"Mono/Dialogue"
'Inner thoughts'
Narration
[Message/communication apparatus]
Date: Late May 646 AU
Location: The Forgotten Ocean, West Regalian Control Zone
POV:???
“Don’t falter, fight to the st man! For the Prince and the Crown of Arganea!” How many hours had passed ever since these bsted spawns of whore forced us to take refuge on this barren hill? There were advantageous isnds that we crossed in this equally bsted ocean, yet as our luck would have it, those clever sods and brigands pushed us on this open hill.
A small isnd with minimal greeneries… and a hell of a lot of them… They had been attacking through the night, I know not till when we shall st. Exhaustion and untreated wounds became the bane of our existence, it doesn’t take a Court Mage to understand how finished we are. Arrows and arcane bolts had yet to cease their indiscriminate volleys, their incessant assaults lit up the darkened and forsaken patch of nd beneath whistling sounds of death.
10 ships were sent to cross the sea we had sworn to disavow for eternity, each was carrying 90 people… only 4 made it here for a st stand. Damn, these Halciadonian dogs… I stared up at the single banner staked upon this isnd. The only guidance we have is the luxury of a beacon of guidance, there is not much else…
I dodged a bde that was about to smash my head, yet accumuting fatigue had knocked it off my head. I retaliated with my bastard sword, cleaving the impudent whelp’s head in two. The makeshift barricade of shields and shipwrecks could hold this long only due to our mages maintaining the earthen wall that supported them.
Yet with a single gnce to the side, I saw them steadily losing their mana. Some had already died from mana blight and general exhaustion, yet their comatose body kept feeding the wall with their leftover astral energy. Our arquebusiers are running out of bullets… this situation is hopeless…
“Lord Commander Gallenor! The eastern line had been forced to pull back 200 paces, we could not hold!” A bloodied Royal Knight walked with staggered steps towards me. The poor d has more dirt, sand, and blood than there is skin and steel armor.
“Bst it! Knight Leodan, take the reserve Oathspears and arquebusiers with you. The east must not fall, or else we will lose our lifeline. Our people are still out there struggling to extract as many provisions as possible, our fate depends on them.”
“But Milord-” Yes I know I lied! There is no recourse… but it was our only choice to blindly hope. As long as Prince Zorphal lives, she won’t be able to harness the crown.
“I know dammit! Now get to it!” My bellowing voice drowns the knight’s protest. He could only stare with hapless acceptance of his duty.
“… At once Milord, may the Crown preserve us…” He simply walked away, the oathspears that had been listening from afar noticed his expression. Their grim faces are just another reminder of the cruel decision I had enforced upon them…
“Forgive me… we should take as many of them down… in the hopeful chance that the Prince did survive… he won’t be for long if there are still a lot of them. Godspeed, d…” Turning my face back to the battle before me, I reacted just in time to get back in the thick of it. Swords cshed, spears broken. Armors were annihited and shields were shattered.
We kept on battling for the next few hours, and the enemy assault suddenly ceased. We kept watch for a few more minutes, until after a while we realized that they had retreated. I ordered the men to stand down, and they did so.
Like puppets’ whose strings were cut, most immediately tumbled from where they stood; puking and groaning in pain. I watched as the younger members of ours broke down in tears, they frantically scanned for their brothers. Some could rekindle their camaraderie between hells, but most could only stare hopelessly. I head towards the makeshift apothecary tent, the view inside is grim.
3 dozen men and women that could be saved are slowly dying. Then I turn my eyes to the side to watch as the overworked healers do their best to save anyone they can. A knight has his mouth fastened with leather as the surgeon cuts his leg, the pained grunt was mostly suppressed but it did little to ease those who watch. I spot the head healer walking to me, his hands are red and there are pieces of flesh clinging to it. He spoke grimly.
“Lord Commander… We are at our limit.”
“We are running out of supplies, is it?” His nod of admission meant only one thing, and I could do nothing but accept it.
“… The Eastern Detachment didn’t make it?”
“Unfortunately.”
“… How many could we expect on the next fight?”
“Less than half, Milord. A third are in their death throes, as we speak. Not counting the loss of another 24 men… I could only hope that they weren’t captured.” As we were about to continue, a soldier intruded inside the tent with a pale face.
“L-Lord Commander!”
“What is it, son?”
“… T-They have them, central battlement!” I ran outside, followed by anyone who could still muster up whatever energy they could. My chest thumping louder the closer I could to where they were. My feet ran like mad, and before I knew I was back on the battlement. The tired sentries could be seen staring outside with horror-stricken faces clearly shown.
I asked one of them who tried to fetch me.
“How many?”
“3 young men and a woman Milord!”
“What?! Did I not forbade sending out our female brethren?! Had you made a pse in attention?!” I yanked my vice-commander by his neck. His expression shows equal parts horror and confusion.
“You were not mistaken Milord, and I had impressed upon them to not do such a thing! I was there ensuring it myself. There was no woman amongst them!”
“… So they brought the survivors from our other vessels?”
“… That would be the only logical expnation, Milord. I swear it by the Aligned-and-Blessed-Heaven, and on my name, that I followed your order to the letter.” I released his neck from the chokehold and walked towards the battlements. When I finally show my face on the earthen wall, a jovial and mocking voice greets me.
“Ah! A fine day to meet you again Lord Gallenor!” A blonde-haired man could be seen grinning, and 40 or so men could be seen with torches around him. My eyes nded on 4 on the ground, 3 men and 1 woman, just as the sentry informed me.
“Quite the cunning old frog are you, sending them under the guise of our uniform? Hah, far had you fallen indeed!” These bandits sneered and ughed, but I heeded none of their provocation.
“What do you want, Fiengall?”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk… that’s Count Fiengall to you, as I would soon become-”
“County of Fiengall? Really? A noble with no household? Fitting for a brigand with a delusion of grandeur.”
“Mongrel…”
“Better be a mongrel and free than being a damaged goods’ ckey. Tell me, have you sampled the wench herself? I would not risk it, d, the witch would be bad for your health.” His face colpsed into fury.
“How dare you insult Her Majesty’s grace?! Have you gone senile to not recognize her clemency?!”
“Undoubtedly, she kissed the sole of her kingdom’s conqueror while her subjects died for her honor. Committing both kinsying of the twins and fratricide to the King; our King!! She spread her legs and moaned out submission in complete candor. Once a wise princess turned lousy strumpet and traitorous witch… how low had she fallen… must have loved being a bitch.” I sneered back at him, and the 4 captives snickered with open defiance.
“Silence!” He kicked a man closest to him, but he only ughed harder. One of those bandits he called soldiers slit the throat of that foolishly brave man. His throat gurgled out blood and gore but not once did she fall before her eyes lost their shine. Snorting in self-satisfaction, Fiengall spouts his command with a mocking tone.
“Do it.” 4 of his men started restraining one of the captives limb by limb, he was being spyed on the ground with chains and ropes fastened on each of his limbs. Then an axeman came forward… and swung down the battleaxe on his left leg. He screamed a bloodcurdling voice of agony and I could only watch as his left leg now a stump. The d had yet to even taste more in life, and here he was to be disemboweled like a party animal. His blood drenched the muddy ground.
“Now Benevolent Gallenor, would you not want to save this poor young man? Surely, you could not bear to”
“DON’T LISTEN TO THE TAINT SUCKER, COMMANDER!” The youth shouted through a blood-clogged throat, his eyes wide open and he continued. His tearful expression gave way into an ample of spite.
“FIGHT ON! KILL THIS CUN- AHHHHHHHHHH!” Another one, but this time he only loses his fingers. Fiengall then kicked him in the face. A few of his teeth fell out, but the d doesn’t relent from defying him.
“Do you not know that to interrupt a noble to be punishable? You worm could live precisely because we allowed it.” Fiengall tried to intimidate him by yanking his snot and tearful face using his dirtied hair.
“Your family shall- ACK!” He spat on the lousy coward. That drew his ire, and he was mercifully sent off to the next world. I watch it all, keeping the rage suppressed deep inside, it doesn’t take a genius to notice his provocation.
“YOU DAMN MONGREL! I’LL SKIN ALL YOUR FAMILY ALIVE AND HAVE ALL THE WHORES TURNED INTO BREEDING STOCKS AND MARES! I’LL SEND THEM ALL TO HELL! I’LL SEND THEM ALL TO HELL!!!” He kicks and sshes at the cold-bodied, still staring defiantly at him. I spot a small grin tugged on the corner of the fallen man’s lips.
‘If only Ionie was as just and kind as we thought she would, you would have been a great knight, young man.’ After several minutes filled with irate shouting and anger, Fiengall returned to his senses. That unnerving smile of his thickened tenfold and I could smell the foulness of his bile from this far away.
“These idiots are your men… so let me tell you this, you surrender now… and maybe I would make your little slut a concubine of one of my accomplished retainer, how’s that sound? Surely you do not want the legendary Roselle bloodline only existing in history books?”
“Sounds like the raving of a madman.” He said nothing but have 5 of his men start with tearing out my female subordinate of her dignity. Dread wormed its way into her eyes, but she kept a strong fa?ade. Those on my side watched in muted horror while those scums cheered on with beted glee. She was pushed on the ground, her limbs stretched on the four corners and a rope fastened on her mouth.
“Let me, kindly so, give you a demonstration of what I would do otherwise.” Thus with a grandiose nod, the other captive knight was forced to watch as his sister-in-arms being debased and ridiculed. She was not afforded the glory of death nor the decency of a human. Muffled screams and ughter made an ugly symphony on this ever-darkening night. My subordinates started puking, some could only shout indignantly, but that only spurred them on.
This goes on for what feels like years on end until the woman is broken. She is staring absentmindedly to the sky while more taking their part in sullying her honor; not a single hair on her was left untouched. The rope was untied, and it took everything in me not to look away. My grips were hidden from view, but I could feel the blood seeping through its armored gauntlets with vengeance.
Yet I could not do anything but watch. The moment I sally forth, death is all that’s left and those behind me would suffer even worse. God forgive me… is not something I deserve. I’m casting them all to hell on earth…
The poor ss was soon paraded by those animals, thrown and caught like toys. Her body is unresponsive with a few slicing cerations like marking her as theirs before continuing their sickly games. She grunted weakly while the st prisoner went mad in rage; a berserker trying to free himself and exact vengeance. It was only when I watched as he was fastened with a colr on his neck, did my blood froze.
“Now~, you must be envious watching them having fun right?” The d was submerged in hate but soon regained his crity. The arcane runes and their dastardly tune wrench from his freedom.
“No, no, no, please, no!” Understanding sets in and parted a way for dread and horror.
“I command you, as a gracious master that I am, to… take your turn. Surely, you would be delighted to such a… hehehe… succulent fruit, no?”
“NO, GOD NO! SOMEONE HELP ME! PLEASE! NO, DON’T DO THIS!”
He was let go of his restraint, and his body could not be controlled. He tried as best as his conscience could muster, but his body disobeyed its owner. I could not look, but I must. He was forced to sully his sister-in-arms, his tears and pleas for forgiveness drowned out by those vultures’ vulgar heckling and gleeful cackling.
It went for far longer than I could bear until he was pulled away with a broken stare marring his expression. Tears of sorrow and guilt painted him, haunting him, for the rest of his life. He had done something far beyond his control, and Fiengall told him to be dragged back to his restraint. No one bothered with him again, the colr and his broken will destroyed the st shred of resistance.
“So what say you now? 12.000 well-rested, fed, and bred for war, soldiers descending upon your hundreds starving, ailing, and faltering group with bdes, bows, and arquebuses or submit and I’ll promise you that they would be granted a lease on life in mines or as bed warmer.”
“…”
“… Fine then, I appud your stubbornness, if nothing else. However, to all of you traitors, let me show you more glimpses of the future.” I then watched as Fiengall dragged the sullied woman’s comatose body through the dirt. He ordered his men to kill the st captive and take the ensvement colr with them, the boy's expression was still consumed by that horrifying memory.
He was just outside of our range and he has yet to run out of ideas to funt his depravity. That monster drives the blunted end of the Kin-syer Witch’s banner through her stomach, the poor ssie choked out her agony in listless and empty grunts.
More than a few of my men tried to retaliate but arrows and bolts never reached and arcane might was blocked by his esoteric armaments. The few arquebuses they possess fail to reach the gallivanting monster. He merely snorted at their desperate desire for vengeance.
The poor girl sputtered weakly until finally, the blunted edge tore a hole into her stomach. Blood and guts spilled and crushed out of her body. Her eyes widened with blood spilling forth through its sockets, her tongue was drenched by crimson liquid, and with a soft whimper… she departed this world. Fiengall spit on the body and left, with all the bravado of someone who had won a war.
To complete his threat and intimidation, hundreds of hidden soldiers lit their torches and followed him. They unveiled themselves as a show of force, to let us know that we have no chance. As if hours had passed since then when their camp’s ughter and revelry could be heard again. The men are hanging their heads with sadness, despair, and hunger to further sap the dwindling morale.
Shaking the lingering regret for opportune times, I ordered my men to answer to their duty or rest.
“All of you stay vigint, return to your duties, or rest while I retrieve the bodies myself. Preserve your strength for the final battle tomorrow…”
“C-Commander?”
“M-Milord!?”
“That’s an order.” They said nothing else when I jumped down, my nding was softened with whatever arcane energy I still had left. I retrieved them one by one to be buried inside the makeshift fort. A solemn and somber mood was soured further, but all we could do now was pray.
When I was carrying the woman’s cold body, now wrapped with my cloak, her face was still staring at the sky… it prompted up to look to heaven for deliverance and guidance. I never considered myself to be pious, my daughter would be the one for that. At this moment, however…
‘Oh Aligned-and-Blessed Heaven, I was never a devout man but please answer this selfishness just once, please keep my Little Lua healthy, please keep our Prince safe, and please keep our greatest mage away from grief. They are our st light in this misbegotten world.’
As if Heaven answered my prayers… rumbles of thunders could be heard from the distance. My eyes keenly traced 8 streaks of fire forming lines to paint the skies. They headed our way, and that seems to attract the attention of those scums as well.
“Are those…”
“Twin-tailed comet?” I do not know who said such, but by the next moment… the night was burned away, ushering for a time when the sun shone amidst the darkness.
For confgrations rained down from the heaven, and all the sinners be cast into the boiling fme. A hell was raised and we mortals were graced with a view of the divines’ infernal fme.
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A few moments ago.
“After this expedition, we will return home as heroes! We will have the party of wealth and women!” A group of bandits donning a uniform of soldiers ughed around the campfire. Their equipment is id haphazardly around them as they make merry as per the victor’s due. These bipedal animals savored scrumptious dishes to reinvigorate this daring incursion.
So far, most had already forgotten about the deadliness of this ocean. Relegating those tall tales as nothing more than spineless talks or nursery rhymes. Hell, many even began boasting about their prowess despite having a rather calm voyage. The more acutely aware would have noticed this, but a voyage into this part is not exactly common either.
“Suppose those who came before us are all amateurs, huh?” A man ughed as he recalled the tales of expeditions. How those best and brightest are lost.
“That’s what happens if you send a bunch of paper scratcher! Ancestors are all idiots no matter how and why!”
“Hear! Hear! We will show them that the true strength lies in our sword arms and smell of explosive powder!”
“Cheer for the Empire!”
“Cheer for the Empire!” This hubbub of activity is an infectious one, but of course, not everyone regards this hedonistic approach fondly. One such individual is the 3rd son of a noble, he gred at these rabbles with abject disdain. He remembered the time when camaraderie and chivalry had meant something, but as he is also complicit regardless of why.
“Uncultured mutt…” He spat as his feet began walking back to his tent. Along the way, he watches as ensved prisoners are being made a pything, or worse a hunting game. A man cried as he pleaded with them to stop abusing his daughter, a pair of lovers are being forced to watch their progeny be used as archery targets and many such horrific acts.
He feels immense shame for what had become of this army. Even worse he had been branded of the same crime and shame before his eyes were opened. Sighing listlessly for his powerlessness, he closes his ears and tunes out the cries for help. He has someone he could at least try to save, no matter how dubious or self-righteous.
He reached his allotted encampment to be greeted by his subordinates, men, and women who possess any shred of decency. The old sigil has been scrubbed and now they all don the same green dragon’s symbol.
“Sir Echrett, how was your daily excursion?” A female knight inquired, a rge gash run down her left cheek and perhaps one of her eyes had been blinded. Echrett shook his head.
“Tough luck, those bastards keep hiking up the bid… sorry, we don’t have much.”
“Don’t be, Sir. At least we managed to save a few people from the bondage of svery and… perhaps atone…” Her voice was heavy with mencholy, and her colleagues were staring at the ground as well.
“I see… keep on your duty, I shall see to it that we can negotiate better pay so we can use it for what truly matters.” He continues walking into his tent and opening the fp. A girl in her teens is busy doing housework, she notices his entry and prompts her to stiffen up her posture.
“M-My lord, I’m sorry the housework will require more time, my sincerest apology.” Echrett took offense to being called master, so she addressed him as my lord.
His heart ached to see her so visibly trying to mature; especially since her manner of speech is unsuited for a girl her age. Unfortunately, she misinterprets his silence as disapproval and the girl began shaking uncontrolbly.
She had seen what these people had done to those who failed them. Her previous owner was like that, and she is praying to either devils or angels to grant her a way out.
“I told you that there is no need for you to do such a thing, Meri.” He tried his best to soothe the girl who was around his youngest sister’s age. The moment he found her that day was also the day he regained crity as a man, not a beast.
“B-but… you saved me… this is the least I can do… I know that I’m not at all desirable but-”
“Listen to me.” He is never good with the younger people, much to his chagrin, and he took a more forceful method. The girl cmmed up and she stifled her tears from spilling forth, afraid that she was angering him.
Echrett took a knee before her and began patting her shoulder. He musters a sorrowful smile. The knight imagined just how far he had fallen to keep clinging to some self-imposed heroism, but he must try. It is easy to kill, healing someone is much, much harder.
“It is fine if you hate me, I will accept it. However, please be more mindful of yourself… have any of my men done anything untoward to you?” His voice shakes as he hopes that his men are as trustworthy as he thought. Of course, the chance exists that the girl will simply deny anything.
“N-No… my lord…” He stares at her shrinking self pitifully. Because it is not working, he changes his tactic.
“Fine, then how about you do this? I want you to stay here and keep the tents tidy, just do what you can, after that I’ll give you more food. How does that sound?” He cringed internally for his style of coaxing. It almost feels like he is doing something that is certainly frowned upon. Contrary to his feelings, the girl lit up eagerly.
“Y-Yes! I will! Just leave it to me!” Her enthusiasm was dyed with both hope and desperation. Echrett decides to drop the matter and begins untangling his armor. It is quite hot to be walking around in full pte beneath the many yers of gambeson, greaves, and such.
That is until the premonition of death struck his spine. His hands froze, eyes swam widely to search of an unknown predator, and his sword arm tightened.
It was faint… but he heard a sound that could not be identified as the sea breeze or the cawing of seagulls… It is fierce and like the faint shrieking of the dead, shrieking of the many innocents he had passed during his revelries of conquest. His hairs are strung high as his pores begin to relive the emotion of charging through crashing cannonballs and bullets. Kicked up dirt, and wailing of many dead men walking…
This time however, there is not even a shred of adrenaline, only unadulterated fear.
“Kai, hide inside the treasure chest beneath the bed. Do not by any means leave it unless necessary.” His instinct screamed at him to make haste. Yet he prioritizes the girls first.
“M-my lord?” Her confusion is understandable, especially seeing his change in demeanor.
“Now!” His sharp voice prompts her to scurry to her designated hiding spot.
She had been used to it since there was time Echrett’s more loathsome ‘colleagues’ swung by and she made herself scarce for protection. It would be even worse if that monster came by for his so-called ‘social’ visit. So she has more or less been accustomed to it. Once he is back outside, his men and several others also notice this alien and unusually continuous or long shriek.
“What happened? Fastharadian dragons?” His voice is heavily dominated by wariness. While skeptical, he still believes the catalog of known legendary beasts prowling or gliding in the sky. One he truly feared would be the Fastharadian Dragon, a rare variant of a dragon he knows. One of its most notable features would be its death shrieks.
Fortunately or not, appears that is not the case here.
“We don’t know, Sir. We just sensed that something was approaching rapidly! We tried to get in contact with messengers, but they are puzzled too.”
“Bst it all, prepare for combat! All of you gear u-” Whatever he was about to say died in his throat. Above the ink of pitch bck night sky…
Formations of twin-tailed comets are fast approaching.
POV: Narrator
‘She is positively pissed, I mean I’m too, but holy shit…’ Luke warily eyed his partner who has been eerily quiet so far. Their squadron had been tasked with eliminating, and he would even quote, ‘Pests’.
4 Phantoms and 4 Aardvarks were sent to eliminate this threat and to gain potential insights into the future. They were armed with incendiary bombs since most of their target were tightly packed and enclosed wooden ships. RAIO suspected this formation to be unusual and perhaps too eccentric due to the existence of a fme-breathing lizard. One wondered why, but honestly, they didn’t care.
Especially when they got the test updates from the R/ECA-3N of the navy, the report was appalling, to say the least. Not one among them doesn’t harbor an increasingly negative view of the New Worlder’s idea of decency and human rights, but none among them could hold a candle to Condor One’s. The girl has been a quiet, yet shimmering, avatar of fury.
“…Catharina?”
“… What?” She growled out her response, he could do nothing but calmly coax her anger down. Cath's anger burns bright on the many targets below. What targets? Monsters that did a disservice to intelligence and sentience.
Cruel and useless waste of air that dared to share their visage. Everything disgusts her deeply, for they don the mask of children of man but their attitude is worse than beast. She vowed to burn them all in the raging hellfire. She is slowly losing her composure, and that’s saying something after her many brushes with crimes against humanity during that 20th Global War.
“Focus on the mission… Hang in there, alright?” She shakes her head from left and right, before heaving a sigh of her own. Her knuckles had been squeezing the flight control and other instruments tightly, and she only realized her hands hurting just now.
“Yeah and sorry about that outburst back there, Luke… Just… dammit… I had hoped that those damn greenhorns were faster…” She smiled bitterly, no doubt that she would get chewed out for that. I pat her shoulder and she pced her hand on mine.
“Don’t worry, you’re not the only one. Throwing a tantrum now won’t help though, just focus and let the bomb the job, we are just mailmen now.”
“Heh… yeah…” She then turned her voice into the squadron’s channel. The venom still dripping from her tongue, but at least she didn’t sound like exploding anytime soon.
[This is Flight Lead to all units, our objective is clear; pest extermination. Make sure to avoid hitting the immediate vicinity around and near the golden dragon fg or the makeshift fort. The rest being fair game to us, how copy?]
[Condor Two copy. We got our first bombing run after years, we won’t screw it up.]
[Condor Three affirm and just say the word Flight Lead, it is going to be a hit tonight.]
[Condor Four A-Ok.]
[Condor Five roger and ready to drop some napalms.]
[Condor Six primed and ready.]
[Condor Seven wilco, let’s send them to hell shall we?]
[Condor Eight here, let’s send these bastards to hell indeed.]
[Good, let’s have these savages sip the cocktail known as industrial warfare!] They ughed at her words, but there was not even an inch of mirth beneath their tone.
[Second Flight formation would ensure their annihition, but that doesn’t mean we will be scking off.] Laughter echoes. They ugh at the idea of exacting justice, their minds refuse to recognize those below them; inside that den of sin and a temple of sacrilege, as human.
A chilling, sadistic, grin was pstered on Catharina’s lips.
[For our Autarchy! For the Grand Autarch!] Soon a chorus of affirmation filled the channel, devoid of a sliver of thought for remorse. Emotions running high, idealistic aspirations, or even a simple fleeting bloodlust further eroded their empathy, humanity, and pity.
Thus the birds of death dives from the heavens with their wings stretched and den with inert fmes of hell, and soon their jagged teeth are bared upon the sinners below. Sinners who had been allowed to run roughshod in their domain for far too long.
Here be the angels, and they are out of mercy.
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The self-procimed Count is fuming inside his tent. He is currently choking a prisoner beneath him, his fists have also found their marks on the captive. He has been filing them around, indignant that his graceful and merciful offers were ignored. He was furious that idiots like them existed and could not be reasoned with to see the truth that Arganea was finished with Halciadon Empire rising as the hegemon.
His bodyguards could only watch from the side, some amused but some are conversely appalled seeing the prisoner’s treatment. Most of them said nothing, this has always been a daily occurrence and they are only there to do their jobs and get paid without the need to consider the nitty-gritty morality. After the umpteenth beating on the now-dead prisoner, he smiles.
“Ah, that was wonderful. Would have been nicer if it was a bit feistier, but I’m not too picky…” Of course, his naked body has been dispyed without an ounce of shame. His terrified maids quickly dressed him, he eyed one that seemed to be on the plumper and younger side… but most importantly because he knew her.
“Ah, dear Dalia!”
“Y-Yes, Milord?”
“If I recall… your brother was in a dungeon, yes?” Dalia paled while her colleagues did their best not to show any emotions. It would be one thing to try and defend or assure her, it is another entirely when they gained his wrath.
The girl stammered non-stop. His smile vanished and he roughly yanked the maid by her hair. Her canine ears which were cut could be seen, eliciting whines and sniffles of pain. The crude sew was by design, and thus the blood seeps through.
“Answer me you filthy beast-blood!”
“Y-Yes Milord! My brother is in the dungeon!” She tried her best not to scream even when blood was trailing down slowly through her wounds.
“Good, now would you enlighten me of his crime?”
“H-He… he was convicted of t-t-t-treasonous and colluding with f-f-filthy beasts, m-m-Milord.”
“Precisely! Now, what is the perfect punishment for a traitor?”
“…” The Maid's whole body trembles, she cannot spit out the words. She knows the punishment that would befall anyone who tried to conspire against the kingdom. Ever since Ionie’s fealty to the Empire, their ws have been audited. Despite her terror, her lithe hands are still doing their best to fasten his clothing. Fiengall's smile grew more pronounced after seeing her terrified visage.
“It appears you did not know… but! No worries my dear, let me enlighten you. Ahem~… so, first we cut off their tongue. The first sin came from the liar’s lips, a fitting comeuppance. Second would be the breaking of their fingers, to symbolize that they shall never touch justice with those dirty paws.” She starts sobbing, but he doesn’t stop.
“Third would be stripped naked and show to the people that their ugly, profane, beastly figure is a sober reminder of what could befall what was once a good person. These kinds of wretch are filthy beasts, after all, clothing doesn’t befit them. Fourth would be to skin them alive, we shall make them clean once more as it was intended. With their stained coat peeled away, the god shall have an easier time cleaning them. Truly, such a thorough cleaning for a sinner shows the wellspring of compassion worthy of justice.” Her hands stopped, and the other maids retreated immediately when he circled her. A small peeling knife pyed between his fingers.
“Dalia, you have such a wonderful body…” Her sobs turned hysterical, her breaths hitched in short heaves, but she couldn’t uproot her feet nor her hands that dug deep into her flesh. Fiengall’s grubby fingers took a generous amount of flesh, but another started using the knife to disrobe her. Woefully aware and honestly uncaring that it had drawn blood.
He stopped when he heard a peculiar sound. Akin to thunder rumbling above him, unease sets in. His instinct has been crying about something going amiss, but he doesn’t entertain it even further. Fiengall would rather continue pying with the poor maid.
Before he could continue his psychopathic game, however, a loud explosion rocked just outside his tent. Fiengall was staggered, the knife made a small cut on his hand yet he paid it no heed since confusion and fear etched onto his face. The maids promptly scattered and the bodyguards are rallying to their charge.
All of a sudden, the revelry of victory and glory vanished into thin air. Repced by the foreboding sense of unease and bewilderment, mimicking the bell’s foretelling of the Angels of Vengeance's arrival. Shocked silenced transfigured into a chaotic amalgamation of unruly voices; madness and fear terrorized the once mighty army.
He promptly ran outside to check on his men and perhaps found some measure of crity.
The crity came with the view of both the camps and fleet made abze with a fme that ignited the goddess of the night away. They burn so brightly that it looks like the entire floating city has been turned into a veritably expansive bonfire. Army and Navy thought to be enough to subdue a small kingdom were thrown into a whirlpool of uncertainty and disbelief.
Screams of agony, wails, and curses filled the air. Streaks of red and fire are dancing above, the dark sky did little to hide the visage of monsters foretold in the nursery and from drunken patrons’ lips. He watches with cold sweat streaming down his spine. Chill struck him to the bone, the chill of death he has relished upon so callously.
“W-What in the gods’ name is happening!?”
“Milord, we are being attacked!”
“…What?!” As if to answer his words, one of the unknown assaints skimmed just above his campground. It leaves a gale of stormy winds, and dozens if not hundreds of wounded men. Fiengall was once more knocked off his footing, but this time his ears started bleeding.
The ringing of death and the Grim Reaper’s cold gaze could be felt. It moves impossibly fast, faster than anything he has ever seen in his sorry excuse of a life. The ground itself trembled, and the smattering and lively greeneries shook, akin to cpping fervently at the entrance of death itself. A few of his guards are writhing on the ground, their hands are cupped painfully upon their bleeding ears. Those on the watchtower, higher and closer to the beast, were killed instantly. Their body plummets below in a ghastly painted body with orifices painted red and wet.
He caught a glimpse of a metallic dragon, but it was so fast that he doubted he was even sane. The man volunteered to chase after the Prince for glory and fame. He also believes none about the Forgotten Ocean’s myths. No matter the regrets, he could do nothing as these divine beasts were tearing his army and ships were shredded to bloody mist and shoddy wrecks into the abyss.
The ringing then turned into nothing, he heard nothing and all he saw when he opened his eyes was pandemonium. The ships are abze, their masts broken, hulls shattered, and more are sinking with hellfire that rejected the ocean’s plea to be extinguished. He watched with trembling body and widened eyes full of horror how the fme spread further and farther with each heartbeat.
The water mages are doing their best to douse the fme that infects the entire camp to no avail. They are less of fme and more like disease, a virulent catastrophe that would make men mad with confusion and shrieking from unbridled agony. His ears are deafened but his instinct forces him to look towards the skies above.
His terror was palpable, almost a dozen unknown beasts were circling about the camp like birds of prey. One of them dived to spit out brimstone, hellfire, light, and lightning. He watched how his army was being turned into an over-glorified meat soup or an ugly stain on the sandy beach. A cloud of ignited air born into fme and then erupted within another connection point between the fleet.
Smoke and burnt air were inhaled by the survivor who soon succumbed to an eternal torment. In a bout of mania, a man hacked his wrist to put out the fme. It was for nothing because the fme itself tched onto the bde, and it touched him all the same; not accounting for more flowers of fire blooming splendidly over their torched haven. Another scum is melting with a heat that would make a dragon’s breath be a warm exhale of breath during winter.
Their skins melt, organs boiled and burnt, and screams are nothing more than smoky haze that made a mockery of dried-up throats. Another plum of fire erupted, but this time it ignited the bck powder and magic crystal storage. Eardrums were ruptured, lungs filled with torrents of burning air, and those closer to the mushroom of death were vaporized faster than one could blink. Those who didn’t are suffering hideous burns, impaled with utter prejudice, sshed into bits with both fire and steel or just smmed by fming splinters of ships lunging at terminal velocity.
The massive explosion was equal to an explosion of 500 tons of TNT detonating all at once, annihiting the entire eastern wing of the camp. Shockwaves smmed the struggling survivors, making it harder to find any sembnce of order against the nigh-unseen predator, but visibly illuminating comets, dancing above the starry heaven.
Inky bck to form a backdrop for a sea of fme.
More and more tried to pray to their gods, which were silenced by yet more hail of light and thunder. Their mentality and bravado were truly tested when dozens were turned into minced meat, not even the bravest among them could hold onto single-minded sanity when faced with credible insanity. No armor could deflect the rains of light, no shield was left un-punctured, and no amount of arcane sorcery could wake them up from this nightmare spilling into reality.
The few Arquebusiers are shooting blindly into the sky. Their paltry resistance angered the many circling specters of death, one blink and they all gone as red paste on the ground. Ripping and tearing cries resounds after they die, utterly incomprehensible for their dimwitted brain.
Order has been a thing of the past, and anarchy reigns supreme.
Hundreds of voices were silenced, but what does a hundred would mean if thousands are still repenting gullibly in all their dastardly ways? Fiengall could no longer hide nor deny his growing horror. He could not hear anything, but those near him heard the wailing of the dead coming from his mouth. He wailed so hard his throat started bleeding from the strain, a saving grace for an unworthy fellow when the adrenaline pumping his body numbed him for much-needed control.
The winds were unfavorable and these executioners from the dark often made things worse by skimming just enough to redirect where the fmes shall encroach. He could vividly feel the cold touch of death howling for his damned self, causing him to weep for all to see. He cared not for his pride and self, he just wished to wake up from this horrid dream. Tumbling back, Fiengall starts running after he takes his arcane armor and flees the hell on earth.
Sves that have been praying for their nightmare to end cheered and cried joyfully. Even as the shockwaves of burnt air crash onto their bodies, they have nothing but relief to finally see a tide of peaceful release at st. A few of them still want to live, but the fme doesn’t discriminate and they too were granted mercy or agony the same way as their captors and brethren.
These napalm-doused targets of modern warfare are writhing and doing everything to put out the fire. Try as they might, their arcane power proven useless in the face of cold technological difference. Luckier fellows could still drive their bdes into themselves, sparing them from further torment. Most aren’t so lucky, they were too busy celebrating after all.
Fiengall ran further away from the camp, but as fate would have it, he would not go off scot-free. One of the devils is diving to nowhere but him, its intention is all too clear.
Those stiff wings now look no different than a legendary dragon diving in for the kill. That whistling, earsplitting, rumble was heard once, and yet that was enough for his mind to always remember and repy it over and over again. An orchestra of never-ending bells’ tolls, all reserved only for him.
There is nothing to hide, conceal, and shield him from its view. His throat had long since died; he wasn’t even cognizant of the taste of iron sthering along his esophagus. He pissed himself while running and he pleaded, cried, wailed, and prayed to be spared through soundless preaching, but the steel beast was not in the mood to listen.
The Phantom dives like a flying sword, the air shrieks in complete candor at this wretch’s unavoidable demise…. No, calling this thing a wretch is an insult to the very concept of wretch.
Its nose soon spits the all too familiar fshes of thunder.
A rapid, adequately lengthened, burst of 20mm High-Explosive shells had him deleted.
His entire life ceased to be and his so-called glory gone into nothingness.
He was not even spared a chance to witness his st moments.
Not even the wind wanted to touch his atomized ash, and elects to straightly scorn his soul.
At this point, the Arganeans are all awake. Even those who had been injured forced themselves to witness the ruckus outside the safest bastion they could have. It doesn’t take long for all of them to gather and commit to memory on what is unfolding.
Glimpses of hell on earth those preachers told and texts had illuminated were presented before them in all their horrifying vainglory. An insane feast for their weary, winded, and wounded well-being.
None among them could put into words about the camity unfolding 4 leagues away. They watch as bodies are set alight, tents and battlements being destroyed, and the ships that barred them from escape sinking into the sea. It was surreal, unreal, and…
Oh so sweet.
They cared not who or why… only that vengeance is id before them.
They cheered, roared, screamed, yelled and so much more emotions amplified in this horrific jubition and grateful terror. Even if they were to die today, this would suffice.
To watch that bastard and his army be sent to oblivion is a privilege for these damned souls. Those who had lost someone dear to them sobbed, their loved ones had been avenged. Those who were awestruck by the scenery have their minds and visions grasping at those 8 trails of twin-tailed comets.
Lord Commander Gallenor, the man who had prayed to the heavens, only muttered weakly.
“… Is this… the Gods’ answer?” His voice heralded yet another wave of death, and thus the curtain was drawn. No one was spared from this, everyone shall remember the day Regalia bared its fangs.
[END OF CHAPTER]
Author’s Note:
Yo there, this is me, myself, and I, the author who… eh…
Expect more of these colterals that would be pguing the entire story. It would get better… maybe.
Regalia makes use of the F-111 Aardvarks too, that’s all I have to say.
The Spy Pne used here was not the U-2. It was a Lockheed JetStar modified to work in the role of medium-range weather and surface reconnaissance aircraft.
Update……………………………………………………………………
Ciao
