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She was almost sobbing as her fingers felt, in this odd, soot-covered object, the sole object in this empty expanse, a hatch. The protruding edges were sharp to the touch; Raguelle quickly withdrew her hand, as blood swelled and ran from a straight red cut which ran across her fingertips. The blood dripped down onto her palm and ran up her arm; defying all sense, it spelt out words in crimson. They were almost glowing in the noonstorm light. The words meant nothing to her, but the sheer amount of text, formed from her own blood, was making her feel faint just looking at it.
It looked like German; a language which she knew nothing of. Indeed, the number of blasphemous histories written in it, which profaned the nature of the relationship between the Chosen and the Elect, which taught sorceries only permitted to the Chosen, and indeed had given the cold-hearted monsters who stood against the Cthulhu'puvyqera, the Spawn of the Great One, and vivisected the Chosen, the technology they used to persecute the real masters of the world, meant that knowledge of it was frowned upon.
They mentioned the monstrously sinful Engels; a sign of the depths of the depravity that the New Earth Government would descend to. She didn't want to know what the words meant; merely get away from this unnatural storm.
There was thumping inside the pyramid, buried in the sand, on the inside of the hatch. Raguelle froze, split between her fear of the lightning and whatever there was inside. There was now muffled shouting coming from inside the object. That was what did it. The woman, breath coming fast as a thin layer of sweat shone on her brow, wrapped her fingers around the handles on the latch.
CDU-Politiker lassen auf flüchtende Menschen schießen. – KRIMINALSTAAT
She had to rescue the child. That was all she knew. The hatch gave way. A wave of red and copper and iron and salt and warm stickiness came flooding out. It soaked the sand. It soaked the seas. The vital tide hit with the force of a sledge hammer, but nothing moved. Raguelle choked, as the flood continued.
Aeon Natum Engel (NGE cross-over) - Page 2 - dsl-service-dsl-providers.info BBS
It was everywhere, filling her lungs, leaving her blinded, unable to move. Through her head, frantic prayers ran; to Great Cthulhu, Lord Dagon and even the Earth Mother her parents had taught her about, before they had been truly assumed by the Elect.
And the gods smiled upon her, the tide thinning, to merely rush against her legs. The pressure was there, a pain against her shins, and it was also meaningless, for she could move freely. Raguelle bent in half, clutching at her knees, and threw up, emptying her stomach and lungs of the blood. It was already clotting, coating her face and hair in a visceral mask of death and pain. But the terror was put out of her mind by another set of thunder booms.
While she had been immersed in the flood, the cloudless storm and its thundernoon light had come closer. The flashes were near constant, casting the landscape in a staccato light of painful brightness. I wish I was wearing my eyesguard, she thought, as her body, on autopilot, in one sense fought against the bloody tide from the object and in another walked calmly through the fluid, as if it were no more than a texture, painted at knee height.
The pyramid had somehow grown larger, except that wasn't quite true. No, it had always been large, even when she had been touching it. It had merely been far away; close enough that she could reach out and wipe off the soot,yet far enough away that she had underestimated its height a hundred fold. The woman risked a look back, just as she entered the structure. The blood had continued to run into the sea, an unceasing torrent.
The red taint was spreading, too, the grey-blue of the waters becoming a reddish orange, which glowed in the strange light. There were things floating, too, in the corrupted waters, as the blood consumed the mother of all life.
Pale, gaunt and skeletal corpses, bobbing in the waves. They may have been pale, skin like paper and their flesh hanging off their bones in greasy rancid rivulets, but they were not dead. Or, at the very least, they had not stopped moving. If dead they were. Almost sobbing, face caked in now-dried blood as she half-ran, half-crawled into the glass, stone and steel structure, Raguelle fled from the polluted waters, even as she waded through that which had tainted them.
There were handles on the inside of the hatch, which, with a yell of exertion, she pull shut, sealing herself in the unlit structure. She waited in the darkness with her eyes squeezed shut, breath coming in shuddering gasps. Mindlessly, the woman rubbed her hands against her face, not seeing the cascade of flakes of dried viscera which fell off with each stroke.
Finally, she felt that she could move again, even though the adrenaline which had flooded her system left her shaking. She opened her eyes, revealing that a spotlight painted a circle of brightness in the middle of the darkness. In the middle was what looked like an altar, but cast in blue-steel, cold and hard, without the customary ornamentation.
There was text engraved on it, but she was unable to read it from this distance. Around the altar, the floor was a clean sterile white, with no sign of the blood-flow which had erupted.
Blue-steel, glass and concrete. Sterility and inhuman precision. This is like something that the heretics of the New Earth Government would build, Raguelle realised.
Something like the buildings she had seen in her childhood, before her parents had escaped the lands of the unfaithful. Warily, she approached the altar, blood-caked shoes leaving no marks on the artificial cleanliness of the floor. She leant close to the altar, breath misting on the cold metal, trying to read the letters on the steel cuboid.
Carved deeply into the steel, the font elaborated seriffed, and yet readable, the words were in English; the precise, post-Reformation English spoken away from the Demesnes of the Chosen and the Elect. She had to find the child who had been trapped in here, especially since the structure looked like something built by the New Earth Government.
Raguelle had to find the screaming child; it was not possible to conceive of doing anything else. She turned around, squinting into the darkness that surrounded this pool of light. There were five dolls lying on the floor behind her, that had not been there beforehand. Four of them were old-fashioned ones, not even made of plastic, but instead of some kind of ceramic.
And they were shattered, limbs splayed and broken, skulls broken open. Lying under them, the broken shapes a patch of colour against the cold white of the floor, was a larger cloth doll, crude in the extreme. The yellow wool stitched to its crudely smiling head was thick and frayed; its eyes were nothing more than buttons. And then it screamed, falling through a void that suddenly opened in the floor.
Down it fell, vanishing from sight as it dropped away, falling forever. But the wail was trapped and resonating and, in its own way, alive, growing and changing and rising and falling as it awoke from its nascent form.
And it would not stop. All she could do was lean forwards, clutching at her head and massaging her closed eyelids with her warm, sticky palms. Slowly, with a feeling of growing dread, she lowered her hands, and stared at them as they glistened in the dim red glow of the emergency lights. That was a weird nightmare. It was then that her brain started working and she elbowed Wguh hard, in the ribcage. As he did that, his wife picked up the crying infant that lay between them in the bed, clutching him close to her breasts as she stumbled across to the enveloped cradle that lay on the other side of the room.
- Source code: Class german-dico.txt part of termsuite-core version 3.0.2
Raguelle's fingers scrabbled at the lock, trying to open the clear casing that veiled the carrier. Both the alien Migou and the monsters of the NEG made battlefield use of chemical, biological, micrological and nanological weapons, and if this wasn't just a practice drill, protection would be needed. And very young children couldn't wear even the basic masks, let alone the full suits needed to deal with some of the agents used. The squall of the sirens woke the almost-three-year old Kair, still sleeping in a cot in their room, and Wguh's child added her cry to the noise.
There was a knock at the bedroom door, and then it opened, light streaming in from the hallway. Ghuhalia stood there, fully dressed, with her face concealed by the filter mask. She had a firm grip on her younger sister, who stood behind her, clinging onto her arm. She stood there silently.
It was simpler in design than the ones that those with the Blood of the Chosen had to use, adapted as it was from 's military hardware. It did not need to cover the nascent gills, which were a favoured site for attack. A muffled sob emerged from behind the girl's mask, which wrapped around her neck, forming a tight collar. She looked away from Raguelle, to her younger sister.
We're just going to have to go down to the bomb shelter, and then mummy and gulifr'kre are going to have to go to their militia stations. Everything's going to be okay. She nodded, frowning as she stripped the crying two year old, putting her into an sealed suit. There was a deep thud, felt more in the gut than heard, running through the building. A fraction of a a second later, the thunderous noise arrived, the glass in the window cracking, but not breaking.
Through the gaps in the blackout curtains, an orange flare of light cast the dim room into stark relief. Raguelle froze for a moment, Kair still squirming with her sealed suit only done half-way up. There was a second thud, followed by an explosive roar of noise, even as the sirens wailed louder.
There was noise above and below them in the cramped apartment; the pounding of feet and the terrified calls of small children. This didn't look like a drill. Gur pbzov'arq g'bgnyvgl bs gur znf'frf ner gb qba gurve fnsro'ernguref. All the faithful are to put on their filter masks. Ivehfrf naq onpgrevn sebz gur sbr qr'gr'pgrq. Va Dagon'anzr, fgnaq ernql!
Nyy zvyvgvn'crbcyr tb gb jurer lbh zhfg or sbe evtugrbhf'arff. Hayvx'r gur pnx'r, guvf vf abg n yvr! Jr ner haqre guerng'qrngu fbheprq sebz New Earf Guddermount oy'nfcurzref. Gurl zhfg or erchyfrq, fb gung nyy zhfg or jryy.
Jr'qb guvf nyy sbe gur ibqf. In the Name of Dagon, stand ready! All members of the militia are to report to their stations. This is not a drill! The blasphemers of the New Earth Government are attacking. Stand ready to ward off the faithless. The Gods fight with us. Va Hydra'anzr, ceb'grpg gur lbhat! Nyy gubf'r gbb byq, l'bhat, be punat'rq sbe gur zvyvgvn ner gb tb gb'n cebkvzvgl furygre'jneq.
One snfg gur tngrf gb xrrc nyy fnsr j'vguva sebz z'bafgref. Gurer vf ab jnl jr pna ybfr! In the Name of Hydra, protect the young! All individuals not in the militia are to go to their nearest security shelter. Ward fast the doors so that the blasphemers do not find you. The children went down to the shelters, deep under their apartment complex, dug into the volcanic rock, with a minimum of protest, and with one last hug, Raguelle and Wguh'yului went their separate ways.
He was a powered armour pilot; his eyesight had not deteriorated enough as the vision of all the Blooded did, as the inhuman side of their ancestry won out that he was incapable of using the longer ranged weapons which they mounted, and so served as rapid response to fill any holes which may have opened.
She, by contrast, was not a full member of the military; only a member of them militia, like almost every faithful adult on the island, and an Elect member of it at that. As a consequences, her main role was to lay down her life at a static heavy weapon, keeping it firing as long as possible.
To put things simply, the fjord was designed to be a killing zone. The stubby, armoured domes of the Eyes provided a phalanx of coherent light which would require a major naval effort to break. They were protected by lesser defences; fixed turrets, and roaming squads of mecha and powered armour, ready to be deployed to anywhere there looked like there might be a break.
The waterside buildings and apartments were actually uninhabited; heavily reinforced and turned into pillboxes camouflaged among the other buildings. Both the militia, which mostly consisted of the Elect, equipped with pre-Second Cold War equipment, and the regular forces, who were armed with the more modern equipment from the Order's heavily limited number of nanofactories were stationed in these bunkers, with large amounts of heavy weapons to overcome their relative deficit of vehicles.
Anti-air positions bristled the rooftops, hoping through weight of fire to overcome the sophisticated NEG and Migou craft that might try to attack. The fjord itself was a veritable minefield; only the Chosen knew the safe routes through the chained munitions. It was acknowledged that the New Earth Government could probably break these lines, as could the Migou.
But the really heavy defences were in Cthulhu'ybeq Ahefrel, not here. The cost of an assault on this city would be high; the strategic balance was set up so that it would require forces which both of the other two major forces could not spare, or the other would take advantage of it.
Raguelle Goldstein huddled down in the ground floor of one of the armoured apartment complexes, her eyesguard and filter mask on under a helmet, wearing a ballistic vest. The out-vent of the filter mask, strapped to the system on her back, steamed.
It was all coloured in this odd grey-white-black-blue crosshatched pattern, broken shapes made of of more broken shapes. That was meant to make it harder to see at night. What it was wasn't, in her very certain opinion, was warm enough. The rain earlier had frozen solid; The frost glimmered in the still night air.
In battle, where the directed energy weapons could blind laser weaponry could burn out a retina, merely from looking at the focal pointit would clamp down, cutting down the light to safe levels, but for now, the frozen night was somewhat beautiful. That was one of the problems when the high ranks of the Branch of Defence were entirely made out of the Chosen and the eldest among the unchanged Blooded. They didn't really feel the chill, unlike the inferior mammals who served and worshipped them.
That meant that the equipment issued often failed to take into account fully the requirements of warm-blooded creatures. They had been told to keep their headset radios off; it was said that the New Earth Government had sensor technologies so good that it could lob a missile right through a window of a building if it detected the use of military frequencies with invalid encryption.
That didn't help one bit against the Migou, who it was hypothesised communicated by some kind of pseudotelepathic machinery built into their mecha, but it was feared greatly by the Esoteric Order of Dagon. One of the members of the true armed forces of the Order passed by, dressed in the fish scale-like modern armour, checking that everyone was in place, and that there was no unauthorised radio communication.
In the background, though it was not quiet. The repeated warnings in both English and R'lyehan and the sirens were interspaced with explosions, as the streaks of orange, only briefly visible when they cut down through the clouds, delivered their payloads. And it was the missiles that didn't exploded that were the worry; it was astonishing how many individuals nano-and-micromachines could fit inside a warhead, to be dispersed across the area.
It certainly wasn't safe to breath the air now, and it wouldn't be safe for the civilians to emerge until the entire city had been cleared with EM zappers and cleansers. And now shouldering could be heard from down the corridor-which-was-actually-a-trench, the clarity of the voices making it obvious that the two individuals were wearing modern armour, with a built in speaker-system.
Well, that and the fact they were talking in R'lyehan, with a speed and precision that no fully-human mouth could manage. Raguelle strained her ears to listen, trying to catch what she could.
30-fache Brandstiftung. Weit über 40 Tote.
Va gur anzr bs oy'rffrq Cthulhu, nyy gur vafvqr bs gur Bp'phyne Tybor vf yvxr na noongb've. By Cthulhu, it's like a slaughter-place. Raguelle frowned under the mask. It was hard to understand, from the speed, and she was sure that she was missing things, but Another voice spoke, deeper, and less human; the cadences of the tongue of the Chosen more filling to its manner of speech.
Bs jung gu'vatf qb lbh oy'noore ba nob'hg? Z'nxr l'bhe cre'fbany'vgl pnyz, naq gnyx, be lbh funy'y or chavf'urq! What are talking about?