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——

May 15, 1640

Fortress City of Exteris, Sonal Kingdom

The clear blue sky above darkened as hundreds upon hundreds of warplanes blotted out the sun, stretching from horizon to horizon. The air filled with the sounds of buzzing and howling as the machines turned downward, swooping down on the defenseless prey below. Even after having rallied all the wyverns in the entire nation, the Sonal Wyvern Corps was still hopelessly outmatched. The consolidated force, hoping to meet a small Gra Valkan invasion force and overwhelm them with numbers, instead found themselves on the receiving end of the stick.

There was no escape from here; no preservation of military strength. The wyverns cried out, rushing to the skies to fight a valiant last stand. Although most of the citizens of Exteris had been preemptively evacuated, the Sonalians still had to defend it. Without defenses on the ground, it would be impossible to impede the Gra Valkan advance. Thus, the wyverns angled themselves toward the larger warplanes, flying under the guard of vicious, unstoppable fighters.

Wind rushed through the elongated ears of General Viltrius as he stood on a camouflaged runway, wyverns taking off around him. Currents of air coursed around him and currents of fear coursed through him. He knew that his men would not be returning, no matter how skilled they were. This was a fact he had come to terms with; a fact that these courageous wyvern knights were well aware of. Despite death knocking at their doorstep, they still rallied upward, set on doing as much damage as possible.

The bravery of Viltrius’ men filled him with pride, a swelling feeling that was then swept aside as quickly as it arose. Even though he had already expected a disastrous defeat, seeing it unfold was a different case altogether. His eyebrows furrowed in shock and pity as his wyverns were annihilated before they could even unleash fireballs against their targets. The surviving men, seeing the effectiveness of the Gra Valkan fighters, adjusted their mission parameters. Instead of chasing the rapidly climbing bombers, they decided to settle for the nearby fighters. The dense formation of planes allowed the Sonalians to strike a few, sending the aircraft plummeting to the ground. Unlike the eviscerated wyvern knights, however, the Gra Valkan pilots were not so doomed. Parachutes blossomed in the sky as bloody wyverns and smoking aircraft alike crashed to the ground, reflecting the hopelessness of the situation.

Viltrius’ shoulders slumped, despair settling in as he walked back to his bunker to wait out the bombing run. Approaching a reinforced hatch built into the earth, he took one last look at the darkening skies above before he finally descended down the ladder. The steps he took rang loudly amidst the silence, boots striking metal as he climbed down. Soon enough, the lively chatter of people greeted him, as did magical lighting. 

The bunker consisted of a massive cavern, which housed food storages, shelters, and equipment warehouses. Having been warned in advance by the Americans, the Sonalians were able to repurpose these defensive installations – initially built for a defensive war against potential Leiforian aggression – into fortified bases of operation that could withstand pummeling from Gra Valkan bombs. Multiple exits to the surface allowed for quick reconnaissance using smaller hatches and quick deployment using a tunnel network. Only the city of Exteris had such defenses, so any hope of deterring the Gra Valkans had to occur here.

Viltrius walked toward the central manacomm station, a large tower that stretched from the base level of the facility to the earth above, allowing for communication with the outside world. There, numerous Sonalian officers gathered around a large map of the city, decorated with small figurines representing Somalian and Gra Valkan forces. Viltrius greeted them as the complex shook slightly from the first wave of bombs.

Seeing their commanding officer approach them, the officers saluted Viltrius. 

Viltrius returned the gesture and quickly dived into work. “Are the excavation teams in position?”

“Yes,” an officer replied. “Both external and internal. They’re ready to clear out any blocking debris once the bombing run is over.”

“Good,” Viltrius said as another tremor shook the complex, causing everyone to stumble slightly. “Make sure you update the cipher before using the manacomms again. It won’t be long before the Gra Valkans figure out how to intercept manacomms, and gods know how long before they crack our codes. I’ll prepare myself to rally the men. Inform me if the Gra Valkans change their strategy.”

“Understood, sir!” The officers responded.

—-

30 minutes later

Viltrius stood by a magical interface connected to a microphone, holding it up to his mouth. The frequency of tremors had finally begun to decline, suggesting the end of this bombing run. With scouts reporting clear skies, Viltrius was now ready to move out against the Gra Valkan ground forces that were beginning to approach the city’s now-destroyed exterior fortifications. “Subjects of King Sonal the Seventeenth!”

Everyone stopped what they were doing and stood at attention.

“Today, barbarians step foot on our soil, blinded by greed and ignorant of our resolve. The Gra Valkan Empire has finally launched their inevitable invasion, and it is our duty to stem their advance here. We, the defenders of Exteris, are fortunate enough to have received Muan and American weapons. I know many of you have only received days worth of training with these new tools, but use them well, for they are the only things that allow us to defeat these invaders. Remember your training, and remember that the enemy has no mercy, and neither shall we! We shall not suffer this intrusion – this heinous violation of our sovereignty! Glory in battle!”

—-

Exteris Outer Walls

A clean-shaven man wearing light leather camouflage and a bowl-shaped brown helmet waved the dust aside, coughing as he led his men out of a recently cleared tunnel. He emerged into a ruined garrison, fires tearing through the few structures that managed to survive the initial onslaught. As he directed his men toward positions along the ravaged wall, he was approached by someone from the demolitions team that cleared the entrance.

“Colonel Arocles?” The demolitionist asked.

“Yes,” the clean-shaven man responded, squinting at the man’s insignia, “Lieutenant…?”

“Lieutenant Harrow, sir. My demolitions unit is to integrate with your forces, sir.”

“Excellent,” Arocles responded. “What do you have?”

“Sir,” Harrow said, giving a quick briefing on his unit's composition, “I’ve got ten men, all experienced sharpshooters and riflemen. We have five machine guns, ten infantry rifles, two marksman rifles, about five thousand rounds of ammunition and thirty pounds of plastic explosive remaining.”

“Very well.” Arocles surveyed his surroundings, wondering where he could deploy his new assets. A keep, located further away from the wall than his primary defenses, caught his eye. “I’d like you to send some men up to that keep over there,” he pointed. “You say they’re excellent sharpshooters?”

“Right, sir. Some of them.”

“Send three of your best marksmen up there to serve as snipers. The rest will deploy along the more fortified positions there, there, and there,” Arocles designated the locations by pointing with his finger.”

“Sir, what about the explosives?”

Arocles rubbed his chin, finding nothing where his beard used to be. “Hmm,” he thought, “Save them for now. We may require them later to seal our tunnel entrance, should retreat be necessary.”

Harrow saluted and conveyed the new orders to his unit. Meanwhile, Arocles watched his men take positions. Two hundred soldiers – untested in this new form of warfare – served under his direct command. They represented the Sonal’s most modernized force, with every single man equipped with a gun. Five other such units joined his own, taking up key positions along the walls, separated by the units unfortunate enough to be designated as distractions. These units were more numerous, and were equipped with traditional Sonal weapons: bows, muskets, and magic cannons. A few mages even lay in their midst, spread out to maximize their coverage.

By the time the Sonalians had finished their preparations, Gra Valkan scouts appeared. A group of four light vehicles and six motorcycles approached the wall, kicking up dust as they crossed the rocky plains that separated Leifor from Sonal. The Sonalian defenders readied their guns and shifted their cannons toward the incoming vehicles, waiting for them to come into effective range. 

“All modernized units, hold fire,” Arocles said over the local manacomm network. “The barbarians are approaching Basilisk Platoon. Basilisk Platoon,” he directed his attention to one of the more traditionally armed units, “Prepare to engage on my command.”

The archers, musketmen, and cannoneers of Basilisk Platoon all readied their weapons, taking cover behind sections of rubble and makeshift fortifications. They kept their weapons aimed at the Gra Valkans, anxious to unleash their wrath upon these audacious invaders. 

Arocles watched the scouts get closer, sweat accumulating on his palms as he anxiously waited for the right time to strike. Then, he found it. “Fire!”

Puffs of smoke obscured a section of the wall as metal projectiles — antiquated by Gra Valkan standards — converged on the hostile force. Despite being behind over a century in military technology, the weapons still tore through the lightly armored Gra Valkan scouts. All of the motorcycle riders were shot off while the cars behind them were pulverized by the cannonballs, rendering engines inoperable. The surprise attack eliminated all but a handful of survivors with the first strike. 

“Take in anyone who surrenders. We need intelligence,” Arocles reminded his men. 

Four Gra Valkan survivors remained. Two sprinted off, only to be quickly disposed of by musket fire, while the other two opted for life, raising their hands slowly. 

The men were quickly secured and brought back for quick interrogation. Arocles eyed the two Gra Valkans, who stared back with steely defiance. With this simple interaction, he already deduced that it would be difficult to get information out of them. Nevertheless, he tried anyway, hoping to get at least something before the main Gra Valkan force arrived.

“Name and rank?” Arocles started off with the basic questions. 

“Jurgis Stein, private,” the slim one said, expression neutral.

“Alfred Becker, lieutenant,” the large, rugged man replied, hate seeping through his words. 

“Okay,” Arocles said. “What unit are you attached to?”

The lieutenant responded brashly, snickering, “The unit that conquered the Hinomawari Kingdom in a day! And your pathetic, barbarian society is next.”

Arocles sighed. He abandoned his work with the egotistical lieutenant, instead opting to focus his efforts on the private. He equated a lower rank to a greater likelihood of capitulation, and so brought the man over to an abandoned building. There, he thought of a sinister idea. 

Knowing the Gra Valkans had little knowledge of Elysian culture and life, he reached for his manacomm. “Lieutenant Harrow.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Interrogate the captured lieutenant. And before you do so, please send our necromancer, Death Priest Xenoleus.”

A moment of silence followed as Harrow realized what Arocles was attempting to do. “Of course, sir.”

Meanwhile, the Gra Valkan soldier grew ever more fearful, especially upon hearing the words ‘necromancer’ and ‘Death Priest’. “Wh- What are you going to do to me?!” He asked frantically.

“It’s much easier to interrogate the undead, than it is to interrogate the living, you know,” Arocles gave the man an evil grin. “No point in wasting our time.”

“Wait!” Stein yelled, attempting to wriggle out of his chains. He stepped backward, only to trip over the cuffs around his ankles. “Please! I’ll tell you everything I know!”

“Oh? How many troops have your people sent to this city?”

“The entire Fourth Division! The Second Division is close behind, they’re resupplying in Leifor! The Fourth Division will attack with artillery from 20 miles away before moving in!”

The information rattled Arocles. “How long will the artillery strike last?” 

“Uh, um, three volleys!” 

“And how long will it take the Fourth Division to close that distance?”

“I… 40 minutes at least, I think!”

“Okay,” Arocles calmed down, returning to character. “It seems that transforming you into an undead apparition will not be necessary at all now.” He motioned for soldiers to come and escort the traumatized Gra Valkan prisoner. Once they left, he issued orders to his men, “All units, retreat to the tunnels at once! Lieutenant Harrow, move your men back to your bunker, and brace for impact.”

——

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