Season 3 chapter 52
The Silent Promise
As they drove their heavily armored steam-truck down a shattered highway toward the regional border, Malesh slowly eased the brakes, pulling the massive vehicle into the heavy shadows of a collapsed overpass near a ruined DI'an military checkpoint.
Through the reinforced glass of the windshield, they witnessed a scene that had become numbingly common in this brutal war.
Backed hard against the blasted remnants of a concrete wall were over a hundred civilian women, huddled together and entirely terrified. Several of them had been forcibly stripped of their clothing, shivering in the ash-filled air. Hemming them in was a pack of forty to fifty corrupt federal soldiers. The troops had completely devolved into animals—their uniform belts unbuckled, their pants and undergarments actively lowered around their ankles, laughing drunkenly as they blocked the trapped civilians.
Inside the truck, Kniya didn't look shocked, nor was he filled with sudden disgust. It was far from his first time seeing this; he had witnessed this exact, grim reality everyday since the Republic started burning. He just let out a tired, desensitized breath and casually reached for the handle of his gold-plated handgun.
"Yeah... now I think so, we need to clear some more of them out, Malesh," Kniya muttered coldly, his face completely flat. "We don't have any other choice."
Malesh didn't argue. His expression remained entirely deadpan as he unholstered his custom-machined pistol, fully preparing to step out and initiate the execution.
But before either billionaire could open the doors, three heavy armored military rovers violently skidded into the far side of the checkpoint, cutting off the courtyard.
A high-ranking Federal General, wearing a chest full of medals, stepped out into the ash, instantly flanked by a highly disciplined squad of his armed subordinates.
The General didn't shout a warning, and his face showed absolutely zero emotion. He wasn't filled with disgust; he already knew perfectly well that these kinds of degenerate troops existed in his army. Remaining completely expressionless and cold, the General simply raised his heavy sidearm. Without a word, his subordinates raised their suppressed assault rifles in perfect synchronization.
*BANG. RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!*
A merciless, deafening hail of gunfire shredded the courtyard. The forty to fifty corrupt soldiers never even had a chance to react. They were mowed down in a matter of seconds, collapsing dead into the dirt exactly in their pathetic, lowered-pants positions, their blood pooling rapidly across the ground.
The gunfire ceased. The courtyard fell dead silent, save for the echoing shell casings.
Remaining entirely expressionless, the General unbuttoned his heavy military trench coat, walked over, and calmly draped it over the shoulders of a totally exposed, trembling woman. Moving with the same cold efficiency, his subordinates unpacked emergency blankets and field jackets, methodically offering clothes and cover to all the naked civilians.
Inside the steam-truck, Kniya slowly pulled his hand away from the door latch, watching the cold, highly efficient execution.
"Look at that," Kniya whispered, observing the General's absolute lack of hesitation. "A standard corrupt military officer wouldn't execute fifty of his own men just to hand out coats. That General... he has to be one of the operatives from Gleb. Cleaning house from the inside."
"The tactical precision confirms it," Malesh agreed flatly, smoothly holstering his pistol. "We do not need to intervene here, Kniya. The situation is handled."
As Malesh shifted the steam-truck back into gear and slowly rolled forward past the outer perimeter of the checkpoint, the General looked up from the civilian he had just covered.
His cold, expressionless eyes met Kniya's through the reinforced glass of the truck. It was a brief, heavy moment of absolute eye contact. A silent understanding passed between them. The General recognized the corporate warlords, and Kniya gave a single, slight nod—acknowledging a fellow operative quietly cutting out the rot in their country.
Malesh pressed the accelerator, driving on and leaving the General behind in the dust to finish securing the survivors.
The Trajectory of Grief
The city of Raidwai was a chaotic warzone of displaced citizens and struggling infrastructure, but right in the center of the main plaza, a massive Kavilson Steel humanitarian camp was operating at full capacity.
Kniya and Malesh parked the armored truck at the perimeter and walked through the heavy iron gates.
Through the crowd of exhausted refugees, they spotted them. Salesh, still wearing his ruined, oversized clothes, was carrying heavy crates of medical supplies. Filoska, her aristocratic posture replaced by the frantic energy of a field medic, was kneeling in the dirt, handing out food and water to the injured.
When Filoska looked up and saw Kniya and Malesh walking toward them, a massive, relieved smile broke across her tired face. Salesh dropped a crate, grinning widely as he waved his hand in the air.
"Hey!" Salesh called out, his voice carrying over the noise of the camp.
"Hi!" Kniya yelled back, a genuine smile finally appearing on his face as he raised his hand to wave back.
But behind Kniya and Malesh, stepping out from the rubble of the ruined road, a shadow moved.
An assassin emerged into the open street. He didn't hide in a clock tower or a building. He simply stepped onto the asphalt, raising a heavy, dark steel revolver. He locked his sights firmly onto the backs of Kniya and Malesh.
His finger curled around the trigger. But in a fraction of a millisecond, the assassin violently jerked his arm. He changed his trajectory completely.
Malesh's hyper-analytical street instincts flared. He heard the shift in the gravel behind them. He spun around, his eyes widening in pure horror as he saw where the revolver was now aiming.
"NO!" Malesh roared, his voice tearing completely raw.
With blinding, terrifying speed, Malesh drew his custom pistol from his holster and fired. In a single millisecond, Malesh's bullet tore through the air and struck the assassin, dropping him instantly onto the ruined road.
But the damage was already done.
BANG. BANG.
Two heavy revolver shots echoed over the plaza.
Filoska's relieved smile froze on her face. She violently gasped, her hands dropping the medical supplies as a horrific bloom of crimson erupted across her chest.
Salesh didn't even have time to react. The second bullet tore straight through his abdomen, spinning him entirely around before he collapsed.
They both hit the dirt plaza with a heavy, sickening thud.
"FILOSKA! SALESH!" Kniya shrieked, the sound ripping from his throat with pure, agonizing despair.
Kniya and Malesh didn't think. They didn't calculate. They just broke into a desperate, frantic sprint, tearing across the dirt plaza faster than they had ever run in their entire lives. The world around them went entirely silent, deafened by the pounding of their own terrified hearts as they dove into the dirt, sliding to their knees beside the bleeding bodies of their closest friends.
The Annihilation of Territory 774
Far off the mainland, isolated in the deep, violent waters of the Southern DI'an Ocean, sat a highly classified federal military base. This island, officially designated as Territory 774, was a heavily fortified naval fortress housing well over a thousand elite DI'an troops.
The morning air was thick with salt, exhaust, and absolute military discipline. Across the massive concrete tarmac, platoons of heavily armed soldiers were sprinting through their brutal daily deployments, their heavy boots slamming against the ground in perfect synchronization.
"Move your asses! Double time!" the Base General roared, his voice echoing over the crashing ocean waves. "I want this perimeter locked down! Pick up the pace, you absolute slugs! Let's go, let's go!"
Inside the heavily armored communication tower, the radio operators were running their routine morning checks.
"Main Command, this is Outpost 774," the comms officer spoke sharply into his headset. "Perimeter is secure. All defensive sectors are currently on standby. How copy? Over."
A burst of static crackled over the speaker. "Solid copy, Outpost 774. Maintain standby protocol. Everything looks good on the radar. Command, out."
Outside on the tarmac, the General suddenly stopped yelling. He froze. A low, terrifying mechanical hum began to vibrate through the dense ocean air.
VMMMMMMMMMM...
The sound grew louder, vibrating deep inside the chests of the soldiers and violently rattling the concrete directly beneath their combat boots. The sprinting platoons ground to a halt. A thousand elite soldiers broke their perfect synchronization, simultaneously looking up at the sky as their faces twisted in pure, unadulterated confusion.
Breaking through the thick ocean cloud cover was a massive, apocalyptic fleet of heavy bomber aircraft. They flew in tight, terrifying formations, completely blotting out the morning sun and casting a massive, suffocating dark shadow over the entire island.
The General's eyes bulged in absolute terror. He recognized the mechanical whine of the payload bays opening.
"What the fuck?!" the General shrieked, his voice cracking with pure panic. He waved his arms frantically at his frozen, bewildered men, completely abandoning his strict military composure. "INCOMING! BREAK FORMATION! TAKE COVER! EVERYONE GET THE FUCK DOWN AND SPRINT TO THE SHELTERS! BRACE FOR IMPACT! GET TO THE UNDERGROUND BUNKERS NOW!"
Absolute chaos erupted on the tarmac. The elite troops completely lost their discipline, screaming and sprinting wildly in all directions. Men scrambled over each other, dropping their rifles and desperately diving toward the reinforced trenches. Soldiers pushed and shoved, clawing at the heavy steel bunker doors in sheer, animalistic panic as the shadow of the bombers completely eclipsed the base.
But it was too late. The bomb bay doors simultaneously dropped open.
WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
The high-pitched, terrifying whistle of thousands of heavy, high-yield explosive bombs falling through the sky pierced the air. They rained down on the panicked, running soldiers like a storm of falling steel.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!
KRA-KAAAAASH!
The ensuing blasts were completely catastrophic. The entire military outpost was instantly swallowed in a blinding, deafening sea of fire and kinetic shockwaves. The bombing didn't stop. It went on for several agonizing, relentless hours.
KA-BLAM! BOOOOM! RUUUUMBLE!
Wave after wave of bombers carpet-bombed the outpost until the island was literally torn apart. The terrified soldiers running for the shelters were instantly vaporized. Reinforced concrete bunkers were crushed into dust beneath the relentless explosions. The airstrip was violently ripped apart, tossing heavy armored vehicles high into the air before they crashed into the Southern DI'an Ocean. The sheer, overwhelming volume of the payload literally altered the geography of Territory 774, leaving absolutely nothing behind but fire and burning craters.