[Fortress City Antinoch, Most Divine Kingdom of Alterya]
(5th, Black Sea Moon (VII), 644 ASY)
This is the first time that enemy soldiers have ever stepped foot in Antinoch. It was quite a sight, their full-black uniforms glistening under the summer sun. A squad of nine in the northwest section march along a secondary street. They have been sent to scout the area out and to destroy any dissidents. They march in two columns of four, with their sergeant in front and to the left of the group. A weird feature of their uniform is a three-piece helmet that completely covers their head. What's more unusual is that there are no other metal pieces in the uniform, save for the steel buttons. They rest on their shoulders a large steel and wood staff. To the people of Antinoch, it is a strange magical tool. For the people of the Dalycon Union where these troops are from, it is called a "Rifle" and it's one of the weapons against the gods brought by the Unifier, Xacont of Corbata. They continue to march in the silent streets of Antinoch. As they round the street into the slums, a young man wearing priest's robes sprints from a corner building. He has a rapier in one hand and a dagger in another.
"Death to the Heathens and Heretics of Dalycon!" is his cry as he charges the sergeant in black. Without hesitation, the sergeant pulls out a short sword and parries the man's rapier. Before he could get his dagger arm to move, a loud blast followed by smoke surrounds the men. The sergeant's men had all fired into the man who was attacking him, the left column kneeling to make way for the right column's shots. The man collapses in pain. None of the shots have been fatal. This is what the squad wanted, after all. The sergeant walks over to the body of the man, now slipping in and out of consciousness. He picks him up by the neck, his arms not even having the energy to flail around.
"This is what you have chosen to receive. Be thankful that it has come so soon," A deep, hollow voice rings out amongst the silent street. A crack and a scream follow as the man's neck is broken. The sergeant unceremoniously tosses the man's body to the side, blood every so slightly staining his black gloves. This is a scene that is repeated all over the city of Antinoch as old men who have nothing more to lose, young men who have not seen the fruits of life, and those who have more zeal than an average person are cut down as they try to attack the soldiers of the Dalycon Union as they march through the great city. This scene is rare among the cities that this army has conquered. If the garrison of a city does not resist, the army will do nothing to the city but burn the churches and holy books and pay for many rooms to sleep in. If they resist, the entire city would be burned to the ground, and not a single person would be allowed to leave it alive. Garicont, Hershelmitts, Ganotic, Hemericvill, Sedvivs, Izmiz, Alcont, Almatz, and Serviv all met that fate. The only ones that surrendered were Gonzacolos, Merchiden, and the great city of Antinoch. Against all odds, this army has been able to defeat forces much larger itself. Numbering only some 100,000, this army has been able to beat 250,000 and then 800,000 men in pitched battle. The secret of this success lies in their weapons. Unknown to the citizens of Antinoch, outside their gates are the so-called "Thunder of God." To us, they are simply towed artillery pieces. To them, these are the weapons of the gods. By trapping the enemy between the hail of lead from rifles and the fire and steel of exploding shells, this small army has crushed its foes, who are still using pikes and swords. Closer to the gate, the leader of this fearsome army marches with his staff and guard. He isn't wearing anything fancy, simply a helmet-less version of his troops' uniform with brass buttons instead of steel ones. The only piece of clothing that his troops don't have is a crimson cloak that goes down to his knees. He isn't human, but not in a way that would make most of us mad. Silver hair, yellow eyes, and elongated ears mark him as a Silver Elf, a species of elf that used to be native to northeast Dalycon and southwest Alterya before the Alteryian army went and kicked them out. He stands quite tall, around 191cm, and is has his left hand on the rapier on his waist. This is General Rudolf Lockstone, commander of the Dalycon 15th Legion. His staff isn't completely non-human but has much more variety than their Alteryian counterpart, who shun all non-human species. This doesn't mean that Dalycon is inclusive. If you can do your job correctly, then Dalycon will see you as an equal. If not, then you are simply trash, a parasite on society. His guard similarly doesn't have a special uniform, only metal gauntlets on their left hand and metal boots. They march along the great avenue of kings past, heading towards the governor's mansion. To the people of Antinoch, this is the face of an invincible army. Yet in truth, the general, though he does not know it, was on the verge of death. For it was not he who created the army that he commands, and that army is loyal not to him, but to their creator, The Unifier, Xacont of Cordata. And Xacont did not appreciate the general's actions.
"Sir, someone requests your presence," A stiff voice announces. Rudolf sighs. It had not been four hours since Antinoch fell and he had already had seventeen requests for a meeting. He leans back in his chair, caring not to tip it over. This was the old governor's meeting room, and he is using it as his own. He sits in a wonderfully carved chair behind an equally impressive desk. In front of him is two sets of intricate benches facing each other, with a fine rug and glass table in between them.
"Who is it? If it's the governor again, lock him in the compound for an hour," Rudolf replies back.
"No, it's Lt. Colonel Damachius. He want to speak with you,"
"Ah, then let him in. We have much to talk about," The door opens revealing a lycanthrope in an officer's dress. He has an elongated snout with wolf-like features. Grey fur covers most of his back, arms, and legs, while a lighter white stick out from under his clothes in his chest and stomach. He has a wolf's eyes, and his canines are slightly visible from under his lip.
"General," Damachius stands up straight as he enters the room. He stops and puts his right fist on his heart, his arm going across his chest.
"Good morning Lieutenant Colonel. How is the ninth brigade doing? Have you faced any difficulties with the populace?"
"Not at all General. May I take a seat?" After seeing Rudolf nod, Damachius sits at one of the benches. He tucks his tail to the side as he does so.
"So? What did you want to talk about then?"
"I think it's time we start to head back home. We cannot maintain this position,"
"Really? Why do you think that? We have been counterattacked before. We have beaten them all back,"
"We cannot hope to replenish what we've lost. Every single shot, shell, and charge that we use will not come back to us. We need to resupply!"
"Damachius,"
"Yes?"
"How close is Antinoch to Alavia?"
"About 175 Lychis, which is… 50 or so kilometers?"
"Exactly. We can reach that in about an afternoon. We are at the heart of Alterya. We cannot go back now!"
"But-"
"We cannot go back! We do not stop until burn Alavia to the ground!" Rudolf slams his fist onto the desk. Damachius falls silent.
"Sir, you are an Army General, yes?"
"Hmm? Yes, of course. Only Grand Marshal von Ribentoff and the Unifier himself can supersede my orders in this army,"
"Then, what if I told you that the Unifier told you to stop?"
"He would have to personally come,"
"I see… That does make it such an inconvenience, huh," Damachius sighs.
"What do you mean…?"
"No, Plutarch can simply teleport me wherever I need to be," A new voice cuts in. A massive black mass emanates near the door. The swirling mass pulsates with a strange energy, and two figures step out from within it. The first one is a man about 185cm. He has pitch-black eyes and hair. He is wearing a simple crimson button-down shirt with gold buttons and high collar, similarly colored trousers, and black boots. Behind him is a slender-faced demon about 182cm. Unlike the man in front, he is wearing a very impressive three-piece black suit. As the two of them walk out of the mass of energy, it dissipates behind them.
"Y-Your Exellency!" Rudolf stutters as he yelps in surprise as the first man comes out of the mass of energy. He swiftly does the same motion as Damachius did when he first came into this room.
"Save me the lip service," The man in crimson shakes his head. "Did you conduct this invasion by your own will?"
"Y-Yes, my lord"
"Good. Tell your troops to pack up and start heading back to Gloricya. For most of them, it will be the first time they will see the capital, correct?"
"Ah, yes. I believe so. But your excellency, why must we go back? We are so close to-"
"First time, your army. The second time, your position. The third, your life,"
"But-"
"Your army"
"I-I understand. I will get the army moving back home,"
"Good… Leave now. I have some things to discuss with your lieutenant," Xacont sits down on the bench opposite Damachius, eliciting a sharp intake of air as he stiffens and sits up straight.
"I-I understand…" Rudolf nods as he leaves the room, closing the door with the caring touch of a mother not trying to disturb her child's sleep.
"Plutarch. Plan 38 will have to be abandoned. I suggest contingency 4-a or 5-a," Xacont looks up at the man still standing, putting his head on his clasped hands.
"Why not simply activate Operation Sun Storm? Wouldn't that take care of the problem in its entirety?" The voice that comes out of the man's mouth is not natural. It is unnaturally deep, with a slight growling at the end of the sentence. The way he accents his words isn't unusual, but it is unsettling.
"Again, I want to rule a land that still has its people. Blowing them to Demonya and back will leave nothing behind. What we need right now is time. In fact, should we pull out Glaive…?"
"I cannot say that will not buy us a long time to sort matters out,"
"Indeed. Damachius!" Xacont now stares at the lycanthrope in front of him. He claps his hands, and when he releases them, an envelope has appeared. He hands it to Damachius. "Give this to the fleet at Acnoc."
"Then, shall we reawaken some old memories?" Plutarch laughs as Damachius hurries to leave the room.
"Indeed. Remember to give the old ones back when you are done…"