Tartarus, cursed though it is, is a stable world. What problems they have are problems of their own biology and planet. And yet even Tartarus does not go to such lengths as Arda. This event they talk of, this mythical Worldbreaking, lasted for a hundred years. Paraideisius went through a similar sort of crisis, ours lasted for two years. Theory and patterns dictate that all worlds should. And theory dictates that the lesson should be one of responsibility of excess strength: that there comes a point when strength calls for more strength, that power calls for more power, that the fruit from the tree of ambition is only more ambition. Arda’s lesson was seemingly that they were not powerful enough for one side to win.

  Their answer to their world’s greatest? What they called Titans? Extinction. Their answer to each other’s differing views? Extinction. Their way to solve Arascus? Extinction. Their incarnation of Peace itself sneers at us and calls us fools for seeking diplomacy. Their incarnation of Life has never bothered to master how to make her healing painless. Their incarnations of natural elements exist not to assist in study of themselves, but to wield forces they don’t even comprehend. It baffles all sane minds as to how that world still possesses any shred of life. What we have managed to learn are from slips of the tongue from their Divines, or from fearful confessions by their common races who thought we would act like their Gods. Divines are incarnations of mass unconscious.

  Through that lens, one can see what they think of their own Pride in Arascus. The Divines of their “White Pantheon” talk more fondly of a figure they have declared their mortal enemy than of the two worlds that have come to aid them. Through that lens, we can view the issue from the distance and all that once. The war with Arascus against the man, not against the idea.

  My own moment of clarity came at the very end. The only time I ever saw their smiles was upon hearing news that the allies who had won them their war were leaving. The cheers we got for finally leaving were twice those as when Arascus was defeated. When I heard that they would not execute the Divine Kassandora, the mastermind of Imperial Armies, I thought they were taking after our doctrine and learning mercy. There was no mercy involved. It is a world so fundamentally paranoid that they think we want to claim them. Kassandora was not spared out of mercy. She was spared so that she would be around as some kind of warning.

  A warning to, of all people, us.

  Ultimately though, all the words I have just written are wasted. It can be summed up by achieving a feat none other have done: That feat is Kassandora herself. Arda is a world so enamoured by War that they have managed to manifest a personification of it.

  Archangel Ilahim’s Review of Arda written shortly after the Great War.

  Iliyal stood in an empty room. No one moved. All the staff officers watched over him, ready to go and relay orders. All in pristine black Imperial uniforms, all with high caps or berets, all with pistols on their hips. The assistants and other soldiers waited in quiet as the entire room watched what was happening in the screens that hung off the middle of the steel bunker’s ceilings. Some mage had the grand idea of giving them a digital chandelier, on it, live-feed of the Archdemon wading through waters was displayed. Lights buzzed and dimmed for a moment, then came on even brighter before. One of the monitors to the side of the room, its operator standing in silence and waiting for Iliyal to speak had his back to the message: Capacitor #8 Charged.

  Iliyal looked down at the table. High-technology, the best the Empire had to offer. A map of the region with a red-mark approaching it. Whatever Olonia did in Arika had halted the advancing ashfront. That gave North Arika more time to evacuate and it had not slowed down the Archdemon by even a step. Maybe Tartarus had not meant to fight under Ashen Skies in the first place? Iliyal did not know or care. It wasn’t important.

  A hundred tabs and notifications were displayed on the right: each one representing a different strike that the Empire could throw. The new and untested Farstrike missiles stationed in Rilia by the Bureau of Rocketry: Green, 100%. The various artillery divisions brought in with men from reserves: Green, 100%. The two armoured units that were hastily transferred from the Second Expedition: Green, 100%. Skycourt was responding, the air corps composed entirely of bombers which would fly above ashen skies: Green, 100%. The various infantry and magical units in Southern Rilia: Green, 100%. The Railgun capacitors: Green, 100%. Signals from the fleet: Green, 100%.

  It was all In position. Arascus would not make it. Olephia was still clambering out of Klavdiv. Anassa, who knew were she was? Baalka was poisoning stone down below to safeguard tunnels. Irinika was still stuck in that godforsaken junction and singlehandedly holding her tunnels. Iniri was too cowardly. Neneria was down below too. No Divines who could make a difference at this point would make it. No dragons to dominate the skies. No help from Alanktyda. No help from the Pantheon.

  The entire world would be watching. Iliyal knew that already. The defeat to decide whether Arda would beg for salvation from the White Pantheon, or the victory that would cease all question of Imperial Legitimacy. No Divines to believe in, only Empire. Iliyal slowly leaned down to the microphone. “Admiral Callaghan, can you hear me?”

  Admiral Callaghan replied immediately. “I hear you loud and clear Marshal.”

  “So it begins.” Iliyal slowly. “Begin Demonfall.”

  Arascus has a thoroughly unique skill, I do not even consider it a Divine power.

  “Western Fleet all guns starboard. Eastern fleet, all guns portside.” Admiral Callaghan gave the order, readjusted his black and white cap and gave the bridge of the INS Kassandora one final sweeping look. Silence around him as men clicked on keyboards, every now and then someone would report a detail of another ship: INS Hallin in position! INS Aris missiles ready! INS Zawitz coming in close! Callaghan zipped up his coat and turned to the right window. Below the massive turrets of the INS Kassandora, three barrels on each of them, turned with him.

  And in the distance, they saw the archdemon marching towards Rilia. Each step brought another huge wave that crashed into the ship, they were using magic to construct some sort of bridge for the monster to walk on through the deeps. The submarine wolfpacks could not get close with all the turbulence. On its back was some square fortress that was being held just out of the water. Its tall towers and bridges teemed with life and movement. A flock of flying demons never strained too far away. Drones had already reported demonic activity on it. From mages hurling up flames at them, to ritual circles, to huge cannons that looked threatening if the fleet tried to get closer. Whatever the case, they had not attempted to shoot at this rate.

  On the rear of the ship, helicopter pads on which torpedoes racks had been hastily mounted turned as men ran around them. Behind, the guns of the INS Aris turned. The INS Hallin behind that. The INS Agrita. A dozen more in a long line to the demon’s left, keeping pace with it as yet more ships came into the fleet from the west. On the other side of the moving mountain, another chain of Imperial ships reported that it was ready to fire. Ahead of the Kassandora, more ships sailed. Each one with a reaching control tower, each one with massive turrets that outclassed even siege artillery. A snake of steel which drew a grey line in the water from above.

  Callaghan gave the order. “First salvo, fire.”

  The Kassandora shook as twelve barrels sounded through the air. To the north and to the south, the rest of the Imperial fleet fired. More than a hundred different guns left a thundercrack through the air. Ships rocked from side to side, waves crashed against them. Men ran to their posts, gears turned, belts pulled, empty casings, some as small as a man’s arm, some large enough for a man to slide into, ejected. Metal hissed and smoked. Callaghan looked at the screens before him for just a moment: no errors in Imperial engineering.

  He turned back to see the fortress on the back of the demon suddenly light up with thousands of tiny flames that raced out into the air. Like serpents striking for mice, they coiled and devoured the incoming salvo of steel. Explosions dominoed through the air as shells were overheated and brought to explosion. But they were noticed, that was obvious. The demon turned its head, flying demons spilled out from its fortress. Callaghan gave the order. “Prepare flak to saturate the skies. Counter-attack possible!”

  Fire kept snaking through the air until it constructed a maddened web of flames around the demon. And then those flames burned out. The dark smoke cleared, molten shards of metal made tiny, hissing, splashes into the seawater turquoise moments before, now turning dark. One assistant spoke up. “No hits confirmed.” Not a shred of panic in his voice, just pure reporting. “I repeat, we have confirmed no hits! All rounds were intercepted!”

  That was expected. No one would say it would be it easy. The demon kept on marching. The two steel snakes kept pace with it. A half-minute later, one of the assistants spoke up without even turning around to report face-to-face. “Reloading complete!”

  Callaghan gave the order immediately. “Second salvo, fire.”

  Rather, it is just a symptom of such character.

  “Callaghan reports interception capabilities!” One of the men in Iliyal’s command bunker finally broke the silence. “From video analysis, their overheating shells in mid-air!” Iliyal was to respond when the man spoke again. “Admiral is loading kinetic rounds!”

  Iliyal smiled. That was the fix exactly. They had come across this issue in the Great War too. The specialist trebuchets that hurled balls of poisons or explosions had regressed to hurling stones once again whenever they went up against any number of Tartarian flameseerers. Another man spoke up. “Its reaching the shallows soon! Speedup expected again!”

  The men knew what they were doing. The palisade of stone that had been dragged up from the waters had been laced with explosives, it was ready to blow anytime. Another report was given. “We are two minutes from horizon crossing!” The fleet had reported that ground was being shifted underwater to build some sort of land bridge. No doubt as it left the deeps, then it would be easier to drag masses of earth up.

  Iliyal leaned in close to his microphone again. “Skycourt, you are cleared to engage.”

  It is not his confidence, nor his discipline, nor his optimism, but his tenacity.

  “Copy that. Over and Out.” Captain Harris replied as he flicked between channels. “Skycourt, this is Skyking, we are clear to engage. Prepare to bring the hammer down. Over.” From Iliyal’s bunkers, kilometres above the ground, twelve planes flew so high they were little than black dots carving white trails of condensation from the ground. Each one with three massive engines underneath each wing, each with hold stuffed with the strongest weaponry the Empire could offer.

  “Skyking, this is Skyqueen, approaching target. Over.” Bomb bays slid open. Airmen, each one in a bright orange suit, with a mask strapped to the face and strapped to ropes ran around as they prepared made sure their explosive cargo was strapped in right. That the hooks and claws holding bomb upon bomb had not gone loose and that all were flashing with green lights.

  “This is Skyking, do not respond and do not ask. Drop when you are ready. Over.” The first bomber in the line turned slightly. Its captain pressed a button. Its weapons officer another. Hooks retracted. Chains began to pull. One bomb after another came into position and was let go. It screamed in the air as it fell. Airmen retreated back to safezones marked with white paint as they kept watch over the massive bombs shift and move and drop. Chains rattled, jets roared and explosives screamed as they were released from their shackles.

  And the sky rained steel.

  And what tenacity it is.

  “HORIZON CROSSED! HORIZON CROSSED!” One man shouted in nest one. “OPEN DOORS!” West of Iliyal’s bunker, one of the mountains began to groan as gears within it slowly opened a maw into its depths. A huge hangar with no planes and no vehicles, with only power cables running to the single fixture on it. Crews ran away and behind. Winds raced into it for only a moment and then settled. Turbines began to spin. Speakers began to give orders.

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  “LOAD SLUG!” A crane, already holding a huge block of solid tungsten and steel began to lower and gently set into the massive contraption. It was a huge base, running with wires clamped down onto the structure. Power cables the thickness of small cars ran from it and into the capacitors buried deeper into the mountain. A pair of coils, an updated design from the one that had felled Anarchia, they were interlinked with evenly spaced rings, began to glow as the monument to mankind’s eternal arms race was surged with electricity.

  “AIM!” In the distance, a moving mountain was approaching. Flames circled around it as they tried to intercept the shells being hurled at it from the Imperial navy on either side. Ships the size of fortresses rocked back and forth as they kept up their overwhelming blows. From above, bombs rained down. Winged demons spilled from the cracking fortress on its back. Explosions raced through it as the defenders were overwhelmed by the sheer amount of rounds coming in from the sea and from air. Anti-air opened fire and peppered the sky with a blizzard of steel that cut down any creature caught within. And the railgun turned, it pointed straight at the demon’s chest.

  “CHARGE! Coils began to glow as men took notes. This entire operation would be recorded and sent back to different bureaus on how the technology could be pushed even further. Computers in other rooms began to collect data and printers kicked in automatically to make sure that everything would be stored on paper in case there was some failure of electricity. Backup generators began to spin as the whole base was disconnected from the main circuit which powered the railgun. Men held on to railings or cowered behind crates, or some just decided to watch and catch the moment that the Empire’s spear was thrust.

  “FIRE!” From zero to a hundred in an instant. The power went out. The rails flashed. The slug was gone.

  For the man and all his daughters and all his followers and all his loyalists possess strength of will unmatched.

  “Railgun One is recharging.” One of Iliyal’s assistant reported. “Hit confirmed, zooming in with land cameras.” Iliyal looked away from the moving map on his table, now flashing with red and orange that had replaced some of the green and up at the central digital chandelier they had installed into the bunker. One of the cameras zoomed in. The Empire had learned, but so had Tartarus. Archdemons had not been armoured in the past, there was simply no use to expend such great quantities of steel on giving a mountain a shell.

  Another man shouted. “Farstrike reporting! Missiles firing! First impact in thirty seconds!” Iliyal took a deep breath. If a railgun only dented it… He pushed all thought away and looked down at the table.

  But now? A dent in the armour. All the electricity that could power a city of a hundred thousand for a day expended in an instant for a dent. Iliyal took a deep breath as he saw worried faces around him. And Iliyal gave no reaction. The moment the man at the top cracked was the moment that the entire structure failed. Goddess Kassandora would stare down the end of the world with her back straight and with her head held high. Iliyal would do the same. “Send word to all guns. Fire on the same spot. We will shatter it.”

  The reply he got was not the one he thought he would. “Sir. There’s…” One of the men stammered out. He stood up, the headset still on his head but he took one ear off. “Sir… Captain Douglas and Captain Erik of the Raptor Team are reporting they are engaging.”

  Heartbreak, hatred, love, fear, loyalty, none manage to break it.

  “Pull hard left.” Douglas did not bother questioning the high-pitched feminine voice that spoke over the radio. It had been talking all the time and the higher-ups had already started questioning him on whether he was sober or on some sort of narcotic. He just did as told. Raptor One pulled to the left the moment the thought even came through his mind, it was already pulling away. A missile suddenly went past him, the size of Raptor One itself and slammed into the demon’s chest. Its explosion sent another ripple through the water.

  “That armour has to be dislodged.” Erik said. All four members of the team could see what was happening. Even though the fortress of stone and steel on the demons back was showing signs of fracture, it was not collapsing. Holes had been punched into its side, its top had been devastated by the bombing running, but it was a structure that had so much mass they would need to be at this for a week to truly down it. No. The armoured archdemon had to be stopped.

  “Bring me around.” Raptor One spoke again as the two planes peeled away, both doing a quick loop. Douglas caught a glance of more burning spears coming from the north. Farstrike missiles being launched by massive trucks in the distance, the Raptors had passed them by on the way here. It was only for a moment though, the Raptor made a turn that should have been impossible. The vehicle roared through g-forces that should rip it apart to the sound of a Raptor shrieking. Its wings turned and caught the air as if they were real wings. Its rear stabilizers twisted and moved. “You see it.”

  Inside the cockpit, a red mark appeared over the back armour. Just in the side of the demon, between its arm and its chest. A series of chains that kept the frontal plate attached to the rear plate. “I see it.” Douglas replied.

  “They’ll get the other side. We’ll get the left.” Almost immediately after Raptor One spoke, Erik came through the comms.

  “Doug, you see the ch-“

  “We cut them.”

  “Good.”

  And Raptor One sounded smug with herself. “Told you.” She whispered. “Now fast. Faster than ever. Trust me.” If there were things that Douglas trusted more than himself, then this bird was definitely on that list. Queen of the Sky, the Apex Predator of Arda, the list of titles was endless. Together, they had seen the Goddess of Luck be killed, the had seen Continent Cracking, they had dived onto Anarchia, they had chased White Pantheon mages and planes out of the skies. They had done it all. Douglas kicked in the afterburner and breached the sound barrier one more time. This low to the ground, he was sure that glass would be exploding below.

  They had done it all.

  High-time to add another to the repertoire.

  Raptor One shrieked as it barrelled towards the massive Archdemon.

  Other men would have quit after they broke the world once.

  Iliyal stared at the digital chandelier in the middle of the room. He blinked the shock away. He pushed the thoughts of awe into a recess of his mind. He culled the confusion and questioning of what just happened. Someone muttered as curse as they looked at the shattered cup of coffee that had fallen from their hand. Iliyal did not even bother to tell them off. Frankly, if he had been stunned by what he saw, then he could only try and imagine what the men were feeling. For a single moment, an instant, Raptor One had not been a plane but a beast itself. A great bird of prey and lunged and twisted and pecked with a beak and claws.

  Claws that grabbed and hooks and ripped and tore as if they were some mad bird laying a scratch on a bear. Yet scratch a bear is exactly what it was. A scratch that had hooked through great chain and sliced it as if it was some mouse being torn apart by a bird of prey. A shushed cheer went through the command bunker, although Iliyal was not the one to kill the excitement. He just watched the armour slide and then fall. It based a huge splash into the ground and sent a tiny tidal wave at them that would break upon the cliffs.

  And they stared at the monster’s bare chest. Its skin pulsated and steamed, veins popped on the bare skin of crimson, flames burst out around the archdemon as the guards on its back raced onto its shoulders and began to try protect its front.

  Too late.

  The Empire did not turn up to fights it could not win.

  Iliyal leaned into the microphone once again, his voice wolfish and predatory. “This is Iliyal Tremali. All units, we have cracked the armour. All units, I repeat, the armour is cracked.” He took a deep breath and gave the order. “Open fire with everything we have.”

  Other men would have quit when they heard they would be facing three worlds at the same time.

  A soldier on the beaches of the Rilia stared up at missile after missile slam into the Archdemon’s chest. It had almost made it ashore. That advance had been relentless. The navy had done little but scar the castle on its back. The bombing run had added little. The railgun shell had, and then it had bounced off. Even the Farstrike missile, as great an explosion as it had made, did little. And now, everyone watched the demons chest.

  They watched as missile after missile slammed into the demons chest. They saw flames try to intercept. Great snakes of fire roared from the mages on the demon’s shoulders. The first rocket had been intercepted successfully. But these were missiles huge and designed with casings thick to withstand such heats. They slammed into the demon’s chest. One after another, each one carving a crater into flesh and muscle. The sea turned red and then black as rivers of blood splashed into it. Orange fires of chemical concoctions blazed across the monster’s muscled chest, not the crimson or purple flames of Tartarus.

  The Archdemon had been relentless in its advance.

  And the Archdemon had taken a step back.

  All the men in the platoon heard the exact same thing come through their communications. “The Marshal reports, we are to open fire and bring it down.” All throughout the cliffs, armoured vehicles turned their turrets and raised their barrels. Stationary artillery was given one final recalibration. Mages raised rocks out of the ground, spears of air or lances of ice. Men formed lines from ammunition trucks to their cannons. Mountains shifted. Anti-air guns lowered their barrels, sights fixed onto the monster’s chest. The Archdemon roared into the air and flung its arms forward, striking at one missile and exploding it on its fist. Not enough.

  For one brief moment, the Giant of Empire held its breath.

  And in the next, the Giant of Empire exhaled.

  Other men would have quit once they realised they were singlehandedly responsible for the Greatest conflict in known history.

  “Fleet. Drop anchors.” Callaghan gave one rule-breaking order after another. Anchors should not be deployed in battle by any means. The INS Kassandora shook and rolled as if it had just slammed by a hammer. Men fell over, two fell out of their seats and quickly scrambled back as they nursed their arms. The two formations broke slightly as ships of the Imperial navy fell out of position. “All guns, fire at will, as fast as possible.” The main guns of the Kassandora once again began to thunder, their barrels retracting to try and contain the recoil as much as possible. “All guns!” Callaghan shouted again. “Secondary batteries too!” What had been low, thunderous drumming now turned into a crazed banshee’s shriek of cannon-fire.

  From the shore. Artillery pounded and carved out chunk after chunk from the Archdemon’s chest. The shelling came on so heavily Callaghan could see the air discolour with smoke and glints of an endless onslaught of metal. And he saw the Archdemon take another step back. The flames around the demon were starting to grow thin, their own defensive magicians must have been exhausting themselves. That was the mark. “All ships, fire missiles. Wolfpacks, get close and engage. Strike the shins. Bring. It. Down.”

  Raptor One and Raptor Two circled around the demon and opened fire one again as they weaved and spun and danced through hellfires trying to intercept them. The Archdemon took another step back. Missiles launched from the rear of the INS Kassandora. Vertically into the air as the torpedo racks sent popped. Each rocket bounced out of its tube, fell into the air and then raced forwards. Another breach of rules to fire missiles with so many friendly about. Callaghan did not care at this point. The Empire did not write the rules, it owned the rulebook. The Archdemon took another step back.

  Tank shell and autocannon fire pounded into the monster’s chest as more mountains opened up. Railguns charged up from far away and aimed their slugs. Submarines under the surface got within striking distance and released their missiles into the monster’s legs. And the Archdemon took another step back. Far away, towns shut off as the local power grid was drained. Substations caught fire. Two cities in southern Rilia experienced blackouts. Slug followed by slug of supersonic tungsten and steel ripped through the demon’s chest. The castle started to slide off its back. The monster roared.

  It took another step back, covered in flames as enough of its mass was torn away, peck by peck by steel round, to reveal its huge organs. The progress only invigorated the defenders. Faster and faster they went until cannons grew red hot and began to steam. Barrels smoke, magazines ran out. Trucks empty began to drive away and trucks already loaded with ammunition drove closer. Explosions burst out from in the water as torpedoes landed. One, two, then ten and twenty. The Archdemon roared one final time.

  A drop of water could not nothing on a beach. Yet it was not unheard of for the ocean to swallow islands.

  The Archdemon took a step back.

  And the Archdemon fell.

  Other men, having lost thousands of years of work, would have quit.

  Iliyal finally let some emotion into his mind as he stared up at the screen. The entire room went in silence. Men dropped their headsets. A few stood up. Everyone was staring up at the array of screens in the centre. Hands shook in disbelief. A few of them collapsed. The room looked on the verge of tears and collapse and everything in between, but none of it terrible. Far from it in fact. Iliyal looked down at the table and closed his eyes as he tried to calm himself. It was impossible. The smile of satisfaction was creeping up onto his lips. What a day. Goddess Kassandora would be proud.

  The elf reached down under the table. It was tradition at this point. He brought a bottle of whiskey and held it into the air. “Gentlemen!” Iliyal shouted, finally in a tone boisterous and joyous rather than cool and calculated commands. “Fetch your drinks! We have won! Epa has held! We have held!” And then finally, as he saw the men’s eyes grow wide and, he realised he was getting ahead of himself. “Gentlemen! Victory!”

  Other men would have never taken on the mantle as father to Divinity.

  Kavaa turned to Arascus, both of them had been recovered quickly by the INS Tremali and now both sat on the deck of the ship since Divinity had not been considered when designing such a vessel. The Imperial Aircraft carrier now being used to ship the two Divines back to Epa. It was not a ship, it was a moving airfield with thousands of men working on it. Surrounded by escorts, the fleet silently trekked the deep blue ocean back to Epa’s mainland. Kavaa leaned down to him. She had seen him on the phone before, he made calls and checked the news frequently, but… His eyes were sparkling “Are you alright?” Surely those weren’t tears…

  She had never seen the God smile like that. It was a smile so pure that… Well, Kavaa had seen it in hospitals after she healed someone’s child. Eyes still sparkling, he turned phone around to Kavaa so that she see. It was a live feed from EIE. A reporter was holding a microphone, his eyes wide, his face flushed. Men behind him were popping champagne and singing songs. In the background, there was a ruined mass of red and black lying in the water. Kavaa’s eyes went wide as she glanced at the text below: ‘The Archdemon has been slain! We have held!’

  And then the text flashed. ‘Grand Marshal Iliyal Tremali declares Victory!’

  But to him, such a thought is anathema. It is simply not good enough. The worst part is, all who march behind him are like that.

  - Excerpt from Goddess Leona’s, of Luck’s, Diary.

  - - - End of Arc 16: And So The Giant Wakes - - -