Iliyal ran further through the holds of Drayim Fortress, Olonia to his side, a vanguard ahead, a rear guard behind. The corridor split into two, one low down and human sized, even Iliyal would have had to crane his neck. The other was so grand that Allasaria could fly right straight through it. That was the way, definitely.
“LEFT! KEEP MARCHING!” He shouted to his men. Some gunfire came from the rear guard as they pushed onwards. Some gunfire came from the vanguard as they advanced. Iliyal stepped over the bodies of Paladins in their steel armour as they kept pushing.
Neneria’s eyes took in Olympiada as the plane left her behind. Once, it had been a mere holy cave on a mountain, then it was a temple. Then a castle. A fortress. It had grown into a city. The Great War saw it become a stronghold-town, with tall walls and gates, spikes lining the edges of the mountain, and pots that once had boiling oil were always ready. There had been a tall wall ringing the city once, there had been a keep, there had been a stable for flying horses, a nest for eagles, a square for marshalling men, there had been colourful banners of every Divine that served in the war against Arascus.
And as Neneria took that city in, she was almost… disappointed. Gone were the grand temples, gone were the tremendous statues, gone the keeps, gone the huge walls, gone nests, gone the towers, gone the marching squares, the endless forges of Theosius, the Light rays of Allasaria, the magicians of Elassa, the beasts of Atis, the cathedral of Leona. It was all gone…
To be replaced by mismatched buildings, by temples with flowing roofs, by small statuettes and tiny gardens of greenery. The squares for assembling men had been filled with buildings for housing thousands. Where was the glory of Olympiada? The seat of the White Pantheon? Where was the fear? The adoration? The respect? It was a mere city, purposelessly built on the peak of the world and for what? Maybe Kassandora would be angry, Arascus would be insulted, maybe Fer would see it as the way it should be… but Neneria… Neneria was merely disappointed. The mountain pierced the clouds, but that was all it did.
Neneria floated down towards that mountain-top city, her arms outstretched, a black dress cladding her with a raven-feather shawl. Tiny ghastly fairies were frantically flapping their wings as the pinched her skin from above, or let her weight spread over them from below, as they turned a fatal fall into a gentle glide. Neneria looked down at the flames making two long columns of flame over Olympiada. It was a depressing sight, simple mortal weaponry should not be able to inflict such damage on the parliament of Divinity. It didn’t matter if she was fighting that parliament, it was simply… it was simply wrong.
And yet it still happened. Neneria’s eyes found the elves that made up the Vanguard team. They had chosen one of the small gardens to conglomerate in. A miserable little square of dried grass and trees that had barely any leaves. With flower-boxes that were empty and only displayed dried dirt. She wondered if the people of this place missed Iniri or not.
On that dark dirt were the elves. Their dark parachutes faded into that dirt, but her eyes still managed to pick the glint of metal from their rifles. And they weren’t hard to find, gunshots came from that every few seconds. She saw a team five of Allasaria’s Seekers round a corner, spears held at the ready, red-capes blowing the mountainous winds, and then be gunned down. She saw a mage erupt from behind a building and unleash a firestorm that burned up the parachutes, and then be gunned down from multiple windows. She saw a team of Paladins arrange, a full squad of thirty soldiers. They lowered their shields, they marched onto the road, and they retreated when the first rank fell to a hail of lead.
And Neneria saw a team of a dozen mages appear from the flames. The napalm fires were being put out now. Huge clouds had condensed above the mountain, dragged in by surging winds, and they were unleashing a torrent of water to unleash the flames. Dusts and sands in massive piles were being thrown to drown the flames. Minor Gods were shouting orders at the ground, and some were arguing with each other about who should lead. Neneria merely rolled her eyes, that would never happen in Kassandora’s Legions.
Nor her own.
She hurried her fairies up, they were getting close now and she had been spotted, it was obvious. Mages were circling her location, unwilling to come close but obviously aware that she was a Divine. And that was another thing, every soldier in Kassandora’s force knew how Elassa, Fortia, Maisara, how all the White Pantheon looked. Why was she not known? Did humanity suddenly think it could forget about Death? Was her name really reduced to being a simple footnote in history?
Today, she would remind them.
As she neared the ground, she saw a larger force assemble. Three minor Divines in heavy plate chainmail, a line of gold-bronze Guardians behind them in bronze. A shield of magic winds ahead of them stopped any bullets that were being launched at them from the windows and from behind the various trees and garden boxes the elves were taking cover behind. Archers took the rear, the stopped, the archers unleashed a volley of arrows, and the elves took cover.
Even this display, Neneria was stunned by. She had seen the fist be replaced by the rock. The rock beaten out by a spear. A sword came to replace the spear, a slingshot came to replace throwing. A shield came to replace dodging, then armour entered to work with the shield. The mace came about to counter heavy plate, the horse was subdued to give man an advantage, and the lance came to outfit the horse. She had thought it would carry on like for all eternity…
And then the Great War came. And what happened? These men were still using arrows? They had planes that could traverse the world, and they still used swords? She didn’t know whether it was noble or idealistic, but it was stupidity in either case. The fairies around her disappeared, and she dropped the final two feet. Her heels dug into the dirt and she took a step to dig them out. Kassandora had told her not to wear them, yet Neneria still did.
“Hold fire.” She said quietly, the elves would catch the words with their enhanced hearing, and she looked at the men who were approaching. The three Gods looked at each other, the middle held up his arm. The battalion behind him stopped. He stepped forwards, through the magical barrier and bowed. At least he had the decency to do that.
“We thank you for subduing the invaders Divine!” He was a full two heads shorter than Neneria. That sort of difference in height was akin to comparing a dog to a human in the ranks of Divinity. Neneria quirked a smile, her dark eyes settled on the man and he shivered. Heavy plate, Maisara-style, with a helm covering his face.
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“I did nothing.” Neneria said gently, her voice carried far, to the ranks of men.
“They are armed with Kassandora’s rifles, I would advise-“ He stopped and Neneria cut him off.
“I did nothing.” She said again, harder this time. She thought of what to do with the man, the Legion would need a moment to deploy, but if she gave them a moment, they would blast her with every magic known to man. Much better to attack and clear the area for herself first, then drag the army from her pockets.
“We…” He looked back at his force and nodded. They started marching forwards again. Neneria saw the elves looking curiously at her. They were in full black, ski-masks covering their faces and only leaving a thin sliver of pale skin uncovered in between the eyes. Fingers were wrapped around triggers, but they were elves, Neneria assumed none of them would panic if she could be given a moment to talk to this God. “We are grateful, Goddess.” He said. “But may I inquire your name?”
Neneria blinked down. She looked down at her pale hands. At the black cloth of her dress, she felt the raven feathers tickle her neck, and she looked up at that maggot who had just asked who she was? He didn’t know? How did he not know? Saksma was one thing, that was some sick curiosity of a little girl who had never been taught the lesson of what power was. But this? To not know her name? “You don’t know?” Neneria’s voice was a low rumble.
The God shook his head, the steel helm moved from side to side. “A millennia is all it takes?” Neneria rumbled like the beginnings of an avalanche The God tightened his fingers around his sword. “And I’ve been forgotten?” Neneria growled. Her hand shot forwards.
There is no spear to keep them at bay. No shield to hold them. No blade to parry their blows. No armour strong enough. Without overwhelming magical superiority, it is a simple impossibility. Do not, under any circumstances, try to engage the Goddess of Death.
- Excerpt from ‘The Divines of Arascus’, written by Goddesses Allasaria and Fortia. Intended to serve as a Great War manual akin to Kassandora’s booklets.
Neneria twisted her hand into a fast and slammed it down. A ghastly green arrow shot through the God’s chest. A peasant, his chest carved open by the blow of a hammer, with a spear appeared by his side and stabbed his ethereal weapon into the God’s leg. A knight on a horse of bone rode from the wall and swung a sabre. The God’s arm fell off. Another arrow penetrated him. A crossbow bolt followed. A dwarf with an axe severed his leg. A giant, glowing pale stepped forwards and swung a scythe intended to cut grass at the God. His chest was flung backwards, and the legs collapsed.
And as quickly as the charge of apparitions came, they disappeared. The Gods body tumbled into pieces and Neneria saw a soul leave the body, a small pale blue thing trying to resemble a human, it flew upwards in some vain effort to escape her. Her hand twisted, it got pulled close to her chest, resting between her bosom. And her heart devoured that soul.
And the Legion grew by one more.
The one possible scenario is a quick kill. Neneria deployment saps her of strength momentarily. That is the chance we have to strike. Once the Legion is fielded, there is no ‘best’ manoeuvre to perform. The only hope of survival and stopping its growth is a total retreat. For this reason, every fortress, every hold and every keep, needs a full team of trained mages to counter her.
- Excerpt from ‘The Divines of Arascus’, written by Goddesses Allasaria and Fortia.
Neneria looked at the shock, at the fear, at the confusion in the ranks behind the God. She saw the Guardians in the bronze start to shake. She saw a few take a step back. Several spears were dropped. A mage that hovered in the air lost focus and dropped out of the sky.
She found her chance.
“Give me time.” Neneria said quietly as she spread her arms around her. A banner dropped to the ground, carrying the headless horseman of her legion. It settled on the stone, untouched by the wind. A ghost grabbed her, the elves opened fire. A shield dropped. Several Guardians fell. They backed away. Ranks broke as a tsunami of fear crashed over morale’s floodwall.
A team of ancient knights, each one still carrying the unbleeding wounds that felled him, appeared before Neneria. Elven blademasters stepped into existence, swords already drawn, and they disappeared as they ran into walls. Archers joined them. More knights. Kassandora’s ancient heavy cataphract cavalry, man and beast armoured in full scale-mail raced away from Neneria.
Neneria felt her shiver incoming and lowered her arms. This was enough, for now. More could be brought in later. It was like drinking, she couldn’t slam an entire bottle down like Fer, but bit-by-bit, she could get through one. A few minutes of rest, and she’d bring in another thousand conscripted souls. She looked towards the men that were running away.
What Guardian of her age would flee? What mage? What Divine? She disagreed with Anassa on a great many things, but there was one thing her sister said that Neneria could not argue with. They did not make Divines like they used to.
Neneria reached forwards, and her knights charged. The elves stopped firing, there was no point to. Heavy cavalry silently lowered their lances as silent horse hooves raced along the ground, not a sound being made.
And then, the silent mountain started to scream.
Whatever is done, every soldier should be aware of how to escape. Mages especially, it is crucial Neneria’s Legion is not allowed to grow. The only reasonable way we have to defeat is to empty her reserves entirely through attrition, then kill her directly.
- Excerpt from ‘The Divines of Arascus’, written by Goddesses Allasaria and Fortia.
Neneria deployed more troops. More foot-soldiers, each one carrying the wound that felled him. Atis would not see this battle, she wouldn’t risk his soul getting cleansed by a stray mage. The elves followed her as she made her way to Allasaria’s quarters. Kassandora had said to collect every piece of information that could be found here, and to cause as much damage as possible. Kavaa had provided maps, and tiny ghastly fairies hovered high above and relayed information on troop movements back to Neneria.
Ahead was a force. One that had dug in and prepared. Seekers with their spears lowered and mages with barriers raised. Others waved staves and channelled cleansing magic. Neneria rolled her eyes. A horde of dirty peasants sprung from the ground and charged. Bright flashes of light from Seeker spear and mage stave burned them away, simply sent the souls off to the next world.
And Neneria’s cavalry came in from the side. In the air was the worst place to fight. Where there could be no sneak attacks. Open field battles were slightly better, were at least Neneria could force her forces under the ground. But urban fighting? Urban fighting against ghosts that raced through walls? There was nothing better.
The cavalry passed through silently, men fell, by the time the defenders realised they were getting attacked from the side, the ghastly riders were already upon them. Neneria called upon Pegaz, her first steed. A winged horse she had long since tamed and brought into the afterlife. It stepped out of the ground from below her, she merely had to lean back and let herself be carried off into the air.
In a few seconds, the Legion had shrunk by two hundred peasants, and then it grew as Neneria dragged souls to be consumed by her heart. A hundred and eighty three Seekers, thirty-seven mages, five Divines. She smiled to herself. Pegaz took a step, the elves raced off to the side off the walls, they kicked down buildings to reveal merely lifeless bodies, killed already by Neneria’s ghosts as they raced across the city.
As the defences of Olympiada fell, as the flames of napalm died down, as news started to spread of what was happening, the mountain started to scream. The mountain screamed, and Neneria rode through lifeless streets to Allasaria’s quarter.
And on that ashen horse, rides Death.
- Ending to Neneria’s Prayer.