NOVPUB"Do you think our soldiers are machines!?" the Northern General shouted out, his voice shaking the walls of the room. 𝓃𝓸𝓋𝓹𝓾𝓫.𝒸ℴ𝓶
He stepped forward while his eyes burned with fury. "What happens if we fight back and still lose? Will you personally comfort the families of every soldier who dies? Will you raise their children and bury their bodies?"
He pointed a trembling finger at the officer while breathing heavily. "It was because of that damn old man! the governor you now dishonor is the reason you're still alive! That you're standing here, spewing reckless madness without thinking about the cost!"
Despite his bloodied face and clearly broken nose, the officer pushed himself off the ground. He wiped the blood with his sleeve and stared back with blazing eyes, mad and defiant.
"So what if we lose!?" he shouted back. "Isn't it better to die fighting than live as slaves under that witch's rule!? If our soldiers fall, then their families must rise up! They must fight too!"
His eyes widened with a twisted kind of inspiration. "I know! We can turn everyone into a soldier! make the old pick up rifles, give women handguns, and even train the kids! They can all shoot a laser if we teach them!" His words spilled out like poison, faster and more frenzied.
The other officers looked at him with disbelief, some stunned into silence, others clenching their fists. That was the last straw for the Northern General.
He marched forward, grabbed the officer by the collar, and yanked him in close. The fury in his eyes now burned like a wildfire.
"Do you even hear yourself!?" he shouted while spitting every word with disbelief. "You're talking about using the very people we swore to protect as weapons! You'd turn them into sacrifices for your pride! What's the point of fighting back if we become the monsters we hate!?"
But as he stared into the officer's eyes, the General suddenly froze.
There was nothing left in that gaze... no reason, no mercy, no understanding. Only the unblinking stare of a man who had already gone off the edge. The eyes of a fanatic. A madman.
The general's voice dropped into a grim whisper. "...I see now. There's no reasoning with you. You've already lost yourself."
He released the officer with one hand and drew his sidearm with the other.
"As your commanding officer… it's my duty to put you down before you lead others into your madness."
He raised the pistol and aimed it directly at the officer's head.
But before the shot could fire, a sudden force slammed into his arm. The gun jerked sideways as the Western General appeared out of nowhere, pushing his hand just in time.
The blast missed and struck a set of decorative jars along the wall, shattering them into glass and dust.
"That's enough, kiddo," the Western General said firmly; his voice was calm but sharp as steel. He kept a hand on the Northern General's shoulder and looked him in the eye.
"Don't let your anger decide for you." For a tense moment, the two generals stared at one another.
Then the Northern General exhaled and lowered his gun. With a growl, he shoved the officer back onto the floor.
The Western General turned toward the rest of the stunned room. "What are you all staring at? Call the guards. Arrest him. Now."
Several aides rushed to obey. "And send some of my soldiers with him," he added coldly. "Don't let him speak to anyone. If there are others who think like him, we'll root them out before this madness spreads."
As the officer was dragged out of the room, he was still screaming accusations and curses; the Western General slowly returned to his seat at the table. He looked over the others, his face lined with fatigue and grief, yet his posture remained composed.
"I know what you're feeling. I feel it too," he said with his voice being low but steady. "But now isn't the time to follow our hearts. This time, we must use our heads."
He paused, then continued with sorrow behind his words.
"Thanks to my old friend, the governor, we were given a path forward. A way to survive. Not much will change for our people… only the name of the overlord we answer to. And if that's the price for peace… then so be it...."
After the chaos from the night before, the remaining meeting between the generals and officers continued without further incidents.
The tension in the room was still heavy, but everyone knew that too much had already been said, and too many eyes were watching. They debated late into the night, whispering strategies, weighing the future, and bracing themselves for what came next.
By the time the sky began to shift from black to gray, when the first shy ray of sunlight peeked over the jagged mountains in the distance, the leaders of Xylos stood together once more.
They gathered on the muddy plateau outside the city, their boots sinking into wet earth, breath steaming in the cold morning air, as they waited for the conquerors to arrive.
No one spoke even a word while they were waiting. Then, not long after, the deep hum of approaching engines broke the silence.
A massive human transport ship descended from the clouds, its metal hull reflecting the weak morning light. It hovered above the ground for a brief moment before slowly lowering itself down with a hiss of steam and hydraulic gas. The ground trembled as it landed.
The ramp of the transport opened with a hiss, and the first figures to emerge were four golden-armored paladins. Their polished armor gleamed, almost blinding in the faint light. Each of them carried a tall, majestic banner.
The officers exchanged glances, already uneasy.
Following the paladins, Cleo stepped onto the ramp. But rather than walking through the mud like everyone else, a staircase formed beneath her feet that was being crafted in real time from living metal, the same strange material that seemed to obey her every command.
Each step shifted and shimmered, folding up from the earth like it was part of her body. She descended slowly, her expression calm and unreadable as ever.
Next came Ys. Unlike Cleo, she had no issue stepping directly onto the muddy plateau. She moved with the casual grace of someone who didn't care about appearances. The thick sludge clung to her boots, but she didn't even glance down. For Ys, mud was mud... nothing more.
Finally, Lilla emerged.
She walked down as if she was gliding, her feet never touching the ground. Instead, she stepped on thin ripples of air that shimmered like the surface of a still lake. With each step, a gentle tinkling melody played with a soft, ethereal sound, almost like wind chimes or the sound of fairy bells.
The moment that sound reached the ears of the Western General, he froze.
His shoulders tensed, and a cold sweat formed on his brow. That sound... that haunting melody... He had heard it before during the final hours of the Battle of the Bridge.
It was the sound that had echoed through the smoke and screams moments before Lilla's forces unleashed their final, merciless assault. Ever since then, that melody had meant only one thing to him... death.
His fingers clenched, but he said nothing. He simply endured.
When the conquerors reached the center of the muddy field, Cleo raised her hand in a graceful motion. Instantly, the ground beneath them rippled like water, and from it rose a wide circular platform made entirely of gleaming living metal.
In the center, a beautiful table took shape; it was flawless and polished, along with several chairs, each one grown from the metal like petals from a blooming flower.
"Please," Cleo said politely, her voice smooth and mechanical yet gentle, "take a seat."
She herself moved to the chair beside the largest and most elaborate one, settling in with elegance. Lilla and Ys followed, each taking a seat with the same calmness, as if this was nothing more than a diplomatic afternoon tea.
The officers of Xylos hesitated at first. They looked at each other, confused and uncertain. The enemy... no, their new overlords were inviting them to sit at a table made from living metal, on a battlefield that had once been drenched in blood.
What kind of meeting was this?
Nothing was clear anymore. The lines between conqueror and diplomat, tyrant and savior, had never been so blurred.
"If I may ask…" The Western General finally broke the silence; his voice was firm but respectful as he looked toward the strange, elegant table of living metal.
His gaze stopped at the one empty chair crafted to be just as regal as the others, if not more. "Are we waiting for someone else?" he asked, voicing the question that had been sitting unspoken in the minds of every officer around him.
Cleo, seated with her hands resting lightly on the armrests of her metallic chair, gave a small nod. "Indeed," she replied smoothly, her eyes glowing faintly with flickers of internal data streams. "He should be here any minute now…"
Then, without finishing her sentence, her gaze shifted slightly as a new notification appeared in her HUD. Her expression didn't change, but her tone softened. "Ah… it seems he's arrived."
No sooner had she said this than the air above the plateau shimmered violently. A low, vibrating hum rang out, deep and primal, like reality itself was being torn. In the space just beyond the table, three swirling crimson rifts tore open the sky with a sharp crackle, like claws raking through fabric.
From the central rift, a tall figure stepped out... a woman with long, flowing crimson hair that glowed faintly, as if each strand was lit by inner fire.
Her presence alone was enough to make the atmosphere grow heavy, like the air itself was holding its breath. Her eyes glowed with radiant menace, and her armor shimmered like it had been bathed in the blood of stars.
