Chronicles of the Exalted Sun Child

The arid wasteland of the Place Between made Colonel William Richter's mouth dry as cotton. He resisted the urge to swallow, as well as the instinct to reach for his personal flask. There was no need for it yet, unless everything had gone to the Abyss. He marched towards his battalion's bivouac, though the doughty men and women under his command had barely finished the site, and probably were looking forward to a bit of rest.

Unfortunately, circumstances have changed, and new orders have been relayed.

'About time, really,' he huffed to himself.

They had been in the trenches for years already, and only the Tyrant's drive pushed them to continue with no end in sight. But now, there was the light at the end of the tunnel, and while Central Command was fine with taking things slow, now that there was evidence, weak and residual to be sure, that they had been made out, a scouting force was to be sent ahead. His Battalion, the 201st, was chosen to be the point of the spear.

If only he could believe that it was an honour, rather than bait.

But such thoughts were beneath him and his bloodline. He would bear the honour, claim the glory, and either return home a hero or remain in conquered land as its new governor—or, at least, as ruler of a slice of it, along with his commissioned and noncommissioned officers. The men and women at the bottom would have to settle for being the new landed elite instead.

He casually turned his gaze away from the enslaved legions. Such monstrosities deserved no better than to blunt the charge for their betters, and if only they weren't the ones to slow things down so much, then their role would have been perfect. Instead, the operation was compromised by spies and saboteurs, so now the timeline was moved forward.

His arrival must have been anticipated since by the time he arrived at the bivouac site, the troops had been formed by their respective companies. They snapped a salute when he arrived, and he returned it just as crisply.

"New orders," he said curtly. "We will deploy to the beachhead within twenty-four hours. Captains, ready your commands and meet me at the command centre."

"Yes, sir!"

The reply wasn't quite shouted by every trooper, since they were technically in hostile territory. The troops' voices were pitched just enough so that he could hear every last one of them, but at a volume that wouldn't be heard outside the bivouac's boundaries. He nodded the dismissal and walked to the command tent, taking the long way around to inspect the assets.

Alpha Company was the smallest, but the one with the most firepower. They were sent as shock troopers, and considering they had the latest occultech-powered armour, they could soak up a lot of damage and gain all the attention from enemy combatants. Ten exosuits were held in their cradles, the pilots on standby while their auxiliaries got things ready for transport. The suits were powerful, but they drained their charge in a matter of hours. Wearing the things while not expecting combat was a waste.

There were five pairs of suits, each pair crafted for their specific role in any engagement. He was looking forward to seeing them in actual combat instead of the wargames that the Imperium had been stuck with for the past three decades. After all, they've conquered every last square inch of land back home.

His eyes skipped past Beta Company, and he held in a shiver at the robed figures that were busy packing up all of the gear they'd laid out. He'd never been comfortable with Warlocks, even if he had a minor ability as well. His one semester in the Collegiate and the odd goings on had dismayed him from pursuing that discipline. Besides, he wouldn't have gone far with how minor his ability was, especially compared to Invested Power when he reached the upper ranks of the military. Yes, he was dependent on the Tyrant's Grace, may he live forever, but there had been no need to spend the last three decades researching and honing his minor talent. Instead, he merely had to activate the varied Mysteries engraved in his body and his panoply to affect powers that rivalled senior Warlocks in scope, even if not in breadth.

Charlie, Delta, and Echo Companies were the more traditional mobile infantry units. Charlie was the logistics and engineering company, and they were now hard at work, loudly complaining, dismantling the bivouac mobile structures and camouflage gear. Delta and Echo were the traditional infantry, armed with assault rifles and heavier munitions. Firearms married with occultism had been in constant development over the years after the war, since traditional guns didn't work so well against daemons and other Abyssal units. Who knew what kind of units they'd encounter during the invasion?

Satisfied that everything that could be done was being done, he retired to his temporary quarters to rest and review his battle plans. Afterwards, he would indulge in some stress relief with his personal attendant, though it was likely that the battalion would be finished getting ready before then.

Well, he was right. Two hours after he entered his quarters, his attendant chased him out so they could pack up his gear. That took about ten minutes, then he entered his personal carrier and allowed himself to relax there. The trip through the conceptual bridge would take some time, probably the rest of the twenty-four hours they'd been given to establish a beachhead.

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When he was woken up, with less sleep than he wanted, they were already at the threshold. His lieutenants had already seen to it that the breaching plans were done. Beta Company was set up at the terminus point and was busy enacting the rituals to open the rift.

The fact that the entirety of the battalion was made up of mortals, humans actually, helped assuage whatever rules the layers of reality held when it came to passing through the under layers.

The ritual took the better part of three hours, and by the time it was done, a gash in the fabric of reality hung in the air, just barely wide and tall enough to allow the armoured personnel carriers to pass through. As soon as the rift was open, scouts jumped out, though judging from what he could see from this side, they managed to open the rift in open countryside. Snow slammed into the rift and drifted inside. Even better: inclement weather.

The initial scouts returned to report. "Signs of civilisation in the distance, Colonel. None in the immediate vicinity."

"How far away?"

"Five hundred paces to an asphalt road, two lanes wide. A country road, assuming."

"Very well." William turned to his lieutenants and adjutant. "Begin the breaching process. Look for a hidden area to fortify. Watch out for aerial elements."

And just like that, the Reunification of the World, and the Invasion of Astoria, have begun.

______________

The Hidden Ruler brooded in his office, pondering many, many things. Amongst them, the change in laws and how he hadn't anticipated the particulars of it all. He wished that those changes had happened earlier, in his youth, so he might've had the chance to choose rather than be shoehorned into his current role, but then, that was rather pedantic of him. Here he was, in a position of wealth and prosperity, even if he hadn't quite gotten there with clean hands. But then again, were there any who were truly self-made rich and had no skeletons in the closet? He knew of none, and those who were naive and tried to play the game without regard to the hidden rules didn't last very long. Either they were eliminated or they dipped themselves in the mud to live.

But the billions had already been made, and the smart thing was to launder everything until it was pristinely white. But it was also smart to have a cutaway, just in case.

He glanced at his protege, who was busy reading through several papers. He couldn't help but be a bit wary of Arcmind's power, considering the kid could literally rewire someone's brain. He was subtle, too, and all it took was a brief touch to begin the process. Thankfully, focus had a lot to do with it, and natural resistance also mattered. The reason he didn't mind the young doctor's presence so much was that his own Altered nature prevented his body from being changed without being overcome directly.

He idly tapped at his keyboard and watched the trailer for The Last Warrior to play. He could hardly recognise his granddaughter, and not just because of makeup and costume, but with how confident and alluring Lilibeth had become.

He resisted asking Arcmind again, but the lad hadn't been able to take a good measure of her during their time together. He was also aware that the boy was only a little bit interested in her, but considering how apathetic he was to other women, that little bit of interest was the equivalent of obsession from anyone else.

It was also rather apparent that Lilibeth's Alteration wasn't simply a vanity affair. It had been clear earlier when she fought one of his other minions in the air. She could fly and hit really hard, all while looking gorgeous enough to enthral. A potent combination, and one that was frustratingly out of his control. His foolish son and daughter-in-law!

Still, steps must be made to bring the girl back to the fold, and he hoped his subtle movements would do. After all, even with how beautiful she is, making it into the entertainment world required something more than looks. At least if she didn't want to be used up by those slavering wolves. Still, all indications were that she could easily hold her own, so there was that.

He hummed to himself. With the new cape laws, he could probably approach her directly anyway. He was sure that revealing his support would at least smooth things over.

___________

The room secluded in the Firmament was richly appointed. In the midst was an incredible diorama that represented several landmasses and oceans, and around the diorama were three thrones, on which three beings sat.

On the eastern throne, the being sitting there leaned over to peer at the diorama. He twitched his long ears and stared. The overlay grew transparent, and another scene replaced his view. Then, he glanced at his colleagues, one had serpentine features, looking more like a snake with humanoid arms and legs rather than a person who had scales and slitted pupils, and the other looked like a dove three paces long from the tip of her beak to the end of her tail feathers. The dove manipulated her feathers as dexterously as if they were fingers as she prodded the diorama.

The Snake hissed. "So it has come to this. Are you sure you're Champion is legal?"

"Of course he is," The Rabbit said, "I've honed him for decades. It's not my fault you've played with yours too much."

"This is not the agreed upon timeline." The Dove said.

"Mortals are fickle, and we agreed not to directly influence them."

"Indeed. Arranging the bricks to fall as they should takes time and effort." The Snake said while shaking his head, "I do not see why you abstain from scheming, my colleague, it is quite enjoyable. And enlightening." He directed his sibilant hiss to the Dove.

"I prefer not to taint my research." The Dove said. "Observing does not alter the results."

"The act of observing does," The Rabbit said, "It is interaction, and our unconscious desires influence reality. You know this, do not pretend otherwise."

"Oh great pretender, you are one to talk," the Snake laughed. "Were you not forced into your current role by things you cannot control?"

"And yet I've managed to return things to the proper path."

"That is true, heh." The Snake laughed, "But you are right. The chips have fallen, and it seems we are at our endgame. My lady, care to choose a side now?"

Dove hummed and laughed, "I care not, but I choose neither of your sides. My guess is that something else will derail your plans."

"What did you see?" The Rabbit demanded harshly.

"That, my friend, is something for you to find out," The Dove chirped, "But for now, let us enjoy the upcoming festivities. You've certainly done enough to make things more interesting."

Snake nodded proudly, and Rabbit barely concealed a sneer. But deep within his heart, so deep he wasn't truly aware, he was frightened. Terrified.

Of the being that wrested control of the game and was playing his own.

End of Book 16.