Gulls soared through the chill winter air, waves plashed gently against unknown shores rushing over broken rock, the rock strewn beach, the air was thick and heavy as a cold fog swept inland, over an expansive forest, great majestic pine trees rose to scrape the sky, their needles glistening subtly in the morning light, clearings dotted here and there amongst the trees were near hidden by the sheer scale of the forest, in these clearings hid monuments of a time past, godlike figures rode off great plinths, while the expanse of black stone beneath them was carved with line upon line of cryptic script, their meaning hidden from the casual viewer, who could know what this script said, these monuments seemed as one with nature, the grasses of the forest floor did not encroach upon the black stone, the edifice remained un-cracked by wind, nor touched by rain, still as smooth as the day it had been manufactured, the stone figure on top retained the clarity it had, when first carved, it’s spear leveled high into the air, it’s majestic figure filled with a divine grace, as it faced in the direction of a high cliff bluff, as a crack of thunder filled the air.
The skies now overcast, the winds began to pick up as the seas crashed at the cliffs, at the top perched high vaunted structures, constructed out of a black Obsidian, highlighted and inlaid with a brilliant silver tracing over the surface in strange uniform patterns, of some hidden significance, the town curved round the cliff to the shore, where a dock spread out across the surface of the pearly blue water, several ships were moored to the piers, Personnel stalked across the Pier’s, dock offices and maintenance staging areas were perched to the rear of the port, at the mouth of the port, great rocky pillars rose up, near half way rising out of the rock seamlessly were a pair of towers, with several balconies hanging off their sides, a number of ships lurked within the four armed star flying high in the winds, flapping and snapping about the bridge towers of the vessels, while port personnel oversaw the loading equipment, their thick tunics shielding them against the cold, their yellow highlights contrastingly starkly against the black.
The Town itself was curled around the cliff and perched upon the rise, it’s proud structures stood tall above the landscape, the town hall was atop the cliff, it’s back to the ridge, hemmed by a beautifully carved wall like barrier, a large plaza stretched out in front of the building, grand and wide, and dotted with strange pillar like obelisks, the town hall itself rose grandly to touch the skies, it’s tiered towers reaching for the hidden stars above, Novan flags billowed from the spires and images adorned the facets of it’s marvelous construction.
“Now Vistakal, We are unaccustomed to visitors from the military, particularly ones of stature such as yourself, what can I do for you this somewhat gloomy day?” purred the Councilor of the town, his high collar pulled up against the cold, rising up to just slightly above the nose, the blue flares on his Governmental Tunic, the caligraphs covering the right shoulder epaulet spoke of his office, his eyes were of guarded expression, and his thick brown hair was ruffled by the winds, as he took in his visitor with a casual glance, he turned fractionally, motioning inside, from the balcony, to re-enter his office.
“Zaquzen, the view was most lovely, and I must admit, I myself am unaccustomed to liaising in such a matter, but I felt it pertinent to investigate how things were progressing, the Supraster has taken a personal interest in the project, as you may have heard, Be wary, it can be a Vukas with no handle, Auria Tolien is older than many of the ministers, her foresight serves her well, but some chafe at the Suprainisters mother being so active in certain issues of government,” The Vistakal finished apprehensively, such candor was not a vice, but still, the Supraster was known as somewhat of a firebrand, with few holding sway over her thoughts, of course, few dared try with that fiery temper of hers she had complicated several matters without her hand being even noticed, and it was rumored that it was she, who had orchestrated the Psychic Invasion of Xharn, dismissing such thoughts as he meandered inside the office, a bright expanse of subtly lit walls, with the regions famous tales, carved in the revered technique of Kaziktra Artisans.
“Vistakal bear it of no mind, Such is the nature of government, for their to be distrust, but we put such issues aside and work together for the good of the people and the state, you needn’t worry, and I alerted the Mechnicians at the facility to your potential arrival, I’m sure you’ll enjoy a demonstration, It’s been good talking with you,” finished the Zaquzen as he gently patted the Vistakal across the shoulder, as the man slid his high brimmed headwear back on as he showed out the Military man, his long hands with his porcelain skin apearing casually out of his long sleeved tunic as he clasped panel on the wall.
The Vistakal passed through the town square passing by the obelisks and the small few huddled around them, laying wraths at the feet of the stone dramatic images carved near the top, and at the apex was fitted a great crystal orb, swirling and twirling the almost indistinguishable majesty of the visions hovering within the sphere, which glimmered gently, before darkening as a small flock of large buzzards flew overhead, those mechanical creatures, known as Tokons, soared overhead, their dark black and purple paintwork and their dark demeanor lent them the aura of vultures, their goggle eyed features and zany expression as they cackled through the skies, surveying the ground below, soaring through the air at breakneck speed, on their regular patrol, swooping over the city in the cold mid winter air, as their shrill voices faintly echoed throughout the air, “Tokon Patrol KZK-8829 Reporting, Vrikanzavel nothing to report.”
Doomingsland
30-12-2006, 04:21
No one within the peaceful town expected the horrific scene that would soon encompass their homes. Looking out towards the water from the shore, it was impossible to see the seven inflatable assault boats speeding across the water towards shore; there was instead an eerie silence about the place. It was early in the morning and the townspeople, for the most part, still all lie in bed, save for the few dock workers and people working in the Town Hall.
As the small craft jostled over the waves, the men aboard prepared for the task they would soon have to perform. They were unusually calm for men about to go into battle; they knew they would be successful in this mission. It was, of course, God's Will that they slay these heretics. The land they were entering was one infested by blasphemous pagans and atheists. Isolationist ones at that: ones that refused to hear His Word.
For the Manus Dei commandos riding in on the small Novan coastal town, this was an unofficial Crusade. There had already been three declared ones during the bloody reign of Caesar Maximus III and Pope Innocent VI, and this one, should it gain momentum, would possibly become a fourth Crusade. That would depend entirely on the success or failure of the coming operations, of course.
All of these men had left families behind; after all, procreating was a service to God. During times of peace, they were average Doomani citizens. When the call came for Crusade, they answered and left their jobs and families to go off to bear the Cross, returning only after their holy mission had been completed. For most of the men, this was not the first crusade they’d partaken in.
Centurion Valerius Liberius Deodatus was the official commander of this little raid on this town- what was the name of this wretched place? Not that it mattered. Most of these infidels would be dead soon enough.
He sat at the bow of the lead craft, a golden rosary wound tightly around a gloved left hand gripping the foregrip of his DR-83 rifle. He stared ahead as water splashed up into his masked face, dripping down his goggles. He was supremely confident of the success of this mission- more so than most of his men, which was certainly saying something.
He muttered various prayers under his breath as they drew nearer, as did the other men.
This was just one of a few dozen towns he'd fought over in his lifetime, each one of them done in Christ's name. Each one of them a glorious victory. He had no reason to expect defeat: the Novans had no idea he and his men even existed, let alone were about to land in one of their towns.
As the craft drew nearer to shore, Deodatus motioned for the helmsman to cut the engines. Four of the seven men aboard the craft then withdrew small paddles from the floor compartment of the craft and dipped them into the water, silently propelling the rubber boat towards the docks; the other vessels had begun to do the same.
They would approach swiftly and silently.
Deodatus, noting that they would soon be upon the enemy, withdrew a long sound suppressor from his load bearing vest and began screwing it onto the barrel of his DR-83.
Ever silently, the small fleet slid across the water through the fog. Quietly, he shouldered his rifle, leaning it on the bow as the docks came into sight. Not a soul stirred about; not immediately at least.
This was good for them. The quieter they were initially, the more successful they would be in their attack. As he stared through his scope, he saw something move.
Shit.
Walking out of one of the buildings was a tall man, a Novan, dressed in the clothes of a fisherman. He strode across the dock towards one of the fishing vessels, his own apparently; he seemed preoccupied with the business of the day.
A voice crackled in his ear,
”Heathen moving across the docks…”
“He’s mine,” replied Deodatus into the helmet-mounted microphone.
He would draw first blood.
Staring through the lens of the red dot scope, he lead his target only slightly, carefully controlling his breathing. As the man prepared to climb onto the deck of his boat, Deodatus squeezed the trigger.
The weapon made a sharp, muffled sound as the round went off and gently recoiled against his shoulder; he was able to watch his target collapse and fall into the water through his scope immediately after taking the shot. There was something morbidly satisfying about it, watching his target collapse from a single well placed shot to the head.
He had seen the round impact the side of the man’s head. It literally blew a part of his skull off and sprayed the dock with blood and grey matter. Such a messy job, crusading.
Deodatus was reminded of the time he had been confronted by a Czardaian on the topic of whether or not they truly did God’s will.
”Did Christ not say to love thy enemy?” the man had said to him.
Deodatus had pondered this question for just a moment before he responded most soberly, ”You have a sister, do you not?”
“I do,” replied the man.
”If your sister was dying a slow, agonizing death; one that could not be prevented, and you were forced to put her out of his misery, would have loved her any less?”
The man was silent.
”I do love my enemy as I love myself; his soul is in agony in his sinful state, and thus I put him out of his misery.”
Only seconds after slaying the first of many townsfolk, the craft had arrived in shallow waters. Deodatus rolled off the boat into knee-deep water and waded towards the dock; it was low tide, and so he was able to move with some speed towards the ladder, which he proceeded to scale, reaching the surface of the dock.
He was followed by ten other crusaders, who quickly fanned out over the area, entering nearby shacks and garages. A few muffled gunshots had followed, as expected.
The engines of the motorboats once again revved up and the craft pulled away from shore, slinking back into the fog. They would be back for the men who had gone ashore when the mission had been completed.
The Manus Dei soldiers looked as if they could easily belong to the army of a technologically advanced and sophisticated nation: they were clad in standard Doomani digital-pattern BDUs, the same advanced body armor and tactical load bearing vests as the Legionaries wore, even the same Roman-esque helmets. They did, however, lack the armored NBC visors often worn by Legionaries on campaign; they instead wore balaclava-style masks and goggles. There were two men in each group with a tiny helmet-mounted LCD screen that folded down over one eye, displaying various tactical information.
The one main difference that distinguished these men from their Imperial Army counterparts were the arm bands that they wore: black arm bands emblazoned with a golden chi-ro, the symbol of Manus Dei.
The docks were secure within minutes of the initial landing. Reports filed in from along the coast. A total of seven Novans had been quietly neutralized. So far the operation was running smoothly.
Deodatus looked towards the top of the cliff around which the town had been built. There lay his objective. He and his men had been ordered to storm the town hall and arrest the local councilor; he was wanted by the Inquisition on various charges, including heresy, blasphemy, and infidelity among other things. This was a typical assignment.
Quietly, the soldiers began to work their way down the streets, winding around the cliff towards the town hall. They moved at a runner’s pace: the quicker they got there, the less likely they would be detected beforehand. This was primarily due to time constraints. The locals would soon be awakening to go about their daily lives, thus they had to reach the town hall as soon as possible if this operation were to succeed.
Leading the advance up the streets was, of course, Deodatus himself. He was a man who led from the front, thus always putting himself at risk. He did not fear death, for he knew martyrdom was a glorious fate; one he would be lucky to achieve.
As they began forming up around the town square, the men took up defensive positions outside the town hall behind obelisks; other teams quietly entered the other buildings around the square and began silently killing the inhabitants in their beds, taking up positions in the windows. From their cover, the men were able to observe movement on the upper levels of the complex. Two targets on the councilor’s balcony. One of them was undoubtedly the councilor, thus they would have to hold off on taking them out.
Deodatus stared as the balcony from behind his obelisk. He was able to pick out the target from the two. One of them appeared to be in a military uniform, so he would undoubtedly have to be neutralized. After several minutes of waiting, the two went back inside the building. Perfect timing.
With a hand motion from Deodatus, the men waiting behind the obelisks rose from their cover and cautiously moved towards the entrance of the town hall: a glass door. Deodatus went into a full sprint towards the door, plowing into the door shoulder first and breaking through. He quickly recovered, shouldering his weapon and firing off two two-round bursts at the two guards sitting behind the receptionist’s desk, all four rounds hitting skull.
Screams were heard coming from the other rooms and the rest of the Manus Dei operatives entered the town hall, quickly proceeding into neighboring offices, kicking down doors and ordering everyone to hit the floor.
Deodatus took his team down a hallway and up a flight of stairs towards the councilor’s chambers. As he reached the top of the stairs, he approached the doorway to the corridor, flattening his back to the wall. He peaked around the corner and was greeted with gunfire. He immediately pulled back behind the cover and signaled to his men.
One of them grabbed a flashbang off of his vest and ripped the pin out, pelting it out the doorway, bouncing it down the hall. After a deafening crack, Deodatus turned the corner once more to find the same uniformed Novan stumbling about blindly. Deodatus smirked at this sight. Once more he barreled over towards the crippled Novan, plowing him over and knocking him to the ground. He put a knee down on the chest of his foe as he drew his pugio dagger with his right hand, pinning the man’s throat to the ground with his left.
While the rest of his men were kicking down the councilor’s door, Deodatus stared down the Novan officer as the unfortunate man regained his sight. The look in the eyes of the crusader was one of pure malice. As he slowly crushed the throat of his target, the Novan struggled to get Deodatus’ hand off of his throat. It was to no avail. The centurion was a rather big man and an extremely strong one.
As Vistakal struggled to save himself, Deodatus revealed the dagger to his foe, smirking from behind the mask. Slowly he began pressing the sharp edge into Vistakal’s mouth, slicing right through both of his cheeks, pressing down towards the jaw. This caused the Novan to try to scream, but to no avail: his throat was being slowly crushed by the Doomingslander. Upon hitting the jaw, Deodatus began to saw at it, slowly cutting through. When he was satisfied with this, he pulled the blade out, seized the tongue of his victim, and sliced it off in one swift motion. Doing this had required him to release Vistakal’s throat, giving him an opportunity to breathe, but Deodatus quickly recovered and began to crush his throat even harder, flipping the dagger around in his hangs before slowly plunging it down into the man’s right eye, sticking the eye to the blade and pulling it out.
The same was done to the left eye; Vistakal had been blinded and muted. By now the man he had been torturing was nothing but a bloody mess and ceased to amuse him, so Deodatus decided to finish it. Rather than killing him outright, he instead grabbed Vistakal’s right hand and began cutting off fingers, starting with the thumbs. Vistakal blindly reached into the blackness to try to get the knife away from Deodatus. This was met by a sadistic laugh from the Manus Dei man, who then grabbed Vistakal’s left hand and began once more hacking away the fingers.
He whispered into the ear of his prey in rough Novan, ”My name is Valerius Liberius Deodatus, and I have made you blind, mute, and lame. You are no longer capable of making war on the righteous. Tell your comrades who did this to you, infidel.”
He stood up and sheathed his blade. He looked down at himself. His unfirom was completely soaked in Vistakal’s blood. Deodatus pulled his mask up and removed his goggles and knelt down once more next to a puddle of blood. Running his finger through the blood, he drew a cross on his forehead with it before pulling his mask and goggles back on. Baptism in Blood.
The rest of the crusaders had left the building. He left his victim in a bloody heap on that floor, heading back to the lobby and into the town square. Now tied to the obelisks were charred, blackened corpses. The office workers had been burned alive on them. The putrid smell of burning flesh carried through the air. The area was already devoid of
Manus Dei soldiers; Deodatus was alone.
Damnit, I hate it when this happens…
The sound of gunfire emanated from down towards the shore. Explosions sounded off in the distance. The purification had begun in earnest. Swaggering proudly through the blood-soaked streets of the now-burning town, Deodatus reveled in the carnage. As he strode down towards the shore, he could not help but spotting some movement off to the side. A man lay wounded at his doorstep. His groans and sighs begged for mercy; he begged to be put out of his misery.
That was the message Deodatus got, at least. Shouldering his weapon once more, Deodatus squeezed the trigger and snuffed yet another life away, silencing the wounded man for good. Thinking he heard more sounds coming from within the home, Deodatus pulled an incendiary grenade from off of his vest, ripping the pin out and tossing it into the doorway of the structure. He heard the screams of women and children as the grenade ignited within the house, sealing them inside. The man’s family had been hiding in terror within the building, of course.
Uncaringly, the centurion continued on his way towards the shore. The closer he got the docks, the more blood ran through the streets. Bodies were everywhere, horribly disfigured and mutilated. When the Manus Dei soldiers had begun assaulting down the hill from the town square, the townspeople fled towards the docks to try to escape. They had run right into the kill zone of the guns of three frigates waiting off shore.
There was just one rubber boat left when Deodatus reached the docks, the same he had arrived on. His men had dutifully waited for his return.
Stepping back onto the craft, he let out a mighty roar,
”DEUS VULT!”
“DEUS VULT!” roared the others in unison as the boat crept back into the fog.
It had been a bloody day, but a good one. Many souls had been saved and a heretic had been captured and would soon stand trial for his crimes.
The Tokons shrieked and squawked loudly as their Artificial lives were snuffed out, fragments descending to the town square, screeching loudly before slamming into the ground, addling the already distressed circuits of that bird of war in particular with a muffled crump as components went flying everywhere plinking loudly across the town square, the other Tokons were destroyed just as quickly, as they bounced against the walls their heads flying in a myriad of directions, whatever had shot them down had easily penetrated the armor of the Tokons, of the earliest model, their armor was even thinner than the armor of the most recent versions, they hadn’t even had a chance to do any sort of evasive, as the trio had been terminated with ruthless efficiency, but there would be more of them, soon the next patrol would be here, but would be too late to but report the horror that was about to visit the town.
Below the ensuing slaughter, in the catacombs that was the old part of the town, a small patrol stalked through the streets, in the pre morning gloom, this place would be lit as bright as day once the suns light touched the lands above, but for now the lighting was muted, the Capitol Enforcers cared not for the gloom, their helmets, visages both strange, comical and sinister held behind them advanced systems, amongst them were Night Vision, which allowed them to see the cryptic catacombs with ease, these great vaunted halls, they too glyphed with those strange Novan caligraphs, the walls were adorned with alcoves in which statues and figures in dramatic poses loomed out, images from a past shrouded in mystery, the images seemed to stare down at those below, as if to judge their descendants, and see if they were worthy of their legacy.
Above ground Havoc had indeed ensued, the brooding buildings now seemed to take on a mournful atmosphere as if alive, the cold chill winds howled through the streets as if possessed by an ancient fury of the deeds done here today, the ancient monuments, those obelisks which the invaders had so casually defiled seemed to ooze a corona of darkness, indeed those who had dared touch them would have been visited with a great nightmare to their eyes, yet dreams of a better past to a Novan, A vision of Ancient Times, of a place that was obviously not this isle, of an ancient city, ancient even in those distant times, of great towers carved out of stone, with great bridges connecting them together at unimaginable heights, of great plaza’s with obelisks such as these running around them, and high seated platforms upon which altars were set, youths in airy set white robes slowly moved, their lithe bodies dancing slowly in one spot, wielding two strange blades, held in the center with a blade sweeping out at four compass points.
A heady music filled the air, so subtle at first yet building up high and proud to a grand symphony as an individual had exited a tall building at one side of the plaza, clad in resplendent armor he came, a cape billowing out behind him, as he crossed the plaza to the altar, yet more children danced with him, yet they were garbed in a strange dress, somewhat military with nuances of a culture which hitherto had never been seen before, and out of the building which the man had previously exited, came heavy set individuals, in thick cloaks and drapery, bearing ceremonial stave and religious adornment, seeming to surge stoically on as several young maidens dressed in a pale yellow danced across the path with streamers and pale trains of desert yellow, descending upon these priests with a vengeance, swirling around them slowing their progress to a halt.
The Man rose up the Altar, and he turned around as far as he could see, taking in the sights of this most beautiful city, and he seemed to call out in a strange language, and beside him several young men acted out his tale that he told, priests, who cared not for the people who they claimed to guide down the journey, had fallen, they had lost their own path, and lived in decadence, corrupt, as the figures seemed to dissolve into their own luxury, the dancing boys stamped their feet and assumed guard poses, casting off their airy robes revealing magnificent armor beneath, of a somewhat slightly more familiar style, the armored style of Ancient Novacom, a light shimmered, and a figure manifested itself upon the plinth, her garb seemed to billow outwards grandly, her hair limed in a pure white light, her arms out stretched and her chin resting upon her great chest, her head came up, and those eyes powerful and arresting seemed to glow with an unimaginable power, she seemed to gaze into the future, directly at those who defiled these ancient monuments, and she sang out a song to all assembled in that ancient scene, yet ghostly words seemed to slither around the minds of those in the future,
“you know not what you do, leave my children, the sons of Jindrax be, leave these ancient lands now, or you shall see more of me, for I am Viginias, the wife of Jindrax and mother of this land,"
her words echoed with a finality, yet they contained a slight underlay of mystery, and unfathomable mastery in addition to an undeniable power, she had spoken to them from distant times, not to anybody, she had spoken to them, into their very minds, in their mother tongue.
The Obelisks had glimmered after this shimmering in an ancient light, it’s ancient construction glimmering, the glyphs on it’s surface shining with an unknowable radiance, despite much of it being hidden by the charred remains of the stoical townsfolk, who had just days before joined together in a grand festival of remembrance, a slow music had echoed throughout the streets then, as the people had slowly marched through the streets, to the town square, as the music had picked up speed, to speak of hope, so did the people, until thanks for the day of days in which they all lived, they danced throughout those streets singing out praises of their ancestors, their loyalty to the Novan state, and their love of their nations fantastical history, they sung with her, in her tales of hope, united as one, speaking out, a daring tale, a tale of an ancient past, across the desert to that ancient city, the savior did ride, and there he found, the children of his father the god, strange that he a son of the divine, struck down the priests, for this was a song of, the great Voronzel Jindrax, son of the god Jindrax, founder of current times.
The great buildings seemed to resist the long hateful tongues of flame, as they stood proud, and defiant, they shuddered ever so slightly as the explosions rippled around them, yet the stood tall, the images carved into them seemed to laugh at those who had dared to slay these noble people, but one image in particular seemed hauntingly alive, an image of a great woman, her great robes, seemingly woven out of clouds billowed out from her, her hands stretched out to the skies, her hair flying in an unseen wind and her eyes, piercing and shrouded in visions of the future seemed to stare down upon these figures, the flames seemed to reach like arms to these figures, yet they seemed to be repelled by an unknown force, as the defilers hurried away, and from hidden perches atop what had appeared to be decorative spires, melding out of the tops of the tower like buildings, that appeared to serve as both decoration and antenna amongst other things, shadowy individuals silently conversed over a suppressed and heavily encrypted com net, blending seamlessly into the darkness, shrouded completely in amour, weapons at the ready but not yet aimed, they merely waited in the silence, garbed in complete black, not even bearing a color stripe typified in Novan uniform, a shadowy symbol was borne upon their left shoulder pauldron, while another adorned the right, an ever so slight red glow seemed to emanate what served the helmets of the figures as their outlook to the outside world, they stood their like statues in the darkness, they were the Zimnoden, an order shrouded in mystery even more so than the Black Skull Enforcers, an order that few knew existed.
Deep beneath the town, the explosions sent a deep booming, as if the beasts of Valgen roared out their desperation, a terrible sound juxtaposing with the serenity ruminating throughout the great catacomb like under town, an evil aura emanated throughout the cavern, the terminals set into the walls every so often pulsed slightly, as if the energy that flowed through their circuitry, like blood through veins pulsed too strongly, panels set into the walls had subtle lights tracing down them, and doors seemed to close even tighter, everything seemed to be overpowered, as if a rush of energy was flooding down to the domain below, and it filled the air with a slight aura of expectation, the air was thick now with tension, the actions above seemed, their evil intent seemed to have coalesced into a terrible spirit, which now made it’s way to this place, it set a small patrol of Capitol Enforcers at ill ease, as they walked through the wide street like corridors, inspecting the surging panels and terminals with inquisitiveness, something was amiss it seemed.
They padded through quietly, their long tunics rustling slightly, their helmets hid the faces of those who wore them, hiding their expressions of apprehension, of curiosity, and of confusion, whatever was happening, it did not feel right, conversing over their helmets communicators they decided to cut short their patrol down here, something was amiss, and it required investigation, they picked up pace swiftly along the long streets, heading towards one of the Lift Nexus, that allowed entry to the upper areas, these were carefully concealed, and only the people of the town would know how to access them, coded to DNA and ID card, even the potential to enter what lay below was hidden to outsiders, yet those poor Novans, terrified by the butchery above, each had contemplated fleeing below, yet had thought better of it, to save those below they gave their lives, hoping that it would not be in vain, hoping that they would not be able to enter the heavily armored shafts hardened against anything that could be easily brought to bear, believing in the artisans, to have done their duty, when they had constructed the town many decades ago.
The scenes that greeted them after their exit from the lift was one of surreal calm, nothing appeared amiss, apart from a slight miasma in the air, noted in the helmets HUD’s but filtered out for the Enforcers comfort, yet it only delayed the inevitable of that impending horror that awaited them, as they tentatively worked their way outside. The view that met them was terrible indeed, the streets were a mess, the black flagstones were veined with a trickle of recently spilt blood, oozing away into the drains, of course however, the dismembered limbs and body parts could not go down such things, they would need to be cleared away by hand, and a gruesome task it would be, Intestines were wrapped around the pillars running down the center of the streets, burned corpses, in poses too gruesome to describe, were everywhere, lined up along the streets with almost sadistic and meticulous attention to detail, charred jaws gaped wide still in their dying screams of terror, tendril like objects protruded out of sundered chests, and upon closer inspection it was what remained of intestine and bone, causing the Capitol Enforcers to leap back into a pillar, causing several severed heads, which had been mounted like hanging baskets, with a sick slap they descended, impacting with the helmets of the Capitol Enforcers sending a spatter of blood gore and sundered brain to go flying everywhere, and to go dripping down the helmets with heart wrenching and sickening splats, obscuring the vision of the team, painting over the blue streaks upon the black helmets with a disgusting red, grey slime color, shuddering hands came up and slowly with almost eerie calm wiped off the gore, choking back screams.
They advanced into the town square where a terrible sight awaited, yet more charred remains awaited them, draped artistically around the obelisks, a darkening aura pulsed uneasily out of the monuments, tendrils of darkness seemed to pulse over the char grilled corpses, and at each corner of every obelisk, the victims organs had been artfully arranged, in a gruesome display, the surface of the obelisks were fouled with blood, which oozed out of the grooves as if the ancient material sought to cleanse itself of the impurities of the blood of innocents, lives cut off for no reason in a mindless slaughter, other things rested in the town square, amongst them was a large char grilled mechanical head, dismembered from a Tokon somehow, moving cautiously throughout the morbid scenes the Enforcers entered the shattered portal to the town hall, glass littered everywhere and skeletons, recently stripped of flesh sat at the desks, while in an open closet the flesh had been arranged into hangars in a morbid scene, the Enforcers came to a sudden halt at this morbidly casual sight, approaching at a sideways angle they felt for where there should be a small panel that could be depressed in emergency, groping around not daring to look at it one of them found it at last, looking up for a moment to nod at his comrades, the alert had been sounded, help was on it’s way, though what that help could do, was questionable.
Their Instincts told them to head outside to where help would be arriving soon, but their duty required of them to go further, further into the morbid madness of these monsters, they apprehensively ascended the grand stairs further into the building, as they diverged, and turned round to go yet further up, twin columns now spattered with blood, soiling their beauty, as a set of intricately forged twisting sheets of metal coiled round the wonderfully carved pillars the classic contrasting fittingly with the high technology inherent in the building, as they went higher the lights above and ahead of them came to life without so much as a flicker, what they were about to encounter would be starkly lit to say the least, and they halted for a moment as blood flowed around a corner as if to greet them, and as they edged around the corner, the bullet ridden corpses of their military comrades, their uniforms similar, except where the Capitol Enforcers bore blue marking, these Regular Soldiers bore Red markings, they were a terrible sight to behold, their helmets were smashed and wrecked smoke still emitted from the smashed beyond near all recognition helmeted heads, their uniforms were torn and shredded, and it was evident that the armor woven into the very fabric, and worn beneath had taken quite a beating, the black walls with their adorning images, were blacked and charred, and it would appear that several grenades had been required to fell these defenders of the people.
Further down the corridor writhed a man, crawling across the floor in a pool of his own blood, instantly the Enforcers raced down, noting the walls ridden with bullet holes, and the shrapnel and the orgy of destruction and froze for a second realizing it was the broken bloodied form of the Vistakal they had escorted in hours earlier, without hesitation one of the enforcers slipped a small cylinder out of an armored pouch hidden away in his belt and jammed it into the tortured mans neck, with a slight hiss the man stopped, simply and completely, seemingly dead, he lay there, not moving any more, swiftly one of the enforcers began binding his injuries attempting to stop the blood loss, the Vistakal would not be waking for a while, as he lay now, in a chemically induced coma, as the Enforcers now minus one, entered the office, seeing a scene of destruction but no corpse to be found, they froze nearly leaping with terror as a buzzing sound had filled their ears, help had arrived outside, and they had to go and brief the teams on that had happened, what little they knew of it, for they had only scratched the surface, and certainly had not yet ventured down to the docks, fortunately for them, for the worst of the discovery was yet to come.
A Vistakal tentatively came down the ramp of the landed Parallex Transport, his face a mask of horror as he saw terrible scene before him, the stench was terrible, and he fought valiantly to hold onto the lunch he had partaken off but an hour earlier, a quartet of Capitol Enforcers hurried out of the wrecked entryway of the town hall, spattered in gore themselves as they gave their report without preamble, they told of the terrible massacre that had happened here, the circumstances under which they had found the Town above, and that their exploration was as of yet incomplete, citing the Docks as not as of yet having been checked, the Vistakal, his face as white as chalk quietly hurried out an order, and a whole company stealthily hurried down the dark gore strewn blood drenched corpse camped streets, in the direction of the docks, the reports coming back immediately were off terrible acts, but the worst was yet to come…
Classified Zimonden Report,
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ATTN: Suprainister and Council of Ministers
Clearance: Zimtaren and Above
Subject: Haitzarian Massacre
Earlier today in the small town of Haitzarian, of the Kaziktra Region, there was an attack and subsequent kidnapping, the entirety of the upper town was slaughtered, and Councilor Xozom was abducted for unknown reasons, the depravity of the scenes encountered are on an unprecedented scale, these are disturbed individuals of an unknown, yet suspected nationality, the trail of destruction wrought through the town seems well planned out, and the remains of the dead have been “artfully” arranged, the Vuntam in the Town square were defiled, and some attempts had been made to nail the dead and charred bodies to them have been identified, Vistakal Mizun is in critical condition, his fate is at present in the balance, having been saved from certain death by a team of Capitol Enforcers, their details are included in the addendum to this report, for commendation, the motives behind this assault are unknown, though the security systems of the town have recorded joyfully cries, of a religious significance, of a Christian faith that we have as of yet been unable to identify, the current death toll thus far, based on what remains we have thus far have been able to find is in excess of 12,000 Citizens, we are still undertaking investigations, and expect to have a further report sometime later in the day.