Now that Arascus has been witnessed entering battle, we cannot be allowed to think that the notion of Divine fighting is below him. Likewise, we have seen penetration of the Ashfront, how it was managed is still inexplicable but the obvious assertation is that the glowing ships were chanted with some sort of major weather control, or they had on board a host of mages who did not reveal themselves during the battle. Another theory is that it was a major Divine such as Elassa or Anassa opening and closing an entrance for them in the storm.

  Nevertheless, this rescue attempt in Anghazi is a confirmation that the Empire is not bluffing with the so-called “Radar” our spies sometimes report on. It is a non-magical form of instant long-range communications. The five Imperial ships knew exactly where to cross and where to head. The troops that have escaped did not possess magicians on them, and their Divines were only meagre. They did not have any of the heavy machinery we have witnessed when fighting on the dwarven front. We can conclude, with confidence, that this technology is not rare. Every individual unit can be assumed to wield this, every city, definitely, will be able to call every other city.

  I advise we look at our other experience when fighting against an Ardan opponent. The White Pantheon would launch offensives at such a slow and gruelling pace precisely because they were aware of what they were going up against. We need to incorporate some of their own caution into our tactics. It can be assumed that if their ships can breach the Ashfront, we are going to start seeing penetrations into our territory within the next two months. Within the next six at the latest.

  Likewise, Fortia’s ‘Divine Wolfpack’ tactics, from the Great War, need to be updated. Royal Prince Asmodeus had a close call with Arascus, if the God came with Anassa and Fer, or with Neneria, or Irinika, then he would not have returned to give us his report in the first place. I caution now that we learn from our close call and change tactics now, instead of waiting for the close call to come in the spilled blood of our high lineages.

  - Report written by Prince Draendal.

  Baalka crossed sat down on her chair and tore a peach in half. For once in her entire, sorry life, she was eating fruit sized for Divines. It was another of Iniri’s neat little tricks, another terrible yet terribly pleasant little gift form the Goddess of Nature. Surely the rest of the team were starting to gain weight from how much Iniri was feeding them. Baalka could swear that their cheeks had become pudgier. In the bowels of Endpoint, far away from civilization, hidden in the ground, in a white room full of light screens and recording equipment, they were eating the bounty brought on by the Goddess of Nature and they were growing a weapon to end the world. Well, Baalka and Iniri were at least.

  Through the glass, in the room fashioned all out reinforced steel and white tiles, with heating rods on either side of the room was FP1-N: Final Prototype One, codenamed Nene. It fit to name it after the Goddess of Death. Iniri had come up with the name. Baalka had been adamant it should not be called after a real person, much less her sister, Iniri the opposite. Baalka took another bite of the peach, it was the fruit that sealed the argument.

  Behind Baalka sat the Crate, where plants and bushes and sticks that tried to mimic entire trees, and still somehow had the energy to grow produce even as they made a chaotic sculpture of a spiderweb, that was everyone’s favourite decoration. One of the white-coated scientists was deciding between an orange and a nectarine to pick right now. “How long until it’s done?” Baalka asked. It had been two hours already.

  “I was going to ask you the exist same question.” Iniri said.

  “So neither of us know?” Baalka leaned back and sighed.

  “It’s working though.” Iniri replied, she bit into her apple again. “I can feel it.”

  “I can feel it too.” Baalka replied. That wasn’t even a lie, she could listen to all the little germs in her disease slowly change and mutate and then return back to their original concoction. They slivered along the veins in the trees, then disappeared, then reappeared. Sometimes, she managed to feel everything along the branch, sometimes, it was akin to watching the shadows of two dancers twirl through each other on the wall.

  “I don’t think you feel it like me though.” Iniri said. “Mine isn’t good, the oak doesn’t like it.”

  “Mine has no opinion.” Baalka took another bite of her peach. It was ridiculous how good this tasted. She would have never thought Iniri could be such a star. “What about the readings?” She said to the room at large.

  The answer was a garble of minimal data that masqueraded as a science experiment. The tree was in fact changing shape, as if Baalka’s eyes couldn’t see that. The air was filled with spores, as if Baalka could not feel that. The hot temperature of the heating rods was still eviscerating her disease, as if she didn’t know. Iniri took a deep breath and leaned back. “Is it always like this for you?” She intertwined her fingers and put them behind her head as if to try and become her own chair.

  “Like what?”

  “Well they send you into a lab and then have at it?”

  “Normally I just get things done.” Baalka said. “I’ve never had a problem this difficult.” That was true. The spread, the toxicity, the heat resistance, the genetic code that ensured its own stability were all another factor she had to weigh in. They had manage to layer a blackberry bush with a common cold, the Clerics needing to heal running noses proved the method worked. But this was not the common cold, nor was it a blackberry bush. It was a disease that would never be able to form in the wild, in a small tree that had no reason to be as unreasonably tough as it was.

  “Well it is interesting.” Baalka chuckled to herself. “Do you think this is what humans feel like when they talk of office jobs.”

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  “I don’t know.” Baalka said, she leaned back and looked at the scientists, all of them had grown accustomed to this idle chatter by now. A few were even talking with themselves as they kept only one eye fixed on their screens.

  “I heard they found Irinika.” Iniri said. “And that she’s returning to the surface.”

  “I know.” Baalka said. “I saw it too.” There was little to do but read the news in the very north. She had seen the columns of massed tanks that had returned from the Underground and were being straight into the meatgrinder that would be surface war in Epa, she had seen the parade thrown to the One-Seventeenth with their Goddess missing. She had seen her father talk of unity and give speech after speech in every city through Rilia and Rancais and Esberia.

  And here she was, watching some damn disease try to parasite its way into some damn plant. Iniri had designed it, it would sprout mushrooms, the mushrooms had spores, those could carry the disease. And they could grow into mycelium, the mycelium would incubate, another bramble would sprout. And they would be done. Iniri had fixed the problem of running out of energy simply through nature’s most basic foundation: a wide network of roots. Those already covered the floor of the quarantine chamber. “Do you miss her?” Iniri asked.

  “I do.” Baalka said. “But it is what it is, she has a job, I have a job. We’ll see each other when we’re done here.”

  “Mmh.” Iniri said. “You don’t gossip.”

  “Should I?”

  “It was an observation, not an accusation.” Iniri replied, then lowered her tone. “No need to get angry at me.”

  “I just do the next thing on my plate. When we’re done here, we’ll both be sent to the Ashfront anyway.”

  “Will we?”

  “You of all people will.” Baalka took another bite on her orange, Iniri devoured the rest of her apple. There was no need to say way. Iniri could feed an entire army by herself. “I may be lucky enough to stay out of it.”

  “They’ll send you to the desert or somewhere.” Iniri said, her tone bored as she licked apple juice off her fingers. Thoroughly unprofessional, this though, Baalka couldn’t complain about. She had started doing the same after seeing Iniri do it. “I’m nervous about Irinika.”

  “Why?”

  “What if you met Allasaria?”

  “We probably wouldn’t get along.” Baalka replied dryly. “Iri is fine, grow her some divine tobacco and she’ll be all over you.” She finished with an eye roll.

  “That easy?” Iniri burst out in laughter.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well all you needed was some fruit!” Iniri exclaimed. Baalka stared down at the ginormous peach seed before her on the table. She flicked it away, it bounced against the reinforced glass and fell onto the floor, sliding tauntingly back to Baalka’s foot.

  “You make it sound like I’m some cheap harlot.”

  “Don’t say that Baalka!” Iniri leaned over, actually putting her hand on Baalka’s shoulder. “You’re lovely.”

  “Am I?”

  “You’re far better than your sisters at least.”

  Baalka hated that she was curious. “Why exactly am I better than my sisters?” She knew exactly why, any of her sisters would get angry at such a comment. Her though? What a terrible little creature she was. She didn’t care for the familial honour that much.

  “Every single one of your sisters has given me a talk on how I should change.” Iniri said dryly. “And here you are. I got sent here and instead of another sermon, you just let me grow my fruit and help and are fine with it.” Baalka picked up the peach seed and tossed it to the crate. The mass of flora, it couldn’t be called brambles or a bush or a tree at this point, immediately grabbed it with roots and dragged it into the soil.

  “I mean…” Baalka didn’t even know what to say. Who was she to give a sermon to Iniri of all people? And about what exactly? The woman was fine! She wasn’t unpleasant, she didn’t gossip. She wasn’t the most magnificent soul Baalka ever met, but far from the worst as well. “The fruit are good to.” Iniri burst out in laughter.

  It lasted all of two seconds, Baalka felt something from the other side of the glass. A cessation of struggle. “Baalka.” Iniri said quietly.

  “I know.” Baalka replied. She had heard her own germs recover and snap into position like a series of puzzle pieces connecting to each other. They had been beating on the doors of that oak tree, and they had finally found a way in. Suddenly, the little game they were playing here stopped being so light-hearted. The weight that Baalka had tried pushing away every single damn time she thought of what was actually being produced was worse than if the ceiling of this underground base collapsed and the rock came to bury her.

  They had done it. “Growth test.” Iniri said slowly. She stood up and took a step back away from the glass. “Ready when you are.”

  “You’ll catch it, right?” Baalka stood next to Iniri, one step further away. She didn’t want so much as the sight of her to disturb this ancient Goddess.

  “Of course.” Iniri replied. “It’s still my creation. I can feel it.”

  “And if you can’t?”

  “I’ll catch it.” Iniri said it harder this time. In the same way that Neneria would talk when she was dead set on something and didn’t have time for an argument. Baalka just sighed, she looked at that bush in through the glass.

  “Alright. Should I count you down?” Baalka asked, Iniri only raised her hands.

  “I’m ready when you are.” Baalka stood there, she raised her hands, she felt for the ignition switch that should kickstart the whole reaction. It was a single switch, the moment it started, it would close and keep on reproducing forever. Baalka would have to catch and dismantle it piece by piece if she wanted to stop it.

  “Alright.” Baalka took a deep breath. She tried not to think about what they were manufacturing here. “Three.” It was too dangerous. “Two.” She knew what her power was capable of. “One.” Kavaa should be here at least. “Go.” Baalka grabbed hold of the end of that disease and looped it back around itself. For a moment, nothing happened, the tree simply stood, as if unaffected. “I just activated it.” Baalka said. “It’s not working.” She took a deep breath. Where had they gone wrong then? It worked with berries of the common cold. Why wouldn’t it work for this?

  “No.” Iniri said. “I’m holding it.”

  “What?”

  “I’m holding the tree.” She said.

  “And if you let go?” Iniri took a deep breath. She closed her verdant green eyes. Her shoulders fell loose. She opened her eyes again. Her fists closed.

  Instantly, everything happened. The tree burst out in all directions. Mushrooms and mycelium sprouted a green moss along its bark. Roots shot outwards, everywhere, as if they had been loaded onto pneumatic pistons. A dark green-grey fog began to release from every spore, every flower which had suddenly burst out on the trees branches. The ground below it cracked. It moved to slam against the glass, at Baalka and Iniri and the scientists and anything warm. One of the heating rods exploded was broken apart by a spear of wood.

  Iniri snapped open her hands.

  She caught the whole plant an inch before it managed to touch the glass. For a moment, there was nothing but total, serene, crushing silence in the room. One scientist dropped the coffee he was drinking. The mug shattered on the floor. An apple rolled into spill from the fellow at his side. Baalka’s eyes grew wide. Iniri’s nervous, terrified laugh finally shattered the atmosphere. The workers collapsed into their seats, Baalka balled her fists to stop them from shaking. The Goddess of Nature turned to the Goddess of Disease, a look of sheer horror on her face. “That was close.” The understatement of the year.

  They had been moments away from ending the world.