Officer: Charge—!
A torrent of soldiers surges forward under cover of fire.
Marianne: panting
They run mechanically toward the highlands, gasping for every breath. Even her superior Gargoyle sight can't clear the vision in front of her.
The once-beautiful riverside is but a shadow of what it once was.
She remembers walking its bank with Agnès before the war, her footsteps light, her heart lighter.
Marianne: Ugh ...!
She stumbles into a muddy crater, another layer of grime coating her uniform.
Marianne: cough
The earth reeks. The stench of blood and rust chokes her.
Cold rain falls hard and heavy, pummeling her skull. She forces herself up and keeps going.
Something catches her foot. She looks down. A limp arm.
Marianne: Simon ...
Her comrade lies lifeless, killed by friendly artillery meant as cover.
Do not let your compatriots fight alone!
Arcanists, your powers can turn the tide!
Transcend racial divides! Fight for the motherland!
Marianne: Liar.
Marianne: In the face of weapons of such dreadful artifice, arcane skills are no more powerful than a child's feeble fist.
Marianne: Humans and arcanists alike will rot here, reduced to naught but bone.
Marianne: Astrologers cannot escape the clutches of death, alchemists cannot cure necrosis, petrifiers cannot turn bombs to stone.
She rushes through a break in the barbed wire into a trench, her squadmates following close behind.
No time to see faces. You see an enemy uniform, you shoot.
Marianne: St!!
She pulls the trigger. Nothing. Gunpowder must be wet.
She hardens her skin to stone just as a bullet grazes her cheek.
She tosses her rifle aside and lunges at the shooter.
Enemy Soldier: Urgh ...!
Blood sprays from his mouth, splattering on her stone face.
Marianne: panting
Flesh is no match for rock.
Marianne: Gun ...
She scrambles to grab his Mauser, and in her rush, pulls an insignia out with it.
Marianne: What's this ...?
Two overlapping hands, either lifting or concealing. Its black sheen gives off a disturbing sanctity.
Marie, are you going to enlist?
I must. The motherland calls. And if I do not, the atelier will be reduced to ash and rubble.
I truly believe this war will soon end. We shall continue our design work ere long!
Marianne: Liar.
Marianne: Only those ignorant of the truth of war would dare speak of victory before it is won.
Marianne: God, is this Your punishment for my arrogance?
In her daze, black canisters drop into the trench. Unlike explosive shells, these arrive almost gently.
But they strike a greater fear than any shell.
Officer: Gas! Gas!!
Officer: St, it's a trap! Masks on, now!
A pale yellow mist spreads, silent and fatal.
GAMEPLAY
Gunfire fills the battlefield. Marianne hauls herself out of the trench, bodies falling around her.
She drags herself forward, weaving between bullets as she scrambles to escape.
At the edge of the fog, she spots a shattered, half-standing tree and crashes behind it. She falls to the ground.
Marianne: Thérèse ... Catherine ...
Marianne: Jean ... Thomas ...
Her chest heaves, her whole body shaking as she unconsciously recounts their names.
After today, she'll never hear their voices again.
Marianne: Lord God ... I pray, do not abandon me ...
Marianne, if thou hast chosen to enlist, thou must sincerely turn to the Lord in far greater measure than thou ever hast.
For only He may grant thee the faith, strength, and forgiveness to indulge in the sins of war and return unscathed.
Marianne: Liar.
Marianne: My love for the motherland is true, my prayers sincere ...
Marianne: Yet sin clings to me still, and fear blooms, rich and heavy in my heart.
Marianne: Ugh ...!
Something slams into her side.
But she doesn't stop. Her adrenaline numbs the pain.
Marianne: panting
She stumbles past craters, over fallen bodies. The chaos behind her grows distant.
Marianne: Almost ... safe ...
The trench edge. It's right there—
The blast hurls her into the trench. Perhaps her prayers have been heard after all.
She crashes hard into the mud.
Marianne: Huff ... huff ...
She lies there, half-buried like a toppled statue.
She pushes herself up, pressing her back against the trench wall.
The artillery continues to rain down. It's as if the enemy predicted their retreat.
Her mind races, her heart beating out of her chest. Darkness floods her sight.
Soldiers, the enemy hides in the ridge, thinking they can break our will!
But they forget that you are the victors of Forlan!
Today, we will put an end to their occupation!
In 48 hours, we break their line and end this war!
Marianne: Liar!
Finally, the shelling stops. The survivors slump in the trench.
Marianne slowly lifts her face.
Marianne: Hrmph ...
Smoke, blood, moldy straw—she can't breathe. Her lungs catch in her chest.
Marianne: cough
Her throat burns.
The entire trench is filled with coughing and spluttering. The sounds of exhaustion.
"Thou shalt not kill ... Thou shalt not bear false witness." The Lord spake it unto us, Marie.
We must be honest and righteous, for only by doing good may He smile upon us.
Marianne: Agnès, you carry every virtue the Lord cherishes. You are a true believer.
Marianne: I have received no letters from you for what feels like an age, yet still, the simple thought of you gives me strength to go on.
Marianne: And I'm glad. Glad that you have not borne witness to all this—the endless tragedies of the battlefield.
Lies.