CALAMITY STRIKES IN MOSKVA !
Two days ago, on the day of the Summer Solstice, a great malaise swept over the nation, leaving us shaken and knowing, without being able to explain how, that something terrible had happened. At the same time, mana detection arrays thorough the Empire and beyond picked up a sudden surge of mana within the Russy Federation, and aetheric disruptions have continued ever since.
Now, we know the cause of this disturbance, and the truth is more terrible than any of us could have imagined. Brigadier General Zettour gave a press conference earlier today, where he revealed that the Russy Federation had, in its efforts to replicate the Reich's Wunderwaffen, accidentally doomed Moskva, its capital city by unleashing upon it an entity similar in power to the one which manifested in the Holy See six months ago. Unfortunately, the Federation Army wasn't as prepared for this as the Imperial Army, and the entire population of Moskva is now believed lost to the uncontrolled horror.
Our correspondents in Moskva, whose job was already difficult and dangerous due to the authoritative nature of the Federation, haven't responded to our attempts to get in touch. Our hopes and prayers are with them, that, if they couldn't escape in time, their lives might at least have ended quickly.
According to Brigadier General Zettour, the zone affected by the Solstice Event is still increasing in size, threatening the population of all of Western Russy, up to the borders of the Reich itself. Already, thousands of terrified Russy civilians have fled their homeland, seeking to escape the monsters created by their government even if it means taking refuge in an Empire that the Federation's propaganda has painted as being ruled by bloodthirsty tyrants for years now. Our contacts in the region have confirmed this to be true, as refugees are being directed to Imperial villages and cities, in what may be the largest coordinated humanitarian efforts in the history of the Reich.
In the last few months, a lot of military activity was observed on the Eastern border of the Reich. At the time, it was widely believed (and indeed, reported as such by this very publication) that these troop movements were done in response to the possibility of Russy aggression, possibly triggered by the Federation's higher-ups fearing the might of the Wunderwaffen.
Now, we must wonder whether our leaders knew that something was going to happen. Though if this were the case, then it seems even they didn't foresee the scale of the catastrophe, as the military bases of the Eastern Army are reportedly abuzz with activity, and there have been multiple delays announced on the local railway. Which, several years into the Great War, all Imperial citizens will recognize as a sign that a lot of military cargo is being shifted across the region by train.
Regardless, we hope that the might of the Imperial Army, which, with the help of its Wunderwaffen, has triumphed over every challenge it has faced thus far, will be able to continue protecting the Fatherland from the darkness that has devoured Moskva …
Excerpt from the front page of the Berun Post, June 24th, 1926.
"Since the infiltration of Castle Schwartzstein, the Federation doubled down on its hunt for foreign agents, but we still had a few operatives in the capital and its surroundings. Key word being, 'had'. As far as we can tell, every single one of them is dead or worse, and the same is true for the agents of the Unified States, the Reich, and any of the other countries with an interest in the Federation's affairs.
Mages were able to detect the spike in mana from Moskva all the way to the mainland. In fact, based on what our friends over the Atlantic are telling us, every mage, everywhere, could feel it. Never in our entire recorded history has something like this happened.
We first suspected the Empire of having deployed a Wunderwaffe to remove the threat of the Federation, since the country was the only remaining obstacle to Europan hegemony. But such a course of action goes against the behavior the Empire has shown thus far in the use of its superweapons. In addition, the fact that the Federation successfully stole valuable information from Division Y several months ago, and the last reports of our spies about the 'miracle food' which was freely distributed in Moskva, make the theory that the Solstice Event was caused by the Federation mishandling Elder Magic a much more plausible scenario.
[...]
Since the Communist Revolution of over a decade ago, the Federation has moved toward an extremely centralized form of government, despite the obvious downsides of such an approach given the sheer size of its territory. Power and authority were all based in Moskva, where they could be watched by Jugashvili's secret police for any sign of disloyalty.
We can only guess as to what the political landscape of Russy will end up looking like, assuming there is still a Russy left to worry about. In any case, as a united nation, the Russy Federation has effectively ceased to exist. Doubtless there are still pockets of resistance, and the sheer size of the Federation means that entire regions many times the size of Albion will remain untouched for weeks, if not months. But without Moskva and the threat of the Federation Army to impose order and unity, it is very likely that, even should every monster spawned by the Federation's careless meddling suddenly drop dead, the country would fracture into dozens of smaller ethnic states."
Internal memo of the Albish Secret Services, June 25th, 1926.
June 26th, 1926 – Londinium
Prime Minister Churbull, Duke of Marlborough and First Lord of the Admiralty, sat at his desk, chewing on a cigar.
The letter in front of him had been sent by Brigadier General Zettour, who by now was more or less in supreme command of the Imperial Army together with his colleague Rudersdorf. It had been delivered by the Foreign Office, who had been in talks with their Imperial equivalent to discuss the matter of that assassination attempt their mages had made on Colonel Lergen in Remula, right after Zettour's press conference.
To put it bluntly, Zettour had had enough of Albion's meddling into the Great War. The Brigadier General was aware that the Allied Kingdom wasn't directly responsible for the Solstice Event, but their attempts to infiltrate the headquarters of Division Y had definitely helped the Federation in acquiring the lore they'd then used to destroy themselves in such a spectacular fashion. Now millions of people were dead, and all of Europa was at risk – not to mention Asia as well, once the influence of whatever it was that had destroyed Moskva reached the Far East.
Zettour had announced that, from this moment onward, the Imperial Army would perform operations within the Federation's territory, both to gather intelligence and to provide assistance to the Russy population, who were fleeing from the monsters their government had unleashed. If Albion so much as raised a diplomatic protest over this, or otherwise interfered in the Reich's efforts to salvage the situation and prevent the apocalypse, then the gloves would come off. The Royal Wizard, who was still in Imperial custody, would be shot like a dog to start with; then Zettour would order Division Y to break out the Wunderwaffen which had previously been considered too dangerous to use. By the time they were done, nothing would remain of Albion but slag and the echoes of terrified screams.
Zettour claimed that he would take no pleasure from this (which Churbull was inclined to believe, given his track record), but if this was what it took to keep the Albish from meddling with the Empire's efforts to save the world, then he would give the order regardless.
In short, 'Stay out of the way or we will kill you'. They had finally found the limits of Imperial High Command's politeness, Churbull thought ruefully.
Next to the letter were the latest reports of the Secret Services and the mage corps. Every mana detection array in the entire bloody world had picked up on what had happened in Moskva, as far as the Unified States. And even now, there were still disturbances, which had forced the engineers to recalibrate their devices to ignore that particular signature if they were to still be able to do their job.
It seemed it was Churbull's destiny to go down in History as the Prime Minister who'd overseen the fall of the Allied Kingdom from its comfortable position as a world power. When it got out that the Albish Secret Services had been involved in the Solstice Event, their already battered reputation would go down the toilet. Kemet was poised to claim its independence the moment the Great War ended, and Bharat wasn't going to be far behind.
At this point, if the country still existed by the time he retired (or was thrown in jail or executed, which honestly wasn't looking too unlikely), he would consider himself satisfied. It was clear now that he had badly underestimated the threat of the Wunderwaffen, thinking of them merely as incredibly powerful magical technology, whereas they were in a class of their own entirely. Sure, the Round Table bore most of the blame for how Albion had consistently misstepped since joining the war, but there was only so much shifting responsibility you could do when you were Prime Minister.
Churbull considered his options. He wasn't going to risk Zettour's wrath, that much was certain. They could just sit still and wait, of course. If the Empire won (and considering what they had pulled thus far, Churbull wasn't going to bet against it, and not just because of the consequences should the Imperials fail), maybe it would be sufficiently weakened for Albion to be in a better position in the ensuing peace negotiations. Especially with the sheer devastation caused by uncontrolled Elder Magic : the entire world was going to push for strict regulations, if not an outright ban (and only because the latter wasn't going to fly with the Empire).
There was still that whole affair with the 'Not-Man' to worry about, but by now Churbull was convinced the Round Table had been completely wrong about that, seeing an ancient conspiracy where there hadn't been one. And if you dismissed the theory that the Empire was being manipulated from the shadows by an immortal wizard seeking to conquer the world, then the Allied Kingdom still had Merlin's apprentices, trained in the use of the Kemetian wards. Those were the country's last card in the field of Elder Magic : thankfully, they still worked even with the Ancient Kemetian relics lost during the Royal Wizard's raid on Remula. And they also had most of their mage corps, too, along with a bunch of ships cowering in their ports, terrified of the Imperial Kraken.
Compared to the might of the Imperial Army and Division Y, it wasn't much, admittedly. And yet …
"What the hell," the Prime Minister of the Allied Kingdom said out loud. "It won't be an easy sell, either to the Lords or the Imps, that's for sure. But if this is the Apocalypse, then we might as well go down fighting instead of waiting for someone else to decide the fate of the world."
Yes, he thought, that should go down nicely. And if it ended up restoring some of Albion's lost prestige, well, that'd just be a nice bonus, wouldn't it ?
June 30th, 1926 – Imperial Capital Berun – Central Headquarters of the Imperial Army
As a career military officer and member of High Command during the largest conflict the Reich had ever known, Rudersdorf was used to meetings where the fate of his country hung in the balance. He was, however, getting tired of meetings where the fate of the world was at stake. Ever since Division Y had revealed the existence of Mythos magic and introduced it to modern warfare, his blood pressure had kept steadily increasing, to the point his doctor had started openly advising him to retire. Which Rudersdorf would love to do, as soon as the Great War was over and the safety of the planet his country and grandchildren were located on was assured.
For now, though, the Reich needed him to serve, and he would answer the call of duty.
They were meeting in the same room where they'd discussed the Ildoan invasion and the theft of the Kindermärchen grimoire. Zettour was here, of course, and so was Lergen, who was doing an impressive job at hiding how completely exhausted he must be feeling. The Colonel had spent the last seven days working non-stop to grease the wheels of bureaucracy and infrastructure in order to make sure everything the Eastern Army could possibly need arrived to the border just that little bit faster. His reputation as the conqueror of Remula had helped, but Rudersdorf knew he had gone through almost his entire stock of Ildoan coffee he had brought back with him from his time in the peninsula.
Degurechaff wasn't here in the flesh, being too busy managing the transfer of Division Y's latest work to the Eastern Army, as well as standing guard over the Reich's border with the Federation in person. Even now, after all this time, the idea that this tiny wisp of a girl was a strategic asset in the defense of the Fatherland stuck in Rudersdorf's craw.
Instead, the Director was here as a magical projection cast by the mage assigned to Zettour precisely for that purpose. The projection was still just as disturbing no matter how many times Rudersdorf saw it, Degurechaff's half-starry image reminding him of the terrible price the girl had paid in her service to the Reich. But the discomfort it caused him paled compared to what they were discussing.
"The creature responsible for the Solstice Event is a Class Nine Mythos entity called the Dark Mother," said Degurechaff once the niceties were done.
"How do you know its name ?" asked Rudersdorf.
"We checked the notes on the Kindermärchen for anything resembling this scenario and found a reference to a summoning ritual that could lead to what we are observing," the Major replied. "Also, everyone who gets within less than a hundred kilometers of Moskva instinctively knows it."
"How terrifying," calmly commented Zettour. "I assume these scouts have been checked for any sign of indoctrination or anything similar ?"
"Of course, General. I checked them over myself. So far, they're all clean. Shaken, but clean. While it's obvious that this strain of the Mythos is capable of corrupting human beings into its thralls, the vector of the corruption seems to be wholly biological in this instance."
"Speaking of," said Rudersdorf. "Is there any way to save the people who were transformed ?"
Degurechaff shook her head. "No, General. It would be like bringing the dead back to life, after their corpse has been eaten and digested by animals. Which, given my line of work, I'm forced to admit might actually be possible, but we don't have any method of doing so at the time."
And just like that, the last hope of saving two million people quietly disappeared. Two million people. Not soldiers, not enemy combatants, but civilians, whose only crime had been to live under the iron fist of a tyrannical regime. And that was a conservative estimate : no doubt the real number of casualties was much higher, and getting higher all the time as the Progeny spread over Russy. It was enough to make Rudersdorf want to scream, but he forced himself to remain calm by reminding himself of his duty to the Fatherland. Besides, he could do a lot more to help by thinking clearly than if he went mad.
"The Federation had its own troops stationed near the border, just like us. What happened to them ?"
"Based on the civilians we debriefed, when the Solstice Event happened, they were summoned to the capital to help deal with the threat. By now, all of them are probably dead. I suppose there might be some survivors if they ran fast enough."
"All of them ?!" Lergen was aghast. "The Federation Army is – was – several times the size of our own !"
"Oh, the entire Federation Army didn't go to Moskva. I was talking about all the units which responded to the call. From the radio communications we've intercepted, the remaining Russy troops are gathering in Josefgrad, to the south-east of Moskva, and trying to establish some kind of stronghold against the Progeny. It … it isn't going well."
Rudersdorf could well imagine it. If there was one thing the Great War had demonstrated, it was how difficult it was for even the most elite conventional armed forces to stand up against the Mythos unsupported, and the Federation Army was far from being elite. That they were fighting at all instead of breaking and running was testament to the discipline instilled into the Federation troops by their overseers – or, more charitably, the courage shown by those who fought to defend their home from monsters.
"We cannot allow this to continue," said Zettour. "Major Degurechaff, you told us about the possibility of such a disaster since the Russy spy stole the Kindermärchen from Castle Schwartzstein. Do you have a plan to deal with this crisis ?"
"Yes." Oh thank God. "But it won't be easy. Completely cleansing Russy from the Progeny is going to be the work of years, if not decades, but if we don't cut off the infection at its source, then it is impossible."
"So what you're saying is that we need to kill this 'Dark Mother'," deduced Lergen. "It has stayed inside Moskva so far, correct ?"
"Yes, but that doesn't make it any less dangerous," said Degurechaff. "Unlike the Ivory Blasphemy our forces faced in the Holy See under your command, Colonel, the Dark Mother's summoning was completed without interference or haste. We are unsure whether the entire entity made it through to our reality, or if this is merely an avatar of Being K, the entity responsible for the successful theft of the Kindermärchen. For all intents and purposes, however, this makes no difference. The longer the entity is on Earth, the more dangerous the situation becomes, as it warps all life around it to create more Progeny."
"Then what do you need to stop it ?" asked Rudersdorf.
She told them. It was fortunate, thought the Brigadier General, that these days the three officers in the room more or less controlled the entire Imperial Army, thanks to their various triumphs in the Great War and influence over Division Y.
And even then, this was going to be a lot of paperwork, since Degurechaff's answer could basically be summed up in one word :
'Everything.'
July 1st, 1926 – Contested Territory of Manchuria – Federation Army Command Center
Commander Zhenkov, chief officer of the Federation Army in its ongoing war against the Akitsushima Dominion, looked at the messenger who stood in his command tent, looking very, very nervous.
Zhenkov had been dispatched here, thousands of kilometers away from Moskva and the centers of power, to end the humiliating conflict with the Dominion. It turned out that purging your military of nearly every high-ranking officer and sending all your aerial mages to their deaths, either in doomed combat operations or by 'transferring' them to the lergi, resulted in an effectively crippled military that struggled to win against the armed forces of an island nation which, until only a few decades ago, had been laughably behind the rest of the world.
The Akitsushiman mages alone were a nightmare to deal with, despite the computation orbs they used being far inferior to the ones which had been used in the Great War of Europa. Every base and convoys needed to be protected by concentrated anti-air firepower, and there was only so much of that to go around.
There was not enough food, not enough guns, not enough ammo. The only thing that there was plenty of was soldiers, who might as well be growing on fucking trees in Comrade Josef's glorious Federation for all the care with which they were spent.
And now, just as they had started to make progress (in great part thanks to Zhenkov's new tactics, though it wouldn't do to say it out loud and take credit for the inevitable triumph of Communism's warriors against the decadent imperialistic Dominion), this happened.
"It's confirmed, then ?" he asked.
"Yes, Commander," replied the young man. "No one has gotten any word from Moskva since the Solstice. And nobody who went to investigate returned, with their last radio communications being screams and warnings not to follow them, or pleas for assistance. The surviving units are retreating to Josefgrad, but there are already monsters in the streets there as well."
"This man is lying," said the political officer who stood apart from the rest of the gathered officers. "This is clearly a capitalistic ploy to –"
As the Commissar started ranting, Zhenkov saw the messenger pale, fear plain on his face. He knew exactly what awaited him, because there was no higher crime in the Federation than giving bad news to one's superior. Which, really, told you everything you needed to know about the state of the country before the Solstice Event.
But now … now there was no more Commissariat, no more omnipresent organization standing ready to punish the smallest infraction with exile or death, was there ?
All that was left was the handful of political officers who had been assigned to the East, and most of them hadn't been sent here because of their stellar performance in whatever passed for the Commissariat's internal politics. The one in Zhenkov's tent was the exception : someone tasked with monitoring a Commander like him needed to be unquestionably loyal to their distant masters, after all. But apart from him, the Commissars had been fighting along the troops against the Dominion for years, and they knew the score.
As the Commissar's rant reached a fevered pitch, getting to a lengthy and detailed description of the punishment he felt the messenger's entire family deserved for his attempt to spread lies within the People's Federation's glorious army, Zhenkov made a split-second decision. Without taking his gaze off the messenger, he smoothly drew his service pistol with his right hand and shot the Commissar in the head, silencing him.
Complete silence fell on the tent in the shot's aftermath and the sound of the body hitting the ground. The messenger and the other officers stared at Zhenkov and the corpse of the Commissar, shocked. It was hardly the first time a Commissar had been shot by a member of the Federation Army, but the sheer brazenness of Zhenkov's act had caught them all by surprise.
"Well, that's got it done," said the Commander, masking any doubt and fear he felt with the ease of long practice. He knew that, as long as he didn't show weakness or hesitation, they would follow his lead, and indeed, after a few more exchanged glances, they all rallied and ignored the corpse of the political officer. "Now, let's get to business, comrades. As far as we know, we are currently the largest military force left to the Federation, and all of our direct superiors just got eaten by some kind of unholy monstrosity. What do we do ?"
He carefully didn't say that this left him as the highest-ranking officer of possibly the entire Federation Army, and certainly the forces present in the Manchuria theatre, but the men in front of him had survived the political games of the Federation Army long enough to hear it anyway.
"We must strike back against the Empire," proposed one of them. "This has to be one of their Wunderwaffen in action, and we can't let that pass."
"I would agree with you," replied Zhenkov, "except for what happened to all of our own men who had used the 'miracle cure' our friends sent us. How are they doing, by the way ?" he asked the chief medical officer of his forces, a man who, before the Revolution, had worked as veterinarian.
"They're not getting worse," he replied with brutal honesty. "The impulse to go West and join whatever it is calling them to Moskva is still present, but it isn't getting any stronger, and they are managing to resist it."
Without mages of their own, the only notice the Federation Army had gotten of the Solstice Event (beyond the same sudden sense of dread that had struck everyone else) had been when every single soldier who had received a Panatseya injection had suddenly started screaming in agony as their very blood turned against them. They had lost one in ten on the first day, their bodies tearing themselves apart, but the rest had survived, albeit … changed.
They were nothing like the beasts which reportedly were pouring out of Moskva, thankfully. They still had their minds, but their bodies were constantly shifting, bones moving in and out of alignment while their organs did the same and their skin was covered in sudden growths of fur that fell off almost immediately. It was agonizing, but, according to those who could still talk with their jaws shifting and teeth falling and regrowing constantly, the physical pain was nothing compared to the 'Calling', as they put it : a constant drive to go West, to join with the source of the Panatseya that now ruled over the ruins of Moskva – the 'Dark Mother', as they called it in the throes of their pain-wracked fever.
Zhenkov had ordered his men to shoot any of the afflicted who succumbed to the Calling and tried to escape the pens in which they'd been consigned for the time being. Out of the hundreds of afflicted, there had already been several dozens for whom this had been required. The Commander was all too aware that, if no solution to their situation was found, he'd eventually have to order them all executed, and the worst part was that he couldn't be sure it wouldn't be the merciful thing to do.
"That's … well, not good, but probably the best we could reasonably hope for," Zhenkov sighed. "Keep looking after them and inform me the moment something changes. In any case, as I said, the fact that they were affected by the Event indicates that this isn't the Empire's doing, at least not directly. We know, or at least suspect, that the Panatseya was developed using information stolen from the Empire by our spies. Given how careful the Imperials have been in the use of their superweapons, and what happened in Remula when the religious bastards tried to make their own, I think it most likely that someone fucked up and destroyed Moskva as a result."
Nobody said anything in response. It was, of course, treason to even consider that the Federation could err at all, let alone in such a catastrophic way, but the person whose job it'd be to arrest Zhenkov was currently lying on the ground, his brain leaking out from the hole in his skull.
"If vengeance against the Empire isn't our goal," said another officer, "then we still have our duty : the protection of the Federation. The Imperials won't sit back and let Moskva fester : they proved their willingness to get involved in the affairs of sovereign nation when magical disasters are involved with what happened in Ildoa."
"We should go to Josefgrad," suggested someone. "Link up with the rest of the Federation Army, while the railway is still working."
"And leave Manchuria to the Akis ?!"
"The Dominion has withdrawn its own forces back to the territory they securely control," cut in Zhenkov, looking down at the map of Manchuria which covered most of the table in front of him. "Based on the transmissions we were able to intercept," and translate thanks to the help of several officers who spoke Akitsushi, and whom everyone had carefully avoided to ask how they'd learned the language, "something has happened on their island that's got them spooked."
"At the exact same time as the Solstice Event ? That's … convenient."
"Oh, I'm sure the two are related," said Zhenkov. "But we don't have the time to worry about what might be happening over there. We have more than enough problems of our own. To start with, now that Moskva is gone, we can't rely on further supplies being sent to us. So, before we ride to Josefgrad's aid, we need to see if we can avoid starving first."
Over the next two hours, the leaders of the Federation Eastern Army discussed logistics, the state of their stocks, troop morale, and possible courses of action. By the time Zhenkov decided to adjourn and meet again on the next morning, the sun had long since set, and they were all mentally exhausted.
One by one, the officers marched out of the tent, leaving Zhenkov alone (a couple of soldiers had helpfully removed the Commissar's corpse for disposal in the same mass graves where the rest of the Federation dead who could be retrieved were buried). He sighed, deeply, before turning toward his drink cabinet, thinking he could really use a drink right now, before eating what passed for food in the camp – one of the things he'd changed since his arrival was to make the officers eat the same slop as the soldiers, both for morale purposes and to lessen the strain on logistics.
He stopped, frozen mid-turn. There, sat inside the sinfully comfortable leather armchair a squad of his men had dragged out of the ruins of a noble estate a few weeks ago, was an old woman wearing a ragged, patchwork cloak and knitting something with a pair of ivory needles. She hadn't been here during the meeting, or someone would have said something, he was sure of it.
She smiled at him, revealing iron teeth.
"Hello, child," she crooned, in a voice that was like tombstones grinding against one another.
Zhenkov was a man of the Party. He might not, in his heart of hearts, buy completely into the official line, but he still believed in the basic principles of the Federation. Magic, while unquestionably real, was just another force of the universe that the aristocrats wrapped in mysticism and superstition to maintain their hold on it and use it to prop up their rule.
But right now, looking at the old woman sat on his chair in his tent, surrounded by armed men loyal to him and showing no sign of fear or concern, he felt like a small child again, taking refuge near the fire after listening to one too many scary stories. If she was just a mage, then she could kill him easily at this range (there was a reason Jugashvili had been so afraid of magic users), but Zhenkov had a feeling she was much more than that. To start with, she had managed to infiltrate a fully guarded camp, equipped with the second-best mana detection arrays the Federation could steal (the best, of course, being stationed at the border with the Reich, given how much closer to Moskva it was, nevermind which country they were currently at war with).
But really, it was every instinct in his body screaming at him that he was in terrible, terrible danger that convinced him to be as polite as he could be.
"Hello, Grandmother," he replied feebly, the name slipping out of his lips before he could stop himself.
"Quite the mess you lot have made," she tutted. "I don't think anyone has ever managed to offer up so many people in sacrifice all at once. Of course, nowadays there are so many of you running around the place, it's a lot easier than when I was young."
"If … if you say so, Grandmother. What do you want ?"
She smiled again, and it was the most terrifying thing Zhenkov, who had survived military purges and conflict against bloodthirsty Dominion soldiers, had ever seen.
"Why, I want to help you, child. Isn't that what any grandmother does for her grandchildren ?"
July 2nd, 1926 – Western Russy
Andrei and his family were running. It seemed they had been running forever, though Andrei knew it had only been a few days since the monsters had come to their village.
There were six of them : Andrei, his wife, their three children, and Andrei's old mother. She was in the cart with the two youngest, which was pulled by the family's horse. The old nag was the one animal in the entire farm which hadn't gone crazy long before the monsters had shown up – Andrei had joked the beast was too stubborn to give in to whatever it was affecting the other animals.
It had been the last time he'd laughed. Two days after the animals had started freaking out, the monsters had arrived. Out of a hundred people, Andrei's family were the only ones who had made it out, and he had a disturbing feeling they'd only escaped because the monsters had been full and wanted a proper chase.
Now, that chase was over. The beasts had caught up to them on a muddy path in the middle of nowhere, and were circling around them, growling with hunger. Andrei stood in front of the cart where his family were trembling in fear, a pitchfork in his surprisingly steady hands.
Part of him wanted to pray, but he had turned his back on God after He had turned His back on them all when He'd let the Communists win the civil war and plunge the country into darkness.
Then a figure clad in black fell from the sky, right between him and the monsters.
"Keinen Schritt weiter," it declared, its voice muzzled by the gas mask it wore.
Theobald Wüstemann (whose rank of Lieutenant had been revoked by virtue of him dying in action) had been very busy for the last four months. Ever since his resurrection as one of the Untoten and his decision not to walk out into the sun and end his existence, he had spent every night training and studying so as to be the best asset to the Reich he could be.
The training had been harsh, but having witnessed the horrors of the Mythos during the Battle of the Holy See, he knew it was necessary. Yet he hadn't truly grasped what was at stake until he had felt the arrival of the Dark Mother into the world ten days ago. The Untoten hadn't been as badly affected as the Werwölfe, probably because they were already dead, and Being K was an entity based on the corruption of life. To them, the Dark Mother's presence was like a distant pull, an unerring instinct that called to their predatory nature, letting them constantly know in which direction it stood.
That would be useful in the final battle, but that battle was still some time away. Now was the time to save as many people from the Progeny as they could. So many people had died already; they could only rescue so many, even with all the resources of Division Y and the Empire thrown at the problem. But as the Director had said, every life they saved was one blow against the Dark Mother, one body it couldn't twist into another abomination.
Standing between the wolf-headed monstrosities, which had all recoiled at his sudden descent from the sky, Theobald considered the situation. Twelve against one, with a group of civilians behind him to protect, so he couldn't fly. And with the bright summer sun shining down on him, one tear through his reinforced uniform would be debilitating.
He smiled mirthlessly under his mask. Compared to the Director's training regimen, this would be a cakewalk.
Zerayah quietly sighed as Theobald punched the head of the last beast off its body. He was young among the Deathless, newly come into his power after spending years in the Imperial Army, where violence was a way of life : it made sense that he'd be enthusiastic, but she wished he'd think about what this looked like to the people they were here to rescue.
She joined him on the ground and approached the family. They looked scared of her, but not too much. Most likely, none of them had ever seen someone with her skin complexion, but they knew that there were people with darker skin in the Southern Continent, and were assuming she was from there. That, or they were just wary of anyone in a military uniform.
She took off her backpack and opened it. It was full of supplies, and she handed a bunch of ration bars to the civilians, including a chocolate bar each to the children. She also gave a compass to the man who looked to be in charge, verifying that he knew how to use it before pointing in the direction of the West. She didn't speak the local tongue, and none of them spoke Imperial either, but such basic communication was well within her capabilities.
The Nazzadi mage wanted to stay with them, to escort them all the way to safety, but she couldn't. There were others who needed help in these vast steppes, and she couldn't let Theobald move on his own. So, once they were back on their way, she took off once more, joining with the Untote as they returned to their assigned path, senses extended as they searched for survivors and Progeny alike.
Zerayah tried not to think of all the people who had already died. She had heard the whispers, read the reports. She knew that millions of people had perished, devoured by the great horror the leaders of the Federation had thoughtlessly called forth, but the numbers just didn't feel real to her. It was more people than she'd ever seen, more than she could imagine – and they were all dead now.
With her perceptions boosted by her computation orb, she could feel the tainted presence of the Dark Mother in the distance. It was strong, so strong. Its mana signature was at least one order of magnitude stronger than that of the Devourer of Hope which had preyed upon the tribes of Nazza-Duhni.
Zerayah wondered if this was what her people's homeworld had been like, in the days right after the calamity which had brought their civilization down, before the survivors had been culled by monsters, plague and hunger. She wondered too how long it would take before the vast plains stretching beneath her as she flew were as much of a wasteland as her lost home, regardless of the differences between the source of their desolation.
It would be fine, she told herself. The Lady of Stars had a plan, and if there was one thing she had learned since coming to this strange, wondrous and beautiful world, it was that there was nothing in it more dangerous than Tanya Degurechaff with an idea and the time and resources to see it realized.
"Ambassador,
We finally got the okay from home. From what I heard, it took a lot of politicking, promises, and outright threats, but the President got Congress' approval. Which is nice, since it'll keep me from being court-martialled, because given what Teslus and every mage in my task force tells me, I would have had to disobey orders and join the fray anyway.
Get in touch with the Imperials and tell them America is coming to help. By the time you get this, we will already be moving out through Ildoa.
I will be waiting for them to contact me so we can coordinate and arrange our deployment to the border through their rail network. If they give you grief about it, tell them Uncle Sam has his own toys that will be useful in cleaning up the Russy's mess.
General Hutton, USA Army
PS : By the way, if anyone asks you in a few years, tell them I was joking about going AWOL with an entire army and a bunch of untested superweapons to fight monsters on the territory of another country. Unless I am dead by then, in which case I absolutely meant it."
Extract from a message received by the USA embassy in Berun, July 4th, 1926.
"My flight made good speed through the Russy airspace. We had four separate skirmishes with Progeny forces, three of them on the ground to assist Russy survivors, but such groups completely disappeared when we approached the former capital.
Our fourth engagement was fought against the swarm of flying creatures above Moskva : I made sure to bring back one of the more intact corpses for dissection, but suffice to say, anything less than a concentrated assault with conventional air support cannot hope to breach Moskva's air space and survive. While they were no match for us, the sheer weight of number and their complete disregard for their own casualties would have exhausted us eventually. However, we were able to get a good look at the city before retreating.
Moskva is Hell on Earth, and it is getting worse. All man-built structures are slowly sinking into a morass of flesh and vegetation that has spread to cover the entire city. Creatures resembling the instances of Projekt K are wandering through the city, feeding on the eldritch growths. We were able to count seventeen of them, but these are only the ones we were able to observe : there are clearly more.
The Dark Mother itself is difficult to describe, as looking at it directly causes powerful headaches, among other, more worrying symptoms. It is huge, at least an order of magnitude larger than the Kinder. It sits at the center of the capital, and we could feel the land's corruption flow out from it.
We were unable to confirm the presence or absence of human survivors within Moskva. However, I can say with absolute certainty that if there is anyone human still left alive in there, then death would be a mercy."
Excerpt from the debriefing of Lieutenant Willibald König following his reconnaissance operation, Eastern Imperial Army headquarters, July 5th, 1926.
"Lycans make up the vast majority of the Progeny. Judging by the fact many of them still wear the remnants of human clothing, it is likely all of them were once human citizens of the Federation before being exposed to Being K's transformative aura.
Despite having once been men and women, the Lycans do not show any sign of higher intellect, being instead driven by bestial instincts and an insatiable hunger. Without living specimens to examine (something forbidden by express order of the Director) we can only speculate that the Lycans' metabolism is inherently unstable. They require a constant supply of fresh meat to continue to function.
Considering what our late informants within the Federation told us of the developments prior to the Solstice Event, we suspect that the largest number of Lycans present in Moskva are feeding off the very essence of Being K in order to survive now that the city's human population has either been converted or already devoured.
While the name 'Lycan', adopted by the soldiers who encountered them, might imply that these creatures are wolf-like in aspect, this is not the case for all of them. Some Lycans show mutations reminiscent of other animals as well : crows, pigs, bats, tigers, spiders, and bears have all been confirmed among the Progeny, along with more categories being reported. Regardless of their nature, however, all Lycans share the same hunger for flesh and complete disregard for human life.
In battle, Lycans are effectively immune to small-arms fire, as any bullet that pierce through their tough hide will be expelled by their regeneration factor with nothing to show for it except having angered the creature and drawn its attention. Heavier calibre can dispatch them, but only by inflicting sufficient damage to the heart or brain (and, given their non-conventional biology, the head is the surer bet). M-912 rifles have proven very effective, as they completely neutralize the Lycans' regeneration, as do any injury inflicted by fire, be it generated by an Efreet-type Werwolf or a standard flamethrower.
[...]
The Satyrs (which are referred to in the Kindermärchen as 'Horned Ones', or 'heralds'), are not creatures native to this world, but Mythos entities which were summoned into it – first, we presume, by the Federation's Mythos research program, and now by the Dark Mother itself. According to our scouts' reports, they appear to be in command of the other Progeny, serving a role not too dissimilar to that of field commander. Every Satyr observed was accompanied by a group of Lycans varying in size from a pack a dozen strong to a horde numbering in the hundreds – although in the latter case, several Satyrs appear to be sharing command of the horde.
Outwardly, the Satyrs appear like a cross between an extremely attractive human being, male or female, and an animal. They disdain the use of clothing, and the fact that they do not even wear the scraps seen on the Lycans was what led us to realize they weren't transformed humans but Mythos creatures in truth.
They exude pheromones capable of driving even the chastest of individuals mad with lust. Fortunately, the Untoten are immune to these pheromones due to their own peculiar biology, and mages can protect themselves by using a standard oxygen generation spell. Werwölfe, on the other hand, are vulnerable to these pheromones : if not for the fact that patrols in Russy territory are made up of as wide a selection of Division Y units as possible, several Werwölfe would have been lost to the Satyrs. Based upon the aftermath of their passage in Russy settlements, it appears that the Satyrs devour their non-Progeny partners after copulation, be they male or female.
Despite the delicate appearance of most Satyrs, they are possessed of incredible strength, comparable to that of a Werwolf. They are also incredibly quick, and even more resilient to damage than the Lycans, while equally capable of regenerating from all but the heaviest injuries. Based on previous engagements, it takes two or more Werwölfe working in unison (and having overcome the influence of the pheromones) to defeat a single Satyr, but a single mage or Untote can kill them if they stay at range in the case of the mage and burn through enough mage blood for the Untote.
[…]
The swarms of flying creatures which cover the skies of Moskva are similar to locusts, but several times larger, and possessed of a powerful bite that can pierce through even the thickest uniform. While individually they are nothing more than a nuisance, the swarms of Moskva number in the millions, and they are capable of overloading a mage's shield by throwing themselves against it until the sheer volume of impacts overwhelms the shield.
Upon examination of the specimens brought back by Lieutenant König, we have discovered that the Locusts (name pending official approbation) lack anything resembling a digestive system. As such, they are utterly incapable of feeding themselves, something which blatantly flies against life and evolution as we understand them. Our best guess as to their source, based on the scouting report, is that they are bred in large numbers within hives on the ground, and released into the air upon maturation. Given the size of each organism, we estimate that a single individual Locust cannot survive more than a single day before succumbing to starvation. Perhaps they are then 'recycled' by the biological contamination spreading across Moskva, or perhaps the nature of Being K makes this unnecessary.
[…]
The largest and most dangerous creatures of the Progeny are the Kinder, identical to those summoned by Projekt K. They have been observed around the ruins of Moskva, and are likely to be responsible for the fact that the city is in ruin. For more information on the eldritch biology and capabilities of the Kinder and suggestions as to how to take them down, please refer to report K-18, redacted upon the completion of Projekt K by Division Y.
To summarize the contents of that file, the Kinder are incredibly dangerous and difficult to take down. Their mass, combined with their regeneration, means that even concentrated artillery fire cannot take them down. Like all Progeny, they emanate an aura of supernatural terror capable of sending even the most hardened soldier to flight. They can crush tanks underneath their hooves, and their tentacles can wipe out entire squads in seconds, either by crushing them, tearing them to pieces, or dropping them into the Kinder's many mouths.
[…]
While this concludes our report on the observed creatures of the Progeny, it must be said that there have been numerous unconfirmed reports of other bio-forms being deployed against the Imperial Army. Some of these are undoubtedly mistakes, but given the prodigious fertility associated with Being K, the existence of entirely unknown bio-forms can be taken as fact."
Extract from the compiled scouting and autopsy reports of Progeny corpses performed by members of Division Y, July 6th, 1926.
July 10th, 1926 – Eastern Army Forward Operation Base
Curse those incompetent, careless, mass-murdering Commie bastards. I knew them getting their hands on the Kindermärchen wouldn't end well, but even I hadn't thought things would get this bad this fast. I had planned for the worst, though, and now we were all going to see whether these preparations had been enough to prevent the end of the world.
In order to better secure the borders of the Reich, the Eastern Army had moved out from its network of bases and fortresses and into the territory of the Federation. With the Federation Army forces normally stationed there to prevent precisely that gone to Moskva, there was no opposition – if anything, the locals were positively relieved to see us roll in. That had surprised me at first, until Visha, who had volunteered to work as a translator to assist with the refugees, had revealed to me that the vast majority of Russy civilians didn't really believe in Communism, despite their leaders' best efforts to indoctrinate them.
As more and more Russy civilians fled from the Progeny, Imperial Ostland, the region of the Reich next to the Federation (and whose ownership had been contested over the centuries, though that particular question had most definitely been tabled for the time being) was being slowly but surely turned into a massive war and refugee camp. So far, Imperial supplies were handling the strain, and I derived some bitter amusement at the thought that K-Brot might actually be an improvement to the diet of many of the people seeking safety behind Imperial lines.
Since the Revolution which had overthrown the previous tsarist regime and led to the exile of Visha's family (along with many other dispossessed nobles who had managed to escape the death squads), the Empire's relationship with Russy had been cold, but cordial. Neither side had been interested in fighting a war against the other : the newborn Federation had its own problems at home, to say nothing of their ongoing conflict with the Akitsushima Dominion in the East; while the Reich was understandably wary of invading a country as large and desolate as Russy.
Given how I remembered such campaigns had gone back in my previous world, I couldn't disagree that making peace had been the best choice, even though it had left millions of people at the 'mercy' of the Communist revolutionaries. The one silver lining about this whole disaster, thin and ragged as it may be, was that I was fairly certain that it had destroyed any chance of the Communist ideology to take root and grow to the level of influence it had reached in my old world.
Our current base of operation was located inside the settlement of Tiegenhoff. Hundreds of Imperial engineers were working around the clock to turn it into a fortress and depot suited to our needs, with new convoys full of supplies and personnel arriving hourly.
At present, there were multiple teams operating within the Federation. Officially, they were all deployed for the purpose of scouting the advance of the Progeny, gain as much intelligence on the terrain and foe as they could, and inflict damage on small enemy groups when possible.
Unofficially, they were also charged with helping as many people to escape as possible. Part of it was simple pragmatism : every Russy who escaped the Progeny was one less body for them to eat or the Dark Mother to transform. But really, it was more about morale and image. Until the Solstice Event, we had managed to avoid any massive civilian casualties related to Mythos warfare – in fact, the Great War had been remarkably 'clean' in that regard, though it'd be little consolation to the Imperial and Francois soldiers who had died in the mud of the Rhine, or the Dacians who'd been crushed by our own Kinder.
That had all changed now. I still struggled to wrap my head around the fact that over two million people were dead, and that regardless of what I or anyone else did, more would die before this was over. After an atrocity like this, I needed the world to not think of all Mythos-touched beings as bloodthirsty monsters. Things were already tense after what had happened in Bovariastadt and Remula : if all of us ended up painted with the same brush, I could kiss my hopes of a peaceful retirement goodbye.
Also, I didn't fancy telling the likes of Uger or Weiss that they couldn't go out and rescue civilians from monsters. The two of them had led numerous sorties beyond our lines, flying ahead of our forces to help defend small villages attacked by marauding Progeny packs and assisting in their evacuation to the relative safety we provided. For some reason, the Progeny were unwilling to approach my position – they could feel me in the same way Division Y's enhanced soldiers could, but unlike them, this didn't result in respect but fear. Which meant that I had the perfect excuse to sit back and deal with the paperwork instead of leaving the base to sortie in person.
Of course, that didn't mean I was defenceless if the Progeny decided to attack anyway. I was keeping my computation orb-topped cane close at hand hand, while the silver flute whose music had doomed the Dacian Army was attached to my belt. I had no idea whether it would have any effect on the Progeny, but thought it better to have it and not need it than the other way around.
I was also carrying an injector of Kosmosblut around my neck. Even after asking the Denkmaschine, I still had no idea what the effects of another dose of the stuff would be : the thinking engine's replies to my repeated queries on the subject had been even more vague than usual. I knew that dealing with the Dark Mother would require me using it, but I was perfectly happy not thinking about it for as long as I could.
That the Dark Mother was staying in Moskva was a double-edged blessing. On the one hand, if the avatar had been moving, the area of its influence would have moved ahead of it, driving animals crazy and corrupting all forms of life, while also putting us all under a strict time limit, since there was no way High Command would allow it to reach the Fatherland proper.
On the other hand, as I had said to the Generals, the Dark Mother's position was growing stronger and more difficult to attack with every passing day. König's report had made it clear that the entity was in the process of converting Moskva into a little slice of its nightmarish home reality.
Unfortunately, for Operation Gottesmörder to have any chance of success, we needed to gather all the firepower we could possibly get. We hadn't quite emptied Castle Schwartzstein for this deployment (there were still items in the Black Vaults which would only make things worse if they were used against Being K and its Progeny) but it was a close thing.
Four Hünen were already at the FOB, with the others en route to join them. Given the warmachines' temper, it was better not to move them all at once if it could be avoided. We were also emptying the armories of M-912 rifles to the bare minimum required to maintain security in Castle Schwartzstein, and Projekt M itself was being very, very carefully brought here as well.
Zettour had taken my suggestion of an all-mage task force suitable for rapid deployment to heart, and promptly dumped a whole bunch of candidates on my lap with orders to get them trained in the usage of the D-24 dual-core computation orb. It had taken a lot of work – transitioning from single-core to dual-core orbs required a complete change of ingrained habits – but I'd found nothing motivated people to learn like being hunted in the night sky by hungry Untoten. The skies of Tiegenhoff were constantly patrolled by mages of Division Y and the Eastern Army, and Zettour had promised to send as many as he could from the rest of the Reich as well.
In addition, we had managed to run through two more rounds of the Rite of Union, maintaining our fifty-fifty odds of survival. No new Werwolf sub-type had been discovered, but the added strength of fifty-three Phantoms, sixty-one Mirages, three Echoes, three Shadows, two Spectres, eleven Whispers, two Vampires, two Nightmares, one Widow and One Efreet was still more than welcome.
After the Solstice Event, I had put my foot down on attempting the Rite of Union again during the full moon of June. While I felt bad for the crippled soldiers who had been waiting their turn with trepidation (a fifty-fifty shot at survival being odds they were more than willing to risk if it meant a chance at returning to full health), trying to call forth entities from beyond the veil two days after the Russy had summoned what looked like the avatar of Shub-Niggurath was far, far too risky. Until it was destroyed and the situation in Russy dealt with, I wanted all of Division Y's occultists to be focused on the issue at hand.
Besides, I didn't want to throw Werwölfe fresh out of the ritual circle into what promised to be the harshest campaign of Division Y yet. Their natural weapons might be very effective against the Lycans, but the sad truth was, our supersoldiers were going to be ludicrously outnumbered in a straight fight. Victory would rely heavily on the conventional Army to make things even through the liberal application of massed artillery.
"Message for you, Major," said one of the many aides running around the town. Usually, it'd be Visha's job to receive it and check it was worth my time, but with the sun bright up my Adjutant was sleeping in a nice sun-proofed room.
I thanked the messenger, ignoring the awe in his gaze at being in the presence of one of Division Y's near-mythical officers, took the letter and read it. My eyes widened, and for the first time in days, I found myself smiling.
"Well, well, well," I said out loud. "How interesting."
Finally, some unexpected news which were good, for a change.
From : Brigadier General Hans von Zettour
To : Major Tanya Degurechaff
Subject : Eastern Operations Reinforcements
Date : July 10th, 1926
Major Degurechaff,
We have received unexpected news from our visitors from across the ocean. Having learned about the situation in Russy, they have volunteered their assistance in dealing with what they called 'a clear and present threat to all Mankind'.
While they have shared little details, they claim to have brought their own superweapons with them to Ildoa, and are willing to deploy them alongside our own against the Progeny. Considering the gravity of the threat to Europa posed by the Russy situation, as well as the potential diplomatic benefits, we have tentatively agreed to an alliance.
You can expect our new friends to arrive to the Eastern border within the week.
AN : This chapter was supposed to be a quick interlude showing the various players getting into position. Instead, it's the longest bloody chapter of the entire story - so far.
Needless to say, the Muse was very enthusiastic with this one.
Zhenkov is, of course, Not!Zhukov. The timeline of YS is quite messy compared to real History (even without taking magic into account), but someone mentioned him on the SB thread and I couldn't stop myself. Please don't get angry at me for not being historically accurate with things like ranks, names, and a thousand other historical details, since like I said, the YS timeline is a mess and we don't know a lot about the Not!Russia/Not!Japan conflict in canon (plus, you know, magic). Same with his rank : I did some research, then decided that "Commander" was good enough. No doubt he has a complicated official rank, but that's what his men call him for simplicity's sake.
He also wasn't even supposed to be in this story until someone mentioned him on the SB thread, at which point I thought "Hey, that could be interesting". So I started writing a quick scene showing him all the way on the other side of Russy, thinking he would (wisely) stay back there and not get involved in the mess.
Then Not!Baba Yaga showed up on his chair without asking me, and I was well and truly frakked. Not as much as Zhenkov himself is now, sure, but still.
I have ... ideas, regarding the Grandmother's role in the story, along with whatever it is that's happening in the Akitsushiman Dominion that's making them pull out some of their forces from Manchuria. They will be explored later : right now, the story's focus is on Moskva and Operation Gottesmörder. Still, never let it be said that I'm not willing to adapt my writing to take into account a suggestion from my readers if it sounds interesting.
As always, I look forward to your thoughts on this chapter, and somewhat trepidatiously to your suggestions as well. I think it's fair to say that I'm back in the groove with writing this fic : hopefully my updated plans for this arc won't be randomly thrown into the bin again.
Zahariel out.