The Greatest Sin

Damian Sokolowiecz, Cleric-Chaplain of Kavaa, stood in his camp. Five hundred and thirty-eight men stood behind him, all Clerics in light beige shirt and shorts for dealing with temperatures of Arika. Cleric-Chaplain of the Order of the Knights of the Crimson Cross stood before him. The camp had grown silent since the Epan Order had arrived, all clean plate armours and thick capes as if they had dressed for the Karainan snow.

“Excuse me?” He asked.

“It is the Goddess’ will. The entirety of the Twin Hearts are to return to Olympiada.”

“What for?”

“I know not… but she said to bring arms.”

Arascus watched Mikhail’s workshop through a glass plane. Was it a workshop at this point? The name should be changed to factory. The location had been moved from headquarters to the eastern Karainan cities. They had all but taken over the lesser towns in the region at this point with their own men. It was located close to Tarin and half way between Kira Car factory and the Aklasia refinery and inhabited the ruins of an abandoned iron smeltery. Closed down some thirty years ago as people moved away.

Now the local populace treated Mikhail Alash as a hero. A man who had come and restored industry and employment for them. The engineer had posters stuck up in his office created by some youths, marvellous propaganda frankly, even better that Arascus did not order it himself. The man was drawn like a hero, towering over a mass of shackled people and handing them a hammer, a factory behind him. Smash the chains of poverty written in striking yellow text before it. Arascus and Iliyal had not even considered the purposes of this for recruitment.

“I apologize for the wait.” Mikhail entered his office and bowed to the God. His style had reverted back to the blue engineer’s overalls, a cap over his balding head, a new pair of glasses and he was holding a rose bouquet in his hand.

“You’ve become a hero here.” Arascus said idly.

“It is underserved.” Mikhail put the bouquet into a vase on a table. Four more stood there. “I didn’t stop them becau…”

“Don’t explain yourself Alash.” Arascus interrupted him. “Pride is good for us all.”

“Well…” The man smiled and awkwardly rearranged the roses. “I do suppose I like it.”

“I’ve come to inspect the planes, are they ready?”

“As ready as they’ll ever be.”

Ilwin looked at his band of thirty men behind him. Allasaria had tasked some thoroughly unpleasant minor God to take them back to Doschia’s capital of Neustadt. From there, they had taken the train to Lubska’s capital of Zawitz, a three-day trek to the Karainan border, through the barely populated Stary Las they had snuck into Karaina and were heading back to headquarters.

Mikhail could barely contain himself when he took Arascus down a small wooded footpath to a secluded warehouse away from Tavda town. “The population decline has stemmed entirely.” Mikhail spoke to fill the silence, he was sure that Arascus would know already. “Over the past four months, we’ve seen emigration decline from two hundred a month, this month, we’ve had an intake of five people.”

“Narma suggests you for the local elections.” Arascus said and Mikhail laughed nervously.

“Th-That isn’t my domain.” The flowers were bad enough. He had come here to oversee the plane development, not to manage party politics. Then he realised he was talking to Arascus. “If you… I mean, it can be done but…” The God started chuckling.

“I don’t throw fish into forests and bears into the ocean.” Arascus said. “We’ll find a man and you’ll throw your support in behind him. One speech is all, Daganhoff will write it.” A weight disappeared from Mikhail’s shoulders, a speech he could give. “But I have to say, I’m surprised you’re not married yet.” Mikhail and responded on instinct, this talk was all too familiar back at home.

“Are you my mother?” He said, stopped and bowed. “I-I apo-“ Arascus looked down at him from twice his height, his dark eyes shone with mirth and he burst out in laughter. To see a God laugh? Mikhail could barely believe his eyes.

“Don’t apologize.” He said, still chuckling. “Empires run on men who talk, not servants who ask for permission.”

“I…” Mikhail blinked. “I mean…”

“I’m simply surprised.” Arascus continued walking through the forests as birds chattered away. “Roses?” He smirked.

“It was from a married woman.” Mikhail said. “They did not want to move away, her son was ill, her husband started work in Tarin. The boy survived.” There wasn’t any reason to drag the story on. Arascus’ hand slapped him on the back.

“Mikhail Alash! Bringer of jobs, restorer of cities, saviour of children.” The God laughed as Mikhail kept on hiking through the forest. Those weren’t bad titles… were they?

Neneria kicked her legs into the air as she rode on Pegaz next to Fer, Traius led them forwards. Almost ten thousand beastmen marched behind them, from the eldest and the wounded who were carried on the backs of bullmen to the children, who seemed to have endless energy and played games as they ran around the larger pack members. It was an army on the march.

Two armies. Neneria had hers in her pocket.

“The plane can fly without the back door.” Mikhail spoke swiftly and confidently. “If worst comes to worst, it can be blown off. The pilot’s cabin is entirely sealed with its own oxygen intake, there is a cabin in-between the rear where we plan to put sorcerers and the pilot, that can be used to hold the men who aren’t jumping. We have installed cords to hold men too, we wanted a release mechanism but you said the less mechanical parts the better, everyone on board is expected to have a knife with them if they are jumping.” Mikhail drew his finger over the diagram. Arascus leaned over the table, the two jets stood before them. They were barely recognizable from the meagre planes Operation SkyStealer had acquired.

The engines had been replaced from the circular civilian designs to pointed jet engines used by government officials, two more had been fitted onto the back, on the top to further improve top speed. The nose had been redesigned, made into a spear-tip to minimize air-resistance. Even the wings had been replaced, gone were the two wobbling rectangles sticking out of either side and in came a pyramid design, intertwined into the plane’s body from the from all the way to the back. “I’ve called this design the Raptor model.” Mikhail voice’s shook as he spoke. The team of engineers Iliyal had brought him along with his own intelligence, he was sure that this was the most advanced plane in the world. The name though… none of them were flowery artists.

“Like the bird.” Arascus said idly as he straightened his back and looked at the jet before them.

“Raptors pick prey up and drop them to finish them off.” Mikhail said and the God chuckled yet again.

“Not everything needs a mechanical reason behind it Alash. The name fits.” He looked directly at the plane. “Why the paint?” He asked and Alash nervously laughed. The twenty-two engineers who lived in this secret compound all shared nervous glances, they were stood lined up on the side, each man dirty from oil. Half of them covered in cuts from working with sharp steel. Rough and dirty hands on all of them, but all of them smiled at the God’s reaction. It was beyond obvious he enjoyed what he was looking at. The plane was covered in black paint, the front was splashed with yellow to try and add a beak. Two red eyes, tilted downwards, were behind the pilot’s cabin.

“We thought it fit.”