The End [Closed, MT, ATTN: Kraven]

[Tosmaldevo]

結束
The End

---

The orange plume rose into the night, sparkling off the water as the thick smoke drifted away into the black sky. From across the river, the ambassador looked on from his study, his face blank. The wing was still visible, the abstract logo of Jiqun imprinted on it. The wailing sirens of the fire service ran amok, the bright lights of the fleet of red trucks racing to the palace the only other illumination in the night. Even from the distance, the ambassador could faintly hear the screams of the small silhouettes, raging orange flames engulfing them as they desperately stumbled toward the moat. The palace burned, its famous Garden having left no trace in the midst of the flames.

His television faintly sparkled into life. The film he had been watching on a state channel disappeared - the desk of Xinxi had replaced it. He turned towards it. A calm presenter said nothing for a moment, before slowly saying, as much to herself as to the nation, "The Republic-State is under attack."

What the ambassador had seen moments before filled the screen of the television. The presenter continued reading, a voiceover for a helicopter's view of the fire. The ambassador took a hard, stern look at the scene unfolding outside his apartment. Quickly, he pulled himself away from it, flicking on the main lights. He sat down on the leather sofa, his back hunched over as he stared at the television. The commentators had nothing to say, nor did he.

A faint roar came from the distance. The ambassador's bushy eyebrows drew closer together, his full lips pouting. He walked back to the great, expansive southern windows, looking east. His eyes widened. High in the sky were aircraft, black as the night yet their outlines still clear as day. The roar of their engines overwhelmed whatever sound of the city there was. There may have been ten of them, but he could not tell. He stood there. His heartbeat lept with fear, it pulsating in his chest as if it were moments away from bursting out of his chest.

A score of harsh anti-aircraft fire burst into the sky. The ambassador watched. In minutes, the entire sky was orange, the roar of the planes mingling with the gunfire.

"This is a State Announcement for All Citizens."

He slowly turned back to his television. The screen was grey. "All citizens are advised to return to their residences immediately. There is no state of alarm in place. Military forces have been ordered to cease all action and await further instruction." The message began repeating on loop. The gunfire continued for a few moments, though quickly died down. The city was silent. The few surreal minutes had passed - now, the city waited. His steel-grey eyes turned back to the scene at the Imperial Palace. The fire-fighters had all but given up. The paramedics simply stared at the charred corpses, some of them collapsing from shock - quickly, they became the patients.

He jumped as his telephone began ringing. It was a beige, modern yet discreet thing - he stared at it for a moment before approaching it. He picked it up.

"Ambassador Emilio Mediqua?"

"Speaking."

"The General-Secretariat orders you to attend an emergency meeting at its headquarters, commencing immediately," said the cool, accented voice on the other line.

Emilio looked back through the window, "But there is no headquarters now."

"A temporary headquarters has been established at KGGM Zhuyi," replied the secretary, the voice androgynous. "Military vehicular elements will transport you to the meeting. Said elements will arrive in two and a half minutes."

Emilio said nothing, dropping the phone. The next few minutes went by in a blur.

He emerged on the street, outside the massive skyscraper of the apartment complex. A hulking four-by-four, printed in woodland camouflage, hummed impatiently. A soldier got out and approached the ambassador.

"Ambassador?"

Emilio nodded.

"You know where you are going?"

Again, he nodded.

"Good. Please, get in the vehicle."

The ambassador crawled into the four-by-four. Before he had even closed the door, the driver sped the car away down the straight roads of the planned city. There was no sound, nor light; it was a ghost town now, or so it seemed. They made no conversation in the car, listening to the hurried radio chatter and the faint, Tosvanne post-rock in the background.

"Get out."

Emilio woke up, shaking and flailing wildly for a moment. The driver pointed at the door. The ambassador nodded. He kicked open the door and practically jumped out. The car sped away. The ambassador dusted off his grey shirt. Helicopters were taking off all around him now, the piercing shudders of their rotors deafening. Fighter craft roared overheard, protecting the base like a lioness and her cubs.

A short man in a jumpsuit, his jet black hair ruffled by the craft, approached Emilio. He clasped a hand over Emilio's ear, and shouted at the top of his voice, "Ambassador Emilio?"

Emilio nodded.

"Come with me!"

Overhead, The End began.

[Tosmaldevo]

Then, the bombs began to fall.

The paint brush slid down the canvas. Drago stared intensely at each small smudge coming from the brush, the deep red seemingly gazing right back into him. Guarda del Eterna hummed quietly in the background, a rampant guitar solo rushing into action. He was absorbed in the canvas; it was an abstract painting, of the yin-yang symbol so typical in Mindao, yet edited - the red on the painting stood out, as it was his own blood.

It began faintly. The intrusion of sound made him jump. His brush, tipped with blood like a dagger, fell to the floor. He cursed, bending down to pick it up. As his fingers flexed to clutch the plastic, black handle, he stopped. It was a whisper. A shrill scream was emerging from the darkness, piercing the souls of those who heard it. It clutched the heart, and shook it with fear until it collapsed, begging for mercy. His heartbeat, formerly as steady and constant as time, leapt and pulsed with the pace only primal fear can bring about. The scream, once so faint, not even a breath, was gradually crawling up in sound, its long drone drawing near. Slowly, measuring each footstep, he approached the tall windows of his apartment. He pulled back the curtains, moving to the vantage point on the high floors of a skyscraper. High in the sky, little was visible. Yet still, their outlines were. Narrowing his eyes, he could make them out. A wave of aircraft hung in the sky like harbingers of death. The city below them was the image of gloom, fully encased in a dense, silent dark. The aeroplanes roared, their banshee wails gripping him. Drago did nothing but stare for a moment, his gaze solid and his body almost a statue.

His apartment was a shining beacon of light in the dead city. He jumped out of his bubble, stumbling back, each step a timed effort that only just suceeded. He grabbed onto a mahogany shelf, limp on the wall, and steadied himself. His heart lobbed itself like a bullet against his chest, tearing out from the veins that held it together and desperately trying to escape - escape what was their fate now. He panted, each breath a mammoth effort. He gripped his chest with his free hand, unable to speak. He could see the future now - his eyes were open, and he wanted the old back. He wanted the blissful illusion, the thoughts of security and hope to return, not remain so distant as they were now. All his judgements were wrong, and now he could see one thing as his fate - the cold, hard metal of a rifle pressed against his skull. That was the future now.

But he knew what had to be done, and how long he had.

His bedroom was on the opposite wall. The main room of the newly-built apartment was a gargantuan rectangle, bare but for his full bookshelves, ordered neatly with literature, history and albums, a sleek computer and the small area, unusual but for the mahogany table full of paint cans, the canvas and his collection of work. What he had devoted his life to meant nothing now. He charged into the door. It smashed into a few giant pieces of wood. He pulled open a wide drawer on his wardrobe. There was a case inside. He ripped it open. A Lee-Enfield smiled at him. He grabbed it, alongside the fifteen match-boxes of ammunition.

He threw the rifle on his bed. He ripped open another drawer, and the case in that greeted him with a sight of beauty - a Colt Python .357 Magnum, a revolver with a long, cold stock. The safety on, he tucked it in behind his belt, against his worn navy jeans. He pulled on a soft, comfortable black jacket.

No more time. The scream was very near.

He clutched the rifle and sprinted out of the room. The windows caught his eye. The aluminum staircase of the building. He ran to the window, holding his breath as tight as his white knuckles gripped the rifle. As he broke through the glass, he let out a long, tremondous roar.

The staircase. He was on it. He looked down. It went down to the bottom, into a deserted alleyway. There was no time to waste. He begun plunging down, his soft, brown trainers hitting against the hard metal, letting out a quick thud with each step.

The scream felt like a ghost, its numbing breath freezing his neck. He looked up.

The bomber stared back.

[Tosmaldevo]

The bombs wailed as they fell, before they erupted into a cauldron of fury. The tense silence had been shattered by the screaming and shouting of people, running for their lives from the crashing buildings and waves of rubble engulfing them. A symphony of hell played out on the streets below him; the tall skyscrapers of the city simply collapsed, brought to their knees by the bombing. Fires burnt brightly on the horizon, the thick black smoke began to shroud the stars above, leaving only the pure dark of midnight, punctuated by the bright swells of fire and the shrill screams of the aircraft overheard. The glass shattered, spraying hundreds of sharp daggers flying through the air, falling down to the alleyway below, the light of the fires dazzling onto them. Drago pounded through into the apartment. He shouted, bellowing from the depths of his voice, "Get out!"

All the apartments were identical; he ran into the bedroom door, barely opening it to save slamming into it. The bedroom was dark; an old man and a woman slept in the bed, unruffled by the chaos whispering through to their haven with the numbing, cold breeze. There was a crumpled black suit on the floor, a huge pile of paper kept together by a stapled nail beside it. They were asleep, and wealthy, at their most vulnerable. Open to any and all attacks - they could do nothing until they woke.

Drago's hands, seemingly by themselves, raised the rifle, the butt against his shoulder. He stared into the old man's closed eye, surrounded by fleshy wrinkles and wafts of his steel hair. His left eye closed, and he drew his breath.

He held the rifle. Unease gripped him, filling the air. His gaze tried to avert itself, but he would not let it.

It must be done.

He pulled the trigger.

The shot was deafening. Blood spattered on the wall.

The woman woke up. Instantly, her syrup-coloured eyes and Drago's met. She knew what had been done. The blood streamed down her ancient face.

The rifle's glare turned to her. She held her hands up, tears welling in her eye. She stumbled out of the double-bed, throwing herself against the wall.

Outside, the bombs fell. Her arms fell limp. She had just heard the outside world. Her eyes widened, then fell dead.

Under the trembling glare of Drago's rifle, she bent down and reached into her bedside drawer. As she brought out her hand, silver glinted.

He fired off a shot. It came to nothing, burrowing into the wall just inches from the woman's face. She did nothing, raising her arms again. She clutched a knife. She drew a breath.

Drago reached forward. The rifle hit the floor with a thud.

She brought the knife down.

It plunged into her chest. A line of blood hit the wall. She screamed.

He said nothing. She stood for a moment, silently. Her hands tried to push the knife in deeper. With a final push, she collapsed onto the floor.

Drago picked up his rifle. He slung it over his shoulder. Slowly, he walked out of the room, blank. He walked back through the smashed window. He emerged in the cold night, the destruction carrying itself all around him. He walked to the edge of the stairway. He looked down. The ground was so far away...

He gripped the cold metal, breathing heavily. The sky was on fire, the city just rubble. The screams pierced his soul.

He stared out onto the city.

Hell had arrived.

---

Drago took what he needed from the old man's apartment - a backpack, tinned food, a bread-knife and the old woman's dagger.

He sprinted down the stairway, hanging off the outside of the building. The clatter of his shoes against the stairs was inaudible now - the rumble of the collapsing buildings and the overhead screams - and the underhead - drowned it out. The minutes passed in a blur - the stairway, the screaming and the collapsing buildings intermingled.

The end of the stairway. He stopped, staring down at it. A rectangular hole. The fall down into the alleyway was massive.

He sat on the edge. Drago pulled in a deep breath. He didn't move.

The horizon was on fire. The only colour, anywhere, was red. Darkness shrouded everywhere else.

He gulped. Drago slid off.

Thud.

---

He pushed down the street, earphones in, blasting power metal. His green eyes were intense, glaring intently at anybody who dared cross by him on the street. A few people walked by him, expecting him to shift. He did not, clattering into them. He said nothing, his stare saying it all.

Drago was tall. His thick, dark brown hair fell down to the end of his neck - where most people stood beside him. His face was rounded, though was beginning to take an oval shape. Spots gathered between his eyebrows, spreading upward onto his tall forehead.

He wore an army green, cotton jacket with a white t-shirt underneath it - the top of his chest was visible, bare of hair. His worn jeans were ripped at the ends, repeatedly trodden upon by his red trainers. His -

---

Drago's eyes burst open. A dull, throbbing pain came from the back of his leg. He grabbed onto a bin and stood up, rubbing his head with his free hand.

He unslung his rifle, sliding it down his arms to his right hand. He pushed it onto his left. He ignored the pain and ran forward, grimacing with each movement.

He came to the end of the alleyway. Rubble decorated the streets, a tidal wave of decimation covering most of the road. Buildings all around him were on fire - beside him, a children's nursery burnt, teddy bears at the window cremating into a black crisp. Further up the road, a doctor's practice burnt, yet still hundreds of people came to it, with relatives and friends missing limbs, or their chests torn open, the only thing keeping their organs inside them their weak hands. Agitated groans came from the practionary.

He looked ahead. He ran onto the rubble, pushing himself up it. Sweat dripped down his cheeks. In a few moments, he was across the sea and onto another straight alleyway.

He clasped a hand over his mouth. Black smoke poured out of a wooden bookshop beside him. Rifle in one hand, he charged forward. He kept coughing violently.

His vision shifted, blurring. He kept forward.

He dropped the rifle, stumbling forward. The world rotated - he followed. He hit a wall. Drago slumped onto the ground, coughing.

In front of him, two men were approaching.

Everything went black.

[New Azura]

Western Azumethronnian Imperiate
His Majesty the Great and Noble Achæon Caius Anaximander IV Corresponding...

The Cailene Saharuvermn of Azumethronnia wishes to understand more fully why the Kraven Reich felt it necessary to launch a full-scale invasion of an Azuran Prefecture? Not to mention the relative curiosity of attacking an Azuran Prefecture in which the Emperor of the Azuran Realm, Achæon Anaximander IV was making a state visit? This is a very tense situation, as you can imagine, and if it were not for your esteemed reputation, we would have commenced a full-scale retaliatory strike against you for this treachery.

However, we offer one opportunity to reach out for formal parlay, and discuss more fully the grievances that precipitated this hostile military maneuver. Until we receive word that formal parlay can be obtained, we shall prepare a full retaliatory response. We must have your official word by no later than 1400 Hours this afternoon. May God be with us all, for I know not how big of a hole an Azumethronnian-Kraven War would put in the side of the world.

[New Azura]

Western Azumethronnian Imperiate
His Majesty the Great and Noble Achæon Caius Anaximander IV Corresponding...

The Cailene Saharuvermn of Azumethronnia will dispatch the leading military commander in this district, Consul Sir Misha Sa'kara, O.A.E. to negotiate the terms of a formal parlay and cease-fire. However, as we respect your ability to make war, we offer this reminder to the Kraven Reich. We will honor the cease-fire while formal negotiations are undertaken. However, as a diligent and incredibly powerful and dutiful Empire such as yourself already knows, we too hold a certain affinity for the safety and stability of our own country. Thus, we shall offer this to you, as you most certainly would offer to us.

If any harm comes to Consul Sa'kara, it will be repaid in kind on every Kravenite our guns can find. It is certainly ill-advised to cross the Azuran Empire, just as we know full well how foolish crossing the Kraven Reich will be. Let us hope that these negotiations go smoothly, so that all out war can be avoided.

[Tosmaldevo]

Her nude, hourglass figure was silhouetted by the rising sun climbing over the distant mountains, her thin robe doing nothing to shroud her modesty. She approached my bed, a fresh wave of mountain air drawing in through the open panel doors. The Oriental woman stared into my eyes, a warm smile decorating her face.

"Something has happened, Julio," she said in her impeccable Italian, sitting down on my bed. Before I could ask, she began, "Your people will be able to tell you more."

"Am I needed?"

"Yes."

Without another word, I leapt out of bed, stark naked. I set out towards the bathroom, my feet hitting off the smooth wooden tiles. I showered and shaved quickly. When I came out, dry yet still without clothing, she was still on my bed. Her expression was blank as she turned to me, her large, brown, liquid-center eyes staring into mine. Beside her, she had laid out my clothes; a sharp, grey jacket, a white dress shirt and a rich blue tie. She had even chosen my black leather Oxfords and belt.

"Thank you."

I sprayed some Golinelli deodarant and colonge onto myself, pulling on the clothes after.

As soon as I lifted my black briefcase, she stood up. Her gaze stood fixed on mine. She threw off the shawl, approaching me slowly. Her smooth hands rolled themselves around my chest. I looked down at her.

"Li, I have to go."

"Will you be back?"

"Yes," I said. I tore myself away from her, slowly, the remorse dragging onto each heavy footstop. I left my bedroom. The house was traditional Mindan, in an L-shape. I walked along the wooden decking to the driveway. A sleek limosine awaited me, two soldiers standing to attention in front of the open door.

I looked up at the Thursday sky. It was a swirl of colours, dawn heralding the erosion of the black, starless night. The birds were already singing, engaged in their competition to outdo one another. The world drowned out the sounds of the car and the soldiers' boots. This was a world I may never see again.

"Sir, we have to go."

I ignored them. I took in a long, deep breath, and stood there for millenia, the sounds and colours of nature overwhelming me.

"Sir."

I crashed out from the world. I turned to the soldiers, and nodded. I clambered into the car. The soldiers followed me. They took me northward.

One of the soldiers told me of the situation. Mindao was under attack. Zhuyi had been decimated, and I was charged with representing Tosmaldevo in hastily organised peace talks. I had one hour to set my strategy.

There was one instruction: Get them out.

---

---

REFERENCE

The Office of the Prefect
Palazzo Lagorosa

26 April 2011

The State-Secretariat for External Affairs
22 Via Emmanuele-Antonio

To His Majesty the Great and Noble Achæon Caius Anaximander IV of the Western Azumethronnian Imperiate and Lord Reichmarshall Helghan of the Kraven Reich.
Subject The Kravenite invasion of Mindao and ceasefire discussions.

The Tosvanne State is enraged. Our territory that of the Republic-State of Mindao, has been violated by Kravenite military forces and subject to the absolute destruction of its capital city Zhuyi. Hundreds of thousands of citizens have been suddenly and indiscriminately slaughtered by a wholly unprovoked Kravenite offensive on the principals of sovereignty, Tosmaldevo Prefecture and the Western Azumethronnian Imperiate. The Kraven Reich has evidenced its disregard for these principals and committed an act of war. The Kraven Reich has massacred hundreds of thousands for no valid purpose other than to facilitate its brutal craving for bloodshed. The Kraven Reich has requested war.

The Tosvanne State and the Kravenite State have never possessed any formal or informal diplomatic relations whatsoever at any juncture of history. Citizens of our two States have never knowingly interacted in a direct sense. Yet still, the Kraven Reich has attacked a Tosvanne - and as a result, Azumethronnian - colonial possession. This cannot be tolerated.

The Azumethronnian State has requested negotiations with the Kravenite Reich. This request has been granted. The Tosvanne State recognises the wishes of Azumethronnia, and will comply with them. The Tosvanne State will be represented by the highest-ranking diplomat remaining in Mindan territory - Julio Caligiuri. Mister Caligiuri will be escorted to KGGM Zhuyi, the location of negotiations, via helicopter and will further be escorted and guarded at the conference by two armed soldiers of the Spedizionari. Any attack on Mister Caligiuri or his bodyguards by officials or servicepersons of the Kraven Reich will result in the commencement of absolute hostilities between the Kraven Reich and the State of Tosmaldevo. The Tosvanne State expects that in the event of absolute hostilities, the Western Azumethronnian Imperiate will fully support and defend the State of Tosmaldevo.

Signed,

Giovanni Cattaneo,
Prefect of Tosmaldevo Prefecture.

Alessandro d'Egidi,
General-Secretary for External Affairs of Tosmaldevo Prefecture.

[Tosmaldevo]

Get them out.

It was a simple instruction. Yet it couldn't be accomplished. The Kraven Reich never made a concession - even now, in the presence of a ceasefire, I knew that I could just as easily die at the summit as I could turn up. The Azuran delegate hopefully knew this as well. There couldn't be a strategy with Kraven. They didn't have a strategy. I was entering this conference to hopefully come out alive.

I couldn't leave her behind. Two years in this country had only seen me sane because of her. Valentina and the boys had never come to visit. We were limited to the Internet to talk, and even then rarely - we both had suspicions of the other. Her's were right; I knew nothing of my own.

The helicopter whirred. As it rode over the hills, I saw Zhuyi, or what was left of it. My eyes widened. It was Hell. The city was broken; rubble was strewn like rivers, fires everywhere. In the distance, where the Palace was, there was only red and charcoal black now. The skyline was covered in other airplanes.

The two soldiers beside me said nothing and did nothing. Their square-jawed, sculpted faces showed no expression, nor emotion. However, at the sight of Zhuyi, their grip on the rifles tightened, their knuckles white.

The helicopter began dipping down. Soon enough, it landed.

There was no base. Where it had once stood was a burning mash of rubble. Surreally, several chairs and a table had been placed on the runway.

My bodyguards, in their grey tunics and with their rifles, followed me. They said nothing to each other. Their eyes, the colour of all our jackets, stared cautiously at the group of men at the table. I breathed in deeply.

Slowly, measuring each step, I began walking forward to the table. I never let them fall out of my sight - I had saw what they could do. The guards followed me, their guns ready to fire at any moment.

I let an air of confidence form around me. It was the only way to conduct diplomacy - never show weakness and never be afraid. My curly black hair, unkempt and uncut, ruffled in the eastern oceanic breeze.

I looked at the man representing the Kravenites. And I said, "Hello."

[Tosmaldevo]

I didn't let go of the envoy's gaze, even though nothing existed behind it. I adopted a cold look, so different from the warm one I usually adopted. This was not the time for pleasantries - there was nothing pleasant about this.

I did nothing as he passed me the paper. The terms mocked me. The simple four words of my instruction went against every letter on the slip. I could not take this.

"We will be brief," I said, staring deep into the void of the diplomat. "These are our terms, and you will comply with them fully. You will get out of here and never come back."

"You will not find these terms unreasonable. If you agree to them now and sign the document, you will save the lives of many of your civilians. If you do not, their blood will stain your hands."

[Tosmaldevo]

"The civillian population is not our concern, nor is the Mindan environment. If you do not agree to our terms, a state of war will exist between the Kraven Reich and the State of Tosmaldevo. If such occurs, the Western Azumethronnian Imperiate will support the latter."

A slight smirk decorated my face. I still refused to part gazes with the envoy, sensing rather than seeing the fingers drawing over the triggers behind me. I had been given instruction, and I had to carry it through. There could be no weakness in the spotlight of those who had none.

Oddly, I remembered my old grandfather. He was a war veteran, and rarely said much. But somehow, his words carried such great weight whenever he spoke. One of the few things he said to me was, "To beat them, become them."

His words rang in my ears as I stared into the void of Kraven.

[Tosmaldevo]

"Our concern is that you have violated Tosvo-Azumethronnian territory," I replied. "The State of Tosmaldevo is an Azumethronnian prefecture. We are Azumethronnian. The Western Azumethronnian Imperiate possesses countless allies."

"We will bring you down like ants on a lion."

I let the words hang in the air for a moment. I knew the Kraven Reich was stretched; ironically, they were facing war with the Freeks alongside Azumethronnia. I could imagine the classrooms in fifty years time, teaching such a history.

But then I remembered. There wouldn't be any classrooms in fifty years time.

My smirk widened slightly.

[New Azura]

Things were progressing far too rapidly, even by the Consul's... acquired tastes. The Tosvanne people were dealing with very shady individuals in the Kraven Reich, and the hurried nature of the negotiations were disconcerting for all involved. Even worse, it had become apparent that the Azuran contingency wouldn't even make it to the rendezvous on Mindao before the paperwork was signed.

Misha Sa'kara had never been one to back down from a fight, and he wasn't about to lose face against a Kraven Reich, albeit a staunch and worthy adversary they would be. Instead, there was something to be said for a fellow Brimstone Pact member that was engaged in some... interesting manners of negotiating for territory. If only the Azuran Empire hadn't been the one to suffer the cost of footing such a noble bill.

Sa'kara ordered over a sentry from his guard, preparing with haste to board his private aircraft for a trip to Mindao. "Sentry, I give you this order to be carried out henceforth: the Delegation of Tosvanne Representatives in Mindao are under orders from the Azuran Empire to cease negotiations until I can arrive to clarify the situation. Further, instruct the delegates of the Kraven Reich that a prudent counter-offer will be presented that should entreat them to remain idle for a few hours more."

[Tosmaldevo]

It's probably viable, now, for me to record a list of active characters I have in this thread.

• Julio Caligiuri
• The Captain

---

Julio

I looked at the Kravenite, my eyes wide. I tilted my head to one side. This couldn't be happening - why would the Kraven Reich give in? They never made a concession, they displayed no human emotion. Were they now afraid of me? I bit my lip and thought for a few moments.

"We -"

My phone rang. I pulled it out of my blazer pocket and answered it. I listened to what the man had to say. I disconnected and put it back.

"It's from the Azurans," I said, smirking. "All talks are to cease until the Azurans arrive. A 'prudent counter-offer' that will be presented should entice you to agree to this."

---

The Captain

The birds were quiet. Silence hung in the balance. The bright, morning sun hung in the sky, supported by a glorious blue sky. Yet still, the birds were quiet. There were no flutters, no stirrings in the bushes. It was not normally like this. The stirrings and sounds of the wood usually surrounded the Palazzo like an army, or a cavalry charge. The trees did not sway, even in the light breeze. The smell of earth clouded the air, the wind carrying a fresh, salty smell from the ocean. No sound came from behind me, even with the dozen soldiers at their posts.

I took a deep breath, looking onto the great, flat lawn of the Palazzo, the Lagorosa in the distance. I had gone to bed in a stable, clear world, and awoken to find it shaken into chaos. The Milizia had been contracted to defend the Palazzo. Their trucks ran about the driveway, their men scattered about the buildings in their denim trousers and khaki jackets, waving their Kalishnikovs about like madmen. The Kraven Reich had invaded Mindao.

The other men knew nothing of the Kravenites, lost in their pride. I knew them. They were not human. They had the body of a man, but not the mind of a man. There was no emotion in the mind of the Kravenite, no trace of humanity. A Kravenite invasion was the judgement of death.

Mindao could only be surrendered. The talk in the council was full of hostility - their words mattered nothing to the Kravenites. Little mattered to the Kravenites but their continuance. They would pummel Mindao into dust, and with a word, oversee the fall of the world. You could not neogitate with such men - the only strategy was to beg for your right to exist.

The Azumethronnians could do nothing. The Lord Reichmarshall's decision had come. It was Mindao, or the world.

[Tosmaldevo]

Scores and scores of rifle fire came from behind me. The loud, metallic clapping of the bullets filled the air it tore through.

I took a deep breath. It was all over. I had gone into here and I'd thrown the wrong dice. Not that the dice had ever been right to begin with. Evil never made a concession, and they weren't making a concession now. I closed my eyes.

This wasn't the end. I wouldn't let it be.

I punched the gun away from me.

[Tosmaldevo]

The echoes of gunfire came from the hills. The others stared up there, clutching their rifles close to their chests, saying nothing. The sky was a swirl of colours as the sun began to rise in the east, over the distant rocky mountains. Thick, black smoke rose into the sky, faint yet blood-curdingly loud screams of pain surrounding us. Rivers of rubble shrouded the wide roads of the city, the authoritative buildings around us beaten into a mesh of shattered concrete and limbs. Glass was still raining from the sky, little daggers before their comrades from the sky arrived. The smouldering wrecks of aeroplanes were still burning all around us, the shrill drones of the enemy still above us.

Many of the men around me were not even adults. To my right, two boys who barely looked older than thirteen talked quietly in their soft voices. They weren't old enough to shave, and they had been forced into a responsibility many men never could manage - their Kalishnikov rifles pulled all the sinews of their thin arms to support it. Many of the dead bodies around us were not even dead; in the yellow, iron skip I hid behind, fifteen men and women groaned, whole limbs missing. Their bodies were strewn with the intestines and organs of the others we had discovered under rubble, still whimpering in raspy voices, refusing to give up on a life that they knew was certainly gone. The few who weren't smothered in intestines were drowning in the sea of blood forming in the skip, though all of them gave them the same acrid stench that was strangling our lungs. We had taken their wallets, as much for food as for money. We didn't how long we would be here in solitude, but we did not expect it to end as suddenly as it had begun.

I was on the first line of the barricades. A river of rubble had fallen through the streets and we were using it as a defence. Behind me was the primary line of fifteen men, isolated from the north by the burning wreck of a fighter jet and supported by window riflemen in the south. Behind them was the Indian; a seven-foot tall red-skinned warrior, dressed only in denim jeans and combat boots he had torn from the twitching legs of a militiaman, blown off his body from the knees down. Two rifles dangled from his shoulders, a sword strapped to his back. He hadn't spoken a word since we had found him. My pair of khaki cargo pants were hard-wearing, but I had never bought them for this. My white trainers were a fashion choice, as was my black tank-top. All our worlds, with their problems and histories, had been shaken into oblivion; the only option now was to fight for survival, regardless of how much survival was worth. The dawn would only herald death.

The first thing I heard was a faint explosion, followed by a symphony of them further away from us. My eyes widened in horror, the life draining from my skin. It had begun again. And quickly, the piercing screams were nearing, bringing the explosions with them. Above, something flashed. My eyes were drawn up. Hundreds of streaking fireballs tore through the sky, slowly falling to the ground. Even in the skip, the groans and whimpers of the dead and dying rose up, whatever hope they had pummelled by this new wave of attack.

The order came from the Colonel behind us. We were to stand our ground, no matter what hit us. I snatched my gaze away from the hell above. I tried to ignore it, but I couldn't. My eyes returned to the sky, and stayed there. Explosions were surrounding our pocket of resistance, the shrill screams of the enemy drawing nearer. I clutched my rifle tighter.

Hell was coming.

[Tosmaldevo]

It was the first sight we had of the enemy. A figure shrouded in black and a mask, his eyes - if he had any - invisible. He carried a rifle sturdily in his hands, glancing around the area like the crouched man, covering his legs, who followed him. We were all hushed, though there wasn't much need to; the explosions and the aircraft drowned out all noise but the deep, mechanical rolling of a tank. I threw my head back under the rubble. The enemy was arriving.

Something rumbled, from where the tank had been. In the same moment, it collapsed. In a few seconds, thick grey dust creeped over the rubble. My jaw slackened, and I rose my head just enough over the barricades.

The tank was the size of a mansion. My jaw slackened, my body falling limp. It was approaching. I ducked down, and looked behind me. Somebody had readied a few rocket launchers. I stood up, crouching my back as much as I could. I ran over to them and slid over the barricades.

"What do we do?" I asked, in a whisper.

"Right..." the young man in army uniform, the RPG on his shoulder, said. "If they've bothered to make that thing, they've probably reinforced it quite well."

He paused. It didn't break.

"Go on!"

"Four RPGs - three each. Go around and tell the teams to fire at different spots. I'm for the front."

I looked around for the different RPG teams.

"Now!"

There were four along the barricade. I went around and told them the orders before returning to the soldier.

He didn't reply. He took aim down his RPG, holding his breath. A look of fear had crossed his eyes. I opened my mouth to comment, but said nothing.

"Fire!"

Four rockets were unleashed. The sound of them forced me to the ground. My rifle clattered against my back. There were two for the different sides, one for the turret and one for the front.

I threw my hands over my head, my eyes closed. Waiting for the hit.

[Tosmaldevo]

A few of the men before me were ripped apart. The turret fire tore limb from limb and dug huge holes in their chests. I looked out from behind the barricade. Gunfire went off all about me. The two youngsters got up and began running to the second line. The tank pushed through the rubble. A few men panicked and ran.

"Fire!"

Four more rockets were fired. I didn't bother to see their fate. I grabbed my rifle and ran to the third line. Bullets flew over my head.

There was a skip here. The dead groaned. I took cover behind it. I panted. Tears were streaming down my cheeks.

I tried to calm, but it was no use. This was the end.

I looked around me. The only man here was the Indian. The rest were in front or in the buildings, firing.

I couldn't do it. I couldn't do it.

I jumped into the skip. I hid my rifle under my body. On another one. I made no sound.

[Tosmaldevo]

"It's withdrawing!"

I peeked up above the barricade. The massive tank was pulling back. I smiled, pulling myself up.

"Fire!"

A third barrage went out. There were some muffled celebrations about me, though the cheers were faint over the constant rattle of rifle fire. I fumbled for my rifle, clawing it off my back.

I held it up against my shoulder. I held my breath for a moment, scanning for a target. There were too many; hundreds of silhouettes, the dark punctured by the yellow flickers of the bullets whistling through the air. I pulled the trigger.

The rifle hit against my shoulder. I screamed, dropping the gun. I clutched my shoulder. I nearly fell back, but I stayed upright. The pain went quickly.

I grabbed the rifle again. I fired a few bursts out at the silhouettes.

Nothing was happening. Their ranks weren't thinning. They were dying - some of them. But their ranks weren't clearing.