Your heartbeat tells you that you are not dead. Through flaring eyelids, you gaze upon dawn. You open your bleeding eyes – before you it floats The Green Horror, whose name is that of Chlorine.

They have come like an avalanche, like a golden flood. They have swept us and then trampled north into dust. All of it's banners, it's shrines they have leveled with earth. They have destroyed everything; they almost killed all of us.

And you can quietly climb down a burnt hill, And steal a boat, then try to escape, And be the only survivor in this horrid war, But you spit in their faces, and you declare:

"STAND UP!"

Your wild heartbeat tells you that you are not dead. Through flaring eyelids, you gaze upon dawn. You open your bleeding eyes – before you it floats The Green Horror, whose name is that of Chlorine.

You see green clouds, see invaders trampling over dead mud, And understand that anymore, there is nothing to save. But once more, you load your cracked-up musket And mount on it a pointless knife-bayonet.

You understand that with you, this day will not die; In no way will the gas allow you to fight. But they do not have a contract to behold the dawn, They do not have any contract to even live on.

And you wheeze in your cracked trumpet of brass; Your officer rallies his poison-choked squad, And he groans to you – "Wansui!" He mutters – "On me!" For if there are no more living, then the dead must –

STAND UP!

The advancing Sekban’s faces go pale behind their gas masks as they behold your countercharge. Men and women of the Millelith, choking on their own organs amidst the green clouds, their gas masks either non-existent or too used and broken to be useful, charging into battle with the desperate ferocity of cornered beasts. Some Horde troops immediately throw down their rifles and turn into a panicked run wherever their eyes lead them, but some stand, rallied by their officers, disgusted by the cowardice of their own men and hilichurls. You can barely make one out through the sights of your musket... Your swimming, itching vision certainly doesn’t make things any better... But even as it gets difficult to breathe, your slowly dissolving lungs grasp at the most unlikely of smells in this gassed hellhole: The smell of victory.

TOP SECRET. VIEWING PERMITTED ONLY TO GOLDEN WARHOST SENIOR COMMAND STAFF. MACL SOG RECONNAISSANCE REPORT #3621. ANALYSIS: Millelith forces within Quadrant 36 of the Guili Plains area have been suffering severe issues with the availability of chemical protection equipment. Refer to infiltration reports 1) and 2) for further information. SUMMARY: The Minlin offensives, despite their tactical failure, have exhausted Millelith supplies to levels sufficient enough to mount an offensive within the area of Guili Plains and push towards Liyue Harbor. RECOMMENDATION: You must launch the planned offensive as soon as possible. The more time we waste, the more the Millelith have to replenish their material losses from the Minlin offensives. This is your only remaining chance to quickly push towards Liyue Harbor. Signed, Kristina Blavatskaya, Fatui Mirror Maiden, Military Assistance Command, Liyue – Studies and Observations Group.

1 PM. Guili Plains, Golden Horde trench line. "GAS MASKS ON!" The Sekban officer's command is echoed through the trench by his men, human and hilichurl alike immediately taking the masks out of their containers and putting them on. Ahead of them, a wall of noxious green gas is hissing its way out of a complex network of tubes and gas canisters, slowly floating towards the heavily shelled Millelith lines in tandem with Golden Horde siege and field artillery guns, already hard at work firing shells filled with chlorine, their payloads erupting within the opposite Millelith trench and forming a vile smokescreen that quickly begins spreading through their fortifications.

"ASSUME FORMATION AND FIX BAYONETS! FORM DOUBLE RANKS! COMPANY, ADVANCE!" And with these words, battalions of Sekban walked out of their trenches and began slowly advancing into the gassy chlorine oblivion, their bayonets pointed towards whatever remained in the fog. And much to the horror of the advancing Sekban, that “whatever remained” charged out of the green-clouded trenches: Millelith soldiers, coughing their guts out into bloody linen mouth rags, firing whatever they have at the advancing Horde troops. The Horde battalions’ brave advance soon turns to panic, not having expected such an attack from half-dead men... How the hell are they still fighting?! They shouldn’t even have any gas masks! "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU PANICKING FOR, COWARDS?! THEY’RE MEN! DYING, LIVING MEN! STAND AND FI–ACK!" The Sekban officer falls mid-speech from a .577 lead bullet fired by a Lu Jun conscript. A conscript who now charges you, the man beside the officer, weakly attempting to groan out “Wansui…,” his red eyes crying blood, his ammonia-soaked face cloth clogged with dried blood and lung matter...

It would have been almost grimly comedic, had it not been for the sheer tragedy of it all.

The first Millelith defensive line is breached.

We were so preoccupied with trying to patch up every little hole within Minlin, that we completely failed to notice the proverbial dagger pointing at the very heart of Liyue — the Guili Plains, which were now under a sudden, heavy assault by the Horde.

But that's exactly why you're here, isn't it? Enter the 88th Line Infantry regiment, the first and only Liyuan regiment to make it's men look almost like the very models of modern Fontainian poilu. Poilu is supposed to mean "hairy one" in Fontainian, by the way. The name itself refers to a popular image of an unkempt, kepi-wearing garde draftee with a thick beard and a wide, sharp moustache, as seen on the many recruitment posters plastered all around the court of Fontaine. Which is rather ironic, considering that facial hair is the last thing you'd want on your face right now.

4 PM. Guili Plains, backlines of the first Millelith defensive line. Your M2 gas mask fits snugly around your face. A feeling that contrasts sharply with where you are walking. The green Chlorine fog has left the first trench line and is now moving through the inner trenches, suffocating those unprepared Millelith who were likewise caught off guard by the attack. You feel a shiver at the back of your neck as you walk through the trench, weapon in hand. You may have the advantage in training and perhaps firepower, but you lack the advantage in vision. Aside from the fact that you were quickly sent to kick the Horde dogs out, you have zero clue what lays ahead of you, and neither does the squad of your fellow 88s standing behind you, two rows of chassepots awaiting the moves of their pointman with the kind of disciplined patience drilled into them by a very persistent Fontainian ex-Garde officer.

Holy shit, this actually worked! After five damned years of slamming ourselves against Minlin and Guili, we actually breached their first defensive line, In the fucking plains, no less! How could the kuffar be this stupid?! This was the shortest, closest fucking route to their literal capital and they left the local garrison UNDEREQUIPPED?! Well, regardless of whether this miracle occurred through the blessed will of Hoyo, or by the sheer incompetence of the infidel...

We can't really complain, can we?

1 PM. Guili Plains, Horde-occupied first Millelith defensive line. The hoarse vocal cacophony of "KEEP SEARCHING!", "GET IN, YOU COWARDS!", "MOVE IN THE FRESH CANISTERS!" and "EXPAND THE BREACH!" echo across a line of deserted trenches and bunkers. Its original inhabitants all died this morning. Crazy motherfuckers attempted to countercharge while spewing their lungs out, even managing to scare a good lot of the Sekban vanguard into a panicked rout. The mukhabarat will deal with the cowards later. For now, the breach must be reinforced with additional Horde troops and... The backlines must be scouted out.

The first Millelith defensive line was practically devoured by several seething clouds of chlorine. But the gas came and went, seeping into the trenches and continuing on, further into the backline trenches, making an already confined space even more suffocating. The Bashi Bazouks, those generously persuaded by a blocking detachment, were sent to scout them out. They did not return, so either the Millelith have organized a response, or some Bey decided to pocket the gas mask filter money. Leaving their task to you, a well-trained Janissary Regular, assigned to go on a magical adventure to scout out the backlines in their stead... But you're not going there alone, for your squad stands behind you. Just because you took the point doesn't mean you'll be going there as a meatshield. One for all and all for one, motherfucker.

4 AM. Second Millelith Defensive Line. A white mist descends from atop Mount Tianheng. What would have been a rather regular, if not even picturesque occurrence, has provided a natural smokescreen over the no man's land between the former first Millelith defensive line and the fortifications of the second, the latter located at the very foot of the mountain range. By this point, the breach has become very much apparent to the Yuheng and her close circle of officers, and so, much to the horror of those Millelith commanders entrenched within Minlin, many reinforcements which were supposed to join the defenders of those chlorine-choked green hills were hastily ordered to man both the network of trenches at the foot of the mountain and the network of fortifications and artillery bunkers located within the mountain proper. And all would have been fine and dandy, had it not been for the aforementioned fucking mist, gently flying lower and lower off the mountain's slope...

Morning sentry duty. Fuck... Your sergeant once told you to fuck off and "eat bitterness". Yes, specifically "eat" "bitterness". Which is rather stupid as far as folk proverbs go, because nobody ever "eats" bitterness. People drink it instead. Thank Morax for coffee, a wonder drink from Sumeru that killed the number 2 enemy (because the humble chlorine gas shell is the first) of all hapless yellow-uniformed rice farmers: sleep. It doesn't come without any side effects, however: you've got the shakes in your thigh bone, and have the shivers in your knee bone. You are quite literally shakin' all over, and that's just after two damned cups of the stuff!

Fuck, you can't focus on anything... Gotta get a grip by downing a third one. Even the gunshot to your far left feels so distant... Wait, what? ARE YOU GETTING FUCKING RAIDED NOW?!

The newly appointed Corbashi walks before a line of Janissaries, inspecting each and every one of you deep inside a former bunker in the newly taken first Millelith defensive line. The commander of this particular army, Pasha Enver Lawrence himself, and a few other lower pashas walk right behind him. The Corbashi looks at your faces, your straight chins arrayed before him in a line. But he does not see a single battle-hardened mujahideen amidst a lineup of 16, 17 and even some 15 year olds.

Instead, he sees you for what you really are: "Boys. Too many boys." The Corbashi dryly remarks. He's not wrong; your particular squad hadn't even concluded your Acemi Oglan training, but you're already being prepared to do one of the worst duties a Janissary could be asked to do. "Their first trench raid will turn them into men." Enver briskly replies. To that, the Corbashi simply turns to face him "In the old days, I lived six months with my men in the same yurt... Before going into action. I knew them, they knew me." He motions to you "These are strangers. Too many boys..." "They have never tasted defeat." Enver remarks, growing annoyed at the Corbashi's conservatism. "Do they know what is expected of them?" "They are willing to die for you. Can you ask for more?" Enver adds, impatience starting to bubble within him. That is true And soon, you shall prove it true. Not by singing Ceddin Deden for the one thousandth time, but by getting kitted up in the kind of melee equipment the late Knights of Favonius once used and being sent to perform one of the deadliest duties a Janissary could be assigned to do: The FIrtina duty.

3 AM. And out of the trenches, Janissaries rise... You and your squad quickly cross the Grey Zone under the cover of a thick early morning fog. The kuffar were fools to place their forward positions beneath that mountain... What was it called, Tianheng? Matters not. Its steep approach guarantees just the right amount of lowland for this raiding party to get close enough, clip the barbed wire, climb up to the Millelith trench and-

STRIKE AT ZERO HOUR

WITH OVERWHELMING MELEE POWER!

YOU'RE FUELED BY THE FEAR IN THEIR SENTRIES' EYES!

Yet in your shock troop infiltration, this fast and violent escalation, a Millelith Lu Jun had shot his flintlock! The noise ripples through the early morning trench, no doubt alerting whatever other Millelith sentries were on duty during your raid. Your Cavush doesn't even need to waste words commanding you; your mission to destroy as many of their Maxim emplacements, sabotage as much of their equipment and, if possible, kill as many of the sleeping Millelith as you can, becomes both clear and incredibly urgent.

11 AM. Millelith living quarters inside one of the Tianheng mountains. A Lu Jun, standing beside a munitions crate, starts playing an old trumpet, announcing the newest addition to Liyue's rich musical culture. A Fontainian-made gramophone laying beside them is about to record their performance.

"Qīng cè xiágǔ zhí chōng tiān qǔ gǔ,,"

"zhí chōng tiān qǔ gǔ,"

"Lí yuè dà dì quán zāo xí rǎo,"

"quán zāo xí rǎo!"

The singer's voice proudly rings out through the cavern network, himself gesturing with each verse as a crowd of other Millelith gather around, faces worn with fatigue. A pair of Fontainian journalists make sure to quickly join the group. Another Millelith, a third Lu Jun, a guy who looks 40 despite being 20, holding a Sheng, accompanies his words with a melodic tune coming from the instrument.

"Yán wáng dì jūn lǐng Lí yuè shān hé,"

"lǐng Lí yuè shān hé,"

"wú rén gǎn fàn zhòng zhì chéng tiě ké,"

"Wú suǒ wèi!"

This refrain echoes through the cavern; a few of the soldiers even begin singing in tune.

"Ào ěr dí sī mán zú kuáng rú huǒ,"

"mán zú kuáng rú huǒ,"

"mò lái qīn fàn wǒ jiā zhī lú huǒ,"

"qīn fàn wǒ lú huǒ!"

You find yourself and a few of the foreign volunteers also drawn to the performance. Despite such simple lyrics, this tune has a surprisingly memetic spirit.

"Cóng shān lǐng chū zhēng qún láng nù,"

"chū zhēng qún láng nù,"

"xiǎo xīn nà mán zéi yǔ pàn tú,"

"mán zéi yǔ pàn tú!"

The refrain follows once again. The Sheng player and the trumpeter duo in particular capturing the camera's attention... Something tells you these two dudes are going to become the Steambird's "People of the Year".

"Wéi shǒu Lí yuè wú zú shān hé,"

"wú zú shān hé,"

"wèi nà zì yóu fèn zhàn bù jù mó,"

"fèn zhàn bù jù mó!"

The audience claps after the last refrain, the trio smiling as they bow, before promptly retreating from the scene, having had their 3 minutes and 48 seconds of fame. Leaving you to ponder what to do in this rare moment of R&R. Clean your gun, perhaps? Just because the Tianheng Mountain (and its other mountains) are highly fortified doesn't mean the Horde won't come knocking any time soon...

Long before there was an invasion of Liyue, long before Mondstadt was raped into becoming Kamerkent, The Golden Horde was a wide tribal confederation of Flagellum Dei hilichurls, confined entirely to the vast wastelands of Snezhnaya and only occasionally rallying out of it to raid whatever the Golden Khan wanted them to. Back then, the Khan often created specialized "scribe cadres" out of those slaves that could read and write. Their job was simple: Write down and depict every single atrocity the Horde has committed, just so that it may soon be turned into the kind of propaganda that inspired the Hilichurls under their command and struck absolute terror into whatever outsider stumbled upon such records. That "profession" quickly died out after Mondstadt was raped into becoming Kamerkent. Why, you might ask? Because why would you need a dedicated slave, that requires housing, food and drink, when an imported Snezhnayan video-kamera can do all of that, while at best needing only a small set of Kuuvahki batteries to feed off of. We're not cavemen anymore! We have TECHNOLOGY! ... Which allows Horde troops to record horrific atrocities in full 144p resolution with full color support.

11 AM. Guili Plains. Field camp behind the Horde-occupied first Millelith defensive line. A Janissary, his face concealed by a keffiyeh scarf, stands behind a kneeling captive foreign volunteer from Fontaine, his hands and feet tied. "...AND THIS IS WHY WE WILL NOT TOLERATE YOUR PRESENCE HERE! THIS IS NOT YOUR WAR, FONTAINE! BY HOYO, THE MOST MERCIFUL, IF YOU SEND ANY MORE OF YOUR "VOLUNTEERS" AGAINST US, WE SHALL NOT BE AS MERCIFUL AS HIM! WE WILL SMASH THEIR SKULLS WITH OUR WEAPONS AND THEIR BODIES SHALL ROT IN THIS CURSED GROUND FOR ALL ETERNITY LIKE THE KUFFAR THEY ARE!" The Janissary announces, raising his handschar knife as the prisoner stares blankly into the camera crew positioned opposite him. He knows what is about to happen. He lived a good life. "THE ALTIN YASA IS CLEAR ON ITS STANCE AGAINST THE UNREPENTANT INFIDEL! INSHOYO, BEHOLD AS THE RIGHTEOUS ENACT THEIR SENTENCE!" The tape spins as the camera lens beholds the prisoner dragged onto the desolate ground in front of a Snezhnayan import model landcruiser. He is forced to stand as the same Janissary points a Schofield revolver at him, the landcruiser's Kuuvahki engine starting to hiss and growl as the rectangular steel beast comes alive, rolling towards the poor prisoner. And for whatever reason, the prisoner decides to start rather comedically lightly jumping in his place, his last awkward moments coming to an abrupt halt when the landcruiser makes him fall over, before crushing both of his legs, his ribcage, abdomen and finally, exploding his head into a violent splatter of blood and brain matter. A gruesome scene whose tone is only amplified by a nasheed that starts playing from a conveniently positioned gramophone. "HOYO EKBER! HOYO EKBER!" A few of the nearby Sekban shout into the air, even firing a few of their guns upwards, while the kamera finally concludes its filming, the tape immediately being handed to a Kapikulu who stood by, watching the grim spectacle with clinical indifference.

You were observing this whole scene while sitting on a nearby pile of chlorine gas canisters. A wave of boredom begins to slowly creep over you, courtesy of this reality show finally coming to an end. The assault on the Millelith's 2nd Defensive Line isn't scheduled for a while... What are you going to do in the meanwhile? Clean your gun, perhaps?

Mitrailleuse Automatique "Maxim". Chambered under the 11mm Chassepot round, each loaded into an individual round hole within a long canvas belt, feeding the machine gun from a 100-round ammunition box. Water-cooled, gas-operated. The only part of it that can fuck up right now is its canvas belt getting wet, but you've stored that box in such a dry place, there is no fucking way in the world even a single ounce of water could get in it.

2nd Millelith Defensive line. The day of the assault. A screaming tide of men and occasionally women is running towards your trench through the muddy battlefield in front of you. The whole defensive line is alive with the sound of gunfire, other Maxim guns firing their own ammunition at a wave of Bashi Bazouks spilling forth like a swarm of locusts from the now occupied former first defensive line. Behind them, the more organized brigades of Regular Janissaries and masses of Sekban are massing, the hum of Kuuvahki engines filling the air as the Horde's tank brigades move in to reinforce their decisive assault from the flanks. Their main forces will charge in full once their cannon fodder becomes depleted.

And all would have been easy, and all would have been fine, you've got enough ammunition and shells and the support of the artillery-laden fortress that is the Minlin mountain behind you... HAD YOUR FUCKING MACHINE GUN NOT MALFUNCTIONED! "NICE FUCKING NECKLACE FAGGO-ACK!" The Bazouk who ran up to the small hill to your position as you try your damned hardest to unjam this Fontainian piece of shit, the Lu Jun beside you lowering his smoking musket to quickly reload it, giving you a worried glance. "Fuck the Maxim! Grab a fucking musket and fire at the dogs!" He snarls, taking out his own and firing at another Bazouk.

Rain splashes against the muddy ground, raindrops mixing with the howl of Horde and Millelith artillery, explosions stabbing the ground and the cries of the dying and wounded, accompanied by the sloshing of bodies falling against the wet ground. You wonder whether your Maxim malfunctioned because of the rain... Or because of sabotage from some Janissary trench radiers.

"SIGN A CONTRACT FOR MILITARY SERVICE!" "UPON SIGNING AN EXCLUSIVE BASHI-BAZOUK CONTRACT, WE WILL OFFICIALLY PRODUCE A GUARANTEE OF YOUR FREEDOM!" "BUT BEYOND THAT, WE WILL GIVE YOU 21 THOUSAND MORA FOR ONE MONTH SPENT FIGHTING THE KUFFAR IN LIYUE!" "Do You Want to Know More?" "Contact your foreman if you wish to volunteer, then proceed with the necessary..."

You stash the poster into one of your cheap grey jumpsuit pockets. You are tired of this labor camp. You are tired of being a slave. You are tired of building these stupid fucking bombs while some wheelchair-bound pointy-eared hag rolls by every once in a while, smacks the shit out of your back and then screeches some nonsense about you not fixing the fuse in place properly. And since you're too much of a pussy to throw yourself into the smelter or try to escape from this place... This leaves you only one option.

First Horde-occupied defensive line. The day of the Assault. Rain pours down on you as you sit knee deep in the mud. You've been in this shithole for a month now. And even after you wrote a collective letter, directed straight to the Vizier himself, complaining about you not having been paid for said month, you still remained in it. And you can tell by the blocking detachments' Gatling guns, located just behind your trench, that- You are here forever.

Your "squadmates", all 15 of them, sit around you. All former slaves, just like yourself, each armed with whatever they could loot or scrape from the armory, each having made the same fatal mistake of accepting that damned contract. The Horde cares not where they take their slaves from or who they enslave. To your right sits an unrepentant child molester, while to your left sits a former bard whose only sin was that the Kapikulu spotted her playing Liyuan songs inside some lonesome tavern. Criminal or innocent. Offender or victim. It matters not. For all of you fools shall die the same.

"FORWARD, YOU DOGS! TO VICTORY!" Shouts the Kapikulu behind you, firing his pistol in the air as you are forced to charge. Failure to do so will result in those Gatling Guns opening fire on their own cannon fodder. The tidal wave of rapists, murderers, those falsely accused and the unjustly enslaved, ruptures forth from the Horde trenches, almost immediately becoming bathed in a hail of artillery fire coming from the giant mountain-turned-fortress behind the Millelith lines. A ballista bolt-sized blazing rod of Geo energy lands in a group of three bazouks in front of you, sending a rupturing yellow shockwave through the three men, their innards flying apart, while a small shower covers you head to toe in their possibly diseased blood. Through the thunder of Geo bolts and other Millelith artillery, a greeting choir of their Maxims howls ahead of you, those fellow (ex-)slaves who somehow survived the incoming barrage, already falling to the flashing tracers of 11mm Chassepot rounds. But then, an opportunity! A bazouk, not from your squad, somehow manages to get close to a firing position, its gunner panickily trying to unjam his machinegun as the bazouk raises his sabre, only to be cut down by a quick musket shot from a Lu Jun assistant gunner. Despite the loss, this small breach gives you just enough time to quickly get close to the trench and, potentially, even infiltrate inside...

The Horde is once more up to its dirty tricks, sending wave after wave of barely reinforced and supported cannon fodder at your lines. All for what? As has occurred many times in Minlin, the frontline has not moved one bit! But not the mountain itself. Mount Tianheng has moved quite a bit. Horde barrages have grown increasingly accurate. For whatever reason, instead of supporting their waves of disposable manpower, they were peppering the mountain with mound after mound of artillery shells. Hell, the landslides that resulted from the barrage managed not just to bury most of the firing ports, but also to collapse the massive stone arc hanging over the road to Liyue Harbor, effectively almost cutting off the logistical pathways between this defensive line and the outskirts of Liyue Harbor.

Second Millelith Defensive line. 6 AM. The smell of rotting flesh no longer makes you puke. Round after round, line after line, Empty shells, falling to the ground, kept the Horde dogs at bay long enough for their source to stop spewing waves of Bashi Bazouks at your position. Fog from Mount Tianheng once more descends on your position, covering the mud-buried bodies before your trench in a thin smoke screen of white mist. For the first time in weeks, this particular section of the larger front is quiet. Too quiet.

And then, the faint echo-y clanking begins. Faintly at first, but slowly growing louder, yet louder. An ugly mechanical sound, like the grinding sound of gears in some Fontainian clockwork invention, crawling closer and closer to your trench, before rudely being interrupted by a thunderous howl of a 107mm HE round being fired. Almost instinctively, you crouch in your foxhole, the resulting explosion obliterating the nearby pillbox in an inglorious explosion of dust, wooden splinters and gore. "LANDCRUISERS! GRAB QF GUNS!" A Lu Jun officer shouts out behind you as the steel behemoths come alive with the roar of their rear Gatling turrets, their steady pomp accompanied by the relentless advance of several ranks of Janissary Regulars and their Sekban rear guard.

They're closing in. Try to get to the armory and grab yourself a QF gun. Some ammunition too, assuming you're strong enough to carry any. A mad buzzard of .69 rounds from the Cruisers' machine guns is grazing the air above you... I humbly advise against raising your head.

12 PM. Golden Horde Field Command Headquarters, somewhere in Guili Plains. Pashas gathered in their masses, Just like witches at tea parties. Evil minds that plot destruction, Sorcerers of Horde's construction

"A-HA! SEE! WHAT DID I TELL YOU?!" Enver exclaims to the other gathered pashas, majors, commanders, senior lieutenants and even a few Fatui, his right hand clutching a dirty, barely readable reconnaissance report, taken directly from the front near Mount Tianheng. "'You Lawrence, go back to your manor', you all said! Well, who's laughing now?! My tactical genius just practically secured us a SECOND defensive line!" He proclaims, still waving that report. "With all due respect, Enver Bey, all you did was send another 500 oh your own men to get slaughte-" "Absolutely not! I sent them to conduct combat reconnaissance! There is a very big difference you fail to comprehend, sir Harbinger!" He finally slams the report onto the central table, its residual muddy wetness even managing to stain a small part of the greater campaign map. "With this data, we now have full knowledge of where their guns are stationed and where we could finally start SMASHING the rats!" He delivers that line with his own fist coming down on the area of the map just before Tianheng, collapsing the few tin figurines representing Millelith formations.

Former Millelith, now Horde-occupied first defensive line, 6 AM. The bey of the hour, Enver himself stands proudly upon several empty wooden boxes, a crowd of both Sekban and Janissaries gathered to hear him shout over the loud choir of artillery in the back.

"LISTEN UP, GHAZIS! IT'S GOING TO BE OVER TONIGHT! WE'LL BREAK THROUGH THE KUFFAR LINE IN ONE STRIKE!"

"WE KNOW THEY'RE DESPERATE... THEY'RE WEAK! THEY WON'T KNOW WHAT'S HIT THEM! SO KEEP YOUR HEADS DOWN AND YOUR GUNS UP!"

"LANDCRUISER SQUADS HAVE FINALLY FINISHED ASSEMBLING AND WILL BE SUPPORTING US IN THE FORTHCOMING ADVANCE! MOREOVER, WE'VE BEEN STEADILY FINDING AND QUELLING ENEMY ARTILLERY WITHIN THAT WRETCHED MOUNTAIN! THUS, WE SHALL BE THE BLADE THAT WILL RIP THOSE INFIDEL TRENCHES APART, AND CARVE THE ENEMY LIKE THE PERIL THEY ARE!"

"LIKE THE DOGS THEY LOVE TO EAT!"

"REMEMBER THIS HOUR! TONIGHT, THE FORCES OF CELESTIA WILL BE CRUSHED ONCE AND FOR ALL!"

"THIS IS THE CALL OF DUTY!"

"What a load of horseshit." A Sekban mutters somewhere in the crowd.

"THE MOON TURNS RED WITH THE BLOOD OF THE FALLEN! THE PROPHET OF HOYO WATCHES OVER HIS FAITHFUL! LEAVE ONLY ASHES AND MISERY IN YOUR DESTRUCTIVE WAKE!"

"NOW, AFFIX BAYONETS AND MARCH FORWARD, USE LANDCRUISERS FOR COVER, YA HOYO!"

In the fields, the bodies burning, As your war machine keeps turning. A squad of Janissaries carefully walks behind your steel beast, cowering behind it as they prepare for the inevitable howl of whatever Maxim guns the battered second Millelith defensive line has left. "Driver! Careful with the fog! And pay attention: Keep driving until I say 'stop'! And do not get too close to their trench! The last thing we need is our hatches being stuffed full of hand grenades!" The Landcruiser commander's voice barks over the hum of the Kuuvahki engine. *That white mist descended from Tianheng once more, providing some concealment to the advancing Golden Horde force and its Landcruiser vanguard, of which you are a part." Still, just because you're not seeing any shells falling on you from that mountain, doesn't mean you should be careless...

Sick quarter somewhere inside Mount Tianheng, 5 PM. "Dog-eating kuffars! When we enter Harbor, we cut it to pieces like goat on Bayram!" "Oh yeah?! Well how about you go and actually do it, barbarian?! Or does that blown leg of yours make it too difficult to realize all those disgusting rape fantasies of yours?!" "You watch your mouth, kuffar dog! When I get exchanged, I buy prosthetic and reenlist just so I could-" "Enough, both of you." Both the hilichurl and the Millelith stop mid-argument, turning to face the elderly Jun Yi doctor staring at them with baggy, tired eyes. "It's almost time to reapply your bandages. Assume a better position and get comfortable, the potions are going to burn." He adds, motioning for his Xiao Zi assistant to haul a small box filled with healing potions to his side.

Despite all the years of utter, burning animosity between the Horde and Liyue, a single, rather particular diplomatic agreement managed to be created between each side. One that, depending on the area of the overall front, was either completely ignored or followed like it was the word of each side's respective deity. It being the rule of exchange. Each army, Horde or Millelith, held what is known as an "Exchange Fund". Essentially a name for a group of military prisoners meant to be exchanged for their peers on the opposite side. This rule is what prevented outright slavery for many of the imprisoned Millelith. And, what prevented outright execution for those from the Golden Horde. And it is this rule that allowed this particular one-legged hilichurl ruffian to remain in this Sick Quarter following his capture. His survival will guarantee the life of a Liyuan.

That same sick quarter inside Mount Tianheng, 5 PM. The second Millelith defensive line is breached. And now, Horde forces have started infiltrating the mountain-turned-fortress proper, isolated mixed squads of Janissaries and Istihkam combat engineers pouring into the tunnel network entrances at its base. Hissing flames of pyrothrowers streak through the darkness of Mount Tianheng's insides, melting those Millelith caught in their path and suffocating those who were not with the noxious black smoke flowing from the incinerated bodies. Hand grenades from every ledge and crevice rain down on Horde breaching squads. The screams from this close quarters butchery mix into a potent howling cacophony of agonized suffering, illuminated by wild bursts of Pyro energy and random muzzle flashes of those few ranged firearms still capable of doing their jobs within such deep, dark dimensions.

And you? You're a Xiao Zi, an assistant of that doctor from before. And soon to be his defender. Cavern sick quarter somewhere inside Mount Tianheng, 1 PM. The musket shakes in your hands. You've never faced combat before. This is exactly why you've volunteered for this duty. Fighting the Horde is great and all, but one doesn't have to choke to death on mud or his own chlorine-soaked lungs to contribute to the war effort. But, as fate would have it, That bloody, grizzly, physical fight, had at long last come to you.

Howls of bursting flame tongues echo through the cave system. Gunshots too. The barking of that vile "Reformed Hillig" language. They're going through the tunnel network's medical wing. The vile animals are shooting and stabbing wounded after wounded, burning them alive when they can't. The horrific sounds are getting closer and closer to your particular sick quarter. Those few soldiers who didn't evacuate immediately hold their guns within their own sickbeds, aiming at the entrance, preparing to make their last stand. But that one-legged Flagellum Dei prisoner just lays there, his ugly goblin face calm as he waits for the inevitable. He knows he'll be spared, rescued even. But suddenly, this very same barbarian that kept being such a pain in the ass during his whole stay here, suddenly gets off his sickbed. Held on two crutches, he awkwardly shambles towards the exit, muttering "No shoot... I got this..." to you and the remaining Millelith. When the door finally bursts open and Horde muskets start aiming inside, the unthinkable happens: "Ateş etmeyin! Ateş etmeyin! Yusuf Kraus, 4. Sekban Alayı, 2. Tabur." He says to the gas mask-wearing Janissary standing inside the doorframe, taking out a crescent-shaped medal from an inner pocket of his Sekban uniform as proof of his allegiance, leaning against the crutches. "Bu insanlar bana baktı..." He adds, gesturing to all of you inside the quarter. And to you in particular. "Onlar olmasaydı, bacağım beni öldürecekti. Yalvarırım, lütfen, onlara dokunmayın! Onlar hiçbir şey yapmadı!" His voice takes on a pleading edge. You have zero clue what he's saying, but you swear it's almost as if this vile invader who did nothing but badmouth all of you for several months is... Pleading for your lives?

The second Millelith defensive line is breached. The dog-eating rats fell for the bait, spending so much of shells and Geo bolts on nothing more than overglorified slave cannon fodder. Once the artillery inside Tianheng was silenced by our counter-battery fire, you were sent to trample over the infidel in an advance supported by Janissaries and the freshly received landcruisers. The infidels broke like paper mache. The collapsed mountain stone arc behind them didn't help either, preventing most from escaping back into Liyue Harbor's outskirts and leaving them to either escape into the Mountain's tunnel system, or stand and fight to the last man and woman.

It was only a matter of time until the trenches collapsed under the Horde's combined arms. But the real back pain of the 2nd line lay not in its trench network, but with the stone giant that kept it from falling, Mount Tianheng.

"Dinamit yerleştirildi, GERİ ÇEKİLİN!" Shouts a Flagellum Dei Istihkam, the rest of his squad immediately running back to hide behind trench walls. Confident in their safety, he takes out a large cigar, puts it between his large lips and lights it with a match, ignited by a tinderbox. One puff later, and the seething fire dances along the long fuse, reaching a tied fence made of dynamite sticks, before-

KABOOM

Horde troops pour through the breach, catching stray musket fire from the Millelith hiding inside this particular section of the mountain. Insults in Liyuan soon turn to agonized, screaming shrieks of pain and terror, courtesy of Istihkam pyrothrowers carving a suffocating, fiery path through the in-mountain tunnel network. Grenades and stray gunshots rain from every nook and every cranny. The ranged advantage, so enjoyed by Horde troops, completely drowns beneath numerous instances of brutal close quarters combat. Yet Golden Horde troops continue to slowly, yet surely push through these smoke-choked tunnels, tactical advantage gained not because of their formidable pyrothrowers, but simply because they have more gas masks to protect them from the noxious smoke coming off the charred Lu Jun corpses. Soon enough, the foot of the mighty mountain is secured. Soon enough, the upper level is cleared of the infidel. Soon enough, their armory caves in half the upwards-leading tunnels, kuffar dogs having blown it to pieces as some futile scorched earth measure. Soon enough, yours and several other mixed squads reached the mountain's sick quarter.

And the Shape of the Nightmare to Come started to manifest itself upon the poor souls who did not escape the mountain in time...

Enver Lawrence's orders were clear: "Leave none alive dot Hoyo will recognize His own dot" And the massacre began... The storming teams essentially turned into death squads as they went room to room, incinerating, shooting and butchering the wounded and suffering Liyuans inside. Taking prisoners would have stalled the rapid advance, so the immediate solution to their existence became as singular as it was grim.

"ROOM 5, CLEAR!" "ROOM 6, CLEAR! HAVE ONE WOUNDED, PUSSY-EYE FUCKS TRIED RESISTING!" "SOMEONE CHECK ON ROOM 7!" Weapon in hand, you approach it. Your eyes behind the gas mask are cold. You've seen enough bloody butchery as is. Today will be like all the rest. But when you bust down the door, you don't just see the sickbed-bound Millelith with muskets nervously aiming at you. But also a single Sekban, missing one leg, barely held up on two crutches, barely shambling his way towards you. "Don't shoot! Don't shoot! Yusuf Kraus, 4th Sekban Regiment, 2nd Battalion." He says to you, taking out a crescent-shaped medal from an inner pocket of his Sekban uniform as proof of his allegiance, leaning against the crutches. "These people looked after me..." He adds, gesturing to all of the Millelith inside this particular sick quarter. And to a doctor's assistant standing in the middle. "If it weren't for them, my leg would have killed me... I beg you, please, don't hurt them! They haven't done anything!" A most unbelievable sight. One of your own, a former prisoner of these vile pagans, pleads to you in perfect Reformed Hillig. And he pleads for you to spare their lives.

Well... That just happened. Two Millelith defensive lines breached, Horde dogs plugged up the northern exit out of Liyue Harbor's Outskirts and their split 2nd force is en route to devour the 2nd, southern exit. And now they're sending teams of their Janissary Solak marksmen to clear out the peaks of the Tianheng Mountain range. Fuckers are going to plant their artillery here, aren't they? Why would they not? It's a perfect vantage from which the barbarian rats could bombard your home city below. Now, guess whose job it is to prevent this from happening?

Most normal men should be sleeping at this time. But you are no normal man. You are the damned, but not yet lost. You battled against these subhuman savages in the north, back when they still used bows, horses and spears instead of muskets, landcruisers and gas shells. Your inventory has evolved much during these five years. From a White Tassel spear, your main weapon turned into a marvel of Fontainian small arms design: an 8-round Lebel rifle chambered under their 11mm cartridge. You were the ones who held the line in Bishui and the Vale, before both were overrun by the barbarians. And you will be the ones who will hold your line right here right now, just long enough to delay their artillery from being positioned over the city. Just long enough to buy the people of Liyue Harbor that desperate escape from the city. You and your fellow soldiers saw what happened to Mondstadt. And you, along with the rest of your Sheji Gunshou brigade, know very well that, "Better have an hour of freedom than six years of slavery and prison."

Central Tianheng. 4 AM. Like kitchen cockroaches, the Janissaries, slaves of the Horde's Golden Khan, are scaling up your mountain with trained agility. And from the mountain, scores of .577 lead balls and 11mm bullets greet them. Your captain roars in triumph, as a shadow covers the ridge to your far right. The Jade Chamber itself, descending from the skies to reinforce the desperate defenders of the southern exit from Liyue Harbor's outskirts. And shots in the direction of the enemy fly out from the massive floating palace as it continues propelling itself further, its inner Geo engines going into overdrive as it almost plummets into one of the far right ridges, only to have its lowest point slam into the skull of one of the Janissaries, firmly throwing him off the mountain for good.

Your gun clicks empty. The lack of supplies makes itself known. "FUCK THE GUN, GRAB A ROCK AND THROW IT!" The captain roars once more, grabbing a boulder and throwing it off the mountain at the climbing barbarians. Bows and swords, Muskets and cannons, and now fucking rocks. Has war not changed?

"...HOYO BIZ MENEN!" Exclaims a rather Liyuan-looking Janissary standing before his Corbashi, amidst a line of his fellow warrior-slaves. "WHERE ARE YOU FROM?!" His superior barks back. "QINGCE, COBRASHI!" "THAT'S A VILLAGE IN LIYUE!" "I HATE LIYUANS, CORBASHI!" "What a terrific accent..." In a hushed whisper remarks a Mondsta-Kamerkent-born squadmate of his from behind. "ARE YOU A LIYUAN AS WELL?!" The Corbashi turns to look at the much more white-skinned man to his right, who confidently and in an accentless voice, replices with: "NO, CORBASHI!" "DO YOU HATE LIYUANS?!" "YES, CORBASHI!" Slowly, he turns around, satisfied, to the other arrayed men behind him. A triumphant Snezhnayan opera, played from a nearby gramophone, making this address surprisingly scenic. "IF YOU WANT TO WIN THIS WAR... YOU HAVE TO HATE YOUR ENEMY!" "AND IF YOU LOSE THIS WAR... IT WOULD MEAN THAT YOU HATE YOUR COUNTRY" "THIS PLATOON WILL MAKE HISTORY! WE ARE ARE THE "LIBERATORS OF MONDSTADT CITY"!" "HOYO BIZ MENEN!" He shouts, raising his right arm.

"HOYO!"

"HOYO!"

"HOYO!"

Despite all the pomp of his words, your objective isn't even all that special. Logistically speaking, the Millelith mountain garrisson is cut off, courtesy of their two breached defensive lines and the main Horde army from Guilli is now steadily encircling the outskirts of Liyue Harbor, now having become split into two and reinforced by additional troops which pushed through the Minlin stalemate. But, oh boy is this objective giving you and the rest of the solaks some nasty flashbacks to fucking Minlin... Central tianheng mountain range. 4 AM. You huddle in the mountain's sidecavern with your Cavush and about 3-4 more guys. From on high, a hail of lead showers those other janissaries who had balls large enough to try and climb the mountain, either using their innate Visions, license-manufactured Delusions or good old ice axes and ropes. The gunfire soon stops. Either they're going to reload or they're out of munitions. "About damn time... ALRIGHT, LET'S GET OUT OF HERE, THAT MOUNTAIN ISN'T GONNA SCALE ITSELF!" The Cavush commands, activating his Anemo Vision and using it to have the wind hold him close to the mountain, slowly ascending it on the wind's currents, while the rest of your team followed suit. And then, a great and terrible shadow descended upon him just as you were about to scale that ridge: "SQUAD! THAT JADE CHAMBER IS COMING RIGHT FOR US!" #"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEUUGH" and then he fucking exploded the moment he hit the ground. And he was indeed correct, for the Jade Chamber itself jest flew past you, knocking your squad leader off the mountain with it's lower point and continuing it's flying way towards the southern exit out of the Harbor.

And to make things fucking worse, fucking rocks starting flying towards you from the mountain's foot. I guess they really did run out of ammo. The head of the Solak to your right cracks when a boulder impacts his cranium with the force of a Liyuan who is about to have his entire nation get massacred, the stone itself narrowly missing you. They really did run out of ammo, huh?

A sekban's health is good. A sekban's on alert. And like from dirty rugs, we beat the dust out of the roads, Our march will never cease, our legs we'll never change! Our faces now shine brightly, our jackboots do the same!

Across the gassed out valleys. One mile after mile, Across Liyue is marching Golden Warhost group "Minlin" On one-two, be counted: ONE-TWO! ONE WILL NOW MARCH FORTH, TO HEAVEN, ONE-TWO! And the one that's number two- He is a shaheed too, Descender Heaven greets, Two after one, One-two, ONE-TWO

Ahead of us, everything blooms, Behind us, nothing lives, No need to think! For with us rides, The one who'll decide all. With smiles, never saddened, to homes we will return. Beautiful young slave girls, await each every one!

All ahead, but for now- One mile after mile, Across Liyue is marching Golden Warhost group "Minlin" On one-two, be counted: ONE-TWO! ONE WILL NOW MARCH FORTH, TO HEAVEN, ONE-TWO! And the one that's number two- He is a shaheed too, Descender Heaven greets, Two after one, One-two, ONE-TWO

Minlin has fallen. And so have the two defensive lines of the pathetic kuffar. Our comrades in the north are already plugging up the northern exit out of Liyue Harbor's outskirts. It's only a matter of time until they reach the city proper and butcher the infidel dogs. But the south remains untouched... Yet. Millelith dogs ran for the hills once they caught rumors of our northern force splitting in two and cutting off their logistics. Sure, Minlin stopped being a stalemated hellhole, but the sheer level of Millelith guerillas hiding in it is certainly proving to be more than a headache. But it matters not. The war is almost over, anyhow. Whatever COIN operations Lawrence Pasha has in mind will likely be executed only after this shitshow's complete, their pagan god is butchered and the land absorbed into the Golden Khan's Golden Dominion...

5 PM. Southern Exit out of the Tianheng Mountain range. By Hoyo... Can you behold a more pitiful garrison? They either had too little time or resources to fortify that little stretch of the front... This will be a capewalk.

And then it wasn't. The regiments of Janissary and Sekban freeze as they behold the palace monstrocity floating in mid-air above the mountainous passage, it's cannons and Geo ballistae aimed squarely at the advancing Golden Horde army group. Their Jade Chamber has finally had enough of hiding in the clouds.

*Through a Fontainian loudspeaker, comes the firm voice of a once shrewd Tianquan of the Qixing: "HORDE COMMANDER! BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE, PULL YOUR MEN BACK. DON'T DO THIS. UNDERSTAND, BOTH YOU WILL PERISH AND I WILL PERISH. AND THE MEN, WOMEN AND CHILDREN THAT WILL ESCAPE THE HARBOR THROUGH THIS CORRIDOR WILL PERISH. WHAT GOOD WILL COME OF IT? THINK ABOUT IT CLEARLY. WHO WINS FROM THIS? WE WON'T WIN FROM THIS, YOU AND I, UNDERSTAND? THE ARMAMENTS OF THE JADE CHAMBER WILL NOT SPARE ANY ONE OF YOU, JUST LIKE YOU WON'T SPARE ME AND MY PEOPLE, UNDERSTAND? YOU'D BETTER COME VISIT LIYUE AS A GUEST, THAN A CONQUEROR. PULL YOUR MEN BACK... AND IF YOU WILL NOT HAVE PITY ON MY PEOPLE, THEN HAVE PITY ON THE MOTHERS OF YOUR MEN, HAVE PITY ON THEM THEMSELVES. PULL YOUR MEN BACK, HORDE COMMANDER, GIVE THE COMMAND."

Somewhere far away, in a field HQ, looking through his spyglass on the flying chamber, Enver Lawrence receives the recorded transcript of her words in telegraph form. And promptly has a meltdown: "Attack dot kill dot kill the bitch dot take her corpse off that flying monstrocity and rape it dot You are cleared to fire artillery dot do not spare any single one dot the Khan will not permit any slowness dot Hoyo willing breach the harbor by next week or I will have your heads dot" The junior pasha in charge of Warhost group "Minlin" took a long swing of his rakija before giving the order. And all hell broke loose. Janissaries and sekban scatter and run as the Jade Chamber answers Horde artillery with it's own, a barrage of explosive bolts of Geo energy and conventional munitions ripping through the Horde ranks. Amidst which you are. The hastily emplaced artillery is far in the rear, but it's only a matter until it'll get hit too. But, how else, if not by using said artillery, are you going to at the very least repel the flying death chamber raining hell down upon you and your fellow Horde soldiers?

Two defensive lines have fallen. The Jade Chamber sacrificed itself to stall the barbarians' southern reinforcements. The third is about to fall. Hundreds of thousands of innocent men and women, still trapped in Liyue Harbor, are about to die.

And yet you and your brothers in arms dare sing the song of Victory:

A large former Qixing warehouse, somewhere on the outskirts of Liyue Harbor. 5 AM. "OUR BANNER IS SHOWERED IN BULLETS AND SMOKE!" "PROUDLY WAVING IN THE CHEERS OF GLORY!" "FIVE YEARS OF LOSSES, COUNTLESS DAYS IN FOXHOLES," "WASHED, IT SHINES BRIGHTLY!" The Fontainian Maxim chuckles with steady input of 11mm off the 2nd floor of a once-full warehouse, joined by the gasp of a QF gun, its projectile detonating the ammo rack of an approaching Landcruiser the Horde dogs used as cover. The brave "900 defenders of the Warehouse of Three Merchant Guilds", a mere 500 men, in fact, huddle inside it for their second day of desperate defense, almost single-handedly holding the tidal wave of barbarism despite their steadily emptying reserves of ammunition and supplies.

"OUR MEDALS ARE ENGRAVED WITH CONTRACT OF FREEDOM," "HUNG ON OUR CHESTS IN TRIUMPHANT BALLADS," "NOW THE PEOPLE LIVING IN THE CREED OF MORAX," "HONOR REX WITH PRIDE!" The choir of your fellow Millelith inside breaks the dawn with undefeated triumph. Even the earlier barrage of the Horde's dreaded artillery didn't drown out the lungs of those who are still living and dying for Liyue. And neither did it collapse the white stone monolith that is the warehouse. Liyue's architecture is indeed guided by the Geo Archon.

"VICTORY!" "IT'S A SHINING BEACON" "GUIDING BRAVE SONS AND DAUGHTERS" "BOLDLY SINGING, AS THEY MARCH ON" "TO THE MUDDY FRONT!"

And this victory is about to be snatched out from underneath you. The Sekban and Janissaries have finally had enough of pushing through the outskirts' semi-urbanized hell. And if their vaunted artillery isn't going to aid them, then they'll do its job for it. Teams of Horde troops started pushing towards the warehouse's white walls, holding together burnt-out chunks of destroyed Landcruiser armor, the 11mm rounds of your guns bouncing off its steel as the small teams advance, preparing to plant dynamite at its foot and breach your holdout in a more "traditional" way.

Firing QF guns at these "turtles" would be a waste and would at best take out only a few. And since hosing them down with lead is no longer an option... Shit.

And then one of the younger members of the garrison gets a very daring idea. An idea he is Daring to Die for. He snarls "F-FUCK... FUCK THIS!" Grabs several belts worth of F1 grenades, runs towards the breach on the 4th floor and jumps out of it, screaming "WÀNSUÌ!" His legs break instantly upon impact. The Sekban on the ground barely have time to react when he pulls the pin.

The entire Horde squad detonates in a shower of burnt steel and body parts, yet more war cries howl from inside the building as more of the Millelith jump to their deaths, exchanging their lives for 5-6 of the barbarians'.

But this display of suicidal bravery won't stall the dogs for long. More Istihkam, Sekban, Janissaries, Landcruisers, and even their imams are coming to finish you off inside your own damned warehouse. And if this keeps up, you'll be out of hand grenades very fucking soon... Shit. But at this point... Is an escape even possible?

The first and second Millelith Defensive lines are finally gone. The flying Jade Chamber of the infidels has been thrown into a fiery gehenna, where it belongs. But not without a great cost. The already battered Golden Warhost Group "Minlin" and the split force from the northern army group are decimated and regrouping. It will be a while until they get over their losses and join the north in breaking into Liyue Harbor.

But Enver Pasha does not have a while. He must take that fucking city NOW! He has had enough of his own fucking family and those impotent idiots in the Adalet, dismissing him from their politics and belittling HIM, a proud son of the Clan of Lawrence, for the five Hoyodamned years of trying to take Minlin... And so the only way to win back his pride as a general, a politician and a nobleman... Is to storm ahead of army group "Minlin", straight through the outskirts, straight into the fucking Harbor and win a fast and glorious victory, defeating the enemy on the field of battle just as his immaculate ancestors once defeated Decarabian...

Somewhere on the northern outskirts of Liyue Harbor. 5 AM.

Mother, come around and take me away. If not living, then dead, but take me away. MOTHER, I AM SCORCHED ALIVE, AND HUNGER-DRIVEN DOGS WILL DEVOUR MY BODY AND FILL UP THEIR GUTS

Outskirts of death, the burning suburbs It should be night, but it burns brighter than day. The mounds of corpses, here lay bodies on bodies, Gunbarrels wait in every windowsil...

O, blessed Hoyo, these are our landcruisers! All one hundred – destroyed and smothered in flames! And from the roof of a former smithy, chalk words announce: "HEY, SAVAGES, WE GREET YOU IN HELL!"

And what of you, infantry, the queen of armies? In the hopes of saving your own skins, While the Millelith chanting "Praised be Rex Lapis!" They let us know that hunters here we're not...

Officer Sekban, shivering body covered by a ruin: "GET THE FUCK UP, YOU COWARD!" "OPEN YOUR EYES! STOP SHIVERING, YOU DOG!" "WAKE UP RIGHT NOW AND CHARGE AT THAT WAREHOUSE!" Across the shelled out street it lays: the warehouse of three merchant guilds, turned into a stronghold of mixed Millelith troops seemingly overnight. It's windows spew lead balls and 11mm. And even if your fellow Hoyo worshippers were to try and storm it with landcruisers, the latter would promptly get ammoracked by an accurate barrage of QF gun fire. As has happened to your 100-cruiser strong vanguard... "TAKE A FUCKING STEEL PLATE OFF ONE OF THE LANDCRUISER WRECKS AND JOIN YOUR SQUAD IN STORMING THAT DAMNED BUILDING! LEAD MAN WILL CHALK OUT THE BREACHING SPACE AND THE ISTIKHAM WILL DO THE REST! NOW STOP FUCKING DWADLING AND GO!" He shouts, readying his revolver to make an example out of you, should you disobey.

In your vision, you notice how another sekban squad had a similar idea, a "turtle" of men, holding the wrecked landcruiser side armor like a shield, Millelith bullets bouncing off of it with lound "pings as they get close to the warehouse's walls, until- A Liyuan boy. Barely aged 12, covered in handgrenade belts. Jumps from the third floor, the grenade belt unpinned. The squad detonates along with him, a shower of gore and metal splinters coloring this section of the warehouse. ...For Hoyo's sakes, have mercy, officer...

4th year of the Liyue meatgrinder. Somewhere in the north of Minlin: The countdown to yet another infantry charge is ticking. Artillery of both Horde and Millelith is doing it's best ot flatten out a once cozy valley inbetween two unnamed mountains. The once fresh mountain fog smells of copper and... Chlorine. Always chlorine. Horde dogs tried using it against you over and over. They stopped only when the mountain wind descended it back into their own trench. And even then it wouldn't have changed a thing. At the end of the day, you're still locked in these two lines, a hilly no man's land separating each by an approximately 200 meter-long stretch. Any moment now... The barbarians are going to step over their foxholes and begin yet another suicidal charge towards your maxim guns... "...MERRY LANTERN RITE!" Shouts off from the Horde trench. A period of uneasy silence follows. The terrain only amplifies the echo, the surprisingly friendly words of whatever sekban shouted them reach your trench. "AND A HAPPY WINDBLUME TO YOU!" A particularly optimistic Lu Jun beside you shouts. You don't even know whether they still celebrate Windblume or not. "DO YOU FELLAS HAVE ANY OSMANTHUS WINE ON YOU!? CAN WE HAVE SOME?!" The distant voice repeats. "COME OVER AND FIND OUT!" It almost sounds like a threat. Although the way Lu Jun phrased it, it doesn't appear hostile. "NO NEED! YOU CAN HAVE SOME OF OUR STOCK!" A thrown black object from the Horde's trench begins to streak through the sky. Terrified, the nearby Milellith either scatter or duck, only for it to become revealed that, the object... Was a flask! "Kumis! They gave us kumis!" The Lu Jun who lit this exchange joyfully remarks, his lips white with fermented mare milk, the nearby troops immediately relaxing in collective relief. Soon enough, he throws them his own flask, filled with that wonderful, traditional Liyuan wine.

"HOW ABOUT THIS: YOU WILL NOT SHOOT, AND WE WILL NOT SHOOT!" "AGREED! TELL YOU WHAT, WE WILL SEND TWO GUYS AND YOU WILL SEND TWO OF YOURS! TIE A CLOTH TO YOUR GUN!" The Lu Jun helps you up the trench, holding his fontainian musket as he beholds an almost surreal vision: The Horde trench is blazing with gunbarrels holding bayonets. Yet in it's midst, a single sekban waves the cloth tied to his upwards-pointed musket like a banner. And he and his friend, both ascend the trench, walking towards you both in the middle of the wretched no man's land, each holding the opposite side's issued flask. And none side dares to break this idyllic scenery. The whole front grows quiet as the two sekban, both ordinary men, natives of what was once Mondstadt, stand before you. And one of them hands you your friend's flask. "Well... Hello there!" The same sekban simply says, smiling nervously.

Your heartbeat tells you that you are not dead. Awakening inside the shelled-out ruin of what was once the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, faint memories of how you ended up here start festering in your mind. There was a retreat. Yuheng Keqing ordered those few remaining Millelith regiments and whatever civilians failed to evacuate from the Harbor to retreat deeper into the city, to use the terrain against the barbarians like she once did in Minlin. There was simply nowhere else to retreat to. Not that terrain would matter much now. The Horde turned the peaks of Mount Tianheng into a goddamned firebase, guaranteeing their artillery free reign over the entire Harbor. ... Explaining why the wooden parlor is now naught but a cluster of blast craters and corpses of both civilians and Millelith. At least the that brown-hairer girl who once managed the place is safe. Or at least, she should be. A figure as important as the manager of Wangsheng surely must have been evacuated by now... Or drafted and deployed somewhere in Minlin. Anywhere but here.

Speaking of Minlin... What is this? To your right, a chalk inscription on a somehow still standing marble wall reads: FORGET ABOUT THE HARBOR. WE ARE CUTTING OUR LOSSES AND PULLING OUT. IF YOU HAVE ANY CIVILIANS WITH YOU, TAKE THEM AND ARM THEM. OTHERWISE, GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE. THE TWO LAND EXITS ARE BLOCKED. WE ARE TAKING WHOMEVER WE CAN AND GETTING OUT OF THERE THROUGH THE SEWERS.

MORAX BLESS.

• ZHANG XINGPING, 1ST REGIMENT, 88TH INFANTRY DIVISION"

The sewers leading into the Sea of Clouds... An idea, if not a rather wet one. One only complicated by the fact that by now, Horde dogs are crawling all over the occupied city, likely looting the hell out of it or... Worse.

"CEDDIN DEDEN, NESLIN BABAN!" "CEDDIN DEDEN, NESLIN BABAN!" "HEP KAHRAMAN, HOYO MILLETI" "ORDULARIN PEK ÇOK ZAMAN VERMIŞTILER DÜNYAYA ŞAN," "ORDULARIN PEK ÇOK ZAMAN VERMIŞTILER DÜNYAYA ŞAN!"

The Altyn Bayrak flies from the gates of the kuffar city of Liyue Harbor, just like the war banner of the Prophet of Hoyo once flew from the walls of Mondstadt City. And the Mehteran echoes the triumph of the Horde's eternal glory through the shelled-out streets of this once opulent testament to kuffar decadence. The sword of the Khan cut through the three defensive lines of the Millelith with ease, leaving their capital, their Harbor, ripe for the taking by the forces of Hoyo's most righteous warriors! Hoyo willing, we shall execute justice! Hoyo willing, the Liyuan kuffar shall remember us with trembling prayer!

But not for the reasons you may think. The Sekban, the Bazouks, all the lower ranking Horde troops, they are blinded by the half-destroyed city, its rich glory shining even in its bombed-out, violated state. And this blindness drives them mad. Mad with the sin of greed.

The discipline of the Horde's men and Hilichurls collapsed like a set of fine china. The 10-man Sekban squad you once so honorably led through the three Millelith defensive lines reverts back to its natural behavior: men and Flagellum Dei, filled with so much hatred, bitterness and disdain for the very people they came to "liberate", blatantly ignore your commands and start looting the absolute crap out of the half-destroyed Feiyun Slope, howling with glee and sadistic amusement as some of them forcefully yank the few surviving Liyuan civilians out of their basements and promptly bayonet them and their children to death. A trend that will only continue the further Horde troops march inside the massive Harbor.

You can naught but watch as two Istihkam run past you, giggling as they haul one of those novel Fontainian washing machines back into whatever packbeast-plugged supply carriage sits nearby. Six years of war, religious zeal and propaganda have led to the forthcoming Massacre. Look upon their fruits, ye mighty, And despair.

"Helium mix optimal... Maneuver props engaged!" From a Fatui outpost in Guili, the Kirov-class airship, a marvel of Snezhnayan innovation and aircraft design, takes off, its Kuuvahki engines humming as it flies over the no man's land. The three Millelith Defensive lines have fallen and soon, Liyue Harbor shall fall too. So indicate the dead, gassed and shelled-out plains, mountains and Horde regiments moving towards the city beneath you.

Lowering its altitude, the airship descends down Mount Tianheng, propellers gently powering down as it nears what was at one point Northland Bank, once nationalized by Liyuan authorities as a sanction against Snezhnaya for its support of the Horde, now returned to Fatui authority by said Horde.

Hovering near the repaired bridge to the bank building's entrance, the airship extends its own bridge through which several teams of Fatui agents, yourself included, make your way outside. The first clue to something being terribly wrong is the fact that the building is covered head to toe in Fatui banners and the entrance to the bank is practically besieged by a mob of armed Horde soldiers, an argument being echoed from its entrance.

"Open the door, Fatui! Directive 67, all kuffar suspected of aiding the enemy are to be subject to filtration procedures! You're hiding Millelith there, aren't you, Harbinger! By order of Enver Pasha, I DEMAND THAT YOU LET US IN!" A Janissary Cavush almost shouts at Childe, waving both a stamped copy of Directive 67 and a revolver in Tartaglia's resolute face. A revolver he is incapable of using against anyone bearing the Fatui armband and uniform. "I know what happens during your 'filtration procedures', 'honored ally'. And I will not permit you or anyone with you to even lay a hand on anyone inside the bank! They're harmless! Just what sort of glory do you hope to gain from honorless butchering of unarmed, innocent people?!" Moving closer, you recognize the voice of Childe, the 11th Harbinger himself, arguing with the Janissary, bayonet-equipped muskets of several Sekban and Janissaries pointed at him this entire time. Muskets too bound by diplomacy to be used against him. Once your group pushes past the Horde troops and the Cavush, Childe's expression only partially relaxes. Your presence here is a good indicator that the Fatui's Military Assistance Command Liyue mission is about to come to an end. "You're here to get the mora out, aren't you? It's all in the underground vaults. The elevator is at the end of the hall, so is the pallet storage room, here's the key..." He hands a cicin mage from your group a key to the vaults and opens the door to you slightly. The thick smell of sweat, blood and medicine from inside begins to seep through. "Just don't mind them. It would not have been honorable to let them stay outside." He mutters, opening the door further to let the Fatui teams in.

Through the dim ceiling lamps of the bank, you see them: Thousands, no, tens of thousands of eyes, young and old, women and men, doctors, nurses and wounded, Millelith and civilians, crowding each and every floor of the overpopulated bank, turned refugee camp. Each a Liyuan, saved by Tartaglia's mercy when the Massacre started ramping up in the harbor. They stare at you with muted, baggy, yet hopeful eyes. A Cicin Mage beside you can't help but take a long swing of her vodka-filled flask, their grateful gazes starting to unnerve her.

How far has the world gone for the Fatui, of all people, to be seen as saviors?

All defensive lines have fallen. All hope is gone. And Liyue Harbor with it. And this crate feels like a coffin. Pray it does not become one.

The once bustling market square of Feiyun Slope has become an execution spot. At gunpoint, a herd of military prisoners and civilians was dragged here. Male, every single one. You don't want to know where they took the women. All to be executed.

Through the splinter in the box, you watch the heads rolling down the floor. One after another, more than 200 men, fathers, sons, farmers, merchants, poor and a few rich men, all decapitated by two Sekban, while their officer was recording the entire nightmarish affair on a Snezhnayan Kamera, until finally, two winners of that gruesome contest come out on top: "Oghuz and Mustafa! 106 and 105 dead kuffar! Hoyo blesses the righteous!" He declares, clapping to them as they raise their bloody cavalry sabres, piles of heads lining the ground beneath them. They howl and cackle in barbaric triumph, praising their bloodthirsty god as the kamera finishes inputting the sepia gore to its tape.

And then the barbarians celebrate no more. Out of nowhere, a bright muzzle flash perforates the head of the first Janissary with a burst of .20 gauge from a LeMat revolver, followed by an Aqua-sharpened Dao sabre splitting the throat of a second. The third one can barely even react as the assailant—a dark blue haired gas mask-wearing man in an orange Fontaine-styled officer trenchcoat—conjures more Aqua energy around himself to deliver a burst of water as sharp as steel right through his heart, killing him instantly.

"Fuck... Too late." His muttering voice echoes from beneath the mask, his sorrowful amber eyes gazing at the many dead bodies littering the square. And then, the gaze behind the gas mask's goggles stops abruptly, pointing at you. "Wait... You're a civilian, aren't you? Get out of that box. You can't hide for long, most Hilichurls are much more perceptive than those three bastards." He says to you, walking over as he takes off its lid and dusts off your clothes. "I'm guessing you didn't have any mora to get out of this place. Matters not." He ruffles in one of the ammunition pouches lining the waist of his uniform, before taking out a pamphlet, an advertisement for "A Legend of the Sword" book. "Take it. Horde dogs haven't gotten to the harbor yet. If the garrison still stands, there is a ship waiting for civilians. It'll get you out, just show the captain that pamphlet and he'll get you on board." He pushes it into your hand, before walking away. "If you see any other folks, grab them with you! I paid my entire fortune for that boat, it has enough spots for half the Harbor!" He shouts, before conjuring a wave of water to get him on the roof, speeding off to help another fortunate soul.

There was something oddly familiar about that man... The way his sword hand moved and the way he mentioned his wealth. You just can't quite place it.

Desperate gunfire rings throughout the harbor. "CUT DOWN THE DOGS! DON'T LET A SINGLE ONE THROUGH! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MANY REFUGEES WE GOT HERE?!" A Millelith officer screams, firing his Webley at waves of battle-frenzied Bashi-Bazouks rushing through the ruined Liyue Harbor, eager to unleash unspeakable violence upon the refugees hastily boarding the last few ships out of the damned city. You fight back with all your might. The last ship filled with refugees pushes off the dock. Liyue is lost. Liyue Harbor is lost, but you would be damned if you were to break your one last damned contract with Morax! Yet destiny is proving to be absent from your life...

They're bringing up the fucking artillery now, a 42-line field gun being moved by a team of Sekban to dislodge the last remaining Maxim gun emplacement in the whole damned Liyue Harbor. And even then, it clicks beneath your hands. It's over. You couldn't even give a last "Fuck you" to the invader before being blown to bits.

And then it happens. The damned sky ruptures above all of you with a loud roar, streams of unnatural green mist flowing through it as it turns from blue to a shade of unnatural purple-ish dark. And the Horde's own atrocities come by way of reciprocity. The dead—Horde, civilian and Millelith alike—begin to rise from all over the slaughterhouse of Liyue Harbor, causing the Horde advance to instantly collapse, the once triumphant Sekban and Bazouks scattering like flies as the empire of the purple-eyed dead rises beneath your barricades, Abyssal portals opening in mid-air, dispensing creatures not of this world that attack both Horde and Millelith alike.

"THE HELL IS GOING ON?! FUCK IT, RETREAT! EVERYONE, RETRE—ACK, HELP, FUCK!" He screams as a purple-eyed running corpse of a Bazouk jumps over the barricade and lunges at him, ripping at his throat with his rotted teeth. The last stand at the docks turns into a damned slaughterhouse, as battalions on both sides collapse into naught but isolated squads of survivors desperately trying to escape and fight off the dead and whatever Abyssal abominations came pouring out of the rifts.

Abyssal rifts pop all over the Harbor, and beyond as the Chasm's eruption infests the other leylines within Liyue, raising the dead and letting loose yet more things not of this world. The Sixth Battle of Liyue has finally come to a nightmarish close. The Millelith have been annihilated by the Horde and the Horde's legions are soon to be annihilated by the Abyss. Forget orders, discipline and battle lines. It's every man for himself now.

"BLARGH! YAERGH! GHAARGH! WRAARGH-ACK!" "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" The Lu Jun snarls, jamming his musket's bayonet through the face of a purple-eyed undead trying to break into the teahouse turned refugee center, then prison, now safehouse. "Don't shout, Zhang... You'll only attract more of them." With a sad chuckle remarks a cross-legged deer adeptus, taking a long sip of his cup of green tea. "Don't shout?! DON'T SHOUT?! How do you suppose I don't shout?! Horde dogs raped and butchered my sister, then THIS FUCKING SHIT HAPPENED!" he gestures to the legions of the purple-eyed cannibal dead outside, trying, yet failing to break through the barricaded teahouse. "Well... You can always look at the bright side of life, can you not, my most ill-tempered pupil? This teahouse has... Plenty of tea!" Another chuckle and a sip follows. Of all the remaining adepti, the most smug and sarcastic one just had to remain in this teahouse. All alone at the end of his land. The simmering rage of the Lu Jun is about to break out, when he's suddenly interrupted by the banging at the barred door of the storage room. "LET US OUT! PLEASE! WE CAN HELP! WE NO ENEMY! SHAYTAN IS ENEMY! NOT US!" Common, accented heavily with Reformed Hillig, cries out in a muffled voice from the storage room, catching the attention of both the Millelith and the Adepti.

"My most ill-tempered pupil... Would you kindly let these poor folks out?" The adeptus raises his brow, heeding the desperate cries of whatever Sekban is locked inside the storage room. "Let them out...? LET THEM OUT?! DO YOU KNOW WHAT HIS KIND HAVE DONE IN THE CITY?! THEY BAYONETED INFANTS OUT THERE! LITERAL, INNOCENT, LAPIS-DAMNED INFANTS, ADEPTUS!" He snarls, yanking the bloodstained musket and moving to the door, intending to enact justice on the barbarian. "They don't have a contract to live... But they do have a contract to answer for their FUCKING CRIMES-" "STAY YOUR HAND, PUPIL!" The room goes silent. The Lu Jun freezes in his step, now glaring at the illuminated beast. "What did you say?!" "Be wise, my pupil. If you go in there enacting your 'righteous justice', we won't have enough spare hands to deliver us from hence." He puts the empty teacup on the table, rising upwards, his antlers almost scraping against the wooden ceiling. "We have sparsely enough food to last us in this place and, if what I know about the Abyss is correct, the fresh water canals connecting to this establishment have grown rather corrupted as of late. It's but a matter of time before we have to vacate this most teaful of teahouses." He says, approaching the barred door to the storage room. He puts his hand in the black hair of the Lu Jun, gently ruffling it. "Be wise and pragmatic, my pupil. Such qualities are of great need in these most desperate of times." He chuckles, unbarring the door. Almost instantly, a single Flagellum Dei in a ragged blue Sekban uniform slumps forward through the door, breathing raggedly. "T-teşekkürler... Ah, teşekkür ederim!" He mutters, getting on his knees, breathing in the stale air of the abandoned teahouse. "See? He's harmless." The Adeptus remarks, gesturing to the grateful Sekban as he walks back to the table to pour himself another cup of green tea, leaving the Millelith alone.

"Fine... Listen, you two barbarian fucks!" he gestures to both the Hilichurl and you, another Sekban who was stuck in the storage room-turned-prison cell "You are both coming with us and you're going to help us get out of this city of the dead! Fail to do so..." He aims the musket's barrel directly at the Hilichurl's face, making him scamper back in terror. "...And I'll shoot you myself. That's the least you deserve after what you people did here." He lowers the musket, taking a deep sigh, already regretting this. "We made an impromptu armory on the 2nd floor. You'll find whatever guns and ammo you need over there. Now get the fuck out of my sight and get prepped. Me and..." he gestures to the adeptus. "...Moon Carver." "Me and Moon Carver will make our way from here soon. Follow and don't fuck up."

Floating island in the further regions of the Abyss. Cathedral of the New United Reformed Interdenominational Abyss Order of the Revelation of Vedrfolnir "... And this is why there has been an ongoing, multi-generational plot to subvert the nations of Teyvat from within by infiltrating them with vishaps disguised as humans and restore them under the vile and tyrannical rule of the Old World Order of the Draconic Sovereigns! If you wish to read further proof of this insidious plot, then just read my newest book on the subject: 'Protocols of the Elder Dragons of Natlantia'!" A thing called "Enjou" proclaims to the other things sitting in the benches of the ancient otherworldly cathedral, his voice echoing through swathes of Abyssal energy crackling through it as it floats through its endless, dark space. "Thank you, esteemed Lector. But does it not bother you that this is the fourth lecture you've conducted on the subject of vishaps allegedly infiltrating mortal society? How is all this political rhetoric supposed to help us understand the Abyss, or at least bring more people closer to it?" "Not at all, revered Herald! After all, do people not deserve to know the truth? I mean, look at it from a more practical sense... If the people in the realm of Teyvat knew about this, then this surely would serve as the most potent rebuke of Celestia's, or whatever that new Hoyo nonsense's dogma! Surely, they would comprehend that if their gods were so benevolent, they wouldn't have permitted vishap indoctrination, infiltration, vishap subversion and the international vishap conspiracy to form a globalist Dragon Occupied Government! Thereby, pushing them closer to the true knowledge of the Abyss!" "Very well... Thank you for your speech, Enjou. Next lector, please!"

The conference continues as usual. Abyss cultists, Lectors and Heralds from every single Abyss Order out there come and make an individual speech before their "congregation". Yes, "every single Abyss Order". There are hundreds of them out there. Nobody ever unified them, so all those cultists and scholars of the forbidden just went and did the natural thing endemic to almost every religion out there: Went and split themselves into numerous offshoots, sects and minor cults, each feuding with another over the tiniest of doctrinal or theological differences, yet coming every once in a while to exchange ideas or debate one another in one of the more tolerant dioceses. This meeting is not that different. For all the slander coming from the material realm, the whole conference is surprisingly civilized. Hardly any human sacrifice occurs in it, although there do happen plenty of rituals and some Khemia experiments here and there, but they're too damn minor to be all that threatening. Mainly because each small Abyssal sect simply lacks the materiel to properly apply their theories, even within a controlled space.

And then the space stops being controlled. Out of nowhere, a massive breach in reality ruptures beneath the floating island, sending it traveling between worlds, before finally emerging above a city engulfed in flames and screams, plunging it lower until it collapses onto what was once the Yiyuan Temple, crushing the ancient building beneath its weight. The disturbed cultists can't help but stare out of the ancient cathedral's windows, beholding utter chaos consuming what you've identified as Liyue Harbor: Yet more Abyssal ruptures opening wherever they please, depositing Riftwolves and forming anomalies, while purple-eyed mobs of the dead ignore you to try and chase whatever living try to fight them off. Above, the Sun is Leaking into the dark and violet twisted sky, filled with an unnatural, corrupted green mist that starts to slowly infest the city.

And from the cathedral, the triumphant voice of Enjou rings out: "HA! AND YOU TOLD ME 'NOTHING EVER HAPPENS'! SURELY, THE DRAGONS ARE BEHIND THIS!" If your assumption is correct, it's likely because whatever happened in this land led to the Chasm erupting... Oh well, not that you can complain. For once, your fellow faithful and the very dimension you have come to call home, now has an actual foothold within the material realm of Teyvat.