NationStates Jolt Archive

“Enkur does not forgive, he does not forget!” Spit flew from Egos’ mouth, as from the tall stone pedestal he cried loudly at the fragmenting shard of diamond upon the table, the small drill running down slowly as the small crackled fingers of destruction began to whirr its way down. It was still, soft silence, nothing more than a faint whisper amongst the doom that could follow them. “He does not forgive, he does not forget!” Egos cried, blood flowing from his mouth as fleshy seeds of pained victims rotted upon his once gleaming steel teeth. Metal wires were flowing from his neck towards his arms, his fingers connected by a series of metal cage-like supports that extended out to flawless claws. Flame crackled teeth showed rot infested gums, and the black throat at the back of his mouth had a small white lithe of a moving animal. Egos was degrading by the day, though nobody knew why.

He was getting more and more insane every second, every single second ticking away his life, his mind slowly wearing down to a proportion as his boss stood upon the pedestal in front of him, her silver hair flowing down onto her bosom. She had a fair, beautiful face that radiated vibrant shades of slight vermillion and her expression was stern, strict, her small nose pinched in a horrid stench and her fingers at her side straight and stiff. Her body was thin and strong, her knuckles prominent as cuts upon her arms showed signs of self-mutilation. She looked at the slowly more insane Egos, whom she had little pity for, as he cried within his ancient home of Nkra’Azhun. From here, amidst the tall, wondrous turrets and the flowing banners alongside colourful battlements and soldiers marching to the jackboot of holiness, the warrior priest was going insane. She stood there, watching her greatest son die inside, his soul ripped apart as his sanity escaped him, torn asunder from his body.

“Enkur forgives not! He gives nothing but despair for our sins!” He cried, blood flowing out of his teeth, his gums splashing in the red warmth as his ears were trickling a small ooze of clear liquid, his fingers blasting as the rusty torn copper wires upon his shins shattered. “He forgives not!” He cried once more, in delirious pain, shivering before a flame of discontent. Rashkta looked with disgust, her flaming fiery lips a blazing red shade.

“He forgives if you believe, but if you are a heretic, then you have not the courage to ask forgiveness, and thus you are given none! Are you not a self-worthy man, Egos?” Rashkta asked, her voice mature and strong, charismatic and throbbing with powerful waves of control. Still, Egos had kept his mind shuttered in his mental prison.

He had been like this for days – within the confines of his lavish chambers, the golden pillars and the stone walls cold along the blasting desert wind, sand trickling through, the Sadicistra was crying out prayer towards Enkur, abstaining from any form of natural nourishment, small tablets of food within his body at a time, trying to not avoid moments that could place him with his all mighty god. From here, on the small blue pedestal of stone he stood, on his table a clear large crystal diamond was slowly being tapped by a tiny hammer. From this tiny hammer laid a tiny shivering message of faith:

Daskramuun Egtith Vizith – Here lies the heart of our Lord.

From this diamond, Egos began to feel despair, for cracks began to form along its surface, Rashkta forced to intervene to prevent her great soldier’s madness. “Get a hold of yourself, Egos. The world is not going to face the death of the heart.” She said, her voice even more stern. “You are a child of Izilthuusk, not a slave to a wives’ tale.” She tried to convince him, but he wailed simply another shed of blood. “In ‘ere you sit, upon your cloven throne, that you cry and sombre our your soul, in fear that your sinfulness has made the ending of the world so much better. Have you cried so dearly before, dear Egos? Have you cried such blood from your heart before?” She asked him, her patience as lost along with his sanity.

“I ‘ere sit upon my throne, but mine blood cried make no soul emerged. I see the death you speak of me, dear Rashkta, o’ beautiful and powerful lady of the south, but make no mistake! I am a torrent of disaster, a harbinger of worldly doom! Within this crackle of doom I see the downfall of us all, the magnificence of our empire gone!” He cried, as the diamond had already split, an inaudible snap amongst the wailing priest’s cries. He wailed even louder.

“Our empire is everlasting, dear and precious Egos! You make yourself wise to not trust material.” Rashkta warned him, as he still shed tears. A grown stood there, blood emanating from his eyes, his teeth, his wire of tendon-like controls torn from his hands, his limping fingers nothing more than steel knives as he was dressed in a white robe. Beyond the robe was a torn mask of white porcelain, and from there he wore a lower robe of knives. These dangling knives were shining in the hot sunlight, yet the pounding of the wind blasted a gust of sand into a twirling cyclone within the room.

“Cry not, dear Rashkta, for I have done what is needed already!” He said, before a jettison of flame erupted him in fire. Rashkta stood in shock as the ashes, behind the priest that once stood for justice and valour, a man of strength, had crumbled to fire before her eyes. From there, she cried no tears, but only hardened herself, her disposition never stronger to find what had driven Egos mad – what had caused his insanity? His downfall? For such a mind to crumble, she did not know, for he had to have seen something, but it made no sense on what it might be. Nevertheless, she never took more than two steps before her cell-phone rang. The azure screen gave a distinct note on who it was: Therax. Therax was the Jenrakian representative of Enkur on earth, a man who commanded more power in the Azhujurius than anything breathing upon the world. For the Temsplace to wage war, he had to give permission.

From Nercomarnen, Gelectriax talked to Viraranaar concerning the growing uneasiness concerning Egos’ death. A medium sized man with a medium build, Gelectriax was hidden beneath a plate of armour with claw like gauntlets for hands. A rebel and once a member of the Revenant, he still commands the power the old society controlled, though now he mastered the western halves of Jenrak. He was a wry, cynical man with a penchant with frequent penchant for deception, his face hidden beneath a steel helmet and not a single err of flesh was seen through his all encompassing armour. His back was trickled with wires as if they were steel wings, and he moved as if he was light as a feather.

He spoke to Viraranaar, a man standing beside him, a black caged man with a bevy of chain mail upon his body, a long leather coat atop his steel skin, his fingers thick upon a fat revolver with his face a young, but wearied man who showed a fur of grey strands upon his head. His square jaw was evenly proportioned, his wrinkled skin hiding a small slit of dangling flesh across his eyelids, and the bridge of his nose was slightly bulging as if it was recently broken. From his fingers he had a long sword strapped firmly to his thick biceps, a cross-like shape etched brutally upon his back in a red scar. He was a Tsellian holy man, evident from the ‘T’ shaped symbol burnt forever on his tongue, revealing itself whenever he spoke quickly.

“I am not sure what made Egos go insane, dear Gelectriax.”

“Aulocos is unsure either.” Gelectriax spoke with uncertainty. Aulocos ruled the eastern domains of the Jenrakian empire – he was powerful economist, a staunch member of the Revenant and a leader in technological advancements. He had mass developed stealth soldiers within Nakros Sentiauhk and invented the famed Vizith Repeater. He was a skeletal man, like more Jenrakian aristocracy, and he was a victim of a dangerous flesh eating condition called the Krykkioz, a cancerous infliction that burnt the flesh, leaving pockets of blood splashing about in small bags as he laid on a wheelchair, rasping as holes in his lungs made it difficult. He had a wrinkled face, his mouth nearly nonexistent and his nose simply ravaged cartilage, save for his eyes. Oh, they were oft and bright, shining azure glimmers as if they were sapphire jewels within a statues of death, his hood held over his head as the shadows still could not silence the beauty of his eyes.

A golden band upon his left arm reminded him of his nobility, and his clothes were the same – a long white robe with green markings on its surface. Nevertheless, Aulocos was calculative, brilliant, and prone to strong leaps of logic, making him a powerful economist.

“Perhaps Egos found some relevance in the prophecy. Perhaps he had been driven mad.”

“I dearly hope not. The end of the world should not be so soon after it’s creation.”

“But this world is flawed. It’s logical to assume that Azhuj would remake it.”

“Does Therax know?”

“He has been notified by Rashkta.”

“Dear Enkur, this truly is the end."

Sitting on his throne of jade, his crystals erected from his temple as his hands were long and lanky, his face a skeletal form, his eyes nothing more than two black marbles in a cruelly contorted skull of a face, his nose dipped and long, Therax sighed. The Temsplace marched, ready for his orders, for his words, for the substance of spirit he would fill them with. From here, he stood up, his magnificent green robes falling like a dreaded set of wings, his body hidden beneath a graceful cape that stretched hundreds of meters long, twisting down through spire of his tower, his left jewel encrusted hand holding a long, sharp silver axe, his right, bony, plain fingers gripping the handle of a magnificent blade. His back showed spikes that protruded like a shell of knives, and his long face was slightly hidden by a mask of black silk.

His bloodshot eyes only showed, but his voice – it was not a voice of beauty, not a voice of charm and grace. It was a voice of conviction, of strength, a booming, echoing, loud and powerful voice that had a shiver of a cold wind that gave them the needed breeze to sustain themselves in the harsh desert climate. From their thickened armours, the Temsplace listened to their lord, their almighty master. Therax nodded in recognition before beginning his talk.

“Today be the day of a dawn of fire, a dawn of flames, a day where the growth of religion is nothing more than a term for the growth of Enkur! Today is the day, my sons, that we come together as one, and bring the bindings of Enkur onto our enemies! Come and no longer be the shackles of our foes, but the free men we were destined to be! For Ascherach there is no great glory, then the chivalrous emancipation of our fellow men.”

“Cometh the night that all life on Earth dies. But is there the weeping of a million mothers, the cry of a million wives, the shed blood of sorrow of a million brothers and the grief broken faces of a million fathers? No, there is nothing at the end of all time, but the time itself, and that reigns in dominance as nothing more than a history. We are a history of men, a history of believers, and for that we are blessed with love, virtue and piety. We are strength incarnate, wisdom bolded and power laced. Swerve through life by the blade, we shall see.”

“Dream, my sons, dream. Today is the day our dreams die and our reality grows. Today is the death of ancient prophecies and the new world that awaits. I make no mistake, I make no change in my words – we will fight to the death, for the great coming of destruction is upon us! To arms, my sons, to arms. To brazen shields and bronze swords abound a sea of knives! To arms, my sons, to arms! To drink an ocean dry and spill it back in blood! We will make it so, that brother fights brother, not out of a treachery, but a love for Enkur! We join our children in the Nakros states for the great war that comes.”

“We make no promise, save one. That you will kneel before Enkur, and say not that you did murder, that you made sin, but that you were pious, that you served under his name, and in his name you gained for him great glory! The end of the world comes at the fraction of a second when all men are made equal – that they all die.”

“Enkur bless us, for today we sing our last song in your grace!” Therax said loudly, the Temsplace cheering for the last time.

”Siero, serio eeree ieen
Orsen nerren quill
Ooooh, nierian ries egos rien
Siar rien nierian.

Orsen nerren quill
Ooooh, nierian ries egos rien

Ierherat serio serio rien,
Nohort roosk nahurt norn
Serio rien nierian.

The last song cried with sorrow amongst the booming Temsplace – this would be the last day they would every see Jenrak again, for the Holy War would begin.

A message from the Tsellian Empire to all unbelievers.
The end has come. We come for you, and if you think you can stop this ending, then you are wrong. Praise Azhuj for your doom.

Authaulus.

It would begin on monotheists’ soil.

OOC: If you want to join, you must tell me and get the good to go from me here. (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=508851) Also, no pure OOC posts in this thread. This is open, but like I said, the information thread provided in the link. OOC is for the thread link I provided.

*King's Palace, city of Narius*

This was the last shit James needed. His aid had just dropped it on his desk, some declaration of holy war from some religious nutbag of a nation. Raithal had just been through a brutal civil war, which was actually still not over. Thousands of enemy troops still held out, though most of the Summerland was ash and ruin. The city of Lordis, the capitol before James had seized the throne with his brother's help, was in ruin to. Few civilians still lived there except in shelters, and it was little more than an armed camp.

Narius was too for that matter, though many of the Lordisan refugees had taken to safety there. The ancient stoen structures of the long gone empire sheltered them, and the rest of the refugees had gone to Hamilton, where James' Royal Hamilton Light Infantry regiment held the city against the raiders from the USC.

James only had 19 combat effective aircraft, he has lost forty of his tanks, and over a hundred other AFVs. The last thing he needed was another conflict.

James picked up the paper, and tossed it into his office's fireplace. The nutbags could do what they wanted, butcher who they wanted, whereever they wanted. So long as it didn't come to Raithal, which was likely far too small to even register on their list of targets, James was content to let the rest of the world burn.

IIS Bunkers, Underneath Undershi City, in Undershi Province, The Undershi Empire

IIS Colonel Yursuf Schmidt, nick-named "The Butcher" for the grim atrocities he favored in the Occupied Territories, watched with unease as Aleksander Miller, the Leader of the Undershi Empire, read through the most recent announcement made by the Jenrak Empire. Things looked bad. He had, of course, read the rather short message that that Empire of blood-obsessed fundamentalist fanatics had issued... and it worried him.
These fanatics... there seemed to be a lot of them. He wondered which way the Leader would jump, whether he would come to the aid of the secularism that the Empire claimed as its official religion and enforced with brutality, or if he would act with the oppertunism that had characterised his reign. Would he jump on the fanatics or betray and attack those who would have fought the enemy, letting them bleed themselves dry blunting the enemy before launching attacks to claim what territory he could.
Yursuf didn't know, and hated not knowing. He had considered himself well informed, had often known which decision Aleksander would make before he made that decision... but this decision... this time, he didn't know. It could go either way. Yursuf shivered mentally at the thought of sitting out this conflict, of even damaging those militaries that dared to fight against the enemy... he wondered if Aleksander would make that decision, and resolved that if he made that decision, it would be the last decision he ever made, because Yursuf himself would draw the sidearm that only he was allowed to carry in the Leader's presence, and would shoot him.
Aleksander spoke, spoke supposedly with the voice of a unified nation:
"I have read this report, and it fills me with dread for our people. These fanatics must be put down like the mad dogs they are." Yursuf mentally breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that he would live a little longer. Aleksander contined:
"We need to organize some sort of defensive agreement. I want all the worshipers of that religion found and killed... make it something humiliating, with no religious significance. Impale them." Yursuf nodded, ready to carry out those orders without thought. Still, Aleksander had one more instruction:
"Also... issue our own statement..."

OFFICIAL STATEMENT OF THE UNDERSHI MINISTRY OF FOREIGN AFFAIRS

The Undershi Ministry of Foreign Affairs would like to issue, on behalf of the Government of The Undershi Empire, an official Statement decrying these recent actions on the part of the government of Jenrak. We as a nation find little to love about these bloodthirsty fanatics, and so would like to propose an alliance of like-minded secularist nations that would be able to effectively oppose these fundamentalist fanatics.
We await your replies with interest and trepedation.

Triumvirate Council Room

It was quiet as usual, brightly lit, ornately decorated and a bit too red. Samantha Arcturus always felt that way, despite the 'people's will', she felt the room was far too red. The imposing picture of her father sat over the room and seem to offer a comforting look as the world continued to slide into chaos.

An aide had just finished with a slideshow about a recent solar storm that was blinding surveillance satellite, and the damn scientists at solar meterology said the storm could last for months. Just what she needed, nearsightedness just as 'they' were acting up.

The other council members, Fleet Admiral Sandra O'Toole and her sister Maria Arcturus were at a conference with the secret service. They had been getting more and more 'extreme'. More and more 'Paternalism', or the Cult of Personality around her father, High Father.

More and more they called for everyone to convert. Twisting her father's vision.

The Undershi Ministry of Foreign Affairs has issued the following statement:

On the Necesity of the Formation of a League of Alliance

The Undershi government would like to propose the creation of a formal alliance between all the nations concerned with recent events in Jenak. We, like many others, find such blood thirsty fanatical religious fundamentalists worrying, and so we would like to form an alliance dedicated to their suppression.
Both the Undershi Empire and Jenak are heavily militarized, and they have more than twice our population. As such, alliances will be crucial if we are to win the day.
As secularists opposed to the reign of foul fanatics, we await your replies.

Triumvirate Council Chamber, 7:54 PM Local Time

A quiet dinner alone in the chamber as screens displayed GSRN and a readout of tax rates for certain regions. Her sister and Fleet Admiral O'Toole were out on classified business, probably more on the Red Islands Initiative.

The room went dark. She heard the dull thumps of silenced weaponry, the distinctive click-click of the KF15 Fulcrum in the background. Then the loud roar of a 14.5mm heavy machine gun. It was loud at first, then started tapering out. Soon the sound that she so desperately didn't want to hear came through among the sound of KF15 fire petering out. It was the sound of a Kraven GPMG. They were coming from the Courtyard and she tried to peer out, but it was a bad angle. She could hear them break down the main doors and the guards with their MS-58 Specials firing. She heard the bang of a .50 calibre pistol.

She panicked, the Kraven Corporation was coming, no warning, and they had suddenly pierced the highest security in Leafanistan. She decided to copy her father and attempt to remove the hammer and sickle from the seal of Leafanistan and fight off the intruders. She succeeds, but barely, she only removes the hammer and the weight of it makes her drop it and crush part of the hardwood floor. She then gets nervous and spots a KF15 Fulcrum on the desk. In her panic she forgot the guards always leave a gun in the room for her.

She picks it up, makes sure it is loaded and sets it to 3 round burst. She can hear the firing get closer. The door bursts open and a bloodied guard comes in.

"GET OUT, GET OUT!"

She screams and drops the gun. The guard moves toward her when he is impaled by the end of a GPMG with an 18" bayonet. She picks up the gun and fires at the Kraven Trooper. She scores a kill but she then drops the gun and drops to her knees.

Next to the dead trooper are her sister and Fleet Admiral O'Toole, both are soaked in blood and carrying KF15 Fulcrums.

Her sister walks up to her and says, "It is the third revolution, and you'll be joining us whether you like it or not."

A buttstock sends her into the cold embrace of sleep.

Marching upon the gilded beaches small spires of spiked towers twisted up into the sky, the Temsplace still a long line of soldiers as they readied themselves along the large encampment prepared for their first deployment. Where it was, nobody told them, but they knew that things and objectives were clear – destroy all things to bring about the coming of the second creation. The end of the world was a visible thing in their eyes, and death by their hands were a glorious death more prominent than the death by nuclear weapons. At least the heretics would be killed with faithful hands. From here, a large blackened armoured Temsplace stood, his eyes through his helmet invisible as he peered at the marching soldiers, the caged Sadicistra snarling in discontent at their situation. He stood there, arms crossed, a small metal dent across the butt of his helmet’s surface.

A small red trickle of a line was crawling down the edge, his rippling body shining and his flesh invisible amidst the thick armour. His rocket launcher laid by his side and his massive sword was taped to his back, wing-like supports tied tightly across his shoulders. Fur was visible upon his collar, a small ‘t’ shaped insignia that had a starkly odd similarity to a cross. He looked on, before a small aide of a man rushed over to him. He turned around. “Yes?” He said, impatiently.

The aide was a crisp suited boy, young and fresh of skin, pale and hurried, his body not yet used to the tanning burn of warfare, his eyes an emerald green as his opal suit looked odd upon his ghostly visage. He had a thin nose and a long set of ears, though his slick black hair was flashed back and his small pursed lips scarcely hid the large throb of flesh that was his tongue. When he spoke, he spoke with a quiver. “They are ready for you.” He said, pointing to a small table.

As the Black Temsplace walked to the table, two figures had already taken residence. One of them was a red armoured man who helmet was covering his face, a cage-like steel armour paper-thing upon his body, yet still effectively strong amidst the fibre underneath. He was turning and pressing his knobs, where a flicker of a light bent around him, the trees behind him visible upon his stomach. His rifle was a long black sword of a beastly gun, a giant blade of a bayonet and a small flashing dot emanating from its tip. He looked at the Black Temsplace.

From the other end a lanky man with a sable silver shade in his hair stood, his face covered slightly by a black mask and his hands in leather gloves. He breathed carefully, gears clicking about in the noise and his body covered by a crisp white suit. He waited as well. When he spoke, his voice was a deep droning tone, dragging on and on and on, though intimidating nevertheless. “I trust Therax comes at the time of Tsella?” He asked, as the black Temsplace nodded.

“He does, and he begins for the war that comes.” Sly’lioth, the great black Temsplace, said. “Therax is convinced the source of the Lord Egos’ madness is the oncoming prophecy and that Egos was not strong enough to bear the doom of the world. There comes not –“

“-a better time for justice incarnate amongst a sea of blood.” The stealth soldier, Zakkaz’ruvin, replied back smoothly with familiarity. “I remember the stances. However, there is the question of your attempts to try and make this a plausible situation – what are you going to do about it?” He asked, leaning slightly to Sly’lioth, who sighed.

“I will commit every man I can – of course Authaulus still has more power than me, but that is the second Mumermunak. If I can get the first ready, then he is getting the next three ready. The claws are all prepared, everything is going the way we planned.” He reasoned, as the corporate nodded.

“I understand your nervousness, but we must take caution. Our goal in this mission to save as many people as we can. We must kill as many as possible before the black dawn with our faithful hands.”

“I agree.”

Imperial Inteligence Service Headquarter Bunkers

IIS Captain Simon Westmann stood at attention, watching the IIS Director read through the report on troop movements in the Jenak Empire. Things weren't looking good.
Finally, the Director finished, and put the paper down, asking as he did:
"What the heck are we going to do?" Simon, caught off guard, took a moment to consider before making his reply:
"Well, sir... we might want to call up the reserves, and prepare for a possible air war... heck, with a threat this large, I'd be in favor of assembling the Combined Fleet." the Director nodded, and made a little note on a piece of paper on his desk, then replied:
"Alright. I'll contact the Leader, and propose those same things you have recomended. Dissmissed." Simon nodded, saluted and left the office, wondering as he did just what would eventually come to pass.

OOC: Jenak, would you like to have a border with Undershi?

Official Undershi Foreign Ministry Message to the Government of Jenak

We have noted with concern the mobilization of your military. Considering the current state of international affairs, we feel that we have no choice but to react to your mobilization by begining our own. We still hold out hope for peace... but we know your reputations and your fanaticism. Therefore, our hopes for peace are few.
As such, we have begun mobilization of our full military for any sort of conceivable action that we might be required to undertake. You have been warned. We will not tolerate further acts of agression on the part of your hordes of unwashed fanatics. We say again - you have been warned.

From the desk of Authaulus, Azure Lord of the Krejei Empire, High Ambassador of Jenrak, Lord Servant of the Tsellian Empire to the Undershi heretics,

Unwashed, that amuses me. I assure you, dear Undershi, that my men are quite clean. However, if we seem unwashed to you, then perhaps I will do what is required to clean us – I will wash our impurities away with your blood, Undershi. ‘Ere comes the doom and tragic downfall of the world upon the jackboots of the green heel. We summon to us the great Enkur for our aid against such a devilish and heretic foe as you.

Thank Azhuj for your doom.

From the southern tip of Krejei, large mobile factories began to whir into life, the wheels of war trenching up the dunes as the tanks began to encircle it, aircraft blasting off in the sky as the small squadrons of a hornet-like planes whirred in tandem. Soldiers prepared themselves as transports and carriers of men began to make deep gouges within the sands, the giant gorge of the vast Tsellian military showing itself. The Jenrakians were a peaceful people – they enjoyed fine arts, fine women, fine wine – but they tasted the sweetest taste in battle above all else. They loved war, and they loved the pride and glory Enkur rewarded them for it.

Everywhere, within Jenrak, within the city states across the seas, nuclear silos began to buzz and hymn up into work, small lights flashing within as the soldiers from all over the Tsellian empire began to pour towards Jenrak, their homeland, preparing for an offensive upon the Undershi. Stealth soldiers and Sirens grouped alongside Temsplace and Sadicistra, giant camps as the soldiers marched and roared and yelled, preparing themselves for the great glory they wished to attain. Chemical trucks and gargantuan cannons along enormous platforms were dragged along, needle-like tanks bearing the Bone Skull.

Soldiers in dress of knives walked along the edge of the desert boundaries, briefly walking into Jenrak, then Krejei. The dunes were harsh, but they lived a long time in this weather, and they were getting ready for battle. From the high seas, the shores foamed in a white mist, the carriers were readying themselves for movement, the cruisers rushing along as the long tipped destroyers cruised upon the skimming water. Small square ships were pushing alongside them – the waves were rushing.

OOC: Sure, but you'll need to be south of me since my geography is very picky.

"Quiet, peaceful, everything slipping away. No can't go into that, must stay awake. Can't too much, give in, give in."

She opened her eyes, the evil look on her sister's face, her eyes, wait, something was different.

She felt a sharp cold needle in her arm, then she felt a warm feeling. Her sister walked away, the fresh blood now dried into a rust color.

A screen in front of her, changing with lights, pretty lights, soothing lights.

The darkness came back, and in a way, her mind left.

*Base Valcartier*

Base Valcartier, once an ancient fortress that guarded the northern ridgelines and the only mineral deposits Raithal possessed that were worthy of mining, had been turned once more into a fortress. The crumbling walls were being repaired, the Keep refurbished, and the towers, battlements, and turrets of the fortress were being built upon. Surface-to-air missiles, machine guns, mortars, and recoiless guns were being piled onto it.

In the fields that stretched out before the fortress, thousands of recruits were mustered. The civil war had cost them dearly, and though the Henderson Corporation forces had been incorporated into the RDF, it's strength was still taxed, and though no public admissions would be made, the country was poorly defended.

Thus, the King had ordered the expansion of the RDF, the existing units would be rebuilt, and three new regular brigades would be added. Since the domestic situation had been handled with the fall of the Summerland, the focus was now on defending against external threat, especially with the deterioriating situation in the international community.

The recruits would form the core of 6 Brigade, Mechanized. New armaments were being shipped in as factories were rebuilt, and as existing ones ramped up production. Volunteers were few and far between, and the King had been forced to order conscription to fill the holes in the line of battle. Within six months, Raithal should have another twelve-thousand troops ready for combat. Though they would not be able to work well together in large formations, they would at least be effective in low level formations. Another six months and they should be ready for brigade level operations.

OOC: Do you mind if we have a river as the boundary between our two nations? I've got a map of Undershi, and there's nothing to its north but a river marked the Naem and then some grass lands. Would that river as the barrier work for you? If not, I could rework the post...

The Naem River bridges fell into the water as the demolition charges exploded. There was a joke in the Undershi Engineering units, that the Naem River Combine must have one of the best contracts in the Empire - whenever the slightest sign of trouble with the Jenaks showed itself, the bridges they were paid to build went into the river.
Corporal Ernest Smith stood in one of the bunkers that lined the Undershi side of the river, and whistled nervously as the Engineers went about their work, mining the river bank and stretching out rolls of razor wire.
The south coast defenses were more impressive. There, there were bunkers like these with supporting trenches like the ones that were here, but they also had connecting tunnels and... there were more of them.
Now, though... now, that was going to change. Already, twenty new Divisions were in place. Sure, they were solidly Second Line units, with rusty recalled reservists mixed in with green conscripts fresh out of the training camps... but they would do. It was typical Undershi strategy - send the Second Line units and the Jannissaries to hold positions, then put the IIS Divisions in back to support wherever the enemy hit.
Artillery, at least, would no longer be in short supply - more was being moved up along the rail lines every day, huge concrete and packed earth artillery pits were being dug into the earth... Ernest wondered whether it would all be enough, after what he had heard about the enemy the Undershi would soon be facing. Somehow, he doubted it would...

The drums pounded heavily, as the Jenrakian encampment prepared themselves. Sly’lioth himself stood at the heart of the Command Center – a giant brazen silver castle that shimmered in the brilliance of the starless night sky. The cover of night was enticing, though morning dawn would shine most red with blood. The Sadicistra felt the throb of anticipation envelop their minds, their fingers cased around the smooth, soft edges of their blades, their dress of knives a source of soft fabric in disorder and chaos. Comes chaos upon the morning, they regularly said. From the command center, Sly’lioth sat in his chair, a giant throne-like monolith of a chair, two ottomans by his side as small trays of luscious green tea and wafts of a beautiful smelling scent deftly flew into the air. The darkness was receding, morning nearing, but it was still within the next two or so hours that they would strike the Sadicistra into the grasslands beyond.

Here, Sly’lioth sighed as his chest rose and fell, his throne in the center amongst a horseshoe shaped table with his own men, his own Generals and Commanders. From here, Sly’lioth spoke up finally. “Gentlemen, we are here for the organization of the Krejei black finger.” Sly’lioth said humbly, as if it were something that he regularly faced. “We will begin the bombardment at once.”

“What is the plan?” A large, muscled Lord spoke, a layer of thick armour upon his body as a long cape drenched every inch of his skin in a fur of blackness. “Are we to simply charge towards the river? It is too costly.” He replied.

Expected, and while unpleasant, it was still expected. Satellite imagery flashed upon the large white wall beside them, as dots were strewn all over as a thin blue line separated them from each other. “We fight with our strength, and without mercy. We do not push them from one location – we do what is logical to do. We must gas them in the Seleckan. Only them do we continue through.” Sly’lioth reasoned. “Bring the Seleckan towards the borderline, and then deploy the Vizi Repeaters. Once the firewall subsides, the infantry will move in under armoured columns. Allow the Lancers sufficient time to break through and rip a hole in their defences, then place the Temsplace in to have a grid network deployed. When a grid network is deployed, we will summon the Claws.”

“That does not address the danger of the river and its borders. They would have us at chokeholds, and infantry pouring through a small hole could be quite easy to deal with, dear Sly’lioth.”

“That is why we bring two more to the other end of the river, and break two more holes. We will divert their forces from this castle – while they spread across through the length of the island, we will deploy ourselves to make an arc that will allow easier access to other parts.”

“That still does not address the river. Enemy artillery could still control the river – we cannot send our troops through for the equipment alone could have them drowned.”

“That is why we bring in the firewall, Azkabath. Amphibious transports and Crawlers will be the brunt of the carrying force, and we will push them through. The enemy will most likely deploy a large number of units to try and defend this place, neglecting their defences at other places. Deploy Ravagers, and once they have taken out the anti-aircraft defences, we will launch bombing runs to allow a pathway towards their inner sectors. Do not aim for the cities – attack by confusion, and stretch them thin. Hedderozzith will deal with their western forces.”

From slightly beyond the Undershi waters, a large fleet was organized, roaming about as small bleeps from above transmitted back to the large super dreadnaught. From within, a thin, crisply suited man with a black mask upon his face nodded towards the windows, looking at the readings as he prepared his forces. He was a tall, lanky man, old and aged, though wise with experience. He had a small shine of a bloodied flesh behind his mask, covered up by a shadow. He was the dangerous admiral Hedderozzith Callack’thun, a man who simply refused to die within his experience against near death. He was at the Jagadian campaigns, he was at the Sandurian betrayal, he was at the battle for control of Nakros Eimunn. He made sure swift death came, yet he never tasted the death so many of his own men had tasted. He was a source of fear and respect.

“Are there defences that could prove dangerous to our dominance upon these waves?” He asked his aide, as the aide shook his head.

“The scouts have spoke of caution – there is something out there that could be dangerous, though we are unsure. It may be a fluke, but it could be simply the enemy patrol fleet.”

“Are we detectable?”

“Our power system does not emit a large enough signature to be detected. Once we begin movement, however, they will be aware of our presence.”

“It is pointless to be covert during that moment, they would fight anyways. Prepare the fighters – the carriers must ready their jets as I must prepare my own cannons.”

From the Jenrakian side of the river, two hours before sunrise at 5 am, enormous cargo planes flew towards the Undershi walls of defence – carrying Jenrakian chemicals. The Jenrakians would rely on their traditional tactics before adapting.

She awoke, she was floating, it was quiet. No it wasn't, there was a noise, a thundering noise, like the Nuremburg rallies. She could see a little bit a blurry picture of her sister and Fleet Admiral O'Toole are in her sight. She can hear herself talking, snippets of words, thoughts, images.

"and purge..."

"blood red..."

"...victory, final victory..."

Then pictures of things, perhaps trees? No, these were maps. Maps of where? It was of Halberdgardia, Leafanistan's ancient and one of their oldest allies.

"already begun, Algeristan is fully ours, and our..."

No! No! Come back! I need to know!

"...bombers have destroyed the capital, we suspect the president dead..."

Then a scream pierces...

"NO GO AWAY"

A voice not her own. Then a sharp cold needle in her mind itself, then quiet again.

She awoke again, this time wandering a ruined city, dead soldiers hung disemboweled and their skeletons hung from APCs.

A nightmare. No. It was the images again, and these were Leafanistani APCs, soaked in Halberdgardian blood.

"...impression already underway, our armies have doubled from our absorption of Halberdgardian equipment and men..."

Something happened to her, something happened to her sister, something happened to Sandra, but what?

Then the cold embrace of that odd floating sleep again.

GSRN Clip

'Leafanistani Troops have crushed the Halberdgardian Army in their capital today, heavy casualties on both sides, but the surprise attack and the crippling of the Halberdgardian Air Force early on severly hampered their war efforts. Pockets of resistance across the nation are being put down by high altitude carpet bombing."

"It is believed that the surprise attack is because of recent 'religious' fervor in Leafanistan and that Halberdgardia took a neutral stance during their destructive civil war. The resentment..."

Pudite Prefecture One, Administration Compound One, Muster Office Seven-Zero

The Dominion was stability, it was order, three-thousand identical settlements, three thousand identical garrisons and populations, millions of identical warriors, billions of identical servants… The Dominion was Community, it was Conformity, it was Stability…

Now, it may seem, this stability was again to be disturbed. Standing around a high table, what would be a ‘card table’ in other cultures, there were here assembled some of the most powerful faces inside this Dominion. With his back to the assembled pair, hands folded behind himself, stood the forty-second Emperor of his dynasty, and the last of his line. He was an aging man, and although his true age was lost, its presence made itself known. His face was pockmarked and lightly wrinkled, his trim white beard thinning as the years passed. He was a distinguished man, on both deed and appearance, for many decades ago he led the rebellion that threw his lineage back onto the throne of his people. The only mortal to have commanded the Sanctus Schola…

Waiting behind his lord was the Dominion’s greatest commander, an experienced veteran of dozens of foreign wars, a great fit sculpture of a man, Petrov Romil. He was dressed, as was his emperor, in a simple white shirt, pants, and wore white gloves. Conformity.

Standing beside this great hero was the Emperor’s remaining foreign division advisor for this compound. Following the unpleasantness of earlier days, they still awaited a replacement for his companion. This man, contrary to the others, was dressed in a long grey trench coat and a beautifully fitting grey suit. He, like the field marshal, was clean-shaven. In fact, to their knowledge, the only facial hair in the Dominion was but feet from them, strange thought…

The entire trio was bathed in a soft green light as the industrial lighting beyond the green-tinted window shone in, enveloping the miniscule white-walled chamber. On the other side of this pane were the subjects of the Emperor’s attention. Appearing there, arrayed in perfect rows, marching in implacable unity and with perfect balance and time, appearing as a cornfield you’re passing on a highway while the passed.

There were hundreds of thousands of men here, and millions more unseen in the un-lighted depths of this, one of the eleven great Muster Chambers. This was the Emperor’s arm, each man a giant, covered in heavy steel, ceramic, and Kevlar armor plates and thick mesh. Among these millions of devoted servants, millions of the Emperor’s warrior-fanatics, not a single shred of skin remained visible, a shred of human mortality possible…

The Emperor turned inwards to his assembled staff, hands folded, soldiers marching on and on… “The time has come…”

His officers looked at their leader of four decades, standing as he did before his grand army… Mr. Grey spoke up, confidently, “Sir, time for what?”

The Emperor responded, slow and deliberately, “Years, decades, centuries have passed, our Dominion is rising, falling, ebbing in the tide. The future is never certain.”

The officers stared ahead, but inside each was as shocked as the other, such a blatant breech of his own dogma… The Emperor continued, “We have existed as we have for well on a hundred years, always evolving, changing and advancing as we did. Internal strife couples with external threats… Always changing…”

The assembled could think of nothing to say, everything each had been taught since before their own memory has lead them to the ideals of a constant, stable Dominion…

“We are an island of Stability among a sea of chaos, and it threatens to overwhelm us… Nothing is certain, foreign leaders squabble over lineage and land, mere miles of an endless world…”

The soldiers marched on, the light hummed, the men stood silently… “It is time to end their troubles, to anchor our place…It is time the world ends…”

A mixture of disbelief, insane confidence, and nationalistic urges flooded through Petrov and Grey, and, unbeknownst to either, billions of their countrymen were feeling the same way.

All across the gargantuan stretches of forest and mountain, deep compounds had been dug many decades ago, and filled with the still-loyal servants of their God-Emperor. Everywhere now his voice, his likeness, were reproduced. Telescreens buzzed as their glorious leader’s visage moved smoothly through the motions of his speech, speakers released their vibrations, allowing his word to reach even deeper into the population centers…

Every ship’s admiral, strategic bomber pilot, and submarine captain all across the world heard their Emperor’s message. The war was on.

“Sir, what are you implying,” a worried foreign personnel advisor pried. His companion stood on, still enthralled by the rhythmic tones of his master.

The Emperor stepped down from the slight ledge nearest the window, onto the soft carpeted floor, “Mr. Grey, it is time the world is united. There will be no more war, no more suffering, no more civil wars… We are the future, Grey.”

“Sir… the world?” He stared, a troubled look creeping across his face.

“Yes, Grey. The world will soon know the comfort we bring, the security of the Grazskar’s boot…”

Mr. Grey was in shock, what his Emperor was saying now was surely impossible, thinking this is heresy, the world, ‘armies are innumerable and indomitable…’, a common mantra, trillions of souls, one Dominion… Could it be done? One by one, strike at the underbelly, slave levies, one by one… Larger nations, naval battles, certainly it’s not possible…

Mr. Grey stood, completely still as his mind flooded with thoughts, his computer-like brain having been trained from birth to function as such was well-accustomed to such situations. Spit seconds passed as more an more calculations and possibility matrixes ran through his head…

Field Marshal Romil spoke up, “Sir, with our armies free and the world calm, now seems the time. Our armies are innumerable and invulnerable.”

The Emperor stood, staring ahead coldly, his top advisors were overwhelmed. Soon they would not be the only ones…

Community. Conformity. Stability.

The drone of airplane engines overhead woke the Undershis from their sleep. Their own - they could tell. Lightning interceptors, flying through the sky in constant patrol... always a Flight of them up there, with Crusader VTOLs to act as AWACS craft...
Suddenly, something not theirs, some odd note in the engines...
True Undershis tossed in their sleep, hating the armour their orders made them wear, heavy powered armour chaffing at inhuman flesh... rubber straps and pieces from rebreathers rubbing against skin, leaving little spots of raw flesh on the nose...
Awakening.
Gun slaves screaming as they writhed upon the soil, dieing, black blood pouring out of their noses and mouths and eyes and ears...
Up to the defenses, dragged down to the world of the living and the dead from the realms of sleep, True Undershis in battle armour, manning their guns, kicking aside the corpses of the slave loaders who they'd been sent to help during the fighting, to free up True Undershis...
Jannissaries in half-armour, whimpering as they jogged through trenches, the nerve gas heavy in the air, a visible thing that changed the light and made fear seem to manifest... occassionally they stepped on bodies, bodies of their own, who had had the smallest holes in the rubber joints of the armour, or who had disobeyed orders and slept with their helmets off...
Everywhere, even as gas shells still fell, there was a buzz of activity, as men moved into position.

Above
Flight was considered almost a freedom... perhaps that was why there were no Jannissary fighter squadrons. Give them a taste of freedom and they'd want more. Flight Leader Ulrich Smithson shook away that thought, and ordered his flight of Lightnings to move to engage the enemy bombers. Already, one of his Lightnings was down from the fire of an enemy escort...
he fired off a pair of Air-to-Air missiles, part of a massed volley, meant to strike at the enemy and even the odds...
Other fighters were coming in from the rear area, but at that moment, his squadron was the only one up there. Soon Undershi bombers and fighters would come, and turn the river valley into a raging inferno of fiery death... but his Flight was on its own until then...

On The Ground

Corporal Ernest Smith screamed at his squad through his helmet's radio, ordering them to move... and they did - they were ready, in the bunker they were tasked to hold, their two 20mm autocannons, their one Heavy Guass-auto and their two AT rocket launchers all poking out of firing slits, the others ready with their Gauss rifles. They shared the bunker with the crew of an artillery piece, a Python Towed Field Gun. That big old gun was ready too, loaded...
He waited for a moment... the Sergeant, Thomas Chen, whispered something. It sounded like something he might have picked up in the Rynaldi colonies - it sounded like he was praying. Odd. Few True Undershis prayed... only a few, and they mostly ones who had been to Saint Rynald, and seen the suicide bombers and the fanatics. Odd.
One of the 20mill gunners opened fire, a long burst, like ripping canvas, tearing through the early dawn... firing at nothing, a panic reaction. Waiting was the hardest part. Well, except for dieing. Yeah, dieing was the hardest part...
The Undershis waited in their bunkers, waited for the enemy to come as they listened to SAMs flying into the air, to Lightnings dogfighting... to a lot of things.
The enemy would come, though... that they were sure of. War was at hand.

It was a basic law of physics – that an object would continue its course of action unless another force was acting upon it. Frankly, nothing within the universe was preventing the felled cargo planes from still landing as giant shrapnel heaps into enemy territory, fogs of Jenrakian gas seeping from their remains, a hail of steel rain falling against the Undershi from the dying giant birds. They were old planes, barely able to get past a few hundred kilometres, though they had enough power to crash down with a slight horizontal component force. Either way, the battlefield would be in a greenish fog, and the air was to be deathly. From the Jenrakian edge, artillery fire pummelled shells into the air, a hailstorm of inferno barrages lighting up the combusting gas as a firewall of flames ignited against the Undershi front. The plan was simple – engulf the Undershi soldiers in flames from the highly flammable gas, and work in the night under the light of the fires, a tactic the Jenrakians have adopted a long time ago against their Generian foes.

From the Jenrakian end, a swift hammer of Sandurian aircraft flew high up into the air, their machine guns tipped and their rockets readied, choppers full of rocket-toting infantry and paratroopers, the ground below crushed under the long row of smashing armoured lancers, their pikes whirring, their chainsaws running and their cannons blasting in a sea of fire. Infantry prepared themselves by entering large crawlers of transports, their ports firing off rocket fire along a large line as the explosions rippled upon the river.

Vizith barrage would unleash payload upon payload of fiery destruction amidst a gaseous surface, aimed at the enemy walls and cannons, intent on the doom of the defenders until the infantry can effectively break into the walls and begin the campaign.

From the shores, outside Undershi waters by barely a bit, cruise missiles were flying from the hearths of the Jenrakian battleships, as twin super dreadnaughts blasted cannon after cannon, fighter jets from the carriers flying up into the lightening dark night like a small steel net of hornets, the repair ships and supply ships cruising about, lurkers prepared within the small steel shells.

The gas burned. Men screamed as the armour they wore melted upon their flesh, as the metal around them heated until it burned their skin away... Jannissaries fell in their hundreds and in their thousands, while even True Undershis met their end.
Shells cooked off as the air around heated to impossible levels...
But, even as chaos reigned across the Undershi defensive line, some soldiers survived.
Inside of the bunkers, they were at least a little sheltered from the fires, the same in the underground tunnels. Most of those unlucky to be outside in the trenches perished, but some survived...
Meanwhile, massive batteries of Griffen MLRS artillery and Anaconda SP artillery opened fire, supported by mortars, Python Towed Field Guns and lighter Rattlesnake rapid-fire guns.
It was chaos.
As the enemy aircraft crossed over the Fire Wall, they were met by massive volley's of SAM fire from Hipogriff AAMLRS units along the line, as well as by entire Flights of Lightning interceptors and Crusader VTOL gunships... as well as by Thunderer fighter-bombers, ready to carry out the Undershi version of plan Fire Wall.
Operation Aegis.
The Thunderer fighter-bomber was increadibly versatile. It could carry any sort of load-out - Air-to-Air missiles, torpedoes, FAEs, mini-nukes...
So far, the mini-nukes were off the table, but FAEs weren't.
As the Lightnings tore into the enemy aircraft, the Thunderers flew through, and targeted the enemy units across the river.
Hundreds of FAEs. Massive ammounts of explosive force and flaming death... not enough to stop the oncoming tide of Jenak soldiers. Not even close. But enough to make them know they'd been in a fight.

While the remaining defenders did their best to hold out in the north, the Undershi Unified Fleet rallied and prepared to sally, to launch itself into a single death-or-glory strike to relieve the northern defenders.
Sixty Carrier Battle-Groups. Over three hundred capital ships. All of them heading for the north, to do or die...

In a darkened bunker beneath Undershi City, Aleksander Miller cursed as he heard the cassualty reports.
One hundred thousand Jannissaries, dead... ten Divisions reduced to nothing... along with some fifty thousand True Undershis, five entire Second Line Divisions... all of those people, reduced to ash and dust before they even had a chance to fire... he was worried.
He knew there would be more cassualties than that... it was just that those Divisions were the ones which had been utterly destroyed, and so had dropped off the communications net.
He glanced over at the map board. Fifteen red X-es, through what had been fifteen full strength Divisions only yesterday. What was he going to do?
There seemed to be only one choice. Send in the IIS Divisions to hold the gap... toss tens of thousands of his best troops into a desperate do-or-die situation... as he had done with his fleet.
The Fleet of the Pacifics had already been recalled - now it, as well as Home Fleet, would go and see what they could do.
Sighing, he gave the order. Send in the IIS Mechanized Divisions. He would see how things went.

Back in the north, the order was recieved and acknowledged, and the 102nd, 103rd and 104th IIS Mechanized Divisions moved out towards the fighting, ready to do what they could to stem the tide of Jenak soldiers. They were ready to die... but that would not be enough. They would have to die well, taking many enemies with them, or it would all be for nothing.

*King's Palace, city of Narius*

This was the last shit James needed. His aid had just dropped it on his desk, some declaration of holy war from some religious nutbag of a nation. Raithal had just been through a brutal civil war, which was actually still not over. Thousands of enemy troops still held out, though most of the Summerland was ash and ruin. The city of Lordis, the capitol before James had seized the throne with his brother's help, was in ruin to. Few civilians still lived there except in shelters, and it was little more than an armed camp.

Narius was too for that matter, though many of the Lordisan refugees had taken to safety there. The ancient stoen structures of the long gone empire sheltered them, and the rest of the refugees had gone to Hamilton, where James' Royal Hamilton Light Infantry regiment held the city against the raiders from the USC.

James only had 19 combat effective aircraft, he has lost forty of his tanks, and over a hundred other AFVs. The last thing he needed was another conflict.

James picked up the paper, and tossed it into his office's fireplace. The nutbags could do what they wanted, butcher who they wanted, whereever they wanted. So long as it didn't come to Raithal, which was likely far too small to even register on their list of targets, James was content to let the rest of the world burn.

OOC: Throw me a naval bone here. Undershi and Jenrak now border each other, you better have a coastline!

More glimpses, this time of another map. What was the name? Why was it cold? Prisoner in her own body was a good explanation. She feared the little epipen like device that 'the other' used when she acted up in her own body.

What was that name?

A P? A Q? No, it was an R... But why? An invasion, another one?

"Satellite intelligence has shown these naval shipyards..."

But why?

"The soil composition contains Iridian Ore, we are sure of it. They aren't, but we are. Few even know how to test for it."

Of course, Iridian Ore was necessary for Kraven battlesuits and for naval main armor belts. It was also suspected to be part of the new tanks Leafanistan was intent on fielding.

Port Sierra

A truly massive fleet was prepared to begin an invasion. They had actually left two weeks previous on 'naval exercises' with McKagan. Sure McKagan submarines may have operated near Raithal because of its proximity to certain neighbors that the SWC distrusted, McKagan had begun an isolationist policy a while ago.

1 Feathermore Class Superdreadnought
2 Arastaqis class Attack Dreadnoughts
3 Argentine class Galleon
4 Pathfinder Class Dreadnoughts
-56 Red Square Class Arsenal Ships
6 Taníat class Anti-Aircraft Warfare Battle Cruisers
4 Indestructable class Aircraft Carrier
-8 Red Square Class Arsenal Ships
23 Calculus Class Cruisers
5 Oddly-configured Calculus Class Cruisers
31 Illium class Guided Missile Destroyers
65 North Sea Class Frigates
29 Frozen Class Antisubmarine warfare Frigates
35 Tenerife class SSH
45 Tango class Submarines

While GLI-34 Albatross Heavy Bombers were loitering outside Raithal airspace. They were armed with Red Tidean made cruise missiles. Once the announcement was made, they would fire on what satellite intelligence showed to be major naval installations. And a few minor Coast Guard installations.

GSRN News reporting from Raithal

"Today Leafanistan has announced that they would begin an invasion of Raithal as a 'stabilization' operation, though the recent cannibalization of its former ally Halberdgardia throws this into confusion. Here..."

A massive shockwave nearly knocks over the reporter.

"It seems the bombardment has begun, mere minutes from the announcement. I..."

A Tsellian priest, in his beautiful garments upon the red river stood by, his fingers tapping his chest lightly amidst the carnage, his fingers blood stained yet his immaculate clothing untouched, the flames sparkling and roaring around him as he stood there, confident, still, blessing the small mound of corpses that laid in front of him. Both Undershis, both Jenrakians, both of them death in different religions yet by they were to be honoured by Tsellian traditions – they were men, and men died with honoured in war, no matter whom they were enslaved to. As he stood there, a bullet wound smashed into his head, a small red hole dripping out blood as he fell into the river, his body limp and cold, splashing about as it floated downstream towards the sea, a small flicker of flesh within the frosty flailing river as the sun still had yet to rise and show his sorrowful face.

Enemy fire smashed into the front armoured columns of the Jenrakian spearheading forces, intent on making and opening walls within the defence, a tasked that thankfully became much easier when the gaseous firewall had subsided, allowing the enemy’s infantry to be down in numbers and attack power. Jenrakian planes rose within the air once more, large cumbersome, frightful behemoths that were of ancient models, carrying giant bombs as carpet runs began their way. The Temsplace waited, their shining armour gleaming, the Sirens taking hits as they fell against machine gun fire, though cover quickly gave them safety for the time being. Artillery fire from both sides created a wet fog of steel, shrapnel falling down like blood amidst a rain, bodies everywhere as the stench of death was strong.

“Keep the line, make no break within the formation, continue the attack, then bring in the claws!” The Temsplace Lords yelled, their voices booming and their sounds cackling like wildfire.

From the northern sectors of the Krejei homeland, three large behemoths of a machine rolled along the dunes, their gargantuan form turning ants out of even the massive lihure tanks, their size competitive with factories and entire blocks. Apartments and mobile camps followed them like fanatics, and armies were dwarfed by these steel beasts. They had claw-like hands that stretched into the ground, pushing up a wall of sand as they made marks within the dirt, a soft under body of moist soil wherever they went. These were the claws, these giant objects – if the Jenrakians could get them into Undershi territory, then there would be no need to bring forces from the homeland. These burgundy steel crawlers were nothing short of mobile industrial cities.

From the naval attacks against the Undershi, waves of hornets and a blanket of battleship bombardment head its way towards the Undershi coastline, as the twin super dreadnaughts revved slowly along the enemy’s coastline, flashing fire and napalm and bombing as vertical missiles sifted up like giant flares into the sky, their radiance shining the dark sky as the reddish tone of the sunset-like scenario gave light.

In homeland Jenrak, the Jenrakian defensive navy moved as quick as possible to intercept the quickly moving Undershi attack force. Satellite imagery was not pleasant, and if the Undershi moved their navy towards the river, then it would be a much more difficult prospect to reach get the Claws across. Enough Sirens have already died to try and break the spine, and at the eve of possible success in gaining a seeded foothold, the Jenrakians did not want a steel fist from the waters intercepting and disrupting their success.

Aerial Initiative

The main aerial strike force had arrived. Thousands of nimble little Lightning interceptors, hundreds of Golden Eagle heavy bombers, all on the attack, diving and weaving to strike at the enemy in support of the Lightnings and Thunderer fighter-bombers already engaged.
The Lightnings were tasked to clear the sky, and they took to that task with a vengence, while the Golden Eagles were tasked with attacking the ground forces, a task which they as well took to with glee.
They carried mostly FAEs, Fuel-Air-Explosives, massively powerful conventional bombs. However, a few carried other, deadlier, payloads. Six Golden Eagles, two for each Crawler, carried tactical nukes, five kilo-tonnes each.
It seemed that the Undershis had found themselves with their backs to the wall already, and so strike as best they can...

Holding the Line

Corporal Ernest Smith screamed into his helmet radio as he fired one of the 20mm auto-cannons into the oncoming enemy horde. Everywhere there was only chaos, as death stalked the lines...
Even through his power armour, he could feel the heat of nearby FAE explosions, even in the bunker he felt his skin crackle and peel beneath the armour...
Still, he fought on. Death or victory were the only options for a True Undershi. He thought it likely that he would find only death today. Still, that was okay... at least then the pain would end...

Naval Attack

The main Undershi fleet moved north as fast as it could, overclocking the engines to come to the aid of the belegered northern line. They would do what they could as soon as they could.

"Relief Force"

The IIS Mechanized Divisions rolled into position behind the lines. No real effort was made to save the troops in the lines. The enemy was already in amoung the lines, taking bunker after bunker... those who still fought were doomed already. There was nothing that could be done to save them.
No, rather what effort they could find went into preparing a credible counter-stroke that would be able to turn back the Jenak scum. They would hold as long as they could... that was all they could promise.

OOC: The IIS Line (held by the 102nd, 103rd and 104th IIS Mechanized Divisions) consists of some hastily constructed trenches and firing positions along some hills, with five villages that have been made into Strongpoints - Village One, on the highest hill, which is right in the center of their lines, Villages Two and Three on the left flank and Villages Four and Five on the right flank.

“The line must break.” The corporate soldiers said in a dry, hollow tone, his face covered by the blackened mask of steel as his soldiers nodded professionally. The Tsellian warriors were powerful indeed, but foolish – what kind of men were willing to die for a god? It seemed impractical and against common sense. He would change that. Preparing the team, the elite attack force of Aulocos of the Eastern empire came about. Years of experience marked their faces, wearied and ancient knowledge behind their invisible eyes. From the base, they each went into their customized tanks, preparing for their assault against the most right end of the enemy’s newly replenished forces. From here, backed up by Sirens, a series sleek black tanks rushed along the edge of the river, heading east, their armaments tipped with rockets and turrets, the black infantry following as the splash of the cold red water upon their faces silent amongst the boom.

The sad flowers glanced amidst fire, the sun almost up with the gates of light opening, the shining rays barely over the mountains as the nightly battle turned to a dawn of slaughters. Tsellian troops continued to fight forward, their numbers much greater and their initial gaseous strike giving them the main advantage. But it had to be done, and fast – forces were waiting, from Nakros Ithrimm, from Nakros Eimunn, from Nakros Sentiauhk – they were waiting for their moment to strike against them, but they were not battlefield troops; they awaited the slaughter amongst their clawed steel fingernails, their eyes bulging as their stealth suits shimmered lightly in the rays.

Silence filled the air, the rushing of the blackened tanks pushing through, a small company of legendary attackers, stakes within the ground the whole time amongst their journey as fiery bombardment from their cannons rained as a tiny shower of volcanic-like ash poured in the fog. Subsiding was the flaming gas, but the air was still awash with bloodied mists that clung onto a greenish tint. Firepower continued.

From the naval end, the battleships continued attacking, their blasting bombardment smashing and crackling with fire and streams of torrential flames. Amphibious transports skimmed along the waters, with brazing guns flaring as machine gun fire from their hulls flashing out lights, jets and fighters from above slashing down missiles and bombs upon the coastline, intent on destroying everything make way for the advancing troops within the transports. From the ports of the Arguns, lurker drones were prancing slightly below the surface of the water, in hives as they tried to reach the enemy ships, their bombs readied.

Northern Front

Dawn came almost unnoticed to the remaining defenders of the original Line of Defense. They kept firing through the night, sending Gauss fire, 20mm auto-cannon bursts, rockets and artillery into the oncoming enemy, defiant in the face of certain death...
Corporal Ernest Smith was the highest ranking Undershi in the bunker. The two sergeants, the squad commander and the gun commander, were dead long since. He led the remaining defenders in their suicidal defiance, firing into the oncoming horde, armour visors automatically darkening as atomic fireballs scarred the horrizon, or FAEs burst closeby.
The Undershi airforce was still in the fight, Lightning interceptors swooping and diving everywhere, Thunderer fighter-bombers backing them up, pausing to deploy Air-to-Ground missiles, or laser-guided bombs...
The drone of heavier engines was constant, both from enemy bombers and from the Golden Eagle heavy bombers that still flew overhead, throwing FAEs and mini-nukes at the enemy like there would never be another chance...
The over-stressed cooling systems in their armour wailed in alarm at rising temperatures, the concrete exterior walls of the bunker began to run in places, little rivulets of molten concrete, as the fires of battle tore the land apart.
Ernest smilled, as he fired a 20mm cannon he'd taken over from its gunner when the man had fallen. His body might have been there, dieing as it sent 20mill auto-cannon bursts into the oncoming enemy, but his mind was far away.

Saint Rynald City. Crawling through a cold, moist, dark tunnel, a pistol clutched with white knuckles...
Searching for Inquisition hold-outs underneath the city, in the maze of tunnels and sewers and bunkers and ventilation shafts...
Struggling with and beating to death a hold-out he'd found in a sewer with a half-eaten corpse...

Ernest Smith's mind was far away from the chaos of the battle, lost in a dark, dark, place. He fired a burst from his 20mm auto-cannon. Soon it would all be better...

Southern Shores

The southern shore of Undershi had earned its nickname, the Iron Coast. All along it, bunkers and trenches and mines and gun emplacements waited for an attack... waited to do to any attack what they had done to two Hatarian attacks, to the No_State_At_All invasion, to others...
The Jenak attack came as no suprse. The Jenak invasion force met a hail of missile fire, a storm of artillery and a sky so filled with AA fire that it seemed dark as midnight in the middle of brightest noon.
Flame ruled along the coast, as death stalked the land. Chaos and despair seemed to have taken physical form, and struck at both sides with impunity.
Meanwhile, overhead, Lightning interceptors and Thunderer fighter-bombers did what they could to turn the tide, struggling to maintain Undershi air superiority...

Undershi City

Aleksander Miller sat in a darkened room, and listened to screamed requests for air support. Everyone wanted Lightnings, and wanted them there now. Everyone wanted Lightnings and Thunderers and Golden Eagles to come and smash the Jenak menace into a fine red mist...
There weren't enough Flights, there weren't enough squadrons.
He sighed, and looked over the papers, trying to make two and two and two come out to four. He couldn't.
Reports kept coming in, reports of the cassualties that were being suffered by the Undershi military on all fronts. The situation looked grim. He wondered if any foreign allies would show up... and then he dissmissed the thought. No one would come. If anything, the filthy norms would cheer as Undershi went down in flames and perished... it would be just like them, to ignore the threat posed by Jenak...
He shook his head, and stood, walking over to the liquor cabinet and pouring himself a water glass of whiskey. It wouldn't do much good... True Undershis could metabolise ethanol almost as quickly as they could take it in... but it would make him feel better for a moment or two. A moment or two. Ha. Soon the filthy Jenak hordes would break through in the north... and then what? What then? They would turn to the south and rampage down into the cities, and destroy the Undershi nation...
He screamed at a God he claimed not to believe in, and threw the empty glass across the room. It just wasn't fair... but then, what was?

Enemy gunfire sleeted within the air, lead shots firing as they fleeted with accuracy and damage, the front waves of infantry slightly down as the Temsplaces replaced them. Right now it was the Siren firing with their lives, but the back Holy Warriors were lusting for the destruction and chaos of war. Their rockets readied, their large blades attached and their swift bodies throbbing with steel and muscle, the Temsplace fired rocket after rocket, a blanket of fire slashing across the river as enemy bombs exploded all around them. Forces coming from the southern cities of Edith and Ezk’eimuun reinforced the attacks, more troops every hour replenishing the fallen ranks with strength and equal fervour. Fanaticism splashed itself like the blood within the rivers, the Jenrakians pushing and pushing against their enemies, their attacks relentless, and in spite of their dead, they continued to fight without regards or acceptance of loss. Every hour, more Jenrakians came to fight the glorious fight. Artillery and Vizith fire pummelled into the sky, the rain of explosives and tiny showers of lava bombs scattering flames across the area.

Gunfire and snipers and armoured columns rushed along the fiery bushes, the anti-aircraft firing madly and swiftly against enemy fighters, the slightly doggy fighting of the Jenrakian aircraft only barely effective against their enemies. Firepower continued, pummelling from all directions, pushing against the desert dunes as they roared and rumbled and all the manner of streams and splashing white horses frothed to a soft burgundy shade. Chaos continued – the Jenrakians continued to fight, their shouts strong, their roars powerful, and from the large black crystal of a castle, Sly’lioth sat, his fingers moving along the movements as if he were a puppeteer, controlling his minions as they rushed against the enemy, steel smashing upon the river.

“Continue the artillery fire, continue the vizith bombardment. The repeaters are to encompass the entire wall within flames. Gas them all.” Sly’lioth ordered, as the commanders nodded in agreement – it seemed logical, it seemed efficient. From the skies, cargo planes once more dwarfed the armies on the ground, their giant shades of grey metal shining amongst the first glimmer of the golden flaming rays of the sun, within each of their planes large canisters of a thick, sticky liquid that emitted off a horrid, and fatal, stench. From here, they encompassed the skies, a skin of steel amongst the cloudless, still starry morning cackle, amongst red dew.

Satellite imagery showed Undershi defences, and the Jenrakians were not surprised that they had been working this form of defence for a while, though the majority of the attack wasn’t there to simply destroy – it was to stretch the Undershi as thin as possible, to spearhead at major locations to allow a swifter demoralisation of the Undershi military. Tsellian forces crossed upon the southwestern edge of their water borders, scanners and sweepers looking for water mines, as another group of battleships and destroyers pummelled shell after shell into a small blast of attack, while an even smaller intercepting group drifted along the outskirts, aircraft bustling from its large stomach of a hull, hornets blasting missiles off in droves. Battleships roared and thunderous sweeping bombers flashed like medals through the wafts and puffs of clouds. From the main fleet upon the shores in the west, enemy fire made aircraft landings difficult, though battleship bombardment hopefully would make the Undershi stop their persistent and futile attempts at defence. Hopefully.

From media centers all over Jenrak, a rally call was placed as it was broadcasted wherever they could in the world – the same clip playing over and over again. A small boy, his face a soft brown shade and his eyes a small burgundy glimmer, his hair shaved and his body thin and skeletal, his eyes tearing as his mother beaten brutally as blood smeared from her face, at the butt of the attackers’ rifles came arms attached to gruesomely distorted, demonic faces of seemingly Undershi men. It played a small village of innocent Jenrakians falling victim to Undershi sadists, masochists and rapists, before a small golden stream of text graced the screen; Support the Tsellia in the defence against the Undershi barbarians.

Crawlers readied themselves, as soldiers adorning the dress of knives prepared themselves for their turn at ‘defending’ the honour of the Tsellia.

From the large temple of Therax, his fingers upon his green robes, his pillars etched as screaming faces were protruding from the walls, he nodded to his soldiers as they prepared themselves for their rally. A small bottle of a clear liquid in his thin fingers, the pale, veiled master of the Jenrakian race lifted it up with a glorious roar; a cold, icy and careless shatter of breath, his voice hissing with discontent. “’Ere be the destruction, but in this I shatter upon our doom to the world.” And in a symbolic intent, he smashed the last ray of innocence, the last naïve bottle upon the grounds of the world. “We grow as one, and in dominance upon the enemy! Praise Tsellia, dear brothers.”

The Temsplace shouted.

The Undershi defenders fought. They fought with amazing dedication, resisting to the last...
Lightning interceptors targeted the gas carrying cargo planes with their missiles, trying to bring them down...
And on the ground, Undershis resisted with suicidal determination, struggling to give their deaths meaning, to make the enemy pay...

Corporal Ernest Smith screamed as he fired the 20mm gun full out, scything down the oncoming enemies. Tears ran down his cheeks as he remembered his early years...

Born into pain, unbearable agony his first consciou memory, as the augmentation machinery laced his bones with metal, and afixed a computer core to the back of his neck...
Age six, leaving his mother, a tear on his cheek as he boardeed the train with all the other children, off to boarding bootcamp... the Sergeant Instructor hitting him with an electrified metal rod, like the Overseers used on norm slave laborers in the factories, then leaning in and saying:
"True Undershis don't cry, boy." he'd wiped away his tear, and nodded, and gone to his seat...
Age seven, standing at attention on the drilling ground, reciting the preamble to The Undershi Empire, then off to rifle drill then Chemistry classes and History where they'd learned about the glorious conquests their Empire had made...
Live Fire practice, hunting Maoist guerillas in the Paxton forests, Crusader gunships overhead for fire support...
The guerillas, tired and miserable and starving, firing their AK-47s at the sixteen year olds as they cowered and returned fire, their Sergeant Instructors calling for the Regular Army backup units to move in... Sara Johanzohn, a beautiful girl, most of her head missing when he'd found her after the battle, one more loss to exterminate the guerillas... it had been a test, to show them battle.
Almost crying as he carried her body back to the camp... but no, True Undershis didn't cry.
Standing at attention as they crucified the prisoners, or flogged them to death or impaled them... horrible ways to die.
Wilderness Survival, crawling through North Land pine forests, a combat knife clutched in his white-knucked fist as he stalked the feral norm he'd spotted. He'd wanted the man's coat, and gotten it.
Licking warm blood from the knife blade, so hungry...
Saint Rynald, storming the apartment buildings the defenders had made into fortress after fortress... taking away their homes, and reducing them and their children to the status of slaves for all time...

He blinked, and the world came back to him, came back to him in sharp color - the greys and blacks and browns of the trenches and bunkers only serving to highlight the red of blood or the green of an enemy soldier's eye... or the pale, pale, blue of the sky...
Ernest smilled - it was as good a time as any to die.

High above, Flight Leader Ulrich Smithson screamed in exhultation as he pulled up at Mach Two, having vollied off six of his AMRAAMs at the enemy gas planes. He wanted to make the norm scum burn... crash and burn. He smilled - it looked like he was going to get his wish - the enemy fighters were almost useless compared to the massively advanced Undershi fighters they faced. This would be easy.

A rudimentary knowledge of physics assisted the cargo planes reach their destination. As they crumbled and fell as magnificent, blossoming wreckages, their gas oozed and filtered out in droves, sucking out life from everything it could, its creeping fingers of death grasping all in its way.

From the Council of the Union of Heckkizith, a small group of men sat in silence, before a large rumble of noise shook the building around them. One of them men, his fingers thin and his face just as skeletal as his claw-like hands, his eyes blank and his face reassuring, nodded to the others. “It is merely the mobilisation of the men, they are preparing for their journey to home.” He said, softly and calmly, the others nodding in recognition and agreement to this man. “We must prepare the stealth soldiers.”

Another man, a plump man, in contrast to the thinning skeleton beside him, nodded, his large neck coarsely and craggily moving along with his agreements. “We should try and keep them in reserve, but I believe a strike team of stealth soldiers will be understandable for success. They could certainly cause psychological damage to their enemies.” He offered the idea. The others nodded within the barely lit candlelight room. “Assist them with the Krykkioz.”

“The Krykkioz is a property of our mainland brothers, not us, my friend.” The thin man retorted with a quip.

From the naval battle, it seemed likely that the Jenrakian navy would not be taken down so easily – a breed of both Questerian and Jenrakian technology melded into every steel craft, they were swift, brutal, and behemoths of destruction, their waves of fire and leader smashing against everything possible, mobile armoured walls splashing amongst the waves, the frothing white horses rushing in the morning battle.

As another bombardment squad rushed against the southern Undershi coast, a flank of amphibious transports grazed the surface of the waters, pushing up towards them, zooming madly towards the enemy coastlines.

Any military, no matter how well trained and eqipped, can only be pushed so far. That breaking point was rapidly approaching for the Undershi forces as they faced the oncoming Jenak horde.
The gas came down as the planes crashed and burned, but the IIS units were ready for that - they'd seen what it had done to the prepared defensive lines. They rushed forward, knowing they would soon be cut off, at least temporarily, by another firewall.
Still they came. They came forward in their armour, artillery thundering behind them as every single Undershi gun or MLRS was thrown into a massive bombardment meant to help the remaining regular units hold the line until relief arrived.
Meanwhile, Undershi paratroopers were being moved up to just behind the gas. It was a matter of what was available - the paratroopers could be flown in easily enough, after all.
Heavier units were on their way from wherever they could be found, rolling into place at what seemed a painfully slow rate to the beleagered northern defenders, but in reality was a rate any army would have been proud of under the best conditions...
Undershi still resisted. That was all that mattered.

The religious boot of the Tsellia continued, as a whole only slightly harmed by the Undershi military, as their religious fervour fed their spiritual bloodlust. The red river was creaked in blood, the morning dew a soft amber shade and the dried, broken remains of the rotting corpses drifted out into the golden rays upon the beautiful delta of the Golden Sea. Fires were seen far off, but it mattered little – it was here; now and nowhere, that would determine the spread of the Tsellia, the ongoing war, and it seemed as if Jenrak’s hands were almost all over the touch of the violent river. Both enemy soldiers and Temsplaces splashed in the water, a deadly game of death, both sides raging and roaring against each other. The Temsplace, in their shining polished armoured and their long sleek rocket launchers, roared with strength and intent, artillery strikes covering their fire as the gas seeped out slowly. Enemy soldiers were now crossing towards them.

“They are desperate. They are breaking the line. Send note to the Sadicistra.” Sly’lioth spoke from his command center, his eyes fixated on a long red blotch as a larger white line began to move towards it.

From behind each Temsplace, white warriors rushed, their fingers attached to small metal claws, their hands gripping rifles tightly as they lashed their tongues beneath unseen white masks, legs thin and long, their lower body covered by a dress of knives. They hissed and ran, grouping into packs, their movements primal and primitive, yet they worked together with tenacity. They were the Sadicistra, the great war machines of the Tsellia; rapists, murderers, serial killers, all turned to the Tsellia to be the bloodline of carnage, an army of cannibals that could cover entire lengths of countries without requirement of basic logistics. They were a mobile fortress when together, taking on roles of the Temsplace, the Sirens, even capable of commandeering enemy ships and planes when trained to do so.

Now they rush amongst the icing tipped froths of the waters, splashing against the falling leaves amidst the tall oak trees, their colour radiant and their shades of burgundy, auburn and vermillion dancing amongst the pale streams. Enemy fire blasted a thick grey smoke upon the clouds, and the Jenrakian Vizith bombardment did likewise – though they still continued, their metals glistening, their teeth hungry as they swung their jaws and dipped their sharpened teeth into the necks of enemy soldiers, feasting as their rifles fired recklessly against their foes.

Gas began to drip down and about the river, but the auburn shade still laid amongst the morning light. The sun was high, and the sounds still throbbed with the drums of war.

Special Projects Division

Analysis of ongoing situation in and around Jenrak



The current conflict's exact origins are unknown; what is known is that a massive religious schism seems to have affected the population of Jenrak, causing an impressive amount of civil disorder. The religious elements have co-opted the military, and begun a massive conventional conflict against Undershii.

Complicating issues, satellite photos have shown the Leafistan military mobilizing, with their navy probing the waters near Jenrak. It is believed they intend to take advantage of the situation, and their strikes against the small nation of Raithal seem to be intended to form a jump-off point for their predicted invasion into Jenrak's territory.

Jenrak's military is at an all-time high state of readiness. Interfering with them at this time is not recommended. However, the Undershii military, while sporting decent technology, has the problem of their culture being quite oppressive and rigid-- this will hamper supplies and make their strategic thinking extremely rigid. They are an ideal target at this point, should we choose to intervene.

As for Axis Nova, our military is at a record readiness level. Many of our forces have recently completed upgrading and training with newly developed equipment, and thirty new Metalman divisions are online.

Recommendation: Begin planning the occupation and annexation of Undershi. Destroy anyone and everything that gets in our way.

Report Ends

The IIS mechanized divisions came into the battlefield singing. Thirty thousand True Undershi combat troops, tall and muscled and proud, each a brilliant thinker and a superman. They came into battle like heroes from ancient legends, like Beowulf going off to slay his Grendel.
They died. Shot and shell smashed their fine black armour, AT rounds blasted Viper IFVs to burning wreaks. They fought even as they died, doing all they could. All they could.
It wasn't enough.
The line held for longer than any sane analyist would have expected it to, for longer than any sane man might have hoped... but it broke. It broke as the last dug-in defenders died at their stations, it broke as the IIS men, tall and proud, were killed, were transformed from young living heroes into so much raw meat encased in the scrap-metal remains of their armour.

Ernest Smith screamed into the uncaring world as he fired the 20mm cannon wildly, sending streams of fire into the oncoming enemy tide. He was certain - he was the only Undershi left in the bunker, the only Undershi left alive in that section of the line...
Overhead, Lightning interceptors banked and rolled and fired off their missiles into the air, striking at the slower enemy fighters that opposed them, while Golden Eagle heavy bombers and Thunderers with ground attack packages struck at the enemy on the ground...
A blast of fire, searing his flesh even through his armour, causing an alarm to sound in his helmet - cooling system overloaded. A section of exposed rubber piping broke, melted in the heat, and coolant gushed out, transforming to a foul chemical steam in the heat.
He traversed the 20mm auto-cannon back and forth across the lines of oncoming enemies, weeping into his helmet as static filled the division channel... he was the only one left alive...
The enemy came in closer, swarming forward, firing as they came...
The end was near...
Then a Thunderer swooped low, dropping its twin clusterbombs.
BOOM! BOOM!
Ernest looked again... still more enemies coming, getting nearer... he began firing again, screaming as he did. He was going to die. There would be no second Thunderer to save him...
The enemy tide swept in closer, firing at him as they came. Somehow, miraculously, he was unhurt. He laughed at that, as he kept on firing... it seemed so odd that he should have lasted so long...

High above, Flight Leader Ulrich Smithson fired off his last pair of ASRAAMs, sending the short ranged seeker missiles off to kill another enemy fighter, then banked and came around for another pass.
He'd flown Thunderers, once, a while back... then he'd done his duty and loved it. Strafing refugee collumns to disrupt the enemy and force them to waste medical supplies, or at least to damage their morale... he'd done it all. He remembered getting shot down once, a while ago, and ejecting into the burning sky, as the ground-based AA battery shot his Thunderer to pieces... that had been bad.
He heard a voice on the radio, repeating a code... and he cursed, and rolled his Lightning towards the south. Return to base to avoid the coming attack. Crap. Things were about to get interesting...

Dawn came twice that day in the Naem valley. Once as the sun rose over the massive devestation that had just occured, the disfigured and mutilated horror that had been a fairly beautiful place... and then a second time, as the Undershi High Command issued Operational Code Firefall, and burned what little remained as they struggled to stem the tide of enemies.
Fifteen megatonnes. Fifteen megatonnes of nuclear weaponry, all used in an instant as the Undershi military tried to salvage what it could by burning the Jenak soldiers as they crossed the river.

Ironically, amidst the ruins of the Undershi lines, in a bunker that had long ago lost its roof, a single True Undershi stood in armour that was chipped and shattered, firing a pistol he'd taken from a dead man when his 20mm gun ran out of ammunition.
As the mushroom clouds rose, he looked up into the sky, laughing like a madman, and was, perhaps for a fraction of a second, the only sane True Undershi in the world.

A Voice echoed through the thick silvered door, a subtle cascade of hidden authority.

Enter

The voice, it curled through the air, imprisoning the mind, who could dare disobey that heavenly sound, so subtle, yet so fantastical, much like the owner of that voice.

Senhacanz Anatos, the newly minted Senhacanz for that matter, carefully made his way into the room, a great depression at it's heart, and around that depression were large alcoves in the room, at the far side of the office, a grand desk curved around, behind the desk beyond the figure who stood regally there, staring out through a pair of grand windows, the sky shone with a white light, in the distance a tower shone with reflected grandeur, the city of Jindrax stretched out as far as the eye could see, bordered by a pair of great canyon walls and the great sea beyond, this place, once called Hantaq, now called Novesia, the capitol of the Former Middle Empire, the city founded by Jindrax and his many sons, the city from which had grown a vibrant culture, replacing that of the religous order, the Diri E I G Ignen, which itself had replaced another religous order, unlike his predecessors, Voronzel Jindrax, that legendary man, who would inspire generations of writers for millenia afterwards, he cared for his people, not abstract gods, in their imagined pallaces, the the culture he created was one of unity, a legendary unity.

The figure at the window turned as the Senhacanz approached the desk, having passed by the table in the great depression, a map updated to the nano second showed military engagements world wide, consoles set into the great rim of that table showed the specifics, and the sets of desks reserved for the Hartenzal, the Strategy advisors, were vacant, not a soul apart from this pair was in the room, the walls were relativley unadorned, of black obsidian with brazier style lamps on them, yet they did not shine with blinding illumination, instead the light of day filled the room, setting everything a glimmer.

Senhacanz Rey Anatos, it has been to long

Indeed Defence Minister Izalien Jhanhus, It has been over a year since we last met.

That woman, her fair hair spun outwards, a golden whirlwind as she finished turning from the sights below, her full red lips parted slightly as she uttered these novan words, her tunic hugged her tightly, and she bore her uniform of office, of service to the people well, behind her eyes glimmered a fierce intelligence, combined with a measure of sorow and resolve, those cerulean depths, many claimed to have seemingly drowned in, such an emotional person at times, yet at others she seemed detached as she calmly did her duty, she was viewed by man as the Ideal Novan woman, and a model of modern virture, she carried on in her service of the novan state even when wracked by personal tragedy.

That man, Rey Anatos, too much horror he had seen, and he bore many heavy secrets, like many in the Novan military he had survived the horrors of the Valjsguard, yet he knew more than most of the tragedy, he knew the true final outcome, something known to less than a handful of people, and not all of them Novan, the end of that conflict, had been overshadowed by the resounding victory in the defence of Xirnium at the battle of Iathern, by a hastily assembled force, and Valjsguard's final days had been swept into obscurity, few knew the true fate of Malo Tolien and Malo Kukonois, and even fewer knew of their last will and testament, few knew of the horrors of a land undone by war, the desolation of Infinite Crucible, the depths of evil and depravity of the Detzen circles rituals, and the dark side of the Diri E I G Ignen's ancient rituals, unlike most Novans he was extremlt knowledgable of the ancient sect, due to his numerous encounters with it, he knew more about the world religons then many others in the military, but like many things, he hid them behind a mask, few knew what he even truly looked like, for he wore a mask over his head, in sorrow for all those who had died, in a war that had gone all but unnoticed by the world, none would know of Valjsguard, and why would they, they did not care for the horrors of war, it would make them hunger for true peace.

That pair, they served the Novan state in their own ways, they knew the dangers of disunity, they knew the dangers of religous fervour and of blind religous fanatacism, they knew that the Diri E I G Ignen were right in many respects, life was a journey, and each made of their life, what they would, and each was bound by perception, they knew the dangers of war, and they knew that the most dangerous threat of them all was the hidden foe, the unanticipated enemy, the inner demon, they themselves had fought against the state,s inner demon made manifest, the descendant of the Diri E I G Ignen's Champion, Zeon Xalxonois, his great grandson, Zundorian Kukonois had rose against te Novan way of lfe, and the very fabric of their society, he had rankled at the principles and at the supposed hipocrisies, he had risen up and stayed true to his ideals, though what had gripped him to do this nobody knew.

Rey, I have a task for you, take the Anteganal, and it's accomapnying task force and observe the situation between Jenrak and Undershi, your Ultimatge goal is to contain this Jenrakian Jihad, for wont of a better phrase, one way or another, you have a free hand.

A Complete free hand Izalien?

Complete Rey

Thank you Minister, I won't fail you

I know you won't Rey, you've proven yourself beyond all doubt, I have complete faith in you, your actions before prove that you won't

I do as any of us would, My duty.

Same old Rey

Izalien Chuckled as she reached across the desk to pat Rey on the shoulder.

You haven't changed a bit over the years, don't ever change Rey, now good luck, and I hope your first official command is a success.

Rey saluted and turned, glad more than ever for the mask, when he thought of Izalien, he thought of his failure, he had seen Vostok Jhanhus gunned down by an ambush, he steeled his thoughts, no regrets, only respect for the past, and clear thinking of their lessons would prevent the evils of the past being reborn, he padded through the corridors of thw ancient tower as he brooded over these thoughts, it had been some time since he had last lead soldiers against an enemy, he had spent the last year making sure the soldiers of tommorow wouldn't repeat the mistakes of the past, taking the naive through manoeveres was almost monotonos, it had been light releif after that spell in a real lfe horro movie, such creatures wern't supposed to exist, but they did.

Rey's thoughts would continue to stalk through his mind like those dreaded creatures after their prey, even as he levered himself into a monorail car, heading directly to the docks, where his new command awaited, he smiled to himself as he reflected it, he had always served under other commanders, he found himself somewhat uneasy, how would he handle an official command of this size, he'd only ever commanded a Kulaxh, of soldiers, and of Mobile suits. Commanding a Fleet was another thing, but he relished the challenge, even as his thoughts cast to the past, and what it would have in store for him at the contended area.

"Senhacanz has Embarked!" echoed out over the fleet wide comms, the Bridge towers of the ships of the fleet were surounded by rings of looming Tokons, they hung heavily over the fleet like a swarm of vlutures, over the near dead, ready to feast on the still warm flesh, Hijir, Voloko and other creations stood at battle readiness on the decks, while the ships personell all stood at stiff attention at space, while Rey inspected each facet of his new command, "You are soldiers of Novacom , I know you are ready to do your duty no matter what no matter when, and no matter who your foe is, I am proud to lead you, so let us move on, Batle Comman Anatos, Move Out!"

The Ships of the fleet began to move out of the Novesia docks, the sun glinting off the surface of the ships, while a plethora of smaller ships huddled up behind the fleet, it's carriers battleships and other large capitol ships, the Logistics Corps were well prepared to serve the needs of the new Senhacanz, who had been far from idle on his monorail journey, and the diligent officers under him, did their utmost best to make a good impression on their new commander, whose fame as epert pilot and brave commando had aleady earned their respect, but his far reaching frasp of the capacities of each aspect of his new fleet left an impression on them, as the ships receeded into the bright sun, one thing was clear, a new page of a brand new chapter in the Novan Military History was turned, and what it's result would be, was yet to be seen.

Pudite Prefecture One, Administration Compound One, Strategic Command Office IV
The Emperor, Pudu XLII, stood at the head of a long white table, thick and forged from a single piece of steel, it dominated the small room. Upon the table rested a massive, sprawling series of maps, depicting more than half a dozen completely distinct areas and territories. Wielding his long, thin, metal pointer as a walking stick, the Emperor began to circle the table.

Forced to adjust their posture and position as he passed between them and the table, the assembled commanders here watched carefully. Here in this room stood some of the greatest commanders in the Emperor's military, standing alongside other, less notable commanders and civil officers. This was the Emperor's war council. Assembled were men such as Grand Admiral Kadova, commander of the notorious Home Fleet, standing alongside Fleet Admiral Panslovak, a man with more countries to his name than any other in the room. Next to them were two other admirals of the Imperial Navy, a Rear Admiral called Aleksandrov Padnikov, as well as another Fleet Admiral named Gritsko Ubiikobyla. Rear Admiral Padnikov, a towering seven-foot tall frame built of thick reinforced bones and augmented muscle tissue wrapped around a sharp, tactical mind. He was one of the Emperor's Grazskar, and commanded his organization’s naval arm. Looking as a dwarf beside the oppressive presence of his companion, Fleet Admiral Ubiikobyla commanded the Strelkovy marine forces of the standard Imperial Navy.

Across the great table stood Field Marshal Petrov Romil, veteran armored commander and brilliant field-tactician. He was decked out in a great black trench-coat, weighed down with dozens of medals and ribbons awarded by Dominion and foreign commanders. He would undoubtedly lead this campaign on the ground. He was accompanied by two men, both Field Marshals themselves, each commanded a formation of approximately two-million soldiers, and neither was green to battle. First there was the monstrous presence of Field Marshal Kobyta Tunkin, Grazskar commander of the 7th Army of his brethren. Standing on the other side of Romil was Field Marshal Orefii Moskvitin, commander of the 3rd Strelkovy Army Group, leaned forward over the table, inspecting the many works of Dominion cartography.

The final member of this council was the calm, ordered presence of a staple of Dominion bureaucracy; foreign affairs officer Mr. White. A would-be civilian in any other country, he felt at home here beside these greatest of the Pudite military officers inside the Dominion. The entire culture was a war machine...

Halting his thoughtful meander again at the head of the table, the Emperor snapped his feet together and turned to face his officers. The silence was a calm, receptive silence. The Emperor filled it, "Soldiers, no doubt you've been made aware by now... the war has begun."

The assembled nodded, and the Emperor continued, "And for the past days our Artisans have been overlooking various charts and maps, searching for that first victim to our inevitable conquest..."

The officers glanced down at the maps on the table, each covered in thin red lines and arrows, tiny notations and keys, it was obvious this is what their leader was talking about, "Well, a decision has been reached! In the past our aggression was directed towards smaller factions, weak targets and obvious pawns. No longer! It has been decided that the dawn of our newest campaign shall begin with a shock, a proving ground and international stage,"

Looking again at the piles of maps, any who had not already been informed attempted to discern the target of their respective military arms, the Emperor waited a few seconds before completing his revelation, "Our target," The Emperor slapped the pointer down onto a small political map of an island nation, their name characterized at the top, Mer des Ennuis.

Of those gathered, only Mr. White and Rear Admiral Padnikov had been privy to this information before, for separate reasons understood by them. The Emperor continued with his briefing, "We are laying claim to the chain of islands and the peoples gathered therein, known to the world as Mer des Ennuis... They are a respected world player, and have a veteran and organized military. This, my disciples, will not be an easy task, but nothing done now is beyond our reach..."

Aleksandrov Padnikov smiled, his thick-jawed face enveloped in joy as the Emperor spoke, "These peoples have experienced invasion before, they are well-equipped to defend against attack, prepared, ready... We shall give them new reason to fear!"

The Emperor moved again around the table, taking up a position beside the selected map, "Now, look at this map here; opportunity for a large-scale invasion is limited... To the west we've a chain of large islands, each too rocky or fortified to use as an effective staging point. Also, supply chains through such islands as these are difficult to defend and a defeat so early in a campaign can be devastating."

He paused for a moment to allow his generals time to inspect the charts, "Now, this leaves us with the north, south and eastern coastlines. Obvious on this map is a great eastern bay, a perfect natural harbor easily sufficient to hold our entire navy! However, they too have discovered this and done exactly that. An amphibious assault into the teeth of a veteran and well-equipped naval force is again, not the greatest start to our assault. Further reducing our choices of venues is the legacy of the last invasion, from the north these foreigners struck, and drove the people of this island nearly fifty percent of the way across their homeland. Now, however, this northern coastline is well defended, and from what satellite photos we could procure the land immediately behind it is also heavily defended."

He paused again, drawing the pointer across the denied areas, then raising and tapping it in the final logical place; the southern coast... "It is because of these limitations our tacticians have fallen upon the single obvious point of attack, specifically, a small city bearing the name of their nation..." He tapped his metallic pointer down onto a little black dot, labeled 'Mer de Ville d'Ennuis'. "It is here the strike was decided to occur."

This was the plan outlined only hours earlier by Dominion tacticians to Mr. White and Rear Admiral Aleksandrov Padnikov, and it was to their understanding that all four-million soldiers were to land here, then disperse in a regimented fashion, striking north into the capital, then the Emperor spoke; "However! This is no doubt the conclusion of their leaders as well... This is why we strike... here!" He jabbed the pointer down, collapsing its structure down into itself as it folded under the pressure. The pointer rested upon the north-eastern coast, north of the great naval bases of the country, south of the original invasion point.

"Here, we shall begin our war!" The Emperor unfolded the pointer, looking at the faces of the gathered officers. Only two betrayed any surprise, those two for whom this was a massive divergent from the original approach...

"Admiral Padnikov, you'll have the task of leading three of your OPARR fleets onto the shores here, establish a small beachhead and sow confusion through the ranks of the defenders. Panslovak, you'll lead the relief forces onto the beaches, made up of Field Marshals Tunkin and Moskvitin, leading their respective Army Groups behind them..."

"From there we strike south and west, capturing the major bayside ports and capital city before two months pass. This will be a lighting war, I will not tolerate failure..."

The Emperor turned and moved back to the head of the table, where he set down the pointer, "I expect a victory in three months, I will have nothing else! Now, go. Gather your forces, gear up your armies, and fuel your tanks! Panslovak, your 7th General Fleet off the coast of the target location in eleven days, Padnikov, your Grazskar on the ground in the target location in nine days. Now, go, spread our utopia, gather the soulless hordes and teach them the way!"

At that each assembled admiral, general, and officer snapped a smart, fingers-to-the-temple, palm-out salute and filed out of the room. Save for two, the Emperor stopped both Grand Admiral Kadova and his lower-ranking counterpart, Panslovak, as they left, following their subservient. He spoke in a muffled voice, "You'll stay here... I have some things to discuss with you two..."

At that the meeting ended, and the Emperor, forty-second of his kind and ruler of a continent-spanning Dominion, retreated to a back office with his top naval commanders and a small map...

Only a day later, as the sun rose, it beheld a mighty sight. Sprawled across the vast stretches of water before the many dozens of coastal naval compounds of the Dominion there was an armada, thousands of ships, tankers, and cargo-vessels rose, their massive bleached-white hulls gleamed as the sun's rays scattered resplendently throughout the massive assembalance.

Resting like a great castle upon the waves at the center of this fleet was the Hood-class heavy battleship, the Emperor Pudu XLII, flagship of Grand Admiral Kadova... Surrounding this mightiest symbol of their Emperor's power were the amassed ships of Kadova's Home Fleet, Panslovak's 7th Battle Fleet, as well as three examples of Ubiikobyla's Naval Invasion Groups, commanded by Ubiikobyla himself from the bridge of the Roydia class battleship, Light of Salvation.

This force, all numbered, counted well over a thousand combat ships and many, many more thousands of supporting vessels as well as hosts of submarines, both attack and cruise missile-armed craft. Inside the great gut of this fleet waited over four-million soldiers, Strelkovy marines, mechanized Grazskar, and light infantry. Hundreds of thousands of tanks, armored personnel carriers and artillery pieces began the long trek across the oceans to what was to become the newest of the Emperor's foreign districts...

Fully two days ahead of these ships the OPARR fleets changed course... These fleets, dozens of them roaming the seas across the world, had just received the order; Mer des Ennuis, Foreign District 10, three months. In nine days they would hit the shore in a likely unoccupied stretch of north-eastern coastline on the shores of a nation they has never heard anything about, with the simple order, 'form and maintain a staging point'...

The war had begun; in nine days the Emperor would not be the only one to realize this...

“Break their morality.” Sly’lioth ordered, before a clawed hand touched his soldier, leading up to a thin metal-laced forearm amongst a bevy of thin silky robes. From there, drenched in white and grey, a stench of blood and a shimmering emerald pair of eyes, stood a tall figure, bulky and large, though every inch of his body covered save his shining jewels of sight. He was an overwhelmingly large man, a tall behemoth, as a small, long blade hung over by his waist, the lower edges of his legs showing a plate of knives jangling as a dress-like lower robe. His torso was covered by a thick shield of steel, all of this draped over elegant, draping sleeves of cloth, a skilfully painted insignia upon his chest and his forehead, as a long straight crown stood atop his mind, the robes flowing out as wings. He stood there, his eyes piercing with a roaring tenacity, cutting through Sly’lioth’s soul, staring intently and strongly as his grip tightened, though Sly’lioth demanded to bow against no one. He stood there, his shoulder tense, the sharp claws from this man soon flowing with Sly’lioth’s blood, his shoulder stinging in pain as his steel armour saw small, neat holes from where this man’s claws were.

The two stood, as the blood dripped down onto the floor, the glossy tiles shimmering with magenta. This man had a cold, hard stare, though his eyes seemed sincere and sorrowful. The room was cold, a stench of death lingering about, the pillars of obsidian tall and looming as the fountains stretched with everlasting water, dripping magnificently amongst the inside gardens that churned around the chairs, all black and sleek, but it was cold, empty, and quiet. All of Sly’lioth’s commanders have been killed in the blast, the horrendous flaming destruction unleashed by the last resort of the Undershi defence. Sly’lioth felt his hurt, though he had enough men left over from his province to wage still quite a respectable and dangerous war. Yet this man was here, and it never meant good when the white robed beasts made their show.

“Sly’lioth, your time is over. You are too dangerous with our men.” The white robed man spoke, his voice cold and emotionless, nearly monotone, yet a blast of chilly frost iced the already freezing and unnerving atmosphere. Even the sun rays shining through the colourful stain glassed windows made no effort to bring warmth to the room. These two men stood, though Sly’lioth slowly dwindled in power, in influence, his spirit crushed under the jackboot of the overwhelming strength this man placed in his soul. “You are charged with returning to the Azhujurius, where you will be assessed.”

“And who are you?” Sly’lioth asked, though he knew what this man was clearly capable of – the clothing was unmistakable; he was a Vizicistra, the most dangerous and elite of the Jenrakian military forces, nothing higher than he in terms of brutal combat. Children sired from countries torn and raped apart by the Sadicistra legions, the Vizicistra were warrior slaves of immense status within the Tsellian society, Lords in their own right that bow down to nobody save for their great leader, the thin fingered and skeletal Therax. Loyal to Tsellia, unwavering in their fear and completely ignorant of pain and suffering, the Vizicistra feel nothing more than war and its prize and bloodlust, and taste nothing more than carnage incarnate. They were formed around the Eastern society, though recently they have contested against the old Sadicistra and the Temsplace – the Vizicistra were quickly replacing them both. This man was one of them; a Vizicistra, he was distinguished by his plain white robes, his insignia drenched on his robes, thick armour visible beneath his clothing.

He carried long, skeletal fingers capable of slicing cleanly through bones and armour with ease, and his teeth were no doubt sharp; ground into knives of their own through years of sharpening and refinement. Stronger than even Temsplaces, they sport incredible speed and are tenacious commanders, as well as charismatic and manipulative. It was here that Sly’lioth, an obsidian Temsplace of high respect, was being replaced by a white robed Vizicistra. “What is your name?” Sly’lioth asked, high chest falling in disappointed in the Azhuj’s lack of faith in his motives.

“Lord Hahkrun.” He said coldly, quietly, harshly, loosening his grip upon Sly’lioth’s shoulder. “I am here to continue the movement into the enemy hearth. I come by order of Therax himself. You are to return.”

“I understand, but why have I been charged? Have they not known of the enemy defence? The Undershi are not to be underestimated, for they are a great foe that many of my men have died against!”

“You raise naught of your voice against me, Temsplace.” Hahkrun roared menacingly, but Sly’lioth fought back.

“Save me your hierarchal ramblings, I want to hear nothing of whatever heretic lands you hail from!” Sly’lioth’s tongue slashed back. “I am here to do a job, and I have done it, now I am being punished for the success? Make no mistake, the Tsellians wish for victory!” Sly’lioth pulled out his blade. “I would rather die than lose my pride, a law in the Tsellia, is it not?”

“Cry nothing of Ciranaar’s teachings! Following Enkur saves you, or you will die as much of a dishonourable fall as Lord Egos himself. Do I make myself clear, dear Temsplace?” Hahkrun was losing his patience against this stubborn holy warrior.

“I be done of it, and you be too, Hahkrun. I follow my orders, yet you bring news to your superiors, that Sly’lioth bows no more to Therax and his horrid mind.” Sly’lioth said defiantly, before Hahkrun lifted his right hand, and closed it tightly, his fist smashing down onto his left shoulder.

Sly’lioth was crushed, he was shocked. In response, he did the identical gesture, to which Hahkrun lifted his small blade, holding it against Sly’lioth, who drew his gargantuan blade magnificently, skilfully preparing his defence. In a split second, Sly’lioth burst into a flash of speed, rushing and slashing down against the hard ground, smashing up the tiles as they fell as dust, Hahkrun blocking it with his hands, grabbing onto the blade before slashing his claws into the sword, swinging it about like a puppet.

In another flash of speed, Sly’lioth turned his body, and pulverised his shoulder into Hakhrun’s face, breaking armour as Hahkrun lifted his veil upon his face, revealing a row of blood-red, rotten, fanglike teeth surrounded by flame-crackled lips and a nonexistent nose, merely a chimerical lump of flesh, as small wafts of bloodied air and snot sprayed in and out onto Sly’lioth’s broken shoulder, before he lunged his teeth into the Temsplace’s shoulder, a slab of flesh and sinew torn out in a bloody spray.

Hahkrun lunged once more, his teeth throbbing and his claws grappling Sly’lioth’s stomach, blood trickling out onto the floor, as the muscles throbbed in pain, a massive slice of flesh missing from Sly’lioth’s shoulder, as he was pushed down onto the ground, where Hahkrun ran his feral hunger against the Temsplace, his face and his skin torn asunder, blood gashing out before a jet of blood sprayed into Hahkrun’s eyes, forcing him to stop his feast and rub his eyes.

Mutilated, Sly’lioth lifted what strength he had left, and ran out the door, before his bodyguards found his dying body. Each of them, Temsplaces loyal to Sly’lioth, had seen the brutal condition of their former master. His face was torn apart, his left eye slashed as nothing more than a thick clear liquid viscously poured out, the dribble of soft flesh throbbing as blood sprayed everywhere, his cheeks slashed with churned scars upon his jawbone, his teeth showing beneath shredded lips. He had a large open gash running from what was the small lump of flesh that was now his nose to the underside of his adam’s apple, a reddish throb of thick bone-like flesh that still quivered up and down, albeit slowly. His shoulder had stringy muscles still hanging up, and whenever he jerked, he cried loudly as a muscle was caught in his armour, ripping out his skin whenever he moved. They did their best to moved him to a field hospital as fast as possible, though they were unsure of their master’s life. The Sadicistra were a dangerous breed, and this was the first time one had the cunning and strength to overpower a Temsplace. This was a disturbing series of events, but at the moment, they tried to get their master to the barracks as quick as possible.

“I cannot believe they have done this.” A Temsplace said, as he carried Sly’lioth’s body, a creek of blood trailing behind him.

From the old Sly’lioth encampment, Sadicistra began to fill the leagues, as lancers followed suit, Vizith Terrux closely behind. The Temsplace and the Sirens felt begrudged, seeing as their chance to fight have been destroyed, as they were being sent to the eastern fronts in defence against enemy retaliations. It was boring, slow, witless work, and it was nothing glorious. As they trailed with hateful murmurs and jealous stares, the Sadicistra prepared themselves for the deployment, feasting off the charred corpses of the bodies, the rubble amongst them amidst with flames, as giant mobile war factories rushed through the creeks, splashing as their massive forms cast shadows upon the camps, the Sadicistra rushing along the creek onto enemy territory. The soil tasted sweet, the Undershi blood was vivacious and Undershi flesh was a delicate taste.

“Breed Death. Her womb awaits and you must make yourself the great symbol for Enkur! Feast upon their souls, and then take them with you to eternity and honour!” Hahkrun cried from the core of the army, walking across the river, his blade readied, his teeth still lined with Sly’lioth’s sweet blood. His fingers were anticipating blood, and his tongue and throat was thirsting for blood. He wanted human flesh.

“Show them grace and civility.” Hahkrun ordered, as his Sadicistra began to commit necrophilia, while feasting upon their remains, the Undershi soil so soft and warm. The Sadicistra would flood into Undershi, city by city, only so slowly. Quiet roars continued, amidst the grey smoke that billowed up through the skies, puttering of machines far off. As large treads blasted up onto the ground by the claws, they sneered and readied, tanks rushing out in droves as lancers followed suit, their spears prepared, their rockets revved and their machine guns wired.

“My children.” Hahkrun spoke from his evil tongue, blood dripping down his veil. “Tonight comes the beginning of the Agghrazahal! Kiriun protects us from evil, and we feast upon men and women. Today is the law of righteous retribution. It is not a crime to commit rape upon foreign women. It is not a crime to eat foreign children. It is not a crime to commit murder upon foreign men. Today, growth depends on how far we will go to spread Enkur’s words and fist! For every women you rape and kill, for every man you slaughter, for every child you feast upon, you bring their soul to salvation! And thus we cleanse these lands of sinful heresy. Come forth, my brothers, for we are the first bastion of loving carnage! We kill for Enkur!”

The Sadicistra rushed in glorious pride south.

Millions of Jenak warrior-fanatics rushed down from the north, an oncoming tide of incomprehensible horror that threatened to wash away everything in its path.
The breaking of the Naem Line was a loss unexpected, the loss of so many men... half a million dead, so said the tallies and countings. Half a million soldiers lost.

The Undershi army was not broken, merely cast back. They still had the will to fight, and the weapons with which that fight might be continued. The war would go on.

The hordes of Jenak fanatics poured across the vitrified remains of the Naem River Valley, down into the empty grass lands of northern Undershi. They had a long way to advance.
The northern rail hubs had already fallen, but they would get little use from them. The trains had all gone south, the nuclear power plants had been delibrately overloaded in disasters ten times as horrific as Chenobyl...
The Jenak hordes would find little of use in the ruins of those cities.

To the south, delaying actions formed as the retreating units regained cohesion and were reinforced. The terrain behind them was open grass land, perfect for armoured warfare, with only the occassional copse of pine trees or minor hill to act as landmarks.
Lines were drawn... theoretical lines this time, rather than heavy concrete walls. Armoured divisions and mechanized divisions rolled into place, while Thunderer fighter-bombers earned their nickname of "death screamers" as they bombed the advancing horde, Lightnings always ready to send enemy fighters tumbling to the ground.
For the present, the war had become one of manuver. One of retreat? Yes, to a degree. To a degree. The Undershi army fell back, that much was clear to any who looked at the lines. But they did not fall back without exerting every ounce of effort they had. Mine fields appeared overnight, booby traps were set, armoured companies struck from ambush with VTOLs for close-in air support and Thunderers up high...
They did what they could. It was all they could do.

While Sly’lioth may have been a fool, Hahkrun was not. He knew what the Undershi would have possibly done, and he knew that it was not an occupational war – it was a war of elimination, a genocide of life. He stood atop the bloodied command center, as its wheels of war pushed on, the treads dark and deep, his arms crossed as he nodded amongst the northern ends of the valley, in Undershi grounds. He wanted an extermination, and his superiors as such, not an empire. Cruise missiles ravaged against the Undershi military forces that could be found, the long tipped steel fingers of war smashing and sleeting through the air, burning up gas as they wobbled not. Hahkrun made sure to bombard every square inch of Undershi land, to make sure that they could not escape, could not hide, could not pull off traps or deceptions that could prove dangerous to the idea of Jenrakian rampage. As the Sadicistra ran about, causing as much chaos and destruction as they could, tanks and soldiers were marching and pushing out of the factory steel doors, the amber rust creaking as the claws were gouging massive ditches in their wake.

He was also wise enough not to use Jenrakian aircraft. As Sandurian aircraft flown into the air, their steel armour paper thin yet their speeds incredible, their movements swift and their machinery advanced far from the Jenrakian breed, the Sandurians swiftly glided up through the air, most of them mercenary-like soldiers who worked under sizable paychecks by the Tsellia. They were not the crop of Jenrakian militia-like aircraft; they were Sandurian elites, adaptable and powerful, skilled against enemy fighters, all of them capable of interceptions and swift raids.

Hahkrun would not leave anything up to Enkur.

Ville des Spiritueux, Mer des Ennuis

Mer des Ennuis was a paranoid nation, and with just reason. After repelling the Kravenite cleansing, a brutal civil war that re-defined inhumanity, and a other conflicts, the nation took great interest in its security. Its Khan-class missile batteries, supplemented by camouflaged and hidden 30” guns and 16” howitzers, shielded the nation from sea-borne invasion. Its homegrown S-400 mk2 TELAR system acted as an efficient ICBM/Space/Air shield, and its Army’s training was inferior to few. La Naissance Du Soleil, literally, the “Birth of the Sun” was the eastern most point of the nation, and the first place to greet the sun in the morning. It also served as a defensive radar station.

Radar Technician 2nd Class Ion Dorin was a member of the Naval Coastal Defense Corps, a unit charged with monitoring foreign shipping that entered within a 3,600 nautical miles from the Ennusian coast, with around 100 NM either way. An hour and a half before his shift was over, he picked up a large return: between 20 and 30 ships in a cluster.

“Hey Lieutenant, come over here!” he shouted.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I’m picking up a small surface group, possibly a battle group on maneuvers, bearing two-three-three.”
“Alright, I’ll forward this to d’Honneur, they’ll check it out. Continue monitoring it and I’ll brief the next shift.”
“Yes sir!”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Port d’Honneur
Rear-Admiral Kerensky was walking… running through the halls of Mer des Ennuis Naval Command. His target: Admiral of the Navy Henryk Jurek. Bypassing Jurek’s secretary, he opened the door.
“Sir, we have a new radar report from Ville des Spirituex, another surface fleet of 20-30 ships on the eastern seaboard.”
AN. Jurek chewed the new information in his mind for a second.
“This marks three unidentified groups of similar size with the same bearings. I think we might have a small invasion on our hands. I’ll notify General Wincenty myself.”
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Mer de Noms, Office of the Arch Arsonist
General of the Home Guard Adam Wincenty, the defacto ruler of Mer des Ennuis had been fully briefed on the situation. With the Senate running smoothly, he was able to devote his attention to these issues. His chiefs of staff, including Admiral Jurek, appeared on LCD screens on the circumference of his desk.
“Gentlemen, lets proceed slowly. While this may just be maneuvers, we have not received information on such. For now we’ll send an early warning message to them. I want a wing of our fastest fighter/bombers to do a visual confirmation and I want visuals from sat scans.”
The Admiral of the Maritime Guard was next to speak.
“Sir, if I may, this may be the vanguard of a much larger force, and since the Kraven invasion we cannot be too careful. Might I suggest at least reading shore defenses and start preliminary mobilization for the army and navy? If these groups are the front of another group, we’ll want to be ready and waiting for them.”
“Thank you Admiral, that is a good idea. Gentlemen, we are now at a heightened state of security. You have your orders, dismissed.”
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
The following message was sent through VLF communications, and 15 SuF/A-6 Wraiths, 5 per group, were scrambled on a recon mission, to observe the groups in question from just outside of standoff range.

“Attention unknown surface group. We have picked you up on radar, and you are in potential violation of Ennusian territorial waters. You are ordered to identify your selves, state your nation, purpose for entering our waters, and ship composition within 3 hours or turn back. Failure to follow these orders may result in military action justified by the Ziemowit-Hartfield Defensive Declaration of 2007. You are currently within engagement range.”

The Jenak cruise missiles were having a hard time of it. Most Undershi units contained at least a few Hippogriff AAMLRS units, and again at least a few mobile Metal Storm units. Added to that was the constant presence of Undershi Lightning interceptors as they tore into the Jenak missiles, firing their ASRAAMs as counter-missiles...
Undershi maintained supperiority in the air. The Lightning made sure of that. It was only lightly armoured as well, but lightly armoured in modern synthetic composites, not in simple old-fashioned steel.
They were light too. They had few weapons for dog-fighting. They had only a pair of 20mm cannons, and then all else was missiles. Many missiles. They could crest the horizon and blast any enemy aircraft from the skies... or so the designers said. They relied on AMRAAMs, missiles that were supposed to make dog-fighting obsolete. They would fly towards the enemy in formation, then fire off their vollies of missiles, trusting that the incredibly advanced electronic brains within each missile would guide the rocket home to its target.
Undershi electrical engineering was high quality, the grunt-work could be done by slaves... what the Jenak found themselves facing were the products of a massively wealthy, massively industrialized, fully militarized nation... weapons such as those that had their frames and propelant and explosive warheads built by slave labour, in the massive industrial hells of the Undershi heartland.
Now those factories worked overtime. The slave labourers were expendable, merely human... the Overseers worked them to death in job-lots, replacing the fallen as they worked. Such was life in Undershi during such desperate wars as this one.
Along the front, new weapons were being put into use. A massive Assault Gun with a 500mm cannon, code-named the Dragon, to compliment the Drake MBT of the Undershi army. There were few of them, but they were... interesting. Interesting because they used a rail gun for their main gun. A 500mm rail gun. One hit from that could destroy any MBT the Undershis had encountered yet.
Perhaps the creation of the Dragon Assault Gun was giantism of a sort on the part of the Undershi High Command. They knew about the super-heavy tanks the enemy used, so deployed their own... but they did a poor job, all told. The Dragon Assault Gun was a rush-developed weapon. It had its main gun, it even had pintle-, coxial-, fixed-frontal and sponson- mounted anti-infantry weapons... but it was an Assault Gun, not a Super Heavy Tank. Its gun only fired within a 35 degree frontal arc. No turret. A rushed design. Still, it was proving its usefullness as a "monster hunter," seeking out and attacking the Jenakian superheavies from ambush, while the Drake MBTs did what they could.
At the same time, a new type of bomb was being developed for the Golden Eagle heavy bomber. It was an odd sort of missile-bomb hybrid - it was dropped from the Golden Eagle at great altitude, then it engaged its engines and sought its target as a missile would. Such a design increased dramatically the usefullness of the Golden Eagle... when it wasn't dropping FAEs or tactical nukes by the job-lot.
And such weapons were used litterally daily, as the Undershi army struggled to stem the oncoming tide of Jenakian soldiers...
The grasslands were lit all night long by the fires set during the day, the fighting never stopped... all night long, somewhere the Undershis launched a raid or a counter-offensive.
Jannissary Divisions were thrown into the fire of battle half-trained, raw recruits from the surplus labour pool of the factories and the farms. They were only children... children with Gauss rifles and anti-tank rockets, who were told quite clearly what would be done to them if they were captured... and so they fought, and died, so that True Undershi troops could be spared from the brutality of positional warfare to assault here and there with the fury inherent in the warrior elite of a society that is losing a war...
And Undershi was losing. It was losing bit by bit, inch by inch, but it was losing. Victory had never been possible in a war between only Jenak and Undershi... Undershi needed allies. It needed allies it did not have.

Enkur plays dice with us all, though the Jenrakians left as little to chance as possible. As the battles raged on, the Sadicistra and their brothers prepared themselves, their Sandurian mercenaries raging above, skilfully slashing and bashing against enemy fighters, their missiles sleeting madly as defensive lasers attempted to scramble oncoming enemy missiles. Vizith Repeater fire still pummelled and raged on, slashing and pushing and firing with power as the claws raged out turret after turret, fireballs of chaos flown into the air and splashing down in flames upon the enemy. Fear had no rank amongst the Jenrakians, as they continued, fed daily by spiritual retribution, rewarded by psychological ecstasy. As they roared, as they marched, as they rushed and raided and slashed and burned and fired, the Sadicistra pushed on, with very little logistics supporting them – only turning nails and shrapnel into weapons and feasting on corpses.

They fired with accuracy, with danger, their horrific forms and distorted faces and leering red teeth giving a distinct, rancid look about them, a copse in the area of delirious intent. They pushed down from the north, firing still, their cannons rushing behind them, creating forceful walls of fire and soot and soil that engulfed up in the sky, protecting them from view. Their claws long and thin, shining with a metallic gleam and a silver, sleek eyes behind white masks throbbing out. Veins on their thin arms, their bodies draped in robes of knives, they pressed forwards, gunning and firing as their flanks strengthened and reinforced itself in the chaos. They knew what they were doing.

High above, Sandurian fighters engaged enemy aircraft with ease. After studies of Undershi aircraft against the Jenrakian dogs, the Sandurians were already adept at fighting whatever the Undershi would pull off, and after distinct research upon their aircraft technology and airforce capabilities, the Sandurians were well prepared. Their machine guns and missiles firing with chaotic intent, they were drooped back to Jenrakian lines to lead the enemy into a volley of Jenrakian defences, some of the best in the world; a mixture of technologies from around the globe, the Jenrakians possessed uncanny defensive capabilities.

As fire still raged, the claws spewed forth tank after tank, the swift lancers shooting missiles and electric bombs as stealth soldiers rushed through the foggy front lines with their rifles blasting, their companies hiding amongst the thin brushes of green grass, the amber and magenta flames licking men on both sides. Flames raged on and pummelled both ends once more, the lines still holding, though it was likely that they were doing it all for the glory of Enkur. Darkness would soon fall, and the Sadicistra would soon reign with fear. Enemy bombers did little to stem the tide of Jenrakian cannibals.

From the Hsac, four elite bombers prepared themselves, as large bombs were strapped upon their bellies, watched closely by the General Thaurausk, her long hair flowing amongst her short hat, her piercing eyes blackened through her cold, lifeless actions. “Fear will come soon.” She promised to herself, as the light shimmered amongst the sleek bombs.

The warrior-fanatics of Jenak were a terrifying, but not particularly dangerous, foe. Time and again, they charged into the open, sacrificing cover... and time and time again, the Undershi made them pay with a few well placed bursts from a 20mm cannon.
The enemy aircraft, the new enemy aircraft, were worthy of notice. They were almost as good as the Lightnings which opposed them. Fortunately, the Undershis had a new trick up their sleeves. The Lightningbolt, a new model of interceptor that had been on the verge of entering service before the war began. It relied even more heavily on missiles, possessing only one 20mm cannon. It would not be enough to turn the tide, not even close... but still the Undershis tried, fighting the tide from the north with every bit of strength they had.

Inner Council Chamber Weilanshi Mountain, 40 kilometers outside Greater Concord City Limits

The actual Weilanshi Mountain was destroyed many years ago, torn apart by the quarries to fill massive orders of monuments and grand government buildings all throughout Leafanistan and its colonies. It was rebuilt in 20 years, a massive mountain of steel, and concrete.

2.84 kilometer's below Weilanshi Mountain is where the Council Chamber was, protected by 5 divisions of the Elite Glorious Republican Guard which were constantly being exchanged for veteran units who deserved downtime.

It was the most heavily protected building in Leafanistan and the digging still continued. The final Council Chamber would be an unprecendented 5 kilometers below the Earth. It also held 5 escape craft for the Council members, 3 of them were complete and being lowered to their final depth of 3 kilometers, the other two under construction outside.

Yet here she was, sitting there, in a desk, admiring the wood veneer. The scent of Scotch rose up to meet her nose, her late father's favorite drink. In the background the sounds of various orders filtered through and technicians wandered about while guards and autoturrets with GPMGs kept watch.

"Wait..."

This was a new sensation, she had full control again, this wasn't her imprisoned in her own mind anymore!

She screamed and tried to leap up to find that she was securely tied down. The technicians behind the glass kept working. Unphased, perhaps they couldn't hear her.

She screamed again, declaring her full name and rank and following it with "DO YOU KNOW WHO MY FATHER WAS? DOES ANYONE REMEMBER?"

It was hopeless. She looked as a construction worker walked by holding a toolbox, he was covered in dust and talking with a technician at drill control. He looked inside and looked over her and stared at the restraints. She was going to throw up, "Men...".

So they could see her, then why wasn't anyone helping?

A sound, behind her, the click of shoes, and her sister and Fleet Admiral O'Toole appeared and sat down at the desk. Then more shoes, a familiar suit, encased in a veil and her eyes grew wide at the thought of who it was.

The guards and technicians had dropped to their knees, Fleet Admiral O'Toole and her sister stood up and saluted, and he removed his veil, and the face of her Father stared at her.

She fainted.

Off the coast of Raithal, nearing Undershi-Jenrak 'border'

To call it a border would be giving Jenrak forces too little credit. They had managed in a blistering 'human' wave attacks shattered the Undershi line and even with constant bombardment by the Undershi Air Force they were still gaining ground.

While the invasion of Raithal was going on, nearly 25% of the Leafanistani Fleet had gathered, Raithal would soon be glowing embers thanks to missile bombardment and its citizens enslaved and forced to join their 'Foreign Legion' and participate in brutal human wave attacks. Each one had been affixed with a collar that injected cocaine when they entered battle and decapitated them with C12 charges, one platoon at a time if command saw fit. They had heard stories from veterans of Halberdgardian Foreign Legions that if you survive you'd become a Legionaries Officer, your chance of survival went from a pitiful 2% per battle to 15% and you could have your platoon rearmed from the KF5 a copy of the AK-108 to an assortment of newer rifles including the new KF15 Fulcrum which could penetrate even Kraven armor at nearly any point with a single 2 round burst.

A cruise missile sailed close to the massive fleet that Leafanistan had assembled and it was shot down. An act of war. Exactly what they had wanted.

Converted Cargo ships, now designated LST-X4s sailed toward the river delta. Each one was loaded with Halberdgardian Foreign Legionaries, a total of nearly 300,000 soldiers. They had basic Kevlar with Ceramic plating, a KF5, an M1911 pistol, and a 10" bayonet called 'The Pike' and soon, an injection of Cocaine straight into their blood stream to get them hyped. Propaganda towers on the boat shouted at them, telling them to obey and risk killing them and their comrades. Only a quarter of them were actual soldiers, those who surrendered when Leafanistan overran the capital, they had been allowed to keep their weapons though most had switched for ammo concerns. The rest were people from random walks of life, they had at most 2 weeks of training before being shoved into a cramped boat. The actual soldiers encouraged them while those platoons lucky enough to have an officer were using the older KF11 for its superior penetration or the KF15 for its ease of handling and good rate of fire. A few of them, colloquially known as 'Kalashnikov Kids' were wielding AK-104s and controlled by the threat of the detonation of their parent's platoons.

They were pathetic, but they would do their job to create a beachhead out of human lives while aircraft, shells and missiles would bombard the border and stall for time as more Halberdgardian Foreign Legionaries were rounded up and 'trained'. Another 50,000 were on their way joined by the hastily impressed Raithal Foreign Legionaries (20,000 strong) of professional and conscript soldiers with whatever leftover weapons they had. Oddly enough when the dust settled, the ones that left first and were mowed down by the machine guns, rifles and claws of the Jenrak soldiers were the lucky ones.

450 Lu-12 Canary Multirole Fighters, 200 Lu-45 Hawk Air Superiority Fighters, and nearly a hundred Lu-25 Black Mariah STVOL Black Mariah Multirole Aircraft soared into the skies over the border. The multirole craft carried cluster munitions and were prepared to clear the way for the impressed soldiers and give Undershi forces a badly needed break.

Encrypted Transmission to Undershi

It is time to repay that debt we owe you for your help during our time of need in blood. Nothing shall stand in our way.

[END]

Pudite Prefecture One, Administration Compound One, Strategic Command Office IV

The Emperor sat comfortably at the end of a long white, heavy, table. It had been cleared of its various maps and charts over the past few days, and now it was to serve as the Emperor's command center for his overseas war. Now dominating the table was a large television screen, a flat-panel monitor, with a screen divided into four quarters, each hosting a single face. These faces were none other than those of the Emperor's greatest commanders, the veterans of his earlier war council, Grand Admiral Kadova, Fleet Admiral Panslovak, Rear Admiral Aleksandrov Padnikov, and Field Marshal Petrov Romil.

Hundreds of thousands of miles away, these powerful commanders saw themselves a screen partitioned to the like, substituting their own image for that of their Lord. The Emperor began the conference, "My commanders, I have gathered you here now to discuss a radical change in our current strategy,"

The four commanders stared at the screen, meeting the determined gaze of their leader cautiously, unsure of what he meant by this... The Emperor continued, "I could not have told you of this before, it may have affected your progression. Now, however, it is safe to inform you as to the true future of our newest campaign,"

Rear Admiral Aleksandrov Padnikov, who was even now crashing into the coastal waters of the foreigners island did not change his expression, but it was obvious he was struck by the comment, "Sir," he began, "Our OPARR fleet has already entered the waters of the enemy, surely they've detected me. Does this not make it too late for such a change?"

The Emperor smiled beneath his trim white beard, "No, Officer, this makes it the perfect time for such a change..."

The Rear Admiral was now openly confused, "Sir, I cannot follow your superior logic, enlighten your subjects so that they may better serve you,"

The Emperor reclined, his bemused look still stamped on his face, "Admirals Kadova, Panslovak, you are to be the focus of our attacks, as planned. However, your target has changed. We strike again at the undefended south, as was planned in the beginning. Land at any settled area, strike north into the heart of their country, you mustn’t fail, you are now the sole manipulator of my military arm..."

Rear Admiral Padnikov, having received no new orders, questioned his Emperor, "Sir, what is it our fleet can do for you, how can we serve this newest plan?"

The Emperor sat up straight in his chair, looking straight ahead as he spoke, "You, Padnikov, are a naval officer of the Sanctus Schola's Grazskar arm, you are loyal, you are courageous. You have devoted your being to service in our great civilization. For you, there is no change..."

Padnikov did not twitch a muscle, he understood what his Emperor was planning now... "Yes sir, my Emperor..." Padnikov snapped a sharp salute, his face seeming now more grim, more aged, than t had before.

The Emperor stood up from his chair, and standing tall, returned the salute of his commander, whose screen then went black. Everyone knew what his duty was now...

Soon after that the council adjured, and the fleets of the Emperor continued along their newest paths, all save one...

And it was this fleet that only minutes after the fateful conference, which would make first contact with the enemies. Turning from his telescreen, Rear Admiral Aleksandrov Padnikov looked over the bridge of his Roydia class battleship, the Insightful Strike, at the faces of the officers there, each prepared to lay down their lives so that the Emperor could realize their own global destiny.

Suddenly, their silence was broken as the tiny red light on the intercom behind Padnikov illuminated, and was followed by a voice, "Communication by foreigner, require Admiral" was the simple message, the voice that started the war...

The Rear Admiral boarded the heavy elevator behind him, which he would ride down the heavily reinforced command column that is the staple of Pudite battleships, being made up of the Administrative Command at the height of the tower, the Observation Command in the center, and the Sensors Command deep in the bowels of the ship. It was for this lowest room the doomed commander was bound for.

Upon arriving in the tiny, cramped room, the Admiral picked his way through the ranks of seated technicians, fixed almost permanently to their chairs, watching dozens of screens in the chamber. This room was lighted by a series of red bulbs, giving the room an even more oppressive feeling than it otherwise could.

At the end of the gauntlet of SONAR and RADAR personnel was the single officer responsible for incoming and outgoing transmissions made by the battle group, who turned to his commanding officer, a small white paper, like those used in other countries as purchase receipts, in his outstretched hand.

Grabbing and inspecting the message forced a grim look onto the warriors face, and without stopping he leaned into the communications terminal and crafted a simple response...

Community, Conformity, Stability

The Dominion was coming, it was only a matter of time before these foreigners found out. Padnikov ordered the planes into the air...

Perhaps Enkur was being mischievous, though the Jenrakians cared very little as they continued their onward ravages against the Undershi military, their Vizith cannons firing and blasting up dust and stone and bone amongst a sea of flames. The grass were billowing in the soft wind, as the fire flickered and licked amongst the battlefield, the airy, cloudy, colourless scene emitted by a soft glimmer of gunfire that popped from left and right. Claws tall and long still burst out legion upon legion of tanks, firing madly as they assumed formation, stealth soldiers creeping amongst the ranks, invisible to the naked eye. They held their sleek rifles well, and they fired amongst their comrades, the Vizicistra rampaging like madmen.

The enemy forces were thick, were extremely stubborn, and they continued to fight against Hahkrun’s relentless assaults. Every second of every minute of every hour the Vizith pounded out bomb-like shells against the enemy lines, fireballs and gas seeping out as the force rattled the ground itself. It was quiet, once more, before another blast came up, pushing and grinding and pushing and grinding. Boom, boom. It cried amongst the battlefield. Boom, boom. It cried once more. Aircraft above in their thin paper armour battled and squared against each other, their machine guns and missiles ripping through the skies, slashing through the air like knives. The bombs were high, the blue, sleek, beautiful bombs. It was only a moment, before they fell, and all time stopped.

It was in this second, that these four bombs, had issued a shocking wave of doom, but not to men. It was a doom of energy, a doom of machines, as every electrical device within their targeted range had shut off, and would stay so for a few days. This move would give the Jenrakians their incredible advantage; a civilization built on the sword and the shield, a people who fought hand to hand and where the weakest of the Jenrakians could pummel men with ease. The Tsellians were proud of their strict adherence to strength and power, and now it would begin against their Undershi neighbours. As guns were put away, and swords drawn, they would revert to how the apocalypse was meant to be.

“Amongst brazen shields and sorrowed swords we rise, that in the blue moonlight and the yellow sun we rise. That together, we are one, but apart we stay as a risen group, that no matter what we are, unity will keep us from damnation, and lead our bloody carcasses to salvation. We will bring the doom of our enemies to their feet, and let them knock upon the ground, for our compassion is so great, that we give them herald passage. Rise!” Hahkrun cried, as his fist was lifted into the air, slowly opened as a sliver of blood trickled from his fingers.

Perhaps there was something to be known of Jenrak. That although they are seen as one empire, they are divided. They were split into four main categories – the militaristic Gelectriax, the compassionate Viraranaar, the rich and influential Aulocos, and the devout and fanatic Authaulus. It was these four main domains that built the Jenrakian empire, and served as a means to take the country should they be as they were. But not this time. The empire was not divided – it was unified under the Therax crown for the apocalypse, and that made things all the more difficult for invaders to deal with. As the Gelectriax navy rallied itself to meet the Leafanistan enemy amongst their waters, their mines blistering in fire, the Viraranaar aircraft were flying overhead as Aulocos infantry manned the beachhead. Each were deadly to their own actions, and while their southern brothers faced heel and toe against the Undershi, the small roster prepared here, their main forces upon the mainland of Haasdra.

Firewalls were lit up in the sea, creating blockades of flames against the enemy, as Jenrakian bombers flew overhead, their wings high and their missiles primed, the targeting ships nearby to prevent inaccuracy on their part. More death would mean more entrance to heaven.

Perhaps Enkur was being mischievous, though the Jenrakians cared very little as they continued their onward ravages against the Undershi military, their Vizith cannons firing and blasting up dust and stone and bone amongst a sea of flames. The grass were billowing in the soft wind, as the fire flickered and licked amongst the battlefield, the airy, cloudy, colourless scene emitted by a soft glimmer of gunfire that popped from left and right. Claws tall and long still burst out legion upon legion of tanks, firing madly as they assumed formation, stealth soldiers creeping amongst the ranks, invisible to the naked eye. They held their sleek rifles well, and they fired amongst their comrades, the Vizicistra rampaging like madmen.

The enemy forces were thick, were extremely stubborn, and they continued to fight against Hahkrun’s relentless assaults. Every second of every minute of every hour the Vizith pounded out bomb-like shells against the enemy lines, fireballs and gas seeping out as the force rattled the ground itself. It was quiet, once more, before another blast came up, pushing and grinding and pushing and grinding. Boom, boom. It cried amongst the battlefield. Boom, boom. It cried once more. Aircraft above in their thin paper armour battled and squared against each other, their machine guns and missiles ripping through the skies, slashing through the air like knives. The bombs were high, the blue, sleek, beautiful bombs. It was only a moment, before they fell, and all time stopped.

It was in this second, that these four bombs, had issued a shocking wave of doom, but not to men. It was a doom of energy, a doom of machines, as every electrical device within their targeted range had shut off, and would stay so for a few days. This move would give the Jenrakians their incredible advantage; a civilization built on the sword and the shield, a people who fought hand to hand and where the weakest of the Jenrakians could pummel men with ease. The Tsellians were proud of their strict adherence to strength and power, and now it would begin against their Undershi neighbours. As guns were put away, and swords drawn, they would revert to how the apocalypse was meant to be.

“Amongst brazen shields and sorrowed swords we rise, that in the blue moonlight and the yellow sun we rise. That together, we are one, but apart we stay as a risen group, that no matter what we are, unity will keep us from damnation, and lead our bloody carcasses to salvation. We will bring the doom of our enemies to their feet, and let them knock upon the ground, for our compassion is so great, that we give them herald passage. Rise!” Hahkrun cried, as his fist was lifted into the air, slowly opened as a sliver of blood trickled from his fingers.

Perhaps there was something to be known of Jenrak. That although they are seen as one empire, they are divided. They were split into four main categories – the militaristic Gelectriax, the compassionate Viraranaar, the rich and influential Aulocos, and the devout and fanatic Authaulus. It was these four main domains that built the Jenrakian empire, and served as a means to take the country should they be as they were. But not this time. The empire was not divided – it was unified under the Therax crown for the apocalypse, and that made things all the more difficult for invaders to deal with. As the Gelectriax navy rallied itself to meet the Leafanistan enemy amongst their waters, their mines blistering in fire, the Viraranaar aircraft were flying overhead as Aulocos infantry manned the beachhead. Each were deadly to their own actions, and while their southern brothers faced heel and toe against the Undershi, the small roster prepared here, their main forces upon the mainland of Haasdra.

Firewalls were lit up in the sea, creating blockades of flames against the enemy, as Jenrakian bombers flew overhead, their wings high and their missiles primed, the targeting ships nearby to prevent inaccuracy on their part. More death would mean more entrance to heaven.

More and more aircraft poured into the area, bombing left and right. Nearly half the bomber force of the fleet was in the air when the EMPs hit. It was like a Tesla Coil, or perhaps a Jacob's Ladder, little bolts of electricity rose up and discharged into the air. The noise like a thousand pops.

Then the sound of failing engines, pilots screaming on open channels as they slammed a green panic button. The airframes twisting, heading closer to the ground. Then the sound of jet engines reemerged. Still at least a dozen planes had tumbled out of the sky slamming into the battlefield. Only 3 pilots managed to eject. Two had their parachutes sliced by their own airframe and slammed into the ground with a sickening crunch.

The last one eyed Undershi forces and took out a tiny Leafanistani Flag and started waving it at them. At the same time he unholstered his MS-58 Special SMG in case of danger. Front-Line Leafanistani Aircraft always had a green panic button to engage a bare-bones vacuum tube powered flight computer. Their RADAR systems thudded back to life using the barely useful RADAR. They now took advantage of the well designed aircraft's visibility. Their missiles were now defunct, and they were simply dropped on the enemy. Those with bombs did it the old fashioned way. Lined up a target, dived and dropped a bomb. Strafing missions began of rear-line artillery units, many of the aircraft were returning, the pilots wanting to be rotated to 'working' aircraft.

Soon radios crackled back to life as EMP alerts sounded throughout the fleets. The landing craft with the 'Foreign Legions' suffered the worst fates. They were poorly equipped anyway, now they had no way of knowing the horrible firewall they were entering. The high thick walls of their LST-X4s ensured most passed through safely but a few tried to turn their tubs around. 2 platoon's were punished, their LST-X4 sailing to its target and dropping its ramp to reveal nothing but decapitated corpses. Another ship had to execute its executive officer. It was better to have even a minuscule chance of surviving on the battlefield.

The ramps slammed into the river delta, the soft sand slowing their advance as tracked armored personnel carriers moved out into the maelstrom.

Oddly enough the 'simple' devices were their savior. The APCs were license built copies of the HT-101 Vanquish, and most only held a simple radio and a mechanical targeting system at best. Some didn't even hold a mechanical targeting computer.

The actual landing force was delayed as they had to clear the firewalls for the rubber hovercrafts and RIBs to make it to shore. 'Modern' APCs and IFVs were immobile and engineers rushed to replace damaged components and frantic calls were in order to rapidly airlift reserve vehicles that used purely mechanical systems to Raithal Forward Bases.

The navy was relatively unharmed. A few sailors had found the wrong end of a spark and were in infirmaries, but their systems were EMP hardened long ago. As the Jenrak fleet approached at long range the fleet's 2 Superdreadnoughts opened fire with experimental 'charges'. A ferromagnetic exterior held several ultracapacitors that maintained a magnetic field holding in an iron plasma. The explosion from the rapid expansion of the ionized gas would be more powerful than any explosive. Yet these 'charges' were troublesome, several detonated prematurely, as a result they clouded RADAR temporarily for nearby ships. Long range missiles erupted from the unmanned arsenal ships as they sailed headlong into combat. They were mostly antiradiation missiles, designed to disable detection systems, with a few thermobaric missiles following them. Their front mounted fully automatic dual 122mm guns roaring.

Fighter-Bombers roared toward the Jenrak fleet, unleashing missiles loaded with Mix-44, a sticky RADAR and IR reflective substance. Designed to overload and confuse detection systems and also made it easy to detect enemy ships. It was non-water soluble, flame-resistant, and only dissolved with use of caustic nitric acid which would dissolve the sensitive detection devices.

Submarines unleashed torpedo waves while those with VLS unloaded their cruise missiles toward the advancing Jenrak forces. Most of them turned tail and ran for Raithal to reload.

Su-84s, becoming increasingly rare in the Leafanistani Arsenal due to slowed production and maintaince problems that plagued those aircraft, soared into the air to meet the enemy bombers. Their missiles held inside the protective belly of aircraft carriers survived the EMP attack and lept out of their hardpoints to meet the enemy. A few launched a massive missile that contained a similar plasma charge, designed to create the same plasma overpressure and heat flash that the naval versions seeked to create. These usually survived all the way to their target due to the slower acceleration of the missiles.

The advances of modern warfare disappeared as fighter-bombers strafed their targets and dive bombed their enemies. Slide rules clacked into life on the battlefield as the first of the artillery guns came live. It was quaint to commanders as MicroSats were launched to temporarily replace dead satellites to help them understand the unfolding catastrophe.

Back at home war production was at an all time high. Slaves from foreign conquests and slaves purchased from foreign marketers worked in factories. These were mostly women as the men had been sent to combat.

Another fleet was set to launch from Rovonia but it would take a week to arrive, the battle would have ended by then. Combat Hydrofoils with extra fuel were already moving into the battle. A few remnants of the Raithal Navy also sailed with hastily painted Leafanistani colors.

Encrypted Message to Undershi Naval Forces

We require your assistance, rally all you can behind us.

[END]

Diplomacy

The Leafanistani offer of aid was accepted eagerly by the beleagered Undershis. They needed the help. A message was sent that the Undershis would do all that they could do.

Fight to the Death

Lord General Haland Aric examined the map, and cursed. The massive waves of Jenakian attackers were sweeping down from the north, and were nearing Martyr's Gate, that massive construction of steel and concrete that acted as a forward supply hub for the Undershi armies. It was a massive fortress, sure... but it would fall, of that he was sure. He sighed, and ordered the Colonel Castellan in command to rig the supplies with explosives to prevent them from falling into enemy hands, then turned to the much more serious problem that faced him.
The enemy army was moving ever closer to the Undershi heartland... inch by inch, they were advancing over piles of their own dead to attack the Undershi. Their recent EMP attacks had been... unexpected. It was only the total bloody-minded fanatical paranoia of the Undershi High Command that had prevented total disaster. Undershi equipment was fairly resistent to EMPs to start with, then there was the fact that they had had a plan in place for such an event...
They had bombarded the enemy lines non-stop for two days, using city-killer warheads on ICBMs... they had put their strategic weapons on-line, and used them for on-call fire support. And then... and then, they'd fired off a pair of warheads behind the lines, and had struck at a pair of enemy cities... a reminder, they had said to him, to the enemy... to remind them to never try anything like that again.
IIS divisions were rushed into the lines, a general collapse was prevented... but the enemy had more men, it was that simple. More men, and the willingness to use them... while each True Undershi shock-trooper was precious beyond compare, a part of the True Undershi race... something that could not readily be sacrificed.

The troops that had landed on Undershi territory were slowly but surely cutting a path toward overwhelmed Undershi forces. Their plan was to form a second front then create a switchblade maneuvers with fast armored units and slice up Jenrak forces, move up the front and continue in this manner.

The bulk of the non-Foreign Legion troops landed on Undershi behind their sacrificial comrades and moved to rapidly shore up the flank and prepare for the closing of the blade.

The IIS divisions held. They held as the enemy threw everything that they had against them, held as Undershi aircraft fought their battle overhead, sending Jenakian planes falling from the sky in flames. FAEs and tactical nukes sent collumns of flame up into the sky as Jenakian units vanished in the fires. Death and destruction reigned unchallenged as the True Undershis fought with the mad dedication of the warrior elite of a faltering autocracy. Victory seemed possible now. They only had to hold.
And hold they did. Everything was thrown into the fighting. The reserves were depleated, the Final Reserves called up...
Norm workers were taken from the unnecessary factories in their hundreds of thousands, and were thrown into the flames. Every available man of military age was serving the state, every factory that still functioned turned out the cold steel weapons of the Undershi war machine.
True Undershi children as young as fourteen were turned out of the boarding schools where the state educated and trained them, were armed with weapons of war, and were sent into the fighting, to form Second Line units, so that the soldiers of those units could be sent off to the First Line units and the Strike divisions.

Vignette

Hans-Dieter Baumann was scared. He was fifteen years old. He was a True Undershi, and he was afraid. The train moved along the rail line, an old diesel train.
He clutched the rifle he had been issued yesterday like a child only slightly younger who was not of the True Undershi military elite might have clutched a doll or a stuffed animal, and he glanced around the rail car.
The other members of his class filed it, 49 other scared little boys with rifles and ill-fitting body armour. He noticed the Sergeant Instructors sitting at the front of the car, and he examined them.
There was Simon, stroking the rubber grip of his shock-maul, that giver-of-pain... he was a hard man, who seemed so stiff and formal and odd... who screamed in the night when he remembered the Southland campaigns, Maoist guerillas with knives...
Something to be afraid of.
Then there was the other man, Heinrich Muller. He wore the Undershi Cross on the neck of his uniform, the silver glinting in the fading light... he was a hero. He had led his men in a great victory, seizing the evacuation routes during the invasion of Saint Rynald. He had cleared the roads for the oncoming IIS armour by machinegunning the refugees, then ordering the tanks to roll over the dead and the dieing... a cold man, with gaunt features that any believer in physognomy would say showed his inner cruelty. Hard men, of a hard people.
The train rolled on, into the north, towards Martyr's Gate and the front.

“This scorched earth policy is becoming a nuisance.” Hahkrun said, his fingers clacking and clicking amongst themselves, the steel twinkles audible amongst the quiet chambers of his room. “The Undershi are strong, yes, but stubborn. They fail to realise the effectiveness of my men.” He raged on, the commanders behind him watching the scene unfold slowly, as Leafanistan soldiers attempted to crack their way up to assist their Undershi allies. It would prove very useless – Jenrakian infantry had a track record of never losing against enemy infantry, and with the elite Sadicistra forces in the helm, it would matter little in terms of logistics.

Camps of blood and bone built from corpses littered the battlefields, the Sadicistra cooking and burning their dead for food, ravaging corpses like animals as they scavenged the thickened bloody fields. The electromagnetic bombs gave them the time they needed to bring the Claws a bit further, so production could begin. However, more land needed to be taken, and it was a matter of time before the Azhuj took Hahkrun away from the front lines and assigned someone else. Hahkrun did not enjoy being taken away from battle, and while he was a dangerous foe, there were those who were much more difficult to deal with than him; Thaurausk, Rashkta, Authaulus. If any of them were placed on the battlefield, it would not be a campaign anymore. It would be a struggle. But it mattered little.

“Oh dear Enkur. I truly hate this annoyance.” He said, as the Leafanistan infantry began to push their way past the weak Jenrakian western front. “Send the Sadicistra to deal with the new arrivals, keep the lancers on the southern front. Form a diagonal front and keep it. I will ask for Rashkta’s Azgrha-Kriann.”

A message to the Leafanistan intruders.
I know not of your visits to my lands, but I would prefer it that you leave. This is an internal dispute between my dear neighbours to the south and I.

Hahkrun

OOC: Sorry about the long time to post. I've been pretty sick and my eye had to be 'fixed' after a hot piece of grease hit me. I'll get a better post up soon, I promise.

Command Superdreadnought Anticipation

The guns fired providing heavy fire support for the ground forces. Occasionally a report would come in that they had accidentally annihilated a platoon of Foreign Legion. No matter.

"Sir the IIS divisions are holding, though they tell us that they are calling up their reservists."

"Bring out the FAEs, at a least a 1 kilometer distance, cut the Jenrak supply lines, make reinforcing hell. With our support aircraft we have air superiority. We can pound them to nothing."

More and more Lu-12 Canarys took off with FAEs and began dropping their weapons on the soft infantry trying to support their comrades in battle.

"Also sir, we have lost most of the Foreign Legion, fewer than 40,000 remain, and those are mostly the heavy infantry with vehicle support."

"And the status of the 'Raithal Volunteers'?"

"56,000 are nearing our fleet's position and preparing to land. Due to the lack of supplies, they are mostly supplied with Mobile Infantry equipment, light armor. We've supplemented with heavier vehicles from whatever that was conquered. They are mostly irregulars, only 9,500 are actual military, and only 1,200 more are reservists. The rest are the impressed. They can shoot and are armed with the incendiary rounds though for extra rounds we are using left over 5.56mm NATO rounds from other armies."

"Land them in the forward beaches, the ones that aren't completely secure, and make sure those boats come back and don't stick around too long. We need them for the next batch. Some cargo planes have some POWs from old Halberdgardia and they will need transport."

"Yes, and there is a problem of this message."

Reply

Undershi is an ally, an old one. Perhaps we can stop putting each other to the hammer. Astronomers say that the prophesy of our Father and his fathers is true. There is another world. a virgin world, and we shall go there.

[END]

The 12 Cosmonauts in their sleeper ship were asleep. 6 men, 6 women, each one a loving couple. Their sleeper ship was powered by a fission reactor. Their main drive was going to be a series of tactical nuke detonations. They would use Jupiter's gravity to swing toward PGX-445. The ship left Earth Orbit, the first blast sent them roaring away, their fuel tanks for their other boosters inert for another 30 years. They needed to save fuel for the 8 light year journey. They were going to get there first.

Make naught of fruits bear with this world to yours, dear intruders. Hastened the doom you may.

Authaulus.

Vizith fire had spread through as an arch of flame and destruction, craters ripped open as the line of soldiers formed against both enemies, paratroopers and fast light tanks pushing to smash behind enemy lines, their rifles firing skilfully, as weaker artillery fire blazed up a shield of steel and smoke, shrapnel rain falling from the sky, small twinkles as the metal shards shimmered and glimmered in the sunlight. The dust flew up before it slowly settled down, the grey patches of the clouds now fully covering the noon light. Warmth was gone, as the cold and bleak air of war was upon them all, the red tears of death dripping amongst the pale green leaves, emerald rivers shining with ruby droplets as sword-shaped lines stretched upon the cracked deltas.

The cold splash of life within the stream was thin, the clouds overhead dripping slightly with a pat of rain dribbling down upon them, as thunder roared and lightning crackled, blankets of water falling down on both sides. It was just as Therax had prophesized – the first rain of the tears of death, for the unholy. Dunes were turned to nothing, as their sand drifted into mud, and the foliage thickened and drooped around them all, shields of nature pummelled as even the tenacious fires were burnt out instantly in the harsh, cold winds and rain. It was ever so cold, so chillingly unstoppable, that the breaths were icy and high and shrieking like the wind that encompassed them all, the almost like daggers of ice as it hardened to thick chunks. As hail turned once more to rain, the coldness remained.

“Keep the line still, and continue the attack.” Hahkrun ordered, as the Sandurian aircraft above stretched against both enemies, fighting furiously, holding the line valiantly as commands for more reinforcements poured through the communications. From Haasdra, Gelectriax’s elite Azhujurius prepared for their taste of war. It would be a black day, as black rain fell from above.

Gen. Adam Wincenty watched the plane outlines superimposed over red dots, representing what were now believed to be hostile warplanes. Green circles with their respective dots were hightailing it back towards the mainland. Furthermore, a few high-resolution images from the Wraiths transmitted a few visible shipping numbers and what looked like a flag with a cross surrounded by four stars. He looked bewildered to the joint chiefs, who were watching him from the safety of their respective command centers.
“Community, conformity, stability?” he repeated as if it were a question, “the fuck does that mean? I’m all for warrior poets and what not, but this? What self respecting nation responds with such a cryptic message? No matter, our brave boys in the navy will swat them like the flies they are. Launch missiles using standard protocol.”
“Aye sir,” General of the Air Force Ludwika Fryderyka dutifully responded, before relaying the doctrine to the Air Force HQ, where missile batteries would volley off Khan Class anti-shipping missiles, one per small ship, three at the mid-sized crusiers and destroyers, and five at the capital ships.
“I also want a terminal from Earth Array I to analyze that image” Wincenty commanded, while gesturing at the image of the flag. “How much time until we know who they are?”
“Five minutes, sir.” Replied Gen. Fryderyka.
“Good, good.” Answered Gen. Wincenty, as he shuffled through current deployment charts. “I see that we have the 14th and the 8th Carrier Groups on maneuvers off of Deuxieme Entreprise. I want them ready to interdict the survivors of the unidentified fleets as soon as is humanly possible.”
“Aye aye sir.” Answered
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
“First strike, first kill” and “Overwhelming opposition” was the mantra that the missile corps of Mer des Ennuis took to heart. Within one minute, thirty seconds of the order being passed down, launch codes were entered; targeting solutions were entered into computers and checked 20 times; and the unnecessary step of pushing a big red button labeled “launch” was done. A grand total of 156 95-ton missiles were launched at the unknown and as of yet unidentified fleets. Half way across the nation in the city of Ville des Ames, distribution facilities that had long laid dormant, save for the occasional missile test, received delivery order. By the end of the day, the unmarked, unescorted heavy semi-trucks of Global Tetrahedron, Inc. would deliver the next load of conventional Khan Class missiles to the nearly emptied missile sites. The sudden storage deficiency would be corrected by the end of the week.

OOC: Sorry for the long absence. We had an ice/snow storm, and I lost phone and internet service in my house.

Martyr's Gate Supply-Fortress, Undershi Frontlines

The Undershi observers watched the approaching horde from the safety of Martyr's Gate's massive reinforced concrete walls. They saw the oncoming horde... and they knew no fear. They were IIS men, chosen for this task by their commanders, chosen for fearlessness and fanaticism and the insane dedication they had all displayed towards the Undershi Empire.
Their task was a simple one. Call down artillery fire on the approaching horde until it swarmed near the mighty fortress itself, at which point they were to activate its internal defenses... and then... then they were to detonate the remaining supplies... starting with the unexpended portion of its nuclear stockpile.
One hundred and twenty megatonnes, contained only by so much steel and concrete... the fortress would vanish into a flaming wreak, the surroundings would turn to so much glass and bone and flesh alike would melt and flow like mercury... and they would die, yes... but they would die like heroes of old, perishing upon a massive pyre, taking untold thousands of their enemies with them. They would not be denied.

Jenrakians had little patience, even for war. When the Undershi continued to evade their gift, then there was nothing left to do than to take drastic action against them. From Haasdra, nuclear artillery began to prepare themselves, slight nuclear shells shipping out from the city towards the southern battlefield, seismic troops preparing station as they looked onwards through the large conglomeration of men. The Sadicistra continued their rampage, rushing through the airy glens as the forests were thickened and aghast with blood, snarling and laughing roaring through the air.

Many of them were chewing apart their own men, eating corpses and living beings alike, feasting upon the dead as they ran and fired menacingly against their foes with rifles in their hands and human hands in their steel teeth. Fanglike, dangerous enemies, the Sadicistra did not let anyone through as they continued, enemy artillery fire shaking the dense foliage yet not deep enough to cut crevasses that would show them where they were. While bodies flew into the air, screams and laughter of both death and surprise, carnage continued and religious fingers crept ever closer to another foe.

A village burned in the distance, to the north of his position. IIS Colonel Heinrich Muller checked the placment of what anti-tank guns he had, and smilled a grim, satisfied, smile.
An odd mix of IIS and Regular Army units held the ridge he was making into his strong-point - they were the remnants of several units that had been forced to retreat.
Now he intended to stop the retreat, at least for a little... and to hit back against the enemy.
He had eight Drake MBTs, twelve Viper IFVs and a trio of Dragon Assault Guns. Additionally, he had six Python Towed Field Guns that had been pulled by Vipers, and one single Anaconda SPG.
A sizable force. Not enough to turn the tide, but enough to hurt the enemy.
He would wait for their advanced scouts to finish slaughtering and raping the norm villagers he'd abandoned to the north, finish burning the village, then resume their advance.
This time, though... this time, he would be ready for them. As they crested the hill, they would face a wall of Undershi fire. He would destroy their scouting forces, then disengage before the main force could strike back. A good plan.

Cpl. 'Jo' Mystaski stared down the scope of her massive 15.5mm Anti-Materiel Rifle as she sighted one of the living monsters. She pulled the trigger and a few seconds later the round arrived, piercing its head and scattering its brains all over the ground only to be eaten by others. The onslaught continued while command continued with their hammer & anvil plan. She retreated back to her BDRM-3 Scout and drove off to regroup with her Foreign Legion.

Undershi divisions soon found themselves supported by ragtag Foreign Legion troops with heavily armed handlers flanking them to ensure they stayed loyal.

By now, heavy bombers had crossed the globe while being refueled in midair and began powerful bombing runs on the enemy. They weren't guided, they were just meant to be sheets of explosive that carved massive holes in their lines. The crews were machines, glowing green consoles that mercilessly handed out death. Each bomber was a retrofitted older model in keeping with economical standards and most were equipped with RADAR guided 23mm cannons for escort duties.

At sea, hundreds more APCs and landing craft were rushing ashore, guns pounding to reinforce a beachhead and push the Foreign Legion forward and use them to blunt the continued Jenrak offensive.

"I am truly tiring from these interventions. Enkur must truly enjoy mocking me." The Lord said angrily, as he looked from his command center, his eyes scanning the screens as both yellow and red spots were flaring all over the area, soldiers and units alike licking their arms as the strong flow of the raging Jenrakian military moved at incredible speeds. When fighting in the dangerous and barren climate of the desert, speed was the only decisive factor on a term of equal strategy. While the Undershi were most likely devising something, he did not care, for his attention was directed at the requests he made. Continued flanks from the offensive armies were needed, and the south was becoming angry at his pointless requests. While Jenrakians enjoyed war, there was no point in fighting when not as many as wanted were dying. They needed to get the path to a city fast.

"Fight the Leafanistan." Edoqlius said, watching as land mines upon the naval shores were blasting up, rocketing blazes of flaring smoke shining in the sky, the sand like a fog that grimaced in the heat of the blazing sunny waves. The mists of water frothed and surfed about, splashing and cracking against the rocks, the gunfire a light of red and orange flaming lead that zipped from one side to another. "This unprecedented intervention is not needed." He said, snapping his fingers as the soldiers nodded, their orders clear. "Bring out the Vizith Repeaters and turn this coastline into fire."

Steel cannons were long, sleek, and thin, barely enough to shield them from enemy fire, yet that was not their use. Cannons were loaded, a small belt of artillery that was nailed into the concrete slabs built amongst the beaches, their wires and their stapling screws tying them securely and deeply into the ground. The quietness was unnerving before the sea, enemy fire blasting up torrential rain and sand as the soldiers set up their defense. "Keep the line continuous, do not deviate." Edoqlius ordered, as the cannons roared, jettisons of explosive flame crashing and shaking the earth under them, making the rambling Kraven Cannons and the relentless Kriegzimmer technology look quite pale by comparison. This was the height of the Tsellian technology, a breed of military advancements from around the world, all melded in the created of the stationary defensive cannon.

Walls of yellowish water were high, arsenic-like gas seeping through the air as the pungent smell became a corpse-filled stench, blood seeping through like creeks amongst the once prestigious and beautiful golden beaches. "Keep firing." Edoqlius ordered, looking on as roaring fire lit up in a wall of flame, soldiers gunning each other viciously as the intense heat made only the intense fire worse.

Anti-aircraft was effective in dealing against all kinds of enemy aircraft, so when the intruding bombers were coming with ideas of ripping through Jenrakian ranks, they were prepared. One bomb dropped is a much better risk than two, so suicidal UAVs scattered the air, flying with precision as they flipped and turned, pulling themselves along as the force required to dodge at such speeds regularly threw them off course. Missiles blanketed the sky with blue light, and the fallout of steel and smoke made a gray patch of earth upon the grounds.

A village burned around their Dragon Assault Gun as they withdrew.
IIS Sergeant Wan Baker screamed an order to his crew - load an anti-tank round.
They were the rear guard for the Undershi forces in this area, just west of Martry's Gate. They would hang back, fire a shot or two, destroy an enemy tank or scout car and then withdraw towards the tree line where a battery of Python and Rattlesnake AT guns supported by machineguns would ambush whatever persued them as they withdrew.
The enemy was overly agressive - perhaps that was his weakness. Overly agressive, willing to die in great numbers for their god... a willingness the Undershi would be only too happy to oblige.
He frowned slightly in the helmet of his vehicle-crew half-armour, uneasy at the thought of being this far out ahead of the lines, unsupported... but the Dragon Assault gun, with its 500mm main gun, light SAM battery, CIWS pods and anti-personel Gauss automatics was meant to opperate on its own - it was a Mobile Fortress more than a tank or an Assault Gun, and could deal with anything that came its way.
All it lacked was speed... speed and manuverability. That didn't matter - it would fire, engage the enemy and withdraw while still fighting, to let the Pythons and Rattlesnakes punish the enemy as it persued, drawn towards a heavily armoured but slow target that had hurt them...
A good plan, he guessed. A good plan.

Nuclear bombardment. Such the thought of the word would send the entire continent in a billowing blast of flames, yet the Jenrakians cared very little for such a trivial word. As war waged on, the Jenrakians grew more to liking their Undershi opponents, close enough to see them as brethren. And brethren do not make other brethren suffer. The quickest way to save them is to give them a quick and painless death.

Nothing was more quick and painless than engulfing both Undershi and Jenrak in a nuclear bombardment, like brothers. Silos from all over Jenrak and its city states were preparing, many aimed at its own heart, others aimed at Undershi. Nevertheless, the count was so large that neither country's defenses could hold off enough missiles to prevent complete annihilation of both their empires. Suicide is proud when committed with honor.

Nuclear bombardment. Such the thought of the word would send the entire continent in a billowing blast of flames, yet the Jenrakians cared very little for such a trivial word. As war waged on, the Jenrakians grew more to liking their Undershi opponents, close enough to see them as brethren. And brethren do not make other brethren suffer. The quickest way to save them is to give them a quick and painless death.

Nothing was more quick and painless than engulfing both Undershi and Jenrak in a nuclear bombardment, like brothers. Silos from all over Jenrak and its city states were preparing, many aimed at its own heart, others aimed at Undershi. Nevertheless, the count was so large that neither country's defenses could hold off enough missiles to prevent complete annihilation of both their empires. Suicide is proud when committed with honor.

She could hear it now, words, many words, strong words with plenty of shock language. They were the mainstay of politics and brought her out of her long sleep.

"Painfully obvious."

It was cold, always cold, she could feel feeling again, though only with her left arm. She could see again, it was getting warmer.

"Nuclear stockpile active."

Now her eyes are wide open, the other presence in her head. She could see the long table, and the ethereal vision of her father, High Father, Glorious High Father, but a dead idol.

"First strike is necessary to prevent more casualties."

She looked closer, her eyes moving around to her sister, to other advisers. She didn't recognize many of them, most of them were new. Her eyes returned to the table, at some papers, maps mostly, deployment records. She wasn't controlling them. She was hot, most of them were in various states of undress, half of them were naked.

"Your approval, all of..."

She wiggled her fingers and saw her eyes turn down to the hand, and saw her left hand was cloaked in a black leather glove. The uncovered right hand stopped the wiggling. She had to strike back, take back what was hers, stop the escalation, do something.

"What do you think?"

Her left hand shot out, overpowering her right hand and leapt at her own throat. Samantha fell out of her chair, gasping and choking. Her sister stabbed a cold needle into her neck, then Samantha was tired again.

Encrypted Message to Undershi

Our sensor readings detect nuclear warheads being activated, satellites are showing increased activity. Advise.

[END]

When the Jenakian silos went active, the remaining Undershi silos did the same. If Jenak launched their missiles, Undershi would do the same. Megatonne upon megatonne would fall upon the cities of Jenak... while other missiles aimed elsewhere - there was, after all, the aftermath to consider.
Back in the '60s, when Mutually Assured Destruction was the buzzword of the day, strategists had pointed out the issue of the "Laughing Third," how any power, no matter how minor, that managed to escape the atomic holocost would inevitably become the super-power that would rule over whatever remained after the war.
The Undershi had considered that too, and they had found the idea of any nation escaping unscathed when their proud nation went down in flames to be an unacceptable one - they would rule, or all would perish.
Now it looked like that second option was becoming more and more likely. So be it. They would do what needed to be done to ensure that the Undershi would be slaves of no one.
Their missiles aimed not only at Jenak... but also at other nations. Many others. If Undershi went down in flames, then so would the world...
Mutually Assured Destruction. Assured. The world would never be the same again.

MAD - such a word gave fear and security, but it only kept people for so long. It was not long before Enkur demanded the revival of the old world to build the black cage upon the silver chains once more. Flying high into the sky, the nuclear missiles aimed at both Undershi and Jenrak, the missiles flying everywhere from all over, the fingers of destruction reaching out.

Death.
Death stalked the land. Cities burned, books burned, brick and mortar in buildings burned... people burned.
Undershi City, protected as it was by thick networks of ABM defenses, lasted for minutes. Almost an hour. Long enough for Aleksander Miller, the Leader of Undershi, to witness the ruin of his nation.
Saint Rynald City was the first to die, then Paxton, then Nordton, then all the other cities of the Empire, until nothing remained.
Nothing?
Nothing.
Well, almost nothing.
When the 58 and one half minutes that Undershi City had, thanks to the ABMs and the particle beams in orbit and the kinetic strikes... when that had passed, when a missile finally got through... Aleksander Miller died. He died standing in his office in the Executive Tower, looking out over his city. An old man's romanticism - the Leader went down with the state.
Yursuf Schmidt did not die. He hid, with the core of a new Empire, IIS men and Army men and men from the Ministry of Production, in the depths of the IIS bunkers beneath the city.
They survived.
Few others did - when the bombs stopped falling a few hours later, little was left. In orbit, the crew of the Undershi Space Station, their kinetic strikes and anti-satelite munitions depleated, watched the earth smoulder bellow. They waited - they had two months worth of air and water saved up, and when that was gone, well then they would land in some out of the way mountain region and set up a new Empire.
They had The Will, after all.
Beneath Undershi City, the other survivors waited, waited with twenty years supply of food, water, air and medical supplies. Plus guns. Lots of guns. Lots and lots of weapons... for when they rose from the ashes, to forge a new Undershi Empire.
In the regions that had not been hit, what few there were, the norm workers suddenly found themselves free of Undershi control. They revolted, of course... they revolted, and slaughtered the few Undershis who had survived outside of the bunkers and the space program, then collapsed into savagery themselves, savagery and neo-feudalism, mimicing their prior state of servitude.
A few Undershi escaped the purges... not many, though. Those who did fled the former Empire, and went out into the darkening world, to search for other survivors, to form a new Empire... or, just to live. They were, after all, soldiers one and all... and in the strange new world that waited for them after the bomb, there there would be a need for soldiers.
The world was darkening, was becoming cold. A nuclear winter. Nothing would grow for five years, the living would eat the dead, then sicken and die... and then the world would flower once more, and the few pitiful survivors would pull themselves onto their feet, and settle down and grow things to eat and form new Empires... and those who had been ready for such a collapse would wait to pull themselves out of the rubble, and resurect the old Empires and Republics that had brought about the collapse...

The missiles approached as Leafanistan had its own launches, sleeper ships, a dozen of them, one of them held the very seat of power in Leafanistan.

She could just barely see now, forcing her eyes open to see what was happening and she saw the sight of her dead father, staring at her, smiling and waving and finally the sedatives took affect.

The ship launched and with it, the destiny of the entire Leafanistani people went with it.

All around the country people paniked and tried to obtain their own sleeper ships or 'colony' ships that worked on a similar principle but didn't have cryogenic chambers

These blew up on the launch pad but were cleared out just as quickly to launch another one. Odds were 1 in 20 you would explode, but odds were 1 in 2 that you would die if you stayed on a rapidly poisoned earth.

Leafanistan's missiles had launched with Undershi's and their cobalt lined interiors created lethal fallout that was spreading all along the world.

Those who couldn't afford to leave scrambled into shelters built during the war with Saharistan to attempt to 'make it'.

Mass rebellions, military shooting down some privately built colony ships before they were nuked by a still loyal military.

Insanity, inhuman behavior, they were rats fleeing a sinking ship.

Vermilion. That one word explained it all, as nothing could be seen. In an instant, Haasdra lit up in a Vermilion flame, the patchy falling dusts of sombre gray drifting like snow upon the burning vestiges of the torn skies. The entire city was leveled, only monuments left in recognition of the broken city, the once grand and immense capital of one of the major religions in the world. Here, in the glassed lands of Haasdra, the heart of the Tsellian finally gave its final bout against its own viruses. It was cold after such an intensity, and from here stood the smallest vestiges of survivors, broken, shattered, burnt, but nevertheless alive. It was ordained, it seemed.

One of them, a brisk man in a thick Temsplace teal armor, his face scarred from debris and his lips flame crackled, still showed the burnt marks of his armor, his shoulders lightly slumped as his fingers were in tight embrace of each other, his chest rising and falling. He stood here, amongst the pile of men and blood and dust and bones, in certain victory and gruesome pride. Nobody won. Nobody won the nuclear abomination that ravaged an entire continent, hundreds upon millions dead. Without its leader, Jenrak was cracking, tearing, shearing into threads as the snowy ashes fell down with anger.

"Here be the ruins of Haasdra, the end of the edge of the world." He spoke softly, proud and sad, his fingers gripping tightly before letting go from the intense pain. There was no sunlight, no rays of dancing hope - only a gray world that was raped and ravaged, a black sky with jet dark lines; a demon's sky. From here, amongst the hot earth and cold winds, the craters of doomed structures and the hidden cries of lost souls, the one Temsplace stood, lone and sorrowful. He stood there, in his teal armor, still shining slightly as a last bastion of green in this gray grass.

No one got away unscathed. No one. Every city... every single city with more than a million inhabitants, plus many smaller cities and towns that had happened to posses critical industries... or that had been targeted in those last desperate moments when madness ruled the world and panic and death were the order of the day, when ICBMs had been launched with little thought for aiming, by desperate, horrified, men who had known that their families were dead and that they had only moments to go until they joined them, moments in which they might avenge the dead of their own nation... or, at the very least, strike at the enemy and spread the pain and horror to others. To others. Always others.

IIS Bunkers

Yursuf Schmidt sat quietly behind Aleksander Miller's desk, staring at the map in front of him. A map of the world, with all the major populations shown. A map that shaded the continents in terms of population... one which had had red painted onto it to mark those areas where nothing could live.
Most of the land areas of the map were red. Most? Almost all. Almost all of the human race had just killed itself off, almost all of the True Undershi race as well.
Almost.
Almost. There would be a tommorrow - the Enviormental Officer of the Ministry of Production had been clear about that. Five years of nuclear winter, then decades of huricanes and typhoons... famine, pestilence, the dead outnumbering the living by such a degree that there would not only be no one to bury the dead, but no one to even consider burning them... plague.
He didn't know which other nations had unleashed horror weapons, biological plagues... but he knew that most, if not all, of those horror weapons would decay and deform to a degree where they would no longer be dangerous in a matter of less than five years. Hopfully.
As for the nerve gas and the clouds of chemical weapons that hung over destroyed cities like some fog from hell... that too would disipate. It would break up, deform and disperse, to most likely kill the majority of the world's birds before it deformed...
No more song birds. Appropriate. The reports estimated five years or so until the nerve gasses dispersed - time enough. Time enough.
He sighed, and leaned back in the chair. They'd come perilously close to annihilation with that war. Dangerously close. Accoarding to estimates, less that one hundred million people, humans and True Undershis, remained alive on the earth. More than seven billion were dead.
He thought, for a moment, of the animals and the plants. Humans brought the war upon themselves - what of the others? He thought of flowers and trees, things that the brutal industrial asthetic of the Undershi had little time for.
They hadn't deserved this.
The Enviormental Officer estimated that something like seventy percent of species on earth would go extinct in the next year, and that by the end of the first decade, that number would be closer to eighty percent, as carion rotted and disease spread.
No one had deserved this.
Quietly, so that the others could not hear them, the new Leader of the Undershi leaned over the map of the dead and the dieing, clutched his head in his hands, and wept.
No one had deserved this.

To the ancient, death was a the ticket out. to the Jenrakians who lived today, it seemed as if death was certainly a more feasible option, trickling white ashes falling down like snowflakes as flames burnt bodies to a crisp, entire cities still burning malevolently. The very few Jenrakians who lived did not live happily ever after - in contrast, it became a hell of never ending proportions, scavenging and trying to live day after day, harshness of the weather billowing upon them. One of them, a fairly young silver haired woman with the streaks of experience amongst her, her head bleeding as she groaned, pushing aside the rubble. "So this is the beginning." She said, smiling evilly as she brought herself together. It was a renewed world, and with resources as scarce as they are, a new empire could be forged.

OOC: Well, the war is over... do you want to start a new thread for "five years after the bomb"?

OOC: Well, the war is over... do you want to start a new thread for "five years after the bomb"?

OOC: Okay. Do you have msn or aim?

OOC: Okay. Do you have msn or aim?

OOC: No, I don't. Can we TG each other or something?

OOC: Sure. Send me what you have in mind.