Road To Conquest Act 1

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"Seraph. Please, sit down."

Elia stepped into the office, noting the presence of the two men already there and moving to kneel before the elder of them: The Pastor, leader of the Seraphic Church and, by extension, all of the Divine Appalachian Nation. He put a hand on her shoulder, firm but not unkind, murmuring a blessing and allowing her to rise and take the indicated seat. Elia would have been more comfortable standing, but in the presence of the Pastor and one of the Ministers, when one was told to sit down, one did so.

Minister Ford's office was the most technologically advanced location in all of Eden's Glory, filled with machines and monitors, the only place in all of the Territory that was used to monitor the outside world. Often, they had done very little of that, but times were changing, no matter how little they could have wished for this to be the case.

It was the consequence of what they called global threats - incidents that threatened not just towns or families, but all of the world. There had been a few of those in recent history, it seemed, and at the time, the Divine Appalachian Nation had known nothing of them. While they would have preferred their insularity, the Pastor had decided that they couldn't afford to let the world fall to ruin just because they preferred to do things their own way.

Elia had been the genesis of a situation that would remedy that - they had sent her out several times to learn what could be learned of the outside world, to bring back information and let the Church discuss it and decide what must be done. This time, however, the meeting did not reference any information she had brought back, but something up on one of the screens - a threat, a time, a place, and a statement of an intent to break the Commandments.

As a rule, the Divine Appalachian Nation had always chosen not to get involved - but there were times when rules must be changed, and this seemed to be one of them. Somewhere out there, people were in need of help, and even if they were not people of the Faith, they were still not deserving of death. They could not be Saved if they could not be saved, after all.

That was why, at the appointed hour, she stood in the room of movement with Minister Ford and another of the God-Touched. Zachariah was no Seraph, to be sure, but he had an ability to move things around. The Church mostly used his gift to transport goods and materials where they were needed, but recently they had been using it to move Elia, instead.

He was, as always, pleased to see her. "Elia!"

"Hello, Zachariah."

"Elia! Hug?" She stepped forward and let him put his arms around him with the cautious care of someone who had learned, again and again, to be gentle. He had always meant to be gentle, though, and she knew that and returned the embrace before stepping back. "Elia come back? See again?

"I promise I'll see you when I'm back, yes. Right now I have to go help people. You help too, all right? Help the pastors move things."

"I move. Yes. Good job, Zachariah. Move Elia now?"

She offered a smile. "Yes, go ahead. Good job, Zachariah."


Thus, moments later, with the very strong feeling of motion sickness, Elia was on a ship in the harbor. The feeling did not immediately abate, regrettably. Elia swallowed, uncomfortable. It would be the ship, of course. She had never been on anything larger than a tiny fishing boat, fit for four people comfortably. The sheer size of the aircraft carrier was baffling - indeed, it dwarfed towns.

Zachariah knew what he was doing, though, and it was not hard to find her way. The woman from the message was making it easy to find her, after all. Elia was not the first one there, either - others were already taking a stand against this - attacking, as it were, and so Elia chose her shield, raising it into a defensive position and taking a stance above one of the fallen crewmen - beaten and bloodied, but still breathing. She prayed for him, but only God could determine when a person's time would be.

Elia's eyes locked, briefly, with the woman who had committed such sins, as she focused her Faith into her Voice and her words.

"Repent, evildoer."

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I got a call.

Not from the regular phone. The burner.

The one I used for the Spider-Bite side of things. Recently a new contact got ahold of my information. Mettle.

This time he was calling about something going down at the Harbor. It involved someone named Conquest.

The symbiote perked up. That was the person from the video who fought and killed all those people after that interview went wrong. It began shriveling and expanding in excitement, ready to suit up.

And there was mention of backup. Shockman.

I said nothing for the briefest moment. I had nothing against Shockman simply because he was no longer going to be messing with my electronics anytime soon or at all, but would he be okay with me? I did throw him into the harbor before recovering him.

Let's hope that we could play well for at least one little teamup.

The mask formed around my head, my entire body, and altered my voice. The one Mettle knew and the only one he knew.

"Alright, I'll be there. Going to take me a minute."

I turned the phone off before leaving the house. A simple matter. Sneak out the back and walk down a street or two before finding a place to take off.

And I meant that most literally.

Two web-lines fired from my arms before I began pulling back. This particular variation of silk had a rather high rigidity, retaining a little elasticity to be pulled back on, but it acted more similarly to a hyper-tough rubber than a high-tensile string. Perfect, of course, to act as a sort of slingshot, directly aimed at the harbor.

I pulled back until I reached the edge of the building.

Then I pulled my legs up.

I shot forward.

"WHOO-HOOOOOOO!"

I shot across the sky, across buildings and over streets, flying forward at a velocity faster than I think I have ever gone before. Soaring and soaring forward until I began to lose altitude and fired a single web-line towards the nearest building as I began my dive, letting myself fall before flying upwards once more into the air.

And over the harbor.

I spotted several combatants, a good number of whom had disengaged from the fighting and were watching. Maybe they were establishing a perimeter. No, they seemed grouped together. I took stock of each in the few brief moments as I soared and fell towards them. One of which was dressed as a modern-day crusader, another was a woman in a thin outfit comprising of more militaristic gear and gadgetry, and finally a dog.

A dog in a spacesuit, who I believed was currently in the business of floating everyone. I could see his eyes glowing from this distance and the energy emitted from its forehead.

Well, if that wasn't a good boy (or girl!) I didn't know what was.

However, the real stars of the show were the three people locked in combat. Shockman, Conquest, and a third person who looked goth enough to put Kore's old style of clothing to shame and who was wielding a black sword.

A sword made of metal.

And a perfect conductor.

Okay, I knew what to do, and the symbiote did as well. It began processing information, analyzing everything and everyone, taking in the potential avenues of attack and teamwork, before focusing on Conquest. It had a few ideas to take her down, but first it would rather see how Shockman would fare against her.

To be honest, so did I. Besides, he seems the most equipped to take her down, all things considered.

I landed in between the two groups, the one on the sidelines and the one in the thick of tearing each other to shreds.

"HEY! Big metal swords are perfect conductors, you idiot!"

Two lines of super-strong silk fired forwards, one towards the back of the sword girl and one towards the gift basket full of cupcakes.

I was not going to let that go to waste. I'm not an idiot.

"Go get 'em, Shocky!"

Hopefully, the two lines connected and I could get someone away from the potential crossfire. Whether it worked or not was something I would have to deal with soon. Along with the bodies that were bleeding out, if not already dead. I needed to check on them, see if I can save them. However, in the short meantime, it was time to corral group number two together.

"Hey, sideliners! Check if anyone needs medical help! Check if anyone else is below decks and get them out! Anything! Just stop standing around! We don't need her trying to slaughter them too!"

And, I swear, I hear any backtalk or if they keep standing around, I will officially go back to hating working in teams. I was letting it slide because Mettle and Shockman seem competent enough, despite our differences, but this was just stupid.

The symbiote agreed.

It was strange how those most likely to be Judged harshly were often the ones to claim there would be no Judgment at all. Elia watched the woman as she made her proclamation, a slight frown touching her features for a moment. It was a disappointment, certainly, but not a disaster. Elia knew that the woman would be Judged at some point, even if she regenerated herself over and over again until the end of days.

The woman left, though, and Elia turned her attention to the man she had guarded. She was no faith healer, but she could do basic assistance, for whatever it was likely to be worth. Wounds like that were not easy to staunch, and it was more likely to be in God's hands than her own. Most of the fight moved onward, but one remained behind, a woman who was cold and calculating. Elia gave her a look at her suggestion of superheating a spear and boiling the woman from within, something akin to horror, certainly beyond simple concern. "I'm here to help people, not kill them. Vengeance is a matter for God, not for men. If you want to help, help me get the living wounded to some of the lifeboats and send them back to shore where people can help them."

She stood, slick with the blood of a man likely to meet God whether or not he wished to, and moved carefully across the roiling deck, seeking out the lifeboats that any ship this size would have, then taking what time she needed to start moving people onto them, with or without help. Ideally, the wounded would be able to get themselves to shore. The dead, Elia left. A burial at sea was not much of a burial, but Elia would tend to the living and trust God to tend to the dead.

It took time, but it was time that needed to be taken. Elia sighed, then moved inward, after the woman. No doubt there would be more wounded within. She would do what she was able to, by the grace of God.