There are certain Highways that are blocked off entirely. That is the most worrying part of my experience down here. Every now and then, as I travel between the Holds, I will come across what is obviously a junction without any turns. An intersection, with its splitting paths bricked up by huge blocks of stone. They are almost impossible to miss and they are rare in the Core Holds, but the further one gets from the Underkingdom’s heart, the more common these, as I call them, “lost roads”, are.

  The dwarves do not talk of the lost roads, not even between themselves. Even when I get them drunk, even when I get a miner or a soldier drunk, the sort that obviously can’t keep secrets and will readily spill to having ill thoughts or to cheating on his wife, I will get nothing about the lost roads. The dwarves obviously know they exist for they do mention them in passing conversation, but the passing conversation is always a dull comment. Sometimes, they are used to give directions, sometimes they are used as markers when travelling down a particularly long and lonely stretch of the underground.

  Never has there been a time when they talk of disrupting the lost roads. Likewise, they are not fond of travelling past these locations. I suspect they exist since before Worldbreaking or maybe from the first century of Reconstruction. Klavdiv is the best source of information, for the rock used to carve the great stone slabs is quarried in Klavdiv. That quarry has been long shut down since before the Great War even started. Data and information on it was easy enough to find, the miners and the foreman and the masons who worked in that location are known.

  Yet that is all I can say about them. They are known.

  At the start, I presumed the dwarves were simply paranoid about sharing secrets with outsiders. That they saw me sniffing about in their ancient history and wanted me gone. Now, I have come to a different conclusion. They themselves do not know what is hidden or locked away in those roads. They simply know that their ancestors had once decided that whatever it was, it was worth sabotaging their precious Highways for.

  Irinika had worked it out long before I did. I proposed the idea of the two of us sneaking off to try and use her power to dig through the lost road. She said that if the dwarves, of all people, decided it was not worth the cost to them then it would not be worth the cost to us. Back then, I did not agree with them.

  Now, when I have caravans raise their pace to get past lost roads as quickly as possible and to put distance between them, when I discovered that in the local tongue, the section of the Epa East-West that heads into Karaina and has six of these barricades is called the “Cursed Man’s Walk”, I decide that Irinika is right.

  As of right now, whatever is behind those stones can remain behind those stones. It is simply not worth the risk.

  - Excerpt from the private “My time in the Underground”, written by Goddess Malam, of Hatred.

  Anassa stared at the huge bronze gate before. The Goddess of Sorcery stood in a perfect crimson dress so fine that stitching could not even be made out on it. No shadow touched it, save for those she willed to accentuate her beauty, no dirt smeared it. Of course it wouldn’t. The dress was a manifestation of her own sorcery. Helenna and Kassandora both had tried to get her to submit to an Imperial uniform but neither of them were here dad and frankly, Anassa did not listen to jealous sisters. The dress was perfect because her mind was perfect and because there was none other who could compare, it was as simple as that.

  And then, just like, Anassa doubled over and threw up all the contents of her stomach. It was just water and oranges, the former to fill her stomach and the latter to settle it somewhat with real food. This was maybe the tenth time in the past hour.

  Anassa sighed and shot the most vicious look she could to the nearby soldiers. They were in the Hold of Kawathetra, one of the Core Holds. They weren’t so far ahead, the Core Holds only took up the area of what? A small country? Not even that. A single province in Doschia? From the top down at least, they stretched for miles and miles and miles down deeper into the ground but luckily, they only had entrances to the Highways at the top level. Before her stood the grand gates of Kawathetra, massive slabs of dwarf-bronze metres thick. Anassa felt her stomach jump again. There were five gates in total, one after the other. The first one was currently being hammered down. Her stomach felt as if it was treading on hot coals. Something had to be done.

  The Anassa that grumpily in a dress of perfect red silk in Klavdiv took a deep breath as she felt sick. She extended an arm, one of her attendant maids placed a full pitcher of water, orange slices already drowned in it. Next to the Goddess was a bucket of her own sick, and a full water tank. It was brought in from the surface through the main connection into Klavdiv. She had already drank a full quarter of it in the span of a day. That Anassa tipped her head back and drank.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Another Anassa, in Hold Plimka, wiped sick off her mouth as she felt her stomach settle and fill with water. She may not be drinking but an Anassa was drinking. And if that Anassa drunk, then all Anassa’s drunk. The Goddess of Sorcery stood at the first gate to Plimka, took a deep breath, forced her sick down and stepped forwards.

  Anassa appeared above a Tartarian army. She did not even bother looking down at the demons in their black armour, no matter whether they had wings or rode horses with flaming manes and tails and hooves. No matter whether they stood at the height of a man or whether they were beautiful succubi. Well, beautiful in comparison to humans only, Anassa was obviously far more beautiful than them. She did not even bother inspecting for weaponry. Swords and crossbows and those new rifles of theirs that had a short range but were propelled by canisters of magma. How they worked, the Empire did not know. Neither did it have any intention of finding out, they were obviously inferior technology, an attempt at replicating the musket rather than the modern rifle.

  That Anassa acted instantly. She stood in the air, cast one hand forward, snapped her fingers and the entire highway was submerged in a dancing flood of crimson energies. Opaque red butterflies coalesced out of thin air as if they were snowflakes, their wings sprouted cutting swords that danced through enemy ranks, those swords became great serpents that swallowed and ripped through the huge battering ram Tartarus was bringing to break Plimka’s gate with. One of their great machinations, those robots they used, collapsed as a pillar of red materialized from within it. In just a second, what was the vanguard of a Tartarian sieging force was nothing more than broken bodies, pools of spilled blood and shattered clumps of metal which had been cut right threw.

  That Anassa took a step back to the safety behind the gate. An Anassa at Hold Korkorikos keeled over, grabbed her stomach and threw up once again into the puddle besides her. It wasn’t even stomach acid, it was pure water and oranges at this point, they had not even begun to be digested yet. Anassa’s eyes turned sharp, she glared at the nearby crew of engineers even though they weren’t even looking at her. The men had learned to not be witness to Divines in their weakest moments.

  The Anassa in Klavdiv took a deep sigh, hand was already on the table. A maid handed her a pitcher, sliced oranges already floating within it. A pair of maids were deftly with knives as they tried to keep up with the sheer pace that Anassa was consuming and throwing them back up. Anassa felt the water touch her lips, felt her throat try to close, her head mind scream that it had enough of managing twelve different other Anassa’s who were all busy repelling assaults on the Core Holds and just drank.

  The Anassa at Mlikamb took a deep breath and heard a huge thud at the doorway. She was getting slow… Her mind immediately shut the negative thought away. No, she was not getting slower. She was a Divine, Divines were the fastest creatures in existence, whether they felt sick at the time be damned. That Anassa took a step forward, appeared above a Tartarian Army, threw her hand out and snapped her fingers.

  Below her was a team of greater demons, eight in all, pulling back a battering ram. These assaults were getting relentless, to think she had missed the signal that an enemy force was coming. They pulled back and guillotines of red sorcery dropped over their arms, over their bodies, over the battering itself, splitting it into neat pieces as if they were logs ready to be chopped into firewood. And then Anassa disappeared, back into the once again. Back to the safety.

  Anassa felt her vision go dark for a moment, all the Anassas stopped moving as she forced her eyes open and all the Anassas forced their eyes open. That was the signal of overcharge. If she pushed more, she would pass out. Just as when one Anassa drank, all of them drank, when one Anassa was hurt, all of them were hurt. It was all her singular body, just in different locations at the same time. The Anassa at Kawathetra wiped her spit one last time, turned around and took a step towards the Council Chambers.

  Inside was a small room that had been turned upside down by the coming of the Empire. Wires lay everywhere, radio operators managed the defences of various holds, assistants brought coffees, cigarette smoke hung in the air. Anassa felt her eyes close and then forced them open again. Two of the Anassas, the ones furthest away, in Holds Yilin and Orisontys, both disappeared to converse energy. Anassa looked around at the men’s shoulders as she heard a scream, a stumble and a crash, one of the assistants had almost walked into her when she appeared. She took a deep breath, held her stomach and moaned for a while as her cheeks went bright red with embarrassment. Divines should not be acting like this. Divines should not get sick.

  She couldn’t find the local commander to send the order further up the chain, so she just spoke in a loud, booming voice to no one in particular. “Can’t hold. Your turn. I rest.” That Anassa disappeared. The Anassa at Klavdiv groggily got out of her heat and took a step, uncaring at the amount of vomit on her. From one room to another, this one dark though. There was a bed there, one Anassa had specifically requested for this sort of situation, she knew it would come. There was a reason why Kassandora felt sick the moment Anassa ingratiated herself into War’s Orchestra. Maybe it would not affect the Goddess of Sorcery that much, but she was used to it. This was her demesne. Multiple Anassa’s, split at this distance where the things only real Divines could pull off.

  Anassa took a step and flung herself onto the bed. Her head touched the cool silken pillow. Her perfect dress of red sorcery disappeared as she finally stopped bothering to maintain it. She used the last of her strength to wrap the bedsheets over herself. One last shift, onto her side, one arm forward, one leg forward, just in case she threw up in her sleep.

  All in just an hour’s work.

  Time to take a nap.