Western Wilds, the North West coast.

8th of Kusha, the month of harvest.

2139 years since the new gods came.

I have decided to not inform the council of the gas. Just that I have come up with something that will end the war. We retreat in three days, and deploy the gas on the fourth. Ivan and Green have volunteered to deliver it to the enemy. They have convinced me that since it is from their world, they are immune to it.

They are loading a dozen wagons with the canisters, and plan on using something called 'long range remote detonation' to release the gas. They claim they need to be in the middle of the circle to release the gas.

Ivan and I had a little chat about the island the things came from. I may get my hearts desire.

9th of Kusha,

The wagons are full, and Ivan has started delivering them. There are now twenty five wagons. Green says the cloud will be big enough to cover the remaining ninety square miles of unburned forest.

11th of Kusha,

We retreat tomorrow. I do not understand how he keeps getting these weapons from his world, but the airship now has three very large metal cones in the hold. The cones have 'CCCP' written on them in 'engrish', as well as a yellow and black triangle. When the boys head into the 'hot zone', whatever in the hells that is, I will take the airship to the origin of the things and press the large red button Ivan installed next to the wheel.

In order to get the full effect of the 'core of the sun' on the island nation, I need to be around two miles above it.

Once I press the button, I will finally be reunited with my wife. Thank you Green. I forgive you and yours.

12th of Kusha,

Morning.

This will be my last entry into my journals. I have taken care of everything. I'm sad I won't be able to say goodbye to Brandywine. Probably my only regret.

In three hours Ivan and Green will finish the distribution, and if everything works, they will hit their own button. The things will die. The mages have figured out some form of containment ward to keep the gas from getting out. They have over twenty five wagons of the canisters. They went for 'overkill is the only kill”. I don't understand the math, but something about '1 part per something million' will kill people, they decided on '10 parts per something million' to kill the interlopers.

Goodbye.

Maxwell Smithson, Heretic.

- - -

“Michael! Glad you came.” Maxwell said, a smile on his usually impassive face. He waved to a chair, and Michael sat down.

“What do you need?” Michael replied.

“Hold him down!” Max said, and a pair of guards held Michael in place, as Max stood and placed a crown on Mike's head. “Congratulations, King Michael. All that's mine is yours.” Then he walked out of the tent, and got lost in the throngs of people.

- - -

Arriving at his personal tent, Max placed all of his weapons, gear, and other things into his old chest. Lastly, he placed the revolvers on top, “Goodbye old friends. If another can open the box, I want you to serve them as well as you did me.” A single tear fell on them as he closed the box for the last time.

- - -

It was Zero Hour. Max climbed the rope ladder onto the airship, ordered the rest of the crew off, and cast off the tether lines. His last adventure. He hoisted the sails, gave one last salute to the camp, and sailed for his final destination.

*-*-*

Ivan and green had donned heavy rubberized suits, and climbed into the last wagon. With a shout and a shake of the reins, the departed for the center of the wood. The travel was slow, but uneventful.

“Do you think we will make it there without any problems?” Ivan asked.

“Maybe. Our luck has held so far.” Green answered. “You know, my team and I tried to kill Maxwell once. It went poorly.”

“Yeah?” Ivan stifled a chuckle. “I bet it did.”

“Yeah.” Green shook his head. “I spent sixteen years in an asylum after my memories of that life came back to me.” He shuddered. “I used to write my real name on the walls in blood. That place drove me mad.” He giggled, then laughed. “You know, doing this makes me feel like a super villain.”

“A what now?”

“After your time. Sorry.” Green smiled. “They never tell you how hot these things get, do they.?”

They passed the rest of the trip in silence.

- - -

They arrived at the destination, and began the setup. Canisters piled and linked. Charges set to aerosol the gas. Then disaster struck.

Granddaddy exploded from the ground. Ivan and Green scattered to either side of the pile. Ivan drew his revolver, and began to fire. Green unslung his Uzi and opened up. Both did little to the massive beast.

It charged Green, and in a single massive stroke, drove it's venomous spike through his guts, and out his spine. Green screamed, still firing, until the Smg went click. Ivan dropped the revolver, took aim with his rifle, and fired. The round made a small crater in 'Daddy's armor. He dropped the rifle as well.

Shaking Green off his spike, landing him next to the pile of ordinance, 'Daddy slowly advanced towards Ivan. Ivan removed the staff from the wagon, twisted the handle and the scythe blade swung out with a click. He advanced to meet his end.

'Daddy thrust a spike at Ivan, testing his reflexes. Ivan parried, removing the end of the spike with the scythe, and stepped back. 'Daddy scuttled to the left, and tried again. Ivan removed the other spike, much closer to the body. It charged. Ivan tried to leap out of the way, but a tree root caught his foot, and he fell.

Meanwhile, Green crawled towards the controll box, his life's blood draining. He reached for the box, flipped the arming switch, and coughed his death rattle.

*-*-*

Celestial realm.

“There doing it!” The gods were gathered in the colosseum, watching the looking glass. Then there was silence as they watched the men fall.

“Is there nothing we can do?” Pendleton yelled.

“There is one thing...” Bjorn said, “But it would break the rules.”

Maximilian, the god of war stood up. “That is my man. I sent him there. Damn the rules!” He stepped to the 'glass, and walked through.

*-*-*

Ivan rolled away from the thing. Brought up his scythe, and slashed. It cut the head, but only a shallow gash. He heard a small whooshing sound from behind him, and payed it no mind, as he pulled himself to his feet and faced the Granddaddy of beasts. “You fucking monster! I may die here, but there's room in this grave for the both of us!” and he charged, swinging the scythe with all his might. The thing brought it's head down and bit. The blade flashed. Granddaddy's head, and Ivan's torso fell to the ground. Dead.

Maximilian reached out his hand and touched Green's corpse, and dissapeared. Green gasped and looked around himself, taking it all in. He laughed. And laughed, and laughed. Then he pushed the button.

- - -

On the battle line a noise was heard. Then a billowing cloud danced across the woods, and into the magical barrier. In some places the gas leaked over the side, but mostly, it held. There were screams of pain for hours after the cloud formed, but eventually the sounds died out, and the cloud dissipated.

Nothing in the woods moved ever again.

*-*-*

Nine days later, Maxwell floated above the remains of a once prosperous nation. He looked down from his two mile height, and sighed. “One last time.” He smile and pushed the button. He never saw the light, felt the heat, or heard the explosion, but in that instant he didn't care as he walked into the arms of his wife.

The End.

Epilogue.

One hundred and fifty years had passed since the end of The Heretics War, and nothing had really changed. King Michael the second pondered the silverware at the dining table. “You know, dear, tomorrow ids the 150th aniversary of the war. I wonder if it should be the last celebration?”

His wife, Queen Dana, looked up from the terrible good leak soup and stared at him, “Are you daft? The people love it. And would probably revolt if you took it away from them.”

“it just doesn't feel right, you know? Celebrating the deaths of our greatest hero's. Shouldn't we celebrate their lives instead?”

“You may be right. Perhaps you should include that in your speech tomorrow?”

“I think I will.” He went back to pondering the silverware, as his mind drifted back to his history lessons.

*-*-*

“Boy! King or not, you will learn this. When the Heretic died,” the teacher made a gesture of blessing, “The world shook, and the clouds parted. Even the gods rejoiced.”

I bet it wasn't just for the winning of the war, A young prince Michael the second thought.

“After it was over, the island of death was found to be unlivable, and Heretic's wood will never live again eithor.” The old man continued. “But in his death we can take comfort, for he saved the world from the things from beyond.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “I know all that. But what happened to his trunk? To the Green Man and Ivan the Scythe?”

“According to Brandywine, they perished facing the Granddaddy of monsters.” The teacher replied.

I'm so sick of this Dwarf's lectures! Michael thought. Will he ever tell me something new?

“Now that you are old enough, I will tell you something that may peak your interest.” The teacher grinned. “There have been rumors...rumors about a pair of men showing up on the losing side of conflicts, and changing the tide of battle. One with a long handled blade that shines with darkness, and the other with a metal wand that spits fire and noise.” The old dwarf smiled a wicked smile. “I think you might be able to guess who that maight be.”

Michael stared. Is he serious? How could people not know?

“It is something to keep under your hat, young prince. There are few who know the stories, and fewer still who will repeate them, as they seem to...be unable to speak on the subject.”

“So why tell me?”

“Because you are old enough to keep it to yourself.” The teacher took a few moments to fill and light a pipe. “Also, who is going to believe you?”

Michael grumbled. Who indeed?

“Now as you know, the Cult of the Heretic is expanding. Most of it is located in Demonia, but every year we get our fair share of pilgrims, both to his cabin, and to his wood. That is the reason both are surrounded with fences, and gated. That and the risk of death. About twenty years ago, one of the pilgrims jumped the cabin fence and tried to open the chest. The wardens found his corpse in the morning.”

Michael nodded, he had heard that story before. “What about the wood?”

“The air and ground are still poisonous. If you spend much there, you get a horrible rash and have trouble breathing. Too long, and you die from lung hemorrhaging.”

“And the Island of Glass?”

“No one goes there. First your hair falls out, then your teeth, and eventually your organs fail. Even if you are only there for an hour.” The teacher sighed, “I feel sorry for the people that get sentenced to maintaining the stone arc on the southern most island. It is still deadly, it just takes longer to die.”

*-*-*

In the early morning of the 150th anniversary of the Heretic's war, smoke began to emerge from the chimney of the cabin on the hill, and if anyone had been there to listen they would have heard, “God's damn it all!” from inside.