Anassa went mad, she became a Goddess, the end.
This is where most stop at the analysis of Anassa, and it is where I continue. Those who are afflicted with standard insanities can still be trained, mortals and divines both can be conditioned in the same way dogs are trained. Even the truly insane can be taught basic behaviours through simple reward-punishment behavioural trainings.
Anassa, I do not believe is possessed by madness in the traditional fashion. She has a logical pattern for the world, but she chooses to exclude herself from those. All hierarchies exist, yet Anassa is not part of those hierarchies. Everyone gets dirty, yet not Anassa. Everyone needs a catalyst, yet not Anassa. Everyone can be defeated, yet not Anassa. Every rule is meant to be followed, yet Anassa will exclude herself from them whilst simultaneously enforcing them. Everyone should feel bad about being a hypocrite, yet not Anassa.
Anassa has not mastered magic, Sorcery as an art is merely catalyst-less magic. Powerful when awakened, but dangerous. I did not force every nation in the world to use catalysts, it is that every nation in the world simply worked out that using catalysts is far more effective. In the same way that no one taught humans to build homes, yet every culture has built some sort of structure to serve as a home. Magic can be taught to almost everyone, all it requires is discipline. Sorcery kills around eighty percent of people that try to master it.
Anassa has mastered madness. She is aware of her own delusions. She is aware her logical reasoning is broken. Yet she does not care. Her mind is one that works perfectly, yet in that perfection, it has realised its own limitations: Humans should not be Divines, Demesnes need to exist to Divines to form around them, Magic is simply more efficient with catalysts. In the same way a knight throws his shield down to wield his blade with two hands, Anassa threw away her sanity to wield her delusion.
- Excerpt from “Divine Ascension”, written by Goddess Elassa, of Magic. Kept within Elassa’s private chambers in Arcadia.
Douglas kicked his feet up as he sat on the foldable stool. Erik passed him a cigarette and lit his own as they watched the other pilots train. Airfield Six, there were twenty in total, and each one looked the exact same. A few hangars set up to cover planes from snowstorms, and then either tents or caravans for the teams. Airfield Six was rather good though, it had a concrete runway rather than one made of just battered dirt. “That, I’m not jealous of.” Erik said, the fresh-meat, that’s what everyone called new recruits, was being forced to run laps around the runway. Douglas ran one every morning just for the sake of it, but he would always do it as the Sun was coming up over the horizon and the breeze was still cool. Now, with the midday Sun overhead and the air shimmering, it was practically torture. The fresh-meat was breathing heavily, their clothes so wet with sweat they may as well have just been dumped into a river.
“Neither.” Douglas lit his cigarette as a few of the other Captains came to sit by. Officially, everyone was the same rank, but only Douglas and Erik piloted the Raptors, only Douglas and Erik participated in Operation Misfortune, only Douglas and Erik served as the private transports for Divines, only Douglas and Erik had a picture of themselves with Neneria and Fer. The rank may be the same, but the unofficial hierarchy put Douglas and Erik somewhere just under the level of Kassandora’s Generals. Even Ground Command of this airfield carefully skirted them.
“How’s it going?” Pat said. Ex-Cleric, from Allia. With a full head of hair and wearing a shirt. It was too hot here for anything.
“Same old, same old. Done for today.” Douglas said as he nodded over to the other set of stools. “Scouting run.”
Pat smiled as he sat down. “Talk is you found something.”
“Fucking tell me about.” Erik said.
Douglas laughed and shook his head as he turned his head to look at his jet. A team of mechanics was loading Raptor One with ammunition. A forklift was bringing bombs to it too. Command had called off the scouting runs. Every plane was to be armed. “You won’t believe it even if I told you.” Douglas said.
“Try me.” Pat replied as more of the pilots came around.
“Giant bird.” Douglas said and Erik laughed.
“It was a vulture actually.” The pilot of Raptor Two added. The other men shared looks amongst each other, a few chuckled. A few looked like they believed him. Most simply had no reaction.
“Can’t be worse than flying over Elassa.” One of the pilots said. Richard, this man. His hair cut short although it was regrowing. He had lost a bet a week ago and had to shave himself for it.
“Can’t be worse than Elassa, damn right.” Another said, this one, Douglas always forgot the name of. And he always pretended to remember because it was stupid to ask for someone’s name a dozen times. “I-“ The man never got to finish what he was saying, blaring alarms cut him off. The fresh-meat stopped their run, Douglas and Erik sat up immediately, and the rest of the captains started looking around.
“Fuck.” Erik said as he smoked half his cigarette in one long drag. Douglas followed along. How he was supposed to make it through this job without some sort of addiction, he had no clue.
“Fuck indeed.” Douglas said.
The howling alarm stopped after five seconds. Douglas was about to ask if there was a test scheduled when the terrible speaker started to talk. It was barely intelligible, Douglas only caught every second word. “Alarm. No. Test. All. To. Planes. Frontlines. Attack. Urgent.”
“Fucking Hell.” Erik said. “That’s not us, is it?” And as if on cue, Douglas felt his phone start to ring. He pulled it out and felt his heart drop. This number called almost every day and it was somehow worse every single time: Ground Control. He swiped the green button to answer.
“Captain Douglas speaking, what do you want?” Douglas said.
It was Mosi. At this point, Douglas was on a first name basis with all the operators of the KAF lines. Mosi was a native Kirinyaan, he liked Lubskan Vodka, he had a large family in the countryside, and he was in his early forties. Douglas had never met the man in person though. “Captain Douglas.” Mosi said politely. “Is Captain Erik with you?” Douglas looked to Erik and put the phone on loudspeaker.
“He is.” Douglas said. “Richard and the KAF grunts are here too.”
“Fuck off Doug.” One of the men said and Douglas gave him a smug grin. No one liked being called a grunt, but no one was on the level of prestige that the Raptors held either.
“Good.” Mosi said. “Everyone is to get into the air and fly to Jungle Group Centre. Make sure your planes have ammunition.”
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“What’s happening?” Douglas asked and Mosi fell silent.
“We…” Mosi said. “I don’t know, JGC requested air support. Reports are still coming in.”
“It’s bad then?” Erik asked loudly enough from the side that the phone would pick him up.
“I can’t say that.” Mosi said. “But I know the 77T squadrons have been sortied. Command is sending everything to the west.” He fell silent for a moment, then his voice lowered to a whisper. “And I’m only saying it because it’s you two, but there’s rumours Command called for Olephia.” And upon saying one simple name, the situation stopped being annoying. It was no longer just another job on the checklist. It was now serious. Douglas looked around at the other pilots. No one was laughing now, no one was even smiling. It was all hard looks, some nervous, some determined.
“I copy, we’re going to the birds now.” Douglas said.
“Good luck Captain.” Mosi said and the phone switch off. Richard broke the silence.
“You think it’s your vulture?”
“What else?” Erik said. Douglas merely gave them a wave as he started walking to his black jet. With those four engines, the beak painted yellow, the two red eyes, it really was a beautiful machine. He hated the uncomfortable seat, he hated the fact he had to step on the body of the plane because no ladder would curve like that to give access to the cockpit, he hated that heater did not work, the microphones, he hated how much the cabin shook and how the engines sounded as if they were about to explode until they warmed up.
And he wouldn’t trade Raptor One for any other bird out there.
The engineers must have gotten the orders before he did, because they were all already clearing the runway. The fresh-meat was retreating back to their caravans. And Douglas finished his cigarette as he pulled the jumpsuit over himself. That was another perk of being a Raptor pilot, he had an entire team just to make sure that everything was in place for him and that he could get into the air as soon as possible. Douglas climbed onto the ladder. He clambered over the sleek black hull and fell into the seat. That was honestly the best way to do it, trying to do it with any dignity usually resulted in falling off the plane itself.
Pistons hissed as men got out the way, one man with a pair of green lights in his hands rushed to indicate the way for Douglas. Honestly, there was no need, these military airstrips had so little traffic that usually, Douglas only pretended to watch that man. And then, it was only insofar that he wouldn’t be ran over when the jet was setting off. “Captain Douglas. Your co-ordinates are already inputted into your radar.” The speakers said through his helmet. “Ammunition and fuel are both at maximum capacity. You’re clear for takeoff.”
Douglas was already reversing Raptor One onto the runway by the time the speakers finished. Raptor One may have lacked any amenities in life, but it had not given them up for no gain. The engines turned on immediately, the lights didn’t even have a moment of preparation before they started responding. Everything flicked on immediately, even that terrible heater went from zero to a hundred in a matter of moments as it started blasting hot air into the cockpit.
Douglas flicked the ignition button to his side. Botton engines, built into the side of the plane. Top engines, fixed to the jet’s rear. One set of fire sounded. Another did too. He felt the force of acceleration force him deeper into the barrel seat. Raptor One started to howl, a mere moment after he fired up the jets, the plane was already arcing away from the ground.
In a few moments, Raptor One left the runway of Airstrip Six. In the next few moments, Raptor Two caught up as blue flame blurred from its rear. Douglas was not about to let Erik get there first. These missions were always the best, the moment ammunition was expended, he would get an order to return. That could be achieved in only a few long flyovers, a matter of minutes. And then he could take a rest from swimming in the light blue ocean of the sky.
The Two Raptors built up speed. The men piloting each vehicle practically mirrored each other. Big switch covered by a cap on the left, above the ammunition gauge. Flip it open, hold the accelerator, press it down. Fuel burst through the engines, the blue flames of the jets exploded into great conflagrations of orange, then simmered back down into long trails of blue. Raptor One and Raptor Two both unleashed sonic booms as they broke the sound barrier. Behind them, more fighters were rising into the air from Airstrip Six.
The two Raptors dashed through the sky like two black bolts of lightning. Like two bolts shot out of the a Divine’s Crossbow, they devoured the distance between Airstrip Six and Jungle Group Centre in a matter of minutes. Although the fact that the Airstrip was built specifically to be close to the frontlines did help. Frankly, Douglas wished they could have remained soaring through the air forever.
The Vulture was the first thing that came into sight, high in the air. Almost as high as Raptor One was, Douglas made sure to angle his jet slightly higher up. If there was one thing he didn’t want dropping from above him. It was that giant bird. Douglas narrowed his eyes as he looked at the avian drop something. Rectangular, with a tube. Wheels. A Lemur. An entire heavy artillery piece, carried off with just one claw. The bird turned those red eyes towards Douglas. It shrieked. Frankly, Douglas breathed a sigh of relief the glass of his cockpit did not crack, but he wouldn’t have been surprised a single bit if it did.
All thought of sweeping in with the guns left his mind. This pass would be to simply see. And already, that vulture was proving itself to be a hard target. It soared from side to side like a fly, seemingly being able to turn on a dime it cried out a deafening squawk again.
And as Douglas dashed towards the horizon, he saw the other two. A lion, a crocodile, both built like cliffs. Each one was as big as a large hill. The Lion stood taller as it smashed its claw down upon a battery of retreating Lemur artilleries. It crushed steel barrel and chassis and suffocated the chain reaction of exploding ammunition as if it was merely splashing that paw into a puddle. A cloud of dust burst up from around it, as that golden lion, its mane a whirlwind of bright fur, looked up and roarer. Douglas felt himself needing to keep the plane steady under the sheer strain of that bestial roar.
And then the Crocodile. A massive moving beast of carapace scales, each one so large the gaps between them looked like small ravines. It, like the Vulture, was surprisingly fast. It moved like a tiny crocodile, launching itself from spot to spot as other artillery teams were trying to shell it and the Lion. That monster got hit high explosive rounds, those exploded against the beast’s fur and skin and… Douglas blinked as he inspected the damage. And a small graze as if the Lion had just rubbed itself on the wall. At least it turned around to inspect its own wound. That was better than the Crocodile though. That was busy jumping from spot to spot, the ground shaking and booming and throwing up a sandstorm of red dust each time it did, and it didn’t even seem to notice the torrent of shells impacting its scales. The next volley brought napalm. The shells exploded against the animal’s back, they threw that sticky jelly about, it started to burn a horrible smoke so dark it may as well have been tar, and the Crocodile did not even turn its head to inspect what was tickling it.
And Douglas saw this part of Jungle Group Centre. What remained of it anyway. Men were running on the ground, black clothes bringing contrast against the red dirt of Kirinyaa. Cars and trucks and jeeps were all driving away, as were the Lemurs. Everything was going at a slightly different direct, there wasn’t even a single pair of vehicles that had formed. Not good. That meant the commander didn’t even think he could get away with losses, and was simply trying to minimize instead of avoiding them outright. Those that didn’t make it had been squashed into the ground, in the same fashion that a man stepping on a can could flatten it, so did these monsters flatten artillery vehicles that weighed almost triple digits in tons.
Captain Douglas braced into his seat again as he flipped the plane upside for one last look. The giant Lion was staring up at them, the crocodile was moving back towards the Jungle itself as its back was aflame with napalm. That didn’t even seem to tickle the beast. And that Vulture disappeared behind them as it swung its wings. Something that huge should not be that agile, but at least it wasn’t fast. Raptor One and Raptor Two both could put enough distance between themselves and the bird that it wouldn’t immediately peck them out of the sky with that tremendous beak. “Hey Erik?” Douglas said.
“What?” Erik replied as the started to circle high above. That vulture gave up its chase and returned to the ground, flattening trees like blades of grass once again.
“So those patterns we saw last time.” Douglas began. “The circle where the lion.” The footsteps of that gigantic cat. That made sense. “The thick straight line is the crocodile.” That made sense too, the crocodile was wider than the lion, and it left a straight scar through the Jungle as it walked. “The vulture doesn’t leave a mark.” That thing flew, so of course it wouldn’t.
“Oh.” Erik caught on. “Yeah, I see it.”
“Do you?” Douglas asked.
Erik voiced the words Douglas did not want to. “Where’s whatever made thin winding trail back then?”