Chapter 12
Diplomacy of the Damned
[DATA: 05. CYCLE 11. YEAR 40 INDUSTRIAL]
[LOCATION: “NORTH-EAST” EXPRESS TRAIN — BOUND FOR LANDAN, BRATAN]
[TIME: 14:30 LOCAL]
[STATUS: DIPLOMATIC MISSION]
The sky was overcast—a mass of heavy gray signaling that nature had surrendered itself entirely to winter. This was the landscape Bratan offered: a bitter concoction of climatic frigidity and the despair of a populace losing its bearings. Through this gloom, the train carrying Avasha and Blais tore its way forward. They had just disembarked from their vessel and departed immediately toward the capital, Landan.
?Avasha sat opposite Blais. He had remained in absolute silence throughout the journey, consumed by an ancient military tome whose pages reeked of dust and history. Avasha, conversely, had rested her head against the freezing glass. She watched the tracks, yet simultaneously tracked the reflection of her own red eyes. The silence was driving her toward madness; she was a predator forged for movement, not for waiting.
?She cast a provocative glance toward Blais.
“I’m bored. This journey is excruciatingly long when there is nothing to do.”
?Blais didn’t even lift his head. He was entrenched in his world of archaic tactics and had no intention of feeding her whims. But Avasha did not relent. A thin, diabolical smirk crept across her face.
?“Blais! I truly don’t comprehend why my father still keeps you employed. You are simply... useless.”
?This time, the arrow found its mark. Blais slowly raised his eyes from the book. A strained, artificial smile appeared on his face.
?“Your father does not keep me around to entertain children, young lady.”
Avasha spat through gritted teeth, true venom beginning to simmer beneath her pallid skin. She pivoted fully toward him, crossing her arms in an overt display of defiance.
?“If I were Chancellor,” she hissed, her voice dripping with mockery, “I would have purged all the old men cluttering the ranks. This state requires fresh blood, not relics.”
?Blais closed his book with agonizing slowness, marking the page with a composure that incensed Avasha more than any insult could. He adjusted the collar of his heavy uniform, where the Grade B insignia glinted under the dim, flickering carriage lights. The silence between them was now filled only by the rhythmic, metallic grinding of wheels against the iron rails.
?“Young lady,” Blais began, his eyes locking onto hers, “if it weren’t for those ‘old men,’ your generation wouldn’t even have a patch of dirt to stand upon today.”
?“And if it weren’t for those idiotic old men, perhaps this world wouldn’t be teetering on the edge of the abyss,” Avasha countered, snapping her head back toward the window.
?Her gaze drifted into the thick Bratan fog, but her crimson eyes remained fixed on Blais’s reflection in the glass. He chose silence, maintaining a professional stoicism. It struck him as unnerving that she had grown so still now that the journey was nearing its end.
?Suddenly, a piercing shriek ripped from Avasha’s throat. Blais jolted upright, his hand flying instinctively to the holster at his belt, eyes scanning the cabin for an assassin or a breach. But the carriage was filled only with Avasha’s hysterical, jagged laughter. Blais remained frozen, his breath shallow, heart hammering.
“What is wrong with you?!” his voice shook, a volatile mix of rage and genuine fright.
?Avasha’s laughter died instantly. She cast a glance so piercing and lethal that the air in the cabin seemed to crystallize.
?“’With you’...?” her voice was heavy, saturated with an authority that did not belong to her years.
?Blais felt the atmospheric shift immediately. He straightened his posture, withdrew his hand from his weapon, and offered a dry cough, desperate to reclaim his shattered dignity.
?“My apologies, young lady. What... distressed you?”
?Avasha rolled her eyes with weary indifference and stood, reaching for the cabin door.
?“Whatever. I’m going for a stroll through the cars until we arrive. I am bored to death.”
?As she exited, Blais remained rooted to the spot, staring after her with an incredulity he could not swallow. He had emerged victorious from gore-drenched trenches, yet this adolescent was stripping him of all control.
“I need to set terms for my employment,” he thought bitterly, “or I’ll go mad before I die.”
[DATA: 05. CYCLE 11]
?[LOCATION: “VICTORIA” CENTRAL SQUARE — CAPITAL OF NAX-GEOT — BLIN]
?[TIME: 16:15 LOCAL]
?[STATUS: TOTAL MOBILIZATION — ONSET OF OPERATION BLITZKRIEG]
In contrast to the gray skies of Bratan, the situation in Blin was even more somber. The clouds had thickened to such an extent that the sky appeared pitch-black—a ceiling of steel pressing down upon the city. A fine, freezing mist descended over the thousands gathered in the central square. The air was leaden; everyone felt that peace had just expired. The battalions of soldiers sprinting through the streets and the rhythmic thunder of boots upon cobblestone were the only warnings they required.
?Amidst that silent multitude, Erten stood beside Aleks.
“What do you think, Erten? What is the Chancellor about to say?” Aleks asked, his voice trembling from the cold and the mounting anxiety.
?The mist dampened Erten’s face, but his eyes remained impaled upon the vacant podium.
“Do you remember, Aleks? Not long ago, I gave you the metaphor of the valve. Well, here we are. The valve no longer holds. It has just exploded.”
?Behind the massive crimson curtains of the podium, Halter stood encircled by his elite: majors, deputies, and colonels of Grades A and G. A Grade B colonel approached with swift strides, clutching several classified dossiers.
?“Chancellor!” the colonel reported at his back. “The army has been partitioned into sectors. We are prepared to commence Operation Blitzkrieg.”
?Halter issued a slight cough. Instinctively, he raised his hand to his mouth to conceal the gore, but when he lowered it, his palm was clean. Nevertheless, the copper tang of blood filled his mouth. He coughed again, more violently this time, and realized his lips were stained crimson. Without shattering his composure, he used the sleeve of his jacket to wipe the blood away and turned his head toward the colonel, who was watching him in abject terror.
[SUBJECT H VITALS: STABLE / HEMORRHAGE RISK: 8.5%]
“Very well,” Halter replied. “Immediately following the address, commence the operation. I demand two fronts: one to the East, and a total encirclement of Byg and Thira.”
?Without wasting a single heartbeat, he ascended the wooden steps. As Halter emerged from the crimson curtains, an absolute silence descended upon the square—so heavy that the patter of mist hitting military caps felt audible. He stood erect, hands clasped behind his back, while raindrops began to stain the shoulders of his overcoat. He did not resemble a dying man, but a god preparing to set the world ablaze.
?Halter’s voice radiated like a shockwave over the endless multitude, slicing through the freezing drizzle.
?“They laughed at us at first! They mocked us, they despised us, but they never imagined that we are the ones who establish justice!” he roared, and every word felt like a falling sledgehammer. “They may insult us, they may strike us, but they will never bring this state to its knees. For it is not I who sustains it—it is you who are the true power of this nation! You are its soul and its flesh! And you are the ones who will forge absolute justice from the ruins of this world! And the world will thank you, and you alone.”
[POPULACE MORALE: 98% — EXTREME FANATICISM]
The crowd erupted into a choir of roars that vibrated through the surrounding structures. But amidst that collective intoxication, Erten was seething. With a rage that scorched his lungs, he began to cleave through the masses, elbowing his way toward the podium.
?“Wait, Erten! Where are you going, you fool?!” Aleks’s voice was instantly swallowed by the cheering.
?Erten did not falter. He leaped onto the podium steps, defying death itself. Before the Grade G sentries could seize him, he found himself before the microphone. His heavy respiration groaned through the loudspeakers.
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?“People, listen!” his cry came out fractured, saturated with pure dread. “He is lying to you! This is not the dawn of justice, it is the dawn of the end! He is leading us into a global slaughterhouse from which none of us will return alive!”
?A murmur of uncertainty, like a sudden chill wind, rippled through the square. The deputies behind the curtains panicked, but Halter raised a hand. He approached Erten with a terrifying stillness. He placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder—a hand Erten felt as heavy and cold as a tombstone.
?The Chancellor turned to the populace with a melancholy, almost paternal smile.
?“I was like this boy once,” he began, his voice now laced with a hue of sorrow. “I too believed that peace was a right that belonged to us like the air we breathe. But do you know what I saw in the trenches of the Iron War? I saw the mud that covered us like dogs. I saw that when the world decided to erase us from the map, no one stepped forward to demand peace for us!”
?Halter gripped Erten’s shoulder harder, pinning him in place like a specimen.
?“There is no gifted justice, boy. There is only justice earned through iron and blood. We are not starting a war... we are ending our slavery!”
The murmurs of uncertainty vanished from the square. Thousands of voices coalesced into a resonant choir, chanting the anthem of Nax-Geot with a passion bordering on religious fanaticism. For Erten, the atmosphere was suffocating. He stood frozen, crushed by the magnitude of his defeat; he had witnessed with his own eyes how Halter, with a mere handful of words, had reduced his logic to ash and made the populace fall in love with their own destruction.
?Halter turned toward one of his deputies, speaking in a voice so low it was drowned out by the anthem’s roar.
?“Who is that boy?”
?“Merely an adolescent who fancies himself a scientist, sir,” the deputy replied, his voice fracturing with nerves. “The guards will handle him now. I will personally ensure he never sees the light of day again.”
?As the terrified deputy spoke, Halter’s eyes remained fixed on Erten. Suddenly, a thin, enigmatic smile crept across the Chancellor’s face—an expression that left the deputy stunned.
?“A scientist, then,” Halter whispered to himself. Then, he addressed his subordinate with a newfound authority. “Prepare my personal transport. I will escort the boy to the Eastern Front myself. To Po.”
?“You... sir?” The deputy could not believe his ears. To transport a dissident to the bloodiest front in the Chancellor’s own vehicle defied every protocol of logic.
?Halter adjusted his overcoat, ignoring the man’s bewilderment. His voice was calm, like that of a man who had just solved a complex equation.
?“Do not concern yourself. I shall return to Blin immediately. You—simply proceed with the standard mobilization procedures.”
?“As you command, sir,” the deputy muttered, retreating swiftly to clear the Chancellor’s path.
?Halter turned toward Erten, who was still being restrained by the sentries. It was time for the “scientist” to witness how theories perish in the freezing mud of the trenches.
[DATA: 05. CYCLE 11]
?[LOCATION: CENTRAL STATION — LANDAN, BRATAN]
?[TIME: 16:30 LOCAL]
?[STATUS: DIPLOMATIC CONTACT — HIGH-LEVEL SECURITY]
In Landan, the sky was a mosaic of white clouds through which sparse sunbeams struggled to pierce—a stark contrast to the industrial abyss of Blin. The station had been turned into a fortress. Queen Ela stood at the center of the platform, flanked by President Cici, her deputies, and a dense cordon of steel-clad soldiers.
?“Your Majesty, I continue to maintain that this is an ill-advised venture,” Cici whispered, leaning toward her. “Meeting with Chancellor Halter carries risks we cannot possibly quantify.”
?Ela let out a faint sigh, her gaze never wavering from the vibrating rails.
“Enough, President. We debated this in the council. Halter is the only force capable of extracting us from this crisis,” she turned to him with a quiet, lethal resolve. “I cannot wait for an ISS decision that will linger for years while my people rot today.”
?A piercing siren lacerated the air, and the black train lurched into the station. The violent braking unleashed a metallic screech that numbed the ears, as clouds of white steam engulfed the platform. From the door of the first carriage emerged a man in a heavy overcoat and a black cap. He disembarked with a clinical, military composure and bowed respectfully before Ela, removing his cap.
?“Your Majesty, it is my greatest honor to stand before you,” Blais said, replacing his cap with deliberate, slow motions.
?“The honor is mine, Chancellor Halter,” Ela replied, inclining her head in a welcoming gesture.
?Blais froze for a fraction of a second. A faint, almost ironic smirk flickered across his face as he adjusted his collar to emphasize the Grade B insignia.
“My apologies, Majesty, but I am not the Chancellor. I am his general, Ervin Blais.”
?The smile on Ela’s face vanished instantly, replaced by a shadow of suspicion and veiled insult.
“Forgive me, but in his correspondence, the Chancellor stated he would attend in person.”
?“An emergency of state required the Chancellor’s presence at the final hour. However, he has specifically dispatched...”
?Blais was brutally cut short by a girl’s voice emanating from the darkened interior of the carriage. A voice that sought no permission to speak.
“Me! His daughter, Avasha Halter.”
?Avasha emerged slowly from the car. Every small footfall upon the marble platform emitted a dry, rhythmic thud that smothered the murmurs of the crowd. Total stasis gripped the assembly. Before them stood an adolescent girl in a perfectly tailored military uniform, black hair spilling from beneath her general’s cap, and above all... those red eyes that seemed to be scanning the moral decay and weaknesses of every man present. Her face bore a smile saturated with a level of self-assurance and cynicism that defied her years.
“What is the meaning of this, General Blais?!” President Cici bellowed, his face darkening with a bruised ego, utterly disregarding the girl’s presence. “This is no playground for Halter’s spawn! We are here for matters of state, not to act as nursemaids!”
?Blais did not twitch a single fiber. He regarded Cici with a clinical, icy detachment.
“My apologies, sir, but she is not here merely by virtue of her lineage. She holds the rank of Colonel, Grade S.”
?The air in the station grew leaden with those words. The whispers were severed as if by a guillotine. Their eyes widened with shock, but beneath that lay a primal, lizard-brain fear as they watched Avasha close the distance toward the Queen. Without a shred of hesitation, she reached out and seized the hem of the royal gown, rubbing the fabric between her fingers with a rhythmic, unsettling curiosity.
?“It is indeed soft... compared to the abrasive grit of our uniforms,” Avasha murmured, almost to herself. Then, she fixed her crimson gaze upon Ela’s face. “To be candid, I expected a withered, ancient hag. But you... you are quite charming. I think I like you.”
?A wave of revulsion rippled through the ranks of the Bratan deputies. Blais shielded his face with his hand, letting out a shallow exhale, painfully aware that the “storm” had begun to dismantle their fragile diplomacy. Yet Ela, to the astonishment of all, did not crumble. She held Avasha’s gaze and smiled with a serenity that even Cici had not anticipated.
?“There is no issue. You may all ease your nerves,” the Queen stated, returning the gaze of the red-eyed girl with a steady warmth. “Now that the introductions are concluded, we shall proceed to the palace. We have much to dissect.”
[LOCATION: CONSULTATION HALL — ROYAL PALACE, LANDAN]
?[TIME: 17:20 LOCAL]
?[STATUS: ALLIANCE SIGNING — FORMATION OF THE STEEL CIRCLE]
The road to the palace stretched beneath a shroud of thin mist, choked by the black soot of hundreds of red-brick chimneys. Pale lights shimmered upon the sodden cobblestones as the obsidian motorcade of armored vehicles lunged toward the center like a pack of predators. Landan’s Victorian architecture, with its oppressive stone monoliths and soaring Gothic arches, bestowed upon the capital a vista that was majestic yet exhausted—as if the ancient foundations were crumbling under the sheer mass of the crisis strangling the realm.
?Inside the consultation hall, the opulence was suffocating. The long oak table gleamed beneath crystal chandeliers, while the wall tapestries chronicled the glorious slaughters of the past—ironically, battles Bratan could no longer hope to win alone. The leaden silence was severed only by the dry rustle of dossiers Blais extracted from his metallic case and the muffled footfalls of servants whose trembling hands placed platters of sweets before Avasha.
?Avasha’s crimson eyes ignited at the sight of the cake. Forsaking every vestige of royal etiquette, she seized the spoon and began to devour it with a hollow, almost infantile hunger, utterly oblivious to the presence of the Queen.
?“Wunderbar...” she whispered through a mouthful, savoring the saccharine hit.
?Queen Ela tilted her head toward Blais, though her focus remained anchored to Avasha. It was a cognitive strain to accept that this girl, gorging on cake, was a Grade S Colonel. Blais noted the splintered attention and offered a faint, clinical smirk, sliding the documents forward.
?“It means ‘wonderful’, Your Majesty,” Blais clarified, steering the dialogue back onto the frigid tracks of geopolitics. “Now, regarding the diplomacy... this is the treaty of our alliance.”
?Ela drew the parchment toward her with a delicate frailty, her golden pen hovering over the paper like a poised blade.
?“I am pleased she finds it to her liking,” she remarked, fixing her gaze upon the text. “So, by this treaty, we become ‘one’ with Nax-Geot. And Halter will dispatch the aid immediately?”
?“You have grasped it perfectly, Majesty. Upon your signature, Bratan officially joins the Steel Circle,” Blais replied, his voice leaving no room for negotiation.
?As Ela reflected upon the document destined to derail the course of history, an abrasive sound began to numb her senses. Clink. Clink. Clink. Avasha’s spoon striking the porcelain plate had transformed into a death metronome in that stifling quiet.
?“Queen,” Avasha interrupted. Her spoon struck the plate one final time with a metallic crack that colonized the entire hall, aborting any diplomatic thought. “Blais can lecture for hours on clauses and sub-points, but I possess neither his patience nor your time. If you intend to sign, do it now.”
?Ela found herself in a position no monarch should endure: the choice between the glacial collapse of her people or surrendering her sovereignty to an industrial leviathan. She drew a jagged breath, her hand flickering with a slight tremor, and cast her signature with a ferocity that felt like a silent scream.
?Avasha rose instantly, as if nothing of consequence had occurred.
?“It was a pleasure, Majesty, though your country is a trifle... tedious,” she stated with a brutal indifference. “Blais, let us move. Our work here is concluded.”
?Ela remained there, dazed and hollowed out. Her heart hammered against her ribs; the ink upon the parchment was still damp, yet she felt as if she had just bartered the very soul of her kingdom.
?As they retreated toward the vehicle destined to return them to the station, Avasha spun back toward the Queen and the deputies, who stood behind her like defeated shades. Waving a white glove high in the air, she cried out with a shrill, mocking laughter:
?“Au revoir!”
?Blais lunged forward, seized her arm with a firm grip, and hissed with mounting irritation: “You have the wrong tongue. We are in Bratan, not Frenca. Show a shred of respect—we are on an official mission.”
?Avasha rolled her eyes, her face contorting into a mask of boredom. She simply added: “Oh, fine. Bye!”
?Within the belly of the armored transport, as Landan began to recede into the fog, Blais addressed Avasha in a low, somber tone. She had already rested her head against the cold glass.
?“Young lady, the parameters have shifted. You are not to return to Blin. You are to be deployed directly to the Eastern Front... to Po. These are the Chancellor’s updated orders.”
?Avasha uttered not a single word. There were no protests, no inquiries. Only a terrifying, glacial, and predatory smile reflected clearly in the dark glass of the vehicle. She was going where she truly belonged: to the fields of slaughter.
