NationStates Jolt Archive

The Two Kings

It was a quiet, monumental silence in the night, cold whispers in the dark, a frozen slit of snow falling down upon the icy wastes as the shivers of the clouds and the sword still sung silently as the beautiful, calm song or the comforting wind. It was night, dear frosty night, and the cold shiver ran down still his spine, his fingers thick and his back aching as the last skull was cleaned out. The mountains of carcasses were finished, the walls of skulls and the castles of bone finally perfected into an architectural piece unsurpassed. Standing here, amongst a large outcrop of rocky ground, the enormous stones like fingers erected from the sands, the ground hard and rugged as they walked along the falling snow. It was a cold year in Jenrak, cold enough for snow to reach the dunes, the Viraigius in its emerald shimmer nothing more than a tentacle of ice reaching out into the frigid Golden Sea. It was here that a large man in a blue armour stood, his skin covered inch by inch with steel and wires, his eyes behind a thin transparent shield. On this massive man markings were etched upon his armour, wing-like parts frothing out as flags were hung atop his back, his sword carrying a massive weight. His fingers were perched atop each other, left upon right, as he looked at the Golden Sea again, watching as the smoke drifted slowly from the tropical islands of the Arguns to the cold wintry setting as the glaciers were smashing down the Sandurian plains. This was Authaulus, a man of immense power, enormous intelligence and unrivalled political caution – a man who did what was necessary to keep his homeland safe, no matter what the sacrifice. And if it meant using the last queen of Jenrak as bait, then he would have to do that. This was Authaulus, a man who was king of the most fanatical legions on the face of the earth.

His spoke with a hard voice, a guttural voice, almost as if he had swallowed a bucket of blood and it was spurting out his throat. “Our campaign is finished.” He said, standing atop the cliff overlooking the beach, the massive camp entrenched on its shores as the icy water smashed up through the rocks, showering the soldiers in a cold spray of ocean mist. Lights were turned on everywhere, Lihure tanks rumbling about as entire fenced areas carried bodies on cargo trucks, thrown atop a mountain of dead flesh as white-robed blade-armed men began to snatch and slice apart their meals. It was a frenzy of blood and terror, a feverish tormented slaughterhouse within the fields, the snow stained red as they began to feast upon the flesh, biting and gnawing at whatever exposed skin they could get to.

“Disgusting.” Authaulus said with obvious repulsion, looking at the Sadicistra with utmost hatred and vile contempt. “Eremitus,” Authaulus began, looking at one of the Temsplace nearby, a shorter, less built man, though still a large sword laid on his shoulders, silver and shining like the pale moon that shone down upon the night glass as the snow still fell. Blood was from his fingers - ruby droplets falling down onto the cold lakes that drifted through, staining the rock hard ground. Turning around, his face shown as his helmet was held in his right arm, comforted and carried in a brazen hook.

This man a golden haired man, his eyes a thin shade of dangerous teal, his face carved delicately as its long, fierce features showed little room for a smooth surface – or perhaps it was merely the aftermath of all the scars that ravaged his face. A small insignia was tattooed on the back of his neck, his shoulders broad and muscular, his arms thick and immense. He carried himself humbly, yet he stood tall, proud and powerful, his blade deep within the ground as he stood there, his back turned to his master. Authaulus looked on at this man, awaiting for some form of reply. After a few seconds, Eremitus responded eloquently. “Yes, dear lord? What might you wish?” Flakes were falling deftly on his hair.

“I need you to stay here in the morning, and make sure that the Sadicistra do not reach the outlying villages. I will deploy a few Temsplace to assist you if the situation is dire, but otherwise the brunt of the campaign in retaking will be in Rashkta’s hands. I will have to meet Thaurausk on the outer edge to find out the information she has.” Authaulus ordered, looking about at the icy shield that grew up around the golden sea.

“Very well, my lord, I shall do what you ask. However, something prelude my mind.” Eremitus asked his master carefully, as if not to disturb his thoughts or fed his anger.

“What questions might your mind partake?” Authaulus asked in return, as the Eremitus sighed.

“I wonder on what to do when Rashkta arrives. I heard she has a horrid reputation, a brutal killer beyond all doubt, beyond all saving – is that true?” Eremitus asked, his eyes showing something different, something hidden. Authaulus immediately saw what behind the pale emerald shells.

“You have feelings for her? Many do, Eremitus, but remember that she is first and foremost – a killer, without remorse, without limits, without the constraints of society. She was born into it, she was born this way. If she had been born differently, she would have been a model, a socialite, whatever that came her pretty way. But she is what she is, Eremitus. Do not try to woo her. You would be a better asset to me alive.” Authaulus said, almost with a threatening tone in the back corner of his voice, Eremitus standing there as he listened carefully. It would be a long night.

Snowflakes began to fall as a fully fledged blizzard came about, icicles forming on the bottom of his armour, a crown of snow and wreathing ice atop his head, his face covered in a white beard that shook about with the blazing wind. A howl so deep and so cold pierced throughout the night as they trudged on, the men shivering in their hearkened armour. The shield of snow came about, encompassing all in a frosty fist as the icy landscape was a first for many. To the desert fighting, heat stricken Jenrakians, the icy plains that now stretched from Hsac to Rithman-naar was perpetual hell, as close to hell as they could get, many of them nearly on the verge of death as their bodies began to capitulate. Eremitus was quickly seeing his small garrison dying off as Authaulus moved his forces quickly south to avoid the rampant winter, yet the young Temsplace was unable to bear witness to his men trudging about as they shivered and shook uncontrollably.

From the distance, in the fog of ice, a small pair of White tanks rolled down – not Lihure, but it was odd, different. A large number of Vizi-Terrux marched quickly along in columns in a grand army, their footsteps walking incredibly in unison, almost oblivious to the cold winter air that struck at them constantly. Their arms showing signs of goose-bumps beneath the thin armour, their muscular bulges frozen, they kept walking as none of them fell down in the raging state of hypothermia. They kept walking, never ending. Flags were high up, but hardly visible in the air, the blizzard encompassing all vision as the wakes still shook of icy mists and shattered frozen blades.

Banner upon banner, flag upon flag, this army marched on, reaching the foot of the massive cliff as a pair of white-robed beings walked out, their mask of blades covering their faces, their metal cuirasses visible and shiny with a sparkling quality as diamond long swords were held in their pale hands. A thick splash of fur was atop their backs, their eyes scanning around and around as they quickly made footsteps up to the tall fist-shaped cliff, snow crawling up its steep sides quickly. A large quarry-like, cavernous mini-canyon was visible in the distance, another camp staying there for shelter as their fires were bright and their lights blazing, but Eremitus held only thoughts upon these two figures walking up the snow towards him. He prepared himself, getting his armour straightened as his sword was placed down deep into the frigid snow. Before him, two figures stood, one of average height and the other a tall, lanky figure. The first one was a beautiful woman, a grace unmatched and unchallenged before, her white silver hair dangling down upon her shoulders as her pale skin was so brilliant and so pearly with the snow that she seemed almost a symbol of winter’s graceful beauty. Her features were finely crafted, as her cheeks were a bit lower, her lips blood red amongst her pale white face and her eyes a soft, chilling blue. No earrings were visible upon her, tattoos neither. As she stood there, a small short sword was at her waist, as she looked at him with a bale, emotionless glance. Beside her, however, stood a man of amazing contrast.

This man was a tall specimen indeed, taller than any man that Eremitus had ever laid eyes on, and his frame was thin and stick-like, though an armoured plate of knives and swords were visible even in the substandard view. His mouth was a metal cage of sharp steel fangs, his jaw connected together by metal wires that creaked with every moving noise that forced them apart. His eyes were eerily black in colour, as dark as the winter night sky was becoming. His fingers long and twisted, his arms showing the signs of many veins in the snow, his face covered by a white plastic-like mask as spike-shaped flags emerged from his back. This was Egos, and he was missing a nose, like always, shamefully torn away years ago. He spoke normally, his voice mixing in tone, breaking quickly, but an eerie, low creak was heard every time he moved his jaw.

Eremitus bowed lowly to them, for they were higher in caste than he, but they quickly rose him up. They looked at him without emotion, pinning the Temsplace to his spot.

“Lady Rashkta, Lord Egos, I am Eremitus of the Sixth Shield Caste of Karahurin.” Eremitus said elegantly, trying to sound perfect and sociable. Rashkta nodded in recognition and Egos held out his bony hand to shake.

His hand was immediately crushed in the thin frame, forcing to pull his grip back. “I expected more body from a Temsplace.” Egos said with criticism, as Eremitus chuckled.

“I am an Akhu. I do not have the level yet to reach a fully fledged Temsplace.”

“Then why are we talking to you? What gave you such power to command these men?” Rashkta asked carefully, looking at him with curiosity. The Temsplace chuckled.

“Lord Authaulus finds me worthy to do thus.”

“Well, then if harsh Authaulus finds you worthy I might too, if you proved yourself a bit more.”

“What do I need to prove myself as?”

“Nothing, for now. But you may have to in the future. And I will be watching.” Rashkta said, her lips dangerously close as Eremitus held himself in a strong, steady stance. He do dearly wished to feel the fiery brazen passion of his lips against hers, to warm his heart and body up in the cold blizzard, yet he knew the consequences – at the very least Rashkta was simply pushing his boundaries as a Temsplace.

“Well, then, lady Rashkta, could you care to assist in the briefing of the situation?” Eremitus asked kindly, as Rashkta and Egos chuckled. It seemed as if they were cruelly taunting him, treating him as if he was a child unable to understand.

This time, it was Egos who chimed up. “You need to get your men ready for evacuation. I will be sending a group of transport planes to the nearby airport to allow you to bring your men up to Murun. There reach the Airun pass to get through to the factory of Erianuhk.”

“Egos and I will accompany you. I know how you children get scared of the dark.” Rashkta said jokingly, as Eremitus kept his face straight.

In the bustling metropolis of the massive state and capital city of Haasdra, a dark figure stood within the darkness of a dank alley, the smell of decay and urban rotting filing up his nose as the large castles swayed in the distance, their lights flaming out as the slums still lingered on. A small group of rebels kept their heads low, their eyes upon each other as they donned crisp suits and professional attire. Their hair as slick and pulled back, their sideburns cut and their fingers steady on the grip of their magnums, silver and shining as their bullets were cold and hard. From here, a tall man in a crisp suit, his skin as pale as the winter moon, his figure strong and he did not shake in the coldness of the flurrying snow.

A cold, calculating on his face was all that was seen, a scar running down his left cheek as his eyes were of different colour – his left, an ocean pray of blue, his right, a hay yellow. His hair was a short mess of straw hair, his lips thins and snake-like, a twisted yet handsome smiling curving along his face as he looked at them. The rebels kept their eyes towards this man, whose unseen black guns were obviously there with him. He was from out of country, from the southern parts of Krejeistan, and he watched as his family was torn apart by these ‘righteous’ beasts that Jenrakians called the Temsplace.

So bold, so strong, so valiant, they were seen, these Holy Warriors, yet it was only to the Jenrakian people – everybody else unfortunate enough to lose against were treated worse than the dirt they tread upon, lower in their eyes than their waste. This man was born Christian and he dearly loved his country – the fragrant trees, the beautiful landscape, the enormous skyscrapers that was the urban jungle amongst their own realistic jungle. They travelled in groups, by train and monorail, something he had never seen Jenrakians go before. He had to escape after the battle of Kaduum, when he knew that he not safe anymore.

His father, a minister of a public relations, was killed and his eyes were injected with molten silver by the Temsplace to have them teach him the error of his ways, while his mother was forced into actions against her will. No, they did not indulge upon lust, but they made her do worse things. She was forced to cut up his father as the blind man screamed in terror, and with that, they were ‘punished’. Becoming a killer himself, this man, this contract killer of impeccable record, came with offers to join the Jenrakian military, yet he turned down the promiscuous offer to join the rebellion.

Not everybody under Jenrakian rule was fine with their cannibalistic tradition – and he was one of them.

A job was given to him this night, his arms awaiting as the paper was placed in his right hand, a picture of a massive man with a broad face and a pair of sad, disconcerting eyes. His face was broad, his features finely carved and in stone, his expression cold and brutal as his scarred face showed a small scar upon his lip. He was thinking carefully, asking them who this man was before they gave him a look of surprise. He felt something was wrong, but they had already left.

Walking through the pale moonlight in the cold, chilly night of a falling winter night he walked under a streetlight to get a better view, but he had wish he had never taken the assignment – Authaulus, the Lord of the Temsplace. No wonder he was hired for this assignment – he was the best there is, and he was to be the best chance on fighting the impossible, the invincible. Authaulus was a man of muscle and power, yet his intelligence knew no bounds. He took no risks and he never underestimated his foes. Experience was by his side and amazing endurance and agility kept him company throughout his life. In tandem with his heightened senses and incredible leaps of logic, this man was one of the most powerful figures in Jenrak. It was easier to hijack a super dreadnaught than kill Authaulus, no matter how cheap or disdainful any tactic used would be. Still, he had to do it, and besides, there’s always that stroke of luck that could come in through for him.

Walking through foggy corridors in the winter night this man waded about the outer edges of Inner Haasdra, preparing himself as he polished his gun and looked at the tall towering monument of Zarazego. Readying his sniper rifle, the contract killer prepared as he took a close zoom to the tower of Authaulus, no windows in sight as the tall man stood, armour and all upon him. His fingers twitching, the Executioner prepared himself, ready as the large silhouette of the man was standing around in fully clad armour. Pressing the trigger, the laser aimed at the small slot in his neck, the bullet travelled until it smashed towards the unseen glass, a large crack upon it as Authaulus turned and looked about.

“Shit.” The Executioner replied, readying his magnum as he dropped the gun and hurried down the hilltop alley towards the lower centers of the smelly roads. An army of garbage trucks were there, lining along as he drove through with utmost speed, placing on his disguise at the foot of a large cemetery, preparing himself as his fake badge was hurried to the gates. The soldier nodded, and he escorted him to the higher sanctums.

It was a brilliant place to be, lavished gold and silver curtains lining alongside bronze statues of immense gods and goddesses, heroes and soldiers of incredibly legend standing with impunity as they waved flagrantly into the air, their triumphs stone silent. A large walkway was at the end of the hall, steps in myriad formation twisting with a snake-like quality down to the floor, a balcony as large as a house laying at its top, pillars supporting its massive frame. Outside, away from the warmth, a battalion of snowy drifts aggressively punched the windows, with no avail. He walked on, keeping his cool, keeping his disguise, walking through the signed door that was Authaulus’ chamber. Inside, he breathed amazingly as a golden dome of a room was visible alongside a numerous set of hallways, pillars holding up the marble walls as the velvet rugs were lain out. Standing here, Authaulus looked as the Executioner, disguised as a detective, came about, his face serious and emotionless. “Lord Authaulus, I am detective Amanu of the Jurhinga.” He spoke with a professional voice, nodding as he prepared his pistol behind his back. Nobody was here, only Authaulus and himself – his mistake had proven to be a blessing. Perhaps this stroke of luck could allow him to kill Authaulus once and for all.

“Welcome, Amanu of Jurhinga.” Authaulus said, turning around to reveal his massive frame, his sword across the room and his guns nowhere in sight. He was unarmed, yet his armour was still on, and there was a chance that the Executioner could not fire into the neck and miss, plunging the man in perpetual wrath. The Executioner could not make a mistake at all.

“Lord Authaulus, I have come because you have had a disturbance?” The Executioner said, his face coy and sly. Authaulus did not turn to look at him.

“Indeed. Somebody fired off a round towards my window, though it never broke through.”

“Ah, can I take a look?” The Executioner asked, as Authaulus nodded.

“Certainly.”

He pretended to go to the window, his gun hidden beneath his coat as he viewed the crack that was as wide and distorted as a cobweb. In the middle, the bullet was stuck halfway through the thick glass, the image almost popping out at him. “Wow.” He lied, twisting his face into one of surprise.

“So, what year did you become a Jurhinga?” Authaulus asked, apparently attempting to stir interest and conversation.

“Uh,” The Executioner hesitated, “Two years ago, 04.” He replied, as Authaulus nodded.

“Ah, alright. In Haasdra?”

“Of course.”

“That’s interesting.”

“My year?”

“Indeed.”

“Why is that?”

“Because in my five years of teaching the Jurhinga, I have never had a student named Amanu.”

“Oh, I changed my name. It was Ithuldin originally.”

“Alright.” Authaulus said, almost as if he was satisfied. The Executioner turned around, but a fist smashed into his face, pushing him against the thick glass as his blood spurted out throughout the chamber, the red liquid gushing as the carpets were shining in gleaming blood. The guy was lucky, though it was bad luck. “Who sent you?” Authaulus asked, lifting the guy up, throwing him as he flew across the room, impaling him on a statue’s outstretched spear.

As the Executioner pulled up his gun, Authaulus walked slowly towards him, the gunfire missing his neck slightly as it smashed into the area protecting his collar bone. Grabbing the gun out of his hands, Authaulus threw it onto his bed as he looked at the man through his helmet, his unseen eyes cold and evil. “Who told you kill me? Who sent you, my friend?” Authaulus asked, pushing the man deeper into the stone spear, the sticky blood left behind as he vomited it out through his mouth.

Authaulus turned around. “Tell me, my friend,” His voice was calm, reassuring, soft, “do you have a wife and kids?”

“No.” lied the Executioner, a small pause in between.

“I know you’re lying. I can hear you lie. Your blood splatters out when you lie. Don’t lie to me!” Authaulus in full wrath swooped towards him and tore off the Executioner’s pinkie, as the man yelled and screamed in horrific pain. Authaulus nodded, looking at the pinkie. “I can see your ring.” He looked at the golden band around his ring finger.

“Tell me who sent you, and I will give you a painless death. I will let you die the warrior’s way, with honour, with violence. Otherwise, I will tear you piece by piece, and I will make you eat everything you lose.” Authaulus threatened, as the Executioner only gave a sadistic smile.

“F-Fuck y-y…”

“…you?’ Authaulus asked. “I don’t want that language in my house. I will show you what a man does to another man who disrespects him.” With that, Authaulus held the man’s ring and middle finger, and tore them apart until the skin ripped in a painful fissure. His skin was red as ever, his was ripped open, and his veins were as shiny as the gold within Authaulus’ chambers.

“I know that you are left handed, so I tore your right hand. I am being compassionate here. Do you want to use your dominant hand in the afterlife? If you do, then answer my question. Who sent you?”

“I don’t know.”

Authaulus punched him in the stomach, though his fist did not leave the fleshy area. Instead he pushed in further, his muscles rippling as the Executioner screamed in pain once more. Blood was bubbling out in torrents amongst his mouth and the ripping skin of his stomach, and he tried to fight it but Authaulus had too much strength within his powerful physique. “I will have to get more difficult if you do not answer my question.” Authaulus said again, but the Executioner shook his head.

“Never. I will not risk my client against you.” This man, for a Hitman, for a mercenary, seemed to have a large amount of loyalty.

“Then I will show you what you will experience in the Hell I will send you to. I will make you used to this pain, so you that when you travel to the deep, dark underworld of Enkur, you will be accustomed and you will thank me.”

“Fuck you.”

“You have more energy now. Good. You can start screaming all you want, but nobody will help you. Can I know your name?”

“Athelius the Executioner.”

“Well, Athelius. May Enkur bless you.” With that, Authaulus raised his arm, a small harpoon shaped object came out as he pierced it into the Executioner’s pelvis, the man groaning and moaning in pain as he screamed out in the night, yelling for Authaulus to simply kill him. Another spearing thrust into his elbow, and another into his other elbow, the man crying and yelling as he was pinned against the wall, his body nearly dead, but his will to live was his own undoing. The longer he tried to live, the longer Authaulus tortured this man, this assassin. The Executioner felt every blow, every sharp object slashing and tearing into his skin, a pain worse than a thousand knives within his heart, which he did not doubt would be coming soon. His blood sprayed down as he could see organs that were not meant to be seen.

“And now, you will die, my friend. But first.” Authaulus took a small razor, and with it, began to scoop out his eyes, the blood spraying out onto his armour as the Temsplace kept a straight face throughout the entire session. Thick, red humour splashed everywhere, and a thin white liquid as thick as egg whites were pouring out of his optic nerve. The man was without eyes, spears in his pelvis, knee and elbow, impaled as his ripped man was torn to pieces. It was a miracle this man was alive so long, but he had no more energy left.

“Good bye, Heretic.” Authaulus said with finality, pulling out his tongue as he slowly and painfully tore it off, the man feeling every sharp point cutting into his tongue before death finally took.

From the morning of the encampment, Eremitus heard a dastardly voice, a deep, dark voice that echoed with eternal wisdom and truth, one that he had heard seldom before.

Eremitus, a great crime has been committed by your Lord. You must have him repent his cruel deed, you must have him regain his sanity and order. Eremitus heard, a powerful warmth filling him as he heard the voice.

“Who is speaking?” Eremitus asked, as no one was awake but he. The voice replied again. The Wind stops howling and the moon is dead. Come, Eremitus, leave your power, your strength, and your past behind to help me teach others the way to their brothers and sisters.

The Moon is dead.

OOC: No ooc posts, and make them at least a full paragraph. This is my last RP I am making for a while, and I'd want to participate in an RP that doesn't decline into an OOC flamefest.

Jenrak, a nation that the Dominion…the Dominion…has some power over. King Authaulus formed a council after his brother’s death. On this council were two members of the House of Wolf, the royal family of the Dominion. Prince Edward Darkholme and Princess Selene Darkholme-Annirak, his sister and the widow of the form king of Jenrak, King Saerus. The real king, the hear of King Saerus, Saerus Darkholme-Annirak was not given his rightful place on the throne because…Authaulus said he was not really for the throne and that was how it was. The Dominionites didn’t like that at all. The throne goes to the first heir not the powerful brother. In secret, the Count want to have Authaulus beheaded and his grandson placed into the throne. But the plan never happen because in the future, Saerus would be gain his throne from his uncle.

Prince Edward, the Prince of Ice, watched his twelve year old daughter as she trained with her master of the Feared Path of the Hellish Blazes. Akila, a normal sized girl of her age, a blonde hair blue eyed, dueled with her master. Blocking his move as fast as she could. In the back of Edward’s mind, he was thinking about his other child. The other member of Edward’s twins. His son, the son that will become a Temsplace, a holy warrior that will become a Vizi-Kuurun, a Holy Lord. His name was Farkas, his trainer is Lord Sly'lioth. He was at church in Aslydon, Scion. Farkas was in the middle of his third year of training to become a Temsplace. He had became Lord Sly'lioth’s best student. He bond close with a girl named Rowinia, a girl that he became friend with.

Right now in Aslydon, Farkas was standing in front of black hair boy about six feet away. His hazel eyes locked with the boy’s blue eyes, a small breeze blew through Farkas’ brown hair. This boy was his rival, a boy that was trying to make Farkas look bad to Lord Sly'lioth and make his trainer happy. The boy was his trainer’s best student.

At the same time, the real king of Jenrak was in his own little duel. But with two palace guards, he was muscular for a twelve year old. The boy had his hair in the style of his late father. He was dressed in a white robe with two short swords in his hands. He locked blades with both of the guards, one in front of him and the other behind him. It did not take long to have both guards on their butts and defeat.

“Man, I need new training partners.” said Saerus out loud.

“Yes, you do need that.” said a brown hair girl in the room. This girl was his older sister, nine months older sister. Cassandra, the first in line to become the boss of Annirak Mafia. She was dressed in black dress.

“Oh…hi sis.” said Saerus. He spun a sword around in his left hand.

Pain ravaged throughout his body, fiery and explosive as he felt the burn of his muscles screaming out in torment, in torturous exercise. He had to get his body together, he was getting soft. Holding up a blade four times his length, three times his weight, Authaulus cried out in agony as he held it up high, keeping his body in shape. He was pushing a healthy age of 34, still in his prime, his power increasing with every day that passed by, his strength immense and unbelievable for a single man. His days were filled with gruelling exercises, his nights harsh as the winter came to settle in, his shivers running through his soul as he shook and moved violently about his castle, his mind trying to warm his body up. He was a pained man, a suffering man, but man who believed in the first and foremost rule – Jenrakians ruled Jenrak. There was no other person to be allowed. It would be a civil war without end, a bloody conflict without hope. He knew, he knew that the Jenrakians would have too much pride to bow down to somehow with foreign qualities.

Strength was growing in the military, the enormous Jenrakian infantry force building, their chemical weapons growing in research as Authaulus took most of the treasuries away from public control to military funding. With Serrin’s diary behind him, Authaulus planned to unleash a new force of chemical warfare the world never yet seen, to use it beyond what was sane and reasonable – he wanted to prove to the world that neutrality was not the most desirable trait of the Jenrakian culture. Nevertheless, he had to go somewhere. Rithos aircraft, Sandurian tanks, Hsac infrastructure – Jenrak was growing immensely in all military fields, and now Authaulus was ready for the great zenith of his people.

He had eyes everywhere, hands who would in an instant rather see him turn Jenrak into a military than what Saerus made it become. It was time to reinstate the laws of intolerance, to bring the city-states outside the mainland back together into the fold. Every Jenrakian was required to become acknowledged to all forms of warfare, and he would make sure of it. Authaulus made sure Jenrak would never be weak.

Entire mosques, churches and synagogues were burnt, torched and destroyed by entire flanks of units, bombers and new aircraft from the south flashing as they spat flames about, napalm high into the air as a blossoming, fiery flame as religious leaders of other religions were detained, kept, but unharmed. While Authaulus certainly wished to execute them for heresy, he knew that there was no way he could do this without having any form of whiplash from the international religious community, not to mention his expulsion from the SWORD. Authaulus did what was necessary – he had to keep the Jenrakian Tsellian heart Tsellian, and with that, he moved them to Sanduras, Rithman-naar, Krejeistan, all of them populated with foreign religions, and he wanted it that way. Thereby Jenrak seemed tolerant, yet its Tsellian culture was safe from assimilation.

From the fiery onslaught of the rebellion in the last vestiges of Krejeistan, Authaulus made sure his forces were rerouted to Haasdra – it was as if he predicted a war was coming on the home front, yet all he saw was the rejoicing of the people as he was lauded as a hero with foundries of gold and riches and lavished in ribbons and feathers. Authaulus knew what to do – he worked in not his favour, but in the Jenrakians’ favour, and that gave him what he wanted. However, there were many problems that night.

As the night settled and the bale moon rose in his light, a small shadow stood, though still large for a man, his silhouette the only visible light as he walked towards Authaulus, the cheering out in the distance as the massive man stood there, his face revealing to be hidden by a helmet, yet his insignia gave his identity away – Eremitus.

“My dear Eremitus, have you done what I asked?” Authaulus asked happily, as the Temsplace loyally nodded.

“I have, lord. But I felt something on the way.”

“What did you feel?”

“I felt almighty Enkur’s touch! He graced me with knowledge!”

“That is well, but you must do better with Viraranaar, not I. I merely enforce the Masters’ wills.” Authaulus walked on, passing him by.

“No, Viraranaar is false. Sly’lioth is false. Aslydon is false. Krakkez is false. All are false.” Eremitus said sadly, as Authaulus turned around slowly, his long cape turning about.

“You speak heresy, my young Temsplace. Retake your claim.” Authaulus said, his voice serious, no longer jovial and uplifting.

“I speak the truth! I was told by almighty thus that exists only one God! All others are false products, my lord! It is wrong to taste brother and sister flesh, and we must stop it now!” There was a truthful desperation in his voice, yet Authaulus was too stricken by the odd ideas to be listening more carefully.

The light of the moon was bright, its power waxing as Authaulus stood there in the dark hallway, pillars alongside as the cold winter snow etched onto the floor, the red carpet billowing slightly. His massive chest rising and dropping, Authaulus turned around, as if ignoring that whole ordeal. Sweat came down from Eremitus’ forehead, tears running down his cheeks and lips as he shivered in not the cold, but in sorrow. “The Great Enkur told me that I had to do it if you wouldn’t.” He said sadly, his hand on his sword, as Authaulus turned around.

“Did what?” Authaulus asked seriously.

“Kill you if you didn’t believe. I’m sorry my Lord.” Eremitus said, taking out his blade as he rushed towards Authaulus, blocked quickly by the speedy Temsplace.

“Renounce your heresy, and I will forget this!” Authaulus yelled, swinging his massive sword as it struck Eremitus in the face, smashing him into the wall. Authaulus moved with amazing agility, and incredibly flexibility, punching and kicking as well, but Eremitus was not experienced enough. While his blade clashed, he could never land a blow on Authaulus correctly, nor disarm him. The man was connected as one single weapon.

Still, he fought, all for a premonition, risking his life against his teacher under the waxing silver moonlight.

Farkas, the man that would become a High Lord, needs to make sure he stay alpha wolf of the student. His rival, the young boy named Illeminas. Farkas look over at Lord Sly'lioth and bowed his head to his trainer. Illeminas did the same thing to his trainer, who stood on the sideline of the dueling grounds. More students were in the room, waiting to watch the duel. The best third year students about to duel would be a good fight.

Farkas and Illeminas bow to each other and waited to start. In this duel both of them only had a dagger or knife to use as a weapon. Farkas had a Transylvanian made knife, a X9 Combat Blade (http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y101/CountJWolf/X9CombatBlade.jpg), a 4 3/16" stainless steel blade and aluminum handle with micarta insert for a solid grip. The length was 9 1/8" overall. Illeminas has Jenrakian made dagger. Both boys had them on the left side. The two boys eyed each other, not looking at anybody else.

The call was given to start, Farkas just stood there as Illeminas charged him. Soon that locked up, throwing hit left and right. Illeminas was being to the offence attacker. Farkas was block each of him attacks. It was fury of hits that were being block. Farkas blocked six hit as fast as they came out him. The next hit was threw but was stop by Farkas’s left hand. All he did was pull downward and force Illeminas’ back to be open. But Illeminas knew it was coming and rolled out of it.

Both of them start attacking on the offence, hits landing on both of their chest and arms. From the looks of it, the duel was even one. Until a hit lands on Farkas jaw, a smile came across his face as he tasted the blood from a cut in his mouth. Damn, fangs are sharp. Farkas blocked the next couple of punches and kicks then deliver one powerful in right side of his rival’s jaw. Illeminas fell back from that hit and spit out blood with two or three teeth.

Farkas when on the attack and flip over his rival. The move was done so fast, Illeminas was shocked to not see Farkas in front of him. He was really shocked after Farkas came up behind him. In two moves he disarmed Illeminas by throwing his dagger into a wall and drawing his knife. Farkas grab Illeminas hair and placed his knife on the boy’s throat. He looked at Lord Sly'lioth, his hazel eyes had a small piece of blood red in them.

His left hand resting on his chin, his eyes trying to read this young boy’s mind, Sly’lioth in his blackened obsidian armour only stood there, his chest rising and falling as he watched children kill themselves, his fingers tapping on his side slowly before his head nodded and prepared the action. Lifting up his hand, he quickly moved it to the side, a gust of wind flowing about him. “Leave him be. I will not tolerate death in this academy. We have enough dying outside out of these walls as it is.” Sly’lioth replied, a hint of impatience in his voice, as took the two students in the area from the training center, taking another two towards it. It was the sixth year students’ turn, the last y ear graduating soldiers before they went into the Temsplace army. Here, massive men and powerful statures were seen, two of them standing as they prepared their swords – enormous, thick and shining blades.

In an instant they plunged towards each other, slashing about as the fist struck in a deep frenzy, many of them watching the carnage these two unleashed upon each other. From the sidelines, Sly’lioth took Farkas away from the lines, walking down the long hallway, nobody in sight as the teacher nodded slowly. “Impressive, Farkas. You’re a natural fighter. I am having Illeminas become a Sadiscistra and you becoming a Vizi-Kuurun, though before you could move to the next level you must do a final test. Once you are done you will be advancing to the next year – I must warn you, the next year is a mind-numbing task; there is very little fighting. Once you have finished your sixth year you will become a Temsplace, and you will serve the Lord of the Church. But for your task – do you want to get it over now? Or once you have had a good rest?”

From the duel, a bloody drip of blood fell down upon Eremitus’ armour, his body broken as he tried to swing, but it went too slowly as Authaulus easily grappled it and threw him across the room, armour and everything with him as he pummelled through the vase towards the end of the hallway. The massive Temsplace walked towards him, Eremitus sighing as he got up, staring at Authaulus with pain and regret. He was going to die. Placing his right hand on his forehead, Eremitus fell back on his last shield of defence. “Please, great Lord Zarazesk, save me!” He prayed silently, his voice only an inaudible whisper. Authaulus moved in, his blade raised.

In an instant, the windows burst open in the frigid air as a sharp icicle from the tips of the window flew and impaled the small vestige of skin on Authaulus’ wrist, pinning him to the wall, as the Temsplace looked in surprise. He did not utter a single curse, he did not scream or moan or yell – he was surprised as he looked in amazement at the icicle upon his wrist. “I cannot believe it.” Eremitus did not either, sighing softly – his prayer was answered.

Ripping the blood icy fragment from his wrist, Authaulus stood before a weak and bloodied Eremitus, the young Temsplace expecting an execution. However, in an instant, when he opened his eyes, he saw a massive figure on one knee, his head bowed to the ground, his enormous sword far from him on the floor. He was unarmed before him.

“Teach me. I wish to learn the ways of Zarazesk.” Authaulus said, a deathly silence only filling the air.

“You do not bow before me, only great Zarazesk.” Eremitus said softly, trying to bring the man up, but his body was too weak and damaged. Authaulus helped him up, and nodded.

“What must I do, Eremitus?”

Farkas put his blade up as he walked over to his trainer, he licked the blood off of his mouth. He stood on the sideline, watching the older student in their duel. Until he was pull aside by Lord Sly’lioth, he walked side-by-side with his trainer down a long hallway. He listened to Sly’lioth’s every word as they walked. He was not tried like you would think he would be, no he was ready to have another duel. Hell, he take on a sixth year student for the fun of it and to see if he could beat the older boy.

“I’m ready for anything, my lord.” said Farkas. “I’m never get tried unless I fight for hours. What is this task?”

“I have my students learn their own independence. A serial killer is lurking about southern Scion – a Christian fundamentalist no doubt. I am not surprised that Authaulus is re-enacting the intolerance campaign with scum like this running about. Anyways, we could easily capture him ourselves, though I believe this would prove to be a very interesting task for you to do and work around with. I will order a basic set of supplies such as food, a cell phone and some information, but that’s it. You are not to get help from anyone.” Sly’lioth said, a final tone in his voice.

From the quiet, golden towers of Authaulus, he stood as Eremitus sat there on the nearby table, Authaulus standing by the window, looking at the window that was earlier cracked that week. Sighing, Authaulus thought carefully, information running through his mind as he tried to bring himself together. “Minuras.” He said, as Eremitus nodded. Authaulus chuckled, lifting his fist in a bloody roar of victory.

“You are learning quickly, my Lord.”

“I have never thought on such issues as these before. I must make this public. People must see the ways of Zarazesk immediately!” Authaulus said, smiling as Eremitus looked on with shock.

“We must be slow and stable, Lord Authaulus!” Eremitus asked, as Authaulus flicked his offer away.

“Nonsense! With Zarazesk on our side, we shall bring it to a new cultural influence!”

Farkas listened to his words. In his head, he thought this task sounded a little easy for him. Well, whatever the task was…he would do it. “I need no food, my lord.” said Farkas. “I have food supplies anywhere I go.” He looked up at his trainer. “I will go as soon as I get the cell-phone and information.”

Denise’s Manor…the home of Lord Remy…the lord himself was resting with his wife on the couch. A silk cover over him, they rested their eyes. It was quiet and peaceful. Remy’s mind raced, he was trying to figure out why one of his top White Tigers, Max Kane, just up and disappeared. Kane teleported but never shown his face again. Where could he been?

The quiet was broke when his cell-phone started ringing. He opened it up and answered it. “Hello.”

On the other end was man named Alexander “Kraven” Romanov. He was at Remy’s club in town nearest to the manor. “Boss, we got a problem?” said Alexander.

“What type of problem?” asked Remy.

“Somebody killed off one of our girls.” said Alex.

“Anybody you think did it?” asked Remy.

“Nope, Boss but I’m on it.” said Alex. “Just wanted to tell you before I left.”

“Good, call me when you find of who did it.” said Remy.

“Will do, Boss.” said Alex. He hung up the phone in the club’s little armory in the back. Alexander “Kraven” Romanov (http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y101/CountJWolf/Romanov.jpg), a man that was a Shadow Foxes, a man that was in the same unit as Kane was, a man who lost his left arm after a grenade blew up next to him. His new arm was designed by Timber Wolf Inc., the first design for cybernetic body parts. The first of many cybernetic designs. Many years, over fifty years, have gone into the cybernetic body part R&D division. Kraven use his cybernetic arm like he was born with it. He placed two Skorpion vz 61 SMGs in special hostlers on the outside of his legs. He grabbed two extra clip and placed him in carriers on the back of his belt. He placed three X9 combat blades on three area of his body; his upper right arm, the left side of his chest, and on the front of his belt. He placed a black long coat on.

With his weapons in their place, he heads out the club’s back door and get into a black car. Behind the car was large black delivery van, modified with armor and run flat tires. The two vehicles took off.

Books were burnt high, pyres of flames flickering up as swords of destruction in the waning red hue. The Ascheran scripts were burning, their skins melting as the ink trickled off in pain and torment. Words of ancient lore were being destroyed, torn and utter destruction ravaged across as the people looked with mixed thoughts. From the balcony, from the great tower of Zarazego, soon to be renamed and rebuilt as the tower of God, Zarazesk, the needle shaped tower pointing up, stabbing defiantly into the sky as the smoke drifted up grey patches, other black and dreary. Authaulus stood there, looking as they finally laid eyes upon him, their wonder at what he would say. “Tonight, I have seen the truth. Tonight, I was touched by the almighty strength of God Himself! There is only one God! And I know it now! The old ways are false, misled. Join me, brothers and sisters, in our stalwart march to salvation! I declare those of the old religion heretics!”

This was the seed of religious evolution.

The two vehicles, the black sedan and the armored delivery van, hit their brakes hard in front of a house on one if the streets in the city. The house, which looked like any normal house on that street, was the home of the number one suspect of the club’s dancer murder. A sweet girl, who danced to make money to paid for college, was the best dancer at Remy’s club, the Iron Paw. A twenty-two year old girl that paid to dance on the stage with the house band, a pop band formed by Lord Remy. A brown hair, green eyed girl, the rare flower that would steal anybody’s heart with just a wink or smile. She took the stage name Green Rose because of her eyes were like green roses in size and color. But she is no more, she will not be on the stage anymore. She was cut up like she was a pig, cut up like she was just a large piece of meat. And the monster, who was the last person to leave her house the night she was kill, lives in the normal looking house. The monster was a member of the city’s little gang. That is if you call more then fifty members, a little gang. The house had six of those members, right now.

The doors opened on the sedan, the side and back door of the delivery van shot open. A figure (http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y101/CountJWolf/WhiteCobra.jpg), dressed in a white ninja suit, jumped out of the side door and threw four metal stars at the front window in mid-air. Hitting two people inside in their necks. As the two bodies fell to the floor, the white ninja lands in the small lawn of the house. Four men in white Authentic Capitol Police battle suits with four black claw marks on their back, hopped out of the back of the deliver van. Large built men, these men were, to wear the battlesuits. As they trained their large GPMGs on the other window, the white ninja jump up and grabs the edge of the roof of the small one-story building. Kraven (Alex) exited the sedan by the time the ninja flips onto the roof.

“Cobra, we are taking the man alive.” he orders in his radio.

The GPMGs roared to live at the two figures in the window. Their target would run not fight, he was running through the house, heading towards the back door. The bullets ripped through the soft feast of the bodies, turning them into human Swiss cheese. The mark moved through the house, White Cobra a few steps in front of him on the roof.

The GPMGs targeted the front door and blew the hinges off. Kraven drew one of SMGs in his right hand, heading towards the front door or the open space where the door was just at.

“One minute before his buddies get here” said Kraven in his radio. “Five minutes for the cops get here.”

As he entered the house, the mark, the monster, was near the back door. HE emptied a full clip in the gun-toting manic heading at him for the living room at his left. The mark kicked the door open and looked back at Kraven. He looking back to run out the back door, Kraven put another clip in the SMG, the mark did not see it coming…he was about to get surprise from two white feet. Cobra had hold of the edge of the roof and flipped downwards through the back door. He lets go halfway, turning his body into a missile. Cobra’s feet hit the mark straight in the chest, knocking him on his butt and sending him sliding toward Kraven. Cobra drew his cobra handled katana as he lands on his feet like a feline.

Kraven pushed the Skorpion to the man’s head. “Did you kill that girl?” he asked.

The man, in fear, pissed his pant as he looked forward at White Cobra. “It…it…was…was…not…me…me.” he cried out. “It…it was a band of Jenrakian that hate you…people. They…are trying to make Remy…close his club. Don‘t kill me, please.”

“I will not kill you but..” he started as he moved the Skorpion from the man’s head. He turned and walked away. The man turned and looked at him, turning his back on White Cobra. “But that does not mean Cobra will not kill you.” Before the man could look back, the katana blade enter through the right of his neck and exited the other side of the neck.

“Damn, these Jenrakian are always trying to fight for something.” said Kraven out loud.

His radio came alive as the sound entered the air outside. “His buddies are here.” Kraven drew the other Skorpion as White Cobra moved to his side. “Let’s do this.” said Kraven heading out the front lawn. The GPMG cover Kraven and White Cobra as they head towards the sedan. The SMGs added to the mix as Alex moved to the car. Cobra hoped in the back followed by Alex. The armored men hopped in the delivery van before the two vehicles head towards the edge of the city, to Remy’s warehouse.

It was quiet for only a second, silence reigning slightly as the careful, slow sombre nothingness came about for a tiny moment. In that moment, before the tumultuous burst of noise, the Lords on each side yelling and pointing as spit flew everywhere, their eyes locked upon each other in fury. Within this large room a massive dome was seen, an enormous painting of a dark figure in a blackened cloak, a maul held softly in his skeletal hands as purple clouds shifted about, yet still. It was dark, candlelight the only flickering light as shadows danced upon their ends, throbbing and swerving around before it twitched again. From one end, a massive shadow stood, flickering about menacingly as Authaulus looked on, an enormous crown atop his Temsplace helmet, a crown of blades and knives, his fingers pointing at fury at the others across the room, the pillars between them as they hid about in discontent. From the other end a tall lord in brazen and golden armour stood, his billowing and flowering robes beneath his paper-thin armour.

His face was hidden, yet he yelled with the strength of a large number of Lords behind. “Authaulus, my King, you are committing heresy!” He yelled, pointing as spit flew from his mouth, the others around him yelling in agreement, their arms equally long and menacing, their swords held high up, awaiting bloodshed to be spilt.

From the other end, Authaulus stood in front of Denise and Thaurausk, both of them looking as their king billowed and roared, his powerful voice booming with a strong echo throughout the room, the others replying with almost equal force. “You are the true heretics!”

“But what is true when it is all false!”

“You test me? You test Zarazesk? Then I will strike you down!”

“Then strike me down, Authaulus! Do your worse!”

“Fine!” Authaulus groaned. “I declare all of the old religion heretics and thus branded and sent to the camps of Hsac!” The silence came in a sudden rush, unbroken.

What a move.

In the room walked the twelve year old black haired boy, wearing his white robe with two short swords at his waist. The swords, gold and chrome in color, were handcrafted for the real king of Jenrak. Hand made for a grandson from a grandfather. Two swords made for a man twice the age of the young twelve year old but the boy was of the House of Wolf and could handle the swords.

Fire was in the boy’s eyes. Behind him came his mother, the pink haired beauty, and the Prince of Ice in his ice form. Both looked like they want to kill somebody. It was all center on Authaulus and what he had been doing. Both Edward and Selene raised their children in Jenrakian religion.

“Dear Uncle!” yelled Saerus. “You don't have the power to change anything. Your brother, my father, was king not you, Uncle. You took my crown because you did not want a foreigner to rule Jenrak. I’m Jenrakian, Uncle, I was born and raised in Jenrak. I have blood from both my mother and father mixed together to form another bloodline. Jenrak is my home and you will not change a thing.”

“As the true heir to the throne of Jenrak, you’re here by exiled from the nation that gave birth to you. Take the crown off and place it on my head. Then leave!” Saerus ordered, his eyes as cold as they could be. Full of anger.

Now that was a shocking move done by a twelve year old boy. He did have the power to do that.

Authaulus turned around, his demeanour no longer calm and expressive, his patience cut through with the short knife that was the breath of Saerus towards him. He had a face of discontent, a face of rage, his fingers tapping on his armour, the rays of sunlight bursting through as Authaulus ordered them shut. He knew how non-Jenrakians hated the and loathed the intense Jenrakian heat, and how these people seemed to be given deficiencies against the sun. Whatever he reason, he did not care, though he still it reasonable. The darkness still encompassed the room, the candles flickering as Authaulus looked on at the boy, his shoulder rising and falling as turned about, his cape long and majestic as a velvet wing that scurried with him. In his right hand, a massive blade was seen, its handle carved intricately in steel as animal skin laced its handles. A giant grey blade followed the ends, straight and powerful, almost three times the size of him.

When Authaulus heard these words, he did not chuckle in amusement, he did not spurt out in anger. Instead, he was calm, but stern – tense but passionate. “And how gave him his power? Who? The Church, the false church that so gave him his authority!” Authaulus roared, his voice echoing throughout the room as the Lords looked on. Authaulus’ rage was infamous, and at many times he showed it, though never towards his own people. This was a first in many ways, not the very least on why he fighting the will of the true heir. “You order me to disrupt the new way? I shall not strip myself of kingship until I have made sure Zarazesk is with me! To exile me is to bring this nation back to its days of old – crippled, diverted and destroyed. I have made sure it became prosperous. I have made sure its enemies died.”

“You forget that Jenrak and its people are by nature a religious empire! We hold our men through belief and faith! And I live in the church, I bask as the Lord of the Temsplace. You have no power when you cannot overthrow the church you belong to. Foolish child.” Authaulus chuckled, his chuckle an evil, dainty laughter that slithered with sneer inside its hearth. “You do not understand? My strength goes to the old church, and I am instilling a new one. When this new one is done, when the true Zarazesk is opened to all!” He raised his arm in a nonchalant victory towards the stone covered sky. “You may attempt to take my crown.” With those words, the Lords raged into a dangerous bicker.

“Authaulus, you are exiled! You must give up your power to the true heir!” One of them yelled, pointing his fingers as another lashed back at him with equal force.

“He is not the true heir – Arcarum’s blood is!”

“Arcarum’s blood is of false deities!”

“You shall not make light of Enkur!”

“The Lord is by the Church!”

“Silence!” Denise yelled, her voice barely loud enough to make due the quietness she desired. The place was as still and hard as stone, the cold winds blowing about from the opened windows as they shivered slightly, their backs clicking up the tiny hairs with goose bumps forming on their arms. Denise looked around, the here rings on her fingers, her eyes glancing as she viewed disgust at both sides. “This is a pointless struggle – you are of the same bloodline, the Annirak. You belong to the same dynasty – the Anniruak. Both your claims are null. Saerus was never by the church’s motive a blood king. He was a High Lord, the highest of them all, but not to the level of kingship. But he died as a high Patriarch, not a king.” She turned to Authaulus. “You are like your brother, Authaulus. You do what you believe is correct, yet you do not wish to do it with help. You are too proud to give up your position and power.” She turned to the young Saerus. “I knew your father. I knew him very well – he taught everything, and I know that he would not want to see his only son wage a war against his dearest brother.”

“We must not go to war on this issue. We must stay at peace.” Denise said, as Thaurausk looked around, her cold stare still as she held her sword on her hilt, her thumb pressing against the smooth sheath. Her left finger was pulsing against a gorgeous black rifle, as jet black as her hair. Her eyes shifted about, her hat slightly tilted.

“Denise is right. A war on the home front is not needed. Especially when we are seeing rising rebel activities. We need the vote on the Council.” She was referring to the council formed by Authaulus to manage the Jenrakian empire when he was gone fighting against others. “Edward, Selene, what are your votes on this? Shall the new religion come to pass? And shall Authaulus be exiled?” She asked, as the Council deliberated peacefully.

From the cold doors that were closed, a harshly breathing man walked in, followed by a familiar being in a blood red breastplate, his robes tattered and his armour showing, a short sword on his side as the wheelchair spun beside him. Gelectriax had entered alongside Aulocos upon his wheelchair, breathing heavily. Denise quickly went to his aid.

“Dear Uncle, what ails you?” She asked him, his harsh breathing heard as a tiny red fog emanated from his breath as he spoke.

“You must not go to war. You must not let thrive destruction’s kiss. By order and clause twelve nine of the corporatists, it punishable by excommunication of any Jenrakian to fight another in war.” Aulocos said, as Gelectriax pushed Denise back.

“So we are at a standstill.” Ashili replied. “Half of Jenrak does not wish the other half to kill itself.”

It was a standstill, a big one at that. Two being with the same blood looking at each like they want to kill each other. Nothing would be good would come from the fighting, the young Saerus knew it. But his uncle was…had loss his way. This false God, Zarazesk, has changed his uncle. Messed with his mind or something. Authaulus, the strongest of all the Temsplace, a figure that is strength to many Jenrak, changing his ways and taking in this Zarazesk into his heart. Saerus’ eyes moved off of his uncle and looked at the floor.

Edward, still in his ice form and Selene looked around at the council members as they yelled at Authaulus. All this because of Zarazesk. When Denise yelled silence, Saerus looked up at her. The looking on his face from anger to calm. He listened to her words and took them into his heart.

Then Edward and Selene were asked a question, should the new religion come to pass or should Authaulus be exiled. They were about to answer but were stopped as Aulocos and Gelectriax. Listening to Aulocos’ words, Saerus looked back at his mother and his Uncle Edward then looked over at Aunt Ashili.

He looked back at Authaulus. “Dear Uncle, listen to everybody. Jenrak does not need to come to war over this.” he said, his voice calm. “The new religion will not come to pass unless the old religion stays. Jenrakian were raised on the old religion not this new one. And all religion prisoners you have locked up will be freed.”

“If you don’t like it, you can disappear into the night and never come back.” he said, his eyed locked don his uncle, his father’s brother.

“Then expect me to disappear into the night, but you will see me soon. You will see the light of Zarazesk very soon.” Authaulus replied, leaving as the bronze doors clanged with a fiery clasp. He left no last sign, no final glance towards them, just a cold walk out through the door, the silence unperturbed. Aulocos looked on as he rasped and breathed, his every breath a struggling breath as he tried to find a way out of this horrific mess. Eremitus was also nowhere to be found, the accompanying Temsplace of Authaulus and Egos. Though the tall, wiry Egos still stood there with unequalled fervour, his thin arms across his chest, it was a foreboding silence that grappled and gripped the rest of them.

From the old capital of Krejeistan, Authaulus sat down in his command center, a massive steel and concrete bunker hidden about as he looked on the screens – four monitors that glimmered as three of them swam with faces upon their dotty screens. From each of the three faces, a nod was seen. Lights flickered around the room, the chair on which Authaulus sat was a soft burgundy shade as its leather wrappings were smoothly upon his skin, glass walls abound with shimmering images.

“Yes, Lord?” One of them asked, a tall, wiry man with thick brows and a slight mat of messy hair. His face was wrinkled and his kin was aged, spots upon his cheekbones as his skeletal frame seemed visible and his deathly demeanour seen. A slight shoulder upon his body and his uniform thin and crisp, this man nodded to Authaulus from the screen as his drooping ears flapped slightly. He spoke with a deep, dark voice, cracking and changing slightly, his neck thin as his throat’s skin was wrapped loosely around his throat itself.

“Yes, Lord?” Another asked, a Temsplace covered in a cloven armour, a soft teal shade unlike Authaulus’ dark navy blue. His voice was slightly high, and his pitch was almost evil and shaken at the point.

“Yes, Lord?” Another asked, his should broad and his crisp suit visible, his neck short but broad and his face carved with thin lips showing a bracket of pearly white teeth and his eyes like small slits in his face. His nose was a large cyst alongside his features all under a thick mat of cut yet messy hair. Short ears accompanied small earrings and his prominent cheekbones revealed a muscular frame to his upper body. When he spoke, his voice was almost groaning, vibrating, but still deep and entrenched in interest.

“Eminia, Arguthahk, Eraclius.” Authaulus replied to them all, as they bowed towards him on their monitors. “We have a problem.”

“What problem?” Eraclius asked, as the others looked on with him towards the large helmed Temsplace.

“There is a heresy in the nation. They are unwilling to co-operate.” Eremitus chimed up from the shadows, as the four looked at each other.

“We will do what we can.” Eraclius replied, as they signed off.

“Are you sure?” Authaulus asked Eremitus with uncertainty, even fear.

“Zarazesk wishes it, my Lord.”

“Alright. But I am still wary. Perhaps we should not – “ But with that a short blade pierced his back, studded in green as covered in a thick liquid as his limp body fell down to the ground. Firing up the monitors once more, Eremitus moved the body of Authaulus as he sat in his chair, looking at the blank black screens, waiting for them to flicker on.

“Eremitus? Where is Authaulus?” Eraclius asked, as Eremitus looked on.

“Authaulus is gone preparing. I need you three to wage the war now. The campaign of correction must begin. I will give you the targets.”

“Very well, but are you sure? It does seem like Authaulus to attack his own people.”

“Trust me, he is fully prepared.”

“Very well, Eraclius. Tell Authaulus I look forward to meeting with him soon.” With that, another shade of blackness covered it all.

From the dusty mountains, Eraclius looked at his watch, flicking it down as he watched the myriad soldiers march about, their feet raising and falling as they prepared their systems, their optical sensors and flares, preparing as Lihure rushed through the mountains, preparing themselves as enormous Lachura tanks rumbled throughout the snow, the frosty landscape crackling up in droves as the icy rivers were thick and powerful, massive warplanes descending upon the sleepy cities of Murun. The missile sites made no effort to move against friendly units, and in a flash the incendiary bombs flickered up against the ghost-like metropolis, flames firing as the powerful Sirens rushed through the plains towards the walls, crossing around the mountains up to the edge.

From the lower half of Rithman-naar giant warships moved up the glassy ice of the Viraigius as the Vizi-Turrets were disabled towards friendly units. Advanced stealth bombers and fighters slashed smoke screens across the air, hiding amongst the clouds as they descended upon the cities of Siriun. It’s dark concrete walls only shined with a bloody glaze as they shimmered through the flames, the gas spreading as the sticky liquids burst up through the waves.

From Ouridna, a bombardment of dangerous Temsplaces raged across the thin countryside ravaged by the snow, their rockets firing madly as the fingers of yellow destruction etched across through the rocks towards the city’s thick steel walls. And from all this carnage and destruction, Authaulus was still laying on the floor as Emeritus laughed maniacally from his usurped throne. Four million Sirens marched down with Lihure and Lachura assistance, Another two million raged across the south of Jenrak controlled Rithman-naar as the hundreds upon thousands of Temsplace pounded through the plains of Ouridna.

From Rithman-naar, a group of chemical and nuclear missiles were armed in secret silos – their destination, Haasdra.

In the council cambers, Saerus watched his uncle leave. With him leaving mean one thing, Authaulus has to die to save Jenrak from a religion rampage. He looked around at the people in the camber. It was quiet for five minutes before the young king began to speak.

“Authaulus or however clouded his mind, knows how to hurt Jenrak. Hit her in her heart, Haasdra. He going to aim missiles at her and become a coward in his attack.” he said. “I want everybody in this room to get out of here as fast as you can. Prepare what every forces you have for battle.”

“To save Jenrak, I will need everybody’s help with me. Now go and do as I have said.” he said.

The Dominion Armed Forces and Dominion Air Force were prepared for combat. It would be the first time they would face against their Jenrakian allies. Blood will be spill on both sides. All because of this Zarazesk.

OOC: Serrin is dead. All of the Jenrakian Chemical technology went to Thaurausk and Authaulus.
IC:
“I will burn all who do not follow the way. Jenrakians unite! Zarazesk wants you to unite! A golden age of equality and supremacy awaits!” Eremitus yelled from Authaulus’ podium, a small red trickle on the top of his helmet, the bullet firing before it smacked into the armour, nothing more then a dent in his protection. Looking down, he raised up the bullet, as he looked around for the sniper that fired the round. “Jenrakians! My brothers! The non-believers wish us dead! They wish to kill those who love Zarazesk! Unite!” he yelled, as they stirred and ferried together into groups, shouting and roaring with utmost fanaticism as they clamoured about. Temsplaces cried and roared in triumph, their arms high as the Lihure sped across through the lands.

Entire fogs were set up as their bullets were dipped in a thin poison, the soldiers firing as the guards of the cities shot lead after lead, mountains of metal and streams of blood flickering everywhere. From the north, Eraclius launched his enormous navy through the south towards the Viraigius, his super dreadnoughts pushing through the whitecaps as the hulls smashed up upon the shores of Jeviz’Kraa, the Sword bearers firing off their rail guns as the metal was torn apart in thick vestiges. Missiles were fired and cannons pulverized the seas, but the dreadnoughts kept lurking about as Rithman-naar aircraft scrambled through the skies, bombers coming out of nowhere to carpet the land in flames. The four castles of the sea launched Vizi-Turret fire after fire, intent on turning the west of Ouridna and the Archios arm into a desert of dust and blood, the balls of fire blossoming into the sky.

Phantoms of metal and muscle raged across the countryside, their turrets firing immensely as they pushed their way towards Delidrias. Immediately, a group of landmines smashed its way through the charging forces, as a familiar green robed man lifted his sword in a thickset roar, his blade swung towards the shattered turret as he sliced the metal clean. The Sadicistra raged on, their machine gun fire relentless, their aim legendary as nothing was missed. A line of yellow and orange was shown as the gas placed about, a thick black fog that lingered on through. The Sadicistra kept their stances, readied themselves, and prepared for attacks, but they did not have the equipment to keep advancing – rather, they could only hold it long enough for the Sword bearing to come.

From Haasdra, Ashili looked at Rashkta with thought. “Why are we listening to a twelve year old?” She asked her, as the silver haired woman shrugged.

“I’m not. I’m doing what is prudent.” She said, as Egos followed her through. “I am going to Nakros Ithrimm to build the forces there to send as assistance. But I need you to break the enemy’s naval line.”

“How? Nahk was the Admiral – I am the infantryman.” Ashili argued, as Thaurausk looked at them with discontent.

“I will break the wall. But the entire Jenrakian navy is in Eraclius’ hands, and he doesn’t look like an ally.” Thaurausk said, as Emeritus popped up on the screen. The Temsplace had his arms high up, as small dent in his helmet. He was preaching unity amongst them, and the home of the devil was Haasdra, the fabled center of Tsellian religion. “Where is Authaulus?”

“I don’t know.” Ashili replied, as she left to rally the small amount of forces she had at her disposal.

“Are you coming, Aulocos?” Gelectriax asked his rival, who rasped as he prepared himself. “I have to meet Arguthahk at Sasz Kerenuk. I am intent on seeing his skill.”

A message was sent out by the young King, really a video message of him on the throne. The crown of blades sitting on his head. He sat looking forward at the camera. A twelve year boy in a white robe with golden armor. His twin short swords at his side.

“Jenrakians! Hear my words.” he called, his voice commanding and calm. “A force of traitors have brainwash my uncle, Authaulus. They have brainwashed one of Jenrak’s powerful warriors. Authaulus was changed man the last I saw him. Jenrak’s people have been brainwash to follow one God, a false God. Zarazesk is a false God. One created in the mind of madman. Our Gods were flesh and blood, this one is just a myth. Do not believe their words.”

“I, the true heir of the late King Saerus, call on Jenrak to fight these traitors of the Jenrak churches. The forces of the Dominion are on our side in fight. A fight that holds the future of Jenrak. I call on all that loyal to the Jenrak churches. May Enkur be with you all in these times.” With that, he stands up and draw both sword. “To battle!” The screen slow goes to black.

The message was done five minutes before Saerus left Haasdra. Heading towards Aslydon, to pick up an ally, his own blood. His mother and sister aboard the helicopter.

Aslydon….

Farkas looked up after hearing his cousin message, at his trainer, Lord Sly'lioth. He had quizzed look on his face. “My lord, we must fight for our church. Saerus is my blood.” he said to his trainer. “He must fight for what is right.”

On Saerus’ helicopter………

Selene sent out a message to her husband’s original Lancer divisions. Some of them, she had control over after everybody thought Saerus had died for the first time. “Anybody reading me, this Princess Selene Darkholme-Annirak. I repeat, does anybody read me. You are needed to fight for your nation against the traitor.”

From the televisions everywhere, a commercial popped up, flickering in a golden light as the Jenrakian populace looked with interest. Upon it, the news came flashing towards them, a powerful Temsplace standing in his graceful attitude. His arms raised high, his staunch back straight and his face hidden by his helmet, this man spoke with a strong, charismatic voice.

“Children of Jenrak! The blood of her heart and body! I have been harmed because of dangerous things! I have nearly been assassinated, yet my resolve has never been stronger, unconquerable than before! Believe me when Zarazesk has told you that all are equal, and that when you die, when your body rots, you go to the pleasures of your work, not your lineage. Now salvation lives for the virtuous! It burns the corrupt! Become one with Zarazesk, and he shall give you freedom, justice and eternal paradise within the afterlife! You need not to be a warrior, you need not to be a noble to enjoy the fruits of your labour! Come, my brothers and sisters! Come to the arms of Zarazesk, the arms of peace! But in peace, it must be earned, and we have our gift here! The usurper has taken the throne to the Jenrakian crown, and we must stop him! Only a pure blooded Jenrakian man be allowed, not an Ithrimm half-breed child. Are you going to suffer being ruled by a foreign power? A power that understands you not? If you wish the shackles of servitude, then live as you have always lived! But if you wish freedom, capability and justice, then rise! Rise, children of Zarazesk!”

“For all your arms and brave words, the one true God gives you power! For your loyalty and fealty, the one true God gives you strength and victory – what is needed to rally towards the shining tomorrow! The touch of silver winter snow upon our sand stricken lands are a sign that the time is nigh! The time is nigh! The time is ripe to pick the fruits of our rise, and to harvest the strength of our people! People of Jenrak! If you wish to live not as a slave, but as a free man, then show the powers you are no longer their slaves! Show them you are as great and powerful as every other Jenrakian! That none born before you or after are to be better or worse! We were born different, I admit this fact! But if you bring yourself into the golden hands of opportunity and faith, we will all die the same – worthy of glorious Salvation!”

With that, the Jenrakian people began to stir, rebellions breaking out in hives as they welcomed the invading Temsplace.

The message relayed throughout the western sectors, as the coastal Lancers replied. “This is Arhun Eimuun, capital squad. We are here on your orders, Lady Ithrimm.” With that, he clicked off, and prepared his motley camp, the fires burning as the cities were smashed throughout, aircraft sleeking through the skies as the sun bounced off the bright white snow, the trails of their quick descents upon the bombarded city of Ouridna swift and judgemental, slashing against the folly of Temsplaces that blasted and assaulted the lands, Vizi-Turrets blasting against the fortified walls as they fired repeating artillery after artillery, gas in a thin liquid shell of bright light.

From Aslydon, Sly’lioth sat down with his hands on his chin, thinking carefully as the threat of the onslaught reached his ears, his army of students looking at him as the Temsplace accompanying him watched their master carefully. Farkas’ words fell upon thinking ears, as Sly’lioth sighed. “Neither side are right, Farkas. Emeritus seems to be blinded by fanaticism of this new god, yet your brother has made the naïve move of claiming the Crown of Blades too early. We will not be easily assisted when a twelve year old calls the empire to war. Authaulus should have never crowned Saerus. Amuridahm – “ Sly’lioth said, looking towards one of the oldest students, a thin but still well built boy who was swift to rise on his feet.

“Yes, Lord?”

“Prepare the Siege Lords. We need to keep this in one piece.” He said, as the student stood there. “What are you doing, Amuridahm?”

“Sir, I heard Eremitus’ speech, and he makes an interesting point. This is equality and freedom they are fighting for! Zarazesk gives freedom!”

Sly’lioth sighed. “Who decides the world? The elite? Or the people? What good does it make when in the end there is still somebody left to bow down before. Whether it be the brazen child of a false King or the bronze statue of Zarazesk, the one who determines your loyalty is anyone but you.”

From the plains of Sasz Kerenuk Gelectriax sat as his newly trained silver soldiers battled across the bloodied plains, their machine gun nests firing frantically as the Temsplace fired off into the chortling clouds, the sun breaking out the charade of attacks. The master-minded warrior looked with his fingers latched across in a triangle shape as he viewed both sides with interest, finally spotting the familiar thin skinned, wrinkly foreheaded man Arghuthahk. “Well, let’s begin.” Gelectriax sneered.

In Sanduras, a pair of powerful battalions were smashing against the thick wall of naval forces as Aulocos and Viraranaar watched in silence. Their eyes swivelling about in thought, they held no worries or any form for their plight – they stayed calm. “The country becomes an empire, and in such the war begins.”

“The breath of Izmishna feeds the fist of Enkur.”

“Comes the child of foreign winds.”

“And hath empire already opened the door.”

On the helicopter, Saerus looked at the crown in his hands. “I fucked up, mother. Why did I have to put the crown on my head. Why?” he asked. He just said it over and over. He just started something that would not be good for Jenrak. He started something that would hurt him and his people.

Aslydon…Farkas listened to his trainer. “I know my cousin, my lord, I have feeling he thought the people would join him with the crown on his head. You are right, Uncle Saerus should have never became King. But it happened.” he said. “Saerus was the rightful heir to the throne.”

“We are not only in this fight.”

The helicopter near Aslydon, the sound of blades could be hear. A message was radioed to the church, “Don't fire, we are friends.” said Selene. “We need to talk to Lord Sly’lioth” The helicopter eased forward near the church and lands in a clear spot.

Saerus hopped out of the helicopter with the crown in his right hand. Selene and Cassandra followed him out. Farkas, hearing the message, ran to find Lord Sly’lioth. The three heads towards the door to the church.

In Dominion controlled Sanduras, the first of the back up was coming. Hundreds of MIG-29 Fulcrum high performance combat aircrafts, armed with air to air missiles, were sent into the air form the five Dominion bases. Add to the mix was hundreds of MiG-27K Flogger fighter bomber aircrafts, armed with napalm bombs. Soon the fighters would enter the battle field and death would come to their Jenrakian allies.

Raptors splashed through the skies, their missiles readied as the deadly Rith aircraft revved together and prepared, blasting through the skies with utmost speed, swiftly spinning and swerving towards their enemy as Sasz Kerenuk was lit with flame and snow. The blood splattered upon the surface of the white shield of nature, the Jenrakians battling hard against the silver armoured men, their white robes covering them quickly as they pushed forwards, their blades shining and breaking the eyes as their bullets pierced skin and fingers galore. Gelectriax looked as he found the bold roar of Arguthahk, and prepared his rifle, aiming slightly before he fired, but it was merely a diversion – a small wooden splinter seemed to have fallen out of his head. As Gelectriax looked, a knife came up behind him, but his swift fingers latched it between his hands, moving it out before he smashed his fist into the face of Arguthahk with supreme rage. “So, you have come to die.” Gelectriax said, drawing a giant silver cleaver, readying himself as he swung, but the seemingly old man blocked skilfully, twisting his left hand to launch a devastating backhand against the man, reeling Gelectriax back.

“Gelectriax, my teacher. I know all your tricks.” Arguthahk boasted with ego, as the small sliver of red blood fell from the darkness of Gelectriax’s helmet, his face still invisible.

“I teach none of my acolytes everything.” Gelectriax said, a jet of lightning fired from his fingers, electrocuting Arguthahk before the man flickered away the parts. Gelectriax swung his cleaver, and Arguthahk could have barely any energy to ward it off.

“Metallic beacons.” Arguthahk said with a coarse voice, snickering in amusement. “You are a smart teacher, Gelectriax. For many years I have wondered on how you could emit such shock through life, yet now I see you are nothing supernatural. You are merely quick, skilled and smart in your attacks and your technology.” A blast of speed from the spring of his weary legs and Arguthahk slashed, a massive cut on Gelectriax’s arm, but he gave away his proximity to the armoured masochist, spines impaling him upon his teacher’s armour.

“I have your men to kill.” Gelectriax said, as Arguthahk was hanging on his left arm, his fingers trying to take himself off, his blood splashed everywhere as the corpse was thrown down to the icy river in a thick red artery of the earth.

Viraranaar began to sweat, firing maniacally as he moved himself up the crevasses, trying to avoid the fire of the enemy as Vizi-Turrets pounded upon them with impunity, his soldiers crawling around the edges of the rocks, trying to pick them off, yet the Jenrakian armour was too powerful, too thick and reinforced. Breathing carefully, he rallied the lower parts of his camp together, the billowing curtains apparent as they marched together, their guns blazing towards the shining glimmer of the enemy, yet they hid occasionally from every burst.

“I cannot believe what I have to do.” Viraranaar said with disgust. It was never so hard for Saerus.

Eraclius prepared his aircraft, as he was building his forces for a long time in case his Dominion neighbours should ever try any attempt on him. He treated Jenrakian controlled Sanduras as his own private kingdom, and so his military came carved in his own power, a powerful military at that. Hundreds upon hundreds of raptors and Lihure raced through the snowy Sandurian plains, the glaciers still dormant and slow, his soldiers preparing for prolonged warfare. His navy was off fighting the Arguns, the guns blasting apart the last vestiges of rebellion. Ouridna was taken through sheer words, and he was intent that he could rally the Sandurians against the Dominionites, though he would have to rely on careful politics. Jenrakians had no air force, but these were aircraft of Rith technology, the high end weaponry and the skilled pilots of the old Christian era.

As they readied Eraclius waited for a reply from Authaulus in his command center.

From Aslydon, Sly’lioth still had his mind on the church and its student, wondering on what to do when an army would come. He knew that he and his men could keep it safe from a small group of besiegers, yet armies rarely worked that way when things were at stake so dearly. Sighing, Sly’lioth still sat there, his massive sword by his hand. “The Annirak were never rightful heirs to the throne. It is by divine right, and nobody lives in Jenrak with the blood of Serptine in his veins. The Crown of Blades has been muddled by the hands of false kings. Like Renglessimon or Vaazka before him, your cousin is not the true heir. The true heir is dead.”

“Lord Sly’lioth, somebody wishes to speak to you.” The soldier from outside replied, as the large Temsplace stood up and looked towards the door, walking towards it before opening it with a soft clamour in his hands. There was Cassandra and Selene, and Sly’lioth’s expression was unreadable from behind his face.

“Hello. Come in.” Sly’lioth invited.

“Ouridna captured, Rephalim ravaged and Hsac under revolt. I cannot believe it.” Agros said, as he lifted his axe from the head of the red corpse that laid in pieces at his feet, silence mounting them as the Sadicistra feasted from the leadership of the Vizi-Terrux. Delidrias had been won, the first victory of the Old religion, yet Agros was tired and famished, sitting in his bunker as his men under his guise tasted human flesh in the cold climate. The snow was as red as his wounds, and his bloodshot eyes only saw a small shining light on the horizon before he entered.

Yet a massive thump was shaking throughout his bunker, as Agros stood up and smashed open the door, finding the Sadicistra laying amongst the dead, their bodies cold and frozen, their fingers red with blood yet their own muscles still and stiff. In them middle, sixteen large monuments were seen as grisly trophies, each long and twisted, their fins up high in victory as the massive Patriarch slammed his fist against his bunker wall.

Everyone was dead amidst a noxious gas. Eremitus had found a chemical powerful enough to gas the Sadicistra that had won the battle – Old Jenrak’s most powerful weapons were at stake.

“Thank you, Lord Sly‘lioth.“ said Selene. Saerus walked in followed by Selene and Cassandra. He looked at the large Templace and downed to his knees before him. The crown laying on the ground in front of him. “I come for you help, Lord Sly’lioth.” he said. “Will I get you help?”

Meanwhile…“Coming in Jenrakian controlled Sanduras, now.” said the lead pilot in the radio. “Weapons armed. May God have mercy on our souls.” The hundreds of fighters started divide into small groups. The MIG-29 Fulcrums became the guardians of MiG-27K Floggers.

At Base Omega and the other bases in Raunin, the Dominion soldiers were armed to the teeth and ready for blood. They were ready for anything. Brigadier General Rico Justice walked in front of a large group of Dominion soldiers.

“Dominionites!” he yelled, raising his fist in the air. "Roughnecks!"

The soldiers raised their hands and cheered. These boys were Roughnecks, their AMA63 assault rifles in the air.

“Today we go to battle with traitors. Jenrakian traitors!” he yelled again. “We will go out there and fight for our Jenrakian allies. We will go out and kill those fucking traitors. Why? Because…we are Roughnecks.”

More cheers from the men. Some of them head-butted each other. A wild looking bunch of soldiers these Roughnecks are. The 3rd Jackson's Roughnecks is where all of the Dominion’s craziest soldiers go. So…they are crazy as ever and known to ripped their enemies heads off in battle with their bare hands. They have been locked in their bases for a long time, after the Dominion became allies with Jenrak, only a small groups leaving to head off for mission for the Dominion elsewhere. Before the Dominion and Jenrak became allies, the 3rd Jackson's Roughnecks were stationed at home. And had a lot of missions during the Dominion’s campaigns to take Europe.

“What are going to do?” yelled Rico.

“KILL! KILL! KILL!” yelled the soldiers.

“Damn straight.” yelled the second-in-command of the whole division. “Now go make me proud.”

With that, the soldiers head off to get into transports. That speech was record and sent to the other Dominion bases for the other members of the 3rd Jackson's Roughnecks to see.

“By all means I should be bowing to you. Though as a High Lord I have no requirement to lay my soul at feet of a child without the blessing of the priests.” Sly’lioth said slyly, preparing his domain of forces as the small trickle of black objects deftly flickered upon the horizon, smoke rising up high into the sky creating blankets of darkness upon the snow. “I believe I know the composition of the enemy. Please, let’s enjoy some tea first.” He said, as he tried to have his preparing students calm down for a small bit of lunch and a snack before instigating the defence. “This war is going to be the final forefront of Jenrakian faith and belief. Whoever wins, it is certain that the loser’s religious beliefs will turn into nothing but a myth. You have four major enemies to fight, each one with a style of combat their very own, so you must act accordingly to their forces and types of assaults.” He poured the tea down upon a shining silver platter, and lifted his helmet to drink, revealing a world wearied, white bearded man, neatly trimmed and cut, his jaw broad and his eyebrows thick but high. His nose was a large mass upon his face as his wrinkled demeanour showed signs of tiresome emotions, but overall this old Temsplace still worked with amazing agility and energy.

“Your biggest threat is Eremitus. I know something happened to Authaulus, it is not like Saerus’ brother to disappear on the forefront of war, and I know he was much more faithful than that. My guesses are drugs and hallucinogens to control him. But medicinal complex is not my main sector of information. Eremitus is a powerful, charismatic young man, and he is very good at leadership and control, but he is not an accomplished military force. He will be hard to reach, however, and hard to find, I can guess, but I am sure he is not entirely competent in fighting with strategy. So you are fighting three visible threats.” Sly’lioth said, taking a tiny sip of his tea.

“Your most dangerous threat is Eminia, a Temsplace. He has seen much war and fighting, though he is a prodigy in unorthodox tactics.” Sly’lioth said, sighing.

From the small naval shores of the Arguns, depth-charges could do little to fight the latching mines as children sped them forwards, planes blasting and exploding into massive showers of shrapnel, engulfing the air in a dangerous silver fog. Soldiers and their gas masks could barely stop to fight as the sharp pieces would slash open their masks and suits, the Temsplace providing cover amongst the sun stricken, silver snowed landscape, the icy ocean around them. Pushing up his sword, a teal Temsplace swung heavily against the door, activating the auto-cannons as heat flares were thrown into the long hallway.

“You will always fight a smaller force when facing him, but it gives him the ability to manage each man, and it fuels his rampage. He never lets a single soldier die as a number, but he makes sure that they kill at least 10 men before they suffer death.” Sly’lioth continued.

Pushing the walls, the machine guns fired rigorously at the flares in the center of the hallway, the Temsplace pushing up towards the Arguns center, a horde of Sadicistra running towards them with affluent energy. In a thick splash of lead and steel and lights, smoke drivelled from their mouths and rifles as the Temsplace shield knelt down to allow a swift volley of rockets, crushing the raising catwalk, cutting off the supply from enemy forces. Autocannons and snipers within the castle began to pick off the men, but the teal Temsplace fired the supports, sending not only a massive pair of pillars to come crashing down, but also to make a bevy of smoke to rise up as a dangerous veil.

“Is hear he is pushing through the Viraigius right now, intent on using the Arguns.” Sly’lioth said in a matter-of-fact voice. “Though I believe he has something else in mind. However, your next biggest threat would be Eraclius. He has learned a lot fighting the northern nations and knows a lot of air and covert tactics in his war waged versus the DarkLight cults. He has a special squad of men, the Kiharaijuzuun.” Sly’lioth said quickly, as if he was pressed for time. “They are the best of his covert men, and they have experience fighting both the Kravens and their own fellow countrymen. I am not sure if you were in Jenrak during the progression of Nahk, but they learned of Dominionite tactics during the siege of Zarazego. Taught by Aulocos, trained in thought by Arborgard, you must be careful of his swift and specialist air force.”

From the edge of Dominionite controlled Sanduras, a large flank of Rith bombers and aircraft sped through the area, siege copters flying in their maroon coat as the soldiers paradropped with their weapons, rocket launchers, medics, construction and snipers, all gliding through the air, a large wave of black steel flying first as the bombers prepared themselves. At the defence, a large blanket of rockets were fired, aimed to lock upon their Dominionite allies, raptors high up in the air as they fired another volley of missiles, zipping through the clear sunny skies like hands of destruction.

“He will no underestimate anything that happens.” Sly’lioth continued. Missiles and fire enflamed the sky around them, as Jenrakian controlled Sanduras looked on, the enormous anti-air towers firing madly at the bombers, as the raptors attempted to catch the attention of the enemy aircraft.

“But your most immediate threat and one who should be watched the most is Arguthahk and his general, Arachniox.”

A massive line of Vizi-Terrux blasted immense fiery holes throughout Gelectriax’s men, as the masked warrior cursed harshly, preparing his counter attack.

“He will not stop, and his army I hear is marching north straight to Haasdra.” Sly’lioth concluded.

Saerus rose and took a small glass of tea, he took a drink of it and listen to the Temsplace. He listened to every word, taking it in his mind. The words of Sly’lioth were the best thing Saerus had right now. Everybody that was loyal to the old religious beliefs was out there fighting for their beliefs. After Sly’lioth was done talking, Saerus started to talk.

“Authaulus was changed. If it was drugs or something, I have never seen him act that way.” he said. “He is my own blood but I wanted to kill him for trying to change things. Things that would have done havoc to Jenrak. The people would have had to throw our religious beliefs away and started believing in some new God, which nobody has heard of. My mother and Uncle Edward has seen our Gods. Grandfather has seen them to, even engage into battle with one.”

“Mr. Kane was reborn because he fought against the evil Gods.” he adds. “I have done a dumb thing by placing the crown on my head. But I will show my people that I will be the king that need. One that will fight back anybody that gets in my way and bring peace to Jenrak. That is why I need your help.”

“The forces of our religious beliefs are not that many. Form the looks of it, every Temsplaces ,but the one you have here, have been brainwash to fight against their own people. said Saerus.

That is when Selene chimed up, “About the Dominionite tactics, they have changed a lot from the time of the siege of Zarazego.” she said. “The commanders were trained by this world’s best warrior general, my father. So, Eraclius and his Kiharaijuzuun will be surprised with our tactics.”

Dominionite controlled Sanduras, right as the Rith bombers and aircraft flow across the border. Hundreds of anti-air guns popped up form the Earth and fired at the bombers. Filling the sky will hot lead. At the same time, the enemy missiles were targeted by anti-missile SAM sites, hidden through out the Dominionite controlled Sanduras. The Dominionite fighters engage with their traitor allies. Matching missile with missiles, cannon fire with cannon fire, speed with speed. The Dominion Air force, with the Dominion Armed Force, are the pride of the Dominion military. But that does not mean that the pilots were gods. They were human beings and could be killed. They would kill as many as they could be they were took down. Fighters dropped left and right as the enormous enemy anti-air towers were targets by the fighter-bombers. They would be many deaths for the Dominion Air Forces today.

The traitors that lands into Dominionite controlled Sanduras, would be come targets of M109A6 Paladin self-propelled howitzers, M270 MLRS self-propelled loader/launchers, AS90 Braveheart 155mm self propelled howitzers and PzH 2000 (Panzerhaubitze 2000) 155mm self propelled howitzers, all hidden in the forest of Sanduras in the range of the new threats to their lands. Dominionite died fighting the Sanduras people when they attack Jenrak, so the Dominionites would not stand back and watch the lands be taken from them. The Dominionites would rain death on the traitors until no more was left.

“Gelectriax and his men are fighting Arguthahk, right now.” said Saerus. “I ordered everybody out of Haasdra because of the treat of a cowards attack using nuclear missiles. Gelectriax should be getting some back up as of now.”

Saerus was right, Gelectriax would be getting help as of now. The help of Brigadier General Rico Justice and thousands of Roughnecks, in their forest green and black suits of Transylvanian Body Armor. Carrying the 5.56x45mm AMA63 assault rifle, their AMA7000 9mm sidearm, and a Wild Tiger Commando Knife (http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y101/CountJWolf/WildTigerCommandoKnife.jpg), add to the fact that some were carrying a Lion Kukhri (http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y101/CountJWolf/LionKukhri.jpg) or two Demon Axes (http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y101/CountJWolf/Demonaxe.jpg). The Roughnecks came out fires as they exited the C-130 Hercules transport planes, they yelled as they charged into battle. Their symbol (http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y101/CountJWolf/3rd.jpg) on their right arm and back, some of their carried both a flag with their symbol or the Dominion Flag or the Jenrakian flag on their backs from a five foot flag pole. Don’t know why they had the Jenrakian flag but you will never know what goes through the mind of a Roughneck.

M1114 HMMWVs, armed with M2 .50 caliber machine gun or MK 19 Grenade Launcher, in woodland paint job with the Dominion flag painted on both side, jumped out of C-130 Hercules transport planes. Their guns fired at the massive line of Vizi-Terrux. Rafale multi-role combat fighters, which guarded the C-130s, engage the Vizi-Terrux with air-to ground missiles.

Brigadier General Rico Justice, with a about fifty soldiers, hurried up to Gelectriax’s side. “Sorry, we took so long to get here.” Rico said to Gelectriax. Two Demon Axes rested on Rico’s back. “More help is coming.” His assult rifle roared to live as he fired at the traitors.

“We need your help, Lord Sly’lioth, we need your Templaces.” said Saerus.

OOC: I will leaving tomorrow (Friday) to heading to lake in Oklahoma. Will not be back until Monday. So, I will not be Rping for four days.

The first wave of decoys were smashed, but there were still many amongst them, as black as the originals, as dark and swift as their true warriors. The littered remains of the fake and real aircraft of both Eraclius’ air force and his swift Lihure pushed on, geared as the snowy landscape did little to slow him – after all, he had faced a combat in wintry situations before, and he had perfected the fighting of logistical loss in war. If he could break the Dominionite defence, then he would be able to rally the Sandurians together in a ‘liberalisation’ of the people, and hopefully he could create his air force once more. However, he needed supplies from Rithos and Authaulus had not replied to his pleads. Wondering on where the Azure Temsplace Lord was, Eraclius awaited as he studied the movement of his aircraft and bombers. As each aircraft fell, Eraclius made sure that a thick noxious gas was swelling about, covering the air in a thin transparent haze, deposits of small tiny metal floating around. It was like arsenic. Each missile fired launched heat and frequency signature fares, in an attempt to draw the missiles off of the aircraft, but it was apparent some were launched too late before a smouldering fist of fire smashed into their sides. Still, the Eraclian air force pushed on, revving and slashing about against their foes, every fighter and bomber giving off a noxious gas as the groups flanked about against their foes.

He still had enough should he fail to do another strike, though he was certain that this would break the lines and allow him to push through. Meanwhile, the Lihure punched a massive volley of firepower against the ground troops, Lancers speedily running forwards on swift bikes, explosives on their sides as their swift sidewinders sped through the air towards their enemies. Explosions racked up on their plains, but the Lancers sped forwards, the Lihure in front of them, smokescreens and heat flares launched to confuse any enemy computer targeting systems.

From the deepest of Eraclius’ airbases, a small group of fighters emerged, heir planes swift and sleek, a newly developed aircraft of a swift and powerful, but light design, four arbalests upon their wings, flashing up into the sky as they prepared. These darkened entities were the Eriam, the first strike team of the Kiharaijuzuun. They sped forwards against the enemies that were speeding towards the defences of Jenrakian controlled Sanduras, enormous amounts of support aircraft behind them. As they began to split up into smaller parts, they prepared themselves. “Six Nirhil, prepare for blanket and storm tactic.” He replied, as the support craft behind him unleashed a massive payload of gaseous missiles behind him, drenching western Sanduras in a thick fog as the flares and electrical signals launched in the thousands. There were thousands of decoys, yet there were barely a hundred actual aircraft. They had to work quickly and aggressively to rid Sanduras of foreign attackers.

Sly’lioth thought for a small moment. Before long, he finally capitulated, sighing carefully. “Alright. My men will assist you in your endeavours.” He said, looking up. “Kha-zihirigu’un!”

The castle of Imerdonei was under massive Vizi-Turret siege, lobbed balls of destruction of flame and gas from the enemy as the powerful, brutal Vizi-Terrux continued their fire, their aim unbelievable, their endurance uncannily strong. They kept firing, even as their comrades were blasted apart, their entire divisions destroyed by both enemy and friendly Vizi-Turret fire, and their obstacles overwhelming. Even as Gelectriax stood here, watching as his elite, the Ogkranume, the red soldiers in emerald shields, battle viciously as they fought against the overwhelming Vizi-Terrux.

From Haasdra, a steady line of fire came, as Thaurausk looked from the windows of the Necromarnen. A blast of Vizi-Turret and Lachura fire woke up her senses, as she looked with impunity. Smoke rose from the west of the great city, as the defences rose to activate, a ring of fire launched as a small wave was shot. In a moment’s notice, she knew what had happened – every single electrical object in Haasdra was disabled. Eminia had launched an electromagnetic bombardment of the city. He had forced the Jenrakian heart to stop beating, and he had forced the Old Jenrakians to fight in the terms of tradition – by sword and shield. Thaurausk welcomed the opportunity to crush the legendary Temsplace’s ego forever.

“Is he ready?” Viraranaar asked Aulocos, whom nodded. “We need to see if he is ready.”

“He should be. I am sure revenge could blind his actions, but he will know what to do, and besides – it is in his blood. I have waited a long time for him to be ready.” Aulocos said, sighing. “Let’s see what happens.”

From the eastern plains, Ashili and Rashkta fought alongside Egos as the Gilhadusk soldiers prepared themselves, but something was wrong – something was not right, as enormous Jenrakian repeating artillery were seen on the edges, a shining figure on the hills as a trophy of power and dominance. And there, they thought they had seen him, that they were merely going crazy. However, a single look through binoculars had shown that they were indeed surprised.

From the top of the hill, standing in a glaze of smoke grey robes, a large helmet of steel and silver, his eyes unforgiving, his fingers long and thin as a sword of flames blazed at his side. There he stood, apparently, but it could have just been mirage. Ashili and Rashkta gaped as they looked at the figure who was commanding the enemy forces in the eastern conflicts in Hsac and Nahm. They were sure they were hallucinating, that this man of exact features did not match whom they thought it was. Wasn’t Elnias Illuminaatrix dead?

“Thank you, Lord Sly’lioth.” said Saerus. “Do whatever you want. Send your Templaces to where ever you think they are need. But I’m heading back to take on Arguthahk And his forces.” With that, he turned and head out of the room. His helicopter entered the air a few minutes later.

Farkas looked over at Sly‘lioth. “Where are we going, my lord?” he asked.

Gas attacks? Gas attacks? Why use gas on soldiers in NBC suit and vehicles that have NBC protection. Those Jenrakian and their gas, pick a new tactic will you. Dominion soldiers were in the Sanduras bases or miles behind the line of howitzers and MLRS. Dominionites continued raining death on the traitors on both the ground and land. Infrared had to be used for the ground force because thick clouds of gas in the area. Both Lihure tanks and Lancers’ bike were target of the howitzers and MLRS. Damage and death were being taken on the Dominion’s side. The anti-air gun and ground-to-air missile launchers, which were unmanned and ran from a computer in one of the five bases, took hits left and right for above. But as one fell, another one popped out in other area.

The first wave of Dominion fighters send into Jenrakian controlled Sanduras took heave losses, only forty-eight percent of them were left. Those that were left, only had their cannons. No more missiles or bombs to use. The forty-eight percent shot into the traitor’s fighters with their cannons firing full blast. They would get their revenge for the Dominionite that had died today.

A dark shadow appeared over Brigadier General Rico Justice as he was lining a shot up. He looked around and saw the seven foot six inches tall powerhouse of a beast. He was Trevor (http://img210.echo.cx/img210/1180/trevor6lb.jpg) and he was a mutant. Well anybody can see that. Two Battle Demon axes, which were twice the size of the normal Demon axe, rested on his back.

“Damn!” said Rico. “Don’t do that shit.”

“I got tag along with me, Rico.” said Trevor. He moved his eyes to the left. Rico looked where Trevor’s eyes were pointed and saw somebody that has been missing during the fight for Old Jagada.

“Reaper?” asked Rico out loud.

The man just smiled at the Brigadier General. He looked like any normal soldier without his body armor. A military haircut and cleaned shaved face. Wearing brown leather pants and white tank top. Just a normal person on the outside but in the inside was another story. His skeleton was gold, gold laced into his bone. At that time, his claw shot out. Almost two feet long and three claws on each hand.

To make it look cooler, an enemy rocket hit the ground about five feet behind him. Sending up dirt and rock behind Reaper.

“I want Napalm, now.” Eraclius ordered to his Generals, who agreed as both sides spilt blood. “I want their ground forces to burn, and get the bullets dipped now. I will not take any risks in our war in fire.”

A plane was present in Ouridna, banners high and mounted upon immense precipices as the people cheered and talked and scurried on like insects. The stone walls were still present, the fields softly glazed in a black, burnt layer, the green slightly visible as new grass took over its successors. From the height of this plane, flying high atop the skies of Jenrak, a discontent figure sat down in his chair, his wine in his thin fingers sloshing about in its elegant glass cup, his crisp suit and his broad shoulders only shadowed by his tall stature. He had a look of calm, unwearied malice, his face soft and sullen, yet a red angry aura seemed to surround him as he smiled back at the stewardess who walked past him. A cell phone’s ring flickered through his ear, his fingers reaching in to take out a small silver object, flicking it open as he heard the jabbering on his ears.

“Edoqlius, is this a good time for me? I am not sure.” The man said with uncertainty, as the voice on the other end replied slowly, but deliberately.

“I am sure you were looking forwards to your vacation, my dear Dolian, but this is a red alert status group.” The man on the phone replied calmly.

“Why hasn’t Authualus or Thaurausk dealt with it? I’m sure they’re capable.” Dolian returned his words.

“Thaurausk is having a bit of trouble fighting against Eminia. The man has decided to shut down Haasdra with an electromagnetic pulse strike.” Edoqlius replied.

“Why haven’t you done something about it?”

“Because I am not a good tactician. I am a businessman, and that only touches the slight surface of warfare, don’t you agree?”

“I don’t know, Edoqlius. I’ve seen businessmen destroy men better than soldiers. Perhaps we should unleash you people onto the field.”

The voice on the phone chuckled, before turning another shade of seriousness. “Well, I am giving you the homeland forces to deal with it. Aulocos was clear in his intentions, so just do what he says. I know you’re a relative hothead – “

“I resent that implication, Edoqlius.”

“Listen Dolian, if you weren’t so effective at what you do, I’d have fired you along time ago.”

“Which is why I’ve been hitting on your wife for years.”

The voice chuckled once more. “Just get on it, will you?”

“Alright. Target?”

“I want you to assist Gelectriax the Wicked in the campaign against Arachniox. You are to use whatever is necessary without the damage done to the outlying civilians within the vicinity. No prejudice allowed. By our schematics and satellite imagery forces from General Brigadier Rico Justice have been sent to assist Gelectriax.”

“Gelectriax…” Dolian chuckled, flipping through the pages of the pale teal book set on his lap, as he looked at the images taken of both sides – Rico Justice and red helmed Gelectriax, and the supposed face of evil, the deathly and yet handsome Arachniox, his eyes a swimming ocean of blue and turquoise, his neck long and muscled but his back strong and his shoulders broad as they held a finely carved face with a small mat of brown hair. Dolian chuckled to himself, looking at them with amazement. “…this place has changed a long time, hasn’t it? I haven’t spoken to Gelectriax since my leave. Has Arborgard’s grave been disturbed?”

“Yes, as planned.” The end replied.

“Good. You hear that, Arborgard? Your grave has been robbed.” Dolian said to the shadow behind him, standing tall in a silver robe, his arms long and his hands thin. “You’re ready for your shining moment?”

“I prefer that I get a change of uniform.” Arborgard replied from the shadows, sighing softly as he looked at Dolian.

“You’re making your grand stage once I can clear Arachniox’s men from the south, and once I get rid of Eminia I will make sure that Haasdra is safe for your return. Remember, don’t make an appearance until you’re done. You’ll be staying at Necromarnen for now, in the dungeons. I’ll have to have you ready.” Dolian replied, smiling.

“Alright.” The shadowy figure replied, as his white robes glimmered amongst a head without a crown.

From the battle, Gelectriax watched with his fingers crackling with electricity, his eyes scanning back and forth as he looked about, the red stream of blood like a nasty river as the two sides brutally splashed against each other in stream of blood. The brutal, elite Sadicistra went off against Gelectriax’s elite and the Roughnecks, and the cannibalistic warriors kept fighting, feasting on corpses and bodies, drinking from the bloodied streams as they fed upon ruby particles, their swords so shining and the red blood everywhere that the air was in a red fusing gaze. Their bullets were oddly a shining glimmer, and with every bullet that smacked against his own men, they began to fall violently, as if the mere touch of the bullet was dangerous. His eyes wondrous, Gelectriax sighed.

“Dipping.” He sighed.

From Haasdra, pandemonium ensued as the people of Haasdra watched both sides fight with guns and swords and shields, avoiding the houses and the tanks laying dormant. The Sadicistra ran about, slashing and firing skilfully against the advancing force, yet they were too large in number, and began to overrun the majority of the cannibals, Haasdra in a frightening grip as the four massive obelisks of war stood amongst the shading snow, the silver city perfectly preserved, every stone and pillar still there, yet the pavements still ran red with blood, the sewers filled with the stench of death as the emerald fingers of the Viraigius slowly turned into a ruby sword.

From the battle against Illuminaatrix, or so they believed, Rashkta and Ashili had little mercy for Illuminaatrix after his assistance in the sacrifice of Alledrias. Something was wrong, something was not right, but still, they had to fight, the push on as the repeating artillery kept pounding upon them. They were not tired, but shocked and confused. Where was Viraranaar? What was Aulocos doing?

Where was Authaulus?

The Dominion air defense of Sanduras was unbeatable unless the traitors had bombs that could…that they had enough bombs to make the ground into nothing but dirt with no tree or blade of grass to be seen. Dominion ground units continued firing at traitors as fighters engage anybody in the sky. A lot of blood was being spilled on this day. Dominionite and Jenrakian blood was being spilled today.

Rico saw that his men fell fast after the enemy bullets shot through their body armor. He watched as twenty to thirty fell before the rest took cover behind anything they could find. He heard the word ‘Dipping.’ come out of Gelectriax‘s mouth.

“Shit!” he said out loud. He looked over at Trevor and Reaper form his cover place. “What the fuck are you doing out there?”

Trevor and Reaper were standing in the open, just looking across at the enemy. Reaper was a foot and half shorter then Trevor. One of the dipped round went through Reaper’s chest. But he did not fall that the Roughnecks or Gelectriax’s elite. He just smiled, “Did you forget what Trevor and me are?” he asked.

“All yeah, your healing factors.” said Rico. “Still you two need to do something.”

“Give us cover fire then.” said Reaper. At that time, Trevor drew both axes and they both took off towards the other side.

Rico radioed to his forces “Cover them, now!” He popped out and laid out some cover fire before looking at Gelectriax. “Have your men cover them, too. They are heading toward Arachniox.”

Rico looked back out and fire a few more times. Both Trevor and Reaper were dodging attacks left and right, both had animal like movement. Rockets and artillery shell hit the ground seconds before the two mutant were just at. Any traitor that gets in their ways, got Reaper’s claws in their head or chest and Trevor’s axes in their neck. If Arachniox was watching, he would see his future heading to him.

With all of this fighting going on, where was the Prince of Ice at? Or where is the Cajun playboy and his White Tigers?

It was a cold day in this war, a prolonged fight that seemed to have no end in sight. Every battle spilt endless blood, every single sword waged in the name of either Enkur or Zarazesk, and it seemed as if the burning powers of the gods were furious, to unleash great destruction upon them, but things seemed odd this time, as Arachniox looked on at his post, smiling at the battlefield that raged from his command camp. “Interesting. Can they be cloned?” He asked to his scientists, as he watched the video feed of Reaper and Trevor in action. Shrugging, the scientists looked with wonder at them. “If they can be cloned, and added to my guards, perhaps I this campaign can go much swifter. Very well. Bring me the Tellechs.” He ordered, as his scientists ran from their havens to the metal hallways, as from his command center Arachniox looked on with interest, smiling softly with an evil sneer stretched on his face.

After a small while, infantry began to come down through the catwalk, their walk soft and slippery, their faces covered in a white mask as their fingers were long and spindly, a gun in their arms as they looked on at their master. Arachniox turned around, acting almost surprised. “Tellechs, my friends.” Arachniox swivelled on his leather chair, replaying the video feed of Trevor and Reaper. “I want you to get me a sample of their blood. If they won’t co-operate, kill them.” He ordered, as the odd soldiers nodded, heading towards the exit, opening and closing, a small but elite squad of killers, cold and emotionless as they stared at the blinding sun against the reflected white snow. And with that, they began their hunt, their sniper rifles readied, their deadly aim prepared against them two.

The foremost of them, one like the others – white masked, small shouldered and slender yet swift, looked at the others, as they nodded, their fingers tapping slightly as they took their orders and began to take up positions around the front lines, hiding amongst their men as they prepared themselves for the hunt. They were to use whatever was needed, and they were prepared to do so – sidewinders, repeating artillery, railguns, snipers, they all took different positions, readying themselves and hiding in the harsh terrain, camouflaged as nothing but a white mass amongst the plains of snow.

“Do not underestimate.” The leader replied quietly, not expecting a reply.

“Well, a nice, happy place this is.” Dolian said sarcastically, as refuge camps were erected, people scurrying about within once illustrious Ouridna, crying and sobbing, soldiers marching as they prepared themselves, a massive black, stone insignia of a backwards ‘S’ upon the fountains of Ouridna’s city hall, the water slightly pink. “So, this must be the symbol of Zarazesk, the one who started this shenanigan. Have a look, Arborgard.” He said, as the silver robed Lord emerged from his plane, looking at the raised statue, his eyes in surprise.

“So much has changed.” He replied, as Dolian wrapped his arm around the silver Lord’s crownless head. “Where is Enkur? Izmishna? Ciranaar?”

“They’re fighting a losing war. Haasdra is under siege, and nearly taken, so that’s my job. To get you to Haasdra to finish the job. You up for it?” Dolian asked him, as Arborgard nodded.

“Alright, let’s go.” Arborgard replied, but the refugees began to look at the silver Lord with eyes or disbelief, their knees bent as their bodies bowed, their heads down in shame as the soldiers of both sides – Zarazesk and Enkur, in their hate, came together, to bow at the feet of one man. Arborgard had no place to move, as Dolian looked on. “What am I to do?” He asked, clueless.

“Bathe in it while it lasts. Aulocos needs you to have a talk to Therax, so that’s our destination.”

It was an interesting site in the border of Sandurian Controlled Transylvania and Sandurian Controlled Jenrak, both defences seemingly built to break their counterpart offences, the Kiharaijuzuun buzzing towards the enemy’s forces as bombers full of napalm began to fly alongside them, preparing to drop their payload as the Lihure smashed their firepower against the enemy, their flames bursting up into a glorious doom now and then, their metal parts spraying everywhere, explosions of shrapnel and flames lighting up the field like a deathly war.

However, it was apparent that Eraclius was prepared for this war, his army armed and trained to the bone, his air force a combination of a multitude of technologies from countries all over the world, many of them including Translyvanian technology. The flames were ready, and the elite aircraft fought in a dark shroud of steel and flares, his lancers and Lachura raging across the plains as some of them began to obliterate into a bevy of blossoming orange fire. Blood was spilt everywhere, yet the Jenrakians pushed on, their fanaticism their greatest vigour, their faith their greatest force. They would rather die before they see Eraclius die, and they fought so clearly. From the Sandurian capital of Horsingra, Eraclius began to finalise his second air force and army, in case his enemy could break his defences, his studies on the current situation a cornerstone for his development.

“Sorry, Authaulus.” Eremitus said, as a knife pierced the massive Temsplace’s arm, the shining blood splashing out as a red fountain of a jettisoned stream of flesh as Authaulus fell down on his knees, getting up before he swung another miss of a swing towards Eremitus. “But you have to go!” Eremitus swung his blade down, but the sword’s powerful swing was snapped in half by the thick armour that Authaulus wore.

“Your term is over!” Authaulus said, lunging his massive left arm up to grab Eremitus’ throat, yet the Temsplace fell down in paralysis.

“I never thought the hallucinogen would fade this fast. You truly are a unique specimen, my Lord.” Eremitus said, as Authaulus spat in his face, forcing him to kick him in the side.

“You have burned my brothers in a bevy of flame. You have placed Methronn in harm, you bastard.” Authaulus said, as Eremitus laughed.

“This comes from a who literally was without a father! You amuse me, Authaulus. You filthy, Archios trash.” With that, Eremitus spat at Authaulus, his spit one of blood and saliva, a red spray on Authaulus’ helmet and face as the Temsplace Lord sighed in pain. “Goodbye.” Swinging up his cleaver, Eremitus swung it down, but Authaulus punched the blade with his left hand, his arm sliced upon its edge, a torrent of blood spurting out.

Raising up in his last vestige of strength, Authaulus smashed his fist into Eremitus’ helmet, crushing the armour as the Temsplace fell down, trying to get up as Authaulus, without signs of tiring, smashed his elbow against Eremitus’ skull. As the heap of the body fell down upon the cold floor, his warm entrails almost steaming, Authaulus took his pleasure and ripped his limbs apart, his bone poking out of the messy corpse, as the Azure Temsplace Lord stood up, sighing softly.

Opening the door, his soldiers were surprised as their Lord came out bloodied and bruised, as Authaulus fell down in a puddle of blood.

As the infantry stormed the castle of Necromarnen, Viraranaar sighed. He had enough, as he watched his kinsmen fight against each other, and from that, in the control room of Haasdra, Viraranaar did what was necessary. Turning on the stasis system, the sewers and poles began to emit a deadly invisible gas, soldiers of both sides freezing in their steps as they began to slow themselves down, their bodies slumbering against them as they tried to move. Both armies were paralysed, and it was a prerequisite – he knew who was obviously coming. Eminia was not one of them, and he continued his march towards Necromarnen, a sword stuck in his left shin, but he ignored the pain.

From Aslydon, Sly’lioth looked at Farkas. “We are going to stay here. Pride will get people killed, and I do not wish that.”

Reaper and Trevor, an unstoppable two man attack unit. They were gods on this battlefield, taking bullets in part of their body and not slowing down. Dodging attacks from artillery shells, missiles, and bullets a few second before they hit the ground. Both of them have hyper keen senses, meaning they could heard the attacks from artillery shells, missiles, and bullets in the air. Explosions of shrapnel, dirt and rocks fly from those attacks but Reaper and Trevor continued forwards into the enemy. Both of them have shrapnel in their sides and back but it did not stop them. They blocked out the pain from the wounds. Both of their white tank tops were covered in blood and dust. They looked like they were some crazy bad ass mothers. Some people you would not want to mess with.

Trevor and Reaper used their enemy’s own vehicles as their cover. Their enemy’s attacks would kill their own people. The two mutants thought that was funny. They have a sick sense of humor.

The fight at the Sandurian border was an interesting site, it is one of the major battles of the war. A bloody battle for watch and living hell to be in. Many soldiers on both sides were dieing, both sides looked like they would not back up to each other. Something big had to happen. Or maybe the border battle was just a show for the real attack.

And it was a show. Five F/A-117X NightHawk fighters, which were launched with the first wave of Dominion fighters, using the other fighters as cover, one of each of the five Dominion bases, flew at 62,000 feet and at hyper subsonic speed. Their pilots, the best for this type of stealth mission, said their goodbyes to their families because they would be to far in enemy airspace to make it back to base without being hit or destroyed. Four were armed with two BLU-109/B (http://www.fas.org/man/dod-101/sys/dumb/blu-109.htm) bombs each and the last one had two modified 2,000 pound MK84 bombs to become fuel-air type of bombs. Their target was location in Horsingra, Eraclius would not se it coming. His stronghold would be hit fast and hard.

Nearing their target, each NightHawk moved into their attack runs. One from the north, the east, the west and the south. Their bombs were ready and locked into their target from a Dominion satellite above Sanduras. The satellite had the laser locked on the stronghold.

”Go! Go! Go!” was heard in the radio of the pilots.

Each fighter drop one BLU-109/B bomb followed by the other one a few second later. The pilots had to act fast before they hit each other head on. The western fighter shot upwards, the eastern fighter shot downwards, the northern moved downward, the southern fighter moved upwards. Above the stronghold, the fighters passed each other with only inches between them. The coolest part was what they formed, a strange looking cross was made high above the stronghold.

As the four fighters tried to escape the area, the bombs hit their target. The satellite locked on with a video feed of what was happening. The last fighter, drop it payload to make sure their attack worked. If this attack worked, Eraclius would be gone and the video feed would be sent all over Sanduras. Showing what Zarazesk allowed to happen to one of his followers.

From Aslydon, Farkas just stayed quiet. Not wanting to make his trainer mad.

A thicket of violent rumbling filled his room, as Eraclius shifted up in wonder. “Shit, that close.” He said, as he looked at the second camera feed of his city, cursing loudly as he watched his anti-aircraft began to spray a blanket of missiles against his enemy, watching with intent as he finally received the word from Authaulus, the transmission fairly gargled, yet he was still intent on working it. Turning it on, as the rumbling continued, Eraclius looked at his master, a tired, broken face, bloodied wounds visible beneath his wires and his bandages. With utmost concern, Eraclius looked on. “Authaulus! Dear Enkur what has befallen such a friend?”

Authaulus sighed, looking up, his neck stiff and his shoulders cut. “Slow down the fighting, maintain a defence. Worth a ceasefire. I am bringing word to Arachniox to stop his warmongering. We have already lost Arguthahk, and Eminia is too precious to be killed. Eremitus has played us for fools.” Authualus said, sighing softly.

“But what about great Zarazesk? Is he not with you?” Eraclius asked, as Authaulus sighed in pain.

“I was drugged, Eraclius. My faith cannot be shaken so slightly, my whim so strong.” Authaulus said, as his eyes apparently scanned the ceiling. “Besides, something arises in Ouridna. Dolian comes to Haasdra, and he carried a man with him.”

“What man?”

“I know not.” Authaulus said. “But his message comes quick.”

Eraclius looked on, as his message swiftly changed to a crudely created transmission of Dolian, his hair slick and his eyes unseen, his face stern and his shoulders slightly down, a face of disappointment upon him. From the message, he sent the words:

”As entertaining this carnage looks, I believe the death toll for everyone involved is large enough. Now, if we want an entire nation to go into a nuclear war, then I believe both sides immediately stop fighting. And I will do it too, without firing a single bullet. Anybody want to guess how? I’ll starve this nation until it’s nothing but sands and skeletons. Right now its nothing but sands and corpses, but I can get there much faster. So, let’s all be civilized creatures and do the reasonable thing, shall we? I am going to be clear. Every single conflict must end immediately, or I will get my boss to override the nuclear codes.”

Cheerio – Assholes,
General Dolian

Eraclius sat there, as he knew that this message would be sent to every listener post everywhere, and that he knew whom he was facing. Dolian was lethal, one who could mean the end of him. If he continued this fight, he would not win no matter what he did, and he was sure that Authaulus knew it as well. At the battle of the snowy plains, handsome Arachniox called back his forces, Gelectriax bringing his elites to the ends of his flanks as well.

From Haasdra, Eminia stopped his one man march, only to kneel down and stop his psychotic attacks, awaiting for the electromagnetic pulse bombing to die off. From Aslydon, Sly’lioth sighed, watching the television, and Ashili and Rashkta stood there, at the corpse of Illuminaatrix, their swords dipped in blood, both sides quiet as the command by Dolian seemed to effect every single Jenrakian there. As Eremitus lay dead, Arguthahk impaled and Authaulus brutally in pain, the casualties began to mount, but the physical fight began to simmer down.

From the lavish mansion of Edoqlius, a harem of women sighed as he walked about in a silky red robe, reading the fax sent to him by Dolian as he chuckled happily, his enormous mansion untouched. A cell phone rang on his ears, as he picked it up, the black surface shining, his face contorted to one of amusement. “Y-ello?” He asked happily, as the reply came.

“The ceasefire message was sent to everyone.” Dolian on the other end replied.

“Splendid. I’m heading over to Haasdra. Is Mr. Therax coming?” Edoqlius asked, as a small silence followed.

“I will have Therax be there.” Dolian replied, as Edoqlius turned off the phone, and in began to change.

From the great temple of Ciranaar, a priest with a massive crown stood upon the pedestal, looking at the masses as swarms of insects, his eyes filled with wonder and interest at the multitude of people. His face was one of oddities, his eye showing what seemed to be a bevy of makeup stretched as claws, his lips cut at points, his hair covered by a silver crown as a massive long sword laid at his hip, shining in the same glittering glimmer as his robes of lavender and vermillion shine. His fingers were long, his red eyes pulsing and his un-pierced ears twitching, he was given a message by his aide. Placing the phone onto his bone white ear, he asked with a deep, monotonous voice. “Hello?” He asked, as Dolian replied on the other end.

“Well hello, Mr. Therax.”

“Make it quick, General Dolian.” Therax ordered with contempt.

“A meeting with Eqolius and the defenders and instigators at Haasdra, Necromarnen. The designation of the empire’s domains.” Dolian summarized, as the man nodded.

“I will be there.” Therax said, taking the cell phone from his ear, giving it to his aide, and beginning his travel towards Haasdra.

The five stealth fighters were took down but their attack work. The stronghold was in ruins. But not reports of that Eraclius was killed in the air. But it show the power of the Dominion had without using cheater weapons or nuclear weapons.

Trevor and Reaper stopped in mid-charge as the message was send through their radios in their ears. They looked at each other as the enemy were called back. What the hell was going on? They just stood there, watching the enemy fall back, not firing anything.

“Reaper, Trevor, get back to my location. A ceasefire was issued.” said Rico to them with his radio. The two mutants started back to Rico.

Saerus’ helicopter flew over the edge of the snowy battlefield that just had a massive battle on, it was now quiet.

“Take us to Haasdra.” ordered Saerus. The helicopter started towards Haasdra.

On the ground, Rico was prepared to broad a UH-60 Black Hawk transport helicopters. “Reaper, Trevor, come with me to Haasdra. Something is going on there.” he said to the two mutants. Reaper and Trevor hopped into the helicopter. Soon, it flew by Saerus’ helicopter.

All the Dominionites they were fighting, stopped the fighting. Dominionites were proud people and would not attack a side that was not shooting back at them.

Haasdra’s courts were lit in a buzz of discussion, Lords left and right talking to each other with interest and complaints and arguments as two throne-like chairs were set up at the front of the room. Whoever they belonged to, nobody knew, but it was apparent that they would be instrumental in the change of Jenrak. From the hearth of the silver, domed room, the sunlight splashing through the windows, the swords glimmering and the rifles laid out of sight, they looked at each other. Rashkta sat down across from the chairs, quiet as a ghost to her fellow Matriarchs, her silver hair shining as she stared at them with a deathly silence, her eyes nothing more than small slits on her face as she viewed the councils curiously. From the other end, Ashili sat alongside Denise, the blonde haired Matriarch and the Brown haired Policewoman looking at the central chamber, a massive glass pedestal, refracting the rays as sunlight reached every part of the of the chamber, no shadows apparent as the room was fogged into a glimmer of light.

From here, standing at the height of the chairs, a silver robed man stood, his head crownless and his fingers ring less, yet his robes and his identity made some interesting scenes. As he stood there, the Lords looked on with disbelief, their mouths agape and their hands still, their eyes staring with surprise towards him as they sat in their leather chairs. From the center of the debating chamber, between the two throne-like chairs, Arborgard stood, looking at the Lords in their shocked silence as he nodded his head in silence, as if feeling his message had been portrayed and sent towards them. Standing behind the throne-like chairs, jewels encrusted on their surfaces as golden lacings and silver supports were visible, Arborgard looked with interest.

“We must wait for the honoured hosts to come.” Arborgard said with elegance, sneering.

From the doors, a tall figure of a man in a crisp, black suit emerged, his face straight and content, his jovial walk gone as his serious steps had the ways of professionalism about him, medals and buttons pinned on his chest as he viewed the myriad Lords with both interest and disgust. His fingers weren’t studded in rings, only a small yellow band was visible on his ring finger, his hair sloshed back neatly. As he sat in one chair, he looked as another came through the door, his opposite.

From that door, a man of frightening features came about, his eyes draped in a black makeup, his cheeks showing signs of markings amongst his features as they adorned his face with terror. His lips were cut, and his mouth was closed tightly, his red irises showing signs of decay and age, yet he walked with strength and grace. His fingers were long and covered in jewels, his robes shining with a chain-mail of gold, his body swift and his left hand carrying a massive silver halberd, sitting down as he placed it on his lap. His head had adorned a giant crown of steel fingers, his hair long and twisted like his face, as the pale man looked on at the many Lords that stared at this odd collection of councils.

“’Ere comes the deliberation of the first council.” The crowned man replied, his neck showing a tattoo that revealed his name, a slightly carved ‘Y’ with a twisting ‘T’ through his neck – Therax, was his name, and a powerful and dangerous Lord he was. Ever since Arcarum became king, Therax ruled Jenrak’s religious castes with impunity, knowing and seeing all within his precious Tsellian Empire, which expanded far beyond Jenrak herself. His holy empire stretched over a multitude of nations, and as long as they were Tsellian, Therax commanded their whims as he could see fit. Though rarely taking any action into consideration, Therax was a dangerous Lord who could not be crossed. He was the true king of Jenrak, the one who truly could wipe out entire species and beliefs with his words, the one whom even Arborgard bowed down to.

From the helm of the second one, Edoqlius looked, flipping through his cell phone as he waited for them to begin, chuckling at the messages he had received from placenta of friends. Before closing it, he looked at them all, and then broke the unearthly silence.

“Correct. This shalt be the deliberation of the situation of Zarazesk and Enkur, and the hope of continued stability of both Old Tsellia and New Tsellia.” Edoqlius replied. “Is everyone involved present?”

Selene, her whole body covered in a black robe, stood on the side with her daughter. She looked at Arborgard, her eyes unseen by anybody. If anybody could see her eyes and face, they would see a quizzed look like the other Lords in the room.

Trevor and Reaper, which had fresh clothes, a dark blue tight T-shirt and dark blue jean with brown cowboy boots, on, stood on each side of Selene and her child. No harm would come to Selene or Cassandra with them in this room. Hell, the young Saerus was close enough to them that they would make sure no harm would come to him.

Saerus, who was in front of the two thrones at the right side, stood there with the crown of Blades in his left hand. He was holding it not wearing it. Blood was on it, too. Not from enemies or friends, it was his blood. He was holding it too tight, so the crown had Annirak blood on it.

Rico, who still in his Transylvanian body armor that had dirt and blood on it, stood near Selene with his helmet off. Everybody was here but Edward and Remy. Where could they be?

Edqolius looked at the paper, reading down the list, looking as his eyes scanned about, his swift movements unerred. “This deliberation will now commence, with the inclusion of other members or not. All rise, to the great Lord Therax.” Edoqlius said with a monotonous voice, as the Lords rose, their heads bowed towards Therax, who looked at them with a bored gaze. “All may sit.” Edoqlius replied. “This council will begin the deliberation of the ideal of Zarazesk versus Ackthal.” Edoqlius said, as they looked upon each other with interest, still at Arborgard. “The divine Arborgard Serptine must now present the two sides of the judgement.”

Arborgard stood in the central chamber, looking at the council, his stance cooled as not a single drop of sweat came down upon his head. “Zarazesk is a monotheist religion built upon the ideals of equality after death, and a Heaven and Hell, one of the prospecting qualities of a monotheistic religion.” He replied, reading from a scroll, as he looked at the other end, flipping it over. “Ackthal is the lord of the Tsellians, and it is widely regarded and accepted that Ackthal is the creator of our people.” He said, with a matter-of-fact tone.

“Deliberation will continue on deciding the official religion of Jenrak.” Edoqlius said, as they council Lords talked alongside each other. “Each council must be orderly as commanded. The delegations of the situation are being presented.” Edoqlius continued, looking at them all with distaste. “Now, the situation must be brought, as the evidence of both religions must be recreated in the eye of the council.”

Nobody knew what this meant, save for Eminia, whom was the evidence as he was brought in chains, his armour gone, his body stripped down to undergarments, blood all over him, and it was visible that none of the blood was his. His eyes were dark, and damp, almost as if he had been crying, his lids nothing more a black ring around each eye – clearly he was tired and famished, a growling coming from his stomach. As Eminia stood, the Lords looked on with supremacy at their Temsplace child, his chest rising and falling as his back was seen with red streaks all over – he had been whipped, and the bandages were soaked in the blood that was his. Edqolius looked on at the Temsplace, and Therax as well, his eyes intent on the expression shown in Eminia’s eyes.

“Lord Eminia, you are charged with the crime of endangering Haasdra. You are also charged on multiple offences of murder, genocide and…regicide?” Edqolius looked, as he placed the paper to Therax’s eyes.

“Regicide.” Therax said, as Edoqlius had a look of interest.

“Alright. Eminia, what do you plead to this council, in defence of your actions?” Edoqlius asked him, as the Temsplace sighed.

“I plead nothing less than what I have done.” Eminia said, his voice deep and dark, his scars vivid as his body was wracked and bruised, bloodied and cut. “Give me my sentence so I may be done with it.”

“I will not be letting you go that easily, my Temsplace friend.” Edoqlius said slyly, as Eminia looked up with surprise. He had a look that shocked the council, a look of pity, of horrid sorrow, that something was wrong with him, that perhaps there was something going on that wasn’t thought of before. Whatever it was, nobody could pin it down, and Eminia did not make a single sound.

Saerus cocked his head to side as Eminia came into the room in chains. So, that is the one that started it all he said to himself. I think it is strange that nobody want this crown from me. His eyes locked onto Eminia, anger rose from inside him that could be seen on his face. He listened to Edqolius and Therax. Eminia’s shocked face made Saerus wonder what was going to happen to the man, the man that started it all.

Selene, like her son, wondered what was going to happen to Eminia. She looked around the room for her husband’s brother, to make sure her husband’s dear brother was alive.

“What is the designation, Lord Therax?” Edqolius asked the man who sat beside him, the man who looked at his minion with discontent and hatred. The fingers moved slightly, before lifting up two fingers, and then falling down to his lap once more. Nobody knew what this meant save for Edoqlius, as the businessman nodded. “Eminia, by order of the high and perfect Lord Therax, you are to be punished by the ninth order of the sentence. You are to be infected.” Edoqlius replied, as the execution came from the doors, a small silver box in his hands, this man carefully placing on a thick metal suit, reaching into the box before pulling out a small squirming centipede-like animal, twisting and clawing about on the armour, slipping as its smooth surface allowed no place to cling to.

Eminia began to show signs of sorrow, sobbing slightly as he breathed quickly, his chest rising and falling as the executioner brought the tiny insect to his mouth, legs crawling into his throat, it’s journey visible as a lump of flesh upon his stomach. Then, his stomach’s growling began to churn and become hundred fold in sound and level, as he cried out in pain, breathing harshly against the chains, crying out in pain and sorrow. His mouth was bleeding out torrents of blood, as the red liquid splashed amongst a muddied brown spot from his anus, a horrid stench filling the air as the Temsplace cried out once more, but the thing persisted, feasting upon his innards as his nose began to spew out a thin, red line of mucous, his hair falling down as his soft skin began to peeling, his wounds increasing in size as purple blotches popped up all over him. He cried and cried in pain, yelling in Ascheran in deep, horrid terror, but he could nothing, chains latched tightly to the ground, his body in horrendous pain as his feet began to burst open, his knees torn apart in a vestige of red blood as his bone showed through.

Therax whispered a small whisper, and thus Eminia cried out in a final temper. “No! Please not, my Lord!” Eminia cried, before the unforgiving Master finished his excommunicating rites, sending Eminia’s soul to eternal damnation. He would join Nahk and the others soon, it seemed, but unlike them, Eminia was to go through brutal torture.

Red was everywhere on this man, his back covered in a brownish, maroon stain, the stench of waste all over him as Eminia cried out in pain. His arms were splashed wide open, his blood everywhere within the pit of the central council chamber, the lords holding up tissues to save themselves from the putrid stench. Eminia was nothing more than a rotting corpse now, and the question was over, but another lingered – Zarazesk, or Enkur? Whom would Therax decide?

Rico looked away from the body as the bug did it work to the man. Being a Roughneck, Rico has seen many things but nothing like this. What the fuck? he said to himself.

Saerus just looked at the body, not caring what much pain the man went through. He had a sick smile on his face as the man yelled no. As the corpse laid on the floor of the cambers, Saerus waited for the answer to will it be Zarazesk or Enkur?

“By my deliberation, I have decided to brand Zarazesk a heretic’s god, and therefore no change shalt be made to the church aforementioned. However,” Therax said, looking at Saerus, “Another heresy exists. The crowning of the Anniraks without my permission.”

Edoqlius nodded, flipping to the second book, as Edoqlius stood up. “May Saerus, son of the Golden Patriarch arise to his deliberation and judgement on behalf of the fair and wondrous Lord Therax.” Edoqlius ordered, as the Lords sat in silence, watching, the custodians bringing the corpse out, as they cleaned the pedestal for Saerus to stand upon for his words.

Saerus shot a look at Therax and Edoqlius. “Judgment? Did I just hear you say judgment?” he said. “You are going to judge me for something my uncle did for my father.” Now, that should have shocked everybody in that room. Somebody questioning Lord Therax. The real king of Jenrak, the real king that does not sit on the throne.

“My father was the last king, maybe he was crown with your permission, Lord Therax, but he was crown king of Jenrak. If you did not like it, you should have stopped it.” said Saerus. “This crown means nothing.” He looked down at the crown in his left hand. “If you are the real king of Jenrak. It is just a waste of metal.”

“Maybe I don’t have the right blood running through my veins to be crowned king of Jenrak or sit on the Jenrakian throne. Only one person has the right blood.” Saerus saidas he looked over at Arborgard. “If you are the real Arborgard then you are not the man I thought you were. When your own flesh and blood was kidnapped and Enkur knows what happen to her at the hands of her kidnappers. You should have done something, not just hide on the sidelines. The crown should never sit on your head after that.”

He looked back at Therax and Edoqlius. “All I wanted to do was bring peace to my home, to Jenrak.” said Saerus. “But if you want this crown from me, my mission will never be finished. There will be a war here and there.” He placed the crown of Blades on the pedestal then started out of the room. But he walked a slow pace to hear what happens. His left hand, drops of blood fell to the ground.

“By law of the nation you were born in you are to come back for your deliberation and judgement.” Edoqlius said, as the Lords looked on the rebellious attitude shown by Saerus. Therax did not show a sign of displeasure or amusement – his face was blank, unreadable, as Arborgard stood by his side looking at the boy with crossed arms and an interested face. The gates to the exit of the chamber were open, but an arm held out across Saerus, intent on stopping him. Attached to this arm was a woman of long flowing golden hair, her eyes showing no signs of worry, her skin a soft golden tan as her bloodstained jacket was crudely wiped and cleansed. She looked at Saerus with honest and urged him to go back.

“Saerus, you have to do this, by order. Therax is a reasonable, fair lawful man. He will not punish you if you have done no wrong, but for the sake, your father is dead, your uncle incapacitated. You are the one who will be given the knowledge of the outcome of your Uncle’s action. You will not be punished, I assure you, my dear, if you have done nothing wrong.” Ashili said with a soft comfort in her voice, looking at the young king.

Edoqlius looked at Arborgard. “He thinks you’re Arcarum.” Edoqlius replied, as Arborgard shrugged, still having his arms crossed.

“By law of the nation you were born in you are to come back for your deliberation and judgement.” Edoqlius replied back to Saerus.

From the doors, two more chained men emerged from the doors, followed by a massive green robed man, his arms enormous and bulging with rippling muscles, his eyes simply thin snake-like slits on his face as his pale red skin was visible amongst the enormous armour he wore. A giant sword was wrapped to his back, as he paid no attention to anyone but Edoqlius, as he carried these two chained figures to the doors. One of them, a smirking, handsome man of impeccable beauty and ruggedness, his face a finely carved stone of flesh and his body perfectly proportioned, yet cuts ran alongside his back as if he were freshly whipped. Another had a determined, monotonous face, one without cuts, yet his face showed streaks as if there were tears there.

Therax looked on at the second man, and chuckled with amusement. “Eraclius, Eraclius!” Therax said with laughter, a harsh, cold laughter that pierced through the hearts of men. “What fate has befallen you, my dear, old friend?” He asked, as Eraclius looked up with sorrow.

“Please, Therax. Give me life sentence, not death. I have suffered enough, can I not leave with dignity?” Eraclius asked tearfully, as Therax shook his head.

“No, your punishment is what you are entitled to by the law. By your assistance in the attack, you are to be broken on the wheel.” Therax said, as Eraclius sighed.

“Very well.” Eraclius said without a glimmer of hope in his voice, as soldiers carried the man away, one of them holding an enormous mace in his hands, and one could only guess what would happen to dear Eraclius of the Eraclian domains.

Therax turned to Arachniox, and now with thought. “You are to be punished, but perhaps not. You were working merely for Arguthahk, and a good General finishes his Lord’s wishes. So, while you have been responsible for the death of men, I bestow onto you no punishment.” Therax said, looking at Arachniox with hatred and thought. “I will however, be watching you, General Arachniox.”

Arachniox made no change in his movements, he merely looked with cold eyes back at Therax.

“Now, come young Saerus, for your deliberation.” Therax commanded.

Saerus looked up at Ashili. “The word judgment does not sound fair, dear aunt.” he said. “They are going to judge because of the action of my uncle. There is nothing fair in that.” He ignored the punishment of Eraclius and Arachniox.

He looked down at the floor then at his left hand. “By the law that gave born to me, I will take my deliberation and judgement.” he said, he turned and stood on the pedestal. He didn’t look at Therax or Edoqlius, his eyes locked on the crown of blades.

“Just trust me.” Ashili urged.

As Saerus stood there, Therax looked at his once friend’s son, as Therax chuckled slightly. “I knew your father, he was a good man, a great man, in fact. I got along with him much better than he did with Authaulus. I knew your uncle as well – a fine figure of a man when I first met him, if I say so myself. Tell me, do you understand the word mind control?” Therax asked Saerus, as the Lords looked upon each other. Nobody knew where he was going with this.

“Yes, I know what mind control is.” said Saerus, looking at Therax. His left hand, the once white glove was now a dark red color, the bleeding had stop. Being vampire does have nice thing to it. “A few known mutants in the Dominion have the power to control over people’s minds. Where are you going with this? Are you saying my uncle or father were under some type of mind control when my father was crown king of Jenrak?”

“Oh no, neither of them. We aren’t mutants. But we have come as close to mind control as we possibly can.” Therax leaned slightly forwards, holding out a small red jewel shaped glass vial. “Hallucinogens. We have thousands of them, each creating a different scenario in people’s minds. With that we can effectively make sure things stay that way, but it’s an expensive proposition.” Edoqlius sighed.

“By decree, you are no longer heir to the throne, and Jenrak no longer a monarchy. One absolute power causes problems, and henceforth I shall do what is prudent. I will have to carved three separate empires out of Jenrak’s single monolithic lands. I will assign the three candidates to each empire, and we shall have the breaking point begin at Haasdra. It shalt be the west, the east, and the north. Do you object, my boy?” Therax asked Saerus.

“Why would I object, my lord?” asked Saerus. “If it will bring peace to Jenrak, I will not object to it. I will be a better warrior then a leader of a nation. But, my lord, I have one question.” He took a pause. “I, like the other lords of this council, would like to know the head of these empire. Who will be the three candidates?”

“The ones I am assigning are of each sector of Jenrak – the traditional, the religious and the corporate sides.” Therax said with emotionless impunity. “Viraranaar Kataask will take the northern sectors, and mould the Eraclian Empire into of Jenrak. The corporate side have vouched for Aulocos to take over the eastern side, to watch over the Jenrakian mines and the economic backing of the province of Hsac. And finally, to watch over the western lands of Jenrak, I shalt appoint my own, Gelectriax of the Nine Stars to rule the western part. By separating the powers at these three men, Jenrak will be too much of a dangered status to instigate a fully fledged war. Nobody will launch an attack in fear of reprisal by the other two sides. But, as Haasdra is being reformatted, things shall have to be done in a simple, and orderly fashion.”

“And we have to begin the hunt for the real villains.” Dolian chimed up.

“Three men that can get the job done. I wish the best to those three to keep peace in Jenrak.” said Saerus. He cocked a look over at Dolian. “The real villains? Who may they be?”

“Weeks before this whole shenanigan started a series of brutal assassinations began in Jenrak, the murder of a series of high ranking nobles in outlying parts of the empire. The closest one was Authaulus himself, although Authaulus effectively tortured the man to death before he could say anything. As strong as that man is, he just does like to think at all. Recent studies shown from Eremitus’ corpse find that he was laced with mind controlling hallucinogens, which could account for his belief of Zarazesk. Our sources lead to the underground, Khara-Jiziun. They’re a rebel group intent on overthrowing the government, and so far they’ve failed dismally on many occasions, but as cowards they do have good hiding abilities. I am commanding this expedition, and once we worm them all, we can finally be at peace.” Dolian explained simply.

“May I be part of this expedition, general?” asked Saerus. “My looks are of a twelve year but don’t let that foul you. I can beat people twice my age in duels.”

Reaper and Trevor want to join but they did not ask. Their eyes and face both showed that they want to join. The beasts of war wanted to be unleash again.

“Foul?” Dolian asked, not knowing what the boy meant. “I’ll need you to iterate on that, my boy.” But before he did, he rose, took out a small revolver, and placing it to Arborgard’s temple.

“Behind the ear, please.” Arborgard said without emotion, nor fear, as Dolian moved its silver handle to the back, pressing softly against his ear, before it’s handle, the bullet splashing out in blood as the body and blood of Arcarum fell down onto the floor, staining the ground as it seeped about, lights turning on in a soft glimmer as the Lords looked on.

“I knew it would take his blood.” Dolian said, moving the corpse as the whirring machines in the ground began to lift themselves up, revealing a small silver box, four locks upon it as Dolian sighed, taking out his keys to open up the boxes, small disks inside. “Now, we’ll see what is going on.” Dolian replied, as Therax swooped down to the smelly floor and picked them, looking at them with interest.

“The finalized weapon plans on Jenrak’s military. Let’s go.” Dolian replied, as the lights still flickered. “We need to begin the planning.” With that, the corpse was left, as Dolian returned to everyone in the council as he began to slither away.

“Meet me in Marazekko, if you wish to participate in the hunt. I will be waiting.” Dolian said coldly.

“Did I say foul? Not foul but fool you.” said Saerus. “Meaning that I’m a twelve year old boy over the men that you have in your command.” Saerus did not care about the men being shot in the head by Dolian. Maybe he was not the real Arborgard but no crying for that man.

“Marazekko, it is.” said Saerus, stepping down off of the pedestal. He looked into the eyes of Reaper and Trevor as he walked over to them. “Do the beasts want to fight?”

“We were born for it.” said Reaper.

“Very well, you two may tag along.” said Saerus. “What about you mother?”

“I’m heading home to Annirak castle.” said Selene.

“Good idea, mother.” said Saerus. He looked over at his older sister, his nine month older sister. “And what about you, sis?”

“I want to come with you, bro.” said Cassandra.

“Your bow will be nice to have at our side.” said Saerus. The four started to the hanger, to prepared for the trip to Marazekko.

Edoqlius looked at Therax, his eyes full of concern and distaste at the movement. “Are you sure that this oligarchy can last?” Edoqlius asked. “Remember, I am a businessman – I do things logically, and I’m not sure whether allowing foreigners to hunt is proper, especially allowing those barbarians to lurk about.” He expressed proper concern, but the occasional Jenrakian elitism present within most Jenrakians. Therax only sighed, as he watched the blood stained floor.

“The barbarians could be useful in our search due to their primal and animal instincts, but I believe precautions will be placed. I will leave myself to work on things, but in the meantime I must bring myself to the helm together.” He said, as he prepared himself.

Haasdra was going under massive renewal, as the city was being the splitting centers of the three empires, each on made to change to the Lord’s wills. From the north, the arid, sandy precipices of the black towers were stark and enormous, Viraranaar’s massive swords of stone standing high as railways and tunnels were latched together effectively, a highly technologically advanced portion, hangars and boats amongst a bevy of green emerald streams as the large black structures jabbed defiantly into the sky. From the west, elegant castles and twisting houses were seen, giant fortresses and horrendously large turrets and battlements. Fortified walls and turrets lined the city’s edges, soldiers marching about in the sheer strength and brutal power given off. In the east, culture thrived, and universities of knowledge and brilliance shone with a golden hue.

Soon, Saerus’ helicopter was on the air. The young man, the unrightfully heir to the former Jenraknian throne, sat in the back. He was wearing a new set of clothes, white robe no more or his golden armor. He was in a light tan robe, a robe that he uses to train in the Path of the Billowing Zephyr, his martial arts from his mother’s home, and had dark green armor on his shoulder and chest. Dark green armor plates were on his lower and upper arms. His two short swords were at his side. But this Saerus was changed one, he would never wear a white robe again.

His sister was sitting next to him, she had on green martial arts clothes. There was something strange about them, they looked like they were made of some type of scale. Not real animal scales, they were model after a dragon’s scale. The reason for it was she was a student of the Mysterious Academy of Dragons, another one of the Dominion‘s martial arts academies. Her bow at her side.

On the other side of them were Reaper and Trevor, who had on the same clothes they had on in the meeting. This ride would be a quiet one as they flew over Haasdra and out of the city's air space.

At the new capital of the Eastern Jenrak, Gelectriax held a tribunal in a haze of green fog, the large circular dome of his personal council held together amidst the tall, dreary landscape. From far above, the land looked so crude, so horrible, so dangerously terrible, like a bed of knives as Gelectriax carried a large crown on his head, swords erect from its height, knives and sharp objects shining up in a glimmer of diamond and the sunlight bouncing off the clouds as Gelectriax stood amongst his generals, a tall red cape blissfully falling down as a soft glitter amongst his men. Looking at them, he spoke with a chortled, soft voice, in contrast to his usual maniacal, dastardly self. “Begin the hunt.” He said.

The sleek black transport helicopter, which was bought with the money of Saerus’ mother’s crime actives, flew low into Marazekko. The pilot and co-pilot keep they eyes open for any type of threat. The ones that the hunt will see the power that Saerus held. They would see what a warrior the young boy had with-in him. They would see the training the boy had has paid off.

A small, dark hood was draped over his face, green and emerald like a shimmer coat, a wing-like cape upon his back and his fingers wrinkled yet still showed signs of muscle and activity. His body was finely carved, every single muscle visible, wires of flesh and sinew seen beneath his suit, his green shaded robes and armour only slightly covering the covered halberd he carried in his left arm, his veins pulsing and throbbing violently as he looked around. From this small, quiet place, from his small, quiet graveyard, in the middle of nowhere, the trees like undead hands, the mausoleums echoing of taunting laughter as the body was slowly draped down into the empty grave, the dirt around falling down into a brown fog that was covering them all. This man, the halberd in his arm, was a veteran Sadicistra – he had fought the Temsplace, the Sword Bearing Police, the Dominionites. He had killed both foreigner and brother, and he was ready to make sure they never killed as much as he. He was the resistance leader, though he was burying his father, the cold clammy corpse that was slowly being pitched down his life. He knew that Therax had split up Jenrak into three empires, and that would not help him at all – it would become more brutal, more dangerous, more intense.

Saerus’ helicopter eased down onto a clear area in Marazekko. The only sound was off the helicopter’s blades and engine. Saerus hopped out and looked around. Trevor and Reaper jumped down next to him, both of them were ducking because of the blades. Cassandra hopped out and stood behind her brother.

It was a clear, wintry night in the large underground bunker, his fingers running along the map, a Band-Aid on his skin as he recently had a paper cut on his soft skin, the pain still slightly stinging amongst the vestiges of his throbbing wounds. It was nothing more than a yellowish slice of bulging fabric on his fingers, still he despised its appearance upon it. As he look, he moved a marker alongside the borders, arrows pointing about, red arrows swiftly drawn as he looked up the way, staring with soft subtlety at the monuments drawn upon the map. “I don’t understand.” He said, as he looked at Haasdra, the capital split into three major sectors, each representing a part of Jenrak’s military. “Why is this doing this?” He asked his Generals, who did not know themselves. It was a supple, unknown question, but one spoken with immediate majesty and brilliant tones.

One of his Generals, a slicked haired old man, his face showing signs of wrinkles matted about his features, his eyebrows thick and bushy, his eyes nothing more than small slits covered up by the flesh amongst his chubby face. His neck was series of dangling skin, his chest thin beneath a crisp suit, a soft golden band on his ring finger. His muscles seemed to shake whenever he moved, as if the energy drained from his every movement was overwhelming – he was incredibly old, his saintly white hair visible beneath his skull mask, his black robes high up as the frosty temperature was stopped by the warmth it provided.

“The kingdom is split into three targets now, instead of one. We are going to have to be much more careful, lest they all launch themselves against us. It would have been prudent to have launched a strike against Haasdra in the midst of the electromagnetic attack, but Thaurausk was controlling that attack. Your girlfriend is an extremely difficult person to understand, Alaik.” The General retorted with both amusement and displeasure.

“She is too attached to her position and job. I don’t want to risk our relationship by attempting to turn her into one of us. I guess in the end you have to face your demons one day, but not me, and not her. I’d rather live this multiple personality.” Alaik, the main rebel leader, replied. “I’ve been buying shipments from outside, and hopefully I can get the Jenrakian city states to become independent if they launch an attack against a the mainland.”

“The Mainland is too powerful to cave down to their city states. Yes, there are hundreds of Jenrakian city states, but the Jenrakian navy is the strongest in our sector. We have to resort to air force attacks, if we are able to take them out completely.” The General suggested, as Alaik sighed, almost giving up.

“Therax, that man has royally fucked us over.” Alaik said, taking off his mask, lifting down his hood, revealing a crescent moon tattooed on the left half of his face. “The Dominionites are most likely to assist the Jenrakians due to Ashili’s and Denise’s marriages. So it’s a simple record of making sure that we can launch a bomb attack in the south, and then bring up our forces soon. I’ve been having spies everywhere, but most of them are unable to get into the systems. The Hackers are having difficulty with the new Adrian Defence System they’ve installed, and my shipments are being scanned. This is not good.”

“Not good? This is horrendous, my Lord! We should simply surrender if they’re bringing it up to the maximum.”

“No.” Alaik spoke with emphasis. “I cannot allow the court to see who I am. I will continue this campaign for the good of the Jenrakian people.” With that, he donned his mask, and left, preparing for his third strike of the year, as his General looked at him with disgust and pity simultaneously.

In Marazekko, the meeting was being set up, as in the center of the small city, once a rabid wasteland desolate and cold, it was now a mini-metropolis, but it lacked a few special qualities – amidst the high towers, the expensive shops and the incredibly immense palaces and fortresses, no slums existed, no wastelands present – nothing but golden fields and emerald plains along its border. This was the epitome of Jenrakian cities – the beauty and their skill at the control of nature. As good as Jenrakians were at destroying nature, they had incredible knowledge on rebuilding it, as the perfect blend of religious monuments of marble, steel and glass armoured towers amidst the green hue of vines, it was an unsteady but vibrant alliance between the dune-favoured Jenrakians and the green thumb of Mother Nature.

From the plains outside, a massive stone hangar was visible, its concrete pillars enormous, almost like godly knifes stabbing into the sky, the clouds bleeding blood amidst the red sky in the wake of the soft winter sunset. From the hangar, Dolian stood in the helm, as he watched the newly built weapons brought out, the largest of them a massive cannon attached to a giant moon shaped platform, supports placed on its surface. He smiled, as he prepared himself. Turning around, a series of glassy-eyed, crisp suited men looked at the windows, before turning their stare back at him. Clapping his hands together, Dolian sighed. “Gentlemen. Welcome to the future in Jenrakian Warfare. We will have further visitors, but mind them not.” He was referring to Thaurausk, Denise, Ashili and the myriad Jenrakian Lords who would come to watch the demonstration of Arcarum’s plans, including Saerus’ son.

“The Vizi-Turret was a staple of attack for the Jenrakians for a many years, but now, we have a new weapons on which we can use against all things unpleasant. The repeating sword of destruction, The Vizi-Azhuj.” With that, he turned to the windows, as the crescent shaped artillery charged up, the wheel spinning, before a massive spray of fireballs were launched from their many cannons, resulting in a massive spray of flame, gas and destruction. A Vizi-Turret fired only one fireball at a time, but this fired a whole sleuth, each as dangerous and powerful as the last. The customers clapped, as Dolian smiled at them with approval. As he prepared the second weapon, Dolian looked at the second preparation, a man in a thick metal suit walking out to the grassy plains out side the city, a small ball in his hand, as he threw it onto the ground, four small ejected as a spray of shrapnel and fire came about, firing as the even metal suit could barely fend off the relentless attack. Dolian nodded, as the man replied.

“In war, anything is necessary. If bombarding your enemy in shrapnel is needed, then so be it.” Dolian said, smiling once more.

Saerus and Cassandra watched demonstration of the new weapon, Reaper and Trevor stood behind them acting as bodyguards to the young ones. Saerus watched as the new weapon fired multiple fireballs unlike the single fireball that a Vizi-Turret fires. He liked this new weapon. He had no question about this weapon.

He just waited to start the hunt for the real villains, the rebels.