NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: You wanted it, here you have it. The first half of this is reposted from "Where it all began, and where it all begins again", the other half is from the second AMF civil war. It took forever and a day to compile this, so I hope you all appreciate it.

This is the most in depth description of Automagfreek ever compiled. I would go further into some of AMF's wars and the history of when it first became a nation, but there are too many gaps and missing threads to make a complete, flowing story.

There is no denying that Automagfreek as a nation has forever made an impact on NationStates. Through 2 World Wars and the forging of the WMNK Coalition, AMF became a household name early on. But the real turning point was mid September in 2003, when I introduced a new character named Damien.

At the time Thomas Kaye was president of The Democratic States of Automagfreek (a democracy, who would have thought?), and Xelan Nengalu was the Prime Minister. Through the introduction of a new weapon, the Sentinels, AMF secured itself in the history books and made it's fair share of enemies.

Here is a key to certian sections of this story:

*** = This indiates a chapter break. Scenes and whatnot change inbetween these marks.

Orange text = Commentary that I just now added in for background information.

Red text = This indicates a post by Pantera, which I will not take credit for. Pantera has played a vital role in how Automagfreek is today.

Enjoy.

-Chris-
The man behind AMF.

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

As my first act as Prime Minister, I am herby announcing the decommission of all current AMF military personnel. Now bear with me, there is a reason. Cyberdyne Systems, AMF's top weapons manufacturing corporation, has been doing genetic experimentation over the past decade. They have systematically "redesigned" the human DNA strand. Genetic impurities have been removed, stamina has been increased as well as muscle capacity. The basic human killer instincts are amplified. Basically, AMF will comence mass breeding of these "pure soldiers" to revamp our military. Now, I say "pure" because what Cyberdyne has done is breed us a human soldier in it's purest form, no frills, no uber enhancement, just a plain and simple killing machine, what human beings once were. They are raised from day 1 to do exactly what they are told. They do not know pain, fear is unheard of, and remorse is not in their vocabulary. They are bred to fight, and fight well. Their diets are literally perfect, providing 100% of every vitamin and mineral the human body needs, while having no fat, no saturated fat, and no cholesterol. They train 18 hours a day, honing and enhancing their combat skills. Slowly over the coming years, these "pure soldiers" will replace the regular humans in our military.

We must stress that what we are doing is not inhuman, we are not torturing these people, nor are we being cruel. We are simply training an army that is better "equipped" to handle itself in combat.

More information will be released once it becomes available.



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Xelån Nengalu
-Prime Minister of AMF-

***

This was the fundamental turning point in Automagfreek's history. At this time the one known as Damien began lurking in the shadows, preparing to make his move in the coming years. Nobody knew that one day the Sentinels would be one of the most feared and powerful fighting forces he world had ever seen.

***

13 years had passed since the experiment went under way. The copies were now 13, and their whole life had been spent training. At 6 in the morning, the Drill Sgt. walked into the barracks. The copies were now finished with the first part of their training, and they were ready to move to step 2, actual combat training. After rudely awakening the troops, they stand at attention, the same emotionless expression upon each face. Good morning ladies. Today marks a great change in your service of your Empire. Today, you will begin 5 years of intensive combat training. For 16 hours a day, your bodies will be taken to their absolute limits. You will march 20 miles a day, followed by 3.7 miles of obstacle courses, followed by whatever other activities are planned, be it marksmanship training, swimming, hand to hand combat, whatever. Today you evolve. Now, you are nothing but unorganized, grab-asstic pieces of amphibian shit. You are the lowest form of life, you are not even human fucking beings. You are a genetically pure copy, nothing more. Whom do you serve maggots? THE EMPIRE, SIR!! Bullshit, I can't hear you! THE EMPIRE, SIR!!! That's better. The time is 0600, get your asses dressed ladies, it's time for work.

The military experiment involving genetically pure copies is proving to be a success. From their "birth", the copies are molded into brutal killing machines. They grow up watching war footage, and seeing live animals fight to the death. They are fed blood, death, and war. When they reach age 6, they are drilling in the art of military strategy. They begin physical conditioning and light to medium weapons training. Loyally, robotically, they serve their Empire with every waking moment.

In 5 years, the first "batch" will be ready for combat service. Slowly, these new soldiers will replace the current soldiers, increasing AMF's military might significantly.

I am still not sure about the effectivness of these manufactured soldiers, Colonel Brinks said, I don't know if they will really make a difference. He paused for a brief second, deep in thought. You have yet to see the true ferocity that these men possess, the program dircetor said, bearing a patch of AMF's Cyberdyne Systems. These men are invincible, or at least we make them think so.

They step out onto a balcony, overlooking thousands of the copies.

ATTENTION! The director shouts. The men instantly snap to attention. What is your purpose? TO SERVE THE EMPIRE! What do you live for? BLOOD, DEATH, AND WAR!! That's right. you do not know pain, you do not know fear. Remorse is not in your vocabulary, nor is insubordinance. Your sole duty is to your Empire!

As you see Colonel, they are more disciplined than any naturally born man. Here is an example. YOU, STEP FORWARD! He points to a random soldier. Now, watch this. The director throws a grenade at the feet of the soldiers, still standing at attention. Dive on that grenade soldier! The soldier robotically complies, diving on the grenade while the others stand without moving. The grenade explodes, throwing blood and flesh over the room. Now you see colonel, would any man stand there while a grenade was thrown at his feet? Would any man go to his death simply because he was told to? No, and that's where these soldiers prevail.

The Colonel looked on with mixed feelings.

***


The Senate was in discussion. The decision to have the Sentinels replace all regular humans was still being fiercely debated.

I know you're concerned about the application of artificially engineered soldiers in the AMF military. I can assure you, we have nothing to fear! They are extremely discipined, and they will fight for AMF harder than regular men. I see this as a great opportunity to further AMF's military power.


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Minister Hartman
-Minister of Foreign Affairs-

I understand, but the idea still makes me uneasy. I'm not sure this will work, because this has never been successfully done by any other nation before, we are really the first ones to go this fra. We've trained them since birth, we've strengthened them genetically, and face it, they're killers, plain and simple. I'm still not sure about this all...

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Xelån Nengalu
-Prime Minister of AMF-


The appliaction of such soldiers would be very beneficial to AMF's defense. With such soldiers on the battlefield, the enemy will be facing some of the toughest men the universe has ever known. I see great things coming from these Sentinels


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Chairman Samuel Jackson
-Department of Defense-


As the debate rages on, noise begins to build in the streets. Still locked in debate, the Senate moves forward.

The Senate grows uneasy as the noise in the streets escalates. But, determined to address the issue once and for all, the Senate trudges on. Meanwhile, citizens quickly return to their homes. A shadow slowly spreads through the city, and darkness begins to fall. Hmmm...this is unusual.... A Senator utters. The Senate discussion slowly fades into silence, as the sound of simultanious footsteps is heard. Is that thunder? What is that? another voice called out. I have no idea...but it's getting louder. Another replies. Growing concerned, the Prime Minister and other high political officials look around the room, wondering if they should leave or not.

The sound grows louder.

The footsteps then get closer, their thunderous noise almost deafening now. Then..mysteriously, they stop. Silence fills the Senate for several minutes. The Senate members, openly afraid now, look around cluelessly trying to make sense of the events that are unfolding. Then breaking the silence, a single set of feet ascends the Senate steps, approaching the main door. The sound grows louder, making their way towards the Senate's doors. A pause....then the doors open with a loud thud, and a gust of wind blows in chilling the Senate members to the bone. Standing in the darkened doorway is a tall, very physically fit man. The entire aura aound this man is that of pure evil and fear, and a shudder goes down the spine of the Prime Minister.

He pauses, looking around the Senate, sizing things up. Then, striding towards the podium, he slowly makes his way forward. The dignitaries at the podium quickly scurry as the man ascends the few steps, and stands before the podium. He glares across the room...left to right. Ripping the microphone out of the stand, he brings it up to his mouth.

In a deep, ominous voice he speaks. Now you will recieve us. Today, marks a new day in the chapter of Automagfreek. A Revolution has been brewing for some 15 years, and you know of what I speak. I was the first Sentinel created, some 21 years ago. I was your first "test dummy". You modeled your new military after me, and now with the first wave of troops ready, we are here to announce the hidden agenda that brewed under your very noses. Your own officials have been planning this coup for some time, and the day of glory is here. I, Damien, am here to announce my rise to power. Glancing at the Prime Minister, he shouts, REMOVE HER! Take her to my... He began eying her up and down private chambers.

Several Sentinels, clad in full combat amor, armed with the latest in military weaponsry, forcibly take the Prime minister from the Senate building. Damien turns, facing the main body of the Senate. This is what you wanted! Why must you be afraid? For if you did not want this, why do I exist? You must now embrace the new destiny that lay before AMF, because if you don't, it will consume you and leave you buried in the tracks of progress. More Sentinels are spawned everyday, and soon there will be Sentinels patrolling every city on the planet of Automagnus. I am here to order that all local police are to not interfere with the Sentinels. I m also here to say that President Kaye has been taken into custody. I'm not saying he will be harmed, absolutly not. A man of such genious is neccessary to the survival of AMF. He will still be the "President" so to speak, but I will have the supreme authority. The new dawn is here ladies and gentlemen, time to embrace it.

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---Damien---
-Supreme Warlord of AMF-

Damien turns to a news crew covering the Senate meeting.

I want you to send out a message to the peoples of the world, and broadcast it everywhere.

Getting ready, Damien moves outside, where several thousand Sentinels stand in perfect formation. Damien speaks:

Today, a new dawn has arisen in Automagfreek. I, Damien now hold supreme power in Automagfreek, and will push AMF father than it's ever gone before. Alongside my Sentinel brothers, our Empire will eclipse the Empire of old, and we will forge a new path. A new age is here, and with hellfire and brimstone, we will carve out our place in history. But fear not, we will not mindlessly unleash our wrath on the first person who stands in our way, oh no. We will bide our time, until the day our wrath must be brought upon some unfortunate nation, and that day will hopfully not come for a long time. The Sentinels are here, and we are not going anywhere.

***

Little did Automagfreek know about just how effective the Sentinels would be. An immediate impression was made on the world, and in the process of earning much fear and respect, AMF did indeed earn alot of enemies. Automagfreek then caught the eye of a very powerful nation, Pantera. Perhaps one of the most powerful, the Lord Reaver Bastien the Bronze saw great potential in Damien and his Sentinels. And thus began the legendary "Blood Pact".

***


Damien stood in the darkened chambers of the Great Hall. A slight breeze shuffled the red and white curtains, and the leaves on the trees russled in the dusky air. The candles around the alter had been lit, and a thousand hooded Sentinels stood silently as the ceremony began. Standing next to Damien was Xel, clad in a slightly revealing ceremonial black dress, her long black hair swaying slightly as the night air blew in. Damien stepped forward towards the alter, where a golden chalice sat alongside a 4 inch knife, it's handle clad in gold as well.

Brother Sentinels, I am here tonight to engage in the Blood Pact with Pantera. This chalice will be filled with my blood, sealed, then sent to Pantera as an offering, and as a pledge to their nation. This pledge will bind us together, making Sentinel and Reaver alike brothers in arms. Wether Pantera participates in the Pact is a decision that they alone will make, but I shall take the first step.

Damien lifted the chalice, and turned his back towards the cloaked Sentinels. He closed his eyes, lifting the cup up high, silently praying to the Gods above. His lips moved ever so slightly as he prayed on, his mind clear and collected. The breeze picked up for a second causing the candles to flicker and cast eerie shadows about the room. Damien turned, and placed the chalice gently on the stone alter. Picking up the knife, he held it in both hands, his eyes focused on the razor sharp blade. He slowly opened his dominent right hand, and with his weaker left sliced a 3 inch gash from end to end. He then moved his right hand over the chalice, squeezing hard. Blood poured from his wound as Xel and the Sentinels watched on silently. When the chalice was half full, Damien set the knife down and with both hands raised the cup to his lips, drinking his own blood. He tilted his head back and sprayed his own lifeblood into the air. A thousand Sentinels roared, shaking the windows and the very foundation of the Great Hall as blood dripped from Damien's gaping maw. Placing the chalice on the alter he squeezed his hand again, filing it full.

Xel drifted gently toward it, sealing the top. She held it high, and the Sentinels produced a roar that would make demons weep.

The Blood Pact has been initiated! This golden cup will now be taken to Pantera, as an offering of our allegiance.

Ripping the front of his shirt, Damien took his bloodied hand, and smeared his hand print across his chest, and the Sentinels roared again.


Caught up in the turmoil of War and asasination attempts, the Lord Reaver could not help but smile as he recieved the message from Freek. This Damien is going to prove a ferocious ally...

He grinned, taking up pen and paper and writing a reply to AMF before having it sent quickly.

Honored Allies, though a strange custom indeed, we are pleased with your offer, and the trust it entails. Long have we respected and Honored your people, and now I trust this shall ensure our mighty alliance through the ages. Together, Reavers and Sentinals shall break our enemies and sweep across them, conquering and taking what we will.

The offer of your lifes blood will please the Blood God of War, Wotan, and I shall contribute to the offering with my own. The Crow's Feast shall be great, and the gods shall drink their fill from the crimson streams flowing from the mountians of our enemies, defeated and dishonored.

Bound together by the ties of Blood and Fire, we are now as one.

Bastien the Bronze
Lord Reaver of Pantera
Drag the Waters of War


Upon recieving the reply, the message from Bastien was read aloud, and broadcast over every AMF installation. At Camp Blade, the main training center of the Sentinels, the message had a profound impact. Roaring and screaming with the might of the Sentinels, over 500,000 heard the message. All across AMF, mass celebration took place. Much feasting and drinking took place, along with parties right in the streets.

At the Great Hall, Damien read the message to the hooded Sentinels. After much celebration, the message was instnatly framed, and hung inside the Main Chamber, a hallowed place where many AMF artifacts rest. Xel stood alongside the 7 foot tall Damien. She looked with a smile at Damien.

What you have done here today is quite possibly the greatest historical event in the history of Automagfreek. Damien, you have taken the Empire to a whole new level, and you should be very proud.

Grinning down at Xel with delight, he said to her:

I know Xel. Now, the fury and might of the Reavers are now one with the Sentinels. This is a big step in our nation's history, and this day shall echo in all eternity. Now, my love, we must go celebrate.

Damien scooped Xel into his arms, and took her to his private quarters, where they would "celebrate" the night away.

***

In the Garden Square in RTP City, a large statue was to be erected to commemorate this occasion. The monument would stand 50 feet tall, and on the left side will stand a statue of a Sentinel, made out of stainless steel. On the right will stand a statue of a Reaver, made out of bronze. One hand of each statue will be extended forward, and each will hold the flag of their nation proudly.

The monument was expected to be erected in a few days.

Mass celebration continue around the country, and at AMF installations afar.

Back at the Great Hall

After a night of great pleasure, Damien and his mate Xel awoke from their slumber. Damien walked to the balcony as the curtains swayed in the breeze. He looked out across Garden Square, and across the Silver Lake. The sun was rising, and the new day was here. Xel arose from her bed, still unclothed, and moved towards the bathroom. She put her nightgown on, and moved over towards Damien. She stood behind him, wrapping her arms around around Damien's midsection, and resting her head gently on his back.

Today marks a great change in the Empire my love. I never thought such a day would come, much less under my rule.

Damien said quietly to Xel. She moved and stood next to Damien, holding his hand gently. She smiled as she looked Damien in his fiery eyes.

I always believed you would achieve such greatness, for you will go down in history as the man that changed the course of an entire Empire. You are a fabulous leader Damien, never forget that.

Damien smiled, and the two watched the sun rise together, for a new dawn had come.



The Church of the ThirdEye is a towering structure. Built of granite and set high upon a gigantic quartz crag, the huge black-on-whie upthrust dominates the landscape for miles around. From the highest tower of the church flies a billowing banner, bearing the burgundy and blacks of Pantera. The great flight of stairs leading to the gilded set of double doors is packed with Reavers as they make thier way into the great church. Inside, a cavernous chamber is already crammed with the Warrior Priests of ThirdEye and Reavers alike.

The walls are carved with fantastic scenes of battle and glory, the three faces of the Gods of Wind, Water and War the most prevalent. The far end of the room is rased into a great platform where blooms of SunShade grow about the altar where it is said that human sacrifice to the Blood Gods indeed once took place. Upon the furthest wall a section of granite has been removed, revealing a large hole.

As the last of the Reavers file in, and the cavernous chamber quiets, the Lord Reaver emerges from the crowd alongside a Crimson Priest. Bastien the Bronze is clad in antique shining silver platemail, his shining blonde hair swinging loose about his shoulders as he and the Priest approach the altar.

My Reavers, Brother's of the Church, we come today to pay respect to an ally who has honored us. The Lord Of Automagfreek has offered a gift of his lifes blood, offering the very sould and rage that flows within him, to Pantera. A strong gesture and one that sall not be forgotten.

Taking up an ornate iron dagger, it's hilt capped with a strange blue stone, Bastien nods to the Crimson Priest and draws the edge across is calloused palm, smiling grimly as a thick line of blood wells up from the gash and runs across his fingers. The Priest hurriedly pulls a satin cloth from the golden chalice gifted them by AMF. Opening it, he offers it to the Lord Reaver.

Bastien clenches his fist, thrusting his arm above the chalice and allowing the blood that streams down his hand to drip into the it. His voice echoes powerfully about the crowded chamber:

Once seperate, we have been forged anew. The bonds of Blood and Fire are unbreakable, and our fates are now entwined. To Valhalla, alongside our brothers we shall Drag the Waters of War!

The savage roars of the assembled Reaver echo about the chamber as they stomp and clap thier hands, screaming and shouting adoration at thier Warrior-King, and for thier allies.

The Crimson Priest bows low, murmering a prayer and placing the now closed chalice within the hole in the thick granite wall. He turns then, taking up a ceremonial broadsword and calling out.

I will now stand guard against the Lifes-Blood of our alliance, now and forever. That is my vow, before Gods and Men. Go now, Drag the Waters alongside those who have honored you. I shall wait here, eternal as the Waves, a shield to the Soul of our great Alliance.

Bastien bows low to the Priest, but recieves no reply as he now has eyes only to seal away the Chalice, and himself. An eternal Honor guard, as it were.


It is done, my love. Pantera and Automagfreek are now as one. This is a moment that our people will not soon forget Damien.

Damien turned to Xel. He was both happy, but silent at the same time. He could not believe that under his rule that such an event was possible.

To think Xel, that at one point, Pantera and Automagfreek were once strangers. But now, we are as brothers. We have sworn allegiance, Reaver and Sentinel alike. Not just AMF and Pantera will remember this day, but all life throughout the vastness of the cosmos. This is the first time the Blood Pact has been shared with those outside of AMF. It was first done amongst the feudal lords that warred against one another in the Early Ages. But now, we share it with our Reaver kin! This is a monumental occasion!

He shouted to the servant outside the room.

Send a message to those in the National Archives to mark this day as an official holliday. The Day of Blood shall it be called! Xel grinned at Damien. Although part machine, her human emotions shined. I just love to hear you talk Damien. Tell me more. Damien looked puzzled. About what, my love? Xel sat down on the large bed. About anything. She gestured Damien closer, an erotic grin on her face.


Early the morning afer enshrining the Chalice, Bastien the Bonze and his brother Dayne the Evenstar woke to practice the blade. They had done so since they were old enough to walk, and, short of war, had never broken the routine. The sound of the training room rang with the sound of steel clashing upon steel. Bastien's great broadsword powered against his brothers smaller longsword, though the Evenstar held his own.

Finally, though Dayne slipped low and cut at hs brothers calf with his blunted longsword, knocking him from his feet and ending the spar.

Bastien drew a ragged breath and pushed himself to his feet, grunting to his brother,A fine match, Dayne. Was once a day you couldna trounce me like that.

Dayne's smile was troubled as he waved away his brothers compliment and turned to replace his blunted longsword on the training rack. His Lord and brother did not neglect to notice his brothers unease.

Your thoughts, Evenstar?

The younger brother turned to face his King, nodding his massive head, his braids swinging,The wars weigh on my mind. Enemies approach Pantera, and you talk with this Damien. You know that the smallfolk have given him a soulname?

Bastien gave a slight shake of his head, arching a thick eyebrow and lifting a hand to scratch his jawline, covered in a slight shadow of beard. A soulname, eh? A Panteran SoulName was reserved for Reavers who had earned their respect before Gods and Men alike. It tied you to the Wind and Waves, and ensured that Wotan strode with you during War. It took a Crimson Priest to give a soulname, and he hadn't been told of such...No, Evenstar, tell me.

Damien Dreadfire. The Evenstars smile was sly as he watched his brother.

The Lord Reaver smiled, his thoughts flying,Well said brother. The commoners have an eye, along with the Priests, eh? His name will be well earned, Evenstar. There is Fire and Ice in his veins... He trailed off, watching his sibling.

Dayne's purple eyes dropped as he asked softly,What are your plans, Bastien?

The Warrior-King sighed, looking to a beautifully detailed painting of the Panteran longships of old. A return to greatness, my brother...


Xel rushed into the throne room. Damien knew this was urgent, because she never ran. Damein instantly stood to his feet. What is it, my love? Xel stopped at Damien's throne, she looked him in his feiry eyes, and grinned.

I have just recieved word from Pantera, Damien. It seems you have been honored with what Panterans call a soulname. It is a custom bestowed upon those most worthy, and YOU , Damien, have been honored with such a name!

Damien slumped down in his throne, a smile and disbelief on his face. His eyes distant, as if his mind was in another time, a grin quickly spread across his face, then drifted away. His grin returned, and Xel knew that his mind was working at a million miles an hour, his imagination running rampant.

I have been honored with such a name... Damien said, with a smile clearly across his face, which was unusual. I....can't believe it. What do they call me, my love?

Xel bowed down repectfully as she uttered the name.

Damien Dreadfire, my Lord.

Damien's smile grew bigger, and stood from his throne as the Sentinel guards bowed as well. Damien Dreadfire....I like it. So it has been proclaimed, and so shall it be.


Bastien stood facing the great window of the Seastone Council chambers, his massive form outlined against the violent swirl of reds, oranges and blues of the dying sun. The vista beyond was incredible, some three thousand feet above the waves, with sunlight proving the Blood Bay was well-named, as the setting sun turned the color of the waves to crimson.

As he turned to face the assembled Reaver Lords, his purple eyes blazed, the indigo flare startling in its contrast to the riot of colors beyond the window.

I earned my soulname when the blood from my enemies drenched my locks, turning them to bronze in sun on an evening much like this. The garrison was out of ammunition, though they refused to surrender. My Lord Father, respecting the resolve of these rebel Reavers ordered that the town be stormed with sword and bayonet, as he refused to shoot them down. I was entrusted to the task, and after six bloody hours of fighting the day was mine. With my enemies slain, bathed in their blood, the Priests bestowed me with my soulname...

The assembled Reaver Lords glanced at each other uneasily. They all knew the story, and it was not like thier Lord to ramble. A few made as if to speak, but Bastien waved them to silence.

Dreadfire chose well, to make the Panteran statue Bronze, alongside thier own of steel. Not only for my Soulname, but for the metal itself. Bronze is the metal of my crown, to tie me to the Land. The Crown of hte old Kings of Winter. Bronze and Iron, Fire and Ice... All about these Sentinels seems to be...

He shook his head, ending his thought and gazing across the table at his Lords.

We have lost our dreams, my Lords. We no longer Drag the Waters, questing and conquering those who would defy us. That is our destiny, Reavers. To reign above lesser men, and to destroy any who would seek to interfere. Not conquerors, or rulers, mind you...

Once more he paused, tossing his head and makng to speak, only to be interrupted by his old advisor, and Defender Lord of the Vale.

Bastien, it is plain for us all to see that something troubles you. With enemies threatening, you cannot be like this. Focus, M'lord. Speak with us. Tell us of your thoughts. We are here to serve, M'lord, let us.

The Lord Reaver watched his old friend for a moment, thinking about the man. A friend to his father, he had stood alongside House Vayne during the many civil wars and rebellions of the past decades. Now approaching sixty, he remained a powerful presence. Bastien finally smiled, nodding his assent.

Beginning slowly, his words gained intensity:

We are warriors. This new way of warfare will not suit our old tactics. We must evolve, and to do this we must cast away old habits. Our destiny, my brothers is to Drag the Waters, blessed by the Wind and strengthened by War. The sentinels have awakened in me a terrible purpose. I see in them what I see in us. Fire and Ice, as I have said. They have roused the demons in my soul, and they haunt my dreams. Such sweet haunting though...A dream only glimpsed will be realized within this lifetime, Reavers, but that lifetime will be a moment in comparison to the Songs men shall sing of us through the ages. Reaver and Sentinel together, civilization shall enter a new age behind us. On our shoulders, Mankind shall prosper, and all shall be ours for the taking, Reavers. We only have to take it. And we shall. This is written across the skies in Starlight and Silver....

Long into the night the Reavers spoke, and as they left, Bastien noted the fervor in some of thier eyes. A previously hidden rage that welled deep within thier souls, boiling and building. Fanaticism could be dangerous, though. He knew well, for he teetered on the edge himself.


Damien sat looking out the window of his transport. He began having revalations of the trials to come. Sitting back, he thought of the ancient history behind AMF, and the glory that once radiated from it's borders. Thinking harder, he realized that the glory had all but faded, until his coming. Yes, it was him, was it not? Nobody else has taken AMF to these heights before! Not Dictator Automagfreek, not Thomas Kaye, but HIM alone! These thoughts raced throught his head as his transport landed at Camp Blade.

Stepping out of the transport, the 7 foot warlord towered over the Sentinel guards, and all came to attention.

It is an honor to receive you, My Lord. Welcome to Camp Blade.

The Major spoke loudly. Damien nodded in reply, and the two began walking towards the main compound. A Sentinel guards followed Damien as they made their way into the main building. As Damien's foot touched the inside of the room, all instantly became slient, and stood at attention. In perfect formation, the Sentinels stared ahead, motionless...robotic. Damien placed his arms behind his back, and slowly walked down the lines, eying each Sentinel as he passed. Each face was the same, each expression a copy of the last. These were to be the warriors that would propell the Empire forward, and although he knew many would be sacrificed along the way, he knew that it was a cause most worthy.

Damien passed through the lines, and made his way towards the balcony overlooking the troops. Taking up the microphone, he spoke in a thundering voice:

Brother Sentinels, the New Dawn is here! With both fire and blade alike, we will carve out our destiny as we see fit. We will no longer be bound to the ways of old, we will not do what others want! We will do....what WE want! Together, the brothers of the Blood Pact will trounch all heathens that stand against us. We shall watch as they lie, broken and stripped of all their pride. We shall laugh as they suffer torment and eternal damnation at our hands. We will watch with glee as their souls are purged from their cowardly bodies, and as they fester and rot in the Halls of the Dead. We will march over their pathetic forces, and we will send them to whatever God they wish. It is you, my Sentinels, that will do this, I have forseen it. With great discipline and untamed fury, you will sweep across the oppressors of the universe, one by one falling to our unstoppable war engine. Alongside our Reaver brothers, none shall think to cross paths with us!

My Sentinels, you make your Empire proud!

The Sentinels roared and cheered in approval. Damien had said it well.

***

Damien stood in the main control room of the Camp. Looking out amongst the vast sea of Sentinels, he felt a surge of pride. He turned to his staff of Generals.

I think you all know of the trials that are to come. I expect the best out of all of you, and so does your Empire. I cannot say at this moment exactly what is going to happen, because I myself am not sure. It is no secret that war will find us again, so we must be ready. I've been informed of certain "activities" around the planet, and it saddens and displeases me. I would not be surprised if we deployed soon.

We are currently fighting Tilsitsin, but AMF and Pantera shall make an example of that fool, so his presense does not concern me. What does concern me, however, is the insane conquest that is taking place on Earth.

He caught himself drifting. He straightened himself out, and his Generals saluted him.

Damien walked slowly by himself to Dawn's Cathedral. The grassy path was shaded by tall maple trees, and a slight breeze made the leaves shiver. He came closer to the Cathedral, and as he started up the giant flight of steps, passer by's moved out of his way.

The tall doors creaked as they opened, and the smell of candles and incense hit him. He paused, lifting his head and closing his eyes, taking in the soothing odors. Dawn's Cathedral was also a resting place for some of AMF's most important artifacts, one being the Relic's Sword, used by Dictator Automagfreek in the Age of Unrest. He turned left, and walked down the long red carpet and saw the sword encased in glass, sitting on it's podium, bathed in sunlight. He kneeled before it, and looked up at the epic depiction of the great Tide's War, a struggle between the feudal lords to gain power in the land of Automagfreek. The scene depicts the Dictator riding gloriously into battle, his sword literally passing through those that stood in his way.

He bowed his head and prayed to the Gods: Oh great wise ones of the past, grant me now in this time of trial, the strength to rise above my challenges. When I raise my flashing sword, and my hand takes hold in judgment, I will take vengeance upon mine enemies, and I will repay those that haze me. Oh Lords, raise me to thy right hand and count me among thy Saints.....

He lifted his head, feeling nirvana. He stood up, taking a few steps towards the sword. He lifted the glass case off, and the stench of ages filled his nostrils. He took up the mighty blade, and slowly removed it from it's scabbard. The blade was still sharp, after hundred of years. He would wear it with pride into battle, and it's spititual and sacred energies would help guide him in his darkest hours.

May my ancestors watch over me...

Damien placed the sword back into it's scabbard, and made his way to the exit, but not the same way he came. He took the scenic route, and went throught the art gallery. Large paintings of epic battlescenes covered the walls, each telling it's own story in it's own time and place. Damien passed them by, giving but a galnce to most of the artwork.

He then stopped at the painting of Tordun, the Corpse God, the God of Death. In the painting, Tordun was dragging a helpless woamn to her doom, as the panicked onlookers watched, their screams etched in time inside the very paint of the artwork. Damien bowed respectfully to the Corpse God, and continued his journey towards the exit.

Making his way out, he passed by the main alter in the Cathedral. Looking up at the stained glass window, he felt a sense of...enlightenment. Kneeling down before it, he gave his thanks to the Gods for seeng him through such turbulant times.

He stood, looking at the Relic's Sword, now attached to his utility belt. He exited the Cathedral without looking back, for he got what he came for. The sun was beginning to set, and the colors of orange, blue, and crimson tainted the sky as the sun died for the day. Damien walked down the long grassy trail in silence.

***

Days after these monumental events, construction finished on AMF's most infamous structure.....the cursed Halls of the Dead. The Halls had an immediate impact....that of disgust and pure fear.

***

The dank halls were barely lit by flickering candles. The sound of water dripping was interrupted only by the ear piercing screams of the condemned.

A large executioner, hooded in black, made his way down the dank halls. Thousands of decaying skeletal corpses line the walls, they were hung from the ceilings, impaled by stakes, laying strewn about the floor. Each empty skull still stunk with the rancid smell of decay. He then entered the main hall, which was lined with poorly lit cells. Inside, the damned awaited their punishment. The screames of agony echoed down the corridors, making thier way into the ears of the condemned, feuling their fear.

The executioner made his way to cell #4520, and the guards opened it. Bound in barbed wire and barely clothed, they took the poor soul up the flight of stairs, and then turned left. The long corridor was infested with rats, feasting on the decaying flesh of the dead. Maggots spilled from their severed heads, and the man walked past, his fear growing.

The main room was well lit, and any intruments of death and torture lined the several hundred yards of the room. First stop was the whipping post, where he would his body would be whipped and beaten until he could stand no more. He was strung up, shaking as the barbs drove deeper into his flesh. His eyes were agape as the ninetails sliced through his back. Screaming and groaning in sheer agony, they whipped him until the skin on his back was non existant.

Moving down the line, they laid him down belly up on a steel table. His arms and legs were bound by leather and iron as the hooded executioner rolled his tray over. His tray contained several large, sharp objects, and the victim started to sob. Picking up a long poker, the executioner moved to wards the man's lower half, and thrust the poker into the soles of the man's feet.

Screams filled the room, and the poker made it's way to his other foot. Once that was done, a pair of needle nosed pliars came next. One by one, slowly, each toe nail was painfully pulled. After which, his fingernails were next. The man's sobs and screams were so intense that he could barely do so any longer.

Next came the clamps. Starting with the big toe on his right foot, each toe had extreme pressure applied to it, and eventually, the toe broke. The sick snap could be heard throughout the room, and the executioner moved on to the next ones. After 15 minutes of breaking both toe and finger, the victim was moved to the next phase. He again was bound to a table, and was promtly castrated and forced to eat his manhood. His eyelids were cut off, making blinking impossible, for every time he tried, blood filled his eyes.

By now, the man could take the pain no further, and the executioner knew that. They placed him on a convyer belt, and slowly rolled him towards a large steel roller. Going feet first, his bones were crushed and ground into little pieces, and the man's screams picked up again. After his legs were crushed, the roller began squashing his midsection. The man's insides began coming out of his mouth as his stomach area and diaphragm were squeezed and pressed. Finally, as if a gift from the Gods, the man died.

His corpse was strewn aside, and another addition was added to the Halls of the Dead. Elsewhere in the room, others met the same fate. Some where being burned alive, suffocated, electrocuted, mutilated, stoned, gutted, beheaded, skinned, and then some.

Damien looked on from his viewing box, a sick twisted grin across his face.

I've seen enough, I have other business to attend to.

The 7 foot warlord exited the Halls of the Dead, and made his way back to the sunlight. Damien thought, if this is the horrors thatlie within the Halls, then what horrors lie within the Tomb of the Mutilated that lie deep in the darkeness of the Halls, where even the executioners feared to tread.

***

Damien sat in the ULE City Presidential Hall, long abandoned. It's corridors still silent, filled with the cobwebs and dust of ages. It's walls still echo with the vigor that once ran through it. The lights flicker, and the sound of nothing is the only thing heard.

Damien walks to the Presidential Office and opens the door. Inside, a desk, a large chair, a few cabinets, and some shelves filled with dusty and yellowing books. He looked around and nodded his head, for he had made up his mind. This would be the site of his new throne room, where he would rule the Empire with his first of iron. He ordered the decorators in, and throughout the night, the ULE City Presidential Hall would be transformed.

Large painting from the medieval ages were brought in, depicting torture, plague, death, war, and torment. Gargoyles lines the upper walls, and statues of the Corpse God, along with other AMF Gods and warriors lined the corridors.

In the throne room, Damien watched as his throne of red obsidian was erected atop a pile of skulls fused with marble. The windows were tinted, so that when the moon rose, the room glowed with an eerie crimson color. The floors were redone, and polished obsidian covered the one highly traveld on tile floors. As the cusions were mounted on his throne, Damien sat. He felt rejuvenated by the power of the obsidian, and he watched as his oak tables, desk, and cabinets were put into place. The once bright halls now had an ugly, demonic, and haunting aura to it. The downstairs rooms were being transformed into interrogation rooms, where the most vile of offenders would go to lose their minds.

Sitting on his throne, perched atop a pile of skulls, Damien called to his messenger to send a transmission to Lord Bastien.

Tell him, I will be with him soon. For the first time, a Sentinel shall set foot on the lands of Pantera. And tell him, I bring gifts, and a promise. A promise that through this meeting, the very foundations of the Earth would never be the same.

Yes, M'Lord.

The messenger scurried off to the broadcasting room.


Bastien watched as his hounds tore into the prisoner. The man's piteous cries could be heard across the Seastone Palace, his wails anguished and terrible. The furry black warhounds savaged tore at the poor wretch, mericless, though they have care not to kill the man beforetime.

Bastien had enjoyed the prisoners torture for long enough, however, and quickly put him do death. Of Tilsitsin was the man, but he still had the courage to spit at Bastien before the longsword he carried thrust through the mans ribs.

Shaking his head Bastien wiped the blade clean on the mans shirtfront and turned, making his way from the dank dungeons and up into the sunlight. Since news of Dreadfires imminent arrival had reached Toke, the city had been afire. Feasts planned, wenches... With the aftermath of War being taken care of, and another conlict looking to the south of Pantera, in New Genoa, Bastien was pleased with Dreadfire's visit, and prayed it would go well. The smallfolk surely needed reassurance...

In the Grand Hall two great thrones have been placed, one a great hunk of burnished iron, fashioned into the likeness of a cresting wave, the other black marble and carved with hundreds of intricate figures. The marble shone in the firelight, the shadows dancing through the grooves of the carvings seeming to give life to the nude women and fully-armored warriors, the longships and the seabirds that had been carefully an intricately carved.

Calling to a servant, Bastien grunted. You there. To the cellars with you, eh? I want a crate of my finest brandy brought up, now.

The man bowed, hurrying away as Bastien headed for the Great Vault, set behind the dais and thrones and almost hidden by a fantastic tapestry depicting a burning village, longships sweeping across the bay in the distance.

Pulling a key from beneath his shirt, he thrust open the door and stepped into the musty old room. Not opened since Dayne was wed, almost two year ago, dust coated many of the treasures and crates stacked throughout the room.

He thought Dreadfire would be pleased with his gift, and should his Lady come, Bastien had a gift for her as well, though it wasn't found in the musty cellar.

Locating what he came for, Bastien finally moved and instructed his servants to remove the item and prepare it for Dreadfire's arrival.

Sighing, he went to visit his toddler son who frolicked happily in the shallow hotsprings beneath the great dome of the Glass Gardens. His wife, Queen Reaver Aquila Windwail sat nearby, smiling at the ferocious little boy as he leapt from a high rock into the pool of steaming water.

Bastien's own smile was bright as he moved and sat alongside her, speaking softly of Dreadfires impending visit, and the respnsibilities entailed. Aquila only smiled, her brilliant green eyes flashing as she waved away her husbands concerns, saying only, Calm yourself, Bastien. Dreadfire doesn't care about your brandy or your horses. He'll speak of Wars and Glory to come, love...

Bastien smiled once more, wrapping his great arms around his wife's slender midsection and nipping lightly at her neck with his teeth. She was right, of course. Yes, Wars and Glory to come, My lady...


Damien moved from room to room gathering his clothes, his papers, his "other" papers, and his gifts that he would present to the Lord Reaver. Damien regretted that Xel could not go with him, for she was aboard a Steel Buterfly ship, trying to mend old wounds of the past.

Making his way towards the AMFS Cataclysm, AMF's largest battleship, Damien and his close staff boarded. One lumbering step after another, Damien made his way onto the vessel and walked towards the forward deck. Soon he would be in Pantera, land of Blood and Fire, land where fools went to meet their demise.

Damien looked out at the vastness of the ocean, and he felt a bit nervous. This would be his first time in Pantera, and first time in a foreign land, save for returning to ancient AMF soil. He looked at the motionless waves, and the rising sun cast its colors about the silent tides.

The Cataclysm set sail for the Free Land of Pantera at 9 am, and Damien retired to his private quarters until the ship arrived.

***

As the Cataclysm neared Panteran shores, Damien looked through his window, staring at the gentle tides as they sway from side to side. The noon sun was bright, and reflected off of the waters below.

Sir, Pantera is just on the horizon

Damien looked up at the intercom on the wall. He pushed the black button on his desk, and replied.

Good. Tell the servents to make ready.

Aye sir.

Damien rose from his chair, and moved towards the exit. Opening the door, he stepped into the hallway, the red carpet leading towards the stairs, which lead to the deck above. Damien climbed the stairs, and stepped out onto the deck. He felt the heat of the sun on his bald head as he moved towards the bow of the Cataclysm.

Pantera was becoming more visable, and he stood at the very nose of the ship, obviously anxious to meet the Lord Reaver in person. He then turned, and began walking about the decks. His mind was not so much on the meeting with Bastien, but on his lover Xel, high in the heavens negotiating with an age old enemy of the Empire.

He would have to cast aside his thoughts for his mate, because his mind needed to be focused on Pantera and nothing else. The smell of death and fire swept across the deck, and Damien knew exactly what it was. It was the charred remnants of the Tilsitsinian forces, smoldering, festering, and rotting on the beach, in the water, and elsewhere. Damien inhaled, taking in the smells of war. He held his breath and soaked up it's unholy aura. He then exhaled deeply as the Cataclysm neared port.


Standing silently along the ancient stone piers stand rigid rows of thousands of Reavers, all dressed immaculately in ceremonial shining silver chain and platemail. All is quiet for the moment, save for the lap of the waves against pier and hull.

Far in the distance are the great cliffs of Toke, towering some three-thousand feet above the waters. Perched there is the Seastone Palace, it's soaring towers and walls grown thick with lichen. To the south stand the foothills of the Range of Rage and the great gate known as the Gade of the Gods, leading into Pantera impenetrable heartland stronghold, the Vale. Great grey clouds hung low over mountain and valley, the bright sunshine above strangely at odds with the gloomy cloud cover of the southern mountains.

As the great ship slid into port and secured itself, the Lord Reaver emerges from the midst of the crowd. Encased in golden platemail chased with ebony gliphs, Bastien the Bronze is a stunning figure, seemingly torn from legend and placed on the dock. A full seven feet tall, his long golden hair unbound and blowing in the breeze, he is a commanding presence.

As the ship settled, and the Warlord appeared, Bastien raised his voice, calling the ancient challenge, Who are those who come to Lands of the Reavers, friend or foe? Those who would be friend, come, and embrace me as a brother. Those who would be foe, have out with your blade, for you shall meet your death before you walk the Free Lands.

The assembled Reavers await a reply, stoicly intent on the huge Dreadfire and his retinue. Thier Lord watched, however, carefully studying Dreadfires face as he awaited the ritual response.


Sir, it's time.

The ship had pulled into port. The ramp leading fro the deck to the port was extended, and Damien made his way to the stairs. Dressed in black, red leather straps clasped in chain were strung across his chest. His wrist guards and single elbow gaurd were made of leather as well. This was his battle attire, worn in times of conflict. Swinging from his waist was the Relic's Sword, and he lumbered across the deck and down the ramp. His servents followed behind, keeping their distnace as the warlord decended onto the deck.

Damien moved across the deck, and stood face to face with Bastien. Standing 7 feet tall, he stood nose to nose with Bastien, only inches away from his face. Having heard the challenge of the Lord Reaver, Damien drew the Relic's Sword, holding it mightily in his right hand. He stepped back, stopping about 6 feet away from Bastien, Damien looked on with fiery eyes, but then raised the sword to his face in a salute. Swaying the sword to his side, he bowed his head in respect, then sheathed his weapon.

Damien smiled and chuckled, Good to finally see you face to face, my brother!. He moved towards Bastien with open arms, extended in brotherhood. It certainly was an unorthodox method for the Reavers, but it is custom in AMF to draw swords before saluting, that way you know if you are trusted or not. Damien hoped Bastien did not misinterpret his actions.


Bastien's eyes stared ahead as the blade was unsheathed, stoic and seemingly uncaring. The rows of Reavers stood calmly, rigidly, awaiting the Lord Reavers response.

At Damien's smile, Bastien inclined his head moving to embrace him quickly before turning and lifting his arms, My Reavers. You look upon those who will lead you into the future. Damien of the Dreadfire, Supreme Lord of Automagfreek. Welcome him.

The formerly stern and stoic Reavers erupted into cheers, screaming welcome and praise. The surging of shouts and the wail of pipes blended together into a single roaring voice, and the Lord Reaver shook his great arms for more.

A lithe woman, garbed in cimson silk emeged from the frothing crowd of Reavers, two large guards flanking her. Her brilliant red-hair and flashing green eyes shining in the afternoon sunlight. The shouting and cheering quiets respectfully as she makes her way forward, her gait smooth and graceful.

Approaching Damien, she holds out her hands, leaning forward to embrace the Warlord and place a small kiss on his cheek, My Lord Dreadfire, we welcome you to Pantera. I am Queen Reaver Aquilla Windwail, and the guest-right of my home is yours.

Bastien took his wifes arm lovingly, gesturing for silence to the once more riotous cheering of the Reavers, Feast and make merry this night, my warriors. A great day for us all, and one that should be celebrated. Drag the Waters.

Another great shout echoed across the docks before the mass of Reavers began to disperse. A gust of wind piks up and a mist of water coats those setill on the docks. Bastien smiles, looking to the looming mass of clouds to the south.

A Hellish gale it will be tonight, Dreadfire. A good night to drink by the fire, and discuss glories only glimpsed.




Coming onto the deck of the Cataclysm, rows of servents carried Damien's personal items, gifts, documents, and delicacies of AMF, food worthy of the Gods.

My brother Reavers, it brings me great joy to finally set foot in Pantera, place of legend, where fools go to meet their doom. I will bring back great tales to tell my people, and this is a day that shall echo throughout time itself!

He raised both hands in the air, fists clenched.

The New Dawn is here! Together, the future is ours!

After much cheering from both Reaver and Sentinel alike, Damien turned to Bastien.

Now, let us celebrate, let us feast. tonight, the world as we know it will evolve and enter a new era, and era where Reaver and Sentinel lurk throughout the shadows, striking fear into the hearts of coward heathens everywhere. Gone are the days of old, for the New Dawn has arisen. Come Bastien, I bring gifts from the Gods.


Loading Sentinels and Reaver Retainers aboard a large flatbed, Bastien beckons to Damien and leads his wife to a stretched burgundy limousine, and they make the short drive along the face of the cliff and up to the massive iron gates of the Seastone Palace.

After giving orders for the Sentinels to be billeted along with his own garrison, and that Damien's higher-ranking parties had recieved private chambers, the Lord Reaver led Damien to a quiet study.

A fire had already been laid in the great hearth, and the orange glow gave a warm glow to the room. Bastien gestures to a pair of huge hidebound chairs and makes his way to a long obsidian bar. Leaning over it he pulls a bottle of amber liquid from beneath it and produces two crystal glasses before returning to seat himself with Damien.

Pouring the glasses full and offering one to him, Bastien asks, What are your thoughts, Dreadfire? After the wait, I now know not what to say...

Chuckling, he raises the glass and swirls the liquid a bit before taking a large swallow and sighing as pleasant fire spread through his chest.


Damien chugged the drink, some spilling down his chin. He set the glass on the table, and wiped his chinwith the back of his right hand.

Well, I guess I'll go first. The first thing I want to address before we begin is the sudden international attention we are getting via the Blood Pact we both underwent. I know there are alot of nations out there that are worthy of participating in such an act, but we must be wary, for it is no secret that there are those that would see both our nations destroyed. But I'm in no way questioning the loyalty of our friends, I'm jsut saying that when it comes to signing the Pact of Blood, we must be extra cautious.

That being said, let us move on to other matters. The Sentinels are more than ready and willing to commit to Pantera, and the problems that are going on in the area. Should any coward strike Pantera of the Allied Powers, the Sentinels will grind any intruders into dust beneath the wheels of the mighty AMF war engine. I can assure you that through this Pact, nobody shall ever dare to tread near your territory, or ours for that matter. And should some heathen coward gather enough courage to strike us, we will unleash a fury that would make Hell tremble.

Damien was half out of his seat, and having realized that he was getting too caught up in the moment, he sat while looking about the room.

Since the Sentinels incarnation, it has been made clear that territorial intrusions will be met with extreme force, so I think your naiton and regional friends can rest, knowing the Sentinels wach over them.

Damien's servent entered, carrying a small black box.

Ah, I see my gift has arrived!

Damien rose from his chair, and started towards the servent. He took the box, and made his way back to the table. Setting the package down, he opened it, and said:

What I am about to give you has never been taken out of the ancient land, not even when wars ripped our lands to pieces thousands of years ago.

He removed it's contents, a life size human skull made out of red obsidian. It's canine teeth sharped and almost fang like, the very shiny red stone looked as if blood and brimstone were inside.

There is a special history behind this stone. Being some 5,000 years old, it is thought to give the power of foresight to those that hold it. Through careful meditation, the stone is said to weild mythical power, and was a feared object back in the days of the feudal Lords. Lord Constantine was the first documented holder of the stone, but one day he was struck down by his own brother, known only as Drake. Drake used the stone for 100 years as legend tells us, and after that time it drove him mad, and in his bed he butchered himself alive. Then the stone was lost for some 2,000 years until being found by another feudal Lord, and through the power of the stone was able to unite the nation under one banner, the same banner that would one day be Automagfreek. For good or evil, there is no doubt that this stone is not of this world, and it's corrupting influence tainting only those that are not worthy. Well Bastien, you are worthy, and now the stone belongs to you.

Damien handed Bastien the ancient artifact.

And when the moon if full, high in the night sky, it glows an eerie crimson. Red obsidian is a holy stone in AMF, and the stone existence is shrouded in mystery. That is why red obsidian is so widely used in the Empire, for it's unworldly nature.

Damien returned to his seat.


Bastien slowly ran his hands across the skull, his expression somber. For long moments he sits, staring at the artifact in the thickening silence.

Finally though his expression softens and he looks to Damien once more, A noble gift, Dreadfire. I hope to live up to the honor you've entrusted me with. Though I'm not sure if I am worthy to carry it... My heartfelt thanks, my brother...

Drawing a deep, heaving breath he stands and makes his way to a large chest. From within he produces a steel box, which he also unlocks. Producing a length of crimson silk, he carefully wraps the piece before returning it to the chest.

It shall go in the Great Vault, along with all other Panteran treasures, until such as time as it can be used...

Returning to his seat and taking up his glass, he takes another drink and seemingly chooses his words carefully. I agree, Dreadfire, about the nations flocking to us. Too many too soon. No telling how many have treachery in thier hearts... We shall see though, some have caught my interest.

With the defeat of Tilsitsin, matters are relatively calm in Pantera at the moment, though war with the Reich seems to be looming. A shame, that. Though most of them are fools and cowards, a fair chunk of them are implacable enemies. A hard-fought war it shall be, but with Reavers and Sentinels together we shall emerge triumphant.

First, though we must cement our power. Too many nations flock to our banners to leave them all to rot. Some would be well suited to stand alongside us... Others suited only to be used and discarded.

Coughing, he waves a hand and reaches for the brandy bottle once more, pouring a generous drought before offering the bottle to Damien and adding, A taste of paradise for the unworthy, eh? Promises of paradise and undying ecstasy will sway those who refuse to succumb to fire and sword. A lesson to be well learned, Dreadfire. your own thoughts?


Damien stood, and walked about the room.

It is a shame, Lord Reaver, that those who show so much potential must waste it. The Empire has been watching several nations for some time, but recently, some of those nations have made decisions that...have proved where their loyalties lie. I can assure you Bastien, that we must be extra careful who we trust. All that we have worked for could all be undone in an instant, and we will do everything in our power to make sure that a situation like that does not arise.

But, enough about the affairs of others. For now, let us take to the streets of Pantera!

That concludes the formation of the legendary Blood Pact, and the first half of my story. I could not fit this all into 1 post because it exceeded the character limit.

It was in this time that Damien had been seriously burned, his face a smattering of charred flesh and scars. It was also in this time that he began to lose his mind, and his lover Xel had finally reached her breaking point.


It was late in the afternoon, and the dying sun cast it's colors upon the Great Hall. One window on the third floor stood open, and the curtains fluttered as the dusky air blew in. The room was Xel's, and she had been busily moving about her room collecting her things. Several suitcases were sitting open on the large master bed, and Xel neatly folded her clothes and placed them inside the suitcases, next to her other possessions. Xel sniffled slightly as she moved about the room, until she heard footsteps coming up the staircase...it was Damien. He entered the room, and was a little taken back at what he saw, he had never seen Xel like this.

Going somewhere? Why are you taking so much stuff with you?

Xel kept moving about the room, and quickly muttered a reply.

It's none of your business where I'm going.

Damien was dumbfounded, he had never heard Xel speak to him like that before. He stepped further inside the room and carefully eyed Xel as she finished packing her things.

Why are you taking so many things for a trip? Most of your trips last only a few days!

Xel stopped in her tracks, felling she had better come clean. She closed some of the suitcases hastily, then taking in a deep breath, she approached Damien.

I'm not going on another trip, Damien...I'm...I'm.... She sighed loudly as she moved back towards the bed, but Damien's hand grabbed Xel's arm, swinging her around. Her long black hair twirled as Damien brough Xel about, looking her in the face. She seemed troubled, and for the first time Damien could see Xel's human emotions showing. Tell me what's going on. Damien huffed. Xel's face quivered abit, trying to find the right words. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Damien released his grip on Xel, and began gently pacing. So you're not going to tell me what's wrong, eh? You said you're not going on one of your tours, so that leaves me with no other assumption. I'm not stupid Xel, I know what's going on!

Xel turned to Damien, her emotions running rampant now. Do you? Do you Damien? You don't know what's going on with me! Something has changed in you Damien, you are not the same man that I once knew...and loved. Damien halted, and looked at Xel, puzzled. Xel was starting to sob now, a tear sneaking out from behind her big brown eyes. Do you even know what all this recent shit has been doing to me? I feel like I don't even know you anymore Damien, you're like a stranger. All you ever do is hang around with your Generals and Bastien, and you never make any time for me! I'm just an object to you! If you think for a second that my automatronics have silenced my feelings inside, you're wrong. I'm not just a "thing" Damien, and you seem to be forgetting that.

Xel grabbed her suitcases and started down the stairs, and Damien followed right behind. Damien moved in front of her after they had decended the staircase. Look Xel, alot of shit has been going down lately, and I have a job to do. I'm sorry if I can't fuck you every night, or be there to listen to how your day was. I'm trying to keep our nation alive, and our people safe. You know this Xel, don't play stupid. Xel continued to walk towards the door. It's not that Damien, it's just that you've become a shell of the man that I once knew.

Damien forcibly stopped Xel, and tore the mask off his sizzled and scarred face. Is this why Xel? Am I not "pretty" enough for you? Damien barked, raising his hand to his face. If you're judging me by my appea... Xel cut Damien off. No Damien! You are so stubborn! You are refusing to stop and listen to me! Instead of just shutting your damn mouth and listening, you're making these stupid assumptions for yourself. You're wrong Damien, it's not the fact that you're scarred, it's the fact that you're become an animal. Xel was visibly angry, her teeth were clenched as tears streamed down her face. You're a monster Damien, incabable of loving anything but yourself and your nation. Well, have fun with your guns, your troops, your friends, and your Empire, I'm leaving you.

Xel threw open the doors, a car waiting for her. Damien stopped at the door, and screamed. You can't leave me! I made you what you are! Xel turned her head, and calmly replied. That's right Damien, you made me strong enough to see right through you. Goodbye. Xel got into the car, and it sped off leaving Damein standing at the open door. His face quivered with emotion, his thoughts racing through his head. He raised his hands to his head, exhaling deeply. Then, Damien caved.

He dropped to his knees, sobbing and snarling. He sit hunched over, his face buried in his mighty hands as he cried for the first time in his life. He threw his arms out beside him, and with his face looking towards the Heavens, he roared: WHY???????? Why..... Damien sat on the lawn of the Great Hall, watching the sun die as it's colors of red and orange painted the sky.

***

We now come to a time when Automagfreek turned from the light and waded into darkness. It was during such time that Damien had lost his mind and resurrected the long dead GDODAD and unleashed it's menace upon the Earth once more. Damien had a servant girl named Rayne appointed to to help him lead the Empire, but little did he know treachery was in her heart.

Dreadfire had been flown back to ULE City due to recent tensions with Russian Forces over eastern Europe. Greece was AMF territory, and Mr. Putin's aggression was of prime concern. Zander (Damien's right hand man) arrived in Omz222 to oversee the gradual withdrawl and redeployment of AMF forces to protect Greece from the Red Army's warmongering hunger. Stepping out of his modified SR-71A2, Damien made his way towards the Great Hall. Walking slowly up the marble steps, he noticed a dark figure in the doorway. It was Rayne, and she claimed that she had urgent news for Damien. Intrigued, Damien took Rayne into his office where he sat.

So, what is this news you have for me? I was already briefed a few hours ago! Damien spoke with an almost annoyed tone in his voice. Rayne sat in front of Damien's desk and crossed her legs. She then spoke in a matter of fact tone. Well Damien, in case you haven't noticed, things back home have been drastically different since you decided to go off and play soldier. Well, that did it...Damien was pissed now. Well Rayne, I'm not like most leaders who make war, then hide in their quarters, safe from the hell of combat. I lead from the front, wench, not from the rear. A leader should actually lead, and not just bark orders. I'm sorry if I have more honor than that.

Rayne held back a chuckle and stood, walking to the window. The sun began dying, leaving it's colors strewn across the sky. Damien, Damien....you know so little. She drew her sidearm, and standing about 15 feet away, she pointed it at Damien's face. While you were gone..well...let's just say that we are under new management now. With the fire inside him growing, Damien took a step forward. Rayne cocked the hammer on her pistol as Damein spoke. So Rayne, you're going to use a coward's weapon on me? Let me just say this, whore: you better hope that bullet kills me on the spot, or else I will rip you limb from limb.

With that, Rayne spoke one final time. Oh, I think it will. Goodbye Mr. Dreadfire. The next gunshots you will be hearing is a 21 gun salute. Damien scowled and took another step forward. Rayen pulled the trigger, sending a silenced bullet inbetween the eyes of Damien. The bullet struck his skull, sending a cloud of blood into the air. Rayne then fled the room, leaving Damien laying on the ground in a puddle of blood.

Damien then sat up, removing his facemask.

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Blood poured from his wound, running down his face and dripping onto the floor. Damien stood, his vision impaired fromt he impact. Dazed, he stumbled out of his chambers and through the corridors of the Great Hall. The staff was off for the night, so there was nobody to help the Warlord. Throwing open the main doors and with a shattered skull, Damien began stumbling to the hospital which was 10 miles away.

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After about 2 miles, he collapsed from the blood loss. Clawing himself forward, Damien kept going, his rage his only saving grace. A police officer noticed the bloodied and dying Damien and helped him into his squad car.


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

AMF News Update

We have confirmed news that there was an assassination attempt on our leader Damien an hour or so ago. Damien was spotted trying to walk himself to the hospital and was spotted by a police man doing a routine traffic stop. Damien was struck with a pistol round inbetween his eyes, and he is still in the OR in extremely critical condition. Police are scouring ULE City looking for the assassin. Rayne Xolantra gave this statement:

I can assure you all that we are taking all appropriate measures to apprehend this assassin. We are not sure at this time if Damien is going to survive his wound, and I ask all Freeks to pray for his safety.


http://67.18.37.14/40/9/upload/p1011623.jpg
Rayne Xolantra
Potentate Striker of Automagfreek
G.D.O.D.A.D



Rayne had made her decision. The time of her ascention was at hand...or was it?


59 minutes later he was on a respirator. The bullet had been removed, but the damage had been done. Damien had flatlined 3 times in an hour and a half since he was shot, and the once proud 7 foot warlord lay motionless. The only sounds that filled the room were the beeping of the heart monitor and the wheezing of the respirator.

Damien slowly began to slip again, and this time it was longer than any of the other times. Suddenly, everything was white.....and Damien stepped forward and found himself in a green pasture. A lone figure stood in the vast field, and he spoke to Damien. Hello Damien. Slightly panicked, Damien shouted: Am I dead?!? The figure walked towards him, and in a calm and assuring voice, he spoke. No Damien, you are not dead yet. People who have experienced this before call it a "near death" experience. It is where the soul temporarily leaves the body and is free to wander throught time and space. This my friend, is the spirit realm. While your body still lives, your soul has found this place. Now come, we have something to discuss. They began walking across the green grass, the sun shining bright in the noon sky.

Damien, since your creation you were special. The Gods hand picked you Damien, to rise above your ancestors. You have taken yourself and your people to new heights, although the path you chose was covered in blood. These past few years, great change came to your nation through your rule....some good, and some bad. What you need to ask yourself is this: what business on Earth has not been finished? Damien thought long and hard. The man spoke again. No need to answer now though, you have all the time in the world for that. In case you are wondering why this is happening to you, I will tell you. Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end, Damien. Your rise to power was the end of Kaye's beginning. Now, Rayne's rise to power is the end of your beginning.

Damien then spoke, trying to make sense of what is happening. But, I can't die yet...I still have unfinished business. The man stopped, and placed both hands on Damien's shoulders. Revenge is hardly unfinished business. If you want to live simply to persecute the one that has taken your rule, then I'm sorry....you can't go back. Revenge is not acceptable. Think of it Damien, what else is left to accomplish? Damien could not think straight, too much information was being bombarded at him. Why are you telling me this? You're saying that I have a choice, but at the same time I don't! The man nodded his head, then replied grimly. I'm trying to save your soul, Damien. In case you haven't noticed, your deeds are hardly the kind of deeds that get a man into Heaven. You are an evil man Damien...but there is hope for you. The Shadow Realm seeks to devour your soul and keep it there for all eternity, and I am trying to lead you to the light. Or, shall you be doomed to wander inbetween the Light and the Dark, a pained and tormented entity for all eternity?

Damein paused, trying to make up his mind. I can't leave yet...I'm not ready. This cannot be my destiny, to die on my back in some hospital! Dying like a weakling after being shot by a traitorous bitch! Oh no, that is not my fate, that cannot be my fate!

Damien suddenly came to again, the heart monitor going crazy. Doctors rushed in shouting and moving about.



Damien's soul had been waiting in limbo between the realms, deciding on what path he should choose. He had thought about what the strange figure had told him, but he felt as if something had been left out. He felt as if the figure was purposly not telling him something....but he couldn't put his finger on it.

He had made his decision, and he appproached the figure. My mind is made up, and my course is set. The figure took a few steps forward, saying Good! in response. The figure attempted to take his hand, but Damien did not budge. I do not believe what you said. You seemed almost hesitant to tell me extactly what the Gods had in store for me. Think of it, the nightmares, the entire fucking nation going straight the Hell, dosen't that tell you something? The figure was taken back abit. Excuse me? Damien cut him off before he could finish. If my destiny was truely to die at the hands of a traitorous bitch, then there would be no reason for you to speak to me. But...you have, you've seemed eager to "guide me to the Light", to take my place in the spirit realm. You know what that tells me? It tells me you're afraid. You're afraid of what might happen if I turn away from you and choose my own path. You're afraid, admit it. The figure was speechless. Damien turned the opposite direction, and replied one final time. For better of worse, I stand alone.
------------------

Damien's heart monitor stopped for the 4th time, and again the doctors rushed in. They hit him several times with the paddles and admistered adrenaline, but nothing could revive Damien. After 10 minutes of no activity, the great Automagfreek Warlord Damien, nicknamed Damien Dreadfire by his beloved Panteran brethren, was pronounced dead at 7:06 pm. Under full escort, his body was taken to Draegor-Langendorf Funeral Home where preperations were being made for his burial.

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

His eyes red and mouth quivering, Minister Hartman slowly made his way to the head of the podium, and began his speech.

Good evening ladies and gentlemen of the world. Today, we the people of Automagfreek have suffered a terrible loss, possibly the greatest in our history. Our leader Damien Dreadfire did not recover from his wounds. He died at exactly 7:06 pm today, and his funeral will be held in 2 days.

A loved and hated man, Damien did exactly what he said he would do, take his nation to heights that it never reached before. Well, for better or worse, he succeeded. He improved the state of our nation 3 fold, and although the road was rocky towards the end, he always had hope for the future, and he always did what he thought was best for his people. He loved his people more than anything, and I'm sure they'll miss him greatly.

Damien, wherever you are, may your soul rest in peace for all eternity. Goodbye friend.

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Minister Hartman
-Minister of Foreign Affairs-


The afternoon was clear, and the sun was bright in the sky. ULE Cemetary was filled with many hundreds of people waiting to pay their past respects to Damien. Sitting silently in his casket, Damien's body was ready to be returned to the Earth Mother. The casket was suspended over the 6 foot hole, and around the warlord's body AMF dignitaries stood. Representatives from aound the globe had gathered to remember Damien Dreadfire, the man that forever changed Automagfreek. Hartman and Kimble began making their way from person to person, thanking them for coming.


A priest dressed in a black robe made his way to the front. He carried no book nor paper, but instead what he would say would come from his heart. The massive crowd grew silent, and everybody began taking their seats. The priest cleared his throat, and spoke.

Brothers and sisters, Freeks and friends, I thank you for coming. Darkness has once again engulfed our nation, for our most beloved leader Damien was struck down in his prime. I come to you today and ask you not to mourn Damien's loss, for mourning was not his way. Damien was a truely special being, given to us by the high Gods themselves. The flame that was inside him raged for many years, and many felt it's wrath. Damien would not want you to weap for him, oh no. Instead, he would ask us to find whoever commited this atrocity and strike down upon them with great vengeance and furious anger. Such was Damien's way, for in Damien's words, "Anger can accomplish more than despair." I can assure you Damien, oh great warlord of Automagfreek, that your memory shall never be forgotten, and your assassin will be brought to justice. Your legacy shall never fade, and your name will live on forever.

The priest then raised his hands to the sky, and began an ancient ritual. Oh Great Spirits of above, hear me now. You have given us a great gift, but now we must return him to you. His body will be planted inside Earth Mother, and his spirit will be yours once again. Oh Spirits above, protect Damien on his journey to the Spirit Realm. Great Spirits, through your graces, may Damien's legacy echo throughout eternity!

A chilly wind quickly blew, then faded. The priest lowered his hands, and began praying over Damien's body. He waved his hands over Damien, and placed two pieces of red obsidion over his eyes. Taking a step back, the priest then bowed his head, and Damien's casket decended into the hole.

A sudden crackle of rifle fire could be heard as the 21 gun salute commenced. Looking on as Damien decended into the hole, Hartman, Jackson and Kimble were silent and teary eyed. Rayne on the other hand occassionally glanced at her watch, and sighed heavily from time to time. She did not want to be there, but she tried her best to fake it.

The casket had reached the bottom, and service was officially over as dirt was poured on top of Damien. The Warlord's body had now been returned to Earth Mother, and now power had officially transfered to Rayne. She now took over as acting Dictator of Automagfreek.

AMF dignitaries continued to visit with their friends from abroad as the service was now over.

Late at night, ULE City Cemetery


It was now night, and the funeral had long been over. Damien's cold body laid peacefully in it's coffin, 6 feet underground. Headlights cast shadows on the surrounding grave markers as a van drove towards where Damien had been laid to rest. As it quietly came to a halt, several people dressed in black exited the van. Once began loading a shotgun, and one of the mysterious figures said, What do you need that for? The man finished loading the gun and replied, Damien is just as dangerous in death as he was in life. I'm not taking any chances.

The figures started taking shovels out of the van. Did you get Damien's blood? Said a shadowy voice. Yeah, but the damn security system at the funeral parlor was tough. I've got it though. Another replied. Shut the hell up you two, now get to work! A third (slightly angry) voice uttered. The figures made their way towards Damien's grave, and began digging. Deeper and deeper they dug, until they hit Damien's coffin. Alright, pry his ass on out of there.

After a few minutes, they dragged Damien's lifeless into the van and drove away, only after reburying the now empty casket. After a 20 minute drive, they pulled into a warehouse, where none other than Rayne herself stood. She watched as the figures pulled Damien out of the van and set the dead warlord on a table. The sounds of saws echoed throughout the warehouse as Damien's corpse was cut into pieces. After a few minutes of cutting, the warlord was in several pieces. Rayne then gave directions to the men. I want you to take Damien's limbs and place each of them at the 4 corners of Automagfreek. I want his torso buried under ULE City Library, and I want his head in the Halls of the Dead. His blood will be kept in my quarters. Should any religious freaks get any ideas about digging the ole' bastard up, they'll find nothing but an empty casket. Now get moving.

With that the group split up and began following out their orders.

***

With Damien dead and his body mutilated, Rayne was now free to rule as she saw fit. Here first objective: destroy Damien's Sentinels and replace them with her own super-soldier.

AMF News Update:

Today Potentate Striker Rayne Xolantra made a public statement concerning the Automagfreek military and it's current state. As of now, the Sentinel contingent that made up the entire AMF military is being decommissioned. They are scheduled to be replaced by a newer, more sophisticaed brand of soldier.

Today marks a new beginning for my Empire. With the sad death of Damien also comes the death of his "Sentinels". They are obsolete creatures and are of no further use to me. They will be replaced with a new model of soldier whihc will be far more effective than the Sentinels could ever be. As Damien's Sentinels were made in his image, these new soldiers will be made in my image. The new soldiers can only be produced in small numbers at one time, and they are heavily modified. They are also all female, and their enhanced skills make the non-enhanced Sentinels look pathetic.

I am not sure what to do with the millions of Sentinels still in AMF, but I will deciede shortly.

http://67.18.37.14/40/9/upload/p1011623.jpg
Rayne Xolantra
Potentate Striker of Automagfreek
G.D.O.D.A.D

Hartman stormed out of the former Senate building. He was 100% disgusted by Rayne's decision to terminate the Sentinels, and he could not stand by and see it happen. Although they were created in a lab, they are still people who loyally serve their Empire. I can't believe Rayne would shit on them like this... Hartman thought as he angrily made his way to Defense Chairman Jackson's quarters. Pounding on his door, Hartman waited impatiently for the tired Jackson to open up. As the door slowly opened, Hartman stormed inside, saying loudly. Grab your things Sam, we're leaving. The woozy Jackson replied, Huh? Where are we going? Hartman began gathering things of Jackson's and placing them in suitcases. We're going to Camp Rock military base. We've got some issues that need to be worked out.


Hours later, at Camp Rock

Still angry, Hartman began addressing those present. Alright men, we all know the situation at hand. Since Damien died, this whole damn country has done to shit. Project Black Storm has ceased to exist, and the Sentinels are sceduled for termination. Gasps and whispers filled the room, and the occassional word stood out...genocide....unbelievable...war....

What I need now is for us to use whatever influence we have left and rally the Sentinels that are still free. We don't have much time. Send out heavily encoded transmissions ONLY to those that we can trust 100%. I'm sure Bastien the Bronze will be the first we contact. Now, get moving.

AMF was close to a second civil war, but Hartman knew that there was only one being that could truly defeat Rayne an stabilize the country....Lord Damien himself. An expedition was brought underway to gather his scattered body parts and revive him with the aid of a Freek priest.

The Sentinel Stalkers waited in a van across the street from the library. When the staff packed up and left for the night, the Stalkers exited the van equipped with silenced SBP-90 assult rifes outfitted with targeting computers that had thermal sensors and advanced tracking/locating hardware. Slipping silently down the dark alley inbetween the library and a residential building, the Stalkers shot their grappling hooks onto the roof and begun towing themselves up. A slight pitter-patter sound barely echoed it's way into the streets as the Stalkers finished their ascention onto the roof and readied themselves. The team leader took a glass cutting kit out from his utility belt and began carving a circle into the skylight. After a few minutes of sawing, the leader removed a piece of glass a few feet in diameter, and the other Stalkers placed their eyepieces over their eyes and did a final check of their equipment.

Rappeling into the room slowly, the pointmen scanned the room with their rifles, one hand on the gun and one hand on the cable. The main foyer of the library checked out, so the 3 pointmen signaled the others down. 12 other Stalkers rappeled down and began securing the main room, paying special attention to the shadows. So far the Stalkers were right on schedule as they finished clearing the foyer. They decided against using the elevators, so they made their way into the main entrance area where a staircase lead to the basement. The pointmen opened the large oak doors slowly, clearing the hall inch by inch. With a slight gesture of their hands, the Stalkers moved forward towards the stairs. They placed fiber optic cables under the door, scanning for booby traps or other devices. The team leader opened the door slowly and the other followed down the stairs. So far, the leader was a little disappointed in the lack of defenses Rayne had set up. Sir, we're nearing the spot. A Stalker whispered to the leader. Tiptoeing across the concrete tile floor, the same Stalker paused and peered at his rifle's computer. I'm standing right on top of it.

Another Stalker pulled out a few large crowbars and passed them around. They placed the ends on the seam of the cracked tile and began prying it open. After minutes of trying to break the seal, the tile poped open banging on the floor. The Stalkers winced because of their mistake, but they knew their opponents were expecting them. Again the fiber optics went down, and the leader saw a narrow hall filled with pipes and dust. They switched on their night vision goggles and one at a time began moving into the hole.

The concrete pebbles crunched as the Stalkers jumped down the shallow hole with their weapons drawn. They had a feeling that now was the time the shit would hit the fan, because now they were nearing the location fo Damien's torso....and the Strikers. Moving slowly in formation, they silently made thier way down the dank passageway. There wasafaint light at the end of the passageway, and from there the room expanded abit. They were now in the drainage system, and the room was slightly steamy because of the water pipes and moisture of the place. The lead pointman continued making his way further down with the rest of the Stalkes right behind him. Out of nowhere, a flash of red and black passed in front of the pointman, and suddenly he stood still. After 3 or 4 seconds of standing still his head slowly slipped off his shoulders, hitting the floor with a thunk sound. The Stalkers snapped into action, moving their weapons across the room scanning for this presense. They moving tighter to the wall and took a staggered defensive position, waiting for the Striker to make it's move again. Towards the rear of the Stalker column, a Stalker stood pressed up against the wall near a series of pipes. He began scanning the shadows for the Striker, but got nothing so he turned and began clearing the other shadows. He was suddenly lifted off his feet, and without a sound he disappeared into the shadows above him without a trace. A lone Stalker saw this and opened fire into the shadows, and this triggered the other Stalkers. They began firing into every shadow and into every nook and cranny until the team leader shouted Cease fire! Don't shoot what you can't see! Stalkers, move forward towards the light, we don't stand a chance in here.

The Stalkers moved double quick towards the lighted room, and as they did a sound similar to a bowling ball echoed through the room as another Stalker head rolled quickly past the other men. Keep moving you dogs! shouted the leader. They ran into the larger room and immediatly took up positions around the doorway. The lit candles provided enough light to fill the room, so the Striker would be at a disadvantage. A whoosh sounds came from the doorway followed by a blur, and again the Stalkers opened fire. The blur zigged and zagged through their ranks, and a few Stalkers took friendly fire, but continued as if nothing happened. They were not made to feel pain nor fear, and this was their only saving grace. The Striker took a hit surprisingly considering how fast it was moving, and in a move of desperation slashed the throat of another Stalker. As the Striker paused to do this, the Stalkers saw it for what it was....a female. As she hacked into the soldier's throat, a deafening yell filled the room. The Strikers eyes suddenly grew wide, and a her moth went agape as she looked at her chest and saw 2 large blades sticking out. The team leader had skewered her with his War Blades (OOC: It's a forearm mounted device that has 2 razor sharp claws inside that can project out. Think a mechanical version of Wolverine's claws), and his anger was visable. The Striker moaned and shrieked as she was lifted off the ground with 1 arm of the leader. The leaders rage grew as he held his prey suspended above him, but then he suddenly retracted his War Blades, sending the Striker to the floor. He then drew his sword and in a flash the Striker's head went sailing into the air.

With 4 of his 15 men dead, the leader gathered his men and moved out. There were still 2 of these things out there, but the bloodlust of the Stalkers grew as they felt the aura of Damien driving them forward.

1 down, 2 to go... the leader thought to himself. These Strikers were far too dangerous even for highly trained genetically modified beings as themselves. The leader knew that this could not continue because there would be no way in hell they would survive fighting 2 of these things at once. Dropping pack, the team began assembling a robotic combat drone. It was together in a matter of minutes, and a Stalker gathered the SBP-90's of the fallen men and placed 2 of them on the turret locks. Fully loaded and assmebled, the drone was set to detect motion in both the front and sides of itself. The Stalkers wore identification tags so that the robot would recognize them as friend and not fire upon them. A soldier stood in the middle of the now ready Stalker column, and with the robot out front they began making their way into the final room where Damien's torso lay. The lighting was decent in the dank caverns, and the robot had no problems operating as it's mini rubber treads rolled across the floor. The turret rotated back and forth scanning the walls and ceiling, and the rest of the Stalkers moved in slowly with their rifles drawn. The robot stopped and began firing in all directions as the 2 Strikes darted back and forth. The Stalkers in turn opened fire, spraying madly to try and take these ungodly whores out quickly.

The Strikers changed course and came whizzing right at the Stalkers. The sentry was running low on ammo, but actually managed to hit a Striker in the torso, dropping it to the ground. However, this also provided enough of a distraction to allow the other Striker to move right into the Stalker ranks, slashing open the stomachs of 2 men, sending their entrails to the floor. The Stalkers dropped their rifles and drew swords as the Striker's warblades sunk themselves into yet another man. Screams and metal clanking drowned out all other sounds as the sentry put the last few dozen rounds into the downed Striker, spraying her black blood against the cold stone walls. The last Striker was slicing her way through the Stalker ranks and easily overcame them considering the Stalkers were some of the deadliest fighter in the world. Without fear the Stalkers continued fighting until a lone sword connected with the Striker's arm, and with an upward motion the limb was sent flying and was followed by a large jet of blood. A cry of agony rang out as sword after sword slashed her bit by bit, slowly disecting her alive until she drew breath no more.

At last, the way had been cleared to the alter. The remaining Stalkers placed their swords in their sheaths and walked very slowly to the glass case on top of the alter. Inside was the torso of the great warlord Damien, and with all it's appendages missing, it didn't even look like a human torso. The Stalkers bowed in respect, then with great haste took up the case and retreated, leaving their dead where they lay. The night air was calm as the Stalkers climbed atop the room once again. A truck was parked across the street, and its driver was none other than Hartman himself.

Come, we must make haste to the Halls. I pray our friends were successful in their quest, because time is indeed running out. The priest is ready, we must leave! And with that, the truck sped off headed towards the Halls of the Dead.

With Damien's soul on the Other Side and making ready to return to the world of the living, he channeled all of his spiritual energy and spoke to Bastien the Bronze from across the realms.

It had seemed like only an hour ago Damien arrived in the Afterlife, but it had been many years. Damien had been engulfed in darkness since he turned his back in defiance to the Gods, but he knew that something was amiss back on Earth. Whenever he closed his eyes, he could see what was going on...Operation: Silent Hammer.....the systematic toppling of Rayne, the one who killed him. He also saw his friend Bastien, and he had been more withdrawn since the passing. He thought about it for a minute, then decided that it was time...time to channel his energies and speak to Bastien from the other side. Damien closed his eyes and concentrated hard on Bastien, and he saw him. And in that moment, Damien spoke:

Hello Bastien. There is much peril in the world right now, I have seen it. I apologize for my departure and the aftermath of it because up until now I have done nothing...I could not do anything. But now a great quest has begun on Earth, and the valiant actions of these heros has stirred me here in the other side. I have awakened from my slumber Bastien, the Dread Fires are beginning to be rekindled! Prepare for my arrival, old friend...I will see you soon.....

And with that, Damien concentrated as hard as he possibly could, and sent a vision to Bastien....
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...a vision of himself, alive and unscarred. Damien exhaled and opened his eyes, and he hoped his friend heard him from across the realms.

Bastien convulses, clawing his way through sleep and dreams to wake. His blankets are covered in sweat and his thick blonde hair matted to his forehead.

A dream... Only a dream.

Climbing from the bed, Bastien pads naked to a bedside table and pours himself a large draught of brandy that he swallows back immediately. Filling the glass once more, he moves to a large, hiebound chair and slumps down, heart still thumping wildly.

Damien, my old friend. Why do you haunt my dreams still? Does the call of warm flesh and cold steel still sing to you?

Sighing, Bastien nurses his brandy, and several more glasses before finally slumping low in the great chair and closing his eyes. With Dayne missing, and the South on the verge of Blood Feud, he had slept too little lately, and what sleep he stole was haunted by nighmares. Finally, though, he drifts off, his thoughts on Dreadfire and what could have been.

Only a dream...


For many days now a rumble echoed inside the Halls of the Dead. From behind it's gates of gloom, this disturbance seemed to be originating from the undersections of the Halls. The rumbling grew louder day by day...echoing up from a simple cellar door. Yes, the Tomb of the Mutilated had been disturbed for the first time due to the major buildup up psychokinetic energies in the country. After Damien reached across the boundaries of the realms to contact Bastien, the doors to the Tomb blew open explosively coughing up a single entity. With great speed this entity passed down the corpse ridden corridors, until it came upon a collection of Rayne's Strikers. Within a split second, the Strikers were turned to blackened dust as this entity passed through them. It paused at the gates and gathered it's energies, and in a blast of power threw open the sealed gates of the Halls.

The entity raced over the Halls and over the countryside, through the woods, and over the streams, across the valleys and over the mountains, and across the ocean, past the beach, and over the plains, and up the hill, and into Bastien's room. It paused suspended above the sleeping Bastien, and slowly began manifesting itself. While Bastien slept, the entity took up a seat and began speaking to Bastien. His words were as rough as stone, and the entity kept Bastien asleep as it spoke.

Bastien.......a storm is coming, for I have been awakened from my slumber. The Dread Fires burn once again Bastien....for you can feel them even now, can't you? We must make haste and ready for the glorious Second Coming of the Dread Fires. The storm brews ever violently Bastien....do not let the Flame consume you...


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The One Who Shall Remain Unnamed
[-Lord of the Death Dealers-
Servant of the Dread Fires

***

The van arrived outside the blackened gates of the Halls of the Dead, and as soon as it stopped the doors flew open. Rifles drawn, the Stalkers were the first ones in, followed by Hartman and the torso and blood of Dreadfire. As the group closed the gates of gloom behind them, they saw a singular figure standing dead center in the corridor. Surrounded by the faded and decomposed corpses of a thousand man, the figure stood without a motion. Come.....there is great evil here, but take heart.....the darkness is not here to comsume you. All those that are unjust have already been expelled by the mighty specters that dwell here. As he said this, he motioned towards his feet at the piles of ash...the ash of the Strikers. Come now my children, there is much work to be done. Lowering their rifles the group made their way down the dank corridors past many a grizzly sight, but they continued undaunted. The cries from the Halls had long since faded, and making their way past the holding cells where many a man went insane, they stepped into the main torture room. As big as a cathedral, they starred in awe at the unworldly devices around them. Spots of red still stained the cold stone floor, and if you listened carefully enough, you may even yet catch a hint of a scream still echoing through time.

The priest placed the torso on the sacrificial altar, right next to where Damien's head sat encased in glass. Removing the decomposed head of Dreadfire from it's case, the priest chanted unworldy words as he connected the head onto the torso. The priest closed his eyes after doing so, and with an exhale, said Can you feel that...... He then inhaled deeply. Even now, His aura intensifies.......can you feel it? The priest removed an ancient book from his cloak and opened it on the alter mere inches away from Damien. He then lit the candles that sat for ages, and the room was filled with warm light. Yes my friend, we call to you....

{Posted by Copiosa Scotia}

The eight figures wore simple street clothes now, and each carried a medium-sized duffel bag as they approached the towering St. Freeks cathedral in St. Freeksburg.

"So, this is the place?" Bolt asked as she brushed back a lock of reddish-brown hair.

"That's right," Mark Reiner replied. "The long-lost extremity should be in the tunnels below the cathedral."

Shading her eyes from the sun, she read the sign near the cathedral entrance. "'Under Renovation.' Seems Hartman's pulled a few strings to get us in here undisturbed."

They strolled up to the hard-hatted man by the entrance, who waved them away as they approached. "Sorry, we're closed today."

Reiner didn't even slow down. He just looked up at the clear sky, shook his head, and recited the phrase he'd been given in Hartman's last message. "Yeah, we just wanted to get in out of the rain for a bit." The man let them pass without another word.

Scott Mead, Squad One's heavy equipment specialist, glanced about the spacious interior of the cathedral as they entered, then cast a sidelong glance at Bolt. "Hartman may have been more interested in getting us in than in getting us all out. I don't see our backup."

Medic Glenn Daszkowski nodded. "If those Strikers are half the fighters Hartman said they were, we're going to need the help. I don't like our chances alone."

"Everyone's got a weakness," tech specialist Danny Ingram interrupted. "The Strikers will be strong and quick, but they've been in the system since birth, and they won't think fast on their feet. It's like beating a computer program. We just have to give them situations they're not trained for."

"That's right," Reiner said. "And while I fire off a quick 'Where is my blasted help?' to a certain rebellious Foreign Minister, I want you guys to get to work on figuring out just what those situations might be."

The eight figures were inside the darkened cathedral now, and inside it was as silent as a tomb. Except for the occassional clap of thunder and flash of lightning, not a sound was generated inside. The eight figures took a few steps forward, sizing up the situation. As they did this, the sounds of gravel or concrete hitting the floor broke the silence. The figures stopped, and yet more of this substance fell from above, hitting a few on the head. They looked up into the darkness, and in a sudden moment, 4 sets of green lights peered back at them. They grew alarmed quickly as the lights began moving downward at a rapid rate, decending all the way to the ground. The thud of 4 sets of combat boots broke the silence yet again, and all of a sudden words filled the air. We've been waiting for you. There is no time to lose. The 4 switched off their targeting computers, instantly killing the light. One of the 4 spoke again. Stalker #407-599-01 reporting as ordered by R. Hartman. I take it you are here to accomplish objective #3 of Operation: Silent Hammer. Come, we will lead the way. We do not expect to make it out of here alive, but our job is to make sure you all do. Come, make haste.

The 4 began moving quickly to the cathedral's stairs, securing each corner and shadow as they passed. Fiber optics went under the door and thus one Stalker gave the go ahead. With a rush, the door flew open, and the Stalkers decended into the darkness.

{Posted by Tersanctus}

In southern AMF, a mysterious convoy of black Hummer's made their way to an "abandoned" Military Base. Driving along the coast, there were no other cars in sight. Than again who would be up in this hour?

"Well so far, there has been no snags with the coast guard or anything. Hartman's doing pretty good. OK, listen gents, the intelligence we have is that after Damien returned to the planet, they didnt occupy the Kaye AMF Naval Base, and it ran into disrepair over the years, but Rayne used this for one of her locations, and we dont know if their will be any guards, or Kungshao Forbid, Strikers. But there will be counter measures for sure. Lets go!"

As two dozen Humvees pulled up Three Teams ran across the sand to the fences blocking entrance to base, with faded "Authorized Personnel Only" signs with some AMF Government Insignia's.

Immedeatley, A few dozen men approached the gate, and one pulled out a cutting torch, the blue flame turning the rusty gate into a hot-orange color. As it fell, the Three Teams immedeatley rushed a few dozen yards, virtually invisible in there black BDU's. There Combat boots making crunching sounds along the sand as it made way into concrete.

Than suddenly, there was a horrific explosion, one of the men who made his way along the sands stepped on a mine, his body landed a few feet from the first team.

"SHIT! Everyone DOWN!" Said a team leader into his Whisper-mic. The other two teams immdeately fell onto there stomachs and made the rest of there way stabbing the sand looking for mines.

"Do we proceed? If there is any resistance in there, they will be alerted to our prescence now!"

"We NEVER abort the mission! You got that?"

The teams minus one unfortunate Black Guard, made there way to the base, they than Immdeately spilt off, too prevent a crowd from running through everywhere. They made there way past barracks, buldings and mess halls, until they came to the adminisitration building.

"Ok, Tillema. Open the door!" Whispered a team leader, and a man came forward, and entered some strange looking electronic device into an obviously new Computer-Controlled access point, while the rest of the men pointed there weapons in all different directions, monitoring the enviroment, Tillema, made some beeps with the device, finally there was a green light.

"Ok! All teams move in!" Whispered a Team Leader. And the men scrambled into the building.

"All right, keep an eye out, that was too easy, our next step: Access the room that his left leg is being held in through an Security-Monitored Elevator. The room can be accessed through only the one shaft., and if a single wrong code, incorrect Identification, in inputted, the Elevator will shut down, being automatically welded to the walls, and than a countdown for an explosion to destroy the room and elevator will begin."

"Well, do we have the ID or codes for the computer?"

"No. Hartman couldnt get them."

"Then....what?"

"We intentionally shut down the elevator, blow the floor, rappel down, break in, grab the leg, and leave, letting the explosion destroy any evidence that we were here."

The other Team Leader blinked.

"Are you fucking crazy?" he asked very matter-of-factly. "If we dont get out in time, the leg will be destroyed, and the mission will be a failure!"

"Believe me, we've been over it a million times, this is the only way."

He sighed.

"All right, lets do this."

{Posted by Copiosa Scotia}

Bolton shrugged, then followed the Stalkers down into the depths of the cathedral. Behind her, without a word, the rest of the squad fell into position. Just behind her was Reiner, looking right, then Mead, looking left. Machine gunner Marek Stastny, by far the largest of the eight, scanned the ceiling, and O'Brien watched the floor. Further back, covering the back left and back right respectively, were Ingram and Daszkowski, and Lee Kang, walking backwards, brought up the rear. We may be up against a stronger, quicker enemy, Reiner thought, but they're sure as heck not going to sneak up on us.

"Hey," O'Brien whispered to Ingram. "What do you think the 'R' stands for?"

"What?" Ingram asked, not taking his eyes off his assigned arc, though it was currently nothing more than a tunnel wall.

"R. Hartman. What do you think his first name is?"

"Shoot, I don't know." Ingram shook his head impatiently. "As far as I'm concerned, the 'R' stands for 'Right now you'd better pay attention to where you are, or we'll all be dead'." He heard a grunt, but O'Brien said no more.

The group stopped as they came to the intersection of two tunnels. The Stalkers that had led them down were nowhere to be seen.

"Great," Bolt said. "Where to now, Chief?"

Reiner consulted his map. "Looks like a right. At any rate, we should enter a large circular chamber after going a hundred yards or so. If we don't, we'll know we've gone the wrong way. Drop a flare by the tunnel we just came out of." He traced a line on the map with his finger. "We're getting close, squad. Stay alert, Rayne won't have left this place unguarded."


Hartman's phone went off, and he reached inside his pocket and picked it up. On the caller ID, it said "URGENT", and Hartman knew that when this number called him, the news wouldn't be good. Yes, what is it? Hartman said. You are not going to believe this AT ALL. One of your teams was spotted, and Rayne has been alerted! She has already left Melkor Unchained and will be here very fucking soon man. You need to get Damien alive and kicking immediatly. The phone call disconnected, and Hartman stood with a look of disbelief on his face. He turned to the priest and the Stalkers, and in a grim tone, uttered. I have very bad news...Rayne has found out, and she's on her way here along with her Strikers. Looks like we failed. The priest bit his lower lip and looked down. He thought long and hard, then in almost a whisper, he spoke. I can continue without the rest of Damien's parts. We have the most important ones, his blood, his head, and his torso. Although I am a very well trained individual, there is 1 task that is almost inpossible that could very well bring Damien back whole. It would involve me sacrificing my own life, and by channeling all my energies, when I pass across the realms, I can hold the fabric open long enough to pull Damien through. Normally, his spirit would be channeled through an alternate realm. These realms are very different, as the fabric of the stronger realm, called the God's realm. This is our only chance, and I am one of the only priests of my kind left in existance. We must move now, or we may never have this chance again. I need you to root through these corpses and find me parts that are proportional to Damien's. Go now!

The Stalkers did as they were told, and they began rooting through the decayed corpses of 1,000 men, brekaing off parts that would suffice. The priest opened his book, and began chanting.


******************

At the cathedral

One Stalker got word over the radio of what was happening, and he immediatly paused. A slight gust blew up towards him, and he shouted. Abort! Abort! Mission has been compromised! No longer than a half second after he said this, a squish sounds was heard, and slowly his face slid apart diagonally. The remaining Stalkers opened fire and began their retreat. Get out of here now!

Piece after piece was gathered, and as carefully as they could, they placed them on the alter and lined them up. The priest was semi-satisfied with the replacements, and when the stalkers were finished, the priest began readying himself for his task ahead. Great Gods above, I thank you for your blessings. While we mortals do not dare question your wisdom and your great plan, we must defy you in this hour...our hour of need. You have in your possession a special flame, and that flame is needed to right the many wrongs that have emerged. We must steal this flame from you, but I will repay you with my own soul. I will cast myself into Oblivion in exchange for the soul of Damien Dreadfire. And with that, the priest rammed a dagger into his chest, exhaling hard as he dropped to his knees.

There was a great flash of light, and the room grew dark. The priest could no longer feel the pain as he watched the Stalkers fade into the shadows of the Earth Realm as it passed him by. He began walking towards the light, and the closer he came, the brighter it was. The priest stopped, and looked behind him at the darkness that was the Earth Realm. He then turned and looked into the light, and with all his might, he screamed DAMIEN!!!!!! DAMIEN!!!! The priest extended one hand towards the shadow and one hand towards the light that was pulling him in. He held on as tight as he could as he looked into the light, hoping Dreadfire heard him.

Damien awoke from his slumber as he heard his name. He knew not where this voice came from, but he began moving towards it. Nothing but light surrounded him on the Other Side, except for a distant shadow. Having never seen this shadow before on the Other Side, Damien moved towards it with curiosity as he heard his name again. What devilry is this that a shadow should appear in the light? Damien said aloud. Teh priest was struggling to keep from being sucked into the light, and in a scream he shouted Damien! Blood and Fire calls to you again! Your people are in need, and the Dread Fires are burning! Step towards me Damien, there is not much time! Damien doubted the accuracy of what this being was saying, for he had passed on and cared not for the troubles of mortals. As he went to turn the priest shouted again. Damien, Rayne has toppled your Empire, and now has thrown your people into despair! You must rise again before it is too late! Damien stopped dead in his tracks. He had a flashback to that night in ULE City. Rayne drawing the gun and firing.....walking miles towards the hospital and collapsing....the hospital....the funeral....and Rayne smirking. A scowl crossed Damien's face, and a great fire began to burn inside him that had not burned for some time.

The Gods were not ignorant to this, and they spoke to Damien. Damien, you cannot go back, for your place is here. You have no need to go back, for your business is finished. This is the will of Us. Without turning Damien shouted with great anger. Too long have I been a slave to your Plan. Too long have I denyed to obvious. Too long have I been cheated out fo what is rightfully mine, and I will not see my work be undone. My business is yet unfinished, and I defy your "Plan". With a great leap, Damien flew towards the shadow, reaching inside for the being that awaited him. The priest grabbed Damien's had, and with all his might pulled. The Gods also pulled at Damien, trying to keep him in the Other Side. The priest's strength was fading, and he began reciting a chant in the forbidden tounges of the Heathn Gods. Across both realms, a great rumbling began, and in one final act, the priest's soul detonated.

********************************************


The Stalkers watched the dead body of the priest, and the mish-mash body of Dreadfire. Per the priest's orders, the blood of Damien was poured over the severed parts and into the mouth. After his blood was spent, a white sheet was placed over him, and they waited. A great tremble made the stone walls shudder, and the sheet stirred. Suddenly, Damien sat up slightly, his back arched and his head thrown back. A great roar came from the mouth of Dreadfire and the sheet thrashed and stirred. Then slowly he laid back down, the sheet still ontop of his body. The scream finished echoing throughout the Halls, and the Stalkers stood motionless, their heart's barely beating.

Rayne had arrived back in ULE City quickly, for Damien's SR-71A2 was extremely fast. M'Lady, the intruders are inside the Halls of the Dead. Also, the library was broken into be Stalkers, for they left alot of their dead. Most of the other locations are still secure, but the intruders remain inside the Halls. Rayne was both pissed and worried at the same time, and she said to her assistance, Fine, get me over there. I will deal with them myself. A short drive followed, and Rayne stepped out of her black limo, and several armed Strikers awaited her. M'Lady, we are ready when you are. Rayne nodded, and all at once they entered, Rayne leading the way. The Stalkers and Hartman still starred at the sheet, but it did not stir. Hartman looked down, a tear forming in the corner of his eye. A click sounds broke the silence, and in a instant the Stalkers were surrounded by Strikers, their weapons drawn. A tapping sound came down the halls, and Hartman peered into the darkness. Rayne stepped forth, her War Blades drawn. So, Minister, treason is your business today? Hartman did not fear Rayne, and he defiantly snapped No Rayne, I do not commit treason. If anything, I am the only thing pure left in this damn country! Rayne laughed loudly, and stepped forward again. Drop your weapons or Hartman dies. Rayne barked to the Stalkers. They complied, for in their loyalty they could not risk Hartman's death. I should have disposed of you a very long time ago, heathen! Rayne raised her War Blades high, and prepared to strike Hartman down.

Halt! A might voice called out. Everyone looked around for the source of this voice, but they saw nothing. So we meet again, Rayne Xolantra. The voice bellowed again as the sheet stirred. The sheet slowly slipped off as the 7 foot warlord stood tall once again, his body restored and unscarred. The priest was successful, and through his sacrifice, Damien was whole regardless of the replacement parts. I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and fiery anger, for you have poisoned my well. You have bastardized my anem, my legacy, and my country. No more shall my people suffer under your tyranny Rayne The world shall be rid of you now. The warlord stumbled forward towards Rayne, and the Potentate Striker laughed. You are in no condition for battle, "Dreadfire" She said mockingly. No, but I am Yet another voice said.

http://207.44.246.95/85/131/upload/p185.jpg

With his hat covering his face, The One Who Shall Remain Unnamed materialized from the shadows, and instantly Rayne's Strikers were turned to dust, their bodies fading into ash. She stood in horror as the figure spoke to her. In an explosion, the Dread Fires have been rekindled! Their fury knows no limits, and you shall now be consumed by their fire. May it's cleansing burn purge you from this life forever! The figure drew a mighty sword and stepped towards Rayne. No. Damien said. She shall not die by your hands, o great Death Dealer, but by The Creatures Of The Night. Cast this heathen bitch into the Tomb of the Mutilated. She will be most welcome there, and she shall suffer eternal torment at thier hands. The One Who Shall Remain Unnamed glanced at Rayne, and in a wink blew her backwards at great speed. The cellar doors blew open, and the Potentate Striker was cast down inside them. Her scream was the last thing they heard. Hartman, the Stalkers, and The One bowed to Damien in great respect For the Flame had returned!


*************************************

Open transmission to all naitons

The picture on the T.V's faded, and nothing but blackness engulfed the screen. What once was lost has been born again from the ashes of those slain. The sick song of warm blood and cold steel has sung to me in the shadows of the netherworld, and it's call has awakened me from my slumber. Yes my friends, the fires that once burned the world have been re-ignited...the Dread Fires rage yet again. The Flame Has Returned!

A single image popped into the screen for a few seconds, then faded.

http://207.44.246.95/40/9/upload/p3403.jpg

With Damien raised from the grave, he wasted no time in alerting the world and reclaiming his throne.


In an open communication to the world, the now restored Damien Dreadfire will give his first major speech to the world since his return. We will now take you to the Great Hall in ULE City.

The picture fades up, and starring at the camera is the face of Damien.

http://207.44.246.95/40/9/upload/p3403.jpg

Good afternoon peoples of the world, The Dread Fires have arisen yet again! I have returned to assume my mantle from Rayne Xolantra, an overly brutal and heartless wench who has tarnished the great name of Automagfreek. She has abused my people and scarred them, and that I will never forget. She turned the back of AMF towards our friends across the globe in an attempt to cut herself out of thw world's eye.....so she could plot her next scheme.

Rayne's experiments with AMF Sentinels (Project: Black Storm) were semi-successful, and through Project: Red Haze, she created a highly engineered super soldier, named the Striker. These beings are very unstable, and capable of things that have never been seen before by anyone. Since the fall of Rayne, my associate here and his people are rounding up and terminaing these creatures for the good of everyone.

Damien motioned to his side at a man in a long coat, and a hat covered his face. He said not a word nor made any motion.

http://207.44.246.95/85/131/upload/p185.jpg

As we speak, the Death Dealers are rounding up these Strikers and disposing of them so that their genetic menace cannot harm another living being. And as of now, Project: Black Storm is being re-opened. Since Rayne took control of AMF, she ordered the executions of 500,000 Sentinels and Sentinel Stalkers. This is a great tragedy, but in time all of Rayne's inflicted wounds will heal.

Since I've returned, I cannot recall what happened just my "passing" shall we say, but I will say that I am in great condition. You may not know this, but in my younger days, I was a genetic lab rat. Yes I am the first Sentinel, and I suffered greatly in the name of progress. Before my passing, certain chemicals that were used for testing drove me near mad. Since I've returned, these chemicals are no more, and I finally see clear yet again.

In closing, I say this: The Flame Has Returned! A New Dawn has arisen in Automagfreek, and the dark days of Rayne have passed. May good fortune lie ahead for you all.

http://67.18.37.14/40/9/upload/p3403.jpg
---Damien Dreadfire---
-Supreme Warlord of AMF-

Alas, this is where the main bulk of the story comes to an end. The story before and after what is posted is incomplete and full of holes. Threads were lost and and forgotten due to purges, and what I posted together here is all that remains. There are some threads after this sequence that still exist, but with all the gaps it would be too hard to piece the rest of the story together.

Now begins the thread "...As The Flames Purify", a major turning point in AMF history.

Dawn's Cathedral was aflame. It had stood for many thousands of years, built brick by brick by those long forgotten to history and time. It had been the site where many precious artifacts of Freek history lay, and it was also the site there the first Blood Pact took place with someone outside of Automagfreek. Thousands of armed Sentinels stood outside the burning church, and various artifacts lay in the grass some distance away. The orange glory that engulfed the cathedral could be seen for miles due to the fact that the cathedral was built on the highest mound in the ULE valley. The flames could be seen from the Great Hall (the residence of Damien the Destroyer), and the Dread Fires were not ignorant as to what was going on. Firefighters were summoned to the area to extinguish the flames, but the Sentinels at the site would not allow them to pass. Upon hearing this news, Damien grabbed his sword and SBP-90 assult rifle and ordered his driver to take him to the church.

As he arived on the site he barked orders to the Sentinels to stand down, but they did not. They did however allow Damien to pass through their ranks, and storming to the front Damien asked to speak to whoever was in charge. A few Sentinels gestured to a man who appeared to be in his early 20's. He stood as still and silent as stone, his black cape dancing wildly in the night air. What in the hell is going on here? Why are you not allowing the firefighters to pass? The figure turned around slowly revealing a chisled face and buzzed head. His face was coated in beard growth, but it was neatly trimmed around his stern lips. Why is it any matter to you, old man? Damien snickered, then in an instant his expression changed violently. Because this church is older than these mountains, it is a testament to time and the Freek way of life!

By now the church was pretty much rubble, save for the main base of the structure. Damien had managed to get the firefighters in to put out the blaze, but the damage had been done. You see Damien, fromt he ashes of this church I will build myself a mighty fortress. From the dust and rubble I will create something greater.... Damien got in the face of the young man, towering a half a foot over him. Who the fuck do you think you are? This church is not your porperty, as ruler of AMF it is mine! Damien drew the Relic's Sword and held it forcefully in his dominant right hand. I see this as an act of defamation upon me, and I will have my justice! Damien drew the sword up over his head and prepared to strike the man down, until a single phrase stopped him dead in his tracks.

So you would strike down your own blood? Damien froze, and a puzzled expression lay across his face. What are you taking about man? I have no kin, never have, never will. As Damien lowered his sword, the man stepped forward. My name is Azrael. Though you know not of me, I certainly know you. While I am no brother of yours, I am of your blood....and the blood of someone you once loved many moons ago. Damien's mind raced back to Xel, the love of his life. He remember the long passionate nights they spent, and he rememebered the day she left him. That is right Damien, you know what you speak of....or should I say....father. I have finally found you and I am finally of age. I wish to take up swords with you in the house of our forefathers nd slay those that stand against us. Upon the broken planks and shattered glass that lay here on the cathedral ground I will built myself a grand fortress. From the Great Hall and from my future home, we will carve out our place in destiny. What say you father? Let me help lead your armies against the heathens, and I assure you I will make you proud. If you do not believe that I am your son, then I say we take a trip to the hospital for DNA tests. I know not where mother is, but you are all that I have M'Lord. I wanted to wait until I was old enough to spill blood before I told you, so you would think me a mighty son.

http://67.18.37.14/40/9/upload/p1005314.jpg
Azrael the Advocate


Damien dropped to his knees, an astonished look on his face. He did not know what emotion to feel or what word to speak.

***

Days after the cathedral fell into ash, both Damien and Azrael sat comfortably in the Great Hall. The curtains were drawn and the lounge was lit by torch and candle alike, and the pair began a brief discussion. So tell me.....son.. Damien was hesitant to say such a word, for all this was happening too fast for him. Why did you burn down my church? I understand that you wish to build a residence of your own, but why did you have to destroy the oldest building in Automagfreek? Azrael swirled the drink inside his tankard in circle and sat forward in his chair. He had an eager look upon his face as he shifted again in his seat and looked Damien in the eyes. Quite simply put: It wasn't my fault. This puzzled Dreadfire, and he cocked his head in suspicion. You see Damien, I entered the cathedral late at night with a hoard of Sentinels. I began praying to the Gods for wisdom and advice.....when suddenly a candle fell from high above. How it managed to leave it's holder baffled me at first, and the room quickly exploded into flame. Azrael's eyes grew wide with excitement. And from the raging inferno stepped forth a figure.....he identified himself as the God of Fire. He told me about my past.....he told me about my future. He showed me wonders father......and he instructed me to build a might fortress upon the ruins of the cathedral.

Damien leaned forward with interest. So the Fire God did indeed speak to you? What else did he tell you? Azrael's excitement peaked, and he leaned further forward in his seat. He told me of the nations we would conquer, the blood we will spill. He told me that there was indeed a grand plan at work, and that it will all begin when the fortress is complete. So I will do as he instructed. Has the God of Fire ever spoken to you? Damien stood up from his seat and walked towards the drawn windows. He moved he curtains aside with his hand and peered out into the black beyond. No Azrael.....the Gods do not look upon me with favor. I regularly defy their will, and for that I will surely burn when my time comes to depart this world for the next. I am forsaken my son, but you are most obviously blessed. Do not squander your blessings, do exactly what the Gods tell you to do. Do not make the same mistakes I made. If the Gods demand blood, then let us flow onto them a mighty river. If they demand fresh souls, then we must send them some. You know your destiny.

Azrael rose from his seat, but Damien gestured him out of the room. Azrael nodded with a stiff lip and disappointed eye, and quietly left the room. Damien opened the curtains and stepped out onto the balcony overlooking his private gardens. The moon cast an errie impression upon the statue of himself and Bastien the Bronze, and he began praying to his slain friend. Bastien, I am most troubled. Why is it that immediatly after drinking of sorrow's cup that I must be gifted with a son? I have a line now Bastien, somebody to carry on my legacy long after my bones have turned to dust. But why? Why must my fourtune be so good while my grief for you is still so near?

Damien took his eyes of the pair of statues and looked towards the moon. Give me strength and endless ambition, for I know that even now you are still with me. I pray that both Dayne and my son Azrael make both me and you proud.

I am so lost and confused right now Bastien, I can't tell if this is true or a dream......

***

Word of Azrael's emergence had swept Pantera soon after it had come out in AMF. Dayne had heard of it almost immediately, yet he hesitated. He had decided he would wait before sending for Azrael, to gauge his intentions. Dreadfire himself was unstable to say the least, could his son be trusted to be different? He doubted it, but there was always hope.

Reading over the file his Officers had put together, Dayne sat in a large bearkskin chair and poured himself a glass of Bastien's fine brandy. He smiled sadly. His brother had kept him from his personal stock of brandy, and he had always joked with Bastien that he would have it when he died. He was sure his brother laughed as well, wherever he was. Sipping at his glass, he took up the file and returned to the matter of AMF.

The whole situation irritated him, and he wished his Warhound was there, to advise him as he had done for his entire life. But, the Hound was old, and with a wound suffered while fighting during the Summer Storms paining him, he had decided to stay in the South of Pantera and rule Sunspear as Regent. The Hound would probably said to kill the boy, Azrael, and be done with the worry, but that was his answer for near everything. However, it did have a strangely effective way of putting things into perspective.

Bastien had seen the worth of Damien as an ally, and Dayne himself had fought alongside the Sentinels many a time. He respected their strength as akin to that of the Reavers, and saw what the two great leaders had seen when they had forged the Blood Pact: That together, Reaver and Sentinel were all but unstoppable.

The past months had made Dayne wary of trusting anyone, much less this Azrael, whose rise to power was just a bit too fast for Dayne's comfort. Could this wretch be plotting on Dreadfire? he wondered idly as he leaned back in his chair, propping one foot atop the other. He doubted it, unless the boy was quite insane. Dreadfire was a rabid beast and sensed plotters like a hound. Maybe he was real, and all would be well...

Not fuckin' likely... Closing his eyes for a long moment, he tossed back the last of his brandy and rose, heading for his bedchamber in the drafty halls of the ancient castle. Sleep is what he needed, not more booze. Sleep. He would leave this Azrael to do as he would, for awhile. If he proved himself to be the man his father was, then Dayne would seek him out. But if he proved treacherous, he would find the Reavers ready to seek him out, as AMF was far too strong an ally to be allowed to go rogue.

He went to bed thinking of the mumblings of a mad old crone, and the shrieks of a younger, madder Queen.

***

I'm not sure about the welp myself. Read the first line in Damien's note to Dayne. Although my most trusted servant tells me his heart is clear of plot and scheme, I am not fully sure if the lad is capable of leading thousands of Sentinels head first into battle. I hope this whole incident is a foul plot to catch me off guard in my emotionally weakened state, but regardless of that I must ask you a favor. I ask that Azrael be sent to Pantera to serve under you for the time being. I want to see if he is capable of the high standards that both you and I hold our men and commanders. Automagfreek, unfortunatly, is not in turmoil at the moment, so I have no way of seeing what he is amde of first hand. Plus this would be a good way for him to meet you and get to know Pantera. I have a son that I never knew about....and with the death of your brother Bastien I have realized jsut how weak the flesh is how fragile life can be. I need to start preparing my torch to be passed should the heathens we in AMF call Gods decide to call my number.

Damien smiled abit and shook his head, not imagining he would ever say such things. Your brother once said that "peace is where men like us go to rust", and time is starting to take it's toll on me. Azrael needs to be prepared to lead his country to victory through and through, and only in Pantera can one learn such lessons. The boy needs to learn honor and ferocity, courage and the desire to stop at nothing to achieve his goals. I hope to hear from you soon.

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---Damien the Destroyer---
-Supreme Warlord of AMF-


+++++++++++

Damien ended his message and ordered it to be sent, and then he summoned Azrael into his quarters. Moments later the large oak doors were thrown open, and Azrael walked proudly into the room. Damien gestured to the seat at the front of his desk but the newly elected Warchief declined. Very well then. Azrael, I have sent word to Dayne, Lord Reaver of Pantera. Every time he said those words, his heart ached. Upon his response you will be departing for the Free Lands of Pantera, where you will be in Dayne's company. You will learn many valuable lessons there, lessons you will need should you ever have aspirations of being Supreme Warlord. Azrael bowed deeply with a smile across his face, the sun's rays shimmering off the golden plate of steel that sit strapped across his chest. Sounds like an adventure to me, and I shall make ready. As Azrael turned to exit, Damien stopped him with a cough and motioned for him to move towards the rear of the throne room. The pair walked past the racks of weapons towards a large painting, and Damien lifted the picture up to reveal a large safe. A few seconds of tinkering and the safe was open, and Damien removed a large item wrapped in red silk. He removed the silk to reveal a grand blade, while nowhere near the size of the Relic's Sword, it was still a formidalbe weapon. This sword was crafted for me by a Panteran peasant on the day I received my soul name, "Dreadfire". I want you to take this and use it as your own, for you are a most worthy candidate for its power.

Azrael lifted the blade up from The Destroyer's hands and eyed it's magnificence. The golden handguard was engraved with the symbols of Pantera and Automagfreek alike, and Azrael removed his standard issue Freek military sword from its scabbard and placed his new prize inside. The blade's name is "Deep Blue", for in the moonlight the blade seems to glow an errie shade....it nearly looks like a phantasmal object, it is quite a sight.

Thank you father, your gifts to me have been great. Once I hear word from Dayne, I will depart. And I shall not return until my tasks are complete and until i am a worthy warrior in the eyes of the Lord Reaver. I will see you soon.

***


The Evenstar shook his head as he read over Dreadfire's message. The old man was cunning. Cunning indeed, Dayne thought. In one maneuver he had distanced himself from Azrael, should the boy be treacherous, in the same move he had given his heir the anvil of Pantera upon which to forge himself, and he had placed Azrael in such a position as to learn from and befriend Dayne, as Dreadfire had Bastien so long ago.

With a grim smile, Dayne began keying his reply. He would of course accept. Dreadfire's plotting to get the two younger men near each other was admirable, but he had a few tricks up his sleeve as well. This would allow him the chance to mold Azrael into the kind of ally he needed. It would be hard, if the boy was at all like his father, but...

Dreadfire himself was far too unstable to be relied upon in any situation other than the heat and hate of war, in Dayne's opinion. Bastien had disagreed, trusting Dreadfire with much more than his own life at times. The Evenstar himself carried a grudging admiration for the man, but still hesitated to trust him too far.

Dreadfire - I will of course ready your welp for his mantle of leadership. Warn him, though, that my Reavers have no tolerance for weakness. If he shows a crack of cowardice in his mask of command, they will tear him apart and place one of their own in command. I suggest he bring a dozen or so of his own Sentinels to act as his battle companions, but no more. Pantera still bleeds, and those lands already pacified are a beast barely chained.

Do not allow him to come to Pantera unless he is ready, or he will never leave these Free Lands.

-Evenstar

With a grunt, Dayne dispatched the message and leaned back. Curt, and possible a touch rude, the message would convey this Azrael's position in Pantera: Nothing. The fact that Dreadfire was his father would count for little among a fist of Reavers. He was nothing, and he would remain nothing until he proved himself.

Whatever happened, Dayne was looking forward to his new apprentice's arrival. Forging the boy looked to be an interesting, and possibly enjoyable, break from the grief that had coated his life in the past months.

***

Azrael did not say farewell to Damien upon confirmation of his departure for Pantera. Azrael merely gathered what he would need; some clothes, weapons, ammo, and his new sword. He called down Fort Spear military base and ordered 7 Sentinels, 3 Sentinel Stalkers, and 2 Death Dealers to follow him on his journey per Dayne's request. Azrael's excitement grew with every passing minute, for the trip to Pantera would only be an hour or two. Before exiting the Great Hall for the waiting car outside, Azrael took one last look in the mirror. Here's your chance to prove yourself to them......don't mess this up. Do not bring scorn to our family.

With that Azrael gathered his few things and climbed into the car. The trip to the airport was only a few minutes long, and waiting on the runway were Azrael's entourage. Looking as if they were stone, the Sentinels and Death Dealers waited patiently for Azrael's orders, and he motioned for them to board the plane. Azrael tried not to think to hard about the days to come, for the suspence was already killing him. Soon he would be at the mercy of Pantera, and he prayed that Damien was right in sending him there.

Lord Reaver, I will be arriving in Toke in a few hours. I have collected a small unit of my fniest soldiers per your request, and I stand ready for the trials ahead. I am not coming alone on this quest, for the burning flame that resides in the whole of Automagfreek is with me. I will not disappoint and I will do exactly as you instruct. My father sees you as a fair and ferocious man, and I will admit that I am abit nervous about being in the presence of greatness. But worry not, I will show you neither weakness nor flaw, you have my word on that.

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Azrael the Advocate
-Warchief of AMF Forces-

***

His grunt was one of distaste. Advocate, eh? What kind of a name is that?

With a shake of his head, Dayne barked an order to a Reaver attendant. He had no intentions of allowing this Azrael a moment's rest. In the east the large island of Teralus still remained free of the yoke of Pantera. It irritated him to say the least. A large force of Reavers had entrenched themselves on the island, along with a large mercenery army. They were estimated at six thousand Reavers and lesser men, with roughly one hundred aircraft. Their might at sea was near to nothing, as the Evenstar's own fleets had harried the coast of the island since the fall of Toke near three weeks past.

With a laugh, Dayne began issuing his orders. He and this welp Azrael would leave for Teralus immediately upon his arrival. The boy would emerge victorious alongside him, or the boy would die. Either way, the Blood Pact would be stronger with his testing.

***

Azrael and his unit were taken to the side of the new Lord Reaver, who was already making plans to test his soul. A burly Reaver motioned Azrael to Dayne but halted the Sentinels in their tracks. He stepped forward and aproached the Lord Reaver, his head held high and his right hand on the hilt of his sword.

Hail Lord Reaver! I am Azrael, called The Advocate by many. My father Lord Damien the Destroyer sends his compliments and blessings, and I am here to offer onto you my services. I can see in your eyes that there are many trials ahead, and I will meet them head on with you. I must admit that this will be my first engagement, but not one ounce of fear lay in my heart. I am not my father, nor will I my wrath ever be as absolute as his, but I swear to you that before I depart these Free Lands I will amke an impression onto you. Hail Lord Reaver, I await your orders.

Azrael grabbed his SBP-90 assult rifle from off of his back and checked it to make sure it was loaded and ready to go. He swung it across his back underneath his cape and drew out his sword that was passed onto him. You will recognize this blade, for it is Panteran steel. This steel is most strange, for unlike most inanimate objects it has a voice. It prefers to sing, and the songs it sings are of blood and mutilated flesh. It thirsts for blood, and that unquenchable thirst has come onto my mouth as well. Direct me Lord Reaver, I stand ready.

***

Though his face was set in a grim scowl, Dayne laughed inside. This Azrael posessed a flair for the dramatic, as did the Evenstar himself. However, for the moment he decided would keep up burly lord's facade.

Rising, Dayne flicked a gloved hand dismissively and said,"Enough with all of that. I am not interested in being imressed by flower words or your fancy sword. Save that shit for the ears and eyes of women. I see before me an upstart Freek who thinks to rule where his father reigns...

Drawing a breath, the Evenstar laughed scornfully, his twin, wrist thick golden braids swaying about his shoulders. He leveled a finger at Azrael's entourage and grunted,"I see the fancy armor and weapons of these men, but I know of their strength. What have you done? What gives you the right to walk with men such as these? You think you are ready to spill blood alongside my Reavers?"

Dismissing Azrael's reply, he snickered and said,"Well, we shall see then. We begin your forging now. To the east is an island. It is the last stronghold of the Godsgrace rebels, and possibly a haven for members of the Coward's Council. Together, you and I will take it. By dusk tomorrow I expect to be in the city of Dregon. with you at my side or dead in our wake is up to you."

With a curt order, Dayne lead Azrael and his companions from the Palace and out onto a helipad. Boarding the waiting chopper, Dayne informed the Freeks of his plan of a two pronged assault on the southwestern beaches of the island. The beach was fortified heavily, but the rebels barely had the men to man their trenches. The Reaver fleet would clear the beachead with a heavy barrage, and then the Evenstar and Azrael would each lead a landing, roughly three miles apart. From here they would proceed inland, slowly closing the gap between their lines until they reached the city of Dregon.

A plan with much risk, Dayne knew, but one that was a fitting test for his new student.

As the chopper touched down on the deck of Dayne's flagship Silence, he grinned and motioned to the outline of a large island, barely visible on the night-blackened horizon. With a gruff laugh, he waited for the hum of the chopper to subside and asked,"So then, Advocate, are you ready to bloody that pretty sword of yours, or would you rather be sent home to your father in a skirt?"

A few snickers sounded in the sudden silence, and the Evenstar watched his pupil, gauging his reaction.

***

The hazing was to be expected, and Azrael did nothing more than throw a glare to those that laughed at him. His jet black eyes moved from person to person, and his hand movd across the handle of his sword. I see you're not a man of formality. Alright, then I'll cut the shit. You want that island taken? An easy task. I will fill the rivers with their entrials and pike their heads alongside the shores. I will show you wonders, for I've studied my father and the late Lord Reaver well. I'm more than ready.

Now, how many men will I be leading in this assult? Azrael silenced himself for a second, trying not to sound too demanding and trying not to take charge. He removed his cape and placed it underneath his seat, and moved his rifle from his back to his lap. He extended his war blades (OOC: Think strap on claws like Wolverine's) and examined them well. He checked his Desert Eagle and made sure he had plenty of enough ammunition for the great battle ahead. He noticed a few Reavers snickering as he went about his routine, but Azrael had a simple reply for them. Proper planning prevents piss poor performance, remember that.

He then peered out in the direction of where his trials were to take place, and he assured himself that the God of Fire would lead him to victory. Azrael's Sentinel entourage walked casually about the decks, for to them this would be another day at the office. The Death Dealers, towering over Sentinel and Reaver alike by several feet, locked and loaded their .50 cals and readied their battle axes. Their crimson eyes were unblinking as they prepared to do what they did best: send heathens into the abyss. Azrael prayed to the God of Fire for strength so that his counterparts would not think him a coward. The hours ahead would tell for sure.

***

Soon a small transport pulled alonside the Silence and a contingent of Dayne's officers departed for the ship. The Evenstar motioned to Azrael and said,"There's your ride, Azrael. Four thousand Reavers will be landing with you, while another six thousand will land with myself. Push deep, eight miles at least, and then turn south. These rebels have no heavy armor, but there are at least twelve very heavily fortified Anti-Aircraft installations. Their taking is up to you.

"Along my own route is an airstrip and the only suitable highway to bring reenforcements west to oppose us. You must keep most of their force tied up at the AA sites until the highway route to Dregon is secure.

"I want to know if those claws are used for more than scratching your ass. Me and my Rigante donna think so."

The group of his hulking, bearded shock legions laughed, hooting a few jeering remarks at their AMF allies. Dayne finally raised a hand for silence, and recieved it immediately.

His eyes hard, he closed his raised hand into a gloved fist and shook it at the the group of waiting Reavers and Sentinels. With a growl, he gave Azrael his final order,"Do not fail me. Drag the Waters."

The transport was loaded, and Dayne made his way to the bridge of his great crimson hulled warship. A slight glow had begun in the east, outlining the island. The sun would be in their eyes on the bloody taking of the beach, he thought, but no matter. Unless something went terribly wrong, the day would be won by sundown.

Settling back, he began cleaning the action of his sidearm and sent a paige for his greatsword. He had carried the massive, glimmering blade in every battle he had ever fought. A present from his father on the day he was named Reaver, it was a huge, gaudy affair. Large as it was, his size allowed him to handle the unwieldy weight of it with ease. Two rows of shining silver runes graced each edge of the blade, making it flash and shine with every glint of light. It served as a rallying point in battle, and an all but magical talisman for his Reavers, urging them to greater feats of ferocity by its flashing, slashing presence.

Finally, he put aside his sidearm and took up his sword. Placing it across his knees, he sat and waited for dawn.

***

Understood Lord Reaver, I expect my objectives to met by midday. I will see you when this is over. Azrael eyed the Reavers that mocked him, and he traded them a cold glance. Soon... he thought ...soon they will praise and honor me. Just do this by the books, show them your inner demon. Azrael then stepped onto the transport with his Sentinel entourage, but before leaving the Sentinels and Death Dealers traded handshakes and headbutts with their Reaver counterparts. This made Azrael feel out of place, for there was much respect between the fighting men for eachother. Through the many battles that both Pantera and Automagfreek had engaged in, the fighting men had come to terms with eachother, each side knowing and respecting the power of the other. Azrael hoped that today would be his day.

On board the transport, Azrael addressed Dayne's officers. Although we are numerically inferior to Dayne's force, our role in this fight is paramount. I expect your Reavers to fight hard and move quickly. Let's see if you all can keep up with me. The Reaver officers exploded in laughter, openly mocking the young lad. I know I have not proven myself to you, but please do not make my task any harder than it already is. By the time the sun sets you will see what I am made of. The same fire that burns in my father resides in me as well, believe that. Now make ready.

Azrael sensed doubt amongst the Reaver ranks, but he could not allow that to deter him. He was a man of business, and his business was with the sword and the gun. This was Azrael's first taste of real combat, but not for one second did he doubt his resolve. Well, maybe for a second......

***

As the first sliver of the sun slipped above the eastern horizon and spilled out across ocean, island, and sky, the first volley of Reaver shells slammed into the fortifications lining the beach. In a gout of flame and smoke the peaceful silence of the morning was shattered into a chaotic riot of sound. The concussion of the first round was so powerful that it rocked Dayne's Silence back in the water.

Shifting his feet with the roll of the ship, he ordered a continuous barrage for twelve minutes. In that time transports would approach the landing sites and wait for the shelling to cease.

Dayne himself boarded a transport in the second line of his first wave of Reavers. He took up a small microphone once he was aboard, and over the constant roar of explosions, addressed his force,"The winds blow hot, Reavers, and these traitorous scum will soon be scorched from the earth. This is the final holdout of the rebellion. They are all that stands between us and peace and unification being returned to Pantera. Though victory is assured, beware. These are no coward dogs we are fighting, but Reavers. They will fight, and they will die hard.

"REAVERS! Are you ready for the Crow's Feast?"

And as the last of the shells fell upon the fortifications, a mighty roar rose up aboard the transport ships, a vigorous and resounding reply to Dayne's question. The force began to move forward, and men began to roar and shake, lending fury to their brother Reavers until the intensity rose to a fevered pitch.

Dayne himself only smiled, allowing a moment to pass until just before the first transport touched the beach. With a growling roar he ordered the doors of the transports opened and snarled into the microphone,"Then let the Gods drink their fill."

Screaming their defiance, the Reavers boiled oout of their transports and into a hail of fire and death.

***

As the first wave of Reavers hit the shoreline, the smoking forests beyond came alive with machine gun fire. The turrets aboard the transports began a thick covering fire, burt were forced to cease as their men gained the top of the bank and began the scramble through briar and branch.

An artillery shell slammed into the bank just as the Evenstar's transport slid onto the sand. The jolt lifted one side of his transport and tossed it a full quarter turn. Men screamed and cursed as the doors slid open and allowed a gushing torrent of water into the hold. Dayne himself screamed for them to abandon ship and dove headlong into the sea. The water was deep and the weight of armor, rifle and sword pulled many down, but a fair number reached the shore, among them the Evenstar, soaked but raging for blood.

At least two thousand of his men were ashore, half of them already plunging into the shadows of the forest. Bursts of firing sliced down many of the advancing force, but soon these halted, and the beachead was gained.

Firing a flair to rally his force, the Evenstar made to push deeper into the forest. Sending out seven advance parties of sixty men each, he formed his men up into a marching vanguard, and set off into a four mile stretch of forest, before tree and bush thinned into the plain of the island interior.

Two Hours Later...

By the time the Evenstar's force emerged fromt he forests, the guerilla raiding of the rebels had taken its toll, and he was raging mad. Before him stretched the plain of Teralus, a large black streak that was the highway snaking through the green of the grasses, a few thickets dotting the landscape that doubtless held a unit of rebels or a mortar crew.

Some six miles distant was the airport. Even from this distance he could see a few planes landing and taking off, refuelling after a patrol. However, none seemed to be eager to attack them, obviously afraid to lose their only air power.

The thought of aircraft took his thoughts to Azrael, and his fortunes with the AA installations. So far he had fierce resistance, but not the full force of the rebels. Five hundred of his men were dead, at least twice that on the rebel side. Hopefully Azrael was doing as well. He ached to call in his bombers aboard the carriers, sitting along the shoreline and waiting for his order. However, he would wait for word from Azrael. Radio silence would be preserved until the boy's confirmation that the installations had been destroyed or taken.

***

The sound of battle could be heard at Azrael's LZ, and he noticed that Reaver entrenchments along the shore began shifting somewhat towards the initial fighting. This ended however as the covering fire from the Panteran fleets rained in. Azrael looked nervous, but the men around him helped calm his nerves. Simply looking at their stone cold faces was assurance enough that he would be just fine. Alright men, stay with me. We need to take this beach and kill their AA batteries. Let's squash these vermin once and for all. Azrael shifted to the head of the transport, and as the gate fell Azrael rushed out with his gun blazing. He immediatly took a round to his left arm and went down as the Reavers and his Sentinel entourage stormed the beach. Azrael was disappointed in himself, for he had been hit before the battle even began. He felt his face turning red, and his jet black eyes began steaming. He stood back to his feet and charged as fast as his body could carry him. The Reavers hit the beach with great ferocity and began rapidly pouring he heat onto the heathens entrenched near the beach. A nearby explosion forced Azrael into a trench alonside a few of his Sentinels and a massive gang of Reavers.

He looked to his left and noticed that his two Death Dealers were standing straight up firing their .50 cals like madmen, and flinching not when they took hits. 7 hits he counted on one of the Death Dealers, but still the creature did not flinch. Azrael stood to his feet and threw a grenade in front of him and then ordered his Reavers out of the trenches. They gave him a questioning eye, but Azrael did not have time to wait. Climbing above the trenchline Azrael raced towards the enemy's line, firing his weapon in all directions. The Reavers that followed him were brutally cut down by the hail of gunfire, but followed Azrael regardless.

The landing was somewhat successful, although the landing Reavers took many losses, and hundreds of bodies lay lifeless on the sands. Azrael had been too headstrong, and now his forces were depleated. His Death Dealers were fine, and 3 of his Sentinels lay dead. The Sentinel Stalkers were fine though, although one of them took a small hit to the leg. Azrael dove into another trench and found an enemy Reaver struggling to clear his jammed weapon. Azrael fired a 3 round burst into his side, but then discovered that his weapon was empty. He discarded it and drew out his sword, sending it's sharp blade into the chest of the Reaver. He howled in pain as Azrael contined stabbing and chopping until the screams subsided, but he remained unrelenting. Azrael screamed and howled as he continued to chop and dice the now obviously dead Reaver, and it took 4 of his own Sentinels to pry his off the carcass. Nothing but chooped meat and broken bone lay in a very bloody pile, and Azrael himself was quite drenched int he crimson fluid as well.

He gathered himself, not taking time to wipe the massive amount of blood that covered his entire body. Form up, we need to hit their AA installations fast. The Reavers were unsure what to think of the lad.

***

From a small rise a mile or so off, the Evenstar watched a fist of his Reavers swarm a dense thicket of trees, a few tumbling and not rising as a stream of small arms fire bursts from inside the thicket. The mortar crew hidden in the trees had been giving himgrief the past hour, and he had finally ordered it taken.

When his Reavers fired a flair to show they had successfully swept the thicket, the Evenstar ordered his men forward. Half an hour before he had been blessed and had overtaken a small convoy enroute to Dregon, the main city of the island. Along with several tankers of fuel, the Evenstar siezed three mobile SAM sites and a large flatbed trailer filled with mortars, making a rough, lumbering mobile platform. This he destroyed, but he brought the mobile SAM's along with him, and these kept the enemy aircraft at a safe distance.

Still, though, he was forced to wait on his airstrike.

What the fuck is that welp up to?

***

Azrael was stunned after receiving the gunshot wound, but he had somehow managed to lead his battered unit across the beach head. Although the skirmish had been won, the battle was far from over. He glanced down at his watch and noticted that he was running dreadfully late, and Dayne was probably expecting the damn fight to be over by now. Azrael raised his bloodied sword above his head and rallied his Reavers to his side. His face was veiled in a deep crimson mask, and his jet black eyes steamed as he looked about his ranks and examined his numbers. At least a thousand were dead, and probably half of that were wounded. Regardless of taking heavily losses and undaunted by the chirps of sporadic gunfire, Azrael captured some nearby artillery pieces and ordered the Reavers to begin shelling the location of the AA guns. The bores of the guns exploded to life, and Azrael gathered his battle torn forces and pressed on. The AA site was near, and smoke began rising from it's location as the Reaver's new toys began unleashing upon the heathen defenders.

Along the road Azrael encountered several small pockets of heavy machine guns supported by pairs of snipers. Azrael knew the best strategy was to simply pour on more heat and continue on, and that he did. As more of his Reavers were cut down by enemy fire, Azrael continued his perilous advance. The AA pieces were now in sight, and Azrael radioed new coordinated to the Reaver artillery crews. Under suppressive fire the Reavers decended onto the defensive positions around the AA as raging waves decend on a beach. Azrael's Reavers began raining mortar and MGL (multiple grenade launcher) fire on the nearest defensive pockets, then began gradually walking the fire backwards. With the artillery pieces firing at the rear of the entrenched position and Azrael hitting the front, soon the center of the enemy Reaver defenses would be surrounded by lots and lots of dead bodies.

The raid went successful, and in typical AMF and Panteran fashion, the assult was finalized by a massive charge. Azrael employed a Sentinel battle tactic whereas three quarters of the rushing force pass their ammo to their back men, and the back men would lay down massive covering fire. With artillery and mortar support, the enemy Reavers had no choice but to hide their heads, and upon doing so Azrael ordered a charge. With his Reavers charging onward with intense fire support from their back men, the Reavers were able to swiftly and somewhat easily overrun the enemy's position.....in mere minutes. Azrael then wasted no time in placing satchel charges on the AA site and detonating them, a sign to Dayne that his task was accomplished.

***

The gout of fire on the horizon made Dayne smile. The boy had kept his end of the deal, all that was left was to sweep the field. The explosion was accompanied by his officers barking into their radios, and twenty seconds later, the sky came alive with his aircraft.

With near one-hundred craft in the air, and more to follow, the Evenstar felt confident to hold his position. Ordering the rise encircled and temporarily fortifed, he took out a smoke. Touching the tip with flame, he drew deeply on it, enjoying the feeling of the tobbaco rolling through his mouth. It felt soothing and cool upon his throat which was hoarse and raw from the bark of order and battlecry.

Across the plain, his fighters began the destructin of the rebel air capacity. Small as it was, they still put up a vicious fight, and three fighters were lost. As the last went up on smoke his radio crackled and he heard,"This is Skystrafe Three, M'Lord Reaver! We've got a rogue host maybe a minute to your east. Several units of heavy-arm's, along with about two thousand ground. They're pullin' close t' your position, Lord Reaver, if I'm to hit them it has to be now."

Even as the pilot spoke Dayne could see the first forays of the enemy host emerge from another thicket, thos one cresting a rise and disappearing behind it. He cursed himself for a damn fool for allowing these dogs to sneak up on him, using the cover of elevation and forest to mask their approach.

Then, he saw the banners. One was a silver ring carried on a cresting wave, Lord Brettan Seaswell. The second banner, at the head of the armored vanguard, a mailed fist, black on gold, Lord Devon the Hammerhand. The final, and by far most important sat squarely in the middle of the rebel infantry, and bore the skull and lily of Brice Canan, Reaver Lord of the Resin Marches, formerly one of the most powerful Lords in Pantera.

Three of the Seastone Council. Three whose hands carried the blood of his brother. And three who would meet their end upon his own sword.

"Negative, Skystrafe, these are mine..."

With a curt order, his artillerymen began the destructon of the rebel tanks. Discovered, the rebel host began to fan out amid the fringes of the forest, taking cover where they would and allowing the a tanks to soak up the fire.

Dayne frowned. What were they doing? A frontall assault with armor and infantry might have won his position, but pinning themselves down beneath him was suicide. They had to be up to...

"Lord Reaver, I've got another host moving fast, northwest of your position, maybe three minutes... This one almost twin to the first, but with alot more men, maybe three or four thousand. Orders?"

Dayne grunted in suprise. Northwest? How had they gotten behind him? That was a matter for another time. With frenzied urgency, he began organizing his defence. His officers agreed that they could hold the hill until the welp arrived to relieve them, so long as they could take out the armor below. He had only one fist of armor himself, and that was near two miles away, engaged in a pitched battle amid a small town.

Cursing, he snarled to get Azrael on the horn and get his ass into action.

Looking about himself at the slightly concerned faces about him, he laughed. Many of his officers blinked, but he continued laughing, and soon they chuckled as well, the tension of the moment eased. About them, their men saw their leaders at ease and they too settled, grips loosening on swordhilts and rifle barrels.

Dayne allowed a smile to remain on his face as the laughter finally died. As another artillery shell found the approaching tanks, he nodded. A steadily growing roar sounded in the forests, and he knew they made ready...

A wild scream sounded, and the forest came alive with men and fire. Drawing his sword, he moved for the front. Swinging the blade about his head, he roared encouragement to his Reavers,"They come, Reavers! Open fire!"

And they did. A strafing, destructive rain of fire fell upon the enemy. A savage slaughter it was, which went on for a full minute before the rebels withdrew, but losing more than three hundred men himself, the Evenstar knew he could not hold against another army, possibly not against another assault by the one already here.

Damn you boy... Get here... But he knew it was all but hopeless.

***

Azrael's expression turned grim as he heard the numbers of the enemy announced. He knew that time was scarce and action ahd to be taken immediatly. He looked around at the men that remained, and there was a mere fraction left standing. Out of his force of 4,000 Reavers, some 2,100+ had been killed, mostly due to the foolish headstrong charge made on the beach. 5 of his own Sentinels lay slain, but both Sentinel Stalkers were alive and well. His two Death Dealers were still active as well, although one had some 3 dozen hits scattered across his body. The wounded beast staggered and tried to maintain his footing, but periodically fell to the ground. Azrael knew that at any moment Dayne may become overrun, and time was of the essence. His mind quickly drew up a plan, and Azrael ordered a 20 man crew stay behind to man the artillery pieces while another 75 stayed to protect them. Azrael ordered his Reavers to pick up the fallen banners and steal the clothes of the slain enemy and disguise themselves. Within minutes his orderes were carried out, and he then ordered his men to march double quick roughly several miles to the site where the enemy lay siege to Dayne.

Some time later, Azrael's eyes did indeed catch sight of the enemy, their numbers large and foreboding. Having left instruction with the artillery crews, Azrael began bringing up the rear behind the enemy Reavers. At a distance, it appeared to the enemy that indeed more reinforcements were arriving, and concentrated their efforts on Dayne. Once Azrael's forces made it within firing range, he ordered the artillery crews to open fire on an exact set of coordinates. Within seconds shells began raining in ontop of the enemy Reavers, and Azrael's forces rushed forward. Thinking they were taking refuge from the incoming fire, the enemy again thought nothing of their movements, until they opened fire. Having spread out on both flanks and wheeling right, Azrael's forces quickly decended upon the enemy, shrieking horrors and ganshing their teeth as sword and gun tasted flesh. The assult was likely to be suicide, but Azrael knew that his father would have given anything to have been here on this island, fighting the heathen traitors that robbed him of his best friend.

Several light armored vehicles captured by The Advocate's forces wheeled right hard and fast, and soon the enemy found themselves under fire from in front and from behind. A pincer move have been executed, and surely it would take it's toll on one of the Coward's forces, but how would the others fare?

***

When Dayne's pilots had seen the third host of rebels approaching, he had for the very first time in his entire life felt true, bone-chilling, unbridled fear coarse through his veins. Oh, he had been afraid at many times, and on the verge of terror at others, but never before had he felt the cold finger of death trail up his spine, leaving him speechless for a long, horrible moment.

These were the men who had ripped his beloved Pantera apart and almost destroyed the legacy that his ancestors had built. These men had ruined his life, and many, many more that he would never know of.

These are the men that killed my brother. They spilled his guts and forced him to die a slave to his own pain and madness...

And in that instant, with that thought, his own pain and madness siezed hold.

The sickening sense of dread was seared from existance by a feeling of purpose. A swelling craving for cold vengeance and hot blood filled him, and from his place on the battlements, he screamed.

Long and terrible was his wail, the mournful, grief sodden months of the past came back to him in a flash, and the spark of his rage ignited those feelings, feeding the furnace of his hate. The wordless cry carried along his own men and down the hillside. As the tone of the wail turned from grief to hate and madness, his men began to take it up. Soon the sound rumbled across the plain about them, a roaring undertone to the thunderous explosions of artillery and the chatter of rifle.

A few shots whipped by him as he rose, unclinging his broadsword from across his back and continuing his raging howl. He spun the great blade in his hand like a smaller man would a knife, its glittering length flashing about his head as he rallied his Reavers.

The third host of his enemies was coming into sight now, but they only fed further the scorching fire that welled along the hilltop and through the hearts of the Evenstar and his furious berserkers.

As the first round of Azrael's artillery gored a section of the western flank of the rebels, and the rebel banners began to fall to the ground, the Evenstar realized the boy's ruse. It was a pretty tactic, and he watched as the boy's smaller force sliced into the rear of the rebel's.

With a final shout and swirlf of his flashing blade, he led his own Reavers, their ammunition exhausted, down off of the hilltop and into the heat and hate of combat.

When the rebel host saw the Evenstar's charge, they too quickened their pace and the two fronts slammed into each other with deafeneing impact. All about him, men died, explosions sounded, and steel sang upon steel, but the Evenstar had eyes only for one man.

The Skull and lily banner danced and bobbed the surge of the swirling hosts, but the bearer never fell, for beside him was Brice Canan. The Reaver Lord was one of the most reknown swordsmen in Pantera, and he moved like a cat among the Evenstar's own men, gutting and hamstringing men left and right. The sight maddened Dayne himself even further, and he began the headlong rush through the battle.

He only killed those who stepped in his way for he thirsted for the blood of the arrogant Lord Canan, whose soul was flecked with Bastien's gore. Like the wind of death itself, the Evenstar swept down the hillside, his massive blade cleaving a path ahead of him. Ever closer he came, his blood pounding in his hears and the bloodlust of his rage forcing thoughts of personal preservation from his head.

The Lord saw him just as he brought his great sword around. Canan's smaller longsword lept to meet the cut and the battle between the two would-be Lord's was begun.

The shrill song of the swords weaved its way through the roaring din of the battle, and for a moment, it drowened out all other sounds in Dayne's ears. He could hear the grunt of the rebel Lord as he parried, and the sharp intake of his breath as he thrust at the Evenstar's midsection. The snap of a twig beneath his foot sounded in the silence, and the scrape of steel along steel was a shrieking screech almost too loud to believe.

The Lord was a catlike swordsman, his movements graceful and never wasted. His smaller blade nicked the Evenstar in a dozen places as they fought, back and forth through the men who battled all around.

Dayne himself powered against his smaler adversary, his roars beastial as his broadsword sought purchase against flesh and bone. He snarled at his foe as they circled,"Your blood will taste good, Canan. This is the last of it... Ugh! Will you scream as Bastien did? Will it hurt more? Your life is mine, traitor. Your men die all about. You are defeated." It was truth, both could see. The rebels were all but beaten. The pincer attack of Azrael's host had cut them near in half, and Dayne's own wild charge had driven them back into the onrush of the boy's force.

The Lord grunted for Dayne to be silent and fight, but the Evenstar only laughed and rushed again,"At least you will have the chance to die well. Your family will suffer for years, Canan. Your sons will hang, and I will personally rape your wife and your daughters...." That sent the Lord into a furious flury that near cost Dayne his life, but he recovered, and decided it was time.

"For Bastien!" He cried, and a thousand voices echoed him,"FOR BASTIEN!"

And with that, the Lord Reaver set about making an end to it. Brice Canan, Reaver Lord of the Resin Marches was no coward. He went to his end fighting with teeth bared and screaming defiance to the last. Fighting with the spirit of a Reaver, but living with the soul of a dog...

When the end came, it was almost by accident. Dayne made a long, looping cut as he stepped forward, and the Lord's longsword made a clean parry. However, a small stone rolled beneath his foot, causing him to tilt his blade slightly. So, instead of the Evenstar's sword being turned off of his own, it slid the length of the longsword and sheared away his fingers before glancing off of the crossguard and up into his throat. The nicked and battle-dulled boardsword still carried enough of an edge to cleave the Lord's head nearly off, only stopping when in lodged in the man's spinal column.

With a crunching twist, the Evenstar withdrew his steel from the mans neck and watched the body fall, the blood pounding in his ears so furiously that at first he thought the steady roar was only that. When he raised his eyes, however, the sound was that of his own men, those who remained alive, cheering and firing off what rounds remained to them. Victory... He thought as he raised his bloodied sword in an arm now turned to jelly. He was incredibly weary now, but the wild cheering washed over him, and it seemed to envigorate him. He felt the need to scream and laugh that he was still alive, but only stood, those parts of his sword not coated in crimson gore shining in the dying sunlight of the evening.

A total victory. They had lost near four thousand men, but had killed many more. Those who lay dead would be revered in Valhalla, so the mourning was second to the celebration. All of the rebels who had surrendered were now being put to death, on the call of No Quarter, save for two: Lords Bretton Seaswell and Devon Hammerhand. Those two would be long in dying...

Azrael himself was embraced as a brother by Dayne when he came upon him, the severed, leaking head of Brice Canan in his fist,"Take this to your father when you return, Azrael. Tell him that he was the one of the leaders of these dogs who cost us Bastien. Tell him justice is done..."

Dayne's purple eyes glowed indigo in the fiery glow of the setting sun. They were almost menacing as he looked over Azrael, his brow creasing,"And tell him... You tell him that his son is a man to war alongside... That I am proud to call you friend and Battle Companion, and that he should be proud to call you his heir and son."

***

The day had been won, and as the dust began to settle Azrael found Dayne. He walked slowly to the Lord Reaver's side, his left arm saturated in his own blood. A stready steam of it ran down his fingers and dripped on the ground, and The Advocate looked pale and exhausted. He listened to the words that Dayne had to say, and the corners of his eyes filled with water. He had never led troops into combat before, and the complements of his strength overwhelmed his emotions.

He did not speak, but instead nodded as Dayne spoke, for he was too weary to say much of anything. With his mouth agape and gasping for air, Azrael took the severed hand of the fallen Reaver Lord and placed it inside a leather satchel. He would send it to his father as an offering, and hopefully Dreadfire's mind would be at ease.

Unable to speak due to exhaustion, Azrael raised his sword up to his face in a salute as best he could, and his one surviving Death Dealer grabbed Azrael's right arm and threw it over his bulky shoulders. The Death Dealer began leading Azrael away from the battlefield, but before he did Azrael managed to utter a few short words. I take leave now....the day is ours.

Azrael's losses were staggering. Out of his 4,000 Reavers, he had lost nearly 3,000. Of his entourage, 5 of his 7 Sentinels were dead. His 3 Sentinel Stalkers were still alive, although one was wounded. Of his two Death Dealers, one had finally been killed. Nearly 5 dozen hits were counted in the mighty beast (a new Death Dealer record), and as he died his body melded into shadow and faded away.

Having heard of Dayne and Azrael's victory, Lord Damien began celebrating aboard the deck of his Flagship the Mouth for War. He was most pleased and proud that the two lads had trounced the Seastone Council and scattered the ashes of their corrpution to the winds. Damien was also pleased that a hand of one of the Council members was to be presented to him. Dreadfire wanted more than anything to take thier lives personally, and he sent a request to Dayne to be present at the executions of the other captured Council members.

As teh sun began setting, the fires that scortched the land began flickering and burning themselves out. Indeed the flames had purified the Free Lands of Pantera, and the wounds that had been inflicted were cauterized. But no matter how much time would pass, the memories of Bastien would never fade. With the demise of The Bronze came the forging of a new pair of Lords, Azrael and Dayne. Indeed the two men had proven themselves worthy, and Damien only hoped that Bastien's soul had found some piece of mind.

***

As darkness finally fell across the plain, Dayne and a thousand of his men knelt on the bloodsoaked grasses. Gripping the hilts of their swords and pressing the blades lovingly to their foreheads, the rows of Reavers pray.

The Evenstar wasn't sure of what they prayed for, but he was sure that all of them thanked the Gods that Bastien's death was one step closer to being avenged.

His Reavers surrounded him in their prayers, but closest of all were his Rigante, his fanatical death legion. They hovered near, heads bowed and thoughts turned to prayer, but a corner of their awareness still focused on Dayne and his safetly.

These Rigante were savage men, their faces painted in wild swirls of red and black, their eyes carrying the smoldering glint of fanatacism. It was they who had caused the most damage in the Evenstar's wild charge down the hillsid, and it was they who had finally captured Bretton Seaswell and Devon the Hammerhand.

At times a near liability, the surging rage of the Rigante was hard to control, but they were loyal to the death and could sweep an enemy before them with ease. They wer also fiercely religious, worshipping gods of their own, rather than the traditional Panteran gods of Wind, Water, and War...

Their gods were the faceless, nameless dieties of barren crag and frozen vale. They were the god of icy stream and driving rain. They simply existed, some pure of spirit, others dark and terrible. Their songs and names long forgotten by most Reaver and all pages, only the Rigante still remembered.

They sang a mournful tune, one that Dayne had heard many, many times. However, this once, it touched him deeply and he could not say why:

None asked, never given...
The veil has lifted, I have seen the Dawn...
With its coming the sun is gone.

None begged, never given...
The Waves have parted, We see the Star.
It guides us, at home and afar.

The winds do call to us...
Our eyes blown wide,
The crashing thunder of a fiery Tide...

None asked, never given...
The Darkness comes, yet we stand.
He brings the Shadow, yet lights the Land.

As the songs final mournful tones died, the Evenstar realized he had been singing along with his Rigante and that many of his Reavers had as well. Dayne felt strange, singing to gods other than those he had worshipped his entire life. Still, it seemed a fitting song for the moment, and he felt refreshed to have joined in the bonding of the song.

The glazed, near-mad look in the eyes of a few of his Reavers startled him as he scanned their number. he knew well the look of a man in a berserk frenzy. However, these men seemed calm, with only the glint in their eyes to show what was lying beneath. Dayne himself felt the stirrings of something terrible in his soul, but that was nothing new.

His thoughts in a turmoil, Dayne thought to a mad old crone, still wandering somewhere in the Seastone Palace... The words of the song had put his mind to something she had once mumbled to Bastien and Dreadfire. Vague as it was in his mind, he couldn't recollect, but the old woman was full of strange advice and information, most of which smacked of prophecy.

He was of a mind to take this Azrael to see her...

***

Azrael lay motionless in a crude field hospital, several tubes of blood and other fluids stuck in his forearm. He laid without saying much of anything save for the occassional murmer and throat clear. He noticed throughout his stay in the field hospital that every time a Reaver passed by the tent opening that they peered in and gazed at him. He knew not if it was a cold gaze of hatred for losing so many Reavers, or if it was a sign of admiration. Azrael hoped for the latter.

Several hours later, The Advocate began moving about on foot again, his body somewhat renurished. He sent word for Dayne, for the two had much discussion to partake in. He was not sure if his quest in Pantera was finished, or if he had yet to earn his stripes. Truely foolhearty bravery was not a trait to be proud of, and that was something Azrael knew he would have to work on. But then again, restraint was not something a warrior usually practiced, now was it?

With the sun dead and the moon reborn, Azrael exited the tent and gazed at the stars. Many a man had lost his life by his hand, even though it was his first time leading troops into the heat of battle. He loooked at the patch on his left shoulder where the bullet hole was stitched shut, and he scorned himself for being careless. But then again, he had managed to show courage despite the pain, a trait that both Dayne and Damien could identify with and respect.

The stars seem so much brighter in Pantera, these Free Lands are truely beautiful.....if it were not for the stains of blood. The day is done, and my body has had it's rest. I now ask to speak with the Lord Reaver, for I inquire as to the status of my..."training". Go villain, fetch Dayne for me.

Azrael waved a nearby Reaver off to find The Evenstar, and Azrael laid down and rested in a patch of tall grass and waited. His eyes felt heavy, and he slowly drifted off into slumber as the fires along the shore had finally burned themsevles out.

***

Dayne's eyes narrowed as the Reaver that Azrael had sent to 'fetch' him. The warrior claimed the boy had used the word 'fetch'. That irritated him to no end. People came to him, not the other way around. No matter, though. He knew well enough what was needed to be done before the boy departed.

Snickering, the Evenstar flicked his wrist dismissively,"You tell Azrael that he is to be ready to depart the island within the hour. We shall be returning to Toke. I have someone for him to meet..."

With a respectful salute the Reaver turned on his heel and moved off through the field to report back to Azrael.

Taking a smoke from his pocket, he lit it and draws deeply on the silky smooth flavor of the tobbaco. He was content to wait for Azrael to ready himself, but he was very eager to hear what she had to say about the boy.

The Evenstar was willing to wager that it would be interesting.


***

Azrael hurridly gathered the few things he had brought with him, his left arm aching every time he moved it. His strength had returned to him and he moved about with relative ease, but upon finding out about the journey he would be taking to Toke, his expression turned sour. Long had he yearned for the green fields of Automagfreek, long he head yearned for home. But he had only been gone mere days, but the brutal fight seemed like an eternity to him.

He gathered the last item that he had with him, his sword. He glanced up and down the shaft of the blade, admiring it in it's shining magnificence. With a sigh he sheathed his blade and exited his tent. He really did not want to stay any longer than he had to, for he had seriously thought his journey was over. Not by a longshot.

After a short walk Azrael came upon Dayne. His jet black eyes locked with The Evenstar, and he gave him a smirk and a nod. More trial and tribulation, eh? After having shed many a good man's blood here today, there isn't anything on this Earth I can't handle. Azrael could think of many, but he bullshitted and hoped Dayne wouldn't pick up on it. I'm ready anytime you are, and I have dismissed my entourage. After you.

Azrael gave a gesture and a smile, trying to act as eager as he could even though his soul was still weary.

***

The Evenstar laughed at Azrael's boasting and continued laughing until they had boarded the plane. Soon after takeoff, however, Dayne was asleep. As the plane touched down in Toke, however, he awoke and looked to Azrael, his smile grim,"You think you're ready for what's next? Your father faced it, and I know it shook his soul. Prepare yourself."

Leading the boy from the airstrip and into the car, they rode the short distance to the Seastone Palace. Entering the towering stone structure, the Evenstar led Azrael through a maze of hallways and cavernous halls. Finally, he stopped outside the door and turned to lookd Azrael over.

His purple eyes gleaming in the dim light, he asked,"You think you are ready to meet her, Azrael? Then go."

And he would say no more. The boy was on his own.

***

Dayne had walked away leaving Azrael in front of a large set of forboding double doors. This made him feel uneasy...the tone of Dayne's voice, the scenery, and knowing that...."she" was waiting for him. His hand teased the doorhandle abit, and he was unsure if he even wanted to see what was on the other side. But his curiousity got the better of him, and one of the large doors slowly creaked open.

The room was large and barely lit by a flickering fire, and a highback chair sat in front of the fire. Azrael shut the door and it closed with a loud thud, and he cringed slightly. He stretched his collar and adjusted his sword which swung from his right hip, walking forward slowly and cautiously. He opened his mouth to speak, but no word exited from his maw. He cleared his throat and with a bit if unease in his voice he introduced himself. He knew his father, a man who feared not the Gods themselves, was shaken by this woman's presence, but he figured there was no turning back now.

Greetings, I am Azrael, called The Advocate. I'm sure you know this already, for I was told my presence was expected. I come to you with an open heart and mind, ready to hear what you have to say to me.

The crone sat motionless by the fire, and Azrael wondered if the old braod even heard him. He stepped forward again, his armor clanking and heart racing. The crone slowly turnd around and looked upon him, her face alive with shadows cast by the burning fire. Azrael was instantly filled with fear and he felt his face growing hotter, and beads of sweat began forming on his brow.

***

Under the eyes of the Crone, the moment that Azrael stood must have seemed an agonizing eternity. Her skin wrinkled, her eyes usually clouded with confusion... but not tonight.

This night she seemed vibrant, full of life. Her head tilted slightly, as if curious about Azrael. Her eyes caught the light of the fire and reflected it dully, a small pit of embers in the shadowy pools of her eye sockets.

When she finally spoke, it was in a small voice. Soft, but not weak, she rasped,"I know you, Azrael, though the name 'Advocate' vexes me. This is no Souname. This name does not tie you to the Land. As dark and terrible of a beast as the Dread Fire is, he still carries ties to the Earth and Wind through his Soulname. You... do not. There is another name for you, Advocate. A terrible name, fit to scour the souls of friend and foe alike....

"I do not know if you are fit for such a name... But, it is not for me to decide... It is not for me to tell you, either..."

Glancing up at the shadowed corners of the room, the Crone chuckled,"The Evenstar is eager to hear what I would say of you. He spies on me, as if I did not know. Well, LORD REAVER! I know!"

Seemingly pleased with herself, she stood and turned to level a gnarled finger at Azrael's chest,"I've seen the Fire's threaten all... I've seen Cold so deep it will crack the bones... I've seen men far greater than you fall ill with a cold and die in their beds, while I've seen coward men rule mighty Kingdoms."

"Rule you may, Azrael, I do not know... But I know that together, you and the Evenstar will shake the earth to its very foundations. It will end in terror and tragedy. This I have seen... But through the fog of despair will burn the torch. You will plunge us into the depths of terror and eternity, for on the far side lies salvation..."

Her cryptic tone turned angry as she growled,"Yes, Azrael, that is our future. Through horror and madness to the tranquility beyond. Remember that, but also remember that there is no guarantee that we will see this peace. That path is for you to see us through. Fail, Azrael, and all will suffer terribly, and for eternity..." A small smile crept onto the corners of her mouth, but were gone almost immediately as she turned her back.

With an obivous dismissal, the Crone let her head sink to rest against her chest, and almost immediately a small snore escaped her.

***

Azrael scoffed and snorted, a little disappointed in the meek words the old woman had spoken. He shook his head and uttered to himself This was the woman that made my father cower? It cannot be... Azrael drew his sword in a flash and placed the very tip under the chin of the crone. Awake. Is that all you have to say? You speak of things so obvious a fool could decipher it! Of course terror and tragedy will strike us, as that is the ways of the universe.

Azrael took a step back and sheathed his sword, a chuckle escaping him. My father cowered and shook upon hearing such things? I know him for a fool, but I did not know how big of a fool he is. Indeed I will rule in his stead when the Gods call his number, but I will not rob him of his rule. It is dangerous to betray such an unholy and dark man, for spiritual energy almost seethes and broods around him.

Azrael stared at the decaying broad for a second, his eyes locked with hers. Doom and prophecy, is that all you have for me? Know this, I am not a tool of destiny, I forge my own path. While I may not be as battle hardened as The Evenstar or as brutal and terrible as Dreadfire, but I am no coward. You say that Azrael and Dayne will shake the Earth to it's core, and I believe that to be true.

Another laugh filled the room, and Azrael took a seat on a nearby stool. His expression then turned serious as he continued to stare deeply into the glazed eyes of the mad crone.

Angels and demons.....doom and prophecy, tell me more.....

***

Wiping a thumb across her chin and staring at the small drop of blood without expression, the Crone was silent for a long moment. With deliberate steadiness she rose and looked Azrael over. Her lips curled into a smile without humor as she spoke,"You think you are fit to be spoken of in the same breath as the Evenstar, Dreadfire or Bastien? Boy, you are not fit to lick their boots....'

"I serve Pantera, boy, and you are vital to the future of the Reavers... However, should you ever think draw our steel against me again, you had best use it swiftly, for I will watch you die writhing in horrible agony. I have skinned live men who would have cut you to pieces and drank your blood. Never bare your steel to me, boy, or your nightmare will truly begin. That, I vow..."

The lifeless tone of the Crone's voice made her threat all the more ominous as she advanced toward Azrael. Her scowl deepening over shadow-hooded eyes, she spoke again,"Prophecy? You wish for prophecy, Advocate?" She coated the name with disdain, advancing step by step until she thrust a gnarled finger into Azrael's chest,"You demand more? You demand I tell you more? Then so be it. You wish to hear prophecy, boy? I will do you better."

Opening her hand she pressed her palm against Azrael's forehead. Her voice dropped to a whisper, mostly inaudible, but Azrael caught a few fragments of her prayer,"... allowed to part the veil... ...show him the Path... show him.... show him... show him... SHOW HIM!"

Her final cry echoing, she drew her hand back in a snatching motion, as if drawing a cloth from the boy's eyes. Azrael convulsed violently, and truly saw the terror that she had spoken of.

Corpses lined the city streets as he walked, their limbs twisted and their stench overwhelming. Carrion birds swept about and squabbled over the festering flesh of the bodies, but he knew it was only the beginning of the Darkness to come...

Clawing his way from the hole into which he had fallen, the man screamed a wordless cry, but no sound escaped from his dust-choked throat. Buried alive, he was, but this was no dirt, he knew... It was the powdery bones of those who lay slain at his hand...

The countryside burned as the man stood, watching. It was his doing, though he knew not why. The screams echoing around him were only whispers compared to his own wailing cries...

A crown of gold is what the people had given him, but he saw that the gold was only paint. The gilding chipped and flaked away, revealing the still-bloody bone beneath the glitter...

His fingers brushed the boys face, so serene in death. Unmarred below the hairline, he seemed asleep until one saw the gaping, leaking ruin that was the top of his head...

Naked, the man struggled against his bonds and tried to lift himself above the flames that licked at him from below. Like an animal on a spit, he was tied to a pole and he was slowly being roasted alive. He screamed for his people to help him, but they only cheered, chanting his name in loving adoration. HELP ME he cried, but they only offered him praise....

More... More... Terrible visions of horror, decay and death. Faster and faster they came until they were no longer seperate visions, but blending a single, horrificly simple emotion: Terror.

The Crone's voice was a soft rasp compared to the screaming horror of the vision,"And now, you have seen but a taste of the misery that your coming will cause. The Evenstar knows he is cursed, he always has. Now you know as well.'

"And now you know what I see every second of every day, Advocate. Was it worth it? Was the knowing worth the price? "

***

By now Azrael's heart was pounding inside his chest and was visable to the crone. His mouth lay agape and is pupils were dialated as he twitched and shivered. A single tear crept it's way from his right eye, running down his face and in turn his neck. He looked at the crone with weak eyes and attempted to speak, but nothing audible could be heard. He turned his back on the old woman and walked away a few paces and buried his head in his hands. He began to weap, but instead held it in. He knew that he could not show his weakness in from of such a person, for if an old woman could make him cry, then what would his enemies do?

With water in his eyes and with a trembling voice, Azrael turned around with anger across his face. He clenched his fists and gnashed his teeth, and the tears began flowing more freely. Hate and resentment filled his voice as his temper erupted. Do not mock my title, wench! All I have gotten here in Pantera is scorn and snide remarks, and htat is not why I came! On the beaches I proved my worth, and I need not prove it to anyone ever again! You speak of death and torment as if I should be affected by it. All my father talks about these days is death, vengeance, and cleansing fire, and I'm SICK OF IT!!! Azrael's emotions were in the driver's seat, and he began rambling uncontrollably.

My father is a tortured man, his weakness runs deeper than you know! Since Bastien's death he mopes around his palace, drinking and smoking himself into fits. At night, his cries fill the palace and find their way into my room. In his dreams he cries out to Bastien and sobs uncontrollably, I am not even sure if he is aware he is doing it. The death of the Lord Reaver has driven him mad.....he is a disturbed man.

Have you ever heard the mad cries of a disturbed man? Have you ever heard a man that is nothing but pure rage and burning flame sob and weep like a woman? Azrael took another step towards the crone, his face awash with hate and his eyes a raging river that had broken it's way through the flood dams. He clenched his face and cried out at the top of his lungs, shouting directly in her face. I am not that man! I am not doomed to his fate! I...hate him so much...he never even knew I existed until recently. My childhood was spent being bounced around from barrio to ghetto, all the meanwhile watching my father living large.

At this point Azrael did not even know he was saying the things that he was. He knew he was going to regret it later, but still his mind and heart empited themselves.

One day I will succeed him, you will see. And on that day foul knaves such as yourself will see that my pillar will stand taller and shine brighter than his ever could. In fact, it will overshadow his completely. Stories and songs will speak of me and my endeavors, and my face will be on every street corner. One day, you will see.....

Azrael turned and moved at a fast pace towards the door, for he knew he said too much. He knew that his words were arrogant and foolhardy, and he wanted to leave the room before the old woman capitalized on it.


***

Taking the seat she had vacated, the Crone looked into the flames as she called to Azrael's retreating form,"Yes, boy, your songs will be sung... Oh yes... But I think you may be expecting a glorious hymn, but what you will get is a million voices joined in the Death Chant.

"Enjoy your torment, Advocate. You will earn it. That much, I know for certain."

***

Azrael stormed put of the room and went off to find Dayne. After a short trek and few wrong turns, he happened upon him. Dayne opened his mouth to ask how everything went, but Azrael lifted his hand and silenced him. This enraged The Evenstar, but Azrael spoke his peace regardless.

I am a better man than she thinks I am. I am not some worthless tool of destiny, doomed to work and fail. I set my own path, and I don't need some crusty old wench to tell me otherwise!

Azrael took a seat, anger and emotion still written all over his face. His eyes were blood red from the tears that he cried, and his face was sore from all the frowning and yelling. He ran his right hand over his sweaty forehead and looked away from Dayne.

How much longer must I remain here? I yearn for my homeland.... He realized that Dayne must think him a whiney bitch, so he stood up and straightened himself out. What tasks lie ahead that need completing? Though my mind is shakey, my heart is both steel and stone. After hearing THAT, I am ready for anything....

***

Dayne frowned as he listened to Azrael. His lip culred as the boy finished, and he rose. Looking down at him, the Evenstar waved a hand dismissively,"We are all but tools of destiny, my friend. Yes, you choose your own path, but who is to say what obstacles lie in wait, eager to trip you up, to make a journey of torment that much more difficult...

"You think you are ready to go? Then go. You are your own man, free to go where you please. By all means, return to Dreadfire."

Thus ends "...As The Flames Purify". Next comes, "Abomination!" There is a several RL month gap in between these threads, and by this time Azrael was a rather well known face around the world.

***

Project: Red Haze.

The worst scientific disaster of Automagfreek's history. Creatures led by an insane woman that were so unstable that they were a threat of life itself, and only by the good graces of the Gods themselves were they cast back into the abyss. Even the most elite soldiers of Automagfreek, the few and slightly genetically modified Sentinel Stalkers were no match for them. Why anyone would want to page back to that blood soaked chapter in AMF history is beyond any man's comprehension.

Rumor came from the south that rogue scientists had been experimenting illegally under the nose of Lord Dreadfire, conducting foul experiments and digging deep into the occult. Such things had been ruled forbidden since the fall of Rayne, but it seemed that a few disloyal renegades had thought otherwise. For months Damien ordered their facilities monitored, but those inside were not blind to such actions. Deep under the ground they built secret facilities to house their vile experiments, far away from the ever watchful eyes of The Destroyer. With the stars out of alignment and a shadow growing in the east, the time had come to pry open the secrets that this facility housed once and for all.

++++++++++

The corridors had fallen quiet for the night, and the staff at the facility had retired to their quarters for slumber. Security cameras and various guarded checkpoints kept the workers inside safe from any outside threat....or so they thought. Silently a vent opened in the main sleeping hall, and a small fiber optic device descended into the room and began scanning for activity. After a few seconds the fiber optic was recoiled and a nylon rope took it's place. It touched down on the floor without making a noise, and slinking upside down through the opening in the vent was a team of Sentinel Stalkers. One by one they lowered themselves to the ground in complete silence, their weapons loaded and pointed at the scientists that slept before them, ready to fire if one of them so much as stirred in the slightest.

With the whole fireteam on the ground they began quietly walking towards the bedsides of each of the scientists and drew their combat knives. Sinking the shining blades into the soft flesh of their necks, the Stalkers began eliminating their marks one by one without so much as giving a hint of their presence. With the deed done and 37 men dead the Stalkers exited the room after glancing through the glass door and searching for targets. A slight pitter patter of footsteps was all that could be heard as the team traveled from room to room as stealth-fully as a snake, checking for intel and eliminating any person that was either asleep or still up at work.

With the first level totally cleared of any human presence, the Stalkers took the the ducts again and descended to the second level, normally unreachable. There was a secret passage to a set of stairs that lead to the second level, but the location of said door was not included in the structural blueprints of the facility. A Stalker opened up a small laptop computer attached to his forearm and began scanning the layout of the ducts and where they needed to go next. Using only hand signals he directed his men onward to the vent above the main checkpoint of the lower level. As they moved further and further into the heart of the complex, the chatter of guards broke the silence.

Heh, that was a good one! Belched a middle aged guard as he and his comrades shared a good and long laugh. Yeah I know, stupid bitch wouldn't shut her mouth, so now she won't be able to open it for a week or two. Finally some peace and quiet!

The Stalkers paused at the opening of the vent and sent their fiber optic cable forward. The Stalkers switched on their targeting computers inside their helmets and glared into their eye pieces. Receiving thermal imaging from the cable and the computer processor, the Stalkers took aim at the walls inside the shaft and waited for the word from their team leader. After a brief pause he lifted a finger ever so slightly, signaling his men to open fire.

Silenced bullets pierced the shaft and the concrete walls and collided with the skulls of the five men on duty, killing them instantly. Five bullets, five corpses.

The team exited the shaft and knocked out a set or security cameras that protected a sealed door, securing the area around them and moving the bodies of the dead and erasing any trace of bodily fluids and broken concrete. The team leader took the clearance card from one of the dead guards and slid it quickly through the door lock. Please scan retina. Chirped the computer in a robotic voice, and the team leader glanced over to his men and nodded his head. With a fling and whirl of a combat knife, the eye of the guard that held the security card came loose from it's socket and was soon in the hands of the Stalker's leader. The computer scanned the retina and immediately let free the locks on the door, and the Stalkers moved forward swiftly with their weapons drawn.

After a long journey down a dark and quiet hallway the Sentinels came to a large overpass, and they look a glance at what the room beneath them housed. Large glass cases with some sort of being inside them dominated the room, hundreds of them scattered throughout the place. The Stalkers lowered another rope and slid down from the balcony to the floor, where they began searching for any possible data on what had been going on down there. A project manual lay open next to a long cold cup of tea, and the team commander glanced over it carefully, uttering only the words Project: Red Fury.

As the team moved throughout the room searching for intel, a slight disturbance put them on their guard. Several of the glass cases inside the room were empty, and the fluids inside spilled on the ground. They investigated with caution, not sure as to how long the cases had been in this kind of condition. As a lone Stalker bent down to examine the fluid, he was promptly whisked upwards into the rafters by some unknown force without so much as a gasp escaping his lungs. Another Sentinel that was securing that same area noticed the absence of his teammate, and his eyes scanned the room cautiously with his SBP-90 raised and ready to fire.

A single drop of blood fell from the ceiling and hit the floor, and immediately the ears of all the Stalkers were alert, their rifles whirling about the room. They switched on their flashlights and began checking the dark spaces in the room for the source of this disturbance, and as a Sentinel passed a small 3 inch floor drain, an unknown force grabbed ahold of him and literally pulled him down through the drain. His screams filled the room as his body was broken down into mush and disappeared into the floor, and immediately the Stalkers moved towards the center of the room and took up a circular perimeter. Fear did not taint them however, only desire to eliminate the one responsible for the two dead Sentinels, but their efforts were in vain.

A whoosh and a shadow came out of literally nowhere, and the heads of 3 Stalkers jerked backwards slightly as they dropped their rifles. Standing dumbly for a few seconds, a red line appeared from across the center of their heads, and slowly the top portion of their skulls slid free from their body and hit the floor with a squishy thud. The Stalkers had heard the stories about the Strikers in the days of old, but these creatures were much more cunning indeed, for even their modified eyes could not see the foe or foes that were before them. The team leader raised his hand and issued the hand signal for extraction, and immediately the team began moving out. The ducts were not the path of choice this time, their only option left was to run and gun.

As they ran as quietly as they could towards the door the lead to the hallway, several glass cases near the team exploded. Shards of glass embedded themselves in various Stalkers and the surge of fluids knocked several of them to their feet. Their lives were promptly ended in a cloud of red blood and a shower of human flesh as they were diced into mere shreds in seconds flat. With only 4 Stalkers left, things were looking hopeless.

Open fire!

The order rang out loudly, and a hail of automatic fire engulfed the room. The entire area was peppered with gunfire, everything from the floors to the ceiling being pumped full of lead rounds. But soon even the chatter of gunfire fell silent, and thus the Stalkers were no more. Back at command the high ranking AMF military officials knew in that moment what they were up against. Order the strike, now. Incendiary rounds only, I want that hellhole burned into oblivion! The order from a 3 star General was clear, and within seconds three AMF F-16's were in the air and loaded with their war-shot.

The quiet of the night was abruptly ended as the complex exploded into a massive fireball several hundred feet tall. The structural integrity of the building quickly failed and a massive implosion occurred, sending a large cloud of dust and debris into the chilly night air. AMF command watched from their satellites, quickly deeming the strike as a success and recalling their war-birds. What they did not realize however was the great stirring that initiated beneath the soil.........and what a macabre frenzy it was going to be.

***

From the smoldering ruins of the complex came the first signs of life. It was a Sentinel Stalker, badly burned and with a horribly crushed left leg. It took him hours to crawl from the twisted piles of steel and concrete, but the information he brought back with him was most useful. AMF satellites detected his heat signature, and immediately three platoons of Stalkers were sent to his location for extraction. Moving in with light armor support and a boatload of caution, the wounded soldier was extracted and quickly sent to the nearest military hospital for treatment and debriefing.

The camera that was attached to his combat harness was shattered into a thousand pieces, but the data chip that recorded the night's event was intact. The chip was promptly removed from the crushed unit and placed in a large computer where a state of the art video processor began playing its contents. Forty five minutes into the mission things started going to hell, and the camera recorded very little of the actual firefight. Assorted screams and gunfire was all that could be heard, and the image was a blur as the Stalker moved about quickly for cover. The image then ceased to move as he hit the ground, wounded by whatever abominations were inside the room.

Another ten minutes later came the explosion and collapse of the complex, but the image on the camera gave the military officers a bit of disturbing information. The figures could be seen exiting the containment room through a secret passageway in the wall. The bombs dropped by the planes caused all the glass cases in the room to shatter, and in doing so awakening whatever it was inside.

The wounded Stalker also carried with him a note from the containment room. Torn and bloodied, the only part they could make out was a shipping manifest and a location number: Lab #27.

This is bad gentlemen. This lab we destroyed was only one of 27 that we know of. Whatever these things are, there were hundreds of them in that one lab. I can only imagine how many others there are in these other labs. The young General and soon to be Warchief looked across the dread filled faces of his officers and issued an order that had not been issued since the tyrannical rule of Rayne....martial law.

Lock down the entire city and any industrial neighborhoods around the country. Initiate a curfew and search any suspicious buildings from top to bottom. Deploy our Sentinel garrisons in every major city and inform the militias to take up arms. We don't have alot of time, for with the weakening of the fabric that seperates the realm of the Living and the realm of the Dead, we cannot take any chances.....especially if...she....is watching.

***

Meanwhile the spiritual fabric that seperates the two realms began to tear even further, and even more unexplained occurances continued to happen. Villages literally vanished from the face of the earth, people burst into flames randomly, and behind every shadow was an ominous presence. The Enclave of Farseers had fled the country at the beginning of the turbulance, and with the resurgence of activity the Council of High Preists packed their things and fled as well. As they boarded their ships at St. Freeksburg port, they rambled and ranted about things they had seen...things happening both now and in the future. The culling of a great evil force was indeed at hand.

The Death Dealers, perhaps the most in tune with the Spirit Realm, had gathered outside the Tomb of the Mutilated, deep within the heart of the Halls of the Dead. The One Who Shall Remain Unnamed stood ontop of the great stone that covered the entrance into what many considered Hell itself. He looked over the faces of his unworldly warriors from underneath his wide brim hat, scanning their red eyes carefully.

My brothers, many moons ago a foul incarnation was cast into our homeland, the Tomb. I believe now that inside the Tomb itself this being has manifest itself into a powerful essence and may soon have enough strength to exit the Tomb itself. Our Death Dealers inside the Tomb have reported to me that a gateway has been opened, and through it a great many beings have passed. One such creature a tall, thin woman with feiry hair.....I thnk we all remember this beast.

A great stirring took place, and the Death Dealers began whispeing amongst themselves, several of them reeling back and smashing their axes against the wall. They knew all too well what The One was talking about, and they threw open the Tomb and began summoning forth their brothers inside......along with many other vile beings that Earth had never seen before.

The smoke that rises from the east rises for a reason. The gateway that has been opened inside the Tomb leads to The Forbidden Isle. I believe it is there that this creature awaits in the darkness, summoning forth great demons and creatures to do her bidding. Lord Dreadfire has told me her Strikers have been reborn in various labs across the nation, vastly more powerful and unstable than before. We must tread carefully my Death Dealers, and we must destroy this filth before it can harm our Lord.

+++++++++++++++

Taking a break from the constant sting of war to finally get a good night's sleep, Damien rested his head for the first time in 3 days. Operation: Brimstone was looking to be a success, and the war in Crimmond would soon be over. Alas his days of battle would soon come to an end, and his mind was at ease as he slipped into a long and well deserved slumber.

But his peaceful rest was broken, and his dreams were bombarded with images of rage, murder, and dragon's fire. The Great Hall was burning, and his son Azrael lay dead in a pool of blood, his head severed and smashed into a fine bloody powder. Damien's troops lay dead and scattered throughout the streets as the winds picked up and spread burning embers from house to house. Demonic laughter soon drowned out the screams of the dying and the gunfire of those resisting the inevitable. Soon flames consumed all he could see, and in the fire a face began to emerge....laughing at him, mocking him.

http://www.game-exe.ru/pubimages/72348.jpg

Damien immediatly sat up, his forehead drenched in sweat and his teeth clenched. You..... He snarled in a very loud and angry voice. His attention was drawn to the moon, and he rose from his bed and walked cautiously towards the balcony. The moon slowly began turning a deep shade of red before it then disappeared behind the clouds, never to be seen again.

Damien hastily put on his blessed battle armor and grabbed the Relic's Sword which had been sitting in a heap on his desk. He removed the shining blade and walked towards the alter where candles still burned. Placing the tip of the sword on the ground and kneeling down, he whispered a prayer to the Gods for strength and unrelenting rage in the coming storm. These were things he would soon need if he was going to see this through alive.

***

Deep within the forests of The Forbidden Isle where no sunlight has ever touched the ground, an anomaly happened. The demons and creatures of the night that had escaped the Other Side and made it to the Isle had built a makeshift altar with a strange round stone sitting on top of it. A strange mist swirled around the stone and eventually impregnated it, causing the gray rock to turn a sickening mikly white. A female voice spoke out in an almost crashing voice, commanding her minions of shadow and corpse to bring forth the one thing she desired. Bring me a body, that I might live again.

Hours later a small boat made out of black wood touched the shores of The Forbidden Isle, and a small band of what only could be described as half rotten zombies shrouded in long black cloaks carried a woman in her mid twenties who was bound in rope. The dragged her several miles to the site where their alter sat, and the dark minions offered forth their prize onto the great stone. They sat the woman down on the ground right in front of the altar and removed her blindfold, and in a state of confusion and panic she looked about her surroundings.....until her eyes locked with the stone. She felt a chill run down her spine as the white fog that filled the stone came forth and shot into her eyes. The woman cried out and rolled on the ground in great pain until she finally passed out, at which time the 'zombies' wrapped her in a black cloth and placed her inside a small cave. Various objects that had once belonged to Rayne were placed inside, most likely just after her demise many years ago.

With the woman placed inside in a comatose state, the cave was sealed and guards placed at the door. It would only be a matter of hours now before the spirit of the woman would be ripped out and replaced with Rayne's and before the physical transformation would be complete. The skies above The Forbidden Isle darkened even more as the evil that resided there swelled to an almost incomprehensible level.

++++++++++++++

Lord Dreadfire, our military commanders have reported the demolition of three more suspected labs, but the remaining ones elude us. I have deployed our garrisons accordinly and....

The young officer was interrupted by the angry hand of Damien, smacking him down to the ground with great force. The Destroyer was visibly angry, and he did not tolerate failure. Incompetent fool. Putting stock in your tactics and technology was a mistake! It is unrestrained aggression and a cold heart that will defeat this menace, of which you have none! Damien was in a obvious rage, and the officer literally crawled away on his hands and knees.

Dreadfire moved about the Great Hall and plotted his next course...a move of which had never been attempted before. He knew that something was going on at The Forbidden Isle, for The One had informed him well. He was going to lay siege to a land where no man had ventured and returned at all. He was going to lay siege to The Forbidden Isle.

***

The hours had passed, and silence had befallen The Forbidden Isle. The cave that held the body of Rayne lay empty, and not a creature stirred from shore to shore. Even with the moon full and high in the night sky, not a bit of light illuminated the shores of the AMF mainland. The great fog that had fallen in the east was playing hell with AMF radar installations in the area as well as communications, and the same black boat that brought the condemned woman onto The Isle was taken back to the mainland. The boat sat on the sandy beaches of Automagfreek, with a single figure cloaked in black walking up the shores.

Days had passed and the figure walked onward without stopping, until it reached the capital. Word had spread across the lands of the joyous return of Azrael the Advocate, son of Lord Damien. While his forces were not engaged in Operation: Brimstone, it was always a grand day when The Advocate returned from afar. He was a well liked and respected man, quite the opposite of his father both emotionally and socially. While his father was respected, feared, and hailed as a God, Azrael was more like an everyday person to the Freeks.

As his Sentinels marched down the long roads of the capital with the banners of The Advocate waving high, a celebration swept through ULE City. Large banners of gray, green, and gold were everywhere the eye could see, and the citizens celebrated and laid flowers in Azrael's path as he made his way to the Westwind Citadel. Riding triumphantly on a white stallion with seas of flower petals all around him, Azrael greeted his people with a warm smile and a waving hand. He truely liked to serve his people, stopping many times to shake hands with everyday people and take pictures, etc. With the Westwind Citadel in sight, Azrael sighed contently and continued greeting his loyal subjects. He dismounted his horse to shake hands yet again, and as he made his way through the crowd a stunningly beautiful woman grabbed ahold of him. Her eyes wee as big as the smile on her face, and she kissed his hands and hailed him as a hero.

M'Lord, it is so good to see you again. She lowered her eyes and looked at him erotically, swaying her hips seductively and wrapping her right arm around his shoulders. Let us celebrate your return, M'Lord. She whispered in his ear as she ran a finger down his armor and played with his belt buckle. Azrael chuckled and bit his lip, happy to be getting some real action since his forces were ordered to return to home under condition of an enemy surrender.

He glanced up at the Westwind Citadel and then back at the beauty before him, and he gestured his hand for her to follow him inside. After a half hour walk the parade had ended and The Advocate retired to his fortress with his prize for the night in arm. Snaking through the corridors to his private wing, Azrael offered her some refreshments as she hung up her cloak and made herself comforatable.

***

The woman removed her cloak and sat down on the edge of Azrael's massive bed, crossing her legs and looking eagerly into his eyes. He thought for a second that this woman was a prostitute judging from her manner of dress, but he himself did not care one way or another. Low cut, tight red and black leather was not usual street attire for Freek women, but it certainly was quite flattering on her body. He approached her and stood a few feet away and began removing his ceremonial armor, making casual chatter with her before he would go to work. He asked her name, and she replied with a devilish grin. Rayne.

Hmmm....feiry name for a feiry wench. She should be quite the thrill. He thought to himself as she stood and emraced him gently, running her hands across his chest and rubbing her thigh up against his. Her green eyes were enchanting, and Azrael could not stop starring into them. She grinned and moved in slowly, kissing him long and passionatly. Azrael felt a slight twitch in his spine, almost as if he was being electrocuted in some way. He had no control over his body and could not move, it was if the very life blood was being sucked out of him.

She pushed Azrael on the bed and stood commandingly over him. He convulsed and foamed at the mouth, his fingers gnarled and his teeth clenched hard. But suddenly his thrashing ceased and he exhaled deeply, a look of horror upon his face before blacking out. Rayne laughed silently to herself and moved over towards the coat rack and removed a small book from her cloak. She moved back towards the bed and sat beside Azrael, mouthing demonic words in a foul tongue for the next two hours.

When The Advocate woke he clenched his head and struggled to focus his eyes. He saw the woman underneath the bed sheets next to him, and his stirring woke her up. Who the fuck are you and what are you doing in my bed, bitch! He snarled fiercly. She giggled playfully and slapped his chest, sitting up abit in the bed. I'm your wife Azrael, duh! A great pain washed over him, and he clenched his throbbing head and winced. His mind began playing back memories of a grand wedding, green fields, Rayne, the honeymoon, a kiss, nights of passion, and the words I love you.

As Azrael moaned in pain Rayne grinned ever so slighty. The flase memories she had instilled in his head were taking effect, and when Azrael calmed down he looked at her with a smile. Don't mind me m'dear, my head is weary. As kissed him gently and smiled wide. I know Azrael, I know. Get some sleep now, you look like you need it. He wasted no time in falling unconscious, and as soon as he did Rayne rose from the bed and put her clothes back on. She almost looked disgusted at him but she was quite happy that her influence could overcome his mind.

It is only a matter of time now. She evily laughed aloud as she left the room and walked freely about the Westwind Citadel, sizing it up and looking over the massive structure. For hours she walked through the halls and looked at it's defenses, taking pictures and writing notes in another book that she carried. She stepped out onto one of the many balconies and looked eastward towards the ULE Valley. From her view she could see the Great Hall.....the site where so many years ago she struck down Damien Dreadfire and left his body in ruins. Just as he returned from the Other Side, so had she.

***

A gentle kiss on the lips was all she gave as she grabbed her cloak and made for the door. I will return to you soon Azrael, my love. Tears flowed from his eyes as she made her way to the door, for Rayne had now become an addiction to the young Warlord. He extended his hand towards her as the door closed, wimpering to himself quietly as he then sat alone in his highback chair.

The hour was late and Rayne began walking the dark alleys of ULE City with caution, for she knew that Lord Damien most likely knew of her crossing between the weak realms. She stopped momentarily when she reached a cracked and very old manhole cover, which she promptly pried open and decended into the darkness below. She removed a small flashlight from her cloak and turned it on before beginning the long walk to her destination through the grime and filth of the sewer. After a 20 minute walk she arrived at a large underground structure which almost resembled an ancient temple, even though it was only recently constructed.

Greeting her with hisses and growls were hundreds of her newly modified 'Strikers', the abominations which she had used last time in her plot against Damien. More dangerous than ever before, the new Strikers would be a force that even the Death Dealers would have to reckon with. My children, my creations! Mother is home. She looked around the room contently at her Strikers and the various scientists, priests, and political figures that filled the room. All loyal servants of Rayne, they beamed in content as they looked upon their reborn leader in glory.

Judgement Day has arrived, and not a moment too soon. 100 feet above our heads sits Damien's Great Hall. For years this facility was constructed under his very nose, with my loyal High Priests shrouding this place from the eyes of The One the entire time. Your efforts will not go unrewarded when I lay waste to Damien once and for all and take my rightful place as the sole leader of the most dominant military empire on Earth today. Make ready my Strikers....make ready to take to the surface.


+++++++++++++

The message from Samtonia was indeed one that caused Damien to scoff in bewilderment. He dismissed the nature of the message and it's contents, sending a brief and to the point reply.

~From the desk of Lord Damien the Destroyer, Supreme Warlord of the Excessively Armed Empire of Automagfreek~

I can assure you your concerns are unfounded. While there is indeed great spiritual conflict in the Empire, I can assure you that the fabric that seperates the realms is still strong enough to prevent a being so incredibly evil as Rayne from crossing over. In fact, having been sent into what can only be described as the darkest place in Hell, I highly doubt that her spirit could escape the eternal damnation she has been enduring. She cannot cross over.....and to speak of such is heresy.

Whatever would give you this impression, I do not know. But know this, if the day comes when her foul spirit contaminates this Earth once again, know that I stand with a ready sword to send her back into abyss from wence she came.

I am most surprised that you would mention her name, seeing as she departed the realm of the Living so long ago.

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---Damien the Destroyer---
-Supreme Warlord of AMF-

***

Dreadfire moved about the throne room unaware of the large commotion that had begun miles beneath the surface of the Great Hall. Thousands of Strikers began moving towards the surface with Rayne at the helm, and the orders were made clear: eliminate Dreadfire and any of those who resist. While the Strikers were not armed with any conventional weapon, the creatures themselves were more than a match for any foe Damien could muster. The Strikers were able to morph their hands and arms into large spikes and stabbing weapons. It was as if the very 'material' that made up the Strikers could be bent and molded to the creature's liking.

Just as Damien prepared to exit the throne room, a massive jolt suddenly stopped him dead in his tracks. His Third Eye had opened and sensed a great danger in the very near future, and this caused Dreadfire to rush to the weapons rack in the room. Just as he took up the Relic's Sword, a flurry of darts pierced his back, 14 total. This caused the Warlord to stumble and fall to his feet, the sword reeling above his head in a fury. Another volley of darts hit him in his neck and chest, sending him straight the the ground.

With Damien out cold, several figures entered the room. They were none other than Minister Hartman, The One, and a host of Sentinels. The Sentinels began baggind Damien and removing him from the throne room, but not before Hartman could say his peace to his friend and leader.

I am sorry, old friend, but I have done what is neccessary. The One has seen a great many disturbing things, and your life itslelf is in danger. We are going to take you away from....her...grasp. I know you would rather stay here and fight a warrior's fight and die in a sea of valor, but we cannot spare you Damien. We need your leadership and your strength, and we will live to fight another day. Let us regroup and finish this unholy menace once and for all.

With that, the large group of people exited the Great Hall and entered a black van. The door on the van slammed shut and the tires screeched as the vehicle sped off into the night, save for The One. Meanwhile, Rayne and her host of Strikers were dangerously near the surface. Having known this, The One ordered his foulest legion of Death Dealers to give Rayne a 'warm' welcome. Hundreds of pairs of red eyes illuminated the dark streets, their weapons locked and loaded and their axes ready to cleave heathen flesh. The One himself prepared to do for the first time ever in this Realm, and he took to the front of the Death Dealer column and silently marched his brethren forward into the Great Hall.

***

The large column of Death Dealers marched in formation through the large oak doors of the Great Hall, soon breaking ranks as they funneled into the large building. Knowing that they soon would be destroyed physically and cast back into the Tomb, the Death Dealers prepared to hold out as long as they could against the Strikers, hopefully buying Hartman some time to get Damien far enough away. The One could sense where Rayne would make her enterance, and he ordered his Death Dealers to set up several automated gun turrets running off of an IR signature. With thousands of rounds per unit, the guns were placed well behind a series of claymore mines and other nasty surprises.

The Great Hall was totally dark, save for the glowing red eyes of the Death Dealers. The One knew that Rayne was close, and soon the sounds of marching footsteps echoed through the walls. He raised his hand and signaled his Death Dealers to make ready, their .50 cal machine guns locked and ready to fire. As the footsteps grew in magnitude, it was soon clear which section of the wall they would come through, and the turrets and mines were hastily adjusted to increase their efficiency. For a moment there was complete silence, followed by a large section of the wall exploding into pieces as the first wave of Strikers punched through. The mines were triggered via a remote detonator, sending thousands of ball bearings into the Striker ranks. The explosion of mines was followed by a hail of automated gun fire and shortly thereafter a hail of .50 cal fire.

The clang of spent casings and the burst of automatic fire echoed throughout the Great Hall's mighty corridors, and the Death Dealers held their positions even as the Strikers plowed headfirst into their ranks. With the front line of Death Dealers beginning to collapse and their ammunition nearly spent, The One drew his large sabre and ordered his men to charge in. Firing off whatever ammo they had left and running atop the dead bodies of both Death Dealer and Striker alike, The One valiantly lead his men into a butal clash with Rayne's minions. Axes cleaved, bullets pierced, and razors shredded in some of the most bone jarring combat The One had ever seen. With his men dropping like flies amidst the sheer might of the Strikers, The One ordered his men to fall back and reform ranks.

With the Strikers attacking from the floor, walls, and ceiling, it was becoming apparent to The One that even though many casualties had been inflicted upon Rayne's forces that it seemed unlikely that they would beat back the entire swarm. Knowing his time was running way shorter then even he had forseen, The One prepared to call off the attack.....until he saw her in the sea of bodies. With her lips curled back in an evil smile, Rayne set foot into the main corridor and stood imposingly in the middle of the action. The One's purple eyes seethed, and he threw off his long coat for the first time, revealing a cut and very built physique, although his skin did not seem to be made of the same substance as human skin. He also placed his sabre back in its scabbard as he lowered his head and slowly removed his long brim hat. The entire room seemed to grow silent as for the first time since his incarnation The One had removed his hat, revealing the mystery beneath it.

He removed his hat and looked up at Rayne, the purple lights behind his eyeless sockets glowing brightly. The little burnt and dried skin that covered his black skull wrinkled and wriggled about his face, and after taking in a deep breath his jaw dropped down below his waist and from his lungs bellowed the most ear shattering shriek ever heard. So loud in fact that Rayne herself was taken back, and The One drew his sabre again and whirled it high above his head violently. Then, in speed almost as great as the Strikers he charged headfirst right at Rayne, howling and wailing at the topof his lungs and preparing to do combat with her once again.

***

The One charged through the Striker ranks, slashing and tearing about as bodies piled up behind him. Indeed his strength and speed were easily that of the Strikers, and he barreled towards Rayne with unrelenting aggression and great agility. He raised his sabre high above his head and prepared to strike down upon Rayne's head, but as the blade fell he lifted her right hand and grabbed hold of the blade. It did not cleave her flesh or even leave an imprint, and yet another evil grin crossed her face.

She then yanked her arm off to the side, sending the one hurdling towards the wall wih great speed. Moments before impacting he dematerialized, and the smoke from his disappearing act broke upon the wall and faded away. Thinking all was well, Rayne began moving across the hallway towards the entrance of the Great Hall, but after the first few steps the stone walls exploded into a thousand pieces, and The One came charging out with a fierce scream and even more determination.

Crafty little bastard.

She chuckled to herself. Come now, lapdog of Dreadfire....let me show you my new power. When first you vanquished me, I was but weak flesh. Now, I am so much more.

The skin on Rayne's right arm fell to the ground with a squishy thud, and her bones began cracking and breaking as they expanded and grew in length. Her nails also grew in length and became almost metallic in nature, and her arm was now almost the size of her entire body. Large, muscular, and throbbing, she swung at The One fiercely and repeatedly until it was becoming hard for even him to parry her attacks. The battle carried on for several minutes until a wild and powerful swing caught The One by surprise and knocked him down to the ground with major force. The One was out cold and unable to move, and with a nod from her head the Strikers took him and chained his entire body. They injected a glowing serum into his neck in order to keep him in a comatose state, and having done that The One was carried off into the darkness by his new host. With The One out of the way, Rayne's arm returned to it's normal state, and new skin instantly was formed.

Having seen most of the Death Dealers slain or retreat and The One now rendered ineffective, Rayne surveyed the destruction of her new residence. More Strikers had been lost than she had anticipated, but it would only be a slight setback. The people of AMF would probably not welcome her back with open arms, but she still had close ties with numerous clans around the country, and over the recent months she had her messengers summon forth what are now to be her new cabinet members. It was mere minutes after the fighting ceased that armored cars stopped in front of the Great Hall, and out of them stepped several groups of men. The walked through the open doors and upon seeing Rayne bowed respectfully.

Welcome gentlemen. I assume everything has gone well on your end?

***

The One had been neutralized. The strange nano-serum injected into his neck kept him in a deep sleep, making it impossible for him to move or even dematerialize. He was taken into the dark hole that the Strikers burrowed through the Great Hall by several of Rayne's unworldly cronies, and there the experimentation began. Strange machines powered by what appeared to be raw spiritual energy were brought to life, and The One was strapped in securely and another does of nano-serum was given to him.

Electronic readouts of The One's every detail were made, and the scientists that Rayne had turned to her side began trying to figure out how to harness and control a being such as The One Who Shall Remain Unnamed. If the King of the Death Dealers could be turned, he would be a most invaluable ally to Rayne. Long into the night the machines ran, taking samples of his DNA and bodily fluids in order to learn it's origin. The results kept coming back 'inconclusive', so another method was then applied.

A small band of high priests were brought in along with several large black books. After setting up shop, the priests began their unholy conjuring with assistance of the various machines The One was plugged into. As the dark rituals continued on, The One began twitching and thrashing ever so slightly as the very spiritual fabric of his being was stretched and torn. The priests hoped to soon break him down and 'reprogram' him using their dark methods, for if they were successful Rayne would have a very powerful new weapon at her disposal. Only time and the strength of the Dread Fires would determine how long The One could hold out.

And that marks the end of "Abomination!". This thread is "BREAKING NEWS: New government installed in Automagfreek, chaos imminent!". Rayne had just taken over the nation and sent Dreadfire into exile. Here starts the second AMF civil war.

***

AMF News Update

We go now to the Great Hall, where we have been told a major event has taken place in Automagfreek.

Thousands had turned out to see what the commotion was all about, and underneath Damien's famous balcony where he delivered all his speeches they waited. As the crowd surged, various cloaked beings standing some 9 feet tall began to circulate around the outer perimeter, and a hush soon fell over the entire area. The silence was soon broken by gasps as she stepped out onto the balcony. Dressed in a revealing leather outfit with her fiery red hair put up, she surveyed her new subjects with a grin.

http://img48.exs.cx/img48/7293/rayne0cg.png

People of Automagfreek, the rumors you once heard were untrue. Damien the Deceiver has lied to you through the years, for I was not dead as you were told. Damien for too long has held these lands in his stranglehold, and I have come here today to tell you all that I have missed you very much and I have dealt with this menace. I am Rayne, the new face of Automagfreek.

The crowd gasped again, looking about and whispering to themselves.

It is on this day of glory that I return to you now to take my rightful place at the helm of this great empire. For too long have you all been subjected to Damien's constant call to arms, and I come here today with a vision and a promise for peace. I have changed over these years, and I am a much more caring and compassionate woman. Under my guidance Automagfreek will soar to new heights, but unfortunatly we must first remove the parasites from our midst. I have brought with me here today just the people to do it.

I would like to introduce Peter Ferdinand, my new personal aide and Minister of the Interior.

http://img7.exs.cx/img7/9879/42xi.jpg

And next Christof Schroeder, the new Minister of Military Action.

http://img7.exs.cx/img7/3986/10et.png

Then there is Joseph Schily, The new head of my police force.

http://img24.exs.cx/img24/7/24dr.png

And finally, replacing the Minister of International Affairs, Mr. Hartman will be Minister Bach.

http://img7.exs.cx/img7/7023/33zu.png

Return now to your homes, there is much work for us to do. Our first goal is to find Damien Dreadfire and punish him for his itnernational crimes and crimes against his people. His reign of terror ends now....

The Strikers on the ground began breaking up the crowd as Rayne turned and walked back into the Great Hall.

....and mine is about to begin again.

http://img86.exs.cx/img86/3813/bloodrayne20qe.jpg


++++++++++++++++

The truck that was carrying Lord Dreadfire and entered a secret underground base, and riding next to Damien's sleeping body was Hartman. He starred at his friend with tears in his eyes, for he knew that Dreadfire would have fought it out until the death. He knew that Damien would be furious for doing this and would probably take his life, but it was a move that had to be made for the sake of the country and the world.

As the truck came to a stop, Damien began to stir and groan. His red eyes opened slowly and blinked a few times while they adjusted to the light. Damien, my Lord.....please forgive me for my actions, but we cannot spare you. I offer to you my life for my treachery. Hartman uttered as tears began flowing freely from his weary eyes.

***

With Rayne's long thought out plan already in motion, the country was showing a surprising disinterest in the coup. Years of war and fear had racked the country to the point where they almost did not care anymore. Knowing this, Rayne secretly sent out the newly crowned Automagfreek Gestapo, or AMFG, into neighborhoods and surrounding areas in search of Damien. Notes had been made of staunch Dreadfire supporters, and those on the list began disappearing from their homes swiftly and silently.

The newly formed Freek Nazi Party, or FNP for short, had already made it's first moves hours after Rayne's speech. These moves both angered some and pleased others, for even though loyalty to Damien was demanded, not all Freeks cared for him. This was not the case once, but with the coming of Operation: Brimstone, his approval rating began to decline.

With Rayne sitting in Damien's throne enjoying his vast collection of fine alcohol, she summoned her newest puppet, one that made it all possible: Azrael. Azrael entered the Great Hall under Striker escort and made his way to the throne room. Upon entering Rayne stood up from the throne and approached him, throwing her arms around him and kissing him softly. Well, son of Damien, it looks as if daddy is in a bit of a spot. Azrael nodding with a disconcerned look on his face. Rayne's power over his mind was great, and he was nothing more than a empty shell of the valiant warrior he once was.

I know my love, I promise you he will not stay hidden, wherever he is. I will personally bring his head to you Rayne, my dearest. Rayne held back a laugh, impressed with the hold she had on Azrael. She ran her index finger across his chest and down towards his pants, fiddling with his belt buckle. If you bring him to me, I will marry you Azrael. Only my true love can make my dreams a reality, and my dream is to see your father dead. His eyes grew wide with excitement and his heart raced, a look of pure joy on his face. I will rally my forces my love, and I will seek him out, just for you. He kissed her hand and hugged her tightly before taking his leave from the throne room.

Rayne snickered as he left, for things were now going better than expected. With the son of Damien hunting The Destroyer himself, it was sure to bring more support for Rayne, for Azrael was loved far and wide across Automagfreek. You are clever and crafty Damien, but I am so much better than you. She whispered to herself as she watched from the safety of the Great Hall's balcony as more of the AMFG stormed residences and business, on th prowl for Damien and his supporters.

***

The news had spread quickly through the streets that supporters of Damien were being rounded up for questioning by the AMFG, but reaction to this was minimal. Azrael the Advocate, revered as the son of the people, was totally under the control of Rayne, a move that she herself has planned out. Azrael's influence among the people was far greater than even she anticipated, for across the nation in commuities large and small there were movements to apprehend supporters of Damien.

Dreadfire was a cold and unforgiving being, but Azrael seemed much more human to the Freeks. Regular parades were given anytime he returned home, statues were erected in his honor, and his word was trusted by all.....even over Damien's. So it came as no surprise to Rayne when the predicted opposition did not come, for Azrael was now denouncing his father at every move. Great concocted speeches of doom and undoing he did speak. The massive spiritual turbulance was blamed on Damien releasing new demons into the communities, and having never lied to the Freeks since his existance was made known, they believed him. Riots broke out in several cities as Damien supporters were rounded up by tribal militias and the AMFG.

But the vast muscle of the military remained unflexed, for with Operation: Brimstone still in it's final stages many of the Warchiefs were still afar or returning home. When word reached their ears of Damien's treachery, the Warcheifs were reluctant to take it as fact, but Azrael's reputation made it all the more believable. And Rayne herself would not make the same mistake as she did last time, oh no. The campaign against the Sentinels was ultimatly her undoing, so this time she would use them to her own benefit. Both Striker and Sentinel alike would be a much more volitile mix, one that would leave her all the more powerfull and Dreadfire all the more weaker.

***

Damien sat up even though he was still weary of the large dosage of sedatives that had been shot into his back. He watched with an emotionless face as Hartman cried out to him, informing him of the situation and the apparent split in the populace. Azrael the Advocate, his most beloved son had been tainted by a heathen seductress, and upon hearing that Damien's rage grew.

I am so sorry Damien, I openly offer you my life for what I have done.

Dreadfire placed his hand on the handle of his sword and began to draw the blade ever so slightly, before sighing heavily and letting loose his grip. That will be unnecessary, old friend. You did what you thought was right for our people and our way of life, and for that you will one day be welcomed into Valhalla.

As Damien looked about the military base, his Sentinels bowed loyally to him and remained silent. It seemed that through the massive propaganda campaign Rayne had started using Azrael as her mouthpiece had managed to heavily sway public opinion. The massive spiritual turbulance continued even now, and the people of AMF grew tired of vengeful spirits tormenting their every move. It would make sense to the common folk that Damien was the cause for this, for it was public knowledge that he dabbled in the occult and had already released one demon into the world.

With his most trusted advisors around him, Damien sat for many long hours and thought of what his next move was to be. Rayne does not concern me in the slightest. She was vanquished once before, and it shall happen once again. The room grew silent, and Dreadfire grew worried. What is it?

Hartman cleared his throat and in a weak voice said. M'Lord, The One has been taken by Rayne. Hundreds of our Death Dealers have been slain. Damien sunk in his chair upon hearing this, for The One was the most powerful being that served him. Abomination.....how can this be? We must regroup and.... Hartman cut him off promptly without apology. Damien, now is not the time for the sword and the gun. Now is a time for careful thought and planning. Our enemies will most definatly sieze this moment, although I think we all know Rayne and her Strikers could make quick work out of any foe. Azrael's legions may have deserted us, but you still command the loyalty of the military. Brinks and Zander are still consumed in battle, but the remaining 6 Warchiefs still fight under your banner. Perhaps we can use this to our advantage. If we let our Warchiefs get close enough to Rayne, we can spring a trap on her and restore you to the head of the country.

Sounds like a good plan. Damien replied. But what of our allies? Hartman paused for a second before coming up with a plan. Our allies would be most useful in preventing outside interference while the counter-coup is in effect. We all know that there are many who would sieze this opportunity, but the forces of Arda and those of our friends are strong. Damien nodded in approval.

A fine idea Hartman, you make our country proud. We shall lay low for awhile, probably a year or two so that Rayne will no longer consider me a threat. Then one day it will be upon her.....

***

That thread was a short one, but now we get into the actual war, and the best thread of the 'Westwind Chronicles' series, "Domination".

***

"Domination"

-Pantera-

****************************************


Agony is the price that you'll pay in the end. Domination consumes you then calls you a friend, it's a twisted fall. Binds are like steel and manipulates the will to be. And it's hard to see how soon we forget when there's nothing else left to destroy, it's a useless ploy.

Exiled in his own country and hunted like a common dog, the once proud Warlord of Automagfreek sat in his new quarters....a refurnished military jail cell. His own son Azrael had turned on him, taking a large portion of Damien's Sentinel contingent with him. Some of the smaller clans and tribes throughout the country had sworn fealty to him, making Dreadfire all the more angry. Damien had not heard from his two Warchiefs of the former Black Staff in several months, suggesting the war in Crimmond had been abandoned. Logically that would only leave Zander to assist Delta in ridding the country of the Black Staff, of which the odds were now not looking good.

The Warchiefs that were activated for the now finished Operation: Brimstone were still at sea, waiting for their orders to return home. Damien knew this and sent word for this Warchiefs to change course and head to Pantera. The Evenstar would know what to do, for Damien could not contact him directly. Rayne could easily detect and international transmission and use it to locate Damien, a risk he was not yet ready to take. Yet....

Your eyes will see the dawn of the day, and the writing on the wall. Those words that stare into your soul, and to yourself you will befall.

Never had he thought that something like this would happen again, and the more he thought about it the more it pained him: he would have to forcibly take back his own lands. The thought of civil war left a foul taste in his mouth, for he knew if word spread throughout the world (as it usually did) that civil war was erupting, then enemies of AMF would certainly sieze the opportunity. Fighting Rayne and fighting Azrael would be the easy part, but the only thing that racked Damien's mind was how to do it without drawing foes of the Empire to it's beaches.

Stockpiles of HOUND V2's would certainly be a useful deterrent, but the only problem would be getting to them. Rayne's Strikers had siezed control of every major silo and stockpile in the days since her rise to power. The only logical way to get to them would be to summon forth the tribal militias to assist Damien's Sentinels and Death Dealers in the task. There was also the issue of the vast shipyards that Dreadfire had ordered to be built. Many of them were siezed by Azrael and Rayne collectively, but the large shipyard at the northermost point of Freeksburg Island had remained untouched. That shipyard housed something the world had yet to see.....something that would be a vital tool in the fight against Rayne.

Hartman entered his private quarters, bowing his head respectfully to his Lord. Hartman, I have a plan.

It's domination, pushed into living hell. Domination!

A now blacked heart is reaching out in divinity.Bodies suspended by chains over razors and nails, it's a penalty. Each razor a vice and each nail marks the demise of your life. Grim construction grows. Has life played a trick sealed you in brick by brick 'till your end, forcing you to bend.

As Hartman and Damien began to go over the newly devised plan, the former Minister of International Affairs began to grow uneasy....Dreadfire was still not fully informed of everything that had happened. While pointing at a map and telling Hartman each of his specific plans, Damien sensed something was wrong as he uttered the words. ...and I want The One and his legions to move in here, here and here......what is it? Hartman looked down and paused for a few seconds. M'Lord, The One has fallen. 65% of our Death Dealers have been lost.

Dreadfire slumped back into his chair with a look of disbelief upon his face. Impossible... he said in a near whisper. I am afraid not M'Lord, Rayne managed to wipe most of them out when she stormed the Great Hall. The One was captured by her Strikers....who knows what they have done it him, or if he's even still alive.

It takes 6 months for a Death Dealer to complete the cycle between the Realms and exit the Tomb of the Mutilated. If most of our Death Dealers are gone, we will set the date of our invasion on the same day they exit the Tomb. This way we will have a large contingent of my Death Dealers dangerously close to Rayne. In the meantime, I want our Sentinel Stalkers to be upgraded. I am tired of sending in squads of these guys and having them wiped out by one Striker. I want them upgraded in any way possible: ocular implants, joint enhancements, computer assistance, you name it. This is one of the last facilities still under my control, and I want it done now. I don't care what the cost. We have 6 months to get it done, so I suggest we get moving.


Your eyes will see the dawn of the day, and the writing on the wall. Those words that stare into your soul, and to yourself you will befall.


As Rayne began her press conference on the recent movement to imprison Dreadfire supporters in death camps, the electrical equipment began to act funny. Static appeared on the monitors then vanished, and the lights in the room began to flicker violently. A second later darkness engulfed the room, leaving Rayne in a state of confusion. What the fuck is going on? I want this fixed NOW! She continued to scream her orders to the technicians who were now working frantically to restore power before she became even more irate. After a few minutes of darkness, only the monitors in the room came back to life.

The gong of a large church bell could be heard over the speakers, followed by a raspy and demonic voice. When the bell tolls three, he will come.....

A ghastly image flickered on the screen for but a second before power was fully restored to the room.

http://67.18.37.14/40/9/upload/p984672.jpg

Everyone in the press conference room was in a state of bewilderment as they tried to soak in what just happened. Nevermind that shit, let's get this conference underway. I don't have all fucking day you know.

+++++++++++++++++

<International Transmission>

This is Rayne, Potentate Striker of Automagfreek. As of today I have ordered large death camps to be constructed across my country. We are rounding up supporters of Damien the Deceiver and placing them in there. I herby demand to all nations that any AMF citizen in their country be deported back here where they will be questioned as to the....

<static>

<GONG......>

...and from there they will be dealt with accordingly. If my demands here are not met, then...

<Static, followed by darkness.>

<GONG......followed by thousands of screams. For a literal split second an image disrupts the feed.>

http://67.18.37.14/40/9/upload/p3403.jpg

If any of you have any questions, I will have my new Minister of International Affairs answer them for you.

http://img197.exs.cx/img197/4862/raynenew7ok.jpg
Rayne
Potentate Striker of Automagfreek

Rayne stepped down from the podium and exited the room, and for the first time in her existance the hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end.

***

"Azrael." The name was a curse on the Evenstar's tongue, and he muttered it angrily and often. The ingrateful little wretch would burn before it was finished, Dayne knew. Dreadfire was a terrible enemy, and would react to Azrael's betrayal with brutal vengeance. Especially since he was of Damien's own blood. Yes, Dayne shuddered at the thought of the wretched bastard's end.

The messages from the inbound AMF ships made Dayne's mouth twist in irritation. Was Dreadfire mad? He hadn't committed himself to the conflict, nor would he until the time was right. And it was not yet that.

The silence from Pantera had to have been ominous for Rayne. While the hunt for the Dreadfire had begun, the Evenstar himself said nothing. Reports of a brewing war in Europe had diverted much of the Panteran presses attention from the AMF coup, but everyone in both countries knew it would only be a matter of time before the Evenstar spoke on the matter.

Yet, now that the time was at hand, he refrained once more. He would not alienate Rayne, at least, not yet. Dreadfire was alive. That much was certain. Dayne felt that Rayne would have a hard time killing such a man, and the Crone had come to him a few days past, assuring him that the warlord was very much alive.

With the Hound in Britain, the Evenstar would be forced to lead a campaign against the rebels himself, and that was all but unacceptable. With Panteran affairs shaky from the Summer Storms Rebellion, he was loathe to put himself in danger. Against a normal foe, he would have taken his sword and his Reavers and swept across AMF.

But these were no normal enemies. These were Freeks, forged in the fires of war into something terrible and wielded by a psychotic bitch with the taste of blood on her tongue. She would be ripe to flex her muscles, Dayne knew. He just hoped she was smart enough, or stupid enough, to leave Pantera alone for the time being.

He was very current on the events in AMF. Rayne may have acted swiftly, but AMF and Pantera had been as one for far too long for the Lord Reaver not to have many loyal to the Blood Pact, and to the bond between Damien and the fallen Bastien. His agents in AMF were skittish about the situation, but their information seemed reliable... He would wait to comment, and allow the inbound fleets to anchor in a southron harbor. He would let the silence loom, for awhile. Let Rayne wonder on that.

Still, the matter would not be put off much longer, he knew. She undoubtedly had agents in Pantera, and satellites could not be fooled. The order to mobilize would come soon, quietly, but there would be no hiding it.

"Damn the boy and damn that whore Rayne as well." Slamming his fist onto the table, Dayne wished for the thousandth time that Bastien was here instead of him. He would have slapped Rayne down and had his brutal way with her before burning her alive. Then he and Dayne would have had a drink together to celebrate the bitches fall.

Instead, it was up to the Evenstar to go it alone. Pantera was fresh from a bloody rebellion and on the verge of war in Europe, and now this. Grim days were ahead, Dayne knew. Grim days of blood and retribution.

"Damn them both to the fires of hell!"

***

Being the ever controlling bitch that she was, Rayne was infuriated when various nations began to chime in and deny her her request. Not being one who takes kindly to the word 'no', Rayne soon went on the warpath, ordering the AFMG (Automagfreek Gestapo) to begin executing Damien supporters that had only that day arrived at the makeshift death camps. 10,000 people were dead within an hour, and states of emergency had been declared in certain areas of the nation. Militias and tribal armies took to the streets, sometimes closing off entire cities from the rest of the country.

Tanks and troops took to the streets as elements of Azrael's forces began forcibly breaking the tribal blockades and swarming into urban areas, rounding up noted Dreadfire supporters and executing them right in the streets. The first moves had been made by Rayne and her mindles puppet Azrael, and Damien was not ignorant as to what was happening. However, there was no way for him to get out of the country. The Mouth for War was heavily guarded by dozens of Strikers and a regiment of Sentinels, so that option was tossed out. There was only one feasible way to get out......

In the dead of night, Damien, Hartman, and a fist of Sentinels took to the choppy seas in small rubber rafts. Their destination was the northernmost point of Freeksburg Island, to the secret ship yard located inside a mountain. For years a top secret project had been underway, and even though it might not be finished, there was no other option at this point.

Several miles away from the yard the rafts were spotted moving quickly towards their location.Sentinel guards on site activated their search lights and deployed almost a dozen attack helicopters to intercept the rafts, for they were ordered to never take a chance. Upon visual confirmation of Dreadfire on the rafts, they were allowed to enter the base.

Back on the mainland, small scale firefights broke out in communities across the country as The Advocate's forces continued to smash the defenses of those who resisted Rayne's authority. Azrael's naval forces began blockading the entire country, cutting off the Freeks on the mainland from freedom. Soon the empire that took Damien years to build would come crashing down if the Freek Nazi Party was allowed to continue their unholy rampage.

***

The order had come down from the Lord Reaver himself and the slow mobilisation had begun. The southern Panteran port of Red Storm was already bulging at the seams from the rogue AMF fleets, and the Lord Reaver opened it's sister city, Storm East, to accomodate the inflow of the mobilizing Panterans.

While there was no resounding call to arms, as of yet, Dayne was sure that the bitch would be well aware of his actions. Foolish she may have been, but stupid or blind she was not. That went doubly so for Azrael. Dayne himself had helped to craft the boy, had fought and killed beside him. He would be the more dangerous of the two.

Word from the Hound was that he was that the situation in Europe was tense, and to remove him from Britain would be folly. The Evenstar had expected as much, but it still grated to know that during what could turn out to be Pantera's greatest struggle, her fabled general, her talisman of a thousand battles, would not be present.

While the Evenstar was not afraid, he was hesitant. This wench was a pretender to the right to rule AMF, but she, nor Azrael, were cowards. Indeed, they had killed The One, his agents said, and that was quite an accomplishment. The spectre of that had always unsettled Dayne, and the thought of him falling even moreso.

No, the campaign into AMF would be drenched in gore. That much was certain. The mobilization would continue, as would the silence from the Evenstar. He was certain that Dreadfire would get him word of the timing for the assault, and then as the combined force of Reavers and Sentinal's made ready to storm a landing, Dreadfire and that wily old general Hartman would rise from within.

The Evenstar had even decided to take Rayne as a prize. She would not last long under Dreadfire's torture, but before she passed in agony, the Evenstar would exact his toll from her soul. Yes, he would take the price of Every fallen Reaver, every dead Sentinal, and the price of the souls of those she had confined to death in her 'camps'. The thought of it sickened him, yet at the same time, the thought of her sobbing pleas made him smile and, shockingly, look forward to the prospect of battling her 'strykers'.

***

The seas outside of Freeksburg Island were calm up until midnight, at which time the waters began to ripple and thrash about. A large jamming signal was broadcast for as far as the signal would reach, and the large mountain cove opened it's large doors yet again. Cutting into the now choppy waters was a terrifying vessel the likes of which the world had not seen in some time. Almost as large as the mountain itself, the roughly 700 meter vessel stood dominant before the numerous other destroyers and support craft that had been waiting patiently inside the mountain dry docks. (OOC: This thread I started some time ago now comes into play in this RP. (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=377382) )

Although not fully completed but totally seaworthy, Damien decided it was time to move his newest project before it fell into the hands of Rayne and her cronies. The construction of the first Sentinel class Super Dreadnought would have to be completed in Pantera, and he secretly wired a secure message to Dayne, letting him know that use of his naval yards would be needed.

The small convoy containing Hartman and Damien set sail under protection of their jamming signal, until they reached international waters. From there, the Sentinel paused momentarily, and a message was broadcast to the AMF mainland, as well as any who could intercept it.

+++++++++++++++++++++++

~From the mouth of Lord Damien the Destroyer, the rightful Supreme Warlord of the Excessively Armed Empire of Automagfreek~

With the coming of the new dawn comes the rising of embers. What once was dormant has been awakened in a sea of hellfire.....and a backdraft has been unleased. Endless rains of brimstone and ash will engulf all that was once green and good, for a great rage has been born. Many thousands of years ago, in texts long forgotten to history, tales were told of the fabled one known as The Destroyer. A great and terrible man he was, for many millions were slaughtered under his brutal rule. His death was violent and tragic, and in a flurry of hatred he placed a great curse upon the world.....to never sleep until the one who betrayed him lay dead at his feet.

Those who have felt my wrath know me as The Destroyer.....for his soul merged with mine many moons ago in the most vile place on Earth, the Halls of the Dead. Those who have died know of my terrible might and the fear I inspire. Those who have witnessed my destruction shiver and tremble when they hear my name, for there is no creature on this Earth save for Morgoth himself who is as terrible and merciless as I. For far too long the Dread Fires have been supressed. For far too long my hand has been stayed. You have awoken something unspeakable that should have been left sleeping, Rayne. Mark my face, vile wench, for it will be the last thing you see on this Earth.

To the people of Automagfreek, do not dispair. The end of this infestation is at hand, and soon your suffering will be eased. Those who still rally to my banner, I pray you strength, for my coming will not be on this night.....or the next. I will return to you when the time is right...when the Gods are ready. Do not resist, do not place yourself in danger just yet, for you will be needed when the coming storm sweeps across our lands.

Doom and prophecy, hellfire and brimstone. Rayne, your days are numbered.

Sleep Now In The Fire.

---Damien the Destroyer---

++++++++++++++++++

Another message was sent ahead to the lands of Pantera, more specifically to the Lord Reaver himself. It's contents were breif and to the point.

Lord Reaver, the Dread Fires come. Prepare for my arrival, for you are now the only one I can fully trust. There are many agents of Rayne among me....and my son being one of them caught me off guard. Whatever vile curse she has placed against him has tainted his mind, and I do not know what I should do. I ask to speak with the Crone upon my arrival.

His message was cut short by Hartman, who was visibly sweating and very nervous. He pointed frantically at the various screens inside the command tower, and he shouted loud enough for Damien to hear him. M'Lord, ships approaching fast! The Advocate gives chase!


***

Rayne threw various items on her desk up against the wall in a fit of anger. God dammit, what the fuck is this? Is this entire world filled with bootlicking swine who mindlessly tug at Damien's jock all day long? Is there no-one in this world who will support me? Peter and Mr. Bach stood at the head of Rayne's desk as she went on with her temper tantrum for several minutes before making an attempt to cool her down.

Worry not, I am positive that there are those in the world who despise Dreadfire and see your ascention as a great thing. We just need to put the word out that you are in this for the long haul and you are trying to tear down the brutal regime of Damien's that has plagued the Earth long enough. Fear not, I will handle this for you.

Bach exited the room with a look of assurance on his face, and he removed a series of papers from his jacket pocket. He made his way towards the conference room where the press still waited following the ending of Rayne's speech. Peter turned to Rayne inside her office and looked her in the eye, assuring her that her actions were just and that others would come to heed her call.

Do not dispair Rayne, I have great faith in you and your.... He was cut off by a loud screech from Rayne, and she stood up after slamming her hands down on her desk violently. Silence, I will not hear it. I did not choose you because I wanted a 'yes' man. I am pefectly fucking aware that this coup has been totally successful so far, and I know that as of now I hold all the trump cards. Get on the fucking horn now and get me some political assistance here before I am made a fool of. NOBODY makes a fool of me Peter, nobody!!!!


++++++++++++++

<At the conference room>

It has come to my attention that many nations throughout the world have voiced a great deal of concern about Rayne and the situation involving Damien the Deceiver. I can assure you that Rayne is nowhere near the type of vile monster that Dreadfire is, and our campaign to rid Automagfreek of his murderous ilk is totally just in my eyes. It is no secret that Damien is a feared and despised man, and it boggles my mind how so many flock to his banner now that he has shown his true colors. He has tucked tail and ran off into the shadows, like the true 'warrior' he is.

Damien is nothing more than a weak insect who will be crushed under the boots of righteousness. I can assure you that no innocent people will be harmed by the Automagfreek Gestapo, only those criminals who remain loyal to Dreadfire. The great Azrael the Advocate has done an excellent job in bringing a great many citizens of ours to the light and showing them the true nature of Damien. He is nothing more than a paper tiger, he is....nothing.

Therefore, by orders of the great Rayne herself, I am herby opening up relations with any nation who would like to allign itself with the new Automagfreek administration. You can contact me or Rayne directly, as we'd both be overjoyed to hear from you.

http://img7.exs.cx/img7/7023/33zu.png
Minister Bach
-Minister of International Affairs-

***

The Sentinel steamed into the southern Panteran ports amid a flurry of military escort, both Freek and Reaver alike. The ships that gave chase to Damien had halted their movement at international waters, and after a few hours of waiting were ordered to return to the mainland. With the uncompleted Sentinel now docked and being prepped for final construction, Lord Dreadfire decided to make his presense known to the Reavers that awaited his arrival. He stepped slowly off the decks and walked with a bit of caution down the ramp towards the ground. Damien was unsure how the Reavers would greet him after being exiled from his own country.

A coward they will think me.... He thought as he scanned their faces. With a long throat clear and with as much honor as he could muster, the fiery Lord spoke to his Reaver host. Reavers of Pantera, I have returned. The manner of my return is most taxing on my soul, and I pray that your respect for me endures. He looked about the Reavers yet again, looking for the Lord Reaver himself. At first he found himself scanning for Bastien's face, but he quickly came to and realized that the face he searched for was not there. Nor was Dayne's.

A sudden chill went down Dreadfire's spine, and in his mind he saw the image of the old crone, old and worn. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and it was in that moment that he knew he must go to her. My Reaver kin, take me to the Seastone Palace. There is an old woman who demands my company.

***

The flight from the South took a little over three hours, and when Damien's chopper touched down on the helipad outside the Seastone Palace, it was without fanfare. A few attendants stood by, their faces blank as they made ready to attend to the Warlord.

Half an hour later, Dreadfire was led into the darkened chamber that the old woman claimed as her own. The fire had died down to embers, and their glow cast a reddish haze over the chamber and it's contents.

For a long moment, as Damien stood in the doorway, there was only silence. When her voice sounded it was a dry rasp,"Put some wood on the fire, Destroyer. You chill my bones."

As he moved to do so, the old woman leaned forward, her face half-emerging from a darkened corner. Wrinkled and worn, hers was a face that seemed beyond time. While seemingly frail and old, the icy blue of her eyes burned fiercely, and her face showed strength and determination. No common crone, this.

As the flames danced along the fresh logs, the old woman beckoned to Damien,"Come then, Destroyer. Sit, and listen to the words of an old woman. Should you seek to interrupt, our audience will be at an end. You are here to -listen-, not to speak. Remember, you are an outlaw... No better than a common brigand.

"Your fortune depends on the grace of my Evenstar. That much you know. You are in his hands, now. You come as a beggar, trying to reap the promises that Bastien commited Pantera to."

The name brought a sad smile to the old woman's wrinkled lips, but she continued quickly,"I know your soul, Dreadfire. I know the darkness that swirls about you, and the fire that runs in your veins. You want your nation back, no? But at what price?'

"What if I told you, Dreadfire, that should the Evenstar deign to help you, that millions would die? What if I told you that together, you and he would plunge the world into darkness? Bastien was the ice to cool your flame. Together, the two of you would have ruled the earth... But now, that is dust and ash. No more..."

Leaning forward her frail, dry voice began to gain strength,"Are you willing to pay that price, Destroyer? Though the Evenstar wishes it was not so, he is a creature of the Dawn. His heart thumps to the tune of all that is good and bright, but beneath all of that, there is only the shadow. He knows it.'

"Do not think I hold you ill, Damien. Bastien was the best of Man. His hands should have sheltered the Earth and brought prosperity to all peoples. That eternity is gone now, never to be seen again. Ahead lies only ash and flame. And you are the cause of it, Warlord. Destroyer. The Dreadfire. You are the scourge of the earth, but alone you are as nothing..."

Levelling a gnarled finger at the massive warrior, the Crone continued to rail at him,"Yes, alone you are nothing. Should you return to your shores without my Evenstar, you will fail. The rubble of your homeland will smoke for years, and the Betrayor Queen will rule alongside the one you call Advocate. Your people will live under their heels. They will exist in bondage, yet they will continue to thrive and to prosper. I have seen this, and know it for truth..."

The strength draining from her voice, the Crone was suddenly what she was once more: a frail, old woman. Only her eyes remaind fierce as she spoke,"But should my Evenstar choose to topple the Usurpers and place you back on your throne, there is only the Shadow. Your destiny is to reign in fire, Destroyer. You are one to shake the earth, and leave your echoes in eternity. The screams of millions will be your song, and the flame your champion. You will rule your land, but the cost will be too great."

Flicking her wrist, the Crone rose from her seat and turned from Damien,"And there you have it, Destroyer. Ruiner of men. Breaker of Nations. Scourge of the Earth. There is your destiny, laid out before you. Two paths, one of prosperity and opression for your folk, the other of ruin and freedom. The pyres will burn bright at the ends of either path, but you know that much, yourself.'

"Bronze and Iron, Ice and Fire. Pantera and Automagfreek are but two sides of the same coin. Bastien has gone, and without him you cannot hope to reign in glory, he was the Ice to balance your Flame. My Evenstar is a different sort of beast. He cannot temper you, nor you him. You are both creatures of the Dawn, but it is a Dawn of smoky darkness and scorched flesh."

As she recedes into the shadows, her voice lingers,"Go now, Dreadfire. Leave me. Your presence stains my soul. Perhaps Dayne will put an end to you, as I have urged. For if he does not, the Darkness will continue to thrive and spread.'

"Go now, before I end your hellish existance myself."

***

A bit shaken and left dumbfounded, The Destroyer touched his mighty hand to his lips before waving it through the air towards the crone. Although she could not see him, a tear and a bow were his parting gifts before closing the doors behind himself. There had been no fanfare upon his exit either, for Damien was not the shining Warlord he once was. A rogue and a bandit was he, a broken shell of the creature that made men tremble and women weep. No more.... He said to himself. I will not owe my existance to one such as Dayne, a man who by all rights should not be in power. Bastien should still be here, Bastien should be storming the beaches with me right this second.

Damien looked into the beautiful Panteran sky and sat on a grassy knoll, exhaling deeply. His eyes glanced across the skies and the horizon, and in a loud whisper he called out to his friend long departed. Bastien, my brother. It is an hour of wolves and darkness now, and I stand upon the edge of a blade. The Crone in all her wisdom tells me it cannot be done, that the Evenstar will be my saving grace. We both know Bastien that the lad will experience things in Automagfreek that he has never seen before. Upon it's beaches he will break and ultimatly fail....but the old woman says the same for me. Great tales of destruction and raging flames she did sing to me Bastien, tales of my doom.

Damien listened to the wind as it rose up momentarily then faded away, leaving only the faint sounds of the tall grass as it swayed gently before pausing. If I go it alone and fail, the name Damien will be looked at as nothing more than a paper tiger, a failure, a coward. If I do this alongside Dayne, I will be living the rest of my life on my knees to him, and that is something I just will not do for any man. Guide me Bastien, let your wisdom cross over the boundaries of this life and the next and illuminate me, for the hour grows late.

He stood slowly and drew in a deep breathe of fresh Panteran air before starting off back towards the chopper. Dayne was still nowhere to be found, apparently not interesting in Damien's arrival. If it were Bastien, there would be pomp and parade, rains of flower petals and the laughing of children. But from Dayne, all he had gotten was a few faceless onlookers and a few words of doom...but pehaps that was all he needed.

***

What would you do Bastien? What would you do if your lands bled and the ravens began to feast upon your people? Would you stand around waiting on the words of others, or would you plunge headfirst into the flames? Politicians we are not Bastien, warriors we are.

A feeling of warmth spread over Damien, and he stopped dead in his tracks and looked back at the Seastone Palace. His mind was made up, and now there would be no turning back. He changed course and headed back towards the docks where his fleets had rallied. It had been many days since his landing in Pantera, and the Sentinel was not completed as much as he had hoped for. Nearly 85% completed, it would be a great risk to take it into combat.....but nonetheless it was a risk he had to take, for without the massive and awesome firepower the Sentinel could throw down his invasion would be hurt greatly.

With Zander still fighting on in Crimmond and with Brinks on special assignment, Damien knew he would be in trouble. His two Warchiefs of former Black Staff origin were missing, and Azrael had turned on him. The only Warchiefs he still had under his belt were Vidimir Breathstealer, Shagrath, Count Anderton, and The Vile. He could immediatly count The Vile out, for being of Death Dealer origin, his numbers were next to nothing thanks to Rayne and her Strikers. A most troubling situation indeed, for the only Warchiefs able to fight had not seen large scale combat, only tribal skirmishes. Azrael's forces were battle hardened and numerically superior, and who knows just how many Strikers Rayne had under her command.

His mind was made up, and he ordered his ships out of Pantera's ports. Blowing a kiss towards the Free Lands that he might never see again, Damien tended to his ships and issued them their orders. Sink any ship that imposes on our course, be it Freek in origin or anything else for that matter. The Sentinel is not fully armored, and any damage to it at this point would do serious harm. I want the Sentinel to remain in the cneter of the convoy, and I want massed air and sub support. We must defend this ship at all costs until the ground war starts.

He then switched the coms over to the transports and spoke directly to his Sentinels. My children, our numbers and small and we are still weary from combat. Upon our own shores we will rain down like a great thunderstorm, consuming anything that dares to rise against me, the rightful Warlord of Automagfreek. This war will not be a conventional war, for it will be fought in my streets and in my cities. My people will be in your line of fire, and I order you to take whatever actions possible to ensure that those still loyal to my banner are not killed. I will rally the clans and the tribal armies to the fight, and together we will forcibly remove this cancer that has plagued my lands for too long already. Take great care not to pillage and destroy as you usually do, for anything that is captured has great value, both to the war effort and to our lives after the war.

The great storm that had been brewing in the night has come to light, and instead of weathering it as we always have, we must plow right through it with unrelenting aggression and steadfast determination. Come now my children of the night, let us take back what is rightfully ours, not Rayne's! Let us take back Automagfreek!

The cheers and roars of the Sentinels were all the approval Damien needed. Despite being battered and in need of rest, Dreadfire's forces geared up for another round of gore and destruction. The fleets tore out of Panteran waters, and left on the docks of Pantera's mainland was a single note:

Dust in the wind....

-Lord Damien Dreadfire-

***

Dreadfire's ships crossed from international waters into AMF territorial waters, and it was not long before they had company. The Advocate had dispatched a small portion of his fleet to intercept, while sending a larger force to the east in an attempt to back door Damien. The Destroyer was aware of this tactic, as it was one Azrael had learned from him. From the command deck on board the Sentinel class Super Dreadnought, Damien watched the live satellite feed of the advancing fleets. Hmmm....they have a battleship, 2 carriers, and a fist of destroyers and missile frigates. Aircraft in the skies is minimal...possible large submarine force. Damien then leaned over to the captain of the ship.

Upload schematics of the Intruder class battleship. Locate the ammo dump and lock the guns on it. You may fire when ready. The captain complied and with great haste did as he was told. Within 30 seconds the massive rail drivers on the ship sprang to life and began shifting themselves into position. With a positive lock on the enemy battleship's ammo hold, a single 15" tungsten round was fired.

<Meanwhile>

The intercepting ships had notified the mainland of the intrusion as well as the flanking vessels. The satellite imagery was disturbing.....a very large and ominous looking ship was at the center of the advancing convoy. They could tell it was not a Doujin, for it was noticeably smaller and of different design. What in the high hell is that thing? Said the captain of the intercepting battleship.

Those were the last words he ever uttered.

The tungsten round pierced the outer hull of the battleship and plowed clean through the ammo hold, causing a massive explosion that literally tore the bow off the battleship and send large fragments of it into the air. The crews on the neighboring ships looked on in awe and in horror as the battleship was quickly sent to the bottom of the sea. But the carnage did not stop there, for another tungsten round was fired through the ammo hold of a Ticonderoga class guided missile frigate, it too going up into ten thousand flaming pieces. The other ships quickly turned about and attempted to flee at maximum speed, but the 25" guns on the Sentinel put a quick stop to that. Round after round collided with the hulls of the retreating vessels, a single one either mortally wounding the craft or sending it to the bottom with great haste.

<A few minutes later>

The flanking column had lost all contact with the engaging fleet sent by Azrael. Assorted radio chatter and bone chilling screams was all that could be heard, but even those sounds faded away quickly. Dammit...run a scan of the area, up to a 2 mile radius from their last reported position. The satellite imagry made the captain on board the Vengeance class battleship turn a pale white.

Flaming fragments of ships were strewn all about the area along with hundreds of bodies, most of them motionless. Not a single intact ship could be found, and upon seeing this word came in from the mainland with very explicit orders: retreat. Rayne was not pleased when she was informed of the situation, and she then ordered every single ship to pull away from the area and prepare for an ambush.

Damien is going to take this fight to the land, and we all know that once he is there he will not sit still. We will allow him to touch down, then send every ship you have to engage him from behind. He will be trapped on all sides, and shell by shell we will break him. Azrael bowed contently and smiled at her. As you wish, M'Lady.

***

The chilled brandy was like cool fire. Half a bottle gone, and still Dayne brooded. The chatter of the AMF frequency played over his speakers, and he sat listening to the grim reports as Dreadfire's new machine unleashed its hellish payloads.

Gods above... He's going to go it alone... Dayne shook his head. He had never doubted Damien's lust for war, and his iron determination to hold power at all costs. This, however, was sheer madness. As terrible as the firepower of this new warship was, the chances of it being stout enough to contend with all of the recently acquired might of Rayne and her lapdog, Azrael, were slim.

But the man is a demon fighter, and then there is Hartman. They might do it... He thought, but it was a faint hope. Remnants of Damien's Sentinels were being routed out, and the smallfolk still loyal to him put to death. The flock of fools who had turned out to offer Damien their undying support were like gnats, and would be swatted by Rayne as such.

No. The Destroyer was doomed, and the world would be a kinder, brighter place without him. The Crone said it was so, and she knew such things.

"Then why do you continue to brood over it, Evenstar?" Startled, Dayne snarled a curse at the old woman. She moved quietly to sit across from him, ignoring the profanity. She cocked an ear at the crackle of the battle frequency, but said nothing.

Grumbling, Dayne waved a hand at her,"Begone, old woman. You have caused me nothing but grief these past days. Get from my sight before I kill you."

She ignored the threat as well, instead addressing him casually, her voice raspy,"I asked you why, if the decision is made, do you continue to brood? You know the cost of the Destroyer returning to power, just as you knew the cost of yourself assuming it. He is a blot on the pages of history. A bloody blot."

The comment irritated him, but Dayne could find no reply. It was the truth. Damien was a bad man. He killed at will and exterminated races. Lord Reavers of the past had done the same, but not with Dreadfire's lust for it.

No, he decided for the thousandth time. The Reavers would not sail. Instead, he would enjoy some more of the brandy, and maybe order the old woman torn apart for her insolence. That thought made him smile, but he knew he never would.

***

Damien, they are retreating! Chirped Hartman in a content tone. Dreadfire dismissed his words with a scoff and a shake of his mighty head. One of the many standard naval tactics we employ my old friend. Expect an ambush as we near the land. The large convoy of ships ground to a halt per Damien's orders, for they were nearing the northern shores of Automagfreek. Damien surveyed his maps and looked over the satellite feeds. Hartman again threw in his two cents as he watched the Warlord decide which course to take. M'Lord, the northern and western shores are still in friendly hands. We can land there and set up shop....you know, rally the tribal armies and make a push towards ULE City.

Damien did not reply to Hartman, but instead studied his maps more intensively. Um...Damien? But still he did not reply. He then looked up from his papers and starred out the window before glancing at Hartman with a stone cold face. We sail eastward.

The crew on board the Sentinel class suddenly grew silent. The eastern shores were home to several very large military bases, many of which had fallen into control of Azrael. I did not stammer nor make myself unclear. Turn the fleets eastward....we wil sail into the lion's den. Let them never forget that on this day The Destroyer rose up in great fury and laid down his judgement on those who had wronged him. Let the entire world see the measure of my anger and the resolve of my wrath. Let mankind remember this day as a day of infamy.

Dreadfire could see that Hartman and the crew were visibly worried. Do not fear them, for they are the ones who should be afraid. If the world thought I was brutal before, then they truely have seen nothing yet. We will break them. He then turned on the loudspeakers connected to his many transport ships. My Sentinels, my children! Do you fear the coming darkness? The speakers were not needed for the response that followed. We fear nothing! Damien let loose a bellowing laugh, and then spoke in the words of his long departed friend Bastien. My children, are you ready for the crows feast? The roar was deafening. Then let the Gods drink their fill!

Damien's confidence began to rub off, and soon the convoy began sailing towards the eastern military bases. The Freeks at St Freeksburg port had received word of the movments of Dreadfire's fleet. Their position: coming right towards them.

Sirens rang out across the base, and the Freeks there panicked. Never had they thought that Lord Dreadfire's wrath would be unleashed upon them, and seemingly without hesitation the ranking officers ordered their men ferried across to the mainland and the base abandoned. The Freeks knew that their Sentinels were an even match against Damien's, but the thought of a death at the hands of The Destroyer himself was enough to change their minds. General, are you sure Lady Rayne will approve? Shouted a ranking officer to the traitorous Freek General who once served Damien. Kid, it's plain madness to stay here. We all know that Damien will turn this place into silt and kill every last one of us. On this island we stand no chance, we'd be better off on the mainland with Azrael's forces behind us. I will accept responsibility for this decision, but I cannot let 4 divisions of Lady Rayne's Sentinels be killed. No way.

The sirens continued to wail loudly without ceasing as hundreds of transports and pontoon boats shuttled from the Freeksburg Island to the mainland of Automagfreek. On board were over 4 divisions of Sentinels, a very large portion of the eastern defenses. They brought anything they could ferry over, including weapons and ammunition. Within an hour almost the entire base was cleaned out leaving practically no trace of anything.

<Meanwhile, in ULE City>

Rayne was enraged when she heard the news. God fuckin' dammit Azrael! He's your father! KILL HIM! She then noticed that she had hoisted him several feet off the ground with one hand, and after a deadly glare she released him. Yes my love, I will handle it personally. I will send in 5 of my divisions to support our eastern forces. I will NOT let the man I once called 'father' touch down on our.....your soil.

The large bell that once hung in Dawn's Cathedral had been only recently placed on top of the Westwind Citadel (OOC: Azrael's fortress that he build on it's ruins), but it had yet to make a noise. The breeze that blew down from the ULE Mountains was silent for the past few days, and without so much as a slight gust the mighty bell swung back and forth, an ominous GONG sound echoing through the streets of ULE City. The hairs on the back of Rayne's neck stood on end and her skin began to crawl as the words of The One rang out in her mind.

When the bell tolls three......he will come.

***

Sir, we have a submarine closing in on our fleets. It's movements do not match that of the enemy fleets. What shall we do sir? Squawked Damien's first mate quickly. He knew he had to act fast, so Dreadfire issued his orders with little to no thought. Make radio contact, and if there is no response in 45 seconds from the first transmission....bring the sub up. A nod and an 'aye aye' from the first mate followed. Dreadfire was far too focused on the situation going on near Freeksburg Port. He knew that stationary defenses on the mainland were much more troublesome, for they were well hidden beneath the soil, and he would only have a few seconds to get a visual on it's location after the gun fired. But, he thought, would destroying the guns be the best move? Certainly they would be more valuable if captured.

No more than 5 miles out from the range of the mainland guns, Damien's fleet sat parked and it's transports prepped. While Hartman handled the affairs of this foreign sub he would handle this situation: how best to invade the mainland of his own country. It will be risky, but our best bet is to go balls to the wall and throw everyhing we have at them right away. The Sentinels that we will be facing will not back down for anything, but perhaps we can sway the Freeks that Rayne and Azrael have left in charge. You see, this is why I do not use common folk for officers.....far too fragile.

Damien's staff nodded in agreement. Freeksburg Island has been basically deserted by any major military force for fear of destruction. Therefore I do not see any use in storming the island. Send the ships into St. Freeksburg on the mainland itself. Prepare my forces for landing immediatly.

Knowing that this would be the deciding moment in his life, Damien stepped out onto the decks of the Sentinel class and took in a deep breath of salty air. Whispering a prayer to the Gods and a few private words for Bastien, Lord Dreadfire then retired to his private quarters where he would then prepare for combat. I will be the first man off the first transport Bastien, I pray you watch over me on the battlefield.....my brother.

***

Hartman was ferried over towards one of Damien's smaller battleships to deal with the not one, but two strange submarines closing in on the fleet. A few destroyers and subs were left behind to safeguard Hartman in case the foreign subs decided to turn hostile. Meanwhile, Dreadfire had far more pressing issues to deal with. His fleet had slowly begun creeping towards the mainland, and within mere moments of crossing into firing range Damien soon found himself amidst a flurry of artillery shells. Even he was impressed at the range and accuracy of the land guns, for even the 25" guns on his new Sentinel would have a hard time hitting it's targets at this range. Full speed ahead, standard attack formation.

Damien's ships plowed forward at maximum speed, steering evasively as best they could to avoid the incoming rounds. Several vessels were lightly wounded but none had been seriously damaged, much to Damien's delight. He ordered his planes to stand down for the time being, as he knew that the anti-air defenses across the AMF coast were some of the best around, and putting planes in the air was most certainly suicidal. No matter He thought. On this day they will see what happens when The Destroyer is wronged.

The ships then shifted their course slighty and made a break for a small town to the north of St. Freeksburg port that was one of the first to voice it's support for Rayne. The town was home to nearly a hundred thousand and defenses were still being funneled into the area, so resistance would be stiff at best. Several regiments, nothing more. Mostly militia with assorted Sentinel support, possibly Strikers. Again his mind raced as he played his plans out in his head time and time again. As the Sentinel came into firing range of the mainland, a call came over the radio that made even the most battle hardened Freek sailor swallow hard.

Raze it to the ground, leave none alive.

The 25" guns on the Sentinel opened up in unison and rained high explosive death into the outer limits of the city. Bridges and roads were targeted specifically in order to force the inhabitants to move either south towards the military installation at St. Freeksburg, or move west towards ULE City. Dreadfire hoped that stories of what he was about to do would spread like wildfire, showing those who had doubted him the measure of his resolve. A transmission was sent out moments before Damien ordered a massive artillery and missile barrage of the city at key locations, and the message began playing across the country as the cannon fire was walked back towards the shore.

The Destroyer has come.......come for the souls of those who defied their master and sided with a whore. You will witness what happens here today, and you will tell of it later. Behold as my great and destructive wrath is unleashed upon those who kneel to the unholy bitch, and let it be a message to those who think they can survive the Dread Fires.

To those who still flock to my banner, I say to you this: rise, my children. The hour has come and the day begins anew. We live no longer in the dusky evening, even evil mixed itself with good and befuddled the world. This is a day of blood and fire, this is a day of retribution.

Sleep Now In The Fire.

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---Damien the Destroyer---

+++++++++++++++++++++

As Damien's message was carried throughout the country, the large bell on the Westwind Citadel rang out loudly again, it's deafening BONG willing the entire ULE valley. Rayne threw her hands in the air and screamed NOOOO!!! as loud as she could, either in anger or in fear. That is IT! Order all Striker legions to move eastward towards Dreadfire's position. If it's war he wants, it's war he'll get! As Rayne finished barking her orders at Azrael, she felt another chill go down her spine. The bell has rung twice.... she thought to herself.

++++++++

<AMF News Update>

Lady Rayne is ordering all Freeks to remain in their homes at this time. The rebel known as Dreadfire is attempting to bring destruction into our communities, but the great and powerful Rayne will protect you. Our armed forces are fully mobilized and ready to apprehend Damien the Deceiver and bring him to justice.

As a result of this action, martial law is now in effect throughout the nation. Curfews will be instated and home inspections will be performed. Any who resist will be captured and branded a traitor to Lady Rayne and a supporter of the criminal Dreadfire.

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Christof Schroeder
-Minister of Military Action-

***

BREAKING NEWS IN PANTERA!

We apologize for breaking into regularly scheduled programming, but the Panteran News Channel has recently obtained proof that the Lord Reaver has been secretly mobilizing the homeland fleet, better known as Valhalla's Fleet. No announcements have been made by the Evenstar, and given the silence of the past weeks, none will be forthcoming.

As the flames of the Freekian nation continue to lighten the skies of Southron Pantera, the Lord Reaver has remained silent. However, it is now clear that his lack of comment only prolongs the announcement of war. With the European continent quiet, the only -logical- point of assault would be Automagfreek, the rebel Queen Rayne and his former pupil, the traitorous dog, Azrael.

The brief, unheralded visit to Pantera by the outlaw warlord, Damien Dreadfire, could have been a hint of a weakening of the legendary Blood Pact. Yet, while most Panterans agree that Damien's cause is doomed, the Evenstar's silence on the matter has worried the populace.

Could this new fleet represent a drastic change in AMF/Panteran relations and herald the Evenstar's endorsement of the new AMF government? Will the Evenstar topple the usurpers alongside his brother's greatest friend? Will Pantera's policy of uninvolvement continue?

FIND OUT AT NINE!

We now return you to 'Blood and Guts: A Tale of Cheese', already in progress...

***

M'Lord, the Evenstar sets sail!

The words echoed in Damien's head as the bellow of cannon fire continued. He glanced down momentarily and swallowed hard, not knowing what to make of the situation. Numerous Panteran ships had silently slipped away from port, and their destination was painfully clear to all those on board the Sentinel. Continue on as planned. We do not wait for the Evenstar.

This took the crew by surprise, as Damien would always wait for Reaver support whenever a particularly perilous campaign emerged. But not on this day, for an uneasy feeling washed over Dreadfire. Will the welp side with me, or stab be in my back? I pray you Bastien, watch over me.

The convoy continued to slug it out near the AMF mainland while Rayne's forces continued to abandon Freeksburg Island. The Sentinel's guns continued to punish those who attempted to flee, as well as those in the small town that was now nothing more than rubble. A fist of Sentinels were deployed in small boats to survey the damage and collect any bodies they could find.

Meanwhile, the Freeks and Sentinels that had fallen back to their defensive positions on the mainland readied the coastal batteries. Soon the former Warlord would be in firing range, and then the flames of war would truely be lit.

***

Agony is the price that you'll pay in the end. Domination consumes you then calls you a friend, it's a twisted fall. Binds are like steel and manipulates the will to be. And it's hard to see how soon we forget when there's nothing else left to destroy, it's a useless ploy.

Your eyes will see the dawn of the day, and the writing on the wall. Those words that stare into your soul, and to yourself you will befall.

The coastal defenses were not even fully ready when the shells began raining in. The Sentinel's massive 25" guns were far too powerful, and with the aid of rocket assisted artillery, even the very formidable coastal guns firing their own RAA could not reach them. The high explosive rounds met their target with chilling accuracy, sending large balls fo fire high into the sky. The sun was still rising into the morning air, but soon it was blacked out.

Continue firing, I want any gun emplacement that could fire on my fleet destroyed. Sustain for as long as possible, but save enough to support our infantry. Damien's orders were interrupted by the wail of the Sentinel's rail drivers as they fired large tungsten rounds into the retreating enemy ships. Lord Dreadfire was literally carving a path of destruction on the high seas, and with the enemy transports dropping like flies and the hostile forces on the ground taking a pounding, he ordered his own transports forward.

Large smoke canisters were launched towards the beaches as the transports soared forth under extremely massive fire support from the Sentinel, various battleships, destroyers, and missie frigates. All hell had broken loose as the transports came within firing range of the land, and 60mm high explosive mortar rounds were sent forth in large vollies. Large craters had now formed on the beach as the enemy prepared for the first wave, locking their machineguns down and preparing to send a hot lead shower towards Damien's Sentinels.

The first gates dropped and the enemy began to spray madly into the transports, but surging forth from the belly of the ships was not Sentinel.....but armor. With cannons and machineguns firing rapidly, Damien's armor plowed up the beach with no concern for their own safety. This caused the enemy ranks to break and scatter, as they anticipated a massed Sentinel rush and not armor. The second wave of transports opened their doors mere moments after the armor steamed up the beach, and that is when total carnage took place. The enemy's ranks were failing due to the Freeks in charge of the units placed there. The Sentinels under their command fought bravely as they always did, but it was the fear in their commanders that was their downfall.

It's domination, pushed into living hell. Domination!

More shells rained in, but this time towards the rear of the enemy lines. Thousands of Sentinels and dozens of heavy MBT's pushed up the beach in a seemingly suicidal blitzkrieg, but with the continued support of naval gun fire, the resistance soon found itself trapped. Unable to fall back and reform, they were gunned down mercilessly and left for dead as the convoy of death continued it's drive forward. By this time Dreadfire had taken to the helm of his own transport alongside 5,000 of his Sentinel children. Watching contentfully as the first few waves smashed the enemy defenses, Damien stood up on the decks of the transport and swung the Relic's Sword furiously above his head, screaming and roaring his approval. As the gate on ship flew down, he charged headlong into the fray as fast as his legs could carry him, firing his rifle like made and throwing himself right into the middle of the enemy ranks.

Soon the call sounded that brought a smile to his face. Retreat! Rayne's forces on the beach had taken devastating casualties, and sensing an imminent and crushing defeat, the Sentinels there were ordered to fall back and regroup. They ran away through the exploding shells very suddenly, but it was not time to celebrate. Word came in to Damien that a vey large force consisting of Azrael's Sentinels and several legions of Strikers were approaching. He looked back towards the coast in the direction of Pantera, and whispered a prayer to hiself.

Bastien....guide your brother's hand. Let your vengeance be his...let the Blood Pact endure......

***

As the first of the vanguard of the Reaver fleet slipped into the waters of Northern Automagfreek, the Evenstar himself broke his silence, and addressed the two nations, and any others whomight have been listening. The cameras bounced the feed from satellites high overhead, and the picture was crystal clear.

Dayne stood on the deck of his behemoth, Plunder Class, warship, Silence. His braids blew wildly in the stiff breeze created as the ship's hull parted the waves ahead of him, and his battle-dress was drenched in seawater. Before him was a large, silver-runed broadsword, its point resting on the deck, his hands curled around its ornate hilt. Choreographed, surely, but effective nonetheless.

When he spoke, the whipping, cracking sounds of the wind seemed to quiet, and there was only the sound of his voice,"Old ways die hard. I know this better than any other man. When my brother pledged Pantera to the Blood Pact, he created a weapon, terrible and unstoppable. As he said,'what was once seperate, has now been forged anew'

"Briefly, I allowed his fervor for the Alliance to be forgotten. But now, I remember."

Raising the great sword, one handed, he pointed the blade at the cameras,"The reign of betrayor Queens and craven traitors is at an end. To the Usurpers, Rayne and Azrael, I say that your time is short. I would allow you the option of Honorable Surrender, but what would those such as you know of Honor?'

"Instead, I will issue a call of No Quarter. The atrocities that you have comited against those loyal to Dreadfire will be repaid upon you tenfold. That I promise.'

"So steel yourselves, traitors. Usurpers. Steel yourselves, and prepare for the Long Night. Because it comes at my heels."

And so it was done. Bastien's Blood Pact would be maintained, Dreadfire would resume his mantle of power, Dayne himself would live with the darkness that the Crone had promised, and the fates of millions were sealed in blood and fire.

***

With Dreadfire making his initial assault into the AMF mainland, chaos began to break out. Entire cities were vacated as Azrael's forces raced towards the coast where his Sentinels had touched down. Rayne was growing more uncomfortable by the minute as she plotted out her next moves over and over again for hours on end. Knowing that the threat to her very existance was growing, she sent a private message to her Strikers that were still underground. Release him.

The One had been subdued for several days, laying in a comatose state as nano serum was pumped through his body. Slowly his wits began to turn, and the devices that Rayne ordered attached to his head began to filter the wavelengths of his brain activity. Upon receiving Rayne's orders, the Strikers in the underground lab boxed up The One and sent him to the surface, where a large transport helecopter waited. He was placed in the back and airlifted several miles inland, but far enough away from the ensuing battle that Damien had started.

The chopper hovered breifly over a grassy clearing before opening the back hatch and dropping the crate. It fell nearly a hundred feet before shattering into splinters on the ground, and through the dust and debris The One awakened. His purple eyes had turned to a deep crimson, and his body jerked about violently as he mutated and transformed into a large and horridly unstable beast. Foam and spit ran from his gaping maw like a river, over his jagged and razor sharp teeth. A hideous shriek he unleashed as he raised his head high into the air, his skin blackened and as rough as dragon scales.

The chopper took off immediatly as The One bolted off into the forest, heading directly for the landing zone where The Destroyer was. Through the scerams and gore, an uneasy feeling washed over Dreadfire. Something is amiss....

***

Through the intense sting of combat, an unusually panicked feeling rushed over him. He knew that it had to be The One, for spiritually and telekinetically they were linked together. As the battle deepened and as Damien's forces surged forth and began routing the enemy, a loud booming sound could be heard. Everyone on the battlefield gradually began turning their attentions towards the source of this noise, and soon the tops of the trees began to shake. Sentinel and Freek alike, on both sides, began to prepare themselves for what was about to come out of the forest, but nobody expected what was about to happen next.

The trees near the entrance of the forest exploded into the air as The One crashed through them and into the clearing. Standing some 60 feet tall and mutating by the second, The One roared madly at the specks standing before him, and his eyes scanned the thousands of men and searched for his target. It did not take him long to lock onto Dreadfire, and with another deafening howl he charged forth through the crowd of people, trampling anything and anyone in his path.

Dreadfire's Sentinels began firing like mad at The One, as well as the Sentinels from the various units under Azrael's authority. The bullets did not even cause The One to flinch, and he continued his charge at great speeds until he was nearly upon Damien. But The Destroyer did not budge nor show weakness, he continued firing his rifle vainly in an attempt to slay the beast that had once been his friend. A sharp pain went through Damien's brain, and in that moment he could sense that another being that had been sworn to serve him was now among the crowd.

An overpowering stench of decay filled the air, and the ground began to tremble as The One was no more than 50 yards out from Damien. As The Destroyer prepared for his inevitable death, the ground fell through and with it The One. As the Freeks and Sentinels on both sides looked down into the black hole that the creature had fallen into, Dreadfire seized the moment and resumed his attack and caught a large majority of the enemy forces their by surprise.

+++++++++++++++++


The One hit the ground after nearly a 15 minute fall, landing in a heap inside an ancient and darkened cave. His eyes burned in the darkness and lit his path through the cave, until he stumbled upon a very large and deserted temple. Undoubtedly one of the few temples from the days before the name Automagfreek was ever heard, The One looked at it for several minutes before starting towards it. A small hint of white light caught his attention, as well as the horrid stench of death and rot. A large swarm of flies filled the air as the light led The One inside the temple. Cautiously he entered the temple, and a large stone slap that hung above the entrance fell to the ground.

The old torches that lined the main hall exploded into 10 foot flames, and the entire structure began to rumble. Slowly, a ghastly figure began to rise up up of the stone floor, as and it did the stench and swarm of flies intensified. The Butcher had been stalking Damien for days, prepared to fulfill his oath that he took so many years ago: to serve the Dread Fires.

The Butcher looked at the abomination that stood before him and smiled. As he opened his mouth, a sea of maggots and worms fell from his mouth and landed on the ground with a squishy thud. He swung his hooked chains above his head furiously before letting loose a watery shreik. The One answered back with a roar of his own, and although The Butcher was the height of a mere man, he exhaled in delight and charged headlong at The One.

***

Mile after mile fell under the feet of The Destroyer, and the smaller detachments sent by Azrael had either been slaughtered or were on the retreat. Rayne's main Striker force was nearly upon Dreadfire, and Azrael himself was also leading his main body of Sentinels towards the same spot. Upon hearing this, a sick feeling washed over Damien....a feeling no father wants to experience. Regardless, his Sentinels moves onwards towards their inevitable doom, but there was one thing that drove Damien onward....the ULE Mountains were nearly in sight.

After a few more miles the resistance started to become more stiff. Intel from the Sentinl confirmed a large contingent of troops no more than a shell's lob away from Damien, and intel also confirmed that The Advocate was among them. As word spread through the ranks about Azrael's presense, an unseen rage swept over Dreadfire's Sentinels, which was highly due to the emotionless state they were always in. Onward they marched until they were finally within firing range of the rapidly approaching enemy forces.

The air was filled with the booming of artillery and the shriek of rockets mere minutes later as Damien's forces began engaging their foes. Knowing that Azrael could not stand up to his father in a straight up slugfest, Dreadfire ordered his men to fix bayonets and prepare for a massed charge. Using a massed armor assault under heavy artillery support, the Sentinels surged forth and soon found themselves within rifle range of Azrael's forces. The Advocate returned his father's greeting with a barrage of his own artillery, concentrating most of the shells near the center of the advancing hoard. Several shells hit their targets successfully, turning some of Damien's tanks into nothing more than flaming scrap metal, but due to the great speed of the advancing units, the long range artillery was rendered ineffective.

As they moved closer and closer, the Damien's APC's began unloading dozens of Sentinels and Sentinel Stalkers while the main column was no more than a few minutes behind. The units that exited the APC's were forced to dig in quickly, but many of the were gunned down by Azrael's Sentinels. The Advocate began massing his own forces for a charge, thinking that his father would never expect him to do such a thing.

The Destroyer grinned in delight as he came ever so closer to the front of the line. Ah, the day has finally come when I pit blades against my own flesh. May the Gods show you mercy, son of mine....for the Dread Fires will show you none.

***

Night had finally fallen over Automagfreek, but still The Destroyer pushed onwards, although his pace was considerably slower. Just past the large Blackwood Forest was the ULE Mountains, and in it the capital of Automagfreek....the final destination of Lord Dreadfire. After a nearly half hour drive down the long abandonded roads of the countryside, the large convoy of troops and vehicles began entering the Blackwood Forest. Thing were quiet until they passed several miles into the woods, then Damien started to notice some of his Sentinels being sucked up into the high canopies of the trees and pulled brutally underground.

My children, we are not alone! Rayne has come!

Immediatly the Sentinels began firing blindly into the dark forest, sending dozens of trees in shards and creating a makeshift clearing around the now parked convoy. The attacks by the Strikers continued as the trees around Damien began to diminish, and gradually as the cover faded the Strikers began attacking more aggressively. They began taking more chances and started working their way through the Sentinels ranks. The damage was starting to take it's toll on Dreadfire's forces, but still they fought on and managed to clear a nearly half mile opening around their convoy.

M'Lord, we need to move out of here now! We will not see ULE City at this rate!

Damien whirled around and glared viciously at the offending officer, his red eyes burning brightly in the night air. Nonsense! We shall defeat these vile creatures right here, right now. There will be no running away!

Another half hour later, the attacks began to be more pressing, with alrge fists of Strikers countinuing to pound the fortified lines of The Destroyer. Just when hope was beginning to vanish, Dreadfire heard the humming of aircraft. A noise came over the radio, a pale and scratchy voice that could not be mistaken, for it was a Death Dealer.

On wings of lead, we come to serve the Dread Fires! Let our foes sleep in them now!

Dozens of transport planes flew over the clearing and opened their rear hatches, dropping hundreds of white parachutes out. The Death Dealers that remained alive had massed and finally met up with Damien, and as they fell to the ground they started firing their .50 cal machine guns into the forest madly. Dreadfire knew that Automagfreek's air defenses were top of the line, and it was only a minute or two before the sounds of anti-aircraft fire could be heard. Fireballs filled the star filled sky as plane after plane was hit adn downed, and the radio chatter intensified. Artillery crews, redirect and silence those AA batteries! I want them destroyed immediatly!

The Death Dealers continued to parachute towards the ground as Damien's artillery crews began firing at the Striker controlled anti aircraft sites in hopes to spare the planes that were still left in the sky. Dreadfire was beginning to sense a turn in the battle, for now the attacks were growing further apart in duration and intensity, and now the Death Dealers had entered the battle.

***

The stars were blacked out by the hail of flak and AA fire, and plane after plane dropped from the sky and fell to the ground in a blaze of fire. The Death Dealers landed on the scorched earth and with great vengeance they met the Strikers head on, either filling them with .50 cal fire or fighting hand to hand with them directly. A surge of confidence washed over Dreadfire as a half dozen attack helecopters rose from over the tree tops and began engaging the enemy forces. Damien's artillery managed to silence a majority of the anti-aircraft fire, but still the skies were filled with a hail of lead.

The choppers flew over Damien's forces who were now mobile and charging directly at the enemy Striker and Sentinel forces, dropping waves of 30mm fire and rockets as they made their attack runs. Damien's Sentinels ran over the broken bodies of those who had been mowed down, and from the air the Death Dealers in the choppers watched as a literal wave of men swarmed through the clearing and into the trees. The enemy was being routed, but not without inflicting damage of their own. The Strikers did not cease their 'snatch and run' tactics, and they continued to pick at Dreadfire's line as they fell back to ULE City.

After a several mile charge the convoy had cleared the forest, and the ULE Mountains now sat before them. From their position at the foot of the mountains, the banners of Green, Grey, and Gold were clearly visible. Azrael himself was now present on the battlefield, and he stood high atop a watch tower and looked on as his fathers soldiers began pressing closer. With a casual wave of his hand The Advocate's artillery batteries roared to life, one gun after another breaking the silence and showering the air with munitions. Upon hearing the guns open up, Dreadfire ordered a full on charge with all guns blazing, and as the shells began exploding among them the Sentinels did swarm the mountains as bugs would swarm a sweet fruit that had fallen to the ground.

The Destroyer's main battle tanks began firing the dreaded depleted uranium rounds at Azrael's gun batteries and tanks that were parked at the top of the first large mountain. Azrael looked on in bewilderment as his guns exploded in a sea of white hot fire, and with all the radioactive particles that were now in the air, he knew it was only a matter of time before radiation poisoning set in. Azrael drew his Panteran sword and waved it high above his head, signaling his Sentinels to make ready for a charge. As Damien drew closer, the return fire by The Advocate's forces intensified and forced him to slow his assault. With a few words uttered over the radio, the Death Dealers in their attack choppers decended from the morning clouds and began a near suicide run towards the ground, throwing everything they had at Azrael's forces.

What the fuck is this? The Advocate said in surprise. Crafty old bastard my father is. He looked on as the choppers tore through his ranks with cluster munitions and 30mm depleted uranium rounds, mostly concentrated on the artillery pieces, tanks, and anti-air defenses. Upon seeing the devastation of his own forces, Azrael then sounded the charge over his trumpet. Within seconds, a wave of his Sentinels rose from their fortified positions and began running down the hill with their rifles blazing.

This had been the moment Dreadfire had waited for, and a sick grin crossed his face as he saw Azrael himself leading the charge. Knowing the Sentinels deceding the mountain had the advantage of momentum, Damien ordered his troops to increase fire and begin backing off the mountain and back onto the valley below. Sensing weakness, The Advocate pressed on down the hill, but as always the cunning of The Destroyer caught him off guard. Large scores of land mines had been left behind in a scattered formation, and as the rushing Sentinels made their way down the mountain they inevitably began setting them off. Unable to stop in time, hundreds of Sentinels were hurled in the air amidst rock, dirt, and debris.

Azrael's eyes grew big as he watched his shredded forces stumble down the hill, and as he looked over his shoulder to survey the damage, a sound filled his ears that chilled him to his very bones.

The trumpet of The Destroyer....for he was now in full charge.

***

Deep beneath the surface, the battle between two other titans was raging on. The One and The Butcher fought on for hours with neither candidate dominating, until finally The Butcher landed a large striking blow to the neck of The One. He reared back and howled madly before swiping and sending the decaying demon into the walls. Moments before impact The Butcher disappeared in a green haze, leaving The One alone in the stone chamber. After a few minutes, the ground began shaking again....but this time the stone floor began to crack and break away. Hundreds of impaled skeletal corpses rose from the floor in a cloud of stink and rot, causing The One to recoil himself and attempt to flee, but he could not. The large stones that hung above the open doorways fell to the ground, trapping the mutant beast inside. The torches slowly faded away, leaving only darkness and thousands of flies and hundreds of dead bodies.

That was until an errie light came from the wall that The Butcher disappeared through, and slowly the demon materialized back into the main hall. But he was not alone, for the corpses that had risen from the floor slowly came back to life, coughing and gasping as life filled their rotten bodies yet again. All at once they turned and looked at The One, and as The Butcher set foot back into the main room the corpses freed themselves from their pikes and began moving towards The One.....and as they did the ceiling began to fall.

An evil grin crossed the face of The Butcher as they closed in on their prey, and in one final roar of defiance The One charged one last time, his arms flailing and his screams filling the cold stone room.

Meanwhile, Rayne had readied the remaining forces under her control and held ULE City literally hostage. Nobody was allowed to leave their homes, and thousands of Sentinels and Strikers patrolled the streets. The sounds of battle barely made it's way down into the ULE Valley, and suddenly Rayne's satellite feed of the battle cut out. God dammit....this is all wrong.

For the first time she had been contemplating retreating, but no.....she would make her stand here and show the world who was truely the stronger and more fearsome leader. Though she could care less about Azrael, she whispered a silent prayer that his forces could hold out long enough to slay Dreadfire, and at the very least cripple him to the point where he could no longer make war. Knowing that The Evenstar was still at the coast, Rayne began trying to make contact with any force inside or outside the country that could assist her.

Hours passed, and still there was silence. There would be no escape.

***

"Domination" has now ended, and now we move onto the final battle, in "Rise- The Final Chapter".

***

For days Rayne heard the sounds of battle rage over the ULE mountaintops and fill the air of the valley below that was home to Automagfreek's capital. She had lost radio contact with Azrael as his forces attempted to keep Damien the Destroyer at bay, and she gradually came to the realization that her days were numbered. The Automagfreek Nazi Party had began to secretly move northward away from the bulk of the fighting, but there was rumor that Panteran ships would soon be on the horizon to cut off any escape. With her main Striker elements pounding into dust, she had also begun funneling supplies into the north and the ULE valley to brace for the coming of Lord Dreadfire.

As the days passed, dark clouds began to form on the horizon. Gradually units could be seen sitting at the top of the ULE mountains, but the banners that flew alongside them were not of green, gray, and gold- the colors of Azrael. But instead the banners that began multiplying were of crimson and black, the colors of The Destroyer. As midday approached, all communications throughout the country were again hijacked by Damien, and the picture abruptly changed to that of the man himself, standing on a snowy peak high in the ULE Mountains.

My Freeks, my brothers, citizens of this great country, the end of the heathen bitch Rayne has come. It was on this day that the Gods extended to me their right hand of power, and with it I struck down upon my foes with great vengeance and furious anger. Now all that remain are shattered shields and broken bodies, all left to rot on the slopes of the ULE Mountains. There stands before me but one final battle, and the time for swords and ravens has come.

The camera zoomed out slightly and revealed a red puddle on the soft powdery snow at Damien's feet. With a swift motion, Lord Dreadfire extended his right hand, and it's contents made even the most vicious Freek shiver in terror.

Behold, my son, Azrael the Advocate.

Damien held the severed head of Azrael high up for the camera to see, and a look of pain and sheer terror was still frozen upon his cold blue face.

My son was most precious to me, but for his betrayal I struck down upon him with all my wrath, and not for one second did I hesitate. If I can do this to my son, my own flesh and blood, imagine what I will do to you Rayne. You have awakened the dragon, now watch as his cleansing fires purge you and your ilk from this world forever.

Damien took Azrael's sword and placed the tip of the blade into the frozen ground, and once it was secure he placed the severed head on it's handle. Then with a look of fury in his red eyes, he turned back to the camera, for he knew Rayne and her cronies were watching.

Alright mother fuckers, now's your time.

***

Fear gripped the countryside upon confirmation of the death of Damien's son, Azrael. Loved throughout the country and embraced by all, his turn into darkness left Freeks across the country with many questions, and with his death came the reinstitution of fear. Civilians inside ULE City were shut up in their homes, too scared to flee for fear of Rayne, and too scared to stay for fear of Dreadfire. For hours after the broadcast the streets in AMF's capital were barren, save forwhat remained of Rayne's main forces.

Knowing the final battle was drawing near, Rayne retreated to the Westwind Citadel, the home of the now deceased Azrael the Advocate. It was a mammoth complex that was heavily armed and very hard to siege due to it's intricate anti-air defenses and artillery platforms. This would be her best defense at this point, and with the skies darkening and the winds picking up, the tides of war were about to crash. Never had Rayne thought that Damien would have been able to run such a mighty gauntlet against all odds, but the power that resided inside Dreadfire was greater than even she anticipated.

With her Striker legions decimated by the ariel assault by the Death Dealers, those that still remained hid in the trees and other dark places, for a head on clash with Damien would be costly, even for such hideously modified creatures. The few Sentinel divisions that were still under her control began to dig in and make ready for the downhill onslaught, and as the sun began to fade over the tops of the mountains, the sounds of artillery could be heard. Dreadfire's forces that sat at the top of the ULE Mountains began strategically shelling key locations throughout the city, mainly any route of escape. The civilian sectors were ignored, but the standing order was to raze it all if the enemy forces began taking refuge there.

High in the skies near Freeksburg port, several bomber and fighter wings took off from inside the Sentinel and headed directly for ULE City. Even though resistance across the country was still sporadic and sometimes stiff, Damien's forces were too weary to go it alone. Though risky to use aircraft, at this stage in the game it was all or nothing.

***

Rayne's forces continued to funnel into the northern passages in the ULE Mountains as the ANP fled to the ships that waited in port. With most of her systems destroyed and the sudden loss of AMF satellites, there would be no way for her to forsee what was making it's way northward.....the Sentinel. Shells continued to rain into the very streets of ULE City, and Dreadfire's troops began to swell on the mountain tops.

With confusion setting in and death raining down, Rayne ordered massed artillery and rocket strikes at random locations in hopes of thinning Damien's ranks. The rocket strikes proved futile, as they were swatted from the air by various anti-missile batteries, but the artillery had a much better effect. The shells exploded, sending clouds of volitile gas everywhere. Shit, VX! Could be heard across the various Sentinel positions, and many hundreds were lost when they were unable to get thier masks on quick enough.

This action did not go unpunished, and scores of NAPALM tipped shells were fired at Rayne's batteries and into the very streets themselves. Flames erupted everywhere and the wails of death could be heard even at the top of the mountains. The time had come for the final push into ULE City, this would be the defining moment. Gathering up the remaining elements of his weary infantry and nearly spent armor, Damien perpared to make the final charge in this conflict.

Taking one last look at the now frost covered head of his son Azrael, The Destroyer took up his rifle and whispered a few words to the Gods above. Moments later, he stood at the head of his remaining Sentinel legions and gave them a long look. Outnumbered, undersupplied, and against all odds, their actions on this day will echo throughout eternity.

***

The time had come for Damien to make his final assault, but moments before he was to decend the ULE Mountains, disturbing word came to him from over the radio. AMF's satellites were being knocked out, and foreign armies marched on it's doorstep. Wether of good intention or not, now was not the time to be second guessing the manner of Dreadfire's resolve. Not even the Lord Reaver had set foot onto AMF soil, and neither would any foreign army for that matter.

~From the mouth of Lord Damien the Destroyer, the rightful Supreme Warlord of the Excessively Armed Empire of Automagfreek~

Attention, any and all foreign powers that have been motioring this conflict, you are ordered to cease any and all involvement in this matter and return home. I frown upon the landing of foreign forces and knocking out Automagfreek's vast satellite network. If those responsible for this do not cease and desist, then once I have regained power I will come for you first.

There will be no further warning issued.

http://67.18.37.14/40/9/upload/p3403.jpg
---Damien the Destroyer---

+++++++++++++++

With the message away, Lord Damien ordered his armor forward, and after rallying his Sentinels he then let once one final atrillery barrage. The shells landed everywhere save for the civilian sectors, and in an instant Damien's armor surged down the ULE Mountains on all sides, followed by every last Sentinel under his command. The few fortified defense positions that remained opened up in unison, raining death upon the massing Sentinel hoard.

At the Westwind Citadel, Rayne ordered all her defenses to activate and concentrate on repelling Dreadfire back up the mountains, but as enemy aircraft began entering ULE airspace, the orderes were changed to 'fire for effect'. All of the Citadel's air defenses roared to life, filling the air with hundreds of flak rounds and missiles, all the meanwhile the numerous artillery cannons were doing the same thing. The snowy mountains looked like a hill of ants swarming a bit of food, and at the front of the surging Sentinel mass was Damien himself, firing his rifle at any target that presented itself.

Rayne's forces were scattered and outnumbered, but every once in awhile a fist of Strikers would tear their way through Damien's line before being gunned down in a shower of lead. The final push for freedom had begun, and The Destroyer's chops watered as he fantasized about slowly slicing off the head of Rayne and mounting it on his trophy wall.

***

Dreadfire's tanks plowed through the roadblocks and other defenses, smashing them to bits and crushing those who tried to repel them. Mere seconds later Damien's Sentinels swarmed the area, being careful to avoid overturned tanks and other flaming obstacles. Gunfire was everywhere and the destrution grew by the minute as Rayne's forces collided fiercely with the battle weary forces of Damien, but the undying determination and unrelenting agression that burned inside Dreadire began to rub off on his Sentinels, and soon the entire ULE Valley was surrounded.

Having been driven back to the Westwind Citadel, Rayne and the other ANP officers began looking for a quick escape, but as the aircraft continued their near suicide runs over ULE airspace, any hope of an exit disappeared. For the first time in her existance she felt pure terror, but her hatred and desire to destroy soon overcame these feelings, and she began suiting herself up for the inevitable close range combat.

Sentinels continued to move street to street, house to house, killing anything that resisted or marched under the banner of Rayne. Several hours of fierce bloodshed had already passed, and for the most part the battle was drawing to a close. The Westwind Citadel continued it's unrelenting strikes into Damien's forces, but soon the keep itself was under direct fire. Shells battered the sides of the Citadel, and from the watchtowers the advancing Sentinel hoard could be seen closing in. With the Citadel within charging distance, Dreadfire drew his sword and swung it fiercely above his head, rallying his remaining Sentinels to his side and began the final run.

Rayne cursed and sword aloud that she would not be taken down without a fight, and she too ordered her remaining Sentinels and Strikers to charge from the Citadel's gates, and as the mighty stone doors flew open, a tide of soldiers spilled forth with their guns blazing. At the rear was Rayne, reluctant to join the slaughter, but instead sitting bcak and weighing the situation before she would directly commit.

Onward my children, for the dawn!

Damien then charged directly into the advancing mass, firing every last bullet he had before drawing his sword and carrying on. Rayne's forces began to bottleneck, and after no more than 5 mintues her numbers had been diminished. Knowing the end was now, Rayne concentrated all her energies on her body, and soon she began to mutate.

Just as she did before, the skin on her body tore into shreds, revealing black and greenish scales that were as hard as rock. Her arms grew to nearly 10 feet in length, topped off by razor sharp talons. Damien looked on in awe as her once enchantingly beautiful body was distorted and transformed. Large spikes and a hard exo-skeleton formed across her body in the near blink of an eye, and her neck stretched and distorted before her pretty face stretched and fell away. Her jaw extended several feet forward, and hundreds of long sharp teeth forces their way from her gums. A hideous sight she was indeed, standing some 30 feet tall.

What powers have Hell has she summoned? What abomination of the underworld is this? Damien said to himself as Rayne roared loudly and ran directly into Damien's line, flinging Sentinels hundreds of yards through the air. Every last remaining Sentinel poured on everything they had left, but Rayne's mutated body was too resilient to the bullets. Just as the hope of victory began to fade, a burning fire exploded inside of Dreadfire. The aura of The Destroyer had awakened, and his red eyes lit up brighter than the sun and began literally spewing forth flame.

He raised his mighty hand and ordered his Sentinels to fall back. Stay back my children, I will handle his unholy bitch myself!

He then took up his shining sword in both hands and ran as fast as his legs could carry him towards Rayne.

***

Dreadfire's blade began to glow a pearly white as he came within mere feet of the monstrous abomination, and he swung it with all his might repeatedly. The creature howled and roared in pain as Dreadfire's blade landed blow after blow, but with a mighty swing of her arm she smacked Damien several dozen yards backwards, and he crashed through the stone walls of the Citadel. The battlefield grew quiet for a second, for everone present including Rayne thought that the Warlord was killed instantly. But Damien flew through the hole in the wall, running faster than his own legs could move, and his teeth were clenched viciously and his eyes were now the color of pure magma.

The two continued to fight it out brutally, with the two of them landing heavy blows on eachother repeatedly. Every once in awhile, a lone Sentinel would fire off some cheap shots at Rayne's head, hitting her in the neck, mouth, and eyes. But blinding the creature did nothing, for even without eyes she could still see. As Damien's body continued to take an ungodly pounding, hope began to fade. Even the unrelenting spirit of The Destroyer was begining to lose strength as the two continued to battle through the streets and up through the ULE Mountains. Damien took another huge hit, sending him screaming through the air and crashing into a large snow covered rock at the top of the mountains.

As he watched Rayne lurch closer and closer to him, he felt the cool winds blow in from the west, and a hint of snow flurries and the smell of spring flowers accompanied it. He looked down into the ULE Valley and saw as his Sentinels finished securing the city and began moving towards his location to help save their leader.

It is done...the war is over. As s half smile crossed his face, the shadow of Rayne stood over him. She was mere yards away, and in his weakened state he knew that he would not live to see peace. But a voice inside him spoke to him and told him to rise...rise to his feet and finish what he had started.

You have gone against all odds, brother. You have done what they told you you could not, you have fought harder than anyone else has fought. The end is not now, for your line will continue and you will live to see peace once again.

The voice was Bastien the Bronze, speaking to him from across the realms. He glanced to the left, away from the figure of Rayne and saw him standing there, his golden braids blowing in the ULE breeze. He was clothed in his ceremonial attire with his sword hanging at his side, and he smiled at Damien and nodded his head. His image faded away as Rayne scooped up Damien and prepared to split him in two, but every last ounce of strength inside him came to the surface, and the words of his fallen brother Bastien drove him further.

He thrust the Relic's Sword into the wrist of Rayne, and a jet of black blood flew into the air as he removed the blade and grabbed ahold of her elbow. The quickly scurried up her left arm as she writhed in pain, and howling with everything inside him he drove the blade deep into her neck and began sawing as hard as he could. Rayne thrashed and tried to throw Damien off, but all that did was make it easier for the blade to cleave her flesh. Dreadfire removed the sword and stood atop her shoulders, and with one final spurt of strength he swung one final time, sending Rayne's head to the ground in a pool of black blood. Her body slumped to the ground, and moments before impact Damien jumped clear of her fallen mass.

The end had come.

***

Several days has passed, and the weary Warlord slept nonstop without waking. His body had been through an ordeal that no normal human being could endure, but with every last ounce of courage inside him he defeated the Automagfreek Nazi Party and resumed his role as Supreme Warlord of AMF. As he woke on the fifth day, news had come in of the Sentinel's efforts. As the ANP retreated to the north, the Sentinel and the returning forces of Brinks and Zander met them head on, and the near half a million Sentinels that landed took care of every last one of them, destroying their bodies and putting them on display on the sands.

The day had been won, but it was not without loss. Azrael the Advocate was dead, the Death Dealers were decimated, The One was lost, and AMF's offensive capability was hurt. However, despite internal damage and a weary populace, Automagfreek was still in the fight. In fact, an animal is most dangerous when it is wounded.....

As the cleanup began, The Destroyer took to the streets to rebuild alongside his people. He had been working on a speech for the official declaration of victory that he would share that night, but for now it was time to mend the nation's wounds. Long would be the day before the Freeks would put stock in anyone other than Dreadfire, for he selflessly threw himself into the very fires of Hell to preserve their way of life.

One thing also reminded Damien that his job was not finished: the armies that stood at his doorstep. Surely this would be an issue he would have to address in his speech, and after a long day of working side by side with his people, the Warlord retired to the Great Hall. Although a mess, his chambers still stood and were still liveable, and his many servants worked around the clock to repair the damage.

Tonight will be the night that the name Automagfreek once again strikes fear into the hearts of our enemies. Tonight will be a night of change....tonight will not be a night of wolves, but a night of shining princes and golden swords. It's time for change.


***

And here ends the second Automagfreek civil war, which far outdid the very first one way before I ever introduced the character of Damien. This has been by far one of my most successful RP's ever.

***

The Great Hall was decorated as beautifully as it had ever been, and many thousands turned out to see their fearless leader's speech. It had been nearly a week since victory had been declared, and tonight would be the night that the world would hear it for itself. After several hours of feasting, the Sentinels around the area began funneling people towards the famous balcony where Damien always made his speeches, and the fiery Warlord was greeted with deafening cheers as he stepped out into the ngiht air.

My Freeks, my brothers, people of the world. I am Lord Damien Dreadfire, called Destroyer by many....and I declare total victory over the oppressive regime of Rayne.

The crowd the erupted for a second time, but was promptly silenced by a single raise of Damien's hand.

Although the day is won, it was not without loss. Azrael the Advocate, the most beloved son of the Freeks, was slain by my hand when he turned from me and the light. The One, my most loyal guardian, was taken away from me by Rayne as well, and he too was destroyed. It will be 6 months before his soul makes the journey back to this world, and I eagerly await his return.

Although Automagfreek is wounded, we are still not down for the count. Most of AMF's cities were spared from my destructive wrath, for my forces made a single incision into the capital. A majority of our defensive posts are intact and left abandoned by the now destroyed Automagfreek Nazi Party, and our forces from afar have returned home. Zander and Brinks have returned to my side, and Automagfreek's military is still very capable of repelling any foreign attack. I will not lie, our first strike capabilities are not what they once were, but I am going to our allies across the globe, especially those in NATO, and asking for major financial assistance.

This conflict saw the debut of our newest weapon: the Sentinel class super-dreadnought. I am ordering more Sentinel class ships to be built, and our military spending will now be increased exponentially. I will work around the clock to restore our military in order to keep all of us Freeks here at home safe from any threat. I am also ordering an increase in HOUND V2 ballistic missiles, and I have many more weapons that I will be putting into the capable hands of the Sentinels. Today is a day of change, and Automagfreek will once again be leading the way in this world, keeping it safe for all those that rally to our banner.

Thank you, and good night. And to those who think they can topple The Destroyer, I say to you.....Sleep Now In The Fire.

http://67.18.37.14/40/9/upload/p3403.jpg
---Damien the Destroyer---
-Supreme Warlord of AMF-

The crowd once again exploded in approval, and a shower of rose petals was cast down upon the courtyard. The banners of black and crimson waved high in the cool breeze, and great feasting continued late into the evening and into the next day.

Victory.

***

-tag-

This is amazing. I'm suprised that you have as much as you do, especially Damien's rise. The Forum Purges were kind to this storyline.

Amazing. (Advances tagging machine in activation)

Uber Tag

(I've been waiting a long time for this, AMF, and you did not disappoint. Great work, as always. ;))

Thank you all. And Crimm, there was a lot more material that was lost in the purges. I'm just sad that the pre-Damien history of AMF is forever gone.....

+tag+
This is going to take me awhile to read.

Yeah, I know it's a bit lengthy, but there is a lot of good stuff in those 9 posts. In another 6 months, if anything interesting happens with AMF, I'll update this thread and add in some more.

You should do one for like that for a war, if one happened.

Wow! Nice! I'll finish reading sometime later, but this is amazing!

Thank you all. And Crimm, there was a lot more material that was lost in the purges. I'm just sad that the pre-Damien history of AMF is forever gone.....

Word for word, perhaps, but there is still the knowledge of the elders.

Bump....next installment will be coming soon!

Wow. All I can say is, wow. Best writing I've ever seen, anywhere. Just...wow. Hats off to you, Automagfreek.

{OOC: You used R. Lee Ermey's pic for Minister Hartman, correct?}

Great as usual AMF, it brought back memories... from the good ole days of the APTO, wish I saw as much Eyecandy as this on a daily basis...

ooc: my eyes are hurting, this is so much! Man, this is good stuff, AMF.

OOC: Thank you. The next installment is underway, and will be posted as soon as my current series is finished.

{OOC: You used R. Lee Ermey's pic for Minister Hartman, correct?}

Correct.

Winter began to sweep across the Automagfreek countryside, and it felt like it was ages overdue. The harsh plains had seen its first snowfall in many years, a sign that the turbulent spiritual energies that crossed the realms had finally faded away. It was a time for celebration, and the Freeks did just that...but inside the Great Hall there was never a time for merry making.

It had been almost a year since Azrael the Advocate, most beloved son of Damien had been slain at the hands of his own father. Day and night that decision haunted him, but the boy had fallen under a very deep spell....and his actions were a betrayal of everything Dreadfire stood for and fought for. Night after night the face of Azrael appeared in Damien's dreams, tormenting his slumber and never leaving his thoughts. Many a night he awoke in a deep, cold sweat, breathing heavy and trembling like a leaf in a strong wind.

The Westwind Citadel was the home that Azrael built on the ashes of Dawn's Cathedral, the ancient church that was set ablaze by The Advocate himself. Since then the church had been under reconstruction to return it to its former glory, and things were moving along ahead of schedule. Every once in awhile Dreadfire would leave the Great Hall in the middle of the night and walk to the construction site, kneeling at the altar that somehow had remained intact and praying to the Gods above. He also prayed to his son and asked for his forgiveness, swearing an oath that he would one day find a way to bring him back from the grave.

But there was one problem with that: the last priest that had knowledge of how to channel a soul across the realms had given his life to bring Damien back to life, and sadly he took that knowledge with him into oblivion. There has to be another way... But unfortunately for Damien, there was no other possible way, unless some ancient text could be found or someone who had been passed on the knowledge.

Every night he went to Dawn's Cathedral things always ended the same way: Damien would pray for hours only to be left alone in silence. But with the coming of the first snowfall he decided he would pay the holy site another visit. The sky had turned a beautiful color of orange as the sun began it's decent towards the horizon, and with the air filled with flurries it was a breathtaking sight. For the first time in months Damien actually felt at ease inside, his mind not focused on the war of the day or the family blood that was still on his hands.

Construction on the church had been halted for the day, and Damien walked towards the altar just the same way he had done countless other times....but this time something felt different. He glanced over his shoulders a few times before kneeling at the altar and offering his prayers to the Gods whom he had betrayed many a time. As his lips moved quickly and quietly he heard the freshly fallen snow pack, and this caused him to be on his guard. He slowly moved his hand towards the Relic's Sword that was attached to his waist, and as the footsteps continued to grow louder and louder he suddenly jumped to his feet and drew the shining blade.

He looked around the ruins of the structure and searched for the footsteps, and as he looked towards his right he caught a glimpse of something on his left out of the corner of his eye. He jerked his head over to see what it was that was moving towards him, and as he examined the area he caught something out of the corner of his right eye. This time he saw more, the tail of a long flowing black coat that had a red pattern on it. The figure did not vanish this time, but instead continued its movement through the pillars and construction equipment.

It appeared to be a feminine figure, moving gracefully across the snow covered floors of the church in almost a flowing manner. Damien's face tightened as the figure came within several feet of him, and still clenching his sword he demanded to know what was going on. Why have you come here? Do you not know this is a holy site? My site?

The feminine figure lifted her head and removed the fur trimmed hood that shrouded her face, and Damien looked on in almost a state of awe. The woman jerked her head to the side and freed her long black hair that was tucked inside her hood, and in almost slow motion he lifted her eyes to that of Dreadfire's. In an instant a chill ran through the fiery Lord's body as memories began to play back in his head. The woman looked strangely familiar to a woman he knew long ago, but he dismissed it and continued on with his interrogation.

I say again lass, why have you disturbed my prayers to the Gods? The dark brown eyes of the woman batted several times before turning away, and she began moving towards the altar. Dreadfire cocked his head in disbelief when she turned her back towards him, and he contemplated striking her down right then and there. As he moved forward to go through with the deed, the woman knelt down in front of the snow covered altar and spoke in a sweet and almost entrancing voice.

I come to pray for the soul of my brother, slain at the hands of the man who created him.

Damien dropped the Relic's Sword and stood with his mouth agape, as if a freight train had just plowed into him.

***

As the woman knelt at the altar, Damien picked up his sword and returned it to it's scabbard. After a brief moment of silence, he shook his head with a sour look across his face. Lies, it cannot be. I had but one child, and now he dwells in the house of Automagfreek's forefathers. I should have your tongue for such heresy. She refrained from moving for a second or two, but she then stood and whirled about an almost bitter manner. Azrael and I were maternal twins. Mother left you the day she found out she was pregnant with us, and she fled to...a foreign land. Nine months later she gave birth to Azrael and myself, and at age 10 she left us both to fend for ourselves.

Damien doubted the truth behind the beauty's words, and he snapped back viciously. Why did Azrael not tell me about you then, if what you say is true? My son would never lie to me or deceive me. The woman moved towards Damien and locked eyes with him, no sign of fear or intimidation in her appearance. Because he did not want me to become involved in the...'family business'. He said to me, "Silvia, I do not want you to become wrapped up in war, death and destruction. Once Damien finds out about you....you will become one with the Flame. I cannot have this happen to one so innocent and so pure."

Dreadfire took a step back and leaned against a stone pillar with a tight lip. And where is Xel now? Silvia shook her head. I do not know where mother is now, or if she is even still alive. You know as much as I do....but this much is certain: you killed my brother, my only friend in this God forsaken world. Why Damien, why did you do it? He stepped forward and grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her in close to his face.

Because he became tainted by an animal! A deep spell was placed on him by the demon whore Rayne, and he betrayed both his father, and his best friend in Dayne the Evenstar. This was not like him, that man that I fought on the slopes of the ULE Mountains was not my son. His actions were a disgrace to me and the Empire, so in the name of everything we as Freeks stand for I sacrificed my only son. My line is done, brought to an end at my own hands. Do you think I am happy? Do you think it doesn't hurt to not see his face anymore? Damien's eyes then began to water ever so slightly.

Silvia nodded for a brief moment, then lifted a gloved hand to her eye to wipe away a small tear. She tried to speak, but no sound exited her mouth. Damien the embraced her in his arms, patting her back and telling her that he was in a much better and peaceful place.

The winds began to pick up and whip snow flurries viciously through the air, and the two then made their way back to the Great Hall where it was warm. The fiery Warlord wondered what kind of reaction the nation would have when it heard of this. He decided that there was no other way to do it then to just come out and say it.


+++++++++++++++++++++++

~From the desk of Lord Damien the Destroyer, Supreme Warlord of the Excessively Armed Empire of Automagfreek~

My brother Freeks and people of the world.

In light of the sadness that we all feel after the death of Azrael the Advocate, I come to you today to bring you news most grand. By the will of the Gods, I have crossed paths with yet another child of mine, a sibling that was very close to Azrael. I am here today to introduce you all to Silvia. She has taken up the mantle of Dreadfire, and joins my house with open arms.

I pray that those who knew and respected Azrael will embrace her the same way her brother was. She is a most beautiful young lady, most obviously taking after her mother's traits. However, she is a Dreadfire, and the burning spirit inside her is just as strong as it is in me.

http://img193.exs.cx/img193/9893/dreadfireflames4fw.jpg
---Damien the Destroyer---
-Supreme Warlord of AMF-

I do not have much to say, except that I appreciate all the love that Azrael was given by all of you, and I hope that I may find the same place within your hearts. Azrael and I are very much alike, and vow to continue on his legacy in any way I can.

http://img131.echo.cx/img131/9374/silvia1fu.jpg
Silvia Dreadfire


++++++++++++++

Of course now there was the task of going to a certain land and meeting certain people...to prove her worth just as Azrael did. Silvia was ready, and knew that if Azrael could survive such trials that she would be able to as well.

***

All across the nation bells sounded and trumpets blew, for yet another one of Automagfreek's beloved children had been brought into the spotlight. Word of Silvia's emergence spread like wildfire, and every Freek eagerly watched their TV's as the results of the DNA test were broadcast. Positive! That night there had been great celebration both far and wide, in honor of Silvia and in rememberence of Azrael.

Though Dreadfire was overwhelmed with joy to hear that he had a daughter, his happiness was still overshadowed with sorrow....for every time he laid eyes on Silvia he remembered his son. Damien stood in the shadows as the press interviewed Silvia and took her picture numerous times. Though his thoughts were changing a mile a minute, Damien knew that one thing was certain: it ws customary for each Dreadfire to visit the Free Lands of Pantera and learn the Reaver ways, as well as gain a new appreciation for the bonds that the two nations shared.

But there was also another reason for a quest to Pantera....

An old woman who had seen the passing of many moons would be the first host of the new princess. Her worth would be seen and judged by the mad crone, and a great many prophecies she would spin and rant before leaving her alone and with many questions. But that was the way of the old wench...to provoke thought, even if what she said would happen or not.

After a few days passed Dreadfire finally got a moment to speak to Silvia in private. He pulled her aside into his throne room took her to the famous balcony, the focal point of the entire Great Hall. Look out of the window my daughter. Before you stands one of the greatest Empires in the history of all mankind. Your brother got the chance that many men would kill to have: to sit at the helm of that Empire, to live that dream. With his soul on the Other Side, it is your turn as my child to live that dream.

Silvia stepped out onto the blacony only a few inches, and a gust of wind coming in from the west sent a chill up and down her spine. Her raven black tresses danced serenely in the breeze as she closed her eyes and inhaled a deep breath of fresh mountain air. Damien looked on much the same way he did when he first began to show Azrael the wonders of the world that he had created through blood and fire, and a slight smile crossed his face. Father, if it is glory and fame you seek to give me, I say to you now that I will deny it all. I do not want to shine in battle, and I don't wish to send men to their makers. I am not a fighter, nor am I a diplomat.

Dreadfire bit his lower lip and nodded his head briefly. I understand m'dear, but you have taken up the mantle of Dreadfire, and with that power comes an awesome responsibility. If you seek to carry on in your brother's stead, you will learn to serve and represent the Empire in all of it's glory, and you will go down in history with the rest of the great Freeks that have come before you.

Silvia looked out over the balcony without acknowledging Dreadfire, save for a throat clear. Your voyage begins here, and the first bend you must get around will be that of Pantera. I await the Lord Reaver's word, and as soon as I receive it you will be off on your own. True Freeks are made this way, and those not destined to be will be dashed against the rocks.

***

The first of Dreadfire's brood had come to Pantera, and he had served alongside the Evenstar. He had gained the respect of the Reavers, and had steeled himself to the horrors that the Crone had shown him. And then, after he had departed Pantera and returned home, he had turned his back on his Honor and had sided with that poxy Nazi bitch, Rayne.

And now? Now another of Dreadfire's welps was being sent to Pantera, for Dayne to gauge and for the Crone to rant at. Azrael had been a betrayor, it was true, but he had managed to fool Dayne and Damien, and, cause for far more concern, he had fooled the Crone herself.

And what did that mean? Was it an indication that the old woman knew less than she pretended? Or did it mean that a man's destiny was not set? Dayne felt it was the third, and the most terrible option: The Crone was canny enough to use her Sight for her own agenda.

The old woman had no authority of her own, but that was by no means an indication that she wielded no power, for the Evenstar well knew the horror and darkness her prophecies could foretell. But, there was the problem. Was all her ranting only that, or, in the end, would all her tales of decay and corruption come to pass?

Time would tell, and for now, if Dreadfire wanted this doxy to come to Pantera, who was he to stop her?

"Send the girl, Dreadfire, though perhaps you should warn her of my... appetites. She is far closer to my tastes than the first of your brood. Perhaps, if she is too weak to join us as Lords of the Pact, I shall keep her for myself...

There is another who would look upon her. One whose eyes will see far more than my own. Prepare her for this, Damien. Prepare yourself, as well, for if this one holds the same Doom in her soul as the first of your brood, I shall destroy her myself.

We await this new pup.

-Evenstar"

***

The response from Dayne was one that was to be expected from a man such as himself. As Dreadfire inked his pen and prepared to make a formal response, he thought about what exactly he was getting Silvia into.

Aye, Evenstar, I know all about your cravings for the flesh. But I will have you know that Silvia is not steel and stone as we are, she is of good stock on her mother's side. I believe that she is the gentle soothing light to my darkness, and Azrael was somewhere in the middle. Be gentle with her, she is all that remains of my former lover now, and she is the only family I have left.

I anxiously look forward to what the old hag in the tower has to say, although at this point I am really not sure what she will say. Treat my little girl well Dayne...treat her with the same respect that I hold for you, and for your brother long departed. Our two houses are as one through the Blood Pact, and I expect her to welcomed as family.

I leave her in your hands, Evenstar.

Mere hours after the message was sent a single plane took the the cloudy Gholgoth skies, bound for Toke. Silvia brought with her very little: a few changes of clothes, a journal, and a few other small personal things. she had never been in a plane before, and she looked out in awe as she saw the Automagfreek horizon fade away as the jet screamed the gap towards the Panteran mainland.

In her heart she knew that she did not want to go, for she was not of warrior kind. A gentle and caring lady she was, just as her mother....but in these times, in this world, perhaps a warrior princess could be forged from fresh clay....

***

Damien found himself frequenting the church site more often since Silvia made her way into his life. This had been the second time that he had his life turned upside down on this supposedly 'holy' site, and it was apparent to him that there was more to Dawn's Cathedral than what the elders had passed down. It was an almost eerie sight to see the massive shell of a tower standing silently in the wind, garbed in a white blanket of snow.

Thoughts of Azrael and the trust he betrayed had never left his mind, and although it was unfair of him to prejudge Silvia, he could still not forget the past. Although.. He said to himself. Silvia most definatly takes after her mother, and hopefully in wits as well. The similarities between the two were staggering both in appearance and composure, and all he had to hope for was that she would have the same sense her mother had.

Meanwhile, Silvia's trip towards Pantera was nearly complete, and the mighty coastline was now clearly in sight. Toke would only be a little further away, and the first real test would be in front of her in less and a few short hours. Silvia heard little about the Lord Reaver and the Free Lands, and what she had heard was not very comforting. Long tales of Dayne and his lust for women, coupled with Pantera's blood soaked history.

The wheels of the plane hit the tarmac with a loud scream, and moments later the craft ground to a halt. Silvia took a moment to look herself over before stepping out of the plane, for she did not want to look trashy for the Lord Reaver. She straightened her long flowing black dress and sighed deeply as she felt her heart rate increase. Alright Silvia, now is your time. Do this for Azrael.....if he could go through with this, you certainly can.

***

The Evenstar lounged in the Seastone Chair, a leg slung over one of the intricately carved longships that formed the armrests of the great throne. Dressed in simple black pants and a tight-fitting wool shirt, he was, as usual, without adornment save for the slim iron crown that rested on his brow.

His eyes moved over Dreadfire's daughter, and his thoughts roamed. She was a beauty. Dayne remembered Xel. The resemblance was striking, as was the complete lack of similarity to the brute that was her father. Indeed, Xel had been one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, and her daughter was no less than she.

His smile was lazy as he motioned her forward. He was only a few years older than she, but there was an eternity of age between them. The innocence of the girl was apparent, though she held herself well. The long trip had taken it's toll, he could see. Though she looked beautiful, he could see the lines of weariness on her face.

Still, business would not wait,"Sylvia... A beautiful name for a beautiful girl. The televison does not do you justice."

Impatiently, he motioned her forward. Her steps were confident, he noted. She was doubtlessly nervous, but it never showed on her face. Rubbing at his stubble-coated jaw, Dayne spoke again,"Apologies for my appearance. It seems I'm not 'barbaric' enough without a beard. Can't be a King without solid facial hair."

Deciding to toy with her a bit, Dayne pressed forward with his tangent,"Take Hitler, for example. How in the name of the Gods did he think to conquer all he did with such a weak moustache? It's madness, I tell you. All great conquerors have wielded their facial hair like weapons. Barbarossa, Ghengis Khan, Stalin, my father, Valanus Vayne."

Rubbing at his own beard, he suddenly shifted topic,"Dreadfire. You call yourself this? Why, may I ask? It is no surname. It is a Soulname. Your father earned his name. He paid for it with fire and blood.... And yet, his gentle daughter has taken his name as well."

Shaking his head at that, Dayne finally swung his feet back to the floor and rose to tower over the girl,"You are no Dreadfire, girl. You are something else. Something...." Leaving that unsaid, he simply regarded her for a few, long moments.


***

Hours later, the girl joined the Evenstar at the foot of the Seastone Palace's great stairs. She looked magnificent after a few hours rest and the chance to freshen herself. She had agreed to take to the City with him, for drinks. They would go as regular people, he had said, not as the Lord Reaver and the Princess of AMF. The girl had agreed, though Dayne could not decide if she was pleased with the prospect.

With the ancient fortress soaring all about them, Dayne opened the door of the car for the girl and closed it after she got in. Moving to the driver's seat, he slid in and slammed the door. Lighting a smoke quickly, he grinned at the girl.

Pulling the slim iron band that passed for a crown from his brow, Dayne tossed it into the small backseat and turned over the ignition. The automobile came to life with a soft purr, and Dayne smiled,"Hear that? This is the most expensive car in Pantera, and for good reason. 'Spartan Works' is the largest company in Pantera's mighty automotive industry. It alone employs more than three million Panterans.

"This particular car, a prototype, was given to my by the CEO of the company, as a wedding gift. It will top two-hundred on a mile-stretch, and will turn on a dime. It's called the 'Sweet Leaf', though I donna know why. A fine ride, I say...."

Sliding the shifter down, Dayne floored the pedal and the car fishtailed though the gargantuan gates of the Seastone Palace. His hands deft and sure on the wheel, he sliced through the Castle-Town that surrounded the Palace and out into open country. Along the switchback-road that led down the Cliffs of Toke, Dayne slowed only a little as he applied the brakes and spun the wheel.

His face was alive with excitement as he glanced toward the girl who appeared unconcerned with the break-neck speed at which she traveled. As he entered the outskirts of the City of Toke, he thought This one is indeed the blood of Damien.

As they came to a row of restaurants, whore houses, and seedy taverns, the Evenstar nodded quickly. Smiling, Dayne spun the wheel once more and stepped down hard on the brakes. The car whipped about and slid to a jolting stop alongside a small building, a mug of ale on the sign outside, with a longship floating in the foam. 'The Drunken Cap'n' was a place Dayne had oft visited with Bastien when they were young. The old, crippled Reaver who ran the place had died, though, and he had never returned.

As he stepped from the car, Dayne pulled the ties from his braids and shook them free. His loose hair fell in a golden cascade down to brush at his buttocks as he moves to open the door for Sylvia. He saw her eyes touch on the sign, but she said nothing. He smiled again.

"Give me a moment to go inside. I don't know the owners anymore, and Panteran taverns can get quite rough for the wrong people. Just stand here, and try not to be so...." He hesitated before grinning and turning away,"... beautiful."

Inside, the beer-sign neon lights glowed all about and the jukebox moaned a soft, sad song. Along the bar sat a number of men that he didn't care for the look of, but he shrugged and moved for the bar, intending to speak to the bartender about a table.

Before he could say a word, however, the door opened and there Sylvia stood, her black dress whipping about her. Sauntering by, she gave Dayne a cool glance and slid onto a stool a few feet from Dayne. He was not alone in noticing her, he saw. All along the bar men were turning to stare. Black hair was uncommon in Pantera, especially on a woman as beautiful as this. That this was no ordinary woman was plain, and being where the tavern was located, they naturally came to the conclusion that she was a pillow-friend. A whore.

Whistling through his teeth, one man muttered, too low for Sylvia to hear,"Now looky here at this little ass...."

The comment brought the attention of the bartender who stood up a bit straighter and squinted at her. A huge man, he was, who wore a slim dirk at his hip, and if Dayne was not mistaken, a gun under his greasy apron. His smile was nasty as he looked Sylvia over, and inwardly, Dayne groaned.

"I'll have two shots of Panteran rum, and a coke, please." Her voice was soft and musical amid the gathering of brutes.

The bartender snorted with disdain and shook his bald head from side to side,"We donna serve folks like you here, lassy. There's plenty o' Houses 'round here for whores like ya."

The look of confusion and anger on her face amused Dayne, but he noted it vanished quickly, to be replaced by one of furious defiance,"You -will- serve me." Her voice cracked with authority, and Dayne winced, for one did not speak to men in Pantera that way, unless they planned for combat.

The scowl that stole over the bartender's face hinted at what was to come, and the Evenstar spoke first,"Serve the lady." It was the first time he had spoken and all eyes turned on him.

What they saw was decieving. A large man, seated he did not appear so. His shoulders slumped a bit, and he purposely drew in on himself. His handsome, famous face was thickly stubbled and his even more famous twin-braids had been pulled loose. Intending to 'blend in' as much as possible, Dayne had neglected to carry a sword or sidearm. He regretted that, now that trouble loomed.

What these men saw was a man, a not overly-large, handsome, well dressed man. They did not see a Reaver, nor the Warrior King of Pantera, nor the fiend that the rumours of the smallfolk made him out to be. They saw only an unarmed man, and they were not impressed.

The bartender glanced at the others lining the bar and almost imperceptibly nodded toward Dayne. His voice was rough as he spoke,"We donna serve whores here. Nossir, no whores. There's pillow houses where she could get a drink an' fuck a bunch o' greasy men..."

Dayne had had about enough of his lip, and he reached across the bar and took ahold of the bartender. Slamming his face down against the bartop, Dayne cursed the man for a fool and shifted his grip. His massive hand did not close around the neck itself, instead, his powerful fingers thrust themselves into the fleshy throat of the bartender, around the apple of his throat. The Evenstar began to squeeze with all the power in his meaty, sword-calloused hands.

The man began to turn purple almost immediately, but Dayne held on for a few moments and gave the man a few good shakes. A hand fumbled for the dirk at his belt, but the lack of oxygen was making him clumsy, and he dropped it once it came free. When his beady eyes began to bug out, Dayne flung the man back against the rack of bottles behind the bar. A few toppled forward and broke about him as the Evenstar spoke again,"Serve the Lady." His tone was conversational, but the glare on his face and the blaze of his purple eyes must have warned the man, for he poured the girl's shots, and fast.

As he did so, another of the crew along the bar began to mutter. He was very drunk, and the bartender's lesson taught him nothing. His mind, fluttering slowly due to the ale, was nonetheless working on the problem of this stranger, and the wench. Who was this fool, coming into -their- bar, attacking the bartender? He was nothing, and he would die, the man decided.

Rising, the fool croaked an ale-soaked challenge at Dayne and began to tug at the hilt of the sword that hung at his hip. The Evenstar who simply turned to look him over calmly,"You there. Whatcha 'tink 'dis is, eh? You 'tink you can come in 'ere and star' shi' over 'dis -whore-? Well, 'tink agin', 'cause..."

The rending crash of the stool over the man's head dropped him cold. As he crumpled to the floor, Dayne laughed. Raising the stool again, Sylvia brought it down with all her might on the prone fool, the edge of the seat sending a shower of blood from the man's head across the floor as it crashed down once more, and again.

Spinning from her fallen foe, Sylvia's eyes swam over the remaining men at the bar. Levelling the shattered remnants of her stool at the others, she spoke. Her voice was still soft and musical, but this music had a savage, martial note to it,"That is the last 'whore' I will take from you scum. If anyone else thinks me so, stand now, and join your friend on the floor."

Only silence and awkward shifting in their chair answered her. None seemed eager to challenge the girl, or Dayne, after their fellows fared so poorly. They all dropped their eyes to their drinks, and soon began to slip away, one by one, until only the bartender remained, standing sheepishly behind the bar.

Still laughing, Dayne ordered a bottle of Elaran ale and motioned Sylvia toward a table in the back of the bar. As he sat, he noticed the look on her face and he raised a hand,"I apologize, my dear. I had no idea it would be like this here, but..."

Pulling a swig of ale from his bottle, Dayne wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and grinned,"...but you seem to have done well enough, eh? Have your drinks. Le's enjoy the evening. Tomorrow will be a trial for you. That, I promise."


***

Although Silvia put on quite a face for the Lord Reaver, inside she was quite shaken. She was not the violent type by any strectch of the imagination, but she did what she needed to do to prove her worth to The Evenstar. She did not want to come across as just the weak daughter of a powerful man, she instead wanted to come across as a take-no-shit woman who would do what it took, but all the meanwhile maintaining her innocence. She was pure at heart no matter what others said about her or the fact that her father was one of the most vile men history had ever known, and she hoped that before all was said and done that her spirit would be her defining trait.

She sipped delicately at her drinks for a few hours more, her eyes glancing to her right and left every so often to see if she was still being watched. The men in the room had pretty much forgotten she was even there, and she was finally able to enjoy her evening without being on edge. As the night went on and the drinks continued to come, Sylvia began to feel the effects of the powerful Panteran booze as their toxins began to set in.

She swayed in her seat ever so slightly as she pushed her drink away from her with the back of her right hand, her face beginning to turn a sick shade of green. She ordered a tall glass of soda and began sipping it down to help dillute the alcohol inside her stomach, and she looked at the Lord Reaver with tired eyes. Dayne, I think we should go. I don't feel so well all of a sudden.....but don't worry, I won't get sick in your car....as long as you don't drive a hundred miles per hour...

Dayne smirked and took her by a shaky arm, and the pair left the tavern and climbed into the mighty Panteran sports car. As they began the ride back towards the Seastone Palace, Sylvia slipped into a drunken slumber and rested her head against the glass of the passenger side door. Dayne smiled in a cool manner as he threw a glance her way every so often, and as they drove down a long straight road, Sylvia's head sifted and rested on Dayne's shoulers. She hummed contently as she made herself comfortable and adjusted herself in her seat and let her hand rest on his knee.

Dayne shook his head and continued on with the drive, his guest passed out and still sleeping on his shoulders until the car took a sharp corner. Sylvia's head thwapped the glass and in an instant she woke up from her drunken sleep and starred at Dayne and attempted to focus her eyes on him. Are we there yet? Mere seconds later she passed out again, and a slight laugh escaped the Lord Reaver. She may be of Damien's stock, but she certainly did not inherit his liver.... he said to himself.

***

"He thinks to spy on me, but we'll do this with no interference, for once. Up, girl! Up."

The chill grey of the Panteran dawn had only begun to filter through the blinds when the gnarled, bony finger prodded Sylvia awake. The drink had been stout, and her head throbbed mightily. The only thought in her head was to keep her eyes closed, and hopefully whoever it was would leave her be awhile longer.

The prodding became more insistant, and soon she was forced to sit up and open her eyes, lest her ribs become too bruised. The light hurt her red-rimmed eyes, and for a moment the shape was difficult to focus on. It was still on her lips to offer a stinging reprimand when her sight finally cleared to see who stood beside the bed.

The wrinkled, papery skin of the old woman was spotted with age, and she was slightly stooped. A tiny old thing, Sylvia thought, but there was nothing tiny about the disapproving scowl on her features. Her icy blue eyes flared angrily as she levelled the same finger she had used to prod Sylvia's ribs so painfully,"A princess, mmm? A drunken layabout, it seems to me. I tolerated the jackassery of Bastien and Damien, and now, I tolerate your oafish father drinking with Dayne and that puffed up idiot of Tersanctus, whatever his fool name is..."

The old, bony finger shook about, and her ranting continued,"I tolerate it, because they're men, and they know no better. You, I would think, had more sense than to soak yourself in wine. Apparently, I would be wrong, though. A drunken princess, fathered by a drunken oaf. Your mother, she had a bit of sense, at least. I never met her, meself, but I knew her soul..."

The blue-blue eyes focused on Sylvia's face and soon the wrinkled features lost their severity. Reaching the finger out once more, the girl involuntarily flinched back, but the gnarled knuckle only traced the line of her cheek as she spoke,"You have much of her, in you. More than the boy had. He is too much your fathers son...'

"I think often of your brother. There was no true evil in him, so put your soul at ease. That much of your father he did not inherit. The Darkness is there, do not be mistaken, but there is the balance, you understand? You will be the sun, to hold back his darkness, just as he will be the wild storm, to counter your own calm." Her tone increased tremendously since she began to speak, the Crone tilted her head,"But you know that already. Let us speak of yourself, for that is why the Dreadfire sent you..."

Spitting the word like a curse, the Crone's features harden once more,"Dreadfire. A name you throw about like 'Smith' or 'Jones'. Foolish girl, you are not the Dreadfire. Your father alone may claim that title. There is no other, nor will there be another. Even your brother's fool title of 'Advocate' is not his true name. Such things are only words unless they tie you to the land. A soulname does this and so much more. A rallying cry in times of battle, a murmered blessing in times of peace. Your own name, girl? Sylvia is your name, but your Soulname is your armor and talisman.'

"I have given hundreds, thousands of soulnames, every one unique. I have chosen yours, just as I chose for the last ten Lord Reavers, your father, and even Azrael's, long ago. His own is lost, until he comes to me again. You two, who shared your womb, and even more that you ill never know. Your names are like yourselves, similar, but drastically, blessedly different. Perhaps he will come for his own, someday... Your own, girl... Your own, I shall give you."

Pleased with the dramatic situation, the Crone enjoyed it for a few moments before leaning close and whispering,"You will be the Stormguard. The Iron Princess, though your iron is of a different sort. You will be the one to stand against the furies and failings of your kin. You will be the one to hold firm, and drag your people through the Long Night that they will plunge us into. Your soul is named, and it cannot be undone.'

"Sylvia Stormguard, listen to my words, and know them for truth: Your love and beauty will be the spark in the darkness, and only through you will they rekindle the Flames. Azrael a-risen or Azrael a-rotted, you must remember that. You must leave no room in your soul for the darkness that haunts your blood."

The note of finality in her voice caused Sylvia to blink, and when she did, her head spun. Sitting up, she was alone, and much time had passed. The sun was bright outside, and the wall-clock said it was almost noon. A dream? She wondered briefly. No, it had been far too real for a dream.

***

Silvia looked about her surroundings, mainly at the hot Panteran sun as it cast its warming rays on the Free Lands below. The image of the old woman was as clear as the day itself, but she could not help but feel as if she was in another world when she was in the presense of the aging nag. With a loud yawn she stretched and arose from the bed she awoke in, trying her hardest to remember the words that were spoken to her.

In a rush it suddenly came back to her, and a chill went up and down her spine as the words Silvia Stormguard echoed through her mind. She ahd been given a real soul name, an honor reserved for only the most worthy. The Bronze, The Evenstar, Deadfire....all were easily recognizable to almost anyone on the planet that didn't live under a rock. And now, such a weighty title had been given to her.

Before her conversation with the crone she did not even know what a soul name was nor did she understand the mystique and privilege behind such a thing. But now she did, and in that moment she understood why the crone had such a strong objection to her using the name 'Dreadfire' as if it were her own.

She changed into a fresh outfit and gave herself a quick once-over in the mirror before starting off for a place that she would have been wise to stay away from....the lair where the crone lived. She knew the old woman would scorn her greatly for intruding on her private quarters, but before she departed for Automagfreek there was one final thing she needed to share with her. After a brief walk she stood outside the musty doors of the nag's chambers, and as she knocked on the door she noticed it was open. Her knocks were enough the cause the door to slide open, and cautiously she took a few steps inside.

Peering into the poorly lit room she saw the faint outline of the woman sitting curled up in a highback chair, peering into the fireplace and paying little attention to the girl's presense. Silvia took it upon herself to stir up the conversation, and with as much courage as she could muster she cleared her throat and spoke to the woman that had haunted the dreams of her entire family.

Before I leave I would like to say thank you for bestowing such an honor upon me. Both Damien and Azrael alike spoke of you as if you were a ghost, and even to this day my father is taken back when you are mentioned to him. I will not bother you, but I owe you thanks for granting me such a title.

Silvia turned around and started to exit the chamber, but she stopped herself in her tracks and asked one final question. She was not sure if it was a wise one to ask, but it was in her nature to see the best in all people, and the aging nightmare of a woman was no exception.

I must ask, and you can trust that I will not share the answer with anyone living or dead. What is your name?

***

The huddled figure shifted the ratty old shawl about her shoulders and her eyes turned to Sylvia, the flames of the hearth before her dancing in her eyes. The soft rasp that was her voice sounded,"I was once known as the Sight Giver, Burner of the Veil. Perhaps, one day, you will learn why. My given name... That will wait for another day, girl. Go now, and leave me to my rest."

Though the voice never rose above a whisper, it brooked no argument.

In another part of the Seastone Palace, the Evenstar was furious. He had sat in his study all night, monitoring the devices in the Crone's room, waiting for Sylvia's visit, and the prohpecies the old woman would unfold. Instead, he got her soulname, which he had already known. Somehow, the old bitch had slipped through and had already me with Sylvia.

It angered him to no end, and for the thousandth time he toyed with the idea of having the old woman scourged, but in the end he decided against it, as he always did. Fickle and unpredictably dangerous as the old woman was, she had her uses.

Disgusted with the wasted efforts, Dayne indulged himself in a glass of brandy and waited for the girl's coming. She would go home today, and soon the world would know her soulname, but that was only a part of the matter. What did the Crone tell her about her future? Is she as dangerous as Azrael? Was there fire and blood ahead of her, as there was for myself and Dreadfire?

Damn the old bitch. Damn her.

***

The throne room at the Great Hall was empty.

Many hours had passed and still there was no sign of Damien, and as time continued to pass the servants grew uneasy. Word had not yet leaked out that Dreadfire had gone missing, but it was bound to with all the police and secret agents roaming the street. This was of course until somone spotted The Destroyer walking up a long path that lead to the highest peak in the ULE Mountains.

He had taken little with him: The Relic's Sword, a warm animal hide coat, and some ancient texts. A small gathering of people stood at the foot of the winding path and watched as he ascended up the snow covered slope. Nobody knew why Lord Dreadfire would be headed up the mountains, and the small mass gradually grew into a larger one as onlookers continued to whisper gossip among their ranks.

Silvia received word the Damien was headed towards the mountains, and she moved into the throne room and looked out the balcony window. From there she had a great view, and in the distance she could see the faint outline of her father's figure as it disappeared into the snowy beyond.

Just as she was about to leave the room she found a letter placed on the seat of the large obsidian throne in the center of the room. She curiously moved towards it and picked it up, examining it carefully. As fate would have it the letter was addessed to her, and she cockedher head in bewilderment as she began to read.

My dearest Silvia,

I am taking my leave now, and for many days I will diminish and head into the mountains. My dreams have shown me a great many things....many changes that will come about in the Empire....and much blood that will one day be spilled. I have taken with me only what I need to survive, and there is no telling when I will be back. My destination is the highest peak in the ULE Mountain chain, and there I will focus draw upon Nature's energy. The West Winds and the great soul of the mountains will be my host, and when I return I expect to have a much greater understanding of not only my purpose, but the purpose of our Empire.

I do not know what I will find in the mountains, but those great rocks are a holy site. It was on their slopes that the blood of 300,000 men was spilled as Lord Rising Sun made the final charge of the battle that would unify Automagfreek under a single banner. It is there I will focus my power and draw on the energies that flow forth from that site.

I will benefit from this quest, and so will the Empire. The only ones that will not benefit will be our enemies. Until I make my return, I leave you in charge.

I'll see you soon, my precious Silvia.

~Damien~

Silvia then looked back through the window and at the mountain that her father was ascending. She shook her head and sighed deeply, unsure of what to make of the situation. I'll never understand you father, you and your spiritual hunger are beyond the comprehension of even the wisest of men....

***

"Our Enemies"
-Bleeding Through-

Part 1

++++++++++++++++++


Now....demons running, racing through my dreams. Taking shape, destroy my life forever. Poisoned memories to fuel this fire, I'll burn you alive.

Near the top of the mountain peak the winds began to howl and blow, whipping up a sea of snow flurries that slashed Damien's face like a thousand razors. He trudged through snow drifts that were several feet deep for hours, searching for the entrance of an ancient cave that had not been found in several hundred years.

A few more hours passed, and as the Warlord neared the peak of the mountain he saw a small black hole in a large snow drift. He waded through the sea of white and came upon the hole, which he reckoned was the entrance he had been searching for. After clearing open the hole he climbed inside and looked out over the terrain he had crossed. From his location he could see the hill where he did battle with his son, Azrael the Advocate.

He tried to stop the incident from replaying in his mind, but he could not make himself forget. He shook it off and continued into the cave, using a pair of flint stones to spark a makeshift torch from an old piece of wood that lay on the floor of the cave. The place looked like it had been recently occupied, but the dried skeleton in the corner suggested that it had been much, much longer.

He then noticed a small pit near the old corpse, and Damien moved over towards the body and sparked up a fire using the dried rags that clung to the frozen body and various planks that lay near it. After several minutes he was quite comfortable, and he sat down on the cold stone floor and closed his eyes.

You, too fragile frail to leave a mark for this lifetime. Legions of storms to prey this war on you.

The spirits there did not take long to begin showing Dreadfire a great many disturbing things....things that happened in the not so distant future. The slaying of Azrael was replaying in his head over and over as a broken record skips over and over again.

In his mind he stood over the corpse of his slain son, a river of red gushing from his headless neck. Dreadfire lifted the severed head of his boy and looked it over without an ounce of remorse in his veins. Suddenly Azrael's eyes lifted and fixed with that of his father, blinking several times before a wailing sound exited The Advocate's mouth. His lips curled and his face contorted as he spoke but one word before dying... Father....

That was not how it all went down though, but the spirits were telling him something....and he would have to endure the entire vision before he could begin to figure out what it meant. Sweat beads formed on his hairless head and ran over his closed eyelids as he remained in a deep state of meditation. The winds outside the cave had died down momentarily, but it was just the calm before the inevitable storm.

Designed with false emotion....I'll cross the line to take the fall.

***

'Our Enemies'
-Bleeding Through-

Part 2

++++++++++++

Demons running, racing through my dreams. Taking shape, destroy my life forever...... awaken my love and inhale this beautiful silence, but for now and this thread I hold will be gone forever.

He suddenly snapped out of the trance and spun around. A cool breeze blew from a dark corner of the cave, and as he peered into the darkness he tought he saw a figure of a person emerge from he shadows, only to retreat back into the blackness. Damien stood and drew both the Relic's Sword and a burning torch, and without hesitation he started off towards the dark hole in the cold stone walls. As he stood at the mouth of the hole he noticed that there was indeed a breeze funneling up from the underground tunnel, and it caused his torch to flicker and dance wildly.

The opening was narrow but somehow he managed to squeeze his way through and begin a very long decent into the sloping tunnel. After about 30 yards of walking he heard the sounds of footsteps running away from him, and Dreadfire shouted Hey! and took off after him. He ran as fast as his mighty legs could carry him, but the sounds grew more and more distant by the second, until they disappeared. Damien stopped running and held the torch out in his arm, and he shook his head before turning around and starting back towards the cave.

As he took his first step light filled the room along with the sounds of barking gunfire and masive explosions. He whirled around and saw that there was a great battlefield before him, and the two sides were engaged in point blank trench warfare. Hundreds of thousands of men exchanged heavy automatic firel, some charged at each other with their rifles blazing, and many hundreds were cut down by a wall of lead every second. The two sides continued pounding eachother with artillery and tanks, the explosions mere yards away from their own lines as well.

Damien watched as the battle intensified, and both sides gave the order to charge at the same time. A sea of men merged from their trenches and charged headfirst across the small section of open ground between the trenches. As The Destroyer watched this in awe, he noticed in the massive group of people a single man wearing a bright red cape. He peered on through the bellowing smoke at the figure, and as he looked on the figure stopped and looked at him. It was his son Azrael, enguled in the heat of battle and about to make a charge to his death. Damien did not hesitate and began to run down from the tunnel into the massacre below.

His eyes did not shift form Azrael, and as his son lovingly smiled at his father a bullet caught him across the stomach. The Advocate fell to the ground as his innard were spilled onto the battlefield, and his eyes grew large as he wailed and howled in pain. Damien screamed aloud and pushed his way through the men that were dying all around him, intent on getting to his son before he died. Damien dropped his torch and his sword on the ground and prepared to scoop his son up into his arms....but just as he was about to grab ahold of him everything vanished.



No more. This choice that makes me choose.... and it burns inside me, and I lie awake, forever. Forever.

Only darkness remained inside the large stone room, and Damien dropped to his knees as he realized it was all just an illusion. The torch sat on the ground and began to burn out, so Damien picked it up and looked about his surroundings. There had not been any great battle, and his son was not dying in front of him. The spirits were playing cruel mind games with him, he thought.

He screamed aloud and cursed the Gods and the spirits inside the holy site, and he picked up his sword and prepared to dispatch himself. He dropped the torch again and held the shining blade in both hands, ready to thrust it into his own midsection.....but just as he was about to go through with it he heard those same footsteps again. Dreadfire did not pay them any attention, and as he took in his last breath the sword suddenly became red hot, searing his hands and causing him to drop it on the ground. Damien looked around the room and noticed that the footsteps were coming towards him, so he picked up the torch and attempted to see where they were coming from.

Damien. The voice was familiar, but not that of his son.

He whirled the torch around a few more times before seeing a figure standing before him. The long black coat and wide brim hat were all too familiar.

***

It cannot be...

Damien staggered back a few steps as he looked on with his mouth agape. The One was not due to make his return to the Realm of the Living for another month or so, but yet he stood before the Warlord as lively as ever. The One stepped forward and lifted his head ever so slightly so that his face was nearly visible, but his hands remained tucked inside his coat pockets.

It is I, Damien, The One Who Shall Remain Unnamed. Although I appear to you in the flesh I have not yet taken physical form. My soul has almost completed its cycle, and soon I will be ready to emerge from the Tomb of the Mutilated. But I brought you here to this holy site for a reason....

Damien snarled and lashed out at The One in an emotional fit of rage. For what? So you could torture me with your sick fucking mind games? You knew by son was dear to me, and now you haunt me with images? Explain!

The One did not move at all, or even blink for that matter. There is hope yet, Damien. Your son may still live again.

Damien got right up in the face of The One without an ounce of fear. With a burning fire in his heart and ice water pumping through his veins, The Destroyer laid it all out on the line. BULLSHIT! I cut his head off his shoulders with this sword in my hand. I held it high in my hands and let his blood run onto my face, and yet you tell me that this can be undone? I don't believe it.

Damien turned around to leave, but as he spun around The One was already in front of him. Why would I lie to you, my master? What would I have to gain by doing so? I may be able to bring his soul back across the Realms as I make my return journey. I cannot promise you anything, but it is very possible that I may be able to do so. I require only a few things, and the most important of which is for you to find Azrael's head and body and bring them into the Halls. You will then need a vile of his blood and a priest to help channel his soul back across to the Realm of the Living. Hope is not lost Dreadfire.

Damien snorted, but then thought on the situation long and hard. He sat on a nearby rock and ran his hand across his face and tried to soak the whole situation in. Alright One, we will give it a try. Every night my dreams are haunted by that fateful day when my only son was slain at the hands of the man who created him. I have regretted that action, but it was an action that had to be done nonetheless. That demon whore Rayne had my darling boy under a very powerful spell, and only through death could he have been cured.

Yes, we will try. How will I stay in contact with you?

The One began to dematerialize, and as his figure faded into shadow he spoke but one final time. We will not. Meet me in the Halls at this hour, exactly one month from now. I'll see you soon.... And with that, Damien was left alone inside the large cold room. The trip back to the surface would be a short one, and from there he would complete his spiritual reflection and head back down towards the world that he had created.

***

It had been several weeks since his encounter with The One, and night had come to the ULE Valley. The raging snow storm outside the cave had died down for a brief while, allowing Lord Dreadfire to look out across the entire city below him. He had been in meditation almost nonstop for 3 weeks, and for almost 3 weeks straight the spirits inside that holy site tortured his mind.

Those who waited below watched eagerly as the snows began to subside, hoping to catch a glance of their leader if and when he decided to come back down. They were not disappointed though, because Dreadfire did indeed descend from high atop the moutain peak. The snow drifts had grown about a foot or two, and it took the Warlord considerably longer to come back down. Those who saw his face as he walked saw that something had changed him greatly, for the moment or permanently, they did not know. He walked immediatly towards the Great Hall without even acknowledging the presense of the presence of the onlookers, as if he was sent on a mission.

He wasted no time in throwing open the massive doors of the Hall and decending the winding stairs into the basement that sat several stories beneath the surface. It was damp, dark, and musty, but Damien paid his surroundings little attention as he shuffled through various odd items that were left to rot in the basement. After some searching he removed a gold chest that he had hidden inside a wooden trunk, and he delicatly ran his fingers across the engravings before opening it.

Inside was the withered and rotten head of his son Azrael, a look of horror still frozen on what remained of his face. Dreadfire held the head and looked at it as if he were in some sort or trance, and he kissed the dried and hardened skin of his son's forehead before wrapping it in a black cloth.

Several minutes later Damien summoned forth his best friend, Hartman, and gave him some very explicit instructions. Hartman, you are to retrieve the body of Azrael the Advocate, my one and only son. He swallowed hard after soaking in Damien's orders, but he did not question them for a second....for when Dreadfire gave Hartman an order, it obviously was for good reason.

As the International Affairs Minister began to leave the throne room, Dreadfire stopped him one final time and gave him yet another order. You are to send invitation to our closest friends in Gholgoth and the Blood Pact for the awakening of.....The One Who Shall Remain Unnamed.

***

For days Lord Dreadfire's personal staff began making preparations inside The Halls for the arrival of the Lord of the Death Dealers. Although the entire facility was stained to its very foundation with the stench of rot and gore, those inside worked around the clock with special attention to every little detail. Special candles that burn black when lit were brought in by the thousands and placed around the most unholy site in the entire facility....The Tomb of the Mutilated. No living man had ever seen the inside the the Tomb, and all that was known was that it was the source of the Death Dealers and their unwordly power.

For three days the workers inside toiled past the point of exhaustion, and another three days had passed until The One would be awakened. Less than a day remained now, and dignitaries across the entire nation came under secrecy to witness a once in a lifetime spectacle. Marv Bonesplitter, Minister Hartman, his daughter Silvia, and every available Warchief. As the hours until the awakening began to tick away, those that had showed up made their way down Lord Dreadfire's secret entrance to The Halls and down past the main torture facility.

They passed the various instruments of death, all stained with the blood of the condemned and still stinking of cold flesh, and made their way towards the Tomb. A large red carpet had been laid out in front of the simple stone slab on the ground that served as the entrance from which The One would pass through. Those who were present bowed their heads as Damien entered the room and walked towards the stone slab, his armor shining in the candle light and his red cape fluttering behind him ever so slightly.

Dreadfire placed his right had on the Tomb and took a knee, whispering a silent prayer to the Gods and praying that The One would be able to pull the soul of Azrael across the realms. Let us begin. Dreadfire rose to his feet and looked out across the room of familiar faces, and from his armor he pulled out a tattered text that had seen too many moons, and from it's wrinkled and brown pages he began to chant in a tongue that very few spoke.

Dreadfire's eyes rolled back and turned red as he concentrated all his internal energy into his words. Those who looked on either remained motionless or looked on in awe, as was the case with Silvia. Her thigh length hair began to sway as a slight breeze began to blow in seemingly out of nowhere, and not too long after that her long black dress also began to pick up. The black flames on the candles did not sway nor flicker however, but instead the wicks exploded with life. The flames suddenly turned red and shot up several feet, and soon a low rumble filled the room as the large stone that sealed The Tomb off from the rest of humanity began to slide back.

Instantly the candles went out all at once, leaving only illumination from inside the now visible hole in the ground. A grey vapor began to filter out through into the room, and slowly a shape began to materialize from the shadow. The shape of a long trench coat and a wide brim hat were trademarks of none other than The One, and those inside the room bowed as the Lord of the Death Dealers became fully visible. Damien glanced around without trying to look frantic, straining his eyes to see if The One had managed to pull his son back across the realms into the world of the living.

I make my return, and by the will of the Dread Fires I have come back to this land to faithfully serve the one known as Warlord. Sleep now in the fire, foes and fiends that lurk in the shadows, the creature known only as The One Who Shall Remain Unnamed is among the living once more!

http://67.18.37.14/40/9/upload/p968858.jpg
The One Who Shall Remain Unnamed
-Lord of the Death Dealers-
Servant of the Dread Fires

***

As the intense light faded Damien noted that there was only one figure standing near the entrance to the Tomb. The Lord of the Death Dealers had failed to bring Azrael back from across the realms, and it was just as the Warlord feared. He choked back his rage and sadness and welcomed back his old friend with the warmest smile and handshake he could muster.

The One, too long has it been since we have were graced by your presence. Too long has it been since the house of the Death Dealers opened its doors and let loose the fury inside. For too long have we lingered in darkness without your wisdom and guidance. Welcome back, old friend.

The One bowed to his master and turned back towards the Tomb, and in the instant the ground began to tremble and the candles in the room started flickering violently as if a great wind storm had manifested. The Tomb opened its cursed gate once more, and spat forth hundreds of Death Dealers that had been lost during the clash with Rayne. One by one they climbed out of the unworldly hole and stood in formation around the room, their red eyes adding an eerie tinge to the yellow and orange candlelight hat danced across the room now.

As the last of the Death Dealers made their return to the realm of the living, Damien led them in a procession through the decaying corridors of The Halls and out into the fresh night air. The Death Dealers looked around in wonder as if they had arrived in a distant paradise, for to them it was great to be back home. A decorated Sentinel gaurd lined the cobblestone path that lead to the stony wall of the most vile torture chamber ever known to man, and they saluted their brothers in arms as they passed.

The celebration continued on late into the night, and as the guests began to linger off Damien snuck out into the gardens of the Great Hall and looked up towards the moon. His heart was sunk deep within his chest, and each moment he thought about Azrael his heart ached even more. His one chance to bring his son back had failed, and the Warlord's head was churning with thoughts about how else he could revive him. As fate would have it, the only living priest who knew how to bring souls back from across the realms has given his life in order to save Damien from the Other Side, and sadly he took that knowledge with him into limbo. Perhaps there was another way.....

Wolves and other wild dogs howled at the moon as it sat high in the cloudless night sky, and occasionally the wind would cause the tall grass and other vegetation to shake and tremor before returning to a state of serenity. It was the perfect setting for a nightmare indeed, and in the days following the collapse of Rayne, every day seemed to be an unending nightmare to Damien. But one thing kept him going no matter what: his determination to never lose at anything. He had not given up in his life for any reason, and he would not stop now....not when the stakes were this high. Damien's line, his entire legacy counted on the resurrection of Azrael, and he was determined to achieve that no matter how long it took or how high the cost was.

***

Night had swept across the ULE Valley, and the site of the recently finished Dawn's Cathedral was nearly pitch black. It had been many years since the original structure had been burned down by Damien's son, the late Azrael the Advocate. It had been only a few short years since the Westwind Citadel, Azrael's home built on the site, had been razed to the ground by Damien himself. There was a lot of history behind the Cathedral, and a lot of blood that had been spilled on the supposedly holy site.

The darkness had been violated by a single burning torch in the distance from the now sleeping ULE City, and the ball of light made for the Cathedral doors. The thick slabs of oak that kept the church safe from the outside world were thrown open and then quickly shut again, concealing the figure who had opened them inside its monsterously high walls. The figure walked down the long isle and towards the altar, one of the few parts of the church that had survived the test of time.

Patiently the figure went from candle to candle, lighting each one with great care and making sure not a single one went untouched by the flame he carried in his hand. He placed the torch in a holder near the stone slab and removed the crimson cloak that shrouded his body. It was Lord Dreadfire, the Cathedral's number one customer. Many a restless night he had spent praying to the Gods above for wisdom and aid...many nights he had fallen asleep inside its safe walls, shut out from the horrors of day to day life.

But on this day, or night to be more exact, the Cathedral would be the site chosen for a ritual that had not been performed in Automagfreek in nearly 2,000 years. Since the slaying of his son by his own hand, Damien had been driven nearly insane on his quest to bring him back from the grave. The One Who Shall Remain Unnamed had failed to carry his soul back across the realms, and he himself had failed to conjure up his spirit from the Other Side. Tonight he would try again.

Damien placed an old and withered book on the altar and immediatly began flipping to the page he had marked for reference. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath before chating the ancient texts in the heathen tongues of the Freeks of old. Such spells were considered heresey and those who performed them would be subject to Puritania without discrimination. But Dreadfire did not have this on his mind as he rattled off the unholy verses, attempting to use the powers of darkness to help bring back his son.

In his mind the Light had failed him, and therefore he had no other choice but to resort to....alternative methods. As the ghastly words ran off his tongue the room began to darken, and a chill began to form as the air high inside the church started swirling. Soon there was a slight breeze, regardless of the fact that there was not a single window was open and not a single hole in the structure was present. Damien embraced the darkness and pledged his Life's Blood, indeed his very soul to the demon gods of they would grant him but this one wish....for the one born of his flesh to return to the Realm of the Living.

I will do whatever it takes, I will make any sacrifice to see the face of Azrael once more. Damien then walked over to a section of the wall that was converted into a shrine for the fallen son of The Dread Fire, and inside a medium sized wooden box were the remains of Azrael.....well, what was found for that matter. Damien laid them out in the figure of a person, the arm and leg bones placed appropriately and the skull at the top of the collection of bones. The bones were then painted with the blood of Dreadfire himself, and as he slid the knife across the palm of his right hand he continued chanting.

He then laid a black cloth over the bloodied bones and lifted his hands towards the heavens, his eyes rolling back in his head and the floor trembling beneath him. Heathen Gods of old, hear my cries! Bring back that which was slain, rejuvenate that which has withered. Rekindle the burning flames that have subsided!

The walls inside Dawn's Cathedral began to bleed as he continued on with the ceremony, and the entire structure began to moan and creak as the stone and wood shifted back and forth. As the ritual was nearly complete, the flames on the candles jumped several feet in the air, and large pentagrams appeared on the floor, scrawled in human blood. The Destroyer himself was now trembling as ice began to form on his appendages, but the chuch itself was so hot that a misty vapor filled the main hall.

Soon the ritual would be over, and soon he would see if the Dark Lords of the Underworld would heed his call.

***

The final passage had been uttered, and Damien collapsed in a heap on the floor. His body was coated with a thick frost which he promptly shook off, and has he stood and tried to focus his eyes through the misty haze, he felt as if there was someone or something else in the room with him. He started towards the stone altar that the remains of Azrael had been placed on, but before he could get within arms reach of the black cloth, a raspy voice spoke out.

Drrreeeeaaaddddfffiiiiirrrrreeee........ A large and near skeletal being stood in a darkened corner with a long flowing robe shrouding his body. He glided towards Damien across the floor without moving his legs, and he stood hunched over before the Warlord. Had he stood upright he would have towered over ten feet, but the creature's body was twisted and stood no more than six feet tall. The black skin that fell of its skull stunk of rot and bodily fluids, and the creature spoke through a hole in its throat that had been stretched open and secured with razor wire.

...power is beyond the comprehension of flesh....life eternal you seek for your seed....made of light and extinguished by darkness. The creature continued to nearly float towards Damien, and it extended a bony hand and placed it on Damien's shoulder. The smell intensified as heat inside the room increased, and as Dreadfire glacned over his shoulder he noticed that the creature left a trail of bleeding pentagrams in its path.

What would you have with me, vile wraith? Barked the fiery Warlord, not intimidated in the slightest by the creature's presense.

The beast cackled wildly through its throat. ...what would you have with me? You have summonded me forth...from the depths of the Underworld...

A chill went down Damien's spine as the words echoed through his head. The spell had worked. And who might I ask are you, my pasty and underfed friend? Dreadfire was almost mocking in the way he spoke.

I.....I am the true essence of The Destroyer....the mantle to which you have bastardized and taken as your own. I am the macabre, I am the beginning and the end, I am...oblivion. You seek the help of the Underworld? You turned your back on those that could have spared your son. Dreadfire scoffed and sneered at the so called 'Destroyer'.

I AM The Destroyer of worlds, I am the scourge of mankind. The essence of The Destroyer manifest itself inside me when... Damien was then cut off by the creature. ...when you were in the Halls of the Dead, unlocking the Valut of Souls. I know...because I truely am who I say I am. Damien nodded his head, knowing that this being really was the essence of The Destroyer, a figure in AMF history that dated back to the Dark Ages. The real world equivalent to the Devil himself, The Destroyer was the most brutal of the ancient Warlords. Under him more people were killed in manners that even today are deemed as overly cruel and harsh.

If you really are The Destroyer that once manifest itself inside me, help me now to bring back my son....help me return Azrael to the Realm of the Living. The Destroyer straightened its crooked back and towered three feet over Lord Damien and let loose a cackle so loud it caused dust to fall from the ceiling. If I do for you, you must do for me. When, how, and what that is I will decide later. Damien did not need another second to think, for his mind was already made up. I agree to your terms, whatever they may be. Now, let the Dread Fires and The Destroyer be as one yet again.

The creature extended its hand and nodded its rotten head, beckoning Dreadfire to seal the deal, so that Azrael might live again.

***

It was odd though, Damien never felt the essence of The Destroyer leave him. But perhaps that could explain his change in mood and temper, and ever since the slaying of Azrael he seemed a bit more docile. He glanced over at the being standing next to him and weighed his options, however few they were.

How long will it be until I get to see my son again? The Destroyer turned and looked at Damien, starring him down breifly before extending a bony finger and pointing to the motionless black cloth. Dreadfire walked towards the cloth and removed it, and lying there on the table was Azrael, alive and well. He smiled as he looked upon his creator, lifting a weak left arm and muttering Father! in the strongest voice he could muster. Damien's eyes began to fill with water as he reached out for Azrael's hand, only to have the boy's entire body go limp once more.

Damien spun around and lashed out at The Destroyer. What the fuck are you trying to pull here? Why do you bring my son back from the grave only to take him away seconds later? The Destroyer again extended his arm and pointed to the stone slab on which the boy rested, and as Damien turned he saw that there was nothing but bones.....it was all an illusion.

That was but a taste of what I can offer you. Do for me, and I shall do for you. I will bring your son back to life, but I demand things in return. I do not think I am being too unreasonable? The hideous creature cocked its head and looked on as Damien lost himself in thought again. What will it be, o scourge of mankind?

I…will do whatever it takes to get my son back. Do with me what you will, but as long as he lives I care not. The Destroyer cackled loudly and turned into a transparent vapor, massing into a giant ball of eerie light. He then thrust himself into the body of Dreadfire, causing the Warlord to writhe around on the cold stone floor for several minutes. Once his thrashing stopped he rose from the ground and surveyed the room. Things were as they should be, and he did not feel any different….that was until he heard the voice of the creature inside his head.

Damien the Dreadfire, we are as one yet again. Damien the Destroyer you have become once more. Damien felt the blood surging through his head as the voice echoed inside him. Go now, I demand tribute. Sacrifice for me five hundred innocents, and my thirst will be quenched.

That morning Damien sent his 502nd Sentinel Infantry Division through the countryside, rounding up anyone that was a prominent figure in the local communities. They snatched people from their homes who had not committed a crime in their lives, and most of those whom they took were of religious background. It was no secret that outside religion was openly scorned, and Dreadfire saw this as an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.

After several hours, a convoy of trucks arrived in ULE City, containing the prisoners that were to be executed. They were put on display high atop the hill where Dawn’s Cathedral sat before being shuffled off to the execution site nearly a half mile up the hill.

***

The mood was tense.

Hundreds of people were surrounded by thousands of soldiers, and soon Damien's 'holy tribute' would begin. Standing at the highest point in the Cathedral, he began another series of ritualistic demonic chants as the people were seperated into smaller groups. After his prayer to the heathen Gods and to The Destroyer were complete, he left the church and took to the execution site.

On this glorious day, you people have been chosen for a great task. While it is a tragedy that your life'a fire must be extinguished, it is for a greater cause. Come now, pray to the Gods for a swift death. Pray to them, so that your soul may be saved. Sleep Now In The Fire....

With that Dreadfire flicked his wrist as his Sentinels, and in an instant they began dragging the doomed people over to large, sharpened poles that were strewn about on the grass. The pikes were jammed into their abdomen forcibly before being lifted up towards the heavens. Unimaginable screams filled the air not only from those who were being slowly impaled, but by those who were next. Slowly, gradually, the pike pieced organ after organ as their bodies slid further and further down towards the ground. There was a wooden stopper several feet down from the top of the pike which prevented a body from falling all the way to the bottom. It also intensified the victims pain and fear as they had to sit and slowly die with a sharp wooden stick pentrating their body. They could see the pointed end sicking out from their shoulders, thier chests, their sides....and each scream of agony and terror could be heard for miles.

For hours this continued until the last few people had been impaled. The sun was nearly blacked out as the 25 foot pikes dominated the landscape near Dawn's Cathedral. A literal wall of human bodies had been built, and at the foot of it all Lord Dreadfire dropped to his knees and bowed to those dead before him. The sickening sweet stench of death swept across the valley as a strong wind from the west blew in, cauing the limbs of the corpses to sway eerily back and forth. Crows and other large birds began to feast on those who had long since expired, sending streams of blood towards the ground as their flesh was slowly eaten away. The grass beneath the corpses had tuned red in the matter of a few hours, and the increasing midday heat only intensified the odor.

A small crowd had gathered at the foot of the hill, where they wept in sadness and in fear of what just happened. It had been some time since the last public execution, and this had been the most vile one in recent memory. A barbed wire fence was placed around the perimeter of the great 'Human Wall', and Damien ordered their bodies to sit atop their pikes until the birds devoured every last ounce of flesh.

The Warlord returned to the inside of the church and immediatly walked to the altar. Under his breath, as if someone else might have been listening, he whispered to The Destroyer. It is done. He heard a great laugh boom throughout the church, but Damien knew that only he could hear it.

Good, good Lord Dreadfire. The sacrifice is complete, but there is still much work to be done before Azrael will walk the Earth again. Come now, we had best get moving.

***

The Destroyer was pleased with the sacrifice in his name.

Very good Lord Dreadfire, your sacrifice has pleased not only me, but the Gods themselves. For that, you shall have your son back.....provided you can find the one person that knows how to do so.

The Destroyer cackled loudly with that same dry, raspy voice that annoyed the Warlord to no end. He had been duped by The Destroyer.....or had he?

Perhaps this was the chance he was waiting for, perhaps he was one step closer to accomplishing his ultimate goal. And where will I find this person, villian? For several minutes there was nothing but silence, but just as Damien turned his back a crashing boom filled the entire building, causing dust to fall from the ceiling.

Gholgoth.

Later that evening Damien returned to the Great Hall via his personal secret passage. Nobody knew he had returned, and he was hoping that it would stay that way. He turned on his television breifly to see coverage of his sacrifice to the Gods, and the interview of Hartman. A good man he is. He thought to himself as he rifles through a stack of files. Who could it be? Who was the person the wraith was referring to?

Crimmond? No. Sigma Octavus? Probably not. Mallberta. Possibly, but most likely not. Pantera? Maybe....Doujin.....

Doujin, the one country that was more or less an oddity in Gholgoth. While the region was neither devoted to light or dark, Doujin was certainly the brightest of the bunch. Perhaps the darkness wasn't the answer...maybe in the light Dreadfire would find his son. He decided that he would get on a plane immediatly with the remains of Azrael. Automagfreek was too dark of a place to bring his son back to life, another, less 'evil' setting would have to do.

He gave but one short transmission to Doujin high command of his arrival, stating little more than that he was coming on business of the highest importance, and he was to be greeted by none other than the highest Doujin authority. The jet screamed out of the underground hangar and began the long flight towards Gholgoth's shining spire...Doujin.

***

The gates came crashing down onto the cold sands, and from the underbellies of the ships the Freeks came forth. They wasted no time in setting up shop in their newly purchased territory, but because a lot of the land was of substandard nature, clean up crews were first dispatched to take care of any hazards. The Austian government had tried to dupe Automagfreek by selling it contaminated land, but a fairly inexpensive radioactive clean up operation would do the trick.

Hundreds of tons of supplies were loaded onto large vehicles and taken to the makeshift staging areas at each new location. To the naked eye, it would appear that the Freeks were doing nothing more than colonizing thier new territory....

For many weeks construction and clean up went around the clock both above the surface...and below. Housing was quickly established as well as defensive perimeters, but underneath the ground there was much more going on. Underground SAM sites and defensive batteries were built as well as storage and personnel bunkers, capable of holding thousands of combat ready troops and hundreds of thousands of tons of supplies.

However this was totally masked by efforts on the surface to create a visibly appealing colony. Each colony that was being constructed definatly reflected the military nature of Automagfreek. Mine fields, watchtowes, machine gun nests, anti-air emplacements...the works. As days continued to pass more civilian engineers, Sentinels, and diplomats arrived at each colony to step up operations there.

However, things on the home front were much more...intereting. Dreadfire had once again gone missing, and this time he had taken the remains of his son deep inside the bowels of the Vault of Souls....a place where even Lord Dreadfire himself feared to tread. The entrance was a virtually pitch black hole in the side of a vacant corridor inside the Halls of the Dead, and with little more than a torch Damien started off into the abyss.

He had never gone more than a few dozen feet inside, a combination of unwordly creatures locked inside their crystal vaults and a cold so bitter it could freeze over Hell. He passed hundreds of blue soul crystals as he continued on into the Vault, and even though he tried not to look at what surrounded him, his curiosity got the better of him.

May the Gods help us all if these beasts are ever set loose upon mankind.. Whispered the fiery Lord as he passed the crystal that contained his old friend from Crimmond, Delta. He gave Delta nothing more than a glance before passing him by and heading further down.

Stop.

The Destroyer's voice echoed in his head. Dreadfire was little more than a fraction of the way into the Vault, and he felt like he had already walked across the Earth. Here. Place Azrael's body at the foot of this crystal. Damien complied and placed the bag containing his son's bones on the cold ground, laying them out in the correct positon. Now, open the crystal Lord Dreadfire, and claim your prize

Damien looked at the creature that was housed in silence before him. A tall and burly figure it was, its arms folded over and nailed to its chest. His eyes, and lips were sown shut, his skin black and riddled with festering sores. Damien hesitated for a second, not sure if he wanted the essence of this creature to inhabit the body of his son. Why has this creature been chosen to breathe life into my son?

The Destroyer cackled inside Damien's head.Because this creature is both hero and coward, master and slave, worth and worthlessness....such as your son was in life. I do not think that one such as yourself who is in the position you are in can make choices. Release this beast or lose your son forever.

Damien took the Relic's Sword that he always carried off of his back and swung it without hesitation this time. The bluish crystal exploded into shards as the razor sharp blade tore through its fabric with relative ease. Dreadfire watched as the chamber dissolve, leaving only the motionless creature in his wake. But soon the beast began to fade into the darkness, and Damien scrambled to grab ahold of it before it vanished.

He failed to snatch the creature before it dematerialized, and he cursed at the top of his lungs and buried his head in his hands....until a single word broke the silence.

Father....

***

Dreadfire's heart skipped a beat or two as he slowly glanced down at the white sheet that covered the remains of his son. Was he losing his mind? Did he really hear the voice of Azrael? He paused for a moment, ready to dismiss what he heard, but as soon as he began to turn around to leave the Tomb, he saw the sheet move. Father.... The raspy voice cried out again.

Damien threw back the sheet and saw the withered remains of his son moving about faintly. The flesh on his bones was regenerating ever so slightly, and if one were to pay close attention to his body, you could see the tendons and muscles beginning to grow and reattach themselves. Damien was near hysterical with joy, a sense of panic with a hint of relief washed over him, and he began to twitch and his eyes water.

Azrael extended a boney hand towards Damien and strained to call out to him once more, but as he attempted to do so he was silenced by a calming hand gesture. Be still my son, I am here. Azrael's body contorted and twitched as his internal organs began to take shape and his bones fuse back into place. A greusome sigh he was.

After several hours Azrael's body was complete enough to allow him to be carried, and Damien scooped up his son into his arms and carried him out of the cold Tomb. He decided it was best to take him through the secret passageway that lead from the Halls of the Dead to the basement of the Great Hall, as to avoid being spotted. The reanimated Azrael gasped for breath as he hack and coughed, his lungs and passageways taking shape was well as the rest of his figure.

Upon entering the Great Hall, Damien quickly took Azrael to his private chambers in the west wing. The servants had shuffled off to bed, so there would be nobody else awake that could spot him. The two entered Dreadfire's master bedroom, and after laying Azrael down on the freshly made bed Damien rushed to the door and locked it securely.

Father.....where am I? What happened?

Damien moved over towards the bed and looked upon his son in wonder. Azrael, I have finally succeeded. I have saved you from the clutches of Death....I have defied the Gods once more, forever sealing my fate once I depart the realms of the living. Azrael looked at Damien with confusion.

You were lost in war, m'boy. The powers of Rayne poisoned your mind, and in the midst of the greatest land battle on Automagfreek soil since the charge of Lord Rising Sun, you were struck down. Azrael's mind quickly began to recall that fateful day, but his memories were clouded by the spell that Rayne had put under him.

I cannot remember, father. I am weary, I need rest... And with that Azrael passed out on his fathers bed, his body still regenerating slowly.

When the sun breaks the horizon, we will begin anew, you and I. A New Dawn is upon us.

***

Production on the new Freek territory was moving along ahead of schedule. In order to avoid suspicion, heavy equipement was moved at night to the underground entrances, which were shrouded by large tents or warehouses. The vehicles would drive into the buildings in the dead of night to decend into the subterranean caverns, removing hundreds of tons of dirt each night, and by morning other vehicles that had been running for some time would return to the surface to refuel and allow the operators to rest. At any given time, the same number of vehicles could be accounted for. It was a perfect deception.

Many long hours had passed at the Great Hall, and after nearly 48 hours the body of Azrael had, for the most part, returned to its normal state. By noon on the third day he was up out of bed and moving about Dreadfire's master bedroom, and his father had not left his sight for a single second. It is good to see that you have regained your strength. Good thing too.... Damien began to trail off as he glanced out of his large window. He then turned slowly towards Azrael and locked eyes with him, his expression cold and to the point. Are you ready to take control of your Empire once more?

Azrael nodded slowly but without hesitation. Good, then we shall begin immediately. I will not inform the press of you return, in fact I will leave no trace of it. Instead, your return to glory will be made when you lead our armies to victory once more. I have purchased several plots of land, and as we speak construction of new military bases is underway. We will use these bases to launch our first assaults.

Azrael nodded, attempting to soak in everything that was going on. But there is something much more...important that we must discuss. Damien motioned for Azrael to sit on the bed, and as he did he pulled up one of the wooden chairs from a nearby desk. Damien sat on the old chair, causing it to creak as it bore his incredible muscular mass.

His unblinking red eyes again locked with those of Azrael, and in a stern voice he broke the silence that had filled the room. Why did you not tell me about the existance of your sister, Silvia?

Azrael swallowed hard.

***

{Posted by Crimmond}

From a crystal in the Vault, The Beast looked on as Damien brought his son to the dark place. He said nothing as teh Destroyer walked on. The restoration of his son was not expected, but The Beast was happy for the warlord. After they left, he stared across at another soul, damned centuried ago. To be reunited with one's son, in a place of such suffering... perhaps all is not lost in this world. The other soul just screamed at him, as he expected. After all, it was here as punishment. The Beast's punishment was over long ago... he had returned as this was the only place on Earth his soul could rest without substance.

-------

Two days later, before Azrael awoke, he 'spoke' to the Warlord. A chill passed over Damien as the thoughts rose unbidden until his mind, though he could not 'speak' back. He is the second Azrael I have watched defy Death's cold talons. The first is the Ancient he is named after. I am happy his return has given you peace for the moment... but there is a storm brewing in the distance. Soon I will require your assitance, my friend. The next time you feel my presence, we will have but days to prepare. Make ready...

***

Dreadfire shook off the cold feeling, although he never let it leave the back of his mind. Indeed there would be new and more pressing issues that would arise, but for the time being he would focus his efforts on the coming storm. In due time, old friend. In due time.....

Azrael had been flown under tight security to Camp Rock, where AMF's largest contingent of Sentienls were housed. There he would be charged with rebuilding his forces, many of which were recycled and thrown itno other mixed units under supervision of Lord Dreadfire. After Rayne's Rebellion most of Azrael's Sentinels were executed for high treason, although everyone knew that they were only following orders.

In the weeks that passed a cloud of suspicion began to build on the mainland. Camp Rock was located no more than a mile or two out to sea, and onlookers on the beaches saw a swirling mass of banners....the colors of green, gray, and gold. This caused somewhat of a panic amongst the local folk, but none of them wanted to go public for fear of what Lord Dreadfire might do.....

How are things progressing m'boy? Damien said as he took up a seat alongside Azrael. He nodded and continued about his work, overseeing the revamping of his flagship, the Death Rattle. The entire craft was being refurbished with new weapons, safety improvements, armor, the works. Things are going well father. My forces should be prepared for combat soon. From inside the watchtower the two could see the entire shipyard, and the hundreds that toiled around the clock to make the required changes on Azrael's ship.

Azrael shifted in his seat slightly, knowing that up until this point he had avoided the question popped by Damien. But the fiery Warlord knew this, and without hesitation he asked again, a little more stern this time. Tell me boy, why did you keep your sister a secret from me for so long? He looked down toward the floor for several seconds before standing and walking several feet away from his father.

I did not want her to get involved in the...family business. She isn't like us Damien, she takes more after mom. I don't think we should drag her into our business. Dreadfire's lip tightened as he nodded in an almost unconcerned manner. I understand, but we are a family. Regardless of the 'games we play', we need to stick together. There is no telling what could happen if Silvia were taken captive by a foreign threat. If she stays too far away from us there will be little we can do to protect her.

Azrael thought for a second. Well....makes sense I suppose.Our country doens't exactly have an...upstanding reputation, and a captive family member of Lord Dreadfire is definatly a trump card. He paused for a few more seconds, then cleared his throat. I agree, she should be kept close to us at all times.

After Azrael finished speaking, Damien raised his right hand into the air and snapped his fingers. The door to the tower opened, and under Sentinel escort she entered the room....Silvia. It seemed as if everything was moving in slow motion, and the young woman paused as her eyes locked with those of Azrael. For what seemed like an eternity she starred at him as if he were a ghost, and with watering eyes she ran towads him. The two embraced and shared laughter as they had finally reunited.

Damien simply stood in the background and smiled, a single thought running through his mind. My line is now complete....and soon the Campaign of Carnage will be underway....

***

Two nations. Two mobilizations. One mission.

The black body of Damien's modified SR-71B cut through the airspace between Automagfreek and Panteran waters, and soon a highly encrypted transmission was sent to Dayne the Evenstar personally.

We come.

~Damien

He knew that Dayne would be asking himself We? What is he talking about? On board the jet was the Warlord himself, and by his side was Azrael....recently returned to the realm of the living. Damien knew that The Lord Reaver would be in quite a shock once he saw Azrael in the flesh once more, which was why he told his son to keep his face shrouded until the right moment.

Things had been put into motion that could not be stopped. The birth of Dayne's son and the resurrection of Azrael marked the start of mankind's worst fear: a joint Reaver and Sentinel conquest. The details had only been hinted at in secret, but on this day two of the world's most powerful and feared leaders would decide what steps to take in what was beginning to be known as....

The Campaign of Carnage

After being cleared by Panteran air authority, the wheels of the black jet touched down on the runway, and Damien gathered the two leather cases that sat at his side. Azrael placed the hood of the large cloak over his head and made sure that his face was not visible. He could not wait to see his best freind once more.

As the plane ground to a halt, Damien looked out over the Reaver 'welcoming committee'. Nothing unusual to say the least, and as the canopy opened, Dreadfire greeted his brothers in arms as he always did, bowing his head and saluting them. On this day there will be great change, 'o Reavers of Pantera. Your brothers, the Sentinels, will rely on you now more than ever...just as you will in turn rely on them more than ever.

Where is the Lord Reaver? We must speak with him soon.....there is much to be discussed...

The Reavers lead the pair into an armored vehicle, and under Reaver escort they made thier way to the Seastone Palace. Long had it been since Azrael the Advocate saw the Free Lands of Pantera, and he sighed long and deep as he he soaked in the beautiful surroundings. After a short trip the Palace was within sight, and Dreadfire glanced over at his son and nodded his head. Don't be nervous, everything will be fine.

***

The Evenstar had been waiting for hours. Aside from being made to wait for Damien, he was irritated that the old woman had known he was coming long before he himself. She had come to him that morning, tottering feebly along until she stood directly over him.

They had played this game before, and he was content to wait her out. However, she was in no mood for games, apparantly, for she leaned forward and rasped at him,"Do you smell it, Evenstar? The stench of the open grave? He returns. And the Night returns with him."

A surly grunt had been his reply, but she only continued, heedless of his skepticism,"A change in the winds, I feel. But this breeze brinks the stink of corruption and rot. Do not be decieved, Evenstar. The seasons change. The sun may shine but the Darkness will remain."

He had pressed her for more, but she had only cackled at him and hobbled away, irritating as ever. Soon after he had recieved the word that Dreadfire was en route, with some unnamed guest or guests. That irritated him even further, but it mattered not. Damien was bright enough to know better than to bring anyone irritating.

Giving a shake of his head, the Evenstar tossed his braids back over his shoulder and looked to the floor near his Seastone Chair. There, upon a large shadowcat robe, was his wife and son. The boy, only a few months old, was already a furious little beast. His groaning gurgles held a note of determination, for his father. It pleased him to sit for long hours, listening to the fury that a distant toy or other small bother brought from him.

The small smile that had been playing over his lips vanished when the herald cried the arrival of Dreadfire and his guest. His meaty hands clapped together and his Queen hurriedly scooped up the young prince and disappeared, into a side door.

The figures that darkened the great double-doorway for a moment were cue enough for Dayne. His voice rich and amiable, he called out,"My Reavers grow fat and lazy, and my Hound sits in Crimmond, shrieking at our laziness. Do the War Drums thunder again, Dreadfire? I truly hope so.""

His fingers playing over the hilt of the sword that leaned against the carved stone arm of his throne, he smiled and made as if to speak again, but stopped. His indigo eyes flared as they searched the cloaked figure. The smooth skin of his broad forehead creased into a frown. He couldn't place it, but there was something about them... The walk. The stride...

***

Dreadfire smiled, and it was the same sick smile that crossed his face every time something bad was about to happen. The war drums do indeed thunder once more Lord Reaver, so loud that the Gods themselves tremble before the mighty beat.

Damien bowed his head to Dayne as a gesture of mutual respect, and as he entered the palace he motioned for the cloaked one to follow him. Dreadfire could not help but notice Dayne's reaction...perhpas he already knew? With that old wench at his side, anything was possible.

Damien walked with Dayne into a private room where the three of them sat. As Damien made himself comfortable in a highback chair, he took a moment to survey his surroundings. I like what you've done with the place. He nodded as he saw a few items that reminded him of Bastien, but now was not to the time to remember the past.

Now, down to business. My forces are mobilized...all of them. The world knows of my movements and watches with anxiety. I believe this to be the hour that we have always dreamed of, and our actions on this day will eclipse those of our ancestors.

Dreadfire reached into his pocket and pulled out two cigars and a lighter. He offered a lit on to Dayne and then lit his own, taking a long drag off the burning tobacco and letting his body soak in its flavor. I have a few surprises in store for whoever's land we decide to take. As a tribute to our long standing and eternal alliance, the recently commissioned Reaver will be leading the charge from the front line. It is the 2nd of 3 Sentinel class superdreadnoughts, and it will be a great weapon to get my Sentinels on shore.....and once that happens it's all over.

Dreadfire let loose a bellowing laugh. Not to say that your Reavers won't be there every step of the way, in fact I'm going to encourage a little friendly competition between our two forces.

Damien took a few more drags off the cigar before extinguishing it. But I have one more surprise for the world.... Damien raised his right hand and motioned for the cloaked figure to come forward. A slight chill filled the room as the figure stoped next to Damien and faced Dayne. Behold, Lord Reaver.

The figure lowered his head and slowly removed the hood, his face still not visible. After a brief pause the man lifted his head upwards, revealing his identity to Dayne.....it was Azrael.

Damien smiled as he looked at his son and at the Lord Reaver, anxious to see his reaction.

***

The sudden tension in the room was obviously felt by all three men, a charge in the air that could instantly spark into terror and violence. The blazing purple eyes of the Evenstar showed but the merest widening, though. Still, it was clear that he was on the verge of drastic action, even if only to smash his confusion.

Opening his hand, he allowed the shattered remnants of Damien's cigar to crumble from his fingers. With painful deliberateness, he rose from his chair and stared at Azrael, his broad features creased in thought.

When he spoke, his deep voice was slightly hoarse, the only evidence of how shaken he truly was by the sight of Dreadfire's dead son,"A strange thing, Damien, to so casually bring an enemy into my presence. Is that poxy slut Rayne tagging along behind you, Azrael? Have you returned from the grave with her in tow?"

His hands tightening on the ancient wood of the table, he leaned forward and bared his strong, white teeth,"I would think your father had better sense, but you of all people should know the folley of marching in here, an unannounced enemy, in the midst of my stronghold. Stinking of death and cloaked like a fucking assassin!"

The tendons of his neck bulged as he gripped the table, the old wood creaking in protest,"You and your bitch caused no amount of trouble, boy. And now you have returned, not only to your lands, but you would hound me, as well? Must I take drastic steps to keep your evil away?"

Though his voice had never risen above a hoarse growl, the intensity in the room had blossomed tenfold, and it was readily apparant that whatever goodwill had existed upon entry of the pair, it had vanished.

***

Dreadfire's red eyes flared as he suddenly rose from his chair, putting himself inbetween the two men. Silence Evenstar, enough of this! Do not let your emotions run rampant here. Damien looked at Azrael, who was in a state of disbelief. He had no recollection of Rayne and the war that resulted, and becuase of this he looked at his friend in a state of bewilderment.

Damien cleared his throat and made sure that he was not speaking too loud. There are no enemies here Evenstar. Through death and resurrection Azrael has purged his soul of the demon whore's power, and I'm sure the old woman can attest to that. I do not blame Azrael for his actions, for he was truely innocent in the whole matter, captivated by some unholy spell placed upon him.

Damien could see that there was still visible tension in the room.

Come now Dayne, would I have brought Azrael here if I thought it was a bad idea? You must put more faith in me, your brother Bastien never once doubted my actions or my resolve, and you must not as well. I am the oldest person in this room, and in my wisdom you can confide. I say again, there are no enemies here.

Azrael watched as his father sighed and returned to his chair. He could also see that Dayne was ready to tear his throat out, but he remained cool and attempted to talk sense into his friend.

Dayne, I do not know what grudges were made in the past, but I'm here to set things right. I did not come in here as an assassin, the cloak is to hide my identity, as the world knows nothing of my return. I have been resummoned to this Realm for important business...and I think you know what business I speak of. However I wronged you, I apologize. Whatever destruction I wreaked and death I caused, I apologize.

You are my friend and mentor Dayne, and if you want the hounds to tear me to shreds than so be it.

Damien shifted in his chair, ready to jump inbetween the men again if thier tempers flared. But perhaps my father speaks true, perhaps the old woman could tell us all a thing or two....but that is your decision.

***

Dayne opened his mouth to send an angry reply, but was silenced by the creak of the door. Her. The old bitch had been eavesdropping, he was sure of it. His mouth closed, and he watched her totter nearer, her normally cloudy old eyes clear and piercing as she advanced on Azrael.

Her voice cracked as she addressed him, a leering smile never reaching her eyes,"The corpse-prince returns?! I could smell you, boy. I smell your stink even now. The Evenstar makes light of you rotting and dead, but you and I know different, mmm?"

With a small chortle, she glanced at the hulking warlord alonside Azrael,"And you! Oaf! Braggart and fool! You have always reeked of the grave. Two kings, two fools, neither with enough sense to stay dead."

Her attention returning to Azrael solely, she advanced another step,"I terrify you, don't I? No, save your breath. I know it. But you do me wrong. It is not I that you fear. It is what I know. I alone on this earth know your soulname, and the darkness that lurks inside...'

"You should have stayed a carcass, boy-king. Corpse-prince. You have seen what lies before you. You have seen. Must I part your veil once more?" And she left the question hanging in the air, almost a threat.

***


Dreadfire almost pushed Azrael aside as he confronted the old woman, starring at her with evil eyes as if she was some exotic beast. He spoke his words slowly, as if he was talking to someone with a learning disorder, putting emphasis on each and every syllable. You don't scare me vile woman...old wench.....tower whore!

Your prophecies were proven wrong once by my hands. You forsaw death and the fall of my Empire....and I defied the Gods and retook what was mine. Why should we believe your words, geriatric? Explain your error, or is there perhaps another puzzle to be solved? He snickered, standing mere inches away from the hunched old woman, towering several feet over her.

We live for conquest...we thirst for glory...we fight for kingdom, we fight for Empire.

He snorted and turned his back on the woman, looking over his shoulder as he retreated to a highback chair. Azrael however, had always feared the old crone, and his eyes remained locked at her as Dreadfire moved across the room.

What is my soul name, old woman? What is the meaning of my life, and what of the darkness inside? Your flowery words puzzle me....I wish you would cut to the chase.

But Azrael knew the woman loved to speak in riddles, and worse.....she was good at it. The tension in the room was so thick that it could be cut with a knife, and the two Freeks stood with their eyes fixated on the crone, on occassion breaking away to eye the Lord Reaver.

Tell me now, said Azrael, what is it you see?

***

OOC: Amazing writing AMF! Look forward to reading the whole thing.

IC: The story is told here of Tilsitsin's 'defeat' at the hands of the cruel and mad legions of Pantera, but the true story is yet to be told.

Let all know who may hear know this: The Tilsitsinian phoenix has risen from the ashes, and it builds it's strength daily. Not a day goes by that the president doesn't recall the war with Pantera with hatred. And with every new soldier trained, ship put to sea, or aircraft built, Tilsitsin grows stronger for the reckoning day when it will turn to Pantera and it's lackeys to deliver a terible wrath against them, culminating in ultimate victory for Tilsitsin and her allies.

That day will come.

Recently promoted to the rank of Major General, a rank which in and of itself was recently established as being above the rank of Brigadier General in the Incorporated Sarzonian Army, Mike Quinn was studying some notes about the army's training programme when a clerk brought in a large binder.

"General?"

"Yes, Mikey?"

"Here's some information forwarded to us by Intel."

"Thanks. Go tell your Dad he still owes me a beer for that game."

"All right."

Mikey turned and walked as Quinn absent-mindedly watched his nephew walk out of his office, then he turned to the binnder.

Once he opened the cover, he set about a task that would lead to his being three hours late and would lead Karlee to scold him for not calling him. Quinn couldn't help it. The material was too engrossing.

[OOC: Consider this an "overblown tag."]

Sorry to bump this up AMF, but out of curiousity, what is Hartman's first-name? Does he keep it to himself, because he finds his first-name to be extremely embarrassign and stupid?

Sorry to bump this up AMF, but out of curiousity, what is Hartman's first-name? Does he keep it to himself, because he finds his first-name to be extremely embarrassign and stupid?

It's one of those things that I've never revealed, nor plan on revealing at this time. ;)

How far does AMF's history go back anyway? Such as: When did AMF come into being?

I believe his history is loosly tracked back to wandering tribes of viking like warriors and such.

And damn. Hartman's first name is up to AMF, since no where in FMJ is it mentioned.

I do believe AMF has had Hartman say the first letter of his first name, though. Can't think which it was though...

How far does AMF's history go back anyway? Such as: When did AMF come into being?

The oldest surviving records can be found in this thread, and sadly all threads before November of 2003 were all lost. Back when NS was on its old forums, regular purges of old threads had to be made to save space, and as a result a lot of AMF is forever lost.

I started on March 24th 2003, and my first ever RP was on that day and was about civil strife after the unification of the country. ICly AMF has been inhabited for thousands of years, but only in the last several hundred did it become an actual nation.

I have been considering writing some pre-Automagfreek history, such as the tribal conflicts to form the country under 1 banner. If I do, expect it to be put in this thread.

The oldest surviving records can be found in this thread, and sadly all threads before November of 2003 were all lost. Back when NS was on its old forums, regular purges of old threads had to be made to save space, and as a result a lot of AMF is forever lost.

I started on March 24th 2003, and my first ever RP was on that day and was about civil strife after the unification of the country. ICly AMF has been inhabited for thousands of years, but only in the last several hundred did it become an actual nation.

I have been considering writing some pre-Automagfreek history, such as the tribal conflicts to form the country under 1 banner. If I do, expect it to be put in this thread.

That's a problem with NS: It's just to hard to say or do anything in relation to a time before you registered and took part in RPs.

I have been considering writing some pre-Automagfreek history, such as the tribal conflicts to form the country under 1 banner. If I do, expect it to be put in this thread.
Why not? We all look forward to reading it.

Upon looking back over this thread, it's amazing to see how my writing has developed over the years. It almost hurts to see how poorly I used to RP, (and by my standards today, it's bad) but I am still glad that this important piece of my personal history on this site is still preserved.

I understand this is a massive bump from the depths of II, but I plan on updating this thread eventually, once I get more story RP's done/compiled and not so many wars. Though perhaps I will simply start a new thread once I get enough new material, and make a seperate discussion thread so there won't be any discussion clogging it up.

For those who haven't read this thread, I encourage you to do so (if you have a ton of free time or are just very bored), and get a glimpse of what RP on NationStates was like back in the day, which is when the opening story take place, sometime near the end of September in 2003.

I feel you man. By my standards now, my early RPs were nothing to write home about. I feel like I definitely evolved as a writer during my time here.

And I'm gratified that one of my central characters was part of my "overblown tag." :p

I'll definitely mark this for further reading. It may even inspire me to dredge up my history thread or create one.