Chapter 62: 62: Operation Crossdresser

One of the Guys

Calvin shivered as his shoulders compacted, bones thinning and hips widening as he went through the last of the transformation to become a carbon copy of the only humanoid within one hundred feet.

Calvin held his hand up between himself and a pale Nadia, who was looking at him like a person looks at a Widowmaker stalking the village square in the dead of night.

He inspected his hand, now thin and feminine, matching Nadia’s perfectly. He glanced down and noticed that his pants were stretched tight around his hips and legs, while his chest had jutted out to get in the way of his vision.

“Boobs are weird.” Calvin said, idly squishing the lumps of fat attached to the front of his chest.

“If you could stop fondling my boobs, that would be great.” Nadia said, crossing her arms over herself as if to protect her own breasts from him.

“These are actually my boobs, so it’s fine,” Calvin said, putting his hands down anyway. He grabbed his pants and started peeling them off. “Now trade me clothes.”

“What?”

Calvin spoke slow and patronizing, so the Ilethan princess would understand.

“I’m going to pretend to be you. Give me your clothes.”

“That’s..You can’t..”

Calvin raised his eyebrows.

“Gah,” she gave an unprincesslike grunt. “Fine, but you have to turn around.”

“Deal.”

Nadia begrudgingly traded him clothes on the condition that he keep his back turned while they passed each other their outfits.

“How do you get into these things?” Calvin demanded, tugging the tight leather over his legs, fidgeting as the black leather pants buried themselves into his crotch and butt.

“You get used to it.” She said, glancing over her shoulder at him. “How do you wear such baggy pants? it feels like something’s going to crawl in here and bite me.”

“You get used to it.”

“It’s terrible.”

“Agree to disagree.” It was incredibly strange hearing Nadia’s voice coming out of his mouth. It was like a squeaky gnome had taken residence in his throat.

Hopefully these pants don’t lop off my junk when I transform again. Note to self, don’t revert while wearing Nadia’s clothes. They had almost no give to them.

They exchanged shirts and Calvin couldn’t help but chuckle when he saw the way the tight leather pushed his boobs up, putting them on display, like he was carrying a museum quality artifact on his chest that he needed everyone to get a good look at. It was especially amusing when Nadia turned back to face him, his shirt tenting around her unsupported breasts in a way that wasn’t terribly flattering.

“Hahaha,” He chuckled at the irony of outdressing an Ilethan princess before handing her an armored vest and leather Gadveran helmet.

“Your job is to stay alive, and guard me incognito. Try not to look too…princess-y.”

Chained spirit.

4/15 Bent Remaining.

Another Nadia wearing her normal clothing manifested under his palm, blinking in confusion.

“Your job is to guard my copy.” Calvin said.

“Which one?” she asked, glancing between the two copies watching the proceedings.

“That’d be me,” Staying-Calvin said, raising a hand.

She glanced at the other Nadia, looked her outfit up and down with faint disgust then shrugged. “fine.” She walked over to Staying Calvin and they began discussing the plan.

Leaving Calvin was walking toward the emergency exit carved out by the Knick-knacks  when all hell broke loose.

In a detonation that threw all of them to the ground, the walls exploded into a ring of fire, sending hot shrapnel through the entire camp, setting fire to nearly everything.

Calvin felt heat on his scalp and managed to bat a piece of orange hot wood out of his straight black hair before it could set it on fire.

This is why I don’t like long hair.

Calvin glanced up and realized that the wall they’d been counting on to buy them time was nonexistent, and there was now nothing hiding their exit from sight.

Shit.

“Emergency Exit Now!” He screamed at the top of his lungs, his Nadia voice blending with that of the two other Calvins, who’d come to the same conclusion.

You know what they say, no plan survives first contact with the –

I haven’t got time for your nuggets of wisdom, Calvin thought, pushing himself to his feet.

He reached into his brand-new cleavage, grabbing the Steam component tucked away in there, They’d already found out through trial and error that copies were unable to use Bent, so Calvin would have to make a bit of a show of using Bent before he ran away.

He used his finger to aid his concentration, drawing a mental line across the area where the smouldering remnants of the wall burned, mostly ash by now.

Shaping.

3/15 Bent remaining.

Dupdomancy has reached level 14!

Level 14: 196 pounds, 70 minutes.

An explosion of cold water vaper choked out the fires and blocked the enemy’s line of sight with steam and smoke, but just barely.

“Move, move, move!” one of Calvin’s copies shouted…he wasn’t sure which one.

Calvinian summoning.

2/15 Bent remaining.

A massive swarm of wasps erupted from Calvin’s hands and spread out, landing in the surrounding grass, waiting until he gave the signal to attack.

“Go, go go!” he turned back, watching Lieutenant Vukya lead the 1st Mujenan volunteers to the cliff face.

The Knick-knacks had carved a thin shelf barely big enough for two men side by side into the side of the cliff, leading south. His men were going to pass by Brendan’s men and emerge south of them.

Calvin was going to use the same trick twice in a row.

Which is normally a terrifically stupid thing to do, but in light of the circumstances, I’ll let you off the hook.

Even if he puts eyes on the cliff, they won’t see anything unless they’re watching from the ocean. There’s a lip blocking sight.

Good luck I guess.

The other option was getting run down by no less than five hundred cavalry while they tried to disappear into the jungle. Not an option Calvin wanted to take. Calvin drew a mental line behind the destroyed wall.

The witch couldn’t stop him if she couldn’t see him.

Grease.

***Brendan***

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Brendan ducked down as Charlotte deflected a spell above them, tearing the horrifying Mage’s fire into harmless shreds that warmed their shoulders and the tops of their heads.

Brendan didn’t know what waited on the other side of the wall of steam, but he knew it couldn’t be pleasant.

“Defences up!”

Living Armor

12/18 Bent remaining.

Brendan followed his own advice and activated the skill he’d inherited from his father as they approached the steam. Apparently the old coot had learned it from a pygmy in the deep southern jungles below Gadvera, but his story was always changing, so Brendan took it with a grain of salt.

Brendan’s Quag leather armor grew to cover all the exposed joints, reinforcing his defences and bolstering his strength by allowing the armor to aid his movements.

The men around him glimmered as they similarly funneled Bent into their armor and shields. A defensive skill wasn’t just required in the Ilethan military; a soldier’s career would be very short without one.

Another wave of heat burst above their heads as Charlotte diverted another blast of fire upwards.

Although, what could protect against that, I’ll never know.

Brendan resolved to enhance his Living Armor skill further. At level fifteen it would unlock Mutations for the armor. Perhaps then he could do something about the damned fire, and the omnipresent threat of mind-manipulation by Ilethan mages.

There was a reason his father had been feared.

Stay in the moment, Brendan chided himself, tightening his grip on his sword. Whatever was waiting on the other side, they’d barrel through it with their toughest soldiers, leaving the rest to mop up.

“Gack!” Brendan let out an awkward cry as his foot slipped out from under him, leaving him suspended in air for a breathless moment, his adrenaline showing him the nearest five men in a similar position. Beyond that was shrouded in white steam dotted with tiny motes of orange light from the glowing coals scattered around the battlefield, remnants of the fort’s walls.

To the hells with that!

Brendan’s spine cried out in pain as he slammed his free foot down to the earth, directing his armor to grow spikes jutting out of his soles.

Brendan caught his balance, ignored the cramp in the small of his back, and continued charging forward, even as men slipped and fell into the thin coating of jizz-like goop on the ground.

The Wasp had plenty of tricks, but he’d never beat Brendan in a stand-up fight.

He did stab you in the kidney. A little voice spoke in the back of Brendan’s mind as he charged forward.

I was winning that fight. Brendan shot back. His Endurance had long since grown to superhuman levels, and a little kidney-stabbing was no big deal. Like the one-day sniffles.

Brendan and half a dozen Veterans with movement skills plunged through the slimy mess without falling. In the blink of an eye, the ruined husks of Brendan’s resupply caravan wagons lay before him, what few they couldn’t toss into the ocean were set aflame, burning merrily beside the cliff-face.

Damn you!

In front of him was The Wasp, along with the simulacrum of Nadia, bearing a shield and curved sword seemingly borrowed from the Gadverans.

Finally, a target for my displeasure, he thought, feeling a feral snarl cross his face underneath the shifting leather of his helmet as he stalked forward.

“I thought Marcello The Dragon’s son would be…a little tougher. How’s finding dragon-skin going for you?” The Nadia-thing tried to bait Brendan, but his eyes were locked on The Wasp, who was watching him with an easy grin, his hands bearing a war pick.

“No knives?”

“No, I’ve got those too,” he said, holding up a palm and allowing a silver blade to jut out of his palm. “They just suck at fighting armor.”

“This,” The Wasp said, holding up the unadorned steel spike at the end of the short shaft of wood, ominous in its simplicity. “This should get to the meat of the problem. Or the brains.”

“Right then,” Brendan muttered, lunging forward, the standing Veterans close behind him.

He’s used at least…four Bent. Two explosions above us, the steam and the slime. He was spending Bent to create the workers who built the wall, so he can’t have a lot left…unless the Gadveran military has Support units. Officially they say they’re an abomination, but in war all things are fair. Perhaps they stole some of ours.

In any case, I’ll treat the lad as if he’s at eight Bent. No sense underestimating the squirrelly little bastard.

“Thin them out!” The Wasp shouted, and a cloud of wasps lifted off the ground, filling the air with the hum of their wings as they descended on the veterans.

Brendan changed his visor into a mesh reflexively, nearly blinding himself as his armor became impossible for a wasp to crawl into. Most of the veterans were stoically powering through the painful stings, but it wouldn’t be long till they were brought down.

That old bat better come through.

***Charlotte***

Charlotte cocked her head to the side as she made out the unmistakeable sound of a swarm of wasps in the distance.

Humming one of her favorite jingles from a play in her youth, she idly grabbed a delicate, painted wooden wasp and tossed it on the ground. She’d long since learned not to hold them.

“Voodoo.”

25/30 Bent remaining.

The hand-carved wasp became a conduit to every similar object. Since it wasn’t made of the same stuff, the transfer rate would be atrocious, but it only needed to be a tiny fraction of a bonfire’s full strength to make the wasps go up in little puffs of flame.

“Transference.”

24/30 Bent remaining.

Charlotte funneled the energy of the nearby bonfire into the wooden doll, which predictably, turned white hot and exploded. The bonfire went dead. With a little work they could get it burning merrily again.

In the distance, the sound of popping wasps replaced the terrifying hum of the swarm.

Stupid boy making me spend two Bent for every one of the enemy’s. It’s gods-damned inefficient. I’m not a God’s damned Companion.

Perhaps it was caused by the sudden rush of heat on the battlefield, but the thick layer of mist thinned, revealing the Gadveran camp.

It was empty. The men on the ground couldn’t see it, being too close and buried in the enemy’s smoke screen, but Charlotte was able to tell.

Where did they go?

A flicker of movement caught her eye.

There was a semi-circle of burning wagons beside the cliff face, and behind it, the very last of The Wasp’s men were following a path down onto the cliffside, disappearing from her sight.

Charlotte found herself grinning wholeheartedly for the first time in years.

Perhaps there is something to this little game my nephews like to play.

“You.” She said, singling out a soldier busily bringing more wood to the bonfires.

“Me?” he asked, pointing at himself, his mouth gaping like some kind of fish.

“Yes, you. Gather everyone here together, and bring rope. We’re going rappelling.”

Macronomicon

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