The conception of a problem commonly proves more troublesome than the problem itself. The single biggest battle one has to win when they want to achieve anything is the battle inside their mind. A blow cannot be half-hearted, effort cannot be parted and a measure cannot be halved. Once a mind is set to something, once moves are planned out and once conviction is struck, then it is up to the individual themselves to stick to it.
I simply hold a mirror up to people. I do not pretend to be better than them, in fact, I would go as far as saying that I purposefully make myself worse. It is not a matter of Divinity, it is simply a matter of confidence. There are many Divines out there that are shy and that rely solely on their own power to try and form cults of sycophants and the like. The reason for their absence in any important event is because they are little more than a mere stepping stone for people who know what they want and what they are doing.
I am lazy. I am undisciplined. I am a drunkard. I am powerless when compared to my peers. I am hated amongst both mortals and Divines and only the dregs who have nothing left to lose come to me. I am a last resort. No man on Arda will willingly leave their home and their life behind solely because of Hatred. Something else is always needed, whether it be hopelessness or boredom or something as petty as being a test for one’s own hardiness.
Yet I was still chosen as a Daughter Goddess of Arascus. There are many who thought it only because of my good looks. I myself was in this crowd at the very beginning, yet I realise that such thoughts are much too petty for the God of Pride to lower himself to entertain. No. In me, he saw all the negatives. There is no other, not even my sisters, who can point out my flaws like he can.
And yet, he still believes in me. And he still considers me an asset. And in that, I am forever grateful. I feel like I can do anything. After all, if the most troublesome part of a problem is its individual conception, then what is stopping me truly?
- Excerpt from the Private Writings of Goddess Malam, of Hatred.
The Goddess of Rancais walked with a whole swarm of bureaucrats and managers behind her. Paida listened in on the men in suits behind her, although her purple eyes did not once stray to look down at them. There was nothing to look down at for once, and for two, the problem was not going to be solved anytime soon either. She walked through the grand marble corridor of Rancais’ parliament and mulled over the issue herself.
There was no other way to explain it, the Second Expedition was starting to become untenable. Arascus and Kassandora and all those ancient Divines waged war… well, they waged war as if they were back in their ages of barbarism. They quite at the level of being the local lord who comes to tithe grain from starving farmers to feed his levies, but they were slowly approaching that point. The Imperial Bureaucracy, as efficient as it was, could only do so much. No matter how many stamps and promises and notes of support Paida received, stamps and promises and notes of support were not diggers. And they could not suddenly become diggers or hammers or nails or boots, no matter how hard Paida demanded or how nicely she asked.
Rancais needed heavy machinery to rebuild, yet it felt as if all the heavy machinery in the Empire was being sent off underground to support the war effort. And… Paida stopped when all the lights in the corridor turned off. The politicians behind her fell silent for a moment when faint green lamps powered by backup generators turned on automatically and Paida looked out through the window.
The entirety of Aris turned dark in the sunset. Each wall, a piece of art in yellow-gold brick, suddenly went dark as shadows took over streets that had just been lit up by lightposts. All the windows which had just patterned the tall homes and offices of Aris in checkerboards of light became pitch black. A few were lit up by torches, a few more flickered with candlelight. People in the streets looked up and Paida saw the population release a collective sigh.
“What’s going on!?” One man asked and the politicians began to talk between themselves about what could be happening. A few mentioned the Redundancy Tests that had been propagandized as a cover for what was actually happening today. And that, only Paida knew.
It began today.
Kavaa looked over the map. She was missing something here.
Agent Anton got up from his bench when he saw the lights across Aris go out. Still high on life itself, he sauntered across the greener-than-green field in the park, past the trees that were browner-than-brown, their leaves leafier-than-leaf. People moved out of his way, although he would stay out of his own way too. With each step, he felt like an ancient conqueror adding more clay to their kingdom. He stepped out onto the road, barely glancing at the cars which had come to a stop now that the power had gone out. Just from here, Anton could see that every major intersection in the city had stopped every vehicle in their tracks.
Anton swung open the wooden door to the apartment block his first target currently resided in. He walked up the first flight of stairs and stopped by the door on the right. The number on it, written in some silvery-metal embedded into the fine woodwork, read 1-3. Anton smoothed his suit down, made sure his pistol wasn’t visible, and knocked on the door. A reply came quickly, of course it would, the power had just gone out. There wouldn’t be much for Mister Oliph Hansen, age twenty-five, currently single, graduated with generic computer science but unable to find work in the field, estranged from his parents, brother died on the Rilian front in the Epan War, spent as much time gaming last week as he did at his retail job, having the hots for his neighbour and his coworker, would be doing right now.
Oliph opened the door immediately. He was tall and skinny. Physically fit too, Anton didn’t know why the man struggled so much in finding a girl. He began before the lad a decade his younger spoke. “I am Agent Anton, there is something we need to discuss Mister Hansen.” The man stopped immediately and straightened. He was just as tall as Anton.
“What is this about?” Oliph asked.
“May I come in?” Anton asked.
Oliph did not move. “I don’t know.”
“We know you’re blessed by Anarchia.” Anton made something up on the spot. “We’ve known for a while, there’s a job opportunity we wish to propose.” Oliph’s eyes narrowed even further. He stood there for a moment. Anton counted the seconds down in his mind. He had a quota to fill. These had to go faster. “I have five other people I want to propose this with, the power’s just gone out, I’m not going to talk about this in the corridor. Now may I come in, Mister Hansen?”
Oliph stuck his head out and checked down the corridor. “We have video of you ripping the door off a car Mister Hansen, you are not the one in danger here.”
“You came alone?” Oliph asked.
“I drew the short straw.” Anton completely made that up, and seeing the face Oliph just made, the bluff must have worked.
“Come in then, apologies for the mess.” Oliph Hansen stood aside and allowed Anton into the room. He turned to close behind him as Anton stepped over the pile of clothes on the ground. When Oliph turned around, he found himself staring down the barrel of a gun. For a moment, as Anton saw the stunned surprise and disappointment on Oliph’s face, he wondered if he should say something. But then what was there to say? He was here to do a job and that was that.
Anton pulled the trigger. Blood splattered over the wall. Oliph fell to the ground. Agent Anton left the room and closed the door behind him.
Onto the next one.
Kavaa snapped her fingers and pointed to one of the men. She remembered exactly what every Divine worth something did in a situation like this. One of the operators came close to start taking squares away from Aris.
Lukas put the still-lit cigarette on the ground as he lay down behind his rifle. The lights had just gone out, that meant it was show time. He gave the city one last look, the grand buildings of sandstone, the way the light of the setting sun danced across roof tiles and blessed them with a smattering of shadows. The sky above was all the different shades of beautiful, purple so deep you could taste it. Orange so vivid it looked warm. Yellow so lively it danced across the skyline. Red so crimson it may as well have been the sky on fire.
It was the perfect sort of evening for a date. Lukas lay down behind his partner for the night. His hand found her bolt, he twisted and she squeaked in delight. The man always loved that sound as he looked through to the scope at the first target of today and the hardest shot he would be taking. Almost on the other side of the city, across a river and past a bridge, over roof, was a tower block. On that tower block was a balcony. On that balcony stood a man named Miklas Antoine. The baldness confirmed it, as did the fact that one of his arms was obviously longer than the other.
Miklas had no contacts, he had not specific power to his name and he had not been all that active during Anarchia’s takeover either. Yet Miklas’ issue was the fact that although the irregular onset of growth in one arm was noted down as a freakishly rare malady, it had been stamped by some doctor just as the Imperial Army had entered Aris and after the Battle of Ordeaux in which Anarchia had been killed. Unfortunately, a piece of paper with such a convoluted reasoning was simply not good enough when the actual fact of the matter was that this fellow was one of the ones to be unlucky enough to receive a visible blessing.
Lukas felt his rifle for tonight. He pulled the trigger and she roared. The SIS agent looked through the scope. He saw the man on the balcony fall down. He saw the splatter of red on the smashed glass behind him. He saw a stream of blood flow out from the body. And he moved away.
One hand moved to the small circle which focused the scope. The other moved the rifle until Lukas saw the next target. A woman this time, another person blessed by Anarchia. She was looking out over the street, hands on the windowsill, in a green dress.
Lukas brought the cross in his scope over her head. He held his breath. He pulled the trigger. She would not be getting back up. He couldn’t make out the body, but he knew when he had hit. And inside, through the glass window which had shattered, he saw too much blood.
And once, to the last target of tonight. Through a window where a man was stood trying to see what was happening outside and were the gunshots were coming from. Lukas counted the windows. Third from the right, second from the top. That was the room. He aimed. He fired. And another target dropped. The figure collapsed forward and then fell to the ground as Lukas inspected the window for any more targets that could appear. There was none. Eventually, Lukas moved away.
The cigarette he had set down on the ground was still lit. And thanks to Kavaa’s gift of life, every drag tasted like the first one.
Kavaa sipped her whiskey as the men around her shouted. Aris was almost done.
Talcolm heard the radio on his car suddenly become cut out. A moment later, the lights in the farmhouse they were waiting close to also shut off. “Go time.” SIS Agent Talcolm said to Agent Dire as he got out the car. “Remember your smokes are in the trunk.”
“I’ll get them on the way back.” Dire said as he caught up. Talcolm did not even bother locking the black car. They were in the middle of nowhere after all, in the middle of nowhere next to a farmhouse which housed three of Anarchia’s blessed. Although it really did not matter how many people it housed, here, the names weren’t confirmed. That meant the building would be emptied. “You got your gun?”
“I do.” Talcolm said as the two men closed the distance. They walked along a winding path of stones and granite, the breeze gently whistling past them and swaying the trees and grass. The sun had crawled to almost be hidden by the horizon.
“I’ll take the front.” Dire said. “Just shoot through me if it comes to that.”
“I didn’t need permission to want to kill you.” Talcolm said and the two men burst out in laughter. Talcolm fell behind as Dire took the front. The agent in the front walked up a series of wooden steps as Talcolm stood in the back. His eyes concentrated on the measly brown door. Dire’s knocks were like thunder drumming in this soundless breeze. With the sunset and the cut electricity, the whole country went to sleep. Maybe some people would be unnerved by the silence.
After the things Talcolm had seen and experienced though, after the horrors of the First Expedition, he doubted there was anything in this world that would ever scare him again. Dire was about to knock again when the door opened. A huge man, taller than either of them, scared down at the agent. “What do you want?” He growled. Dire made a show of looking to Talcolm and then back to the huge fellow. He had the late-day stubble that came out only the day after shaving.
“Special Agent Dire, I would like a chat.” Dire said. “Will you step outside?”
“I don’t think I will.” The huge man growled.
“Unfortunately, I implore that you will.”
“Are you SIS?”
“Special Imperial Service.”
“Mmh.” The man said. “And here I thought you forgot about us.” Talcolm saw the shift in expression and stance. He instinctively reached for the gun on his belt. “Better for you to mind your own business, Imperial man. This is your warning.”
“No Sir.” Dire said. “It’s your warning.” He made a flourish with his arm to reveal the gun on his belt. And that was the last thing he did. If it was questionable before, now, it was decided. The huge man moved like a flash. His fist suddenly smashed a clean hole through Dire’s chest as if it had been a beam of steel launched at some incredible speed. Dire fell limp, his head falling back, his arms going loose, his legs losing footing. The only reason he did not fall to the ground was because he was impaled on that man’s arm.
Yet Talcolm watched Dire, still impaled on the man’s arm, stir back to life. He blinked his eyes open, he looked around, he drew the pistol on his belt. And he put the whole magazine at point blank range into the man who had just killed him. Talcolm drew his own gun and followed up. Half the rounds went straight through Dire and into the huge man, the other agent died another time.
Wolf took the few steps to the door by his side and knocked. He made sure to keep the rifle in his hands out of view from the spyglass. He doubted it would matter though, the black metal of the gun did not show in the weak red backup lights. An answer came from inside. “Locked!” For a moment, Wolf stood there, stunned.
But then Wolf got about to solving the issue, he raised his rifle, aimed it at the lock and pulled the trigger. A gunshot echoed through the staircase. The door began to swing open, and then the door was ripped apart by gunfire from the side. Wolf’s eyes bulged, he tasted his own blood in his mouth, he felt his body be ripped apart. He used the last of his strength to take his finger off the trigger and hold onto the gun as he fell backwards.
Wolf died. The world went to black. Yet he did not leave. His body was gone but his soul was still here and his soul refused to leave. He refused to leave. All that had to happened was to wait for Kavaa’s blessing to kick in.
Wolf opened his eyes, alive again. He saw the door had swung open in the few seconds he had been dead. There was a man standing in the doorway, a rifle in his hands, barrel aimed straight at Wolf. The Imperial Agent, wholly healed yet lying in a pool of his own blood, growled, pulled the trigger and dragged the rifle into the air.
Both men shot the other. Wolf felt it strike his head. Special Imperial Service Agent Wolf died again.
The world went to black.
Yet once again, Wolf did not leave. He waited, and then he opened his eyes. The man who had just shot him was slumped against the wall, grabbing at his chest and taking slow breathes. Someone else was in the room with him. Wolf saw the movement, he would check later. First, he dragged his rifle back through the air and fired.
The man on the ground roared and did the same. And both men shot each other. This time, Wolf wished he had died. Instead, he felt something stab him in the lower gut and get lodged in. He felt his muscles twist and wrap around it. He felt the wound seal. He would have to get that piece of metal lodged inside him out with a knife later but for now, he could deal with the pain.
Wolf got to his feet as he felt shard of metal inside him. It wasn’t the worst frankly, once, his spine had healed around a fragment of stone shrapnel. Everything else seemed pleasant in comparison. He took a step towards the man who had just shot him. He was bleeding from multiple wounds, blood was spilling out of his mouth. He didn’t even have the strength to lift the gun. But he did to speak in a terribly quiet husky voice. “I killed you.”
“You’re not the first.” Wolf aimed his gun and put him out of his misery.
The major cities were almost all finished. That was the main bulk of Anarchia’s forces.
SIS Agent Wood trekked with SIS Agent Lake through the heavy bushes of this forest. The two men walked side-by-side, smoking silently as they marched with the rifles. The broken trees, looking as if a storm had smashed them. The two men walked with their backpacks, although they didn’t have much inside, just spare cigarettes, ammunition, pistols and water to drink.
Agent Lake suddenly stopped and lifted his gun. “Ahead.” He said. Agent Wood came to a stop immediately and saw a man staring at them from deeper in the forest. A man obviously strong, with huge muscles and with his body covered entirely in unnaturally smooth and gleaming golden hair, he had a beard on his face that was horribly out of place. It was the only bit of hair on him that looked as if it belonged on a human, just long and unkempt and brown.
By the time Wood had finished lifting his rifle, the man had closed half the distance. He aimed straight from the hip, hoping his shot was accurate enough, and then felt his own neck be snapped. Agent Wood died.
And Agent Wood opened his eyes. He looked around and saw Agent Lake getting to his feet from the base of a tree. Good, the worst case scenario would be if he had gotten thrown high into the air and then impaled on a branch Wood was unable to reach. Slowly, Agent Wood got back on his feet as he moved his neck around and felt the bone and muscle finish their regenerations. To think that had just cured the annoying clicking he had when he tilted his head to the right.
And Agent Wood smiled to himself when he saw the splatter of red. It definitely wasn’t his considering he was a clean kill, and from the amount, it wasn’t Agent Lake’s either. “I got him.” SIS Agent Wood said. “Look.” He indicated with the rifle back to the trail of blood that was smattered across bushes and trees. In some places, it was thick and heavy, in others, it was clean. Yet this Anarchian obviously wasn’t a woodsman, he would have been easy to track even without the blood. The two Agents, their clothes dirty from falling into the undergrowth, with Agent Lake’s torn from where he had been thrown, began to track.
Resurrection was a horribly quick thing, the forest-man did not get much of a head-start. He may have been superpowered, but he was injured too. The two Agents caught him leaning on a tree. “On three.” Lake whispered and the man who had just killed them suddenly stood up straight. Wood didn’t bother waiting for Lake again as that fellow started to move towards them. Once again, he had just one shot before he got killed, but this time, he was sure he had hit. He saw a splatter of blood fly out from the wildman’s shoulder, and he felt himself be smashed backwards.
Agent Wood felt his back break and his organs shatter. Agent Wood died. And Agent Wood opened his eyes. He saw Agent Lake sitting against a tree and twisting his arm. “You back?” Lake asked.
“Was I out long?”
“Ten seconds?” Lake asked. “Usual time. He just broke my arm this time. It’s fine now though.” Agent Lake stood up and pointed to the ground beside Agent Wood. “Your gun’s there.”
“Thanks.” Agent Wood replied as he grabbed his rifle and reloaded the bolt. It made a satisfying click and the two men started to follow the track of heavy footsteps and blood. “He has superhearing.” Agent Lake said. “He heard you.”
“Third time’s the charm.” Agent Lake said as they turned a tree and saw a figure in the distance. It was the Anarchian who had killed them both twice now. With his golden hair, he looked like a huge blonde bear pretending it was a human. Agent Wood didn’t bother counting down or anything. He lifted his rifle, aimed for between the shoulders and pulled the trigger.
Kavaa flicked another counter off her map.
And that was that.