King Richard VI sat in his room. Eleanor and Richard VII where playing with toys, Queen Anna sat next to him on the couch. “Are we really going to watch the news?” She asked.

“Wissel told me to put it on, it’s happening today.” He flicked to the live broadcast of Igos. EIE was broadcasting it, but it was Doschia’s The World Today reporters on the ground.

Premier General Abakwa woke up with another coffee. The Igos Central Crisis Centre had become his home for the past four days, a skyscraper in the middle of the city, not the tallest, nor largest building, but it was a modern-day fortress. Thick concrete walls stood tall, reinforced with thin plasters of steel to stop the building falling if the Firewall around the city were ever to be breached by the Jungle. In the bunkers below, two-hundred thousand people currently sheltered, the building was currently at 149% capacity.

Out of twelve million people. Early evacuations had gotten forty thousand people to flee to the other coastal cities of Ausa. The other crisis centres held a million combined in their bunkers. The subway had another third of a million. Schools and public buildings added another two hundred thousand. Police stations and jails had been pushed to capacity, fifty thousand. The storm would travel along the western edge of the city; that meant the Igos Central Airport, in the city’s east, could be retrofitted into another safe-zone. Eighty thousand people sheltered there. Police were still evacuating the western edge, along the storm’s central path, but even with everything prepared, there wasn’t a single prediction that gave a predicted casualty number not in the seven figures. Those were the optimistic ones. The realists talked about a failure of the Igos Firewall.

If that happened, the Jungle would quickly spread inside. Then it wouldn’t matter where people sheltered.

The men here worked tireless hours, powered by adrenaline at this point rather than anything else. Abakwa thought about if this was the same feeling his ancestors had when building the Firewall, and the hundreds of thousands nameless dead gave their lives in an attempt to stall the woods from expanding before the first flames could be called upon to create the charred lands around Igos. In the city centre, there was still a memorial to them, fashioned out of the remaining bricks, steel and concrete that had gone into the city’s protection.

“Video broadcast from the western lighthouse!” A no-name response officer shouted up from the crowd. He wore a black shirt and pants, standard dress, but the shirt was unbuttoned, the belt was loose. His black hair was slick with sweat and grease. “Putting it on monitor Three-C!” The Crisis Centre fell quiet for a moment as everyone looked up from their monitoring equipment and the panicked phone calls stopped. One of the monitors on the wall ahead of Abakwa turned on. The black screen became a video of the ocean at night, beautiful and starry, then suddenly not.

The storm was approaching. The sea was calm, calm, then it suddenly became tumultuous. The waves high as if they were being blown away by a jet in the centre. Lightning roared from dark clouds as they trailed off towards the south in a line. “Can we bring it in?” Another officer shouted.

“It’s as zoomed as it goes!” The first no-namer called out. Another phone started to ring and the Crisis Centre returned to standard operating duty. People ran around. Someone brought a fresh round of coffee. Sixty cups were emptied from the cart in less than a minute. Abakwa listened in on the chatter about the storm.

“Distance?”

“Ten miles! It will hit in thirty minutes!”

“It’s steady?” That was a final plea to whatever God was watching them.

“It’s steady.” And the conversation died out. There was nothing else left to say. A minute went by.

“The Eastern lighthouse has sight on it too!” Screen three-D turned on. This one clearly showed the storm moving north. They had heard reports on it, they had seen pictures and meteorological data about how the storm was contained to a mere five-mile radius, but it was different to see it in the flesh. The Western lighthouse was visible on that video, Igos’ Firewall was built a mile out onto the ocean, even at the lowest tide, there would still be water in the harbour. It was topped off with the Western Lighthouse, a massive structure. A modern-day castle, topped off with towers and lights to navigate ships.

And now, whatever that thing making the storm was, was approaching it.

Aimone, King of Rilia watched The World Today with his ministers. There was no reason to show his family what he knew would happen, he had specifically told his wife to get drunk and put the children to sleep early today. It would be a late night. None of the ministers would have sleep today. If it ploughed through Igos, it would most likely plough through the Jungle. Then through the Sassara.

And then… it would hit Rilia. He silently thanked the Gods Wissel had convinced him to make preparations for breaking Pantheon Peace.

General-Premier Abakwa read up a report brought forth from the Igos University of Sciences. They weren’t any Epan elite school, nor the high-class league schools in the UNN, but Igos needed people to study the Jungle, and foreigners would rarely visit. The UoS was currently safeguarding eight thousand people in its storerooms. Projects had been scrapped, experiments thrown out onto the street to make room for them. “This is…” The student was a young man, mid-twenties most likely, with glasses over his dark eyes. “Well… read it yourself General.”

Abakwa looked at the charts filled with countless lines. He wasn’t a scientist, but even he could tell none of these statistics were good. The student picked up on the fact Abakwa was having a difficult time reading it immediately. “I apologize, but we’ve not had time to format it into something presentable, these are the direct readings from our equipment.” He began.

“None of it is good.” Abakwa said. That was enough for him, but the student continued nevertheless.

“Radiation is spiking in the ocean. We have a team in the Western Lighthouse currently sending monitoring drones out into the storm. It spikes higher there.” He pointed to where the readings simply became 25.000. “That right there is a mistake, our sensors only go up that high, we don’t know how high it is in the centre of the storm.”

“Radiation?” Abakwa asked and the student nodded.

“Like from reactors.” He took a sigh. “Sea temperature is rising too, it has reached boiling point near the storm. Even the waters on the beach have increased by two degrees last I got the report from that team.” He looked at the time. “Eight minutes ago.”

“So it will be higher now.”

“I can contact them but I’d need my phone.”

“Why don’t you have it?”

“The guards took it on the way in.” Abakwa shook his head and started writing out a slip to let the young man have his phone.

“You stay here, ring them all.”

“We’re in a group chat.” The man said as he took the permission and ran off. He almost knocked over two officers with his quick turn who were yelling about the ships in the port and why they still had fuel in them. What sort of damage oil being spilled onto the beach and how long it would take to clean up would do and other issues that became trite when... whatever it was, was approaching.

The people of Igos in the bunker of one of the crisis centres grew quiet as they watched the TWT broadcast. At first, the bureaucrats had tried to block to it prevent panic, but that measure quickly failed when the smartphone was omnipresent. Now, they sat silently as the storm approached the cameras; winds howled, lightning struck, waves crashed as the ocean bubbled.

“Fifteen minutes until touchdown.” Premier-General Abakwa didn’t need the reminder. He could see it on the monitors on the wall. Now, every single camera that could be pointed into the ocean was broadcasting a feed of the approaching storm. “The police cordon has been broken!” Someone else shouted.

Did it matter? Waves were slamming against the floodwalls already. “The Blue Grace is reporting tilting of twenty-five degrees!” That was one of the ships still in the dock. A massive cargo ship that had unloaded food and was planned to take another ten thousand people away from Igos. That had been the plan anyway, plans were little more than writings on a piece of paper in reality. “She’s reporting an anchor chain has cracked in the heat!” Frankly, Abakwa did not know what to do. He only listened to the panicked call outs and updates his army of officer were reporting.

“The floodwall to South-Street is reporting waves approaching twenty feet!”

“Market street is reporting sewers overflowing!”

“Docks one, two and three have been flooded!”

“The warehouse district is reporting a rise in air temperature!”

“Radiation rising in the western lighthouse! Are we free to evacuate?”

“Doschia’s TWT is requesting entry for a final interview!”

“Dock one warehouses has been breached!”

“The police cordon has broken! People are out on the streets!”

“Fires have broken out on Market Street!”

“South-Street floodwall team reports that waves are now splashing over the wall!”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Dock one warehouses have collapsed under the waves!”

“Blue Grace has tipped! It’s issued a mayday!”

“Western lighthouse has issued an emergency evacuation! They’re reporting the sea bubbling too!”

“Southern subway has been dropped emergency floodwalls! There’s water in the tunnels!”

“The station in the western Firewall is requesting coolant for its fuel!”

“Sir! Two planes are requesting entry!” Abakwa blinked and looked away from the chaos on the streets. A man had come right behind him and didn’t even notice. A young fellow, tall, with a headset that disappeared into his black hair. His black shirt was half unbuttoned and he reeked of sweat, black marks of tiredness painted the dark skin under his eyes.

“Excuse me?” He said.

“Two planes are requesting entry, they’ll be here in two minutes.”

“Where are they from?”

“North East, unidentified. From Epa probably.”

“Why?”

“I don’t…” He pulled a face and pulled the headset off his head. “Put the radio on. The public frequency.”

“Radio! Public frequency!” Abakwa shouted. The chaos in the crisis centre took a moment of respite as a man readjusted the radio. It caught on to a tune, an old war hymn Abakwa had once heard in history class, he couldn’t quite place it. Someone else caught it though.

“That’s Arascus’ Imperial tune! From Epa!” Abakwa leaned back and rolled his eyes. What did he care about this? Did someone think it hilarious to play jokes right now? He waved to turn it off and almost stopped when the man by his side caught his shoulder.

“That’s the frequency the pilot of that plane told me to tune into.”

“So what?” Abakwa stood up and roared. His cup went flying into the crowd, it was empty anyway, and a flurry of papers became a blizzard around his desk for a moment. “What do I care what the Epans think? Did they send anyone before? WHAT ARE WE WANTING THEIR HEL-“ His voice ended when the tune ended and a face voice came over that frequency. A noble voice, the sort Abakwa had only heard in movies before. People did not have voices like that.

“This is Arascus speaking. Arascus, God of Pride. This is an open communication to the city of Igos and the Ausa Government. Stay in your homes. Olephia is approaching your city.”

The crisis centre fell silent as everyone looked to the Premier-General. He was in command here. The man by his side passed the headset to him. “It’s the pilot.”

“They’re blocking the frequency!” A member of the radio team shouted. “We can’t kick them off until they disconnect themselves!”

“The bunker is reporting their radios have received the broadcast too!”

“Subway is the same.”

“As are the UoS teams.” The student close to Abakwa’s desk said. So the whole city had received it. Abakwa took the headset and put it on his head. The entire centre, more than two hundred people who had previously been in panic, now waited in silence and with bated breath.

“This is Premier-General Abakwa speaking.”

“This is Captain Douglas of Raptor-One. Hold on, he’s making another broadcast.” The radio came on again. It was Arascus again.

“I am currently in talks Premier-General Abakwa of the Ausa Government.” The radio said. “The only way to stop Olephia is for me to get close to her. We request permission for our planes to enter the Ausa Airspace” The radio fell silent again and Abakwa heard Douglas speak over the headset.

“You heard him. We want full permission to enter your airspace, we will be coming in from the north, over the city.” Douglas said. Abakwa looked at the screens ahead of him as questions scrambled through his mind. That was Olephia? Why did they even ask? Just enter!

“Yes!” Abakwa shouted. “Yes! You have full permission to enter Ausa! Stop Olephia!”

“Copied, entering now, clear your own airspace. Make sure there’s no drones in the air, we’re coming in low. Raptor-Two out.” Abakwa roared at the members of the Crisis Centre again before he even heard Douglas click the radio off. “CLEAR ALL DRONES OUT OF THE AIR! THEY’RE COMING IN LOW! GO! GO! THE POLICE HAVE CLEARANCE TO ARREST ANYONE FLYING A FUCKING KITE!”

Richard saw Wissel his phone buzz. His children had stopped playing, his wife had put down the cake she was eating. Everyone was paying full attention to that Doschian broadcast. The King of Allia answered the phone. “Did you hear what they just said?”

“I heard it.”

The TWT camera crew placed on one of the skyscrapers had already prepared. They had heard the radio broadcast, everyone in the city had heard it. This was the broadcast of the century. Of the millennia. This was Arascus’ return. “Two highspeed cameras facing north, get a shot of their plane coming in! Quick! Quick! Keep the other focused on Olephia! Make that the long-range! We’ll catch a fight between Divines! We’re making history here! Quick! Get a move on!”

Neneria and Helenna sat and watched the laptop that one of the Clerics had brought them. He had said they probably wanted to watch this. He was completely right.

Arascus looked back at Fleur and Edmonton, both them were had ropes going from a harness to the airplane’s ceiling. Masks over their faces and heavy dark clothes. Arascus had thought no one would capture a sight of them here, but there was no such thing as being too careful. Leona had trained him well, even if someone was to snap a picture of the cargo holds, the most that would be seen would be two dark figures.

“Last time, repeat.” He said. Fleur moved her hands, Arascus felt a strand of solid air wrapped around his chest and then lift him up. He floated in the holds of Raptor-Two like that for a few moments, then Fleur set him back down on the ground. Good. She could do it. “You’ll throw me at her, understood? Throw. Throw hard.”

Olephia kept humming to herself as she approached the city ahead. It was a beautiful sight, as if someone had transplanted a section of the starry sky onto the ground. The tall buildings crept up as if they wanted to catch clouds, all glittering with lights.

Bright bonfires lit up the streets, there was a mass of people watching from the walls against which the stormy ocean was hitting. The whole city was like an enclosure, guarded by a huge wall that began in the ocean, circled around the city, and then re-entered the water. On both ends sat massive towers with spotlights aimed towards her.

Olephia smiled and kept humming as she drifted forwards.

Premier-General Abakwa watched the TWT broadcast. To think a government would have to rely on public news to get the best information. Frankly, it was an embarrassment, but the Doschians had brought cameras better than the old models installed on the lighthouses, and it didn’t matter anyway at this point. The western lighthouse had been evacuated entirely due to radiation and heat levels. Abakwa did not care at this point what happened to the tower. He would give it up if it meant Olephia would turn around or make her way around the city.

A tall handsome man in his forties was reporting the news. This was their Allian division, they had subtitles below, sometimes a mistake would slip by, a word misspelled or something like that, but it didn’t really matter. He knew enough Allian to catch what they were saying. The reporter looked at his clock and the screen changed. “I see them now!” He said. “Over there is the plane claiming to be Arascus’ transport.”

The screen changed. The feed displaying Olephia’s storm became a quarter of the video, the rest was taken up by another camera pointed north. It was comical. In one direction was a storm Igos had not seen in centuries, with the ocean boiling and spilling over the floodwalls, with fires caught in view and a capsized cargo ship slowly sinking, with lightning crashing overhead and the sky taken up by a cover of storm clouds, and the other was the pristine jungle. Stars glittered above, the city edges of the city caught in the bottom of the frame looked as they did on any other night.

The camera zoomed into two flashes of light. Two comets hurtling through the air. A glimpse was caught, and then they were out of view. Abakwa heard them overheard, even from the inside of the Crisis Centre. A deafening explosion that marked the breach of the sound barrier. “We’re bringing our image of the planes onto the screen right now! And back to Olephia! We can see them there!” The reporter kept on going even as he rubbed his ears. “This is live from Igos. Everyone, this is live from Igos, this is Olephia, Goddess of Chaos…” Abakwa tuned out the reporter’s words.

There wasn’t much of a script anyway, what was there to report anyway? The video was what was important. An image flashed onto the screen of two planes, painted black, four engines each. Two on the underside, two in the rear, with their tips painted yellow and angry red eyes above the pilot’s cabin. Each plane had three tallies, two full-lengths and then one half the height. Abakwa wondered what it meant. “That image was caught by our cameras of the planes. We don’t have an identification yet, but look at them! There they go!” The image disappeared as the feed pointed at Olephia came onto view. Those two planes were tracked, they flew low, straight at the centre of the storm.

One opened its cargo hold and then pulled up. Something huge shot out of it before the clouds obscured the camera feed again.

Olephia hummed happily as she approached the huge tower at the end of the wall. Two stars had just shot past her, those were very interesting, but now this wall blocked her way. What an annoyance. She raised her hand.

Olephia’s hum stopped for a moment.

Her lips started to move as she picked out a word.

Something to get a building to move.

What sort of word did that?

Rubble?

That was it!

Rubble!

Her throat moved and then she heard something.

“OLEPHIA! NO!” She felt thick arms wrap around her. She recognized them instantly and fell backwards into the embrace. Arascus hugged her from behind and whispered into her ear. “Don’t speak now. Let me handle it.”

They both dropped into the boiling ocean.

Abakwa stared at the TWT camera feed speechless. The entire Crisis Centre stared stunned. All of Igos watched. Every city in Ausa watched the broadcast. The whole world seemed to stop as people looked away from what they were doing and watched that storm slowly start to calm down.

Wissel stared speechless at the broadcast. Richard was still on the phone, neither of the men spoke. Olephia, they had both read about. She was a Goddess the White Pantheon at its peak could not defeat in battle. Allasaria herself, who would force nations to kneel at her knees, was in a league below Olephia. And now…

The storm slowly died down. The lightning stopped. The waves slowed their crashing. The dawn was coming in, pushing the darkness of night away. “Wissel.” Richard said. “Are you there?”

“I’m here.” Wissel replied.

“Your reporter was correct, it’s him.”

“It is.”

Abakwa raced out of his black car as his men pushed through the clamouring crowd. It was chaos, cars had been upturned, water reached up past the shoes, but no one seemed to care, now everyone was trying to get to the beach and see what had happened, why the storm had stopped. “It’s the Premier-General! Make way! Make way for the Premier-General!” The police formed a cordon as the sun started to come up. Igos had survived the night. Someone from on top of the floodwall shouted.

“They’re coming out of the water!” Everyone on the floodwall started to cheer. Abakwa saw hats being thrown into the air as people burst out into cheers of joy or song or both.

“Open the gates!” Abakwa shouted. The bustling crowd simmered for a moment in their anticipation as policemen passed the order along. It took a few minutes to reach operators and then it took another minute for them to open the locks.

Pistons released streams of gaseous air as they worked, the locks twisted, and the gate split in half as each side split to the half. The crowd spilled onto the sandy beach. There was no storm anymore. The sky was turning blue as the Sun slowly meandered its way from the east. Apart from the water covering the walls, there was no damage.

The crowd pointed and gasped in awe. More hats thrown. More tears. More joyful songs. Someone even set off a firework. Wading through the water was a giant of man. The water slid off him, drenched the dark clothes he was wearing. Arascus, and in his arms, wrapped in a red cape and hugging him, was Olephia.

Arascus stepped onto the sand as he carried Olephia towards Igos. The gratitude of ten million poured into him. He carried another of his precious daughter-Goddesses, but the feeling bathing him wiped away everything else he felt.

Power.