Elder Amanda pivots left, narrowly dodging a down swung greatsword that would have split her in two. Using the momentum of her pivot, she swings her halberd at the overextended valkyrie, but another valkyrie steps in and blocks it.

Amanda lets her weapon rebound off the block and parry an arrow aimed for her neck. The arrow no more, she continues her spin and, with a sharp twist, swings at the valkyries again, forcing them to give her space.

She keeps her halberd in motion, spinning it from hand to hand as she studies her foes. A petite woman with a claymore, a slim woman with a warhammer and a stocky woman with a bow space themselves for a renewed attack. One on one, any of these valkyries would be easy prey, but they are ganging up Amanda with uncanny coordination.

She steals a glance at the rest of the battlefield. The other Elders are each in the same predicament, a combination of Valkyries harass and restrict their movements while the [Slave] armies get decimated by the better equipped [Paladins] and [Angels]. She cares not for the lives of [Slaves] particularly, but the loss of an army is often the loss of a nation.

“You three are annoying,” she growls at the Valkyries who stare back with expressions devoid of emotion. They attack, and Amanda quickly moves to dodge arrows as the other two attack from her flanks. Though perfectly timed and in sync, they are predictable. She dodges the arrows and prepares to riposte the other two, but quickly changes her plan as something fast enters the range of her aura.

Dodging low instead, a gauntleted man soars over her and punches the claymore wielding valkyrie with enough force to shatter blade and wielder both. The Valkyrie ragdolls away as a mangled mess. The other valkyrie swings her warhammer at the new attacker, but the man casually raises a hand and stops the weapon mid swing. His muscles bulge and he pulls both hammer and valkyrie into a punch that turns the valkyries head into a red mist.

He looks at Amanda and cocks his head as an arrow flies by. He reaches down to her as a second arrow zooms over his head, his motion so casual, Amanda would have expected it from Grand Elder Tartura.

“Artyom, leave some for the rest of us!” Another blur streaks through the sky. The valkyrie attempts to block a fist of crystalline blue ice with her bow, but the bow instantly freezes, shatters, and then the same thing happens to the Valkyries body.

This new man is clearly from the North judging by his domineering size. He grins at the smaller man whom Amanda guesses is Artyom.

“I did not require assistance.” Amanda quickly stands and says, the words coming from her mouth faster than her thoughts.

The large northern man chuckles as he walks to Artyom. “See, I told you their pride rivals our own. They'll never accept a man's help, that's just how they are.”

Amanda glares at the larger man, but the shorter man ignores her as he starts to frown.

“What's wrong?”

Aryom grimaces at the corpse of the Valkyrie.

“I don't like hitting women, Jokull. It just seems wrong.”

Hearing the big man's name, Amanda takes another look and sees the diadem on his brow.

“You’re the [Frost Jarl] of Jotunheim!” She blurts in surprise.

Jokull grins and waggles an eyebrow at Amanda before returning to Artyom. “Those aren't women. Those are abominations made from [Priestess] corpses and [Angels]. Just because they look like women does not mean that they are.”

Artyom sighs, “Yes, I know, but it still doesn't feel good. I’ve always been taught to treat women with utmost respect. I feel like I’m going against my morals.”

Amanda tightens her grip on her halberd as she listens in on the conversation. Just for a second, she thinks of swinging her polearm and taking the man's head. The man, to her surprise shifts his upper body slightly so that he would have the speed to dodge her swing.

Such a preemptive movement sends a shiver down her spine. Only the Grand Elders are able to act so preemptively.

“Your morals are garbage if you believe women are weak.”

Jokull and Artyom turn their attention to her. Their gazes feel like a dominant pressure so reminiscent of the Grand Elders. It pisses her off, but it also keeps her wary and somewhat respectful.

“Artyom never said anything about women being weak. His morals restrict him from harming those that could be mothers.”

“That is a weakness,” She sneers.

Artyom shrugs. It’s not the first time his beliefs were questioned in such a way.

As he muses about a response, a beam of light bursts into the sky deep into the Aesir army. At the sight of the light, the Aesir army starts retreating.

Jokull grins, “Seems they noticed us.”

“Maybe… or something else is up. Let's retreat for now.”

_____________________________________________________________

“Grand Elder Cahira,” Amanda strides into the Amazon’s camp, “what are these Northerners doing here?”

Cahira glances at Amanda as an Amazon sister cleans grime, dirt, and blood off her body.

“Ahh, daughter. They are allies sent by the [Emperor] to assist in this war. Do you have problems with them?”

“Yes! They are getting in the way of our war and honor.”

At her words, Cahira laughs to the confusion of her sisters. She shakes her head, “Daughter, this war is not a place for honor. We do not fight honorable warriors, but monsters of magic. These Valkyries, though powerful, are mere constructs of flesh; taking pride in their defeat is wasted.” Cahira grins, “But you already knew that. Tell me, what has you so flustered?”

Amanda folds her arms in a pout of annoyance.

“Come now. It is clear by your expression that something bothers you.”

“One of the men, the smaller one they called Artyom, refuses to strike women, as though we are lesser.”

Cahira chuckles again.

“Artyom is the North's Úlfhéðnar, their most powerful warrior. He is also a [Hero], an outworlder, and wields a domain. My guess is that he does not strike women because women from his world may very well be weak. I’m sure you’ve heard of Tatiana’s and Anexita’s worlds?”

“I… have. But it still angers me.”

“It angers you because you are becoming infatuated. You find him powerful and wish to bear a daughter with his strength.”

Amanda frowns at her mother’s words. “I see.”

“Which is good. We have lost many sisters in this war and our numbers will need to be replenished once this war is won. If Artyom is worthy, his seed will create the next generation of Amazons.”

A slow smile works its way on Amanda’s mouth as she imagines a daughter with that man's physical strength.

________________________________________________________

“This is where we keep them,” [Slave General] Foxtail points to a heavily enchanted building in the center of the army.

“Can we see inside?” Jokull asks.

“Absolutely. [Emperor] Flavion has given you full authority to any and all our secrets. Now come, let me show you the genius of [Strategy Sovereign] Abba.

Foxtail walks up to the building. Two [Praetorian Guards] move out of the way and allow him to enter with Jokull and Artyom in tow.

They travel down a circular descending hallway. Eventually the hallway opens up to what looks like a coliseum. Throughout the massive coliseum are hundreds of [Mages] summoning demons, talking to them, and then unsummoning them.

As Jokull and Artyom gaze around, Foxtail speaks.

“At the start of the war, we found ourselves in great trouble. The Aesir had suppressed our ability to communicate and outmaneuvered our armies with ease. They hunted our [Runners] and suppressed any magical attempts at communication. We were losing badly until Abba developed the Demon Network.”

Artyom raises an eyebrow as he watches [Mages], [Scribes], and [Runners] working in tandem.

“How does it work?”

Giddy, Foxtail extends his arms forward, “Simple. Our [Mages] cast [Summon Minor Demon]. We get the demons true name, either through deals or torture, and then we can summon that same demon whenever we want. Demons are designated to certain [Mages] in certain locations. A [General] will have several [Mages] that can summon demons that are also summoned at Abba’s hidden fortress. These demons are told important information before being unsummoned and resummoned elsewhere, where they can deliver said information.”

The three men skirt around the organized chaos of the coliseum floor.

Jokull scratches his beard, “That's rather genius.” he looks at Artyom, “though my Úlfhéðnar does not seem impressed.”

“My home has better and faster technology.” Artyom explains.

Foxtail nods, “Abba said the same thing. He complains that the Demon Network is merely a stopgap until he can develop something he termed Superluminal Communication. I’m guessing this is your world's fastest form of communication?”

Artyom frowns. “Maybe? I’m not familiar with the specifics.”

“Is that the room?” Jokull interrupts, a finger pointing at a heavily enchanted and guarded room. Several Amazons wait at the entrance with weapons at the ready.

“Yes, yes. We keep them there. Come.”

As they near, the Amazons take an aggressive stance.

“Relax, relax. They are with me. I am merely showing them what's inside.”

At his words, the Amazons relax and step out of the way. Foxtail places his hand on the door. An enchantment activates and the door then slowly slides open. They enter the room and stop in surprise.

Four [Archangels] are imprisoned in the room, three of which are covered in thousands of chains and seals connected to the wall. [Archangels] Raphael, Gabriel, and Uriel are heavily damaged with wings and limbs removed. The chains funnel the dismembered angels a constant supply of mana, preventing them from dissipating. Micheal, the most powerful [Archangel] of them all, sits in a corner, unfettered, undamaged, unfocused, and drools.

In the center of the room is a single woman wielding two battle axes.

“You should not be here,” she warns.

“Grand Elder Tartura,” Foxtail rushes up, “I was merely showing them how Abba stopped the Archangels.”

“Then just tell them that we are keeping them alive so they cannot be resummoned. You did not need to lead them here.”

Foxtail swallows nervously as the woman's emotionless gaze shifts from Artyom to Foxtail, and then back to Artyom. Her hand tightens on her battleaxes, and Artyom's muscles tense in turn.

After a tense moment, she snorts and quickly relaxes. She points an axe at Artyom. “You are worthy. If you have a question, ask and I will answer.”

Artyom doesn't relax in kind. He can still feel the woman’s ever present readiness.

Cautiously, he raises his hand and points a finger at the singular unchained [Archangel].

“What's wrong with him?”