The news flooded our frayed attention with images of war. It was horrible, and nothing could be done about it.

  -From the commentaries of the mystic Kainogod

  The hollow skull of the Master Kree gazed upon his hall of gold and stone towards a wondrous purple sky. His skeleton sat upon an antique stone-cut throne surrounded by cut Shaxian marble and rich red velvet overhangs.

  “My young Collector does not yet understand his role in my plans,” whispered Hurona, her eyes peering beyond the corpse of Master Kree to a child sitting at the edge of the steps, watching at the sunset over Cordillia.

  “He is too young,” Kree agreed, “he should go with Tenimus… He shall show him our way and reveal your golden path to him,” groaned Master Kree. His empty eyes watched the city intently, and pride swelled in what was once his breast. His antique city had grown from the seed that Hurona gave him.

  “Your warriors have served my will well, Kree. Your service has been invaluable to my plan,” Hurona whispered in his ear. Before them, the long red sun draped over the city before passing beyond its great mountains. Darkness swallowed the city before she spoke again, “you have spread my word from these mountaintops,” she smiled, “built a Kingdom worthy of my name.”

  “Your brother grows bold…” Whispered Master Kree, fearful of the thought, “and we are not yet strong enough to fight them head on.” Kree’s mind rumbled coldly with long plotted calculations.

  “We will survive,” Hurona smiled, “they are not strong enough yet. To attack now would be foolish… But they will,” she smiled, for she could feel the wheels of fate begin to churn, “I just wish we had time to spare my youngest from the pain he must face.” Her mind flashed to her young Bannerman.

  A system away, on the distant jewel of the Cordillian Kingdom, cold rain drowned Shaxia’s colonial capital. Her navy gathered in a base on the outskirts of her vast trading port. Corporal James Warner watched the endless scrolling of status notes on thousands of outer ring defense systems. He smoked another hand rolled cigarette and tapped off its excess ash into a dish on his console. His weary eyes flicked toward thought as he wished he brought his son to the colony.

  Trading ships blipped on the monitor, and his mind drifted and wandered. She would have loved the summers here, he thought wistfully as he chuckled to himself. His eyes drifted and he stopped noticing the screen as the furthest reaches of the defense system began to blink in warning.

  “Huh?” He muttered as the system raised an alarm, “shit!” He gasped as the closer edges of the early warning system went offline, “it’s the Germans!” He exclaimed as his hand smashed the alarm button on his desk. Klaxons blared, and soldiers leaped from their beds, but it was too late.

  As first light broke over Shaxia, the sounds of bombs sent shockwaves through the city and its people shuddered. Vast Imperial warships hovered high over the city and let loose their cannons. Buildings tumbled into plumes of ash, and balls of fire rose from the ashes. The cries of women and children could be heard for miles as German landing ships began to descend upon the outer edges of the city.

  Back on Cordillia, her white haired King awoke to the sounds of advisors rushing through the halls of his ancient palace. Illuran III shook his head vigorously, hoping that the urgently whispered voices were a fiction of his dreams. His antique flesh hesitated to move.

  Young Rebecca Warner brought a slip of paper to young Jean-Luc, her King’s eldest son, “my Lord…” She whispered, “Commander Rishi has given me this. It says it is a formal declaration of war… We are at war with the German Empire,” her voice grew more shrill as the panic and fear of Jean-Luc settled in her mind. Another advisor appeared, and the young Lord barked an order before returning to Rebecca.

  “Go and raise the alarm in the house. No time for pleasantries!” He demanded before turning towards his father’s chamber. The sudden silence told the King that his fears were manifest.

  “Father, we have to raise the planetary shields!” Exclaimed Jean-Luc, bursting through the doors of his chamber, “German ships have struck Shaxia!”

  Illuran furrowed his old brow and fruitlessly pounded his fist onto his chamber’s stone wall. So, the Germans finally feel strong enough to go on the attack, Illuran thought, “what about us?” He asked, “what about Cordil?” He was, however, interrupted by the rumbling of distant bombs, “by Hurona!” He roared.

  Commander Rishi of the King’s guard burst through the closed doors of Illuran’s chambers. He held a leather attache in his hands and threw it to the floor. Its contents spilled out onto the floor.

  “The planetary shields!” He gasped. The Commander placed both hands on his knees to catch his breath as the King and his son rushed past him towards the courtyard, “we got it on just in time…” He let out a haggard breath.

  Jean-Luc rushed his father from his bed and into the palace courtyard. High above, a vast fireball burned with atomic fury, lighting up the dark sky above. Beside them, Rebecca Warner watched in a state of shock.

  “My son…” She whispered, “I have to get to my boy!”

  “They used atomics on us…” Illuran whispered, “bloody Germans,” he gasped. Jean-Luc stared in disbelief. Both were glad that they had raised the planetary shields. Moments later, a long bombardment began as German Capital ships settled into orbit and forced the Cordillian navy to ground.

  Far above, on a ship orbiting the Cordillia, Fafnir stood proudly over the table of Generals and petty officers. He puffed his chest and watched the gathered warriors glare at his unearned metal, “ten years of careful planning, started by my Father…” The Emperor said. His command center grew quiet, and staff glared nervously at their Generals.

  “Ten years…” He repeated, “We have poured the riches of our vast Empire into the destruction of our most potent enemy. Their armies cower before the supermen of Germany,” he formed a fist with his hand, “let our works please the Allfather.”

  The Generals stood and saluted their Emperor, who smiled delicately.

  “Our ground forces are prepared to launch, Lord Fafnir,” chimed General Kirkegaard of the Imperial Third Army.

  “My Lord, what shall we do with civilians?” Kirkegaard whispered in hushed tones. Fafnir’s eyes turned, but his head glared at the glowing screen hovering above the center of the table.

  Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

  “Take no prisoners, leave no bullets unspent… Just as my father… As Emperor Hreidmar would order,” replied the Fafnir, “We will not have the manpower to hold this place when her knights are called from their posts. We will cripple them, leave them without the means to stand against us for a hundred years… Then return to Germania.”

  “As you wish, Emperor,” Kirkegaard hissed. His buttoned uniform rattled with the sounds of medals bought with blood.

  Far below, in Cordillia, the Knights of Cordil rushed to the ancient skeletal remains of Master Kree, Hurona’s first knight. Master Core and Pilar bowed before the master.

  “The Germans have attacked!” Gasped Pilar.

  “An invasion will surely follow…” Replied Master Core, “how can we bolster our defenses?” He exclaimed.

  Both stared uncomfortably and waited anxiously for their Master, whose skeletal form turned slowly to them. Without moving his lips, the figure spoke to both.

  “Do nothing.”Master Kree’s voice echoed through the halls of the great pyramid, and the two masters stood dumbfounded, “this, I command.”

  “What do you mean?” Growled Master Pilar.

  “Victory is not our aim in this battle… Defeat is assured… But we must win the war, not this battle… And for us to win, our enemies must forsake their part in it until it is too late,” the skeletal Master declared, “tell our warriors out across the galaxy to fly far from this place… Tell them to keep the light of Hurona burning in this universe. It is not our time to fight,” explained Master Kree.

  Master Cor moved closer to Kree and placed his hand on the first knight’s sword. His fury boiled within his voice, and his hands shook vigorously.

  “Good Cordillians are dying!” His voice filled with venom, “you have betrayed our Goddess, like your brother before you. This is treason!” He declared as he reached up to the Master’s blade, Joyeuse. The Skeleton offered little resistance as Cor grasped the sword and held it up, “you are no longer worthy to lead us!” He gasped, the blade lit aflame in his hands, and its bright light engulfed his flesh.

  Master Cor let out a guttural scream as his flesh boiled and tore. Master Pilar watched as his old friend’s flesh melted and tore away. The old Master could no longer scream, but he desperately wished to do so as his memory boiled and the Spector of Death loomed.

  From the vast gates of the pyramid, Master Tenimus bolted to help his old friend. However, as he reached the edge of Kree’s throne, it was too late. Master Cor’s charred skeletal remains lay upon the stone floor of the vast hall. Pilar stepped back and looked to Master Tenimus.

  Behind the grizzled warrior stood a tall child with dark brown hair. Master Tenimus’ apprentice stared cautiously at Master Kree. Hurona watched from the void, “keep my Collector safe,” she whispered.

  On distant Shaxia, Cordillian defense forces made another futile attempt to repel Imperial ground troops, but the machines of their German enemy pushed through the outer defenses. Panzers swiftly overwhelmed entrenched Cordillian soldiers, and Imperial cleanup crews marched through the streets behind them with flamethrowers.

  Old brick apartment complexes fell, consumed by plumes of fire and smoke. Grand office buildings in the heart of Shaxia lay abandoned, their alarms ringing out across the city. Heavy rains, toxic and cold, flowed through darkened streets and washed away fresh blood and falling ash.

  Colonel Warner watched from his post as the invaders marched closer to the airbase. He scrambled to a nearby phone and tried to call out to the palace on Cordillia, desperately hoping that the lines remained on.

  “Dead…” He smashed the phone against its receiver, and resigned himself to a path of death. Shouting and heavy gunfire arose from the offices below. My friends are down there, he thought, and I can do nothing for them. After a few long moments, drawn out into an eternity for the petty officer, two German jackboots burst through the doors of the command center and opened fire on James Warner Senior. His blood pooled on the office’s dark blue carpet, his eyes glossed over as the jackbooted creatures marched onward in search of others.

  Soon, word of Shaxia’s fall reached Cordillia as Imperial cruisers destroyed distant communication relay hubs. Rebecca Warner looked up from the steps of the King’s palace at the orbital bombardment, bombs billowing and blowing up against their planetary shield. Commander Rishi burst through the doors and saw Rebecca standing, unsure whether she should run or surrender.

  “Go!” She could hear a ringing in her head, “Save my son!” She heard, “save my Bannerman…” Hurona's voice poured from the ether. Her mind raced, but she could not afford a moment to waste as she rushed homeward. Down ancient cobbled streets, she ran as the city's citizens gazed up at the bubbling shield wall far above.

  Long-range bombers rumbled overhead, dropping ten-ton shells to overwhelm the power systems as Cordillia’s King rushed back to his Office and picked up a ringing red phone.

  “King Illuran…” A voice on the other line crackled, “imperial tanks have advanced past the shield wall. They will reach the outer edge of the city within an hour. Defeat is imminent,” the grizzled voice of General Moneo explained.

  The old King softly placed the phone down on the cradle. His body wished to shake uncontrollably, but he refused to permit it as his son entered the chamber.

  “What are we to do?” asked Jean-Luc, his voice fell flat on dead air.

  “Nothing,” said a voice from beyond. Both men looked around in shock.

  “Hurona?” Gasped Illuran, who fell to his knees in silent prayer, “nothing?”

  “Indeed,” the voice replied, “I command it. Cordillia serves a wondrous purpose in my plans… But not yet,” explained the Goddess, “Ozymandias is too strong. But I shall use his arrogance against him,” the Goddess spoke darkly, and her voice sounded pained and filled with sadness. Long streams of tears filled her eyes, “from the ashes of this battle, Cordillia shall grow strong. My Bannerman escapes this night, and so shall you, Jean-Luc. Ozymandias shall have his victory, the ashes shall hide my hand until it is too late,” her voice did little to soothe the King’s anger. His red phone rang, breaching the momentary silence of the office; he tossed it across the room with a guttural grunt.

  “Cordil will survive…” Hurona explained, “But first, it must die… Get Jean-Luc away from the city, and I will explain the rest to him,” she said in the growing visage of the first light.

  The specter of Death loomed over Cordillia as panzers rolled down its cobbled streets. Soldiers followed, charging through homes and clearing out their occupants. Gunfire rang out closer to the Capital as Jean-Luc donned a dark cloak and looked back to his father.

  “I shall avenge your death,” he gasped as tears streamed down his face.

  “I know…” His father replied as Jean-Luc departed into the darkness.

  Far across the city, the hollow eyes of Master Kree glared out at the great hall of his antique pyramid. His hall stood empty, his knights spread across the galaxy. An air of sadness tinged his calculating mind.

  “Our golden age is over, Hurona...” Said the long-dead Master. Hurona stood behind him, her shining light illuminating the ground around her.

  “Indeed,” whispered Hurona, her heart filled with sadness, “defeat was necessary. Through obscurity, we achieve victory.”

  An hour passed as Rebecca reached the city’s spaceport with her young son dangling from her arms. German soldiers could be heard nearby as she stood before the last starship, planning to run the German blockade.

  The ship hovered slightly over a small crowd in the port, each person seeking passage out of the city. Luggage lay abandoned at the gate. Jean-Luc’s hands stretched out from the ship and grabbed the five - year - old boy from his mother’s arms. She watched as young James disappeared into the darkness of the shuttle’s belly. Tears streamed down her face.

  “Goodbye…” She whispered as bullets tore through the hopeful passengers, “fare thee well, James.”