100. Prison cell; northeast of Medulli’s steppes.

Oddly enough, we’re not at war with them. In fact, we’re helping them. Demon-kin, or the Plaguehearts, or Agma – what Kylin and her people called the blighted ones, instigated an invasion.

They pushed in from the plaguelands east, steamrolling over much of Medulli territory. Their westwards push had eventually reached Pulveran protectorates. We got dragged into a war we weren’t quite designed to handle. But, you go to war with the army you have, not the one you wish you had – or one you’d like to wait for.

I got careless.

Now I’m spending my hundredth birthday, imprisoned in a freezing cell with scraps to eat and barely any clean water to drink. I’ve been roughed up, but they haven’t noticed my prosthetic arm.

My personal detachment was on a streak of risky ‘thunder runs’ to break through enemy lines after we regained our territories. We pushed the undefended north and cut off a lot of blighted contingents. Eventually, the gamble caught back to me and we overextended ourselves. We pushed too far and too quick, our own supply lines were busy being bogged down in mud and snow.

Some of our caravans aren’t motorized yet, due to fuel shortages. Most giant beetles struggled in colder areas, let alone winter season. We’ve been forced to use the few horses we had.

Solomon’s spearhead force got blunted, we found ourselves running too low on ammunition and fuel. I, as Forlasita, overrode his orders. From being my gunner he later commanded his own tank and rapidly rose in rank after this conflict began, for exemplary initiative and situational awareness.

He wanted to hold and consolidate the ground we’d taken, but I felt we were capable of pushing further out. We accomplished a lot of additional objectives and saved countless settlements along the way. Still, albeit a success, I got caught on the retreat.

We dealt with a detachment of ogre knights and hordes of rabid demon-kin. They were similar, but varied to some demi-humans I knew like Kat and Wiremu. Beast people, in a way. But they were crazed, in a trance that made them risk their lives by the thousands. We won, with heavy casualties. Partly due to Medulli mercenaries working under the enemy.

Upon our retreat, we were caught by several dragon-riders; a threat only rumored to exist. Their green mounts were smaller and weaker than the wild red or black dragons – though some mid-sized gold ones were rumored among the elite riders. With 15mm heavy machinegun fire, I killed two of their dragons myself before, but their aura of fear broke the others in our column.

We were down to a fifth of our working vehicles, the 451 included. After siphoning and salvaging what fuel and supplies we could, we destroyed the rest of the vehicles. The longer the enemy doesn’t know our weaknesses, the better.

I had Rumi lead the retreating convoy, with as many of the injured we could haul aboard the vehicles. My frustrations drew me to stay behind with the rear guard and plan a stand.

“You better make it back in one piece,” Rumi begged me.

Dozens of determined fighters had chosen to stay with me, most of whom were already wounded to a degree, but still had some fight left in them. A few dragon-riders came to raze Azari Village, a natural chokepoint, to let their other forces give chase.

Of course, I had the villagers leave to join the retreating survivors. They would’ve been massacred if they stayed – yet some did. Those who remained to help fight, got massacred.

“We’re not home without a fight!” a young man said.

We used everything we had to hold them off, and we turned that village into a deathtrap for the hordes behind us. Using 15mm AT rifles we shot down some dragon-riders. We mined the path with IEDs too; some of which either me or the other snipers could remotely detonate by shooting. My planned recklessness had cost the enemy countless fighting forces there, in the battle of Azari village. They weren’t expecting fierce resistance, and definitely not close air support from biplane bombing and strafing runs.

They came in waves.

Each wave was stronger than the last, and featured different units almost as if a hivemined was probing us after the dragon-riders were shot down. They tested our fire with hundreds of poorly-armed yet ravenous demon-kin. Then more and more Medulli mercenaries arrived. Some had mages with them, and snuck into the village to use the buildings against us. I had to breach and clear a few mercenary parties with my bullpup automatic rifle and my prosthetic arm’s flamethrower after they got a foothold.

One of the booby-trapped village houses blew up from a mage’s fireball and killed a few more of my men. It knocked me into the dirt outside where I saw an AT rifle jammed vertically into a mudpit. Larger creatures were approaching, so I had to take it.

I got up and expended a lot of strength to pull the 20-kilo rifle out of the mud. Its barrel was gunked up, so I grabbed a 15mm round, wedged the head between my sleeves and torqued the bullet from the casing. After pouring a bit of its powder out, I crimped the case with my teeth and jammed the blank into the chamber and fired to clear the barrel safely. I’ve blown up enough guns during reliability tests to know what I was doing.

“Come and get it you, fucking orcs!” I screamed, after loading a full magazine and cycling a new round into the massive gun. I hadn’t called anyone an orc since I last fought back on Earth.

Then came the ogres, and bigger armored ogres. Their armor could withstand our standard copper-jacketed 10mm bullets, but not the massive 15mm lead projectiles. For perspective, these should be a bit stronger than Earth’s 50 BMG. They sent archer beetle-riders against us, on bugs specifically bred for the cold.

Thump, went my bullpup’s underbarrel grenade launcher as I splattered dozens of the raiders with each nade. Ka-chink, went the AT rifle as I cycled it after gunning down both flying and walking beasts dozens of sizes larger.

My bullpup rifle was relegated to gunning down the beetle riders and for detonating the hidden IEDs. The shrapnel-filled bombs almost seemed like we had artillery support, but Captain Vemvane’s airship sat past us and could only resupply the biplanes preoccupied with fighting off the dragon-riders. Knowing her, she isn’t going to push any closer to use the airship’s own ordinance.

We relocated to the opposite end of the village to enact phase two of the plan – but some werewolves snuck around and nabbed us. They beat the ever living shit out of me, and I had to watch the rest of the village go up in flames as my traps pre-detonated before the surviving defenders could fall back. Fuck.

…

They made us captives march, blindfolded, for days on end to this old winter-forest castle. I’m probably going to die here, because it’s apparently a cultist base too. I roughed up the fabric of my blindfold in order to see a fair bit of the path up to here, along with the layout of the building. I saw the kitchen, the library, and the great hall before I was dragged downstairs to my cell.

All the bruises still ache, and they took my boots.

I’ve been here for a few days now, and a higher-ranked cultist came down to see me. He wore a wolf hood for his headdress, and the same cultist robes I’d seen several times before.

“You. Woman. The master has finally returned, and it will soon be your turn to meet him. Do not disappoint, and you may live.”

I feigned pitiful compliance.

It doesn’t help that I’m on my period again, and the cold weather mixed with fatigue from a forced march makes it so much worse. The flows are heavier, and the cramps are debilitating. Not to mention the anal zaps – these rectal cramps drive me mad every month, but the conditions this time are so much worse. I’d be rolling in pain if I wasn’t sore enough to prefer staying still.

Nonetheless, I deserve this suffering.

If it weren’t for me, all those innocent Ischyrosians would probably still be alive. Not the ones from the Grand Flotilla, but the ones in the cities Kylin firebombed. And I don’t mean firebomb like how my troops throw molotovs – she devised a method of using bats to deliver timed incendiary bomblets into the wooden houses of Ischyrosian intermediary citizens.

The lousy guards didn’t check me thoroughly, failing to detect my prosthetic arm obfuscated by gloves and long coverall sleeves. Might as well go over some of Kylin’s letters again, ones I kept in my arm-compartment. She sent them throughout the past cycle.

“Dear Isolus, it has been a long time. Watari has taught me how to better communicate in your language. But he has since moved on to eternal peace. The rest of us continue the fighting. I have done my bestest job to replicate your technology, and it has proven effective against Agma. Our guns have improved, and your ‘stirling’ engines and printing press have helped us consolidate power! We have even expanded our borders by reclaiming some territories. Your gas masks work well against both steel and sulfur making, and Agma miasma. Please, try this jar of pickled fruits from the liberated. ”

Replicate? No wonder these guys stood a chance against us. Kylin must’ve been feeding them a bit of our capabilities and built up their resistance by doctrinal shifts, somehow.

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“Hello again, Isolus! We are the defenders of peace, and have now fought back against the foreign devils. Including the ocean barbarians. We have made airships of our own, are developing a new weapon to strike at enemies of the state. It is because of them that we endured so much losses on two fronts. They will pay for our suffering. Within this parcel is a copy of the sketches for our upcoming Fire Bat Bomb, and a package of dried tea. Enjoy.”

It was incredible how fast they were able to set up their own airship industry. The sketches she sent of not only the innovations she copied but also the new weapons she came up with, were frightening. I thought the bat bomb was a joke at first, since she mentioned how bats were ‘mostly’ just good for soup and guano.

“Isolus, we have beaten back the invaders and the barbarians. Now we must fight a domestic battle as other clans have sought to fight against each other for territory. Tonight my forces will fight from high places, and maybe we will lose ground. Isolus, do not forget me. You are my friend, teacher, yet sister. Attached is more dried tea from my favorite tree, and incense for you to help me pray for the safety of my allies and the souls of my dying enemies.

The new Fire Bat Bombs successfully burned down two ocean barbarian cities. I myself saw it happen, as a big fire-tornado. Inferno. They pull back their ships. They cannot destroy us any more.”

She fucking used it on a civilian population. The letter arrived two weeks ago. When the news reached old man Inkunzi last week, he just locked himself into his home with nothing but barrels of liquor and dried meat with cheese. Kylin wouldn’t have been able to do this if I hadn’t allowed her to loosely investigate Pulvera – and Pulvera wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for Inkunzi. He shouldn’t blame himself, he’s saved so many lives; mine and countless others. Hell, maybe I shouldn’t have been blaming myself either. This was all on Kylin.

Several guards approached, with two in wolf hoods.

“Take her to the master’s quarters.” said the smug one, who kicked my ribs in after he stole my survival knife when I got here.

Looks like I’m done for. The other prisoners never made it back to their cells. The pained screaming I’d heard over the past few days wasn't reassuring either.

They tied me behind my back, and carried me past the other empty cells; up the various stone staircases and through several halls. Construction of this magnitude must’ve taken over a decade considering it’s in the middle of freezing nowhere.

Two grand doors opened, and at the end of the vast yet dim room was a shadowed figure seated on a throne. A dizzying array of delicious food rested on a long rounded table. A winged woman with horns and a thin tail groveled by the throne. The guards threw me into the room and shut the doors. The horned lady with a peculiarly reddish complexion got up to utter some kind of magic – lifting me from the doorway, towards the throne where I was dropped.

“Hm?” the man said. “You seem vaguely familiar.”

The lady twirled around me, pinching my cheeks and viciously licking them. “Yes! I recognize her unpleasant scent – but I am sure I have never tasted her. How shall we torture this one, master?”

“Perhaps I will have you enslave her, Zillah. Memoro doesn’t need such a rough-looking sacrifice. But first, the ritual. I’m a little curious to see what her feeble mind holds dear. Her silence and lack of resistance varies from the reports, and I wish to find out why.”

The man stood over me, pale skin and white hair with strong red eyes. Ostracia’s kind. I swear I’ve seen them both before too, but I guess that matters little, now.

Blue waves of energy swept the room as his eyes glowed under quiet incantations. My massive migraines returned. The throbbing was unbearable – I looked up to see his face turn from a kind of smugness into confusion and later anger. This went on for minutes as I could barely breathe under the pain. Zillah, the horned one, groped me all over as my mind felt like it was being fogged up and fried.

And then it stopped.

“Fuck!” I screamed, regaining my breath.

The man grabbed my head and examined my face.

“Well, now. If it isn’t Kantax’s spawn. Zillah, leave. Go to the eastern tower and grab me the Undying Artifact. Return by tonight.”

Zillah interrupted. “But-”

“Shut your whore mouth, and go. With haste.”

She frowned, and bowed. “With pleasure, master.”

The bastard threw me backwards, down two steps on the carpeted surface. The horned lady wore a black cloak and left the room. He kicked my jaw while I was down, and I could taste blood.

“You are to tell me why I can’t gleam all the way to your earliest memories. It is as if you have more, locked away prior to your childhood. And I saw everything since – it is truly an honor to meet you, “Empress Isolus,” and a pleasure to meet you again, Forlasita Lunarka. Why, it seems that Arsalan targeted you before we did, and rightfully so. Just to be clear, it’s your ‘revolver’ that started all this. I have seen its remains. Skippio tried to have more built.”

I spat blood aside. “Heh, well you remember that Ostracia kid from the southern tower? Oh yes, that one. Is she dear to you?”

“Estresya? You..”

“Aight, you saw her in my memories, didn’t you? You saw how happy she was in my care. I bet you don’t even know her at all. Her favorite food, or her favorite color.”

He pulled me up with both hands by the collar.

I smiled as I looked him dead in the eyes. “Honeyed sponge cakes, and orange ochre. Best part about this is she doesn’t seem to remember you fondly; hell, she doesn’t seem to recall you at all.”

“Fool!” he yelled, before he forced me to my knees. “You are nothing more than a contemptuous little harlot. I was thinking of having my loyal succubus break your mind to turn you into a mere slave, but I have better plans for you now.”

He grabbed my head, as more blue streams of magic arose. My last thoughts were of Nora, Qistina, Anthrax and the others – I’m sorry but I don’t think I’ll be back. Kantax and Inkunzi’ll both outlive me. The pale man held my head still and kept muttering incantations in the dead Elven language Arsalan occasionally spoke in.

100 cycles, roughly 66 years alive, only to die like this.

I braced myself. Seconds. Minutes. Time passed.

“..this is taking a while,” I said.

He paused his recital and exclaimed “Silence! This is one of the grandest spells known to the mindmelders of old.” He continued his incantation for the next minute or so, firmly gripping me.

We were alone, and he seemed busy so I tried to use the razor I kept in my prosthesis’ compartment. I freed the razor and started cutting the binds. I hurried but then – I blacked out.

…

I woke up again, chained to a wall. It was different here, with no light around, other than wall torches of blue flame. My body felt strong, and free from injuries. The most painful things left were the cuffs my wrists hung by.

Wait, I could feel my wrists? My left hand was there, too!

But visibility was poor and my weak darkvision wasn’t working; the wall sconces lit what little I could see, giving it all a slightly blue tinge. A silhouette in front began closing in.

“I knew it,” he said. “You are not of this world.”

“Excuse me?”

He turned a mirror from above a desk, and showed me my reflection. Blonde hair, blue eyes. Modern ballistic combat helmet with goggles and digital camouflage that matched my uniform and armored vest. It’s me – the old me, before I died.

“It is clear you migrated from a world with secrets I may perhaps find useful.” He grabbed various items from my vest. A marker, a tourniquet, two grenades, and a flashlight. “Your mind holds many secrets, and I will have them soon. All you have to do is give in and allow your mind to melt away. Once your essence is dissolved, I will have complete access to your memories, and you will be free from this bondage; this pocket of memories we are in.”

It didn’t take more than a moment for me to realize how bad it would be for this man to have access to those. Maybe it’d be fun to toy with him a little. Let’s see how this goes.

I softened my voice. He’s not getting his way.

“Oh great one, who are you, and what are your goals? Only the most noble are worthy of our secrets. First, you must hold that tubular device and put the crystal close to both your eyes so it may scan your face, and your soul. Be sure to press the big button when it’s set, and be sure to hold still as it scans you.”

“Hah!” he roared. “I am Eschaton, champion of Memoro. I studied your memories and saw how you watched me duel your mother, congratulations for escaping that basement. Seylas was quite the useful pawn, shame you didn’t kill him like you killed Gaston.”

I hid the rage beneath my facade of pity. I’m going to make this fucker pay for what he’s done.

Eschaton pulled the flashlight up to his eyes. “Once I build an army of undead to farm enough to build and support an army of beasts and mages to take back Mondo from the-” he pressed the switch and flashed his eyes with over a thousand lumens. He held it in place for a few seconds, in fact.

“My eyes!” he screeched, dropping the electric torch.

That felt so good to watch. I tried not to laugh. “Wonderful, milord! You are worthy. Hence the holy light was so powerful.” I had to tell him quickly, as he was about to bash the mirror into me.

“The light has seared into my eyes and I cannot see!”

“Champion, there is one more step and all of our collective knowledge will be available to you, much more than I would know. I simply wish for the betterment of Mondo, like you.”

“Truly? Of course you would note my honor. What is this step? It better not be-”

“Please, lord Eschaton. The ritual takes only a moment. Only the most brilliant of my people carried these holy artifacts around. Take the two metal eggs – yes, those green ones. You need a wider space for this so stand over there.”

“And then? Hurry. I grow impatient.”

“Of course. These are known as eggs of truth. Hold them tightly, as the access to information is soon released when you let go of the two large levers. To unlock the levers, squeeze them now and pull the rings out with the opposite hand. It is a little rough so be careful to not botch the ritual by letting go of the levers together.”

“Next?!” he said, with so much excitement.

“My lord, you must meditate facing away from me, for I am not as worthy as you. Squat on the floor, hold both artifacts between your belly and your legs. When you are ready to take in the grand knowledge, let go of the levers and s-”

A massive blast occurred in front of me.

Blood and guts splattered over me. I’d seen countless bodies blown to bits like this in my past life. His torso barely clung onto his head, and barely much more.

Never thought seeing someone get blown up would be among the funniest things I’d ever seen – but my laughter was cut short.

His limbs began tumbling towards a central pile of gore.

Slowly, the man took form once again. Lean, pale, and ripped. He rose cleanly and unclothed from the puddle of blood. With a gasp of breath, he then faced me.

“You.. I hope you enjoyed that last bit of fun.”

He closed his eyes, and raised a fog around him in the darkness of the brick-clad hall. His clothes reappeared.

“Now it is my turn to enjoy myself.”

Eschaton pulled out a ceremonial dagger, and ran it slowly around my neck. I tried my best to lean away, but then he got closer – seemingly savoring my avoidance. The creepy bastard kept toying with me, even so as to caress my cheek.

“We will be here for a very long time, you know. I saw a glimpse of your past, pathetic life. Perhaps the last few hours of it. I should remind you of the suffering you may have forgotten.”

Nothing caused as much suffering as losing my family, so he probably doesn’t-

A sharp pain lanced through my thigh.

Shit, no. I haven't forgotten this one.