The party soon departed for Belgium, it was necessary to slip past the frontline by Hells Gate near the Border between France and Germany. As they walked through some of the desecrated countryside, empty roads, grey sky and even wildlife bleached of colour too afraid to bloom in fear of meeting the fires of war. Ingrid accounts for the developments on the frontline.

  “In truth the French War engine is ill equipped for the Purity, still using mostly tech from the old world. The good news is they are managing to hold thanks to the interference and support from other European nations and the General Morneau has trained them well to fire at weak spots in the Purity Armor. But its best we go around, we don’t want to advertise the Saint to the enemy.” She accounts, wearing a unique looking backpack armed with a rifle.

  Chris nods marching with his automaton soldiers in tow. “So, the Purity believes that by demolishing through territories quickly and securing France they can decisively win the War here in Europe without expending too much resources to hold nations like Poland, Germany, Romania and Italy. It’s a bold plan but makes their supply lines very exploitable.” He accounts getting a bit of a better grasp of the situation on this front. “It was in the debriefing but it seems more heated than the Great Wars of Old.” He accounts referring to two World Wars that are both over a hundred years old at this point.

  Ingrid nods and turns to Chevelle who steps slowly holding a suitcase in her Nun’s habit. “Sister you sure you would not need more comfortable journey attire?” Ingrid asks her but Chevelle shakes her head. “Its comfy and a reminder from home. Admittedly seeing how dire things are here up top is harrowing. Even the Entity seems to agree. He asks for me to steel my heart though. I have never had to fight before, I don’t think I could do it like the soldiers out there.” She says back to Ingrid who gives a concerned nod.

  “Fret not mam, we do the fighting you just point and direct, well I will point and direct, you just contact your big man in the clouds where we need to go.” Chris says still uncomfortable with the idea of being directed by a supposed deity.

  Tombi huffs slightly riding upon Shaka as Dingaan trails behind. “Commander as much as I am willing to take your tactical direction your denial of a divine compass from an Omniscient view is concerning, I thought a general would take any advantage he can get. Did you not need to, to reach your rank?” He says in a tone that’s almost accusatory.

  Chris stops for a moment and points to one of his Automatons. “You are a scientist right, you see what’s happening in this world, we Americans can build armies of Soulless machines, the Purity build abominations that are a merging of Flesh and Steel, and you ride on freaks of nature that do not belong in your Gods kingdom and you ask why I doubt? The moment reason and moderation left this world so did God.” He said continuing on his pace.

  Tombi sighs and looks to the Immortan Bert in a way that’s like. “Can you believe this guy?” Bert responds with a simple pop of his lips and shrugs. “Bert.”

  The party arrived in a sleepy Belgian village, its cobbled streets littered with windblown flyers and half-rotted fruit. Doors hung ajar, swaying gently with the wind, as if expecting the families that fled to return at any moment. Even the birds had fallen silent. While Belgium doesn’t participate in this conflict it still fears that Purity would attack them for resources. As a result, the village was abandoned fairly quickly.

  Chevelle moved through the silence like she was stepping through a cathedral, her fingers brushing a child’s forgotten toy on the steps of a house. Tombi glanced at the rusted street signs, muttering about how even decay had rhythm. Ingrid kicked a cracked can down the street and watched it clatter into a gutter, frowning. “Places like this always feel haunted,” she said, not scared, just quietly respectful. Chris kept scanning the rooftops like something might be waiting there anyway. Only Bert seemed unfazed, trudging behind them like a mountain with legs, snorting occasionally, the stench of his cigar curling through the air like incense in a broken church.

  The party takes refuge in the local tavern for the moment, doing a quick gear check before the next leg of the journey. The two giants Shaka and Dingaan playing near the nearby creek trying to catch fish.

  Chris pulls out a large map detailing a lot of underground structures and tunnels beneath the earth. It’s a schematic for most of Europe’s reverse cities built in the great scare of 2030. “Right so we are here, and we need to get near Berlin or whatever is left of it and meet up with the German Panzer core where they are fighting behind enemy lines after their nation fell.” He said assessing the underground highway of tunnels.

  “Yeah, it’s a shame they never got their superweapon running. The Tiger X probably would’ve turned the war. Thing of legends, that one.” Ingrid says, her voice casual until she sees their blank stares.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  She pauses, then smiles like someone about to spin a tale.

  “The Tiger X, a tank to end all tanks. A colossal engine of war and wonder, buried deep beneath the Black Forest. Built by the Muses, genius metalsmiths obsessed with riddles and poetry. After they finished it, they shot themselves. Left behind nothing but cryptic verses and impossible clues. No one’s cracked them. Not yet.” She says recounting the legend like a campfire story.

  Tombi smiles and turns to Chevelle. “You think our lord can give us providence and guide us to such a weapon?” He asks her as she plays with a pen looking at the map. “No, while it could help it would make us a target and he admits all paths down those branches are as dark as the cavern it sleeps in.” She says to them curtly tracing a small crucifix on the edge of the map.

  Chris nods and tenses up slowly, he walks outside and hears a swing at a nearby playground begin singing back and forth in the wind and he relaxes momentarily before he hears a nearby crash. He spins with his pistol out showing Bert breaking into a barrel of Ale. Bert turns to him confused. “Bert.” He croaks as if he was found with something illegal. Chris holsters it, “Sorry continue.” He says with an apologetic smile as the giant picks up the barrel and begins chugging.

  The party rested briefly in the abandoned tavern, but the road ahead called. Soon, they departed toward the underground entrance tucked behind a long-forgotten maintenance station. The descent into darkness was slow and sombre. The tunnel yawned open—lightless, vast, its damp walls swallowing echoes. Once designed as a lifeline beneath the earth, the floor they walked on had once been an underground highway, meant to emulate the comfort and rhythm of life above.

  Shaka’s ears drooped when Tombi gently guided him inside, his mighty paws padding reluctantly on the concrete. Dingaan gave a guttural hiss, balking at the descent, but relented after a long moment, curling protectively near his companion as they moved further in.

  At the front of the party, the Automaton Commander took point, torch in hand. Its beam flickered twice before sputtering out completely.

  “Ahh, shit. Thought I charged it,” Chris muttered, shaking the useless thing.

  “Give it here,” Ingrid sighed, snatching the torch. “American batteries—cheap and useless.” She slipped a fresh cell into the chamber with practiced ease. The torch flared to life, brighter than before, humming with a soft, warm power that made the very air hum around it.

  “What the heck?” Chris asked, blinking at the light.

  Ingrid shrugged, smug. “You thought the Valkyrie Corps were Sweden’s superweapon? We’d be nothing without the wisps. Fusion batteries. Small-scale, unstable as hell, but functionally infinite—at least fifty years of juice. Rechargeable too. But don't you dare hand this tech to your government, or I’ll rain fire on whatever state you call home.”

  She slapped him on the back and strode ahead into the gloom. Chris gave a grudging nod, a flicker of respect in his eyes, and motioned for his Automatons to follow.

  They moved quietly, boots barely whispering against the concrete. Above them, distant thuds echoed—marching, perhaps, or worse. The party fell silent. Even Bert, whose hulking form twitched with withdrawal, said nothing. After five hours without a smoke, he thudded a swollen fist against the wall, the gesture more tremor than threat.

  Chevelle stepped forward, unafraid. She took his disfigured hand in hers.

  “It won’t be long now. I promise,” she said, gently.

  Bert paused, his gaze—what could be called that—lingering on her face. “Bert,” he said, with a small nod. That was enough.

  Tombi walked behind, one hand glued to each of his colossal companions. “The underground is no place for an animal,” he whispered. “The ark will reach land soon. I promise.” Shaka nuzzled his hip. Dingaan’s tail tapped softly behind them, like a metronome of patience.

  Six hours into the march through the stale, damp dark, the party stumbled upon a crumbling underground station half-swallowed by time. The platform stretched wide under arched concrete, moss-veined and dust-choked, with cracked benches and rusted vending machines still advertising snacks that hadn’t existed in decades.

  “Old transit hub,” Chris muttered, sweeping his light across a faded sign that read Ligne Trans-Européenne. “Probably used for emergency evacuations back when the surface was still a maybe.” Ingrid was already halfway up a maintenance ladder, prying open a rusted junction box near the wall.

  “If the backup generator’s intact, we might have just caught our ride,” she called down, the sound of her multitool sparking against old wiring. A few tense minutes passed, then the overhead lights flickered once... twice... and then stayed on, humming with reluctant life. Far down the tunnel, a single train engine creaked and groaned as its systems reawakened. It wasn’t sleek, but it was solid. Enough to get them the rest of the way.

  “Four hours to Berlin,” Chris estimated, checking a half-melted map on the station wall. “And we might even get to sit down.” With little more than a hiss of hydraulics and a shower of dust, the train rolled in — like something old and tired, but still loyal. They boarded, leaving behind the silence of the deep and heading toward whatever waited in the ruins above.

  Finally, after what felt like an eternity trudging through pitch and memory, the train stopped near a station, they walked down a dark tunnel for what seemed like a while.

  And at the end of every tunnel, there is light.

  Only this light was cruel—for a people who had learned to live like moles, it stung like punishment.

  They got out of the tunnel and found themselves in a quiet city square, buildings scorched and ruined by war, the party found themselves surrounded by barricades and German soldiers covered head to toe in salvaged Purists armour. They pointed guns at the emerging party before the commander put a hand on the weapons to lower their aim.

  “Welcome to Germania ladies and gentlemen.” He greeted with a solemn smile glad to finally see a friendly face.