To kill a Divine is a simple thing. A Divine can be killed like any man or put down like any dog. It is what comes after that is such a worry. Here, I will split Divinity into two classifications of material and immaterial. The former being inventions, the latter being abstracts, with forces being separated on a case-by-case basis. Sceo; Sky, is very much a material force, Allasaria; Light is very obviously an immaterial one.

For one Divine to kill another is to prove the superiority of an idea. If Kassandora was ever killed by Fortia then it would be the embodiment of War being killed by the embodiment of Peace. It sets a precedent. Kassandora could never return as powerful as she was simply because humanity knows she can be killed. If Peace defeats War once, especially if it is still within living memory, how can humanity stay terrified of War? This would not be an issue if Divines took thousands of years to form, long enough for the march of history to leave the event far behind but Divines take a dozen years at the most. How can a man who has seen a God die hold the opinion that the particular God which had been killed is strong.

He could not have been all that strong if he was killed in the first place.

The ancient theory of Forced Evolution simply has no answer to this problem.

And it is yet another stone added to the terrible road that is Perpetual Decline Theory.

– Excerpt from “Perpetual Decline Theory”, written by Goddess Elassa, of Magic.

The Goddess of Doschia stalked through a field, several platoons of men spread out to her sides. Tanks and armoured support in the rear. Against the so-called superheroes, it was generally better that way to field the infantry in the front as softeners for the onslaught rather than have the tanks try to be a spearhead into the human equivalent of unbreakable titanium. Seventh Doschian Armoured Division, supported directly at the front by their Goddess. They were claiming land and encircling another town. Some place with some terrible Rancais name Saksma struggled to pronounce. Something with fifteen letters somehow managing to share a grand total of three syllables.

Today, the grand army that had been sent to liberate Rancais had received the green light to advance with total force and total speed. The head of the snake had been chopped off, the body was to be devoured whole, the immune system would deal with the germs.

So Saksma treaded through more heavy grass that crunched under her black boot. Her greatsword was tucked under her arm, ready to be brought out at a moment’s notice. Her blue eyes scanned the environment. There was a hill in the distance with roaming cattle. From what Saksma could see, a band of men were following them. Ahead of them was a small forest. To the east was a river the Seventh Division had forded yesterday. North, far behind them Ninth Doschian Mechanized Infantry was securing a bridge. Every now and then the dulled yet still thunderous drum of artillery exploding would roll in over the flat, green plains.

The men marched in dark green, the camouflage of squares. Each man with a helm, a large backpack and a rifle held at the ready. Maisara herself had decided against the steel plate. The sun would cook it during the day and bullets had to hit her to do damage in the first place. If she was going to be shot in the head from far away then it would make no difference anyway. Behind her, the tanks and IFVs slowly trundled, a good distance from the men, each one with its section of troops to defend it.

Saksma thought about the few times she had actually seen battle so far. It had never lasted too long. Either morale of the Imperial troops broke in the initial onslaught and they fled only to be picked off one by one by men as fast as jaguars and with the strength of elephants, or Imperial troops took the initial losses, held, guns opened fire and only corpses were left in the relentless march to reclaim Rancais.

There was no other way battles went. Saksma remembered how Iliyal had trained the Epan troops in the leadup to the Epan War. At first, she had questioned why the men spent so little time shooting and so much time digging trenches and hiking. Now, she thought that too much time had been spent on shooting. It set an unrealistic expectation.

Saksma’s earpiece suddenly buzzing alive and a soldier speaking disturbed Saksma’s annoyed ruminations on what warfare looked like. “First team, private Wiel reporting. Treeline. South. Movement spotted. Could be deer. Don’t think so. Over.”

Saksma lifted her hand up in the air. Iliyal had given the greenlight on full speed ahead and ignore the cost, so full speed ahead and ignore the cost. The Seventh Doschian Armoured Division came to a stop. Saksma had taken leadership over from the lieutenant in charge. “Goddess Saksma. All units stop. Scouts, binoculars. Report. Do we see anything? Over.”

Men from the very start raised binoculars. Others looked through the scopes of their long rifles out of curiosity. Another explosion came from the north, even quieter this time. A scouting helicopter was off in the distance, even further away from the city they were encircling. It was simple flank watch with infrared, nothing more, nothing less. The heavy vehicles started to slowly revolve their turrets as they used more heat-seeing cameras to inspect the woods ahead of them.

Saksma stood there, on that grassy field that once would have been a pasture. Wild flowers had started to populate the field in the month or so that Rancais lacked a state. Grass had grown tall. Animals had been moved closer to their owners or slaughtered for eating. The men carved long trails through the grass, not winding but not quite straight. The vehicles made huge roads of crushed grass along with trenches left by wheels and tracks in the untrodden ground.

Saksma stood straight backed, greatsword still tucked under her arm as she watched the forest line herself. A man with binoculars had better vision than her, but not by much. She watched the thick treeline. It was all bush and bird and branch and bark. A dark green wall that would be a nightmare if left unscouted and unsecured, but one that would be even more terrifying if they did have to enter, scout and secure it.

It was in forests that most Imperial casualties were taken, where lines of sight were interrupted by trees and Anarchia’s men could be upon them within minutes. Saksma spoke again. “Command team, onto me. Over.” A series of Affirmative and Copy quickly filled the channel, then grew quiet again the ten men of the command team, spread out behind the Goddess, quickly ran up to meet her. The lowest ranks here were captains and each man had a job that contained more than a dozen responsibilities. “I need a map of the area.”

One man quickly dropped his backpack and pulled out a map from within the organized chaos inside. All his equipment was neatly arranged but there was so much that Anarchia simply did not know how it was possible to retrieve anything from there. He passed it silently as the rest of the team took point around Saksma. All apart from the radio operator, Captain Anerheim. He came close and was already fiddling with the multitudes of electronics on his sleeves and chest.

Saksma looked over the annotated map. Iliyal had made it himself, every hill, every village, every river, crossing, field, forest and road had names. Even the bushes that were deemed of significance had some damn description to identify them. Saksma found her own position. Seventh Doschian Armoured stood directly north of WA0047, the key for cracking the map was on the side, in a small box: WA[XXXX]: Wooded Area [Number]. There was a madness to the method frankly, generally the numbers went top to bottom, left to right, generally.

It was a long, thin strip of forest that went all the way to the river, crossed it, and became WA0056. The edge of that horrendous town Saksma could not pronounce, Eighrimaignion, was a small sliver on the map. Saksma stared at the word, she mumbled it to herself, knew it was still wrong and incomprehensible and that the Doschian tongue was simply not meant to ever say such abominations, and moved on.

Iliyal had wanted full speed ahead. Saksma was going to give him full speed ahead. “Captain Anerheim.” Saksma said. “Call Nestmaster.” That was the name for the boys back in Doschia that organised all the Air Support. Anerheim immediately got to work, he pulled a small device over his shoulder from the huge, angular machine on his back. That thing started to hum, lights turned on, Anerheim twisted some knobs, pressed some buttons, typed something quickly, and unhooked a radio from his belt and handed it to the Goddess.

“Line is clear.” Anerheim spoke as if what he just did wasn’t black magic of the highest decree and instead a daily ritual for him. Saksma had no damn clue what he clicked, but she wasn’t going to bother making a fool of herself by inquiring. It didn’t matter anyway.

“Nestmaster. This is Goddess Saksma, Seventh Doschian Armoured, We are in FF621.” FF was the code for Field-Flat. Iliyal had deemed it important to separate Field-Flat from Field-Incline, code FI. “WA47 is in our way. Do you have air support free? Over.”

Nestmaster held his tone for a few seconds. Ever since Iliyal gave the greenlight on mass assault everywhere, air support had been harder and harder to come by because everyone needed planes in the air. “Depends on what you need. All fighter flocks are busy right now. Over.”

“We need the woods destroyed. Over.” Maisara said quickly.

“I can send a flock of bigs. Over.” Nestmaster replied. More soldier slang, flock was simply a team of birds: that meant planes. Bigs and smalls was the distinction between large aircraft and small aircraft. It was give and take, no hard rule but the general rule was that a fighter was a ‘small’ whilst a bomber was a ‘big’.

“How long?” Maisara asked. “We don’t have all day here. Over.”

“They’re in the air already. We thought they would be busy so they’re circling pre-emptively. Ten minutes to get to your zone.” Saksma narrowed her eyes at the woods. Was there any movement? She didn’t make any out. Her gut simply told her not to go in though. It had to be secured, but she couldn’t go in. “What direction do you want? Over.”

“I can do any. Over.” Saksma said.

“It’s your choice. Over.” Nestmaster replied. Saksma looked at the forest again. She remembered one of the basics Iliyal had taught her. If you wanted your enemy to rout and run away, then you have to leave them a hope of escape. Men who were encircled would fight to the death, men who thought they could survive would turn tail and run.

“East West. Over.” Saksma said.

“Copy, Second Squadron is heading to you. East West bombing run. WA47 and the immediate area. Over and out.” Nestmaster disconnected before Saksma could reply. The Imperial Military was an odd thing truly, on one hand Godhood allowed her to seize any rank at any time for any reason, and then on the other soldiers would follow protocol and just drop the radio on her before she even had a chance to reply.

The Seventh Doschian Armoured Division did not even need to wait the ten minutes that Nestmaster had given them. Squadron Two appeared over the horizon as four black arrowheads made faint trails in the sky. There was no confirmation from Nestmaster, there was no news from other Divisions, there wasn’t even a ring from Squadron Two themselves. “Be ready to fire on anything that moves.” Saksma said into her own radio which transmitted to the whole of the Seventh Doschian Armoured.

And Squadron Two dropped its payload. A dozen large bombs from each plane, when one ran out, the next one started to drop. They went in a straight line, creating great pillars of dirt that suddenly rose out of the ground before falling just as quickly. Trees were knocked over. Bushes ripped apart. Wood ignited. Animals raced out from the undergrowth. And Saksma’s gut instinct had confirmed itself. Eight men flew out of the forest as it was being bombed. Men in spandex and with capes and others who ran quickly along the ground. One of the men was far too tall, he dropped onto his hands and legs and raced away like a snake.

The Seventh Doschian Armoured Division opened fire with full force immediately. There were no rules of engagement, it was kill or be killed here. So Saksma’s men killed. Man and vehicle opened fire. The cacophony lasted for all of twenty seconds as targets were put down under concentrated fire. Saksma had seen the superheroes fight before. She had even seen a few of them take a bullet or two and keep moving as if unscathed. But there were none who could be ripped apart by lead like that and continue moving to tell the tale of how they faced the Empire.

The longer a fight went on, the larger the chance of victory for Imperial troops who simply had the numbers advantage. Typically, Anarchia’s soldiers wanted to strike fast and strike hard and make sure to overwhelm immediately. But then sometimes, Imperial troops would be prepared. The battle would end before the distance between the two forces had even been closed. That happened now. Saksma did not even need to change her posture or ready her greatsword, it simply stayed tucked under her arm. Five minutes after the bombers had finished, all that was left of the forest was dirt and crater and fire and bodies, none of them Imperial.

Another glorious battle done.

Saksma gave the signal to continue the march.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep