The Awakening Beast (Closed: ATTN Dephire/Gholgoth)

[Dephire]

The Holy City of Ghray, Dephire Continent

Two well-built men walked down the stairs leading away from the High Temple of Scythis. Both wore light grey body armor, two holstered pistols on either side of their waists, an assault rifle with a should strap rested against their backs, and a short sword with a blood-red hilt sheathed on each of their backs. They were Godsend Templars, charged with protecting the High Temple at all costs. Tens of thousands of these super elite soldiers roamed the port city, and all of them had been itching to join the war that had engulfed Gholgoth. Godsend Emperor Renuvian Skragg had hoped that the Jagada bombers would have attempted to penetrate Ghray, but was disappointed that he was never able to activate Dephire's most powerful force. Instead, Ghray stayed quiet and slumbered still.

Imperial Capitol City of Galva, Dephire

"Emperor, the Kravenites still continue their assault on the Milograd forces. Our 'presence' has been requested, yet we've continued to stay silent," Godsend Typhis was the one who spoke at the council table.

The Godsend Emperor had changed his attire from before, now that he was not in the presence of a Kravenite, he could settle down and not wear the mask he had adorned during the 'transition', "We stay silent for there is much we can learn by sitting back. The Kravenites will spread themselves thin. Milograd, unfortunately, is taking a full-scale assault that may potentially destroy a generation and weaken their nation to the brink of collapse. How goes our Project in the Wastes?"se if not catastrophic failure. Despite Jagada's attempts to destroy our infrastructure, we still hold eighty percent of all of our factories in the east, and I'm surprised they were able to destroy that much.

Another man spoke up, "The Wasteland Project is still operational. The facility suffered some damage, but it is repairable. In the meantime, we are currently in the process of activating the other projects.. Including the hyper-factories."

"That is good to hear, Godsend Valmar!" Typhis exclaimed.

Renuvian smiled, "Yes, it is very good news. Our fleets are still on alert status and protecting the Dephirian Sea, correct Amos?"

The Godsend nodded, "That is correct, Emperor. All twenty thousand ships are still awaiting your orders. Patrol fleets are still skimming along the northern and northeastern coastlines for any hints of straggling craft. With the Kravenite fleet being heavily engaged to our immediate west, I have concerns of it spilling into our waters."

"Have no fear of that, Amos," Renuvian continued his haunting smile, "The war will come to a dramatic end soon. You remember not but a few weeks ago how we were on the verge of being invaded by the Kravenites. We were still slumbering. Our numbers had started to diminish as the years began to add up. Being a nation that thrives off of wars, it was hard for us to cope with no longer having anyone to fight," The leader of Dephire stood up from his chair and began to pace, "I found a way to buy us time. During this time of awakening, I was able to finally shave off the weaknesses in our defenses. We have replaced thousands of failures with strong leaders. With the Projects being activated, we will soon be able to saturate our numbers to beyond reasonable. Milograd will be lost, so it will seem, but there are more things at stake right now than one nation. I am talking about the loss of Gholgoth itself!"

The room was silent.

"We betrayed.. No, I betrayed Gholgoth in order to save it," Renuvian's voice was much quieter now, "Our insurance policy was the bloodline that the Dephirian people shared with the Kravens. However, there are always circumstances which even blood lines can stop wars between the families."

The massive door opened suddenly. Behind the door stood a man wearing what appeared to be Kravenite armor, but seemed modified in some way, for someone that was not a true Kraven. He stood there taking in the number of Godsend Generals in the room, and his eyes then rested on the sight of Renuvian. A hand started reaching for his waist, causing a commotion to which alarmed the Godsend Knights to pull out their weapons, "Freeze! Do not make any movements or you will be destroyed!" The Knights yelled at the stranger.

"Welcome home, brother, "Renuvian smiled and the stranger took off his helmet revealing the head of a long-deceased Godsend, Jonathan Vega.

Vega smiled darkly, "It's good to be home, brother. It's good to be home," he reached for his waist and brought forth a small letter, "Everything is ready."

"Excellent."

[Automagfreek]

I don't believe in Heaven. I believe in pain... I believe in fear.... I believe in death.

He stood on the deck of his flagship, salt water licking his face as the vessel cut through the slightly choppy ocean waves. The fleets had long since been assembled, and the orders were finally given to enter the fray inside Gholgoth. Little was known about the situation other than it bode poorly for pro-Alliance forces in Milograd thus far, but his presence on the battlefield would certainly be a factor. Southwestern Gholgoth had been turned into a sea of chaos, and the time had now come for him to take advantage of the situation, and old scores would soon be settled. His troops were tired from the journey and were unsure of what they were hoping to accomplish, but nevertheless they would follow their beloved leader to whatever end.

The home front had grown quiet, though the clouds of war continually lingered overhead and cast shadows of doubt on the future of an entire population. The people still lay in a state of shock, though many refused to abandon their dear leader after having seen them through the course of the last several months. Five hundred thousand men would likely do little in a grand war where millions, and even billions of men were being thrown into the fires of war, but their involvement in the war would certainly bring pause to the combatants on all sides.

The mood throughout the troop transports was somber, though some drank and made merry as was customary in the warrior culture. Most knew that they likely would not see their homes again, and many carried with them a sense of reluctance having escaped a nightmare scenario in months past. But it was their Freekish sense of duty that drove them onward, and the determination of their Lord would serve as a beacon of strength to men who otherwise would be without.

A quick prayer to Wotan was offered as the massive fleet steamed onwards, and as he stood at the bow of his ship deep in thought, his first mate approached. With a salute the officer spoke, a hint of concern tainting his voice.

My lord Azrael, we approach the exclusionary zone. Milograd is not far off now.

[Milograd]

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Warchamber, Grand Hall of Argyz
Argyz
Milograd, Gholgoth
22 Hours Prior to Operation Hardstone
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The situation was perpetually worsening.

"The north has essentially been lost, sir. Our naval forces up there just got hammered, and we're not seeing any slowing in the Kravenite assault. It's advisable that we cut our losses at this point; Dephire survived next to Kraven for years, so can we." spoke General Jukill, glancing at his father in the Warchamber of Argyz. The Warchamber was located directly beneath the Grand Hall of Argyz, and the room, as the name implied, was used to host and discuss matters pertaining to war. A lengthy, narrow screen displaying a map of Gholgoth was featured along the chamber's floors, and a series of sitting mats were present alongside this screen. Dh'arco Jukill, his son, Bazak, and a commanding officers from all branches of the military were in attendance.

Dh'arco Jukill thought over his son's statements for several moments, and worried about the potential consequences of a civilian escape: all of Milogradians citizens had been subjected to years of propaganda, brainwashing, and various attempts at mind control, and a capturing of those citizens could lead to their corruption. He then replied, "I understand that it would be better for us to protect the western districts at this time - no doubt it is the more advanced and powerful sector of this nation - but the loss of the east and north could lead to captured citizens taking advantage or compromising our remaining citizens. If a citizen escapes the Kravenites, what's not to say that they'd sneak into a Milogradian city and attempt to spread slander? A citizen with free thought could do great damage to us - our mind control initiatives have already been disabled by Kraven in some parts of the nation."

Bazak interjected, "If Kraven is anything like it was under Father, escape will not be an issue."

"I suppose," replied the Dh'arco.

General Jukill then proceeded to press a series of buttons located on a handheld control board which sat on his lap, and the image on the screen immediately transformed into a topographic map of Milograd showing the location of military assets in the nation. Regiments in the north and east were highlighted. Upon scanning over the display, General Jukill said, "Our forty primary divisions in the east and our five remaining divisions in the north can be moved down to the base of the Alikarhian Mountains, and the majority of our remaining naval forces can be relocated to guard the western districts. This will force the Reich to fight through the narrow strips of land along the bases of the mountains, and by the time they arrive there we can have the regions heavily fortified."

Several of the other officers nodded, as did the Dh'arco. Jutinvik Artivakam, the Dh'arco's second closest advisor, then coughed for attention. He was a senior advisor to the Dh'arco, and unlike his colleagues he was strongly against the retreats and forfeits made by Milogradian forces. "You are all suggesting and agreeing that it is best to abandon the majority of this continent to Kraven. We can defeat Kraven, and we have Gholgoth on our side in this. We're too close to Dh'arconia Coven¹ to abandon this continent now, and frankly we've come too far to be sent back to stage one. Hardstone might save us, and it's too early to abandon this state. Patience is necessary."

"But what of-"

"There aren't any buts, really. We need to fight back in this war."

Jukill then answered, "I must agree with Jutinvik after reconsidering our situation; we will move a majority of our forces to the northern and southern bases of the Alikarhian Mountain Range, but will also leave enough forces along the rest of the continent to put up a good fight. Hardstone's success will largely reflect whether or not we need to maintain forces there in the grand scheme of things, but maintaining the western districts of this nation is more important than anything at the moment. I'd like for us to spearhead a counter-invasion of the Kraven Reich, which would hypothetically be launched depending on the outcome of Hardstone."

"Would this counter-invasion be sponsored or assisted by the rest of Gholgoth?" asked General Huytanok.

"Ideally."

"Understood."

Later that day, military assets from all across Milograd received orders to relocate and withdraw to either the northern or southern bases of the Alikarhian Mountain Range, which would serve as a natural shield for the western districts. The mountains, which nearly separated the western region of the nation from the east, was the perfect way of forcing the Kravenites to fight right through a series of Milogradian strongholds. The west was home of Milograd's largest cities, its capital, and much of its military facilities. The bay to the north of the western districts would be heavily guarded by the majority of the Milogradian navy. And the narrow paths standing in the way of Kraven and Milograd would be armed to the teeth - Kraven would have to fight through hell if it wanted to completely defeat Milograd.

---

¹ Dh'arconia Coven - The "utopian" goal which any Dh'arconian state wishes to work towards to. More details can be found in Milograd's factbook.

[Ikruchystan]

6535th Division, 432nd Marine Regiment Attached
Western Atraeza, Gholgoth
1:40 PM GST

It was sometime around noon, but the sea burned with the fire of a sunset. The smoke from the burning fleet rose thousands of feet into the air, obscuring the noonday sun overhead, leaving only the light of the fires. The ships went one by one, each detonating the explosives that had been placed in their engine rooms and a vital locations around the hull. Atavanka watched silently as his flagship, the I.N.S. Glory went up in flames and began to sink into the steely seas of Atreaza. His fists clenched and unclenched rhythmically, his breaths coming in ragged bursts. Slowly, Atavanka drew a short blade from the sheath on his combat belt and raised his left arm until it was parallel with the sand beneath his feet. Bright arterial blood splattered the rocky sand as Atavanka made three quick cuts, etching the Ungyar word for defeat into his forearm. As the last bits of the Glory slid under, Atavanka looked at General Karaszo Vaghy, commander of the 6535th Division. Throughout the entire ordeal, Vaghy's expression had been sympathetic but detached. Vaghy was first and foremost a commander of ground-based forces, and as painful as the loss of the Glory might be to Atavanka, it was ultimately had no bearing on the success or failure of the Ikruvoni land campaign.

Vaghy quickly excused himself from the circle of naval officers gathered on the beach and withdrew to the makeshift HQ that the 6535th had set up. Vaghy made his way through the rows of tents being set up by his men, and entered the command bunker that the engineers had completed only hours before. His commanders were seated haphazardly at meeting space thrown together by pushing a few crates into a table. Seated at the "table" were men of Hunen, Ungyar, and Uesugi descent, old rivalries set aside in the name of Ikruvoni and the preservation of Gholgoth. Vaghy himself was Ungyar, but his second-in-command, Lieutenant General Ando Nofukame was Uesugi herself. As it were, Nokufame was the first to speak as he sat down at the table.

"General, we've yet to make contact with allied forces in the region, and the situation looks increasingly dire, as intelligence reports that the Reich has overrun much of the North and East of Atraeza." He pointed to a map of Atraeza that had been laid out on the table. "These formations, known as the Alikharian Mountain Range are the last and best natural barrier against Kraven. If they force their way through the defences here, they will break out into the plains surrounding the High 35 cities, where the Capitol Police's armored assets will, I assume, be used to devastating effect." As Nofukame finished, several others nodded or murmured their approval.

Vaghy nodded, his brow furrowed as he concentrated on the task at hand. "How are the Milogradians reacting to this? Do we have any intel on what their course of action seems to be?"

Nofukame responded by grabbing a manila folder filled with satellite images and intelligence reports and handing it to Vaghy. "Well sir, they appear to be doing as we would expect them to, they're withdrawing most of their assets to a fortified line that runs along the Alikharian Mountain Range."

"Very well then, order our cavalry elements to form a mobile reserve on the plains in the event of an enemy breakthrough. Meanwhile, I want our infantry assets to adhere to adopt an elastic defense in the mountains based around strongpoints at the more important passes. May Ikruvoni triumph."

The officers in the command stood in unison and saluted. "The will of Ikruvoni shall be so."

[Dephire]

Galva

"The Kraven forces have finally begun their ground assault of Milograd. Their fleets have closed in on the nation as well, shelling the fuck out of its coast. As ordered, your armada stayed behind to protect the Kraven homeland," Godsend Jonathan Vega was seated at the War Council table speaking to the Godsend Generals and Renuvian Skragg, his brother and Emperor of Dephire, "When I received your letter, I began preparations at once for the move onto the unholy land. Those Kraves were rather persistant and watchful, but I was able to escape none-the-less."

General Typhis nodded, "It is a good thing that you did make it back here, Vega, sir. Were you able to get a good look at San Salvadorea on your way back?"

The former emperor grimaced and looked away briefly, "The damn city is a mess, but then again it always was." The room filled with laughter for a few moments before Vega continued, "The Kraves are near completion of assimilating the city, but we still have a very strong resistance. Plus, once the order is given, the city will be ours again in a matter of hours and we would be starting our counter."

"The armada will be ready to begin when you give the orders, Emperor," Godsend General Amos spoke to Renuvian, "Our submarine fleets are already in place for the blockade as our other ships. All of the Defiance-class battleships are also ready for bombardment. Might I say that this cover was rather ingenious? Siding with the Kraves so we can ge-"

The Godsend Emperor Renuvian Skragg stood up and held out his hand to gesture Amos to cease conversation, "We must do what is necessary to preserve Gholgoth and her lands. Valmar, where does our armies stand?"

Godsend General Valmar smiled, then typed a few keys on his tablet which then presented a map of Dephire and locations of the entire Dephirian Army, which looked more or less like a huge cancerous cluster massing from the center of Dephire to the northwest, but still fell hundreds of miles short of San Salvadorea. Thick tendrils fed the mass as they were forces coming from the other major cities, thinner tendrils also came from the Wastelands and what appeared to be over a dozen other projects. The spectacle seemed rather impressive in itself, but Renuvian kept his emotions hidden.

"Dear lord, brother, what have you been up to in my absence?" Vega whispered his concerns into Renuvian's ear.

"If we want to stand a chance against our own blood, we need to bring everything to the table," Renuvian pointed towards the screen, "And see just how much it will take to make Helghan's stomach turn... Though I've always wondered if he even had one," The emperor laughed menacingly.

Godsend General Rayuk spoke up, "Sir, the fleet you ordered to break off has done so. It will be joining up with the Kravenites soon."

"You sent a fleet of less than two dozen ships to mingle with the Kravenite fleet?" Jonathan whispered to his brother.

Renuvian looked at his brother with the first hint of sadness in his eyes, "Over ten thousand men will be in that fleet, Jonathan. I sent them to the Kraven armada as an act of good faith... To give the illusion that we are still on very good terms. While that fleet is there, a secondary fleet will depart Ghray and head for the areas of Milograd that are not in immediate danger so we can provide assistance... It will be a much larger fleet and full of Templars."

Jonathan Vega was now feeling more confident, "Those Kraves are in a world of hurt if they come across any of those Templars."

"That is the plan. Did you hear that, Gothic Lords?" Renuvian turned to the five or so different cameras that were mounted at key positions of the council room. During the entire meeting, Renuvian had video communication links to each Gothic Lord that were enemies to the Kraven Reich established so he could address his intentions and help coordinate with each individual. Even the Lord of Milograd had a connection as did Dreadfire of Automagfreek. Whether or not any of the Gothic Lords paid any attention was another matter all together. The Dephirian Emperor knew he caused a rift with his deception, but things were not supposed to be easy when public enemy number one for Gholgoth is also your immediate neighbor...

"God speed, Gholgoth. Renuvian Skragg out!"

[Milograd]

“A million shots were fired in the War for Atraeza, but one shot rang-out above them all - a single round fired on Kravenite soil.”

THE REICH'S SEA
THE KRAVEN REICH, GHOLGOTH
SOUTHWEST GHOLGOTH
0230 HOURS

The small Milogradian watercraft, which was manned by three elite Resource Agents, had been slowly approaching the Kravenite coast for nearly two hours. The boat itself had been dropped just outside of Kravenite territorial waters by a Milogradian XV9 helicopter, and the small boat carried three individuals that had the potential to save the Dh'arconian State of Milograd from absolute annihilation. To do so, however, those three individuals had to infiltrate what was, arguably, the most fortified state on the planet. Everyone anticipated failure.

All three men laid flat on their stomachs as the raft quietly cut through the polluted waves of Kravenite waters; the water itself smelled of death and toxins. Furikin, Ruitki, and an agent named Varsh were instructed to lay down as to avoid the spotlight of the Capitol Police's coastal patrols. They knew that they would have to leave the boat eventually, and that they would have to begin the more challenging part of their mission sooner or later; the boat ride was almost luxurious in comparison to what they'd be doing after it. None of the men truly wanted to enter Kraven, but they had to. They were hoping that the boat ride would take an eternity, but the increasingly loud sound of 125mm flak cannon fire from the Kraven Air Arm indicated that they would reach Kravenite shores in a matter of minutes. Operation Hardstone had begun.

"Check up. Are we still on course for the pipes?" asked Varsh in a hushed tone, nudging Furikin.

Furikin bobbed his head up from his prone position and examined the waters ahead of him; a series of large pipes extended out of the end of a gargantuan wall, and eight large Capitol Police watchtowers stood atop that wall. In the darkness of the Gothic night, he could only make out vague details of their destination. He squinted in hopes of being able to better identify their point of entry, when suddenly a beaming light shot just over the head of the Milogradian Agent.

"Holy fuck, get down!"

Without verbally answering, Furikin immediately dropped his head back below the cover of the camoflagued raft, and the light that had shined upon him soon passed over to examine other parts of the ocean. He knew that he had been lucky, and proceeded to tell the remainder of his team what he had seen, "There are a group of pipes ahead of us; the lowest pipe is the one that we're still going towards. We should be there in about five minutes, I think, and we should close enough to the wall to the point where the CP towers can't shine their light on us at in...about three minutes."

Ruitki sighed before responding, "Sounds good."

A few minutes passed, and soon the raft had made its way towards the end of its voyage; the agents had arrived at the outer wall of the Kraven Reich. A toxic waterfall poured out from the pipes of the wall, and upon examining it the agents realized why they had been given the unusual protective suits that they were, at the time, wearing. There was no land for the agents to stand on in order to access the pipe, as it extended directly over the ocean, and therefore the agents had to climb up onto it by utilizing a latter. Ruitiki, Furikin, and Varsh then stood on their raft, trying to maintain their balance. Varsh grabbed the foldable latter that they had been supplied with, and promptly placed it against the edge of the pipe. The flow of toxic water was just calm enough for them to steadily place the latter along the pipe. Varsh was the first to climb the latter and upon doing so he looked down at his partners, "It'll hold, guys, get up here."

"Alright."

The other two agents made their way up the latter, and they then found themselves in a dark, seemingly endless, pipe. Before navigating its path, however, Ruitiki asked, "What of the raft? Are we going to just leave it there."

"We won't need it. It's not like we're coming back. We don't have time for questions, let's keep moving," replied Varsh in a hushed tone. Ruitiki nodded, and they began their journey through the pipes of Kraven. They walked in complete darkness, and they could only hear and smell what was around them: they felt the flowing waste at their ankles and they felt the bodies of dead rats below their feet. They heard the cannon fire from above. That was it.

A forty minute walk in absolute darkness lead the agents to the first sign of light they had seen in the tunnel; a light glimmered through a few small holes from atop the pipes. Upon noticing it, Varsh asked, "Do you think that's it?"

"That's what?" asked Furikin.

"The hatch to the waste treatment facilities."

"Probably."

"Open it."

Furikin and Ruitiki then felt around the area near the light's source before grabbing on to a grip of sorts, and it promptly fell after the agents pulled down on it. The agents then elevated themselves through the hole and found themselves in a large, bright room. Loud machines could be heard making rumbling noises, and gunfire could be heard from outside. The facility itself, however, was seemingly abandoned. Furikin glanced around the room to ensure that no one had spotted them, and Varsh then ordered the men to abandon their protective apparel, "We won't be needing these now, and they'd make it difficult for us to blend in once we walk outside."

Ruitiki and Furikin nodded. All three agents immediately removed their full body suits and their masks, and dropped them into the hole from which they had ascended. The flow of waste would, hopefully, bring them out to sea.

"Good, now we can go-"

The sound of the footsteps of a Capitol Police agent interrupted Varsh's train of thought. An agent on patrol in the building was headed their way. "Shit, we have to get the fuck out of here now," whispered Varsh in a rushed voice, "Did Bazak mention how we're supposed to escape this place?"

Ruitiki nodded and pointed towards a door that was on the other side of the room. Varsh and the other agents then swiftly made their way towards it, weaving through an array of complex machines that they hoped would shield them from the Capitol Police agent's sight. They ran for the door, rushed down the stairs that the door lead to, and snuck out of the building unharmed. It was only then that they realized the horrors of life in Kraven.

It was dark, but cries and gunshots could still be heard in the distance. In the dim light provided by the street's lanterns, one could make out mutilated corpses that had rotted. Starving dogs were eating at them, and the unrelenting sound of gunshots and cannon fire in the distance made the atmosphere of Kraven unimaginably horrible. The stench of the corpses filled the air, and a giant sign hung over the largest building on the street; "INDUSTRIAL DISTRICT OF NORSKA; YOUR EXISTENCE IS NOTHING WITHOUT KRAVEN." The text of the sign was written in red paint, but the agents swore that it had been written in blood. They then looked to their east, and saw a tower that rose over all else. A ginormous, menacing tower extended into the dark clouds of the Reich's sky, and it appeared to overlook the entirety of Norska.

"That must be the Black Citadel," whispered Varsh, "We're going to have to find some citizens before we go there." He then scanned the streets, and spotted a series of homeless men sleeping against a wall in a narrow alleyway. Varsh first looked over the section of the street that they were in to confirm that they were not being watched, before subsequently making a quiet approach towards the men in the alleyway. The homeless men were in a deep slumber, and the agents were amazed that they were able to sleep through the cannon fire. Upon inspection, Ruitiki realized that they were not sleeping; they were dead. A cold reminder of an inevitable reality for the men.

Ruitiki, sighing, softly spoke, "I really don't know why I agreed to do this mission in the first place, guys." He never really wanted to participate in the mission, and had only agreed to do it in the heat of the moment back at Fortress Jurn. He knew that it was a suicide mission from the start, and seeing the corpses of dead Kravenites rotting in the streets only reminded him of what the mission had in store for him. He had never liked the mission plan from the beginning.

"You did it for Milograd, and you did it because you know that our actions here will be praised as heroic back in Dh'arconia if we succeed," replied Furikin.

"I don't give fucks about being a hero; what's the point if I don't even get to live to see it?"

"It depen-"

"Fuck it, I'm done with this mission!" he shot back.

Varsh, whom had been searching the bodies for identification cards, interjected, "You can't turn back now; we're already in Norska. The raft is gone, and our protective gear went with it. You're stuck here. Where could you possibly go?"

Riutiki did not answer, but rather, he grabbed his combat knife and plunged it into his own throat. Instantly, he fell to the ground and his lifeless body began to emit blood. He had taken his own life without a moment's notice, and without warning.

A brief silence followed.

"Well, I suppose that was inevitable," Varsh sighed, "Furikin, could you check the bodies for ID cards? And we'll have to put their clothing on as well."

"What the fuck was that?"

"He couldn't handle the expectations of this mission. Let it go."

"At the very least we can't leave his body here. It'll tip people off that we're here."

"Not likely. The Capitol Police evidently aren't fond of cleaning up or examining their dead."

"Do you even care that he just killed himself?"

"Yes. It is unfortunate, but we are not here to weep for our dead. There are ten thousandfold as many dead back in Milograd. We are not here to grieve."

"Fair enough. What now?"

Varsh then pointed his a right index finger and arm towards the corpses, "Like I said, check for ID on these and put their clothes on. We're going to need them to get into the citadel." Varsh and Furikin then thoroughly inspected the bodies in hopes of finding the ID that they needed, and initially had no results. Upon a second search, however, Varsh located two IDs. After disrobing the dead, the two agents put their clothing on and placed the IDs that they acquired in their pockets. They now appeared to be, for all intents and purposes, Kravenites.

"This should do. Let's head off to the Citadel."

"Is there anything we're going to have to watch out for along the way?"

"Nah. Unless the Capitol Police are doing a crackdown or a roadblock at this hour, I really doubt we have anything to worry about. We appear to be normal Kravenites, after all."

The two agents then walked through the streets of the Imperial Fortress Reich, and their trek to the Black Citadel only further displayed the nature of Kraven to them. The Kraven Air Arm was flying over the city and Capitol Police soldiers could be seen hunting down allegedly unruly citizens on adjacent streets, yet during all of this the roads were nearly desolate. Corpses and bullets coated the roads of Norska, and the waters of the street that flowed into its drainage system were dyed a dark red color. Vultures flew over, and would occasionally swoop down to feed on the carcasses the street had to offer. It was a cold night under the full moon, and the two agents could not wait to get off the hellish streets of Kraven. Fortunately for them, though, no roadblocks or crackdowns were staged at or near their location on this spoken night.

Upon arriving at the heart of Norska, Varsh stood before the great tower of Kraven to admire its height. Despite being an impressive architectural wonder, it was still the headquarters of the Milograd's number one enemy and number one threat. It was also the host of Reichmarshall Helghan, and it was the site where Operation Hardstone would come to its fruition. Varsh, before approaching the doors of the citadel, turned to Furikin and whispered, "These IDs will get us in, and from there we'll act as if we're ready to perform whatever labor people come here to do. We'll go to the top floor from there, and try to get as close to Helghan as possible."

"Right."

They stepped forward towards the great doors of the Black Citadel, and were promptly stopped by a Capitol Police agent. The Kravenite agent looked down on the two Milogradians with a cold indifference, trying to sense what their intentions were, before gesturing for their identification cards. Furikin and Varsh decided that they would not speak unless explicitly spoken to, and thus they quietly reached into their pockets and submitted their stolen identification cards to the guard. The Capitol Police agent, upon verifying the legitimacy of the card, stared at Varsh. Varsh would normally stare right back into his eyes, but rather than doing so, he acted as if he was a typical Kravenite citizen. He looked away for a moment, hoping to express a false sense of fear, and then turned his head back in the Capitol Police agent's direction to reacquire his card. After a few moments, the guard stepped out of the way and allowed the two Milogradians access to the interior of the Black Citadel.

Milograd's night of vengeful solace had begun.

[Milograd]

"God speed, Gholgoth. Renuvian Skragg out!"

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Argyz
Milograd, Gholgoth
+++++++++

Dh'arco Jukill had been observing the video feed from Dephire during Skragg's speech, which, conveniently enough, was made on the night of Operation Hardstone. He had stared into the feed with a cold glance, hearing every one of the Dephirian ruler's words with care, before realizing what it all meant. While countless Milogradians had died and suffered in the Kravenite's assault on Atraeza, the Dephirians had slithered their way out of conflict by submitting to the Reich voluntarily with the intent of later nullifying that action. He was shocked and astonished that a Gothic state would perform such a pathetic hoax; rather than fighting and enforcing the sovereignty of their state, Dephire had foolishly submitted itself to Kraven.

Jukill, looking into a camera in his chamber, responded to the video, "Do as you will, Skragg, but know that your actions are pathetic and reflect poorly on the state of Dephire. While more Milogradians may die in this conflict for our survival, it will be forever known that we were strong when strength was necessary. Dephire will be remembered for its weakness at this time. You should have fought, not hid. However, I do wish you luck in your plans, though they shouldn't even be necessary."

The feed from Milograd was promptly terminated upon the end of his sentence.

[Automagfreek]

The fleets of Azrael had just slipped into Gothic waters, and begun spreading themselves out in attack formation as they steamed forward at full speed towards Milograd from the southwest. This was sure to raise alarms with pro-Gothic forces, and especially those inside Milograd considering that within recent times Azrael's navy succeeded in stopping dead their entire naval flotilla as it attempted to enter central Varathron.

Sire, our satellites and reconnaissance report that we should be within firing range of them shortly. What are your orders? Asked a somewhat portly officer inside the bridge of Azrael's flagship, the 'Death Rattle'.

The Belphegorian King continued pouring over various charts and maps that were strewn rather sloppily across the table in the center of the room. As his eyes scanned the coastlines and last known positions of enemy units, he ran a hand across several days worth of beard stubble as sighed, his mind attempting to formulate a plan.

We're going to have to move fast, and with our limited supplies and forces we cannot sustain a long range attack. We're going to have to go right at them with everything we have. He began moving his fingers across the map, drawing out the movements of his ships in his mind.

What then, sir? Shall I order the air wing to assemble? He then glanced down at the large map, trying to calculate what Azrael was concocting in his thoughts.

Not quite yet, I don't want to waste the fuel. It's only a matter of time before they spot us, but I don't want to go around advertising we're here until we can hit them with everything we've got. I would say, by the time our passive sensors pick up their radar waves, then we put every plane into their air that we can muster, and fire as many missiles as we can to help soften up the beachhead. Azrael's fingers continued moving over the map, though not with great conviction. There was definite hesitation.

Aye sir, I will alert the infantry to being prepping for their landings. By the time they are ready, we will be within engagement range. This satisfied his commander, who nodding and lazily waved a hand dismissively. The officer saluted and went about his business, leaving Azrael alone with his thoughts. It wasn't the best plan he had ever devised, and in all likelihood it would not succeed, but something bold had to be done to drastically alter the course of the war. The hours seemed to fall off the clock like minutes as the ships continued onward, and the light chatter throughout the bridge was suddenly interrupted by the cry of alarm sirens and the flashing of red lights.

My lord Azrael, we are within range and have detected enemy radar assets. Permission to begin the attack? The hesitation persisted, and after a second query the son of Dreadfire gave his confirmation, his voice commanding and hubris filled, but his mind still plagued with doubt.

Begin the assault. All crews to their battle stations, all aircraft to their sectors. Prep for missile launch in two minutes.

Within moments, the guided missile cruisers throughout the fifteen hundred ship fleet began firing towards the Milogradian coast in coordinated salvos of stealth cruise missiles, aimed at hard targets along the immediate coast. A symphony of booms reverberated throughout the fleet as hundreds of missiles exploded forth from their launch tubes, taking to the skies and leaving white smoke trails in their wake. Roaring fury of aircraft engines added to the song of war, and the decks of the Belphegorian aircraft carriers soon began scenes of coordinated chaos as hundreds of AM-25 'Stratosfighter II' aircraft, originally imported from the Freekish Empire, began taking off and staging overhead.

As this was going on, Azrael was glued to the high tech monitors throughout the bridge, carefully calculating the movement of his forced. He then opened a channel with the entire fleet, and gave an order that would set his men on a collision course with history. Prepare to execute maneuver on my mark.

Several tense moments passed as the ships drew ever closer, and anxiety could not have been higher when the command came down. Execute!

And with that, the entire Belphegorian armada simultaneously made a sharp turn...


... and began heading towards Kraven occupied Milograd.

[Automagfreek]

The horror.

Azrael's haste had proven to be a terrible mistake, and within moments of his missile attack on Kraven ground forces inside Milograd, his fleet was greeted by a swarm of hostile aircraft which had eluded radar detection. The AM-25 'Stratosfighter II's which had taken to the air wheeled about quickly to try and dispose of the Kravenite planes, but they had failed in their mission to protect the Belphegorian ships. It was obvious to the young Warlord that his men were not as experienced and aware as their Freekish counterparts, and the chaos and panic that ensued as the Kravenite planes ravaged the ships at the near center of the naval formation caused a near breakdown in order.

Smaller destroyers and frigates began to break in every direction to avoid the onslaught of enemy fire, leaving the larger transports and carriers vulnerable to attack. The sea was a hellish mixture of panic, confusion, fire, and death. Azrael's flagship, the 'Death Rattle', continued steaming onwards towards the coast, and as the battle continued to rage above him, he exited the command room of the bridge and took to the outer balcony. Gripping his head in anguish, he cursed and shouted commands vainly against the wind and the roar of explosions as he watched his fleet unravel before his very eyes. The massive battleship began steering itself to avoid the fiery wreckage of ruined warships, of which the sight and sound were beyond description.

The waters were now tinted an oily black as dozens of ships lay in ruin. Azrael bore witness to Belphegorian sailors jumping overboard from their destroyed vessels, screaming with melting skin as the flames engulfed their bodies. Other ships began to capsize, taking on water and groaning in protest as their twisted frames began to give way to the damage. A dense fog of smoke clouded the waters as the majority of the ships pressed onwards, and landing craft were hastily readied and put into the sea, and Azrael attempted to rally his men and salvage what was left of his assault.

As the air battle continued on, enemy ground crews watched and waited as the small specks on the horizon grew larger in size, revealing their silhouettes and providing target profiles for artillery and missile fire. But they did not engage, instead biding their time and waiting to draw the Warlord into their grasp. The landing craft and amphibious fighting vehicles farthest ahead took to the beach and began disembarking, with Belphegorian troops moving quickly into formations while their light vehicles began pressing forward. More and more men came ashore, and many were uneasy at the complete lack of resistance they encountered. Perhaps they were blessed with a stroke of luck, and the Kravenite Army was nowhere to be found.

Upon hearing that his men had taken the beach, Azrael himself loaded onto a helicopter with a small detachment of men and began heading towards the landing zone, mere feet above the crashing waves which were now saturated with a foam of oil and blood. As the chopper drew closer, the Kravenites prepared to engage the landing parties, though they would wait until the bird came into good enough range before they executed their awful scheme. Minutes passed, and just as Azrael was prepared to touch down, the guns of the enemy horde opened up, pouring a merciless hailstorm of death upon the unknowing Belphegorian invaders.

Son of a bitch! Open fire, engage!

Azrael jumped from the helicopter mere seconds before it took a MANPADS to the center fuselage and exploded into millions of fragments, knocking himself silly as he contacted the moist beach below. As he looked up, eyes clouded and blurry, he saw his men being torn to pieces from machine gun and rifle fire, and his vehicles which were firing madly in all directions began to fall one by one. Artillery, rockets, and missiles were now pounding not only the encroaching Belphegorian soldiers, but also the fleet which was vainly attempting to provide fire support to the seemingly doomed men. Azrael then lifted himself up and took hold of his rifle, charging forward towards the smoldering remains of an infantry fighting vehicle, firing his rifle with as much precision as he could muster and screaming for his men to rally.

Forward men, forward! We must keep moving!

Those who continued to offload from their landing craft had to navigate a ghastly obstacle course of splattered bodies, some exploded into pieces and some riddled with holes so badly that their life's blood leaked onto the beach like a faucet. With bullets snapping past their heads and with the sounds of men screaming in agony all around them, the wavering Belphegorians continued onwards through the torrent of fire, many of them being felled in the process. Azrael looked about the battlefield and tried to get an assessment of the situation, but things bode poorly, even more so by the second.

Some of the approaching landing craft began to turn back, their courage spent, leaving the men on the beach to their doom. The ground force was down to a few hundred at most, and with the much needed suppressive fire from the fleet's cannons, the soldiers began to press forward towards better cover. As Azrael men surged towards the source of the enemy onslaught, he called for a radio operator to come to him, and orders were issued for the fleet to stay the course and continue landing more men. But no reply came, only the static of empty airwaves.

Knowing that he would have to take the landing zone with what little resource he had, he reloaded his rifle and continued to bark orders to the Belphegorian infantry, some frozen in terror behind vehicles and inside small craters. He then rose from cover, firing his weapon and running with as much speed as his legs could provide, hoping to serve as inspiration for his troops. Some joined him, while others began to engage from behind cover, shooting blindly towards whatever enemy muzzle flashes they could see. As Azrael was about to push towards the enemy's front line, he was thrown back forcibly by the explosion of a mortar round, hitting his head violently as he lay face down.

He was out cold, and for how long, he did not know. The next thing he knew, the battlefield had grown silent, save for the muffled chatter of soldiers whose accents he did not recognize. His vision was blurred and his eyes were unable to properly focus, but his other senses told him that the fighting had ended, and not in the manner in which he would have hoped. As he felt hands grip his arms and legs, he took in what little more he could before passing out once more.

The sky was a dense fog of smoke. The air stunk of burning flesh and gunpowder. The sand tasted like blood.

[Milograd]

Furikin and Varsh's jaws dropped upon the conclusion of Reichminister Deitrich's sentence. A blank expression was present upon the faces of both of them, and they both started frantically looking around the massive room out of confusion. They had snuck into the most fortified nation on the planet, endured countless obstacles to get there, and were now being told that they had been allowed to infiltrate the Fortress Reich. Ruitiki had killed himself solely out of fear, yet such was apparently unnecessary. They had been allowed into the heart of their enemy's territory. It made no sense. None at all.

A few more moments passed until Varsh managed to slow his breathing, and he then simply asked, "Why?"

[Milograd]

The sound of rapid gunfire flooded the halls of the Grand Hall of Argyz, and the cries of fallen Milogradian officials only made the scene more chaotic. Blood was flowing down the corridors of the sacred building, thought to be the most fortified structure in all of Milograd, and a blaring alarm was activated in the building. In an instant, the halls of the building were full of survivors hectically trying to escape the administrative quarters of the building. Cries, screams, gunshots, and the rhythmic noise of the alarm set the scene - the loudspeakers of the building then proceeded to provide evacuation instructions to those present, "Evacuate via your nearest escape route as indicated by the yellow signs. Resource Agents will be on site momentarily."

The evacuation had only made Bazak's hunt easier; the crowded hallways were full of fleeing workers, and without hesitation the Capitol Police agent began to spray rounds into the crowd. Lifeless bodies fell to the ground by the dozen, yet there was still no sign of the Lord Jukill. Bazak knew that he had to be somewhere in the building, as the Dh'arco Rahavuhra never left the Grand Hall during wartime. He had seen him earlier that day, they had discussed strategy pertaining to how the Kravenites could be repelled. If only Jukill, and all of the Milogradian High Command, had known the truth about Bazak then. Events could have played out differently.

After about ten minutes of massacring the Milogradian High Command, the hallways finally began to clear. Ambulance sirens could be heard from outside, and Bazak immediately realized that this meant that Resource Initiative agents would enter the building at any moment. Ambulances were followed by police cars. He was running out of time. He sprinted through the hallways, his bulky armor slowing him down, hoping that Jukill had not left the building. The main entrance to the building then stood before him. Jukill could not have been inside at this point, which meant that he had to be outside. As he was about to make his approach towards the door, however, he heard a faint footstep emanate from his area to his right. It had to be him.

He jolted to his right, turned the corner, and rushed down the nearest hallway to the best of his ability. He caught a brief glance at a man whom had dodged his line of vision by leaping right, and he then did the same. The man was fast, but he would have to get tired eventually. Bazak, however, did not tire. He was a machine. The Capitol Police agent continued his chase before coming to a dead end, and at the end of this corridor stood Dh'arco Rahavuhra Jukill, trapped...

[Kylarnatia]

Operation Broken Hammer
Aboard the ACIAS Annihilator, Dux Imperators 3rd Fleet
Fortress Norska, Southern Gholgoth
2:07pm Gothic Inner-Western Time (GMT+6)

Octavian grinned with a sudden burst of delight. Naval Arm North was finally coming out to play, already battered and bruised from the initial air assault, and huge columns of smoke rose from the new, still burning ruins of Cydonia's factories and roads. Turning to his 'throne', he picked up his helmet and looked at it for a moment. Then, grinning some more, he locked on the helmet, the HUD screen becoming active and the eyes beaming with a red ferocity. Then, turning back to face the view of the coastline, he simply shot his huge arm out, pointing towards the Kravenite Ships that approached. His voice bellowed as he shouted, "Send them to Hell!"

B-7 Bombers continued to harass Naval Arm North and the coastline, but the first wave had become weak as every second they lost more and more men. To that end, the second and third waves of B-7 Bombers and their UAV Targeting Attachments were released, to continue the Phoenix Blood forces hold on Air Superiority. As the reinforcements came, the first wave was able to fall back to the fleet and replenish itself, ready to be sent out again if needs be. Some of the pilots had watched dear friends go down in flames, but they had been mentally conditioned to accept the day they would lose a friend and think of it as going down in flames of glory, but still not all could cope with the loss. Those who couldn't decided to retire from the fight, if that meant refusing to go back up, or as an act of revenge flying straight into a Kravenite Vessel, as a last act of duty towards the Imperium.

Regardless, the second wave of B-7 Bombers continued to harass the Kraven Naval Arm North, where as the third wave was assigned to target the defences along the coastline. The UAVs of the third wave looked over the whole stretch, and even through the thick black smoke which arose from the wreckages on the water, were able to pinpoint the 120mm Stratosphere Guns, Multi-Missile Batteries, and the 28" Naval Cannons which were now targeting the Phoenix Blood Fleets. The B-7 Bombers of the third wave would continue to harass them as long as they could, to weaken the Kraven Defensive, to make the initial landfall as easy as possible, although everyone knew that it wasn't going to be a walk through the park, especially in a place like Fortress Norska.

The retaliation from Naval Arm North and the 28" Naval Cannons along the coast had caused a now greater amount of damage on the Kylarnatian Fleets the during the initial attack. Hundreds of Destroyers and Missile Cruisers were lost, but they were replaced by more and more. Oilers, however, were harder to replace, and the viscous fluid which they carried spewed out into the waters of the Cydonian Coastline and turned them black, making the waves thicker and staining the hulls of ships. Two Gholgoth-Class Aircraft Carriers had also been lost, giving the aircraft in the sky no initial place to return to, and causing some of the UAVs to plummet to the sea. However, the fight continued, as more UAVs were released from the still remaining Aircraft Carriers to replace those that had been lost.

Kylarnatian Vessels also continued to fight on, spewing out even more Tomahawk Missiles to impact Naval Arm North and the coastal defences. Ships that came into close quarters with Kravenite Vessels would fire upon them with their Close-In Weapon Systems and Anti-Ship Missiles. The Valkyrie-Class Destroyers, for example, would use their full firepower with things including 57mm Guns, 25mm Autocannons, .50 cal Machine Guns, their Goalkeeper CIWS Modules, and their Box Launchers which fired RGM-84 Harpoon Anti-Ship Missiles. And to top it all off, a 155mm/6.1" Advanced Gun System, which reeked havoc on the approaching enemy vessels with everything it had. And this was just the start, with the Dauntless-Class Destroyers and Imperator-Class Missile Cruisers also playing their parts.

To top it all off, Octavian ordered that the Washington and Thor-Class Battleships were to bring themselves forward, and begin a heavy bombardment of the approaching ships and coastline, whichever was in the line of fire. They did not make up a huge amount of the force, but their firepower certainly made up for it.

The Bullshark Submarines which had succeeded in protecting the hulls of the Phoenix Blood Vessels continued to harass the fleeing Kravenite Submarines, to dwindle their numbers as much as possible. Those which were loose began to operate in hunting groups, and quickly began to target the hulls of Kravenite Vessels and the Kravenite submarines which they passed. The attack was ferocious, and it caused a whole surge of fighting below waters. Nowhere was safe, for anyone.

Finally, the Kravenite Bombers were to be met by the fire of the FA-40 Sirins and a huge horde of Interceptors. Ever since they had been picked up on radar, Octavian and the corresponding commanders aboard all carriers had ordered the release of the fighters. Air Superiority was a huge winning factor for the Phoenix Blood Forces so far, and they were determined to keep control of the skies above Cydonia and its coastline. The pilots would weave between the Kravenite Bombers with high efficiency, and shoot them down before coming around again to target the next line and their fighter support. The sky lit up like an intense fireworks show, but debris and even charred bodies fell after the explosions. The thick and black sea was now full of them.

Octavian looked on from within his Viper Mk. V Body Armour, and looked down to see his men still working without much hesitation. Then out of nothing, he pounded his chest.

"For the Glory of the Caesar!"

"For the Glory of the Caesar!" Everyone barked.

[Milograd]

+++++++++
The Black Citadel, Norska
Kraven, Gholgoth
+++++++++

Back in Kraven, Varsh and Furikin stared into blank space as they tried to process what they had just been told. Bazak had coordinated, planned, and assisted in the execution of Operation Hardstone. He had told the agents everything he knew about Kraven, how it could be infiltrated, and how they would gain access to Helghan. He was the last person they expected to be a Kravenite sleeper agent, but at the same time, it made perfect sense. Varsh turned his attention to Deitrich, and blatantly lied, "Doesn't surprise me, I suppose." He tried to hide his concern about Bazak and his intent in Milograd, "So you want us to put this armor on? Where can we do this?"

The Reichminister paused for a moment and responded coldly, "You can put them on in this chamber over here. Follow me." He gestured towards a small, wooden door at the end of the room. After several moments of hesitation, the agents chose to follow him to the door. A Capitol Police agent opened it, they stepped inside, and were immediately greeted with a pitch darkness. Varsh pressed his hands against the wall, hoping to find a light switch, and eventually felt a bump. He flicked it upwards, and illumination promptly filled the room.

"Fuck, these are heavy," said Varsh, holding the Capitol Police gear that he had been given.

Furikin nodded in agreement, "Aye."

Deitrich then turned back to the agents and said, "You have three minutes to get these on. Helghan is at the top of the spire."

The agents struggled to put their uniforms on, they were bulky and uncomfortable, though after several efforts they figured out how to wear them. Varsh then picked up the MG42s that Deitrich gave to them, loaded his, and handed the other firearm to Furikin. He rubbed a bit of dust off his chest, as the uniforms were slightly dirty, before examining himself in one of the room's mirrors. He looked like a Capitol Police agent from the neck down, but had yet to put on his helmet. It seemed heavy and uncomfortable, but when he slipped it over his head he realized that it was somewhat fitting. The mask concealed his face and hid any signs of his Milogradian identity, and when he looked back into that mirror he did not see himself. He saw the enemy.

It was perfect.

"Are you ready to go to the top floor?" Deitrich asked, anxiously checking his wristwatch. There was no rush to get the agents to the top of the spire, but he would prefer it that Helghan was killed sooner rather than later. He then lied, "Really, we don't have much time."

Varsh nodded, "I suppose that I'm ready." He then turned to Furikin, "Are you ready?"

"Yes," he responded.

Deitrich and the other Capitol Police agents then escorted the two Milogradians to the nearest elevator. Varsh and Furikin were closely surrounded by the Capitol Police, and an odd feeling overcame them. They never expected to be working with Capitol Police agents, and they never expected help on their mission. It was a convenient, yet unsettling, surprise. The elevator that they had entered was spectacular, it had a touch screen that allowed one to select the floor they wished to visit. Deitrich waited for the doors of the lift to close before selecting the top floor. The elevator ride was slow and seemingly endless, albeit this was probably because the building was five miles tall.

When the elevator finally stopped, the agents took a deep breath before the doors opened. A few moments passed, and the doors of the lift separated, revealing a grand chamber heavily guarded by Capitol Police. Varsh scanned the room, but was unable to spot Helghan. He then squinted before noticing a grand throne of sorts, and upon it sat Reichmarshall Helghan: they were on the verge of victory.

[Dephire]

"God has a plan for us all. Mine was to destroy everything that I have ever loved.."

Galva

Godsend Emperor Renuvian Skragg stood at the War Council's table. His sharp gaze overlooked the movement of his Dephirian forces and the recent actions of his adversary, Kraven, along with Milograd's falling becoming more absolute the longer he stalled. Azrael's attack did not go unnoticed either, but the Emperor had ships already on their way to deal with the usurper. Renuvian's most trusted men sat at his table, this time it included the Kravenite. The deadly gaze of the Emperor fell on that of the Kravenite, who had not been at the meeting earlier that included a live message to the leaders of Automagfreek, Milograd, and all other good Gothic Lords. Renuvian had the Kravenite brought to the table by force and all abilities to contact anyone removed. The man even went further to jam his own room while the Kravenite was in his presence.

"Everything I ever loved and held dear to me will be wiped away from this world soon enough," Renuvian coughed briefly into a red napkin, "I honestly had hoped to reunite Dephire and Kraven into a good relationship, but I see now how much of a fool I was..." He smiled, "You will be held here as my guest. Though your personal interests are unknown, I have hopes they will show through soon enough."

"Shall we give the order, Emperor?"

Renuvian glanced to the Kravenite one last time, "Yes. Tell our forces to make their move."

San Salvadorea

"Understood."

Godsend General Ky'Vacii received the order and smiled. He reminisced for a moment, taking in all of the damages that had been done to their corner of the world over the past few months. Now he had a pest that needed to be eradicated from not only the world, but more so his own city. He lightly and quietly slipped his right hand underneath his desk and pressed a black button. Within a few moments, all of the Dephirian Guardsmen who held true to their banners took to arms and waited for the next signal. At the same time, many true Dephirians were also silently assassinating as many Kravenite soldiers that had occupied their city.

Outside the city, the Dephirian Grand Imperial Army had finally arrived... in full force. Their heads, and not a moment too soon, flew the Dephirian Air Force, equipped with several thousand bombers and nearly twice as many fighters, all flew past the city and into the Kraven Homeland. They were not there to help take back San Salvadorea from Kraven control, but to help assist the army in passing through the former-DMZ.

"FOR GHOLGOTH! FOR DEPHIRE!" All of the soldiers outside the Dephirian city yelled, cried, roared in unison before rushing forth the final leap to their city. The Grand Gate opened wide, allowing them to file in down Gateway Street, the main road between Dephire and the DMZ, which also effectively divided the city in two. Thousands of soldiers passed through the gateway every second. Their footsteps were thunderous and shook the very ground.

Despite the arrival of the army, Ky'Vacii was still hard at work with killing off the Kraven soldiers. His loyal soldiers were only a few thousand, and there were so many enemies. The city had slowly began to erupt into the first war zone on Dephirian soil since the Civil Wars so many decades ago. The army was twenty blocks into the city when the violence finally struck out against them. "FOR THE EMPEROR!" The frontline surged forward.. Any Kraven soldier that stood in their way would be easily destroyed.

Northwest Dephire

The Armada had split into two fleets, Primary and Secondary. The Primary fleet consisted of roughly 67% of the entire naval Armada and was heading towards the Kraven-infested waters outside Milograd while the Secondary fleet slithered silently along the Dephirian coast. The purpose of the two fleets was to set up a hurtful diversion to get the Kraven forces to move away from Milograd. With Azrael also attempting to attack Milograd, it proved a perfect time to start maneuvers. At the moment when the Army had entered the mighty city of San Salvadorea, the Dephirian Armada was starting to slip past the former-DMZ. The Secondary fleet, however, was still well out of range of the Kraven fleets outside Milograd.

Templar Fleet

Templar General Tristan Skragg was aboard the Templar flagship, Justice, pacing back and forth on the command deck. One hundred and twenty ships were in his fleet. His mission was given him directly from his own father, "Save the people of Milograd." Since the moment they set sail, the Templar had been trying to contact any Milograd commander that he could, asking for where he needed to send his forces. Everything had been quiet on the other end of the communication line, and this worried the young man.

Born twenty-five years ago, Tristan Skragg was the heir to the throne if his father were to pass. However, he had given up his birthright when he joined with the Templars in the City of Ghray. As a Templar, he could no longer seek romance, which meant no heir after him. His father was upset, at first, but he granted his son's wish. The next fifteen years of young Tristan's life involved learning combat and the principles of Scythis, who was the Templar's deity. The young man grew into what a perfect Templar could ever be. He was very strong and disciplined and could rival any elite soldier from any country in the world. He also kept the principles close to his heart, literally, for a small book was always in his jacket just above his heart.

"Where are the commanders? Why have we not yet heard a word from them?" The Templar General question nothing but the air, "Something must have happened to them..."

"Well it's obvious that our delay may have been the Milogradian's undoing, my General."

Tristan sighed deeply and gently held his head with his right hand, palm on his face, "It is true that my father should have fought from the beginning. The ruse he chose to come up with was time wasted. We could have defended Milograd just as we had for many years..."

"You mean he, do you not?"

"Though we are of the Order, we still are Dephirian!"

"True, though we no longer have any ties with Dephire nor its government.. Those went to Ghray and to Scythis, but we are still in its borders and are therefor Dephirian, is that how it goes?"

The Templar General smiled, "Yes, that is how it will be. Now continue to try and get me a contact established within the Milograd command. Hopefully we can get some information as to where we shall land!"

Galva

Godsend General Renuvian Skragg had finished briefing his Godsend Generals and then firmly placed his hands on the Kraven soldier's shoulders and whispered in his ear, "So, my friend are your men with us and the pure interests of Gholgoth or are your men joining with Helghan?" He smiled devilishly as he waited for the response.

All across south west Gholgoth, the Dephirians were no longer being quiet and afraid. They were ready to pounce.

[Automagfreek]

What?!? He did what?

Damien was stunned when he heard that Freekish Intelligence had detected a Belphegorian fleet sailing into Kraven occupied waters, commanded by none other than Azrael's flagship. Live video feed of the failed assault was being processed and fed into the monitors on board the 'Mouth For War', and the Supreme Warlord watched in horror as the Belphegorians were ground into the sands of eastern Milograd, and his son taken into Kraven custody. For a man whose mind was already weary with the worry of trying to keep the Alliance tied together, this was an event that all but broke him.

After turning away from the video feed and closing his eyes, he exhaled deeply and then turned again to see the faces of every crew member aboard the bridge looking at him, ready for orders. Though Damien was visibly distressed by the capture of his only son, his anger greatly eclipsed any other emotion. Increase speed to maximum. Prepare the men for attack.

Dreadfire's First Mate dared to voice his disapproval, an obvious sense of concern driving him to openly question his master. But my Lord, we risk the same ruin if we do not follow our protocol. We need to establish air superiority and hit them from afar. We need days, even weeks before we we're ready to land men.

Damien could control himself no longer, and he stepped forward and hoisted his First Mate into the air by his collar, screaming at him so fierce that the veins in his face throbbed with intensity. That is my son out there! I am not going to leave him to die in the hands of that scum! Send everything we've got, and pound them into dust, NOW! He then released the squirming officer who crashed into a heap on the floor, gasping for air as his near purple face began returning to its normal color. After a few deep breaths and a quick moment to gather himself, he ordered instructions be sent out across the fleet to increase their speed to maximum, and to prepare the Sentinels for a hot landing.

The long range missile strikes began as soon as the ships came within firing range, and after studying the failed Belphegorian assault, it was clear that the Kravenites did not possess the assets needed to halt a Freekish landing. One after another, dozen by dozen, the stealth cruise missiles were sent forth towards their targets, while packs of FA-40 Sirin's began to stage overhead for SEAD operations. There would be little hiding the advance of Damien's fleet now, but it did not matter, for the Freeks were about to pour everything they had into the fight to save Azrael from utter doom.

After nearly two hours of sustained bombardment, satellite intelligence showed that much of the specified landing zone in Eastern Milograd was thoroughly blasted into ruin, though Damien was not satisfied. He knew that the Kravenites would be hiding, biding their time to strike much as they did against the slain Belphegorians. But this did not deter the Supreme Warlord, who himself began making his way through the bowels of his ship and to his personal landing craft. As he passed through the corridors, sailors snapped to attention and saluted as he passed by, though he paid them little attention. His mind was focused on the bloody task at hand, as well as silently praying to Wotan, God of War, for the strength and conviction to slay his most hated foe and return Azrael to safety.

A thousand boots crunched on the polished deck of the staging area as every man stood at attention, their warrior king having arrived for briefing. The large armored cargo bay had been opened in anticipation for deployment, and the smell of cool seawater permeated throughout the room. My Lord, it is an honor. General Sebeck said, saluting his leader and then motioning for him to join the troops by the large screens which lined the far wall.

Our intelligence has confirmed that there is a minimal enemy threat in the designated LZ, obviously they have fallen back in anticipation for our landing. This is nothing new, and we expect heavy concentrations of artillery and mortars once sufficient numbers are ashore, and massed infantry and armor assault from all sides. Gentlemen, this is going to be a hot landing.

There was little concern amongst the Sentinel ranks, for they were the best trained and most experienced soldiers Gholgoth had to offer. We will provide air support from both fixed wing and rotary, and our air crews have been instructed accordingly. We expect losses to be slightly higher than usual, since we do not have the luxury of degrading the enemy's defenses over the course of several days. Men, we have our Prince to rescue.

The Sentinels gave a mighty roar, and then immediately began taking to the amphibious landing craft and assault vehicles inside the dock. Damien spoke not, but made his way towards the specially outfitted IAV-10 assault vehicle which was prepared for him. After closing the hatch and taking his place, the engines fired up and the collection of vehicles began making their way out of the 'Mouth For War' and out into the sea. From there they joined thousands of others, packed full with Sentinels, Fallen, and even a few Death Dealers. Under heavy missile and large caliber cannon fire, the attacking force began heading at breakneck pace towards the occupied coast.

There was little Damien could hear inside the armored shell which encased him, save for the noise of the engine and the whirr of FAH-2 'Vassago' stealth attack helicopters which passed by overhead, themselves staying low to the water to avoid being detected by radar. It was not long before the red warning light came on inside the vehicle, a sign that the Sentinels were to prepare themselves for combat. The men began locking and loading their weapons, as well as doing final preparation checks of their gear. A smile crossed Damien's face for the first time in what seemed like ages, for he was at home amongst his fighting men.

My children, it has been my life's honor to lead you into battle. The driver of Dreadfire's IAV-10 immediately opened communications lines with the other vehicles, knowing that they would do well to draw inspiration from his words. Only Wotan knows what end we go to, but whether we live or die, we are sons of the Empire. History is ever watchful of our actions, and what we do on this day will echo throughout the sands of time. Fight hard, fight well, and should you fall in the heat of battle, you will join your ancestors in Kathaaria! But let us not pray for death, let us give it to our foes instead!

The Sentinels roared in approval, beating their chests proudly and smashing rifle butts against the steel floor of their transport. Within moments, the red light turned to green, and the gates of the landing craft and the armored doors of the assault vehicles opened up, and with loud booms from the guns of the fleet permeating in the distance, the Sentinels took to the beaches of Milograd. The coast was still red from the blood of the Belphegorians who died mere hours earlier, their corpses hidden slightly from the stirring of the sands by the westward wind. In a giant mass the Sentinels moved forward, breaking off into their units and continuing to advance in all directions.

Damien's crimson cape fluttered as his feet carried him with speed he did not know he still possessed, and as he ran he motioned for his unit to advance first and clear the area. As they approached a makeshift berm and made their way over it, the ripple of concealed machine gun fire raked the area, sending Sentinels in the very front diving for cover. The return fire was merciless, and Vassago gunship support was quick to respond, littering the hostile positions with FFAR and 30mm cannon rounds. After suppressing the area, Damien continued onward, his mind focused solely on rescuing Azrael before the Kravenites could steal him away forever, and a mass of tens of thousands of his kin followed with.

As they approached a semi-wooded landscape, the bulk of the Kravenite defense made themselves apparent, their artillery and mortars sounding off loudly and the deafening crackle of rifle and machine gun fire greeting the advancing Sentinel horde. Damien did not slow, and neither did is accompanying unit, and they continued their advance despite the snapping of bullets past their heads. Other Freekish units then set up firing positions and began happily returning a wall of lead upon the masses of Kravenites, though most continued to follow their Lord into the fires of battle.

As men were felled all around him, Damien called out loudly to fix bayonets, and after firing his rifle dry, he drew the Relic's Sword and held it high, and with a deafening battle cry the Sentinels crashed into the front lines of the Kraven defenses. The enemy was quick to respond, and a reserve force was drawn up and thrown into the carnage, and with guns firing and steel clashing, tens of thousands of men fought in extremely close proximity. Dreadfire himself began hacking down Kravenite soldiers in front of him with speed and agility, his brute strength powering through rifle parry and body armor alike, skewering his foes with relative ease. The scene would not have looked out of place had it unfolded a thousand years ago, and the Gothic hordes continued to cleave and hack each other into pieces in much the same manner as their ancestors before.

But the Kravenites were too few in number to hold back the throngs of Sentinels, and an order to fall back was issued. Damien could see the command unit for the enemy gathering themselves and retreating, and he immediately took off after them, his personal guard hot in pursuit. It appeared that the battle was a quick route, and Kravenites scattered in every direction and were hunted by the advancing Freekish army. But the enemy had several lines of defense established, and as Dreadfire made his way up a second and much larger berm, the bulk of the Kravenite force revealed themselves and joined the melee. From the trees they did come by the thousands, pouring into the heat of battle as artillery continued to sound off and helicopters and jets dropped ordnance on the center and rear of the hostile force.

As he continued to cleave away at the Kravenites, Damien took a bullet to his body armor, a heavier caliber round that dropped him down to one knee, then within seconds a smaller caliber rifle round connected with his throat. Falling on his back, the Warlord gasped for air and gurgled as blood flowed freely from the wound, but with the fiery rage of the Destroyer still within him, he rose back to his feet slowly, and continued the fight. Drawing his pistol, he fired with as much precision as he could muster, sending forty caliber handgun rounds into the faces of advancing foes. Those that drew closer were greeted with the blood stained blade of the Relic's Sword, until a Kraven bayonet sank deeply into his hip. With a loud cry, Damien grabbed the enemy soldier by the neck with his right hand, squeezing so tightly that his trachea gave way and crumpled like a cardboard tube.

With the lines thinning, Damien dropped to his knees again, his energy draining by the minute as he attempted to cauterize the open wound on his throat. He took refuge beneath a small tree, slumping down and propping himself against the trunk, its green leaves tainted with flecks of blood. He looked up towards the smoke filled sky, the white clouds and the blue majesty of the earth still visible and lit with the glowing energy of the afternoon sun. He was calm as desire to rest came over him, his eyes still gazing at the massive, thick heavenly clouds as they floated carelessly by. A Sentinel ran to his side, crying loudly over his radio for a medic to come. More men gathered around, even as the battle continued to rage all around them, and soon medics began to tend to Damien's wounds.

But the Warlord waved them off, knowing that it was futile at this point. He looked once more towards the sky, smiling as warmth from the sun licked his face. He then turned his head towards his men who stood in shock around him, raising a shaking hand and pointing a crimson tainted finger at them. His words were ominous. Do not forget me.... My blood will fill the air you breathe, forever.... Then, with pupils widening and lungs gasping in defiance for another ounce of air, Damien shook and gargled, then exhaled deeply... his head drooping slowly and his body finally at peace.

The Sentinels that surround him lowered their heads in respect, silent as whispers of what happened passed throughout the ranks. Both Sentinel and Kravenite alike gave pause, ceasing their fighting and turning their gaze towards the small tree where many on both sides had now congregated. It was a surreal moment as the battlefield grew silent, and word echoed throughout thousands of radios. A sadness fell over all who had come to fight, for a war which had started as a mere spat between brother nations had spiraled terribly out of control, and those who gathered there in eastern Milograd knew that this had gone too far.

Damien Dreadfire, Gholgoth's Founding Father, was dead.

[The Naacal]

Aerial Fortress Adraniel's Shadow
Enroute to Azura

Adraniel's Shadow flew through the skies, barely 2 miles above the oceans of Gholgoth, the odd atonal hum of her contragravitic drive barely audible over the roaring jet engines of her Le-19A fighter escorts. Ship Leader Neliriel sat in his command couch, studying his HUD's and holodynamic control displays. Everything was nominal with the ancient vessel's systems, and ComScan had reported no threats. Neliriel looked out the forward view ports and smiled, though for some reason an odd feeling of disquiet was growing in his mind. Not a sense of physical danger, just...something disquieting.

Onboard the fortress, three figures relaxing in a Jacuzzi. All were beautiful almost beyond words. Lerian XII of the Enrialist Imperium, Neirda of Mu, and Nialyth of the province bearing his name. The three relaxed and enjoyed what time they could, They were more then friends, more then fellow statesmen, indeed more then lovers. They were in fact, shared souls. The upcoming funeral of Gael Raziya had been on their minds, and did the matters of state and... other things that were tied in with it. As such they were glad to have some small bit of relaxation before they arrived in Azura for the grim event.

Nialyth looked out, towards the window to the side of the Jacuzzi. Though it looked like glass, it was far tougher then the strongest Naacalian tank armor. They could see the curvature of the planet, and the occasional merchantman, the crews of which probably feeling a tremble of fear as Adraniel's Shadow passed overhead. But he looked oddly enough not towards Azura, but west, towards Milograd...

"What is wrong, Anais?" Lerian said softly as he touched Nialyth's shoulder lightly. Nialyth turned back to the other two, settling lower into the swirling waters. "Damien Dreadfire...he is dead. Killed in battle somewhere in Milograd." Neirda shuddered for a moment. "Are you certain? You might be wrong..." he said softly. With a grim yet sad look on his face Nialyth held Neirda close "When have I ever been wrong about Death, Anais?" Neirda snuggled close, his other arm going around Lerian. "Unfortunately never, my love. You and Death are like brothers... but... What does this mean, for the Freeks, for Gholgoth?"

Nialyth chuckled slightly, the laugh of the Reaper. "Even I cannot be certain of that, other then of course to say that pain will be involved...in large amounts. I will say this Anais. I respected Damien Dreadfire, like few others not of the Race and Empire. I will see to it he has a pyre in his honor made in Milograd.

Lerian whispered softly to his two Anais as they all embraced. "No...We shall see that Dreadfire has a pyre made from Milograd! The tragedy of Dreadfire's death must be cleansed, and of course Nothing quite Cleanses like Fire..." Nialyth nodded, laughing softly. "Indeed Anais... before we arrive in Azura we shall send a MesCom message to High Command. Plans must be made..."

The aerial fortress and its fighters flew onwards to Azura, the thoughts and atmosphere onboard taking an ever-darker tone...

[Ikruchystan]

552nd SID Progress Team
Argyz, Milograd
Gholgoth

Scattered throughout the shadows of Argyz, the men of the 552nd Progress Team witnessed the strange happenings of that day. They watched as the populace milled around, unsure of what to do as neural control broke down. They saw and heard the armored vehicles of the Resource Initiative Urban Police Force speed towards the Great Hall of Argyz. Most unsettling of all, they heard dark rumors from their informants describing Capitol Police officers massacring the Milogradian High Command within the Great Hall. Estimations of the number of Capitol Police involved ranged anywhere from one to one thousand. Some even reported that the Dh'acro Rahavuhra Jukill had been shot dead.

Kristof Antall, the leader of Ikruvoni intelligence operations within Argyz woke up to a barrage of phone calls and unmarked envelopes. He looked them over with increasing concern as they all pointed to signs of a Kraven coup in Argyz and by extension, Milograd. As the situation became increasingly chaotic, Commissar Kristof Antall typed out a message on his encrypted satellite phone intended for the 6535th Division. His hands grew sweaty as he pounded out a nervous message on the phone's tiny keys, cursing violently whenever he misspelled a word. He opened up a packet of cigarettes while worked and chain smoked them furiously. He burnt his way through three packs as he finished his message. Once he was done, he threw the phone down onto the table and picked up his pistol. There had been no time to establish a secure communication line. As such, the message had been sent out unencrypted over Milogradian networks. Even as Antall finished loading his pistol, he could hear footsteps on the stairwell of his building. Just as he finished pouring gasoline over every sensitive document in his house, a heavy hand pounded on his door. "Resource Initiative," a male voice barked, "open up in there."

Three bullets punched through the lock on his door as Antall lit his last cigarette and inhaled deeply. "I don't think so," he muttered with a slight cough as he threw the cigarette into a pool of oil.

6535th Division
Outside Argyz, Milograd
Gholgoth
6:19 P.M. GST

"Sir, a message from Argyz." With a single sentence, a lowly private had changed the fates of twenty thousand men. Fearful whispers and rumors of strange happenings in Argyz spread through the weaker-minded men until they were silenced by the Ikruvoni Commissars, who were trained to fight in the streets of a man's psychology just as much as they could fight in the narrow alleyways of Argyz. These calming figures, the very example of the Neu-Model Man, strode through the ranks of the Ikruvoni fighters with an encouraging word here, a fiery speech there, and the occasional bullet from a .45 pistol.

General Karaszo Vaghy was inspecting Falcon Battery's positions when a dusty looking private rode up on a sorrel mare. The private handed Vaghy a manila folder marked with the stamp of the Strategic Intelligence Directorate. Vaghy seized the folder and snapped "Thank you soldier, you may now return to your original duties." The private nodded and rode off. Vaghy opened the folder and read the report once, then twice. Then another time. Finally, he picked up his field radio. "All general staff officers, report to divisional HQ 'A' at once. All units are to begin preparations for Operation Lightning-III at once." With that said, Vaghy drove his spurs into his horses flanks and galloped off.

The orders were transmitted rapidly throughout the division, and soon the 6535th's artillery and heavy equipment had been turned around to face Argyz. The long-range rocket artillery were the first to open up on, as they pounded Argyz with barrages of conventional, incendiary, and chemical rockets loaded with VX gas. As the initial artillery bombardment drew to a close, the division's main combat elements began to advance in a spearhead formation led by the mechanized infantry and armored brigades. The cavalry swirled around on the flanks, allowing the hardened and more damage-resistant elements of the division soak up most of the fire coming from the defenders of Argyz. The radio nets were filled with the screams of dying men and gunfire as the IFVs and MBTs charged across a barren plain towards the outskirts of the damned city. As the forward elements began to enter Argyz, the rocket artillery was joined by field howitzers that the cavalry had towed in. As the mighty guns blasted their shells towards the front, the cavalry broke formation and charged in from the flanks, firing their carbines and using their HEAT lances to blast apart enemy armor and defences.

Vaghy and his general staff watched the video feeds with a cool detachment until the cavalry began to charge in from the flanks, making use of the suppression fire that the forward elements were providing. Vaghy then stood up and said, "All of you who wish to die a worthy death, saddle up and ride with me. We rush headlong towards an irrational death, in the name of an ideal we do not understand." Nokufame rose to her feet. "I go."

[Kylarnatia]

The Fangthane Palace, The Ancient Capital of Krytopia
The Ancient Empire of Kylarnatia, Northern Gholgoth
8:31pm Gothic Central-West Time (GMT+8)

"This has gone on long enough." Silvier muttered silently, as her lush blonde hair was tended to and her fair skin was pampered. She was preparing to make an address to the Imperium Antiquum.

She'd learned, only hours ago, of the death of Lord Damien Dreadfire. She had burst into a fit of rage, pulling down an entire bookcase in her study, along with smashing some of the glass with her fists. This had been cleared immediately, all evidence of her fit of rage replaced with a new bookcase and new glass furniture. Her hands had also been attended to by the Imperial Doctors, but the scars were still visible, so she would have to wear white gloves, along with her already white and gold Lycra suit, with a crimson cape down the right arm. Make up finished, she was prepared to make an address to her people.

The death of Lord Damien had come as a complete shock to the Caesar and the Imperium High Command. The people of the empire had been informed soon after, and everyone was in mourning. Flags were lowered to half-mast, people stood in silence with their heads bowed, businesses stopped completely. The ACIAS Silvier, the Dreadfire-Class Super Dreadnought, along with its entire contingent, fired shots of respect. Troops around the empire were now marching in the streets, in remembrance of the founding father of the Gholgoth Regional Alliance. Silvier knew this was it: there was nothing more to the war. The fighting may continue, but it wouldn't last long; the ferocity of the fighting would grow to such a level that every nation, including Kraven, would have to retire. It had taken too much from the alliance already, and nothing more could be lost.

Now Silvier stood in the centre of her study on her own, as all her officials stood around the entrance to the room as to not to be in the view of the cameras. The cameramen signalled to their Caesar: Three...Two...One. And now she was live, on all Kylarnatian Channels, being viewed by almost seven and a half billion people, on televisions and big screens located around the empire. Her voice was also heard on all radio channels within Kylarnatia. Everyone of her subjects was watching or listening. Looking to the camera for a moment, and then taking a deep breath, she began. There was no prompter, she was saying her words from the heart.

"My dear people, loyal subjects, defenders of the Imperium..." She began, "...As I'm sure you've all learned by now, Lord Damien Dreadfire, the Founding Father of the Gholgoth Regional Alliance, has died in combat on the shores of Atraeza, Milograd. It has truly shocked us all, throughout the region, and throughout the entire world. People are bowing their heads in respect, hushing themselves as they let the silence settle. Even as I speak, other leaders throughout Gholgoth are singing their final praises for the Warlord, who died as he lived, a fighter. Throughout my entire life I've never known a man who controlled the waves themselves with his voice, who controlled the tide of battle by the mere flick of his wrist. He was what made Gholgoth a dreaded force of nature to the world, and although he is now gone from this world, his spirit will immortalise the power that Gholgoth is."

Silvier moved with slow steps around the front of the room, the cameras following her every sudden movement. She shot a small smile as she spoke her praises of Damien. She didn't know him as well as the other Gothic Lords, but she still knew him as a friend. And the times they did speak, they had laughed. The memories came back, and Silvier cried a small tear as she continued, her voice still strong and unchanged.

"There's no question: this war will end soon. We'll all reorganize ourselves and lick our wounds, and reflect on the death of one of the most powerful men in the world. We will strive out as allies again, and fight in honour of his great name as we remind the world that Gholgoth is not weaker, but stronger. This war has helped us grow. Only we, the members of Gholgoth region, can change each other in such away. We're unique, above everyone else. And soon, we shall be ubique once again. Nobody will be safe from our wrath."

She took calm breath, the concluding. "But I promise you this, my people. Every second this conflict does continue, we shall not relax our efforts. My Golden Legions shall continue their heavy assault on Kraven with our Sambizian brethren until the timer finally buzzes. In the name of Damien, and in respect to our Freekish counterparts, a terrible storm will hail over Fortress Norska till the very end. They will remember the day, that the Phoenix Blood Forces annihilated the Northern coast of Kraven. I wish you all a pleasant evening."

And then the cameras cut out. Everyone present applauded their Caesar, but she brushed straight past them, as she retired to her chambers for the night. She knew, and everyone in Gholgoth knew, the next few months would change the face of Gholgoth, and the world, dramatically. That was the biggest certainty, above all.

[Milograd]

Joint Post by Kraven and Milograd

The Coast of Eastern Milograd

Damien Dreadfire lay slumped against a tree, his life had ebbed away from him, drifting away on the languid smoke of battle, his Sentinels loyal to the end stood over him silent in their salute to his bravery, courage and honour, they stood unknowing of what to do, their leader before them slain in battle against The Kraven Menace, lessons learned from the original Kraven Wars had been obvious, their battle tactics had changed, they had moved and fought with a tenacity not seen in a Kraven Battleforce before, instead of fighting in rigid formations they utilised every asset and punished the Sentinels for every inch they took they however unintentionally killed Damien Dreadfire.

One Sentinel turned around, he looked at the Capitol Police that were now assembled behind them, hundreds of them, stood in formation, they formed two long columns of Troopers each of them looking at Damien and his Sentinels with impassive eyes, the two columns performed a manoeuvre that was perfectly timed, each step and each swing was uniformed until both of these columns formed a corridor that led back to the sea, that led back to Damiens landing craft, then without a word being said, each and every Capitol Police Trooper raised his right arm in a stiff extended salute, they stood there quietly not speaking, not moving, The Reich paying its tribute to the Leader of The Freekish Empire, the founding Father of Gholgoth.... Damien Dreadfire.

Kravenite Dropship On route to Fortress Norska.

Azrael sat in one of the bucket seats that lined the sides of the craft, Capitol Police surrounded him, they stared impassively at the son of Damien Dreadfire, an Officer sat at the other side of the compartment, he picked up his radio and spoke a few words before placing it back on the mounting, he turned to Azrael and spoke, his words were cold and lacked any emotion, his words were matter of fact.

"The Reich regrets to inform you, Prince Azrael, that your Father was killed be Kraven Forces on the coastline of Milograd, it was unintentional and The High Command extends its condolences as far as a Kravenite can."

The Officer returned to his indifferent stare as the turbulence from the coastal jet streams buffeted the craft about...

Fortress Norska - The Black Citadel

Reichminister Dietrich stormed into the chamber of Reichmarshall Helghan, he knew that it was now or never, that the time had come to change the face of The Reich, to alter the course of the War and prevent Gholgoth from consuming itself, Helghan had to die tonight to secure this, the two Milogradian Agents were prepared, but he still had to confront Helghan.

"You've gone too far this time Helghan..." Dietrich spoke while walking briskly towards the cripple of a man that was locked into the Obsidian Throne

"What do you intend to do about it, Dietrich?" Helghan spoke quietly, his voice mechanical and cold, augmented by the machine that sustained his life...

"You are going to die tonight Helghan, all those people in Milograd murdered by your Totenkopf Battalions died solely so that you could capture Azrael... "Dietrich spoke, he leaned into Helghan who leered at him through optical lenses...

"Do not try and take the moral high ground, Dietrich... you are a Kravenite and the blood is just as much on your hands as it is mine... what about Groznyj? Or Dreathis, was it not you who ordered the Extermination of Jagada? What makes Milograd any different?"

"They were sanctioned invasions for the pursuit of resources.... Milograd's invasion was nothing more than a trap to ensnare Azrael. You've gone too far..." Dietrich was exasperated, he walked away from the throne.

Furikin and Varsh, at this point, could only stare in awe at what was unfolding before their eyes. The orchestrator of a billion deaths, Helghan, stood before them and was being defied by his own subordinate. An eerie sense of concern overcame the two agents, for they struggled to comprehend or understand what was happening at that moment. How could someone responsible for as many deaths as Dietrich maintain moral superiority in such an argument? A cold breeze then flooded the room through its massive vents, and its soft touch reminded the agents that they still had a duty to perform. Milograd's primary enemy stood mere feet away from their reach, and it would be them who performed the actions leading to his demise.

Helghan looked at the two Milogradian Agents with impassive eyes, oblivious to their intentions, yet he knew that his time had come to an end, there was nothing he could do, the throne had driven him mad through the years, his mind was a mental maelstrom of thoughts, ideas, plans, strategies and voices, so many voices all calling to him in a choir of voices, and he sighed before turning to Dietrich...

"I have murdered billions, I have sent untold numbers to death in Extermination Camps... My wife... I signed her own death warrant and watched as she was executed in my own Death Camp... I have ordered the annihilation of generations, the annihilation of entire cultures... I have reduced beautiful nations into nothing more than a blasted, hellish wasteland... I have burned entire ecosystems to the ground... but understand one thing... The Reich will never change... you can Kill me now, but Dietrich, you will be no different... Kraven will not allow it, understand this.... Kraven will always be Kraven..."

Dietrich shuddered upon the conclusion of Helghan's words, and then turned to the Milogradian agents. He presented them with no visible signal or indication outside of his attention, but Varsh knew that this meant that it was time to carry out the last phase of Operation Hardstone. Helghan sat upon his throne, waiting for Dietrich to strike him, but at that very moment Varsh and Furikin lifted their machine guns and fired a flurry of bullets into the flesh of the Reichmarshall. A chorus of gunshots resounded as the rounds penetrated the metal skeleton of the Kravenite leader, but as his life faded away from him he did not show any sign of suffering, remorse, or regret. Sparks flew and filled the air around his nigh lifeless body, and as he finally drifted into death a quiet, cold, metallic, haunting laugh could almost be heard...

And so a third Gothic lord perished, and so the orchestrator of a billion deaths fell.

[Kylarnatia]

Operation Broken Hammer
Aboard the ACIAS Annihilator, Dux Imperators 3rd Fleet
Fortress Norska, Southern Gholgoth
2:37pm Gothic Inner-Western Time (GMT+6)

The guns of the Phoenix Blood and Kraven Battleships fell silent. The defences all along the Northern Coast of Fortress Norska stopped their attacks. Aircraft withdrew from the sky, the Bullshark and Torment Class Submarines below waters immediately ceasing their fighting. Fires still raged throughout the fleets of Kylarnatia, Kraven and Sambizie, and a huge chunk of Cydonia was reduced to ruin. In the space of only a few hours, complete destruction had taken hold of the North of Kraven, and within a few minutes, it had all ceased to be. The battered Naval Arm North returned to the ruins of its port, while the Phoenix Blood Fleets regrouped and licked their own wounds. They'd lost just as much as the Kravenites did, and such was an example of the extreme destruction caused by the war machines of Gholgoth colliding with each other. In unison, the destruction they could cause was out of all proportions.

Dux Imperator Octavian had removed his helmet, and drew a long breath. The word had been received from Imperium High Command: "Cease all hostilities. The war is over." His Opti looked up to him, waiting for him to speak. He didn't know what to say. Things had changed so quickly, and everything seemed like to was such a rush. The seasoned veteran had to sit back in his 'throne' for a moment and reflect on what had just happened. He didn't know this yet, but he'd taken two-hundred and twenty thousand lives within the space of a few hours. What if the attack had continued? How many more lives would have been lost by both sides? Regardless, he couldn't think of it now as his fellow seamen and men aboard the troop carriers, who'd been prepared for a fight, were now all sitting confused.

"Turn the fleet about. Contact Lord Zied and suggest that he should follow suit. We're going home." He didn't know what else to say, but it was enough as his Opti smiled with relief at being able to survive. They continued their work on the bridge of the Annihilator, broadcasting the order to the fleet. Like one huge pack, the Phoenix Blood Forces turned about, and began to make their way all the way back North to Kylarnatia and Sambizie, and to receive their praises for the short fight they'd fought. Operation Broken Hammer was short lived, but it would be remembered regardless as the day that the Phoenix Blood Pact fought against the feared Kraven War Machine, and it would usher the Caesar's Imperial Forces with a new found confidence that they were capable of taking on anything that faced them. Though they would still continue to be careful regardless, and not rush in headlong like careless fools.

Dux Imperator Octavian also ordered that a simple message be broadcast to the Naval Arm North Base. It spoke simply: "Well done, brothers, you fought valiantly." And said nothing more.

The Gholgoth Civil War...The Kraven War...The War for Atraeza...

Was over.

[Yohannes]

Dawn of a New Age

Monday, 04 April, established an air of stillness. It was a damp day. As far as the eyes observed, the sky above was that of a cloudy blanket, moving forward without an end’s embrace toward the coast of Automagfreek to the north, and away from the mountain ranges of Ekraysia to the west. Heavenly tears and wind of sorrow swept its wave across the capital city of Ardenfontein. The echoing sound of gun salutes, nineteen in numbers and varying in intensity filled the atmosphere of Great Yohannesia.

“The Honourable Damien Dreadfire.... has died...?”

It was shocking. The whole world all around him was turned upside down. From the moment that the regional alliance, known throughout the seven seas as that of Gholgoth, had shed its own member states’ blood, Kraven to Sniper Country, and Automagfreek to Parthia, newly elected Chancellor Edmund Autenberry had realised the ever lingering, haunting feeling of a gradual decline; the death of His Majesty Aurel III, Kravenite invasion of Briska, gradual erosion of solidarity which Gholgoth had experienced, and now the successive passing of Dh’arco Jukill of Milograd, Warmarshall Helghan of Kraven and Lord Damien Dreadfire, supreme warlord of Automagfreek and founding father of Gholgoth, himself.

He knew that his time was up, that the imperial height of his age was but a glimpse of the past, imaginary mirror one may not visit nor touch upon, yet still remember most vividly. “It was now or never” he exclaimed with resolve, raising his head at the blue sky above, high and proud, shed of tears which cannot be hold upon any longer, uncontrollable as the latest turn of event had shown to not just him, but every other head of states and governments throughout the diverse, great and most magnanimous nations of Gholgoth.

Damien Dreadfire has sacrificed his life for the one he loved, the thing which he has held most dear in life; his family, country and region. Chancellor Autenberry knew that as a responsible individual himself, father of two adorable daughters and husband of a loving wife, only the most noble of man would have the courage to stand for what would be the right thing, to keep one’s principle in spite of all odds, and sacrifice one’s self in the process.

[OoC: I will expand this as time permit, at school atm]

[Tiurabo]

Office of the Sword.
Port Stirling, The Nation.
1439 Gothic Inner-Western Time.

Formerly a command and control bunker for one of the larger Fighting Companies employed by the Port Stirling Compact, the squat stone building was ideal as a temporary headquarters for The Sword. It was a name that meant a lot of things; an organization that sat at the top of the Nation's newly redefined military hierarchy; an ideal of valor and glory in war, so different from the more common blood and plunder philosophy; the intelligence processing think-tank, for both domestic issues and every scrap they could gather from the rest of Gholgoth; and it was a man with no name, who held it all together while steadily losing his grasp on which one he actually was.

His offices were comfortable, from a military standpoint; spacious enough for a large, sturdy desk carved from black ironwood, complimented with an equally robust leather chair, with his own kettle of strong tea and a window to let the salty breeze in. Nothing adorned the walls, no I-love-me display of medals and awards, no family pictures on the desk next to his holo-monitor, no tiny plants by the phone. To get inside, visitors had two pass through two entire outer offices of secretaries and intelligence compilers, supplemented by several massive, heavily armed security guards.

The Sword, as he was titled, was a tall man even by Tiuraboan standards, lanky legs hanging over the other side of his broad desk, spade-like hands cupping a glass of amber hued iced tea between his hands. His bristling black hair stuck up in all directions, slightly damp, as if condensation-slicked fingers had been combed through it over and over again throughout the day. Around his bloodshot eyes, the pale skin was darkened to a blotchy purple, red and grey orbs fixed on his computer's screen. Information had been scrolling down the face of it for days, condensed and summarized reports on the situation in the Atraezan theater, forays made against the last pockets of Archonist resistance, reconstruction in those places most battered by the final days of the civil war... It went on and on.

Suddenly, his screen blanked, all the lists and numbers and facts blinking away to be replaced by a single short list. At the bottom was a single name: Damien Dreadfire. Leaning forward with a sigh, The Sword tapped his keyboard, bringing the endless spiel of intelligence back up. If that list, the names of Gothic Lords lost in this stupid, petty war, got any longer, Gholgoth was going to lose itself to chaos all over again. Still, it seemed that this new event was having a stabilizing effect on the region. Instead of endless reports on battles and losses and deployments, now his screen showed withdrawals, cessations of combat, announcements of peace.

But it didn't stop. The information never stopped, and The Sword had no time for anything else. Sipping his tea, he sent a short message to The Voice, a woman much like himself, and also his opposite. That done, he went back to watching for another scrap he could pass on or use himself.

[Dephire]

Galva

Renuvian never heard the answer from the Kravenite soldier as the news started to pour into the council room in the form of a roar of cheering from the streets. Millions of Dephirians had left their homes and businesses and all joined in the streets crying out "Victory for Ghologth! Victory for Gholgoth!". The Godsend Emperor bowed his head and lifted his hands from the Kraven, "It appears you are free to go.." Two HellKnight soldiers escorted the man away to be airlifted back into Kraven lands.

"My lord, is it true? Have the Kravenites truly ended the war?"

The Godsend Emperor Renuvian Skragg was feeling an emotion he had never felt before, confusion. He looked towards his communications staff, "Verify, NOW!"

"All comms indicate the Kraven leader Helghan was incapacitated and a new leader has been chosen. All Kraven forces were ordered to retreat back home. There is also some chatter from Milograd.."

Renuvian's face went from confusion to fear. His son was deployed to Milograd as the General of the Templar Order. "What is it? Has my son been killed?!"

The face of the communications officer was pale, "No.. but Damien Dreadfire, Ruler of Automagfreek and our founding father was killed just hours before the Kraven defeat."

The Emperor looked distant, "It is a relief that my son is safe, but Damien... No. NO!" The Godsend slammed his fist against the stone table, shattering it as if it were made from balsa wood, "This cannot be!" Renuvian had over exerted himself and slumped forward, coughing a great deal into the red handkerchief. Several small red droplets dripped from it before the Emperor collapsed to the floor.

"My Emperor!" Godsend General Typhis rushed to his master's aid, "Someone call a doctor and the emergency line! Tell them Code Zeal!" The man felt useless as he knelt over his fallen leader. Blood trickled from Renuvian's mouth. His breathing was very heavily labored. "We cannot lose you too, Renuvian. We simply cannot.. Lose.."

"The emergency vehicle is on its way! Ten minutes out!"

Everyone in the room was in panic. A small pool had begun to form. Time was not on their side.

Templar Fleet, Milograd

"General, the war is now over! The Kraven leader was assassinated! We can go home!"

"Home.. After all of this destruction, we are to return home?" Tristan Skragg, Templar General of the Order, stood tall and strong at over six and a half feet. Long silver hair flowed freely in the ocean wind. They had reached Milograd's shore not but an hour ago, but news seemed to reach them last. His eyes gazed at the shallow horizon and he took in the destruction that devastated the landscape, "No... We will stay here and help where we can to rebuild Milograd. Send word back to Ghray. We need supplies and bodies. This will be one hell of an effort."

"Yes, General!"

Within minutes, the message had been relayed to the Templar High Command in the Holy City of Ghray. Templar General Tristan Skragg had anchored his one hundred and twenty ships just off the coast of southeastern Milograd. Over twenty thousand able-bodied men, including Tristan, were heading for the shores. Everything was calm... But the young Skragg had much to do in his new temporary home.

San Salvadorea and the DMZ

The fighting took several more hours after the declaration of ceasefire to finally be quelled. The Dephirian Army had captured several thousand Kraven soldiers and calmly escorted them safely back to the Kraven homeland through the DMZ. Any injured Kraven soldiers had been assisted medically and many were being carried in trucks. The Dephirians had no hatred for their former enemies, nor did they hold grudges. Even though they were shooting at each other just a few hours before, the two groups seemed to converse and joke around as if nothing had ever happened. The only information anyone had been given was that the war was over. That was all they ever received. News of Damien Dreadfire never reached their ears as they passed the half-way point in their journey through the demilitarized zone, the Dephirian War Council thought it would be overwhelming and could hurt relationships rather than help. Over head, the Dephirian Air Force was seen flying back in large patches, still loaded down with bombs and missiles as they never even got to start their campaign.

"Peace, such a lovely and interesting thing," A HellKnight officer muttered to himself.

General Ky'Vacii laughed, "Yes it is."

The march towards Kraven was long, but the Dephirians pressed forward to ensure the safety of the Kraven soldiers. Flags of Unification, of Peace, were flying above their heads, being carried by flag carriers, tanks, or any vehicle. The group was only fifty thousand, including the Kraven soldiers as the rest of the Army had stayed back in Dephire.

Peace. So beautiful.

Galva, D'Galfur (The King's Hospital)

The Godsend Emperor had been rushed to a nearby hospital in a royal escort. No news had been released, not even a notification that the Dephirian Emperor had fallen, not in battle, but by his declining health. The weakened man was stripped of his armor and sword and had been laid down on a sterilized bed in a secluded room in D'Galfur, the most respected hospital in all of Dephire. There he lay, machines hooked up to his body, a slow and steady beep sounding off every few seconds, but the intervals seemed to be getting longer and longer. His most trusted generals stood around him, and even despite their many decades of hardened training and war, tears had found their way through.

"General Amos, please inform the people that their Emperor is dying," The order came from Godsend General Typhis.

Amos put his mighty hand on the stout shoulder of Typhis, "No, you were his closest friend. The people will hear the news from you."

Typhis sighed deeply and lightly touched his Emperor's forehead with the palm of his hand, "Rest well, my friend.. My Emperor.." Then he walked outside the room and motioned to the two Godsend Knights standing in the hallway, "Protect him with your life." To which the two soldiers saluted and stood in front of the door. The General had no idea what could happen should his leader pass, the thought itself made him shake deep inside. There was no heir... "God save the Emperor.." He whispered to himself.. "God save my King.."

Half an hour later, General Typhis had returned to the War Council room and sat at the chair his Emperor used to occupy. He thought to himself deeply before finally, and with deep regret and pity, activated the unified communications line that linked his video broadcast to every corner in Dephire and even sent separate broadcasts to the Dephirian communication satellites so viewers around the world can listen..

"My fellow Dephirians, Briskans, Briskarn, and Kravenites. The Godsend Emperor, Renuvian Skragg, is dying. He will not survive the night despite our best doctors assisting in every way they can. This marks the darkest day that should have been full of celebration..." The people outside had become deathly silent. Back in the demilitarized zone, the Dephirian soldiers had stopped in their tracks, bewildering their Kraven acquaintances, the Dephirian fleets had ceased their journey home as they awaited the full announcement. "I also regret to inform you, my fellow brothers and sisters, that the great Gothic Lord, Damien Dreadfire has passed.. Killed in action by the forces that had then been under the rule of Helghan." Whispers now started to spread among the people throughout the nation, blood wanted to be shed, but there was no one to serve that purpose. "The man responsible for the Lord's death has already been executed and a new leader has taken his place! As this is truth we will hold no further grudge nor hatred to our northwestern brother. We will salute the new reign in Kraven and learn from our mistakes from the past. This day will be a dark one, yes, but let us not forget that this day is also the day that Gholgoth once again can stand united! We can finally put to rest our differences and stand as one! Hail Gholgoth!" The people surrounding the building yelled out in unison, "HAIL GHOLGOTH!" The soldiers stood with their Kraven brothers and chanted, "Hail Gholgoth!"

Tristan, formerly standing proud and strong, had fallen to his knees.. Fists clenched in rage for his father, "Hail.. Gholgoth.." He whispered, tears streaming down his face.

The Wasteland

"How are the facilities going, Professor?" An anonymous voice spoke from a shadowy corner..

"Your Army will be assembled shortly, my lord."

"Excellent," A man stepped out from the shadowy veil revealing himself to be the Godsend Jonathan Vega, "I will take back what had always been rightfully mine! With my brother near his death, Dephire will not deny me my right as Emperor!"