Direction of the northern mining area.
In Lumar's command vehicle, the air was as stagnant as a block of lead.
The communications officer futilely turned the knobs, sweat rolling down his temples, met only by screeching static or utter silence.
The messengers sent to contact allied forces had vanished like stones dropped into the sea.
"General..."
The adjutant's voice was parched and hoarse, tinged with apocalyptic despair, "We... are completely isolated. The capital... is likely already fallen..."
Lumar's eyes were bloodshot, like a wounded lion cornered with no escape.
The immense frustration and the anger of being toyed with burned through his reason.
"Who?! Who is controlling all this tonight?!"
He couldn't comprehend how, in just a few hours, the supreme commander of the Defense Army, wielding tens of thousands of elite troops and holding sway over the government, had become an "outlaw" abandoned by his country, betrayed by allies, and isolated without support?!
