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The idyllic countryside of the small nation of Charonia is not what it once was. The sounds of gunfire and the cries of the dying have replaced the serenity that was once the calling card of the Mediterranean nation. The sprawling countryside has been ravaged by war, and the once turquoise waters of the shoreline have turned red with blood. 

In the months that have followed since the Crimson Talon had taken control of the small, but wealthy nation, Charonia has been embroiled in a bitter civil war. The forces of the Crimson Talon fight to confirm their stranglehold on the nation, while a small band of rebels have been fighting to restore the democracy that once thrived in the nation. 

From the confines of the control room of the former Presidential Palace, the new ruler of the nation of Charonia watches as reports come in from the various battlefronts within the tiny country. As he watches the reports, an anger whirls within him. The rebel forces may be small in number, but they are growing, and they are well trained, and they put up a much more fierce fight than they should. At the beginning, the Crimson Talon mostly ignored the growing threat. The rebels were made up of farmers and former Charonian Republic Guardsmen. The Charonian military had proven ineffective when the Crimson Talon mounted its coupe, and the man known only as The Forsaken had taken his place on the throne within hours. 

Yet the people fought back, and by the time that the Crimson Talon realized that they were facing a real threat, the country had fallen into total civil war. A part of Forsaken was not surprised. The Crimson Talon’s victory had almost been too swift, too clean. He knew deep down that there was a price that he and his government would have to pay for their victory, yet the rebellion angered him no less. He had freed the people of Charonia of an incompetent government that was run by corrupt imbeciles. Under the Crimson Talon, the people of Charonia would benefit from the fair, yet firm rule of The Forsaken and his organization. 

However, for the most part, The Forsaken was mostly a myth. Few knew that he existed, and of those who did, many believed he was nothing more than a mascot, a creation of the leadership of the Crimson Talon to instill fear in those who opposed them. He knew that if he was going to end this destructive conflict, he would have to change that. He would have to present himself to those who fought against his control, and prove that not only does he exist, but that he is not one to be trifled with.

“Sir, the rebels have moved into New Sparta and are taking up position. I’ve ordered several regiments into the city to cut them off. I advise that you move to the bunker before….” General Crispin, one of The Forsaken’s military advisors was cut off before he could finish.

“No, General. Assemble the Elite Guard.” Forsaken said, his voice radiating throughout the control room.

“Of course, Sir. I shall lead the charge.” Crispin affirmed. 

“No, General. It is time to put an end to this rebellion. I will lead the Elite Guard myself.” The Forsaken said as he turned away from the vast array of screens and made his way toward the gathering point.