CH1469 · Rewrite
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Chapter 1469: The Fall of a City

Good would swear to the end of his days that it was the most impossible thing he had ever seen.

A volcano hanging in the air — but this one erupted in every direction at once, not only from the mouth. After the world-shaking detonation, the dome’s top burned in every direction at once, and from points all around the city’s perimeter, hundreds of dark-red lava flows began to pour. He could imagine the interior clearly enough: the heat had transformed the Red Mist into thick flame as oil transforms when ignited, raising the air temperature past the point of swell, finally bursting outward through every crack and cave nearest the surface.

There was nowhere for the demons inside to go. Even chambers reinforced against pressure and assault would become ovens. A thousand degrees Celsius, sealed in Blackstone. They would be cooked.

A scene of hell. And despite everything, despite the creature they were, Good found himself pitying them.

His own situation demanded his attention.

The ten or so kilometers between the center of the Deity of Gods and its outer edge constituted a zone where nothing was safe. The chain reactions showed no sign of abating. Flames fountained tens of meters into the air at irregular intervals — sharp enough to gut a plane on contact — while from above, a different problem was arriving. The initial explosion had thrown stone and burning gelatinous matter into the air, and that matter was beginning to fall. He glanced up. Dense fire-plumes overhead, suppressing the light of dawn, falling in a curtain that covered the whole area above him.

“Are you seeing this?” Finkin’s voice was already halfway to despair.

“Obviously. I still have eyes.”

“The impact radius is insane — we don’t have the time to fly clear before it falls! When those things come down, we’re finished!”

“No…” Static crackle. “…there’s…a place…” More static. “…shelter…”

Manfeld. Distance and interference had smeared his signal, but the meaning came through.

“I agree,” Good replied, “but we need to reach it first.”

“Wait — are you serious?” Finkin’s processing was fast, as always. “With all of that about to land on us, you want to shelter under that?”

The logic was straightforward and the alternatives were worse. After the second explosion, Good could see the Deity of Gods had already listed. Only by a few degrees, barely visible from here, but those few degrees told him everything: the magic power core driving the city’s lift had been damaged. A plummet was only a matter of when. If they could fly beneath the Deity of Gods before the burning rain fell — use the city itself as a ceiling — they would be protected from the eruption above. The risk was the falling city. Any mistake in speed or heading, any failure of control for even a moment, and they would hit the ground or the Blackstone walls. The outcome of that was identical to being struck by the fiery rain.

But it was not a matter of luck.

Good opened the throttle to maximum and drove toward the Deity of Gods’s flank.


On the Seagull, Sylvie watched a city die.

The Red Mist’s violent expansion had not confined itself to the city’s interior — it drove through the sluice gates at the tower’s base in burning columns, enveloping every demon in their path before flowing outward over the surrounding ground like a geyser of fire that spread in seconds, kilometers in every direction.

Then the stone rain began. Fragments — partly melted, wholly burning, some large enough to flatten a building — fell without pattern across the area. The Devilbeasts that had been protecting the city had nowhere to go. The burning sky was more thorough than any weapon Sylvie had ever catalogued.

Farther away, the surrounding demon camp had suffered the eruption’s edge rather than its center. The casualties were severe but not total. The troops who had withdrawn earliest had lost fighters but kept formation. What they could not absorb — what she could see on every face that had a face, in every stance that had a stance — was the sight of the Deity of Gods, which they had regarded as a miracle and a home, turning into a live volcano above them. Several stood motionless in the open, watching the Blackstone tower tilt toward them.

The Deity of Gods had gone entirely passive after two explosions. It dragged two lines of flame, one from each rupture, and sank along its original heading. The pyramid’s base met the ground. The collision triggered a third detonation — structural pressure released as a shockwave — and the compressed air within the city expelled outward in a rolling pulse.

Under the inertia, the floating island continued to slide. Demon camps, supply stations, and the network of scout positions were crushed flat. Friction slowed the mass over the space of a kilometer, leaving a gouge in the earth wide enough to swallow a town, before it stopped.

The eruption had weakened now. Smoke and dust had complicated the scene and taken some heat from the flames. But it did not mean the catastrophe was over. The interior of the Deity of Gods was a boiling furnace, evident from the red glow at every surface crack. The fires and heat would need months to exhaust themselves. Before that day, every demon who had been inside the city had become fuel.

Sylvie had one concern that cut through the rest.

Three Aerial Knights had gone beneath the Deity of Gods.

”…Have you found them?” Tilly’s voice. She had been asking at intervals, maintaining the precision of someone who is keeping themselves from saying the more urgent thing.

“No. Not yet.” Sylvie kept her field of view on the edge of the settling dust. The three planes had entered the gap between the city’s underside and the ground during the slide and the fall; to survive that interval required a level of control that she could not guarantee on their behalf.

If they didn’t appear — that conclusion was not one she would reach before the evidence required it.

“Wait.”

Two dark points. Then a third. They moved like rock fragments thrown by the shockwave, low and fast — but they did not fall. They were finding their angles. They were controlling their directions.

Sylvie amplified her vision until the insignia on the planes’ tails came into focus: three gray Fury of Heaven biplanes, coated in dust that covered their paint and filled their outlines, no longer sleek, no longer clean. But whole.

She tried to say something. Nothing came. Something had lodged in her chest, a sensation without a name, that required a moment before it could be moved past.

She breathed in through her nose.

“Your Highness.” She picked up the sigil. “The three of them are all right.”

“Is that so.” Tilly’s voice had shed its particular quality of control. “I knew it.”

“If you had known, you wouldn’t have kept asking.” Andrea’s voice, dry and certain.

Wendy smiled and shook her head. “Inform everyone to return to the cruiser. We bring the news of our victory back to His Majesty Roland.”

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