Not long after the planning session concluded, the assault began. Not with bullets. Not with bombs. With information.
People throughout Latveria suddenly discovered something unprecedented. Anyone with a mobile phone or other electronic device began receiving messages. Countless messages. Materials signed by the rebels, flooding inboxes and notification screens with relentless persistence.
The content was diverse, carefully curated to build a narrative.
At the beginning, the information was basically dirty secrets belonging to the Fortunov family. Financial records showing corruption. Photos of extravagant parties while citizens starved. Videos of family members draped in jewels and furs, laughing as they stepped over beggars.
The contrast was stark..
People saw their rulers' true faces. The opulence purchased with blood and suffering. The contempt in which they were held.
Discussions erupted. In homes. In markets. In hushed conversations on street corners. Everyone had opinions. Everyone shared what they'd received.
Wait until everyone had discussed these revelations thoroughly, until the shock had metabolized into something approaching acceptance, until they'd grown accustomed to daily revelations of excess and cruelty.
Then the second wave arrived.
Every adult received new information. Restricted-level content that made the previous revelations seem almost benign. Images and videos of the Fortunov family's army carrying out terrorist suppression operations. Bloody massacres executed on innocent people in rural towns and satellite cities.
Children shot in streets. Elderly beaten to death for insufficient deference. Women violated and discarded. Entire families disappeared for speaking against the regime.
The documentation was comprehensive.
During this period, these messages were accompanied by other content. Video images of rebels fiercely resisting the Hassenstadt army. Brave men and women standing against overwhelming force. Footage of firefights and last stands, all set to emotional and tragic music that pulled at heartstrings and stoked righteous fury.
Most of the rebel images were fake, of course. Scenes temporarily concocted by Nolan and Doom, leading the resistance members in staged battles. Professional propaganda, carefully constructed to inspire.
But the emotions they provoked were real.
And as time passed, those inexplicable feelings gradually fermented in people's hearts. Anger. Shame. Desire for justice. The need to act rather than simply endure.
The ruling power of the Fortunov family inevitably became aware of the campaign. Their intelligence services, sluggish but functional, reported the information warfare.
Their response was predictable. Heavy-handed. Desperate.
The rulers immediately chose to enforce physical disconnections in every location up and down the country. Internet cut. Cell towers disabled. Communications severed at infrastructure level.
At the same time, they sent troops to force everyone to hand over their electronic equipment. Soldiers went door to door, confiscating phones, tablets, computers. Anything that could receive messages.
They were trying to eliminate the deadly threat that shook the foundation of their rule through brute suppression.
The result was inevitable. Bloody conflicts between the two sides erupted one after another, following the script Nolan and Doom had predicted with depressing accuracy.
People refused to surrender their devices. Soldiers insisted. Violence followed. And with each confrontation, more resentment built. More hatred crystallized.
Meanwhile, unknown to the Fortunov family, countermeasures deployed.
Automatic servo robots, each one installed with network signal amplification devices, were quickly mobilized from the Twin Islands base by David.
They infiltrated satellite cities under cover of darkness. Positioned themselves in optimal locations. And began broadcasting.
When the conflicts between the local people and the Hassenstadt army intensified to breaking points, when blood had been spilled and positions hardened, a considerable number of people who had successfully hidden their electronic devices received new information from the rebels.
However, the content had evolved. This information was practical.
Instructions on how to use nearby buildings and roads to resist effectively. Which structures offered best cover. Where chokepoints could be created. How to turn urban terrain into advantage.
And how to manufacture improvised weapons. Explosives from household chemicals. Molotov cocktails from bottles and fuel. Barricades from furniture and debris.
The messages transformed ordinary citizens into potential combatants. Gave them tools. Methods. Hope.
As a result, a small group of men, women, and children who already harbored burning hatred for the Fortunov family made their decisions. They rushed into the streets of various satellite cities, armed with crude weapons or homemade explosives. Fear mixed with determination in equal measure.
A more fierce and bloody conflict began with the ruling army of the Fortunov family. This time, the civilians fought back.
But they weren't alone.
Before the riots erupted, many old rebels in disguise had already infiltrated the satellite cities. Positioned. Waiting for opportunities. Armed with proper weapons and training.
The bloody conflict had just begun when precision strikes landed. Important facilities exploded. Arsenals detonated, sending ammunition skyward in spectacular fireworks. Power stations went dark. Communication hubs died.
Chaos bloomed like flowers across multiple cities simultaneously.
At the same time, the Stormtrooper team, armed with laser sniper rifles and accompanied by several automatic drones, arrived at the satellite cities where riots occurred. They moved through confusion like ghosts, power armor carrying them across rooftops and through shadows.
Accompanied by bursts of explosions and flames shooting into the sky, by noisy shouts erupting from every direction, systematic elimination proceeded.
The highest officials of several satellite cities fell first. Then military commanders. Each one called out by the Automata and Stormtroopers through precise intelligence.
Each received the highest courtesy: death by headshot. Clean. Instant. Decapitating the command structure.
Military personnel who temporarily lost their leadership faced impossible choices. Some fought on, driven by training or loyalty, and were beaten to death by the angry people flooding the streets.
Others simply turned. Switched sides with smiles on their faces, leading the rebels to remaining loyalist positions. Survival instinct overriding ideology.
The satellite cities fell like dominoes. One. Two. Three. Resistance crumbling faster than anyone had predicted.
Wait until everything developed and the dust had basically settled, until fires were extinguished and bodies counted.
Doom, as the leader of the resistance, led part of the rebel army into the satellite city closest to the mountain stronghold. The city where resistance sentiment had always run strongest. Where his name still carried weight.
He addressed crowds through consistent speeches. Made commitments to walk the talk. Promised change backed by visible action.
The response was overwhelming. He once again received strong support from the vast majority of the public. Even those who had originally maintained wait-and-see attitudes, skeptical of yet another revolutionary promise, joined the cause.
The evidence was undeniable. The Fortunov family truly fell. Doom truly delivered.
As a result, the resistance army, whose numbers had increased dramatically through popular support, immediately marched toward the next satellite city. No rest. No hesitation. Momentum demanded exploitation.
A week later, the tally was stark. Six of the only eight satellite cities in Latveria were back in rebel hands.
As for the remaining two satellite cities and the only capital city of Hassenstadt, the internal situation churned with barely suppressed chaos. The public opinion offensive against every local population showed no sign of stopping. Messages still flowed. Anger still built.
The more powerfully the rulers of the Fortunov family oppressed the people below, crushing dissent with escalating brutality, the more intense the resistance they received. Action and reaction, spiraling upward toward inevitable explosion.
A few days later, Nolan personally led the Stormtrooper team to launch beheading operations in the two satellite cities outside the capital Hassenstadt. Time for direct intervention.
Doom had prepared them well. He'd given the Stormtroopers witchcraft blessings and special stealth methods. Spells layered over technology. Magic supplementing the "Invisible Man" effect.
The people wearing power armor moved through cities like invisible ghosts, perception sliding away from them like water from oiled surfaces. They took away the heads of local chief executives with surgical precision. Literal heads in some cases. Metaphorical authority in all cases.
Even the already panic-stricken Hassenstadt army, jumpy and trigger-happy, found themselves systematically eliminated. Nolan and his team wiped them out one by one. Silent kills. Professional executions.
When the angry crowds, who could no longer suppress their rage, finally gathered courage and numbers, they rushed into the territories belonging to the Fortunov family inside the satellite cities.
They found only broken corpses everywhere. Horrific scenes of massacre. The work already done. Their oppressors already dead.
Justice delivered before they'd even arrived to claim it.
In the end, the accounting was remarkable. It took only half a month for the resistance under Nolan's coordination to regain fruits of victory that far exceeded those of the past several years of struggle.
This certainly didn't mean the local rebels had been useless before. That would be unfair assessment.
In fact, Doom had been conducting operations quite well in the past. His tactics were sound. His strategies viable. Without Leviathan's forcible intervention, backing the Fortunov family with resources and expertise, it would have been only a matter of time before he successfully liberated Latveria.
Nolan's contribution was specific. He'd relied on the local people's pre-existing hatred and disgust for Fortunov family rule. Tapped into emotions already present.
Then applied continuous public opinion offensives combined with crushing technological superiority. The results followed naturally from superior methodology.
As for why Nolan didn't directly strike at the Fortunov family huddled in the capital city, ending the threat permanently, the answer was strategic patience.
He'd carefully followed David's advice on this matter.
The Fortunov family had never been the real threat. They were puppets. The Leviathan organization hiding behind them, pulling strings, was the true culprit.
Now, Nolan, who had maintained great patience despite having the power to simply crush all opposition, deliberately gave Leviathan time to react. Space to mobilize their resources. Opportunity to commit their forces.
In common terms, the previous series of actions were actually just fishing. Setting bait. Waiting for the catch.
"My lord, I have forcibly closed all the accounts of the Fortunov family and Leviathan for transferring interests."
Inside the mountain stronghold, David's mechanical voice carried satisfaction. His blue optics flashed rhythmically as he reported.
"The money and wealth in them have been taken over one by one by the shell companies of Imperial Heavy Industries. The resulting loss of all financial revenue from a small country is an unbearable event for the secret service organization Leviathan, even for an organization of their resources."
David's metal head tilted analytically. "In other words, their remaining Zodiac members and corresponding manpower will definitely gather in the only remaining city of Hassenstadt. This is one of the reasons why I deliberately kept the city's internal network signal active."
His tone carried something approaching amusement. "After all, closing the door and beating the dog is the only solution that resolves everything once and for all. A good way to ensure total victory."
At this moment, Nolan stood with his back to David. His power armor gleamed dully in the stronghold's lighting. He leaned forward slightly, attention focused elsewhere.
Before him sat a supply box that had just been delivered from the Twin Islands base. He'd opened it, revealing contents packed in protective foam.
Nolan reached in carefully, fingers closing around a weapon he hadn't held in some time. He lifted it free.
The Blood Scythe emerged into light. Its sharp blade lingered with green luminescence, the glow pulsing softly like a heartbeat. The weapon felt right in his hands. Familiar. Hungry.
He turned it slowly, examining the edge from multiple angles. Checking for damage. Confirming readiness.
"Very good," he said, voice carrying anticipation. "I'm looking forward to Leviathan bringing me some 'surprises'..."
He set the scythe down carefully, then turned partially toward David. "David, where is Doom? Why can't I see him around recently?"
The question was casual, but genuine curiosity underlay it. Doom had been conspicuously absent from recent strategy sessions.
Hearing Nolan's inquiry, David seemed to hesitate. The pause was brief but noticeable. Unusual for the normally decisive artificial intelligence.
But he still replied to Nolan, honesty winning out. "After Mr. Doom finished dealing with the complicated administrative matters at hand, consolidating control over the liberated cities, he has been using his free time to lead everyone in the Stormtrooper team to conduct technical research."
David's tone carried something that might have been respect. "They're mainly studying the overall structure of their power armor. Detailed analysis. Reverse engineering. Understanding every component and system."
A pause. Then the revelation. "He seems to want to independently build a power armor of his own."