For all of her life, Mita the Crow Master knew three things that matter in life above all else. Power, Money that comes from Power, and to always run many leagues ahead of her competition to maintain her Money and Power. As the Crow Master, she always chased what was best for herself and her Fellow Crows, the highest coins, the most amicable of respect, and the finest of comforts that came from the former two.

But now… all such of her former knavish virtue is made for naught.

She collapsed in exhaustion, thirst, exposure, and hunger besting her fortitude after hours if not a day of fleeing she could not count. All she cared about was running as far away from her pursuers that they had no hope if any Deity could watch her now give the constitution to doggedly pursue her. The night's veil shrouded Gliesia at her present, but not so dark that Calyriel's silver shine, if only but a shy tease of a quarter of her body lit Mita's eyes of where she is now. With what faint glints of light her eyes could gather, she had found herself by a riverbank. The soft cricketing of riverside insects and the faint flowing of water perked her ears and tempted her now thirsting mouth.

Cupping her hands together, the Crow Master relieved her throat with the river's bounty. She coughed a few times as it wasn't the cleanest of refreshments but today was not such a day to be choosy. After several gulps of water, Mita sighed in relief as she sensed that nobody else had followed her nor is nearby to disturb her peace. She looked at herself, with the single flicker of Calyriel's light on her reflection by the river creek's pool. Attrition had besieged the leathers of her roguish armor during her hasty retreat. The exertion also drumming her stomach to a revolt.

The denizens of her hungered body seeking a new form of nourishment.

All around her there were a couple of small critters, glowing red with life that her newly awakened vampiric nose has scented. Such low-hanging fruit that she could pluck with just the reach of her hands.

Blood that tasted oh so… tempting to sate herself with.

Mita licked her fangs with her mouth instinctively…

"No…" Mita stopped herself. Eyes shaking of the taboo thought that had danced into her head.

She had known several but never indulged in such occultic rituals such as blood ceremonies, empowering dinings upon the flesh of exotic beasts, or scarring sacraments in all of her life. But none so compared to what she is being tempted now, not after what she had discovered about herself.

She peered over the river's waters and opened her mouth. There lay before her what betrays her the most. A Quadro of Vampiric Fangs, resonating harmful Negative Energies around their edges. The scent of her own blood, seeming to salivate her newfound fangs

"This is just… a dream…" the Crow Master muttered to herself.

Vampires were one of the vilest of creatures that reigned terror into the hearts of all men across Ysanigrad. Barbaric monsters of the night who cloak themselves in a masquerade of feigned wholesomeness before entrapping their prey and devouring their blood and viscera until all that is left is a husk of a once-living person. They hold shadowy gatherings with their Cabals to indulge in the rituals of their vile incantations to their dead God-King and his Sunken Dominion. To indulge let alone be in communion to their corrupt practices sickened was the furthest antithesis to any sentient amity.

Such adumbral adversary requires an equally umbral of war to defeat these remnants of a barbarous era of the Slaegian Empire rivaled the deepest pits of the Crow's Nest back in Kobold's Hollow. The theocratic Clergy of the Holy Pantheon had used her Crows, Adventurer's and their own Inquisition to root them out. But now, with all of the Empire in flames, the Vampires are now given reign to unleash all of their depraved communions with impunity.

And to think she is one of them!

"Just a dream… just a dream…" she continued to mutter to herself.

She drew her knife and carefully place the blade near the edges of her teeth and began to saw gently off the sharp ends around her fangs. Shedding tears, she began to file off the fangs around her mouth. Grinding the bones of her now evil teeth with a blade made to wound however was not ideal. She managed to cut a few parts of her mouth with a few garish wounds during the painful procedure.

She spat out the saliva-mixed blood from her self-surgery as she looked on to her reflection again of the results. To her horror, she saw her vampiric fangs suddenly regrow back to their original spearhead shape, if not longer and more piercing.

"No!" Mita wallowed beneath the muddied riverbank and wailed. She smashed away her reflection, denying what she has become.

It was real. The Crow Master is now one of them now, an unholy Vampire. She really has become, a savage beast, just like them.

Her stomach panged harder afterward. Clutching her pockets, she managed to save a few morsels of rations from her ill-fated camp during her escape and bite down on the preserved fruits, nuts, meats, and hardtack. She hoped beyond hope that this could quell her horrifying new hunger. But alas, the newly awakened beast within her still ached for more. The Crow Master's mind soon spun dizzyingly as her body slowly withered away, nearly collapsing her into a shallow watery grave.

Just as she was about to expire into Tivna's Garden from hunger, a faint red trail began to form above her. Like moths to a hypnotizing flame, the Crow Master began to follow them. The trail ended upon a red glowing orb hidden beneath a tree as if the fruit had fallen off of it. Salvation' sight and salivation's slight overwhelmed her as she clawed her hands underneath the tree's tiptoed roots. She gorged her mouth in this crimson-colored bounty, not taking heed to its likeness only of its tastes which was perhaps the richest if not most fulfilling nourishments she had ever tasted. A juicy pulp of the sweetest fruit cured the anarchy in her stomach if temporarily.

As she wiped the juices off her mouth, her mind became clearer again.

Only to find to her horror, that she had allowed herself to participate in the Vampiric Communion of devouring blood. For in her now bloodied hands, she had devoured an entire litter: the father, the mother, and a dozen children too, the forest rodent Wratslijk. A bottom-feeding rodent that builds its nest beneath the roots of trees.

Mita's stomach gassed open, trying to expel the loathsome delicacy off of her stomach but it was too late. Her body had absorbed the blood off of the rodent family.

"Gods… All Damn you… Vampires!" Mita thrashed the River Waters. Her typical façade of equanimous rectitude was brought down before her. Once she was on top of the high ladder, now she came crashing down to the bottom.

Her throat croaked her voice as the Crow Master washed away the blood on her mouth, just letting it linger in around the precipices of her tongue invoked more nightmarish temptations to further besiege her. Returning to the running river she cupped a handful of water for herself and sated her thirst again.

"I… I need to…" Mita cleared her mind now that water rejuvenated her now aching head.

She may be a Vampire now yes, but she is still a Crow nonetheless. A Crow always fulfills their contracts. But right now, her current malady could put not only doubt on her reputation on her titles as the Crow Master but have her life to be forfeit as soon as she even gets a passing glance by the Imperial Remnants. She still knows a few underworld hollows that dotted on her journey north that sell all sorts of illicit goods and the sanctity of sanctuary for Rogues like her.

If she recalls, there was a network of bandits who fence stolen Dwarfen Jewelry north of the Sugea where she could possibly get her hands on a special Mana-Hiding Pendant. A temporary solution, to at least stave off her now growing Vampiric Aura from anyone nosy enough to look her at her twice. Her newfound hunger however will be harder to conceal though… but she can at least tame the feral within her with the raw blood of whatever wild animal she comes across. She may look like a Monster, but she will not become one. She still has some of the myriad Otherworldly Trinkets she had managed to salvage off of the Invaders during her flight. And, if given back to what remains of the Scholars of the Empire who had not submitted to despair, they could learn how to turn the Strengths of the Invaders back towards them. She just needs to reach Ghana's Wall while the Autumn Drwg Mynd slows them down. Even if that idiot boy Faithleann may be of naïve fortitude, he is still their best possible, chance, that and the coming Elven Reinforcements from Ethuilen to hopefully turn the tide against these darkest days ahead.

As she drank the water, she could hear the faint humming of hooves marching across the stone-paved road at the other side of the riverbank. Discerning from their twin lantern lights, Mita hurried to hide beneath the grass brushes of the river for her eyes caught the belching gallops of the Invader's Horseless Carriages.

She has not fully escaped the dark forest just yet…

[-]

The clatter of the Land Cruiser's windshield wipers haunted Captain Rose as she finished her Beef Goulash MRE. It's warmth a minor comfort after her terrifying impasse with the Crows, and now within the ash-filled cyclone, Stryder Group's MRAP faced before them. Her typically buoyant demeanor paled to a distant withdrawal as she wallowed on her seat with her warmed ration pack. The mental attrition caused by her many duties throughout her tour and just as equal close calls had finally knelled through her once rosy attitude. Not helping was the ominous Radio heralding communications across all of the region from cries of backup from isolated units to demands of support from dispatched reinforcements trying to re-link with said isolated units.

"Shiet --- Who left the oven on?" Diaz chattered his teeth nervously, sweat heavily falling by his brow as the orange haze of the passing infernos loomed over the horizon. Kalmte had become hell-on arriving on Gliesia, just as ironically as Grandmaster Owyne's portents envisioned.

"It's a Riot out there!" Kayin added. Seeing many of the Natives skitter and scatter about across the pandemonic landscape.

Houses were being burned, fear-stricken families flee with what belongings they could carry and looting whatever is the rest from this infernal maelstrom. Dead littered the streets from the chaos as UFEAF Units, with reinforcements from Military Police Brigades armed with Riot Gear, struggle to bring order from this chaos. Many beatings, killings, and burnings sprouted the more contagiously as Stryder drove through this discordant sea. Colonel Polonsky also gave the order that any infected individual, who can be easily identified by tinted blood-red eyes are to be contained for quarantine. But even then, this wall crisis mitigation now rather than prevention at the very least he could do.

"Wordo' advice? Stick together an'no laggin'. These Slegs are just pussy cats compared to what I had to deal with backa' Mars. Sergeant Crocker reassured everyone as he put on his long-hosed Gas Mask. Putting the protective covering over a protective hood over his shaven head, he inhaled softly, getting his lungs accustomed to his much more restrictive breathing space. "But no fuckin'cuse to get comfy! Not after wha-happened!" he raised his voice. His tone ominously billowing from beneath the filters of his mask.

"Yes…" Samantha wiped her mouth off the tomato sauce from her M.R.E. and put on her mask.

Most of the Federation-born members of the squad promptly put on their Gas Masks (except for Diaz), whilst Aliathra and Iris were helped by Kayin put on theirs comfortably.

"It feels… like my Stealth Training back with the Rangers," Aliathra complained, her lithe hands trying to adjust her delicate chin over her hardened new helm. Not quite comfortable having her face be dulled by this heavy Other-Worlder contraption.

"But it will protect both of you," Kayin instructed them. "Breathe calmly when you are wearing it okay?"

"Stryder this is Palisade Five-One, we are approaching the Water Mill." Radioed one of the Rear Echelon Units of the 23rd Infantry Battalion that is attached to them.

Across the theater, a massive regrouping effort had been ordered by Command in response to the impending rise of the Primal Boil Plague. Panicked reports of UFEAF Grunts being harried by crazed Natives have caused the operation to halt to a standstill. Granted that they pose no a strategic threat to the Federation Soldiers, the fact that the matter is that the regionwide panic of these 'Accursed' as the Natives incorrectly called them threatens the integrity of the agricultural breadbasket and the image of Clovich's Laniyea put into dire question. Thankfully, Samantha's investigation yielded the shield that can protect them from harm. The UFEAF and the Amelioration knew that the source of this plague came from the Water that wetted the region's irrigation network. Colonel Polonsky's answer is to deploy the 23rd Infantry's Rear Echelon Units from their Reserves to contain the spread of the disease now known to have been deployed via the flowing rivers and canals that irrigated the province of Kalmte.

The plan is to deploy specially made Water Filtration Units, used by the Army to secure Water Sources. They will activate them to decontaminate the tainted water off of the region to nip the cancer off before it could flow westward. The 23rd Infantry meanwhile will be redeployed to control the Crowds of war Refugees and isolate any infected individual away from the population. Unlike other diseases however where one becomes cripplingly disabled physically speaking, Primal Boil seems to be like the ancient disease known as 'Rabies'. Lethal albeit discreet Lethal Force has been reluctantly authorized by the Colonel. Neither he nor Major Holyfield could not take any chances of this disease spreading anywhere near their territories. But nonetheless, there will inevitably be blood on his hands.

The twin Land Cruisers eventually arrived at their location. A watermill situated about a kilometer away from a nearby village that was, back in more peaceful of times would be used to dehusk grains and then mowed into flour. There was the aforementioned watermill, as stoic as it is, continuing to work itself unattended. Then there was the Miller's own straw-roofed home just across it.

"Strange, their ox-thing is still here… along with their Cart." Clay noticed the makeshift stable still holding a giddied Long-Horned Armabura. An Ox-like fauna native to Ysanigrad famous for their endurance and olive skin contrasted by their pearlescent white horns. The Armabura are kept mostly for their utility in helping out around the primitive farm as a beast of burden.

"Captain Rose!" cried out Stryder Group's Rear Echelon Charge. "Me and the rest of palisade will need to get to work now setting up the Bot."

"Secure…" Samantha burped from her rations, then cocked her FBR-20 Bullpup. "Secure the perimeter Stryder! Crocker, you take the House." She ordered.

"Someone should also get up to that Mill too." The 23rd Rear Echelon Squad Leader pointed.

"I can climb it over." Obediah waved off. "Sa--- Captain let's go over there."

The two carefully approached the Watermill's door, the captain taking point. The interior was unremarkable outside of the non-mechanized moving parts as expected for a watermill. The room was tightly packed with barely enough room for one person at a time to move anywhere amidst this agricultural gauntlet. Grain, if somewhat clumsily scattered and disturbed from their storage vats were still being husked away by the watermill's hydro-powered mechanisms. With the musky smell of unleavened bread, this house is seemingly left unattended for quite some time. There was another door across the room, behind several torn bags of flour.

It was easy to leave yourself unbalance in such a place. Barely able to move your feet forward or see where you are going.

"I guess the only way up is thr---" Samantha pushed opened the door before she was suddenly ambushed from her right by a crazed man.

The pale-skinned man, eyes red with the Primal Boil lunged towards Samantha, pinning her to the ground. A haze of flour blindingly vexing Samantha's eye sight like a smokescreen. If it were not for her FBR-20 shielding the full brunt of the Accursed's salivation and pink-stained teeth, he would have gone for her throat.

"H---ung…Ger!!!" The man pushed his superior weight onto the Captain.

But just as he was about to fully overpower Samantha, Obediah drew his revolver and tapped a Magnum round onto his head at point-blank range.

The hostile native's eyes curled over as he tumbled towards Samantha's left dead. The blood gushed out of his head staining his ghostly body and the snowy flour an infectious crimson. Judging by his clothes, that Samantha could now discern clearly, the headscarf, his apron, and smooth leather boots, they lead her to conclude that this man was the Miller.

"Piece of shit." Obediah cocked his revolver again and discharged another Magnum round onto the dead Miller.

He let out three more, ominous cracks from his thunderous hand canon onto the Miller's corpse. Before moving closer to Samantha's attacker to finish him off with one mighty stomp from his boot, the pulp of his brain matter splattering across its cleated soles. The captain could hear the Sharpshooter's boiling breathe seethe out of his teeth.

"Thad!" a youthful adolescent emerged from the fog of flour. Tears streamed from his eyes as he rushed over the Miller's body.

The boy was soon followed by his mother.

"You killed him! You killed him!" the boy beat over Obediah's abdomen, his meager size however, doing little to no to harm him.

"Get your hands off of me!" Obediah gritted as he pushed the boy away from him.

"Obed, it's just a kid and his mom. Go easy." Samantha wiped the flour off her chest.

"You… You Demons!" the Mother pointed her accusatory finger on to Samantha and Obed, the Sharpshooter rolling his eyes boorishly not wanting to hear another of their angered pleas.

"Curse you! Curse you all! You turned… my Husband… mad! We could have left… but you came to our home and took everything from us!" Mother lay out her grievances, fighting back the tears in her eyes.

"This is all a mistake. We aren't---" Samantha wanted to explain their presence but she was cut off when the Child grabbed pulled out from his father's pocket, a small knife, and attempted to slash Obediah. But the pistol-slinging Colonial easily dodged the attack, years fending himself away from viper-like creatures as a Hunter still held true despite his age.

Without even hesitating, he unloaded another round of his revolver at the boy, mortally wounding him at the heart. He fell dead, his blood now mixed with his father amongst the now tainted snow.

"NO!" the mother roared. In her blinded rage she attempted to tackled Obediah, but in the last round of his Magnum, he drew blood first, a piercing shot erupted forth from behind the woman through her gut. She yelped helplessly as she fell to the ground, blood leaking profusely from her stomach. Now the entire family lay dead before the two Federation Soldiers. Their collective essence, spilled by sin, stained the once snow-white floor black in a final, silent display of their hatred towards their killer.

Obediah scoffed at the family's corpses, spitting the ground to show his disdain. His eye caught on to a ladder beyond where the Woman and Child emerge that could take him atop of the Water Mill's tower.

"Private First-Class Root." Samantha called his name as Obediah slid fresh Magnum rounds on his revolver's cylindrical drum. "There just civs!" she called out.

"Why should we even care for these… these… rats so much. It's pretty clear they don't even bother listening to us." Obediah grunted as he climbed the ladder. "Besides… they tried to attack us so it's only right I shoot'em back." He argued.

"Is this still about… Her…?" Samantha questioned, stopping herself short from invoking Leah's name. Her death is still freshly etched into their memory even after all the tribulations throughout the month.

Obediah's non-verbal response to his answer, a simple grunt confirmed her assumption.

"Command's just gonna write it off anyway… Like they will actually give a shit now," he grumbled as he set up his Sniper Rifle, embedding the bipod over the upper window.

Captain Rose climbed upwards to where the Marksman perched himself upon, still not finished with her subordinate's infraction.

"These people are just scared and… and… confused Natives Private Root. L-like a bad-child being… uh… egged on by a bad parent… or that!" Samantha fumbled what words she could best describe the Natives and their hostile actions against them as best as she could tact.

"A 'bad-child' huh being… what being raised 'bad' too? The 'parent' is equally to blame! Fucking dumb sheep… rats… roaches… shit-stains these mad fuckers are." Obediah dismissed the argument as he tuned his Rifle's Scope.

He whistled a playful tune. "And just like vermin… they come in swarms." His scoped zeroed into a caravan of refugees who are slowly approaching the Water Mill from the South. They knew based on their intel that refugees are mostly fleeing away from them northward towards Ghana's Wall where the remnants of the Imperial Legions boast a bastion of defense against them.

Samantha grabbed her binoculars and zeroed into Obediah's direction. It was indeed a caravan of refugees heading straight towards their position.

They both collectively knew that the road that the Windmill so happens to be footed upon was the only large road leading northward for miles on end in this section of the province. Most of the more developed roads were southwards that trailed across the coastlines.

"Stryder Lead here, Water Mill is secured. I just happened to spot a whole group of Natives coming into our position. It looks like they don't seem to notice us but they could spell trouble." Samantha radioed the rest of her squad.

"How many?" Clay responded.

"Twenty or more mobiles. Mixed of men, women and children. 100 meters from me." She answered.

"What's the R.O.E.?" Clay asked.

"Standing Orders says that we need to push them away no matter what. We can't let them get past us. But if they try anything get Iris to middle us in. I don't want to start a fight if we can help it." Samantha set her binoculars aside and turned her ire back at Obediah.

"I want to have one thing clear between us Private. From this point on, you are simply going to address the Natives as either 'Natives' or… in some cases yes… 'Slegs' as all the other units are calling them. Not 'Rats', 'Cockroaches', 'Idiots' or anything sounding like that you got me? They hate us enough as it is already." She asked him.

The Marksman didn't turn to face his commanding officer, silently sneering at her. His finger inched closer to the trigger finger of his Sniper Rifle waiting, nay anticipating patiently for the imperious moment to demonstrate his contempt upon the incessant Natives.

There was a calm yet erringly worrisome scent that Mr. Obediah Root gave off when his eyes set upon the local Natives. He was quite fine interacting with Tyr Rianni, Iris and Aliathra. But almost anyone else he encounters, Slaegians and those who are share fellowship with them, Dwarf, Elf or whatever strange beings they encounter alike. Obed always stood by, a short distance behind from the squad, his gaze emitting his contempt against those who stepped within seeing-eye presence.

"Do I have myself clear?" she raised her voice. Her displeased frown piercing towards him.

"Yes Ma'am…" Draconic fumes spewed forth from Obediah's nostrils, it's heated breathe crystalizing upon the cold autumn air.

[-]

The fleeing villagers had indeed decided to brave the obstacle rather than turn around. Marching their carts fearlessly, they prayed to their gods as they lock themselves towards the Watermill.

When they saw the Otherworlders moving rocks, dirt around as they haul their alien machinery to the nearby river, several of the men began to throw rocks at them. Their eyes like daggers drawn forth a cornered rat as they wailed to scare away the Invaders from their land from harrying them.

"You Demons have caused all of this!" one of them roared as he threw a shit-smeared rock towards them.

"You're making a mistake. We are no---" the Palisade's Team Leader stepped forward only to narrowly dodge a rock that aimed for his head.

Some flashed whatever holy trinkets they carried to ward of any attempts for the Soldiers to come any closer to them. The rest resorted to praying as loudly as possible in the hopes they keep the Invaders at bay from defiling them by their touch. They gathered themselves in a protective circle, the grown-ups shielding the weak, elderly, and young as they chanted. Such noise nearly drowned whatever UFEAF Engineers could attempt to explain themselves with.

"I am warning you! Cut that out!" he drew his UMP-45A Sub Machine Gun threateningly towards his attackers.

"Move no further!" Iris declared her presence to the refugee caravan. Fire, lightning, and ice crackled around her fingers causing the Refugees and even some of Palisade Squad to tremble. "For you are being gazed under my arcane ire!"

"Iris, make them leave the working boys alone." Reminded Clay from her earpiece.

"These Demons are poisoning our waters with their taint!" one of the refugees cried. "We need the water from the river for our journey northwards Witch."

"I say turn back! For only death and suffering falls before you." Iris threatened. Her tongue was as sharp as a spear's tip. "If you do not leave by the count of ten. I will tear your bodies to dust!"

But as her voice continued to bellow towards the Refugees, one of them noticed her mouth, a quick glimpse of her Vampiric fangs.

"Y-you are a Sochairfuil! The Inquisition speaks true!" the eagle-eyed refugee cried forth. "You monster! You and your filthy kind collude with the Demons."

"Turn back! I shall count to ddeg to leave now! Un, dau, trie, pwar…" Iris counted down. Her voice and fangs sharpening with each impending ascension of number. She might as well throw all of her coins inside the bowl on her vampiric heritage now.

She took her eyes towards the Holy Objects the Villagers had holstered onto their pockets. Their hands trembling fearfully as they stared into the heart of all that is 'Darkness' in the world through her. They may not be the best crafted of Holy Symbols. But she can tell they were built by artisans of True Faith. The one of the few things in her undeathly life that she truly feared. One glimpse and her body will be nothing but water amongst such a presence.

"They aren't gonna budge Cap… let's try shooting a warn---" Clay radioed Samantha.

"No, they got children with them! They will ---" Sam reasoned. Hoping beyond hope that the Refugee's will swallow take their bluff and take the sensible route.

"I have enough of your lies Sochairfuil! If me and my family are to die here. Then I will make sure you and your Demonic Cabal shall perish!" the Refugee Leader's courage hardened.

The refugees charged towards Iris and the Rear Echelon soldiers with nothing to lose. Martyrdom smiled upon their faces as they erected their challenge.

"Engage! Engage!" Crocker yelled.

"Be nothing but ashes Witch!" the Refugee Leader lunged the Holy Symbol towards Iris. "The Light of Neneth casts you away unclean creature!"

But as he was about to smite Iris, his chest burst messily with bullets.

In as fast as a blink, the Federation fired a volley of their weapons towards the hostile crowd. Faith alone unfortunately may drive their attack, but not protect them. It was an absolute massacre as men, women and even a few youths were cut down into ribbons by the hail of the Federation Bullets. As the dust and the last echoes of their bullet's discharge quietens, several of the Federation Soldiers look onwards to the Natives' broken bodies. Some with horror, some with disgust, some with indifference. Many absorbed what they had just done by breathing heavily, while others averted their gaze, not disconnecting themselves from what they had just faced. The more venerable of them remained stoic, hiding their revulsion. The younger minded were besieged of emotions. Some rationalizing what they did was justified, while others questioned themselves if such a catastrophe could have been free of blood in their hands.

"All clear… they… All threats have been neutralized…" Kayin reported grimly.

"Idiots." Obediah coldly unlocked the bolt of his rifle.

"God Damnit…" Samantha cursed. She dropped her binoculars. Her breath became hoarse as her eyes turned to water. "More… so many more…"

She leaped away from Obediah, climbing down from the tower. Past the bodies of the Miller's family, their corpses were grisly immortalized from the once happy home to a deathly tragedy. Then through the bone-white door, now stained with blood.

"Finish up with that Water Filter and… and clean this mess afterwards." Crocker relayed Palisade squad. His eyes darted to Samantha who stormed off of the Water Mill, dropping her gloves, her beret and her FBR-20. Her face slowly cracking away the closer she had gotten to the river bed.

"Captain?" Crocker approached his Commanding Officer.

Captain Rose kneeled down and dipped her hands onto the flowing river. She wiped her face with three splashes of her face, Samantha curled her legs. Attrition now cracking her exterior open as she began to bleed tears.

"So many… so much… will it ever end?" Samantha murmured. Her eyes frozen with the blood of black memory.

"Hey, Ca--… Samantha." Crocker knelt down to her level and sat with her.

"When I first came here, to Gliesia. I thought it this would be like a rite of passage being my first tour. New world, seeing all of these people and places, all of this wonder like some great adventure. But now… burning homes… killing civvies… this plague? Everywhere we go we're just bringing is death." Samantha sobbed. "Every person we meet so far just wants to kill us all. Sarge, how do you… how do you cope with all of this?"

"Almost no different," Crocker grumbled. "Separatists, Fanatics, Psychos the whole damn freak show. Doing all them live executions, suicide attacks, and screaming about they are the 'truth'? The Slegs? The flags may be different, but the methods are all the same. It's easy for you Sam, an Earth-born, to shrug it off when you see it in your phones and tee-vee's but it's ho-lotta scarier when your right then and there. You knowing every gunsight, blade, or wand thing is an actual living human. Nothing close to all of that Sims you had studied. You gotta get the 'Westpoint Graduate' out of you and accept it now that they have already made their peace on what they believe in, just as you do. People who believe something so… so completely… so bigger than themselves that it's almost impossible to stir'em away from it."

"How do you fight them then?" Samantha asked.

"A commissar once told me, long time ago around your age something like this: 'You don't fight an evil idea by brute force, you have to replace it with a new truth.'. Everything leaves in goes in'an empty space, you can leave it empty, return the stuff back, or sprout out something new. I know it's hard that shit is making us do some unpleasant shit: Burning places, zeroing civvies and all. But what we destroy, we can rebuild. This ain't a War we are fighting, but a Crusade. Next Tommorow versus the Barbaric Old Word, or something like that." The Sergeant exhaled, as he dug out his memories to dispense his ageless wisdom to his younger blooded C.O.

"I remember when I was in Concora, ten years ago when I was just promoted to a Sarge, Team Leader just like you. I was fighting these Tangoes called 'Red Moon', a bunch of nutty bastards. Suicide Kid basically, I let through because I thought he was just a kid… nuked himself taking half of my squad. From that moment, I realized that I failed my squad, not just as a leader, but for myself too. I put my personal feelings above the safety of my team. You get it Captain?" Crocker lectured.

The soothing breeze of the autumn brushed alongside his words, like a poem sang through Samantha's ears, clearing her mind.

"You still got a lot of shit to learn Captain. I am here for you." Crocker smiled as he roused the Captain up from the riverbed's quagmire.

"Yeah, I guess I do." Samantha inhaled. A soft smile tapped for a split second on her aperture before she furrowed to rectitude. She could not lose heart now, not of what she and her squad have done so far and must do next.

"Captain Rose." Clay held onto his Radio. "The Situation according to Command says its starting to get under control. Anyone of us that got bit fending off those Zombies are going to Medical ASAP. Can't say the same thing about the Civvies though. Aproxie, 400 and that's just the not-infected ones by our own hands I'm afraid." He informed her.

"What about the Infected ones then?" Samantha lowered her head and took a deep breath.

"Colonel Polonsky ordered the deployment of Napalm Units to sterilize infected areas as we speak. That and back burn the fire already happening." Clay answered. "However, there's a significant group of people that the Sattelites say managed to get away up North. Command fears the worse."

"This place will be effectively just ashes at this rate." Captain Rose swallowed her empathy but it failed to show her squad her distaste. They knew they didn't want everything they had done to come to this, but alas, powers that be designed them to this sordid outcome.

"If those damn Slegs are bringing that sick shit to Ghana's Wall right then let them fuck'em selves over. Then just smoke whatever is left of them with an all-out Orbital Strike. One fell swoop. It's what these fucking animals deserve." Obediah spat on the ground.

"That isn't happening Private." Crocker halted Obed's disdain. "Agent De Sardet and Karliah told us that Ghana's Wall is holding several Magical Artifacts and Scrolls that escaped back in Haringpoint. The Wigs and Nerds are banking on getting their hands on all of that good stuff. Will be a shame to just nuke it all down from Orbit."

"Then just drive one of our War Ships and watch them to shit themselves," Obediah suggested.

"If 'Gunboat Diplomacy' didn't work in Haringpoint, it won't work shit in Ghana's Wall. Like it or not we will need to crack that wall the old-fashioned way." Crocker dismissed him.

"Well now you said it like that Crock, you got yourself your 'Skeleton Key' right here. I'm still an option, right?" Diaz volunteered.

"You are suggesting to sneak into Ghana's Wall?" Iris asked.

"Well, if not me, get the SEALS or the Rangers to do it. Anyone of us got plenty of ways to impregnate that bitch right open. Just nab the Artifact stuff and then we can obliterate the place in one hit strike yeah? They won't even know what hit'em." Diaz chuckled, but his face grimaced upon hearing his own plan being dispensed to his peers. "Wait… what exactly am I stealing though?" he asked.

"I guess if Dr. Mahelona and Karliah really want those Artifacts they can give you a list." Samantha shrugged.

"Well, if it gives me something to work with." Diaz haughtily placed his hands on his hips. "Another great caper for the Dare Runner it is! Bet those posers back in Kesserheim can't brag something like… 'Oh I stole motherfuckin' The Royal Wand of Excalibur, that shoots LASERS!'. I bet that's how they will sound like." He stuck his tongue out making Kayin and Aliathra give off a light chuckle.

"We must not also forget Diaz, that these Natives will fight like Cornered Animals. If they so much believe these Artifacts could give them a chance, they'd evac them all from Haringpoint and put them there." Samantha reminded. "If they dared to almost kidnap me. Who knows what they could come up against us?"

"Indeed, my sister! She can't just go back to those Imperials she surely dies!" Iris raised.

"Your sister is a Master Rouge; she can surely take care of herself," Aliathra reassured Iris.

"If she can survive all this time without using her Vampire Powers, she can stay alive long enough for us to find her." Samantha nodded.

"Well maybe with that ONE Pistol that she stole from you can surely turn the tide huh?" Diaz oozed with sarcasm. "Mita… Mara… whatever her name is? I bet she would… most definitely she would… ' 'Copy'spell or some mumbo jumbo your Gladius Pistol so we can get them Slegs pistol-whipping us in about… I don't know ten years plus than that multiplied by… I don't know infinity? To the… exponent of… 'Ha-Ha No'."

"Damn straight, I doubt they even know what Fire Arm's safety is." Kayin nodded. "If a simple Steam Drill is enough to get them scared of a band of Inventors, then what hope do they have trying to learn a Pistol? They have been screwing with those Dwarves since forever we all saw it. They still fail to see that our power is not magic but sheer craftsmanship. Craftsmanship they try so hard to suppress."

"Idiots will probably get themselves killed faster than we can shoot. Like… Like… Cheese-Eating… no … no… those Hummus-sipping Scaredy Sheep." Obed cracked.

"What is a 'Hummus'? I know what a 'Sheep' is." Iris asked.

"Eh, look up 'Afghanistan Twenty-Twenty-One'." Obediah nudged the Vampire Witch.

Kayin's eyes widened. "Actually, don't look it up I'll explain!" the Engineer pulled Iris swiftly and briefly whispered to her the explanation of the joke.

"With 'Allies' like those, who needs enemies?" Iris recoiled in jest.

"That's rich for a woman who comes from a family of literal bloodsuckers." Diaz chided.

Kayin and Iris couldn't help but laugh again.

"You know… Kayin…" Iris whispered into her Nightman. "I know that Mara is a Master Rogue but there is still a good chance that she might not make out from Ghana's Wall since she still rejects what she truly is. So maybe, just maybe you can help me." she cooed.

"Help how?" the Engineer asked

"To preserve the Cadohagan bloodline Troll-Head. I need your help." She caressed his hip, nearing inches to his groin preciously. "You can help in preserving my bloodline."

"A bit too soon right now Iris." Kayin awkwardly gritted his teeth as he attempted to distance himself away. He did do it with her once, but it was a heat of the moment that Kayin practiced responsibly for, even if Iris didn't. He now regrets indulging her that night. Regardless if he hated such crass callings, even in another world, he couldn't escape the myth of 'ebony virility'.

"Don't be another idiot Love. Why can't you accept me now as 'Miss Mudwin' yet?" Iris cried forth.

The rest of Stryder, blushed when they heard the Vampire Witch's hopelessly amorous words.

"Maybe you can discuss more of that back at base." Samantha shared in Kayin's alarms set off. "I suggest you take things a bit slow. Think it all over you and Kayin? This is some serious grounds you're pushing right no." She suggested.

"But I can't let the Cadohagan Bloodline die through me." She pouted her lips disheartfully.

"I am not complaining however, I'm actually quite ecstatic for both of you to share Union," Aliathra commented.

"LETS… just get back to Business right now guys… I… I mean Squad." Kayin rallied, stuttering awkwardly with each word

[-]

In One fell swoop.

They could have killed them all in one strike yet they continue to indulge them in open battle.

The more she swam through the sea of ashes and broken hearths, the more the Demon's bravado, or at least as best she could hear is Bravado leaked out to her ears. Once again, the more she shadows beneath these Invaders the more answers, and just as more conundrums reveal to herself. At first, she had thought the Primal Boil plague was created by the conniving Sochairfuil back in Egni as some villainous rite of demonstration they showed to the Invaders. The raised hordes of Accursed from the poor souls of the Imperial citizens against the Alliance of Light to wreak havoc against those still standing embers of defiance against their dark march.

What has become unfathomable is that these Demonic Warriors are trying to wipe out these supposed minions. The exact opposite of what she knew, to kill something their supposed allies used to make for their army. Did the supposed betrothal between the Invaders and the Sochairfuil fell sour? Most necromancers or summoners typically don't kill their own creatures or beasts so wastefully as that. Furthermore, it is demonstrated by such Chaos that erupted that the supposedly Sower of Discord these Demons had, they had no ultimate control over the Accursed. Attacking indiscriminately to whatever they chance upon monster, beast, Imperial, Demon or in some cases themselves alike.

As she crawled stealthily along the riverbank, she found a watermill to see if she could scavenge for a few supplies for her travels up north, seeing that the house didn't seem to have been tapped off its treasures. She was honestly caught by surprise when the Shareholder's Cabal of followers arrived at the property. At first, she feared they had managed to track her down, but the way they acted in securing the perimeter and building a strange contraption by the river comforted her that the Fallen Chosen One's path intersected with hers if not unintentionally. At least she doesn't seem to be actively looking for her presence. Still, for the Master Rogue, she couldn't help but eavesdrop from her hiding place by the thrushes,

But what she overheard mortified her greatly: Is that the Demons weren't responsible for the Primal Boil plague at all.

They were in truth, attempting to halt its progress back in Egni, not 'cattle herding' the townsfolk that she and her crows and inquisition initially thought. Now the Plague will spread to amongst the many refugees she had 'freed' North to Ghana's Wall. A death sentence, a mortal verdict to be cast upon what remains of the Empire.

"What… what have we done…" Mita covered her eyes, the light that passed through her verdant alcove smoking her skin ever so bit by bit.

She hooded herself penitently with her rugged leathers. Sun Light could no longer be enjoyed by her, not for a monster like her anymore. But as she pulled herself together, knowing yielding to her emotions will the death of her and jeopardize her mission. She looked onto her pocket, the Metal Wand, or 'Piss-til' she had taken from the Shareholder back at her Camp.

Pulling the gizmo from the said pocket, the Crow Master observed the device keen fully.

As they had said, the device had no Arcane Power whatsoever, it was pure craftsmanship alone that it was made so powerfully. Even her own Dwarfen Handbows had to be inscribed with magical runes, master crafted no less in order for it to pierce even the thickest of armors. Yet this hand-held wand, it was made of metal bent together with the scents of a hundred smithies passing through its hands. Judging by its size and the similarly made weapons the Demons have fashioned their warriors with, this wand is in all likelihood, was their weakest weapon. Larger weapons can produce a greater volume of death and destruction. And the 'War Ship' that they mentioned? Did they mean the 'Steel Clouds' that rained fire above them like an impending storm wherever lands they hovered above is what they call it? If that is the case, then there is almost no way, at least what she knows of that Ghana's Wall could ever hope to defend itself from the approaching Demonic Invaders.

Mita cursed herself again, all these times the ways of being these Otherworlders composed themselves was eerily mirroring how the Empire and other peoples hold themselves. Using their greater understanding to overcome whatever obstacles they came across. These weren't monstrous marauders, nay they were worse than that. Her enemy was, perhaps, nay, IS the ultimate Nemesis, the Antithesis, a Peer-superior in every way, the larger fish, the one who strikes down against Hubris.

She looked back, remembering all those risky assignments, rapacious plots enacted and conniving schemes she had conducted for the Empire: Destroying the Dwarfen Steam Engine, the Assassination of the Mage-Scholar Kemar Silverdane, and the contempt for all those of non-magical descent. It left them naked and defenseless against their onslaught.

Mita remembered her assignment amidst the storm of doubt, she cannot doubt, not now, not if there is a sliver of hope.

"No… It has, they can… I just need to warn them." The Rogue remembered Samantha's words. Her own men did not know what they had used and were killed for it. But she knows better, she can guide what remains of the Scholars and Alchemists, maybe if they can discover how this artifact works. They could perhaps find a way to stop them, save what's all that's left of them dear.

And perhaps, buy her time so she can find a way to cure her Vampirism.

However, despite all the scavenged wishes she can muster, there is a great sense of disheartenment malignantly growing in her.

That what if, all of their efforts were hopeless after all?

[-]

Prince Valorion Lareththor groaned in disappointment.

He and his Army of 50,000 had just arrived at the warmth of Ghana's Wall. Upon his banner's immediate presence, the Elven Prince was received half-ceremoniously by his Slaegian Counterpart, Marshall Huguet. He had expected an applauding ceremony where the Humans would marvel at the majesty of the Ethuilen Royal Army only to receive a smolder-warmed welcome upon arriving at its Main Keep. Most of the Humans were kept busy tending to the preparations of the defense and accommodating the influx of Refugees coming from the south to pay heed to his arrival.

He cannot blame them however if both of their forces had fought an enemy that can conjure thousands of Magical Javelins to decimate a horrendous count of 30,000 troops in one agonizing day. He would be melancholic too.

Still, the Legionary Officers of the Empire however were more than relieved of much-needed reinforcements nonetheless.

Valorion had marveled at the stories he had heard from his father of the Great Slaegian Bastions erected to defend their borders, architecture to be as grandiose in its adamancy as was the similar bastion back home. Ghana's Wall, designed to fend off the Northern Daosne War Bands in all forms of assaults was taken from inspiration by the Ethuilen's Own designs in mind for their fortresses. It is confidently said, that if it were not a fortress, Ghana's Wall could easily be a dominion of its own. Housing not only a barracks and battlements but a web-like network of other supportive functions such as a Hospice, their own Blacksmith, a fully-scrolled Arcanum, and even a small underground farm to grow some of their own foodstuff as it remains shielded by the frigid breath of the Northern Frontier.

"It is much worse than we fear my Prince." Arch-Mage Sellyinne grimaced. "Our allies are demoralized; their supplies are about to run out and now the Invaders are already inching towards the Fortress as we speak."

"The Autumn Drwg Mynd has been both a blessing and a curse milord. One that it slows down our enemy, but also the much-needed supplies I need to defend Ghana's Wall. Rations, Arrows, Arms and Armors. But your magic beasts

"Indeed, where is it best I can address for you and your men right now?" Valorion looked below the overwhelming War Table before him. The situation that had developed during his delay was

"We march, we work and we fight on our stomachs. Most of the food that we could not grow on our underground farm is by the Yellow Marshes beyond Imogen's Rock southwest of here. It's hearth-fired lands suffer the most from both the Drwg Mynd and attacks from Demonic raiding parties. If we can just get their caravans safely here, we could be able to secure ourselves much-needed time." Marshall Huguet nodded.

"These walls alone will not bring us victory. We are just letting the invaders run around our lands! We need to sally forth now!" Faithleann raised his voice. His fist quaking the table, upsetting the stances of the play pieces that represented the Theater's forces.

"And we will! Prince Valorion's Light Cavalry of Dale Dashers can easily walk through the muddy roads with no toil."

"Protect the Food Supply it is then. I can lead off my Cavalry and Rangers to protect those wagons whilst my infantry help prepare the fortress." Valorion cusped his chin. "What of the Daosne Beastfolks?" he asked.

"Quiet, strangely quiet, Thank Ghana those Barbarians dare not attack us now. The sudden increase of the garrison thanks to me must have scared them." Huguet sighed.

"Very well, I will need several of your men who know the land to help assess the terrain then enact out what we can do to assist from there. Perhaps I can also have your Chosen One come along with my retinue? He seems to be more useful out on the field rather staying idly by here." He looked onto the Chosen Hero Faithleann.

It was the first time he had seen the Chosen One eye-to-eye. His eyes filled with youthful fire. A rather uncanny mirror for Valorion himself who was tempered with a decade of experience and maturity in all martial disciplines and theories. He was told a brief exposition of the boy's history revealed his sudden rise to prominence, his unusual vigor, and exceptional affinity to the Weave. He had a brass ego, but his raw power sure does match it. His Mage advisor Sellyine confirms it with a quick scrying of his Arcane Might. Still much remains a mystery to this Chosen One, and now was a great time to examine him further.

"So, tell me young boy, what was the strongest foe you had defeated?" Valorion asked.

"This vile Sochairfuil! He had summoned his minions to stop me. But I burnt them all to oblivion. Didn't have time to cast a Shield to protect himself when I cut him down where he stood." He boasted. Marshall Huguet had strictly ordered him not to talk about his recent shortcomings, such as his duel with Samantha since he wanted to present a glowing image of what remains of the Imperial Legionnaire's Honor to the Elven Prince.

"Interesting." Valorion nodded. "So, Faithleann, boy, when we arrive at the Yellow Marshes what would be the plan to prevent the supply caravans from being attacked?" the prince decided to test him of his knowledge.

"We know where most of them are here." He pointed to the playing piece on the table that represented the Otherworlder's Forces present in the Yellow Marshes. "I say we must take the initiative for ourselves and attack them before they could attack us. The Drwg Mynd should have slowed their advance that they cannot properly assemble their battle formations. We know that their raiding parties are no larger than ten to fifteen of their warriors." He spoke.

Valorion nodded, he is quite fiery, a risk-taker sure but at such a time like this, they could take any plan over the Demons gaining more ground with impunity. Besides, he is fighting vanguard forces rather than the main force. A direct confrontation with the full might of the Invaders now would be most inconvenient for the war effort moving forward. Time and Energy must be purchased unto their side.

"So, if we decide to attack them before they could rally. How should we go about it? Like an ambush?" Huguet raised.

"Yes, an Ambush, with your Elven Rangers and your Dale Dasher Cavalry Prince Valorion." Faithleann nodded. "I will show you a trick I know."

The Chosen One grabbed a piece of paper and a quill dipped in ink and began to draw. He first drew a large square with ten smaller circles inside it.

"This is a company of enemy raiders." He pointed to the encompassing square. "While they advance, we can have your Dale Dasher Cavalry contingents or even your Rangers circle around their sides and shoot them in before they can raise their staves." Faithleann demonstrated. Drawing two arrows forming a curvature around each other on opposite sides of the Square to represent Valorion's Light Cavalry.

"Aralaya's Teeth." Valorion's princely face instantly scowled. He set aside his cup of cold water and walked around the table to Faithleann's side. He could not believe what he had just heard.

"Draw it again." He told the boy as he flipped the piece of paper Faithleann had drawn over.

The Chosen One was left flustered, confused about what had caused the Elven General to sour so suddenly.

"Pardon?" Faithleann eyes pried open.

"Draw it again Knight. Just a simple drawing." Valorion asked. His voice raised. This boy had the gall to not know what he is doing!

"I… did I did something to… offend you?" He asked.

"Draw your 'plan' again!" Valorion's patience had run thin.

Faithleann's body froze.

Disappointed by a lack of response, Valorion grabbed the inkwell and redrew the Square with small circles inside it.

"Two Carfans of my Rangers, my Cavalry, MY Legeradat of Ethuilen's finest." He drew the same two arrows shooting across each other. His voice bellowing the more the Elven Prince continued to draw.

"I find your anger distasteful Prince Valorion." Faithleann protested. "Please behave."

"Do not tell the Royal Heir to 'behave' human!" Arch-Mage Sellyine interjected but her liege stopped her from intervening. He will take care of this foolish boy himself.

And to think, he saw a glimpse of his younger self in him. Not even he is that naïve. He has learned from his own and other's failures, especially the reports of what had transpired with the ill-fated (and he couldn't believe he is saying that to a Black Elf) Expedition of Lord Vokhol's 70,000 strong Army. It wasn't enough to just overwhelm them with superior volleys of skirmishing fire. One must stay a step ahead of their wrath less the now angered beasts that were the Heavily Armored Invaders devour them for luncheon. War is won by having the other enemy lose more of their resources than yours with as little expenditure from your side as one can.

"Enemy here." Valorion pointed to the square. "Two Carfans across each other, their arrows shoot each other dead." He thrust towards Faithleann, grabbing him by his breastplate. "Chosen One, where did you learn this 'trick'?"

Marshall Huguet and his Lieutenants could only lower their heads in shame. For the Elf was absolutely in the right of Faithleann's so-called 'Strategy'. Even if the Elven Arrows could snipe the Demonic Infantry, it still wasn't much of a guarantee it could bring down with their Ashen Beasts.

"From my home," Faithleann answered. "Clervuite Village. Hunting Turoflooke Herds."

"Hunting Turoflookes? Harmless Turoflookes?!" Valorion yelled. He threw the piece of paper containing Faithleann's plans onto a nearby torch, the papyrus instantly burning up into smokes.

"How many of your Knights were lost back in Haringpoint Marshall Huguet? Because I cannot believe by the Twins that this boy is all that is left." Valorion turned to his peer and chastised him.

"Many, Ser Garmhaic here and Ser Reikdorf are perhaps all that is the best of them," Huguet replied. "The Chosen One had only been knighted just months ago and has yet to draw a victory from battle."

The Elf turned back to the Chosen One. "This is not some game hunt we are dealing with boy."

"This is war, War is harsh and people can die. It takes might to push back the darkness. My might alone can cast away the Demons from this Land." Faithleann brazenly defended himself.

"These are my soldiers Chosen One. They want to come back to their families and are defending this land just as if they are defending theirs." Valorion rebutted. "With the way your men are losing, you need all of your strength to fight these Demons when the time comes. Not… not wasting away their lives just kill what? Raiding Parties?!"

"Maybe… Maybe…" Faithleann fumbled in his head to conjure another plan. "Maybe I cast a Fireball to annihilate them with my Powers while you hold the Invaders down with some of your magicks? If only we can just… just have Caldell's Demon Slaying Sword or bring one of the powerful Artifacts with us for this mission, we can… can… just" He stuttered, cracking down his demeanor in such a face of someone much more experienced than him.

"Power alone does not win war boy. You need to learn Finesse. Might doesn't mean it is right." He scolded him.

"Can I still come with you?" Faithleann squeamishly shuddered.

But the Elf only shunned him. That demonstration alone was enough that he would be a liability accompanying him into battle than an asset.

"Give me what men you can spare for this." He told the Marshall. "People I can, Trust." Valorion accentuated before he stormed off with the rest of his cadre.