MenuAmbroid Forums
| Author | Message |
| Kalimord | Posted: 04-08-2025 02:01:43 |
| "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. |
|
| Kalimord | Posted: 04-08-2025 02:07:06 |
| The storm outside the coastal fortress of Blackstrand thrashed the sea like a beast in chains. Thunder cracked over the surf-slick cliffs. Inside the concrete citadel, the fluorescent lights buzzed over polished steel, security cameras pivoted with cold precision, and the sound of footsteps echoed through narrow halls.
Anya walked ahead, heels clicking, red coat swaying behind her like blood on snow. Behind her, Agent Matt kept his pistol low, flanking a prisoner in cuffs—battered, shirt torn, but standing tall. The man's eyes glowed with something feral. Hez. The legendary warlord of the Irmandade. Captured at last. "Move," Matt growled, shoving him toward the final blast door. Inside the circular chamber, the throne of Chang Kai Buu loomed like a monument to the dead. Screens lined the walls, all silent. Tubes and wires wound around the deformed leader, whose face was half metal and half ruin. His throat rasped softly as he spoke, his voice filtered through modulated breath. “Bring him closer.” Anya stepped forward, eyes glittering. “As promised, Director. The Lion of Irmandade, in chains.” Hez chuckled lowly. "This collar won't stay long, cripple." Chang Kai Buu’s metal fingers twitched slightly. “You’ve caused a great deal of damage, Hez. Armies broken. Satellites destroyed. Alliances shattered. But even a lion can be caged.” Hez stepped forward calmly. His cuffs glinted in the cold light. “And what will you do, old serpent? Kill me? Parade me?” Chang smiled, baring mangled teeth. > “Oh no. I will rewrite you. Turn your war into a cautionary tale. Your soldiers into mine. And you—into a symbol of obedience.” Hez looked at Anya. “I taught you better than this.” She flinched. Just a flicker. “I was never yours,” she whispered. Hez looked down at his cuffs, then back at Chang. “You should've searched me better.” Click. The cuffs fell open. In a blur, Hez moved—too fast for an old man, too fast for the eye. Anya raised her pistol, but he was already there. One savage strike to her throat sent her crumpling. Matt fired, but Hez spun Anya’s body into the shot, caught Matt’s wrist, twisted, disarmed him. Chang's robotic arm raised—but Hez lunged, driving a sharpened piece of cuff metal through the tubes at Chang's neck. Hhhhhkk— The lights dimmed. Sparks burst from the throne as Chang Kai Buu slumped, gurgling his final breath. His one human eye widened in shock, staring into Hez’s. “The only cage here... was your illusion.” Matt, bleeding, scrambled back, eyes wide. “You mad bastard… You planned this?” Hez grinned, grabbing Anya’s detonator from her coat. “I always plan.” Alarms wailed. The facility shuddered. Detonation sequence armed. Evacuate immediately. Matt ran. Through collapsing halls, past panicked guards. Behind him, flames bloomed through the corridors like waking dragons. On the cliff, a stolen helicopter rose into the air. Matt dove inside, coughing. As they lifted off, the entire fortress erupted in a pillar of fire and stone, the sea swallowing the remnants. He looked back once. Hez was gone. The Lion had slipped the cage. And the Serpent of S.P.E.C.T.R.E. was no more. |
|
| Kalimord | Posted: 04-08-2025 02:13:29 |
|
The skies over Blackstrand burned crimson as the fortress crumbled, flames licking upward like the fingers of an angry god. Amid the thunder of explosions and the shriek of bending steel, deep beneath the collapsing concrete and rebar, a miracle of malice and machinery stirred. The body of Chang Kai Buu was broken—but not dead. As the throne room collapsed into choking smoke and rubble, the failsafe protocols in his throne-chair activated. Injectors stabbed into his chest. Synthetic blood surged. Pneumatic braces tightened. Hidden lungs, artificial and humming, inflated with compressed oxygen. The Dominion had planned for everything—even resurrection. Somewhere above, the warlord Hez had vanished into the night. The traitor Anya lay in a charred heap. But below, where flame met stone, the serpent clung to life. Six Minutes Earlier – Kalimordian Secret Service Operations Van, Perimeter Ridge Agent Voren, commander of the Kalimordian Secret Service’s Black Phantom division, stared at the live biomonitor. Chang Kai Buu’s vitals were flatlining—then suddenly spiking. “Sweet Black Mother…” he muttered. “He’s still alive.” The team—clad in black stealth armor, each bearing the insignia of the Dominion’s inner guard—immediately mobilized. One inserted a spike into his temple port, uploading override codes. "Command to throne-core acknowledged," said a robotic voice. "Priority Alpha Extraction enabled." A hatch deep beneath the throne chamber hissed open. Present – Sublevel Epsilon, Fortress Blackstrand The air was boiling, thick with smoke. Concrete dust swirled in choking waves. But the path had opened. Six agents descended on high-speed rappels through a service tunnel, bypassing flames and debris. At the center of the chamber, they found him. Chang Kai Buu’s body was half-crushed, torso split open, face hanging in shreds of fused flesh and wire. But his eyes were moving. His mechanical arm twitched. "Sir, we’ve got you,” said Voren, voice tight with awe and fear. "Protocol... Omega... lives..." Chang rasped, the voice a flicker of wet static. With precision and speed, the agents disconnected his throne from the floor, activating its hover core. The chair lifted, humming faintly, trailing sparks. They sealed the old man inside a collapsible armor cocoon, surrounding him in thermal gel. Above them, another explosion rippled through the fortress. “MOVE!” They shot through the collapsing tunnel, guided by infra-red and instinct. One agent was buried by falling debris. Another was torn apart by flame. But the rest emerged from a cliffside fissure just as the final blast rocked the earth behind them. A Dominion gunship, cloaked and waiting, swept in low. One Hour Later – Classified Medical Facility, Deep Kalimord Inside a sterile chamber of white chrome and humming diagnostics, Chang Kai Buu floated in a life-support tube like a preserved relic. Surgeons worked silently, replacing ruined flesh with bio-mechanical grafts. His eyes remained open, flickering, burning. A voice whispered through the speaker above his pod. “Welcome back… Sovereign.” And though his throat was gone, though his body was shattered, a thin smile formed on the mangled wreck of his lips. The Serpent would rise again. And this time, there would be no chains. |
|
| Kalimord | Posted: 04-08-2025 02:18:24 |
| "He’s alive,” Colhelm said, as if confessing to a ghost. He turned now, a datapad in hand. “Chang Kai Buu.”
Matt’s jaw tightened. “Impossible. He bled out on the bunker floor. I saw him.” “Then tell me how this image was captured last night,” Colhelm said, sliding the datapad across the concrete table. The screen flickered to life. A grainy satellite image. A wheelchair. A figure surrounded by shadows and cables, barely alive—but unmistakably him. “That base in the sea cliffs—north of what’s left of Kalimord. Some kind of power network kept him breathing. We intercepted encrypted comms. His people are trying to rebuild him. " Matt stared at the screen, silent. “We can’t let him. If Buu comes back... He’ll bring the darkness with him, his speeches, his theatrics . This isn’t personal. It’s arithmetic. He's a mad man and a monster , with no place in the new world to come.” “This is treason,” Matt said. “You are a soldier. Do your job,” Colhelm replied coldly. Matt closed his eyes. He remembered the shark tank. Anya’s final breath. The flames. Colhelm leaned forward. “I’m not ordering a murder. I’m giving you the chance to finish what fate and Hez started. Clean. Silent. Quick. For peace.” Silence stretched like a wire pulled taut. Matt took the datapad. “I’ll do it,” he said, voice low. “But I won’t enjoy it.” Colhelm nodded once. “No one enjoys ending monsters, Agent. But someone has to.” And in the shadows of a dying world, the wheels of another mission began to turn. |
|
| Kalimord | Posted: 06-08-2025 01:15:43 |
| The chamber was quiet except for the faint hum of servos. Agent Matt’s footsteps echoed across the polished floor as he approached the figure waiting in the center—a figure that once commanded empires and conspiracies, now reduced to something less than human, yet still radiating power.
Chang Kai Buu sat—no, lived—within a mobile throne of steel and composite alloys. What remained of his body, a torso with two withered arms, was encased in an exoskeletal frame. Tubes pulsed with artificial blood. His face, half shadowed, bore the same calm menace Matt remembered from the dossiers. “Agent Matt,” Chang said softly, his voice carried through a modulator that gave it a metallic undertone. “So Colhelm sends his most reluctant sword. I am… honored.” Matt swallowed hard, trying not to glance at the mechanical arms hovering at Chang’s side like coiled snakes. “You’re hard to kill.” “I adapt,” Chang replied with a faint smile. “But that is not why we are here. There is a greater storm coming—a name whispered among deserters and mercenaries alike. Tanky.” Matt frowned. “Leader of the Headless Horsemen. We’ve heard rumors.” “Rumors,” Chang said, the smile widening. “Entire battalions disappearing in the Wastes… heads mounted on pikes like trophies of a new warlord. He is building something. Something even I would hesitate to challenge.” Matt stayed silent, letting the weight of that admission settle. Chang, the architect of global chaos, afraid of a man named Tanky? That meant something. “And yet,” Chang continued, his chair gliding closer without a sound, “you did not come here to discuss Tanky. You came to kill me.” Matt stiffened. His hand brushed the inside of his coat where the silenced pistol waited. “It’s all right,” Chang said gently, as though soothing a child. “I forgive you. In another life, perhaps we would have shared the same dream.” Matt looked into those eyes—dark, fathomless, almost human. He thought of Colhelm’s cold orders. Of the years of blood that had brought them here. “Do it,” Chang whispered. “Or… listen to me. Help me stop Tanky. Then decide.” Matt drew the pistol, slow, deliberate. The chair’s servos whirred softly, like a living thing breathing in anticipation. Chang didn’t move. |
|
| Kalimord | Posted: 06-08-2025 01:21:26 |
| The static cleared, and the face of President Colhelm flickered onto the screen. Cold, precise eyes, the kind that calculated the rise and fall of nations like pieces on a board. Behind him loomed the insignia of ComStar—the silver sigil glowing against a field of black.
“Report,” Colhelm said, voice cutting through the hum of the transmission line. Matt stood in the shadows of the safehouse, his trench coat heavy with rain. He had not slept since the meeting—the chair, the tubes, those eyes closing as he raised the gun. He wasn’t sure if he heard the shot anymore, or if the silence that followed was the sound of something breaking inside him. “Chang Kai Buu is dead,” Matt said at last. His voice sounded hollow, even to him. Colhelm’s expression didn’t change. Not relief, not triumph. Only inevitability, as if he had seen the end before the first move was played. “Well done, Agent,” Colhelm said. “The last great shadow of Kalimord has fallen. The world will be… simpler now.” Matt hesitated. Something inside him wanted to ask if the world was ever simple. But he didn’t. He only nodded. “You’ll receive further instructions,” Colhelm said coolly. “For now… rest.” The screen dimmed to black. But in ComStar’s high citadel, far from the cold rain of Matt’s exile, Colhelm did not rest. He turned from the darkened screen to a hidden terminal. One more call to make—the call that would ignite Kalimord like dry tinder. The second transmission opened with the image of a man who looked carved from iron and old wars. Dao Quan Soong. His shoulders filled the screen, draped in jungle fatigues. A Kalimordian paramilitary commander, his legend had grown in whispers: the Wolf of the Eastern Front. Behind him, Colhelm glimpsed men sharpening machetes, cleaning rifles, faces lit by the dim glow of firelight. “Soong,” Colhelm said smoothly, almost warmly. “The hour has come.” Soong grinned like a predator. “Chang Kai Buu is dead, then?” “Yes,” Colhelm replied. “A relic, removed from the board. The occupation government… fragile. Rotting. You were right—they cannot hold Kalimord together without him.” “Good,” Soong said, leaning forward, the light catching the scars on his face. “Then we take what’s left.” “You will move,” Colhelm said. “But it must look… natural. A righteous uprising by patriots, not a coup fueled by ComStar credits.” Soong’s laugh was low and hard. “You want the people to see martyrs. Heroes. Not your hand in the shadows.” “Precisely,” Colhelm said. “By dawn, I want their palace in flames. By sunset, I want every minister hanging from a lamppost. And when the smoke clears… Kalimord will rise under your banner. But make no mistake, Soong. It will serve ComStar.” “ComStar,” Soong repeated, with a mocking lilt that made Colhelm’s eyes narrow. “We’ll see.” The screen snapped to black. Colhelm stood alone in the silent chamber, the weight of old wars heavy in the stillness. Beyond the glass walls of the Spire, the neon sprawl of ComStar’s capital glimmered like a field of stars. Irmandade would see this as chaos. A distraction. That was the point. When the Horsemen came with their Tanky and their madness, when Irmandade marched in their armor of steel and faith, ComStar would not fight on two fronts. Colhelm smiled faintly, and in that smile was the certainty of a man who believed he could shape history. Somewhere far away, in the ruins of Kalimord, Dao Quan Soong loaded his rifle and whispered to his men: “Tonight, we hunt kings.” |
|
| Kalimord | Posted: 08-08-2025 02:22:08 |
| BREAKING: Major Dao Quan Soong Leads Coup Amid Collapse of Irmandade Alliance
KALIMORD CITY — AUGUST 7, 2025 In a stunning turn of events, Major Dao Quan Soong, a decorated paramilitary leader, has launched a coup d'état against the Irmandade-backed Kalimordian Provisional Government. The move comes as Irmandade forces reel from devastating losses inflicted by the growing insurgent coalition of the Midknight Shadows and the Headless Horsemen, two terrorist organizations previously believed to be fragmented and on the run. At approximately 3:00 AM local time, Soong’s loyalist battalions, composed of defected Kalimordian Special Forces and rogue armored units, stormed key government installations in Kalimord City, including the Presidential Compound and Ministry of Defense. Eyewitnesses report heavy gunfire, aerial strafing, and the hoisting of Soong's banner—a crimson phoenix rising from ash—over the shattered dome of Parliament. The provisional president, Minister Jaro Ennell, is reportedly in hiding or dead. Communications from the capital remain sporadic as electricity and mobile networks have been severed. Meanwhile, Soong appeared on state television—seized by his forces—declaring the old government "a rotting puppet of foreign occupiers" and vowing to restore "Kalidorian honor, sovereignty, and steel." This comes amid a broader collapse of the Irmandade alliance. Once a feared multinational military pact, Irmandade has suffered crippling defeats across the Ambroid region. Their bases in the south were overrun last week by coordinated surprise offensives from the Midknight Shadows, known for their brutal guerilla tactics, and the Headless Horsemen, a cyber-terrorist cult turned paramilitary faction. Several Irmandade commanders are missing, and whispers suggest some have defected or gone underground. Analysts warn that Kalimord could now spiral into a new phase of chaos, with Soong’s emergent junta, anarchist militias, and terrorist coalitions all vying for dominance. International observers have begun evacuating, while humanitarian agencies brace for a renewed refugee crisis. The fate of Irmandade, Kalimord, and the balance of power in the region now hangs in the balance. —By Mara Velente, Senior War Correspondent, KNN Global |
|
| Kalimord | Posted: 08-08-2025 02:27:56 |
| The skies above Kalimord wept ash and oil.
Where the rivers once ran clear, molten runoff now steamed from the refitted refinery lines. The distant clang of foundries echoed like a war drum over the skeletal remains of the city. On a high ridge overlooking the industrial district of Vrax, Major Dao Quan Soong stood in full ComStar battle dress, watching the rebirth of a nation they had shattered and were now reforging in their own image. He adjusted his collar as the gunship’s VTOL engines screamed overhead. Then, without ceremony, he stepped into the bunker, descending through a black steel hatch emblazoned with the insignia of ComStar's Eastern Command. Inside, the temperature dropped sharply. Flickering holoscreens painted spectral light over the war room’s polished ferrocrete walls. And at the center of it all stood General Deathstrike—a living weapon, wired directly into the war network. His presence was like an engine of purpose, all posture and patience wrapped in cybernetic fury. Deathstrike didn’t turn to greet him. He never did. “Major Soong,” came the distorted rasp. “Report on the Kalimord Re-Armament Initiative.” Soong saluted sharply, his boots clacking. “We’ve restored full operation to the Vrax and Halderman production zones. Sixty-three percent of pre-war industrial output is now online. Artillery complexes are producing at double projected capacity. Munitions are flowing through the southern corridor uncontested.” Deathstrike’s servo-jointed hand tapped across a holographic display, bringing up a series of rotating diagrams: tanks, drones, mech suits—all bearing the ComStar crest. “And the locals?” “Integrated into the labor infrastructure,” Soong said. “Those who resist are being relocated to containment blocks outside Arx Vantora. The rest are being indoctrinated under the Unity Curriculum.” Deathstrike’s eye implant flared. “And loyalty?” “Engineered and escalating,” Soong replied, without flinching. “ComStar flags fly in the schools. We have reactivated the Public Identity Centers. The next generation of Kalimordians won’t even remember the Irmandade.” A pause. Then Deathstrike finally turned. His voice softened—not in kindness, but calculation. “You've done well, Major. Kalimord was chaos. Now it is order. Our order.” Soong bowed his head slightly. “It was your plan, General.” Deathstrike took a slow step forward, cables trailing behind him like a shadow of iron and intention. “It was a necessity. The Irmandade broke this land into fiefdoms of fear. The Midknight Shadows and the Horsemen turned it into a circus of terrorism. We have brought the silence of structure. The discipline of steel.” Soong’s gaze shifted to the tactical map glowing overhead. Kalimord was no longer fragmented—each province now pulsed with ComStar relay signals. “And Colhelm?” he asked. Deathstrike’s jaw clenched, his voice low. “Colhelm plays the long game. He may disapprove of our methods, but results speak louder than philosophy. Once Kalimord is wholly stabilized, even the Council won’t be able to question our success.” He stepped toward the main console and inserted a key shard. The factory district lights dimmed, then surged. “Begin Phase Three. I want a mech battalion stationed in every major city within a fortnight. No more whispers of rebellion. No more ghosts.” Soong saluted. “It will be done.” As the bunker's reinforced doors slid shut behind him, Soong looked back once, just briefly. General Deathstrike stood before a cathedral of steel and code, and though Kalimord still smoldered, its future had already been written—in data, in discipline, and in war. ComStar had come not as liberators. But as architects of dominion. |
|
| Kalimord | Posted: 09-08-2025 06:09:19 |
| The marble steps of the Kalimordian Presidential Palace were slick with rain and blood.
Dao Quan Soong strode through the shattered gates, his boots leaving crimson footprints on the white stone. Smoke curled from the still-burning guard posts, the air thick with the stench of gunpowder and the copper tang of death. His men fanned out, clearing the last pockets of resistance, their rifles cracking in sharp bursts that echoed down the long corridors. He entered the grand hall, where chandeliers hung askew and the once-polished floor was smeared with dark stains. The portraits of past leaders glared down at him from cracked frames, their silent judgment meaningless now. He had done it—after months of plotting, skirmishes, and betrayal, Kalimord’s seat of power was his. “Secure the perimeter,” he ordered, his voice low but sharp. Two of his guards moved to obey. One stayed behind. The man—broad-shouldered, visor low—stood silently at Soong’s side. His name was unimportant; only his loyalty had mattered. Or so Soong believed. As the new ruler approached the gilded throne at the far end of the hall, he felt the weight of history settling on his shoulders. He placed a hand on the cold armrest, imagining the years to come. A single gunshot cracked through the palace. Dao Quan Soong slumped forward, a dark bloom spreading across his uniform. His bodyguard lowered the pistol, breathing steadily. The man knelt beside the corpse, pulled the radio from his belt, and pressed the transmit key. “This is Shadow Two,” he said into the static. “Chang Kai Buu… the target is down. I repeat—Dao Quan Soong is dead.” There was a pause, and then Chang’s voice, calm and smooth as ever: “Good. The palace is not his to hold. Await further instructions.” The bodyguard clicked the radio off. Outside, the rain kept falling, washing the blood away . |
|
| Kalimord | Posted: 09-08-2025 06:15:33 |
|
The chamber beneath the ComStar fortress on Ambroid was lit by a single ring of cold white lights, casting long shadows over the steel conference table. The six most dangerous figures on the planet sat in silence, each waiting for the other to speak first. At the head, Supreme Leader Colhelm leaned forward, his fingers steepled. “Gentlemen… and Chang,” he said with a thin smile, “our enemies are scattered. The Irmandade is crippled. The Midknight Shadows and Headless Horsemen are too busy tearing each other apart. This is the moment we have been waiting for.” General Deathstrike, clad in dark battle armor, spoke next. “My fleets are in orbit. Every major port on Ambroid will fall within hours of my signal. But control by brute force is fleeting—we’ll need political puppets in place before the last shell casing hits the ground.” Espionage Director Matt adjusted his gloves, his voice flat. “My networks already have dossiers on every provincial governor, media baron, and industrial magnate worth buying—or eliminating. A few staged assassinations, a few ‘popular uprisings,’ and the people will beg us to restore order.” At the far side of the table, General Supper the Boy grinned, his youthful face a jarring contrast to the death he commanded. “My armored divisions are hungry, Colhelm. Give me a name, and I’ll roll over it before sunrise. The streets of the capital will echo with our banners.” Warlord Fellow leaned back in his chair, a heavy gold chain clinking against his chest. “Control the markets, control the people. I’ve got the cartels lined up and ready. We take the food, the fuel, the medicine—Ambroid will kneel not because of fear, but because they’ll have no choice.” Finally, Chang Kai Buu spoke, his voice soft but sharp as glass. “You all talk of conquest as if it were merely military or economic. No. It is psychological. We will rewrite the narrative of Ambroid itself. History will begin with ComStar. I will see to it that every screen, every book, every broadcast carries our truth… until even our enemies cannot remember a time before we ruled them.” Colhelm nodded slowly, his gaze sweeping the table. “Then it is agreed. The old world will die. Ambroid will be ours—not just in territory, but in mind, body, and soul.” A silent understanding passed among them. The six leaned in, their hands touching the cold metal table, sealing a pact that would shape the fate of an entire world. Outside, the night over Ambroid’s capital was quiet—but only for now. |
|
Pages: << < 3 4 5 [6] 7 8 9 > >>
To post on this forum, you must be a member of the game.