The words ‘defeat’ and ‘victory’ have lost meaning. Or maybe they never had them in the first place. What is defeat? Just loss? A war can be won without any victorious battles, an opponent can be defeated through pure attrition and nothing else. It is better to compare defeats to ceasefires in our current day, ceasefires with slight territorial changes and monetary obligations attached to them, but ceasefires still.

The two are in an endless cycle. Victory and defeat are parts of the same snake. Its jaw victorious as it devours its own defeated tail. And yet, that tail is ever growing. A nation can be defeated, its spirit can be crushed, yet this is a mere set-back, a ceasefire. Populations grow and change, defeats become memories, memories are either mythologized or forgotten. And new generations repeat the cycle. Defeat needs to be reframed. I am not leading wars for only temporary gains. I will not accept these ceasefires anymore. Defeat cannot be a temporary measure anymore. Defeat has to become permanent. When I claim victory, there will be no defeats left remember.

And victory? Victory is the same thing as defeat. Victory is annihilation.

- Excerpts from “Philosophy of War”, written by Goddess Kassandora, of War.

Olonia stood and watched Iliyal as he inspected the first door of the cell. The ancient weapon Divines were within those cells. She knew of them, but she didn’t know them. There wasn’t a library in Lubska which had any major detail on them, only records of which battles they participated in during the Great War, and before that... There was nothing. She didn’t know their ages, she didn’t know their original incarnation locations, for half of them, she didn’t even know their names.

But Iliyal did, Iliyal very obviously did. He had a bright smile as he waved for Olonia to come over. She did, each step uneasy and wary. Why was she even afraid? She honestly did not know, but the chills running down her back, the sudden heaviness in her legs, the way she had to push herself through the air as if she was trying to traverse thick jelly. Nothing sat right with her. Not since she had come here, the fight still on the ground, when they breached into Drayim fortress proper was nothing like she had imagined. The organized Paladins simply dropping from guns, Iliyal’s sharp and fast commands, the constant movements. She had imagined heroic duels, the testing of wills and skill and all the things myths had told about. And what she got was people dropping dead. Just like that, poof, and gone.

And then the duel with Waramunt had told her everything she needed to know about herself. She had duelled with Saksma and Paida and the other Epan mascot Divines, but that was it. They were mere honourable duels, put on for shows. And then Waramunt had come in. She had been stronger than him, she knew she was, his blows were fast, but that was all they were.

And yet he had still crushed her. It wasn’t a duel, it was an adult slapping a child about. She couldn’t even get a single on the God. He had utterly destroyed her will. And yet Iliyal had still won. Not a single shred of Waramunt’s death lay at her feet, it was all Iliyal. He had put the bullet into the man’s shoulder, he had set up the plan. There had been no honour in that duel, Waramunt did not take her seriously, nor did Iliyal. She thought about it now, and the elf’s plan made sense. He didn’t expect her to win in the first place, he knew she would lose, she was merely there to give him an opening. And then he took the opening and it was over. Just like that, poof, and a God was gone.

And something within Olonia also went poof. She had not changed for some seven hundred years. She had merely been the mascot of a nation, a dutiful guardian that saved during disasters and stayed out of the country’s meandering politics. Allasaria had said it was for her own good, that she didn’t deserve to be part of that sphere. Allasaria had said she was a new being of a new age, that the wounds of the past should not dirty her. Allasaria had said Olonia should not even try to understand, because the simple act of understanding it was a curse. And Allasaria had been right. Olonia understood it now, and something with her shattered. A part of her heart had gone poof, and it was gone.

Arascus had come back, and she had met Anassa and Neneria. Two Divines that weren’t mascots. That didn’t even pretend to be mascots. That stood up for themselves and each other. Two Divines that acted like… that acted like Divines. There was the White Pantheon of course, but that was the White Pantheon, they guided the world and maintained Arda’s eternal peace. They were a mountain Olonia had never dreamed of reaching, she wasn’t capable enough, she wasn’t strong enough, she simply wasn’t enough. What was only a mere nation before the Goddess of Light? Of Order? Of Peace?

And Iliyal had called her stronger than Waramunt. Poof. Something else had gone with those words. He had called her a useless bitch. Something went poof then too, but something had come in to replace that growing hole. Her heart had shattered into tiny little pieces. The lovely and tender pieces of muscles galvanized themselves into hard steel. They melded themselves into a blade.

She took a step through the heavy air and shone her torch into the cell. There was a Divine there, standing bare and dirty, a prisoner for how long? A millennia? Since the Great War at least. Between her bosom was a black picture of a sword, and that sword moved. It slid around skin like a snake, trailing down her leg with each breath and sliding back up to her neck. And Olonia looked at that woman. As tall as her, smiling, arms loose at her sides. Hair a beautiful bronze, eyes gleaming like silver, skin almost glowing like polished steel. How long did she stand here? And how could she stand like that? So confident of herself? Those eyes shone with nothing but pure delight. Poof, and another part of Olonia was gone.

Iliyal extended his arm and pointed at a section of the bars. “Here, this is the weak point.” Olonia’s eyes scanned the steel, she didn’t know how the elf saw it. But she gripped her blade, her scale-mail rustled, and she smashed it into that bar.

And the bar went. Her sabre went through it as easily as butter. The Goddess inside the cell whistled. “You are strong indeed.” Olonia merely stared looked up from the steel bars as the cell’s door started to fall open under its own weight. She was strong? What was the woman even talking about? She was the Goddess of an entire nation who couldn’t stand against the spirit of a puny little fortress. A God so pathetic a mortal had killed him.

Olonia had no reply, so she said nothing. Iliyal seemed to notice the lull and spoke up. “Olonia, this is Aslana, of the Sword.” He turned to Olonia. “Aslana, this is Olonia, Goddess of Lubska.” He continued. “That’s the country we’re in now.” Aslana smiled as she stretched and yawned, arms above her head, bosom moving with her. Olonia stared at her in awe, even when she was stood in a prison cell and naked, the Goddess simply radiated the air of Divinity. That surety in oneself, that confidence that whatever happened, you were still correct. Poof, and something else went.

“Maps have changed?” Aslana asked in a deep and cold voice, almost business like. And Olonia stared in awe, the woman had just been released and now? Straight down to business? She didn’t know a single Divine who would be capable of that, even industrious Saksma needed to take breaks every now and then. Poof, this time, it was a shard of her pride. How could she proud when a being like this existed?

“Maps have changed.” Iliyal said in a light tone. Olonia noticed it, he didn’t speak to her like that. “Time is tight.” A bang on the door and the creaking of hinges reminded Olonia they were still being chased. “So explanations will come later.”

Aslana rolled her eyes, but she wore a pleasant little smile as she spoke to Iliyal. “You’ve not changed a bit.”

“I tried not to.” He said and held out his hand. “So, like back then?”

“Like back then.” Aslana said. Gentle Divine fingers touched Iliyal’s rough hand, she didn’t even question the lack of a finger on his hand, now wrapped with bandages. The moment the woman touched his skin, she started to shine, her body started to flow as if Iliyal was dragging her into himself. Her feet disappeared first, her calves, her thighs, her other hand started to slide as her tattoo moved onto Iliyal’s body and pulled Aslana with it. Her head twisted and turned, sucked into Iliyal. Aslana was smiling the whole time.

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Olonia took a step back as she felt the sheer power radiating off Iliyal. The tattoo slithered into his palm and rose out of his body. It took the shape of a sword, gleaming with silver. And Aslana appeared behind Iliyal, hovering in the air, arms wrapped around him. She slid her arm down his, their bodies overlapped into each other, and the woman dragged a second blade out of the first one. Iliyal did not seem to care, he merely smiled and gave the sword a few swings, it cut through the air with a sound, then he swung it at the bars. They may as well have not been there, the blade simply travelled through them, cutting through almost soundlessly, the sound only came when the bars lost balance and clattered on the dark stone tiles. “You’re as sharp as ever.” Iliyal said.

“I’m offended you even considered I would grow dull.” Aslana’s ghost said from behind him, she was almost opaque, Olonia could just about make out shapes when she looked through her. The other men stared in just as much awe as the Goddess of Lubska.

Iliyal took a step towards the next cell. “Labrys, of the Axe.” He swung Aslana and the Goddess moved with him. A pair of blades of appeared with his swift swing, they disappeared for a moment. And then re-appeared. And the cell bars fell apart into different pieces.

“Took your time, didn’t you Iliyal?” Labrys said as she stepped out. Shorter than Aslana, but with a warmer face and a bosom to make Agrita jealous, with a head of vicious gold hair, the ends turning to bronze.

“No time to talk, save it for later.” Olonia blinked as she looked at the elf all but ignore the woman. He stepped to the next cell. The one were the male voice came from.

“Pridwen, of the Shield.” Iliyal said, Aslana did not even move turn a single muscle as she moved, it was as if she was a part of Iliyal. Labrys inspected the men. Olonia saw bronze eyes settle on her, Labrys smiled and waved, then jumped when she heard the battering on the door.

“You didn’t tell me we were under attack!” Labrys shouted.

“Shut up Labrys.” Aslana said. “Of course we’re under attack.”

“You’re being broken out.” Iliyal shouted. “I’d prefer you find one of my soldiers to wield you so that we all make it out.” He cut the cell door to Pridwen open. This was a man’s voice. Huge and thick, with shoulders so wide Olonia could sit on one of them. With long hair and a tired face, but it was sharp. Nude, like all of them.

“Arascus did not come?” Pridwen asked.

“There’s a war up above.” Iliyal answered and there were cheers from every cell. Even Aslana smiled to herself. Labrys stepped to Olonia and looked her up and down.

“You’re not a fighter.” She said immediately. Then leaned to inspect Olonia’s sabre. The woman, naked as she was, had the audacity to do a double take, looking at Olonia, at the blade, at Olonia, at the blade again. “Why are you using a cavalry sabre without a horse?”

“LABRYS!” Iliyal shouted. “Pick someone!”

“First come, first serve.” Pridwen already found a man, the one Iliyal had called Baker. They were both huge, but the mortal obviously did not compare to the god. “What is your name?” He asked.

“Baker.” The God cracked a smile.

“Just that?”

“Just that.” The man replied, confident resolution in his voice.

“Very well Baker, wield me.” The God extended his hand. Baker grabbed it as Labrys shook her head and walked through the crowd. The men all pretended as if they weren’t looking exactly where they were looking. And just as Aslana had been dragged into Iliyal, Pridwen was dragged into Baker. The God had a shield tattoo on his back, it travelled down Baker’s arm, then popped from his body. Pridwen’s ghost rose out of Baker and grabbed his own copy with the shield as the man waved it around.

“You’re quite light.” Baker said in an impressed voice.

“Are you complaining?” Pridwen said.

“Commenting.” Baker replied. He looked to Iliyal. “So what now?”

“They’ll guide you, don’t worry about it.” Baker chuckled with disbelief as he stared at the shield on his arm and swung it around.

“Not much help that.” He said.

“I can’t teach you melee combat in a minute.” Iliyal shouted. Five more Divines were free. A woman with a spear running down her entire body, from her foot and ending at her neck. A man with a bow painted on his chest, one arm slightly longer than the other. Another man with a crossbow. A woman with a halberd. The entire armoury.

Labrys found a man she liked, she stopped before him, hands behind her back, and leaning forwards as to put her face close to his. “Your name?”

“Stalker.” The man skinny man said and Labrys raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Stalker?” She said dryly.

“I didn’t choose it.” The man matched the flatness of her tone with his own and Labrys smiled a smile that promised a thousand and one different things.

“Well Stalker, can I stalk with you?” She asked rather politely. He smiled and held out his hand. She took it, the double-headed axe tattoo travelled down her arm and onto his, and the Goddess’ body was dragged with it. She appeared as a ghost behind him. Olonia merely stared. Every human had been armed and there was still Divines left. She walked past the ghosts and to Iliyal, who was watching the door. The Divines outside were still banging on it, the hinges were starting to creak.

“Do I not wield one?” She asked the elf.

“You’re a Divine.” Iliyal said, he didn’t even look at her, instead planting the tip of Aslana into the ground, it slid into the stone as if it was butter. “When we get out, you can try but I wouldn’t do it here.”

“Oh.” Olonia said, Iliyal finally turned to look at her, he must have realised she was satisfied with that answer.

“Divines weren’t meant to wield Divines. It’s not as gentle as when a mortal wields them. Trust me on this.” He said. Olonia didn’t know why she believed the elf, but she did. He looked at the door, then down at the blade in his hand.

“That’s Anassa’s door.” He said.

“And who is trying get in?” Aslana’s ghost replied from behind him.

“I don’t know, minor Divines.” The Goddess of the Sword’s chuckle sent a chill down Olonia’s back.

“I never considered you the patient type.” Aslana said gently.

“I’m the most patient man on Arda.” Iliyal said as he stepped to side. Olonia moved to stay next to Iliyal. “But today, I suppose my patience has just about ran out.” He turned to his men. “WHO HAS BESSY!?” He shouted. A man stepped forwards, an old musket in his hands. A Goddess behind him, tall and thin. She held her own copy of the rifle, her hair was brown like the wood of the gun, her eyes silver like its cold steel.

“I do!” The man shouted.

“It’s Bess.” The ghost said from behind him in a stern tone, she clicked her tongue, it sounded like the flick of a switch.

“Juniors get nicknames.” Labrys said cheekily from the side and Bess scowled at the woman by her side.

“Save us some time.” Iliyal nodded to the door. “Blow it open.” The man blinked, then stared at the rifle, he lifted it and pulled the trigger. It did nothing and Bess side from above, her ghost moved, she flicked a little handle on the side of the gun.

“That’s how you handle me. I won’t show you again.”

“She’s moody, you have to be gentle with muskets.” Iliyal said with a grin. The elf looked like a new man, he stared at the ghosts, his eyes practically burning with excitement.

“I am NOT!” Bess shouted.

And the man pulled the trigger. Bess immediately snapped to attention. The man fired a cloud of smoke. The ghost did. A musket that had appeared in the air by his side joined in. And another. A third. The muskets all appeared instantly, they made ranks upon ranks, all clean, all unleashed a cloud of smoke.

The smoke cleared after a few seconds, and Olonia turned her eyes to the door. Although there was no door, there was no wall either. It had all been blown open, a Divine in silver armour was lying on the ground, his chest missing. Another had been blown backwards across the entire corridor. A third Divine was missing an arm. A dozen Paladins lay dead. A mage too.

They stared in horror at Iliyal’s new weaponry.

And the elf wasted no time, he ran forwards and swung Aslana. The ghost swung with him. Two men fell and a dozen swords rose suddenly materialized around Aslana. They raced forwards, slicing as if wielded by blade masters, sliding along parry and finding holes and weaknesses in armour. A mage mounted a counterattack, Baker slammed his shield down as Iliyal rolled to avoid the attack. Aslana’s ghosts merely started to laugh as the fire ploughed through hair, it burst on Pridwen, the flames tried to escape, and the shield swallowed them. Baker lifted the shield back up and stared at it in awe. Pridwen chuckled from behind him.

Stalker launched himself forwards with Labrys in his hand and her ghost behind him. Aslana’s sword aimed for the heart and throat, they beheaded and killed quickly and efficiently. And Labrys did nothing of that. Axes slammed into Paladin’s sides, flinging them against the walls and crushing bodies. They tore through shield as if they were felling trees, they severed leg and arm from torso and they left moaning bodies on the ground. And Iliyal reached the end of the corridor. How many had just been killed? How quickly?

He turned. Olonia saw madness spiral across his face, his eyes started to burn, it was the first time she had seen him smiling. A God appeared from the side of the door. Aslana the ghost parried the blow, Aslana the blade cut into his chest. The Divine coughed up blood, Iliyal twisted the sword, cut upwards. He turned on his feet, twisted his core. Olonia had never thought she would ever see the day a mortal flung a God over himself, but she did. Iliyal pulled his blade out and slammed it back down, straight into the Divine’s heart.

Olonia stared at the dead. Poof, and gone.

Was it them that went poof? Or was it her?

She did not know.