additional joints between the shoulder and hand. These many arms sprouted from the form’s left shoulder and its back, a single gigantic arm taking its place on the right shoulder, in its grip a polearm just as gigantic as its wielder, and behind him whipped about a maceheaded dragon tail. Only when all these terrible arm-tentacles, one by one, dug their hands into the ground, was Ubul’s new body revealed, his face twisted into a permanent scowl, his eyes surrounded by cracks and from behind them seeping a bright amber glow.

In spite of his form’s stonebound monstrosity, the general had maintained his original appearance, even going so far as to sculpt his new form to appear as though he was clothed, as if he were wrapped in scaled body armour depicting images of western lesser deities, with a belt bearing the image of a lion and a majestic mane of hair framing his head, bound by a rope which stuck out in two long feathers wrought of what seemed to be steel. The great general had dredged from deep within the earth all manner of metals, both to adorn his earthen body with and to grant an edge to the recreation of his polearm.

“I AM A SOLDIER,” thundered Ubul’s voice, echoing and repeating as it was repeated by the rumbling, choked grunts of all Stone Soldiers.

“THE DIVINE EMPEROR COMMANDS: “BRING RUIN TO WILLOWDALE,” AND I OBEY. WHAT COMFORT IT MIGHT GRANT YOU IN THESE LAST MOMENTS OF YOUR LIVES, KNOW THAT I DO NOT HATE YOU, OR THOSE BRAVE, FOOLISH, DEAD MEN WHO ENACTED THE DESPERATE MEASURES THAT HAD FORCED ME INTO SECLUSION UNTIL NOW. I KNOW BETTER THAN TO HATE THOSE LIKE MYSELF.”

The stone monstrosity’s burning gaze shifted to seemingly nothing, but Zelsys realized where it pointed. With his eyes solidly fixed upon the command post which had so thoroughly been enshrouded in wards, Ubul spoke again, and the malice in his voice echoed all around from the mouths of dead men: “IT IS THE COWARDS WHO DARE NOT FACE THEIR DEATHS HEAD ON THAT I REVILE. MERCHANTS AND BANKERS. NOBLEMEN WHO THINK THEMSELVES ABOVE THOSE THEY RULE MERELY FOR THE CIRCUMSTANCES OF THEIR BIRTH. CALL ME A HYPOCRITE, IF YOU SO CHOOSE - MY LOYALTIES SUPERSEDE PERSONAL MISGIVINGS. THERE IS, HOWEVER, NO SUCH LOYALTY STOPPING ME FROM CARRYING OUT MY MISGIVINGS UPON THE COWARDS AMONG THE ENEMY.”

One of Ubul’s many arms ripped a chunk out of the ground and lobbed it towards the command post, breaking through the defensive ward and splattering three of the tactics personnel within, while the others were left either injured or escaped by a hair’s breadth.

At that moment, Zel felt the metaphorical dam run over. A llightning bolt struck one of Ubul’s steel feathers. The Guardian of the Wall surged forward with its inhuman speed, charging directly at the stone monstrosity while its lesser counterparts began carving into the clayman armada, exploiting their moment of motionlessness. Beams and bullets alike screamed through the air, fireballs splattered upon his stone skin, her tablet thrummed and a communication from Zefaris flashed in her mind’s eye.

It was the location of his cores, a mental image copied and sent over aetherwave. Ubul had cores in the joints of his many arms, one core each playing the role of his eyes, eight cores arranged alongside his spine, and a particularly large core where his heart would be.

The Guardian of the Wall smashed headfirst into Ubul, the Sister’s Sword clashing with his Stone Halberd, its eyes flaring with baleful light as its internal magic struggled to even hold up with the walking mountain, let alone overcome it.