"Incoming!" yelled a distant voice with unmistakable urgency, rousing First Sergeant Tibor Balan from the much-too-short blissful embrace of Lady Sleep.

By reflex, Tibor grabbed his rifle with one hand and rubbed his face with the other, trying to get the gunk out of his sticky eyes. It had been the first time in four days that he could grab some well-deserved shut eyes, and with the way his body ached and his breath heaved, he knew he hadn't been enough. He let a groan escape his lips before rolling to his position along the slope of the trench his squad was currently defending.

"How many?" Tibor yawned to Jadzia, his reliable Corporal.

"Not sure, sarge," she replied, stifling a yawn of her own. "Do you hear that?"

Eerie, laughing noises rose from deep within the dawn brume in front of them. Ever since the Seeding, the weather hadn't been as regular and predictable as it used to be. On the same day, you could go through mist, snow, rain or a fierce sunny heatwave worthy of the land where their trench was situated–thanks to those bloody weather magicians. Today, the ground was so dry that the mist became fog whenever they touched.

"By the Saints and their holy nuts, not the hyena guys again!" Tibor swore loud enough to be heard by the closest soldiers in the trench. He even got a nervous laugh from one of the many soldiers under his command. He tried to recall the name of the guy. Bjorn or Hans. Or was it Stefan?

"Want me to do the honour, sarge?" sighed Jadzia.

"Yes, please," Tibor answered with a mocking grin. "The recruits always listen to you better. Must be the size or something..."

His underling answered with a snicker and a raised middle finger. Then, Corporal Jadzia "Jaz" Sobieski shouted her instructions to the rest of the soldiers defending plot C12, sector AAZ, official codename Pink Floyd Alley.

"Listen up, you holy mongrels of the Lord!" She roared loud enough for the incoming guys to hear. "Today's hostiles are Beastdrivers pushing packs of vicious, laughing hyenas to do their fighting for them. Sectarian cowards, the lot of them. Agata, Agni, Miko, and Niko find the originators and shoot them down. The rest, focus your fire on the beasts. Wait for the call and make sure the beasts don't get into the trenches! We don't want the sarge to get mad, now do we?!"

A resounding "Yes, Corporal" was the collective answer from the soldiers.

Of the forty-odd members in his squad, a third was comprised of recruits fresh out of the Holy Nation's training camps. It would be the first time they engaged in a real battle. Following their latest trend, a third would be dead by the time they repelled the incoming wave. Such was the Lord's way. Making it through your first engagement was a small miracle.

"Hold!" shouted Jaz.

Tibor couldn't see the beasts through the fog but could hear them better. He checked his rifle, making sure the pad connecting to the palm of his right hand was spotless.

"Hold!"

As the obscene laughing started to fill the area in front of them, Tibor began to see shapes moving through the white fog. He used Identify on repeat until he got a hit.

"Set your rifle to 21!" Tibor barked the order and was satisfied to hear it repeated up and down the trench. He did the same, placing his rifle on the sandbag to steady his aim.

"Hold!"

The hyenas were coming out of the fog in chaotic packs everywhere he looked. Snarling and laughing hysterically, they rushed the defending line, uncaring of their fates, their mind erased and overtaken by their drivers, the Sayiq Fahkurs. Those guys controlled the packs with their minds, which made them prime targets for their sharpshooters. Kill one, and you would put the entire pack out of combat.

"Fire!" Bellowed the Corporal.

On cue, the no man's land was crisscrossed by more than forty yellow, dense Mana rays that vaguely reminded Tibor of the sci-fi movie Blaster Beams from Before.

"Fire!" Yelled again his Corporal a few seconds later.

Another canvas of yellow strokes illuminated the field. Tibor checked the results and was happy to see the forerunning beasts lying flat on the ground twenty metres before them. His mood soured rapidly when he saw the rest of them emerging from the fog.

"Fire at will! Aim for the legs!" Jaz gave her final orders, knowing like he did that this skirmish would end up a dirty, messy brawl soon enough.

The next minute saw a gigantic expenditure of Mana from his squad as they unleashed all Hells on the charging beasts. Tibor calmly shot everything coming inside his kill zone, once again marvelling at the rifle sold by the opportunistic United States of America and Canada.

It was an engineering feat worthy of praise for its simplicity and durability. Based on the Winchester rifle Model 1894, it was stockier and heavier, built around a wooden grip fitted with a metal plate where the palm connected, allowing the weapon to be infused with Mana from the bearer. Three rotating dials on the side near the thumb pre-determined how much Mana each 'bullet' would consume. The rest was only up to how large your Mana pool was and how many Mana-restoring potions you could chuck.

If the Sergeant had to guess, they had spent in that single minute more Mana than most civilians would use in a day, racking a pricey expenditure of 20 MP –Mana points– per attack. A level twenty soldier had an estimated Mana pool ranging from six hundred to eight hundred, depending on the build—between thirty and forty shots. The beauty of the rifle, dubbed Rusac One or RAC1 by some marketing genius, was that you could either fire single shots or short and long bursts. It all came down to how much MP you wanted to waste in a single usage.

After spending north of twenty-five thousand MP, forty beasts' corpses littered the no man's land. Tibor could also spot the bodies of two Sayiqs among them. They must have tried to use the cover of the fog to hide themselves and maintain control over the beasts for as long as possible. It was the problem with Landers. They didn't mind dying for their God, prophet, or whatever. Hells, they got to spend the afterlife with virgins, apparently. Tibor couldn't see the appeal but to each their own. It Beat ten times out of ten what happened to Tibor and his squad if they got killed. Their Spirit would be weighed and measured and, if deemed worthy, would be put up for resurrection and back to the battlefield it would be for the righteous soldiers of the Order of the Hospital in the Levant. That and quite a few million Reps of debt to repay the Church, notwithstanding the skills and levels lost in the resurrection. Despite the yellow barrage, the morning mist held thick and hid the enemies, so Tibor shook himself from his daydreaming and made a sign to Jaz.

"Hold your fire! Hold your fire! Hold your fire!" She yelled while waving one arm in both directions alongside the trench.

"Alright, then," Tibor exhaled, lifting himself on creaking, tired knees. "Time to check if they are dead or simply pretending..."

"Permission to speak, First Seargent?" Asked Jaz in a tone that clearly wasn't a question.

"Denied, Corporal!" Tibor answered with a chuckle. "Since I already know what you are going to say and you already know my answer. It would be a waste of breath for both of us, and I have places to be, dead bodies to check, another day in the life of a dutiful NCO of our Lord's army. Be a dear, though, and make sure I don't get shot in the back, will you?"

Not waiting for her answer, Tibor ran low towards the first corpse, his RAC1 strapped across his back like bows of old. He had to somersault over the hyena bodies to reach the closest human one. There, he crouched as low as possible since the enemy also had sharpshooters of their own, using, as irony would have it, the exact same rifle he did.

The USAC stated that, in their infinite neutrality or greed, depending on who you'd ask, they sold weapons to both factions involved in this particularly pointless war. They didn't want to take sides and wouldn't be the reason one faction might overwhelm the other. They did the same with every crazy invention their Crafters churned up back in their labs, lairs, or wherever the Hells those mad geniuses did their best work. They reminded Tibor of the country Switzerland from Before, profiting from death and war while claiming to be neutral, thus always coming on top of any conflicts. The worst part was that it worked. The Holy Nation and the Landers accepted this open double-crossing for what it was: simple business.

Lost in those thoughts born of sleep deprivation that no amount of potions could hope to keep at bay, Tibor checked the first Sayiq body by turning it on its back. The perfectly round hole in his forehead confirmed that this one wouldn't be standing up soon. It had been a good shot from one of the sharpshooting team. He made a note to ask Jaz to congratulate the shooter on his behalf. Not wanting to spend more time than necessary out in the open, Tibor moved to the second body, after looting any possession the landers might have been carrying on himself when shot dead. The Sergeant put them inside his bag without looking and ran away. The second yielded the same result, and Tibor didn't loiter and began running back to his line. He nearly made it undetected as well—emphasis on nearly.

The proverbial crap hit the fan while he was twenty metres out.

Powerful, magical gusts of wind shredded the thining midmorning mist, revealing his position for everyone to see. Even before the grey wisps of brume fully dissipated, lighting and fire rained down on him, courtesy of the other side's magicians. The noise was deafening, and the clear spring sky turned red and blue. Luckily for him, those strikes, though very lethal, lacked any kind of precision. Tibor ran in the middle of a series of left and right explosions that dug wide, burning craters reeking of ozone and charcoal odours. When he reached the ten-meter line, he activated one of his oldest skills to close the distance: Relentless Charge.

Instantly, the world blurred around him, and he almost teleported inside the trench under the effect of the sudden boost in his running speed. Tibor clocked the last ten metres in under one second, ending his course right where he had started it two minutes ago. Seeing him back alive and unscathed despite the magical onslaught, his men cheered and laughed up and down the trench. Some, bolder than others, even stood up to taunt the enemy line with ancient, universal words and hand gestures about mothers, sisters, brothers, fathers and various animals.

Before both NCOs could intervene and put a stop to that, the other side decided not to let it slide. Their sharpshooters took out the most emboldened of his men with dense yellow beams bordering on orange, indicating the killing intent of the enemy. His squad lost two men as a result. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the explosive and destructive rain stopped, bringing a loaded silence over the no man's land. Tibor knew it was not good. He groaned and wiped his face. It looked like it was going to be a long, frigging day of fighting. Sleep would have to wait.

"Tank up! Tank up!" Jaz didn't waste any second shouting the order.

"Can you see them?" Tibor enquired after downing one of his three Army-issued Mana potions for the day.

As always, they tasted somewhere in between bitter and sweet, reminding him of the syrup his mother made him occasionally take when he had a cough as a kid. Veterans did the same up and down the trench, throwing empty bottles behind them. Only the newbies looked in confusion, not understanding why they had to chug a potion all of a sudden.

"Incoming! Incoming!" Niko yelled from his hiding place behind the trench. Like all sharpshooters worth their salt, Niko liked to move around to make sure he didn't get spotted.

"Any specifics?" Jaz didn't lose a beat.

"Two scores of Virulent Banded Mongoose, level 18!" The answer came from a different spot further up the line. The voice belonged to Miko this time, Niko's team leader.

"Eighteen! Dial it in, soldiers!" Bellowed Jaz while doing the same with her weapon without even looking.

"Call for those under 60% to stand down and meditate up before engaging," ordered Tibor while trying to get a look at those virulent mongoose. He didn't like the adjective and what it boded for them. "Warn the healers that we might have soldiers in need of cure poison pretty soon."

"Yes, sarge!" Jaz answered before calling for some men to relay the First Sergeant's orders.

They didn't have to wait long before the first beast's muzzles came in shooting range.

"Fire at will! Manage Mana!" Jazda's call was once again passed up and down the trench.

Then again, all Hells broke loose, and there was no more time to think and ponder on their lives as the wheel of blind, absurd violence resumed rolling. Tibor aimed for the nearest creature incoming. He breathed out and gently squeezed his RAC1 handle, sending Mana into it with a simple thought. In response, a soft chime resounded, and a yellow beam of death left the barrel to finish its course in a furry body mass the size of a small dog. 80% MP left. He would have to keep it at single shots, sometimes double taps if needed. Taking another breath, the First Sergeant aimed for his next target, inhaled slowly, exhaled and brought another creature down. He managed to kill three more mongooses before hearing a vicious growl from ten metres further down the trench.

"Breach! Breach!" Yelled a voice, stating the obvious as only the military could do sometimes.

Tibor looked and saw two mongooses jumping inside the trench and wreaking havoc on the nearby defenders. As soon as they stepped behind the sandbags, they emitted a sickly green mist, instantly spraying two men nearly point-blank. The soldiers inhaled the green smoke and immediately shrieked, racking their faces with their hands.

"It burns! It burns!" They both yelled as the skin of their faces peeled away under their gloved fingers.

Immediately, the two mongooses split apart, each gunning for the opposite direction with the logical intent of squirting their corrosive cloud of poison on as many soldiers as possible.

"Bridge the gap! Move, move, move!" Tibor yelled while pushing people to the side as he beelined towards the poisonous mongoose.

Tibor activated his trademark skills, Steadfast Shielding. A screen of translucent light shaped like a kite shield as tall as him appeared seconds right as the mongoose pounced. The beast crashed its body on the shield and fell to the floor. Before the poisonous cloud could taint more soldiers, the Sergeant used Absord Ailment to suck it inside him, another skill granted by the System six years ago when the Seeding happened. This skill allowed Tibor to sustain all kinds of damages instead of the intended target.

Tibor barely registered the information from his #Logs as he pulled his short sword from the sheath strapped to his leg and brought it down swiftly on the beast's head, killing it instantly. More acid damage messages appeared on his log that he ignored. The physical damage was not a problem for him as he had more than twenty-two hundred points HP. Instead, Tibor kept running down the trench, dispelling his Steadfast Shielding to preserve his MP. He had much less of those, and he didn't want to find out what would happen when his MP reached 0. The best-case scenario would be symptoms of Mana deprivation, which he could endure through. The worst-case scenario could be anything else. The System always found creative ways to mess up with originators, pushing them to grow or to die. Tibor didn't have time to die today. He had soldiers counting on him to save them.

Twenty metres later, Tibor used Relentless Charge to close the distance with the other mongoose. The beast was in a standoff with a soldier whose name eluded him as he used a shielding skill similar to his own, except his looked like a bubble of shimmering light encasing him and his fellow soldiers. The most important part was that the poison couldn't penetrate the barrier. Once the Sergeant dispatched the beast with another swift sword strike, he was able to use Absord Ailment a second time, dissipating the cloud from the trench.

Tibor checked his #Display for his HP and MP.

The numbers kept ticking down every second. Tibor checked the state of the trench one more time. He was glad to see no other mongooses running around the trench, poisoning his soldier with death clouds. He jogged back to Jaz for a sit rep before getting rid of the poison.

"Corporal, report," Tibor ordered when he reached her.

"Breachs contained, sarge. Four dead and four injured by the hostiles, sir!"

"Can they fight?" Tibor inquired.

"Medics cleared two," she answered without losing a beat. "The other two will have to stay with them for 24 hours before they can return, sarge!"

"OK, get the valid back to their post if they haven't already," Tibor instructed. "Prep the men for more waves, too. I have a hunch this was just a light jab to test our resolve. Send a runner to the Major for reinforcement and resupply. Mana and Energy potions, if possible. Dismissed."

"Yes, sarge!" The Corporal didn't salute, for fear of putting a target on the Sergeant's back, and went about following orders like the good soldier she was.

In the meantime, Tibor sat down heavily and checked his pools.

Damn, this neurotoxin was nasty as all Hells. Tibor felt weaker and slower. His breathing was more laboured than one minute ago when he was still dealing with the mongooses. His mind started drifting, and he had trouble focusing his thoughts. Yells and noises flanked him, but he was unable to pinpoint their origin or sense. It was time to get rid of the disease before he was out of commission. It wouldn't do for the troop to see their First Sergeant topple in the middle of the trench like a rotting tree. The thought of finally resting brought a smile to his lips, though. The notion was enticing. Tibor activated his Purify Body skill, and a wave of warmth invaded his body and mind. The Sergeant idly wondered if it was the sensation you got when bathing in the pure light of the Lord.

Tibor smiled and felt right as rain after the skill's effects subsided.

He was still aching to the bone and dreaming of sleeping longer than four hours, but he was battle-ready, which was the most important thing right now. Based on his experience with the Landers, there should be a lull in the attacks they threw at them. Their plan would be to have the Lord's army fall into a false sense of security, thinking nothing would come for the rest of the day, that they were done. In reality, they were likely to strike again in the early afternoon or at dusk when his men would be the most vulnerable. Or not at all. Or earlier. Or later.

Here laid the crux of this ongoing war between the Lands of the Five Pillars, aka the Landers, and the Holy Nation of the Lord, aka the good guys if you asked him. The conflict set ablaze the vast region located a few kilometres inland of what used to be Algeria, Tunisia, and Lybia's coastlines. Tibor remembered when this used to be a desert and a hotbed for terrorist training camps and dictatorships. Now, this was the northernmost boundary of the Landers' territory, and just like during the bloodthirsty time of the crusades, the Lord himself had decreed those people needed saving from their tyrannic sect of Allah. Thus, his holy army had been relentlessly besieging the faction's territories for the past five years.

Tibor drank two potions, one for his HP and the other for his MP. Being cured didn't mean being healed. He realised that those two were the last potions he had been issued. He would have to ask the Quartermaster for a refill. Luckily, husky Maja was pretty friendly with him on the off chance he would agree to take part in some naked, horizontal activities one day or another. Poor thing, he hadn't found the courage to tell her his preference didn't go this way. There was a good chance she knew that, but she was the playful, teasing type, so he let her have her giggles if it meant he could get extra materiel whenever he needed.

Those numbers were worryingly low. It was the problem with the cheap bastards running this war. They did it on a budget. The army grunts didn't get the good quality potions, only the low-tier ones. For those around and under level 20, which amounted to a vast majority of the armed forces, it would replenish between seventy-five and a hundred per cent of their tanks. It was way less effective for those nearing level 30, as Tibor just proved again. He would have to ask Maja if she couldn't get her callused hands on some off-the-book basic or greater potions for him.

Tibor heaved himself up with a groan and went on a stroll inside the trench to check on morale. He stopped by every man and woman under his command to ask how they were doing and if they had enough supplies to last the coming day and night. Those who answered negatively were sent to Maja on the double. He spent enough time with each to have a quick word, remind the scared one to have faith and that the Lord worked in mysterious ways. He also took the time to learn most of the recruits' names. With their going casualty rate, most NCOs felt it was senseless. Still, Tibor liked to create a sense of camaraderie with his men. It was his belief and experience that those little bonds of humanity could one day buy the extra minutes needed for reinforcements to reach you.

The Lord preached kindness, didn't he? 'Do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return, and your reward will be great'.

Strangely, or worryingly, depending on whom you'd ask, the rest of the morning was quiet, allowing Tibor to catch two more hours of sleep after returning to his central post. But, eventually, as with all things in war, things turned for the worst right after a meagre lunch comprised of mediocre-tier dry rations with inferior-tier water to push it down. He was lying on the side, cradling his RAC1, fighting demons and monsters in his restless sleep, when a light shake roused him. Instantly awake, he saw Jaz crouching next to him and checking the sky overhead the Landers' trench.

"Sarge, sorry to wake you, but have a look at that and tell me what you make of it?" The tall woman explained in a low voice.

Tibor groaned and moved deeper into the trench to stand and stretch a little before worrying about yet another trick from the enemy. The wide tunnel was two metres fifty deep, which gave him sixty centimetres of extra height to protect him from the enemy's prying eyes. He took his sweet time before finally tackling why the Corporal had chosen to wake him. After all these years on the front, not much could faze him anymore, so he didn't find any reason to rush unless he was directly attacked. The enemy was sometimes tricky, sometimes canny, but, in the end, always predictable. Just like them, if Tibor was honest with himself.

The Landers would mount a frontal assault on the trench, using any magical advantage they could think of to cross the no man's land without being spotted. They mostly used controlled beasts since a plethora of them roamed their lands. They would also try sneak attacks at night from time to time when a new officer arrived and wanted to make his mark and win the war in one go. Oftentimes, those same unblooded and untried idiots would also order an all-out magical barrage to obliterate the opposition with the raw power of elements. Those orders were the most dangerous because they were issued without listening to the NCOs telling them it was an awful idea. Experience couldn't be taught, and any soldiers who had spent time on the front knew what happened when there was too much Mana spent in one spot.

Death From Above happened.

Tibor shook his head when he finally looked at the weird crackling, thrumming sky in front of him. Across the span of one hundred metres, the ordinarily azure sky had turned sombre grey with streaks of red, white and green sending probes of light every second or so. A low rumbling sound also reached their ears every two to three seconds. It looked like a new enemy officer had taken up command in Pink Floy Alley. Tibor sighed, hoping the next hour would be kind to him and his men.

"Sound the alarm for cover, Corporal," Tibor ordered in a glum voice. "get the mage team to set up protective arrays to be activated on my signal. With a bit of luck, those Landers prats will bring trouble solely on their heads. I see no reason to put a target on our back until the last moment."

"Yes, sarge," replied Jaz with a nod. "This is a Death From Above situation, right, First Sergeant?"

"Yup, Corporal, this is a typical SNAFU; DFA."

"SNAFU, Sarge?" Jaz asked, creasing her brows in confusion.

Sometimes Tibor forgot that Jaz had been young when the Seeding happened. She didn't have the same cultural references he did.

"Situation Normal: All Fooled Up," he explained with a tight smile. "You have been in a DFA before, Corporal Sobieski?"

"Nope, Sergeant, this will be my first, I'm afraid," Jaz frowned.

"You are right to be afraid. DFA are the worst type of engagement. All we can do is hunker down and pray to the Lord for salvation and mercy... in that order. Go now. I expect we have a couple of minutes before we find ourselves in the thick of it."

The Corporal nodded once more and moved to relay the orders and bring the mage team up to speed on the fast-worsening situation. Tibor returned his gaze to the cloud bank that had evolved into a dark, angry promise of magical violence soon to be unleashed upon the Lord's army. This enemy officer was a fool, and Tibor fervently wished he would face Death From Above soon enough.

Around him, his men were retreating deeper inside the tunnels that connected this sector's trench with the thousands of others split across the coastline. Those tunnels' roofs were etched with basic protective spells and, more importantly, warding spells that would hide the occupants' Mana pools from scrutinisation. Well, they should, but as with everything the System offered, there was a limit. High-level beings and creatures could pierce right through the weak spells if they made an effort to look. Hopefully, it wouldn't.

In less than a minute, Tibor, Jaz and the sharpshooter team were the only people still watching, safely crouched behind whatever protection they could. Their task was simple in the case of a DFA scenario. They had to ensure the enemy wouldn't use the cover of the offensive spells about to rain down on them to attack their positions. If they did, they would have to buy time long enough, even recall some unlucky soldiers to repel the invaders until the actual danger showed up. Judging by the amount of energy the other side was summoning, it wouldn't be long. Tibor knew in his guts his original estimation was accurate, if maybe a tad generous. He initially thought they had minutes. He revised his opinion. They had less.

"Brace yourself, soldiers..." He said laconically.

As if on cue, a booming call echoed across the whole sector. It sounded like an angry challenge, a thunderous roar mixed with a piercing screech, resonating with a deep, guttural undertone so mighty it sent tremors through the air.

"Frigging hell, it's a big one!" Tibor commented. "Everyone, retreat! Take cover, now!"

He didn't have time to check on the men as he saw a giant eagle appear from the east. The beast was the size of a private jet from Before, with feathers a striking mix of deep gold and shimmering black that gave the flying monster a metallic appearance. Tibor watched with dread the deadly razor-sharp talons and beak. Those natural weapons augured death and destruction to the monster's prey. But the worst was the creature's eyes, glowing with a creepy, unnatural intelligence, giving the beast a formidable presence. It was Death From Above in all its glory.

Bad news indeed. Tibor's Identify couldn't read the level of that creature, which meant it was at least twenty levels higher than his own level 29. To make matters worse, the Landers had called an awakened beast. Those were the most dangerous denizens of Pangea's sky. Another screech resounded, this one too close to his liking.

Tibor felt the hit on his MP. He hated beasts that could hurt the spiritual. They were the hardest to eliminate because they could quickly cut you off from your skills, leaving you only with your attributes to fend for yourself. He cut his musing short when the beast came straight for the enemy camp, hovering inside the dark cloud of Mana. Its immense wings flapped lazily, producing a powerful, whooshing sound reminiscent of a gale-force wind. The immediate effect was to shred the cloud. The Golden Eagle chirped and clacked with an ominous and commanding tone as if expecting an answer from the Landers. The answer came in the form of a barrage of spells aimed towards the flying monster. Red, blue, yellow and green beams and bolts of lightning streaked for the beast. They barely scratched its feathers. All they managed was to end the chirping and clacking in a very ominous way. Tibor wisely decided to follow his own order and retreat. He didn't wait to see how the Golden Eagle would react to the aggression and ran inside the tunnel behind him, ordering the men to pull back deeper.

Then, he fell to his knees and murmured the Psalm 1141.

"Praise be to the Lord my Rock, who trains my hands for war, my fingers for battle. He is my loving God and my fortress, my stronghold and my deliverer, my shield, in whom I take refuge, who subdues peoples under me. O Lord, what is man that you care for him, the son of man that you think of him? Man is like a breath; his days are like a fleeting shadow."

Soon, his squad joined in, and the whispering grew to a humming sound inside the tunnels as they all repeated the prayer and put their collective fate into the Lord's hands. It lasted five interminable minutes before they all felt the terrible Golden Eagle's presence leave the area.

"Miko, go and check it out," Jaz ordered before Tibor could say anything.

Jaz was definitely the best Corporal he had the chance to serve with. She was steadfast and unfazed in the face of danger, with a solid rapport with the grunts under her command. The troop respected her and appropriately feared her also. She was also the best fighter they got in the squad. She was five levels below him and still put him in a tight spot every time they sparred. He beat her only because he had more combat experience, being the longest-posted NCO on this side of the Macta River.

The sharpshooter blanketed himself with a soft, glowing light until his form was a blurry reflection of his surroundings, courtesy of a stealth skill pertaining to his path. Tibor tried to follow him on his way out but gave up after five seconds of squinting. Miko reappeared out of thin air before Jaz a few minutes later and reported loud enough for everyone to hear.

"All clear, Corporal," he said with the hoarse voice of the big smoker he was. "The monster did a number on the Landers, though. Ain't a pretty sight, let me tell ya..."

"OK, everyone, back to your posts now! Careful though, their sharpshooters might be waiting to ambush us!" Jaz exclaimed, clapping Miko's shoulders. "You too, Miko. Good job."

Tibor nodded his own appreciation to the sharpshooters and walked out of the tunnel to assess the damage done by the monster. He crawled back slowly to his earlier post and looked at the enemy trench. What he saw was not damage. It was havoc. The dry, sandy soil had turned black and ashy, bearing giant talon marks everywhere. Bits and pieces of corpses peppered the Landers' fortified trench. Flesh and offals were already rotting under the afternoon sun. Piles of bare, broken bones jutted, forming morbid makeshift markers of the dead. The pungent stench of copper and bile was slowly creeping towards them. Tibor hoped to be graced with rain soon to wash away the stark and chilly red canvas painted before him. Landers crawled out from under whatever rocks they had found to survive. They came out of the ditch in pairs and trios to gather their dead comrades' remains. Tibor heard a rustling to his left and watched one of his soldiers aim with his RAC1. He didn't recognise him, so Tibor guessed this was a recruit.

"Hold fire, soldier," he said loud enough to be heard up and down the trench in case others had the same idea.

The concerned soldier stopped what he was doing and turned towards him, confusion written on his face.

"Yes, Sergeant," the newbie replied in an uncertain voice. "But...why don't we shoot them, Sergeant?"

Tibor looked at him. May the Lord be merciful, but this was a kid. They would have to be taught. Again. He had seen too many young men and women's minds broken by this unending conflict. They died and sometimes came back. When they did, they seemed to have lost a parcel of their Soul in the process. They appeared shallower for some reason. He sighed and checked the trigger-happy soldier.

Another strangely named path that could mean almost everything. The System liked to mince with words. Tibor decided that if the newbie made it more than three months, he would ask him what skills his path offered. Knowing before that would be a waste of Memory.

"We don't shoot them, soldier Budny," Tibor spoke with a firm voice, making sure again that everyone could hear his words. He didn't like to repeat himself. He had Jaz for that, after all. "Because, even though we are enemies, we understand the need to respect fallen comrades and to give them a proper burial so they can ascend to Heaven and rejoin with the divine. Especially when we are the casualty of Death From Above."

"What you do not wish for yourself, do not do to others," simplified Jaz as she arrived at her post, gently tapping Budny's head on the way.

The soldier grinned and had the decency to be ashamed of his earlier action. He put the strap of his RAC1 on his shoulder.

"Thanks, Sergeant. I think I kinda get it," he said with a nod. "Why is it called Death From Above, Sergeant?

"Lord, have mercy on your faithful believer," groaned Tibor. Jaz let a small laugh escape her throat before reining her reactions in. Still, she kept a little smirk on the corner of her lips. "Don't they teach you anything before they send you down here, soldier? Don't answer that. It was rhetorical... You know that since the Seeding, mankind has lost dominion of the sky to all the flying creatures, right?"

Soldier Budny vehemently shook his head in agreement.

"Good. There is a reason why we do not dare to fly anymore. Every time we send something or someone flying, they get assailed by monsters so high-levelled and powerful that even our Champions think twice before engaging them. Mark my words, soldier. There are nightmarish creatures roaming the sky for their next prey. The one that tore apart the Landers was weak compared to what the great azure expanse holds. Luckily, those flying atrocities mostly keep to themselves and seem happy to fight each other. I say 'Mostly' because one particular situation always draws them like moths to a fire. Any idea what it is, soldier?"

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

"No, Sergeant," Budny said after giving it all of twenty seconds to think about it.

"A hint, then," Tibor offered. "It has to do with large concentrations of Mana."

"Still nothing. I'm sorry, Sergeant," replied bashfully Budny.

Whatever the path of the Whisperwind Irregular was, it didn't give a boost to his Insight attribute, apparently. Tibor stopped himself from shaking his head in frustration. His intention was not to shame the soldier. It was to teach him a lesson that would help him survive for as long as the Lord saw fit.

"It is okay, Budny," the Sergeant finally replied. "We only learned what I'm about to tell you in the first weeks of battle here. It is not common knowledge because nobody cares about dominating the sky." Tibor didn't add the yet to his phrase since this explanation was already taking too long. "The flying monsters feed on Mana. The more, the better. Hence, their systematic appearance whenever casters load too much Mana into their spells. The mass magic attack the Landers had going was the reason the Golden Eagle graced the battlefield with its presence. It was also the reason why he left us alone. We made sure to use passive spells of shielding. Finally, they are the reason this war has been going on for so long. None of the top rankers can come and end the battle with flashy, mighty spells since they would inevitably draw the leviathan of the sky. Nobody wants that, so it is down to us, grunts, to fight the good fight for the Lord and prevail. Can I get an Amen?!"

"Amen!!" The soldiers roared in unison.

"Okay, lesson time is over now!" Interjected Jaz as the cries died down. "To your posts, grunts! Check your reserves. Team leaders will report to me what they need, and I will square it away with the Quartermaster! Dismissed!"

"Grab some shut eyes, Jaz," Tibor ordered his subaltern. "I will keep watch and wake you up in a few hours. I expect our friends from across the dirt will be busy for the remainder of the day. They won't be sneaking around anytime soon."

"Yes, sarge!" Jaz agreed with a wide smile.

She plopped herself down at her post, and seconds later, she was snoring away her tiredness while cradling her RAC1 like a long-lost lover. Tibor gazed out to watch the gruesome labour in silence. DFA made no quarter when they visited the ground. They killed indiscriminately. Tibor's heart went out to the Landers' plight. He knew what it felt like to be on cleaning duty after a DFA, as he once served under a prat Knight-Lieutenant. The result had been the same—loads of dead soldiers for no reason. In that moment, Tibor vaguely hoped the Golden Eagle hadn't killed the Landers CO. Stupid officers made for easier opponents, after all. In the end, one hour was all the respite his squad got. The quiet was shattered by a chiming sound coming from his Mpad. He had received orders from his superior, Sergeant Major Hoffman. He sighed and read the short message.

<"Full assault at 16:00. Coordinated effort along the front line. Objectives: Capture and secure the enemy trench.>

He should have known better than to think they would waste a tactical opportunity like the one presented by the Golden Eagle's apparition. The Landers were not the only ones with a prat officer, too. They were in disarray, and securing the trench wouldn't be problematic. The Lord's army would lose men, for sure, but it would be less than the usual cost for this kind of assault. Tibor acknowledged his orders and woke Jaz up.

"Up, Corporal," he said, walking down the slope. "We have our orders. Get the TL together for a briefing."

Jaz was already moving to get the three men and one woman concerned. Tibor checked the time in the corner of his vision. 15H30. As always with assault orders, they had been warned at the last minute to avoid any risk of the information being leaked–as if a spy could infiltrate their camp. The stupid notion made him smile. Five minutes later, he held the briefing with his most trusted soldiers, reviewing their strategy and tactics to cross the distance safely.

First, the sharpshooters under Miko would provide cover fire and take out the unwary Landers. Then, they would litter the no man's land with smoke grenades to allow Team Alpha and Bravo to lead the charge. Mid-range, they would use grenades to soften the Landers' resistance. Sixty seconds later, team Echo and Foxtrott would move out and follow, hopefully, to help Alpha and Bravo clean up. Soldiers with Shielding skills would take point, while soldiers with more offensive skills would remove any resistance. Once on the other side, Foxtrott, their sapper team, would secure the Landers trench, checking for booby traps and any other nasty surprises the Landers might have left in store for them. The meeting concluded with ten minutes to spare for the team leaders to explain the plan to their men.

When his internal clock showed 16:00, Tibor gave the signal to start the assault. The sun was high in the sky, with a scorching heat that would have been a danger to his men Before, but with their Vitality attribute and health regeneration, was now only a mild discomfort.

The assault plan unfolded without a hitch.

Alpha and Bravo encountered mock resistance since the Golden Eagle had already done most of the work. The few Landers assigned to protect their retreat fell quickly. His sappers only needed an hour to scour for traps in the trench and tunnels they gained access to. They found some rudimentary explosive and incendiary devices hidden in the beams and walls supporting the tunnel, but nothing complicated, and his squad was quickly hard at work setting up their trenches to face the other way. The Landers had collapsed the tunnels behind them, hampering any progress the Nationalists might have dreamed about and giving them enough time to fortify their base one hundred and fifty metres south of the old front line.

From the reports he received on his Mpad, Tibor confirmed the offensive had been a success, and the Army of the Holy Nation of the Lord was now the proud holder of a band two hundred metres wide of dry ground than they didn't possess the day before. Tibor scoffed. At this rate, this war would last hundreds of years before they eventually reached Mecca, the heart and soul of the Land of the Five Pillars. Sometimes, this nonsensical war caused him to wish to be killed in action and be done with all of it. It never lasted long, though. Inexorably, he remembered that his soldier needed him, and his job was to ensure they survived long enough to see the end of their tour.

The following days turned into weeks that became months, with the same pattern repeating itself ad nauseam. They would defend their trench, lose men, counter-attack and make the Landers pay. The army gained as much ground as it lost, stabilising the frontline maybe half a klick deeper south. Sometimes, they would go on the offensive, lose more men, and gain more ground. Recruits would come and go, feet first for the latter, at the predicted rate of one out of two–one out of three, when they were lucky.

His sharpshooters would exchange pleasantries with the other side at odd hours of day and night. There never was a moment of quiet or security because more beasts would attack frontally and sneakily. The Landers also loved to use insidious poison and disease magic to contaminate the ambient air. Recruits would reinforce the squad and fight long enough to become veterans and a valuable addition to their teams or die and face the Lord's judgment. Tibor felt trapped with no end in sight to the point he regretted having ever signed up in the first place.

At the time, the Seeding was only a few months behind them, and the Lord had opened various Safe Zones in the territories where the faith had been the strongest Before, like Italy, France, Poland and the like. Back then, Tibor Balan had been a high school history teacher in Cravovia, happy to waste his days trying to stimulate his students' brain cells with something other than social media and influencers. It was a losing battle, but still, Tibor believed it was his God-given duty to try and never relinquish. In hindsight, this state of mind prepared him well for his role in the Lord's army. When the Seeding hit, Tibor had obtained his path of Faithful Protector by caring for the students in his class and ultimately bringing half of them to a Safe Zone.

There, recruiters had convinced him that the Lord's army needed his Fighter skills to carry forth the will of the Almighty in the newly formed heretic land, the Land of the Five Pillars. It was meant to be the ninth and final crusade to assert the Lord's dominion over Pangea. Tibor had lapped it up and signed right away. Fast forward six years later, his path had evolved from Faithful Protector to Dedicated Protector, his level from 5 to 29, and his rank from soldier to First Sergeant. Tibor Balan should have been proud of his accomplishment. He should have felt rewarded by a well of faith for all the sacrifices made to establish the Lord's dominion over Pangea.

But, if he was honest with himself, the more the days kept moving forward, the more he only had one thought in mind—a sinful thought, cardinally so. Still, Tibor dreamt more and more about ending his days and being done with it all. He even envisioned how the judgment of his Soul would unfold and the satisfaction he would experience when he was deemed unworthy and sent to the kingdoms of Hell. His profound belief was that nothing could be more hellish than his actual life. Dying looked more and more promising, but Tibor held on for reasons he couldn't fathom, and so his life kept slowly creeping forward to a pace dictated by the silliest conflict in the history of mankind.

***

"Take the frigging animals responsible for this mess to the Constables," Tibor ordered his Corporal with something akin to a growl.

"Permission to teach them a lesson first?" Jaz replied stone-faced.

"Granted," Tibor said. "Make sure they are still alive when you hand them over to the Constables, though. In the meantime, I'll be making my report directly to our fearsome Major in person. Lucky me."

"He will have to act on this, sarge," Jaz offered. "He can't sweep this under the rug. He wouldn't dare."

Tibor hoped Jaz's words were not wishful thinking as he thought about the upcoming confrontation with his Platoon leader, Sergeant Major Hoffman. The man was half competent at best. The only reason he hadn't made any major blunder so far, pun intended, was because the Lord's army had been in luck and made progress without encountering too strong of a resistance from the Landers. Any sane officer should be worrying that the enemy was planning something both dodgy and deadly in retaliation for the lost ground, but not Sergeant Major Hoffman. He pestered 3C –Central Corps Command– daily to approve his tactical request to increase the platoon's pace to cover and gain more ground. More Assaults, less sleep, more deaths.

Tibor mulled over the stupidity of the idea on the way over to his platoon command centre, a bunker well secured one kilometre behind a maze of trenches and tunnels, as far away from the action as it was humanly possible and still call it part of the front. Half of the tunnels were unused after the enemy had abandoned them, and the sappers hadn't always checked their integrity. Usually, a mortal danger sign was pegged to the unsecured entrance to warn soldiers to stay away. Sometimes they did, sometimes they didn't.

Soon enough, Tibor stood at attention before his CO.

Sergeant Major Hans Hoffman was a head shorter than Tibor's one metre ninety. He was also lighter by at least twenty kilos, and if he had met him in the civilian world, the First Sergeant wouldn't have suspected this man to be military personnel. The Major had a distinct lack of any martial or fighting presence and reeked of paper-pushing and opportunism. Which, in itself, wouldn't have been enough for Tibor to loathe him the way he did. Nope, the real reason why Tibor wanted to strangle the weasely Major before him was that the guy was the worst kind of homophobic bigot there was. The kind who hadn't read the Church's memo stating that the Lord welcomed all adult sexual orientations in this brave new world. Tibor made a point to stay as far away from him as possible, since the Major had learned of Tibor's preference and decided to take it as a personal affront.

"First Sergeant Balan," Hoffman said with disgust distinctly audible in his surprisingly bass voice. The guy had the tools of a charmer; you couldn't deny him that. "What could be so important you would bring your faggot's ass into my presence?"

Lord, give me strength.

Tibor swallowed the first, second, and third replies that came to mind and reminded himself that all he had to do was report the situation and leave the place. The weasel in front of him would be saddled with the incident and its fallout, and they would avoid each other until the end of this war.

"I'm here to report assault and battery charges against two of the soldiers under my command, Sergeant Major," Tibor said calmly. "Soldier Adok Dykas and Marianna Gaj."

"You are talking about grave charges, First Sergeant," Hoffman scolded him. "What proof do you have? Who is the alleged victim? What happened?"

"Soldier Anna Hornik," Tibor replied, marvelling at the tight lid he kept on his emotions. "I have two corroborating witnesses who saw soldier Hornik being severely beaten by soldier Dykas and Gaj, Sergeant Major."

"Hornik, you say?" The Major asked, creasing his brows. "Why does the name ring a bell?"

"Yes, Sergeant Major," deadpanned Tibor. "I don't know, Sergeant Major."

"Couldn't it be that she harassed Soldier Gaj?" Hoffman asked innocently after thirty seconds of intense thinking. "Dykes like her, sadly, are wont to do, and it is possible that Gaj only acted in self-defence, fearing for her virtue, saved by soldier Dykas since Hornik's skillset can be intimidating in a one-on-one situation? Are you confident Hornik is not the criminal in this case and, thus, received an appropriate punishment for her sinful behaviour?"

Tibor revised his judgment of the man sitting in front of him. The guy was not a weasel. Nope. Hoffman was a cockroach. One that only deserved to be ground under a bootheel and be forgotten right after. And, even then, a smear on the sole of a boot would be too good for him.

"Two witnesses saw the altercation unfold," Tibor continued, maintaining an even tone and trying his damnedest not to strangle his superior. "They clearly identified Dykas as the one instigating the fight. Gaj assisted in thrashing Hornik, who, as we speak, is being treated for her severe injuries. Soldier Gaj has a crippling skill whose effects are hard to shake off. Hornik is out of commission for a week, maybe two. If we are lucky."

"All the more reasons to be absolutely certain before bringing any of our soldiers before a court-martial," replied Hoffman with false worry. "You have lost one soldier. We wouldn't want you to lose two more, especially two promising fresh recruits, don't you think?"

"I think that my men will feel safer knowing that when they are viciously attacked by one of their own, punishment is swift and harsh. I trust the Constables to bring the truth to light. I trust the Holy Inquisition to punish the culprits and their accomplices to the full extent of their vast powers. This is what I think, Sergeant Major."

Tibor's last words might have hit the mark because Hoffman's nasty smile was replaced with a frown for half a minute. Then the smile returned.

"You are absolutely right, First Sergeant," Hoffman exclaimed. "And, as commanding officer of this platoon, I shall do my duty to help the Constables in their investigation. Have the witnesses sent to me at once. I will ascertain the veracity of their testimonies and forward them to Major Bilker of the Constables. You have my word, First Sergeant, that we will get to the bottom of this incident. Dismissed!"

The next morning, Tibor received transfer orders regarding soldiers Biro and Molnar. They were to join with Squad One under First Sergeant Meyer. The fact that those two soldiers were the witnesses in soldier Harnik's case and that Squad One's Sergeant was a crony of Hoffman didn't bode well. Still, Tibor wanted to believe the army would do right by Hornik. One man couldn't possibly sweep a clear-cut case like this one under the rug.

He grudgingly transmitted the order to the concerned parties, telling them to watch their backs for the days to come, at least until the Constables concluded their enquiry. The rest of the day went as usual, boredom interspersed with sharpshooting pleasantries resulting in sandbag casualties only. However, taking a sand shower resulting from one bag exploding right over you was a very unpleasant experience. One that would have you itch and scratch for a long time after. The war had come to another inexplicable lull that most soldiers welcomed because it meant sleep and increased chances of seeing another sunrise. Night came, and nothing happened.

"INCOMING! INCOMING!" The shout resonated in the trench.

Tibor grabbed his RAC1 and knelt to check the no man's land. It was past one in the morning of a moonless night, and visibility was nonexistent. For the first time, Tibor regretted not investing more Reps in enhancing his Perception. The attribute sat at a meagre value of twelve right now. It was twenty per cent better than an average human, but nothing game-changing when trying to pierce through the veil of a pitch-black night. Tibor squinted as if it could help him see better.

Then, suddenly, he saw a charging black wave of red eyes and fur, screeching in madness and fury.

Individually, they represented no threat. The problem was that the swarm that would soon roll over them was comprised of more specimens of the vile beast than Tibor could count. They covered the no man's land ten metres deep and forty metres wide.

"Level 9! Fire at will!" Jaz yelled, unfazed. "Medics, stand by to cure disease!"

Yellow beams illuminated the night, shredding the incoming wave without haltering its advance. A few more seconds and the friggin pests would be inside the trench. It would be a clean-up nightmare.

"Barrier up! Barrier up!" Tibor ordered, trying to create a magic dam to stop the furry tide. "Use your AOE skills!"

Earth, fire and wind magic erupted in the no man's land, chipping away chunks of rats every time. Yet, the wave didn't seem to relent, and the rodents kept pushing against the magical barriers conjured by his men. Depending on the MP cost, they wouldn't be able to hold for more than two or three minutes.

"Come on, people, get to killing! On the double!" Jaz yelled as if she had read his mind.

"Miko, make sure nothing else is lurking behind this half-arsed attempt!" Tibor called into the night, counting on the team leader's crazy high perception attribute to be heard.

Strangely, the Landers didn't provide shooting cover for the swarm as they usually did. Tibor checked again, but the enemy camp seemed uncommonly empty of noises and movements.

"Anyone with a Perception higher than fifteen, report to me now!" Tibor shouted as he moved back towards the tunnel. The enemy's silence worried him tremendously.

"At your order, Sarge!" A soldier ran up to him five seconds later.

"Look on the other side and tell me what you see, hear or feel, Romik," Tibor instructed.

At the same moment, a wailing sound built up from the rat swarm, covering their mad screeches and squeaking. It lasted ten seconds before it suddenly stopped. Then, the furry mob exploded in a black and green mist cloud, hurtling shrapnels of bones and fur against his men's barriers. The weird magical cloud rose into the sky harmlessly.

"Sarge, I don't see any activity," Romik reported in a startled voice. "For that matter, I don't see anyone at all."

"What do yo—"

A much bigger explosion erupted and lit the night with a fire column rising twenty metres high, like a land beacon for everyone along the frontline to see. No shockwave followed, though. Something was terribly wrong.

First, the Landers sent a swarm that would bring no other tactical advantage than to pester them. It got all his men in the same spot, and instead of using that to launch a sneakier, more deadly attack, they blew up their beasts before they could infiltrate their camp. To top it off, they blew their trench to kingdom come in a spectacular yet harmless way. Tibor was mulling this over when more explosions echoed in the distance. Looking left and right, he saw at least a dozen identical columns rising up and down the enemy's side of the frontline. The air became thick with Mana residue from those explosions, which was another confusing factor. What could be the point of all this?

"What is the meaning of this?!" Demanded the controlled voice of Sergeant Major Hoffman. "First Sergeant Balan, report now!"

He was standing at the entrance of the tunnel right behind Tibor, looking pissed as if somehow Tibor had conspired with the Landers to disrupt his uneventful night. Before Tibor could march to him and do his job, a booming, pealing screech echoed in the night, carrying undertones of outrage and enthusiasm.

Then, all Hells broke loose.

"Run for cover! RETREAT!" Shouted Tibor as understanding of the Landers's plan dawned on him.

In the same motion, the First Sergeant placed his RAC1 on his back and freed his short sword from its sheath while summoning his magical long sword to face the new threat. If there ever were a reason to use his Longsword of the Zephyr, it would be this fight.

His hands tightened around the hilts of his twin swords as he stood resolute in the face of the giant Golden Eagle plunging from the night sky. Its feathers swallowed the night, draping the once-Awakened-and-now-Cunning monster into a cape of dark ink. A magic taunt escaped his throat, drawing the beast's ire towards him. Tibor summoned Steadfast Shielding with a simple thought, a translucent barrier materialising in front of him just as Akylas unleashed its paralysing screech. The sound wave crashed against the shield, shattering it and sending the First Sergeant flying into the middle of the no man's land.

The Golden Eagle didn't like the interference, so it dove, scary-sharp talons extended, aiming for Tibor, who clumsily rolled over, his swords flashing into what he hoped would be defensive thrusts and parries. Since he didn't feel any of his swings hit anything, and the ground broke in four deep furrows behind him, the First Sergeant kept rolling away for a few metres before springing back up to face Akylas. The Eagle dove again, having decided to use brute force to end the life of this puny insect interfering with his well-deserved meal–on account of the fact that Akylas was the strongest being around, and nobody could hope to compete with him. The Cunning beast could feel the presence of other Lords of the sky gracing the boring land around him. As were the rules, each would keep to their respective sustenance, not wanting to quarrel where they were the least comfortable.

So the battle began between the lone soldier and the mighty creature, a clash of magical steel and talons, overwhelming might and unwavering resolve. Tibor Balan moved with a grace born of desperation, his Steadfast Shielding flickering in and out of existence as he blocked and parried. For the first time, he regretted never having unlocked any offensive skills. All the First Sergeant could do was monitor his HP and MP being whittled down by the incessant creature's onslaught. Despite the Eagle's overwhelmingly superior level, Tibor felt both proud and alive. He prayed to the Lord that his last stand would buy enough time for his men to find shelter away from the rampaging monster. Even Hoffman the weasel because nobody deserved to die gruesomely to a DFA. Deep down, Tibor was glad he had finally found a way out of his misery. Death by a Cunning creature like Akylas was an honourable death—one miserable life paid to save many promising others.

The seconds stretched on, ever so slowly ticking away in the corner of his right eye. His movements and reflexes grew slower. His breaths became more laboured. His armour was in tatter, and his muscular body bore the brunt of Akylas's talons. He had cracked ribs and four wide gashes on the right side from torso to leg where Akylas had landed a weak, glancing blow, tearing up flesh, muscles and blood vessels as if it were an afterthought. His ankle threatened to give away any moment, finally bringing about his much-earned demise.

His swords felt like the lumps of steel they were, weighing a ton in his hands. He barely had enough MP left to summon his shield skill and not enough time to drink a potion to give himself a second wind. Akylas, sensing his fatigue, intensified its attacks with a lengthy screech of vindication.

With one last defiant, taunting roar bereft of any magical effect, First Sergeant Tibor Balan raised his swords high and swung with a force born of sorrow and acceptance he hadn't suspected he still possessed. Talk about pushing his limits above and beyond. His trainers would have been proud of tonight's accomplishment. In response, Akylas soared up into the night sky. It was when the creature prepared to make another sweeping dive that his ankle finally decided to give way. He fell on his back heavily, his swords clattering to the ground, his vision blurring. His body and mind finally succumbed to the weariness that had been his cross to bear for so long.

He lay there, each ragged breath sending spikes of pain up and down his body, and witnessed Akylas the Cunning Golden Eagle dive down on him for the final blow. Lord, what a magnificent creature, was his last thought before oblivion finally accepted the fallen soldier in its warm, forgiving embrace.

***

"Welcome back to the land of the living, First Sergeant," was the kind greeting Tibor heard when he regained consciousness.

He didn't recognise the voice, which was strange as he knew all the healers in the area. He debated internally whether to keep his eyes closed a bit longer. A silly part of him believed that as long as he didn't open his eyes, he could still pretend his life had ended in the no man's land. Yet, his Perception told him the bed he was lying on was sturdy and real. As real as the clean sheets that smelled of lavender and the soft feather pillow that supported his head. Another incongruity that his mind registered. The field hospitals he was accustomed to didn't offer lavender-scented linen and feather pillows. Nope. It was closer to foldable beds, rough wool covers and sometimes, if you got lucky, a straw-filled sack for a pillow.

"We know you are awake, First Sergeant Balan," another voice broke the growing silence—Feminine, Firm, bored, powerful even. "We have unfinished business, you and I, and I have to hit the road as soon as possible. So, please, open your eyes and let's talk."

The last bit was phrased politely, but Tibor heard the order in there distinctly. He stopped a sigh from escaping his lips and decided to come back to the world and the army of the Lord. He found himself in a white tent above ground and far away from the front if the sound of water he heard was authentic. Apart from the bed he was resting in, there was a round table on his left side with two chairs—one empty and one occupied by an uninjured Jaz. On his right side was a rotund man with a kind face and a warm smile, wearing the purple attire of a battle chaplain of the Order. As soon as he laid eyes on this man, Tibor felt he could trust him with his darkest, deepest secret and would never be judged. He idly wondered if it was the man's nature or rather a skill that affected him.

"Praise the Lord, the good First Seargent had decided to join us," The commanding voice broke Tibor out of his reverie.

He turned to look at a stunningly good-looking woman ensconced in shining, golden plate armour. Two majestic white wings loomed over her shoulders, lending her the appearance of an angel. She held her helmet under one arm in a bored fashion and, surprisingly, smiled down on him. The smile was not condescending, as the voice might have hinted at. No, the smile held a mixture of pride and impatience. Tibor resisted the urge to Identify those people since he wanted to maintain politeness until he knew more about his situation.

"What happened to my men?" He croaked.

"They all made it, sarge," Jaz said in a rush, with a furtive smile that disappeared as soon as the golden woman gave her a sharp look of annoyance. "More or less..." Jaz amended.

"Drink this, First Sergeant," the Chaplain handed him a glass of water. "You have been unconscious for three days. The water will help with the healing."

Tibor took a sip reluctantly. When the savoury mint and lime flavour hit his taste buds, he couldn't resist and downed the glass.

"What was that?" He asked out loud.

Tibor was impressed with the item's value, but it was nothing compared to the waves of energy he felt coursing through his body. One moment ago, his body had felt sore and heavy. Now, Tibor felt ready to have a rematch with Akylas. The Holy Water's effects were terrifying.

"You can explain after I'm done with him, Chaplain," the woman in gold raised a hand before the rotund man could answer.

The shapely man closed his mouth with a sheepish look that made him even more endearing to Tibor. The First Sergeant schooled his thoughts. Barely awake, he was developing a crush on a fellow soldier and a man of the cloth. What was wrong with him, really?

"I will give you the abridged version of what happened, and these two can fill you in on the detail after if that's alright with you." The angel paused long enough for Tibor to nod. The Chaplain chose this moment to leave the room, but not without retrieving the Tumbler first. "Good. Since you have resisted the urge to Identify me—thanks a lot for that, you can't imagine how unpleasant it is to be identified out of turn— Introductions are in order. I am Knight-Colonel Chiara Magdalena, Champion of the Holy Spear."

"Charmed," croaked Tibor, not because of a lack of water this time.

He lay in the presence of greatness. Above everything else, Chiara Magdalena was one of the most powerful warriors to hail from the Holy Nation of the Lord. She was also known as the Golden Griffon since she could fly and didn't mind challenging denizens of the great Azure expanse to advance on her path. Unconsciously, he tried to sit straighter in his bed. That woman was a legend. He felt a silly, giddy smile burgeoning on his face.

"Because of you and your Corporal, I got to your sector in time to fight and kill the Cunning Golden Eagle. You guys did a great job of buying time for the platoon to retreat deep enough to escape the monster. Your actions saved hundreds of lives, and for this, you have my sincere gratitude. You also helped thwart the Landers' ploy to retake lost ground and break even on their Mana expenditure. Our analysts think they wasted a lot of resources on this stunt, which could reduce the length of this war by weeks, maybe months. What you did is invaluable to the war effort."

"Happy to thwart, Colonel. Though I feel a but coming, no disrespect intended," Tibor remarked as much to end the tirade as to know the downside for all of this. You didn't get a VIP healing and a high-ranking officer—or the other way around, possibly— talking to you if something was not wrong somewhere—first rule of the military, the higher the officer, the smellier and bigger the pile of dung.

"Good instincts, First Sergeant," Colonel Magdalena replied with a tight smile. "It would explain your longevity on the frontline. Admirable. As you so eloquently put it, there is a but that involves Corporal Sobiesky as well, hence her presence with us. But first, I want to make it clear that what I'm about to say will stay between the three of us until further orders directly from me. Is that understood?"

When she heard her name mentioned, Jaz bristled and blushed at the same time, which was a first for her. Tibor's curiosity was piqued. He nodded his assent, and so did Jaz.

"I arrived in time to kill the Eagle and save everyone, to the notable and worrisome exception of your platoon commander, Sergeant Major Hoffman, First Sergeant," the Colonel explained slowly. "Do you have an idea why?"

"Honestly, I don't, madam," he replied, not sure where this line of questioning led to.

"I'm relieved to hear you say that," she replied cryptically. "You see, in my book, there is a difference between a spur-of-the-moment action and a conspiracy."

"What are you talking about, Colonel?" Tibor cut short the explanation he felt wouldn't explain anything. For someone in a hurry, the Colonel sure liked to beat around the bush.

"I killed Hoffman," Jaz cut in the conversation with a small voice Tibor didn't know she possessed.

"Oh," was all Tibor had to say to that.

"Oh, indeed," added the Golden Griffon with a sour face.

"Well, she did it at my order. It is on me." Tibor replied, though a bit too slow to be credible.

"Yeah, right. Nice try, Balan. I had ample time to debrief your Corporal. She explained her reasons, and I must say that, on a personal and professional level, I find the man's end fitting. Even the army of the Lord is not immune to colossal mistakes. The reason we are having this conversation is to settle my official position and your future. As the highest-ranking officer, I'll be the one writing the official report for the Constables and the Inquisition."

"And, what have you decided, Colonel Magdalena?" Tibor asked. The energy boost from the Holy Water had passed, and he was tired.

"Your Corporal was right, you know," the Colonel sidestepped the question. "You are fearless, bordering on reckless. You don't shy away from your obligations, yet you don't take attitude from anyone, not even your superiors. I'm curious to see where this path of the Devoted Dimachaerus will take you. To answer your question now. As a reward for your valiance in the face of grave perils, you are promoted to the rank of Knight-Captain of the Order of the Hospital in the Levant. Here is your commission," Magdalena handed him a Mpad. "There is also your assignment as head of a company of constables of the Order in a granary town called Sainte-Blandine, France. You are expected by the end of the month at the latest. I took the liberty of informing your chain of command."

"Thank you, madam," Tibor said, stunned by the news.

After all these years, the Lord had answered his prayers. It went to show that He really worked in mysterious ways. There was also the remark about his path Magdalena had made—Devoted, not dedicated? Dimachaerus? He would have to check his #Display and #Logs to find the answer. Sainte-Blandine, France. A Constable company in a granary town would be perfect. No more Landers. No more fighting and dying, no more tunnels and trenches. He would have a bed to sleep in every night. Tibor felt unbidden tears on his cheeks. He wiped them quickly to maintain a modicum of decorum in front of the smiling Champion.

"What about Jaz? What promotion did she get?" Tibor asked with a big smile.

Magdalena's smile disappeared as quickly as it had come. She bore a rueful face, looking at Jaz, who sat quietly in the corner with a smile of serenity and acceptance.

"Honorable discharge, sarge," was all Jaz said. "Back to civilian life for me. Good thing, too, since I always wanted to run a bar in my home town. I just didn't expect it to happen this early. Before you ask, I accept the consequence of my actions, sarge."

Tibor didn't know what to say. He was torn between relief for himself and sadness for his trusted Corporal. He toyed with the Mpad in his hands, at a loss for words. A new kind of tears threatened to flow if he talked. An awkward silence settled into the tent.

"That settles the matter for the army," Colonel Magdalena said decisively. She looked at Tibor. "This is the best outcome possible, trust me, Captain. You both have served this army with faith and honour. For that, I thank you both. Your paths have taken new turns, and I hope you will make the best of it. I have one last parting reward for you. Here, you earned it."

The angelic Colonel gave each of them a golden feather fifty centimetres long. His glistened under the light, its surface shimmering with a myriad of radiant hues, ranging from a deep, burnished gold to a lighter, almost ethereal amber. Each strand was finely detailed, creating a delicate yet sturdy structure that caught the light with every movement. With its lightness and razor-sharp edges, Tibor wondered if it could be one day crafted into a formidable weapon. Before he could ask, the Colonel left the tent, soon followed by Jaz, who told Tibor she would be right back. He acquiesced, commenting she could take her time since he would check his #Display and #Logs anyway and see what changed.

Reading through line after line of his #Logs, Tibor's mood went from embarrassed to awestruck at what he had achieved in the battle with Akylas, especially in light of his decision to sacrifice himself for his men and his sanity, not necessarily in this order if he was honest with himself. Apart from the noticeable Reps gain, totalling something close to two million, three crazy things transpired that he didn't know were possible within the System rules.

First, his skill Steadfast Shielding [Uc] evolved on its own into Stalwart Shielding [R] during the fight—at no Rep cost, too. Then, his Willpower attribute gained six levels and went from 19 to 25, increasing his Mana pool and explaining why he had been able to summon that many shields against the Golden Eagle's attacks. This prodigious increase also cost no Reps. The change of rank from Uncommon to Rare might also explain why he was able to deter so many of Akylas's attacks. Finally, the last surprise Tibor found was his Path of the Dedicated Protector [Uc] morphing into Path of the Devoted Dimachaerus [R]. A change of name and rank? Tibor had never heard of that happening before—not without spending an obscene amount of Reps first, at least. The chronology of events in his #Logs told him the skill and attribute evolution happened before the path, which could only mean they were responsible for the change. Tibor made a mental note to check the #OB to see if others had recorded identical occurrences in their growth.

But, if those unwitting and inexplicable changes were something that split Tibor's face with the first grin of happiness it had seen in years, it was nothing compared to the last two gems he found stashed inside the last line of his #Logs.

This time, Tibor couldn't help but grin broadly, contemplating all those improvements for a battle that had lasted less than two minutes. It yielded more rewards than six years of constant fighting with the Landers. The price had been steep since he nearly died for those, and he was pretty sure he would stay tranquil for the foreseeable future, even though the reward from near-death encounters was well worth it. Happy with the decision, Tibor opened his #Display.

*

A low chuckle escaped his throat as he rubbed his hands together, anticipating the giddiness it would bring him to spend over two million Reps in the pursuit of level increases. Like most of humanity that survived the Seeding, Tibor had become a minmaxer at heart when it came to growth and evolution. Still grinning like a kid in a candy store, he began formulating and calculating a plan to squeeze as many advantages from his wealth of Reps as possible.

***

"Was there something else I could help you with, Corporal?" Colonel Magdalena's emphasis on the last word was not lost on Jaz.

Both women stood well away from the white, spacious tents that formed the OFH—the Officers Field Hospital. Situated a few hundred metres from the coast of the former Mediterranean Sea, now downgraded to Central Mediterranean Lake, one had trouble imagining a bloody war going on further inland. Jaz was not surprised to find out it was not a legend among the grunts that nothing was too good for the Knight-Officers of the Army. Grunts died of half-arsed healing on the frontline while they got the best treatment for ingrown nails. Sometimes, Pangea looked extremely identical to Before Earth. It did confirm she had been right to take care of Hoffman permanently. Anything less, the slime would have been brought back from the dead to perpetually harass and kill certain men and women under his command.

"I don't know, Colonel," Jaz absentmindedly answered while looking around. "I could ask you the same thing, couldn't I?"

The sand beach extended out of sight left and right. Nobody else was within hearing distance, yet Jaz stayed alert and careful of her words. So many spying skills emerged after the Seeding; one was never too cautious, especially if one was hiding from powerful people.

"Well, since you seem in a sharing mood, you could start by telling me who you really are, Corporal Jadza Sobiesky?"

"I wouldn't call it sharing, per se," Jaz replied with a lofty grin. "Appreciative with a pinch of lenient would be more accurate. I owe you, Colonel, but don't think for a moment that you own me. It would be unwise and ultimately lethal."

As soon as the words left her mouth, Knight-Colonel Chiara Magdalena, Champion of the Holy Spear, veteran warrior of hundreds of battles with mighty beings and creatures, felt a resounding, warlike presence manifest around them. The Corporal's demeanour changed as if she had just shed a heavy, cumbersome outfit. Her skin glowed and turned silvery while the air thrummed and vibrated around her. She gave the impression of drawing sunlight and wind with every breath. For lack of a better word, Jaz Sobiesky was resplendent. Frightening, too.

"Yet, you saved a man I came to admire and respect a lot," Jaz resumed, her overbearing presence vanishing as fast as it had manifested. "You earned a sliver of the same respect. I will give you enough context to ease your mind and let you resume your oh-so-important missions for your Council of Apostles. Then, you will forget about me... and him."

A thumb toward Balan's tent punctuated the last remark. Her first instinctive answer to the threat was: "Or, I could simply inform my hierarchy of your existence in our midst". Luckily, she had the brains not to say it aloud. The presence she had felt in those fleeting seconds told her that, in a straight fight, any kind of fight for that matter, she would be crushed like a bug. She also feared that the being before her would have a way to obliterate her Soul and Spirit to ensure she couldn't make it to Purgatory. Chiara knew when she faced the risk of certain, permanent death. So, unless she recognised an actual danger to the Holy Nation of the Lord's operations in the region, she would let it lie. As one of the top operatives of the Council, she knew that, sometimes, you had to colour outside the lines to survive and play another round of the game.

"We have a deal, Corporal," Chiara answered with a curt nod.

Then, the Colonel swore an oath of silence to the System as a show of good faith. One with the provision that it would be null and void if she learned of any information in their conversation that would put the Holy Nation in peril. Thankfully, Jaz didn't object to it, which was a good sign.

"As you may have surmised already, I'm a minor Goddess from a Pantheon full of dysfunctional family members. Through divine means, I have been hiding from their prying eyes ever since this conflict arose."

"Why on our side? Why the frontline?"

"Well, because I like being a fair-skinned maiden, for starters. The Landers' tenets on women are also something I do not adhere to, and the whole purpose of hiding would have been defeated by me murdering the idiots left and right. Instead, I joined a faction where killing them was part of the job's description. Two birds with one stone, as the saying goes." Jaz beamed with a proud smile. "The frontline part is also quite simple. This part of Pangea is undoubtedly the most boring spot right now. The war has been going on for years now with nothing to show for it. It might have tickled other gods' interest the first few months, but since then, they all realised nothing entertaining would happen here. Even you, Chiara, can feel the pointlessness of it all. This war only serves recruitment, training and culling purposes on both sides. I have known devious in my godly time, and I recognise a smokescreen when I see one. Your Apostles and the other side's Caliphs and Almamis have an ulterior motive for this war."

"I wouldn't know," Chiara replied with a tense smile. "The Apostles rarely share their plans with me. I serve the Lord with gladness..."

Her answer was met with a peal of mocking laughter.

"A word of advice, Colonel. If you want to thrive, you will have to shed the blinders of your faith. If not, your path will rapidly lead you to your demise."

"I rest in the shadow of the Almighty," was Chiara's response as she crossed herself. "You say you have been hiding for years; why did you save the Sergeant, then? Why not let our Lord decide his fate?"

"The man has potential, and I hate to see potential going to waste, so I decided to kill the impudent bird. I hadn't thought further than that and would have shed this persona in a heartbeat if you hadn't come along to investigate. Your presence gives me a respite and the chance to try my hand at something new without having to reinvent myself. As I said, in exchange for your discretion and generosity, I owe you. Here, take this." Jaz handed her army insignia to Chiara. "Whenever you decide to call on the favour, push Mana into it. I will know, and I will come."

"I won't say I understand your reasons or game, but I'm satisfied you bear no ill intent towards the Holy Nation of the Lord," Chiara answered after putting her helmet on. The insignia disappeared, safely tucked away in the Colonel's spatial storage. "Good luck with the bar, and fare well, Goddess."

Jaz nodded and watched the famous Golden Griffon fly north over the water until she disappeared from her enhanced sight. Pleased with this outcome, she strolled back towards her First Sergeant—sorry, Knight-Captain Balan's tent. He was the first and only friend she ever had, after all, and if life in the army taught her anything, it was that you took care of your friends, no matter what.