02-02-2025, 11:24 PM
Northern Taragaian border
January 25th
Toa Kahurangi cursed as he looked through his binoculars. The guerrilla in the 14th Popular Freedom Militia of Milintica was eyeing the valley of the Tebengri River from just outside the Taragaian border in no man's land north of the country. The Tebengri Valley led to Kharkhorin, where the communist forces loyal to Choghagan Khoga and the old government were supposed to be still resisting the monarchist advance. Kahurangi was of the distinct opinion that the NDIP intelligence report was outdated, and that it was probably wrong even when it was new. "Milintican intelligence service" was more of a tongue-in-cheek comment about NDIP than an accurate description of it, Kahurangi snorted to himself.
"Anything out there?" a voice whispered softly over Kahurangi's shoulder. He bit down a sigh. He hated it when Mecatique, his Red Wave Guards counterpart, snuck up on him like that. "I don't see anything. Doesn't mean there isn't anything out there," Kahurangi said while trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "Those hills on either side of the valley are prime ambush spots. There could be transitional government soldiers and Mizu in those hills. Or worse, the monarchists and their Xiomeran buddies."
"More likely the crown-humpers and the Xiomeran devils," Mecatique snorted. "The transitional government's busy wasting Mizu money and weapons trying and failing to break the lines east of here."
"That's not a good thing. The Mizu and the transitional government, as far as I know, don't torture prisoners of war or just line them up for a firing line. The Xiomerans and their puppets do," Kahurangi reminded him.
"So what are you saying?" Mecatique raised his eyebrow. "I'm saying we should turn back. Either find another way into Kharkhorin, or go back altogether. This is screaming 'trap'," Kahurangi replied in a flat tone. He already knew what Mecatique was going to say.
"We have a mission to complete, or die trying." Mecatique folded his arms. "We're not going back to Milintica in shame having run with our tails between our legs. We came here to fight imperialists and that's what we're going to do. Or are you afraid?"
Kahurangi sighed to himself. Even if he refused Mecatique's demand, he knew that the Red Wave Guards would just shoot him and order the mission ahead anyway. If Kahurangi were alive, there was at least a tiny chance he could save some of his people once they entered the meat grinder ahead. With a brusque gesture, he stood up. "Let's go," he said, walking past Mecatique.
An hour later, the mixed band of PFM guerrillas and Red Wave Guards were moving down the valley. So far, the hills around them had been silent. Like much of Taragai, the Tebengri Valley was a virtually uninhabited domain disturbed only by the occasional nomadic band. The quiet and flat landscape, without even an occasional town or farm breaking it up, was both monotonous and a bit disturbing to the Milinticans. The Red Wave Guards, in particular, were used to the dense environment of Milintican cities. The more experienced PFM guerrillas kept having to remind the Guards to keep quiet and practice proper marching discipline.
Without warning, a whistling sound broke the silence. Unlike Mecatique and his band of Guards, Kahurangi knew what it was. "Incoming!" he shouted, using hand gestures to order his men into defensive positions. The first shells blasted the ground around the Milinticans, sending smoke and earth into the air. Shouts and cries of pain echoed out as the incoming fire continued. Kahurangi desperately tried to put his men into some kind of defensive line, with no ground cover to speak of to help him. Then, over the sound of the artillery fire, he heard another sound. Horses, and men shouting. Then the sound of gunfire.
As the Milinticans frantically tried to ready themselves, the first wave of horsemen reached them. They had been firing as they approached, and several Milinticans had already fallen. With loud shouts, the horsemen leapt off their mounts with surprising athleticism and charged the Milintican line. Kahurangi no longer had the option of organized thought, as he and his men were now in an up close and personal fight to survive. The Taragaian horsemen were attacking with both firearms and swords, and the Milinticans were struggling to defend themselves with anything they could. Kahurangi fought off multiple attackers, shouting angrily as he dispatched one after one. He felt something strike him from behind in the head, and he fell to the ground. Kahurangi rolled over, groaning in pain. As he did so, he saw Mecatique on the ground. The Red Wave Guards leader had his hands wrapped around the hilt of a sword that had been plunged deep into his chest. His eyes were blank. Lucky bastard. You didn't deserve to get off so easily, Kahurangi thought bitterly as he forced himself to his feet. Through the smoke, Kahurangi noticed that the wave of horsemen had been thinned out and seemed to be wavering. Maybe we have a chance. Then he heard the sound of feet hitting the ground. He looked hazily up to the hills around him, and saw them. Xiomeran infantry, surging towards the remaining Milinticans with rifles roaring. Guerrillas and Red Wave Guards alike around Kahurangi began to fall as the Xiomerans swarmed the valley. Kahurangi tried to rally himself for a last stand, hoping to take down as many Xiomerans as he had the Taragaian monarchists. But the Xiomerans knew a commander when they saw one. Kahurangi was quickly buried under a wave of Xiomeran soldiers. He felt his hands being tied behind him, then another rifle butt to the head dropped him into merciful darkness.
---
Some time later, Kahurangi woke up with a start. He was tied to a chair, inside a tent. He looked around blearily, and saw four men facing him. Two of them were Taragaian, and two were Xiomeran. The entrance to the tent rustled, and another Taragaian walked in. Like the other two Taragaians in the tent, he was wearing a traditional deel. However, his tunic was much more elaborate and rich-looking. The man stood before Kahurangi, giving him a short nod. "I am Osbeg Zayaat, Cherbi of the Keshik of the Great Khatun Ebegei. I am here at her command to find out who you are and why you are here."
Kahurangi responded by looking away from Zayaat, focusing his eyes on the wall away from him. Zayaat sighed. "Ignoring me is what a child would try to do. It will not save you." Zayaat pulled a jeweled dagger from a sheath at his waist. He idly played with the dagger as he looked down at Kahurangi. "You know, Taragaians used to be renowned around the world for how we punished our enemies. My Khatun...embraces the old ways. You might experience that firsthand if you continue to refuse to cooperate."
The two Taragaians standing behind Zayaat stared impassively at Kahurangi as the Cherbi continued. "But new ways have their uses as well. Our new friends the Xiomerans have their own unique....spin on punishing enemies and getting them to cooperate. Perhaps your stubbornness will inspire their creativity."
Unlike the Taragaians who remained stone faced, the Xiomerans smiled at Kahurangi as they looked at him. The smiles were anything but friendly. Kahurangi was not sure which was worse: the Taragaians' coldness or the Xiomerans' clear eagerness. He was only sure of one thing: Yeah, we should have turned back.
Khogne
February 1st
Khachiin Naranbaatar ran for his life. The PRA private was one of the few remaining soldiers in the 1st Guards Rifle Corps left alive, and he wanted to keep it that way.
The city of Khogne was encircled in steel. The last remaining holdout for the hardliners under Choghagan Khoga had been surrounded by the monarchist forces for two days now. The Khogne pocket had grown smaller and smaller, as had the numbers of soldiers on Naranbaatar's side. Akona Hariwana, his Milintican friend, was not there with him. She had fallen along with dozens of his comrades at the battle of Junghoi, just north of Khogne, two weeks ago. Junghoi, and the PRA forces there, had been blasted into rubble by Xiomeran artillery and missiles before the monarchists had come in a seemingly never ending wave. Naranbaatar didn't remember much after that, only the desperate retreat back to Khogne and their last remaining stronghold.
As Khogne now came under the same kind of barrage that had reduced Junghoi to ruins, Naranbaatar cursed the Xiomerans for destroying his country. He cursed the primitives from the hinterlands that Ebegei Qoriqacha had riled up to return Taragai to the dark ages. He even cursed Khoga, for his inept leadership and his empty promises of victory.
Naranbaatar ran towards the one place he knew left that might be under his side's control: the Government Palace in the center of Khogne. That was where Khoga had set up his government in exile after he had fled from Bor-Öndör.
Naranbaatar rounded the corner of a building on Khogne's main plaza, and skidded to an abrupt halt. In the distance, he could see the Government Palace. Men in deels, each wielding the CC-AR-11 "Atlatl V" assault rifle that was the standard issue weapon of the Xiomeran army, were surging into the building. Behind them, multiple "Chuehe" infantry squad vehicles had surrounded the building. Xiomeran soldiers were dismounting from the vehicles, clearly in no hurry. For them, the situation was under control.
Khogne had fallen.
Naranbaatar hastily backed around the corner. He looked around for a hiding place, and saw a nearby door. Luckily, the door was unlocked. He ran inside what turned out to be a small shop. Running up the stairs in the back of the shop, Naranbaatar found what he assumed were the living quarters of the shopkeeper. The merchant and their family themselves were long gone, undoubtedly fled to escape the fighting in Khogne. Naranbaatar found a closet and pulled out a set of clothes that looked like they would mostly fit him. He went to unbutton his uniform jacket, then paused. Looking in a mirror, he contemplated what it would mean to take off his uniform. It would mean abandoning the cause he had fought for, not to mention the comrades he had lost along the way.
A thought came unbidden to Naranbaatar: You can't fight for anything if you're dead.
Naranbaatar quickly stripped off his incriminating uniform, swapping it for the merchant's clothes. Once suitably dressed, he made his way out of the shop. He had to get out of Khogne and away from the fighting. That proved easier than he expected. He was able to blend into dozens of other civilians trying to flee the city. None of the monarchist rebels or their Xiomeran masters tried to stop them. They were too busy celebrating their victory to worry about some locals. The group was able to pile into the back of a pickup truck that was on its way to anywhere there weren't bullets flying.
Naranbaatar looked back at Khogne as the truck lumbered down the road out of town. The Taragaian communists had fallen with their last stronghold.
For now, Naranbaatar told himself. For now.
---
Back at Khogne's center, Choghagan Khoga was a simmering ball of anger and resentment in the city's main square. He had tried to flee the Government Palace through a tunnel, but had been caught and dragged unceremoniously to the square. Khoga had resisted and cursed the pair of rural animal-herders who had dared to manhandle the Director of State Security. Barely a year ago, no one would have dared to challenge Khoga or the Internal Security Directorate due to that being an invitation to one's own execution. Now, the formerly most powerful man in Taragai found himself on his knees in the middle of an insignificant regional capital's dusty town square. His hometown, no less. He had hated it then, and still did. What he hated most of all, though, even more than the loss of power, was the loss of face. How had things collapsed so quickly?
Khoga's thoughts were broken as the men in their deels around the square, and the camo-clad Xiomeran soldiers with them, suddenly stood at attention. Khoga looked up to see three people approaching him. One of them was unknown to him, someone whose entire demeanor and appearance screamed Random Bodyguard A. The other two, however, were known to him. Osbeg Zayaat, leader of the upstart Khatun's personal guard, walked forward with a small sneer on his face. Khoga sneered back, just waiting for Zayaat to twirl his mustache or do something else equally theatrical. The two men stood to either side of the third figure as the group finally reached Khoga. Khoga looked up at her, eyes taking in her richly embroidered tunic before reaching her face. Sharp cheekbones, a slim jawline, and hazel eyes that seemed to bore into his soul greeted him. Her neatly-pulled back dark hair and pale skin lent her a more severe expression than what otherwise might have been present.
Ebegei Qoriqacha, Khatun of Taragai, stared down at Khoga as if she was looking at a particularly unimpressive bug. Khoga stared back, sneer replaced with an expression of unbridled hatred. Throughout his youth, Khoga had been taught to despise the former Taragaian rulers. He had been taught that the Party had replaced their backwards and repressive one-person rule with the power of the people. He had spent his life, for better or worse, in the service of the TPRP and the nation. He had spent decades to preserve the revolution that was supposed to have put people like this in the pages of history.
But like a nightmare, the noble tyrants had returned, and that revolution was now in tatters. It had all been for nothing. The blood on his hands, the years of work and sacrifice. Nothing.
The Khatun raised an eyebrow. "Chaghagan Khoga. You are the former director of the security service. In that role, at the command of the evil communist regime that once controlled Taragai, you were responsible for countless crimes against Taragai and its people - my people. Do you have any words to speak in your defense?"
Khoga looked at her for a moment. Then, he leaned over with deliberation and spit on the ground at her feet.
"I served Taragai, its legitimate government, and its people. I did not, and do not, answer to deluded fools who still think there is a place for crowned heads in this world. Whatever your bloodline is, you're no more a Khatun today than I am a yak. Yaks, at least, exist. Thrones don't. I have nothing more to say to you." Khoga raised his head to stare expressionlessly at the sky.
Qoriqacha smiled slightly. "You are true to your values even in the face of death. I can respect that, at least. But defiance aside, your road has ended. And you will now answer for your life." She motioned to the guard standing next to her, who began walking forward. Whatever the future held for Taragai, it held nothing more for Chaghagan Khoga.
January 25th
Toa Kahurangi cursed as he looked through his binoculars. The guerrilla in the 14th Popular Freedom Militia of Milintica was eyeing the valley of the Tebengri River from just outside the Taragaian border in no man's land north of the country. The Tebengri Valley led to Kharkhorin, where the communist forces loyal to Choghagan Khoga and the old government were supposed to be still resisting the monarchist advance. Kahurangi was of the distinct opinion that the NDIP intelligence report was outdated, and that it was probably wrong even when it was new. "Milintican intelligence service" was more of a tongue-in-cheek comment about NDIP than an accurate description of it, Kahurangi snorted to himself.
"Anything out there?" a voice whispered softly over Kahurangi's shoulder. He bit down a sigh. He hated it when Mecatique, his Red Wave Guards counterpart, snuck up on him like that. "I don't see anything. Doesn't mean there isn't anything out there," Kahurangi said while trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "Those hills on either side of the valley are prime ambush spots. There could be transitional government soldiers and Mizu in those hills. Or worse, the monarchists and their Xiomeran buddies."
"More likely the crown-humpers and the Xiomeran devils," Mecatique snorted. "The transitional government's busy wasting Mizu money and weapons trying and failing to break the lines east of here."
"That's not a good thing. The Mizu and the transitional government, as far as I know, don't torture prisoners of war or just line them up for a firing line. The Xiomerans and their puppets do," Kahurangi reminded him.
"So what are you saying?" Mecatique raised his eyebrow. "I'm saying we should turn back. Either find another way into Kharkhorin, or go back altogether. This is screaming 'trap'," Kahurangi replied in a flat tone. He already knew what Mecatique was going to say.
"We have a mission to complete, or die trying." Mecatique folded his arms. "We're not going back to Milintica in shame having run with our tails between our legs. We came here to fight imperialists and that's what we're going to do. Or are you afraid?"
Kahurangi sighed to himself. Even if he refused Mecatique's demand, he knew that the Red Wave Guards would just shoot him and order the mission ahead anyway. If Kahurangi were alive, there was at least a tiny chance he could save some of his people once they entered the meat grinder ahead. With a brusque gesture, he stood up. "Let's go," he said, walking past Mecatique.
An hour later, the mixed band of PFM guerrillas and Red Wave Guards were moving down the valley. So far, the hills around them had been silent. Like much of Taragai, the Tebengri Valley was a virtually uninhabited domain disturbed only by the occasional nomadic band. The quiet and flat landscape, without even an occasional town or farm breaking it up, was both monotonous and a bit disturbing to the Milinticans. The Red Wave Guards, in particular, were used to the dense environment of Milintican cities. The more experienced PFM guerrillas kept having to remind the Guards to keep quiet and practice proper marching discipline.
Without warning, a whistling sound broke the silence. Unlike Mecatique and his band of Guards, Kahurangi knew what it was. "Incoming!" he shouted, using hand gestures to order his men into defensive positions. The first shells blasted the ground around the Milinticans, sending smoke and earth into the air. Shouts and cries of pain echoed out as the incoming fire continued. Kahurangi desperately tried to put his men into some kind of defensive line, with no ground cover to speak of to help him. Then, over the sound of the artillery fire, he heard another sound. Horses, and men shouting. Then the sound of gunfire.
As the Milinticans frantically tried to ready themselves, the first wave of horsemen reached them. They had been firing as they approached, and several Milinticans had already fallen. With loud shouts, the horsemen leapt off their mounts with surprising athleticism and charged the Milintican line. Kahurangi no longer had the option of organized thought, as he and his men were now in an up close and personal fight to survive. The Taragaian horsemen were attacking with both firearms and swords, and the Milinticans were struggling to defend themselves with anything they could. Kahurangi fought off multiple attackers, shouting angrily as he dispatched one after one. He felt something strike him from behind in the head, and he fell to the ground. Kahurangi rolled over, groaning in pain. As he did so, he saw Mecatique on the ground. The Red Wave Guards leader had his hands wrapped around the hilt of a sword that had been plunged deep into his chest. His eyes were blank. Lucky bastard. You didn't deserve to get off so easily, Kahurangi thought bitterly as he forced himself to his feet. Through the smoke, Kahurangi noticed that the wave of horsemen had been thinned out and seemed to be wavering. Maybe we have a chance. Then he heard the sound of feet hitting the ground. He looked hazily up to the hills around him, and saw them. Xiomeran infantry, surging towards the remaining Milinticans with rifles roaring. Guerrillas and Red Wave Guards alike around Kahurangi began to fall as the Xiomerans swarmed the valley. Kahurangi tried to rally himself for a last stand, hoping to take down as many Xiomerans as he had the Taragaian monarchists. But the Xiomerans knew a commander when they saw one. Kahurangi was quickly buried under a wave of Xiomeran soldiers. He felt his hands being tied behind him, then another rifle butt to the head dropped him into merciful darkness.
---
Some time later, Kahurangi woke up with a start. He was tied to a chair, inside a tent. He looked around blearily, and saw four men facing him. Two of them were Taragaian, and two were Xiomeran. The entrance to the tent rustled, and another Taragaian walked in. Like the other two Taragaians in the tent, he was wearing a traditional deel. However, his tunic was much more elaborate and rich-looking. The man stood before Kahurangi, giving him a short nod. "I am Osbeg Zayaat, Cherbi of the Keshik of the Great Khatun Ebegei. I am here at her command to find out who you are and why you are here."
Kahurangi responded by looking away from Zayaat, focusing his eyes on the wall away from him. Zayaat sighed. "Ignoring me is what a child would try to do. It will not save you." Zayaat pulled a jeweled dagger from a sheath at his waist. He idly played with the dagger as he looked down at Kahurangi. "You know, Taragaians used to be renowned around the world for how we punished our enemies. My Khatun...embraces the old ways. You might experience that firsthand if you continue to refuse to cooperate."
The two Taragaians standing behind Zayaat stared impassively at Kahurangi as the Cherbi continued. "But new ways have their uses as well. Our new friends the Xiomerans have their own unique....spin on punishing enemies and getting them to cooperate. Perhaps your stubbornness will inspire their creativity."
Unlike the Taragaians who remained stone faced, the Xiomerans smiled at Kahurangi as they looked at him. The smiles were anything but friendly. Kahurangi was not sure which was worse: the Taragaians' coldness or the Xiomerans' clear eagerness. He was only sure of one thing: Yeah, we should have turned back.
Khogne
February 1st
Khachiin Naranbaatar ran for his life. The PRA private was one of the few remaining soldiers in the 1st Guards Rifle Corps left alive, and he wanted to keep it that way.
The city of Khogne was encircled in steel. The last remaining holdout for the hardliners under Choghagan Khoga had been surrounded by the monarchist forces for two days now. The Khogne pocket had grown smaller and smaller, as had the numbers of soldiers on Naranbaatar's side. Akona Hariwana, his Milintican friend, was not there with him. She had fallen along with dozens of his comrades at the battle of Junghoi, just north of Khogne, two weeks ago. Junghoi, and the PRA forces there, had been blasted into rubble by Xiomeran artillery and missiles before the monarchists had come in a seemingly never ending wave. Naranbaatar didn't remember much after that, only the desperate retreat back to Khogne and their last remaining stronghold.
As Khogne now came under the same kind of barrage that had reduced Junghoi to ruins, Naranbaatar cursed the Xiomerans for destroying his country. He cursed the primitives from the hinterlands that Ebegei Qoriqacha had riled up to return Taragai to the dark ages. He even cursed Khoga, for his inept leadership and his empty promises of victory.
Naranbaatar ran towards the one place he knew left that might be under his side's control: the Government Palace in the center of Khogne. That was where Khoga had set up his government in exile after he had fled from Bor-Öndör.
Naranbaatar rounded the corner of a building on Khogne's main plaza, and skidded to an abrupt halt. In the distance, he could see the Government Palace. Men in deels, each wielding the CC-AR-11 "Atlatl V" assault rifle that was the standard issue weapon of the Xiomeran army, were surging into the building. Behind them, multiple "Chuehe" infantry squad vehicles had surrounded the building. Xiomeran soldiers were dismounting from the vehicles, clearly in no hurry. For them, the situation was under control.
Khogne had fallen.
Naranbaatar hastily backed around the corner. He looked around for a hiding place, and saw a nearby door. Luckily, the door was unlocked. He ran inside what turned out to be a small shop. Running up the stairs in the back of the shop, Naranbaatar found what he assumed were the living quarters of the shopkeeper. The merchant and their family themselves were long gone, undoubtedly fled to escape the fighting in Khogne. Naranbaatar found a closet and pulled out a set of clothes that looked like they would mostly fit him. He went to unbutton his uniform jacket, then paused. Looking in a mirror, he contemplated what it would mean to take off his uniform. It would mean abandoning the cause he had fought for, not to mention the comrades he had lost along the way.
A thought came unbidden to Naranbaatar: You can't fight for anything if you're dead.
Naranbaatar quickly stripped off his incriminating uniform, swapping it for the merchant's clothes. Once suitably dressed, he made his way out of the shop. He had to get out of Khogne and away from the fighting. That proved easier than he expected. He was able to blend into dozens of other civilians trying to flee the city. None of the monarchist rebels or their Xiomeran masters tried to stop them. They were too busy celebrating their victory to worry about some locals. The group was able to pile into the back of a pickup truck that was on its way to anywhere there weren't bullets flying.
Naranbaatar looked back at Khogne as the truck lumbered down the road out of town. The Taragaian communists had fallen with their last stronghold.
For now, Naranbaatar told himself. For now.
---
Back at Khogne's center, Choghagan Khoga was a simmering ball of anger and resentment in the city's main square. He had tried to flee the Government Palace through a tunnel, but had been caught and dragged unceremoniously to the square. Khoga had resisted and cursed the pair of rural animal-herders who had dared to manhandle the Director of State Security. Barely a year ago, no one would have dared to challenge Khoga or the Internal Security Directorate due to that being an invitation to one's own execution. Now, the formerly most powerful man in Taragai found himself on his knees in the middle of an insignificant regional capital's dusty town square. His hometown, no less. He had hated it then, and still did. What he hated most of all, though, even more than the loss of power, was the loss of face. How had things collapsed so quickly?
Khoga's thoughts were broken as the men in their deels around the square, and the camo-clad Xiomeran soldiers with them, suddenly stood at attention. Khoga looked up to see three people approaching him. One of them was unknown to him, someone whose entire demeanor and appearance screamed Random Bodyguard A. The other two, however, were known to him. Osbeg Zayaat, leader of the upstart Khatun's personal guard, walked forward with a small sneer on his face. Khoga sneered back, just waiting for Zayaat to twirl his mustache or do something else equally theatrical. The two men stood to either side of the third figure as the group finally reached Khoga. Khoga looked up at her, eyes taking in her richly embroidered tunic before reaching her face. Sharp cheekbones, a slim jawline, and hazel eyes that seemed to bore into his soul greeted him. Her neatly-pulled back dark hair and pale skin lent her a more severe expression than what otherwise might have been present.
Ebegei Qoriqacha, Khatun of Taragai, stared down at Khoga as if she was looking at a particularly unimpressive bug. Khoga stared back, sneer replaced with an expression of unbridled hatred. Throughout his youth, Khoga had been taught to despise the former Taragaian rulers. He had been taught that the Party had replaced their backwards and repressive one-person rule with the power of the people. He had spent his life, for better or worse, in the service of the TPRP and the nation. He had spent decades to preserve the revolution that was supposed to have put people like this in the pages of history.
But like a nightmare, the noble tyrants had returned, and that revolution was now in tatters. It had all been for nothing. The blood on his hands, the years of work and sacrifice. Nothing.
The Khatun raised an eyebrow. "Chaghagan Khoga. You are the former director of the security service. In that role, at the command of the evil communist regime that once controlled Taragai, you were responsible for countless crimes against Taragai and its people - my people. Do you have any words to speak in your defense?"
Khoga looked at her for a moment. Then, he leaned over with deliberation and spit on the ground at her feet.
"I served Taragai, its legitimate government, and its people. I did not, and do not, answer to deluded fools who still think there is a place for crowned heads in this world. Whatever your bloodline is, you're no more a Khatun today than I am a yak. Yaks, at least, exist. Thrones don't. I have nothing more to say to you." Khoga raised his head to stare expressionlessly at the sky.
Qoriqacha smiled slightly. "You are true to your values even in the face of death. I can respect that, at least. But defiance aside, your road has ended. And you will now answer for your life." She motioned to the guard standing next to her, who began walking forward. Whatever the future held for Taragai, it held nothing more for Chaghagan Khoga.
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