Blacks wings beat at the wind defying gravity with each powerful beat. The wind carried with it the sound of feathers whistling in the harsh wind as it flew past.

Vivian's wings beat behind her, keeping her high above the ground. The heavy clouds floated above her, so close she could reach up and touch it. Yet her eyes remained on the ground, towards the creatures that marched there.

Dressed in a tattered and bloodstained dress of battles past, Vivian watched, elegant glaive in hand, as she pondered all the ways she would dissect and study them.

Her last experiments revealed quite a bit, but they also proved that there was more to reveal. More secrets to unravel. More pleasure for her to enjoy.

She wondered how long these next ones would last.

Her long black hair laid across her back, blowing in the wind.

She tasted it, felt it in her hair and in her clothes as they rustled.

The wind was loud in the clouds, blowing them swiftly across the sky as they threatened to cry for the creatures of the ground.

Without the cover of the trees that this column of soldiers had left behind just over two miles back, they were in plain view to Vivian. And without any protection the thick foliage might have provided.

With a smile, Vivian raised her elegant glaive high above her head, piercing the very heavens, and with a slow deliberate motion, brought it down towards the column of Devils and Argalon.

Finally given the command, hundreds of Skeletal Undead with sharp claws and fangs shot down through the clouds, their sharp leathery wings tucked in close to their body as they pierced the air like arrows.

They were quickly spotted by the Demons, but not fast enough. The Undead did not bother to slow their decent, only aim it. Each one crashed into their targets, crushing their bodies beneath them. Many of the Undead shattered upon impact with their targets, but none without them with them.

The rest crawled out of the small craters and open corpses they had created and tore into the rest without hesitation. Wagons of goods were broken or set ablaze. Officers and Supply Personal were ripped apart.

It was a bloodbath, but not a one sided one.

The Demons were soldiers, tried and true. They were quick to fight back, forming groups and smoothly destroying the Undead.

Vivian watched the scene with a slight grin, analyzing every action. Studying them and their responses. Formulating different strategies to counter them. She knew she was not a fighter. She had been designed by Alaster to spy and assassinate. She could hold her own against a group of Experts, but she could not last in prolonged combat.

Her Undead were similar.

Within just a few minutes of the battle beginning, the majority of the bones of the Undead lay scattered.

Vivian gave the mental command to retreat and they were immediate in their response to it.

As they disengaged and took to the skies, with many failing to get away, Vivian chuckled to herself when she saw two of her Undead take it upon themselves to grab one of the Devil Foot Soldiers and lift him into the skies with them. His screams were humorous, but they also brought the focus of the other Soldiers.

They launched their spells towards their comrade, intent to rescue him, but each on was intercepted by one of the surviving Undead.

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In just two minutes, the Undead were back in the skies alongside their Mistress, now numbering a few dozen. The captive Devil lay limp in their grasp, having been knocked out by a bony fist to the nose, though Vivian suspected that the terror of being dragged hundreds of feet into the sky by Skeletal horrors also played a role.

Vivian had timed the attack with intent. Knowing that the nearest flying patrol of Argalon was several miles away. Of course, once they received word of the attack, they could reach this location in mere minutes.

As if to accentuate her thoughts, one of the soldiers below lifted up a large metallic pole which launched a bright red light into the sky, so bright it could be clearly seen even in bright daylight.

"Time to go my dears!" Vivian chuckled, already flying away as fast as they could keep up.

Her forces were decimated, as usually happened after each one of her assaults. But she did not care. They were Undead, their false Lives meant nothing to her. By this time tomorrow, she would have created even more than she lost. And the result was wonderous.

That supply caravan was headed for the Demon army attacking Taria and would help supply and arm them for a week. She had not destroyed all of it, but she had limited the supplies from a week's worth, to perhaps three days. She had also delayed it. Unfortunately, there were three similar caravans each taking different routes to the same goal.

The effect of this attack was minimal, but after every day, it began to build up. At least, that is what Vivian hoped. She was doing what she could to hinder the Demons, but she was limited by the constraints of her own creation.

Fenrir, on the other hand, had been designed with just such a situation in mind. He was having the time of his life.

Far away, in the dense forests of Athera, more jungle than forest, Fenrir smirked, hearing his sister/self's thoughts.

It was true.

He was designed for open conflict, relished in it, built to enjoy it. And he was.

His War Pack of Skeletal Werewolves raced through the dense foliage, jumping from root to root, swinging from the vines, diving through bushes. Blood coated their bony plates, particularly around their mouths, and they sought for more.

More blood. More cries. More pleading. More death.

While his sister decided to create disposable Minions meant to throw away their false lives, Fenrir had decided to create more skilled and durable Minions. He had no illusion that they were still disposable, as were most soldiers in war, but they were more valuable.

As such, they took longer to create, but as a consequence, they were also more difficult to destroy, and more costly to the enemy.

While Vivian used cheap soldiers, Fenrir preferred stronger ones, both left the true elites to their Master/Father/Brother/Self.

It was confusing even for them, but they ignored it.

Fenrir had seen the Legions of the Forgotten himself. At least the Twelve. He judged himself to be capable of decimating one of the Legions, but not the entirety. And there were eleven others just like it, each one with enough standby reinforcements to replenish the entire Legion.

As for the Thirteenth? The Legion directly under command of Alaster, no one had seen it. Nor the other Legions for that matter. Alaster had yet to employ any of them on the field. But Alaster had not yet even revealed them within his own Soul Domain.

He kept them hidden away. Not because he wanted to keep them secret even from his own servants and Minions, but because he was not sure he wanted to see that the world would become if they were unleashed.

It was for that reason, Fenrir decided to take the medium road. Creating skilled but still disposable soldiers.

And in the dense jungle, where it was impossible to stay in any real formation, his naturally agile Pack excelled.

Vivian targeted the Demon supply lines. A valuable task that had won and lost countless wars.

Fenrir instead targeted the patrols and scouts of the Demon army within Athera, essentially leaving them blind to their surroundings.

Something the Elves of the jungle greatly appreciated.

The Elves did not know where this War Pack had come from, or what their goals were, but they did not care all that much. All they cared about was that the Pack's prey remained Demonic in nature. So long as this remained the case, they helped each other without getting in each other's way.

The light and nimble Elves kept to the towering tree tops and their branches, loosing their masterfully aimed arrows from above while the War Pack tore through the enemy below.

Together, a single skirmishing party of Elves and the War Pack had slowed, hindered, and trimmed away the Demon army to the point that they had just barely even begun to siege one of Athera's cities.

The Monster Horde the Elves had steered in the Demons' path continued to hound them day and night, while the War Pack and their Elvish Aid kept the Demons from encircling the city.

It was a wondrous feat, but Fenrir was under no illusion. Unless something changed soon, the Atherian city of Ilnala would fall. And despite Fenrir's best efforts, he saw nothing changing soon enough.

He just hoped the Elvish leaders understood that as well and were already evacuating nonmilitary personal. Not because he did not wish to see innocents harmed, merely because Fenrir hated it when something got in his way towards his next prey.

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