A Crown's Vengeance

Untitled Part 1

Presidia, Presidia Region, United Cascadian Republic (UCR)

2100 Local Time, 23 August AC 432

Nothing.

No words were able to describe this atrocity; this act of madness, this instant, orange glow of death.

Done in the name of vengeance, spite, and lost pride.

A glow of cordium orange and an already battered nation's pride - its capital - is gone. A volcanic wasteland, like all the rest. Survivors, if any, would be very, very few.

Evidently, there were survivors. A few hundred at best, and at worst, a dozen lucky few - if "lucky" can be a thing when they would be traumatized and plagued with guilt and nightmares for life.

For some, one object in particular stood a sorrowful sight: The charred and ravaged Dust Mother statue at Kennedy Hall. Once left alive during the initial Fall of Presidia, now she burns alight with piles upon piles upon piles of innocent men, women, and children stacked below her, all of who died for nothing but one man's lust for revenge.

In the burning skies outside the ruined city were a swarm of helicopters; media, rescue, military, anything one could think of. All of them recording and reporting the horror that lay before them, this ultimate act of destruction by an already much-reviled superpower.

Sicario's last few soldiers - those who were shot down right before the event - huddled with the civilian, rebel, even Federation survivors (those who weren't executed earlier, anyway), struggling to comfort themselves and - for a certain ace couple - not tearing up as they watched what was left of their home burn before them.

In a crumbling building, Kaiser hit the wall with all of his hatred and fury, having realized that his most loyal men - the best he could find - were nothing but dust at this point, having pushed too deep into the city with the militia. Virtually everyone else - Gunsel, Cariburn, Circus, his Assassin wingmen - dead or missing, and he has only the Federation to blame. And what of his...his Signature? He could only ruminate as he held the dogtags of one "CPT KELLEHER", which he made a copy of as a memento to their loyalty in the event they passed on.

Elsewhere, one Peter Kennedy was sobbing, Months ago, he didn't care much for his family, who essentially disowned him long ago. Even as the Cascadian Conflict worsened, he didn't care much for their safety. But now...everything is on fire, and he couldn't bring his family up when the Burning of Prospero happened.

The rebels have won...but for what? A volcanic wasteland? A country, stripped of its glory and beauty? Of its homes?

It didn't matter. '"Victory" didn't matter. Independence, less so.

It was all gone.

Presidia - and all that was left of Cascadia - was no more. Ten million lives...lost forever to the Dust Mother's eternal embrace and realm.

That was the true cost of independence - the price of victory.

Arena County Prison, Quentin, outskirts of Presidia, Presidia Region, UCR

2200 Local Time, 23 August AC 432

The screens through the prison were filled with portrait after portrait of the now-dead capital. The few surviving buildings in the center weren't even standing; they were struggling to hold on. Volcano hotspots were abundant. The reports state that a duel had happened shortly thereafter in the skies, which resulted in both pilots shooting each other down and ejecting somewhere.