First Light of a New Age

Chapter 136: The Reckoning of this New World to Be

Word Count: 15,180

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Third Civilization Zone, Kingdom of High Tarxa, Northern Borders of Tarxa.

2nd Year of God, Tuesday, 1st Week, Month of Adam.

The night skies of the Third Civilization Zone burned red, lit not by firelight or sunset, but by the wrath of descending steel gods.

100 newly deployed Archangel Units rained from the stratosphere like divine spears thrown from the heavens and were spread across multiple fronts like the hands of a wrathful god. They silently descended from high-altitude stealth carriers and crashed into fortified rebel territories with sonic detonations that fractured bedrock and generated shockwaves that collapsed temples that had stood for centuries, and mountain fortresses groaned before crumbling into dust.

Whole ridgelines trembled as columns of fire climbed into the sky as hidden infiltrators and rebellion groups were gunned down and burned beneath the Empire’s fury.

Cries echoed through the storm-ridden valleys as the Liberation Army moved like a rising tide.

Infantry moved in tight formations beside armored walkers and self-propelled artillery units with their war cries merged with the thunder, drowning out the haunting wails of those who resisted.

They fought shoulder-to-shoulder with native human militias, many of whom had once lived in fear beneath elven boots. Now they fought beside Imperial soldiers while carrying standard rifles and shouted the names of their cities that turned to graves by enemy sabotage. Others painted the names of their dead mothers, daughters, and siblings onto their armor in charcoal and blood.

This was not just a war, it was crusade and vengeance refined by technology, sharpened by grief, and unleashed without mercy.

On a charred overlook above the ruins of a once-thriving market town, Colonel Vito Laksamana stood in grim silence. He was a tall man in command-grade armor with its surface blackened by ash and blood. Smoke curled around him, rising from the wreckage like the breath of some wounded god.

Beneath his boots, the cobbled road was slick with melted stone and broken memories. A child’s shoe, scorched and half-dissolved by acid gas, lay alone near a shattered toy cart with flies buzzing around the red puddles collecting in the cracks.

Vito stared at it for a long moment, then spoke without turning.

“This is the 49th city,” he muttered. “Confirmed mana residue that this wasn’t an accident but a sabotage and a terrorist attack.”

His aide, Lieutenant Alon, tightened his grip on the data-slate in his hands as the young officer’s jaw clenched beneath his helmet.

“They disguised themselves as refugees, sir. Blended into the relief lines. Third confirmed infiltration cell this week.”

Vito’s face darkened. “They think they can wear our trust like a cloak,” he said. “Then bleed us when we turn our backs.”

He turned toward the command vehicle with its antennae glowing with encrypted data streams. His voice dropped to a commander's growl.

“Order the outposts to lock down every checkpoint within a fifty-mile radius. No exceptions and I want every unverified group detained. Screen for mana traces, disguise spells, shape-shifters or whatever the bastards are using now.”

“And if they resist?” Alon asked quietly.

Vito looked back at the burning skyline, where smoke coiled like serpents against the stars.