Kassandora’s own classification system divides Divinity, rather predictably, on their combat prowess and role. The system is purely descriptive, rather than prescriptive, there is no attempt made to actually say what Divines should be able to do. I know it causes great annoyance amongst the elite circles who try to tell us what we should be doing that the Kassandora system is generally accepted and unargued with. It is far below our mighty theoreticians of course, not until a time of war occurs and we suddenly need to play our roles again.

  The titles, being fashioned by Kassandora, are rather self-explanatory and derogatory. The majority of Divinity falls into a category of “Upjumped Human.” I have to smile at it, for I fall into this category. The addition of “Localized” infers a binding to geography, such as Fortress Spirits, where powers weaken the further the Divine is from the location they are the incarnation of. “Semi-Localized” is used in the context of more power Divines, such as Nationals, where they are still able to function outside of their own borders yet gain power from standing within their own lands.

  In a rather Kassandora style of thinking, the Goddess of War makes no attempt for cutting down the number of categories. The elite ranks of Divinity are filled with plenty of divisions. “Pocket Army” is a category that solely exists because of Neneria, where military tactics are to be used due to mass summoning of troops which can be exhausted during the battle. “Big Three” is the trio of Maisara, Fortia & Fer, who exist in their own category due to being something far greater than a mere simple “Upjumped Human”. “Assured Mass Destruction” is for the likes of Alkom, Olephia and Baalka, who cannot possibly be deployed into a battle without incurring casualties brought on by friendly fire. “Champion” is used differently from our definition, where we just mean our strongest in Allasaria. Kassandora expands the list to be inclusive of Anassa, Atis, Elassa, Zerus, Sceo &, of course, Irinika. “Support” is for the likes of those who are not able to fight at any notable level, even though they have power in something else. Theosius lands in this category.

  There is a certain mixing in this, Kassandora adds a qualifier of Local, Provincial, National, Continental and Planetary to divide us into five levels of power. There are only two Planetary-level Divines on Arda, Leona and Olephia. The majority of the Daughter-Goddesses are Continental level, Anassa, Irinika, Neneria & Baalka all fall there. Kassandora defines herself as merely a National Divine with support powers. It is terribly modest.

  Yet at the end, Kassandora does write one notion into her works which I think has established their timelessness and the lack of resistance to them: “These categories are purely for observation and ease of use, any who treat them as the objective reality are even greater fools than the fools who forsake them because they cannot handle being categorized.”

  - Excerpt from “Notions of Romance”, written by Goddess Helenna, of Love.

  Arascus looked down upon the ruins of Anghazi. His eyes went over charred ruin, over ancient domicile, over what to be the important buildings. A city library perhaps? An indoor market? A governor’s office? His gaze settled upon the moving rivers of bright crimson flesh flooding through every street. At the giants that were crushing what remained of Anghazi as they tried to push into alleyways never meant for them. At the swarm of circling beasts in the air. Succubi with flame in their hands and others with spear or sword with which to fall down upon the remnants of the defenders still fighting at the docks. Flares, hissing in the air or on the ground, lit up the world in different shades of bright colours. Flames raged through the city, and torches in the back where yet more demons spilled over the crests of sand dunes turned black with ash. They marched in tight formation, only beginning to roar and scramble forwards once they caught the scent of blood. Arascus stared down silently at the ruins of Anghazi.

  Like the tendrils of an octopus trying to strangle a child.

  His eyes caught the defenders on the dock. Tanit was pulling up sand and trying to smash a greater demon that killed more of its own with its unadulterated barbarism. A mockery of the giants that had once inhabited Arda, all wide and hulking and without any grace whatsoever. She tried pulling the creature down into the waters at first. That failed. Then she brought a pillar to try and push it. That had no effect either.

  Arascus looked down at the piers. Each one had section of Imperial troops and survivors from Anghazi putting all the lead they had into the enemy ranks in some attempt to force an ever-shrinking distance from closing just slightly faster. Men raised their hands and shared spare magazines, or mounted bayonets onto rifles and prepared for melee. Snow-white hair caught Arascus’ eyes. Olonia, on the ground, a hole in her chest still burning with a lightless, black fire. Asmodeus had revealed himself then. Arascus gazed towards the hilltops in the distance. With the amount of moving bodies, it would be impossible to pick him out, even with his white horns. No matter.

  He did not come here to watch his own die. Arascus cast one arm forwards into the air and swiped it downwards. A golden circle appeared above his head. A greatsword’s tip slid out, and then the entire weapon slid out as fast as lightning. It hurtled to the demon that was coming for Tanit as Arascus filled up the rest of the sky with gold.

  “Captain…” Callaghan pulled his eyes away from the sky turning gold to the lieutenant. The man himself looked unsure of what he was saying. “Should we turn broadside…” He trailed off and turned around as the sky’s golden shine lit up even the inside of the Kassandora’s control room through its windows. “And prepare for barrage…?”

  “I don’t think that will be needed.”

  Arascus saw watched the battle underneath him come to a pause as every single set of eyes turned upwards. The light from his own power overwhelmed the artificial flares below, and the orange flames whether they were from inferno or from torch. Arascus tasted the absolute, stunned terror of Tartarus’ army as they slowly realised what and who they were coming up against.

  The golden sky over Anghazi was enshrined with silver stars. Sword, spear, pike, axe and dagger, halberd and lance, mace, flail and sabre slowly slid out of Anghazi’s new ceiling that paved over Ashen Skies. Gleaming points of silver along with the light glittered and danced. Shining blades that caught the flames below them like mirrors. Arascus tasted the absolute, awed and blessed devotion from the men on the ground.

  Fires from stunned spellcasters slowly dimmed or extended, to try and cover themselves. A few of the demons turned, those on the edge of the city dropped their arms. Their hounds that had raced each to gnaw on flesh now looked up, ears and tails downcast. Shields were raised as Arascus let the endless moment go on for another instant.

  Men on the pier finally collapsed. A few to their knees, a few onto their chests. Clerics and medics momentarily paused their healing. Tanit dropped her hands, the corpse of that huge demon settled before it as blood streamed down into outflows for seawater along the pier. Its head came to a stop, the greatsword that had pierced it had stabbed cleanly into the thick concrete and stood tall like a banner pole without cloth to adorn it. Arascus released his breath.

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  It had been a long time indeed. He could still do it. Salvation rained down in a storm of swords.

  Captain Mieszko, tugging at the bandage around his shoulder and back, mouthed a silent prayer of gratitude to whoever would listen as he watched the Emperor in the sky.

  Frantic snakes and fireballs raced up to try and burn him. The golden gates to the armoury in the sky released their bindings and steel flew down. Every manner of arm ever forged plummeted through the sky like a silver star streaking down against the black backdrop. Their sharp edges glinting, each one aimed for a head, a heart, a limb, a torso, a tail, a wing, of the great octopus that had come to swallow Anghazi.

  The creatures in the air fell first. There was no plummeting in the same fashion as when they were hit by bullets and began to fall. Great blades slammed from above and dragged them down to the ground within even shifting in direction. Nothing even screamed as the rain of steel and iron and silver from above submerged them.

  The creatures on the ground died only a moment later. An axe plunged and splattered straight through a torso. A sabre took lopped off an arm as it sliced downwards to stand hilt up in the concrete. A spear took a demon straight through the armour on his chest, ripping through the black metal as if it was paper. In one way, out the other, until it impaled itself and its target into the ground. A sword plunged vertically down to take down a demon raising its shield. Through the metal, through the arm, straight to the ground. It was total, from one end of Anghazi to the other, everywhere save for the docks. Arascus did not waste a single sword as his torrent of steel brought the city to a silent, lifeless, standstill. The fire meant to burn him away barely managed to cross a third of the distance before the death of its casters snuffed it out.

  Mustafar dropped his empty rifle, the ammunition spent, the bayonet on it a mere parody of a spear. A mockery when put up against the what fell down before him. Everyone knew the stories of ancient Divines and their powers, but to see them in real life? Tanit had already left him in awe already when her sands swallowed a dozen demons at a time with a flick of her fingers. But this?

  His family was safe in the Empire. Of that, he was sure.

  Arascus looked over the cemetery of blades, the field of silver flagpoles fashioned out of ancient weapons. At the crumbling buildings where the storm of swords had finally unsettled enough of their integrity to collapse them. The rising dust, the field around Anghazi, were no only torch flickered dimly as it lay in ash, its wielder struck down by a blade that stood like a tombstone impaled its target. Flares flickered on the ground as the Kassandora sounded its horn in the distance.

  One of the exhausted survivors in Anghazi shot off a flare. Yellow; Victory, mission success. That let released the cheer. Arascus did not join them. He looked over the hills in the distance, there was still the orange glow of fire from behind it, they wouldn’t come now. But there was something else that would.

  His eyes caught it, the lightlessness of void in the distance.

  Tanit’s eyes looked up at the straight black string which momentarily split the sky.

  No.

  Arascus felt the blackfire strike him square in the chest. Another bolt came, for his shoulder this time. Then another, for a leg. A fourth an instant later for his head. A shield fell from above to intercept as he caught the angle from which it came. Three cuts in his body bit and lapped at him as Asmodeus’ blackfire took root and caught hold. He could feel the sensation of the burning as his body tried to push the fire back and was devoured in turn. No matter.

  He left the flames there, against other demons, maybe it was worth taking the time to heal. Against this one though? Who defeated Divines through an endless attrition? No. He would be ended quickly. A wall of gold appeared behind Arascus as his eyes finally focused on the sliver of a bow which swallowed light. Even against the backdrop of the black sky, it was noticeably darker, like Irinika’s power.

  A wall of gold appeared behind Arascus. Blades slid out of it again, subtlety was not a strong point. Asmodeus would no doubt see the attack. Arascus did not wait for the demon to strike again or launch another which could be exploited for a faint. Where a black line of sheer null-space had split the world before, a hundred blades raced down the same direction to saturate the entire area.

  Asmodeus lowered his bow and rolled to the side, then back to drop just behind the crest of the hill. The storm of swords crashed into the ash ahead of him and flew overhead. Those blades that shot above the edge plunged into the ranks of the remains of the army behind him. Just like back then, this was not an opponent he could defeat.

  Two fingers went into his mouth as his white horns buried into the dark ash. Asmodeus rolled over onto this back and looked down at the rest of the troops. Even demonic battle-fury had been quelled. The men would gladly run into a slaughter for the chance at greatness. But only fools would run when told to jump off a cliff for no gain whatsoever. They would not even manage to close the distance, the best that could be gained was the chance to distract Arascus for long enough for his fires to burn away the white-haired Goddess. The life of a minor Divine like that was not worth the risk to his own. He blew the whistle to retreat.

  For a moment, Arascus floated towards the hill. That demon moved quickly, he had outrun Divines faster than Arascus in the past. The God of Pride took a deep breath and stopped. As much as he was in a mood to squash little pests, the anger had been relieved. Somewhat. He tried not to think to about Of Empire until something could be done about it. He turned and looked down at the pier. Another portal appeared by his side, he grabbed the hilt of the silver dagger that slid out of it.

  The chest was easy to do, Asmodeus’ arrows may be sharp but sharpness was not all that was needed against the God of Pride. He began to float down and made a small incision in one direction, then another. A third. A piece of his own flesh was dropped into the ocean. Separated from his tremendous vitality, it was reduced to nothingness long before it touched the ash. The shoulder next. The blade stung like a bee, it wasn’t comfortable by any means but Arascus did not flinch when bees came to sit upon him. Nor would he flinch at his own hand. He brought his leg up where his thigh had been hit. One cut. Two cuts. Three. The wound had finished sealing by the time his leg returned to its standard position.

  Olonia closed her eyes and took a deep breath as she saw Arascus float closer to her. She had made it. She had done what was needed to do. Enough men had survived. They could return her home. They would bury her in Lubska. She didn’t even care at the scorching torment of the flames that felt like they were freezing and boiling her at the same time. They shifted and wilted her skin and muscle and bone, burning away everything, leaving nothing but ash. It was the same torture that Iliyal had put her through when he told Kavaa to heal her awake. The worst part was that her body did not shut down, it desperately tried to reclaim the parts lost of the fires. Every new sinew that extended spiralled into inexistence as it was embraced by the black fire.

  Heavy boots thudded in the darkness of her eyelids as the God of Pride made contact with the ground. She heard him talk. “Asmodeus’ flames burn forever.” Something shifted around her. “It was a good effort, but you can’t heal her like that.” A hand with fingers larger than hers ripped off her shirt. The cold air under Ashen Skies had not gotten any warmer with victory or with salvation when it came in to nip at her skin. “You have to cut it out. Keep on healing her as I do it.” And then, in hands ever so gentle, she felt herself be shifted. More hands landed on her, on top of her head and onto her stomach. These were smaller, the palms of human Clerics that once again began to pour life into her. “Apologies for this will hurt mightily Olonia.” She shifted again, something poked her stomach. “But I know you can take it.”