The Greatest Sin

“Artica. Me. Cuts Off.”

Allasaria drew up a plan. Five planes, each with ten invention Gods. Artica would not kill Leona. She would simply grab Luck by its terrible horns and drag it away from jaws of death if need be. Mortals were useless, no Seeker would participate, even the pilots would be Divines. There would not be a force on Arda that would stop them.

Leona would not be allowed to die. If Hell itself descended upon Arda, Allasaria would cleanse it.

“How many men are we talking about?” Iliyal asked Arascus. They were watching Edmonton and Fleur train their sorceries. Iliyal didn’t know if the God had taken a liking to their youths, or if it was simply that they were untalented still. Most likely a mix of both.

“How many men can we realistically use?” Arascus stood there in his military garb. A sleek suit topped off with a heavy greatcoat. Summer had descended on northern Karaina but it certainly did not favour it. The coniferous trees creaked and groaned as the heavy winds swept through them.

“With the planes? About two hundred.” Iliyal said grimly, he pulled his greatcoat around him as another blast of wind bit into them. By the end of the Great War, they had simply resorted to throwing assassins at Leona in some vain hope at drawing cards until they had the fabled royal flush. Gods had to run out of power eventually, Arascus certainly had whilst trapped in the Godstone prison, and Gods had fallen in the Great War. That alone proved that the power they had was limited.

Then he had killed Atis and it had reinvigorated morale. Gods could be killed, and they could be killed by mortal men.

But Atis was not Leona. Atis was a hunter with a spear and a bow. Leona’s weapon was her mind, there was no catching Lady Luck off-guard, no secret ambushes to be done. No, Leona had to be overwhelmed with sheer force. So much had to be hurled at her that the chance of survival was flat out impossible. Playing the game with a woman who drew a perfect royal flush on each hand could only result in a draw. They had to set fire to the entire casino, then barricade the doors until the flames consumed every soul within.

“How are the rifles?” Arascus asked.

“Alash has simplified the design. They don’t jam anymore, they can’t jam.” The A2 was now in full production. A notably worse model than the A1, but several of the A1s had jammed during his encounter with the Great Hunt. The A2 had to be loaded manually, but it was the peak of reliability. The weapon could be used as a damn forging hammer and still work. That was no exaggeration, he had seen it happen when Alash showed off the design.

“Send a message to stall production, it’s a rifle specifically designed to counter her, when she is removed, the A1 will be better.”

“Alash is already on a third version.”

“Is he?”

“One of the plane engineers had an idea to make it fire automatically.” Alash adopted a shooting stance and pulled his finger rapidly. “Like dum dum dum.”

“That would revolutionize warfare.” Arascus said. Iliyal had served under Kassandora in the Great War, she was an excellent Warmaster, but even she held that little bit of divine arrogance all Gods held, Arascus was the only exception Iliyal had met.

“It would.” Iliyal agreed. Edmonton screamed before them, flung his arms forwards a tree and a red blast of sorcery appeared before him. Both, the elf and the God, smiled. That pure nostalgia. The great battles of the past flashed past him, with sorcerers throwing men into the air, a single man tearing through an entire army with barely so much as a swipe of his finger.

The red flash flew forwards like a sword slash, it dissipated halfway before hitting the tree. Edmonton collapsed to his knees, sweat pooling off his brow. Fleur looked at him and repeated his movements. Her own flash of red materialized, it managed to close the distance somewhat more, but still dissipated. The wind died down and the only sound was Arascus’ slow clap. “Very good!” The God shouted and walked to the two youths. Iliyal followed him close behind. “Excellent in fact. You did in three days what it takes most three months.”

That was a flat-out lie. These two were nearing the age of twenty, by now they should be able to knock down a dozen trees while barely moving a finger. Iliyal didn’t let it show on his face though, people needed motivation and back then, they had sorcerers to train sorcerers. Arascus had magic too. Now though? Iliyal supposed it would have to do, and these two needed motivation. “It’s only downhill from here.”

Fleur took a shaky step, tried to show off and then fell backwards. She lay on the grass staring up at the blue sky above them. “W-W-Why?” She asked. “Wh-why not just magic?” She flicked her finger and grass circled around her into a flurry of wind.

“Because magic has a hard ceiling you hit.” Arascus replied. “Sorcery does not, it can scale limitlessly.” Fleur tried to give them a nod and then closed her eyes as Edmonton passed her a bottle of water.

“It’s not easy.” He said. “But you said downhill? It doesn’t feel like it.”

“Magic is theory, knowledge.” Arascus sat down to get lower to the two. Even sitting, he almost reached Iliyal’s height. “It’s assembling a puzzle. You work it out or you don’t, you learn the knowledge and that’s it. Sorcery is exercise. You run a hundred metres today to run one fifty tomorrow. A week later, you’re running a mile, then two. In a year, you run a marathon.”

“That’s not what we were taught.” Edmonton said. “In Arcadia, magic is practice.”

“You get better at puzzles as you do more of them but the core is still the same. Magic relies on your willpower fundamentally. Willpower has a hard limit eventually.”

“They say you can always get better.” Edmonton retorted and Arascus stopped for a moment. The patience he had with these children! Iliyal would have had them doing press-ups already for talking back to him.

“Iliyal, will you help demonstrate?” Arascus asked.

“Gladly.”

“Good, stand in front of Edmonton and brace.” Iliyal stepped in front of the boy. “Now punch Iliyal in the gut.” Arascus said and the boy’s face grew pale. Iliyal smirked at him.

“What?”

“If you don’t, I will.” Iliyal growled. Motivation was needed, but sometimes, motivation could be substituted for a little bit of fear.

“As hard as you can. Iliyal, don’t block.” Iliyal tensed his core and prepared. The boy stood up, looked up at the elf as if he was afraid and proceeded to punch him in the gut. He may as well have been punching a wall, the elf did not even flinch. “Did it hurt?”

“No.” Iliyal replied and Arascus nodded.

“So what would help you more Edmonton? More willpower or more strength?”

“More strength.” The boy admitted. Arascus stood back up.

“You two can have a break, you’ve pushed yourselves today. It never gets easier, you just get better. That is the fundamental difference between practicing sorcery and magic. Tomorrow, you will not fell the tree either and you will lie on the ground like this, but in a week’s time? Eventually you will get so good it won’t even break a sweat.”

“And then?” Edmonton asked.

“And then we move onto two trees.” Arascus replied, he turned to look at a man running across the clearing towards them and walked to greet him, a single step covering the distance that would take a normal man three. Iliyal ignored the messenger, he put his fist on the boy’s chest.

“When you punch, you want your fist like this.” Iliyal said. “Thumb on the outside, not inside.” The boy looked quizzically at him and even the girl opened her eyes to watch the demonstration.

“Why?” Edmonton asked.

“So you don’t break your own thumb.” The boy paled and the girl giggled. Arascus leaned down as the messenger gave him something and he read the note.

“We’re returning Iliyal. Call them back.” The God spoke and Iliyal turned to the two sorcerers.

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Sometimes he forgot humans were near-deaf.

“How much further?” Neneria asked impatiently.

“Not far Goddess, four days march at the current pace.” Traius the minotaur replied. Neneria shook her head and kept on kicking her legs into the air. Her rear was starting to hurt from riding on Pegaz for so long.

Back in the underground headquarters, there was a crowd about. Iliyal had run a tight ship before, a large ship, but packed tightly. He knew half the people here by name and could recognize the rest simply by face. It wasn’t by choice, it was that he simply never found a person more competent than him to manage security. Now that Arascus had returned and most of the leadership tasks were handed off to the God, he had only made the ship tighter. And now this? He saw thirty faces that were new. They obviously weren’t the followers of one of the daughter Goddesses, he would skin whoever had broken protocol in this manner. His eyes travelled up to Arascus, the God was smiling.

“Weaver, Ambelee, you’re dismissed for the rest of day. Enjoy yourselves.” The two youths trailing behind them both gave their thanks and disappeared down a sleek corridor, all steel panels and fluorescent lights.

“What brought that on?” Iliyal was never one to question orders but his curiosity finally got the better of him. They stepped into the dining hall were the newcomers were held. It was as grand as a dining built for pure utilitarianism could be. The ceiling high, with portraits hanging off the walls of Arascus and his daughters. Iliyal’s was on the side of the wall, Iliyal had no clue on what to think about that. He was not equal to the Divines and to hang besides them?

Some it would have brought pride to, to Iliyal it was merely disconcert. That and annoyance. Sara pestered him endlessly about when she would get her own picture next to his. Frankly, Iliyal would rather take his own down than give her a spot. He had at least served and killed, what had she done? Show off her breasts and lure men in? Did that really deserve a spot next to the Divines? “We have a mission report to here.”

“I see.” Iliyal did not see anything. He had thought all missions were ran past him. He wasn’t arrogant enough to think Arascus needed his help for everything but something grand? Organized in total secrecy? With newcomers coming to headquarters?

Everything told him it was a bad sign. “Have you ever seen a man return from the dead?” Arascus asked.

“I’ve seen ghosts and ghouls but I doubt either of those count.” Iliyal answered. He rubbed the hilt of the blade hanging off his belt. Now that these men knew the location of headquarters, they should not, could not, would not leave. At least until not while Leona was still alive. If they felt that they needed to… Iliyal felt the hilt.

“It’s good to know you can still be surprised after a thousand years.” Arascus said as Sara came into the room from another entrance. She grimly looked over the newcomers and shook her head, then saw Arascus and Iliyal. Great. All that Iliyal needed to improve his mood now was this faux-noblewoman, at least Arascus had instilled some modesty into the woman. She kept her shirt buttoned finally.

“I do not know what this is.” She said. Iliyal kept straight as the crowd fell into silence. Each face turning to the three watching them.

“It’s a mission report.” An elf finally managed to free himself from a gaggle of maids and straighten the dirty clothes he was wearing. A simple green t-shirt and shorts, torn, with cuts all over his legs and arms as if he had been trekking through brambles. His blonde hair had grown longer, his face was dirty, his eyes practically shone and Iliyal felt his heart stop.

His grandson. Another family he had written off the moment he heard the bad news from Operation SkyStealer. A family member he had lit a candle for and swore to take revenge. Another comrade in arms felled by Divines of the White Pantheon. A face that haunted him for a week every time he closed his eyes. A man denied a father due to Iliyal’s own poor planning; a man to whom Iliyal owed a debt he could never repay.

His grandson strode proudly past the crowd and stepped before Arascus. He pulled a perfect salute, just as Iliyal had taught him. Iliyal kept his posture straight, his face hard, even as he felt wetness slide down from his eyes. Arascus returned the salute and dismissed the elf, finally he spoke.

“Captain Tremali ready to report Operation SkyStealer along with news of Goddess Kassandora, Of War.”