Fatia Cerulean leaned back in his chair and took a sip off the steaming mug of sweetened Zhizu root juice. The piece of furniture beneath him creaked underneath his balk. Reflexively, he allowed a predatory glow to seep into his lights. His instincts scanned through himself, specifically through his three trophies. As usual, he discovered nothing of note: his original self appeared completely inert.

Ah, what a precious little snake you are, waiting for weakness to strike, Cerulean thought, almost fondly. But his attention moved on as soon as the surface hanging before him rippled.

A servant crouched off to the side, manipulating the water to create a hovering screen in front of him, as opposed to forcing him to look down into a bowl to join the scrying array. The servant tilted his head to the side and then nodded when all the others had connected; there were no problems. Cerulean set the mug down on the table and allowed a moment for his natural gravitas to generate tension. “Let’s begin. Still no word from the Nether leader?”

“Attempts to contact through both official and unofficial channels has been met with violence,” The wrinkled goblin woman Grettic replied. When she spoke, her face dominated the water screen. She represented all the scattered independent cities in the unified Aether resistance, as well as having enough ties with Wasteland forces to nominally represent them. “But part of the reason that the offensives are so aggressive is they are combing the countryside while stampeding through. As we discussed in our last meeting, it appears the information we heard from our… other sources is accurate.”

“Keh,” An interjection from Westrisser brought his face to the screen. His brow was furrowed and there were heavy bags under his eyes; these past few weeks had been particularly hard on Malloon and the surrounding area. Yet the ivory light emanating from his irises didn’t waver at all. “For all the problems he has caused us, it appears Elhume and his team truly managed to infiltrate Wyndaos and capture the Arbiter. With their greatest strength bound, the Nether are desperate.”

“Yet she lives, of that there can be no doubt,” Grettic observed. “Otherwise their attempts would not be so brutal.

“The costs to weather this storm will be… unfortunate,” Cerulean mused. “But this is truly an opportunity to shake the hegemony the Nether forces have maintained for the last several hundred years. Especially if Westrisser’s experiments continue to bear fruit.”

“On that front, I have good news,” Westrisser’s face reappeared. If anything, that pale light was even brighter. “Seven out of the last ten subjects have successfully emerged from the portals after a period of extended training, with their abilities much improved. Everyone may send a few of their brightest warriors to experience this time warps. So long as these trends continue, the war will soon swing in our favor.”

“Seven out of ten did not succumb to this… fading sickness you observed. Likely corrosion due to proximity to tainted Nether energies.” The face of the stubborn Turtleline representative filled the screen. His brow was heavy and constantly clenched, as though keeping a clutch of vulnerable eggs within his shell only through abdominal flexing. Along with the Osterai, the Turtleline were one of the two races dominating the Southern portion of the Aetherlands. As such, Cerulean had to suffer their presence in the meeting, despite their general mundanity. “Yet out of the rest, how many have displayed signs of mental damage?”

For several long seconds, Westrisser’s face didn’t reappear. When it did, a frown dominated his face. “...one individual experienced mild disorientation upon their return, which quickly passed. Two others appear to have some lingering deficiencies, but they should be fit to fight. There are no indications the lingering effects will be long-term.”

“A fifty percent chance to have our best and brightest damaged,” Grettic mused. “Hard to swallow, Westrisser. Especially while we have savages burning their way through all of our cities.”

“You do not understand the improvement shown across the board. Of what it truly means.” Westrisser countered. “You are all aware of the numbers; Malloon stands against a host that is almost double the size of any other. Yet we have slowed their advance to a trickle, because a group of forty average soldiers were transformed into ten potent individuals. Elites are what we need; fighters capable of interrupting and destabilizing their massed Nether Rituals have saved us, time and time again.”

“I hear they recently switched from Nether Rituals to simply charging as a massed rabble,” The Turtleline representative grunted. “And very swiftly, you’ve lost ground.”

Cerulean made a mental note that the Turtleline knew quite a bit of information about what occurred in Malloon. Considering his own recent display of weakness outside of the city, word of the chink in his armor had likely reached the Southern power. His face twitched as he experienced and suppressed an overwhelming desire to kill the turtle and sear the flesh of his body using his shell as a pan.

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Honestly, he had always wanted to hunt a Turtleline. Simply none had seemed worthy of becoming one of his trophies. Yet perhaps this Nether war would catapult one to greatness. Might as well stay optimistic.

Westrisser flushed. “With more time-”

“Even if it is not our brightest, I assume all of us can spare some ancillary forces, to test the effects,” Cerulean interjected. Murmurs of agreement came from everyone. He clacked his jaws lightly. “Well then, let’s discuss a bit more of the particulars of the past few days.”

Each representative relayed the current state of their offensive. Westrisser relayed, rather begrudgingly, the losses Malloon had taken recently. Soon, the city would be directly sieged, although that was currently not as problematic as it would seem.

Cerulean felt amused that the casually gifted skyislands from Hungry Eye would now become a strategic lifeline for the city. The Nether King himself might have disappeared, but his energy still clung to the islands, making the Nether leery of attacking them directly. The few attempts made had been directly rebuffed by the Engraving animating them, which could produce massive surges of concussive force.

The five-tailed Vulpine from the central Aetherlands spoke of delaying the army making for Cerulean City. The Turtlelines and the Osterai made their bland report about continuing to hold up well; they had built their cities meticulously worrying about exactly this sort of situation and were the best prepared. Grettic spoke of supply line raids within the Wasteland. The confederation of Northeastern cities had chosen a pale-faced ghast as their representative, who hemmed and hawed but ultimately admitted to being totally steamrolled. They were in full retreat, seeking assistance from the South.

“We all have much on our plates. If there is nothing else-” Cerulean said, already weary of the tedium of listening to idiots drag out saying things he already knew, but the Turtleline interrupted.

“Actually, there is one other item of note,” One more, the Turtleline’s lined face filled the screen. Yet, more so than even when he had described the attacks on Homewell, he seemed troubled. “As you know, the Osterai possess a powerful predictive ability. It was… curiously inert during the Nether attack, we admit. The current theory was that as the spiritual leader, the Arbiter, not being a part of the process created a blindspot. We are currently researching-”

“To think even the mighty Turtlelines could be taken by surprise. You must have barely had time to draw back within your shell,” Westrisser snorted.

When the Turtleline reappeared on the liquid projection, he was glowering. “But what we do know is that soon the Nether King known as Hungry Eye will come here and infiltrate Homewell. The predictions become chaotic beyond that, but we wish to understand his capabilities. It has been said he is a neutral party in the war, yet I cannot simply accept that this Nether Being may come and go as he pleases.”

Cerulean’s gaze flickered. Interest and hunger stirred in his heart in equal measure Hungry Eye is moving? Based on his previous position, he knows a bit of what the Nether Forces plan… will the attacks intensify there? Or even the Arbiter-

“Hoh?” Westrisser’s word put him back on the screen. A slow smile crossed his face. “Well, whether or not this will be reassuring to you, but I think I can at least provide the reason for his movements. A retainer of mine should be in Homewell currently, picking up captured Nether Kings. They have… a troubled relationship.”

Cerulean barely suppressed a cackle. From what he understood of the players involved, Undersecretary Swacc was not one to make such a simple mistake, not when he apparently managed to slip past Nether King Hungry Eye and escape the area in the first place. Likely he revealed himself now on purpose.

He had to admire the man’s gall if nothing else.

“We strongly object to being used to clean up your messes, Westrisser.” For the first time, the Osterai representative’s face appeared. She had an elongated neck and small tufts of feathers stretching out from the edges of her eyes.

“Hah! Believe me, I do not wish for you to be involved. Please, feel free to allow my subordinate to take responsibility for any trouble he had caused. If he should fail, I know others would fulfill his role.” Westrisser nodded. “I will also send over the report I have made regarding Nether King Hungry Eye. I would advise against antagonizing him, if possible.”

“Noted,” Again, the Turtleline's grim face appeared.

Cerulean smiled. “Well then, if there’s nothing else, let’s get back to work.”

*****

Randidly slowed his acceleration, frowning at the distortion in the air in front of him. He floated right on top of a massive cloud, only a short distance away from the worst of the fighting around this Southern City. He kept his attention fixed forward, not even the slightest bit wandering up toward where the past Pine cheerily glowed.

Neveah’s consciousness appeared with him almost instantly. She reached out and brushed up against the barrier’s edge. A ghostly mirage of a shell rippled outward in response. Fascinating. It’s definitely the result of an Engraving but has a completely different meaning-origin than the one we learned from Yystrix. And the regularity of the structure- absolutely gorgeous. Even with the constant attacks on its edges, the lack of warping is impressive.

“Anything you can do?” Randidly asked, pressing his knuckles against the forcefield. He squinted at the way his flesh burned.

Hum. Well yes, but it’s not a very elegant solution. The barrier restrains Nether. I can probably layer an Engraving all around your Nether, act as a seal. Fool the barrier. But you won’t be able to utilize your Nether, or your Authorities. It needs to be perfect. And Randidly, popping the seal while the barrier is all around you… would not be a good idea.

“That’s fine.” He grinned. “For Swacc… just a fist will be enough.”