• “FIRE!” guns blazed, men fell.
    War in this time is very much like that too most people. In this time, this is what is left of strategy. No apparent strategy but killing. Three days this cycle had been going for, Three days that seem to continually drag on and on. “Take cover!” Yelled a voice, everyone ducked beneath the bunker. A large explosion sounded, and the troops covered their ears in pain. A man was stuck with shrapnel from an artillery round, and fell face first into the mud. No one would help him up however, he would either find the strength to save himself, or he would be lost. For you see in this army, teamwork has no purpose. Many men have lost their lives due to this, but it serves a very important purpose, it narrows out and eliminates the weak, and because no one will save anyone else, it also ensures that none of them develop any strong relationships with each other. None of the troops have families any longer; all of the relations with their pasts are severed once they join “The Cause”. The man who fell pushed himself on to his knees, trying to rise. The bunker shook again. Another spray of bullets, more men fell under the withering barrage of fire. “Up! Now!” Boomed a deep voice from behind. Jarred turned around to see a large man in black bulky armor. He wore no helmet; it was clutched in the fingers of his left hand. His fair brown hair was halfway down his neck, unkempt. His face had a few jagged scars stretching down it, and a chunk of his neck was missing, replaced with mechanical implants. Jarred bowed to his master. This was the Lord of Earth and all of its nations. None of his servants were allowed to call him by his true name, unless explicitly told so, not that they knew it anyway. As such, they called him names like Lord, King, high Lord, The Arch Tyrant, or anything that paid homage to his power. He was most commonly known as Arch Tyrant, as this was the name that he preferred to be called by all of his cruel minions, who pillaged, crushed and destroyed in his name. He may be the main power on Earth, but that didn’t mean he had come about this power fairly, or justly for that matter. In fact, it was this one mans fault that billions lay dead now. Many more had been grievously wounded or injured. A man who felt no guilt, no remorse, no pain, and had no conscience. Jarred looked into his eyes and saw only a dark, hollow emptiness, a shadow of their former brilliant blue. As the full power of this man was revealed to Jarred, he realized that should he say one word of insult, make one wrong move, he would be dead within seconds. The Arch Tyrant slid his helmet onto his head, and shouted to his troops loudly. “Move up and Forward Bastards!” And received a response immediately. “Yes lord!” the squad of thirty chanted. “All of you bastards, I don’t care if you’re dead or alive up and forward!” The Arch Tyrant rushed out of the bunker and charged the enemies head on; guns blazing at the enemy. Friend and foe alike fell in agonizing pain. Head exploded, limbs were torn from their sockets, and organs were ripped apart. Most normal people were driven temporarily insane by the sight, forgetting whom their foe was, and turned on their former allies, only to be then shot down by the people they were originally fighting. A few of the Arch Tyrants’ foes did indeed swap sides in those moments, but received as much mercy as the rest of those foolish enough to challenge him. But The Arch Tyrant tore his enemies apart as if they were no more than paper. He Was a God among men. His great flamethrower pumped out a wave of torture, and his enemies burned to ash in a great inferno. In his right hand he wore a sharpened gauntlet of the strongest steel, which ripped his enemies to faceless, shapeless husks. Men ran, and while any other army or nation would have let them flee, however, the men of the 1st Demonic corps shot down any who fled and stabbed to death any that were brave or more likely foolish enough to stay behind with axes, knives and swords. The other army fled, while helping their fallen comrades to their feet. Some were even foolish enough to attempt drag back their dead, only to be killed themselves. There was no safety, no mercy. The stink of burnt meat and death filled the air. Any men from the opposing army that were still alive were dragged back for interrogation and torture, and their dead were left to rot. Those under the Arch Tyrants’ command who were wounded were left to pick themselves up, if they could not walk, only then would they be helped to the medical facilities. The Arch Tyrant’s army needed all the troops he could get, but they would not save men who could not help themselves.
    “Victory!” Boomed The Arch Tyrant. “Victory!” the men chanted in response.
    Workers walked forth and began constructing new bunkers. Tanks rushed forward, the ground shaking around them. Great metal monstrosities in the shape of chimeras and manitcores walked forward on large metal legs.
    Jarred walked forward and inspected a corpse. The corpse had been obliterated, and was missing legs, its head, and one of its arms. Its exposed skin was charred black and torn open. The uniform it wore was white with blue details and small amounts of camouflage, whatever the purpose of that was. “White Union” he spat.
    The White Union were rebels. They were one of the many organizations they had thought destroyed. Who had attempted to crush The Arch Tyrants Empire. For this, the Arch Tyrant would make sure that they were all dead this time.