"Mono/Dialogue"
'Inner thoughts'
Narration
[Message/communication apparatus]
Date: Ending months of 645 and onwards
Location: Continent of Regalia (Formerly known as Convalis Tenebrea), Regalian Autarchy.
POV: Narrator.
“Please stay back! It could be dangerous! Stay back for goodness sake!” A soldier is doing his best to keep the increasing crowd from getting too close to a recently stranded whale, or it looks like a whale at least.
Interestingly, the soldier only wears a bandana, regur army shirt, bandolier, ammo pouches, and camoufge pants. A very minimalistic setup that would have nded him in trouble, but his fellows are not so different.
Dozens of others could be seen doing their respective duty with a noticeably lighter mood and gear. Even more so when a few go out on patrol with nothing but pants, a shirt, an armband, and a trusty rifle. The Regalian standard issue combat uniform was created to suit the tundra environment best, this transference made their uniform an apparent liability.
High-ranking officers understood this problem early on and allowed the servicemen to perform their many duties with limited freedom on equipment until a much more suitable one arrived… Which might take a while considering their exhausted logistics or bombed-out industry.
Back to the soldier and their custody of the dead and stranded sea creature.
The aquatic mammal itself is intriguing, what stokes it further would be none other than the existence of 4 tusk-like appendages on its jaw and a single horn on its head. Regalia is often assailed by otherworldly beasts, but this time it’s Regalia that got sent to another dimension or world.
This brought forth concern from the nearby garrison and curiosity from the locals. Probably because the whale looks plump and no doubt would be a tasty grilled fish to have… By the way, it has a size roughly comparable to a half of-pocket battleship, so huzzah for a meatier menu.
“Daddy, what’s that?”
“I don’t know sonny, that ain’t a humpback whale or narwhal for sure.”
“I know that Her Grace told us so, but seeing it surreal huh?”
“Yeah, I mean I take her word for it. She won’t lie and I don’t think she is that type of person.”
“… Did you just admit to doubt her words?”
“Well… that is… uh…”
“How blockheaded can you get?! The temperature is also hotter! If not judgment day, then we got sent somewhere more temperate!”
“C-chill dude! I didn’t mean to imply that! Would rather die before doubting her…”
[Please keep your distance! If it’s truly a whale, it might explode. I repeat, please keep your distance!] Then another soldier barked an order and caution using a megaphone.
“For fuck sake, these people are just… hah… I swear to god I need a vacation!” Despite his annoyance, the man is relieved that his job is not watching the sky for bombers and paratroopers when his luck turns bad.
His fellow soldiers could also be seen milling about. Some are digging a shallow dug-out in case the Heavy Machinegun they brought along found some use. There is also a pair walking around the second perimeter, while a lot more are relegated around the dead aquatic beast to keep the people safe.
Despite being an authoritarian government, their Grand Autarch was quite lenient because robbing people of any sembnce of fun is just stupid. Occasional [REDACTED] against unwanted influence notwithstanding, of course.
Enough about inconsequential stuff.
A sergeant speaks with his fellow CO through the radio, the clear line of communication is a nice change of pace indeed. No artillery to ruin your day, no saboteurs trying to blow the ammo cache, and certainly no aircraft trying to bomb him to kingdom come.
“We got the east side covered, how is it going on yours?”
[A bunch of tad energetic folks, they had been cmoring about painting it or something.]
“That’s weird and concerning, you should keep an eye out for them or on them.”
[Yeah, guess I should.] He was interrupted by a rumbling noise coming from outside the perimeter zone.
“Alright, I got the package. Good luck mate, out.”
[Wilco bro.]
The source was an engineering tank. It could be seen entering the zone followed by 3 army trucks with fresh soldiers. One of the infantry taking a ride on the tank steps off from it and salutes at the sergeant.
“Sarge, we got the dozer tank.”
“Good, keep it parked close by, who knows that the top brass wants something to do with it? Also is that the 3rd battalion there?”
“Yes, sir.” While he talks with the soldier, conversations are abuzz in their proximity.
“Goddamn this heat. Is this how my old man felt during his tour in Askabad?”
“Beats me dude… the world has gone mad.”
“I don’t know about you, but this is infinitely better than nuclear annihition.”
“Now that’s just being pessimistic…”
“Hey, shift change! Go get your chows peeps!”
“Finally…”
“Please don’t be omelet… Please don’t be omelet… Oh, thank god, dry crackers plus biscuits, milk, and… some dried fruits, neat.”
“Damn, that does sound kinda nice, wanna trade?”
“What you got?”
“Let’s see… got coffee here, and 3 pieces of sausages with 2 ft bread.”
“Deal, I prefer salty stuff nowadays.”
“If you’re lucky that is.”
“Damn straight.”
“I hate this… repacking and reloading drum mags felt like mental and physical torture. Stupid damn bet…”
“What did I tell you? Don’t bet with those 4th company folks. They had the most bizarre bets within this battalion. Don’t worry though, I’ll be here for a while.”
“Could you help me then?”
“Hell no.”
“Man… screw you.”
“Hey did you hear?”
“What?”
“We lost our offshore oil fields… that sucks a lot.”
“Yeah… but oh well, at least UFSNE will stop badgering us for good.”
“Would have been nice to have though…”
“Bah forget about that… haven’t you heard that a new expedition to the west was about to happen?”
“Now where did you hear about that? Also didn’t we already focus a lot to get farmnd on the east?”
“I have my sources, don’t snitch all right?”
“Yeah, yeah… so?”
“Rumors said that there are uninhabited isnds to the west of Regalia, pretty rich with resources too. Higher-ups had been salivating at the prospect of Uranium mine being found there.”
“Are they addicted to that thing or something?”
“Folks higher than me even gossiped about making contact with this world’s local… I don’t like it though. If our old Ornean foes were that creative and dangerous, what do you think those natives would look like? They probably have blood rituals!”
“That’s scary, honestly.”
“Oi, dumbass! Stop scking and continue with your patrol!”
“““Yes, Sir!”””
“Grand Autarch give me strength… damn… kids these days…”
While the soldiers and civilians are gathering around the corpse, a few R/AH-67 helicopters are buzzing overhead. Their guns are trained on the surroundings, who knows that this could be a biological weapon with loads more lurking around.
To complement them would be the recently ‘activated’ F/AS 4EX Phantom jets to complement the ck of, and frankly obsolete, F/IA–12V. Their flexible system, range, and array of weaponry are much better suited for an assignment that doesn’t require the price tags for a battle of attrition, such as being an air radar net during the reconstruction phase. The post-war mess has been forcing the Regalian to be creative. At least the economy isn’t plummeting too much, thank god for self-sufficiency.
Another consensus for the activation was the F/I 5 IIIB which had garnered the reputation of being a flying coffin that has piss-poor combat range. Of course, the jet performed admirably for what it was intended but seeing that particur model retired is enough cause for celebration. With no bombs and non-nuclear ICBM raining down the sky, this piece of engineering could be pulled away and discontinued, prompting many relieved and internalized sighs from the people involved.
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A man could be seen exiting a barrack with his rucksack hefted in one hand. The hotter temperature made it truly unpleasant, but at least he could finally return home. He is not the only one, with the war pretty much ended, partial, and then full, demobilization has been started. The man walks to the readied transport with the predetermined route for demobilized service personnel.
Along the way, he noticed the scars of war, tumbled-down buildings being rebuilt, canals being cleaned, and destroyed roads being serviced. He whistled seeing how fast Regalia could start recovering given the chance. The trademark minimalistic, almost brutalist in the sense, that boxy architecture does help immensely when the storm passes. Structures are temptes that have been refined for centuries and reinforced from there on.
Regalian has been accustomed to this rather austere way of life, long before even Cylene Renoir’s ascension as the Grand Autarch. Constant harassment from supernatural events due to their proximity to SIEZ and the never-ending millennia of war tempered them to be frugal out of necessity. Of course, they still seek some entertainment and worldly pleasure, so despite the buildings’ bnd exterior, the interior is free game.
He found his taxi, an old, re-commissioned, but robust, military truck with familiar faces already waiting for him. The shortage of transport and abundance of soldiers meant that as long as it could move would be good enough. A part of him wondered how the nation could still spare resources, even if the army told them to go home themselves all they could do was just sigh and be on their way. The fact it didn’t signal that the Autarchy is unfathomably resilient or has motives too many to count. Regardless, he is just happy not having to walk back home.
“Hey, Eltee! Going home too?” A female ex-soldier steps towards the back and over him with a hand, he takes it and is further helped by others. The man smiled seeing them.
“I’m not a Lieutenant anymore, just call me Davis. Then yeah, getting real homesick these days.” He was further helped by others inside, along with their quips.
“Sure thing boss.”
“Boss Davis?’
“Nah, Eltee sounds better.”
“Quite down will ya.” Davis settled near the corner, with the female who helped him sitting across.
“What will you do after this, Rhana?”
“I don’t know, probably returning to the countryside… Heard that Ma and Pa need some help there. What about you, El… uh… Davis?”
“Back home to the estate probably. The fields are destroyed, but thankfully it wasn’t hit by chemicals. Sometimes I wonder why those NIIO bastards didn’t go all-in on Casherlish.”
“Oh yeah, you’re Casherlish, it slipped my mind since you guys barely looked any different than regur Northeasterners. How did you folks cope with being so high in the mountain? Most Casherlish settlements were pced along Aurorabell mountain range… that’s like a good 2000 meters (6570 ft) above the sea on average!”
“Easy, just keep jogging above 1000 meters (3280 ft) for 3 hours a day and you’re good.”
“Hey, Dave- wait, can I call you that?”
“Sure thing, go wild. Kinda fed up being called Lieutenant or Eltee nowadays.”
“Aight, have you been to Magna Edelweiss?”
“The old capital huh? Yeah, I did.”
“How was it looking up there?”
“Real picturesque, and expensive as hell.”
“How expensive are we talking?”
“ūC 300.000, you gotta save that much for the cheapest, mest, house there.”
“Ah crap…”
“Holy damn… that’s 10 years’ worth-of-pay…”
“Doesn’t sound too bad, to be honest.”
“Well, there goes my pn to snatch some nd.”
“Can you tell us what it looks like?”
“Waterfalls by the dozens, eternal snow flowers that bloom every spring, and even some ancient animals like the Grey Mane Ibex. Mountain climbing and marathon are the usual sports there, and anything that has to do with balls but people got fed up with them plummeting a good sprint away.” His colleagues couldn’t help their chuckles, it sure sucks pying those up there.
“Hey man, what about the Umbral Pace?” Everyone perked up to listen, the native Casherlish smiled with a hint of smugness on it.
“God, I remember that one time I saw the Grand Autarch’s Pace. That pce was no castle, I reckon, it was a small city configured as a whole citadel. There is only one way to go up there without triggering a literal army annihiting you. Sure only the old castle being visible, most probably be underground…”
“Yeah no shit, the pace is 6000 meters (around 20.000 ft) high up in the sky… it was built on a non-active volcano. Then since we are not in Orneas anymore, guess that mountain is out of commission for good.”
“Looks like we good a geologist here, but yeah. The pace could be described as an interlocking fortress city. It starts at the center of the old capital at 4000 meters and anything higher is a restricted zone. I think there should be a garrison for every 250m mark until the top, so that’s about 8 yers of defenses. The only proper way in would be through a singur monorail guarded by enough Grasdivis to screw an entire province… that’s my idea anyway.”
“Sounds unrealistic, maybe the yers were also utilized for something else. I mean, locals there rarely see any of those so-called… uh… what were they called again?”
“Wait, you’re Casherlish too?”
“Yep, just goes to the country because the city felt stuffy.”
“Look at this bastard… man, what’s wrong with you…”
“I can’t believe you left…”
“Dude, you aight? Need someone to talk with?”
“Lei, I think he is nuts.” The Casherlish sulked when his old mates started questioning his decision, concern, and jealousy mixed into one. Fairly speaking, he understands the btant confusion of not wanting to stay there. The man came from one of the best and most protected cities in the Regalian Autarchy.
“Well then, your guess is as good as mine, but people stationed there just call them the maid corps.” Laughter and giggles were soon heard, it is quite surreal that the interior pace staff are called maid corps, despite being staffed by both men and women.
“Yeah all right, back to the topic… the servants there probably maintained internal and self-sufficient facilities.”
“Make sense, the top is pretty much isoted if you could surround it, so they would need something like that.”
“Kinda comforting in a way… we were taught to be self-sufficient, if not this whole continent would fall into anarchy.”
“Yeah, it should also silence those bastards who keep doubting Her Grace. Without her… insightful methods, we would be screwed royally from the utter mayhem of conflicting nations.” One of the demobilized soldiers sneered and gazed contemptuously at the surrendering rebels being disarmed nearby. A disorganized line of dispirited, despondent, and disenfranchised folks returning to the fold.
They are being welcomed unkindly, but no one tries to abuse them physically. It helps that Grasdivis could be seen from time to time, enforcing strict discipline. Still, it does make the rebels feel more than uncomfortable under so many hostile gazes. Those who had been committing serious crimes simply vanished while the rest are being noted for hard bor down the line.
“I know right? Promising a better life is easy, so I doubt those NIIO-Cunts even know how to differentiate between edible pnts and pnts that find human edible.”
“What were they thinking? I would rather be under Casherlish who knows how to survive in SIEZ than some ignorant nobodies who thinks living here is a walk in a park.”
“Poor kids though, they are not doing anything wrong.” one of them noted sadly at children whose eyes spoke of many tragedies. Their innocence is no more, with a lot just staring absentmindedly.
These younger, predominantly children, people are gathered separately while their families toiled to work in revitalizing and rebuilding the nd. These innocent bystanders are treated very gently, with many considerations taken to at least not let them see the soldiers to avoid triggering any PTSD. As nice as it sounds, they are being sent to the many state-controlled institutions in Regalia.
“Their parents are idiots, and they must be the ones who paid for it.”
“… It won’t happen if NIIO minded their own damn business…”
“Thank god my parents aren’t stupid.” Their chats continue until an army officers approach them. The officer made a st-minute confirmation of who had been accounted for and who hadn’t, just needed them for identification to make things neat for the bureaucrats and civil servants toiling away with paperwork.
Thankfully it wasn’t as bad as the 19th Global War’s demobilization; that one would make this one look like a nice summer vacation pnning committee. Billions of multi-national soldiers are being returned home, and that caused traffic jams… on the goddamn ocean… screwing up international trades… that might or might not fuel resentment between factions…
Demobilized grunts have their fingers letting go of the trigger, but the bureaucratic pencil pushers have no such luxury yet.
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Civilians are lining up for their weekly ration. A mother could be seen with an expectant look on her face, and she is not the only one. The war has been hard on them, but thankfully the technology gained from both advancement and the South plus efficient rationing policy could stave off the bleeding. Be that as it may, the mental image of them still marching slowly on their destruction has been living rent-free inside their mind.
The sudden end of the war brought a good portion of that worry out of the picture. This transference is often seen favorably because, for a brief moment, they don’t have to hunker down beneath subterranean bunkers and or the countryside. Cave-dwelling nomads and tribes still exist and become an integral part of countryside defenses or economic hubs.
They have always tried to perfect the architecture, farming, and food production technology due to their position. Often dubbed as the gate of the world where cold snaps, unforgiving incursion, and all sorts of unpleasant conditions made this a deadly continent. A constant influx of immigrants is allowed simply because only the bravest or craziest would try to apply for citizenship around here. Tree Gliding Tarantu is one of the national animals, after all, safely preserved or somewhere still in the wild… a nasty thought…
It is an absurd miracle that the popution could stay afloat around 500-600 million souls.
This continent was expected to always be the first line of defense against incursion from SIEZ, so imagine their shock when the world suddenly turned on them. While it is all in the past, some couldn’t help the bitterness of being backstabbed despite their duty to warn the world of numerous potentially camitous incursions.
After waiting patiently, it was the mother’s turn and she stepped inside the building to see a soldier handing out rations. His smile seemed to be a good indication that their food situation had been improving, which brought her mind to ease. Appears that those rumors about stricter rationing were false after all, not like she ever believed those flyers anyway, anyhow.
“Oh hey, Dorothy!” A giant and muscur soldier who only wore his uniform but none of the usual gear called out to her. He still hefts his standard rifle behind him, but he is mostly wearing unreguted clothing with an armband to show him part of the military.
“Is that you Immel?” The woman smiles seeing an old friend.
“Yep, still kicking. Got knocked off by grenade but I had it lucky.” He ughed while showing off the scar on his left arm. His other hand is busy inserting the rationed commodity into her bag. While waiting, he decides to chat a little with an old comrade.
“You have been demobilized for years, yeah?”
“All the better, I can finally be with the kids. Then thank god for this transference.”
“Hah! …Man, aren’t I gd seeing you again… haven’t thank ya for patching me up.” He shows a scar under his arm.
“Without you, I would have been a few feet under, you weren’t half bad at sewing too.”
“Think nothing of it, I’m happy to see you alive as well.”
“Yeah… life would have been perfect if NIIO didn’t act up…” He smiled bitterly.
“There is nothing we can do, fate just decides that the world turned on Regalia. Besides, you’re one of us now… don’t fret about what ifs, you’ll only gray out your hair.” The giant man ughed heartily, finally settling down might be a good idea after all.
“Yeah and hopefully we wouldn’t be dragged into a new one. Oh, here is your portion…” She was given a pstic bag filled with rationed ingredients and some pre-heated food. It consisted of 1.5 kilograms (around 3-4 lbs) of wheat, 500g (1 lbs) of flour, vegetable oil, a small can of brown sugar, and some other seasonings that varied each time. What caught her attention would be the 12 pieces of dried fish and 5 cans of beans.
“Hmm? Are these extras or new?” Her beaming face brought the rationing officers nearby to smile too. They can’t have enough of seeing anyone coming to the rationing office sports something like that, and that’s a good thing they had been dying to see for years.
“Gotta thank our fishermen and farmers. News had been praising them non-stop, and no that would be the standard from here on out. Tell the folks the good news, Ma’am.” He winked pyfully.
“Thank goodness for them and praise be the Grand Autarch, now I shouldn’t hold back the queue. See you ter.”
“Yep, praise be the Grand Autarch and at this rate, we might not need rationing anymore.” She almost skipped back home, her smile seemed to be infectious on the other who lined up for theirs, hopes for better food conditions steadily rising. Perhaps her children could avoid starving and being left malnourished.
Her joy was cut short by an explosion that rocked near the rationing center.
Bodies and debris were unched into the air, disrupting the everyday lives of innocents. For the first few seconds, no one could fathom what had happened. But shortly after that, screams and wails of pain were heard.
Civilians are the first to be the casualties.
“Agh!”
“Run! Head to the shelter or just run!”
“The rebels are here?!”
“H-Help! I-I can’t feel my leg!”
“God, what happened?! It’s those fuckers ain’t it?!”
“Help…. M-My leg…”
“Mama… Papa…”
“Please someone help my son!”
“We need a bandage over here! We got kids bleeding to death!”
“Medic! Please for the love of god find the medic!”
“N-No! Please! God! Please stop!”
“Look out!” People scrambled for cover while Regalian Insurgents stormed the streets, and hot lead struck the confused masses. Those with slower reactions were the first to die, painting the hopeful mood with fright and anger. Stampede occurred, adding more unfortunate casualties to the ledger, this dispy of savagery stoked the fme of fury for all who could fight back.
“Kill these traitors!”
“Death to the Witch of Tenebrea!”
“Long Live Tenebrean Commonwealth!”
“Attack! Attack! Attack!!!!”
Militia and soldiers grab their weapons and unch counterattacks. Dorothy could be seen among them to help the ongoing effort to limit civilian casualties. Some rebels tried to slip past them, but the Militias won’t let the same mistake happen twice. Using a specialized tool, they managed to neutralize many more would-be saboteurs.
“EVERYONE FOLLOW ME TO THE SHELTER! REMEMBER YOUR AIR RAID DRILLS!”
Dorothy helps evacuate the people, she diligently helps those stumbling along the way while performing rear-guard duty along with several other demobilized soldiers. The people, recognizing the commanding voice, immediately follow her instruction and head deeper into the many evacuation points.
Immel and his fellow soldiers and militias start fighting back. Anger and hate broke past their limit after seeing these oath-breaking, bsphemous, traitors, and seeing the dead civilians filling the streets made their blood boil. He roared and voiced his indignation, they will all pay for this.
“LET’S HAVE THESE TRAITORS PAY WITH THEIR BLOOD! WITH ME BROTHERS AND SISTERS! FOR THE AUTARCHY AND ORDER! ETERNITY FOR OUR AUTARCHY!” He rallied his fellow soldiers, and several armed hostiles could be seen shooting from alleyways and windows. One brazen OpFor brandished a fg with a manic, crazed, expression on his face. One hand on the fg, another on a revolver.
“FIGHT FOR FREEDOM! DOWN WITH THE IMMORTAL WITCH! LONG LIVE THE FREE PEOPLE OF TENEBRAE! WE SHALL NEVER BE SLAVE!” The bannerman led a suicidal charge with people armed and utilizing old weaponry or just bayonets. An ugly street combat ensued for hours with deaths on both sides, their respective motivations cshed to form the test pool of blood and destruction.
Fgs of old and new that only have one thing in common, the fke of snow that denotes the Icefield stays but the rest changed.
The Blue and Bck banner rose high supported by ashen grey and snowy white wreaths which denotes prosperity under harsh conditions. It held until the unification day more than 600 years ago. The old fg uses wings to contain the fke of snow, unlike its newer counterpart. It had once served as a beacon of hope for the continent, but now it is used as a symbol and rallying point for freedom. How ironic that Cylene had fought under that same banner as well; her role of being its fg bearer was expunged.
Tenebrae then sees the new fg with a Blue background, White stripes mimicking the rays of the sun, and a golden urel be the repcement for wreaths. New Tenebrae announced that containment was a waste, so they used the fke of snow as the source of radiance with urel pced sideways to mimic a mantle, a pair of wings, and a shield. The st fascinating addition would be the 6 warped triangles on the left that were formed into a circle, of which the middle is a hollow hexagon. This fg is singing aloud the song of order and betterment, whatever the cost.
Be those wonderful messages as they are, two groups are still fighting under each banner. Blood was shed, corpses were made, and mankind still found excuses to despise one another. Safety and desire to hold steady against unknown horror was challenged by a statement that the region was not merely a cursed wastend, but also a source for advancements.
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Location: ??????
Among the many hidden bases in Regalia lies a single peculiar underground base with only 8 U/H-17 that could be seen on the helipad hidden from view. This base is maintained by the Grand Autarch Security Division. One notable fact would be how quiet the pce is. Staff and officers wearing gas masks could be seen performing their duty silently with minimal communication.
Inside one of the many armories, there gathered 80 fully armed and armored soldiers stocking up supplies and ammunition for the following operation. These soldiers are also the same, none uttered a word unless necessary and focused their entire attention on their respective TO&E. One person stood out, a female who showed her face and standing ramrod straight watching her men.
Her eyes are dead, there is nothing reflected on her irises. Several tubes could also be seen sticking into her torso, she stands and watches over her subordinates waiting for any potential deployment.
[Crows’ Nest to currently on station peacemaker ptoon at Delta-Echo Seven Base, priority message.] The message that came from her headpiece is a mix of garbled noises and static with ft intonation. She gives her snappy answer.
“WO Heater copy. 4th Peacemaker ptoon on standby, send it, over.” Her voice has no trace of emotion; simple and succinct.
[Mission update, Code Gamma, confirm.]
“Code Gamma received, awaiting verification Code.”
[Gamma – Alpha – Beta – Charlie – Three – Zero.]
“Awaiting clearance level.”
[Tenth of Spade.]
“Code Gamma received, Tenth of Spade clearance acknowledged, 4th Ptoon complies with the Grand Autarch’s will.”
[Crows’ Nest to WO Heater, proceed with the given coordinates.] Her terminal lit up with information about the upcoming mission. A cavernous complex had been spotted within the Eastern Regalian mountain range. Several sentries and light technicals could be seen blending in with the environment.
“Affirmative, coordinates received, executing Her Grace’s will.” She turned her head towards her subordinates, they snapped on attention back on their feet.
“4th ptoon, triple time, Code Gamma.” Like a tide, the soldiers hurried themselves and ran up the ramp leading towards the parked VTOLs for deployment. They march up in complete synchronization. Personnel made way for them before resuming their duty wordlessly, Heater is at the forefront with her gasmask on, and the signature weapon of their unit has been shortened into a carbine version.
The ceiling unraveled to the outside world, neatly tucking away the camoufge and protective yers. No snow greeted them and they should have been affected, but no one appears to be bothered. They boarded their transports rapidly and the local command unit gave them the go-ahead for deployment, this would be the first time Code Gamma had been authorized ever since the 20th Global War.
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“Damn it all!” An exhausted, damned, and furious man smashed a telegram device with his bloodied fist, the cloth hasn’t been changing for days due to a ck of supplies. There are also others around him, their expressions are all shades of grim and gloom while some have just given up altogether.
This particur group was made up of those who had a deal with NIIO. Such as wanting better autonomy, great ideals of freedom, or even just someone caught in the crossfire and forced to take a side. They were contacted to sow chaos and promised rewards for their cooperation, which was turned moot.
At first, they thought that the transference was just st-ditch propaganda along with that self-righteous broadcast, the Immortal Witch finally gone senile and desperate. Proving Tenebrea’s st Elder death, and extinction, to be a matter of time, they wouldn’t have to keep being puppets and mere pawns in their never-ending war. The leader of this group dreamt of a world where the Elders were finally ousted from power.
Truly ironic considering they complied with other Elders’ bidding, lying with a mantra of ‘One pilr at a time.’ As, they tried contacting their handlers with no responses whatsoever and the silence was deafening.
Regalian news then broadcasted numerous NIIO state-of-the-art armaments and supplies being left where they are in almost pristine condition. What truly flummoxed them the most, was the sight of nding crafts still afloat on the coastlines with warships for protection.
All chock full of high-grade military hardware that would be beyond whatever they would ever dream to have as mere freedom fighters and resistance cells. Hell, they even watch as a United Realms of Victoria’s Supercarrier just floats without care on the sea before being taken over and evacuated to the nearest dockyard by what’s left of the Regalian Autarchy Naval Force.
Then there were those airfields with jets being taxied on runways but stopped haphazardly, some even crashed on nearby buildings or boundaries. These aren’t just your run-of-the-mill jets but include experimental and priceless national hardware. No way in hell the entirety of NIIO just left those there as a sign of apology for their foiled liberation.
The nail in the coffin would be the ck of traces of violence for this scale of mayhem. It would be incomplete to not talk about this temperate weather. Unlike the freezing tundra of Tenebrae that could freeze your bones, now they are being cooked alive with heat. Even the staunchest unbelievers couldn’t maintain their denial, too much truth was shoved into their faces. Those who couldn’t keep their sanity are now raving mad in terror and a lost world.
Making things worse, it appears that only those considered native of Tenebrae or swearing absolute fealty to Regalia were sent to another world… Like their own people who were sent abroad as agents for contacts got returned in random areas all over Tenebrae. Crackdowns ensued, their primary spokesman and leader abroad were executed publically via a bullet to the head and those who sought asylum, only to be transported home, vanished.
RAIO worked fast, horrifically fast.
All of these meant two things.
They lost and the consequences would be dire.
“You can’t make this up and you got to be kidding, we got transported because of some doo-doo voodoo shit?! Don’t fucking joke with me!” A man kicked a box of supplies near him, without any support from NIIO, they’re done for. It was manageable to sow distraction or sabotage while fighting some militia reservists and occasional soldiers. But fighting the full might of Regalian Army or, god forbid, the Grasdivis? There is no chance in hell.
“What do we do now, man?! We were so close to winning!” A female screams with hysteria, to be robbed of victory and freedom is probably the worst possible feeling there are.
“Hah… guess my homend would still be colonized by those self-righteous Cuntherlish… Those clueless folks are all idiots, they couldn’t see how they were robbed of their own culture.” An older man just tucked his cap lower, his arm still bandaged from combat injury. The old rifle was dropped beneath his feet, he is tired.
Their hideout doesn’t just consist of fighters, but also civilians and their families who chose to fight for freedom or less than righteous motives. As long as they are willing, more brothers and sisters are always welcome. Cylene Renoir is the incarnation of the devil to them and in retion all the Elders who see their lives as mere numbers in their twisted war games.
Now, they are the first to break in shock and fear. NIIO, their st ray of hope for liberation, as shameless and ironic as that sounds, is gone. It couldn’t be understated the hopelessness they felt.
“I killed my brother to be here… for what though? We are so, so screwed.”
“He he he he! We are fucked! Hahahahahahaha! THE GODS HAVE SENTENCED US TO DEATH! HAHAHA HAHAHA AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH” This type of reaction has been a frequent occurrence. At first it was seen as a defeatist stance and coward talks. Now though? Just a common, wholly unremarkable, and painful truth.
“Someone help me hold him down! Hey, snap out of it! Calm down!” The man thrashed everything around him while his fellows desperately tried to subdue him. He is frothing in the mouth, his heart thumping loudly, and his raving grew more desperate.
“Guess this is the end for us, huh?” A girl barely in her twenties leaned against her lover.
“Shame we couldn’t get married…”
“Sorry…” the girl just smiled sadly hearing her lover’s remark. She is going to be one of many who wouldn’t fit into Cylene’s idea of harmony. Her lover kissed her temple; a wordless apology to her, one st time. Neither entertained the idea that the Grim Reaper’s scythe couldn’t reach them. Their hands squeezed, and they leant on one another with a ragged bnket on them.
Morale is plummeting at record speed. Resistance senior members got overwhelmed by deteriorating discipline while their commander was tearing his hair out. He then snapped out of his stress-induced rage.
“Goddammit! Ok, all of you shut up! We will-” yet his voice died in his throat. The sound of rotorcrafts could be heard from their hideout. Chill and dread struck them, this was the worst possible scenario.
The army rarely used rotorcraft in rooting out rebels, they will just use artillery and the airforce will bomb them from the sky. The two branches threat was somewhat lessened knowing this pce being underground, but that also meant something much worse: they’re here.
A branch that was infamous for always making sure that something is deader than dead.
“THE GRASDIVIS ARE HERE!”
“Oh God! Please, God, help us!”
“How could they find us!?”
“Do we got traitors here?!”
[Every able-bodied men and women head to the armory and grab a gun and some ammo, we will fight to the st! I repeat-!]
“MOMMY, WHAT IS HAPPENING?!”
“It is all right sweetie, get your little brother deeper inside the shelter, now!”
“Lord please have mercy upon your lost mbs, for he is truly bereft of hope. Oh lord-”
“SOMEONE HELP ME DISTRIBUTE AMMUNITION!”
“PUSH THE MG IN PLACE! COME ON, WE DON’T HAVE ALL DAY!”
“Rifle crate over here! Everyone who can fight, go grab one!”
“Fucking hell, this is ancient shit!” One of the fighters shouted in incredulous horror, he was given a single-shot breech loading rifle. He was unsure where the hell does the resistance have this junk.
“Shut up! Just take it and man the barricade!” The quartermaster can’t believe how someone compined when a literal death squad is knocking on their door.
“What barricade?! You are sending us to di-” He was punched in the face, handed over the rifle, and shoved out of the line. It doesn’t inspire morale, but what choice do they have?
“Stupid fuckwit, next! Come on people, monsters won’t wait for us!” A former army officer watched the chaos unfold and closed his eyes in acceptance; they were doomed. He sighed, took a full swig of his alcohol, passed it to others, and shouted.
“Goddammit… volunteers link up and just follow our lead!”
“What the hell are you doing?!”
“S-Sorry, I just… I-I’m…” A teenage boy trembled as he tried to gather the ammunition pouches he was told to deliver off the ground. The man’s face turned into a sad scowl before he raised him and shoved a magazine box to the boy.
“Zip it! Get this ammo box to the MG team, by the entrance now!”
“Y-yes sir!” While the boy frantically runs to the MG team, a couple of engineers are arguing on the side while working on a remotely detonated trap.
“I told you we should have rigged the cave to bury those fuckers!”
“How am I supposed to answer that?! No one expected us to be transported by some stupid shit of this level! We never see a precedent like this!”
“You two shut it!”
“Non-combatants please follow me! Don’t worry, we got enough supplies to st us all for weeks! Just keep believing in us, that cancerous bitch’s dogs aren’t invincible!” Amidst this hubbub of fear-induced bravery, a scene of a man parting ways with his children pys out. Undoubtedly, many such situations had unfolded times and again, yet none had made it much easier to bear.
“D-Dad please don’t go!”
“… I’m sorry, go with your brothers… g-goodbye, and know that I’ll always love you all.”
“L-Let’s go, we must get down to the lower shelters quickly!”
“No, we can’t leave without him!”
“Y-You think I want to leave him?! Come on!”
“Brother please, no! No! Please let me go! Dad!”
“God… please save them…” When one was parted with their family, the other wished theirs for luck in battle. Luck… yes… luck.
“Go give them hell bro.”
“I will. Wish me luck and see you ter too, sis.”
“Get the AT team rolling! If all else fails, bury those fuckers!”
“Hey! Ey! Help me tape these steels, we gotta make some maces!”
“W-Will that help?”
“Haha! Hell if I know, but I would be ughing my ass off to hell after smacking the dog’s face!”
“H-Heh, f-f-fair enough for me!”
“My messed up hands can’t hold a rifle, but I can carry mags with backpacks, so just leave the luggage to me.”
“He he, ba ha ha ha, BA HA HA HA HA HA! THE GRIM REAPERS ARE HERE! HAHAHAHAHA!”
“My brothers and sisters, let’s give that haughty witch of a bitch some real rough fuckings! For Tenebrae! For the Commonwealth!”
“““FOR TENEBRAE! FOR THE COMMONWEALTH! LONG LIVE THE FREE PEOPLE!”””
“Man, your post! I say again, man your post! Come on! We shall show those dogs a real war for freedom!”
[DO NOT FALTER, OUR DREAM OF LIBERATION WILL NEVER BE BROKEN!] The commander shouts using a megaphone. His words that would have sparked more hope had only ignited baseless mania and all too real hysteria. His voice failed to fre the confidence it used to.
Chaos ensues. The rebels, traitors, civilians, or even simple folks forgotten by society molded under Cylene’s rule of the state scrambled on. Heavier equipment was set on chokepoints, AT weapons primed and ready, while traps were set… now they wait and pray to see the next sunset.
Just outside the cave.
A ptoon of fully armored soldiers is disembarking from their aerial transports in all cardinal directions. None among them spoke a word. Heater disembarked from her transport and she gnced behind at two extra transports carrying a peculiar cargo box each with an equally peculiar sign stamped onto them. The signs differ, however.
“All call signs, commence operation. Clearance reminder, Tenth of Spade.” Heater’s lifeless eyes were hidden beneath an equally monotonous mask. Soldi- no, executioners, formed into their respective groups like a well-oiled machine. Callous, soulless, and humorless.
They march as dead men in the name of dutiful service.
[Celsius section copy.] No pity, no remorse, not even entertaining the sinful idea of alternative interpretation for any reasonable compromise.
[Fahrenheit section copy.] For them, the Grand Autarch’s words would be their logic, and her logic is the manifestation of justice and w themselves.
[Kelvin section copy.] A good Grasdivi will side with the w and uphold justice without being tainted by nonsensical doubts, heretical thoughts, or contaminated misgivings.
[Reaumur section copy.] Thus their twisted loyalty and dedication stays true to her grand vision of a better future unfailingly.
Back to the hideout
Everyone is silent. They grip their weapon tightly, prayers and pleas are uttered equaling the drums of war’s ferocity. Few wore gas masks, and most weren’t. They could only hope that none would ever be needed. Their gears are mismatched to boot, a few are armed and dressed like ex-military, complete with modification and accessories, while most only have old bolt-action rifles, or just improvised firearms in general, and the clothes on their back. They waited and waited… and waited… until the door was breached open, but not with explosives.
Huge-caliber rounds tear through the hardened gate. Some were felled instantly, and others crouched in shock. Freedom fighters already tasted the sting of PTSD and started convulsing where they were, horrible screams and cries were drowned by high-caliber guns tearing the hardened bunker door like paper. Regalia has enough of them and brought out the big guns.
Either due to fright or desperation, one shot turned into a cascading waterfall of undisciplined volleys. Their shots were mostly useless because of the aforementioned door; ironically. Team leaders are trying in vain to regain control of their subordinates before the commander himself shouts at the top of his lungs through the comms link.
[CEASE FIRE!] He gred accusingly at the untrained civilians who he presumed were the ones who started it. He ordered them to hunker down and wait until the rain stops. Once it did, the door was finally breached open and lights shone into the darkened halls.
They peeked carefully with their guns primed to fire. Dust and smoke are concealing the view, but no more shots are fired. With bated breath, the rebels watch raptly as these damnable fog secede. Their view turned clearer and horror was id bare.
“T-those were…”
“Fucking Grasdivis!”
“Oh god…” The bodies left at the entrance were their people. Horrified faces full of tears were id on the cold hard ground. Old or Young, the Grasdivis gave no quarter. Blood and guts are spyed for everyone to see, those who aren’t used to such a gruesome scene vomited and trembled.
Perhaps it was retaliation from the pza surprise attack? No one knows, or cares, about the reason, only that death crept closer. Fear spread and terror rules, were made dire when resistance fighters started abandoning their post, that’s when the floodgates were opened. Dozens ran and discipline crumbled like paper burnt into ash by a firestorm.
While those of stout hearts are glued onto the horrifying sights, gas starts spilling out of the hideout’s ventition. Some cough with blood pouring out, and others can only watch helplessly as their comrades are tumbling one by one. Banned chlorine gas was injected into the air filtration system. Then they see it, an armored bck soldier peeking in the corner with an incendiary grenade in hand. Flick the pin and roll it away, those who knew what would happen closed their eyes.
Chlorine in confined space couldn’t tolerate sudden combustion all too well.
An explosion rocked the hallway, burning bodies and pained screams formed a sickening cacophony of death. Some people cry through a choked lung, their bodies are already overworked due to the poison gas while fortunate few only need to suffer briefly before light leaves their eyes. The gas ignited into a fireball that almost wiped the hallway clean with a side stench of sizzling corpses.
Those closer to the ventition, like the commander, were instantly charred bck or vaporized into bits. Those farther from ventitions suffered third-degree burns, their clothes melted into their skin and sinking deeper to reach and burn the nerves along its path. Cries of agony and pleas for help have gone mostly unanswered due to the chain of command falling apart.
As if to mock the survivors further, additional armored soldiers surge through the cave accompanied by a demining remote-controlled vehicle that was modified to also carry a thick ballistic shield to deflect heavier caliber rounds. Retaliation started by those who are sane enough with blind fire, a volley of lead, and tracers lit up the passage. Sadly, the Grasdivis armored carapace and portable ballistic shield plus the aforementioned mobile cover provide ample support and protection from smaller caliber. This should have been resolved by the resistance’s heavy weapons team yet they found a sick joke patiently waiting for them.
“T-The MG jammed!?” The operator tried to cock the bolt but found that it won’t budge. Blood drained off this unfortunate operator’s face. He frantically keeps trying but such a dispy of desperation just confirmed the morale freefalling at record speed.
“Are you kidding me?!” A fellow resistance cried out through their gasmask before a bullet pierced their temple, horror, and hopelessness etched for eternity on this rapidly cooling body. The remaining crews haphazardly tried to get it back working.
“The bolt is stuck!” He keeps trying to unstuck it with his leg, applying physical force on this ancient piece of industrial killing machine. It was always reliable, hell it could also be used to counterfire snipers. Yet it doesn’t work in this critical moment.
“I’ll get the-” A shot was heard, but it was from their side; the weapon’s team. Another corpse had fallen with its blood pointing toward the entrance’s general direction.
Disbelief and shock rippled. He stares with betrayal reflected in his eyes, a friend was shot in the back and he is now facing a gun barrel. The boy’s eyes teared up with a hurtful expression, and this former comrade stared apologetically with his sidearm touching the young man’s temple.
“W-why di-” another bang and more bites the dust. Multiple shots were heard from the bunker, deeper within their parameter. Maelstroms of emotions surge forth, blinding their surrounding in the darkest dispy of cruelty and fgging will to fight. Hope is dwindling at the speed of cartridges ejected out of the Grasdivis’ rifles.
“Y’all should have had surrendered…” A girl said with a morose expression, her smile was painted with grief, resignation… and satisfaction. Her repeating shots momentarily drowned the sound of combat, and even when she was struck down by her former comrades posthaste, the empcement exploded soon after. Leaving what’s left well and truly vulnerable from the upcoming onsught.
The Grasdivis divided into a four-man team surged ahead. Explosions accompanied by gunfights were heard inside the once safe, secure, and nigh-impregnable cavernous hideout. A Grasdivi leaned sideways to take a potshot at a rebel behind sandbag walls, their shot was precise. Streaks of bullets smmed on the wall they’re leaning on. Pulling the safety pin, a grenade was lobbed. Screams of panic were promptly silenced by a cloud of dust rising outside the narrow room, and the fireteam finished off the survivors.
Deeper inside the hideout, the unfortunate non-combatants are sandwiched between loyalist traitors and dogmatic freedom fighters, made worse when the Grand Autarch’s warhounds trashed and tore through them at a rapid pace. A father of two crawled with his kids to prone on the dirty ground. He is doing his best to fasten their gas masks while his own throat is coughing out fleshy bits, but his vision is soon engulfed by darkness.
Fortunately, the freedom fighters managed to contain the spread of chemical weapons. Whether by blowing up the ventition, isoting those trapped there, or even pushing their mutated genetics against the mind-numbing pain. Many were dead before the area could be secured by chemical weapons. They did their best to lessen the casualties from the Grasdivis’ initial assault.
Yes, initial assault. More Grasdivis are mercilessly gutting them down without pause or g, and the existence of traitors amidst their ranks made the whole affair murkier and uglier. Survival unironically became each side’s primary motivation, the Grand Autarch’s hunting hounds in human skin are the exception of course.
Those who suffered PTSD convulsed, trembled, and vomited in terror, reliving the horror of the past decade. Their deranged plea for the noise to recede was drowned by the confused firefight between aspirants and war machines. Some had given up and decided to flee the madness on their terms. Gunfire and deaths are orchestrated finely into a denigrating opera theme for the test, absurdist, tragicomedy.
Of course, fanatics are the most fearsome of the bunch. They strapped themselves with even a rock to try and fight back against their tyranny and injustice. Even when their bodies are torn limb-by-limb, not once did they stop dreaming of a better world. A world without these higher mortals who used their lives as chess pieces. Even though their aspiration is commendable, it only took a hot lead in their brain cortex to sentence silence and confirm compliance by factual force.
Pure savagery unfolds when these zealots of opposing spectrums csh. A loyalist keeps swinging their fists while their former comrade roars eternal revenge through blood-soaked eyes. Makeshift-edged weapons have grown into prolific use in this confined space. These folks had once shared a firepce and tent, of food and water, of happiness and sorrow, yet here they were hacking one another because intangible ideas decided that coexistent is nonexistent.
Mankind is foolish, and thank god for that. This foolishness is the crux on which an invincibility is easier said than to be upheld. Through both perseverance and luck, a Grasdivi was felled by a rge mine filled with enough explosives to blow up a tank, and soon colpsing that passageway. It won’t stop the massacre, but that’s one of the best defiance they could offer.
Another would have its leg torn apart by a rebel pressing hard on a heavy machinegun’s trigger; appears that even the best pn would encounter fws. Their protective gear and ballistic shield could only cover so much surface, and 14.5mm doesn’t discriminate against targets less than 100m (330ft) away. The gunner screams and cries out in both adrenaline and fear. Of course, soon they too were felled and the merciless march moved forth.
The gravely wounded Grasdivi uttered a pained grunt, but not by much. Other than that, they just stared coldly through their visored helm and with their rifle aimed true; disciplined fingers steadied to pull on the trigger. Soon a Corpsman approaches them and prompts a CASEVAC amidst ever fiercer firefights, dragging them as their finger never rexed on the trigger while careful to avoid fgging friendlies.
A rebel tried to take out a Grasdivi with a makeshift mace, burying their body with the recently deceased proves a viable camoufge to fool their heat sensors. They swung it towards the enforcer’s helmet, and it hit. Their glee was cut short when said enforcer wasn’t staggered. If anything the mace-wielding rebel’s neck was cut open in seconds and the Grasdivi moved on, the Peacemaker’s whole demeanor was that of a person who had stepped on ants.
Some tried to surrender but The Grand Autarch’s enforcers had become blind in this dark environment. What they see are hostiles; bastards who turned on their brothers and sisters. Not counting the grave sin of spitting upon their unconditional ruler’s mercy. So the only noise heard from their end was gunfire. Terror, all is now lost. Unironically, it emboldened the remnants to fight all the harder for there would be no sense otherwise… no, they did it out of spite.
Be it loyalists or traitors, spite is the lingua franca of mankind when words done their due diligence.
Children and orphans are sitting on the sideline numbly, even when a bullet had made its unfortunate voyage, they did not move. These true victims of mankind’s arrogance have no light to look upon, no guide to cling onto, and yet life battered them with harsh reality without a shred of pity. Overwhelming stress and gory violence had left them in a heightened state of adrenaline. Some took it further by singing lulbies, pleasant songs for a nap and zy afternoons, others pying with the dirt, and so much more. All were a bid for any crumbs of sanity to accompany.
Sweats, tears, blood.
Three sacred elements that propelled humanity unto greatness or tyranny become one of many resources they, oh so graciously, keep fresh and in abundance.
Between this madness and certain death, some decide it is useless to think too hard. They watched on from the sideline, with tobacco in hand if they were lucky. An old man was about to light a cigarette when a bullet struck his chest. He chuckled morbidly and closed his eyes.
A few people decide to go further by spending the st moment consummating with their loved ones, they continue even when blood poured out of their freezing body. A person walked uncaringly between lead whistling by the confined space, and the next seconds they were felled dead cold onto the hard surface.
Cries of agony and helplessness, wails of horror and sadness, shouts of rage and fierce resistance trudge on, it was madness. Instead of banding together they turned their guns on one another and proceeded as if nothing had changed from the past. Ciming a vision is easy, acting on it is another problem entirely.
To install authority, the enforcers’ boots were certified to be justice-compliant in the name of order.
To usher in peace, freedom, and fairness were desecrated by the wailing of its victims and being buried six feet deep.
To announce the start for the end, spent brass and bullets, chemical or conventional, littered this crypt for a forgotten eulogy.
To envision a bright future… madness made the lead actor and innocence was sentenced as a tool to the script and narrative.
It was no st stand, not even a qualifying as a battle either… It was an occasion to control; to underline the length Her Chosen Peacemaker would go to.
Thus the day ended with hundreds dead, uncaring whose estranged sons or daughters, and just one more terrorist group smote from the face of this dispced continent. It is quite telling how easy it is to kill someone with an internalized motivation or ‘good enough’ justification existence, made more vivid with an efficient application of kill teams and hunting dogs.
Ever famous neutral cims such as ‘I’m just following order’, ‘Just doing my job, nothing personal’, etcetera when coupled with a chance to exact justice is a hell of a drug…
[END OF CHAPTER]
Author’s Note:
Yo there, this is me, myself, and I, the author who is just tired.
As you might have realized, Regalian will not be portrayed as a completely good guy…
ūC = Universal Credit, a very awe-inspiring and extremely original name, I know. :)
The reason why they’re so surprised with chlorine gas being used was that during the 20th War Regalia never did so. They did not want to provoke NIIO’s further propaganda and that would be undesirable for their most sympathetic supporter, UFSNE, which has a divided congress. Had they acted completely off the kilter, Regalia would have lost their st potentially powerful ally, and most importantly, a lifeline.
That’s all… update when? Um………….
Ciao.
