The war table was burning with anger.
The commanders of the celestial and infernal ranks stood crowded in a dimly lit chamber beneath the mountains a place where frost clung to black stone and echoes refused to die. Between them hovered a shimmering projection of the Asian anchor: the fortress in the mountains, wards glowing like veins of molten gold.
It had not fallen their attack was thwarted in a most brutal fashion.
General Seraphion, angel of the Sixth Choir, stood with his arms folded tightly across his chest. His immaculate robes were stained with ash from the failed operation. His voice, when it came, was ice.
"Morpheus," he said simply, "has grown sharper than I remember."
Across from him, General Malgareth let out a low chuckle, almost giddy. He leaned against the stone arch, arms spread, eyes gleaming like red-hot coals.
"I knew he'd be trouble," the demon rumbled. "But this? This was… beautiful. Terrifying, but beautiful."
One of the lesser angels at the table slammed a fist down, sending flickers of divine light up his sleeve.
"We had them! We broke the wards in Africa, overran the defenders in the gorge, shattered the resistance in Cairo why not do the same here? Why waste time with testing, probing?
Another voice this one demonic, deep and brutal snarled in agreement. "Let us burn it to the ground. We have more numbers. We have the might. Why wait?"
"Because we've already lost thousands," Seraphion snapped, voice cutting through the smoke. "Angels who will not return to the Choir. Demons that took centuries to forge, cast down like ash in a hurricane."
Malgareth's tone, surprisingly, was steady. Cold.
"Yes we have destroyed the anchors we have been after. Each one bled us dry. We are not fighting frightened humans anymore. We are not facing fractured factions they have even roped in the other races against us. We are fighting him now."
He tapped the burning projection with a clawed finger. The glowing image of the temple fortress trembled slightly.
"Morpheus was not merely watching for us," Seraphion added. "He knew what we would try. He planned for it. Two strikes distraction and sabotage and he snuffed them both before they could do harm."
"He even let our scouts think they'd mapped his wards," Malgareth said with a wild grin. "He let us think we had the high ground. Then dropped it out from under us."
Another demon stood. "So we bow to him? Let him outmaneuver us again?"
"No," Seraphion said firmly. "We outmaneuver him. Like he did to us."
There was silence for a moment, thick with tension.
Then Malgareth spoke, tone lower, more controlled.
"We've played this war like gods stomping ants. It worked before. But these aren't ants anymore. They've learned. They've adapted. Morpheus has unified them in ways that shouldn't be possible."
He turned slowly, gaze sweeping the room.
"If we storm that shrine, we might succeed. But it will cost us too dearly. And there are still two more anchors after this."
"And Morpheus will expect brute force next," Seraphion murmured. "Which is why we won't give it to him."
The room quieted further. The map shifted again showing beneath the temple, the winding structure hidden within the mountain.
"We will strike again," Seraphion said. "But with precision, not fire."
"With subtlety," Malgareth added, licking a fang. "For once."
"And if we do it right…" Seraphion looked thoughtful. "We won't need to kill him."
Malgareth raised a brow. "No?"
"No," the angel said coldly. "We'll break him first. Like he has done to so many of us!"
***
The snow along the lower mountain path had been cleared hours earlier in anticipation. The icy trail leading to the shrine's outer gate was flanked by new torches burning with steady, smokeless light and by layered watch wards, all humming faintly with Morpheus's hidden enhancements.
And then they came.
The Americans.
Not in enchanted airships or elemental transports.
But on foot.
They stepped through a series of stabilized portkey stations and temporary runic gates that had been etched into the base of the eastern trail. Some carried packs over their shoulders, others hauled sleds of equipment or pushed crates enchanted to hover just above the stone. There were no banners. No formal welcome. Just the crunch of boots and the cold air of the high ridge curling through their coats.
Kazuki was waiting at the gates, flanked by two of his adjutants. His robes were crisp, his manner efficient as ever.
He stepped forward, raising a hand in greeting.
"Welcome," he said, not wasting time. "We have quarters prepared and duties ready. I will assign squads immediately. Time is short."
A tall woman stepped to the front of the American column and nodded respectfully.
"Commander Reyes. East American Confederation. Reporting for the reinforcements. I must say you made it hard to get here."
Kazuki nodded once. "You'll find we don't stand on ceremony here. Formation groups will be posted along the eastern and southern flanks. Your more specialized duelists will rotate with our ranged wardmasters along the upper ring. Medics are to report directly to the quartermaster tower. And sorry for the trouble, but you must understand we can't give portkeyes to this location out freely."
She smiled faintly. "Sounds like you've been preparing."
"We expect worse."
She didn't argue.
As Kazuki turned, his assistants began moving through the crowd, taking names, issuing strips of parchment with pre-assigned rune marks temporary orientation keys, giving each soldier full integration into the ward system without lengthy incantations.
From the overlook above the southern path, Morpheus watched it all unfold with his usual silence.
He said nothing.
Didn't move.
But his eyes scanned each new arrival.
Wizards. Witches. Aurors and militia-trained spellcasters. Most of them bore the weight of recent battle in their eyes, even if their robes were clean.
And among them
Squibs.
They moved among the supply train and logistical teams unarmed, unwanded. They weren't part of the main force. But they worked with quiet purpose: hauling crates, unsealing ration chests, mapping where the new tents would go.
One handed out firestones to a cluster of young Aurors who were shivering from the altitude. Another double-checked the crates of enchantment anchors meant for the northern slopes.
'Interesting,' Morpheus thought
He watched one older squib a bearded man in thick gloves pause to adjust the weight on a supply pallet. The man caught Morpheus's figure for a flicker of a second.
Then he looked away quickly.
Kazuki finished giving orders below, his voice clear and firm, and the American squads began splitting off toward their assigned zones.
Morpheus turned from the wall and disappeared into the depths of the shrine.