Contra-Falsonia
11-04-2009, 08:52
April 11, 2009, ~10:30 PM, Christpalace, Holy Empire of Falsonia
The crowds in the streets boiled with barely concealed fury. The placards and banners that the marchers had held hours ago, back when this was still a peaceful, lawful protest, were cast down, dirty and broken under millions of feet. This demonstration truly was massive. A hundred million protesters across the Empire. Ten in the capital, Christpalace, alone. There had been protests like this before, some even nearly as large as this, but none had come even close to the violence that was expected if this one escalated any further.
The root cause of these events, most people agreed, was the death of the Vicar of Christ, Arcuri XIV, religious leader of the Holy Church of Christ of the Holy Empire of Falsonia, and second-in-command of the Empire, along with Emperor Panicucci IV. The day he died was a sad one for the Empire, as he had led the Church for over half a century. People had gotten used to his soft, low voice on his daily television broadcasts, preaching to over six billion people every day. The Vicar of Christ was a much-loved man in Falsonia, and his passing was one of the most mourned in the history of the Empire. Nearly fifty million people lined the streets of Christpalace to watch the sarcophagus, carried on the shoulders of the Guard, to the National Cathedral, where his corpse would be interred, along with the bodies of every past Vicar of Christ, from the founding of the Church.
After the funeral, the talk of the nation had turned to the all-important task of choosing a new Vicar of Christ from among the College of Bishops. Two days after Arcuri's death, the College had convened, locked inside the massive hall of the National Cathedral, deliberating directly over the spot where Arcuri had been interred, as was custom.
On the third day, the city went mad. The National Cathedral was sitting in the middle of a vast park, a mile in radius, outside of the city. The grounds were some of the most opulent arboreal arrangements in the entirety of the Empire. They had been constructed centuries before, in the Empire's golden age, when it was the Church, with the Vicar of Christ at the helm, who really led Falsonia. At dawn, 100 agents of the elite Imperial Guard surrounded the National Cathedral, carefully and silently moving through the gardens. Just when the sun crowned the hills, as light spilled through the soaring stained-glass windows, the doors of the Cathedral broke open.
Through the entrance flooded the Imperial Guard, brandishing their shining black rifles at the weary Bishops. The College was not allowed to rest until a decision regrading the next Vicar of Christ had been made, a practice which had effectively insured a speedy transition in the past. Now, it only served as a hindrance, or as a boon, depending on the perspective, as the fatigued Bishops put up almost no resistance against the masked invaders.
In half an hour, with the entire contents of the College bound and gaged on the polished stone floor of the National Cathedral, Emperor Panicunni IV stepped out from the black armored sedan that had carried him from the Imperial Palace, on the other side of the city, to the Cathedral. With the Imperial Guard assembled in two lines flanking the route from the doorway to the Altar at the center of the Cathedral, Panicunni walked, his footsteps echoing on the floor.
Panicunni was not a particularly old man, nor was he particularly young. His short hair and sharply cropped goatee was dominantly black, though interspersed with occasional gray hairs, especially around the temples. He was tall but somewhat gaunt, his long, lanky arms seeming thin against his broad chest. He walked with an air the conveyed cool control over everything, his dark eyes darting around the room even as his head look straight toward the Altar.
Standing at the Altar, trembling before the raised barrel of a rifle, stood the Archbishop Mancini, head of the College of Cardinals. Once that College had made a decision regarding the Vicar of Christ, it was the Archbishop alone who could confirm the election, and transfer the mantle of the position from one person to the next. The fear was plain in Mancini's eyes as Panicunni strode forward. He knew what he would be expected to do, that was plain enough after the events of the past half-hour, and he knew that there was absolutely no way he could. It would completely go against the entirety of his faith. Better to die without sin, in pain, then to commit such heresy he though to himself.
At the steps of the Altar, Panicunni stopped. “Kneel before your emperor!” he commanded. His voice rang out in the giant cathedral, echoing among the dusty vaulted ceilings. As soon as Panicunni spoke, Mancini scrambled to the ground, his head followed all the while by the rifle of the Imperial Guard standing behind him. “You have guessed by now, Archbishop, why I have come?”
“Yes.” Mancini replied shakily. With a violent crack, the Guard smashed the barrel of his rifle against the side of Mancini's head, knocking him aside.
“You will address the Emperor with the proper respect!” He shouted, spit flying from his lips and landing on the prostrate Archbishop.
“Y-yes Emperor.” Said Mancini, blood dripping from his mouth.
“And?” Replied Panicunni
“I cannot, Emperor. It goes against everything...”
“So be it.” Panicunni said, gesturing to the guard. Mancini's eyes widened for an instant, before the bullets through his skull. Panicunni turned, walking back down down the line of Guards. As he passed, they turned in pairs. Flashes from the muzzles of a hundred rifles illuminated the Cathedral for a few seconds, the crack of the guns creating a cacophonous echo in the high ceiling.
By noon the next day, Panicunni had declared himself Vicar of Christ, supreme ruler and Emperor over Falsonia. The military and police were absolutely legal to the man, as he had made sure of beforehand.
None of the demonstrations really got underway before the 11th of April however, the day after Panicunni was self-Confirmed. By the time the sun had poured over the wide streets of the capital, nearly a million had gathered in the squares and roads of the city, preparing to march on the Imperial Palace. There were other, generally smaller crowds in almost every city across the Empire, no matter the size, preparing to publicly demonstrate their opposition to the Emperor's move.
At around 10:00 AM, the people began to move. Their numbers had swelled to nearly five million by that time, and more were coming all the time. From the southern part of the city, close to the border of the Cathedral Park, they gathered, marching down the city's main thoroughfare all the way, 23 miles, to the Imperial Palace at the other end.
There was no clear leader to the throng, or any real organization. The planning for the event had been done either by word-of-mouth or through the Internet or cellular networks of Falsonia. The people were not in support of any opposition leader or any opposition party, as there were none. The only thing the people shared were their own opposition to Panicunni's rule, to his self-Confirmation, and to the murder of the College of Cardinals, news of which had gotten out by that time.
By 10:00 PM, after nearly twelve hours of marching, the crowd finally came into sight of the Imperial Palace. The crowd was, according to most estimates, comprised of nearly ten million people, taking up almost all of the empty space in Christpalace. Any activity in the city that was not connected to that moving crowd could not, under any circumstances, go on. A fifth of the city was out on the streets that day, and nothing was going to stop them.
Surrounding the Imperial Palace was an entire legion of the Falsonic Imperial Marines, some of the best trained troops in the entire military. 100,000 men stood, rifles at the ready, behind modern earthworks of concrete lane divisors, which entirely blocked off the streets for a quarter of a mile in all directions from the Imperial Palace. The situation was the same, if not somewhat smaller, in all of the cities, various divisions of the Imperial Army having been moved in in the night to protect the government buildings.
The marching demonstrates did not like enjoy having their way blocked by the Marines, not one bit. The crowd quickly grew angry, completely surrounding the Imperial Palace and the encircling Marines for miles in all directions. They hurled insults, and sometimes objects, at the impassive soldiers. This situation continued to escalate for nearly half an hour, becoming more and more violent as the minutes past.
At approximately 10:35 PM, demonstrators in front of the main entrance of the Imperial Palace attempted to break through the Marines' lines. They attacked, fighting with any makeshift weapons they could come up with. The reaction by the Marines was instantaneous and brutal. Immediately, all around the outside of the protective ring, solders opened fire that the seething protesters. At the same moment, a column of tanks, nearly 500 in number, appeared on the streets behind the demonstrators. Chaos ensued. Millions of people, who before were raging, now fled for their lives, falling at the hail of bullets that assailed them.
Mere moments after the Marines at the Imperial Palace opened fire, the other soldiers around the Empire did so as well. Simultaneously across the country, protesters were being cut down with cruel, biting efficiency.
In the aftermath of the bloodbath, it was clear the no one would challenge Panicunni for a very long time. Nearly seventy-five million civilians and a half a million soldiers lay dead in cities across the Empire. The soldiers that had survived were busy rounding up an executing any civilians foolish enough to have remained on the streets. The damage done to the Empire itself was nearly incalculable. Fires had spring up with the numerousness of springtime weeds, engulfing all in their flaming maws.
It would take months to fully recover from the physical damage done, and many years more to recover from the mental damage that the populace of the Empire had taken. The Empire, it was not abundantly clear, was under the iron fist of the Vicar-Emperor, as people had taken to calling him, and dissent was not tolerated. The military patrolled the streets constantly, arresting anyone and everyone that violated that newly imposed curfews. Food and other supplies were severely rationed, and hardly anyone had enough to eat. In the weeks after the take-over, life was the hardest it had been in anyone's memory, and in the entirety of Falsonic history, an event as terrible as this could hardly be found.
Overall, Panicunno had a message for the world. He was now complete master of his domain, and he challenged anyone to try and stop him.
OOC: OK, so this is an introduction to my nation of Falsonia. I am unable to post with the Falsonia JOLT account, do to issues with it's permissions on the forums, so I created this nation to act as a substitute. For all intents and purposes, the name of the this account if Falsonia.
Post Script: Please, no dickery. I am not, no matter what my post number and registration date on this account may imply, a noob. Invasions will be accepted, provided they are RP'd well enough. That goes for anything really. If you're going to go to the trouble of ICly replying to this thread, make it good.
Post Post Script: If the above post is shoddily written, it's because I'm writing this at 3AM. If you find any errors, please point them out, and I will correct them as soon as I am able.