Chapter 20

  The Fall of Frenca

  [DATE: 02. CYCLE 12. YEAR 40 INDUSTRIAL]

  [LOCATION: CAPITAL OF FRENCA — PISA]

  [TIME: 12:45 LOCAL]

  [STATUS: ELIMINATION OF SOUTHERN ELITES]

  The Nax-Geot army had marched without interruption—a steel avalanche surging toward the heart of the South. The midday sun glinted off tank turrets and artillery barrels, transforming them into lethal silhouettes bearing only the symbol of the red cross. Every village or pocket of resistance that dared to raise arms was swallowed by this inexorable force within minutes.

  ?Chancellor Halter was positioned inside an armored command vehicle alongside General Blais, observing the march as it cleaved through every township.

  ?“Sir, the First Division has achieved its objective in Byg with absolute success,” Blais reported, holding the radio across his lap. “The Allies capitulated without a single attempt at a counter-offensive.”

  ?“Casualty report?” Halter asked curtly, his gaze fixed out the vehicle’s window.

  ?“Zero fatalities from our ranks. Civilians remained untouched. From the Allied forces... approximately 500 to 600 casualties from the initial naval artillery volley prior to surrender,” Blais replied.

  ?“Order Stancer to transfer all prisoners of war toward Blin,” Halter commanded in a sharp, decisive tone. “And notify Central Command to summon the required generals. The Staff Meeting will be held as soon as we return to Blin.”

  ?Blais initiated the transmission. Suddenly, the radio emitted an encrypted signal. It was the voice of Halter’s elite unit, the H-class. Their voices, distorted by air-filtration masks, were deep, mechanical—almost non-human.

  ?“Copy... reporting from Pisa. Primary objectives are under control. The enemy’s communication array is isolated. Awaiting instructions.”

  ?A thin smile crept onto Halter’s face. The strategy of silence had worked.

  ?“We begin, Blais. Patch me through to the leader of Pisa. It is time to wake them from their slumber.”

  [LOCATION: MUSE HOUSE — PIRO’S VILLA, PISA]

  [TIME: 12:50 LOCAL]

  Meanwhile, within the walls of Pisa, a deafening silence prevailed. The H-class unit had severed every communication line, leaving the city’s leadership to believe the Second Wall was still standing. In Piro’s luxurious villa, the Southern elite were indulging in a grand banquet. Laughter and the scent of expensive perfumes masked the approaching stench of gunpowder.

  ?The tranquility was shattered when a soldier, caked in dust and gasping for air, burst into the hall clutching a radio.

  ?“Sir!” he cried out, only to be instantly intercepted by Sebastian, who stepped forward with indignation.

  ?“How dare you disrupt the banquet? Where is your respect for protocol?” Sebastian hissed.

  ?Piro, a glass of red wine in hand, placed a steadying hand on Sebastian’s shoulder, calmly moving him aside.

  ?“Be at ease, Sebastian. Let him speak. What news is so urgent that it compels you to discard the rules?”

  ?“Sir... the army has defected,” the soldier stammered, his voice vibrating with terror. “250,000 troops have surrendered. They are already prisoners of Nax-Geot.”

  ?The room froze. The music died, and crystal glasses remained suspended in mid-air. The silence that followed was so heavy it felt as if fear itself was seeping into the pores of every elite member present.

  ?“What are you saying? It was a colossal army! How could it be defeated so easily?!” Piro’s voice rose into an irritated shout, the wine glass trembling in his grip.

  ?“It’s a true nightmare, sir...” the soldier attempted to explain, but was cut off by the sharp static of the radio. “Sir! It’s Halter... he is calling for you personally.”

  ?Piro snatched the radio with a furious grip, his knuckles turning white.

  ?“Halter! You bastard! You will pay for everything!” he screamed into the device.

  ?From the small speaker came only the Chancellor’s cold, metallic laughter—a sound that turned the blood of the listening elite to ice.

  ?“Sir, I understand your anger,” Halter’s voice emerged, calm and mocking. “But the road to Pisa is long, and I could not arrive in time for your celebration. My apologies... therefore, I have sent you a preliminary gift. I hope it is to your liking.”

  ?“What... what are you talking about, you madman?!” Piro bellowed, but the transmission cut off with a sharp click.

  The members of the elite recoiled in terror, carving out a hollow void around Piro and the soldier. Three figures that resembled machines entered the room: the soldiers of the H-class unit. Clad in black polymer uniforms, their dark lenses concealing every human trait, the Nax-Geot insignia shimmered coldly on their chests. Two of them brandished heavy flamethrowers, their nozzles emitting a thin, black trail of smoke.

  [SUBJECT: 3 H-CLASS UNITS — ARMAMENT: FLAMETHROWERS]

  “Sebastian, who are these men?!” Piro demanded, snapping his head toward where his trusted advisor had stood. But the spot was vacant. “Sebastian... Sebastian, you filthy worm!”

  ?Piro’s outcry was drowned out by the heavy, synthesized voice of the H-class soldier, who stood with his hands behind his back, as motionless as a judge.

  ?“By order of the Chancellor and in the name of the honor of Utopia: You are hereby sentenced to execution by immolation.”

  ?The soldiers engaged the valves. A muffled hiss of gas filled the room. The aristocrats began to trample over one another in a primal panic, clawing toward the corners of the hall or the sealed windows. Only Piro remained frozen before them, the first spark of the igniting flames reflecting in his dilated pupils.

  ?From outside the luxury villa, the quiet afternoon of Pisa was pierced by final screams pleading for mercy, before they were silenced under the deafening roar of the fire consuming everything in its path.

  [OBJECTIVE: 37 PERSONS: SOUTHERN ELITE WEALTHY — 37/37 ELIMINATED]

  [DATE: 02. CYCLE 12]

  [LOCATION: COASTLINE OF BYG]

  [TIME: 13:10 LOCAL]

  [STATUS: DISARMAMENT OF ALLIED FORCES — TRANSFER TO BLIN]

  The dense fog that had veiled yesterday’s tragedy had dissipated, leaving the coastline of Byg under a harsh, unforgiving sunlight. Black clouds gathering on the horizon heralded a rain that would wash away the blood, casting heavy shadows over the endless ranks of Allied soldiers disarming in silence.

  ?General Stancer stepped down from his armored vehicle with calculated movements. He lit a cigarette, showing a slight irritation toward the mud staining his polished boots. He headed toward Adem, who was being held under the control of Nax-Geot officers as they bound his hands. Alfo and Zeta followed Stancer like silent wraiths.

  ?“No, not him!” Stancer ordered, gesturing to the officers. “He is a General. A bit more respect for the rank. Release him.”

  ?As the officers withdrew, Stancer stood face-to-face with Adem. The contrast was brutal: Adem was caked in mud, his uniform torn and his Grade B insignia no longer reflecting anything; Stancer stood untouched, his crisp uniform gleaming under the sun.

  ?“What will you do now that you haven’t killed us?” Adem asked, rubbing his wrists bruised by the ropes. “Will you use us as hostages to intimidate the BAA? You’re wasting your time.”

  ?Stancer merely smirked, exhaling a cloud of smoke directly into his face—a gesture of total disdain.

  ?“You’re young, kid,” Stancer said in a calm, chilling voice. “You haven’t learned yet that war isn’t won by the strength of muscle, but by the weight of the mind.”

  ?As Adem glared at him with contempt, a hand rested upon his shoulder.

  ?“Leave the boy be. He’s had quite a difficult day,” a new voice spoke, accompanied by a laugh that sounded almost paternal.

  ?It was Kaiser Denis. The moment he appeared, Alfo, Zeta, and every officer nearby snapped to attention. The brilliance of the Grade S insignia on his chest left Adem breathless.

  ?“You... you are Kaiser Denis,” Adem stammered, his eyes locked onto the Grade S emblem.

  ?“Look at that! The boy knows me! You see, Stancer? I’m more famous than you,” Denis added, giving Adem a falsely friendly pat on the back. “Off you go now, kid. Get in line. It’s a long road to Blin.”

  Adem retreated toward the column of prisoners without a word, but his eyes remained locked onto Denis’s Grade S insignia until the rising dust veiled him from sight. Within the inner circle of officers, however, Stancer displayed none of the awe the enemy harbored; to him, Denis was merely an arrogant obstacle.

  ?“Save your breath, Denis. We are moving out with the column,” Stancer said, drawing on his cigarette until the cherry glowed. “The Chancellor has called an emergency briefing in Blin as soon as he concludes matters in Frenca. We are two of the generals summoned to report.”

  “The Chancellor is calling a meeting with the Grade S elite?” Denis arched an eyebrow, shooting Stancer a piercingly ironic side-glance. “I’m surprised you’re even on the list, Stancer.”

  ?“Provoke me all you want, Denis,” Stancer retorted, crushing his cigarette butt with the heel of his boot into the blood-stained mud. “Weren’t you the one who taught Avasha that very arrogance, after you realized I stopped falling for your traps?”

  ?Denis let out a soft laugh and, with a theatrical flourish, draped an arm over Stancer’s shoulder, pointing toward the horizon where his ships still kept their cannons trained on the land.

  ?“Stancer, jealousy is a human emotion—it’s only natural,” Denis said in a philosophical tone. “Even I feel envy when I watch birds flying in perfect, efficient synchrony. I think about how my fleet can make tactical blunders, yet they do not. War is poetry, my friend.”

  ?Stancer shrugged off the arm with disgust, exhaling an impatient huff.

  ?“Jealousy? I couldn’t care less about your post or your fleet, Denis. And I loathe it when you start talking like a failed philosopher.” Stancer turned to Alfo and Zeta, who stood at the ready. “Boys, stabilize this sector. Once you’re done, depart for Pisa immediately. And do have a chat with the ‘old man’ about his shiny ranks while he’s here; he lives for boasting about his hollow philosophies.”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  ?Alfo and Zeta cleared the way in silence as Stancer climbed into his armored vehicle, leaving them with Denis, who continued to gaze at the sea with a mysterious smile.

  ?“So, boys, what do you think of my fleet?” Denis asked, looking at his ships with fanatic admiration. “It’s magnificent, isn’t it?”

  Zeta gave Alfo a subtle, undetected nudge forward. Alfo understood the intent, and though he was loath to do it, he attempted to manage the situation.

  ?“It is truly magnificent, General; I lack the words to describe it,” Alfo said, a smile masking his inward strain. “Even the greatest emperors in history would be envious. It is in absolute synchrony.”

  ?“I’m glad you noticed,” Denis added, draping an arm around his neck. “I’ve personally overseen the entire naval fleet. Especially the fuel consumption aspect, as ships consume approximately 15 to 20% more than submarines. It’s the maneuvering that costs the most fuel.”

  ?As Alfo struggled to maintain his composure under the suffocating weight of the General’s arm, Zeta stepped in to alleviate the pressure.

  ?“And what can you tell us about the ships’ artillery, General?” Zeta asked, moving to his side.

  ?Denis turned toward him, releasing Alfo, who finally managed to exhale with relief.

  ?“You’ve touched upon a beautiful part of my fleet, boy,” Denis replied, clasping his hands behind his back. “Although the 250mm shells are quite costly, they make up a massive part of the U-boot 2002 vessels. The finest feature, the naval artillery itself, is designed with a slight smoothing inside the barrel so the shell exits faster than in older models. It is an engineering marvel of death, silent as an eagle piercing the air to snatch its prey.”

  ?“It is truly fascinating how the U-boot has evolved from a 2001-model submarine into a ship of total destruction,” Zeta added, gazing at the fleet as the sun illuminated them, lending them an aura more divine than ever.

  ?A momentary silence passed between them, but for Denis, it was merely a breathing pause before diving back into his engineering of destruction.

  ?“Now boys, how about I tell you about the U-boot 2001 submarines? Since I’m now equipping them with self-seeking homing torpedoes, it’s truly thrilling to hear how it reduces targeting time and eliminates maneuvers that waste tons of fuel,” Denis continued with the unbridled enthusiasm of a child.

  ?While Zeta let out a faint sigh of boredom, Alfo, on the other hand, was more overt; he covered his face with his hand, clenching his jaw tight. They were being swallowed by an irritation so profound it felt as if they were trapped in an endless history lesson at school with no bell in sight.

  [DATE: 02. CYCLE 12]

  [LOCATION: CENTER OF PISA — CAPITAL OF FRENCA]

  [TIME: 15:40 LOCAL]

  [STATUS: OCCUPATION OF THE HEART OF FRENCA]

  The Nax-Geot war machine had already pierced the heart of Pisa. The final barricades of resistance had been reduced to mounds of ash, and black smoke blanketed the sky above the city. Every attempt at opposition had been annihilated with mechanical brutality. Citizens, gathered along the roadsides, watched in terror as columns of soldiers marched like black shadows. Above them, flags bearing the inverted red triangle and the black eagle billowed—omens of a new era initiated in blood.

  ?At the center of this apocalyptic march, Chancellor Halter’s armored vehicle cut through the streets, flanked by heavy tanks. Inside, Halter sat motionless, his gaze lost in the patch of sky that the smoke had not yet conquered.

  ?“Sir, the H-class unit has secured every sector. Everything is prepared for the official handover of command,” Blais reported, standing beside him.

  ?Halter did not respond. The metallic grind of tanks over the ancient cobblestones and the heavy rhythm of military boots were deafening. But suddenly, the Chancellor tensed. Amidst that acoustic chaos, a different frequency—thin and fragile as a silk thread—reached his ear. It was the voice of a child singing.

  ?“Did you hear it, Blais?” Halter asked abruptly, leaning forward from his seat to peer through the armored glass.

  ?“Hear what, sir?” Blais replied, bewildered by the sudden shift in the Chancellor’s tone.

  ?The music persisted, cutting through the roar of the diesel engines.

  “...And in the noise that is coming... she ran, and I am afraid...”

  Halter froze, his eyes fixed on a stone bridge a short distance ahead. A strange glint appeared in his gaze.

  ?“It is a child’s voice. It is... magnificent,” he whispered.

  ?“Did you say something, sir?” Blais asked, confused.

  ?“Stop everything, Blais!” Halter commanded with a voice that brooked not a second’s delay. “Order everything to halt. Now!”

  ?Halter exited the vehicle immediately, before it had even come to a full stop. The order rippled with lightning speed through the radios: “HALT THE MARCH! TOTAL SILENCE!”

  At that precise moment, the colossal machinery of Nax-Geot ground to a halt. Tanks cut their engines; soldiers froze in their tracks. In that tomb-like silence, where only the distant crackle of a stray fire could be heard, the soft, trembling voice rose again—pure and solitary amidst the devastation.

  “...And with the pain that haunts me, in Pisa I lose myself...”

  Halter followed the thread of the voice until he stood within the damp shadow of the bridge. There, curled into a small ball among the debris of war, sat a little girl, barely six years old. Though her body shivered from the cold and fright, the song she poured out was unwavering—as clear as a divine frequency.

  ...And with hope for your coming, no matter how I try, I am lost in Pisa without you.”

  The song ceased. The ensuing silence was deafening. Hundreds of soldiers from the First Division had gathered around, standing like black statues, while Blais watched from a distance, his hand hovering over the trigger of his weapon, uncertain of the Chancellor’s next move. As Halter took his final steps, the girl retreated even further against the cold stone wall.

  ?“Do not be afraid, little one. These hands could never touch an angel,” Halter said, his voice bearing no resemblance to that of the ruthless leader. He knelt in the dust of the road, defying every security protocol. “What is your name?”

  ?“Inda,” she whispered, her eyes fixed on his black leather gloves.

  ?“A beautiful name,” Halter smiled. It was a human smile, warm—something Blais had never witnessed in ten years of service. “You have a truly unique voice, Inda. I would like you to sing for me, but not here. In a place that deserves your voice.”

  ?Inda approached slowly. Her face was smeared with the soot of the barricades, her black hair partially veiling blue eyes that shimmered with the residue of dried tears.

  ?“Can you help me find my mother?” she asked, pointing toward the charred remains of the barricades where the artillery had just passed. “She said she’d come back once the noises stopped... but she isn’t coming.”

  ?Halter looked in the direction Inda pointed. He knew exactly what had occurred in that sector. He stroked her head gently, a hidden sorrow masked behind his stern facade.

  ?“I’m sorry, little one, but I cannot help you with that,” he replied.

  ?Inda lowered her head, broken. “I understand. You’re in a hurry too, because your mother is waiting for you.”

  ?Halter froze. His hand slid into his pocket, where he gripped his white handkerchief with all his might. He rubbed his eyes with his other hand and rose slowly, transforming once more into the Chancellor of Nax-Geot.

  ?“My mother has been waiting for me for a long time,” he said in a cold voice, “but fate decrees that she must wait a little longer. Come with me, Inda. Perhaps we will find her along the way.”

  ?He extended his hand. The little girl grasped it immediately, finding sanctuary in the man who had just burned her city to the ground. As they walked toward the vehicle, Halter addressed Blais without looking him in the eye.

  ?“Blais, get the girl cleaned up and ready. She is coming with us to Blin.”

  ?Blais nodded in silence and gave the hand signal. The tank engines roared back to life, shattering the brief magic of the bridge. The march resumed, but this time, in the midst of the black column, there was a small speck of blue.

  [LOCATION: CENTRAL SQUARE — PISA, FRENCA]

  [TIME: 16:30 LOCAL]

  The Chancellor’s armored vehicle plowed through the dense crowd of civilians toward the city center. A thin cordon of First Division soldiers struggled to hold back the mass of people seething with rage.

  ?“Wait for me here, little one,” Halter said, glancing at Inda through the rearview mirror before stepping out into the smoke-thickened air.

  ?Inda nodded in silence. Blais, before following the Chancellor, flashed the girl a brief and rare smile—a flick of humanity that vanished the moment he stepped outside.

  ?The crowd erupted, screaming and hurling whatever they could find at the Nax-Geot forces, but Halter couldn’t have cared less. As he walked toward the podium with his hands behind his back, the citizens broke out into insults and curses.

  [POPULATION MORALE: 0% APPROVAL]

  Cries for vengeance drowned out the city, yet Halter did not waver. He didn’t even turn his eyes toward them, ascending the podium with a god-like composure. Blais stood two paces behind him, the surrender documents at the ready.

  ?Halter raised his hand. At his signal, several logistics unit soldiers brought forward heavy metal suitcases. When the lids were pried open, mountains of banknotes shimmered under the afternoon light. In that split second, the screaming stopped. Greed had conquered rage.

  “You believe we come as conquerors?” Halter’s voice, amplified by the loudspeakers, sliced through the newfound silence. “You are mistaken. We come with a vision that transcends your borders: Utopia.”

  ?A heavy cough interrupted him for a moment, but he returned immediately, his presence even more commanding.

  ?“We do not seek destruction, but justice! Was it not your own government that bled you dry? Today, those parasites no longer exist. Every coin they snatched from you is being returned!” He signaled the soldiers to step back. “Take them! They are yours. But in exchange, I ask you to join me in building a Utopia for the entire world. One world. One state.”

  ?What was a hostile crowd only moments ago transformed into a frenzied mass, chanting his name as they threw themselves upon the money. Halter’s cold eyes watched this human degradation with a concealed disdain. He did not loathe the people themselves, but rather what they had been transformed into.

  [POPULATION MORALE: 97.8% FANATIC ADMIRATION]

  “Come, Blais,” Halter commanded in a low voice, adjusting his black gloves. “Let us finish the remaining business. We have no more time.”

  [LOCATION: HALTER’S ARMORED VEHICLE]

  [TIME: 17:15 LOCAL]

  Halter and Blais detached themselves from the podium, leaving behind the colonels to manage the controlled chaos of the crowd, and headed back toward the armored vehicle. Inside, Inda watched through the tinted glass as the people of her city tore each other apart for a few banknotes.

  ?“She wasn’t there,” Halter said in a low voice, gently stroking the little girl’s head.

  ?“Why are those people acting like that?” Inda asked, traumatized by the transformation of her fellow citizens into an insatiable mass.

  ?“Man is a strange creature, little one,” Halter replied, leaning back into his seat. “Sometimes, logic capitulates before the most primitive emotions.”

  ?Amidst this heavy gravity, Blais intervened, breaking the icy atmosphere. He reached into his uniform pocket and pulled out a candy with a pink wrapper, extending it toward Inda.

  ?“Take it, little one,” Blais said, a smile momentarily softening his harsh military features. “It’s one of the ‘best’ we have at our disposal.”

  ?Inda took the sweet, her eyes brightening, while Halter watched the scene with genuine surprise.

  ?“I didn’t know you were fond of pink candies, Blais?”

  ?“I don’t eat them at all, sir,” Blais replied, snapping back into his formal posture within the vehicle. “They belong to Avasha. She scatters them everywhere—offices, cars—and then complains when her supplies run dry.”

  ?Halter didn’t respond immediately, merely offering a slight nod.

  ?“Well, I may have spoiled her a bit more than I should have with sweets,” Halter muttered.

  ?“That doesn’t even begin to cover it, sir,” Blais countered with an ironic smirk. “If we had to file reports on candy consumption, we would have faced a total collapse in that sector.”

  ?“No, I don’t regret spoiling her. In fact, she resembles her quite a lot—only she’s far more arrogant than I anticipated,” Halter added, murmuring as he stroked Inda’s hair, while Blais looked at him with a sense of bewilderment.

  [DATE: 02. CYCLE 12]

  [LOCATION: ROYAL PALACE “LANDAN” — SECRET ARCHIVES OF BRATAN]

  [TIME: 19:45 LOCAL]

  [STATUS: CLASSIFIED DISCOVERY — FILE “B.M.”]

  While the world burned beneath the boots of Nax-Geot, in Bratan, dusk fell slowly over the capital of Landan. Within the royal palace, Queen Ela sought not peace, but the truth. Dressed in her white gown, now stained by the ash of time, she was submerged in the ancient archives—a labyrinth of dust and oblivion where sunlight had not dared to enter for decades. The only illumination was the flickering flame of the lamp she carried.

  ?Suddenly, a muffled voice pierced the heavy silence of the room.

  ?“Your Majesty, dinner is ready,” the maid called from the corridor, not daring to step into that stifling darkness.

  ?Ela startled violently, her heart racing from her intense focus. She cast the documents aside with a sigh of irritation.

  ?“Very well, I am coming,” she replied, rising slowly and brushing the dust from her clothes.

  ?As she was leaving, the lamplight caught an unnatural scratch upon one of the archive boxes. A cold curiosity stopped her in her tracks. She pried the drawer open with difficulty. Inside, amidst yellowed papers, an pristine envelope stood out, sealed with red wax and marked with the initials: B.M.

  ?“What is this?” she murmured, breaking the seal with trembling fingers.

  ?She read the opening lines: To the Honorable King of Bratan, Artit. According to our agreement, the shipment of slaves was of the required quality. Regarding the agreed gold, the transfer must be conducted through... the Black Market...”

  The envelope slipped from her hand, hitting the cold marble like a death sentence. Ela froze. Her breath grew shallow, burdened by the weight of a centuries-old betrayal. Her royal house had sold human lives for gold. The first tears fell involuntarily, dampening her cheeks, but the sorrow lasted only a second.

  ?Within that ancient archive, something in Ela died, and something else was born. She wiped her tears with a sharp, almost violent motion. Her eyes were no longer sorrowful; they were made of steel. She reached down, snatched the envelope, and crushed it in her fist until the paper melded with her palm.

  ?“The Clans... The Black Market...” she whispered in a voice that carried the weight of a gathering storm. “Now, you shall know my justice.”

  ?She marched out of the archive with heavy, military strides, leaving behind the queen she once was and stepping into the light as a leader who had just found her true enemy.