The Imperial war-room was full, it was always full, the world of Arda was awash in war, the eternal night had come and it was up to the two-dozen souls in this chamber to ensure that there would be no daybreak. A map of entire Arda dominated the hexagonal table, that table dominated the entire room, there were no chairs, windows or decorations. No flags or heraldry of the Empire littered the walls, no carpet obscuring the dark flagstones. The only thing that could be ascribed to be décor was a few magical lights hovering in mid-air and the plainest cabinets filled with relevant papers. The war-room was true to its name, it was for war and nothing else. “Irinika has disappeared.” Siranius came to the war-room in his dark cloak, outlined in pulsating crimson runes of his own invention. A staff topped with the purest red heartstone, a pair of pitch-black eyes with a gaze so intense they seemed to be able to gaze through one’s body straight into their soul. Could a man like that ever bring good news? “How?” Arascus stood there at the head of the table. Head and shoulders taller than everyone else in the room, a black mane of hair that would put a lion to shame, one of the few men in the room who was unarmed, the Emperor would not lower himself to bear arms. “We don’t know.” “Irinika disappeared.” The table lost all authority to Arascus’ utterance. “And you don’t how?” Had anyone heard their God actually shout out of anger? Certainly no one’s alive to tell the tale, the man never shouted, but his voice was as close to open rage as it could get. Everyone knew Irinika was the favourite. “She was supposed to arrive two days ago from the Kanaya Gap.” Siranius said. “Anassa, Baalka and Kassandora searched the place, they’ve reported no signs of her.” “Irinika would not just disappear.” “If I may your majesty.” Ilfus spoke up, another human although of no such great raw power as Siranius. The man was old, with an intricate pale cane he couldn’t do without and greying hair. Arguably, he was the second most important man in the room after the Emperor himself, it was up to Ilfus to make sure his lord’s Empire ran day-to-day. “It is Anassa we are talking about. She will be able to find the First Daughter.” “Aye, a Goddess cannot just ” Grundalf added. A dwarf, the rotund fellow led several armies who tried to hold against the realms under the surface. “I think everyone can agree on that.” Emari spoke up, an elven general and patriarch of the Tlerin house. The black-haired man deserved a hundred medals, received a fair dozen and wore none over his simple coat. “If she was captured, we would know from our spies already, and although it’s not like Irinika to pull a stunt like this.” “She was returning through a shortcut! She shouldn’t be lost!” Illian now, a human general. A man of talent in warfare and not much else, he was even cursed with a horribly forgettable face. “And do we know why she left her army to take the shortcut?” Emari replied. The room responded in silence. “We should send men to investigate!” Ilfus shouted. “The sooner the better.” The elf’s only response was a cool look. “I forward the motion to your majesty on-“ “Denied.” Arascus’ single word was far more intimidating than any shout. Normally, the Emperor wouldn’t explain himself but leaving questions unanswered would leave men wondering on hypotheticals instead of the eight-decade long war. “If three of my daughters could not find her, what hope do men have?” The only response was silence. Emari finally cracked it. “I agree, and it doesn’t change the fact we have a counteroffensive breaking our lines in the Sassara desert.” “How bad is it?” Irithron said. A rotund dwarf who was only here to replace the late Lord Yril Harkan. The man had been mobbed and torn to pieces by a hungry crowd. “The Southern Front has collapsed.” Siranius almost seemed to revel in the crackling tension his words caused. “The Army there has been wiped out.” “Sixth army? Seventh? Which one?” Irithron apparently didn’t understand what meant. “All of them.” “All?” The dwarf was dense indeed. “Sixth, Seventh, Tenth, Eleventh and Twelfth.” Emari added in a clinical fashion, he could have been talking about particularly mild weather. “One of Fer’s herds is in the area but I don’t give them long.” “That’s…” Finally the dwarf gave up. “How?” Arascus asked. “Fortia led a force directly.” The elf explained, long ago it was a joke that the Goddess of Peace was exceptionally talented at warfare. Not anymore. “She tore right through the Sixth, we have minimal survivors from that. She pulled further into the desert after that, cut off the supply routes going along the Karrokai river. They intercepted our shipments.” The audience was split in the middle, half looking unfazed, the others might as well have heard their mothers just died. Emari only shrugged, his face rivalling Arascus’ in its calmness. “Troops don’t last long without food, and the Sassara isn’t a place you can scavenge in.” “What about the herd?” Arascus said. Emari nodded to Jur, the beastmen at the end of the table. A tremendous fellow with a thick hide and a goat’s head, his teeth all overgrown and twisting out of his maw. “It’s a small one.” There was nothing else to say. “The northern front is reporting a counterattack too.” Siranius absolutely loved voicing doom and gloom. Of course he had to continue. “There’s sightings of Goddesses there too. Kavaa healing is confirmed to be there, but there’s two more unidentified.” “Can they hold?” Someone asked. “A month if we are lucky.” “We’re not.” “Then they’ve already fallen.” “Come in.” Arascus said as he stood on the balcony from his room. This was Rhomaion, the capital of the White Pantheon a long time ago, now it was the beating heart of his new Empire. It sprawled to the horizon and further beyond. “We’re losing.” Siranius said as he stepped into the room of the late Emperor. “That we are.” “I have a proposition.” “What?” “About the future.” “Get to it.” Arascus hurried Siranius along, the man usually wouldn’t take this long. “I want your permission to dismantle my Order.” “And do what with it?” “We have uncountable texts, research that would prove deadly if it falls into the White Pantheon’s hands.” “Much good it’s done us.” Arascus said. “In this war, it has not.” Siranius responded quickly. “But the next…” “I like the optimism.” “Allasaria nor Zerus are not strong enough to kill you, even together.” “Leonifer and Mikanglo together could.” “Likewise, you could kill them.” “Not if they are together.” Arascus sighed and dropped the issue. “So what are you suggesting Siranius? For me to flee?” “No, without you, our Empire is finished.” “So?” “We need time. Send the Daughters into exile, I will scatter my works around the world. Fer’s warherds need to send their darkfurs into the wilds to repopulate. The nobles should retreat, the elves should hide to prepare for you again. The war has to be changed from one of conquest to one of stalling.” “And then what? We’ve been defeated once, they’ll be able to do it again.” “We were unprepared.” The two men stared across the city in total silence. “Where will you hide them?” Arascus finally asked. “I don’t know.” Brutally honest as always. “We’ve lost Tourai.” Arascus broke the silence in the War Room. Siranius was away scattering the mages to the furthest corners of Arda. No one but Emari knew about the change in plans. “How could we lose Tourai?” It was a miracle Irithron somehow survived the week. Two assassins he felled. Two! Sometimes Arascus wished the White Pantheon was better at their job. “The ground opened behind them. One of Leonifer’s armies cut off reinforcements. They were surrounded, an arch-demon brought down the gates.” A general said. only in name, the fellow was just here to replace another replacement. “So what do we do now?” Irithron asked. “The White Pantheon is two months from Rhomaion.” Arascus said. “We will prepare for a siege.” “Fer.” Arascus watched his daughter as they ate. A soup for him, raw meat for her, some deer she caught. “Yes Father.” Fer said, blood running down her beautiful face. Dark brown fur as rugged as a lion’s mane framed golden cat-eyes. She was the tallest of the daughters, strongest physically although those eyes pretended to hold intelligence that exceeded her. She wasn’t slow by any means, but her mind was held back by an animalistic sort of honour. If there wasn’t a direct correlation to pack-politics, she didn’t think of it. “It’s over.” The meat actually fell out of her mouth and the two ears on top of her head peaked up. “Over?” “The war. We’ve lost.” “We still have men. I have thirty darkfurs left.” Darkfurs where the shaman priests, beastmen who were blessed with the gift of magic. “The Coalition will reach us in a week.” “And we’ll stand and fight.” “And what?” S~eaʀᴄh the nôᴠel Fire.nёt website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. “We’ll kill them.” “The only thing you’ll do is die trying.” “Can’t you bring the others back?” “Kassondora and Baalka are in the North, we’ve not heard from them in over a month. Olephia is…” Fer nodded, Olephia was a walking disaster, she had been evacuated from Rhomaion to protect the Imperial capital from herself. Arascus shrugged, there was no point to list all the eight daughters. “So what are we going to do?” Fer asked. “Take your herds and hide them.” “Hide them?” “Even hunters bide their time.” Fer bared her sharp teeth in obvious disdain. “Scatter them across the wilds of Arda. Don’t look back, don’t let our greatest creations go extinct.” “I can create them again.” “It took us fifty for the first darkfur shaman. Are you going to throw all that away?” “I want to stay.” “And die?” “I’m loyal.” “You’re to go and hide too.” “And then what? Be hunted till I finally get caught?” “You won’t get caught.” “And you wouldn’t lose the war.” “I’ll return.” “After how long? Five hundred years?” “Can you not do that?” Now the Goddess’ eyes flashed anger. Unlike all the other daughters, she was easy to read, whereas in terms of suggestibility, even a child was harder to manipulate. “Of course I can!” “I doubt it.” Arascus made his tone slightly smug, if he had to lie to Fer to get her not to throw her life away, he would do it a thousand times. “I’ll show you!” “Will you?” “Five hundred years? Don’t insult, a millennia they’d need. Even if the whole host of fourteen came, they wouldn’t be able to catch me.” “Then prove it.” Fer stood up almost reaching her father’s height and slammed the table. “You better return.” Arascus watched a beam of light tear through the hordes of skeletal soldiers fighting to protect Rhomaion. A Hundred? Two? Five? Maybe a thousand soldiers were reduced to ash in a mere instant. Against Allasaria, it wouldn’t have made a difference if they were mages, humans, beastmen or risen dead. The dead at least didn’t try to flee and the living had become a scarce resource three months ago. Arascus turned and went back to his palace. Arascus sighed. The Imperial Guard around him swarmed the hall before him. They filled the court with lines upon lines of shieldwalls. The mighty legion of ten thousand had lost most of its members in the defence of Rhomaion. Only two thousand remained, but that two thousand was enough to make any army turn around and retreat. Each man was an expert magician and a pinnacle of the martial arts. The spears lowered, each tip pointed to the grand doors of divine stone. Arascus thought as he reminisced about the war. The daughter Goddesses were dead, imprisoned or had fled, his advisors and generals had their heads on pikes. It was an impressive push, a single empire against three grand realms. The Demons of Tartarus, the Angels of Paraideisius and the cornucopia of races on Arda had to rally to defeat a single Empire: It took them fifty years of bloodshed to stall his armies, another fifty to push them back to Rhomaion. Reduced to a single city, there wasn’t a hope of retreat. Against the limitless force of the three realms though, there was no way he could escape. The doors bent, a crack appeared in the centre. Arascus could hide in the dungeons, there was a labyrinth underneath the fortress. They’d find him eventually. He would rather be defeated standing than be chased like a rat. Another boom and another crack. He sighed again. Divine stone wasn’t that difficult to break through. He saw some of the spears start to glow. “Hold!” His voice boomed across the hall. The decorations had been removed, all that was left were the Imperial Guard and pillars reaching to the ceiling. At the rate the intruders were going at, it would take them another ten minutes at least. Boom! Boom! Boom! Crack after crack appeared on the door and Arascus shook his head. Ten minutes was an understatement. He finally stood up after fifteen. “Ready!” Two thousand spears started to glow before him, each one emitting a bright light. Maybe two thousand Imperial Guard could go up against an Ardan God, Arascus himself could duel several at a time, but the chance of them being in the single digits was null. Arascus stood eight feet tall, towering over the humans before him. He stood in his black armour, it was a testament to mankind: the strongest suit of plate ever made, it had only been completed thirty years into the war. A countless number of light discs appeared behind him, they stretched from one wall to the other, from head height to the ceiling. A divine blade slid out of each one. The door cracked. It swayed, a chunk fell away revealing the blinding holy light of Paraideisius’ Angels. Another chunk fell away, and another, and another. His eyes scanned them quickly and he smiled. Fourty Gods. If anything, they were doing him a service, it was a silent admission of the fact any single realm could not go up against him. “So you have come.” Arascus’ voice boomed through the hall. His eyes searched for Allasaria, but he couldn’t find her before a reply came. “So we have come.” Another voice replied, it was Zerus, the God-King, God of Lightning. “Today is your death.” “You cannot kill me.” “We’ll see.” “I’m surprised you did not bring Leona with you.” She was their greatest weapon. The Goddess of Luck. It was a terrible force to fight, invisible but ever present. A battle had to be certain or it would be lost, it was a testament to the strategic and tactical genius of his forces that the Great War had taken a century. Eventually though, genius ran dry and their luck was limitless. “Are you that confident you can win?” There was no reply, Zerus merely stepped forward. Instantly, the room was engulfed in light. Arascus’ blades shot forward, two thousands bolts of sorcery of every element rushed from spears. ---- It was against fourty Gods. The battle was over as soon as it had started. Arascus felt his side pierced. His arm dislocated. A hand torn apart. His vision blinded. His skin seared. His soul burned. His shoulder exploded. A hole appeared in his chest. An arrow pierced his throat. ---- It was over. Fourty Gods surrounded a standing corpse.