Infiltration success rates currently sit at roughly 14%. Six operatives are captured for every seven we send in. This is considerably worse than in the First Arascan War, there is no doubt about that. Until the exact mechanisms of what causes them to be sniffed, I suggest that we intensify rates and go for further saturation in the fleeing refugee ships to try and secure as large a foothold in the backlines of the Empire as possible. Likewise, I concur with Draendal. Lift the population controls and drown them in blood.

In terms of reports, we can confirm their ammunition stocks are not infinite. Whereas individual specifications are unknown, there is plenty of talk in the civilian sphere about choosing employment in so called “factories” of war-machines or ammunition. This alone suggests that Arascus’ Empire relies on high-technology compared to magic. Sightings of magicians have been confirmed and after going through them: I am reading of our debates regarding magic with the deities of the White Pantheon in the First Arascus War. Most strikingly, it seems that the Maisaran perspective on magical integration has won out completely. Magicians assist in construction, irrigation, agriculture and the war effort. What advancement’s have been made in magic are in closed doors within the various “Colleges”, as they call it. These seem to be places of research, education, military training, recruitment and organisation for magicians rolled into one. Whereas the drawbacks of such a system are obvious in how it segregates magic out of society, it does seem to be common that their centralization allows for the deployment of magicians in quick notice. A report by an operative in Doschia states that magicians even support policing operations.

For obvious reasons, the infiltration of such institutions where everyone is either a Deity or Magically-apt is borderline impossible. If infiltration was easier, I would order operatives to secure entry but for now, we are dealing with a simple lack of manpower in the Empire.

One note that has to be made is that of Imperial Bureaucracy. If Maisara had not declared herself neutral throughout this conflict, then I would suggest she may be Arascus’ aide in such matters for the entire system seems to be hand-fashioned by her. This is also why the reports are largely non-consequential and trivial knowledge of their culture and sciences rather than indepth reports of battleplans.

The refugee system is entirely managed by a system called “Bark”. The times of mass civilians fleeing from city to city and seeking their own ways have ended on Arda, unless we can destroy or overwhelm this “Bark”, I doubt it will return. Our operatives report that they are given homes and adoptive families, generally away from the major production centres. Low-level employment in the fields of agriculture, education for the very young and civilian industry is also facilitated by “Bark”. The result is that whilst once in, there is a risk of detection, there is also almost no chance for further infiltration to be done. Whereas they are treated well, disappearances are investigated immediately. Shapeshifting into new identities has proven ineffective due to the sheer amount of new information that must be discovered.

To further note, research & development laboratories and medical facilities are barred from employing them. The former is standard operating procedure, the latter includes even local clinics. I suspect strongly that there is a general system rolled out which is used by these clinics to discover our operatives. So called “Medical Check-ups” ubiquitously result in the discovery of our operative cells. The method is unknown, maybe they have a new race of beastmen for tasting blood?

Before the question of open partisanry is even proposed, the Imperial response to discovery is classically Arascan: quick, decisive and brutal. Their people are united against us. I do not see a method for effective infiltration if our operatives are chased by an entire nation.

One more notable thing is that they have discovered a way to move information in real time and that this information is available for public use. This real-time sharing sheds an answer as to how organised the response to Archdemon Raphim was.

An easier method of entry would be through Khmet and the White Pantheon territories. Whereas vows would be broken, I forward this suggestion to the High Council. Once Arika falls, I do not see a way for us to actually get operatives inside the Empire.

– Infiltration Report: Written by Prince Aldron, assigned with managing the espionage campaign into Epa.

Ultimately, waiting for Bark before taking the two girls had been the smart idea. Giving them the list taken from the students and then calling out names before assigning them to buses or taxis to take them along the path of Imperial bureaucracy had gotten the two impostors into the car without a hitch. They must have known something when they were being led into a black car with tinted windows that everyone seemed to avoid. They must have realised something as Miklas pulled out his notebook and started scrawling in the passenger seat: ‘They don’t know about the Special Imperial Service.’

Anton got them talking on the way though. He had a way with people. “I’d ask about how it is over there but I don’t think you want to talk about it.” He said jokingly from the back as Lukas made a turn onto the main road. It was incredible seeing how people stopped speeding the moment they saw an SIS car about. “But my-my, manners are not strong when I see two beautiful women, my name is Anton.” He held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

Next to him was Salaila Van, almost as tall as Anton himself in clothes that were slightly too expensive for someone in her situation. It was one thing not to wear rags, none of the ones who had arrived did. Everyone who had money to a thin shirt like that had already gotten out of Orripoli already though. Wait… Didn’t demons like it warm? Miklas turned the temperature knob down in the car’s air-con and stared out of the window. The cool breeze was a good escape from Arseille’s heat. It was hot even in the evening. Miklas counted the seconds as Anton moved his hand from Salaila to Arjan Marcomb. She was slightly shorter, still tall… Miklas wrote it down: ‘They are generally tall, could be an exception I suppose. This pair would be tall for men, very much above average height in Ibya.’

“I…” Salaila began.

“Arjan.” Arjan said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” If words could ever be described as an aphrodisiac honey, it would be them. How she managed to curl her accent like that, Miklas did not know. He wrote it down: ‘Obviously non-native accent. It is pretty, but there is no one on Arda who speaks like this.’

“Salaila.” Her taller friend said. Both with black hair, both with sculpted faces. It was the sort of look princesses in paintings had. Almost too perfect: through the mirror, Miklas saw Sailala’s dark eyes catch him looking. She blushed and smiled and dragged a few locks that could have been silk across her cheek. Miklas wrote it down: ‘Face too perfect, too symmetrical. Even Divines have some blemish to them. Movements are very natural though.’

“It’s our pleasure.” Anton said and extended his arm to the front. “This is Miklas.”

“Hello.” Miklas said from the front.

“And Lukas.”

“I’m married already girls, try to keep your hands off me.” Lukas lied through his teeth but everyone in the car laughed. Miklas wrote it down: Laughs sound very real and human. Obviously trained in this.

“Is this your first time in the Empire?” Anton asked.

“It is.” Salaila replied almost immediately. The other girl nodded as Lukas made another turn and came to a stop before traffic lights. Some things, even the SIS did not have authority over.

“Then we’ll show you around.” Anton said. “Have you been booked?” The two girls looked at each other and Miklas wrote it down: ‘Don’t know what booking is. Pure confusion at the question of ‘Have you been booked?’’

“Booked?” Arjan asked. Miklas finally realised why he took an immediate dislike to the woman, he scrawled it: ‘Arjan is not even an attempt at a local Ibyan name.’

“Logged? Computerized? Seen to? Audited? Saved?” Miklas rolled his eyes at the fact only Anton’s first word was a synonym for booked.

“Well I hope we’ve been saved.” Salaila left a tiny pause. “Sir?”

Anton burst out in laughter. “No need for the formalities Salaila! No need at all. It’s just Anton!” Finally the traffic lights turned green and Lukas set off again.

“I’ll go the side-street.” He said quietly. “It’ll be faster than this fucking traffic.”

“You’re the driver mate.” Miklas replied.

“So where are we going?” Salaila asked. “I… Apologies but we don’t know how this works here.”

“It’s all very impressive though.” Arjan was staring out the window. Miklas wrote some more: ‘I cannot tell if her awe is genuine or faked.’

“First, we’re going to get you logged into the system, then we’ll send you onto a train to your new home whilst the war carries on.” Anton actually pushed his luck and patted the succubi on the head. They had talked of this, Miklas wrote it down when he saw Anton’s hand press down on her hair and the woman actually lean in and smile: ‘They don’t cast auras or project a different image, Anton just touched her head where her horns should be.’

“It’s cold.” Arjan said.

“That it is.” Salaila said.

“Apologies.” Miklas said, turning the heating back on. He checked his watch. Just over a minute: ‘One minute it took for them to dislike the air-con.’ He checked the indicators on the radio. ‘Temperature only dropped two degrees down to two-two-point-five.’ And then he stopped and crossed it out. Once, Malam had actually complained to him that he wrote numbers like a child. ’22.5, from 24’.

“We’ll get you somewhere nice and warm.” Anton said and Salaila smiled at him. Miklas had seen that sort of smile when him and the boys went for a walk through the shadier districts of Arseille recently.

“I know of another way to get toasty.” She said. Miklas wrote it down: ‘She said ‘toasty’, pretty sure this is modern slang and not ancient terminology.’

Anton, rather predictably, did nothing to push back against her. In fact, he played along, obviously enjoying the fact the demoness was dragging her finger across his chest. “We can’t take payment like that.”

“Treat it is as a promise.” Miklas had to strain his ears to catch that. He just rolled his eyes.

“We’re here.” Lukas killed the mood when he came to a stop before the police station. They had all seen it before, it was a grand structure although everything that was one of the new-builds had a dozen pillars and doors large enough for Divines. Even the windows someone like Iniri could fit through. “I’ll introduce us.” Lukas added as he got out of the car. This was part of the plan too. Miklas and Anton were to move slowly as possible to buy time for Lukas to catch the police up without making things seem suspicious. Miklas groaned as he got out of the car and turned around.

“Is my coat dirty?” He asked and held his shoulders back for the trio to inspect after left.

“Looks clean to me.” Anton said.

Miklas stood there for a moment. That was too fast. “I don’t believe you.” Anton burst out in laughter and Miklas felt a soft hand on his back.

“There there.” Salaila patted him. “It’s clean Sir.”

“There we go.” Miklas said. “Not hard, is it Anton?”

“I’m blind as a bat.” Anton said.

“Of course.” Miklas made a show of readjusting all the buttons on his coat, doing them all up and then slowly turning around. The fucker Anton actually had each of the girls around his arm! “Alright loverboy, let’s get moving, we’ve wasted enough time here.” They went up the steps to the police station, Miklas fell behind once inside as Lukas took his place and led the way. Instead of continuing, he just turned to the officers who were on duty. “Officers.” Miklas held out his hand. “Special Agent Miklas, SIS.”

“Senior Detective Jean.” The closest man replied. Aged, in his forties. The uniform sat well on him though, he obviously stayed in shape.

“Officer Louis.”

“Officer Adrien.” All three had good grips. As was expected of Imperial police.

“Excellent.” Miklas replied and was promptly cut off by Louis. He seemed to be youngest and most excitable. Probably a rookie. Whatever, not SIS business.

“Were those actually demonettes on his arms?”

“You should see him when he’s drunk.” Miklas said and the officers all looked up at him with awe.

“He’s sober?”

“Sober as a judge.” Miklas said. “Which way to the viewing room?” They went a different route, whereas Anton and Lukas went left, they went right. Through a steel door, they got there just as Anton held the chair for Arjan to sit down. Salaila was already there, she sat down. Anton took a seat, Lukas leaned on the wall. Lukas threw his coat back to reveal the pistol on his belt. The succubi both looked at him curiously and then back to Anton sitting across from them. Inside, it was an interrogation room, nothing special about it. A table separated the two women from Anton, the seats were all steel. There was a camera in the top left, no one in the room cared much for it. “Did you catch that?” Miklas asked as he began to write.

“Catch what?” Officer Adrien said.

Detective Jean did catch it. “They didn’t look at the gun.”

“Exactly.” Miklas said as he finished writing: ‘No reaction to being shown a gun. Either exceptionally brave and sturdy or completely unaware of the danger. Considering Arjan was in awe at the city, my gut says it’s the latter.’ There. He even left a full stop. Eyes back to the scene in front of him. And so the questions began. It was nothing special yet, Anton just wanted the two demons to talk about the fib of a life they had been leading in Ibya so far. Simple and standard interrogation procedure. Miklas did not even have that much to write down other than small comments on what sort of slang they were aware of and what they were not. “You got an ashtray?” Miklas asked the police officer. They looked at each other, the lack of one of obviously said this was a no-smoking area. Miklas didn’t particularly care.

“I’ll bring one.” Officer Louis said.

“Appreciated.” He walked out, no doubt there’d be some curses said about the SIS in this station. They better get used to it. They’d be seeing more of each other. Before the man even returned, Miklas pulled out box of cigarette and offered one to the police. None took it. Of course they wouldn’t, dirty SIS cigs were cursed after all. He flicked the flame on his lighter and…

Both of the girls suddenly peeled their faces from Anton and towards the glass. Straight at Miklas. No. Not straight at him, at his arm. He moved the still-lit lighter further away from him. One of the succubi realised she was staring and turned back to Anton. “A mirror.” The man said. “Do you know what one is?” Horribly patronizing tone.

“Of course I know what a mirror is.” Miklas could listen to that accent scold him all day. Almost Rancais, almost. But very obviously not.

He turned it off. “See that?” He turned to the police officers.

“I did.” Officer Jean said as Louis finally flung the door open when he returned with the ashtray and saw the other men staring.

“What did I miss?” He asked.

“This.” Miklas said. He flicked the lighter again and got a reaction again. The girl further from him only glanced at his lighter, the other was still staring until the first shoved her elbow in the side. “See gentlemen, and they say smoking kills.” That saying was going out of fashion with a pair of Kavaa’s Clerics in every hospital. Miklas lit his cigarette and took a drag as he scribbled into his notepad: Very obviously, can sense fire through one-way glass. One displays self-awareness to hide it, most likely unknown ability. “Do any of you have a lighter?”

Almost every police officer pulled one out. So they did fucking smoke! Just not with him. Miklas rolled his eyes and pointed to Jean only for the fact that he was closest to the door already. “Go outside, by the door and spark it. We’ll see if they react. Here.” Miklas pulled out a spare radio from his pocket as he turned back to the glass. “Tell me when you’re ready so I can keep track.”

“Understood Agent.” The man said and the two other officers whistled.

“Impressive work.” Louis said.

“That was a good catch.” Pierre added. Miklas just took a drag of his cigarette to take the edge of. If they were pretty girls, it would be something else.

Anton stood up and walked to the mirror, almost face-to-face with Miklas. “It’s a clear thing, they don’t have mirrors like this in Ibya.” That was a complete lie. Anton tapped it. “So, I would like more information regarding the situation in Ibya.”

“Well…” Salaila trailed off. “It’s not good.”

“Not good is the least of my worries.”

Miklas’s radio buzzed. “Special Agent, I’m ready.”

“Do it.” Miklas replied. He heard the start of a lighter through the radio and tracked the two reactions. Both of the succubi snapped to the fire, then back to Anton. Miklas wrote it down: ‘See flames through cinderblocks too.’

He would run more tests although Anton began his next line of questioning. “Miss Van, are you married?” The woman had the decency to blush.

“Not yet Agent.” What a tone, it was incredible how much she could insinuate and promise with just that. Miklas wrote it down: Absolutely stellar talent in the voice. Accent is getting clearer the more she speaks too. Immediate theory that comes to mind is that she needs to get used to new vocal cords.

“So what ritual did you do to seek benediction from marriage?” Anton asked. Miklas just stared at the two succubi who suddenly looked as if they realised they were in trouble.

“Excuse me?” Salaila asked.

“Every girl in Ibya marries at the age of fifteen.” Anton said and looked back to Miklas.

“Sometimes sixteen, it’s rare though.”

Anton turned back to the two demonesses. “Now you two women are very obviously not fifteen or sixteen.” He leaned back and raised his hands. “Apologies, I know it’s rude for men to guess ages, but I would put both of you as late twenties.” Miklas rolled his eyes: Anton really did like to listen to himself talk.

“It’s…” Salaila said. “It’s a personal matter.” Miklas smiled. Good one.

“And you then?” Anton asked the shorter succubi.

“Can I say it’s a personal matter too?” Arjan practically begged. Her eyes began to tear up. Miklas noted it down: ‘Can cry on command.’

“One woman, I could excuse. Two makes me worried.” Anton leaned back. “Now I just want to know as to how you managed to get away for so long.” He laughed to no one in the room. “I wouldn’t want to place you amongst single men if you both poisoned your husbands, let’s just say.” Salaila chuckled with him. Arjan just sat there, mouth open, worry disappearing off her face.

“Of course not sir.” Salaila said. “It’s not hard to escape custom.”

“Of course not. You just need a blessing. I’m just wondering if you know what sort of Divine blessing it is.” Miklas could see where this was going and he could not believe the text-book example of what leading questions looked like.

“The blessing of Goddess Tanit of course.” Salaila answered smugly. “Everyone knows this.” Miklas wrote it down: They do know of Tanit, that is expected considering she is Ibya’s Goddess. Most likely someone on the ship mentioned her.

And slowly, the smiles dropped. Anton’s was the first. Miklas’ second. Jean returned to the room and handed the lighter back. “Thanks.” Miklas said and nodded to the two women in the room. “You’re going to want to watch this.” Eventually, their smiles dropped too and they shifted in their seats.

“Goddess Tanit Sir.” Salaila said. “Apologies if you unfamiliar with our lifestyle.”

“Salaila.” Anton theatrically flicked his finger at her. “That is the textbook example of how to escape a lie. That is very good in fact. You double down because that’s what you believe in, isn’t it?”

“I know it.” Salaila’s voice was stern and cold.

“That’s great.” Anton said and leaned back. “That is honestly stellar. That is the best thing ever in fact.” And his tone dropped. “Yet it is wrong. Ibya has no such custom in our time. It is from the Great War.” He raised an eyebrow. “Or, as your kind call it, the Arascan War.” The two succubi stared at him for a moment.

Salaila just stared at him. Arjan’s jaw dropped and the woman leaned back. “How did you know?” She asked.

“ARJAN!” Salaila barked.

“It’s over.” Arjan said.

“Since the start.” Anton said. “You two are little puppies stepping onto the field where big dogs play and the SIS is the biggest dog about.” Miklas smiled at that comment when he heard one of the police officers nervously swallow. “So we can take this two ways. One, you pretend you keep pretending you are human and we execute you in exchange for breaking our human laws. Two, you stop pretending and we treat you as war prisoners. Most likely, you will end up getting swapped over in a prisoner exchange.”

Salaila sighed. “And how does that work?”

“I don’t know.” Anton said. “Our nations fight a battle, we capture some of you, you capture some of us, we swap over?”

“I know what a prisoner exchange is, we had them back then too.” Salaila said. “I meant, in the meantime?”

“You get thrown in a cell and made to wait.” Anton said.

“Alright then.” Salaila said. She began to change immediately. Arjan hesitated for a few moments before revealing herself too. Miklas made sure to detail the whole transformation down. Their eyes turned blazing red first, their skin followed. Horns popped out of their heads, both very dark without any discolouring on them. Their hair stayed the same. Body shape did not change that much either. There was no fire, no grand proclamation of magic or sorcery. It was just… that? Miklas finished off his description: ‘It is almost disappointing how little they actually changed.’ He thought on it. Maybe it was to conserve energy then? Their bosoms and heights remained the same. He checked their legs. Nothing different their save for a small tail coming out of Salaila’s trousers. Arjan had sprouted one too, but hers was underneath her shirt like a coiling snake.

“How did you do that?” Anton asked.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Salaila’s not your real name, is it?”

“I’m not going to tell you it.”

“Of course you’re not.” Anton replied quickly. “Is there any information you are willing to share or will we have to beat it out of you?”

“Try me.” Salaila said.

“Are you sure?”

“I am.”

“And you?” Anton turned to Arjan. The demoness spat at his face. Anton sighed and leaned back as he brushed it off his face. “That’s hot.” He said. “As much as I would like to find out whether all parts of you are that warm, I don’t have the time.” Miklas wrote it down: Anton says their spit is hot. “Is there anything you wish to tell me? I am giving you an open seat. If not, then there is no need for us to keep wasting time.”

“All I’ll tell you is that your world will lose this war just as it lost the first one.” Arjan said. Salaila smiled smugly at the comment.

Anton sighed and began by checking his watch. “Ladies, there is another ship arriving in some six hours. I’ve not eaten anything all day and I nap after I eat. Thank you for your time. Apologies, but we will not be seeing each other again. Lukas, the smaller one.”

Lukas finally moved from behind the door. In one swift movement, he unholstered his pistol, aimed it straight for the demoness’ crimson forehead, straight below her horns and pulled the trigger. The officers missed it, but Miklas did not: They had no reaction bar confusion to the pistol as it was being drawn. If they were fighters, then should they have not moved? Miklas wrote it down: Strong suspicion they do not realise what pistols actually are. The police officers behind the mirror took a step back as Miklas stood in silence and watched the other’s reaction.

Salaila Van, or the demoness that claimed to go by such a name, slowly turned to look at the woman by her side. She slid off her chair and down onto her friend. “SANA!” She screamed and fell down to her knees, by the other woman’s lifeless body. Miklas wrote it down: Miss Arjan Marcomb’s real name was Sana. He stared at the piece of paper then added an arrow. <- Could be a title or relational term too. Investigate more later.

Anton knelt down by the demoness who still claimed to be Salaila Van. “Miss Van, I can promise if you’re more cooperative with us, you will not end up like that.”

“I CURSE YOU!” She shouted. “BY THE NINE, I CURSE YOUR EN-“

Another gunshot rang out and ended whatever she was beginning to invoke. Salaila’s body fell backwards and Anton stood up to turn to Lukas. The man shrugged. “Were you willing to risk it?” He asked.

“I was not, quick thinking.” Anton replied.

Miklas wrote it down: Curses are done ‘By the nine?’ Nine Deities? Princes? Don’t know. Bring into the next interrogation and ask about it. Maybe it was just their equivalent of a ‘fuck you’? Anton supposedly is cursed, we’ll see if a car crashes into him on the way back.’ He checked the clock. Almost eight-o’clock. Fast-food it would be if they wanted any decent amount of sleep. Anton turned to the mirror. “Thank you gentlemen, apologies for the mess, we’ll get out of your way. Clean this up for the next ship, we’ll be seeing each other again.”

A car did not crash into Anton on the way to closest place that served fried food.

Likewise, the food was not poisoned.

Miklas wrote it down: Curse seems to be ineffective.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep