Keith stood in the command office, the atmosphere tense. The room was dimly lit, with flickering screens casting shadows on the faces of the high-ranking officers present: Trickster and Kassandra. Outside, the distant sounds of conflict served as a reminder of the chaos beyond their walls. Meanwhile, the other Wardogs, including Juggernaut and Weaver, were engaged in a endless battle in the south.
“Zion’s forces are trapped in the northern Emerald League,” Keith stated, his voice steady but laced with urgency. “The True Horde has cut off their route. That means no soldiers, no food, and no munitions. We must initiate an airlift to maintain our supply chain.”
He leaned over the map spread across the table, tracing the lines of their dwindling resources with his finger. “If we’re going to make this work, we need to convert our Boomerang bombers into airlift transports. We can’t afford to neglect the European front; we need to support Juggernaut and Wraith to break through.”
As he spoke, Keith glanced at Kassandra and Trickster, who exchanged looks, avoiding his gaze. Frustration bubbled within him. “You...” he started, his voice low, but the anger simmered just beneath the surface as he regarded them. Their silence spoke volumes.
Trickster intertwined his fingers, a nervous smirk playing on his lips. “The circumstances in the field aren’t in our favor. Perhaps it’s time for our forces to... rest.”
Kassandra nodded, her expression unreadable. “We’ll send medals with the next airlift to our soldiers,” she added, her tone casual.
Keith’s face flushed with indignation. The weight of their words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications. Without another word, he turned on his heel and left the room, the door clicking shut behind him.
Once he was gone, Kassandra and Trickster exchanged glances, their sinister grins revealing a shared understanding of the precarious situation they were navigating.
Kassandra simply nodded, her expression still unreadable. It’s unfortunate, but necessary.then she start take a spoon of avocado on nearby bowl
Elsewhere in the bunker, a crackling radio broadcast cut through the tense silence. Nara and Zion, locked in their own silent standoff, both turned their attention to the distorted voice. "...supply lines cut... heavy losses reported... situation critical..."
Nara’s eyes narrowed. She glanced at Zion, who remained infuriatingly calm, sipping his tea as if the world wasn't falling apart. The juxtaposition of his calm demeanor against the news felt surreal. The air was tense, but he remained composed, waiting for Nara to make a move.
Suddenly, a massive explosion rattled the bunker, sending a tremor through the ground that made Zion’s teacup quiver. He continued to sip his tea, seemingly unfazed by the chaos outside, while Nara watched him in silence, lost in thought.
Just then, a team of coalition spec ops burst into the room, guns trained on Zion, creating an instant standoff. “Get down! Hands in the air!” 622 shouted, urgency in his voice.
Zion complied, slowly raising his hands, his expression still calm. He was a picture of serenity amidst the storm, though the concern in his eyes flickered like a candle in the wind.
But in an instant, the situation escalated. Zion drew a his fire axe and swiftly dispatched the first spec ops member who tried to handcuff him. The speed and agility he displayed were shocking, leaving the other team members scrambling to react.
The others reacted instantly, but Zion was already using the fallen body as a shield, firing the downed soldier's own weapon. It was a brutal, efficient dance of death.
Nara stood frozen, her heart racing as she witnessed the brutal efficiency of her former employer. It was like watching a nightmare unfold in real time.
As the last of the spec ops collapsed, Nara felt a wave of disbelief wash over her. “This can’t be happening,” she whispered, her mind racing. Zion, ever composed, resumed sipping his tea as if nothing had occurred, the stark contrast of his calmness against the chaos around him pushing her to the edge.
In that moment, a memory flared to life—her grandfather, Hejaz, entrusting her with the promise to bring Zion's head back. The weight of her duty settled heavily on her chest. Adrenaline surged through her veins, igniting a fierce determination.
With a primal scream, Nara charged at Zion, her eyes blazing with fury. “You’ll pay for what you’ve done!” she yelled, swinging her bat with all her might. The first hit struck Zion’s shoulder, and he stumbled back, caught off guard by her ferocity.
Zion attempted to defend himself, raising his axe, but Nara was relentless. “You think you can just sip tea while everything crumbles around you?” she spat, her bat a whirlwind of destruction as she rained down blow after blow.
Zion's composure began to crack, his defenses faltering under the onslaught. He tried to parry her swings, but each strike sent shockwaves through his body, knocking him off balance. Nara’s rage fueled her strength, transforming her into an unstoppable force.
The close-quarters combat erupted into a brutal ballet of violence. Nara poured every ounce of her fury into her strikes, and Zion, weakened by the relentless assault, struggled to raise his arms to defend himself.
As the fight reached its climax, the sound of the battle outside faded into the background. Nara's focus was singular; she was determined to see this through. Each swing of her bat felt like a cathartic release, each connection a step closer to fulfilling her promise.
Finally, Zion, battered and bloodied, collapsed under the weight of her unyielding assault.
The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by Nara’s ragged breathing. Outside, the echoes of gunfire and explosions gradually subsided, replaced by the shouts of soldiers securing the bunker. A young soldier, no older than twenty, hesitantly approached, his face pale. He swallowed hard, his voice barely a whisper. “Is… is he…?”
Nara simply nodded, unable to speak. The soldier’s eyes widened, a mixture of disbelief and relief washing over him. He turned and stumbled back towards the doorway, shouting, “He’s down! Zion’s down!” The cry was taken up by others, spreading like wildfire through the bunker, a ragged cheer erupting from weary throats.
But in Nara’s ears, it sounded hollow. She looked down at Zion’s lifeless form, a strange emptiness settling in her chest. The weight of Hejaz’s promise, finally fulfilled, felt strangely light, almost meaningless
The news of his death would ripple through the coalition forces, a turning point in the battle for Ashgabat., the coalition forces erupted in celebration, their morale soaring as they recognized the significance of this victory. Though the battle raged on, the death of Zion was a beacon of hope for them, signaling a shift in the tides of war.
Outside, the fighting had died down. The air was thick with smoke and the smell of gunpowder. Coalition soldiers were moving through the bunker, checking for survivors. The news spread quickly: Zion was dead. A cheer went up, but it was a weary cheer, the sound of men who had seen too much. The death of a leader, though a strategic victory, often leaves a void that is difficult to fill. While some celebrated victory and others mourned their losses, life continued, demanding new beginnings.
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weeks pass, As the remnants of the Red Army began to surrender or flee Ashgabat, sporadic skirmishes erupted across the city. The Coalition forces secured control, declaring victory on May 2nd, but the aftermath revealed widespread devastation and immense loss—both military and civilian. The Battle of Ashgabat marked a pivotal turning point in the war, weakening Zion's grip on power. While the Coalition celebrated their hard-fought victory, the road ahead remained fraught with challenges.
Kassandra, now the leader of the Red Nation following Zion's death, faced a grim reality. As the Coalition forces advanced, her orders became desperate. With the threat of extinction looming, she authorized the use of nuclear weapons, a last resort to intimidate the Coalition and stave off further incursions into Red territory. The tension escalated as both sides awaited the other's response, the air thick with uncertainty.
In the midst of this upheaval, Nigel, the war hero of the Emerald League, proposed a world conference. After long discussions filled with passionate debates, world leaders reached a consensus: they would halt expansion into Red Nation territory and focus on rebuilding instead. It was a collective realization that continued fighting would only lead to more destruction.
at distant winds, Xian palace chamber, Alam held Baihu close as they lay on the bed, their eyes locked onto the tiny miracle between them—their daughter. The soothing sounds of her coos filled the room like a gentle melody, and fatigue washed over Baihu like a warm tide lapping at the shore.
“They say a mother’s love splits after having a child,” Alam remarked, his playful tone contrasting the gravity of his words.
Baihu chuckled softly, shaking her head. “That’s nonsense. My love for you has only grown. You’ve been my rock through everything.”
He kissed her forehead, warmth radiating from his touch. “I hope so. You both are my world.”
A fire ignited within Baihu at his words, filling her with a boundless love that expanded with every heartbeat.
Suddenly, Alam’s expression shifted, seriousness creeping in. “I’m afraid of dying now.”
The weight of his confession caught Baihu off guard. “Why? Are you worried about leaving us?”
“Yes. I’m a soldier. I’ve always been reckless, but now… I want to be here for you both.”
Baihu nodded, understanding the gravity of their new reality. “We have a baby now; we have to think about our responsibilities. We can’t be reckless anymore. We have to protect her.”
Their hands clasped together, a silent reassurance that they were in this together. The weight of shared responsibility settled around them like a comforting blanket.
“Is this how all parents feel?” Alam asked, his brow furrowed.
“Absolutely. It’s overwhelming but beautiful. We must keep her safe, nurture her, and ensure she grows up happy and healthy,” Baihu replied, her voice steady.
“No more wandering?” Alam asked, a playful glint in his eye.
Baihu smiled, shaking her head. “Not for a while. Rosa is my priority now. She deserves all my time and love.”
“Let’s give her a better childhood than we had,” he suggested, his words striking a deep chord within her.
“Exactly. She deserves a life free from worry. Let’s give her the love we craved as children.”
“I’m feeling emotional now,” Alam admitted, feigning a dramatic sigh.
Baihu raised an eyebrow, teasingly. “What’s wrong? Am I being too overbearing?”
“I’m sorry for how I was before. I was a bad man back then.”
Baihu shook her head firmly. “That’s in the past. I love you for who you are now. Just be the caring husband and father you’ve become. And I’ll keep showering you both with affection.”
Their lips met in a soft kiss, igniting a deeper bond between them. Outside, the world faded away; it was just the two of them—imperfect people embracing their new roles as perfect parents, ready to build a beautiful life for Rosa.
Quiet Moment at Xian Palace, The sun hung low over Xian Palace, casting long shadows that danced across the stone courtyard. Alam leaned against an ancient wall, a playful glint in his eyes as he turned to Baihu, who sat nearby, curiosity etched on her face.
“Hey, can I ask you a random question?” he ventured.
Baihu looked up, a smile breaking across her face. “Hello there, darling. You look much healthier after last night’s… activities. What’s your question?”
“Do you think world conquest is worth it?” Alam asked, his tone unexpectedly serious.
Baihu's eyes widened in surprise, her fingers pausing mid-air. “That’s certainly random. I’m torn between giving you a serious answer or a humorous one. But let’s go with honesty. World conquest isn’t easy, but for someone with ambition and power, maybe it’s worth it,” she mused.
Alam pinched her cheek playfully, a mischievous grin creeping onto his face. “You’re so cute when you’re serious.”
Baihu laughed, her mirth ringing like music in the quiet courtyard. “Oh, you’re just being cheeky because you feel good after our fun last night! Well, I’m refreshed and ready for more fun, too!” She pulled him closer, wrapping her arms around him, fingers tangling in his hair, igniting a spark of intimacy in the air.
“Why didn’t you conquer Shanghai in the past?” Alam asked, intrigued.
“Well, conquering Hongkong didn’t seem worth the effort. I prefer trade; it’s lucrative without the chaos of war. Besides, being a pirate, my freedom is paramount. Why trade that for a throne?” Baihu replied, continuing to caress his hair, the gentle motion soothing.
“So you’d rather let others rule?” Alam queried, his brow furrowed.
“Exactly! I enjoy my freedom far too much to be shackled by politics. Pirates thrive on adventure, not governance.”
Alam’s expression turned contemplative. “Do you think I should give up my throne?”
The question hung in the air, heavy with uncertainty. Baihu considered it carefully. “That’s a big decision. Are you tired of the responsibility? If it feels like a burden, stepping down might be wise. But remember, if you leave, who will take care of your people?”
Alam sighed, the burden of leadership evident in his eyes. “I’ve been wild for four years now. I’m thinking of reducing my role to Marshal and finding a puppet to rule in my place.”
Baihu raised an eyebrow. “That’s an interesting strategy, but be careful. Handing the throne to someone you don’t trust can lead to disaster. Choose wisely, dear.”
“I want a good leader—someone balanced, surrounded by loyal bodyguards,” Alam replied, nodding thoughtfully.
“You’re not a bad person for wanting to step down. You want to find someone competent to lead, and that’s honorable. You’re doing this for your people, not just for yourself,” Baihu said, her voice reassuring.
He smiled, the tension easing from his shoulders. “I guess it’s about perspective. And honestly, I want to spend more time with you and my soldiers.”
“So, you’re admitting you want to be a little selfish? I can respect that,” she teased, laughter dancing in her eyes. “Life is fleeting, and we must cherish those we love. If you want to spend more time with me and your comrades, then do it! I’d love to have more of you.”
“I’m just afraid I’ll lose myself in the throne. All I see are numbers and politics, strangers wanting something from me,” Alam confessed,
Baihu’s expression softened. “It’s natural to fear losing yourself. If the throne has become a prison, perhaps it’s time to let someone else carry that weight. You might discover freedom and joy again.”
She leaned closer, the warmth of her presence enveloping him.
“Yes…” he whispered, capturing her lips in a deep kiss, longing and relief intertwining in the moment.
As they pulled away, Alam’s gaze shifted to the news flickering on a nearby screen. The announcement of the end of World War IV flashed across the screen, and his brows furrowed in contemplation.
“So, the Red Hair is dead by his ex-bodyguard? Classic. Just like Roman emperors and Ottoman sultans. The red nations are in disarray… Victory is imminent,” he mused, his mind racing as he glanced at the map of America displayed prominently.
“World conquest? Tempting…” His eyes sparkled with the possibilities ahead, the thrill of ambition igniting a fire deep within him once more.
The words, though spoken elsewhere, resonated with Weaver, a bitter irony twisting in his gut. Tempting for him, perhaps. Not for those left behind. The news had spread like wildfire: Zion was dead. His army, fractured and leaderless, was collapsing. Even now, Weaver could hear the distant cheers of the Coalition, their morale surging with every surrendering Red soldier. But the worst blow wasn’t the enemy’s victory; it was the betrayal. His own men, men he had fought beside, were now laying down their arms, some even turning them against their former comrades.
“tonight the news was confirmed, in a way, its dispels all doubt.. all that is left for us is to die an honourable death, It felt like only yesterday they were preparing for war.. now we must get used to the thought of total annihilation “
Weaver, then continue fight endless foe. he got bullet, and crossbow arrow on his chest. he then tear his military jacket. checking his wound. his semi composite skin implant save him again. but not for too long.
until he heard on radio on dead soldier in corner of crumbling room. “juggernaut , khan of khaganate surrender!” Weaver look at sky, which its filled by smokes,
First they came for the Tribals
and I didn't speak up
because I wasn't a Tribals
Then they came for the Streetkids
and I didn't speak up
because I wasn't a Streetkids
Then they came for the Wanderers
and I didn't speak up
because I wasn't a Wanderers
Then they came for Emerald league
and I didn't speak up
because I wasn't a Emerald league
Then they came for me
and by that time no one was left to speak up for me
He aimed at the approaching another wave traitors come from ruins, his finger tightening on the trigger. He would take as many of them with him as he could.
But before he could fire, the ground erupted. A blinding flash engulfed him, followed by the thunderous roar of artillery. He saw their faces, contorted with a mix of fear and determination. They were coming for him. And then, the world went white.