NationStates Jolt Archive

In the remnants of the ancient imperial capital, beneath the bustling Grummian metropolis that held the seat of power for the Corporation, the shockwaves from exploding bombs rippled through the thousands of meters of dirt and stone, which separated the ruins from the streets overhead. Dust and pebbles from this fell from the domed ceiling of the throne room upon the head of the S'argt d'lil Chaon d' Lodias, the Protector, the One who guided the destiny of those whom she oversaw.

Without any delay, her attention was pulled away from her meditating as her crimson eyes gazed upward into the dome and to the events that now occurred around her. The enormous sphere of light that illuminated the room for ten thousand years dimmed to darkness. The white and cerulean blue throne upon which she sat twisted toward a simple marble pedestal. The ancient blade which had been resting on her lap, across the arms of the throne began to glow brightly. Everything changed around her…and above her.

“Twilight draws ever nearer. The end of all that which has been approaches,” she whispered to herself.

The sphere of light, however, changed once more, brightening slightly and casting dark shadows upon everything around the seated S’argt.

“Yet the last segment still remains…” came the soft response as she grasped the silver pommel of the longsword in both hands.

Leaping onto the flat top of the marble pedestal, her eyes gazed once more into the sphere of light overhead, watching its brightness fluctuate with each passing moment. She knew she had to act now for precise time was a crucial element in how future events would unfold. The slightest discrepancy would change everything for the worst or even destroy any and everything around her. So with all her strength, she thrust the weapon into the sphere, causing it to burst into sparks and send all of its energy ripping down through the metallic blade and into her.

The shock nearly flung her from the edge of the pedestal but her balance was fortunately kept once she lowered the cumbersome weapon, though now her entire body was encased in this powerful glowing energy that swirled around every limb and provided the largest source of light in the throne room. It did not hurt her nor surprise her as she immediately began to meditate, closing her eyes and focusing on the precise purpose of what she had done.

For several minutes she remained in this meditative state until her eyes suddenly flew open, glowing intensely, and combining the energy from the sphere and that of her own powers, she thrust the ancient blade forward, providing an outlet for all the power from within. It bolted from the tip and rammed through the wall of the palace, through the ground beyond it, plunging the entire room in darkness once more.

Minutes earlier…

The weary moderator of the debate shifted uneasily behind the podium, feeling the watchful eyes of two hundred thousand people, along with millions of viewers in numerous nations behind the television cameras, constantly gazing down upon him, patiently anticipating his next words. Overhead, the bright spotlights overhead shone on him, reflecting off his white note card and aggravating his eyes slightly as he read the final topic off of it in his mind. He felt the sweat against his forehead, unsure of whether it was from the heat of the spotlights or from the nervousness he felt concerning what he was reading. But to him, the latter seemed more likely than anything else.

In past years, there never would have been such a debate being held for the presidency of the Southern Baptist Convention as a future leader already would have been chosen by his predecessor and would just need the vote of the general assembly or, in some cases, there was a clear-cut leader by the time the election was held. This time, things were different however for a near split had taken place within its nearly nine million congregations, producing the two candidates that now participated in this debate and fueling the near civil war that took place out in the streets. The very cause of this division was clearly spelled out within the only three words of the final topic.

The moderator read it over one more time before looking toward the two candidates. “Gentlemen, the last topic for this debate will be…,” he finally announced. “‘Religion in government.’ Mr. McLaughlin, you have the floor first.”

The rather short, heavyset pastor of a small church in the countryside that skirted the edge of the sprawling metropolis of Wilmington shuffled through his notes on the podium in preparation for what he was about to say. He then cleared his throat and sipped on a glass of water before he spoke, easing some of the nervousness he faced over speaking to such a vast amount of people.

“I firmly believe that we should separate ourselves from being this deeply entwined within the political processes of this nation, from the strict theocracy that we have created. It has diverted our focus from the will of Christ, which should be at the foremost of our lives, to struggling over things of this world that have corrupted our mindset. The power that has been gained has not been used for the good works that we have been instructed to accomplish in our days upon this earth, but instead it has been a tool of corruption, of oppression, and of violence.

“I am reminded of the Baptist Faith and Message for the American Southern Baptist Convention that stated: ‘Church and state should be separate. The state owes to every church protection and full freedom in the pursuit of its spiritual ends. In providing for such freedom no ecclesiastical group or denomination should be favored by the state more than others. Civil government being ordained of God, it is the duty of Christians to render loyal obedience thereto in all things not contrary to the revealed will of God. The church should not resort to the civil power to carry on its work. The gospel of Christ contemplates spiritual means alone for the pursuit of its ends. The state has no right to impose penalties for religious opinions of any kind. The state has no right to impose taxes for the support of any form of religion. A free church in a free state is the Christian ideal, and this implies the right of free and unhindered access to God on the part of all men, and the right to form and propagate opinions in the sphere of religion without interference by the civil power.

“When we created our own statement of faith sixty-two years ago, we left out this essential section, a terrible misjudgment on our part that haunts us to this day, but now, we have an opportunity to rectify that mistake by adding that important section to our own and returning to the way our ancestors lived for nearly two centuries.”

By the time McLaughlin had ended his portion of the debate, his opponent, Dr. Kenneth Hayes, was prepared for his turn to voice his opinion of the topic at hand. The slim, older pastor of the largest Baptist congregation of Northrop-Grumman, approximately fifteen thousand people in the capital city, was no stranger to talking to this number of people and seemed almost comfortable as he quietly glanced over the notes that he took before he addressed the audience.

“We lived in that manner for nearly seventeen years, staying clear of the political process and caring only for the needs of the church and the local community. However, we woke up one morning and discovered how woefully unprepared we were for a change that touched every aspect of our lives. Christianity was banned outright across the entire nation. Our brothers and sisters in Christ of all aged were massacred for what they believed in. Our churches were stripped of anything valuable and burned to the ground. But we did not settle for accepting our fate and allowing the end to come. We fought back with all we had, with all our might, and won by the grace of God. Our struggle did not end there though, for after the War we were faced with the task of rebuilding our shattered nation from the brutal destruction that cost the lives of millions of people, but without a stable government in place, it became nearly impossible to coordinate such efforts. Faced with this, we had to enter the local government as a necessary means to care for our people and ensure the wellbeing for all people. We accomplished this task and rebuilt this entire nation, not once, but twice in the past forty years.

“Now, you are asking us to throw away the sacrifices of these brave souls and rely wholly on those individuals who have forsaken the Almighty, those who would corrupt us with their ‘gods’ of treachery, murder, destruction, enslavement, and perversion. We cannot take that risk once more. We cannot allow such corruption to exist in our own nation.”

McLaughlin shot a glare toward his opponent and snapped a response.

“Of course, what you are proposing is just keeping the present way of how we do things: all those who aren’t Christian are killed by the radical elements within the Convention and their shrines are destroyed by homemade bombs. It certainly doesn’t sound any less corrupt or sinful than what had happened during the War…we defeated the central government because of what they had done, but now we’re just as bad as they are.

He took a small drink of his water and continued. “I believe I have come to understand the opposition to having other religions practicing freely in Northrop-Grumman. It’s basically from a fear of change and a fear of dealing with something radically different to what we all believe in. A thousand years ago, the Byzantine Empire, experienced the same thing. They enforced a ban on all religions that they disagreed with and solidified the role of the church within the imperial government, and what did it do? It corrupted them and turned their mindset from the things of Heaven to things of this world. Citizens were forced to become Christian to hold offices within the government and thus filled the churches with those who truly did not believe. And the Emperor used the Church as a tool to further control the population. The former is what is happening here, the latter is what could happen if we don’t put a stop to it.

“Also, is it that terrible to have a true opposition to Christianity, one who will point out all of our faults? I have the opinion that it isn’t and would actually strengthen us, keep us on the path that God has laid out for us. We need people to keep us on our toes. We have corruption within our ranks. I have seen it, others have seen it. But they are fearful because we have been lashing out, using guns and bombs, against anyone who has voiced their opposition.

“We must put a stop to this; we must allow others practice what they believe in. We should not become as the Prussians, allowing this oppression to become an instrument of the national government as it purges and exiles whoever does not believe what the rulers believe in. We must enforce the separation of church and state within all levels of government. The Creator gave us free will. No one can deny that. Adam and Even chose to sin by disobeying God’s direct order. The criminals that were crucified next to Christ each chose where they would spend eternity. We should not force that decision upon those who do not believe…”

At that precise moment, a tremendous explosion erupted underneath the section of the stadium complex behind McLaughlin, collapsing a quarter of the structure almost immediately. A roaring ball of fire engulfed the surrounding sections, incinerating anything that stood in its path, along with a shockwave that tore across the rest of the seats, tossing people from their seats and ripping out equipment that dangled from the ceiling.

“What?!” Chairman O’Neill exclaimed in disbelief at the news his Vice Chairman brought to him concerning the explosion at the stadium. “You’ve gotta be joking, Shiran…please…tell me this is a joke…”

“Unfortunately, I am not joking, Jack,” responded the Noldo, maintaining his typical emotionless tone as he shook his head. “The death toll thus far is clearly not a joking matter either, as an estimated forty thousand people have been killed, with twice that amount injured.” In his hand, he had grasped a quickly scrawled note that he carefully read aloud. “The two candidates are injured also. Andrew McLaughlin is listed as in critical condition with a grade five concussion, severed spinal cord along the lumbar vertebrae, and a broken right hip. Meanwhile, Dr. Kenneth Hayes is listed in stable condition with two broken legs and a grade two concussion.”

“Christ…” Jack slumped down into his leather chair and buried his head in his hands, still attempting to process what had all happened today. “…any clues as to who did it?”

Shaking his head once more, Shiran responded, “None apparent thus far. However, pattern suggests it to be the Daedreth since it was an attack upon a Christian gathering.”

“Does it ever stop?...Will it ever stop?” the Chairman’s muffled voice replied as he thought about all that had been done in the past few years to correct these attacks. “We’ve tried everything…mediation between the two groups…didn’t work…pressuring the religions to deal with it…didn’t work…martial law in the streets to keep them from killing each other…as we see now, didn’t work. And we know what becoming more democratic will bring…a theocracy, so that’s not gonna happen.”

“Perhaps, we should instill a greater sense of martial law: a lockdown of sorts in the capital city.”

Jack gradually raised his head from his hands and sighed, shaking his head slightly. “No…No…I’m tired of being kind and gentle with these people. I’m tired of those not involved having to suffer. I'm tired of this nation being nothing more than an instable mess. I will have no more of this…”

“Then what do you propose?”

As he teetered back and forth in his chair, staring blankly at the far wall, the Chairman wished it had not come to this point, but he had no other alternatives. This seemed to be the only way to solve this problem for the short term – or if he was lucky, the long-term. “Siri had an idea a while back about handling this in a more…”

“No!” Shiran cut in, breaking his usual monotonous tone, because he knew exactly what this idea concerned and was angry that it would even be considered. He was vehemently opposed to anything that would result in widespread violence and carnage, especially that caused by the bloodthirsty Chairwoman herself. “Violence is not the answer to this problem for it will only create more of it. Another solution must be found.”

Jack shook his head. “There is no other solution…This is the only way…this can stop it right now and buy us some time.”

“Instead, we ought to retry those other options once more. Perhaps with this incident both sides would be more willing to come to the table and negotiate.”

“You know as well as I that the attack has only deepened tensions. Neither side will be trying for peace unless drastic measures are taken.”

“Do as you wish,” the elf responded, seeing that the man’s mind would not change. “However, I will have no part in it.”

Saying no more, Shiran turned for the door and stormed out, disgusted at the decision that had been made and wishing he had the means to change the Chairman’s mind. But he knew that he would not be able to unless he found a suitable alternative.

As he departed from the room, he rushed past the Chairwoman, who had been peering in on this whole conversation, nearly pushing her into the door. Though, he did not seem to notice her as he continued on his way out, not even stopping for a moment to make sure she was alright. Jack, however, had noticed her and stood up from behind his desk, about to rush over to help her, when she gave a simple wave, assuring him that she was alright.

“Siri, I didn’t even expect you to be back this early. What happened?”

Well, I found myself in a shuttle accident in Derscon and now have broken ribs and an arm, Siri specifically did not mention, not really wanting to add any more worries to his mind, but she did give him a brief synopsis of the events - of course leaving out all of the particularly gruesome details. “To put it simply, one moment I was in Derscon, the next I was here. I don’t know how it happened, but I’m not hurt from it,” she reassured him. “For all I know it could’ve been just a freak spell gone bad or something, especially considering the touchy area where I was…so, anyway, I hear you are thinking about my idea?”

“Yes…I am…” came the response as the man carefully looked over her, still somewhat unsure if she was alright. “I would...like...for you to do it…but be careful, I don’t need this to come back and bite us in the ass. Okay?”

“Alright," she nodded in affirmation. "I will get everything ready as soon as I can." Then she departed from the room to make the preparations...

Father Alfonso Giordano squirmed uncomfortably in his pew and grumbled quietly to himself, not particularly liking the cold, hardness of the wooden seat. One would have expected the man to be used to this type of seating as he was the priest who presided over this very church, Saint James Catholic Church, the largest of its kind in the Grummian capital city and in fact the entire nation, for the past thirty-one years. Though, he seldom found a need to sit with the members of his congregation except for the rare instances when another would lead the Mass in his place. But this night, circumstances were quite different. A meeting was now taking place in the church between some of the more prominent members of Grummian Christianity to debate what needed to be done about the quick rise of the Daedreth ‘heresy’ and the liberalization of some of its own members – not exactly something that would have required a late night meeting, but with recent events, it was felt that it needed to be done.

However, before the meeting would be allowed to begin, it was felt by all those attending that a brief prayer needed to be said, so a Southern Baptist minister, Jeffrey Noblin, from the city quickly volunteered to be the one to lead it. Promptly rising from his seat, he approached the front of the church and gave a quick nod to everyone before him to signal that he was about to pray. Near the center of the near endless rows of pews and away from the bright lights that illuminated the pulpit area, Father Giordano lowered the kneeler and attempted to rest his knees upon it, trying not to miss it entirely in the darkness. Settling down, he respectfully bowed his head and prayed, half listening to the minister at the front of the church speaking aloud.

“Dear Heavenly Father,” Noblin began in a solemn tone. “We thank You for another day that You have so mercifully bestowed upon us to enjoy. We thank You for protecting those that have participated in today’s events and especially thank You for delivering into our hands, those who have sought to corrupt us. Their ways will no longer be a source of corruption in our ranks, straying the weaker-minded from Your path.

“But we know that there are still a great many that remain, so we ask You, O Lord, to aid us in this struggle against the forces of Satan, allow us to overcome our foes and to preserve an untainted Christian presence within our nation…”

Near the middle of the prayer, Father Giordano suddenly gasped as sharp pain seized the nerves in his shoulder. His breathing became labored for his chest slowly tightened with each breath he took. Oh my God… he thought. I’m having a heart attack. The priest desperately tried to rise from the kneeler and get the others around him to help. He could not move, though. His body seemed to be locked in some form of paralysis, only allowing his eyes to move.

His body then jerked from the kneeling position, not because of his own efforts, but instead because of a rather forceful shove on his side. He collapsed onto the smooth wooden-planked floor of the church and found himself lying on his back, his eyes focused upon a robed, hooded figure standing over him. The flowing black robed were unremarkable save for a single silver pendant that hung around the figure’s neck and a glowing crimson ring that it toyed with between its fingers.

“Hrmph…such a weak creature…” it whispered, stepping onto the priest’s chest as it made its way over into the aisle. It paused for a moment and pressed its fingers against its own ribs. “At least, you’ve provided some use to me…”

At about this time, Pastor Noblin had heard the commotion coming from darkness in the back of the church and paused near the conclusion of the prayer. He felt that something was wrong and not wanting to take any chances, he began to draw a forty-five caliber pistol from inside his suit’s jacket.

“I recommend that you drop that weapon onto the floor,” the figure ordered, maintaining a gradual walk to the pulpit area. “First, it isn’t wise to bring such a pathetic weapon to a battle that you will certainly lose….”

Two shimmers of light on either side of the pulpit appeared, a clear indication that someone or, at least, something was decloaking nearby. Then the four seven-foot tall figures materialized, along with two more that stepped up behind the robed figure. They appeared to be wearing a specially designed type of power armor that had a rather medieval appearance to it. Black, very rough with horns jutting out of various areas, it covered the entire body, and where they eyes would normally be, round glowing orbs took their place. They carried plasma rifles, fully charged, and aimed both at the minister and the rest of the people there.

“…and secondly, it would be quite problematic if you attempted to kill your own head of state,” the figure finished, stopping in front of the communion table before pulling back the hood.

Chairwoman Siri O’Neill now stood before them, her bright green eyes gazing out at all those seated in the pews. It seemed that she was thoroughly enjoying the uneasiness her presence caused upon these people, allowing the whole church to sit and wait in absolute silence before she decided what she wanted to do. Finally, she directed the Baptist minister to a seat on the first row of pews with a simple wave of the hand and hoisted herself up onto the communion table in the midst of the bread and wine, still not put away after the mass that had taken place only minutes before this meeting.

“The Eucharist,” Siri said somewhat quietly and grasped the bread and the chalice of wine in her hands. “Supposed to turn into the body and blood of your Christ upon consumption…heh…cannibalism, basically.” She then bit off a portion of the bread, washing it down with the wine soon afterward to the horror of those seated before her.

“And as I should’ve expected,” the elf continued, seemingly speaking to whoever was willing to listen. “It tastes nothing like blood or flesh…

Noblin shouted from his pew, cutting off the Chairwoman in the middle of her rambling. “What do you want with us!?”

She settled back on the table and raised the chalice in a mock toast. “I wanted to commend you all on your efforts lately. Never before have I seen Baptists, Catholics, Methodists, Presbyterians, Lutherans, Anglicans, and Pentecostals all gathered together, working together, beyond differences in doctrine, for a common goal…well…the goal of slaughtering everyone who opposes you, even your fellow Christians,” she laughed. “…but that point aside, it’s quite amazing to see this happening.”

Siri sipped at the wine and continued, “And your little plan today went over quite well, in my opinion. You killed a great portion of the opposition today and made it look like the Daedreth had executed it. There have been no leaks and no clear evidence that points it back to you. Impressive thinking, I must say….but you seemed to have missed one little detail…me…I know what you did. I know the prayer that you just recited was a testimony to your actions.”

Appearing to the clear leader of this group, Pastor Noblin responded to these accusations. “You have no proof that we have anything to do with this. You do not even know what our prayer pertained to. It wasn’t even clear now, was it?”

“It wasn’t, but I believe that was enough proof. However, I am willing to provide more evidence of your crimes.” Siri glanced over to one of her soldiers standing near the rear of the church and commanded it telepathically. Hainora, bring the priest. From his pew, Father Giordano was dragged to the open floor in front of the pulpit and dropped near the feet of the Chairwoman.

“Now, Father, tell me. Were these people the ones who ordered the attack upon the stadium today?”

When out of defiance he failed to respond, Siri shook her head. “I believe you just need more motivation to answer.”

Instantly, the priest began to scream wildly and tried to rise up off the floor. A rush of pain had consumed his entire body, a sensation that his flesh was being burned from his bones. He flailed about, trying to escape the horrible agony that he was being put through, but nothing seemed to be working. It felt as if he was burning in Hell, the place of eternal damnation, with his flesh literally on fire but not burning off. It had felt like nearly an eternity before it stopped and he was once again lying on the church floor, weeping in fear and in pain.

“Now, answer me!” Siri demanded.

“Yes…yes…we did it…” he sobbed, just wanting what happened not to occur again.

“What?! How can that be a proper testimony?! You tortured the man!” Noblin shouted at the elven Chairwoman. “This is not even the correct way of having a trial!”

Siri snapped her head from the priest and stormed over to the Baptist minister, her head just mere inches away from his. She stared at him with her, now glowing, eyes gazing directly into his. “I am the Chairwoman of the Corporation, thus I am the physical embodiment of the Corporation. I create the laws in this land. I enforce the laws. And I exact justice upon those who break the very laws I create.”

The elf stepped back from the man but still continued to stare down upon him. “So, I find you and everyone here guilty of forty-one thousand, three hundred, ninety-eight counts of first degree murder and sentence you to death by…” She gestured towards the rear of the church, in the vestibule, that lit up instantaneously, revealing twenty-two wooden crosses waiting for their victims. ”…crucifixion.”

Siri then proceeded up the center aisle, and as she was doing so, a Methodist minister in one of the pews tried pleading to her to spare him for he had a family that he needed to tend to. But she continued to walk, acting as if she had ignored the man, and gave an order to Hainora. “Find the wives of these men, if they have any, and deal with them accordingly. They are accessories to murder. And as for the children, seize them but spare them. I will decide their fate.”

Finding herself at the crosses, Siri grasped a mallet in one hand and an iron nail in the other and motioned to one of her guards to bring the first of the condemned forward. “My first crucifixion…” she mused to herself. “I’ve always wanted to try this…”

Snowfall, the cold wintery blanket for the land, has this innate tendency to give rise to varying degrees of significance within people. For schoolchildren, it can be the hope for a playful day of tumbling around in the white powder with their friends, crafting snowmen out of mere household products, and creating an icy snowball battle between forts made from ice and hard-packed snow. For adults, it can be the fear of driving into work upon the slippery roads, where unaided eyes cannot tell the difference between wet pavement and that of black ice – the tendency of particularly clear ice to appear black as the roadway underneath it. Snow can also create a feeling of despair within some. It has a penchant to render the countryside virtually colorless and silence most, if not all, normal sounds as it forces many animals flee to warmer areas and covers leaves and twigs. Yet with other people, it can give the feeling of rebirth for spring is just around the corner, and they know that for the world to restore its wondrous beauty, it must be brought down to its base level, just the trees and the dirt below.

But for Siri, these were certainly not the meanings she had in mind as she slowly trudged through the empty, snow-covered city sidewalks. No, in fact, ironically, the Judeo-Christian view of snow as a symbol of purity seemed to be all that she thought about and laid even heavier upon her conscience as she slid her blood-soaked gloves between her fingers. The elf had killed twenty-two people mere minutes ago by her own hands without even batting an eye, and she knew that she enjoyed every minute of it. There was nothing like watching someone breathe their last as you have full control over their life. Yet a small part of her would always be deeply bothered. It wasn’t who she had killed that seemed to be the problem, but instead what she did. She wished that her family could live, those within the nation could live peaceful happy lives, and there would be no fear of outside aggression without committing any of these acts, but that was simply not the case. It would never be the case and she knew it. There was no other way to deal with this, to protect everyone, to protect her family, than to sacrifice herself for the greater good. And as long as she was the one committing these acts, then no one else had to, no one else would have to damn themselves to this fate.

As she continued to walk, Siri passed by one of the old brick elementary schools and could not help but stop at the fence overlooking the playground. There a small blond-haired elven child came to her eyes, happily playing amongst the swings. Oh, the simplicity and innocence of childhood – the very thing Siri felt had been robbed from her those centuries ago, conveyed itself through that young one. She wished she could have all that back, to have had a normal youth, to have the family that had been snatched up from her. But alas, that was in the past. She could never change it, and if she could, what would that do to the present and what she had now? Siri loved her current family, doing anything to risk their existence would make all that she had done over these decades utterly pointless. All the pain and suffering brought upon her would be for naught. No, she could not, would not do anything to jeopardize that. And instead she just watched this child, longing for what could not be.

“My lord, we’ve entered the first house,” a voice rang out in her head, breaking the silence.

And suddenly in that moment, the child faded from her view and all innocence was lost once more…

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

Pastor Jeffrey Noblin’s house in the suburbs was an extraordinarily quiet one for a Saturday night, in comparison to previous ones. Normally it would be bustling with the numerous friends and family that the man had, loudly conversing and enjoying a hearty dinner around his dining room table, but this night it was different from the norm. His wife, Jennifer, was seated alone at the long set table, an empty plate in front of her but a cooling bowl of chicken casserole in the center. She was steadily growing quite hungry as the night dragged on, but declined to eat, as always, until her husband returned from his meeting.

“I wonder where he is…it’s not like him to be out this late,” she mumbled out loud to herself, beginning to worry about him. “Maybe I should call him on his cell…”

As Jennifer stood to grab her charging cell phone from the kitchen counter, a shortsword smashed through the oak chair, splintering the wood and shattering the back to pieces. She snapped her head back to see a shimmering figure, much like one would see during a day of intense heat, lunging toward her. In an attempt to dodge this being and seek help, she tried to run and began to scream as loudly as she could. But it was far too fast for her and fastened its vise-like grip around her neck, lifting her from the floor. Now, since the element of surprise had been lost, the figure, along with one other behind it, dropped its cloak, revealing the seven-foot tall armored guards from the church earlier, their red eyes staring down upon the pastor’s wife. She tried to scream once again in fear but only found that the grip around her neck tightened.

On the other side of the house, an infant in its crib woke from its slumber and began to wail from the commotion. Meanwhile, an elderly man peered out of a door into the kitchen and shouted, “What the hell is going on in here?!”

Seeing that there was now a witness to these acts, the leader slowly turned toward the man and let out a hoarse sneer. There was no need to be clean and stealthy, now was there? Then the hydraulically-assisted armored hand snapped shut and yanked upward, ripping the woman’s throat and a majority of the arteries in her neck from her body. The weight of the body caused it to immediately fall from the guard’s grasp into a bloody heap on the floor right in front of the old man. Reaching over the table, the guard opened his hand and let the flesh drop onto the previously clean plate, staring at the old man in defiance.

“Get the child, I will deal with him,” it commanded the other. “And, set a candle out in the bedroom for later.”

Seeing that the old man had slammed the bedroom door shut, the leader approached it to knock it in and quickly found itself at the receiving end of a shotgun. Shots rang out throughout the house and shells burst through the shabbily-built hollow door, but merely ricocheted off of the heavy armor. The guard shook its head and kicked the locked door in to find the man standing there, reloading the weapon.

“Pitiful, truly pitiful…” it responded and snatched up the shotgun by its barrel from his weak hands. “And utterly useless against me.”

With a forceful swing, the end of the shotgun struck the frightened man squarely in the head, breaking both the wooden stock off and smashing his skull. It was nothing terribly gruesome but then again, there wasn’t much of a point in doing anything else. The man could have been tortured, but what could be worse than seeing his own daughter ripped to shreds?

The guard flung the weapon onto the man’s idle corpse and stepped back out into the kitchen. By the absolute silence within the house, it presumed that its subordinate had already taken the infant away and noted that that left only one final thing to do. It tore the stove from the wall, which consequentially split open the gas line that fueled it. As the invisible fumes began to fill the house, the guard vanished to carry out his task upon its other targets. Within the hour, the gas reached the candle at the back of the house and instantly ignited, sending a ball of fire tearing through the structure. The windows burst outward from the pressure, and the wooden house collapsed in on itself in flames.

“The first has been completed. Thousands more are still to go,” Siri muttered under her breath upon receiving confirmation that the house had been devastated. “Yet the other side of this equation must be dealt with accordingly.”

One would have thought that she would’ve remained idle by the school in anticipation of the results for this first assault, but that was simply not the case. She had continued her journey across the capital city while the various transmissions were being slung back and forth between her subordinates as they set about their task of clearing through this mess the nation was mired in. It was clear that there was not a minute of time to waste here. Morning was a mere few hours away and once again, the city would be awake and now aware of what had unfolded during its slumber.

Her steady pace had led her to yet another significant location within the sprawling city: the Daedreth temple. It had been the first of its kind to be constructed within the nation, but its rather archaic architecture had not meshed well with its surroundings. Auburn stone towers of nothing more than spikes reached to the sky, looming over the silver and cerulean blue glass and metal office complexes nearby. But these towers served very little functional purpose and were merely there to act as a harness for magical energy, channeling it down underground to the main chamber of the temple. Of course, one may ask why such a thing would be needed in this age of easy electrical power generation. However, unlike an overwhelming number of buildings within the city, the Daedreth temple had neither power lines, steam tunnels, nor water lines travelling into it for the twin reasons of the structure being self-sufficient and it was thought that this would bring the adherents of the religion closer to their deities.

Inside this temple, the main chamber in particular, was constructed in a similar fashion. Spikes seemed to be the norm for this and adorned nearly every available surface of it, even the four massive pillars that supported the ceiling and channeled the magic from the surface throughout the building. The main feature was not the styling but was in fact the two rows of enormous statues of creatures which lined the outer wall of the circular chamber. One of them was appeared to be a man resting on a cane and dressed formally in nineteenth century clothes. Another was a creature that had the body of a man but claws and head of a dragon. One of the furthest statues was one of a demonic-appearing muscular person with four arms, two of which were holding a battleaxe.

On normal days, this chamber would have been in almost near silence, except for the utterances of only a select few worshippers, but this was clearly not the case this night. Nearly two hundred people, the top hierarchy of the church, were gathered in attendance and appeared to be doing nothing more than shouting at each other over nearly everything they could. Though, it was not hard to fathom this sight as the only things that bound them together under this religion were the fact that these deities were basically the same race – for lack of a better word – and that united, they stood a better chance against the oppression they faced.

Siri, on the other hand, was growing weary of this mindless banter and made her presence and her thoughts known to the crowd. “Shut up! Goddammit…shut up!” she commanded them, slamming her fists into the pedestal near the entrance to the chamber. “I didn’t call you all here just so you can bitch about your petty matters!”

Silence rapidly fell across the crowd as they turned their complete attention towards her. “Thank you,” she replied as the elf drew a heavy breath of air and sighed. “Now…the reason I have convened this session is to state this: you are to no longer participate in any attacks upon the Christian churches. I don’t care what you have planned or how successful you might think it will be. It does not matter. It is all to cease, right now.”

“But High Priestess…” a lone voice spoke from the audience. “They continue to attack us, they persecute us, and you wish us to sit idly by and let it happen? We can’t do that! How can we allow our lives and innocent lives to perish by their hands and just do nothing?” A thunderous roar of agreement resonated throughout the chamber.

“I don’t care what you think. This is an order. You. Will. Not. Attack. Anyone. Anymore. The situation is being dealt with accordingly. There will no longer be a threat to your worshippers. There is no longer a reason to carry about any sort of retaliation.” Siri wished she could tell them more but knew that any more than what was necessary would lead to her giving out information that could very well complicate matters. But on the other hand, she knew that not telling them anything bound her hands and would not convince them.

Another voice spoke out. “We have no assurances of what you say. The attacks upon us could very well resume again in a few days. We must strike now and deliver that decisive blow against them. Only then can we truly be treated how we should.” Once again a roar of agreement resonated.

“No, you will not do any such thing…that is an order. This nonsense has carried on for long enough and has done nothing more than destroy half the nation with it. University buildings…churches…you all, including the Christians, have managed to fuck up everything in the process.” She slammed her fists once more into the pedestal, growing ever angrier. It was foreign to her that these people could not obey a simple order, everyone else could…but not them, and she began to hate them for it. “I’m sick of it. And I’m ending it now. This will stop now. Do you hear me?”

“But…the citizenry have begun to side with us. We’ve managed to increase our numbers tenfold since last year. We are winning this and we must finish this or we’ll be oppressed for decades to come. Even then, we must continue the struggle for Lord Dagon commands…”

“I don’t give a fuck what Lord Dagon commands!” she screamed at the priest, causing the entire audience to fall into dead silence. It was a rather sacrilegious move say such vulgarity about one of these deities and was equivalent to saying near the same thing within a Christian church about Christ.

As whispers began to stir within them, Siri rubbed her face in aggravation and rage. Through my own arrogance I created this mess. I made the dreadful move and was forced to creating this monstrosity. This is my own damned fault, all of it… Her eyes scanned the crowd, focusing on the arguing that had erupted once again, and her eyes now caught the sounds of those who wanted to toss her out for the blasphemy which she had uttered. I created it…I allowed it to happen…and I must deal with it. Damn the consequences…damn these gods...

She slammed her blood-stained gloved fists into the pedestal again, with every bit of rage within her. “Damn you all!” she screamed at them. In that instant, the four stone pillars in the center of the chamber exploded into pieces, raining down the heavy blocks upon the audience. Screams now filled the room as they tried to flee haphazardly but it was of no use, the ceiling and the soil that was once being supported by the columns crashed through and their bone-crushing weight smashed anyone who had tried to escape.

Meanwhile…

Far away from these events, on the other side of the city, there stood yet another important location for Grummian history – the public library. While it did have the same problem as the Daedreth temple for it seemed to not fit its post-modern surroundings, the history behind the situation made it entirely different.

The building had been constructed in the early years of the corporate state, a time when much of the population still remembered and longed for their former homeland, but since none had any ability to return to it, even if they could, they found that the only way to express their feelings was through the buildings which they built. The public library was one of such cases. Designed in the Beaux-Arts revival styling, it bore great similarities to that of the New York Public Library, even down to the marble blocks which comprised the outer walls. Yet, this expression of nostalgia was perhaps one of the reasons why it had survived these past sixty years. Its sturdy stone construction withstood the failure of the orbital space station, which rained down upon the city and created firestorms that ravaged it for days, and the civil war that massacred millions, leaving the entire city a shell of its former self. Even the recent Second Battle for Caprica City had not tarnished the luster of its exterior, any of its nearly two billion volumes in stock, nor the historic documents which it housed. The corporate charter from nineteen thirty nine, the Proclamation of Secession from the turn of the century, and every edict which came from the Chair were safely stored within this building and had not been damaged in any such way.

The one who had seen to it that these priceless items had never been harmed was the head librarian himself, Nólantur nos Calatar. A semi-retired adventurer, the Noldo had spent a great deal of his three millennia long existence gallivanting across the cosmos, doing anything and everything that seemed to hold his interest. Of course, these stints barely ever lasted much more than a decade; they always seemed to get old for him after a while so he’d move on to the next thing, even if it was in another nation.

One of his first activities included working for the Roanian archives for almost a century. The job in itself wasn’t particularly exciting as it mostly involved purchasing whatever books the archive did not have, making identical copies, and sending the copies back to the archives. But the privileges that came along with it made it worth it. He travelled to almost any country he could access to find these books and roamed the vast maze of items that the Roanians collected. Oh yes, he could very well get lost amongst those shelves – thousands of years worth of information from every part of the galaxy were stored there – it was certainly a place for a curious person to wander.

Probably one of his most disgusting jobs involved being employed for a time inside one of the Zepplin Manufacturers’ recycling facilities. One may wonder what would be the big deal about that, it’s only bottles and papers after all. But that was not the case here as the facility recycled corpses. Yes, that’s right, corpses. Even though Nólantur had put up with his fair share of disgusting jobs over time, this one in particular sickened him, quite literally too. His first day on the job was horrendous; he found himself vomiting time after time from the pungent smell. But, after working at it for a few months, he was tired of the odor, the slime from the fluids that leaked from the deceased, and just the look of these once living beings and decided to leave that job forever.

His last stint involved spending his time in the military of Underwater Asylum, rising to become a battalion commander shortly before the Shivan invasion which devastated that nation and drove millions of survivors, including himself, over to Northrop-Grumman. At that point, he had grown tired of running about and decided to settle down temporarily in the corporate nation. He took the job of head librarian in the capital city’s public library, with the intention of a relaxing break from his travels and a chance to write his memoirs. But, in spite of that original plan, Nólantur found himself once again with the desire to do something new and different, and he figured out just what he wanted to try.

Contained within the light tan marble stonework of the structure, the main reading room of the library was an immense area spanning nearly two football fields in size. Iron chandeliers with seemingly primitive incandescent bulbs hung overhead, normally illuminating the entire room, but on this night, they were dark as was most of the room. The only lights that shone were from those of the stars and the moon, which one could easily see out of the massive multi-paned glass windows that perforated the outer walls, and the reading lamps that adorned the long rows of intricately carved cedar tables that spanned the width of the room. These lamps were placed sporadically throughout the tables and barely broke the darkness in front of Nólantur, giving him only basic silhouettes of the people seated at the tables.

He leaned on the end of one of the tables and trying to make eye contact with those assembled, at least, as well as he could in the dark. As one could readily see, he seemed to be unsuited to the role of the librarian, being approximately six and a half feet in height, appearing to be quite uncomfortable in his thick robes, and showing a heavily scarred face which one could assume was from all of his various adventures abroad. He appeared to have “been through the mill” so to speak, a great contrast with the usual elegant looking elves that populated Northrop-Grumman.

“Greetings, ladies and gentlemen,” he began steadily with a rather authoritative tone lurking behind his words. “I am pleased that you have decided to attend this meeting on this dreadful night. One can only imagine what you have gone through to be here, but, thankfully this would mean that you were interested in what I had to say.

“As you are all aware by now, the religious strife in Northrop-Grumman has not dissipated by any significant amount over the years. On the contrary, it has only grown in intensity since the coming of the Daedreth. Now, every day, innocent people die from this nonsense. Our homes are destroyed by explosives. Gun battles rage inside the places of business and worship, and our universities are threatened by the onslaught of the religious slavery of the minds of our children. Every day we open the newspapers to see nothing but death. You may very well ask, what is the solution to this?

“The Chairman and Chairwoman have tried to accomplish what they could through means of the military – imposing various curfews and handing them full control over the cities – and negotiations with the church leaders, but to no avail. Their methods failed to hit the root of the problem. However, what they could not see, I shall lead you to.” His face lightened as he rose from the table and began to pace the floor before the crowd. “The Eight Churches are composed of and led by whom? Humans. The Daedreth are composed of? Humans.

“You may think that is not enough, but I do certainly have more. You ought to be well aware of the oppressive nature of our government. It subverts the culture we non-humans have by perverting our names to fit the human-centric conformity of this nation. Our ideas, thoughts, beliefs, and histories are stricken down repeatedly by the authorities. Our representation in this government is severely limited due to the overpowering nature of the churches that will not allow anyone who is non-Christian to come to power. I say no more of this! We must stand up for who we are and take power! Only then can we have true peace and equality!”

A throat cleared at the table, and a uniformed Noldo rose from his seat, his medals brightly reflecting the limited light in the room, and interrupted Nólantur. “I do sincerely hope you are not suggesting that we overthrow the current government,” replied Major General Haranisterifar Glorinerell, the commander of the Battlefleet Thomas Jones. “A person in my position will not tolerate such a goal. I wish to inform you that I made an oath to protect the sanctity and security of the Corporation and will fulfill that task to its logical conclusion.”

Nólantur had expected that response, knowing at least one person would stand up and challenge what he was proposing. He grinned knowingly and replied, “On the contrary, General, what I propose will help you fulfill that very oath. I wish to found a movement, an organization, a political party of sorts that would unite elvenkind to force change to this utterly despicable government. I do not wish to challenge the corporate government. I wish to challenge our local authorities, the ones who crush us with their iron fists, and win the government from them. They have shown that they are incapable of ruling fairly and honestly. The humans in general have shown that they are incapable of doing anything but fighting amongst themselves. Look at the insanity they’ve created out there! Look at it! It never gets better, it only becomes worse!”

“I hope you realize that we are just a minority, three percent of the population the last time the census was done.” A female Noldor, the chancellor of the University of Wilmington, dressed smartly in a business suit rose from her seat in response to this. “We have a slim chance of getting into office as is. How do you propose we knock the already popular leaders out from their places?”

“Actually, we simply allow the humans to do their own removal. They are in place because of popular opinion and we shall remove them with popular opinion. You may ask: how?” Nolantur nodded to another Noldo who shoved a massive spiral-bound book down the length of the table to him. He grasped it with both hands and held it up in the air. “Here we have a listing of a sizable portion of the politicians in this nation, compiled by an acquaintance of mine in the Order. However, what makes it special is that it’s a compilation of information implicating them in the attacks that have left so many dead. Proof, substantial portions of it, leaked to the press would surely bring about the effect we want. Then, it’s just a simple poising on the proper candidates into the void left by these…people and it is ours.”

“Excuse me?!” The chancellor interrupted. “Are you saying that we have to deal with the Order now and that they’re giving us orders?”

“No, no, not at all, Madam Chancellor,” Nolantur laughed heartily. “I would never think of allowing them or anyone else to tell our people what to do. This is our movement and ours alone. Actually, the Order is merely providing us with a means of securing our power without violence. Simply put, their goals are the same as ours, and actually yours, General: protecting the sanctity and security of the Corporation, and they wish to help us achieve that goal since it is in their best interests. I see no reason why we should oppose them at this current time.”

After he had finished speaking, he waited patiently to see if there were any more questions or concerns from the elves assembled before him. But they remained silent and gazed expectantly upon him, so he stood upright in front of the long table and raised his voice. “Now, those in favor of the formation of this organization, say aye.” In unison and with great force, the elves responded their affirmation. “Do any oppose?”

Several seconds of dead silence passed but no one spoke. The Noldo scanned the room before him and saw that no one had left, no one had opposed this plan of his. For this, he was overjoyed and grinned widely. A new movement had been born…