The Fall of the Northern Front – Vaoda City Defense Line
Location: Northern Front of Limana – Outskirts of Vaoda City
Time: 03:42 AM
The sky is dark, the clouds heavy with mana-static. The 150th Wizard Infantry Division hovers mid-air in wide formation, overlooking the burning ruins of the outer district. The Maiju wave has slowed. Victory seems within reach.
(Ambient noises: wind howling, distant growls, MMG mana combustors flaring.)
Wizard 1 (laughing tiredly):
"Hah... did we just win a battle for once? Feels unreal."
Wizard 2 (young, nervous):
"Don't jinx it. The last time we said that, half the 87th got wiped in an instant."
Unknown Wizard (younger, calm voice):
"I hope this is really over... I have a wife and daughter waiting back home in Belmire."
He pulls out a mana-sealed necklace, flicks it open to reveal two small moving photographs—his daughter playing with a ball, his wife smiling warmly.
"Just one more fight... No injuries. That's all I ask."
Wizard 3:
"You keep showing that necklace, man. Feels like you're tempting death."
Unknown Wizard:
"I'm not tempting it. I'm bargaining with it."
Then it happens. A roar, inhuman and high-pitched, like glass shattering across dimensions. The wind shifts. All eyes turn east—
Scout Wizard (screaming through mana-comm):
"ABNORMALS! ABNORMALS FROM THE EAST! THEY—THEY'RE COMING FROM UNDERGROUND!"
The ground behind the line bursts like a geyser of blood and earth. A swarm of Abnormal Maiju—grotesque, fast, spider-limbed beasts with writhing mouths and twisted bodies—emerges, instantly tearing through the rear flank.
Unknown Wizard (wide-eyed):
"...No... no, that's where the supply team is—!"
MMG ignites. Screams flood the air.
Commander Darius Vael (calm but commanding tone):
"All units—ENGAGE THE EASTERN SWARM! MMGs to full burn! Rearguard, form a shield wall—BUY THE MIDLINE TIME TO ESCAPE!"
A massive explosion tears through a group mid-flight. A Maiju leaps, bisecting a wizard clean through the torso. His screams echo, then silence. His blood sprays like mana mist.
Wizard 2 (shouting):
"SHIT! They're cutting us apart like paper! Commander, what do we do?!"
Commander Darius Vael (activates his MMG, voice booming):
"LISTEN TO ME!
We are the shield that holds the tide!
We are the storm that defies extinction!
Each of you holds a flame that lights this world. If you fall—fall with purpose! Fall so others may rise! FORWARD! DON'T LOOK BACK!"
He dives into the swarm, his twin grimoires glowing crimson, slicing through three Maiju with a mana-forged halberd, leaving an aftershock of heat and light.
Unknown Wizard (crying out):
"THEY GOT THE SUPPLY UNIT! GODS ABOVE—LOOK AT HIM, HE'S IN PIECES—!"
A fellow soldier flies in to help. Before they can grab him, an Abnormal Maiju rips the rescuer's arm off. The soldier spirals in the air, screaming, then is impaled on a bone-spike tail.
The older wizard drops his necklace mid-flight. It falls slowly as time seems to freeze. He lunges after it instinctively—
Unknown Wizard:
"NO—PLEASE, JUST—LET ME GO BACK—!"
—and is snatched mid-air by a winged Maiju. His body is crushed instantly. The necklace falls into the burning ruins below.
Commander Darius (breathing heavily):
"They're not falling back… there's no end to them…"
A wizard beside him is grabbed by multiple mana-tentacle limbs, screaming as he's slowly pulled apart like string cheese, his grimoire sparking uselessly.
Wizard 1:
"Retreat—WE HAVE TO RETREAT!"
Commander Darius:
"Negative. We stand. We stand. If Vaoda falls, Limana burns. Do you want your families eaten alive in their sleep?!"
(Silence.)
They stay. The MMGs scream one last time as the division charges again.
[CENTRAL HOLOGRAPHIC TELEVISION]
Location: Limana Capital – National Broadcast Station
Time: 06:00 AM
Anchor Melie sits at a sleek black mana-infused news desk. Her face is pale, her voice shaking but professional. Behind her, a large screen flickers with footage from the Arcane Cursed Camera—a grim magical recording device that activates when its wielder dies, broadcasting final moments to all tuned channels.
Melie (voice trembling):
"...What you just witnessed... was the final transmission from the 150th Wizard Infantry Division... defending Vaoda City from the Maiju incursion at the northern front."
The screen shows frame-by-frame horror—Maiju ripping into MMG users mid-flight, wizards screaming their last words, fire falling from the sky. The feed ends on a single frame: a scorched necklace lying amid rubble.
Melie (softly):
"This... is not fiction. This is not an illusion.
These are our sons. Our daughters. Our parents.
Defending us while we sleep."
She straightens, trying to maintain composure, but tears brim in her eyes.
Melie:
"There were no reinforcements.
Why? Because our western border was also under siege.
Because Limana's arcane lines are stretched so thin, we are forced to choose—who lives... and who dies."
A long pause. The studio is silent.
Melie:
"We are sorry.
We failed them.
And we may fail again… unless something changes."
She leans closer to the camera. Her next words echo across the nation.
Melie:
"To the families of the fallen—know this:
They stood.
They fought.
They did not run.
The 150th didn't fall quietly…
They became fire in the dark."
...
Location: Undisclosed Central Government Facility, Limana Capital
Time: 06:34 AM (immediately after the broadcast)
The chamber is dark. An oval council table glows dimly with arcane light. Thirteen robed figures sit at its edge, their faces veiled in black mana hoods. The walls are lined with floating Grimoires—each a record of military and economic data.
(Soft mana hum. Distant rumbling—possibly protest murmurs from the city outside.)
Voice of the 4th Chair (stern, cold):
"...The footage was released. We agreed it would be restricted to military personnel only."
Voice of the 9th Chair (female, sharp tone):
"Someone breached the encryption. Possibly a rogue from Internal Arcane Intelligence. It doesn't matter now—everyone has seen it."
Voice of the 2nd Chair (gravelly, dismissive):
"So what? We grieve. We move on. The death of a division is tragic, yes—but calculated."
Voice of the 11th Chair (outraged, rising):
"Calculated?! That was one hundred and forty-three wizards slaughtered like cattle! They held the line for hours! We had reserves!"
Voice of the 7th Chair (calm, composed):
"And sending those reserves would've cost us three million Arc Coins in teleportation tariffs, plus six thousand in enchantment recovery, and another nine thousand in mana containment logistics. For what? A city already 62% damaged? With projected evacuation impossible in 48 hours?"
11th Chair:
"So you're telling me a wizard's life is less valuable than currency?!"
2nd Chair:
"No. I'm saying a dead wizard is cheaper than a failed economy."
Silence. Heavy.
11th Chair (voice breaking slightly):
"They were fathers… mothers… children. One of them had a necklace. Did you see it? A photo of his daughter. That wasn't war. That was abandonment."
5th Chair (voice dripping in sarcasm):
"And what would you propose? That we pour every Arc Coin into border cities? That we react emotionally to every Maiju breach? You think one division is tragic—imagine five more, gone next week because we bled our treasury dry today."
6th Chair (speaks for the first time, voice low and quiet):
"...Perhaps the real tragedy is that we've become so used to weighing souls on a scale."
4th Chair:
"Enough sentiment. This is not the mourning hall. This is governance. You want to save them all? Then bankrupt the kingdom, and when the capital falls—let's see if your idealism will patch the walls."
11th Chair:
"We could've done something. A partial teleport. A squadron, even a single reinforcement team might have changed the outcome—"
7th Chair (interrupting):
"And then who covers the southern coast breach next week? We are triaging a bleeding nation. You want morality? Take it to the poets. This table survives on hard math."
The floating grimoires flicker. A chart appears—showing the cost of war in pure Arc Coin. Another displays the "acceptable casualty ratio" per region.
6th Chair (softly):
"And what happens when the people realize it's not just the Maiju killing them… it's us?"
5th Chair:
"They won't. We control the archives. The public believes we didn't send help because the line was lost too quickly. Only that cursed camera exposed us."
9th Chair:
"Then destroy it. All recordings. Sanitize the narrative."
11th Chair:
"I won't be part of this. We left them to die... over coins. If we erase the truth, we're no better than the monsters outside the walls."
2nd Chair:
"You say that like there's a difference anymore."
(Silence again. Tense. The floating lights dim slightly.)
4th Chair (concluding):
"The vote stands. Reinforcement protocol remains unchanged. Arc Coin expenditures shall not exceed 1.5 million per quadrant per month. Casualty reports will be redacted. Blame will be placed on an 'unexpected Maiju mutation.' And the 150th… will be remembered as heroes."
11th Chair (whispers):
"They didn't want to be heroes. They wanted to go home."
...
6th Chair (ominous tone):
"We keep building this tower on bones. One day… it will collapse on us."
7th Chair (whispers to another):
"There's talk of an awakening in the east. A boy with forbidden surge potential. If word spreads—"
9th Chair:
"Then we crush it. Before he becomes a symbol."
...
After the Ashes – The Commander Lives
Location: Ruins outside Vaoda City
Time: 02:57 PM – One day after the fall
Survivors: Unknown
Smoke still chokes the sky. The air reeks of scorched mana, blood, and burned spell-ink. The shattered remnants of the 150th Wizard Infantry Division lie across the battlefield—twisted bodies, charred armor, and broken Grimoires.
But one man still breathes.
Commander Darius Vael – The Iron Horn of the Northern Front.
Now bloodied. Scarred. Breathing hatred.
He claws his way from beneath collapsed debris. Mana-fueled blood pours from a gash above his brow. One eye blinded, and one leg half-dead. His MMG is in ruins, but the mana core on his back still sparks weakly—like a heartbeat refusing to die.
He stumbles toward the body of a fallen soldier. A young man still clutching a necklace with a photo of his wife and daughter. Darius freezes. Kneels.
Darius (quietly):
"…You showed me this… yesterday morning."
He tightens his jaw. Guilt and rage swirl in his chest.
He looks around. There is no cavalry. No rescue squads. No support from the capital. No gods. Just smoke and ash.
Darius (rising):
"You bastards. You damn cowards…"
His voice trembles—then hardens like steel being reforged in fire.
Darius (shouting into the void):
"You KNEW! You left us to die!"
He tears off the Limana crest from his shredded cloak. Crumples it in his fist. Drops it in the mud.
Darius:
"I've given everything to this kingdom… my years… my brothers… my soul…"
Lightning flickers behind the smoke. His Grimoire, cracked and leaking arcane ink, vibrates violently. His mana, once golden, now flickers dark blue and violet—chaotic, unstable.
The commander draws breath. The last breath of the man he once was.
Darius (raising his eyes to the heavens):
"I swear to all the gods above me…
I will have revenge on this world."
Silence. And then—like a curse—he whispers one last vow:
Darius (cold, defiant):
"And if even the gods stand with you…
Then I'll make them kneel, too."
Mana cracks the ground at his feet. The corpses around him twitch as wild energy surges. The battlefield has one survivor—one whose soul now burns with something deeper than pain.
[To be continued.]