Deep underground, darkness reigns.
At first, she travels through cramped, unlit dirt tunnels until she reaches a poured concrete doorframe.
Its cold echo tells her she's entered a wider space.
Sentinel: The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light: they that dwell in the land of the shadow of death, upon them hath the light shined.
She taps into the power of her ancient bloodline, her eyes adjusting rapidly to the pitch black. Yet she finds no comfort in seeing what surrounds her.
Sentinel: ...
Dark and viscous substances flow through the walls of the tunnel, like an endless mass of writhing insects.
In their trance, they form some kind of unrecognizable symbols, shifting back and forth into chaotic shapes.
Sentinel: Blasphemy.
But she has seen far more sinister abysses in her time.
Sentinel: The fortress's center ought to be closer to the peak, but this path appears to be extending downward.
She unrolls the map and reads the included intel.
Sentinel: The Foundation's map says this is the route.
Plumes of gas tumble with the intruder's movements, stinging her nostrils.
Sentinel: Not the stench of rotting hay, not garlic or onion, either. This is a new kind of poison gas.
Sentinel: Still, it has no effect on me.
Where art thou?
An ethereal voice drifts down.
Sentinel: Agnès.
Dost thou hear me, Marie? I heareth naught from thee.
Sentinel: You hear me not?
She looks up, seeing nothing but the vaulted ceiling.
Agnès's voice is like a biting acid in her ears.
Where hast thou gone, Marie? I sense thou art somewhere deep below the earth, surrounded by that which I cannot clearly see.
Sentinel: ...
Sentinel: Bodies lay scattered around me, Agnès. Many of them.
Sentinel: They're Manus soldiers. It appears they attempted to flee through this tunnel but an hour ago.
She steps over debris.
Sentinel: Their superior blocked their way and loosed upon them this poison gas, killing his own men.
Bodies stare up at her from unblinking eyes.
Sentinel: What kind of enemy am I soon to face, Agnès?
Art thou afraid?
Sentinel: ...
Thou must have spoken much, Marie. I shall not leave thee. I am listening.
Only I yet hear not thy voice.
Sentinel: ...
Dost thou recall the day we hid together in the catacombs of the manor? Thou said unto me thou feared not the ghostly tales thy grandmother once spake.
Thou saidst thou bore a devil more terrifying than any tale. But on that night, thy breath did tremble—thou wert afraid.
She halts at the descending stairway.
Sentinel: That was not the thing of which I was afraid, Agnès.
Once again, she realizes her words cannot reach beyond the heavy rock above.
From the depths of that pitch-black void, something waits, stretching out sharp, black claws.
I worry for thee, Marie. The path that thou dost walk holdeth no light. I can feel thee growing ever more distant from me.
Whatsoever it is—whatever thou dost wish to do, I know thou art determined to see it to its end. But I pray thee, make haste and come unto us soon, wilt thou?
Until that time, I shall pray for thy soul.
Waves of cold stone scrape over her skin as she readies herself for battle.
Then begins her journey down.
In a brief lull between volleys, Yermolai returns to the trenches.
It's little trouble to find his commander in the sea of gray uniforms.
Creius: To summarize, your troops must stay in place for the time being. We've made contact with the other side. They'll cooperate with you to create a fire network against the enemy.
Erich: Let's hope they do cooperate.
Creius: Manus Vindictae has waged war against all humankind. We must work together if we're to get through this.
Erich knocks his helmet with frustration as he leaves, chafing against his orders, burdened by the lives placed in his care. Wishing now, more than ever, that he was just a soldier again.
Yermolai steps forward.
Hound: So you're their commander too now, huh?
Creius: All I did was convince them to work with the Foundation.
Hound: But you don't represent the Foundation—not without proper authorization for your plan.
Creius: The soldiers are desperate. I won't hesitate to do what I must to restore their hope. What's the status on your mission?
Hound: The Gargoyle's en route to the target location as we speak. Conservative estimate says she'll take another hour to get there.
Hound's voice comes out low and hoarse.
Hound: But who knows what she'll come up against? She might not make it.
Creius: Unusual for you to show compassion in such a moment.
Hound: It just brings back unpleasant memories. You know what I'm talking about, Creius.
That wolfish grin returns to Hound's face, and Creius ignores it once more.
Creius: Then we'll wait one more hour.
Creius: The Foundation's reinforcements will likely have arrived by then. Should it come to it, we will regroup and consider our next steps with them.
Hound: Heh, if there really are reinforcements, that is.
Creius: They're launching a second offensive! Hold your ground!
COMBAT
Charred earth splinters in the air, falling like black snow over the battlefield.
The soldiers reel from another shockwave. Scattered across the trenches, they grip their weapons tight, certain only of the coming battle.
Creius: ...
His index finger taps his rifle's receiver with anticipation.
He pulls out his communicator again and waits.
*beep-beep*
Creius: Finally ...
The name Irinei appears on screen.
Irinei: Creius, are you still on the front?
Creius: Yes, Mr. Irinei, but I don't think we can hold out much longer.
Creius: Has the Committee reached a decision?
Irinei: Not yet; the debate is still ongoing. The Doves find your "frontline contingency plan" absurd. They disapprove of the political risks involved in taking control of various nations' armies.
Irinei: But I personally find it feasible. Just to be sure, do you have a clear understanding of your ultimate goal?
He takes a deep, silent breath.
Creius: This war between Manus Vindictae and the Foundation will only end once one of the two parties is completely destroyed.
Creius: And I refuse to let it be the Foundation.
Creius: If we're to prevail, the Foundation cannot rely on Zeno alone. We need more capable soldiers—soldiers like these on the front lines.
Creius: With the proper arrangements, we may be able to recruit them to our cause. We'd have a whole new army to fight Manus Vindictae.
Irinei: But even if you manage to bring them all—say, one hundred thousand soldiers—on board, it still won't be enough to sustain modern warfare.
Creius: This is about the bigger strategic picture, not just a single recruitment effort. I'm suggesting that the Foundation start canvassing all human armies, especially those under attack by the Manus.
Irinei: Bigger strategic picture. What about the governments behind these armies? Have you considered how they might react?
Creius: It's about time they realized that the Foundation is their only hope—the last bastion for humanity to unite against their shared enemy.
Creius: The Foundation cannot take responsibility for all the lives in this era or in any other. The "Storm" is a near inevitability, and so too is the loss of many.
Creius: Once it does come, the Manus won't hesitate to drag war into that new era—into any new era. It's time the Foundation took action and built an army capable of crossing the "Storm."
Irinei: ...
The politician on the other end falls into a long silence.
Irinei: Enact your plan, Creius.
Irinei: As long as you're successful on your end ...
Irinei: I will deal with the political obstacles in your way.
The call is cut.
Creius exhales.
"Officer": What next, sir?
The young soldier watches Creius, waiting for orders with a dutiful stare.
Creius: ...
He casts a look toward Hill 299. The Manus Vindictae stronghold bristles with flashes of gunfire, yet to him it looks as if it were a slumbering beast.
Creius: We stand our ground for an hour.