General De Morneau stands at the command centre, overseeing operations at the border known only as Hell’s Gate. Despite the Purity’s relentless push into Allied territories, no sign of the Imperial Arms themselves has been seen—yet the General’s instincts remain on edge. His reputation as a master strategist is well known among the Allies; the Irish even dubbed him The Fragranach after his decisive victory against a Purity naval surprise attack that saved their shores. Quiet and reserved, he contemplates the battle he’s long dreamt of, though the reality disappoints him more each day.
A young private tugs at his shoulder.
“What is it?” the General asks.
“The elevator has risen—the Saint has been chosen,” the private replies, swallowing his fear.
The General’s brow furrows in confusion. “I thought we abandoned that project. Has she truly been chosen by God?”
The private hesitates before replying, “They say she spoke things that reduced an officer on standby to tears.”
Without another word, the General leaves his post, descending from the control tower into the Garrison courtyard—a space where modern military precision meets relics of failed superweapons, now discarded as grim reminders of past ambitions.
There, at attention, stand the Mother Superior and the young Saint herself. The Mother Superior offers a curt greeting as the General surveys Chevelle, his eyes scrutinizing every detail.
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“I always appreciate your prayers for our troops, Sister,” he begins with a dry smile. “But I gather this isn’t a formal visit?”
The Mother Superior shakes her head. “This is the new Saint, chosen by God.”
De Morneau studies Chevelle carefully, then cracks his knuckles. “Prove to me, child, that you are truly the Saint. Tell me something only God would know.”
Chevelle’s eyes cloud over as she listens to the whispers of the Entity in her mind. She hesitates, then speaks in a voice trembling with both fear and strange amusement:
“Oh, the living legend himself—you’re speaking to him? Tell him that his new pet, Frog de Gaullette, is actually female and pregnant. She’ll lay eggs soon. Perhaps a name more fitting—like Jeanne would do nicely.”
The General’s eyes widen in shock. He clears his throat, straightens his posture, and then speaks slowly, “That is all the proof I need. Now, what is this attack you speak of, child?”
Chevelle nods nervously. “God says that a new tunnelling machine—a weapon called Hou Tu, the Earth’s Spear—will strike the east side of our garrison in two hours.”
A flicker of doubt passes over the General’s stone-like face, but he clenches his fists. With a decisive motion, he ushers Chevelle to follow him. As they move towards the east side of the garrison, he gives hand signals to prepare his troops for an ambush.
“Intelligence reports confirm that the enemy has repurposed a drilling device for war. They intend to cut off our communication lines along the eastern wall. Let’s see if your prophecy holds true, young lady. By all the Saints—and by God’s will—we shall drive these Purists from our lands.”
Ascending the east side wall of the barracks, he addresses his assembled troops with grim determination:
“My fellow countrymen, I ask you to lay down your lives if need be. When that drilling device bursts forth, give it the hell it so deserves!”
His booming voice carries across the courtyard, stirring a mixture of resolve and apprehension among the ranks. Chevelle stands among them, a silent witness to the unfolding chaos, as the grim promise of battle looms on the horizon.
