Season 3 chapter 30
The Southern Fleet
Location: The Southern DI'an Ocean
Hundreds of miles away from the burning cities and crashing markets, the dark, churning waters of the Southern DI'an Ocean were violently parted by the hulls of a massive, unstoppable armada.
Through the thick, heavy sea fog, the terrifying silhouettes of over one hundred heavy military vessels advanced in perfect, lethal formation. Massive steel destroyers, sleek frigates, and heavily armed corvettes cut through the waves, escorting four colossal, iron-clad aircraft carriers that cast massive shadows over the dark water.
Standing on the command bridge of the lead destroyer, a highly decorated, battle-hardened naval General stared through his brass binoculars toward the distant shores of the Republic of DI.
He lowered the binoculars, a cold, ruthless sneer crossing his scarred face.
"Maintain course and prepare the heavy artillery," the General ordered smoothly, his voice echoing over the bridge. "We are going to completely eradicate you, the DI'ans."
The Inter-Secret Operation
Location: Kniya's Bunker, Seistain Hub
Back in the underground bunker, Malesh's encrypted pocket phone rang again. He slowly pulled it out, his hand shaking slightly as he pressed the heavy receiver to his ear.
"Malesh speaking," he answered, his voice completely hollow.
"Sir," a heavy, exhausted voice echoed through the line. "This is the Chief Official of the Sulwadian Police. I am going to skip the formalities. Your refineries are a literal graveyard right now."
Malesh straightened his posture, his jaw clenching. "Give me the exact tactical situation."
"It is a slaughter, sir," the Chief stated grimly. "And we want the bastards who did this just as badly as you do. But we have a massive jurisdictional problem right now. Your corporate legal firewall is aggressively blocking my men from entering the blast zones."
Malesh frowned. "Explain."
"It is sovereign corporate territory, sir," the Chief explained, sounding deeply frustrated by the bureaucracy. "Your automated security protocols and private corporate laws are keeping my investigators out. If we go through standard federal channels to get a warrant, the politicians will drag it out for weeks. By then, whoever planted these explosives will have scrubbed all the evidence."
Malesh's analytical brain immediately understood the problem. His own massive corporate red tape was currently protecting the terrorists.
"We want to launch a highly classified, inter-secret operation," the Chief proposed, his voice dropping to a serious whisper. "Completely off the federal grid. No politicians, no media. But to do this, I absolutely need your direct executive permission to bypass your security systems and operate on your private soil. Otherwise, my men are going to get shot by your automated turrets."
Malesh's dark eyes narrowed. The grief in his chest instantly hardened into cold, calculating revenge.
"I am overriding the perimeter defenses from my terminal right now," Malesh replied smoothly, completely dropping the corporate red tape. "I appreciate your initiative, Chief. I am officially granting your inter-secret task force full, unrestricted access to every single one of my destroyed refineries in Sulwadiya. Investigate the ruins. Analyze the bomb fragments."
"Thank you, sir," the Chief promised. "We will find out who did this."
"And Chief," Malesh added, his voice turning terrifyingly cold. "Do not hand the final intelligence report to the federal government. Give me a name directly."
Malesh slowly lowered the phone, cutting the secure line.
He stood in the center of the concrete room, the heavy, suffocating silence of the bunker pressing in on them. He looked across the room at Kniya, Salesh, and Filoska, who were all staring at him in pure shock.
The political manipulation, the fake inheritance threats, the budget assassins, the bombed factories, and the crashing global economy—it was all finally coming together into one terrifying, undeniable truth.
"Leon Debestez has started the war," Malesh stated, his voice completely deadpan, but laced with absolute, lethal certainty. "And we are now the part of it."
The Siege of Duwalwai
The air in the religious town of DUWALWAI was choking with the thick, suffocating stench of gunpowder, burning infrastructure, and raw diesel exhaust. Located deep within KDC, the sacred cobblestone streets were never meant to endure the brutal, grinding tread of military iron boots. Yet, the devastation was absolute. It wasn't a random destruction; it was a targeted, methodical military purge tearing through the holy sectors.
In the center of a smoke-filled, ancient courtyard, a civilian man lay heavily bleeding on the cold stones. His clothes were shredded, his body badly damaged from the sheer blunt-force trauma of the assault. Kneeling beside him, hands trembling and covered in soot, was his young boy. The child was crying desperately, his small, fragile voice breaking as he clutched his father's ruined shirt, begging him to wake up. The raw emotional devastation in the boy's eyes was a horrific contrast to the cold, mechanical cruelty of the surrounding military forces.
Looming over the crying boy and the broken father was the Battalion Commander. His heavy tactical uniform was spotless, his expression completely devoid of mercy. He raised his steam-pressured service rifle, the heavy iron barrel aiming directly at the weeping child.
"Shoot these fucking idiots!" the Commander roared at his squad, his voice barking over the distant sound of artillery. "We are not leaving anyone breathing! This is the military, and we are going to enforce total compliance!"
The boy screamed, shielding his face against his father's chest. The Commander's finger tightened on the heavy trigger.
The Executioner's Override
BANG.
But the heavy rifle didn't fire. The father wasn't hit.
A high-caliber sniper round suddenly tore through the dense air from the opposite side of the courtyard, violently piercing straight through the Commander's chest plate. Before the man could even register the fatal impact, three more rounds ripped through his body in rapid, deafening succession. The Commander's eyes rolled back, his rifle clattering to the stones as he collapsed into a lifeless, bleeding heap.
The surrounding squad completely lost their minds. Total tactical panic erupted across the courtyard.
"Sniper! Commander is down!" a soldier screamed, dropping into a crouch and leveling his weapon at the smoke.
"Where is the shooter?! Talk to me, where is the fucking shooter?!"
"Cover! Form a defensive perimeter, damn it! Move your asses! Med-evac for the Commander!"
The soldiers scrambled frantically, sweeping their rifles across the ruined rooftops, completely terrified by the sudden, brutal execution of their commanding officer. The crying boy flinched, pulling his father tighter as the military unit fell into absolute disarray.
Through the thick, swirling black smoke of the religious courtyard, a solitary figure emerged. It was the General—the absolute highest-ranking officer of the vanguard. His heavy, steel-toed boots crunched against the stone as he walked directly into the kill zone, his high-powered rifle still smoking in his grip.
"Hold your fucking fire and stand down!" the General ordered, his voice carrying a lethal, authoritative weight that instantly froze the panicked squad. "Every single one of you is suspended. Halt all tactical operations in this sector immediately."
The Court Martial of Lead
The soldiers hesitated, staring at the General in pure, paralyzed shock. One soldier, gripping his steam-rifle tightly, stepped forward out of formation to protest.
"Sir, with respect..." the soldier stammered, his mind clearly lingering on the cruel, degenerate operations they had been discussing among themselves moments before. "What about the civilian holding camps? We haven't finished rounding up the women for the barracks..."
BANG.
The General didn't even blink. He raised his weapon and shot the protesting soldier dead on the spot.
Without pausing for a single breath, the General turned his weapon on the rest of the squad. He fired three more precise, ruthless shots. Three more soldiers dropped dead against the courtyard walls, their blood pooling on the sacred stones.
The General's eyes burned with absolute, unhinged disgust. He had heard their comms. He knew exactly what kind of degenerate filth was running through their minds, what kind of horrific, systematic exploitation they had been planning to inflict on the defenseless civilians in those holding zones.
"We got the orders to clear this city out," the General stated, his voice a cold, terrifying rasp that cut through the ringing silence. "To move the civilian populace out of DUWALWAI. Not to ruthlessly kill them in the streets, and sure as hell not to capture and exploit them like a pack of degenerate fucking animals."
The boy, still clutching his bleeding father, stared in pure terror and shock as the elite military unit was systematically slaughtered by their own superior commander.
The Directive from D.F.H.
Suddenly, from the background of the chaotic, burning street, a communications runner came sprinting toward the courtyard. He was running so fast he was desperately holding his heavy iron helmet onto his head with one hand. He slid to a halt on the cobblestones, panting heavily as he took in the horrific sight of the dead Commander and the executed soldiers.
"General, sir!" the breathless soldier yelled, immediately snapping a rigid salute despite his panic. "We cannot suspend the offensive! This is a direct, overriding command from the D.F.H.!"
The General slowly turned his head. He locked his cold, murderous eyes onto the terrified runner.
"What the fuck are you spewing, soldier?" the General growled, aiming the smoking barrel of his rifle directly at the runner's chest. "Fuck that crap. You will relay the order to suspend these operations right fucking now, or the next round goes straight through your skull."
The runner looked at the bleeding corpses of his commanding officer and his squadmates. He swallowed hard, his face turning entirely pale.
He didn't ask another question. He didn't cite another protocol. He immediately spun on his heel and sprinted back into the smoke, screaming into his radio to order a total suspension of the attack.
The courtyard fell into a heavy, chilling silence, broken only by the quiet, desperate sobbing of the little boy as he held his father, completely surrounded by the corpses of the very men who had just tried to end their lives.