As the aircraft ascended into the sky, Lucy and Mia exchanged a glance, relief flooding through them as they gained distance from the cursed land. But something still gnawed at them, an instinctual dread that hadn't yet left their bones.

Turning to the rear of the plane, Lucy gazed through the massive, gaping window. What she saw sent a shudder of disbelief down her spine.

A massive explosion, unlike anything she had ever seen, erupted from the ground far below. It was blinding, the light so intense that it seemed nuclear in scale. A monstrous shockwave followed, barreling toward them with ferocious speed.

The aircraft rumbled violently, the aftershock rattling the cabin and sending a powerful tremor through the entire vessel. But thankfully, they had already flown far enough away. Though the aircraft was buffeted by the explosion's fury, it held steady, escaping the worst of the damage.

Lucy exhaled, her breath shaky. They had survived. For now.

As the last aircraft touched down on the vast landing strip, Lucy and Mia disembarked, stepping into the chaotic scene unfolding at their main base on the gargantuan island of Iceland. This island, once a secluded retreat, was now a fortress, a place they had claimed as their own. With the surrounding sea bought and secured, Ethel, the mermaid queen, had already begun to expand her domain deep beneath the waves. Her influence stretched far into the surrounding ocean, ensuring their defenses extended beyond the land and into the sea.

The once serene island now bore the brunt of war as give or take five to six thousand troops disembarked from the aircraft. Medics and staff from Tolf rushed to meet them, but the sheer scale of the wounded was overwhelming. Soldiers limped from the aircraft, some leaning on each other for support, their bodies marred by deep wounds and scars. Bloodied bandages wrapped haphazardly around their limbs. Many were physically intact but wore the hollow expression of those mentally shattered by the horrors of battle.

The landing zone had become a chaotic, makeshift triage center. Stretchers lined the tarmac, and the sharp cries of the injured echoed through the air, punctuated by the frantic commands of medics. The once-clean expanse of the base was now a battlefield of its own, littered with discarded equipment, broken weapons, and torn uniforms. The air was thick with the mingling scents of blood, sweat, and exhaustion, creating a suffocating atmosphere that bore down on everyone present.

The people of Iceland, not inhabitants but workers employed by Tolf, had been trained to maintain the base and support its operations. However, they were woefully unprepared for this level of devastation. Engineers, janitors, and cooks found themselves turned into emergency aides, doing what they could to help stabilize the masses of wounded soldiers. They scrambled to provide water, blankets, and supplies, their hands trembling as they tried to help. Some of the staff had no experience with combat trauma, yet here they were, pulling makeshift stretchers and attending to soldiers whose injuries they could barely comprehend.

It was chaos. Workers rushed to accommodate the massive influx of people, but the sheer scale of suffering threatened to overwhelm them. Medical tents were quickly erected, but the space was limited. The workers could barely handle the chaos unfolding in front of them, the once orderly base transformed into a warzone of recovery and survival. Even as they moved with purpose, there was a palpable sense of helplessness. It was as though the island itself groaned under the weight of so much suffering, with every corner of the base vibrating with tension and pain.

Inside the base, the scene was no less chaotic. Bloodied soldiers, many of them barely able to walk, were escorted into the massive recovery wings of the facility. These wings, typically quiet and orderly, had become frantic hubs of activity. The white walls were stained with the crimson splatter of hastily bandaged wounds, the sterile floors now marred by the constant shuffle of boots and the dragging of stretchers. Medical professionals worked tirelessly, their movements quick and practiced, but even they were struggling to keep up with the sheer number of injured.

Rows upon rows of beds filled with wounded soldiers stretched as far as the eye could see. Some soldiers groaned in pain, their faces contorted in agony as medics stitched wounds, reset broken bones, and administered painkillers. Others lay in eerie silence, their eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, consumed by the psychological scars of the battle they had barely survived. The hollow expressions of those suffering from shell shock and trauma mingled with the anguished cries of the more severely injured, creating a cacophony that reverberated through the corridors.

IV drips hung from hastily set-up poles, fluids dripping steadily into the veins of soldiers who had lost too much blood. Emergency surgeries were performed in makeshift operating rooms, where surgeons worked with the supplies they had, trying to save as many lives as possible. But even the medical professionals, experienced in their craft, could feel the weight of despair closing in. Resources were stretched thin—sutures, bandages, and even the basic necessities of recovery were running dangerously low. The air was thick with the stench of blood, sweat, and antiseptic, mingling into an oppressive fog that made it hard to breathe.

Beyond the physical injuries, the mental toll was evident in every face. Soldiers muttered to themselves, some shaking uncontrollably, while others simply stared into space, unresponsive to the chaos around them. The medics, too, were not immune to the emotional strain. Many of them moved like machines, their exhaustion showing in the dark circles under their eyes and the tremble in their hands as they worked on patient after patient.

It was chaos incarnate. An overwhelming flood of bodies, wounds, and broken spirits threatened to consume the base entirely. The sheer scale of the suffering was immense, and the base, once a symbol of stability and strength, now felt like a crumbling fortress barely holding back the tide of devastation.

Yet, amidst the havoc, the leaders of Tolf gathered in their main meeting room, a stark contrast to the madness outside. The room was grand, circular in shape, and at its center stood a large obsidian table carved with intricate patterns that glowed faintly with magic. Maps of the surrounding area and the territories they controlled sprawled across the walls. The air in the room was tense, as each leader's face reflected the weariness of the battle and the uncertainty of what was to come.

Lucy, still shaken from her encounter with the goddess, wasted no time. She exchanged a brief glance with Mia before turning her attention to the others. Their forces had survived, but barely. They had a new enemy, one far more powerful than any they had ever faced. And now, they were forced to regroup, to plan, and to brace themselves for the unknown threat that loomed on the horizon.

"Lucy, do you know what the hell is going on?" Charna asked with a harsh glare.

"We were fucking winning and then all of a sudden, whatever appeared changed the tide of the battle immediately," Electra gripped her hair from stress, before leaning back in her chair, gritting her teeth.

"During my fight with that bitch ass hero of light and darkness, he spewed a few nonsensical things. Apparently, they are servants of a god named Tager… Tagathata? I don't really remember its name, but you all don't need to worry so much," Lucy began.

"Care to explain why?" Mia asked calmly amongst the restless other leaders.

"There is a goddess on our side. She will take care of the god hopefully and I'm saying this now… We cannot interfere with that fight. A single attack of theirs created a literal nuclear explosion. We have no choice but to recover for now and make our move for the world that is now going to be reformed. Our plan that we have been working on, the world that we have been wanting to shape to our liking will not come to fruition. We will be gods amongst the people of this world and we will spread our influence to other dimensions."

"I guess you are right."

"I can't complain about that."

"Yeah, that attack was something else. I agree, we should sit tight for now and continue our plans."

"Yes, I have already notified my servants."

"I've been made my move. I've already offed the few trillionaires within the USA."

"Same. I have already made my move."

"I'm excited for what's to come."

"So it's finally happening, huh?"

"Our plan, it's finally going through, huh?"

"Ladies," Mia stood up. "Do not give up. From now on, our work will overwhelm us to the point that we won't be able to communicate with each other easily. However, I want you all to know how far we have come. Our entire life has been fighting against the horrors of this world and eventually becoming that horror itself. The world will bend to our will and we will be the sole rulers of Earth. So, use our power wisely."

"Yes, can we all agree that if somebody decides to betray Tolf, we will kill them without hesitation? We will drop our work and do everything in our power to eradicate the traitor," Lucy announced and with those words, everybody nodded with a smile.

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