Sovereign

“The counter-revolution is here. Defeat is on the horizon. We have been beaten back, and the revolution is now about to die in this last stand. But even in the face of their next assault, and our eventual demise, we are here. We fought. We bled. And we tried to push back, even with impossible odds. They may beat us again, but our sons will remember what our generation did. What their fathers did. Our battered and bullet-ridden banners will fly with one message - men here stood for their rights. Long live the Seven-Volunteer Armies!”

- Final Radio Broadcast from the City of Orvel.

“Revolutionaries in the self-proclaimed ‘Republic of Lombardia’ crushed in a major eight-day last-stand battle in the City of Orvel by Queen Irene Amici’s Royalist forces. The Kingdom of Lombardia has now officially announced the end of the one-month insurrection in the Kingdom outside of ‘mopping-up’ operations. Reports of nearly eight hundred thousand casualties from the badly equipped ‘Seven-Volunteer Armies’ are still flooding in, proving that magic may still prove viable in conventional battlefields. Questions have been raised, however, as the ‘Seven-Volunteer Armies’ had been largely self-organized militias without much proper equipment. Still, this marks the first counter-revolutionary victory in the world since the beginning of the Hebeian Civil War.”

- Geopol Press

“The time for the global revolution to band together is nigh! Eighteen Republics have now been established by our brothers across the globe. Our Provisional President, Sullivan Rimpler, is now calling for the formation of a ‘Coalition of Free Nations’ to unite all of us in our common struggle against the Matriarchy! Each day, our victory against the cursed old hags of the world inches closer to fruition.”

- The Front Newspaper

+++

What did women’s haloes symbolize?

It was a question that had always bothered the mind of Pen, or more accurately, by every man in existence nowadays.

The halo symbolized that one was a servant of the ultimate good - the Goddess, her will, and commandments. That one was a holy being that was a virtue of goodness. Of morality. Someone who was morally superior to those without.

Men.

Like me.

Was that supposed to be the truth of it? That when magic, the very oppressor of billions of men, was activated, the oppressor seemed to be the saint? The angel? And they, the mere lowlife plebs, without such symbol, were supposed to be the evil ones?

How could that be possible? He scoffed at it. It was nothing but empty appearances. And a message to every man like him, that no, the Goddess was, and would never be on their side. That they were in this fight alone. And should they break her will - they would suffer the righteous retribution of justice from her “holy daughters”.

Many called them demons for a reason. And it was why there was nothing in this blasted world that was on their side. Only them. Their fellow brothers up in arms against the “holy daughters” of the Goddess herself. And this was just one of the reminders of what they were up against. They weren’t fighting mere mortals.

They were fighting the Goddess. All with mere rifles.

How utterly hopeless.

He looked down at the corpse of what once was an OIA agent. The red alarm lights circled around and illuminated his blood-stained helmet and visor. He died here, alongside three other OIA agents in the hallways. As if they were mere ants crushed by their betters. Swept aside like nothing.

They probably didn’t even have a chance to react. How could they even? This was the environment where magic was truly dominant. Close quarters. No armor support. No air support. No artillery support. Just mere rifles against what amounts to mini goddesses. No chance.

Is this really what the morally good side would do? What they would do to those who dared to fight against their system? Must be nice…being painted that way.

“Sir…” Paper said, but Pen nodded already.

“They are here, yes.” Paper didn’t press any further. He stood behind him as he inspected the three dead men. Pen's hold on his SMG tightened, as he stood up with a deep sigh.

“We have to send the reserves.”

“They would find the cache first. In fact, they probably already did.”

“Then that means they transferred it off this facility.”

“But the cache is tons in weight. Even the most advanced Dimensional Magic wouldn’t be able to transfer that amount easily. The weapons cache is still near this facility.”

Still, it would also be possible that they hadn’t transported it off the facility yet. There were still three places in the facility that possibly contained the cache, or all of them contained separate caches. “The Core”, held an arcane machine that artificially increased the ambient mana on the atmosphere in a one-kilometer radius. “Experimental-Testing-Chamber-One”, where the Institute conducted experiments to send probes into the “Real Astral”, an alternate dimension that only women “could” reach. And “Chamber-Zero-Three”, which contained experimental arcane tools being developed by the Institute.

Naturally, it was the perfect place to hide their cache of DC-Wands, Arcano-Rifles, and other magical weaponry as these places held powerful wards cast by the Institute’s researchers.

“I see.”

“Let’s move. Maybe we can still catch them.”

And so they did. Rushing through the packed hallways, they kept their guns raised at every corner that they passed through. They moved swiftly, doorways to doorways, staircase to staircase, as more and more OIA agents and Secret Police joined in on them.

By the time they reached “The Core”, the group numbered twenty-two total combatants, all special forces. The OIA prided itself on being one of the few male intelligence agencies that had the equipment and expertise to somewhat fight off mages in covert environments, and the Lieplatzan Secret Police, formed after the Coup, was trained in these types of raids.

But all in all, they were outgunned and outmatched.

Pen thus looked back at Paper, who held the M666-D Counter-Magic Emitter, developed heavily in secret by the OIA’s contracted defense corporations, such as Porter Heavy Industries. It was one of the men’s prized creations that could somehow tip the scales against women in combat. And this new iteration, while extremely expensive, and difficult to produce, was capable of sending an EM-pulse that could temporarily disable Astral-Particles, more commonly known as “mana”.

“All approaches clear, sir!” One of his subordinates reported. He nodded and gave a final gesture to his men. They piled on the side of the walls, as two OIA agents planted the charges on the magically reinforced door that led to the “The Core”.

“All units, ready?” He asked his men, and most of them nodded, alongside the Secret Police.

“We’re ready,” Paper replied, and Pen turned to the OIA explosives specialist who planted the charge.

“Three, two, one - detonate!”

+++

As expected, they detonated the charges planted outside, blasting the door, and sending it careening inside the massive room, hitting major components connected to the “Astral Amplifier”, a metallic, circular core that acted as a beacon to increase the saturation of “Astral-Particles” around the Institute.

Ironically, it was designed by a man. A man who hated magic with a passion, for even when he had mastered its theoretical aspects, he was a mere male, unable to cast magic. Regardless of his studies, he was unable to grasp nor experience the ability granted by the Goddess to women. Even when he himself probably knew more about magic than the vast majority of women.

He named it the “Astral Amplifier”, which he created in the hopes that saturating mana in an area would aid him in achieving magic for himself. But, like all men’s attempts to gain magic, it was all in vain, and he committed suicide after his life project failed. Truthfully, the Institute’s possession of his creation had always been treated with scorn by Lieplatzan men.

It was as if they had looted a dead man’s work. To this day, not even Marie understood how he created the “Astral Amplifier”, and its internal mechanisms were still largely unknown to many in the Academia. It amazed her at times, especially when she visited the Institute years ago. A machine created by a man with no magic, that somehow manipulated magic in ways she, a woman, did not fully understand.

He may have not found any true use for it, but it was still impressive.

Marie pitied him, just as much as she pitied the OIA operatives that charged with flashbangs, straight to the jaws of her and her fellow sisters in the RIU. Men, were almost always relentless in their pursuit of everything, even in the face of damnable odds.

To challenge the goddess.

She fired her first spell - that sliced through two OIA agents, the sharp wind sending splatters of blood into the walls.

To challenge the Arcane.

And she sent her second spell - that froze another four, all while the rest of them poured in, and began taking cover, all while firing their submachine guns wildly at her. More flashbangs and smoke were popped, somewhat disorienting her and some of her operatives, but largely, it didn’t work.

How could you all do it?

She had always fought with the advantages stacked on her side. Never had she fought these men with her life or her sister’s lives being at risk. All the time, they would drop from her magic, regardless of what they did.

Right now, they were spreading out, flanking her, saturating her with gunfire. Some of them activated jammers, jammers that, yes, hurt a bit, and disabled some of her mana, but were offset by her proximity to the “Astral Amplifier”. But it was tactics nonetheless. They were fighting her like a well-oiled machine, fast, aggressive, and almost mechanical.

But she shifted back and forth in the “Astral Dimension”, disappearing and appearing at positions advantageous to her. All as she showered them with spells, mainly ice magic, that devastated their ranks.

Why can’t you all just stop fighting? Why? Why keep it all on? To die like rats, like this…all for nothing? When you will lose anyways?

What hope did they have?

Even if they found victory, they wouldn’t even be able to taste it. It would be empty. A mere short-term, pyrrhic victory. In the end, they would still lose - even if they toppled all matriarchal regimes, women would still turn up at the top. They would still be outnumbered - devastated - outmatched - and outgunned.

Marie summoned her sword. It was pure red, made up of concentrated “Astral-Particles”. When she charged into one of the last standing OIA agents, who dodged her swipe just in time that only some of his hair was cut, she asked herself the same question. Why?

She brought it down on him, and his shoulders fell off, alongside his gun. He dropped to the floor, and desperately, pulled out his pistol, which she casually slapped off from his hand.

“Area clear!” Shouted one of her underlings, as the last OIA agent was skewered by an ice spike in the room, which looked like it went a brutal bloodbath.

She looked down at his visor, and pulled out his helmet, revealing the face of a young man in his late twenties. His eyes were dead and tired, yet he didn’t show any sign that he would surrender to her. She almost winced at this point, her suppressed concern about the fact that his shoulder was gone and he was leaving a pool of blood almost rising.

“Kill me.” He asked, way too calmly.

“Why?”

“Do you think you can extract information from me?”

She looked down at his nonexistent shoulder. Truthfully, she already knew everything about this operation. It was why she ordered a complete wipeout of this group. None of them would be useful.

“No.”

“Then kill me.”

“Why do you fight?”

His eyes didn’t react much.

“Reasons too meaningless for you. Kill me.”

“For your rights? For equality?”

He chuckled, almost mockingly.

“Indeed. Something too meaningless for y-”

She swiped off his head before he finished his line. She didn’t need to hear any further.

How dare…

She looked down at his headless corpse as it dropped limp. She had always envisioned a world equal for both men and women. For him to say that…how dare he insult her?

She looked around the room. There were no deaths on her side. Aside from some minor scratches and injuries. But all of the men were expunged. Dead. Twistedly unequal.

Rights…equality…but what does all of it mean to them if they’re dead?

Why couldn’t she understand them? It frustrated her. Almost as if their reasonings stemmed from a different world. A world she would never experience. And one, that she concluded as she looked at him one last time, that she would not wish to be in.

A world that drove them insane. Is that why?