Chapter 9
Shadow Games
[DATA: 18. CYCLE 10. YEAR 40 INDUSTRIAL]
[LOCATION: CHANCELLOR’S OFFICE — BLIN, NAX-GEOT]
[TIME: 10:00 LOCAL]
[STATUS: SIGNING OF THE TRIPLE ALLIANCE TREATY]
Seven days had passed since Halter’s return from Vica. Blin was erupting with an unnatural vitality; the day of the Great Games had arrived, and the Chancellor, in an abrupt diplomatic maneuver, had cast open the borders to all neighbors. The sky was regularly punctured by firework bursts that left behind plumes of multicolored smoke, while below, the streets were besieged by merchant tents and exhilarated throngs.
?In the city’s grand arena, final preparations were nearing completion. The banners of the participating states—BAA, SRR, Finc, Bratan, Kian, and others—fluttered side by side, a hollow harmony masking the true tension beneath.
?From his office window, Halter observed the crowd with a teacup in hand. His eyes mirrored not a single spark of celebration. A light knock echoed at the door. The secretary entered with measured strides, but Halter did not turn; he continued to sip the bitter tea, his gaze fixed upon the people feasting, unaware of the storm brewing above their heads.
?“Chancellor, the guest you were expecting has arrived. The Leader of Xapan,” the secretary announced, lingering at the threshold.
?With heavy footsteps, Hugo entered—a forty-year-old man behind spectacles. He radiated a muted authority; clad in a long gray overcoat and black gloves, which he did not remove even as he sat. He took his place in the chair opposite the black wooden desk without awaiting an invitation.
?“I expected to find you more lucid, but I see you are lost in a sea of thought,” Hugo began, his voice low. “It is not wise to swim in such depths, Halter. You might drown.”
?Halter turned slowly.
“You may leave,” he told the secretary in a frigid tone. Once the door clicked shut, he set the cup upon the desk and pulled a thick document from the drawer. It was the Treaty, stamped with the inverted triangle and the eagle of Blin.
?“Someone once said that good things come to those who wait. He was a true fool,” Halter remarked, sliding the parchment and pen toward Hugo. “If you wait for things to come, you have already lost at the starting line.”
?Hugo adjusted his spectacles, eyeing the black ink dots upon the paper that shimmered under the office light.
?“Nax-Geot, Xapan, Itan... the components of the ‘Steel Circle.’ Once everyone signs, the alliance is finalized,” Hugo replied coldly. “The question is: how much can you trust Itan now that it’s led by a wretch like Donxhi? I assume he has seized the leadership by now?”
?Halter took a sip of tea, surveying Hugo with a coldness that rivaled the frost of Vica.
?“The correct question is: how long would it take us to secure the metals, oil, and minerals for our experiments? Years. Whereas Itan has them ready, extracted from the earth and stockpiled.”
?“And Donxhi will surrender them so easily?” Hugo asked, suspicion etched into his gaze.
?“Donxhi craves only two things: wealth and power. An alliance with us grants him both. He wouldn’t hesitate to sell his soul for such things.”
?Hugo pulled a pen from the inner pocket of his overcoat and rested his hands upon the treaty. Before signing, he cast one more look at Halter.
?“A serpent indeed has shimmering skin, but it also carries deadly venom.”
?“A headless serpent may still writhe, but it cannot bite,” Halter replied, staring at the lemon seeds resting at the bottom of his empty cup. “I have prepared something for him as well, do not fret. I leave nothing to chance.”
?Hugo etched his signature with a swift motion. He rose, adjusted his coat, and headed for the exit without another word. As he opened the door, Halter’s voice halted him for one final moment.
?“Enjoy the Games, Hugo.”
?The Leader of Xapan did not turn back. He closed the door softly, leaving Halter once more in the company of silence and lemon seeds.
[DATA: 18. CYCLE 10]
?[LOCATION: OLYMPIC STADIUM — THE NEW CENTER, BLIN]
?[TIME: 14:00 LOCAL]
?[STATUS: OPENING CEREMONY — SUMMIT OF THE GREAT POWERS]
Time was hemorrhaging, and the world’s leaders had finally descended into the heart of Nax-Geot. A fleet of armored transports and black limousines halted one after another upon the crimson carpet that funneled toward the colossal game fields. The leaders disembarked in sequence, clad in exorbitant fabrics, long wool overcoats, and shimmering suits; their presence rendered the divide between the elite and the common populace an unbridgeable abyss.
?As the sky detonated with multicolored pyrotechnics that left behind plumes of industrial soot, the stadium seethed with thousands of voices. Halter stood atop the podium like a gatekeeper of heaven and hell, awaiting to greet his guests one by one.
?The roar of the crowd peaked each time Halter locked hands with a head of state. Next was the Tsar of the SRR, Lian. Dressed in a dark blue military tunic, medals weighing heavily upon his chest, he radiated a northern chill.
“Welcome, Great Tsar,” Halter greeted him, maintaining the grip a fraction longer than necessary—a silent trial of strength.
Lian merely inclined his head without uttering a word, his eyes scanning the stadium as if surveying a kill-zone.
?Behind him ascended the King of Bratan, Artit. In an elegant black suit with a ceremonial red-and-yellow sash across his shoulder, he appeared as the final relic of an ancient aristocracy.
“A pleasure to see you, King Artit. You look magnificent,” Halter remarked.
“The pleasure is mine, Halter, to witness Geot’s resurrection,” Artit replied. He then leaned in close enough for only the Chancellor to hear. “As for the massacre in the Byg operation, I convinced Cici to overlook it. You must understand, it was the least we could do... given that you did not surrender to the ISS the weapon discovered where Hans was executed.”
“I thank you for your understanding, Your Majesty,” Halter replied with a frozen smile. “I shall see that matter through to its conclusion.”
?Last in line was the President of the BAA, Wish. With gray hair lending him a paternal aura and a crimson tie symbolizing the might of Wan, he shook Halter’s hand with a practiced diplomatic smile.
“It is an honor for me and my state that you are here, Mr. President.”
“The pleasure is mine, Halter. It is good to see that peace will have an ally as formidable as Geot by its side,” Wish said, though his eyes betrayed that he believed not a single word he uttered.
?Halter gestured toward the row of seats upon the podium. There they sat: the gods of this world—cold, shadowed, and steeped in conspiracy—looking down upon the masses that adored them.
?Shortly after, Halter raised his hand—a signal that silenced the stadium for a heartbeat before the music erupted. The Games commenced. Athletes vied for medals, but in this arena, loss was not merely an athletic failure; it was a national humiliation before the eyes of the world. Sprints, javelin throws, wrestling... every contest was a mimesis of war, draped in the garb of sport.
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[DATA: 18. CYCLE 10]
?[LOCATION: CENTRAL PARLIAMENT — RAKOM, ITAN]
?[TIME: 15:30 LOCAL]
?[STATUS: SIGNING OF THE SECOND TREATY — OPERATION “THE TURN”]
While Blais had just concluded the recruitment of the five new deputy generals, he was instantly plunged into another critical operation: delivering the treaty to Itan. When he arrived in Rakom, the city did not resemble a capital, but a gargantuan abattoir under flame. Donxhi had seized power, but at a cost that could be scented in the air; the stench of charred flesh and molten rubber dominated everything.
?Frenzied mobs were torching every remnant of the old government, toppling marble statues and raiding luxury villas. Amidst the black soot shrouding Rakom’s sky, Blais carved a path toward the Parliament, flanked by a squad of Nax-Geot soldiers whose rhythmic march made the earth shudder beneath their boots.
?Blais observed the chaos outside the walls with a cynical smirk until he breached the interior of the government building. The doors to the main hall groaned open, revealing a scene of horror: it was not a meeting hall, but a pool of gore where the corpses of former deputies lay, still warm. In the center of the butchery stood Donxhi. He was wiping his hands with a filthy rag, but upon seeing Halter’s uniforms, his face lit up with a perverse grin.
?“Finally, here you are!” Donxhi exclaimed, tossing the bloodied rag onto a lifeless body.
Blais stepped cautiously, avoiding the crimson puddles on the floor. His eyes scanned Donxhi guards—a band of mercenaries devoid of discipline. He placed the metallic briefcase upon an old wooden table and withdrew the documents.
“Donxhi of Itan,” Blais began, his voice concealing not a shred of respect. “I see you have yet to set things in order.”
?“This is nothing,” Donxhi replied, extending his hand. “Merely a necessary ‘cleansing’ of the resistant refuse.”
?Blais did not move his hand. He left the gesture suspended in the air.
?“A king meets only a king. I have come for business, not for fellowship.”
He extended the black pen. Donxhi froze for a moment, his eyes narrowing in insult, but he recovered quickly. He approached the treaty and signaled his men to lower their weapons.
?“I understand, General. No need for such formalities,” Donxhi said, setting his signature upon the white sheets. The ink was absorbed by the paper as if it were blood seeking a vein. But suddenly, he paused. “And these others? These were not part of the initial agreement.”
“Chancellor Halter is proposing a partnership beyond the alliance,” Blais replied coldly. “He is granting you access to Nax-Geot’s banks in exchange for the oil and minerals listed here.”
?“Why is Halter letting me penetrate so deep into his structures? What is he planning?” Donxhi asked, suspicion mounting.
“Nothing that compromises your security, sir. But the Chancellor is preparing for a war of a magnitude the world has yet to witness. And your oil is the fuel for that war.”
?Donxhi burst into laughter—a rasping sound followed by the laughter of every mercenary in the hall. Without further thought, he signed everything. Blais snapped the briefcase shut with a dry, metallic thud.
?“So, Halter cannot manage without us, eh?” Donxhi boasted. “Send my regards to your Chancellor.”
?“I shall do so with pleasure, sir,” Blais replied, giving a military salute that resembled a sophisticated mockery.
?He turned and exited the blood-soaked Parliament with the same marching cadence. But the moment he stepped out into Rakom’s smog, his smile vanished. He knew what Donxhi did not: anyone who sits at the table with Halter is merely a variable in an equation that ends in annihilation.
[DATA: 18. CYCLE 10]
?[LOCATION: OLYMPIC STADIUM — BLIN]
?[TIME: 19:30 LOCAL]
?[STATUS: CLOSING OF THE GAMES — UNVEILING OF THE NEW ANTHEM]
The Games of Blin were drawing to a close with the same ferocity with which they had ignited. Halter, with a calculated largesse, had distributed trophies and decorations to every athlete, yet Nax-Geot’s dominance remained indisputable. The BAA and SRR had fought for every millimeter, but the Chancellor’s athletes had competed with a mechanical savagery, showing no mercy on the field.
?In a climactic moment, Halter rose to his feet. The eyes of the world’s leaders were impaled upon him, while diplomatic whispers were severed as if by a blade. He signaled a deputy in the center of the arena.
?“Honored citizens and Supreme Leaders,” the deputy’s voice weighed heavy over the stadium via the loudspeakers. “We conclude these games with our new anthem. A tribute to the state that rose from the ashes and to the future we are constructing upon the ruins of the old.”
?The sky caught fire. “Vultur” fighter jets tore through the clouds, trailing plumes of red and black smoke—the colors of Nax-Geot—while pyrotechnics etched the image of the eagle above the throngs. President Wish watched, mesmerized, while Hugo kept his head bowed; he understood the weight of symbols better than anyone.
?“A new anthem... the more time passes, the more your surprises astound me, Halter,” Wish remarked, his eyes fixed on the heavens.
?The anthem commenced with the fragile voice of a young girl standing solitary in the stadium’s center, followed by a military choir in perfect formation. The stadium plunged into a funereal silence:
In the white snow, where the tear froze,
A single flower upon the stone arose.
Nax is the name that time could not erase,
In a mother’s blood, it found its place.
The music grew heavier; military drums beat with the rhythm of a heart of steel. The voices of thousands merged with the choir, turning the melody into a tidal wave that rattled the stadium walls.
The Steel Circle grants no shadow or grace,
Geot is awakening, the world slows its pace!
Names we have none, only a vow to keep:
To die for the flower, while the world is asleep!
The leaders upon the podium froze. The lyrics were lucid, yet the current of the melody was so seductive it pulled them into its wake. The final movement of the anthem was sung as an overt threat, directed precisely at those seated in the front row.
Upon your thrones, the shadow descends,
Every word of ours, a gale that rends.
Ask not who we are, seek no light or prize,
Halter is coming... to shutter your eyes!
[PEOPLE’S ADRENALINE: 89% — OPTIMISM INCREASING]
The cheers erupted like a hurricane. Upon the podium, a heavy silence reigned until President Wish, wearing a practiced diplomatic smile, rose first and began to applaud. One by one, the other leaders followed him like automatons.
“Halter, that was magnificent. You are truly an architect of melody,” Wish remarked, turning toward the Chancellor. “But I have one question... what exactly does the ‘Steel Circle’ signify?”
Halter looked him straight in the eyes, devoid of emotion.
“Thank you, Mr. President. The ‘Steel Circle’ is our metaphor for unity. A circle that does not fracture before those who seek to bring us low.”
“Wonderful,” Wish replied. “Unity is precisely what we require to forge global peace.”
As the stadium began to empty, Halter ordered two deputies to escort King Artit and Tsar Lian toward the Central Hall for “further deliberations.” Meanwhile, he personally escorted President Wish toward his armored transport.
“Halter, I wish to create a total peace in this world,” Wish said as he entered the vehicle. “And I am certain I can rely on you.”
“Rest assured, Mr. President,” Halter replied as he shuttered the car door. “I will do everything within my power to ensure that this vision of ‘your peace’ is realized.”
[DATA: 18. CYCLE 10]
?[LOCATION: CENTRAL HALL — NAX COMPLEX]
?[TIME: 22:45 LOCAL]
?[STATUS: EXECUTION OF OPERATION “HIDING THE LIONS”]
As President Wish’s transport faded into the distance and the last throngs of tourists bled out of the city, Halter prepared to settle the final accounts of the day. Two Supreme Leaders awaited him in the Central Hall, and the Chancellor never kept guests of such magnitude waiting for long.
?The hall was a windowless vault, submerged in a pallid artificial glow that cast long, predatory shadows. Tsar Lian and King Artit stood opposite each other, wires of tension taut between them. When the door groaned open, Halter did not enter alone. Behind him marched the H-Class Special Forces—soldiers clad in light-devouring black, their masks erasing every human feature, rendering them as living shadows.
[SUBJECT: H-CLASS — ARMAMENT: UNCLASSIFIED]
The leaders recoiled, paralyzed by the aura of absolute erasure emanating from the squad.
?“What is the meaning of this, Halter? Explain yourself at once!” Tsar Lian barked, his northern composure fracturing.
?“Nothing of consequence, gentlemen. Compose yourselves,” Halter replied, a smile playing on his lips that never reached his eyes. “I am merely clearing the refuse left upon the table.”
?Without another word, Halter turned to depart.
?“You will not escape the consequences of this, Halter! The world will know!” King Artit shrieked, his voice trembling with a cocktail of rage and terror.
?Halter paused at the threshold. He turned his head just enough to deliver the final strike.
?“Give my regards to my grandmother...” he whispered.
?As the door sealed shut, the dark recesses of the complex shuddered under the brief, surgical cracks of suppressed gunfire. A lethal silence fell instantly in their wake. Halter turned to the two sentries flanking the door.
?“Commence the second phase of the plan,” he commanded, his voice as cold as polished marble.
?The soldiers nodded, asking nothing. As Halter navigated the shadowed corridors of his dominion, he pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket and gripped it tightly in his palm. The tremor in his hand had vanished; in its place remained only an iron will.
?Finally, the reconstruction of the world was beginning. A world that should have been earned by someone who never lived to see it.
?“Landa...” he whispered into the darkness, letting the name dissipate like gunsmoke, clutching the white handkerchief deep within his pocket.
