//Vion 5
//Redoubt Alnor
//250 Miles From Great Bastion Tertiary Curtain Wall

There had been  a silence over the battlefield for the past three weeks, baring the occasional skirmish or night raid over a pitiful amount of ground leading away from the redoubt. This small fortification was taken after little more than a three-day standoff after it had been cut from the underground supply network leading to the Great Bastion. It had been a near bloodless take over and the redoubt would have been an excellent lynchpin to assault further towards the curtain wall, but the False God knew as much as well and had immediately launched counterattack after counterattack to drive away the forces of the Angelus Machina to no tactical success.

Strategically, however, the machine had found success in forcing the Angelus to pool more resources into fighting over the relatively small area. This had halted other assaults that had been planned - despite the millions of soldiers and automata fielded by both sides, and as such a stalemate along the front had occurred. It was quickly a battle of the minds of both machine and man tried to fruitless goad the other into overplaying their hands. There was an unease from the mortally inclined on both sides, warlords from both wanted to fight over the rugged territory but they were leashed by their divine. Meanwhile, the Mechanicus did not stay idle as Usriel’s fortified key locations, repaired destroyed supply networks, and scouted for weaknesses in the enemy lines. The servants of the False God employed more insidious tactics,  using Noosphere Trapfields, confusing the forces of the Angelus, as well as; transmitting Kill-code spoofs against the automata Usriel deployed, and activating long dormant technologies in Vion’s defensive network.

Even then, none of these would grant a true decisiveness that the other desired. For the False God, it only bought time and for the Angelus it merely increased the cost for a victory that would be his. Yet, Usriel held onto something that the False God always lacked, [i]humanity[/i].

Usriel did not want to commit his men to fruitless assaults that would likely bring him closer to the vengeance he craved, but it would rattle his mind knowing that more families would suffer as he did. He looked over the battlefield from atop the parapet of Redoubt Alnor, the surrendered warlord next to him as they could see the field of twisted metal and bodies loosely in the distance.  His eyes could see each of his men that had died, yet to be collected and properly put to rest. He pitied every man that he forced to fight in this war as he had known war most his life, ever since he had been given up to the Bastion Lord he was forced to fight. Yet, he had been grateful for those brief few, happy years with his family.

The words of the man on his left broke him out of his remembrance and regret, “My Lord, tell me, why spare me?”

That question brought the Angelus’ gaze to the warlord, studying him in instant and trying to decide the best answer. Quickly, Usriel responded in a blunt tone, “You had the sense to surrender. Tradition dictates that you be allowed to live so long as you serve me loyally, Werner.” 

“A tradition that has long since died during this war, my Lord. The Machine God-”

“False God,” Usriel corrected, “and that tradition was born of pragmatism. If you surrender during the siege, then your men and family do not pursue a blood oath against me or my reign. I do not need any more enemies in this war nor do I wish to see any more die by my hand.”

There was a silence for the moment as Werner contemplated those words, “You are far kinder than the False God’s propaganda made you out to seem.”

“And the False God is far more vile than I can put to words,” the Angelus snarled in clear disdain. He noticed a small nod of agreement from Werner. The two turned their gaze back to the distant battlefield, nearby artillery from the fortification began to sound - nothing to signal an assault of any kind but merely to ensure to the False God that they were not sitting idle. 

“Yet, my Lord,” Werner began, “I am surprised you have not tried to seek peace with Bastion Lord Nirek. He may be allied with-” 

The words were drowned out by Usriel’s mind, a single utterance undoing the stoic facade that he had built for decades. When had Marius been overthrown? How long had his father been fighting him? How could Nirek continue this war?

Questions unending raced through his mind, his eyes scanned the battlefield passively trying to peace together everything he could. The False God must know that Nirek was his adoptive father - just as he had with One-One being his mother. That machine [i]knew[/i] and it was a cruel joke that this war had been perpetrated all to bring the Angelus Machina pain and despair. He wanted to rail against whatever divinity there was, whatever force dared to calculate that this was the outcome he deserved. Usriel felt wrath unlike ever he had felt since his mother had passed. Hatred welled in his heart and it became palpable as he sensed fear from Werner. 

Usriel did not bother to look at the surrendered warlord nor did he feel the desire to hear whatever words the man spoke, all he desired in that moment was the head of the False God crushed beneath his boot. That [i]Man of Iron[/i] had toyed with him for far too long - nothing would keep him from his destiny. He would see his father again. He would have a portion of his family brought back into his grasp and no one would ever force him to wage war again. His motive found a hold on his heart, to avenge his mother and to free his father - and to become free from shackles others placed on him.

The Angelus Machina turned to the now cowering man, anger clear on his face as he looked upon the warlord with such visceral hatred that it would cast anger into the machines he fought. He uttered an order to Werner, “Prepare all of all your men. Send for all other warlords, all other adepts of the Mechanicum. The time to plan our grand assault has come. This world shall be freed, Bastion Lord Nirek - the puppet that the False God toys with shall be brought into my service.”

“M-my Lord?”

“Why are you still standing there?! Go!” Usriel roared, sending the man scurrying away from the parapet and leaving the Angelus to his own devices. The Son of the Machine God breathed, attempting to calm himself while the news still perpetuated itself within his thoughts. Again, he cursed reality itself for forcing his hand - for forcing him to fight. He cursed reality for not allowing to lead a life of peace, a life where he could craft and invent. It pained him and he wanted to weep for all that could have been, but he knew that One-One would have chastised him for feeling anything for a [i]fantasy[/i]. 

She would have stopped him from acting irrationally. One-One would have calmed from the anger and hatred that he had been feeling. Yet, her calming presence had been robbed from him by a machine that sought only to toy with Usriel’s heart.  The Angelus turned away from the battlefield ahead of him as the distant artillery grew more intense, almost as if the war waging reflected his psyche in that moment. Stalking back towards the interior of the Redoubt, Usriel swore that he and his family would be free.

And no one would command him to war again.