All Divisions were currently stretched to their absolute limits, but there was a special pressure on the Phoenixes right now. This massive headquarters, with its gleaming white domes the size of a mountain range, was the greatest hospital in existence. There were few things they couldn’t heal quickly, so they rarely needed to house many patients. The building’s size reflected its importance and the number of staff.
Now the huge edifice was practically empty. She was in her personal quarters at the peak of the central dome, but she was almost the only Abidan in the entire place.
Phoenixes weren’t just in charge of healing, but rebuilding. Of the ten sectors the Abidan still firmly controlled, not one of them had escaped damage. Members of her Sixth Division were even now restoring lives, fending off corruption, and reconstructing entire continents. Where worlds had cracked under spatial assault, her people knitted them back together.
She could have joined them, as the most capable of their order, but that would require turning her back on the greater wound.
The nine hundred and ninety sectors they had abandoned.
[Correction: many of those sectors are still within bounds of safe recovery, after the Vroshir incursion ends,] her Presence reminded her. The ghost of gray smoke hovered next to her, and she may have imagined a slight admonishment in its tone. [Also, the vast majority of those Iterations were sparsely inhabited pioneer worlds. The situation is bad enough without embellishing reality.]
Of course, the Presence was right. Most fully corrupted worlds ended slowly; there would still be trillions of lives left to save after the Vroshir retreated.
Arguing with your personal Presence was an exercise in futility, but Suriel countered by summoning images all over her room. Windows opened onto many realities, covering the walls, images projected from reports that were delivered to the Abidan even now.
Each of these was from the perspective of an Abidan agent somewhere calling for assistance. Each an image of devastation.
An orbital barrage, shown from the ground, as deadly orange light rained from a steel sky.
A deluge of once-human monsters swarming up the side of a fortress, the army conducted by a hovering figure in a silver crown.
A desperate blur of combat as an Abidan from the Wolf Division held off a warrior whose spear-strikes leveled mountains.
The Mad King manifesting into reality, holding a black Scythe.
That last image was only shown for a moment before an overwhelming tide of blue light as the Abidan delivering the report escaped, but even in that brief flash less than a second, Suriel could see the sky behind the Vroshir—and the entire Iteration—crack.
There were a thousand of these, and they covered the room. Suriel faced her Presence, though she knew the construct could hear her every thought.
“What can we do?” she asked.
[You cannot leave this Iteration until Makiel is restored,] her Presence reminded her. [With that restriction, you are limited in what you can accomplish alone.]
In her mind, the Presence spooled out a list of how she could resolve each of these emergency scenarios…except for the appearance of the Mad King. That was beyond her.
“And if I’m not alone?”
[Your highest probability of success comes from cooperating with the other Judges in the tasks they are already performing.]
Her Presence gave her brief glimpses of possibility. Razael, the Wolf, would never leave the battlefield. Joining her would mean putting two of their seven greatest assets in the same place…but it would also make Razael far more capable. Together, they could potentially cut off the advance of the Mad King, though still not oppose him directly.
Telariel, the Spider, wouldn’t risk his own life even in the event of total system collapse. He was currently coordinating Abidan efforts on all fronts, and with Suriel’s support, he would have an easier time pushing past chaos. Not to mention more willing to take the field, with the greatest healer backing him up.
Zakariel, the Fox, was more selfish even than Telariel. She had a lot in common with the Angler of the Crystal Halls, and each considered the other something of a rival. If it didn’t benefit her directly, she usually didn’t do it, and she was currently raiding Iterations under Vroshir assault to scoop up any valuables before the world fell. Though any Silverlords that encountered her had no chance of escape.
Suriel might persuade the Fox to act for the good of the Court, which would open coordinated rescue efforts.
Suriel could work together with any of the other Judges and accomplish great things. But not enough. None of them could stop the advance of the Vroshir.
All predictive models showed the same thing: the Mad King cementing his isolation of Sector Eleven, then moving in for the kill. Once Sector Eleven was in ruins, he would retreat before even he was cut off by the chaos he’d left in his wake. Then he’d leave the Abidan to clean up after him.
No two Judges could stop him. Without Makiel, no two could even fight him.
But what about three?
“What are my odds of getting two other Judges to work with me against the Vroshir directly?”
[Not high.]
Suriel preferred her Presence to answer numerically where possible, even when regarding scenarios that were technically incalculable. When it didn’t, that meant the scenario was truly uncertain.
[It is a shame that those who rise to become Judges tend to be unusually individualistic,] her Presence continued. [Forceful. Difficult to persuade, even with objective facts.]
Suriel stroked the ghostly gray correlation lines that ran from the back of her skull to her knuckles like strings of smoke. “It will be difficult to get them to abandon their individual pursuits, but not impossible. Is there any other chance of victory?”
[If you define victory as preserving as many of those under our protection as possible, then a defensive engagement has the highest probability of success. Taking conservative actions and retaining territory until the Vroshir incursion ends gives us the best chance of reclaiming as many worlds as possible almost one hundred percent of the time.]
“And what if I define victory as forcing the Vroshir incursion to end early?”
[It is a shame that those who rise to become Judges tend to be unusually individualistic,] her Presence repeated. [Forceful. Difficult to persuade, even—]
“Connect me to the Titan,” Suriel interrupted.
With a faint sigh, her Presence obeyed.
3
Within the corrupted lands of the Desolate Wilds, there were only a few livable pockets in which the dreadbeasts and the blight of venom aura had been pushed back. A few years ago, Lindon had found an alliance of five factions formed around the emergence of the Transcendent Ruins, but that had only been temporary.
The town in which the residents of Sacred Valley found shelter was called, quite simply, Refuge. It had started off as a temporary camp, but that had been years ago. Recently, it had been home to thousands, and some homes had housed families for three generations.
But that was before the attack of the Wandering Titan.
Now, the town was half-empty, and signs of battle against the tide of dreadbeasts marred the walls and littered the streets. The buildings had only survived thanks to their own good fortune; attacks from Dreadgods or Monarchs had carved new ravines into the territory all around.
The townsfolk, though, were anything but grateful for their survival. Everyone had lost someone, many had lost homes, and now they were facing an influx of refugees from their west. As Lindon had expected, they would have violently rejected the people from Sacred Valley.