The Daughter of Tsyion [MT, Closed, Attn: Gholgoth]

[New Azura]

The Wrath of Hell is Come
Kapitala Severoistok Međunarodnih Aerodrom
Capital District of the City of Tsyion, Azura
Wednesday, the 9th of May, 2012 — 6:45 AM

Commander Phrosyne stood eagerly by the tarmac, keeping a close vigil on the private jet which was rolling up towards his cadre of guards in the political hangar of Kapitala Severoistok Međunarodnih Aerodrom—Tsyion's largest airport. There was some concern that leering eyes would be privy to a most unwelcome arrival (in the eyes of most Azurans), and would sound the figurative alarms. Yet in less than six hours, there wouldn't be an alarm big enough in all the country to handle what would be loosed. The history books would most likely question why Gaelan felt the need to seize power in such a hostile manner, considering his appointment was mere hours away. The truth of the matter was that he had no intention of honoring the old way. It was unbecoming to lead a Gothic Power in such shortsightedness.

The country is now mine, and I hold no aspersions to giving it back when I die.

The plane rolled to a stop by the honor guard, slowing powering down its engines. Gaelan stood at the ready, straightening out his classiest dress uniform in preparation for an audience with his old mentor. The cabin hatch opened on the plane, as an unseen attended lowered a set of steps from the open hatchway. A second passed, and General Sa'vren Bloodsieve emerged from the plane, straightening his own suit as he stepped forward. Ducking under the low edge of the hatchway, he stepped out in the early morning dusk with a leering grin on his rugged face. Gaelan stepped forward with a rhythmic, military-esque cadence, presenting himself and his honor guard before the General.

It has been too long, my friend...

The General hit the bottom step of the ladder, stepping off onto the ground gingerly. He walked with a bit of a limp, but was otherwise the same man Gaelan had remembered from years past. Bloodsieve extended his hand towards the new Emperor once they were within reach of the other, shaking it warmly. "I would have expected Valeria to do some more research, before appointing an understudy of the fearsome Butcher of Bilkaz to a position of power."

Gaelan nodded, laughing. "The old man has a manner of losing his mind, from time to time."

"I would enjoy watching him squirm a bit before we kill him," Bloodsieve confided, patting Gaelan on the back as the two turned to walk towards the hangar some fifty yards off. "There's nothing quite like watching an old enemy suffer for his insidious crimes."

Gaelan nodded, looking off in the vague direction of Praeclarus. "I think that can be arranged."

The two men walked side by side towards the hangar. A guard of the Commander opened the glass sliding door, allowing the two men to step into its relative warmth by comparison to the chill outside in the early morning. General Bloodsieve's own entourage was piling in behind, as he took great pain to sit on a small chair which had been procured for him ahead of time. "My only regret was that I could not repay Gael Raziya for his gift here," he lamented, patting his left leg.

Gaelan sighed. "I suppose manipulating his daughter will have to suffice."

Bloodsieve grinned mischievously, before letting out a deep, rumbling laugh. "I suppose I should thank you for that, by the way. I always found it ironic that 'Daddy's little girl' was a dyke, considering how badly he wanted to marry her off to some Gothic Lord. I always assumed she fucked women as a way of getting back at him." He then arched an eyebrow, speaking sarcastically: "How apropos then, that she would turn to someone like you."

"Alright now," Gaelan mused, turning to look out at the city in the distance through the window. "We all did what we had to do in order to get here. The important thing is that we focus on the plan ahead—the sooner your forces arrive, the sooner we can prevent Constantinides and Valeria from sticking their noses in our business."

"Relax," the General cooed, "My forces have been slowly integrating into the Mainland Guard Units for some time now. They're all in position, preparing to following the timetable as planned."

Gaelan nodded, growing more nervous as he ran over the plan again. "Now once we establish control on the capital, we should have a good forty-eight hour window to secure the media outlets to gain sympathy for our position. If we don't have that, then launching attacks on the Gothic nations will end very poorly for us."

The General shook his head. "Have some faith, Phrosyne. The plan is a good one, and you will lead the glorious nation into its rightful place as the head of the new Gothic Alliance. All you need is to be patient and allow things to unfold as they were meant to."

"You really believe that all of this was ordained by fate?"

An incredulous look plastered across Bloodsieve's face. "You don't?"

"I never took you for a spiritual man," Gaelan confessed.

"I've seen too much to believe otherwise."

Gaelan nodded quietly, staring out the window once more. Things were progressing in a very equitable manner, this much was certain. If he didn't know any better, he would consider the concept of a Higher Power, organizing events for some sort of cosmic purpose to their liking. The nature of their existence had long troubled him, and simultaneously been a great source of amusement. The personal thoughts of the would-be Imperator were not long for him however—a low, hissing roar was vastly approaching the Terminal from outside. Suddenly, the sound became deafening, as a series of quickly-passing jets flew overhead.

"I thought your forces need a few extra hours to get prepared?" Gaelan asked cautiously.

Bloodsieve stood up, a blank expression on his face. "I did. My men shouldn't be here this early."

Gaelan's heart began to speed up a bit. He turned to run towards the door that led back outside onto the tarmac... and felt his heart skip a beat entirely. The sky to the north was filled with squadrons of fighters, the new Sirins that had been purchased from Automagfreek. Each bore a roundel of the Imperial Armed Services, however—and they were making passes across varying swath's of Tsyion's airspace. Even as he watched in horror, streaks of fire emerged from the strike fighters off in the distance, sending arching strobes of light down towards the city. And then he heard the pops of thunder peal out across the countryside, as flames began to rise up over the treeline in a massive burst of energy.

"Oh, my God..."

[New Azura]

The Wrath of Hell is Come
In the Tower of Forlorn Hope, Samirtazvezdan
Tsyion, Grand Cailene Crown Republic of Azura
Wednesday, the 9th of May, 2012 C.E.—7:15 AM

Colin Maris stood by General Donijan as the Air Wing of Sirin Fighters escorted the gunships on to their next objective. More than two hundred heavily armed men were advancing on their primary objective—the Dungeon where Acheron was being held against his will. Hundreds of gunships were flying overhead, as the sounds of thunderclaps echoed in the early morning fog. Troops under Kabal's command were starting the gruesome task of seizing the initiative throughout the Capital. Apocalyptic images were dawning in Colin's disturbed mind: What on Earth have I unleashed?

"It's a great day to live," General Donijan laughed as he moved towards the broken gates of Samirtazvezdan. The airstrikes on the periphery of the prison tower had been devastatingly effective—an entire garrison stationed at the Tower had been annihilated in detail by Donijan's airstrikes. Whatever was left of the prison guard unit would be inside, trying to fight for their lives in a bitter struggle to the death. Colin and Donijan were escorted inside the ancient tower, with the door being left open behind them. The bursts of artillery and missile strikes outside were somewhat muffled by the acoustics of the Tower—and by the rising chorus of screams that were reverberating above the sounds of automatic gunfire from deeper in the building.

"We've got contact!" Donijan shouted, waving his hands to usher the reserve guards forward. He turned to Colin with a look of abject joy in his eyes. "You're a good man for doing this, Sir Maris! A great man, even!"

Colin nodded, giving a small salute. "Let's get Acheron and get the Hell out of here, General. I'm not used to standing in the middle of a war zone." The two men moved forward, leaving the great hall behind as they approached the vast wrought-iron staircase that would lead them down to the annex which held Acheron. Colin peered over the side railing, looking on in horror as Donijan's men were several stories below, exchanging fire down into the narrow hallway with the last remaining guards. The gunfire ringing out was deafening, causing him to cover his ears in the madness.

"C'mon!" Donijan merrily exclaimed, pulling a grenade from his belt. "I'll let you have the first toss! Just drop it down beside the staircase so it'll land on the guards, and not my men." Colin shook his head steadfastly, causing the General to smirk confusedly.

"Suit yourself, then."

Kabal pulled the pin on his grenade, tossing it forcefully down the stairwell to the right side. The grenade clanked off the side of the stone wall before dropping into the small alcove... and the force of the explosion ran up the side of the stone walls, gaining an artificially strong kinetic force as the peal of noise hit him. A bright flash down below nearly caused Colin to hit the side rail, as General Donijan looked over the side incredulously: "That was incredibly lucky..."

"What!?" Colin screamed. "What was so lucky about that!?"

"That grenade was supposed to detonate on contact. I actually threw it a bit off course—it should have detonated on the wall there, causing this entire staircase to collapse and send us plunging some hundred feet below to our gruesome, smashing deaths. I'd say that's pretty lucky."

Colin's face turned green with nervousness. Donijan slapped him on the shoulder hard, laughing callously as he started down the steps two at a time. The gunfire below them on the staircase had ceased for the time being, as whoever was left guarding the corridor had apparently been neutralized by the grenade. Maris wearily worked his way down the extremely long staircase, falling well behind the others as they advanced on ahead of him. As he worked his way down, he passed a few of Donijan's men, who were strewn across the side railing, dead from gunshot wounds. Feeling his gorge rise up, Colin picked up his pace, hitting the last several flights as quickly as he could...

Holy mother of God...

The scene at the base of the winding staircase was gruesome. The grenade had exploded in the midst of a cadre of guards, causing great mutilation to their number. Pools of blood were several inches deep in the narrow corridor, as more than a dozen ragged, torn corpses littered the stone floor. Several faces were burst open, exposing a lifeless pile of mush where their internal organs used to be. Colin immediately purged, vomiting at the grotesque scene in a heaving motion. When the contents of his stomach were no longer in their place, he leaned up... and heaved again as the malodorous, rank stench hit him. He was in the process of wiping his mouth off when a series of boot steps drew his attention.

What the Hell—

He looked up in time to see Acheron of Hazor leading General Donijan and a group of soldiers around the corner towards the gruesome slab of humanity. Acheron was no longer worn of tatters, but was dressed in his combat fatigues. He sported a renewed focus in his fiery eyes, as he toted a large assault rifle in the crux of his arms. He took one look at Colin, and beamed devilishly.

"Ah, Colin! Just the man I wanted to see."

[New Azura]

The Wrath of Hell is Come
The Great Hall of the Forerunner, Praeclarus
Capital District of the City of Tsyion, Azura
Wednesday, the 9th of May, 2012 — 7:45 AM

The intense blasts were erupting from all around Praeclarus; odd, though, how none of them were physically targeting the Great Hall itself. General Valeria's nerves were steeling up after the initial shock of having come under attack. Tsyion was engulfed in a fiery Hell, burning throughout every major district as a swarm of strike fighters and high-level bombers blasted away at the slumbering, shocked city. The old man had quickly retrieved his side arm and a weapon from the Great Hall's arsenal in the sub-level, returning to the conference room where a group of shocked servants and political advisers were huddled.

Don't think, just move Viktor.

"Everyone, listen up!" Viktor barked, trying to compete with the explosions outside in the city proper. "I'm sure you all weren't expecting to wake up in an Inferno this morning, but the situation is beyond our control. We do what we were trained to do." A fresh clatter of gunfire could be heard off in the distance, causing Valeria to refocus on the advisers. "We are woefully out of position right now; the Lioness is out of country, and no one knows where the Vänæzár-elect is. We have to preserve some integrity of power here while our military forces rally to our aid."

One of the lesser political counsels spoke out. "Sh-shouldn't we be e-evacuating?"

Valeria stepped forward and backhanded the sniveling coward with all his might, feeling the strain in his arthritic elbow in the process. "Do your goddamn duty, son! This is no time to run like a damn coward! You're an Azuran, not some fleabag Asavonan!" He turned back to the rest of the huddled mass, cursing: "Damn it, people! Get to the emergency bunker, or else get out of my way! You may abhor war, but war has found us. It's time to shut the fuck up and fight!"

With that, the group began to quickly disperse out the back way, each heading down below towards the emergency bunker. Praeclarus suddenly shook, as a blast rattled off nearby from an apparent missile strike. Valeria shook his head, jogging out the door into the main foyer. He caught the news channel that was playing on the wall-mounted flatscreen begin to display the Emergency Alert System for viewers at home. The realization that a war had begun was every bit as distressing as it was a mechanism by which to corral his focus. He stepped out into the mass chaos of the main hall... and very nearly stepped into Daymon of Caesara Philippi. He was dressed in his combat fatigues, with Erix of Chidon in similar garb right behind.

"General

Valeria gave a quick salute, ushering the two men off to the side. "What's the word, men?"

Erix gripped the barrel of his rifle tighter, looking flustered. "The roundels on the aircraft, from what we could see—they're Sirin fighters, but they're our Sirins!"

Daymon quickly nodded. "It's true, sir. The gunships and attack helicopters all bare resemblances to our own craft. The attackers are Azuran, sir."

The General looked at them with a sense of dread building. "My God... it's a coup."

[New Azura]

The Wrath of Hell is Come
The General Assembly of the Saeculum
Capital District of the City of Tsyion, Azura
Wednesday, the 9th of May, 2012 — 8:25 AM

"No! I will not allow it in my chamber!" Riavan shouted, toting several briefcases under each arm as he looked for a place to drop them. The emergency bunker of the Saeculum was a nut house, devolving into a mindless panic as Councilors and secretaries alike were becoming intertwined in the rush to take cover. "I will not have half of my Assemblage start talking about surrender or acknowledgement of some new leadership force until we know what the Hell is going on!"

"With all due respect," Councilor Elain Vira shouted, "I don't believe that to be your authority, Chancellor. Several of my colleagues are in agreement—the capital is in danger of falling, and we should move now to save what's left by recognizing the authority of the new leadership!"

"How the fuck do you know there's new leadership!?" A bewildered Chancellor exclaimed. "Do you have some inside knowledge that the rest of us are lacking, Councilor? Please, speak up!"

Vira held her peace, withdrawing amongst a group of Councilors and advisers as the room quickly began to fill up with huddled masses, looking to find some sort of cover. Kristina Daegas was pushing forward through the mass, right around the same time that Councilor Savas approached from the left.

What in the name of all sanity is going on out there...

Kristina was the first to speak: "Chancellor, the troops outside, they're Azuran! They're speaking our language, and toting our weapons!"

The words were digested like a bitter pill. The Chancellor looked over Kristina's shoulder towards Vira and her posse suspiciously before lowering his voice in the chaos of the bunker. "Then it is a coup, and some of our Councilors are in on it."

Savas looked on incredulously. "Surely, you jest, Chancellor? What Councilor in their right mind would support—"

"Damn it, Gia!" He shouted, drawing unwanted attention to himself. He lowered his voice again, leaning towards her: "There are Councilors in this room who are speaking of surrendering to the enemy outside. If there's not collaborators inside the Saeculum, the attackers would have entered this chamber by now and shot us all on sight. Even so, this is a very dangerous time. Be wary of who you trust."

Savas nodded carefully. "I'm going back to my office; I have to get my files, in the event that we're overrun here."

"Do it fast!" Grivas motioned, ushering her out quickly. He turned back to Kristina, looking worried. "Have you gotten any word from Praeclarus yet, or Commander Phorsyne?"

"Nothing," she said dejectedly. "There's no word on any official channel."

The Chancellor turned his back to her, spitting in disgust on the floor. "The bastards knew exactly how to hit us, and where, too." He lamented openly as he pulled her in close, whispering in her ear. "We have to get word to Lady Adrienne in ULE City, somehow. We have maybe thirty-five minutes or so before the international wires start popping with news blurbs. If we cannot get in touch with her, we're liable to lose control of the capital, and every major military asset that's tied to it."

Kristina nodded dutifully, preparing to leave. "I'll get right on it—"

In the heat of the moment, Riavan drew her in closely, planting a kiss on her unsuspecting lips. He held her in the embrace for a few seconds longer, then let her go. "You better come back in one piece—you understand me?"

She gave him a lopsided grin before darting off through the few open spaces that were left in the vastly overcrowded room. He followed her as long as he could before she disappeared in the throng. He turned back towards Vira... who was also watching her leave, whispering something to one of her associates as she tracked her movement out of the bunker and back up into the madness of the Saeculum's general hall.

"Oh, no you don't," Riavan whispered.

[New Azura]

A Bridge Too Far
The Kirjana River Bridge, Western Terminus Substation
The Bharlu District in the Capital City of Tsyion, Azura
Wednesday, the 9th of May, 2012 C.E. — 7:45 PM A.T.

The mass chorus of hollering and wounded men screaming for a medic was deafening in the mock-aid station set up by the culvert under the massive bridge. Debris and flaming wreckage were floating past in the Kirjana River, creating an other-worldly sight for the frantic eyes of Bloodsieve's VI Corps. They had moved up along the Sniziti Jezpru Boundary from Migdal-Edar and Chorazin, trying their damnedest to out flank the insurgency forces by the Tidewater. Every time they stunted, the insurgents beat them back with heavy artillery, forcing the VIth Corps to destroy the bridge crossings over the Kirjana. The Kirjana River Bridge was the last remaining route into Center City; if they couldn't hold it, the Insurgents would pour into the Capital District.

General Bloodsieve was on the COMM at the makeshift command post, barking orders for IVth Brigade in Judahnese to a Varathronian Commander, whose nervousness was spilling out in the crackling static of the headset. Commander Phrosyne ran up to him, lugging a satchel full of frag grenades over his shoulder. The look of bewilderment in his eyes was infectious: "General Bloodsieve, where the fuck are my IF/A-22s? We have no close air support, and their gunships are making mince meat out of us every time we remove ourselves from defilade!"

Sa'vren turned to Gaelan, shouting over a succession of nearby blasts from a 120mm cannon. "They're in a dogfight over Sector 4-C, and having trouble penetrating Tsyion airspace—" Another blast from the heavy gun across the river startled him something fierce. "What the fuck is that, Commander?"

A wide, spooked look played out across his face. "They've got two armored divisions on the other side of the river, and they're coming up fast from Ground Sector Bravo. We've got heavy casualties all along the riverfront, and they're threatening to flank our line by the Variar Delta!"

Bloodsieve digested the words of Phrosyne, and found them unpalatable to the last. He spat at the ground angrily, cursing: "God damn it! There's... we've got to pullback to the Bogazemljište. If we can hold them on the high ground, we may be able to drive them back. My armored battalion should be up from Seir-Sela in a matter of minutes."

Gaelan threw his hands up: "If we give up the bridgehead, there's no goddamn way to retake Center City! We're—"

"You ignorant bastard!" Bloodsieve shouted, throwing down his headset. "They have air superiority over our real estate, and their numerical advantage is wearing us thin in critical areas. They'll punch through, and drive what's left of your forces straight through to Kanah-Karkor! We have to fortify and redeploy along the ridge line. We'll have the ability to hit them as they cross the bridge."

Bloodsieve paused for a moment, then finished: "It's the only option we have left, outside of the fail-safe contingency."

Gaelan shook his head, steadfastly denying that possibility. "Hell no, we're not beaten yet! The fail-safe only works if we're in control of the capital—we don't have the resources or the manpower to swing it otherwise..."

"Do you want to save this country?" Bloodsieve asked rhetorically, flinching slightly as a mortar exploded in the water near the western bank behind him. Gaelan looked at him with surprise, and not the least bit of irritation.

"You're damn right, I want to save this country."

"Then you've got to trust me," Bloodsieve shouted, picking up a rifle from the table under the heavy canopy. "We can hold them at the Bogazemljište, if we redeploy what's left of our number now."

Gaelan crossed his arms, looking across the broad river some hundred yards out. The insurgency forces were already beginning to amass by the eastern terminus of the bridge, preparing to make their push across. The scene was enough to force him to a resolute mind. "Alright, General. Let's move 'em out."

[New Azura]

A Bridge To Everywhere
The Kirjana River Bridge, Eastern Terminus Substation
The Bharlu District in the Capital City of Tsyion, Azura
Wednesday, the 9th of May, 2012 C.E. — 8:10 PM A.T.

The little children decided that they wanted to play war. Acheron had found that concept deeply... no, immensely satisfying. To pull the trigger on the forces of the incompetent bastard was among the highlights of his dutiful career, his life even. They had completely devoured any opposition thrown at them along the Tidewater, forcing them back at every engagement. His armored units were ready to make the final push into the capital district, where there remained no more natural obstacles for his men to cross. If they could secure the bridgehead before the hour, they could have complete control of the city before morning.

First Phrosyne's forces, then the country's.

Intelligence gathering had been a slow and morose process, but the gems he'd uncovered were too good to be true. Apparently, Gaelan was in the midst of his own coup when Acheron was sprang from his cage, making him just as fucking guilty of treason as he was. A small comfort in a vast sea of overwhelming victory for him. To know that the bastard was idiotic enough to launch a coup, even after being elected to fill the seat of the Gran Vänæzár... Acheron shook his head exaggeratedly, laughing heartily at his counterpart's misfortune. If only he'd been born with some common sense.

General Danijan was walking up alongside one of their AY2-1E Panthera Tigris MBTs, motioning with his hand for the armored column to proceed down the access road which led them beside the river. He stopped when he came to Acheron's position, grinning: "We're about to take the bridge, sir!"

"Good man," Acheron beamed, shaking his hand warmly. "A few more hours and they'll be hauling the mail straight on out of here!"

"Aye," he grinned. "Our fighters are kicking the ever-loving shit out of Phrosyne and Bloodsieve's pitiful air corps. They're mopping up the last wave now, twenty miles out or so."

Acheron nodded, motioning for him to follow him down below the road towards the river bank. A heavy guard followed them, taking up the ready position in the event someone got frisky on the other side. The Captain of Hazor pointed out, making a circling motion with his hand: "I have a feeling that they're going to try and set up some sort of defensive position along the bluff there, Bogazemljište. If their command has any brains whatsoever, they'll redeploy and try to hold the line there."

Kabal shook his head, concurring. "I agree; they'll have a good line of fire down on the bridge, and put us in a world of hurt. We'll need to stem the tide and figure out a way to counter the high ground—maybe with artillery fire?"

Acheron chided him. "No, that wont be sufficient. To get our guns clear of the high rises on the eastern shore, we'd have to position them on the bridge to even get a shot at them. By the time we set up, they'll have brought down a rain of unholy Hell on our position. I say we dispatch our gunships to hit them."

The look of shock on General Donijan's face was intense. "Sir? You can't send our attack helicopters into that morass of skyscrapers! One wrong move and they've bought the farm, or worse—"

"I don't give a damn!" Acheron angrily shouted. "It ends today! If they have to kamikaze themselves to break that line, so be it! But we will take Bogazemljište, and we will march all the way to the goddamn ocean if we have to!" Acheron spat on the ground, rubbing it out with his foot in the arid dirt by the bank. He turned to Kabal, grimacing. "Get it done ricky tick, or I'll find someone who can!"

Donijan saluted quickly, backpedaling. "It will be done, sir."

[New Azura]

The Line is Breaking
Sector Charlie Mike 015-Alpha — Bogazemljište Ridge
The Bharlu District in the Capital City of Tsyion, Azura
Wednesday, the 9th of May, 2012 C.E. — 8:30 PM A.T.

General Bloodsieve began barking frantic orders over his headset, trying valiantly to rally his troops in the carnage. Hundreds of men were falling in the rapid torrent of gunfire and artillery blasts, but they were giving as good as they were getting. Acheron's men were trapped on the bridgehead, just as he had planned. The forces of his VI Corps had produced a rain of destruction down upon their heads, causing them to scatter to either side of the roadway. The force of the blast from the heavy guns on the hill was preventing them from moving up into the capital district proper. Sa'vren held no real aspirations of hold onto the high ground forever. His fighters had been unable to defeat the insurgency's air defenses, precluding any real change in the momentum.

It is time. Time for the fail-safe...

It was only a matter of time before their position on the hill was compromised. He scouted a position from his perch near the 6th Street Subway entrance, using his binoculars to spot a column of tanks moving up along the base road. "Get some fire onto those vehicles before they get onto the bridge! They'll use 'em as roving defilade if we're not careful!"

Gaelan Phrosyne came jogging up 74th Avenue, looking for all the world like he'd seen a ghost. He stepped down into the command pit, brandishing his sidearm. "General, the men positioned down on 19th and Hildebran are running dangerously low on ammunition. If we don't figure out a way to resupply them, we're going to be completely out by midnight!"

The General turned to him, cursing: "Damn it, man! I didn't anticipate having to fight a fucking war when we seized power! We have to make do with what we have, is that understood? Now get back there and give them Hell, Commander!"

Phrosyne bucked up a bit, looking into the General's eyes with a fiery indignation. "Are you giving the orders now, Sa'vren? Am I just a grunt?"

The General threw his hands up. "Jesus H. Christ! You want to play politics now!? I'm trying everything in my power to keep your precious power grab alive, and you want to bitch about semantics?"

Gaelan threw his side arm down, preparing to protest when the sound of swirling rotors caught both men's attention. They cocked their ear to either side, trying to catch the source of the noise as the constant torrent of gunfire clattered to a stop on the hillside.

What the...

Helicopters, and a lot of them, too. Perhaps a dozen or more gunships were bearing down the broad avenue, coming up the hill line. From their attack positioning, Sa'vren Bloodsieve could tell that they weren't there to make friends. "Everyone, clear the roadway, now!"

The helicopters opened fire, sending a torrent of autocannon and Gatling gun fire onto the roadway. Those who were too slow to move out of the way were cut to ribbons by the sheer force of the onslaught. The night sky was filling with the howling rumble of the guns on the helicopters, prompting Bloodsieve to accept the inevitable. "Gaelan!" He cried out over the passover by the flying column. "We have to get to Central Command! It's our only hope!"

Gaelan looked at him from across the street, nodding sadly. "Issue the order!" Bloodsieve turned to his headset, pressing the ALL-COM button as quickly as he could.

"All units! All units! Converge on Central Command where practical. Advance with extreme caution! Repeating, fall back to the Command Center!"

[New Azura]

Death to Tradition
The Codice Conclave at the Citadel Fortress
Capital District of the City of Tsyion, Azura
Wednesday, the 9th of May, 2012 — 9:15 PM AT

The doors of the Conclave were barricaded shut, but they wouldn't hold for very long. Men were hard at work on the outside of the chamber, trying to break their way into the council hall. Sir Alec Droznic stood by the doorway defiantly, holding onto his cane with a look of contentment on his face. He shot a look back at the rest of the Conclave representatives, who were all standing by their desks. The insurgency had spilled into the capital district unchecked, causing the representatives to bring their important files to the conference hall. When it became apparent that the Hall would be overran, Droznic had marshaled the scholars and the clerics into the central auditorium, to await the inevitable.

"We shall stand as long as we can—"

The door broke open in a rough, shaking blast; splintered wood flying inwards off the hinges. A few of the clerics backed away from the opening in the wall, but most stood their ground by their desk. A cadre of soldiers entered the room, their weapons raised and at the ready. Droznic ran his fingers through his thinning white hair, limping forward at a steady clip. An esteemed looking soldier stepped forward from amongst the group, wearing an Azuran officer's uniform. Droznic shook his head, publicly dishonoring the man in the officer's dress. It was a coup after all, despite all of his wanton hopes to the contrary.

"I am Alec Droznic. Why have you come here?

"General Kabal Donijan," the man spoke clearly. "Why did you vote for Gaelan Phrosyne?"

Droznic turned his head away from the General, keeping his eyes to the side. The General shook his head, motioning for the soldiers to enter as he stepped out of the room. "Wipe them out, he said callously." A second later, a torrent of gunfire erupted in the chamber, as the brightest of the nation's minds were cut down in a violent spew of gunfire and Hell.

Donijan stepped into the foyer, listening to the hoarse screams of the dying with some satisfaction. Colin Maris was standing by the doorway that led into the stairwell, looking positively green. What a klutz...

"Are they being shot?" He exclaimed stupidly.

"What do you think?" Donijan asked, walking past him. "They made the mistake. Let them pay the price for it."

[New Azura]

The Turn of the Tide
Sector 5C-1 Alpha Zulu Tango "Roughneck"
Capital District of the City of Tsyion, Azura
Wednesday, the 9th of May, 2012 — 9:15 PM

Captain Erik Dresna deftly handled his FA-40 Sirin through the skies over Tsyion, going supersonic to meet and engage the last pocket of resistance in the skies over Azura. His squadron had been engaging the enemy all day, flying back for refueling and rearmament on two different occasions. It was the greatest aerial victory he or his squadron had ever achieved, and it was all in the name of the rightful leader, Acheron of Hazor. It was the greatest night of his life.

"Tally-ho, five o'clock low," he barked over his radio piece, bringing the craft out of supersonic flight as they neared Sector 5C-1 proper. His squadron formed up by fives on his six, taking up attack positions in pursuit of scrambling IF/A-22s. "There they are, boys; let's send them home in boxes."

Dresna took the lead as Roughneck One, banking to the right to come in at a better angle. The seven IF/A-22s scattered upon radar contact, making a run for the deck at a suicidal clip. "Roger, mark one, fox one!" His targeting sensors locked on to the heat signature of the fighter aircraft. He pulled the trigger, feeling the jolt as a missile launched from his wing pylon.

"Bird's away!"

He tracked the course of the missile, streaking through the night sky. A few seconds later, he was rewarded with the brilliant explosion of an enemy fighter, which began to break up as its smoking ruins plummeted down to the Earth. "Tally-ho! Mark one is down! Repeat, Mark one is down, over!"

"Roger that," He heard in his head piece. More was forthcoming, but the relay suddenly became static-filled. He tapped at the side of his helmet, trying to raise something in his ear piece by jiggling his hearing device.

"Say again, base?"

Nothing. Nothing at all but a burst of static. He came about, falling out of formation so that the other aircraft could pursue the last of the enemy bogeys. "Anybody read me on this frequency? Anybody at all?" He waited for a few seconds, but he got no response. He flipped through various channels, but got nothing but the same dead air. He looked down at his instrumentation panel... and had no readings on his monitor at all, despite being within range of at least half a dozen bogeys.

If I didn't know any better, I'd think...

Dresna froze in mid-thought, feeling his heart sink. The monolithic Adrianel's Shadow was approaching from the north, coming in towards the lower section of Tsyion. He began to feel his heart race as he banked to the west, trying to scramble out of the way. He came about, only to see the pops from pylons on enemy aircraft as their guns came alive. A few streaked past, jamming his radar. They weren't Azuran aircraft, though... They were...

Tiuraboan!

It was the last thought he had, before a missile tore his aircraft apart.

[New Azura]

Vengeance is Mine
The Intensive Care Center of Mercy Hospital South
Tsyion, Grand Cailene Crown Republic of Azura
Thursday, May 10th, 2012 C.E.—1:15 AM Azuran Time

Adraniel's Shadow was a massive monolith in the deep night sky high above Tsyion, casting a supernatural pall over the burning city. Calixte looked upwards towards it, feeling the first real pangs of nervousness as she descended from the gravship. Her hand was tightly clinched around the message she'd received while on board; it had driven a stake right through her heart, knowing at last how treacherously her choice had turned out to be. Gaelan Phrosyne, the smooth talker was in league with Sa'vren Bloodsieve, and was trying to gain access to Azura's nuclear arsenal. Considering Bloodsieve's history, that could only mean bad news.

As the chopper lowered itself onto the hospital landing platform, she could see off into the distance a very welcome sight—Tiuraboan fighters were engaging the insurgents, triggering a massive explosion of antiaircraft guns throughout the city. The helicopter touched down on the landing pad, and Calixte took hold of the assault rifle, feeling a nervous tension rising up in her gut. She turned to the pilot, yelling over the loud blast of the rotors: "Wait for me to bring her back up!"

The pilot nodded, giving her the thumbs up. Calixte opened the hatch door, leaping out onto the concrete pad before stumbling away from the 'copter's whirling blades. She leaped off the short fall, bypassing the stairs in a hurry to get to the edge of the heliport's roof. She could hear pops of gunfire from the ground far below, and had a suspicion that the battle was right outside the front door. Hurriedly, she moved towards the edge to look down... and let out a short, triumphant laugh at what she saw.

Score one for the motherfucking beasts!

The Nation's forces were piling down the highway towards the hospital, intermingling with Azuran tanks and Legionnaires. The armored monstrosities of Tiurabo were dressed in their war mantles, looking for all the world like creatures from a Hellish Oblivion. They were dark rangers of the night, creeping along in a bloody torrent of mindless brutality and carnage. A squadron of daemonic-looking Tiuraboan fighters flew past at supersonic speed towards the dogfight over Center City, with their distinctive look set apart from a squadron of Azuran Sirins flying on their six. She looked back down, watching in simultaneous excitement and revulsion as a Tiuraboan tank blasted the ever-loving shit out of a rebel position, sending bodies flying in front of the faint light of the hospital courtyard.

Their approach will drive the insurgents up, Calixte!

The mindless, panicked thought shot through her head, and she was moving again. She hit the door to the stairwell that would lead inside as fast as she could, bypassing the service elevator on principle. If her remembrance of the hospital was somewhat legitimate, the unit where Dariea was being held would be on the seventeenth floor; almost five full floors below her. This is going to suck, Calixte thought to herself as she took to the steps three at a time. The whole sordid episode was like a blur as she flew as fast as her feet could carry her, trying to picture herself taking another life. She'd done her tour of service like everyone else had who was fit for duty, but she'd never served in a war before—let alone having been dropped in the middle of one.

To all things, a beginning...

As she hit the next-to-last flight of stares, Calixte slowed to a shuffle as she trained the rifle downwards to the landing platform of the seventeenth floor. The door was standing wide open, as a dim emergency light flooded the otherwise darkened stairwell. As she crept forward, she could hear frantic voices hollering on the floor. She quickened her pace, seeing a plethora of doctors and nurses scurrying about with corpsmen and lightly-armed security guards. If the insurgents were inside the hospital, they hadn't gotten this far up, yet.

Move, Calixte!

She took off at a sprint down the last flight of steps, hitting the doorway at a breakneck pace. The doctors and civilians immediately by the stairwell door backed up in a shriek as the rifle came flying through. A security guard brought his service revolver and had it trained on Calixte's face for a split second, before dropping in in a recoil of horror as he realized who she was. "Lady Adrienne!?"

"Where is Dariea Maris?" She shouted, pointing the gun at his head. "Tell me where she is, now!"

A voice spoke up behind her: "She's down the hall, Room 405!" Calixte spun around at the voice, noticing his overcoat and stethoscope. "She's in the emergency Intensive Care Unit."

"Bring me a gurney, immediately! We've got to get her onto the roof for the evacuation!"

The doctor shook his head as Calixte moved past at a fast clip, keeping her rifle at the ready. "Y-you can't, m'lady!" He stammered, trying to keep up. "You're not family, and it's against protocol—"

"Stow protocol!" Calixte yelled, motioning with her gun for two hospital corpsmen to procure an overturned gurney from amidst the chaos of civilians trying to scatter in the panic. "We have to get her to the Gravship before it's too late!"

The doctor protested, trying to pull on Calixte's arm. "M'lady, please! You can't move her from the room! She has to remain stationary—"

Calixte had had enough. She allowed the doctor's pull to serve as momentum, taking her handle on the rifle and slinging it backwards as hard as she could towards the man's head. A sickly-sweet crunch resulted from the butt of the rifle slamming into his nose, sending him careening backwards in a dazed scamper. His balance gone, the man fell backwards into the wall, slamming his head into a glass window panel adjacent to one of the rooms. A trail of blood was smeared on the glass as he crumpled to the floor unconscious.

"Get the fucking gurney, now!" She screamed, aiming the rifle at the two corpsmen who were frozen in their tracks. As she took aim, she heard a faint static-like pop from somewhere above her. It took a second longer for the noise to register with her—someone was using the hospital's public address system. She took off down the hall, reading the numbers on the doorways as a loud voice popped through the public address system, speaking her language with a heavy, albeit familiar accent...

"Where are you going, people? Don't you want to play?" Calixte grinned, even as the sound of automatic fire came through both as a deep rumbling far in the bowels of the hospital, and as a burst of static-filled pops in the PA system. "Where the Hell do you think you can run? Come back and get you some, you wanking fucks!"

Snoot the dirty bastards, guys!

The Tiuraboans were having some fun playing psychological warfare with the disoriented insurgents below. Even as she grinned at the beautiful sound, her eyes caught sight of the hospital room she was looking for. She ushered the corpsmen to her side, stopping to look inside the cloudy glass window of the room. Dariea... she murmured, placing her hand on the glass pane. Dariea was hooked up to an oxygen mask, with I.V. lines running out of either arm. Her breathing was erratic and shallow—she wouldn't last much longer.

Not on my goddamn watch...

Calixte turned uselessly at the locked door, kicking at it ferociously. After seven or eight good thwacks, she ushered the corpsmen back, taking aim with her rifle. Three slugs found their mark on the door, obliterating the lock in a cough of vicious gunfire. "Get in there, now!" She urged them forward, noticing with some alarm as a new wave of civilians were sprinting towards the position from down the hall; a look of absolute fright in their faces.

We don't have much time left...

Her fears may have been proving true. Calixte ran into the room, keeping a close vigil by the door as the people flooded past her, shouting: "The rebels are moving up!" Frightened but focused, she silently urged the corpsmen to step it up as they attempted to lift Dariea onto the gurney, keeping her attacked to the mobile I.V. Poles by her bed. With a final lift, they managed to get her onto the stretcher, quickly wrapping chords up around the handles as they haphazardly pushed her towards the door. Calixte kept a close eye on her as they wheeled her past out the door.

"Get her to the roof as quickly as you can. There's a helicopter there, waiting to take off. Get her on board and tell the pilot to take off, you understand?" The nearest corpsman tried to protest, but a rising howl of screams from the end of the hallway broke his concentration. The last of the civilians were sprinting, and screaming towards them. Calixte turned to the corpsman, aiming at him with her rifle: "there's no more time! Get her to the helicopter!"

The corpsmen nodded, pushing the gurney out into the hallway, orienting it as they pushed her amidst the fleeing mass of humans. Only a handful of people were left running towards her, shouting in a wordless fear. She knelt down by the doorway to Dariea's room, training her rifle towards the end of the hallway, praying to whatever god their may be above that the Tiuraboans would make it to her position before the insurgents could. A drop of sweat beaded on her brow as the last of the civilians ran past, not even noticing her their mindless panic.

You feel nothing but the recoil of a rifle when you take a human life. Click, boom.

Her palms were clammy against the grip of the rifle. And then, suddenly, the backs of a quartet of soldiers appeared around the distant corner, their rifles trained behind themselves on some unseen enemy. Gunfire was now closing in, only a floor or two below her. These were the last holdouts of the insurgents, or so she hoped. Calixte took aim, closing her eyes with the realization that if they opened fire on her position, there was a chance that they could hit the people fleeing behind. Without thinking, she stood up from her crouch, stepping to the middle of the hall, hoping like Hell that she could will her body to block anything that got past.

For Dariea...

Calixte opened fire, catching the advancing insurgent guard unaware. The first soldier went down with a pair of slugs lodged in his spinal canal, sending him to the floor in a spastic motion. The other three lead guards turned at the sound of the fire—she kept her finger on the trigger, cutting into the second with a cartridge to his face. Blood sprayed out from the wound, covering the face of the other two guards in a nasty crimson flow, buying her the extra second she needed. She took aim at the third man, unconsciously breathing in short, panicked gasps as she fired. The first three rounds bit the wall beside him, but the fourth and fifth lodged in his belly and chest, sending him sprawling backwards against the wall. The fourth man knelt down and took aim, joined by a fifth insurgent who came charging around the corner, his gun at the ready.

Move, now!

It was her father's voice, speaking to her. She dove to the side, as a hail of gunfire erupted from down the hall, biting the ground where she'd just stood. Calixte rolled into a crouch by the doorway, unnerved as she shot a quick look back the way she'd came. The gurney was being loaded into the service elevator, and the doors closing behind. Relieved, she waited for the gunfire to cease before taking aim back down the hall. She'd have to lay down cover fire and make a sprint for the adjacent hallway by the nurse's station. If she could get to the Tiuraboans below, without getting shot all to Hell—

Screams. Two of them, to be precise, towards the Azuran assailants. She gripped her rifle tightly, peering around the corner with the sudden cessation of the gun play. What she saw was almost too incredulous to believe...

What in the fuck...

A nurse had come up behind the two Azurans, though Calixte wasn't exactly sure how. She had taken a knife to one of the soldiers, dragging it across his throat in a cruel manner. The other soldier had turned to take aim, and had found a second knife lodged in his skull just as quickly. Both men dropped dead, as the nurse stood up, straightening her dress. Calixte watched in awe, rising up from her crouch and stepping out of the doorway. The woman took a look at Calixte, though only her eyes were visible under the surgical mask she was wearing. She was built like a truck...

What is she doing?

The nurse had stepped to the side, reaching down for something around the corner from Calixte's line of sight. When she stood back up, she held two flaming bottles in either hand. What is that... Calixte could hardly register the items; she'd never seem them used in person, and was only vaguely aware of what she was staring at. They were Molotov cocktails; flaming rags stuffed into bottles of pure liquor. In this case, Calixte didn't know what was inside the bottles, and was not particularly interested in finding out. She slowly raised her rifle, suddenly nervous. The nurse made a quick, jerking motion, lobbing the Molotov towards her. Calixte had only a second to react, diving back towards the doorway as the bottle exploded in a thunderous blast, sending fire throughout the hallway where she'd just been standing.

"Son of a bitch!" She screamed, landing hard on the side of her rifle. She pulled her feet inside the doorway, scampering on her back into Dariea's room. The nurse's footsteps could be heard amidst the crackling of the fire outside. With an enormous jolt of pain in her side, Calixte raised the rifle up towards the doorway, trying to take aim. The nurse's silhouette appeared by the window, and Calixte pulled the trigger... and got nothing. She was empty.

Oh, Christ...

As she fumbled for a magazine, the nurse came to stand in the open doorway. Calixte watched in horror as the nurse carefully lobbed the Molotov, right at her face. She instinctively threw her rifle at it, but it was too late. The bottle exploded only a few feet from her face, sending the explosion directly into her. Calixte's head snapped backwards on the floor, as the flames licked at her face. Something sharp and deadly burrowed its way into her right eye, sending a white hot strobe of pain shooting through her body. Calixte screamed, a bloodcurdling cry of pain and terror as the explosion reached its crescendo. It had taken all but three seconds.

"Oh, Jesus, Jesus!" She screamed, pulling at her wounded eye in a futile gesture. She stumbled to her feet, then fell off balance back to the floor in a rough fall. She weakly kicked at the floor, trying to pull herself to Dariea's upturned bed. She drove her face straight into it, trying to beat out the flames that were licking at her face. It took several more seconds for the shock to wear off, and the enormity of the pain in her eye became apparent. Small drops of blood were falling from the injuries on her face, which were instinctively known to be bad without even having to see them.

God damn you, bitch!

Calixte searched wildly for her attacker, watching with a mixture of horror and relief as the nurse had taken off running down the hallway, apparently content to maim her. Bitter tears of agony welled up in her left eye, as the pain nearly drove her to the blackness of unconsciousness. She pawed at the upturned bed, trying desperately to pull whatever it was that had lodged itself in her eye out. Trembling fingers slowly touched the injury, and she recoiled in horror at the feeling of melted glass on her retina. She stumbled forward again, unable to get a solid footing underneath her. She fell into the bed, consciously aware that her right eye was essentially done for amidst the swimming torrents of an indescribable, writhing agony.

She grasped a hold of her rifle off the floor, using it as a crux of sorts to try and balance her weight. Slowly, hesitantly, she started to pull herself up to a vertical base. Calixte managed to her feet, then fell forward again, crashing against the window roughly. A fresh wave of nauseating pain flowed through her body as she staggered against the wall, trying like Hell to beat back all sensations. If she could will herself not to feel pain, to make it to the good guys before she collapsed.

Calixte's breathing was labored as she tried to grasp at the doorway. She turned it heavily, managing to take two steps into the corridor... before staggering directly into the immediate path of a large, imposing soldier. Blood was dripping into her good eye, obscuring things somewhat. When she finally managed to make out the patch of the Tiuraboan flag on the man's uniform, she collapsed into his arms, pawing at his uniform, trying desperately to stay on her feet.

"G-g... get me to th-the roof."

[Tiurabo]

Oh no you fucking didn't!
The Intensive Care Center of Mercy Hospital South
Tsyion, Grand Cailene Crown Republic of Azura
Thursday, May 10th, 2012 C.E.—1:20 AM Azuran Time

Ten soldiers moved speedily through the now-deserted halls of the hospital, sweeping along with rifles at their shoulders, muzzles bristling outward. They were moving towards the last known area their target had been sighted, and nothing was going to stop them from reaching their destination. Arriving just in time to hear an unidentified person fleeing the area, they were about to give chase when a form crashed against the window of the nearest Intensive Care Room: 405.

Trooper Borian Vor, of the Dog Brothers Fighting Company, had his weapon aimed directly at the door of Room 405 when the Azuran woman made her way into his line of sight. He didn't hesitate as the Azuran woman stumbled into him. Dropping his weapon to hang from its sling, he caught her with two hands the size of shovel-heads, overdeveloped musculature easily adjusting to keep her relatively slight form upright, despite the way she was thrashing at his harness.

"Careful, Borry," Sergeant Tristan Bomor muttered, moving up to cover the far end of the hall. He was considerably smaller than the giant trooper, who was of a size with four others in their squad of ten, but clearly in charge. "Could be a sapp." He hissed at two idle troopers, jerking his head for them to move up and sweep the corridor and adjoining rooms, and they moved to obey, bounding forward without hesitation.

"Nar," the trooper responded, sweeping Calixte into his arms with about as much effort as a child hefting a cloth doll, cradling her there with the greatest of gentility. "Boss. It's the Lady. Says take 'er t'the roof. " Anger crept into his guileless tones, his cliff-like brow lowering in a frown that threatened to become an enraged snarl. "Boss, they burnt her face. That ain't right, man."

Bomor hissed again, this time a sound of shock and quickly fraying temper. "They did fuckin' what?!" Spinning about, he came over to peer at Calixte, then called his scouts back. "Em, Ren, we're outta here!" Grabbing for the activation toggle on his harness, he keyed in his helmet microphone. "All Cobra tags, this is Cobra two-one actual, Daughter located, over."

A hiss of static as the chatter that had been coming in over the net ceased, then, "Cobra two-one, this is Cobra six actual. Confirm status on Daughter, over." Bomor started moving, backtracking the way they had come to head for the stairs leading upwards, his squad in tow with Borian still carrying Calixte in his arms.

"Cobra six, Daughter has sustained injuries to the face, break. We are relocating to the roof for extraction, how copy?" They were on the stairs, going up three steps at a time without breaking a sweat. You didn't have to be a genetically engineered lab-designed badass to get into the Dog Brothers, but it sure as shit helped when push came to shove. Half the squad, including Borian Vor, were Brutes, giants with the stamina of mules. Not too bright, but that was where the half-mad Snakes came in, their metabolisms kicking up so high when they wanted that they could power through a brick wall, as long as there was a four course meal on the other side.

"Confirm, two-one, six copies all. Be advised, I'm retasking a CAP squad and all treads in the area to cover you. Keep your heads down. Six out." Almost immediately, the hospital shook as several Sirin Gothfighters went by overhead, clearing the rooftop just before the squad burst onto it. Below, the massive, bestial tanks were indeed encircling Mercy South, laying waste to any rebel who so much as showed up on an infrared scanner. Around and between them swarmed more Dog Brothers in their dusty grey fatigues, putting rounds into windows and doorways as they started to clear an entire block of enemy activity. Keying his mic again, Sergeant Bomor spoke to the entire Company, every tank crew and pilot and Dog Brother within range. "They burnt her face, brothers. Burn a few for her." Then he turned and joined with his squad, hustling for the waiting helicopter.

The effect of a simple Sergeant's words upon the men and women below was immediate. Even so high up, the sudden roar of utterly unrestrained fury was audible, even above the gunfire and explosions and the rumble of engines. One tank turret which had been idle, while it's coax machine gun dealt with a few soft targets, suddenly fired into an open window facing onto the street. The resulting explosion blew a fine red mist onto the pavement before the building's facade began to crumble. Ferocious as the attack had been to start with, the Tiuraboan savagery was now redoubled by the news that Lady Calixte had been hurt.

All for Calixte, who the Voice said had spoken their name to the Gothic Lords in all their pomp and finery, holding them up as chastisement for those great Empires. All for the Lady of Azura, who had welcomed the Nation into the Republic Bloc without a second thouht. All for the woman who spoke of the sons and daughters of the Nation, not with malice or fear, but with empathy and fraternity in her heart. Nothing like this had ever happened in the Nation. Tiuraboans fought for their own, for money, for glory and fun, but never had they fought for just one woman, out of irrational, imperfect, nearly baseless love.

Until now.

[The Naacal]

Rooftop Helipad, Mercy Hospital South
Tsyion, Grand Cailene Crown Republic of Azura
Thursday, May 10th, 2012 C.E.—1:25 AM Azuran Time

The early morning quiet was pierced by the myriad sounds of death. Tiuraboan armored and air unit were engaging renegade Azuran units loyal to Acheron of Hazor. Small arms fire could be heard all around and even inside the hospital, and overshadowing all was the eerie atonal sound of Adraniel's Shadow as it hovered over the hospital like an Angel of Mercy...or an Angel of Death. Occasionally a missile would roar from her VLS cells, streaking towards a renegade fighter, and once one of her port coilgun banks had fired in support of the Tiuraboan armored column. The aerial fortresses other weapons had so far been silent.

Night Falcon team Bith/3 had secured the roof. An AS-565 medical chopper had already lifted from the helipad carrying Dariea up to the floating vessel. Now a second one alighted on the pad after the Tiuraboan medevac request had been relayed to the Air Boss on Adraniel's Shadow. and 2 Imperial combat medics disembarked to assist with getting the grievously wounded Calixte onboard. When she was secure the chopper took off. After it did Team Leader Ielnith looked over to his counterpart, Sergeant Tristan Bomor and said with a cruel smile. "Wait for the next chopper or fight our way out?"

As the AS-565 rose towards the sky, Lt. Anet-Lialle cursed as she saw a red blip appear on her small radar. "CIC this is Medevac unit 2, we have an incoming helicopter. Looks like a LALY-215..." A twin burst of 20mm tracer fire sped past her helicopter's cockpit as she jinked to the right. "FUCK! that was close... Confirm LALY-215, CIC. Twin 20mm gun pods, no other weapons seen yet. Have someone kill the fuck before I do, Intel's not my thing." After a second a voice replied "Roger that Medevac-2. Vectoring in an Le-94."

Commander Xelnethra was orbiting Adraniel's Shadow in his Le-94 Ebon Kestrel, his two wingmen to his port and starboard, 100 meters back. Hearing the order from CIC he keyed his throat mic "Roger that, I'm on him." and banked sharply downward, signaling to his triadmates "Watch my six for me, this shouldn't take long." He soon picked up the LALY on his FLIR. Bursts of 20mm fire streaking from its gunpods towards Anet-Lialle's wildly dodging AS-565. He noticed the Azuran helicopter carried mostly anti-ground ordnance other then the gun pods.

Must have been flying a ground support mission... Xelnethra thought as he lined up his targeting HUD on the hostile, the Leliel 27mm ETC Chaingun in it's chin turret moving in unison. When the reticle flashed blue he said "Judgment day, molerat!" and squeezed the trigger. a burst of ten 27mm shells shot out, wreathed in plasmatic propellant residue. The Azuran pilot was good though, he had started to dodge and most of the burst missed. The remaining rounds did not seem at first to have done any noticeable damage.

"SHIT..." Xelnethra cursed as he altered the pitch on his magnetic suspension fans and throttled up to pursue the Azuran, but then something odd happened. The Azuran's rotor blades literally fired away from the central shaft. One of them actually shattered on the Lyrium armor of Adraniel's Shadow as the others rained down on the city. Meanwhile the LALY plunged towards the ground, striking a gas station and sending a small volcano of fire into the sky.

Xelnethra was stunned for a moment then whispered "Must have got the Jesus Nut." A fear of all helicopter pilots, the Jesus Nut secured a helicopter's blades to the rotor shaft. The odd name came cause if it was hit, a pilot would only have time to shout JESUS! before he crashed and burned. Whatever the origin though, it gave him a good laugh as he contacted Adraniel's Shadow. "That's one LALYPop. Target smoked." and went back to his defensive patrol.

"Hallowed are the First Triune." Anet-Lialle said as she saw the LALY crash and burn. Ceasing her evasive action, she brought her AS-565 to land on the flight deck of the aerial fortress, As the medics brought out Calixte, one called on his communit "Sickbay, Prep for emergency surgery!"

Two medics brought out a gurney and helped the medevac chopper crew gently move Calixte onto it, after administering a shot or morphine for the searing pain she was in. The medics moved swiftly to the personnel lift, taking her swiftly to the fortress' Sickbay. Once there she was swiftly moved into one of the 2 small operating rooms, where a scanner in the ceiling started analyzing the gruesome damage. N'Rel-X'eleth, Chief Medical Officer was in his surgical scrubs, looking over the Medscanner's display. Cellular damage is incredible...it's amazing she's still alive. We could try the Regeneration tank but... Not all of the ancient technology of Adraniel's Shadow was fully understood, and the tank was one of them. N'Rel-X'eleth shuddered as he recalled some of the tests. In one case the tank had perfectly regenerated an arm a victim of an industrial accident had lost, in another... He could still hear the screams in his mind.

"We'll go with a neuroptronic replacement for her eye, it's safer. Get her prepped for surgery..." N'Rel-X'eleth had an odd feeling suddenly. He turned for a moment to see Emperor Lerian standing outside the clear doors to the surgical theatre. Then he looked down at Calixte's burned, melted face. "It will be ok...You are in the best of hands." and then went to the control unit to initiate anesthesia.

"No..." Calixte said, pain in her voice even through the effects of the morphine. "Not yet..." Her remaining eye stared at the surgeon with a sense of utter and complete determination. "My personal health will have to be secondary in this situation..."

In the ICU of the Sickbay, Dariea was being scanned for toxicology, and the data from the advanced scanners was being cross-correlated with the medical database to hopefully find an antidote, while outside Lerian waited, joined now by Nialyth and Neirda, the three of them just waiting...

[New Azura]

A Battle Yet to Fight
Aboard Adraniel's Shadow
The City of Tsyion, Azura
Thursday, May 10th, 2012

She was changing, physically. There was something awakening in Calixte; a primordial, unnatural sensation that was beginning to draw upon her last reserves of strength. It wasn't animalistic—far from it, even. It was something deeper, something more powerful than had never been in her presence before. Calixte could almost reach inside her soul, and touch the person within. Wholly natural, and yet as artificial as the bed upon which she now laid. She shuddered, feeling a complete lapse of every single humanistic emotion there were—apprehension, contentment, happiness, fear, joy... pain. It all fled from her being, torn away as a butcher would tear the meat of a carcass off its sinewy hold.

The physical sensations were still there, of course; it was her tie to the conscious world. But the meaning behind that pain, and what it represented... Like a scrub brush, something inside had taken to washing her very essence of being to the very bones of her body. Every morsel of her being was being channeled by some unknown force into a common, singular purpose. She bowed her body with all of her might, using a metal railing to force herself up from the gurney. The pain was brilliant and intense, causing her immense agony; and yet, the disconnect was every bit a mirror of her sudden fixation on the one thing that mattered.

I must preserve life at all costs—even at the cost my own...

She tried to clear her throat, searching deep for the strength to speak. "We cannot leave yet. I cannot leave." Calixte stood up from the bed, using the surgeon's shoulder to balance herself on as she found her footing. Every step was a step in uniform madness, drawing a level of pain she didn't know were possible. Yet her body was likened unto a machine now, operating purely on instinct, and something more that she could not see, but feel only. She stumbled threw the sickbay, gaining a bit more strength as she went. Through a final set of doors, she was now able to somewhat-walk with a limping gait. Lerian was standing by Nialyth and Neirda, observing the progress with Dariea.

Please, my friend; give me one more favor.

She called out to Lerian, who turned towards her with his arms crossed. "Lerian, Emperor of the Enrialist Imperium! You have given me so much, and have commanded so little of me in return. I pray thee now, in thine presence once more; bequeath unto me one last gift, that I may right the wrongs which were so grievously done to my people... and my region."

Lerian unfolded his arms, looking on the wounded soul with a begrudging respect. "But this is no longer a matter for yourself alone, is it? Nor do the Children of Azura stand alone in this crisis..."

"No," Calixte said firmly, gulping deeply; every breath was a painful exercise. "My life is irrelevant. This is for my people. For my country..."

"What," Lerian chided, "would you ask of me?" Calixte studied his face, and had the strangest of inklings that he already knew what she was going to ask ahead of time. He knows more than you could possibly hope to understand: level with him!

"The people of Gholgoth are in mortal danger, Emperor. They are being threatened by the whims of foolish men, who wield a power that they know not what can do. They seek to unleash a torrent of apocalyptic hellfire upon a region who has seen too much death and destruction in these turbulent last few months. I cannot all this to happen."

Lerian nodded, prodding her a bit. "And the feelings of letting the region suffer its fate?"

She looked into Lerian's eyes, resolutely. "This is for Ghogloth, great and mighty Emperor. You told me, in the presence of my enemies in ULE City, that I would need strength for the events to come. It is only now that I understand, in at the death, what that strength was for, and what it means to me..." She looked at all three of the triune, placing her fist over her heart symbolically. "Please, Gothic Lords... you must let set things right. You must let me go..."

Lerian looked on her with pride, though it was not overly evident outwardly. There was the faintest of smiles, as he stepped to one side. "You are free to go, Lady Calixte. Go, and find your peace."

She bowed deeply before them, staggering past towards a destiny which was yet to be written.

[New Azura]

The Gathering of the Swords
The Great Hall of the Forerunner, Praeclarus
Tsyion, Grand Cailene Crown Republic of Azura
Thursday, May 10th, 2012 C.E.—3:30 AM Azuran Time

General Valeria cradled the long, sleek combat rifle in his arms, looking dutifully at the map which Erix of Chidon had provided for him. The council session was the fifth such meeting in as many hours, in part due to the unorthodox nature of the intelligence which was coming into Praeclarus. By this point, Valeria had accepted the sad, sorry truth of the matter, even if he couldn't understand why things had transpired as they did. Not only was there one rebel faction loose in the capital, there were two. And with Calixte missing, there was no way to rally enough support to help retake the capital.

Daymon of Caesara Philippi was carefully tracing along the map, pointing out potential targets to the Captain of the Iron Guard, Kaikita Hida of Variante. The two were tracing along the general route that Tiuraboan tanks—or, at least the purported rumor of tanks—had been spotted. There was no real fundamental understanding of what was happening outside of Praeclarus, except that the Variante were valiantly keeping insurgents at bay outside the courtyard walls. They had performed valiantly for almost fifteen hours straight, without any type of relief, and still they wanted to fight on.

"Captain Hida," Valeria sighed, trying to stay focused in the early morning hours. "Your men have been going for more than half a day now. Bring them inside, and let our station command take over the guard for awhile."

"With respect," the Captain said forcefully, "We'll be fine, General. I would rather die in exhaustion than live in comfort, if it meant keeping Lady Adrienne's throne safe until her return.

"Yes, but we don't know when she'll return," the General posited.

Hida was unmoved. "If we must fight to the end of time, even unto the hereafter, then we shall meet our enemies in Hell, General. We will not give up this ground—not without a mountain of their dead resting at our feet first."

Valeria nodded, content with the answer. He thought about saying more, but Erix's dumbfounded look struck a chord in him. He turned along with the rest of the men at the table, drawn to the sound of shocked and panicked gasps from down the hall. Valeria saw a group of soldiers in exotic uniforms approaching. It took him a few seconds to realize that they were from the Enrealist Imperium and the Nation of Tiurabo, respectively. And then he saw her, being led in with the support of a couple of large Tiuraboan soldiers. Yet her face was horribly disfigured and maimed, causing him to look away for a second in shock. When he refocused, she was close enough for Viktor to notice intricate details about the wound; her face had been badly burnt, and her right eye was all but useless.

My poor lady, what happened to you?

"Aw, Jesus..." Viktor muttered, stepping forward to meet Calixte. He reached for her, helping hold her up: "M'lady, what have the bastards done to you? Are you alright? When we didn't hear from you in ULE City—"

"I'm fine, General," she said softly, stepping past him towards the table with the map. Captain Hida took one look at Calixte's face, and silently rented his garment in disgust. "M'lady, the Guard has failed you..."

"You have not failed me," Calixte confided. "I have failed you. I am in debt to your service to our country, noble warrior."

Viktor spoke up, looking at the other soldiers. "With no disrespect meant, who are you all?"

Calixte turned to her aides, pointing: "These here are from Night Falcon Team Bith/3, under the command of Team Leader Ielnith. These lads here are from the Dog Brothers Fighting Company, a ferocious element from our allies in Tiurabo that were dispatched to help us reclaim the capital. Sergeant Tristan Bomor is their leader at the moment." She turned to present the Azuran and Variante units to her allies: "Gentlemen, this is General Viktor Valeria; my father's personal adviser, and my own as well. The two men to his side there are Daymon of Caesara Philippi and Erix of Chidon, my Court of Valor. The man across the table is Captain Kaikita Hida of the Variante Guard; one of the most dangerous marksmen in my guard.

Calixte sighed, looking around the table. "Gentlemen, this is quite an assortment of characters gathered here today. But regardless of what has been said or done, Gholgoth requires us to act quickly, unless we mean to allow the entire region to be destroyed."

"Destroyed? Valeria asked.

"They're trying to gain access to our nuclear arsenal, Calixte replied defiantly; "but we wont let them, will we?" The table replied collective chorus of "no, ma'am." Calixte continued: "We have to figure out a way to take out both enemy forces on the ground, so that we can safely eliminate the threat posed by their attempt to access the nuclear arsenal."

Captain Hida spoke up, nodding respectfully. "With your permission, m'lady, we'll volunteer to lead the charge against the insurgents."

Erix of Chidon laughed: "You guys haven't slept for hours now. Why don't you guys get some rest?"

"Because m'lady needs us right now."

"Yes," Erix continued. "But you must understand, you'll be running up against armored vehicles and artillery in a showdown with the insurgency—none of which we have in any great supply."

Hida laughed. "The only thing in our way is the diseased corpses of the souls we're about to separate to a darkened grave."

"Besides which," Hida finished: "We have a plan..."

[Storm Gard]

Private First Class Cale Winters keeled over and vomited a mess of preprocessed MRE all over the corpse of an insurgent soldier.

He hadn't planned to, but the man had previously had a head, and while he'd had that head, he'd been raising a pistol, as his rifle had been lost when Cale blew his arm off and shredded half his body with a grenade. The grenadier had reacted swiftly when he saw the pistol: he'd raised his leg and stomped his eight-pound armor-plated combat boot right into the man's face, with all the shocked, panic-fueled strength he could muster. The blow succeeded in reducing his foe's face to a messy pulp.

Looking at that pulp for more than a few seconds triggered a combination of revulsion and nausea in the relatively green trooper, and he'd had to fumble for his helmet's rebreather catch before he puked all over his air filter.

The dead insurgent trooper, and a few of his buddies, had been hiding inside a small one-story office building of flimsy sheet metal, positioned by one of larger buildings within the AO. Second Platoon had been clearing the area when they took fire from it, and had assaulted the building after a couple of shots from Cale's launcher. As they moved into the building and cleared it, stepping gingerly over the broken wood and twisted metal that was left by the grenades, one of the not-quite-dead enemy soldiers had moved.

Now his corpse was covered in vomit, and Cale was coughing, shaking his head as he looked at the mess of flesh, puke, and debris spread out before him.
"You gonna live, blooper?" came a call, and Cale looked up. He found himself face-to-face with one of the Corporals from Alpha Squad, Second Platoon. Cale nodded, straightening.

"First . . . close combat," he said steadying himself, and the rifleman nodded in reply.

"It gets easier," he said after a few seconds, and moved off.

Cale followed, sidearm drawn; though the grenade launcher's shells were only primed to detonate once they'd flown a certain distance, the weapon was awkward and slow to fire in close-quarters battle. He figured he could shatter a ribcage with the force behind the shells, but the pistol was still a better option.

The office was clear of other hostiles, save a few more wounded enemy troopers. The platoon had neither the manpower to handle nor the inclination to take prisoners at that moment, and the wounded insurgents quickly ceased to care about their injuries.

Cale watched the businesslike executions emotionlessly. This was war, and he found himself quickly being desensitized to it. As he helped clear the building, Cale figured
if the civilians ever got wind of this, they'd have a fit. Most of them didn't have the stomach for the blunt, brutal logic of what he was seeing now.

Once Second Platoon had cleared the office complex, Lieutenant Michels received orders to scatter his troops out and entrench their area. Cale soon found a good firing position behind a burned-out SUV parked behind the building, the slagged remains lying atop the scorched body of an airman. The grenadier grabbed the man's dog tags and pocketed them, not having time to read them.

As Cale settled into place, he listened over the radio, and then understood why those orders had been given.

The insurgents had finally reacted to the sudden surge of the Iron Guard. Enemy reinforcements were en route.

---

Corporal First Class Mitchell Colt was never more terrified in his life.

Streams of rifle fire scythed past the trio of Iron Guard soldiers, blasting holes in vehicles and other debris. Colt couldn't see the enemy as they pursued them down the street, but could hear their bullets sear past, see them slashing through the dust, and watched them boil pieces of metal away. He remembered what those same bullets had done to Wells' and Gillard's bodies, and he imagined any instant that he'd feel that impossible weight slamming into him and boiling his insides away-
Colt slid down behind cover, raising his M48 and sighting down the scope. He picked up an insurgent SAW gunner in his sights as Falks rose and began to retreat as well. Colt fired his rifle, heart hammering in his chest as he tried to down the hostiles charging in pursuit. He might as well have been firing blanks for all the effect he was doing to the mass of troopers moving up through the dust.

Then, beyond them, he saw more shapes - other figures in body armor, moving up with the mish-mashed forms of the regular infantry. Over the roar of his rifle and the searing fire of the enemy’s counter fire, he could hear the boom of their footfalls, a rhythmic thudding only produced by hundreds of boots slamming in step, and the black armored figures strode ahead, firing heavy rifles and light machineguns that sprayed streams of lead toward the Iron Guard fireteam.

"Oh, Jesus," he heard Jordan whisper. "Goddamn these fuckers!" the trooper was on the verge of panic, and firing his rifle wildly.

"Calm the fuck down, Jordan!" Colt shouted as Falks reached cover and resumed fire. "Fall back!" Shots from Falks' M48 erupted down the street, the heavy 7.62mm rounds cutting down a rank of troopers as he bounded from cover. The traitor legionnaires didn't seem to care, flooding up the street behind their shock corps.
We’re in the shit now, Colt thought grimly. In the fifteen hours he had been fighting he had never seen so many legionnaires deployed with such heavy armaments, in one place before . . . .

"Jordan, fall back to cover!" Colt yelled again, seeing the trooper hadn't moved. "Move it, soldier!"

Jordan jolted to his feet, spinning around and sprinting down the street. Torrents of bullets chased him, sending clouds of vaporized metal and ceramic into the air as they cracked and hissed all around the trooper. Colt shakily reached down to his vest, grabbed a 40mm grenade from his pouch, and loaded it as the legionnaires continued to advance. He shouldered the rifle, sighting one of the unit leaders, and fired.

The grenade thoomphed out of the launcher, arced through the air, and impacted beside one of the sergeant of the group. The explosion engulfed him, picking the insurgent soldier up and tossing him aside, shrapnel mangling his armor. To his credit the sergeant managed to sit up, and started to try to stand, when his leg collapsed and he fell back to the reflective pavement. Colt shifted back to his rifle's regular ammunition, sighted down the scope, and fired a burst into the Sergeant's helmet, shattering his optics and blinding him.

"I'm in cover," Jordan said, shakily. "Move, Colt!" As he spoke, Jordan fired again, hitting another one of the troopers as he stepped out of cover. Despite the armor the man dropped after a quick double tap.

Colt spun and rose, dashing for more cover as the rest of the legionnaires continued leading the pursuit, a column of militia behind them. Dozens of men - no, hundreds of them. He started to run, and then saw movement behind the two other soldiers in his squad, and for a single heart-stopping moment Colt thought that they'd been flanked and surrounded by more insurgent troops. He thought he had confirmation when the figures raised their rifles and opened fire-
-straight into the insurgent soldiers behind them.

"Charlie, do not fire!" came the familiar voice of Sergeant Hunnigan. "Alpha and Delta, at your six!"

"You took your fucking time!" Colt shouted as he dove behind cover behind Falks, who shot up for his run.

"Get the hell back here and dig in," Alpha Squad's Sergeant yelled as the two rifle squads opened fire and covered their retreat. "The rest of the platoon is on its way!"
"Where's Sagara?" Colt asked as he sighted another target and fired. His rounds skipped off the man's helmet, but only seemed to make the legionnaire angrier. Jordan's next shot calmed him, puncturing his throat.

"Prepping a shot, Corporal," came a reply over the radio, from the platoon sniper.

---

Sergeant Makito “Iceman” Sagara ran up the stairs, his boots pounding the metal as he chased his spotter, who was a half-dozen steps above him, his M48 carbine model raised as he swept the stairwell. They continued charging up the steps, Sagara holding his M22 personal defense weapon in hand, his M 92 sniper rifle slung on his back.

They reached the top of the stairs, and the spotter, Corporal Terrence Brooks, shoved the door open. They stepped out onto the rooftop of the apartment building, sweeping the area, and confirmed no threats. Sagara’s checked his goggles' compass and hurried east after reorienting himself. They ran to the edge of the rooftop, where a low ceramic lip rose up to waist height to keep people from falling over, and both sniper and spotter dropped into kneeling positions, Sagara setting down his lighter weapon and drawing his sniper rifle.

As he set up the rifle's bipod, Brooks scanned the area with his M48's mounted optics array.

"Movement below," he called. "Eyes on friendlies, eighty meters ahead."

"I see them," Sagara said, peering through his rifle's scope. A dozen and more men in Variante uniforms were scattered among a series of abandoned cars and other urban detritus, trading fire with advancing enemy soldiers. Flashes of gunfire and the harsh red orange streams of tracers filled the air between them, the energy weapons scoring vicious rents in the Variante troops' cover. Sagara traced his line of sight upwards, as his spotter located the advancing traitor soldiers.

"Unit leaders, one hundred and seventy meters east," Brooks reported. Sagara brought his scope up, following the lines of red laser beams, and spotted the heavily-armored Legion infantrymen as they strode up the street, gunfire deflecting off their shaped, heavy armor, their capes billowing behind them. He counted at least four of them, two firing heavy rifles while two more carried flamethrowers.

"Hit the flamers," Brooks said, echoing Sagara's own assessment. He lowered the crosshairs of his rifle over the lead Hand, who was running from behind a truck and closing to within a hundred meters of the Variante troops' positions. Once he was close enough, Sagara knew, he would use the high-pressure projector of his flamethrower to cook the Guard soldiers where they stood, the fires flowing around cover like a rushing stream of water.

Sagara had picked up the nickname "Iceman" from one of the guys in A Company after the Sergeant’s tendency to be effectively emotionless in any situation. The name stuck, and the Sergeant ended the advancing legionnaire's ambitions with a simple squeeze of his M-92's trigger. There was a crack as the sniper rifle’s supersonic discarding sabot round lanced out, blowing a hole clean through the legionnaire's composite, high-grade armor as if it was made from paper. The armored figure simply stopped moving, slumping to the ground like a black and red statue that had been knocked over.

Before the legionnaire had even hit the ground, the others had stopped and ducked behind cover; the other flame trooper disappeared into a doorway before Sagara could even find him in his scope. They'd reacted faster than he'd expected to the presence of a sniper. Well-trained.

"Dammit, got no target," Sagara hissed, adjusting his scope to have a wider view of the street. "Where are those other lasers coming from?"

"Looks like some wannabe militia," Brooks replied. Sagara spotted what looked like a couple of dozen other soldiers further back, wearing black armor that was probably pilfered from some corpse. Sagara shifted his aim, zooming back in. he picked out one of the armored infantrymen, crouching behind a car and making a gesture toward the light militia behind him, and fired.

"Good kill," Brooks reported. "Took his head clean off. Look twelve meters west. Probably a sergeant by the way he is-"

"Got him." Sagara spotted one of Legionnaires, his shoulder barely visible around the car he was covered behind. Sagara lined up the target and fired, blowing the man's arm completely off.

"Bogey moving up, twenty meters east, opposite side of the road, with grenades."
"Got him."

"Clean hit through the torso . . . Okay, troopers with rockets, forty meters north of them, behind the dumpster."

"Got them."

" . . . okay, you got him in the chest, his buddy's running - wait, one of the Legionnaires shot him, discipline execution. Saves us ammo. Another target seventeen meters east. Blue car."

"Got him."

---

The command tent shook, consoles flickered, and Captain Kaikita Hida frowned. The latter did more to frighten his many subordinates than any of the former.
"That sounded like heavy munitions," he said, looking up at the ceiling while the makeshift headquarters of the Variante Iron Guard unit continued boiling with human activity.

Most likely long range artillery, he thought. The insurgents hadn't gotten artillery in range to directly bombard his command position yet.

Or rather, that was what he figured, because he still couldn't get reliable communications with the troops defending the Praeclarus area. He had reliable comms over land lines with just about every other base within Azura . . . but he couldn't talk to the men in his own backyard. And if his own comms were out, that meant the Azuran units
throughout the city couldn't assemble a coordinated form up for his counter thrust into the insurgent territory.

"Tell me we at least have comms with the perimeter defense," Hida growled, walking across the CIC.

"Yes sir," reported Lieutenant Andros, a young man with dark skin and a shaved head. "Local radios are able to cut through the jamming."

"Have you been able to locate the source of the jamming?" Hida asked, standing over Andros as he worked away at his computer.

"No, sir," he replied. "But it has to be local, probably within their support sections. I'm trying to narrow it down based on signal strength. Whatever it is, it has to be big and powerful to be interfering with our comms at this distance."

"Just find it," Hida said, stepping away. "I need to be able to talk to my men if we want to retake the city."

"Aye, sir," Andros replied, the tail end of his response lost in the din of the CIC as Hida stalked across the room toward the main map board. Currently, it showed a map of the city, with hotspots glowing across every single district.

Full-scale invasion across the entire city. A massed assault against every one of their positions in a single enormous coordinated strike . . . it was practically unthinkable only half a day ago, but then they'd had believed in that traitor Phrosyne. And now he was stuck with barely a battalion of troops and the woman he’d swore to protect almost fatally wounded.

Well, Hida thought, he'd excise that particular stain on his honor when he personally put a bullet in Bloodsieve’s head.

"Andros," he called, "Do we have any intact landline connections to our bases inside the city area?"

"Standby sir," the lieutenant replied, and a moment later it came back. "Attempts to communicate with ninety percent of units have failed. Assumed cause is that they have pulled off from hard points or the lines have been cut.”

"Neither of those are good," Hida muttered, looking at the mapboard. "What about the units you have been able to contact? Show them on this map."
Andros pushed four bright blue pins onto the map, all outside the projected area of insurgent advance.

"Okay, Andros, prep and sort these orders," Hida said, stepping across the room. "All Guard units we have in the area are to converge on FUP Alpha for rearming. B Company and Support Company are to push their sniper and recce units forward to screen for the main force and spot points for the Tiuraboan heavies to breakthrough, make it clear that direct action is not their mission, only engage when engaged or to disrupt C&C capabilities in support of the Tiuraboan effort. The D Company is to move north and reinforce local defenses while they Bravo, Charlie and Support’s main force flank and engage the insurgents throughout the city."

"What about Alpha sir?" the Lieutenant replied.

"Hmm…tell Alpha to form up with me, we’ll be the spearpoint of Lady Calixte’s charge." Hida added.

"Roger, sending sir." .

---

Two insurgent troopers were moving up behind an abandoned truck in the middle of the street, crouching low as their comrades fired over their heads. They came to a halt at the edge of the cover the parked vehicle provided.

One of the pair suddenly toppled over as a pair of rifle bursts slashed through his boots and knees. He slammed into the pavement, and then a third burst cut through his side, shredding his lungs. The second trooper barely had time to turn and see his dying comrade when another burst hammered his shin, shattering the bones and sending him to one knee. His thigh took a pair of rounds, and the soldier fell forward, smacking his head on the side of the truck. Dazed and disoriented, he managed to pull the trigger on his rifle, firing it wildly in the general direction of the Variante dogs, before another burst brutally rearranged his face.

"Alpha, where's Bravo?" Colt asked as he reloaded his rifle. He lay prone on the glassy pavement, peering between the wheels of another vehicle twenty meters away. He spotted movement - another set of boots visible behind a can another seventy meters downrange, and fired a single shot. He didn't hear the soldier scream over the clatter of gunfire all around him, but Colt did see the man hit the street. He drilled a second shot into the soldier's flank as he lay writhing.

"No radio contact," Sergeant Hunnigan replied. "Staff Sergeant Devos was with them, but they've been quiet."

"That's not good," Colt muttered. He fired another pair of shots beneath the car as he saw more movement, and cursed. This spot didn't give him a good line of fire, and the hostile soldiers were catching on. He rose to his feet, shouldering the M48, and started hunting for targets above the cars.
A tracer round cut past, and Colt heard a cry of pain over his radio.

"I'm hit!" Jordan shouted, and Colt's HUD updated with his position, tagging him wounded. The corporal dropped back behind cover without firing, located the wounded trooper, and checked back with Falks.

"Falks, cover me!" he ordered. Falks acknowledged, opening fire with his M48 to draw attention from Colt, and the corporal broke away from cover. He scrambled below the lines of car, rounds ringing off the metal and plastic and shattering glass windows. A round boiled away a patch of concrete in front of Colt, and he spun, firing instinctively.

A looming specter of black armor, stood only thirty meters away.

Colt's rounds scored off the legionnaire’s armor, and the soldier didn't even seem to notice, shifting his rifle to fire another round. The corporal threw himself back behind another abandoned car, the incendiary round searing past his armor. The heat from the passing shot filled the air, and Colt's next breath through his rebreather was almost painfully hot.

The corporal dragged a grenade out of one of his pouches as the legionnaire walked forward with small fireteam behind him, firing more rifle fire into his cover. Metal flared and evaporated as the legionnaire kept up with the suppressive fire, stalking toward the pinned Variante trooper.

Colt popped the pin and depressed the fuse, counted to two, and then tossed the grenade over the top of the car. It flew into the legionnaire's face and exploded, shrapnel ripping into the armor and shearing the unarmored men behind him into strips of meat. Colt rose, rifle shouldered-

And saw the legionnaire was still standing, his armor rent but still intact. For a heart-stopping second, Colt thought he would be shot down where he stood, but then he saw the legionnaire’s optics on his helmet had been shattered by the grenade detonation. The manwas reaching up to remove his helmet so he could see better.

The helmet popped off, revealing tanned features with a shaved head, a willowy green tattoo covering half the man's face - until Colt drilled three rounds into his head, obscuring his face beneath a cloud of expanding red and white material. Almost completely decapitated, the soldier toppled onto his back and went still.

It only took a couple of seconds for the soldier to reassert himself, and he bolted toward where Jordan lay. The other Charlie trooper was lying propped against a car, his rifle in his left hand. His right arm was gone at the elbow, the wound messily cauterized by an insurgent incendiary round.

"You awake, man?" Colt asked, crouching next to the wounded soldier. He looked over the wound once, and shook his head; he had no idea how to even begin treating that mess, but at least he wasn't bleeding out.

"No," Jordan replied, his voice slightly slurred. He must have taken a dose of wound cleaner; Colt saw the vial and its injector lying next to him.

"Okay, then," Colt said, crouching low and throwing the wounded man's good arm over his shoulder. "Up you go."

He hurried back toward safety, behind the rough line the Alpha and Delta squads had managed to form, and set Falks down among a pair of other troopers who had been wounded as well. Delta's medic hurried over to see to Jordan, while Colt picked up his rifle and hurried back to the line.

"Corporal," he heard in his ear as he crouched behind a burnt-out pickup truck and raised his weapon. It was Sergeant Hunnigan again.

"Yeah?" He replied, sighting and firing on a knot of advancing insurgent militia. One of them toppled over, and the others dove for cover.

"We can't hold them much longer," Hunnigan said, and Colt grimaced. He checked his ammo, and found he was down to half magazines. More importantly, the insurgent troops were pushing hard. They were outnumbered by at least a battalion-sized force, and Colt knew they didn't have the ammo to hold them off all day. And if they retreated, that would just bring the insurgent troops after them all the faster.
They had only one choice: hold on and keep fighting to the end. Bleed the bastards as best they could.

---

PROXIMITY ALERT!

The flashing red letters on Sagara's goggles jerked him out of his shooting trance. He looked up, met Brooks' eyes, and knew he'd gotten the same alert. They both knew what it meant: the smart claymores they'd set behind them as they moved up the stairs had just been triggered.

Insurgents were coming up the stairs below.

Sagara quickly slung his M-92 over his shoulder and grabbed his personal defense weapon, while Brooks spun and jogged back toward the stairwell access. He ran inside, M48 shouldered, and looked down the stairs. He saw movement, heard yelling, and could see men in paramilitary fatigues hurrying up the steps, cursing and shouting in rage. One of them looked up, rifle raised, and spotted Brooks right before the spotter drilled three rounds into his face.

The stairwell erupted with fire as the militia shot back, their guns blazing wildly and the room echoing with the reports of their rifles mixed with their wild shouts and battle cries.

Brooks reached up to his chest, palmed a frag grenade, and armed it. He counted to two, and then tossed it down the stairwell, before running back to the door. As he reached it, he pulled a small, flat disc out of one of his hip pouches and set it on the ceiling with adhesive tape. Brooks tapped a button, and the smart claymore primed itself. He heard screams below as insurgent soldiers were caught by the grenade.

The spotter ran back outside, and spotted Sagara as he stood next the fire escape. Brooks hurried over without asking any questions; they both knew their position was compromised and they needed to regroup.

Behind them, two insurgent soldiers hurried up to the top of the stairs and ran toward the stairwell's rooftop access. They passed beneath the inconspicuous little disc Brooks had attached to the ceiling.

The sensor inside the disc detected human movement below, and made out the distinct form of weapons in their hands. A millisecond later, it had scanned their uniforms, and determined that they were not wearing any of the seventeen hundred and thirty nine variations of Variante-approved combat uniforms that would identify them as friendly combatants.

Two milliseconds after that, it sent out a short radio pulse to alert the snipers, and then the "face" side of the disc exploded, hurling hundreds of tiny needles at supersonic velocities throughout the room, the tiny spikes lancing through skin, bone, cloth, flak vests, and concrete with equal ease. The soldiers simply dropped, pulped where they stood by the tiny flechettes that literally tore them to ribbons. Then, one second after the needles had erupted from the disc and tore through the insurgents, they erupted into flares, like tiny incendiary grenades. The shredded insurgents, their equipment, and the walls of the stairwell flared, flash-fried, and then smoked, the stink of cooked flesh and molten metal instantly filling the stairwell.

The troops were lucky they'd been killed so quickly. If they'd been merely wounded, they would have had dozens of glowing slivers of white-hot metal buried in their bodies, boiling their flesh and muscle.

Nasty little things, smart claymores.

By the time the rest of the troops had worked their way up - one stopping to hurl that morning's rations violently down the stairwell once he'd seen the carnage left by Brooks' trap - they found the rooftop deserted, and the Variante sniper team was on the ground. They jogged up the alley, toward another vantage point.
Sagara hoped he would get in place in time to do some good.

---

Disaster came in the form of small, tumbling canisters, lobbed by a couple of the legionnaires.

Alpha was spread out among a group of vehicles and a dumpster at the left side of the road, firing furiously. The moment the confessors exposed themselves to strike, they opened up on them, cutting one down just as his arm pumped. Nonetheless, the canisters hurtled through the air, and the Variante troops started to scatter.

Then they impacted and exploded, releasing clouds of greenish black smoke that billowed outward quickly, engulfing several of the squad. The clouds quickly dissipated, the chemical breaking down in seconds upon exposure to oxygen, but by that time it had already swept over the defenders. Though their rebreathers filtered out the gas, it ran its way deeper, contacting skin in beneath the cracks of the troopers' armor, in the seams between gloves and their fatigues, seeping through any gap in the Variante troops' gear. Colt turned toward them when he heard sudden, pain filled screaming from the soldiers, and his eyes were fixed on what happened to the squad.

Two members of Alpha simply dropped to their knees, crying out in pain and terror as they were cooked from the inside by the gas. But they kept firing their weapons toward the enemy on full auto, the pain negating any ability to aim. Their magazines ran out in a couple of heartbeats, but they kept pointing them at the insurgent soldiers, pulling the triggers frantically, as if unaware that they were empty. Another man flopped onto his back, firing his weapon randomly into the air. One man managed to stumble away from the blast unaffected, but then was cut down by shots from behind him.

The last two members of Alpha turned toward the insurgents, shouldered their weapons, and charged the enemy line their grenades cooking off and exploding within the knot of soldiers just as the flesh of their legs disintegrated.

Sergeant Hunnigan flopped backward as rounds drilled through her armor, and the rest of Delta Squad could only dive for cover, finding themselves struck with fatal hesitation as they witnessed the horror that had been inflicted on their comrades. They didn’t stand a chance against the numbers thrown at them.

The soldiers disappeared behind the cars they'd been crouched behind, and Colt pulled his gaze away from the sight, bringing his rifle to bear on the insurgent troops that were surging forward. In that heartbeat, Colt knew he was apparently the highest-ranking man in the dwindling force of Variante soldiers, and he couldn't let the fact that he'd was now probably outnumbered 10 to 1cloud his judgment.

"Engage!" he shouted, firing another burst. He heard the brass of his ejected casing clatter on the pavement somehow, despite the whirlwind of noise rushing all around him. "Engage, dammit! Open fire!"

---

The insurgents charged over the position where Alpha had once been standing. Hundreds traitor soldiers fell upon the three outermost Guard troopers, shooting two of them in the head and beating the third to death with their rifle butts or boots.

Others surged toward the Variante defenders, rushing around barricades and firing wild flurries of poorly-aimed suppressive fire. Colt dropped two of the militants in rapid succession, and then rounds scored along the hood of the car he stood behind. He dropped behind cover, reloading his rifle - three-quarters of its magazine was spent - and looked back up, to see a legionnaire only twenty meters away, his arm cocked back.

"Fuck!" Colt screamed, emptying half his magazine into the man's chest in sheer panic. The legionnaire pitched back, dropping the gas grenade he was holding. Colt exhaled, and turned toward another target, only to see a dozen militants running toward him. The ones whose eyes weren't obscured behind goggles or gas masks were wide and manic, and he saw at least one of them stabbing something into his arm, a pneumatic syringe.

The militants were popping battle stimulants.

Colt fired again, two quick bursts that dropped as twice as many of the enemy, but they kept coming, one hurling something at him: a grenade.

Colt ducked behind cover, screaming at the top of his lungs as the grenade hurtled end over end at him. There was a flash, a blast of force, and Colt's rifle slipped from his fingers. He felt an impact on his back, and rolled over, dazed and disoriented.

Concussion grenade, he thought to himself, some rational piece of his mind running as the battle raged around him. Made sense, frags released shrapnel that could hit you as you charged-

A shadow loomed overhead, holding a rifle. The corporal could see his features beneath the black goggles he wore. A smile spread across the man's face as he put a boot on Colt's chest, crushing him back against the pavement.

"Die, oppressor!" screamed the militant standing over him.

Colt shot him through the neck with his sidearm.

"No," the corporal grunted.

Another militant rushed forward, screaming incoherently and pointing his rifle at Colt. The Variante trooper pivoted and fired again, winging the man in the shoulder and spinning him around. A third man leapt over the car and started shooting his sub-machinegun at Colt, who turned toward him.

The insurgent exploded across the midsection, a white vapor-trail of superheated air appearing for half a second.

Sixty meters down the street, Sergeant Makito "Iceman" Sagara fired again, decapitating another legionnaire. Beside him, Brooks was laying down covering fire with his M48.

Colt scrambled to his feet, even as another soldier leapt over the car. The Variante trooper fired two shots, dropping him, and then a fifth militant slammed into his side.

"Die pig!" the soldier screamed into Colt's ears as he bore the Variante soldier down. "We strike for righteousness!"

Colt's elbow shattered the man's nose, and he rolled over on top of him.

"Fucking!" he shouted jabbing his pistol into the man's crushed nose. "Die!" The round blew off his head.

There was more wild screaming behind Colt, and he spun, shooting his pistol point-blank into a hostile trooper's stomach. He was surrounded by mad chanting, and saw another militant leaping at him, with two of his buddies behind him, waving their rifles like clubs. The group was being whipped them into a battle frenzy, the combat stims robbing them of any battle sense, but giving them a terrifying clarity of will and numbness to pain.

On all sides of him, Colt saw and heard the few surviving Variante troopers locked in savage close combat with insurgent troops. Colt himself met the next charging lunatic - a wiry kid who couldn't have been out of his teens - with a body check, firing his pistol into the next man in line. The kid went down hard, and Colt stomped his chest with his boot, either killing or incapacitating him. He didn't care, as the next man had ran headlong into Colt, tackling him again.

The militant screamed wildly, pinning his pistol hand to the pavement, shouting incomprehensible epithets or prayers or whatever-

"Shut the hell up!" Colt ended them when his other hand dropped to his belt, whipped out his knife, and thrust it into the soldier's throat. He kicked the shocked man off him, raising his pistol to shoot another enemy soldier in the hip. He stumbled, and surged forward, firing his own rifle from the hip. Rounds slammed into Colt's armor, shaking his body, and one deflected off his helmet, knocking his head back.

Colt looked up into the sky and saw another shadow. Another militant, about to execute him. Colt raised his pistol shakily to shoot the lunatic, and the weapon clicked empty. He stared at his weapon as if it had betrayed him, and his eyes flicked back toward the shadow.

It wasn't a militant. Militants didn't have wings . . . or rotors.

[New Azura]

Charge of the Light Brigade
Sector 01 Alpha — Imperial Legion Central Command
In the Capital District of the City of Tsyion, Azura
Thursday, the 10th Day of May, 2012 — 4:45 AM

"Tally-ho! Gunship Bravo inbound!"

Daymon perked up a bit at the sound of Erix's voice over his radio headset, gripping his automatic grenade launcher a little tighter. It was the rush a soldier felt before being dropped into combat, and he could appreciate the nervous flow of energy running down his arms and legs. It was a palpable, extraordinary sensation to say the least. He adjusted himself in the jump seat, looking out in the lightening sky to the east, wondering what the world would look like in the dawning hours. It was an awe-inspiring experience, tempered only by his absolute contempt for the morose bastards who had sought to destroy everything they had been working to build for so long.

Erix brought the LALY-215 Reaver Gunship down between the remnants of two smoking skyscrapers, orienting the craft with the roadway below. He called out in his headset: "Tally-ho! Contact, twelve o'clock low!" Daymon stood up into a crouch from his seat by the cabin door, moving past a meticulously cold soldier and his blank expression to see the scene for himself. The stretch below them looked like a scene straight out of Hell. Fires were burning in the streets for more than two miles down the stretch towards the Imperial Command building. The Variante were down there, trying their damnedest to hold the line against an overwhelming Insurgent force. Little flashes of light from their assault rifles could be seen in the street—a demented fleet of lightning pops flashing in the darkness.

"Fuck this, mate! Blast the bastards!"

Daymon nodded at Erix, stepping back towards the cabin door. He reached up towards the ceiling, pulling down a drop chord down from a mounted holster. He quickly attached the clip to his belt hook, taking hold of the grenade launcher in his free hand tightly. Daymon struggled to pull the cabin door open in the wobbling pitch of the helicopter gunship, feeling the rush of cool air brush across his face. With the hatch open, he carefully entwined his right leg in the safety strap by his jump seat, hopping towards the edge of the open gunship cabin. He quickly slung his assault rifle over his right shoulder, along with his satchel which contained the package they were delivering. With a silent prayer, he allowed his weight to pull him towards the lip of the door on the floor, twisting backwards as he fell. His body came down with a thud on the outside, slipping towards the ground below until the belt caught him inside.

This is fun...

Hanging upside down under the gunship, Daymon bowed his body with as much might as he could muster, leaning far enough back towards the belly of the gunship to get a sufficient line of fire on the enemy forces advancing from the Command Center. He held the grenade launcher out away from his chest, gripping it as strongly as he could before firing. The recoil was horribly strong as trails of smoke followed fragmentation grenades as they arched towards the enemy forces. An explosion rang in out the darkness, as a section of gunfire ceased almost immediately. Daymon began to fire wantonly in the general direction of the enemy lines, stopping only as Erix oriented the helicopter to hover above the roadway. He fired, again and again and again; the smell of burning wreckage and carnage below making him feel a bit disoriented.

"Erix! Light 'em up!" Daymon shouted as his last grenade round ejected from the weapon. He rotated his foot, loosing himself from the safety strap in the cabin. Gravity pulled him away from the gunship towards the road below, as the helicopter's 25mm guns opened up on the enemy position. As he neared the ground, he held onto the coil tightly, causing his body to reorient itself with his feet towards the ground. Daymon managed to time it nearly perfectly, grasping a hold of his clip and unhooking himself from the zip line when his feet first touched the ground. The blood rush to his ankles caused him to stumble forward as he darted for cover, watching as the gunship pitched forward towards the Command Center. The Variante Guard behind him had ceased fire, not wanting to catch Daymon in the crossfire.

As the 'copter ran a smokescreen of sorts, Daymon quickly advanced forward towards the enemy position from roughly a hundred yards out. He quickly dove towards the side of a busted-up car, listening as the gunship made a big, sweeping pass up and over the lower buildings to the north. Gunfire resumed en masse once more, with bullets pinging off the opposite side of the car. Daymon got to work, moving towards an medium-sized drain grating in the street gutter by the curb. Lifting back on it with all of his might, he managed to lift it up and over onto the side of the sidewalk, slithering into the opening head first. Pulling himself down into the narrow shaft, Daymon brought his feet in after him, using his arms to help pivot his legs back underneath him with his back acting as support.

Oh, my God what the fuck is that smell?

The stench from the narrow shaft was terrible, to say the least. It ran almost thirty feet down, beside the subway line that ran directly underneath the city street. Daymon inched his way down several feet, adjusting his satchel strap over his shoulder as he came to a meshed wire cover over a horizontal shaft. He yanked it off its holdings, letting it slip below him into a free fall down to the drainage drain below. Maneuvering in the narrow area was difficult, and it took him several seconds to work his way into a crawling position through the horizontal shaft. It was barely wide enough for him to squeeze through, and only tall enough for him to get onto his hands and knees. The support shaft was an auxiliary ventilation and control funnel for the subway, and also served as an access point at various intervals to the subway tunnel itself.

"What a fucking great way to see the sights," Daymon mused to himself as he began to scamper forward, crawling as quickly as he could. The heavy satchel was bobbing back and forth as he moved, making him uneasy. There was no room for a child to turn around in the narrow duct, let alone a full grown man of considerable size. Outside of a very limber contortionist, it was a one way tract; he would have to crawl backwards in a hurry to get out once the package was in place. I just hope they gave me a big enough fuse...

Daymon continued on, crawling for what felt like minutes. He did his best to estimate how far he'd gone, trying to count off the feet in his mind. When he felt as if he'd gone far enough, he laid down flat on his stomach, maneuvering the bag up and over his head. It came to rest with a thud by his face, causing Daymon to instinctively back away from it. He lifted the holding strap, gently opening the flap and extracting the contents held within. The heavy package definitely had the look of a time bomb, with wires protruding out of every block of plastique explosives wired together. He carefully removed the firing pin and trigger from the bag, squinting in the darkness of the shaft to find the 'keyhole' with which to arm the device.

C'mon, you bastard...

He struck pay dirt, finding the trigger groove with his left thumb. Daymon carefully inserted the firing pin, understanding that he would have to be extraordinarily lucky to withdraw before the explosives went off. It was going to be one Hell of a bang, to say the least, and his margin for error was very slim, indeed. He used the military-grade adhesive to plaster it onto the ceiling of the low duct, trying to set the timer in the darkness. His hands moved quickly, punching in the access codes with only the feel of the keys to guide him. After the final number was inserted, his thumb drifted to the large, round inset at the bottom of the timer. Praying that his touch hadn't failed him, he pressed it in gently, relieved to hear a series of clicks as opposed to the sound of a detonation.

See you in Hell, you stupid fucks!

Daymon quickly began to paw at the ground, crawling backwards as quickly as he could, hoping like Hell he could get out in time.

~

Sector 01 Alpha — Imperial Legion Central Command
In the Capital District of the City of Tsyion, Azura
Thursday, the 10th Day of May, 2012 — 4:50 AM

General Donijan sped through the broken, twisted maze of burning debris and rubble as they rushed towards the main compound of Azura's Imperial Legion hierarchy. Acheron's palms were growing sweaty from exhaustion and worry; it was too late in the game for plans to change, and the sudden arrival of a mystery force against his forces was wearing his patience thin. Phrosyne's forces had been beaten back to the Command Center, where they were trying to fortify themselves inside the building. His men had almost broken through when the goddamn Variante Guard showed up, stirring shit outside. They'd split their forces between those of Gaelan Phrosyne and those of the Variante. Acheron had been run ragged moving to and fro, trying to get a handle on a situation that was rapidly spiraling out of control.

This is MY time! I will not yield it to a pitiful band of Variante worms!

The jeep bucked as Donijan hit a broken piece of pavement, trying desperately to avoid large piles of twisted steel on the roadway. Acheron's forces were being beaten back almost everywhere else; as best he could figure it, Gaelan's high-riding bitch was calling in some favors with her allies, the Mu. The damned gravship was hovering over the city to the south in the vague direction of the Danthani District, which Colin Maris had not stopped yapping about. Even now, the pathetic weasel was sitting on his knees, looking back towards the general area where the ship was located, high above in the sky. "If you could just let me go right here, I can make my way to the hospital and see for myself—"

Acheron snapped, pointing his service revolver at Maris. "Sit down, sir! You are staying with me; as long as you're alive, your money is in my camp. You die, and I'm suddenly without the ability to afford the loyalty of my men!"

Maris turned around, pulling at his hair in frustration. Acheron shook his head, turning back to face the front. The Imperial Command was only a few blocks away now, and was visible in the glow of a thousand small fires in the vicinity. The capital was ablaze in a maelstrom, and the insurgent leader meant to take control of the Imperial Command before marshaling his scattered forces for a confrontation with the marauding forces that were creaming them to the south. It was this thought as they neared the center that consumed him, when an all-encompassing noise—KA-WHAM!—rocked the jeep. There was a deep, guttural rumbling sound ahead of them, and a massive burst of dirt and fire rose up ahead, shattering windows with the enormous peal of thunderous noise.

Jesus!

Only a small part of the blast was visible in the street where they were, but it was enough to understand what had happened, if not how. Donijan put his foot on the accelerator, covering the last few hundred feet rapidly. Smoke and dust was choking the air all around the Command Center as they approached. His ears were ringing with the loudness of the blast, disorienting him. They pulled up near the block in a hurry, when suddenly the road became very rough. Donijan slammed on the brakes, very nearly standing on them. The jeep skidded to a stop, just inches away from a major depression. Acheron stood in the passenger's seat... and felt his heart drop at the sight of the bloodbath.

What in God's name...

The entire road was collapsed, some fifty feet down into the subway tunnel below. A nearly fifty yard trench had been been blown into the roadway, taking the front of the Imperial Command building with it. The entirety of his Legion's position had been blasted to Hell and gone, with hardly anyone left by the building itself. Acheron's countenance fell into a tizzy of violent wrath, as he started to step out of the car. As he did so however, Donijan held him in his seat, cocking an ear to one side. Acheron himself stopped, listening as a strange series of sounds filled the sky in the murkiness. An uneasy feeling started gnawing at him, as the realization of his Legion's destruction in the capital district began to dawn on him.

"We need to pull back!" Donijan said, without a response from Acheron. His eyes turned upwards, watching suddenly as a helicopter gunship broke through the hanging cloud of dust. It was followed by a series of them, all flying up and over towards the Imperial Command center itself. Acheron cursed under his breath, raising his revolver as one of the gunships broke off from the main flight, orienting itself to take up an attack run on the jeep.

"Go! Go!" Acheron screamed, taking aim with his pistol as Donijan put the jeep into reverse, hitting the accelerator hard. The gunship opened fire with its main guns, biting the asphalt just feet away from them. The General tried his best to steer away from the debris deftly, giving Acheron the chance to take his shot with the revolver. "Damn you, bitch! Don't you know who I am?" He screamed, firing until the clip went dry. Colin Maris was screaming his head off in the back seat, barking and waving his arms frantically in the air. The helicopter opened fire again, this time sending a trail of bullets and tracers straight through the middle of the jeep. Maris's body snapped backwards against the backrest; bloody holes appearing across the middle of his torso and face. He slumped, falling dead to the side as Donijan struggled to control the vehicle. It veered to the left at a breakneck pace, hitting an upturned slab of concrete, and the vehicle suddenly went airborne. Donijan and Acheron both were thrown from the car violently, launching them up and out.

No—

Acheron's body seemed to hang in air for a second, before it came crashing down hard onto the asphalt. He felt the femur in his left leg snap against the force of the landing, causing it to fold up underneath him. He skidded to a stop about twenty feet from the wreckage, feeling the pavement tear at his skin as he slid into a pile of rubble. The pain was more than intense throughout his leg, causing him to yelp in agony. Trembling hands started falling towards the grievous wound as he struggled—and failed—to sit upright. The back of his head came to rest on the broken pavement as thick waves of nauseating pain rolled up his body...

"H-hel..." A gurgling, incoherent voice cried out nearby. Acheron turned his head to the left, looking on in stunned horror at the sight which befell him. Kabal Donijan had been thrown onto a pile of twisted, burning wreckage when he was expelled from the jeep. Rebars had impaled him through the legs and abdomen, sending a steady stream of blood oozing out from the wounds. Flames were licking at his arms and the back of his head, causing the General to weakly thrash back and forth in the massive pile of metal and debris. His left hand reached out weakly towards Acheron, who could only stare at him in mute horror.

One of the gunships is coming back...

His attention was quickly drawn to one of the helicopters, which was rapidly approaching the street level where he was at. It sat down about fifty feet away in a clearing, powering down its rotors. A dozen or so gunships flew past overhead as Acheron's head laid back onto the ground. He rolled to the side, vaguely aware that his gun was nowhere to be found. A tall, older figure approached Donijan by the wreckage pile. He couldn't make out the face, but he could see the result; the man pulled a gun from a side holster and put his hand on the General's shoulder. He then pulled the trigger, sending a slug into his friend's temple, mercifully executing him.

"N-no!" Acheron screamed, rolling over onto his back again as he tried to use his good leg to kick away. The old man approached, leaning over him in a crouch with the gun still held in his hand. It was General Viktor Valeria, who was quickly joined by a cadre of soldiers from the gunship. All of them were heavily armed, and had their rifles trained on him. There was nowhere left to run. Valeria sized up the injured soldier, looking down on him with pity and disgust. He then let a broad, creepy smile play across his face.

"Acheron of Hazor," he shouted gleefully. "I do believe that you are under arrest for high treason."

[New Azura]

This is How the World Ends...
Sector 01 Alpha — Imperial Legion Central Command
In the Capital District of the City of Tsyion, Azura
Thursday, the 10th Day of May, 2012 — 4:45 AM

"M'lady, Acheron of Hazor has been captured."

The voice over the radio was that of General Valeria's, causing Calixte to lean back in her seat on the helicopter, triumphantly. One of the big targets had been unexpectedly captured alive, apparently—it was more than she could have possibly hoped for, given the circumstances. Her body was growing extraordinarily cold, and the ebbing pain in her face was excruciating. Yet she could not hope to rest, not yet; Acheron of Hazor was a major prize, but it was not the priority target—at least, not as far as the region as a whole was concerned. Gaelan Phrosyne and Sa'vren Bloodsieve were still in the Imperial Command center, as far as anyone knew. And they were doing God-knows-what down in the bunker, trying to instigate a goddamned nuclear holocaust.

"Good work, Genral," Calixte mumbled through her mouthpiece, adding: "But you need to form up and get to work on the Imperial Command center. That's where our priority lies right now." There was a brief burst of static, followed by a curt acknowledgement.

"Roger, I copy."

Calixte motioned for the pilot of the helicopter to sit her down in the clearing by the Command building, where a host of loyalist Azuran, Tiuraboan and Variante troops were gathering. As the guide rails of the 'copter touched the ground, a stout looking Azuran on the outside opened the cabin door, extending his hand to help the Crown Princess down. She balanced herself by using the man's shoulder as a crutch, limping down and away from the gunship. A heavy guard followed her as she hugged the jagged edge of the newly-formed outcropping. Daymon's plan had worked to perfection, creating a yawning canyon in the roadway that had swallowed up Acheron's forces. Part of Gaelan and Bloodsieve's troops had also been affected; some were lying dead at the lip of the pit inside where the front hall of the Command building had once stood.

"We need to get inside to the catacombs and neutralize all remaining enemy forces," Calixte shouted over the whirling dervish of gunships and jets passing by at varying levels overhead. A heavy guard of soldiers led her into the building, carefully avoiding pit falls and broken bodies. Most of the building had been heavily damaged by the underground blast, and while the interior of the facility was heavily fortified against aerial bombardments and the like, it was not as well-equipped to deal with underground detonations. Calixte made a mental note of the feature as they continued on, going deeper into the facility. The Command Center was a political meeting place, truth be told, yet there was one tactical operational bunker deep in the heart of the facility. It was meant to be a fail-safe station by which the country's strategic nuclear option could be initiated in the event of an all-out launch against Azura. It was a complicated system to initiate, which made it very difficult for a rogue element to just up and use.

Gaelan has some of the right codes, though...

It was that thought that panicked her as they moved further and further into the complex. Phrosyne had been given some of the codes he would need to initiate the system in the event of a war, but he did not have the master launch key. To perform a hard boot, he would have to come up with the correct six digit alphanumeric combination in the keypad. He had three attempts at it; if he failed to enter the correct key on the third attempt, the system would assume the capital city had been overrun, prompting automated defense systems outside the city to launch a retaliatory strike on the capital itself, dusting it with a low-yield tactical nuclear weapon. It was this result that had Calixte in a mild panic; in the event that the system was triggered, they would only have five minutes to live.

And the Hope of Tsyion would be vanquished...

Her advance guard rounded the corner that would lead them to the short hallway in front of the bunker. As the first soldiers rounded the corner, gunshots rang out in the narrow sector. More of her guard moved forward, arms at the ready as they made contact with enemy forces inside. The torrent of automatic rifle fire was so loud, so intense that she covered her left ear to try and block out some of the noise. Gunfire became the sound of screams, as the advance guard began to move forward through the hallway. The room itself wasn't that large; there couldn't be that many men between Calixte and her ultimate goal.

"We've got to go, guys! Push forward!" She shouted, understanding as a fresh wave of pain wracked her that she was callously indifferent to the Azurans she was pushing forward into the meat grinder. It hurt her deeply, but it also steeled her resolve even more; they had to get to the bunker. The shield of soldiers moved up, beginning to clear the way for her. She turned the corner, keeping her mind focused on the importance of getting to the control room as they passed dead bodies. The few enemies left ahead were beginning to back their way into the physical bunker itself, prompting the nearest soldiers in her own group to run headlong for it.

"Don't let them close the doors!"

Calixte watched as a dozen of her men wrestled with seven or eight of Gaelan's men, trying desperately to keep the door from closing shut. More and more troops began to throw themselves at the door, forcing it back open with the sheer strength of their numbers. A tidal wave of bodies crashed inwards, tripping over themselves. Gunfire erupted from the room, sending sprays of blood back outwards. The macabre scene was partially hidden around the corner, but the cough of gunfire was deafening as more of her troops began to work their way into the small bunker. Gunfire popped as brilliant flashes of light constantly illuminated the control room.

"Calixte!"

A voice cried out from the room, drawing everything to a stop. The gunfire, the hoarse screams of the dying... it all seemed to fade into nothingness; a piercing, soul-crushing silence that had all the makings of a melodramatic climax. Nervously, she stepped forward around the bleeding corpses, taking the service pistol that was offered her by the nearest soldier to her. She limped around the corner, stepping into the small bunker tentatively...

Oh, God...

The room was rancid with the stink of gore. Dozens of men from either side had been cut down by the vicious assault; gunfire having brought them into a spreading lake of blood. General Bloodsieve was partially propped up against the door, holding a blood-soaked matte against a pair of neat wounds into his right flank; his breathing heavy and labored. Calixte held her pistol at the ready, catching sight of her would-be husband at the back of the room. He was at the control panel, holding his finger over the 'ACCEPT' key for the master code insertion. She did a quick once-over of his face, noting how far gone he truly was. His eyes were haunted, wide and rolling as a wave of panicked paranoia played across his features. He was partially turned facing her, keeping his finger over the button while brandishing a handgun in his other hand. He had it pointed directly at where she stood as she approached, her own gun held up.

So this is how the world ends...

Calixte looked on at Commander Phrosyne with disdain and disgust. "I thought we had an arrangement, sweetie."

Gaelan looked her over, shaking his head. "A lot of people have theories on life, you know. Mine is pretty simple, really; he who has the most toys when he dies wins the game. I simply wanted to play with my toys, dear."

She spat out of the uninjured corner of her mouth, sneering: "You smug son of a bitch! You want to bring an unholy fire down on this nation? Have you and your idiot friends not done enough here? The capital is nearly dead, Gaelan!"

"No!" He shouted, waving the gun around recklessly. "This isn't my fault! This is that bastard Valeria, and your worthless father's fault! They are the ones that ruined this goddamn country, not me!" He snarled at her, refocusing his aim. "Don't you get it, woman? This country is dying—just like this damned region! The old system is falling apart, and there's nothing left but to wipe the slate clean and start anew!"

Calixte stepped forward bravely, ignoring the threat. "This region may be dying, but that doesn't mean we have to stop fighting for it. As long as a Gothic Lord reigns yet, this region goes on, Gaelan. And I will not allow you to break what fragile peace remains in this region."

Gaelan pulled the hammer back on his revolver, screaming: "Give me the codes, Calixte! Give me the launch code, or I swear to God I'll hit the accept button for the third fucking time!"

Calixte shuddered, but kept her pistol up. "I will not do it. Not now, and not ever!"

"Give me the goddamn codes!"

She shook her head defiantly, holding her ground. The passionate rage that was rising up in Gaelan's face was palpable. Suddenly, a voice called out from behind them: "Commander! Stand down, now! This reckoning must end!" Calixte listened over her shoulder as Viktor Valeria carefully stepped inside the bunker, unarmed. He walked with his hands up, drawing Gaelan's attention momentarily. "Son, this is no way to die. It needs to end—here..."

Gaelan absorbed the words. His eyes became like fire, glazed over in an unseeing, passionate, wrathful state. His groaning became a hoarse scream as he brought the gun around to aim it at Viktor. His hand was moving down towards the button; Calixte had no other recourse. She took aim and pulled the trigger, once, twice, thrice. Three bullets slammed into Gaelan's chest, sending him careening backward towards the console panel where he stood. He tried to balance himself, but quickly lost footing and fell to the floor in a heap. Calixte used what strength she had left to balance herself, keeping the pistol trained on the Commander as he lay bleeding on the floor. Blood was running out of his mouth has he coughed wetly, his chest heaving in short bursts.

End it, Calixte...

It was the voice of her father, speaking to her from beyond the grave. She could feel it stronger than any thing else before in her life. She limped slowly towards Gaelan, whose eyes were rapidly losing their focus as he tried to look at her. She carefully raised the gun at an angle, looking directly in his eyes as she pulled the trigger—"Goodnight, Commander!"—sending one final slug through his gasping mouth, lodging in the lower part of his brain. Phrosyne shuddered before going still; one final spasm and he was gone, lost to the remembrance of history as the man who had tried to destroy the world.

"It's finished now," she whispered quietly, dropping the gun to the floor. Calixte stepped to the insertion panel, carefully clearing out the woefully incorrect code Gaelan had intended to use. She then insert the deactivation code, punching it in quickly and hitting the 'ACCEPT' key. The two red lights that had lit up from the incorrect entries quickly disappeared, as she slumped over the panel in relief. Her weak arms threatened to give way, but Viktor came up from behind her, helping to support her weight.

"We're all quiet, m'lady," Valeria said soothingly. "You can rest now."

Calixte looked up at him, on the verge of collapsing emotionally. "We'll never be able to rest, Viktor. This is but the beginning."

"That's not important now," he said softly. "Those battles can wait. Now, it's time to rest."

Calixte nodded, unable to resist as she dropped her head on his shoulder weakly. He helped lead her back out of the bunker as she instructed him: "Keep a heavy guard on both Bloodsieve and Acheron, General. I'll be taking Gaelan's body with me on the trip back to ULE City, as proof of this madness. And do your best not to let the country go to shit while I'm gone, would you? This was a particularly shitty way to come back home."

"It will be done, m'lady," Viktor said reassuringly, chuckling quietly. "Don't you worry about that now."

Calixte nodded, feeling the last of her body's strength flee. "Alright, then. Get me back to Adraniel's Shadow. Lerian will be waiting for me."

[The Naacal]

The Fate of Destruction is also the Joy of Rebirth
Sector 01 Alpha — Imperial Legion Central Command
In the Capital District of the City of Tsyion, Azura
Thursday, the 10th Day of May, 2012

Calixte nodded, feeling the last of her body's strength flee. "Alright, then. Get me back to Adraniel's Shadow. Lerian will be waiting for me."

The combat medic of Team Bith/3 nodded, and led Calixte back to the AS-565. Securing her gently in the rear seat, he signaled the pilot to take off. "Signal Adraniel's Shadow, tell Sickbay to be ready for surgery when we arrive." The helicopter flew over the Azuran countryside, which still boor scars of the recent attempted coup. Wrecked vehicles, demolished buildings, fires, the dead... War it was said was hell, and there could be no deeper pit then a civil war.

The Air Boss soon vectored them in, and there was a medical team waiting for them on the flight deck as they touched down. Calixte was taken to sickbay, where with the help of 2 nurses was prepped for surgery.

ICU, Sickbay. IMS Adraniel's Shadow

An orderly checked the IV slowly dripping into Dariea's arm, then checked the monitor panel for the Medscanner. The ancient device had done its work well, relaying data to the labs to allow an antidote for the poison running through Dariea's system. The young woman stirred, sluggishly coming to consciousness. "You came very close to death, young Lady." came an odd voice from the door. The voice was multi-tonal and resonant, almost like an angelic choir. The Orderly turned as if to say something, but remained silent when he saw who stood there.

Nialyth walked over to the bedside, smiling as he looked down at Dariea. "Welcome back from the dead, Dariea. It was not your time yet. Someone... needs you very much." Nialyth looked at Dariea, through her, as if staring into her soul. The two of you have been though so much. You remind of of Adr...Neirda, and how he felt for myself and Lerian..." Nialyth's voice seemed to resonate with Dariea's very essence. "You will face trying times ahead, as we did. Fortunately we were able to intervene now, so you would not fully take Adraniel's Path. So you would not have become...like us."

The last words were melancholic in both inflection and tone, Nialyth seemingly remembering scenes of sadness, of horror. Dariea's semi-conscious mind could even remember a few of them...

Dariea came to full consciousness with a star, the orderly looking on amazed at the monitor, which now showed no trace of the chemical toxin. "Where... is Lady Calixte? Where am I for that matter? she said, brushing back her dark hair. "You are on the IMS Adraniel's Shadow, Aerial Fortress of the Enrialist Imperium. Your Anais is in surgery."

"Surgery?" Dariea gasped. "For what?" Nialyth grimaced. "There was a coup, she was wounded in the fighting. We are doing what we can, but even with our technology...we can save her life, but..." "But WHAT?" the young woman shouted, lines of worry showing on her fine features." Nialyth placed his hand gently on her shoulder. "It was a crude incendiary device, the burns were quite severe. She needs you now, you can do more for her then any of this." Nialyth spread his arms to encompass the Sick Bay.

"The coup is crushed, but the biggest battle you two must face is yet to come. Be strong, for each other, and I am sure you will triumph. Love can overcome the worst of horrors. Trust me, I know..." Nialyth said softly.

Surgical Theatre. IMS Adraniel's Shadow

N'Rel-X'eleth held a laser scalpel with absolute precision, finishing the attachment of the neural interface unit in Calixte's eye socket. The socket had been cleaned out, and some limited dermal regeneration had been done. "Ok, hand me the neuroptronic unit." he said. A nurse handed the unit to him, and with practiced movements he attached the unit to the neural interface. then he went to work with the scalpel and micromanipulator units affixing the unit to her bone structure. Once done he went to a display panel and touched the holodynamic controls, running diagnostics.

"Neural interface nominal, all systems functioning. No sign of CIRS development." N'Rel-X'eleth looked proud, not many of these operations were done, and he was one of a literal handful of surgeons in the Imperium capable of performing one. "Get her to ICU." he said and two medical orderlies wheeled the gurney with Calixte on it to the ICU for surgical recovery.

[New Azura]

The Greatest of These...
Aboard the Gravship Adraniel's Shadow
En Route to ULE City, Automagfreek
Thursday, the 10th Day of May, 2012

Calixte stared off into the small mirror in her quarters, touching the plate gingerly that was now neatly affixed to the burns on her face. It was a cryptic, frighteningly surreal experience to see her new visage in the reflection. She had paid a hefty price for her sins, and yet fate had deemed her worthy of survival. It was the best of times, and it was the worst of times to be sure. A lot of people had died in Tsyion over the past several hours, and it would eat at her for the rest of her life. Yet in the final analysis, Azura's crisis of leadership was temporarily dissipated, and Calixte had managed to bring Dariea to Adraniel's Shadow to get help. All things considered, Calixte was unnerved and less than settled, but alive. It was a start, at least.

"To all things a beginning," she whispered aloud, "to all things an end." It was the favorite saying of her father, who would repeat that line constantly whenever Calixte was running about, trying to earn a few more minutes with her games or her playtime with friends. It was Gael Raziya's way of ushering her along whenever he grew restless waiting for her at the city park, trying desperately to get out of watching her. Even so, the man had a sentimental streak that could run a mile, when he wanted to show it. The days when the two were particularly close to one another were few and far between... but there was one day in particular that always stood out in her mind. It was one of her most cherished memories, and one of the last good days she could remember, way back when...

Calixte smiled. Her father had gotten duped into taking her out for ice cream by their mother, who was too sick to get out of bed on this particular day. She was only a few months out from lapsing into the coma that would eventually kill her, and Gael Raziya suspected that the end was near. So he took her out for ice cream, despite the two not being very close at all and Calixte really too old to be doing such things with a straight face. And yet, for whatever reason, the two decided to go for a walk afterwards. It was all horribly cliché in nature, and yet something felt so very right about the whole thing. They talked and walked for hours, Calixte talking about her troubles in school and Gael Raziya talking about how he'd met her mother Livona.

"No matter where this life takes you," he told her by the battery on Lake Legnica, "your mother and I will always be with you." They had been walking along the trail, casting stones across the surface of the water in their own little part of the world. The sun was just setting over the water at that point, and was casting a thousand little flecks on the rippling surface. As if some sort of cosmic painter had taken a paintbrush to the sky—his canvas—and had streaked deep reds, hot pinks and oranges in amongst the wispy lavender clouds, allowing some of the coloration to spill over into the water. He'd actually hugged her on the way home, in between trying to steal some of her sprinkles from the rapidly melting cone in her hand.

"Don't forget that we love you, Adrienne."

Calixte stared at the mirror, looking at the reflection which bore a hole back into her. She had held onto so much animosity towards her mother for dying so young; to her father, for not truly caring. Yet she could see the remembrance of them looking into her very soul, reminding her from whence she came. Her mother's hair and face adorned her daughter; even underneath the unholy mask she now wore to cover the damages of war, her mother's child remained. She traced the mask in her mirror, looking deeply within her. Calixte was so very angry at her father, for so very long. Even so, she had adopted everything he'd stood for as her very own. He was a good man, living in a dark hour when the heart of good men began to fail. And yet, even now that he was gone, Calixte began to realize just how much she was going to miss the man—her father.

I still remember, Dad.

Her hand began to shake on the mirror, and the floodgates were loosed. Calixte's head reared back, the tears flowing from the corner of her left eye. She wretched as the grief wracked her body, causing her to place her hand on the mirror to steady herself. And she cried, deep-seated tears that had been held back for years and years. It was the culmination of everything that she'd been through; every pain, every sordid fear, every trial and tribulation that had been wrought upon her shoulders. Her soul emptied every last vestige of coldness, and she mourned in that hour for the memory of her father, whom she finally was ready to forgive. There was no filling the void left by his passing, but there was the ever-present challenge to do the very best that she could. It would have to be enough—

"Calixte..."

The voice penetrated her spirit like a dagger, slicing through every fiber of her being. Calixte froze, looking at an angle in her small mirror. The doorway to her quarters was standing open, and Dariea Maris was standing in it. She grabbed a hold of the wall, using it to help herself pivot in order to reorient herself towards her. Her beauty was every bit as potent a drug to her as it had been the first time she'd met her. Her long, jet-black hair still held the same gleam under the bright lights, and her face still held that mischievous, devilishly coy look, especially in her leering eyes that could look her over within and without. Calixte stepped forward gingerly, then stopped as Dariea's countenance fell. Her spirit braced for the worst that Maris was prepared to offer.

"Calixte," Dariea began: "You were going to marry that man."

"Baby, please believe—"

She put her hand up, silencing her. "You were going to marry him, Calixte! You have no idea how bad it hurt me to know that our relationship was going to be finished." Dariea stepped inside, looking deeply into her eyes. "But then, there was a part of me that knew I held some of the blame. After what I'd done, and learning of your acceptance of Gaelan's marriage proposal... I could not imagine living without you in my life, Calixte. And then I found out what had happened, about how you had come to rescue me in the hospital. About how you'd gotten hurt..."

She stepped forward, reaching her hand out to touch Calixte's face. She shied away, but Dariea wouldn't be denied. Her hand came to rest on the metallic mask that now covered the maimed side of her face, placing her hand softly on her cheek. "Oh, love," Dariea spoke with tears welling up in her eyes, "I'm so very sorry..."

Calixte brought her in close, wrapping her arms around her as the tears of her great love spilled out on her shoulder. She put her hand behind Dariea's head, holding her close to her shoulder. "I missed you so much, baby. You have no idea how much I missed you."

Dariea wrapped her arms tightly around Calixte's waist. "Please don't let me go."

The two of them held each other for what felt like an eternity—a blissful, perfect eternity which held the promise of hope in the dreariness of their trials. There was so much left to be said, to explain what had happened, and what would become of them. But none of that mattered now; in the darkness of her world, a small ray of light had reappeared, and had reaffirmed her faith that when the story came to an end, there would be at least one small trace of happiness left to be found. The woman she loved was by her side now, and nothing else mattered. If the world was coming to an end, then she could save at least one small part of it—theirs.

"I'll hold you as long as I can, Dariea," she whispered. "As long as I can."

[Kylarnatia]

The Streets Around the Večetiri Sezona Luxury Resort, The Azuran Capital of Tsyion
The Cailene Crown Republic of Azura, Southern Gholgoth
7:48am Gothic Central-East Time (GMT+9), Thursday 10th May 2012

"Dux Imperator, perhaps it isn't a good idea to be wandering outside..." Chloe spoke quietly, as she darted her eyes in every direction around the ruins of Tsyion as if to look out for anyone carrying a gun. She had followed Hyperion a mere few feet out into the debris-filled streets as he seemed to observe the damage done with some interest. Chloe ran up directly behind him, as if to hide behind him as a shield of protection. Yet he did not walk with her, and just continued walking on. She didn't want to follow, fearing for her safety and the others still huddled in the resort, but at the same time her interests in the giant man who was walking off before her was just too great for her to say goodbye then. Drawing a huge sigh, Chloe then ran to catch up with Hyperion, who walked at a steady pace through the streets.

The Dux Imperator had grown increasingly impatient as the early hours of the morning went on. He was eager to fight, even with no weapons, but he was kept inside by resort security, and Chloe, who stopped him from lashing out on the security guards for only following their code. Hyperion only had two codes of duty: kill all that threaten the Caesar and her State and Kill all those who raise the weapon against you. The warlord was already highly annoyed because he'd not been able to fight against the Kravenites, and he was even more fuming when he learnt of the death of Lord Damien Dreadfire, just hours before the fighting in Tsyion began. He'd hoped then that he would be able to spill the blood of scum, but fate seemed to disallow him the pleasure even more. Furious, as soon as the guns fell silent, he broke through the line of security personnel and kicked open the double doors of the resort that opened out onto the street. All he wanted, apparently, was some fresh air.

"Dux Imperator, I said--!" Chloe rushed up behind Hyperion once again, and this time he turned and raised his hand to her. She stopped right before it, and it seemed so big as to be able to cover her entire face if he clasped it. His breathing was as deep and was as booming as ever, which didn't bring much confidence to Chloe's side.

"I heard what you said," He spoke, with almost some degree of patience, "But the guns have fallen silent. I believe we're safe enough. Now you head back off to the hotel, resort, or whatever that place is called...I'm going to inspect some more of the damage."

Hyperion said nothing else as he then continued his walk through the rubble. Watching him go on some more, Chloe thought over the prospect of going back to the resort, looking back to its entrance, the lavish displays abraded away by the heat of the fires that ripped through the buildings a couple of metres across the street. She then looked back to Hyperion and watched him go further away still. Sighing, and pulling out her small notepad and pencil which she always carried around with her to take notes when she needed to, she followed closely behind the Dux Imperator as he looked among the wreckage of the city.

The streets weren't completely empty. Survivors did wander around, looking amongst the wreckage themselves as to find lost loved ones, but most efforts were in vain. Those who succeeded in finding those they loved sat in tears on the side of a street corner as they held a hand sticking out from the rubble, calling for others to help them dig the body out, but very little people responded for a long time. Chloe was in shock, shaken already by the bombing and the attacks that had been happening around the city that morning, and now she had to look on as people began to cry out in anguish for those they'd lost. Although she'd read records and seen pictures of such destruction, it didn't prepare her in the slightest for witnessing it first hand.

"Requiem in pacem..." was all that she could utter as she moved along with Hyperion, who shifted great blocks of rubble but not in attempt to retrieve bodies or to save anyone struggling in small air pockets which were slowly being starved of air, he moved them simply to get along the remaining street paths. People saw this and cried to him for help to shift the rubble over their loved ones, but he ignored them without even giving them a mere glance. Eventually, he got so sick of their cries that he moved into one of the ruined buildings, which had its whole front face torn to shreds. Chloe couldn't believe that he was ignoring them, even with her experience with the Black Cobra before they'd never shown as much ignorance as to at least not shoot them a glance...but it wasn't as if they'd have helped either.

Now following him through the building, Chloe kept at a distance as she quickly scribbled down what she was seeing. Hyperion seemed to be looking around the wrecked office, not for anything in particular, as if just out of pure interest. Then, he stiffened, and shot his head around the room. Chloe ducked behind a tipped over desk, thinking that he'd heard her, but she soon realised that he'd heard something else as he pulled down a huge slab of concrete that had been blown over to the wall and was now resting on it. As it came down to the ground with a tremendous 'thump', she looked over the desk to see that he had confronted a young Imperial Legionnaire, who'd hid in the tight gap between the slap and the wall. He was armed, and began to raise his gun at the giant before him. Hyperion just looked down at him with ferociously beaming red eyes, and as the man came in to pull the trigger, Hyperion knocked it away from him in one quick swoop with his gigantic hands.

The young Legionnaire then tried to swing at him, but Hyperion grabbed him by his collar and pinned him against the wall. The man seemed to grunt in an uncomfortable manner, and he shook himself about with all his strength. But it was no use, as Hyperion just looked him straight in the eyes, his red lenses still beaming brightly. The struggling Legionnaire, tried not to look into them, for they seemed to burn like the fires he'd caused while fighting earlier that morning. Then, as if out of nowhere, Hyperion hurled the poor individual across the room, and as his back connected with the wall, there was a terrible crunch. The man screamed in absolute agony. Hyperion watched him squirm on the floor for a little while, and then slowly made his way over towards the man.

"Ahhhh, fuck! God damn it!"" The man screamed as Hyperion came down upon the man with one knee, pinning him down, as he unsheathed a massive, almost meat clever-like knife. Chloe wanted to look away at that point, but couldn't as her interest in the Dux Imperator was so big that she couldn't pass up the opportunity to watch him in 'action'.

"Ut te computrescent peccata!" The voice of the titan boomed: 'May you rot for your sins!'

Hyperion raised the blade, and struck down with terrifying force as he pierced the man's neck. Blood spilled and squirted out in all directions as Hyperion then ripped the blade through the skin. The man's last sounds were that of gasping for air as blood spilled out of his mouth and his eyes clouded over. The Dux Imperator continued to rip the skin away with his knife, until he was eventually capable of reaching his hand into the skin and from that, ripping the skull from the spine. Now holding the skull in his hand, he plucked out the eyeballs and threw them into the opening of the dead man's body as if it was now a trash bin. He also picked off the tiny bits of skin that still clung to the skull, almost with care. It was going straight on his mantel.

Hkhkhhkchchchaaaa! Chloe was no longer able to hold in the torrent of sick that had built up in her gut. Appearing from around the desk, Hyperion looked at her with one simple glance and shook his head, before turning his attention back to the skull, which he continued to pick at until it was clear of all dead skin.

"I told you, Ms. Cloelia. You know nothing of me and my people."

[New Azura]

The Return of the Marauder
Kapitala Severoistok Međunarodnih Aerodrom
Capital District of the City of Tsyion, Azura
Wednesday, the 16th of May, 2012 — 9:45 AM

The bright rays of sunlight were pouring into the fuselage of the IF/T-101 Air Tram, causing the Crown Princess to shield the left side of her face. It was an unusual experience, coming to accept the implant produced by Lerian's surgeons on Adraniel's Shadow, but she was beginning to adapt to it. What wasn't adaptable was the amount of carnage that had been wrought upon the capital city of her nation. Tsyion was engulfed in pure hell, burning and suffering an intolerable pain which no people should be forced to endure—the price of two betrayals. Calixte stared from afar as the towering pillars of smoke crested upwards upon the horizon, casting a dread sense of foreboding over her spirit. This was the beginning of sorrows...

But it shall not last forever, she reminded herself resolutely. The night was darkest just before the dawn, after all. And once she had taken stock of all that Azura had lost in the carnage, Calixte would be ready and willing to restore unto her all the joys and prosperity becoming of such a Monolith in the Great North. Her brethren, her People had paid the price for their acceptance in Gholgoth. At the cost of some thirty-five thousand lives and more than र19 Billion Rankmarks in property damage, the Azurans had earned the right to call themselves Goths, paving the bloody way forward for a People that was bereft of hope, and sorely in need of something positive in their lives.

Calixte rubbed at her hand, watching Alistair Soulstorm and Elias Darkspawn converse scrupulously. Sighing, she turned in her seat to face Dariea, who was staring off into the distance with a look of great sadness on her face. "Is there anything I can do for you? Please know that I'm here for you if you need something."

Dariea sighed, turned to face her love. "I'm okay. I just... I just can't believe that he's gone."

Calixte shook her head, feeling a rush of guilt creep into her heart momentarily. The fate of her father had been unknown to most in Azura until just a few days prior, when his body was discovered in the wreckage of the crash site near the Central Command building. What Calixte had told Dariea—that her father was most probably killed in the attacks—was almost certainly a lie; the evidence suggested that he was the one who had helped spring Acheron from his cage, thus earning an immediate spot on Calixte's execution list had he lived. But with Dariea now back at her side, there was no way she was going to jeopardize the love of her life once more. So, she'd had Viktor Valeria (against his better judgment) cover the evidence up, clearing Colin of any wrongdoing. It was sleazy, underhanded, and totally worth the effort.

"He was a great man, baby. We're all going to miss him."

"Mm, that he was," Dariea sighed. "He was one of my true confidants; I could count on him for anything... Just like you." She leaned over, placing her hand on the mask that covered half of Calixte's face. Her lips brushed across the corner of it, barely making contact. Dariea kissed her gently, running her hand across the side of her face. "I love you."

"I love you," Calixte whispered, resting her forehead against Dariea's. The two stayed close together as the plane began to make its descent towards Kapitala Severoistok Međunarodnih Aerodrom, or what was left of it at least. She looked over Dariea as she dropped her head to rest on Calixte's shoulder, peering out towards the city as the plane descended low enough to make out its features more clearly. As she had feared, things looked quite bad indeed. But it was a trial she must confront, if she were to steer the ship back on the right track. So much had been lost, and yet somehow, there was so much left still to gain. Even in the darkest of her trials, Calixte's spirit was filled with a renewed sense of purpose—a vigor that fueled a burning, wanton desire to set things right, and to propel the country ever higher in the world.

We can accomplish all things...

The Air Tram descended quickly, making a somewhat rough landing on the tarmac. The jolt from the bump caused a shot of pain to ring through her face, sending a wave of deep concern briefly from Hellspawn and Soulstorm, both of whom were up to their feet quickly at the sight of her grimacing. She waved them off quickly, however: "I'm fine, gentlemen. I'm alright."

Dariea was unconvinced, placing her hand on the back of Calixte's shoulder. "Baby, are you sure?"

Calixte nodded, patting her hand. "I'm okay. It's just... I can still feel the pain on occasion. The medication hasn't fully taken the edge off entirely." The Crown Princess felt a brief pang of guilt at the level of hurt that welled up in Dariea's face at the revelation. The care and concern of her lover was wonderfully fulfilling, but Dariea had been through enough hurt for one lifetime in the past month. Calixte would need to be more careful in how she dealt with her paramour.

When in doubt, lie.

The plane rolled to a stop after a minute or so, coming to rest outside of a vast, cavernous open hangar. Calixte waited for the motion to stop before she pulled herself up, rejecting help from anyone else in doing so. She moved out from her seat into the aisle, walking a bit more briskly than she had in ULE City. No matter the pain, she had to put on a strong projection for the cameras that were sure to be awaiting her arrival in Tsyion. There was part of a concern that the military may be there waiting to arrest her for bringing such pain and destruction to the country, but the view of Viktor Valeria and a welcoming delegation outside stirred those thoughts into nothingness.

As she approached the hatch to the outside, Praetor Darkspawn took up a position in front of her, shielding her as the door was opened from the outside by a unit of the Varian Guard. Bright light spilled into the cabin, reflecting off the satin two-piece dress that Calixte had put on. The deep blue of her dress gleamed as she stepped closely behind Darkspawn, allowing Alistair Soulstorm to help assist Dariea off the plane closely behind her. The cool breeze whipping around the airport was refreshing after the stale air of the Air Tram on the four-hour plane ride back from Automagfreek. A dozen flags, each baring different emblems of the Grand Cailene Crown Republic were fluttering in the breeze behind a carefully orchestrated color guard, who each held emblems from six different Imperial Legions represented. Entire companies were present, all in their finest dress uniforms, bearing the colors of their units with great pride and dignity.

General Viktor Valeria stepped forward from the revue stand, walking towards her with a look of happiness on his face. Calixte approached with a certain peace in her heart, warmly embracing her longtime friend. Viktor looked her up and down, shaking his head: "I knew the mask would be a trip, m'lady. Even so, it's so good to have you back!"

The excitement in his voice filled her with a certain humbleness. "You are too kind, my friend. Especially under the circumstances." Calixte nodded in his direction, then refocused her attention on a cadre standing beside the General. Chancellor Riavan Grivas was there, dressed in his customary open suit and tie, looking for all the world like a used car salesman. Her two surviving members from the Court of Valor, Daymon and Erix were both present. Each wore a clean-pressed suit and tie, looking imposing in the early morning light. They were flanked by Captain Kaikita Hida of the Varian Guard, dressed in his finest uniform. The black beret was turned down over one eye—a symbolic gesture that wasn't lost on her. She shook his hand warmly, bowing slightly before him in honor of what he and his men had accomplished for her. So many had been lost...

Who is this, now?

Her attention fell on the last member of the small group—a young woman whom she had never been privy to meet before. She had long, curly strawberry blonde hair that was worn in a pony-tail, protruding out from a black beret similar to the one warn by Captain Hida. Yet it bore the same emblem that the Imperial Marine Forces wore. She was dressed in a thick black turtleneck, which was partially obscured by her charcoal grey battle vest; the kevlar was covered by a synthetic rubber casing. She stood at attention, looking profoundly authoritarian and smug when Viktor moved to introduce her.

"M'lady, this is Marine Commander Natalya Simovic of the XXIIIrd Imperial Legion out of Kanah-Karkor. She was the strategist that helped win the fight for the capital city, with her less than conventional methodology." Viktor opened his hands, smiling: "She's also my niece, so please be gentle."

Calixte grinned, laughing. "Ah! The heir apparent, I see," she coyly remarked, drawing a puffy grin from the woman in front of her. She was remarkably young-looking to have obtained such a lofty position. She was also a very attractive looking person. Her personality left a lot to be desired, however: "We are indebted to you for your service, Marine Commander. It shall not be soon forgotten."

Calixte turned back to Viktor as the two walked side by side past the rows of soldiers, who kept vigil over the group as they passed. She leaned in close to Viktor, whispering: "You know, I was half-worried they would arrest me upon landing here."

Viktor cocked an eyebrow at her. "Really? Why?"

"Oh, I don't know Viktor," Calixte scorned, waving her hand incredulously. "Perhaps because I brought down the Hammer of God upon these people by my shitty choices over the past month? Perhaps because I suck as a leader, and have no business representing this country any longer?"

Viktor looked at her, bewildered that she would even suggest such a thing. "I take it you haven't been following the news lately?"

Calixte stopped walking, looking at him with some concern. "No... Why, General?" Viktor grinned mischievously, pointing off to the west away from where the group had landed. She turned, looking across the opposite end of the tarmac—

What in the world...

Her eyes had to be deceiving her, they just had to be. On the far end of the runway, cordoned off by a row of city constables was an utter mass of humanity, standing by the runway some hundred yards away. She had been so intent on checking the welcoming committee out that she'd plum missed the rapidly expanding group of people who were standing by the far runway. Most were holding bouquets of flowers and assorted signs; all were focused squarely on her. When she turned towards them, the thousands gathered began to cheer wildly for her, throwing flowers and streamers up in her general direction. The shock in her spirit was almost too much to comprehend.

"What in the world, General? Why are they so excited to see me of all people?"

"Because you're their hero," the General replied in a matter-of-fact tone. "You're the savior of Azura—the Daughter of this great city! People have taken to worshiping your image in the streets. When the news broke that you'd been injured, people openly mourned in the streets for you. As you can guess, that was quite the disturbing spectacle—I never thought I'd see the day, but I guess this was as good a time as any to break from tradition. Hell, they have even taken to surnaming you, just like your father."

Calixte's jaw dropped. "What are you talking about, Viktor? What are they calling me?"

Viktor grinned. "They're calling you Marauder."

[New Azura]

The Fate of a Traitor
In the Tower of Forlorn Hope, Samirtazvezdan
Tsyion, Grand Cailene Crown Republic of Azura
Wednesday, May 16th, 2012 C.E.—5:45 PM A.S.T.

Calixte moved down the narrow hallway carefully, scrunching her nose at the odor. The stone corridor in the tower fortress had been sanitized with industrial strength cleaner, after the bloodbath which had taken place there during the early hours of the coup. How ironic, it seemed, to send one of the last remaining conspirators back to his cage, where he belonged. Captain Kaikita Hida led the way, keeping a close guard on the Crown Princess as she tried her best to keep up. Commander Natalya Simovic was flanking her, providing something of a protective shield for her. There was very little danger of anything happening; still, a girl couldn't be too careful.

He did almost topple the country...

Coming to the narrow hallway's terminus, Captain Hida slowly pulled on the metal door, unlatching the outer two deadbolts in doing so. As the door swung open, Calixte could see the man up ahead that had caused her country so much grief. She stepped inside the room, holding her nose at the god-awful stench coming from the poor bastard. In all her years, she had never encountered a more gruesome, pungent odor; nor had her eyes ever laid hold on something so pitiful and brutalized. The gorge began to rise in the back of her throat, nearly causing her to purge. The odoriferous aroma was wafting in thick, pungent waves. The man looked more dead than alive.

Jesus...

"If you're going to torture me some more," the ragged body muttered, "at least have the decency to wear gloves. I'd hate to get any more of my goo on you, like the last poor sap that came in to have some fun." Calixte shook her head, feeling real traces of pity for General Sa'vren Bloodsieve as she beheld him. His body was racked up off the floor, with four chains pulled tight with tension keeping his body suspended. His hands and feet had been cruelly hacked away with a bonesaw, and left to rot on the floor beside his chains. To hold him in place, the prison guards had gotten extremely creative, using meat hooks through his elbows and his knees. Someone had taken a meat cleaver and neatly sliced away half of Sa'vren's face, leaving only the shining red glean of muscle underneath, sickly and sweet. Both of his eyes had been gouged out with a Bowie knife; one of the poor retinas was still partially on the knife, which was laying below the body, covered in his bodily waste which had nowhere else to go. It was almost enough to kill him out of mercy.

Almost...

"General Bloodsieve," Calixte shouted, startling the injured man. She took notice of the long, thick gouges which were barely healed on his body. Someone had gone to disgusting lengths to ensure Bloodsieve would never enjoy the fruits of a pain-free existence. "Tell me, good sir; what are they feeding you down here?"

A dribble of blood emanated from the side of Bloodsieve's mouth as he tried to spit in disgust. "Enh," he seethed, trying to catch his breath. "I wouldn't know, Your Highness. I can't see; all I know is that whatever they feed me is alive and squirming, and tastes vaguely of dirt."

"Ah," Calixte said, eyeballing an even more grotesque looking scene on the food plate near the ground. It looks like they've taken grub worms and baby scorpions for your meal, though I can only imagine what they're putting on the damned things."

The General heaved forward, wincing with every movement that he made. "I can... I can tell you're enjoying this, Majesty. Just tell me one thing, bitch—how well do you sleep at night now, knowing half your face looks like mine?"

"I'm sleeping much better, thank you," Calixte confided, chuckling. "Touching another woman's naked body makes all the difference between a lonely night and one filled with unbridled, sensual passion."

"Yes, well, I wouldn't have to worry about that problem anymore," the General muttered. Calixte thought for a second on what the man was implying, then sat to work searching through the gruesome pile of his body parts, which were lying on the floor. She spotted the reason for his discontentment, and had to choke back her gorge once more.

"Oh, goodness! They've gone too far... I'm terribly sorry, General. What bad sport of us!"

"Ha, ha," he sarcastically replied, seething before continuing: "I'm beside myself with merriment, ha, ha! Just remember, bitch—when this region turns its back on you and begins to rape your people, I wont be around to pull your ass out of the fire."

Calixte stepped forward, carefully watching where she walked. "General Bloodsieve, this nation may in due time fail. The hearts of our people may wax cold, and our name may be blotted from the pages of history, sir. But not while I'm alive."

The General shook his head, grunting out in agony. "Whatever makes you feel better about yourself."

Calixte smiled, turning to leave. "Keep an ear turned up for the funeral procession tomorrow. It'll pass by, fairly close to hear. I would hate for you to miss out on the entertainment."

"Who are you appointing to lead then, Miss Perfect?" He coughed, spitting up blood. "Your boy toy is dead! You must have a new leader, and Acheron made sure to wipe all of the members of the Conclave out! Why don't you go pay him a visit this evening?"

Calixte grinned. "Acheron was chained to a five hundred pound anchor by his broken leg and dropped fifty miles out to sea. If I were to go and talk with him, I'd need a scuba tank and a very long rope." She gleefully added after a pause: "And don't you worry about leadership; I have it all figured out." She turned to Captain Hida, smiling: "Have some fun, Captain."

Commander Simovic escorted the Crown Princess away, as Captain Hida began to remove his jacket. He picked up a metal poker from the roasting pit, where it had been allowed to heat up. Bloodsieve made an exaggerated sniffing motion, snarling: "I thought I smelt an errand boy in the room. I—"

Hida grabbed Bloodsieve by his jaw, sticking in the hot poker inside the General's mouth. He screamed out in absolute agony and terror—Hida merely sighed.

"Evening, General. What shall we do first?"

[New Azura]

Goodbye, Farewell, and Amen
The Memorial Grounds Pyre of Gael Raziya Colossus
In the Capital District of the City of Tsyion, Azura
Thursday, the 17th Day of May, 2012 — 8:00 PM EST

General Viktor Valeria held his arm crooked through Calixte's, leading her to the podium by the dais which overlooked the vast funeral pyre. Atop the large pyre was the body of her father, who was finally ready to be laid to rest after a month worth of waiting. He had waited his turn; now, Gael Raziya could finally find rest. The peace that had eluded his memory for so long was finally in reach, and Adrienne meant to reach out and take it.

It's time to put this matter to rest.

Calixte stared off into the vast stadium, which had been converted for the funeral usage. More than one hundred thousand people had gathered for the funeral, paying their respects to the man who'd led Azura through thick and thin for more than forty years. It had been a difficult time for them all, but the country had rallied together in the spirit of unity to help get through the difficult days which had wracked the country. Calixte could not be more proud of her country, feeling a love for them that knew no bounds.

"I know now what my father felt," Calixte whispered to Viktor, who looked down and smiled at her.

"He would be very proud of you, Adrienne."

Calixte grabbed a hold of the podium, nodding at Viktor who bowed curtly before taking his seat behind her. She stared out into the audience, noting the foreign delegations that were present in Tsyion—the city that had yet to fully pull itself back together yet. Their flags flew over their envoys, denoting them amongst the masses who had gathered in the stadium. More than a million people were outside the stadium, and billions would be listening to her eulogy across the region. It was a watershed moment in her life, and Calixte was prepared to step into the moment.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she began. "Honored delegates of Gholgoth; esteemed representatives of the Primacy of Caerula... Citizens of Azura. It is not my intention to make a very long speech tonight—we have already heard from so many other speakers this evening, and there remains so much more to do as we continue to pick ourselves up from the recent trouble that our nation endured. It means quite a lot to me, and to those that knew and loved my father that you were willing in this, an hour of utter darkness, to take time to say goodbye to a man who gave of himself, so that this nation would be saved."

"That's something that we must always remember about Gael Raziya Colossus. His name was well-earned, for he fought for his country with distinction when his country needed him the most. He dedicated his life, at a great personal cost, to helping make safe the Dream that is Azura. His legacy in our country will be one of peace, and prosperity. Gael Raziya Colossus stood for what is right, and good in our civilization. For he did not give of himself without cause or reason. He stood in the hour of our need, and gave an example unto all Azurans, and his fellow Gothic Lords. Our nation... This region will mourn this man, this great man for many years to come."

A round of applause emanated from the stadium, honoring the life of her father. Calixte stared in awe of the spectacle, trying like crazy to figure out a way to put a capstone on the whole episode. "Tonight, we lay to rest the final chapter of our nation's history, as it has been throughout the centuries..." The applause had transitioned into a startled hush, trying to make sense of what the Crown Princess was saying. After a pause, she continued: "I stand here today, looking before a country without a leader, and no one left who can appoint one. Indeed, our way of life teeters on the brink, as I live and breathe. Things appear unto death for our country."

"But I have a made a vow, unto all that would look to me, that I would shepherd this country until a new leader could be found. And I promise you, Children of Azura—a new leader is coming. One who loves you very much, and will stop at nothing to ensure that this country resonates long into the days of the Gothic Lords! We shall not go quietly into the long night, but we shall move ever higher in life! Our country will persevere, my friends! And... And as we gather here tonight, to say goodbye to the Gran Vänæzár, we look now to the coming of his successor. The successor, who shall appear before the world tomorrow at Praeclarus, in the midday hour. But tonight," she paused, allowing the crowd to regain their focus after the startling revelation. "Tonight, we say goodbye to Gael Raziya Colossus. And yet, in the final analysis, we do not truly say goodbye to the man. We do not even look to say farewell. Tonight, upon this hour, we merely gather together to look at all that our leader accomplished in his life, and give the following as our testament to him. It all that can be said, in this final hour:"

"Thank you. And Amen."

Calixte stepped back from the podium, motioning for the soldiers below to light the pyre. As the Royal Anthem began to play over the loudspeakers, Calixte felt a chill run up and down her spine. It had been a long and winding month, coming to this point. And try as she might, there was a large part of her that was being put to rest on this evening as well. It had been one month, and yet it had felt like a lifetime. So much had happened... so much had been lost. And as she watched her father's body begin to disappear behind the flames, she realized just how different life was going to be. A tear streaked down her cheek as Calixte grieved for her father. Goodbye, Dad...

It was the end of an era.

[The Naacal]

And Nothing quite Cleanses like Fire

The Memorial Grounds Pyre of Gael Raziya Colossus
In the Capital District of the City of Tsyion, Azura
Thursday, the 17th Day of May, 2012 — 8:10 PM EST

The flames climbed higher, consuming the physical remains of Gael Raziya, as the Mu would say lifting his spirit up to the Ancients. Lerian XII stood watching the flames after hearing Calixte's eulogy for her father. Lerian was no stranger to death, indeed many had said in the Imperium that his desire for war and death matched that of Enrial the Warbringer. How little they knew...

"Do you thing he made it, Anais?" Lerian said to Nialyth who was standing solemnly at his right. "Do you think he made it to his next stage?" Nialyth shrugged slightly. "Anais, you know that whether or not I knew the answer, that I could not tell... even for us there are rules. No...Especially for us there are rules."

Lerian simply nodded, then the three of them moved over o Calixte and Dariea. "We wish you the best in all things, Lady Calixte, Lady Maris. We will be able to provide further treatments for your injures, Lady Calixte. It will take time, but perhaps given time we can make things...better. Were it not for certain... constraints, we could perhaps do more, but such is the nature of the greater world we live in"

"You have shown a depth of caring for each other that we have only seen in ourselves. It is refreshing to know that such feelings are still possible in this 'modern' world. It renews my hope, which has of late has been waning." Neirda said with a deep smile.

Nialyth reached out to both Calixte and Dariea "Ladies, I give you my blessing in life, something I rarely do. The two of you have shown to me that your love can survive pain, death, treachery and war... In the Naacal Way, there is a saying about relationships. The Test of Fire. Usually this is a metaphor, but you two have been metaphorically and literally through fire and have triumphed. It is rare that someone...anyone, impresses me, but you have done so. You are forever welcome in my Home, and I believe Lerian and Neirda will agree in the Imperium and the Motherland as well."

"You are welcome to send an Ambassador to the Imperium, Lady Calixte. We do not have many Embassies...only Belkaland at the present. In short, you have been Judged...And Measured... and been found Good." Neirda nodded, then said to Calixte and Dariea "The Motherland is far from Gholgoth, but if you wish, an Ambassador can be sent to the Imperium and from there we have...ways, of travel to the Motherland. The Azuran people shall be welcome in all of the lands of the Naacal people."

Lerian reached out and placed a kiss on the hands of each of the two women, and then said "Until we meet again, Ladies. We must now return, War is likely on the horizon and we must all prepare." Lerian's face had an almost hungry look as he turned and the three made their way back to their helicopter, passing occasional to talk to a few diplomats. A small diplomatic team was left in Tsyion, including an acting Ambassador. The Ministry of State would be sending a formal Ambassador once details of an Embassy's construction were completed.

Shortly thereafter, Adraniel's Shadow started moving, slowly at first but with ever increasing speed, accompanied by the fighter escorts. Then the Aerial Fortress and fighters went past mach 1, with a booming roar like the thunder of God, heading back towards the Imperium.

[New Azura]

The Daughter of Tsyion
The Great Hall of the Forerunner, Praeclarus
Capital District of the City of Tsyion, Azura
Friday, the 18th of May, 2012 — 11:55 AM

The solemn winds of change had blown across the face of the land, and the time had come to acknowledge the change. Calixte sat in her dressing room, quietly reflecting on all that had taken place over the past few weeks. The days had begun to grow longer, as the sun reached further and further into the north. The chill of winter had finally given way to the thaw of Spring, bringing new life to the Azuran countryside. Things... were not yet perfect, nor would they be for quite some time. But there was peace in the land, if only for awhile. And there was peace in her heart, and that was okay, too.

A moment of peace in a sea of tribulations.

In less than five minutes, the new leader of Azura would be presented before the adoring masses, who had been gathering outside of Praeclarus ever since she'd made the announcement at her father's funeral. So much would be expected of the new leader, and Calixte had spent many long hours pondering the decision as to who should lead next. The members of the Conclave had been brutally murdered during the coup attempt by forces loyal to Acheron, which precluded the respecting of tradition. She was charting a new course for the country with every step, and it was a painstaking process to say the least.

Painstaking, and more than a bit frightening...

Ah, well. Calixte was beginning to find frightening to be the norm; like slipping on a comfortable bathroom robe in the evening time, settling in to find comfort in whatever guise such a fleeting refuge could be found. If things weren't threatening to fall apart at the seams at any moment, Calixte reasoned, life just wouldn't be worth living, somehow. She smiled a bit at that—understanding one's place in life was as crucial to success as any other. She was the prey, and fate was the hunter. If she attuned her body to the sound of fate barreling towards her, she could slip through its greasy fingers and escape. And Fate would satiate its hunger elsewhere, until it began the chase anew.

One day, the game of life would come to an end, violently perhaps. It was a hard game to play, and she was bound to play the losing card anyways. But it was not this day; for this day, she would watch as a new entity arose from the ashes of the old. A new country... a New Azura, bound for a reckoning upon which all nations of the world would be privy to witness. Born in the blood of the fallen and cast in an iron foundation, Calixte was determined to make this New Azura last throughout the ages. And even if, one day in the distant future, when her remembrance is as fickle as the grains of dust upon the Earth, and New Azura did falter and fail...

—Then it doesn't matter, for it is not this day!

Calixte smiled, standing up from her chair. She had picked the best dress she had for the occasion; it was an elegant ensemble, flowing and lush with blue satin that gleamed in the soft light of her sitting room. The plate over her face, as morose a procedure as it was, had been polished to a gleam; the dark blue metal and plastic conforming over the wounds she had suffered to pass. Her red hair was flowing and fixed just right; all told, it was the most presentable she had been since the night her father had passed. She would need every bit of confidence when presenting the new leader of the country.

She turned away from the chair, checking her watch. Calixte cursed softly at the time, urging herself to get a move on it. As she was preparing to leave the small room, however, her cell phone began to vibrate on the small sitting table she'd used to apply her makeup. Calixte turned back to it, briefly considering ignoring the call. Her better judgment won out, however, and she exaggeratedly huffed as she moved back towards the desk. She picked up the phone, only half-interested in doing so as she checked the caller I.D...

The fuck...

At first, Calixte could not begin to comprehend what was on the caller I.D. So startled in fact was she that for a second, the phone actually quit ringing. She was too dumbfounded to answer, struck with the intense surprise at seeing a phone call coming from her dead father's cell phone. Calixte thought back to the night that she'd gone into his chambers, when they'd first informed her of his passing. It dawned on her a moment later that she hadn't even bothered to check his effects, to see if it was still on his person—

—The phone was vibrating again. She looked down, feeling her heart speed up a bit as the same number popped up again. Slowly, carefully she opened the lid on her phone, placing it up to her ear hesitantly. Calixte cleared her throat, speaking deliberately: "Calling a woman on a dead man's cell phone is considered a very bad thing to do."

There was a short pause on the other end; someone was breathing into the phone, though. And then, a stout, musical tone came through the receiver with startling clarity: "I was right to pray for you, you know..."

"Excuse me?"

There was a giggle on the other end of the line, before the voice spoke up again. "Your moons were rough indeed, weren't they?"

Oh, God...

The revelation hit her like a ton of bricks. Calixte slowly sat down in her chair, feeling an enormity of pressure weighing on her chest. "It's you..."

"Indeed it is," the man spoke. "I'm so glad you remembered me; I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me, Adrienne. Or, should I call you 'Calixte'?" The man sighed, making a tic sound with his lips. Calixte opened her mouth, but couldn't manage to utter a single word. Apparently, the speaker picked up on this: "Now, don't you feel bad about this, Calixte. This day was coming, whether you wanted it to or not."

She took a long, deep breath, exhaling it slowly. "How did you get my father's phone?"

The man scolded her. "Aw, come now. Is it that difficult, to put two and two together?"

Calixte thought about what he was suggesting, then felt her blood run cold. There was a palpable fear in her heart of hearts, driving her straight off a cliff into the recesses of a terrifying void; an abyss from which there was no escape. She wasn't conscious of her speech, but soft lips gave utterance unto the man anyhow: "You have it... because you killed him."

There was a brief interlude. And then, he spoke calmly: "That's right. I'm glad we got the unpleasantness out of the way early. It always robs a conversation of a certain... well, panache. Don't you agree?"

Calixte's heart began beating again, as a fleeting trace of courage began to flicker in her soul. "Who are you?"

The man was smiling—she couldn't see the bastard, and yet she knew that he was beaming with glee. "What? Besides the man who put your father to sleep? Let's see... Well, I mean, I hate to be informal like this, but... eh, I was the one who let the mad dog off of his leash. You familiar with Sa'vren Bloodsieve?"

There was bedlam in her soul, as the name registered in her soul. "You're the Inquisitor, aren't you! Nemesis, you dirty fucking bas—"

"Now, now," the man, Inquisitor Nemesis grunted. "Let's not be too hasty dear. You're on a rather tight schedule, and I would hate to take up too much of your time—"

"You stupid bitch," Calixte spat, rising up from her chair. "You think you're holding me up? You smug bastard? I've got plenty of time for you, you greasy fuck!"

Nemesis laughed. "Oh, dearie! You made Papa Bear feel all warm and tingly! Would you like to know where at?"

Calixte seethed, pacing back and forth with the cell phone to her ear. "Now you listen to me, and you listen good. I want to know what possessed your ignorant ass to spring Bloodsieve from his kennel! I want to know why you felt the need to let my father die!"

There was a sadistic gurgling noise on the other end of the phone; one she could not place. After a second though, the cruel bastard had gone back to making the tic sound with his tongue. "Now, Calixte. Boys will be boys—"

"Answer me, goddamn it!"

There was a brief interlude, as the Inquisitor took a deep breath of his own. When he spoke again, there was no trace of the frivolity in his voice that there had been before. It was cold, deadly and inflection-less, and it chilled her to the bone. "You cannot handle the answer; you don't even know the question that you ask. But in time, you will my friend. One day, you will understand what this whole episode meant for you, and for the people you served. But it is not for you to know today. Not this day."

The catch on that last word sent a shiver up her spine. It was delivered with just enough of a twist to almost stop her heart cold. She could feel the fear inside of her, warring with an intense, burning hatred that was rich with anger. She allowed a cautious mix of all her emotions bleed through her words, but they were as sharp as any dagger she could ever muster. "This is my day, Inquisitor; remember that when you go to sleep tonight. And enjoy the sleep you manage to get, because your day will soon come. I will hunt you to the end of time if I must—to the very bounds of the Earth, if that's what it takes. I will get you, I will kill you, and I will enjoy every... fucking... second of it. You get me?"

The voice on the other end made no noise at all; no discernible motion of sound. Then, the most curt of replies: "See you then, beautiful."

The line went dead on the other end, leaving Calixte to her thoughts. The fear, and the rage that was tearing at her insides was almost physically too much to handle. That her father had had his flame stamped out by the hands of a monster; an inhuman, sadistic, macabre human being... Calixte could hardly bear to even think the thought. And yet here it was, staring her in the face as if it were a living, breathing face directly in front of her. It was all she could do for a long while, standing in the dim light of the sitting room with her fists and her jaw clenched tightly shut, trying not to scream.

~

Damn it all, Viktor thought to himself as he impatiently awaited for Adrienne to make her appearance from her quarters down the hall. The contingent that had gathered with him by the back portico which overlooked the central square beyond the gates of Praeclarus was so warm and inviting—every manner of decadence betrothed the balcony in preparation for the glorious appearing of Azura's new leader. Hundreds of thousands, millions even were gathered outside of the mansion gates, awaiting for the official proclamation. Valeria could not have been more proud to be in the service of the Crown Princess at that moment, honoring the memory of her father by passing his mantle of responsibility on to a most worthy successor.

If the successor can be presented sometime today...

Frustrated, Viktor began pacing back and forth, clasping his hands together. As he did so, he felt a strange sensation in his lungs; it caused him to stop short, coughing harshly enough to be heard over the dull roar emanating from outside the open balcony doors beyond him. Dariea quickly came beside him, placing her hand on his back. "Viktor? Are you okay?"

He nodded as the other members of the group that had gathered in the upper wing moved in closer to him. "I'm fine, everyone; don't you worry. I've had a nasty chest cold for a few weeks now that I can't seem to get rid of—I'll be fine."

Dariea shook her head; "Viktor, a few weeks? You need to see a doctor!"

"No, I need to retire," he laughed, drawing a sharp rebuke from Dariea, but a delicate chuckle from the rest of the group. "At my age, dear, needs are a fickle thing. You place your faith in the one thing you want above all else, and make it so. When you grow old with Calixte one day, you'll understand."

Dariea smiled at him, holding both of his shoulders as he straightened himself. "You sweet man. I don't know what we'd do without you."

"Ah, yes, well," he stammered, blushing slightly. He turned towards Captain Hida, nodding respectfully in his direction. "The same could be said about our friend, Captain Hida here. It is a shame that you must leave us soon, Captain—I have come to grow quite fond of you."

The Captain nodded succinctly, bowing in respect to the General. "It has been the honor of my life, serving the royal family here in Tsyion. I shall cherish it always, remembering what was accomplished here."

Viktor nodded, watching as his friend Daymon patted the Captain on the shoulder from behind. He turned his attention to Daymon and Erix, both of whom were standing behind in their dress uniforms. "And what of you two, the famed Captains of the Court of Valor? What does the future hold for you two?"

Daymon looked at Erix, shrugging. Erix chuckled, looking on the General: "Go to bed, maybe?"

The group laughed; even the notorious tightwad Riavan Grivas, who had his arms crossed as if to shield himself in an uncomfortable situation. He was flanked by Kristina Daegas and Praetor Elias Darkspawn, who were chatting amicably with Alistair Soulstorm and Councilor Savas off to the side. Quite a large group had been assembled to witness the glorious appearing of Azura's leader, at the bequest of Lady Adrienne herself. It was an unusual procedure, but one that felt quite fitting, given the circumstances...

And speak of the devil!

Viktor nodded, feeling his spirits lift a bit as Lady Adrienne came walking down the hallway. She had a burning, hateful look in her eyes as she approached, making him feel a bit unsettled. As she stepped forward, drawing the attention of the group that had assembled for the occasion, she attempted to hide the look. The Crown Princess shook hands with each of her guests, and yet Viktor knew better than to let it slide. As she worked her way to the front of the group, Viktor pulled her in closely.

"M'lady, what's wrong?"

Calixte sighed, shaking her head dutifully. "I don't want to talk about it at the moment. I promise you though, I'll tell you all about it after we're done here." She patted him on the arm, mustering a coy smile as best she could. Viktor could tell that something was bothering her, but in the interest of the matter at hand, and out of respect for the woman he had come to admire so much, he acquiesced to her desires.

"Aw, m'lady... Gael Raziya would be so proud today, seeing what you've become. These past few weeks have been anything but easy, my dear; and yet, you pulled through them with remarkable poise given the circumstances. Azura was lucky to have you, Adrienne. They really and truly were."

Calixte smiled, this time genuinely. A trace of sadness washed over her face, and Viktor could tell that she was fighting back her emotions. "Viktor, I don't know what I would've have done over the past month if you weren't by my side. I will never be able to thank you enough, Viktor. You are a very special person."

Viktor nodded at her, grinning. He resolutely stood firm, offering his arm to Calixte. "Let's go give the people their new leader, m'lady."

Calixte nodded proudly, taking Viktor's hand. "Lead the way, General."

Viktor walked with Calixte, their arms entwined as they moved closer towards the portico. The low rumble from the thousands upon thousands of people gathered grew a bit louder with each step towards the opening. Calixte could feel the nervousness mount inside of her; it was too late to turn back now though. This is the guise in which purpose had taken for her life, and she was bound and determined to see it through. She let go of Viktor's arm as he stepped forward through the doorway, walking out onto the portico. The low rumble picked up considerably as the people far below caught a glimpse of the man. He stepped forward towards a microphone bank, which was connected to a PA System that was running throughout the entire city square. Calixte closed her eyes, awaiting for him to speak.

Your dream lives on, father.

"Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!" Viktor's voice boomed, drawing a hush over the mass of humanity down below. He cleared his throat, speaking into the microphones once more: "People of the Grand Cailene Crown Republic, take heed unto this day. For in the twelfth hour of this, the 18th Day of May in the Common Era Year Two Thousand and Twelve, fate has delivered unto us a new leader! A sovereign defender, who shall stand for what is right, and just, all the years of their life! Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Her Majesty the Spirited Maiden, Glorious Vänæzriná Calixte I Maroder!"

The eruption of cheering and hollering that bellowed upwards towards the sky made the building shake upon its foundation. Calixte stepped out into the light, moving forward towards the balustrade as Viktor stepped back, taking a position up behind her. As she appeared before the crowds below, the noise level rose ever higher, creating a deafening roar in the city. Calixte stood before the People of her country, feeling a love for them in that moment that she figured no other human being could ever truly feel. It was awe-inspiring, and it left an imprint on her soul that would not soon pass away.

Viktor stepped in behind her, somehow speaking to where she could hear over the roar. "Lady Calixte, behold the Children of Azura."

Calixte turned to him, nodding quietly. She turned back towards the crowd, looking on. Viktor sighed, looking at the woman who was primed to lead their new country into a strange and wonderful day, the likes of which the world had never seen, nor would they ever see again.

He whispered softly to himself, where only he could hear. "Children of Azura... Behold, the Daughter of Tsyion."

Fin.