Halia, Kingdom of Orland

Ivory Square

Victory Parade

December 22, 2023

"Men shall no longer step upon us women with their boots once more."

- Queen Alexandria's Proclamation, end of The Arcane Wars, 1723.

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*Radio Static.*

<<Come in, Basilisk One.>>

<<Report: All Royal Guard Knights close to Her Majesty have been identified.>>

<<Copy, Basilisk One. Interrogative: What is the status of Hitman Three and Four?>>

<<Hitman Three and Four are in the staging positions, over.>>

…

<<Basilisk One, permission to proceed has been granted. The Operation is a go.>>

<<Roger that, Basilisk Actual. Glory to the Orlish Army!>>

<<For the new Republic!>>

*Radio Static.*

The drums echoed in a somber tone. The sounds of boots thundered, synchronized perfectly with the tunes. The Royal Tricolor of the Kingdom of Orland - Gold, White, and Grey - fluttered as the morning wind blew.

It was the Victory Parade, but celebration - it was not. Not to the men who served and marched. Not for the fodder that had once been used to be disposed of, but had now made it back home. Not when nine million of their Orlish brothers, eighteen million should they count the rest of the Ivory Alliance, lay dead in the blood-soaked trenches of the Great War.

A thinly veiled threat of intimidation echoed from every thud of every boot that marched. Squarely aimed at the very institution that had sent them to hell - the very Kingdom and Queen that they had served. The dread from such acts of the thousands of men that marched - filled the hearts of those who watched.

Resentment, hate, and fury oozed from the veterans. Subtle, yes, but imperceptible - it was not. The lack of mere proud smiles and the presence of subtle scowls made such a message clear to the Queen. These faces clearly told her, you will pay for what you did.

The Queen had not reacted in any sense of positivity to it. Her fake smile radiated fully from her face, yet her mind betrayed such illusions. Contempt was what her soul, mind, and eyes showed over the smiles that she gave. Had the cameras and the press been missing today, she would have looked down at them. Regardless of their service to her.

They're not even trying to hide it anymore.

A boiling seething steam of anger rose inside Queen Areya. The audacity of one such fool, a mere tank commander, who had frowned at her for but a split-second as he saluted her from the hatch of his tank, pulled her already triggered nerves.

Curse her mother! Her mind spat at the skies. Curse her! Had it not been for her ill-fated designs, she would not be paying in interest now that it backfired.

Wary she was once, yet it didn't change the truth. The war had forced her into such a grim position.

The order established by women, the order that had stood for three hundred years, stood in the foundation of one thing. Women's ability to wield the Arcane. Yet men refused to be left into irrelevance, and with great struggle, had advanced technology to the modern age - enough to challenge the magic the Goddess herself bestowed upon women.

And an arms race began, the foolish Queens and Matriarchs of Pollos, sniffed the fragrance of the winds of change and sought to follow it. Exploit it, they did, as they armed men to be used as new, improved, and better cannon fodders. Now, in their infinite wisdom, Areya would witness these events as the tables began to turn once more.

The march of technology had been overwhelming, as it transformed the very fabric of the world. From the guns that turned more accurate and fired more, to the coal-fueled steam engines, to the machines that flew without magic - but with mere engines, to the tanks and artillery that slayed legions of footmen without reprieve, to the electronic devices programmed by great minds, to the damning boom of nuclear bombs that could wipe entire cities - suddenly, women woke up in a world that struggled their order.

A world where, the once irrelevant, magicless, second-class drones, who held the tools of science and technology - were now equal in power to those that held the power of the wand.

Yet again, they had not prepared for the winds of change. No, they had added fuel to the fire - her cursed mother included, again, she reminded herself.

She too, she realized. And so she cursed her past self as well.

She had reigned in wartime. Fought in a war that spanned the world, and left millions of bloodied bodies. A war that she had won with the Armed Forces - an institution turned to men by her mother.

Her mother desired more than cannon fodders - but men who could win the world for her.

And she was no different. Desperate for victory, she had done everything possible to fatten and militarize the Armed Forces. To win a pyrrhic victory, the same thorn in her side was expanded greatly. From production centers, supply lines, raw resources, and financial assets, she had mobilized them all for the Armed Forces.

Good it was when they were fighting and dying a continent away, yet now that they had returned, such a sense of comfort dissipated. The same force that had been the greatest threat to her rule - was now back home, marching right in front of her.

Yet regardless of her raving fury, she welcomed them brightly. She had to, of course. She had to smile warmly to the fighting sons of her Kingdom.

"You all sacrificed so much," flowed with gratitude from her lips.

"You made the Orlish people proud," she declared as if she were a mother who welcomed her long-lost sons.

But such sweet words, to utter it all, grated her greatly. She revulsed it as she smiled. She seethed as she gazed at them sweetly. No soldier lent an ear to her words. All she was paid with was hate instead.

Second class scu-

Her train of thought had gone too far, she chuckled internally with mirth, as another convoy of Self-Propelled Artillery passed. Oh, what buffoonery it was, to hate upon all men for the actions of the Armed Forces? Silly her, she had almost sounded like the bitter old hags of the court and Parliament.

A great reformer, the idealized graceful, benevolent Queen. The angel that shined light upon all her subjects - the rats included, was what she painted herself as. It was her dream even. When she called upon the rats to die for her, she promised them votes! Now they were no mere rats - they were true citizens! A taste of equality, she had granted them. Now, men shall cast their votes in the General Elections.

Yet the scoundrels paid her this way? Her greatest accomplishment, a true reform for such ungrateful masses of men, after centuries of nothing - yet they repaid her this way.

Where were the claps in her way? The heads that bowed in deep gratitude? Where was it? Where was it?!

Ungrateful bas-

"Wait, what is that?"

"Your Majesty?" Confusion painted on her face, the Royal Guard Knight asked, as the sound took her ears. She drew her wand, while Areya's eyes widened at the scene.

There were two of them. Painted black, with no such identifiable markings, they drove fast through the parade. A military police officer shouted, "Halt!"

Only for his brain to splatter in the cold asphalt, a shot from the roof of the palace, dropped him. Areya realized…the two were no part of the parade.

"ASSASSINS!" Her Knight cried, dashing to save her, yet her demise was quick, another shot silencing her. Pandemonium erupted, and the parade troops dispersed, dissuaded at being in the crossfire with guns empty of bullets.

Military Police officers, armed and ready, took to their arms in haste. Their guns spitted fire at the speeding SUVs. A lucky shot slammed straight upon the fuel tank of one, and up in blazes it went.

Fear froze Areya in place.

What in the heavens is happening?

Her mistake to not move, paid dearly. The last SUV passed in front of her podium, and from its glass windows, a burst of bullets nailed her.

All in a few seconds, it had all happened. Too fast, and too perfectly executed, the response was in vain. The soldiers and police that finally returned fire at the SUV, could do nothing to change her fate. Dragged like a ragdoll by her Knights, her fate was sealed.

The pain flared everywhere.

Crimson-red blood gushed from her wounds and mouth. The sounds and shouting around her were muffled, as her vision blurred. Arguments were exchanged around her, as a Royal Guard Knight zapped a military officer who tried to rush to her aid.

Confused, bleeding, and dying, she struggled to comprehend what had happened. Then, her eyes fell upon that bullet-ridden vehicle. The realization in her mind turned clear - assassinated, she was.

And this was the mere prelude. Her dear Kingdom was crumbling.

Yet what worried her more was not her impending demise, nor the Kingdom she had loved. No, it was her two dear daughters. Too young, too inexperienced. Unfit for the throne.

Amelie.

Amelie.

Her eldest daughter. In line with the throne. A throne crumbling. A throne of a Kingdom about to implode.

Her dear daughter, Amelie…and her life…

No…no!

"Goddess…help her…" she uttered her final words, just as the paramedics arrived.