The gentle toll of the bell from the Rhine Church tower resonated softly over the serene skies of Rhine Houghton, its chimes mingling with the murmur of a crowded sanctuary. Within the grand church hall, devout worshippers sat quietly on long benches, each clutching a sacred cross, while the resplendent statue of Saint George—adorned in gold and jewels and astride a steed carved from white jade—stood in stately proximity to the effigy of Lord Jesus Christ.
A young maiden, on the verge of blooming into womanhood, was attired in a flowing pink gown; her raven hair shimmered beneath the golden glow of the lights, and around her slender neck hung an exquisite cross wrought in white gold, a symbol of the Rhine Church. Seated at a scarlet triangular piano, her pale, delicate fingers danced gracefully across the keys, coaxing forth a melody as tender as it was sublime. Behind her, a choir arrayed in immaculate white—like seraphic beings bearing gleaming candles—stood upon the stage before the sacred statues, their voices interweaving with the piano in a hymn that seemed divinely wrought.
Though Alice Rolfi was but fourteen, her angelic beauty left all who beheld her in awe. Beneath her noble gown, her gently blossoming form, perfectly in harmony with her slender figure, was made all the more enchanting under the church’s warm, amber lights. Her performance—fluid and transcendent—had already earned her renown as the most illustrious prodigy of the Rhein Tower Conservatory. Coupled with her modest demeanor and tender, compassionate nature, she was beloved by the congregation.
As the performer struck the final, lingering note and the choir’s celestial harmony faded into silence, thunderous applause erupted from the assembled faithful and the many whose hearts had been captured by her artistry. Alice then lifted her gaze toward the dais that faced the main stage, where the venerable Archbishop Joseph sat, flanked by the most revered Mater of the Sacred Heart of the Rhine Empire—her dearest, Lady Mia Rolfi—who now appeared animated in heated discourse with the high elders of the senate.
Turning her eyes to the kaleidoscopic stained glass that adorned the church’s walls, Alice fell into deep contemplation. A heavy cloud of worry, like a gathering storm, descended upon her heart as she prayed fervently for her father and brothers, beseeching the Almighty to grant them safe passage home.
Outside, the heavens wore a delicate tinge of red as the golden orb of the sun prepared to sink beneath a milky horizon. In this capital of the northeastern Rhine Empire—a city of endless Baroque marvels where every street echoed with the pulse of meticulously ordered life—the bustling Saint George Square teemed with people, as though the world beyond were untouched by strife.
Yet even as vast digital screens on towering skyscrapers broadcast grim tidings from the frontlines, children laughed on verdant lawns and smiling tourists posed for photographs, seemingly oblivious to the tempest of war. Businessmen hurried past, their faces etched with concern as they navigated crowded avenues, burdened by the weight of an economy battered by ceaseless conflict. “Do you know,” mused a voice in the heavens, “what is the greatest irony of our time?”
High above, in the first-class cabin of a helicopter, Admiral Mihał Washington surveyed the scene below with a contemplative air. In his unmistakable West Coast drawl, he confided to Chief Helena, “You know it well—today, tens of thousands of soldiers will perish, throwing themselves unhesitatingly into the maelstrom to defend the fate of humankind. And what, pray tell, will the newspapers and media report? Merely a cursory tally of the dead—as if counting sausages in a factory! It will be as though no cataclysmic event has transpired at all. The weather remains sunny, life goes on as usual—yet behold, on television, those eager to seize power bicker endlessly! After all, none of the fallen ever seem to find solace among their own kin…”
If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.
Helena’s exquisitely painted red lips curved into a knowing smile as she replied, “Humans, ever prone to forget their scars, remain creatures of fleeting memory—much like the ephemeral recollection of a goldfish. But now, let us set aside such musings and attend to the pressing matters at hand.”
Admiral Mihał regarded her with a mix of solemnity and curiosity. “Chief, you have whisked me off to the Aerospace Authority with such haste—surely there is an emergency unfolding on the battlefield?”
“Indeed,” Helena confessed, “the war in Babylonia has reached a fevered pitch. Our foes are extraordinary; reliable intelligence now indicates that members of the divine have allied themselves with Satan’s legions. A most intractable predicament.”
“Such absurdity! It seems even the prophecies of our saintly patron, Saint George, hold secrets yet unrevealed,” murmured the battle-worn Admiral, his weathered hand trembling as it grasped the white-gold cross pendant that hung about his neck.
“I must not divulge further intelligence,” Helena continued, “but know that for this operation we must deploy the ‘Poseidon Spear’ system. That is why we have summoned you with such urgency.”
“Uh, regarding this matter… I must verify a few details,” the Admiral hesitated.
The helicopter then descended steadily onto the helipad atop the Aerospace Authority building. When Helena effortlessly produced Marshal Miller’s authentication from a secure box, Admiral Mihał’s skeptical gaze softened in acceptance.
Though the ‘Poseidon Spear’ system had been shrouded in secrecy—its existence a whispered legend from the last great war, known only to a few in the highest echelons of the Air Force and military—it was now poised to play its part. Helena led Admiral Mihał into the labyrinthine depths of the so-called “abandoned sector” of the Aerospace Authority.
“General Guan, the Rhine Empire’s ‘Poseidon Spear’ is now online. The temporary guidance system has been loaded onto the ‘Grass Python’ fighter,” intoned the aide of Marshal Miller Rolfi via video link, transmitting the authorization code to Guan Feng’s PDA.
“Boss, this must be the secret weapon that, as legend has it, Garison Peso never had the chance to deploy,” Cheng Wei remarked in awe as he scrutinized the cutting-edge details of the super-weapon.
“If not for the Chairman’s order to destroy the fourth satellite belt, our very history might have been rewritten,” Guan Feng said as he set his coffee cup aside, then inquired, “Have the Knight Legion and Mage Corps arrived?”
“They have been deployed as planned. Now, we await the charging of the ‘Pursuer,’ the ‘Calmeson,’ and the ‘Dunhuang-class’—our three main battle ships,” came the reply. “Rally Team B; after so long in hiding, it is time for us to unburden our limbs,” declared Guan Feng as he rose and shook the golden cloak adorning his battle robe.
After a night nearly spent in relentless storm, the furious winds gradually subsided. A silvery moon now hung in the ebony sky, and stars—distant as if from another galaxy—twinkled faintly. On the ravaged battlefield, knights fought on with grim determination. As one fell, others pressed forward with even greater valor, seemingly impervious to the specter of death, their very lifespans sacrificed in relentless bursts of fusion power—each strike aimed at carving even the slightest chink in the enemy’s armor, or shielding a comrade from a fatal blow.
Yet, as in the ancient myths where fragile mortals once dared face the indomitable gods, despite their fervor the allied forces had failed to leave even a scratch upon the Time Lord. And though Chronos could defend his realm impeccably, he found no swift means to conclude this agonizing contest.
It was as if Chronos had grown weary of these endless, indestructible foes. Slowly, he ceased his relentless attacks, focusing instead on gathering the potent energy of the green magic stone that shone upon his chest. His intent was clear—to await the moment when his amassed power would once more allow him to evoke the demonic visage of the Netherlord. Thus, a fleeting calm descended upon the battlefield; amid sporadic skirmishes, the remaining knights seized the chance to regain their strength as they braced themselves for the ultimate clash.