MenuAmbroid Forums
| Author | Message |
| Kalimord | Posted: 22-07-2025 02:05:39 |
|
The Widowmaker descended into low orbit, a black leviathan skimming the edge of the stratosphere. As S.P.E.C.T.R.E.’s mobile headquarters, it wasn’t just a satellite — it was a fortress. And fortresses could be destroyed. General Hez soared at the head of the Midnight Shadow Strike Group, a deadly formation of stealth fighters and heavily armed assault helicopters. But this wasn’t an ambush. The Widowmaker was waiting for them. Hundreds of S.P.E.C.T.R.E. Interceptor Drones swarmed like locusts, escorted by squadrons of Vulture-Class Gunships and Wraith Fighter-Bombers launched from the satellite’s internal hangars. Hez’s HUD lit up with hostile markers — dozens, then hundreds. “Enemy air defense net’s active,” his wing commander crackled over comms. “They’ve scrambled everything.” Hez’s lips curled into a wolfish grin. “Good. That means Chang Kai Bu’s afraid.” The sky erupted in a hellstorm of missiles and gunfire. The Night Fang attack choppers banked hard, releasing countermeasures as plasma bolts lanced past them. Shadow Wing fighters broke formation, weaving through enemy salvos, their rail cannons punching holes in enemy interceptors. The battle became a swirling dogfight at the edge of space — a deadly waltz of shadow and fire. S.P.E.C.T.R.E.’s Wraith Bombers dove in, unloading thermobaric warheads toward the advancing Shadows, but Hez’s fighters intercepted them midair with pinpoint strikes. “Push through! Breach their screen!” Hez roared. His gunship squad punched a hole in the defense perimeter, rockets shrieking as they slammed into a Vulture gunship, blowing it apart in a fireball. The Widowmaker’s belly opened — a hangar disgorging more gunships. Chang Kai Bu was throwing his entire aerial arsenal into the fray. But that was exactly what Hez wanted. “Detachment Two, flank south. Target their hangar bays.” Missiles howled from the Shadow Wing flank, slamming into the Widowmaker’s exposed launch bays. Explosions tore through the satellite’s underbelly, sending debris and burning fuselage spiraling earthward. Hez’s personal gunship latched onto the Widowmaker’s dorsal surface. He led his assault team into a storm of fire, rappel lines whipping in the high winds. Shadow commandos hit the deck, blasting through hatchways under cover from orbit-strike helicopters. The battle raged in the thin air above the world — rotor blades slicing, railguns firing, explosions flaring against the dying light of orbit. Inside the command chamber, Chang Kai Bu watched feeds of his squadrons disintegrating in real time. “Deploy the final wave,” he snarled. But before his order could be relayed, a burst charge blew the command doors inward — Hez entered, rifle raised, eyes blazing with cold intent. “You bled my world for the last time,” Hez said flatly. Chang went for his pistol. Hez shot it out of his hand and crossed the floor in two strides, slamming him against the control panel. “Your reign ends now,” Hez whispered, pressing a blade to his throat. Minutes later, the Widowmaker, crippled and overrun, was falling into an uncontrolled descent — S.P.E.C.T.R.E.’s fleet shattered, their command base a burning carcass plummeting toward the oceans. From his helicopter, Hez watched the wreckage streak through the atmosphere like a second sun. “This is command,” his pilot called. “We’re clear.” Hez nodded once. “Mission complete. Shadowfall confirmed.” The sky belonged to the Shadows once more. |
|
| Kalimord | Posted: 22-07-2025 02:09:57 |
| The Widowmaker groaned under its own death throes, its blackened hull split open by fire and sabotage. Fires raged in the corridors as gravity failed and sections tore loose into the upper atmosphere.
Smoke and blood stained the command deck, where Chang Kai Bu lay sprawled against a shattered console. His once-pristine white uniform was soaked in crimson. Across his face, a savage diagonal slash carved from temple to jaw — a gift from General Hez’s dagger. His throat bore a deep, ragged wound where the blade had bitten but not killed. He could neither speak nor scream. Only shallow, wet gasps escaped his torn windpipe. Two Blackguard operatives crouched beside him, both wide-eyed, both trembling. “Sir—sir—he’s still breathing—” “Get him to the medevac!” They hoisted him, careful of his shredded throat, and dragged him down the burning corridor. Around them, Shadow commandos stormed the decks, gunning down the last pockets of S.P.E.C.T.R.E. resistance. Chang drifted in and out of consciousness. His mind flickered between pain, rage, and a gnawing, ice-cold realization. Hez hadn’t killed him. He’d spared him. On purpose. The Blackguard shoved through debris-choked halls, past fallen comrades and mangled machinery. They reached the outer airlock, where a Wraith-Class Gunship hovered amid a blizzard of falling wreckage. “GO! GO!” the pilot screamed as the Blackguard hauled Chang into the gunship. The canopy slammed shut. The gunship banked hard away from the collapsing Widowmaker, diving into a near-suicidal descent toward open airspace. Inside the medbay, an autodoc arm buzzed to life, sealing Chang’s throat with synthetic skin mesh. It beeped urgently as it injected clotting agents and stimulants. Chang’s eyes flickered open — glazed, hateful. A soft, wet rattle escaped him — half breath, half growl. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t command. He couldn’t fight. But he could remember. The Widowmaker exploded behind them, a titanic fireball lighting the sky, the storm clouds boiling in its wake. From the medbay viewport, Chang Kai Bu watched his empire’s heart burn. He closed his eyes, tasting blood in the back of his throat. |
|
| Kalimord | Posted: 23-07-2025 04:15:28 |
| The lights in the chamber dimmed to a cold gray. In the center of the steel room, surrounded by humming computers and fiber-optic conduits, stood Captain Matt—tall, clad in matte black armor with a silver insignia of a serpent coiled around a dagger emblazoned across his chest.
The briefing had begun. Around him, ten massive screens flickered to life, revealing faceless silhouettes—men and women seated in darkness, dressed in sharp suits. Each spoke with a voice distorted by static and encryption, identities concealed even from one another. Together, they were the Inner Circle of S.P.E.C.T.R.E.—the Special Executive for Counterintelligence, Terrorism, Revenge, and Extortion. A hiss of static broke the silence. "Agent 333, codename: Captain Matt," a voice echoed. "You’ve been summoned for one purpose." Another silhouette leaned forward, lit only by the red glow of a single bionic eye. "General Hez of the Midnight Shadows has begun mobilizing his Phantom Divisions across the eastern front of the Irmandade Corridor. His fleet now includes Widow-class stealth jets and Cinderfang gunships. We expect an assault within the month—if not sooner." Captain Matt didn’t flinch. He had been waiting for this moment. Ever since his defection from the Irmandade Special Forces, he knew war with Hez was inevitable. The Midnight Shadows—ruthless, invisible, unrelenting—had to be met with calculated brutality. "What are your orders?" he asked, voice grizzled and precise. The center screen brightened, revealing a grainy satellite image: a massive underground facility being constructed on the far side of Mount Belial, shrouded by storm clouds and signal interference. "That is Outpost Nemesis. Hez's forward base. It's shielded by ECM fog and defended by elite Sentinels. We need your Ghost Division ready to breach its outer defenses. You’ll be supplied with Necro-Suits, sky-breaker artillery, and Blackthorn AI drones." A female voice interrupted from the left screen. "This war isn’t just for territory. It’s for control of the Widowmaker satellite grid. If Hez gains it, every orbiting weapon platform across Ambroid will be his." Captain Matt’s jaw tightened. "What of Chang Kai Bu?" Silence swept the screens. Finally, a deep voice replied: "The Director is recovering. He survived the Widowmaker strike—but barely. He named you his spear. S.P.E.C.T.R.E. will follow your lead." A screen crackled and displayed a classified file: OPERATION PHANTOM FLAME—a scorched-earth campaign designed to devastate Midnight Shadow supply lines, paralyze their command network, and isolate General Hez on the battlefield. "You will activate Phantom Flame. Mobilize the Black Cohort. Your forces leave in 72 hours. Failure is not survival." The screens began to go dark one by one. Captain Matt stood alone again in the silence of the war chamber. He looked down at the datapad in his hand—coordinates, deployment orders, nuclear keys. The ghosts of war stirred all around him. He turned toward the exit. There would be no sleep. No second guessing. Only preparation. Because Hez was coming. And Matt would be ready. |
|
| Kalimord | Posted: 24-07-2025 02:22:44 |
| The Flower of Smoke"
The club was called Velvet Remains—an opulent brothel carved into the ruins of Kalimord’s once-grand Central Bank, now lit by lanterns shaped like bleeding hearts and veiled in cigarette smoke and holograms. It was the only place in the Red Light District untouched by looters, rebels, or firestorms. No one dared. Everyone knew who owned it. Chang Kai Bu. The former Director of Kalimordian Intelligence. The man who once walked with presidents, princes, and killers. Now he didn’t walk at all. The attack had come weeks earlier. General Hez—the blade-wielding legend of the Irmandade, a ghost in warpaint—had cut through Kalimord’s defenses like scripture through lies. In the final assault on the Widowmaker , Hez found Chang, slit his throat with a curved blade, and left him bleeding . But Chang didn’t die. He was found by loyalists, evacuated, rebuilt in secrecy. Now he ruled from shadows—disfigured, voiceless, and still infinitely dangerous. And tonight, he waited. The back chamber was dim, velvet-curtained, and thick with sandalwood. Music pulsed faintly through the walls—something slow, erotic, and mournful. A glass of untouched wine shimmered on the table before him. His hoverchair gleamed black and chrome beneath his long silk robes, and a silver voicebox embedded in his ruined chest flickered with a low red light. She entered quietly. Young. Stunning. Wrapped in a tight crimson qipao lined with black lace, her cybernetic eye scanned the room before settling on him. The other eye—green, human—was sharp and amused. “Director,” she said, bowing her head. The voicebox crackled. The tone it produced was artificial, calm, yet hollow. Chang’s true voice was gone, replaced by something colder. “You’re late.” She stepped into the room, heels clicking against the inlaid bones of the floor—a mosaic made from shattered Irmandade rifles. “I had to cross three Irmandade checkpoints,” she said with a coy smile. “They’re not exactly welcoming these days.” Chang studied her in silence. Her name was Anya Veil, a freshly activated S.P.E.C.T.R.E. field agent, hand-selected for beauty, ruthlessness, and linguistic precision. She had already seduced two minor Irmandade officials. Now, she had a greater mission. “Your orders are confirmed,” the voicebox hissed. “You will enter the lower territories through the Vantu border. Present yourself as a Kalimord dissident. The Irmandade will accept you, then feed you to the Midnight Shadows.” “Feeding me to wolves,” she said lightly. “You always were romantic.” “Hez has grown careless. Surrounded by mystics, child-soldiers, and zealots. He craves war, but he also craves… distraction.” Anya’s gaze sharpened. “You want me to seduce him?” “I want you to destroy him.” “With a blade. Or a kiss. I do not care which.” She moved closer. Close enough to see the ruined skin around his neck, the faint surgical staples hidden beneath his robe. She didn’t look away. He liked that. “You fear him , don't you?” she asked. Chang’s single visible eye narrowed. “I respected him.” “Until he put a knife in my throat .” Silence fell between them. Then Anya reached out—slowly—and touched the rim of his wine glass. “I’ll need supplies. Contacts. Cover stories.” “You’ll have them,” the voicebox said. She turned to leave, but his voice followed, cold and measured. “One more thing, Agent Veil.” She paused. “If he offers you mercy—don’t take it. He only spares the things he means to break.” Anya looked back at him, her smile slow and bright like a blade drawn in moonlight. “Neither do I.” And she slipped into the red haze of the club, where music and betrayal waited like old lovers in the dark. |
|
| Kalimord | Posted: 25-07-2025 04:25:26 |
| like a black jewel above the war-torn world of Ambroid, Chang Kai Buu sat still as death in his mechanized throne. The lights in the S.P.E.C.T.R.E. war room were dim, casting angular shadows that danced across the polished obsidian floors. All around him, his most trusted lieutenants stood in silence, arranged in a semicircle—each of them cloaked in charcoal-gray suits, masks of emotionless discipline.
Chang’s face was a grotesque mask—half covered in synthetic flesh, the other a twisted tapestry of burn scars and surgical metal. His throat bore a cybernetic brace that hummed faintly with life support. Yet his voice, filtered and metallic, carried the weight of authority that silenced even the most ruthless killer in the room. “Gentlemen… and traitors,” he began, his one good eye scanning the circle, “S.P.E.C.T.R.E. has embedded agents inside ComStar's reborn command structure. The Irmandade’s propaganda networks are nearly within our control. And thanks to Project Leech, our siphons have begun draining the Ambroid Global Reserve.” A ripple of satisfaction passed through the circle—except one. Chang’s gaze fixed coldly on Executive Thorne, a tall, impeccably dressed financier from the Belial banking system, who looked just a little too tense. “I am pleased,” Chang continued, “but not... surprised. S.P.E.C.T.R.E. does not fail. We execute. We devour.” At this cue, a section of the floor hissed open, revealing a transparent tank beneath. Inside, three pale-blue sharks circled in lazy menace, their gills fluttering, their eyes soulless. Chang’s mechanized hand twitched. “Unfortunately, it seems one of our own has mistaken our empire for a treasury vault.” Thorne's eyes widened. “Chairman Buu, I assure you—” “Silence.” Chang’s voice cracked through the air like a lash. “You rerouted 11.2 million credits from the Baltic Shadow Operation into an offshore account on Ganymede. Your greed is not only treasonous… it is unimaginative.” “No, please—” Thorne turned to run, but two chrome-armored guards intercepted him and dragged him forward, their expressionless visors gleaming. “Let his blood remind you,” Chang whispered as the floor beneath Thorne opened with a hydraulic sigh. The man screamed, flailed—but it was over in seconds. A red bloom rose through the water, and the sharks tore into their meal with terrifying elegance. The room was silent again, save for the sound of mechanical breathing and distant thrashing. Chang Kai Buu leaned back in his throne. “We do not steal from ourselves. We do not forget. You are not free men—you are architects of a new world, loyal only to S.P.E.C.T.R.E... or the sea.” The executives nodded in solemn, terrified unison. Chang smiled, though the movement pulled at the ruin of his face. “Now... let us begin the next phase.” |
|
| Kalimord | Posted: 26-07-2025 02:17:22 |
| The Techno Nations fell in a week.
Neon cities once ruled by the cryptic AI warlord 06k8f0k7zc went dark—plunged into chaos by silent agents of S.P.E.C.T.R.E. Power grids failed. AI overlords glitched and crashed. Digital currencies evaporated. In the chaos, a single image flickered across every telescreen—from slum walls to palace halls. A shadowed figure in a black chair, throat scarred and face barely visible beneath dim light. Chang Kai Bu. His voice rasped like metal on bone. “You digitized your gods, and now they bleed code.” Behind him, explosions lit the horizon of a dying megacity. “You refused the offer to kneel. Now you will crawl.” Screens across the Techno Nations shattered. Backup servers melted. Their leader, 06k8f0k7zc, vanished in a scream of static. S.P.E.C.T.R.E. did not ask for surrender. They broadcast extinction. And then silence. |
|
| Kalimord | Posted: 01-08-2025 04:28:38 |
| “Fires Across the Sea”
The winds howled outside the blackened dome of Obsidian Sanctum, Chang Kai Buu’s island fortress, lost somewhere in the southern archipelago. Inside, glowing screens pulsed like stars in the dim, metallic gloom. Data feeds streamed with encrypted chatter, infrared satellite imagery, and military logistics reports. At the center of it all, like a spider at the heart of his web, sat Chang Kai Buu in his heavily modified wheelchair. Cloaked in darkness, only the gleam of his ruined face reflected the ghostly light of the monitors. One central screen blinked. A transmission request. Encrypted. Verified. “Colhelm,” Chang muttered. The image resolved. President Colhelm of ComStar stood before a war-torn backdrop—his ceremonial uniform undone, sleeves rolled up, a bloodied map behind him. “They overran our outposts in the west,” Colhelm growled, frustration cracking his voice. “Irmandade moved faster than we calculated. Their new stealth divisions… we didn’t see them until the cities were already burning.” Chang’s face was impassive. He let the silence stretch until it became uncomfortable. “You underestimated Hez,” Chang finally said, voice dry and slow. “You treated him like a soldier. He’s a symbol now. And symbols don’t bleed easily.” Colhelm leaned forward, eyes burning. “We need reinforcements. You have ships docked in the Astrellan Reach. Deploy them now.” Chang’s fingers twitched on the armrest. “S.P.E.C.T.R.E. is not your rescue fleet,” he said. “We are your partners, not your pawns.” He paused, then added with a glint of venom: “But I will send operatives to root out Irmandade’s forward scouts—if Kalimdor is left to me.” Colhelm frowned. “Kalimdor is still sovereign—” “It’s rotting,” Chang snapped, eyes narrowing. “A nation of nobles and parasites clinging to the past. Let me have it. Let me cleanse it.” Before Colhelm could respond, the screen went black. Then, another screen activated—uninvited. The scarred, imposing face of General Deathstrike appeared. Half-machine, half-man, his mechanical jaw clicked audibly as he spoke. “You overstep, Chang.” His voice was harsh and metallic, a blade dragged over steel. “We formed this alliance to win a war. Not to carve the world like meat.” Chang didn’t flinch. “Meat feeds the strong,” he said coldly. “ComStar is bleeding. And Irmandade is growing more powerful by the hour. Kalimdor is a necessary sacrifice.” Deathstrike’s eyes burned with fury. “If you ignite a revolution in Kalimdor without Council sanction—” he leaned forward—“—you’ll bring the war to our doorstep.” Chang smiled faintly, a ghost of amusement crossing his mutilated lips. “Let it come,” he said. “From the ashes, we rise. As we always have.” |
|
| Kalimord | Posted: 01-08-2025 04:33:39 |
| Kalimord Crumbles: Poverty, Hunger, and Lawlessness Sweep the Post-War Nation
By Adriana Vesnik | Global Observer | August 1, 2025 KALIMORD CITY — Once hailed as a “beacon of reconstruction” by foreign diplomats and provisional officials, Kalimord now stands on the brink of collapse. Six months after the armistice, the war-torn nation is gripped by a catastrophic surge in poverty, hunger, and violent crime—raising doubts about the competency and legitimacy of the New Provisional Government (NPG). According to data leaked by humanitarian agencies, over 73% of Kalimord’s population is living below the international poverty line, with entire districts of Kalimord City and the southern industrial zones reduced to shantytowns and rubble. Food shipments promised by the NPG have mysteriously disappeared en route to distribution centers, and basic staples—rice, powdered milk, clean water—now fetch ten times their former price on the black market. “We haven’t had meat in three weeks,” said Salina Torvek, a mother of four in the bomb-scarred district of Dravko. “My youngest is eating boiled weeds. The NPG sends cameras, not food.” Meanwhile, crime has exploded in both rural and urban regions. Marauder gangs, former mercenary groups, and ex-police units loyal to old factions patrol neighborhoods unchallenged. Armed robberies, kidnappings, and revenge killings are daily occurrences. Human rights groups report that more than 40% of the country is under de facto control of local warlords or paramilitary bosses. The New Provisional Government, led by interim Chancellor Ilin Surran, has responded with half-hearted press statements, hollow calls for “unity,” and frequent crackdowns on protesters. In a recent televised address, Surran claimed the situation was “under control” and accused “foreign agitators” of spreading disinformation. However, internal NPG documents obtained by Global Observer paint a different picture. Corruption is rampant, with millions in international aid quietly funneled into offshore accounts linked to top ministers and their family members. Several aid workers have mysteriously disappeared after attempting to investigate misappropriated resources. “The NPG is a puppet regime of broken promises,” said Dr. Kurell Mavik, a former advisor to the Reconstruction Bureau who fled to Irmandade last month. “They’re not rebuilding Kalimord—they’re looting its corpse.” As winter approaches, experts warn that a full-scale famine could strike by December unless drastic humanitarian intervention is taken. Yet with the Irmandade tightening its grip on the borderlands, and whispers of revolution rising from the south, Kalimord’s future teeters between chaos and collapse. For now, the people of Kalimord wait—cold, hungry, and armed. Have tips or footage from Kalimord? Contact us securely at observerwire@protonmail.com. |
|
| Kalimord | Posted: 02-08-2025 02:28:40 |
| Headline:
Hez–Irmandade Alliance Scores Devastating Victories Against ComStar Forces Under Colhelm and Deathstrike Byline: By Daria Vell, Ambroid Free Press – Warfront Division August 2, 2025 – Fort Dalren, Ambroid AMBROID — In a stunning reversal of battlefield fortune, the joint forces of the Irmandade–Midnight Shadows Alliance have dealt ComStar a string of devastating defeats across Ambroid, shattering President Colhelm’s dreams of planetary domination and casting doubt on the once-mighty war machine led by the ruthless General Deathstrike. For over two months, the dusty plains, oil fields, and decaying suburbs of central Ambroid have become a brutal theater of war, with 2005-era tanks, drones, and rotary aircraft grinding across war-torn landscapes. But despite ComStar’s numerical superiority and technological edge, it is Hez and his Irmandade partners who now hold the initiative—striking fast, vanishing faster, and leaving entire ComStar divisions in disarray. “This is no longer an occupation,” said Irmandade Marshal Kael Tormas from a frontline command post. “This is a rout. Colhelm has lost the narrative. Deathstrike has lost the field.” Operation Iron Dagger: A Turning Point The tide began to shift with Operation Iron Dagger, a joint midnight assault on ComStar’s supply corridors near the Galdra Expanse. Irmandade shock troops disabled communications towers using jerry-rigged EMP bursts, while Hez’s guerrilla cells encircled the panicking ComStar forces. Caught without drone support or medevac routes, three ComStar regiments were either destroyed or forced to surrender. Surveillance footage showed General Deathstrike himself being airlifted from the command trench under mortar fire—his first battlefield retreat in years. “ComStar got too used to fighting scattered warbands,” said a captured ComStar analyst. “They weren’t ready for a real alliance, or for Hez to be more than a myth.” Colhelm’s Crisis Back in New Bastion, President Colhelm remains defiant, claiming the “strategic withdrawal” is part of a broader reorganization. But internal memos leaked from ComStar’s Directorate of Defense reveal a fractured chain of command and dwindling troop morale. “Deathstrike wants to torch cities,” one memo reads. “Colhelm wants to negotiate. Neither can admit the front is collapsing.” Meanwhile, Irmandade armored brigades—rolling on decades-old Leopard 2s and refurbished F-16s—have seized airfields across northern Ambroid. In the south, Hez’s Midnight Shadows control nearly all of the Virellian Strip, where propaganda loudspeakers now play Irmandade anthems and local children wave black flags from rooftops. Hez’s Ghost Tactics General Hez, who has rarely been seen in public since the war began, continues to command from undisclosed bunkers and mountain redoubts. Using encrypted radio bursts, smuggled cell towers, and human couriers, he coordinates raids that leave ComStar reeling. A ComStar tank battalion recently ambushed outside Delos Junction was found stripped of fuel, weapons, and uniforms—its soldiers handcuffed and abandoned in their underwear. Spray-painted on the lead tank: “You’re trespassing. Hez.” A Fragile Empire Crumbles Across Ambroid, resistance is no longer symbolic. With Irmandade supplying weapons, training, and international legitimacy, and Hez delivering shock and awe with surgical brutality, ComStar’s grip is visibly weakening. In a desperate move, Colhelm has reportedly authorized orbital reconnaissance strikes using outdated space-based platforms—though their effect on ground warfare remains minimal. “ComStar still has hardware, but no heart,” said Irmandade political officer Elana Zov. “They rule with wires and walls. We fight with fire.” What Comes Next With every town liberated, every convoy destroyed, and every radio tower hijacked, the question looms: Can ComStar hold anything on Ambroid? More pressingly—how long until Hez and Irmandade take New Bastion itself? Related Coverage: [Deathstrike's Fading Aura: From Terror to Retreat] | [Inside the Irmandade War Machine: An Army Built on Ruin] | [Ambroid Uprising: Local Militias Join Hez's Final Push] |
|
| Kalimord | Posted: 04-08-2025 02:00:21 |
| "The Last Transmission of S.P.E.C.T.R.E."
The blackened halls of the Kalimordian deep-bunker shuddered slightly, as though the very earth was reacting to the seismic shift about to be announced. Arrayed before dozens of flickering telecom screens, shadowed figures sat silently in war rooms, boardrooms, and palatial dens across the world. Each screen displayed the same image: the iron-throned command chamber of Chang Kai Buu, lit dimly in crimson and cobalt. Chang sat unmoving, strapped to his mobility rig — a throne more than a chair — his ruined face a pale mask of precision and pain. Tubes hissed softly around his jawline, and his voice, when it came, was a jagged hum of augmented clarity. “My dear associates. My fellow architects of the unseen order. I speak to you now not as the Director of S.P.E.C.T.R.E., but as its executor.” A pause. Several on the screens leaned forward. Others exchanged looks. No one dared speak. “For years, we operated from the shadows. We bent governments, sabotaged alliances, crippled resistance. We whispered, and nations obeyed. But our time in the dark is over.” He raised a gloved hand slowly, trembling from strain or emotion. “S.P.E.C.T.R.E. is no more. Effective immediately, our organization is dissolved. Its assets, its armies, its secrets—mine now.” The wave of murmurs burst through the network, screens flickering with urgent voices. “This is madness.” “You promised shared control—” “What of the Pact of Red Sands?” “You swore—” Chang’s eyes, ice-white and filled with something ancient, narrowed. “Promises are tools. Like all of you were. I kept S.P.E.C.T.R.E. alive long enough to pave the way for something greater. A resurrection.” The screen behind him lit up with a new sigil: a crimson hand clutching a broken chain, imposed over the fractured skyline of Kalimord. “The Dominion of Kalimord is born. From the ashes of war and betrayal. From the ruin of regimes and the bones of kings. I shall rule it—not as a spymaster—but as Sovereign.” “ComStar has accepted our alliance. Colhelm himself has pledged recognition. Together, we will build an empire not of shadow—but steel and flame.” Several screens went dark—those who chose defiance. Others flickered hesitantly. One elderly figure, known only as the Vicar of Berlin, spoke coldly: “And those who refuse, Sovereign?” Chang smiled with half a mouth, the rest stitched in surgical wire. “They will be pacified.” He gestured. The camera feed rotated, revealing legions in formation—drones, tanks, stealth jets bearing the Dominion’s mark. Behind them, the smoldering skyline of Old Kalimord rebuilt into towers of black glass and gunmetal. “The Age of Conspiracies is over. The Dominion marches forward. You will join us… or be swept beneath us.” And with that, Chang Kai Buu’s screen faded to black, leaving the world forever changed. |
|
Pages: << < 2 3 4 [5] 6 7 8 > >>
To post on this forum, you must be a member of the game.