Chapter 757 – Apocalypse Unworthy
The bull that is warfare has been grabbed by the horns and leashed to the cart of progress. Make no mistake about it, the Ardans are a highly talented collection of civilizations, all with their own beliefs and rivalling sciences. They have managed to channel magic in a hundred different ways, they have gone through disaster after disaster, and they are still standing tall and proud on the rock they call home.
And yet, Ardans, collectively, are a whimsical, lazy collection of different races. Even their Divinity writes about this, that they need to find reason for movement or else they would sit in their little caves and rot. Warfare has always permeated Arda’s history. From the very beginning, when supposedly they were battling their own flora, to the monsters, and then to themselves. It is a skeleton key to their progress. Grand scientific discoveries are made and then immediately utilized in the art of warfare, their healing arts have their origins in treating wounded. Their knowledge of the plagues stem from corpse-study.
The fundamental fear, that all civilizations need to cross, that the fear of death, has not been achieved on Arda. Were it possible, I write this in the certainty, that should immortality be discovered, it would be discovered on Arda because they are the only ones mad enough to cling onto life so deeply. They cling and cling and cling, and without a force to push them forwards, there is no reason for advancement.
So is there any wonder that when we sat down with Fortia that first time on Olympiada and she revealed her battle plans of the Arascan War, that stunned was the only reaction we could give? They have not simply used warfare as an engine for progress, they have refined it from a wild beast through to a modern reactor. What Fortia showed us was terrifying in its terribleness. Their so-called Goddess of Peace would talk flatly about sacrificing tens of thousands for “clay”, she would plan feints and retreats, she would chase down fleeing enemies, and then, she terrified us all once again: “Kassandora is a better commander than I.”
For it was witnessed, when the Seraphim at Sandorf was cut apart by thousands, when Tartarus launched their first wave and lost millions, when Kassandora managed to stretch out what should have a few years of assistance into a half-century long war that left an entire generation of ours scarred.
Now, Tartarus once again comes back, foolish as the demons are, thinking that those who have tamed warfare had not grown the beast. Of course they shall lose, it is of no surprise to anyone!
An Ardan problem requires an Ardan solution. I know you shall not listen to me but understand that Ardans contained to their own world have always been a nest of angry hornets in the gardens. It was always a matter of time before they decided to swarm and start new nests.
Leonifer prodded that nest, and if they did not know then, they shall now.
Our worlds are not so far away.
- Letter to the Conclaves, written by Archangel Ilahim, former Commander of the Paraideisian forces on Arda during the Great War.
Arascus once again looked down at the map that Kassandora, Fortia & Iliyal had made. It wasn’t the master-original, just a copy that had been handed to all the independent units of the Empire that would be taking part in Operation Sky’s Return. Neneria would move in from the south on the ground, the rest of Divinity would be dropped in.
Fortia, Fer and Maisara all had their own individual zones. They would be getting dropped in on ICDT towers. The National Divines would take Eparika or the Central Arikan Sea, Kavaa was going to assist Iliyal in Ainai, Olephia would breach through the massive fortress south of Esberia, where the demons were planning another assault. Irinika and Anassa were both on board their own aircraft which would drop them from orbit to the areas of heaviest resistance. Sokolowski’s sledgehammer should be building up for it’s ultimate show, Arcadian mages would be sent to witness what happened when an engineer was tasked to deal with magic. That set of reinforcements should be able to push the windspeeds to supersonic and clear out Ekkerson’s front in one blow.
Khmet would be encircled by nuclear hellfire, and Iliyal would march in to save what he could. The western edge of the Sassara had already been written off, not ICDT but ICBM would be the planet’s sword in that sector. General Zalewski was to order a charge through Arika’s ashlands and reclaim up until the Ashfront, whilst Divine reinforcements from the ocean would meet with him. And it would all be recorded and broadcast, Helenna and Malam were in charge of the show.
And if the Divines were the individual sword strokes that would retake the planet, then the swarm of ICDT towers would be the sledgehammer that would smash into that sky of ash and tear it down once and for fall. What would be knocked into space would be the remnants of Tartarus’ touch on Arda, what returned to the ground would come down as a rain of diamonds. Mages had been mounted loaded to assist the Imperial Knights, to protect from the predicted crystal rain that would be just as dangerous as the demons they were plunging towards.
And the Empire’s ultimate weapon, the ever-spreading, ever-ravenous, ever-devouring plague-bomb, would take off within the hour. Long enough for Arascus and Elassa to clear the rift, for the Goddess of Magic to hold it as the God of Pride contained the leakage of countless horrors and hold her path open. The FPN-1 would be flown by Captain Deferre, the man had volunteered for the mission himself, to pay back for the succubi who had killed his father.
Somewhere in Doschia, a city block had been taken over by Kassandora which would serve as the headquarters for the operations. Military satellites were already enroute to assist with communications, a million men were loaded into cargo vessels, two hundred thousand were split across two thousand ICDT towers. The Goddess of War would be managing the grandest military operation in Arda’s history.
Arascus heard a rumble above him and looked up to the night sky. They would crash into the desert with the dawn. An ICDT tower was already in the air. The first one, timed so that it would land south of the rift. A glowing trail, behind it. The flames that were here to take back their land.
Arascus ran his hands down his chest. For once, he wore armour. A heavy suit of steel thick enough to be mounted on a vehicle. Adorned with the Imperial Eagle and silver and platinum, ridged to cover the joints, a suit of chain underneath it. It did feel good to be back. The red on his back dragged, the straps were thin, he could drop it whenever he wanted to.
Arascus turned to Elassa. The Goddess of Magic was armoured too, but where he had precious metal, she had catalysts forged directly into her armour, to press against her skin and serve as even more transmission vectors for her magic. Emeralds and amethysts, rubies and topaz, and the white diamonds that had been forged and linked into chains which swung from around Elassa’s shoulders and around her hips.
“That’s our ride.” He took a step towards the Raptors, they couldn’t be called planes anymore. The metal beasts did not even try to hide the fact their wings had been become like those of birds, with steel fins for furthers and wheels which were purely decorational relics of when they were actual jets. There were claws. Captain Douglas was stroking the nose of his bird, the metallic carapace of its stomach, still rectangular as if it tried to resemble a transport bay, whirred with the faint hum of an engine’s hum, and then moved to a heartbeat that burned fuel. “Burn the map and then get in. We’re setting off.”
And from further above, a satellite that even Arda did not know about saw it all.
-
Allasaria watched the situation with a stern glare from a room that the Angels of Paraideisius had brought her to. This must have been some kind of work-quarters, although work-quarters here meant something very different then work quarters back on Arda. Here, all the tables were curved and rounded and they practically flowed into each other. Angels of all different sizes stood on or sat on massive seats, the stone somehow moving to accommodate them as they wrote with electrical quills. Lights hovered in the air, although they did everywhere here. Not glowstone or floating lanterns but just giant spheres of pure light that illuminated all the world in warm colours.
She turned to Archangel Rapheum. “What do you want me to say in the first place?” Tartarus had come to choke out Arda, and they were getting choked out instead. “You’re showing me Arascus’ triumph and expecting me to call it anything but that.”
Rapheum raised his palm flat towards her and shook his head. The angel sat on his marble throne, his multitude of wings wrapped around him, or curled around the stone, as if it was the most comfortable seat in the universe. It most likely was, Allasaria had seen it shift to accommodate him when he placed himself there, staring at the screen being displayed through something that would have been called magic a thousand years ago, although now Allasaria knew it was just a hologram projector. “The question of whether it is a triumph is not yet settled Allasaria.”
“And what decides that?”
“The line between triumph and slaughter is a matter of perspective.” Rapheum hummed the words in a low, almost musical tone. “I can see already, Tartarus on Arda will slaughtered but it is not their world. I do not condone it, I do not expect your people to act differently from my expectations. It is not surprising, nothing less is expected.” Allasaria balled her fists. Since when was Arascus her people? Since when was she responsible for his atrocities? His so-called order?
“You would slaughter Tartarus too if they stepped foot here.” Allasaria said.
“The judgement call was made by you.” Rapheum mused again. “They came to Arda, they knew what they were getting into. And I was not finished.” He paused again, as if letting Allasaria have another attempt at some defence. What was there to defend about? Rapheum was damn right! Leonifer had sent his forces to Arda and now wanted peace only because he had bitten off more than he could chew. It was the same as dealing with the Pantheon, when Fortia and Maisara got another of their bright ideas and needed to be reminded who actually decided what a bright idea was. “What is happening is a test Allasaria.”
The Goddess of Light could not hold it anymore. “Then enlighten me. I have asked your world for help, you could have prevented this. What kind of test do you have?” It was going to be some farce, of course it was. Tartarus had come onto Arda, choked out their skies and what? They were expecting mercy? Allasaria had seen the videos of those nuclear weapons and she knew everyone back home more than well enough to know that at least a few would be hurled through the portals.
“You had a thousand years to rule. We gave you an entire millennium.” Rapheum said. “No, the question is whether your people’s triumph will end where it should end, at the rift, or whether they will try to charge through.” Allasaria turned back to the map.
There was a part in her that hoped they did.
The demons deserved it.
She turned back to the hologram of Arda with all its vivid colours. Countless trails, cutting across the night sky, dragging long columns of fire. From the north, to the south. They must have been looking at a different image. That was not a world preparing for a massacre.
That was a world heaving to vomit the remains of the plague that had infested it.
“What happens if they charge through?” Allasaria asked.
“Then we shall understand you do not pose a threat to yourselves only but to all of us. That a thousand years of peace has not changed the fundamental rot that dwells within that planet.” Rapheum said. “And then, we shall decide what to do with you.”
“We all know that they will at least hurl something through it.” Allasaria said.
“Then pray they do not hurl anything we’ve not seen before.”
-
Kassandora pushed the transmission button before her as the general staff stood up. The underground bunker had been used during Epan Separation, to save the nations of this world from the White Pantheon, and it would be used again, to save Arda from Tartarus. She leaned forwards, her voice transmitted upwards and outwards, to an army, an airforce, a navy, that measured more than two million men. “Today.” Kassandora began. “Sons and daughters of the Empire and of this world, we stand before what should have been apocalypse.”
She took a breath and continued. “An apocalypse that swallowed the Sassara. We have fought it in Ibya. We have fought it in Kirinyaa. We have fought it in Ausa. We have watched it swallow the Eparika. We have seen the darkness it brought over Khmet. We have seen devour Esberia and we have seen it claw up Rilia.” She paused. “And today, we declare it unfit. We have choked the apocalypse in Ainai, we have torn Esberia out of its clutches, we have shoved and pushed and forced it all the way out of Rilia and the Eparika. And now, we set our eyes upon Arda.”
“To the demons that threaten our precious Arda, we say no. Your apocalypse is not worthy. It is not enough to besmirch this world with your ash. Your presence here is not fit to bow in the shades of our mountains, much less to kneel before our children. Apocalypse has come to Arda, and Arda returns it. There is no negotiation with the creatures that have tried to turn our world into another one of their ashen pits of flames and misery. You are not worthy to walk upon this world, you are not fit to try and wage war here, and you are not enough to try and end us.”
“And to every Imperial soldier out there. I thank you for your service. The entire world has your gratitude. I give my order.” She paused one last time. “Today, we take back our God-given right to gaze upon the azure ocean above our heads! To let our children rest in the shade of leaves and not the darkness of ash! Today, we return apocalypse unworthy back to the rotten pit of hell it should have never crawled out of!”
Transmission ends.
Operation Sky’s Return Begins.