Dianeos 4th, 687 of the Imperial calendar
All that could be heard in this tiny, damp, and very cold chamber was the lone scribbling of stylus on papyrus. The writer was a tall man in his early twenties with orange hair that despite his attempt at grooming with his fingers had grown wild and entangled in itself. He finished the last of word and setting down the papyrus before rubbing his arms in the attempt to warm himself up.
'If only that bastard I call brother had actually given me a blanket.' He thought to himself but a least he was allowed a few pieces of papyrus to write down this thoughts. For weeks he could hear explosions, figuring that the Other-worlders were targeting militarily important targets as the city hadn't been leveled from what he heard. While being a loner, the isolation had gotten to him as now he basically felt depressed every day and though he heard voices when there was no one around.
He jolted like a cat as he heard the lock to his chambers unlock and two figures entered, two guards to be exact. He almost though they were hallucinations when one punched him square in the face. "Get up traitor, his majesty wishes to see you." Diabo scoffed quietly as he was picked up by his arms and dragged out and into the hallway he hadn't seen in a while, but they weren't going in the direct of out outside but rather a new route unfamiliar with him. They passed rows of doors that all lead to chambers where political prisoners were held with some weeping while others cried out on agony as they were tortured but most were dead silent.
It didn't take long until he was dragged towards a lone door, one of the guards pulling out a key and unlocking it. Once the door was open he could see what was inside. It was a large pot with shackles attached over a pile of wood with none other then Zorzal himself standing right next to it. "Why isn't it Diabo! I've been waiting." The shadow casted by a torch made his face look monstrous, a reflection of his soul. "What do you want Zorzal?" Diabo growled but it only caused his brother to laugh before punching him hard, the connection sounding like the sharp crack of a whip. "I expected better from you little brother, you should know to respect the authority of the crown." Diabo said nothing and even if he wanted to, blood including pieces of this teeth dripped onto the floor.
"Guards, I want him stripped bare and shackled to that pot." What were essentially rags on him were easily ripped off and he was dumped into the cold pot with little thought of comfort. With the clanking of the shackles, Diabo's wrists and ankles were locked in place. He wasn't a fool and knew what awaited him. "I know you have devised the demise of the Augustus dynasty. Therefore the only punish suitable for your treasonous actions is death by fervere oleum." His heart completely dropped while the poor man's breaths became labored and short. He shuttered as cold wyvern oil was dumped onto him from multiple buckets held by Zorzal's henchmen, only stopping when it reach his chest.
The blonde walked closer and looked down at his brother with sickening glee, "Do you have any last words before your flesh peals from your bones?" Diabo with but mumbled something that nobody could understand. Zorzal grabbed a bit of his hair and yanked him closer. "You'll have speak up, what is it that you'd wish to say." Falling for his trap perfectly and Diabo turned his head and spat in the face of his brother. Zorzal cried out in disgust as saliva and blood covered his face. "I'll see you in the underworld you sex-crazy bastard!" The tyrant didn't like that and snapped his fingers, one of the guards picking up a torch from the wall and lighting the wood underneath the pot.
Two days later...
Zorzal along with his long time friend Mudra walked down the hallway of the Imperial palace while chatting about the upcoming defense of the city. "Are you sure you want to empty the streets of the woman and children? They could still produce clothing and old men and slaves won't fight well against the enemy." Said the dark haired man but the emperor scoffed. "Less mouths to feed means more food for the troops and it worked in the Arctic war, a mobilization of all men aged fourteen and older will drown the barbarians and our numbers alone will break their sense of invincibility." Zorzal wanted to turn every house and every shop into a trap. He was certain they could enter the city but he believed that if the causalities began to rise, they'd sue for a truce like the weaklings they were. After that he'd be able to slowly but surly advance the army to their standards and restart the conflict to avenge their dishonorable defeats before.
"That's a good point my lord, though I fear the commanders in the mountains don't have the same mentality as you do." Zorzal's mood became dangerous and asked, "What do you mean by that? Is my generals mutinying?!" Mudra stepped back and shook his head. "They despite having the home advantage are losing ground at a slow but constant speed. Men are being lost faster then reinforcements can arrive, some units are simply disappearing."Damn it all!" Zorzal cursed, "Can't I have one victory against those bastards? Is it hard to even have some generals who have a sp-" BAME!!!
Zorzal lost consciousness and after a unknown period of time came back slowly, his ears ringing. He felt like the life had been beaten out of his body and his lungs struggled to grasp for air. The emperor looked up to see Mudra getting back up and his feet and turned to him, lending out a hand to Zorzal. His companion grunted as he pulled him up and inspected the damage. Ahead of them down the hallway was a gaping hole and partially collapsed section of roof that let in the slow and winter winds. "My lord!" He turned to see a servant hastily running up to him before bowing elegantly. "What has happened woman?!" He barked and the shaking woman struggled at first to respond but words did eventually come out of her mouth. "The Other-worlders have attacked the Imperial palace! I believe there was at least three other explosions."
'How dare they!' He thought, 'Cowardly as usual.' "Alright, get your servants and clean this up." He shoved her aside and stormed off to find a warmer room. The enemy had conducted attacks but attacking Sadera hill was unfathonable. Since the empire was founded it was untouched, even during the Arctic war when enemy horsemen reached the city gates, the palace was perfectly safe. But despite the emperor's sense of superiority against the enemy, he still realized they were much stronger then those nomads two and a half centuries ago. The Empire followed the motto 'Fight till the last' as religious scripture and shaped the Imperial foreign diplomacy since then though it would take full form now. Those Americans wanted to destroy all that was natural in Falmart and once they'd reach the city gates then they would truly see the wrath of the Saderan people in it's truest and fiercest form yet. But for now they would prepare and gather all the strength they could must for the greatest struggle in the Empire's history.
December 8th, 2016 of the Gregorian calendar
The wolfhounds gave suppressive fire as they ran towards a shop to use as cover against the mixture of musket and crossbow fire. The 27th regiment had the job of clearing the town of belma of Imperial insurgents. The Falmart resistance army or FRA had been a small but noticeable thorn that they wanted to destroy before it would bloom to a much larger uprising. The army had successfully cornered about three thousand there, from the rumors Johnson heard, more then half of their strength.
"Alright the Cork, pop a 'nade in there!" Shouted Collins as he shot a quick burst from his M4, "On it sir." The former moved aside so the private could pull out his grenade launcher. He took a quick aim and yelled, "Fire in the hole!" The weapon jerked and a second later dust and debris flew out the window as the explosion rocked the building. "Move up!" The soldiers rushed forward, scanning the roof tops and windows for any ambush. Thankfully they reached the structure about fuss and lined up against wall right next to a rotting door with Collins up front. "Ready?" The men nodded and collins could be heard taking a breath before with one big kick, smashing the door down. Like they had trained they checked every entrance and room but all had ended with "Clear!"
With the downstairs checked it was time for upstairs and everyone readied themselves to finish off any stragglers. The soldiers quickly aimed but found no movement in the large room but rather about eight or so bodies. "Clear!" Then they on a dime all collectively looked in the far right corner where there was a huddled mass. Johnson quickly realized what it was and he felt sick. "Oh shit!" He cursed as they looked at it in disbelief. "Fucking hell! That's a civilian!" Pointed out Zhao as Cork on the other hand walked up to the woman. She had basically rags that covered her body with light blonde hair and her beautiful skin covered in cuts made by shrapnel. As the group got even closer, there came a more horrific discovery. The woman was huddled in a ball holding something in her hands with dark straight hair; a child, equally bloody.
Cork's skin turned pale and his hands started to shake. "Oh fuck, Oh fuck, OH FUCKING FUCK!" The poor man's legs failed him and he plopped down onto the cold floorboard and hid his face in his hands as quiet sobbing could be heard. "Cork, y-you didn't know." Collins reassured but it did not good, "I killed them, I killed them, I killed them, I killed them." He chanted over and over, Collins kneeled down to the young man's level. "Get up Cork." He said softly but he didn't budge. "I said get up Cork, that's an order boy." Slowly Cork got back to his feet, his eyes bloodshot. "You didn't kill them but the terrorists on this floor sure as hell did! They used them as shields and you should be angry with them, not yourself. Now quit feeling sorry for yourself and let's kick their fucking asses! Nec aspera terrent!"
"Nec aspera fucking-terrent!" Cork repeated, Zhoa and Johnson doing the same. The curly haired grunt felt sorry for his friend and was like everyone else shook but this just gave him another reason to fight, another reason to despise the empire.
A day later...
Kowalski smiled at the news, the 27th regiment, 25th division had secured Belma and had fourteen-hundred prisoners to interrogate on the whereabouts of their remaining forces and base of operation. "Thank you, you may leave." His subordinate quickly left, leaving alone with his beautiful coffee. Just as he was about to take sip when another one came in. 'Just great.' He thought and reluctantly put down the cup. "Report your arrival." He ordered and the tall man with gases too small for him cleared his voice, "King Duran of the kingdom of Elbe wishes to rejoin the war on our side."
Happy one year! Despite my infrequent updates, I'm happy my story has a following like you guys. Like I said in chapter 21 we are half-way to the end of this story. But fear not! I after finishing The revenge of the Bald eagle, plan on creating both a prequel and sequel to further flesh out the lore plus see the effects of this war. I estimate give or take 15 chapters until the conclusion so we still have a good ways to go. :)