Trackenkaken awoke with a start when the door to his quarters flung open and the doorknob collided with the wall. He squinted into the darkness, but found himself unable to see anything. 

"General, you've gotta get up! Now!" Brant's voice shouted, shattering the peaceful silence. 

With a grunt, Track wiggled out of his sleeping bag. "What is it?" 

"We've got a horde of Alcontean soldiers coming in from the north!" 

Track's eyes widened. He hurried his movements and turned his lamp on. When he glanced at the grandfather clock above the door, he frowned. "This late?" 

Brant shrugged. "They've got Albatross, god of endurance with them." 

The Innutukian grabbed a gallon jug in the corner and placed the opening to his lips. He poured a mouthful of water down his parched throat. "That'll be fun." he muttered. "Same sort of numbers as we saw with that blade god?" 

Brant shivered before nodding in affirmation. "It's hard to even comprehend a force so large." 

Track coughed. "Yep. Alright, get out so I can gear up. How much time do we have?" 

"At their current pace, I'd say it'd take them an hour to get to the temple. Fifty minutes 'til they'd be in range of sniper fire." 

"Good. I can have the men up by then, but you keep an eye out anyway." 

Brant spun to exit the room, and Track shut the door behind him. The Innutukian tugged his wrinkled sleeping shirt off his torso, nearly bumping into the wall as he did so. His pants came off next. 

After five minutes of scrambling, he had successfully put on his combat gear. Thick plates of Innutukian rubber covered him from head to toe, separated perfectly at the joints to allow complete flexibility while only leaving small patches of vulnerability. Lusterless indigo in hue, the armor also served to accentuate polished bronze highlights like the broad shoulder-plates and thick vambraces. 

On Track's belt, a pair of sheathed daggers hung from his right hip. On the other side, he sported a leather supply bag. Below that, each of his calves had a holster strapped to it, occupied by an uzi each. Finally, he had a bulky rifle strapped to his back. 

He glanced at himself in the mirror, his sleepy hazel eyes lacking the energy another four hours of sleep would have given them. Several scraggly hairs peeked out of the usually neatly kept beard lining his well-defined jawline. With a sigh, he slipped a shiny bronze helmet over it all. Now only a glinting black visor stared back at him in the mirror, fastened above a removable plate over his nose and mouth. After straightening his uniform one last time, Track turned and stepped through the door. 

Track's footsteps thudded down the hallway. He flipped every light switch on as he passed it. Ignoring the curious heads peeking out of doors behind him, he continued on until he reached the captains' room. With no hesitation, he entered. 

He knelt and shook the nearest captain. "Get up." he said, "Prepare yourself and your legion for battle." 

The man rubbed his groggy eyes and nodded. After Track repeated the process for the other three, he exited and descended into the courtyard. 

Brant and Ace stood at the bottom of the stairway, and they frowned at Track. They both squinted at the visor for a few seconds before the general realized it was the uniform throwing them off. 

"It's me, Track." he muttered. 

They silently nodded. 

"Now," the Innutukian began, "I'm no expert on the Alcontean religion, but given recent events, it seems like something I should know more about. How many gods are there?" 

Brant bit his lip, hesitating for a second. "Twenty-six." 

"Good grief. So we've killed two of them, and then you're a third, so—" 

"No, I renounced my claim to divinity and destroyed Falcon's artifact." 

Track narrowed his eyes. "Say that slower and with less jargon." 

"Is this really necessary right now?" Ace asked with crossed arms. 

Brant shifted his stance. "We have 50 minutes. 40 until we can start picking them off with sniper fire. Anyway," he began, shifting back to the general, "the truth is, they're no gods at all." 

"Then what are they?" 

"In reality, they're demons, posing as gods. They hide their power away in magical objects called artifacts, which are scattered across the continent. Only by finding the artifact and performing whatever ritual prescribed by that particular god can one attain 'godhood'." 

Track nodded. "How many of the artifacts remain unfound?" 

"I have no idea. I didn't even know Kookaburra existed until just a few days ago, so anything's possible." 

"What about Albatross specifically? Do you know if he's attained his?" 

Brant shrugged. "Again, I don't know." 

"Wait a minute, is he really any threat in the chance he doesn't have his artifact? He's just a man if he doesn't, right?" 

"Not exactly." 

"You intend to explain that, I hope." Track grumbled. 

"Simply put, Emperor Emil set up a training program to prepare individuals for divinity. Before anyone is allowed to search for the artifacts, they're required to pass that program." 

"What's in it?" 

"Intense physical training and conditioning, along with spiritual and intellectual indoctrination with the teaching of whatever god the individual is selected to embody. If they survive all that, they move onto the enhancement stage." 

Track frowned. "It's so intense that survival's a question?" 

The only reply he received was a nod from Brant. His forehead wrinkled as he glanced at the courtyard around them, where Innutukians poured down the stairways and congregated in whatever locations their captain ordered. 

"Yes, many trainees enter, but normally, only one or two survive the ordeal." Brant finally declared. 

Ace raised an eyebrow. "And if two survive?" 

"A fight to the death. Whoever survives gets to move on to the enhancements." 

"Which are...?" Track asked. 

"Depends which god you're supposed to be. In my case, to become the god of vision, they did too many operations to count on my eyes." 

The Innutukian sighed. "So even if he doesn't have anything magical about him, this Albatross character's gonna be at physical peak, or even a bit beyond. And if 'god of endurance' means anything, it's gonna be hell to bring him down." 

Brant nodded. "Precisely my concern." 

"Nothing beats a splash of acid." Ace remarked, shaking a vial of green liquid in his hand. 

"He could withstand even that." Brant said, "You'd need a whole gallon." 

Ace's only response was comprised of an eye roll and a shake of his head. 

"Well, we'd better hasten our preparations." Track said, "We've got a long night ahead of us." 

With a grimace, Brant nodded. "I'll rouse my men." 

"You do that. I'll find a shield." Track replied, dashing off to do just that. 

******************** 

With folded arms, Wendy paced across the temple's rooftop. Her metal boots thumped as they met the wooden planks. Nearer the edge of the roof, a couple dozen Insurgence troops knelt with sniper rifles in their hands, among whom waited Keira. 

It struck Wendy as peculiar that no Inntukians were to be found among the snipers' ranks. Instead, they had all assembled themselves below, split into four companies. I guess they regard such a long-distance shooting style as cowardly. she mused. 

Wendy removed her helmet and sat down beside Keira, who rubbed her weapon down with a cloth. The two women exchanged a smile upon locking eyes. 

"You ready for this?" the Danlashian asked softly. 

Keira's lips tightened. She shook her head. "I don't think anything could prepare us for the insanity we're about to witness." 

"I think you're right." Wendy glanced at the field below. "It's gonna be a bloody mess down there." 

"I'm unsure whether you mean that literally or not." Keira remarked with a smirk. 

Wendy laughed. "Now that's up for interpretation." 

"Is Hannah going out with Brant's squad?" 

The Danlashian's blonde hair quivered as she shook her head. "She was sleeping like a bloody baby, and I wasn't about to change that. 

"That's probably for the best. I don't wanna see that smile fade." 

"Nobody does." 

Keira glanced up from her scrubbing for a second. "What do you plan to do, Wendy? Are you staying up here with us, joining the ground forces—" 

"I'm gonna be a bloody free spirit, lassie. I plan to zoom wherever I'm needed, bash some 'conte skulls, save a life or two, and repeat the cycle." 

Keira only nodded. 

"Alright, gals," said the Kemarian man kneeling beside Keira, his eye pressed against his sniper's scope, "I've got the men at the fore in my sights. Still out of range, but five minutes or so'll change that." 

"Two for me." Keira muttered. 

Wendy leapt to her feet and put her helmet on. She reached behind her back and groped around. Satisfied at feeling the nocks of twenty arrows in the quiver, she smirked slightly inside the helmet. A quick glance above revealed a shadowy mass hovering in the clouds, the Armory. Ever since Aaron had designed that ship, Wendy found herself worrying about ammo less and less. 

She turned at the sound of a door closing behind her. Ace casually saluted Wendy as he passed. In one hand, he held a capped gallon jug, and in the other, a knife hung loosely from his fingers. To his back was strapped a hang glider. 

"What do you think you're doing?" Wendy asked. 

"Gliding." 

She huffed. "Well, that much is bloody obvious, but why?" 

Ace held up the jug as he stepped to the edge of the roof. "Gotta pour some acid on a bastard's head." When Wendy edged closer as well, he shook his head. "Don't follow me. I can't afford them seeing or hearing this coming." 

Wendy crossed her arms. "You're saying I'm loud and bloody flashy?" 

"Yep. You lack subtlety." 

"You have a point." she conceded. "Don't bloody die." 

"Wasn't in the plans." Ace glanced at Keira. "Don't shoot me." 

She smirked at him. "I know how to aim, thank you very much." 

"I never said it would be a missing shot." 

Keira burst into laughter, but Ace retained a straight face. With a hop, he cleared the roof's edge and soared off into the night.

******************** 

A/N: Boy oh boy, this battle's coming much sooner than any of these guys hoped, huh? Though to be fair, I wouldn't say any of them were hoping for it in the first place, but still. Hope you enjoyed the humorous note this chapter ended in, though. Let's just hope they can stay so chipper. 😏 

(Disconcerting emoji grin aside, if you enjoyed this chapter, please remember to vote and comment. I always appreciate it. ❤️) 

Aaand, I guess I'll ask, now that we have a battle incoming, who are you excited to see on the battlefield? Is it a charging Brant you're waiting for, a soaring Wendy, a sniping Keira, or who? 

And now for our random question: What's your favorite animal? 

(I've never been good at answering this question, but I'll try. I have developed an appreciation for falcons after being dubbed one by one of my good friends on here, so that'd be one candidate. I also really love foxes for some reason. So I'll say it's between falcons and foxes. 🦊 🦅  [Yes, I know that's an eagle, but just go with it. 😂]) 

Alrighty, and now I'm off to binge a book of my own! I hope you have an amazing day ahead of you (or night), and I'll see you in tomorrow's update.