The Exile Returns (Semi-Closed, ATTN Xis, Alv)

[Setulan]

Woooo doggie, was this thing a monster. My muse is quiet for two months, then BAM, I can't stop writing. This OP is twelve pages long according to MS Word and will be a new Setulan civil war, as the Exiles-a group of super religious guys who want to install a theocracy-return for bloody vengeance. This thread is closed UNLESS you TG me and explain exactly why you have a stake in the outcome of this war. Even then, I might have your involvement be in a spinoff thread. This thing is going to be a beast as it is, and it's just focusing on Setulan itself, not even the colonies and other planets under my control. Even if you aren't involved, I hope you enjoy the thread! Though there is gonna be some pretty crazy stuff, so I guess this is also your MATURE warning. Do note if you want to get involved, having talked to the other major players we decided this is going to go at a relatively slow posting speed, at least at first-RL gets in the way and all.

They had waited for years for this moment. For this one beautiful day, a day that would change their fate forevermore. No longer would they be forced into the shadows. Never again would they be banished. They had suffered the ignominious sting of exile for long enough. Years had passed. They had grown, their numbers swelling and strength expanding every day until it was time.
It was time to repay in blood what had been shed in tears.

System MXXLI, Milky Way Galaxy


Terramo stood atop the hill pensively, staring out into a glorious sunrise. Normally the first to comment on the natural beauty of an environment no matter how inappropriate the situation, he was strangely silent and withdrawn that morning. Impassive in their heavy plate armor, the warriors of the Saint Guard waited to perform their master's bidding as the rest of his war party-ten thousand warriors of Iode, along with thousands of members of the other churches-waited below.

"What bothers you, Lord?" Battle Lord Tangar was one of the few in the entire priesthood brave enough to ask that question directly to the Saint, but he had earned it; one of the longest serving and most highly decorated of the Brotherhood, he had fought alongside Terramo since before the church had a name.

"I...do not know. I can taste Solamar's evil on the wind, yet I cannot help but feel that something is awry."

Before Tangar could reply, Terramo started visibly and his eyes turned to the heavens, his dark face going pale. A heartbeat later and the command vox crackled into life. Captain Ashar Barun's voice, clearly strained, echoed in Tangar's helmet.

"My lord Saint, we are under attack! The ships jumped in system without any warning, unidentified vesse-"

Screaming klaxons broke into the transmission before being shut off following angry shouting.

"Captain, what is going on up there?"

"Exiles, Battle Lord! The Exiles are here in strength! You must get your legion to safety, they have-" Another explosion, this one clearly closer to the bridge itself. More purposeful shouting, followed by gunfire. When Barun spoke again, his voice was devoid of emotion.

"May the gods have mercy on us, they are here. They are inside, among us..."

"Captain? Captain! Damn it, Ashar, talk to me!"

"There is no point." The Saint's voice was pitched low. "A bomb just went off on the bridge. Ashar is dead. The Exiles have taken control of the Light of the Gods. We have been trapped." His head whipped around. "Get the men to cover immediately. We may yet save a few of our brothers."

Tangar didn't hesitate and he barked the order into his vox, knowing as he did so that it was futile.

"Lord, can you not protect us?"

Terramo closed his eyes and shook his head.

"As we stand here, a holocaust approaches. Look to the heavens, my brother, and pray for the salvation of the soul." Even as the war priests scattered for their lives, Terramo and his old friend simply stood atop the hill and watched as the streaks of fire came closer. Many detonated in the atmosphere, courtesy of the Saint's desperate attempts at saving his men, but the missiles rained down in their thousands.

There was heat, blinding pain...and then only blackness.


11:45 AM Capitol Time: Marchamp's Home


Marchamp was sitting in his office going over reports when he sensed that something was amiss. He was home alone save for the house staff, two bodyguards from the Diplomatic Protection Service, the maid, and the chef. His wife had passed years before, and his children were all grown up and moved out of the house. For all that, there was normally some kind of noise in the house, yet strangely, there was nothing. Something tickled his senses and a feeling he hadn't had for years came flooding back, reminding him forcibly of his days as a tank commander in the Great War. He turned in his swivel chair, intent on putting his silly superstitions to rest so he could get back to work.

That was when he saw the man.

It was not a face he recognized, though it was clear from his blood stained knives what his purpose in the house was. Facing imminent death, Zachary Marchamp found-somewhat to his surprise-that he felt no fear. He was old and unarmed, facing a man who had killed two of the most highly trained bodyguards in AXIS space. He didn't have a chance. The two locked eyes and an eternity passed before the venerable prime minister broke the spell.

"Boy, I am more than one hundred and twenty years old. We can have a staring contest, or you can do what you came for and save us both some time. I've missed my wife, and I would dearly like to see her again."

The man just nodded once and closed the distance quietly. Marchamp leaned back, closed his eyes, and smiled as the life flowed from his veins.


11:45 Capitol Time, Delanphy Vineyards, Agrimonus


Years of extensive planetary cultivation and geological rearranging technology, plus a past filled with glaciers, had ensured that Agrimonus would be largely flat. It was an interesting twist to the sniper that the high ground he was on was a mere twenty feet, a fraction of what he would normally try to achieve. For all that, it would serve.

He rested his weapon on a sandbag he had brought for the purpose and bellied down behind it, making himself comfortable. The rifle was of a custom design, a masterpiece of machined precision capable of firing a heavy projectile at obscene speeds thanks to the specialty rail drivers within its construction. Activating the scope, the sniper loaded a single hand-made rail round into the breach and found his target.

He was walking slowly, taking the time to sample grapes that looked ready to burst from ripeness. He paused frequently to enjoy the day, breathing in fresh air and taking the time to enjoy the little things. It was fitting that he should die in such a place. He was not, by any accounts, a bad man. But his death would serve the Gods more faithfully then his life ever had.

Six miles away, the sniper placed his crosshairs on the man's head and gently applied pressure to the trigger. By the time Stephen Delanphy's headless corpse hit the dirt, the sniper was already moving.


11:46 Capitol Time, Presidential Retreat, Shez


There was no subtlety to the assault designed to kill the most important man in the Republic. The Dark Legion had infiltrated their members and equipment onto the garden planet over the course of a year and a half and simply waited for the word to strike. When it came, they struck with the wrath of a hurricane. Fifty armed and armored warriors of the Exiles' most feared warrior caste exploded through the compound of Rustov Maxellian's vacation home. Though the multitude of guards that surrounded his home were among the best, they had no chance against the surprise assault by a superior foe. The ferocity and speed of the attack, combined with the commo bafflers employed, spelled doom for all involved the moment the attack began.

Maxellian cradled the body of his wife in his arms as he stared at the warrior in dark armor standing over him. His eyes were dry. In an objective, far removed corner of his mind he wondered at that, wondered how it was possible that here he was, holding the body of the woman he had loved for his entire life, and he couldn't generate even a single tear.

"She should not have tried to save you."

"If you had any idea who you were killing beyond a name, you would know that she couldn't have stopped herself even if she wanted to." A hint of defiance in his voice. "Know this, Legionnaire. Killing me won't absolve you or yours of the sins you have committed."

"Sins? You will have plenty of time to reflect on them as you die on this floor. Slowly, oh so slowly." The rail gun rose up and stopped at gut level. "Goodbye, Mr. President."

[Setulan]

Space Station Golgotha, 11:45 Capitol Time

All was quiet on the bridge of the Golgotha. The massive space fort that served as the headquarters for one of the four branches of the Setulan Navy was the largest and most powerful of the enormous space stations that hovered over Setulan. Inside the cavernous command and control room, a hundred navy personnel were busy at work at all hours of the day, getting reports from the other orbital fortresses and smaller space stations, guiding in freighters and traffic, and coordinating fleet movements throughout the entire system. If you held Golgotha, the saying went, you held Setulan space.

The motto wasn't without some merit. Golgotha was nigh impregnable, and in the three thousand years of its (highly turbulent and frequently renovated) existence, it had only been captured by an enemy force on three occasions, and all three had required substantial assistance from within the fortress. The last time had been almost sixty years prior, during the Great War, and there were still some serving on board the fortress who had been there on that most fateful of days.

The commander of Golgotha had been there on that fateful day, but was on vacation on Shez with his family. The commander of all Orbital Defense for Setulan had not.

Grand Admiral Hamlin was in the command center when the first shots were fired. He looked up, startled at the noise, and was just in time to see the smoking corpse of one of the four guards in the room go flying past to smash into a wall. The Infiniti trooper had been hit square in the chest with an armor penetrating round fired by his companion, who then proceeded to turn and calmly gun down the two stunned troopers on the other side of the room.

The control center went ballistic. All around technicians rose from their seats in panic in an attempt to get away or dove under their consoles as the five doors leading into the room all burst open as one, more Infiniti troops rushing in and firing indiscriminately into the crowd. The round that burst apart the unarmored Admiral Hamlin came from his side, and in his last moments a single panicked thought crossed his mind, that no, this couldn't be happening, there was just no wa-


Space Station Kynon, 11:45


Rear Admiral Fay was enjoying the day. Sitting with her feet up in the command center of her space station, she sipped the coffee in her mug and relaxed as she watched her diligent command and control staff do the intricate work they excelled at. By all accounts, it looked like a typical quiet day at Orbital Fortress Kynon.

Then everything was turned on its head.

"Ma'am, we have a garbled transmission from Golgotha." Fay didn't bother to ask if the operator had tried to reestablish contact-he wouldn't be bothering her if he had.

"Could you pull anything from it?"

"Not really, but...it sounded panicked." Fay leaned forward at that, putting her coffee down.

"Is that a professional judgment?" The operator blushed but held his ground.

"They sounded like they were seriously scared, ma'am, and I tried to raise them four times. No response."

Admiral Fay was no amateur. To be in command of one of the five Orbital Fortresses meant that she had earned the trust of some people very high up the chain of command, and in her case it was more than justified. Serving for years as a lone female in a male dominated service, she had been an Infiniti officer for decades before transferring over to the Navy at the rank of Colonel. She had smelled the smoke, and been in charge of a sector of Foxfire's orbital defense array during the Shardi invasion. All of that experience had given her a very particular instinct for trouble, an instinct that had just started to go haywire. She stood slowly.

"General quarters. Shields up, prime weapons."

"Aye aye, ma'am."

A siren started wailing, followed by another. All throughout the massive defense station crewmen and Infiniti troopers began hustling to their planned battle stations.

"Admiral, Golgotha is energy spiking. It looks-it looks like-"

"Nova Cannons are being engaged on Golgotha!"

There was no more warning than that. All four of Golgotha's Nova Cannons erupted as one, sending the hyper fast shells sailing into space. Even as the shells fired, the top line orbital fortress unmasked its guns and began to fire at its two neighbors, Kynon and Falmin. Falmin never had a chance. The attack came so suddenly and so unexpectedly that the massive space station, the newest of the five, was hammered by enough firepower to smash apart three super capitols all at once. If its shields had been active, it would have weathered the strike; as it was, Fay and the command staff could only watch in horror as the huge fortress was blasted apart, fireballs bursting into space as oxygen was sucked out of the compartments of the great structure.

Mere seconds later, the Nova Cannon shots struck. Four had been fired. Three were aimed at the three major Fleet dry docks over Veto and one at the Milky Way Wormhole. The results were devastating and instantaneous. The holocaust of fire destroyed outright nearly a hundred unprepared warships, including three of the mighty battleships of the fleet. Almost two hundred other vessels were badly damaged, with another hundred on the periphery sent into the void uncontrolled as docking mechanisms failed. The massive construction and repair complex suffered unprecedented damage and the command and control center for the entire Republican Navy disappeared in an expanding ball of white fire. In a matter of seconds, hundreds of thousands of trained personnel had been killed. Aboard Kynon, the entire command room was so quiet a pin could have been heard hitting the floor.

Unfortunately, the nightmare was just beginning.

Golgotha fired once more, this time sending its devastating payload at Kynon. The shields on the huge fortress, wakened just in time by Fay's paranoia, flashed green as they weathered the incredible volume of firepower being thrown at them.

"Golgotha has been compromised. Return fire, now!"

Kynon's own guns unmasked and the hundreds of guns and missiles began to engage in their own silent barrage. It couldn't last. Setulan's orbital defenses were renowned as top of the line in AXIS space, and each fortress was sending out enough firepower to destroy entire fleets. Both of the huge structures began to show damage as shields failed one by one, sirens of a different tone wailing to let the crew know that unsustainable damage was being done.

Throughout it all Fay stood, calm in the storm of metal that was exploding around her. She had messages sent to the other orbital fortresses and the Fist, but she got no replies and assumed-rightly-that her own communications systems had been sabotaged shortly after Golgotha began to fire. The Infiniti troopers she sent to the communications suite got bogged down into a firefight shortly after arriving, and were unable to advance against the well fortified room. The defensive plan of Kynon was working against those who had trusted it implicitly.

"Admiral, we're losing guns fast. We can't compete with Golgotha." Fay grimaced.

"I know. We need to get a warning out, damn it all!" A particularly heavy impact rocked the fortress.

"We've been breached, massive breaches on Side 8, gun bays A-HH destroyed on Side 8-"

"Ma'am, missiles fired from Golgotha are heading towards the surface!" The room went quiet again instantly save for klaxons howling in the distance and the constant shudders of large bore guns firing and impacting.

"Trajectory?"

"Narrowing it down...gods above, it...it's..."

"Setulan Prime." Fay sat down heavily as she said the words.

"Ten seconds to impact." More shuddering.

"Scans in, they're low grade missiles..."

"Six seconds to impact."

"Five."

"Conventional warheads, four of them."

Two.

One.

A blaze of orange, black, and yellow marked the utter annihilation of Victory Square. With it went the House of the People, the Presidential Mansion, and the Hall of Justice. With it went the entire elected civilian leadership of the Republic.

Seconds later, everything went dark red as the plasma generators aboard Kynon were finally overloaded. One by one, they burst into massive white fireballs as they overloaded, obliterating Orbital Fortress Kynon.

For the first time in Setulan's history, there was a clear and unobstructed route for an invader to get to Setulan itself.


The Fist, Setulan, 11:50 Capitol Time


"Gods fucking damn it, I want to know what the hell is going on up there!" Theater-General Borndecker, commander of all of Setulan's military forces, was not a screamer by nature. He didn't have to be. His regular speaking voice was terrifying enough that everyone rushed to do what he said without the need of a raised voice. Which meant that when he did yell, people-particularly junior officers manning scanning stations who were the target of the General's rage-did their best not to pee themselves in fear.

Somehow they managed to succeed, and one particularly brave Captain looked Borndecker in the eye and said "Sir, we just don't know."

The huge theater general took a deep, calming breath. Yelling would solve nothing. Things just weren't making any kind of sense, and it wasn't these kids' fault.

"Walk me through it again from the beginning, Captain." Clearly relieved that he wasn't going to be burned to ash by the General's rage, the Captain went through it from the top.

"Sir, we had a garbled message from Golgotha followed by radio silence. Shortly after, we lost contact with Kynon and Falmin. Thirty seconds later we lost signal from Asman and Relgecie. It was after this that we got warnings that somebody was shooting up there."

"And now?"

"We've requested a Customs corvette to check it out, sir, but so far no word." Even as he said it, screens lit up.

"General, new information! Falmin has just exploded, looks like it took damage." That caused heads to turn.

"From where?"

"Um...Golgotha?"

Everyone paused for a beat.

"No, that can't be-"

"FOR THE GODS!"

Had the assassin not yelled out his defiance, had he not shown his hand, the plot would have been completed to perfection. The radio operator had been sitting in unassuming silence for the entire exchange, had in fact been posted in the command center for four months and done his job with perfect decorum the entire time. Later, when things had become more stable and the theater general had time to go over the incident in his mind, he decided that it was this very fact that caused the outburst. After years of waiting for his chance and having finally gotten the word to strike, the assassin just couldn't resist the urge to let Borndecker know exactly who had slain him.

As it was, the Theater-General felt a heavy impact on his left side as he was cannoned out of the way by the fresh faced young Captain who had just given him his report. The knife meant for Borndecker's kidney took the young man in the gut instead as the older Setulan hit the ground hard. A single shot rang out, hard and clear in the room, and the would-be assassin collapsed, neck smoking where his head used to be. The Republican Guardsman standing watch at the door holstered his pistol and hurried over to the general, but Borndecker was already kneeling over the wounded Captain.

"Sir? Sir, are you-"

"I'm fine, son." It only took one look to know that the kid wouldn't make it. The knife had been coated in some kind of poison which made the blood seeping up around the wound turn black and bubble on contact with the air. One scratch would probably have killed him.

"Gods, sir, it hurts..." Borndecker lifted the man's head up gently off the ground, cradling him in his last moments. Huge muscles twitched in rage as the life left the body of his savior. The Theater General stood slowly.

How many times? How many times do I need to hold those who die for me as life leads them? How long until I can finally rest myself? For the first time in years, Borndecker allowed himself to feel just how old he was, just how much pain and suffering and sorrow he had gone through. He took a deep breath.

When he spoke, his voice was calm and flat.

"Status report on the fleet."

"Sir..."

"Now, if you please, Lieutenant."

"Golgotha is damaged, it looks like it got into a slugging match with Kynon. Kynon is gone, blown away. The Fleet is fucking gone, sir. Damn near everything docked over Veto is destroyed or damaged after a series of hits from Golgotha's nova cannons. And...the People's House and Hall of Justice are gone. Orbital fire took them out."

"I want that fucking thing blown out of the sky, right now."

"Yes, sir."

Word went out, messages flew, and guns that had lain dormant for years across the planet woke up and locked on to a once friendly signal. Heavy weapons, some too large to even mount on warships, thundered. It was a testament to its design that Golgotha lasted as long as it did before it was sundered apart like its sisters.

[Setulan]

Setulan Space, 12:05 Capitol Time


The fleet that erupted out of Blink was so large as to dwarf anything seen since the Danaversian War. More than four hundred ships erupted out of the darkness, weapons primed and shields up, thirsty for blood. Most were not conventional warships. Freighters turned into gunboats, transports turned into Q ships. For all that most were not warships, however, more than enough were. Some were Star Destroyers, stolen or bought from a galaxy far away. Many more were of exotic and unique design but with undisguised lethality. Still more were of foreign stock, collected over years of hatred and animosity. Yet most were of a foreign design, clearly unique, that replicated their Setulan sister ships.

What was most horrifying of all were the ships that led the charge.

The first was an Arc ship, familiar to the Setulans who had seen it leave. But it had been changed in a fundamental way, its role shifted from conveyance of a people to death and destruction. Weapons bristled over the hundred kilometer ship like spines on a hedgehog, thousands of batteries and silos ready to deal death to anything that came near it.

The second Arc ship retained its original purpose, but was still far too formidably armed for all but the most powerful of warships to engage. Even meant for large scale transport, the Arc still had enough guns to turn an entire fleet to slag and scrap metal.

But it was neither of these ships that sent despair through the ranks of the already confused and badly bloodied defenders of the Republic. It was a single ship, almost fifteen kilometers long and covered in beautiful gold plating. Even covered in battle scars, the Light of the Gods was still a dangerous warship of almost unequalled power. Yet it was what the ship meant that truly caused horror.

The Saint was dead.

It will never be said that those poor brave souls who saw their doom approaching shirked their duty. Never will their memory be besmirched by the dishonor of cowardice. There was no doubt that they were all going to die, yet they moved in to buy time anyway. Almost a hundred warships of the Setulan Navy powered towards their foe. None were in proper fleet formations. Impromptu groupings of vessels joined ranks and engaged at distance with missiles and torpedoes, closing in for the kill. Cobra destroyers and Marchamp frigates, the most agile of the picket vessels, homed in on the transports, knowing that the best way to help was to try to limit the incoming invasion.

Two battleships had survived the catastrophe at the dry docks, both on picket duties. The first was the SRV Soul's Torment, one of the two most powerful warships in the Republic. It had at its disposal an almost complete detachment of warships, one of the mighty Terror Cruisers (SRV Nords), four Fear Cruisers (Hard Way, Tripwire, Punisher, One Shot), and three squadrons of escorts (four Storm Frigates, four Setulan frigates, and four Marchamp frigates). Under the command of Admiral Shal, a legend in the Setulan Navy, the small battle fleet threw itself into the heart of the enemy formation, clearly intent on trying to destroy one of the Arcs or the Light of the Gods.

The second battleship to survive was a new concept brought to light, a joint project with the Alversian Navy. The Owens-Class Carrier was the battleship sized carrier Eden Lost, carrying three thousand fighter and bomber craft. Escorting it were two Fear Cruisers, Echo and Armageddon, and two squadrons of Storm Frigates. Dangerously close to the enemy as they translated back into realspace, the battle squadron made a desperate turn towards safety even as Bentnose bombers and Firestorm heavy fighters erupted from her flanks like silver darts exploding into space.

The battle lasted for almost an hour of non-stop bloodshed, an incredible amount of time considering the odds at play. By the end, almost the entire Setulan naval contingent was destroyed or captured. Of the two coherent battle groups, two separate fates were suffered. Eden Lost was caught by enemy frigates following the destruction of Echo and the capture of Armageddon, and was blasted apart at close range. Her fighter and bomber compliments, badly depleted but having fought like heroes, made a desperate attempt to withdraw to Limur, the nearest of Setulan's moons. Less than a hundred made it.

Soul's Torment, under the expert command of Shal, inflicted massive damage on the Light of the Gods and did some damage to the less well armed of the two Arcs before the second of the massive ships took an interest. After weathering twenty minutes of sustained fire and with boarding parties swarming over his ship, he made an emergency blink jump for Xiscapian space to deny the enemy his ship. His escorts fared no better than he. Every single one of his frigates was either destroyed or captured. Nords' Captain, about to have his bridge overrun by enemy troops, overloaded his plasma core and destroyed his ship with all hands to prevent its capture. Hard Way and One Shot were rendered inoperable after forty minutes, though their crews fought the boarders for another six hours, but the badly damaged Tripwire and Punisher made the jump with Soul's Torment successfully.

At the final tally, the battle was still laughably one sided for all the valor of the Setulan Navy. Of the ninety two ships that had engaged the Exile fleet, seven survived the battle. Three successfully jumped to Xiscapia. One made the jump to CAS space, the premier Setulan protectorate. The other three Blinked towards Alversia, though one-a Storm-was so badly damaged it shredded itself attempting to transition.

Of the Exile fleet, only twenty ships had been lost, the majority of them transports. Many more were damaged to varying degrees, but they didn't care. Manpower was the one thing the Exiles had never lacked in.

Opposition swept aside, orbital defenses either destroyed or deactivated, the Exile fleet moved in on the glowing blue orb that was Setulan. Ignoring the intermittent fire from Limur-its orbital defenses were in a bad position to do much damage to the fleet and it was incredibly long range-it moved at an almost stately pace over the planet. Multiple warships moved into position over the planet and started firing.

The strikes were well planned and heavily coordinated. Spies, Exiles who had remained on Setulan but reported to the Fallen, had given incredibly detailed information about troop movements, bases, and readiness of various units. The orbital strikes were thorough despite heavy fire from GTA batteries that crippled several of the ships. Entire bases were wiped out in fiery waves of destruction before the units stationed within had a chance to properly mobilize, and still more defensive positions were hammered from orbit to soften them up.

Then came the moment that all on the planet had dreaded, and the Exiles had waited for years to complete. Trailing fiery plasma, the less heavily armed Arc descended, followed by a hundred and fifty ships packed to capacity with bloodthirsty zealots and all their panoply of war.

Xiscapian System


The ships that erupted out of Blink came in far too fast, fast enough that it caused a minor alert before positive identification could be made through IFF. It couldn't be made by transmission-all three of the warships that dropped in system could barely communicate with each other, much less send out the kinds of signals needed to reach the massive defense station over Xiscapia. It had power for but one signal, and that was sent in a pulse to the Embassy in Rio Casa.

Within the command room of the Xiscapian superstation there would be a moment of relief, followed immediately by caution. Why had the Soul's Torment made an unexpected visit? Why was it with only two escorts, when such a ship was normally surrounded by its own Task Force? Why were boarding torpedoes being launched from the two cruisers into the battleship, and-was that an internal explosion? These questions would be answered when visual scans revealed the horrifying damage done to all three ships and revealed that the Torment was swarming with hostile boarders. And then another question would come through, one that would chill the blood.

What the hell can do that to the Torment?


Imperial Palace, Xiscapia


When the ambassador of a close ally requests a meeting, accommodation is made relatively quickly. When said ambassador, an unshakeable and agreeably diplomatic fellow, shows up at the doors of the Imperial Palace unannounced surrounded by agitated bodyguards in full powered armor and demands to meet with the Emperor, right the fuck now you dumb fucking secretary and I don't care what he's doing, you damn well meet with him right the fuck now.

Foxfire Rose was a Kitsune who had seen and done many things, but even he would be shocked by the sight before him. Ambassador (Colonel, retired) Hal Tiron, a man who had gone toe to toe with first his fellow Setulans in the Great War, then the Danaversians and Booleans, had seen his entire brigade chopped to meat around him and not shed a tear, standing silently with tears streaming down his face as he handed the Emperor a message slate.

On it were a few sentences, terse and short-Foxfire would recognize the words of Theater-General Borndecker from long experience reading his reports.

Exiles returned. Setulan under assault. Fleet destroyed. Orbital Fortresses destroyed. Unknown causes, sabotage expected. Attempt on my own life foiled. Unable to reach President or Planetary Ministers. All PMs/Pres presumed dead. People's House and Hall of Justice destroyed from orbit. Massive enemy troop strengths have made beachheads on all continents, planets. Unknown enemy strengths. Countless acts of terror in military complexes. Much of High Command not reporting, presumed dead. Enemy Fleet numbers in the hundreds. Unknown if more coming. Large friendly army strengths destroyed. Wormhole destroyed. Fortress of the Hope under siege. Fist under siege. Need reinforcement ASAP. Beware-Arcs have been weaponized. Light of the Gods held by the enemy. Saint's location unknown, presumed dead. Need reinforcement. Will report more if possible. We will hold. We will deny the Fallen until our last breath. You just better get here before then.

The same scene was played out, almost identically, in Alversia. Horribly mangled ships, though with comms up and working, sending out the horrible news to an ambassador who dropped what she was doing and, eschewing a car, ran hell for leather down the street towards the PMs office to deliver the same message.

[Alversia]

Marshall House, Illesian Old District, Alversia
0200 hours, 23rd of Capeon, 2409

The name 'Marshall House' was an interesting but somewhat misleading name for the headquarters of the Alversian People's Navy. It had never been designed to act as such, but was a public service building taken over during the Civil War for use by the Provisional Navy as a co-ordination centre for their fleets of frigates that patrolled the skies of Alversia during those dark days. Once the Alversian race had finished killing itself, the embryonic Navy had established itself in the house and no one really saw the point in making them leave. It had been so much simpler back then, when the Alversian Republic had consisted of just itself and it's moon while the Navy could have been counted on one hand. In the long years of toil since then, the building had expanded to take account of the swelling fleets it controlled. First the houses to either side had been knocked through to form one, then the street had been taken over before, finally, the entire block was handed over to the Navy and renovated to carry out the necessary work needed to run an intergalactic force. As such, Marshall 'House' now referred to a complex the size of a small town, ringed with a high wall and patrolled around the clock by armed Marines.

Despite the growth and rather ad hoc additions, great care had been taken to avoid tainting the Old District's rustic charm. As such, every building within the compound was constructed of the same white stone, conspicuously devoid of the glass and steel which so characterised the rest of the city. When seen during the day it was a beautiful sight, gleaming in the waning Illesian summer sun with the gardens of rainbow flowers filling the air with the sweet scent of summer and the babbling fountains added to the choir of birdsong to give the impression of a holiday home, rather than a serious place of work. At dusk those same fountains competed with the chirps of the crickets to provide the soundtrack of the night. To the inexperienced eye, it looked as though the Alversian Republic was at peace.

Deep within the bowels of Marshall House though, something was stirring...

The footsteps echoed on the tiled floor, ringing off the panelled walls and statues of leaders long since dead. Though the long corridor was well lit, the moonlight poured through the windows to add an eerie glow to the two people who walked the hallway. Their strides were long and quick yet never close to actually running. To the Marines who saluted the two as they swept past, it was just as bad.

First Admiral Ashe ran a hand through her dark, rich, auburn hair, ears flicking as she brushed them accidentally. Her long, bushy tail, identically coloured as her orange furred ears was patently calm though it was an obvious visual effort to make it so. Her eyes, human in shape and a deep blue, were fixed on the report in her hand, which she gripped as though she had come from the womb with it attached.

“How long ago?” She asked the woman who walked with her, taller than she and devoid of the ears and tail of the kitsune race but possessing the eyes, orange with black pupils narrowed in the bright space.

“Long range telemetry picked it up just ten minutes ago ma'am,” Commander Sasha spoke in a tense but restrained voice, “we have no idea what's happened, but the systems monitoring Setulan Prime just went haywire.”

“Have you raised the Golgotha?” The First Admiral asked as she took a sharp turn down an estuary corridor, with two Ensigns jumping out of her way with a quick salute.

“We've been trying Admiral, but no success so far. We can't establish contact with any planetary or orbital headquarters at all.”

“Is it the Danaversians?” Reyes asked in a sharp tone. From the moment she had seen the message it had been her biggest fear, but it had also come with the niggling doubt that it was not the recently defeated Imperials.

Sasha shook her head, exactly the reaction that Reyes had not been hoping for, “None of our fleets along the frontier report any suspicious activity and the pro-treaty forces have not been in touch.”

Reyes decided not to argue the point that pro-treaty forces could easily be behind the attack. It made no sense for the Danaversians to strike just Setulan Prime alone, not when their biggest grief was with Alversia and Alumi. Much as she hated to say it, her own homeworld was the prime target for such an attack. The Danaversians had been behaving themselves, which meant that it was something else. Something else that had caused Setulan Prime to go dark.

That thought sent a chill down her spine.

“Put all the fleets on high alert.” She ordered as they finally arrived at their destination. The Command Room was at the very heart of Marshall House, located deep underground within a bombardment-proof bunker. It's job was the same today as it had been when it was constructed over eight hundred years ago; provide the Navy a prime location to direct fleets in times of war without the fear of destruction. It consisted of a great circular display in the centre of the room, around with officers were busy adding data, checking monitors or just watching, frowning. Normally a calm and quiet place in peace, the Command Room was filled with a nervous tension as people kept their heads down and busily worked. At that moment, the dimly lit room had only the circular display, which emitted a soft blue aura but did not any data yet.

As soon as Reyes entered through the door, the officers turned from their typing and saluted before hurriedly returning to their work. The First Admiral headed to the central display with Sasha faithfully over her shoulder and glanced around at the nearest technician.

“What's our status?” She asked.

“Ma'am, our beacons in the Setulan system have stopped responding.” he answered nervously, “before we lost the signal though we were getting reports of a large fleet heading towards Setulan Prime itself, of the defensive stations firing on one another-”

“-what?” Reyes blinked, “they were shooting at each other?”

“Yes ma'am, and at the surface.”

“What the hell is going on...” she glanced back to the display, tail swishing, “when are we going to get a read out here?”

“We're turning some of the long range arrays around Admiral,” Another technician reported, “we're expecting the feeds in a few moments.”

“Good,” Reyes put her weight on her hands, gripping the side of the table, looking up at the data and trying to quell the bubbling sense of unease in her gut. AXIS had established an early warning system to automatically alert the others if any home system was attacked. Why the hell had it not gone off...

The technician did not need to report when they had been successful, for in that instant the air above the table came alive with technical readouts, ship positions and the planet itself. Reyes stared in horror at the blue representation of Setulan. It was, and there was no other way of saying it, burning...

“Put the fleets on full alert,” she ordered tensely, “we are now at Condition Red-”

A klaxon blared in the corner of the room, accompanied with flashing red lights and the cry from one of the consoles, “Ma'am, we have two vessels incoming from Setulan Prime!” a pause, “they're Setulan Navy! Badly damaged.”

“Scramble the First Fleet, ready the defences, bring the TaskChain Network online,” Reyes reeled off quickly. “And get me Grand Admiral Krystal.”

---

APS Light of Hope, I Fleet, Alversian Orbit
0215 hours, 23rd of Capeon, 2409

It took a mere few seconds from the signal being beamed from Marshall House to the entire Alversian I Fleet bursting into life.

The 'Home Fleet' as it was also known as, had become used to maintaining a constant state of readiness throughout the decades. Though the threat of the Danaversians had since rescinded, the paranoia of an operational doctrine was much harder to shake. Ever fearful of a surprise attack on their home system, never more than a third of the Home Fleet's 470 ships was ever docked at any one time. The others spent their time lazily drifting amongst the Defence Stations, their crews carrying out the menial tasks that so characterised a peace time military while around them smaller fighters and drones darted here and there, keeping these behemoths of the stars in top condition. Some of the work they were doing was crucial, such as patching up damage done by space debris, while others were of much less importance, such as touching up the paint on a Cruiser but there was no doubting it all needed to be done. Amongst all these ships though, was the biggest of them all. The defensive station Sparrowhawk was a tribute both to the ambition of Alversian shipbuilders and their resourcefulness. Found to be too big to be useful as a ship, the Sparrowhawk was instead anchored into the highest orbit of Alversia, her drive and other such technology removed to make way for even more guns, missiles and shield generators. It was a monster in its own right, slumbering quietly above its home planet.

With the single burst of energy from the surface of Alversia, the beast began to stir. All over the fleet, the red alert sounded, snapping Spacers from their idle daydreams or peaceful sleep and sending them scattering for their posts. Pilots reported to their craft, Spacers to their stations and Marines to their choke-points. None questioned the alarm, with only the inbuilt reactions to that alarm and to those flashing lights. Captains took over from Officers of the Watch with only the briefest of reports to expect incoming Setulanite vessels and to be prepared for anything following them. As the free floating ships began to assume their battle formations, a protective shield in front of Alversia, the docked vessels began to jettison, utilising the quick-release method perfected during the wars. Within minutes, the full third of the fleet that had been so quickly resting in dry dock joined their brothers orbit, most with the little drones still clinging on desperately.

Behind them, the Sparrowhawk unfurled itself like a bird stretching its wings. Turret after turret, cannon after cannon, missile bank after missile bank appeared from within the armoured hide of the only Nano-Dreadnought ever built. Thirty kilometres of fire and death that, along with the many hundreds of smaller stations, was ready to challenge any fool notion that Alversia, for all her peaceful aspirations and laid back nature, was not prepared to defend herself with blood and steel.

The biggest floating vessel in the fleet was the Strato-Dreadnought Light of Hope. Aboard the bridge of the three kilometre vessel, Rear-Admiral Alexander Cavourna stood with his hands behind his back and watched on the tactical feed as each ship reported it was in position while around him Officers dashed here and there. The veteran of the Korr Wars, the SASM War, the False Rebellion and the Greali War did know what was happening, nor why the entire fleet had been put into Condition Red but he knew that it was no hoax and no drill. The Condition update was galaxy wide, meaning every ship that bore the symbol of the fleet would be, at that moment, carrying out the same routines as his own. The shields were raised and the weapons powered. All the targeting systems needed was a target.

“Admiral, Captain; Outreach Station has two ships approaching outer vector at high Blink. IFF identifies them as Republican Navy.” One of the officers reported from his seat in front of the Captain.

“Status on the two vessels.” the man beside him demanded before Cavourna could even open his mouth. The Admiral smiled. Flag-Captain Keeve was short for an Alversian with a temper to match but he was one of the finest captains he had ever seen in his thirty years of service. He was a strict disciplinarian but he drove his crew to succeed and they rewarded him by being the best.

“Extensive damage to the outer armour, weapons systems and shields are offline, internal systems are failing.” The same officer replied, fingers flashing over the console in front of him.

“Are there any vessels in pursuit Commander?” Cavourna asked in his quiet voice.

“No sir.”

So Ashe had ordered the entire 400 plus Home Fleet plus the Sparrowhawk on high alert to receive two vessels? Cavourna frowned at that thought. He knew his former XO was not the sort to panic easily and damaged vessels were by no means uncommon in Alversia's orbit. Something must have seriously spooked her if she was expecting something to be following these two ships.

Then the two Setulan vessels, one cruiser and one destroyer, appeared in real time with a flash and immediately, all thoughts of solving the mystery went out of his head as he gazed upon the damaged vessels. To say they had been in a fight would be an understatement. Not since the Danaversian War had he seen ships so badly torn up and even then, it had not been common. That the ships had made it into Blink at all was a miracle. That they had made it this far was incomprehensible. Even now there were bits flying off. It was one of these parts that Cavourna was watching when he saw the unmistakeable flash of fire from within the hull. He did not need the next call to work out what had happened.

“Sir, I'm detecting weapons fire within both Setulan ships. Multiple targets painted hostile. I estimate they have control over 70% of both ships.”

There was only one course of action and he knew precisely what it was. Cavourna turned his lined face towards the Communications Officer, kind but weary blue eyes on her bright and keen ones and a smile on his face.
“Dispatch a request to the Sparrowhawk please. I need two Brigades of Marines to assist immediately in the retaking of two Setulanite vessels. In the meantime, please take the two vessels in tow and keep them from getting any closer to Alversia. Tell Marine Commander Nestor to prepare for boarding assault on the cruiser to the far left and relay to the Canopus and Castor that their compliments will assist the destroyer.”

There was another flurry of activity as the Admiral's orders were carried out. Staring at the viewscreen, he watched as two Scimitar-Class Corvettes broke from the formation and approached the pair from behind. With a flash of blue, both were caught in tractor beams, the corvettes began to gently reverse, slowly arresting the forward momentum of the Setulanites.

He had no idea what was going on.

---

Icoras House, Illesian Central District, Alversia
0210 hours, 23rd of Capeon, 2409

Prime Minister Samantha Owens could not remember the last time she had slept through a night.

Well, that was a lie as she could remember vividly the last time she had slept from dusk through to the dawn. It had been on Xiscapia, when she had taken one of her rare vacations away from the pressures of office and...she still blushed even to think about it.

Aside from that one brief foray, she had been lucky if she could grab maybe five hours a night, often she worked with even less, sustained by endless cups of coffee as she toiled through the hectic and rather chaotic job of running an intergalactic state. This evening had been no exception. After receiving a grilling in the Senate over a proposal to redefine county boundaries across the continent of Sirite, during which a few of her figures had eluded her, the woman had settled down after the business of the day was complete and poured over the reports. She immersed herself in the details, revelling in the appendices and reports, the fact-finding missions, opinion polls and calculations. It was much as she had expected, the potential savings over the next five years were enormous. She made some mental notes with her implants. At tomorrow's meeting she could present her findings to the Senate and surely ease the passage of the bill.

When she had started, Owens resented how the Senators always seemed to attack her policies, how they had always questioned and debated her every word relentlessly. After seven years of it however, she had come to appreciate the good it did. It was their job to ask questions, to make sure that everything had been well thought out and represented the best deal for all involved. More than once she had taken her proposal back and found that their complaints had some merit, that some part needed reworking or dropped entirely. Sometimes the entire plan was a disaster, at which point she could return to the Senate and admit she had made a mistake. Making mistakes in Alversian politics was fine, so long they were recognised and repaired.

Of course discovering that her bill was watertight had taken her into the wee hours of the night, a time when her fellow politicians would be tucked up in bed. Everyone at Icoras House knew that Owens drove herself harder than most and they were concerned for her. Even after seven years she felt the need to prove herself despite all she had done. She had led the Republic through two major wars, she had signed the AXIS treaty and overseen the expansion into the Milky Way Galaxy. Though her tenure was not over, people were already speaking in hushed whispers of her place amongst the top Prime Ministers. She did not believe it of course but it was always nice to receive those sorts of compliments.

Placing aside her reports, Owens contemplated going to bed. It had been a long day and she would need to be up early in the morning for more meetings, personal appearances and debates. Her bedroom was placed conveniently beside her office in the network of buildings that formed Icoras House. She had a few concerns she wished to speak to her Deputy Prime Minister but resisted the urge to pick up the phone. None of it was critical and she did not want to disturb Sion and his family at this late hour.

She heard an urgent rap of knuckles on her door which made her jump. Pushing a strand of chocolate brown hair out of her equally dark eyes, the olive-skinned Alversian wondered who would bother her at this late hour. Most of the staff seemed to have this mistaken belief that she should not be disturbed after midnight.

“Yes?” She called.

The door burst open, with a panting aide holding on to the doorknob as if holding himself up,
“Sorry...to disturb you...ma'am...” he gasped in between gulps of air while Owens folded her hands on her desk and waited patiently, “but...we have...a problem...”

“What's the problem?” She asked, allowing a little concern to seep into her voice.

“We've lost contact...with Setulan...Prime.”

“What do you mean 'lost contact'?” The Prime Minister shot up, eyes going wide.

“The planet's gone dark ma'am. No news feeds, no military reports. Nothing. Our array in the system picked up a huge approaching fleet before we lost contac-”

His next words were lost as Owens surged around the desk, not even slowing down to sweep up her dressing gown and pull it on. She had been wearing only a black nightdress in the misplaced impression she would be soon heading to bed. Right now though, all thoughts of sleep had vanished from her mind.

“Do the Chiefs of Staff know?” She asked as she swept through her open door. The corridor was much busier than it should have been at this time with secretaries and officials ducking from room to room.

The Aide nodded, “They have ordered the Armed Forces to Condition Red.” Owens stopped and looked at him. Condition Red was part of the Alversian RAMPS system of conditions. Condition Red was the bottom of the ladder; declared only in times of war. Even now she could hear the chiming alarms from within the city, the slow whine as the Surface-to-Orbit Batteries of the Taskchain network emerged from their armoured shells and pointed up to the sky.

A door swung open further down the corridor and out stumbled a Silarian male dressed in only a thick and regal gown with fluffy slippers. Despite the rather silly appearance, the man's pale, slender face showed only concern.

“Sion,” she nodded to her Deputy PM, “You've heard.”

“I've just been told. What's going on?” The question was as much to the Aide as it was to the Prime Minister.

The Aide looked stricken for a second while Owens shook her head, “I don't know. I've only been informed that Setulan Prime has gone dark.”

“That was all they told me. Do we know anything else?”

“Apparently not.” Owens shook her head, “apparently our communications array in the Setulan system is offline and we're getting nothing from the surface.” her mind raced as she tried to think of what was happening. A surprise attack of some sort it seemed but who? Surely not the Danaversians again, not without some sort of warning. From the Milky Way Galaxy? Her mind went to the Imperium and to TSAR but again she had to dismiss it. Surely there would have been some sort of warning from their fleets guarding the Milky Way gates...

In all the uncertainty, there was one she knew for sure. Setulan Prime was in trouble.

“Sion, activate the red beeper. I'm calling an emergency meeting of the Senate immediately.”

The Silarian nodded. All Senators were armed with the alert as part of their communicators and nicknamed 'the red beeper'. It's effect on politicians was not unlike a bell in a Fire Station, it was a race to the Senate building.

“We'll need to put out a statement of some kind quickly Sammi, the Media are not going to be long latching onto this.” He replied as he disappeared into one of offices and she knew he was right. Communications between two AXIS home worlds being cut entirely was big news. She could already see the breaking news broadcasts interrupting every channel on every type of network there was. The extranet would already know, people wondering why their links to Setulan-based services were cut. People would be worried, scared for loved ones and anxious about the rapid mobilisation of the military. She would need to address the Republic soon. To let people know what was happening.

First though, she needed to work it out herself.

She was jerked out of her musings by a commotion by the front door. Striding over to investigate, she heard the urgent voices of her guards and the panicked cries of someone else, running across the grounds towards her. The Prime Minister's eyes widened as she recognised the Setulanite Ambassador to the Republic. Diane Tarelan was a pleasant but knowledgeable woman. They had been speaking earlier in the day about a potential cross-nation sports festival and had agreed to resume talks later in the week. She considered the diplomat to be utterly unflappable so to see her wild-eyed, caked in sweat and blowing hard was somewhat alarming.

“Diane?” Owens broke through the ring of Democratic Guards trying to stay the woman and took her by the shoulders. She was trembling all over and her eyes were hollow and unseeing, “what's happened? What's wrong?”

The woman did not speak, she simply offered over a transmission clenched in a shaking fist. It took the Prime Minister a few minutes to prise it from her hands and open it up enough to read it.

For the first time in her life, Samantha Owens nearly fainted.

The message was clearly from Setulan Prime and she recognised the tense and terse reporting style as that of Theatre-General Borndecker. The words spelt an absolute apocalypse occurring on the homeworld, of the defences devastated, the fleet gone and the army scattered. Even Saint Terramo was dead. The man she had come to recognise as, not a threat, but a vital part of making the Home Galaxy a more peaceful place. The part that got to her most of all though, was the part detailing that none of the Prime Ministers or the President were reporting and were presumed dead. Zachary Marchamp...President Maxellian...all dead. She would not pretend that she had been best friends with most of them but she had been on speaking terms with most of them at least and she had considered Maxellian to be a mentor, a living legend who had seen and done it all. To think that he was dead...so suddenly and so ruthlessly brought tears to her eyes.

Very quickly, she wiped her eyes and turned to the poor Setulanite Ambassadress, who looked absolutely shell-shocked. With a quick wave she summoned two Servants,
“Bring the Ambassadress to my personal quarters,” she directed, “give her something strong to steady her nerves.”

The two Alversians nodded and dragged the poor woman back through the halls towards the Prime Minister's personal quarters. They were followed by a pair of precautionary Democratic Guards while the rest followed Sammi towards the centre of Icoras House and the large communications centre built specifically for the Prime Minister to conduct the orchestra of government.
“Pass a copy of this to the Chiefs of Staff,” she handed the message to an Aide, confident that the words had been burned into her skull, “maximum encryption. And get me Emperor Rose.” the man took the message and departed swiftly.

“Pardon me for interrupting, Miss Owens,” The Alversian jerked around as she heard the bodiless voice carry in the hall, “but the First Admiral wishes to speak with you.” the demure female voice belonged to her Personal Internal Press Assistant or PIPA for short.

“Okay PIPA, open a link,” In a flash, a blue representation of the Alvo-Xiscapian Hybrid appeared, devoid of her jacket, “have you receive my message, Ashe?”

The First Admiral nodded grimly, “we just got it through now. Our sensor data confirms most of transmission and I'm willing to bet the rest is accurate. It looks rough. I've got two Republican ships in orbit right now, they've been boarded. We've dispatched Marines to deal with it.”

“Alright, what're we doing about this attack?”

“Right now we're trying to get a sense of their numbers, what ships they have and how we can deal with it. We're opening up the Warp Gate to allow any Setulanite vessels through. I'm going to speak with the Grand Admiral and see what we can do.”

“Alright, I'll be calling the Chiefs of Staff soon to discuss our plan of attack. Sounds like they need reinforcements badly.”

“I've already talked with Jack, he's putting together an Expeditionary Force we can rush through.”

“Alright,” there was a beep from PIPA, “I'll be calling a meeting with the Chiefs of Staff soon. Find out everything you can about Setulan Prime.”

“Ma'am.” The life-sized Ash vanished and was replaced immediately by one of the Emperor of the Kitsune Empire.

“Foxfire,” Owens' voice was level and utterly cool, “you've heard.” She knew he had. “What's the Empire's response?”

[Xiscapia]

Xiscapian Orbit, Space Station Protector, Command Center...

There was an air of tension in the Command Center of the venerable, colossal Starbase that was Space Station Protector. The structure, thirty two kilometers in length with the sort of capacity, firepower and record that not even one of the Setulanite space forts could match, was no stranger to such feelings, having stood guard over the heart of the Kitsune Empire almost since its inception, originally crafted out of parts of the very ships that had borne the Xiscapians to their new homeworld. Threatened many times, but only ever taken once for less than six hours, it had seen the Motherland through over a dozen wars large and small, very close and far distant, but no matter the size or scope of the conflict it had always served as the jumping-off point from which the Kitsune Imperial fleets went out to defend what was Xiscapian and conquer what wasn't. It had witnessed everything from single vessels to armadas of hundreds of ships, both leaving its presence with its blessing and attacking to provoke its wrath, and in those times there were always nearly equal levels of nervousness, of excitement, of suppressed doubt and realized ambition. This was one of those times, and now it oversaw some fifty warships headed out from its bays and orbit, forming up as they went.

Standing almost at attention with her hands clasped behind her back, uniform crisp and starched, the very picture of perfect Kitsune Imperial discipline, Station Commander Ayumi watched the fleet -for that's what it was- move out. They were familiar sights, in fact she could tell every ship by name from seeing them so often with the First or Ninth Fleets. There were the Wasp heavy cruisers Motherland and Specter, the Messenger of Hope missile cruiser Crimson Glory, the Ravikovi modular cruiser Rapture, the Annihilator light cruiser Unshakable, the Fuma electronic warfare ship Storm World and the Veil interdiction frigate Chrysalis, as well as a dozen Marchamp frigates and some thirty Invictus destroyers, acting as escorts and screening pickets for the support craft and the big ships. But undoubtedly most significant was the flagship of the force, the Dominator battleship Pride of the Empire, once the lead ship of the entire KIN and still considered the symbolic spirit of the force even in these days of massive supercapitals, if only for who commanded her. Because out there, Ayumi knew, no less than Grand Admiral Krystal herself was on the bridge, watching the distant stars, worried.

She personally would have given a great deal to know what was going on in that snowy white head of the High Commander of the Navy. They had dropped into Battlestations more than half an hour ago, the entire Fleet, which meant every garrison in every system in both galaxies across the Kitsune Empire had locked down and readied themselves for war. It had all been on the orders of the Grand Admiral herself, straight to her subordinate Admirals, with no immediate reason given, not so much as the name of the threat, just a warning to "watch all horizons." Rumors naturally swirled, everything from resurgent Danaversians to treaty-breaking Viprans to a great coalition of pirates and even to outlandish theories involving resurrected SASM, angry Rethast and ancient Korr, but Ayumi would have none of them in her Command Center. Each was even more unlikely than the last, and personnel scaring themselves with speculation like kits telling ghost stories did not sit well with her.

So they waited in this watchful silent, a vigil that was even quiet on the normally hyper-busy neural network of the gigantic starbase. At the moment everyone wanted to see where the Grand Admiral's fleet would go, what it would do. If it was headed to a system rim, local threat, if to the Jaunt Portal, extragalactic threat, and if it immediately vanished into FTL, that meant there was a threat somewhere else in the Home Galaxy. But for the moment it wasn't doing anything, and Ayumi didn't privately think it was going to leave at all. No, whatever the Grand Admiral was expecting, it was going to happen here, in the heart of the Motherland.

And so it did, not with anything transiting out, but with something transiting in. Three somethings, to be exact, the arrival of which broke the trance and had the neural network activity spiking with alarm even when the bodies of the officers remained still in their seats. Setulanite ships, it was seen with some relief after their transponders were pinged, but that did nothing to settle the churning in the Station Commander's belly. It was all wrong, the vessels, a pair of Fear cruisers and what could only be the Soul's Torment, were all heavily battle-damaged, and where there should have been an entire surrounding cohort of escort craft there were only the two cruisers limping along as best they could. It didn't take long for everyone else to recognize the same -in fact, the entire time taken to process the situation, between arrival, identifying and scans, took about a tenth of a second, thanks to the heavy computerization.

They're firing on the Soul's Torment! A junior officer exclaimed, watching boarding torpedoes flash out on an intercept course with the mighty battleship as an internal explosion wracked her superstructure.

No, you idiot, they're assisting in security operations, Ayumi "said" gruffly, mentally highlighting where scans had penetrated the hull of the capital ship and peered into what was going on inside. Normally that wouldn't have been possible, but with the battleship's shields down -another sign of the extensive damage done to her- the pings easily showed the chaos within the Setulanite flagship. There were energy signatures where energy signatures had no business in being that the Protector's sensitive sensor arrays identified as weapons' fire and detonating volatiles, not to mention the fact that there were far fewer biological signatures aboard than the Soul's Torment was supposed to have in her complement. Signal the Soul's Torment ,ordering a sitrep. I know Shal, if he's still alive he'll be smart enough to respond.

No response from the Soul's Torment, ma'am. Her communications arrays do not appear to be operational.

Of course, she growled, watching as the Grand Admiral's force vectored in on the Soul's Torment and her escorts, Shuriken II and Hammer transports already spilling from bays across the fleet. It occurred to her that if the ship was deaf and dumb, it was probably blind as well; Shal and his troops (and their foes) would have no way of knowing about the approaching Xiscapians or the incoming Imperial Marines. Just hold on a little longer, Admiral, she thought, heedless of the fact that her pleas were showing up on the neural network, for the first time in her life wishing she had the power of telepathy. Help is on its way. Just hold them off.

Xiscapian System, Hammer Dropship Dawnguard 1, Cabin...

If things had been on-edge in the control center of the Protector, that was nothing compared to the tense readiness of the Xiscapian Imperial Marines aboard the Specter-based transport Dawnguard 1 as the ship hurtled towards the Soul's Torment as part of a fleet of over a hundred other dropships and shuttles winging their way from the fleet to the besieged Setulanite battleship. Warrant Officer Manami had never seen her platoon so apprehensive about anything, no drill, pirate-purge or even the battle they'd taken part in just a few short years ago against the solarians at Chalybs had ever inspired this kind of nerves in her troops. And she knew exactly why. With a training op, pirates and even the Cilistians they had known exactly what they were getting into, and had had all the confidence they needed to carry out their orders, slaughter thugs and tear apart war drones and TSAR soldiers alike, because they knew they were better than their enemy and they proved it on the battlefield. But here it was different, none of them knew what they were going up against, the Soul's Torment was non-responsive and all they knew was that its crew was locked in a fierce struggle against boarders that had inexplicably gotten onto one of the most powerful warships in the Setulanite fleet.
What the hell had done that to the Torment?

Two minutes and closing, came the pilot over the link.

Almost time. Manami checked her shotgun again and looked down the twin lines of soldiers, kitsune and alien alike, that made up her unit. All were standing in full navy-sable power armor, small arms cradled and cannons across shoulders, leaning against bulkheads or at their feet -no one was sitting at a time like this. They stared back at her, all seemingly impassive behind their opaque visors, but she knew them all well enough to read through the suits by now, and she could tell the emotions brewing just beneath the surface. Only the stupidest or craziest of sapients didn't feel anything on the eve of combat.

"You're afraid," she said, simple vox only, foregoing the neural link for the moment. "All of you. I am too. Shocked, worried, nervous and angry. Those men and women on that ship are our brethren, of an alliance forged in steel and blood, and they're fighting for their lives against an enemy we know nothing about. You have every right to those emotions. But you already knew that. You're Imperial Marines. You know how to take all of that, pain and rage and fear and nerves, and smelt it into a weapon to cut down your foes. So do it. Because there's no time to be scared, because they need our help and by the Emperor we're going to go in there and we're going to make whoever's done this rue the day they decided our friends would make a good target. Because we are Xiscapians, we are soldiers of the Kitsune Empire, and we know how to kill motherfuckers!" Her voice rose mightily, already powerful tone further enhanced by the suit's speakers. "You're trained for this! You're experienced in this! No, my kits, you were born for this! We are Tenth Platoon, and you know our motto: If it can die, we can kill it-

"-and if it can't, we'll make it wish it could!" came back every voice.

She smiled under her helmet. "So you know the drill, Marines. We're headed for the bridge, right for the heart, but this time around we're saving it. We have one objective, and that is to secure Admiral Shal and his command center. Keep your ears up, your claws sharp, your buddies close and your enemies closer. Because we're about to purge some filth."

Less than thirty seconds later, they hit their LZ, such as it was, along with the force of two battalions worth of their fellows from the Specter, Motherland and the Pride of the Empire. The Xiscapians landed by platoon and company across the superstructure of the Soul's Torment, hitting over twenty different points from stem to stern, dividing up into units intent on individual critical systems, chokepoints and other points of control, either to take them back from the invaders or reinforce the defenders. They made use of airlocks and hatches, slipped through holes blasted in the hull or, where neither of the previous two were convenient, made their own entrances with plasma cutters and charges, pushing into the ship with autocannons pushed out and cannons swiveling, always mindful of the sensor data being fed to them from their transports and the greater warships outside about the locations of biosigns aboard and their dispositions. Even as the battleship was seized in the grip of the Pride of the Empire, locked into position and covered all around by the fleet, they advanced, small craft peeling off and bolting back for their motherships for the next load of troops. More battalions would be inbound shortly.

Xiscapia, KINHQ...

Deep beneath the surface of the homeworld, Admiral Sor watched it all. In the nexus of the Kitsune Imperial Navy everything was quiet on the outside, contrasting sharply to the frenzy on the neural network as dozens of different commands across two galaxies sent in updates on their fronts, were issued orders, reported on the statuses of fleets and ensured that the vital lines of communication from the Motherland to its colonies and protectorates was not broken. Hundreds of officers handled every aspect of the operations, assisted in their efforts by supercomputers and the odd A.I., maintaining a constantly flowing sea of data that smoothly routed through their neural networks and into logs, packets and archives, often before being sent out again, buzzing with heavily encrypted information. The Admiral could see it all in real time, a nearly completely cybernetic brain working at speeds impossible to comprehend by the unmodified mind, thousands of tasks divvied up and yet given his full attention.
And yet he had his focus on one strand in particular.

In the time it had taken the link with the First Admiral to be established he had already completed a legion of duties that would have taken a dedicated staff precious minutes to sort through, decide on and execute. But none of that showed on the muddy brown kitsune's visage as he faced the Alversian halfbreed from lightyears away, standing in a posture identical to Station Commander Ayumi's and watching her feed consolidate and resolve itself. It didn't surprise him that she'd immediately tried to contact the Grand Admiral. He had never had the kind of close relationship with the First Admiral that Krystal enjoyed, but the Xiscapian who was second-in-command of the entire KIN had met Ashe on multiple occasions and they had a working understanding that many AXIS commanders shared. In this situation, it would do.

"First Admiral," he greeted her tersely, with a swift nod in place of the longer, slower bow. "The Soul's Torment appeared in-system without most of her task force, heavily damaged and crawling with boarders. Grand Admiral Krystal is away leading elements of the First Fleet to secure the vessel as we speak. You have had a similar appearance in the Alversian System," he said, tone clipped, already having received the news. "Good. More have escaped whatever cataclysm has befallen the Setulan System, reports have one other vessel entering CAS space. You have direct access to a early-warning network able to reach Setulan Prime. What is the situation there?"

Xiscapia, Imperial Palace...

"So we only know that something horrible has happened."

They were all there in a meeting hall of the Imperial Palace, underground like most structures Xiscapian. Emperor and Empress Rose, Chief Ambassadress Vanadict of the Xiscapian Diplomatic Corps, Master General Dominique of the Xiscapian Imperial Army, Director Sadojima of the Xiscapian Internal Affairs agency, Spymaster Takashi of the Imperial Intelligence Department and Commerce Commissioner Neyavi of the Imperial Merchant Navy, with Grand Admiral Krystal having departed to oversee operations. Only four of them, both rulers, the Vanadict and Neyavi were physically present; Dominique was at the Army's home base elsewhere in the city, Sadojima was being beamed in from agency headquarters and, as usual, it was anyone's guess where Takashi was transmitting from. But no matter whether they were actually there or holographic representations, they all had the same troubled look on face or in body language, the unease of people facing a not-so clear and present danger. That was the only explanation for the blackout from Setulan Prime.

"Correct, My Lord," Takashi said slowly, carefully. "We have no sources of information immediately at our disposal."

"Take me through it one more time, Spymaster. For the benefit of everyone present."

"Our records indicated that the defenses in the Setulan System were due to undergo a drill today which would require a brief cessation of all communications as a part of the exercise. Though this is not a common occurrence, it is nevertheless routine to test their lockdown procedures. Shortly after the blackout began a junior technical assistant discovered that the time slot had in fact been moved ahead from a future date, not by Setulanite warning but altered from within our systems. At that point, as a matter of course, I ordered that Agent Director Amatsukaze's office on Setulan Prime be alerted to the security breach, using an emergency protocol that any receiving Setulanite operators are required to pass through as part of a national security agreement. When there was no response from the Setulan Imperial Intelligence Department office, I alerted the Administration."

"And that's when we discovered it was the same across the board," the Emperor cut in. " Loss of contact with the Imperial Embassy. Loss of contact with the Internal Affairs office. Loss of contact with all merchant vessels, corporate contacts and liaisons. The Republic's communications grid non-responsive to all queries."

"Correct. We were, and continue to be, deaf and blind to anything happening in the Setulan System. Short of sending a craft there, all routes of contact have been cut off. The Alversians did establish an early warning network to monitor activity near the three main AXIS homeworlds, but so far our request for an update from it has gone unanswered. They may not even be aware that anything is wrong yet-"

"My Lord!" They were interrupted by one of the Black Guards standing by the door, who hurried up to the table, bringing all attention to her as she bowed hastily. "My Lord, Palace Security reports that the Setulanite Ambassador has just been admitted through the main gate. He demands to meet with you. Immediately."

Less than a minute later they were all in the front hall up on the surface, just in time to meet Tiron as he was let in through the front doors, all but enclosed by a ring of M.P.s that nevertheless parted when he stepped towards Foxfire. Momentarily stunned by the sight of the man crying, he silently reached out with one rust-furred hand and took the slate from him, recognizing Theater-General Borndecker's style. At first his eyes scanned over it quickly, finishing to the bottom line in a matter of seconds as he had long since grown accustomed to reading similar reports, but he did not digest it nearly as quickly. It took all of his willpower not to simply drop the panel, but the Emperor held on like his life depended on it. Slowly, in the voice of someone who wishes he could not believe his own words, he read aloud so all could hear:

"Exiles returned. Setulan under assault. Fleet destroyed. Orbital Fortresses destroyed. Unknown causes, sabotage expected. Attempt on my own life foiled. Unable to reach President or Planetary Ministers. All PMs/Pres presumed dead. People's House and Hall of Justice destroyed from orbit. Massive enemy troop strengths have made beachheads on all continents, planets. Unknown enemy strengths. Countless acts of terror in military complexes. Much of High Command not reporting, presumed dead. Enemy Fleet numbers in the hundreds. Unknown if more coming. Large friendly army strengths destroyed. Wormhole destroyed. Fortress of the Hope under siege. Fist under siege. Need reinforcement ASAP. Beware-Arcs have been weaponized. Light of the Gods held by the enemy. Saint's location unknown, presumed dead. Need reinforcement. Will report more if possible. We will hold. We will deny the Fallen until our last breath. You just better get here before then."

Already acting before he had finished, Jade stepped forward and embraced the weeping Tiron tightly, and Foxfire and the rest of the staff could only watch in a sort of stupefied horror as the man broke down and sobbed into her breast, shuddering uncontrollably. Swallowing, the Emperor turned back around to the Vanadict, handing the report to her. "Make sure everyone knows about this," he said, any vestige of shock gone like fire put out by the coming of a frigid tide, voice invested with command authority that harked back to his days on the battlefield. "All other AXIS members, all allies. No more blackouts."

Bowing, she pivoted and literally ran from the room, already transmitting.

Next came the Master General. "From this moment forward we are in a state of war. Enact all the necessary protocols, prepare to embark contingency armies, call up the reserves and deploy militias nationwide. The Theater-General meant it when he said he needs reinforcement as soon as possible. We will be that reinforcement."

"Your will be done, mi'lord." He bowed and vanished.

"Commerce Commissioner. The Merchant Navy is now an auxiliary force to the Kitsune Imperial Navy. Any Merchant Navy vessel can be requisitioned by the KIN for the appropriate duties. Be ready for all sacrifices. Go with honor."

"Thank you, Your Majesty." The Alumina bowed and, slipping around the soldiers still clustered around the door, left the Palace.

Director Sadojima was already stepping up when the ruler faced him. "I'm sure you're aware of the security implications behind the Exile attacks on Setulan," Foxfire said quietly. "They cannot be allowed to be duplicated anywhere in the Kitsune Empire, nor elsewhere in AXIS space. Coordinate with your fellows in foreign services. You are our shield."

"Understood, my Emperor. This shield will not break." He bowed deeply and dissipated.

Noticing the Captain of the Guard standing nearby, having been drawn by the commotion, Foxfire waved him over. "Kobayashi. Dispatch a force of Guards, under Guardsman Litek, to the Setulanite Embassy. It is important that it remains open and active as a potential link into Setulan Prime, and we can't rule out the possibility of the Exiles attacking it or making an attempt on Ambassador Tiron's life. I will ensure that you have the support of the Embassy M.P.s and police backup."

"Yes sir. Right away sir."

At last the only ones left were himself, Jade where she was still comforting Tiron, the Ambassador's guards and Spymaster Takashi. Ignoring everyone else, the two kitsune stared at each other for a moment, orange to black, robes to suit, sovereign to spook. At last Foxfire spoke first. "This was an intelligence failure," he told him evenly. "You of all people should know what such entails. But go, and start working on establishing contacts in Setulan again. I don't care if you have to personally pose as the serving girl for an Exile officer, I want eyes and ears on Setulan Prime. Whatever it takes."

Saying nothing, Takashi bowed himself out.

Glancing over at Jade, Foxfire caught her eye and she gently guided Tiron along, moving him down and away into the Palace, his personal guard following. If there was anywhere they would be safe it was here, and if there was anyone who could help the poor man, it was the Empress, he knew. Finding himself alone, the Emperor breathed out slowly, swaying on his feet. The full shock of it would hit him later, he knew. For now he coordinated his empire, and did everything he could to make sure it was not too late.

He almost didn't notice the servant scurrying in, as omnipresent as they'd suddenly become in the chaos, but in normal times it was commonly accepted that servants would only appear when needed and remain invisible at all other times so he turned expectantly as the white robes flapped to draw his attention. Stopping, the kitsune bowed deeply and extended the hologram sphere, one of the same types that some of the Xiscapians had been using, but this one was painted crimson and gray, meaning that it was reserved for use exclusively by the Prime Minister of Alversia. Most leaders he knew had one, including Maxellian...the thought that the device bearing the striking eagle of Setulan would probably never again display the Setulanite President to him was like a knife twist in the chest. Shaking himself out of it, he nodded to the servant, bidding him to retreat, and watched as the device projected a full-sized, color Samantha Owens beside him, so real it was like she was actually there. And indeed, for all practical intents and purposes, she was.

“Foxfire, you've heard.”

Bowing to her, he straightened mutely. It was not a question. He had, and Takashi's assessment had been wrong. The Alversians knew at least as much as they did. Possibly even more.

“What's the Empire's response?”

"We are at war, Sammi," he said simply. "All Kitsune Imperial Navy fleets, stations and garrisons have been locked down to repel attack until we are ready to go on the offensive. The Imperial Army is mobilizing. The Chief Ambassadress is spreading the word to all AXIS and allied nations. The Exiles must be stopped before they can gain a sizable foothold in Setulan." He paused meaningfully. "More than what they already have."

Home Galaxy, Planet of Pamp...

Stepping over gnarled roots and patches of underbrush, he made his way through the forest, hands clasped before him, hood drawn up over his head against the chill. Wisps of fog curled around his booted feet as he moved, a dark shape in a sea of dark shapes, the light from above filtered out and kept distant by the thick canopy above, shrouding the ground in gloom. It was quiet, almost silent to the untrained ear, but like any such place this forest pulsed with life, things that buzzed, skittered, flew and prowled through the undergrowth, all giving the visitor among them a wide berth. There were beasts in this place, large ones that occasionally delighted in feasting on the flesh of sapient beings, but none would bother him. They knew an apex predator when they saw one.

He had felt it hours ago, the striking sensation like a hand clenching around his heart that something was deeply wrong. Not here, not even close, but elsewhere in this galaxy and the next. Reaching out, knowing to trust such warnings when they came, he had touched the minds of his fellows, his compatriots and allies where he knew them, and felt no threat, not from them. But elsewhere, trouble, deep and catastrophic, and it had held itself over his head ever since he had instructed his followers to be on the lookout and gone to take this walk. Being out here, away from civilization but more importantly away from people, soothed him, not inspiring a dread of the wilderness like so many Xiscapians.

But now he felt it. That was an unmistakable tremor, one that only a very few things could cause to shake what he knew to its core. Without being able to hold up any proof, he knew that the Saint had fallen. If he assumed the worst, that the man was dead, and many of his own with him, then the Church and no doubt the greater Republic was under attack. And if the bleak forces clouding the events were any indication, he knew who was responsible.
It was time to act.

Peeling back his hood, the kitsune stopped in the middle of the forest. Closing his eyes, amber with flecks like burnished gold, he found them, solidly this time, hammering at the doors of other's heads. In moments he could see them in his mind's eye; four other kitsune, two male, two female. One, robed like him, holding a staff, watchful; another, rust-furred and nude, the vixen staring at him with a unique intensity; a third, leaning on his cane, smiling that knowing, haughty grin; and the fourth, his other half, hands clasped in her tunic, head bowed. Wherever each was across the universe, they saw him as he saw them, and each knew what he did. This moment had been long in coming, but there was no doubting that it had arrived.

Maynghien.

My Lord.

Erravvi.

I am summoned.

Sir Urteil.

At your service, my Prince.

Nightshade.

A sad nod. Brother.

The hour has come like a thief in the night. Already, many lives have been stolen away. The Saint may already be dead. Contact the Church of Setulan in the colonies. We must intervene.

Silvertooth Rose gave them all a grim look.

And ready the Skulks.

[Setulan]

I promise, my posts will get smaller For the time being, I'm just trying to get the chaos/wtf stuff across. Once things stabilize somewhat, the story-background stuff will stop and my responses won't be ten MS word pages long.

Command Center, The Fist: Three Hours Post Landing

A mood had settled over the command center of Setulan's premier military headquarters like a mist, a mood that Borndecker and many of the other high ranking officers were all too familiar with. It was one thing to wage a war against an enemy on a far away world, such as when fighting the Danaversians. It was an entirely different feeling to be fighting a war on your own planet, on the home you were born and raised on, knowing that every one of your actions could quite literally effect what happened to those you love.

It was not pleasant to feel it again.

Borndecker sat in his office and went through the reports that were laid out on his desk. As of now, they were distressingly incomplete. With a grimace he brought up the roster of Setulan's highest ranking officers, known as Commander-in-Chiefs (CINC).

Color coding: KIA, MIA, Active

Navy
CINCFLEET: Supreme Admiral Carter
CINCSETFLEET: Grand Admiral Martin
CINCORBIT: Grand Admiral Hamlin
CINCATMO: Theater General Tarmin
CINCCUST: Grand Admiral Maener

Planetary Guard
CINCARMY: Theater General Borndecker
CINCSET: Theater General Durmel
CINCLIM: Theater General Gralf
CINCVET: Theater General Istvaan
CINCSHE: Theater General Huds

It was a pitiful list. Not a single one of the Navy's highest ranking officers was listed as active, though Borndecker held out some hope that Tarmin, head of all strike craft, was still alive. His location at the beginning of the attack was unknown, so it was possible he wasn't at Naval Headquarters when it was struck by the Nova Cannon. The Guard was little better off, with just Istvaan and Borndecker reported as alive. Durmel, a hero of the Danaversian War, was found dead in his home laying in a puddle of his own blood, while Gralf, the architect of the offensive against the Malcastrineze, was killed in a lightning strike by the Sons of Tigris that left his command center a smoking ruin.

A knock on the door. Authoritative, not timid-his staff had learned that if he hated anything in a crisis, it was uncertainty. If you were going to knock, just fucking knock.

"Enter." With a wave of his hand, Borndecker sent the report off of his desk and back into its file. A fresh faced Major in the uniform of the Republican Guard stuck his head in.

"Sir, we're ready in WarPlans whenever you are." Borndecker didn't bother replying, just rose and followed the Major out and down the hall.

Outside of the command room the Fist was swarming with bodies, most wearing HIBA and carrying loaded weapons. Hacked deep inside a mountain and reinforced with enough shielding, ferrocrete, Setulan Steel and weapons to build a city and equip an army to defend it, the most fortified location in all of Setulan space was as sturdy as it was possible to be. Indeed, deep in the bowels of the fortress as they were it was easy to forget that they were under siege.

The force that laid siege to the Fist was unfortunately not stupid. They did not come charging in to the massive kill box that stretched over fifty flat miles of gently sloping farmland that gradually led up to the massive main gates. Nor did they attempt to sneak through the surrounding mountains to find some place to infiltrate, such as the exhaust vents or some other hare-brained scheme. The attackers knew perfectly well that such ruses were already planned for well in advance and doomed to failure.

Rather, they waited and fired. The long range guns they employed were largely exotic in nature (though they boasted many familiar patterns as well) and were well protected by mobile shield generators. They also were not dumb enough to attempt to overwhelm the Fist's shields, at least not yet. They kept up a constant stream of rounds, night and day, that was but a fraction of their overall potential with about fifteen rounds a minute impacting against the shields on average. This number would spike and fall randomly.

The Fist's own guns fired back, of course, but they could only do so much and unlike their foe did not have nigh unlimited supplies. While the fortress was designed to survive a siege for years, its manufacturing capability-though largely limited to ammunition-had been badly damaged in the initial flurry of sabotage that had also seen the fort's Macro Cannons (fleet based weapons modified to be used as super long range heavy artillery) taken out of commission.

The WarPlans room was a circular room hewn into the rough granite of the mountain, but the walls were unnaturally smooth to help the incredible planning system that projected from a dozen places. Unlike the main strategic theaters, which were cavernous versions of this room, the setting here was much more intimate as it was meant to be a discussion between leaders as compared to a briefing.

In the room were a dozen other officers, predominately male but with three women as well. Seven wore the uniform of the Planetary Guard, two wore the faux-navy of the Fighter and Bomber Commands, two wore Republican Guard colors, and the last was the Navy liaison. All looked grim.

"Gentlemen, ladies, be seated." A flurry of movement as the assembled officers pulled up the thick leather chairs and sat down. "Let's get a status report. What we know, what we need to know, and solutions for the short and long term."

It was one of the Planetary Guard officers who began the briefing, manipulating the controls in front of him to better get his point across.

"Here's what we know on the ground, sir. At 1240 Capitol Time, the Exiles began a full scale invasion of Setulan Prime. The Arc, positively identified as Hannah's Arc, along with twelve other large capacity transport ships landed on Findomus and began to disgorge their troops. We are currently being locked into the Fist by an army of about four million, makeup unknown, that disembarked from the Arc. Sir, something you should know. The landing of the Arc caused pretty serious tectonic movements. We estimate at least ten thousand dead just from that one act."

Borndecker remained silent, but nodded an acknowledgement.

"When the Arc's left Setulan, they were each capable of carrying more than a billion and a half souls. We need to assume that if Mark's Arc has been retrofitted to be a massive space station, then Hannah's Arc has likewise been tooled out for orbital assault. We just don't know how many people she's can carry or what her manufacturing capabilities are, but I think we need to assume the worst on that score."

The screen shifted from its focus on The Fist to Setulan Prime, the main city on the continent of Findomus.

"Prime's commander was assassinated, so his deputy-General Hancroft-has taken command. He's done some heavy lifting despite the orbital and atmospheric strikes and has pulled together almost a million men to defend the city, with limited air support."

"A million men will be a speed bump, nothing more."

"A big bump, I should think." It was one of the Republican Guard officers who spoke. "He has an almost intact division of Republican Guards, the Third Rifles, and some good heavy armor support largely intact as well. You all remember how long Prime lasted the last time it was attacked, and the odds were similarly unfavorable. The city is highly defensible."

"Against a billion enemy soldiers, my friend, it won't matter a damn. And those are the numbers we're talking here. Without better orbital support we can't be certain of enemy troop strengths, but a flight from the Sixth Recon Wing made a flyover of the advancing enemy. They number at least a billion. Most likely more."

"Did any of the flight make it back?"

"No, sir. They did not." A nod from the head of the table.

"They will be honored. We must accept that Prime will fall, but Hancroft will hurt them. He will position his forces at Hero's Gorge, just as the Praetorians did in the Great War. It is the only route into Prime from that direction, and we have fortified it to a fare-thee-well in recent decades. He will hold for a day, two if we are lucky. Andrus, you will dispatch the 9th Infantry Division to aid them. It's twenty thousand light troops, I know, but they'll fight like bastards, and in the gorge numbers can be nullified some. They're close enough that they can make it there largely intact if they drive.

"In accepting Prime must fall, we must take appropriate measures. Order the MPs to evacuate the city while they can. Any who want to leave, must. There are suburbs they can escape to that will be relatively unharmed in the fighting. All the outlying cities are going to fall as well. We can't hold everything."

"Aye aye, sir." The holosphere shifted once more, this time to Bartasson, the industrial continent. "We weren't sure how the Exiles got troops safely onto Bartasson, since the only really safe way to land there is to use the space ports-it's too dense. And the landing sites are heavily protected. Turns out they just flattened-literally flattened-entire industrial sectors to make room for their ships. We've tracked more than sixty vessels land and return to orbit after disgorging troops. The fighting there has already started. We can't establish who is in overall command, but it seems local garrisons are coordinating and launching strikes at the LZ. At least one of the troop ships was badly damaged coming in and had to take off before it was done.

"As you all know, fighting in Bartasson has always been a messy, unorganized business. For the time being, we can't tell what the hell is going on." The screen shifted a final time, to Agrimonus. The largest, flattest continent of Setulan, devoted entirely to food production, was horribly vulnerable.

"The Exiles' approach to Agrimonus is rather odd. They have more than fifty million troops there that we can tell, but they're almost entirely concentrated around the Fortress of Hope. Frankly, sir, it's excessive. They've sent armies of a approximately a million to each of the three cities of the continent, and that's going to be a handful and no mistake, but almost fifty million men to lay siege to the Fortress of Hope..."

"Who is in command over there?"

"Granden. The disciple."

"I know who he fucking is." There was silence for a time. All present knew that one of the leading voices to keep the War Priests out of the chain of command was Borndecker, and that he and Granden the Blade had clashed famously on the floor of the People's House.

"You tell that son of a bitch not to fuck this up, and that he takes orders from me. We'll integrate them into our plans. He just better hold."

"He has almost sixty thousand war priests in the defenses. There is no way they can hold."

"They will. Give the devil his due, Andrus. He can fight." A heavy sigh. "And Exoman? The hives?"

"Unmolested for the time being. They're squarely protected by what few orbital assets we have left."

"What about the Exile fleet?"

"We just don't know. They numbered four hundred when they arrived. The fleet did some damage, but we've received word from some of our GTO batteries that their long range sensors have picked up multiple Blink jumps. We can't tell how many there are."

"The moons?" Another man spoke up who bore the palm tree patch of Shez's high command.

"Not looking good, sir. The most clear reports we have are from Limur. The Exiles breached Manigo and are assaulting the city with a force that numbers at least three million. Colonel-General Jajua has them locked in pretty solid, he's turned the city into a hellscape, though there are serious civilian casualties. They're locked up right now, sir, though we are getting reports of breeches in other cities as well."

"Hell, that's just to keep them busy." The officer who spoke bore the pale complexion of a native of the ice moon. "Assaulting the ice cities like that is incredibly dangerous, and it's not like you can move across the surface that well. He just wants to make sure nobody else is coming to help. If the Fallen can silence those GTO batteries, we've lost a serious deterrent for assault on the remaining orbital fortresses."

"I concur." The briefing officer nodded once. "But the other moons are worse off. Two of Veto's bubble cities have been breached intentionally and are swarming with Exiles. They'll fall by the end of the day. The Infiniti Division is doing well in two other cities, but they're badly outnumbered. We just can't get a grip on what's going on up there. Orbital debris alone is screwing up our signals."

"And Shez?" A forlorn look passed across the briefing officer's face, there and gone in a flash.

"Already fallen, sir. Thirty minutes ago, we stopped getting reports from Major Til, who was holding the last known garrison we had there. Ten minutes later, we picked up radio transmissions from on the planet claiming that the Exiles have returned in peace, the usual bullshit." There was silence.

"Any word from the President? He was on the moon..."

Silence was the only response.

"Alright." When Borndecker spoke, it was barely above a whisper. "Alright. This is bad, but not unsalvageable. What's our interplanetary comms looking like?"

"On that, sir, we have good news. While our own comms are still down and likely will be for at least another day or two, the Exiles couldn't hit our mobile units, like the ones the Corps sized formations have for invasions. General Hancroft has a unit set up and constantly on the move, protected by a full company of CAS troopers. He...he didn't know who else to trust." That answer to the unspoken question of why the comm unit wasn't protected by Setulans hurt more than news of Shez falling.

"Then send this SitRep to Hancroft and have him relay it to our allies. Make sure they understand that everything we say, every response we have planned, those treasonous dogs know about. Some of the best and brightest left the planet with them. We have to assume that they know our war plans and the innermost workings of AXIS."

"Aye aye, sir."

The message-a data file, specifically, showing what the Republic knew and the contents of the briefing-was bounced to Setulan Prime and then hammered into space to Protector over Xiscapia and Sparrowhawk over Alversia.

Fortress of Hope


The siege at the Fist might have been calm, but the Fortress of Hope was entirely different. Unlike the Fist, the primary temple of the War God was not hacked into a mountain but rather stood on an elevated raise a mere sixty feet above sea level that was nonetheless the highest ground for five hundred miles. Shining walls of marble that stretched a hundred feet high hid the Setulan Steel and heavily reinforced concrete beneath that were the true backbone of the defenses. Heavy guns built into silos in the walls thundered, sending massive shells soaring at unseen artillery that sent rockets and fire right back at them.

Stretching a hundred meters from the walls were a series of trenches, bunkers, and redoubts that would give any army pause and could be held for weeks against a determined foe. Minefields, electrified wire, and other obstacles of a more divine nature made the fortress nigh impregnable, or so the designers had intended. Inside the walls were incredibly powerful GTO batteries that sent missiles and shells soaring into space to deter warships that braved the incoming fire to rain death on the massive umbrella shield that protected the bastion of the God.

The barrage had been never ending, hundreds of shells a minute, for hours now. Granden the Blade, standing atop the walls with his Battle Lords at his side, knew the reason for it. Granted, there were entirely legitimate strategic reasons for wanting to eliminate the Fortress of Hope and Granden himself. Sixty thousand War Priests was a devastating fighting force, and situated in the middle of the continent as they were they could be dispatched to help any one of Agrimonus' three cities. Just as important, Granden himself was a dangerous foe, and his death would cause a serious hit in morale to the forces of the Republic.

But for all that, Granden knew better. It was purely personal. Duramal, that traitorous bastard, wanted his head. Him, specifically.

"I should have killed that son of a bitch when I had the chance. Cutting off his balls was too good for him."

A wry snort from Battle Lord Hymrik, one of the foremost heroes of the Great Crusade.

"Yes, you should have. But at the time, it seemed fair." He leaned on his glaive and looked out at the empty plains pensively. "The numbers they're going to throw at us are going to be absurd. You know this, of course."

"Of course."

"Just as you know that we will likely not see our traitor brothers until we are already worn down."

"Naturally."

"And when the time comes, we will almost certainly die."

"Well...yes. Yes, we will."

"Ah. Just making sure everything was clear, then."

Stoically, the two men watched the flares of incoming fire off the shields and waited for the impending assault.

[Setulan]

Setulan Prime

The sirens had started again.

They had sounded belatedly after the destruction of Victory Square, and hadn't shut up for almost ten minutes of nonstop wailing even after it was clear that more strikes were not incoming. This time, however, was different. In the distance were flashes of light and a never ending rumble of noise coming from the direction of Hero's Gap, and it was clear that a battle of epic proportions was ongoing over there. Occasionally a significantly brighter flash would light up and the people would wonder. Was that one of our boys dying in a column of flame? Or was it the enemy, the Exiles, as reporters were saying the invaders were?

Nobody knew. Nobody could tell. Yet when the sirens went off this time, it was much more clear what it was for. Though it was impossible to hear the drone of the engines from so far below, it was impossible to mistake the huge series of contrails coming their way. The incoming flight of bombers and their escorts was massive.

From outside the city (and even from some hidden locations within the metropolis, which had certainly surprised neighbors who had no idea air defense weapons were next door) guns began to hammer, sending tracers into the sky, while missiles exploded off their racks on trails of flame. From the devastated Capitol SpacePort came flight after flight of Firestorm heavy fighters that had weathered the orbital strikes in their underground hangars. Badly outnumbered, they flew into what was almost certain death.

The reactions of the citizens when given the evacuate order was mixed. Most, of course, packed their things, got into their vehicles, and began to drive away under the watchful eye of MPs with loaded firearms and itchy trigger fingers. But some decided to stay. Many were just too stubborn to evacuate and wanted to stay in their homes. Others-many of them veterans of the Great War who refused to see their home destroyed twice-made their way to the offices of the Veterans Trust.

The Trust had pulled out all the stops. Contacting the local Military Police commanders and getting integrated into the defensive plans for the city itself, power armored contractors were handing weapons and armor out to qualified volunteers at the same time that thousands of citizens erected barricades and blasted buildings without remorse, creating traps and deadfalls to make the city more defensible.

In addition to the local mercenary groups and local citizens, another group was preparing for the inevitable invasion. More than fifteen hundred War Priests, residents of the city's many churches, armed and armored themselves as incense swung around them, preparing them for their inevitable deaths. Other churches opened their doors to refugees or had their priests arm themselves as well. Earthmovers, the most skilled of Rohr's children, manipulated the elements with their minds to create barricades and stone walls for troops to take cover behind.

Outside the I.I.D. headquarters (Republic of Setulan), a massively armored figure was walking with a purpose. The rank of a Sergeant Major was emblazoned on his arm, but his helmetless head would be easily recognizable to the equally armed and armored Kitsune guards outside the building. An evacuation was being overseen by members of the staff, and sensitive documents and files were either being burned, wiped, or secured for transport. The man stopped for a second to confer with the guards quietly.

"You guys need to hurry it up. We've been getting word that the Exiles are hitting foreigners hard in towns they take. I wouldn't be surprised if there were missiles up there targeted here." He patted one on the shoulder and walked in, finding who he was looking for immediately. Before he could say anything, one of the other I.I.D. agents called out.

"Agent Director! Sergeant Major Freeman is here for you, ma'am."


Soul's Torment, Xiscapian Space

The Imperial Marines breached the Torment and found scenes of carnage everywhere they went.

The Soul's Torment was one of the two most powerful ships in the entire Setulan fleet, but it was not eloquent or subtle. A bruiser, a brawler, a mean ship with a mean purpose, getting close and pounding its foes into oblivion with rockets and shells before launching devastating strikes with boarding torpedoes and shuttles. It had more raw firepower than some entire battle groups. The crew of the Torment-and its sister, the Eternal Pain, far away in the Milky Way Galaxy-was huge, numbering more than seventeen thousand. Of that number, more than fifteen thousand were members of the Republic's elite boarding and orbital assault unit, the Infiniti Division.

Yet the life scans done by the Xiscapian fleet showed only six thousand souls still living aboard the vessel.

Like all Setulan built warships, the Annihilator Class battleships were designed with repelling boarders as a key consideration. As such the miles of corridors were replete with traps and choke points, but the real challenge for any boarders were the three bastions-bridge, armory, and engines. Those three areas were as heavily fortified as it was possible to get on a warship, and the scans done by the Xiscapians showed that it was around these three areas that the life signs were clustered.

The Imperial Marines arrived to a scene of slaughter.

Everywhere they stepped the corridors were choked with bodies. It was a rare Marine who had not trained with the Infiniti Division during their service or fought alongside them in either the Danaversian War, Great Pacification, or Saur War, and as such there was little doubt that at least a few of the Marines would know crew of the Torment. It was here that they found their first signs of the enemy they were fighting.

Setulans. Of that there could be no doubt. Everything about them, from build to weapons and armor, was identical to the Republicans they knew. That said, the armor was what stood them apart. The planetary camo tones of the Infiniti stood apart from the matt black armor plating of their foes, whose bodies littered the blasted and scoured choke points. Yet most peculiar of all were the bodies that they found relatively rarely. Huge men and women in bulky power armor painted a vibrant yellow that made the eyes ache if they were looked at too long, who-by the looks of things-had required massive amounts of punishment to bring down.

Resolved now that they knew their foe, the Marines pushed deeper into the ship.

Their efforts to relieve the armory went largely as planned and with minimal losses. They struck with gratifying surprise at the rear of a foe whose clearance of the defensive positions had guaranteed a vulnerable rear. Yet other Xiscapian forces would not be so lucky.

Desperate cries of "God touched" went out on vox links that suddenly went dead as Xiscapians moving to relieve the engine room ran into a phalanx of Exile War Priests, fifty warriors in their vibrant armor with glowing blades. An entire platoon of Marines was chopped to meat before a proper response could be formed, and the ensuing battle to clear them out was a vicious, bloody half hour ordeal.

Manami's platoon had its own problems. They had gotten bogged down temporarily in a vicious close range firefight that left three of their number wounded but laid waste to nine of the foe. Spirits buoyed by the victory, they came around another corner into the backs of an enemy shooting at the Bridge defenses.

Their initial salvo cut down ten of the Exile boarders, but they didn't see the War Priest until he was already on top of them.

His first shot, fired from the heavy rail gun built into his armor, blasted one of the Marines into a bulkhead with her entrails hanging out. Another Marine, running in with Katana bared, was sliced in half with a flick of the wrist.

"Bring it down! By all that's holy ki-"

The words over the vox were drowned out by maniacal metallic laughter coming from the speakers on the Exile's helmet. Another Marine opened fire, sending a stream of rounds at the priest, but he seemed to slide past the incoming fire and closed, delivering a head butt that crunched the metal of the Kitsune's faceplate into their skull, killing them instantly.

It was Manami who ended the rampage. Fury in her every move, she let loose a guttural war cry with no words and slammed into him, katana raised in fury. She blocked one strike, a second, the priest moving impossibly fast for a figure so heavily armored, but then she saw her chance and ducked, swinging low and cutting his leg off at the knee. As the Warrant rose and rammed her sword into his throat, finishing him off, the horrible, mechanical laughter never stopped.

One of her Marines walked up to him. She recognized him, Private Galin, the only Setulan in her platoon. The nineteen year old had just finished his training and joined the platoon not even three weeks prior. Hefting his weapon, he emptied his magazine on full auto into the corpse as he screamed obscenities. It took two other Marines to drag the weeping young man away from the body.


In the end, the fight to retake the Torment took an hour and reaped a bloody toll on the Marines sent to assist. Admiral Shal, handing command of his ship over to his third officer (his XO had been killed) took a shuttle over to the Pride of the Emperor to meet with Grand Admiral Krystal herself. She would be informed of his arrival not by a message, but by the gruff voice she knew so well angrily telling a corpsmen to fuck himself, no, I'm fine, just leave me be for now because I need to make a fucking report and then I'll get myself checked out. The bridge door opened with a hiss, and Shal walked in.

Shal was a legend in AXIS space. The most experienced and oldest Admiral still serving in the Republic, at 129 years old he had been serving longer than most members of the Pride of the Emperor's crew had been alive. Since the age of eighteen, when he had first stepped into the cockpit of a Warhawk fighter and scored his first kill, he had been marked for great things. At seven feet tall and almost five hundred pounds of pure muscle, the huge and very anti-regulation beard that ran down his chest made him look almost like a bear. He had commanded the Setulan fleet in large parts of the Dan War, had been the overall commander of all space forces for the Republic during the Saur War, and his actions during the Pacification were spoken of with awe.

And he looked terrible.

He was wearing HIBA chest plating over his regular Navy uniform and it was clear he had been in the fight personally. Where his left eye used to be was just a bloody ruined socket and the entire left side of his head was crisped and burned, in many places to the bone-it was possible to see inside his cheek and look at his tongue, so grievous were his injuries. Blood dyed half his beard and made an inverted teardrop on his chest, condensing and congealing in gouges and scorch marks where he had taken hits.

He threw Krystal a firm salute regardless, the quirky yet respectful smile he always made when he saw the young woman-old enough to be his great granddaughter-still on his face.

"Grand Admiral, Fleet Admiral Shal reporting in." He dropped the salute and walked over to the chart table uninvited, making himself at home. There was no denying the man's presence. He had an aura of command that made people just want to follow him. "I hate to be short on the ceremony side, but the stimms I've been juicing are probably going to start wearing off relatively soon and I need to make this report."

He messed with the table for a second until a diagram of the Setulan system was put on the main screen.

"I know what Borndecker sent you, but I have some clarifications as well. Look here, now." He made some annotations, and the three orbital fortresses dropped off the diagram. "Those three fortresses are gone. So is most of the home fleet and all of Fleet Command. The fleet that hit us was about four hundred ships strong. Lots of transports, but still enough dedicated warships to choke the Danaversians. We did for a few, but not enough. Now." He took a seat, masking a flash of pain. Badly. Even sitting, he was taller than his Kitsune superior.

"I managed to mess up the Light of the Gods pretty good. That's good news. They didn't know how to pilot that ship, Grand Admiral. Saint be praised. If Ashar had been in command, we wouldn't have stood a chance, but I'm guessing he was killed. So they'll be too busy trying to effect repairs and not trying to figure out how to fight the ship properly. We also did some minor damage to Hannah's Arc,, but not much." When he turned to Krystal, his face was grave.

"Grand Admiral, Mark's Arc has been heavily weaponized. There isn't a single ship in any fleet I know that can take that thing head to head. My guess is that they're going to use it as a space station, but for now it's...it's a monster. That's what really did us in. She was carrying those yellow armored bastards from the Bright Sons Legion. We must have killed twenty thousand of their lesser troops, but once the Sons showed up, well..." He shrugged. "They breached. They did what they do best."

"Anyway. More than four hundred ships there now, I would hazard to guess. They're too smart to commit everything to one strike. And gods only know what is happening to the colonies and other planets."


Alversian Space

The battle aboard the two Setulan warships in the Alversian system went significantly better than their counterparts in Xiscapia. No legionnaires awaited the Alversian Marines, just regular troops, and the ships themselves were not as far gone as the Torment had been. Still, it was messy. Many troops from all sides died before the ships could be considered clear, and by the time the two battered warships were being sent to dockyards for repairs the exhausted crews were near collapse.

The long range sensors deployed by the Alversians would show up distressingly blank. Something-or someone-was jamming them badly, preventing them from getting a good read on what they were seeing. What they could see was a bad image of the massive bulk of Mark's Arc, and the horrific debris field floating around Veto.

[Alversia]

Marshall House, Command Room

When the hologram took the form of Admiral Sor, Reyes realised she should have expected that. She knew that Krystal would want to be with the fleet in orbit and that, more than likely, she would leave the groundwork to her second-in-command. She was not as close to Sor as she was to Krystal but they had worked together more than enough times to have a functional and professional relationship. As the Xiscapian Officer knew of the two vessels that had popped into Alversian space, so too was she aware that the Soul's Torment was currently in the Xiscapian home system. She was not going to pass judgement on Sor's comment on more escaping from Setulan. She only knew that, given the size of the fleet that had been protecting the Republic's homeworld, the numbers of survivors were pitifully few. They had been decimated. It was a grim analysis but, she suspected, an accurate one.

“You have direct access to a early-warning network able to reach Setulan Prime. What is the situation there?"

“We don't know, Admiral,” the half-breed's response was as frank and as brutal as it had to be in such a situation. “Our early warning system went dark before the attacks hit and all buoys are non-responsive. We're trying to get a reading of the Setulan home system but without success. The attackers are jamming the system quite effectively.” She glanced at a report that had been placed in front of her, though to Sor it would simply look as though she had turned her head a little to the side.

“My Marines have boarded the two vessels in our space. They are making slow but steady progress. At the moment, my priorities are to secure these two vessels and to get a clear picture of the situation. No doubt there will be a meeting called soon for AXIS to plan a response.” She knew there would be, “we are opening the transwarp gate in the Milky Way for any Setulan vessels to come through if required. I am sorry I have no further information for you, Admiral, but these are somewhat confusing and unforeseen circumstances. If there is nothing else?” She waited for his reply before she cut the feed and glanced down at the report which had come over from the sensor array technicians.

“Are they blocking our sensors that thoroughly?” She frowned at the readouts they were getting. To her eye's it was virtually useless. It was clearly visual only readouts they were getting, with the single massive smudge that had to be one of the Arc ships and an alarming amount of debris from a space battle. There were no accurate readings on the number of ships in the system, nor their composition, nor their combat state. It was a highly frustrating position to be in, to be so blind when there was clearly so much going on. The First Admiral stared at the images, committing them to memory before she handed the report off to Sasha.

“What reports are we getting in Benedict II?” She asked the Commander. She had to know how far this spread, how much the flames of war had consumed.

“Admiral Barton reports full contact with all Setulan forces in the Milky Way galaxy. He says there is no activity, but he has moved the Sixteenth Fleet to the Gate as a precaution.”

“Good man.” she nodded in approval, tail whipping, “how about the Setulan colonies in the Home Galaxy?”

“Same as Prime ma'am. They've gone dark and we can only guess that they are under attack.”

“Of course they are.” She sighed, “How the hell did this happen?” She looked to her fellow half-breed. The Officer looked confused.

“Ma'am?”

“How did a huge invasion force get past our warning system, negate all sensors, bypass our fleets and hit a system in AXIS core?”

“The report says that the Setulanite Exiles are behind the attacks. They must have infiltrated the defences in preparation for the offensive.”

“That does not reassure me Commander, nor does it answer my question.” Reyes ran a hand through her hair again, deep in thought. “Arc ships...”

“Ma'am?” Sasha glanced at her old friend, the confused look still upon her features.

“Those damn Arc ships, I want you to get me their construction plans. I know the Setulanites sent them to us not long before they were finished. They're going to be laughably out of date but it might give us an idea of what we're up against.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Sasha beckoned to two Engineers who departed the room with her. That left the First Admiral leaning against the rail, eyes staring up at the virtual representation of Setulan that filled the room. All it showed was the great orb of the planet itself, with only that black smudge and the debris around it to betray any signs of life. Reyes was not worried about the Exile fleet over much. It was just a fleet of ships and it was her job to find and destroy said fleets if they were a threat to her nation. No, what really scared her were the three ships at the core of that fleet. The Light of the Gods was a secondary concern to the other two, for she had long had her people forming all sorts of contingency plans to combat that golden menace. Her biggest fear were the Arc ships. She remembered when they had been built, the concern she had felt even then. Looking over the plans, she had felt that allowing people less than friendly to your nation to build heavily armour vessels three times longer than the Sparrowhawk itself was a mistake. She had had no power to voice her worry though and so off the Exiles had gone. Now their spawn had returned, with their bulwarks the massive vessels she had so feared. When she imagined the weaponry she would armed them with, the modifications she would have made in their place, it truly frightened her. Of course, everything she thought was purely guesswork. Borndecker's report would not be transmitted for another two and a half hours and until it arrived, everything else would be a total shot in the dark.

It was not a pleasant place to be.

---

Icoras House

Seeing the Emperor of the Xiscapian Empire should have been a comfort to Owens, as it had so often been in the past, but this time it only brought only further discomfort. The look in his eyes, the pain and anger that burned there, was not something she had seen very often. It was obvious that he was at least as up to date on the situation as she was. If he knew as little about the situation as she did then it was not a good omen at all. Sammi was walking while she spoke to the Emperor, her mind racing with everything she had to do still. The Senate had been called for an emergency meeting which she would have to attend, then that would be followed by a meeting with the Chiefs of Staff, the commanders of the Alversian armed forces and then, finally, she would need to pretty herself up, put on her serious face and address the Republic to let them know that once again they were at war.

"We are at war, Sammi."

She had known as much herself, but to have it spelt out so obviously made her stomach churn. This was not just a skirmish or a minor border clash but a major conflict. Another one, less than five years than the obvious one had ended. She wondered briefly if the Home Galaxy was doomed to terrible war after terrible war, if it was punishment for some unseen sin they had committed. She pulled herself from that train of thought quickly. Now was not the time to mourn a war, now was the time to stand up and help the people of Setulan. Their safety had become her priority.

As Foxfire went through all the different actions his military and diplomatic corps had taken to prepare for the coming storm, Sammi nodded. She knew that Alversia was much the same, that Ashe already had the fleets assembled in orbit, that Jack had the army on full alert and that he was already mobilizing the reserves and preparing to build up the People's Army to a size not seen since the Danaversian War. At the mention of the Chief Ambassadress, Owens' thoughts went to Kate Steward, the Alversian Ambassadress to the Setulanite Republic. There had been no word from the Embassy, not even through emergency channels. The thought that the bright young woman could have been killed sent a ripple of fear through her.

“As you know Foxfire, I need the approval of the Senate before war can be formally declared,” she explained, “but I should expect that within thirty minutes. I think we should arrange a meeting of our respective Chiefs as soon as possible to co-ordinate a response.” Owens looked across as Sion entered the room with a quick hand signal, “I have to go Foxfire, I must attend the Senate session in person. May god help us all.” She bowed to him as the connection was cut.

“Your car's waiting in the drive.” the Silarian explained, “I also had a servant put some clothes inside, as I doubt you would want to appear before the Senate in your nightdress. Don't worry about things here, I'll keep them under control and let you know as soon as anything comes up.”

“Thanks Sion,” she hugged the amphibious being briefly before departing, half walking and half sprinting to the cavalcade of armoured cars, police cruisers, gunships and outriders that formed her personal escort.

---

Senate Building, Central Illesia

It is a common criticism laid against a full democracy that it takes far too long to get things done. In Owen's tenure as the Prime Minister, and in her career before that as a Senator, she had seen many instances where that was true. She could vividly recall long debates and vicious arguments entirely unworthy of the topic around which they were based. As a Senator, she had sat and listened to those debates to make up a decision on which way she was going to vote. As the Prime Minister, it was usually her who stood up to try and make others see her point of view. Some debates and issues could drag on for weeks or months before they were resolved as reports were commissioned, information required or people interviewed. There had been times when she had been frustrated by that system and felt like it was a living creature, a fairy actively working to annoy her and make her life as difficult as it could at every opportunity. The basic premise that when everyone had a voice, no one did could certainly be given merit in some situations.

This particular situation though, was when the Alversian democratic system absolutely shone.

As the Prime Minister rummaged about in the back of her car, pulling on trousers and socks, she activated a feed on the monitor in the back of her car. The screen was split into six with each showing a different face upon it. They were the First Admiral, Field Marshall Jack Carlisle of the Army, Air Marshall Michael Tiffany of the Air Force, Katrina Royce, who was the Foreign Minister, Daniel Vehlers of the Republican Bureau of Intelligence and finally, Amber Nixon of the Internal Security Service.

“Alright, what's the situation?” The Commander-in-chief asked as she looked around at each face.

“The fleets have mobilised and my Marines are making steady progress through the two Setulan ships in orbit. All orbital defences are active and we've moved forces to protect the Transwarp gate.” Reyes was the first to speak, “we have our array pointing at Setulan Prime but they're jamming us so we can't get a clear picture.”

“Likewise, all surface garrisons are on full alert,” Carlisle sighed, running a hand through grey hair, “we're mobilising the reserves and putting out word for former servicemen from the last war. If you're expecting a plan of attack ma'am, I can't give you one. Not until I know what we're facing.”

“I am in the same position ma'am,” Tiffany reported stiffly, “we've scrambled fighters to protect Alversian airspace but without intelligence there is little more I can do.”

“Alright, I wasn't expecting the grand plan anyway,” she sighed as she pulled on a shirt, temporarily cutting the image to get her nightdress off, “what about the CAS Katrina? What are they doing?”

“They're up in arms, Prime Minister,” the Foreign Minister reported, no doubt already at the Senate building, “they're mobilising their forces in preparation for a strike against Setulan.”

“If they move in unsupported, it'll be a slaughter,” Carlisle warned, Reyes nodded in agreement.

“Alright, arrange a communication with Queen Bridget for twenty...no fifteen minutes. We need them to hold off their forces until we're ready for a single, co-ordinated strike.” The woman sighed as the list of things to do piled up on her shoulders. She next turned to Vehlers, who looked back casually, “what happened?”

He shrugged, “No idea. We got no reports, no warnings that this was going to happen. There was inside influence, no doubt and this has probably been in the planning stages for years. I'm surprised Borndecker survived, to be honest, given the other casualties. They've decapitated the civilian government and crippled the military. It's about as perfect a sudden strike as you can get.”

“Thank you,” Owens replied dryly, “now can you please get us more useful intelligence?”

“We're trying to re-establish contact with our safe houses on the planet. I doubt they've been killed, just cut off. Give me a few hours and I'll be able to paint you a picture.”

“Thank you, and what about protection?” She finally turned to Nixon as the car swerved down Embassy Way, throwing her out of the screen as she tried to do up her tie.

“We've got Agents working with Police at every major Setulanite Embassy and Company building in the Republic. I've pulled in all agents and we've painted multiple Setulans as threats. We'll deal with them if we have to.” Nixon frowned, “we have no reports of any serious threat against the Republic though. I feel like their main target has always been Setulan.”

“Alright, thank you everyone, keep at it. As soon as the situation changes let me know.” Owens cut the feed as the car pulled up outside the Senate Building. There was a small crowd waiting for her; composed entirely of Democratic and Senate Guards. They ushered the woman inside, where it seemed like every single corridor and waiting room was filled with troops. They stood with their weapons in their hands, helmets unmoving yet definitely scanning their surroundings.

The grand entrance to the Assembly Chamber was magnificent. Of all the old buildings this was one that the Alversians could claim to be their own entirely and not of Photenican design. A grand staircase dominated the room, flanked with marble pillars and a fine, tiled floor showing a flaming falcon touching down on a branch, eyes narrowed and ready. The ceiling was filled with crystal and seemed to shine as if caught in the radiance of a summer sun. It was mostly deserted, with the exception of enough guards to fill out a battalion on their own. Waiting at the top of the rich, red steps was an elderly man, half bent with age but with kindly blue eyes and rapidly thinning hair. Owens recognised him immediately.

“Aiden!” She hugged her predecessor carefully, for the man's fragility was abundantly clear. His face was heavily lined, both from age and stress, “the Sanctum is sitting too?”

He shook his head, “we have already made our decision, Sammi.” She felt her stomach churn, “we have agreed that the Senate's decision will be ratified. I think we both know how it will go.” She nodded, smiling in relief, “you have a lot on your plate and I have already had many calls from News Agencies. If you wish, I shall handle the media on your behalf.”

“Are you sure you're up for it Aiden?” She looked over him, the man she remembered looking up to -literally and metaphorically- as he handed the office of Prime Minister to her. She had to look down on him now, so bent with age was he.

He chuckled, a throaty noise had charmed politicians and dignitaries for so many decades, “never-mind the flesh girl. The spirit is willing and, in these dark times, that's all that matters. Go on ahead, they're waiting for you.”

With a sigh, Owens stepped forward through the doorway and onto the floor of the Alversian Senate. It was crammed to capacity, with every seat occupied either by a real person, looking as scruffy as herself, or by a holographic representation of a scruffy politician. They sat in concentric circles raising higher and higher from the floor up to the great domed ceiling, on which was painted a burning red sun, with four beams stretching out to the corners. In each beam was written a verse in a different language, though only one did she recognise,
'United in the covenant of free will do we stand, unbroken in the storm of hatred...'

The babble that had filled the hall died out to a dead silence as she entered. At the far end, the speaker looked up,
“The Senate floor recognises Samantha Owens, democratically elected Prime Minister of the Alversian People's Republic.” his voice boomed to every corner

“Thank you speaker,” She replied, her own voice deep and commanding in the wide, open space. She had not worked out what she was going to say, but she doubted she needed to, “I am sure you are aware of what has happened by now. The Setulan Republic has come under attack from a force known as 'the Exiles'.” There was a momentary chattering before it died out under her voice, “we have little information on the situation, other than the Republic is in dire straits indeed. As we speak, the Exiles land on Setulan and advance towards their own nefarious goals. As you know, the Winterfire Doctrine obliges us to assist Setulan in times of peril but even if such a Doctrine did not exist, we are the sort of people who would leave our friends to burn? Are we, the peoples of the Alversian Republic, going to stand by and watch as they crumble? Is this how we repay our debts of blood?” There were murmurs and shaking of heads amongst the Senators, “do we let the people of Setulan stand alone?” More murmuring, “or do we do what the Alversian Republic has always done? Do we stand and let ourselves be counted? Do we stand shoulder to shoulder with our brethren and let tyranny know that it cannot win? Do we fight for the freedom of Setulan?” There was roars and cheers of approval as Senators got to their feet to applaud the Prime Minister. Owens took a step back as she watched those faces of her fellow politicians, the fervour and determination in their eyes. The tinder had already been there, all she had needed to do was light the spark.

“Order! There will be order!” The Speaker roared and eventually the noise reduced to a mere buzz, “the motion is tabled! Does the Alversian Republic chose to come to the aid of the Setulan Republic? All those in favour, say I.”

“I!” The noise was so loud and so complete that Owens was forced to take another step back. It sounded as if the heavens themselves had cast their vote.

“All those against?” Silence.

“All those abstaining?” Again, there were none. Not even the Veelic Senators, who normally abstained from military action raised their hands, “the motion is passed! The Alversian Republic is now at war with the Exiles of the Setulan Republic!” More cheering and applauding as Owens turned and left abruptly.

She was met by her personal entourage of guards and Aides, some of whom clapped politely as she melted into the middle of the swarm of bodyguards. She ignored them,
“Any further word from Setulan?”

“Not yet, Prime Minister.”

“Has the meeting with Queen Bridget been arranged?”

“Yes, Prime Minister. You are due to have it in ten minutes.”

“I'll take it in my office in five.” She was steering through the oak-panelled halls on automatic, “I'll make an announcement in twenty minutes to reveal our decision.”

“Yes Prime Minister.”

As she pushed through into her office, again swarming with more guards, the Prime Minister settled behind her grand old desk. It was an ancient thing, dating back to the Civil War at least, and had been used by every Prime Minister since then. She wondered how many of them had felt as she did now.

Turning in her chair, she faced the holographic interface, brushing her hair quickly to make herself a little more presentable as the figure took shape,
“Your majesty,” Owens offered a bow of her head, “I trust you have heard of the developments on Setulan?” She was being polite, for it was obvious that she had, “I have no doubt you are keen to honour your constitution and rush to Setulan's aid but I am contacting you to request that you hold off your forces, that you wait until we know enough to launch a unified counter-attack.”

---

SRV Hammerhand, Alversian Space

“Get him out of here!” Marine Commander John Nestor snarled as the blue-armoured Marine in front of him was struck in the chest by an Exile round. As the man fell silently back, giving no indication of live or death, he was grabbed by the scruff of the neck and hauled back around the corner of the hallway while Nestor fired a volley from his BRRc carbine. The shots buried themselves in the bulkhead at the end of the corridor, forcing the enemy there to take cover. The respite was long enough for another of the Alversian marines behind him to set up his CSAR Light weapon to put even further pressure on the invaders.

Nestor had thought that the going was too good when they had first landed aboard the two kilometre cruiser. He had brought with him eight hundred Marines, over half of the Light of Hope's compliment and not as many Exiles as were aboard the ship. He had only learnt the name when he was stalking the corridors and, by that point, he did not care what they were called, only that they were going to die. They had attached themselves to the outer hull of the Cruiser at multiple points and breached the hull. As soon as they were inside the ship they began to discover the carnage of battle. There was blood everywhere, some with corpses but most without. The walls, floor and ceiling were scorched and pockmarked where they had been struck by weapon's fire while the evidence of skirmishes and battles over choke-points was evident by the bodies encountered there. They had quickly cleared out of the rear of the ship and breached engineering to find an exhausted staff fending off their attackers with anything they could find. They had already been extracted back to the Light of Hope and their wounded transported directly to the medical bay for treatment or, if necessary, to make their last few hours as comfortable as possible.

The dead invaders were Setulanite, as was evidenced by the dead they discovered amongst the carnage of the engineering bay. Their armour was high quality and their weapons were of fairly good make as well, clearly indicating that this was no disorganised or under-prepared force. Nestor knew then he was dealing with a professional boarding force. The advance forward had proven every bit as difficult then as he had expected. Their progress was slow and steady but the casualties were mounting from all units under his command. It was not in vain though. Every metre of ship they liberated was carpeted by dead Exiles, many of whom were fresh corpses with the rounds of the Alversian Marines in their bodies.

At this particular junction though, they were risking being bogged down.

“Bring up the hammer! Bring it up!” He ordered into his mic, forced to shout over the roars of the rifles and the chattering of the machine gun in his ear. He ducked out from behind cover to fire another burst, his weapon jumping in his hands as his shots buried themselves at the far end of the corridor. Through the darkness, illuminated only by the muzzle flashes and tracer rounds, he saw a body slump out from its protection. There was no doubt they were fighting though and they were going to make the Alversians pay in blood for this ship.

“Hammer incoming.” Nestor took that as the sign to duck back again out of sight. The Marine who had been manning the CSAR did the same, hauling both himself and his weapon out of the way as the Hammer turned the corner. The Commander knew what the Exile defenders would see. They would wonder why the Alversians had stopped pinning them down, thinking that perhaps they might have pulled back. The temptation to turn the initiative would be too strong, the urge to fire back at their tormentors too great and so they would break their cover to shoot, only to be confronted by the Hammer.

It was nothing remarkable in appearance, an overturned bathtub that hovered through the air with a menacing silence. This particular one was painted silver and had the appearance of a shark painted on its nose. Along the flank was a message in blood-red letters, 'I'M COMING FOR YOU!'

They would open fire, only to watch as their rifle rounds pinged off the armour and shields of the advancing machine. A few of the more perceptive would perhaps catch sight of the small turret on its underside twist to face them, the launchers poking out from either side before their world dissolved into fire and death. The fire of the Hammer tore through the Exiles, shredding them as if they wore paper for protection while the explosive grenades sent the survivors flying through the air.

“Move up! Move up!” Nestor ordered, leaning out again to cover as Marines rushed forward, the fear of death driving them on at an unrelenting pace. When they reached the end of the corridor, they hugged the walls and chuckled scrambler grenades to overload any armour sensors and stuns to confuse anyone foolish enough to be relying on his eyes in this fight. When they heard the pops within their helmets, indicating the grenades had gone off, they pushed onwards and then Nestor moved up with the rest of his force.

“Come in, Light of Hope detachment, do you read me, over?” His radio buzzed with the warning.

“This is Commander Nestor, Light of Hope Detachment. We have cleared the stern of the ship and are advancing forwards on all decks. Report. Over.”

“Commander McClay, 1st Brigade, 7th Marine Infantry. We've breached on decks three through seven on port and starboard quarters. Encountered heavy resistance but still advancing, over.”

The appearance of their reinforcements would explain why the Exile resistance seemed to suddenly turn to butter. Where they had been trapped before, forced into fire-fights in narrow corridors against well defended enemies, they were now able to fight their way through in considerably less time. They still took casualties, of course, but the dead and wounded Alversians began to fade away as the Exiles were squeezed from all sides. There was little in the way of hand to hand combat, instead most of the fighting was done from the opposite ends of the same corridor, with both sides hoping that their minimal cover would offer them some protection from the rounds that whistled menacingly around them.

It was ninety of fierce fighting before, at long last, Nestor found himself on the bridge of the Hammerhand, rounding up the surviving crew and Infiniti and having them taken to his own vessel. The bridge was as much a charnel house as the rest of the ship. He gave up trying to step on bodies after a short while, because such a feat would have required the ability to fly. With the surviving Setulans removed, the more grisly task of finding the dead began. Some were impossible to identify, their forms blackened and ruined by the battle while others could have been sleeping, pale-faced and peaceful. On top of identifying the Setulan casualties, a feat that would be quickened as the two ships were brought into dry-dock. Both had been liberated and their survivors rescued but the Marines had paid the price. Once the casualties were taken, over thirty had died on both ships, while another sixty had been wounded. The number of dead Exiles and crew would take considerably longer to work out and so the Spacers and Medics of the First Fleet settled into the most grim of war's tasks.

---

Alversan Embassy, Setulan Prime, Setulan

“How long will you need?”

“It'll be a while Ambassadress, there are still a lot of files remaining on the system.”

“Well hurry, make sure they're completely unrecoverable and burn the hardware.” Ambassadress Kate Steward ordered, raising her voice for the last command as the pitched wail of the sirens began again. It was a terrifying noise, one that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end as that mournful cry echoed across a ruined city. She had never been trained for this, never been informed of such an event during her long diplomatic preparation yet she was not afraid. Maybe it had something to do with how suddenly her world had changed. She knew about that, how some people collapsed into a catatonic state of shock and fear while others were spurred to action, driven by the need to survive. She was grateful to see that she was in the latter category as she had not stopped in the three hours since the attack.

It was rather lucky that she was in her office when the first strikes came. She had been due to be at the People's House but had chosen at the last minute to cancel her appointment and instead prepare for a more important meeting with Marchamp the next day. As such, she had watched with unspeakable horror as the shots rained down from the sky, as she watched the great public buildings of Setulan turned to rubble and flame, bringing so many of her new friends and acquaintances with them. There had been plenty of Embassy staff at both the People's House and the Hall of Justice when they were attacked. She had not even bothered trying to contact them. Attempts to reach any of the Prime Ministers or even the President proved equally as fruitless however as the civil administration seemed to dissolve in the space of minutes. That was when the first of the vessels began to land.

The Alversian Embassy had sprung into action. Most importantly, the sensitive files were being erased; thousands of man-hours of careful research and documenting were destroyed without a second thought to prevent them falling into enemy hands. The Embassy Guard, the three dozen Alversians who protected this small patch of the Republic had suited up and eschewed their normal pistols for assault rifles and shotguns. Steward had even armed herself, a pistol sitting comfortably at her side as she oversaw the destruction of her post. Out in the courtyard, MPs and her own guards mingled freely as the bulk of the embassy staff were escorted out. They would be evacuated with the bulk of the civilians; neither trained nor ready for a fight. Volunteers and her guard would remain behind, as would she. There was a lot of work here and it would take a long time for it to be destroyed. Steward felt much like the captain of a sinking ship and watching the water lap at the bow as the monitors in front of her showed how long it would take for the data to be erased. None of it would be kept, anything of importance was already on Alversia. Nothing else they had mattered.

Placing a comforting hand on the shaking shoulder of the technician, a young man pale and frightened but a volunteer to remain behind nonetheless, Steward whispered a few words of encouragement to him before she headed outside. The bombers had passed overhead, a massed formation like the birds in the fields of her home. It was a strange thing to think of at a time like this but perhaps it was better than imagining the bombs raining down on the city.

She sought the commander of the MPs and found him discussing something tensely with the chief of her own security. The two men turned to look at her as she approached, with something akin to pity or concern in their eyes.

Undaunted, she pressed on,
“How long do you think it will be until the Exiles are in the city?” She asked, looking up at the armoured man, knowing that her own face was pale and her expression a picture of concern.

[Sennai]

11:40 local time, Hall of justice, G-Police liason office.

A knock on the door caused inspector Kawazowe to look up. he smiled as much as the three other staff when their fith member, Constable Wey, a fresh faced kitsune recruit, entered with the mornings coffee and breakfast.
"Got the coffee and tea's inspector."

The fujikaman gestured for her to come over "Stick it down and dish it out, we've got some paperwork to do, command is up for getting some manuvers done with the MP's and you know how much of a pile of red tape that gives us"
Wey nodded "yessir, okay kana gets chocolate, Maddleson you got three sugars instead of just two, they went a bit overboard and Luga here's yours" The fresh faced youngster passed out the doughnuts and drinks to varius enjoyed and annoyed responses. "And you cheif, one setulan sized", The Fujikaman smiled accepting the large cup, "excellent. how much does that come to?". Wey shrugged, "comes to about ten ISK, considering the exchange rate, i'll get it at the end of the night".
Most of the officers shrugged or nodded and got on with the most time consuming bit of police work. The red tape. five minutes later however, wey looked up, ears perking

"Hey cheif...you hear that?"

Kawazowe frowned adding his signature to another form "Hear what?" Wey shrugged, "sounds like a whistling" stepping up from her desk and moving to the door she opened it and looked out into the hallway.
The fireball killed her instantly, the others died just as qucikly not even aware that anything had happened, The cheif, midsignature, was last to die. the only one to look up and see his fate.

Xiscapia, KINHQ

Commander Taka Toshi-shita was the AIF's Liasion to the Kitsune Imperial navy, she had been since the Dan war. for the last few years or so she and her ship, the Manta class Cruiser SSA Celestia had been here in Xiscapian space. With permission it remained docked and Taka remained planetside to not be kept out of the loop.

At the moment that was precisely what was happening, The KIN had went into overdrive and no one had bothered to come and tell her why, infact she was rebuffed when she asked. so sitting moodily at her desk awaiting somekind of response sipping her tea in her "Universes greatest mother" cup she could have yelled at the first person to come through her door.
She very nearly did, but the look on the Xiscapian's face spelled out that whatever it was that was being kept from her she wouldent want to know and in actual fact. she was about to. "Whats happening...Tell it to me straight"

Taka was simply handed a report. quickly sitting back down at her desk she gave it a read over and her blood ran cold. She read it again, and again but the words didnt change. the republic of setulan, staunchest of allies second only to the Kitsune Empire, was under attack with most of it's combined fleet. government and soliders trapped dead or Qonn knew where. Almost all communications with setulan prime and other colonies were cut off. "Oh frak...." was all she could manage. Grabbing her datapad she dialed up the Celestia to be greeted by the ships A.I Program, taking the form of a Female sen teenager with purple hair marred by a dark pink stripe
"Hello commander, what can i do for you?"
Taka gulped "Twilight...fire up the comms, get me a direct line to the Admiralty. Straight to the top, Priority one."

Sen System SSA Ten minutes earlier
Counciler Katya sighed. The assembly rusled and chatted amoung themselves and all four other members of the alliance council exchanged weary and in some cases annoyed glances.

"Sometimes i wish the cycles had seen fit to give us one leader instead of many..."

The thought passed through her head for the uncountabled time. Power corrupts so they said, Better to have four others to watch the other one and examine their descisions rather than one overall leader in charge.
That was the way of thinkign in the alliance, and thus, the council system of ruling was born.

"Of course..another way to look at it is you have five people arguing different points of veiw and no one can agree on anything"

Katya allowed herself a smile. "Allright, lets go over this again. The cost of rebuilding Metra IV's biofuel industry as a result of the damage caused by the shardi during the conflict fourteen months ago has been mounting due to technical difficulties due to the unpredictable weather caused by the vaporisation of the molass Ice shelf caused by one of their larger motherships, Classified as "Ejano" class battlecruisers. So far funding has been rerouted from millatry R&D and various other sorces. im asking for any other suggestions as to where to divert funding?"
there was a cough and shuffle of papers from across the desk, Katya looked up and locked eyes with the nekomi representative, Counciler Turan.

"i would suggest a wind down of millatry funding now that the shardi war is over and the mop up operations are complete, We hardly have any significant threats to the alliance now, aside from the useal pirates and other undesireable elements, the Government Police forces should be able to contain such threats without the need for high end spending on our millatry industrial complex" there were a few murmers of agreement in the crowd of politicians
A moment later however any further discussion was silenced when several katya class adminastrative android's entered the inner circle, one for each counciler and promptly, simultaniously told each that contact with Setulan prime and all her colonies, had been lost or otherwise interrupted. the Sen Extranet had gone dark all over the Republic.

Six minutes later...
"How do the cycles turn so far for the worse and we not hear about it sooner?!"
Turan eyed what little information S.O.I.A and every other eye and ear the SSA had out there had gathered
"I dont know but whatever it is it's big, i've notified the fleet of the situation and Yutani has assured me that the Home galaxy gate is locked down, SSA Shinya has a holding Orbit over Atmos with the rest of the Home galaxy fleet and is on high alert, all milky way assets are also matching the state of rediness for Brown on the W.O.A.B"
The Sen War Operations Alertness Board, or WOAB, was color coded to represent how dilligent the Sen alliance was for a possible threat. the board went from White, to beige, to brown, dark brown and then black. White for peace, black for war. Brown it was joked, was the color of many of the generals and admirals pants upon the change from peace to rediness. No one however was joking now.

"Sir's? ma'm?"

One of the katyas stepped forward, a sheaf of dtatpads under one arm "We've recived a transmission from the admiralty, and currently the setulan ambassador is rushing up the hall towards this room. The report is from the fleet liasion with the Kitsune empire and im afraid the news is not good..." the pads were passed out for each council member to read, Various emotional expressions passing over each's face.
"By the cycles..." katya gulped, Tekkan, the most stoic of fujikaman and leader of the stoic slow and proud Fujikaman race simply sagged in his chair. It was Turan who broke the silence
"Reguarding our earlier discussion...i'd like to retract my last statement, Please inform the admiralty we are moving WOAB to Black."

[Xenohumanity]

Tuzus II, Administrative Borough...
XenoIntel Central Command, Critical Operations Room ‘CAPTAIN’S NEST’…

“I thought I was done with true cult armies for one lifetime.”
“As did we all, Sirisi. As did we all.”

It was rare when the entirety of highest-level Xenohuman governance to gather into the same room. Security concerns were a non-issue for once, given the nature of the Captain’s Nest. Buried underground however many miles on top of the spymaster’s veritable palace with all its guards and agents, the cramped one-room facility loaded with holo-displays showing a lifetime’s worth of data at once and the edge of the room ringed with a trench manned with terminals and data-servitors quantifying probabilities and doing their damnest to numericize reality for the ease of administration. It made a poor meeting place, all things told, but a safe one.

Given the nature of the crisis they were discussing, safety was chief among the needs.

There were seats for all save one; Sirisi didn’t need one, and if he didn’t need a thing in any situation, he wouldn’t call for it. The military in him hadn’t died down, never had, never would, especially at the rate things were going aboard. The LGS for all his totalitarianism leaned against a wall on the far side of the trench like a troubled thief talking about lost riches, looking over his staff and advisors with uncertainty masked with anger. The crowd was used to this look; Apor Rania had defused this look many times, the old white-scaled drakon serving more as a despot’s life coach as ‘Ambassador Superior’ most days. The last few hours had been exhausting for Rania especially; such was the nature of total warfare, even a galaxy away. Jiana Tho might have been there, but the head of the Federate duma was busy handling public relations nightmares one after another after word from the Home Galaxy had gone public and the Federation went into a fairly panicked tizzy. The Exiles were far too similar to the Todularians to leave the public sated in regards to their own safety, and even already, the Wyrm police units were reporting into Federal employers that their own street-cultists had started to work putting the fear of their own gods into people within hours of the data-releases. The offending leakers had been terminated afterwards, two-bit intelligence agents with too much jurisdiction (or well-placed cult spies; it happened enough to make sense), but nobody who’d make the release into a true domestic trouble. Just something to start the editorial pages on fire for a few weeks, nothing XenoIntel propaganda couldn’t handle.

In Jiana’s place sat Gorren Dukanonn. A quiet drake, black-scaled, even now in his synth-muscle field gear called in from time on the rifle range. Obedient to a fault, sharing the same concerned, angry look as the Lord General Superior. Besides the drake stood Andony Snis, Spymaster Superior. After Apor got the news and Rai’a handled the release of the news, he’d been the firs to really dig into the news; data, agent alerts, rudimentary probability-structs to feed into prediction engines and prepare for the next step in what was likely to be a proper hell of a war for AXIS. Next was Andony Snis the red-drake and Josephus Darso the blue-drake, heads of the Army and Navy respectively, expressions showing they were clearly running probabilities in their heads even now in regards to what ships to ready, which units to mobilize, and what particular deniable assets might need sending. Frankly, they were all rubbish calculations; no meaningful tactical data had come through yet, likely as little as AXIS was sitting on, but still too little to do anything except shout ‘send everything we can’ and prepare for total hell.

Frankly, from what little had come through from Setulan Prime, it wouldn’t have been a bad idea.

Apor raised a valid point, sort of a way to start the serious discussion, what with the previous minutes being varied recitations of what everyone already knew: “Any reason we haven’t started ansible-comms with AXIS, sir?”
“Because they never extended the invitation.”
“You’re not the sort who needed invitations, I thought. Nor one who hesitates.”
“Holding for a second to get your thoughts together is not hesitation.”
Darso chewed out his commander-in-chief, also his junior in years, for a moment: “Setulanite government is decapitated! Their homeworld’s gone dark! Hesitation is death in a time like this! The Civil War had the same crisis with Scathis 328, as did the XenoCide, and both cases were planet-scourging events. We need to move if we don’t want a third of AXIS to suffer the same.”
“I’m not disagreeing.”
“Then why aren’t we moving, sir?!”
“Because I’m thinking of how.”

“What ‘bout the Jaunt Gates?” Petronez, unpolished to a fault. A monster in the battlefield, an unkillable power-armored engine when he fought himself, but certainly not a politician.
“Too slow. Bureaucracy, public relations, civilian bullshit everywhere. We need to get over there post-haste, not with mere mortal haste.”
Apor blurted. “I do not approve of where the vocabulary is going with this.”

The group turned to the old man. They didn’t hold any specific grudge with the civilian but damned if he didn’t give them excuses every now and then.

Gurren spoke up with a cough. Rare, that boy speaking up. All hoped it would be something good.

“I forward use of the Z’enghat’s abilities in that regard.”
“You understand,” said Darso, “that I’m going to be bringing a carrier group or two at the least, yes?”
Snis, with a smirk: “He’ll manage.”
“And all my troops?”
“Yes, Darso, all your transports and everything. Z’enghat’s better than whatever you’ve read in the top-secrets.”
“And that using such… such a means of conveyance…”
“Will make us hypocrites, yes, Apor, I’m aware, but better than letting a people burn at the hands of angered god-sons. You should know. We all should.”

Todularian rhetoric. Inevitable. Relevant, but annoyingly inevitable to the old ambassador. Hell, half of the decisions that came out of Sirisi’s pen were based in the past, not the future. This was likely going to be one of them, there was no convincing the boy not to rush to the aid of foreign allies when the foe showed religious leanings.

“Can’t we be reasonable? Wait for more intelligence from abroad?”
Sirisi: “They’ve told us almost nothing tactically. Acting like we’re helpless to assist. It’s insulting. They’ll probably tell us to mind the Milky Way if we ask directly.”
“I’m not one to talk us small, Rai’a, but that might not be a bad idea.”
“No. Any idea that doesn’t end this matter as soon as possible is a bad idea.”
Andony, throwing his hands up at the fact that the decision hadn’t been made already: “Then just go talk to the Z’enghat and get it to move our ships over there once you get the task group put together.”
Apor, growling: “Gorenn, you’re going to be the death of us all. Damn your tongue, psyker.”
“And damn your cowardice, Apor. The Z’enghat is more than capable of it. Sirisi, you know it’s true.”

Rolled eyes and a rather heartfelt plea: “Don’t. Sirisi, for the love of all this nation’s built on, don’t.”
Meditative silence from the Lord General Superior.
“You realize what that thing is, don’t you? Because frankly, as a mere mortal, I don’t.”
“I realize it fully. It’s a thing of pure power that promised one-time use, and here we can use it.”
“This is the pinnacle of lunacy!”
“Setulan doesn’t need our wisdom. It needs our arms. Now.”
“And if the Z’enghat decides to betray us?”

Snis, leaning in his seat, with the kind of smirk only XenoIntel-Todularian ‘incidents’ can call up: “The Z’enghat knows it’s not in that position. Doesn’t feel like screwing us. It’s like Xenon but older, come to think of it. In a way. But better. You want the full paperwork some time, Rania?”

Apor said something reasonably agreeable for the first time in quite a few minutes.
“…I don’t want to know.”
“Good.”

Rania was as sour as he could get without saying something he’d regret. He was never let terribly far into the military loop when times grew truly trying; the voice of reason and caution had no place in such discussions, and as loath as he was to admit it, they were likely right to ignore him. If they were going to use the Z’enghat, might as well make sure it helped a foreign power and kept everybody focused on the big picture rather than indulging a domestic crisis and ruining the social contract.

“Fine. I guess I’ll have to stoop to your level if I want to make a case. Suppose the Z’enghat move our troops abroad. I’ll remind everyone about the explanations we’re going to have to give about this thing if we’re probed and how someone’s going to have to lie eventually?”
“Ask no questions, hear no lies.” Andony’s favorite words in the entirety of the Basic language. ”Just tell them we have our ways and that we’ll get our ships there in the space of ten minutes and they won’t care how we do it.”
“Fair enough. So, suppose we have Snis’ people do their song and dance to figure out a cover story. So, we go down and visit the Z’enghat. Snis, remind us what the Z’enghat is.”
“A Todularian SlipSpace hyper-computer matrix we found in SlipSpace near Undoak about two years ago.”
“In SlipSpace?”
“It’s a hyperdimensional computer array. Like MultiVACS but specialized.”
“Yes, so when we go to our resident MultiVACS and ask it to take these ships and spit them out over there, what happens?”
“It gives us the numbers and drive-injection fuel we need for the Calabi-Yau jaunt and then blinks away. Programmed to relocate randomly to avoid one culture dominating another.”
“Right, so the only evidence we have to back up our story leaves forever. So, we get our ships abroad, with no SlipSpace trail and over an impossible distance impossibly fast. Now, keep in mind that AXIS is panicked about the infiltration of their galaxy by the Exiles.” It was obvious where Apor was going; he was a master of this sort of Socratic logical thrashing, making people out as idiots on their own terms. “The Exiles show up, impossibly fast over an impossible distance, and you know what AXIS is doing to them right now?”
“…fighting them-“
“Exactly. We show up, local command is terrified, and we come under fire. Pardon the language, but your bastard super-computer gets thousands of our spacers killed in action by friendly fire and our ties with AXIS become politically dangerous. I posit that the use of the Z’enghat at this venture is the worst thing we can do. We can tolerate a little slogging through Jaunt Gates in exchange for not having our carrier groups torn open by everybody on the other end of some Calabi-Yau super-jump. Besides, I’m sure there’s more ‘research’ you can do that doesn’t involved throwing such a fragile switch. I mean, if it’s absolutely necessary to prevent the Exile navy from crushing the Setulanite sovereignty, you have my blessing to consort with those Todularian toys of yours, Andony, but until that moment, I’d like to think it more just and right for the Armed Federation to aid our allies, not the Ecclasiarchy.”

From the looks being exchanged, nobody disagreed. Nobody ‘agreed’, especially not Snis seeing as his pet project was being put on the back-burner, but nobody dared to disagree. Sirisi nodded to himself as he parsed the logic; Rania was so terribly useful in terms of second opinions. A civilian’s logic and a civilian’s experience went a long way in a room of men raised on combat and intrigue.

“Sirisi, can you consider asking AXIS about using the Xiscapian J-Gates to move our fleets? We can compensate for the trade shut-down it’ll entail as far as the Alpha and Beta gates are concerned.”
“Certainly.”
“Well, seeing as I think I’ve done what you’ve asked as far as opinions go, shall I return to my post? The Federate is still fire-fighting in the press and I think I’d be best suited helping in the bucket brigade.”
“Dismissed, Rania. Thank you. Your concerns are valid, never forget that.”

Well, there’s a sentence you’d never hear the Lord General Superior utter in public. One of quite a few Rania had the privilege of worming out of the man during his time in office. There’d likely be more to come in the coming weeks, but for now, the Ambassador Superior dismissed himself, gave up his seat, and headed back for the turbolift. Godlessness knew the firestorm in the press wasn’t going to be put out by the ‘elected’ ‘officials’ in the Federate alone. Besides, let the warriors war and the peacemakers peace-make.

With how fast peace was going to be burnt through, it’d be best to treasure it while you could.

---

XenoMilitary XENOCOM, Tuzus II…
Theatre Command Station: CHESSBOARD…

Rai’a Sirisi was not the sort of man to be buggered with furniture and needless supplies. Burdens were burdens, no matter how useful they were hypothetically. Hence, it was no large trouble to grab up his omni-tool, get a few under-secretaries to put ‘domestics’ on hold for a day or two, and ferret himself away in the most aesthetically military building this side of the Nishta Veridae station. His new office would be an office in that work and business took place, but there would be no desk, no lamp, no ‘civvy’ furnishings in eyesight. He didn’t even ask for a chair; standing at consoles and doing rounds of the data-stations sounded much more worthwhile than resting one mere drake’s feet. Some would say he was getting too involved in war preparation at such short notice, and not even for his own war. Some would cite this as evidence of his war veterancy flaring up in an ugly preemptive aggression. That he was playing the role of shark, smelling blood miles away and rushing up to get a bite simply because he could. That the glory and valor of war imagery and victories past were outweighing practicality and political necessity.

Rai’a Sirisi didn’t let ‘some people’ down on the CHESSBOARD for a reason.

The central command station was a martial amphitheater buried under enough ferrocrete and armed guards to make the presidential bunker look like a brick shit-house. Nothing was held back in making sure HighCom could focus on the tasks laid before it, in waging war on a galactic level and giving mere mortals the tools and knowledge necessary to conquer worlds and shatter star-fleets, and even here in the center of the base, there was no let-up from the one-track focus on data mastery and central intelligence. The dozens of terminals manned by data-servitors and CCO’s from every branch glowed hypnotically as the numbers flowed and the reports came in and out like a switching station on speed, and the dim lights above did nothing that the large central screens at the forefront of the chamber hadn’t already. Overseeing it all, standing in the back in the ‘camera booth’ to this theater of war, stood the LGS himself, with officers and secretaries coming in and out as orders went out and confirmations of reception came back in one after another. His omnitool held up two little windows of hard-light through which could be seen men from across the planet. In one, Admiral Darso in what sounded like a space elevator in motion, off to orbit to get hands-on with the readiness. In the other, General Petronez likewise in transit, the thrumming rush of a gunship’s engines as he flew to meet with Wyrm’s folks about matters too minute for Sirisi himself at the moment.

“Well, the Federate’s given its full support for massed military action. The people seem fine with it; a Toddy’s a Toddy to them, nationality be damned.”
“2nd, 8th, 23rd fleets are fully mobile, 1st, 9th, 28th are at 75% readiness, remainder are already beginning multi-stage armament and re-supply for MWG-domestic action should the need arise. Say jump and we can jump.”
“Good. Petronez, readiness report.”
“I didn’t have to say anything to get my people rolling an’ going; three command layers deep of folks getting ready of their own accord. I’ve got almost every active Marine garrison off your list ready to load units up into Navy transports and XenoArmy’s already got boots in their own ships linking up with orbital navies for departure. Mechanized infantry and armor assets are a little slower-going, but we’ll be ready by the time we get the green-light.”
“Any word from Xeno-Tech?”
“My comm-link hasn’t stopped buzzing from them giving help. They’ve got Wyrm Defense spinning rotors ready to join up with XenoNavy, and we’ve gotten definite affimratives from the Experimentals as far as psi-war and counter-psy assets are concerned if AXIS needs something special. Just need the yes from you-”
“Yes. Get them loaded up. I need everything ready to go as soon as physically possible. You can do it, so do it.”

Two “Aye, sirs” from his subordinates and the comm ended. No ‘over’, no ‘out’, just getting off to work. Sirisi loved working with these people. No muss, no fuss, just results and sterling track records. Here’s hoping AXIS would be as willing to let ‘interlopers’ interlope. An abject refusal of aid was unfathomable, but AXIS tended to be a little turtlish when it came to wars on their own territory. Their precious sovereignties might come off as a little less sovereign if Xenohumanity could prove it could move serious war materiel across to their own galaxy with as little trouble as… as Z’enghat could make it. The problem of Z’enghat proved now a little more troublesome as the ansible-call awaited. On the one hand, saying ‘we have Todularian tech and we’re going to use it’ made XenoAdmin a laughing stock in that they lost any internal legitimacy in the eyes of their neighbors, but on the other, saying ‘we can ultra-luminal six fleets and thousands of troops, don’t ask how’ would likely paint a big intelligence target on the nation’s backside in the blink of an eye. Still, problems for later. Better to have problems later if you manage to solve some now, and Setulan wasn’t going to stop burning any sooner if the Federation didn’t step in to pitch in its portion of the defense pact.

A barked order to the machine to “Patch me through to the Imperial Palace, connect me with Emperor Rose, and use the counter-embassy proxy” was heeded at once by the ghosts in the walls that made up the resident AGI. Most cases of calling abroad wouldn’t need to use a proxy specifically designed to defeat domestic taps, but ‘accountability’ and ‘measured response’ were words Rai’a didn’t want to hear until he was putting the life-supported scraps of meat that once headed the Exile movement on martial trial in however many weeks it took to win. If AXIS wanted super-caps, send them supercaps, budget complaints and domestic unhappiness be damned. T wasn’t as if they were going to be mobilized domestically anyway, with the Galactic Assembly’s more proactive members already shooting XenoMil scornful, jealous glares since the larger ones had launched.

The fuzzy sound of the ansible kicking in piped from his omnitool, and he held his arm out from him to keep from only giving the holo-sphere on the other end only half a body to display. When he finally patched through, he knew full well it would be with only about half as much warning as would be otherwise appreciated during a national crisis, but that’s what you got for trying to send aid as abroad as ‘abroad’ could get. They were all there, as expected: Emperor Rose, DPM Sion'Vastos, Ambassador… Tiron, yes that was the one, Tiron, busy giving a combination of raised eyebrows and slightly surprised looks at the interloper.

“Rose, Vastos, Ambassador. I can’t wish you all a good day in good conscience. What I can wish for is any way to help.” Typical Rai’a, making everyone else say ‘we need you to kill these certain folks’ so he didn’t have to say it himself. “We have little intelligence on this enemy, but my troops are already massing to cross the Divide as soon as you see fit. Rose, I take it we’ll be able to give us Jaunt access? Given that Captain Ankyrr has reported the Forged Alliance at full combat alert, I also gather that the vessel is preparing to act?”

---

SlipSpace...

The alien and unfathomable wilderness of quasi-spatial existence stretches out beyond imagination’s inherently familiar limits. A dangerous place, the opposite of an apathetic wasteland, a dimension of raw mathematicae and boundless consciousness without awareness or need for self-satisfaction. Possibly a beautiful place, filled with colors impossible to merely describe, awash with thought-scapes and sounds no material mind could harbor. A few races elected to choose this as their superluminus, their way to the stars beyond the speed of light, this ‘SlipSpace’ into which one slipped in and out to circumvent the pettiness of mechanical motion. However, one people had been elected by the minds that inhabit this void-of-vacuum to master this dimension. The Todularians had faded from the fabric of their home reality, and those who ascended into the mathematicae before the Civil War were beings beyond relation or worship. However, the SlipSpace was not an entropic place, unlike the Warp with its daemons or Hyperspace with its erosive uncertainties. Here, works and constructs may hold their own if they join in the ebb and flow of subjective law and solipsistic mathetmatics. While there is no building material to be found here, a mind of sufficient will and possessed of an intellect unfettered by material cause and effect may work for itself

Here present, as ‘here’ and ‘present’ as such things could be here, were three such constructs. Neurothoths, they called themselves, when they were greater in number. Other peoples may have called them Archailects, dysonic intelligences, were they to show themselves to those willing to listen to things as elder as themselves. Lesser Archailects, they were fully aware; their divine sovereignty paled in comparison to the gods proper, but they were still more than capable of inspiring awe and destruction among their enemies before and during the Civil War. Oh, such a terrible conflict, seeing so many of those great minds sundered and splayed across the heavens, their hulls of wrought willpower forged in the flames of SlipSpace’s phsyics-made-manifest cracked and thrown across the expanse of dark space.

These three had survived that crisis were beings of intrigue, tragedy, and other things they personally found rather petty in light of their nature. Materially, they considered themselves unimpressive; massive neural networks encased in military armor, mounted with drives and assistant AGI-systems, and partially instantiated in SlipSpace to accommodate legitimate quantum-thought. It was rather unfitting given the sapiences that inhabited the shells, much preferring to remain in SlipSpace as arcane crypto-dasein rather than ‘only’ reality-shaping Forces-Taking-Form. Still, being born of the consensus-reality that was the ‘Third Dimension’ of all those trillions of lesser minds, they could not escape their base nature indefinitely. They’d tried, to be sure- they’d lent their might to the Xenohuman Republic those many years ago to try and settle their conflict in exchange for being left alone, but after ‘helping’ out through the early days of the Federation, they simply gone on pilgrimage and never came back- but times like these were ones where all those lesser minds could gather together and shout such that the neurothoths couldn’t help but hear.

Ontus, Noema!
Aye, Ereignus?
Ontus, you recall the Pantheos of Setulan?
Aye, verily.
And the Sunder-Of-Their-Children?
Their ‘Exile’? Aye, Ereignus. Is something amiss?
Aye, Noema. The Exiles have engaged in wretched crusade against their kin.
Mistheocracy is no concern of ours, Ereignus.
Nay, Noema; we were born of such and of such we are called to enter in as players upon the stage. Ontus, do you agree? As the boldest warrior between us?
Aye, Ereignus; war is in our Oversouls, and we neurothoth rarely hear the clash of mortal’s blades from this, our home.
Is it decided, Noema?
…Aye. Let us to investigation.
Verily so. Ontus, Noema, in due time, we shall away to Setulan, and onward to the cause of the blessed among them, Exile or naught.
Verily so!
Verily so!

[Xiscapia]

Xiscapian System, SRV Soul's Torment, Bridge...

Bodies. Dozens of them right around you, piled two or three high in some places, with hundreds more coming into view if you looked up and down the corridor. Smoke, sweat, fear and death strong in the air, but nothing more overpowering than the omnipresent, sickly exciting scent of blood, everywhere on the deck and bulkheads, sticking to your feet and leaving tracks when you stepped in the pools surrounding so many of those sprawled, lifeless figures. The classic sign of a large crew being confronted in close quarters by a superior enemy and fighting it out to the death, layering dead on top of dead with each new casualty. That was what confronted Manami and her platoon as they entered the ship. Other units would have slowed or even stopped dead at the sight, but they kept moving. In boarding operations, perhaps more than any other kind, time was a critical factor, and mere seconds could mean all the difference between total victory and utter defeat. But that didn't stop them from talking about it.

Setulanites. All Setulanites.

Not a mutiny. Infiniti have camo, these guys are in black. Hostile boarders.

From where?

Look at the big, ugly fuckers. Setulanites don't use oversized power armor like that, not normally. This is some rogue group.

What rogue group? No way there's any war criminals left out there with this sort of numbers and firepower. None of them could blow through the Soul's Torment like this.

It was Galin that got it. Quietly, somehow, even over the neural link. Exiles.

Going silent even in their own heads as they processed the only identification that made sense, the platoon continued to advance.

Reports concerning the fighting around the other two critical sections of the ship, the engines at the far end and the somewhat closer armory, filtered by their comms heard and noted but not fully processed. Success at the armory was good news, a delay at the engine rooms bad, but neither directly affected their own mission. They remained focused, making good time, jackboots stamping on the deck and more than a few corpses as they trotted through the halls, guided by a combination of training operations simulating action aboard Setulanite warships and the sensor maps provided by the ships outside updated in real-time. The Xiscapians had never been the most sensitive about respecting physical dead, and any restraint they might have previously held was stripped away by the urgency of their assignment. Bones cracked and bodies turned to mush under the force of power armored feet reinforced by implants as they hustled up the final stretch to the bridge.

They hit their first resistance not far out from their objective, a group of Exile regulars doing something in a small series of conference rooms -maybe looting, maybe regrouping, maybe simply acting as a rearguard. It didn't matter, because as one stepped out of a hatch, hearing the incoming Imperial Marines, he snapped his weapon to his shoulder, yelling the alarm, and by the time he got his first shot off the man was already falling with a hole the size of a dinner plate blasted through his chest, sending him flying backwards in a spray of blood and shards of bone. Lighter chattering Exile return fire mixed with the lower, growling roar of the Xiscapian troops, one of their number collapsing from a bullet in the knee even as a turret gunner opened up on the doorway, splattering another hostile across the bulkheads and forcing the other Exiles to keep their heads down or be shredded. Grenades followed from both sides, a "Foxfire" fragmentation-incendiary cooking off to blow the conference table they had been using as cover apart in a gout of fire and splinters while a regular frag landed among an advancing kitsune squad, rolling slowly. A quick-thinking trooper ran up and kicked it hard, sending it flying a few meters before it detonated, spraying her with shrapnel that pierced her shields and shoved her to the deck, bleeding from the wounds but alive to be dragged back by her mates even as others surged forward.

For once they came into an area with only Exile casualties, courtesy of their own actions, black-clad traitors bloody and dismembered at burned stumps, slumped amid the wreckage of their cover or against bulkheads, a low pall of heavy smoke hanging over it all. One of them was still moving, her right leg a mangled slab of meat, the left terminated at the upper thigh, face scorched with skin cracked and bleeding from the heat alone, crawling towards a dropped sidearm, fanatically desperate for any last means of resistance. Contemptuously, one of the Imperial Marines stepped forward, leveling his shotgun for a coup de grâce, which proved to be his undoing as shots rang out from the other side of the compartment, striking him multiple times to fall amid the dead and dying Exiles, gunned down and still only just breathing. Across the conference room a last pair had set up a small shield generator at a side entrance, giving them an excellent field of fire into the room to keep anyone from attempting to advance further and rendering them safe from grenades lobbed to force them out. It would drop given enough time, Manami knew, but they didn't have the minutes to spend battering it down -and neither did the badly wounded trooper bleeding out on the deck just inside.

Corporal Kura! Get in there!

Complying.

Stepping around the corner and crushing the mortally wounded Exile's skull under her boot, the vixen allowed her "Masako" 40mm shoulder cannon to swivel as she turned, bringing the massive weapon to bear on the position. One of the Exiles fired, panicked at the sight, and the shot just clipped off Kura's shields as she calmly centered the targeting reticle projected by her HUD onto the target and fired. She braced against the extreme recoil, just able to stay in place, and the alcove vanished in a burst of fire and screams, nothing but flames and gore erupting out of the confined space after the shell burst apart to do its grisly work. The rest of the platoon began to pour in, making their wounded as comfortable as they could on the safe entrance to the conference room, their bodies already full of combat drugs to deaden the pain and lessen the damage. Whether the most critically injured would live or die depended on how quickly they could be put on one of the incoming transports and shipped to the medical bay of the closest friendly vessel; if they made it, they would survive. If they didn't, they would die.

Up ahead, more of them, just outside the bridge as they fought it out with the last of the defenders, flank exposed as they concentrated on killing what was left of the bridge crew and guards. Kura was one of the first out, blowing apart a cluster of five in a display of gratuitous overkill with a bellow from her cannon. More shots from around her put other Exiles to the deck, one blown in half by a shotgun blast, another decapitated neatly by a rifle shot, a third crumpling as a K.I.L.L. carbine laser raked across his form, hissing through his armor and the machine gun he had been setting up for suppressive fire. Others turned in surprise and were cut down just like their comrades with quick bursts and precise shots, taken from behind by an enemy they had never heard coming. But, just like them, the platoon didn't detect a foe of their own until it was far too late.

He must have identified Kura as one of the biggest threats, because her cannon was silenced as a heavy bolt slammed her top half into the far bulkhead, confused thoughts muddling into incoherent delirium as she slid down it, dropping into a pile of her own guts. Another soldier, close to where the huge War Priest had come around the corner, responded by drawing his sword and suffered the same fate as his comrade, connection with the rest of the platoon cutting out abruptly as he was messily vivisected and died instantly, both parts tumbling gracelessly to the deck. Instantly, the giant became the focus of the battle, shells flying at him as the Xiscapians responded to little avail as he danced around the fire and killed a third with an impossibly forceful headbutt, caving in a kitsune's skull and laughing all the while. All around the platoon backed up, shots hitting and blowing off chunks of armor, but the armor-encased Setulanite didn't even seem to feel it as he lumbered forward, taking his time. Only one of his opponents stepped up to meet him.

Dropping her shotgun, Manami pulled her katana from its sheath and charged with a wordless scream of rage, blade flashing as she struck. He twisted on the blown, armor protecting him, and swung his own great sword, but she was inside his defensive reach and able to block it easily with a quick upwards turn. The War Priest was fast, unfairly so, but he was also a lot bigger than she was, so she stuck close to him, parrying a second blow as he tried to drive her into the deck, frustrated. Pulling back again was his last mistake, as he let the distance between them widen she lunged, terminating his right leg in a spray of blood that had him crashing downwards without so much as a cry out to mark the grievous injury, all the metal and meat barely slowing her vibroblade down. Not about to allow him a chance to take anyone out with him, she flipped her family blade around in her hands and sent the tip through his neck, cutting cleanly up through the throat and into the warrior's brain, killing him once and for all.

She didn't get a chance to pull the blade free as Private Galin stepped up and, screaming more oaths in a few seconds than she had heard him say in the last three weeks, pumped his entire magazine of 20mm slugs into the body, shot after shot blowing chunks out of the corpse as it jerked and twitched under the assault, long after the hideous laughter had died away. Jumping back, the vixen didn't even try to comfort or slap the Setulanite out of it, just watched as a pair of his squadmates came forward and pulled his carbine out of his hands, all but wrestling the shaking boy to the ground and dragging him away. Quietly watching them go, she turned back, planted a boot against the shoulder of the War Priest and, hand on the hilt of her sword, pulled hard. Half of it came back; the other half was stuck inside in pieces, shattered by one of Galin's bullets, leaving only a jagged, broken end. Scowling, she lifted it and planted the thing back into the elite, jamming it into his helmet this time so it stuck out like a grotesque flag, and went to Kura.

The dazed kitsune was still lying where she'd fallen, weakly trying to scoop her insides back into her torso, blue-black armor stained deeply with blood, huge cannon making her list to one side, barrel pointed uselessly upwards. Some of the platoon had held back to finish off any Exile survivors while the rest headed forward onto the bridge, so it was just her and the Corporal in the immediate area. Kneeling beside her, Manami pulled her pistol from its holster with one hand, taking one of Kura's with the other, stopping her from touching any more of her organs, feeling the blood slick their palms. Her helmet was retracted, and the brown-furred Warrant matched her on that front, staring into her golden eyes as the Marine stared back, knowing what was coming even in her stunned state. She squeezed Manami's hand, and the officer squeezed back.

"I..." she rasped, blood spilling from her mouth, trembling. "I...don't want...to die..."

Bracing her sidearm against Kura's breastplate, Manami kept eye contact with her. "I'm sorry."

A squeeze of the trigger was all it took and the other vixen jerked once and lay still, head lolling. The light faded quickly from her eyes and the hand that had been holding onto Manami's went slack, limply falling back into the puddle of blood. Watching her for a moment, she confirmed that the Imperial Marine was dead and stood, slowly. Covered in blood though she was, the soldier pushed her pistol back into its holster and turned away, feeling the glassy orbs belonging formerly to Corporal Kura on her back. Ignoring it as best she could, the Xiscapian strode into the bridge.

Sixty minutes was all it took. Sixty minutes, some eighty eight transports making a total of more than three hundred trips to and from the Soul's Torment, thousands of rounds of ammunition expended, and one hundred dead or wounded Xiscapians. Most of the casualties had come from the fight to take the engine room, where a platoon of Imperial Marines met a similar-sized force of War Priests and were killed down to its last Private as they were trapped in the confined quarters, ground through as they were unable to bring their extreme firepower or blades to bear. The company dispatched to finish the job didn't suffer as badly, if only because they utilized armor-piercing slugs and high explosives against the hostiles, doing severe damage to the compartments and their controls but ending without a single hostile left alive and in less than three pieces. Elsewhere, lone or hidden Exiles took their toll as they attacked soldiers who were attempting to secure the battleship, until the last one was cut apart in a ventilation shaft.

Manami sat on the bridge of the Soul's Torment, watching the Xiscapian supplementary crew come in as most of the exhausted Setulanite senior staff were pulled out for medical care. The only ones left were the highest officers, waiting for someone to replace them, and some of the technicians as their incoming Xiscapian counterparts worked on the systems with them. They were ignoring a lot, the battle damage, the shellshocked weariness on visible faces, even the bodies underfoot and the smell of death in the air, in favor of getting into the ship's intact computers and pulling out sensor logs and the like to be extracted and transmitted to KINHQ. That would give the higher-ups their first real glimpse into the exact size, composition and tactics of the Exile fleet, and such intelligence would be critical to get anything done; similar operations were underway on the bridges of the two cruisers, by physical crew members given their lack of communication abilities. It was happening while the survivors were being treated, and the three ships were being stabilized by engineers and tugged over to the open arms of the Protector, but it was clear where the KIN's priorities lay.

Pulling a crumpled packet from a compartment of her armor, the Warrant Officer took a cigarette between two fingers and lit the tip on the interior of a fitfully burning console, taking a long, deep drag that she exhaled through her snout. It was a shitty substitute for what she really wanted, a week to sleep, a bottle of rum and someone to lean on, but the first was impossible, the second was unlikely and the third wasn't something she felt she had any right to, not after what these Setulanites had gone through. Besides, she'd prefer the smell of smoke to the stench that was already coming up in the halls from sweat, fear, drying blood and rotting meat. For once she was envious of humans and their weak noses.
Maybe then she wouldn't be able to smell her own regret.

Xiscapian System, XIS Pride of the Empire, Bridge...

Shock was an accurate way to describe Grand Admiral Krystal's reaction to Shal's appearance. She turned and her muzzle dropped open, snowy fur rippling in such surprise it seemed like that alone would make her amethyst hair fall right out of its neat bun. Her expression was mirrored by virtually everyone around her on the bridge of the flagship of the First Fleet, save for the medic still fussing over the Setulanite Admiral and stubbornly ignoring his every word. It wasn't hard to see why; the man almost looked like he was only being held together by his own force of will. For a moment she entirely forgot to bow, and only did so as an afterthought as she hurried over to the table, not taking a seat but just standing by and staring, each new scan seeming to bring ever worse injuries to light.
But somehow that familiar expression on his face, wry but perfectly respectful, kept her grounded and able to reply to him without crying.

Listening closely, she watched as he brought up a grid of Setulan's orbital defenses, wiping out three fortresses. That in itself was almost as staggering as the Admiral's half-dead state -the starforts had been thought to be impossible to destroy conventionally- but she could already guess how it had been done, given the track record of the Exiles. The news that most of the Setulanite home fleet and its base was gone was more expected, if just as difficult to take. How they had done it with "only" four hundred ships was simple to see, a mixture of surprise, sabotage and having three supercapital warships on their side in the form of the Light of the Gods and the two Arc ships. They wouldn't be able to replicate such a feat again, but they wouldn't have to, and she knew just as well as he did that they weren't stupid enough to try to hold Setulan with the forces that they had. More would be on their way.

"Mark's Arc..." she breathed, thinking of the schematics she had seen of the enormous vessel. As a colony ship it rivaled the Kistvaen, the only known surviving Xiscapian settlement craft, but if it had been refitted expressly for war then Shal could very well be right about it being better than any other single ship AXIS could field, though she knew for a fact that AXIS as a whole had more than enough raw supercapital firepower to pulp even the modified Arc. "We can handle it," the Xiscapian said confidently after a moment, tail swishing. "It's big and it's powerful, but it's no replacement for three dedicated orbital fortresses. Even with the Bright Sons. The best boarding troops in the universe aren't worth my tail dandruff if they all get blown up before they can hit hull," she finished, a bit harshly. She'd heard the reports about what the War Priests were like.

"Anyway. More than four hundred ships there now, I would hazard to guess. They're too smart to commit everything to one strike. And gods only know what is happening to the colonies and other planets."

"As far as we know, the colonies in the Milky Way are safe," Krystal told him. "I have no word on the other Home Galaxy systems yet. But I agree. Things are going to get worse before they get better. We're doing everything we can to prepare, but frankly, we don't know what to expect."

Xiscapia, KINHQ...

“Our early warning system went dark before the attacks hit and all buoys are non-responsive. We're trying to get a reading of the Setulan home system but without success. The attackers are jamming the system quite effectively.”

Damn. He was too disciplined to swear aloud, or even over the neural network, but that didn't mean he couldn't curse inside the privacy of his own head. Given the apparently extremely deep extent of the Exile infiltration of the Republic, it only made sense that they had known about the Alversian array and would jam it just the same as everything else. If they could get a base of dedicated technicians they could work through the jamming, break it down until they could get a clear picture of what was happening, but that would take time, time they might not have. He made a note to seek alternative options.

“My Marines have boarded the two vessels in our space. They are making slow but steady progress. At the moment, my priorities are to secure these two vessels and to get a clear picture of the situation. No doubt there will be a meeting called soon for AXIS to plan a response."

"Understood. Such will be the same for us, but I fear getting a handle on things may take some time," he said carefully. "The Exiles have clearly had this plan in the works for years, and it was executed almost flawlessly. The time for meeting may come before we fully know what it is that we are meeting about. But we will know. Not even they can lock down the entire system indefinitely."

"I am sorry I have no further information for you, Admiral, but these are somewhat confusing and unforeseen circumstances. If there is nothing else?”

"One," the Admiral said quickly, forestalling her from severing the link. "I have just received a report from the X.O. of the Pride of the Empire. The Soul's Torment and her escort cruisers have been secured and are being towed to dock for repairs. Admiral Shal is alive, if badly wounded, and is meeting with the Grand Admiral now before he is hospitalized. Our technicians are working on recovering sensor log data from all three vessels. I suggest your personnel do the same."

With that he bid her goodbye with a bow and turned away from her fading visage, already on the move.

I want the Setulan System flooded with sensor drones, at least a thousand of them, intermixed with nuclear-pumped grazer mines. If there are flaws in their coverage, or if their jamming field goes down for whatever reason, I want to be in a position to exploit it, and if not then we might at least be able to take out a few ships hunting for the probes. The bafflers and jamming stations are under their control, meaning coded calibrations exist to detect through the fields, and I want those codes in our hands, the sooner the better. Get a strategy team on it, have them report to me what's the most viable. We have no time to lose.

Xiscapia, Imperial Palace...

“As you know Foxfire, I need the approval of the Senate before war can be formally declared, but I should expect that within thirty minutes. I think we should arrange a meeting of our respective Chiefs as soon as possible to co-ordinate a response.”

"Of course," the Emperor nodded at her first sentence. As well-versed as he was in the flaws of the day-to-day democratic system, he was well aware that such states had a way of coming together in time of crisis in iron consensus unattainable in any other situation. The People's Republic had proven that consistently. "And I agree. There must be a unified AXIS command, between the Kitsune Imperial Military, the People's Military, what's left of the Setulanite armed forces and whatever other members and allies that send military contingents. I will see to it that the system from the days of the Great Patriotic War is brought back," he assured her, referring to the structure started under a Supreme Coalition Commander during the last Danaversian War.

“I have to go Foxfire, I must attend the Senate session in person. May god help us all.”

His only response was a bow before she dissipated and the hologram sphere floated away. Standing there, alone again, Foxfire couldn't help but wonder just what kind of gods she thought were out there that would allow this to happen without any warning to their supposedly loyal servants. Maybe, the irreligious Xiscapian thought, we shouldn't ask for their help. Bowing his head, the kitsune turned and walked away, going deeper into the Imperial Palace. It would not be long before he had to address the nation and AXIS as a whole, and there was still much to be done before then.

Naturally, the universe was not liable to leave him alone for long, not at a time like this. It was a different servant this time around who caught up to bear a hologram sphere to him, which expanded out into the appropriate visages as he descended a stairway, moving down steadily even as he drew his robes about him, eyes on the representations. He immediately recognized both men. Deputy Prime Minister Sion'Vastos he was familiar with, usually as some form of proxy to Owens but occasionally by himself, but Lord General Superior Rai’a Sirisi was more of a stranger. The Emperor had only contacted Sirisi a few times, and they had never met in person, so the comparatively reclusive drakon was something of an enigma, even to him. With obligatory bows to them, Foxfire listened to what the Xenohuman had to say.

“Rose, Vastos, Ambassador. I can’t wish you all a good day in good conscience. What I can wish for is any way to help. We have little intelligence on this enemy, but my troops are already massing to cross the Divide as soon as you see fit. Rose, I take it we’ll be able to give us Jaunt access? Given that Captain Ankyrr has reported the Forged Alliance at full combat alert, I also gather that the vessel is preparing to act?”

"That is correct," he affirmed, getting to the end of the stairwell and sweeping down a hallway, the servant and holograms faithfully in tow. "According to my liaisons with the KIN the Forged Alliance is being deployed from its garrison at the Wuin System to reinforce the defenses of Dolosus and safeguard access to the Jaunt Portal there and at the Kana System if necessary. It is critically important that links between the Home Galaxy and the Milky Way remain open." The kitsune turned the corner without missing a beat, tail swishing. "Including for the usage of Federation aid. All three links will be open for the passage of whatever forces you will dispatch."

Setulan Prime, Imperial Intelligence Department Office...

As with many places in the capital at the moment, the Imperial Intelligence Department Office for Setulan Prime was in an almost frenzied state of activity. Where most Xiscapians in the city were choosing paths, either mostly civilians heading out with the evacuation or a mixture of stubborn Xiscapian mercenaries, sympathetic psychic philosophers, angry merchants who'd been stranded in the initial attack and off-duty military personnel staying behind to aid in the defense, the Imperials at the I.I.D. headquarters for this sector had no such luxury. There were protocols in place that had to be followed in face of an enemy that seemed due to overrun the location of a post, and they were being systematically followed as staff were rounded up for transport, secrets were made portable or destroyed, guards moved to lock down the compound and materials ranging from furniture to guns to food were being distributed to whoever could use them, including a church down the street, a passing band of Setulanites on their way to join the defenses and a group of refugees going the other way respectively. There could be no one and nothing left behind for the enemy to use, save perhaps the complex itself, which was known to the Setulanite garrison as a hardpoint that could easily be converted into a stronghold if they needed the post. Certainly the exterior gave the impression of a fortress as Freeman walked up to it, all windowless gunmetal gray and low to the ground with most of the bulk being subterranean as the Xiscapians prefer it, or at least as deep below street level as they could get.

Past the power armored security standing outside and down a short incline the M.P. first found himself in the lobby area, giving him a good view of a couple of technicians busily dismantling the terminal at the front desk; there were holes and empty sockets in the walls where cameras, hidden turrets and even light fixtures had already been removed, casting the whole room into a gloomy half light only partially mitigated by the illumination coming from the rooms a level up on either side of a catwalk that ran above the lobby desk where people could be heard moving things as they emptied offices and packed up valuables. At the opening of the portal door a large black Setulanite agent stuck his head through one of the ground-floor doors to see who had come and called out Hank's presence back into the room. A moment later he stepped aside to admit a much smaller Xiscapian vixen trotting out into the lobby, tail snapping. Agent Director Amatsukaze looked frazzled, as evidenced by things like the erratic movements of her ears and tail and the way her fur seemed to stand on end, worse than at any time they had worked together before; moreover, she was not wearing the fine suit that Hank would have become accustomed to seeing her in while on the job, but instead a set of navy blue combat armor that covered her from neck to toe in ceramic plates and more form-fitting bodyglove material. She looked like she was ready for war.

"Hank," she uttered, rushing forward. With both of them in battle suits her embrace felt like there was a solid foot of material between her body and his, but she didn't seem like she cared much, kissing him once quickly before she broke off. "I was afraid that you'd gotten caught up in the battle out in Hero's Gap," the kitsune told him, the relief evident in her voice. "I hate not having any access to information about what's going on out there. It's my job to know, you know," she gave a wry smile. "But I'm glad you're okay. What are you doing here?" Amatsukaze cocked her head. "Are you going to join the defense?"

Whispers of Remorse...

The way that can be told
Is not the eternal Way
The name that can be named
Is not the eternal Name

He could feel the Waymistress's thoughts even outside the practice compartment, permeating through the physical as if it wasn't there, in his mind before he could actually see her. Stopping before the hatch, the snowy-coated kitsune inhaled briefly, his plume curling over on itself behind him, before pushing his way through. Though the greater ship of the Prince could not exactly be called bright in any part, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust here as he entered into the vast space, lit as it was only by candles burning here and there, flickering, fickle lights burning slowly. His feet left the floor and he pushed off gently, clasping his hands within his robes as he moved languidly upwards, the cloth waving about the drifting Xiscapian with his ascension. Getting closer to the center, he could better make out what was there.

In loose rows they had surely assumed before the artificial gravity had cut out floated dozens of beings. Some were kitsune like himself, but many were otherwise, humans of various stripes from Alversian to Necrian, as well as Zillar, Escan, Sar, Abhuman and even the odd Alumina, drakon or some other species. All were nude and blindfolded and making efforts to maintain a specific kata despite the unusual circumstances, limbs flexing, tails lashing and bodies tilting as their owners worked, silent in concentration. Among them the Waymistress floated, a steel blue vixen clad in sable robes lined with verdant, using the switch she held to correct mistakes in her students, sometimes moving it impossibly quickly in the zero gravity to make a particularly salient point and send a pupil tumbling before effortlessly stilling him, her or it with quiet murmurs. It was to the other Xiscapian that he floated, passing through the ranks to reach her.

Acolyte Shoji, she greeted him with a glance, holding the stick in one hand as she drifted along a line, planting her thoughts into his mind. What brings you to my presence?

Waymistress Den, he bowed in return as best he could. I have sat in meditation with my mind towards Setulan, in reflection on recent events. And I have sensed something...strange, there. I was hoping that you or one of the others could explain it to me. I have never felt anything like it before.

The Waymistress slapped down a leg jutting out too far, making its owner bite down on his yelp and retract it quickly.

The unnamable is the eternally real
Naming is the origin
Of all particular things

She intoned.

The unnamable is the eternally real
Naming is the origin
Of all particular things

Her class repeated back in a chorus of mental voices.

Go on, she bid Shoji.

The Acolyte hesitated, uncertain. He would have thought that she would have known exactly what she was speaking of. Well, things there seem...I would use the word lagging. As if something has affected the passage of time. There was a harsh stain upon the universe, as if an enormous amount of lifeforce suddenly drained away all at once and left something twisted and ugly in its wake. It left me unsettled, as much for its opaqueness as for the foreboding that surrounds it.

Nudging an Avalan woman back into proper position, the Waymistress seemed unconcerned. This is a time of great turmoil at the heart of the Republic. The coming of the Exiles has upset everything there, with ripples spreading further than perhaps anyone knows, and this has overridden the stability normally kept by the Church of the Ten. Theirs is a chaotic and strange sort of influence that can fog everything and make appear that which does not exist. Even the Five cannot pierce the psychic veil that has fallen over Setulan, nor determine what is true and what is not from feeling alone.

Still troubled, Shoji looked at her. And the many deaths?

Free from desire, you realize the mystery
Caught in desire, you see only the manifestations
Yet mystery and manifestations
Arise from the same source
This source is called darkness

Free from desire, you realize the mystery
Caught in desire, you see only the manifestations
Yet mystery and manifestations
Arise from the same source
This source is called darkness

They echoed back.

War dead, Den told him. Even now, there are surely battles happening that we know nothing of. The Setulanites will fight fiercely for every inch of their home, and the Exiles will do likewise. Much more blood will be spilled before we see the end of this. It is inevitable.

I understand. He bowed to her again. Thank you, Waymistress. I still sometimes cannot distinguish what is true from what is not. Your guidance is infinitely appreciated.

Indeed. Please, join us, she swept out with her switch, inviting him. We are due to reach the Setulanite world of Foxfire soon, and there is no telling how much more time there will be for training.

Of course.

He shucked off his robes easily, sending them swimming away through the air as a black mass. Free of them, he accepted a blindfold from the Waymistress, wrapping it around his head under his hair, floating at the end of one of the lines as he assumed the first stance of the Dancing Mantis kata. Settling into the well-practiced maneuver, muscle memory taking over, he allowed himself to settle, wiping his mind of all else, forgetting about the things he had felt, their destination and even the war, nothing but him, his fellows and the kata. When Den came by she had only a couple of corrections to make, and he smiled as he righted himself, breathing still carefully controlled, in, and out. When the next line of the proverb came, he repeated it as readily as any:

Darkness within darkness
The gateway to all understanding

[Setulan]

OOC thread will be up shortly as per request

Hero's Gorge

General Hancroft was no fool. A veteran of the Great War, the Danaversian War, the Great Crusade, and the Saur Conflict, he had commanded men and shed blood on a hundred battlefields. He had known the moment he began to issue the orders for his forces to take Hero's Gorge that it was a one way ticket. After sixty years of close scrapes, he knew the end was on them. A simple look at the chart table showed that.

The war planners of the Republic had thought the Gorge fortified to the point where it could be held by a relatively small force for an almost indefinite period. They had not counted on an enemy that outnumbered them more than a thousand to one, and who knew every trap and trick that decades of engineers had hidden in the narrow pass. He knew he was hurting the traitor bastards-the casualties they had taken, even by conservative estimates, were jaw dropping. But it should have been more. A part of him regretted that he hadn't had an extra week, hell, extra two days, to prepare the gorge properly. But that voice had spoken to him many times before, and he had ignored it every time. The battlefield was no place for regrets.

"Time to move, General." Hancroft looked up at Senior Lieutenant Vark. The CAS trooper was the senior remaining officer of the company of soldiers that were keeping the Setulan commander safe after he had sent all of his available forces to the front. His mobile command post had been attacked a dozen times so far mostly from the air though once by a platoon of light Mecha and several times by other light infantry forces that had probably grav dropped in. The action had cost the lives of twenty nine CAS troopers including their Captain, but they had almost welcomed the chance to die in the service of the Republic. While serving alongside the fanatically devoted soldiers of the Confederation of Allied States in other wars, Hancroft had been disturbed by their almost clinically obsessed desire to throw their lives away to save Setulans. Now he was grateful for it.

"Then let's get a move on. Come on." With a snapped order, three CAS troopers left the perimeter and broke down the command center. It was done in four minutes-they'd had plenty of practice in the past few hours. This time, however, it was too late.

There was no warning. One second the day was still, and the next a shout from the perimeter was followed by a storm of gunfire. Two CAS troopers were vaporized by high caliber rail gun shots before the company responded in force, sending a hail of gunfire into the surrounding woods. Hancroft watched in horrified awe as he saw the figures coming out of the tree line to silence him.

Dark Legion. War Priests. And they outnumbered his force two to one.

A part of him-the cynical, sarcastic corner of his brain that had kept him from ever reaching the highest ranks of the Republican military-was proud of this attack. After all the attempts to kill him, all the failures, they had decided that he was important enough to send the very best. It was an offhand compliment, the kind of strange thought that occurs in the face of imminent death, but Hancroft couldn't help but laugh out loud. The action got him a strange look from his bodyguards as they hustled him away from the fighting.

"To the backup, sir! Quickly!"

"But your men-"

"They will welcome the chance to die for the Golden Hawk. Now move!"

The sounds of gunfire faded and died as the quartet of power armored figures ran through the woods towards the Gap.


Setulan Prime, Outskirts


It was fortunate that they were present. Very fortunate, though none knew of their location or even their existence save for a select few. Of course, most of those few were dead and gone and the ones that remained hadn't bothered to call. Typical. So very typical that in the midst of what was shaping up to be one of the most desperate battles in the history of the Republic, nobody had bothered to call in the services of one of their most valuable tools.

Well, they didn't need a special invitation. They would just show up and in the process show that the exacting interrogations, the menial trivial bullshit discussions about cost and efficiency, were all for nothing. They would show that the project, five years in the making, had earned its code name.

Starting the great machine was almost a religious process for the crew. It was the first of its kind and the size of some starships, and the activation process had been a question of some import to the self important Elders who had spoken to the crew. They just hadn't understood that it wasn't the kind of thing you sent in without preparation. Either way, the crew proved them all wrong by getting the startup done in record time.

In the control room four men sat still, neural links activated as they waited for the Captain to begin the war machine. She sat there with her eyes closed, perfectly still, but they all knew the turmoil that was going on through the neural link.

Setulans distrusted AI. It was a quirk that many of their allies found peculiar, but it was as deeply ingrained in the Setulan psyche as their love of all things alcoholic. No Setulan ship had the kind of super advanced AI that would be found on an Alversian vessel, and while some Setulans had reconciled themselves to the necessity of AI others were stubbornly refusing to acknowledge that they could possibly need a machine that thought for itself.

It made sense, then, that the first true Setulan AI was as fiercely independent and elemental as their makers. Not alive in the same way as the systems that ran through Xiscapian warships and certainly not as autonomous as the drones the SSA preferred, the voice that spoke to Captain Pol through the link had a gruff voice and an insatiable urge to do violence. For all that, it loved the woman-in its own way-that would guide it to war.

What now, Captain? More tests and trials? I yearn for true battle. Failing that, let us return to the beautiful cold of the ice moon and rejoin our brothers and sisters.

Our wish has been granted, but at great cost. Extend your awareness. See what happens to our beautiful world.

The briefest of pauses, detectable only because of the intimate connection the two shared, before a raw spike of outrage exploded through the link.

Traitorous bastards! They have returned to kill and maim! Speak, my Captain. Give the word. Let us destroy these invaders.

Yes, my love. Yes. It is our time, now. The Gap will fall, but even as we speak advanced forces of the Exiles are closing on the city. It is time to wake. Charge the weapons. Let the city hear your voice.

Across the entire city of Setulan Prime came an impossibly loud blast of noise. Millions looked around in fear as they expected some new and horrible Exile weapon, but nothing followed the noise that they could see. For all that, that one note-that horrible, piercing note-had caused guts to clench in fear across miles.

Ave Republica had awoken.


Setulan Prime, Alversian Embassy

The MP-First Lieutenant Rielan-who stood talking with the head of Alversian Security removed her helmet when the Ambassadress approached him.

“How long do you think it will be until the Exiles are in the city?”

A scowl.

"Not long enough. We've lost contact with General Hancroft at the Gorge. The defenses can fight themselves well enough, but realistically the bulk of the enemy will break through within the day. That's not our main problem, though. I was just talking to your security detail about this. That flight of bombers wasn't just bombers. The bastards have been dropping troops all over the city. There are already hotspots brewing up. There's probably a brigade's worth of Exile light troops rampaging around the city right now, and they've been targeting foreigners first and foremost." The scowl dropped away and was replaced by a blank look that presaged bloody murder. "Of course, that was after their bombers blew away the highways leading out of the city." He didn't need to mention how horrible that particular cost to civilian lives was going to be.

"Anyway, we need to get you out of here now. I know that you can fight, Ambassadress, but our job is to keep you safe first and foremost. They're really gunning for foreigners. They've already assaulted and overran the Xiscapian and Imperial embassies, though we were able to get both ambassadors out in time to prevent their capture. It was a close thing. We think that the force that was coming here is the one currently locked in with some VT soldiers about five blocks away. Either way, it's time to move."


Setulan Prime, I.I.D. Headquarters

Hank returned the embrace with equal vigor despite the plate that both wore.

"I was afraid that you'd gotten caught up in the battle out in Hero's Gap," The Setulan's face hardened. It was clear that he wanted to be there despite the inevitable conclusion of the battle.

"No. Hancroft ordered all MP units to remain in the city to fortify it and smooth the evacuation. The sly bastard knew they would start dropping grav units on us. We've had our hands full here. I just got back from the fight at the Xiscapian embassy. Looks like the battle came to us."

"But I'm glad you're okay. What are you doing here? Are you going to join the defense?"

"The defense is here. A company of MPs is actually coming to this building to take it over as a hard point. We're expecting them to hit it eventually, and we'll bloody them when we do. They must have a full brigade running around the city. Not even close to enough to take it, but more than enough to fuck up our efforts." He paused. "Anyway, I came here for you. My job is rather irrelevant now, and my pupils have all gone to various line companies. I've just been running around helping out where the fighting is."

Amatsukaze would know that Hank had recently been promoted-against his will-to the rank of Sergeant Major and put in charge of an investigation class. She also knew that today had been his day off, and it was the only reason he hadn't been in the Hall of Justice when it had been hit by the orbital strike.


Senate Building, Central Illesia

Owens would find herself facing a regal and self possessed face no older than her own that was obviously trying to be blank-and failing. Queen Bridgette was a young woman and her courage and compassion had greatly aided the dramatic recovery of the Confederation of Allied States following their liberation, but she had never properly learned to dissimulate. Unlike the Alversian PM with whom she spoke, she had never had to learn politics. It was clear from one look that the woman had anticipated and dreaded this call.

“I have no doubt you are keen to honour your constitution and rush to Setulan's aid but I am contacting you to request that you hold off your forces, that you wait until we know enough to launch a unified counter-attack.”

It was very clear that Bridgette wanted to lie about what was happening, but she sighed heavily instead. The two women had always gotten along well due to their age and mutual respect, but when it came to official work there was no question who was in charge.

"Yes, yes, I know. We know. And damn you for calling now and not in four hours." The curse was not said with any heat, and Owens would know it wasn't mean to offend. "I will of course let the people know not to go. Yet. But know, Prime Minister, that the CAS will honor our constitution. Tell us where to send our forces, but you must understand that we shall not wait forever. Our honor is bound to the Golden Hawk. Without them, we are nothing. They die, and while we know our soldiers are dying with them it is not enough."


SSA, Council Building

Unlike many of the other rushed communiqués to important AXIS members, this one was not delivered with an air of panic. The man who walked into the council chambers to speak with the leaders of the SSA was entirely composed and looked for all the world like the elder statesman he was. A long serving member of the Republican People's House who was appointed to the post of Ambassador of the SSA as the culmination of a long and successful career, he was one of the few members of the Republican government who had not fought in the Great War per se-rather, he had run first one hospital, then two, then an entire theater's worth. Ambassador Norman Waters, the Angel of Agrimonus, was perfectly calm.

"I would say good day, ladies and gentlemen, but I am afraid it is anything but." He walked to a spare seat and smiled a grandfatherly thank you to the young lady who had held it for him. It was a familiar place for him to be; he had spent countless hours in the room with the leaders of the System Alliance during the Shardi Conflict. "The Republic is, as you are no doubt aware, under rather serious assault by the Exiles." At last, a chip in the man's composure-the word "Exile" was laced with hatred that was quickly masked, and all present would remember that he had been a leading voice for denying the Exiles the chance to build the Arcs. "While I have received no formal instructions-I'm rather afraid that virtually all of our civilian leadership has been killed-" Again, it was easy to marvel at his professionalism in mentioning that all the people he had worked with for fifty years were dead-"I request that you send any forces you can to Foxfire. They have not come under assault yet, and I believe we are using it as a staging point."


Xiscapian System, XIS Pride of the Empire, Bridge

"It's big and it's powerful, but it's no replacement for three dedicated orbital fortresses. Even with the Bright Sons. The best boarding troops in the universe aren't worth my tail dandruff if they all get blown up before they can hit hull,"

Shal smiled a crooked smile.

"I have always admired your optimism, but I fear that they don't mean to keep the Bright Sons in orbit. For all their acumen at boarding, they're just as dangerous in a city. They'll probably send them to Veto."

"I have no word on the other Home Galaxy systems yet. But I agree. Things are going to get worse before they get better. We're doing everything we can to prepare, but frankly, we don't know what to expect."

"Neither do we. That's the worst of it, I think. That they hit us in a way we didn't think was possible, and we still don't know everything they can do. Or will do. Or how they did it. I just...don't know."

It was at that point that the medic had finally had enough. Discreetly, he took a needle-filled with a dose of drugs specially made for Setulan biology-and stabbed the wounded man in his uninjured neck. Without a word he keeled over into the waiting arms of the Kitsune. He looked at the Grand Admiral stubbornly.

"All due respect, ma'am, but it was this or he dropped on his own. He needs some pretty serious treatment ASAP. He'll be back on his feet soon enough, and we'll need him functioning. Every second he's not in intensive care is a second he does more damage to himself."


Foxfire, Space

The Skulk arrived in orbit over Foxfire to a scene the likes of which had not been seen in years. Many of the more veteran crew members would understand what was going on, but most of those who saw the space around Foxfire would be in awe at the raw power that waited there. Not since the war fleets of the Great Crusade had gathered at Setulan had there been such an assemblage of vessels and firepower.

The entire Milky Way Republican fleet was present save those ships that protected Classi and Vekis. More than eight hundred warships, including the legendary super capitol Eternal Pain,, were not only in orbit but actively ready for battle with shields up and weapons primed. In addition to the Republican warships, almost fifty Xiscapian craft dispatched from Chalybs and an equal number of Alversian vessels were present to bolster the defenses in anticipation of an Exile attack. To match even those numbers, more than four hundred ships identified as belonging to the Church of the Ten were in orbit. Though many were retrofitted transports, several were dedicated warships similar in nature to the Skulk.

Immediately upon entering the edge of the system, the near thousand ships were pinged with everything from Nova tracking to missile tracking before confirmation was made and the huge minefield deactivated. Drifting in system, the Five boarded a transport and went to one ship in particular that seemed to fade in and out of reality, revealing a motley patchwork scheme-the SRS Death Jester. Bowed through the gold inlaid and art heavy corridors that seemed the standard on all the vessels owned by the Church (none of which could disguise the lethality of the ships themselves), they stood before one of the Disciples.

The Harlequin. The Death Jester. The Laughing Face. Him of a Thousand Disguises. Though he had many names, all of the Five knew him, through long and close experience, as Ramirez. At almost 7'5" and two hundred fifty pounds, he was awkwardly tall and thin by Setulan standards. Pale skin and eyes went well with the shaved head he cultivated for its ease of disguise, but the thin face that normally held a mysterious smile was uncharacteristically grave that day. He, perhaps more than any of the other disciples, had the best relationship with the servants of Bodom-as a trickster himself he got along well with others who followed a similar path.

He wasn't wearing the multi colored robes of his order as he greeted the five. Instead he was wearing the accoutrements of war, an incredibly thin body glove that despite its apparent skin tight nature was both highly protective and concealed dozens of blades in addition to the rapier he wore on his hip. Even the arrival of the Five couldn't bring a smile to his face that day.

"Brothers. Sister." He bowed to each in turn in perfect mimicry of the Xiscapian greeting. "You come during grave times, but we are of course grateful nonetheless. Here, let me show you what we know."

A wall evaporated, revealing a huge galactic map.

"Our holdings in the Milky Way seem secure. There has been a rash of terrorist attacks on Foxfire, but I remain convinced that these are to distract us from the main thrust. But most troublesome of all is that all the other territories in the Home Galaxy have gone dark as well. This includes some of the disciples." He voice was pained as he said it. Though the disciples were frequently at odds with each other, the idea that they were dying was painful enough to cause physical discomfort.

"Our focus must be on Setulan itself. For all the physical might of the heretics, you know as well as I that their true power lies in their innate gifts. As such, I would ask your Skulks to split up. One to Meldrick, to aid the defenders there. Two to Mariod-you know what rests beneath the waves on that world. We believe that the Undying Legion is going to try to take the Saint's weapons. And the last two of your Skulks I ask you leave here, with me. When AXIS decides to send its forces to Setulan, we will join them and aid our brothers and sisters in retaking our planet." His face grew hard. "And finding the heretics and destroying them utterly." A pause.

"Members of the Church are being dispatched to your vessels as we speak. Though you know I trust you all implicitly, most of your warriors have no experience fighting the god-touched. They must learn of our capabilities so they can be prepared for what is to come."


Whispers of Remorse

Shoji was among the cultists who witnessed the arrival to the training area of the group of Setulan priests. Ever since the close cooperation of the Churches of Qonn and Bodom and the Ten Gods during the Great Crusade, knowledge of the Church of the Ten was required learning for any aspiring Cultists or Priests. Therefore, it was easy enough for him to recognize the brown HIBA of the Earthmovers of Rohr and the multihued body gloves of Imri. The small group of silent men and women in ice blue robes that covered their own armor were Changers, those rare and powerful servants of Limur who could manipulate the flow of time itself and change the weather, and of course the huge yet graceful ornately armored war priests of Iode.

Their leader-a Brother Captain judging by the ornate gold and silver designs of his armor-bowed politely to Waymistress Den before they embraced, an act so out of character for the Cultist that many of her pupils murmured in surprise before a psychic lash shut them up. But despite the ornate armor of some of the War Priests, one in particular held his eye. She was young (a thought he dismissed immediately as he realized she was probably of age with him) and her armor was still stark white save her company and legion markings, with no deeds to her name yet. But for all that, he couldn't help but notice a beautiful face framed by that most rare of Setulan attributes, blonde hair. Idly, he realized she would be much prettier if she smiled-but the look of steely determination ruined any chance of that.

Shoji was close enough to the Waymistress and Brother Captain that she could overhear what he said.

"A long time, old friend, since we climbed the mountains of Fru. It seems like ages."


Somewhere in Huerdaen Space

We are getting reports out of Setulan now, more than we were not that long ago...it would appear that the so called Exiles have returned. But perhaps the most telling piece of news is one of the most tragic-it would appear that the living saint of the Setulan people, Terramo, is dead.

Replaying it for the twentieth time didn't make it any more real to her than the first. She just couldn't believe it.

As in, really couldn't. She just did not accept that it was true. She felt-despite herself, she grudgingly admitted that Terramo had changed her a little in that regard-that she would know if he was gone.

She would find him. And failing that, she would find his body and bury him properly. It was fitting; she was there at the beginning of his great journey. It only made sense that she would be there for the end.

[Alversia]

Marshall House, Illesia, Alversia

"Understood. Such will be the same for us, but I fear getting a handle on things may take some time,"

She had suspected as much, nodding in agreement even as her tail swished behind her. Such an attack was completely outside anything she had experienced as First Admiral of the Navy. She had been doing this job for over ten years, for over a decade she had been living and breathing the Alversian People's Navy, treating it as if it were a child of her own womb. She had watched as it had grown, nurtured it as it had taken its first tentative steps into the Milky Way Galaxy and rebuilt following the devastation of the Sasm War. She had seen it endure during the long and difficult Danaversian conflict. She thought she had seen all this job had to throw at her and yet here she was in yet another new situation. Lack of intelligence was nothing new on the battlefield and she had grown accustomed to that. It was when it was somewhere that had been so filled with light was shrouded in darkness, with that darkness concealing such an obviously big event, that things got difficult.

"The Exiles have clearly had this plan in the works for years, and it was executed almost flawlessly. The time for meeting may come before we fully know what it is that we are meeting about.”

That much was obvious. The Exiles had been planning for a very long time for this attack and they had carried it off with aplomb and ruthless skill. She wondered if the same scenario had been employed against the Republic, could they have coped any better. Would all the safeguards and protections she had put in place protect them or would it have been her relaying news of Alversia's fall to the rest of the galaxy while all burned around her. It was not a pleasant proposition and she quickly turned her mind from it. Rescuing Setulan was her priority, not dwelling in hypothetical scenarios.

“But we will know. Not even they can lock down the entire system indefinitely."

She nodded in agreement. The Exiles may have caught AXIS on the hop with their initial offensive but now things would swing their way. She was certain of it. The combined might of AXIS and their allies could not be held back, not even by the Exiles of Setulan. She was by no means underestimating the task that lay ahead of her, but she was recognising that they would not stop until the Exiles had been kicked back from whence they came.

"I have just received a report from the X.O. of the Pride of the Empire. The Soul's Torment and her escort cruisers have been secured and are being towed to dock for repairs. Admiral Shal is alive, if badly wounded, and is meeting with the Grand Admiral now before he is hospitalized. Our technicians are working on recovering sensor log data from all three vessels. I suggest your personnel do the same."

The news from Admiral Sor came through at the same time as her own reports indicating that the two ships in Alversian space had also been secured. Amidst a storm of uncertainty and defeat, they had secured their first victories, no matter how token they were. They had clashed with the Exiles and they had triumphed. Alversian blood had been shed and there was going to be a lot more before this ended.

“Thank you Admiral, please contact me again when you have secured any useful intelligence.” She bowed to him as the connection was cut, deep in thought. She turned to one of the Officers in the Command Room, “are our technicians working on the two ships?”

“I believe so ma'am yes.”

“Get me Rear-Admiral Cavourna.”

“Ma'am.”

Where the form of Admiral Sor had been standing just moments earlier, now stood the much larger frame of Cavourna. He looked as unruffled and as calm as ever, standing with his hands behind his back, chest puffed out and proud with shoulders back, the ultimate paragon of a Naval Officer.

“Alex, report.”

“We've docked both ships and transferred their survivors to medical bays aboard one of the Military stations nearby. The vessels are being cleared of dead and I have technicians attempting to access the sensor logs. They inform me that the ship systems have suffered severe damage though so its touch and go whether or not we can recover anything useful.”

“Well, keep trying. Let me know when you find something.”

“Aye ma'am.” His form fizzled out.

With a sigh, she strode across the floor to one of the other monitors, around which a half dozen serious looking technicians were gathered, speaking to one another in quiet whispers and murmurs. When they saw the First Admiral approaching however, they turned and offered a salute.

“Is the long range array a go?” She asked the Alversian in the centre, who was clearly the leader.

He rubbed his goatee and frowned, “possibly.”

“You've got to give me better than that Commander,” she frowned at him.

“Well, the sensor array is being blocked out by a lot of interference. I am fairly confident that we can cut through it with enough time. Obviously anything you can do to remove the interference would speed things up no end...”

“Get to it. Take whatever resources you need. My authority.” The man nodded and disappeared with his team, relaying a string of instructions.

Ashe turned back to the centrepiece of the map and exhaling at the relative emptiness surrounding Setulan Prime, “Dispatch probes to all Republican colonies in the Home Galaxy. If we can't work out what's happening on their homeworld then we can at least try to help their colonies.”

Senate Building, Central Illesia

Owens sighed when she found herself facing a virtual representation of Queen Brigadette. She was young, some might say too young for her post, and her eyes burned with a raging fire of passion that had seen her people on the road to recovery. Owens saw a lot of herself in the woman, thrust into a position of great responsibility at an age where it was impossible to be prepared for it. She wondered if she had looked that young when she had taken office for the first time. If so, then all the complaints levelled against her in those early days would have been perfectly validated. To the older Senators, it would have not been unlike seeing a toddler take control of their nation.

"Yes, yes, I know. We know. And damn you for calling now and not in four hours."

Owens smiled a small and sad smile to show she took offence at the words. Given how highly emotions were running in the CAS it was perhaps fortunate that they had not already dispatched their forces.

“Our honor is bound to the Golden Hawk. Without them, we are nothing. They die, and while we know our soldiers are dying with them it is not enough."

“I assure you, Brigadette, that we will not allow Setulan Prime to suffer for a moment longer than it has to. We are gathering our strength and trying to get a clear picture of what is happening. If we rush in now, we risk enormous casualties for no gain. Have your troops ready to move out at the earliest possible opportunity and you will be kept informed of any developments. Your nation and the Republic are closely linked. Did you pick up any intelligence or data that might be useful before Setulan Prime went dark?” She was fairly certain that the Exile attack had been absolute, at least that was what her Chiefs of Staff told her, but there was never any harm in asking.

Just out of view of Brigadette, one of her aides signalled to her by pointing at his watch. She understood the message and nodded to demonstrate that she understood. She had to go prepare to address the nation. It could wait if it had to though, for she would rather speak to the young Queen than sit in front of a camera and inform the entire Republic that they were once again at war. Of course, many would have worked it out themselves by now, given the sudden and mass deployment of Alversian military assets.

That would not make her job any easier.

Setulan Prime, Alversian Embassy

Steward looked between Rielan and her own Chief of Security, Captain Nolan with the same look of apprehension as before. She knew that Nolan was a hard-ass Officer, a battle-hardened veteran who had taken his fair share of lives and the MP looked like she could handle herself as well. Veteran though they were and tactful as they were trying to be, she made a living from reading people and she could tell that both were terribly worried. The sounds of battle were echoing across the city, explosions and gunfire that rang out so much closer than she felt comfortable with. The reply to her question about the Gorge told her everything she needed to know. They would hold for only a while, then nothing would stand between the Exiles and the city.

It was a terrible situation to be in. It was made even worse when the Setulanite mentioned the bombing of the highways and bridges out of the city. Given the state of the planet, those pathways would have been thronged with people desperate to escape, women and children seeking protection in the countryside. The Ambassadress looked to Nolan, who avoided her gaze rather pointedly. He knew all too well what had happened.

“They've already assaulted and overran the Xiscapian and Imperial embassies, though we were able to get both ambassadors out in time to prevent their capture. It was a close thing. We think that the force that was coming here is the one currently locked in with some VT soldiers about five blocks away. Either way, it's time to move."

The Alversian shook her head stubbornly, “I can't go yet, not when there's still staff waiting to be evacuated-”

“Ma'am, with all due respect, those staying behind have volunteered to do so. All other staff have been evacuated towards the outskirts.” Nolan cut across her with a harsh tone not unlike a teacher scolding a particularly naughty pupil, “you heard the Lieutenant. The Veterans Trust is not going to be able to hold them forever. Come on, Lieutenant Rourke will ensure all sensitive documentation is destroyed.” He nodded to a young man just behind the Ambassadress. Surrounded by a half dozen of the same armour-clad troops he nodded to show he understood what he had to do.

“But-”

“Part of the job ma'am. I knew that when I signed up.” the Alversian smiled weakly.

“Now come on!” Nolan put his arm around her shoulder and made sure she had no way of turning him down. The smaller and less armoured woman found herself scooped towards the door, “we have a route for you through the cit-”

His words were drowned out by, what sounded to her ears, like the very gates of hell ripping asunder. It was less a noise and more of a physical wall, an ethereal force that passed through her flesh to strike at her very heart, knocking it out of its stride and all air from her lungs. She actually gasped, eyes stretching upwards as if expecting to see an abomination of the damned reach down to claim its victims.

“Wh-What was that?!” She asked, not really able to hide the fear this time.

The others had likewise reacted to the noise, with guards swivelling wildly in every direction, weapons raised to the sky with much the same thought as herself.
“Let's move!” was Nolan's response, again grabbing the Ambassadress and pulling her, like it or not, out of the Embassy, though there was considerably less opposition than there had been before. The half of her guard who had suicidally decided to remain behind headed back inside to fortify the building and make their final stand.

She, meanwhile, was carried into the depths of Setulan Prime, going to lord only knew where.

Galacial Forest, Northern Icor, Alversia

Throughout the centuries there were many words that had been used to describe the vast forests that hugged the Castran Mountains a continent away from Illesia. Some had described them as 'beautiful', others as 'majestic' and yet more as 'regal'. To those who spent any great length of time at the feet of the ferns and oaks that made up this magnificent, sprawling wilderness, the most apt word would have been 'haunting'. The Galacial Forest had stood dutifully at the side of the Castran mountains for tens, if not hundreds, of thousands of years. The Lumber Men who worked this forest claimed that the forest was more than it appeared from the outside. It was more than wood and leaves, for the forest had eyes. It was alive and watched its surroundings with a keen eye. They had stood and watched how the planet around them changed, how the people had grown, been cast down and risen up again. It had seen blood spilt amongst its roots, heroes resting amongst its boughs and liberators marching through its branches. It was not something, they claimed, that could be easily explained to their sceptical brethren down south. It was more of a sensation, a feeling that made the hairs stand on the back of the neck and sent chills down the spine.

Of course, the superstitions of the northern workers aside, there was another reason that the forests held a mystical aura for the northern Icorans. For 700 years, Galacial Forest had been home to the Veela. Since they had been given permission to settle by the great Marshall Smith, the mysterious and ancient lapine race had faded into the trees and become as much a mystery as the land they inhabited. So much about them was unknown to the races of the galaxy, an enigmatic and reclusive race that was content to spend their time amongst the trees and rivers of their new home in isolation.

Now though, something was stirring deep within the bowels of the forest. There was a clearing, surrounded on all sides by a thick guard of trees and thicket, it was nearly impossible to reach even from the air. It was doubtful that Alversians had set foot on this land since they had mapped it hundreds of years ago. The mist had rolled over the lumpen and misshapen ground until it was so thick that the very earth itself was concealed under the freezing fog. The clouds had rolled over to darken the night sky still further, concealing the moon and stars under a veil of greyness. The woodland was eerily still, as if the normal concert of night had been silenced by some unseen maestro with a rap of his baton.

Then, from the shadows emerged eight figures. They were clothed in heavy robes that seemed to merge effortlessly into the gloom, making them appear as spectres, nothing more than echoes of the past. Their forms were lost beneath their attire, as indistinguishable and indescribable as the trees encasing them. They approached the centre at an unnervingly equal pace, only stopping when they were all six feet from one another, forming a circle, none marginalised, none to the side or pushed out.

'These meetings are becoming an alarming habit,' one of the faceless spoke in an alien dialect, soft and regal on the tongue, the only defining characteristic in the accented tone was that it was male.

''It is the law of the universe in that it is lawless.' a female replied, tone betraying perhaps a sign of amusement, 'such a conflict was bound to arise.'

''If the slaughter we sense from Setulan is to be believed, then this is indeed a serious conflict. There will be many weeping families in Alversia before it ends.”

Another male voice, strong and authoritative cut across before the female could reply,
”The war is not, and has never been, our concern. The Alversians and Xiscapians can handle their own affairs without our involvement. Our concern is the presence we have sensed on Setulan.”

”Indeed, it is an alarmingly malevolent spirit that marches with the Exiles, a great and terrible danger.” The first male agreed wearily, ”It is a greater threat than these 'Exiles' that so worry the Younger.”

”Is the threat great enough to warrant interference? You know our ways. What do you think Avos?” The first female asked curiously.

Though the hoods concealed all, there was a sense that all attention had turned to one being in particular. That being was silent for a while, weighing up his options. The others waited patiently and thus the clearing feel again into that morbid and haunting quiet that had dogged it before they had emerged.

Finally, he spoke with a soft and calming tone, ”The threat is not as great as the Condemned, but the threat remains viable. The others are concerned with fighting the Exiles and protecting Setulan. With the Saint no longer of this reality, our interference is a necessity.”

The others listened to his word grimly. Only when he had finished did another speak, the strong male voice, deep and contemplative, ”The Clans will not approve. Our numbers are still too few for all out war.”

”Once upon a time, Nyver, we shirked our duties. The consequences are still felt to this day. A ripple will start small, but it will eventually touch every corner of the pond,” Avos countered without raising his voice, though there was a clear impatience in his words, ”we have the ability to help. It would be very grievous indeed if we were to make the same mistake again.”

”What does the Imperii believe? Do we commit to this path” The young female asked nervously.

”She has read the danger as we all have and more. She has gone deeper than we could ever hope to, touched and smelt the unknowing. She believes that intervention is the only course open to us,” Avos answered.

No one gave a direct reply to that but each could feel the consensus in the other. The meeting's purpose had been fulfilled and thus it was no longer required. As they had appeared, so the eight beings faded away into the night, leaving the clearing as silent and still as it had always been, there were none who knew the momentous decision that had been taken that night.

The Veela were going to war.

Icoras House, Illesia

“Rose, Vastos, Ambassador. I can’t wish you all a good day in good conscience. What I can wish for is any way to help. We have little intelligence on this enemy, but my troops are already massing to cross the Divide as soon as you see fit. Rose, I take it we’ll be able to give us Jaunt access? Given that Captain Ankyrr has reported the Forged Alliance at full combat alert, I also gather that the vessel is preparing to act?”

"I am sure I speak for the Republic when I say that your troops would be welcome in the fight to retake Setulan." Vastos spoke in his serene, accented voice, "if you require intelligence, we can provide all we have once channels have been fully secure and we can make some sense of it ourselves. May I ask how many troops you are planning to bring into the Home Galaxy? I can offer Alversian bases as temporary staging grounds if that would ease the logistics on your Planners."

Vastos had been keeping an eye on the transmissions anyway and he had been sorely tempted to contact the Prime Minister about this new development. Instead, he had let her concentrate on getting ready for her television appearance and sent a message to her personal VI. It would let her know as soon as it judged she was not buried under such an amount of work that some other vital cog of her action would be neglected. Vastos was getting old for a Silarian. He was in his fifties and, really, he should have been thinking about retiring soon. He had been chosen personally by Sammi to be her Deputy Prime Minister, her lieutenant in all things related to the Alversian Republic and he would be a rotting corpse at the bottom of the ocean before he let her down now.

[Sennai]

Farren Sen, Council chambers.

It was about now that the setulan ambassador took his place at the table, The ambassador didnt yell or shout in panic, his expriance had taught him otherwise, no. Infact, Counciler Katya had become used to Ambassador Waters and his dead stae of calm. Shardi attacking foxfire with a four hundred ship attack fleet? Not a crack in his composure, sen and republic guardsmen being penned in by a pincer movement threatening to kill about a million combined troops? Rocks had shown more of a reaction than this stoic republican.
But with the republic itself under assault with most of it's leadership dead and it's millatry in tatters? Katya was a little scared at how calm the big setulan seemed to be, though this time there were cracks in the facade.

"I would say good day, ladies and gentlemen, but I am afraid it is anything but. The Republic is, as you are no doubt aware, under rather serious assault by the Exiles."
There, the word Exile showed how much hatred was being kept back, you couldent have put that much hate and loathing ito the words "child murderer" and gotten the same result. Waters as all knew, had been a leading voice in trying to deny the exiles the chance to go and hopefully never come back. "what must it be like," Katya thought "To have the worst i told you so ever?"
Gerada nodded, the Nekomi counciler shuffling his papers "Allow me to extend our regrets Norman, But rest assured we havent been sleeping on that particular job. About five minutes ago we moved up the WOAB to condition black, the alliance is at war with the exiles. the Sen jaunt gate to Dominaria in the home galaxy is under shut down for millatry traffic only, all home galaxy assets are on high alert with SSA Shinya and SSA Unity Poseidon capitals standing by on that side of the gate. Admiral Yutani aboard the Poseidon is currently organising all Milky way assets, in about thirty standard hours we should have about three hundred active warships ready to send to foxfire, including the Akumu Tsuki. Men and machines will take fourty eight hours to organise."

Norman would be aware that each ship listed was one of the four alliance supercapitals. three kilometers shorter than the famed Light Of the gods that had been saints ship but still the best the sen had to offer. He was also aware of the "doomsday" weapon each carried, The Posidon's Aura Cannons, the Unity's Trident missile battery capeable of saturating a planet with enough nuclear fire to make a star feel green with envy, The shinya's massive Pulse array and lastly the Akumu Tsuki's Nova Battery, Several of the familiar Setulanite nova cannons Packed together, Because overkill was underrated.
"To add to Thats, We've notified the rassilion clans to the situation, we're still awaiting their descision." Katya nodded "but i expect they wont be found wanting in their commitment."
"There is one other matter, The Assault division. Whats to be done about it?" this time it was Tekken that spoke. The R.A.A.D or Republic Alliance Assault Division was the joint Sen Set battalion formed during the shardi was in an attempt to create a smiliar force to the Xiscapian/Republican Joint army. the assualt division specialised in heavy weapons and unorthodox tactics and contained just as many sen as it did setulan's, but if the Exilies had infiltrated the areas in and around the Setulanite leadership, how many had gotten into the assault division without notice?

Sen Alliance Embassy, Setulan Prime.

"come on come on! Barricade the gate!"
"Wheres that T-67! we'll need it to cover this side of the wall!"
"Get The Car ready Extraction in five!"

Inspector Kathrine Katsuragi, G-police officer, MP and Embassy guard, cursed the Exiles. while the Xiscapian and Alversian embassies were being evacuated, the Sen Embassy had found itself in the thick of the fighting. It had started with three large missile strikes, causing panic and raising of security, five Republic MP's came to see them but had opend fire on the embassy staff and G-police guards killing and wounding several before they could be brought down. At the moment it was every guard agaisnt the wall as Ambassador Keiran Mohir, a sen in his fifties, was hurried away to his car. In her MK IV body armour Kathrine kept a tight hold of her pulse rifle, Each Exile bastard she killed was one less for the republic and alliance to deal with when the attack came. So far, the Compliment of fifty guards had been whittled down to half that from the Exile's-in-disguise ambush and the first wave of screaming fanatics that had hit the compound walls

"Big fish is secured, Exiting now"

Amoung the guards was a feeling of relief as the call came across the radio, The ambassador was in his car and all that was needed was to open the garage and get the Frak out of dodge. "Opening doors now Big fish is-" There was a explosion to the back of the compound and kathrines blood went cold as Screaming and gunfire filled the comm. What could have happend? As if to answer the exiles began attacking again, The guards on the walls firing back with their Pulse rifles, the steady "Grrt!" of the 10mm caseless answering the hard bark of the Traitor's weaponry. stuck between the wall and the commotion at the garage Kathrine chose the garage, her mission was to get the ambassador out.

"Come on Kathy, it's make your momma Proud time!"

Dashign through rooms filled with destroyed documents, leaping an overturned watercooler, probably tipped in the places haste to extract and destroy, kathrine arrived at the garage to a scene of carnage. Somehow the Exile's had managed to rig the automatic door with a bomb or had been waiting with an AT launcher, The front security car had been blasted to smithereens trapping the ambassador and the paltry number of G-Police officers escorting him. currently enguaged, and losing, a gunfight with numerous Exile soldiers.
"Hey Motherfuckers!" The shout drew the attention of one or two of the Exile fanatics who turned to face the Nekomi weapons raised only to see the Catgirls own weapon up and ready. Kathrine smiled "Say hi to your god for me!" and pulled the trigger, the rifle bucking in her grip as the rounds splattered Setulan blood over the wall. her attack brought more gunfire her way and she took cover behind the doorway.

It was a bad place to take cover, High velocity rounds began to punch holes in the wall narrowly missing her tail and keeping her pinned down. slowly the ginfire int he garage came to a close and the yelling down the comm from the front gate had begun ending the minute she had arrived at the garage. Overall it wasent lookign good at all. Putting a hand on her helmet kathrine whispered "Any guards reciving? Robets? Copeland? you guys still there?" A hint of desperation in the nekomi's voice.

static greeted her.

With as much fear as caution kathrine peeked out into the garage, The place was a bloodbath. five exiles stood tall amoung the many fallen one with a massive hand wrapped around the ambassadors throat. the kitsune made gurgling sounds as he clawed at the vice like hand, The exile just smiled and with a twitch, snapped the kitsunes neck like so much dry kindiling.
" Spread out...serch for survivors...Make sure there are none."

The other four exiles nodded, one turned to a twitchign tengu officer putting several rounds in him, the others headed kathrines way. Ducking into a side room, arms shaking kathrine hid. It was pointless to get bogged down in a firefight with the five of them. the fight would draw more and she would just end up dead. no use to anyone. with the embassy gone only one thing remained. Finding a Guard unit to hook up with and defend setulan prime. but when exiles were dressed as MP's who could she trust?
A multitude of possiblities came to mind as the exiles stomped closer, Putting bullets in anythign that looked vaugely alive. as they approched kathrine finally came to a desision. one name amoung many.

They were right on her now, she could hear them murmering prayers to themselves or snorting about weaklings as they killed the wounded. Holding her breath Kathrine also prayed, she prayed to the cycles they would just walk on past.
Perhaps a minute pased, then a second. and kathrine opened her eyes, They had moved on past her, their boss brining up the rear to inspect their work. with all four exposed in the hallway, with their backs to her, Now was the time to strike.
Loading a fresh clip kathrine crawled out onto the bloodsoaked floor of the corridor and lined up the big leader letting rip with the pulse rifle. bullets clattered off an energy sheild before it gave way blowing out his spine. the others turned as kathrine selected her underslung grenade launcher and pulled back the pump action, sending a gas propeled Krak grenade right intot he middle of them, It blew one apart and sent the others diving to the ground with shrapnel wounds

"Time to move" Kathrine said to herself with a dash she was out into the garage and leaping the wreakage just as the return fire began.
there was no time for subtlety in gettign into a miraculously intact Embassy car left outside in the parking lot, she practically pulled the door off before pushing the engine start and hittign the accelerator. Bullets tore into the back, shattering the rear windscreen, one struck her helmet as she moved to avoid the gunfire.

Grabbing the inbuilt radio and dialing it to a frequency she hoped, no, prayed would work she pressed the send button. takign a sniff and trying not to sob she called out to the one person she was sure she could trust.
"Sarge? Sarge if your out there it's Kathy. Respond...Cycles dammit Hank?! are you out there?!"
Pushing the accelerator down Kathrine avoided another burnt out wreak on the road. not concerned on where she was headed, as long as it was away from the slaughterhouse that had been the Sen embassy.

[Xenohumanity]

XenoMilitary XENOCOM, Tuzus II…
Theatre Command Station: CHESSBOARD…

Kitsune were emotionless at first glance, swiveling ears and swishing tails the only signs that they took any personal heed of conversation. Even so, LGS Sirisi had enough diplomatic head-‘ware in him to read those tails and ears, and Rose’s were saying that Xenohumanity’s autocrat was coming across as a mysterious stranger in a time of need more than a political figure. So be it; let politics form the muck and mire of the Federate’s stage-play electorate, and let the drake standing present be as pragmatically shady and possibly dangerous as necessary.

"That is correct. According to my liaisons with the KIN the Forged Alliance is being deployed from its garrison at the Wuin System to reinforce the defenses of Dolosus and safeguard access to the Jaunt Portal there and at the Kana System if necessary. It is critically important that links between the Home Galaxy and the Milky Way remain open. Including for the usage of Federation aid. All three links will be open for the passage of whatever forces you will dispatch."

“Excellent as always.” A short nod, the efficient kind a general always gives to fellow military men. “XenoNavy has already assembled forces, they’re already preparing to embark for the Gates.” More true than expected; Sirisi’s Binary Cognition neuro-comp had shot the orders out like a telegraph through the cyberscape of military command. “From what we do know of the threat, I hope I’m not stopping short of what is expected. I can report that the Sovereign and the Aigaion have volunteered to spear-head any counter-MacroCapital task-groups, and the 8th and 23rd Fleets under Fleet Admiral Tenck promise enough carriers and Planck-Adjustment Beamships to assure orbit-to-ground supply lanes stay secure. The terrestrial branches of XenoMilitary have their assets ready for departure,” a pause, to assure a real-time answer from the stormy optronic web of XenoMil’s intelligence-scape, “immediately.”

"I am sure I speak for the Republic when I say that your troops would be welcome in the fight to retake Setulan." Vastos spoke in his serene, accented voice, "if you require intelligence, we can provide all we have once channels have been fully secure and we can make some sense of it ourselves. May I ask how many troops you are planning to bring into the Home Galaxy? I can offer Alversian bases as temporary staging grounds if that would ease the logistics on your Planners."

What a question. What a dangerous, volatile question to ask a warlord without a war, a genetically hard-wired conqueror without a land to conquer.

“180 combat vessels, 120 transports, and a first wave consisting of the 3rd XenoMarine Brigade and the XenoSoldiers of the 2nd Army, with transport-ferrying to keep the frontlines manned. Yes, forward bases would be much appreciated; as reliable as the Jaunt Gates are, getting munitions and rations and the like to our men is going to be impossible without local resources.”
A fancy way of saying ‘We’re gonna crash on your operations-level logistics couch for however long this takes and you’re gonna like it.’ The troop numbers were far too high for a purely political involvement. A million Marines from every domestic base in the country? Twice that many Soldiers? Even before considering that he seemed dead-set on wagon-training forces abroad as quickly as possible? As readied as they had been and as quickly they were moving into position, it would seem that Rai’a had been waiting for an abject and total war for some time now. This was clearly a dictator seeing a blazing fire and sending as many stations as he could possibly afford to, simply for the thrill of leading them, even if that fire was literally a galaxy away.
“Nothing but the best when the stakes are this high for us.”

He seemed distracted for a moment, then explained: “Duty calls, the Federate is calling in. I’ll keep you informed, and you’ll keep me.” Out of context, the last clause spoke a bit truer than Sirisi would have cared for, but it would have to do. He bowed out and his hologram faded. Imperial Intelligence and the Empire’s military would be getting more than a few ORBAT read-outs, logistical updates and link-up statements, and all the other countless millions upon millions of necessary evils that came with modern warfare’s ungodly large war machines and soldiers numbering beyond comprehension if keeping them in mind as living, feeling creatures was a goal. Still, it would only be a moment spent lingering on those necessary evils before the wrist-comp buzzed again and forced the Lord General Superior’s hand.

“Rania?”
“Siris, it’s me. The Federate’s adjourned, we just got through the little song and dance of getting public opinion. Listen, I wanted to talk before they inevitably give the people’s all-clear.”
“What about?”
“Why are we doing what we’re doing?”
“…Pardon?”
“It’s an easy enough question. Why are we going abroad so readily?”
“Necessity demands action.”
“You know full well platitudes like that only come out of you when you’re lying, stop it. We’re reconvening in a moment, but I need you to look at me for a second.”

More of a half-attentive stare through Apor Rania than a look at him.
“Sirisi, look me in the eyes.”
The dictator ‘looked him’ as asked.
“Your is the face of a man who knows he shouldn’t care but cares anyway. I would admire that if you were caring about anything else.”
“Do you have a thesis?”
“Yes.”
“Then get to it.” Typical Sirisi.
“This isn’t your war. Remember that. This is theirs.”
“Our alliance with AXIS is paramount. This is the least we can do. I’d dare say that this is our war”
“We’re just now getting the combat feeds no thanks to your god-damned intel-filtering. The absolute catastrophe that is the Soul’s Torment boarding, orbital asset updates, ground evacuations… I mean, the Federate is simply taking it as more reason to march out, but that’s likely the subliminal feeds talking. This is unfathomable violence. Supercapitals are being thrown around like paper boats down a river, it’s absolutely obscene. I know I shouldn’t be so worried to say this, but we haven’t even gotten a man across the Gap and I’m already mourning losses.”
“You wouldn’t know the first thing about losses.”
“Sirisi, shut the hell up and listen to an old drake for a second! This war is going to end badly for the Federation! There is no way around that! Even if the Exiles are defeated and AXIS saved, at what cost? Saving political face by throwing millions of boys and girls at the enemy and drowning them in corpses like you always do with human troops? Is that what you want?”

A truly hateful glare, too civil to use words that would grate any tympanum.

“Does the thought of men dying make you feel like a soldier, Rai’a? Like your father? Like your brother? Is that all it takes? Death en-masse? Is that what passes for courage these days with you? Administrative callousness and far-away rivulets of enlisted blood?”

No reply.

“Damn it, Rai’a. …Damn it all. You know your Fractal-Terran history well?”
“Well enough.”
“American? Not that atomic-age Commonwealth nonsense, the proper States?”
“A few instantiations, yes.”
Good; the boy was as much a buff as he was in peace-time. Made bashing him over the head with the failures of the past that much easier. “This is going to be your Vietnam. Mark my words, Sirisi, this will be your Vietnam. Your soldiers will die like dogs for no good reason for soil they have never seen nor will ever see again, and the people will realize this only when it goes too far for even your tastes.”

A snarl, fading into a somber, sober stare through the diplomat’s face. “I’ll mark those words.”

Rania nodded, and the call ended, leaving Sirisi there staring at his wrist, a sigh trying to take the edge off of that old familiar discomfort in his chest from standing at the edge of a warzone’s deritrus and remembering that those bodies once moved. Rania was right, this wasn’t his war; it was his generals, his admirals, his courageous XenoMarines and his ever-loyal XenoSoldiers. To say a commander fought his battles was misleading, for standing in a theater-command station like this one and orchestrating a symphony of warfare is hardly fighting. It was not soldier-like, it was more like a Navy protocol than anything else, but such was warfare. It’d changed since his hayday, when throwing wings of combat mecha down onto a target was the ultimate in close air support and when foxhole villages and massive overshields stood a chance against orbit bombardment, but it wasn’t his problem anymore. He wasn’t a front-liner anymore, and it wasn’t even fighting for his soil this time around.

Rania was right. It wasn’t his war.
But LGS Sirisi would take what he got, politics be damned.

---

Dolossus Oort-Space…
XenoNavy Special-Assignment Grand Fleet 6…
The XNV Sovereign…
Captain’s Nest…

“We’re out here, hundreds of ships and a helluva load of XenoTroops, and we’re going to be getting everybody in the Home Galaxy within the hour… And we don’t even know where to go with it. Somebody down the data-chain is going to get their snout knocked back down his throat, I swear on it.”

Fleet Admiral Jehiz’oria-Tarqunn Tenck was a veteran of conflicts domestic and foreign, against foes mighty and humble, with forces numbering as great as the assembled Grand Fleet or as small as a shuttle’s worth of Security Marines. The emerald drakon sitting in his captain’s chair in the small little command base in the heart of the Nirvana-class ‘SuperCap’ had every reason to be proud of himself; bleeding-edge naval hardware, military and tactical skill, now helping spear-head one of the great military actions of his time. He would have been embarrassed if this wasn’t the fault of literally everyone beneath him as well, but that being said, he simply threw up his hands and blamed ‘XenoNavy Data-Logistics’ as had countless hundreds of combat skippers before him. No small surprise he had a shot glass of good scotch clutched in his claws, sitting back in his seat as the optronic cable in the back of his head joined his mind with the ship and its PHLUMOCS AGI in saying *This is not our fault.*

The Captain’s Nest was a great place to have these kinds of thoughts, free of the crowds of bridge-bunny officers that made saying something so bold and so ‘leader-like’ a fairly bad idea. It also made a great place to seethe and simmer over being royally buggered by people up and down the command chain. Apparently, High Command had gotten the muster location and started going through the protocols to get it down the lines to the Captains and Rear-Admirals who needed to see it. Even more apparent, though, was the fact that somebody had futzed with the intel before it’d gotten into Tenck’s hands; should have figured, given the scope of the operation and the nature of promotions in XenoNavy. Glory-hunting was officially discouraged but unofficially approved and encouraged to make sure the skippers properly and courageously skipped, but in times like this, it resulted inevitably in somebody getting clever, fucking around with intel, and then passing it down the line. By now, Tenck had gotten almost half-a-dozen conflicting reports, and he was fairly high up the totem pole, so surely the Captains in their cruisers and transports and what-not each had something else completely and utterly unreliable.

‘Twasn’t an impressive showing, to be sure, but the bulk of ships, the sheer brutish bulk of the Grand Fleet made up for its idiocy. Just tipping over the 300-ship mark of an official Grand Fleet, with a good 40% of those being dedicated transports and logistical freighters, that still left 180 vessels designed specifically to punch great gapes and valleys in other vessels. The vessel from which the Fleet Admiral ruled his operating group was the illustrious Sovereign, an engine of technology well-intended and woefully misguided, a bastard-child of the Federation’s bleeding-edges and the Ecclasiarchy’s dark psionic secrets, all in a lovely media-friendly juggernaut form. There were few nations for whom a 12-kilometer vessel capable of generating a full biotic field would be a joking matter, and even fewer that wanted to see it in action against them, such were the rumors of the field tests; Greyhide drakon and psionic Xenohumans having their minds pulled into cortical stacks and fed into the core Q-Psy computer’s AGI for education and nourishment, the vessel launching sickly lightning and searing neural fire from orbit as the captain joined with the systems to orchestrate the madness. A shame that the truth was less glamorous, but not that Tenck ever let on; to draw his ire was to tempt the psychic super-capital he led to remind the galaxy that the Federation never truly forgot its metaphysical roots, loathsome as they were.

“Sir, incoming d-feed from Fleet Admiral T’kenya.”
“What’s she got to say?”
“She has as little clue where we’re going as you. Thinks Darso is trying to pick favorites.”

Tenck surprised himself: his glass didn’t shatter at the clench he gave it, gritting his teeth at the bullshit quickly rising to drown him in his own C-Nest. Fat lot of good the scariest non-Yahweh in the Navy was doing him. Those fools in their ‘planet-killer’ super-caps that just got slammed out thanks to corporate sodomy wouldn’t know the first thing about proper super-capital warfare if it stuck a Segmentian Battle Barge up their exhaust chutes. The drake slammed the rest of his drink down and poured himself another, just to keep him busy.

“Somebody get Colonel Kuya on the line, stat. Petronez is busy cursing his way through PSY-DEVGRU asset acquisition, Darso wants to play political tic-tac-toe and I need an actual Army see-see-oh to bitch out about our non-existent intelligence chain. Understood?”
“Aye, sir.”
The green drake drank and poured another shot for himself: “Back in my day when I was throwing shells into guns on an artillery orbit-barge, information went down a tree of command, not a lunatic playground slide. What happened to the Navy since I got put here?”
“Likely logistical trouble regarding field operations a literal galaxy away, sir.”
He slammed his shot: “Damn, Lieutenant. Can’t a man talk rhetorically?”
“Not on my watch, sir, I’m the PHLUMOCS Starman. Keeping people straight with me is my job, sir.”
“I’ll grant you that.”
“Sir, she’s returning hail.”
“About time. Alright, throw it up, see if she’s as pretty as I heard she was.”

Chuckles from the bridge-bunnies at their stations, Lieutenants and Under-Captains at their consoles and in the trench of battle stations manning various read-outs and now standing up to get a look at the central hologram, the galaxy map melting into a cloud of light and reshaping into a ball of static as the video feed took a moment more to kick in. Audio was good, and so Tenck set the formalities aside that he reserved for proper Navy folk and told it like it was.

“Colonel, please by all that is good and beautiful tell me you know where we’re going to meet up with AXIS. I’ve already gotten three different possible staging systems just in the last hour, and I got word from High Command we might just head off to Setulan Prime and ‘link up’ with AXIS, whatever that means. If you give me as bad an answer as Admiral Jarrar off in his Aigaion did when I rang him up after he ‘Gated in, I’ll have to drift over to your transport group and give you and General Horrawa a piece of my mind, and it won’t be pleasant. So, that being said” loathe to admit that this time the Army knew better and that it was coming from a practical subordinate, “where’re we going,‘zactly?”

[Xiscapia]

Xiscapian System, XIS Pride of the Empire, Bridge...

"All due respect, ma'am, but it was this or he dropped on his own. He needs some pretty serious treatment ASAP. He'll be back on his feet soon enough, and we'll need him functioning. Every second he's not in intensive care is a second he does more damage to himself."

Clasping her hands resolutely, the Grand Admiral only nodded to the corpsman, knowing that he was right. For all he had achieved in escaping the battle with the Soul's Torment intact, there were plenty of people who would say that if Shal died in the process it would be the greater loss -herself included. Watching as the medical team hustled in, hooking the Setulanite up to life support packs, ripping his clothes to slap monitors onto flesh slick with blood and lifting him onto an AG gurney, she kept her eyes on him until he was finally pulled away, bound for the medical bay, a fallen giant though not a defeated one. Behind him he left the smell of fire and pain, a trail of blood and a solemn thoughtfulness for the senior staff of the Pride of the Empire. Staring at the diagram of Setulan Shal had pulled up, Krystal passed a single finger over the shape of the planet, stroking along its holographic curvature, then turned away, walking slowly to the fore of the bridge where she settled into her command chair, neural link seamlessly connecting her into the system.

Reports flowed across her consciousness and were neatly processed, compartmentalized and filed away. The Soul's Torment, along with the Tripwire and the Punisher, had been towed into the welcoming embrace of the Protector, with almost the entire crew of each vessel given medical evacuation to one of the surrounding Xiscapian vessels that had taken part in the operation. Those few that didn't need immediate medical attention or were staying at their posts would be berthed on the Protector itself, trading places with a legion's worth of engineers, technicians and cleaning teams charged with beginning repairs and clearing the dead on the battleships and its cruiser escorts. Eventually all the Setulanites would be reunited on the station, but for the moment it was more important to get them all stabilized and treated. They'd earned R&R, but Krystal wasn't fooling herself -they'd want to get back in the fight, and she'd never met someone who could really rest and reflex while their home was under the kind of threat Setulan was. So she knew the Xiscapian focus would be to get these brave men and women back on their feet again and in proper combat condition, just like their ships.

Opening her mind to the ship's instruments, Krystal watched the three ships lock into place at the Protector's docks through sensors that had no biological analogues. Better than most, she knew the costs of war; the stress she kept hidden from the public that was an open secret in the service, the years she'd lost in service to the KIN, even her gimp leg courtesy of ARA terrorists bore testament to that. She could tell when a war would be swift and when it would be difficult, and when it would be worth the investment and when the entire venture would be a waste of time. This coming conflict, the war with the Exiles, was perhaps the worst kind of war, inevitably long and difficult but nothing that any of them could just walk away from, nothing anyone wanted to walk away from. As long as there were Setulanites, there would be Xiscapians at their side, and so she knew their fates would be intertwined.
Her brothers and sisters-in-arms would save Setulan, and if they couldn't, they would fall with it.

Xiscapia, Imperial Palace...

No, you're not stopping short of expectations...as long as this is only your first wave. Foxfire gazed steadily at the Lord General Superior, knowing that the dictator could only have been itching to throw his forces into the fray somewhere for a long, long time. Not in putting down native insurrections or bombing borderline FTL civilizations for the sake of resources, but in really testing their mettle for the glory of the Armed Federation, to play at conducting war for the sheer, raw experience of it personally, and prestige otherwise. For all that, he at least suspected that the drakon knew his thoughts, and would reliably send as many Xenohumans in ships and armor as he could get away with, at least until it grew too expensive for upkeeping -and maybe not even then. Face and the saving of it was a powerful force in international relations.

The drake vanished and the Emperor looked to Vastos, already receiving notices that the Administration was filing data on just what the Armed Federation was committing to the war. He knew full well why the Deputy Prime Minister was present and not Sammi herself -the woman was tied up in Senate proceedings, and then it would be time for her to address the nation. She was not the only one with such duties to carry out. "Deputy Prime Minister," he inclined his head to the Silarian. "If you would excuse me. There is still so much to be done."

Link killed, he continued on through the interior of the great complex, trading out the servant and his hologram drone for a cadre of advisers, officers and guards who formed around the Xiscapian ruler like the particles orbiting the nucleus of an atom, giving him personal updates even while the more technical information was streamed right into his brain. The Soul's Torment and her escorts had been secured and moved, Admiral Shal was alive and in treatment, no scans were penetrating the Setulan System from the Alversian long-range arrays, the Skulks were on the move to the Setulanite system Foxfire (he smiled wryly when he heard that -he'd never asked to have a planet named after him, and it had come as a complete surprise to him when he found out what the new colony was to be called), the Alversian Senate had officially declared war on the Exiles, the Confederation of Allied States was on full alert and chomping at the bit but Owens was expected to be able to reign them in and the Sen System Alliance was currently meeting with its Setulanite Ambassador to discuss the situation but was fully expected to fall in with the rest of AXIS and declare war, given the movement of their War Operations Alertness Board to black. The first Xenohuman forces had moved from the Kana Gate through to Dolosus and a Task Group under Rear Admiral Shinya was being sent to the Foxfire system to reinforce it in case of Exile attack on the main Setulanite Milky Way holding.

He was all caught up by the time he had ascended the steps to one of the highest parts of the Palace, shedding all but a pair of Black Guards when he entered the chambers in the Tower of Decree. Jade was not present, presumably still comforting Ambassador Tiron, so he would be stepping out onto the balcony to address the nation, and all its protectorates, allies, rivals and whoever else might be watching, alone. Folding his arms inside his robes, he glanced around at the spartan interior, little more than a room with a bench for waiting before and after speeches, closed off by a set of thick curtains in Xiscapian colors that separated the chambers from the outside balcony. Had it really been only a few short years ago that he had walked up to this very same place to inform the Kitsune Empire of the end of the Danaversian War? How much more hopeful the universe had seemed then!

"It's time, mi'lord."

Swishing his tail, the Emperor stepped forward as the curtains were drawn back by invisible servants, feeling the late afternoon light of Rio Casa fall upon his fur. A massive throng had gathered below in the courtyard of the Palace, people who had heard about everything that was happening and had come to hear what their sovereign had to say in person. Dozens of drones floated among them too, cameras turned up to record and broadcast everything he was about to say, disseminating his words to thousands of worlds, stations and ships across the universe. It was a daunting thing, to have so many eyes on you, but it was nothing he had not experienced before, and Foxfire wasn't thinking about that. As was traditional for him, he had prepared no written speech or notes, even on such short notice, for he spoke directly from the head and the heart.

"People of Xiscapia, our fellows in AXIS, friends and allies across the stars, wherever you may be, the Kitsune Empire is at war..."

Standing there on the balcony, he spoke at length about the bond formed in blood between the Xiscapians and the Setulanites, both in the Battle of Colony 1 and in the Danaversian War right afterwards. Loyalty, honor and friendship were virtues he leaned heavily on, espousing them in these dark times while also mentioning the need for stability, emphasizing that while this was an AXIS problem support was arriving from the Milky Way and beyond, and decrying the very concept of the Exiles as well as their actions. He informed them of what he knew about what had happened on Setulan, the various acts of sabotage, the unknown status of many in the highest levels of government and the military and the horrific damage done to the defenses and fleet, while stressing the heroism, bravery and perseverance of the Setulanite defenders and loyalists and tacitly leaving out mention of Saint Terramo. In spite of the blackout on Setulan, he said, Setulanites were still here across the universe, alive, well and ready to come to the defense of their homeland, and with them all is far from lost. It is with them, he told them somberly, that we stand.

"And finally, to my fellow Xiscapians. We have been through many wars together, you and I, from the worst days of the Korr Wars to present time, and by now we can tell a good war from a bad one. A swift conflict from a long one, and a worthwhile battle from a pointless one. Today I come before you to say that this is not trifling skirmish or distant conquest, but a strike at the very heart of AXIS. This is the worst kind of war, one that promises to be lengthy and difficult, but not one that we can or should back away from. An attack on Setulan is an attack on us all. So trust me when I say that when we fight, it is because we must, that when we fight, it is for a cause that we can believe in, and that when we fight, it is so those who have already perished will not have died in vain."

Setulan Prime, Imperial Intelligence Department Office...

"Anyway, I came here for you. My job is rather irrelevant now, and my pupils have all gone to various line companies. I've just been running around helping out where the fighting is."

She nodded, aware of how lucky he was to be alive at all. And yet here he was, practically back in the firing line now that the Office was likely to be a target. The Exiles would come to try to kill the Xiscapian intelligence officers and collect their invaluable data, and even though they would be too late the MPs were still going to be waiting here for them to kill as many as they could. It put them in harm's way, but she couldn't help but admire that. There was a certain tenacity that she could approve of.

"I'm due to leave in about five minutes," Amatsukaze told him, voice catching before she continued. "Standard procedure for clearing out personnel and sensitive data and equipment. Can't let the Exiles get to any of it." The vixen fell silent for a moment, knowing full well that this might be the last time she ever saw him, knowledge that was reflected in her eyes as she stared up at him, ears drooping. "Hank-"

"Agent Director!"

Another kitsune came jogging through the door, this one a distinctive white-furred tom clad in a pilot's armored jumpsuit. He stopped short when he saw her with Hank, eyes flicking between them, and despite the situation he couldn't help but grin. "Hey, Hank," he approached more slowly, inclining his head to the man respectfully before turning his head back to his superior. "Amatsukaze, the ship's loaded up and ready to go. We're just waiting on you and the last of security. I'll, uh, be right outside."

"Minekaze, wait," she reached a hand out to the pilot, stopping him. "I'm not going. I can't." She glanced at Hank. "I have to stay here."

He frowned. "Ma'am, we're not that pressed for room. Hank can come with us."

"I'm not going to make him choose between me and this. Besides, you don't need me. You'll have Yanagi and Kagero and Allistar." Amatsukaze stood her ground. "I'm confident you can all protect the Department's assets and make the necessary reports when the time comes."

"Amatsukaze..." The rambunctious agent looked uncharacteristically grim. "You know they're saying that the city's probably going to be overrun. And that they're targeting foreigners specifically. If they identify you, you might be lucky if they just kill you."

"I know. But I've made my choice," she told him quietly, stepping over to Minekaze. "Now please, go. Before things get any more dangerous." She wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him in a tight hug, and he embraced her back, swallowing hard.

"Yes ma'am. But I'm coming back for you, you hear me? Both of you," he took a step back, pointing between the Agent Director and the Sergeant Major. "You're gonna need someone to bail your tails out of the fire. And I'll have an empty ship once I find someplace safe to put it all down."

"Minekaze, go!"

He passed the doorway's threshold. "So don't die, damnit! You too, Hank!"

Then he was gone, and they were alone again. They could hear the gravitic propulsion system of the Firebird transport in the subterranean hanger whining, pushing the ship up so it could lift up and attempt to make it away from the hordes of Exile fighters coming in over the city, but before long even that had vanished, leaving the soldiers and the intelligence officer standing together in the empty lobby. Turning away, she pulled her rifle off her back, slinging it in a more ready position on one shoulder, resting comfortably. "What's the ETA on that company?" she asked briskly, now all business. "If we can I want to see what we can do to prepare this place for their arrival."

That's when Hank's radio crackled with the sound of someone very scared and alone calling for help.

SRS Death Jester, Meeting Room...

What arrived at Foxfire was, in a word, impressive. Over a thousand elements strong, the combined Skulk was a force to behold, dozens of Korr Wars-era battleships, carriers and heavy cruisers, hundreds of more modern frigates, pickets and converted freighters and enough transport space to field thousands of strike craft and millions of troops. Each Skulk fleet, known as Hellhounds, Ascendancy, Guillotine, Grave and Harbinger came with evidence of their past actions; the Hellhounds were accompanied by a Karaigan-made Gauntlet class Dreadnought, the Hades Rising, captured at the Battle of Arcaesis along with a number of other vessels, while Ascendancy trailed a variety of converted pirate craft, Guillotine had incorporated massive Manzing warships into their unit, Grave was bolstered by retrofitted Xenohuman freighters and Harbinger possessed formerly Pentastar Alignment vessels, including a couple of Star Destroyers modified for their needs. Slowing to a sedate drift outside the immediate vicinity of the planet, the unified Skulk took up station near Foxfire, a single transport dropping from one of the bays of the Whispers of Remorse to speed away from the five kilometer warship that was the personal vessel of the Prince over to the Death Jester. No confirmation or docking instructions passed between the craft -there was no need.

They came before the Harlequin in an even line, the Prince in the center, flanked by the Princess on his right and the High Priest on his left, who in turn had the Gentleman and the Wanderer beside them respectively. Maynghien and Erravvi were clad the same as they ever were, he in dark robes and leaning on his staff while she wore nothing and seemed entirely unconscious of that fact, while Urteil had traded out his usual wear for a charcoal suit, leather riding boots, scarlet cravat and a navy overcoat with cape, seeing the world through a thick pair of heavily tinted sunglasses, wielding an elegant cane more like a fashion accessory than a walking aid. Nightshade clasped her gauntlets before her, hardly seeming weighed down by the suit of silver-sable armor she wore, the same as her vanguard Abaddon warriors, while Silvertooth's was a deep, congealed-blood crimson, only marginally shrouded by the cloak that swept down his back. They returned bows to Ramirez in equal measure each, as stern as he was for the moment, with even the infamously mocking Sir Urteil expressionless, though Nightshade offered the man a small, comforting smile. Ears perked and swiveled as they turned their attentions to his briefing.

"It seems fitting that the Guillotine Skulk go to Meldrick," Urteil volunteered with a flick of his cane. "I have a winter home there; I am familiar with the system."

The Saint's Treasure cannot be allowed to fall into the hands of heretics and traitors, Erravvi "said" firmly, thoughts entering the minds of all present. Harbinger will defend the trove to the last. And Grave will be with us. Maynghien nodded at that, no doubt conforming to some unknown agreement. The last choice was then clear.

"It is settled, then," the Prince gave another, slighter bow than before. "Ascendancy and Hellhounds will help retake Setulan. We have always worked better together anyway," he said with a glance to his sister. It was not widely known to the general public, though evident to those in the Skulks and Churches, what had happened to Silvertooth when he and Nightshade had become separated; the heart of the old Greali Empire, and millions of attacking Danaversians, had not been destroyed by a Greali doomsday weapon as was popularly assumed. "We appreciate the help of the Church's priests in any case."

"What of the Saint himself?" Nightshade asked quietly. "If he is lost, what effort is being made to find him?"

Whispers of Remorse, Staging Hold...

Of the class that had just been held, they now all stood in orderly rows, fully dressed and armed again candles placed at strategic positions across the deck in preparation for the arrival of their comrades of the Ten. In robes over armor Shoji watched the followers of Rohr, Imri, Limur and Iode, deities of elementals, trickery, the natural and war, file in to stand before the ranks of Bodom Cultists, mud browns, kaleidoscope colors, frost azure and decorated pales standing out in front of so much solid black. Easy enough to guess why they were here, but his thoughts were not on that when he gazed at the woman in the blank armor of Iode, probably barely out of her teens, given her own decorum by long, flaxen hair like spun gold, a loveliness that would have pegged her for a priestess of Grafen were it not for her suit and the expression of hardness on her light face. The kitsune was so taken by her that he didn't even notice the Waymistress hug the Brother Captain, though he did start at the psionic crack like a snapping whip over his mind, dragging his attention back to her guiltily. It hadn't been meant for him, but it wouldn't do to draw her wrath in front of these guests -or that beautiful warrior.

"A long time, old friend, since we climbed the mountains of Fru. It seems like ages."

"Too long, then," she told him with a gentle smile, taking a step back from the embrace, switch hanging from the waistband of her robes. "To make such an ascension again...I shiver at the thought. But we have greater challenges ahead. You are here to prepare my students for such trials. You should find them quick learners." Den looked over her shoulder, eyes raking along the group of young Cultists. "I have ensured it."

XNV Gladiatrix, Office...

The hologram that coalesced before Tenck displayed a gray vixen, mostly a dark slate color with parts of her, including her lower jaw, palms, the insides of her ears and the tip of her tail a lighter silver. Beauty was subjective of course, but there was certainly no denying that it was a buxom chest that filled out her government-issue officer's uniform, an urban gray pattern that matched her coat almost perfectly and made her tightly done head of hair appear to be little more than an extension of her clothes. Yet her face had a certain domineering severity to it, sharp snout and cool orange eyes making her look more suited to drill sergeant than Colonel, though no one could question her effectiveness. No one seemed to know exactly where Kuya had come from, even the official records on her were sparse, but what few credentials she did have -ExCom apparently swore by her- were solid and she'd been with XenoArmy since before the Battle of Arcaesis, serving there admirably albeit in a much more junior role as a logistics officer. Now there were not a few Darsun Indigenes dead by her hand thanks to a "slash 'n burn" campaign by her division on Darsun I, and her handling of putting down that insurrection had earned her a place in the first wave against the Exiles.

"Fleet Admiral," she greeted him crisply with a salute followed by a bow.

“Colonel, please by all that is good and beautiful tell me you know where we’re going to meet up with AXIS. I’ve already gotten three different possible staging systems just in the last hour, and I got word from High Command we might just head off to Setulan Prime and ‘link up’ with AXIS, whatever that means. If you give me as bad an answer as Admiral Jarrar off in his Aigaion did when I rang him up after he ‘Gated in, I’ll have to drift over to your transport group and give you and General Horrawa a piece of my mind, and it won’t be pleasant. So, that being said, where’re we going,‘zactly?”

Kuya allowed herself a tiny smile. "With all due respect, sir, trying to 'link up' with AXIS at Setulan would be a terrible move. If this is going to work we need to be able to coordinate. To that end, the staging point is the same place where these things are traditionally done; Xiscapia itself. That is where the main Alversian force will meet the Xiscapian one, and if they have any sense, that is where the other AXIS and allied fleets will show too."

Setulan System...

Jaunt Portals yawned to life by the hundreds across the Setulan System, ebony-eyed vortexes surrounded by swirling navies and lavenders sprouting as far across the length and breadth of the light-year of space as the local inhibitor fields would allow. Spars of metal disgorged sensor probes and nuclear-pumped grazer mines, spreading their payloads into the void, rendered briefly invisible by bursts of jamming and then fading into the background radiation as they settled on different trajectories, all headed in different directions with the drones turning their sensors to Setulan Prime and the surrounding moons in an effort to peer into the space around the contested planet. Hunting these floating interlopers down would be difficult, they were too small to show up on most scanners and it was practically impossible to tell what might be a probe, piece of scrap or lurking mine until a ship got close -within range of a trap's bomb-pumped gravitic energy weapon. Even if nothing could be revealed now, the drones would eventually be able to witness movements by light alone, and if the Exiles wanted to hunt them down then they would have to spread vessels out to find them, almost inevitably to have at least a few fall prey to the mines. The event was not a mighty blow, but it would do its job well enough.

And even now, more were being prepared for the other Setulanite systems of the Home Galaxy.

[Setulan]

http://forum.nationstates.net/viewtopic.php?uid=267&f=5&t=227408&start=0 OOC Thread. Yay!

Frayn, Veto

"Thirty seconds to impact! Lock and load!"

The small compartment of the drop ship-bouncing around as it avoided streams of flak and missiles that attempted to smash it out of the thin air-echoed with the solid click of magazines being slammed home and rounds being chambered.

"Remember your training! Teach these Exile fucks the meaning of pain. Infiniti!"

"Forever faithful!"

"Infiniti!"

"FOREVER FAITHFUL!"

"Kill for the Republic! Kill for your families! Kill for freedom!"

"Hooah!"

Everyone felt a kick in the ass as the retro jets fired, slowing the insane descent of the drop ship in time to prevent everyone inside from dying in a fiery pyre before battle could even be joined. With a screeching hiss the doors dropped and the soldiers of the Third Combat Detachment were on the move. Tracers flashed overhead as they came under fire immediately and one of their number was hit, transfixed by a glowing round that blasted him apart messily and showered gore on those closest to him. The rest drove on, firing as they ran for cover.

The heavy guns of the drop ship opened up, sending hails of Setulan Steel from the mounted Banshees screaming into suspected fire positions to suppress anything that might be in waiting. The battle thundered and howled all around as Infiniti mortar teams-usually relegated to other duties during ship operations-opened up and started to blast apart entrenched machinegun nests.

Diving into cover behind a blown up light armored vehicle that resembled a Maxellian, Xiscapian Imperial News (junior) foreign correspondent Natsuko peaked her head around cover to get a better view of the battlefield. In the corner of her eye, a little light began to flash-her substation had found an FTL communicator to send out her broadcast. Taking a deep breath, the young Kitsune-barely out of her intern phase-began to speak.

"Hello? Can anybody hear this?"

A slight delay-the relay was not a good quality.

"Yes, yes, we've got you. This is Sakura Hichi, Imperial News desk. Who is this?"

"This is Junior Correspondent Natsuko here, on Veto in the Setulan system-"

She ducked quickly and billions of viewers across AXIS space, watching the first live broadcast from the war-torn system, could distinctly hear the smack of close impacts.

"Sorry about that!" There was a definite note of barely contained panic in the young lady's voice, but everyone could tell she was doing her best to hold on to her professionalism. The camera view somewhat jerkily peeked around another part of the ruined armored vehicle to take in the view. Two corpses wearing unidentifiable armor lay in the blasted out street as the camera automatically zoomed to focus on a squad of Infiniti troopers tossing grenades through pockmarked concrete windows.

"I'm on Veto in the middle of an assault by the...actually, I don't think I should say, but I'm here with Republican forces assaulting Frayn. The bubble city actually fell in the first few hours of the invasion, but Theater-General Istvaan launched a counterattack with short orbit drop ships. I got a space in one of the ships with a squad that was down a man." And Qonn, what a mistake that was!

"Natsuko, can you tell us anything about the general situation? We just don't know what's going on, we're getting random scattered reports and it's just chaos."

"Chaos is the right word!" In the background the squad of Infiniti breached the building they had just thrown their grenades into and more gunfire rang out followed by screaming that could be heard even from the reporter's vantage. "It's been a mess here. We don't know what's going on anywhere else in the system or the rest of the Republic. There are rumors going around that Shez has already fallen, but that's unconfirmed. I don't even know how we're still in the fight, the sheer numbers they have are mind boggling."

A hard bang, and the camera view went flying dizzily backwards as Natsuko screamed.

"Natsuko? Natsuko!" The camera was still. A power armored figure in Infiniti colors came into focus and began to drag the Kitsune. Coughing from behind the helmet camera, and the view shifted again.

"I'm...I'm alright! I think. I think I am."

"Dumb fucking reporter, keep your fucking head down or you'll get fucking killed! Come on!" The Infiniti trooper dragged the reporter to her feet and hauled her bodily away from the fighting and back behind cover.

"I'm ok! I'm ok!"

"No, you're fucking not!" The Infiniti's visor snapped up, revealing a pair of breathtakingly deep gray eyes that looked far older than the youthful skin surrounding them would indicate. "You're gods damned lucky. Your shields collapsed from that, only the bad angle stopped you from losing your head. Keep down, damnit!" Without another word, the visor snapped down and the young man ran back into the fight. For a second, the man's nameplate was seen by billions-Freeman.

"Sakura, I'm still here. I'm kind of dizzy...I'm going to sit here for a bit. I think I blacked out there for a second. I'm just going to get my bearings and then get back into it."

"Ok, Natsuko. You stay safe, and we'll hear from you soon."

The image changed, and the worried vulpes vulpes face of the anchor replaced the scene of destruction.

"I...I really don't know what to say. Such a brave Kitsune, and such sacrifice by those troopers...ladies and gentlemen, that was the very first live broadcast out of Setulan during this crisis..."


Black Iron Ridge, Bartasson, Setulan

Another broadcast was going out on the heels of the one by the tenacious and completely out of her depth Natsuko. Harry Newman was a familiar sight to see for most viewers of the most popular Alversian news network. The gray haired patrician looking man was one of the best known war correspondents in AXIS, and had covered everything from the SASM to the thirteenth Danaversian War. After surviving (another) serious wound in the line of work during the assault on the Danaversian fortress planets, he had opted for a cushy, easy job to ease his way into retirement as the senior foreign correspondent for Setulan.

As he stood calmly in a blasted out warehouse, he couldn't help but think that fate had an awful sense of humor.

"I'm here at Black Iron Ridge almost six hours into the invasion of the Republic by the Exiles. Those who have made a study of Setulan history know that Black Iron Ridge was the sight of a major battle during the early days of the Great War, and it seems like this location can't get a break." Tracers whickering overhead didn't even phase him or his cameraman. His voice had a deep, always calm timbre that made the audience trust him implicitly, and he never seemed to get excited no matter how grave the situation became.

"As you all know, Bartasson is almost entirely devoted to heavy industry and is therefore not conducive to maneuver warfare. We haven't seen much yet in the way of the famed Republican tank divisions, but the fighting has been nonstop and vicious. There just isn't any order here, Jim, and it doesn't look like there will be soon. Local commanders are just acting on instinct and training, fighting a delaying game and bleeding the Exiles dry for every meter of ground they take." A huge explosion-clearly artillery-erupted behind him. He didn't flinch, though the camera shook a little as the man holding it twitched.

"What we're seeing here is just awful. Talking to some of the soldiers moving to the-not the front, there is no front, but to the fighting-they know they're going to die. There is no question here, really, the Exiles just have too many troops down. The numbers are wide ranging, but it looks like somewhere between fifty and a hundred million, and the Republic just hasn't been able to get a force ready to fight them. There have been some indications of somebody taking charge, but all the senior leadership was assassinated in the opening stage of the attack."

There was a heavy rumbling and the camera panned around, revealing a column of vehicles moving to towards the two men. Leading the way was one of the Republic's MBTs, the dangerous Fury, and it was followed by four infantry carrier variants of the Maxellian. The Fury rolled to a stop behind some debris as the infantry dismounted and ran to cover, setting up firing positions for their crew served weapons.

"It looks...yes, it looks like a mechanized platoon is about to take a stand here. We're going to get out of their way and go off the air for a bit in case the Exiles are tracking on this signal. This is Harry Newman reporting live from Bartasson for the People's News."

La Grange Hive, Exoman, Setulan

"BRACE FOR IMP-"

The concussive force of the impact rocked the entire city level and two above it, but most in the largest of the Republic's massive hive cities didn't even feel it. The mass reactive shell erupted, blasting apart the structural marvel on four whole city levels. Immediately behind the huge shell came swarms of dropships. They swooped into the giant hole, still bleeding smoke, and began to disgorge Exiles as the support weapons built onto the ships sent streams of fire into screaming civilians.

On all of Setulan's might hive cities, a similar scene was being repeated. It hadn't taken long, but war had returned to the Hives.


Queen's Quarters, CAS

“I assure you, Brigadette, that we will not allow Setulan Prime to suffer for a moment longer than it has to. We are gathering our strength and trying to get a clear picture of what is happening. If we rush in now, we risk enormous casualties for no gain. Have your troops ready to move out at the earliest possible opportunity and you will be kept informed of any developments. Your nation and the Republic are closely linked. Did you pick up any intelligence or data that might be useful before Setulan Prime went dark?”

A stubborn look that showed that the Queen had no qualms with enormous casualties, a mindset the Alversian knew all too well was echoed throughout her nation.

"No. We were as taken aback as you. All our forces on the planet went black, and we haven't received word yet. Though we are hopeful. With all our troops on the ground, there are bound to be FTL communicators somewhere." She looked thoughtful. "But you are busy. Go, speak to the Senate." Her tone was wry. As a borderline absolute monarch, she wasn't particularly keen on the idea of a Senate in the first place.

As the Owens signed off, Bridgette sighed and stepped away from her desk to the window. Looking out she saw columns of heavily armored troopers walking down the wide highways towards the spaceport. Towards a war she wanted to fight in, but that she would be forced to sit out back home. With another heavy sigh, she returned to her desk and got to work.


Farren Sen, Council Chambers

Ambassador Waters nodded politely at the information that the Sen were mobilizing.

"I am pleased to hear of your increased readiness, and will pass on that information to whomever is in charge in Foxfire at this time. I am also pleased to hear of the Clans preparing themselves. They will be an invaluable asset to this fight." He shifted slightly.

"As for the R.A.A.D., we are so far not receiving any word of sabotage within joint units. Neither the Bloodletters nor the Joint Army have reported any attacks as of yet. Therefore, I suggest that they are mobilized as well and sent with any of your other forces to Foxfire."


I.I.D. Headquarters, Setulan Prime

Hank answered his radio immediately after a farewell weave to Minekaze.

"Kathrine? Gods, I thought you were dead. Get your ass over to the I.I.D. Headquarters ASAP. Take 24 North-it should be clear of hostiles, we just did a sweep."

Closing out his vox, he turned back to Amatsukaze.

"A friend from the Sen embassy. I thought she'd been killed in the strike that took out the Hall of Justice or died defending the SSA's embassy. They were just overrun." He shook his head. "To answer your question, the company should be here any minute. They'll be hoofing it on foot. Exile craft are getting through our air defenses and hosing down anything armored they see." As if to highlight his point, an explosion rocked the city. It was followed by renewed screams from all around.

That was when the noise hit them. Even far away and insulated in their armor, the sound was powerful enough to rock windows in their frames from the sheer power of it. Perturbed, Hank looked around.

"No idea where that came from or what it was. Probably nothing good." He turned back. "With our air defenses getting winnowed out, we need to start thinking about more troops being dropped on us and the enemy hitting the Gap from both sides. The Gorge can take it, but not for long. Our expectation of a day before they fell might have been a tad optimistic."

He cut off abruptly. Walking purposefully past the two law enforcement agents was a large gaggle of maybe twenty Setulans, overwhelmingly in their late teens and early twenties. All looked raggedy, and all were carrying an assortment of weapons that were largely illegal. Hank's jaw clenched, but he purposefully turned his back on the group and let them go on their way.

"Sabers. The gangs are coming out to fight the Exiles." He laughed bitterly. "It's strange. Every instinct tells me to gun them down where they stand, but practicality gets in the way."


Alversian Embassy, Setulan Prime

Lieutenant Rielen, like everyone else in the area, was badly affected by the noise that ripped across the city. For all that, she had the exact same reaction as Nolan.

"Go now! Move, move, move!" She hustled after the Alversian and her escort out the back door to where a convoy of up-armored engineer utility vehicles were waiting, gunmen in their cupolas swiveling the big K2 machineguns back and forth. Even as the ambassadress came out of the building there was a shout and a bang that blasted one of her bodyguards clean off his feet, a gaping hole in his armor leaking viscera and smoking slightly. The Setulans and Alversians returned fire immediately at the squad of black armored figures that had ambushed them. Nolan bodily threw Seward into the armored vehicle and jumped in himself, fired by Rielen.

"Go! Get us out of here!"

K2 thundering as it sent huge shells at the infiltrators, the four vehicle convoy roared out of the back street and started to make illegal turns down tight alleys. After a minute or so, the pitch of the gunfire changed and it was clear that the MPs and Alversian guards left at the embassy were making their stand.

Rielen let out a long breath as the convoy roared away down the tight streets before turning back to the Alversian diplomat.

"We can't go on the main roads. Exile aircraft are strafing the hell out of military convoys. We'll try to get you out of the city, but there's no guarantee we'll be able to do it before the main Exile force breaks through."


SRS Death Jester

The Harlequin nodded in agreement with the choice of deployment of the Skulks before Nightshade asked the question that he had been dreading.

"What of the Saint himself? If he is lost, what effort is being made to find him?"

"Horus has sent out almost half of the Inquisitors, but we fear that it is a lost cause." He looked truly pained as he said it. "We simply cannot spend too many resources searching for him when it is likely that he is dead. You all felt the psychic whiplash. We of the Ten felt it more keenly, I assure you. That pain...I cannot imagine anything, not even the Saint, surviving such. If we can, we will find his body and perhaps the whereabouts of the Legion that accompanied him. They would be invaluable in this fight. But our hopes are not high." His head bowed.

"I retain hope that he lives, as should you. I will hold on to hope until the day I lay eyes on his body, and then I will hope still. For while his physical being may have been destroyed, his message will resonate throughout the stars for all of time."


Whispers of Remorse, Staging Hold

The Battle Captain nodded and turned away from the Waymistress, removing his helmet and handing it to a waiting War Priest. The face underneath was bluff but still retained a youthful vigor, wings of gray just beginning to form at his temples. With a last smile at Den, he turned towards her pupils and stepped forward.

The War Priests of Iode were not arrogant in demeanor, but their armor chronicled their deeds in exquisite detail. Indeed, the armorers of the War God were known as much for the beauty of their etchings as the quality of their weapons. A War Priest wore his achievements on his armor proudly, and the higher ranking members of the order had armor chased in brilliant gold and silver designs. While most of the time the decorations were metaphorical and symbolic, the greatest achievement of the warrior was etched onto their chest plate in as literal a fashion as possible.

With the Battle Captain facing the Cultists, they could see what adorned his armor. Square in the center of his chest was an image of the Setulan running a giant tusked lizard through with a glowing silver sword as he stood atop the corpse of another, towering mountains in the background. Standing behind him and covering his back was the unmistakable figure of a Kitsune in the robes of a Cultist. His personal heraldry was emblazoned on the Company markings on his left pauldron while gold and silver angels fought demons and monsters that could only be Clak-Tok on other segments of his plate. Casually drawing a sword that pulsed gently with golden waves of energy, he began to speak.

"I am Battle-Captain Kion, and I am going to prepare you to survive the coming war. Few if any of you have direct experience with fighting alongside the God-Touched. None of you have experience fighting against them. You must see what they can do."

His blade began to spin and sweep around him as he spoke, and it became readily apparent that Kion was a swordsman of no small skill and quite likely a master of his craft.

"Some of the heretics will use the elements against you."

Icicles formed out of thin air, razor sharp and long as a man's arm, and darted towards the Setulan. He smashed them aside with his twirling blade and continued to speak.

"Some can create illusions that baffle the mind, confusing you until the real threat strikes."

Out of the air appeared four more Kions, all twirling the same sword in different patterns and speaking the same words.

"The most dangerous will use time itself as a weapon."

As the illusions of Kion disappeared he seemed to slow down. No words could be heard coming out of the time lock he had been placed in, and his actions seemed sluggish. The effect lasted about six seconds before it stopped and time resumed its pace. With a last flourish, he slid his shining sword back into his sheathe.

"You must learn to protect not just yourself, but others from these types of attacks. Many of us will not be sent to fight the heretics alongside our brothers and sisters but rather with other AXIS soldiers. They are defenseless against such tricks of the mind and body. We must keep them safe, with our lives if necessary." He turned back to the Waymistress. "Let us split them up and begin the training. I fear we have little time before they must use it, and I want to get in as much experience as possible."


Setulan System

The Grazer Mines and probes launched into the system by the Xiscapians were almost worthless. Though it was true that they were hard to detect, they were far from impossible to find. Vast swarms of fighters running combat patrols throughout the system honed in on the probes and mines and began to engage, blasting many out of the void before they could get a good picture.

Even those that managed to escape the wave of destruction that rolled over them were hardly effective. All the Xiscapians monitoring the signals could get was vast bulk of ships, of unknowable number or size, that seemed to be centered around Setulan itself with clumps clustered around the moons. There was one thing that they could read well enough, however.

Blink jumps. Lots of them, and all entering the system.

[Alversia]

Marshall House, Illesia

Reyes paced up and down in the command room like a restless panther, her tail flicking ever so often as she was deep in thought, running over everything that had happened. Her eyes were heavy, for it was late into the night on Alversia and she had gotten considerably less sleep than she needed all week. Only the thoughts of what was happening on Setulan, and what the inevitable response would be, kept her going. There was still plenty of activity surrounding her to keep her busy anyway. Reports were coming every few minutes, a side effect of her demand to know everything had happened within her own navy. A couple were the initial sensor data from the probes to outlying Republican systems. Sure enough, they too were under siege, though not by the same numbers of this data was anything to go by. Again, that data which made it back was frustratingly brief and vague as to the details of what was going on. Most of the probes had been destroyed within seconds of their arrival, leaving only wreckage. There was one thing to be said for the Exiles, they were certainly on the ball when it came to snooping.

“Ma'am?” Reyes' ears perked as she heard the familiar voice of her second in command, Sasha had returned with a small data disk in her hand. Without so much as a word, she indicated to the console in front of her and stepped back. The Alvo-kitsune Officer slipped the drive into the slot before she joined her Commander, each watching as a three dimensional model of the Exile colonial ships appeared. It spun a few times, allowing her to see every side of it before it slowly began to peel away to reveal everything to do with the interior, from the number of rooms to the thickness of the bulkheads to the positioning of the wiring. These were the plans that had been sent by the Setulanites just prior to the Exile ships departing from the Home Galaxy. She examined them with a keen eye, pupils flicking over every little inch.

It was pretty much as she had feared. She remembered glancing over the plans then the ships were build and thinking even then that they were a risk. Now that she looked closely, she just wanted to groan. The plans were horribly out of date obviously, but even in the design of this supposedly innocent construction she could see the bare-bones of a warship. The core was heavily armoured and latticed, the power systems were designed for far more juice than any civilian ship would ever need and the power core was capable of delivering it. Even towards the exterior, it was obvious that it had been built for survivability above all else. In her own head, she began to imagine what she would do in their position, assuming the worst case that resources were no object and she was horrified by what she could come up with. It was a fleet-killer in everything but name, and there were currently two of them floating above Setulan Prime.

Lord almighty, this was not going to be fun...

“Ma'am! Switch to Channel 1!” one of the Officers manning a sensors console jerked up to look her.

With a flick of her hand, Reyes turned on one of the many screens in the room. She found herself watching the Republican Network News, RNN, the most watched channel in the entire People's Republic. She recognised the man who was speaking; Harry Newman was a veteran of military news and had interviewed her many times. Her undying impression of him was a man who could pierce the soul with a single question and had an alarmingly in-depth knowledge of Alversia and her military. He was in action it seemed, delivering a deadpan and entirely calm report even as a battle seemed to rage just out of shot. She could only stare until it was over. Well, now at least they knew something.

She felt like the Prime Minister was going to have a nightmare with this one.

The Officer was distracted seconds later by the appearance of Borndecker's transmission, which pretty much confirmed everything she had assumed and guessed about the state of the Republic. That he had survived was a bonus. That he could give her little more information was not such a great thing. Even as she despaired over the rapid degradation of events, she found a small sapling of hope from the two transmissions. They were from Setulan. That meant transmissions were coming out. It was small, but it was a start.

Icoras House, Illesia

“180 combat vessels, 120 transports, and a first wave consisting of the 3rd XenoMarine Brigade and the XenoSoldiers of the 2nd Army, with transport-ferrying to keep the frontlines manned. Yes, forward bases would be much appreciated; as reliable as the Jaunt Gates are, getting munitions and rations and the like to our men is going to be impossible without local resources.”

Vastos nodded his head to show that he understood. There were plenty of forward bases that the Alversian Army did not use that would serve the purposes of the Xeno forces coming through. The additional troops would not put a strain on their resources, at least not yet. At the moment, his concern was to get as many bodies onto Setulan as he could and if he could facilitate an ally doing this then there was no reason for him to withhold the offer. Of course, there was only so much they could do with the radically different logistics chain but he was sure that a compromise could be sorted out.

As the man vanished, Vastos offered him a bow of the head in respect before he turned to the Emperor of Xiscapia, “Emperor Rose,” he said in his soft, sombre voice, “I am sure you are a busy man these days. I will not keep you.” The transmission was cut now that their business was done. The Deputy Prime Minister had plenty to keep himself occupied with here in Icoras House, though thankfully he was not doing it alone. In spite of his age, Aiden Mallon was like a breath of fresh air around the place. His warm smile and kind words seemed to give all a lift while the manner in which he handled the press inquiries was nothing sort of artwork. It was incredible how a man could look so soothing, so in control and yet give away nothing. He revealed small truths and some well known facts but not anything would compromise operations or put Sammi in a difficult position. Vastos could only hope that he would one day develop the skill that Mallon had acquired over a century of political works.

The news report was watched here too, as was the Xiscapian broadcast, but very quickly they moved to deal with it. A team from the ISS attempted to send a feedback packet through the same channel, in the hopes of forming a reliable communication, while Mallon took a deep breath and dived into the latest questions from the press. He would only handle so much though, the rest would be down to Sammi.

It was going to be a long night...

The Senate Building, Illesia

With all our troops on the ground, there are bound to be FTL communicators somewhere. But you are busy. Go, speak to the Senate."

She knew it was a long shot that the Allied States would have heard anything more than her own people but it was worth asking nonetheless. As it was, they had all been caught off guard. She was a little concerned by the CAS' total lack of regard for casualties, the same lack of regard that would have seen their troops jump into a slaughter. She was pleased that she had managed to stay that for at least a little while, until they could get troops on the ground and ships into orbit. Then they would all spill blood together. It was not a pleasant thought but it was better than the CAS throwing away their lives in their enthusiasm.

“Well, if you hear anything further or do you get in contact with your ground troops then please contact me immediately,” She bowed her head, “I will speak to you later. Be ready for a summons soon, we will be discussing what to do.”

The connection was cut, though the surly expression on the young Monarch's visage spoke volumes of her mood and her opinion on what was happening. She resented being held back but she knew it was for the best. For now, the CAS would play ball, but it would take long for them to lose patience and resume their original plan. The woman was obviously keen to get into action herself but she knew that her place was on the home front, just as Sammi knew her place. She admired rulers like Foxfire who could throw themselves into battle with such a carefree attitude but she was not and never had been, a soldier. She would do what she could from here and it would have to be enough.

“Ma'am, it's time for your broadcast,” one of her aides politely informed her. Owens nodded to show she understood and headed from the room. It was a quick jaunt across to the conference room from which she would address the nation. It had been on standby since the attack with cameras and lights already set up and ready for their ruler. The Director and various technical personnel nodded to her as she entered before resuming their pre-checks. The last thing that needed to happen was a technical fault in such an important address. Owens could remember when she had first addressed the nation; good god, she couldn't stop her hands from shaking and, objectively, it was a terrible performance. She had lost her way twice and corrected herself far too many times for it to be smooth. Ironically, it seemed to endear her more to the public rather than alienate them.

Now though, she was much more confident, much more in control.

As she settled behind her desk, with the symbols of the Eye, the Hammer, the Harp and the Sword just behind her, representing each of the major races of the Republic and, in the middle, a red rose to unify them together, one nation and one people.

“Ma'am, you need to see this!” One of the Aides burst into the room, carrying a small monitor under his arm. He showed the broadcast to the Prime Minister, who felt her blood run cold at the images. Newman was an old acquaintance. A friend and an opponent, he had grilled her more than once but he was always a friendly man. To see him in the middle of a war zone once again was heartbreaking.

“Ma'am, we're ready. All broadcasters report online.”

With a sign, Owens leant forward and knitted her fingers together. She had no script prepared, no idea what she was going to say. It would have to come from the heart.

With a single gesture from the Director, she was live,
“Good evening. No doubt you have pieced together what is happening by now, given the report from Mister Newman, but I will repeat it nonetheless. Just over an hour ago, the Setulan Republic came under deliberate and unprovoked attack by a group known as the Exiles. I will not lie, the situation is grim. Setulan is under siege, communications are down and the enemy makes ground. I do not need to inform you that the Alversian Republic has honoured the AXIS alliance and has declared war upon the Exiles.

“I know this is not what we wanted. With the menace of the Danaversian Empire finally lifted, a feat for which we paid our fair share in blood, we had looked forward to long years of peace and growth. Alas, fate has a habit of playing by her own rules. I will not sit here and spout the usual clichés. You have seen too many Prime Ministers sit here and speak of the same things. I will say only this; the Alversian People's Republic has seen too much of war, she has seen too much of bloodshed and pain to be unblemished by it. War is not in our blood, we are not an aggressive nation. There are, however, a few things which we hold very close to our hearts. The Setulan Republic are allies, but they are more than that. They are our friends. It is written into the Constitution of the Alversian Republic, the keystone on which this nation was founded, that all races in this Galaxy must have the right to choose their own destiny.

“Today, Setulan's destiny has been wrenched from her, taken by those who seek only suffering and ruin upon her people. We, as a nation, cannot stand by and watch as our allies, our friends suffer! It is not in our blood to watch a friend in need and do nothing. We will not stay silent! We will not turn our backs or watch from the sidelines while a nation burns. We, as a single people, must step forward and offer our hand to those who have fallen! We must stand shoulder to shoulder with them, suffer where they suffer, and, if needs be, place ourselves in harms way so they are not.

“My fellow Alversians, I will not pretend that this will be easy. There will much pain and many tears before the end. But then, you have already accepted this, as we always have. We do not set down this path because it is easy, but because it is right. Tonight we, the united people of the Alversian Republic, will send a message to Setulan. We stand with you. War is not in our blood. This. This is what is in our blood. Marshall Smith once called upon the people of the Republic to do better, to be better. Today, we show her how far we have come.”

Alversian Embassy, Setulan Prime

Steward looked around wildly for the source of the noise, wondering what it had been to cause such an infernal racket. Before she could look very far though, she was grabbed around the waist by Nolan and almost lifted bodily from the compound. She turned back to look at the detail who would stay behind, those who had agreed to sacrifice themselves simply to let her get away. It wasn't fair! Why was she so important all of a sudden? Why was her life suddenly worth more than theirs? She tried to struggle out of his arms, but to no avail. The big Alversian held her firmly in his grip as they reached the convoy.

One of the Alversian troops with her was thrown back with what sounded like a cannon shot coming from nearby. In an instant, the bodyguards spread out to engage the figures on the other side of the street, their rifles roaring in their hands as rounds tore through the buildings and into the soft bodies of the enemy. With the K2 Machine gun deafening her, Steward was thrown into the back of the APC and quickly followed by Nolan. As the door shut and the armoured hulk roared off into the city, the Alversian troops staying behind moved back to the cover prepared in the grounds of the Embassy. This was where they would make their stand. This was where they would fight to the end.

Steward's last memory of her embassy was of a shell smashing into the upper floor, tearing through what she knew was the upper reception room. With her memories ablaze, it was left to Nolan to speak,
“We'll try to get you out of the city, but there's no guarantee we'll be able to do it before the main Exile force breaks through."

“If we can stay away from the major fighting, it'll help. Are there plans to fall back into the city when the gap falls?”

[Sennai]

Setulan Prime
Almost immediately the Radio's static crackle was broken, Kathrine nearly crashed the car in shock and no small amount of releif as Hank directed her.
"T-take more than a couple of exiles to stop me Sarge, Im putting the boot down, i'll be there as soon as i can."
The bravado bred from being in the company of the Setulan MP's for too logn was in the nekomi's voice, but it was a shaky tone carrying with it anxiety, fear and a little amount of pain.
Kathrine yanked the wheel around, the embassy car screaching round a corner and denting it's door in a collision with a parked convertable. Ignoring the crunch of twisted metal She pushed harder on the accelerator, the engine responding with a angry growl. for a few minutes it became clear that, for now, she had escaped any Exile retribution.

It was now, with peace and quiet that Kathrine took stock of her situation. She was alone, had maybe three clips for her pulse rifle, two spare mags for her Ultor Enforcer .50 handcannon and when it came down to it, her Shock rod. "Not alot..." she thought to herself.
With the adenelin wearing off she bgan to feel the aches and pains assosiated with runnign and gunning in a fight, most of it she was used to but there was a fresh sensation in her left leg. Glancing down She could see blood leaking from the plates of her armour, a probign hand confirmed it and when she pressed on the clutch to change gears it pained her.

"I've been shot..."

a more thurogh examination proved the hypothesis true, a hole in the floor of the car, If she had to guess it was a ricochet that had bounced through the floor, her sheild unable to protect her from such a close range missile, and had unluckily for her found a groove in her armour to exploit lodging itself behind her shin. However she was prepared for this.
With a thoguth she activated the MK IV Armours boosters, flooding her system with adreneline, pain killers and healing nanobots. it was far from a logn term solution but it would stop it getting anyworse. As promised, 24 north was clear of hostiles, Exile bodies littered the street aswell as a bunt out Maxellian APC, with a push on the accelerator and a jerk of the wheel Kathrine avoided the roadblock. making her way to the I.I.D headquarters. Pulling to a hard stop feeling a little light headed now, she retrived her rifle and helmet Pushing it back on her head, With a flick of the handle the door opened and Kathrine stepped out of the vehicale, ignoring protocall to shut the door, Kathrine began to limp her way to the main gate.

Dominaria, Home Galaxy.

Dominaria was one of the few Sen Colony worlds on the home galaxy side of the Sen Jaunt gate. shut down for the duration. This was an annoyance to tourists, traders and a whole manner of other people.
"This is not good for business..."

Kunai Skylera sat feet up in her ships cockpit. muttering angrily, she listened to the tonal music on the other end of her comms, it was interupted by a Katya adminastrative androids calm tones

"We're sorry miss Skylera, you dont have the nessacery clearance to jump from Dominaria to the Sen system at this time, the gate is closed to the public due to an emergency of a serious nature"

Kunai groaned "...allright, allright. i guess i'll have to hitch a ride to chalbys or nother jaunt gate huh?"
The calm voice of the katya crackled on the other end of the link "Endevour to do so Miss Skylera, perhaps you may have more luck there" with that the link went dead.

Putting her head in her hands kunai raged "Vashinay! Bloody stupid piles of red friggen tape. why the hell is the gate shut down!" in other cockpits or bridges, many people were finishign similar conversations and having similar reactions. this time kunai's communicator beeped again. it was her freidn and support techie, Ingrid hunnigan.
"Whats up hunnigan?" Kunai asked the image of the sen woman typing away at her computer

"Whats not, setulans been invaded, AXIS is at war and your on the wrong side of the gate to meet with the fleet at foxfire and offer your services."

"wait what?! ahh cycles turn! your telling me the republic, The "six foot muscle men with guns that shoot bullets the size of my fist dont take crap from anyone" Republic has been invaded?! how bad and what Whacko decided THAT would be fun..."

"the very same republic kunai, and it's bad, it's gone almost totally dark but reports indicate it's the exiles. on this scale they could use some serious help." hunnigan nodded looking worried.

"I'll see what i can do hunnigan, i'll try and hitch a ride to Xiscapia or alversia and put my name forward for the war effort." Kunai nodded and cut the link. "Ah hell this is bad...bad bad bad....i better call sakaki. Hank...minekaze?" all seemed good choices but came with their own drawbacks. if AXIS was at war and setulan had gone dark, then those three would likely be busy as it was. "i just hope to the cycles there all okay...."

Xiscapia KINHQ

Commander Taka eyed her newest report from the Admiralty. It was one she had been expecting but not one she was prepared to execute, she had never done it before.
"first time for everything..." Taka mumbled as she put the pad down and pushed it into a desk drawer. "Twilight, keep the transmission link up. we've got a special directive."
what could be mistaken for taka's wrist watch spawned a replica of the Celestia's A.I program, a purple haired sen teen with a deep pink stripe in her hair, she wore, perhaps as a mark of respect for where she was visiting, a Xiscapian Petty officers uniform. instead of ranking stripes her image displayed the Alliance interstellar navy's crest with the letters A.I emblazoned above it and SSA Celestia stitched below. "Yes ma'm, This will be fun you get to visit my world." the A.I laughed

"Yeah, yeah...it's just i've never doen this before..i'll need your help, with all the info i'll be handeling i could use an A.I assistant"

Walking down the hall Taka came to the room she was looking for and bowed to the guard who shot the A.I a funny look. "Im with the commander" was the holograms excuse. Stepping in taka spotted what she was lookign for, nestled amoung several others. Placing her palm on the ID scanner, staring into the retinal scanner she let it scan her

"<name rank and password please>"

the computer spoke in Xiscapian and taka sighed "Taka Toshi-shita, Commander SSA Celestia, AIN Liasion, Password: Fifty three years in Space." at the same time she spoke she fought to keep her eye open and not be blinded as it scanned her eye and palm.

"<Identification accepted, Welcome Commander Taka.>"

The booth hissed open and Taka took off her shoes to lay down in it. Closing her eyes she heard it hiss down at her, before stopping. Taka placed the sensors on her head and waited, the booth then hissed shut over her.
Taka's world expanded massively. she found herself floating in nothingness before Twilight appeared next to her. "Ready to go commander." Taka nodded to the A.I. With a thought, commander taka logged into the Xiscapian Navy's neural network, Simultaniously she was patched into the Sen Battlenet relays. Acting as the liasion between both systems and personal.

"Okay," she began "what have we got?"

Farren Sen, Council chambers
with the R.A.A.D in the clear for deployment, the talk moved to other matters, waters opinion asked for time and time again on various regiments that might have suited the upcomign campaign. Names were thrown around, The Mosskau regiments, The men and women of Har'lec and the Sen 55th Tactical to name but a few.
The talk was cut short as a katya arrived bringing word the Rassilion clans had met and quickly resolved themselves in an agressive stance of war agaisnt the Republic Exiles. The Fractual clans of the rassilion, only ever came under one banner every so often and it was useually by decree of their central religieous body, the Hak'Aran. a freindship forged in blood was quite hard to forget and the rassilion and Hak'Aran preisthood both, had a large debt to pay to the Republic.

[Xenohumanity]

XenoMilitary XENOCOM, Tuzus II…
Theatre Command Station: CHESSBOARD…

Alversia had agreed to serve as hostess for forward operations bases that would shortly be swarming with command teams, thronged infantry and mech formations stepping off of their city-ship transports for redeployment, and fuel-repair orbitals for the morass of warships and combat freighters that would make themselves more than at home given a roosting spot. With the ships away and the inglories squared and settled, the Federate had done it; the nation was, as far as the administration’s vox populi was concerned, in a state of war. They hadn’t announced as much, though. Everyone knew full well the Federate was a show-congress, parroting the masses with better wording and more money, but nothing moved unless Sirisi bid it happen. Here, buried in the heart of command, receiving word of the first forces arriving in Dolossus and predictably getting caught up in a bit of infighting (And to think that last wave of purges had gotten the point across, the bastards), he could have done one of two things. He could have been quiet about it; simply stated what the Federate had announced already, given it credibility, and returned to the art of war, sending his troops across the big holograph map-board down at the base of the amphitheater and started preparing the city-ship transports for unloading their thronged masses onto the moons of Setulan Prime.

In reality, that was a non-option. Rai’a Sirisi was a tyrant in the truest sense, a power-loving, glory-hungry warrior who’d killed his way to the top and would kill again if need be. He’d heard oneor two of the Fractal Terran detachments from the Galactic Assembly whisper about his nation as the ‘Reich of Beta Quadrant’, and damned if it hadn’t given him great satisfaction to hear. He had a flair for the dramatic if he fed it, throwing his hands around in speeches and roaring to try to out-shout the rage-maddened masses, having the nerve to use Five-Minute Hates meaningfully during wartime, possessed of the pragmatic brutality to plainly kill those who grew useless in his circles of command. The perfect commander for a nation angry and disgruntled for no reason and seeking something to vent against, an enemy more concept than nation-state, glorified insurrectionists like those back home, merely more dangerous and more worthy of crushing with the hammer of XenoMilitary against the anvil of AXIS’ home defense. He lamented he lacked a balcony or arena to make these sorts of declarations, but he was big and he was already looking hateful, and so he figured that when the call came he’d simply make the speech right here at home.

The wrist-comp buzzed. Rania again, prodding him about making an official statement. Not even worthy of dedicated response, best to simply get on with what would start as a stern, righteous statement but become the sort of charismatic barking and rhetoric-laden, nationalist vitriol he was known for. It was nothing more than a mental snap of the fingers and two minute’s time before the Xeno-Tech News Drone came out from the turbolift, floating over with its camera all too ready to capture everything. Sirisi stepped back behind his formal command station, a half-circle arc of glowing data screens that he quickly changed from blue to red. Raise the lights a bit, clear his throat, remember that the masses want a leader just as violence-obsessed as themselves, and he was ready. He counted one last blessing that his Binary Cog helped him get it all scripted and ready paragraph by paragraph, letting him wax eloquent on the fly to stun the galaxy with his oratory.

Three, two, one, and the red light turned on.

---

“Federals! Friends abroad of the Milky Way! Those able to hear in the beleaguered states of the Home Galaxy! It is with a mind weighed down by the incredible scope of tragedy befalling our friends and a heart roiling and restless with indignant anger that I speak today. A few short hours ago, the sovereign nation of the Setulan Republic came under attack, and its homeworld fell under siege by foes within and without. These ruthless theologues, these ‘Exiles’ from a nation that moved past them on the tides of time and morality, have beset Setulan Prime and the nation as a whole in an attempt to destroy the Setulinite people for reasons only their rabid faith can justify or rationalize. Our hearts are sunk by news of deaths Alversian, Xiscapian, and Setulan in various terrorist attacks and acts of animal sabotage against the AXIS Alliance, and I will not be afraid to say that I was likely as struck as you were by how… familiar this enemy is, how far away and yet how startlingly close at hand.

“It strikes me that it has been approximately two hundred and fifty years since the Xenohuman people first held the cup of their freedom, torn from the hands of our cruel masters and their blind, brutal faith. The Todularian Ecclasiarchy, a thing of life-staunching conservatism, ignorance, and oppression, brutalized the Xenohuman people for their many centuries, and yet when history saw fit to make things right, that people was sundered by their own creation, the drakon among them, and Xenohumanity rose up against the theocrats. The fighting was brutal, that century of trenches drawn between worlds and moons, campaigning star by star, until finally their worlds had fallen into our fold and our enemies were but vapor and dust to be scattered into space.

“We held fast against strife, against false gods and their false prophets, and came out a great and powerful people for it. Two and a half centuries we have stood as a beacon-light of knowledge, production, culture, exploration, and dare I say that we have made the galaxy a better place for our being here. This could not have been had we not had a foe to struggle against, to cleanse the iron in our hearts of impurity and make a proper, unstoppable steel of this nation. So it always has been; the drakon are a race born for fighting, and having found something worth fighting for, will fight as no other race has, can, or ever will, and the resolve, tenacity, courage, and fraternity of the xenohuman people make them the greatest allies any warrior can ever ask for. For this, I personally thank that great and worthy people for standing with us in this strife.

“But standing is not what we must do. We must march! We must march, across the great expanse that only the technology we stand for can bridge, march across this superluminal Bifrost to AXIS space and join them, for now their great time of testing has come such that we may aid them in their test! The Danaversian crisis defined their alliance, and now their alliance itself must stand against a foe that we have fought before in spirit. These rebels, these ruinous psykers who dare to lash out against their homeland in the name of gods who no longer want their service, they do not seek peace, or advancement, or anything remotely beautiful. They seek blood, blood for their screaming, starving hallucinations of religion, and they will draw it from anything they can. They must be stopped, and stop them we shall.

“I cannot count on every man, woman, and child taking up arms and flying to the front, or lining up at recruitment stations. I will not turn down the willing, but I must tell you that diminishing returns apply; the factories need workers, the schools still need teachers, and the roles that are left unfilled by the leaving of our forces must be caulked by the redoubling of the efforts of those left behind. I am counting on every citizen doing their part, great or small, to fuel our industrial complexes and financial institutions so that our fighting forces have nothing to worry about except the fighting ahead of them.

“Xenohumanity! Let me remind you that at this moment, a deployment of forces is taking place that, in its extent and scope, is the greatest our generation has ever seen! United with their AXIS comrades, the fighters of the struggles that make our nation great are already embarking from the border of the Home Galaxy to march, fight, and live out the Federation’s shining ideals. XenoNavy units commanded by the finest of our fleet’s leaders, counting among them veterans of every war and battle of our age, together with the heroes of XenoArmy and XenoMarine, are setting forth on a crusade against gods, a war against a black and awful heaven’s legionaries! The task of this war, therefore, is not merely the protection of Setulan and the AXIS alliance, but the safeguarding of their galaxy and ours, and the salvation of all that our nation fought for against the Ecclasiarchy and against the animal ignorance of violent faith. I therefore decide today to once again lay the fate and future of the Armed Federation and now the Setulan Republic in the hands of our soldiers. May your aches at heart and your rage-clenched fists tell you what must be done to secure victory, and may history see fit to write us as heroes-at-arms yet again!”

---

The XNV Sovereign…
Captain’s Nest…

Ah, the mystery vixen of 6th Division, Colonel Kuya herself. The Admiral settled into his seat, chin resting on a folded hand in an attempt to look nonplussed by her rezzing into his presence. His subordinates made little such effort, stopping what they were doing to size her up in their minds but knowing much better than to try to undress her as they would many other women in the services. Kuya had earned a bit of a reputation as a mysterious, heavy-handed, properly brutal soldier and officer, with a penchant for taking a problem as a single unit and applying a single, all-encompassing solution that never fails to shock and awe. Her time on Arceasis set her up for a quick promotion or two due to proximity with the right commanders, and combined with her suspiciously generic but perfectly credible history with other military companies and armed forces, put her in the driver’s seat during the A’spasn Revival two years ago.

Structurally, the uprising followed the same tides and rhythms as the Shifter Inssurection on Oarkaz, including the recovery of Todularian technology to but rather than trust the operation to a fairly inexpensive and efficient team of operatives, the A’spasn rebels were put down with the hammer of orbital hellfire and the steamroller of XenoArmy carpet bombing and deforestation. The Darsun cultists, much like their Oarkaz counterparts, had recovered an Omnimiracula, a psionic mass-energy converter of Todularian makefrom a bygone age, and had put it to use freely fabricating fortifications and war-assets like some sort of lunatic real-time strategy game; ask it to make a dozen tanks and those dozen tanks would be rolling out in minutes, all for the low, low price of your sovereign mind , chunk by chunk. Also like their Oarkaz counterparts, the Darsun rebels were abjectly annihilated and the archetotech destroyed for the good of the nation. Such a feat was not the mere flipping of a launch switch, however, and Kuya’s promotion to the upper echelons of the Federation’s military-industrial complex testified to the same. So it was that she was helping to spearhead the nation’s next great strategic enterprise.

To be in the presence of such a commander was an honor; to serve alongside one was chief praise from High Command. And here Tenck was bitching her out for basic intel. Oh, this was going to be a looong war. She took it very professionally as always and proved as helpful as could be expected from such a leader.

"With all due respect, sir, trying to 'link up' with AXIS at Setulan would be a terrible move. If this is going to work we need to be able to coordinate. To that end, the staging point is the same place where these things are traditionally done; Xiscapia itself. That is where the main Alversian force will meet the Xiscapian one, and if they have any sense, that is where the other AXIS and allied fleets will show too.”

“Listen, I run orbital psi-weaponry for a living, I’m not exactly a planetary logistics doctorate here. That being said,” giving a nod and a smile, “I gather that just showing up at the combat zone and hoping for anything is a bad idea.” He didn’t want to admit that her being a Xiscapian was enough credentialing for him, but that was largely the case. “I’ll be sure to pass it around and we can get this little circus train down to station in no time flat. The missives are already outgoing and we’ll be sure to get some of our Conestogas over to Alversian space to start pitching the necessary tents and lining up the supply relays. It’s been an honor, madame.”

With that, the call ended and the holography fizzled into nothing, the galaxy map rezzing in its place silently as the captain shifted in his seat and took another sip of his drink. By the time his hand had brought the thing down, the PHLUMOCS had sent the necessary missives, reprimands, and advisories to the better part of the fleet, and it’d finished the job by the time he’d gotten a lackey to take the glass off his hands, every ship had figured out where it needed to head off to. The various regattas and field-groups clustered together, puttering through space with engines alight, dancing around one-another in an AI-assisted dosey do that shrank and shrank as the ships booted their SlipSpace drives and tore off into the void a dozen at a time, leaping into clouds of miasmatic purple-grey energy that faded the moment the vessels had reached FTL…

---

Alversian Space, Montrose System…

Code: Select all

Montrose Gantry 3, this is Captain Parssus of the XNV Longhaul, defense credentials forwarded, requesting dock access for asset offload, over.

Code: Select all

Montrose Garrison, Captain Tyyr from the XNV Chakravarta phoning in, alliance IFF sending ping, ready to deliver unit assets on your ready,over.

Code: Select all

Montrose DataScape Command, this is PHLUMOCS AGI ‘Ornstein’ of the XNV Lapilazull, IFF presented, awaiting permissions to dock with station for cargo unload and systems OS translation for XENOCOM ansible direct link, over.

XenoMilitary liked to do things, to colloquialize a military philosophy of shock-and-awe, short wars of unfathomable intensity, and momentum-based operational mobility, ‘big’. Big vessels, big plans, big fleet-actions, big troop formations, and big yardsticks from victories past to measure current proceedings against, this was how XenoMil liked to move and shake. It would seem from the perspective of the People’s Republic that they’d scarcely given the thumbs up to Rai’a Sirisi before a pack of hulking vessels a hundred-plus strong had showed up on the doorsteps, bags packed and o-drop fortifications loading into bays and hangars for deployment. The authorizations would go quickly enough, the electronic shaking of hands and metaphorical exchanges of ‘how do you do’ and ‘right this way, sirs’ going over smoothly and professionally, AI’s exchanging necessary encryption codes and making sure that the Exiles had no part or parcel in the Federal fortification of the world.

As it stood, the only thing that was standing between XenoArmy and the planet below were miles and miles of atmosphere, and even that posed little threat. Even now, men and women by the thousands and the scores of tanks, mechs, technicals, transports, and jet-bikes were loading into orbit-dropping FireBase fortresses and strapping in for a hell of a ride. The finals sirens were sounding, the locks were disengaging, and soon enough, the first few massive rectangles of durocrete and heat-shielding were falling like wormwood stones, the great fires of re-entry flaring up one after another as they jetted off for their landing sites. The units would land, fortify themselves, and the passengers would disembark and begin unpacking their wares, one FireBase after another linking up into a vast network of linked stations and specializing themselves to best serve the war effort. For a logistical operation as far from home as could be, it seemed to be going swimmingly. Memories of the Telaron invasion might have leapt to mind from some of the veterans, how the whole of the planet fell in a matter of days from orchestrations such as these and the great grey chariots carrying the nation’s warriors with almost as much firepower as the warriors themselves.

The unmovable object was being erected as fast as men could manage. Now, all that was left was to track down the unstoppable force over Setulan Prime and put that quandary to rest for good.

---

Xiscapian Space, Xiscapian System…

Music to Mood By – Supreme Commander

Code: Select all

AXIS FleetCom, Fleet Admiral Tenck of the XNV Sovereign reporting for duty on behalf of Grand Fleet Six, integrating fleet-groups into command data-structure, all ships at full readiness and ready to receive order-delegations, over.

There was more than one unstoppable force in play, to be sure. For all the terror and macro-capital psy-weaponry of the Exiles, there was something to be said for XenoNavy’s Grand Fleet as it sloughed from the achromatic fog of SlipSpace and passed through the clearance-check to putter into the system proper. Merely looking at a ‘dar-screen and the hundreds of good-sized hits rolling into formation to join the rest of the AXIS force wouldn’t do it justice; looking out the bridge-window and seeing the actual vessels, the architectures of conquest that’d been far too long denied such sport would be a better step to getting there. The fight hadn’t even started and yet the vessels were in full combat formation, dreadnoughts in the leading point of spearheads, edged by cruisers and gunboats and given a rounded rear by jamming ships, missile-boats, and the transports that’d come along to join in the first-wave assail.

Tenck let himself close his eyes and take a deep sniff, imagining the smell of burning oil and tarnished metal that he’d been told near-solar space could smell like from the spacewalker repair-men aboard his vessel. All that scent needed was a touch of sulfur and a sprinkling of tibanna plasma and you’d have the very essence of war itself. The PHLUMOCS knew well enough to put a similar smell in the mind of its captain, and the relaxed smile he gave was nearly unsettling to those who looked on, the man lying in his chair likely fantasizing about the combat and relishing in the thought. If they hadn’t been thinking much the same thing, they might have been concerned, but as it stood, it only served to show their superior was more willing to enjoy the overwhelming sensations of war when they came his way, riding on Tenck’s DNI-link to the ship’s psy-core or otherwise.

XenoNavy had joined its friends on the gallows; its hand rested on the lever and its noose had been tied in the finest ships-rope around, ready to throw it over the head of the Exiles and start them on their lethal drop. All it needed now was a simple command as old as any other.
Go.

[Xiscapia]

Setulan Prime, Imperial Intelligence Department Office...

"A friend from the Sen embassy. I thought she'd been killed in the strike that took out the Hall of Justice or died defending the SSA's embassy. They were just overrun."

She nodded quickly, feeling a little relieved in spite of herself that someone had survived. The Xiscapian and Alversian embassies had been lucky to be evacuated quickly -luckier than other foreign centers that were no doubt even now shuddering and crumbling under vindictive strikes from the Exiles. "Glad she's headed this way. I have a feeling that we're going to need all the help we can get." Another glance outside confirmed that nothing friendly or hostile was moving in visual range, and she couldn't smell anything but smoke either. So far so good.

"No idea where that came from or what it was. Probably nothing good. With our air defenses getting winnowed out, we need to start thinking about more troops being dropped on us and the enemy hitting the Gap from both sides. The Gorge can take it, but not for long. Our expectation of a day before they fell might have been a tad optimistic."

Ears having flattened against her skull at the vibrating noise that had rolled over them, Amatsukaze glanced around uneasily, suddenly wondering if she was out of her depth here. Something big landing, she couldn't help thinking. "We'll see if we can't make them bleed just a little bit more," the kitsune promised him, well aware that they were only two people. Even with their own combat prowess, and Kathrine and a company of M.P.s to back them up, they were insignificant in the grand scheme of things. But that had never stopped any Xiscapian -or Setulanite, for that matter- before.

"Sabers. The gangs are coming out to fight the Exiles. It's strange. Every instinct tells me to gun them down where they stand, but practicality gets in the way."

Turning sharply as he cut himself off, her nose twitched as she eyed the rough-looking group going by, watching them warily even after Hank faced away. As the head of the I.I.D. office on Setulan she knew plenty about the Sabers and had even dealt with them on a few occasions, and she had to admit that this was one of the only situations in which she would stand by and let them go about their business unimpeded -it would be cuffs or bullets otherwise. "When there's a threat that's hellbent on destroying everything you are, it tends to make unlikely alliances," she observed. "Even Syndicate shatei joined the researchers and Imperial soldiers during the resistance on Old Xiscapia. I figure that whether it's Sabers or Exiles who get killed, better for us in the end."

Outside the embassy car shuddered to a halt with the stench of burning rubber, leaving tracks on the pavement, and as the nekomi dragged herself out of the driver's seat a shadow detached itself from the low roof of the headquarters building and dropped down ahead of her, materializing into a midnight-black kitsune with a rifle strapped to his back. The wordless specter in I.I.D. armor crossed over to Kathrine and, brokering no protest or hesitation, drew her arm across his shoulders, supporting her to get her weight off her wounded leg. He walked quickly, all but striding with her in a way that would have meant getting dragged if she hadn't been in such good shape, and in a matter of seconds they'd crossed the threshold and were descending down into the lobby. Easing her up against one wall, he dug into one of his suit's pouches and came up with a roll of medi-gel bandages. "You need to stem the bleeding," he told her simply. "I can do it if you can't, but it has to be done now. I suspect we don't have long."

Having turned towards the pair, Amatsukaze sighed, though just looking in her eyes was enough to show that she didn't really feel the exasperation she put on. "Yanagi, I thought you went with the shuttle."

"No ma'am. I figured I was more needed here than sitting in the ship's cabin." He glanced over his shoulder. "Feel free to write me up for a reprimand, Agent Director."

She couldn't help but smile. "Just get on with what you were doing." Turning her attention to Kathrine, she gave a little bow. "Agent Director Amatsukaze. Good to see that somebody made it out of the Sen Embassy."

Whispers of Remorse, Staging Hold...

All limbs drawn inside his robes, Shoji studied Kion closely, ignoring the murmurings from his fellow cultists at the impressive display. It was not all unfamiliar to him, indeed the followers of Bodom were particularly known for their control over elements including earth, fire and the very passage of time itself, but even just standing there he could sense that the way in which the man used his abilities was unfamiliar. As the Setulanite seemed to rejoin reality again the kitsune found his eyes drawn to Kion's chestplate, and he wondered if it might not need to be replaced with some greater feat by the time all of this was over. Would another cultist join him in that, too? He glanced at Den and, seeing her watching him, bowed his head marginally in deference, and her eyes slid away without comment physical or psychic.

"Let us split them up and begin the training. I fear we have little time before they must use it, and I want to get in as much experience as possible."

A wave of a tail from the Waymistress it was done, paring off entire sections of cultists to members of the Church of the Ten. Naturally there were more of the former, so each priest ended up with several of their black-robed comrades to instruct, and at the nudging of Den Shoji ended up with a few of his fellows before that same woman with the glittering hair he had noticed coming in. As they spread out, giving themselves room to maneuver, he looked at the faces of the others, another kitsune, an Alumina and a couple humans, and realized that he was the most senior cultist present in his group. So it fell to him to initiate. Raising his hands, Shoji lowered his hood, white on black as he finally made eye contact with the War Priestess of Iode.

"Well, comrade-at-arms? What have you to teach us?"

KINHQ, Xiscapia...

From where Taka was plugged into the Xiscapian neural network she had an excellent front-seat view of the current operation as a legion of sensor probes and mines intruded upon the Setulan System. The quick transition, and the fact that many of them were almost instantly intercepted and destroyed by fighters running CAP, created a constantly fluctuating stream of data that the system nevertheless handled smoothly, striking down dead feeds and keeping the live ones crisp and sharp enough to show evidence of where would-be interdicting ships were being caught in mines and destroyed in exquisite detail from a raw numbers point of view, but that was only a sideshow to the main attraction. Yet where there should have been clear scans being taken of the planet, moons and the fleet that had gathered around Setulan Prime, there was only a confused jumble, letting them in on nothing they didn't know before...save for the Blink Jumps. The fuzziness went unexplained, even over the swearing from the drone operations and monitor technicians as they struggled to resolve the sensor input. There were far too many probes that were far too spread out for the strike craft to destroy them all in any reasonable timeframe, but it seemed that wasn't going to matter.

Clear out that jamming! We need good, detailed scans, damnit!

Trying, sir.

What do you mean, you're trying? Do it!

Sir, whatever they're using to disrupt our scans isn't like anything we've encountered before. We're working on it, but we don't have any progress yet.

Then work harder, Lieutenant. The fleet can't move without its eyes and ears. Get me something, or I will cut off your tits and personally serve them on a platter to the Grand Admiral.

Yes, Commander.

Even as the dispute got underway Taka would be able to view even more of the same appearing in other Setulanite Systems in the Home Galaxy, from Vekis to the most remote mining stations. It was then that she would realize that the operation to get intelligence on Setulan Prime was but one arm of the enormous overall Survey Command structure, and there were flowing rivers, no, oceans of information being passed through every second from stations, ships and 'bots across two galaxies, a Navy moving at the speed of thought. Her brain was connected to the neural hub of the KIN itself, and the organization was as much a living thing as any one of the officers linked into it despite its seemingly compartmentalized nature. From here the Xiscapians had eyes in every one of their territories, and anywhere else they chose to put them with whatever units they cared to send.
But somehow, even they were shut out of Setulan Prime.

[Setulan]

Hero's Gorge, Setulan Prime

The volume of fire coming in down the gorge was simply mind blowing. From inside a bunker hacked into the granite of the mountainside, Sergeant Jerus numbly reloaded his rifle. The men around him were moving mechanically, no flavor to their movements anymore; six hours in the Gorge had broken them of any real spirit or hope of survival. Two of the soldiers in the bunker with him had lost their helmets somewhere in the fighting, and their eyes were completely blank as they manned their positions. If Jerus had been able to see his own eyes, he would know they were just as empty.

The seven men with him were all from disparate units. Jerus hadn't actually started the battle with any of them, and so far as he knew the rest of his platoon-hell, his company-was dead. By virtue of being the highest ranking soldier in the platoon and by surviving as long as he had, he was in command. Theirs had been a fighting withdraw from the beginning, but it was clear that it was coming to an end. There had been a glimmer of hope for an hour. For one glorious hour, it had looked like they might make a real difference in the rate of advance of the Exiles. The fifteen thousand soldiers of the Third Republican Rifles, one of the elite Republican Guard divisions, had stood strong against the waves of incoming traitors at the most defensible of the Gorge's lines, called Hell's Chokehold. Fifteen thousand men against billions, and they had held. Just as it looked like they would stem the tide the word came in that the 9th Infantry Division was on the way, battle hardened drop troops who had earned honors in the Dan War, the Crusade, and the Saur war.

Then it had turned to shit.

The 9th was blasted apart from orbit by a traitor frigate making a suicide run against the Republican GTO batteries. Instead of twenty thousand fresh and eager reinforcements, three thousand battered and bloodied men and women stumbled into the rear defensive positions to nurse wounds, not join the fight. Around the same time a renewed assault by the Exiles began. The Third Rifles died to a man in a bitter mimicry of their Praetorian ancestors, and the traitors swarmed through the Gorge howling battle cries and hymns to the Gods that sounded blasphemous and alien to the religious Republican soldiers. Not even twenty minutes later, General Hancroft stopped transmitting. That was when everyone knew without a doubt that the battle was lost.

Yet they fought on, as everyone-from Borndecker to the Prime Minister of Alversia-knew they would. Setulans were stereotyped as much as any other group, and the one trait that everybody associated with them, sometimes as a compliment and others times as a curse, was a stubborn streak a mile wide. Setulans didn't back down from a fight, ever.

And so Jerus knew he was a dead man, just as the soldiers under his command were also dead men. The last redoubt of the Gorge was under assault by fanatics even as he raised his rife to his shoulder (not the rifle he started the battle with) and fired again, and again, and again.

He was still firing when an Earthmover collapsed the bunker on his head. He died slowly, buried under tons of rubble and unable to move.


Agrimonus Alpha, Outskirts

For all the slaughter going on at military bases around the system, there were some who were better insulated. Agrimonus was a continent that was overwhelmingly flat, and its relative location on the globe meant that part of the space above was largely neutral. For any Exile warship to engage the massive tank laagers (a risky proposition in any circumstances, given they were a hundred meters underground and heavily protected by shield arrays and GTO batteries) and huge airbases around the continent's prime city, they would need to run the gauntlet of Orbital Fortress Asman. While the fortress was not in a place to engage targets on the surface, it could deny a warship the ability to hover in geosynchrous orbit and hammer targets on the ground. It was a small mercy for the troops, but they took what they could.

The huge armor laagers had taken almost four hours to bring in all their personnel and start their vehicles, a long time for the 11th Armored Army Group but not bad given the circumstances. With their CO dead, the XO of the Army Group-Colonel General Telphion-had made a hasty plan to stop the force of Exiles coming for his city. The laagers had been made with quick embarkation in mind, and the moment the word was given thousands of heavy vehicles began to roll out from their storage areas.

It was the first real, organized resistance the Republic had put together on Setulan itself, and it was going to be big.

Almost fifty thousand vehicles roared out of their storage areas and formed up in a formation-shattering first of heavy armor. At the lead were the terrifyingly powerful Griffon Super Heavy tanks, huge guns pointed towards the rising dust cloud. Behind and around them were the much more numerous and renowned Fury MBTs, the workhorse of the Setulan armored corps. Ranging to the fore were the Harvesters, intelligence gatherers and tank hunter vehicles, who would determine what the enemy force consisted of and begin to pick off command vehicles.

Then there were the Mechanized Infantry. With the exception of specialist units like the Drop Infantry and Infiniti Division, the entire Planetary Guard went to war in one variant or another of the Maxellian chassis. The huge bulk of vehicles rolled forward at speed on their big wheels, dust rolling off their hulls. Riding shotgun with the infantry were the Emperor light tanks, considered a medium armor piece by most other armies, and the legendary Beachheads with their twin turrets and incredible armor.

Above it all rose the might of the Setulan atmospheric forces. So desperate was Colonel-General Telphion that he had grabbed every veteran pilot he could find in the city, and formerly retired Bentnose fighters screamed into the air alongside the newer, sleeker Firestorm heavy fighters. Keeping his bombers in reserve until he had a chance to lash out against any fixed Exile targets, there was instead an incredibly heavy presence of Bentnose gunships. The rugged and incredibly survivable craft were not the fastest gunships, but they could take more punishment and carry a heavier payload than any of their lighter cousins.

The first to engage were the fighters. Even as the first pilot-a newly married father of two-died in a ball of greasy orange fire thirty thousand feet up, cannons began to thunder below, and the screaming began anew.


Frayn, Veto

A flashing green light. The link was live again, though the young Kitsune didn't keep her hopes up as to how long it would last as she began to transmit.

"Natsuko? Natsuko, can you hear me?"

"Yes! Sakura, I can hear you!" The jerky camera that viewers across AXIS had just become reacquainted with wasn't showing anything exciting as Natsuko began her second transmission. "It's been a few hours since we last spoke, but my link went down and-" a heavy thudding noise nearby. Natsuko didn't even flinch. "-Sorry, sorry, I'm apparently near a K2 position. I'm going to get out of the way..." The camera began to move again. The audience could see quick glimpses of the battle. A giant crater in the road here, a column of smoke in the distance, tracers rising to the air.

A medic desperately trying to save the life of a thrashing Setulan in the middle of the street, heedless of the gunfire overhead.

A child's sightless eyes staring straight at the camera. The camera turned without a pause.

"Can you tell us what's going on?" On the screens of billions of viewers, the concerned face of Sakura was on the left while the scenes of carnage played right next to her.

"Yes...yes, I can. I've been following the attack here. I attached myself to a platoon...I won't give names, I don't want to take the chance, but after they saved my life I figured I would stick with them. They've been pushing hard, very hard, and I can say with some confidence that we are making headway here. It's hard to tell whether or not we'll be making a difference though. I'm not privy to Theater-General Istvaan's plans, but I don't see how we can hope to hold Frayn. The assault wasn't-well-I just don't think it will be enough."

"What's the attitude of the Setulans there?" A sound suspiciously like a hastily muffled snort of contempt came over the feed.

"Ah, about what you'd expect if from a group of men and women whose home is burning in front of them. In fa-"

The transmission cut off abruptly, and Natsuko cursed under her breath. A large figure in scarred HIBA came up to her.

"You lost signal?"

"Yeah." She sighed and drew the pistol she was keeping in a recently acquired holster. She had started helping the medics move the wounded-she wasn't foolish enough to think she could help the infantry without training-and she had learned quickly that the Exiles didn't care about her reporter armband or that she was helping the wounded. She'd killed one man so far and (after the vomitting) decided it sat with her well enough. Rising from her crouch, she turned to the Setulan.

"Ready when you are, Sergeant."


Black Iron Ridge, Bartasson, Setulan

"Signal good...transmitting!" Another shaky image. The unmistakable skyline of Black Iron Ridge, seen in a hundred Republican crime and action movies, was suddenly splashed across billions of viewing sets. Harry Newman was back at it again, hunkered down behind a shattered concrete pillar. He'd acquired a largely intact suit of HIBA somewhere, and he had a pistol holstered on his hip. When he spoke, it was barely above a whisper.

"This is Harry Newman, not exactly live from Black Iron Ridge. We've been bouncing around for a bit now. That platoon you saw us with earlier, they're dead, all dead save for one or two-I think I saw somebody get away, we barely got away. We've attached ourselves to a company sized unit here, we're about to commence an ambush on the highway-"

The camera panned and gave a good view. The Iron Highway was below them, and those with access to maps and a will to look it up could tell that they were on the top of the Ridge itself, a long way back from Newman's original position.

"Now don't worry, this is a heavily encrypted signal, and it won't go out till after the fighting. Wait-wait, there they-yes, there they are-"

A column of vehicles and infantry were moving down the highway. Though not as heavily mechanized as their Republican foes, it was clear that the Exiles weren't novices; they were moving professionally and keeping it tight. It was clear that they were on the edge, looking for the slightest sign of a threat.

That sign came a second later. A brief flash of light from off to the extreme left of the screen was followed by a massive explosion as the Maimer missile blew apart the lead tank, which looked for all the world like a Fury. The troops in the highway didn't have time to scatter as heavy weapons opened up across the line, Devils and K2s ripping apart troops as discs went flying into the road, blasting apart tight clumps. Even as the ambush began, it ended. Newman was up and running alongside a group of Planetary Guardsmen, his cameraman keeping pace easily. Even as he moved, Newman spoke.

"Alright, we're going to quickly broadcast and get off the air. God help us all, and god help the Republic."


Setulan Prime, Back Roads

“If we can stay away from the major fighting, it'll help. Are there plans to fall back into the city when the gap falls?”

The laughter that came from Rielen was bitter and contained no mirth.

"You don't honestly think anybody is getting out of the Gorge, do you? They went there to die. The Exiles hit the bases around Prime especially hard. The troops that survived the initial wave of attacks are either at the Gorge or falling back into the mountains and towns. No, sir, there are no plans for a withdraw to the city. They would be slaughtered as they fell back across the suburbs anyway. No. What we have to defend the city are the MPs, the Veteran's Trust, and whatever citizens grab their guns and join in."

The truck made a sharp turn and moments later a whistle followed by an explosion rocked the windows.

"Close one." The Setulan Lieutenant shook her head. "We're going to exit the city to the south and try to find a bridge that's intact in one of the local suburbs. All the main bridges out of the city have been taken out. We'll fall back towards the coast. We can probably get you a shuttle or ship from there and get to a safer continent."

As the small convoy drove through the city, Seward could look outside the window and see the devastation that was being wrought even as they ran. The Exiles hadn't even made it through the Gorge to assault the city in force yet, but still everywhere she looked were signs of war. Here, a house had been reduced to rubble. There, two children cried over the bloody remains of their mother. A body in HIBA could be seen sprawled in the middle of the street, weapon gone and presumably issued to another citizen to defend the capitol.

It was a mess, and it was only just starting.


Setulan Prime, I.I.D. Headquarters

Hank ran over to the wounded Nekomi the moment she got out of the car and picked her up in a bear hug. Their relationship, though very close, had always been platonic; she saw him as a big brother and mentor, and he saw her as a troublesome little sister. They had worked together for years, ever since she had first been sent to the Republic as part of the MP-G Police exchange program during the Danaversian War.

Putting the young woman down, he nodded a greeting to Yanagi.

"Always good to see you, Yanagi." He looked up. The sounds of battle were getting closer, and he had a pensive look on his face.

"If we're all stuck here, we're not going to go down in a blaze of glory. Between us, we're some of the best cops in AXIS. Let's make a difference. Let's find a radio, and then maybe we can find somebody important to kill."


Whispers of Remorse, Hold

The young woman standing before Shoji and his companions seemed slightly taken aback as the Kitsune dropped his hood, but she recovered quickly. The angles of her face didn't speak of the life of a warrior; though Shoji wouldn't know it, he had been correct in assuming that she was favored by Graffin, god (or goddess, depending on her/his mood) of delights. Though she had been hounded after since the age of fifteen by the priestesses of Him of many Delights, there had never been a question for where she would go.

Her name was Charlotte Savola, and she had warrior's blood.

At fifteen, her father, a Sergeant Major in the Planetary Guard, had died on Ferra. Her grandmother had died during the Siege of Agrimonus Delta during the Great War. Every single generation of her family had served in Setulan's military dating all the way back to The Purging of the Stri'la more than nine thousand years previous. Though she didn't know, her warrior ancestry went back even farther, into the unknown past of Setulan's origins.

She had dedicated herself to the War God on her eighteenth birthday with her mother's blessing, and she hadn't look back since.

"I am Sister Savola. My role here is to teach you the fighting style of the Traitor Priests." That one sentence would speak volumes to the more perceptive cultists. It told them she was finished her training, but still a combat virgin. It reinforced what they all knew-that of all the Ten Churches, it had been the Warrior God's chosen who had split most viciously. And perhaps most importantly, the fact that an unblooded girl no more than twenty one years old was naturally gifted enough to be entrusted with teaching a skill that, done wrong, could get people killed.

From her side she pulled forth what looked like a six inch section of the haft of a pole arm. That was, of course, exactly what it turned out to be; with a pulse of power felt by Shoji, the six inches began to expand radically. Within two seconds it was a fully formed eight foot tall glaive, with a wicked crescent blade that pulsed with soft silver energies. Another sign, as if one was needed, that Sister Savola was favored by the God. While the disciple Granden carried a sword, it was generally considered a sign of favor if the warriors of Iode were particularly skilled with pole arms; most of the Saint Guard carried them, as did the infamous Battle Lord Hymrik.

"First, some basic technique..."


Even as the cultists and warriors dispersed into groups, Kion began to wander the hold with Den. The two observed their charges and would occasionally make a comment or offer some advice of their own. Though Kion retained the rough humor that Den remembered from all those years ago and the (albeit few) encounters they'd had since, it was clear he was on edge. Before she could ask him about it, however, he had turned to observe Savola and Shoji as they worked together.

"I felt the power off of that one. He has a gift I have seen in very few."

[Alversia]

Marshall House, Alversia

The speeches of both the Prime Minister and the Emperor, broadcast one after the other, served to motivate the Operators and crew of the Alversian Naval Headquarters even more. They were trying everything in the book, searching and scanning, prodding and checking every last thing they could think of. Anything that could give them an idea of what was happening over Setulan. The hubbub in the Command Room was as loud as ever, with Operators calling data or commands to one another, sharing potential breakthroughs and groaning in frustration when their promising threads turned out to be dead ends.

Around the central command console, which still showed a mind-bogglingly empty visual representation of Setulan, Reyes prowled. She had studied the designs of the Exile ships in depth. She had looked up the data of their movements until they had left AXIS territory, anything that could give them an edge, a hint, of precisely what had happened, what they were facing, but it was all in vein. She could come up with plenty of theories -her implants had recorded thirty possible ones- but that's all they were, mere theories. Without evidence to back them up, she had nothing to go on and that meant she was standing with her finger on the button, so keen to press it and yet so unable do so. To her mind, this was worse than it had been during the SASM War. At least during the war, when Alversian colonies were being chewed up by the half dozen and losses were reported in fleets rather than ships, they had known where the SASM were, what they were. Sure, they had not known what to do about them but they knew some basic information at least. Here, the Exiles were a complete enigma. She thought the Navy was up to the task of dealing with them but that was just it. She did not know.

Reyes was in charge of a Navy of over five and a half thousand warships, protecting a dozen systems across two galaxies. There was very little that went on in the Republic that she did not know about and even less beyond her borders. To suddenly have her eyes closed, stumbling around in the dark was starting to get to her and she was rapping her fingers on the edge of the command table impatiently to signal this.

“Ma'am,” one of the Operators turned to look at her, “The Xeno-fleet has established their first forward bases, they're moving ships through the gate now.”

“Very good.” She had been warned by the Deputy Prime Minister that some of the forward areas reserved for the APN, but not manned, would be given over to the Xenohumans for their own use. She was fine with that. In the age of transwarp, forward bases had become somewhat redundant. They were there as a contingency and little more. If anything, they just provided more security for the Republic, heavily armed fortresses along her front that were now the Xenohumans responsibility to defend and not hers. She could live with that.

When the new footage of Setulan came through, everyone stopped to watch, including Reyes. The images were harrowing and horrific, the displays of burning and destroyed buildings, the dead that were lying everywhere including...dear god...children...she had never gotten used to the sight of dead children, no matter how often it had come up in her career. The sight filled her with sorrow before there was a flash and that sorrow turned to rage, a fire roaring in her soul at the misery and pain being inflicted on Setulan. With her tail lashing uncontrollably, she turned to the room.

“Give me an update!” She called, looking into the eyes of each and every being manning a console. None of them answered and so for a long time, the only sound was of beeping consoles and buzzing transmitters.

Reyes saw red,
“Are you telling me that we've still got nothing? We're sitting in the most advanced command centre in AXIS space, looking over the most extensive warning array in Home Galaxy history and you're telling me that we've got nothing?! Come on people, this isn't good enough!” She slammed her fist into the control table, making the closest Operatives flinch, “give me something, anything!”

“Ashe!” the First-Admiral's ears perked in the direction of another console. Sasha was standing over the shoulder of a young Alversian man, whose eyes were flickering over the screen in front of him and whose hands were playing nervously with one another, “we've got something.”

'Finally!' She thought as she strode to the hailed console. A quick glance showed a lot of technical data, some of which she understood, most of which she did not. “Well?”

“You know those probes and drones the Xiscapians launched into the Setulan system? We got a link into their data-feeds so we could see what they were seeing as they saw it. Most of the drones were destroyed within minutes of entry but they did manage to send some data. Show her.” Sasha finished explaining by putting a hand on the technician's shoulder.

He jumped a little at the touch but quickly input a command into his system, hands rushing across the keyboard. His instructions brought up another list of data, none of which the First-Admiral recognised or understood.

“This is...uh...the metadata from one of the probes I was monitoring. I decided to check the packet metadata to see if the Exiles were interfering with them.”

Reyes knew that part at least. Probes and drones sent their data in 'packets', parcelled up so it travelled quicker and with less chance of being intercepted. They could be sending thousands of transmissions every minute, “and? Are they?”

“Not that I could see, nothing wrong with the checksum anyway, but look at the timestamp here,” The man pointed to a single figure. It was a time in the Xiscapian clock, nothing out of the ordinary about that, it was the time the packet was transmitted, “then look at the timestamp when we received the data.”

She looked...and immediately she frowned as she did the maths in her head.
“Hold on...are you telling me this transmission won't be sent for another four hours?”

“Yes ma'am. I thought it might be a glitch so I've been checking all the packets sent from this probe and they're all identical. They're being fired at the regular intervals and all being received by us four hours before they should have been sent.”

“Is it a glitch? A hardware malfunction maybe?”

The Technician looked terrified, as if he had not been expecting the question but he surely would have been running through every possible line of conversation in his head. He shook his head,
“Possible but not likely ma'am. A fault of that magnitude would show up in other areas, cause other glitches, but this is the only one that I can see.”

Reyes looked at Sasha and saw a blaze in those eyes. She knew it was a look mirrored in her own. She patted the Technician on the back. She was nearly ready to kiss him.

“Contact the KIN now, tell them to check every single probe and drone they launched. Check every probe for the same issue and send them our data.” As she headed back into the centre of the room, reeling off her instructions, she turned to look at the crew who were manning the long range array, “What are you scanning for at the moment?”

“The usual things ma'am, physical objects, heat, light...”

“Re-configure it to pick up on temporal anomalies only and give me a full scan.”

“I...ma'am, the nearest temporal anomaly to the Setulan system is in-”

“-I gave you an order Commander!”

“-Yes ma'am!”

Her mind raced as she tried to think of the implications. There was every chance that it was a mere glitch in a single probe but, at this rate, she was willing to try absolutely anything. If this was true...good god...

She turned to one of the Marines standing guard over the centre, “Find me the top authority on temporal physics on Alversia and in AXIS. Get him here now.”

“Yes ma'am but-”

“-no 'buts'! Take whatever you need to find him and reach him, just get him here!”

“Ma'am!” The Marine saluted and promptly left.

Reyes turned her attention back to the big, 3D image of Setulan...maybe soon they could have a clearer picture of what was going on.

South Passage, Alversia

Thomas Bowen had thought he had seen the end of war.

When the Danaversian War had ended with the final surrender of the Empire, he had rejoiced like everyone else. He had drunken far too much, danced with complete strangers and really made a total fool of himself. He had not cared, after four years of war, four years of fighting across Miller, across Ferra, onto Ranus and into the very heart of the Empire itself, he thought he had earned the right to a drink. Hell, a lot of his friends had never made it that far and he had promised himself that he would have a drink for each and every one of them. It was a miracle he had not poisoned himself.

So he had let himself be de-mobbed. He handed back his weapon and his armour, his uniform and his tags. He was a free man now, so the sergeant told him, free to do whatever he wanted. The memories of the war would hunt him for eternity but his wife was waiting for him, a daughter he had never seen be born was smiling at him. God, his life had been perfect for the three years since he had been back. A new job, a promotion, a nice new house in the South Passage and another child on the way. Bowen often wondered if he actually died, maybe one of the wounds on Ferra had been fatal and he was now living in his own personal heaven.

Well...that wasn't true...if this was his paradise, then there would not have been a war. There would not have been a war like this. Setulan would not have gone dark and the Prime Minister would not have made her speech. This was not paradise, but that did not mean he was helpless.

It was late. Anna was in bed. She had an important day tomorrow, her first trip to the dentist, and he was not going to wake her up before it. He had to see her though. He had to see her one last time. She was sleeping soundly in her cot, her olive skin came from her mother, as did her eyes but her smile, her smile came from her father. Bowen wondered how anything could be so achingly beautiful. He wanted to reach out and touch her, reach out and kiss her but no, he would not wake her. So, with a final, sad sigh, he turned and headed back down stairs.

Joan was waiting for him at the door, her eyes tear-stained, wringing her hands in despair as her husband gathered up his possessions. He turned to her, fighting back the urge to cry himself,
“I've to do this Joan. You saw the news. They need me.”

“I know,” she whispered. Then she kissed him, hard. They stayed like that for a long time before she broke away, fresh tears making their way down her cheeks, “Give 'em hell for me.”

Bowen ended up parking in the next street across from the recruiting office. The street was packed, men and women standing around in small groups talking with one another. Most he recognised from the Regiment, veterans like him called into battle once again.

“Hey Bow! Good to see you could make it.” He heard the shout and wandered over to the group, men from his Company who were standing in short sleeves, in spite of the rather frigid weather, “you ready to jump into hell again?”

“My soul committed,” Was Bowen's answer, the motto of the 416th Southern Rifles, his own regiment.

The men replied in the only way they could, their voices low and sombre, “now and forever.”

The 416th was going to war again...

Back streets, Setulan

Steward looked up at the bitter laugh from her MP Guard and her face paled at the suggestion that none of the soldiers in the Gorge were going to make it out alive. Surely some would...wouldn't they? Retreat was not a bad idea, if they could fall back...maybe establish another defendable position... Steward had no real military command experience so she had no idea if what she was saying was practical or even really possible. Judging from the expression of her own head of security, it seemed as though Rielen's answer was pretty much what he had been expecting.

Instead Steward looked out the window, hoping that the grimness of the situation would be alleviated. She was sorely disappointed as she saw the chaos of a city at war for the first time. She had seen it before, in movies of course, and then it had done little more than tug on her heartstrings. Here, the reaction was entirely different. There was rage, sorrow, guilt...when she had been watching in the movies, she could convince herself that she was watching a movie, that all the innocent people being slaughtered before her eyes would wake up and go about their lives the moment the scene was finished. Those children she had seen though...their mother was never going to wake up...their pain wasn't going to end because someone said cut.

Even as a whistling shell rattled the windows of her transport, Steward shook her head,
“I can't...I can't do this...I can't just run away,” She squeezed her eyes shut, “people are dying out there...”

[Sennai]

Farren Sen, Council chambers.

With all the nations giving speeches it was time for the Sen Council to adress it's people. The Sen press had gathered and millions and millions of people from the five worlds and beyond waited for the offical response that, many soldiers, naval personal and millatry officals already knew.

The cameras turned on the five councilers and one Setulan ambassador as they stepped up to their podiums. As the vote had decided, it was Counciler Gerada who was to speak, the Aging nekomi cleared his throat and tapped his notes as the camera droids and reporters angled their directional mic's towards him.

"Several hours ago, Setulan Exile forces began an attack on military and civillian targets in Ithe Setulan system and her colonies. These attacks continue as I speak. Both Republican guard and G-Police forces are engauged" he began a large muttering came from the crowd of reporters
"Tonight, the battle has been began. I have recived word our embassy ground on the planet has been attacked, it's defences crushed; its people, brutalized. By this act, the Exiles have taken their war to the SSA and the Rest of AXIS"

Reporters stood up mics raised yelling questions

"Carla weathers, Sen News Network! does this mean the deployment of troops to the home galaxy?"

"Mosskau Metro, how long does this mean that the Sen jaunt gate will be closed?"

many other questions were raised causing Gerada to wave his hands for calm

"Our objectives are clear: Sen Forces along with the rest of AXIS will forcibly remove the Exiles from Setulanite territory. The legitimate government of setulan will be restored to its rightful place, and setulan will once again be free, when peace is restored, it is our hope that the republic will Recover and rejoin the family of AXIS, thus enhancing the security and stability of the Home galaxy"
A quiet hush fell as many reporters took in what this meant. Axis was large diverse and with it's millatry power added together was a staggeringly big juddernaught capeable of steamrolling galactic empires out of existance.

"These are the times that try men's souls. But even as planes of the multinational forces ready to attack, I prefer to think of peace, not war. I am convinced not only that we will prevail but that out of the horror of combat will come the recognition That no nation of AXIS will be alone. No Council can easily commit our sons and daughters to war. They are the Nation's finest. Ours is an all-volunteer force, magnificently trained, highly motivated. The troops know why they're there. Lets not forget their aid not two stellar cycles ago. When the shardi assaulted our nation with the intent on enslaving and devouring every man woman and child..who was there to help us? Lets ask ourselves, Would we pass the people whos neck is on the chopping block when they helped stay the axe coming down on ours? I for one say no. Never. This will not stand this agression against the Setulan republic. I hope you, People of the five worlds, agree with the descision your leaders have made."

Gerada eyed his fellow council members and ambassador waters. Reaching over the podium he took a glass of water from a Katya adminatrative android, then taking his fill he handed it back

"....i will now answer any questions you have.." The room was silent for a minute, before every reporter smashed the moment with a barrage of questions.

Setulan Prime, I.I.D. Headquarters

Shaking a little Kathrine was suddenly aware of a huge figure bearhugging her
"Gak! N-not so hard Sarge...Or is it Sergent major now?" Kathrine winced when she was put down, the weight aggrivating her wounded leg. limping towards the HQ gate she turned her head when a kitsune in I.I.D armour ducked under her arm and supported her weight away from her wounded leg

getting into the compound she sat on a bench, streching her leg out and sighed trying to gather her thoughts. The kitsune who had helped her unrolled a medi kit next to her "You need to stem the bleeding," he said "I can do it if you can't, but it has to be done now. I suspect we don't have long."
Kathrine nodded "i've had some of the nanites staunch it right now..if you can get it out and stop the bleeding i'll be fine mister..." before she could get his name the classic stiff tailed Secret agent from the silver screen began a lecture.

Like most lectures between freinds. it contained less exasperation and more releif that he was there.

Amatsukaze bowed to her and introduced herself "Agent director Amatsukaze. good to see that somebody made it out of the Sen Embassy" As the tradition, Kathrine bowed in response.
"Inspector Kathrine Katsuragi, G-police. They hit us really hard. We lost contact witht he hall of justice and i...I hoped you wernt there Hank, guess it paid off. some MP's came but once inside turned out they were Exile Frakkers in disguise. im just glad i managed to make it here."
Listening to hank kathrine smiled as yanagi bound her wounded leg "Damm right Hank, im in the mood for payback. but...in terms of firepower what exactly are we packing to kill these exile bastards?"

Foxfire, AXIS Fleet Staging Area
While most nations of AXIS gave speeches of war and then issued orders to fillter down, mobilize troops, pack them into ships and hope the public didnt want their heads after seeing the body bags and shoe box's their men and women arrived home in. The United Federation of Rassilion clans did not give a damm. Centuries of Shardi enslavement and rebel groups had bred a culture used to not seeing loved ones come home. Even it's millatry structure was unlike most in AXIS, If it came to it, almost all the populace would rally for war.

Upon hearing the message that the Setulan republic had been attacked, sent to them Via the Sen System Alliance, The Protectrate clans of the nation of th the five worlds immediately geared for war. The Setulan republic had bled for them against outlander agressors, now was the time to return the favor.
The Hak'Aran Preisthood, warriors of mystic arts rarely understood by the common man, Put out a call for warriors from the clans, Tradition and honor, for it had been the Hak'Aran who had fought the shardi for centuries, demanded the clans respond.

Respond they did.

The Fleet of ships that hyperjumped into Foxfire was at first glance, laughable, Numbering less than a hundred combat vessel's and over a dozen bulky landers, the ships had thin armour, mediocre sheilding and archaic weaponry in the form of artillery peices and autocannons. It looked more than a little ramshackle. further scans however showed that they were solidly built, there engines were likely capeable of massive output and although their weaponry was arcahic compared to a Xiscaipan grazer or Setulan MAC cannon (with some exeptions), there was Plenty of it with lots more for extra helpings.
Though it could be mistaken for a pirate fleet come to raid the setulans in their time of need, it was not. a wide band signal was sent from what could be called a battlecruiser, confirmed the matter. A feminine voice unused to speaking on a comms unit.

To the Setulan Republic Fleet forces of the world known as Foxfire, This is Merseil Hak'Aran on board the Battlecruiser Outworld Not long ago you came to the Aid of the Rassilion clans when they needed you. Today, the Rassilion Clans come to yours in your hour of need.

No visual image came or inbedded holographics unit, the Clans had not yet mastered all of the technology the galaxy had to offer. But as many Setulan soldiers knew, Technology for the rassilion was always a means towards the end.

R.A.A.D Headquarters, Desperado station
Desperado station was a First for the Sen alliance, Infact, it was a prototype station built specifically for the Republic Alliance Assault Division. Sharing alot in common with it's Setulan sisters now sadly lost, the Fortress station was as big as the Exile ark's and served as armoury, training grounds, recruiting station and supply Depot for the Joint division. Currently it was in orbit over the world of Harlec in the Metra system. This was far from it's permanent post, it had engines to move and could be towed into jaunt by specialy designed tugs to be deployed where it was needed to support the multinational division that called it home.

an obsever may walk through the motor pool, Setulan sledge units side by side with Sen Manticore support mecha modifed to carry "Maimer" missile launchers and twin 30mm Banshee's. Mole subterranian transports modifed for launch from ships to assault space stations, Fury's lined up next to Trinity tanks all with "unoffical" modifications.
The R.A.A.D contained the unique blend of sen and setulan technology, in both vehicles, personal and weaponry. But considering it's specialty, Seige and the use of methods that were deemed non standard, there was alot of free reign allowed.

Sergent Nissa Revane, along with almost the entire Assault division, checked and rechecked her equipment, reaching into the gun rack and strapping her modified K666C "Devil Dog" Rail Smartgun into it's harness. The Division was moving out for Setulan. And the Exiles as it was said, would wish they had stayed away. Somone in the crowded barracks room cried out, The chant was taken up throught the barraks room

"Assault Division!"

"ULLA!" came the reply, a hundred or more voices took the next verse

"Retreat?!"

more than equal the number replied "Hells! we just got here!"

As the chant was taken up and continued, the troopers steeled themselves for the upcoming war. Nissa meanwhile, tail flicking did her last equipment check before looking to her locker neighbour

"So, Lucas, We kill Exile's now huh? Never seen one so they better give breifings on how to avoid shooting wrong setulans Da?"
Behind the joke was concern however. many of the Setulanites in the Assault divisions ranks were worried about home. Workign close with such a strong people bred respect and in turn, Empathy. Studying her squad leader carefully, the kitsune shut her locker, looking as grim as the first day the pair had met.

Cyberspace, KINHQ, Xiscapia.

The position afforded to taka thanks to her posting and access codes left her with an almost perfect veiw of the Imperial Navy's scouting forays into not just the setulan system, but everywhere and anywhere there was a ship or drone bearing the flag of the fox nation.
The incoming data from the setulan system was at a glance, choppy at it's best and non existant at it's worst. nonetheless, Taka was surprised at how well and quickly the Xiscapian technicians and officers handled it, peicing it into an evershifting jigsaw. yet something was off

They've beign jammed. cycles they can see everywhere and they cant see the setulan system...

Her train of thought however was derailed by Twilight who seemed very intrested in the signals

An excellent jamming system, your correct commander, they're simply seeing what they know from previous scans. See the overlap?
there was a short pause before the system allowed the Sen A.I to impose a map for taka on the jumbled table puzzle the Xiscapians were masterfully putting together.

Im well aware twilight, it's just that i'd prefer to know what was going on aswell. using your internal number crunching, what can you tell me about the blink jumps?

there was a pause as the A.I acessed it's databanks and began processing the information

Lets put it this way commander...theres alot

the thought contained the trace of a frown from the biological participant in the conversation

Very funny but what does "alot" mean Twilight?

the mental landscape infront of her condenced slightly into the from of a spinnign mini setulan prime, an temporary addon to the trains of thought the Xiscapians were putting out

I cant access internal files from the KIN commander, i dotn have access but i do have clearance to show you a simulation. guessing from blink signatures alone i suppose this is the sort of fleet we may be seeing enterign the setulan system.
the orb split into many different planets, showing the minature system, the Sen A.I working her processors into making mini blink portals appear and be marked as tiny spots of red. a list down the side comprising of all shared Exile ship data appeared, though only class sizings were listed. the numbers, almost ass soon as they were set, began rising expanentionaly

Oh Qonn... Taka managed as she watched the numbers, helpfully displayed, climb like a giant ape on the side of a skyscraper ...We are SO goign to need more ships...

[Xenohumanity]

Xiscapian Space, Xiscapian System…
Aboard the XNV Gyroclasm…

The wet slice of skin breaking and muscle tearing is muffled by the resounding crack of the vibro-sjambok’s snapping across the starman’s back and destroying what tissue it found. Bared and dripping red-pooling-black blood from six long, clean, parallel wounds, it tenses and arches back as the man screams again before it turns into a sputtering, phlegmatic whimper. The spacer had lost every chance at pity by now, and so, bound to a mess-hall table, eyes rolling as far as they were able as he tried to will himself into unconsciousness, the crew that stood about in witness remained silent and stared on callously.

The Commissar drake with his red-slicked whip and the eye-hiding visor on his officer’s cap spoke with priestly authority. “Ever thus to cultists. Ever thus to Todular.”

The crime had been well-reported by word of mouth in the short time between that moment and now. Possession of cult paraphernalia was a hanging crime, but on the verge of war, the Gyroclasm was short on rope, so to speak. Executions took paperwork and paperwork took effort away from the combat preparations. Still, that was never an excuse to let such heinous sins against the state go unpunished. There was nothing worse for morale than letting a cultist madman know anything more pleasant than death, and so it was that as the Commissar let the sjambok swing again and drew another messy straight-edge across the criminal’s back, nobody had to ask how this would end. To be fair, there were some rather flimsy laws about prisoner management, but they weren’t going to be brought up by anybody with sense in them. It was a state of war against a religious radical insurrection, and lord knew that the Todularian fanatics in the Federation were surely going to begin copy-cat attacks and set the corp-gang wars afire to take advantage of their inspiration abroad. No mercy, no quarter could be given, and so no expense would be spared.

The crack of the lash put a stink of ozone in the air by now, along with the ugly rusty scent of an aug’s blood, dripping off his heaving chest into little dribbles on the steel floor. The pain stopped registering in his conscious mind by this point, the opiate-pump augs in his body and the drug-addled callus that could have been called his brain ignorant to the anguish. All he could manage was a lax gurgle of a groan as the whip cracked again before the sound turned into more of a bubbling. His head craned, eyes rolled so far as to tear the optic muscle, jaw locked open in torment, and yet the screams and begs the crew had assembled for had stopped flowing freely.

“Can you answer for yourself, starman?”

A mumbled, gurgled something of a reply, the prisoner’s head slumping down as he noticeably crossed the half-way mark to death.

“Speak up, scum. Let your last words be some semblance of defense and not a death-rattle. Give me your tongue or give me your blood.”

The prisoner stood still a moment, then heaved against his bindings, weakly but visibly, as his head tucked down and he gave a body-wince, a great cringe and tensing. Before the Commissar could bend down to grab the man’s hair and shake an answer out of him, a gout of blood flumped out of the captive’s mouth onto the floor with an overly-noisy thlunck before giving a throaty, angry gurgle to spray yet more blood. The assemblage did its best to ignore it, but even from as far back as they stood, it was obvious that the man had just bitten off the better part of his own tongue to spite his interrogator. Desperation at its ugliest. Pragmatic and admirably staunch, but desperate and masochistic, judging from how the cultist turned to smile through red-soaked teeth and dripping lips at his torturer.

Before the drake could crack his sjambok to tear the smile from the human’s face, the captive spoke, impossibly; tongue be damned, the glubby pronouncement that, “Tarkolai cares not who gives or takes the death-blood,” had the sailors of the Gyroclasm stepping back and making a worried commotion instantly. "The nations shall shatter and the peoples will weep-"

The Commissar’s nonplussed, forced stoicism turned to anger after all these moments. A finger turned the power-field up as far as ‘twas able, and with a grunt and a whip of the arm, the drakon showed he had quite enough of this man. The shnrap of the sjambok cracking into the cultist’s eye turned the preaching to a shriek of pain. A hunk of skull trailing skin and hair skittered onto the floor as the first signs of brain began to dribble out of the hollowed socket, and another shnrap caved in the temple and turned the mind that’d turned to madness into only so much stinking, dripping tissue. One last groan oozed from the man’s lungs before he slumped and the dark-light left his eyes. The beating was not yet done, though; the chance that he harbored an arcane parasite or was being puppet-mastered by the same was still a threat. The fear was addressed as the whip was raised up to the ceiling and smashed against the side of the body’s abdomen, liquefying everything it struck with an ugly noise. As the vapors of boiled blood and fat began to float up and the splash of his frame’s innards sliding out organ by organ brought the mood of the ship down, the Commissar powered down his weapon and wiped it clean against the leggings of the corpse, just one more thin streak of blood to add to the many.

“And to think that you all thought our enemy was a galaxy away from home… Shameful! Never forget that the god-fearing lunatic knows his home in the Federation just as much in the Republic! Crew is dismissed to stations, but know this, and know this well; your officers and commanders show no fear or hesitation to mete out punishment for cowardice or sympathy for our foes. If you wish to ensure that we do not have to root out insurrection with our claws, root it out yourselves…”