Sirens wail, machines roar, boots rumble, all contributing to the ruckus of mobilization. A day ago, they were still in preparation, the armies still sluggishly moving in, as if they were in no hurry to defeat the New Rule. Soldiers only talked about the peaceful lives they will have after the war, wishing for the early arrival of the end, yet taking their time to prepare. The Confederation has calmed down its fury and fervor of conquest. At least a day ago, that is.

Then why are they rushing now, their supplies spread thin over the wasteland? Why are their aircraft, not yet fully fueled and loaded with energy, already in the skies, their metal wings already covering the sky? Why are their foot soldiers, some still not yet fully equipped, charging into enemy defenses, like crazed creatures roaring one last time before they die?

They had planned for an attack during the eighth month. It is now the sixth month.

Why? Why are they advancing so early now?

No one truly knows. No one fully understands the mind of the Common Leader, one who has long lost his reason. No one can read the minds of their superiors, their subordinates, to gauge their motives. Especially not Tevlaia.

She has only known violence in her life. For the dream of a world of peace, of the greater good, any and all opposition must be promptly eliminated. There is no compromise. She serves, she leads the Battalion for this very reason.

And she has once again been summoned to the doors of violence, mounting a teraveza with several hundred of her subordinates, herself protected with only shin guards and an energy-resistant cloak. They are not prepared. Prepared, perhaps, for Death, for violence, but not for conquest. Instead of mobile fortresses, they advance with their small, sleek teravezas, their bodies exposed to gunfire like the cavalry of old to arrows. Instead of heavy bombers flattening any construct in sight, they only have fighters swirling above like scavengers, waiting to prey on the dead.

Nasition’s message to her when a pillar of smoke rose from the enemy defenses was simple: “Advance now.” He did not question the cause of the smoke, nor did he inquire about the readiness of the troops. There was no hint of worry, as if he did not care whether they were even materially prepared for such a complex battle. It is just… attack. No tactic, no strategy. Just attack. The rest of the army will soon follow.

Thus, Battalion Elethien marches forward, their pride as elites driving them to their deaths.

Boom! Another New Rule artillery shell slams the ruined fort, the ash and dust scattered across all sides. They are approaching closer, already able to smell the burnt concrete and bricks. The tracks of the teraveza, rumbling from the rugged terrain, roll ever faster towards their target.

“They are firing at their own units!” a soldier points in surprise.

“They are not,” Tevlaia answers. “One of us is already there. She is the way maker for us, even if she does it unintentionally.”

“You sent one of us earlier to open this gap, Tevlaia?”

“She went on her own will. We are only here to exploit her recklessness and the enemy’s confusion,” Tevlaia states blandly. She sighs. The discipline against Kavlina is not enough. If they are to lose this battle… She doesn’t know what she should do. She doesn’t know what she can do.

A deep breath. “Please, do not die, alright?” she softly speaks into the comms, her voice slightly pained.

No response, the silence already answering for itself. The teravezas’ tracks retract inside as four thrusters expose themselves from the hull. They do not need speed in the web of defenses. They only need agility and maneuverability. The teravezas, designed for the mazes of forests, now guide them into the forest of rocks and steel.

Another deep breath. May her blade protect her, and if possible, may the Battalion return as one.

“Ready your weapons!” Tevlaia shouts fiercely. A thousand rifles, pistols, swords, knives, and pikes are removed from the storage compartment. The smoke has already covered and isolated them, with only the whirring left to give some sense of location.

“Face!” she orders. The soldiers aim their weapons in front of them, ready to strike at the slightest hint of movement. The hazy outlines of boulders of various sizes suddenly appear before their eyes, the teravezas barely able to dodge them with their speed.

“Disperse!” Immediately, they split into pairs, diving into the ruins, weaving between narrow passageways, hearing the rumble of explosions around them. They do not know for sure where they should head, only driving forward for as long as they are alive. Tevlaia cuts off her comms with her soldiers, leaving only Kerohar still connected to her, the rest merely shown on a small display. In the confusion, this is the least she can do: to protect herself and her comrades.

All of this chaos from the New Rule just in an attempt to kill Kavlina.

They spread out, becoming more and more isolated from each other. Somewhere, perhaps in the fort or nearby, Kavlina is here, her madness eliminating all in her path. Somewhere, sent to the fire of battle itself, are the fresh soldiers of the New Rule, restlessly facing a monster, only to serve as cannon fodder, to be devoured by their own artillery.

Tevlaia hears shouts around her, the light of gunshots piercing the dust, but she cannot see anyone. Kerohar, his teraveza to her right, holds his rifle firmly, his finger on the trigger, cautiously finding a target to hit.

“I found one,” he whispers, the dust clearing just enough to expose the helmet of an enemy soldier. Without hesitating, a single beam speeds from his rifle, cleanly piercing the soldier’s head. Having far more advanced equipment than their counterparts in the main army, it is only expected that the New Rule’s underequipped, undertrained soldiers will fall like grain to the harvester.

“Enemies!” someone shouts. There is a moment of silence as all just cease their activity. They see her and Kerohar. Tevlaia sees them. There is no organization as they raise their rifles, their heads swaying between them and Kavlina, currently somewhere nearby, Tevlaia assumes. Good.

A slash. The closest soldier falls dead, his arms maimed, limp, his head decapitated. As the helmet detaches from the head itself, Tevlaia catches a glimpse of the soldier’s face, a young boy, perhaps not even the age of eighteen, wide in shock. She doesn't care. Racing towards the rest of the group, she has already thrown that brief memory away, her eyes only focusing on the terrified soldiers, sent to the fort only to die.

A blink. Two blinks. Three blinks. Three dots on her display disappear just as the sound of an artillery shell reaches her ears. Three Battalion soldiers down. Tevlaia bites her lips. The brutal slaughter of her comrades, most likely blown to bits from a single artillery shell. Comrades who have trained for years, enduring the horrors as she has, only to be killed at the gate of their enemy’s capital. Ruthless they are killed, and ruthless she shall kill in return, as she always has.

Nine hundred and six of the Battalion remain.

“Kerohar,” Tevlaia says. “Clean them up for me.” She doesn’t know where they are. Not that it will make a difference to her.

Kerohar nods.

She accelerates. The beams from the enemy pepper her teraveza from all sides, the metal rattling from the force, her cloak absorbing the beams aiming at her body. But it isn’t enough to even slow the impending doom upon the soldiers. The teraveza rams into the soldiers’ torsos, running them over, her blade slicing their necks at even the slightest glimpse of an opening. Behind, Kerohar blasts open their skulls with his rifle, picking them off only by the gleam of their helmets. Three of her own subordinates have died already, how many to atone for their deaths? The answer is natural: every single enemy involved in their murder.

For the greater good, all of them must be extinguished. That is her reason, her rationale. There will be no compromise.

She turns back, violently hacking at the corpses, running them over again and again, the blood staining her cloak, her mouth catching a small piece of flesh before promptly swallowing it. When the cleanup is due, their faces will not even be recognizable.

She thrusts her blade on the ground. The hot, dry ground cracks away, the dust blown away from the sheer force. She can finally see them, the enemy soldiers cowering behind piles of rubble, their rifles just poking out from the cracks. The ones exposed have already been killed, their bodies mangled, the emblem of the New Rule imprinted on their armor scratched from the small pebbles.

Tevlaia feels a sense of emancipation, her confusion and anger released through her bloodlust. It is not completely satisfying, but at least it is some sort of release, some sort of compensation for the deaths of her comrades.

The soldiers begin to flee, scattered like small tafa seeds, away from the murderous wind of Tevlaia and her teraveza. Some others, however, are stunned, looking at the two of them like statues. They are simply shot down, their bodies still frozen as their lives are each snatched away by a single cruel, heartless beam.

A single path, paved with corpses and blood, lies in front of them. The walls have all collapsed, the rubble lying defeated, the scene almost apocalyptic. The artillery, so loud when they first arrived, has gone silent. As Tevlaia looks around, she notices most of the bodies have been slain with only a single slash to the neck. Unlike her brutal defiling of their flesh.

“Kavlina has already advanced so far,” Tevlaia mutters. There is still a long way to go to the city itself.

“Levels One through Three are at risk of attack,” a robotic voice announces through the speakers spread throughout Thille. “Please follow directions and evacuate to other levels.” Its calmness is strange, almost as if it does not care whether the people will survive.

Screams, shouts for help echoes about the walls of Thille, reverberating to the lower levels. Thousands upon thousands of civilians flee deeper, carrying large luggages of supplies and goods. There are the affluent, dressed in their immaculate gowns and jackets. There are families, the parents tightly holding the hand of their children, bringing them as close as possible to their large, fragile presence. There are beggars, wailing, pushed around, taking temporary refuge in the alleyways as they have always been. From all walks of life, from all backgrounds they gather, fueled only by the instinct to survive.

Not that Ipela cared much about the dire situation as she makes her way past crowds of people, her aging body surrounded and protected by several soldiers. There is something she must address… Well, something she must take the opportunity to seize.

She enters the Grand Hall, already devoid of most of its purpose. Despite being the President, the head of the entire New Rule, the loyalty of the people lies not in her, but in Avalel, her position being nothing more than a figurehead. He has matured far more than she expected, his mind now akin to that of a seasoned politician and military commander, unnatural for his age. Very unnatural. She can no longer control, or even predict his development, the strings attached long severed.

Still, it is a symbiotic relationship, the power Avalel wields being her greatest weapon. Power not in physical, or even magical strength, but in control over the government. As she takes her place at the center of the hall, she senses not just respect from the Assembly, but a hint of fear, submitting to her whims in Avalel’s absence. Ideal for these exact circumstances.

It will only be a matter of time before she takes full control of him once more. Just as she controls the Assembly in Avalel’s absence.

“Today, I address you all with a single problem: the problem of our governmental structure,” she opens. “For the past sixteen, nearly seventeen years, we have always relied on a relatively decentralized democracy, headed a little more than in name by a President. It is a wonderful idea, of course, one that gives power to the people and garners their support. Our faction was built upon these ideals, that power will not be centralized around a single ruler, but governed by the people. But in reality, it is impossible.”

She takes a deep breath. It is time to experiment. The release of energy in the form of a smoke, controlling, reattaching the strings, her strings, onto the members of the Assembly. An imitation of Avalel’s power. Studying the fog in the city, she has somewhat copied its abilities, a thin trail of smoke emerging from her gloved palms. Colorless and odorless, it spreads around the hall, drifting silently into the officials’ airways, severing Avalel’s strings as she remakes her own. It is difficult to copy, a headache already overcoming her from the draining of energy. Unlike the brute contact of energy, the slow, steady release over long distances is a painful ordeal, one that takes much of Ipela’s concentration and mental strength.

She can only hope this will go in her favor.

“In war, organization and leadership is key. We all saw what happened at the Pass. Our inability to react, our unpreparedness for the enemy attack, our lack of initial cohesion were all factors of our defeat. A single night. A single night was all it took for us to be in our situation now.” She turns to Rasu. “General, you of all would’ve felt this frustration very clearly as you made your retreat. We did nothing to help, still bickering and arguing amongst ourselves.”

The smoke slowly overpowers the existing presence of Avalel’s influence, clouding her sight even as she saw deep into the minds of each Assembly official. She smiles a little, both from the experience of the battle of the Pass and the subtle transfer of control and power.

“Hence, in dire times like these, I ask that the position of President may be strengthened, that true leadership may triumph. Avalel is away fighting at the front, protecting our borders. Why, then, are we sitting here instead of tending to domestic affairs? Protect the people. That is our goal. An unshakable, inflexible goal. Headed by me, the President of the New Rule. I propose that the President may be granted the power to overrule any legislation when deemed an emergency, that he or she may pass temporary laws held in effect until the emergency has passed.”

She pauses, waiting for some sort of reaction. The Assembly have already proven themselves to be easily manipulated, their positions simply there to advance the power of whoever is in charge. Perhaps, today, they will succumb to her will as well?

“Shall we hold a vote?”

To her pleasant surprise, a vote is quickly held. As the hall is filled with smoke, the Assembly does not even have the space for individual thinking, walking forth like robots, casting their vote into the ballot. Even with an ever-intensifying headache, Ipela watches as the result is clear: a landslide in favor of her increased power. She has triumphed over Avalel, cutting his strings, replacing them with her own once again. There is still hope for her to regain control.

A flash. Her vision blacked out for a moment, a brief but acute pain blinking past her lungs. Instinctively, she stops the release of smoke. Perhaps it is her age, or is it the exertion?

Ipela sighs. I’ve become weaker, haven’t I?

“Thank you,” she quickly concludes as she steps off the podium. “For the New Rule, for the greater good of the people.”

For the greater good. Or so they say, in an excuse to grab power for themselves.