The week following Orlov's transformation was one of intense observation and analysis. In the shielded quiet of the laboratory, Mikhail debriefed his new Bogatyr. Orlov, in his terse, military fashion, described his new perceptions. He no longer needed spies to detect a conspiracy; he could feel the "dissonant threads" of treacherous intent within the city's psychic web. He could assess the loyalty of his own men at a glance, perceiving it as a steady, golden light. It was the perfect intelligence tool, a passive, omniscient security network.
Having forged his shield, Mikhail knew he now needed a sword. His next candidate was General Andrei Denisov.
He summoned the grizzled general to the lab, the place now referred to in the highest circles only as the "Forge." Denisov, who had seen Mikhail turn a railyard into a perfectly running machine, did not question the impossible. Mikhail explained the Bogatyr Protocol, framing it not in mystical terms, but in the language of military strategy.
"Andrei," he said, "I can give you a new weapon. The ability to see the entire battlefield of the world as clearly as you see the map on this table. I can make you the perfect strategist, a true god of war."
Denisov, a man who had spent his life fighting with flawed tools and incomplete information, simply nodded. "Show me."
The process was vastly different from Orlov's. When Mikhail placed his hand on the general's shoulder, he did not focus on rewriting the man's being. Instead, he perceived Denisov's mind as a brilliant, ordered three-dimensional map, a natural landscape for strategic thought. Mikhail acted as a conduit, a channel for the universal energy field, and carefully connected the general's consciousness to the concept of organized conflict itself.
For Denisov, it was as if a thousand maps were unfurling in his mind simultaneously. He suddenly saw the logistical strain on the British navy's patrol routes in the Atlantic. He felt the precise operational readiness of every division along the German border. He could perceive the faint, shimmering lines of potential future conflicts, weaknesses in global fortifications, and the intricate dance of military power across the entire planet. The sheer volume of information was an avalanche that threatened to crush him, but his soldier's discipline held firm. He learned to filter, to focus, to see the patterns in the chaos.
He emerged from the experience gasping, his uniform drenched in sweat, but his eyes shone with a terrifying, absolute clarity. He was the second Bogatyr.
With the shield and the sword forged, Mikhail turned to the most critical creation of all: the mind. His son, Alexei, already understood the theoretical physics better than anyone. He entered the Forge not with the loyalty of a soldier, but with the burning curiosity of a scientist about to conduct the ultimate experiment upon himself.
When Mikhail's power touched him, Alexei did not experience the sensory explosion that Orlov or Denisov had described. There were no new sights or sounds. Instead, the familiar world of scientific principles he had always known suddenly clicked into a new, higher resolution. It was as if he had spent his life reading a translated text, only to suddenly, innately understand the original language it was written in. The complex mathematics that described the universe were no longer abstract models; they felt like simple, self-evident truths.
He walked over to the complex schematics for the Genesis Forge, the machine designed to create Mikhail's pocket dimension. He looked at them for a long moment, then picked up a piece of charcoal and, with a few swift, confident strokes, corrected a fundamental equation governing spacetime stabilization.
"This will be more efficient, Father," Alexei said, his voice filled with a quiet, joyful certainty. "And it will require thirty percent less energy. We can begin construction immediately."
Mikhail now had his inner trinity: Orlov, the Bogatyr of Protection, who saw all threats. Denisov, the Bogatyr of War, who saw all conflicts. And Alexei, the Bogatyr of Creation, who understood all matter. They were the core of his new pantheon.
He convened the first true session of his "Celestial Duma" in the Forge. "Report," he commanded.
Orlov spoke first. "The energy signature in the Aegean has stabilized. It is powerful, arrogant, and ancient. It is observing us. A second, similar signature is beginning to awaken in the deserts of Egypt, near the old temples of Karnak."
Denisov followed. "The Aegean anomaly is geographically isolated. A naval cordon is the most efficient containment strategy. The Egyptian anomaly is more problematic, being closer to British-controlled Suez. A direct military move there would have diplomatic consequences."
Finally, Alexei spoke, his eyes distant. "The Siamese energy source—Prometheus—is different. It is not a single, concentrated entity like these new awakenings. It is diffuse, spreading like a network. It is designed to be given away. It is inherently unstable."
Mikhail listened, synthesizing the reports from his new gods. He had a shield to watch, a sword to plan, and a mind to build. He had the tools he needed for the new war.
"Alexei," he ordered, "Begin construction on the Genesis Forge. It is our highest priority." He turned to a map of the world. "Denisov, draw up contingency plans for a rapid-response deployment to Egypt. Orlov, focus your Directorate on identifying the exact nature of the Aegean power. I want to know if we are dealing with a king, a council, or a monster."
The three Bogatyrs nodded in silent, perfect understanding, their new consciousnesses already working on their assigned tasks. Mikhail stood before the global map, a new set of pieces—ones labeled Zeus, Odin, Ra—beginning to form in his mind. The War of Mythology had begun, not with a clash of armies, but with a cautious, strategic move in a game for the fate of the Earth, a game where the players were no longer merely human.