- Doomsday - Volume One: Gods and Monsters

Chapter 79: Scorched Earth

The darkening sky was alight with fire and explosions above the Australian Top Half, the seat of the Mongul's empire and base of operations, however now it was little more than a grave, buildings left in ruin, dust and rubble discarded all about. The Warzoon garrison held out as well as they could, but with the majority of the horde heading down south, with the expectation being that no real danger could threaten the capital, it was an inevitability that the stronghold would collapse. The orc-like soldiers fired brazenly into the air, attempting to kill an invisible enemy, cloaked under the darkness of night, the guards were soon taken out, one by one. Yet, not a single shot was returned by the enemy, not a muzzle flash or bullet discharge amidst the black inky night. Rather, the crash of metal upon the Warzoon armour rattled in every which direction, accompanied by the low sizzling of fire, quickly spreading throughout the entire complex.

The Warzoons, while when compared to the average human would be considered monstrous, against this threat, they were outmatched both in strength, speed and ferocity, simply unable to keep up with the well-trained force. Transmissions had hastily been sent out to the Mongul, a desperate attempt to somehow relieve the stress of the siege, but damage to nearby radio towers severed the connection, only able to get across a few jumbled words. It would do them no good either way, their leader needing days to return back, even within a vehicle. Any attempt at a rescue seemed folly at this point...

One by one, the hidden army swooped in from seemingly nowhere, taking a single soldier and disappearing right away, blood smearing the walls and desert floor all across the settlement. Just as the Mongul had prepared for his final grand offensive against the Junkers, forces appeared to have similarly been plotting the warlord's own demise, waiting for such an ample opportunity to strike.

Yet, the stronghold wasn't just a site where the Warzoons projected power, rather it was filled to the brim with wastelanders and Junkers, kidnapped from their poor, rural villages and put to work, forced servitude under the Mongul. It was one of the under-reported horrors of the Junker War, with it believed those stolen had simply been killed, rather they slowly withered away, crushed under intensive labour and toil. For, the warlord not only wanted bloodshed, but he wished for a legacy that would last at least a thousand years, and the site of his initial victories would serve as a place of great significance, the throne room of his Warworld, as he liked to call it. Months of work had simply vanished asunder in sheer minutes, tall buildings shattered and sent to the floor, stockpiles looted and pillaged, and the large Warzoon army, of which was ordered to garrison the fort, were exterminated.

What was once the makings of a brutalist city was now a smoulder ash on the outskirts of the Outback, the place wiped from the face of the map, a forgotten memory, with little to no one still alive to honour it's memory. Killed in its infancy, Warworld would never see the light of day again, though who set these events in motion, that was for only the shadows to know. An ironic sentiment echoed across the restless dunes, already swallowing the wasted remains of what used to be the Mongul's realm. A ruthless king is better than a forgotten one... The desert had reclaimed the site, a more powerful force than any upstart ruler, and as ruthless as they came.

However, for the wastelander slaves in the capital, hidden deep in the bowels of the fortress, held chained in cages, kept in filthy, deplorable conditions, any hope for their salvation seemed just as unlikely, as the thick smoke spread above ground, slowly seeping down below. The roar from explosives and fighting up above caused some uproar, begging to be let free, believing that perhaps they would finally be saved, perhaps the Yowie, their fabled hero, had finally come for them, as the stories told, passed around by jaded children with little to live for. No one would come for them, that was the reality they faced, slowly losing faith and air to breath, most slithered down the cold, metal bars that held them, slumped and doubled-over, unmotivated and playing dead. Any light left in the eyes of naïve children had flickered out, knowing they would never see the sun's glorious rays, or the endless beige plains, or a smile from a family member, that was for the strong to enjoy, those who could defend those they cared so much for...