Fantasy Hunter's Moon: The Sin & Sentence [IC] [CLOSED]

[Dmaster]

Hudson tilted his head as Adona gave Velin a knowing smile, what came next gave him a good amount of pause. "You want her to look for the artifacts? I suppose she has some experience in Grimtham at least... And I don't think we'll be doing much hunting with all of this chaos going on. Crossing borders that are even inside of Escaria is likely going to be a hellish prospect." the hunter wagers. "I don't see her saying no. I'll let her know, unless a certain someone already clued her in to it before I even knew myself."

When Velin spoke up he shook his head rather solemnly. "I don't know, Lady Velin. The tensions for this war seem to have been brewing for a long time, and I fail to see how it is related to Taranoch even though I know full well he plans to exploit it. I have my doubts that the nations will forget about the conflict just because the world is at stake. Then again maybe I just have terribly little amount of faith in people."

 

[Infab]

"I assume you have something planned for us if we are to stay here. I may have transitioned to teaching children for a brief time, but I doubt grading the next generation of hunters schoolwork is the talent you seek from me."

"I wish for you to simply remain here to assist with what is to come. What that is, I can't reveal...You can obviously guess why, considering what I am the god of." he stated. He raised a finger afterwards. "You will be allowed to venture to Nocturne, however, to finish your dealings with Pierre...I will not rob you of your vengeance. My rider Rosanna will accompany you."

"...I'll let her know, unless a certain someone already clued her in to it before I even knew myself."

Adona nodded. "I have sent one of my riders to inform her. She already knows of him, actually." he said, before looking to Theodore. "Do you remember the dullahan knight you encountered on Grimtham? Sir Tristyn Protheroe? After Rosanna slew him, I resurrected and clensed him. He has returned to what he once was, before he was marked with the taint of darkness. Hopefully Camille will see that he is there just to deliver a message. Meanwhile, Rosanna is upstairs delivering my message to Cassandra Bainbridge."

"I don't know, Lady Velin. The tensions for this war seem to have been brewing for a long time, and I fail to see how it is related to Taranoch even though I know full well he plans to exploit it. I have my doubts that the nations will forget about the conflict just because the world is at stake. Then again maybe I just have terribly little amount of faith in people."

"We believe that Taranoch used some of his loyalists to infiltrate the nations of the continent. Sew discontent, incite violence at the borders, and ultimately push for war between the nations. Personally, I believe that he's doing it in order to spread chaos and prepare for the breaking of the binding." responded Velin. "Once Taranoch is gone, we can push forth and settle the disputes between the nations without demonic involvement."

 

[Dmaster]

Hudson looked rather stunned that Adona just casually said that Sir Tristyn was on his way to deliver the message. "I know you can see fate and timelines and all of that, and I mean no disrespect." the hunter said as he spread his arms slightly. "... But did you really have to send a dullahan that nearly killed the Grimtham Inquiry to my wife's house? When she's already nearly convinced that the world is ending?" He sighs bitterly, starting to pinch at the bridge of his nose before he looked to Velin, letting his arm fall limply to his side after his moment of exasperation.

Soon after he looks to Velin and gives a halfhearted nod. "Of course he did... I've no doubt that demons have meddled as they always do. That doesn't mean that the discontent is so easily waved away, though. Most demons like to use half-truths, easier to spread than complete lies. So long as world leaders cling to whatever those bastards have fed them the war could continue for a while yet."

 

[Breadman]

You will be allowed to venture to Nocturne, however, to finish your dealings with Pierre...I will not rob you of your vengeance. My rider Rosanna will accompany you.

"How exactly did you.." Theodore squinted behind his goggles "Nevermind, you're a god, of course you'd know that." Really he shouldn't be surprised at all that Adona knew. It's his job to know. "Working with Rosanna is always a pleasure, so I look forward to it." He paused for a moment, letting the god speak to Hudson "You said that I will get my revenge. Can't help but think that this event was set in stone long before we arrived at this point when it's coming from you."

 

[Infab]

"... But did you really have to send a dullahan that nearly killed the Grimtham Inquiry to my wife's house? When she's already nearly convinced that the world is ending?"

Adona smirked. "...I'm the god of Life, Death, and Fate...I have to have at least a sense of humor." he responded. "He looks human again, instead of like an undead creature. That might be enough to convince her, beyond him being able to speak again."

 

[Breadman]

Fontaine estate, Atraca

"...and it is with regret that I must declare our activities suspended for the foreseeable future. The Voxuul veritiid will meet again once this war is over and we return to normalcy." He paused to pour himself a drink before continuing to dictate the final part to his secretary "With regards to everyone, Atracan chapter master and current acting president, Robert Fontaine. Power through fortune." Taking a moment to think it over, Fontaine nodded with satisfaction. His action in the summit earned him this position, but the war had robbed him of any joy and privilege that came with it. However, extraordinary circumstances such as this allowed him to extend his term. Once the glasses were full, he handed one to his associate in the room and send his employee away.

He had finished that business just in time as a knock on the door caught his attention a few minutes after. A moment later his butler entered the room.

"The general is here, sir." The old man spoke in an official tone "Sais he wants to speak to you about something your brother proposed."

Robert nodded and looked to his associate. The man had hardly touched his drink, so he had a look of annoyance as he placed the glass down and picked up the documents he was carrying. Once he stood up, he motioned for Fontaine to lead. A few moments later the empty hallway echoed from their footsteps and the sound of his cane hitting the floor. Wouldn't be long before they met with the general. Older gentleman, bald spot that looked like the hair had migrated down to his muttonchops. Serious look to him as just about anyone of them.

"General Giles! We are delighted to meet you."

"I'm sure you are. Your brother was very adamant that I meet you in person for whatever you have for us."

"I wrote a letter to Samuel, yes. Unfortunately we don't talk much these days unless it's about work. Officer school has made him very distant."

"I really don't care about your family relationship, Fontaine." The general growled "Do you have anything you can offer or not?"

"Of course." Fontaine nodded and motioned for his associate to hand over the document he was carrying. "As you know, the Blackwater company is providing textiles for our soldiers uniforms and leather for their boots and saddles."

"Yes and we find your output satisfactory." The general muttered as he looked over the file he was given "But what do you want to offer?"

"Daristein's involvement is what concerns me. We know for a fact that the alchemist guild has directly allied with them and so their arsenal is bolstered by their dangerous inventions." He noticed the Giles stopped at the right page "I've utilized my own connections to supply us with some of them and commissioned my department to develop a counter to their toxins and gasses."

"Prototypes will be ready by the end of the week." The associate spoke up. "The only hurdle with these is the legality."

"And you are?"

"Thomas Thatcher, sir." He nodded after introducing himself. "Mr. Fontaine's legal consultant and partner."

"So...you have at your disposal a supply of alchemical weapons, likely through a black market and you're now presenting me with a proposal to manufacture gasmasks to counteract said weapons." He was silent for a second "Why shouldn't I arrest you both right now?"

"Because you see opportunity" Fontaine spoke up. "If I wanted to trade secrets for money I wouldn't have involved a general. That would be suicide. The supply can easily be used by our own experts to be replicated and our own men having protection would give them an edge. I think something like that can do wonders for your career."

"If they actually work."

"Oh they will. We plan to put the masks through extensive testing, but we need volunteers for that."

"We have the exact pool to draw from." Thatcher spoke again "No doubt you noticed that the estate houses a small village population of elves. Now I am sure that the Atracan constitution is for every citizen and guarantees them certain rights. We have been trying to grant them their legal papers, but the war has everyone tied up, making it an extremely difficult and slow process. But until then, they are refugees at best....invaders at worst." The general looked the man in the eyes for a few seconds and handed the documents back with a smile. Likewise, one crept on Thomas' face.

"Oh well." He shrugged "I'm sure you men have tried your hardest to accommodate them to as best you could, but some just can't integrate, can they?" The general then looked to Fontaine "You said that the prototype would be done by the end of the week? Make sure that working models are done by the end of this month and I'll place an order for ten thousand."

"Anything to end the war before the Winter festival." Fontaine grinned "Always a pleasure to serve his majesty's finest."
---
A short time later

"I told you that it would work with him." Thatcher said as he poured himself another glass "Men like him, they only care about how to get ahead in the pecking order."

"Alright, you know your craft." Fontaine leaned back in his chair very pleased with the deal that was forming in his favor.

"Of course I do. I'm bred for it." He removed the bowler hat that was on him till now, revealing a pair of horns underneath "Wouldn't want to disappoint, now would I." the demon cackled before greedily downing his drink. "Ahh, much better." he eyed his partner "So, what do you think about my proposal?"

"Very skeptical still." Fontaine answered "But, you are making a better case for yourself than just showing up on my couch in the middle of the night."

"And you could have shot my head off with ease, but chose to take a gamble instead." The demon clicked with his tongue "For someone acting so risk averse, you're pretty eager to try my ideas. You're not as good of an actor as you think you are."

"So the deal is still the same then?"

"This war is going to change the world Robert. Both yours and mine. I could have easily forced myself in. Killed you and taken your place. Nobody would have noticed, like I said before. You're too good at finding opportunity for me to just snuff you out." Thatcher poured them both another round "Work with me and stay ahead in the game. The mask deal is just the start." The creature grinned as it raised a glass.

"Let's see how it goes before I decide." The glasses clanged together. The demon didn't stop smiling as it the entrepreneur didn't exactly say no. He was right however. This was likely just the start for them.

 

[K0mori]

It had been hours since the last time Sebastian heard an artillery blast. He almost couldn't believe how smoothly the offensive was progressing as he and the others in his unit walked on pristine and unguarded Escarian roadways. At their last crossroads, Connor had taken out the map and they had taken note, as best they could, of how the situation was shaping up along the front, and together they tried to make sense of what was actually happening.

In the first hours of the war, Daristein had launched an onslaught against its southeastern border with Escaria. The Escarians, having already committed to a sustained battle against the Tsavanians along their border, had committed less of their resources against Daristein, relying more on fortified defenses to take the brunt of the assault. In just a few days, however, the Daristeinians had punctured the defensive line to find a vacuum behind it, pouring hundreds of thousands of soldiers into the Escarian country. While some circled around behind, forcing the surrender of the fortifications, Sebastian's unit and many others were ordered to plunge as deep as the enemy would allow- the coast, if possible, to fully encircle the Escarian forces at the Tsavanian border.

The strongest and most well-equipped of the Daristeinian forces were sent to the right flank, guarding against an Escarian counterattack from the south which never came. Lighter units and cavalry were pushed to the left flank, where such a counterattack was considered unlikely, as the Escarians wouldn't want their now-trapped army to fight on two fronts- the Tsavanians to their north, and the Daristeinians to their south. Unbeknownst to the Daristeinian high command, but not for long, the Escarians had fully anticipated these maneuvers and had enacted their counter-strategy before the offensive had even begun. The supposedly-trapped army at the border would be resupplied by sea, and the Escarian response to the offensive would take place through the Bois de Loup into Helmland, in Daristein's far south, and then would make a direct march on the capital.

This would force Daristein into an uncomfortable dilemma: if those hundreds of thousands of eager soldiers, including Sebastian Ackermann, continued their unhalted march to the ocean, it would badly overextend them and rob resources away from the southern front. Large swaths of territory in southern Daristein would then be taken by the Escarians and cripple the country's industry. But there was also an opportunity now for the pincer to turn north and force the Escarians to fight on two sides; the pocket could collapse regardless of sea-born resupply, and the Tsavanians could then join Daristein in a monstrous offensive through the Escarian interior that would assuredly win the war.

All of this was far above Sebastian's head, of course. He and his fellow soldiers on their ground could only rejoice that they hadn't yet met combat like they had seen in the opening hours. Having once again verified that the other units hadn't encountered serious resistance, they marched onwards. Eventually, they found themselves overlooking a series of quiet chateaus with well-groomed gardens, and paused to take in the picturesque scene. Sebastian had never been to Escaria, but had always been told that the countryside there had a special something that Daristein lacked, and, now that he had the chance to see it with his own eyes, couldn't help but agree.

There was a loud "pop" nearby and a plume of dirt, and then another against a tree. "Sniper!" cried one of the soldiers, and they all took cover. While one man took out his binoculars, Sebastian crawled up to a cobbled wall roughly two feet tall and prepared himself to return fire. Another soldier in his unit unfolded a mortar tube and readied a shell, waiting for his spotter to tell him the angles he needed. More shooting broke out; there was more than one sniper guarding the village they were approaching, and soon the spotter alerted them that Escarian cavalry were approaching.

Sebastian took a deep breath, willing himself to return fire. He popped up from the ground and shoved the barrel of his rifle over the wall, set eyes on the cavalry, and took several shots in a row. One round hit a horse, which bucked and threw its rider to the ground. Sebastian ducked down and focused on his breathing. He had been too fast for a sniper to get a bead on. There was a loud whoosh as a mortar flew out of the nearby tube, and in the distance, an explosion. "Go! Schnell!" a voice cried out, and several men went over the wall. Sebastian joined them, now seeing the smoking aftermath of the mortar's explosion in the distance, which had apparently taken care of at least one sniper.

As they ran toward a nearby building, the Escarian horsemen turned and charged at them, their lances at the ready. Suddenly, Sebastian didn't feel like his legs could carry him fast enough, and he reached for his pistol. But one of his own comrades grabbed him by the arm and pushed him forward, urging him toward a nearby hedge. The two men dived at it, expecting to go through, but they were instead halted by the unseen branches inside. The cavalry rode up nearby, and Sebastian struggled against the thick hedge trying to push himself deeper, but to no avail. In a blur, the lancer pushed his blade into the body of the other soldier before thundering away on horseback, and Sebastian watched as his friend's body fell out of the hedge in a crumpled heap. It was Connor, and he was dying.

Sebastian grabbed onto him by his uniform and scrambled to drag him along the hedge line toward what he believed to be an opening, trying to reassure him that the gash in his side could be mended and that he wasn't dead yet. There was a series of gunshots close together, a machine gun, no doubt, and Sebastian's head whipped around in reflex searching for the dreaded device. Somehow, by some miracle, Sebastian found himself behind the Escarian gunner, who had run out with a partner and deployed himself on his belly in an open, grassy patch of the gardens. Sebastian pulled out his pistol and this time, emptied the entire cartridge at the two men, killing them both as he continued to backpedal toward the chateau, dragging Connor with one hand.

He finally reached the building, finding himself pressed up against a pair of double doors with large windows. They were unlocked, and so Sebastian stumbled into the interior in a daze with his friend, unable to see anything as his eyes adjusted to the low light. Now catching his breath, he swallowed with a dry throat and looked around, getting a sense of where he was, and that's when he found himself looking at a woman who was clearly prepared to fight him, a sword in one hand and a throwing knife in the other. Sebastian knew his pistol was empty, so he set it down quickly and started shouting at her in a panic. He practically ripped his own helmet off his head and motioned helplessly at Connor, who had gone ghostly pale in the face and stopped breathing. It was already too late for the man.

Outside, another mortar exploded, lighting a house on fire. More machine gun fire followed- was it a friendly, or an enemy? There was no way of knowing. Sebastian put his hand on Connor's pistol; unless he could reason with this woman, he would need to kill her.

 

[Dmaster]

Camille paced about her study in the upper floor of the chateau, deeply worried and concerned with the proceedings of the war. Given how close she was to the front at this point she was considering her options of where to go next, and the huntress had been using her new position in the Escarian Hunter's Guild to reach out to military contacts now and then. She detested the idea of this senseless war, yet she needed to correspond with them to know just where the lines were being drawn. Despite her pride she knew that things at this point were looking grim, and her plan was to shelter her family with her parents in their estate, much as she hated the idea of needing them for anything.

The children were with Eloise who was packing their things, arrangements for the trip already underway as she had called a carriage to take them back to town for their train ride. Not much more to do than wait, which terrified Camille. It was true that she was paranoid to a fault, she had to be else she likely wouldn't have lived this long in her line of work. Still, given the letters she had received from Escarian officers she should have a few more days before any fighting broke out nearby. That was if the intelligence was correct, which she wasn't all that faithful in.

Her worst fears were realized when she began to hear the cracks of gunfire, swiveling to the window that sat above her large desk to peer outside. Mortars were flying, the smoking craters visible to her keen eyes as they blotted the otherwise scenic countryside. For a moment, she froze in fear once she was struck with what was happening. No. Gods, no! Fast as she could she sprinted out of her study, twisting her way down the steps where she grabbed at her rapier on the wall as well as a bundle of her quills. It was one of the benefits of having her weapons on display, though at this point she hadn't used these blades since Grimtham. Beyond that she was dressed only in her casual wear, a long-sleeved blouse with some black pants and her boots.

"Eloise!" she shouted as she made her way through the foyer. "We have to leave immedia -"

The front doors burst open as two soldiers forced their way through, Camille's eyes going wide as she took up a stance to challenge him. Assessing the situation she could tell that his comrade was dying, blood seeping out of his side as it dripped and lightly stained the red carpet that was draped across the tiled flooring. Unfortunately she recognized their uniforms as Daristeinian, meaning her capacity for pity was nonexistent. They brought this war to her home, and she had her family to protect now.

"Do not even think about it!" the huntress spits, preparing to throw one of her knives at the soldier once she saw him reach for his pistol. Just then Eloise, Marie, and Casseus started to exit one of the hallways to her right, the aged servant starting to look panicked to see her employer preparing to kill a man.

 

[K0mori]

"I don't want to, godsdammit!" Sebastian blurted out, a mixture of anger and distress in his voice. Having just lost a friend, he desperately didn't want to take the life of a civilian. He hadn't thought of that possibility in quite some time, having been so successful just days earlier fighting the Escarian army. Just then, he noticed the servant rushing Camille's two kids away from the scene, and he froze, his eyes going wide. "Ma'am, those are your children?" he asked, his voice having become more gentle, and yet still carrying a tone of distress, or even fear. He held up his hand, the one he had been reached toward Connor's pistol, to show he didn't want to harm her. "...It's not safe out there. We're going to overrun this village; there's no way out."

Another mortar landed outside, the explosion shattering a few of the windows down the hall. Sebastian looked toward where he had come from and considered the lay of the land. "Scheisse, I- I'm going to tell them to stop shelling this place. Stay inside until we tell you to come out."

Without waiting for a reply, he put his helmet back on, grabbed Connor's pistol, and went running back out the door, leaving his friend in the Gigeure's parlor. He ran across the garden, waving his arm over his head at the Daristeinian line frantically, not realizing that another mortar had been launched already. It landed in the grass nearby, exploding and knocking him off his feet. He scrambled up again, continuing to run toward his allies. He soon reached the cobbled wall he had leaped over earlier and jumped over it, just as the mortar team had dropped another shell into the tube. "Nein nein nein!" Sebastian screamed as he reached them, and with a split second to spare, the operator turned the tube just slightly so that the shell launched away from the Gigeure home and landed in the open field nearby, harmlessly. Another team was about to load a mortar into their own tube, but the display caused them to pause.

One of the other soldiers, Karl, yelled at him. "What the hell are you doing?"

"There's nothing but a family in there! Put your shells somewhere else!" Sebastian urged.

"We can't let them take up position on us, and that's a vantage point if I've ever seen one. Where's Klimt?"

Sebastian hesitated. "...Connor's dead. We were inside. I'm telling you, stop shelling them, there's kids in there!"

Karl looked a bit sideways at Sebastian, and then nodded. "Fine, we'll pick it up if anyone starts shooting from the windows, though. We'll burn the whole building down. You're bleeding out of your hip, Ackermann, go get that checked out. Jahn, help me hit that barn..."

Sebastian hadn't even noticed that a piece of the shrapnel had hit him while he was running. His heart was pounding and he felt exhausted, and only as he headed over to a medic did he begin to feel the pain. The battle raged on sporadically for another hour, but eventually, enough reinforcements arrived that the Escarians were driven out of the village. By the time it had finished, several buildings had been totally destroyed, and the picturesque gardens had been shelled into oblivion. Dead men and horses lay scattered in the roadway, and the air was filled with smoke. However, the Giguere Estate was mostly unharmed. Eventually, a man trotted up toward the entrance to check for the family Sebastian had reported to inform them that the battle was over.

 

[Infab]

Shortly after the battle around the Giguere Estate, several members of the Daristeinian forces started to see something moving through the haze of smoke. Across the crater marked landscape, past the rubble of destroyed structures and buildings. They would occasionally hear the sounds of a horse. Was it a remnant of the Escarian cavalry that they had fought shortly before? When they got a clear view, they saw that it was something a bit odder. A knight, clad in ancient steel plating and wearing a pointed helmet that obscured most of his face. Upon a jet black horse he rode, trotting lightly across the fields and down the cobblestone and gravel pathways. The Daristeinian forces that bore witness to him simply stood where they were, staring at the knight whom didn't react to their gazes. He was preoccupied with something far more important.

His armor clanked, as he walked across the stone pathway and up the steps to the front door of the estate. He would pause only for a brief moment, reaching up and removing his helmet. Revealing a scarred face of middle age, with short brown hair and deep blue eyes. As he slipped the helmet under one arm, he reached up and knocked a few times on the double doors.

 

[Dmaster]

The huntress was expectantly defensive once the soldier started to note her kids behind her, trying to step in front of them in case he did decide to pull his gun. Though as he released his hand on his weapon she began to lower hers to try and ease the thick tensions. When asked the question she straightened up a bit more, narrowing her eyes at Ackermann before slowly nodding. The mortar landing down the hall shattered windows, the huntress caught between crouching down to brace and making for a sprint to scoop up her kids. The impact had gotten them to start crying, and she stood up to rush over and comfort them. A flurry of quiet shushes left her lips as she held them close, Eloise starting to move with them and Camille back to the center of the foyer.

In a surprising turn of events, the soldier began to get up and tell her that he was going to order them to stop bombarding her village. "W-What?" she stammered before he was off, stunned that he would go so far for the safety of her children. It didn't make any sense for a combatant to show such mercy, but then she didn't see any reason to complain either. Skepticism still ran high however, as she wasn't so sure the rest of his unit would be so willing to stop the shelling. At this point they may be tempted to sift the ashes of her home for valuable keepsakes to take home for all she knew.

Even still it would do her no good to try to make any escape. Eloise and her frightful children would be too difficult to sneak through and she couldn't bear the thought of a mistake bringing harm to any of them. All Camille could do was wait, sharing worried questions and conversation as she witnessed her once-picturesque homeland be eradicated before her eyes. Through the window she stared as she held her kids in her arms, the duo shuddering and yelping at the particularly large explosions that could be seen and heard around them.

Yet soon there came a knock on the door, and when she opened it and took stock of the full scope of destruction she was left speechless. True to the soldier's word the battle had ended and it would appear she was not being shot at, she gave a simple nod before returning inside to help gather her and the children's things. Only about a half hour had passed and she heard another knock yet again, swinging the doors open to meet the knight that had found his way to her. It was an unusual sight to be sure, but as Camille went over his equipment her eyes went wide upon seeing the helmet in his grasp.

"Merde! That dullahan!" she shouted, moving in a scramble to see if she had any gold-trimmed pottery nearby to keep him at bay.

 

[Infab]

Witnessing Camille scramble to use something against him, he rapidly shook his head and held up a hand. "Please, madame, don't be alarmed. I'm not the same knight you encountered on Grimtham." he said, his voice rough. Almost gravelly. He stepped through the door, giving her a smile. "I was resurrected and cleansed by Lord Adona, and now serve as one of his riders. I've come to being you two messages, directly from him."

He looked around the foryer of the estate for a brief moment, taking in the decorations and general look of the mansion's interior. "You have a lovely home, madame. Anyway, I am to give you this first and foremost. The first message." he stated, before reaching to the back of his waist and into a small black leather pouch. He drew out a letter, which he offered to Camille. "This was penned by Adona himself. It is a direct request that you join a group being gathered in Eternis, who are planning to search for the remaining godly artifacts in a month's time. It is an effort to stop Taranoch and potentially end him as well as his Icons."

He then delivered his second message. "I have also been instructed to offer you and your family safe haven in Eternis for the duration of the war. As you join the group in their effort, your children, husband, and other loved ones will be under the care of Undite."

 

[Dmaster]

Just as she located a pot to smash over his head he spoke, not in the characteristic gurgling she had grown accustomed to but a voice that could actually be deciphered. It was still quite scratchy in intonation but it was a vast improvement. Stopping in her tracks she turned to Tristyn, blinking several times as he handed her the note. "Adona. Yes, I suppose that makes sense. Couldn't send you here yesterday with the warning that my home would be bombed, could he?" she said bitterly. The compliment about her home struck her as odd, but still she took the note from the dullahan and opened it to get it a read over. "Erm... Thank you." she managed with a slightly nervous smile. This was all getting a little too surreal...

A mission to find the remaining artifacts? Odd for the god of fate to request her assistance with such a thing, but she didn't really have much choice when it came to accepting it. It wasn't safe for her and her family to stay here, and a potentially life-threatening mission was far more palatable than her having to hunker down at her parents' estate during the war. The second message got her to look up, her eyes looking quite hopeful all of a sudden. "In Eternis? You can get us out of here before more fighting breaks out? Oui..! Take us there immediately please!" Camille nearly pleaded.

 

[Infab]

"Alright. Please, finish gathering your things. If you have a carriage, bring it around to the front so I can guide you out and escort you to Eternis." responded Sir Tristyn. He then looked back out the door. "Madame, please excuse me for a brief moment. There is another nearby that will be joining you on your trip to Eternis...Lord Adona sent me here to gather two of you for the group, instead of just you alone." He looked back at Camille and politely smiled, before strolling back out the door and mounting his horse once he reached it.

Minutes later, he had trotted over to the nearby gathering of Daristeinian forces. And as soon as he neared them, he called out. "[I am looking for one Sebastian Ackermann, at the request of Lord Adona! Is he here, by chance? If so, please send him forth!]"

 

[K0mori]

The Daristeinians looked upon the rider with a mixture of awe and loathing. Even without knowing that he was a dullahan, it was clear that Sir Tristyn was a man apart from time, his armor marking him as yet another relic from Adonia's dark past. They seemed to be resurfacing more and more lately, and with the war on, even the most enthusiastic of soldiers couldn't help but sense the underlying omens at play.

"Ja! Das bin ich!" Sebastian replied, peering at Sir Tristyn over his shoulder with a cigarette hanging from his lips. He was seated on the ground with his back against a broken decorative fountain, with his leg extended in such a way as to not disturb the bandages which had just been applied within the hour. He asked the medic whether it was safe to move yet, and he nodded in reply before offering a hand. Sebastian took it and picked himself up, wincing slightly from the pain before dusting himself off and sullenly approaching the mysterious rider. "You said Adona sent you to find me... Why? I'm not even in charge of this unit."

 

[Infab]

"You said Adona sent you to find me... Why? I'm not even in charge of this unit."

"It seems Fate has something great in store for you, Ackermann. I am to give you this, first and foremost." stated the dullahan, as he reached into a leather pouch on the front left side of his waist. He drew out yet another letter, which bore markings in Daristeinian compared to the Escarian marked one he had given to Camille. "Lord Adona wishes for you to come to Eternis. The letter contains all the information you should need to understand why." he said, holding the letter out to the soldier.

 

[Dmaster]

Camille gave a nod to Tristyn and within minutes she had readied a carriage to leave, Eloise having volunteered to handle the driving herself. The last of their bags were carried onto it by the huntress as she hurried her kids along to get inside, exchanging glances as the soldiers occupying the place while she tried to swallow her anger and pride. This war was completely unnecessary, and it nearly cost her the safety of her family. Were it not for that botched intelligence she received she would have been gone days ago.

"Follow the black horse, Eloise. I just hope that he doesn't ride as insanely as he did in Grimtham." she muttered.

"Escusez-moi, Madame Giguere? What do you mean in Grimtham?"

"... Don't worry yourself about that. Let's just get out of here please." Camille said with a sigh, hopping onto the carriage herself as they waited to leave.

 

[ANIMAL MOTHER]

Ratka's Church
Caraborough Ridge, Island of Caraborough

​

The only thing lighting up the cold interior of Ratka's bedchambers were the soft glow of her cigarette hanging from her mouth and whatever early morning light that could peek between its dusty curtains. It's eerily quiet, especially for this time of day in a place where the people don't sleep much. There's almost no noise to be heard inside either, not even the standard bursts of gunfire or screaming coming from outside, except for the occasional creaking of her bed, her clock ticking, and a little phonograph Kregore had gifted her playing it's music a little quietly. Ratka lay restlessly in her bed, occasionally glancing at the window and the clock she has on her nightstand. There's much keeping her awake, and while thankfully it's not a religious existential crisis, she has indeed heard of all the fighting happening in the mainland. She's sent numerous letters back at the convent she attended in Tsavania addressing her concerns over the safety of her fellow sisters, and to the cathedral in Eternis, but she's not gotten a response from either of them. Maybe Kregore had something to do with it, she suspects. He's so hellbent on keeping her trapped on this rancid island, so why wouldn't he trap her letters here also? Whatever the case may be, it still worries her and she's been praying intensely every night for the safety of her friends and fellow nuns back home in Tsavania. Speaking of war however, she should probably let Kregore know it's time to go before the Warders suspect he's gone. Flipping over to her side, she briefly examines him as he sleeps contently beside her; humming along to the music. She takes a deep breath, shakes her head, and sighs as she wonders if he's even slightly concerned or even aware of what's happening back on the mainland. She gives him a nudge to wake him up.

"Kregore..." No response, so she shoves him repeatedly. "Kregore!... It is almost time! You need to go!"

Finally, she gets an answer as he stretches his arms around and yawns to wake himself up. "AHHHHH... FUCK. ALRIGHT..." He rolls out of her bed and starts looking for his undergarments on the floor. "SO... WHAT WILL A' BE PAYING JOU DIS TIME?"

"Enough to buy more food for the children. I do not have much left." she answers.

Kregore sluggishly rummages through his pants after picking them up, hoping he could find something he could give her. He frowns as he can't seem to find any money, but he does find something he thinks will work just fine in its absence. "DOIN' JOU ONE BETTER." he says, as he pulls out a handgun, "TAKE ET." and places it on her nightstand.

Ratka coils away from it, afraid it might go off if she gets even an inch closer. "What? No! Kregore, no! You cannot expect me to use this!"

Kregore grunts, not accepting Ratka's refusal and visibly upset about it. "FOKKEN PAWN IT, DEN." he growls dismissively. "PAWN IT, AN' JOU NOT BE SAYING A WORD TO ME WEN DEY GET JOU, AND JOU GOT NOFF!"

Very, very cautiously, Ratka picks up the pistol by its barrel and tries passing it over to him. "Kregore, please! I do not need this! I have Undite to protect me!" He stares down at her as his only reply. "Kregore... you will need this more than I do."

Dumbfounded, confused, and even a little shocked, Kregore barely holds in his laughter at Ratka's statement... but can't. "WH-WHAT?! HA... HA HA HA!!" Truly, it was such a strange thing to say to a man who smells constantly of gunpowder.

"I mean it!" she insists, waving it at him. "By Undite, have you not heard the news back at home!? My home?! Adonia is burning! They have all gone mad, and sooner or later, they or something else will come here too!"

Kregore gives a sneering smile back at her... or at least it seems like he is. With all the scars and mutilation done to his mouth, it's honestly hard to tell just what expression he's making, but at the very least Ratka's been around him long enough to guess somewhat correctly half the time. "RATTY, PLEASE. NEE FOKKEN DOM NOOL INNIE DOOSLAN' NEE TRAI SUCH A LAS TING. DEM COME, DEM DIE." he reassures her. It doesn't work. She rubs her head in frustration at him; he just won't understand the danger that they're all in should one of the powerhouse nations turn their attention to them.

It was only a decade ago did Atraca suffer an embarrassing loss when the inmates rose up and took the island for themselves, thereby severing the Atracans from its many resource deposits. Now what will Kregore do if they come back for round two? No doubt the Warders are hardy men equipped with all sorts of weaponry, but what good are all their machinegun nests if one naval artillery cannon can take them out? The gangs and franse may be numerous, but what if the Atracans bring in their allies too? There's no telling either they'll help Ratka since judging by what she's read in the papers, it seems merely speaking Tsavanian is crime enough to get shot. Caraborough will not last a minute; Kregore will not last a second.

She buries her head in her hands for a moment, but then edges across the bed a bit closer to him; placing a hand on his hip. "I... I am frightened, Kregore. I am worried about my friends, my family, my home... There is just something horrible in the air about all this fighting... I could not sleep because of it!"

His 'smile' fades, and morphs into something Ratka can clearly tell without uncertainty is a grimace. What a foolish thing to be worried about, he thinks. Caraborough's too remote for their attention, and they know already that one day they may end up back in their sights. They're prepared for this, at least the island's leadership is. They know the crumbling refineries and cellblocks of the ridge cannot withstand an artillery shell, but what better way to defend against the blast than to have your enemy never fire one? Why else would they have allowed the other colonies to remain standing all this time? Holding an entire town hostage and using them as a shield is just only one of their devious strategies to ward off any attack. And as for her concerns regarding her friends and family...

His breathing getting heavier until he calms it, he lifts a finger at Ratka while staring her down intensely. "LISSEN NOW, WOMAN. WHATEVER FOK-FOK CIRCUS 'APPENS INNA'DONIA STAYS DERE. WAR, DEATH, PURGES, FAMINE, GENOSIDE, A' DON' GIVE A FOKK. 'IS NONE OF OUR CONCERN WHAT DEM ARE DOING, RATTY. DEY DUMP US HERE, NOW WE AR' BETTER OFF AWAY FROM IT! NO MORE OF DIS TING OF JOU WORRYING SO MUCH ABOUT DE MAINLAND, JOU UNNERSTAND?"

"B-But my friends-"

"AG, FOKK JOU FRIENDS! JOU GOT AN ENTIRE ISLAND JOU BE MAKIN' FRIENDS WIT! FOKK, JOU EVEN GOT I ASSA FRIEND! NOW, WHAT ELSE JOU NEED BESIDES ME, AH?"

*SLAP*
​

Ratka left one hell of a stinging handprint across Kregore's face, and carefully he rubs it with his fingers; dazed and still trying to figure out if she really did just strike him. However, just to be sure, she makes sure her next words hit just as hard. "What if it was your men, huh?! Trapped in a home that is burning, surrounded by people that want to kill them! They have no guns, no weapons, nothing! Can you at least think of this?! Maybe you will understand a partition of how I am feeling about the people I ministered to, the people I prayed with, and the people I healed! But you do not care, you do not care at all, do you? You care about nothing but this fucking island and every trash pile in it!"

"RAT-"

"I will tell you what I need! What I need is to be left ALONE! Go and be with the garbage in the street since you want to stay in it so much!"

"..."

The realization slowly hits him that maybe not even a better choice of words would've spared him beholding this rare instance of Ratka's anger. Perhaps, it would've been wiser not to talk to her like he does to his men and simply say nothing, just as he is now; left utterly speechless after her outburst against him. His scowl had faded away a second ago, but now just the faint traces of any emotion are left on his face. Though he does carefully reach for Ratka's shoulder... only for her to bat his hand away and leer at him in return. There's nothing left for him to do here, he thinks, so he picks up the rest of his clothes and quietly leaves the church. Once he's finished getting dressed outside, he takes one last look through one of the windows to see if he can still catch a glimpse of her. She's still there; he can see her partially through the doorway, curled up on her bed. Shaking his head and wiping his face, he backs away from the dampened window.

Gods, what the hell just happened? A usual night with her and it ends like this. And over what? A pointless turf war, just like the ones the lesser gangs fight except simply on a larger scale, occurring far away from here? This'll be done and over quick as conflicts like these usually are, he believes, and she'll feel stupid for ever being this worked up over something so insignificant. She'll see this eventually, and maybe along with it, any desire to leave Caraborough or ideas relating to the world beyond the sea will diminish as well once she understands she was wrong to worry. She needs to understand once and for all that no one leaves Caraborough; especially not her. And if it means having to let go of the outside world, then so be it. This is the lesson she needs to be taught and he will get it through to her one way or another, even if it means dragging himself back to his headquarters trying to hold that stone-like expression he always has.

Even if it means breaking her down; means breaking her heart. After all, a Warder does not feel shame...

---

The Black Hole of Abbadon, Wrath Demon Brig
Land of Wrath, The Abyss
​

A captain mulls over the letter he received earlier today from Lord Vergas and re-reads it top to bottom every now and then just to ensure he's reading it correctly, and if it really is from him. Unfortunately, to his distress, it's exactly what he's afraid of and highlighting his fear is the clear impeccable rubber stamp of approval from Vegras. So his lord wants a prisoner released back into their ranks, does he? This is well and fine seeing as they need to rebuild their strength following Azgon's fall, but of all the those in the brig he could've picked to release, did he really have to choose this one? There's so many others he could've picked that are rotting away in the brig for all sorts of misdemeanors; they shouldn't need to scrape the very bottom by picking someone they should've executed right on the spot for what they've done. But alas, orders are orders, and no one should dare question them lest they're thrown into the pits of the Black Hole themselves. Already exhausted by having to assemble and recall as many of his own men he could provide to his lord, he left this task last in hopes he could find enough soldiers to avoid having to release this last one, but Vegras requested them specifically by name to be released and deployed. He just hopes he and the rest of his men will be as far away as possible when they're eventually sent somewhere; they've caused enough damage as is. At least he won't be doing this alone just in case something does, and probably will, go awry. Taking several of his own men with him and having them gear up in heavy armor and powerful shotguns, he departs with them on a truck; keeping silent and anxious to finally get this over with so it won't be his problem anymore.

Passing by armed guards, checkpoints, watch towers, and other defenses along the road towards the prison's entrance, he and his men finally reach its thick metal doors. The two guards standing by them give him a salute before one of them inserts a key into a panel nearby and flicks a lever beside it which causes the doors to open slowly with a loud groan. Before him is a large hallway, barely lit, and with many smaller hallways branching off. At the very end is an office booth built into the wall where a secretary is reading a few reports scattered on his desk. He quickly organizes them and pushes them away as he notices the captain approaching.

Adjusting himself to sit up straight at attention, he addresses him. "How may I help you, sir?"

The captain sighs as he prepares himself to give an order that had it come from a lower rank, he would've had them disciplined and detained. "... By order of Lord Vegras, you are to release prisoner number six-one-four."

The secretary pauses for a moment as he checks the ledger for that number. A look of alarm appears on his face as he stares back at the captain. "... Wilhelm Greenwald?" He leans in a little closer over his desk. "... Are you sure, sir?"

The captain leans over a bit himself, staring down at the secretary. "Yes. Do you have a problem with that?"

"No, sir..." the secretary meekly replies. "Though may I see the order letter?... I think you understand why I need to."

He nods, and pulls out that letter he received. The secretary takes it and reads it carefully just to ensure this is authentic. It unfortunately is, and grudgingly he digs for Wilhelm's cell key, his file, and brings it to the captain to sign a release form enclosed within. "Just sign it there and I'll point you to his cell."

Very reluctantly does the captain put his signature on the paper and even the secretary notices how hesitant he is about it. "Anyone else and this would be far easier on me." he mumbles.

The secretary nods in agreement. "Sir, if I may ask, do you think Lord Vegras is aware of what he did to earn a spot here?"

"Of course!" the captain grunts. "Why else would he want him out there again? Whatever he's going to do, I just hope he sends him alone against Tariun. We'd have far less casualties than last time."

With the form finished, the secretary takes it and files it away. "Very well, sir. His cell is through the door to your immediate left and down the hall at the very end. You cannot miss it." he says, also sliding the key to him. "I would lead you there, but I think it's better I stay here. You know, just in case I have to sound the alarm if he acts up again."

"Be grateful I won't ask you to handle him as well." says the captain, off to find Greenwald's cell.

The rows of cells that flanked the captain and his men on either side were full of imprisoned wrath demons either sleeping in their beds, checking who's coming down the hall, throwing rude gestures at the captain, or pacing around in their cells. Though the further down they went, the more his men started to notice something was different... The cells were gradually becoming less populated and there were more and more guards posted around the closer they got to a giant iron door at the end. Suddenly, it opens for a brief moment, and a pair of guards come out carrying a ripped up mass of bones and limbs that looks like it could've been a person at some point.

"Pardon us, sir." one of them say.

"Is that Wilhelm?" he asks, moving aside for them.

"No, sir. She was just an offering to him."

Shaking his head in disgust, the captain and his men move inside; going through a small room with another barricaded door on the other side. It's unlocked and the iron bars holding it shut slide off, opening the door and revealing a pitch black expanse where the only things visible are a short walkway in front of him and a rectangular iron box dangling over a seemingly bottomless pit. His men get their guns ready and take positions surrounding him as they slowly creep forward.

"Wilhelm." he calls out to him as he gets closer.

Nothing but silence.

"Wilhelm, I know you are there. I know you can hear me."

A little slab of iron near the top of the box slides off, revealing a tiny, barred window. The captain can't see anything through it, but puffs of smoke are billowing out of it. A voice soon spoke, sounding much like stones being ground together and just as shrill as a knife cutting into glass.

"GOEIE MÔRE, CAPTAIN..." he speaks. "... OR MAYBE IT IS THE AFTERNOON?"

"It's morning time, Wilhelm... How are you feeling?"

"OH... I WAS HAVING A WONDERFUL DREAM ABOUT HOME... HOW I MISS IT... AND HOW I WISH I COULD GO BACK ONE MORE TIME..." The box shakes and through the tiny window, a set of sharpened, drooling teeth come into view. "THE ABYSS... IT JUST CANNOT PROVIDE FOR ME THE SAME WAY..."

"Well... you're in luck. By order of Lord Vegras, you are to be released at once."

Wilhelm doesn't respond, but he moves his head down enough in his little box that one of his eyes peeks through the window instead; watching the captain and making sure this isn't a joke. The captain pulls out the letter and shows off Vegras' seal on it.

"... You will also have your rank restored and control of a few privates we've just finished training." Before Wilhelm can say anything though, the captain lifts a finger at him. "For combat, Wilhelm! Nothing else you have in mind for them, do you understand? And do us all a favor and don't kill them yourself. We're short on manpower as is."

Wilhelm goes back to baring his teeth at the captain again and even throws in a smile. "DEAR, OH DEAR! NOW WHAT HAVE I DONE TO BE REWARDED LIKE THIS? HAS MY ABILITY TO LEAD FINALLY BEEN UNDERSTOOD NOW THAT AZGON IS FINALLY DEAD?"

The captain decides not to say anything about that, though shifts the topic to something else. "There is one last matter before you are released. Lord Vegras wishes to gauge your skills in combat and leadership just to see if your time here has waned them."

"COME INSIDE THEN!!" Wilhelm shakes the bars inside the box he's trapped in, rattling them and causing the box to start swaying back and forth. "COME TO ME IF YOU DARE!"

"I'm not the one you'll be fighting, Wilhelm. Instead he requested specifically you be sent that island you're obsessed with."

The iron box stops shaking and Wilhelm goes eerily quiet. "THE RIDGE..." he almost whispers.

"Yes, Caraborough. We are all aware of your history with that place... and your eagerness to take the title of 'Warhead'."

An unsettling murmur fills the air as the iron box shakes harder, and harder, and harder as Wilhelm loses his calm and more smoke bellows out of the little window. His heavy breathing reverberates against the walls the more he loses control of himself. "THAT TITLE... IS MINE!!! IT ALWAYS HAS BEEN, DAMN IT! HE STOLE IT FROM ME! HE TRIED TO KILL ME-"

Carefully, the captain reaches out to the cage in an effort to get him to calm down. "Wilhelm-"

His words fall on deaf ears as Wilhelm begins shaking the bars and even punches the box repeatedly in an attempt to free himself. He's damaging it hard enough that even one of the chains holding the box in the air breaks. "DAMN YOU! DAMN YOU! LET ME OUT ALREADY!!"

"THEN STOP YOUR THRASHING!" Immediately, and desperately, the captain takes a shotgun out of the arms of one of his men and fires it at a corner of the iron box. Then everything goes back to the eerie silent and calm just as it was when he first walked in. The captain sighs and shakes his head, already exhausted with him. "... Save your anger for the enemy, Wilhelm. It'll find better use that way." He then turns to one of his men and nods. They find a lever on the wall near the entrance and slowly the box comes down on the walkway. The iron chains, iron bars, and iron locks are undone cautiously and carefully until the door opens. All barrels are pointed at Wilhelm as he steps outside for the first time in a while. His hulking frame looms over the others, and being locked up in the brig for decades doesn't look like it's affected him even a little bit. "Your belongings are waiting for you in our truck, as are your guns. Once you're equipped we'll leave for Caraborough."

Wilhelm cracks his neck and moves his shoulders about. He's spent far too long being cramped up in that box, and over what exactly? Killing a few of his own men mid-transport just because he was bored? It's not his fault that it was taking too long to get to their destination. He honestly thought better of demons that they wouldn't jail him for the same reason his superiors back in the moral realm did. Seems like he was wrong after all, but at least now they understand that they've wronged him. Maybe Azgon's undignified death at the hands of a bunch of nobodies has finally knocked some sense into them all, and now they're thankfully wiser for it. But that doesn't matter now. He's out of the brig, and they've realized their mistake of imprisoning him. And if they even so much as raise their finger at him again for whatever reason, then he'll give them a real reason to throw him back in his cell.

"FINALLY. IT'S ABOUT TIME..."

 

[K0mori]

Sebastian took the envelope slowly and nodded, suddenly unsure if everything happening was real, or if this was some strange dream. "Danke," he said, and the two stared at each other awkwardly for a moment. Sebastian opened his mouth as if to ask a question, but he found himself at a loss for words. There was just too much happening at the moment, and even if he knew exactly what he wanted to know first, he doubted he had the capacity to absorb any information. "I'll, uh... I'll figure out a way back, then, back to Daristein, and then on to..."

He couldn't say it. Eternis, the seat of the Divine Church, in enemy Atraca. There he would possibly meet the living gods, face-to-face, and the mere thought of it made him sick to his stomach. He tried to shake the feeling off; it was irrational. It was the Escarians and another ambush that he ought to fear more than anything, or capture. The gods wouldn't single him out for anything terrible, would they?

At that moment, Sebastian noticed the Escarian woman and her children loading into a carriage in the distance. "...Where are they going?" he asked, concerned. "If they go east, they're going to end up stuck in this violence all over again. They should probably head west, and cut through our lines as fast as possible."

 

[Infab]

"If they go east, they're going to end up stuck in this violence all over again. They should probably head west, and cut through our lines as fast as possible."

Sir Tristyn nodded. "Indeed. That was how I was able to reach this place." responded the knight. He then straightened up in his saddle. "They are venturing to Eternis as well. Lord Adona requested both you and the madame of the estate there. Should you wish, you may ride in the carriage with them... if they are alright with it. If not, I can offer you a ride on my horse."

"...I believe desertion can be forgiven under the proper circumstances, Mr. Ackermann. Such as when the living gods themselves are requesting your presence." said the Knight finally, as he turned his horse about and trotted back over to the carriage.

 

[K0mori]

Both of the knight's suggestions were completely out of the question. Sebastian was still totally unaware as to the Escarians woman's identity, but she was clearly no one ordinary. Still, regardless of their shared mission and destination, there was no way he could ride in the same carriage with her and her children after what had just transpired, nor was he going to share or even borrow a horse from such an off-putting figure. He just shook his head as Sir Tristyn rode away.

Another horse approached the Daristeinians, its mounted lancer slumped forward, arms draped over the horse's neck. A moment later, the rider fell off, moaning as a curious medic approached him. "Oi, get me my kit!" the medic called out, and while they attended to the fallen rider, the abandoned horse continued to meander through the camp aimlessly. Sebastian limped over and took hold of the reigns, and the horse stopped next to him. He stood there a moment, envelope in one hand, contemplating the coincidence of the moment, as if he were no longer in control of his destiny, but it had in fact been altered by some powerful figure. A sense of doom crept over him. He wanted to release the animal, or let the paper in his hand flutter away into the wind, and forget all about it.

But then again, had Sebastian not promised himself he would be a true Daristeinian man? And what true man shies away from his destiny? What man scorns his calling? For whatever reason, the universe was choosing him for some sacred duty, and it would be a disservice to himself not to shoulder it. He led the horse to the remains of the fountain so that it could drink, and read the letter while it replenished its stamina.

Around an hour later, as Sir Tristyn led the Gigueres' carriage up the road, past a steady trickle of Daristeinian soldiers heading east, another horse came to meet them. Sebastian rode up beside the knight, greeting him with a solemn nod.

 

[ANIMAL MOTHER]

Warder's Stronghold, Peak of Mt. Caraborough
Island of Caraborough
​

A wooden silhouette painted up to look somewhat like an Atracan navy sailor twitches in the mountain wind, and the weak and rusted nails holding it in place are shaking themselves loose. The wind makes it sway back and forth, turn side to side, but it’s still standing. This is perfect, and it’ll provide an actual challenge for the (dubiously) fortunate recruit that’ll be taking aim at it… after they make it through an obstacle course Tommy created, that is.

From above on a platform, he watches the newest batch of inmates, outcasts, and other dregs of society exhaust themselves slithering and prowling around a maze of wooden planks, stacked barrels, and other targets placed around for them to attack. Some stumble and fall onto a few shards of broken glass placed as a course hazard, while others are struck with a baton by Warder Instructors for not taking down the targets aggressively enough. The sound of doors being kicked open, instructors shouting, guns being fired, wood shattering, and glass being broken fill the rest of the maze until it gradually dies down as the trainees start reaching the maze’s exit where a long strip of flat road awaits them. With what little traces of vigor remaining in them, they sprint down the road as fast as they can while being pelted with small rocks and trash by the surrounding instructors. Some of them pass out and are dragged off, but the few that are still on their feet make it to the very end for the final part of this endurance course: taking out a target from several yards away while fatigued. Tommy watches them closely as they all fall into place; yet none of them shoot as he’s not given the order yet. A few of them take peeks at him from under their heavy helmets as he walks down towards them, hoping he’d just give the order already so they can be done with all the hell he’s put them through today.

“[ACTIIIIIIVE!]” he yells, allowing them to raise their rifles while he inspects their stances. “[FIRE!]”

The bullets crack through the air as they speed towards the targets several meters away… and miss them completely, save for a few that graze them around the edges. Tommy’s hand makes a loud slap as it lands on his face in annoyance. Already exasperated with their mistakes, he gives one hell of a punch towards the back of one of their heads.

“[DISARM! BACK AGAIN!!!]”

The trainees very, very reluctantly get up and jog all the way around the maze with the instructors barking at them and chasing them there. They’ll just have to do this again, and again, and again, until he’s tired of watching them fuck up. And once tomorrow comes, he'll put them through this again until they cannot get it wrong. His fellow Warders might consider him to be cruel by their standards to new trainees, but this is the sort of preparation he feels they need to survive in such a merciless place like the Ridge. It’s best any mistakes are weeded out on their mountain rather than the streets below because at least here they might be able to walk away from it alive. To see them push through and earn that title of Warder; to see them go down into the streets, do their patrols, and come back with a few extra notches carved into the stocks of their guns is an immense point of pride for him.

Though now that it's quiet, save for the distant yelling of the instructors, Tommy freezes as he can hardly hear something peculiar in the distance. It sounds like... music, and it's coming from one of the shanties near their road. He's heard this tune before, but that was such a long time ago. Curiously, he looks over to the prison complex itself. It looks like it's turned a lighthouse, a blocky, looming lighthouse as every searchlight sending its rays upward. Only once has he ever seen it lit up like that, but he knows what it means. He whistles over to some nearby Warders and gives them a nod.

It's time to begin.

---
Jessie's Saloon & Brothel, The Ridge
​

Today's a hell of a slow night for Jessie's. Many tables are empty, booths have remained unoccupied, and even the brothel isn't seeing much action tonight. The war breaking out on the mainland has made it quite difficult for smugglers or any other seafaring merchants to bring in just about anything overseas. Alcohol, among many other commodities, has gradually become scarce and the 77's and 76's are looking for alternative methods of obtaining them. Luckily for Jessie, she's already got an alternative method of her own by brewing some good ol' Southern Atracan moonshine with the Jessie family twist... but unfortunately there's hardly anyone around that's able to stomach such a thing, even in Caraborough. So, her saloon remains nearly empty still, save for a ganger passed out on a table due to drinking too much of the low-quality brew and an Escarian dhampir just across from her at the bar stand: Johnny Langa, a frequent but also very welcome customer of hers and the only one of those 78s she actually likes being around. Something's up with him, though. He's sitting there, elbows on the table and staring down at his glass, stirring what drink he's got in there with a knife. He doesn't look too happy either with that frown on his face. Maybe he's just lonely and needs someone to talk to? It's a rare thing for her to see someone come in here just to stick to themselves, after all. She walks along behind the bar stand to where he's sitting, and looks at him for a second before getting a little closer to him.

"Hey... you want somethin' else, Johnny?" she asks him. "I think I got some whiskey around here someplace."

Sluggishly, he raises his head so his sad eyes meet hers. He sighs and lowers his head back down. "Ah, no mon chou..." he waves his hand in declination. "I don't think all the liquor in the world will make me feel better."

"Well... what's wrong?" A little concerned for her favorite, she leans a little closer over the bar stand. "I'm guessin' all the fightin' back home has you down?"

Langa shakes his head again. "If only it was just that. Then at least I wouldn't worry also about about Kregore possibly wanting to kill me."

Jessie raises an eyebrow. "The Warhead? Yer boss?... You didn't fuck up bad did you?"

"Oh, yes. Oh very yes, my dear." sarcastically remarks Langa, rolling his eyes. "Would you like to know what I did? It's worse than what I did to be sent here, certainly." He leans in a little closer, and barely raises his voice above a whisper. "I told him I was concerned for my mother." He leans back, feigning a shocked expression for a brief moment. "Fucking scandalous, right? It's not enough the fucking purges might've taken her, now those sausage-eating connards might kill her..." Unable to speak more on the matter, he takes a deep breath and rubs his brow as the very possibility has been tormenting him all day.

"Aw hell, Johnny..." Jessie puts a hand on one of Langa's arms. "I'm sure she's alright. Ain't no one got any reason to rough up an old lady makin' wine."

"An old vampire making wine, Jessie." he adds. "Don't forget that they still hate our kind, and yours too." He can feel his temper rise a little, and to stop himself from foolishly getting angry around Jessie, he holds her hand to calm herself down. "Its just not fair, you know? They could've at least let her stay in Vinmont near the castle instead of dumping her back in the south. Hell, if it wasn't for my father, I could've been on the fucking throne instead of my cousin."

Jessie squeezes his hand back. "Hey now, you're still an important man 'round here. Besides, don't think you'd like being on that throne after bein' in that summit."

"True... true." Langa nods. "Though I certainly wouldn't mind for a day, especially after I learned how they sample their wine." A slight grin forms on his face as he lifts his glass. "... Care to find out?"

Jessie, unsure of what to expect, nods nervously. "Uh... sure?" Suddenly, Langa downs the glass, holds its contents in his mouth, and grabs the back of Jessie's head and pulls her face right into his. "W-Wait-" Langa wraps his lips around her mouth and expresses his drink, causing her to collapse onto the bar stand in a fit of coughing. “W-What the fuck was that?!” she says, readjusting her hat after it almost fell off.

Langa laughs as he helps her back up. "Oh, ma moitié , if only you knew what utter decadence-" The sound of a familiar tune coming from somewhere outside prevents him from finishing that thought. Realizing what it is, he cautiously looks around the bar just to make sure it's just them inside and that one of the working girls upstairs didn't decide to turn on the phonograph out of boredom. But there is still no one, and fortunately so, otherwise he'd eventually be in deep shit with Kregore over his relations with Jessie. That means only one thing. It's time to go.

"Well, it seems I'm being summoned." he says, getting up from his stool. "Save a room upstairs for the both of us, will you?"

"Heh..." lightheartedly sneers Jessie, still coughing after what he did earlier. "F-Fuck you, Johnny..."

---
Prison Complex
One hour later...
'Die Vakbond'


​

The midnight air around the Ridge is silent and calm. Everything is quiet and still in the muddy courtyard. No boots were marching, no flies were buzzing, and no one dared peek their heads out of their windows to see what the commotion is all about at the looming, towering prison. They know something very serious is about to occur, otherwise the 78s would not be out in full force tonight. There wouldn't be a mandatory curfew under threat of immediate execution either, and for what might be the first time in the Ridge's sordid history, a majority is actually complying with it. No one is out tonight except for those few specifically allowed to, and no one is allowed to be out for as long as this will take. Eventually, the silence is broken with the steel doors of the prison courtyard opening with a loud groan, and stepping out forth into the moonlight is the unmistakable, imposing silhouette of Kregore; his armor now decorated further, his ammo belts heavier, his armor reinforced, and his machine gun fully loaded and ready. In front of him are nearly the entirety of his men in their bizarre looking prison guard uniforms and tooled-up with the hardest hitting weaponry they could possibly have, and behind him is a caravan of wagons containing the most high-ranked of the 77s; including Rigo himself in an extravagant looking wagon with gold trimming and fine silk curtains. Kregore looks out among his men; all of their eyes are on him as they patiently wait for him to give the order. He then looks behind him and his eyes meet a member of the 77s as he hangs out of one of the wagons. A soft murmur comes from inside for a brief moment, and then the Staafman nods at him. They're ready. Now he faces his men again. He takes one last breath as he looks around, still in mild disbelief that this is actually happening. Standing tall among them, he shouts at them.

"[WARDERS!]" he yells.

The sudden click of thousands of boot heels snapping together in attention sounds off like gunshots.

"[WALK.]"​

The mass of savage killers and tribals, numbering over a hundred strong, move in unison through the exterior doors of the courtyard and into the Ridge's slums proper. A hardened line of brass and steel surrounding armored wagons full of crime lords, corrupt politicians, and other ministers expelled from Adonia forms a protective barrier around them as they push through the filth-covered streets towards their stop. Barrels point themselves into tight alleyways to their sides, torches and lanterns light the pitch black road in front of them, and raised shields made of barrels and scrap metal float around the caravan; preventing anyone from getting a lucky shot at the Ridge's leadership. Curious onlookers, whether they be peeking from their windows or hiding behind piles of trash, dart away whenever Kregore points his gun's searchlight in their direction; having already been made fearful by his aura and knowing better than to pick a fight with the Ridge's apex predator. So they stride forward still towards their destination; a dockyard full of ships that's been cleaned up just for tonight.

The numbers gangs wouldn't be the only ones marching out in full force tonight, however. Other gangs, mostly high ranking ones near the top of the food chain, also sneak around towards the dockyard. A lone, unfortunate member of the East Atracan Bombers panics as he sees a group of Florentine Bandidos in their trademark black hats and black scarves prowl towards him; only to be relieved yet confused when they completely ignore him as they walk on by. A coachman prays silently, hoping to the gods that the Daristenian Morningstars won't make a mess of his carriage nor will they try to rob it as they board. He knows them well, especially in regards to one particular incident where they were rowdy enough that they tipped the carriage over, but for some reason tonight, they're not doing anything. He keeps taking quick glances inside, but they're all sitting still with serious looks on their faces. No yelling, no shoving, no drinking, no misfires, nothing. When they finally depart just as quietly as they boarded, he sighs in relief and rides off to find a spot where he can take a much needed smoke break. The Tsavanian Bloodhounds, having their hideout already at the docks, stand idly by outside as they await the arrival of the Numbers and the other gangs. However, their rivals in the Gamblers have shown up first and have began taunting them. They volley insults and even trash at the Bloodhounds, calling them fleabags, fur-shaggers, calling their fangs as short as their manhood, wondering aloud if the Tsavanian queen fucks wolves and if their Tsar is also a rabid dog like them, hoping to enrage one of them enough that they shift into that werewolf form and go 'psycho'. They come very close as some of their members twitch and even start sprouting fur, but a small gesture and whisper from their boss calms them. Now the Bloodhounds are fully silent, reassured into being quiet and still as they see a very large shadow rising over a wall in the corner. And like rats, the Gamblers flee in terror as the very presence of the 78s, let alone Kregore's, makes them scatter. The Bloodhounds laugh as they did, and their boss gives a small nod to the Numbers. He also gives Rigo a deep bow as he disembarks from his wagon, and leads him, Kregore, and a few of the 76s onto a platform overlooking a large open yard. Rigo, his closest advisors, and the 76s go up on the platform; though Kregore and the rest of the 78s stay either on the ground or on crudely constructed watch towers looking over the docks. Eventually, the other gangs start to arrive and find spots in the yard to place themselves in.

Rigo stands tall overseeing the crowd slowly form below him. His hands gently grip the handlebars along its edge and his eyes wander around behind his tinted glasses. He's spent years with his advisors planning for this very moment where he'll share with the gangs of the Ridge the idea. The idea of 'die vakbond', the idea of the unity. But how would he be able to do it to so many groups of people with so many differences between them? It's true they're all outcasts, criminals, refuse from the mainland that couldn't make it back home, but they don't all speak the same language, they don't speak the same ideas, they don't share the same values, they don't share the same cultures, they don't share the same tastes, the same views, the same homes... So Rigo had to take all of this into account. He had to find a way to reach all of them loudly and clearly so he rehearsed as long as he needed to. He rehearsed in front of mirrors, mimicking movements until they looked just right. He rehearsed to his underlings in the 77s, raising and lowering his inflection, his tone, his voice, and changing around his words until they became as fired up as he is. And now with almost everyone here, it is time for him to finally share the idea. The Warders were out and about prowling among the crowd, staring down obedience into the eyes of the gangs while Staafmans on smaller platforms spaced out evenly among the yard awaited Rigo to speak so they could relay his idea to those in the back who might not be able to hear him. They were all here now, and his men were all in place. Kregore stands menacingly in front of the crowd with his machinegun in hand while his second in command Tommy leans on a column behind him. His former subordinate Langa is also around too, high on a watchtower and carefully sweeping the crowd through the scope of his rifle. The midnight air is almost silent and calm, save for the occasional noise of mosquitos on necks being slapped, coughing, and sneezing. He began.

The first thing he speaks to them about is the reason why they were all here, not just physically but the reason why they were forced into this depraved lifestyle to begin with, and that was because of the man. The man who sentenced them in the court houses, the man who jailed them, the man who dragged them kicking and screaming away from their friends, their families, their fellows, the man who cuffed their hands and feet, who threw them in the cells, who threw them into the Ridge, the man who works at the police station, the man who works at the governor's house, at the city hall, at the butcher's shop, at the market house, at the school house the man who lives in the castle, in the lofty resorts, in the apartment, in the tenement, in the house next door, in the room right next to theirs; anyone that is above them is the man. They all know, they all understand him. They never had a chance because of them. They'll never make it because of them. They'll always have to suffer one more day living on the floor because of them. He tells them this, that life for them would be full of pain and suffering at the very bottom, and to go on living would just drag it out unless they had the balls to end it early. They'll spend their lives doping up, killing eachother, turning themselves inside out for as long as they breathe. He tells them how hopeless it all is for them... and thinking that is nothing short of the biggest mistake those living it up on the mainland have ever made.

Curiously, eyes widen and heads turn upward to face him; he's got them now. Now the question is asked, just how grave of a mistake could it be when they're still living happily and they're all so far from home? And that's exactly it, those back in Adonia have no idea what they are doing here, and that is if they're even aware of the Ridge in the first place. Those who know, they know who. The police know, obviously, the 'franse' back home know, but with his efforts of spreading the word and sharing the idea, someone else also knows: their fellow criminal elements back at home know. The mafias of Stiusil, the outlaws of Atraca, the bandits of Florentine, they all know, and further still, they agree. And now what does this mean? So what if they're aware of the Ridge? So what if they've agreed to cast their lot with the Numbers? It means they aren't alone on this island. It means they're bigger than they believed. It means that why should they, the undesirable underbellies of the world, should roll over and play dead on an island far away when together they outnumber the man? Why should they continue wrestling each other in the shit and puke covered roads just for a few square feet of ground when they can be running entire cities by themselves? It's enough of them killing each other over the smallest of differences. It's enough of them killing one another because they're from different nations, speak different languages, have different cultures and ideas. The fact of the matter is just that simple, and Rigo makes it clear: the steel baton of the police cracks their skulls open all the same. It doesn't matter if they're from Redonia, or Adonia, or if they're vampires, or werewolves, they all got fucked hard enough by the man. From up above on the platform, he can see them all smiling, grinning, and cheering. He's getting through to them. And finally, the idea is starting to form in their heads too. One giant unification of organized crime to wash over the world, and they would be the center of it here in Caraborough.

And they rise. They rise to their feet at attention. They rise to cheer him on. They rise, ready to get on those boats nearby and sail over to the mainland to start wrecking havoc. They all have the idea... at least, that's what Rigo thinks. In all his preparation and planning just for this night, it seems he might've underestimated something that he probably should've taken further into consideration. While a majority of the crowd were with him and his plan of creating massive-scale organized crime, there are a few gangs in the back that were eyeing each other rather suspiciously. The idea isn't welcome in their heads. It can't move into those square inches past their eyes as thoughts relating to the war back home stopped it from entering. No matter how badly 'the man' back home had beaten them, they didn't do a good enough job stomping out any love for the homeland it seems. With the news of Daristein breaking through Escaria's lines recently, the thought of working with gangs from the same invading country didn't sit well with the Escarian gangs. They eyed the Morningstars and other Daristenian gangs closely with ill thoughts in their heads while they in turn were leering at the Atracans. The air around them is tense as a standoff is happening between them under the noses of those too busy celebrating Rigo's plan. One of the Atracan gangsters pulls out a flask but a fly lands on it's lid as he's drinking it, causing him to spit out his booze onto the person off to his side which just happened to be one of the Daristenians. Enraged, they tackle him onto the ground and start beating his face in until one of the Escarians pulls him away and starts kicking him down, though the Daristenians refuse to leave their comrade at their mercy and start beating away at the Atracans to rescue their friend. Meanwhile the rest of the Escarians also join in on the brawl by grabbing the nearest Daristenian they can get their hands on and start thrashing, kicking, beating them down until blood starts flowing all over the floor. The other gangs try to back off since this is not an affair worth meddling in, but some of them are pulled in whether by an accidental strike or one of brawlers grabs one to use as a shield.

One of the 77s on the platforms frantically signals back to Rigo that something's gone wrong. A fight has broken out between multiple gangs and a few Warders move in to try to break it up. A Warder gets his machete out and reaches for one of the brawling gangsters-

*BANG*

​

-and falls over dead. A shot had been fired from somewhere in the area and made its mark right between the eyes of one of the 78s. His lifeless body bleeds at the feet of one of the Daristenians, and in a panicked response, they pull out their own gun and start firing away at the Atracans; believing they were the ones that killed a Warder and eager to gain honor with the Numbers. Now the brawl has turned into a full shootout between gangs, and the chaos only gets worse as stray bullets hit other gangs around them; dragging them in. The 77s withdraw from their platforms and rush towards the front for safety, though some of them catch a bullet themselves. Meanwhile, an enraged Kregore barks at his men to get this under control now and to kill anyone that was involved in this brawl. Rigo, on the other hand, wisely begins descending from the platform before a stray bullet has a chance of hitting him with the 76es following suit. He makes his way down the steps carefully but stops on seeing something glinting brightly in the distance. Before he can even process what it is, before he can sense the familiar aura radiating from it, before he can realize someone has him in his sights, one more shot cracks through the air, striking him right in his heart and blowing a hole in his chest. Stumbling and in pain, he falls over the railing, taking a last look at the idea he had spent so much time planning and scheming go up in flames in just one night; going numb from the pain of seeing his great hope of unity collapse from infighting. His body lands with a loud thud on the concrete ground below.

Rigo is dead.

His death doesn't go unnoticed as people in the crowd gasp and scream in total terror that the most powerful man in the Ridge was just murdered in front of their very eyes while Kregore's left so utterly dumbstruck that he's been rendered completely still and unsure of what to do. He's in complete disbelief that his mentor and his boss had just died and under his watch nonetheless, and as much as he tries to force his body to do something, he can only look on at Rigo's bleeding body; aghast and speechless. Though it seems the gangers aren't the only ones in utter dismay as something else is also shook; the earth itself rumbles lightly for a brief moment, toppling over a few people in the crowd and shaking the watchtowers and searchlights surrounding the clearing; the light earthquake almost making Langa fall out of his. Tommy tries snapping Kregore out of his stupor while the Warders frantically activate several searchlights and shine them in spots all around the dockyard to find the shooter. Instinctively, as well as running on fear, several gangsters in the crowd brandish their guns and start firing wildly into the air around them hoping they'd deter wherever the shooter is while the Numbers scramble for cover. The earth shakes again, this time harder throughout the entirety of the Ridge now. Several towering shanties in the distance slide downhill as they come apart and the security walkways flail about in the air as the ground shakes harder, and harder, and harder, bringing down a storehouse, shaking the piers, sending waves crashing from the ocean and making the crowd even more agitated. They struggle and rip and shove and push themselves out of each other's way as they desperately try to leave; the Numbers don't bother stopping any of them as they're also rallying up to make an exit as they're nearly crushed by a stampeding crowd. A dozen of the gangsters finally make it to the gates of the dock, and sprint hard as they break the gate doors down, and not notice the wire on the ground which one of the gangers trips over. The wire springs the trap and the resulting explosion rips them apart, but then another explosion happens, and another, and another, an entire chain goes off not just around the docks, but also the Ridge itself. This isn't just a gunfight that went out of control anymore, they're being attacked; an outright invasion from someone on the outside, and they all know now. A storehouse nearby collapses in on itself as fire rips its ceiling apart, leaving nothing but a burning pile of debris... though as it burns away, it doesn't stop moving. Something's writhing around underneath it, and while the gangsters are trampling each other or firing wildly around them and the rest of the Numbers are taking shelter in the office building behind the platform, Langa spots something burst from the pile.

A hand, then an arm, then a head, then another head, and another hand, then a gun, then many guns as a horde rises out of the flames; heavily armed and when he turns his light to point them out, he sees that they look disturbingly familiar. They wear and carry equipment similar to what they had, but it looks far newer and in much better condition. They have uniforms on too, but they are colored all black instead of the blue/black mix the 78s wore. Lastly, the horns jutting from their helmets looked as if they were made from real bone instead of the fake ones made from metal that some of their Kainuto members fastened on their headgear. A Warder manning a searchlight mutters under his breath after seeing how well-equipped these invaders are, and how they've got the docks completely surrounded; cutting all of them off from the rest of the Ridge. "[... Oh, fuck.]" Another storehouse burns up as the earth beneath it cracks open, and so does another, and many more beyond the docks; these invaders pouring out of hell itself and causing the earth to tremble as they swarm the Ridge entirely. It's not just the docks that are being overrun but more and more of these invaders seemingly manifesting from the night itself are ripping people apart in the slums, in the factories, in the refineries, in the mines, in the houses as both ganger and 'franse' alike find themselves waking up to a bayonet pointed in their face or walking right into a rifle blast. The Warders, having been surrounded at the docks and cut off from the rest of the Ridge, are not able to save any of them.

Caraborough is completely under attack.

"[WARDERS! KILL THEM ALL!]" Kregore screams, ordering his men to do the same. Langa tries holding his scope steady as he takes aim, Tommy blasts away with his automatic rifle, and Kregore readies his machinegun; all of them opening fire on the approaching invaders. Bullets rip across the air as these invaders and the Warders exchanged gunfire, cutting down panicking and fleeing gangers that were unfortunate enough to get caught in the crossfire, as well as any of the Numbers the invaders targeted that weren't quick enough to find cover behind dumpsters, containers, walls, or buildings. An invader is set on fire from a Warder's flamethrower but his flame tank catches a bullet; resulting in an explosion that sends pieces of him flying, while anoher Warder manages to charge close enough to an Invader to blow them apart with his shotgun, but is stabbed and sliced apart by bayonets, and an invader throws a grenade, bringing down a watch tower with guards on it. Kregore keeps his finger squeezed on his trigger, blowing away as many of the invaders as he could, but they just keep on coming; seemingly manifesting out of the night itself. He keeps shooting and shooting and shooting, but he might as well be throwing rocks with how little he's doing to them. So he keeps shooting, and shooting, and shooting, and killing, and killing, and killing, and...

*CLICK*

...

*CLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICK*​

He's out of bullets. He jumps to take cover behind the platform to reload, almost hitting a 77 that's sprinting towards him. Rigo's "mouth" and right hand man's somehow survived this ambush and seizes his shoulders. "[Kregore! We can't stay here! The whole fucking island is falling apart! We need to get on those boats NOW! Have your men cover us and then get them onboard!]" Kregore grunts in the affirmative. "[WARDERS! PROTECT THE 7!]" Those carrying shields form a barricade around the Staafmans hiding in cover, and a few of those who weren't start pushing boxes, shipping pallets with containers on them, barrels, even the armored wagons too to provide cover for their leaders as they board their boat. They fight hard and give them hell by raining bullets, grenades, and fire on them, and even the gangers that've somehow survived this long in spite of all the chaos they're stuck in the middle in are pushing back out of either fearlessness or desperation. Though they see the 77s boarding the boats and frantically they scramble for them. Some are fortunate enough to make it on board though others are forcibly pushed back by the Warders. Kregore holds his ground as he provides cover fire for his superiors, but as he stops to reload again after having spent another box of ammunition, he spots something very very bright way in the distance. On top of the mountain where his headquarters is, something's glowing nearby. His eyes snap open and the sweat running down his neck turns cold as the realization takes its time settling underneath his skin.

Ratka's church is burning.

"[A-AAH! F-FUCK, FUCK! TOMMY!]" he yells.

Tommy dodges all sorts of incoming fire as he leaps towards him. "[Boss!?]"

"[I-I NEED TO GET BACK TO THE HEADQUARTERS! WE STILL HAVE MEN THERE!]" he gesticulates wildly.

"[Boss they're just fucking lowies!]"

"[I DON'T GIVE A SHIT! I'M GOING THERE!]"

"[Through them!?]" Tommy yells back, incredulous. "[Are you taking the piss!?]"

"[NO I'M FUCKING NOT! NOW LISTEN!]" He grabs Tommy by his shoulders and pulls him in close. "[ONCE THE SEVENS ARE ON BOARD, GET EVERYONE ELSE ON TOO! WE'RE NOT STAYING EITHER!]"

"[But boss, what about the others!?]" he says, pointing towards the gangers desperately trying to squeeze themselves through the barricade.

"[FUCK THEM!!!]"
​

He throws Tommy aside viciously and rips a makeshift shield from the cold hands of a dead Warder. He digs into one of his pockets and pulls out a small bag full of brown powder, and rubs it all over his nose and mouth. The whole world around him goes blurry and time itself slows down as the powder starts to kick in, making all his muscles feel tense and ready to snap, making his mouth foam and twitch, making his eyes feel as if they're about to pop out of his skull. Snapping back up to his feet, he holds onto the shield with both arms in front of him, and with as much force in his step he can possibly muster as well as being aided by the powder, he launches himself forward, knocking down anyone in his path whether they be ganger or invader alike until the docks are well behind him. Dirt and debris from explosions rain down on Kregore as he runs through what's left of the slums, with jagged pieces of metal scraping bits of his skin off as he presses himself through tight corridors and piles of steel that were once homes for these inmates. The earth keeps shaking again and again, even opening up and swallowing fleeing gangers through the fire, and it keeps forcing him down on the ground but he refuses to stay there. Shots are fired at him from invaders when they see him coming, and some of them even make their mark on his leg, his arm, his hand, his shoulder, but he can't stop now, not when he can hear Ratka's screams in his head. Numerous people call out to him, cry for him, reach out to him for him to rescue them from being brutally slaughtered by the invaders, but he leaps and runs past them by as he only has one individual to save on his mind. He's not going to let her die, not like this... not like this.

The trek up the mountain is grueling with every step nothing short of bone-crushing as the powder is beginning to wear off, and the smoke rising from all the fires causes him to stumble as it stings whenever he breathes it in, but he just keeps going the more and more he hears Ratka in his head. An entire half of the church is bathing in flames, the entire garden the orphans planted has been turned to ashes, and the stained glass windows on the side have been shattered. Kregore wastes no seconds in kicking the door open, and yells for Ratka.

"RATTIE! RATTIE!? AM HERE!" he shouts as he frantically hurries around every pew and behind every column as he searches for her.

A voice replies from underneath a collapsed section of the ceiling. Ratka's. "K-Kregore..." She's crawled up on the floor with a bundle of rags covering half of her. "I-I am fine, Kregore... I just n-need-"

She doesn't even get to complete her thought as Kregore quickly leaps to her side, almost hitting her in the process. "RATTIE, US ARE LEAVING! WE NEED T'GO!" His hands reach for the rags but Ratka stops him.

"N-No! Don't look! Don't look-" Too late. The rags are thrown aside and all color drains from Kregore's face as he tries processing just what he's looking at. Something's cut her open badly. Several deep slashes have been cut into her body, some of which are so deep that her bits of her innards are exposed and bleeding. It takes every fiber of muscle to hold Kregore back from screaming at the sight. She's hardly able to withstand the pain, she has to cry just to let some of it out. She reaches for him, and he grabs her hand. "It hurts... it hurts, Kregore..."

He almost doesn't hear her as every sound is drowned out by the sound of his own heart beating. "W-What happened!?"

"W-Wilhem! He is... alive! Wilhelm is a-alive, Kregore!" She's barely able to speak with how serious her wounds are.

Wilhelm? Alive!? That's impossible! He killed him! Years ago he killed Wilhelm, and he made damn sure he did. How the hell is it that he's still breathing after how he died? "WILHELM..." he hypnotically says aloud. The devil's name was called, and so he appears. The massive figure of Wilhelm looms over the both of them; they're completely enveloped by his shadow. The blood left running in Kregore's body turns cold as ice as he seizes up, unable to move, unable to speak, unable to do anything but watch helplessly as the man who hurt Ratka and he thought dead slowly strides towards him. The unmistakable aura of a powerful wrath demon only makes Kregore's heart beat faster, and faster, and faster as one more time in over a decade does he feel something he thought he was immune to: Fear.

"OI, BOSWAKKER."
​

Kregore, barely able to hold still, reaches for his gun and shakily keeps it on him the closer he gets. Black smoke fumes out of the eye slits in Wilhelm's helmet as he speaks again. "[LOOKS LIKE THE BOYS WERE RIGHT! THEY KNEW YOU WOULD NEVER PASS UP A CHANCE TO GET A PIECE OF HER ASS.]" Kregore could just hear the grin forming on his face as he taunts him. "[...EVEN AS THE RIDGE BURNS.]"

"[... WHAT DO YOU WANT, WILHELM?]" he says, unable to muster anything louder than a whisper.

"[OH NOTHING TOO FANCY, MY BOY! ALL I WANT IS MY TITLE BACK.]"

Kregore wipes the sweat pouring off his brow, and slowly pulls the bolt on his gun. "[... YOU KNOW WHAT THE RULES ARE FOR THAT.]"

"[I KNOW. AND THAT'S WHY I'M HERE.]" he replies, pulling out a rather large bloodstained knife from underneath his coat.

Dozens of bullets speed over pews and embers as they explode out of Kregore's machinegun, all of which are flying towards Wilhelm's head. He squeezes the trigger as hard as he can and does not stop firing no matter how badly the recoil is affecting him in his already exhausted state, but no matter how many of them hit Wilhelm, he's completely unaffected as he rams into Kregore hard enough that it sends him flying across the room. The force Kregore is hit with is great enough that he almost breaks through one of the churches walls, and before he fully collapses onto the ground, Wilhelm launches himself at him again, this time with his knife out, and viciously stabs Kregore in his chest. He stabs, and stabs, and stabs as he has Kregore pinned down, until he finally manages to kick Wilhelm off of him and deliver a powerful strike to his helmet; leaving a fist-sized dent and dazing Wilhelm for just a brief second, which is all Kregore needs to strike him again until Wilhelm retaliates with his knife once more. Meanwhile Ratka crawls behind a pew to hide, unwilling and far too terrified to look at Kregore be beaten to a pulp and killed by this man. Fraught and praying to herself, she begs Heaven frantically to do something and intervene but something catches her eye by the statue of Undite: a vial of holy water she normally uses for ceremonies. An idea comes to her head, and all she needs is one chance.

The feeling of dragging herself across the rocky and dirty floor towards the vial is nothing short of absolutely excruciating, and she leaves a blood trail on the floor from the pew to the statue, but the noise of Kregore grunting in pain and metal clashing drives her further towards it; she can't just lay there and watch the only person capable of stopping Wilhelm die along with her. The only thing making her stop is the occasional bullet fired from either of the two straying somewhere within the church. Her body seizing up and growing cold, stretching her arm feels agonizing as she reaches for the vial, and finally manages to get ahold of it. With it almost falling out of her hands as she hoists it up, she waits for the right moment to hit Wilhelm with it. Kregore rams a fist into Wilhelm's stomach, grabs his helmet, and brings it down onto one of his knees. Wilhelm stumbles backwards, and that one more step back is all that Ratka needs. The vial explodes with a well placed toss right over his helmet's eye-slits; the holy water within splashing over his face. At first, the water doesn't seem to affect Wilhelm as he fights back; knocking Kregore down onto the floor again and cuts him. Though right as he pulls his knife to further disembowel him with it, he freezes, and a brighter smoke comes out of his helmet, and the sickening noise of something crackling and fizzling. Wilhelm screams in pain as he lifts his helmet's visor to wipe his face, revealing that that the holy water made one of his eyes melt completely and burning the other. He can't fight like this, not when he's partially blind in one eye and the other's gone.

"YOU BITCH!" he screams. Kregore charges towards him at full speed, intending on killing him right here and now while he still has a chance to, but Wilhelm reacts faster, shoving the knife square into Kregore's chest deep enough that he can feel the guard sliding against him and kicking him back towards Ratka. "[DON'T THINK YOU WON THIS, BUSHWHACKER. SHE WON'T BE AROUND TO SAVE YOU NEXT TIME.]" he taunts. Then he vanishes before Kregore is able to rise to his feet, disappearing into the fire outside as he vaults through one of the windows and through the smoke bellowing from below. Wilhelm is gone, for now, but the damage he'd done tonight will stay as Kregore inches towards a dying Ratka. The adrenaline from their fight is wearing off as is the powder he used, making all the pain from all the bullet wounds, stab wounds, cuts, bruises, and punctures gradually intensify. He grunts in pain and coughs up a bit of blood as he pulls Wilhelm's knife out of his chest before trying to scoop Ratka up in his arms.

"A-Ah! B-Bol'no, opa b-blyat!" she grunts as the pain is still too much.

His legs buckle, nearly giving way as he's not doing much better himself, but he holds Ratka close and tight. "R-RATTIE! I HAVE YOU! E-EVERYTHING'S GOING TO BE FINE-"

"Wait!... The ch-children..." She points towards the attic in the back where her orphans sleep. He slowly walks up the little stairwell, dreading what he might see if Wilhelm's been up here too, and even closes his eyes once he reaches the top. Ratka nudges his shoulder to get his attention. "K-Kregore..." After taking a deep breath, he opens them. Huddled in a corner behind a wall of turned over bedframes and blankets, the eyes of the children tearfully stare at him in silence. Thank Undite that Wilhelm didn't get to them, but seeing them as they are, terrified and surrounded by the hell swallowing up the Ridge after Ratka had spent so long trying to shield them from all the violence and death they're stuck in the middle moves Kregore so much that he gently lowers himself and beckons them forward. "S-Save them... p-p-please..." Ratka whispers.

He wants to, he really wants to, but he's unsure of how he'll protect them from the invaders pillaging and burning the island. "I-I DON'T- AH, FUCK IT..." He slowly approaches them, and tries his hardest to show he's not here to hurt them. "[C-CHILDREN... LISTEN. THERE ARE SOME VERY BAD MEN OUTSIDE, AND THEY WILL TRY TO HURT YOU. BUT I WILL NOT LET THEM, SO STAY CLOSE TO ME AND YOU WILL BE OK!]" Cautiously, very cautiously do the children shuffle out of their barricade and follow Kregore with one of them even hitching a ride on his back; Ratka holds their hand and forces a smile to help them calm down. There's nothing left in the church here for him. It collapses in on itself as the fires grow large enough and burn it away as the last of the children walk out the door.

As he prepares himself and checks his ammunition before going down the execution road, he takes a look at the headquarters just to see how badly it's been hit in the attack. Surprising him and startling the children, something's coming through its gates full speed at him. He's right about to shoot it to pieces before he hears a familiar voice.

"[WARHEAD! WARHEAD!]" Piki yells from atop one of their armored wagons, pulled by horses barely keeping themselves together. "[Warhead what's going on!? Where's everyone else!?]"

"[DOWN BY THE DOCKS, PIKI. THE SEVENS AND THE SIXES ARE LEAVING AND WE ARE TOO!]" he says. He takes a look at the wagon and sees Piki's not the only Warder on board, though there's only a handful of them around. "[WHAT ABOUT THE OTHERS THAT STAYED?]"

"[We're it, Warhead.]" replies Piki. They're dead. The new recruits that stayed behind, as well as a majority of headquarters security, are dead. Them and the men still surviving at the docks are all he has left.

"[FUCK...]" Kregore takes a look at the Ridge from where he stands. Gods... it looks like he's staring right into a blazing furnace. His whole life was on this island, and it's all burning away. His men, his friends, his mentor, his home... all of it gone in just one night with what little he has left bleeding out in his arms. His breathing gets heavier, his body starts to tremble, and if Ratka could just look closer through the visor of his helmet, she could see something dripping down his face that isn't blood.

But the ground beneath his feet shakes one more time, and a deafening roar and crash is heard somewhere behind them. Frightened, the children cling to Kregore as he turns around to see just what the hell it was. It's hard to see with all the smoke rising around, but the glowing of something running downward in the distance makes it obvious what happened.

The volcano has erupted, and from the corners of the mountain, hot magma is already beginning to pour around the edges of the Ridge.

"[PUT THE CHILDREN INSIDE! WE NEED TO GET OFF THIS MOUNTAIN NOW!!]"​

Without hesitation, they obey and quickly get them inside the wagon, along with Ratka. Those that were inside already disembark and take positions beside it; guns drawn and ready. A Warder also brings out an ammo box and helps Kregore reload with a fresh supply of bullets. They're loaded and prepared; the bolt on Kregore's machinegun punctuates his readiness to march through hell one last time.

The wheels of the wagon nearly fly off with how fast they're spinning on such uneven terrain, the horses are going wild as gunfire, blasts, and even spurts of magma from fissures opening up all around them scare them from bolting down the road any more, and the inferno they're rushing through is hot enough that the skin on their necks, arms, and legs slowly peel away from all the heat. They're not the only ones trying to escape though as even now there's still stranded people running for their lives, hanging off of bent pieces of rusted rebar over rivers of lava, falling through cracked floors and into burning chasms, and being shot by roaming packs of invaders. They also see the wagon trying to escape and pursue it through the embers, hoping and begging the Warders to save them, but their cries for help are met with a glare from Kregore and even a few bursts from his gun for those that are bold enough to try opening up the wagon and hide inside of it. The invaders also notice them and close in on the wagon, guns blazing. Shots bounce off the armor plating of the wagon, scrape across the helmet of a warder, hit another in his shoulder, and the Warders fire back trying at least to get them away from the wagon though the horses aren't so lucky; it didn't take much for them to be put down with all the heat exhausting them, but one well placed shot brings them down. This isn't good, they're now stuck right in the middle of the Ridge with lava pouring in around them and invaders swarming their position, and the heat is only getting higher, their ammo count is getting lower, and the injuries are getting worse and worse.

"[The horses are dead! What do we do!?]" shouts a panicking recruit.

Kregore growls and throws his machinegun to Piki. "[I'LL PULL IT, DAMN IT!!!]" He rips off the reins of the horses and grips them fiercely in his hands. "[COVER ME!!]"

With the reigns in his grip, he pulls the wagon with all his strength as bullets from invaders fly past his head; not stopping as a few actually do hit him and cause him to stumble onto the ash-covered road. His men aren't in good shape either as a few of them were burned from the fires or shot, or both, but they still push onwards around their leader and protect him by giving as much suppressive fire as they can. They crash through piles of trash and debris by that saloon Langa frequented, Jessie's, and one of them watches as it slowly sinks into the lava that's swallowing it whole. They pass by the massive prison complex where they all used to live in, fight in, sleep in, make history in, and watch it crumble away and fall apart into rubble. They pass by the factories and refineries they worked in and were paid what little the warden gave them; and those too will be burned away along with the rest of the Ridge and everyone still on it. They are ambushed again, another Warder recruit drops dead as an invader leaps off one of the security walkways and lands on him with his bayonet out, stabbing him through his head which kills him instantly. Another invader pops out of a half-destroyed tenement and kills another by shooting them point blank with a shotgun. In a rage, Piki grabs one of them, wrestles them like a rabid animal and throws them into a nearby stream of magma. Kregore, equally agitated, drops the reigns and grabs the other by the neck, pulls a pin on one of their grenades, and tosses them aside before they explode. The strain of having to both fight and pull the wagon at the same time is straining the hell out of his body; he's already injured, he's already been stabbed, sliced, burned, shot, the armor he wears feels like it's weighing a ton and isn't sure how much he has left in him. He collapses on the ground while the remaining men around him try helping him back up. He nearly asks one of them to take the reigns instead, even though he's certain he's the only one strong enough to pull it through all this, but Piki points something out to him: a sign in the distance.

"[Look! Inmate processing! We're almost there, Warhead!]"

Grunting, he sluggishly tries getting back up on his feet, only to slip and fall again.

The exhaustion nearly stops him from being able to speak. "[JUST... GO. JUST GO-]" Barely, just barely he hears something behind him. He tries listening closer through the sound of metal bending, distant screaming, rumbling, and fires blazing. It sounds like... crying. The children in the wagon, they're crying. Taking a deep breath, he tries getting up once again this time with Piki and another of his men helping him up.

"[P-PIKI... JUST SHOOT. ALL OF YOU, JUST SHOOT AT FUCKING EVERYTHING! JUST KEEP THEM AWAY FROM HER!]"

They fire off in every direction they could point their guns at, letting loose at walls, at windows, at embers, at the sky, at the ground, at the flames, firing at anything they sensed is moving; invader or stranded ganger, it didn't matter, they didn't care. Anyone that isn't on the boats already is a dead man. The last bullets remaining in their guns hit nothing but concrete or dirt; it seems that no one's made it this far, and not even the invaders are willing to stick around any longer as the lava's flowing freely now. The last few steps past inmate processing and into the docks proper are nothing short of agonizing for Kregore. His feet feel like stubs of cooked meat, and every step feels like a hundred needles going right through his heels. Making things worse is that the ground is littered with dead bodies from earlier, of ganger, of invader, of franse, of warder, of numbers alike, causing him more pain as he drags the wagon across them all. Carefully dodging lava and trying hard to avoid any confrontation, they slowly turn a corner around a burned out storehouse; the sound of gunfire can be heard coming from the other side. That has to be Tommy, he and the others have to be alive and fighting still. Piki holds up a hand, signaling he'll lead them since he's the only one with any kind of weapon with ammunition left inside: a pistol. The sight of armored wagons full of bullet holes, stacked shields covered in scorch marks, and other Warders that are alive are an extremely welcome sight. Tommy's held his ground well it seems, even without any help from his leader. Yet there's only one more boat left. The 77s and 76es left on theirs, gangers took another, and the others have been sunk. There's also another problem, one very concerning. Because of the way the Ridge was built, the docks are at the lowest level, meaning all the flowing lava is starting to concentrate here. Kregore looks behind, and sees an entire river of it start to reach the gate at inmate processing. They need to get moving again, fast.

Immediately, and noticing the river running down their way, Warders at the barricade quickly leap over to help their leader. A whole group of them take the wagon away from Kregore as he orders them to take it on board. Tommy also comes to assist, and puts one of Kregore's arms around his neck as he helps him walk towards the boat.

"[Fucking hell, boss! I thought you were dead!]"

"[I FEEL LIKE I AM... IS EVERYONE ON BOARD?]"

"[Almost!]" Tommy turns over to one of the last watchtowers nearby; still standing and surrounding by burning piles of twisted metal. "[Langa! Get your ass down here! We're leaving!]"

Langa's head nervously peeks up from behind the tower's railing, having been pinned down there for nearly the entirety of the invasion. He looks down at the ladder leading up to where he is, and sees steam flying from its metal bars. He wraps his hands in his scarf and tries touching it- only to pull it back as it's still too hot to touch. "[I-I have a bit of a problem!]" he yells.

"[Always fucking something-]" mutters Tommy under his breath.

Just then, a lava flow bursts through one of the storehouses towards the tower. It sprays on one of the support beams holding it up, and worse still, it splashes on a dead warder's flamethrower tank. The resulting explosion almost knocks the tower over and leaves it slowly leaning over to the side, and the shrapnel from it spikes Langa right in his leg. "[LANGA!]" screams Kregore, concerned for his lieutenant. He tries to saunter over to the tower, but Tommy sets him down on the ship's deck. The tower doesn't look like it's gonna hold any further, and Warders nearby all rush to the tower to see if they can catch him, but the fires burn too thick for them to do anything. Langa tries getting up, but the shrapnel has him pinned. The tower creaks as it leans further over the burning pile, and then it finally bends completely, bringing him down. He screams as he falls closer and closer to a jagged piece of metal about to impale him, and his Warder comrades look on helplessly, though someone else is also watching. From nearby on a rooftop, one of the few that haven't fallen apart yet, a massive figure covered in hair leaps forward. It just barely misses catching Langa in its arms as the piece scrapes it along its elbow. All guns are raised at it as it curls up with Langa in its arms and lands at the edge of the boarding platform. Now up close, they can see that it's a werewolf that saved Langa. Covered in reddish-black fur and carrying a large satchel on its back, it puts him gently back on his feet and helps him climb on board.

"[Holy fuck... Holy fuck.] T-Thank you, Jessie..." he says, trying to catch his breath.

"Hey, don't mention it." she replies, giving him a pat on the back. One of the Warders shoves their rifle in her face. "Whoa! Easy now, fellas! I'm with you guys!" They're not willing to let her on board, but more and more waves of lava running down towards them change their minds.

"Ag, fokkit! Get in!" one of them says.

​

The remaining Warders in the area quickly hop on the boat in a frenzy to outrun the oncoming streams of lava, and frantically get its engines up and running to get as far away from the docks as possible. Not a word is spoken by any of them as they helplessly watch the last sections of the docks turn into a glowing, burning wreck as they sail further and further away from it. No one has the energy to say any last words for Caraborough, but the events of the past hours left them all hurting the same way. This wasn't just a humiliating defeat at the hands of an enemy they weren't prepared for, but the complete and utter destruction of everything they cared about. Friends, family, homes, their lives, they've lost everything tonight, and none of them know where they'll go now; not even Kregore. Even as they get further and further from the inferno enveloping the island, they can still see the old complex itself finally crumble away; its lights shining for the last time. Tommy takes his metal visor off just to give the island one last look with his own two eyes, while Langa and Jessie exchange glances at each other mournfully.

A Warder carrying a dead invader over his shoulder gives Tommy a tap. "[Two-Eye-See. You need to see this.]" He sets the corpse down onto the deck and removes the helmet it has on. Some of the other Warders around Tommy step back while he himself leans in closer; a look of confusion turning into sheer rage slowly manifesting on his face. It's not the jagged, cracked features of a wrath demon that catch his attention, nor is it the mysterious looking emblem on its forehead, but rather the too familiar emblem branded under one of its eyes. In fine writing, it reads: '985-C22'.

That's an inmate code.

"[... What the fuck is that?]" Tommy growls, pointing to it. "[What the fuck is this!?]"

"[C22... That's one of the central wings!]" mutters a Warder. "[He's one of us!]"

"[What the fuck?! What the FUCK were they attacking us for?!]" asks an increasingly enraged Tommy. None of them know just what they should say; they just stand around him giving each other nervous expressions. "[GOD DAMN IT!!]" Already driven to anger, and the horrible revelation that they were betrayed and defeated by their former cellmates settling in, he slams his fist against a wall, nearly breaking his hand. He then storms off, not wanting to look at this traitor anymore.

Meanwhile, Kregore gets up after taking a short rest on the deck. His body's still aching all over, but just slightly less after spending a few minutes on the floor. He looks over to that wagon he was carrying Ratka and her orphans in, and notices none of them have come outside yet. None of his men have taken a look inside either as it sits there by itself. One of his men notices him limping towards it and tries to sit him back down; insisting he needs to relax and wait until they can take care of his wounds. Kregore responds by shoving him away, almost sending him overboard. A shaking hand grips the wagon's door handle, but he pauses for a moment just to see if he can hear anything...

Nothing. He hears nothing. He opens the door.

The children are inside huddled together around Ratka and they snap their heads to look at him, still looking as scared and miserable when he rescued them earlier, but very thankfully alive. A weight feels like it's been taken off his shoulders as he breaths a sigh of relief and counts them. They're all here. They're all safe.

"COME ON, RATTIE." he says, reaching for her hand. "LETS GO-"

...

"...RATTIE?"

Ratka's hand is cold. There's no warmth as he holds it. The quiet sound of a heart beating is all that he hears; not the sound of the children starting to weep again or the sound of his subordinates behind him calling his name. The heartbeat gets louder the closer he gets to Ratka's face until it's almost deafening.

"RATTIE?!"

He gently holds her face in his hands; there's nothing to feel. There's no pulse on her neck and there's no reflection in her eyes. No warmth, no pulse, no reflection, no life.

Ratka is dead.

The world around Kregore gradually spins out of control and he tries holding onto the steel door frame of the wagon just to hold himself together. It crumples in his hand as he grips it tighter, and tighter, and tighter. His heart is beating faster, and faster, and faster as it burns away in his chest; every beat more painful than the last. Everything blends together before his eyes until he can't tell just where he is anymore. No matter where he looks, it's a formless mass of something new he cannot recognize, and it fades away into nothing but blue and black as he feels himself being pulled away. Then came the words. The words that bombard him at every angle. Every word spoken to him is an assault on his ears; every sound stabs at every single nerve in his body.

Warhead! Warhead! Are you ok? Are you alright? Warhead! Warhead! Your wounds are opening! Your wounds are bleeding! Your skin is peeling! Your burns are scabbing! You need to sit! You need to relax! Warhead! Why are you shaking? Why are you crying? It's just a nun! It's just a nun!

Just a nun...

Just a nun...

JUST A NUN...

Everything stops. He takes a slow step away from the wagon, nearly falling over onto one of his men. His eyes stare blankly through them as they support him upward. "[YEAH...]"

Then he falls. He falls to the floor with a loud thud, bleeding from his wounds and fading off into a restless, uncomfortable sleep.

 

[Infab]

Three weeks later...

Taranoch's Palace
Dis
The Abyss


A massive army of Taranoch's guard had gathered outside the palace, standing in the courtyard that had once been rubble a few Abyssal years prior. They stood silently, awaiting the orders of their king whom was currently preparing with his advisor. And speaking with his closest Icon, Sazak.

Sazak stood quietly across the dark room, motionless in his new vessel which was clad in hellish plate armor. A male vessel this time, featuring pale skin and long black hair. It was a vessel he had gained some time ago, amidst the Age of Darkness, but had never chosen to use till now. It fit like a glove, really, but he'd have preferred his older vessel had remained intact. But alas, it didn't. His rage had mostly destroyed it, and the Abyssal Gate's guardian had finished it off. Stripping it away and revealing his true demonic form to the Abyss. To Tariun, whom left shortly afterwards. Smug, happy that she had robbed him of something he wanted.

Taranoch himself was dressing himself, slipping on the clothing and armor he had chosen to wear for this war against Tariun and her followers. There would be an end to this. A crushing victory over the insurrectionist, and the final slaughter of those that had served Kaizen. He would not be overthrown, his power and authority absolute. And while he crushed the rebellion, he would also launch his invasion into the Mortal Realm once more. But first, he'd need to shatter one of the relics. And he had chosen Adona's ring for that, choosing to keep the sword for later. Once the rest of the artifacts were recovered, he'd destroy them all so that he could not be bound to this place ever again.

His advisor, Mazgith, helped him into his armor, gracefully moving about as she gathered the items. All the while, she cast Sazak looks. Looks that Sazak returned. Both of them had far different plans. Taranoch had outlived his usefulness. In the beginning, the pair had plotted and schemed with Taranoch, Pushing him to overthrow his king and ascend to the throne. Pushing the Abyss into a new age, and one in which they held almost all the power. But now, Taranoch had grown almost entirely unbearable. Yet, they allowed him to live. To remain on the throne and continue to rule the Abyss how he saw fit. Sazak said nothing as Taranoch ordered his children killed, and would continue to say nothing as long as Astraal was left alone. But now Taranoch was eyeing the Icon's favorite son. That simply wouldn't do.

And after verbal beratement for losing Valeria to those idiots from the Mortal Realm, and failing to stop both them as well as Tariun, Sazak had been put on notice by Taranoch as well. Any more foul-ups, and Taranoch would have Sazak's head alongside his son's. This gave the Icon no other choice...so plans had been made. And they would be executed perfectly when the time came. But that time wasn't here yet. For now, Sazak and Mazgith had to wait. Some both of them had become accustomed to over the course of millennia.

Soon, Taranoch turned about, now clad in golden tinted armor similar in make to the armor Sazak now wore. "This is something you allowed to happen, Sazak. You live only because I allow it. You bring me the relics, and you and your son keep your spines. Do you understand me?" stated the Demon King. Sazak simply nodded, his gaze upon the king unwavering. Taranoch glared at him for but a moment, before walking towards the exit. Mazgith followed, but paused just next to Sazak. "Did your little experiment work?" she asked in a whisper. Sazak looked to the sorceress, and simply smiled. "Indeed. It did. Christoph has a remarkable knack for discovering useful tricks and forgotten knowledge." he replied, "...I'll tell you about it later. For now, we have work to do."

Mazgith, for the first time in a long time, smiled. And a moment later, the devilish pair followed after their king. Out onto the balcony to witness his speech to his loyalists...and the destruction of the once powerful ring of Adona.

---------------------------------

END OF PART 2

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