Tanalien and her soldiers dismount from their transport, immediately being greeted by the sounds of explosions and gunfire. She misses these noises, a chorus of beauty in chaos. In front lay the ruins of the New Rule’s last line of defenses, and beyond it, Thille itself.

“Advance quickly,” she orders her troops, her eyes fixated on a display at the bottom of her visor. “The Battalion isn’t easily slowed by the enemy pawns.”

Nasition had given her limited access to the tracking system beforehand, detailing the Battalion’s every move. It only made her realize the sheer skill difference between her company and the mightiest of the Confederation military. Despite Nasition’s assurances of his military support and of the lack of chemistry within the Battalion, Tanalien can only see the opposite. Their individual prowess, so varied and different, all blend together seamlessly, leaving little room for the enemy to maneuver and defend. Of course, she notices the divergence of small groups at a time, but they all quickly return to the main group, advancing as one towards Thille.

“And to think many of them have never fought a battle together before…” she mutters in jealousy.

“Commander? Is there something wrong?” a soldier asks in worry.

“No, no, nothing.” As she swiftly takes the lead in the march, following the dust of the Tanalien’s advance, she can only hope whatever Nasition has planned will all go as intended. She feels a little sorry for the Battalion, actually. If they so desire, they have the capabilities to launch a coup d’etat, yet they serve as humble beasts for the Confederation, willing to lay down their lives for the supposed greater good. A shame that even with their loyalty, the Common Leader has already decided to toss them away like trash, replaced with a company neither as loyal nor as skilled yet. Her company.

She imagines presenting the head of Tevlaia before Nasition, satisfying him in that ancient, barbaric custom. His foolish mind will allow him to raise their positions, becoming his most trusted. And even if he changes his mind, plotting their demise as he is to the Battalion, Tanalien herself will simply lay out her plans in action first.

Oh, how sweet will her glory be as she takes the mantle of the Common Leader, ruling the Confederation with a fake air of democracy to please the people. She is unlike Nasition, desiring only a nation to rule first and not a world. There will be peace as she negotiates with the other factions in a strong position. History will hail her as a hero who ended the violent war, the other factions forever in debt to her. She will be known as a peacekeeper, a strong leader, far eclipsing her unnamed predecessor.

Just the thought of it is enough to make her full of passion. However, Thille comes first.

A small squad of stray enemy soldiers enter their vicinity, scurrying away from their previous skirmish with fear. A mere distraction to Tanalien’s attack.

“Disintegrate them,” she commands. Immediately, a flurry of energy blasts pummel the enemy, burning their flesh, their armor turning into dust. Soon there lay only several sets of burnt bones, half-buried in the soil. They are still not yet at their full strength due to their recovering injuries, but to Tanalien, that is already sufficient.

She checks her display again. The Battalion seems to have slowed a little, their movements less coherent than before. Perhaps they have met a sizable enemy force retreating from the forts? Or maybe their weapons, their bodies have finally started to be worn out from constant action? Whatever the reason, it is beneficial to her. They are closing the distance between them and the Battalion. Soon, the betrayal, the first of many, will commence.

Her comms buzz, slightly alerting her. “Tanalien,” Nasition sternly says. “Command your troops to halt.”

Halt? Certainly Nasition means something different? “Common Leader, why do—”

“Halt. Now.” Nasition’s voice is firm, an unopposable imperative for them to back down. “The support is coming.”

Such egoism, but she has no choice but to comply. She’ll remember this.

“As you wish,” she says reluctantly before shouting into her comms to the troops. “Halt now, by the order of the Common Leader!” Immediately, the troops stop, each wondering in confusion just what exactly is the Common Leader thinking.

She can almost see the outlines of a few Battalion soldiers, each with differing builds, heights, weapons, and level of armor. So close to an exciting, exhilarating battle. If they are so close, then why…

“Get on the ground.” As Nasition issues another firm order, Tanalien hears the shrieks of artillery shells from both sides, so close, so deafening… She understands now.

“Get down!” she shouts, quickly covering her head with her arms. The ground rumbles as dust is tossed into the air, a shockwave nearly knocking them flying. Boom, boom, boom! The rain of Confederation and New Rule shells pummel the Battalion’s position, the rocks beneath the soil rudely blown up and exposed to the surface. She hears a scream from one of her own soldiers before his comms go silent. They are in a precarious situation as well. Is this the “support” that Nasition promised, killing all of her prey? Wherein lies the glory now?

Silence. The dust and smoke begins to settle. She hears faint groans in the distance, of individuals still fighting for their last breath. Is it over?

“Stand,” she orders, cautiously preparing a single energy ball for illumination and combat. She cannot let her guard down, not when her vision is limited by the thick smoke. The combined fire from the Confederation and the New Rule, massacring their own soldiers… Was it all intended?

“Kill all those who are still alive,” Nasition says through the comms. “The glory is yours.”

She holds in her anger. What glory is there to clean up half-dead bodies? Nasition sending them there… They are not warriors making their mark on history, but merely scavengers mopping up all that remains. So much for their preparation and promises of glory. So much for the “support”. They are just janitors, scraping up the trash.

She finds a Battalion soldier, his body in flames, his arm still twitching, crawling for some place. Beasts even on their deathbed. Without hesitation, she fires a blast at his heart, silencing his moans. They have no one to mourn for them anyway. As she descends the newly formed crater, she hears similar sounds coming from her soldiers, executing the unlucky few breathing their last breaths. Quietly, in a crater of rock and flames, the Battalion is killed, not by the hand of some great antagonist, but by their own brethren. Tanalien can almost hear the whimpers of regret, the croaks of rage coming from their ruined mouths before they are promptly denied their right to live. It is a pitiful sight, the scene littered with bodies, once able-bodied, passionate soldiers fighting for their faction.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen!

She suddenly notices a figure still standing, her right arm still in possession of a blade almost gleaming through the dust. There is still an aura of some dignity despite her terribly injured body, but her singed hair in a mess like a wild creature.

“There’s still one,” Tanalien calls to her soldiers, motioning for them to slowly encircle the lone soldier. The figure turns around, revealing a broken mask which exposed the mouth. A blank surface with a single handprint over the slit for the left eye. An iconic symbol in the military, one that represented ruthlessness and perfection.

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The leader of the Battalion, the greatest of them all. One born from the ashes of war. Tevlaia herself, a pure mess but still standing, stunned at the scene around her.

And then she takes off, her bloodied legs dashing as if they are in perfect form.

Tanalien didn’t even have to command her troops. Like a mob, they all begin chasing Tevlaia from their respective positions, some firing blasts at her while others attempt to get close and pin her down. It shouldn’t be too difficult, yet Tevlaia continually evades their attacks, her awareness and agility not dented one bit from the barrage.

“Calm down,” she commands. “Fire sparingly to not expose our positions.” Even still, she can only hope her soldiers can quell their own bloodlust.

She’s fast. No matter how they try to outflank her or injure her, she keeps on going, her legs like a perpetual engine, never stopping. In fact, Tanalien thinks she's speeding up. The further they venture into enemy territory, the more cautious they have to be—

“Wait!” A careless soldier rushes too near, hoping to catch Tevlaia off guard. Instead, he finds a crude blade embedded in his stomach. In panic, they fire almost simultaneously, exposing their locations as their shots instead kill their comrade.

Ahead, Tanalien sees the figures of more soldiers. New Rule soldiers. They seem to be in the process of rapidly retreating from the forts, but they are still very much armed. Her soldiers have yet to see them, but it won’t take long. Tevlaia continues to run almost aimlessly forward, her legs an automaton driving her forward.

The figures are clearer now as the smoke begins to disperse. A few have already noticed Tanalien, their rifles shakingly aimed at her. Why they haven’t fired yet, she doesn’t know. Perhaps they are afraid? Whatever the case, it does provide an opportunity for her company to continue pursuing only one target.

“Do not fire at the New Rule soldiers just up ahead,” she says into her comms. “Focus on our target.”

“And what if they fire at us?” a soldier asks.

“Ignore them,” she replies. “I have no idea how many are currently falling back, only that our job is to destroy what remains of the Battalion. Do not fire at them. I repeat, do not fire at them.” Their company is far isolated from the rest of the Confederation forces. Tanalien calculates that they have advanced beyond their artillery range already, effectively alone from all sources of help for a while. Well, on the positive side, at least the chances of ending like the Battalion have been minimalized.

As they rush past the shocked and bewildered New Rule forces, they do not even glance at the supposed enemy, their attacks continuing to be directed at Tevlaia. The intention is clear: they only have one enemy in their sights.

The soldiers of the New Rule hesitate in confusion for a moment. They stand stunned, forgetting they are in a retreat. They don’t know what to do.

And then Tevlaia kills one of them, her blade bashing on the shocked soldier’s head.

Tanalien smiles.

Immediately, the “enemy” soldiers fire their weapons, individuals closing in from three sides in front. Not at Tanalien’s company, but at Tevlaia. It is a strange image. The Confederation and the New Rule, setting aside their differences in a small pocket, united by the goal to kill one individual.

Tevlaia suddenly stops, her legs grinding to a halt. She drops her blade. Tanalien fires, the blast puncturing Tevlaia’s chest. Yet instead of falling, Tevlaia’s body merely regenerates, the flesh, bones, and skin coming together as if nothing had happened.

“Hem her in!” Tanalien shouts as the soldiers from both sides immediately converge inwards, the New Rule’s troops pierce Tevlaia with their pikes, crushing her with their shields. Tanalien’s own forces fire from a distance, destroying Tevlaia’s body over and over again. Yet despite the bloody mess, Tevlaia is alive. Breathing. Refusing to be killed.

Just what is happening?

An explosion of spikes from Tevlaia’s body, skewering several soldiers through their shields. Her fists lodge themselves in another, breaking their ribs. Disposing of all who are near her, she just charges on, her entire body becoming a weapon.

How fitting for a member of the Battalion.

“Shut her down!” Tanalien orders, firing a burst of blasts as several of her soldiers close in, only to be killed by a single blow to their faces. They simply cannot contain Tevlaia, their prey stubbornly refusing to give up her life.

The clang of blades ring in Tanalien’s ears. She has been so fixated on Tevlaia, she has already lost track of her location. She looks around, hoping to find at least some clue of their whereabouts. Instead, she sees only the expanse of wasteland, with some of the New Rule soldiers already fleeing back to the city, leaving her company to their devices. Amateurs remain amateurs.

“Company Leader, where is she?” a soldier asks as the rest of her company catches up.

“She’s…” Tanalien says, but is cut off by the lack of anyone in front of her. In her brief moment of distraction, Tevlaia has disappeared. “Gone.”

Their energy, their strength, all spent for their last target to simply disappear.

“Have you disposed of them all?” Nasition’s voice invades her comms. The timing… Is he just here to demand an answer, or does he already know?

“... Yes,” Tanalien lies. She can only hope Tevlaia will be destroyed by someone else.

“Your glory awaits you in Thille. Advance on. Victory is near.”

“... Yes.” Tanalien has nothing else to say. All their effort, all their work, and they still have to continue onwards. She has been exploited, but what can she really do? She cannot back down, nor is her company strong enough to resist Nasition’s command.

She understands a little of the Battalion’s plight now. But unlike them, she will rise to the top.

“Advance onwards.” Her morale, her victory will not be dashed by this minor delay. “Capture some of the cowardly enemy soldiers as hostages. We’ll need them.”

Nasition may have snatched their temporary moment of glory, but she will simply bring a far larger trophy: the city of Thille itself.

They march onwards, dragging behind them a few unfortunate New Rule soldiers, moments ago just helping them in the chase. Tanalien knows they are woefully outnumbered. This is the least they can do, to give her company at least some leverage or maybe stall for time before reinforcements arrive. She can hear the bombardments encroaching closer.

A lone armored figure appears in the distance, standing alone, his head turned another way, unfazed by their entrance. His demeanor is calm, his body seeming to be relaxed even with a mass of lethal spikes next to him. As he turns his head around, Tanalien recognizes the figure’s face sheltered in his broken helmet. Two eyes so blank, an enigmatic smile, brown hair nearly touching the eyes and nose. And of course, his sword, the all-too-familiar weapon that brought her entire company to its knees a while before. Her soldiers recognize him too, pointing their hands at his direction, immediately on edge.

Avalel, now the leader of the New Rule, does not even stare them in the eye, his gaze looking further beyond to the rest of the Confederation forces.

What an insult. Has he forgotten how Tanalien had massacred his entire village? Has he forgotten his own desperate rage, killing his own comrade? Does he not recognize the same company that ruined his entire self in one day? Yet here they are, to him like insects, not even worth a glance. Tanalien despises this arrogance.

Wait… Is he smiling?

Behind him, thousands of troops appear almost out of nowhere, the faint outlines of armored vehicles taking shape in the dust. The screaming of artillery and aircraft, almost from all sides, like the appearance of a sudden flood, ready to drown them all. Avalel… Did he plan this from the start?

“Nasition—” Wait, why is he the first one she thinks to contact? What can he even do? He is probably sitting comfortably in some place far away, if not all the way in Achien itself. What will he even do?

“I noticed,” he answers, his voice suppressing something. Anger? Disappointment? Joy? “You have done your job. It’s over.”

Tanalien sees the shells now. Was that what Tevlaia saw before her entire battalion was annihilated? She is foolish, utterly foolish to think she and her company even had a chance to oust Nasition for her own benefit. In the end, they are the same as the Battalion, used and exploited, never even given the opportunity to form their own identity. In the end, they suffer the same fate, their existences soon to be forgotten.

The irony.

An explosion, destroying Tanalien and her company in one strike.