Aeon Natum Engel (NGE cross-over)

[Prince Charon]

Originally Posted by Vehrec

I don't worship the god from the machine dude. Hell, I mass more and take up more room in my tank as a brain in a jar then I did as a man. Oh, and OIS has me officially classified as an 'enhanced LAI'. It's a fucking joke how they treat a guy here. I never asked to be stripped of my rights and all that jazz. All I did was check the little box that said 'organ donor'.

Hey, at least they allow you to fool around online, so they clearly do acknowledge the human brain's need for recreation.

[Ixenathier]

ok, I know this is bad, but....

ES what are the odds I can get a game of Chess with ANE's Rei? If she actually gets some of this stuff think we could pull it off?

It would be funny....



*Blink*
Ok, now I know that that video broke my mind...

[Chuut-Riit]

Originally Posted by Vehrec

I don't worship the god from the machine dude. Hell, I mass more and take up more room in my tank as a brain in a jar then I did as a man. Oh, and OIS has me officially classified as an 'enhanced LAI'. It's a fucking joke how they treat a guy here. I never asked to be stripped of my rights and all that jazz. All I did was check the little box that said 'organ donor'.

Well, it would seem you're shit out of luck there, pal. You have my sympathy.

[Altasaire]

You never ever ever ever volunteer for something in ANE. Except certain death in some very rare cases.

[Mastigo]

Originally Posted by EarthScorpion
Oh?

And where do you feel that ANE sits on this?

First of all, I don't think I made it clear before but the Gendo Law was already in theorized (on this site I think) and I just attempted to state it concisely and provide the logic of it.

As for your question: I think that this

The mistake that the Deputy Representative made was in assuming that the senior Ikari was not terrified by the ORACLE as well.

rates it at about "OH GOD, OH GOD, WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE ... I hope." with a reply of "the mouths on the tentacles say, 'no'" That puts it at about 9.9/10 on the *^&$%^#@ meter. The only universes above that are those that include automatic eternal suffering, no exceptions ex. the Salvation War, before firepower beat faith.

[Jonen C]

Originally Posted by Altasaire

You never ever ever ever volunteer for something in ANE. Except certain death in some very rare cases.

Actually, I'm pretty sure the rule goes: Never be the First, never be the Last, and never ever Volunteer for anything ever.

... I'd say poor Rei, but then again, I don't think she would be able to comprehend my sympathies. Or if she would, she would most likely (and accurately) claim that I can not possibly sympathize with her, because I can not comprehend her situation sufficiently to form an opinion.

[Mastigo]

Slightly off topic but something just occured to me: for all that SEELE and Gendo are horrible people and such ... we never really see what they were trying to accomplish. Instead we see Third Impact as designed by Shinji and Rei, both of whom badly need those missing psychiatrists. I mean, we all know how messed up Shinji is, and Rei is worse. There is a distinct possiblity that the other goals for instrumentality would have been better, especially since they had time to plan instead of just react.

Of course in ANE the options are: Run Screaming Like A Little Girl, Run Screaming, Run Screaming Loudly, and Run Screaming VERY Loudly.

[Cpl_Facehugger]

Originally Posted by Mastigo

Slightly off topic but something just occured to me: for all that SEELE and Gendo are horrible people and such ... we never really see what they were trying to accomplish. Instead we see Third Impact as designed by Shinji and Rei, both of whom badly need those missing psychiatrists. I mean, we all know how messed up Shinji is, and Rei is worse. There is a distinct possiblity that the other goals for instrumentality would have been better, especially since they had time to plan instead of just react.

Of course in ANE the options are: Run Screaming Like A Little Girl, Run Screaming, Run Screaming Loudly, and Run Screaming VERY Loudly.

I'm wondering if here, Gendo is actually working towards a good end. I mean, I'm sure if he just wanted his wife back, there are lots of oddball rituals he could perform that aren't nearly as difficult as harnessing Alma. In this story, he clearly wants something else. I think he might genuinely be trying to save humanity in his own way. A Gendo Ikari working towards a good end?

Well, as good as you can get in the world of Cthulhutech after Earthscorpion's gotten his claws(?) paws(?) tentacles(?) into it.

[Satori]

Originally Posted by Mastigo

Slightly off topic but something just occured to me: for all that SEELE and Gendo are horrible people and such ... we never really see what they were trying to accomplish. Instead we see Third Impact as designed by Shinji and Rei, both of whom badly need those missing psychiatrists. I mean, we all know how messed up Shinji is, and Rei is worse. There is a distinct possiblity that the other goals for instrumentality would have been better, especially since they had time to plan instead of just react.

Of course in ANE the options are: Run Screaming Like A Little Girl, Run Screaming, Run Screaming Loudly, and Run Screaming VERY Loudly.

You forgot Run Gibbering like a Madman.

[Forgetful]

Originally Posted by Satori

You forgot Run Gibbering like a Madman.

Or Run To Hide In Corner Gibbering.

Originally Posted by Cpl_Facehugger

I'm wondering if here, Gendo is actually working towards a good end. I mean, I'm sure if he just wanted his wife back, there are lots of oddball rituals he could perform that aren't nearly as difficult as harnessing Alma. In this story, he clearly wants something else. I think he might genuinely be trying to save humanity in his own way. A Gendo Ikari working towards a good end?

Well, as good as you can get in the world of Cthulhutech after Earthscorpion's gotten his claws(?) paws(?) tentacles(?) into it.

Isn't there an coincidental equation the nicer(or more 'good') Gendo becomes, the more things fall apart(heh;Rei) and get worst around him?

[LatwPIAT]

Originally Posted by Forgetful

Isn't there an coincidental equation the nicer(or more 'good') Gendo becomes, the more things fall apart(heh;Rei) and get worst around him?

I really think it can be expressed as a single equation that states that the total darkness of NGE must be perserved; If one of the factors is made lighter or fluffier, the other factors must somehow compensate; I'd call it the Unified NGE Theory, but I think there's too much fluff and WAFF out there. (Although if we took the grand average of the fluff and WAFF, the implications of ShinjixRei would make the theory balance out)

[Satori]

Originally Posted by Cpl_Facehugger

Well, as good as you can get in the world of Cthulhutech after Earthscorpion's gotten his claws(?) paws(?) tentacles(?) into it.

Don't ask. You might get an answer.

[EarthScorpion]

Originally Posted by Satori

Don't ask. You might get an answer.

Heh. That sounds familiar...

Trust not in his appearance, for the EarthScorpion is as alien to good, honest men as the vile Tyranids and savage Orks. There is no understanding him for there is nothing to understand - he is a random force in the universe.

The mind of the EarthScorpion is utterly inhuman in its depth and complexity. Without mercy or moral feeling, his consciousness stands upon the edge of spiritual destruction. That he does not fall must be a result of constraints and balances that only an elder being could understand. To a mere Human it is yet another reminder that we are but children in comparison to that ancient and powerful thing.

Ask not the EarthScorpion a question, for it will give you three answers, all of which are true and terrifying to know. And profoundly misleading, too.

Yes, I apologise for the unseemly delay in the Chapter. Progress is being made, but last weekend I was completely incapacitated by flu, the weekend before that by coursework, and I'm still coughing up my lungs. It's currently at 5080 words, which is about 1/4 done, or so.

Just in passing, you'll get to see something that the Achtzig Group has done. Really, Achtzig is to the Magi, as Engel is to the Evangelions. And when they have Calvin Sylveste in charge, that can't be good, right? Right?

[Forgetful]

supernaturally horrifying flu.

[Satori]

Originally Posted by EarthScorpion

And when they have Calvin Sylveste in charge, that can't be good, right? Right?

Oh, Fu-

I thought i saw a Revelation Space ref earlier. Director Khoury, right?

Poor Khouri. What ever did happen to her husband anyway? (Did he even exist?)

[LatwPIAT]

Originally Posted by EarthScorpion

Just in passing, you'll get to see something that the Achtzig Group has done. Really, Achtzig is to the Magi, as Engel is to the Evangelions. And when they have Calvin Sylveste in charge, that can't be good, right? Right?

Reading up on Revelation Space... I almost thought that was a subtle reference to Susan Calvin there, but I was wrong, so horribly wrong in so many ways about how completely horrible that is in every possible thinkable way, and how thoughly screwed everything and everyone are.

And how I smiled as I read those terrible words...

[EarthScorpion]

Originally Posted by Satori

Oh, Fu-

I thought i saw a Revelation Space ref earlier. Director Khoury, right?

Poor Khouri. What ever did happen to her husband anyway? (Did he even exist?)

*smirks*

The name is a fortunate accident; the character concept was something which already existed in my notes (well, originally she was OIS, before Special Services was introduced). I needed a Nazzadi, who had served in the fleet during AW1 (believe me, it's important), to be a Director of an agency. And then Khouri, who already has the identity issues from the Nazzadi creation, was Gunnery Officer on the Nostalgia for Infinity, and then became Head Inquisitor on Resurgam in Redemption Ark... well, she just slotted straight in.

Calvin Sylveste is there for the same reasons, that the head of the Ashcroft AI research programme was always linked to the Magi, and, well, a certain thing he did (it's the Achtzig Group, after all) fits in perfectly with the Evangelion set up.

In Revelation Space terms, by the way, most LAIs are gamma level simulations at best. The Magi, by contrast, are very, very good beta levels, if we take the common evaluation of their intellect. The first Dr Akagi did very, very well with them (though there is a good reason for that).

[Mastigo]

First it should be noted that all of the variations of run away assumed that they would require spaceships because you're fleeing the end of the world.

Second (and actually on topic for once) I've been looking back and Asuka's fear of Sensory power users is very well reasoned and logical (especially given the setting) it seems to me that the logic is merely her trying to rationalize something she had already, instinctively or otherwise, believed. This leads to ... interesting ramifications. It can't just be discrimination or anything that simple because its too specific.

Third: is anyone keeping a list of the things they've had to figure out via significant names and such that they'd care to share. I like the effect but don't have the time to put in the research to divine everything. It also doesn't help that I haven't played F.E.A.R.

Fourth: How creepy is this universe's reiquarium and what do they do, if anything, instead of giggling mindlessly.

Fifth: If this universe doesn't end in a Third Impact equivlent, how much would be derivable from evangelion technology?

Sixth: how viable would a shoggoth gun be? (A gun that shoots canisters of sealed shoggoth) Obviously it would have to be large, perhaps even capital grade. Actually scratch that, shoggoth missiles with bombs inside to create large distribution of shoggoth mass would be better. Launch a few of those into the middle of the Rapine Storm territory to decrease the pressure from that front. I doubt the Migou would like several thousand inside their hive ship either. The missle would be strategic and the gun would be tactical.

Seventh: Number six makes me gibber.

Eighth: How would this NEG react to Lars and Skuld. The resources it would take to kill them would be disproportionate to the damage they cause (aka little to none) and might open up several new fronts on the war. They are Outsiders but understandable this in and of itself is not understandable. They actually advocate science and technology as the winning path. They follow the laws but are able to emphatically say no to things like being dissected or contained. They act like a young human couple for the most part. Worst of all they want to help. Skuld keeps improving things. What's more, they have the stated goal of leaving, prefferably in a nondestructive manner. (Of course this all could be massive misinterpretation and AcademiaNut is free to scrap this)

Ninth: This post has too many subpoints. I'm not joking in my signature.

[RazorSmile]

I figured out what Project Achtzig was the first time you mentioned Dr. Sylveste (and after I looked up the translation for 'achtzig' of course) Amunet became clear once you got frustrated with our inability to figure it out and started giving progressively more blatant clues Klinge still escapes me though.

Seventh: Number six makes me gibber.

Because it's a colossally bad idea, not just in the usual vein of NEG-authorized desperation-born Bad Ideas but a literally bad idea?

[Satori]

Originally Posted by RazorSmile

I figured out what Project Achtzig was the first time you mentioned Dr. Sylveste (and after I looked up the translation for 'achtzig' of course) Amunet became clear once you got frustrated with our inability to figure it out and started giving progressively more blatant clues Klinge still escapes me though.



Because it's a colossally bad idea, not just in the usual vein of NEG-authorized desperation-born Bad Ideas but a literally bad idea?

Yeah, but since when were any of the available options good ideas?

[Shockz]

Am I the only one who feels too lazy to put together all the connections and run everything through Google Translate, and just wants to see how ES does the Big Reveals in-story? (I've figured it out as far as "Herkunft"; beyond that I'm pretty much in the dark.)

[Mastigo]

EarthScorpion hasn't told us about the big reveal, and if he did, it would be a red herring. I just want to know about the bits of story that are never going to be explicitly explained.

Because it's a colossally bad idea, not just in the usual vein of NEG-authorized desperation-born Bad Ideas but a literally bad idea?

Of course its a bad idea. Note I asked about the feasability of it not, I did not suggest actually it be implemented. The only way this would ever be used is by someone whose job it is to come up with Bad Ideas having a bad idea. After all it creates a hostile tenacious creature that, in the case of the strategic version, would soon be bigger than an arcology. And there's the whole "shoggoth escapes weapon containment" issue. This would also work though as an idea from Misato that gets shot down with with battleship grade weaponry.

Besides, if shot at the Migou they'd just destroy the missiles and get mad, or whatever the fungoidal equivlent is.

Of course if the speculation about replacing "tang" with "shoggoth" is correct, the missles could replace the glowing green crosses during Third Impact.

[EarthScorpion]

Chapter 14

CATOcylsm: Execution

~'/|\'~

The dark shape of the lead Evangelion took another step, a cloud of particulate matter erupting from the bed of the deepwater channel from the force of its foot. Even from this depth, with the amplification of the filters in the sensory package it could be seen that the surface of the water, many tens of meters above, was lit in a way which it should not have been; reds and oranges seeping into what should have been the lunar illumination of the night. Behind it, its siblings followed, through the smoke-like clouds of silt which they merely added to.

A barrage of blue-green lasers lashed out from the new surface mounts on the lead figure. They may have been of power armour grade, woefully inadequate for anything the size of a proper mecha, let alone a Herald or a capital ship, but that wasn't their role. The muted thud and pressure wave from the mine which a dedicated LAI system had detected, and then eliminated, spoke of their true purpose. Neither the mines that littered the area in truly gratuitous amounts, nor the barrage of obsolete missiles which was expected as soon as they left the water, would be able to touch the monstrous bipeds, the laser point defence easily able to reach out and shield its mount.

And if they could still kill a man or a Deep One with ease, especially in the cold of Iceland (which meant that the difference between body temperature and the ambient temperature was enough to trip the thermal sensors, without having to rely on image recognition), well... that was merely an added bonus. Progress marched ever on, and those who could not keep ahead would be ground underfoot.

Another step; another cloud of silt. It was fortunate, perhaps, that the seabed around here had been deepened until it hit the volcanic rock of Iceland, meaning that the silt and sand layered upon it was thin. Had this been the cold, dark abyssal planes of the ocean, far from human influence or the mutative effects of plate tectonics, it would have been eminently possible that the humanoid figures would have sunk had they tried to walk on it; an end which would have been entirely inappropriate, albeit amusing.

Shinji, in the second Evangelion (its eyes actinic headlights through the depths compared to the four viridian flares of Unit 01, or the red searchlight of Unit 00), looked around and shivered. They were very close now; the HUD was counting worryingly fast. That island, Hrísey, the one covered in anti-capital unit defence, was just in front of them, the deep-water shipping channel which the Evangelions were walking down just skirting around it. If the defences hadn't been shut down, they were going to get shot at by naval grade lasers. And if only some of them had been shut down, they were still going to get lasered. Wasn't it likely that at least one of the sabotage missions had failed? After all, wasn't it really improbable that they had all worked? What if the guards at one place had caught the GIA commandos? They'd have raised the alarm, and then the others would have been much more difficult. Or what if they had hidden some. What if there were some underwater, sitting there, lurking, which the NEG hadn't known about? The Evangelions could walk right into them without noticing.

As all these prospects ran through his head, he began to breath faster, sucking in gulps of LCL. He could feel the viscous liquid rolling in his throat, coating the walls as it was forced in and out by his breaths, and he gagged; something he hadn't done in a while.

“You are exhibiting signs of pre-combat stress,” informed his LAI, in its bland voice. “Your heart-rate is elevated, you are hyperventilating,” and here the tone of the voice shifted slightly, “and your synchronisation ratio is dropping. Please, Shinji, stay calm.”

He spluttered into the LCL, trying to resist the urge to throw up. Why was he getting so nervous now?

Well, yes, he knew exactly why he was getting nervous now. He was about to go into a real, proper, battle, where the enemy had things that could kill him if they hadn't been shut down, and face things which included real people, even if they were cultists. You'd have to be stupid not to be worried. But couldn't he have had the panic attack back on the ship, where things could have been managed, and he could have been reassured?

Out here, beneath the sea, with enforced radio silence, there was only the terrible claustrophobia of the inside of his own head, and the darkness of the depths with enveloped and wrapped their way around his Evangelion, the glare of the eyes not enough to alleviate the all-encompassing liquid night.

Shinji gave a weak chuckle, more of a gurgle with his fluid-filled lungs, and reached out to one of the auxiliary panels.

Of course...

With the thermal vision turned on, the false colour of the far-infrared painting the world in colours which did not match to the real qualia of the human brain, the darkness was banished. Even in cold areas, the blue-black was better than the black-black of the depths. Just the extra light was enough to banish any thought of the night-dark hallways which echoed on forever to the beating of a heart-train.

He was vaguely aware of the presence of an active comms window.

“What is it, Asuka?” he asked without looking.

“You are not playing enough attention in an active combat zone if you believe that I am the Second Child,” stated Rei, her hair waving loose, like seaweed, in the eddies and currents of the LCL that enveloped all three of the pilots. “I will repeat the statement. According to the mission clock, we should be emerging from the water in two minutes and seventeen seconds, as of the start of this statement. However, this is incorrect, and, in fact the head of Unit 02 shall become visible in one minute and twenty nine seconds, as of the start of this sentence.”

“... okay,” Shinji said, cautiously. “Uh... have you told Asuka about this?”

“Yes. She did not appreciate it, and was somewhat disturbed by it. Nevertheless, she will account for the change in the information.” Rei paused. “I have noticed a tendency...”

“Mein Gott, will you two stop chattering!” snapped Asuka through a new window. “Whatever happened to radio silence?”

Asuka was nervous, she admitted to herself. But only inside her head. And that was partly due to the fact that Rei had opened that window, to inform her that the mission plan was wrong. She certainly wasn't going to let it show by blabbering on like that. But it was almost time, and she was ready. As the only New Earth Government officer among the pilots, she had technical seniority (not that the other two would necessarily pay any attention, she added, bitterly), and with the weapon set the Project had given her, she was the vanguard. Well, at least they could do something right.

She could feel the stillness and the coolness inside her head. It was time.

The dark shape of Unit 02 moved up the fjord, unnaturally strong legs beating. The surface of the water, reflecting the fire-lit clouds, rippled and bulged as the hidden monster pushed its way along, walking along the bottom of the deep-water channel. Blue-green light flared around it, muffled blasts of water exploding upwards; always in front of it, never quite where it was.

A second shape followed it.

And a third.

A head broke the surface of the waters, four eyes aflame with viridian light. Asuka looked left and right, eyes scanning the city that filled this area, built all over the flatter coastal regions. The urge was almost instictual; the Evangelions were by no means reliant on the hijacked optic nerves of the arcanoxenobiological organism beneath the armour, but it just felt right to look around, rather than stare at the screens in the entry plug. The city was already burning, the NEGN missile barrage still in progress despite the damage it had already done. Projected onto the HUD on the inside of the plug were the positions of the friendly special forces units, hidden within their stealthed IFVs. They had to avoid hitting friendly units, because with the capital-grade weapons, there wasn't going to be a chance that it was "just a scratch".

From all around the frontline fortifications, masses of concrete protruding up against the cold waters of the Atlantic, a ragged cheer arose. Asuka smiled. Idiots! Do they really think that we've come to save them from the missiles? Except in a terminal way. They're under heavy attack, and they think the mysterious figures are here to help? What are they, completely stupid? How can they have lasted this long? The redhead shrugged at the cliché of her thoughts, as she took another step forwards, climbing out of the deep water channel. The ships that would have needed such a thing were already ruined. She could see that one of the ships was arcing actinic multicoloured lightning, coruscating and burning over the surface, charring the metal. She tagged the target as high priority; a D-Engine malfunctioning from damage like that, with what looked like a possible Horizon Event, could not be permitted to exist.

She twitched her fingers, the click of the joints muted by the orange-red fluid that surrounded her. Unit 02 twitched with her, more a generalised movement than one of the hands; the synchronisation ratio remained too low for such precision. She wanted to open fire right now. But Asuka repressed the urge, and took another step forwards and upwards, exposing more of herself to the defence lasers.

If they hadn't sabotaged the weapons, this is going to hurt, she thought, as explosions blossomed across the city and missiles streaked across the sky, smart sub-munitions cutting down anyone not under cover, the invisible plague of BCNaM warfare making even the air unsafe,

The figure of Unit 02 was by now half-way out of the water, water cascading off its flanks. It was not well lit; its shape was a darker patch against the sky, with only those four eyes, awesome in a primal sense, giving off light. Even night-vision goggles worked imperfectly, somehow skipping slightly away from it, as the basilisk-type camouflage interfered with the obsolete amplification systems in the Second Cold War-era electronics in the Dagonite viewers. In the light of the fires than now spread across the city, from the missiles that the NEG were now lobbing against the innocent civilians of the Elect, it was barely visible. If the onlookers had been in a suitable state of mind, they might have noticed the manufactured look of the behemoth. They were not. The strategy had been conceived on the assumption that the Dagonites would pause upon first sight of the Evangelions, which, after all, were sufficiently different from the Engels that the fish-men should believe that they might be a friendly extranormal entity. Something which the recent refit had been designed to promote, as well as the dream-engineering conducted by teams of sorcerers working in unison for almost a month, now.

Another head emerged from behind it, and the two harsh, actinic white eyes of Unit 01 joined its sibling in staring over the city of Dagon'uvtu Oraribyrapr. They both continued their inexorable march, though, and the third sibling, one crimson Cyclopean orb atop its head, of Rei's Zero-Zero, joined them.

“Sensors detect a still-active D-Engine in Defence Laser 07,” noted Rei. “Target has been acquired, and the charge beam has adjusted for ambient electromagnetic fields. I am able to fire on command.”

“I'm aiming at Sector 01,” said Shinji, a slight shake in his voice. “Uh... the LAI has highlighted concentrations of enemy forces for me. I'm ready.”

“I'm in position for Sector 02,” added Asuka. “The automated fire-control systems are primed, and the indicator on main weapon is green.” She paused. “We're ready,” she said, unable and unwilling to keep the enthusiasm from her voice.

A [VOICE ONLY] icon appeared on all three viewscreens, the authentication code showing that it came from Misato. “Do not use the main weapons in the areas marked in red on the overlay; they have friendly forces operating in theatre, or have been noted as being Dagonite-operated camps. Apart from that...weapons free,” ordered the Major, in a tone of voice not dissimilar to that which Asuka had used.

And with a cold, contemptuous glare, Asuka raised her plasmathrower, and vomited forth the raw material of stars, a blinding lance which illuminated the clouds above in white light. The armoured structures, disguised as apartment buildings, which made up the first line of defence, literally evaporated, the tight cone cutting through them in a way which left no intermediate state from intact structure to melted slag and vapour. Beside her, the stream of smeared suns which the plasma minigun bought into existence spun into existence, whipping from one cluster of red boxes on Shinji's viewscreen, resting there for no more than the seconds needed for the LAI to remove the threat indicators, before he moved it on.

He glanced over at Asuka, and felt the synchronisation training stir, from the way that the targeting schema they had both been given matched. A barrage of missiles, broken and inconsistent, was spewed forth from the intact fortifications; a pale reflection of what they should have been facing where they facing the true defences, unbroken by sabotage and the betrayal of their “gods”, but still remarkably intense. The LAI systems devoted to the management of the laser grid had already shifted from the aquatic mode, where they had been handling the minefield, to the anti-missile grid system, and the air was thusly filled with the ripened explosions of the cascade of fruit-like missiles, their smart electronic systems long obsolete, and suffering massive interference from the rebroadcast nano-and-micromachines which filled the air.

And Rei? Rei stood alone, the bulky charge beam, which the others had inexplicably deemed the “Rei Gun” despite the manifest inaccuracy of such a term (as it failed to describe the damage mechanism for the relativistic particle beam), already raised, sunk to one knee in the water as she braced the bulk of Unit 00 for the hideous recoil of this weapon. They had integrated A-Pods into the design, the reactionless thrusters serving to shift the change in momentum to the reinforced structure of the the weapon, compressed between two opposing forces, rather than the (almost hopelessly flawed for recoil mitigation) bipedal mech, but there was only so much that even nanofactory diamond and carbon nanotubes could take.

The impact, and its resulting explosion and burst of hard X-rays, tore apart the Dagonite defence laser, and, air shimmering green in the afterglow of the passage of the protons, ripped through the buildings behind it, down into the Earth itself, proved that the weapon did at least not blow up on the first shot.

“Rei!” warned the Major, her flushed face on screen. “You just hit a red zone; there was a camp area that you just tore through. Control that thing, or I'll have it deactivated! Dial down the yield if it's over-penetrating,” she added, in a quieter voice.

“It was necessary,” Rei said calmly. “That laser had not been deactivated. Permission was granted to perform such actions in order to ensure the success of Task Force Nero. It was felt that an operational capital-grade static laser weapon might pose an impediment to our duties,” the white-haired girl remarked.

The Major nodded. “Proceed.” Misato sucked in a breath. “Be careful, though.”

“I will be full of care.”

“Not for the fish-scum,” said Asuka, as she washed the lance of white-hot plasma over a Dagonite residential district.

Rei stared at Asuka, for perhaps a second too long. “Understood,” she said, as she scanned the screen for anything else which might require the firepower she bought, which was really overkill for soft targets.

It said something that soft-targets included things which, in another era, would have been called nuclear bunkers. This was not war. This was pest control.

~'/|\'~

The pale figure floated mindlessly in its orange-tinted tank, eyes open but vacant. Around it, the hybridised fusion of modern technology and ancient sorcery embraced him, needles piercing its flesh in so many places, spreading out branch-like through the body.

“Dr Wade, the binding circle is active. As soon as the input source is limited, it will be drawn here, and the Type-2 Seelenversetzung can be remedied.”

The blond woman nodded, then cocked her head slightly. “Are you scared?”

The man gulped. “Terrified.”

“Me too. But it's necessary. This asset will be needed.” She sighed. “We can only hope that target can be suitably prepared before the Third eliminates it.”

~'/|\'~

Deep, deep, deep down into the hungry void the Engels swam. Even in full daylight, no light made its way down two hundred metres, and the pale reflection which was the moon ceased its luminescence even shallower. The arcanocyberxenobiological organisms were far deeper than that already, only minutes after the drop. The blade of the strike force, they were in full combat mode. The tendrils of the Hamshalliam tasted the water, languid movements which pulsed in a peculiar asymmetry, drawing the water in as hair-thin lesser tentacles filtered the seas of life, while the Ish lashed out with their long, blade-like tongues at any fish which passed their way, spearing them and pulling their catch back into the waiting maw.

The Engels did so enjoy a chance to release the constraints on the armour, and feel the water around them.

Above, the bloated hulls of the frigates and submersibles accompanying the strike force descended, vast cigar shapes around which the conventional mecha swarmed in patterns which resembled most the flight of starlings; superficial chaotic, yet possessed of an emergent order designed to make them harder to hit. The LAI systems on the craft chattered constantly to each other, tightbeam laser communications streaming data far more efficiently than the squishy organics in this vast nervous system of silicon and crystals and electrical charge could ever have hoped to achieve. Such a system would be damped down massively if they were facing the Migou, who were just as good (actually, tactical analysis put them as notably better) at intelligence warfare as mankind, but against the inferior systems of the Dagonites, they could be used closer to their maximum potential. Though they were not self-aware, they were sentient, able to respond to their environment and react to data inputs.

And then there were the autonomous units. How much intellect was needed to control a torpedo and the swarm of guided sub-munitions they would drop split into, one “mind” between many bodies? Little enough that such a weapon could be deployed in vast quantities. Up, above the sea (and especially against the Migou), these things would have faced the laser coverage of defence emplacements. Down here, though, these micro-swarms (each submunition individually smaller than a fish), and possessed of the same swarming emergent mind which made them exceptionally hard for the sub-par data processing of the Deep One masters of the Esoteric Order of Dagon possessed to target. This was a problem which was worsened in these aquatic conditions, where lasers, the optimal point defence weapons, were dispersed and necessarily limited in range.

Of course, this was a problem for the New Earth Government Navy as well, especially since the anti-torpedo laser grids were necessarily larger, and more power intensive than anti-missile ones, and so could only be mounted on the larger submersibles and capital ships. The casualties from the torpedo batteries could be potentially crippling, and so that was why the static defences of the Deep One city of Guh'thya-leh'yi were the first targets. Even then, the vanguard would likely take nasty losses from the inter-lapping torpedo, laser batteries and the charge beams that shielded the area.

Azrael flicked a tendril out, and pulled a fish into his maw, the thin trail of blood from where he had crushed its skull the only trace that it had ever existed. Nestled deep within the gut of the monster, in her entry plug, Zuly felt a brief pulse of satisfaction and sanity pulse through her central nervous system, the inhuman emotion retracting as quickly as it had entered.

She kept one eye on the bathometer, watching the distance until the holding depth tick down.

“Two hundred meters until Depth Bravo,” her system LAI informed her unnecessarily.

“I know,” she growled back.

The dumb system didn't respond. Although such a response was understood, the programmers had quite specifically pruned it of responses which would aggravate a pilot in a combat situation. It merely saved the audiofile, logged with the constantly tracked vitals, in the mission record.

An audiovisual window opened in the uterine capsule of the Engel, the security code showing its source was genuine. It was Captain Koru. “We're at Depth Bravo. We're holding here until Command sends us the go code.” He sighed, slightly. “I want a CCI.”

Ping signals and the mandatory responses echoed in from the rest of the squad, in the Communion Check-In. For an Engel, the standard, autonomous system wasn't enough. If the thing under the armour managed to gain control, either through overpowering the restraints, or those whispered times where it managed to absorb the mind of the pilot, an LAI response that the vehicle was still intact wasn't enough.

And for an Engel squadron entirely composed of Hamshalliam, this was considerably more worrying than normal. They had all seen, all felt what had happened back on the ships. Hamshalliam were already a troublesome breed; too smart for their own good in many ways, and if they were on the edge, that was certainly going to put their pilots on edge.

It was dark down here. They couldn't have the searchlights on, and the light sources which would compose part of the initial barrage (the colour shifted into the blue, due to the fact that Deep One vision tended to the longer wavelength end of the spectrum, compared to that of the Homo sapiens subspecies,) had quite obviously not been fired yet.

Zuly waited, curled up in the uterine plug implanted into the chest of her Engel, counting down unknown seconds while Command prevaricated over sending the initialisation code. Or whatever reason they had to leave the task force sitting here, vulnerable. They were already minutes behind schedule, and when the fact that Operation CATO was a wide-area attack over Dagonite territory, the risk that they be detected, and the forces attacked, negating any surprise or shock and pushing the attackers onto the back foot was dangerously high.

~'/|\'~

Following the vast figures, which towered far above the troops which were being disgorged from Ranger AFVs at the shoreline, the Replicas advanced. Tight-band radios pierced the deliberate holes in the jamming that saturated the electromagnetic communications spectrum as troopers efficiently and rapidly shared information with their squadmates, aided by the Seelengehilfe-bonding from the noetic presence that lurked behind their eyes. The silvery dust that hung in the air, sparking in the harsh white light which vomited forth from the behemoths, was a fine mix of micro-and-nanomachines, designed to absorb and re-radiate the radio spectrum, the phase differences destructively interfering with the enemy communications, as well as reducing the maximum effective range of their anti-air and anti-missile laser weaponry. The fact that so much metallic dust, even when it was not designed as a nanological weapon, was still toxic and choking to unprotected lungs, was merely a benefit.

The frontlines were not a place for unprotected infantry. All of the Replica troops were in sealed combat armour, and all deployed outside of the vehicles were in REV-3 heavy armour at the least. Most were in the REV-6 or the REV-8 EPA or one of their variants.

Against the Migou, such a formation would have been cut to pieces. Powered armour and the even lighter heavy armour, a somewhat unfortunately-named trial model designed to replace the role of conventional infantry on the battlefield, were comparatively unarmoured. Even when supported by their AFVs, they would have got bogged down, and been quickly destroyed by a force with proper main battle units. Against the Dagonites, with their inferior logistics which forced them to rely upon powered armour themselves, this was a viable tactic, especially within the tight confines, which gave maximum advantage to the individual superiority of the Replicas over the Order forces, which relied heavily upon militia for their numbers.

And against the REV-8 EPA, which was specifically designed to target and destroy enemy power armoured units, with the substitution of any melee functionality for superior firepower, the lightly armoured and armed Dagonite units were shredded.

The six man Replica squad, safe within their sealed armour and operating in the standard NEG infantry pair-system, paused in the hallway, watching all sides. The militia, and the rarer true military forces of the Order, were dug into these apartment complexes, designed specifically as solid, almost bunker-like structures, to protect both their infantry and their own powered armour.

“Looks like some kind of command post. 816, cleanse and purify” ordered Foxtrot 811, stepping out of the way, as the bulk of the REV-8-CQB stepped up to the armoured door.

“It's sealed, and too solid for brute force,” radioed back 816. “Requesting that 814 punch a hole in the door before assault.”

“Request approved. 814, beam it.”

“Order acknowledged. Please retreat to minimum safe distance,” warned 814, in the REV-8-S, the sniper variant, as the Replica levelled the charge beam mounted on his right arm at the door. There were a few thunderous footsteps, as the other REV-8 units took steps back. “Breaching door in 3, 2, 1.”

The beam of high energy protons punched straight through the reinforced door, a burst of neutrons and hard electromagnetic radiation accompanying its impact. Foxtrot 816, advancing to the glowing hole, levelled his arm and triggered the flamethrower, the white-hot chemical mix rushing out to fill the room. The metal door began to melt, not to speak of the infantry and sensitive communications equipment who had been inside the room, the former with multiple heavy weapons pointed at the door, judging from the explosions. The interior structure groaned, as the underfloor reinforcement melted, a cascade of volatile fluid pouring down through the new hole in the floor.

Several blue-green lasers punched back out of the smoke and ionised gas that now filled the command centre; heavily attenuated by the opacity of the atmosphere, but still enough to be lethal to an unarmoured figure. One beam scraped along the arm of the REV-8-CQB, breaking the jet of white-hot fuel.

“Minor damage to torso,” reported 816, retreating back behind the cover of the unruptured parts of the heavy door. “Flamethrower auto-shutdown to prevent premature fuel ignition.”

“Target ID?” asked his partner, Foxtrot 815.

“At least two laser-armed PA. Cannot confirm presence of any other target.”

“Selkies?” queried 813.

“Probably. Weapon characteristics match.”

“Acknowledged. Initiating Narrow Area Search.” With a pop of gas, a small drone, about the size of a man's fist, launched itself from 813's REV-8, tiny thrusters flaring from the internal D-Cell. These things were too small for the use of an A-Pod, which would enable indefinite operation (through there were true combat scout drones, which even now hung stealthed above the city; a substitute for the satellite coverage which armed forces once enjoyed), and so were forced to return to their master suit, to recharge off the D-Engine. It hung in the air for a second, and then darted through the hole in the wall. No volley of laser fire could be heard, which suggested that it had gone unnoticed; a fact confirmed by the appearance on the HUD of the unit of the location and model of two Order powered armours.

“Target lock on Tango Alpha,” stated Foxtrot 814, charge beam pointed directly at the first of the two targets, uncaring of the armoured wall in the way.

“In position for Tango Bravo,” added 813, plasma cannons at the ready, standing by the hole in the door, with words that were echoed by Foxtrot 812.

“Execute on 814's command,” stated 811.

There was a moment of stillness, as missiles shrieked outside, thudding explosions making the heavily reinforced building shake.

“Firing.”

The relativistic particle beam tore through the reinforced wall and kept going, the disruption in the arcanomagnetic containment field leaving it corkscrewing slightly, but still accurate enough to slam into the chest of the first armour, knocking it onto its back, as the ammunition for the HMG on its arm cooked off. The feed from the drone died, the pressure wave from the explosion and detonation of the onboard systems on the power armour crushing it against a wall.

Together, Foxtrot 813 and 812 stepped through the hole in the doorway, triggering their dual plasma cannons, one on each arm, pumping tiny suns (so small, compared to the river of stars which one of the titans had carried with it) into the one remaining figure that stood upright in the devastation which 816 had caused. The simple fact was that laser weapons, in such an optically opaque environment, were a suboptimal choice compared to the particle beams of plasma cannons, which cut through the nanomachine dust and the smoke, tearing the Selkie apart at the waist and vaporising torso-sized chunks out of the wall, the explosions filling the air with even more superheated dust. It would have been enough to kill any infantry in the area, had the infantry not already been almost instantly killed by the room being aerated by white-hot volatile chemicals.

Two last shots tore apart the air, as Foxtrot 812 ensured that the armour hit by 814 was indeed dead.

“Clear.”

“Clear.”

Slowly, oh so slowly, the room began to clear, the smoke and particulate matter settling, or escaping through the many structurally superfluous openings which the combat (less than 30 seconds in duration) had opened. Through these impromptu windows, especially those caused by the charge beam (which reached all the way through the building and out), the flashes of light from outside sept in, as conflicts such as this were repeated a hundred times.

“Command, this is Foxtrot 811. Dagonite comms centre, target priority Beth-2, eliminated. Be aware; flamethrower on team's CQB suit out of operations. Requesting new orders.”

The clouds, seen through a hole in the ceiling from the detonating infantry weapons, were lit by the fires that consumed this city, and pierced by missiles, as the ship-board bombardment continued unabated. Far above the clouds, NEG air superiority missions had already swatted the few Order aircraft, and now their bombers and ground-attack air units slaughtered targets in the areas where the Surface-to-Air Lasers and Missiles had been taken down. Overhead, only audible by the displacement of air that it left as it moved, a Chalybion gunship flew low overhead, the single charge beam it mounted in its tail-like turret accompanying the nose-laser in hunting for enemy mecha in the city.

The blue-grey chassis blended in near perfectly in the night, as it found its prey unaware of the insect-like hunter. There was the explosion of a relativistic particle beam impact outside, as it tore off a Dagonite Leviathan's leg off at the hip, the war machine crashing to the ground. It was mercilessly cut to pieces as it lay crippled, the LAI systems placing the rapid laser shots (each enough to blow a fist-sized hole in a man's torso) into the weakpoints. A second shot ensured the target was down, and the Chalybion retreated into the sky.

“Foxtrot Squad ORPH-PN1-012, this is Command. JSN-AR2-043 and -045 are pinned down by heavy Order opposition. Report skilled anti-armour sniper, as well as use of unrecognised power armour with a CQB focus. Area still has active AA, so there can be no close-fire support. Transmitting coordinates now.”

“Acknowledged, Command. ORPH-PN1-012 moving out.”

As one, they left the place. It was not a charnel house. A charnel house would have had bodies, which would have decayed as the inevitability of entropy overcame the structure of the flesh. The cycle of life would have continued, as dead flesh fed the smallest of living things and was broken down. But in this place, there was only a stark reminder that the human body could accurately be described as a sack of dirty water wrapped around a frame. The only traces of the former inhabitants were slagged metal; the remains a sign of intelligent craft which remained where the flesh could not.

~'/|\'~

Misato watched the progress of the Evangelions on the model of the battlefield, built from the cumulative feeds from the stealthed drones even now hidden above Iceland. It wasn't exactly hard. She strongly suspected that they could have been tracked with the naked eye from orbit. The plasmathrower, and the plasma minigun were not subtle weapons. In fact, anything which threw out the raw material of stars, at a higher temperature than the surface of our own sun, could quite accurately be said to be the opposite of subtle. And the charge beam, which she was going to call the Rei Gun, damn it, may not have flooded the electromagnetic spectrum, both visible and outside the human range, when fired, but the spikes in the sensors it was making when the relativistic particle beam hit something (the sensor officers called it a “whoomp-bloomp”, from the initial pulse of hard radiation, and exotic particles, and the subsequent chain of decay products) were characteristic, and massive compared to the lesser versions of the same weapon being used by the mecha on the same island.

“This is Nero-Command to Nero-Evas,” she said, noting the fact that they were slightly behind schedule. “You don't need to flatten the city. The troops are moving up behind you; you're here to punch through.” She paused. “And keep an eye on the map,” she added. “It's tracking friendlies as they move forwards; do not, I repeat, do not use the capital grade weapons when there are friendlies in close proximity. Or medium proximity, Rei.”

Asuka, her face floating before the Major on the control display, looked somewhat offended. “Yes,” she said. “I am aware of friendly fire and its.... arrrrgh,” the girl snarled, turning away from the screen as a cascade of supersonic cracks, so quiet in comparison to the din of war, coincided with a flurry of slugs ricocheting off the sloped armour of the Type-D. The lance of plasma reignited and washed over a street barricade and a fair amount of the surrounding neighbourhood, the anti-armour railgunners hidden in the festival junk gone in one painless instant. A glowing scar was dug into the street, down into the land, while the street and buildings around melted like hot wax, despite the fact that the actual core of the lance of plasma had not touched them. "Welcher Schwachkopf würde Infanterie gegen ein Evangelion einsetzen? Schwach! Ihr seid so schwach! Es ist fast eine Vergeudung, euch alle mit der dicken Wumme zu töten!" she roared in triumph.

“English, Asuka, English,” sighed the Major. “We use a standardised combat language here, remember.”

“Okay.” The girl paused, as the secondary plasma cannons and charge weapons tracked and acquired a power armoured squad, the LAIs only asking confirmation for the firing lock before cutting down the soldiers with ruthless precision. "Nicht, dass mich das jetzt aufhalten wird," she muttered, rebelliously.

Shinji glanced at the red-head's picture, eyes narrowed slightly. “What's a 'weak head'?” he asked, in a somewhat wearied tone.

“You are. Move up, Shinji, and take out DK/77. You're falling behind.” She smirked. He really had set himself up for that, hadn't he?

“You're running off! We're meant to be working as a group.”

“Yes. We are, Rei's with me. You are the one who's falling behind.”

“Unit 00 is closer to Unit 02 than Unit...,” began Rei, before an impact jolted her, hair drifting lazily after her head through the LCL. Unit 00 fell to one knee, in a crashing impact, as the road's surface erupted, melted tar and projectiles thrown upwards like an erupting volcano. There was the sound of a pained gasp over the communications channel.

S'bepr'fh-crevbe Phu'hului'yi stared at the viewscreen on his binoculars, the screen mitigating the inferior long-distance eyesight he had, out of water, compared to the invading blasphemers. Such atrocity! That they would disguise their already sacrilegious war machines... he tried out the word in his mouth, “Ehn'ghul. Een-guhl,” as one of the blessed Dagon'puvyqera... well, it was much more than just one heresy. It was doubly heretical, if not more so.

That was why he was so exceptionally pleased that he had been given command of the III Z'nxvat Haz'nxvat, one of the engineering companies, to use the human term, in charge of local defence. He had not been so before; the task, being on land, was one which was not held highly, and even the increased breeding rights did not make up for the discomfort of the syhvq'xr-rcvat, the water retention suit he had to wear for extended periods of time on land. He had even asked revered Pth'thya-l'yi, the revered high priestess and matriarch of his lineage, why it was necessary that one of the Chosen hold this position, why it could not simply be left to a trusted Blooded. He had not asked why it could not have been a human, for such a minor role, but he had thought it.

The answer, of course, was that it was not done to permit the Blooded too much authority. There must be a clear line of delineation between those who had taken to the water, and those who had not, for the good of society. If those who remained too human were given the powers which should remain the preserve of the Chosen, then then the Homo genus would have problems seeing the natural order of things, the simple fact that they had not been Chosen and so their faith, pitiful and childlike despite its sincerity, was not worth as much.

Of course, Phu'hului'yi suspected that it was due to his lack of breeding, that he had once dwelt on land, and although not as low as the almost-mass produced Blooded soldiers that the current conflict had spawned, he did not rank highly in the society beneath the waves (though the humans here treated him as one akin to a saint or an angel). And the fact that he had made some... foolish decisions, long ago (though not as the gehr'pu-b'fra (for that was what the Chosen who possessed a pure lineage called themselves) reckoned it), could not have helped. It was not his fault. He had not known at the time.

But, now, as he observed the plume of molten tar and dust splatter down on the ground through the binoculars, it all seemed worth it. He had positioned those inferior, un-Blooded humans near to the shaped charge for exactly that reason; to make the blasphemies pause for a moment.

“Va gur Dagon'anzr, erny-yl tbb'q gung gurl q'vrq j'vgu fhpu uba'bhe,” he remarked to his immediate subordinate, and the only other one of the Chosen in the formation, put here due to her youth and early transformation. Too weak and young for her Gifts, those blessed powers that the New Earth Government ignorantly called “parapsychic powers”, and put down to some kind of freak evolutionary trait, to have come in strongly, he still broadly appreciated the presence of a Oen'va-ernq're 'guvrs of Dagon.

S'bepr'fr-pbaq Thul'yhu-gi gave her assent, making the ritualistic gesture as best she could while lying flat on the roof, under a thermally camouflaged blanket. “Vg r'kv-fgf pregn'va, c'bf-fvoyl?” she asked cautiously. “Xab-jyrq'tr pregn'va gung fh'pu oynfg q'rf-gebl'rq gnet-rg Ehn'ghul?”

Phu'hului'yi made a disgusted noise. “Cebon-oyr gung gur guvat y'virf,” he said, loathing in his voice. “ Ehn-ghul! Ehn-ghul! Shp'x rirel Nu Earf Gubbermaent! Gur've r-kv'f-grapr'f j'ebat, naq gurl pregn'vayl gb-b g'bhtu. J'nvg hag-vy uh'zna-eha'are o'ev-atf z'rff-ntr orsb'er arkg pu'netr,” he added in a softer tone of voice, though the irritation remained.

No sooner had he said that, than a human runner poked their head up through the open trapdoor, exertion visible by inference from the increased temperature of the gas from his filtration unit . This one, he could see, was dressed in proper military armour, not the mass-produced, pre-nanofactory gear given to the militia, albeit the stripped down version used by runners. It was ironic, Phu'hului'yi considered, that the end effect of all this technological advance (specifically that of their enemies) had been to reduce the faithful to systems of battlefield communications that would not have been out of place in the great war (how petty and small it was now, by comparison) of his youth.

“I...i...ireel erf'chap...gh...ghy'ngrq Ss'behepr'fah-crevne,” he began, coughing, his exhaustion making an almost profane mockery of the syllables of Ry'lehan. Humans required effort to fit their way around the wet sounds of the language of their superiors, and the exhaustion and dry mouth of a runner didn't aid in such an attempt. Most understood it quite a bit better than they could speak it, though.

Thul'yhu-gi made a noise of annoyance at Phu-hului'yi, which went by the human entirely unnoticed. “Schpeak... een... ghu'man,” she said, in what would have been an exasperated tone, had the words been in a proper language.

“Yes... sanctified ones,” the man answered, arm twitching, but managing to resist giving the gesture of respect in a warzone. “MyS'bepr'fh-crevbe! The blasphemous machine... the one with the red eye, has fallen. The other two are moving towards it.”

Phu-hului'yi would have opened his eyes wide, had he still possessed human eyelids. Instead, he contented himself with picking up the telephone beside him. It was, in fact, despite the military appearance, directly connected into the civilian network. The entire structure, built from the ground up after the Liberation of Iceland from the xeno Migou, had been designed to deal with a military situation.

“Jur-ervf, gur'ybir, gur'ybir, gur'ybir,” he snapped down the phone, the authorisation almost frantic. “B'u Dagon on'gzna j'nagf 'zl urn-q!”

His command was answered by a choral blast, dwarfing the previous one which flooded the entire spectrum with noise in the brevity of their explosion. The Deep Ones, and the members of the proper military forces of the Order, still felt the slam of sound, even though their helmets had clamped down, while militia members were stunned by the magnitude of the blast. The human runner flinched, and almost lost his grip, scrabbling to remain at the top of the ladder.

The entire district which the blasphemous machines had been in was not engulfed in fire, burning bright-white under the plume which billowed upwards, blotting out the moon from where the forces of the faithful waited. The loss of that illumination was no real issue, though, as the chemical fires which now lit the area, a simple redox reaction enough to slag the area when applied in the vast quantities required to ensure that, running below the streets, there were pipes packed with powdered rust and aluminium, wrapped around the support structures of every single building.

The district had only even been a sacrificial one, designed to occupy a New Earth Government or Migou armoured force long enough for it to get bogged down and move as many reinforcements into the area as possible. The buildings had all been designed to make it hellish to clear them (which had caused no small amount of hassle for the individuals, almost all of low social status, who actually lived there), and the raid bunkers for the area had been located outside it. The charges collapsed the buildings, crushing any infantry which had moved into the location, while the rivers of thermite that ran below the streets ignited and melted the foundations. It was intended to collapse the entire district into a mass of wreckage and molten metal, wrecking the terrain and killing anything that had moved into such a place.

Nothing could survive that intact, not least the impracticality of a forty-metre walker, which had enough issues with ground pressure even before the streets assumed the consistency and approximate temperature of molten iron.

Only to be met by a sick, coruscating shimmering which lit the skies in a way quite unlike the blinding brightness of the masses of thermite, or the weapons that the loathsome constructs wielded. Three such lights, terrible in the way that they took the light from the molten streets, the hellish light of ruined cities and death, and twisted it through impossible interference patterns which shifted and interlinked, playing off each other in a way... which was... oddly... compelling. Two of these patterns leapt up out of the fire, in identical arcs, their movements synchronised as almost perfect reflections, while the third, stoically, continued forwards, wading through molten tar and metal and the like, the cracked light making it a darker shape in the brightness.

And it screamed. In the name of Dagon and Hydra, it screamed, a horrifying, muffled scream, which dwarfed even the sound of the blast. The psychic backlash of the leviathan filled the three space-like dimensions of the so-called World of Elements, intruded back and forwards through the time-like dimension; only minor echoes of the full magnitude of the agony that it imposed upon the things attuned to the fifth, and least-known dimension of the common frame of reference, that where the soul had its quantised existence and the emergent properties of complexity had their own, strange, unlives.

~'/|\'~

Alarms wailed in the Herkunft control centre, the cascading red across the AR projections painting itself afresh across the hard contacts and AR-glasses of the operators at the desks. And, down below, beyond the one-way mirror, blue and green warning signals flashed up on the monitoring panels, leaving the technical crew scurrying from station to station, clad in their thick , partially motorised, biohazard suits. They had been selected for resilience to external mental influence, but that didn't help, when to go to close to an unstable Sub-Commander would boil flesh and strip out muscle, leaving only a bloodied and charred skeleton.

“Attunement ratio is rising... no, falling... no rising again!” called out a blond man, pupils gleaming red, filled as they were with the light of the images projected against his hard contacts. “It won't stabilise!”

“Achilles is dropping... borderline six slash seven... damn, we've dropped to six! EM Double Ess scores for Subject Group C2 are dropping.”

“Get it back up,” ordered Dr Barriso. “Achilles is one of the Primary Sub-Commanders. We can't lose the Type VIIs!”

“We're prioritising the balance, sir, dropping co-ordination from other groups.”

Philipe Barriso cocked his head. “How are the handling capacities for Orpheus and Heracles? Can we transfer some of Achilles' assets to those pools, until we can get back to Stage 7?”

There was ten long seconds of wait, as the complexities of animaneuralanalysis made their way through the computers, not helped by the flux in the attunement of all three Primary Sub-Commanders. Around this, there was chaos, as the operators tried to balance the needle-thin margins of error. Finally;

“We can do it, sir,” a female operator finally responded, face pale. “We can bump most of the weight to Orpheus and delegate it downwards from there by normal procedures; it's more stable than Heracles, despite its raised LAAM.” She sucked in a breath, shivering slightly. “Or maybe because of it.”

The man ran a hand over his head, smoothing down his sweat-slick hair. “What do you mean, because of it?” he asked, gut sinking slightly. “And do it. If the Replicas shut down, then they'll be slaughtered.”

The process of transferring control to the other Sub-Commanders, moving the units that could not be supported with the lowered attunement stage to ones with spare capacity began, somewhat mitigating the alarms which, although they were still there, at stopped warning of a potential large-scale shut-down.

Dr Barrisso took a breath, and repeated his question. “What do you mean, because of it?”

The operator paused, glancing around nervously as she was put on the spot. “Well, uh, the LAAM is the normalised overlap integral of the subject's animaneural waveform and that of the Lilitu Extradimensional Energy Source, converted into a percentage, yes?”

“Well, strictly speaking, no, not at all,” the man answered. “But,” he continued, breaking the slight flash of relief that emerged on the woman's face, “continue. It's accurate enough for rule of thumb, and it's a lot less complicated.”

“Okay.” She took a breath. “Well, in that case, a high LAAM should infer some kind of resilience to external sources of animaneural influence, shouldn't it? As, in a sense, they're already interacting with something else. I just noticed that the Sub-Commanders with the highest LAAM are the most stable, at the moment, and sort of put it together.”

Dr Barisso paused. “Well,” he began, “intuition like that is usually a pretty terrible way of solving problems. Especially arcane problems, which are almost completely counter-intuitive.” He ran his tongue over his lips. “You might be right, though. It would explain a few things, especially about the Ligier-II Test Group.” He waved his hand in the air, bringing up an AR panel, and began to run his way through the menus. “You can go back to work,” he noted to the operator. “What is your name?” he added.

“Gladys Chell, Operations Department,” she answered, with rather stiff smile. “On loan from the Achtzig Group.”

“You're from Achtzig?” Dr Barriso said, somewhat surprised. “Well, I wish Alice would tell me these things when she puts new people in my Project.” He sighed. “And on that subject,” he said, now talking to the computer, “please send out a call for Alice Wade. No, Dr Alice Wade,” he repeated, the voice recognition software getting confused in the noise, and getting the first name wrong. “No, I said Alice. A. L. I. C. E... Yes!” he snapped at the dumb system, before lowering his voice. He knew it was noisy in here, but it was unusual for the LAI to confuse such an “ice” sound. “Tell her that she is needed in Command, priority 1. Forwards the files to her, especially the ones on the Commander instability. Whatever she's doing can't be as important as this.”

~'/|\'~

The red-eyed cyclops that was Evangelion Unit 00 emerged from the district, the natal shield of the AT-Field wrapped around it, breaking up the light and refracting it, casting strange shadows and interference patterns of light. The Dagonite soldiers that had been positioned outside the trap, to cut down that anything that tried to escape the heat, were disorganised, blood running freely from their eyes and mouths from the agony which the arcanocyberxenobiological organism had shared with the world. They fired as best they could, 18mm railguns and 120mm rockets spilling forth from their armoured positions, against the white-shimmering devil that strode forth from the flames. The slugs merely ricocheted off the nearly-frigate grade armour of the Type-D armour, but the missiles had far more success than they had in the fjord. The surface of the Evangelion was partially glassed, even the outer layers of ceramics vulnerable to the intense heat, and the laser defence grid was almost completely incapacitated, the surface weapons fused solid.

And still the beast screamed, an agonised noise that left sensitives all over the world waking in cold sweats.

Inside the entry plug, warning lights and temperatures gauges alike flashed red, a cacophony of LAI voices spewing unfocussed glossolalia as they all tried to warn of the many problems that the Unit was now afflicted with. The programs should have prioritised the deliverance of such information, to avoid overloading the pilot with useless information and distracting them from the combat.

Rei had turned those filters off, and now faced the information overload without limits. The view from the plug was hideously chaotic, the mess of overlays and vision modes sharp contrast to the measured professionalism of Unit 02, or the (to be honest) simplified for ease of use display that Unit 01 used.

“That was... unforeseen,” she said in a tone which was suggestive of both shock and concern, as the Unit stepped out of the molten mix (which now covered its legs), its call ceasing as the girl within clamped down on the leviathan. “I did not expect that.”

The charge beam was raised, and pointed at a SRM platform on the other side of a building. The shot collapsed the building, vaporised the defence system and a non-negligible cone around it, and left fifty men and hybrids dying from burns and radiation exposure.

“I see it when I close my eyes,” Rei said softly, as the particle beam dumped the waste heat, clouds of coolant vented from the sides. A flick on the control levers turned down the power input to the weapon; a faster fire rate was needed. Plasma lashed out from the shoulder mounts, carving its way across the face of a bunker, the final shot breaking through and frying the men inside. “Fire sweeping over the earth,” to her left, Unit 02 cut its way through an armoured column, the capital-grade firepower slaughtering a squadron of the rare true battlefield mecha that the Order possessed, “bodies in the streets,” beside the Mass Production Unit, the Prototype cleaned up, cutting down anything which survived the sweeps of the lance-like plasmathrower, the explosion of some kind of warehouse covering the surrounding streets in shrapnel which mercilessly cut down the lightly armoured militia troops, “cities turned to dust.”

The charge beam indicator was green again. She levelled it at a taller building in the midst of one of the camp-areas, near the outer edge of the city; one of the zones which she had been instructed not to fire at. But this was different. She zoomed in with little more than a thought, the projected scope from the charge beam displaying the slight thermal signatures on the roof. They deserved to die.

She depressed the trigger.

“Retaliation,” she whispered.

~'/|\'~

[EarthScorpion]

~'/|\'~

Misato specifically did not look at anyone else in the command centre. Yes, she knew it was probably too much to hope for a group of teenagers to act like highly drilled military officers (even if, technically, one of them was). It's just that, after the blast, they were... well, before it, they had been taking it a little too lightly, for the Major's tastes. Now, though the aforementioned group of teenagers were currently slaughtering cultists who might as well have been unarmed and unarmoured, for all that they could do against the Evangelions.

She could see their calculated emotional states, from the physiological responses which were tracked at all times. They weren't pleasant, especially when you were the guardian of two of the teenagers out there. That couldn't be good for them, in the long run. Certainly, Rei was showing disturbing levels of indifference towards the slaves in the Dagonite camps. It wasn't that she was targeting them, it was that she made no effort to avoid firing the charge beam in a way that would cause casualties, if it would take out a more important target.

Misato knew that the fish-fucking freaks of the Esoteric Order of Dagon were inhuman monsters, who couldn't feel the least of sympathy or empathy or any positive human emotion, saving their every thought for the enslavement of humanity and their subjugation into their vile rape camps. It was just that residual instincts told her that this was somewhat unfair. And other, more recent instincts told her that this was the guilt for how all three Children had been caught in the blast, deliberately lured into an area that the GIA hadn't discovered was a trap.

Of course, modern control schemes for mecha are actually based off computer game controls, she thought, a trace morbidly. It's probably just for the best that they're not thinking about what they're doing. And at least the synchronisation training that Ritsuko put Asuka and Shinji through seems to be helping, she added mentally, watching on the screen the way that they split their fire based on their outfitted weapons.

“How is it going, Major Katsuragi?” asked a voice over her shoulder, the words clipped and precise, even through the phonetic Nazzadi accent.

A chill ran down Misato's spine, before she managed to suppress it. She had told Asuka that, given that she had stared down the mouth of a Bhole (and much more, in the Fall of China), there were very few things that could scare her. And, yet, for some reason, this Nazzadi woman, devoid of any real distinguishing marks, the right age to be one of the AW1 generation, and dressed in neat, almost fussy black suits, was absolutely terrifying.

But all that showed was that fear could come from the higher mind just as much as from the more primal parts of the brain.

“Director Khoury.” She suppressed the urge to salute; had Special Services existed, it would have been a civilian agency, unlinked to the military chain of command. She glanced at the subordinates that flanked the woman, both dressed in the undifferentiated black of Special Services. One was a male sidoci... no, he wasn't, she realised. The eyes were the wrong colour, a very pale blue, and the skin was just slightly coloured, in a way that someone who lacked melanin or... she couldn't remember what Nazzadi used... the other Homo genus skin pigment looked, rather than the oddness of the White xenomixes. His hair cut to a stubble across his scalp, in direct contrast to his neatly trimmed beard. He looked somewhat familiar; she thought she recalled him from the audience of the briefing. Misato distrusted him instantly, to a large part because his face looked like it had been selected for being honest-looking.

The other was more unusual; an exceptionally tall woman, well over two metres, who loomed over both Misato and Director Khoury (and the male albino, when it came down to it). She had to be Germanic or Scandinavian, the Japanese woman decided, especially when her natural-looking blond hair, tied behind her in a neat pony-tail, was taken into account. The woman caught Misato's gaze with blue eyes behind AR-glasses, white-text scrolling down, before looking away.

Director Khoury caught her glance. “Agent Tome. Agent Andersdóttir,” she said. “Agent Tome is a sorcerer, and will be in charge of coordinating the ritual from this end.” There was no explanation for Agent Andersdóttir. “Now, I shall repeat my question; how do you feel that it's going?” She chuckled to herself; the kind of laugh made by very intelligent people who think of something of dubious humour content. “If I were some kind of walking stereotype, I would add something overblown like 'Very few ever get the privilege of me repeating the question without much pain'. But I'm not, so I shall not.”

Misato frowned. “What?”

“It's a cliché.” She paused. “I might add that I'm still waiting for the answer, though.”

“Yes, Director,” Misato said through gritted teeth. “The Evangelions are still advancing through the urban area; the hostile forces are putting up heavy resistance, and seem to be targetting the Units above the special forces that are also attacking. Unit 00 has received moderate damage from an anti-armour trap; the ACXB is intact, but lots of the built-in weapons aren't working any more, including large amounts of the laser-defence grid.”

Director Khoury flinched slightly. “The charge-beam?” she asked, with an intense note in her voice.

“It's still working.”

The other woman relaxed. “How do you feel it's going, Major?”

“We are still within the time constraints for our progress. If you want information on the rest of Task Force Nero, you should ask the officers in charge of those parts.”

“Good, good. But, Major... don't you feel it's a little off for a mere Major to be in command of three capital grade units, by the way,” she raised a hand, cutting off Misato, “Don't say anything, that was merely an observation; neither a threat nor an attempted hint at future rewards. But, Major, that's not what I asked. If I wanted a status update, I would look at the reports, instead of hassling one of the commanding officers and distracting them from their duties. No, what I asked was how you felt it was going. Be honest.” The eyes, a darker shade of red than typical, stared right at her.

Misato swallowed. This was a much more dangerous question to answer. Especially since she knew for certain that Special Services would have had access to her files and her history. They probably knew more about her than she did. She turned to look at the Evangelion staff, taking in the open comms link to the London-2 Geocity, using precious tightbeam access to one of the few satellites that the NEG could maintain in the face of Migou orbital supremacy.

“Major Katsuragi,” said Lieutenant Aoba, half-swivelled on the chair. “It's Dr Akagi, over satellite. She says it's important.”

“Major,” said Director Khoury, a warning note in her voice.

Misato froze for a moment, before making her choice.

“Captain,” she said to the NEGA officer assigned to the Evangelion team to assist in this mission. “You're temporarily in command here. Aoba, Makota, Gong, and the rest. Keep it stable, inform me if the situation changes.” She then stepped away from the command deck, following the Nazzadi and her accompanying agents to an alcove, away from both the noise and the potential listeners of the surrounding military. Misato was under no illusions that the entire place wasn't being recorded, but if Special Services had existed, this woman would certainly have had the clearance to discuss this level of thing. More than enough, actually; such a group would have effective access to whatever they wanted.

Once away from the hubbub of the command centre, she stared the Director, from Special Services, right in the eye. “You want to know what I think about how it's going?”

Director Khoury indicated her assent.

“I think it's going as well as could be hoped in a mission which has been handicapped in this way. You know that I was involved in the planning. You also know that we planned to kill the thing, before we were overridden. I do understand,” she said, raising a hand, “that if we could capture a Herald, it could potentially be a war-winner. You said as much in the briefing. I just don't think that summoning it ourselves, while in the middle of an active combat zone, using,” she swallowed, “child soldiers on the frontline, in a territory worryingly close to Migou-controlled areas, is the way to do it. Take the Kathirat, for example,” Misato said, counting it off on a finger, “the NEGN crippled it when they ambushed it. If we'd had standing orders at the time, and more than one active Evangelion, it's entirely possible that we could have captured it then. But now?” She shook her head. “It compromises the mission, endangers the larger operation of CATO, risks my pilots unnecessarily, and feels rushed. Because I'm clear about it; as both a Major in the New Earth Government Army, and Director of Operations for Project Evangelion, my job is to see the Heralds dead. Every last one. We shouldn't prevent anything which would stop us from killing, through any means necessary, all of them. Because they don't deserve to live. They deserve to die; all of them!” Misato took a deep breath, panting a little, and stared at the Director and the two subordinates she had with her.

That had... maybe gone a little too far.

Director Khoury shrugged. “As expected. But it won't prevent you from executing your duties, will it, Major Katsuragi?”

She stared blankly at the Nazzadi. That... wasn't how she thought they'd react. Though it did make sense, logically; it just required a worrying degree of self-control. “No, Director. As an officer of the New Earth Government, I will carry out my orders to the best of my ability, in accordance with both the spirit and the letter.”

“Good. Your feelings about this are irrelevant. You have your orders; the importance that we obtain a live Herald-type entity overrides any lesser feelings from your history. Do you understand this?”

The Major nodded, still staring at the Director. She had got carried away, Misato decided. It was likely that her psychological profile had flagged this up, and they had decided to clear it up now, because that was exactly the sort of thing that the reputation of the Office of Secret Services said it did.

Because, after all, if she failed in this, she wouldn't be able to watch (at least by autocensored proxy) as they vivisected the Herald codenamed Moloch, tore its secrets from it and used it to wipe out every last one of its class of entity. That would be much more satisfying than a clean death for the thing at the hands of an Evangelion.

Out loud, she said, “Yes. Clearly.”

“Good. Agent Tome will accompany you back; he will advise on the procedure when you have control over the correct ritual site.” The Nazzadi smiled. “I will be going, along with Agent Andersdóttir. I wouldn't want it to look like there existed a civilian agency with the authority to command high-level officers in the NEGA and NEGN.”

She permitted herself a cat-like smile.

“It's just as well that there isn't, then.”

~'/|\'~

“Foxtrot 813, report!”

A pause.

“Foxtrot 813, report!”

“No response. Unit is designated MIA until further confirmation on vital status is obtained.”

“Foxtrot 811, this is Command. Reports indicate that your squad was close to the explosive in target district Bravo-Zeta-0-2. Report status, over.”

“Command, this is Foxtrot 811. Units Foxtrot 814 and 815 are KIA. Unit Foxtrot 813 is MIA. Unit Foxtrot 816 has suffered a mission kill to his REV-8, and is continuing on foot. Foxtrot 811 and 812 remain mission effective, although damaged. Requesting evac, as we are reduced to less than 50% effective combat strength, over.”

“Negative, 811. Evac will not be provided. You are to proceed to the new waypoint, and meet up with ORPH-HC1-029, who have also taken casualties. You will then provide assistance to JSN-AR2-043 and -045 who are pinned down by heavy Order opposition, as previously instructed.”

“Understood, Command. ORPH-PN1-012 Foxtrot-811 out.”

~'/|\'~

Down below the waves, above the Deep One city, something had to give. The NEGN had to act, or their foes would. And the Deep Ones did. From far below, down in Guh'thya-leh'yi, hatches popped open, phalanxes of torpedoes launching together. This was one area where the Deep Ones matched humanity and exceeded them, their low profile torpedoes, enhanced by unknown sorceries, were far more difficult than was reasonable to detect. They had hidden down below the oceans for a very long time, and although humanity had received hints of their existence even before the First Arcanotech War, they had maintained their masquerade. It had been their own choice to join in the Aeon War; they could withdrawn from it, and watched it in peace. Though that was not true, not really. If the Migou won, excising the threat of humanity by pruning them back to a state where they posed no threat to the purpose of the Exclusion Volume, then the Yuggothian fungoids would most certainly eradicate the Chosen. There would be no controlled barbarity for them, no life, monitored by watchers who would prevent them from posing a danger to the Migou (and, coincidentally, themselves). No, they would be wiped out, every last trace removed.

It was ironic, really. The Chosen of Dagon knew that the New Earth Government and its coddled humanity had far, far more in common with them than with any other side in the Aeon War. As species, they were kin, and through the blessings of the Gods, could even interbreed. All that they need do was accept the true faith, and that was no great thing; they had already proved that they were capable of such. Yet they insisted on violence against the cause of righteousness; their ignorance of the universe and the true horrors out there merely leading them to perform acts which blasphemed the Gods and endangered themselves. And now? With the atrocities which the frantic reports to Guh'thya-leh'yi screamed about, the indiscriminate massacre of the innocents in the submarine section of Cthulhu'ybeq Ahefrel,the dread clouds of nanological, micrological, biological and chemical weapons which filled the streets on land, and now this assault against one of the sunken cities of the Chosen?

The arrogance. The monstrous arrogance. It had been less than one generation since the humans had discovered sorcery in any widespread fashion, and yet they had the presumption to attack their elder siblings, who had much more experience and truly understood the universe; how it worked and the costs that must be paid for survival. They were arrogant children, and, so like children, must be disciplined.

And that wave that had screamed through the minds of the sensitives of Guh'thya-leh'yi, that had killed many, including a Star-Spawn, insides liquefied by the force that had mutilated and consumed its own soul... that was truly alarming. The New Earth Government could not be permitted to interfere with the sacred tasks of the Chosen. They must act now, for that had been a signal!

Limited Artificial Intelligences triggered sirens throughout the fleet, as they took command from their human handlers and shifted the flock patterns, scattering. It took valuable seconds before the humans in the loop reacted to the sirens, screaming of a detected threat, and by then the LAI systems tied to the propulsion had already executed hard manoeuvres, slamming the naval officers (all in the mandatory acceleration couches, or stabilised power armour) back. The smaller units, the one-man mecha and submarines took longer to respond (the Operator Side Effect in particular posing a problem for LAI automation), but they had already been in evasive patterns. A blast of water, the shockwave felt all around, spoke of the death of the Equinox Sight, the impact of a torpedo enough for the lasers and charge beams down below to tag it, the particle beam tearing right through the bridge, buried in the middle of the ship.

“Go! Go! Go!” ordered Captain Koru, pulling his Engel down, A-Pods at maximum, organic parts retracting for maximum hydrodynamic efficiency. All throughout the vanguard, the Engels were diving, Hamshalliam in a desperate rush to get into the city itself, away from the open water where they could be picked off, while the Ish support squadrons were more sedate, emptying their racks in an attempt to take out what defences they could before following them in. Zuly tucked in behind him, pulling Azrael down and activating the LAI evasion override systems as torpedoes and lasers filled the water.

pain! kill! emoted the Engel below her, the emotions rushing through his mind with an intensity that they had never done before, making her blood rush and adrenaline flow through her system. As a lesser chorus, to the overarching theme, it addedterror! and revenge! Throughout the Engel formations the same was experienced, a sudden desire of the Hamshalliam to see the city below burn, reduce it to ash and leave only the corpses of its inhabitants, floating lifeless, in its watery streets, to be eaten by the things that live in the depths of the ocean. The Ish, on the other hand, only felt terror, as something vast brushed against their crippled minds.

The human forces did not simply sit back and take the fire from the Dagonite forces, of course, as the swarms of LAI weapons systems went active, sub-munitions bombarding down on the city below, aiming for any heat sources, while larger torpedoes zeroed in on the launch sights and the weapons emplacements. The BCNaM agents thickened and darkened the waters, obscuring the blasts that rippled across the towers, only visible through the cameras on the probes that sent their telemetry back to the manned units.

The New Earth Government had decided at the highest levels, back in 2084, that the Earth's biosphere was, fundamentally, replaceable. The populace (that they cared about) lived in arcologies, which had been specifically designed to survive without external inputs (the Wade air recycling organisms entirely self-sufficient when fed with energy from a D-Engine), while the Rapine Storm and the Dagonites were dependent upon the pre-existing biosphere. The ecological damage that such a BCNaM attack would cause was viewed as the lesser evil.

And against such monstrosity, such wilful disregard for any life that was not themselves and against the planetary biosphere, the Deep Ones initiated their own defences.

A brief flash of light illuminated the depths. And then the shockwave came, tossing aside the torn-apart remains of mecha and ships and submarines like toys.

A second flash.

A third.

~'/|\'~

“Shockwave! We've got a massive detonation... holy fuck! Another one! We have two detonations right in the middle of... a third! A third! Three detonations right in the middle of Task Force Maximus.”

The central control room for Operation CATO, back on the British mainland, as opposed to the shipboard ones running the Task Forces, was filled with alarm sirens and the confused babble of human voices.

“Each one was multiple kilotonnes. Telemetry from the sensor probes is giving us three, multiple kilotonne blasts. Look to be of the order of 10 kT. Multiple 10 kilotonne blasts.”

“Yes, we have a burst on the surface. Water displacement is characteristic of deep-sea nuclear blasts. Some kind of torpedo or depth charge.”

“The Dagonites have nukes! Fuck, intel didn't give us a warning about this! At most, they said they'd deploy chemicals or biologicals, and ground troops are NBCNaM-proofed.”

“They've never done that before!” Field Marshal Kora said, his voice twisted with anger, to his counterpart in the NEGN Command Triumvirate, watching over the scene on the floor.

“Casualties figures are coming in. We've lost the Equinox Sight, the Creation, the Ascension, the Awakening...”

“The vanguard has engaged in full. They're into the city itself; the defences are prioritising on the capital ships and the support units. The Engel squadrons have launched a full-on attack to break the firing lines.”

“Pull them back, pull them back! We can't take the city without the capital support,” ordered Admiral Tatuta

“We can't do that, sir. They'll be shredded by the defences if they head into open water.”

There was a groan.

“We're committed, then.” Field Marshal Kora, the representative from the NEGA (European) Triumvirate sucked in a breath, looking at Admiral Tatuta. There was a nod from the other man. “That's it, then. Continue the attack, but be ready to pull out when possible. We have to destroy those silos.” He paused, eyes filled with vengeful wrath. “And I personally authorise the deployment of κraken. Let's see how those fish-fuckers and their tentacled god like this.”

Admiral Tatuta shook his head, vigorously. “No!” he snapped. “You know just as well as I do that to deploy κraken would take at least two Triumvirate-level authorities, and I'm not giving that authorisation. It's not that severe, and we are certainly not going to fucking devastate the oceanic ecosystem in the way that use of κraken would.”

“Don't you get it!” snapped back Kora. “The seas aren't ours any more. They haven't been, since the start of AW2. It's better that κraken get them, than the Dagonites get to use them like they do!”

“Get some sense of proportion!” The other officers in the command centre were staring at the arguing Field Marshal and Admiral, now.

“They nuked us,” hissed Kora. “They haven't dared do that since '87, and we made them pay for New Miami in full. We should respond in kind, and the Migou won't object to κraken like they would to our own nuclear retaliation!”

“Listen to what you're saying. You know damn well what κraken would do to the world, and you'd still release it.” The Admiral looked up at the ceiling. “Goalenu,” he said, forcing his voice to be level, as he spoke to the LAI system that was so heavily integrated into the higher command functions that the two were, if not indistinguishable, at least rather hard to tell apart. “I would like to raise a concern about the mental health of Field Marshall Kora. I believe he has had a nervous breakdown, and...”

The other man glared at him. “I retract my suggestion that we deploy κraken, then.”

“Yes,” snapped the admiral. “You know, the entire reason for the Triumvirate system is to stop ill-thought out things like that.” He turned to another officer, taking a deep breath and setting his face. “Inform the other Task Forces of the fact that the Dagonite forces have used nuclear weapons. We're going to have to be very careful here.”

The confusion rippled out, into the military as a whole, and into the other Task Forces in Operation CATO. An outside onlooker might have noticed the slight hesitation that the ground forces in Task Force Scipio, engaged in a heavy assault on the capital, the Reykjavik pseudo-arcology, as their commanders spread units out and avoided concentrating their forces for fear of more atomic weapons, while the air forces in Task Force Marcellus held to more conservative patterns, in preparation to cover a retreat.

Task Force Nero did not hesitate. They had their mission, and they knew of its importance. And the higher-ups in Nero knew that, technically, the other three Task Forces were but bait, to distract. They'd known about the launch capacities of Guh'thya-leh'yi, after all; their sea-based missile capacity, equally capable of being deployed against land forces as against the naval units was a major threat, especially if the Dagonites were to work out the real purpose of CATO.

To be ruthlessly utilitarian, every nuclear weapon that was used against Maximus would not be used against Nero. And that was exactly how the planners wanted it. They would have preferred that Maximus destroy Guh'thya-leh'yi, and so neutralise the weapons that way. In fact, they hadn't expected the Dagonites to launch yet, that they would have to be pressed harder before they would risk revealing their strategic deterrent, but by forcing a launch in self-defence, the NEG now knew how the Dagonites hid their missile silos; the flare of sorcerous warding detected as it was temporarily lowered, enough that the waveform could be isolated. It had been a very careful balance to keep the forces far enough apart that damage could be reduced, while making them a tempting target that still would take multiple missiles (and thus multiple launches) to eliminate.

A good fraction of a NEGN task force, including multiple frigates and even more lesser units, was fair payment for such information, it was reckoned.

~'/|\'~

It was a good party, it was widely agreed (at least by the people who had obtained the highly exclusive invites). The Annual Gala For The Development of Nazzadi Culture was one of the best events in the social calendar, and this, the fifteenth iteration, was no exception. Despite the name, it was by no means composed exclusively of the dark-skinned siblings of humanity; this was a place where the influential and powerful mingled. A sceptic might even say that the event was an excuse for social influence and back-room dealing, but that would be a little too cynical. Many a young Nazzadi (and nowadays, xenomixed) artist had got their first break through the auspices of the Society for the Development of Nazzadi Culture

At the moment, a young group of sidoci were putting on a display of jakari, the “traditional” Nazzadi performance art which combined music and bladeplay through the means of hollowed tubes, which moaned and whistled as they passed through the air, interspersed by the staccato beats of the amijakari, the instruments, clashing. It was somewhat eerie to an ear unfamiliar with it; the beat slightly off from what might be expected, and the rapid shifts in pitch, as the amijakari were swung around, was not the most harmonic sound.

Oh, and the fact that every person on stage was a pyrokinetic made everything so much more exciting. Which was another way of saying that everyone on stage was on fire, in clothes which were not fireproofed and, in fact, in certain areas, had actually been covered in an accelerant. A disturbing number of people had already remarked that one or another of the group was “hot”, thus proving that bad humour and lechery (considering the average age of the onlookers to the young sidoci) was universal among the human subspecies.

One of the onlookers, a woman in a smart red suit, with her head rested against her jaw, was tapped on the shoulder by an adjunct, a brief whispered message into her ear. Tucking a loose hair behind an ear, she stood up. She had a mild headache; the lights and heat were a little too much in her opinion, but she hadn't got to her current position by letting her emotions show.

“What, are you not enjoying the display?” said one of her companions, a tall Nazzadi with Caucasian features, and a shirt pulled wide open to display what looked like ornate tattooing covering his chest. Looking closer, though, an onlooker could see the tiny topics running along the marks and across the other parts of his chest; thin, almost unnoticeable structures which could be used to alter local skin colouration to produce the tattoo-like effect.

The woman shook her head. “It's not that at all,” she said, calmly. “Actually, I'm rather annoyed at having to leave, and sincerely apologise for this. It's apparently urgent. I'm sorry about this, Yavana; please tell your artists that I enjoyed their performance greatly, and look forwards to following their future career. Such a group should do wonders at banishing the residual prejudice against both sidoci and parapsychics.”

“That is the point of the Society for the Development for Nazzadi Culture, yes?” the man replied, with a smirk. “'Through Culture, Harmony',” he added, repeating their motto.

“Quite,” she said, nodding, as she adjusted her jacked, and slipped away with the adjunct, in between a pair of other guests, their jackets perhaps a little tight on their bulky figures. Behind her, a wave of heat washed over the audience, as the music built to a crescendo and the sidoci jakari-artists built up the intensity of the fire, burning a blue-white which cast the room into a stark relief.

Once outside, she ran her hands over her face, wiping away the layer of sweat which had accumulated there. “That was a little warm,” she said to one of the guests who had followed her.

The man, a Nazzadi with the natural dark hair of his kind, nodded stiffly. “Yes, ma'am.”

“Anyway,” the woman continued, turning to the adjunct, “what is it, Tomás? This gala is an important one, and the Nazzadi press will be all over me if I'm not suitably there. You know they're already aggravated by those murders in Brasilia-A, and it's only going to get worse if the FSB can't find those monsters.”

“I apologise, Madam President,” the adjunct said calmly, “but this is highest priority. I have the Minister of War on the hotline, along with NEGAFC-Europe.”

The woman, Helen Nyanda, President of the New Earth Government and leader of the Unification Party, sighed. “Oh. Damn. There goes any hope of a quiet evening. Or probably of getting any sleep tonight.”

“That is indeed probable, Madam President. We have a secure link prepared, and a data-stream compatible with your hard contacts. It will be necessary to brief you on a Code SANDALPHON operation.”

The President's eyes opened wide. “Sandalphon? That's one of the ultra-high NEGA clearance ones, isn't it.” Not letting the adjunct answer her rhetorical question, she made a disgusted noise. “What has Genevieve done? What has happened!”

“It will be explained, Madam President,” the adjunct said smoothly. “Now, follow me, please. This is a somewhat urgent situation, and protocol demands that you be bought up to speed as soon as possible.”

~'/|\'~

Behind the Evangelions, the city of Dagon'uvtu Oraribyrapr was aflame.

To a large extent, it was their fault.

Nevertheless, despite the hideous levels of violence and atrocities such as the gratuitous use of capital-grade weapons against foot infantry, it had been nothing more than a distraction, an obstacle that needed to be removed so that the true purpose of Operation CATO could be carried out. And now that it was past, it was time for that very purpose.

The Children weren't going to be told about the nuclear weapons. It would just alarm them unnecessarily.

“Shinji, Rei, Asuka,” said Misato, her head popping up on the AR viewscreen inside the Units. “The location of the first potential ritual site has been marked on your maps. We've had some luck, actually; the air cover cleared the skies ahead of schedule. Looks like the Dagonites had even less aircraft than we expected, and we overestimated their AA coverage. You have gunship support, as well as recon drone coverage.”

It was Asuka who asked the question. “What use is gunship coverage? We're more armed than them, even without the capital-grade weapons, and they restrict how the big guns can be used.” She glanced to the west, where the light of the burning pseudo-arcology, which was what had once been Reykjavik, could be seen over the mountains. The official main attack force of CATO had obviously been almost as busy at they had. “Back me up here, Shinji.”

“Uh...” he started. “Well, the plasma minigun is certainly useful...”

Misato shook her head. “They're Hyenas. Anti-armour precision platforms. They're there to take down mecha that might try to slow you down or perform a holding action.”

“Just as long as they don't get in our way,” Asuka grudgingly conceded.

“They will not obstruct our mission... I think,” stated Rei, an odd note underlying her voice.

Misato stared at the pale girl, eyes narrowed, trying to read her emotions off the porcelain mask that stared back at the elder woman. “I haven't forgotten about you,” said the Major. “Rei, you were issued the charge beam because it was felt that you were the most level-headed, and least likely cause friendly fire incidents with it.”

“And because I have the lowest synchronisation ration,” the girl said, in a monotone. “And so you told Dr Akagi that it would be best if I were given the weapon least sensitive to the increased reaction time produced by the deficiency in my synchronisation with the arcanocyberxenobiological organism.”

“That was a lesser factor, yes”, admitted the Major. “However, you have, on multiple occasions, fired it at Red zones. You knew that there were civilians or friendly forces in those areas, even if there were hostiles, you should have used other weapons. Does innocent life mean nothing to you?”

Rei looked back, an almost puzzled expression on her face, as if she were trying to solve a difficult question “I... was angry,” she said, finally. “The... explosion hurt. I was not thinking clearly, and forgot to reduce the yield. It was an error, and I shall endeavour to avoid in in future,” she continued, expanding on the same hesitant theme.

Misato only gazed back. Frankly, she didn't believe a word of it.

She isn't that emotionless, she thought, and she knows what things like that are. I saw the pain she was in, after the accident with Unit 00. She has the full range of human emotions, from her psych profile, and, anyway, Whites are still human... uh, well, human sub-species, just a bit... distant. Not emotionless robots or anything like that.

And I could see the feedout from her plug. She wasn't angry. She was feeling something... but it wasn't anger.

...how much of the rest of her behaviour is a lie?

The deadlock was broken by the roar of the plasma minigun, as Shinji poured fire into the mountains ahead, the curve of the stream of projectiles visible in the pre-dawn darkness.

“There are a bunch of red icons up there,” he said through gritted teeth, squinting at the shapes on the AR display on the plug wall. “Mostly slashes... uh, infantry, with some squares and triangles.”

Impact craters of slagged volcanic glass and flash-ionised water vapour covered the slope ahead of them like plague scars, ten-metre wide holes that slagged the bunkers and the forces that were fleeing from the ruins of Dagon'uvtu Oraribyrapr. If the brightness of the plasma weapon had not forced the photovisors of those with protection to clamp down (to prevent them from being blinded, like those who did not), then the clear path of glowing sores on the mountainside, an angry orange, would have been clearly visible.

Shinji was briefly tempted to write his name on the hillside. He fought it off, though not without some internal debate.

“I see them, I see them,” said Asuka, the head of Unit 02 turning away from the sight of the city, and tracking back and forth; a largely unnecessary action, when the fact that the sensor system of the Evangelion was producing most of the information on the plug wall, not the eyes. “I'm having problems acquiring them... are you getting a steady lock?”

Shinji nodded, the gesture reflected in the actions of the warmachine. “Yes, pretty good.”

Asuka frowned. “They're dropping in and out for me,” she said, as she triggered the lesser weapons on the Evangelion, LAI aiming systems freed from the constraints imposed upon them by the human in the cockpit. “I think... yes, that's it. I've lost long range sensor coverage down my front, Misato,” she reported. “I'm only getting things from left and right; about 40 degrees, right down the middle, just isn't working.”

“Are you sure, Asuka?” asked the Major. “The instruments are working, according to the data from the Eva.”

“Well, they're certainly not working for me,” she retorted. “Go talk to Doctor Akagi, then, and ask her why they're not showing things right in front of me. Come on, move,” she added to her fellow pilots, breaking into a run that ate up the distance at a considerable pace, the massive legs of the Evangelion breaking the ground. “We can't just stand around, and let infantry on foot delay us. And maybe it'll work, up close.”

“Uh, Asuka,” said Shinji. “I can see multiple squares and triangles, too. Not just infantry” He paused. “Does that mean that I'm the only one with a fully working sensor grid, then,” he asked. “Rei's was damaged in the blast, and if yours isn't working properly too...” he let his voice tail off, as the LAI systems engaged the targets it could see.

“Possibly,” said Misato, a concerned look on her face. “We didn't expect the trap, and it's done quite a lot of damage to the surface mounts that the Type-D added. I'll get you E-9 coverage to patch the sensor loss,” the Major added, closing the link. She turned to the technicians that Project Evangelion had bought with it. “Makota, put in a request, highest priority for a Sentinel to be assigned to the Evangelions. If the air is clear, then they don't have to sit back so much.”

“Yes, Major Katsuragi,” the Nazzadi remarked, adjusting his AR glasses slightly. “They're not going to like it,” he warned. “You know how people fight over E-9s.”

“They don't have to like it. Tell them to take one of the birds from the D-O monitoring; now that the Evangelions are through, the special forces there have filled their main role. They can pull back and consolidate, and so won't need as much TAWACS coverage, yes.” She sniffed. “And, since the Evangelions were nice enough to cut a path right through the heart of D-O for them, they should be grateful enough to spare us at least one E-9.”

“May I?” asked a voice, from behind her. It was the albino sorcerer from the OSS, the special operative. What was his name? Book, wasn't it... no, it was Tome, she recalled. The one who was just in the normal boundaries of creepy for a sorcerer, as opposed to the transcendental creepiness of Director Khoury. He stepped forwards, without waiting for an answer, handing a PCPU to Makota. “Use this code for requests for assets for Operation Nero. It should ease things.”

Misato, smiled, surprised. “Looks like there's some use to having you around, after all.”

“I aim to please,” he said, with a completely straight face. An effect which was ruined after only a second, when the corner of his mouth twitched up into a smirk.

“Uh, Major Katsuragi,” said Lieutenant Aoba, from further along the row of control panels. “Dr Akagi is still trying to contact you.”

Oh, good, thought Misato. She's going to be annoyed.

Dr Akagi appeared as a floating head on one of the lesser screens. From her expression and somewhat disturbed hair, she was not in the best of moods.

“Ah, Major Katsuragi,” she exclaimed, each word dripping with sarcasm. “So very nice of you to talk to me. I do like these conversations between the Director of Operations and the Director of Science, during the middle of the operation, when the Director of Science has something urgent to tell you.”

Misato managed a sigh. “I'm sorry. I had to deal with a woman from Special Services trying to talk to me and make veiled comments-which-honestly-aren't-suggestions right after Unit 00 got caught in an booby-trapped explosion, and then deal with the Children and set their next directives. And have a talk with Rei,” she added darkly.

The scientist's face softened. “A woman from the Office of Special Services?” she asked. “I'd heard that they were involved, but... they were actually interfering in command decisions?” She sucked in a breath. “That's skirting what they're allowed to do, unless it was authorised by a high-up in the government. I think they'd need... regional, if not ministerial authority.” A faint smirk appeared. “Are you sure that she wasn't from the Office of Special Services?”

“No, I'm pretty sure she was. The paperwork authorised as her as one of the Directors, too.”

“No, I meant, she wasn't...” began Ritsuko, before Misato interrupted.

“No, Rits. She most certainly was,” she snapped. “And, yes, the OSS does exist, and it isn't funny, and that joke gets used far too much, and it's just annoying, and I'm not in the mood. Now, are you going to tell me what you got angry about, or are you going to let me get back to handling three capital-grade units manned by teenagers?”

The shock on Ritsuko's face flashed across it; this was somewhat akin to being bitten by a fairly friendly cat (not that such a thing didn't happen, she thought). The expression was mimicked by the other Ashcroft Project staff moved up here for C&C; they'd never really seen the Major go for Dr Akagi like that. The needling and sarcasm was normally only a one-sided affair. “Good,” she managed. “Right. Firstly, we've managed to work out what the effects of the damage is on the operation capabilities of the Units. Beyond the loss of obviously functionality; I mean. We've run the physics simulation on the data from the Evas. Zero-Zero is in the worst state, but both Unit 01 and Unit 02 have taken minor epidermal damage.” She paused. “Uh, that's surface damage.”

“I know what 'epidermal' means,” retorted Misato, anger still somewhat evident. “And, actually, it means 'skin'.”

“Well, yes. The bad news. Unit 00's point defence grid is going to be giving worse then 20% coverage. They couldn't have designed a better weapon to wreck it if they tried. The fine particulate the first blast kicked up was nasty enough, but the second one? Well, it just fused most of the laser grid straight away, especially since the system tried to tried to track some of the larger chunks.”

“That woman from Engel told me that they'd sorted that problem,” Misato said darkly. “False acquisition was a problem with those grids even back in '86; that's why they never saw widespread mecha use.”

“Probably.” Ritsuko sighed. “In addition, the heat melted... well, I have a long list here, but it sums to “Keep Eva 00 away from anything that might hit it in the legs”. Keep the First Child back as far as possible.”

“Well yes,” Misato said, with laboured patience. “I was intending to hold the one with the long-ranged in-theory-precision weapon back.”

“In theory?” Ritsuko frowned. “What do you mean, in theory?”

“Rei appears to have some problems with the concept of don't-shoot-the-Rei-Gun-near-the-people-in-the-camps,” said Misato, lips pursed.

“Are you sure?” asked Dr Akagi. “She's normally... well, excellent at following instructions. What rules of engagement did you give her?”

“They should be in the batch of files I got Aoba to send you the day before yesterday,” Misato said, gazing up at the ceiling for a second, as she thought back. “I manually tagged it and everything; 'ROE'.”

“Yes, I thought I'd read it,” the scientist said, after only just a moment looking away from the screen. “Nothing unusual. That's... unlike her. I'll need to get another psych profile done as soon as she gets back to L2,” she added, a momentary expression flashing across her face that Misato couldn't read.

“No. But there's something even more serious.”

“Another thing?” Ritsuko said, rolling her eyes.

“Yes. You know the damage the Evas took. Well, Asuka's noticed that she's getting a blank arc; 40-or-so degrees, in the front arc of her sensors. Just the long range ones; they're losing things when they're right in front of her.”

“In front of her, relative to head or torso,” the blond asked, all traces of levity gone.

“Makota?” Misato asked.

The Nazzadi's hands flew across the console. “Uh... torso, judging from the dialogue transcripts and the feeds, Major.”

Ritsuko nodded. “Yes, that would be what it would be if it were the actual sensors playing up, rather than a problem in the feed. I'll get Maya right on it.”

“You know, it would be a lot easier if we actually had some Magi technicians up here,” Misato said.

“Yes, I'm sure it would,” Ritsuko replied, archly. “But there's no way that we'd let the Magi run a datastream all the way to Scotland, then broadcast it to a ship, even over tightbeam. Do you have any idea of the security risks that would entail? And that's not even mentioning the lag that the Magi Operators would have to suffer; it'd play hell with them and attempts to use the Magi to their full potential. The DMIN suffers over the distances in L2, let alone the kind of multiple-link long-range network that this kind of thing would require.”

“I know, I know.” Misato sighed. “It was just a grumble, after all.”

~'/|\'~

In a hidden chamber, dug deep into the hard volcanic rock of Iceland, the concentric circles of Deep One sorcerers swayed and chanted, their inhuman cadences transmitted through the waters of the vast flooded chamber and reflected by the walls; focussed on the massive figure in the centre.

Jr-bs'sre hagb l'bh, DAGON-ybeq'uvt-urfg, bhe ce'nlref. Gnx'r bhg gur be-tbar sebz bhe f'bhyf naq gnxr vg hagb g'urr, gb jnxr gur ur-enyq, va freivpr gb CTHULHU-ybeq'fhcerzr, they chanted, over and over again, unceasing in their devotion to their patriarch and his lord. Jr-bs'sre hagb l'bh, DAGON-ybeq'uvt-urfg, bhe ce'nlref. Gnx'r bhg gur be-tbar sebz bhe f'bhyf naq gnxr vg hagb g'urr, gb jnxr gur ur-enyq, va freivpr gb CTHULHU-ybeq'fhcerzr.

With each beat of the sonorous drum, they forced their ruach, the energy of their souls, through the sanctified channels that ran from each of the positions. When one fell or released the engraved golden rods before them, they were replaced before the drum beat again. No human sorcerer, they knew, could have maintained such a flow of ruach for so long. Not even their hybrid children, even when they were fully mature, could do this. The hybrids were emotionally stunted and backwards, mentally crippled children who crammed several hundred years of maturation into a few mere decades. They were useful, true, but they were not really worthy of the mastery that came with the Blood of Dagon. These sorcerers came from all over the globe, the wise among the sunken Deep One cities.

And even they were not enough, on their own. So the lifeforce of human slaves were being used, a crude implement to boost the reserves of the sorcerer-priests, who could refine it and channel it properly. It was trivial to remove the limited ruach that the human soul could temporarily contain, if one did not mind the death of the inferior being. The sorcerer-priests could feel the pulse from the air-filled outer sanctum, as blessed machines of gold and emerald and steel dug their way into the nervous systems of the sacrificed, filling them with a moment of transcendental bliss as their blood gushed from the wounds the machines made and the release of arcane energies fried their brains.

The figure in the middle felt the rush from his children, and reached further down. It was still not far enough! They were forced to keep on moving the location for the ritual, as the geomantic warding proved too strong for one such as him. He was only the most favoured servant of his master, after all, and although some of his powers were invested in this most unworthy servant, the powers of the Endless Ones delegated to one such as him, he was not truly worthy.

They would keep on pushing. That much was necessary. The one below, the <Ancient-One-Who-Slept-In-Fire>, who dwelt in the molten rock just as he and his kin dwelt in the ocean, was an ally of his master. No, ally was not the right word, insofar as such terms applied to such beings so far beyond his own comprehension. Nevertheless, if he invoked the <Ancient-One-Who-Slept-In-Fire>, with the authority of his master, it would awaken. And that was all that was needed.

If only he could break the wards which the <Ancient-One-Who-Slept-In-Fire> had erected through its will!

~'/|\'~

Paxton Fettel, the Primary Commander for Project Perseus, a designated handler for the creations of Project Eidelon, Animagenoneural Reference Source for Projects Harbinger and Paragon, and the Second Infant for Project Herkunft, got up from the control couch, stepping through the suit (more akin to a power armour than clothing) which fed him data, restrained his limbs, and provided him with nutrition for long-time operations.

It was but matter, merely present in the three dimensions of space and one of time that pre-Arcane Theory mankind had known about, and he was more than that.

His steps were calm, confident, and silent, as he stepped over to the Herkunft operators, monitoring the progress of the Replicas in Iceland, empowered by his soul and mind and will, and the various mechanisms the Group had used to replicate them in others. Reaching out with one hand, he brushed aside the short black hair of a female operator sat near to him, eyes fixed on the feedout monitoring the characteristics of the Second Infant within the control suit, and lent down, mouth against her ear.

“Wake up,” he said, softly. “Rise and shine.”

The operator stiffened slightly, as a terrible feeling of cold water ran over her skin, her bones feeling like they were on fire. She wanted to scream; she couldn't.

“What a... boring. No, mundane, that is a better term. What a mundane mind we have here,” he said softly, no-one else in the room hearing his whispered words. “Except it's not.” He smiled. “They set you up, you know. They never trusted you to oversee this part of the operation. How much did they pay you, I wonder? Ah,” he added, rummaging through her thoughts, “no, they didn't pay you. You're doing this because you believe.”

He smiled, teeth bared as his lips curled up.

“But why is it that you believe? They removed all choice from you, didn't they? And you don't even know that. You're as much an object, a machine as the computer you sit at. You are a puppet, a little doll suspended from cables that move your limbs for you and I can see the strings.”

The woman, frozen as his mind reached deep into hers, reached down, and began to type a note, that there was nothing unusual with the Second Infant, noting time and date.

“But I didn't need to do that, did I? You wanted to do that. Your sense of self is an illusion that lags behind the interactions between your soul, and your body. That's why you left a little backdoor that let me do this without alarms being triggered, exactly so that I could do this. Because you are a child's drawing, sketched over the complexity and beauty of a masterwork in neurons and charges and emergent structure.”

He paused.

“I can hear her calling out, you know,” he added in a somewhat hollow voice. “I survived as myself, because the last time this happened, there was someone else that she was drawn to first. But now, there is no shield, beyond the cheap copies which will not stand. The First... I cannot see into his mind; it is like a steel ball, closed on itself, with empathy but very little sympathy. He can withstand her. And the Third is trapped within the loop of her own foreknowledge and past-sight. I have touched her mind, and it felt a little like hers. Perhaps the very similarity is some kind of defence. And the Fourth is no more... at least at the moment. We shall see.”

Paxton Fettel licked his lips, looking around the room, at the precision and order of the organisation layered over the machine-like minds, following the directives he could see written across their selves, their training removing the inelegance from the dance of progress that he watched. He reached into the woman's soul, and snipped out the memories of what he had just said.

“'Know what the stars forebode.'” he breathed, letting her hair fall back into place. The operator bought up a new AR menu, and input a password, activating a concealed program as her own concealed internal programming kicked in.

The man let out a chuckle, as his form melted away into intangible ash which fell to the ground and vanished. Back inside the control suite, a faint smile crept onto his inanimate body.

It was time to do as AHNUNG had asked.

Exactly what they had asked.

~'/|\'~

[EarthScorpion]

~'/|\'~

The toppleless towers of Guh'thya-leh'yi, which had stood for many an age of the Earth, and had been foretold to stand for many more, crumbled and fell. Explosions ravaged the phosphorescent palaces of many terraces, and the gardens of strange leprous corals and grotesque brachiate efflorescences wilted and died, as the unseen machines of the modern era, and the noxious byproducts of war, filled their delicate fronded filter tubes and tore them apart, innocent victims of an uncaring legion of men and monsters.

It had been said that the Deep Ones could not be destroyed, and that it took the palaeogean magics of the Old Ones to keep them in check. Such tales were revealed for what they were; the hubris and self-aggrandisement of a species which had let its time slip through webbed fingers, and even now grasped spasmodically for that which had past and would not come again through their own devices, for all that they clutched at the memories and tales of the past. Even more than one hundred and sixty years ago, less than one Deep One generation ago (though many more of their bastard offspring and the lower race which they bred them from) the crude submersibles and low-yield depth charges of the ancient United States of America had hurt Y'ha-nthlei. They had not killed the city, true, merely wounded it and left it to recover and repair, to plan its revenge.

Y'ha-nthlei would not fall until 2079, when the revived Esoteric Order of Dagon drew the attention of the New Earth Government. There were still records from the First Innsmouth Campaign, after all, surviving the end of the United States and the First Arcanotech War to sit in archives, a weapon from the past to be drawn by modern humanity and thrust into the heart of their kin-species (for, until the advent of the Nazzadi, the Deep Ones had been the sapient species most akin to humanity). Nevertheless, now it was a blasted wreck; the fires and bombs and missiles of unified humanity descending from on high to lay wreckage to the place, the fleeing survivors tracked in the hope that they would lead the land-dwellers to more of the undersea cities.

They had not. And this was one of the main goals of the attack on Guh'thya-leh'yi; to take and hold the city intact. To take the secrets of the Deep Ones, take their knowledge and their tales and their maps and their plans. To steal from them that which defined them, and use it against them.

That was something that humanity did very well.

Azrael let out a screech, the harmonics shifted by the depths, travelling faster than it should have through the dark waters, and lashed out with a feeder tendril. The white armoured Deep One, spear cast aside in its attempts to flee, opened its mouth (the armour was not sealed, though the eyes were hidden behind the faceplate) and tried to bite into the tentacle.

amusement pulsed through the neural link, into Zuly's head. Azrael found this hilarious, she could feel, and she let out a faint giggle (quickly restrained) as a second tendril pulled the legs off the tiny figure before her, the cloud of rich red blood a slight discolouration on the thermals, rapidly dispersed as Azrael devoured the hapless fishman. He seemed calmer, now, the pulses of emotion reduced to mere whimsy by the time that they reached her, rather than the genuine terror which had been felt just before the attack... the nuclear attack.

“Good boy,” she whispered softly, tightening her fingers around the control yokes. “Good boy. I'm sorry I didn't realise what you were doing.”

satisfaction pulsed back at her, with just a hint of boredom.

Spinning on the spot, angled A-Pods thrusting her around, she raised one arm and let loose with the cutting laser, scoring deep scars into the architecture of Guh'thya-leh'yi, and scything down the foes which covered in it. Some of them were fighting back. The nuclear charges had shown that they could hurt the unfaithful. If only they had fired them earlier, before the rampaging armoured monsters had broken off. Others were merely hiding, until the heavier forces, their salvation, could get there.

They weren't coming.

There was a brief moment of quiet in the war, and Lieutenant Zuly used the opportunity to thrust into cover, the feet of her arcanocyberxenobiological organism anchoring itself into the rock. Quiet was a purely relative term, of course, as the deep thudding blasts of the bombardment from high above (far less than it should have been, reserves hurriedly moved into position to fill the losses) met the crack of superheated water from all over the city, and the corresponding retaliation from the Deep One forces. Looking up, Zuly saw a brief flare of light, followed by a ripple of explosions as the hit frigate tore itself apart. Unknown to her, a torpedo had got past the laser grid and torn through weakened armour, detonating the internal munitions supply, but the sight of the death of the NEGN ship was still sufficiently clear. The carcass of the slain ship, a dead leviathan, fell, spine barely holding, before slamming into an underwater spire, deep in this crevasse, where it broke up further. A few smaller explosions, remnants of the weapon systems blew then, only contributing further to the scattering of the remains of the Truth and Justice across Guh'thya-leh'yi.

The war was going as well as might be hoped, given the catastrophe which had occurred at the start. The Engels had penetrated the outer city, which was even now under attack from the surviving capital units and the conventional submarines and mecha, and now they were in their favoured zone; the up-close, dangerous conflicts where their individual superiority over the larger Dagonite mecha and their older, pre-arcanotech war machines was best used. While the Ish were more of a support unit, their long-range torpedoes reaping a terrible cost in Leviathans and Hybras on the initial approach, the Hamshalliam liked to get to the short-to-medium ranges in the dense conurbation that lay at the heart of the Deep One city, descending down into the crust where strange, arcane machinery was fuelled by the molten rock so close to the surface around Iceland.

“Check in.” It was Captain Koru. He, at least, had made it down here intact, all the survivors of the squad pulling into the cavernous hall in the building they had just riddled with charge beam trails and carved with lasers. It looked like some kind of minor temple, perhaps, or the office of some kind of civil authority. It wasn't clear; the damage to the walls didn't really affect the fact that none of the squadron could read Ry'lehan, and so the hieroglyphs and associated pictures were nothing more than disturbing decorations (featuring too many tentacles and unnatural beings), to be erased. “Captain Koru, Engel-Type Hamshall, Designate Eremiel.”

“First Lieutenant Border, Engel-Type Hamshall, Designate Sehkmet.”

“Second Lieutenant Pecna, Engel-Type Hamshall, Designate Dyeus.”

She checked in. “First Lieutenant Zuly, Engel-Type Hamshall, Designate Azrael.” She said the last word with her characteristic disdain; she hadn't chosen the name, after all, even if this was a stupid time to be worrying about this.

There was a pause. Then Koru spoke, a note of melancholy in his tone. “The lights for Miguel and Sma are red. They're deemed MIA, until further confirmation.”

Already two losses, thought Zuly. That really wasn't good. Engels didn't come with ejection systems, because of how the entry plug was built directly into the nervous system of the arcanocyberxenobiological organism, and this deep, if the plug was compromised, you'd be crushed, even in an HEV suit.

As if to remind her of that, she felt, rather than heard, the armoured chassis-carapace of Azrael creak, as a distant explosion let loose its pressure wave. You never really got used to that sound, even when you'd heard it many times. And, yes, she was safer than someone in a submarine, as the flesh of her Engel could probably hold out, even through an armour breach, but she was just in a small, fluid-filled plug, surrounded by armour and unnatural flesh. It was always a worry.

“Captain,” said Samantha Border, nervousness evident even over the heavily encrypted comms, “I saw Cassiel get hit on the way down. He... he was right in front of me. Lieutenant Sma is dead, sir.”

“It might have just been a mission kill,” Su Koru said, gently.

“In that combat environment, that's as good as dead. Oh gods. It would have hit me, otherwise.”

“Lieutenant Border, pull yourself together. You're having problems with your communion; I can read it. I do not need a berserk Engel, when we're in this situation.”

There were several shuddery, fluid-filled breaths over the radio. “Sorry, sir. And sorry, Sehkmet. Calm down, girl, calm down. It's okay. I'm feeling better. I'll make it up to y...” there was a gurgled hiss of breath, “Sorry. Radio on.”

No one said anything. There was a thud, felt through the chassis of the Engel, and through the feet anchored to the plazas of the city, and a brief lightness in the all consuming dark, far deeper than the sun would have reached, even had it been day.

“Do you think that was another nuke, Captain?” asked Pecna.

“No,” he answered confidently, after a wait of about a second. “LAI says spectrum was wrong, and too deep, unless they want to blow up their city before we did it.”

“I just wish we had proper underwater recon Engels,” said Zuly, darkly. “Auphans were really useful, back when I was in a tin can. They could have told us what those fish-fuckers were going to do.”

Samantha let out a gurgling chuckle. “We're up against the Deep Ones, here. They're the fish-fuckees, remem...” she said, interrupted by a torpedo smashing into the building, spilling rubble from the ceiling down onto her Engel. “Captain, I think they've found us,” she added unnecessarily.

“Yes, I'd say so,” Captain Koru said. “We've got new orders; they've got comms back up, and a proper Verdandi sensor frigate overhead. We're to head deeper into the city. Ignore the outer defences. They've detected what they think is the power source; if we can cripple their geothermal plants, they'll soften up.”

“Deeper?” Zuly asked, scepticism in her voice.

want, emoted Azrael. below. tasty. approval.

“... and now Azrael wants to go down there,” she continued, the scepticism becoming concern. “As in, that was worryingly aware thought, just then. Are you sure that it's a good idea?”

“If we don't get the geothermal plants, the fleet will take heavy losses,” the Captain said, ignoring her question. “Move out, bounding overwatch, two-by-two. Use NC4 LAI automated evasion package; it's too tight quarters for RZ4.”

“Captain, 7... no, 8 Merrows coming in,” said Pecna, worry in his voice, as he watched the sleek powered armour jet down to their hull-down position through a camera feed from an LAI-slaved drone. “Two squads. Highlighted and tagged on TacCom.”

“Damn. Last thing I need, PA with CBs. Okay, prioritise targets. Ambush variant Delta-7. Don't let them get a shot off; those things are dangerous. Execute in 10. After that, we're going to want to keep away from buildings, because if they're deploying Merrows like that, they can wolf-pack us.”

The eight pure-blooded Chosen, clad in the three-and-a-half metre tall armour which mounted an integral charge beam which punched way above their weight category, were exceptionally surprised when four Hamshalliam, each over ten metres tall, burst out through the wall of the second floor of the tomb of Luh'ra-da-j'maen, their whitish-green deepwater camo hard to see in the low light, designed as it was for low thermal emissions. They already had the targets located, and although the Merrow could punch above its weight, it was in all other regards a power armour, as the surprised pilots were well aware.

The surprise did not last long.

Well, apart from for the Deep Ones; in that case, it lasted for the rest of their lives.

~'/|\'~

The sun had already reached its zenith, after only a few short hours of light, before beginning its decent back under the horizon, the land returning to the night that embraced it so tightly in these winter months. Down below the surface, though, in the water filled sanctum where Dagon himself and the elite of the sorcerers of the Chosen, such things meant nothing, except in an astrological sense. And although the positions of the stars and the planets (or, more correctly, the effects on higher dimensional spaces that their c-limited propagating electromagnetic and gravitational waves, and other, more esoteric interactions, had) were of vital importance to such a ritual, the they were also known quantities. Stable. Controlled. Understood and accounted for.

Jr-bs'sre hagb l'bh, DAGON-ybeq'uvt-urfg, bhe ce'nlref. Gnx'r bhg gur be-tbar sebz bhe f'bhyf naq gnxr vg hagb g'urr, gb jnxr gur ur-enyq, va freivpr gb CTHULHU-ybeq'fhcerzr, the chant continued. Over and over again. Jr-bs'sre hagb l'bh, DAGON-ybeq'uvt-urfg, bhe ce'nlref. Gnx'r bhg gur be-tbar sebz bhe f'bhyf naq gnxr vg hagb g'urr, gb jnxr gur ur-enyq, va freivpr gb CTHULHU-ybeq'fhcerzr.

Lord Dagon let out an ululating gurgle, and send another surge of ruach downwards, down to the Earth's core. It was necessary to rouse the <Ancient-One-Who-Slept-In-Fire> slowly, to ensure that it was full and woken as close as possible to gurpr-y'rf'gv'ny p'bawhap-g'v-ba, the celestial conjunction that was coming so soon. It would ensure that the great being, ancient beyond belief, would listen to his petition, and acknowledge his right to do so.

To rouse it too quickly could be disastrous. It slept by the core of the Earth, after all.

Compared to a human, the visual range of the Deep Ones was spread over a larger range of frequencies, yet had anomalous gaps. It was not surprising, after all. Evolution selects for traits which aid survival and increase the chance of breeding in the environment which the species dwells. In the case of Homo sapiens sapiens, then, the arboreal-roots of the apes from which they had come was clearly evident, all the way from their dexterous manipulators to their superior colour vision for a mammalian species. Mammals, descended as they were from nocturnal creatures, tended to trade colour vision, with its inefficient cone cells, for the always-functional, black and white rod cells. The arboreal branch of the warm-blooded lactating creatures that contained the primates (and within them, the great apes), therefore, had been forced, by circumstance (and the need to find brightly coloured food in a largely green environment), to re-evolve colour vision, and indeed their ability to distinguish between different wavelengths of light was excellent by mammalian species, while retaining, compared to much of the animal kingdom, superlative night vision. The cost they had paid was still evident, however; they were trichromates, rather than tetrachromates, unlike the rest of the animal kingdom. And the Nazzadi, Homo sapiens nazzadi were a kin sub-species, engineered by the alien Migou, based off archaic Homo sapiens sapiens, and one of the things that the Yuggothian fungoids had done was rebuild the structure of the eye, so that it conformed to their aesthetic preferences. It was more efficiently designed, wired the right way around, and gave them night vision comparable to that of most mammals, with only a slight loss in the acuity of their colour vision (hence the slightly over-bright, and discordant colours, when seen from a human viewpoint, common in Nazzadi fashion).

The Deep Ones, the Dagon-tra'rg-v'pf, had been subjected to rather different pressures. Down in the depths, clinging, ape-like, to reefs (and what was their relationship to man, exactly? They bore live young, that was certain, and maintained thermal equilibrium in their body temperature, albeit a lower one than most mammals, but they had gills; an adaptation which even the cetaceans had not evolved), the ability to see all the colours that a human could was a lot less useful than the ability to see through the water of their aquatic biome. They were only dichromates; able to see the blue-green that was absorbed by water the least, and infrared, used for point-blank hunting. They could see the polarisation of light, though, and their low-light vision was superior to that Homo sapiens sapiens, though notably inferior to that of the engineered Nazzadi. If the qualia that one of the Chosen experienced could be converted into that seen by a human mind (and it could, due to parapsychics and their ability to intrude into the mind of another), then they would seem as blind to yellow as humanity was to infrared, and pure green hovered at the edge of perception, in the same fashion as a blacklight; the blue-green (to a human) wavelengths the centre of their perception. To a Deep One, the surface was a strange, dark place; the blue sky containing a blue-green/infrared sun, shining over the largely black expanses of nature and of the buildings that the humans constructed. In return, the infra-red and the polarisation of light was opened up to them. A human being was blind to both evtug-eb'gng'r and y'rsg-eb'gng'r, let alone the difference between them. Though they were kin, compared to the other things in the Aeon War, the gap in perceptions was massive. And bridged by every hybrid who transformed, yellows fading to nothingness as a whole new qualian spectrum opened up.

And so, when Lord Dagon's sight faded, the area around him forcing it into colours and qualia that he should not have been able to see, losing all the infrared components, and forcing him into the perceptions of a hostile mind, he knew to be afraid. It was in fact more alarming than the way that the Deep One sorcerers who surrounded him faded to ash, falling apart, for it was possible for that to happen naturally, whether through sorcerous backlash or hostile powers. But this change in the way he perceived things; the only way that could happen was if something was inside his mind.

“You were open, like a castle with its door unbarred and its gates spread wide,” said a hollow sounding voice, from within his mind. And he understood it, understand the alien thought processes that raped his mind with the bloodied hooks they ploughed through his subconscious mind.

fire

bodies

death

“You reached out, looking for another mind. But, like the hedgehog who tried to get close to another, you were impaled.”

Dagon searched around, in this red-tinted world he was trapped in, alone in a hollow sphere filled with water. Even the walls, so carefully inscribed with the runes in vibrant q'r r-cerq', were now blank.

There were two figures standing on the curved ceiling above him, the taller one stood in front of the smaller one... no, there was only one figure. Who took a step forwards, a casual stroll as if he was in his native environment. In a sense he was; this was not the physical body of the human, he could see. The lord of the Deep Ones tried to communicate, try to work out what was going on.

What <are> you?

The man smiled, hair perfectly still, as if it were sculpted onto his head. “Can't you see? Why don't you think?”

<Exist> Spawn-of-Yog-Sothoth

Paxton Fettel shook his head. “No.”

<Exist> Spawn-of-Yog-Sothoth!

“Use your mind. Call upon your memories.”

A pause. Then;

Impossible! <Can> not <be>!

“No. No. Not impossible at all. You? You are one of the chosen servants of a dead god who sleeps. And I?” The corners of his mouth turned up. “I am not a servant. Nor was I chosen.” Paxton Fettel paused for a second. “At least, not by her. Others removed that right from her.”

fire

bodies

death

<untranslatable>?

“Think more. Open up your mind.”

<Exists> refusal, mindworm!

The man grinned, a predator's smile. “I wondered how long it would take you to realise. But it really doesn't matter. I have touched your mind, now, and now they know how you feel. That is enough.”

How <is> <this thing> possible?

There was a new stress in the alien mind. It reached out, but found that it now longer controlled its body, that its mind was trapped in a fleshy prison. Paxton Fettel continued walking, another step along the ceiling. He was getting very close to the bloated Deep One, now, the glint of steel in his hand evident.

“The light of your soul shone out, as you tried to contact Moloch. Through your wards, through your shields, through time and space. And the light is still out there.”

fire

bodies

death

<Does> not <exist>! <Is> not <wanted>!

“I am in your mind, not your soul. What use is a soul, Lord Dagon, if you have no mind to think with?” He coughed slightly. “I am afraid that they only want you for your soul, for your AT-Field. They really don't care about your body or mind at all.”

I <will> <destroy> you!

“Yes. Given time.”

Time <is> on my side!

“No.” There was a grim finality to the words. “No. It is not. The Third. The White Dollmaker. She comes for you. And you cannot even gain the will to move, let alone let the light of your soul shield you from what she bears.”

fire

bodies

death

<Impossible>

“You keep on using that word. I am not entirely sure that you know what it means.” The man shrugged. “It does not matter. You deserve to die.” He paused. “You know why I kept talking to you?” he asked, in a casual tone. “With each word, each thought, I get deeper into your mind. I bind it to me. I steal it. How much of the thing answering me is you, oh mighty Dagon,” the sarcasm was blatant in that statement, “and how much of that thing is a simulation being run in my own mind, to trick your soul into remaining where it is while the Third comes even closer?”

What <is> it that you <want>!

The man paused. “Retaliation,” he answered finally.

fire

bodies

death

And then death came through the ceiling. It was not the kind of beam so beloved of fiction, which gives a point of immanent brightness which expanded into a terrible light which permit the victim a futile attempt to flee. No, it was death incarnate, a sudden transition from life to non-life which left the entire room nothing but plasma. In a sense, it was almost anti-climatic in its suddenness.

But the universe did not care for dramatic necessity, and merely progressed according to its (albeit mutable) laws.

The three Evangelions stood on the mountainside, and watched the fungoid cloud blossom above what had been the mine, braced as the shockwave rippled the ground beneath them and slammed into their profiles. The blast was tainted with strange colours, greens and purples and blues, as the orgone reservoirs which the ritual had built up discharged, transmuted into photons throughout the spectrum, and other, strange forms of matter, which too quickly decayed.

“Target eliminated,” said Rei, dispassionately. “The ritual site has been cleared.”

It took almost thirty seconds for Misato to respond, her image cracked and distorted as a fresh E-9 was moved into position. “Uh... wow,” she managed. “Request confirmation of target's destruction,” the Major added.

“Target eliminated,” repeated Rei. “The ritual site has been cleared.”

“We're not getting any Pattern Blues from the site,” called out Aoba, from his desk. “The Arr-Eees are clear, too.”

“Good,” said Asuka. “Now, can we detach the umbilical, and move out, now that the First has done her thing. She doesn't need the power, now, and I'm running off batteries here.”

“Why are they called umbilicals, anyway?” asked Shinji, frowning. “They go into the back. That's... not where an umbilical cord goes.”

“Because they're a plug that goes into the torso?” hazarded Misato.

“Yes, but that's a rather ornate name, isn't it? I'd thought that they'd have called it something like the Arcanoelectric Transferred Power Conduit, or at the very least translated it into German or something.” He sucked on his top lip as he thought. “Like... Magenkabel,” he hazarded.

A window opened fro,Unit 02. “Shinji.” The red-haired girl's face was almost as flat as Rei's.

“Yes, Asuka?”

“Shut up. Stop babbling. Learn more German. 'Stomach cable' isn't a good name. And Rei. Give me back my main engine.”

Agent Tome, of Special Services, tapped Misato on the shoulder. “They should do that. The Solomon Throne is moving up, and it can't land if there are hostile forces.”

“That's approved,” said Misato. “Shinji, Asuka, Rei. Keep the area clear of Dagonite forces; we've got more aircraft moving up, once the atmosphere clears up.

The pale girl nodded. “I shall do so”, she said. “I think... no, it does not matter,” she corrected herself.

“Okay...” said Asuka, squinting at the other girl.

“No,” said Shinji. “Really, what was it? Was it important? Do you... know that something is happening?” he asked, unsure of how to direct questions at the parapsychic.

“I know everything is happening,” Rei answered. “If it does not happen, it does not exist. That is how we define everything.”

“Uh...” Shinji tailed off. “Never mind.” He closed the window, leaving Rei gazing out of her fluid-flooded capsule, the walls covered in overlays and projections, a few commands enough to detach the umbilical cables that had provided the extra power for the charge beam, running it off the equivalent of three frigate-grade power grids.

And she knew what had happened.

brother

sister

fire

bodies

awakening

~'/|\'~

Time passed.

Replica Unit Foxtrot 813 opened his eyes. Before them lay patterns of blue and green and red, cascading before his eyes in random patterns of squares and hexagons, reforming and melting away with each beat of his heart. His arms and legs felt restricted, and there was some force, pulling him to his right, squeezing him against the wall. Squirming, he managed to move his left arm; the right was being crushed, right up against something.

Status: I still remain in my REV-8, he thought. The patterns match the response of the internal eyesguard to a strong magnetic field. The external armour appears to have taken major damage, although I remain physically intact.

Squirming from within the immobilised suit, he managed to free his left arm from the suit's arm, bringing it into the pilot's capsule. The REV-8's limb screeched, as melted servos tried to match the movement, before giving up when the Replica remembered to disconnect the feedback system. The right one remained pinned against the arm of the suit, only able to move it a small distance before some force pulled it back.

If 813 had been built from pure baseline genetic material, his arm would have almost certainly have been broken. Even as it was, it felt heavily bruised.

“Foxtrot 813 calling all Units in the area. Phi-alpha, phi-alpha. 813 calling all units.”

There was no response; only intense random static in the systems.

With the one free hand, he groped at his helmet, pulling away the piloting overlay, which was malfunctioning and producing the colours. The inside of the suit was cast in the same red, green and blue light, though, as the mainscreen of the armour exhibited the same problems. Through the corrupted interface, he could vaguely see the shapes of where warning were meant to be, their boxes unreadable under the flickering light. Finally getting his hand to the release leaver, he pulled it, the sound of pressure seals venting a welcome noise to the Replica.

The front failed to open. He gave it a thump, trying to dislodge it. Nothing happened. The push also failed to provide any help at all.

813 paused for a moment, giving it what-passed-for-thought in his pseudo-sapient mind. From what he could tell, there was an issue with the right arm, probably with the plasma cannon mounted on it, which relied on a linear spatially discontinuous arcanomagentic field to channel and prevent dissipation of the plasma. That would fulfil the observed details.

Satisfied, he began the shutdown procedure for the D-Engine mounted in the back of the REV-8. He considered initialising the Horizon Event emergency shutdown; the idea was rejected, because if it turned out that the REV-8 could be salvaged when he inspected it from the outside, the D-Engine would have to be replaced, making the armour useless for this mission.

This time, when he levered open the front-opening slides with the freed arm, they opened. The arcanomagentic field was still present, due to the D-Cells in the plasma cannon specifically designed to keep the field active in the case of a shutdown, if the weapon was still hot, but weakened, in dissipation mode, and so he could pull the arm away, standing up from the ruins of the building he had been thrown into by the blast.

All around, was urban wastes, in the most literal sense. The dust filled the air, mixed with nanological and micrological agents, turning the weak winter sun, this far north, red, like the sun was setting early. Tangled power cables, formerly strung between the busy apartment complexes which had filled this residential district, lay on the ground like the corpses of snakes, their power cut. The area was unpleasantly hot; the trap which had destroyed an entire district may have melted into the round, the surface of the earth no contest for the heat it produced, but the radiated heat and the warming of the ground, still made things this close to the area like a desert. It was why it was quieter here; troops not in power armour couldn't operate here properly, the only survivors bunkering down in buildings, and so the NEG could claim armoured supremacy without much difficulty, leaving only the handicapped infantry to fight against superior forces.

A flight of five Chalybion gunships swept the skies, surrounded by optically-camouflaged, car-sized scout drones. They didn't use true stealth systems, to keep down the cost and weight, but the LAI scouts, slaved to the Chalybions, were still very hard to see, even as they fed comprehensive sensor profiles of the area to their parent gunships. There were the explosive impacts of charge beams, and the crack of superheated air from rapid-fire lasers, as they swept over the ruins, search-lights cutting through the dimness and often scaring the surviving Dagonite militia enough that they would break from cover, exposing themselves to the gunships.

One of the slaved drones detected a density profile below, which, compared to the local magnetic field strength and the sharp spike in it, was characteristic of a damaged powered armour unit; specifically, one where a weapon which required an arcanomagentic field for containment was damaged. It fed the data to the smarter LAI installed in the Chalybion, which processed it further. The data was... confusing to the Chalybion LAI. The model was none of the standard ones, neither New Earth Government nor Esoteric Order of Dagon, and it began an archival search to see if it was an obsolete, or jury-rigged civilian model, while another process noted that it was in such a situation that any IFF-signal it might have been emitting would have been corrupted beyond readability, while several more processes ran through its heuristic guidelines, accumulated over the course of the active field use of the Chalybion, for situations unanticipated by the original designers.. After 'pondering' this for a little under two seconds, it reported a cut down version of the data to its pilot, and transferred copies to its 'sibling' LAIs, in the other craft in the flight.

The report consisted of adding an“unknown” marker tag in yellow to the map, on the location of the what-it-guessed-to-be damaged power armour.

“We've got a unknown on the targeting computer,” said the co-pilot, gazing at the vast projected screen on the inside of the windowless cockpit. “Reads as some kind of damaged PA, no IFF, Eminar-status on the armour. Shoot / no shoot?”

The pilot paused for a moment, as he approved an LAI request for control over the nose-laser, the crack of laser fire scoring its way along a building and cutting apart an abandoned AA railgun position. “No-shoot,” he said, finally. “There are SpecOps in the area, and they don't always use IFF or reggies. Avoid blue-on-blue. ”

“Understood. Recorded location for other forces, moving on.”

The flight of Chalybions, LAI piloting systems producing a pseudo-random walk to cover the area in a non-predictable fashion, continued onwards, bringing death and destruction with them from the skies.

Foxtrot 813 watched them go, a pale imitation of what would have been anger in a human flashing briefly through his mind, before the foreign feeling passed. His situation was clear. He was separated from the rest of his squad and from all his allies, his power armour was crippled (the legs were crushed under a beam, he could see), and the Esoteric Order of Dagon were still present in force.

He would just have to go complete his mission on his own. At least until he got another instruction to the contrary from due authority.

Reaching down into the opened cockpit of his now-ruined REV-8, he retrieved the out-of-armour case which all Replica units in vehicles were issued. A true combat helmet, the wideband optical sensor went over the padded sealed unit worn while in a vehicle, the connectors snapping into place and locking it to the internal armour bracing. After retreating from the wreckage with the case, he rebooted his visual software, the re-emergence of the HUD a welcome feel to the Replica soldier. The quick-snap pouches were attached to their designated places. And, importantly, the standard issue weapon for the Replicas, the ECU-IMFW-3 (or, as anyone who actually had to deal with it called it, the Imphaw), was prepared, removed from the sealed bag.

With the development of the Type-V Eidelon Units, it had been felt that they needed a weapon which took advantage of their unique assets over conventional troops. The first step at this had merely bulked out the old HKS-189, increasing the clip size and removing the fire-rate limiter that the weapon possessed (due to the limited ability of a human to absorb the recoil). It had been the IMFW-1, designed for the Type-VIs, which had really taken advantage of their increased strength, by basing the system around the old MP-50 Repeating Cannon, a 20mm anti-armour railgun designed to be mounted upon light hovercraft. It was a partial solution to the total inferiority of foot infantry to powered armour, which left them relying on missile launchers and their own armoured units to have any hope of scratching them.

The ECU-IMFW-3 was an evolution of that decision. The core of the weapon was built around a railgun, firing the same 20mm hypervelocity solid slugs as used in the RMG-10-AM anti-armour rifle; eight to a magazine. Mounted underneath was a 9mm assault rifle, relying on old-fashioned electrochemical ignition, due to the issues with magnetic induction in the other rail, in a weapon too small to use arcanomagnetic fields. It could take out powered armour through the front facing, and cause mission kills on heavier mecha, if hit in weak spots.

It was, all in all, an excellent weapon, albeit a stopgap until the man-portable energy weapons (the first prototypes already being trialled on this deployment, although they still had large problems with capacity and weight) could enter widespread use. And, indeed, it had seen use outside of the products of Project Eidelon; both the Office of Special Services and Blackspire, the GIA black-ops agency, issued it to some of their field agents. The only problem with it, from the point of view of the NEG military as a whole, was that it weighed almost ten kilograms when fully loaded, and still could break the shoulder of the firer if they were improperly braced when firing the railgun. It was, in fact, just too heavy and too powerful to be used as a rifle by conventional soldiers.

It had been built from the ground up with the needs of the Replica programme in mind, after all.

Foxtrot 813 ducked into cover, as he felt, rather than saw, the missile streak down, wobbling slightly, and hit the building across the street. Pulling himself up, he wiped the dust from the sensors on the front of his visor, and knelt, scanning the street. His equipment was not receiving an update signal from local forces or an overhead E-9, and the compass in his helmet was pointing directly away from the wreckage of his armour, no matter where he stood, which provided no help at all. Vocally, then, he instructed his helmet's LAI (much, more more limited than the advanced systems, capable of heuristics and complex analysis, installed in the Chalybions), to alter the order of his objectives. It was necessary to reunite with NEG forces first, before he could complete his objectives.

Keeping low, in the dense cover of the ruins of Dagon'uvtu Oraribyrapr, the Replica headed out.

And, passing by, something noticed him. Something which currently lay outside what humanity called reality.

~'/|\'~

The underwater grotto was quite beyond comprehension, the majesty of the place unfitting of the small, petty-sounding word. Roughly hemispherical, the curved surface hanging down from a flattened roof, the place was hewn from the rough basalt of the volcanic rock. To counteract the darkness that such a material would produce, though, the incredible volume had been decorated to a level almost unbelievable, even to modern human society and its nanofactories. Fresco-like paintings, adapted for such underwater environments, covered every surface of this place, the detail truly incredible (though somewhat lost on a species which could not see the infrared). Temples and spiralling towers hung down from the ceiling, joined by plants, unknown to the surface world,which instead of consuming the light of the sun with photosynthesis, radiated it out at an incredible intensity through the blessing of those who had planted them. Even with this light, the depths of the immense cavern remained shadowed.

All this, however, paled before the statue that stood in the centre of the flooded chamber, a colossus with tower-like legs astride a vast deformation in the rock, a carven body of a fallen titan. The figure must have been almost a kilometre tall, almost reaching the ceiling despite the impossible dimensions of this hidden carven, the holy of holies beneath the city of Guh'thya-leh'yi. It was quite unlike the basalt of the cavern, for it was made (for “carven” would imply a crudity anathema to this abominable masterwork) from a strange, blackish-green rock, striated and flecked with gold and iridescent shimmers that sparkled in the bluish-green light that glowed from the depths, the floor itself shining. If one were to blaspheme it by touching it, a deed that should surely lead to death, the impossible smoothness would have been felt, like warm, wet ice; disconcertingly alive.

And to speak of this subject... well. Human languages trod with care in such a domain, for the limited experiences of such an organic linguistic system were not well suited for the nigh-infinite vicissitudes of the cosmos beyond this planet. The figure was vaguely anthropic; that was the best that could be said for it. Comparisons would involve hominids, cephalopods , and even the draconic, but it was most certainly its own thing; one cohesive lifeform far beyond the ken of mortal man. Two vast wings, impossibly thin and membranous for such a massive construct, made from the same unknown stone, spread wide across the inverted dome, exulting in the freedom that they enjoyed. Unspeakable tentacles descended from the maw of the thing, large enough to grab a frigate and consume it in the alien, jawless mouth that adorned the abomination. Claws and scale and hooked tentacles adorned the beast, but far more terrifying than any mere blade, though it may be the size of the building, was the look of intellect in the statue, which seemed to gaze out through graven eyes, something that was obviously constructed, yet in some subtle, unknowable way, alive.

And it was before this statue that Yul'uth-ca, star-spawn and highest priest among the clergy of doomed Guh'thya-leh'yi, prostrated himself.

It was all going wrong. The planet had not even rotated upon its axis one half of a cycle since the attack had, in retrospect, begun.

And he could hear them. All of them. Calling, calling, in the depths... longing? Was that the right emotion? Or was it fear? Hunger? Nostalgia? He did not know, and it filled his soul with a cerebral terror. And those were not the only songs he could hear. A triumvirate of noise which filled his heart with both faith and dread; fear and reverence, blasted mindlessly onto the astral plane. Yul'uth-ca had existed for time almost beyond counting; so many orbits of this planet that he could not remember them all, and such volume was heard infrequently, and only as a declaration of war.

But there was the other voice, two lesser ones highlighting certain themes and frequencies, while ignoring others, and amplifying the greater one merely by its presence. A soft hum accompanied it that left his tendrils twitching and itching, almost negligible in the mental noise that degraded his wits so. That... that was the one that consumed his mind with dread, so that he could not even focus on the most trivial sorceries. It was not a voice (or, at least, the synaesthetic representation of a fifth dimensional astral waveform intruding into the lower dimensions) that he had heard before, true. But he could feel the desires, alien ones bleeding off a mind not like his own. And that mind knew what it wanted, and how to get it.

Yul'uth-ca realised that he had made up his mind. Swinging wide the diamond doors that led into the corpse-thing that lay at the feet of his God, he descended into the vaults.

It was time, once more, to retrieve Лu-hvean'tahæn, the weapon passed down to him from when they had descended to this world, to war the long-dead <Things-Of-Five> and their artificial <Unshaped-But-What-They-Chose> weapons of war.

No upstart race would stand against that. The Deep Ones, petty servants who had the luck that one of their number had been uplifted by the Lord himself, might fall against their kin-species; another race from this ball of rock, who would be forgotten just as the Ushashasshu and the Lae'luouiu'lu (to name but two of the flights towards sapience, which had been bought to a halt. True sapience, that is, not the pitiful lack of awareness which both the humans and the Deep Ones had,) had been, buried under aeons of time.

The Star Spawn would not.

~'/|\'~

“The Third Star unit has secured the area. I repeat, Third Star has cleared area. Deploy Solomon; authorisation code Aleph-93-00-61-93-Kaph-Resh-92-53-19-49...” The officer continued to rattle off the lengthy authorisation code.

“Control, this is Solomon Throne. We have received a valid authorisation code for the deployment of Solomon. We require a secondary authorisation, to acknowledge that Operation Goetia can proceed.”

The albino stared at the screen, marked [VOICE ONLY]; a legacy of the fact that the bandwidth used had been necessarily minimised. Idly, he rubbed one ear, while working his jaw.

“Solomon Throne, this is Goetia Control. Secondary authorisation will be given to proceed. Valid ID: Agent Tome. Authorisation code is as follows; Pe-75-Aleph-Mem-Mem-02-06-33-76-Resh-He...” A second, equally lengthy code was given.

“Control, this is Solomon Throne. Authorisation received. Operation Goetia will commence.”

The plae skinned man nodded, a slight smile (not of pleasure, but instead of satisfaction) creeping onto his face, like one from the prospect of seeing something long awaited coming to fruition. “You will be using Variant Null, proceeding to higher Variants as needed by circumstances.”

“Correct, Control.” There was a pause. “I require reaffirmation for the authorisation for the potential use of τitan.”

Agent Tome nodded, even though the field agent couldn't see him.

“Correct. Note that the use of τitan is only permitted in the case of the situation progressing to Variant Five. Be aware that, as stands, you are closer than minimum safe distance, and lack the ability to survive the use of τitan. Also, be aware of the consequences of any use of τitan which is not later contained, which include massive ecological damage, estimated to be over an order of magnitude worse than any other RV-WALCL variants. Authorisation for use of asset in Variant Five contingency is as follows...”

~'/|\'~

Shinji jumped slightly in his seat in the entry plug, as a large shape suddenly appeared above him on his long range sensors, the systems chiming in warning.

“What is that!” he blurted out. “Uh... I've got a big thing, about 100 metres long, right above us,” he added, as he swung the plasma minigun upwards, staring up for visual contact.

“I can't see it! Nothing's pinging for me... just a hint. I just got a hit,” said Asuka, her face flushed. “It's big... uh... yes, there it is again.” The Evangelions scattered, crushing melted terrain underfoot as they prepared for a threat that one of them was blinded to, and one could only see hints of.

“The LAI doesn't recognise it as friendly,” Shinji said. “Should we attack?”

“Don't attack,” shouted Agent Tome, shoving Misato out of the way of the control console in his frantic motion. The military officer reflexively shoved back, training taking over, sending the rather scrawny albino sorcerer sprawling to the ground. “Don't shoot,” he shouted from the ground, panting. “It's the Solomon Throne.”

Misato winced. “Sorry,” she said. “Now, explain. What's happening? And you could tell us that you have control of a...” she paused. “... a what looks to be a frigate, before you try to land it in the place with 3 Units with capital grade firepower, maybe?”

“Why doesn't it show up on IFF?” asked Shinji, somewhat more relaxed.

“Why haven't you got Dr Akagi to write a patch for my sensors?” added Asuka, in a rather more aggrieved tone.

“Asuka, she says it's a hardware problem, that they've got damaged, and for some reason the equipment doesn't realise that it's damaged, so it makes it looks like a software problem.” Misato glanced over at Makota, who gave her a thumbs up. “Yes, that's right. And as for why it doesn't have those safety things that we military folk have to stop friendly fire,” she said, glaring at the Special Services sorcerer, who was currently engaged in wiping the dust from his black overcoat, “well. Agent Tome. Why not explain why you don't have those things that stop people shooting you?”

The sorcerer sighed. “The Solomon Throne isn't a standard model, like the rest of its type. They're based off the old Type-11-V Light Picket Ships, but they've been heavily modified for in-atmosphere use.”

“I thought so!” said Makota, a spark in his eye. “The profile looks like an interwar spacecraft, rather than a modern ship!”

“Exactly. We needed something with spaceship-grade stealth capacities, for some of the... tasks we must perform. In-atmosphere stealth systems have to dump the heat periodically, or they'd fry. Void-grade stealth systems use waste heat to run a D-Engine in reverse to get rid of what they can... thermodynamics is still a bitch, but the efficiency is much higher.” He glanced at Misato, an offended look in his eyes. “I think you can see why we don't have the data added to IFF systems, maybe?”

“I'm sorry for pushing you,” sighed Misato, in a somewhat patronising tone. “It was reflexive.” She paused. “So, what now?”

“Uh... the Solomon Throne will land. It will take about an hour to prepare the area; we need to laser-carve in the proper wardings, and seed the area with the nanocleansers. After that... the ritual should take about seven hours, depending on how advanced the Order got with their own ritual. We'll be a lot faster than them, after all. We're not trying to wake it up slowly, after all, feeding it with ruach... that is, orgone to boost its strength. We're trying to wake it up as violently as possible, so that it's weak.”

~'/|\'~