From : Brigadier General Hans von Zettour
To : Colonel Eric von Lergen
Subject : Operation Kirchenbrecher
Date : January 5th, 1926
Colonel,
As per our previous exchange, you are authorized to requisition any and all material and personnel required for your foray into Ildoan territory, and ordered to depart immediately.
Rudersdorf and I will deal with the questions and worries of the civilian ministries and the rest of the Imperial government that this incursion into foreign land will undoubtedly raise. If need be, we will go directly to the Kaiser to explain our reasoning. Do not worry : I will take full responsibility for anything you might need to do in order to safeguard the Fatherland's future.
Focus on removing the threat of the Congregation before it is too late. Ignore any and all future orders commanding you to turn back, even if they should appear to come from myself or Rudersdorf : given the enemy's indoctrination abilities and the fact they were able to subvert Doctor Schugel in the middle of an Imperial Army research facility, there is no telling whether or not we are safe from such attempts ourselves.
Although it feels strange to write this given your mission, may God be with you, Colonel. I hope we'll meet again in Berun when this is over.
"Lergen's March remains to this day an exemplar of fast advance through enemy territory. Following the liberation of Bovariastadt, the then-Colonel led a small, elite force (which went down into popular history as Lergen's Column) directly south, toward the heart of the madness that had grown within the Kingdom of Ildoa like a vile tumor.
The March has been compared to Hannibal's own, mostly due to the crossing of the Alps, but Colonel Lergen's invasion of the Ildoan peninsula proved much swifter than that of the ancient general. By using the very opening through the mountains the Ildoan Army had created with their superweapon, the Column was able to enter Ildoa within a day of its departure from Bovariastadt.
Of the Ildoan Army, only the Air Force remained a possible threat to Lergen's Column, as it had seen little action during the Hollow Crusade. At the order of Brigadier General Zettour, the Imperial Air Force deployed as many planes as it could to cover the advance, flying to the very limit of their operational zones from the various air bases located near the border.
This precaution proved mostly unneeded, for with the decapitation of their chain of command the remnants of the Ildoan armed forces floundered, lacking any clear direction. Still, there were a handful of aerial engagements between the two Air Forces, during which the Imperial pilots showed how well they'd learned the lessons paid for in blood on the Western and Northern fronts of the Great War.
Lergen's Column advanced day and night, pausing only to refuel their vehicles from the stores of oil carried in a handful of trucks. Along the roads, the Hünen marched, matching the speed of the motorized vehicles with their tireless, half-mechanical limbs. Nobody knew what the strain of such prolonged union with their mounts would do to the pilots of Projekt H, but it was judged a necessary risk.
Thanks to the column's incredible speed, the March soon overcame the remnants of the Ildoan Army that had gone South after the liberation of Bovariastadt. Left shocked and confused by their indoctrination's lifting, these soldiers were rightly terrified of the sight of the Hünen who had torn through their lines, and either scattered before them or threw down their weapons and surrendered. Of course, the column didn't have either the time or the means to capture them, and instead sped along, much to the soldiers' surprise (as many of them later recorded in their memoirs).
And so, with only moments to spare before the dawn on the final day, Lergen's Column reached its destination …"
Extract from Lergen : The Man, the Myth, the Legend, written by professor Helena Schmidt, published by Berun University Presses, 1954.
"Our brethren in the North have failed. The Crusade had been halted, the Holy Knights butchered by the Imperial beasts, the Saint defeated by the Witch, and the Holy Relic destroyed. Without it to guide them, the soldiers of Ildoa have broken, for Man is weak and requires the hand of God to guide him unto the righteous path.
Now the heretics come with their monsters, to destroy all those who serve Him, that naught may remain to oppose them in their perversion of His will. With all but two of the Holy Knights lost, we cannot hope to bring the whole of Ildoa into His embrace.
Yet we cannot despair, for our duty to the Lord remains. Even now, His Holiness makes preparations for his final martyrdom. After spending his life in service to Him, so too shall his death, which along with that of the remaining Knights shall serve as a holy trinity that'll lay down the foundations of our ultimate victory. Upon these foundations shall be added the strength of the sons and daughters of Ildoa, so that together we may call forth the agent of God which shall purify this land.
Make no mistake : the sacrifices will be great, beyond even the blessed martyrdom of the Patriarch. It wasn't without good reason that the Congregation reserved this option as a last resort, for God is merciful, even unto those who have turned their back to Him. But the heretics' vile deeds have left us with no other choice.
Take comfort in the knowledge that all shall return to Him in time, and be welcomed into His benevolent embrace, free from all pain and struggle."
Memo circulated within the Congregation of Michael, written by Archbishop Baptiste Beauvais, January 4th, 1926.
January 9th, 1926 – Outskirts of Remula, Ildoan Capital
They had made it.
According to Lergen's watch and the almanac one of Division Y's occultists had pulled from who knew where, they had less than an hour left before sunrise. Based on the testimony of the Lunarchs, the sun needed to be visible over the horizon for the Eikon creation ritual to take place. They were hoping the same limitation applied to whatever the Congregation had planned, although they weren't going to take any risk.
The small handful of Ildoan soldiers who had tried to block their entrance had already been disposed of. He would have given the order to take prisoners, but there was no time, and it was rather clear than they had all been indoctrinated anyway. Nothing else explained the fact that they had stood their ground when confronted with Projekt H.
The Hünen were going to have to stay behind. Bringing them into the city would guarantee disaster : they couldn't move through the streets without leaving a trail of destruction that would drive the population to panic, which could slow their advance to a crawl unless they resorted to slaughtering everyone in their way – and Lergen wasn't ready to give that order. He fervently hoped that he never would be.
Ildoan newspapers they'd obtained on their way hadn't contained any word of the crushing defeat of the Army in the north, but word of mouth had inevitably spread. Tens of thousands of Ildoan soldiers had fled south after the battle of Bovariastadt, once their indoctrination had been broken by the Counterfeit Saint's defeat and the tri-core computation orb's destruction.
The Basilica of All Saints was their intended target. According to the Lunarchs, Beauvais had performed the ritual to create Eikons in different buildings across the Holy See, but there was no doubt the Congregation would use the holiest possible location for their work today. And if they didn't, well, the Basilica would still serve as a beachhead into the rest of the Holy See.
He took a deep breath. This was it. He couldn't stop now, of course (it had been too late the moment they had set off from Bovariastadt), but what happened next would either cement his position in the History books … or there would be no History to be recorded at all. Which was a sobering thought, and more than enough to put his doubts to rest. When faced with the prospect of utter annihilation, a lot of things previously unthinkable became all too easy.
"All units," he called out over the radio. "Advance."
January 9th, 1926 – Remula, Ildoan Capital
Once, in another life, Grantz had hoped to visit the Holy See one day. Never, not even in his darkest nightmares, had he thought it would happen like this.
The thought of having to fight his way through throngs of mind-controlled civilians had haunted Grantz on the way here, but to his immense relief (and that of everyone in the task force), the population of Remula hadn't been indoctrinated as that of Bovariastadt had been. The Congregation must have kept its Eikons hidden within the Holy See, revealing them only when the Crusade had been declared, without enough time to subject the millions of inhabitants to their brainwashing effect.
Things would be different in the Holy See itself, though, of that Grantz had no doubt.
Unopposed, and with the civilians running screaming out of their way, the Werwölfe had reached the entrance to the Square of All Saints, whose flagstones had been trodden by the feet of uncounted pilgrims and tourists over the centuries. On the other side, the Basilica loomed, as enormous as it was beautiful under the illumination of the first tentative rays of the sun – but Grantz could hardly enjoy its aesthetics at the moment.
He could feel the pressure from this place. This was Being X's influence at work, just like Zerayah had reported feeling when she had fought in Bovariastadt's cathedral. Grantz might have doubted, might have felt this was the holy ground rejecting his corrupted form, except he had entered other churches since his transformation without issue, and if this really was God's work, then he wouldn't be able to fight through it.
He could feel the part of him that hadn't been born on this world recoil from the pressure, like an animal before a greater predator. It was afraid – no. He wouldn't hide behind such semantics. He was afraid. And so were the other Werwölfe around him : already their advance was faltering, and they hadn't even faced any real resistance yet.
Unbidden, the thought of all that he fought for rose in Grantz's mind. He thought of his family, whom he'd promised to meet again once the war was over. He thought of his friends, those who yet lived and those who had died. He thought of the Nazzadi children he had watched play in the courtyard of Castle Schwartzstein, safe and happy for the first time in their lives.
He thought of a young girl's smile that shone like the sun when she looked at him, not seeing the monster he sometimes feared he'd become but the hero she thought him to be.
The Congregation of Michael threatened all this with destruction. The Major had said so, and Grantz believed her.
So what if he was afraid ? So what if they faced the power of an entity that might as well be a god ? He was Imperial. He was Division Y. He was Werewolf. He had killed men and monsters, and ventured to the very edge of death, only to be dragged back by an officer who had been dangerous long before her eyes had started to gleam with cosmic light.
If a god threatened the Fatherland, then he would be the death of gods.
Warren Grantz howled, an inhuman sound that shattered windows and made men and women cry out in fear, and charged into the Square of All Saints – and the rest of Division Y's warriors followed in his wake, drawing strength from the mystical bond that linked the children of Projekt W together. Their feet tore through the flagstones of the Square, leaving footprints that belonged to no natural creature.
At last, the Battle of the Holy See had begun.
The gates of the Basilica opened, and its defenders marched out. These were the Waldstatten Praetorians, who had been oath-bound to the protection of His Holiness for centuries. Grantz remembered the briefing they had received, cramped around the radio in the back of racing truck and listening to Colonel Lergen speaking from his command vehicle. Once, the Praetorians had been a force to be reckoned with, but those days were long gone. Since Ildoa had been unified and the Holy See forced to abandon its claim over Remula and its surroundings, they had become little more than a parade unit, their dwindling numbers tasked only with ceremonial duties.
But now they stood against the Werwölfe without any hint of fear in their gaze. Which, no matter one's courage, should be impossible. Grantz had enough self-awareness to know that very few humans could stand against the warriors of Projekt W at all, let alone without fear. There was only one possible cause for the Waldstatten Praetorians' behavior : they were all indoctrinated.
Not that it mattered. Indoctrinated or not, well-trained or not, there were still only about a hundred of them in sight, armed with halberds and wearing full suits of plate that had no place on a modern battlefield. Against over four scores of Werwölfe of varying types, they didn't stand a chance. The entire Rhine front had been turned with less than a quarter of that number, and though they lacked the support of the Untoten (who had exhausted their stocks of mage blood in the battle of Bovariastadt), it shouldn't make much of a difference against what part of Grantz couldn't help but think of as mere mortals.
Which only made him more uneasy, because only a fool underestimated the enemy, especially when said enemy had proven capable of removing mountains if they stood in its way.
His claws tore through the soldier's armor with ease – and were stopped by the smooth, alabaster skin beneath. He had ripped through the plating of Francois tanks with his claws, yet the Praetorian's naked flesh was proof against them.
Enhanced soldiers, he realized, moments before an armored fist rammed into his side and sent him flying head over heels. The Congregation hadn't limited its experimentation to mages, it seemed. Still, the Werwölfe had been trained by Tanya Degurechaff, and they didn't slow down their charge. Within seconds, the entire line of Praetorians was engaged.
Soon, it became clear that whoever had transformed the Praetorians had been learning as they worked.
And all that time, they fought in perfect, eerie silence. Not a single scream or battle cry, while the Werwölfe howled and shouted, their blood quickened by the frenzy of battle.
Nearby, a Mirage ripped a Praetorian's helmet off, revealing a completely blank head of the same white material, with no trace of eyes, nose or mouth – not the head of a man, but that of a mannequin in a clothing store.
Then there was fire, hot enough to melt the strange not-flesh of the Praetorian Grantz had been battling. A humanoid shape of black ash and blazing fire stood there, having just punched the enemy apart. Grantz recognized him as Markus, currently the only instance of the Efreet-type in Projekt W. Behind him came the hulking shape of Frank, the Nightmare-type Werwolf, bombarding the Praetorians with a stream of scarlet projectiles that didn't quite resemble the mana projectiles Grantz had once fired as an aerial mage.
"Push forward," growled the Efreet as he turned another Praetorian to ash. His voice was as if a forest fire could speak. "We will hold them here."
With a quick pulse of approval, Grantz leapt across the battle line, followed by half of the Werwölfe as they disengaged from the Praetorians.
They rushed through the antechamber, and reached the vast inner chamber of the Basilica. It was occupied by dozens of kneeling men and women, each wearing the uniform of an Ildoan aerial mage. Yet they looked nothing like the aerial mages Grantz had once been part of : they were skeletally thin, all vitality drained from them. Half of them were already dead, but they were still smiling, the same unnerving grin of rapturous ecstasy on the face of every corpse that those still living displayed.
The air was crackling with latent power, drained from the poor wretches that had been the elite of Ildoa's military forces until recently. The weight of the spiritual pressure was also far higher than it'd been outside, to the point every movement other than running outside with all his speed was taking a considerable effort of will.
At the other side of the room was the grand altar, from where the Patriarch of the Holy See himself had led mass and performed benedictions for centuries. A man in priestly robes stood behind that altar, holding an ornate staff high above his head. Grantz recognized that man, and the sight of him filled him with cold fury. Baptiste Beauvais, the archbishop of Parisee. Creator of the Eikons, and puppet of Being X.
Also, one this operation's target, with orders to kill on sight with extreme prejudice.
Grantz and a few other Werwölfe fired at the Archbishop with their ranged abilities, only for them to be stopped by a shimmering sphere of golden light. A magic shield of some kind, Grantz recognized. But those shouldn't work in melee.
Grantz charged, ignoring the immobile Ildoan mages as he trampled over them without eliciting the slightest reaction on their part. He ran, faster than he ever had before, driven by the utter certainty that they had to kill Beauvais right now. The other Werwölfe shared his certitude, and they shrieked as one as they charged, pushing themselves beyond the furthest limits of their Mythos-forged bodies …
… but in the end, it wasn't enough.
"Arise, oh Champion of the Heavens, oh Envoy of God, oh Lord of War," Grantz heard Beauvais say, just as he leapt over the altar, claws at the ready. "Arise, Michael, and smite the unholy !"
There was a flash of golden light –
A sense of something moving-arriving-descending –
A deep, shuddering breath taken through too many mouths –
And then Grantz's inhuman instincts were screaming at him, warning him of danger danger DANGER -
January 9th, 1926 – The Holy See, Square of All Saints
As he walked through the broken barricades of the Holy See and into the Square of All Saints, Colonel Lergen idly asked himself what the hell he was doing here. But he knew the answer : while there would be no need for a Colonel to go so close to the frontline in a conventional engagement, this was anything but. He needed to see what was happening with his own eyes in order to make the best judgment call he could, and if that meant risking his own skin, well, that was part of the oaths he'd sworn.
Suddenly, he felt a shift in the air, and some antediluvian instinct told him that something was very, very wrong. His blood ran cold, and he stopped dead in his tracks, along with all of his escort, who glanced around nervously, holding their weapons tight.
There was a noise like a moan of pain, but impossibly loud. Then, ahead of the group, the Basilica of All Saints cracked like an egg shell, and a vast creature emerged from it in a grotesque parody of birth.
It was …
Monstrous.
Lergen's mind rebelled at the sight, refusing to grasp the full horror of its form lest it shatter to pieces. Instead, he only caught glimpses, fragments of the greater whole. Its skin smooth like marble and white like bone. It had hundreds of eyes, each and every one of which blazed with golden radiance. It had wings, so many wings, and arms, so many arms, and mouths – so many mouths, all of them open and singing.
Though the Imperial Colonel couldn't have explained how, he knew with utter certainty that this thing was incomplete. Unfinished. Prematurely awakened, like a child cut from their mother's womb before their time. Their desperate race across Ildoa hadn't been for nothing, it seemed. Now all that remained was to see whether it would make enough difference to save Europa.
It had to be a Class Eight entity, perhaps even a Class Nine, although Lergen was fervently hoping its incomplete state was a sign that they had been in time to interrupt the ritual and prevent it from manifesting its full strength.
He could see the shapes of Werwölfe clinging to the monster, looking hilariously small in comparison, trying to hurt it and doing no more harm than ants biting a man's ankles. Others had been scattered by the creature's appearance, and others still simply laid where they had fallen, having succumbed to injuries even their unearthly regeneration couldn't save them from.
The monster roared and slammed down with some of its arms, crushing a handful of Werwölfe and shaking the ground in the process. Such was the strength of the blow that, despite standing over a hundred meters away from the impact, Lergen and his escort lost their footing as the Square's pavement shattered. Shaking off the broken remnants of the Basilica, the horrible beast started to advance through the Square, toward the entrance and the city beyond.
Lergen stood directly in its path, but in that moment, it wasn't fear for himself he felt, but utter terror at the thought of the city behind him being exposed to this eldritch horror -
And then Captain Weiss was here, flying through the skies like a blazing meteor that slammed into the monstrosity, eliciting a many-mouthed roar of rage and what Lergen hoped was pain as it was stopped in its tracks. The aerial mage had been kept in reserve, standing in the center of the Correspondence ritual, ready to take to the air immediately. The occultists must have seen the creature appear (they could hardly have missed it) and sent him without waiting for Lergen's order on the radio. Good, he would've had their hides if they'd waited for instructions in this situation.
The two beings clashed, and the Holy See quaked with the echoing power. Buildings that had stood for centuries crumbled, crushing those left inside to bloody paste and destroying ancient, priceless works of art at the same time. In the distance, Lergen heard the sound of uncountable screams of terror, as the people of Remula bore witness to the monster that had risen from the sacred place at their city's heart.
Weiss was doing his best, but it soon became obvious that it wasn't going to be enough. In the end, no matter how strong the Imperial mage was, he was still just one man, and while the Ritual of Correspondence lent him the strength of twenty more, the monster had been created from the mage corps of an entire nation – or at least Lergen assumed so.
They had to kill it now. Even as it fought against Weiss, Lergen could feel its influence pushing on his sanity, could hear the distant chorus of praising voices demanding that he join them in endless worship. This, he knew, was the indoctrination effect starting to take hold, seeking to turn him into another pawn of Being X. Perhaps his exposure to Degurechaff's gaze was providing him some protection; far more likely, the abomination was too busy fighting to deploy its influence to the fullest, or perhaps the fact they'd been able to interrupt its creation had left it weakened.
Regardless, if it didn't die here and now, there would be nothing to stop it from brainwashing the entire population of Remula. Millions of civilians, enslaved to the will of Being X – and that would be only the start. With Degurechaff stuck recovering from her confrontation with the Counterfeit Saint, all of Ildoa would fall under its influence. The mundane armies of the Empire would either be annihilated or subjugated, and with the fall of Division Y, the Reich would follow.
The thought of his homeland reduced to a land of thralls, mindlessly praying to a false god, filled Lergen with horror and fury both, and he drew strength from the heady mix of emotions. There had to be a way to avoid this. He wouldn't accept otherwise, would keep looking for it until his dying breath.
He forced himself to stand, ignoring the pain from half a dozen cuts and more bruises than he cared to count. As he did so, Sergeant Barchet and his squad formed up around him, their arcane rifles at the ready.
"Look, sir, over there !" called out one of the troopers.
Lergen followed his gesture. A figure was emerging from the ruins of the Basilica, walking on the broken ground as surely as if he were marching down a red carpet thrown to welcome a visiting monarch. The man was burning from the inside with golden fire, consumed by a power that had no place in this reality.
"Behold the vengeful sword of God !" the burning man was bellowing. "Behold Archangel Michael, come down to deliver us from evil ! Repent, heretics ! Repent, and through the flames be purified of your sins !"
Despite the eldritch flames devouring him, enough of his face remained for Lergen to recognize him.
"Archbishop Beauvais !" Lergen called out, and something in him quivered as the figure's burning gaze fell upon him. But he fought on, and kept talking : "Where is the Patriarch ? What have you done with him ?"
It was a question that had haunted the planning of this operation from the start. Although the temporal influence of the Church's supreme leader had been much diminished in the last half-century, the office still held considerable sway over the believers. That he would've been a priority target for indoctrination had never been in question, but Lergen had hoped to take him alive, so that Degurechaff and her people could break Being X's hold onto him. It wouldn't undo the damage to the Empire's image that attacking the Holy See would cause, but it would've helped mitigate it.
The Archbishop's smile was chillingly gentle, almost beatific, and completely at odd with the fact that he was burning alive.
"His Holiness has been blessed beyond measure," he declared, hands raised in worship toward the monstrous Michael-thing. "Through him the Will of God is made manifest ! Through his pious spirit and pure body, the Light of Heaven has descended upon this fallen world !"
… Oh. Well, there went any plan of rescuing the Patriarch from indoctrination to help manage the aftermath of this disaster.
"Sergeant, kill him," he ordered. There was no point in wasting anymore time talking to this lunatic.
Half a dozen beams of coruscating energy converged on the burning priest, only to be blocked by a glowing shield that had suddenly appeared around him. Beauvais' face twisted in contempt, and he gestured with his right hand, unleashing a wave of invisible kinetic energy that sent Lergen and his escort hurling backward, to crash amidst the rubble of the ravaged Square.
Through luck more than skill, Lergen managed to roll with the fall and came to his feet quickly. The corrupted priest's eyes were firmly on him now, and he cast about for anything he could use to save his skin – there. One of the troopers had dropped his M-912, and the rifle's casing had broken with the fall (they were notoriously fragile, Lergen recalled), revealing the glowing crystal within.
Moving on instinct, Lergen grabbed the crystal in his thankfully gloved hand and ran straight at Beauvais. The Archbishop remained immobile, stunned by the audacity of the move. His mouth was beginning to open, no doubt for another round of taunting or preaching, as Lergen reached him and, with all his strength, stabbed him in the head with the crystal's pointy end.
The Colonel felt the improvised weapon pierce through dry skin, then further through bone. It was much easier than he'd expected, as if Beauvais' very skull was being melted by the heat of the power he'd called upon. Before he could push it all the way in, however, his enemy roared in outrage, and new wave of force pushed him back, sending him flying once more.
This time, Lergen's fall wasn't anywhere as gracious, and he heard the crack of his left leg seconds before the pain flared through him, bright and hot. He blinked to banish the spots dancing in his vision, and saw Beauvais stalk toward him, a murderous expression on what was left of his face now that the blue crystal was embedded in his forehead.
Ignoring the pain of his broken leg, Lergen drew his pistol and aimed carefully. He was taking a gamble, hoping that the arcs of blue lightning emanating from the crystal and dancing across the burning man's skin were messing with his ability to use his magical shield somehow. But even if it didn't work, what was he supposed to do ? Not shoot the possessed lunatic ? At least his act of pointless defiance would make him feel better in his final moments, certain he'd done all he could.
Despite the pain, despite the pummelling of his heart, despite the shaking ground, despite the awful sounds of the Michael-thing and the spiritual pressure it emanated, all the hours he had spent at the shooting range paid off. His shot was true, and struck the exposed end of the blue crystal directly. The cerulean stone cracked under the impact, and before the corrupted Archbishop could do or say anything, it detonated.
A sphere of something blue which only vaguely resembled fire engulfed the puppet of Being X. Beauvais had a moment to scream (and Lergen thought he could hear fear in that sound that wasn't only due to the thought of failing his so-called 'God'), then the sphere collapsed in on itself with a sound like the popping of a giant soap bubble, immediately followed by the rush of air filling the empty void that had replaced it. Of Beauvais, there was no trace, and Lergen could only hope that wherever he'd ended up, it wasn't pleasant.
With the Archbishop dealt with, there remained the Michael-thing. If the death of its creator had affected it in any way, Lergen couldn't tell, which wasn't surprising given he couldn't bear to look at it for long and was still unable to fully grasp its existence. For a moment, despair threatened to overwhelm him – then the ground shook, and four horned giants clad in Imperial steel entered the fray.
The four Hünen had arrived, infernal giants come to battle the monstrous angel of a false god.
Lergen shivered to think of the damage they must have done to the city around them as they ran to the rescue, even as he watched in awe as the giants of Division Y engaged the Congregation's malformed titan, which towered over them despite their prodigious height. Vast tentacles erupted from their arms to tear at its eldritch flesh, ripping out wings and limbs in showers of sizzling ichor. The Michael-thing fought back with bursts of golden lightning and blows from its many limbs, but the shields cast by the aerial mages standing on the Hünen's shoulders held fast, though Lergen didn't want to think of the strain they must be feeling.
Still Weiss flew around the abomination, unleashing magical attacks of such potency they could have decimated whole flights of standard mages one after the other. As Lergen crawled through the rubble until a pair of troopers found him and carried him away, the terrible battle went on, and the Colonel knew in his bones that the entire city beyond was watching with baited breath – though surely the civilians of Remula must wonder which of the two sides they should root for, if any at all.
In the end, the Michael-thing fell with an awful, many-mouthed shriek of agony. Its towering body shook the earth as it landed amidst the rubble of the Basilica of All Saints, still twitching with a foul parody of life. As one, the Hünen aimed their immense Projekt M-derived guns and fired, again and again, until nothing was left of the Congregation's ultimate weapon but a pit of broken and blackened stone, and a foul, greasy stench in the air of the Holy See.
Captain Weiss landed next to where Lergen stood, and immediately collapsed to the ground, covered in sweat and breathing heavily. This time, some distant part of Lergen's mind noted, his prosthetic arm hadn't broken from the strain like it had against the Heresiarch.
"Colonel," the mage croaked out. "Mission … accomplished."
Lergen looked around at the desolation of the Holy See, then sighed deeply. They had avoided the worst-case scenario by the skin of their teeth, but now they were stranded in the middle of enemy territory, surrounded by millions of scared and confused civilians, with the oil tanks of their vehicles all but empty. And they had just laid waste to one of the world's most sacred locales, using means that could at best be described as questionable-looking. Amidst the devastation, he could see groups of Werwölfe moving toward him, led by a Phantom-type he was almost sure was Lieutenant Grantz.
The aftermath of this was going to be a nightmare to deal with. They had to explain what had happened if they wanted to avoid a panic, and who knew what other horrors might yet linger in the ruins of the Holy See. But as the ranking officer on the scene, that was his job, not Weiss', who had performed his appointed task exemplarily. So, as the sun rose high above the ruin left by the conflicts of men, Eric von Lergen smoothed his expression and nodded formally at the downed mage, even as occultists rushed to assist them.
"Indeed. Well done, Captain."
January 11th, 1926 – Londinium
The desk between the members of the Round Table was, once again, covered in newspapers clippings, urgent diplomatic communications and even-more-urgent reports of various agents embedded within the Kingdom of Ildoa. All of them spoke of the same thing – the lightning-fast invasion of the Kingdom by the Reich, and the utter devastation of the Holy See that had ensued. Among them was an official letter from the Empire, sent through what few diplomatic channels hadn't been shut by the war.
It contained the official position of the Reich regarding the Battle of Remula (or, as the Albish newspapers were already calling it with typical bombast, Lergen's Heresy). Including a detailed explanation of what they were calling the 'indoctrination process', which somehow was the most chilling part of the whole thing. Which, given the photographs of the ruins of the Holy See that were spread across the headlines, was quite the achievement.
The Imperial force was even now occupying the ruins of the Holy See, forbidding entry while they made sure there wasn't anything dangerous left in the rubble. Not that many of Remula's inhabitants were in any hurry to get close to the area : apparently, the Imperials hadn't had any trouble requisitioning nearby buildings to serve as their headquarters, due to people fleeing from the battle's aftermath.
"There can be no doubt now," said Merlin, eyes aflame with conviction. "Lergen is the Not-Man's latest incarnation ! He has restarted his old campaigns of conquest, and this time, he is winning !""
"Indeed, that Eric von Lergen is more than he appears cannot be denied now," agreed Agravain, his face grave. "Worse, his plan to hide inside the Empire and grow his influence is working. He has just dealt a mortal blow to the Church's ability to affect secular matters for the next decade at the very least. Depending on how things turn out, the entire thing might collapse into rival factions that will make our own disagreement with Remula look like a polite divergence of opinion."
"At the same time, we need to face the fact that the Not-Man's 'Adversary' the Heresiarch mentioned cannot be God," said Agravain. "Admittedly, it's been some time since my last theology lesson, but I'm fairly certain that if that were the case, He would never have allowed Lergen's attack to succeed."
There was an alternative explanation, of course, but the notion that the Imperial Wunderwaffen were powerful enough to defy the will of God was simply too terrifying to contemplate.
"And if He were to act to prevent it, it certainly wouldn't have been by sending a monster that destroyed one of the holiest sites in the world mere moments after its arrival," pointed out Mordred.
Despite the number of people who had seen it, there was no picture of the creature in question. Nobody, not even the reporters of the various Ildoan newspapers based at the Kingdom's capital or the Albish agents stationed there, had been in any state to record its appearance. Based on the descriptions they'd gathered from various sources, perhaps that was for the best.
"The Imperials are claiming that the monster that left the Basilica of All Saints in ruins was summoned by this 'Congregation of Michael'," continued the Allied Kingdom's diplomat.
"Of course they would say that," scoffed the Royal Wizard dismissively. "And yet, the end result of their battle against this monster was the destruction of the Holy See and the death of the Patriarch. How convenient for them, don't you think ?"
"Merlin, we know that Ildoa's army was accompanied by Eikons, and that they had a superweapon that burned a hole through the Alps," snapped Kay. "That much cannot be questioned. Is it really that much of a stretch that, with their army defeated, they would resort to desperate measures ? Measures that, especially with the Imperials interfering, resulted in the manifestation of whatever horror it is that appears to have traumatized half of Remula ?"
For a moment, the old mage seemed as if he would argue the point. Then he appeared to deflate, and collapsed back into his seat, his face showing all of his many years.
"You're right," he admitted. "It makes more sense that way. If there wasn't some threat to his power base left in the Holy See after the Imperial victory at Bovariastadt, Lergen wouldn't have needed to rush through Ildoa like this. This Congregation the Imperials are blaming for everything must have at least existed, and have access to the Elder Magic research of the Republic."
"And more than that," growled Kay. "Mind control, Merlin. An entire nation enslaved by a conspiracy in a few weeks, made to join a war it didn't want. Yes, we are afraid of the Wunderwaffen. Only a fool wouldn't be after all that has happened. But this goes beyond that !"
"You've all read the interviews our spies did with Ildoan soldiers who escaped Bovariastadt. All this time, we assumed that, if our theory about the Not-Man was correct, then those who opposed his various incarnations were the heroes of the tale. And given that the fiends of the Nameless City fed on human flesh, we can be pretty sure the Not-Man is a villain – but what evidence have we seen that his Adversary is any better ? From where I stand, it looks increasingly like this is just another case of History being written by the victors, and both sides being equally vile and anathema to the principles of the modern era. And more pressingly, we've been using magic from that side in order to protect Londinium ! Bloody hell, how do you know we aren't already indoctrinated ?! That we haven't handed the entire Kingdom to some demented, narcissistic fiend masquerading as the Most High ?!"
Kay was dimly aware that he was ranting, but he couldn't help himself. The thought that, instead of a battle between the forces of Good and Evil, the world was caught in a conflict between two equally monstrous ancient magical powers, was horrifying in ways he couldn't (or perhaps didn't dare) put into words.
"According to what we know of the process," said Mordred softly, "if we were indoctrinated, we wouldn't even be able to ask ourselves that question. We would be fully dedicated to the destruction of the Empire, regardless of the cost to our Kingdom. So I think we're safe on that side."
What the spymaster didn't say, but the other two younger members of the Round Table heard all the same, was that this reassuring statement very much didn't include Merlin. The Royal Wizard's duties had required him to spend a lot of time in the presence of the Kemetian relic, and he was the one among them who was taking all of this the worst. The old mage didn't seem as far gone as the poor bastards in Ildoa had been, but perhaps the effect was more subtle in his case due to the source of exposure being far older than whatever had started the Eikon business.
A few furtive glances and nods were exchanged while Merlin looked down at the table. They were all going to keep an eye on the Royal Wizard, just to be safe.
"What about Churbull ?" asked Kay. "How is he taking it all ?"
"He's very happy we were able to cancel our deployment in Francois in time after the Ildoan defeat at Bovariastadt, I can tell you that," replied Mordred. "And not so happy at all about the news of mind control being used on or by the Holy See. The thought that Elder Magic is capable of such things is as disturbing to him as it is to us. He has ordered the folks at our own research labs to drop everything and investigate this in order to figure out a counter, but no one is too optimistic."
"We need more information," said Agravain. "And on that subject, I have just received a message which I believe is pertinent to our discussion."
The sheet of paper the spymaster then produced was passed around the room, each member of the Round Table's eyes widening as they read its contents. Unlike the reports they were used to receiving from Agravain's network, it was short and to the point, hinting that its author had been pressed for time.
"Well," said Kay when he put the letter down. "This certainly changes things. Although it does have the potential to go catastrophically wrong."
"There isn't much we can do about it in any case," said Agravain. "Agents in the Empire are always the ones who reach out to us, not the reverse – much safer that way, although it's far from perfect. I couldn't stop him even if I wanted to."
"Then I guess the only thing we can do about this is to pra-hope for the best," said Kay sombrely.
"Breakthrough in the investigation of Div Y.
Operation in Bovariastadt put together hastily, didn't cover tracks as well as before.
Discovered unusual shipping activities in the south of the Empire, and tracked it back to somewhere called Castle Schwartzstein.
Have made contact with Russy Federation spy following the same lead : the two of us have joined forces for the time being.
Am moving toward Castle Schwartzstein for further investigation; will contact again as soon as possible."
Message from Agent 404, Albish Secret Service, written on January 8th, 1926.
AN : And so the Holy See falls, and the Congregation of Michael with it.
I have noticed something funny while writing this chapter. In the canon Youjo Senki, Lergen leads an attack on Ildoa in the later volumes, which given that he was sent to the kingdom as a negotiator not long before results in him getting a very bad reputation in the country after the war. In A Young Woman's Political Record, the YS fanfic which introduced me to the series, Lergen plans the invasion of Ildoa as Tanya's top general and does end up managing a long and brutal conflict against its post-War dictator.
And now, in this story, Lergen has commanded a raid on the Not!Vatican which resulted in its complete destruction.
This was not planned on my part, and I doubt it was intended on jacobk's either. But clearly, Lergen and Ildoa have some sort of grudge that transcends timelines between them. Maybe he's the reincarnation of a ancient barbarian warlord who fought against the Remulan Empire at the height of its power ? Hell, for maximum irony, perhaps his soul once belonged to Not!Prasutagus, the husband of Not!Boudica, whose story in this timeline went both very similar and very different to the one in our reality. Then again, it's not like there is a shortage of candidates who lived in the territories that belong to the Reich at the time of this story and have a grudge against the old Not!Roman Empire.
Food for thought. I mean, we know reincarnation is real in the YS universe, though I don't think we know for sure whether it's how all souls are managed or if Being X made an exception for the Salaryman.
I did some changes to the Swiss Guard's uniform along with their name. Given that this is a world where magic exists, and I have already introduced the concept of the Inquisition fighting mages in centuries past, the bodyguards of the Pope having different equipment makes sense, I think. And yes, the Patriarch is the Not!Pope. I tried to keep using only His Holiness as a title, but that could only go so far.
The Michael-thing is basically a JRPG boss (probably from near the end of the game). For its aesthetics and that of the transformed Praetorians, I was inspired by the Sin-Eaters from the Shadowbringers' expansion of Final Fantasy XIV. If you want to try and draw fanart of it, please, by all means.
Actually, you know what, screw it. Someone draw this thing, I want to see what my writing made it seem like.
And now, on the horizon lies something that was first suggested months ago : the Return to Castle Not!Wolfenstein. There were plenty of suggestions back when the idea of some foreign badass agent making his way to the heart of Division Y's operations, and I am looking forward to more of them for the next chapter.
Oh, and the Russy Federation is mentioned for the first time in this story. I am sure nothing bad will happen as a result.
Zahariel out.