The War Chronicles of a Little Demon

Set in the Diyu Demons verse

A Saga of Tanya the Evil fic.

By Sunshine Temple

Naturally, I do not own Youjo Senki. So here's the disclaimer:

Saga of Tanya the Evil its characters and settings belong Carlo Zen, Shinobu Shinotsuki, and NUT Co., Ltd.

Previous chapters and other works can be found at my fanfiction website.

fic/

C&C as always is wanted.

Chapter 28: Landfall

The combusting collection of engraved metal plates and fried arcane constructs burst apart unevenly as the fuel and overloaded power systems ripped free, spinning away before exploding.

The forested ground below shot towards me rapidly as my helmet rattled, freezing, moist air whistling shrilly in my ears through the widening cracks. The green sea sharpened with terrible clarity into a multitude of reaching trees, their leafy branches heavy with ice. Desperately, I tried to direct my fall between them, aiming for the clearest crash site I could spy. My battered wings strained to bleed away speed, fighting to force my tumble towards a survivable trajectory.

Technically, it wasn't all bad.

Yes, I had been shot down and was falling not too far from the grounds of the sprawling Obsidian Institute. Yes, my formation had failed to stop the Elenese strike. And, yes, I had left a comet of burning debris in my wake, giving the enemy an obvious trail to follow. But despite all of these admittedly unfortunate developments, I could still feel the reassuring weight of my emergency kit where it hung, strapped to my flight suit. My Zephyr also spun around me, seemingly dismayed by the lack of my suit, but they were alive.

That was at least something.

Hitting the ground in a flurry of curses directed at the Office of Cultural and Strategic Reconnaissance, I immediately forced myself back to my feet to start moving, despite the hot, tingling pain radiating through my body. No sense letting myself be an easy target, after all. My aching wings were limp at my sides, dead weights whose only motion was the slight ruffling of my feathers, as if my Zephyr were trying to cling to me.

After days of being cooped up on one airship after another, after hours spent in the snug confines of a Ritual Plate, and after the final horrible seconds of cacophonous alerts and screaming automated warnings, the forest stillness and the quiet susurration of wind through ice-laden trees was disorienting in its broad, endless calm. Solid ground, or at least ice over mud, felt wrong.

Bits of flaming debris were scattered around me. Most of my once ever-present suit now littered the area, all of the fine arcane engineering and mighty promising power reduced to burning wreckage. Cold rain drizzled onto my battered helmet and shoulders, but though the wet was rapidly wiping the air clean, I could still smell the tang of smoke and the harsh discordant stink of burned metal.

I disconnect my crooked faceplate with its crazed eye-lenses. After slipping the death-mask into my inner flight suit, I took in the improved view. I debated removing the helmet. My Gorgon rig was heavily damaged, not that I could get any real scrying accomplished without any power to feed into the array. But the helmet itself still had some protection, given its internal padding and exterior armor.

The momentary anger, frustration, and loss passed... or at least I forced it all down and focused on my training. All RP Pilots were put through Survival and Evasion courses in preparation for such situations. Never one to be satisfied by accomplishing the minimum, I had opted to take the advanced course and insisted my subordinate pilots likewise train beyond the Legion minimum.

Now, honed by my training and my experience, I knew the objectives of my new mission. They were simple, free of the frippery and ostentation of more formal commands conveyed through official messaging and written instructions.

My goal was reduced to its simplest form: survive. To survive long enough for my Search and Recovery comrades to find me. To survive long enough to return to my V's, to my home in the Legions, and to my family.

Everything else, from evading the enemy or, failing that, to resisting capture by them, to maintaining comms discipline, were all sacrifices burnt upon the altar of that goal. Everything I was and everything I did until I once more sheltered under BlackSky's fell wings would be in service to that goal.

I opened my survival kit, slipped on the holstered sidearm, checked the telltales that the backup comms system and locator beacon hadn't broken, secured it onto my flight suit, did the same with a small compass, and then sealed the kit back up. My earrings were another resource, but I would have to be careful spending their stored arcane capacity.

So far, despite my unplanned landing, Harp's World was pleasant enough, if utterly lacking ambiance. Somehow, the sounds of distant battle did little to aid my appreciation of the snowy landscape stretching all around me. Ambiance or not, I needed to vanish into that tree-haunted hell and get as far away from my crash site as possible, ideally also putting some distance between me and the Institute, where who knew how many Elenese remained, continuing their stubborn last stand despite my comrades' best efforts.

My survival kit had other tools and survival supplies, but they weren't immediately helpful and so could wait. Some could probably wait forever – the micro-fishing kit, for example, I doubted I would ever need – but sometimes forever proved distressingly short. As I took out the compass, I felt like I might have missed something; the pressure from my air spirits was a bit distracting, but it was better to move than standing here gormlessly scratching my tail until the Elenese arrived.

After taking a heading, I concentrated and drew upon the well of hoarded power concealed in my earrings to cast a Veil. Obscuring my movements was, I considered, well worth the smidge of power, and light obligingly bent around me like a mother's arms as I spread my wings wide and beat my way back up into the air and out of the clearing. Thankfully, a Veil that only had to stretch as far as to a single demon moving at a wing's pace was considerably less costly then Veiling a fully-powered suit, but without that suit's emitters it would similarly be much less robust. Keeping low and slow, and with my Zephyr lifting my wings, memories of my survival instructors came unbidden to the fore. I knew Lares would be patiently critical with my woodcraft, and I knew that Reinhild would have that characteristically playful expression as she corrected me. Flying prevented any errant footprints, so easily tracked, from betraying me, but I had to take care to keep my wings from disturbing the ground below me in a manner that would leave a trail for hunters to follow all the same.

VioletBlood was right; my maid was inordinately skillful and a surprisingly good teacher. It was not that I was ignorant in terms of orienteering, but my kitsune's harsh training had been a good preparatory for the advanced course the Legions had me go through back when I was stationed in the capital.

Periodic checks every few minutes kept me on the same heading. Like the vast majority of colonies, Harp's World had a geomagnetic field. After ensuring I was still on course, I would roll over and glance up at the bits of the dark sky I could see through the trees. There were distant explosions, and to the south, the clouds reflected fires and blasts.

Pausing on a branch, I checked the comm device to make sure it was still functional. Transmitting would be a risk, but the boffins assured me that our systems were both functionally unbreakable and undetectable. I had heard those assurances before.

Feeling some odd pressures on my body, I slowly continued on my way uphill, feeling the air shift below my wings as the icy ground below my feet increasingly shifted towards exposed stone. In addition to the fatigue, my progress was further slowed by the cold ache spreading through my wings and my right hip, and by my forestry skills. This last wasn't an unmitigated loss, though; I was trading speed for stealth, taking care to minimize my trail with every single one of Reinhild's tricks. Without the assistance of my suit's systems, I had to put more mental effort into maintaining my Veil while minding my course between the looming evergreen trees. The mental focus was the most exhausting part, though it was also a royal pain to slowly, painstakingly fly under the dense canopy without disturbing so much as a single betraying needle.

Even with all of my effort, I still couldn't rest easy; what I had done so far might be enough to throw off general infantry doing a patrol, but dedicated trackers would still be able to smell me out.

Further up the hill, I could spy some sort of indentation, a rocky alcove that could conceal a cave. A cave would be a mixed blessing. It would offer welcome protection from wind and from the searching eyes of my enemies, but on the other wing, it would keep me from seeing someone sneaking up on me.

But between my aching wings and my growing thirst, the prospect of a short break was… very welcome. Just enough to recover myself and warm up for a while, out of the wind and ice. As I landed on the rocks, my feet wobbled, the heels of my suit transformed by circumstance from a mere bother to an active hindrance, but I easily got my balance. I chalked my quick recovery up to my ballet training, yielding surprisingly practical results once again. Flexing my gloved hands, I exhaled. On the inhale, I smelled blood, the unmistakable stench worryingly intense. There was also the smell of smoke and fire on the wind, but that was more distant.

Cursing, I realized I had forgotten to check myself for wounds.

Upon closer examination, trembling as the survival spike of energy began to seep away, I found that my legs, right hip, and left shoulder had all been lacerated when I was shot down. Adrenaline had masked most of the pain I should have been feeling, though that overdue pain was intensifying with each breath. Thankfully, none of the cuts appeared to be cripplingly deep or presented a risk of bleeding out, but traveling overland with them was out of the question, as was flying over any real distance. Sighing, I took out the medical portion of my survival kit and set to work. As I tried to ignore the sting of the needle and the unpleasant tugging of the sutures, I realized why I had been feeling that odd pressure and why my bleeding was far less catastrophic than could reasonably be expected considering how ground-up my legs and sides were. My Zephyr were trying to help.

The air spirits did not seem to understand what the fluids inside me were, but had nevertheless intuited that they were best being kept inside. After I put away the sealant tube and the remaining clean bandages, I opened one of the sucrose tablets from the survival kit and crushed it. The powder swirled a bit as the spirits explored the offering. Concentrating, I set off a tiny spark, and the powdery cloud combusted in a quick burst that was absorbed by the spirits. Even if the Zephyr's medical help was marginal, they had kept me from leaving a blood trail. That was worthy of thanks; besides, I would be loath to hurt their feelings.

Sipping some water, I retrieved the communications device from my survival kit and plugged its cable into a recessed port in my helmet. There was a chime in my ear as I hit transmit, confirming the connection. "Flight Ops, Flight Ops. This is Diamond Actual," I whispered into the microphone. "I am stable. No enemy contact. I need pickup," I stated, before giving my best estimate of my coordinates.

A rough location would have to do for now. Once the rescue VTOL neared the area, I would signal them, hopefully by simply turning on the beacon, and they could come to take me back to the Tarantula Hawk.

The recovery team could already be on their way, I told myself. Surely my absence has been noticed by now.

Of course, they could be delayed by operational demands. The complex task of evacuating a hundred Legionaries from a combat zone must be well underway by now. There was also that those two Zorya fighters had to be stopped, and taking out the Tarantula Hawk's VTOLs could be a nice consolation prize. With all of that, I was probably a lower priority…

But surely still a priority.

"Diamond Actual, this is Flight Ops," a relieved voice said in my ear.

"Looking forward to pickup," I stated plainly and steeled myself. Just as the smallest spark of hope arose within me; I strangled it in its cradle before it could fail me too.

There were a couple seconds of dead air. "There... may be a bit of a delay, Diamond," the dispatcher admitted reluctantly.

"I see," I replied, tone leaden. Even halfway-expecting something like this, it still hurt.

"The other VTOLs are busy extracting the ground team, and the SAR bird is recovering another downed pilot," the dispatcher explained apologetically. "They've got another stop on the way. Your condition is stable?"

Guilt blossoming in my chest, I exhaled through my nose and checked myself over. "Yes. A few minor injuries, but I can move. I'm... fine waiting my turn." I cursed this spendthrift operation and my own ego. Rescue operations came with a clear priority, and I was not it.

"Diamond Actual," the dispatcher's voice cleared. "Tauria, we are not leaving you behind. I have a Flight vectoring into your position. They'll provide overwatch and if they have to, they'll pull you out themselves."

"Understood. I know from personal experience how hard it is to use an RP to evacuate downed personnel. And that was with far balmier weather," I whispered the lame joke, flicking a bit of the semi-freezing precipitation off my feathers. Me being carried out would be a last option: speed and altitude would be greatly reduced, but at least I still had my inner flight suit that provided some insulation.

"The SAR team isn't going to leave anyone behind," the dispatcher stressed.

"That would ruin the operation's secrecy," I replied, forcing a laugh. While my statement had been more than half gallows humor, it had a core of truth to it. Yes, we had left plenty of BlackSkyvian equipment scattered over the Institute's grounds, but the wreckage of an RP suit was one thing; a live prisoner was an entirely different level of diplomatic incident.

"We can keep talking if it will help, Diamond Actual," the dispatcher offered. "Things have quieted down a bit," she added, her voice suddenly sounding a lot younger.

"Thanks for the offer, and I will call the second if... when anything happens." I exhaled. "But I'm going to find a quiet place to hunker down in and wait for that air support."

"Good luck then, Diamond. Flight Ops, out."

The sudden silence came with a chill breeze that snuck knifelike through the cracks in the surrounding stone, infiltrating my rocky redoubt. My wings curled over my shoulders, and more guilt curdled inside me. I hadn't asked about what had happened to the rest of my Squadron. I hadn't inquired who the wounded pilot ahead of me in the queue was. DarkStar's blood, I didn't even ask if the Tarantula Hawk was okay! That Elenese air strike had been defeated. Right? I took a quick look at the sky, but any remnant of the air battle had moved out of sight or behind the clouds.

I saw nothing, and returned to my cave.

Idly chewing a ration bar from my kit, I tried to focus on my surroundings, but introspection gnawed at me, the unfortunate consequence of being alone with my thoughts. Out here, I felt more alone than I ever had.

When did that change? I wondered. I had been all alone once, and I'd told myself I was content in my solitude. Now that so-called contentment felt so distant I could scarcely remember it. One could even say it was a lifetime ago.

I allowed myself a chuckle at the poor joke, hollow as it was. Anything to hold the grim thoughts at bay.

I resisted calling Flight Ops; they had far more important tasks to busy themselves with than listening to me chatter. I also resisted prayer. DarkStar, even if she had returned to us, would likewise be far too busy to intercede on my behalf. It wasn't like DarkStar was going to ride to my rescue with a battleship at her command.

However, the thing I resisted the most as I curled up in my chink between the rocks was wishing for the waiting to be less boring. I embraced the dullness of being adrift, out in a prematurely snowed-in forest of Harp's World. After all, as a soldier, I knew all too well that excitement would surely come sooner or later, whether I wanted it to or not, and that wishing for it was an enormously foolish thing to do, because my wish could very easily be permanently granted. Bored hands were safe hands. Or, at least, blissfully ignorant.

It was with dread that noted the slowly intensifying scent of burning fuel drifting out of the west on the easterly wind. Even with my kind's natural night vision, it was hard to see through all the trees and precipitation, but I didn't need eyes to hear that something was happening west of my position buried in the hillside. As I strained my ears to hear, the indistinct sounds sharpened into the noises of a vehicle driving over rough terrain.

"Flight Ops. Flight Ops," I whispered into my microphone. "Diamond Actual here. Picking up activity west of my position at about 290 degrees. Unknown distance, possibly a couple miles. About where that Zorya went down. I think it's an Elenese reco-"

Cut off by the soft buzz of an incoming transmission, I activated it.

"Diamond Actual, an Elenese Recovery Team has been spotted."

I managed to bite off my acerbic reply as the dispatcher continued.

"Most of the team are still securing the fighter's crash site, but a vehicle was diverted to where you crashed."

"Numbers?" I asked, keeping my voice steady. The enemy would soon stumble across the scattered debris of my Ritual Plate, and in minutes would realize that there was no body. Then the hunt would be on.

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I could have hunkered down, hidden, and hoped the Elenese troops overlooked me where I crouched in my burrow. That option was a massive gamble, to say the least, and even if they didn't find me in their first sweep, remaining in place was still risky. For one, the extraction team would be forced to fight or sneak their way through the searchers to find me. In the far more likely event that my attempt to hide was unsuccessful, the enemy might overwhelm me, either with their current strength or after they withdrew and called in reinforcements. Stuck as I would be in a hole, I would be unable to retreat, my mobility traded for momentary shelter. That they possessed adequate force to pry me up out of the ground, possibly in pieces, I had no doubt. While we had destroyed most of Elena's heavy equipment, something as simple as a mortar crew or a heavy machine gun team could still ruin my day.

A far better option was to take the initiative and choose the time and place of what was all too likely to be an inescapable engagement. This was not a decision born of some blood-thirsty desire for revenge or delusions of glory. This was the product of doctrine, of logic, and of my ardent desire to maximize my chances of survival.

Thus, it was entirely rational for me to be concealed in the bough of a large deciduous tree, hidden by the bending branches full of ice-laden leaves. Below me, the rough track that led from the crash site of the Zoyra heavy-fighter to where I had gone down wended its way between the trees, a long brown wound in the rich darkness of the leaf litter and glistening white of the snow.

My stomach grumbled, and my body ached as a chill ran through me, my ice-shod perch swaying in the bitter wind. I shut the numbness spreading up from my toes, fingers, and tail away, slamming the door on that corner of my mind, and continued my watch over the empty track. Focusing on the enemy I knew would be coming helped push aside the intrusive thoughts. I had a mission, a target. I could stay on task under the worst pressures; a few moments waiting for an enemy to present themselves was nothing to me, nothing I couldn't master, couldn't control.

After a couple of minutes, a rumbling noise shook the pillars of the still-cold night air.

A truck, dappled dark green and grey with an enclosed, possibly armored, cargo or troop compartment slowly grumbled down the trail, the wheels of its four axles propelling it forward inexorably over the brutal terrain. The vehicle's heavy suspension throbbed and jolted, but ground on nonetheless, carried upon large knobby tires that churned up ice and mud like the great paddles of a steamer thrusting into a river's breast.

Escorting the truck were a half dozen Elenese soldiers, to a woman cold and soaked from the mid-thigh down. Two ranged out to the front, one kept pace at either side paralleling the running boards, and a matched pair trailed at the end of the small procession. As I followed their progress I exhaled slowly, carefully, running through an internal checklist to keep myself centered.

As they approached, I tensed. All it would take was a momentary failure in my Veil, or an overlooked trail, perhaps a scent I had not thought to cover, to betray me. Even a dropped feather could be my undoing. If that cargo hold contained an arcanist capable of sensing my magics, I might already be doomed. Other things could go wrong; perhaps the truck was better protected than it looked and my strength would not be sufficient for the task that lay ahead. Perhaps I would succeed, only for cruel chance to bring down her hand. All of these doubts battered my mind like storm surges, but I wiped them away with methodical assurance, letting the waves bash themselves against the unsympathetic geometry of my mental levees. Hesitation is defeat, after all, and I refused to be swamped.

As I lifted my pistol and sighted down its barrel, my heart slowed, its beat smoothing as the cloying tension slipped away, unimportant now that the moment to act had come. My sidearm pressed back into my hand, the recoil welcomed like an old friend, the trigger unsubstantial below my finger. The gun and the windshield cracked as one. The flash of blood as the driver's uniform blouse acquired a scarlet bib was bright against the dark and the drab.

The truck continued on past, swerving to one side as dead weight heaved at its wheel, and I was already in motion, dropping down out of the tree. Beneath me, a soldier looked up just in time to catch the flash of movement as I plummeted from the boughs. Something about the angle of her blank mask conveyed surprise as I fell upon her with claws out, landing squarely on her back between her wings.

I had no difficulty in reading the Elenese soldier's emotions as I clung to her with legs and tail, sawing through her neck with my left hand and shooting the guard to her left with my pistol.

The blood warmed my hand and my stomach growled as the rich scent filled my nostrils. Ahead of me, a third soldier raised her rifle. I concentrated, and the loose snow and mud whipped up as my Zephyr pounced on her. The unfortunate demon tore at her mask, weapon dropping to the ground as blood poured from her ruptured ears. She followed her rifle to the ground, tumbling to the snow gasping with agony and disorienting vertigo. Her face was a rictus of silent terror, jaws wide as she tried to scream but, lacking the breath, failed as the life-giving air itself turned against her.

The fourth guard suffered a fatal moment of indecision, caught between helping her partner and shooting the little monster clinging to her comrade. Feeling energy flowing into me as the guard below me writhed, her life's blood frothy and scalding on my cold-numbed hands, I waved and with a flick, my other Zephyr sprayed ice over her mask. Her hand twitched up, a choked gasp of agony scratching out from her suddenly frozen face as she fell to the ground.

In the seconds all of this had elapsed, the truck had not remained idle. The guard riding shotgun had climbed over the perforated guard to take control of the wheel just in time to haul the truck away from a crash-course into a shaggy-barked conifer Snarling, I released my oh-so-eager, oh-so-playful air spirits from their targets, directing them to pin the vehicle's doors firmly shut.

The two vanguards chose that unfortunate moment to round the front of the truck and enter the fray. Using the hood for concealment, they began to fire, their rounds slashing holes through the bitter wind blowing past my ears. With remarkably cold pragmatism, they shot through the barely standing woman to whom I clung.

Pain lanced through me as I collapsed to the ground atop the cooling meat. Fighting through the urge to scream my pain and frustration, I aimed my gun towards the two survivors crouched behind the truck and tried to kindle a ward while spurring some of my Zephyr to attack them.

I fired my pistol at the mask of one, and my spirits lunged at the other. Yes, her torso was a larger target, but Elenese body armor was rather good, and while my survival kit's pistol was loaded with cartridges enchanted to penetrate better than standard issue, they were still just pistol rounds. My choice of targets had been correct as the bullets cut through whatever protection her mask gave, and then the small alchemical charges in the tips were detonated by the enchantments activated by the bullet's spin. The damage to her head was so immediately visible that I felt quite certain she would not heal from it.

My target died quicker than her partner, who shook with agony as the spirits ravaged her body. Her spine arched and she started to vomit up blood as my Zephyr made merry hell of her organs. After an interminable fifteen seconds, a disquietingly wet crunch at last heralded their boredom as the Zephyr decided to finally end their fun with an implosive vacuum, crushing her diaphragm and evacuating her lungs, and churned slurry poured out her lips.

If only I had my sword, I absently thought and giggled a bit, blood frothing up through my lips. My body twitched as pain and power twined through my limbs. I was wounded, but I was also feeding, supping upon the fallen and claiming the victor's truest reward. Sadly, it couldn't last forever, and though my stomach still growled, business came first. Taking grenades from the nearest two corpses, I armed them and then lobbed the live ordnance up onto the top of the vehicle. My vision swam with the effort but at my urging, my Zephyr lifted the hatches open just long enough for two of the grenades to get in before slamming them shut again.

The one grenade that got loose bounced back towards me. The cylindrical green Elenese munition loomed large in my vision until it was casually batted away by a giddy air spirit. Then came a series of dull cracks I could feel deep in my chest, metallic clangs as the fragmentation grenades violently reorganized the contents of the Elenese steel coffin, and the sleeting night grew silent once more: no more screaming, no more people trying to call for help.

Coughing a bit more blood, I raided the cooling troops for supplies. The Elenese Model 427B Rifle was a bit long for me but was otherwise a serviceable enough weapon. I found a medical bag in the back of the truck, whose outer container was thankfully robust enough that the contents were undamaged by my grenades, as well as a set of manacles, fetters, straps, and a thick hood. These latter objects I left behind.

I would, after all, have no capacity for the transport of prisoners.

Realizing that, even if this patrol had not managed to call for help before their violent extinguishments, they would nevertheless be expected to check back in. Estimating their check-in schedule, I guess I had just enough time for a quick meal and an even quicker patch-job to mend the worst of my damage. Between my claws and the combat knife in my survival kit, I was able to scrounge off the best of the… field rations from the enemy troops and pack them away in a liberated tarp. Some of the food was already packaged, which made things easier. The fourth guard, whose mask I had iced over, was whimpering as I worked.

Licking my lips and feeling the weight of my knife, I studied the haggard, pale woman who had pulled off her mask and helmet, gasping like a landed fish. Her eyes looked up and were wide and fearful. My stomach gurgled, and blood seeped out of my flight suit. I smiled and slammed the butt of my purloined rifle on her forehead, right between the horns.

She slumped down. With the Elenese rifle over my shoulder, magazines and grenades crammed in my flight suit next to a medical bag, another canteen clipped to my belt, and a bindle of fresh vittles, I went back into the forest.

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It took time for me to make my way back to my hidey-hole. Hungry and cold I certainly was, but not daft enough to leave a blatant trail straight to my door for the enemy to follow. Thus the lengthy detours and other, more preventative, time-sucking measures, made all the more annoying by the heavy and, for lack of a better term wet, load I teetered under. I was thankful that I had used a waterproof tarp to construct my bindle.

Back in my hole and once more alone with my own thoughts, I felt weary and drained as the fatigue crested back over my head. It was easy to second guess my choices, now that the moment of action had passed, especially as I dressed my bullet wound. Medical supplies, training, and the supply of "field rations" helped take the edge away from the spirit of the stairs, and other regrets thankfully. Full bellies smothered regrets. Though, I had only taken the latter because I was injured, so that was that. Before I set to work in earnest, though, I laid out more sweet offerings for my Zephyr, who had most certainly earned their tokens of gratitude today and would likely deserve more before tomorrow's sun set. The minute offerings weren't purely expressions of gratitude, admittedly; I couldn't have my little helpers tiring themselves out, either, not until Harp's World was far below my heels once more.

There were more distant explosions, their reverberations echoing through the stone bones of the crag, and with the wind changing direction, I could smell more of the fires coming off of the Onyx Institute's buildings. It was easy to see this whole mission as a giant waste of material and lives, especially given my precarious position.

Powering up my communicator, I wanted to check in with Flight Ops to give them a status update and maybe talk to someone who could make a decision.

Unfortunately, I got my wish.

"Countess, we are doing everything we can to get you out," Invidia promised. The spy's voice actually sounded sincere, which only deepened my initial instinctive skepticism.

"I realize there are other downed pilots. Ones more injured than I am," I quietly stated as I finished a quick meal. Mouth full, I tried not to cough. At least breathing was getting a bit easier.

"Maybe not given your recent escapade," Invidia chuckled, a bit of her usual cold smarmy cadence returning. "But you are in danger."

"Do tell," I dryly noted.

"That was not the only capture team searching for you. We just had to pull one of Caenis's girls out of a hot LZ."

"Can you give me a location fix?"

"Yes, two trucks three miles north-north east of you, on the logging trail. Another has stopped two miles south-west of you. Hm... it looks like they ran into the little friend you left behind to mind the counter at your impromptu delicatessen. That group has all decided to wait for backup, it seems."

My anxiety spiked at that. Hunkering down was not what I would do if I were the Elenese commander who had found one of my patrols slaughtered save for one trooper. "Or they're coordinating something."

"Likely. We have eyes on them, though." Invidia exhaled, and I could hear the droning of engines in the background. "Countess, help is on the way. We've called in... well... help is coming. Please just hold out, we're going to get you."

Which translated to: don't go attacking more Elenese patrols. "Why the pep talk?" I asked.

Invidia gave a dry chuckle. "Because this mission has been a rush job from beginning to end. Because maybe I don't want a valuable Legion Flier to be wasted when we can do something to help her. Because Elena is-" The CSR officer stopped. "The southern patrol is on the move! DarkStar's Blood! That was a Veil, they're already gone."

Tail going limp, I exhaled. "I suspected as much."

"Countess..." Invidia stated in a vaguely scolding tone that reminded me of the sterner sisters from the orphanage.

There were two distant explosions to my west. They were closer than the previous ones, but much smaller. Each was about the size of a grenade that had been wired to an improvised trip-line. Reinhild was a very capable instructor, and she had shown me how much of the standard pilot's survival kit could be used. For example, a fishing line strong enough for use as animal snares could be employed in many other roles.

However, the real challenge lay in leaving a trail that the enemy would follow, but not one so obvious that they would suspect it was a trap.

"Explosions made a momentary hash of their Veils," Invidia said, all business-like, with only traces of her aloof tone. "One killed, one wounded. Two troopers are pulling the casualty back. That leaves eight left."

"Understood," I said as I took up my purloined rifle and supplies. I would have liked to have taken more grenades, but done was done.

"Prefect, they've regrouped with speed and are pressing forward on a new axis. Institute guards would have just pulled back, even an Elenese Recovery Team would have waited."

"Sightless Specters?" I asked.

Her bitter laugh returned. "Doubt your trap would have worked on their lot, but Sixth River Detachment is looking to even the score."

"Lovely." I slipped forward, away from the rock and into the snow-haunted forest. I could imagine that the Elenese commandos would want to have something to present to their mistresses to lessen the sting of losing the SilverHold, and a BlackSkyvian noble and heroine pilot would do nicely. "ETA on pickup?"

"We are focusing everything we have on getting you out there," the spy promised.

I gritted my teeth. Invidia's words were as empty and useless as ever, worse now that I had no recourse but to rely upon them. Instead of the hard numbers and facts I needed, I was handed nothing but hollow assurances to "trust" the manifestly untrustworthy. After such assurances had gotten me to where I was today, under an alien sun in a dimension not my own, as far from native sod as a demon could be.

Goat-footed, I picked my way down the shingles of the slope and quietly scrambled up a shaggy-barked tree. Between foliage incarcerated in frozen rain and boughs bending under the false winter's cracking strain, the sightlines were utterly abysmal, but... there was a spot where the game trail and the trail I had left bent, right at the foot of a rocky outcrop I had used as a signpost and a ladder back up to my hiding spot. Unslinging my rifle, I let my senses spread as I put the scope's rubberized eyepiece up to my eye and peered out between the glimmering needles; I was far closer to my intended ambush site than I really wanted, but for this to work I had little other option.

Rocks were a natural place to try to lose one's trail. But a couple spots of blood, the kind that may have leaked from an ill-secured bindle or a shot-up flight suit, all but screamed the unsubtle passage of weary feet.

My heart slowed as I saw the blurred forms creep to the edge of the clearing and stop to study the place where the trees halted. Sixth River had good equipment, and their uniform's camouflage blended well with the background.

In truth, it was less that I could see the Elenese hunters and more that I could see the ripples in the wood left by the imperfections in their tradecraft. If I hadn't known they were coming and if I hadn't known where to look, I would have missed them. That was disquieting, as I could only make out a handful of enemy troopers studying the clearing. Were the others behind them? Had they split their forces and sent a group wheeling about to flank me?

My waiting was rewarded when a couple of the Elenese commandos sprinted through the clearing, moving fast and low to minimize their exposure. They knew an enemy pilot was out there, one that had booby trapped her trail.

They would be looking for more trip-lines. Which was why I didn't use any this time. This time I had placed a minute mote of blood to the underside of a couple of thin flat shards of shale and then used each to hold down a couple grenades. I had hoped that the miniscule scent trace would be worth the risk. It was crude work, but among the rocky debris of the field, they were easy to miss.

My air spirits went to the familiar scent and tossed the rocks I had bled on, and the explosives went off. The timing was bad, with only one commando caught in the blast, but that was what the rifle was for. As the grenades detonated, I opened up, sending a couple of rounds flying at every figure I could see and into every gap between the trees I suspected an enemy could crouch in. At least I knew that these bullets could go through Elenese personal armor.

Jumping, I glided over to the next tree, wincing as the wind filled my feathers. Wings still aching, I glided past another trunk before alighting on a bough, then scrambling back down to the litter and winter-stripped undergrowth of the forest floor.

"There's a team to your south," Invidia warned from my earpiece.

Pushing my Veil up, I withdrew. My goal was to avoid being caught between two groups of Elenese commandos. Thankfully, Invidia was not a backseat driver, and she kept her peace as I rucked over snowdrifts and past beds of frost-blackened ferns.

Pausing to catch my breath and reorient myself, I popped open one of my looted canteens. I nearly retched as the contents hit my lips – instead of water, it was filled with a thick astringent liquor. Well, I thought, that explained a few things about that patrol and gave me a ready supply of disinfectant to boot.

My heartbeat slowed as I settled in between the forks of a tree and drew energy from my earrings. Between my Zephyr, my magic talents, and my innate demonic abilities, I had another ambush in me. It was the combat afterward that I was less sure of my odds.

"The western group has taken care of their wounded, and they're now moving with the other group," Invidia stated, passing on an update with all the passion of a weather service prognosticator passing on next Saturni's forecast. "Scrying is vague, but I think the western one will pass by your right."

Frowning, I quietly checked my rifle and swapped out a fresh magazine. Invidia's scrying intake was getting better, which either meant that she had detached an Occultia to watch over me, or more mundane aerial assets were right over my head.

"ETA on that air support?" I asked, my voice a bare whisper as I focused on my spell.

The spy's response was cut off by the Elenese commandos opening fire.

Aiming down the sights, I returned fire. After a few bursts at likely blurs, I took my right hand off the grip and, with a focus of will and power, released a brilliant blue stream of fire that banished the darkness with a roar and, with the help of my spirits, arced through the forest, sublimating ice straight into billowing clouds of thick steam. The staccato thumps of my Elenese rifle punching supersonic holes in the air combined with the howling, luminous azure flames of my magic worked to create a true spectacle of fury in the dim woods. I didn't recall my flames having a silvery kind of glow before, but I didn't have time to think about that now. Besides, it could just be my infernal flames refracting on the hissing clouds of roiling vapor. In the chaos of the forest, who was I to draw conclusions?

Retreating, I continued to lay down as much suppressive fire as I could to keep the enemy hunkered down. I nearly managed to reach the next fallback position I'd identified, itself little more than a natural hollow indenting the ground behind a ridge of stone and dirt.

Pain exploded through my side and head as something detonated only a wingspan behind me. It was that distance, and that I was still wearing the remnants of my helmet, that saved my life. Tumbling to the ground, I could feel, more than hear, Elenese rifle grenades going off and distantly... Invidia screaming something into my ear.

The Elenese fire intensified, but instead of riddling my body with bullets, they seemed to be firing at something else. Then the screaming started, and the whine of familiar rotary cannons. Rolling onto my back, I could see a bit of the dark sky. Through the heavy branches overhead and the blood dribbling into my eye, I could see that the cloud cover had broken. I guess our own boffins had got the SilverHold shut down.

After what felt like an eternity staring into the uncaring alien stars, just letting my aching chest suck in one greedy breath after another, I managed to force my screaming body to flop over and crawl back to my makeshift trench. Grabbing the rifle still slung over my chest, I took aim and saw a group of Elenese troops advancing.

I wiped at my eyes and sniffed. No... the armored forms of the commandos are retreating.

They were moving in good order, but they were less concerned about stumbling into my position than they were about fleeing... whatever was after them. I sighed as I reloaded, wishing I was not alone and feeling a strange familiarity.

Smiling at the chance of getting a good crossfire going, I took aim and started shooting. The Elenese troops reacted with aplomb and, with an instant of deliberation, decided to push through my meager ambush. As their fire increased, I wondered if that third Elenese patrol had managed to join up with them. They had some sort of evocation caster with them as arcs of lightning shot through the forest.

It was then that I was pushed prone by a large hand the size of a dinner-plate. "Please stay down, Countess," a deep voice rumbled as a giant form appeared at my side. The hulking figure was carrying a smoking Minerva rotary cannon.

"Lares?" I asked blearily.

"I can't have my landlady die on my watch. That would get both the bloody baroness and CSR upset at me," the Forest Person rumbled as he opened fire with his cannon. "Besides… getting a new Countess would be far too much trouble." I could barely parse out his words behind the sounds of the spinning cannon.

"Oh... gooood..." I blinked as I shook my head and tried to rise up with my rifle.

"Centurion Nihilus, I have the Prefect. I need a medico and extraction," Lares paused to gingerly push my head back down. "Understood. Countess... brace for close air support."

I had a moment's bleary confusion before a barrage of arcane stars rained down across the forest. I felt the light sear through my eyelids as ground and rocks blew up, tree limbs burst apart, and groups of Elenese soldiers were blown apart under the demonic thunder of House BlackSky. For a moment, the bright blasts sliced through the forest in a devastating wave that was as gone as quickly as it had arrived.

Steam rose up all around us from the flash-melted snow, and a haze of fog, dust, and sparking debris blew up. "Check fire! Fire mission is over!" a cold voice shouted over the small battlefield, and I watched as another Auxilia trooper supported by Legionaries cleared out any enemy survivors. My tail twitched as my ears rang, and I spit out a bit of dirt from my mouth. Shaking the spots from my vision and trying to keep my head up... I knew Legionary Fliers could get close but...

However, my attention refocused on a figure in Legionary armor with a medical bag rushing to my position. She had a familiar stern expression and black feathered wings. Thankfully, I only passed out after Invidia reached me.

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Emergency blanket over my shoulders, I brooded in the back of the Spatha. I really should not complain; the SAR team had done their job admirably, even if they had to fight Elenese commandos to do it. They had been quite brusque with the whole process, utterly lacking in bedside manner as they focused on securing me and falling back to the VTOL as I passed in and out of consciousness.

The only reason Lares hadn't picked me up by the scruff of my neck like an ill-tempered kitten, I had been told, was because Invidia had been too busy patching me up.

Being a capable medico, the spy was busy monitoring me and one of the other pilots she had picked up before retrieving me. An ashen-blonde-haired woman in a shredded Harmonia suit and missing most of a wing leaned on one of the jump seats across from me in the cramped cabin. Sweat beaded her forehead, and her eyes were glassy with analgesics.

To my left was the hulking form of Lares, and across from him another Forest Person and two Legionary Forward Recon scouts. Secured to the decking between our feet was a rubberized body bag carrying the remains of Volantes Centurion IronTalon Cardino. I couldn't help but notice how the bag looked nearly empty.

"It doesn't get easier," Lares tried to sound sympathetic, even though he had to raise his voice over the background noise.

"You lose anyone, um, tonight, that is?" I asked as Invidia handed me a couple of pills from a pale green bottle. I took them without comment.

Lares shook his shaggy head.

Invidia turned her attention back to me and shined a light in my eye before doing a series of invasive feeling checks on my wounds. Thankfully, she was wearing gloves. "I didn't expect you to be a medic," I noted as I rolled my tongue, which felt oddly dry.

Invidia offered me a canteen that had a straw stoppered in the mouth. "Cross-training is standard in CSR," she glanced to my right, where the Ventus Centurion was flying the Spatha from the cockpit controls.

I lacked the energy to glare and simply drank. Based on the fresh battering her armor had taken, she'd had a busy night herself. I wondered if the mission plan involved her supplementing the SAR teams or if she had thrown together a second VTOL and recovery crew when the operation had started to fall apart and had slotted herself in as the team medic.

"We're under escort by a Flight of RP. We just have to get back to the Tarantula Hawk, and you can be with your Vs and I can help the Lady Legate-"

A trilling alarm came out of the cockpit, and we turned to face it.

"Bowels of the Prophet! That's what I get for being optimistic," Invidia swore, then snapped her fingers.

Wordlessly, the VTOL Pilot passed back a display panel that was plugged into the avionics. Giving the display a bare glance, Invidia's black feathered wings sagged, and she tossed it towards me.

"Flight Ops. Flight Ops, this is Spatha Two," the pilot drawled. "Requesting confirmation of enemy contacts."

"Confirm Spatha Two, scouting elements and our Occultia have detected Elenese Fleet assets," the dispatcher's voice was leaden.

Studying the map, I understood her concern. Coming in from the north and already passing Air Station Dola Gorod, the feared enemy quick reaction force was vectoring right in our direction.

"I guess I should feel insulted. They only sent a Serpent destroyer squadron and a single Kotys class cruiser," Invidia dryly said, her tone full of gallows humor.

As it was not their primary service branch, House Elena's air fleet was smaller than our Household Fleet. That meant Elenese-designed airship designs were built around different priorities. Unable to have total numerical parity with House BlackSky, Elena worked to maintain local superiority whenever possible.

Thus, the Serpent class Destroyer carried more munitions and boasted a slightly greater top speed than our equivalent Mace class. The Serpent achieved this via greater displacement, crew, and cost. It was a bit weaker in Ritual Plate coverage with only a light Squadron and, as another cost of that greater cruising speed, a shorter operational endurance. While each Serpent carried eight Thraci heavy Torpedoes, the bulk of its armament were the lighter Pelte anti-air light Torpedo. Between the Vel and Hrodwulf in range and capability, each destroyer had something like a few dozen Peltes. Like its namesake in Elenese culture, the Serpent was more of a protector of the hearth or, specifically, a mobile air-defense, air-denial platform.

"At least they sent the cruiser," I offered. "It's not a capital ship, but the Kotys indicates that they're taking us seriously."

"It's a weak-tailed hybrid design that doesn't know if it wants to carry Torpedoes or Ritual Plate," Invidia snorted, which caused some chuckling amongst the rest of us in the VTOL.

With a smaller fleet, Elena could not afford to have a massive number of airship classes. That would both make construction harder and result in many classes of one or two ships, which would cause all sorts of logistical problems. The Kotys class was something of a blend of the Maul Cruiser and the Mellona Medium carrier, but despite being bigger than both, it sacrificed too much trying to multitask to match either specialty. However, that was cold comfort when it still outclassed the Tarantula Hawk's meager capacity of Ritual Plate and heavy Torpedoes.

"I guess we'll see how good the boffins' Veiling designs really are," Lares grumbled.

Hunching over the display, I could only nod. The six Elenese airships were still a ways off, but they were already launching Ritual Plate. Between nearly half a dozen destroyers and that cruiser, they had roughly a hundred pilots.

"That will buy us time, but a heavy Wing's worth of RP can search a fair bit of sky, especially with their destroyers splitting into pairs for their own search support," Invidia sighed. "And once they find the BlackSkyvian interlopers..."

I knew Quirinus would be leading her forces, and Visha would ably lead my Squadron, but getting just this far into the operation had worked our forces hard, and now there wasn't much left in our tanks to get us clear of this latest complication. Meanwhile, the Elenese RP would be supported by about fifty Thraci Heavy Torpedoes and at least a couple hundred Pelte anti-air light Torpedoes.

"The Lady Legate should withdraw," I stated, idly noting that the engines had gone a bit quieter. The mood in the VTOL got even more somber. Everyone here, even Invidia, had risked their lives to keep pilots from being left behind, and I was suggesting that our mothership should cut and run.

"Obviously. That Elenese destroyer squadron has four times the displacement of our little flotilla. We can't all take four-to-one odds, Countess," Invidia said with a frosty smile.

"It's a bit moot, as they'll run into us far sooner than they'll run into the Tarantula Hawk or our corvettes." I held in a bitter laugh with difficulty; despite it all, even after the events of the last day and night, it wasn't hard to appreciate the cruel joke of it all.

The best our mission planners had managed to scrounge up for "big guns" to support the Tarantula Hawk were a pair of Kolibri class Corvettes, which the Elenese Destroyers easily out-massed and out-numbered. That was nothing to say about our pitiful Venture class scout that was likely doing its best impression of an unimportant cloud under full Veil somewhere and hoping no one noticed and turned it into an all-too-real one. The Tarantula Hawk had a handful of Hruting heavy Torpedoes, but nowhere near enough to handle the enemy fleet that had just arrived. At the very least, she could make the enemy sweat before House Elena finally struck her from the sky.

"We can either try to dash out and get to the Tarantula Hawk and hope we can teleport out, or throttle everything down pretend we're a hole in the sky and hope the Elenese miss us, or..." Glancing at her watch, Invidia's posture seemed to slump some imperceptible degree. "Or we can pray."

"We could ditch," the ashen Harmonia pilot offered. "Put down somewhere before we get shot down, take what supplies we can, scuttle the rest, make for the Free City of Keli, and from there find passage off-world."

I studied her face. I was sure she was part of the Second Flight of Caenis's First Squadron, but that I could not place a name to her face worried me more than her suggestion.

"That is... possible." Invidia allowed with a vague nod. "Some of us even have covert training, others may have a bit more trouble keeping a low profile," she said, glancing over at the two Forest People... and me.

I decided to ignore the iron scent of barely-cold Elenese blood still staining my uniform.

Instead of responding to the slight, I found my gaze drawn back to the display and the inexorable advance of the Elenese ships. Running ahead were dozens of Ritual Plate, flying in an intricate search pattern.

"Composition?" Invidia asked. She gave her watch a look and seemed disgusted with the time.

"Estimates from our sources but... mostly Perun strike suits with Marzanna air superiority protecting them, and a handful of what are probably Mokosh recon suits," I sighed.

"The most dangerous of the lot," Lares grunted.

I gave a dull nod. Those reconnaissance Ritual Plate suits would be collating and sifting all the data being collected and the active searches of the rest of the Elenese RP Wing. They were the ones who were going to find us, the Tarantula Hawk, and the rest of our formation.

Shoulders hunched, I bent my head and could only hope that Visha, VioletBlood, the rest of my Squadron, and everyone else would be able to escape. I would beseech DarkStar to give the Tarantula Hawk enough time to cycle its teleport runes if I thought that would make a difference.

I clasped my hands and waited. We had gotten close; the SilverHold was no longer in Elenese hands, but it wasn't enough.

"DarkStar preserve us in the perilous skies," I said, words slipping through my lips unbidden. They would do no good here, but the familiarity gave me some small comfort in this dark hour. At best, I could hope they would do the same for the others. "May you embrace us with your protection and keep us safe from all dangers. Bless us and enable us to do our duty. DarkStar give us the grace to return safely to our homes."

"HFV Tamora has activated a beacon!" our VTOL Pilot exclaimed.

Opening my eyes, I saw the blip flashing on the map. The tiny Venture Scout was to our east and a bit to the south of us. Still, over a hundred miles away, were they drawing enemy attention? Maybe the crew had volunteered to serve as a distraction, to allow the rest of us to escape.

If so, a simple glance at the map told me it was a forlorn hope. At best, they would serve as a nice appetizer for the Elenese fleet before they moved to hunting the rest of us down as the main course.

I uttered another brief prayer for those doomed souls, out of respect for their mad bravery, if nothing else.

Then the sky trembled.

A flash of purple, like a second violet sun, burst forth in the dim pre-morning air. Secondary starbursts popped around it, glittering like amethysts from the radiant mana bursting out with their sudden emergence back into reality. For a moment, the Harp's World held its breath as thirteen hundred feet of twin hulled majesty settled into the skies between us and the Elenese formation, escorted by four sleek pilot fish and at least as many tiny scout ships. Emblazoned upon its flank was the gleaming sigil of DarkStar herself.

"The HFV DarkStar is now on station." A clear, commanding voice rang out over the Open Channel in Thokavian and Silvan Latin. Her voice was elegant and composed, yet thinly veiled over a core of tempered violence, like a luxurious sheath hiding a silvered blade. "To all parties, I find my fangs quite hungry on this dark morning. To anyone who would like to sate them, please, I invite you to fire the first shot. I promise you, a mere trinket won't be the only thing House Elena loses tonight.

"To anyone who would like to live to see the dawn, however, hold your fire."

Three times the displacement of the Tarantula Hawk, the DarkStar was a Kanabo class Battlecruiser. Carrying over a hundred Heavy Torpedoes, hundreds of Light Torpedoes, and capital ship grade wards, it was one of the Household Fleet's "big sticks".

The HVF DarkStar alone had more tonnage than the entire Elenese formation. It additionally carried a squadron of Torpedo Bombers and supported by its own escorts of two destroyers, two light carriers, and a handful of tiny scouts. Respectable warships in their own right, they were utterly dwarfed by the Battlecruiser's immense tonnage.

Everyone in the compartment laughed with palatable relief and gave me broad grins while Lares slapped me on the shoulder. "Prayed for a miracle, eh?" he laughed.

Even Invida gave me a smug smile.

"BlackSkyvian ship you are in restricted airspace," the Elenese commander replied over the Open Channel in prim Silvan Latin.

"Yes, we are," the HVF DarkStar agreed casually, as if discussing lunch options at a cafe. "And unless you are volunteering to sacrifice yourselves on DarkStar's altar, then I suggest you be somewhere else."

I eyed Invidia. Her composure had slid back into place, and she gave me a smug smile. This must have been the extra support Invidia was talking about earlier. A battlecruiser Singularium was quite the asset to have in one's back pocket, something to pull out when there was no other choice, when plausible deniability was no longer an option. It was just a coincidence that the DarkStar was the ship available for this operation. No wonder she was so edgy about the timing. This whole operation had been cut far, far too close.

"One of the DarkStar's RP Squadrons is adding to our escort," our Spatha pilot said with palatable relief in her voice. "We're lucky they appeared right over us."

Invidia's thin smile grew a few fangs wider.

"That Elenese commander might still make a go. Taking out our most infamously-named battlecruiser would be quite the jewel to her mask," I cautioned.

"True… but first she'd have to go through the trouble of actually fighting our most infamously-named battlecruiser," Invidia countered. "One carrying our latest generation of Torpedo Bombers, not to mention all your Legionary Flier friends will be the ones with a capital ship providing fire-support."

My eyes went to the map on the display in my lap. The Elenese had not pulled back, but they were not advancing. Meanwhile, the DarkStar had deployed her RP Squadrons, eight Torpedo bombers, and her escorts had fanned out.

From personal experience, I knew some Elenese officers were capable of seeing reason, of backing down, but Emilia Armin was merely a Pukovnik in charge of a Vanguard Strike unit.

Tonight proved that House Elena would risk multiple strike packages of aircraft and RP on a risky attempt to destroy an enemy airship. However... a cruiser and a destroyer squadron were a far greater cost to their House. That cruiser skipper would be weighing the loss of an irreplaceable artifact and a ravaged research base versus a facing battlecruiser three times her displacement. Would she be dispassionate and logical in weighing the costs? Or would she be motivated by honor and revenge? Had any of her friends or family been killed tonight?

Strike formations obliquely lined up, including the Manta Ray Bombers who could slash across the sky at a speed that most Ritual Plate would not be able to match. They would take out the destroyers on the wings of the Elenese formation.

Meanwhile, the Kotys class cruiser and the Serpents near it would be pounded by dozens of Torpedoes launched by the DarkStar herself. It would come down to a brutal match of who had more defensive missiles to block and intercept and more offensive ship-killer missiles. Outclassed but not catastrophically so, the Elenese formation would take heavy losses, but they could focus on a single target.

An aggressive skipper, one who fought for glory and would charge in to rectify the honor of her House, might just take the gamble.

However... I thought, wrestling a mix of optimism, paranoia, and hard won logic. However, a commander who was trained in a House that saw war as a calculation, was part of an air service that had limited resources, and would only risk them to get a tangible result of strategic value would know that we had nearly two dozen Kanabo class battlecruisers.

My shoulders relaxed as the Elenese airships changed their heading and started to move to the north. Their Ritual Plate elements pulled back to cover their retreat. The DarkStar kept its position and slowly tracked as if to lay claim to all that lay before it before slowly pulling to the south.

"Thank the Hallowed Lady for sensible enemies," Invidia stated as she leaned her head back on the wall of the compartment. Instead of falling asleep, she continued to watch me and the Harmonia pilot. I suppose it was good that she took her medico training seriously.

End Chapter 28

At least Tauria got rescued! And her prayers were answered. That's good right?

Thanks to Ahuva, DCG , ellfangor8 , Green Sea, Larc , Readhead, metaldragon868 , and ScarletFox for checking and editing this chapter. They all put in extra work to go through this and make the chapter so much better.

I'd like to wish everyone a Happy Holidays and wish you all well this time of year. I would also like to thank everyone who has read, commented, and helped with this story. I'm still amazed at all the support and interest this crazy story has gotten over the last couple years. Thank you all for being here on this and I wish you the best. I think you'll enjoy some of the upcoming plotlines for Tauria, her Vs, and everyone else.

Chapter 30 stands at nearly 8k words. I've also got some more art that I'll be posting in a couple days. And there's another map in the works. This one that's a... larger scale than the map of the continent of Diyu.