Jenrak
08-06-2006, 04:12
Nakros Ithrimm
There was a certain buzz in the air, one could say at the very least. The anticipation was overwhelming, the cornered Lords standing on each pedestal, golden and laden in velvet sheets of fine carpets. Each of the five main pedestals stood in recognition, standing like arms of a multi-headed beast, its deathly mouth spread out in a gawking, eagle-soared stance, the bottom almost endless in light and doom, the spikes of the large urchin-shaped chamber showing blood and sanctuaries full of corpses. What this place was seemed to be of no consequential pondering. It was clearly the masochist’s chamber, the sadistic hovel of meditative slaughter that Egos was imbued with. From here, the five Lords looked about, their eyes equally fervent in their white spot, their fingers thin and their legs lanky and long, breathing slightly with dangerous gasps of air. A dress of blades on their waists, a coat of knifes upon their skinny chests, they looked alike, almost like horrific brothers, their faces covered in a thin, white, plastic-like formation.
At each standing pillar, a Lord watched with contempt at each other, almost like a massive trial as the many white-robed leaders looked about in anger, hatred, their long fingers of steel pulling along and flashing in their silver slights, spinning and slipping about in a shining display of flickering vestiges, their arguments slipping through their mouths as the Sadicistra lurked about, watching their Lords on tempered stands crush each other verbally, and then rejuvenate through unfinished sources. One of them, a large beast of a man standing with a draping red cape past his shoulders, his hair long and golden beneath his helmet of white-painted steel, his eyes red and bloodshot, his teeth rotten and his break reeking of death and dried blood. His armour was on his muscular body, his arms and his veins showing through the small slits that were his spaces. His helmet ending in a large horn, feathers plucked out and slipped through, his form majestic and his cape so large that it encompassed the whole pillar he stood upon.
Beside him, a long, lanky man with immensely long arms and a writhing face twisted in permanent distortion crackled, his eyes peering about and his face zooming through to the others, his mouth in a visor and his nose long and knife-like. His fingernails were shown, stains of blood on the end of their sharp twists, his fingers like handles themselves, his arms seemingly fragile and bony, his legs obscurely long and his body covered in an equally long red cape, which draped down as far as the large one before. Like the others, he was in draping clothes of steel blades, each shining perfectly in a simple array.
Beside him to the right, a man of enormous stature like the first stood, though his cape was a soft distorted teal hue, his eyes not bloodshot nor his face deformed. He had the look of a normal man, his teeth like sharp pearls in an ocean of flesh, his arms wide and his veins throbbing with utmost power.
To his right, another like him stood, and it was apparent that these three men seemed to look alike, almost as if they were triplets in themselves, so common and similar in their appearance that they stood about. He was draped in a red cape as well, and he looked around without noticing the similarities cast by his ‘brothers’. He had a large sword in his right hand, a giant maul of a blade attached to a steady and sturdy handle of wood and steel, supported by a series of wires on the hilt. From his right, stood the greatest of them all.
In clad of silver cloth unlike his colleagues, his teeth a shining metallic cage with wires and gears rushing about, his braces almost like the arms of a fence, crackling with anticipation, his metal fang-like teeth slurping with saliva as he awaited the beginning of the actual conversation, his stomach of his thin frame awaiting a feasting after this sudden meeting. His fingers were long and lanky like his body, the muscle barely seen as the soft sinew shown beneath the steel protection, ending in sharp claw-like hooks that still stained of blood. His nose was missing, only a lump of dried and healed over flesh that was to be there, a small slit showing where his nostril would have been. His eyes almost bulged out, looking around with bloodshot humours, his irises a tinge of blood red beneath the coat of green. A white mask was adorned over his face, extremely tight and having nothing revealed save his mouth and his eyes, his ears behind a thick armoured cuirass for his hair, winding down into his spine. This man had a long red cape like the many others, draping down even farther, his arms crossed almost like a horrific statue, his gaze looking about as his metal mouth creaked and bellowed out armies of dangerous words. Like the others, a dress of blades were latched upon his waist. This was Lord Egos, the host of the meeting, the Lord of Nakros Ithrimm, where this conference was held, behest within his massive castle.
Jenrak was in a state of constant schism outside the homeland – the states and nations in Sanduras constantly changed political systems, though Eraclius, the enigmatic ruler of the subject state, stayed in power no matter what. Rithman-naar was now going under conversion of the Temsplace purge, as the Holy Warriors in their thick steel armour moved further south, gaining more land west of Troijstak, delving into barbaric Krejeistan without pity. But Jenrak’s expansions west, past it’s isolation of the Golden Sea, was of a different system. Controlled by sadistic rulers, the city-states controlled were either of extreme prejudice and uncontrolled brutality, or a frail compassion be shown. It was hell incarnate in the Jenrakian city states – they were never monitored by the mainland government. Unlike Sanduras, or Hsac, or Kreijeistan or Rithman-naar, whom all prospered gracefully under Jenrak’s control, the city-states farther through the sea did not gain benefit. It was independent of the government, and while military assistance was to be launched now and then, it was apparent that they were inevitably alone. Now was not the time to be fighting amongst each other.
His hands pointed out, the first muscular beast of a man spoke in a harsh voice. “You are a disgrace, Egos. You and your bitch of a mother can burn in your pathetic hell. Enkur damn you to Ackskriaduhn!” He gave a rude gesture, and then drew his sword in defiance, the others drawing in swift motion, the leader, Egos, the swiftest of them all.
“Perhaps you have the tongue to make fun of me, Akria, but not the skill to maintain your city. What is it in now? Depression? Economic inflation? Indeed. You are nothing but farmers and slaves and disgrace.”
“Dare you not insult Seniaus, Egos. Do not grow large of yourself, or I will cut it down to size!” The large man spoke, his finger pointing with accusing terms.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen! We are not savages! We –“
“To Duhn with you, Narcidiam! I will not listen to your pathetic triumphs of peace! Enkur is with me, a believer! Not filthy Egos and his trash of one God! You are not fit to rule Nakros Ithrimm!”
“I wonder on why Nakros Ithrimm is in economic prosperity while Nakros Seniaus rots under money’s grasp! Hmm? Is there an answer from you, Akria? You are a General, not an economist, but still! Where is Enkur’s brazen sword and Ciranaar’s silver shield to help you now? They are nothing but war weapons, Akria!”
“You mock the gods? You mock the King himself, for he is the appointment of the Gods! You are a heretic, Egos! A heretic!”
“Make no mistake, Saerus trusts me! I am here to keep Jenrak strong and powerful, no matter what!”
“Heresy! Thou shalt not take the King’s name as one of your own! You shall pay for your cowardly disgrace!”
“Ack! Disgrace not I am! I bow to one god, and that God is the only God! I make no other choices in such Gods! Do not mock me and my ideals, Akria!”
“Gentlemen, we must stop! We are not savages!”
“You make not a point, Narcidiam!”
“Oh, and what comes of your mouth, Marasilk? Does come forth such knowledge and information? Or are you merely repeating my claims? Do you emrely repeat what I speak but in a different tongue? You disgrace your name!”
“Speak lightly of my family, and I will make sure you will burn!”
“Under what foot? Under whose flame? Yours? You flame is extinguished, child. Make no mistake.”
“We must keep this session in order!”
“Quiet, Egos! You are not fit to rule the Nakros Naurus anymore! You are to be banished from Nakros Ithrimm!”
“You cannot banish me from my own city! You cannot make me leave my own home when you even not have the strength to do it!”
“We shalt see, Egos! Your boldness and your aptitude for violence is far outstripping your capability! Do not test my powers, I warn you! Do not test them!”
“Who spews ego now, Akria? You have no strength in politics, and your nation is suffering through starvation and famine, not to mention economic foil. You have no assets to keep within yourself, so give up! Surrender your power, or be destroyed in the process!”
“By whom? By you? A Christian? Do not make me laugh – I remember what Authaulus did to Rithman-naar. Do you?”
“I care not on what happened, on what happened in the past, for it would merely suffer in my future!”
“You will burn, like the scum before you, mighty Christian lord! Henceforth, upon my tongue, upon my soul and the honour of my family, I declare you an official enemy of the city of Seniaus, and you will be outright dealt with! Burn, Egos, burn! In your wafting fury, your golden flame, you will find swift hell!” With that, Lord Akria left in a sudden rage, the other four squabbling amongst each other like ravaging vultures over their newly found carcass.
“We must be careful, Egos! You do not know how erratic Akria is!”
“Make no mistake, he will fall, if he tries to touch Nakros ground!”
Akria stood outside the massive castle of Ithrimm, looking with hateful and envious eyes that shook down to his very core, his fist grappling his wooden handle as the slobbered red paint on his arms showed signs of furious malice. As he walked towards his plane, a small beep in his pocket caught his attention. Taking off his helmet to reveal his horrific visage to everyone in public, he looked at the phone.
There was no number shown, yet he had a feeling of certainty, of safety. Picking it up, he waited, before replying. “What?” He said coarsely, the slick steel of anger still rushing through his veins.
“I await at your house.” The familiar voice gargled, as the line was cut. Closing his cell phone, Akria had a soft gaze and then turned to his plane.
At the home of Akria, a tall mansion with four adjacent pillars as large as houses, smaller buildings shaped like apartments, he landed and found Lord Narcidiam standing at the steps of his house, soldiers standing by as they watched him. Akria was quite unpleasantly surprised.
“What brings you to my home, Narcidiam? What gives you courage to show your face here after the meeting?” Akris asked with unrepentant fury.
“I have a proposal.” Narcidiam replied smoothly, his voice cold and cruel like an icy glare, no longer soft and reassuring. “I know what you need. I know what I need.”
“And what do you need?”
“I want money. You want the heretic ousted. It’s a simple proposition.”
“What?”
“Be the face for the campaign, and I will commit my armies to aid you.”
“Simply be a face? For a campaign? Do you – “
“Yes, Egos’ time is spent. He is nothing more than a willowed shrew of frozen shards in nothing more than a sweet rose of money. Kruyhiam wants Nakros Ithrimm, and in return, you can kill Egos with your bare hands.”
“Hmm – an enticing proposition. And how do you make me believe that you won’t betray me?”
“You can trust me, or live the guilt of having Egos dominating us all. Or, you can have a Tsellian come back in power. What is your choice?’
“You have a pertinent point, and it is made with eloquence. A strong argument is brought as well. Very well, I will coincide to this war. When is this beginning?”
“Now.” Narcidiam replied meekly.
“But supplies must be built, mobilisation commenced and all the manner of economic structural systems in place to make sure we do not exhaust ourselves!”
“I have that covered. An army marches to Nakros Ithrimm, the walls of the city ripe for the taking.”
“Then we must await, for Egos’ navy is powerful, not as of strength of Haasdra, but still quite formidable. We must avoid a battle at the sea.”
“A fight on land will grant opportunities. The air will be too dangerous.”
“Leave that to me.”
Upon the break of dawn, upon the rise of the soft new clouds of the sun the next day, a guard looked upon the top of the large walls that stood, his eyes barely scanning past the gaseous barrier of fog before a small slither of fire glazed past him and smashed into the storehouse beside him. In a panic, he pressed the button, as the watchtower from the other side coincided. The button coming onto the other end, another blast was issued and the city rang with a feverish noise. People began to scream about in their reaping agony, their arms flailing in fright and fear, bunching up together as the aircraft of the striped enemy flashed about through the sky, gunning down the civilians in fired flames, anti-aircraft systems dealing with them quickly and efficiently.
Another team smashed against the gates, the castle of Ithrimm standing tall as battlements of enemy Vizi-Turrets, two of them, smashed in liquid fire amongst the blazing groups. Tearing through and ripping apart all the manner of objects, a green fog left behind within the city, the walls were not breached, yet Nakros Ithrimm would be intensely and unbelievably weak. The soldiers were not ready, unexpected against this.
Standing up against the people, his arms reached out amongst the height, the ripping sounds of screams and explosions in the distance, Egos addressed the people to prepare. His voice was charismatic, his arms swinging with virtue and power with every stroke.
“Come nigh, children, come nigh, brothers. Come nigh, sisters, come nigh! Here comes a force who does not wish to fight our navy, so cowardly and despicable as to wage war in silver tempers upon salted earth. We came here before to come in prosperity, and we found it! They did not, and they now wish to steal our prosperity, our wealth! Do we give power and wealth to those who do not deserve? No! We give all to those who have worked for it, who have earned it! And this is how we will work our way to victory this time around!”
“Our navy stands atop the shoreline, its cannons blazing, its guns ready for war, yet it comes to us on land, against us in surprise! Come forth, come hither! Into a group of flesh and steel, in lead bullets and mighty fumes of the blood of Gods! Come hither! Fight for what you believe if right – our city! We must not give in to enemies, to bullies, or we will be seen as weak. If you must surrender, surrender after killing one of their men! Fight on a fight that will make this fight their last, but not ours! Come hither, to slashing swords and steaming muzzles! Come hither!”
“Children of Nakros Ithrimm, Jagites, Jenrakians, Hsacians, and all manner of people! I call you upon this war to stand as men, as women, as fighters! Come now! Come now! Come into war! To bloodshed, to defend our nation’s greatest jewel, Jenrak’s most beautiful prize – us!”
With that, not a single roar was heard, only a quiet contemplation amongst the screams, before, the gate was broken, the large stone doors crushed, and the massive Lihure company flashed in, railguns blazing and machine guns ripping with bullets flashing out in droves. Aircraft from the hangar began to take to the skies, their missiles prepped and ready, snipers atop rooftops watching carefully, militiamen fighting alongside professionally trained soldiers, children with sticks as brave as men. Nakros Ithrimm was torn open, and the immensely disciplined invaders tore in. Despite that, reporters and media caught it all on tape, shown everywhere in the world. Still hanging with blood from his lips, Egos prepared himself for war.
Still clanking, his dress of blades were shining in the light with fervent glitter, his sword dangling with a soft portrayal of the blood to be spilt. He needed to get a signal through to Saerus.
“Come hither, to war.” He said to himself. “My city burns in violence, and now comes the war.”
Another rocket smashed into the building beside him, the rubble clattering as the dust settled in the rising sun, the dawn light so beautiful as blood now ran like creeks upon the city streets.
There was a certain buzz in the air, one could say at the very least. The anticipation was overwhelming, the cornered Lords standing on each pedestal, golden and laden in velvet sheets of fine carpets. Each of the five main pedestals stood in recognition, standing like arms of a multi-headed beast, its deathly mouth spread out in a gawking, eagle-soared stance, the bottom almost endless in light and doom, the spikes of the large urchin-shaped chamber showing blood and sanctuaries full of corpses. What this place was seemed to be of no consequential pondering. It was clearly the masochist’s chamber, the sadistic hovel of meditative slaughter that Egos was imbued with. From here, the five Lords looked about, their eyes equally fervent in their white spot, their fingers thin and their legs lanky and long, breathing slightly with dangerous gasps of air. A dress of blades on their waists, a coat of knifes upon their skinny chests, they looked alike, almost like horrific brothers, their faces covered in a thin, white, plastic-like formation.
At each standing pillar, a Lord watched with contempt at each other, almost like a massive trial as the many white-robed leaders looked about in anger, hatred, their long fingers of steel pulling along and flashing in their silver slights, spinning and slipping about in a shining display of flickering vestiges, their arguments slipping through their mouths as the Sadicistra lurked about, watching their Lords on tempered stands crush each other verbally, and then rejuvenate through unfinished sources. One of them, a large beast of a man standing with a draping red cape past his shoulders, his hair long and golden beneath his helmet of white-painted steel, his eyes red and bloodshot, his teeth rotten and his break reeking of death and dried blood. His armour was on his muscular body, his arms and his veins showing through the small slits that were his spaces. His helmet ending in a large horn, feathers plucked out and slipped through, his form majestic and his cape so large that it encompassed the whole pillar he stood upon.
Beside him, a long, lanky man with immensely long arms and a writhing face twisted in permanent distortion crackled, his eyes peering about and his face zooming through to the others, his mouth in a visor and his nose long and knife-like. His fingernails were shown, stains of blood on the end of their sharp twists, his fingers like handles themselves, his arms seemingly fragile and bony, his legs obscurely long and his body covered in an equally long red cape, which draped down as far as the large one before. Like the others, he was in draping clothes of steel blades, each shining perfectly in a simple array.
Beside him to the right, a man of enormous stature like the first stood, though his cape was a soft distorted teal hue, his eyes not bloodshot nor his face deformed. He had the look of a normal man, his teeth like sharp pearls in an ocean of flesh, his arms wide and his veins throbbing with utmost power.
To his right, another like him stood, and it was apparent that these three men seemed to look alike, almost as if they were triplets in themselves, so common and similar in their appearance that they stood about. He was draped in a red cape as well, and he looked around without noticing the similarities cast by his ‘brothers’. He had a large sword in his right hand, a giant maul of a blade attached to a steady and sturdy handle of wood and steel, supported by a series of wires on the hilt. From his right, stood the greatest of them all.
In clad of silver cloth unlike his colleagues, his teeth a shining metallic cage with wires and gears rushing about, his braces almost like the arms of a fence, crackling with anticipation, his metal fang-like teeth slurping with saliva as he awaited the beginning of the actual conversation, his stomach of his thin frame awaiting a feasting after this sudden meeting. His fingers were long and lanky like his body, the muscle barely seen as the soft sinew shown beneath the steel protection, ending in sharp claw-like hooks that still stained of blood. His nose was missing, only a lump of dried and healed over flesh that was to be there, a small slit showing where his nostril would have been. His eyes almost bulged out, looking around with bloodshot humours, his irises a tinge of blood red beneath the coat of green. A white mask was adorned over his face, extremely tight and having nothing revealed save his mouth and his eyes, his ears behind a thick armoured cuirass for his hair, winding down into his spine. This man had a long red cape like the many others, draping down even farther, his arms crossed almost like a horrific statue, his gaze looking about as his metal mouth creaked and bellowed out armies of dangerous words. Like the others, a dress of blades were latched upon his waist. This was Lord Egos, the host of the meeting, the Lord of Nakros Ithrimm, where this conference was held, behest within his massive castle.
Jenrak was in a state of constant schism outside the homeland – the states and nations in Sanduras constantly changed political systems, though Eraclius, the enigmatic ruler of the subject state, stayed in power no matter what. Rithman-naar was now going under conversion of the Temsplace purge, as the Holy Warriors in their thick steel armour moved further south, gaining more land west of Troijstak, delving into barbaric Krejeistan without pity. But Jenrak’s expansions west, past it’s isolation of the Golden Sea, was of a different system. Controlled by sadistic rulers, the city-states controlled were either of extreme prejudice and uncontrolled brutality, or a frail compassion be shown. It was hell incarnate in the Jenrakian city states – they were never monitored by the mainland government. Unlike Sanduras, or Hsac, or Kreijeistan or Rithman-naar, whom all prospered gracefully under Jenrak’s control, the city-states farther through the sea did not gain benefit. It was independent of the government, and while military assistance was to be launched now and then, it was apparent that they were inevitably alone. Now was not the time to be fighting amongst each other.
His hands pointed out, the first muscular beast of a man spoke in a harsh voice. “You are a disgrace, Egos. You and your bitch of a mother can burn in your pathetic hell. Enkur damn you to Ackskriaduhn!” He gave a rude gesture, and then drew his sword in defiance, the others drawing in swift motion, the leader, Egos, the swiftest of them all.
“Perhaps you have the tongue to make fun of me, Akria, but not the skill to maintain your city. What is it in now? Depression? Economic inflation? Indeed. You are nothing but farmers and slaves and disgrace.”
“Dare you not insult Seniaus, Egos. Do not grow large of yourself, or I will cut it down to size!” The large man spoke, his finger pointing with accusing terms.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen! We are not savages! We –“
“To Duhn with you, Narcidiam! I will not listen to your pathetic triumphs of peace! Enkur is with me, a believer! Not filthy Egos and his trash of one God! You are not fit to rule Nakros Ithrimm!”
“I wonder on why Nakros Ithrimm is in economic prosperity while Nakros Seniaus rots under money’s grasp! Hmm? Is there an answer from you, Akria? You are a General, not an economist, but still! Where is Enkur’s brazen sword and Ciranaar’s silver shield to help you now? They are nothing but war weapons, Akria!”
“You mock the gods? You mock the King himself, for he is the appointment of the Gods! You are a heretic, Egos! A heretic!”
“Make no mistake, Saerus trusts me! I am here to keep Jenrak strong and powerful, no matter what!”
“Heresy! Thou shalt not take the King’s name as one of your own! You shall pay for your cowardly disgrace!”
“Ack! Disgrace not I am! I bow to one god, and that God is the only God! I make no other choices in such Gods! Do not mock me and my ideals, Akria!”
“Gentlemen, we must stop! We are not savages!”
“You make not a point, Narcidiam!”
“Oh, and what comes of your mouth, Marasilk? Does come forth such knowledge and information? Or are you merely repeating my claims? Do you emrely repeat what I speak but in a different tongue? You disgrace your name!”
“Speak lightly of my family, and I will make sure you will burn!”
“Under what foot? Under whose flame? Yours? You flame is extinguished, child. Make no mistake.”
“We must keep this session in order!”
“Quiet, Egos! You are not fit to rule the Nakros Naurus anymore! You are to be banished from Nakros Ithrimm!”
“You cannot banish me from my own city! You cannot make me leave my own home when you even not have the strength to do it!”
“We shalt see, Egos! Your boldness and your aptitude for violence is far outstripping your capability! Do not test my powers, I warn you! Do not test them!”
“Who spews ego now, Akria? You have no strength in politics, and your nation is suffering through starvation and famine, not to mention economic foil. You have no assets to keep within yourself, so give up! Surrender your power, or be destroyed in the process!”
“By whom? By you? A Christian? Do not make me laugh – I remember what Authaulus did to Rithman-naar. Do you?”
“I care not on what happened, on what happened in the past, for it would merely suffer in my future!”
“You will burn, like the scum before you, mighty Christian lord! Henceforth, upon my tongue, upon my soul and the honour of my family, I declare you an official enemy of the city of Seniaus, and you will be outright dealt with! Burn, Egos, burn! In your wafting fury, your golden flame, you will find swift hell!” With that, Lord Akria left in a sudden rage, the other four squabbling amongst each other like ravaging vultures over their newly found carcass.
“We must be careful, Egos! You do not know how erratic Akria is!”
“Make no mistake, he will fall, if he tries to touch Nakros ground!”
Akria stood outside the massive castle of Ithrimm, looking with hateful and envious eyes that shook down to his very core, his fist grappling his wooden handle as the slobbered red paint on his arms showed signs of furious malice. As he walked towards his plane, a small beep in his pocket caught his attention. Taking off his helmet to reveal his horrific visage to everyone in public, he looked at the phone.
There was no number shown, yet he had a feeling of certainty, of safety. Picking it up, he waited, before replying. “What?” He said coarsely, the slick steel of anger still rushing through his veins.
“I await at your house.” The familiar voice gargled, as the line was cut. Closing his cell phone, Akria had a soft gaze and then turned to his plane.
At the home of Akria, a tall mansion with four adjacent pillars as large as houses, smaller buildings shaped like apartments, he landed and found Lord Narcidiam standing at the steps of his house, soldiers standing by as they watched him. Akria was quite unpleasantly surprised.
“What brings you to my home, Narcidiam? What gives you courage to show your face here after the meeting?” Akris asked with unrepentant fury.
“I have a proposal.” Narcidiam replied smoothly, his voice cold and cruel like an icy glare, no longer soft and reassuring. “I know what you need. I know what I need.”
“And what do you need?”
“I want money. You want the heretic ousted. It’s a simple proposition.”
“What?”
“Be the face for the campaign, and I will commit my armies to aid you.”
“Simply be a face? For a campaign? Do you – “
“Yes, Egos’ time is spent. He is nothing more than a willowed shrew of frozen shards in nothing more than a sweet rose of money. Kruyhiam wants Nakros Ithrimm, and in return, you can kill Egos with your bare hands.”
“Hmm – an enticing proposition. And how do you make me believe that you won’t betray me?”
“You can trust me, or live the guilt of having Egos dominating us all. Or, you can have a Tsellian come back in power. What is your choice?’
“You have a pertinent point, and it is made with eloquence. A strong argument is brought as well. Very well, I will coincide to this war. When is this beginning?”
“Now.” Narcidiam replied meekly.
“But supplies must be built, mobilisation commenced and all the manner of economic structural systems in place to make sure we do not exhaust ourselves!”
“I have that covered. An army marches to Nakros Ithrimm, the walls of the city ripe for the taking.”
“Then we must await, for Egos’ navy is powerful, not as of strength of Haasdra, but still quite formidable. We must avoid a battle at the sea.”
“A fight on land will grant opportunities. The air will be too dangerous.”
“Leave that to me.”
Upon the break of dawn, upon the rise of the soft new clouds of the sun the next day, a guard looked upon the top of the large walls that stood, his eyes barely scanning past the gaseous barrier of fog before a small slither of fire glazed past him and smashed into the storehouse beside him. In a panic, he pressed the button, as the watchtower from the other side coincided. The button coming onto the other end, another blast was issued and the city rang with a feverish noise. People began to scream about in their reaping agony, their arms flailing in fright and fear, bunching up together as the aircraft of the striped enemy flashed about through the sky, gunning down the civilians in fired flames, anti-aircraft systems dealing with them quickly and efficiently.
Another team smashed against the gates, the castle of Ithrimm standing tall as battlements of enemy Vizi-Turrets, two of them, smashed in liquid fire amongst the blazing groups. Tearing through and ripping apart all the manner of objects, a green fog left behind within the city, the walls were not breached, yet Nakros Ithrimm would be intensely and unbelievably weak. The soldiers were not ready, unexpected against this.
Standing up against the people, his arms reached out amongst the height, the ripping sounds of screams and explosions in the distance, Egos addressed the people to prepare. His voice was charismatic, his arms swinging with virtue and power with every stroke.
“Come nigh, children, come nigh, brothers. Come nigh, sisters, come nigh! Here comes a force who does not wish to fight our navy, so cowardly and despicable as to wage war in silver tempers upon salted earth. We came here before to come in prosperity, and we found it! They did not, and they now wish to steal our prosperity, our wealth! Do we give power and wealth to those who do not deserve? No! We give all to those who have worked for it, who have earned it! And this is how we will work our way to victory this time around!”
“Our navy stands atop the shoreline, its cannons blazing, its guns ready for war, yet it comes to us on land, against us in surprise! Come forth, come hither! Into a group of flesh and steel, in lead bullets and mighty fumes of the blood of Gods! Come hither! Fight for what you believe if right – our city! We must not give in to enemies, to bullies, or we will be seen as weak. If you must surrender, surrender after killing one of their men! Fight on a fight that will make this fight their last, but not ours! Come hither, to slashing swords and steaming muzzles! Come hither!”
“Children of Nakros Ithrimm, Jagites, Jenrakians, Hsacians, and all manner of people! I call you upon this war to stand as men, as women, as fighters! Come now! Come now! Come into war! To bloodshed, to defend our nation’s greatest jewel, Jenrak’s most beautiful prize – us!”
With that, not a single roar was heard, only a quiet contemplation amongst the screams, before, the gate was broken, the large stone doors crushed, and the massive Lihure company flashed in, railguns blazing and machine guns ripping with bullets flashing out in droves. Aircraft from the hangar began to take to the skies, their missiles prepped and ready, snipers atop rooftops watching carefully, militiamen fighting alongside professionally trained soldiers, children with sticks as brave as men. Nakros Ithrimm was torn open, and the immensely disciplined invaders tore in. Despite that, reporters and media caught it all on tape, shown everywhere in the world. Still hanging with blood from his lips, Egos prepared himself for war.
Still clanking, his dress of blades were shining in the light with fervent glitter, his sword dangling with a soft portrayal of the blood to be spilt. He needed to get a signal through to Saerus.
“Come hither, to war.” He said to himself. “My city burns in violence, and now comes the war.”
Another rocket smashed into the building beside him, the rubble clattering as the dust settled in the rising sun, the dawn light so beautiful as blood now ran like creeks upon the city streets.