CH1466 · Rewrite
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Chapter 1466: Chaos

On the Ark of Peace, Eagle Face had been gripping the release handle, ready to pull. He let it go.

“Which direction?”

“Nine degrees east. They’re heading for the smoke column.”

The chief pilot turned. “Instructor — what do we do?”

With the Deity of Gods’s mass, aerial bombardment could not miss it even in motion — particularly not now that the magic barrier had been shattered. If the second Glory of the Sun landed anywhere near the Blackstone pyramid, the obelisk had a meaningful chance of destruction. By any measure, the safest choice was to drop now.

But he had not boarded this aircraft out of concern for safety.

The pilots of both bombers had been selected from the finest trainees. The aircraft commanders were instructors — there precisely to guarantee mission completion where a trainee might hesitate. The roles were complementary and deliberate. A meaningful chance of success still meant a chance of failure. And what Eagle Face wanted was to push everything within his control toward certainty, and surrender as little as possible to chance.

He had reviewed the contingency many times: what if the Deity of Gods moved between the two drops, or from the beginning? The answer the General Staff had settled on was the same each time. You trade altitude for the guarantee of a hit — you descend until the target has nowhere left to go.

“Descend two thousand meters. Recalculate the drop trajectory.” Eagle Face gave the order without hesitation. “We follow wherever they move.”


By now the Devilbeasts had hit the fleet.

Good felt the sky thicken around him. It was as though the dawn had been swallowed again — every glance in any direction met an enemy. The only thing that lifted his heart was the tearing stream of light from the Fury of Heaven’s autocannons; anything that flew into that light came apart.

Skill meant very little in a battle at this scale. Even with eyes in the back of your head you couldn’t track every threat charging at you from every quadrant. Good had survived only because his squadron mates kept protecting his flanks — picking off the bone spears that arced in from angles he couldn’t cover.

After three firing passes, the space ahead opened. He had torn through. When he looked back, nothing was pursuing him.

“What are the demons doing? They don’t seem focused on us.” Finkin, who had been flying his flank, noticed it too.

Good pulled distance and took in the battle as a whole. Only a small portion of the dense Devilbeast horde was tangling with the Aerial Knights. The rest were climbing. Deliberately, urgently — all of them pushing higher.

Logically, they should not have been able to detect a bomber flying above the cloud layer.

The facts confirmed it: they had not found their target yet. Their trajectories were chaotic — they were searching without a bearing, surging upward through a range of headings with no pattern.

“Hell — the demons are trying to find the Ark of Peace!” Good roared into the transmitter.

“Isn’t that good news?” Finkin gave a low whistle. “At their climb rate, they won’t catch the bomber easily. We can eliminate a few of them in the meantime, reduce the pressure on Her Highness’s position.”

The logic was sound. The unease in Good’s stomach didn’t care.

“Another group incoming!” a squadron mate warned. “Head for the clouds. Above four thousand meters Devilbeasts can barely move their wings. We work through their vanguard layer by layer.”

“Good call!”

“I’m on my way up!”

More than ten biplanes nosed upward and climbed.

Good didn’t follow.

He adjusted his transmitter to the squadron channel and spoke only to Finkin. “Stay with me. Down here.”

“What? Down here? If they abandon the search, we’re the first ones they hit!” His old partner’s protest was immediate. “And we’re letting the rest collect all the credit while we sit and watch.”

“That’s not what matters.” Good kept his eyes on the field. “Think it through. If they can guess a bomber exists, can they not figure out — within minutes of the first strike — that the attack came from something dropped from altitude?”

“No way. The demons don’t know about the Glory of the Sun project. They didn’t detect our approach in advance. How could they piece together that much in the time since the first bomb hit?”

“I can’t be certain. But the Deity of Gods moving toward the smoke column doesn’t look like coincidence to me.” His voice dropped into something almost private. “When something produces an explosion, the sensible reaction is to move away from the resulting dust cloud. Why head deliberately toward it? If it’s deliberate — if that decision came from someone who understood what the bomb does — then the period when the second bomb is falling is the last moment they have any chance to stop it.”

A pause.

“All right.” Finkin sighed the sigh of a man who knew he had already lost the argument. “I’ll trust you this once. But if we miss out on making our kills, you owe me.”

“A month of Chaos Drinks?”

“No. Introduce me to your younger sister.”

Buzz— The line went dead in a flat cut.

Good looked sideways. Finkin was already turning, flying back toward him.


These bastards — infuriating—

Undeserved controlled his flying magic stone and dodged another barrage. Mask had been explicit: being hit by those small projectiles was equivalent to a direct hammer blow. Magic shields couldn’t sustain it. Even Silent Disaster had suffered under the humans’ firearms, and Undeserved had no intention of learning that lesson firsthand.

In theory, his abilities would have made interfering with the humans’ senses trivial. Even against God’s Stones of Retaliation he could exert some influence. The problem was the Witch.

She had no intention of using magic to win. She flew a blood-red iron bird and refused to enter nine hundred feet of him under any circumstances — struck and was gone before he could close, agile as something that had been designed specifically to irritate him, her aim consistently good. He could neither catch her nor shake her.

For a magic power user to rely on an external instrument instead of her gifts was an affront. More than an affront — it was working.

And she apparently was not alone. God’s Stone bullets came out of the clouds at irregular intervals — clearly another Witch using the same strategy, same deliberate avoidance of the radius where his abilities could touch her. Without the upgrade that made him acutely sensitive to hostile intent, the sneak attacks would have connected by now.

He was supposed to be the pursuer. Instead he was being herded.

All of this because Nassaupelle couldn’t leave the Bogle Beast army under my command. If we’d committed to engaging the iron birds from the beginning, would I be running from a red iron bird?

“Main attacker hiding high in the sky.” He spoke as if he’d seen it with his own eyes.

Undeserved dodged another strike from the Witch and looked up, and went still.

A massive, pitch-black iron bird swept out of the smoke column. Its body was thicker than the largest Bogle Beast. The four propulsion installations on its wings bore no resemblance to any of the ordinary biplane types. Nothing in his experience mapped to it.

This, without question, was the “abnormality” Mask had described.

He actually got it right.

The other Bogle Beasts noticed simultaneously. Following the standing orders, they converged on the new target. The humans attempted to intercept them, but their numbers were insufficient — they could delay, not prevent. The great iron bird was only a matter of time.

“Fine. You were right.” Undeserved sent the message via sigil. “My troops have found your so-called main force. It will be dealt with shortly.”

Mask’s response carried no relief. “What does it look like? Describe it precisely — now.”

Undeserved’s frown deepened, but he answered flatly: “An even larger iron bird.”

“What’s beneath its belly? Is something hanging from it?”

The Witch struck again.

Will this never end? Once I’ve finished with the large one, your turn comes next. He dodged and finally had a clear angle to look.

“Nothing beneath it. What is it you’re trying to say?”

“Nothing?” Mask repeated. An unusual quality in his voice.

“That’s right,” Undeserved said, impatience sharpening his words. “Nothing there but an open hole.”

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