Tuesday, August 21, 2012

The Anti Chronicles: Erronithia Part #1

by Joshua Loomis of Erronithia

The two kings sat across the table from one another. They need not speak, the bonds of space could not separate that which was both one yet two. Nay, they merely gazed, endlessly. Little did their entourage know of the war of thoughts being waged within. Slowly, the Erronithian sovreign rose from his seat. He nodded, and his entourage followed him out of the door. As they exited into his shuttle, he glanced back.

"This is not the end."

"No. of course not," smiled the alternate. "Nay, this is merely the begining."

The two nodded, and the Erronithian shuttle departed to Earth. It landed on the mass that once comprised Erron-vale, that which now was incarnated as Erronithia's most deadly weapon capable of being used planetside. Briskly, the king walked across the runway to the bunker entrance. Once inside, the EMP emmissions severed his link with his alternate. He knew he had only so much time, mere nanoseconds to make an attack. The map lay sprawled out, and he glanced over it. Air force, army, marines, space fleets, espionage, all had to come together in perfect synchronization on a mass attack. Neo Samosa was the target, but that was only the percieved target. Yes, the alternates knew and countered the oves and motives of their origins, but being themselves alternate they were not bound by that restriction. The plan was in place, the time for action had come.

Silently, the Falkyrie II glided through the stratosphere. Closing in on it where three Viper-class Aih'tinorre fighters, ready to shoot it down. The pilot knew his time had come, but he cared not. He knew that this was the price of a patriot. It was a price he payed willingly, knowing the cost of the alternatives at the hands of Kent. Three miles above Neo-samosa, the Falkyrie de-activated it's disruptive EMP shielding and launched five pods. Five Black Hand agents rocketed to the surface of Earth at MAch 3, crashing into the waves of Lake Eerie. Thuroughly disgruntled at the turn of events, the Vipers split to try and catch them. One vaporized the Falkyrie with its twin energy cannons, then followed the other two to circle above the ripples. For an hour, the vultures hovered. Little did they know that the Black Hand operatives had by now reached the shores of Neo Samosa via diving suits, and had begun constructing a porto-rift.

In Erronithia, the 15th Divison idled, standing by in parade formation. Kent watched from space, contemplating on launching a GAOBD to destroy it entirely. Suddenly, the whole Division disappeared. He paused, then it hit him.

"NEO SAMOSA, NOW!!" Shouted the warlord.

Immediately, the HUD brought up real-time imaging of the porto-rift. Through it poured the whole Division.

Kent's fist fell upon the top of a nearby table.

"Deploy the 92nd, fulll combat regalia at 2nd Protocol, NOW!"

The flagship boosted forward, coming into position above the island with all due speed. Immediately, the 92nd Aih'tinorre 92nd Orbital Marines deployed, fully armed and armored. Then, the unspeakable. From approximately five miles off the coast of Neo-samosa came the flashing shots of a high-precision defensive laser, the work of the Eon Antisamosans. One by one, the 92nd disappeared pod by pod in short bursts of fury. Kent spewed forth his rage in a violent stream of vitriol, before turning to the crew.


No sooner had he spoken than an ESF fleet dropped out of rift.

Kent stared at it, his eyes streaming hatred.

"The petty fool is reading me now... How he managed it I can't guess but by Jove it won't last," he mused.

Turning, he ordered the remaining Aih'tinorre fleets into position. From the Tibetan protal spewed forth the whole of Kent's fleet, the sheer size of which convinced the Erronithians to with-draw. Yet the damage was done, and a combined force of ELC and Anti-samosans held the beach-head of the island. A beachhead that Kent could only draw against, no matter what he threw at it. Indeed, as long as the Erronithians stayed there, he was caught. He growled, paced, and then cursed. Turning, he paced out of the bridge, wondring what his next move would be.

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