As Nordin and his closest generals and advisors reached the entrance of a cave, a foreboding darkness enveloped them. For months, he had alluded his enemies to command a war in the North, one that he was certain he would win if only by the sheer determination he could squeeze out of his loyalists. But yet, it all went downhill, from the relentless bombardment to the crushing defeat in Tegrestum defeat drew ever near. The cold, damp air clung to his skin, sending shivers down his spines as he ran through the forest path, the sound of explosions and exchanging of fire still ringing in the distance. There was hope, so he thought, as the cave, with its twisting tunnels and hidden chambers, offered a labyrinthine escape route to a new place from where he may begin his efforts anew.
From the entrance of the cave through which he was supposed to escape came Marcus, his protege and the man to whom he looks at with the pride of a father to his prodigy son, to greet him, a fireteam worth of Optimil’s Guards at his side.
“The way is clear, Domine-” Marcus said, bowing ever slightly before being told to be at ease.
“All of the preparations have finally paid off-” Marcus offered a reassuring smile as he led the way forward with Nordin at his side, the others hurrying behind him, “We’ve had the vehicles all fueled up and ready to go. Let’s hope that whatever’s left of the Atticus can old those damn vermins off for an orderly retreat afterwards.”
“I’d much rather that those preparations never had a chance to pay off at all, Marcus-” Nordin retorted, slightly annoyed as he hastened his pace and balled his hands into a fist. He was fuming with anger, and frustration. Why should he not be? For countless hours stretched over the course of years had all tumbled down like a jenga tower meeting a gust of strong wind.
“But yet we still live, Domine-” Marcus said, offering a rational voice where silence filled. But yet, it was not what Nordin cared about. What does his life worth when Crimpateia stands at the pricipite of destruction at the hands of vermins who would see the two milennia of its proud existence be torn down? How much does his damned soul weigh against the terrible future that he had, in nightmares, seen for his country?
“IT NEVER WOULD HAVE HAD ONE IF YOU COWARDS HAD STOOD YOUR GROUNDS AND DID AS YOU’VE BEEN TOLD-” Nordin angrily turned around to face whatever was left his cabal and lashed out. Every failure, every washout, every setback was, in his eyes, their incompetence made manifest.
“IS THIS WHAT IT HAS COME TO?!” He shouted again, his eyes burning with unquenchable rage. “All the military has been lying to me, even the fucking Guards-” He said, with shaking fingers contemptuously pointed at those who still followed him.
“YOU ARE ALL SCUM-” He shouted once more, his voice muffling sounds of Marcus’ squawking radio. “You can fuck right off with your capitulation-” He said arguing against voices of malcontent and opposition in his head. The victims of his bashing were his audience, and the damp, darkened cave was his Senate.
“If this is my last hour alive I will not shame my forefathers by letting my ink touch a piece of paper that has the forsaken word scribbled onto it-” Nordin, calming down for a moment before angrily walking past Marcus to the cave.
“That’s a shame then, Domine-” Marcus said, catching Nordin’s attention as he turned around to look into his eyes, confusion and what Marcus could only guess to have been rage waiting to be unleashed in his.
“Yes-” He nodded with blank expression, “It truly is a shame.”
“We’re not asking you to…” Marcus responded, shaking his head as his hands gripped on the dusted carbine on his said. It was at that moment that the atmosphere tensed up, as complete silence notwithstanding the screeching hails of combat that shook the rocks, and stones of the cave every few moments, “…No, Domine we’re making you-”.
Nordin stared at Marcus, his eyes narrowing as he processed the words only to be widened with a mix of disbelief and fury. The realization struck him like a thunderbolt, and he glared at Marcus with an intensity that could make the earth tremble.
The air in the cave seemed to thicken, and the oppressive darkness around them became a silent witness to the brewing confrontation.
“You dare, Marcus?” Nordin’s voice was low, an undercurrent passing beneath it as he took slow steps towards Marcus, who, as frightened as he was, stood his ground.
“I’ve lived and I’ve sacrificed for the Republic, Domine-” Marcus spoke, his tone resolute though nevertheless, kept with a modicum of respect as he answered his gaze with defiance. “Crimpateia still lives, and I’d rather see it made whole again.”
“YOU SPINELESS WHIM-” Nordin screamed, stepping forward to grasp onto the clothes of his turn-faced protege only for the strike of Marcus’ buttstock to send him back.
“I would rather die than to see it ruined by traitors like you-” As Nordin spoke, the sound of distant footsteps echoed through the cave. The air became charged with anticipation, and Nordin’s generals and advisors exchanged uneasy glances.
Marcus signaled to the approaching figures, and a squad of soldiers in unfamiliar uniforms, clad in advanced gear that masked their bodies their head to toe, emerged from the shadows.
“DOWN DOWN DOWN-” Raised the coarse voice of a crass woman as he stepped forward, her gun pointed at Nordin before she was close enough to strike him down as those presumably under her charge did so to the others. All except Marcus, and his loyal guards.
Nordin wanted to scream, as his eyes flickered between his disgraced protege and the soldiers. The reality of predicaments sank in. He wanted to scream louder. The escape plan was an elaborate trap, and Marcus had played his part excellently. His only reassurance was that the soldiers who captured him spoke not Fefsen or, perhaps worse, Atayqisidu, but rather Krimpeit.
“Do you think that this fight is over with me done?!” He cussed out at his captive as he felt his hands being cuffed up, and any items of value he had on him removed, “You utter buffoons! think you can imprison me and save this country? You underestimate the vermin we fight against, Marcus. They won’t stop until every last trace of our legacy is erased. THEY WILL NOT.”
“Yeah, yeah, camera’s not on, grandpa, time to get you to bed-” Nonchalantly the woman disregarded him, her jackboot pressed against his back as she stood up.
“Gale Supreme, this is Spear 1-1, HVT apprehended-” She spoke victoriously into the walkie-talkie nestled by her chest as he picked him up like an item, not giving quite as much as half a care for his wailing, and kicking and tumbling.
“Great job, Spear Team, prepare for evac-” A voice on the other side answered, the distinctive grainy sound unable to break up the audible enthusiasm on the other side.
“I’m ready to get the hell out of here-” The woman muttered before turning to look at Marcus, “Are you, Marcus?”
Marcus gave her only a simple nod before stepping aside for his new allies to pass. It was painless, and perhaps, he figured as he stepped outside of the cave and basked in the light of day, he should be grateful that it was swift.
The extraction process was quick, and soon Marcus found himself in a helicopter, watching the landscape blur as they ascended into the sky. leaving behind the battleground and the echoes of a failed war. His thoughts drifted between the events that had unfolded and the uncertain future that lay ahead. He could not escape the lingering question that haunted him then: Did he just save Crimpateia, or did he just seal its fate?