A Savage Path - Venezuela Under Siege: RPG

"The wolf that stalks his prey is better off than the wolf that attacks."

It happened three days before the portals opened. Gorthok sat and meditated upon his throne in the great halls of Kahzor Kazaag, battle plans drawn with all the knowledge of human and mutant weapons gathered to them by the winds of Tempestus - or at least, all that could be heard from the surface. Secrets still laid underground, dull echoes of information that were indecipherable. Yet still, the Great Warchief did not stir in his tepid observation of what was before him. Even in this state, a quiet anger burned in his eyes, not quite breaking upon the horizon of thought, but merely idling there in his soul.

Krogar stood opposite him across the grand staging board of the encroaching campaign. His face contorted in obvious worry, the shaman did not speak either. It was on both their minds.

The Orcs would lose this war. They would lose any war they waged against the humans and the mutants, especially if they consolidated their differences for the briefest instant and united as a single fighting force. Although their initial stages of battle would be strong, it would escalate into a massacre before too long.

At last, Krogar spoke, "My Lord, my Great Warchief,"

Gorthok did not move.

"Surely we go to an honorable death if we fight, if we heed the call to arms the humans and mutants so desperately need like you have ordained. The elements are on your side. But I fear for the safety of our homes and children, our wives and brothers who are too old or sick to fight. If we provoke this many-angled behemoth then the consequences will be dire indeed. Our warriors of fighting age are able to withstand more than a few of the humans' nuclear blasts. Yet if they find Kahzor Kazaag, it will be the Age of Avarice all over again,"

"And do you not think I have considered that?" the Bloodstomper roared. "I have known of the human death machines. I know their cunning, and their desperation for victory. If they find that attacking our homes would be a suitable way for us to surrender then they will do it,"

The Age of Avarice burned a long trail of distrust and anger between the Orcs and humans. Even if the Orcs did not leave a mark on human history, it was surely the opposite. For forty long years the oil within Kahzor Kazaag was sought-after by dozens of barons, tycoons, and entrepreneurs. Many clans of humans came to the doorstep of the Orcs and attempted to drill either with or without their consent. The most harrowing experiences came when the Americans came, and seemed to want to make friends with the Orcs beforehand. They introduced games to their society, and gave the children candies from the surface. When they wanted to drill inside of Kahzor Kazaag, they were met with a friendly yet adamant 'no' - and then they simply disappeared.

Not even a month later, the Americans returned with armed men and tried to take the mountain by force. The same children they played their games with were butchered by automatic fire. Krogar himself, in defense of a handful of youths, took twenty large-caliber rounds to the belly. His way of shamanism was never used in open bloodshed, but these humans angered the spirits long before their attack on the Orcish stronghold, and therefore the winds of Tempestus were eager to tear them apart.

So ended the Age of Avarice, with the bitter and ritualistic killing of all the humans who entered Kahzor Kazaag on that day. They were friends once, and merely used the naivety of the Orcs to further their own agenda: if they could not buy or cheat the rights to the land, then they would force it out from underneath those who lived upon it. After all, the Orcs were merely subhuman. They had no rights anyway. They were not a strong culture.

At least, such is what the dead now linger upon.

Krogar pondered upon all of this as Gorthok spoke. He felt the wounds in his abdomen, scars pockmarking his thick flesh. The Great Warchief continued.

"Humanity will not change, Krogar. It will always lunge towards the next great disaster if at least one of their number count it amongst their blessings of profit. We need to at least remind them that this is not the way of life. We need to bring sense back to their world, to make them understand that there are greater things than just self-preservation and living. What is life if you just watch it go by? When you just purchase your grave and wait to fill it? No, life is much more than just money. It is about loving valor, becoming honorable, and feeling the burning rush in your heart as you die knowing you've accomplished something great,"

Gorthok stopped for a moment. He was now standing by Krogar, having been unable to contain himself in the throne any longer. His zeal carried him from the towering seat of power all the way to the other side of the room. He was visibly shaking with anticipation.

"But, if the humans and mutants are unable to see this, then I am willing to be one of their history's monsters if they would just put aside their differences for a day and live in harmony. That is my second greatest wish, for at least part of our large family would life in happiness. As a cousin I cannot understand the bond between such close siblings as humanity and mutantkind. They hate each other, but their capacity to understand and love is far in excess of mine. We are all a family, Krogar,"

He leaned onto the staging board, seeing the path he must take. Venezuela was the first target, the first empire he must sack. Divisions such as these were necessary to break down.

"And sometimes we need to slap some sense into our brothers, our sisters, and our cousins. Otherwise they will never learn the consequences of their actions."

Three days. Three days was all it took for the portals to become stable. How Gorthok wished they would take longer, or not at all. He feared for this moment, despite all the bravado and preaching about strength and honor. It would be the first step he would take into a dark pool he could not see the bottom of.

But he would not abandon his people in their time of need. A million warriors heeded his call, and were prepared for this moment. He shouldered the fear and anxiety, made it part of him, and took to the front of the column.

"Hear me, sons and daughters of Lorgoth!"

His voice, carried to every ear by the winds of Tempestus, was met with a resounding thud from the war drums.

"We go through this portal to our destinies! Burn and pillage without remorse! Humanity does not understand its own concept of diplomacy, so let them understand the Orcish way of thinking! Show them your strength! Victory or DEATH!"

Destiny.

As he turned and charged into the portal, he wanted to know what his destiny was. Is history going to remember him as a monster? As a subhuman halfwit who tried to conquer the world with axes and wolf cavalry? Or were there kinder things to be said of him? Of how he loved his human cousins, his mutant siblings, and wanted the best for them despite their unwavering political views? No, he thought. He shouldn't worry about things like that. Not now.

For he was still alive.

And history is recorded by those who are the victors.

"The wolf who closes his jaws fastest often opens them last."

Blitzkrieg - lightning warfare. The Germans adopted a brutal campaign against the British, changing night to day with burning salvos of bombs. Yet this term would come to mean something very different in the opening stages of the various Battles for Venezuela. Raijin, the elemental of storms, brought down cascading torrents of his spiteful energies down into the hearts of various settlements and population centers. Only then, under the cover of darkness and confusion, did the Orcs burst forth like a surging tide and burn all that remained, butchering warriors and taking civilian prisoners by the hundreds before scattering the rest. They never intentionally hurt passerbies or children, merely targeting and massacring those whose livelihoods were dictated by taking up weapons in defense of their homes or being - the soldiers, as well as those who blatantly fought back.

Only about ten thousand Orcs were estimated to be roaming throughout the countryside at this point, at least in plain sight. Where the others were, none could say, and Gorthok did not reveal their carefully camouflaged presence. And yet they did not make a beeline for the capital. Rather convincingly, it seemed they were intentionally cutting off trade routes, supply lines, and escape routes. While these consisted of easily-crippled highways and densely-forested roads, the main attack on the Shogun's seat of power did not come directly or by obvious way of intent.

Most of what the Orcs attacked were small villages, just enough to send a few remnants back to Ivana's palace in warning of the coming attack. Yet the honorable Orcs were not about to send children into the jungle alone, and so kept them amongst their families. At least this way they were reasonably safe from the ravages of war to come.

The anticipation and preparation ate at Gorthok the most. He was under the surface of that dark pool of water, and he still could not see the bottom, even as the sunlight faded into obscurity above him.

But this was already happening. He couldn't stop it now.

@thisisgonnahurt:

An apparently old man waddled through the forest to find an orc, and just in range for them ro hear his cracky voice, "I, would like to see he who commands you, orcs." He ordered to the emptiness walking steadily and shakily towards them and glancing around looking for them

(Not top notch, but no one else was posting. Hope this is fine.)

@thisisgonnahurt:

It was funny, The Tyrant could predict many things...the sudden appearance of Orcs was not one of them. His most devout and loyal servant was casually traveling through Venezuela with her armor deactivated to gather first hand knowledge of the country for her divine master. As a mutant, she was allowed to travel. Her weapons had been smuggled in via another route, as had her other equipment. She now carried it all in a black military grade plastic case with a strap over one shoulder. She stood in a village when the attack came and watched in fascination as Orcs stampeded into the town, killing what little there was in the way of a defense force in moments.

Oh what manner of beasts are these? Curious...they fight like savages.

Mistaking the supposedly unarmed woman for a civilian an Orc grabbed at her arm and shouted something about prisoners. Hm...She smiled calmly and adjusted the black case she carried on her shoulder. "As you wish." She said with a shrug. No sense in starting a fight here, not before I know more about these creatures. It looks like it could tear a normal man in two. She allowed the orc to escort her. She was soon placed in one of the small prison groupings (calling it a camp was a stretch) and put her box down on the ground. She knelt and removed her OVK pistol and ammo and tucked it under her shirt at the small of her back. She closed the box and sealed it shut again with a smile and stood once more.

Katraya approached the lead orc of their 'camp' with a polite smile. "Kind sir, might I inquire as to the meaning of all this and when my fellow villagers and I might return to our homes? None of us here are likely to cause you any sort of harm. Please, I speak for the villagers, what can you tell me so that I might dissuade their fears?" Time to do a little recon.

@thisisgonnahurt: @the_shogun

"Orcs. It's....they resemble Orcs." The Overwatch reports.

"Well they look like Orcs. Fight like Orcs. I guess we'll call 'em Orcs. Rolls off the tongue better than jacked up green elves." Bradshaw mentions.

"Think this has to do with Archium? Moya did mention them to be a resident species." Nemaz adds.

"This is just what we need! I never got a chance to really carve up some Asgardians. What's better is it's in mutant country. Means I don't gotta get all fuckin' emotional like I did in Spain. Just Orcs and some mutant bystanders. Ohohohoho..."

Beforehand, the Venezuelan forces were alerted to the oncoming Maverick forces. The trip took roughly 15 minutes after Maverick was aware as to what exactly was occurring. While a bulk of the Maverick forces were already en route to being moved via VTOL, Battlions of various special forces consisting mostly of Shadow Company and M.O.R.S. would descend from the heavens. Jackal sat across from Bradshaw, the orbital drop pod experiencing minor turblance as it fell, the minor plasma indicative of their presence as to the populace, it almost appeared as though meteors were descending from the sky. As they neared the surface, carbon nanotube parashoots erupted a few thousand feet before they got near the ground. Ordinary Hydrogen Peroxide Rockets boosted towards the bottom, slowing descend further and serving to mitigate imminent impact.

Dirt was a desirable impact point. Softer ground that simply enabled the pods to penetrate and burrow part way in, as well as absorbing a good portion of the shock. Men stepped out, Orochi soon to be upon them. In the distance, they watched as other pods landed deeply within what was currently hostile territory on the battlefield of Venezuela. Meanwhile others stepped off, right outside the capital city, where the shogun did lie. They were greeted by a mixture reserves and headed more so by elite Orochi, a combination of assault rifles and vibranium edged-katanas bared, ready to reek retribution on any hostile entity that threatened one of the few sanctuaries for mutantkind. However, as per usual, Bold liked to communicate to Ivana of his approach, and rather openly. There was no vital information transferred over COMMS and as far as they could tell, the enemy had yet to so far demonstrate any sort of communications known to the electromagnetic spectrum, based on shadow company reports. Few words needed to be exchanged before they already on their way to the palace.

Jackal smiled gleefully as he dashed off into a sprint and became a blur, dis, appearing among the trees. Shadow company around Bradshaw followed suit, moving at a pace of 30 miles per hour, able to cover miles in minutes. Bradshaw left behind and with no such foot speed, looked upward towards the sky and saw jet. His arm outstretched, his grappling device is shoot out to where the jet will be and it hits it's mark of the Maverick vehicle's underbelly, adhering to the bottom it. With a thought, his suit hardens to withstand the ensuing jerk that accompanied his ascent, as the group proceeded towards the palace.

From the sky above, Nemaz saw the palace below from the fighter and the jet's cockpit opens, as he lept straight out of it, his wingsuit deployed as he surfed seemlessly along the air currents, the palace getting closer and closer. He came towards the ground at a horizontal angle to ensue his fall could be adequately mitigated as much as possible. He dived down, fearlessly towards the ground headfirst before he spread the wings of the suit to slow himself, and brought his feet to impact the ground first, most momentum taken away as he tumbles and rolls along the ground, halting himself as he finally rights himself with a cat-like skid on all 3s, legs outstretched and a single gloved hand scraping along the ground.

Bradshaw appears, slowly descending downward, his parashoot deployed as he glides along the wind currents, his suit hardening as he too impacts the ground, landing with a single roll.

*CRASH*

Jackal is the last to appear, landing from one his 100 meter leaps, as he impacts the ground, aspalt in the street fissurring upon impact as he sticks his own three point landing. Bradshaw puts his rifle away, the first to speak as the group begins to walk. "Took you long enough." Nemaz sheathes his wingsuit, removing his helmet. "Know you nothing of subtly?" Jackal follows, sweeping dust from his landing and travels from his CNT reinforced chasis. "Oh, my bad. I'll be a bit more careful. Not like she harbors terrorists who've caused millions more in damages, or anything like that." He sheathes his katana, walking with the group towards the palace. "It would likely be best I do the talking..."

The group of 3 strolled through the palace, other men instructed to wait outside. They were visibly armed, but weapons not Brandished. Most of them were under impression that it didn't really matter. Far more powerful beings with bodies that may as well double as weapons have walked the halls before, and the Shogun was not one easily rattled or disturbed. Bradshaw's eyes remain forward, as Jackal's eyes wander about the palace. His thoughts and words kept to himself to himself.

Kinda thought when we would walk through this place, we'd be prowling it. Planting bombs. Punching pillars. Puttin' holes everywhere. Carvin' everything up. Wandering eyes catch a few weary souls, survivors sent to deliver message already to the palace, guided away by guards.

"Ms. Strigidae" Nemaz spoke upon reaching Ivana, wherever it was that she might be. His eyes remained towards her, his stare neutral. He already exactly what to say. Bradshaw and Jackal flanked him as he took front and center. Jackal standing idly by with a deadpan expression upon looking towards Ivana and Eric Bradshaw's face hidden under his helmet, barely displaying his eyes let alone his face. "Let's get to the point. As I'm sure you're aware, you are under attack, and we are here to offer assistance."

Information was vital in warfare, and in fighting a more seemingly "primitive" enemy and unaware enemy made gathering and transporting intelligence all the more simple. Presenting something of an iPad to Ruler of Venezeula and relaying the information of even the presentation, live. She didn't need to do anything to actually make the iPad shift or work. He only need control it with functionally his thoughts.

The video stream went to multiple first person perspectives of the M.O.R.S, sent into the field of battle, engaging orcs directly at a wide number of ranges in varying scenarios. Every confrontation, every ability presented and studied on the spot. Nemaz walked back over to Jackal and Bradshaw, as he spoke loudly for all in the room to

"So far, we don't have motive and that is not yet of relevance. But we have recorded their abilities. Strength has been so far classed from fifty tons and above. Perhaps to five hundred. Perhaps thousands or more. It's best to assume the worst" One M.O.R.S. watches in first person perspective as it is crushed by a car flung in it's direction. "Their durability is substantial and they have so far proven invulnerable to small arms fire. Not only this, but when they are harmed, they have a healing factor that can work in seconds for minor wounds" A clip of a few of the synthetic soldiers being swatted aside like a man kicking away puppies. Crushed beneath feet like flies. Swords able to cut through multiple of them in a single stroke. A wound, however drawn by hypervelocity round gazingthe arm, already showing signs of healing before that specific unit is destroyed. "As you can also see, their weapons are not modern, though sightings of something reminiscent of tribal figures and the quality of the weapons themselves might be indicative of advanced materials. Though, some performance can be attributed to simply, the mass of their weapons. Other features of note are their considerable size, and utterly different physiology."

The video feeds of general combat and M.O.R.S. is cut off from Ivana but continuously given. His ears, skin and eyes scan the room for a moment. Bradshaw sifts through more data, classing the enemies thus far on a scale of so far three to four on Maverick's metahuman scale, gathering more data. Shadow Company, using echolocation, and seismolocation in tandem with Maverick's surveillance capabilities meant that they could identify where they were in great density, leading to them knowing of their enemy's position at all times. Shadow Company were instructed to not seek engagement with the Orcs and left little indication on the visible spectrum of light to indicate they were there "Other Intel we've received is that they may or may not sport some method of teleportation. They seem to kill those who oppose and leave those who surrender. However, they also destroy most of the land they dominate instead of attempting to preserve anything for resources. They seem to be also moving in a coordination to try to cut you off."

Nemaz looks towards his watch at the time.

"We are here to strike at vital points, but the reinforcements of our army will not arrive for more than two hours. We are here to help so naturally, it would be well in our mutual interests to coordinate. We need to know exactly what it is you intend to do and what you wish to be done. Our objectives, if you will....

What say you, Ms Strigidae?"

He crosses his arms, turned towards her, the trio all looking towards her to see what exactly it is they should do.

@maverick_6: @thisisgonnahurt: @the_shogun

A simple operation, that's all they said it was. Get in, clean up, get out. The phone call had been short, Mask was working out when he received the call. A problem in mutant country, the investors wanted it handled with the level of efficiency only Blue could deliver. They had even given him permission to use the special toys if necessary, this meant that the situation needed to be over quickly. All this information led Mask to suspect a raging war, mass destruction and advanced soldiers. Now, as he flew over Venezuela, he could see that this wasn't the case. His eyes saw it all, these were primitive beasts that resembled overgrown elves. This was something sort of fishy, not that the investors themselves weren't fishy already. This situation struck him as something to leave to Maverick or some other force, maybe he shouldn't call in the cavalry just yet. A meeting with the fabled Shogun would serve his curiosity better, the chopper touched down about a mile outside the capital.

Mask led a group of two Peace keepers through the city towards the palace. He used his right eye to make them invisible to anyone within a 3 mile radius. Secrecy was the best option since humans weren't regarded in the best light here. He arrived at the palace, infiltration wasn't hard since the guards had no idea they were even there. Mask himself walked through the halls accompanied by his body guards and using his left eye to navigate. With a large push a pair of doors swung open and he dropped the illusion. There was alot more then just the Shogun, a couple of Mavericks dogs stood speaking with her.

"Hello, my name is irrelevant at the current moment but for now you may call me Mr.Mask. I represent the Blue Order and some of the higher ups showed interest in your...peculiar situation. So I only have one question for you madam. How quickly would you like this situation dealt with?"

Mask pulled out his phone and dialed a few numbers, hovering his thumb over the call button. A simple call could end this entire battle by days end.

@maverick_6: @thisisgonnahurt: @the_shogun

Solar Hawk entered the Shogun's palace not far behind the forces of Maverick. Two STRIKE agents flanked her and she wore heavier, more ceremonial equipment than was her typical fare. She smiled a little as she spotted Maverick's people and walked up beside Nemaz. "Maverick likes to show off still I see." she said with a sly smile and then focused her attention to The Shogun. Unbeknownst to the world at large, Solar Hawk was with child and the reason for her ceremonial equipment was that she was here more to guide STRIKE's forces on the ground as they arrived than to fight directly. Tyrus herself couldn't make it and had decided sending Xae might...complicate matters. So instead she sent someone with virtually no past with The Shogun.

"Shogun, the Director of STRIKE wishes to inform you that you have our complete support. She cannot make it here herself and has chosen to send me as her representative." Solar Hawk explained without a bow or formality, Hawk Lords bowed to only one being and Ivana was not it. "These two Agents with me are prepared to work with your people as soon as you are ready and we have more people on the way. The carrier itself is too far away to participate but we have several bombers on standby if you need aerial support." Solar Hawk fell silent and waited. She wasn't showing yet and had no intentions of making her current state known to anyone if she could avoid it. Eventually she would have to stand down for a time, but was not yet willing to accept such a role. Even getting her here as an adviser and support role was a difficult argument that had taken Tyrus nearly twenty four hours to complete.

@maverick_6: @admirallogic: @thisisgonnahurt: @below0gaming: @solarhawk:

It wasn't long before Starspeed arrived soon via a flash of light already in his blue armor with sword in hand, but pointed down. He rose into the sky from near the Shoguns palace to look and survey.

"This is Starspeed, standing by for orders." He said over the STRIKE communications.

He looked about examining the situation and waiting for orders.

'Orcs eh? Won't this be interesting.'

@maverick_6: @below0gaming: @starspeed: @solarhawk: @the_shogun@thisisgonnahurt:

It was practically a summit of war that he was arriving to. Major military heads have summoned themselves to the occasion of planned retaliation that the blight of beast have brought onto themselves. The war front would be Venezuela, a major mutant populace. All civilians capable of at least defending themselves or each other from the threats of our world, but these beasts that have arrived have proved themselves too difficult. Such power by a single attack has provoked these military heads in the "protection", more or less extermination of the hordes before they spread onto other lands.

Accompanying Miss Solar Hawk to the palace as an Agent of STRIKE. He smirks as he spots the Maverick attire on the soldiers that stood guard. Predictable that they would be on the first response. Such soldiers he saw were to be a threat if they ever became disloyal, their minds correct but their bodies augmented. Constructed inhumans protecting humans from other inhumans. They fought fire with fire which proved to be an advantage that they hope to keep. However what Braum can see, no other can see. They have set themselves on a brutal path and a darker one if they continue. There are forces out there in the world that Maverick alone cannot handle. Such as what may lay ahead for the future of Venezuela. Braum fears that this will be not a simple team effort. It's going to be a carnage, for both sides. But one side has an enlightened purpose, a direction that they will die for. He doesn't even need his eye, he could see it in the way they fight. Those beast are not just primitive beings with sticks and clubs. Those are dignified warriors that truly believe in their leaders.

Braum looked out from the walls of the palace. He saw panic. Families scurrying to find each other. Temptation to fight against the orcs. Roads being blocked by arguments. It was developing to a full forest fire, there was no stopping it. Braums first thought was evacuation from seeing the populace but at this rate he would have his doubts. Even with the help of these leaders, Braum can see the potential in his allies, and his enemies. There are no happy endings in war.

He stood quietly, his voice wasn't needed.

@braum: @starspeed: @solarhawk: @below0gaming: @maverick_6: @katraya: @thisisgonnahurt:

The throne room was packed. Hushed voices echoed off of stone walls and crimson banners. A vast holographic display covered the floor; every iota of Venezuela had been mapped by satellite, then the Orc attacks had been tracked by surveillance drones cruising at twenty five thousand feet. Psychic surveillance and old fashion eyeballs filled in the gaps. Red patches moved against blue in the cut and thrust of land engagement.

Ivana stood before the throne. Her armored hands clasped behind her, sides of her skull shaven and crawling with the ritual tattoos of the Strigidae cult.

Her gaze burned with focus as it swept across the newcomers. Taking each of their measure in turn, drawing to mind not facts and figures but rough impressions of their various force capabilities (as much as was known to Venezuelan intelligence) and tendencies.

Then she spoke.

"Plan simple. Enemy come from tunnels. Terra-kinetics sense them now. Terra-kinetic corp cause seismic event. To us, it very small. But it shift ground under earth just enough. Collapse all tunnels. Crush any who remain. Billions of tons of earth and rock, it mash them like boot on cheese."

A moment latter a slight tremor ran through the palace. On the surface it was subtle. A shift of a couple centimeters. Perhaps a broken window here or there. A burst pipe or two.

But under the surface it was a different story. Millions upon millions of tons of rock and earth had shifted. It was a small shift, tiny really, the result of a specialized and well trained group targeting a specific section of nods with their combined terra-kinetic power. Even together they were not strong enough to move all of Venezuela, not even a little. But they were strong enough to target weak structural points, shifting a tiny section of the south american continental plate a fraction of an inch... and causing the total collapse of every cave, cavern, tunnel and shaft under Venezuela.

In the palace Ivana smiled.

"At this moment cruise missile and drone have begun attack run. Enemy divided. They target critical point, and it effective but it divide them. We keep them this way. Your forces, the forces of STRIKE, Maverick and the Blue Order, encircle Orc positions. Trap them. Do not allow them to link together. Keep them separate. You squeeze them into smaller and smaller areas, we bombard with drone, with cruse missile and with artillery. We have much of these thing."

"Even if enemy survive this it buy Venezuela time to re-arm army. Small arms not effective against Orc and it take time to re-arm so many."

"Now. Go. Encircle. Squeeze like python."

@the_shogun: @braum: @starspeed: @below0gaming: @maverick_6: @thisisgonnahurt:

Solar Hawk shrugged, it was a reasonable enough strategy and anyway Hawk Lords weren't really built to be strategists. "Agent Braum, you heard the woman. Take our forces and do as she instructed. Keep in contact." She said, tapping the side of her helmet to indicate their comms devices. "I want to know what's going on at all times, give me up to the minute information. If you find yourself in need of reinforcements doesn't hesitate to ask for them."

I hate this. I hate not going out into the field myself and smashing orc faces in with my mace. This is...She tightened her left hand into a fist, reminding herself of why she was doing it. Worth it. Absolutely worth it. I can put up with it for a little while...I just hate being treated like I'm made out of glass.

"Shogun, I've been ordered to stay off front line duty unless absolutely required." Solar Hawk informed her. "I'll stay here and provide information as it comes to me so you know what the STRIKE forces are doing." She didn't go into the reason she'd been given such an order. No need to reveal a possible weakness to any of these weirdos. Solar Hawk thought. She was well aware it might seem a little strange to send a Hawk Lord of all things to do the job of an adviser but here she was.

@the_shogun: @thisisgonnahurt:

The Veiled Beast did not stand with the other advisers and allies. He hung back, his robed form partially shrouded in the shadows that danced along the edges of the war room. The Demon of Silence, however, did not share in his host body's evident standoffish nature; the vile astral entity drank deeply of the heady energy that swirled about the room. Warriors prepared for combat in many different ways: their mental exercises ran the gamut from an almost emotionless, systematic method of inner discipline and organization to barely controlled fury. The result was a veritable cocktail of psychic energies that was truly unique.

He did not participate in the tactical conversation; troop placements and logistics were something in which he had little aptitude or interest. Neither did he weigh in as the various psychic mutants shared their gathered intelligence, for far-scrying and remote viewing were dabblings that were far beneath him. He knew where and how he would best function in this conflict. Sending the merest of telepathic nudges to attract the Shogun's momentary attention, he briefly made eye contact before bowing in the manner of the Orochi he wore, and slipping quietly from the room.

Rather than proceeding towards the battle lines, however, he almost leisurely returned to his own modest sanctum. Once there, he extinguished all sources of light, secured all entrances, and laid down on his own comfortable bed, as though preparing for sleep. However, while the state of his body might have resembled repose, the malevolent entity within sprang into action.

It was not difficult for the Demon to begin locating the orcs; their minds were as different from the mutant population of the country as one could imagine. They would be difficult creatures to control, as their inherent rage and narrow focus would make the exercise as difficult as trying to ride a furious bull. Rather, the astral fiend did the opposite, reaching out to minds one by one, and attempting to erode their own sense of self-control, fanning the flames of fury within them, and subtly pushing them towards berserk savagery. In a best-case scenario (for him) he hoped to push some of the more vicious warriors over the edge completely, causing them to lose the ability to distinguish friend from foe. Even the strong-willed ones, however, might find their baser natures becoming more prominent; sacrificing tactical prudence to slake a growing lust for violence and bloodshed.

@katraya: @maverick_6: @starspeed: @braum: @the_shogun: @inner_demon: @solarhawk:

Mask bowed his head to the barely regal woman. He admired her strategy, herd them like cattle before slaughtering them to make burgers. In truth it was a rather basic military strategy no-one attempted anymore which only furthered Masks belief in it's ability to work. The orcs had set themselves up for it from the start, they spread out their forces in order to avoid killing too many innocents when in reality they had no realization they were fighting a hydra. At this moment in time they were attempting to behead this beast rather then go for it's heart, and well...we all know how that story goes. Mask waved his hands and his two soldiers moved forwards, like the hawk lord he would have to stay behind. His eyes couldn't see all of Venezuela which meant he needed to rely on real time satellite imagery.

"I'll take the south eastern part of the country, you all can handle the rest."

He made a hand gesture as he walked from the room, his men following close behind. He pressed the green button on his phone and placed it to his metal skull protector, the slightly irritating ringing sound striking against the drums. The sound cut and a voice came over the line, it said something to which Mask replied.

"We have permission to use the special toys, deploy 8 and have the satellite provide live mapping of Venezuela. My eyes don't have the range and I would rather not be around when this next slaughter starts."

Mask hung up and placed the phone in his pocket, whistling as he ran towards the outskirts of the city. Once again his illusions making him and his soldiers invisible.

The Moon

High above the earth itself, the Blue Order held a base. This base was the training ground and home for their most elite soldiers. These men were the top of their class, chosen to wield Blue's mightiest weapons into battle. These men were chosen to be pilots of a weapon that combines the power of a tank with the mobility of a man. These men were chosen to pilot Blue Seigers, and they weren't usually called upon which is why when they did get the call to go to battle the entire base lit up with activity. Com checks ran out as men entered the hangar bay, each pilot stopping in front of their designated weapons. The heads of these mechanical nightmares opened up as if they were about to devour the man in front of them, and with bravery each pilot entered and took their seats. Voices rang out over radios, Bravo check, Charlie check, Delta Check and so on until all ten pilots were accounted for and ready for launch. Their engines kicked in, the blue flames slowly moving these mecha up towards an airlock. The large metal panels opened up revealing space itself, the eternal blackness that was their home. As the mechs entered the void they moved together in groups of four, locking hands before jetting off towards earth. The place they would fight to defend with their lives.

South Eastern Venezuela

Within minutes the machines had entered the atmosphere and now they lit the sky with their blaze. The mix of red flames from atmospheric entry and the blue flames from their engines creating an oddly purple mix of colors. As the ground grew closer the groups of four broke apart into individual units and flipped their massive forms around, using upward thrust to soften their landing. A small cloud of dust kicked up as the Seigers landed. Each unit standing at about 23 ft they towerd above the buildings around them and armed with 15 plasma lances they were an intimidating threat. The pilots began to chatter, talking about what they were after. Apparently the higher ups wanted an Orc issue dealt with in a rather swift manner so they called them in. They were to find the orcs, exterminate them, and then rescue civilians. They moved out searching for camps or any stray foot soldiers to take out.

@the_shogun: @braum: @solarhawk: @inner_demon: @maverick_6: @katraya: @admirallogic: @thisisgonnahurt: @below0gaming:

Starspeed flew forth towards a group of about 10 orcs his blue sword glimmering in the light. But that wasn't the most interesting part. The very ground around them suddenly shot upwards 25 feet entrapping them with only one small way out, and that had Starspeed in the way.

"I'm holding in a group of ten here, although I've left a way out which is to me. Either they get taken out by the drones or they try to take me head on." Starspeed said. They snarled and began walking towards him, "Apparently they want me."

The reason he hadn't closed them in from all sides was because they'd likely try and break out or climb out. Which would be more annoying because he'd be forced to stop them all over again.

It raised and dropped its sword far faster than a human would have. Starspeed deflected it to his right and closed the gap pulling his blade upwards and cutting its arm before kicking it back as it nearly lopped off his head. It came again far faster and stronger cutting from right to left. Starspeed blocked it and no sooner did he than it changed to a rapid hammering against his sword nearly knocking it from his grip. A sudden blast stopped the onslaught long enough for him to raise his own sword and strike downwards, which it attempted to block, which was the entire point. The blue star sword cut right through the orcs and into the orcs head down to his chest.

"I'm ready for some drones. I assume more will be coming after me soon, it seems they'd rather fight and die than run. Kind of honorable actually." He noted by the look in their eyes.

"Orcs?"

A chuckle could be heard emanating throughout the halls of the manor, coming from the living room and sparking the dead halls with a spark of life. The brilliant geneticist, Thomas Larson, sat on a rich satin couch, amused by what he saw before him. The computer screen was ablaze with new information every time he hit the refresh button, as the story seemed to change every time- different accounts of the attacks being told in various ways, long before any news stations could cover it. According to FalconloverXxXxX, the Venezuelan country side was under attack by large, brutish creatures, resembling the orcs of legend.

"How... Bizarre." Standing up, the man raised a hand and felt out with his mind- reaching out to his trusted helmet. Even on something so small, the strain was significant, but he did manage to lift the gladiatorial headpiece, and pulled it to him swiftly. Putting on the helmet, he instantly felt different- the connection into his nervous system, immediate. Now, a different perspective on the world around him came about, a connection to the electromagnetic spectrum that he had felt before as only a whisper. This feeling now a familiar one, Thomas walked out of the mansion and immediately took to the skies, using his telekinetic abilities to replicate flight.

Venezuela was, above all else, a safe haven for mutants. If it's safety was breached, there would be one less place for Thomas' adopted brothers to call home, and even if they lacked the sight to see him as equal, Caetus would do all he could to protect them. Propelling himself through the cold, blackened night, he frowned to himself deep in thought, before arriving- breaking through the clouds in a matter of moments to witness the lands of Venezuela.

Before him, a village- empty, by the looks of it. As if the monsters had already arrived... But where did they go? Floating down, Caetus landed almost gently in the town square, not a single light illuminating the night. In silence, the X-Geneticist glanced around, inspecting the condition of the desolate village, before coming to the conclusion that indeed it had been ransacked. Walking down one of the barren streets, Caetus was fortunate to hear large, monstrous footsteps coming his way. Whirling around, he was able to witness the Orc charging straight towards him with alarming speeds before Thomas could react, and the man-made mutant was sent flying to the ground.

"Damn... Sloppy..." With a grunt, Thomas got to his hands and knees, taken aback by the brutish force of the monster. Glancing up, he saw the beastly thing raise it's axe above it's head, about to decapitate Caetus. Too slow. Reaching out with his telekinesis, Caetus saw to it that the axe did come down- but not onto his skull. The orc now fell dead, blood trickling onto the ground. Inspecting the monster, Thomas came to the conclusion that the theories on the internet were indeed correct, and grimaced with the realization.

Down the street, a call could be heard, a grizzly voice that was eager to hear another. Looking at the dead orc at his feet, Caetus quickly realized that the beasts did not travel alone. Soon, another orc burst from one of the small alleyways, looking around for his companion. First, he saw Thomas. Then, he saw the dead one. Growling, the beast charged at him, swinging a warhammer the size of Thomas' head with alarming speed. Luckily, the Mutant Imposter was faster, and the orc was thrown against the wall of one of the nearby houses, pinned by Caetus' telekinetic grip. It snarled at Caetus- snarled, where most would beg for mercy.

"Monstrosity." Caetus scoffed, before snapping the neck of the orc, and letting it fall to the floor. It was clear that there was nothing to be found in the town, and thus the Imposter took to the skies once more, now headed towards the capital of Venezuela.

If anyone was left to be helped, they would be found there.

@the_shogun:@solarhawk@the_blue_order@braum

"Maverick likes to show off still I see."

"But of course." Nemaz replies.

"Not like you don't like to show off a bit too. What? With you bird people showing the world your ta-tas." Jackal muses, holding his hands just below his pectorals. "Though, your sis looks good, even without a thigh gap."

Nemaz raises his open palm by his head and closes it, indicative of him to be quiet as Ivana speaks. The group is inclined to be silent as she speaks. They are keen on remaining aware of the strange assortment of people. Other armies had gathered, so many at her beck and call. As much information as might be inevitably gathered by her, much was gathered by them. Radio-Telepathic was conducted covertly, the three Maverick's convening with lased radio waves that did not ambiently emanate about the room to allow for any kind of interception.

"It will be done, Ms Strigidae. Jackal. Alpha one. Move out." Nemaz looks for a moment at Solarhawk's abdomen, deliberately, and then walks away. "I will be keeping in touch." Before seemingly fading from existence.

With that, the other two Mavericks already know what to do, they waif through the crowded throne room, though before he leaves, Bradshaw looks towards two in particular. Braum and Mr. Mask.

"Let's evade friendly fire. Here. Keep in contact of where everyone is. If everyone lone wolfs it, we'll end up doing their work for you. Though that doesn't need to be said."

Bradshaw walked out of the room, Jackal strolling beside him. Looking to the sky as more things dropped from orbit. Armored vehicles. Infantry. Not in large numbers that were coming and hardly reinforcements, but enough human infantry to manage more critical job taskings then M.O.R.S. were so capable. Operating aircraft and vehicles, use of complex and advanced weaponry requiring troubleshooting.

"Alright....

Begin Operation."

"Initiate Self repair protocol."

With that Order, red eyes of beings once thought long dead began to fly open. Their regeneration was limited and could be taxed. Being cut to pieces. Utter destruction of the head. Bleeding out. These were things that could happen to them. But attaching limbs once more, halting bleeding. Pumping blood without a heart. Operating with internal organ systems destroyed. These were things they could do. Repairs were not unlike glue, hastily made and not nearly as powerful as healthy tissue. However, it was enough. For approximately 45% of downed forces to recover. The rest who stood aiding them. Arms reattached. Organs put back in their bodies. Dirt and all.

Another order courtesy of Jackal, and utterly organic computers, without a hint of metal , began rapidly processing the command and carrying it out mere milliseconds later. The protocol often causing ignition of bio lumiscience, and the curling the mouth upwards to create.

At approximately 45 miles per hour, their muscles propelled them forth at their enemies, strapped with explosives of various kinds, some implanted within their very bodies. There was no hesitation, or attempt at self preservation. They simply ran at their enemies and sought to punish their close range centered combat. Every MORS that got with vicinity of an orc detonating violently with superpowerful nanostructured explosives. Deutrium Tritium bombs making craters 20 feet deep. Blast waves smacking them point blank with millions of pounds per square inch. Especially deadly to most any metahuman, though rarer were Hafnium 178 bombs, containing some 1300 joules in a single gram. Explosions unleashed gamma rays and X-Rays capable of tearing apart conventional atoms at the seams.

Though pre-emptive detonation could be achieved by something as ordinary as shooting them and setting off the explosive.

No regard whatsoever were given for men, women children or anyone who was simply unfortunate enough to be present. The objective was to destroy as many Orcs as possible. It wasn't mean to be a rescue mission and there was no indication of this being the case. These types of battles were perfect for the M.O.R.S. most often because public reputation and perception was almost a non-factor. Who would care of what happened to a few mutants? Simply bystanders caught in the crossfire.

A conventional tank in itself was a force to be rocked with. The front armor could withstand multi-megajoule, thousand ton hits, requiring 9 mega joules of kinetic energy to reliably pierce. Equating to somewhere in the neighbor of 4000 tons of force a practically any range, when one uses explosive shaped charges capable of generating pressures several times greater than the core of the earth for a very brief period of times.

Rather than abandon the tank. Maverick upgraded it with functionally more advanced materials and greater propellants. Designed to bear the brunt of most metahuman impact, the tanks filled the ground roles. Including Eric Bradshaw himself in one of them, commanding the crew as tanks drove comfortably through jungles, steamrolling trees and entering the fray at high speeds.

It wasn't long before the "Kaiju Killing" vehicles, had it's site set on a group of orcs sending rounds downrange with shaped charges designed to decimate buildings and poke small holes in mountains.. Keeping track of their movements. Brute force and tactics working in tandem were the tactics of the day. They watched, waiting to see how their enemies responded and attempting to keep their distance, delivering rounds from as close to 300 feet away. And as far as 20 miles.

"I didn't even like you in the hobbit. Don't like you now." Bradshaw comments on a speaker.

His crew of five total enabled him to pilot the tank to his standard, his tank being one that drifted. 60 tons of Titanium and Boron Nitride Nanotube reinforced ceramic drifting along the dirt as if a Nissan 200 SX at 50 mph, while simultaneously firing at their enemies.

"Let's see if you do something more than try to chuck a few boulders at us."

"It is the hungriest wolf that is the most desperate."

The earth began to tremble, yet the winds carried the secrets of the enemy to the careful ears of Gaion. She protected her flock, reinforcing the stone and soil surrounding their underground barracks and tunnels. One million warriors were now fully aware of their situation. Their foe in this new, strange land could command the very elements without the powers of the beings they looked up to for guidance for generations. Yet, the elementals were stronger, and this surely had to be a trick of the humans and mutants. Gorthok steeled himself in the face of the thunderous noise. No matter how great it became, his warriors never wavered, yet he could feel their anxieties. To listen to the earthquakes even though they were not directly harming them, to know that this would be more than anything they previously encountered, he could tell it unnerved them.

It was no longer a problem of how much they trained for this. They were prepared. But actually facing it was a different ordeal entirely. The Bloodstomper took to the head of his Mor'kragh, his Iron Guard, his most elite troops and warriors. His vanguard and banner-bearers, they would be the warlords who dictated combat in his absence. Amongst them were great fighters such a Razzok the Wild Huntsman, Krogar his most trusted shaman, and Gashruk the Berserker. Many more were there besides, and many more were in different places along the breadth of the country. All of them were ready to burst out of their skins. Tempestus carried Gorthok's orders as he made them, sent to the many shamans strewn throughout the lines.

"Hear me sons and daughters of Lorgoth," he spoke, noticeably quieter than his bravado mere hours ago.

Already, scouting parties were reporting of enemy contact within the dense jungles. Warriors of the Clan Maverick were prying into the camps. Skirmishes became bloody quickly.

"It is time to make your ancestors proud. Show them your courage. Show them your strength,"

He placed his hand on the earthen wall before him. With a mighty push, he would throw it open, and the battle would begin in earnest. Ten thousand Orcs. Ten thousand lives. Would it all be worth it in the end? Was there room to turn back? No. Blood was already shed.

"Show them that their traditions and memories are alive, even today. FOR KAZHOR KAZAAG!"

Immediately as he cast aside the door, a metal house greeted him. The long elephantine trunk, smoking, turned his way, but he knew of these things. Hurling his axe with such colossal force he rent the contraption apart with frightening ease. Crewmen inside, thinking themselves invincible compared to the primitive ways of their enemies, suddenly underwent a harsh awakening to the reality of their situation. Firearms spewed hot lead in the Orcish biology, yet did nothing against the thick leather skin and brutish muscular systems. Like armor, the very flesh of the Orc carried them so far and asked for so little in return. Yet Gorthok's Mor'kragh, his Iron Guard, clad in intimidating plates of black steel, were even more durable than that. With double-headed axes and the war banner of their Great Warchief in tow, these behemoths steamed ahead, their heavy footfalls attempting no lingering sense of camouflage anymore.

Gorthok retrieved his weapon from the bowels of the tank, flicking the fresh blood off the heavy blade. Not a scratch or chip marked the cruel metal of his most trusted ally. He joined with his Iron Guard, moving with such ferocity and speed that not even the trees were capable of standing in their way. Like living juggernauts, the Orcs powered through all manner of vegetation and obstacle.

And yet, this was not even the beginning. Whether this war was born out of a hunger for progress or a desperation to at least see a shred of it, only time would tell.

"The wisest wolf learns with others of his scent."

Raghar heard every word of his Warchief. He still did not believe it. They were finally bringing the fight to the surface world, to teach the humans and mutants that they were not entitled to the Earth - that they could not do whatever they wanted to it without consequence. Raghar was the thirteenth of his father's children, and the sixth of his mother's. All of his siblings were fighting today, no matter what bloodline they were divided by. He even saw his half-brother Khorak amidst the hundred he stood with. Their commander was one of Gorthok's Mor'kragh, and Iron Guard named Rendar. He was a beast, even amongst Orcs, his many scars and burned-pale skin detailing many years of war and a lifetime of heroic deeds.

Yet the most striking of Rendar's features was his left arm, which did not end in a clenched fist holding a weapon like many would suspect. Instead he wore a large brace tightly fitted to his wrist, tipped with a curved blade that served as his main form of fighting. In his other was a large enchanted shield forged with a rendition of his face during the most sacred Bloodlust - fangs and all. Rendar belonged to the Slaincrow Clan, who believed in the ritualistic mutilation of one of their hands in order to respect the sacrifice of their ancestors. For many generations the Slaincrow served as slaves to an eldritch horror locked deep within the earth. Once they were freed of that curse, they cut off the hand marked with the black mark of a death promised to them should they ever attempt escape. Ever since then, the Slaincrow believed that the mark of slavery would return should they keep from adhering to that ritual.

But Rendar had no such thoughts dwelling upon this. The Slaincrow interpreted all his Warchief had to say as the shamans all around the country grasped the words from Tempestus, the Lord of Airs and Winds. He unceremoniously bashed open the earthen wall with his shield-arm, and his warriors followed him out of the tunnel. Where Raghar and his siblings went, neither could say for now. He lost track of his half-brother Khorak in the chaos, and could not stop. The line kept moving despite him wanting to be more aware of his surroundings first. He trusted in the elements for now.

Rendar roared a hellish battle-cry as he lunged for the nearest tank, the one that had mistakenly framed them as little more than monstrous savages over its electronic form of communication. There were men inside. Rendar could smell their soft flesh no matter how many layers of armor they wore.

"I am Rendar of Clan Slaincrow, Maverick dog!" he chopped the battle-cannon in half with his deadly bladed hand. His strength alone could topple the thing.

"If you want boulders, I will make one out of this thing you've chosen for your coffin!"

Stabbing through the reinforced cabin, the large blade more than enough to rend apart anything beneath the area he pierced through, the Slaincrow tipped over the tank onto his shoulders and, with a gargantuan surge of power, buried the entire front end within the ground mere feet before him. He pounded his bladed hand against the surface of his demonic-faced shield, the protective barrier perfectly capturing the essence of Rendar's brutal nature in magic steel.

Yet, Rendar was a special case. As he closed in on the crew of the tank, he wasn't the only Orc successful in conquering one of these things - but he was only one of the few.

Far away, on the western front, the hundred warriors of battlegroup Logash came under attack by tanks that spotted them from a distance. Many were lost in the deadly crossfire, as the mighty bodies of the Orcs were reduced to pulped meat and shreds of bone. The magi were forced to reveal themselves early in order to deal with the threat, lest the entire battlegroup be lost. Rather than outright melt the things and risk revealing their presence to too great an extent, the magi returned the favor and shredded the crew inside through use of pure concussive force. That way, there could be a way of investigating the wrecks and possibly using them against the humans.

Barrok Thunderhand and his battlegroup were the first to encounter the dreaded M.O.R.S., of which they heard only stories. Yet if the suicidal automatons were frightening, the Behemoth of Thunderhand would be even more imposing still, as he ruled from the front and inspired by example. His right arm, covered in enchanted lavastone, gave him the ability to channel red lightning through his fingertips. While this would normally be unnaturally weathered by the M.O.R.S., Barrok could command every aspect of his twisted element. In fact, each bolt cascading from his arm was likened to a hand possessing his monstrous strength. In effect, he could tear these beasts apart without even laying a finger upon them. And so he dismembered each and every one that approached, taking their heads for a special surprise he planned once he came within range of the Shogun's palace. Yet for each one of these abominations from Clan Maverick, ten more seemed to take their place, and were almost attracted to the deaths of their kinsmen.

"Mindless," Barrok powered ahead, ruthlessly smashing anything that came within his line of sight that he did not immediately tear apart with his electrical mastery. "Pointless,"

"Disgusting."

He became increasingly angry the more that came to his hammer and lightning. They were little more than meat puppets, directed by a will that was not their own, sent here to die or do damage in the process of dying. It was true, many of battleground Thunderhand were ripped asunder by the kamikaze tactics of these creatures. But the living were patched up, while the dead were burned. If humanity could reach a point as low as this with their own kind, Thunderhand shuddered to think of what they could do if they got their hands on an Orc corpse.

Finding more and more of humanity's abominations of science only multiplied his disdain for the species. It was almost sickening to think that the humans saw Orcs as little more than savages, while they were creating something so evil in kind.

"The rules of nature all boil down to who is strongest, who is hungriest, and who is boldest."

"Here, drink,"

Freshwater. Cool, refreshing. Yet here, these strange people in their home, why were they offering food and water when they could just as easily use the prisoners for ransom or bartering chips? Most of the refugees were confused. Some perhaps understood. The Orcs were not about to stoop to using such cowardly tactics as relying on captured civilians to win a war. Instead, they moved them out of the way, hid them from the horrors of what was to come. Rhagash knew this the most. He wore a reminder of his greatest mistake made in combat, and swore to stay behind and tend to the sick and wounded. This was where he stood, ever-watchful over the shamans as they went from tent to tent, mending the wounds they saw and offering spiritual advice if necessary.

They answered questions. Gave clarity. This wasn't a war to conquer Venezuela, it was to bring the peoples of the world together even if it meant the destruction of the Orc race. It was about uniting a family that had spent many years apart, and fought for no real reason. Rhagash often wondered why his brother Gorthok would be so bold as to go into war with the surface world. It was a quick decision, and a rash one if he had any say in the matter. But he understood what the purpose of it all was.

This needed to happen. Aside from all the alien invasions, demonic incursions, and civil war from boths sides, the world had grown stagnant with the ruination of war. That was all that was happening now. It was a vicious cycle, one that never threatened to break or even stop. Yet Gorthok held the firmest grasp of comprehension about this vicious wheel of battle, for the Orcs knew it all too well. In order to break the eternal pattern of conflict, it had to be broken with such a heavy blow that it could not function any longer. Peace rallies and diplomatic meetings were just patches to the problems, not a pursuit of the solution. Instead of treating the symptoms Gorthok went straight for the source.

He would burn away war with war, unite the peoples of the world even if he had to become a tyrant and a monster in the history books.

Rhagash admired the fire in his younger brother's heart. He pulled the pelt of his former companion closer around his shoulders. The child in his arms had barely woken up since he was taken from his home in lower Venezuela. His mother and father were sitting opposite of Rhagash, the awe of his stature lost to familiarity of his kindness.

"Let the cooling waters of Miasmus heal your sickness, and mend your mind. Rest now, it is a long road ahead,"

The boy opened his eyes and closed them again, sleeping, but now with a steady pulse and breathing rate. Rhagash left the tent, leaving behind two ecstatic parents as they, too, tried to gather some form of rest.

As he exited this tent, a woman grabbed his attention out of the corner of his eye. He recognized here as one of the villagers and bowed his head.

"I am sorry, but none of you can return at this time. Your homes are most likely destroyed, the land they were once on trampled and burned. I will not lie to you. I know you mean us no harm, but this is for your own safety."

Rhagash did not lie. They were safer here than anywhere else in Venezuela. Right now, the entire country was at war.

Bitterness in its construction. The firm ground pounded by its weight. The magnifying height caught out the suns rays as it arrived . Casting a melody of shadows over command tents at the back lines of the battlefield where STRIKE has begun to operate with their allies. The darkness of the tents were now lit by cyan blue holograms and computer screens as they begin to coordinate attacks. More tents quickly rising up from the ground. Medical tents at the ready where doctors of STRIKE and Venezuela are expecting with no doubt injured soldiers. At the ready mark, operatives ready to give directions to STRIKE frontlines once they deploy as reinforcements. The command center gives their allies a tactical advantage by offering artillery support and a tactical checkpoint for resupply and retreat. "We have your back Maverick, Just stay safe. Over"

The STRIKE mobile command center has planted itself 2.7 miles behind Marevicks front lines. Just the correct distance where Braum could be an overseer as he watches for patterns of the enemy. As the STRIKE forces have begun their rapid deployment of the base they checked for vehicle and gear maintenance. It was all green. They were ready, but were the men ready? Mentally this was a carnage as Braum could see.

His eyes widen at the battlefield, it reminded him of how torturous and brutal the Vietnam war was. Two fronts fighting each other with the innocent not even given a thought about as he watched Maverick M.O.Rs come danger close to the citizens of Venezuela. "To sacrifice those lives for the sake of the rest.." It was like raining down minigun fire at the front of a populated village just to hit one target at the back. Thankfully Braum could also see their enemies which released a current of energy to detonate those man-fused bombs. Sad for our side but at least Braums morality wouldn't go down by seeing such pitiful efforts of innocent civilians being betrayed during war. .But in the end, he's ordered to do the same.

He watches the focused battle of Maverick tanks shredding down ballistics down their range. The Orcs were a meat shield themselves. Such courage was being bloomed out as they charged. They were a valiant species that showed respect and worship towards another nations kin. Something that is instinct in our world, Braum could feel empathy for them as his eye watches over them. 'It's a misfortune that i'm on the other side, but God has put me here for a reason' He thought to himself. 'Lord forgive me for what i'm about to do, for these warriors are brothers to each other, but out of their ashes and mourning, will their tears teach us..to love again.' He sees their spirits crying out with a purpose only a few in this world have now. They were not monsters. He believes that now. They aren't barbarians. They aren't beast.

'They're family' He closes his eyes hiding any regret as he gives the order.

"OPEN FIRE!"

Seven deployed heavy artillery began to rain down at the enemy back lines trying to make them separate from each other. Brothers separating, trapped against enemy hell fire. Will they begin to hide? Or continue to fight against the bombardment of the monumental defense of STRIKE. These constant mortars were not directly aims at any specific target but it were to be suppression, hopefully allowing the allied forces to advance forward in the abyss of war. Each explosion cratering the ground. Soon the fields of the beautiful Venezuela will no longer be green with flourished nature. It will be a painted canvas of heated shells that stroked the field in its anchoring booms.

The sky now lit by falling stars that would follow the directions of the Orc invaders.

The Commands Main designed M.A.C (Massive Accelerated Cell) cannon begins to turn its angle towards the tides of war. A high pitched volume begins to vibrate the clouds in the sky as it charges its first shot of war. The sound alone vibrated the camps dirt and energies swirling inside shaking monitor screens until the outrageous power is released.

An outlandish burst of light soaring through the sky would instantly roar in its impact against the hordes back lines. Going straight through the middle. An attempt to part them like the red sea.

"We are opening fire on the Orcs,They have strength in numbers..and in strength.."

"How's it going on your side?" He spoke to Miss Solar Hawk

"No Mercy! Only Regret."

@thisisgonnahurt:

Katraya nodded in response to the Orc, she had expected as much. "In that case...I want to help you on the front lines, I want to fight. There is no love lost between myself and the false conquerer on the throne." She smiled a little, looking out from the camp toward the horizon. "I can kill, and I know how they fight."

Katraya shifted and kept her eyes on the orcs around her. If they turned violent suddenly at her suggestion she needed to be ready. Her OVK pistol was out of sight but in easy reach and the hyper mutant had already chosen a series of genelocks to use based on their physical traits.

@starspeed:@the_shogun: @braum: @solarhawk: @inner_demon: @maverick_6: @katraya: @admirallogic: @thisisgonnahurt: @below0gaming:

A figure in the distance laughed at the strife and conflict, of both sides. However he kept that part to himself. He has allied himself with the Orcs, under the condition he would be allowed rather free movement of where they conquered and to be treated much like an Orc himself. It was a trick of course. He didn't care who won or lost, as long as blood was shed and pain was caused.

And now it was his turn to make a move. His turn to cause strife against the humans. However not in any way recognizable to be him. He had called for troops, not his demon soldiers, but metal troops. Soldiers made entirely of pure vibranium with adamantium swords and sonic cannons. Ten twenty foot tall robots under his command.

They fell from the sky like astroids slamming into the ground. He didn't expect they would survive, but they would cause trouble. They had landed right on top of two drones their size bringing them down.

They didn't say a word, only the sound of their crash would have implied they got there. Not even their joints made noise.

"Now, charge." It was a simple, boring, and easily predictable strategy. But it wasn't easily faught.

They charged, the front row of three with swords out, the row behind them firing sonic cannons, the row behind that also had sonic cannons and were firing, and the tenth metal soldier had a sword out to defend against attacks.

'Ivana, I have little doubt this war will turn to favor you. But think of the cost. So many will die because you chose not to raise a white flag. Which is exactly why I don't want you to. I want you to fight back, slaughter the Orcs. But get slaughtered yourself. Make your people wish they were never under your command. Make them feel as if you abandoned them! Yes, fight with Maverick and STRIKE. Call for help you miserable weakling! Your allies are only pawns on a chess board, hardly even rooks. Even you are not a king or queen. You are a variable, just like me. And every other one of us who control. None of us own the chessboard. We are all its pieces, some have territory. But we, all of us, are only pieces to a puzzle. Cards to blackjack. Nothing but rubbish. So feel pain! Feel the pain you and all must feel to satisfy me!' He thought. Along with many other thoughts.

Then a distorted voice echoed from his meral men, "Come and fight cowards! Show your weakness in battle, or show your weakness of mind. Either way you are a weakling!"

(Hope this was good enough.)

@admirallogic: @thisisgonnahurt:

He laid on the floor of the tank, amidst his crew. The Hunter-Killer covered in blood not his own, but of his allies. He could recall what had happened, a pound of raw force Few material could claim indestructibility, and Bradshaw's armor was no exception. However, it was created to help him and others like him withstand strikes from superhumans. It could harden and soften as required, preventing his joints from being bent or contorted as he ragdolled about the cabin. This armor was one of the main things that kept him breathing right now, from being pulverized by an invisible attack he could see, hear, process and that his sensors couldn't pick up.

But, the armor was not all that had kept him alive. Maverick was not "exclusive" and there were other ENCUs with gear similiar and even in some ways, better for this kind of thing. They too were caught in the attack, and yet many of them also died or were more severely injured. The root cause are G forces, the brain in the head and organs inside mashing against their own bodies. Their armor could have been made of Adamantium, but it could only offer so much protection against such forces. However, the reason Bradshaw had managed to not only survive, but bring himself up. To will himself past pain, was amounted to simply training. His body trained against the rigors of G forces, was capable of surviving far more than the average soldier.

His men who were so unfortunate as to not have such armor, or such training, were not so fortunate. Yet, he was used to losing allies. Friends. Every soldier was treated like a valued asset, hence why M.O.R.S. were created. Throwing them into the fray before any valuable human with skill, training and experience, who could simply be given an exo if strength was required to stack up. Training made to deal with speed, and to overcome limitations of endurance. Training that ultimately at times meant little with one simple mistake. Few survived.

He woke sideways, a giant stab wound in the tank and the vehicle thrust into the ground. A tank hatch was flung open and an orc, instinctively and immediately thrust his blade through. Before swiftly drawing it. Fresh blood coating it, he takes a step to the side, looking to the distance.

*BOOM* The gunshot lacks the distinctive "bang", the noise the mastiff's slug making uponing firing more akin to a canon as opposed to a small arms munition. Solid depleted uranium slug, traveling at well hypersonic velocities. The resulting impact being 542 kilojoules. Roughly a 200 ton impact connecting squarely with the jaw. The impact of this "Small arm" known as the mastiff, sending the Orc careening downrange in a smashed in chest cavity, only halting as he smashes into a tree some distance, breaking it in half as it falls him.

"Super Strength is overrated."

The noise bounced out the tank, and his armor protected him via it's sensory buffer, rendering him functionally deaf. He received radio intelligence. As an orc approached.

"Honor, the fluff you know fluffing honor?" He murmured. His breath preserved as one of the beasts moved towards him.

(Fight scene.)

By the single downed Orc, other help their fallen comrade up, Bradshaw holding his combat knife, shuffling backwards, slowly. His eyes locked upon them. Fighting one was trouble. Fighting a few of them based on strength alone, simple. But fighting multiple skilled enemies at once with such strength was a deathwish at close range. They drew closer, all eating up the gap between him. Mechs coming from seemingly nowhere going onward to wherever.

Bradshaw watched as other survivors escaped. His wrist launcher shot a smoke grenade to the ground and with a swipe the smoke shifts. And he is gone. As is his weapon. Along with several Maverick soldiers.

"All units be advised...."

@the_shogun@below0gaming@braum@solarhawk

Shadow company gathered intelligence, as would Venezuelan intelligence. Many survivors, having escaped first hand, were able to provide report in medical bays. Invisible eyes that laid quiet within. Deep in enemy

"....New abilities of the enemy observed. Can confirm some presence of either magic or psionic abilities among some of their ranks. Numerous sightings indicative of telekinesis or otherwise invisible force production capable of tearing through human bodies and functionally reducing them to pulp. Electrokinesis witnessed and recorded. An entire tank squad has been obliterated, with only one tank destroyed. The rest have either the crew killed, or have been immobilized. Recommend minimal use of Infantry within close range, use of Guerilla tactics when necessary. Heavy usage of speed, stealth and long range attack. Resistant to small arms, but multiple confirmed kills from crew mounted weaponry. Large scale terrakinesis seems to have all but negated attempt to cave in the underground. Nothing felt on our end.

Also seem to have found motivation and objective....seems we got ourselves a philosopher.

They do not seem to be here to take over the country. They are here to destroy it, and it's resources. They seem to take many prisoners among the civilian populace, and steer them away from the conflict. Positions are....here."

Highlighted portions are added to Maverick's map. and sent over to STRIKE, Blue Order and Venezuela Forces.

"They claim to be attempting to "unite" us against a single common threat for our own betterment, apparently. Stand by for further intel."

Time is given, as they do not act rashly. Convening with forces on the ground and in the air, among themselves, deciding on what best to do.

"Due to ineffectiveness of strike at hitting underground targets, high explosive ordinance will be used on the following positions. Impact in fifteen minutes."They are marked on the map, to give people time to vacate them. Little concern given to the Orc intercepting such warnings, being that they seem to possess lower levels of technology for intercepting such signals. Positions marked and given to friendly forces to give them sufficient time to get out.

"Impact in 60 seconds. Danger close."

In place of the tectonic shift, Maverick sought to do functionally the same thing. The Bunker Buster impacted not unlike a meteorite, propelled at well hypersonic velocities as it tore through the air, enshrouded by a sheath of molten plasma. Air crushed all along it's nose, and sliding off it's side in a fiery blaze, before hitting the ground with what was at first, simply raw kinetic impact. Striking the ground very hard, to burrow itself deep within.

Milliseconds later, at the oppertune time, it sought to detonate underground, and unleash a payload that was in actuality anonymously nuclear. However, lacking the fission trigger, this meant there was practically no radioative fallout, with only clean gamma rays, X-Rays and sheer concussive force seeking to fill the ground and utterly annihilate a large portion of orcs.

Like a wave, the ground would ripple, rocked and thrown off their foundations into the air. Buildings rocked clean off shredded. The earth, trembling before it's power.as hundreds of megatons worth of rock all around would be shifted. The ground would flash into molten magma and any semblance of tunnel not melted onto itself would be obliterated. Blast waves augmented in tunnels due to blast overpressure phenomena.

They sit back, and watch the effects. Planning carefully. Waiting. Watching.

@admirallogic: @the_shogun: @braum: @solarhawk: @inner_demon: @maverick_6: @katraya: @admirallogic: @thisisgonnahurt: @below0gaming:

As the drones took out the Orcs in his "pen" He traded blows with one of them constantly attacking and deflecting. Finally he held his hands up as a blue fire burst from the ground around the Orc, not burning him, but freezing him. Known as cold fire. A single swift slice from his blade left a frozen Orc.

Just then he saw strange giant metal soldiers running through the Shogunate shootig at people. He flew forwards sending hot white fire towards it to hit it and hopefully melt it. Nothing. Except it, and two others, sent sonic blasts at him whiche he narrowly avoided before lifting up the ground which shattered under the next two blasts.

"I have some high durability machines here, armed with sonic cannons and swords in a well orginized formation," Starspeed said over the comme to STRIKE. He flew forwards white shields appearing as he stopped to block the next powerful sonic blasts, "There's ten of them, definitly hostile. Moving fast deeper into our territory. Request for backup."

'I might be able to take them but it would take too much time. To many people could die.' Varo thought.

@maverick_6: @katraya: @maverick_6: @starspeed: @braum: @the_shogun: @inner_demon: @solarhawk:

The Seiger unit moved with swiftness and efficiency, stray orcs fell almost immediately. The top half of their bodies melted by the super heated plasma blasts, the unit commander radioed in to Mask.

"This is Seiger unit alpha, all were finding are strays. As for civilians were moving them further in towards the capital. If the situation changes we'll let you know."

The metal giants kept moving, their massive feet crushing homes and tree's, leaving massive imprints in the ground. It was hard to find anything really, that was when they felt it. The ground in front of them ripped open like the den of a trap door spider, and like the spiders these orcs came rushing out to hunt their prey. Hundreds of orcs all charging forwards, the first wave consisted of mainly brutish types that operated on a rush down strategy. Their force charging from one direction in an attempt to instill fear however, their opponents were men trained to fight giant space monsters. They took up position and let loose waves of plasma, each bolt struck an orc. Their bodies melted as their comrades kept running, they hurled axes towards the mechanical frames. The pilots made no effort to dodge which was a mistake on their part, the weapons lodged themselves inside the limbs and joints of one mech. The pilot was stuck and his frame was overrun with brutish beasts, one may not have stood a chance but this army could assuredly take out this squad of eight.

"TAKE TO THE SKIES, RAIN HELL FROM ABOVE"

The pilots engaged their jets, the orcs didn't throw their weapons into the sky rather they charged on towards the capital. The pilots chattered, agreeing to split the force into two units, one group would stay behind and delay the army here. The other would head to the city and attempt to acquire reinforcements, they had underestimated the enemy at hand. Three of the mechs turned and made their way towards the capital, the other four stayed behind. Their weapons fired off into the crowds below, plasma boiling Orcish flesh. They were starting to believe once more that they could do it that as long as they stuck to the air they would be...CRACK. A bolt of lighting struck thew chassis of Bravo, the plasma shields absorbed the energy but the force of impact sent him hurtling through the air. He fought to regain control as a slew of bolts hit the rest of the group. Their bodies hurtled through the air, Charlie lost control completely and hit the ground. The orcs overwhelmed him, all that could be heard were his screams and the sound of gargling blood. The other pilots regained control just in time to see one of the green giants standing atop the defiled carcass of the machine, in his hand was the severed head of their ally. The pilots sat their for a moment, their blood starting to boil as rage filled their hearts. Their hands gripping the controls of their mechanical chassis, each knuckle turning white.

"savages...all of them are nothing bu SAVAGES."

The machines engines kicked to life, their frames shooting forward at top speed. Each pilot moved at mach five, they dragged their blades on the ground as they maneuvered around the army of orcs. Their the groups attention changed focus from a berserk charge into a coordinated assault on what was killing them now. They tried to predict where the Seigers were, where the mechanical monstrosities would strike form next. It was of no use, the machines were moving too fast. Orc bodies split in half as the mechs flew in circles around their armies, one hundred orcs had already lost their lives and more were going, two hundred, two hundred fifty then one Shaman raised his hands. The skies above turned black as lightning fell all around the battlefield, the pilots were hit. They lost control and their closeness to the ground caused them to crash, their machines dragging through the dirt. Orcs rallied around striking the glass that protected the pilots, the sounds of the other dying filled the com systems. The last pilot left began to chuckle,

"Huh, an Area of Effect attack. So their smart savages, we underestimated them, we made the biggest mistake in war. Now we pay the price.:

Her hand moved to a red switch, the glass began to crack as axes and maces beat down upon it. The pilot let loose one last battle cry.

"WE ARE HUMANITY"

The mech exploded, flames and shrapnel killing orcs around the blast. These were the last orcs that their unit could take, in total they had killed 300. This was noting compared to the main force these beasts had brought. This was a war that humanity would struggle to win.

Blue Order Camp 3 miles out from the Capital

Mask stood over a view of Venezuela, the whole operation was going well. For the past 10 minutes his units had been clearing out orcs in the southern region, in the northern areas Maverick and strike worked together to slay the over sized elves. All in all the plan was working and no doubt the Orcs would finally understand that they were outclassed. This assumption was entirely wrong however, the orcs possessed a card that they had yet to reveal. How does one beat a stronger opponent, await for them to underestimate you and then take them by surprise. The entire battlefield shifted before his eyes, a surprising number of Orcs sprung from the ground. Storming the human forces, their weapons stronger then normal he received reports that the Orcs were now pulling a complete 180.

"Those bastards, their a lot smarter then I thought. They gave us reason to underestimate their power and we fell for it. This is a classic tale of David Vs. Goliath and these beasts completely intended to take the role of David. They have now switched strategies from smaller assaults to a full on Zerg Rush. We fell right into their hands, which means we must switch our plan as well."

Mask stepped from the tent, correcting his suit as four of his Seiger's landed inside the camp. They filled him in on what had happened, how they had been overwhelmed. Mask simply responded

"Follow me, you are now my escort. Knights get the chopper ready, the tables have turned. The orcs have become the Hydra, which means in order to kill it we must strike the heart."

Mask stepped into the black chopper as it took off, behind him two of the Seiger kept pace. The other two were sent to the capital to defend in case the Orc army made it that far, over the com system one of the pilots began asking questions.

"Sir, I mean no disrespect but how do you expect two of us to hold a city if the eight of us couldn't take on that army?"

"They will be joined by Maverick, Strike, and the shoguns forces. Besides I don't plan on letting these beasts slaughter anymore people."

"How do you plan to do that?"

"By playing into their nature as Warriors. They must have some code of Honor and I plan to abuse it."

The chopper flew onward over the battlefield, Mask himself took hold of the communications system. Broadcasting a message loud enough that it would hopefully be heard over the sound of the fighting.

"MY NAME IS MR.MASK AND I WISH TO END THIS FIGHTING JUST AS MUCH AS THE NEXT BEING. SO I CHALLENGE YOUR LEADER TO A DUEL, ALL ABILITIES MAY BE USED. IF YOU ARE TRULY A WARRIOR THEN ORDER YOUR MEN TO STOP THE FIGHTING AND FACE ME IN COMBAT"

Mask dropped the communicator and sat back, the chopper would circle the battlefield until a decision was made. The pilots that accompanied him asked yet another question.

"Do you think they will accept?"

"If they don't then I will have to resort to plan B."

@maverick_6: A brutish fist comes down on a mutant his crime being the gal to raise arms to an oppressor. His skin was green and scaled, a mutative skin pigment was what led him to Venezuela to open to ridicule by his existence to live a regular life most anywhere else. He hadn't fought in Columbia or aided in one of the Shogun's questionable actions. He was a passive soul who'd only taken up a butchers cleaver today because the oppressive nature of the world had come to the homeland. However the cleaver wasn't so much as able to sink centimeters into the thick hide of the Orc. It was belittling to the man to for he saw the Orc as a kindred spirit here was another monster to man of jade skin playing part of a lifestyle far from ideal. However the desire the warrior had for honorary combat could only feel like bullying to the mutant. With incredible advantages how could any of the more ordinary mutants feel like there was honor to be had.

The Orc was stronger then he, where the shop keeper could lift dozens of pounds the Orc could lift dozens of tons. In a fight standing at five something against someone standing at a height of seven something the giant had greater reach and with this dominated the stage of combat by size alone. Not a dexterous soul the mutant couldn't do much to get around the creature. And so as the mutant dropped clothes soaked in sweat he had to face the fact that the fist heading his way might be the end. However the clap of flesh against of flesh didn't come with the obliteration of the mutant who refused to surender his home.

Instead the fist struck a palm of equal size, belonging to a mutant by the code name of Strength. Veins tensed as Strength was drastically outclassed in physical might, with a position advantage however a fist hit the Orc harshly. With a long tusk like tooth cracking from the blow the green brute stepped back for a moment and it was in that instant the civilian vanished as the floor became a portal. Alex leaping upward as the portal of hers closed and drove an arrow deep into the throat of the Orc its edge keen enough to work with exoskeleton enhanced strength to dig the arrow further then the brute would expect. Using Ultrahard fluorine tips the arrow burrowed into the meat, and with a quick thrust and pullout the arrow ripped into the brain for a moment ripping apart vital matter before the retraction. As the arrow was plucked out however the falling giant spurted a small wash of its blood from the wound. Blood splashing onto Alex's cheek and instantly causing agitation.

It was a minor burn, wiped away with exosuit guarded hand before it could do to much. It was surprising never the less to think the brutes assaulting the mutants however had such boiling blood in their veins. Flicking the arrow clean and raising her bow to notch the classic weapon influenced by modern science Alex fired the arrow its unique blade guided by her phenomenal acuracy speared into the creature's eye socket. It sank in but not enough to stop the charging Orc, but that wasn't to say the mutants were out of option. For as the giant charged Strength stepped through a portal his fist nearing the shaft of the arrow. His might though not enough to break the Orc alone was enough to drive the arrow clean through the skull Alex moving into a slide to retrieve the arrow as it fell from the gaping wound.

"Get down!" Screamed Shield, a mutant with the ability to craft a force field of his given nickname implication. Eyes being fast as a speedster's Alex was quick to see why the warning. The M.O.R.S that were to wounded to fight conventionally were performing kamikaze like tactics. The reality Alex knew was that they would evade friendly fire they wouldn't strike the orcs that charged the maverick archer and her companions because of her. They however didn't care about civilians and it was for that reason her bow raised once more. Orc blood heated the archer's glove in this case though she didn't waver. Taking the pain to embrace what she was having to do.

She let go and the arrow hit the bio soldier forcing it to detonate prematurely, it's explosive force consumed the Orc the job was done. Both foe and cannon fodder had been slain. The civilian that was almost captured by the Orc was safe to retreat. Still the action haunted the archer. The collateral didn't matter to those she worked for in this fight, but her spy routine had her caring for that collateral and even without that Alex did care about the everyday people. Additionally haunting was to Alex what she had done was still friendly fire. To save a civilian she had to shoot a brother in arms. Her fist was tight gazing at the remains of the Maverick fodder and Orc. "Take what gear you can from them. We're on the move again in five."

As the fellow mutants of the doghouse under her command scavenged gear. Alex tapped into the Mav communications using its private and unique design. "Brad you know where I stand" there was no denying if push came to shove she'd attack the Shogunate just as much as these orcs if that was Mavericks orders. "But what the f--- was that? Mutant or not they're civilians we can not just frag them as well." The technological telepathy being carried out privately as the archer reviewed the various data she recieved from both respected sides of mutant and man.

@maverick_6: @thisisgonnahurt:Absolute purification. The last bitter taste of mavericks was escorted into the lives of the Orcs. Unraveling from the ground of the battle, an eruption so immense it would ravish Braums eye. Fiery, artless, engineered destruction, something only humans would do. His eye was engulfed with mourning and hatred as he looked over the ravine of dirt that was once the battlefield. The orcs, our enemies were filled with honor and glory. A vicious glow from their wisdom and strength, they were true beings of spirit. Something that would be hard to break. Only if they had not challenge human weapons would Braum not have to see the dominance of human weapons. Weapons with no moral limit. No standard of war crimes. 'No mercy..Only regret' he thought to himself.

The exertion of their forces were his orders, but would they be the reason for their utter extermination?

"Keep firing"

"b-but sir.." One of the operators of the artillery spoke.

"I know..just keep firing"

He would disagree would his actions but he would seek a different view as the artillery continued to fire at the now 'empty' battlefield. Even if you crush an anthill, sooner or later, more will come out. Heavy shells would enter the crater-like field just randomly spewing dirt into the air. Hopefully finishing off the stranded and the injured and whatever remains of their front lines. They would hopefully cleanse the battle. "Lord, give them the wisdom to retreat..any side would do.." He silently chuckled.

@braum:

Solar Hawk reviewed the information coming in from the front lines as it scrolled across her HUD. She had information from STRIKE feeding directly into her helmet's computer systems rather than rely on the computers and electronic resources of The Shogun. She paced the throne room in irritation, her distaste for not being on the front grew with every last iota of information that scrolled across her field of vision. Finally she sighed and opened communications with Braum.

"Braum, Solar Hawk. I want some real feedback. Tell me what you're seeing out there. Standing back here and looking at a bunch of numbers and a string of data is for the birds, but I can't go to the front. Give me your first hand account of what exactly we're dealing with. Word back here is a bunch of savages..."

She shook her head. "My instinct tells me that might not be accurate. A bunch of savages aren't this organized, so tell me what you're seeing."

"The wolf who howls alone, howls the loudest."

Silence - a sound most eerie when moments before, it had been nothing but cacophonous noise.

Rendar Slaincrow, mighty warrior of Warchief Bloodstomper's Mor'kragh, found his eyes escaping unconscious slumber after a few seconds of black nothing. He staggered to his feet, slightly relieved that they were both there. Only, happiness in his own self-preservation was quickly replaced with abject horror. His bladed hand did not cut flesh in that moment. His mind did not reflexively go to defending himself or others. He ran in all directions, looking for something, anything, hoping beyond hope that he could catch a fleeting glimpse of movement.

The grass had been peeled back to reveal hard, impacted earth. In the remains of nature were those who were returned to it. Scores of men and women, no matter their species, for all were there in that desperate moment. He did not say a word. Rage did not simmer in his heart. These were the results of an artillery strike on his position. It did more than slaughter everything in its path, it hammered home the fact that the Orcs - while they were numerically superior - were outmatched from the very beginning. His knees quivered.

Rendar Slaincrow, veteran of a hundred campaigns as part of the Iron Guard, understood more than anyone the pain of war. He saw brothers and sisters, people he held in high regard, cut down without remorse. But in this fleeting moment of thought, he captured the essence of modern fighting in a sharp and painful stab to the gut. Nausea overtook him, and he felt weak. It was not the first time he had felt this way, for all children must be baptized through fire in Kahzor Kazaag. All boys must become men some day. Yet, even in his first inkling of what life was truly like, it was not as powerful as this. As he surveyed the massacre, all he could think of was how truly pointless it was for them to be here.

He slowly rose to his feet again, fighting the urge to vomit. Everything he had lived for up until now was meaningless. One by one, he gathered the bodies. Orc, human, mutant, they were all the same in death. It was a bizarre concept, but one he wanted to understand. If they were all so quiet and content in the eternal sleep of the afterlife, then how was it that they couldn't comprehend each other with the same benevolence in this one? He did not unceremoniously pile them into a mound. They deserved better than that. One by one, row by row, these proud warriors of all walks of life were presented with the greatest of honors and reverence Rendar could conjure. He counted them all: 118.

118 names to be given to the gods, whatever their names might be to the religions of those who sung to them in life.

A howl went out over the country. All would hear it. It was a mournful sound, one that never turned to promises of vengeance or death. It was something mystical, an almost shamanic tone that resonated the traditional lamentation songs of the Orcs. Some might question what it was in the first place, or others might think it was an intimidation tactic. But if anyone would inspect that sound closer, analyze just what the unfathomable lyrics could be, and listen for longer than a few seconds, they would recognize it in the same tone as a wolf howling, alone, at the feet of a dark moonless sky.

"The greatest beast kills without mercy. The greatest warrior knows when mercy counts."

The young Raghar loped on weak legs, the artillery barrage separating him from the others of Battlegroup Slaincrow. He did not know where his half-brother Khorak had gone, and so he feared the worst. He tried calling out for him, only to be met with no reply. No reply - except for the distant crying of a man, a human. He almost had to crawl towards the sound, but he managed to reach it and draw himself to his full height.

It was indeed a human, not old enough to be in his thirties. His leg was blown off at the kneecap, and he was bleeding profusely. He snorted and choked on the tears, keeping his composure as the Orc looked from him to his Clan Maverick insignia. Raghar could tell he felt that he was going to die, especially with the enemy standing over him with a hatchet. Yet Raghar's eyes were drawn to something else entirely. Another nearby body, one he recognized and felt a chill go down his spine.

Khorak, son of Magash, had passed, a series of knife-wounds piercing deep into his chest.

Raghar looked back at the human, who had finished off his brother in honorable combat despite his grievous wound. The powerful Orc used what was left of his strength to pull the human over his shoulders, and he screamed a battle-cry as if expecting to fight one last time before his death. With one of his pocketed lavastones divvied out by the shamans, Raghar used it to quickly cauterize the soldier's wound.

"You showed my half-brother a good death. I will honor his debt to you by sparing your life,"

After having his leg cauterized, the soldier wasn't really in the mindset to talk back - in fact he had finally passed out. Perhaps he thought he had died. Raghar could feel his heartbeat next to his ears, and grunted. He had earned this sleep. Casting one last glance back at Khorak's body, Raghar promised to return to give him proper funeral rites. He bolted off as fast as his heavy legs could carry him, heading in the direction from where the artillery had come from.

"Maybe we can return here some day,"

He burst out of the dense foliage, fireman-carrying the soldier as if his own life depended on bringing the human he didn't know the name of back home. The fortifications were in sight. Trenchworks and sandbags as far as he could see, all brimming with guns. Shouts went out over the barricades, and they opened fire. He actually physically stopped, his legs unable to power through the number of bullets cascading towards him.

"Maybe it won't be under the banner of war,"

Still he pushed forward. They stopped firing and he kept moving by no will of his own. More shouts, and a few of the soldiers actively ran towards him, picking up speed once he started to fall face-first into the ground. The soldier he found in the forest was safe and his comrades flipped Raghar over, trying to get a pulse, or anything, from the Orc who risked his life for one of their own.

"Maybe we can coexist. One day."

And then, so too did Raghar, son of Magash, pass, his name unheard-of by the humans who buried him and long mourned in the halls of his ancestors.

"Do not shed tears for the prey. Do what you can, instead, to honor their passing in the great circle of life."

Rhagash heard the whispers of violence long before the first Orc died, and even then he felt the pain of that death as if it were his own. The refugees were his to keep safe and healthy, but they were not his own decide the fate of. The shaman appeared before the archer who had been slaughtering his warriors wholesale. No walls separated the encampment from the outside world. A freedom to leave and stay unlike any other could be plainly seen, and yet many decided to stay out of necessity not just because of the war but because of their own health and economic situation. Some left because they understood it as a primary concern of politics. At any rate, Rhagash bade them all to leave. The Orcs would no longer draw away the attention of the enemy with civilian prisoners, nor would they resort to hiding behind them in a time of crisis.

They did what they could for the downtrodden, and were rewarded with death. It seemed only fair, as the Orcs opened this conflict anyway, however pointless and ill-conceived it was to challenge the modern world with axes and magic. Still, Rhagash had hope. He hoped for a better world. Anyone with a conscious wanted that. Yet, like many others, he was pulled into a process by which the world would not progress. The Orcish way of thinking was ancient. To show the humans and mutants just how easy it was to learn from the other and live together peacefully turned out to be a disastrous move. The humans and mutants did work together, yes, but as soon as the Orcs were erased then they would just go back to barking at each other's throats.

They would never learn to hear what the Orcs had to say, especially now. Rather than send more to their deaths, Gorthok called for a retreat back to Kahzor Kazaag. Tempestus carried the order on the winds. It was a pointless venture, and everyone understood that.

"Perhaps, then, it is time for the Orcs to disappear from history entirely. To live in our mountain-holds, and fade into the books as a temporary mark of evil - a passing thing, as we all inevitably are. Though you know us as savages and monsters now, we have shared this world for longer than you care to realize. We have seen the rise of humanity, the dawn of the mutants, and we feared that you were all following a dangerous path. The same path that we, too, followed. But if we must become the villains of this chapter in history then so be it. We accept that, if that means humanity and mutants put aside their differences for a split moment. For once, we could see something that could have been. We could see a family. Goodbye."

Without anything further to say, Rhagash and the remnants of his warriors entered into a small green portal and vanished. The battlefield became quiet.

Everything had fallen to an uneasy silence.

It Was Over...

the whole thing over in what looked like an instant. The Shogun had delivered on her backup, drone strikes followed up by Strike and Maverick's combined strike. Needless to say there would be no duel, there would be no semi peacful way to end this. Rather they ran, looking down from the helicopter they were ants fleeing from the rain of death that was now falling upon them. Saftey only found in the tunnels they once resided in. This was the way of war, a challenge met with resistance. When the resistance wins there is no stopping it's total eradication, the total deletion of the probability of another attack. This was the way war worked, the way efficient war worked. These Orc's brought their ancient ways into an era in which honor was a fleeting concept, with more and more people ready and willing to kill for the greater good it raised a question. Is their even a good worth killing for, now that the blurred line is the norm and a code was lacking. All this would be enough to drive a man to extremes, it was easy to see why evil rose up yet harder to see whether it was truly evil. Were these orcs the bad guys for challenging our beliefs or were we the bad guys for not listening. Yes they did start the war but, a diplomatic solution could've been reached yet instead of striving for one we simply sought revenge. We added to the never ending cycle of hatred, we fueled the fire of war that seeks to never end. These were the thoughts of Mask as he looked down on the battle below, well the slaughter is more appropriate.

"We're going home, and I refuse to let this happen again."

The last thing Mask saw brought him a bit of hope, an Orc bringing a human to safety before getting riddled with holes. Mask's blood truly boiled, this was the savagery of humanity, this was what we did to those we didn't understand. This was the truth behind evolution, it wasn't adaptation to survive. Evolution was eradication of those who refused to conform to standards we as humanity hold so dear. We have taken the place of nature and now we choose whether something is fit for evolution. No doubt it wouldn't be long before nature fought back, before nature took back it's job.

It was at this moment that the Blue Order withdrew from combat, their job here was done. Now all that was left was the guilt of war.