When Argrave arrived atop one of the tall towers at Jast, he’d expected many things—foremost among them being that the tower he’d stored his echo on had fallen, and he’d be in freefall. Surprisingly, the large black tower hadn’t fallen. Quick glances around showed that none had fallen... and rather, they’d expanded to an alarming degree.
Each of the towers had taken heavy damage—enough to break their enchantments and make them topple. Instead, new structures had been built around them: braces, supports, and wires, all to hold together this crumbling city. Beyond mere structural support, ballistae and other such weapons of war manned by strange, shapeless men fired back at the besiegers. Argrave could see magic coursing through them, and realized what this was.
These were Mina’s illusions—though illusions no longer, it appeared.
“Argrave!”
Hearing Anneliese’s voice, Argrave whipped his head to the direction it had come from. Anneliese and Mina stood together, overseeing the whole city. Powerful waves of magic shot out at the heart of the city from beyond its walls, and Anneliese dutifully crafted wards to block the worst attacks. As Argrave moved to join them, he looked at the besieger. His eyes sharpened when he saw her.
Almazora, goddess of magic.
“Grave! Kill that bitch! Nicky’s in danger!” Mina shouted savagely as he finally joined with them. The small woman looked exhausted, yet from the look on her face it’d be ages before she gave up the fight.
“Be calm, lest others die from overeagerness,” Anneliese assured, her focus never wavering from the fight. She didn’t look at Argrave, but she could tell her next words were directed toward him. “Almazora betrayed us. Presumably Jaray wormed fears into her—fears about magic disappearing once the cycle of judgment end. She would surrender her divinity, but never magic. That was our oversight.”
“Jast is dense with magic,” Mina continued. “A lot of spellcasters were here. Almazora stole the magic from most of them, then detonated the ambient magic. Without Anneliese, not a one of us could’ve cast a single spell.” Mina glanced over to where a wayward fireball had struck a tower. It began to tumble, yet Mina held her hand out and conjured an illusory brace in seconds that held it in place. She looked at Argrave. “Some ‘god of pain’ is leading a force against Nikoletta’s army. When he looks at you... it’s torture.” She shuddered.
“Got it. Pain’s no trouble. Magic’s no obstacle.” Argrave walked to the edge of the tower, holding up his arm and casting [Godkiller] once more.
Argrave’s arm exploded—he was already getting used to the feeling, which was somewhat sad. Almazora ceased all assaults, desperately bringing to bear a thousand wards in little more than a second. The approaching bolt of pure blood magic was slowed, yet it chewed through wards like a tank’s gun through glass. A torrent of vitality poured back into Argrave as Anneliese returned all the magic the spell shattered, and his arm slowly reshaped.
Argrave had already signed Almazora’s death warrant in his head... yet then his bolt of blood exploded in a swirl of black and dark red. He could tell in seconds that wasn’t working as intended. The blackness took to motion, flowing downward toward the goddess of magic. When the dust settled, he saw his magic pouring into her cosmic weave of hair. The goddess held her arms out, and her assault began again, redoubled.
Anneliese grabbed him and made them both crouch behind a parapet atop the tower, while Mina tirelessly worked to repair the damage Almazora was doing to the city.
“Anne?” Argrave asked, focusing on her.
“Almazora can deconstruct spells that she studies for long enough, and with a mere touch she can steal magic.” Anneliese peeked over the top, assessing things. As she did, she muttered, “She has my A-rank ability with twice the potency, and more powers beside.”
Argrave was about to ask Anneliese if he could stay conscious if he exploded two of his arms at the same time, but Elenore’s voice pierced his head first.
“Word from Lorena. Rook’s a traitor,” his sister said. “We expected this from the god of deception, but I thought he’d go after you. Wrong. He’s after Law.”
Argrave processed that information as Anneliese rose, conjuring countless distant wards. A tremendous explosion shook the tower, and Mina leaned off the side dangerously to conjure another brace. When she crouched down, he merely stared into Anneliese’s face. She stayed quiet, intuiting from his expression that he was speaking to Elenore.
“...the Great Chu, and the small villages throughout Berendar, will be hardest hit,” Elenore responded in a moment. “His Justiciars are most prevalent there.”
“Jaray wouldn’t care about small villages, and the Great Chu has more gods than I can count. Galamon, Orion, and Emperor Ji Meng are also there—they’ll pull through. We might lose the battle entirely if Law dies, not to mention how much our alliance with the other deities will strain if he dies. We have a chance to make him infinitely stronger if he can kill Rook without significant injury.” Argrave rolled his shoulders looking at the enemy House Parbon faced on its northern front. “I’ll be defending the Lionsun Castle and the city it protects.”
Leaving those words with his sister, Argrave studied the force that’d formed to the north. Margrave Reinhardt’s banner flew high, and his army marched defiantly—the gods they faced were such that an army was sufficient to face them. Even still, it was clear the patriarch of House Parbon was on the backfoot, and the corpses of his knights lay everywhere. They were holding the enemy away from the city, and paying dearly to do so.
Argrave was prepared to use [Godkiller], but a shout interrupted him. “Your Majesty!”
He turned his head to see Elias sprinting at him, his breathing heavy. The red-haired heir to Parbon came to a stop.
“I’ll report, Your Majesty,” the young man said, wasting no time. “As far as we can discern, we face four gods—the deity of time, apparently newly-born, alongside the support of three others with dominion over assassination, berserkers, and marksmanship. Together, the three have formed a deadly squadron of servants both mortal and divine.”
“A deity of time?” Argrave repeated. “What can he do?”
“All enemies or projectiles that come near slow down based on their proximity, while his allies roam unhindered.” Elias walked to the edge. “Additionally, he can reverse injuries, somehow. My father’s reported that he’s killed the berserker god thrice with the new ability bestowed by Hause, yet somehow the time god resurrects him.”
Argrave made a mental note that the healer and debuffer should be targeted first, then remembered Elias was waiting for his command. “Thanks,” he said, then advised, “If you can, focus your spellcasters on the east. It’s likely the god of water will attack. If all goes well...” Argrave conjured his gilded black staff, holding it aloft. “I’ll be done long before then.”
Without further words, Argrave climbed the ramparts and jumped off the side of the wall. On the way down, he cast [Absolute Movement], and wind encircled him. He used the spell of flight to soar toward the coming battle and above the banners of the lions and the city of Parbon. This fight seemed simpler than the last—all the more reason for Argrave to be wary. Jaray was proving an extraordinarily capable foe.
#####
The past few hours, Elenore’s mind had felt as though it was always on the verge of collapse. Lira, her patron goddess, shared some of the burden of the mental connection. Even her help was barely sufficient to receive and process so many different reports from all around the world. There were two reports that came in near the same time, both equally concerning.
The first concern came from Relize.
“We’ve an army of centaurs gathering not far from Relize,” the reporter said, fear in his tone. “There must be ten thousand of them, or... or perhaps twice that. They’re bigger than the damned city!”
The second came from Raven, and he never reported to her without good reason.
“I’ve spotted seven liches approaching Dirracha. In terms of magic prowess...” There was a long period of silence. “...I cannot judge any of them individually to be my inferior, either in the abundance of their magic supply or the quantity of spirits they possess for use in shamanic magic.”
Two entirely unforeseen parties appeared suddenly enough to make Elenore’s teeth clench for the coming blow. The situation in both Relize and Dirracha was barely at a stalemate. If an army of centaurs or seven liches equal in magical might to Raven were to join either battle, Elenore foresaw only destruction.
This was but the first battle of their long war—they couldn’t afford catastrophic losses.