Chiara crouched behind a heap of rubble at the base of the fountain, that once stood tall in the center of Arch Plaza. In the shadow of the towering Centurion, even she could no longer deny the precariousness of her situation. Surrounded, Squad E had formed a noose around her and the remaining Imperial Garrison. Reinforcements could no longer be deployed. Chiara tightened her grip on her Dunkel; its presence still provided a small sense of comfort, but could not motivate her to charge into the firefight again.
Every fiber of her body throbbed; with her legs quivering, and arms ready to pop off any second, Chiara's vision blurred as she shifted to get a better look. A crackle of her radio grabbed her attention. Over it, she could hear the agonized screams of the remaining Imperial conscripts as they threw themselves at the enemy in one last suicidal charge to recapture the lost sectors of Schwartzgrad. The Federation's Rangers, hardened by their grisly drive toward the capital, were merciless and cut down these mobilized recruits effortlessly. For they had no way of knowing, most of their enemies were not X-0's marines but young boys without proper basic training.
No amount of training could have prepared her for the dizzying reality of frontal combat. Damn it all, she was supposed to be disrupting the enemy from behind, not facing them down alone. She was not equipped in the slightest for her present predicament. Chiara went prone and crawled to the edge of her cover. From her Dunkel's sight, she could see steel-clad bodies glinting across the snow-dusted streets. The stench, oh the stench of burning flesh, was enough to make her stomach churn as she fought to keep from retching.
A fallen Imperial flag, riddled with bullet holes, now lay on the ground soaking in a pool of blood. As if the situation could not get any worse, Chiara's radio crackled again, this time with the voice of the last surviving tank commander present in the plaza. "Main gun out of ammunition, loader is dead, going ram the enemy's lead tank."
A lump jumped into Chiara's throat; she fumbled with the receiver. "No," she pleaded.
It was too late. Instead, he proclaimed, "For our glorious Imperial Motherland!" as his heavy tank roared into the open toward the Hafen. It was no contest. The Federation's tank had been upgunned with a heavier turret and larger caliber gun to address shortcomings in its firepower. It fired a single shell, which penetrated straight through the Imperial tank's angled front plate.
The explosion that followed was large enough to force Chiara to duck back down behind cover, as the shouting of the radio was drowned by the cries of men burning alive in their metal coffin. With ears ringing, Chiara rolled back into cover and did her best to swallow the nauseating feeling. Her body wracked with shallow, quick breaks as her eyes darted around, a low panicked whine escaping her lips. Anxiously, she looked down hopelessly at the small detonator hooked around her belt, a parting gift left to her by the man she considered her father.
But she was not as stupid as her partner liked to insist; Chiara knew full well what her present situation meant—that Belgar had simply elected to abandon her, rather than offer any more second chances. No more failures had been the last cruel words he imparted to her.
Chiara slammed another bolt into her Dunkel and angrily growled, "I am not useless, I am not useless," she muttered to herself as a mantra, hands shaking as she adjusted her bow. With a shrill battle cry, the small girl charged out from behind the fountain and rushed toward the Rangers, who were fanning out to secure the immediate area around their Snowcruiser.
Unfortunately, the burst of confidence was short-lived as her legs finally gave out entirely. Chiara stumbled and fell face-first onto the stone street behind a small amount of rubble. She bit her tongue, tasting blood in her mouth, and whimpered like a wounded animal.
"Nikola—I-I…" A pained groan interrupted her pleading, and she looked up. She froze, seeing a dying Imperial soldier a few feet from her trying to hold in his small intestine. Like bloodied sausage links, he groaned in unimaginable under different circumstances, she would have laughed at his misfortune.
But as his gasps for air shortened, then stopped entirely, as his body went limp Chiara realized her fate might be similar. Still partially blinded, she groped around for her crossbow and protested, "I… can keep fighting… Lord Belgar. I just need to take my medicine."
Within the division of X-0, human soldiers were viewed as no different from machines, and a machine that failed to perform its duties was useless in Doctor Belgar's eyes. Chiara's radio came to life soon enough to make this clear. She struggled with the receiver and pressed down. The calculating, cold, yet cruel voice of Forseti was on the other end. "You have failed, Chiara."
Despite his monotone cadence, she could tell he derived an aberrant, primitive pleasure from finally be able to tell her such. It was no secret Forseti despised Nikola and Chiara—he loathed the space they occupied beyond the bounds of the delusional fantasies of feminine purity that he applied so arbitrarily. "I… have… failed," Chiara repeated between breaths.
The road itself vanished from beneath her as the only world she had ever known came to a shocking, violent end. Forseti waited for a minute, basking in the glow of a defeated obstacle. "No more failures," he said; "you know what to do. Belgar's orders." It was like a knife had been stabbed straight into Chiara's chest and forced her into a sitting position. Dumfounded, she sat there in the street, unable to process the order. "Go," Forseti commanded.
Her face sunk as the last bit of hope she had vanished from her umber eyes. She quietly repeated that singular word, "Go..." Her worst fear—that she may be thrown away like a broken tool—had finally come true. Chiara wrapped her hand around the detonator and pulled it from her belt. She stood, legs trembling, as she staggered forward into oblivion.
Two days before the Federation's Centurion crashed into Schwartzgrad, the Imperial Commissariat of Internal Security mobilized all of its available men to save its vast archives. These Commissars, under the direction of Saeoth, had worked tirelessly through the night. Yet, despite their best efforts, by the time Squad E had deployed in Arch Plaza, only about sixty percent of the intelligence agency's records had been moved to safety.
Unknown to everyone, it was this critical moment that would redefine the Commissariat's trajectory in the years to come and change the future of Europe forever. The archival room was on the first floor of their headquarters. While the entire building was alive with activity, as black garbed men tore apart their offices in a feverish frenzy to save everything they could. Most of their efforts were concentrated on the archives, where critical information related to national security was stored.
In the sea of black figures, one specifically stood among the murder—a woman adorned in the same style of uniform but in white. Even her mouth was invisible, with a white scarf resting on the top of her coat that covered all the skin below her nose.
This was Saeoth. Not that many of the men present knew her by name, since on paper she never existed. Most only knew her as the Pale Crow, or simply as Corrector. Given that she was embedded within the upper cadre of the Lord Commissar's most trusted advisors, no one ever dared to question her orders. If Saeoth was present in Schwartzgrad, then the city teetered on the edge of calamity.
Wordlessly, she pointed at two commissars near the door and nudged a metal crate near her foot. They nodded, saluted, and together grabbed it, rushing outside to the waiting trucks. As they left, Saeoth turned, resting her right hand in the center of her trenchcoat. "That should be everything related to our efforts in the East, Varrick.
"Let's hope so," Commissar Varrick Friedhold answered, only half-listening as his eyes skimmed through stacks of reports. The troubling fact dawning on him, that he could not read his own handwriting. Oddly at ease with the surrounding chaos, Friedhold leaned backward in his wooden chair.
Behind Saeoth was Karl, who was sorting through the remaining filing cabinets. He kept one wary eye on her throughout the process, a cloud of white smoke drifting upward from the cigarette dangling from his mouth. He squinted at the page in his hand. "These are just executions."
He dropped them on the floor disinterestedly. However, Saeoth was curious, and she knelt down beside the pages. "So, so many names. But I guess obsolete persons no longer need such a thing." In the dim lighting of the room, her cold red eyes glowed with noticeable intensity. Unlike other Valkyria, Saeoth never fully relaxed, as if she was prepared to use her power at a moment's notice.
Friedhold got up with the rest of the records he had read through, and instead of placing them in a crate, dropped them onto the floor as well. "Documentation of what we found in ruins four and six, respectively. Let's say… due to an administrative error, these were misplaced."
Saeoth gave a knowing smirk. It was most convenient that the attack on Schwartzgrad would allow the Commissariat to cover up its questionable operations within the Empire. "Right you are, an unfortunate error," she said as she stood, dusting off her pants.
Karl, who was crouching as he dug through the bottom cabinets, held up another folder. "This one is about you."
Displeased, Saeoth scowled. "Come now, Monty. We had an agreement." Like most of the conspiratorial inner circle of the Commissariat's leadership, she spoke of their boss informally. Shaking her head, she was not particularly surprised. "Another administrative error, then." Saeoth took the folder from Karl and, using a lighter, set the page ablaze.
Watching as the glowing flames ate away the pages, she did not react when it reached her gloved hand. Both Karl and Friedhold side-eyed her, unnerved. Neither man used to her horrifying delight in self-harm. A faint glow formed around her hand, attempting to address the burns forming on Saeoth's flesh. Friedhold cleared his throat. "Enough. We need to finish here."
"Indeed," she responded eerily. The blue light vanished in the blink of an eye. With that, Saeoth revealed a fresh glove, and replaced her now charred one. Karl distributed his stimulants, which provided a burst of energy, allowing them to secure what remained of the archives.
As the rangers turned the tide against the Imperial Forces in the plaza, an enforcer ran into the room shouting, "Our forces have collapsed! Lord Commissar York has given the order to withdraw through checkpoint B!"
"Get the trucks out of here! We will follow!" Karl responded, throwing open the remaining cabinets and emptying their contents on the floor.
Saeoth sighed. "X-0's incompetence needs to be answered with blood." Using her foot, she pushed around the papers. "We must burn the rest, lest something we missed fall into the enemy's hands."
"If our intelligence is accurate, then the Federation doesn't–" Karl started to speak, but she cut him off with a wave of her hand.
"Our present situation is proof that Doctor Belgar's reports are not to be trusted." Saeoth said harshly as her red eyes glowed intensely again. "We cannot risk our work becoming known."
She was not unstable in any capacity; rather, it was her singular focus and calculated behavior that made her so ruthless. Friedhold rapped his knuckles against the table he was leaning on to get their attention. "Please allow me to stay behind and clean up the rest."
Karl protested with a stern expression. "There is no reason for you to do that, Varrick."
"Consider this my official retirement," Friedhold said despondently, brushing the rest of the files onto the floor. He looked up and met his comrade's gaze. "I do not regret for a moment backing Lord Commissar York all those years ago, and I hope you two will see his vision through to its noble conclusion. But..."
Saeoth filled in the blanks. "You tremble in the face of the future. Even the stalwart devotion of one of the Lord of Crow's most loyal follower has a limit." In truth, she had been watching his decline for some time, but had stayed silent. Karl, meanwhile, was staring at Friedhold in disbelief.
Friedhold nodded, accepting her harsh words. "Do not think of me as weak. I am just one of many casualties in our war. But I can no longer fulfill my duty… Please, allow an old man to rest."
Karl came over and grabbed Friedhold's arm tightly. "What about Lillian?"
Hearing his wife's name caused Friedhold's face to droop. His upper lip quivered as he said quietly, "Tell her… I died for the Empire. As we always knew, I would." He rested a hand on Karl's shoulder. "When I first met you, my friend, I knew you were destined for great things. Montgomery is rarely wrong about people. His justice will shake this whole wretched Earth to its core, trust in him."
Karl stared at the floor, face twisted into a pained expression. He knew Friedhold was making his choice out of a desire to avoid weakening the Commissariat. But losing a comrade who had always remained an immovable mountain in the face of all the challenges that confronted him still cut deep. He was fully aware any of them within the inner circle were lucky to be alive, in their line of work, but that fact did not soothe the ache of loss.
Karl looked down, even knowing that Friedhold was making a choice out of a desire to avoid weakening the Commissariat, did little to assuage the pain of losing a close friend and mentor. Karl exhaled,and fished out his cigarettes. It was the state's brand with dark red packaging, not the best quality, but it would do. He placed him on the table. "Then there is nothing else to say." He took a step back, placing a fist over his heart. "For our motherland."
Friedhold reciprocated the gesture. "And for Lord Commissar York. We march ever forward toward a future of enlightenment." Karl hesitated once more before grasping Friedhold's hand and pulling him in for a short half-hug. Friedhold patted the younger man's shoulder and let him go, nudging him towards the door. Karl left without turning back. Saeoth followed shortly behind.
As the pair exited the building, they heard the distant sounds of sporadic gunfire. It echoed ominously off the stone buildings and winding streets. Neither reacted, instead they walked to one of the two remaining black, unmarked kubelwagons. Saeoth stopped short of sitting in the vehicle and clicked her tongue. Her hidden face was impossible to read. Karl looked over at her and asking, "Something wrong?"
"The Cathedral is empty… correct?" Saeoth muttered in thought, staring off down the street.
Karl shifted, leaning on the vehicle's open door. "It should be. The priests agreed to evacuate with the Emperor… Why?"
Saeoth nodded, reaching into the backseat of the car and picking up the two machine pistol in the back. "Those infernal Yggdists maintain an archive of their own, as you know. I want to see if they left anything behind that might be useful for my research."
Karl watched as she loaded the weapon with a spare magazine before pulling back the firing mechanism. 'I am sure I do not need to remind you to keep a low profile. No one can learn that we have concealed a Valkyria from his majesty."
"Oh do not worry, Karl.," Saeoth bit back sharply as she turned toward the street. "Ashes cannot tell stories." She sprinted off in the direction of the fighting. Karl did not object and took a seat behind the wheel. He started its engine, quickly reversing before squealing the wheels as he took off toward the exit point.
Humming the melody of his favorite classical piece, Friedhold continued to pile the detailed operation history of the organization he had bound his life to on the floor. Once satisfied he had managed t get everything, he left the building to grab a can of ragnoline then returned. At ease, he carefully doused the whole room, taking solace in the knowledge his road was finally over.
Just as Forseti delivered the fateful order to Chiara, Friedhold struck a match and tossed it down. In an instant, the room was illuminated with a serene warm light as the fire spread across it, burning away the history of the Imperial Commissariat—a history that Friedhold himself had ensured came to pass. As he watched the flames, he picked up the pack of cigarettes Karl had left for him, shaking one out.
He placed one in his mouth and realized that, ironically; he did not have a lighter. The thought made him laugh, and for a moment he reflected on better times. Back when he was a younger man, full of love for his motherland, ready to serve her dutifully. Friedhold felt this was for the best, so calmly he slid out his pistol, then resolutely declared, "Long Live the Imperial Alliance! Long Live Lord Commissar York!" He shakily placed the cold barrel in his mouth and pressed it against his palate. He exhaled sharply, squeezing his eyes shut before pulling the trigger.
Chiara jerked herself toward the Hafen, clutching the detonator close to her chest. She whimpered incoherently, struggling to focus as panic overwhelmed her sense. In a singular instant, all of Chiara's training, conditioning and adjustments at the hands of Doctor Belgar had failed to suppress the most basic of human instincts. The fear of death.
She could taste iron in the back of her throat. With blood trickling down the side of her face, Chiara's body fought hard to stop her suicidal advance. The shadow of the Hafen, her intended target, towered nearly two feet above her. As she got closer, she pleaded childishly, "It hurts… Nikola, it hurts…"
Her medicine had worn off, so the act of standing itself caused pain to shoot up through Chiara's legs into the rest of her body. Gone was the sadistic bodyguard of the cruel Doctor Belgar and, in her place, was left a frightened kid who just wanted to go home; home, where that was. The bowels of the Orcinus Magnus, or maybe the sanitary white walls of the Doctor's laboratory, where she spent the early years of her life.
But now those places were alien to her. No, now the only thing she wanted was to go back to before the whole stupid war started. She had only ever done all this to please Lord Belgar, but now she—now she had nothing left.
Before she knew it, a stream of tears had mixed with the blood dripping down her face. Chiara jerked to a stop only a few feet from the Federation's tank. She brought her detonator up, trying to block out the deafening roar of the engine. She had to make up for failing.
But as her thumb hovered over the red button, Chiara could not follow through. She knew at close range the blast had a small chance to destroy the tank. Yet she stood there, frozen, unable to follow through with her orders. She shook, face ashen with fear.
Time felt as though it had stopped. She was subjected to a slideshow of images from her short, miserable life. It was not much to consider; most of them were set in the post-operation recovery room in Belgar's laboratory. Flashes of never-ending drug therapies, which left the inside of her mouth covered in a metallic-tasting film; the surgical alterations that slowly eroded her sense of self; and last, the usage of prolonged sleep deprivation to increase her overall aggression. In the end, though, these horrific thoughts left. What remained were memories of the only other person in the world who knew what it meant to be Belgar's project.
Nikola had been with her from the very beginning. It was Nikola who had sat with Chiara after she had survived her first adjustment. Sure, they bickered, often coming to blows over the most minor of disagreements, but at least they understood each other. They even trusted each other deep down.
Their warped bond was formed through cruelty, but strengthened by a shared determination to survive Doctor Belgar's torturous experimentation. Now Chiara found herself expected to just follow orders? The thought alone was enough to awaken a rebellious rage as her impulsiveness took over.
"No! I don't want to die!" she screeched into her radio, as she dropped her Dunkel and fled toward a nearby alley.
From the vantage point on the roof standing behind Foresti, Nikola watched blankly as her former partner disappeared into one of Schwartzgrad's winding side streets. Her lips curved into a frown and she muttered, "You idiot..."
Forseti interrupted her thoughts. "Hmph." He turned around with a hard look on his face. "It doesn't matter. We are proceeding with the plan."
His dark eyes narrowed as if he expected her to run off, too. Nikola remained rooted in place and only responded with a single word. "Yes." She would not fail.
Chiara's failure still created an opportunity for Forseti and the rest of his soldiers to board the Centurion. He did not care about the fate of the Empire, the Federation, his former friends, or the political fallout caused by his actions. He was a pretender to the throne of Europe, a mentally defective child at heart, twisted up in romantic dreams of a future with his beloved Angie.
If he could save her, then the corpses left in his wake would be justified. Every pretender believed as much. That their cause would be lionized in the annuls of history. Heinrich Belgar believed the same and Forseti stood loyally by his side, quick to stomp on those who tried to escape his mentor's grasp.
As long as Nikola did her job, Forseti knew he had nothing to worry about. However, she was already showing clear signs of agitation as she trailed a few paces behind him. Nikola's mind was locked in a circular battle between Belgar's chilling, no more failures, and Chiara's choice to save herself.
Unbeknownst to Nikola, the emotion experiencing was that of grief. It was an alien feeling and sent her hurtling into the darkest pits of despair. Anxiously, she followed Forseti, chewing on the inside of her cheek until the familiar taste of blood made her stop. As he pushed open the large, steel door to the engine room which creaked open, she flinched hearing the noise.
A haunting blue light pulsated brightly, causing her to wince. She looked down hopelessly at the grated floor. Unsympathetic, Forseti addressed her as one might a guard dog. "Hold them off here, by any means necessary."
"Yes…" Nikola's voice was monotone, and she felt as though she was floating, watching the scene from outside her body. He left her, hoping to claim his prize. Hearing footsteps, she brought up her Dunkel, staring at the entrance. Sure enough, a squad of the rangers rushed into the room. Seeing them, Nikola dejectedly mumbled, "Hold the fort… Any means necessary."
She giggled, realizing her situation was hopeless. Reaching down, she put a hand on her own detonator. "Lord Belgar…" Her face contorted into an unnatural, forced smile, "Yes… Any means necessary." A strange relief came to Nikola as she realized dying would mean she could finally rest.
The brief skirmish was over almost as soon as it began, when the final X-0 marine was blown over the edge of the railing by a mortar blast. His scream was fallowed by a cold splat. This motivated Nikola to finish her task. She closed the distance behind her target, repeating to herself, "Hold them off here… Hold them off here… Hold them off here."
She was desperate to die, to be allowed to rest. With her detonator clasped firmly in her hand, Nikola rushed after the brunette leader of Squad E. She could hardly focus, though; in her tunnel vision, the only thing she could see was the entrance to where the Valkyria was being held. In such a state, she did not see the dark-eyed sniper aiming. A shot rang out, and Nikola felt the bullet graze her right cheek. She lost her balance, crying out.
Nikola fell onto her butt; her Dunkel clattered against the grate a few feet away. Her suppressed terror bubbled up. She reached up, touching the fresh blood running down her cheek. Like Chiara, being suddenly confronted with the prospect of dying was too much to process. Nikola desperately crawled over to her crossbow, scrambling to grab it so she could escape.
Wide-eyed, she looked across the walkway to the other side of the room, seeing the sniper taking aim at her. She froze in place, shutting her eyes tightly, at least hoping her enemies would be merciful. Yet the second shot never came; Nikola slowly opened her eyes to see the blonde ranger carrying a mortar gesture to the sniper, who nodded.
The two of them, no longer seeing Nikola as a threat, moved to apprehend Forseti. Realizing she had been brushed away like refuse, Nikola felt a lump in her throat as it settled on her what had just happened. Weakly, she mumbled, "Ah, ng… I failed."
Now the pain was radiating across her whole body, and the industrial room blurred. Dizzily she fell flat back onto the grate, whimpering, "Why does everything hurt so much…" Was this what Chiara felt before she ran? Nikola thought to herself.
The thought was enough to push her over the edge. Dejectedly, she struggled into a sitting position while clutching her head in her hands. She pleaded to no one, "Chiara please… come back… s-sorry, I—"
Her morose words were met by the reverberating hum of the engine and the creeping numbness that slowly blanketed her whole body. As her sense of feeling disappeared entirely, the words 'No more failures' came to mind.
A forlorn smile crawled to her face. Nikola solemnly muttered, "Yes, Lord Belgar… I shall return to you…" She stood, nearly collapsing in the process as she tried to steady herself. She limped away, knowing there was only one thing left to do for a failure like her. She clutched her detonator hard enough her knuckles turned white.
Chiara was not fairing much better as she cowered in the shade of the nearby alley. She whined through gritted teeth and struggled to catch her breath. She cracked her head against the stone wall, exhaling sharply. The pain stung, but it gave her something to focus on, clearing the rest of her thoughts.
The battle was over; she had failed spectacularly and yet, despite her disobedience, was still alive. It was incomprehensible. She was entirely lost now. What was she supposed to do now, without her orders? Aiming for the center of the small splatter of blood on the tan wall, Chiara smashed her head into it again.
This blow caused spots to appear in her vision, and she closed her eyes, falling down. To suddenly be free of her old life was a shock, something Chiara had never could have prepared for. A stabbing headache caused her to claw at her temple, moaning as she writhed on the ground. Maybe she was dying at long last.
An icy voice dragged her back to reality, the rest of the world falling silent. 'This was your choice, you moron'
Chiara craned her neck back and saw her partner's black boots. "Nikola?"
'So what are you going to do now, stupid? Why not just hurry and die?' There was a ghostly giggle. ' Perhaps I should finish you myself…'
Chiara jerked up. She put a hand down to steady herself and spun around. But there was no one around. She blinked, looking around before it hit her. She knew her next course of action.
Struggling to her feet, she groaned, "I am not dead yet, you bitch. I will show you." Chiara hobbled forward while muttering, "Hold on Nikola, I am coming." Though she wasn't even sure her partner would want to see her after her grand display of cowardice, she was still determined to at least try to save her sister.
Saeoth reached the entrance of the cathedral unmolested, and lingered on the steps leading toward its double-doors, taking time to stare at the massive Centurion. The machines of man did not impress her in the slightest. If anything, they reinforced her belief that only through calamity, a new age could be ushered into being. Although she could not help but reflect on how fortunate it was that the snowcruiser had missed the ancient Yggdist temple.
Given her proximity, it went without saying that Saeoth knew she would be vaporized instantly were the Rangers to deliver their payload. However, she was intimately familiar with the limitations of those who sought to replicate her progenitors' achievements and knew that, when push came to shove, the primitives would renege on their obligations.
A disappointing thought to a being who viewed life itself as a curse. Saeoth cracked a smile. It was for the best that she would be denied a merciful death. For she would see Plan Z to its conclusion and place a crown of thorns upon the head of the next true Lord of Europe. With that idea in mind, she turned, ascending upwards toward the church, but stopped upon hearing the click of a gun. A woman's voice commanded her, "You there! Halt!"
Perplexed, Saeoth complied. Casually, she turned to face the shocktroopers that had spotted her. One with platinum blonde hair and bangs swept to the right side of her face. The other was a tomboy with short brown hair and green eyes. Neither of the women recognized the Valkyria's uniform, or the small black crow pinned on her peak cap.
The two soldiers split apart, keeping their weapons trained on her. The blonde one chided, "What are you, some kind of officer?" Her eyes moved to the gun hanging loosely off Saeoth's shoulder.
"Strange. It acts as though it has a right to speak to me," Saeoth said listlessly, staring down at them with an unfeeling gaze.
The tomboy frowned at her condescending words and said, "Just shoot her already, Viola. The battle isn't over."
Viola nodded, taking aim with her weapon. "You're right." A burst from both shocktroopers' machine pistols punctuated the silence that had descended on the plaza. The Rangers went pale as their bullets stopped short of Saeoth's body, blocked by a shimmering blue haze. The casings clinked noisily onto the stone steps.
Saeoth cocked her head to the side, unfazed. "Finished?" she sneered as she took a single step down, hunched over like a beast, right arm extended towards them. Her eyes flashed a deep crimson, and with a deep guttural tone she growled, "Insects… should know to bow before their superiors."
From thin air, a white, spiraled spear appeared in her outstretched hand. Unlike other valkyria's weapons, Saeoth's was like the stalk of a rose, covered in thick barbs that lined its entire body. Without pause, she wrapped her hand around the staff, allowing the barbs to stab through it, causing a trickle of blood to run down, dripping onto the steps below. With a beastly groan, she jerked her body forward. "Truthfully, compared to my sisters… I am rather pathetic." Another flash of red and she reared back her arm, throwing the spear at the blonde ranger, who failed to get to safety in time.
Viola let out an agonized gasp, feeling the barbs pierce straight through her armor, ripping through her lower back and impaling her into the ground. She groaned, attempting to push off the spear, only to slide back down. Emmy stared in shock for a second before shouting out, "Viola!" The girl rushed over to her, wide-eyed and trembling as she tried to save her comrade.
Saeoth paused, sneering at their display of friendship. In the blink of an eye, a new spear appeared in her hand. Disgust in her voice, she growled, "Ugh… Human compassion. Is there a more reprehensible sight?" She dragged her hand down across her weapon's thorns, her eye twitching at the sharp pain shooting up through her arm. In response to her ancient blood, the spear's form shifted ever-so-slightly.
Emmy failed to react; suddenly she, too, was pinned. She moaned, feeling something pierce straight into her body as well. She looked down to see a spear protruding up from the ground. Weakly, she attempted to push off of it but merely slipped further down. Saeoth smirked, admiring her work, but her expression fell into a frown as a siren blared across the empty city. A man's voice proclaimed a ceasefire in effect while a treaty was negotiated. Saeoth huffed in annoyance and waited.
The two embedded spears burst into vibrant blue fire, and the bodies skewered on them combusted. The fire scorched the pavement beneath them, sizzling the surrounding snow. It only took a moment for the concentrated flame to blacken the bodies, and Saeoth stared as they were reduced to ash along with the protrusions of her ragnite spear. The fire dissipated, and their ashes dusted the stone. Saeoth felt an intense heat wash over her, and she steadied herself. Gently, she cradled her arm as a blue haze engulfed her, but stopped herself short of mending her wound. In anger, she spat out, "You feel my presence, don't you? Good, let dread consume you."She left her palm bloodied, tucking it between the buttons of her coat where it rested limply. Unwilling to risk being seen by anyone else, she limped up the steps and pushed through the doors of the church.
Heinrich sat behind his desk in his warmly lit office, poring over a book in front of him with a hand on his chin. He could hardly focus on what was written on the page, mind running through the potential outcomes for his day. A small radio on the corner of the conference table filled the silence with chatter about the developing situation on the surface. The glass of bourbon he had been nursing was nearly empty; as he reached for it, his hand hesitated next to the framed black-and-white photograph of Albert Miller next to the small table lamp.
With a hint of sarcasm, Heinrich smirked and said, "Well, Al… it seems my hubris got the better of me. Going along with Operation Cyngus was a grave miscalculation." He had hoped that the Federation's suicide mission would be a sufficient distraction to draw the eye of the Imperial military, yet the old fools had dismissed his reports as an exaggeration. Now he was running out of time, and with a ceasefire declared, it would not be long until Imperial Commissars were demanding his trial for putting Schwartzgrad at risk.
Thinking out loud, he said, "Do not fret, Al. I am sure with our combined intellect we will come up with an escape plan." Abruptly, the voices on the radio fell silent, and he glanced over at it.
The smooth, sultry voice of a woman spoke: This is Commissar Hedvig. By order of His Majesty, King of Kings, our Emperor has declared all surviving military units within the Schwartzgrad area are ordered to stand down. The Imperial Commissariat is assuming control of this disaster.
"Ah. Finally making your move, I see, Monty. I am surprised it took you this long," Belgar said with a smile, though he was fully aware that he was now boxed in on all sides.
He leaned back in his chair, holding his almost empty glass. He said, "No, no, Al. I doubt we can pin all of this on Forseti. Though he has served his purpose admirably…" He trailed off, considering the tenacity of his rival. "After all, as I have mentioned, Monty is not a man who believes in… half-measures."
He wracked his brain for a solution to his dire situation. Heinrich was certain his original plan was no longer a viable option. To escape Schwartzgrad he would have to travel light, which tragically meant leaving behind his beloved Orcinus Magnus and Lophis, along with many other treasured inventions. As for X-0 itself, such a unit could easily be replaced; the lives of so many soldiers would be sacrificed to ensure he would not come to harm. After all, losing a genius of his caliber would be an incredible blow to the world's scientific community.
The first task at hand would be to decide what he could take with him. Deep in thought, he stood up and walked over to the cabinet positioned to the right of the conference table. The foul-mouthed Vinnish Agent he had been in contact with had clarified that the United States was more than willing to bargain with such a high-profile member of the Imperial Ruling Class, particularly a well-known scientist. However, the Vinnish state had interests that outweighed others—anything with military application took priority. While the agent expressed intrigue at the idea of using ragnite implosion to propel rockets through the atmosphere, he suggested Belgar present his work regarding the conditioning of obedient soldiers, as it had a more tangible and less theoretical quality.
The idea made Heinrich nauseous, considering he had no passion left for the project that had resulted in his two devoted lieutenants. Unknown to both girls, he had privately asked the Emperor for permission to scrap the undertaking, raising concerns it was an all-around waste of resources compared to his work with Valkyria. Yet, both times, the esteemed monarch dismissed his request, holding firm to the notion that a diversity of wonder weapons would win the war.
Having a spirited debate in his head, Heinrich's hand lingered over the spine of the dark red binders. It was not as though he had much of a choice, given that most of his other research was even less savory. Among his research, history had been a brief attempt at weaponizing a highly infectious contagion, a study that required the use of Darcsen test subjects. He took a deep breath and sighed, pulling out the binders and placing them on the table behind him.
He took a second to remind himself to be less negative about this whole ordeal; at the very least, Nikola was a partial success—completely obedient, incapable of independent thought. Though, as a result, she was almost entirely dependent on him for direction, and most times, she lacked the ability to improvise on the battlefield.
There was a bigger issue posed by presenting her alone to the United States. Both girls were affected by a troublesome phenomenon that could only be properly understood as separation anxiety. When apart for too long, they would fall into mental decline. With Nikola, it was signaled by deeply concerning emotional instability that made her erratic in her interpretation of his orders.
Heinrich found the problem frustratingly contradictory. When together, Nikola and Chiara argued incessantly, often failing to complete missions to satisfaction simply because they could not get along. Yet once divided, both girls' efficiency bottomed out entirely, making them useless in the field.
The reality of their conundrum had been at the back of Heinrich's mind when he had given Chiara the impossible task of defending Schwartzgrad alone. Retirement was an arduous process that required more paperwork than he was willing to fill out for the Imperial State, so it was simply easier to abandon her in the path of the enemy.
Heinrich shook his head. It was logical. He would just have to sedate Nikola long enough to turn her over to the United States, and then he could move on to more fruitful avenues of research. He grabbed two thin blue binders, which, unlike the others, were packed to the brim with many theorems, diagrams, and incoherent ramblings about his overall lack of success in the field of rocketry.
At the very least, he was confident that a change of scenery to the more scientifically literate United States would allow him to get a better handle on his creative energies. Heinrich scooped up the four binders and returned to his desk. Now it was just a matter of collecting Nikola and slipping out before anyone noticed.
Given that the Empire's Northern fleet still had many of its destroyers intact, escaping through the Crystal Sea was a fool's errand. That left the more treacherous option: escaping on foot from the city. But to do so would require a sufficient distraction. It would have to be impossible to ignore and force the Imperial Commissars to hesitate long enough for him to give them the slip.
Mulling his options over, Heinrich downed the rest of the glass of bourbon before reaching down to the bottom drawer of his finely carved wooden desk. He opened it and pushed around several loose papers. Inside was a small side-arm along with another photograph, one of another memory; not as painful as his feelings for Albert, but equally discomforting. Carefully, he removed the pistol and slid it into his coat pocket, satisfied to go out on his own terms.
He murmured and plucked the second picture from the haphazard stack. With a wistful look in his dull, gray eyes studied it. A crude concrete launchpad was in the background, and in the foreground stood a man dressed in a long black coat holding out both his arms in celebration of a successful test of a prototype propulsion system that had briefly lifted a rocket off the ground for around thirty seconds.
"So, Monty. I suppose if it were up to you, I would go out in a blaze of glory," Heinrich said dryly as he stared at the back of the now-Lord Commissar's head. Briefly, he found himself missing better times when the two men had combined their respective resources in the name of advancing the entire world into a new golden age. "Unfortunately, that is not an option. Tell me, how would you get out of this mess? Al has not been very forthcoming."
He paused thoughtfully, listening to the sounds of the submarine. After a few minutes, his eyes widened, a smile drawing to his face. "Hmm… I see. A gambit, certainly. Though I doubt the United States would be too thrilled to know I risked the capture of their A2 series…" He put a hand on his chin. "No, you are right… this ceasefire will serve as the perfect cover."
The sound of his office door opening interrupted his ramblings. Belgar looked up, quickly hiding the photo. He watched apathetically as a distressed Nikola hobbled into the room, wearing a plastic smile and silently taking her position behind his desk.
Heinrich stared straight ahead, knowing that fully acknowledging her would muddy her purpose as a tool. He asked coldly, "I take it Forseti will not be joining us?"
"… Gone…" Nikola said weakly, forcing herself to stand at attention, though there was nothing she could do to hide her tremor. She was struggling with the pull of two distinctive thoughts. One was to detonate herself, to stop the pain or to cling to the incomprehensible childish glimmer of hope that Chiara was not going to just abandon her. Her indecision left her paralyzed, frightened, and unsure. Instead, her body continued in the absence of her attention. Her fingers felt stiff as she realized the only way she could move forward would be to disobey the loyalty that had been so deeply ingrained in her.
Heinrich continued to stare at the opened door, boredly. "Unfortunate, but I suppose it was to be expected..." At the very least, he would be rid of another unreliable variable in the equation. "And Chiara?"
A lump formed in Nikola's throat, and she choked out an answer. "Failed…"
He nodded coldly, standing up. "How disappointing. Then it is time for us to make our exit." He walked halfway to the door, stopping next to the conference table. "I thought I was clear that the Dunkel was a valuable piece of equipment. We will have to address its loss later." She muffled a gasp, which turned into a choked whimper behind her clenched jaw, and watched hopelessly as her master disappeared through the door without a single glance.
Chiara had heard the announcement as well and quickened her pace, almost tripping as she slid down a snowy embankment into the basin which led to the inlet of the Crystal Sea. There was just one problem: she did not actually have a plan for how to get aboard the Orcinus Magnus. She was smart enough to know coming in through the front door would be a terrible idea.
Luckily, Chiara did not have to think about it too much; as she reached the edge of the frozen water, it started to crack, splitting apart into large chunks as Belgar's grand submarine roared to the surface. Startled, she fell backward and landed in the waist-deep snow with a frustrated groan.
Nothing was going right for her. She watched with wide eyes as harpoons shot out, embedding themselves into the back of the Centurion. The Magnus's engines came to life to life as it tugged the Snowcruiser toward the canal.
Diving to the side, she narrowly avoided being crushed by the ship. Chiara watched as the two vessels made for the inlet. She shouted out, "W-What?" Though she was drowned out by the roaring of the two machines. As it became clear her only home was leaving, her shock morphed into an inconsolable rage. Chiara jumped to her feet, screaming, "Where the hell do you think you're going!?" She scrambled after it, cursing wildly all the way. A few minutes later, the Federation's Rangers raced down in pursuit as well, not willing to allow their ship to be stolen right out from under them.
The drug-addled remnants of X-0 could do little to hold back the assault of the determined Rangers for long. After a brief firefight, they were wiped out to a man. Back in his office, Heinrich finished off his second glass of bourbon and glanced upwards as an explosion from one of the ship's main ragnite engines caused the lights to flicker. "Well, within expected parameters. Only a little further."
Once the shaking subsided, he shoved the binders into a suitcase, snapping it shut. As if just remembering Nikola was still present, he said, "I expect you to follow my instructions to the letter. There can be no mistakes in this case."
"Yes," she answered, voice shaking. She was still cognitive enough to know something was off about her master's plan. His usual vagueness was to be expected, but with the surrounding chaos, it made his words unnerving. It did not take a genius to infer he had something special planned for her. Nikola struggled to fight off her will to defy him, to save herself.
"Good," Heinrich said curtly as the office shook violently again and the metal hull whined under the immense stress. "It's time to move onto phase two." He straightened up, an insufferably smug grin on his face. He was wholly convinced his plan would succeed. "After all, genius is one percent revelation, ninety-nine percent improvisation."
The Ranger squad's leader, Claude Wallace, watched silently as the Centurion slowed to a halt on a flat plane of ice near Schwartzgrad after the Imperial submarine released its cables. There was an uneasy breeze blowing, and his tactical mind was certain that the enemy was up to something.
The sound of footsteps caused him to turn, seeing Minerva approaching him. She stopped and said, "There is a ceasefire in effect. Let the enemy make the first move."
Claude nodded in agreement. "Right." His eyes widened as he saw two squads of Imperial Soldiers, members of the garrison defending the city, walk out from behind the stone wall and head toward them.
His squad turned, holding their guns toward them. One of the steel-clad men stepped forward, saluting with a hand over his heart. "X-0 has chosen treason. We are under direct orders from his majesty to assist the reclamation of your ship."
"Y-You are," Claude said, though it came out like a half-question. He was surprised to hear the voice of the soldier he had shared a hot spring with when lost on the Crystal sea.
The soldier grinned underneath his helmet. "I'd wished our reunion would be under more fortuitous circumstances. But there is no time to talk. Whatever Doctor Belgar is planning puts our negotiations at risk."
Static from Claude's radio interrupted them, and it was soon clear that the remaining soldiers of X-0 had boarded the centurion from under the water. In an act of unity, Imperial Troops and Federation Rangers deployed together to put an end to the rogue Doctor's plan.
Aboard the snowcruiser, Heinrich ordered his troops to take positions and prepare to defend the vessel. For that purpose, he had ordered the usage of the last of his now-decimated division's store of stimulants, hoping the drug would buy him a few more minutes.
With Nikola lagging quietly behind, he made for the engine room. Soon he was standing only a few feet from the circular steel door marked A2. In a grandiose gesture, he held out his ragnite staff and offered a partial bow. "Thank you, my dear, for aiding my final performance."
He took a moment to appreciate the magnificent azure light before frowning, remembering that Nikola was still present. "Is there a problem? I believe my instruction were clear."
Nikola remained motionless, a nauseating hatred erupted into her chest. She let herself hate the man who had outwardly presented himself as her father. The man who had raised her indoctrinated her, and tortured her until the slightest thought of disobedience gave her a visceral, painful response. Yet she found herself unable to activate the detonator she clutched in her trembling hand. If she could only press it, the pain would stop. The two of them would vanish, and the entire city would disappear. She would never have to hurt again. He could never hurt her. The one thought that troubled her more was the idea that Chiara was not out of the blast radius. Wherever her deserting companion had gone, even if she had chosen to abandon Nikola, she wanted to know at least one of them could live.
Weakly, she mumbled to Lord Belgar, "No… problem."
"Then leave us," Heinrich said dismissively, waving her away. As she limped down the hall, he plugged in several cables to a small device he had brought with him from the Magnus. It was a tedious yet simple project and only took a few minutes to set up. Carefully he began to tweak the dials, wary that even one mistake would cause a total meltdown, killing him along with pretty much everyone else in the general area.
The image of the arrogant noblemen of Schwartzgrad reacting to the knowledge that all their wealth went up in flames caused a malicious smile to come to his face. They had all looked down on him for so long; it was the least he could do. The idea faded, and with it, Heinrich's smile. He muttered to himself, "Hmm, no… I think not, Al."
He adjusted the dials, and then a haunting blue light filled the room as the engine hummed. "As much as I would like to see whose formula was right in the end…" He finished, stepping back to admire the glow, finding it fittingly beautiful for his exit. "… I still have so much work to do. With any luck, this method of delivery will be rendered obsolete when I am through."
He lingered for a moment, still basking in the glory of the azure light. Only grudgingly did he pull himself away when remembering how little time he had. Outside of the engine room, he found several of his soldiers still waiting for their orders. Heinrich stuck out his hand and smoothly said, "Your loyalty is appreciated, Walter. Are you certain you are prepared?"
Walter, whose face was obscured behind his black helmet, took the doctor's hand and the two shook. "Of course. My oath was to you, not the Empire."
"Very good. The Lophius should treat you well," Heinrich said, pleased with the man's obedience, before reaching into his inner jacket pocket. "Ah, before I forget." He removed a vial of white pills and dropped them into Walter's outstretched hand. "An extra ration. As promised."
"Thank you, my Lord," Walter said, greedily pulling back and salivating at the sight of the drug.
Heinrich nodded slightly, then gestured to the remaining two men, X-0 soldiers who had already changed into a civilian dress. As the last battle began, the three of them slipped around the Rangers' line unnoticed, heading back into Schwartzgrad.
From her vantage point, Chiara had a perfect view of the whole battlefield, and her jaw dropped as she watched as the Lophius deployed to intercept the combined forces of both the Imperial Army and the Federation's Rangers. While she was not privy to Lord Belgar's plan, the deployment of such a prized invention meant something had gone terribly wrong. Remaining crouched on top of an elevated glacier, she was getting increasingly anxious that she was not entirely sure where her partner was.
A whistle from above pulled Chiara from her brooding, and an explosion from a mortar caused her ears to ring. Once the noise subsided, she tried to follow the arc and saw an X-0 grenadier kneeling behind a chunk of ice. With a sadistic grin, Chiara crept over to the man and unsheathed one of her knives. She waited for him to fire again before barreling toward him, stabbing her combat knife straight underneath his armpit where his breastplate gave way to leather. She snarled in his ear, "Where is Nikola?"
He grunted and struggled, but she twisted the knife, causing him to groan. "Y-You–"
Chiara punched the back of his helmet and screeched, "Where is she?! Tell me!"
When he still did not respond, she pushed the knife deeper, causing a spurt of red blood to stain the snow. Frustrated by his silence, Chiara flipped the top off her quiver and pulled out a single bolt with a purple vial at the end. Holding in front of his face, she whispered, "You know what this is. Do not make me use it."
The grenadier attempted to push away again. In response, she kneed him in the leg, digging her spiked knee pad mercilessly into his flesh. Finally, he shouted out, "Sh-She was supposed to guard the engine room—augh!"
"See? That was not too hard…" Chiara said, pulling her knife out of him. "Thank you… hehe." Without hesitating, she jammed the bolt into his neck, causing him to gasp. As the poison took effect, he started to gurgle and seize, white foam bubbling out from his mouth. Unsatisfied with his suffering, the crazed girl stabbed him repeatedly between his armor plates until he finally stopped moving. His body thudded against the snowy ground and sunk into the snow. Still furious, she stomped the back of his head until she felt something crack underfoot.
Stepping off of the dead man, Chiara noticed a small vial of ragnaid had rolled out from his pants pocket. Knowing it was a painkiller, she knelt and snatched it from the ground before heading in the Centurion's direction, which was glowing ominously.
Nikola knew she was out of options, so she latched desperately onto the idea that there could be no more failures. The words gave her direction, pushing her toward an inescapable end. In the gloom of the Centurion's steel corridors, a despondent smile plastered on her face, she once again found herself in pursuit of one of the troublesome Rangers. The winding halls all looked the same, and the numbness that had clung to her limbs was making her uncertain of whether she was dreaming. The blonde Ranger from before turned a corner, and Nikola could not stop in time. She hit the wall with a thud, shrieking something unintelligible as she pushed herself off and continued the chase.
At the entrance of the engine room, the young Ranger turned around and held up her pistol. "Stay back!" she shouted out, training her gun on her pursuer. She hesitated, seeing Nikola's expression, and the thought came to her mind once more. What had this war cost?
But Nikola was past the point of caring and giggled weakly. She muttered, "Eheh… You are the enemy." Nikola raised the Karbiner rifle she had been issued and shifted to better carry the weight, finding the gun a little too heavy to use comfortably. She held it limply in her hands, aiming from the hip.
The blonde Ranger bit her lip, hands shaking both from exhaustion and fear. She exhaled and steadied herself, knowing she had to get past. People were counting on her. Resolutely, she commanded, "Stop!"
In the tense moment, the two locked eyes. The Ranger saw that her opponent was shaking like a leaf. She felt a brief twinge of sympathy, but before words could be exchanged, an explosion from outside of the Centurion caused the entire hull to buckle and the lights to flicker off. The red emergency lights quickly snapped on, bathing the hall in crimson. Nikola finally snapped, losing her nerve, and pulled the trigger.
The Ranger did the same, and two shots rang out, echoing off the steel walls. Nikola's bullet missed completely, ricocheting off the door behind her.
Nikola felt a white-hot pain radiating from her exposed side, right under where her carapace stopped. She could feel the sensation crawling up as she was registering the pain. She paled, moaning, "…h-hurts…" Collapsing to her knees and gripping her side, she struggled to focus as her ears rang.
The vessel shook again, and the sound of an important piece tearing free from the rest of the Snowcruiser was deafening. Nikola weakly mumbled, "No… I cannot…" Holding against the wall for balance, the Federation Ranger clutched her side and headed for the door. She turned to leave and Nikola mustered a fleeting, "W—Wait…"
"Sorry. Someone I love needs me," the Ranger answered, worrying that she might be too late.
Nikola watched the soldier's form retreat through the steel door, her words reverberating in the Imperial girl's head. The statement was like a punch to the gut. The last tap needed to shatter her fragile mental state. All the air rushed from her lungs and she curled in on herself, the freezing steel floor seeping through to her skin, warm blood soaking into her shirt. She let out a dry sob and whimpered, "C-Chiara…"
It went unsaid that she was ready to admit she missed her partner. Nikola squeezed her eyes shut, finding the darkness consoling. She felt so tired. After so many years of performing, of being the soldier Lord Belgar had wanted, she wanted nothing more than to rest. Yet, just as she was accepting the idea that she was going to die, someone rushed past her. Shots echoed down the hall, followed by the sound of an intense scuffle. She heard a choked cry and the sound of a body thudding on the floor, but she remained still through all of it, eyes closed.
A voice pulled Nikola back from the edge, and it took her a second to realize the voice was real. "Giving up already? I didn't realize you were so weak."
Nikola slowly opened her eyes to see her blood-spattered partner clutching the hilt of her knife, walking over to her. Convinced it was a hallucination, she mumbled, "Chiara?"
Chiara grinned and roughly pushed her arm. "Who do you think, dumbass?" As if just remembering, she pulled out the vial of ragnaid she had stolen and held it next to her former comrade.
Seeing her intent, Nikola suddenly became resistant and tried to pull herself away. "W-Why are you here? You failed…"
"Can you stop being so stupid?" Chiara grumbled, holding her wounded partner in place. Deciding to twist the lever at the bottom of the glass container, she watched as a blue light slowly engulfed Nikola, whose breathing relaxed. "You are not getting rid of me that easily."
Despite feeling better, Nikola still protested, "But you failed… Lord Belgar–"
Seeing she was trying to reach for her detonator, Chiara wrenched it away. "Be quiet, or you will regret it."
They struggled for a moment, but Nikola let her forehead rest against Chiara's chest. She finally relaxed, finding comfort in her companion's arms. Quietly she whispered, "Chiara, I-I—"
Another explosion cut her off. Chiara clamored to her feet, jerking Nikola up as well. Slinging Nikola's arm over her shoulder, she shouted, "We have to leave!"
"Augh…" Nikola grunted, but Chiara refused to let her fall. Together, the two girls fled onto the deck of the Centurion. Outside, they noticed that the once-vibrant blue glow had faded as Belgar's device initiated its shutdown process.
Wordlessly, Chiara helped Nikola get into position to slide off the hull of the ship into a mound of snow below. At the same time, the Hafen skidded to a halt behind them. Unwilling to risk a fight, Nikola dropped and Chiara followed close behind.
In their haggard state, neither girl could go very far. Nikola and Chiara only made it to the wall that circled the basin before collapsing with exhaustion. From where they fell, they both watched in awe as the ice damaged from the fighting gave way underneath the Centurion, and it sunk into the water below.
Nikola could feel the rumble of the ship as it sunk. "We… we are alive…?" she muttered in disbelief, though her face sunk when she realized now that she also failed to fulfill her master's orders. "Lord Belgar… I-I," her breath caught, and she sobbed, "failed…" She curled in on herself, wincing as the movement agitated her wound.
In an uncharacteristic display of gentleness, Chiara wrapped an arm around her partner. It was dawning on her that the Doctor probably did not survive. She shivered instinctively and whispered, "This… is my fault… I am sorry."
Two short hours later, the dust settled over the destitute survivors of a theater of war that would soon be left out of history. A convoy of black vehicles marked with the outline of a silver crow on their sides entered Arch Plaza from the North. In the lead were two heavily armored cars, unique from others in the service of the Empire's military; notably, they bore eight wheels, an extended engine deck, and front-mounted PaK guns. The model was rarely seen on the battlefield as it was primarily used by the Imperial Commissariat, which required highly mobile recon vehicles that would allow its men to reach every corner of the vast country, regardless of weather.
These were followed by a few light armor, open-top, box-framed cars with sloped hulls, crewed by the Commissars themselves. At the end of the haunting parade were two kubelwagons and two transport trucks, which parked themselves at the ruins of the fountain.
Enforcers wearing unmarked obsidian armor disembarked, forming into squads of three and fanning out across the city. Their authority to arrest all parties responsible for the disaster that had befallen Schwartzgrad was derived from the Lord Commissar, a man that had reached the limit of his boundless patience.
Once the soldiers dispersed into the city, the Imperial Commissars, adorned in their long black overcoats, exited their cars as well. They lined up to form a monolithic mass of grim faces, a murder of crows gathered to pick the capital clean of traitors.
They stood immobile for a moment, then came the telltale rhythmic tapping of their boss. All eyes moved to the right as the sound came, and like the flutter of wings, each Commissar raised their right hands over their hearts.
Hunched over, piercing blue eyes stared scornfully behind dark rectangular frames at the murder of Crows that gathered before him. His aged face was washed with the deep pain of rage and grief. He waved down their salute with a gloved hand and approached his loyal flock, standing taller with tense shoulders. He placed both hands on his silver-headed, dark wooden cane, and addressed the Commissars in his distinct accent. "It appears the… maggots have burrowed too deeply into our Motherland," he said before scanning the faces of his devoted followers: an imposing redheaded woman who had boredom written plainly on her face; a scarred man with ashen skin who looked as though he stood at death's door; a brunette woman, enthralled by his entrance; and finally, a grinning, pallid ghoul who wore his smile taut on his face. Montgomery continued, "Harden your hearts. Let justice be done."
His Crows proclaimed, "Should the sky fall, Lord Commissar York!" They split off in different directions, heading toward different parts of the city.
Choosing to ignore the commotion outside, Saeoth meticulously combed through the numerous records she uncovered in Cardinal Vittore's office. It was rare for her to remember a Yggdist's name but he was just such a pretentious speaker. Given the crisis at hand, he abandoned the city in quite a hurry; a fact that benefit Saeoth who could take her time assessing church discoveries normally concealed from the public.
She took it as a grevious insult, that her ancestors' artifacts were so brazenly stolen by those who could never truly understand them. Saeoth swallowed her disdain, skimming for references to a ruin discovered at the Eastern fringe of the Empire. A task hindered by her limited ability to read Old Northern Script.
Just when she was getting invested in an unique geographical survey conducted by early Valkyrurian scouts around Schwartzgrad, the sound of foosteps drew her attention to the door. Two enforcers carefully aproached her as one might a rabid dog. Saeoth stared expectantly.
"Corrector, uh… sir!" one of the enforcers slauted hastily. "Lord Commissar York wishes to know if you found anything worth jeopardizing his work for!"
Saeoth smirked, able to tell the nervous man was simply repeating what he was told to. She placed a curled finger on the parchment. "Nothing yet. But perhaps I could if left alone for a few hours." When the men lingered, she shifted to sound more reconciliatory. "Should I find anything, Lord Commissar York will be the first to know." To emphasize her desire to be alone, Saeoth's eyes flashed a vibrant red; the two soldiers scrambled from the church without another word.
The Rangers stood at the edge of the canal in silence, mourning the loss of their comrades and the Centurion. There was nothing more that needed to be said; at long last, their mission was over. It was unclear if their choice had served to end the war or merely staved off the inevitable return of weapons of mass destruction. The hounds had been released, and the East European Imperial Alliance was left with only one recourse: to intensify its own development programs, closing the gap between it and the United States.
Sounds of boots on stoned caused the Rangers to turn, watching figures in long black coats approaching them. The Commissars deliberately fanned out into a half-circle, then came to a halt without making a sound.
Claude came forward, gently shifting Angela on his back, who was sleeping soundly. He waited as an Imperial Commissar stepped forward from the mass. His peak cap, uniform, and boots were pristine. A golden monocle sat over the right of his green eyes, giving him a rather sophisticated appearance. He looked the Ranger leader up and down, seemingly unimpressed, before speaking with an educated Gallian dialect. "Captain Claude Wallace?"
"Yes," Claude answered as Kai and Minerva took positions on his right and left, respectively. They seemed equally unnerved by the appearance of these Imperials.
"I am Commissar Leopold von Bernheim," the Commissar introduced himself dryly, giving a regal bow. Straightening up again, he removed several papers from his inner pocket. "In accordance with the ceasefire, the Atlantic Federation will put a hold on further offensive action against our Empire. In return, my men and I will escort you, along with your squad, to the Kingdom of Zwolle, which has agreed to serve as mediator until a more permanent treaty can be signed."
Minerva pushed up her glasses, unconvinced. "And how do we know we will actually reach the kingdom?"
Leopold looked insulted by her distrust and changed his tone. "My dear lady. I have always believed that the pen produces better results than the sword. Killing you now would only lower us to your level." He gestured to men standing behind him. "There is a train waiting. This is not up for debate." On cue, the other Commissars unbuttoned their coats, revealing the holster of their sidearms.
Still, somewhat in shock at losing his love, Claude swallowed to steady his nerves. Staring into the unfeeling eyes of Leopold, he asked, "What about our dead?"
"Not to worry. Your dead will be returned to you, as soon as we have collected our own," Leopold explained with a noticeable edge to his voice, clearly growing annoyed by the questions. "And in regards to your ship… I am sure you can guess that lifting such a vessel out of the sea will take us some time."
Claude nodded, seeing there was nothing more to say. Leopold was not quite finished, however, and quickly added, "Oh, and… I must be clear, you are to have no further contact with the citizens of our Empire."
War was a chess game played by men far from the battlefield, paying for gains in the lives of soldiers. This death struggle rarely rewarded the pure of heart; more often than not, it devoured those who clung too tightly to their ideals. In the case of the man responsible for the greatest disaster in Imperial Military history, he had played his side game flawlessly. Every single piece was sacrificed when necessary to gain an advantage. Through such guile and subterfuge, Heinrich Belgar's final move in this game was to elude the Commissars' watchful eye and reach the border of the Imperial tributary state of Alast.
The high stone walls of Fort Dragomir were more symbolic than anything, given the two countries had been on amiable terms since King Iosif submitted fully to the Emperor's authority. The Doctor quickly moved along through the gates alongside a few other citizens who were most likely visiting the small country on vacation.
Eventually, Heinrich found himself standing in front of a rather bored-looking clerk with tired, sunk-in eyes and a red nose. In the monotone voice of a career bureaucrat, he said, "Nature of visit?"
Turning on the charm, Heinrich smiled and said smoothly, "Transit to the Emirate of Ostende. Military business."
The clerk paused on his typewriter. "Your name?"
Heinrich smirked, he already had just an alias in mind. "…Oswald Black." Montgomery would aappreciate the thoughtful reminder. Heinrich reached into his trouser pocket and wrapped his fingers around his ticket out of the country.
"Alright, Sir Black. I will need to see some identification," the clerk said, reaching down to open the middle drawer. He flipped through some files. "As I am sure you are aware, we are under strict orders—"
Heinrich cleared his throat to interrupt the man, placing a palm-sized golden medallion on the desk. It depicted the personal coat of arms of the Emperor and was a gift to his closest confidants, allowing them passage across the whole country. It also superseded any authority the Lord Commissar of Schwartzgrad had, and could only be revoked by a member of the ruling family. The clerk's eyes widened upon seeing it and he slammed the drawer shut. "M-My apologies. I did not realize…"
"Ah, it's no issue. Just doing your job, of course," Heinrich said with a nod, pocketing the medal. The clerk directed him through a doorway on the left. He headed through it and passed two Commissars in black uniforms, who were standing in the hallway. Without even breaking a sweat, he offered both men a smile, and they barely reacted to him as he passed. In a few hours, he would be on a train to the port city of Abgala, where he would be able to rendezvous with his contact in the Vinnish Secret Service.
