Never Change

Book II: Chapter 43

Book II: The King's Dilemma

"Has Apollyon moved yet?"

"No, sire. I'm sorry, but our scouts say they haven't shown any sign of change, other than the Schnee and the Polendina moving."

"So, Apollyon is still there. As well as the declining Winter Maiden," Ørsted said calmly.

"Yes sir," his second in command, an Archdeacon named Absinthe, bowed deeply.

Ørsted could tell that Absinthe desperately wanted to become an Apostle herself. Being Apostles came with direct recognition from the Goddess and being directly involved in planning for a new world. But the only way to become an Apostle was to dethrone one yourself.

He tapped his cheek twice as she walked away, and he crossed his legs as he sat upon his throne.

The easiest way would be to kill the Winter Maiden, of course. Although still powerful, Fria was old and frail, meaning Absinthe could hypothetically take the maiden powers. Then the idea would be to challenge the current Lower Apostle Four, or maybe himself, with the powers, to dethrone them and win a spot.

That was why, although she didn't dare say it in front of him, she wanted to attack Atlas.

Ørsted shook his head. Unruly subordinates were truly irritating.

A green-eyed, black-haired man entered the throne room. His hair was slightly grey on the second inspection, and he carried with him an air of authority that did not fit his tall, but slim frame.

"Ah, Watts."

Arthur Watts. A disgraced former Atlesian scientist, who had defected to Salem after being denied permission to lead the top-secret Atlas Project. The Prosthetic Emulation of Neural Networks in Youth project, or P.E.N.N.Y. project, for short.

Later on, Watts became a high-ranking Archdeacon of the Goddess, but, with a lack of combative ability, he could never truly ascend to the rank of Apostle. Still, because of his high intellect, despite his combative deficiency, the Goddess allowed him into the exclusive inner circle of Apostles so that he could provide ideas, both tactical and strategic.

"Lower Apostle Three, Ørsted," Watts twirled his mustache, giving him a short, but elegant bow, that was just short of formal.

"Do you have a report for me?" Ørsted asked apathetically.

"Indeed, I do. A package of syringes and doses is coming from the Grimmlands, by air of course. Reinforcements of more Deacons and several Archdeacons will be coming your way. They should all be available for use in merely a few days. One Godsbane, as well."

"I see. That is good news. You are dismissed."

Watts turned and left the throne room, not even bothering to bow. His footsteps echoed off the walls, as the great double doors of the throne room closed.

Ørsted did not move from his throne. The room was silent. The shadows in his poisonous yellow eyes lengthened, beckoning.

Ironwood was a fine general, and with his Winter Maiden and Ace Operatives, as well as Atlas' impressive military, Gaul would not stand a chance with its current forces.

He needed to wait for reinforcements from the Covenant, and he would tell Absinthe to increase the concentration of the injections for the hybrids. It would not be wise to make any moves while Apollyon remained on Atlas soil.

He would play the waiting game.

Impulsive decisions led to losses.

And he had never lost a battle for the Goddess.