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The Lost Bureau (and other stories)-original fiction

TI/IR-ch 5
  • Mark Poe

    The majestic cock
    Writing Champ
    Chapter 5: More talk, less action​

    “Well, what do you make of all this?” Ambassador Stemkumf, ambassador of the Axeon Union to the Empire of all Mankind, asked his counterpart from the Lasce Imperial State.

    “I don’t want to be pessimistic, but I doubt the reformer faction has enough pull at this point in time.” Ambassador Neressia of the Lasce Imperial State answered. “They lost a lot of influence among the imperial court in recent years.”

    The two of them, along with a gaggle of other diplomats from the various countries of the old continent, were gathered at one of the numerous rooms of the imperial palace. It was a place set aside for them to discuss amongst themselves after observing the daily going ons of the imperial court that rules all of humankind, at least all of humankind that wasn’t under the yoke or influences of all the other races of the old continent, which was still a lot.

    “Right, and I wonder whose fault that was?” Stemkumf wondered sarcastically.

    “We had casus belli.” Neressia responded through gritted teeth, “Not to mention it’s not our responsibility to be their keeper.”

    “Regardless, now we have an even more unstable giant, gathering more rage by the day.”

    “With enough bullets, even the gods could be slain.”

    “Not if they’re bulletproof.” Ambassador Daricon, ambassador of the Republic of Mundock, butted in. “Rumor has it that there are many among the recent arrivals to this world with abilities to negate our technological advantages.”

    “Which won’t be the first time you lot have faced such problems, you guys should have the institutional experiences to deal with this kind of problems.” Neressia remarked casually, attempting to fish for some tidbits of information that might help her nation in what might potentially to be shaping up to be a massive war of the century.

    Sure, the rise of the so called incel movement so far has been merely a local to regional concern, purely domestic issues of the human kingdoms, but if the wars of the past century has taught anybody anything it’s that if there’s a bunch of isekai involved, it’s certainly likely to end in country ending catastrophe of some flavor unless countered by overwhelming force or another batch of isekais. Regardless, it’s a of pain and suffering in those incidents, even when war was avoided. Thus, it never hurts to be prepared, even if the majority of preparations tend to be rather futile in the end all things considered.

    “Those institutional experiences kinda rotted away in the past half century.” Daricon said bluntly. “With the buffer states in place our attention has been focused on the exploitation of Ironi.”

    “So… in the famous words of a certain isekai, ‘we’re borked’.” Neressia muttered.

    “Well, I wouldn’t go that far.” Stemkumf quickly said, “After all, those incels are only mass raping fellow humans on their side of the borders, and it doesn’t look like that’s going to change in the near future.”

    “Well, there’s also their increasing influence in some of the kingdoms and by extension the imperial court itself, making the whole of humanity swinging more reactionary.”

    “How in the name of gods does those assholes wield such influences?” Neressia asked, to nobody in particular.

    “Well, again, mostly because they promised the illusion of greatness and all we offered these days tend to demands of further concessions when not conducting outright war.” Stemkumf said in a deadpanned voice.

    The three were silent for a moment, it was a set of impossible goals that they were given from their government: to bring the humans to the modern age while exploiting them to the fullest extent in the meantime. So far the latter tend to far outweigh the former, much to the detriment of their reputation within the human kingdoms.

    “So what cards do we have left to play these days anyway?” Neressia was the first to speak again. The bitterness obvious in her voice.

    “The usual, incoherent screeching backed by the threats of arms, and praying that they won’t notice the useless of the latter.” Daricon said with grim humor.

    “Sometimes I really wish the gods would give us a damn break for once.” Neressia said, in a rare display of obvious frustration.

    “I think we should stop calling them gods and just call them as the demonic hellspawns that they actually are.” Stemkumf joked, although there wasn’t a trace of humor in his voice. “There’s no carrot to their stick as far as I could see.”

    “Welp, time to get back to work.” Daricon said, looking at his pocket watch, “More listening to the rambling of fools while their country slowly burns from the inside out.”


    The last days of the slow death and fall of a once mighty empire tend to produce the greatest of farces, as either lone individuals make valiant but ultimately futile stand against the coming darkness, or fiddle around while the legacies of their ancestors crumble around them and the barbarians surge through the gates. The last days of the Empire of all Mankind was little different in that regard, for every isekai who fancied himself as the genius needed to prevent a French Revolution style collapse of the empire ten more lie in wait for their chance to lead hordes of assless chaps wearing barbarians in the expected ‘Mad Max’ style post apocalyptic hellscape. Both are of course outnumbered by the rising tide of the incel movement, who with each village and hamlet they descended upon their numbers of slaves and followers swell.

    There is no hope left for the past, even if for the first time there were plenty of people gathering the last remnants of it, for historical curiosity's sake or more cynically as a warning to future generations.

    This time, there will be no losing the memories to twisted into myth and legends, no whitewashing of supposed ancient heroes and their alleged noble actions. This time, there will the cold silent lens of the camera, bearing witness to horrors that no mortals could stomach.


    Reporter Dave Jameson of the Luna Times was bored, looking out his hotel window he wondered what in the name of the gods prompted him to accept this posting to the heart of the human empire.

    It sure wasn’t the alleged prospect of adventure and excitement, he’s too much jaded for that kind of cheap lies.

    It wasn’t for the supposed interest in a whole different culture, seemly still living out of the pages of a history book, he knew the reality was simply a morass of girm, filth, suffering, and oppression.

    Ah, he remembered, it was to get away from his failures at home; two failed marriages (thank goodness the Union’s laws concerning marriages and divorces are modern and secular, seeing it as more akin to contract than some sacred oath), a flopping novelist career, a gambling problem (not that he was losing, no, he was winning too much, and those angry orcs had knives and the rage to impulsively use them).

    Well, doesn’t matter what his decisions then were, just that now he’s stuck in the heart of a dying country, if not a dying people, and slow death are always such a pain to watch…
    TI/IR-ch 6
  • Mark Poe

    The majestic cock
    Writing Champ
    Chapter 6: The [incellic] rage awakening​

    There isn’t much to be said about the town of Eggenton, and if it weren’t for the railroad and the steam engine it would not have been even a footnote in history. As such it was still mainly insignificant, whose existence on the map was only justified by the need for steam engine to replenish their water supplies, and Eggenton just happened to be around 80 kilometers across the border into the Empire. So the sleepy little hamlet duly received a train station (more like a couple of platforms and a ticket booth, the latter of which was rarely staffed), a small maintenance station (the region is too backward to be relying on things like water troughs, the infrastructure is simply not there), and some other smattering of modern amenities. None of those things matters to the inhabitants of the original village, who still goes around living lives that wouldn’t be out of place since the dawn of recorded history. Tending to their fields and gardens, eking out the barest of existence from a once fruitful land long since declined into a worn existence, crushed by a people who themselves were crushed by high taxes and oppression from above.

    On this rather clear ordinary day a passenger train, stopping to take on replenishment water. Most of the passengers deciding to stay in the train cars, as quite frankly there wasn’t much to look at outside, nothing more than what they already seen on since they passed the border. Interestingly enough, most of the passengers riding the train were elves, many from the South Continent. It seems most of them were part of a tourist group or something, doesn’t matter as long as their coin is valid.It’s all just simple business.

    Engineer Jigem was watching the water replenishment progress with the usual mild boredom, enjoying the moment to step away from the hot cab (sucks for the fireman, but this isn’t a full stop so a low fire has to be kept). Despite the hard and monotonous nature of the job, the pay is good and the job itself does have a measure of dignity, which already makes it better than the majority of the job in the small village he grew up in. Also being able to see all sorts of sights over the years is a pretty good perk, even though most of said sights were rather similar. There are only so many ways to rearrange woods, fields, and hamlets after all.

    Jigem was still half in his daydreams when the screams began.

    Suddenly jerked out of his daze, he scanned his surroundings, quickly deducing that the noises were coming from the hamlet, and then he saw them; slabs of pure fat and ugliness that perhaps at some point were humans that not so much as lumbered but sloshed through, but for all that carving a path of defilation through.

    “Move a bit to the left, if you will please.” A curt voice cut though his shock and horror, dragging him back to the matter at hand. He looks towards the sight of the voice, an elf, whose dark skin and blond hair marked her as a native of the south continent. He immediately shifted a couple of steps to his left.

    The elf pointed a finger at the mass of raping blob making seemly making their way towards the station, it appears those… things have noticed the train and its passengers. A fireball shot out of her hand, crossed the distance as quick as an arrow slamming into them. When the smoke cleared, there was no effect. As Jigem grew more horrified, it was obvious that these vile monsters are much tougher than mere mortals.

    Meanwhile the elf merely sighed and muttered, more to herself than for his benefit, “Welp, guess magic based attacks are not all that effective after all.” She turned to a gaggle of other elves, who seems to have gotten out of the passenger cars to gawk at the unfolding horrors moving toward them.

    “Might want to break out the fire crackers now.” She merely said.

    One of the other elves nodded, and opened a rather large carpet bag and took out a rather heavy looking cylinder, an object that Jigem immediately recognized as a rocket launcher.

    He didn’t have much time to wonder how in the name of the gods did a bunch of elven tourist managed to smuggled that level of serious firepower before the elf fired the launcher, a streak of flame flew towards the horrifying blob, making a rather louder explosion than the magic fireball before it.

    Even before the smoke clears this time Jigem was already back in the cab. It’s time to get out of there in a hurry. Of course, easier said than done, given the lead time it takes to get up to full steam even with a fire already burning on standby mode. Jigem was sweating profusely as he went through all the checks for getting underway in a blur, it’s either certainly die now or a chance of the train exploding later, which is only a problem down the line if they lived long enough to see that to begin with. Precious, nail biting minutes passed before the train began to move, during which a few more streaks of flames flew forth, more rocket fire, along with copious amounts of gunfire. Seems these elves were more than just a mere tourist party, even the more insane hunting parties don’t pack rocket launchers and machine guns.

    Regardless of the insanity of his passengers, their firepower was bought enough time for the train to get away from the doomed hamlet.

    As the horrific sights finally disappeared from the horizon and the train chugged along as faithfully as ever Jigem finally allowed himself to let out a sigh of relief.

    Then he heard a cough behind him, and he saw that same elf as he turned around, looking slightly worse for wear but mostly in one piece.

    “Sorry to disrupt your job keeping us on track.,” She began, “but if possible could you and your buddy the fire stroker over there keep the events of what happened back there to yourselves?”

    He could only nod, as even without the pistol that she was holding in her hand, her voice made it clear that she, and who or whatever she’s working for, are not something he ever want any part of, never mind messing with.

    “Could, could I at least ask, what the heck are those things?” He simply stammered.

    She cocked her head for a moment, as if debating within herself whether to delverge the information or not, before speaking again. “An evolution, or more accurately speaking, a vile mutation of the isekai, you probably will here more about these ‘incels’ in the coming weeks and months. Pray that you will never have to face them again.”

    And with that cryptic message, she turned around and made her way back to the first of the passenger cars, leaving Jigem with more questions than answers, not that he was particularly eager to find any of those answers to those questions anytime soon...
    TI/IR-ch 7
  • Mark Poe

    The majestic cock
    Writing Champ
    Chapter 7: Welcome to the past, part 2 (alternative title: stop overthinking things)​

    The candied lemon peels was pretty good in terms of taste, akin to a less sweet version of Sour Patch Kids, although privately Jane wondered about the sanitation standards of the open air street stall they just bought those candies from. Neither Helen or Teg seems to be all that concerned however, but then again both of them are native to this world, not to mention the latter being a dragon.

    Can dragons even get food poisoning? Even after living in this world for the better part of a decade by this point most of it was still an unknown to her. Then again, what she learned of this world through the newspapers and history books (their history books) generally run the gauntlet between horrifying and depressing; where the civilized orcs, dragons, and elves indulge in naked imperialism when not outright aping the worst of fascism, and the self styled “civilized” humans read like something straight out of a hentai doujin, and the less said about the horrors on the Ironi continent the better.

    And most of all these issues could be laid directly at the feet of the humans from back on earth.

    What sick deity would do such a thing to make this world such a cosmic joke? Wait, better not asking that, the answer is probably somewhere between sickening and horrifying.

    “Your mind wandering off to dark places again?” Helen hazarded a guess. Jane flinched a bit, feeling a bit guilty. After all, Helen (and Teg too, come to think of it) were doing all this for her, the whole vacation and getting out to see more of the world, and all she could think of were how much she dislike it all, this world.

    “Yeah.” She admitted sheepishly, “Just can’t help it at times.” She answered lamely. Teg simply shrugged.

    “Well, just remember you’re not alone.” He said.

    “Teg’s right you know?” Helen continued, backing him up, “Most of the isekais on our sides tend to have a of issues with homesickness, alienation, and related issues. We been treating these things for over a century now.”

    ‘Should have seen that coming.’ Jane thought to herself. After all, given what amounts to thousands, no, tens of thousands of people being dumped into this world over this world’s centuries, there would be plenty of people with the same issues as her.

    She wasn’t special by any means, isekais are a cliches after all, and cliches implies a oversaturation of the formerly unique, which makes them normal, perhaps overly so.

    Ironically, that was the one thing she could live with very well, the last thing Jane wanted was to be special, and by extension the center of attention, like the time the wehraboo elves tried to kidnap her soon after her arrival to this world.

    She shook her head, trying to clear her mind a little. Perhaps they’re right, she should just let loose a bit and enjoy this pseudo time travel vacation (although going from early 21st century earth to the steampunk world was already a bit of time travel).

    And despite everything, there is still plenty of things to enjoy in a medieval metropolis especially the capital of the Empire of all Mankind, as long as one is a tourist, who by the simple fact of currency exchange rates (official or otherwise) is flushed with money compared to the locals, and being from more powerful countries meant that most would not fancy to do violence on them.

    All the troubles of geopolitics, economics, social changes, and other affairs of great importance of surprisingly little influence on the daily lives of the inhabitants of the city, who still goes on living their lives bustling to and fo, doing all the things that makes the world go around, and life worth living.

    People are people after all, and left to their own devices they tend to live out lives, for living is a purpose onto itself.

    Besides the people there are still many sights to see; the huge (by medieval tech levels) palaces and churches, embodiment of the power and splendor of the emperor and the gods. The lively markets, of which hundreds of shops and stalls compete against each other to sell just about everything under the sun. Many of the buildings and statues were of unimaginable ancientness, or so the locals claimed (and no one has gone through the effort of carbon dating them, that would be an insult to the honor and integrity on the people).

    In a sense, even some of initially flaws of the medieval world has taken a charm of their own, and Jane begin to appreciate the simple beauty of a society still living in much simpler times, so as long as she ignore the statistics behind the scenes. Life shouldn’t be a mere numbers game after all, even if that’s what many of the isekais seems to care about.

    Jane was still immersed in simply living life for once that she didn’t noticed that Helen and Teg had stopped to listen to a traveling bard. In a society were paper was still too expensive to be used for such trivial purpose as newspaper, and a population that’s not literate enough to read them anyways the main way to get the news being through the oral tradition, and traveling bards being a critical part of that. She was almost about to walk off entirely when Teg noticed and casually dragged her back with a finger.

    “Oh sorry about that.” She said, “I was too busy enjoying the sights…” she dropped off as she noticed the worried expression of both Teg and Helen’s faces. “What’s wrong?”

    “Newsboy over there is claiming that there have been a number of attacks on railroads by unidentified groups.” Teg said curtly.

    “Looks like we’ll have to cut our vacation short. We’ll head back to the hotel to pack our bags.”

    “It’s that bad?” Jane asked, not really want to believe things were about to so south that quickly, especially given their little motivational talk earlier.

    “Suffice to say it’s better to play safe than sorry.” Teg said.
    TI/IR-ch 8
  • Mark Poe

    The majestic cock
    Writing Champ
    Chapter 8: Your gods of cordite and tin, what are they good for now?​

    It was somewhere in the wilderness, on the borders between true humanity and those who abandoned humanity and now are under the rule of the other races. A sight rapidly becoming a rarity on the old continent, that of the untamed wilds… which abruptly stopped at the border that marked the frontier between the Republic of Setwood and as of yet free humanity (ironic, free in the sense of free to be oppressed by their own kind, but that’s besides the point).

    A small column of troops, mainly humans along with a sprinkling of orcs, were crossing the border. A regiment of the Setwood army, their simple march would have been an act of war in more normal times. But times were not normal, not with the few reports the rest of the world was receiving from the few telegraphs that managed to get some message out before they too, went silent.

    Potential war or not, something must be done, besides bickering like hens of course, which was what the politicians were all doing in the meantime while it appears that the Empire of all Mankind was eating itself from the inside out.

    “What threats do you think that’s out there?” Colonel McAllister, the nominal human commander of the regiment, asked.

    “Probably isekai related, the bastards never learn.” Lieutenant Borkmen, the military liaison from the Union, general advisor, and the real authority of the regiment, said curtly.

    “This time is really bad is it?” McAllister seems rather worried. “I mean, for all news from over there to suddenly be cut like strings from a marionette.”

    “Eh, I wouldn’t worry too much about that.” Borkmen dismissed the concern, “It’s just that we young ones are so used to all this modern technology. Heard in the stories that back in the old days the first signs of coming doom tend to be ominous dark storm clouds.”

    He paused for a moment, “Besides, we got cordite and tin, and that trumps the old iron and blood.” He shrugged. “Just remember your mission.

    McAllister nodded. This is merely a reconnaissance in force, not an invasion or even intervintation. Quite frankly he agreed with the orders. Them ‘free’ human over yonder can kill each other to their heart's’ content for all he cares, but it’s everybody’s problem if their insanity spills over, which seems to be the case these days.

    “Contact!” A voice shouted, so joined by copious sounds of gunfire in the distance as the skirmish line let loose volleys of shots from their bolt action rifles. While the Union was leery of giving their puppets heavy weapons such as artillery or machine guns they do provide the infantry with the latest in small arms, the reasoning being that in times of war the Setwood army would be folded into the Union’s military, which would make their lack of heavier pieces a moot point. Meanwhile if they dare to do something such as declare full independence from the Union then that same lack of heavier pieces would mean that their resulting struggle would most likely be short, fruitless, and painful.

    “Well, get to it. You know your duties.” Borkmen mere said, McAllister nodded, and begin to give orders as the rest of the regiment turned towards the threat.

    As they made their way to the sounds of combat the level of gunfire seems to drop off. However, it was not the sound of victory. No, it was… eerie, as if the strings were suddenly cut from puppets. As they got closer they could hear occasional screams of terror from their forces, only to be suddenly cut off in the same fashion.

    Then they saw them, the lumbering masses of flesh and fat, slowly making their way forward, shrugging off rifle rounds like mere summer rain, an unholy red glow encompass their vile bodies.

    So horrified they were at the sight of those monsters that it was a half a minute (an eternity on the modern battlefield) before they noticed the fate of the skirmish line.

    It was not a pretty sight, listless bodies, the life and soul has long since gone out of their eyes, now merely the mindless puppets of those monsters.

    As they watched the sight unfold in front of them, another number of soldiers lost their souls. First the tin from their helmets simply flew off, overwhelmed by the mind control magic of whatever foul powers those enemies possessed. Then the light of their eyes simply gone out of them, and they dropped their weapons and stumble towards the other direction, now merely soulless husks to a new master.

    To his credit, McAllister was quick to recover. He immediately turned towards one of the nearby soldier, who was carrying a large wicker box on his back. “Quickly, send a message back to command. Inform them that we are facing a new enemy, one that can negate our guns and tin.”

    The soldier nodded, and he begin to unpack in preparation for the release of a carrier pigeon.

    Meanwhile Borkmen was organizing a retreat, or ‘tactical withdraw’ as he calls it. As he was about to move forth with a few men to form a vanguard he turned towards McAllister one last time.

    “Whatever happens, they need to know. Everyone need to know what happened here.” Then he casually walked off to his death.

    At least it was a quick death, as his head merely exploded along with his tin plated helmet.

    The vanguard bought precious minutes. It wasn’t enough to save any of the regiment, but it was enough to save the pigeons, who flew faster than the mind control radius’ expansion, or perhaps they were deemed not important enough.

    As McAllister and the last remnants of his regiments were about to be overrun he put the barrel of his sidearm in him mouth. He was not going to die a meat puppet, and pulled the trigger.

    There were no survivors of the regiment saved for five carrier pigeons.
    TI/IR-ch 9
  • Mark Poe

    The majestic cock
    Writing Champ
    Chapter 9: Well, shit​

    “Just what in the name of the gods are those things?” General Kulak asked, to no one in particular, as he shuffled through reports after reports bearing grim tidings.

    While the Stone Loaves were as ugly as ever on the outside if somewhat bigger than they were since the beginning of the century, the insides of it has evolved quite with the times. Electric lighting, air conditioning, telegraphs and internal telephone lines. Rumor has it that a radio station is in the planning stages. Through it all it was still the same buildings in which the first offensive against humanity was planned almost a century ago.

    Now, as it was then, the mood was still rather cynical, but that’s nothing new as far as anything that has to do with isekais are concerned.

    The reports from the frontiers of their protectorate the Republic of Setwood, as well as from every other country who border the Empire of all Mankind, were disturbing in the extreme: entire groups of soldiers, some of brigade sizes, were simply swallowed up by the coming threat. The few that managed to send a message, usually via carrier pigeons but at least in one case also telepathy, paints a picture of a new terror, far more potent than anything any of them had faced before in their countries entire history.

    “As we of the isekai community and the Lost Bureau have been trying to tell you and the flesh sacks in parliament for years now, we are seeing an incel rebellion of unholy proportions.” Jared Hartman, an isekai residing in the union, and more relevantly an operative of the Union intelligence service. Not the flashest or the most competent, but nothing wrong with his service performance either. Overall quite normal, which in itself is rather abnormal as far as isekais are concerned.

    “I’m still not exactly sure what the heck is an incel, first off all.” Kulak begin…

    “To put it in the simplest terms, they are losers who can’t get laid back on planet earth, and who have built their existence and identity around that failure. Generally they are also extremely misogynistic and from their stays in this world, pretty racist too.”

    “Still, what does all this has anything to do with the current problems we are seeing?” Kulak asked, his patience wearing thin, as so far nothing from either the written or verbal reports made much sense.

    “Their rage, of which their entire life has been based on, has been manifesting and fueling their magical powers. Which is quite more powerful than anything we have seen previously in any isekai communities.”

    “So, why now?”

    “Well, this has been going on for a while now but everyone was sticking their heads in the sand and pretending the problem isn’t there. This current incel uprising is literally a backlash against the march of history for the past decades. They came here to escape from their world, but that world is coming to this one regardless.”

    “I’m a general, not a historian. Don’t try to dazzle me with rhetoric bullshit. So basically it’s a long simmering problem coming to a boil and we need to beat them down now.”

    “Basically, yes.”

    “Well that’s not gonna happen, at least as part of a coalition of nations.”

    “I thought you are merely a general.”

    “To paraphrase a famous general from your world, ‘war is merely continuing politics by other means.’”. He cracked a cheerless smile. “Not to mention you need more than two for a gangbang.”

    “We need all the countries in a united front for intervention do we?”

    “Of course. Everybody’s a backstabber these days, that’s why you want to keep them where you can see their guns.”

    “Well, the elves are already getting rather trigger happy.” Hartman flipped through some files, finding the one he wanted after a moment. “They and their puppets have been moving the majority of their rail artillery to the frontiers, and rumors were that they been running barrages on any unusual activities on the other side of the borders, which does corroborate with their recent heavy munition expenditures.”

    “Well, no surprise that the stereotypical rape victims are the most freaked out about the next apex predators in sexual assault.” Kulak said, secretly relishing the thought of the pointy ear fascists not having things their way for once.

    “Wouldn’t that make them more desperate?”

    “They wouldn’t dare, they should have read enough trashy novels by this point to know that whatever extreme acts they do will almost certainly backfire on them.”

    “Desperate people are rarely rational though.”

    “Well then, we’ll save the fallout from that for the politicians. Thanks the gods I’m a simple soldier.”


    “All that being said the army will partially mobilize. After all, if similar conversations were being had elsewhere, we can be certain everyone is thinking of the same things.” He paused for a moment. “The beast is dying, and the vultures have gathered. We are the vultures here.”

    “Wait a minute, the army can partially mobilize?” Hartman suddenly realized something rather out of place.

    “What do you take the army for, a bunch of savages? The Guns of August is required reading for the general staff after all.”

    “Wait how do… never mind.” Hartman decided some things are better off unanswered.


    Meanwhile in the Lasce Imperial State, a similar yet vastly different conversation was also taking place in the heart of the Hall of Assembly.

    “So the bastards are bulletproof and magicproof.” Amberea said, a simple statement. Throwing a stack of reports she has been reading on the desk, sighed and looked at the gathering of generals and other military bigwigs. “Not to mention capable of overwhelming traditional tin plating and other such anti magic wards.”

    “Well, technically, they appears to be merely bullet resistant. According to certain reports the average number of rounds…” One of the generals begin.

    “Irrelevant. We cannot afford that level of conventional expenditure anyways. Not when the rest of the loons are waiting for us to overreach. I believe it’s high time we deploy the more unconventional weapons.”

    “My fuhrer, Surely you’re not suggesting we break out the Zyklon B this early?” Another general asked, taken aback by the suggestion to open the pandora’s box.

    “Not that, that’s for the concentration camp we’ll be building to dispose of the stragglers. I’m talking about the chlorine and phosgene gas.”

    A collective gasp erupted from the generals. Amberea didn’t even bat an eye.

    “Why not?” She continued, merely shrugged, “We’re already paying the penalty by our mere existence, so might as well reap the bitter fruits of our labor.” The simmering anger was barely audible, but still there all the same.

    “It’s still a world of difference if we break such sacred conventions in actual fact.” The first general spoke up.

    “Yes, they will rage, maybe cancel some arms deals. The usual. What they will not do is to attack us directly.” Amberea stated.

    “How can you be so sure?”

    “Because we will have shown our resolve in using any weapons, no matter how forbidden. With one foot in that door, they have no choice but the gashing of their teeth, or plunge the world in a darkness beyond the worst of the legends. I think even the most firebrand warhawk over yonder will pause before that. Not to mention we’re not using it on them.”

    “It’s still a gamble though.”

    “Imperium audet fortunati.” Was merely what Amberea answered with, although no one in the room (including Amberea herself) knew any latin, given that it wasn’t a language of their world, the general idea wasn’t lost given the sheer pop culture osmosis many of them received. Just as well, it’s not like said phrase made any sense, or rather arrogant, not that the Imperial State was unfamiliar with such mentalities. She then continued, “Now with that out of the way, the casus belli. What’s the latest status on Oesa and her crew?”

    “Somewhere near the capital. An incel band finally got the train they were on.” A colonel barked out, “They are running low on ammunition but otherwise stable on supplies. Oh, and they don’t have any maps of the region they’re currently.”

    “Well then, we must hurry and mobilize some forces then.” Amberea said in a voice as cold as the night stars. The military staff then realized, in the deepest sense, that to her, no one really matters except as pawns for her scheme, or lambs to be sacrificed on the altar of geopolitical necessity. She continued, “How many troops can we have in a fortnight?”

    “The introduction of aluminium plated helmets has been going on slowly due to the costs, we currently have around two brigades since…”

    “I am not asking how many we can safely deploy in light of recent findings. I am asking how many we can deploy in total, regardless of their readiness.”

    There was a collective sucking in of breath among the gathered. Seems the fuhrer is dead set on more bloodletting of the most horrific fashion.

    “A… around four divisions my fuhrer.” the colonel stammered. “Including three companies of combat golems.”

    Amberea nodded. “Well then, get to it.” She waved a hand, signalling the end of the meeting.

    As the military staff begin to file out, she suddenly spoke again, as if an afterthought to herself. “It might take decades, or even centuries. But history will vindicate us.”


    The storms of war once again gathered on the old continent, the lands as ready as ever to receive the blood of thousands. As usual, the people believe that this time it will be different, yet the more things change the more they stay the same.

    The savage nature never left, and now the veneer of civilization is about to be cast aside.
    Last edited:
    TI/IR-ch 10
  • Mark Poe

    The majestic cock
    Writing Champ
    Chapter 10: Doors are locked, y’all are stuck in this level​

    “Well, this is not good.” Teg stated nonchalantly, as he, Helen, and Jane looked at the closed train station.

    Well, to say the station was closed might have been an understatement. All the windows have been boarded over and not a single light to be seen within. As if the building has all but been abandoned. In fact, it probably had, though not like it matters much as the trains had stopped coming in for a while by this point.

    That’s the problems with vacationing in places where media technologies tend to be lagging behind, as sometimes the difference between fresh and stale news being a matter of life and death, and it seems that main way to avoid the latter has just been cut off.

    “Well, there’s always the option of hiking all the way to the nearest civilized country.” Helen said, not even having any faith in her own idea.

    “Besides the sheer distance involved, over a thousand kilometers I believe, through mostly untamed lands that’s probably infested with who knows how many raping incel gangs. None of us actually has the relevant maps.” Teg pointed out the obvious.

    “So what now?” Jane asked.

    “Well, first we head back to the legation quarter.” Helen begin, “Then we see if anyone there got any good ideas. There’s has to be someone with some contingency for this kind of emergencies.”

    “Wait, I thought it’s mostly diplomats and tour guides there?” Jane asked.

    “The former tend to have guards around them like flies and most of the latter are probably spies.” Teg said. “What, surely you don’t think they are what they claimed?” He added, after seeing Jane’s shocked expression.

    “Alright enough talking, let’s go.” Helen said, while turning her head around to scan their surroundings, which was not looking too good either.

    Contrary to what some of the more popular fiction (of both worlds), the release of the true magnitude of the incel/isekai problem didn’t plunge the humans in the city into headless panic. After all, it won’t be the first time that some great threat has come forth in yet another attempt to ruin everything good and wholesome, and surely once again they’ll be defeated by the heroes. It has barely dawn to them that this time, the threat was coming from the supposed heroes who were supposed to save the world. A world that quite frankly, doesn’t exist and hasn't been for decades.

    The solution has become the problem, unfortunately by the time of realization it was far too late to prevent the coming storm already brewing.

    However, that wasn’t to say the city was completely oblivious to the events from far away (and not so far away): there were far fewer stalls and shops open, and what ones that were open were mostly out of goods as any who had the means have already bought what they could. The streets themselves much less active, as was the city overall. Many (mainly humans of the kingdoms) took their chances and fled the city on foot, a choice the vast majority would soon regret.


    “You know what? This does make me feel slightly better.” Helen said as the trio walked through the gates and into the legation quarter.

    They being far from the only ones stranded. The central plaza was filled with all sorts of people. Elves, humans, orcs, and even a couple of dragons milling around. Worry lined most of their faces, as most of them were the idle rich, second or even third generation of the rich and powerful, born into wealth and power, expecting the world to revolve around them. This time, however, is a time or rude awakening, and much akin to the superstition that the ending of a dream of dying ends in actual death, not all will survive this rude awakening.

    “In the sense that there are people even less prepared than us?” Jane asked, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t exactly mark you as the sadistic type.”

    “You have no bloody clue…” Teg begin, although quickly cut off when an orc in the uniform of the combined legation police force made his way towards them.

    “Anyone here with any knowledge on fighting? Especially with firearms?” the uniformed orc said wearily, not even bothering with a greeting such was his weariness.

    “About that,” Teg begin, “I would like to retrieve my bags from our hotel suite…”

    “The rocket launcher with three reloads, heavy crew service machine gun with 2,000 rounds of ammo, 3 shotguns, 2 500M Special bolt action rifles, 6 revolvers, 3 semi-automatic pistols, and a landmine.” The orc ratted off without missing a beat.

    “Yes… wait, what the heck?” Teg said, surprised. “How do you-”

    “Look. If you haven’t noticed yet we’re kind of desperate for any weapons here. You can file a reimbursement after the crisis. If we’re still alive that is.” He said, seemly more weary than ever.

    “Why in the name of the gods did you pack a bloody landmine?!?” Helen finally butted in.

    “For hunting purposes.” Teg muttered unconvincingly.

    “Hey guys,” the uniformed orc tries to calm the situation, “We’re really grateful for his, um, hunting cache.”

    “I hate to ask, but what’s going on?” Jane finally spoke up.

    “Incel groups have taken over much of the surrounding regions, and rumors has it they’re heading for the city to kill every foreigner. That’s us by the way.” He said, and put out a hand. “Constable Pumfee of the combined legation police force, at your service.”

    Jane shook his hand, still in a daze of sorts. Then Pumfee turned towards Helen and Teg again.

    “I’m assuming that both of you have some experience with firearms.” He said, getting back to his original question.

    “Pretty much.” Helen muttered, still mildly annoyed at the extent of Teg’s arsenal. While she figured that he would pack some guns, given his fetish towards those thing, she wasn’t expecting the sheer amount of heavy armaments he did managed to pack. No wonder the bastard couldn’t afford a vacation of his own.

    Pumfee then turned towards Jane, “Mam, do you have any useful skills? Sorry to be so blunt about it.”

    “I… know a bit of water magic.” Jane managed to stammer out. Her mind still mostly freaking out over the horrifying specter of incels overrunning the city and committing unspeakable horrors on them.

    “Good, please report to the water treatment plant over there for further instruction.” He pointed towards a large ugly cement building with numerous piping protruding from it. “Sorry for being so coarse, but right now the legations quarters are under martial law, and we need every body and talent we can get our hands on.” Pumfee seemed to be rather uncomfortable telling Jane what to do, even though he seemed to have no such problems with either Helen or Teg.

    Helen was the first to notice that. “What’s so special about her?” She asked Pumfee.

    “I thought she was part of your group?” Pumfee asked.

    “Yes she is.” Teg said. “What of it?”

    “Where the heck are you people from if being around a deity is not unusual?” He asked incredulously.

    “Oh good grief here we go again.” Helen sighed, “For the how many time Jane is not a deity, no matter how much bullshit you been reading or hearing. Just because she matches the apprances and possibly powers doesn’t mean she’s one.”

    For a moment it seemed that Pumfee was about to argue the point before quietly dropping it. “Please come with me to the police armory.” He merely said, “We have a lot of work to do.”

    “I call dibs on my machine gun. I’m probably the most qualified being to handle it anyways.” Teg said as they begin to walk towards the armory.
    Last edited:
    TI/IR-ch 11
  • Mark Poe

    The majestic cock
    Writing Champ
    Chapter 11: technicality exploit​

    “I think we’re lost.” Jenvessa said, as the group of elves trudged through the unfamiliar forest.

    “We been lost since we stepped off the train.” Oesa remarked, seemingly somewhat cranky.

    One could hardly blame her, given the circumstances of the events leading up to a group of badly disguised elves wandering somewhere in the vast untamed wilderness deep within the territory of unconquered humanity.

    It was such a simple plan: get to Wyvernwald, make some threatening gestures towards the human imperial government and bully them to get them to get off their arse and do something about the incel infestation. All while under the guise of concerned but influential civilians.

    Well, the plan was derailed, literally, before they even got to within 50 kilometers of Wyvernwald (best guessmate, although in reality no one really had much of an idea just how close or far they are from the human capital). The incels were significantly more bold than even the most pessimistic and cynical forecasts. Who the heck thought they would in effect unilitarly enrage the entirety civilized world? Then again they were spoonfed since their earth days that they are supposed to be the heroes who can take on the world and win.

    Sometimes Oesa wondered just how damn crazy that earth must be, as from what intel from the other nations have suggested that what they’re dealing with are in fact merely the scraps and rejects of earth.

    Damn lucky there isn’t a full size portal connecting the two worlds, or whoever or whatever that’s sending these incels aren’t sending the best of earth.

    Regardless though they’re in a hostile territory with no good maps, low ammunition, and not much of a plan beyond surviving and getting to the general direction of their original goal, which seems further away than ever before.

    “Probably should have followed the railroads more closely.” One of the other elves in the group spoke up.

    “We did, until we unloaded the bulk of our ammo on one of those roving incel bands.” Oesa said bitterly. “Which only bought us enough time to get lost into the woods.

    Perhaps it was ironic, actually, it’s pretty much the height of irony, if not a punchline to a joke, that a group of elves being lost in the forest. Ever since being freed from adhering to the stereotype of being tree hugging hippies the elves proven that in fact, stereotypes were pretty much bullshit most of the time. Whatever natural affinity they had with the forest was moot as they embraced modernity with great gusto, as whatever vegetation they incorporate into their urban planning was firmly subordinate to the needs of modern infrastructure and vanity.

    In reality, elves are more natural city dwellers than tree hippies. Doubly so for the paper pushers and camp guards that make up the State Security Service. Thus the unhappy group wanders around semi-aimlessly in the seemingly endless forest.

    “I’m picking up something.” One of the elves sudden spoke up. “Strong presence of mana… over there.” She pointed toward a direction somewhere to their right.

    “Northwest.”Oesa muttered. If they ever get back, she thought to herself, she’s definitely going to get the Security Service to implement some outdoors courses. Or scheme the destruction of all untamed nature, whichever one being easier. Who the heck knows these days, people are dumb and machinery seemingly all powerful.

    “Should we be heading towards it though?” Jenvessa asked, not unreasonably.

    “It’s either that or dying slowly in these woods once we run out of the rest of our supplies.” Oesa pointed out. “There are no good choices right now.”

    “Point taken.”


    As the group made their way closer to the detection of the strong concentration of mana they were once again reminded the sad fact that there are plenty of worse fates than death in their world. The screams rang out far before they could seen the cause of them, shortly followed by other more horrifying sounds that signals incels enjoying their latest victims.

    “Welp, time to turn around.” Jenvessa said, “We all seen enough hentai to know what's happening over there, and our guns and magic are useless against those bastards.”

    Meanwhile Oesa was looking at her surroundings, which are still the trees that are same throughout the rest of the forest. She then nodded to herself.

    “Direct magic doesn’t work, and it takes a lot of force to take them down.” She muttered to herself. “Well then, time to go back on some old tricks.” She sat down, cross legged.

    Then the trees around them begin to move, uprooting themselves with creaking and shrieking of the damned themselves. Of course, the modern scientific answer being that plant cells, having cell walls, are not designed to be movable, and just because extreme amount of mana forcing the issue doesn’t mean such a violation of the natural order is painless.

    But as the old saying goes, put enough thrust and a brick will fly, put enough mana and even the boulders will move. No one ever claimed that the moving would be painless though, and it’s not like the trees have mouths to express the amount of pain they’re going through.

    Regardless, they no longer had a choice in the matter, and the now animated trees lumbered forth at the unseen direction of the dark elf channeling her mana, towards the sounds of unspeakable horrific acts being committed.

    The rest of the elves in the little group watched as the trees lumbered off, soon swallowed up by the rest of the forest. It took a bit longer for the sounds they made to recede into the distance as well, but that came along soon enough.

    Then came the sounds of more screaming, soon joined by screeching and the unmistakable sounds of wood snapping, and possibly an explosion or two, although what caused those was anyone’s guess, and probably something no one really want to find out in any detail.

    Then Oesa simply collapsed, and the rest of the group diverted all their attention to her. It was only after they stabilized her condition (only mana exhaustion, unsurprising given the amount necessary to uproot and command a dozen fully grown trees) did they realized an eerie silence has descended in the distance.

    Well, something happened.


    “So precise application of brute force still works as fine as ever.” Jenvessa commented casually while survey the devastation of the village. “As long as there’s enough of it to throw around.”

    Oesa merely nodded, still rather worn out from her little stunt with the trees.

    And what devastation, as there was no a single house left standing. Although it’s not as impressive as it sounds at first, as most of the buildings were simple straw and thatch construction, generally lacking in even foundations. Meanwhile a half dozen or so trees were spewn around, one even upside down in the middle of what was passed for the village square.

    As for the bodycount, it was rather hard to tell. Well, at least it’s hard to count how many incels were involved, as most were torn limb from limb in best case, and in the worst cases, simply torn to shreds. They did managed to take out a half dozen full sized moving trees, wooden splinters littered the landscape, along with some larger pieces such as branches and slices of trunks. Quite a few of the wreckage suffered the telltale scorch marks of fire burns.

    And then there’s the rest of the humans, the original inhabitants of the now almost non-existent village. The few examples still alive that is. Already not in the best of shapes given their hand-to-mouth existences, the incel raid and the subsequent fight with the moving trees did them no additional favors. Now they looked at the group of elves with sullen eyes, too tired and broken to move or even care as to their fate.

    “So what now?” One of the others in the group asked.

    “Ask for directions.” Oesa finally muttered.

    “Acknowledged.” Jenvessa nodded, and went off to the villagers, brandishing a pistol as she went.

    And so the spoils go to the victors as the elves poke and prodded around the ruins of the village for useable supplies, which wasn’t much. It was a pre-industrial village after all, far off the beaten path from anything important. The villagers simply stood and watched, just another group of fiends taking what they want. It’s merely the natural order working as it had for thousands of years, the strong take what they want, and the weak bear what they can. Out here, justice only comes in the form of a naked blade.

    After a while, suddenly, one of the elves spoke up.

    “Detecting another spike in mana concentration!” She shouted, “Bearing… thataways.” She pointed towards a direction somewhere to the west. Oesa muttered a couple of choice words.

    “Time to get the heck out of here.” She merely said wearily. The rest nodded, and quickly regrouped. The villagers soon realized what’s happening, and for the first time a different expression appeared on their faces.


    But there’s nothing that could be done, and soon the elves were on their way of getting lost in the woods again, as Jenvessa’s attempt at getting directions was not all that fruitful, and they themselves were terrible at following what little directions there were in any setting without conveniently places signposts.

    They were barely out of sight of the former village when the screams begin again.
    TI/IR-ch 12
  • Mark Poe

    The majestic cock
    Writing Champ
    Chapter 12: 55 days in Wyvernwald​

    Wyvernwald was in flames. Well, parts of it it anyways, mostly the mundane parts of the city. It would be ironic if it weren’t for the depressing fact that it’s rather well known that saviors tend to destroy the very things that they set out to save. Thus it came to be that the arrival of the incels to drive the filthy orcs, elves, and dragons out of sacred human lands simply sparked rioting and looting of epic proportions. The few city guards, already sympathetic to the incels to a certain extent (mainly in driving out the foreigners), were only too happy to fan the flames of chaos. It was a time to settle old scores and score new loot.

    While the imperial court and the nobles watched on helplessly but safely in their grand palaces and castles as the city burned merrily before their eyes the situation was similar but also at the same time very different over at the Legation section.

    The walls of the Legation section, which despite their faux medieval appearances were constructed with the best reinforced concrete elven money could buy (as both the orcs and dragons were far less concerned about the dangers of rioting mobs than the elves, who seemed to have assumed that all humans were only a couple of steps away from caricatures straight out of hentai). The overly ostentatious fake-ish fortification finally came in handy though, as the tops of the walls were patrolled by a ragged collection of Legation police, diplomatic guards, intelligence agents (some of those paper pushers still seemed to have problems figuring out which end of the gun they should be pointing at the enemy), and random tourists, the last of which were still mainly excited than anything else, mostly because they have yet been exposed to the real bloodletting and horrors unique to isekai fueled civil disturbances.

    Needless to say, while the various departments and agencies had plans in place for various contingencies for such disturbances, but none with each other, especially not with those of other countries, rivals and even potential enemies they might have been, now all thrown in the same crisis. The orcs of the Republic’s embassy were ready to make a ‘thunder run’ and even had a truck ready, which they claimed will strike terror in the hearts of all isekais. That plan was shelved when the engine simply refused to start, as the truck itself was left in storage without maintenance for over half a year (the rest of the city’s medieval, nowhere to use it anyways).

    In the end, everyone decided that the best course of action was to sit tight and hope that their countries would come and rescue them.

    Then the telegraph lines were cut, and they became more cut off than ever before.


    “Remember, women and children first.” Buntoc said as he took another potshot with his rifle at a fleeing woman carrying her infant child through an alleyway. His voice and actions as cold as the great northern mountains. The shot missed by at least three meters.

    “How about you use a little tact and not talk about this in front of a reporter?” Teg tried his best not to simply facepalm while eyeing Jameson just a couple of meters away, busily jotting down notes or sketching, whatever reporters do normally when on the job.

    “Why not? Pretending the ugliness of the world doesn’t exist will only make it harder to clean up said ugliness.” Buntoc retorted as he took another potshot, again going wide.

    Teg merely sighed, went over to the reporter, grabbed him easily in one hand, and dropped him off the inner side of the wall. It wasn’t a long drop, merely less than a meter until he came in contact with the roof of a building, a general store of all things.

    “So you come over to my way of thinking I see.” Buntoc barely glanced over.

    “No, but since I can’t fix your psychopathic tendencies right now I can at least hid it from the general public for a bit longer.” Teg growled.

    “Figures, you milita types are really just civilians roleplaying military.” Buntoc fired another shot. Another miss, this time missing a child by five meters. The streets, already rather empty, now approaching absolutely deadness, only the rats and other vermin dare to crawl forth, too insignificant to warrant even stray shots. “Too soft to be able to make the hard choices when it counts.”

    “Says the tough talker who seems incapable of hitting the wide side of a building, never mind a moving target of any size.” Teg shot back, the words more biting as he merely used his normal voice and vocabulary, the contents need no embellishment.

    “Not like bullets are all that useful, given what we know of the threats ready to assault this place. Not to mention one less civilian means less fuel source for the incels.”

    “Suppression fire is still a thing, as is kinetic energy from impact. Old instincts die hard. Not to mention you’ll look less like a psychopath.” Teg give up on convincing the obviously bonkers intelligence officer of the madness of his thinking.

    Teg himself might be a trigger happy gun fetishist, but he drew the line on shooting unarmed civilians in the name of denying resources to the enemy.


    It took a while, as all research related matters when the topic being controversial and the subjects too dangerous to be observed at any but at distance, for some (mainly those whose jobs are to study such matters) to figure out the horrifying way in which the incels gain power. IN hindsight, it wasn’t that surprising given their mentalities and whatever ironic and sadistic logic that the world seems to cater to the more depraved isekais.

    It still doesn’t morally justify shooting women and children, but morality was rapidly becoming a luxury in the besieged section. Hard times calls for hard men to make hard choices.

    No… no, no. It shouldn’t be that way. The forces of evil must be denied on all fronts, even in the battlefields of the soul, battles that many have already lost, and many more in the process of losing.


    Bullets were not the only things in short supply, nor military personnels the only ones losing their temper and sanity. Since the beginning of the siege all contact with the rest of the world has been effectively cut off; the water pipes cut (although the legation section has their own water treatment plant), as were power and telegraph lines. The roads that weren’t blocked with rubble were filled with roving incel bands, hellbent on raping anything that’s alive, be they humans, elves, dragons, or even cats.


    Pumfee slumped into a wall, utterly drained from dealing with yet another day full of whining and insufferable brats. It would be a lot of efficient to simply throw them out of the compound and let the incels have their way with them, then maybe the rest of them might actually have a fighting chance. Then again, surviving long enough just to be thrown in a court for throwing civilians to their certain doom is also a pretty lousy option.

    “Tired?” Jane, who was leaning on the wall next to him and also seemingly just as tired, asked.

    “Exhausted.” Was all he could get out.

    “It’s like running a kindergarten isn’t it?”

    “If you mean heading a large number of undisciplined children, yes. That would be the case.” He thought to himself for a moment. “How come you aren’t like them?” He finally asked.

    “My life in the previous world was solidly middle class.”

    “So were most isekais…” Pumfee begin, then he noticed the glare Jane, a glare of pure, distilled rage.

    “Forget I said that.” He lamely finished.

    “Don’t, ever, ever, compare me to them.” Jane said through gritted teeth.

    “Yes mam.”

    “And drop that deterrence act, I ain’t nobody special.”

    “The blue hair and the water purification abilities beg to differ.” Pumfee said, silently thankful of the fact, since the water treatment plant had been unable to meet the higher demand while losing much of the usual electric and personnel that normally needed to run it.

    Jane merely snorted, “I don’t get why people are still all over those little mundane powers.”

    Pumfee decided to drop the topic, too tired to explain the fine nuances of magic and mana usage, not that he himself knew much of it. Once seen as a race wide curse of sorts, now in the age of machines and science the general many have wonder if it was a blessing in disguise. After all, the cray crays tend to be rather limited instead of potentially entities of mass destruction.

    Life and societies has become too complex for rampaging nutjobs with actual powers. Case in point the current crisis.


    “This isn’t looking good.” Pimu muttered, reviewing the remaining inventory.

    “No they are not.” Helen agreed.

    As with all sieges, rationing was instituted as soon as the gates were locked. However, the problem was as always the civilians, specifically those of the upper class, who are not used to hardships of any kind. Thus it was a constant fine line between preventing the spoiled brats from rioting by robbing paul to pay for peter while keeping an eye on the irreplaceable supplies.

    “At least the one thing we don’t have to worry about is water rationing, thanks to your friend.”

    “You don’t need to remind me that every day.”

    “Hard not to when no one seems to have an idea how long her mana reserves will last.”

    “And you think a little bit of faith on your part would help?”

    “Think more of it as reassuring my own mental state, what’s left of it anyways.” He paused for a moment, “Say, how come you aren’t like most of them?”

    “You mean like a spoiled little bitch?”

    “I wasn’t thinking in those coarse terms, but yes, especially when half of your grandparents being isekais.”

    “They weren’t normal isekais, and for all their faults at being parents and grandparents, they at least tried to instill good values on their descendants.” She sighed, “Not that it did much good, given what most of us ended up as. A bunch of greedy bastards hellbent on stuffing ourselves while the going was good.”

    “I’m sorry if I touched a nerve.”

    “It’s fine, we probably won’t live long enough as is, might as well let out our last confessions.”

    “You think it’s really that bad?”

    “Aren’t you supposed to be the expert?”

    “Given what the government pays me? I doubt it. Then again, we been crying wolf so many times that we have learned to just ignore our own findings.”

    “And so here we are.”

    “I suppose the shepherd boy was telling the truth the last time, didn’t do him much good though. Speaking of which, I always wondered did the wolves ate him too or just all the sheep that he was supposed to protect? I never got a concrete answer from all the isekais I talked to.”

    “Probably because there was a number of different versions of the story.”

    “Well damn it I can’t even get an answer to a simple question in my last days.”

    “Welcome to life, cheerful isn’t it?”


    Sieges weren’t just hard on the bodies from the rationing of supplies, they also took their toll on the minds, as distilled, it’s just a mind waiting game, with potentially a terrifying surprise at the end.
    TI/IR-ch 13
  • Mark Poe

    The majestic cock
    Writing Champ
    Chapter 13: Silent war, unholy war​

    Another dawn begins again on the land formerly known as the border between the Lasce Imperial State and the Empire of all Mankind as it has been for the past few month, with the symphony of the artillery from the elves.

    On this day however, while the guns themselves boomed as loudly as ever, the shells they flung were not. Oh they whistled through the air as like other shells from the previous months, but they landed without the expected flaming explosions.

    Then the clouds begin to rise from the open shells, the touch of death dropping all those it came in contact with. Little fuss, little noise, just death.

    Chemical warfare has finally graced its deadly presence on the battlefield.


    The lines of soldiers slowly advanced through the deadly clouds, as silent as the chemical weapons they passed. Clad in gas masks and bundled in protective clothing that belies their size, hand signals and flags being the only ways they communicate with each other and the rest of the army. Following them were the artillery, drawn by golems who ignored the chemicals, much as they ignored the weather regardless of what’s coming down from the skies. It was the one endearing feature that made the Imperial State so invested in them over traditional horses, despite their much higher costs.

    Meanwhile in the skies squadrons of witches, who scan the land ahead, ready to rely and potential threats back to the rail artillery, of which were already aiming higher, their crews ready with more charges.

    The vultures have begun to descend on the dying empire, and the pickings are many to be had.


    Meanwhile on the borders between the Orcs (and their human puppets) and humanity the invasion was far more conventional, the orc war machine lunges forward… and stops. Taking halting steps forward, slaved to the needs of the autocannon and field artillery teams to set up covering positions and the packing when the forces moved beyond the range of their support.

    The incellic rage might make them bullet resistant, but that just means bigger guns were needed. Penetration isn’t the only point of bullets and shells and shrapnel. Kinetic force in sufficient quantities also do the trick well enough, never mind more exotic ammunition such as pyro rounds...

    The orcs have learned from the death of their human ancillaries of the earlier disasters, and this time there will be no arrogance, only overwhelming force and firepower.


    There was no mercy, none to be expected nor given from all sides. Only the slaughter brought upon by the might of industrialization against the incellic rage of worlds, with many of various degree of innocence in between. Steel against mana, science against magic (although the lines do blurred quite a bit, especially where the elves were concerned). Blood flowed freely, along with some other unmentionable and probably no longer important fluids. Chemical weapons tend to not do puncture wounds, but what they do tend to be much worse.

    But the incel groups weren’t the only enemies the various “intervention” forces had to deal with. Also roaming around were the various human armies, originally sent to suppress the rebellions. Many instead swore allegiance to the isekai incels, seduced by the prospect of regaining lost glory, or simply mind controlled as they lost their souls to the great unknown. Regardless of the reasons it doesn’t matter to the orcs, dragons, and elves, the latter only holding off the chemical weapons on them due to supply constraints. Had to save the potent stuff against the truly dangerous threats after all. A few of the human armies picked a third side, specifically a side of their own. Seeing the writing on the wall (what’s left of it anyways), many choice to carve their own path in the collapse of imperial power. Still didn’t help them when some ended up in the way of real modern armies.

    Armed with everything from knock-off modern firearms to weapons more suited for the museums, and with skills ranging from near professional to what most isekais would call ‘noobs’, their overall contributions was that of more chaos, making an already muddled situation more unclear, not to mention causing more collateral damage to the landscape, whether from their foraging activities or standing in spots that seemed all too mundane, but was marked on certain maps, maps of artillery girds that is.

    Few could withstand the king of the battlefield, none when chlorine and phosgene were throw in the mix.

    The battles did not just involve the petty lives of mortals, even the land and nature itself became involved, in the negative sense of course. The elven army in particular targeted forests and woodlands with a witch’s brew of herbicides, deciding that the best way to deal with potential ambushes was to deny the enemies potential places to hide in. The dragons on the other hand prefer capeting villages suspected of harboring incels with pyro artillery rounds, urban warfare not being their forte. Total civilian death were never counted, but no one was in the mood to care, no one important anyway, they’re all just mobs right? Even otherwise they are the others, and therefore okay to kill in the name of preemptive self defense.

    Logic and reasoning has long since abandoned the situation.


    In the elven army’s wake was silence, not just the silence that comes from a cession of the noises of civilization, but that of an unnatural silence, one that being devoid of all living creatures. It was the power of death straight out of the legends, but now in the era of science and progress such power lies not just in the hands of the gods themselves, but governments and militaries, all run by mere mortals.

    And mortals have proven themselves to be just as incompetent and sadistic as the gods before them, truly made in their image indeed. Somewhere in the beyond, the gods must be laughing at the irony of it all, and the suffering of the mortals but the latter already assumed given the entirety of recorded and unrecorded history of the world.

    Welcome to war, industrial war.
    TI/IR-ch 14
  • Mark Poe

    The majestic cock
    Writing Champ
    Chapter 14: The empire is dead, short live the republic!​

    Once again, Ambassador Stemkumf woke up to the sounds of gunfire. That by itself wasn’t too abnormal since the beginning of the crisis, at the very least it sure beats the sounds of hundreds being mass raped by the incels. Like most of the ambassadors, he was caught rather unaware when the rebellion started and for the moment they were all stuck in the imperial palace as unwilling and unwanted guests of the imperial court.

    Even at the best of times the imperial court would be described as a cross between a gilded cage and a den of snakes, for behind the massive opulence (although still somewhat lacking in modern amenities such as integrated central heating. The less said about the personalities inhabiting the place, the better. One of the isekais he had the pleasure to aquitenced to remarked once in casual conversation that the imperial court of the humans reminded her of an otome game. Although he still has little idea what is an otome game the idea got across, fuck court politics.

    On this day however, the sounds of gunfire was much louder, closer, mixed in with various voices, also much closer. So close in fact he could almost make out individual words.

    Well, this is bad news.

    He quickly got out of bed, threw on a jacket over his dancing pigs print pajamas. It was the spare pair that his wife gifted him for his birthday years ago, his normal pair of cogwheel print ones being left at the embassy over at the Legation Section, which is probably burned to ashes along with the rest of the place. No one has heard about them since all the telegraph lines were cut. Then again, he really has no clue, but what little he saw and heard outside the windows in the last few weeks didn’t exactly help matters. It’s weird to think of such trivial matters when more important matters of life and death are staring in the face. Perhaps something he inherited from someone in his family tree. Who knows and who cares?

    But it’s a whole other issue now that the chaos is right outside of his door. Literally. Barely was he in the hallways when a pair of human soldiers, their uniformed marked them out as the army of Wyvernwald. One of them pointed his rifle at him, a 250M-model-E bolt action rifle, Stemkumf noted trivially, while certain death staring him in the face. ‘I really should stop doing that’ he then immediately thought to himself

    He straightened his posture. He might not have lived all that well (the gods, and his wife, knows of his many vices), but damn it he will die well if nothing else.

    The soldier lowered his rifle, then gestured his fellow soldiers, who moved onward past Stemkumf, off to wherever they’re originally heading presumably. He then lowered his rifle. Stemkumf decided it’s probably safe enough to talk.

    “What’s going on?” he asked, the words slurred quite a bit. Then again he hasn’t had his coffee, in fact he hasn’t had any since the crisis started and the withdrawal symptoms are starting to get to him.

    “The Empire has fallen! Long live the Republic!” The soldier shouted. “Come, the world must see this.” He begin to move to follow the other soldiers, who have already disappeared around a corner somewhere.

    “Ah, so a coup d'etat.” He finally understood. The ship of state is sinking and all everyone cared for was fighting over the furniture. He followed the soldier, not like he has anything better to do.


    It turns out he wasn’t the only ambassador to be rounded up to witness this historical event, as as walked into the grand hall. He immediately spotted Neressia, who appeared to be clad only in a babydoll that doesn’t seem to cover anything important, and Daricon, who appears to be in his finest.

    Wait, how the heck did that guy dressed up so quickly? Or was he already up and about? There’s no way he’s somehow involved in all of this is there?

    Stemkumf didn’t have much time to ponder on those matters as at that point the imperial family was brought, no, dragged into the hall by a number of soldiers. Even before they were settled down, their faces still a sea of terror mixed with anger. A soldier marched up to them and begin to read from a scroll, no doubt prepared some time in advance.

    Stemkumf listened as the soldier droned on, the expect load of horse shit about the will of the people (as if anyone give a damn about that) and the glorious new era. It was half way through when he realized that it was the reform faction that has launched the coup.

    Well, that was unexpected. He never thought those guys had the clot to actually do it. Then again, given what one could easily seen out of the window, it was pretty obvious that the old traditional ways aren’t working too well.

    As the speech ended, which in Stemkumf noted didn’t really had much of an effect on the now former emperor. Then again the three year old child probably has no idea what the heck is going on, why he was dragged out of his room, why is there so many people looked so scared. Then the soldier announced that the now former imperial family will be expelled from the premise of the palace immediately.

    “Now wait just a damn minute!” Neressia suddenly spoke. “You open those bloody gates and we’re all going be dead meat in a matter of hours.” Probably feeling all the more vulnerable given what she’s wearing at the moment. While intellectually Stemkumf was well versed in the often bizarre and nonsensical fashion of the elves and humans (after all, it is part of the knowledge base he needs as a diplomat) he still facepalm at the stupidity of it all.

    “Well then we shall simply throw them off the walls.” One of the soldiers simply said, his voice as cold as the unheated walls of the palace. One of the princesses began to weep uncontrollably hearing that.

    “While I’m sure that it feels good to take vengeance, perhaps you ought to take this a bit more slowly?” Daricon finally spoke. I would suggest the imperial family be detained here until the mess out there has been sorted out.”

    “And if we don’t feel like it?” The soldier asked acidly.

    “Then I invoke the powers bestowed upon me by the Republic of Mundock to grant them asylum, and I’m sure that both my counterparts of the Union and the Imperial State would join me in this.”

    Neressia nodded in support, and after a moment, as did Stemkumf. For all their disagreements they do all agree on one thing, and that is not throwing more bodies into the chaos, as much as a feel good act that would be. It’s best to keep as many of the pieces around for the game, especially a game that’s rather unfamiliar.

    With a start, Stemkumf realized that he was witnessing history, the first time a nation in this world has fallen due to internal forces. Well, mostly internal, it’s not like foreign troops are at the gate. Actually foreign troops would be really nice about now, if for nothing else it would mean the incel mobs would have been dealt with.


    And so it came to that the Empire of all Mankind, which had stood uninterrupted for over three thousand years, has fallen. Not from the armies of a demon lord, or the dark arts of a evil wizard, but from within. The rot has finally became too much.
    TI/IR-ch 15
  • Mark Poe

    The majestic cock
    Writing Champ
    Chapter 15: a goddess unleashed (pre production version)​

    “Here they come.” Teg said calmly, as the mass of obscene flesh not so much as rushed as rolled forward, and the less said about the sounds they made, the better.

    “So this is where we die, where we fight.” Buntoc said, attempting, and failing, to sound just as calm as the dragon next to him.

    “You lost your right to say cool last words a long time ago, you worthless pond scum.” Teg immediately snapped back. The intelligence officer was unrepentant as ever as far as murdering civilians was concerned, although teg has long since given up on trying to prevent the reporters from getting their scoops. Now all he could do was to stay alive for a bit longer. Perhaps it was rather petty to be distracted by such a small matter at this point in time, but it’s not as if there was going to be anyone left around to care after the dust settles. Death tend to make those who are great to focus on their best, and for the rest to focus on the trivial.

    And things were finally looking up for a time. The incels were running out of targets to power up, the fires of rioting were finally burning out (if only because most of the participants were dead or fled, incels generally don’t make for good leadership, or support, or anything really), and the distant thunder of artillery can only mean that the armies of the countries are coming to save them.

    Of course, the saying goes that the corned rats are the most dangerous, and the incel mobs, sensing the changes of fortunes, decided that the stench of the foreign devils must go.

    That means the Legation section has finally come under the direct assault portion of a siege, of which it was really ill equipped to do so. For all the walls and fortifications (real or faux), no one was operating under and delusion that it would stand up to a real assault from an enemy army, and the various government had simply written them off in contingency plans. The fact that they had lasted as long as they did was a miracle, not that anyone at the the time would have known about it, communications being still mostly not there.

    It was a good run all things considered, but now it seemed the end was near.

    “On my count, we withdraw to the inner defense perimeter.” Teg barked out the command, immediately after breathing out a plume of fire. The bastards were close enough to be within the range of dragonfire, and the only reason why the defenders on the walls haven’t has their brains leaked out their heads was the copious amount of aluminium strapped onto their heads. It looks silly, and it would have looked even sillier if they were on earth. But they’re not on earth and it was those things that prevent their immediate death and possibly a fate worse than death.

    A few moments later, the gate crashed wide open… but from the inside. A torrent of water blasted forth, sweeping all in its way. At the same time the air around everyone seemed to gone a lot drier. In fact, places as far away as the border atmospheric stations in both the orc and elven nations experienced a sudden drop in humility, although no one would connect the dots until months after the fact.

    “What the heck is that?!?” One of the soldiers shouted.

    “If it’s what I think it is, it’s time we run.” Teg merely said as he turned towards the nearest exit to the inner part of the section, one in which that doesn’t have to go through the now still water clogged main entrance, the mass of water pouring forth showed no signs of stopping.

    If anyone had cared to look, or capable of, they might have seen a bare outline of a slender humanoid figure in the middle of the torrent of water, as if suspended in the middle of all that water.

    The mass of water (and whatever being that’s inside of it moved forward, although more akin to a force of nature rather than a mere entity. Everything that stood in its way, whether it being ordinary beings, isekais, or even buildings and entire streets were brutally swept aside. The defenders and survivors of the Legation section could only watch on in a horrific fascination as something seemingly straight from the pages of legends rose forth into reality…


    Meanwhile in another part of the city, as the elven imperial army slog through street by bloody street, hiding behind their golems, who with their autocannons spewing constant streams of death and destruction making short work of even the stronkest of incels, and chewing up the scenery in the meantime when no hitting their targets, which was rather depressingly often. After all, humanoid sized small arms aren’t really the model for sizing up to golem sizes. Much of what’s left of the streets were merrily burning away, the mostly wooden buildings making for great fire starter, and with all the explosives being thrown around wasn’t helping matters. The smoke of a thousand fires obscuring everyone’s sight, and choking the life out of what remains of the city, and quite a few people regardless of their species.

    Such was the fog, or perhaps better calling it the smoke, of war that the massive plume of water bursting forth was first went unnoticed. Then the mages started collapsing, seemingly from exhaustion, and the golems followed suit.

    “Scanners detecting massive drain of mana to a position due north north west!” A elven soldier shouted, before the boxy mana detector he was holding literally exploded in his hands.

    “Isn’t that the Legation section?” Jenvessa asked, while firing her pistol at the general direction of potential enemies through the all prevailing smoke. Not even all that useful as suppression fire by this point but at least something was being done and it felt good.

    It was rather fortunate that Oesa and what’s left of her merry band managed to hook up with a column of elven Imperial troops slogging their way to the human capital. Then again, it wasn’t really all that difficult to find the massive column of smoke and the symphony of noise that marks a modern army on the prowl. After that it was merely a matter of hitching a ride with the command staff.

    “To all units.” Oesa shouted, her voice amplified by magic through the din of battle, “Head for the direction of the legation section now!” Although by the end of her last sentence her voice was back to a more normal level, as she also felt her mana rapidly draining away. Then she fell to her knees, almost as exhausted as the rest of the mages, most of them seemed to havelost consciousness in the meantime.

    “But our objective from command was the imperial palace!” One of the army officer shouted. Jenvessa pointed her pistol at him.

    “Do as she says or you die here in disgrace. I still have enough bullets to gut your head.” She said coldly. The officer meekly nodded and begin to bark the necessary orders to his troops.

    The remaining units still capable of movement struggled to heed Oesa’s command. Wheeling autocannon carriages and setting up firing positions being much harder than golems firing from the hip, not to mention suddenly losing their mean bulwark against who knows how many incels still roaming around.

    Still they made their way forward, meter by bloody meter.


    Although at the time it seemed as if the whole of the city would have been submerged in the sudden torrent of water, and in a sense that did happen to at least the sections surrounding the legation section, although it was mostly the same mass of water smashing its way through the streets, as if channeling the wrath of an angry deity.

    In a sense, it was the wrath of an angry deity, someone who was fed up at the whole situation and more relevantly finally decided to embrace her nature of this world. Now her wrathful vengeance, fueled by her great mana reserves as well as the mana of every magic capable being barring the incels in the entire city, flood forth in an embodiment of fury straight from the legends.

    But even all that mana was not infinite, especially in the hands of someone rather lacking in experience, practice, or even knowledge of the fundamental nature of the forces she wield, and after what many there at the time felt was an eternity, but probably lasted no more than a handful of minutes. Then as suddenly as it appeared, the water dissipated, either into thin air or into the ground.

    … and in what was the middle of it all now lies an unconscious blue hair elf, looking so small and fragile…

    … and once again the incels rallied forth, sensing an opportunity for another glorious conquest. The few defenders still standing on the walls, mainly orcs as their lack of magic aptitude saved them once again, could only look on in horror.

    Then the elven troops arrived on the scene, their arrival announced by the now familiar storm of autocannon rounds, which simply made the opposition disappear. All the power of misogyny in the worlds couldn’t stop the cold steel of superior firepower and modern weaponry. The world has never been fair, but now the unfairness has tilted the other way.

    Even before the smoke cleared elven soldiers begin to rush forward, some towards the now wide open legation section, but most, including Oesa and her posse of sycophants, rushed forward to where Jane lies.

    When Jane become conscious again, the first sight she she saw was that of Oesa’s face, saying to her “It’s okay now, the nightmare is over.” Over and over, as everything goes back to black again…


    … and so it was the forces of the Republic who were the first of coalition forces to enter the former Imperial palace and discovered that the Empire of all Mankind was no more, in its place an unstable republic laying claims to powers it does not have, its legitimacy recognized by no one, if they were aware of them in the first place. Meanwhile, in the front of the legation section, the Lasce Imperial state has secured one of the most potent forces in the known world.

    It’s a bold move, time will tell if it pays off for the pointy ear fascists.

    Besides all that, the back of the incel rebellion has been broken, although in infestation of those horror will haunt the old continent for decades to come, there will be no more chances of them conquering the world.

    Narratively, evil has triumphed, but now even the humans have to acknowledge that narrative was badly outdated.
    TI/IR-ch 16
  • Mark Poe

    The majestic cock
    Writing Champ
    Chapter 16: To the victor goes the excesses, let the burnings begin!​

    The days of destruction did not immediately end with the storming of the capital of the late Empire of all Mankind. No, the chaos and fog of war meant that much needless destruction occurred even after the root of the original problem has been dealt with.


    “No, no no no it cannot be.” Captain Fimensia said, her voice flat with shock. Her grip loosened on the sheet of paper she’s holding, which fell gracefully onto the floor of the bridge.

    “I’m afraid that’s all we know as of the latest dispatches.” First officer Anise said, her voice equally flat.

    Ever since the first reports of the so called incel forces besieging the capital of the human empire, the Lasce Imperial State took the opportunity to seize the last major port of the human empire, the seaside metropolis of Shellhorn. The heart of commence and almost a second capital of sorts, where the imperial family’s summer palace was located.

    It wasn’t even much of an invasion, at least initially. There was no human navy of note to resist on the seas, and much of the city guard and militia simply melted into the civilian population, knowing that death in defense of the hopeless is rather… pointless. Those who decided to make a last stand soon found out just how hopeless the situation was, elven naval infantry was no joke, despite, or perhaps because of, their skimpy uniforms. Soon the city was under the watchful guns of the LINS Scorpion and the rest of the fortilla, whose artillery did much to keep the occupied population in line, as well as keeping the odd bands of incels from making their way into the city. 200mm guns being very pervasive when supplied with plenty of ammunition and a blank cheque to fire at anything suspicious.

    Thus a calm descended over the city. A calm enforced at the barrel of a gun. As long as the elves kept their calm on the triggers of course…

    … and of course it wasn’t meant to be. Knowledge might be power, but woe to those who plugged the wrong power cords, which brings back to the present...

    “Confirmation?” Fimensia asked for the third time in as many minutes.

    “As far as we could tell, it’s legit.” Anise replied for the third time. “They’re gone.” She continued in a much quieter voice, almost a whisper.

    Minutes passed in silence. Not total silence mind, life on board the cruiser continued unabated, as was life in the city outside.

    Then Fimensia nodded to herself. “Wire a message to command for further instructions. Oh, and make sure the rest of the ship doesn’t get wind of this.”

    “Acknowledged.” Anise saluted, before leaving the bridge.


    Of course word got out. As if hiding the alleged fate of a deity was that easy. It didn’t take too long before the common soldiers and sailors took matters into their own hands.


    “Why is the turret turning towards the city?!?” Fimensia shouted. The other officers on the bridge, many of them still in their pajamas, were silent. Fidgeting around hoping to dodge the rage emanating from their captain.

    Anise finally spoke. “Someone leaked the info, probably either the telegraph operators or one of the mages.”

    “Have them all shot!” Fimensia snapped, then shook her head, “Scratch that. Have them all confine to their quarter until we sort this out. First things first, we need to get some marines to drag the gun crews out of that turret.”

    Another moment of terrified silence as no one wanted to give more bad news.

    “Captain. The marines detachment are part of the plot.” One of the officers finally stammered. “They have barricaded the blast doors and cordoned off the rear of the ship.”

    Fimensia stared at them in stunned silence, then at the turret, which had finished rotating to the general direction of the city, before finally walking to the nearest seat and slump into it.

    “Well, shit.” Was all she said, right before the guns fired.


    The LINS Scorpion wasn’t the only ship to have fired that night, as the each waves of rumors, each more outlandish and unsubstantiated than the last, reached the rest of the ships in the squadron. That night the city was lit up by fire from everything from main battery guns to random bursts of anti-personnel weapons, and by the time morning dawned once again there was only charred ruin in much of the city center. Thousands of years of history and culture wiped out in a night from misdirected and incoherent rage.


    Shellhorn was far from the only human city to have suffered from the wrath of foreign military forces, as wherever the troops of the coalition marched they brought with them the usual traits of invading armies: destruction, death, and suffering. A modern army is more than just being equipped with bolt action rifles and breech loading artillery, it's also about a sense of professionalism beyond doing a good job. Rather, it’s about being a good person, to stop caving in to the temptations of revenge and base justice.

    That, however, was still decades away, something that the various countries didn’t even have the basic social institutions to implement it into their militaries in a passive level. And so the looting and pillaging was still the order of the day, the ancient rite of victors.

    In many ways, the cure was worse than the disease, but only because for the most part said disease wasn’t given that much time to fester and grow.

    This was what most of the nations, or more specifically their isekai communities, had feared from the beginning, but fate has forced their hands back then and now the only things left to do was to pay the prices.

    Cold comfort to all the dead. For in the end it was all the same: being mere playthings at the hands of powers beyond their comprehension, with no one weep for their passing besides perhaps some historians decades later.

    Life (and death) remains short, brutal, and ugly for the masses of the nameless in the world.
    Last edited:
    TI/IR-ch 17
  • Mark Poe

    The majestic cock
    Writing Champ
    Chapter 17: the scramble for mankind’s future… by everyone else​

    “In your opinion, which government should we recognize?” The Union foreign minister asked.

    “Do you want to start with the big ones and work our way down or the other way around?” Ambassador Stemkumf asked right back.

    “What?” The minister was stunned at the news.”

    “Surprise, surprise. The death and rebirth of countries is a bit more complicated than simple death and resurrection spells on a cow.”

    It was a few months since the official end of the so called Incel Rebellion, or at least the official end of the coalition pacification campaigns dealing with said rebellion. While a lot of the troops were still deployed in the former lands of the human empire many of those who lived through the siege of Wyvernwald were quickly extracted out of the doomed city and back to their native lands. The reasons for such prompt actions were less than altruistic, as the various governments were eager to take a first crack for information on the situation in the ground straight from the horse's mouth, as the saying went.

    This was especially true for the various diplomatic staff, who were now being squeezed of all information (relevant or otherwise) by their respective government. Which brings back to the present conversation.

    “So what governments are out there?” The minister begin again.

    “To start with the largest ones then,” Stemkumf took the initiative, “There is Republic of Mankind, who claimed to be the successor to all of the former Empire. Although currently they only control most of the Wyvernwald as far as I’m aware. Then there’s the Confederation of Cities, Towns, and Hamlets, not sure on what they actually control although I heard that a number of major cities were flying flags showing their association of the group. Then there’s still the Imperial family, which last I heard was still at the Mundock Republic’s Embassy.”

    “Besides the former imperial claims, which of the ones should we be backing?”

    “GIven that we have historically backed the reform faction, which now formed the majority of the Republic, I’d suggest them.”

    “And what about the smaller factions?”

    “Right, about them. There’s the usually collection of warlords and rogue generals, most of the remaining ports have declared various flavors of independence, Oh, and the port of Shellhorn has petitioned both us and Mundock for annexation, mostly to get the elves out before they defiled everything of value there. We should probably act fast before the other bastards accepts.”
    “Duly noted.”

    “Then there’s the Patriarchy of Misogynia, which-”

    “The what of what?” The minister sudden butted in, noticing something completely out of the ordinary.

    “We didn’t get all of the incels,” Stemkumf pointed out the obvious, “and while everyone’s been dicking around trashing the former human empire a surprising number of them have carved out a little domain of their own. Nobody’s really sure what’s going on there but the few rumors coming out were disturbing to the extreme.”

    “How bad could they be, it’s not like they could be a military threat to us or anything. Especially since their little rebellion has been crushed with extreme prejudice.”

    “It’s not about the potential threat they represent, it’s the horrors they are committing even as we speak.”


    “You are familiar with the term ‘I seen enough hentai to know where this is going’?”

    “Of course, that’s for denoting horrors, particular of those of a sexual nature, being too graphic to be described in polite company. A very popular term among the isekai population, espeically the weebanese and the murican’ expat communities for some reason.”

    “Well then that’s what’s happening over at the self proclaimed land of misogyny.”

    “Again, so? Not our problem.” The minister sighed. It was heartbreaking as always to hear horrific atrocities being committed somewhere in the world, but his job meant that he had to push those thoughts aside, lest he be paralyzed with indecision. The world’s filled with countless evil and injustice, and the hardest choices are always to pick which ones to correct with very limited resources and abilities.

    “When word gets out among our isekai populations they’ll raise hell and demand preemptive retribution.”

    “Well that’s a problem for later then. Besides, those rascals always raise hell over stupid things.”

    “They did warn us about the whole incel debacle for the last decade or so.”

    “So a broken clock is correct twice a day, big deal.”

    “You’re being really dodgy here. Hiding something?”

    “No, get a clue. There’s much bigger problems facing the Union. While you’re out and about in the land before modernity the rats in Ironi have been going full forward with said modernity. The military actually made a huge gamble when they pulled some troops earmarked for Ironi to crush this little incel rebellion, and I suspect our buddies over at Mundock are in similar straits.”

    “It’s really bad there then?”

    “And it’s getting worse by the month, and before you even ask withdraw isn’t an option regardless of what the bleeding hearts say. Last thing this side of the world needs is to give the rats a breathing space, and not to mention the massive economic losses from abandoning all our investments there.” The last part was said in an almost whisper, as there’s a limit to candidness even away from the prying eyes of the press.

    “So what are our options then?”

    “Leave them to the tender mercies of the elves.” The minister cracked a smile without warmth.

    “That’s cold.”

    “Let them fight, and with any luck we’ll be in a position to pick up the pieces after the dust settles.


    Similar conversations were held in most of the other countries on the old continent, as the various nations come to terms with the collapse of a seemingly eternal power and the ensuring geopolitical vacuum. It was a chaotic time, and not all the choices made were correct when viewed with hindsight, but that was then and it wasn’t as if seers were plenty a piece.

    It wasn’t the end of history, merely the end of a chapter.

    Meanwhile, a slightly different exchange was held in the Lasce Imperial State…


    “It is done, my fuhrer.” Oesa reported. Amberea slowly swirled from her chair.

    “No, Oesa. It has only begun.” She said quietly, then smiled. “I always wanted to say that.”

    “Of course.” Oesa nodded, indulging in her fuhrer’s more childish moments. “But I had to ask, how did you know?”

    “Earth’s history. In their Second World War the supposed Euro-Atlantic democracies went much further than their axis counterparts in forcibly reorganizing their industries and economies, in effect they out authoritarian the authoritarians.”

    “What does that have to with her though?” Oesa asked. Amberea smile widened ever so slightly, giving it a sinister appearance.

    “When faced with great dangers, all the talk of freedoms and democracies were just that: talk. To defeat the great evil they will willingly put the collars and chains on themselves.”

    “But didn’t we just defeated that evil?”

    “Not completely.”

    “What, you meant to say that little hidey hole the remaining incels fled to is a threat?”

    “Not necessarily in reality, but we don’t deal with reality here do we?”

    Oesa shook her head “No, no we don’t.”

    “Come, we have much work to do, to welcome the dawn of a new era.”
    TI/IR-ch 18
  • Mark Poe

    The majestic cock
    Writing Champ
    Chapter 18: Top 10 deity betrayals of the century (brought to you by watchisekai)​

    It was a bright and sunny day in Starlack, but then again, it would be impossible to have any other kind of weather over there on that day, the gods themselves would not have not allowed that. Or so the official story goes, as if most people don’t know how weather forecasting works… then again, perhaps they don’t.

    Tens of thousands gathered at the Plaza of Triumph, eagerly awaiting for the announcement that was promised to ‘change the balance of power in the world and the course of history’. Probably a load of hogwash but it was an opportunity for a day off and who wouldn’t want that?


    “How did all this happened?” Teg muttered, more to himself than anything else.

    He and Helen were among the various foreign dignitaries at one corner of the plaza, all specifically invited by the Lasce government. It didn’t take much for everyone there to put two and two together and figure out that the Imperial State want the world to see and hear what they’re about to announce, and whatever that would have significant repercussions on geopolitics for years to come.

    However, Teg and Helen knew a little more of what’s about to be revealed than the rest, unsurprising since it involved, as they suspected, of someone who they knew rather well by this point. Or thought they had known well, the recent turn of events made that far less of a certainty.

    “Plot twist.” Helen replied sardonically. “The gods seems to take take joy in screwing over the force of progress and enlightenment at all times, even if in defiance of logic.”

    “I’m being serious here.” Teg continued, “How could someone who grew up in democracy and egalitarianism, who supported those ideals, now join forces with the antithesis of that?”

    Helen merely shrugged. “Just like most of those isekais then. Remember that both the land of the weebs and the Muricans’ were supposedly modern democracies with high standards of living and strong moral values. Meanwhile most of the bastards who crossed over here are power hungry arseholes of various shades with little to no sense of morality besides might makes right. Makes you wonder if there’s any truth in those stories of that distant world…”

    “Your grandmothers of all people wouldn’t lie to you would they?” Teg asked, none too gently pointing out part of Helen’s family tree.

    “Who knows, they may be lying even to themselves. People do that all the damn time, trying to shut off the damning nature of the reality that they had to face at one point.” Helen muttered, long since given up on that mess of contradictions. She’s corporate, not academia. “Besides, their stories weren’t exactly filled with sunshine and rainbows either. The impression I got was a hard fought paradise that was in decline and slipping away, from the grasps of people who don’t appreciate how good they have.”

    “I don’t think we’re doing much better though.”

    “At least we have the excuse of outside forces meddling in our affairs, what’s earth’s excuse?”

    Whatever Teg was about to respond with was interrupted by the sudden hushness that fell upon the assembled masses, as the Fuhrer of the Lasce Imperial State and a gaggle of other high ranking military and civilian officers walked up to the temporary (and hideously over decorated, but then again money can’t buy good taste) raised platform. After the usual testing of the microphones, which seemed to work as well as they should have. It might be old technologies in another world, but here and now it was still rather new.

    Interestingly enough, it was Oesa who give the first speech, droning on and on about the previous secret history of the elven race, the up till this point secret massive ‘archaeological expeditions’, and a bunch of other stuff that’s barely relevant to anything, including what up to this point was the most racist anti-isekai rant ever heard in this world. Her recent adventures must have really scarred her.

    In the meantime Helen was intently watching the rest of the group on the stage, and noticed that despite apparently getting what she wanted, Amberea seemed to have an expression of mild annoyance. That confirmed something to Helen, and she nodded to herself, cracking a smile.

    “What are you smiling about?” Teg asked, noticing her smile.

    “Look at Amberea, it’s pretty obvious that she’s not getting everything her way despite the events of recent past.”

    “Small comfort that is, so what could it be?”

    “I have a hunch, but…” She trailed off, the smiled disappeared.

    “Spill it, it can’t be that stupid.”

    “Actually, now that I think about it, it’s probably that stupid. And petty too.”

    “Come on, spill it.” Teg was always a sucker for gossip and useless trivia.

    Helen sighed, “Alright, you familiar with those bullshit theories on what the elves perceived their goddess would be like?”

    “Maybe? … okay, not really at all.”

    “Well one of those things was that they believes that deities would be beyond such needs as clothing, as they are more forces of nature, and clothing being a product of civilization.”

    “Sounds reasonable to me.”

    Helen facepalmed, “That’s not what you’re supposed to say, and I forgot you’re a dragon. Never mind, the point is that Jane’s from earth, and her sensibilities, if I recalled correctly, meant that she wasn’t going to go with that.”

    “Oh, a minor quibble then.”

    “More than that, I think the state of her first public appearance will be an opportunity for us to assess how much either side is willing to compromise on their ideals.”

    “That’s really reaching there.”

    “Which was why I said it was probably a stupid hunch.”

    At around that point Oesa reached the end of her ramblings, and announced that now the goddess that they have been waiting for will make her appearance.

    As far as entrances by deities went (not that anyone has any examples in living memory), it was suitably impressive, and more relevantly thematically appropriate. Plums of waters, arching gracefully from all over the city’s fountains and other bodies of waters that elves love to dot their urban landscape. At the same time the air became somewhat drier, for the few who noticed, most being rather too intently watching the impressive visuals.

    The water all converged on to one previously unnoticed spot behind the raised platform, and the mass of water, now swirling around a humanoid sized shape, slowly moved up toward the front of the platform. As it reached the microphones, the water reformatted itself to reveal a certain blue hair elf with the soul of a isekai.

    Helen let out a biting laugh, before changing it into passing it off as a cough. Teg just nodded along, accepting the supernatural much more readily than most of the humans.

    The water was her clothing, swirling about to negate the translucence while simultaneously bellowing the amount of power that comes from a deity of her caliber, or something to that effect. It works suitably enough, pretty such what the massive crowd of elves expected of a water deity.

    Then Jane, or as she’s now known as, Photinsea, begin to speak, and Helen’s grin returned. It wasn’t a bombardstic speech preaching hatred and rage, but one of simple unity and promise of brighter future. Empty platitudes probably in all likelihood, but it certainly wasn’t what the fuhrer wanted.

    In hindsight, it was rather arrogant for mere mortals, even the ruler of a fascist nation state, to think they could control a deity based on the assumption that it has the soul of an isekai.

    In later years, speculations abound as to Jane’s motivation for throwing her lot with those whose ideals so opposite to that of hers, especially in light of her later actions. But on that clear, sunny day in Starlack, it felt to many that so soon after the defeat of one evil, that another has risen to take its place.

    Life’s so unfair.
    TI/IR-ch 19 (end)
  • Mark Poe

    The majestic cock
    Writing Champ
    Chapter 19: Putting the pieces back… close enough (end)​

    Jenvessa woke up from her bed screaming. It was the same nightmare. For weeks now, every night. It was the same visions, of the horrors, and her helplessness at their advances.

    She doesn’t understand, they had won, she had survived, the evil have been banished to the wilds of the western old continent. So why are they still haunting her dreams?

    All the doctors and mages she went to said it was something called ‘PTSD’, not anything to do with residual magic or any supernatural forces. She doesn’t exactly believe them fully. How could the mind change so much through such a short period of time, history has been full of violences and horrors, and people did just fine. Even worse, no one really has a cure, those of this world still grappling with the concept while the isekais were useless as usual, being more adapt with breaking things than fixing them, whether being materials or minds.

    Was she just too weak of the mind? The pain, the fear, the helplessness, they have become unbearable. The monsters of the darkness will not leave.


    The fingers refuse to move. The top of the blank sheet of paper peeking out from the typewriter stares back at him for the past four hours. Jameson knew that he had to put the words, so that people, here and now as well as future generations, would know of what happened. Of course he’s hardly the only reporter even in the thick of the conflict, but every voice is important. Even now, many have already begun to express doubts as to the validity of the events that occurred during those trying weeks. The isekai communities wholeheartedly believing the stories only made matters worse.

    But his body still couldn’t move, his mind refusing to make the moves that would relive the flood of horrific events that he witnessed during those times. The cruelty of man upon his fellow man, the descent of good into evil, the suffering and the despair.

    Not again, not all over again.

    The world has to know, but not today. Perhaps tomorrow…


    The doctors, his coworkers, and his friends all had told him repeatedly he has to stop eating so much, but as he stared at the triple stack bacon cheeseburger in his hands his body simply couldn’t stop.

    As Pumfee bit into the burger, the rich meaty sweetness filling his mouth. For a moment he was able to banish the craving hunger. The doctors said it was all in his mind, residual effects of the rationing he went through, but it’s real to him, always gnawing at him, every hour of every day, of which even sleep could not banish.

    He has gained over 10 kilos since the end of the siege, and there was no sign of his body stopping anytime soon. If he doesn’t keep it under control he’ll probably be punted to a desk job, which would only speed up the vicious cycle.

    But the hunger will not leave. He took another bite.


    Helen starred at the paper in front of her, a contract from the Lasce Imperial State. This one the biggest yet: construction of the lead ship of a new class of battlecruiser, as will as licensing of the plans for said class and associated technologies to the Imperial State. The total value of the contract being around her entire company’s entire decade’s annual income.

    It was also the plans of a ship that Jane designed, of which the technologies were a decade ahead of any other ship in the world, with plenty of features that will effectively make it ‘future resistant’ for decades.

    She knew that it would also be the beginning, this will spark an arms race and as in all arms races, it’s the corporations who’s the only ones benefiting, and her company has the world’s largest stash of future warship designs, again courtesy of Jane’s work. But could she live with herself? Aiding what now is the greatest evil left in the world?

    She picked up her pen, her hands trembling as she signed her name of the bottom of the paper.

    She could live herself, at the end of the day she was just another cog in the machine of history, utterly replaceable. It’s not as if her company is the only one with advanced technologies and concepts, and now where her most capable ship designer as a goddess in the land of the fascist pointy ears, well…

    For a brief moment she wondered how her friend is coping over there, but then shook the thought out of her head. She made her bed, now she can lie in it. There’s still much work to do, business and economy waits for no one.


    The intervention might be over officially, but for some, the struggle will continue as long as they live in the mortal coil. Somewhere the dark gods were probably chuckling at the foolishness of the mortals.

    Clean, happy endings are for fairytales, not for the cruel and bitter reality that mortals inhabit.

    While individuals were coming to terms with their changed nature, countries were also coming to terms with the changed landscape. A legend has died in disgrace, an otherworldly evil has finally showed its true colors, a deity has graced the world again.

    And the world continues. Life, death, happiness, sorrow. The same dance in different tunes.


    Although this is the end of this story, I do plan on writing a number of short stories dealing with the decades after this, so stay tuned!
    misc story 1
  • Mark Poe

    The majestic cock
    Writing Champ
    Special thanks to @beast_regards for reminding me the whole dungeon subgenre thingy.


    Spec Ops: Dungeon Crawlers​

    (S.E. 410s)

    The group of heavily armed orcs silently entered the deceptively delipidated gate at the bottom of the mountain. Decked out in full body armor (which in another world perhaps would look over-the-top cringy, but this world so far was still mostly oblivious to the joys of FPS gaming culture) and armed with submachineguns, genrades, demolition explosive charges, and a couple of rocket launchers even. They weren’t the usual armed band of murder hobos: they’re the government’s special force of murder hobos.

    They entered the dungeon not for glory, loot, or even slaughter, but for duty. They are the Republican Dungeon Crawlers: Mundock’s special force operators. Trained by the legendary dragon slayer herself (who honestly cringed at what the force has become in the public’s eyes, but there’s nothing she could do about that), the task force first enter the public’s eyes through their superb performance in the Republic’s intervention during the infamous Incel Rebellion, where their skills in fighting in confined spaces came in rather handy in minimizing casualties and collateral damage. They were active for some years before that, however, their founding occurred almost as soon as the necessary technologies were readily available.

    Their job, their original purpose, was to hunt down the dungeons and end them entirely. Unlike the regular adventuring parties who enters them for loot and fame, when the Crawlers enter, the dungeons die. That’s when things go right anyways. When they go wrong, the next team follows up and hopefully does better than their luckless predecessors.

    And yes, the dungeons were are in a sense living creatures,at least the ones in which the dungeon masters were an integrated part of construct itself. Other were more akin to the residences of which the dungeon master resides in. In the end it doesn’t matter as they entrap adventurers and the desperate to their lair, the classic honey trap.

    The endless stream of those seeking fame and fortune flocking towards the dungeons meant that many villages and even larger settlements grew up around them, catering to those who were about to gamble their lives for the big payoff. As with many other economic trends in history (the mining rushes of Ironi comes to mind), it’s rarely the schmucks who risk their life and limb who wins, but the bastards who surrounds them who profits in the end. However, things rarely flow out from the dungeons, except for suffering and loss.

    Which was why the dungeons must be destroyed, they being a blight on the land, draining the finest of people and spitting out their remains (sure, they generally attract the foolhardy, but that doesn’t describe every member of every adventuring party, much less those who accidently ended up entering them). They have no place in a modern world, at least that’s what the governments of the modern nation states agreed on. With the recent collapse of the human empire the was open season on the countless dungeons within their former boundaries.

    Of course, each country have their preferred way of dealing with the infestation of dungeons. The dragons prefer to blast the entire areas surrounding suspected dungeons, while the elves prefer their witch’s brew of chemical weapons and simply “quarantine” areas, leaving the problem for future generations. The orcs, or more accurately, their governments at the urging of their isekai communities, decided upon a more “hands on” approach to solving the problem.

    Which brings back these orcs entering the dungeon, already knowing they have forfeited their lives. Even with the best training and equipment that government money could buy, attrition and casualty rates among the Dungeon Crawlers were the highest among all of the Republic’s armed forces. They may have modernity and technology on their side, but they’re facing against forces with decades, if not centuries of experiences in handling intruders, and far more willing to kill.

    Yes, in fact the point for the usage of such spec ops teams to deal with dungeons was the opportunities to extract the cores of said dungeons, or their dungeon masters. Sure, most of them by this point being completely stir fry crazy and insane but there’s always the chance of rehabilitation, or failing that there being ways to extract some use out of them, whether knowledge, materials, or mana. Idealistic and practicality doesn’t necessarily have to be mutually exclusive after all.

    The orcs moved into the tunnels without a word, their only communications being the occasional sign language and their body language. The walls (and floor, and ceiling, and probably everything else including the very air itself) have ears, and eyes too, which was why the sign language was also in code.

    It didn’t take long for the first orc to die, when a bolt of lighting literally cooked him alive in his armor. He was the point man. Even before his last screams faded away the rest of the team merely silently reorganized the formation, there was no time to mourn for his loss. They all knew the risks.

    The deaths continued as the team ventured furthered into the dungeon. There were the usual traps such as false floors, sudden spikes, random pits, but as they entered deeper the traps also became more sophisticated, incorporating more modern technologies such as explosives, electricity, and chemicals in the air that turn unprotected people to corpses soon enough.

    They were ready for those too, it was all the horrors of modern warfare, condensed into one seemingly endless labyrinth. Grimly they continued, losing members here and there, when chance worked against them and all the preparation in the world was found wanting. Acceptable losses in the grand scheme of things, but no less tragic.

    The group was less than half of its original numbers by the time then seemingly reached an dead end. Then the walls started to move in, ready to crush them.

    For any traditional adventuring group, this would be end, their death all but assumed (unless the mage in the group has a teleportation spell handy). The orcs however calmly took out a number of explosive charges and placed them on one of the walls. The resulting explosions did exactly what it was supposed to do, mana enhanced explosives (plastic explosives still being a few decades away, so magic once again had to step in the gap) blowing a large hole cleanly through the wall. The team quickly and efficiently walked through the hole.

    It wasn’t the treasure room, that was the right turn a couple of turns back. But then again they didn’t entered the dungeon for mere trinkets.

    The room they stepped into was dazzling with light, in contrast with the usual dark settings of the dungeon themselves. The orcs were momentarily blinded by the sudden change in lighting conditions, but for once they could afford a momentary lapse in guard.

    They made it to the control room. From their perspective, it seems to be filled with crystals, glass, and diamonds. To an isekai’s perspective (if the group had any, but that would be impossible as few could match their pace, and those who do being far too important to be spent of mere dungeon crawls), it was obviously filled with control panels ripped straight out of JRPGs. Thankfully, the Dungeon Crawlers were all briefed on a number of potential control rooms they may encounter, as well as potential forms that dungeon masters could take in.

    The isekai in control of this particular dungeon was a still a human, or at least something that resemble a human enough to pass as such. He had just enough time to turn around in surprise before the team commander pulled out his revolver and fired.

    His shot rang true, the rifle caliber round (the main reason why Dungeon Crawler prefer revolvers was due to their ability to accept much heavier rounds than their newer semi-auto counterparts, number of rounds being less important, suppression fire was where the submachineguns came in) hit the right elbow of the isekai DM, instantly taking out much of his right arm in a shower of blood and gore. The isekai went down hard.

    As the DM collapsed in spazzing pain the team rushed forward, two of them stabilizing the downed isekai with stasis kits while the rest headed for the nearest wall, planting more explosives to get their exit started. Still moving smoothly with hardly a sound, they worked like clockwork, years of training mixed with the bitter experience of numerous prior operations meant that there was no need for words.

    With little fuss or [additional] mess they bundled up the now unconscious isekai DM, and with another series of explosions blowing another hole in the control room they made their way out of the dungeon as quickly as they entered.


    As the follow up teams and specialized personnel made their way into the now declared ‘deactivated’ dungeon the remnants of the spec ops team took a well deserved break at a nearby grove of trees. The commander of the team was in deep thought, while another took out a pencil and sketchbook, one of the few personal possessions he had on him, and begin doodling absentmindedly. Still in silence, the surviving members each cope in their own ways.

    Another dungeon destroyed, another nearby human village soon to be left withering on the vine, another sample for the scientists and magis back home to pour over. Not bad for the loss of only a dozen or so orcs. Acceptable losses in the eyes of the government.

    Doesn’t necessarily make it any less painful for the individuals who had to live through the losses, but they’ll cope, that’s what they signed up for after all, they are professionals.
    Last edited:
    misc story 2
  • Mark Poe

    The majestic cock
    Writing Champ
    Blood for ore, the wages of destruction​

    (S.E. 410s (latter half of the decade))

    The maze of trenches snake through the already sickly lands as far as the eyes could see. The weather today was cheerful and sunny, cleared of clouds or other obstructions, which only served to highlight the devastation brought upon the lands by the hands of sapients over the decades. The pockmarked holes, the thick layer of grey ash and soot covering everything in sight. No signs of life in sight, not a plant, not an animal. Not out there, where only the embrace of death awaits.

    For the thousands of orc soldiers huddled in the trenches (and the hundreds of thousands more in the rest of the trenches on the continent, it was another day like any other. Wake up, cook breakfast, fire off some munitions from the artillery, and stand around and wait, popping off some more munitions in the meantime at the general direction of the enemy.

    Then they fired back, the the air was filled with the whistling of incoming shells. Everyone wearily hunkered down and wait for them to land, and land they did, with suitably loud explosions.

    After the dust cleared, the soldiers scuttled back, clearing the debris, the walking wounded hauling away the bodies (or more accurately, what little’s left of them) of their comrades, and the rest generally return to their posts, back to the mind rotting boredom of staring at the endless sapient-made wasteland in front of them, the endless fields of sickening grey and browns. Thankfully, on that occasion the bombardment was not followed up by an enemy charge. On those occasions there were the screaming hordes of scuttling rats and their orge allies, even as machineguns take their inevitable tolls they took the war to the next level, a war to the knife (and shovel, and even fists and claws).

    The rest of the day was much of the same: stand watch, eat chow, fire off munitions, avoid enemy munitions, and sanitation. Oh gods the cleaning, the filth, the stench, the ash and soot, they cover everything and get into everything. If nothing else that was a battle doomed to be lost before it even begun, but like every other battle it must be fought to the bitter end regardless.

    Night time only brought a new world of horrors, for the dark, and there was no lights to banish it, lest it attracts enemy artillery, brought out the horrors of a twisted nature. Seemly emboldened by the lack of night vision of sapients, they scuttled forth to prey of the weak and the stragglers, and all through the night there was the scattered screams of the odd unlucky sods who just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Death never sleeps. The bullets and shrapnel never stops flying. In this mortal made hell, the finest art of industrial warfare, the soldiers make their way to sleep, of either the natural variety or the more permanent type.


    Another day, another little war, another thousands of soldiers returning to their families in caskets, and tens of thousands of more only as a letter, for there wasn’t enough of their bodies to be shipped back. When will it ever end? For what purpose? Why, why? Why?!?

    Then again, perhaps it was better that the fodder on the ground could not see the bigger picture. Else they would have realized that they are not the ones turning the handle of the meat grinder, they were the meat going in.

    All this effort, all this suffering, all this death. At least it was not all for nothing, for they held the line so that the endless appetite for ore that the old continent has could be sated. The flowering of youth of a continent sent to die in the land of death so that the motherland could replace the blood of people with the steels of industry, all the while lining the pockets of the rich and powerful.

    Pretty shit trade for everyone all in all, and the deal was getting worse all the time. Half a century ago conquest was as easy as clearing the wildlife, even a few decades ago a few regiments could hold down a town and the surrounding lands from any possible threats. But now? The trenches haven’t moved more than a dozen kilometers since the end of the Incel Rebellion back on the old continent, and that was over a decade ago, despite the millions of troops poured in by both the Republic and the Union. More and more were sent each year, as if feeding the endless maw of the beast of Ironi was ever going to work.

    Then again, it wasn’t if there was a choice in the matter, too much blood has already been spilled to simply quit now. The mountains of dead demand vengeance, or so the living said. Not that anyone tried to ask the dead themselves, it wouldn’t be too hard, there being necromancers still around after all, just no one really want to have anything to do with them. More importantly and relevantly to the beancounters, too much have been already invest on the continent to abandon all that now, not when the natives were fast catching up.

    If anything, the technological advancement of the natives of Ironi was even more impressive than what transpired back on the old continent. Within the space of half a century they went from sticks and stones to guns and artillery. Sure, they have the harsh teacher of bitter experience during all this time, but so did the old continent, and the old continent had isekais…

    … perhaps? But impossible, or was it? Does it really matter either way?


    For the average orc in the trenches or the mines, it doesn’t matter. The politicians and even the generals are worlds away, and the endless scuttling hordes so near, and death and suffering ever present.

    For millions, they are in the living hell, a hell of their own making, prodded on by those profits off their suffering and sacrifice. The gods of the old have been replaced by the modern gods of industry and modernity, but the demands on the mere mortals were as cruel as ever.

    The struggle continues, with no end in sight.
    misc story 3
  • Mark Poe

    The majestic cock
    Writing Champ
    The elf’s arithmetic​

    (S.E. 230s)

    It was another ordinary day at Processing Camp Number 013, a camp that history will remember in infamy. Although it was little different from all the other two dozen or so camps that dotted along in the lands that was formerly known as the territories of the Kingdom of the Ram, the location of Camp 013 was on the sight of a village of little note, some place called Woolville? Not that it matters as there was no traces of the former village in sight.

    The dawn of each day was announced through the whistle of the incoming trains, on the clock, as reliable as the flow of the ancient rivers themselves. Passing through the huge gates, of which on top of was emblazoned with a large sign that simply stated the following:

    Arbeit macht frei”​

    Words no one native to this world knew. However the camp commander was told by an isekai that the phrase was thematically appropriate for the purpose her work and the purpose of the camp, and so these words would become as infamous in this world as they were in another world, under such different yet so similar circumstances.

    As the trains pulled to a stop at the center of the camp, where the lines of golems were patiently waiting, to carry out their never changing orders of unloading the supplies & equipment (mostly a large number of cans that even the golems handled with the utmost of care) and herd the new arrivals to their last destination, their sunken eyes showed nothing, there is nothing noteworthy left of their souls, and soon their bodies will join those.

    From the cattle cars spewed forth the huddled washed masses of humans, now merely shambling husks, skin stretched over bones. There wasn’t much of anything left at this final stop.

    Perhaps among this batch were a few actual incels and isekais, perhaps not. It was all irrelevant though as they were herded like cattle through the few steps between the cars and the first of the large grey buildings. A few stumbled and fell, of which the rest paid no attention. Those were quickly dispatched by the few camp guards next to the golems, who simply shot them with their pistols, not even bothering to see the results of their handiwork as more golems silently dragged the still twitching bodies to a building in the distance, from its numerous chimneys arise thick, gresy smoke in all hours of the day and night.

    As the reminder humans were herded into the building, which was bare of all furnishings save for a couple of desks at the other end, long lines of sullen figures waited waited to be processed, although not a word was said, all those in the lines knew what awaited them. Especially the iskeais, after all, the original Holocaust was rather well known back on Earth. Not that the knowledge matters much, their will to resist has been broken a long time ago, those who remained unbroken in spirit were already broken in the flesh and buried in unmarked shallow graves dotted all over the lands of the former Empire of all Mankind..

    After the paper came the the tattooing, for those lucky ones selected for extermination through labor, their last bit of energy and mana to be extracted to further fuel their oppressors. As for the rest they were simply herded to yet another large building. Something about remote mana extraction, the guards said. No one believed them, but once again what the victims believed was irrelevant. Once that building was filled to capacity, the doors were locked, and for those huddled masses inside so was the last of their hopes and dreams.

    15 minutes, it was all it took for the generous dose of zyklon b to do the work of the grim reaper. Then the doors opened again, and the golems silently waddled in, clearing out the hundreds of bodies, men, women, children. The old, the infirm. It matters not, now only corpses to be shoved into the crematoriums.

    Just then the next train arrived, right on time to deliver the next batch of victims.


    It was nighttime, the gas chambers finally closed for the day although the crematoriums continued their grim work through the night. The camp commander was reviewing the reports.

    2,625 total liquations, including 63 children under the age of 12. Reasonable rate of work. After all, this is one of over two dozen of such camps, and if everything goes well then the lands will be suitably depopulated in a few years, freeing up the scourge of the so called incel threat… forever. At least in the elven controlled lands, perhaps then will the orcs and their isekai populations see the wisdom of their grand plan.

    Which was the reason for all these reports and records, this will be the crowning jewel of achievement in the history of the Imperial State, and this little camp was only the beginning.
    misc story 4
  • Mark Poe

    The majestic cock
    Writing Champ
    Behold, the bringer of light! (not the good kind)​

    (S.E. 240s)

    It was a bright, cheerful, and sunny day in the rather unremarkable village of Cadfield (after all, crushing poverty and endless suffering still being no strangers to many parts of the old continent since the beginning of history), but the village is not important, at least not for anything besides intrinsic values (which of course being useless ever since the dawn of the modern age). A formly simple hamlet that swelled to a sprawl of slums and suffering from the horde of refugees fleeing the for the horrors of modern warfare and genocide. It was only too unfortunate that there was no hope at the end of the journey, only more suffering and misery awaits. Then the incels conquered the place, and a whole new darkness engulfed them.

    Which made the large elven army some kilometers away all the more unusual. Standard operation among for a place such as Cadfield was firebombing followed by dispersion of chemical agents, ‘burn and salt’ and it was known, tend to deprive the incels of their power up fuel, if nothing else. Collateral damage being a feature rather than a flaw.

    The amassing of troops wasn’t something short term either, if the amount of rail lines snaking towards the frontlines was any indication. They were staying for the long haul, or even more, since it was much more rolling stock and infrastructure than necessary for a mere 15 divisions.

    Even more usual was the mass of foreign news crews, military attaches, and other riff raffs milling around, all cordially invited by the fuhrer herself to witness ‘the coming of a new age’. Big fucking deal, the Union already detonated their first nuclear device almost a decade ago, and the republic a couple of short years later. More chemicals in the air that turn the friggin people dead in various new and horrible isn’t going impress anyone these days. Of course no of those weapons have been used in anger, even as the situation in Ironi reached its desperate conclusion for the colonial powers. There are some demons that really shouldn’t be released.

    Then came the blast of a train horn, much louder than most, and all assembled turned towards the set of 4 parallel tracks. Slowly making its way forward was a massive railroad cannon, one that bears a certain, probably all too intentional resemblance, to another large and impractical gun from earth’s sordid history. The massive beast of steel and steam, as if it was the embodiment of the might and power of the Imperial State. Probably its stupidity and wastefulness too, given that everyone including the dragons were working on strategic missiles and rockets ever since the first nuke was detonated, if not before that.

    The nice thing about having the technological developmental history of another world was that a lot of spots could be avoided. The bad it about it was that things were advancing much faster than most could possibly comprehend. Giving arseholes better weapons just meant higher body counts in the end.

    “Be careful, she’s fragile.” One of the Republic’s military attache sarcastically quipped, eliciting a few awkward chuckles. He was of course correct, as just because something being over 2,000t (metric tonnes) doesn’t mean it’s most easily broken or damaged, and for all its size and mass, railroad guns were notorious fickle and limited.

    “May I have your attention please.” A major of the Lasce Imperial Army said, “On this day you will witness a game changing weapon. This day is to be remembered.”

    “Sure honey” One of the reported muttered from the crowd, not really believing the cheap rhetoric.

    “Please zip up your protection gear and put up the masks.” The major continued, looking at her pocketwatch, “We are about to set up for the countdown. Brace yourselves.”

    Sirens loudly began to blare, a fanfare signaling the start of doom for tens of thousands, who for the most part were still blissfully unaware of their coming doom. The cannon has finally stopped, and the machinery within that mountain of steel begin their complex dance of preparation to fire. If it weren’t for all those noises everyone would have heard the sounds of a number of facepalms from the foreign observers. It was very much overblown. After all, what is this besides an example of the follies of the last age?

    Although everyone expected, when the gun finally fired its shockwaves still knocked quite a few people off their feet, despite everyone being at least a few hundreds meters away. Somehow but utterly predictably, numerous glass panes shattered all over the place despite every measure to protect every conceivable glass part in sight.

    Then all the assembled heads turned towards the other side, even as they knew that the intended target of the now flying shell was beyond the horizon.

    The massive mushroom cloud was a shock however, even before the edge of the shockwave of the 87kt nuclear warhead reached them.

    “They will never forget!” The elven major shouted through speakers. Although their faces obscured by masks, many of them looked on with various shades of horror written across their faces. A few even puked, ripping off their masks despite the dangers.

    It wasn’t that the Imperial State possess nuclear weapons being a surprise, their project being on overdrive since the Union detonated their nuclear test. What was shocking and horrifying was their first test being used on live targets, mostly innocent civilians and victims for that matter.

    In hindsight, it was depressingly in character for the Imperial State and their bloodthirsty fuhrer and rather an embarrassing failure of the part of the intelligence branches of both the Union and the Republic.

    It was perhaps the Imperial State’s most smug moment, unbeknownst to them, it would also serve as the catalyst for their downfall within a few short years.

    As always, it was little comfort to all the dead, their silence cried out in vain.
    misc story 5 (end?) ;)
  • Mark Poe

    The majestic cock
    Writing Champ
    Technically this does serve as an ending for the most part. Quite frankly I need a bit of cheering up at least so indulge in the crazy and contrived plot twist.

    We’ll be borrowing this to slay the great evil… not you, the other one. You’re still screwed though.​

    (S.E. 253)

    “This is Storm 1, Storm 1 reporting.” The lead pilot of the flight of FN-33 naval fighters reported crisply. “Flight on way to anomaly. Presently no abnormal readings.”

    “This is Pac Command, report acknowledged.” The coordinator onboard the EN-8 AWACS replied “Continued your designated course.”

    “Acknowledge, Storm 1 out.”

    Hundreds of meters above the seemingly ever calm South Ocean the Union fighters continued their interception course with the… whatever thing that the AWACS identified an hour earlier.

    Whatever that things is, it’s damn big, moving slightly above the water, and on a course heading straight to the old continent at a speed of over 780km per hour, comparable to most top of the line jet aircraft.

    Ever since the collapse of the “coalition” following their all too brief moment of self interest induced collaboration the waters around the Old continent was filled with tension. Out in the vast reaches of blue was the place to display the newest weapons and their power, to show the world that they are not be messed around with, and woe to all who gets in their way.

    In other words, a lot of showboating, with the occasional death when someone went too far in the intimidation, but on the scale of nationstates it was just the small price of vanity and knowledge.

    Which made the current situation even more bizarre, according to the reconstructed flight path provided by the AWACS, the anomaly obviously came out from the South Continent, which the Lasce Imperial State own the entirety of it lock, stock, and barrel. Specifically from a region that’s only labeled as a mining complex.

    However, there was not a damn noise from the pointy ear fascists about any such project or object of that scope. Not from Naval Intelligence, State Security, or even the Lost Bureau. All that leaves possibilities that were best not to be dwelled on for too long.

    Which was why now a flight of naval fighters from the Union carrier UNS Entrada going on an intercept course.

    “This is Storm 1. We should be within visual range any minute now… WHAT IN THE NAME OF THE GODS IS THAT?!?”

    “Pac Command, repeat please?” Despite the crisp reply, a tone of concern seeped into the coordinator.

    “EVASIVE MANEUVERS! EVASI-” The voice was suddenly cut off in a shower of static, signally connection lost, which for something as small as a fighter aircraft almost always meant the destruction of the craft itself. The destruction of the entire flight of fighters was confirmed almost immediately as they winked out of existence on the main radar display.

    The command crew of the EN-8 looked at each other in growing horror as the realization of what transpired out there. They didn’t have long to dwell on that however, as the plane suddenly made a hard bank towards port, almost knock them out of their seats.

    It wasn’t enough to evade the beam of malevolent light heading directly towards them, and within moments it too was little more than gently falling debris into the endless ocean.

    By the time the Union taskforce arrived at the plane’s last coordinates there was nothing to been seen except for specks of debris floating in the ocean.


    “Was that really necessary?” Amberea asked, watching the scenes of destruction as it occurred through the eyes of the one carrying out the destruction. “While preserving secrecy was important…”

    “Unfortunately, yes.” Oesa nodded. “The general staff agreed that having the orcs discover the Triumphant Will without the proper context would in fact spark off the very conflict that we would wish to avoid at the present time.”

    Amberea merely nodded, and returned her gaze at the huge flatscreen dominating the north wall of her office.

    Despite ruling the Imperial State for over six decades by this point, Amberea’s office was surprisingly bare of decorations as popularly imagined when most people when asked their perception of the lifestyle of the powerful and despotic. Then again, much like certain leaders of Earth’s 20th century, who the elven fuhrer was very well aware of, she too was more than a mere despot, but the embodiment of the will of her people, or a tyrant so in love with the abstract concept of political power itself as to disregard the material benefits of said power.

    Then there’s the flatscreen TV, made out of the finest of crystals and crafted with the best magic and science that government money from an autocratic system could buy, seems rather out of place. Especially when it was a time when even cathode ray tube sets were luxuries and the number of TV stations could be counted in one hand. Of course it wasn’t for mere entertainment purposes, but one of the minor but final pieces of the Imperial State’s WMD deterrence.

    It was not enough to merely mutually annihilate each other, as the orcs, humans, and dragons have resigned themselves to that state of affairs. The Imperial State seeks to win and stand after any nuclear exchange. The mana shields and the mass produced anti-radiation spells was only the beginning. It was not enough merely to survive, but also to conquer the ashes of the enemies to ensure a permanent domination.

    Enter the Leviathans: massive beasts of alloy and crystal, built with the finest of technologies and materials, fueled by the essences of unspeakable horrors. They are the ultimate embodiment of the militant madness of the Imperial State and its insane fuhrer. Such was the importance of these constructs that each has a direct two way visual and audio connection to the office of the fuhrer, which brings back to the flatscreen.

    The Triumphant Will was in fact the first pre-production build, the prototype, Deus ex Machina, was still undergoing final testing. But now time was of the essence. The orc nations have finally threw in the towel over at Ironi, and have begun the long, bloody, and painful process of withdraw from that accused continent. News of that wasn’t taken well to their constituents, and both nations were facing the withdrawal symptoms of the sudden cutoff of ores they have come to rely on. Needless to say geopolitics on the old continent was more tense than ever, as nations in their moments of weakness tend to gamble and bluff much more…

    A voice suddenly interrupted the the two’s viewing.

    “My fuhrer, priority connection from the Deus ex Machina.” The communication operator announced through the intercom system.

    “What?” Amberea asked, then turned towards Oesa, “You have any idea what could this be?”

    “None…” Oesa was just as perplexed.

    “Fine, patched it through the screen.” Amberea said to the operator, who complied immediately.

    The screen shifts towards the command center of a Leviathan, clearly different from the Triumphant Will, mainly in the personnel sitting at the various control stations. However, they weren’t the expected crew of the construct. The figure sitting on the captain’s chair being a rather famous face yet completely unexpected for that location.

    “Paneia?!?” Oesa asked in shock, “What is the meaning of this?”

    “Who?” Amberea was a bit slower on the uptake. Despite everything history was never her strong suit. Then again, those who revise history for their own ends tend to be selective in their memories if for sheer political necessity. “Oh right. YOU.”

    “Who I was and what I accomplished are irrelevant as of this moment.” Paneia said calmly, “All that you need to know is that your regime of evil ends today.”

    “I doubt that.” Amberea sneered back, “The Leviathans are post apocalyptic weapons, you have no chance against the full might of the capital defense force. Also I doubt your little foreign backed coup will inspire much in the way of support.” Finally noticing the number of orcs crewing the various stations.

    “Hang on a minute,” Oesa interjected, “that thing should be empty of its power cells.” What was not mentioned that said ‘power cells’ were in fact live, sapient beings. At one point in time anyways.

    “We have a goddess hooked up down there, I think we’ll be fine long enough.” Paneia said curtly. “Besides, you’re downfall won’t be from direct violence.”

    “HOW IN THE NAME OF THE GODS YOU MANAGED TO KIDNAP A GODDESS?!?” Amberea was suddenly a lot less calm and collected.

    “On the contrary, she was in with us in this since the beginning.” Paneia finally cracked a cheerless smile. “Allow me to convoy her last message: ‘Fuck you feminazi hitler wannabe and also fuck that big titties tanned Himmler. You bitches had a long time coming.’” She paused for a moment, “I don’t think you’ll understand all the terms but the message seems pretty clear.”

    Silence descended at the office as the two elves stared at the screen in shock. While relations with the water goddess was never that great, one of the main reasons why she was mostly sidelined in the South Continent to begin with, no one in the regime ever expected a watchmojo level of betrayal.

    Paneia continued, “But as much as I want to blow your sorry arse to kingdom come that’s not what we’re going to do today. Allow me to indulge one final bit of grandstanding in this world.”

    Silence greeted her, which she took as her cue to continue. “Years ago some of the magis figured out a way to make it to the regime of the gods, all in a theoretical sense of course. Vast amounts of power was needed to open such a gap, and more power to actually deal with the asshole deities who keep sending all the assholes into our fair world. It was most considerate of you to greenlight the necessary project that happen to meet our needs.” She patted her captain’s seat.

    Oesa sucked in her breath, finally realizing the extent of the infiltration among the general staff. Paneia merely nodded slightly, confirming her suspicions.

    “After our gapping a prerecorded message will be broadcast through all channels and papers, exposing your regime’s sordid history and endless crimes as well as calling for a popular uprising, all signed off by Jane herself, so I doubt you will be able to counteract those orders.” Paneia continued, “So goodbye, in more than one sense of the word.”

    And with those words, the connection was cut and the screen fade into a storm of static.

    A long moment of silence continued in that office.


    And thus so ended the passage of humans into from Earth to that fair world, although it took decades for scientists and magis to confirm that, and far longer to make it into its proper place in the history books. What transpired in the world of the gods will however be forever shrouded in mystery.

    As for the fall of the Lasce Imperial State, it was not the happy ending that Jane had hoped for. An idealist to the end, which blinded her to the reality on the ground, and probably a little bit of all that power of being a goddess finally getting to her head.

    On the Old Continent, the revolution went pretty much without a hitch, helped by many of the older generation remember the days before the rise of the Imperial State. While for humans and orcs six decades are the span of generations for elves it was closer to merely a long nightmare, and it was time to wake up again.

    Meanwhile the South Continent was a completely different story. Most of its population a result of the Imperial State, who poured countless resource, labor, and sacrifice to make the endless deserts bloom. For the majority there, denial was the order of the day, and with much of the leadership fleeing there it was soon obvious that the Imperial State will endure, even if somewhat weakened. The goddess would not simply abandon them like that, they are the chosen people after all.

    In hindsight, the split was inevitable, the cultures and to a certain extent even the elves themselves were too far different apart from each other. It does not make it any less tragic that the dark elves of the south continent continued to wear their chains of tyranny. It was a problem that even the gods themselves could not solve.

    Even for all those problems, the world was slowly moving to a more peaceful world. With their home continent firmly in their grasp, the rattlings and ogres of Ironi seemed to be content with their triumph over the invaders, and begin the long process of rebuilding their torn world from a century of invasion and exploitation. The South Continent, unrepentant as ever, turned inward to completely tame their part of the world. As for the Old Continent, the shocks of these world changing event finally spurred greater cooperation between the various nations and species. Orcs, elves, dragons, and later on even humans as finally the old lands of humans banded together once more (with a bit of discreet help from the others here and there).

    It was world moving forwards, no one really knows where, except hoping with conviction that whatever it might be will be better than the past.
    Last edited:
    misc story 6
  • Mark Poe

    The majestic cock
    Writing Champ
    Awaken from the dream, but is this the end?​

    (2019 AD, S.E. ???)


    There was nothing. Not even the pitch darkness or pure light that fiction use to denote absolutely nothing.

    Then the darkness came. It was almost comforting, at least it was something comprehensible to mere mortals.

    Mortals? She hasn't thought herself as a mere mortal for decades now. The thought was a rude awakening, if it weren’t for the fact that she’s not even sure if awakening could be used to describe her current situation.

    Facts? Does a concept like that even apply to this limbo? Is this even limbo?

    Then came sounds, noises… voices? Then she realize she could feel her body again, how did she not even noticed that sooner?

    Jane finally opened her eyes.

    As the blurriness faded away she found herself in a hospital room, lying on a bed. It could be anywhere on the Old Continent as far as she could tell… then she noticed the flatscreen TV mounted on one of the corner… and it has CNN on.

    She’s back, somehow. It was impossible they all said, but she’s back.

    The door to her room opened and a doctor, a nurse, and a man in a suit came in.

    Jane remained silent, knowing the usual spew about not exerting herself too hard or some other such bullshit, she seen enough hospital shows to that at least.

    And so she listened to them, how that she’s been in a coma for over half a year, how by some miracle she was the only person to have survived the us crash (the bus driver fell asleep at the wheel, and simply rolled off the road), how crazy uncle Matt finally passed away and left his considerable estate to her, as a final “fuck you” the rest of the extended family of what he perceived to be a pack of greedy bastards, which went a long way in explaining why they never did pull the plug on her comatosed body in all those months. Meanwhile the federal government has partially shut down for weeks because president orange decided to throw a tantrum, oh, and there’s mounting evidences that he might be a Quisling to the Russians too. Fun stuff.

    Maybe she didn’t wake up in her world, but damn it, close enough. At least everyone’s human enough and she’s no longer some deity… on that last part, she wondered. As she noticed a glass of water on a table nearby. While the lawyer droned on about something that’s probably important but way beyond her comprehension she concentrated on the water in the glass. Of course it wouldn’t work, but it certainly wouldn’t hurt to just confirm something one way or the other.

    The water moved, a ripple from the direct center that could not have been explained by any natural phenomenon. Of course no one else noticed that. She merely nodded.

    Life will never go back to what it used to be, but then again she’s also prepared for that too, with all those extra decades of experiences and accumulated wisdom.

    Everything’s going to be fine, regardless of what the multiverse throws at her.
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