"Perhaps, we are merely seeing the greatest consequences of sending them all to our wars and shoving militarism into our sons. Young men have gone mad."

- Redcastle Post, after the Redcastle Sarin Attacks.

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Free Confederation of Westlauren

City of Rebenslof, Kingdom of Halia

Day 5 of the General Strike

Run. He needed to run.

They were right all along.

His eyes were burning. He could not breathe. And there were screams all around him. But he needed to carry on, if he just dragged himself away and ran harder, perhaps he could eventually breathe.

Damn them, damn them all!

He dropped his shield, it wasn't useful anyways. It was already crumpled, deformed. Yet he spent a good fortune on it. They all did.

When they were asked at the University to join the Militia, they all threw their savings for their equipment.

It was their civic duty, to defend their rights, after all.

That shield represented it.

He reached the line as it reformed. His buddies, who he saw through his eyes that were profusely wet, opened a window through the shield wall to let him in.

"Robert! Where the fuck is your gas mask?" Asked Martin, his long-time friend. He knew him since middle school when they would go into these skirmishes with the students of certain all-girls schools who wanted to use them as target practice with their magic.

He was always there, just like now, fighting at the front.

He looked at the lens of Martin's gas mask, as tiny droplets appeared on it.

His eyes were tearing again.

All Robert did was run his quivering hand on his broken nose and bleeding lips.

"S-she bashed me with her baton. I couldn't breathe, the filter was damaged, I think…wait, that's, actually a lot of blood…"

"Fuck, go behind the line."

He went past through the line, as men pushed forward. Bangs went off all around him, as the shouts rose. All he could do was place a handkerchief on his nose and mouth.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. It's so painful!

Three men ran past him, all of them carried a Molotov cocktail, and they tossed them high.

He ran past two men with guns.

Past men who fired fireworks, as if it was artillery.

Past dozens of shielded men who rushed to reinforce the line.

Past wooden barricades and tires that burned.

Past a wall filled with posters.

And then when he turned to another street, there were loud bangs and fires in the distance. Young men ran toward his direction, as they retreated. He saw Royal Guard knights in riot gear climb past the wooden barricades.

He turned away and joined the retreating men.

He ducked down and kept his hands in the air as more bangs went off in the distance.

"Retreat!" Someone who ran beside him shouted. "They're arresting everyone!"

That made him run even faster.

But as he ran, he stopped, and so did many beside him, as trucks and vans stopped on the side of the road. They were marked with the NRF logo, and the lead vehicles flew flags of the so-called "revolutionary" bicolor.

A flag that gained widespread notoriety in the past few months.

Men in civilian tactical gear stepped out. They were older. They reminded him of the war veterans that were returning home. And just like them, they wore gas masks, which hid their faces.

"All of you, are you all from the ORP?"

"Yes! What are you doing in our neighborhood?" Someone replied from their Militia, as they prepared their shields and melee.

They always had two problems to deal with, after all. While at first glance, the ORP and the NRF would be natural allies, bad blood had begun to grow.

And naturally, that caused a split between the Civil Defense Militia - between the ORP wing and the NRF wing.

And most of the ORP militiamen on the ground were young men still in high school or college.

Like him.

NRF Militias, who viewed themselves as the superior ones compared to them, regarded them as softies, and would routinely "conscript" them forcibly for riots.

Now with the General Strike, they even had more of an excuse to force them to fight, now that they were actively starting protests and demonstrations.

He heard that NRF militias would routinely block escape routes whenever a protest turned violent. He didn't expect it to happen to them.

Dammit, these fucks.

"No retreat!" Their leader shouted.

"What?"

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"I said no retreat, pussies. Are you fighting for your rights? You are? Then get back there and plug the line! If you call yourselves a 'Civil Defense Militia' then act like one."

"We can't, we're beaten." Someone retorted. "We need to retreat and regroup instead."

Their rifles were raised at them.

"No, you won't kid. Get back, and plug the line. Now."

Reluctantly, they scurried back to their positions. Robert's hand was shaking, and his body ached, as he ran back with his fellow militiamen.

Anyone who retreated had no other choice but to turn back as the armed men behind them told them to do so.

"Fuck, fuck, we're gonna get beaten and arrested. Fuck!!!" Someone cursed beside him as he lit up a Molotov cocktail.

In no time, they reached the main body of the Militia. There were still probably a few hundred on the tight streets that held on to their barricaded lines, but it was clear that a retreat was being organized.

But their line was breaking.

…

The sudden slam winded her. It came out of nowhere, and now her vision was out of focus. She opened her eyes, yet she could not see. Her visor had cracks on it.

By the time she regained her bearings, someone was shouting at her.

"Louise?! Louise?!"

"Colleen?" She said back, as she noticed that she was shaking her. "Sorry, I just got…wait…there, I'm okay."

"Your visor's cracked."

She raised her riot helmet's visor, which left her gas mask and face unprotected.

Damn...that guy went hard on me.

Colleen helped her stand up, and while she felt dizzy, she stood up.

She looked back as her fellow Royal Guard knights were forced back into a retreat after a hail of Molotovs rained on them. The two rejoined their formation, and before she knew it, they were once again facing the Militia's dreaded shield wall.

But they were battered. Damaged shields, injured men, broken barricades, and a line that seemed to stagger every moment.

Yet they still stood, and she could even see men that retreated who returned to rejoin their line.

Broken and battered, but still defiant to stand their ground.

She definitely felt a tinge of respect for the brats. But that didn't change the questionable situation they faced. They were merely beating young boys. Armed boys yes, but still boys nonetheless.

And contrary to expectations, women never enjoyed beating men, much less youngsters, into a bloody pulp.

"Goddess, how did this protest turn violent?"

"They started it. If they didn't throw rocks suddenly-"

"But we've been gassing them for hours."

"Just shut up, Louise."

She bit her lip and focused on them instead. On the Militia line, she could hear shouts.

"Formation!" someone bellowed.

"No retreat!" the man waving the Orlish flag shouted.

"Hold your ground!"

It almost felt like they were a military force. It made sense, even at young ages, men were conditioned to be militaristic. Especially by their peers. A tradition unbroken before magic appeared.

But something was strange about those who ran back to rejoin their formation. They were shaking. Badly injured. Nervous. There was no reason for them to stay.

But why?

"Sisters!" Their leader called. "Present wands! Electronic pulse!"

They're authorized to use that now? Immediately she fumbled to grab her wand from her waist. She never liked to use it this way. Her mother had always taught her that magic was best used for peaceful applications and that to use it for violence would taint its sanctity.

But, no choice. This was her job.

She aimed her wand at them, it was a modern wand. All she needed to do was to channel her mana to it and imagine the spell she wanted, and it would automatically do what she willed.

"Fire!"

Blue pulses of light slammed into their line, and the men went down stunned.

"Charge!!!"

She placed back her wand to her waist and readied her baton as they charged.

Immediately, the Militia broke down and routed before they reached them, but shots were suddenly fired behind them, and the shouts of agony filled the streets.

And then, it was a stampede.

Suddenly, the routing Militia crashed back into them hard. But they weren't trying to fight them, they were trying to run. She watched as a boy shouted in vain in front of them, as he tried to bash his shield and break through.

"Let me pass! Let me pass! They're shooting at us!"

That was when his head suddenly exploded and splattered their visors with blood.

What?

"B-ballistic shields!" A Knight shouted in panic, as she fumbled with her wand to cast a shield.

But the chaos broke down their formation. The desperation of the militiamen to run tore through them, and she found herself being bashed again in the face by a club, which knocked her down.

She didn't bother to retake her shield again as she stood up, and she certainly didn't bother chasing the kid who bashed her face.

She walked through the chaos, as shots continued to go off. She took her wand out, and as a precaution, casted a ballistic shield on herself.

There were dead militiamen on the streets. First, it was dozens, in seconds it was a hundred, and it just went up and up. The streets were too tightly packed. In the chaos, both Royal Guard knights and the militiamen were almost one, trapped like sardines in a turkey shoot.

"Colleen?!" She shouted as she tried to get through the chaotic crowd. "Colleen!!? Where the hell are you!?"

That was when she stepped on something. Blue riot gear. Bleeding in the head. She wasn't breathing.

Her heart sank.

"Goddess."

Ice spikes and fireballs began appearing around her. It was being fired around widely, as the Royal Guard panicked.

They didn't know who to shoot, or where to shoot. They were just shooting their magic, lethal magic like undisciplined rabble.

Who gave them the order to use lethal magic?! Goddess! We've been trained not to do this!

A sudden whisp of sharp air suddenly tore through the packed masses, and suddenly dozens of bodies were cut in half. The offending Royal Guard who did it shouted in horror at what she did as she tossed her wand and bolted away from the chaos.

What the hell? T-this is a massacre.

She ran away too. To where? Away, away from it all. She followed the crowds, but she tripped and fell face-first into the asphalt.

She turned back and saw what she tripped on. It was a boy, with a broken nose. He was curled up and crying as he held his stomach, as he cried for his mother.

She sat back up and crawled to him.

"Kid, what happened?" She asked as she tried to check his wound. It was a gunshot, straight to his abdomen.

"I…I was just running…"

It didn't matter. She knew how to close wounds. She pulled out her wand and aimed it straight at it. It began to glow.

"Shh…shh…calm down, I'll get you patched up real quick. What's your name?"

"R-Robert."

"Robert? Now that's a go-"

Her blood splattered him and her hands.

Warm. It was warm. That…wait, she…she forgot. She removed her ballistic shield to close his wound quickly, as she needed more mana for it.

But she wore a vest, no bullet should penetrate it.

No, she couldn't breathe. There was liquid pouring down from her neck.

My neck?! No, not the…goddess, I'm dead, aren't I? Dammit.

"Ma'am!? Ma'am?!"

That was all she heard, as his panicked face and the scene around her turned black.