Unknown Forces Scatter Defenders on Son Hoa, Khon Kaen

[DeJaVu]

Confirmed reports have reached ANN today that, for the second time in as many weeks, unidentified forces believed to belong to the Word of Blake have launched destructive lightning raids on both Son Hoa and Khon Kaen. At the Son Hoa StarCorps facilities, thes raiders—who used a combination of aerospace and 'Mech forces—caught the Devil's Brigade completely off-guard, routing the mercenary force before making off with an estimated three months' worth of the factory's output. Our correspondent on Son Hoa managed to obtain the following from an eyewitness to the attack:

I can't believe I'm still alive… What were they? I saw the Clans when they first appeared, but what we encountered earlier today… That couldn't be human! Yeah, of course, they piloted BattleMechs. But what they did with them, the way they were moved, the way they acted… They might be Word of Blake. They had a black broadsword as insignia. But I've never seen one painted on a red triangle, and what about that 50 on it or the horns on the hilt? When they appeared, they almost looked like ghosts, all that black fading to grey on the heads. And the red paint on their arms looked like fresh blood…

We were ready. We knew they were coming and what they wanted. We knew they would come for the factories. But the moment they came into weapons range everything went south. We were flooded by long-range missile and heavy energy fire, and the next thing I know their aerospace assets are closing in on a strafe and suddenly a huge group of VTOLs appears at our backs. Before we even know what's happening the enemy has closed in. They unload battle armor, suits with wings I've never seen before and lots of Purifiers and we try to prevent them from breaking the center of our formation and the brass calls for reinforcements but as soon as the flanks move in to help us we are flanked by hovers and the VTOLs are back and…

Yes, we broke. We ran. We fled the battlefield.

I'm not proud of it, but… If you had seen them, Jack. If you had faced them, you would understand. We are lucky they only stole some (ha, some, if only…) supplies and didn't destroy the factories. I don't know where the Word found those guys or what exactly they are, but I'll pray that I never fight against them…

—Private message from Sergeant Major William McDermined, Devil's Brigade

[DeJaVu]

8 June 3072

[Oriente Tribune] There is a cancer in the Palace.

That's the only way I can describe it as I sit here bathed in the flickering light from a thousand emergency vehicles, only recently arrived. The Night of Fire hasn't yet ended yet. It's been two days and still the veil of smoke and ash keeps us trapped in a perpetual twilight.

The Nightwalkers.

After Wallis Father and his advisors thought they were one of Halas' units. "Retribution for Oriente" they postulated. As if that debacle hadn't cost us enough already. The fighting provided few clues to their identity. Mainly League designs, modified with newer weaponry, whose objective simply seemed to be wiping out the Second. Some enterprising soul put forward the notion that they were Free World Guards, mainly because of the white, black and purple scheme; a notion Father latched onto like a drowning man. Thomas was coming—we had to be ready. And we were. But while we prepared for the fraudulent Captain-General's advance, we failed to remember that we had other, older enemies. An enemy that twists the hearts of loyal men, and compels them to commit unforgivable acts.

The Word of Blake. We should have realized as soon as they landed. The lace coiled around the broadsword was indicative of more than just the Forty-Ninth Division's emblem; it represented their leader's whole philosophy of war. Naamah's Nightwalkers. Naamah—a succubus of ancient myth.

The first indications came mere hours before the Night of Fire. A train derailed. A gas explosion. A dozen minor things that required the emergency services to respond. Those that were sent to the scenes were murdered, butchered. It made no sense, until the first missiles rained down. DropShips, cleared by unseen traitors to overfly the city, rained thousands of incendiary rockets upon the city, leaving only the Palace untouched. With no firefighters alive to fight them, the fires raged unchecked.

And into that firestorm dropped the Forty-Ninth, a twisted mass of flesh and machine. `Mechs and infantry alike wading through the burning river leading to the Palace as if the flames didn't exist. Cutting down the First like they were chaff before the scythe. And as good men were consumed by the fires, traitors activated their own plans, gifting the Nightwalkers their prize.

So, now I sit here, charged with removing the cancer that we allowed to permeate our society. Am I capable of doing what needs to be done? For when I see the coiled lace, I am not filled with thoughts of retribution and vengeance.

I am filled with fear.


—Reputed excerpt from the journal of Prince Titus Cameron-Jones.