Fall of the Old
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The last battle at New Junonsburg.

 

The forces advanced after Emperor Cid and his Party left to battle the Wutaiin people on their own turf, the send-off still fresh in the minds of the people of the city. The suburbs were quickly abandoned, people either seeking solace and protection inside the City walls, or running off into Mysidia forest to hide and weather the storm.

 

Rumours of the Emperor’s defeat were already circulating around the huddled masses, people who knew people recounting that the entire palace of the Wutaiin emperor blew to bits with Cid in it, and those still left behind took precautions.

The children and those unable, or unwilling, to fight were packed up into the boats of the harbour and the airships the city still had and were serviceable. The great exodus of the City was seen from the docks by only a few who had chosen to stay behind, haggard and downcast, and without a ‘true’ leader. The king had chosen the week or so before the war began to start on his yearly pilgrimage, and had yet to return.

 

As if time had rewound itself back centuries, the same families, that had pulled together in defence of the small settlement along the sea when erstwhile Emperor Highwind the Second came to claim it for his Empire, again stood next to one another at the Cities’ gates when the main forces of the invading, heretical army advanced on the nearly abandoned city.

 

Gouts of billowing, black steam vomited out of the invading war-machines, Behemoths of metal and magic, manned by wild-eyed and fanatic engineers. Following these monstrosities closely were the soldiers, armed to the teeth with strangely gleaming swords, black supple armours and odd rifles slung across their chests in readiness.

The defenders, citizens, remaining soldiers and guards, a handful of mages and clergy and the more exotically dressed ‘Heroes’ of the City shuffled about anxiously when the voices of the defendants in the past called out across the last line of desperation.

 

It was the DeAmon Family back then who took upon themselves leading the army into the fray, and it was the same ones who pushed forwards through the crowd, organising the rabble and assigning units efficiently and commanding, and there were none who felt like arguing.

It was the Ambrai Family who lead the handful of Dragoons and once again they stepped up and collected their small troupe of specialised warriors.

Even Sir Ryais of the Church and Lady Blackburn felt the tug of ‘ancestry’ coursing through them as the former collected the last Holy Knights, commandeering the Chocobos of the nearby stablery and the latter just seemed to glow while seeming to dance between the lines of Fate and Luck.

Finally, the mages lined up to both sides of the battlefield, preparing their spells in communal casting, and the clergymen rushed behind the lines, gathering everything they could literally steal from abandoned shops and homes to be able to tend the wounded.

 

Both sides stood there, watching one another while a laden silence blew across the fields and streets outside the city walls, small shuffles and movements could be seen as both sides barked last-second orders to their underlings.

When finally, with a racket audible to the people now so far outside the city, the last of the Merchant Guild left and destroyed the charterhouse inside Capital City behind themselves, both sides roared and advanced onto one another…

 

To describe the battle would be to describe the Pandemonium at the ends of the world. The onslaught of the invading forces was terrible, but so was the grim determination of the defending forces. The ‘tanks’ used by the invading forces nearly decimated the first wave of defenders, until a massive blast from both sides of mages and the Holy Knight’s cavalry took out most of the rolling behemoths. Archers pitted against the firearms of the Wutaiin army, swordsmen clashed with their ilk in the thick of the fray.

All around the battlefield, on both sides, a handful of people swathed people down around them like they were scything down wheat for harvest. Like magnets, eventually they would be drawn towards one another.

 

Not much eyewitness accounts are left from that final confrontation, it is said that even the invading forces stopped to watch the battle going on. Those who lived to tell it recount of blades moving so fast that it seemed there was a storm of swords erupting around their opponent. They tell of Bahamut appearing to the call of Summoning, and the unfortunate caught within his blast shrugging it off as if the Great Spirit had tossed a ball of cotton at them. They tell of people spontaneously dropping dead with just a small square indent between the eyes, only to be resurrected by Phoenix herself. Those who hadn’t grown mad, or succumbed to the enormous flow of magic rushing through the area, tell of a huge black and white WEAPON appearing in the end, before its self-destructive blast removed both attackers and defenders from the area, leaving only a large, smouldering blotch in the landscape.

 

Unfortunately, the Wutaiin forces were too numerous, even after the spectacle that occurred, and the weakened forces of the City were overrun without much resistance offered. No-one knew what happened on that battlefield, not exactly at any rate, but the tract of land that last confrontation had taken place, was left infertile and uninhabitable for generations.

New Junonsburg had fallen.