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[url="http://forums.cybernations.net/index.php?showtopic=96575&view=findpost&p=2565857"]...[/url] and [url="http://forums.cybernations.net/index.php?showtopic=96575&view=findpost&p=2566722"]...[/url]


She walked with slow, even footsteps - her feet simply marching towards inevitable numbness upon the cold, metallic floor, heading to a destination only they seemed to know. A sudden onset of nausea caused her to pause for a moment, steadying herself with one hand against a decrepit wall fixture.

A more narrow-minded individual would have cursed his fate weeks ago, but Vera? She knew that she was one of the luckier ones. Life had been hard for those 'fortunate' (for lack of a better word) souls that had chosen by fate, it seemed, to hide in deeper portions of the Undercity when news of the 'averted' nuclear attack on Addis Ababa was announced over the Nodic Public Address systems.

Millions had perished above her head, she had realized early on. And while she suffered deeply, she knew that hair could always grow back, fatigue and weakness could always subside, bouts of what seemed like eternal and unyielding nausea would eventually clear. Yes, she suffered, but it would be a momentary thing. It would soon pass. At times, when it seemed like she could not bare her hunger and dehydration, which was magnified by her vomiting spells, any longer, her thoughts would turn to her blessed, blessed mother.

That woman, wherever she was now, was Vera's reason and motivation for living. Whenever she felt as if she could continue no longer, that she would embrace the oblivion that awaited her, she would think positive, happy thoughts, as her mother often instructed her-
[i]
Make cheer in whatever you do, my child. The sun rises and sets according to the rhythm of a happy heart.[/i]

She would survive, Vera thought vigorously. She would endure all trials and tribulations - if not for her own sake, she mused, then for the sake of her mother, who was undoubtedly watching over her from beyond. With this thought placed firmly in the forefront of her mind, she pushed off against the wall, and continued searching these dark, maze-like corridors.

It was puzzling. She had been born and raised in the Undercity, yet she had not come across these portions since a number of blast doors failed a few days earlier. Those brave, and healthy enough to leave the confines of the designated shelters within the Undercity ventured forth into this unexplored territory, some returning with exotic weapons and ornaments, others vital rations and medicines, while some did not return at all. Vera had left of her own accord- for there was nothing that awaited her return.

Her musings were suddenly interrupted by a puzzling change in the texture of the floor beneath her bare feet. No longer did she feel smooth, metallic steel, but a rough, bumpy texture.

Starting backwards, away from the oval pattern in front of her, Vera initially mistook the stain for a patch of rust. Noticing the tell tale smell - that of dried blood - waft into her nose, she tentatively traced what appeared to be drag marks into an adjacent chamber. Vera clutched at her chest, old instincts suddenly firing up in her brain. Fight or flight. Kill or be killed. Her heart raced as she tried to calm her nerves - this blood was days old, the source of the offending stain that defiled this sterile, holy place most likely long gone.

She shuddered as a cold breeze wafted towards her- most likely some automated ventilation left idle prior to the nuclear devastation that was wrought upon Nod. Her thoughts returned to that dark place, one that she had spent years trying to suppress - those of her failed application for the [url="http://forums.cybernations.net/index.php?showtopic=84030&view=findpost&p=2484610"]Nodic Anterior Academy[/url]. Carefully peeking around the corner, she noticed the chamber was empty, save for an odd, orange glow in the corner.

Against her better judgment, Vera strode into the chamber - perplexed. As her eyes adjusted to her dimmed surroundings, she could see ornate and elaborate trappings adorning this place. Her eyes focused on what appeared to be a pedestal or altar of sorts, upon which a glowing bauble seemed to be placed very carefully.

An irrational sense of anger soon washed over her, [i]'who would dare intrude upon the solemnity, the monolithic tranquility of this place with such a distracting thing?'[/i]

Puzzled at her own demeanor, she strode forwards, only to the sound of almost accusatory thoughts that now filled her mind.

[i]'Why would I contribute to such an outrageous adulteration of this place? Who am I to disturb what was most likely the product of forces and powers beyond my understanding or comprehension?'[/i]

Peering closer at the orange 'glow', she could see that it was not the ethereal being or article she thought it was. Noting that it was simply a peculiarly fashioned Personal Diagnostic and Data Storage tool, or PDDS, she felt a sense of disappointment wash over her face. She had seen simpler PDDS' in the hands of more affluent citizens in the past - only this one was larger and was obviously fashioned for someone with a size much larger than her emaciated frame. It was not active, the glow she saw was most likely a figment of her imagination - perhaps a false hope.

"A whole lot of good THIS will do for me," she muttered. Such technological feats meant nothing in this seeming Dark Age that loomed over the survivors of Addis Ababa. Electronics and other goods not made for military specifications had failed enmass after the horrific nuclear blast hit home. Portable fuel and energy sources were expended early on in attempts to ease the transitioning of the dead or dieing, or helping preserve survivors in the past so that they could endure the squalor that threatened to rule over them in the future.

[i]'You are acting like a fool. You've already taken that which does not belong to you. You would squander this blessing for foolishness?'[/i]

The voice in her head was right, naturally. That which could not work could always be sold or traded for scrap, cannibalized for other promising prospects. Sighing, Vera placed the PDDS on her arm, absent mindedly thumbing the activation switch.

Nodic PDDS' were a novel invention. Originally intended to replace mobile phones and other personal electronic trinkets during Nod's more prosperous past - all in the name of the 'national identity' the Executive Minister of old constantly preached to the masses, they were afforded only to the more prosperous, upper-tiered class of citizenry- those that had served, or were serving within the almost omnipresent Nodic Militancy. Handheld devices that contained a computer microprocessor, visual display projection capabilities (at the cost of extreme battery charge loss over extended periods of usage) and an adequate audio system, the PDDS' were a clumsy attempt at competing and replacing comparatively simpler, less-flashy electronics.

The moment she turned this PDDS on, however, was the moment her surroundings immediately came to life. Loud humming and whistling beneath tarps that were strewn haphazardly upon consoles and seats soon filled her ears- Dozens of computer terminals thrummed to life before her. She was within the Communication's Center of Temple Secundus!

"The Executive Minister himself has walked these halls!" she exclaimed to no one in particular with excitement. Soon, a sense of fear began to wash over her - where was their famed Leader? Where were all the console operators, the security? A foreboding sense of dread enroached upon her.
[i]
'You are all alone... and are definitely not where you are supposed to be...'[/i] she told herself. With a sudden onset of fatigue, no doubt more torments hurled at her from her mild radiation poisoning, she stumbled to a nearby chair, shoving aside a few loose articles and objects resting on it. She curled up, shuddering with chills. Placing her chin on her knees, she stared off, the PDDS' still activated, on her arm, until she fell fast asleep.

She would never hear the clanging footsteps that rushed into her little sanctum days later. Never hear the hushed and fervent whispers elicited by the armored giants that encircled her, and never feel careful hands gently lift her up, out of her perch, into the beyond.

[center][img]http://i710.photobucket.com/albums/ww106/mofailla/Newish/mass_effect_3_miranda_by_patryk_garrett-d37b86f2-1.jpg?t=1299080205[/img]
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Posted (edited)

[url="http://forums.cybernations.net/index.php?showtopic=96792&view=findpost&p=2636692"]...[/url]


[u][b]"Temple Tercero", 1 km beneath Debre Tabor Mountain Range, 50 km East of Adahunat Airbase[/b][/u]


[i][b]"Another one! Down the hall!!"[/b][/i] Namad bellowed into his Cranial Protection suite as he swung his weapon around to bear on the armored head peering around the metallic lip of the pressure door down the corridor. Soon, tracers from both his, and Ivor's [url="http://forums.cybernations.net/index.php?showtopic=59602&view=findpost&p=1617360"]Rippers[/url] illuminated the metallic corridor- the distinctive Nod pattern 'starburst' muzzle flashes strobing the darkness. Even as the head vanished behind a lip of his own, the two Nodic Militants kept firing- hoping to suppress this latest traitorous incursion.

Shouting over the ringing thuds and zings their 7.62 x 51mm jacketed rounds imparted on the metallic ribbing of the hall that the two men were desperately trying to defend, Ivor started.

[b]"There are more of them this time, Brother!!"[/b] before he winced at a near miss, checking his Digital Ammunition Display as he did. Noticing it was low, he loped back into the protection their own armored lip provided, careful not to trip over the almost knee-high 'knee-knocker', or lower portion of the lip. In times, much like these, Ivor and Namad would be tasked with sealing all such lips and their associated doors with the currently open 'dog' clamps against the gas, chemical or overpressure threats these extensive caverns and catacombs were designed to protect against. Firing the rest of his magazine's worth of ammunition to allow Namad to perform a hasty regress of his own, he paused to reload his weapon, glancing over at his partner.

[i][b]"Who cares?"[/b][/i] the armored man said in reply. With his weapon fully reloaded, Ivor shook his head at Namad's lack of compassion.

[b]"But these are our own! How could this have happened? To be assailed by your own blood!"[/b]

This latest war was a horrific one, Ivor did not doubt it. All had fought and lost much in simply surviving the brazen and unprovoked attack by the Monacan subs. Yet he could not understand how this force of Nodic militants - militants much like himself and Namad - could turn against them all. How they could be assaulting Temple Tercero, no doubt to slay or capture General Jagdfel. Yes, he did not exude the vehement desire to drink these traitors' blood like the others that guarded the General with him. Instead, Ivor felt a profound sense of hurt, feelings tormented with a mix of shock and betrayal. How could these men deny the communal suffering and sacrifice all Nodic citizens were currently enduring? How could they slap and spit on the faces of the men, women and children that were dead, or dieing?

[i][b]"If the General tells me to kill, then these men will die by my hand. Do you want them to punish us again?"[/b][/i] Namad casually said, firing semi-automatic shots from his weapon to keep the pressure on. As more and more signs of movement down the hall were seen within the powerful visual sensors of the two warriors' CPS', they let loose with more and more bouts of fully automatic fire.

Reports of this breach came soon after 'reinforcements' had arrived from nearby Gondar. The General and his cohorts had prepared themselves to the utmost of the inevitable invasion that was to beset Nod. Nodic East Africa was a death trap to outsiders - this was certain. But from the inside? Both Ivor and Namad knew their time was slowly coming to an end, Ivor finally surmised. And he was sure the General was sure of his own demise too.

Sounds of the rhythmic clank and shuffle of armored boots echoed down a passage behind the pair. Ivor turned to look into the red and heaving face of Danilo, who had rushed from a nearby compartment, leading a group of guards from his section.

[b]"Namad! Ivor?! We thought you were dead, what with all the weapons reports we've been hearing!"[/b] the pasty faced man gasped, [b]"The General has ordered my section to fall back, you should both do the same! Depart at once! We shall follow you."

[/b]Namad and Ivor slowly nodded their heads. Namad turned towards the corridor once more, firing one, two smoke grenades from his underslung launcher. He started back before quickly loading in a blue anti-personnel grenade into the muzzle of his weapon, firing a last parting gift. Stomping towards the larger blast door that led into the heart of the systems and operations center of General Jagdfel, Namad and Ivor had barely got the massive doors opened before a shout and explosion rippled in their previous compartment.

Nodic anti-personnel grenades often times had lower high explosive counts in lieu of a greater amount of shrapnel inducing material. This design was for two reasons. One was that this enabled the grenade to have a far greater physical impact upon targeted foes, with an exponentially higher kill potential. The other reason was that Nodic militants often enjoyed executing the inevitable maimed personnel as a result of the blast, as there was a diminished chance for blast concussion to render their victims unconscious.

Indeed, Nodic Militants were not afraid of anything - they have no mercy and they almost never retreat. However, it is ultimately [i]not[/i] courage that drives them, but their vanity. They are rather executioners than warriors.

The traitor grenade had propelled through the water tight door Namad and Ivor had spent so much time protecting, even as Danilo and another man were set to work closing the armored lip shut. Exploding in the confines of the compartment, Ivor and Namad could see that only a handful of militants could reach them through the carnage, and to the door. Ruhak and Hoku had barely reached their position before a huge, lumbering form shot through the now gaping pressure door, firing his weapon at a survivor who was still dazed in the midst of all the gore from the grenade. This traitor was an Elite Cadre, and using his enormous strength, grasped the thoroughly perforated man and tore him asunder with his strength-augmented hands!

The four of them were stunned at this display of brutality - normally such cruelty was inflicted by [i]them [/i]upon the enemy, not against their [i]own[/i]! Before they could react to this monstrosity, they saw another guard, Viktor, quickly gather his wits about him in the gory chamber. Quickly raising his weapon to avenge the convulsing mass of flesh at the Elite Cadre's feet, the man suddenly disappeared in a fine mist of red blood and cracked carapace. In his stead, another Elite Cadre emerged from the dent he had created against the bulkhead of the compartment. He had charged through the open portal as his predecessor did, crushing Viktor into a fine paste against the steel bulkhead with a lethally over-powered elbow.

Needing no cue of their own, the four guards rushed through the main blast door, not looking back at the rest of their doomed comrades. As it lowered, Ivor could only watch in terror as the Elite Cadre turned to look at them. Noting the futility of chasing through the quickly closing reinforced steel, the lead Elite Cadre merely let out an electronically distorted growl, characteristic of the Nodic 'warrior-priests' that Ivor was used to fighting alongside, not against. Ivor could only snatch glimpses of his comrades' demises, with more and more traitorous Nodic Heavy and Light Infantry now entering the compartment through the shredded pressure door and heading their way, the main blast doors coming down with an ominous sense of finality.

Content for the brief moment of peace the main blast door would provide against the traitors on the other side, the group of wayward survivors merely glanced at the garrison stationed just inside the perimeter of the main communications center they had entered. Ivor was suddenly overcome by an overwhelming sense of despair. He was not embarrassed that the garrison had bore witness to his and his companions' momentary weakness- he was ashamed and dishonored that he could not do anything to save his Brethren behind the now sealed blast door.

[b]"If I do not die by their hands today,"[/b] Ivor started, [b]"I will end my life myself."[/b]

The sound of a now cackling Hoku was heard from behind his armored helm. Turning to look at the seemingly crazed man, who was sitting on the floor against the blast door, Ivor said nothing. Namad, sensing his friend's thoughts, simply placed a hand on Ivor's shoulder to calm and to comfort.

[b]"Hoku, you fool!"[/b] a familiar voice shouted from behind Ivor, causing him to start in surprise before quickly rushing to attention alongside Hoku and the others in a hasty formation.

[b]"Stop laughing like an imbecile, control yourself, and start searching for an exit!"[/b] General Jagdfel ordered the man.

[url="http://forums.cybernations.net/index.php?showtopic=68937&view=findpost&p=1868982"]Ivor was stunned. Jagdfel had let his characteristically short hair grow long and disheveled, hiding the prominent scar on the crown of his head. His also jet-black hair had faded into a ghostly white. Stress, and loss had taken its toll on the once strong and vivacious commander, it seemed.[/url]

[b]"There is no exit to search for, my Lord,"[/b] Hoku sniffed in return. Before the General could respond, a blow at the door! And another one, and another one! It seemed even the strong, comforting mass would also not last for long. As Ivor and the remaining guard trained their weapons on the now crumpling blast door, the General stormed out of the vicinity of the entrance, Hoku closely in tow. Others rushed to aid Ivor and company, no doubt the remnants of other guard positions rallied from elsewhere.

[b]<<For us, this is the last frontier!>>[/b] Jagdfel was heard bellowing from Temple Tercero's public address system. Ivor could hear it, and the traitors beyond the still besieged blast doors could too.

[b]<<Death will come upon us - but first I want to take a few of you !@#$%^&* with me!>>[/b] he roared.

Ivor clenched and unclenched his weapon's pistol grip rhythmically - the door would surely buckle now. Closing his eyes, and uttering what few prayers he had heard his catholic mother utter during his now distant childhood, he could feel the terror and adrenaline surging through his veins.

[b]<<Do you hear me, traitorous Filth?! I am sick of this !@#$. Open the blast doors! Prepare to die alongside the men you swore an oath of loyalty to, the men you are betraying! A thousand deaths are not enough to atone for your treachery!!!!>>[/b]

The seriously deformed doors exploded outwards, against the force or forces that had been assailing it. Peering through the smoke and haze, the Nodic forces opened fire, in one last blaze of glory.

Edited by Executive Minister
Posted

[u][b]Most Probable Location of "Non-person Zero", 1 km beneath Debre Tabor Mountain Range, 50 km East of Adahunat Airbase[/b][/u]


Dontarius pressed his back tightly against the bulkhead, trying to hide his massive shoulder behind the discomfortingly narrow lip seal of the corridor. Slowly leaning his shoulder and head into what would inevitably be the view of anyone down the hall, he activated his rear mounted ocular sensor. Soon, the brilliant strobing flashes of what his EVA unit declared to be [b]<<two 7.62 x 51mm 'Ripper' Automatic Rifle>>[/b] filled his 'view', forcing him to quickly retreat to safety.

[b]"Assistance required,"[/b] was all he muttered, and soon a handful of subordinate [url="http://i710.photobucket.com/albums/ww106/mofailla/HeavyI.jpg?t=1297441373"]Heavy Infantry[/url] rushed to take his place, returning fire upon the Nodic Defenders.

Dontarius clanked around the corner, meeting the other [url="http://i710.photobucket.com/albums/ww106/mofailla/EliteCadre.jpg?t=1299592089"]Elite Cadre[/url] leading the operation with him. Quickly crossing his right arm across his chest, pumping twice and extending it high in a salute, he greeted his peers, who promptly returned it. Both were clad in the TACARM PCA as he was, and Dontarius smirked from underneath his full helm at a pair of [url="http://i710.photobucket.com/albums/ww106/mofailla/CNCTS_Nod_Combat_Armour.jpg?t=1279907824"]Light Infantry[/url] that waited intently behind them.

[b]"What say you?"[/b] the electronically distorted voice of Cynarius was heard. A wild round ricocheted past from around the corner- no doubt an errant shot fired from the Nodic guards. Although a grunt and cry of pain was heard from the infantry Dontarius set at the lip, the trio of Elite Cadre paid them no heed.

[b]"We have come across more resistance - can they not see the error of their ways?!"[/b] Dontarius replied. He found himself alarmed and exasperated at what he deemed a terrible waste of lives, effort and equipment. Why fight each other when they had a Princess to worship and exalt with songs of eternal praise?

[b]"They will soon enough, brother - they cling to an inferior ideal. With Her Righteousness on our side... [i]WE can do [/i]no wrong,"[/b] the gravely voice of Feroccus answered. With a fervent, [b][i]'...The Princess will wait for no one!'[/i] [/b] he stomped away, heading back for the lip's entrance. Cynarius and Dontarius looked at each other, the skepticism showing even from behind their opaque visages. Nevertheless, they followed their 'brother', walking in his wake.

Their loud clanking steps signaled the beginnings of decisive action - their subordinates needed no cue to form up behind them. Lightly waving away the Heavy Infantry at the lip, Feroccus poised himself to dash down the corridor before a projectile fired from the guards hit him with a loud *thunk!*. Howling in an embarassed rage as the smoke grenade bounced off of his chest, he growled at another that sailed past.

[b]"Hold fast,"[/b] he ordered, before stepping out and away from the protection of the steel lip. No sooner did he do this before a loud crash and the sound of scattering shrapnel was heard by those behind him. The hulking form of Feroccus heaved itself backwards - even in the thick smoke, the others could see his grievous wounds as his battered shape crumpled against the steel bulkhead with a resounding thud. Strands of reactionary fiber were frayed or strewn out of the normally neat 'weave' that made the TACARM PCA's 'synthetic musculature'.Tell-tale signs of humanity soon seeped out of the torn material, creating an odorous mess that mixed with the sulfur of the fragmentation grenade.
[b]
"He always [i]was[/i] self-righteous..."[/b] Cynarius muttered as Dontarius took the lead. Quickly taking a diagnostic of Feroccus' suit - making sure the convulsions he saw were merely misfiring motivators and not signs of life, they carefully stepped over the dead husk of their Brother to stand on either side of the lip.

[b]"Maintain discipline!"[/b] Cynarius barked over the communications link, [b]"The Avatar-of-War himself will be arriving shortly. Forward to the central control room!"[/b]

Preparing his NMI 'Guardian' by racking the slide to ensure there was a fresh 9.55 x 72 mm round in the chamber, Dontarius turned his head back to gaze upon the fallen Feroccus one last time. He slowly shook his head in genuine sorrow - for the Elite Cadre were taught that even after the greatest, the most resounding victory, if even one of their kind had fallen, it would be a day of mourning. Guilty thoughts crept into his mind, and it took him every ounce of the faith he had in the Princess to overcome them.
[i]
[b]"... And yet I live...[/b]"[/i] was all he allowed himself to say.

[b]"Our detractors' ranks swell as we draw near! Steel your nerves, for we are not turning back!"[/b] Cynarius continued. Noticing movement to his left - Feroccus' body being dragged aft by a trio of struggling Light Infantry - Cynarius paused to watch. The Elite Cadre were not merely the best and brightest that Nod had to offer the Militancy, but were also stalwart spiritual symbols. Cynarius sensed the wave of unease settle over the forces marshaled further down the hall behind them as the body was dragged past, with all reverence. He spoke.

[b]"Ignore the braggart. By fulfilling his purpose in death, he has achieved greatness of the likes that he could not ever attain in life."[/b]

Without warning, Dontarius' arm convulsed, throwing an anti-personnel grenade of his own during a lull in the firing from the Nodic defenders up ahead. Such was the force of the throw that anyone hit by it would be dead, regardless of the actual grenade itself. Even before hearing the explosion of the weapon, he rounded the lip and sprinted down the corridor. He was almost at the now closing door before he heard the crash and scatter of debris - muffled by thick steel.

Still at a full, loping gait, he fired once, twice, three times into the only one left standing in the room - the rounds literally tearing the Nodic warrior limb from limb - before thrusting himself into the chamber of gore and viscera. Without thinking to pause and lose the momentum he had created, he violently slung his rifle over his back before thrusting his outstretched fingers through what was left of his victim's carapace and grasping at his sternum. Taking hold of what was left of the man's pelvis, it was all but a simple twist and pull to set the whole thing loose.

Movement to his right! Dontarius had barely enough time to register the Militant raise his rifle before the man disappeared with a blur. In his stead stood a grunting Cynarius as he struggled to free himself from the dented bulkhead and the paste that stuck him soundly in it. With the coast seemingly clear, the two barely saw additional guards retreat through the main blast door dividing the compartment with the General's Operations Center before it began to shut. Dontarius snarled at the cowards as they ran, his hateful thoughts interrupted with bursts of automatic fire from Cynarius' weapon. He had already executed several of the wounded Nodic warriors - even as the first of their cohort entered behind, cautiously and with weapons drawn.

[b]"Leave me my share,"[/b] Dontarius grunted.
[b]
"Do you see how their adherence to the Old Ways has weakened them? Pitiful rabble..."[/b] Cynarius said scornfully as he kicked away a blood stained weapon from a hand that had laboriously tried to reach for it. Shaking his head, he leaned forward and executed the defiant man as more of the Heavy Infantry stormed into the compartment. With an air of finality, the main blast door slammed down into place, the sound of a multitude of pressure seals and locking mechanisms echoing throughout.

It was not difficult to slaughter the wounded and dieing as they lay on the blood spattered floor - Cynarius, ever the eager one, had already dispatched more than half of the Nodic Militants before Dontarius came upon his first. The wounded man said nothing as he stared at Donarius' huge form approach with a cold, scornful look plastered across his bare face. The man said nothing as Dontarius drew his sidearm -a massive revolver weapon, and aimed it at his head.

[b]"Have you any last requests?"[/b] he asked the dieing man.

[b]"Shoot me in my broken heart, so that my face may remain ever in your mind,"[/b] the man hacked, sickly red fluid escaping his mouth. Glancing at his weapon, Dontarius cycled the cylinder, checking to make sure there was a round in place.
[b]
"May you remember me... and this... a sight most terrible to behold - when Brother is set upon by Brother."

[/b]Dontarius grimaced beneath his helm. Again, the creeping thoughts seeped into his mind. His hand trembled before uttering a simple, [b]"As you wish." [/b]The shot echoed throughout the compartment, even over the sounds of the butchery taking place within it. He stood there for a moment, unaware of Cynarius' clanking steps behind him. He stared at the man's death visage - that same accusatory gaze, despite the massive crater Dontarius had created in the dead man's chest.

[b]"How now?"[/b] Cynarius asked a silent Dontarius, [b]"Why have you stopped, Brother?"[/b]

Dontarius winced at the address, turning to him and simply saying, [b]"I hope I die as well when my time comes."[/b]

Cynarius nodded, his head moving an eighth of an inch. He was about to continue before they heard him.

[b]<<Today will be a glorious day...>>[/b] a jovial tone sounded behind them. Turning to look at the perforated blast door, they watched several of the Heavy Infantry look at the unknown speaker, stand aside, and give firm and crisp salutes.
[b]
<<... for today...>>[/b] Avatar-of-War Gilda said as he awkwardly sidestepped through the relatively narrow opening, [b]<<...is the day that the Nod of Old falls! In its stead, an Eternal Kingdom shall be molded in Her Image. Together we will achieve what we never could before She graced us with Her Presence... There will be peace! ... Peace! At long last!>>

[/b]Cynarius and Dontarius said nothing as they watched Gilda in his bleached-white Armored Command Unit, or [url="http://i710.photobucket.com/albums/ww106/mofailla/Newish/Rines_at_Play_by_Jun89_ACU_With_Torrent_and_Under_ATR_Launcher.jpg?t=1299596747"]ACU[/url]. They had heard of the Princess' so called Champion - even in his formidable suit of armor, rumored to be just as if not more potent than the PCAs the Elite Cadre wore - the man seemed like the naive child. Both winced as Gilda carelessly brandished his 4 gauge semi-automatic 'shot-cannon', a weapon that was essentially an old idea made new, as he spoke.

[b]"Her Name be praised,"[/b] they both saluted the Commander, almost half-heartedly. Dontarius tried to examine the ACU obliquely, eager to know of its full functionality. Essentially the forerunner of his own PCA, and early Nodic attempt at a fully powered, hybrid-armor/exoskeleton, the ACU was designed to afford commanders with a mobile, fully capable command relay for the Nodic battlenet. Differing variations existed to exert increased or diminished control of surrounding forces for the trade of inversely proportional self-sufficiency, mobility and weight. Some were full exoskeletons, the operator's arms encased in the chest cavity, while other, larger Commanders could don an ACU that relied less on mechanical power and more on the user's own physical body.

Dontarius found himself simultaneously abhorred and envious of such an armor - one that could allow anyone the strength he had, at a fraction of the effort. Elite Cadre's PCAs operated on the principle of enhancing or amplifying its wearer's might, not artificially bestowing it!

[b]<<Open the door, my Brethren, so that we may share our Lady's Glory with those behind it!>>[/b] Gilda shouted.
[b]
"Take up firing positions around the door," [/b]Cynarius jumped into action. [b]"You there, breach the Door's defensive algorithms and open it! The rest of you, prepare for an assault!"

[/b]Dontarius watched as the orders were carried out - their recipients scurrying about like mice to complete them. Soon, specialists had worked open an exposed panel, and were acting upon the delicate circuits within. A large, metalic container was brought to the fore, and out of it emerged a grid shaped machine-user interface. Attaching several prominent probes to key points within the wall panel, the contraption lit up, a number of multi-colored cells lined in a grid beneath a main 16-digit display. At once, the cells beneath the first digit began to light up, alternating between several tones before locking into place in sequence. Behind this colorful graphical interface, a number of powerful algorithms worked on the subroutines keeping the door secured. A minimum of four digits would need to activate in order for success to be had. The colored rows symbolized the level of intricacy and power of the algorithms required. With a rather negative sounding tone, the first digit was locked in place, an opaque, red hue.

"Go to level two..." one of the men ordered, and soon the second column began to rearrange itself, only to end with the second digit red as well. "Try three!" the man shouted. Again, the same tone.

It was at seven that Gilda turned impatient, [b]<<What is the delay, Gentlemen?! Greatness is merely moments awa->>[/b]

He was interrupted by a blinking indicator within his Heads-up display... a message from Headquarters! Extending his mechanical arm outwards, the harsh image of the Elder, her face visibly annoyed, appeared.

[b]<<Deaconess!>>[/b] Gilda exclaimed, a mix of fervent respect and embarassment bubbling to the surface.

[b]((Avatar, you have been gone far too long... You should have retrieved the General hours ago...))[/b] her tone was harsh, chiding.

[b]<<You there!>>[/b] Gilda shouted at the specialist, [b]<<What's the delay?!?!>>[/b]

The man stood away from the device, leaving a subordinate to continue tinkering with the door. He bowed at the figure of the Deaconess, before thrusting his arms to his side. He spoke wearily, with an air of fear.

"Great One! We are already at level eight!" the helmed man shook his head woefully, "We have only ever had to pass three before this!"

Seeing no sense of empathy or consideration with both the Deaconess and Gilda, the man shook his head harder, gazing at the floor, "there is simply NO way through..."

This resignation finally caused the woman on the projection to stir, her hooded head leaning closer, shrouding some of her face in shadow.

[b]((That is not good enough. Our [i]Lady[/i] has a schedule to keep! I cannot accept failure...))[/b]

The man looked, imploringly at both superiors, simultaneously shamed at himself for the dishonor, and for letting his beloved Princess down. His body slumped, deep with sorrow and regret - he cared not of his fate, only that the Lady had seemingly misplaced Her Faith in him. Soon, the sounds of weeping and gnashing of teeth were heard behind his helm as he dropped to his knees, causing two Heavy Infantry on guard to hoist him by the armpits and carry him away.

[b]((Gilda, you WILL get this door open. I trust you will not fail me... Her Highness ...))[/b]

[b]<<My faith is strong!! I will carry out what our Lady desires, Deaconess. You have my word as your Avatar, and most fervent believer in Her Grace>>[/b] he replied solemnly, placing his unoccupied hand on his massive chest plate. The Deaconess merely nodded her head, an almost imperceptible smile etched on her face as the transmission cut out. For a brief second, Dontarius could see that all looked upon Gilda's exposed face - intent to see what the brash, boastful man would do.

They were not disappointed, for in an instant, he roared a shout of what would later be referred to as 'the Righteous Indignation of Martyr Gilda' by those survivors of the 'Nodic Pacification'. Spinning towards the errant blast door, he raged, firing dozen upon dozen of rounds in semi-automatic with his belt-fed shotcannon - causing the remaining Specialists to cower, one diving over the breaching mechanism to protect its delicate form from wayward fragments. Regardless, even as the shells ceased feeding into the armored belt connected to a prominent canister in the small of Gilda's back, the door remained firm.

[b]<<Gaaaaugh!!!>>[/b] he roared as his weapon clicked empty. [b]<<Stop staring like fools and replenish my stores!>>[/b] he shouted at a nearby member of his personal retinue. The man stood firm, saluting and dashing to carry out the reload of Gilda's canister.

[b]<<You two!>>[/b] he screamed at Dontarius and Cynarius, who were deeply amused by Gilda's belligerence and tantrum. The two briefly looked at each other before casually striding towards the raging hulk.
[b]
<<Gather all the shaped explosives you can find, we will enter that Chamber if it is the last thing I DO!>>

[/b]Cynarius balked at the order, before starting.[b]

"Is that wise, Avatar? Would that not only serve to harm our Lady's Prize behind it?"[/b]

[b]<<If you feel it prudent to question my every order, Cynarius,>>[/b] Gilda sneered [b]<<then perhaps our Lady, as perfect as She is, has mistrusted you. That it was folley to assign you to me!>>

[/b]Cynarius lowered his gaze. Dontarius could see that Gilda irked Cynarius so. Nevertheless, by no doubt only the Lady's saving Grace, Dontarius surmised, Cynarius allowed the insult to pass, saying nothing. Waving to nearby Militants, the order was carried out. Those taking part in the breach of the Control Room soon stood as far away from the shaped charges as possible, awaiting their concussive reports. As the explosives detonated in succession, the door visibly straining and warping against the blasts, Gilda smiled crazily. As smoke billowed from the spent ordinance, he emerged from cover, eager to see signs of the breached door. Already, several holes and gaps in the plating were visible! They were almost through![b]

****For us, this is the last frontier!**[/b]** Jagdfel's characteristically gravelly voice sounded over the public address system.

[b]<<YESSSSSS!>>[/b] Gilda bellowed, charging for the door. [b]<<Quickly, while we are certain he remains inside!!!!>>[/b] Stopping just outside of it, he began to pound into the battered buttress of steel with his massive fists, even as the plating on his fingers started to loosen and crack under the pressure. Cynarius and Dontarius rushed to his side, both to control the crazed zealot, and return him safely behind cover. The trio struggled infront of the door as the others watched, ignoring Jagdfel as he continued to sermonize over the speakers.

[b]****Do you hear me, traitorous Filth?! I am sick of this !@#$. Open the blast doors! Prepare to die alongside the men you swore an oath of loyalty to, the men you are betraying! A thousand deaths are not enough to atone for your treachery!!!!****[/b]

The door erupted outwards, showering Cynarius, Dontarius and Gilda with flame and shards of steel. Preplaced explosives within the locking mechanisms - designed to explosively release a stuck or damaged door in case of emergency were used to great effect by the blasphemous Jagdfel, unknowingly severing the Princess' command and control authority over the operation in one blow. It seemed that Gilda would not live to see his beloved Lady's Will carried out after all.

Posted

[u][b]"Temple Tercero, Inner Sanctum" 1 km beneath Debre Tabor Mountain Range, 50 km East of Adahunat Airbase[/b][/u]


The Nodic defenders strained to see through the thick, black smoke that billowed through the gaping maw of the Central Control Room. With a loud crash, a segment of the blast door, which had remained precariously suspended above its cowling following the explosive release of the door, fell, creating mounds of debris in its wake. Several braver members of Jagdfel's retinue - Elite Cadre that had not been converted to the Princess' cause- surged forwards, taking cover behind the large slabs of sheet metal directly infront of the opening.

Suddenly - motion! For as the Nodic Elite Cadre took their places behind the shattered remains of the main blast door, a large, hulking shape was seen amidst the carnage, shambling towards them. Some of the more informed Nodic guards recognized the metallic monstrosity for what it was - a prototypical powered armor that had been abandoned long ago for the Powered Combat Apparatus system the Elite Cadre wore. Had it not been moving ominously towards them, obviously acting with the Traitorous legions that had no doubt surrounded them, the Guards would have undoubtedly stopped in an attempt to capture and analyze it.

The armor seemed to have a life of its own, for misfiring motivators and locomotors had served to animate Avatar-of-War Gilda's coffin, causing it to shamble through the destroyed door that had killed its master. It was either an ironic impossibility or the work of forces far beyond the comprehension of man. Nevertheless, it was soon brought down, the Avatar's vow fulfilled as the machine was destroyed in a deluge of fire. Gilda had entered the Chamber, and it WAS the last thing he did.

Ivor strained from behind his position, training his weapon on the still smoking crater that was the main blast door. He had decided not to fire upon Gilda's Armored Command Unit - even in the distance he could see the fragments of shrapnel that perforated the pilot's skull. There was no way the machine moved with purpose, he had surmised. No sooner did the shambling mass of flesh and steel collapse under fire, did the first of several Traitors throw themselves through the opening. Even as the guards let loose with lead and cannon, Ivor saw that there would be no way they could make a successful stand against these Judases.
[b]
"We cannot prevail against so many!"[/b] He shouted to no one in particular as the loud reports of his Ripper soon drowned out his speech. Others beside him fought laboriously, even taking fire as they did. Ivor quickly collapsed behind his own sliver of refuge, as several Traitorous Heavy Infantry vaulted over the still twitching form of Gilda's ACU, taking cover behind the debris mounds opposite to the Loyalist Elite Cadre. Ivor strained in agony as he clutched at his left shoulder, the carapace above it blown to pieces by a 7.62 mm round. Peering to his left, he saw Namad with his weapon firmly braced on top of a shard of steel palisade, firing even as rounds impacted around him.

Straining against the pain, Ivor righted himself, pressing his right arm and weapon against his protection and placing his weight back on his feet. Shambling gingerly to his knees, he peered over the edge of his slab to see how the Battle for the Nodic Inner Sanctum was turning. Bodies lay everywhere, both Loyalist and Traitorous alike - most Traitor corpses scattered about the Elite Cadre that still held positions infront of the door. Ivor barely had enough time to watch as several Traitors vaulted over the slab of blast door, only to see an unlucky one be suddenly skewered by a bayoneted rifle from below and tossed into the center of the clearing infront of the smoking maw. The man was still reeling with pain from the grievous wound as he was immediately cut down with no mercy - the Nodic guards finding even the smallest pleasures in life - executing betrayers.
[b]
<<This is Elite Cadre Commander Devaronius.... we cannot maintain this position any longer lest we become overwhelmed! We mus->> [/b]Devaronius would never finish his sentence. Another wave of infantry surged like a great tide over the debris. The Elite Cadre behind it stood no chance as they fought valiantly at close range, cut down by automatic fire, or - in the case of ill-fated Devaronius - beset upon my an unending stabbing, flaying mass of Traitorous bayonets. Even as he slaughtered the first, second and third, more and more stood to take their places with the mindless disregard for self-preservation that only a Nodic Militant could boast.

It would soon be over, Ivor came to accept that fact. The Loyal Nodic warriors were terribly outnumbered - the legions that awaited them outside knew no number compared to the paltry sum of warriors defending Jagdfel that would reel with each loss. More impacts against his perch behind cover, even as Ivor witnessed the deaths of the last Loyalist Elite Cadre behind their position - now an orgy of blood and bodies. Wincing under the sounds of lead upon steel, Ivor defiantly raised his weapon up and over his sanctuary, firing blindly in the general direction of the enemy - full automatic. The bullets reaching for him abruptly stopped, only for a stream of scorching flame to lick the top of his exposed arm. Dropping his rifle in surprise - the weapon laying just barely out of reach on top of the slab of steel he hid behind - the stream was relentless as it was poured atop the defensive positions they all fought terribly to hold.

[b]"Immolators!"[/b] the sound carried forth amongst the Nodic ranks. The enemy had taken to using the aforementioned flame weapons against their Brethren! The underslung attachments utilized disposable canisters of compressed flammable liquid to disperse short bursts of flame as a weapon of intimidation, terror and wanton destruction upon their foes. Ivor grunted at the ironic thought - he and his kind had become the impurity that was to be scorched clean to the bone. Or perhaps his faith was merely being tested as gold was, by fire?

Even with the insulating and temperature control properties of his TACARM ACS, Ivor could feel the burning sensation above him. Yet he knew he had no time to cower before the display, they would be approaching, the fire masking their advance! Fumbling for his side arm, Ivor drew his Medusa Revolver just in time for it to bite into the Cranial Protection Suite of a nearby traitor. Starting upwards to meet his end like a true Nodic warrior- to die by the sword he lived by - he fired upon other shapes that slowly drew near. Looking back towards his companion, he could see he was already set upon by a pair of traitors- the trio struggling in a terrible fight to the death. Namad continued to fire even as his visor was blanketed in a fine red mist of Traitorous blood, continued even as blades were forced through the hardened skin of his ballistic body glove.

More and more poured into the Inner Sanctum - and only few remained to guard against them. The sounds of gunfire - previously a deafening display of orchestral booms, flashes of light and thunderous, chattering applause - withered and diminished until it was little more than a whimper. Ivor threw his head about in despair as he unloaded the last of his remaining rounds in his cylinder - it would be an impossible task to reload the weapon with only his single useable arm. He reached for the ceremonial grenade attached beneath his chestplate, hovering tantalizingly above his heart. He would not allow these licentious beings to slaughter him like a lamb - no, he would take his own life in one last act of defiance!

Yet something... some... one, caused him to pause. He realized that the Traitors had ceased firing! The armored men stood infront of the gaping wound they created within the Inner Sanctum, some gingerly prodding dead Loyalists, others merely training smoking barrels at those few who still had the capacity to fight. Soon, a bloodstained Elite Cadre surged to the forefront of the Traitor formation - even over the hollow ringing sound that echoed within his helm, Ivor heard a clear, almost angelic voice -

[i]"Warriors of Nod... hear me... for we are not the destruction you were led to believe we are... we are merely your... Nod's salvation..."[/i]

A woman, here? She sounded strangely familiar, yet he could not take a face or body from the terrible scene before him to match the voice in his mind. The sound compelled him to hang onto every word, every errant, echoing syllable she uttered... words could not describe the strange feelings that started to bubble to the surface. Every fiber of his being, his upbringing and training told him to restrain himself - to fight this sudden urge... yet he found himself tired of fighting what the voice told him was the inevitable. He WANTED to give in, and listen to the beautiful someone that spoke to him impeccably. The words she spoke echoed in his mind once more.

[i]"I can sense your pain, and I grieve all the more for it... your hearts burn with a collective fire that your weapons could only dream of igniting... Is it those very same weapons that nurture war? Or is it the hearts of men?" [/i]

He could see her now, Ivor decided as he slowly shambled to his feet. Noticing that he stood amongst a deep, blackened stain - a mass of scorched steel and smouldering carbon, he stood in awe as a number of Traitor forces began to strain and part the debris that blockaded the open door into the Sanctum. The bodies that adorned the heaps of steel were carefully lifted and laid down ceremoniously against a nearby bulkhead, both dead Traitor and Loyalist lay together, side-by-side. As the small procession approached - a quartet of bleached white ACU's similar to the ruined one he saw earlier - he could see that the group carefully carried with them at waist height a beautifully adorned palanquin of delicate silk and ivory. The huge, mechanical litter bearers said nothing as they stopped in the center of the hastily prepared clearing. Those Traitors nearest dropped to their knees at once, prostrating in a reverence to the palanquin that Ivor felt almost compelled to participate in!

[b]"Exalted One, please! I beg of You! The field of battle is a scene gruesome of vulgarity. Do not allow us to offend your delicate sensibilities!" [/b]Ivor saw the Elite Cadre beg the figure - still shrouded from view by the hulking forms carrying her vehicle. The man spoke upon bended knee, his helmet removed and placed carefully beside his foot. His face was down turned in a view of great respect, as were all the Traitors in the chamber.
[i]
"Dontarius, you have always been a faithful servant to me. It is with a great urgency that I ask you to allow me to debark please," [/i]the harmonious sound wafted towards Ivor again. Her voice was firm, but gentle - like a mother carefully instructing a young child.

[b]"Of course... My... Lady..."[/b] the man strained against a force that fought against his humble composure. As the four pall bearers slowly parted their thick legs, compelling their mechanical outer-shells to kneel so that the figure could leave her perch - he keeled over, doubled over in pain. It appears the man was wounded the entire time, and wished to hide it from what was obviously his master.

[i]"Oh, my![/i]" he heard the voice exclaim from the palanquin - an ivory coloured hand extruded to part the silk canopy that sat atop the platform.
[i]
"Please! Someone fetch our Sisters from the Monastic Order of Medicine at once!"[/i]

[b]"I... I am so... terribly sorry... My La..."[/b] the man died before a number of familiar figures rushed into the chamber - members of the Monastic Order of Medicine - the prominent 'Ladies in White' that often administered medical and humanitarian aid within the Nodic holdings. Ivor was used to seeing these women on a regular bases - contingents of these motherly figures would often accompany large numbers of Nodic Militants in war torn areas to treat the inevitable casualties.The mass of feminine figures rushed to and fro, scurrying about to evacuate Traitor and Loyalist alike - those that stubbornly chose to cling to life. A figure stooped over the still form of the one identified as Dontarius, shaking her head after a moment and turning to look at the palanquin. Quickly averting her gaze, the woman spoke.

"My Lady... Dontarius is dead."

An audible sigh was heard from the palanquin, and finally, a thin leg was thrust out from the confines of the silk drapery. At this, a number of men rose from their bowing positions, rushing to allow the woman to steady herself upon them as she debarked.

Ivor was immediately enamored by the robed figure, dressed in a white hooded robe, with ornate gold and black brocadery adorning it. The woman stooped to place a hand on the chest of the dead Elite Cadre, before slowly and carefully rising to address the forces that were undoubtedly under her command.
[i]
"It is with times like these that we find ourselves realizing the question all of us must ask... What is it that we really should be fighting against? War really does make that answer difficult, I am afraid."[/i]

[b]"And exactly who are You to be asking that question?! Why have you attacked my forces - slaughtered my warriors?!"[/b] the booming voice of Jagdfel was heard. Ivor started back in surprise as the General strode past at a brisk pace, two Elite Cadre flanking him on either side. The General stopped a small distance infront of the comparatively small woman, immediately stirring the ire of the previously calm and placated forces under her command. Two Elite Cadre of her own rushed to her side, their weapons beaded on the General's escort, who raised their own weapons in return.

As if in ignorance to the bloodbath that would soon transpire should the situation escalate, the woman smiled serenely, addressing the General in a jovial tone.

[i]"Well I am Princess Rhianne Lucretia Sidamo,"[/i] she started with cheer, [i]"and I have come for you!" [/i]she finished with a smile.

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