Standing against Arascus is a strength of will in itself. The man wields great power and has tremendous strength, he rules over a vast Empire, he has managed to make Divines that have never given their support to anyone plead their allegiance to him. Yet all of those would merely make him a powerful opponent. Arascus’ greatest problem is that he is right.

It is not simply that he appeals to high values we hold, Arascus’ words sink deep into hearts and minds like terrible, cursed, poisonous hooks. Talking to Allasaria, he argues for grandiose ideals. They align with her justice and her nobility, but they appeal to the woman’s grandiose, pretentious and haughty self-worth. Talking Elassa, he will espouse the need for knowledge, he will argue for her independence and he will appeal to her nobility. Everyone knows that Elassa has a problem with submitting to hierarchy and how terribly elitist she is. Anassa is largely the same. Irinika, the self-professed ‘greatest of us all’, has agreed to be his second-in-command. How? Who even knows. How the man even worked out what buttons to press in the Goddess of Darkness is a mystery in itself.

I know that he has approached Fortia too. She has said it was like talking to a mirror image that somehow made her more beautiful than the real her could ever be. Peace eternal is her greatest desire, yet even she describes it as a target to aim for but never reach. And she said that the man not only convinced her it was possible, but even started showing her a mechanical, step-by-step plan of administration to enforce her ideal.

And when he talked to me, I had to admit that Fortia is correct. I to talk Arascus and I hear a better version of myself answer. Just as I have never lied to anyone, he has never lied to me. He admits his flaws easily, he jokes when the time for humour arises, he becomes serious when I need him to be. It honestly makes me question as to whether I am actually an open book emotionally. Yet it is not just that he is just supportive for when he speaks of ideals, of a unified Arda striving into the future, of an Empire that spans the entire world, of a one-world order that could harness the true potential of Mankind… Well, it makes blush just thinking about it.

Arascus is right in everything he says, yet I have never met a man who is more wrong than him. Natural intuition, ambition, strength, an adamant iron-will all appeal to me. Arascus has it all. I understand my writings seem like those of an infatuated girl-child struck by a prince, but it is not that. The man is artwork brought to life, he is too grand and too perfect to exist. The fact he can somehow make mine, Fortia’s, Elassa’s and Allasaria’s ideals not just mechanically compatible but spiritually congruent is too dangerous.

I know that a reflection that outshines yet supports me, that carries my ideals yet pushes for its own and that seeks to strengthen me through itself will eventually bind me so strongly to it I will lose myself. I cannot allow that to happen.

I thought it impossible, yet it is true: Arascus is more true to me than me. I swear on my life that I will never allow myself to follow him.

– Excerpt from “My Thoughts on Divines”, written by Goddess Maisara, of Order around a century before the Great War.

Kavaa tilted her head to the side as she looked out into the darkness. There was fire ahead of them. In these dwarven highways, where they simply walked and walked endlessly into that dark abyss. Ever since they worked that Mammon was spying on them, the convoy had been kept tight. Now the thousands of men in the Legion’s Vanguard kept a tight perimeter as they advanced onwards. The Torchbearer tanks no longer held the spear tip, instead there was five lines of tanks and APCs ahead of them. Iniri was kept in the Vanguard’s rear, two miles back.

And worst of all the track had been broken. It was obvious that it had at this point. More than a week had passed since a supply train had arrived. Neneria had been sent off. Alone, on Pegaz, she could cover the distance quickly and, more importantly, she wouldn’t be slowed down by anyone. Kavaa gripped her sword and took a deep breath as her mind grew empty of thoughts. Her inner voice retreated to the sidelines as her combat instincts took over. She had never thought that there would come a time when she would actually long for Neneria’s presence, much less feel utterly defenceless without the Goddess of Death, but she had Kassandora. And Kassandora was enough.

The Goddess of War raised her hand and the convoy came to an immediate stop. She said no words, but Kavaa knew the signs of War’s Orchestra starting to play even if Kassandora did not pull her into the tune. Doors of APCs swung or slid open. Tanks raised their barrels as they spread out to make a line. Without a single word said, without a single order given, without even a whisper or a complaint from the men, the soldiers all moved in unison to Kassandora’s song.

Footsteps beat in rhythm as men pulled themselves up and took position on APCs or behind tanks. They ran forwards and dove to the ground in crouching positions as the flames whisked about. The whirring engines and fans of the Torchbearer tanks grew to the whining sound of jet turbines as the vehicles poured more power into their torches. Cold, artificial white light came like a tidal wave into the darkness. It pushed the black miasma back to reveal stone, stone and stone. Columns half-embedded into the walls, carved with geometric patterns that were all sharp bends and straight lines. Ancient and giant rusted bolts were beginning to be embedded into the walls, that meant this was a habituated tunnel once before, unlike the one that travelled to Arika. And now that Kavaa knew what she was looking for, she saw the faint traces of gold. It made her grip her sword tighter, Mammon was no doubt looking down from those gashes of the metal that had obviously fastened onto the ceiling at odd intervals.

The light from the Torchbearers, now with their cooling fans howling, finally glinted off something in the distance. Black metal. Lava tanks. Giant legs bent backwards. A huge cannon fixed onto the side. Below it, a thin line of shields that reflected the harsh light back on the polished metal. A few small flames burned in the air, flameseers no doubt. Kavaa had seen the demons work their magic in the Great War. The bodies weren’t present, instead they would be sat miles away, staring into a campfire and looking through those fires in the air. There were succubi most likely nearby making sure the fires here kept burning.

Kavaa turned her head the corner of her eye spotted movement. A man was looking through binoculars, another was calibrating distance with a rangefinder. A pair of massive, black Lynx tanks raised their barrels slightly. War’s Orchestra kept Kassandora’s whole Legion so silent that Kavaa’s ears picked up the sound of shells being swapped out and reloaded from within.

Kavaa purposefully met Kassandora’s gaze and held it for a moment. Now that Neneria had left, there was only one thing on her mind: she had not given Kassandora her scarf. With Neneria here, it seemed like they had all the time in the world for Kavaa to build up her courage, without Neneria, it suddenly made Kavaa realise that every hour in this underground could be there last.

And seeing that army ahead of them. It only made her cowardice seem stupid. The Goddess of War, in her black coat and black cap and brilliant red hair matched only by her brilliant red eyes, closed the distance. “Do you want to join?” Kavaa wanted to laugh. Was Kassandora actually worried for her? Did she really give off the image of such a scared little girl that even mid-battle, Kassandora was coming to console her?

“I do.” Kavaa lied through her teeth. She had no need to join War’s Orchestra, and she couldn’t really help either. Kassandora preferred to manage the minimum number of troops as possible as well but-Kavaa heard the tune come in roaring and she allowed herself to take part. A slow violin joined into the Orchestra as the silence of the tunnels suddenly became an unpleasant memory.

Kavaa heard a series of drums beat a rapid rhythm and understood the command: Armour-Piercing shells loaded. A small trumpet signalled for the drums to finish: Range, sixteen hundred and twenty-seven metres. A tremendous organ in the background kept on repeating its tune: All men, hold fire. A set of cymbals made a loud crash: Cannons calibrated. A single huge gong gave the signal to fire as a piano crashed down with all its notes.

The two Lynx tanks fired. A violin signalled the flight of their shells. The gong sounded again. Pistons hissed and metal twisted as empty shell casing, each the size of an arm, ejected from the sides of the vehicles’ turrets. A series of drums once again quickly played their serious of notes as Kavaa’s violin supported them in the background. The Goddess of Health wished her own instrument would shut up, but it didn’t distract from the order War’s Orchestra was conveying: Tanks reloaded. Another gong sounded in time to match the impact of shells against those giant machines.

A piano victoriously playing a terribly fast series of notes signalled victory. The shells did not explode, they penetrated straight into the mid-section of those machines. Kavaa saw through her own eyes, but she saw through the eyes of everyone else that partook in the Orchestra as Kassandora wordlessly conducted her army. With the help of a man looking through a powerful set of binoculars, Kavaa saw steel tear apart, she saw steam pour out of joints, she head metal cry out in pain as it failed. A lava tank on the back of those giant machines exploded. A series of trumpets victoriously signalled for the rest of the Lynx tanks to open fire.

Some things never changed. It didn’t matter whether they fought on top of a mountain or however deep under the surface of Arda they were, the battlefield had one king and he was yet to be dethroned: Artillery. In tune to Kassandora’s phenomenal orchestra, tanks fired. Drums signalled reloading. Cymbals signalled spent casings being ejected from the tanks. A screeching violin timed the flight and drums once again played as the darkness in these depths was once again pushed back.

Not by the flames of demons or the white spotlights of the Torchbearer tanks, but by the roaring explosions of an unstoppable artillery. Kassandora gave them four volleys and stopped. The explosions died down and all that remained of those robots. The shieldwall that had been on the ground was destroyed and smashed utterly. Molten lava from the huge tanks on the back of those machines steamed. Even a few of the flames in the air died down.

 “That was easy.” Kavaa said. She didn’t know exactly how to comment on what she just saw. It was obvious that they should have not closed the distance, it was obvious that the correct action was taken. But… Well, in the Great War, there would have been some discussion at least. Maybe they would have even waited for the Tartarus’ forces to take a step forwards. There would have been a weighing of the options. Kavaa realised why she felt a fear that was familiar yet also not. She had just re-lived a Great War battle against Kassandora, but this time she had been on Kassandora’s side. Nothing had changed.

“It usually is with me.” Kassandora said flatly, as if nothing else was to be expected.

Kavaa felt her backpack. Fer’s scarf was in there, two scarfs actually. One for herself and one for Kassandora. A matching pair. It was the moment. Kavaa knew it was the moment. She opened her mouth. And she closed it immediately. Kassandora’s smile dropped immediately when she heard the sound. Kavaa did too. Both of the Goddesses turned. Both of the Goddesses heard it. It was impossible to miss after all. The buzzing of flies should not be loud enough to should not be loud enough to send cascading echoes down the depths of the highway.

Stood upon the burning of one of those giant robots, a man watched them. His body pitch-black, it glinted against the dancing sparks of the flames and the overwhelming light of the Torchbearers. A demon howled by his side. Then another. A few knelt in their black armour. They broke the shieldwall to pay respects to a Demon Price. They shouted his name as the frenzied beating of millions of tiny wings got louder. Kavaa saw one tiny flash of light, then another. Then a million. The man exploded into thousands of tiny insects. They flew upwards and joined the writhing mass of bugs above him.

Be’elzebub.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep