Excerpt From A Lieutenant's Journal:

Witness To A Coronation

It was supposed to be our final victory. We were going to take back our capital Presidia, reclaim Cascadia and drive the Federation out of our home. But it would be all for nothing.

We had our enemy on the ropes. Our forces invaded the city, driving the Feds into a corner, with Sicario and their famed "Crown" leading the charge. As me and my fellow soldiers were fighting on the ground, we sometimes looked up at the sky, watching our fighters engage the enemy in the air, even catching glimpses of the Sicario plane with the crown emblem on it. The way that he cleared the line for our forces was magnificent. Some of us even felt that he was the sole reason that we got this far.

As we marched on towards victory, we received an order from command. We were all ordered to cease fire at once. At that point, however, we knew what it meant: We had won. The Federation had surrendered to us. We almost felt like cheering to the Dust Mother herself, but we knew there was still a few things left to wrap up during the cease fire. But as we were awaiting our next orders, a cold chill swept over us. Looking back to the sky, a rain of missiles fell from out of nowhere. Someone had broken the cease fire. Before anyone could think anything else, a series of gigantic explosions went off in the city. Shockwaves and dust clouds ensued, debris and cinder hit our bodies, and before I knew it, I was hit in the head by something, and blacked out.

When I came to, I found that I was still alive somehow, along with a few of my comrades. We did not know how long we were unconscious. However, before we can even think about that, our eyes were met with a sad an horrifying sight. Presidia - the very city that we, Sicario and the Cascadians fought so hard for - was now reduced to a apocalyptic shell of its former beauty. Our hearts sank when we looked upon the ruined city. From collapsed, shattered buildings to fallen fighters and airships, there was nothing alive as far as the eye can see. The only thing that looked alive and angry was the Cordium-polluted landscape.

A few of us survivors gathered together, wondering what happened and what we were going to do, when we looked up to hear the noise of jet engines and explosions above us. Witnessing the action from our position, we can see what could only be described as a final dance of death in the skies. Two planes - one that seemed technologically advanced, the other a surviving Sicario craft - both of them determined to outlive the other. I caught a glimpse of the tails on the two fighters. One of them was the "Crown Mercenary". He somehow managed to stay in the air. The other plane looked like it had a red crown mark on it. It had to be none other than "Crimson" that I heard about. The two "Kings" of Sicario and the Federation were now dueling over a desolate and ruined world.

Despite being at a disadvantage, the "Crown" of Sicario was managing to hold his own against all the missile swarms, railgun blasts, and even what appeared to be glowing orange orbs of light. Blow after blow, hit after hit, the pilot eventually damaged the "Red King" to the point where it was catching fire. And yet even after taking all that punishment, it was still fighting, desperate to shoot down the "Crowned Mercenary." They danced around each other for a couple more minutes, as if everything else around them didn't matter anymore. To them, one had to live, and the other had to die. The "Crown" nailed one final hit on the "Red King", and after what seemed like seconds, an explosion loud enough to be heard from all over the now fallen city could be seen in the sky. Now it was the "Crown Mercenary" that had become the true king.

Under normal circumstances we would've cheered the pilot on and give him our praises, as subjects would to their king. But as I looked up at the cockpit of the now lone fighter, it felt as if the pilot was sad. Honestly, who would blame him at that point? His kingdom was in ruins, his allies had fallen, and his people now suffer even more because of the destruction of their home. Whether he wanted all this to happen or not, it didn't matter. What good is the king's crown if he has nothing left to protect? Perhaps even now he blames himself for letting the war reach this point. His plane then flew away towards the setting sun, a destination no one would know.

I still don't know what was going through his mind at that point. After the battle was over, many people blamed him for the destruction of Presidia. Others turned on the Federation, blaming them for the creation of Cordium weapons and using them during a ceasefire. Of course, no one would know the real story. That is something that even the "King" would keep to himself. The pilot of Sicario became a king that day, but the way people would think. Became not a king of the skies, not king of Sicario, and not even king of Cascadia. He was now and forevermore a "King of Nothing."