The Greatest Sin [Progression Fantasy][Kingdom Building]
Chapter 296 – Storm of Souls

Power defines one’s status in our hierarchy. Possess no power at all and you will be ignored for it is your servitude that is the prize that those with power brawl over. Possess too little and feel the paranoia of seeing the game at play yet being unable to meaningfully participate in it. The best manipulators come from here for it is the constant vigilance of guarding against those more powerful serves as the best teacher in our game. I have no shame in admitting that this was me before I was adopted into the ranks of Daughter-Goddess. Kassandora exists in this realm as well.

Possess just the right amount and you will be glamourized as nobility. Yet this glamourization is others mere satisfaction at your position. You are not powerful enough to force your decisions to the forefront of discussion, thus anything given to you is a mere result of bargain or pity. Those with less and those with more will both clamour over your allegiance because ultimately, this is an ambition-less level of strength. It is high enough to be content, yet not high to dream to match the greatest of us.

Possess too much and you will be a threat. Although the bear can pick off wolves one-by-one, the wolves, when organized, will be able to out-hunt the bear. It will not be a direct engagement, it will be the wolves clearing the entire region of sustenance to eventually starve the bear out. This level of strength naturally inclines one to isolation as there is no reason to deal with the masses of powerless plebeians when one of you is worth a dozen of them. Why play along with their fancies? Why bother to entertain them? What are they needed for anyway, the decisions of the powerful already have the best enforcers: the decision makers themselves.

These three categories are a much better form of categorizing Divinity than Maisara’s system, naturally they are. Whilst I can give reasoning of Maisara being blinded by the luxuries that her position bestows upon her, I can talk of how the Abstract-Force split exists only to resign Allasaria to a rank lower than Maisara because of a childish tantrum, I will not. I have precisely one point to make: I am smarter than Maisara. That is enough. These are the four options, all living beings fall into one of these fields: none, too little, just right, too much. There are no exceptions.

It is ironic then that I correct myself immediately, but there is another option.

An option that only a select few can dream of and those that are in such positions rarely strive to further themselves. After all, why bother when their lot in life is already grand. Even rarer is for someone to successfully clamber to the top of the mountain: Possess so much power that competition is worthless, victory is assured by default: No matter how many bears the wolves manage to defeat, the dragon will still burn the forest down.

Even amongst Great War Divines, there is only Olephia in this category. But this is an exception, not a rule. To pretend to be able to match Olephia is arrogant delusion and nothing else.

I suppose I am imaginative enough to picture Neneria reaching the zenith too.

- Excerpt from “A Proper Documentation of Divinity”, written by Goddess Malam, of Hatred.

Neneria took a deep breath as she finally opened her eyes again. She had lost track of time. How long had she been in there for? It had to be days. There were sorcerers here now, and planes madly escaping to the east. Dark eyes inspected the landscape as a dozen fairies appeared to form a crown on Neneria’s head. Neneria felt her dress start to rise as other ghosts appeared around her to gently lift the black silk’s hem and stop it from getting itself in the dirt. Neneria flexed her fingers, she felt… powerful.

Her own vision was only mediocre but fairies had eyes like eagles and they quickly reported back to their Goddess who was who and what was where. On the dark ground ahead of them, the two figures were Fer and Maisara. Those, Neneria could make out, Fer was unmistakable with her size and mane of gold, and Maisara was just as easy to spot with the great axe. Half-way in between Neneria and Fer was Anassa, lying on the ground in a dress of red. Her sister got to her knees, she hurled up whatever her stomach had within it, and collapsed again.

And above, the sorcerers who were watching Anassa in fear. Beyond them, three Divines. To Neneria, they were mere blips in the sky. But the fairies saw them, and they told Neneria who she was looking at. Zerus as the tallest amongst them, Sceo was by his side, holding his hand, and Alkom was the one holding a ball of fire above his head.

And Neneria immediately understood what had to be done. They had come to try and stop her? Did they now? The Goddess of Death started to call upon her Legion. It wasn’t a case of summoning ghosts individually anymore. Frankly, she had too many bodies to get through that. No, something greater had to be done.

Neneria swayed, she felt her knees shake for a moment as a surge of power ran from her feet, up her legs, and along her spine. She looked up and she felt awe at her own display of strength. Above her, winds were starting to swirl and crackle with pale miasmas. One ghost fell from the sky, it tore a hole into that blue ocean above her and it pulled onto material reality as if it was dragging down theatre curtains along with it. Neneria’s feet lifted off the ground as she felt the pull of her own power and she looked up at the three Divines in the air again.

It was time to reveal to the White Pantheon just exactly what it meant to go up against the Goddess of Humanity’s most terrible demesne.

Kassandora moved Kavaa’s marker over to the UNN as she stared at her map of the world. Olephia guarding the Paraideisus Gate. Arascus rebuilding Kirinyaa into an arms factory for the world. Iniri finishing the rebuilding of Nanbasa. Iliyal in Epa. Ilwin and Sara in Karaina. Now the four in the UNN would return.

It was over.

Check and mate Allasaria.

Fer stopped as the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stood up straight. If it was one of Olephia’s massive atomic explosions, if it was Baalka’s ravaging diseases, if it was Irinika calling upon the eternal night or if it was Arascus unleashing a hail of blades, Fer would have turned and gone for the kill on Maisara. She had seen all of those things before. She had never seen this before.

One ghost fell from above. It pulled the whole sky with it, as reality was merely a theatre curtain that could be taken down at will. The ghost screamed as it fell, leaving a gash through the air that bled with the light-green ethereal energies of ghosts. Neneria rose higher into the air, her arms spread wide, her black nails tearing claw wounds through the winds. And those claw wounds started to expand as they got wider.

A finger poked out of them. Then a hand. Two hands. An arm. They pushed. A man’s head appeared. Then a woman’s. Another man. A child. Everyone and anyone that had been lost in the damage of Continent Cracking. They moaned, they started falling out of those tears. It was a slow exit at first, as they had to be squeezed through the tight opening into this world. And then another would push. And another. Another. From the slow, sporadic rain of phantoms to a steady stream and then a roaring river of souls that started to build up mounds of barely moving ethereal bodies around Neneria’s feet.

And from above, Fer felt her eyes widen. Unholy winds swirled in a hurricane as cursed lightning cracked overhead. The initial ghost had made a cut between this world and Neneria’s, and then another one fell out. And another. This wasn’t the controlled deployment of the Dead Legion, where soldiers would step into reality as they rallied for their Goddess. Instead, Neneria cracked the dam of her demesne and let it all spill out. The bodies, each one completely soundless and silent even as they fell, fell like raindrops in a storm of souls.

Fer turned and looked to Maisara, the woman stared at that wound, her mouth open. Fer merely stepped away. It was rare for the wolf to let the boar run, but when they stood before the grand lion, there was no reason for the wolf to try and steal the lion’s glory.

Neneria turned away from Maisara. Now that the Goddess of Death had woken up, the Goddess of Order was nothing but a mere triviality. Even before, there was nothing Maisara could do to try and parry an ethereal ghost. And now?

Puny little Goddess of Order. Neneria had never liked the girl, always so argumentative and confident in her stubbornness even though she was nothing more than a malleable abstract. Didn’t she know she was like clay? To be shaped and twisted by the needs and whims of civilization?

But if Neneria never liked Maisara, then she had always hated the three Forces up above. Of Lightning, Of the Sky and Of the Sun. Three egregious little upstarts that thought they had suddenly become the grandest demesnes nature could produce. Worse than Maisara easily, far, far worse than Maisara. These were spectators that should return to whatever mountain they crawled down from. What jokes! What puny little warriors! Neneria remembered in the past, when Divines like that would bless the weaponry of heroes with the various elements under their control. Maisara was a tool to be used by humanity. Zerus, Sceo and Alkom were mere trivialities in the grand scheme of things. And Neneria?

Neneria was the Goddess of Death.

Ageless, from before the time of the calendar, she had long thought that she had seen everything the world had to offer. The Legion had grown to a size where she was undefeatable by a single Divine long ago too, and the world had become stagnant in Pantheon Peace. This age had come to fear and avoid Neneria, they could never run of course, Death came for everyone in the end and Neneria was a patient Goddess indeed. But when she felt like this? She saw Zerus, Sceo and Alkom stare down at her in horror.

Grand temples? Blessed weapons? Enchantments for armours? Great cults of fanatics? Even Divine Orders? Gifts and offerings and blessings? And what was it even for? So that they could pantomime at importance whilst they still breathed? For just that?

It was time to remind these wretched little upstarts why entire civilizations had been dedicated to Death and Death alone.

Zerus stared down from the heavens as Neneria rose further into the air. She wasn’t flying, instead the bodies of the damned kept on piling up below her. They rose into the air and they carried their Goddess up. Higher and higher Neneria rose, black hair and black dress whipping about in the wind, but black eyes full of nothing but pure spite and malice were locked on Zerus. “Are we retreating?” Sceo asked.

“Give it a shot at least!” Alkom shouted from the other side. Zerus felt the awesome heat, controlled and directed away from them as it was, warm his side and shimmer the air.

“Give it a shot Sceo.” Zerus said to the love of his life. “To see what we’re dealing with at least.” Now that they had failed, the least they could do was return and start to plan. Zerus mentally kicked himself that he had not come faster. Why did he even bother waiting so long for Fortia? The woman had simply turned tail and ran! And that was that! Zerus spread his arms out to the side, palms facing forwards, and then he brought them forwards in a huge, ear-splitting clap as lightning cascaded like tears of shame from his eyes.

Sceo swung her arms forwards and the typhoon behind them, the one had been slowly overwhelming Anassa’s barriers with a constant of mud and stone and dirt, roared upwards. It was throwing the debris quickly enough to cut men apart, Sceo had managed to down a few of the sorcerers just through that whirlwind. It launched upwards and arced like a great rainbow of muds and rocks and debris left behind by flooded cities. And then it howled in a high-pitched screech as it crashed down upon the woman.

And Alkom swung his arms downwards. The ball of fire in his hands, the size of a castle, slowly descended to the ground like a blazing moon about to set. Fire jumped from the summoned star as it slowly moved downwards. Alkom kept pouring more power into it even as it descended, he had to be, because that great flame only grew larger and larger as it descended upon Neneria.

Through it all, Zerus saw Neneria.

And his heart sank. He would have preferred Anassa’s howling laughter. Fer’s roaring or Kassandora’s smug pride when she revelled in her victory. He would even take Irinika looking at him as if he were dirt rather than that cold gaze utter hatred Neneria wore. There was no smile, no satisfaction, no warmth, her cheeks were pale, her eyes were unblinking and she rose higher to meet the three attacks.

And behind her, melded out of the bodies of the dead, stitched together like some abomination, a scythe burst from the mountain of souls.

Neneria kept her gaze fixed on the utter posers above her. She was too old for games like this, and she was too old to lie to herself. She presumed that every Divine which had existed in an age before the Great War needed that honesty, the Great War had killed off those who overestimated their abilities and it had revealed real capabilities to those who underestimated them.

But Neneria was far older than these Forces. She had survived the Great War, she had fled from the White Pantheon, she had evaded capture for a millennium. She had done it and she had succeeded. She succeeded because she was better. It wasn’t a case of needing admiration. Neneria cared little for that, all came to admire Death eventually. There wasn’t a soldier who did not pray for her mercy on the battlefield. But it was the lack of recognition that made her grit her teeth. She still remembered back at the Arikan International Congress meeting, where Saksma had questioned her power.

What had the world come to when the new breed of National Divines somehow thought themselves comparable to Death? What had the world come to when mere Forces like Lightning and the Sun and the Sky thought they could soar over Neneria? Olephia had been unstoppable in the Great War, but it was Neneria that was most feared.

A millennium of stagnation made these Divines forget what fear was. It was up to Neneria to remind them.

Neneria made no sound, nor the horde of souls pouring from the skies make a sound. When Death’s scythe, as tall as a skyscraper yet malformed out of ghosts stitched together, burst from the mountain of souls beneath her feet, it too did so in silence.

The wind screamed in its wailing pitches. The sun roared with heat. The lightning laughed with crackling electricity. And Neneria’s scythe swung forwards in silence. Neneria felt the lightning touch her. It raced through her body. It incinerated her heart. It fried her nerves.

Neneria devoured a single soul from her mountain. And Neneria was alive again.

A huge chunk of metal, some part of a girder, smashed into Neneria and tore the woman in two.

Neneria devoured a single soul from her mountain. And Neneria was alive again.

The sun crackled and set her alight. She burnt to a crisp.

Neneria devoured a single soul from her mountain. And Neneria was alive again.

She had more than thirty-four million lives. Let them try. At this rate, they could be at this for a decade, each time Neneria died, her body would be swallowed up by the souls and a vessel for her immortal soul would clamber out of

Thirty-four million lives she had, and they had one. The scythe kept on moving towards the deities.

Alkom’s sun was the first to vanish. Then Sceo’s wind stopped howling. Finally, Zerus’ lightning stopped its incessant flashing.

Neneria was almost disappointed. They had actually run.

“Drop anchors.” Admiral Abert Nintz said then repeated himself as he looked through the window of the command bridge in awe, “give the message to all ships, drop anchors immediately. Don’t even get close”. He had sailed full speed ahead, pushing the ships to speeds that the Ausans had thought impossible. The engines were overheating, the pipes were rumbling, the gears in the lower decks were screaming from exertion. Goddess Kassandora had wanted speed and ordered for him to come and assist Goddesses Fer, Neneria and Anassa, and he had beaten even the target she had set. And yet now, even though it seemed as if the ships were threatening to explode under their fatigue, they had still been too slow.

On the land in the distance, a giant glowing green snake had risen out of the ground. A snake that was almost opaque, and its edges were fluid, as if it was a moving mass of smaller entities. It had roared upwards into a storm of what Admiral Nintz could only presume was magic. A scythe had burst from it, the tool had swung even higher. And then that ball of flame, the lightning and the tornado had all disappeared.

The scythe did not dematerialize, it fell apart into tens of thousands of different bodies that were swallowed up by that rising snake. And then, the snake roared and it came crashing back down to the ground.

Neneria turned and looked down. Those three despicable posers had fled. And she saw Maisara standing there, a little ant clad in silver. The woman had backed away some distance, but she would not get away. She could not fly and this was the White Pantheon. They did not have the sisterhood that Neneria had with Arascus’ other daughters.

Neneria directed the mountain below her feet towards the Goddess of Order.

There was no Leona to predict this. There was no Allasaria to come at the last moment. There was no Elassa with an army of mages to mount a defence. There wasn’t even a Fortia throw her spear and try to slow Neneria down.

Maisara dug her heels into the ground. Her axe disappeared. She spread her legs wide and held her arms apart.

She took a deep breath and tasted the cool wind blowing in from the seaside one last time.

Frankly, she understood why Fortia had not come. The risk was too great. If she arrived right now, then she was simply throwing her life away. Maisara understood perfectly, there was no blame to be laid at Fortia’s feet.

Yet no matter how well she understood, she was still disappointed.

At least she would die on her feet.

Neneria licked her lips as she hooked Maisara’s holy soul and reeled it back into her own heart.

- - - End of Arc 9: Death Draft - - -

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