Olephia stirred in her sleep and murmured an unintelligible word. The men watching from behind the thick pane of glass noted it down. The commander of Olephia’s Prison spoke after reading the notification which just popped up on his screen. “Send word to the Pantheon, we need another recharge.”

The message travelled through the air, beamed from Artica to a satellite and back down to Olympiada. It ran through the air, an invisible snake of bits and bytes dancing and swirling across the world in a mere minute. Impossible to see by the naked eye. Its smell shot in all directions, the snake had never been careful and the smell lasted for the blink of an eye.

No one had ever tried to intercept the Pantheon’s electronic communications.

But today, five different wolves around Olympiada caught the snake’s scent.

“So here we are.” Arascus stood up in the war-room as he looked at the team of every important figure in the plan. Everyone had come, from the young sorcerers to his daughter-Goddesses, everyone dressed formally, in battle armour for those who were leaving and suits for those who weren’t. “Ladies and Gentlemen, two months have passed and we have received word from the teams providing surveillance in Atny.”

Markus sat on his blanket in the shadow of Olympiada. A Doschian pair of binoculars had been sent to the Atny Branch from Headquarters, one of the best in the world apparently. He believed it, they could pick out even spiderwebs half a mile away. Navigating here, he had passed by Kavaa’s Clerics at least twenty times. They did not seem to care about sightseers though and a short story about how he was taking a few weeks off to escape the depression of Atny pulled them away.

Some had given water, a few treats, two men had handed over a bottle of Arikan spirits. Strong stuff, although he only took a sip here and there to get to bed. He fiddled with his phone, a throwaway also sent from headquarters, and looked back through the binoculars. Olympiada’s mountain skyport came into view as if he was right there.

Five planes had come in yesterday from the north. Fat, oversized jets, as if someone had taken standard airplanes and simply made them bigger. A crowd stood there, tall people although Markus could work it out because of the Seekers about. They stood in formation and brought scale to the situation. A giant walked among them: Allasaria. Leona was next to her, Lady Luck looked as if she did not want to be there. She turned, spoke something, pointed about, to the Gods, to the planes, and eventually the conversation ended.

Markus sighed, flipped open the cheap phone and reported the sighting to the one number which had been saved as a contact.

* Outskirts of Olympiada, five days ago.

Arascus took a slow walk around the table. The white lamps were especially bright today. Everyone knew what this meeting would be for, no one so much as spoke. Arascus was sure some of them were even holding their breathes. He flipped open his notes and pulled out a piece of paper. “From the Atny branch, this has been reported: Five planes, sized for Divines, spotted. Thirty to Fifty lesser Divines estimated. Allasaria spotted. Leona spotted. Prediction is soon. Clerics are not moving, goal still unknown.” Arascus finished and looked over to Mikhail.

Mikhail Alash stood in his workshop and gazed at Raptor One and Raptor Two. It was an entirely different kind of plane from anything in existence, a mad-man’s vision of planes made to hunt other planes: The world’s first interceptors. All black, with the beak and eyes painted on the front, massive engines built into the wings rather than hanging below them, two more attached to the back. The pilot appeared from the rear and gave him a thumbs up. “It’s all good sir, the changes have made her even easier!”

Mikhail looked over to his assistant who was scribbling everyone down. “Write that Raptor One and Raptor Two are perfect. There is nothing to improve upon now.”

“Are you sure sir?” The assistant was another engineer. A man called Igor Sasky. He had been a handful when Ilwin had brought him but a nice place to stay in, good drinks, pretty maids and an unlimited budget had quickly changed his mind.

“Can you think of anything?” To mount the engines into the wings was Igor’s idea, it reduced weight by a good amount but also fulfilled Arascus’ demand for the smallest amount of points of failure possible. Every screw had been checked by Igor, then by another pair of engineers, then by Mikhail himself.

“I cannot.” Igor admitted.

“Then we are ready, write that down.”

* Mikhail Alash’s secret workshop. Two weeks ago.

Arascus pulled out a photo of the two planes and slid them onto the table. Everyone looked over, the two young sorcerers, Fleur and Edmonton gawked. The older, more experienced members who remembered the nostalgia of the Great War only reclined and smiled. Iliyal’s eyes had a burning fire within them Arascus had only seen in the man when he had first returned. Neneria paid attention as she had always done, Fer simply stretched and yawned. Classic. “Your planes are ready Mikhail?” It was both a statement and a question. Arascus knew already, but he wanted to make sure that everyone else knew too.

“They are Sir.” Mikhail said. He stood up and saluted, Sara had apparently chosen a pristine suit for him but the man had only gone for a plain and unimpressive one: Black and white, the sort of modesty in looks that would befit his engineering skill. “Inspections have been ran every day since two weeks ago. All testing flights, even the long-distance hypersonic tests have come in within the prediction models. There are no faults, I would bet my life on it.” Arascus nodded and motioned for him to sit down as the table nodded in silence. Most of the table did, Neneria rarely expressed emotion in public, Iliyal only smiled as if it was expected and Fer looked around as if bored. Arascus looked over to the two young sorcerers, Fleur Ambelee and Edmonton Weaver. Both dressed in military uniforms, short red cloaks behind them falling halfway down their backs.

Edmonton looked in amazement as five trees were cut through. Ten days ago he had managed to cut only one down, a month ago, he was barely scratching the bark. Fifty days ago, Arascus had sit him and Fleur down to explain the exercise that was sorcery.

The God had stopped visiting, now they were going out with Sara to practice by themselves. Arascus had described it as riding a bike, he could show them the stances and explain the balance but ultimately, it relied on one’s own practice to get better. He looked down at his hands, touched his brow and blinked. Dry as the sand in the desert, he had not even broken a sweat.

“Nice one.” Fleur said next to him and snapped her finger. For a brief moment, a halo of bright red light surrounded her body and then vanished. She crossed her arms, smiling proudly as Edmonton tilted to look behind her. A tree slowly moved, then fell, the cut had been fast it had taken the plant a second or two to realise it had been felled. “That’s how you do it.” She said when the sound of crashing needles and breaking branches reached them.

And just as yesterday, and the day before, and the entire week, they got into a fight on who was better.

* The forest around Headquarters, two days ago.

“Stand up.” Arascus motioned to them. They both stood up, staring down at everyone but the Divines in the room. Arascus knew it was annoying but to train pride out of a sorcerer was to train a dog not to drink water, a fruitless exercise that made one more experienced only in futility. Iliyal smirked at them as if they were children, Sara tilted her nose up, Neneria merely gazed over them and Fer collapsed on the table, her arms outstretched as she played with her fingers. “How is training?”

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“I can fell six trees in a beam. Sir” Edmonton said, he saluted then smiled proudly. “Five easily.”

“Same here.” Fleur added and then did her own quick salute.

“And range?” Arascus asked.

“Up to a hundred metres.” Fleur replied, Arascus saw Iliyal scribble down a seventy on the piece of paper before him. It was always better to be safe and sorry, and Arascus had largely left them to their own training. Sara had little to do in the past few weeks anyway, all activities had been focused on perfecting the Irinika plan.

“And the skydiving lessons?”

Fleur and Edmonton gave each other a grin. Sara had taken them skydiving, although the woman did not want to take any part of it. They had assumed it was going to be some secret base and jumping in the middle of nowhere, neither of them considered that it would be a two-day course near Elzbietgrad. They had spent last night seeing the beautiful city with its grand bridges cascading over the Volrha.

Sara had treated them well, she had found a private instructor and rented him out for the two days. The first jump, she had done with the man on his back, then she watched Ed. Two times that repeated. This was her first jump alone. She took a deep breath as the instructor opened the door, the roaring engines and wind blowing into the small plane forced them to shout. “I… right…you…” He gave up, throwing his arms up in the air.

The only issue was that they had no common language. The man pointed to Fleur, then made a running motion with his fingers and jumped as he pointed to the window. Then repeated the same movements to Edmonton. He counted to ten, showing off with his fingers to both of them, then made a pulling motion at his breast. “Ten seconds and then pull the chute.” Edmonton leaned in and shouted into Fleur’s ear.

Did he think she was stupid? The instructor saw them talking, most likely assumed they were agreeing, smiled and gave them two thumbs up. Fleur returned thumbs up with her own friendly smile. He pointed to the door.

Well here it was… all or nothing…

Fleur ran out of the plane and fell towards Arda.

* Elzbietgrad, three weeks ago.

“Both of them are qualified now.” Sara replied to Arascus’ question. “They can run their own skydiving lessons now.”

“I’d do it again.” Fleur said and she gave the Duchess an angry look. Arascus didn’t comment, sorcerers and their pride.

“Quite fun.” Edmonton added.

“It was.”

“Very well.” Arascus motioned for them to sit down. Frankly, the skydiving lessons of Fleur and Edmonton weren’t important, their loss was not assured, but their survival was not guaranteed either. He simply did not want to throw away two sorcerers his daughter had chosen personally out of sheer apathy. It could be done, so it should be done. The God turned to Iliyal, this was a matter more important. “Have we secured an airbase in Southern Arika?”

Iliyal looked over to the setting Arikan sun, it painted the sky purple and red and orange and yellow and gold as the stars came out. The sand here was a deep red and the terrain beautiful. Iliyal had never seen anything like it, a plain so flat it may have as well been smoothed out by a giant’s iron but interspersed with odd pimples of rock. Some where mountains, simply rising out of the ground with steep cliffs, others were the size of homes.

He had chosen this space for the airbase. What was an airbase anyway? A building? A warehouse? A runway? A radar installation was needed, but they knew the general path that planes from Olympiada to Artica would take. Ultimately, you do just have to go south. But did you need an entrance hall? A barracks? A dining hall? Arascus did say to be as fast as possible.

He looked at the team of thirty men. Ultimately, an airbase could just be a campsite. The planes would be covered in camouflaged nettings and what did men need at the end of day? They should be glad he had given them tents, this land was away from civilization anyway. It was a full day drive to the nearest village.

“Flatten out two paths in the sand, then smooth them out. Press the sand in and be fast about it.” He gave the command.

* South Arikan Badlands, a month ago.

The elf stood up, his long coat moving like a slow wave as he pulled a clean salute. “They are. The planes are ready to be sent, notice came in that the airport was ready four weeks ago.” He gave a report as he always did, clean and efficient. Neneria gave no reaction and Fer got up from the table. The ears popping out of her bounced up and down and she started to scratch herself. Arascus turned to Mikhail.

“And they have the range to get to Artica?” A question which was a statement again.

“They do.” The engineer responded. “Enough to fly to Artica and back twice. I thought they would set off from Karaina so range is a none-issue if we’re setting off from Arika.” Excellent, although Arascus expected nothing less. He motioned for Iliyal to sit down and turned to Neneria.

“Neneria.” The Goddess of Death stood up and made a slow salute.

“Yes Father?”

“The Atis situation?”

Arascus had been impressed that Neneria found Atis but there was little he could do with a God’s soul. The commonality of Divines who could communicate with the world beyond per Divine was similar to the amount of Divines per mortal. That, and of them all, Atis was a particularly annoying God. He had been a hunter in the Great War, slaying dragon and beast and rarely making any strategic decision.

He was no Fortia or Maisara, much less an Allasaria, nor did he have the knowledge of Saranael or the wits of Helenna.

Atis, through and through, was a brute. Neneria had always considered him a brute, and when she opened the jar and saw his ghastly visage appear before her, colourless apart from a green glow in the clothes he had died in, his chest pockmarked with bullet-wounds and he held his spear. His bow was on his back. He focused his gaze on Neneria, sighed, and looked around the underground room that she had sectioned off for this. “I never thought I would look at the world like this, Goddess of Death.” Atis said, his voice resigned. “Who killed me?”

“Iliyal Tremali.” Neneria answered as she looked up at the man. He was indeed tall. She had prepared everything already, a binding circle, the walls were covered in runes, her own black dress she enchanted to protect herself from him.

“A mouse can kill an elephant.” Atis said.

“I’ll tell him you said that.”

“Please do.” Atis replied and sighed again. “So what do you wish to know from me? I will not lie when I’ve been caught, Allasaria kept us all away from her decision making and I was never one to stick my nose where it does not belong.”

“For now, nothing. I don’t want your knowledge yet, I want you.” Neneria said. “Kneel, recognise me as Queen of the Damned and join the Dead Legion.” Atis raised an eyebrow at her and snorted in humour.

“I am a Divine Neneria.” Neneria smiled back at him.

“And?”

“Have some respect, I thought you better than this.”

“I hate to disappoint.” Neneria said coldly. Atis nodded and ran his fingers along the spear. He could not touch her, they both knew it.

“And to think I once thought myself better than people.”

“When did you stop?”

“As the Great War concluded. When I saw Fortia and Maisara act no better than your beastly sister.”

“We are unequal even in Death.” Neneria raised her hand at him. “Unfortunately for you, the hierarchy is quite simple here. There’s me, and then there’s everyone else.” She snapped her fingers.

Atis’ scream filled the room.

* Neneria’s chamber, fifty-five days ago.

Arascus watched Neneria smile. Her eyes start to exude darkness, her fingers fidget. The room turned silent as everyone looked up. Even Fer, ears turning forwards, leaned away from the Goddess of Death.

Atis collapsed as Neneria let his bones regrow and heal again. He was a ghost, a soul in another world, a soul that stayed behind because it was much too attached to the world here. A child who wanted to stay home instead of going to school. A child who had to be punished. She poured her magic into him. She was the God of Death, the Gatekeeper who held the keys to what lay beyond. Once there, he would be safe from her reach but while he was in the mid-point, while he was at the Gates of Death, he was in her demesne. And her demesne touched everything, there was nothing that did not die.

Atis screamed again as he collapsed. “Stop… stop… please…”

“Swear allegiance and join the Legion.” Neneria said coldly as she stared unmoving at Atis.

“I… I… I swear.” Neneria smiled.

She had broken a God.

* Neneria’s chamber, five days ago.

Arascus raised his eyebrow. “Neneria?”

“Atis is broken.” For a moment, she smiled. It was a smile so terrible, only Arascus, Iliyal and Fer did not shudder. Then she retreated back into herself, becoming the cold emotionless statue she always pretended to be.

“Good.” Arascus said. That only made things better. The plan would have worked without Atis, but now that Neneria had broken the God of the Hunt, it only gave them a spare ace to use. That was everything important that needed to be covered. The groundwork was laid, the game was set. The God of Pride pulled out one sheet from the folder before as Neneria sat back down. “Ladies and Gentlemen, this will be the final meeting for Operation Misfortune. Three hours ago, the radars we have set up around Olympiada intercepted a message.”

He read out what was had been caught. “Chaos stirs, Luck needed.”