Six angels sat at a round table in a closed-off room. On the surface of the table, there was a map and multiple objects that could be used to represent armies, but those were swept off to the side. General Michael was sitting next to a relatively young-looking angel. Compared to the others at the table, she was like a child. Although Elrith held the record of being the youngest general, if he wasn’t here, the record holder would be her, General Jones. She was over thirty, but she really was like an infant compared to the five other archangels at the table. She was also the only one that wasn’t on the council.

Percy, Andrew, Dinah, and Melissa sat closer together, leaving a space between their group and the two generals. “The rebel army still hasn’t appeared?” Percy asked, his face expressionless.

“It is possible they found out about your arrival and are scared,” Michael said. “There have been a few deserters who may have leaked some information. Usually, they would have attacked by now. They’ve never given us a week to rest before.”

“That is quite unfortunate,” Percy said and clasped his wrinkled hands together. “I was hoping to resolve this issue before my great-grandson’s birthday.”

“Isn’t that in three days?” Melissa asked.

“Yes,” Percy said. “If they don’t attack today, it’ll be too late to make it back on time.”

General Jones’ expression darkened, but quickly returned to normal. “Does this mean you still insist on waiting?” she asked. After suffering defeat after defeat, she saw a ray of hope when the four archangels of the council arrived, but so far, they hadn’t done anything except for sleeping and eating. Her last vestiges of hope had disappeared with Percy’s statement. She had been confident too, but look at the army now: The morale was abysmal, and even the threat of death didn’t stop some angels from deserting. Their numbers were half of what they once were.

“Of course,” Percy said softly and closed his eyes. General Jones wondered if he was about to fall asleep. She wouldn’t be surprised if he did; after all, he was the oldest angel on the council at the age of a century and a half.

“What he means is,” Andrew said when he saw his companion was done speaking, “it is our best course of option. The rebel army is like a weed. You have to pull it out by the root. If we don’t eliminate every rebel in one go, then the survivors will flee and go on to cause havoc throughout the second sector. If even one of those … arch-halflings … that you described were to escape, isn’t that just asking for trouble?”

“But they could be targeting a different city while we idle around here,” General Jones said.

Dinah let out a sigh. “What do you think the purpose of the rebel army is?” she asked. “Do they just want to watch the world burn? If they wanted wanton destruction, they could’ve split up and forced our army to spread out, but they haven’t. They didn’t destroy the farms in the third sector—they went straight to the second and targeted Akurel’s army. The rebels wants what is ours. They aren’t going to destroy it before it is theirs. The simplest way to take control is to destroy the army. Who is going to stop them once they do that?”

Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

Melissa nodded and spoke before General Jones could. “It is likely they are preparing for an attack after finding out we arrived,” she said. “And we aren’t going to attack their base where they may have an ambush set up. It is much easier to defend than to attack. We may be old, but I don’t believe any of us here came with the intention of dying in battle. If waiting a few more days will accomplish the same thing and let us survive at the same time, then we’ll wait.”

***

Solra stared at the rod-like object in his arms. He raised his head to look at the smiling half-angel. The two were standing in a cave with a few angels chained up along the walls. “What is this?” Solra asked Pyre. He tilted the rod and peered down the mostly hollow tube.

“I call it a hand cannon,” Pyre said as he took the rod from Solra.

“You mean a miniature cannon?” Solra asked as his face paled. “Is that even safe?” Just a few weeks ago, Pyre had been experimenting with increasing the power of the cannons, but there was an explosion instead. Even a few dwarves no longer felt comfortable while working with him.

“No,” Pyre said. “This is a different design. Instead of launching the projectile via explosion, we launch it via pressure. See”—he placed a metal ball into the tube and held the tube upright so that the ball fell to the bottom—“we load the ammunition. Put on the cap”—an object that looked like a donut was placed over the end of the tube and attached via latches—“and we activate the humility orbs at the end.” He kicked the bottom of the tube and there was a scraping sound as the metal ball rushed towards the end of the tube, but was stopped by the donut-shaped lid. A few seconds passed.

“And then?” Solra asked. The metal tube began to make creaking noises.

“Then, when you think enough pressure’s built up, you flip this latch,” Pyre said as his finger approached the latches attaching the lid to the tube. Solra frowned and took a step back. The latch flipped, and there was a roaring sound as the metal ball shot out of the tube and crashed into the ceiling of the cave, embedding itself into the dirt and not falling out.

Solra scratched his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to make arrows of wind using the humility orbs instead?”

Pyre snorted. “Your arrows of wind won’t be able to pierce through an archangel’s wind wall,” he said.

“Archangels can’t summon wind walls when I’m around,” Solra said, his voice trailing off.

“Then what about when you aren’t around?” Pyre asked.

“Are you writing me off as dead already?” Solra asked back. “You think I’m weaker than my old coworkers?”

“Well,” Pyre said. “If you were stronger, you wouldn’t have been the one forced to flee, no?”

Solra exhaled and shook his head. “These hand cannons,” he said as he stared at the lid hanging off the tube’s end. “How many can you make?”

“I’ve already given over three hundred to the army,” Pyre said with a smile.

“Of course you have,” Solra said and shook his head again. Pyre hummed as he gave the hand cannon to Solra and picked up a stick. He prodded the angels chained to the wall, and the orbs embedded in their chests began to glow. Solra’s expression darkened as he stared at the weapon in his hands and listened to the captives wail. Pyre was too dangerous to keep around any longer.