Within the Capital City of Borda, Midbalmou, the ruler of the Nation of Borda, President Rottensong was ranting and raving.

"WHAT IN THE THREE'S FUCKING NAME IS GOING ON!" President Rottensong threw a small stone statue across the room. The statue shattered at the impact with shrapnel spraying the room.

Unfortunately for some of the lower undead cultivators, these bits of stone shards found their way deep into their bodies. The president's staff silently moved these undead from the office and to the private bone docs office of the president for treatment.

"President Rottensong, I have nothing to defend myself with, but that if I was granted more funding wh-" High General Crowder, General of the East Border Guard, sidestepped another object. This time it seemed to be a plaque.

"Do I look like I give a flying bat's ass?!" President Rottensong was heaving air into his vestigial lungs with great gasps. After a few deep breaths into his zombie form, he adjusted his tie and eyed the occupants within the circular office.

He walked over to his desk, pulled the chair back again from where he had haphazardly tossed it, and sat down.

Chevell Rottensong, known better as President Rottensong, was elected from the Undeads' Officials of Borda. Borda was cut up into many districts and each district would choose a representative. The means of each to choose a representative varied from district to district, but the prevailing method was originally by popular vote, but later became hereditary.

Each representative would be known as an Official, as many Undead would, and would vote for the president.

This next generation's president was elected by popular vote among said Officials. Granted the vote from the majority was done through bribes, coercion, and threats, it was still a vote, and thus Chevell Rottensong ruled for the last eight hundred years. It was eight hundred years ago that the Rottensong family rallied Borda to impeach the then-president Trimswitch with incompetence in handling foreign affairs.

Namely the Idol of Slaughter at their Border, kindly sent by the Fury of Deagoth with the prior entombment of the Holy Witch King.

President Rottensong cleared the black phlegm from his throat before he started.

"I want everyone to leave except the following." President Rottensong smoothed out the wrinkles in his suit before he continued in an even tone, "Crowder, Isaac, Warnam, Blighthrill, and Third Bishop, I mean, Second Bishop, if you will kindly stay, as well."

President Rottensong looked to his left with a politician's smile.

The former Third Bishop of the Church of the Three Gods had recently been promoted to Second Bishop. He was pleased with the advancement but slightly angered his merits did not spur him to first... All in good time, he thought. The Second Bishop nodded silently.

A shuffling of undead left the Office leaving the aforementioned named behind.

Each of the remaining undead with the exception of the Second Bishop wore an army black service uniform which included a black yet drab four-pocket coat with a belted waist, drab trousers, and different color ties. First General Crowder stood the furthest to the right of President Rottensong. He appeared to be a zombie undead with slicked-back black hair with graying sideburns to show his age, by choice, and with a colored tie, Red.

Next stood Second General Isaac, a skeletal undead wearing a uniform in the same design as the first general with fewer commendations. He stood slightly hunched with his hands behind his back. He unlike the others in the room wore his peaked cap proudly showing the emblem of Borda, three non-overlapping circles, a large, a medium, and a small circle joined at the edges into the shape of a triangle. His blue tie stood out from his uniform.

After the second general, the Third General Warnam stood at ease. A young zombie face stared back at President Rottensong, but one couldn't help but notice the 'X' shaped scar on his right cheek that made his handsome face twist into a grave visage. His lackadaisical smile that hung from his lips betrayed his grim look. It had been said that a grimace would be much more appreciated, but Warnam was known as the Laughing Boy of the North. A tale for another time.

Lastly, Military Advisor Blighthrill stood shaking and nervous. It was odd of a Geist like Blighthrill to be dripping with black sweat, but here he was with a ring of blackened fluids around his form. He was dressed similarly to the previous Generals, but he lacked the commendations and decorations as the three generals. Perhaps his nervousness was a testament to his lack of achievements in his younger days.

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"DAMN IT!" With a roar, President Rottensong slammed his fist on the table leaving cracks in the rare blackened wood, "I gave you direct orders to pull back, not to run here like cowards!" He pointed his finger in an accusatory manner at the First General.

President Rottensong then pulled his tie slightly from his collar in anger, as he continued, "And NOW! We have lost the east border to a bunch of ice heads from fucking Deagoth!"

"Sir, Deagoth is now in possession of a Calamity level artifact. Once they activated it they immediately attacked us. I did the best I could with what I was given for what was used against us. The fact that I still have more than half the east border guard unalive with us should be a fucking medal for me. With all due respect, I was given less than half an hour of time before their troops landed and were backing up on my ass and the asses of all my soldiers-"

"I don't want to hear any of your miserable excuses. If not for the Second Bishops gifts your path of retreat would have been cut off before you could have hauled any ass like the cowards you were." President Rottensong slide back into his seat and closed his eyes.

"What the High General here is saying, and again I must press upon you is that Deagoth sent a Calamity level artifact cap-" Second General Isaac, General of the North Border Guard, spoke and was cut off.

"And again, I must stress that I don't understand how this so-called Calamity Artifact was not knocked out of the eternal night skies! If there is one thing We are known for is our three-be-damned ballistae. How is it in all the Underworld you can't hit a target that huge."

"Sir, I understand that the East Border guard had a difficult time hitting the Artifact due to its speed. It was estimated to be flying at the speed of an Emperor level Cultivator." Third General Warnam, General of the South Border Guard, spoke to defend his fellow generals. Something of which, both of the other generals nodded in appreciation.

"...I understand the speed, but it was still in our skyspace long enough it crossed the nation and left out to the Lava Sea! You're telling me that the brain buckets in white robes can't calculate a Ballista to hit it as it comes right over the City of Darbrore!?" Poked the large map on his desk showing a thick red line from Saigunrai through Darbrore and ending just above Bineham at the Lava Sea's shore.

"There... seems to be some problems with the Ballista in Darbrore and Bineham..."

President Rottensong looked up from his desk where the map of the Ruined continent lay, as he narrowed his eyes.

"What... Problem?"

Military Advisor Blighthrill adjusted his collar and cleared his throat, as black sweat dripped off his nose. He pulled out a gray handkerchief and whipped his face hastily.

"WHAT?! Problem....?" President Rottensong asked again.

The three high generals stepped back to allow Miltary Advisor Blighthrill to explain, as they had just learned about this a half-hour earlier.

"Well, It... It seems that the ballistae were decommissioned and sold to a third party." The Military Advisor squeaked out.

"De... Commissioned..."

"Y-Yes, sir..."

"Who... did 'We' sell these ballistae too, exactly, and why wasn't I made aware of the decommission of potential war machines."

Military Advisor Blighthrill reached into his uniform, as expecting to hear such a question, and produced a bundle of parchment. He then took a step forward and placed them on the president's desk.

President Rottensong pulled out a pair of specs from his first vest pocket and placed them on his eyes, as he picked up the paperwork to review.

"Si-Sir, you signed these decommission orders a few months ago..." The Military Advisor Blighthrill wiped his face again.

After review, President Rottensong couldn't help but admit to himself silently that this was indeed his signature, but his fist clenched tightly crumpling the paperwork, as he looked up in anger, "You said these orders were to 'Relocate' the ballista to a more advantageous position!"

"Ye-Yes, they were sitting so deep with our borders, that none of them have been shot in ten thousand years... I just though-"

"THOUGHT WHAT!? YOU WOULD LINE YOUR FUCKING POCKETS, YOU INEPT FUCKING WITHER! YOU ARE REMOVED FROM YOUR POST! GET OUT OF MY OFFICE!!" President Rottensong roared again, throwing the ball of paperwork over his desk, as the Military Advisor scrambled out of the office, leaving the door half-opened revealing the crowd drawn up outside of the office.

The Third General Warnam walked over and easily closed the door and returned to his place before the President.

"Quite the pickle you have here, President Rottensong." The Second Bishop spoke for the first time since the door first closed.

"Yes... Very much so, your Excellency." President Rottensong turned to smile at the Second Bishop, "Is the church of any help?"

"...The Church has its' own hardships, but I believe that something can be arranged... But it would take the use of the Brutal Dead Souls to the northeast." The Second Bishop smiled from under his hood, leaving only a white toothy smile within a black void of the underhang of his hooded clergy garbs.

"The... The Brutal Dead? But that could just as easily infect our population as much as it could occupy the Deagoth invaders... Right?" President Rottensong didn't seem keen but also gave the impression that he could be talked into such an action.

"You know the old saying president, desperate times call for desperate measures. This just happens to be that time." The Second Bishop continued.

The president nodded his head, as he turned to the first general, "Have Secretary Lightburn draw up the paperwork for me to sign. Time is of the essence."

"Sir, I do not-"

"I expect a soldier to take orders, not to question authority." President Rottensong spat, as he leaned back in his desk chair.

First General Crowder shut his mouth now formed a thin line. He nodded and left, closing the door again behind him.

President Rottensong looked to the ball of paperwork on the floor that had been thrown as the former Military Advisor, "Can anyone in this room explain just who the fuck is this Monocle 'We' sold Ballistas too?"