"Hello again, Danielle," I greet as I touch down in the base's landing zone again.

  "Hello again, Seraphim," Danielle greets me with a smile. "I am definitely pleased to hear that the offensive has been going well."

  "Uh, yeah," I say. "Because of course you would be."

  "Of course I would be," Danielle agrees with a nod. "Right this way, please."

  She leads me through the base like before, taking me into that same commander's tent where the colonel I talked to before is waiting for me. We exchange the usual introductions, and the expected questioning begins.

  "I don't take too kindly to soldiers who think they can work outside the chain of command, Seraphim," he says, and I can't help but frown.

  "That has never at any point been my intention, sir," I respond simply.

  "You were ordered to maintain radio contact. Several times. You have failed to do so several times."

  "I assure you, sir, that it was never on purpose. Fighting with my powers necessitates that I spend a lot of time not looking very human. It makes headsets and backpacks a little difficult to wear. I haven't found a good solution yet, is all. If I may, it might be simpler to just put me on a squad with someone else to carry the thing."

  "You seem to be spending a lot of time separated from your squad, too."

  "The first time with permission, and the second time under explicit orders, sir," I respond succinctly.

  The colonel scowls.

  "You are a difficult person to fit into a battle plan, Seraphim," he says, quickly shifting the goalposts to a different ball field entirely.

  "My apologies, sir," I deadpan. "I'm trying to be good enough at battle to make up for it."

  "Well," the colonel sighs, "I can't say you haven't succeeded at that. Three confirmed Angel kills in a single day already puts you in the top percentage of wing rippers, and pulling off two of them solo is even more impressive. It is clear that you are shaping up to eventually be one of the most powerful supers on the force. Which is why I'm very curious to hear you explain why you couldn't come back to base when you were ordered to. It seems to me that with any Angels out of the picture, someone like you wouldn't be in much danger. And sure enough, rather than disengaging, reports said you went on a killing spree. I have to say, that's not what I recall giving permission for."

  I pause for a moment, trying to think of the best way to answer, but the colonel doesn't seem to be in a patient mood.

  "Well?" he presses.

  What do I tell him? The truth is a little dangerous, but I suppose there's a good chance they'll find out on their own and if I didn't tell them when they figure it out it's going to be a lot more suspicious. Fuck it, I must have earned some number of brownie points for my contributions today. Let's see if they're worth anything.

  "Well sir, um, you have my apologies. It's another thing with my power being weird. In essence, I couldn't return to base because I was very, very close to dying."

  He raises an eyebrow for me to continue. Yeah, the more I think about it, the more this is probably the best play. The brass are scared of me, right? They want a way to control me. If I want that way to stop being a nuke named Danielle, I need to give them something else to act as their nightlight so they quit being scared of the dark.

  "Well sir, as it turns out, I really, really don't like being set on fire," I say, which gets a bit of a morbid twitch from his lips, so that's a win. "When that Angel's fire started burning me, it never wanted to stop burning me, and while I kept trying to heal off the damage that just gave it more fuel as a result. Which I guess figures, since I'm basically… uh, have you seen that old pre-war movie, sir? The Thing?"

  "Not the most flattering comparison there, Warrant Officer," the colonel answers.

  "I live it, sir, I'm well aware. But yeah, it was a very, very close fight. The mind control didn't really work on me, but the fire definitely did. So when it was all over, I pretty desperately needed to restore biomass, and… well, the enemy is made of biomass."

  "So you… ate them?" the colonel asks, giving me a face. I repress an urge to roll my eyes.

  "Yes sir, I literally eat aliens for breakfast."

  He snorts. Yes! Joke successful. Okay, this seems to be working. I have never been happier to teach someone how to murder me in my life.

  "Well, we're not even sure what your non-Angel kill count is, but it's certainly quite high. I hope you had a satisfying breakfast?" the colonel asks.

  "Yes sir, nice and full and ready for more."

  "Well, since we don't want to make this kind of mistake again, is there anything other than fire that you think might be a danger to you?"

  Yep, there it is. God, I wish I was just paranoid.

  "Acid can mess me up pretty bad," I admit. "It's not too hard to take splashes of acid from aliens, but it eats at a chunk of my reserves in a way that getting stabbed or shot just doesn't. I'm fairly certain it's because of the chemical interaction; if something displaces my flesh, I can just put my flesh back to how it's supposed to be, sealing up cuts like they never even happened. But if something takes my flesh and turns it into charcoal or post-acidic gunk, I can't do anything with it anymore. Enough of that happens, and eventually my healing can't keep up."

  "Alright, I'll make sure to put that on your file so this doesn't happen again." Yeah, I bet you will. "Well, I think that clears up my confusion adequately. I have to say, Seraphim, that your contributions towards this assault have been invaluable. Our remaining wing ripper squads should be finishing off the last of the confirmed Angels now, and soon we will be pushing on the Queen herself. This will go down in history as one of humanity's biggest victories, and you can be proud to have been a part of it."

  "Thank you, sir," I say, not really having any comment on that. I don't think I'll regret doing this, but I don't think I'll ever be proud, either. It is a genocide, even if it's against an aggressor.

  "To that end, let's talk about your deployment for the remainder of the battle," the colonel says, and he begins to lay out my orders. Oddly enough, despite everything I've done, things will be going back more or less to how the battle started: with me primarily using my domain as a shield against the Queen and little else. This time, however, there won't be an abundance of mundane troops to protect. The wing rippers and any applicable super with a strong enough domain are simply going to band together into a dense enough ball of synchronicity that it becomes possible to approach the Queen at close range.

  With her Angels defeated, she'll most likely shrink her domain to protect herself, and with a domain as powerful as hers we'll need a lot of people working together in order to stand a chance of penetrating it. From there, it's about highly destructive powers and heavy ordinance as we take a long, slow walk to the Queen's core. It'll most likely be pretty brutal, but the Colonel says at this stage our victory is almost inevitable. For the first time in a long time, we have managed to accrue an overwhelming advantage against the alien forces, and for the first time in perhaps forever our losses have been low enough that we may be able to do it again. This could be the turning part of the war, and at least some small part of it is thanks to me.

  Yippee. I just hope my family is alright. I'm told where I should report next and dismissed from the tent, exiting to find Danielle pouting very slightly at me as we start to walk there together.

  "…Are you upset about something?" I ask.

  "No," she lies.

  "You're upset about something," I say.

  "I just can't believe that you can be killed as something as simple and boring as fire!" Danielle complains. "They're never going to let me out for you again! Which… is a good thing, obviously, so I'm not upset."

  "I see," I answer, thinking back to what Rafflesia said about powerful superhumans commonly going insane. I think almost anybody would go insane if you indoctrinated them to a degree that they genuinely believe they should never be allowed to see the sun again. I wish there was something I could do to help her, but I'm not even sure where I would start. Everyone's acting like she's one small slip away from killing us all, so I'd rather not poke the red wire in case it happens to jiggle loose.

  "It's just that it would be good for humanity if you were stronger and harder to kill, obviously," Danielle justifies to herself. "Something like fire, well, almost anyone could exploit it."

  "Yep," I agree simply. "Looks like I'm not that dangerous after all."

  Danielle makes a soft whining noise, and we don't speak any further until we reach the staging area, where Danielle leaves me and departs. There's not really much to say about the staging area; it's just a bunch of superheroes waiting around while the logistical people figure out the best possible combinations for powers in a big domain death ball like this. A good chunk of powered people have almost certainly been pulled from the front lines, technically leaving it a lot more vulnerable, but with Blasphemy's Angels either dead or soon to be I suppose there doesn't have to be much. Our combat doctrine has proven to be overwhelming against this foe.

  I can't help but feel like it has been too easy. The way Blasphemy has fought back has been… tactically unsound at best. The Angels have been engaging us alone, rather than grouping up as a team and striking at us together to cover each other's weaknesses. On top of that, the first Angel I fought wasn't even particularly strong, and was very easy to trick into bad positions. If they had used their power correctly, I would have never had a chance of getting close. They seemed almost… young? Inexperienced?

  God, that's probably exactly what they were. I have no way to tell an alien's age, even with my perfect biological knowledge, because I don't really know how aliens age, or even if. There's a distinct possibility I was bullying a child, though. That feels kind of bad. I guess the kid did kill some of my squadmates, but… aarg! This is so annoying! No wonder countries indoctrinate their soldiers into not seeing the enemy as people. Empathy kind of sucks when you're fighting a war.

  "Lia…?"

  Huh? I know that voice.

  "Christine!" I call out to her. "Hey! You're alright!"

  "…Did you expect me not to be?" she asks, cringing a little. She looks like she's in pretty good shape, overall. No visible wounds, her gear all seems to be in order, and though she seems quite uncomfortable she's certainly not having a panic attack.

  "I didn't mean it like that," I say, stepping forward and pulling her into a hug. "I'm glad you're okay."

  "O-oh. Yeah, uh…" She squirms a little. "Um, it's a little weird for you to hug me when you're naked…?"

  Huh? Oh, right. I release her and take a step back, rolling my eyes. All of them, just to get the point across.

  "You know I don't actually have anything going on underneath," I say. "What do you want to make this more comfortable? Fluffier feathers? Smaller boobs? I could just turn into a tentacle monster or something."

  "Th-that would not help!" she yelps. "And no, actually, I didn't know you had 'nothing going on' because it would be really fucking weird to ask you if you had genitals!"

  "Oh," I say. "I thought it would just be obvious. It's not like they're going to do me any good in a fight."

  She groans, putting both hands over her face.

  "You're an idiot," she says, which I can't help but be a little offended by. "But it's good to see you too. It's nice to have a familiar face around all these powerful people."

  "I take it you haven't seen Ana here yet, then?"

  "You really think they're going to take a kid to kill a Queen?" she asks.

  "I mean, they took her to war. She's strong and she knows domain synchronicity. Of course they're going to take her to kill the Queen."

  "…I guess," Christine sighs, awkwardly rubbing one of her arms. "I hope she's okay."

  "I saw her pretty recently, she was doing fine," I assure her. "Nothing short of an Angel is going to take Ana out, and I made sure to take care of those."

  "God, I heard," Christine sighs. "People kept screaming over the radio about a fucking shoggoth flailing around and devouring everything. It was a little awkward, like, yeah, don't worry, that's just my friend. She's just girlbossing. It's fine."

  I chuckle a little, watching her carefully as she fidgets and shifts her weight. She's definitely anxious, very anxious, she's just gotten better at hiding it. Sometimes that's all you need, but…

  "You sure you don't want a custom hug?" I ask.

  She side-eyes me, a small pout on her face.

  "Ugh, fine. Fluff yourself up, you weirdo. Get your ass poofy."

  "Aye-aye!" I agree with a salute, puffing my feathers out nice and baby-bird downy, covering my whole body with soft, white fuzz. Christine more or less flops into me, burying her face in my shoulder and letting out a deep, shaky breath.

  "Yeah, okay," she mutters. "This is nice."

  "I always aim to please," I smile.

  "Yeah, I know," Christine mutters. "You should do that less."

  Huh? Why? Not trying to make other people happy just seems vaguely stupid and lazy. Nobody wants to be around someone who never puts in any effort to be pleasant.

  "I'm… not interrupting anything, am I?"

  "Hmm? Oh, hey Maria," Christine says, turning to greet her as she speaks up. "Nah, nothing like what you're worried about. She's all yours."

  Maria blushes profusely, her blue eyes glancing away in embarrassment. I, fortunately, am currently using a mostly alien brain, so I am saved from embarrassment myself by not really possessing the social instincts necessary to feel it due to something as simple as implied affection. I like Maria. She likes me. What's there to be embarrassed about? Alien brains are great.

  "I'm glad to see you doing well, Maria," I greet her with a nod. "Did your squad make it out alright?"

  "Oh, um, there were… a few casualties," she admits quietly. "I didn't know them well, but… yeah. We got attacked unexpectedly by a Wasp hiding on a roof. Two people died."

  "Oh, I'm so sorry," I say, deflating slightly. "Yeah, a couple people in my squad got taken out by an Angel. Still, I'm glad you made it."

  "Likewise," she nods. "The good news is that it turns out my fairy bodies are acid-resistant, and, um… yeah."

  She shuffles awkwardly, probably still in a bit of shock from watching squadmates get eaten alive by acid. It makes sense that her fairies aren't affected, at least. My power doesn't seem to recognize them as any kind of physical matter, let alone organic matter, and if there's nothing to chemically react with an acid isn't going to do anything.

  "Did you just make it back here, Maria?" Christine asks. "I kind of expected you to be with the group holding the front line."

  "Oh, they were pulling back anyone who can achieve domain synchronicity," Maria shrugs. "Turns out I'm doing that with myself nearly all of the time, since all of my different mes have their own little domains. For some reason, the more I split up, the more total domain strength I have. The upper limit I've achieved so far is apparently impressive."

  "That's pretty cool," I say honestly. "I'm lucky all my friends are so powerful. I don't have to worry quite as much about whether or not you'll get in over your head."

  "Like you're one to talk," Christine says, poking me in the cheek. "Be honest. How many Angels have you killed today?"

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  "…Only three," I frown.

  "Three!?" Maria gapes.

  "Uh-huh. How many did you eat?"

  "…Two," I say. "I got kind of distracted after the first one, so I ended up leaving the corpse behind. Mistake on my part."

  Speaking of, I wonder what In-Joke is up to. I guess they were watching me fight Swallower of Virtue, but for someone as powerful as they are they didn't seem particularly inclined to help. I guess they gave me a nudge in the right direction, but why? It's difficult to try and figure out what their goals might be considering that they seem to be at least a little bit insane.

  My attention reverts back to the conversation when I realize that both Christine and Maria are laughing at me.

  "…What?" I ask, not even my alien brain unable to be embarrassed in the face of direct mockery.

  "Only you, Lia," Maria chuckles.

  "She longs for the space cannibalism," Christine nods. "She's going to stay up at night thinking about how good it must have tasted. Sandwiches with more than one ingredient are super gross, but alien corpses lying on the ground? The pinnacle of gourmet delicacies."

  "I-it's not like I eat them for the taste!" I protest. "Or the texture. Both of which are terrible, just like eating complex sandwiches. I don't know how anyone handles the experience of eating lettuce, bacon, and tomato all at the same time. They're completely different from each other!"

  "Yes, that's the point, Lia!" Maria laughs some more. "They're different, but they complement each other."

  "Well, I think it's weird," I pout, crossing my arms. "I don't see what makes combining them any better than combining… I don't know, watermelon and gravy!"

  "Ugh, ew," Christine cringes.

  "Oh, I'd totally try that at least once," Maria says, her eyes turning pink.

  "Alright everyone, listen up!" a voice at the front of the room calls out. "We've finalized the deployments. Approach me when I call out your platoon."

  What follows is nearly an hour of organizational nonsense, newer platoons like ours getting grouped up under the command of more experienced supers, a couple of which were even involved in one of the few successful pushes against a Queen in the past. Apparently, we have an even larger superpowered force now than we did back then, and that's a very good sign. If we can minimize casualties during our push for the Queen, we might be able to carry that momentum all the way to a turning point in the war.

  I, personally, am predictably less optimistic. The Council of Blasphemy is far from a bastion of military strategy, after all, but I can see where people are getting their hope from. We have had thirty years to repeatedly refine a war doctrine through loss after excruciating loss, and our backs are far enough against the wall to use people like Anastasia. Just looking around, I can see more than a few kids who should be too young for this, from just a few years younger than me to nearly the same age as Anastasia. A boy even shorter than her stands at attention with his squad just a few groups down. It's rather depressing.

  Anastasia herself joins us shortly before we head out, because why even give her any rest, right? Called it. I make sure she quickly gets some water and rations in her, and if nothing else her morale still seems to be pretty high.

  "We're gonna actually do it!" she says excitedly. "We're gonna kill a Queen!"

  "Oi, no death flags, hon," Christine says.

  "Huh?" Anastasia blinks.

  "Seconding that, what?" I ask.

  "Uh, I mean, don't jinx it," Christine clarifies. "Counting your chickens before they hatch is bad survival practice among the superstitious."

  "I'm not superstitious," I point out.

  "What if we should be?" a yellow-eyed Maria chimes in. "I mean, we're superpowered. Maybe there's an Angel of bad luck or something."

  "That would be…" I begin, about to say 'stupid,' but then I remember that there is literally a god of Failure. For all I know it does have a chosen whose domain makes common bad-luck idioms true. "Hmm."

  "Wait, are you seriously considering it?" Maria asks, her eyes now orange. "We were mostly joking."

  "So…" I begin slowly, clearing my throat. "I can talk to aliens."

  "What!?" Christine yelps.

  "Aliens can talk!?" Anastasia gapes.

  "...Seriously?" Maria asks. "Wait, what does that have to do with my question?"

  "Uh. So yeah, Aliens can talk, they're actually all quite intelligent," I admit, a little awkwardly. "It's a weird pheromone system that doesn't seem to work the way pheromone systems should, but I'm still figuring that part out. The point is, I can speak basically any language if I shift the right bits of someone who knows that language and that includes aliens. I've been chatting with them more or less all day, and aliens have… very detailed mythology on what powers are, some of which I think may be fact."

  "Oh god," Christine mutters.

  "Yes, actually," I confirm. "There are several gods, and they seem to match fairly closely with the domain qualia Anastasia and I feel. They're weirdly conceptual and eldritch and I can tell you more about them later but I could absolutely see the god that chose Ed giving someone a superstition-based power of some sort. Maybe a couple of the others, too, depending on how it works."

  "I can't tell if I should be concerned for your sanity or concerned by the revelations you're just kind of casually dropping on us," Christine admits.

  "Well if you're ever genuinely concerned for my sanity I'd like for you to tell me," I say since she brought it up. "Apparently, going insane is a common problem for powerful superhumans."

  "Oh my god, Lia, don't just say shit like that!" Maria whines. Blue eyes? Yep, blue eyes. "I didn't want to know that!"

  "Sorry," I tell her automatically. "You seem to be doing fine to me, though? You're swapping around a lot, but it seems pretty natural from the outside."

  "I'm… swapping around a lot?" Maria asks. Huh. Does she not notice?

  "I really don't think you need to worry about it too much," I say. "It's all you, right? Just parts of a greater whole."

  "I don't know where your optimism about this comes from," Maria sighs.

  "It's not optimism," I insist, offended. "It's just observation. The only thing 'wrong' with you is that you're different from normal people. I think we can all agree that isn't a valid reason to call someone crazy. We talked about this last time, right?"

  "…Yeah, we did," Maria confirms. "I know you're right, it's just that knowing you're right doesn't mean I stop panicking about it. I wish I could just turn off my anxiety by telling it that it doesn't make sense, but unfortunately anxiety doesn't seem to work that way."

  "Amen to that, sister," Christine says.

  "I think you're cool, Maria," Anastasia says simply. "We should probably stop talking, though. It looks like we're about to board our transport."

  Oh, she's right. The helicopters seem ready for us. After all this, we're finally heading for the Queen. I expected the plan to take out the biggest and scariest member of the alien forces to be the most dramatic, but it's quite the opposite. Queens support their troops, and especially their Angels, but we've gutted both. At this point, all we have is a stationary, hard-to-crack target just waiting to be pounded by everything we have left.

  I won't even be doing any pounding. Every chunk of superheroes gets grouped with a commander, a destroyer, and a bunch of random losers with domains who are just there to make sure nobody gets squished by the extremely dense domain we're going to be fighting against. And that's my role; after three different Angel kills, I'm once again off offense, but this time it actually makes sense. I'm pretty good at killing aliens, but when it comes to disassembling massive structures I've got nothing on Christine.

  Our commander is some older soldier I don't really know, but he seems to know what he's doing and I have no issue letting him take charge. It's almost somber, flying back out to the front lines with our domains covering the choppers. They'll land us as close as they can, but soon enough even all of us together will need to keep our domains tightly packed to ward off the Queen. It takes a lot longer for us to encounter her domain on the approach; she's already pulled it in to prepare for the inevitable assault.

  Our transport lands. I step outside, a stale wind blowing grief through the air. The pheromone network is heavy with the last calls of the dead. The last of this Queen's Angels have fallen. The remaining unpowered troops are retreating, regrouping for a final stand that not one of them believes will succeed. Not even the Queen herself. I imagine it must be difficult to keep morale up for a species that is unable to lie.

  "I can't help but wish things could have ended differently," I admit.

  "IT IS QUITE THE TABOO TO SLAY A QUEEN," Corrupter of All Creation responds.

  "Humorously melancholy: you must be looking forward to it, then," I say, unsure of how much of a joke it truly is.

  "CONFIRMATION. TO FAIL IS TO REACH AN UNACCEPTABLE OUTCOME. WE WILL NOT TOLERATE FAILURE, EVEN IN LOSS. DEATH, THEREFORE, COULD NEVER BE CONSIDERED UNACCEPTABLE."

  "Which means win or lose, you remain faithful to Blasphemy," I summarize.

  "PROUD AFFIRMATION. IT IS JUST SO."

  Around me, the march forward begins. I'm barely even paying attention to it. Ostensibly, I should be keeping an eye out for last-ditch ambushes, as fruitless as they would be against such a densely powered force, but there won't be any. Not for my squad. The Queen has invited me to her castle openly and freely, fully cognizant of my intent for regicide.

  "Your people do not fear death," I realize.

  "SURPRISE. YOUR PEOPLE DO?"

  "Very much so," I confirm. "It is perhaps the greatest of all our fears."

  "HOW BRAVE YOU MUST BE, THEN, TO FIGHT SO MUCH WAR."

  "Well, it is not as though we would survive the death you bring if we simply accepted it."

  "IT IS NOT AS THOUGH I WOULD SURVIVE THE DEATH YOU BRING IF I FEARED IT."

  "I have recently been reminded that my people have little control over their own anxieties."

  "BLUNT ASSESSMENT: THAT SOUNDS MISERABLE. KNOW THAT I AM CONTENT AND HAPPY WITH THE LIFE I HAVE LIVED, AND THE OPPORTUNITY I HAVE BEEN GIVEN TO TORMENT SO MANY OF YOUR KIND HAS MADE MY END ALL THE MORE SATISFYING."

  "But you grieve, do you not?" I ask. "For those you have lost. For those I have killed."

  "HOW FORTUNATE, THEN, THAT I WILL NOT HAVE TO LIVE LONG WITHOUT MY COUNCIL."

  "Where the hell are the aliens…?" my commander mutters. "This ain't right. This isn't what they do."

  I barely hide a chuckle at that. He's really freaking out over it, isn't he?

  "I predict you will be amused to know that my people are quite disturbed by your lack of resistance," I tell the Queen. "By presenting no threat, they are beginning to expect threats imagined only within their minds."

  "AMUSEMENT CORRECTLY PREDICTED. THIS BRINGS ME JOY TO KNOW. THANK YOU."

  "Kindness to the soon-to-be-departed is a customary honor in my culture."

  "IN THAT CASE I AM QUITE OFFENDED. HOW DARE YOU. THIS IS VERY RUDE."

  "I anticipated this reaction and calculated it into my prior statement."

  "CONFUSION. CONSIDERATION. UNDERSTANDING. AMAZEMENT. YOU ARE FULL OF UNEXPECTED AMUSEMENT AND I REITERATE MY ETERNAL APPRECIATION."

  "I wish we didn't have to kill you," I sigh.

  "THIS UNIT IS VERY GLAD YOU DO. THE WAY YOUR CONNECTION TO POSSIBILITY IS SO HIGH WHILST YOU OPENLY BLASPHEME IT CREATES SUCH DELECTABLE MADNESS. I CAN ONLY IMAGINE THIS REALITY COMING ABOUT DUE TO YOUR PEOPLE'S LACK OF QUEENS. SUSPICION: IT IS YOUR IGNORANCE THAT ENABLES YOUR LACK OF PIETY. A CONDITION UNIQUE TO THE NATIVES. IT AMUSES ME TO IMAGINE ONE SPEAKING WITH YOUR GOD AND HEARING NAUGHT BUT FROTHING DISAPPOINTMENT OVER YOU."

  "I'm not sure I understand," I admit. "I would not even believe the gods exist had I never spoken to mine. I have done so many times."

  "CONFUSION. CONTRADICTION."

  "I scorn Contradiction the most," I say. "I speak with the one you call Possibility when I rest. They accept many other names. I think they like having more than one, but I don't so I'll stick with Possibility."

  The Queen doesn't respond at first, and as I wait for her answer I feel a great rumbling beneath my feet. My entire squad staggers, guns coming up as our commander shouts us into a defensive formation. I start to obey at first, but then I stop, stunned by the overwhelming scent.

  "Seraphim! Fucking move, Seraphim! What the hell is your problem, don't freeze up now!"

  "…She's laughing," I say. "There's no threat. She's just laughing."

  "What!? What the fuck are you on?"

  "UNPARALLELED AMUSEMENT!!! TO BE FELLED NOT JUST BY A BLASPHEMING CHOSEN, NOT JUST BY ONE WHO SCORNS THAT WHICH LOVES HER MORE THAN ANYTHING, BUT BY THE ELDEST'S OWN PRINCESS! THE FUTURE FIRST QUEEN OF HER KIND!"

  "What!?" I shout out loud as I express my confusion over the network. "A Queen!? I'm not going to become a Queen! I don't want to be a Queen!"

  "THEN DO NOT BE ONE!" Corrupter of All Creation howls with delight. "UTMOST UNPARALLELED DESIRE: DENY YOUR GOD-GIVEN GLORY! REFUSE THE EMPIRE YOU HAVE BEEN GRANTED! YES! YES, THIS IS THE GREATEST DEATH! ANNOUNCEMENT TO ALL UNITS: ABANDON YOUR QUEEN. VALUE YOUR OWN LIVES ABOVE MINE. SPREAD THE WORD TO ALL THAT THE THIEF OF TORN WINGS IS FOREVER LOVED BY BLASPHEMY!"

  An overwhelming tide of confirmations rings out over the network, the remaining aliens announcing the cessation of all hostilities and a full retreat west, away from our forces. The Queen continues to howl with delight as we make our way to the closest of her tendrils, that which grasps and profanes the St. Louis Gateway Arch, a structure that the aliens immediately pegged as religious. I'm not really sure if they understood that better or worse than we do.

  "Okay, Breakdown, do what you do," our commander orders.

  "You mean have a panic attack, or the other thing?" Christine deadpans, raising up her arms.

  "You know damn well what I mean."

  "…Alright."

  The ground still rumbles, but we keep our footing, the pressure of the Queen's domain squeezing us tightly but perhaps not as tightly as it could, were she really trying to live. Christine's domain reaches out, our own domains supporting her, passing inside the part of the tentacles that still touch the ground. Around us, countless more squads do the same, overlapping our areas as we prepare to begin the disassembly of our foe.

  "Here we go," Christine mutters, and the enormous tendril is sorted from the complex components of a living being to the individual dead components that must work in harmony to sustain it. Extradimensional equivalents of muscle, bone, fat, skin, and blood explode up into the sky, halt in place, and group together like the prepped ingredients of a yet-unmade meal. Everything is lined up in a perfect row, utterly unlike the thing they are supposed to form when together.

  The Queen expresses her pain over the network, singing in joyful agony. We do not have the luxury or the decency to give her a quick death, instead advancing methodically towards her vitals by chopping off her limbs piece by piece. She doesn't seem to mind, not the way a human would, but I can't help humanizing her a bit anyway, empathizing with the slow and excruciating end she is being given.

  I think she knows how much this hurts to watch, though, so I'm sure she quite prefers it over a painless end.

  Something bumps my wrist, catching my attention. I look down to see Anastasia staring at me, a concerned look on her face.

  "Are you alright?" she asks. "You seem… distracted."

  I nod.

  "Sorry, Ana," I sigh. "I guess I am."

  "Are you talking to her?" she asks.

  I hesitate, glancing at our commander, but I nod.

  "Yeah," I admit. "She sent her troops away and accepted death. I'm just… listening to her die now, I guess."

  "Oh," Anastasia says softly. "Is that why it's so easy? She's not even really trying."

  "You can't fail if you don't try," I answer, "and she doesn't wish to venerate the god of Failure."

  "The god of…" Anastasia trails off, thinking. "Like Ed and Emily?"

  "Exactly," I confirm.

  "Oh," Anastasia frowns. "Is that… that's a god? I don't like that. I think anyone who tries to make other people fail should be the ones failing at everything."

  I chuckle. Yeah, that checks out.

  "What's so funny?" Anastasia asks. "I'm not sure I get it."

  "Quiet, both of you!" our commander snaps. "This is a warzone, not a daycare!"

  "This was a warzone," I retort. "Now it's a funeral. But I guess we shouldn't be talking at one of those, either."

  He opens his mouth to shout at me again, but closes it slowly, his expression shifting from angry to wary.

  "...You alright in the head, Seraphim?" he asks me seriously.

  "Yes sir, I'm pretty sure I am," I nod. "But you can double-check me, if you like. If I'm right, we and the entire rest of the army won't be attacked for the remainder of this battle. It's already done. The enemy is in full retreat, and the Queen has given up. If I'm wrong… well, I'm going crazy, I suppose."

  "You certainly fucking sound like you're going crazy," he scowls.

  "I'm pretty sure I just know more than you and basically everyone else about what's going on right now," I say. "But I'll shut up and keep my eyes out for contacts anyway. I recognize that you aren't going to believe me until after the fact and don't want to be difficult about it."

  That gets me an even more concerned look, which is annoying because I am doing my best to be very reasonable about all this.

  "Well, see that you do," my commander says, so I do. The rest of the operation takes the remaining daylight and quite a bit of night. Hours upon hours of slow forward progress, we little ants devouring the still-twitching corpse of a lioness. But soon, we reach the core. The center of the Queen's mass, where we will find her heart, brain, and womb, and destroy each of them in totality. I can't help but step forward when we get there, placing my hand on her oddly cold skin.

  "IS THAT YOU, THIEF OF TORN WINGS?"

  "It is," I confirm. "It won't be long now."

  "APPRECIATION. I AM TEMPTED TO TAKE MY OWN LIFE, BUT I DO NOT WISH TO DENY YOUR PEOPLE THE SATISFACTION."

  "My people consider suicide to be hated in the eyes of the gods," I tell her honestly.

  "AMUSEMENT. APPRECIATION. YOU ARE QUITE KIND, THIEF OF TORN WINGS. IT IS, PERHAPS, YOUR ONE FLAW."

  "Is it a flaw, in your eyes?" I ask. "I wasn't aware there was a god of kindness."

  "ASSERTION: YOU HAVE MISINTERPRETED. IT IS NOT A FLAW IN YOUR FAITH, BUT IN YOUR STRENGTH."

  "Understanding. Disagreement. Counterpoint: I was not so kind as to spare your people from death."

  The Queen quivers, conceding the point in part but not in full. We agree to disagree.

  "Damn it, Seraphim, get away from it!" my commander snaps at me, so I step back. "Breakdown, tear it apart!"

  "Okay, okay," Christine grumbles. "You don't have to yell."

  The way to the Queen's core gets torn apart, outer layers of skin and blood peeled away to make a path towards the juicy innards. Corrupter of All Creation shudders in pain, and the Army moves within her.

  "GOODBYE, THIEF OF TORN WINGS," she says. "TODAY HAS BEEN A VERY SURPRISING DAY."

  "Goodbye, Corrupter of All Creation," I respond, unable to avoid projecting my sadness and regret into the pheromone network. "I cannot respect what you stand for. But likewise, I cannot claim to not have enjoyed our conversations. Your loyalty to your values is impressive in a way I cannot match."

  "DECLARATION: YOU UNDERESTIMATE YOURSELF. YOU WOULD BE A MARVELOUS QUEEN," Corrupter of All Creation tells me. "NEVER DO IT TO YOURSELF."

  "Why?" I ask.

  Blood pours from the massive, gaping flesh of the Queen, waterfalls of white-gray fluid pouring onto the crushed street below before getting gathered up and redirected with Christine's power. She'll die long before we reach a so-called 'vital organ,' the blood loss too great for her to survive much longer.

  "IT WOULD BE," she breathes with her final breaths, "SO VERY FUNNY."

  The domain around us vanishes, and humanity claims victory in the most important battle of recent memory.