(omnibellum) from the light comes only war (einsatz)

[The greater Vakolicci Haven]

In a bedroom on the 12th floor of a luxury skyscraper hotel, an alarm beeped insistently, and a man turned over. He looked out of his arched window and sighed, knowing that that sun which rose every day was the only reliable force in the world at the moment. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and jabbed at the alarm until it finally was silenced, went through his morning ablutions and got ready for the day ahead.

The man was tall, or at least he had been tall, but years of stress, pressure and responsibility seemed to have weighed him down in a physical sense as well as a metaphorical one. Now, his once-impressive frame was slightly stooped...a testament to the hard life he had put himself through. With a slight paunch, the man was already starting to show signs of comfortable living, and his eyes still shone green from under the parted black hair, a sign of his continued enthusiasm.
The man's name was Ronan W. O'clane, and he was president of one of the largest states in the multiverse. Fighter, a fine statesman, a glory-seeker, a champion of freedom...O'clane had been given many names: somehow he knew that after today, some sources would be calling him 'Traitor.'

O'clane took the bone-jarring lift down to the second floor, where he dined alone, his wife and son evidently having woken before him in order to do whatever their own private rituals were before a ground-breaking meeting...in his son's case that would mean preparing long and tedious treaty documents, in his wifes it probably meant making sure she had an ear open for the news. Try as he did, Louise O'clane was not invited to such an event...their was simply no position she held in the strata of Havenic high society that would grant her access to this event.

2 hours later, Ronan O'clane's personal helicopter joined a few other personal helicopters at the helipad above terminal 8 of Iros Superiority airport, and he caught a last glimpse at the Iros skyline before it reached down to greet him.
The skyline of Iros did not make for a city where such drastic talks took place. It made for a city for tourists, for shoppers, for musicians and sportsmen, not for soldiers. Rooftop gardens were prominently boasted by many of the skyscrapers that dominated the Irosii landscape, sharing spaces with garish billboards advertising the latest must-have items that nobody really wanted. It was far too bright, far too colourful, far too larger-than-life and peaceful for such talks, the president knew...yet some analysts would say it could be the scene for an almost apocalyptic event.

The helicopters began to disgorge their passengers in a steady stream of the Havenic elite in the political, military and economic spheres.
The first to join him were the emotionless faces of 6 suits of mat black power armour...doubtless with a well-trained body inside them. The black legionaries offered no salute to anyone as they walked past, escorting the newly crowned King Blacksen of Celeria, along with his wife, Queen Laura of Celeria. They were too young, thought the president, 18 and 17 respectively. Surely the world should not be in the control to any extent of people who had just left school...but that was the Celari way.

Blacksen wore the long, flowing robes of office common in official appointments for the King, pinned by a sapphire brooch in the design of a dragon at chest level...the Celari, everyone knew, were obsessed with dragon imagery. When he had been Crown Prince Blacksen only 3 months before, he was referred to as the 'Dragon Prince.' Low and behold, now he was King Blacksen, he was the 'Dragon King.'
His wife wore similar clothing to her husband, although her head (while her husbands was bare save for a circlet of rubies) was proudly sporting a glistening tiara dotted with multi-coloured and radiant gemstones.
The Celari did not acknowledge the president as they waited beside him, their guards joining with the President's own security as they waited for the rest of the delegations to arrive.

The superior secretary of state for trade, as well as the superior secretary of state for foreign affairs arrived next, in the same helicopter. Dianne Stevenson, axis director for foreign relations and the Haven's chief voice on foreign matters, stepped off the ramp first, a picture of severity in a simple brown dress that came to her ankles.
The old lady walked briskly towards the group, not exactly 'happy to be their' but not exactly desperate to leave either. For Dianne Stevenson, every type of conference was just another, even if she knew very well that this one could mean the end of humanity as it was currently known.

An opposite sight stood behind her, however, as Alyana Della Barecci walked to join the growing group, flanked by 2 burly corporate security officers. One of the Della Barecci triplets in charge of the Della Barecci United Conglomerated Holdings Corporation (usually referred to as 'Barecci') Alyana was one of the Haven's richest and most influencial people, she was certainly its most influencial woman. She stood next to Stevenson, the 2 women exchanging hushed comments as they stood in the burning Irosii sun.

"The Velsturmen will be late," King Blacksen announced, his first comment since they had been standing their. "Lord Oorjin is preparing a report on every one of the atrocities that the Kravenites committed on his territory, and why we shouldn't help them."
"Let Oorjin babble all he likes," the President responded. "It's past the Havensschkorpal. All we have to do is rubber stamp things."

((ooc: This is a sloppy OP, I know this. Just rp your people arriving at the designated helipad complex, and travelling to the central concourse to be greeted.))

[Yalos]

Iros, The Greater Vakolicci Haven,
Omnibellum, Einsatz

"Ahh---ahhh---choo!"

A young woman with Asiatic features, a thin neck, supple breasts an almost artificially symmetric face and vainly pale skin sneezed delicately into a small embroidered handkerchief, eliciting looks of concern from her faithful retainers. This was the Phoenix Empress, the ruling Monarch of the Phoenix Empire, and the head of the Yalosii Alawite Church, who now rode, suspended hundreds of feet in the air in an old, beat-up converted military helicopter. And despite the helicopter's fresh coat of red and golden pain, bullet holes and a dented hull could be easily divined by the laziest pair of eyes.

Eyuka Yunskattatta’s impressionable mind was beset by a multitude of pressing issues, all of which could have long lasting repercussions for both her state and regime. Given recent tumultuous events within her government, she wasn’t even sure why she was leaving her smoldering country to discuss a war that her Empire was now wholly unprepared for. Even now, as dozens of rebellious provinces reluctantly broke into forced submission and calm after a violent civil conflict that watered the fields of her native land, she asked them to bear arms against a foe that had, as of yet, done them absolutely no offense. It was galling, it was stupid, but in the end, it was Yalos’ only hope, lest it be torn apart by the Sondrian dogs of war into so many colonial possessions and spheres of influence. It was her country’s sole chance at redemption of former Dynastic glory, and an option that she could not easily pass up. The Children of the Phoenix had to win their birthrights.

As the assembly lines of war heralded voluminous plumes of darkness, fresh tanks began to creak off the factory belts, and into the open, gaping mouth of war’s insatiable hunger. Just months ago, Eyuka had come across a graveyard of mangled, mauled T-90s, blackened sable by a former storm of raining missiles and she watched the scene, silently, as crows croaked in the distance, their cruel kind even mourning the sheer loss and bloodshed that had cursed, and thrust itself upon her warring people. The decaying flesh of men was so badly rotted that it hardly gave of a scent, and through its many rotted holes, luminescent skulls shone bright in the light of a lamentful moon as splintered rifle stocks and shattered helmets silently spoke the tales of so many traumatic deaths. All to preserve the Empire, an Empire that now cackled tauntingly with billowing clouds of misty blood and the petals of savage flame.

Eyuka’s legs shook in anticipation and fright. She was determined not to be tossed about, but she wasn’t sure if she could prevent that from happening. Easily the smallest nation attending, Yalos could expect to be but a minor partner in the great cause of the Einsatz coalition. War torn, undeveloped, and universally known as an economic and social cesspool, the nation’s only potential major contributions lay in its vast arsenal of eager tactical missiles, vats full of chemical agents and countless of isolated biological weaponry sites. The Kutiomaya Armed Police were also superb soldiers, but, as Eyuka realized, their expertise was nowhere approaching the infamy and war-tested fame of Kraven’s indomitable Capitol Police, or Tiami’s winter soldiers. Yalos’ battle hardened veterans were tired men, mauled by conflict against their own brothers, and while experienced, hesitant to throw themselves into another chaotic struggle of bombs and smoke and endless falls of cascading tears.

And as if her anxieties weren’t already heightened, there was the fact that Eyuka was but a young woman. Her political expertise was….lacking.

“My Eyuka,” the pilot spoke with great obeisance through his mic. Even in a defiant nation as her own, there were enough fanatics to keep the semblance of order and piety alive. “We will be arriving shortly.”

“That’s--that's pleasing to hear,” she lied, as customary. She could not show any signs of weakness. She could not show any signs of weakness, regardless of situation. Her Empire had much to gain from a potential victory--she would not squander it. “Have the escorts been informed?”

“Yes, Great Divine Phoenix Empress,” the Pilot affirmed after a moment’s silence. “I radioed the other copters--they will be landing in formation, as planned.”

As her copter touched upon the rooftop, at the tip of a V formation of seven crimson aircraft, Eyuka was pleasantly surprised to see the Armored Kutiomaya already rushing on the ground, scanning the surrounding with rifles raised to their scopes, and the usual gung-ho over display of contrived posturing and dominance. Even if Yalos was not the nation it used to be, it didn’t need to make it apparent.

As the rotors began to decelerate, Eyuka stepped off, gingerly, nodding at the perpetually angry soldiers of the Kutiomaya, who yelled pledges of loyalty to their Empress.

“N’vyass Yunskattatta Eyuka!” they barked, their frowns almost comical.

Nodding back at the soldiers, she continued down to the walkway to greet her gracious host.

“Greetings Mr. O’Clane,” she smiled genially. “How are you doing today?”

[Havensky]

Iros, The Greater Vakolicci Haven

It’s about damn time you got here! We’ve got a whole conference arriving and the wifi has been total shit!!

“Don’t worry sir, this shouldn’t take long. Can you show me to your server room?"

Do you remember the name of the last waiter who served you at a restaurant? Or ever been to one of those really fancy parties that have trays of food and drinks roaming around so you don't have to bother going to the bar - you just pick up a glass? Remember any of their names? What they looked like? No? If it was a business trip, then there's pretty much no chance. You don't remember because that's the world we live in. You've been trained by society to think that way. The waitress, the taxi driver, the janitor, the tech fixing the IT in your office. You notice them and then quickly forget them. Which is fine for me. I don't want you to remember me. That would be counterproductive.

"Thanks, Let me just get out my laptop and run some tests."

In case you've missed it, I'm a man of about average height. I'm in decent shape, but not athletic. My hairstyle is 'in fashion' but not so much that it's interesting. I won't bother telling you my eye color. You'll notice the glasses before that and right after you'll turn back to whatever super-important conversation you were having.

"Ah, I see the issue. Let me change some things and it should behave a lot better. If you’d like, I can also install a few boosters - but the company will charge ex-”

“I don’t care, just fix it! Quickly!”

I used to want to be an actor. They all told me I had the talent, but I just wasn't 'memorable' enough to get the parts. I had a forgettable face. That, and in the country of my birth, the arts are not...prized. I'd be a voice actor for cartoons since I can speak about any accent you'd ask for. But, I'm not particularly funny. There's really only been two people who've really appreciate my acting talents. My adorable husband and my employer.

What? Your 'gay-dar' didn't go off just now? Don't worry, I'm used to hiding that little fact. Terrible things happen to people like me in the country of my birth. It's probably why I became such a good actor. I've been acting like somebody else for most of my life. When I got to my new country, I didn't have to act anymore. Nobody cared who I decided to love or marry or anything. There was a mind-blowing normalcy to it that to this day still surprises me. When we first started dating, my husband used to think I was just bashful about public displays of affection. Took awhile for him to understand that a peck on the cheek would get you killed in my hometown. Oh, you're probably wondering about my employer?

"There we go, now for the boosters. They’re pretty small, but I’ll need to plug them in. "

The cinemas get the whole spy thing entirely wrong. A tall handsome man in a sharp suit running around blowing things up is going to get noticed. The whole point is to go about unnoticed. The explosions and the shootings and the macho galavanting with women is just insulting to the whole trade. You're not going to notice me. You'll ignore me. Last week I was a waiter. This week I’m the gremlin fixing the wifi.

Speaking of tech, you know the other silly thing people do? They carry around all their personal information in their pockets and send out the intimate details of their lives over the air out into the ether without even thinking about it. I mean, you people understand how cell phones work right? You send a text message to your wife/an email to your boss/a 'private' chat to your mistress and it goes straight to whatever cell tower your phone thinks is closest. It’s even worse when you’re phone is sending the stuff over wifi. You assume that the tower is just passing the message along never imagining that it could be recording everything. To be truthful, most don't do that... unless it's a smaller cell and wifi repeater like the one in my bag. Sure, it’ll bounce your message to a real cell tower eventually - but not before it sends the message contents to my employer. I mean, I don't even have to get anywhere close to you to bug your phone.

I know, your messages are supposed to be encrypted because you use that popular service that everyone else uses. Fine, in addition to employing featureless actors they also employ quite a few people who are good at computers.

"Ok, I’ve finished installing the boosters. I’m going to restart the system then run some more tests to make sure it’s working better for you."

So why bother with all this effort? Why come to a place where I'm certain to be surrounded by bad guys? It's simple. Scientia potentia est - Knowledge is power. In my new country, I never have to fear the secret police. There's no extremist right wing militia hunting me for sport. I've grown to appreciate that.

We're a smaller nation compared to the giants that walk the Earth - but we're clever. We're good at machines and good at computers. A conference of nations gathering to make plans for 'expansion' certainly gets our attention. We're not sure if we're even a target, but forewarned is forearmed and we're perfectly willing to serve wine and bread to our enemies if that means keeping one step ahead of them.

"We’re good to go. You should get about 20% more speed on your machines and with the boosters everyone should be able to connect just fine. "

[Finium]

The Lord-Regent was a broken man. His eyes were sunken, his lips permanently pursed from a migraine and his once soft grey eyes were hardened with flecks of stress-induced yellow. He wore the same ostentatious garments of a duke, but it was obvious from his worn features than he had not been born to be a leader, he was merely an interim royal. The old houses had dried up, leaving fewer and fewer men and women with a claim to leadership. Like water-starved earth, the Empire had cracked and separated, gasping for any sign of life; there was no relief. His suit was crumpled from the long, jerky journey in an old military-grade helicopter. It was a white uniform of some ancient design with gold trim and braids, some pins were indiscriminately attached to his chest, though their meaning had been so demeaned by the decline of the Empire that hardly anyone knew what they meant.

"Lord Hahn."

Hahn's eyes were jerked from the distant smudge of civilization that he guessed was Iros. The intrusion came from a crisply robed man with a deep, forbidding face that was more reminiscent of the old royalty than Hahn's. He was stern, ordered and ruthless; all the attributes of power were there. This was National Administrator Jonathan Nix, formerly an Imperial Minister to HIH the Emperor. Back when there was a real Emperor. Nix's eyes did not betray contempt for the man, it fact, his eyes betrayed nothing, but Hahn always felt that Nix hated him. They both knew that he was an impostor, forced to claim power in a vacuum of nobility, but there was nothing either of them could do. So they hated each other. One, the supposed master, bent with constant fear and pain. The other, a servant in name only, constrained by his own viciousness.

Nix's voice had all the melody of a stark wind, but it commanded attention and sent pain shooting through Hahn's eyes. He could only summon a grunt, a dull rasping breath that could barely have been mistaken for a living man. Nix's eyes hardened, growing deeper and blacker with contempt.

"You seem troubled." He paused, waiting until his contempt was palpable before adding a harsh 'My Lord.'

Hahn's eyes floated back to the window, Iros was growing steadily closer.

"Nix, what are we doing?" He asked, quietly. "The Empire cannot fight these wars any more. The machine is broken, isn't it?

In a way, he was correct. The Empire had decentralized into the hands of generals and businessmen, the gentry were extinct and with them the warrior spirit of a once proud people. They still wore the same uniforms, they still carried the same banners and shouted the same battle cries; yet no one would say that the soldiery was anything like it had once been. They were mercenaries, the last vestiges of wealth from the national treasuries were being expended to maintain a facade of the old military strength. All the finest Finians could now be found in private contracting organizations, using their natural talents in pursuit of money instead of pride. The machine had been starved of the old rhetoric, there were no grand speeches any more. Even Hahn had lost hope, but Nix's face held firm, he had no mercy for a hopeless soul like Hahn's.

"Perhaps you should turn your attention to our duty rather than your own cowardice."

His words were clipped and Hahn took them to heart, there was no point in attempting to make a beast such a Nix understand that the heart and soul of the Empire was missing. He lapsed into silence until the helicopter began a rough decent.

"His Imperial Sufficiency, Lord-Regent Joseph Hahn of the House of Eliakim!"

An unseen soldier announced his arrival with appropriate grandeur, but the sight of Hahn robbed the proclamation of its volume. He was dried up. Hahn raised a quivering hand in greeting and, with a wincing smile, was arrived.

[The greater Vakolicci Haven]

It was quiet in the heat of the Irosii midday, quiet and scorching. President O'clane realised that: what he didn't realise was the fact that his allies didn't, as he had hoped, have the respect to turn up on time; rather they were quite prepared to leave a welcome party of so many Havenic nobility standing exposed in the concourse of several helipads.

"Is that the Velsturmen?" King Blacksen asked, spying the approach of an obviously beaten-up helicopter. "Have they had another war we didn't know about?" He chuckled, although even he knew that the Velsturmen would never be safe in charge of their strategically placed island in far northern Varathron.
"No," was the President's response as the helicopter's escorts emerged into view. "It's the Yalosii. We tell some of the greatest military powers in the known multiverse, with a seeming addiction to efficiency to arrive at a designated time, and only the state that's as good as in a civil war arrives at the correct time...or as close as can be helped."

His jovial reaction was tempered, however, when the soldiers emerged. Lots of them; all raising their rifles and marching about as if Iros was an enemy bunker, much less the capital city of one of Yalos' greatest allies.
At a nod from Blacksen, black legionaries did the same; power-armour boots thudding in a slow, deep rhythm that chilled the bones and made all around them think only of death, fear and the best escape route.
"Lower your weapons," President O'clane said in a soft, yet icy tone. "You are among friends hear." No reaction.

The President was somewhat relieved, however, to see the Empress Eyuka disembark from the helicopter, with none of her senior aids walking with her. He thought he could play the Empress; she was relatively inexperienced. Her father, on the other hand...
"Welcome to the Haven," he said genially, "I'm doing fine. You're the first to arrive, in fact. Hopefully your arrival will herald an opening of the flood gates."

He was wrong. The staff had seen to the Empress' helicopter, and he had waited a further 30 minutes when some ancient craft came in from the south.

The helicopter was an old military transport, with the Finian insignia emblazoned on it.
"Is their a trend," the President asked, looking from the helicopter to King Blacksen, "For old royal houses to travel in the worst craft in their entire collections? That thing looks like it was built 50 years ago, and has thought the same number of wars."
"I was not aware of such a trend," the King responded. "I certainly value comfort, unlike some."

Whatever the reason for the starkness of the craft, it landed and the reasons became painfully clear. President O'clane knew that Finium was not the empire it had once been. He knew that something had gone horribly wrong with their greater houses...but when one relied on a few lines... He also, however, knew that the Haven had abandoned one of its oldest allies for such a long time.

Lord Hahn, however, proved all these correct. The man was done, finished, over. He needed to retire;his whole body shook. The gods knew the reasons why...what could have drained the man...but O'clane didn't.

"Lord-regent," Blacksen said, stepping forward to shake the proffered hand, which like the rest of him, shook. A note of concern entered the King's voice.
"Is something wrong?" he asked. "I do hope your journey was fine. You seem...unwell."

[Finium]

"You seem... unwell."

Hahn attempted to draw himself up, but it was a hardly noticeable gesture. He steadied himself, focusing intently on his hands, attempting to quiet them. A soldier, clad in grey with sharp Finian facial features, quietly slipped a cane into Hahn's unoccupied left hand, which he grasped white knuckled and glanced furtively into Blacksen's steadier gaze.

His Sufficiency is well, thank you for your concern."

Nix did not shake anyone's hand, he proffered a brief obeisance to the king. He tight comment left little room for discussion of Hahn's health, and there was little discussion needed. Hahn was not well. Behind him stood two soldiers, both in identical grey dress with quiet, earnest gazes. Unlike Hahn, they were models of Finian virtue. Their uniforms were marked merely by a bright copper medallion, a stylized set of six wings. They were actual recruits from the heartland of the old Empire. Unlike the pilots, or even the vast majority of the Finian Armed Forces, they were not mercenaries. When pride and voluntary service failed, the Emperor's office began to depend on the draft, but when the Emperor failed, his successors were forced to depend on paid fighters. The coffers of the Empire were deep--deeper than most might have supposed--and so the ranks of their hired armies were deep as well.

To the knowledgeable eye, this delegation of two was an oddity indeed. Since time immemorial, the Finians sent an official, a noble and a general. Here, however, stood only an official and a noble, if either could claim those titles. There were too few generals for them to also be diplomats. Companies had their own command structures and so the mass of military intellects that once composed the body of the Emperor's favorite companions. In their place were financiers and accountants, money managers instead soldier managers. It was an invisible plight, but a plight nonetheless.

Hahn gave a stifled cough.

"It is an honor to meet you, Dragon King!"

Hahn said with a voice burdened by rasp and shuddering emptiness. Nix glared over at his senior, it was not custom to compliment anyone considered an inferior. As Lord-Regent, Hahn had inherited the privileges of the Emperor, but not the haughty ire that had blessed earlier rulers. Hahn knew, as much as anyone could know anything, that Nix's eyes were attempting to bore through him. This pleased Hahn immensely. There was no one with enough heritage to replace Hahn, even though his house was one of the lesser and younger families, he was integral in breeding a better heir and in reestablishing a real, royal line. Hahn's grandchildren's grandchildren would be able to inherit the old names and titles. Emperor. Hahn could taste the word and it was never far from his thoughts, but in order for there to be one, his son would have to inherit the regency and so on. Any interruption could spell disaster for the machinations of Hahn and Nix alike; so they hated one another and loved that each hated the other.

[The greater Vakolicci Haven]

"An ancient title," Blacksen said in his soft, considering voice. "And one that sounds pompous, arrogant and pretentious to the extremes."
Behind him, out of his sight, Queen Laura grimaced as she always did when her husband attempted to belittle his title or his royal rights. "Simply Blacksen will suffice...no, I didn't pick that name, but even though it is most unbecoming of a royal leader to request to be known by his first name, it is even more unbecoming for such a leader to apply for a name change."

"Ah forgive me," President O'clane said, turning to Nix with a warm smile on his face. He thought it the picture of jolliness that the president had become might change the administrator's attitude towards everything in the world for at least a day, however he doubted it.
"Welcome to the Haven, Mr. Nix. Do tell me; Where is your friend from the military? I see only a noble, and yourself hear. The Empire does still have a general inside its ranks, does it not?"

[The Great Korean Empire]

Iros, The Greater Vakolicci Haven,
Omnibellum Conflict, Einsatz Coalition

President Jinheung stared into the distance outside as they neared Iros, the capital of the Vakolicci. "Officially" the Empire of Korea had denounced the coalition. Unofficially off course, if there was a profit to be made... they would be there. The Imperial Korean Armed Forces themselves wouldn't be involved, but there were plentiful amounts of mercenaries Korea had for usage for more... unofficial support. Jinheung was a man into his early twenties, tall with black hair and blue eyes. But he was also the leader of the Korean Empire and the CEO of the largest multi-national conglomerate in Korea. He sat in a large and comfortable chair seated in a large military, directed jet thrust aircraft whose shiny coating gleamed in the sun.

What the Koreans lacked in numbers compared to some nations they made up for in ingenuity and tenacity. A booming economy with a vast and powerful military armed with the some of the most technological advanced weapons science could create.... But they weren't the only nation that would arrive. Intelligence agencies had garnered enough that they knew that Finium was one of the states that would come. A broken state... ripe for the plunder... One day soon... Shaking his head from such thoughts he had some 350,000 military personnel located in Quirina, a significant number of forces and enough to get protesters to appear near Korean-lent bases.

All annoying. His train of thoughts had then transferred to annoying then to Yalos. He sighed to himself. For the help they had given, Korean citizens had been treated like dirt at most times and they had hardly gotten a penny for their efforts. Some of his more "aggressive" generals had half the mind to invade and annex the socialists if Korea hadn't caught up elsewhere at the time. He himself had a mutual respect for the Eyuka Empress, as it wasn't easy ruling a country at such a age. And besides Yalos was in quiet a predicament indeed. Rebellious voices still existed in some provinces and a vicious civil war had all, but ruined the country. And yet she had deemed it wise to join another war. The people surely wouldn't be happy about that. So many options to pick from.....

He had visited an arms demonstration earlier this week which reminded him of the stores his mother used to tell him. That instance when the French invaded so long ago had threatened to overthrow the Korean nation. But Korea had learned and look where they were now? The arms demonstration had showed this when the main battle tank had fired it's massive 150mm burst auto-cannon for the people. They had gotten the French back for that time, oh yes they did... And yet what was the number of wars Korea had fought in? Dozens? Maybe even hundreds of little conflicts strewed throughout history. He had a strange feeling that this one would be particularly bloody. But aren't all wars bloody in the end? Expect perhaps a bloodless revolution?

Shaking his head he stared tiredly into the horizon once more. Eager and bustling with new-found energy, the Korean nation and indeed the Korean people were eager for expansionism. Possibly, just maybe this war would satisfy it. He snorted at the ridiculous thought. As if. Besides it was their destiny by God's grace to grow there Empire even larger. However there were many obstacles to that. Such as Kraven. Oh they didn't like Kraven one, single bit. A hypocritical super-computer ruled a nation in a state of perpetual war and they would even wipe people from records as if they never existed. Disgusting. And what they to do to women...a abomination.

His thoughts finally came to a end as the pilot announced "We are now approaching Iros, sir".

Nodding Jinheung said "Very well. Keep me informed". The aircraft accelerated faster forward as it from a little dot in the horizon became a full-sized aircraft that hovered over the rooftop and landed on the helipad complex. Well now all that was left was possible bickering and shouting between heads of states. Oh joy. The doors opened and he walked out flanked by Korean soldiers equipped with power armor and advanced ballistic weapons as they walked besides him their optical's glowing orange. They were joined by a few military robotic drones which stared into the distance with it's single red, unblinking optical nerve as they towered over the men. There thumps could be heard echoing throughout the ground. Jinheung walked down the walkway and greeting their delightful and splendid host for the evening.

"Fine day isn't it President O'Clane. And to you a good evening King Blacksen and Queen Laura". He offered to shake the hands of both men and kissed the hand of Queen Laura.

[Tiami]

Iros, The Greater Vakolicci Haven

The four-bladed chopper chugged along, riding high in the blue sky, piercing clouds as it made its way to Iros in the Haven. It was a small craft- no more than twenty meters from head to tail. But it was sufficient for the ride to Iros. The chopper, Pariskin (Amadorian for "Peace"), was joined by a contingent of several other crafts, seven in total, as a means of protection for the Prime Minister.

Aleia Torress was a petite soul sporting glistening brunette hair, dark red eyes, supple breasts, and a bodacious backside. The 4'11 Prime Minister was in her early 30's, but looked the part of a twenty year old. With the aspect of war fast approaching, she had been busier than ever. From dealing with political insanity inside the monarch, to watching the re-tooling of factories to comply with war-time standards, Aleia still found the time to meet with foreign leaders and dignitaries to discuss potential military and/or diplomatic actions.

She was right though. The onslaught of the oncoming war had proven beneficial to the war machine of the Amadorian monarch. With factories producing tanks and other assorted weaponry not seen since the Polka Crisis more than ten years ago, the economy was beginning to flourish at a staggering rate. Could war really do this to a nation? Nonetheless, she was hesitant in her opinions on military action. The soon-to-be outbreak of war had the potential to be the largest the world had yet to know. Such a commitment of soldiers, supplies, and money would have to be forfeited by the governments of the participating nations to ensure anything but a disastrous victory.

The Amadorian monarch was adamant in its support of the Gothic Lords and allies to Gholgoth, so partaking in the Einsatz coalition had seemed to be a necessity. And when the Kraven Reich needed allies, Tiami was willing. The ramifications of not lending support, were of course, the sole reason Amador had thrown its weight into the fight. After all, Tiami need not the vile nature of Capitol Police running rampant amongst the nation’s most proliferate, stately cities within the kingdom. Tiami did not need it’s buildings leveled, it’s people decimated, and it’s will crushed under the intense weight of such a mighty power. For this reason, Aleia had ventured to Iros in the Haven to attend such a meeting of great of powers.


“Dammit Richard!” Aleia abruptly yelled out, sending an intoxicating feeling into the murky air of the choppers minute cabin. “You can’t do that in War! We agreed on no jokers!”

Richard was Aleia’s husband. A man of forty years old, he was a dirty blond with broad shoulders and a hard midsection. Tall, 6’3, and wearing a neck-beard, he was also Aleia’s top attendant. A couple of eleven years, they were playing perhaps a childish game: War.

Richard had collected himself from Aleia’s outbreak in time to give a some-what formal reply.

“No, my dear, you said you wouldn’t use Jokers. I agreed to no such thing!”

Aleia responding in typical fashion, using her soothing, graceful voice. “Lies! We both know that I am always right, even when I am wrong.”

“But of course m’lady,” he replied, giving a slight chuckle. “anything you say.”

Aleia smirked, intent on winning their legendary match. After not too long though, she had found herself defeated by her spouse. And though the match was friendly, or at least in nature, she knew that when the meeting was over and done with, she would have her revenge.

“I would have won it if weren’t for your use of jokers.” said Aleia as she waved her arms wildly in the air.

Richard sarcastically responded. “Of course you would have. You’re just too good for me.”

“Oh you! When we-”

The intercom suddenly interjected. The muffled voices of the pilot and co-pilot had come alive, indicating that they were almost in Iros.

“We’re both sor-”

“Well, just the captain actually.” Interjected the co-pilot.

“Shut up you.” the captain responded. “Anyway, as I was saying… we’re due to land any moment now, so strap yourselves in for the landing. Can’t have y’all hurting your pretty little heads.”

As the muffled voice radioed out, Aleia and Richard were instructed to buckle themselves in. As soon as they were done, the echoes of the helicopter’s blades made their way throughout the cabin. It was descending. The descent proved to be quite an uneven affair, as evident by the bouncing of Aleia’s breast.

After landing down, Aleia and Richard were eased out of their coffin and into the light of the Iros airport. An armed Haven guard had greeted the couple and proceeded to escort them to where they would meet up with the Haven President and other leaders.

“Well, this ought to be fun, don’t you think Richard?” Aleia jokingly asked as she walked.

“We’ll see… we’ll see...” replied Richard as he let out a silent cough.

"I feel as if we're late…" Aleia responded.

Richard did not reply.

[Finium]

Nix was surprises that the President had noticed the lack of a General, it was pleasing that someone else was aware of the horrendous breach of decorum.

"I am afraid that the General staff are unable to leave the country; during such a troubled time it is their place to keep the peace in absence of their ruler."

In reality, the general staff were now almost completely autonomous warlords, uninterested in diplomacy. The public armies had all been divided into a few major factions that in turn formed the Post Imperial Federation. There was also a large private army maintained by the Federated government, but to allow a mercenary to represent the Empire would have been an even grosser misconduct that the lack of a general altogether.

Hahn's withered face, having receded from the attention of Blacksen, had screwed itself into a grimace of disgust; mechanical warriors. Like any militarized state, the Empire had once investigated the possibilities of automated war--they had even employed teams of tactical robots in the Tropican Wars--but tradition cut short that impossible dream of the mechanized soldier. The first to decry the use of computers had been the church, the bishops claimed that God could mercifully stay the hand of the holy warrior if he should wish it, but that machines operate without the consent of God and are thus the domain of evil. That movement gained some traction with the fervently faithful, but it was not until Regulus Mornfellow took the pulpit that anyone cared to listen. His words were deliberate, "God hates the uncivilized and so they must be dispatched with the same righteous anger." That won everyone over, the generals and the nobles and the churchmen alike agreed that no war could be waged without hate.

Thus Hahn's face was alight with reproach towards Jinheung, though his cool headed counterpart looked on with little more than a passing interest. To Nix, thte absence of hate was a completely alien idea, so consumed was he by his training at the Ministerial Academy--a place one leaves as a monster or in a coffin--that he believed the machines were as hateful as himself. Nix's attention was instead drawn to the Torresses, he proffered a bow to both Jinheung and Aleia, ignoring their guards and comrades.