The wind howled over the shattered city of Balthmere, where once-thriving markets now lay buried beneath soot and stone. The Kingdom of Alexandria had pushed deep into Republican territory — too deep, too fast. The taste of victory was strong in every soldier's mouth, yet none spoke aloud. The skies had turned black with the smoke of cities set ablaze. The sun rarely broke through now. And something about the silence of Balthmere chilled even the boldest commanders.
Herzl stood on the rooftop of a collapsed bell tower, overlooking the corpse of what had once been the cultural heart of the Republic.
"Was it worth it?" he muttered, as snow mingled with ash.
Behind him, Grim approached, his footsteps disturbingly silent for a man in heavy boots. He lit a cigarette with a match that sparked purple — INN-infused fire. Unnatural, like everything he did.
"Wars are never about worth," Grim said, exhaling the smoke like a serpent. "They're about necessity. Or the illusion of it."
Herzl turned to face him. "You sound more like a philosopher than a soldier."
"That's because soldiers die. Philosophers remain."
Republic Counterstrike
Without warning, the sky screamed.
A series of thunderous roars echoed over Balthmere, followed by streaks of crimson light. Republic warplanes, retrofitted with INN-reactive ordinance, unleashed a fury not seen since the first month of the war. Anti-aircraft units scattered and scrambled — too slow, too exposed.
The ground shook as the bombs hit.
The fire was not just physical — it screamed when it burned. INN-infused explosions twisted the air itself, and men's minds buckled under the weight of psychic impact.
"Retreat to the western ridge!" someone shouted. "They're targeting INN-strongpoints!"
Herzl and Grim leapt from the tower just as it shattered beneath a precision blast.
From the smoke rose a Republican strike squad — cloaked in armor laced with stolen INN. They were faster than normal men, their eyes glowing red with rage and augmentation. One of them pointed directly at Herzl.
"That's him! The Ghost of Merva!"
The squad charged.
Herzl fought with practiced discipline, but something about these new soldiers unnerved him. Their attacks were chaotic, brutal — and not entirely human. Grim stood back, watching, arms folded.
"Aren't you going to help?" Herzl growled between blows.
"This is your fight," Grim said flatly. "You'll never understand INN unless you confront death without my shadow."
Herzl gritted his teeth. He parried two blades, disarmed a third enemy, and slammed him into a collapsed wall. The others fell back as the tide turned.
Black Wings of Alexandria
The air cracked open — this time with a different sound. Alexandria's Stratos-Class Bombers broke the clouds, unleashing a counter-barrage. Fire rained upon the Republican soldiers, melting steel and bone alike. The earth itself seemed to cry.
Herzl fell to his knees, gasping.
"I've never seen this level of destruction…" he whispered. "Are we becoming monsters, Grim?"
Grim gave no answer. His eyes stared toward the distant capital of the Republic. Cold. Measuring. Almost… satisfied?
"This is only the first step," Grim finally said.
"First step toward what?"
Grim flicked the last of his cigarette into the fire, where it hissed unnaturally.
"Purity."
The war was far from over. But Herzl was beginning to understand: the worst danger wasn't losing. It was winning under the wrong command.