"Hoag Netzach. Keon Geutol, Keon Ejrod!
"Hail Netzach, Lord of the Divine, Lord of the Earth!"
Battle cry of the Royal Aesylian Army.
The realm of Vhaayn
Since the cradle, they'd been told stories of warriors without peer. Divine legend usually revolved around such things as battle, honour, duty, and glory. Things only gained by drenching yourself in the blood of your enemies. But now...no soldier of the Royal army had swung their weapon in anger for a billion and a half years. Even before the calamity, and the end of everything as they knew it, the warrior race had not known conflict for eighteen thousand years. It was a peace, brought by Lord Netzach's mailed fist.
For these Royal guard, they had long itched for action and glory. For their names to be sung alongside Abax, Achael and Zeruel. But this war in which their people were now embroiled, was not living up to expectations.
The two men, one being only just a man, and the other having actually breathed the pure air of Ejrod, sat at the wooden table with great flasks of mead in hand. The tavern was of classic design, wooden walls, thatched roof, shields and furs emblazoned all over the place. It was not real per say, all artificial. Though they felt and looked as if they were real, buildings such as these were not constructed from any tree or rock. All of it was conjured into existence by the Sovereign, when he created this strange place as a safe haven. As was implied by the very meaning of the name "Vhaayn", this was place was far beyond ordinary.
"Tastes like Savy piss." The elder divine grumbled, drinking the mead down nonetheless. He'd take what he could get.
"What was the original like?" The younger inquired, having never known the full strength of Aesylian mead.
"Eh, makes that Taylus wine seem like mildly strong water."
"Seriously? Must have been quite something?"
"It was lad...it was..." The elder's expression darkened, his mind dwelling upon all the other things he'd lost in the calamity. His homeland, his friends, his wife, and his many children. All gone.
"Sorry, sir...didn't mean to remind you-" The younger said sadly, before his superior shook his head.
"It's nothing lad. Besides, we're off duty, no need for any sirs." He dismissed it.
"Yes sir...I mean, of course, Krael." The younger probed nervously.
They continued to drink their alcoholic beverage, whilst a brawl broke out in the corner of the tavern, a chair eventually being thrown. They paid it no mind however, as the urge to fight was in the nature of their people, and refusing it was a nonsensical thing.
"What do you make of our current problem?" Krael leaned back in his seat, flagon empty.
"It won't last. The Vooren have just been lucky so far-" The younger was saying, until the elder cut him off.
"And what if they keep being lucky? Better start praying to Hoer for some help or we're all in trouble..."
"That's a bit defeatist. If it comes to the worst, his Lordship will go down there and smash them into a pulp."
"He's not invincible, lad. The greatest of us all without doubt, I'd follow him into Tsuog and back, but he's been beaten before. Haven't you been told the epic of Netzach?"
"Oh come on, he was taken by surprise! Besides he came back-"
"Because even death couldn't keep him from his love, yes we've all heard that one. His Lordship is mighty beyond imagination, even the false gods fell by his hand. But still...I worry..." Krael sighed a little, falling into deep thought, whilst the younger Divine, Wixal, listened on, enraptured by the man who was already fifty thousand years old when the calamity struck.
"His blade, his butcher, his hunter, and now his maw? What dark sorceries have the Vooren appealed to for salvation?" Krael trailed off, then reassured himself.
"Bah, it won't come to that. And if it does, I'll go through myself..."
"You wouldn't stand a chance though-" Wixal said in surprise.
"No fucking stupid Vooren armour is going to keep me from having some proper alcohol. Or some meat, or actual water...damn them." Krael slammed his fist on the table.
Wixal sighed.
"I understand. Oh gods they're so pathetic...no strength of their own, the animals can't even use their walls of light for Hoer's sake!" he shook his head.
"How did a race that pathetic steal our world...hmm...Firjioks must have been in a joking mood when she crafted them."
"Joking? What are the Gods if not jokers? Hoer himself created the world on a drunken bet!" The elder said boisterously, in an attempt to lighten the mood. Which, due to the younger smiling, was successful.
"I'll have you know, old man, some of my greatest achievements have been accomplished due to alcohol!"
"Such as?"
"Asking his Lordship to serve in his Royal guard."
Both of them laughed at that.
"You madman! You know what his Lordship is like with time wasters!" Krael said, astounded.
"Heads, spikes, and walls..." Wixal nodded.
"How much did you drink to think that was a good idea?"
Wixal couldn't help but smile as he sloshed his mead around in his flagon.
"Taylus wine, my friend. It's stronger than people give it credit for..."
The settlement within that realm was different to the ones that came before. No walls, no fortifications, things that would have had any pre-calamity Divine scratching their head in confusion. Unfortunately, there was simply no necessity for such things. Aside from those things however, it seemed relatively familiar. The standard homes assembled from wood and stone were dotted around three central buildings.
The first, was the Royal council chamber, standing out immensely as a solid slab of marble, obsidian, and brass, where matters of state were discussed and acted upon.
The second, were the barracks, where the Royal guard and ordinary soldiers were billeted and trained. Made up of a hundred great wooden halls, housing a hundred warriors each, this was the centre of law and order in this strange realm, with even the grain store being kept beneath it, so as to maximise desperately needed control over food consumption.
However, the heart of this remnant society, was a large wooden hall, with a great fenced in field attached to it.
This was Sovereign Netzach's hold, his palace. And it was within the practice grounds of this place, a trainee hunter was blasting various wooden bullseyes.
The beam of energy was small, but it did its job. The target was not just struck, it was vaporised, leaving nothing but blackened grass. The little girl giggled to herself, impressed with her own power. Mother had always said she'd make a fine warrior, and thus it was only fitting her tutelage was continued. Standing just behind her, making sure she wouldn't overexert herself, was Heir Tabris, watching the display with some amusement and sadness.
Though she was smaller, though her power was less, Rezel was the spitting image of her mother. Her blue hair being of exactly the same shade, not quite as long but getting there. This was all that remained of Heir Ramiel. His harsh yet caring older sister.
He saw a good deal of her in her daughter, more of the caring side though. Rezel couldn't hurt a fly. Ramiel would blast you through a wall if you did the wrong thing. It was strange how someone with such patience for her prey, had absolutely no time for stupidity. Especially from her own family. Samael was still nursing a blow to his face from that one time he'd drunkenly stumbled into the bathing rooms when...she wasn't decent.
Tabris has been wise enough to not get on anyone's bad side, and he'd absolutely no intention to start anytime soon. Even Arael, probably the most psychotic member of the family, didn't take any issue with him. It was partly due to his youth, partly due to his softness, with a little bit of intelligence mixed in. For it could never be said that Tabris was an unpleasant individual.
I'm too soft for the throne...oh well. I can live without it.
It suited him just fine to live in the shadow of his sibling's marshal prowess. In fact, his hope was to be given a small holding on a mountain side, where he could observe the beautiful scenery from a fine position in his garden, and write about his musings on life and the world in his spare time. He'd already narrowed down his future home to two locations after extensive conversation with his father and the Fist. The lake district and mount Fuji as the Vooren called them, sounded quite pretty.
"...Uncle Tabris?" A small hand tugged his arm.
"Mmm? What is it?" He lowered himself to one knee, so as to not stand over his charge.
"I destroyed all the targets. Was I meant to do that?" Rezel was correct. Every single target on the range had been reduced to ashes whilst he'd daydreamed. Wincing ever so slightly, Tabris forced a smile.
"It's alright. When we reconquer Ejrod, we'll have all the targets we'll ever need."
"Really?" She beamed.
"Of course. You can have some moving ones if you want..." He trailed off, the idea of making his sibling's killers run up and down as Rezel took her vengeance and justice, being most appealing.
"But wood can't move..." She said innocently.
"Maybe when you're older." His conscience swiftly reminded him this girl was six.
"The Gods are unkind to all, regardless of age dear brother." A pompous and slimy voice made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
Arael stalked over to the two, his white cape fluttering in Vhaayn's strange winds. He wore his usual expression, one of barely contained smugness, self superiority, and an insatiable appetite for cruelty.
Rezel's gaze suddenly fixed on the ground, as Tabris deeply inhaled, then exhaled.
"Brother, what brings you here?"
"Am I not allowed to go for a walk? I do other things aside from ripping up blades of grass." Arael chuckled slightly, taking in the cinders that were once wooden targets.
"Trying to emulate your mother? Hmm...I wouldn't recommend it."
"But...she was the Sovereign's hunter-" The girl said nervously.
"And she's dead. Utterly pointlessly I might add." The sheer bluntness of his words, cut into the six year old's soul like nothing else could, provoking the onset of sobs.
He rolled his eyes.
"Oh crying will not bring your mother back, whelp. Just accept that she's dead, in pieces and probably being taken apart by the Vooren as we speak."
"B-b-but if the body isn't buried correctly..." tears streamed down her cheeks with reckless abandon.
"Then her soul wanders Ejrod for all eternity, never able to pass on-"
"Arael, that is enough!" Tabris snarled, putting himself between his charge and elder brother.
"It is merely the truth, dear brother. One should not shy from such things." The twelfth Heir shrugged, sauntering off, a smirk on his face as Rezel's sobbing became music to his demented ears.
Life is misery. Why not take some enjoyment from it?
Her red eyes, so like her mother's, followed the source of her current pain, the arrogance of his posture awakening something within her little soul. Orange lightening flickered around the girl's hand, as her grief turned into a mischievous smile. Before Tabris could stop her, Rezel angled her arm in Arael's direction, and a beam of energy surged forth, striking him in his back and knocking him flat on his face.
Such a blast would utterly incinerate an ordinary person.
However, it was merely a strong push for the Divine Heir. Picking himself up from the ground, his red gaze narrowed as it fixed on the girl, his gauntleted hand curling into a fist. Rezel giggled at this, and even Tabris found himself smirking somewhat. Arael's eye twitched, and his body shook as he considered tearing this brat's mind asunder, before he reigned himself in.
"Keep that pest under control Tabris, I wouldn't want to teach her a lesson-" A sudden flair of orange lightening threw him twenty feet through the air.
A much larger shadow had cast itself over the youngest Heir and his charge.
"You'd be in pieces on the floor before I'd let you do that. She's just having some harmless fun, so grow a sense of humour, brother. Besides, I wouldn't want to see what father would do to you-" Zeruel chuckled as his humiliated brother snarled.
Getting down on one knee, the successor to the Sovereign's throne ruffled the girl's hair.
"Fine marksmanship. But don't go picking fights with people bigger than you." He swiftly gave Tabris a raised eyebrow.
"Watch her more carefully next time."
"Yes, Zeruel...sorry..." Tabris muttered.
"As long as the lesson is understood, there need not be an apology. Now, I believe the kitchens have concocted something pleasant. I'd recommend getting something before Sahaquiel gets there." Zeruel playfully joked, eliciting some laughs.
"Alright. Come on, Rezel." Tabris stretched out a hand which the little girl took.
"Have...have I made uncle Arael angry at you?" She guiltily asked.
"No, not at all. He's just..." The youngest Heir's expression darkened.
"...an awkward person."
Zeruel paced over to his brother, who lay on his back scowling at the sky.
"Were you really considering doing that to a child?" He folded his arms.
No response.
"Mother would be very disappointed in you."
Arael growled a little, before pulling himself off the floor. There had always been something wrong with those red eyes, as if they looked upon the world as nothing more than a fly to have its wings pulled off. But since the morning slaughter, and the death of the one person he'd listen too, his sadism had grown beyond imagination. At first he'd been cruel, now he was evil.
"Very well. I won't go near Ramiel's spawn again..." He said, as his elder brother's eyes narrowed.
"Swear it." Zeruel growled.
Arael sighed.
"On my Mother's, and my sibling's graves, I, Heir Arael, 8th in line to the Royal throne, do solemnly swear to not lay a finger on Heir Rezel. Will that suffice?"
"For now."
The mentally unwell Divine huffed for a moment before storming off back to the hold.
"You are lucky. Where it Rogziel who discovered this, and not I, you would've been torn limb from limb." The successor called after him.
"I care very little for what that vicious oaf thinks." Arael said, disappearing back inside. Zeruel watched him go, his expression becoming mournful.
Rogziel cannot control his wrath...but he is not cruel. And neither were you once...Gods, Yewey wouldn't even recognize you now.
Within the council chamber, a minor Lord shivered as he held a sheet of parchment in front of him, relaying what was written on it to his monarch. What was written, was measurements and estimates relating to the grain supplies. Very worrying measurements and estimates.
"So you are saying...our supplies are in danger?" Netzach boomed from atop his throne.
"Yes, my Lord. This place was never meant to be more than a temporary sanctuary, not a refuge to last seventeen years." The kneeling minor Lord gulped, feeling that red gaze burn him.
"I cannot stress our problem enough. If we are careful, the grain stores will last another three hundred days at most. The ground is simply not fertile enough to grow anything. We have to crush the Vooren, and we have to do it quickly, lest the last of our race starves to death."
"Death by starvation? Not exactly a way I'd wish to meet the Gods again..." The Lord of the Divine massaged his eyebrows.
"Perhaps...you yourself could resolve this matter?" The minor Lord flinched when Netzach raised his hand.
"And deny my Heirs the chance to prove themselves worthy? No...are you Taylus per chance?"
"Yes...my Lord. I was there when you took the capital. I fail to see how this relevant-"
"Ah, I see. Such a lack of understanding for Aesylian battle lust can only come from the uninitiated. Eighteen thousand years of our rule, and we still haven't toughened you up." This elicited a ripple of laughter from the Aesylian Lords in the room.
Uncultured savages...oh the fates are cruel to have us at your mercy... The minor Lord, Caesael, the only remaining member of the subjugated Taylus Imperial family, stamped down his anger.
"Be that as it may, we cannot afford any more delays. Ejrod must be ours again within the next 300 days-" He pressed on.
"I understand this. I understand this very well. That is why Israfel and Isrefael are departing for the old realm shortly." The Lord of Ash dismissed this concern, as Caesael raised an eyebrow.
"My Lord, I was under the impression only one soul could pass through the rift and exist on the other side at a time, lest it collapse completely?"
"You would be correct. But surely you must have heard the story? Of when the two were born, they were so close that their souls were practically one?"
"...I do not question you, your Lordship...but...I presumed that was over exaggerating. Is such a thing truly possible?"
"Yes."
The minor Lord exhaled in acceptance.
"Very well. That is all I have to say." He stood up, and made his way back to his seat.
Netzach drummed his fingers upon his throne's armrest, smiling slightly at his assembled council.
"You all worry over whether or not my children will be successful? You should not indulge such doubts. But, even if by some miracle the worst comes to the worst, then the Knights of NERV shall know terror by my hand. Indeed, the Vooren are fortunate, for so far they have only earned my ire. Gods have mercy upon them if they draw my wrath..."