In a safehouse in Siberia, in a dark basement tunneled out by Clone himself years ago, a process was going on that Clone had been practicing for decades now; a single copy of his body had reached a needed threshold... and was starting to split.

Observing it from the outside, it was disgusting. While it wasn't instantaneous, the hours it took were dramatically faster than the process of conception and birth; and the process seemed similar, from the outside; or perhaps closer to a caterpillar becoming a butterfly. A single, fleshy sack had formed, the body inside completely dissolving, all the way down to the bones; and two new bodies formed. Smaller. Younger. Healthier. Rather than a mid-thirties, heavily overweight man with scars and missing fingers, inside that sac; vivid red-pink in color; a pair of seemingly fresh, high-school or college-age men; both identical, pale-skinned, Russian, with dark hair, dark eyes... and the same cold, calculating look.

Clone was a very effective tool; one which could be used to create truly dramatic damage, and already had been; and one which Chain needed to ensure as much of died as possible before she lost control. Not only would Clone be an effective tool -against- the Jotun once he recovered, but he would have fragments of Chain's own memory remaining; the primary reason she tried to ensure her victims died during the process. She'd already killed most of his bodies; suicidal charges against his former allies; attempts to trigger chemical, biological, or nuclear weapon strikes... some of which worked.

These, however. There was something different about these freshly created bodies. They... didn't have any of Clone in them. The only mind inside them was Chain. It was... a strange disconnect. Clone had been in the process of creating hundreds of new bodies, building up his numbers to help fight the Jotun; and while Chain had started to simply kill them off...some had emerged before she reached them.

This led to an important question. Would these bodies still be her, when she lost control of Clone? Would they, since she was in them from the moment of their creation, continue to be part of her... or would Clone take over?

She couldn't be sure. But if she could keep them even when the artifact ceased its function as it ran out of power.... this would be enormous. She needed to make as many as possible in the remaining hours she had. Kill the rest... and hide them. It might be a distraction from her primary goal, assigned by Jotun; but if she could develop her own army of independent hands and feet to do the work for her... she might just be able to break free from the control of the Jotun dynasty. The king absolutely could not learn of this.

***

Deep within a bunker in west virginia, President McCarthy stared at the display. He'd expected to be coming down here for days, possibly even weeks, as the United States joined the rest of the world in fighting off the Jotun; now... the geiger counters at the bunker doors registered an immediate, fatal, dose. For the next decade, anyone that walked out that door would be dead before they saw the next sunrise. They were going to starve to death down here... eventually. He looked at his secret service agents, then down at the table.

He'd had his own family brought here. Allowed his men to bring their own, if they wanted. Was it better for them to be here, inside, knowing that their deaths were inevitable, or to have been aboveground, and already passed on?

They'd been prepared to lose everything in orbit; cables buried underground and running along the ocean floor kept him connected to the rest of the world; this was when the nations should be coordinating their military efforts against the invaders; but the invasion hadn't begun yet. Millions had died, his soldiers were armed and ready, tanks, aircraft, ships, all waiting for the moment, hiding in whatever cover would keep the orbital craft from spotting them... just... waiting.

One of the men at the table; a stranger, coughed. "Ahem. Mister president. I've got good news, bad news, and reports on enemy action."

McCarthy gave a low sigh. "Go ahead, general."

"First off, the good news. Ripper came up through the floor about twenty minutes ago carrying ration and vitamin packets, as well as some anti-radiation medication. He's already on the way back out, but he can keep whoever is stuck in here supplied so long as the infrastructure to the west holds up, and can get one person out with each trip he makes to leave... under two hundred pounds. Some of us will need to lose some weight before he can get us."

The relief was palpable. Around the table, men and women who'd thought they were doomed relaxed. Of course there was a way out.

"Next is the bad news. Europe is mostly lost, with the western part of Russia included in that. There have been dozens of chemical weapons attacks around the world, nasty ones. Dirty bombs. Probable bio-weapon attacks. The only continent that hasn't been hit is Australia. Its too early to estimate casualties, but its probably in the billions. Some military detachments are out of communication, others have taken heavy casualties, but for the most part they seem to be intact. Wanting to reveal themselves and start helping some of the worst-struck regions, but intact. Honestly, we won't have a good picture of the impact of the bio-weapons for weeks or months, but this might be an extinction-level event even if we defeat the Jotun. Of course, the losses here in the US are likely over a hundred million. The only survivors on the northern two-thirds of the east coast are in bunkers like ourselves, and we expect water supplies poisoned with chemical weapons to be devastating to the southeastern part of the country."

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

An image appears on the table; showing a map of the US, with most of the east in shades of red and purple. "The western half of the US is mostly fine at this point. Strikes were attempted, but failed; the Arizona actually shot down a few extreme-range missiles heading for California, but the captain tells us they were so low on fuel they likely would have landed in the water. We don't know just how the Jotun were able to take over Russian nukes; but they had exactly the same protocol in effect as we did. The DMA speculates that they may have made a multi-pronged attack, suborning multiple Russian leaders somehow; Apollo's intel that they could only take solid control of a single target might have been wrong."

He took a deep breath. "For right now, we still have over 90% of our post-Ascension military capacity. Our ability to support and maintain that capacity, however... is mostly gone. If the Jotun are able to keep up this sort of attack for a few more days, our readiness will begin to degrade dramatically... and we won't be able to resist any serious invasion. Even worse..."

An image of space appears; with thousands of red dots scattered across it. "The Jotun are still moving in the system. One of Apollo's predictions was that if, somehow, we could stop them from landing entirely, even if we took out their dedicated bombardment craft, they would simply resort to towing big rocks into orbit and dropping them on us; it was actually best if we let them land, and obliterated their forces on the ground, unless we could somehow wipe out their fleet. The Jotun appear to be gathering rocks from various sources and preparing them for exactly such a purpose."

McCarthy stared down at the table. "...What are our options?"

"Frankly... play dead and get them to commit all of their ground forces, and as many of their warships as possible, to surface action. If we get them down here in the dirt with us, we can win. If they see too many of our military forces out and about, they will realize we aren't as hurt as we should be."

"...I hate this. But... pass the word to remain secure. Do not aid civilians. Do not deploy. We are not moving out until the Jotun land in force."

***

"A precise count is impossible, your majesty. Over one billion of the humans have been eradicated, but that number may be as high as three; and Chain has given us details on the biological weapons she has discovered, and released. If we were to depart right now, without any further intervention, humanity would likely survive; but in a dramatically reduced form. If we were to actually invade and fight them on the ground, the standard movement of troops, evacuations, and other movement would spread those biological weapons further."

The advisory council was made up of some of Jotun's oldest, closest allies. Not a single member was less than a hundred thousand years old. Some of them had become cowardly in their advanced age. Others, bolder and more aggressive. Calim was likely the latter.

Calim's carapace was covered in vivid red markings; while he shed it regularly like every Jotun, he had an artist dedicated to carving them once again after each fresh molting; and some of the dye from the previous shell always remained. He had won many victories for Jotun in the past. "The Chain's work has been remarkable as always; in fact, this may be the greatest victory she has given us; their Titan is still alive, but standing within a radioactive wasteland. Enslaving the humans is foolish. We should gather our ships beyond the moon. Launch our ground attack craft, our armies. Crush what little remains of their military, destroy their production centers, their technology... and let our engineers spend this time repairing our fleet. We have the equivalent of a full shipyard in parts spread among this fleet. We can rebuild. Establish a permanent base here to use for repair and refueling after selling the planet to the Empire; and to send random shots into any new population centers that pop up, ensure the planet remains pacified."

One of Jotun's other advisors; Harrsam; one of the more cowardly of his men; gave a low, clicking chuckle. "Why would we involve our armies? Drop a few rocks on the remaining population centers and back away. Win it all without firing a shot."

The eldest advisor; older even than Jotun himself, and by far the largest in the room; Sharqa was the only female among his advisors, and almost five meters long from tip to carapace. Her enormous size and physical power dwarfed most of her species, even other females; and among lesser males, their attraction to her and fear would combine to produce immediate obedience. Even here, among the greatest of her kind, she demanded, at least, respect. Her dull grey carapace was adorned with thousands of spikes; an array of skulls and trophies from numerous victims impaled upon them; and much like Calim, these spikes regrew with each molt, and required them to be replaced.

Sharqa rose to her full height over the table. "The Empire demands a world full of life. Complicated life, with excessive life force, ripe for consumption. Too many such strikes would send this world into a winter of many centuries, and end its usefulness to them, and thus ensure we needed to develop another for the sacrifice. If we had known the price of coming here, we might have done that from the beginning rather than send a fleet. But having lost so many, we must ensure their sacrifice is not in vain. Even if we lose a hundred thousand of our soldiers, it would be better to do so than be required to terraform an entirely new world and seed it with life as we must do otherwise. In fact, this world is especially ripe for such; the Empire would likely consume it, but leave it in a state we could terraform once again, and bring it to a useful state within centuries. We must launch our armies. We must crush their resistance with claw and tooth."

Jotun gave a long, deep-throated laugh; one which sounded similar to a chainsaw to human ears. "She has the right of it. Continue gathering the rocks, just in case; but focus on those with materials useful for repair. Prepare the fleet. We will begin drops within the hour. Land some of the fleet on the uninhabited southernmost continent, and prepare them for in-atmosphere operations. We'll say.. two hundred and sixteen to start."