The blade sank deep in the waist of the Mayor, as he whimpered in pathetic pain, clutching it closer. The sharp red agony burned only half as hellish, as the despair of guilt he felt.
"I...i am sorry...I..am so fucking sorry.." They had taken his pistol from him, when they had locked him into his bathroom. For hours, he had bashed his hands against the door, screaming at them to just end it. He knew what he had done. He knew what his actions had caused. Thousands were dead now, dying by his actions.
He would not wait until they would drag him out of here, screaming and begging for his life. To the pyres burning outside, the crude imitations of a monolith, where the woman clad in white was singing. The witch that had lured him to this path. She had been so kind and open to his worries and troubles. Tears streamed over the Mayors face, as his finger slipped and with a scream of pain, he cut his finger. Dropping the bloody blade, he stared at his hand, as pure despair overcame him. He had signed the orders. He had send the troops to the east, he had send the wrong ammunition...he had signed the death sentenced for thousands of the most loyal soldiers of the republic. He still could hear the firefights outside. Loyal troops were fighting heroically, but outmanned. The Lady-in-white had half the city on her side, with more traitors inside the state milita. He had seen them pouring into the city, when they had dragged him away from the windows.
Like a fetus, he whimpered as he reached for his legs. The blood was flowing, as he knew that they would come back, before he would bleed out. Never in his life, even during his captivity on board of a pirate of the Dominion, had he felt such despair and hopeless fear. He was all alone, in a nightmare with no way out.
It was at this moment, that he felt it. Burning hot in his pocket, pulsating like a beating heart. For a moment, the Mayor believed to have finally succumbed to madness. But he felt it, clear, numbing the pain from his bleeding wrist and fingers. It was an agonizing task, to reach for it, and produce the pulsating object from his pocket. Staring at it, in the dim light of the room, his eyes grew wide, as the jet-black stone reflected his face.
For the last time in his life, the mayor felt fear...
T H E I R D - A N A T I O N S H A T T E R E D
The Door broke, under the application of a heavy kick, shattering the wood and letting the lock spring out from the frame. Even before the first broken bits of it had hit the ground, Stanislav and his men unloaded their assault rifles in a deadly and furious fashion at the closest possible range. Storming the room, Stanislav rejoiced in the chance to finally fight the bastards that had burned his home and slaughtered his people. He never had found any sympathy for the new church and its rising power among the people, army and government. He had told them all, that it would not have a good end, yet nobody had listened to his warnings. Now, as the information about the Cult invasion could no longer be hidden by traitorous officers and soft-spoken missionaries, the time of bullets and knives had come. The time to choose between the republic and the devil. Stanislav had been born in Port Austin, a city now gripped by madness and death. The church had taken over, armed its followers and cultists. Suicide Bombers had blown up multiple police stations and military police had been gunned down by traitor among their own ranks, hiding their faces behind a white hood with symbols he did not know, nor wanted to.
"TAKE NO PRISONERS! FIND THE MAYOR!" Securing the room, Stanislav felt a sting in his heart, as he looked at the table. Empty eyed and fearful, the face of the bureaucrat Stanislav had cursed a week ago for messing up his paycheck, was looking back at him, his throat slit ear to ear. But it was the corpse next to him, far smaller and younger, that shattered something deep inside Stanislav.
"Jesus, do these bastards know no limits?" A soldier whispered behind him, as the Sergeant-Mayor reloaded his weapon, trying to focus himself on the task, and not on the display of endless cruelty and terror. The statehouse, was just like the city, a sight of madness and death.
"Four second in breath, four seconds out breath...the men count on you to lead them. If you don't do it, nobody will!""Onward! If the rat was right, the Mayor has to be on the second floor. We grab him and then get to the boat. Double time!" The soldiers nodded, as they stormed onwards, over the corpses of the traitors, towards the stairs. It was there, were a second ambush was tried by the cultists, but the veterans of the Regional Army had fought the Dominion for years. Firing through the thin walls, the traitors fell. Smashing his rifle against the weakened wall, Stanislav tossed a grenade through it, before jumping to cover with the rest of his men. Screams of panic were silenced by a loud explosion and the hissing of shrapnel, before a pathetic whimper came from the dying inside the room. One bloodied traitor stumbled through the door, before collapsing, his arm missing and his body in tatters. Checking the room, Stanislav felt pity as he looked upon the white hooded corpses, before his mind recalled the corpse of the little girl.
"Sarge...that's the guy who sold water at the harbor. I..i talked to him yesterday.." One of his soldiers, a sturdy build red haired oaf named Damian Miller had removed the hood of one of the traitors, and as Stanislav looked onto him, he saw not the face he had hoped for. It was not a grim monster, but a thin and friendly face, even now, smeared with blood and gore.
"This is not an invasion...we are fighting our own bloody people.." Feeling the stares of his man, Stanislav shrugged, before once more letting his bellowing voice speak.
"This is not the man who sold you water. This..." Stanislav gave a kick against the head of a white hooded figure. Falling half off, the lower face of an young woman became visible.
"..is not your friend! Not anymore. They are the enemy, and we will treat them like that. They have turned into mad beasts! I will personally shoot anyone who shows them mercy. YOU HEAR ME?" He had no passion left to inspire. No heroics could survive in this place of darkness. His men nodded in cold agreement, as he leads them on further. He had to find the mayor.
Finally, they made it up the stairs, finding the office of the military prefecture. Among all the death and chaos, seeing him crucified against a wall with a dozen of blades hardly had any effect on him anymore. It was just another senseless display of madness, unleashed by his own people against themselves in an abysmal orgy of violence and death. The Bathroom was barricaded with a crate and a collection of chairs. It was quick work, for a group of seven men, to move them aside and with their Sledgehammer, they crushed the door. Breaking it down, Stanislav had his rifle raised, aiming into the small room, dark and dimly lit. He could smell the blood, and his jaw twitched in disgusted expectation of another maddening display of Cult cruelty.
The naked man rose to his feet, opening his arms, as Stanislav stumbled backwards.
"Mayor? Mayor, is that you? I...IDENTIFY YOURSELF OR I WILL KILL YOU!" Stanislavs nerves were at its breaking point. This night would haunt him to the end of his days. It was not a war, not a battle, but madness. Every aspect of it had nothing human about it, but pure, diabolical evil beyond the deepest abyss of a mind of a man. He had not come so far, to have his men or himself be blown to bits by a cult Suicide bomber. With a scream he unloaded his gun once more, and his men joined in. Firing at the man in the dark, their muzzle flashes gave light to him, bloody and covered in tattoos in black.
Finally, the weapons turned silent, having unloaded their lead fury onto the man. Staring at him, Stanislav lowered his gun, before a deep, eternal fear gripped his heart. Like snowflakes, the bullets sank inches before the man, before slowly landing on the ground. His men let out fearful gasps and screams as they stumbled backwards, unable to make sense of it, but Stanislav would go down without a fight. Be it insanity or some dark truth to the rambling of the church, he would not let it happen to him. Pulling out his sidearm, he raised it, ready to unload once more.
"There is no need for that, Sergeant-Mayor!"Stanislav stared in shock, as he heard the voice of the Mayor in front of him. Slowly, the Mayor stepped through the bullets, their heat burning his skin. Now in the light, Stanislav could see his wounds and...bleeding tattoos. Self-inflicted wounds, coated with a black liquid, jet-black and terrible to behold.
"Mayor, what is this? What is the meaning of it?"The Mayor stood still, glaring over the men, before whispering, a grim smile on his face.
"It means that we now will fight fire with fire.."
It was one of the greatest injustices of the Three-Highway War, that nobody would ever learn, that Mary Silver Smith, was the hero that saved Hamilton from the cruel fate, that befell so many other cities in the IRD, at the start of said war. If i had not been for the Waitress in the "Sweetwater Saloon and Grills", and her finding the crude but honest compliments of Colonel Manuel Sadoul, somewhat charming, rather than annoying as most women did in Hamilton, she would never had ended up in bed with said Colonel, during this fateful autum night. Sleeping in the sideroom of the office of the Colonel, it was who was awoken by the two cultists of the church of Starry Glory, breaking into the office to murder the Colonel, wearing uniforms of the secret police. Using the Colonels sidearm, it was Mary Silver Smith, who shot both of them, then gave out the warning over the radio and barricaded the door to the office, even before said Colonel was awake.
Sure, she could not stop the massacare at the statehouse of Hamilton, where cultist stormed a late seating of the local governeour with his closest advisors. Or the suicide bombing attacks on posts of the military police. But what Mary Silver Smith could do, was drive the very drunken Colonel to the garrison of the local divison of the regional army. Even here, the Cult had its traitors, but this time, the element of suprise was on the loyalists sides, and these traitors were rooted out quickly and without mercy. Less then one hour after the first suicide attack and the murder of the governer, it was Mary Silver Smith, who once more was driving a still very drunken Colonel into the middle of the city, but this time seated in an Armored Car, with two heavy machine guns and a divison of Regional Army troops following behind in their own vehicles. Unexpecting such a heavy and fast counter-reaction, the traitors and cultists inside the city, were unprepared to an republican answer in machine-gun fire.
It was in the early morning of the next day, with a now very hung-over Colonel Manuel Sadoul, who was hailed the savoir of the city, that Mary Silver Smith, finally could get some much needed rest.
Meanwhile, the "Emergency Security Zone of Hamilton" would gather up soldiers and draft milita. With Colonel Manuel Sadoul now in charge, no contact to any of the Regional States or Federal Goverment instiution or Army command, he did something completly out of the box. Once more it was Mary Silver Smith, now stuck in the uniform of an IRD Captain, who was awaiting her audience with Colonel Melissa Hammon. She did not buy the excuse of Manuel, that he wanted to send the sole person in the city he trust, as she was smart enough, to know what he did was technically high treason. But she had seen firsthand what had happened inside the city, with Cult raging among them. They needed help, and the enemy of the enemy, was the friend after all.
Mary Silver Smith never had understood the political reasons for the conflict with the Confederation, nor had she cared much about it. Walking in her uniform, so bluntly like a civilian, that even her four bodyguards gave up on pretending, she had been refused to be granted direct contact with their president, and instead been send to another Colonel. Cursing Manuel under her breath, she sipped the offered water, while smoking a cigerret, staring at the clock, before finally being told that she could see the person she was waiting for. Walking in, she rushed past the soldier, into the office.
"Colonel? My name is Mary Silver Smith, Captain for Manuel Sadoul, but i will be honest, i am waitress, i had two hours of sleep in the last three days and i got a lot of points to adress. Excuse me if i dont know how to salut, but i am new to the whole military buisness." T H E C U L T O F U G - Q U A L T O T H
"Faithful! Enlightend! Brothers and sisters! Heed my call upon you. I am Lady Commander Jatta-Kalum, Missonary to the blind and fearful. I call upon you, in your darkest hour, to say to you, do not dispair. The Faithful are coming and they are among you. Do not fight the coming of the new order, but embrace it. They, who have already confessed your soul and lives to the monolith, rejoice in sermon with your brothers from the south, here to punish the wicked and faithless.
The task of spilling blood is upon you. Do not refrain from it, starry glory awaits all who take it upon themselves, to fight in his name. Stars shall bleed, and streets shall run red. Then, there will be heavenly peace, as well all are united in a new world of enlightened worship. For no longer we have to hide our devotion, no longer do we need to endure the lack of faith of they around us. No longer shall the truth be ignored, by the ignorant masses...
I call upon each and every one of you, to do your duty. RISE IN HIS NAME! There is no meaning in this mortal world! No meaning in any live or death. Only in Ug-Qualtoth you shall find what you all seek.
Now go forth and serve...with knife, bullet and granade. Thousands of radios would spray out the words of the lady in white. Some under the backdrop of firefights in the streets. Others in cities already flying the cruel banner of the Cult. Others would be crushed by hammers, the seconds they awoke, by the forces that had resisted the Cult. But the painting was on the wall. The IRD was no longer an existing concept...but a sea of warlords, cultists and army holdouts.
Auz
