Moth Pole Pit
The aftermath of the carpet bombing left the Moth Pole Prison unrecognizable. The once-imposing pit was now a jagged wasteland of overlapping craters. The central pole tower had collapsed in on itself, broken like a snapped tooth. Smoke bled upward in thick, greasy columns while pockets of fire licked at shattered platforms and torn metal.
Among the devastation, dozens of dazed survivors staggered through drifting ash. Hundreds more—prisoners and guards alike—lay sprawled and broken across the scorched ground.
Clank. Clank. Clank.
Beneath the rubble where the pole tower once stood, something hammered for escape.
CLANK. CLANK. CRAAASH!
A black boot burst through the rubble, kicking debris aside. Out climbed Director Cinderclaws himself—large for a dwarf (thus roughly human-sized), dressed in a soot-smeared red uniform, and very obviously bleeding. But most importantly, he was furious.
"GUAAARDS!" His voice cracked like thunder across the pit.
The surviving guards jerked toward the sound. They converged on him with a mix of relief and terror—six in steam armor, three in spider tanks, and a few dozen infantry dwarves.
"Sir! Are you alright?"
Cinderclaws spat dust and blood. "...Who the fuck blew up my prison?"
"W-we believe it was airships, sir," one guard stammered.
"Airships?"
"Yes, sir—Dwargonian airships. They dropped hundreds of bombs on us." The guard pointed upward.
Cinderclaws followed the gesture. Through the haze, several black airships still hovered ominously in the airspace above. Three of them descended toward the upper entrance, halting a few meters off the ground as their bay doors opened.
Dozens of black steam armors marched out in formation.
"T-they're sending troops now," one guard muttered, pale. "Are they going to kill us?"
"Sir, what do we do? There's no other exit—"
"Of course there's no other exit! This is a damn prison." Cinderclaws wiped soot from his face. "Call the military!"
"S-sir… the mana-comm station was blown apart."
"Tch…"
He raised his voice again, steady despite the chaos.
"ALRIGHT, LISTEN UP! I don't know who these bastards are or why they're here—but I know two things.
One: They're coming down right now to finish the job.
Two: ANYONE MAY ENTER THE MOTH POLE—BUT NO ONE LEAVES UNLESS I SAY SO!"
"YES, SIR!"
"We give them proper Moth Pole hospitality," Cinderclaws snarled. "Prep for guerrilla defense!"
"Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen—light steam armors!" Command Cinderclaws. "Keep out of sight. Hit them only when you can flank."
"Yes, sir!"
"Comet, Cupid—set up your spider tanks for long-range fire."
"Yes, sir!"
"Donner and Vixen, you two are with me. We draw their attention."
"Yes, sir!"
"Everyone else—scatter! Get behind solid cover. We're going guerrilla."
The guards saluted sharply.
"What about the prisoners, sir?" asked Dasher.
"Tell them to stay in their cells if they want to live." Cinderclaws grumbled. "These intruders are probably here for our VIP. Where are the Grand Marshal's men?"
"Most were on the train, sir. Only a few escorted the Grand Marshal into the tunnel."
"Hmph. I hear no gunfire above—they're likely dead."
A shout cut through the smoke.
"HEY YOU! PUT IT DOWN!"
Cinderclaws turned. One of his guards had a rifle aimed at a group of armed prisoners—some carrying stolen guns, others wielding pickaxes and mining hammers.
"WE WANT TO FIGHT!" one of the prisoners shouted.
"LAST WARNING! DROP THOSE RIFLES!"
But none of the prisoners raised their weapons back. Cinderclaws marched over and lifted a hand at his guard.
"What do you mean you want to fight?" he demanded.
The lead prisoner jabbed a thumb toward the smoldering pit.
"Look at this! Our mates got slaughtered! We're dwarves—where's our pride if we hide like rats while their killers walk right in?"
"Tch… stubborn idiots." Cinderclaws muttered. "Fine. Fight if you want. But if even one of you aims at a guard, I'll shoot the lot of you myself."
He knew dwarves well enough: refuse them, and they'd cause more trouble than the invaders.
"Spread out!" he barked. "Find positions. And I'll fetch Rudolph."
---
Maximum Security Cell
"Are you alright, Council Member?" Mara asked, bracing a shimmering shield against a slab of rubble threatening to crush them.
Dwordoug Axebreaker coughed. "Y-yes… thank you, Mr. Ambassador."
"Sir?" Mara asked Levi. "Your assistance, please?"
"Allow me," Levi said mildly.
With a casual gesture, he used telekinesis to shove the debris aside. It crashed to the floor with a heavy rumble.
Mara shook out his arms. "Hff… thank you, sir."
"You're getting old," Levi teased.
"I'm not a demon duke, sir. Two thousand years is old for my kind," Mara groaned, massaging his shoulder.
Dwordoug grumbled, "What's happening up there?"
"I believe," Levi said with a knowing smile, "that our… mutual friend has arrived."
The dwarf narrowed his eyes. "And how did you two get out of your cell? …Never mind. Foolish of me to think a demon duke could be contained."
Levi only smiled wider.
"Tch… They strike this deep inside Dwargonia? My men above must have signaled a nearby base."
"Hm. Unlikely," Mara replied politely. "Given their track record, the attackers definitely cut communications."
The Grand Marshal grimaced. "…You're right. Then we leave. They won't leave without proof of our deaths."
"As expected of the Grand Marshal—ever perceptive," Levi said.
The three headed deeper along the tunnel.
---
Moth Pole Entrance
Two guards hid inside the entrance post, trembling as they watched black steam armors march with military precision and spider tanks crawl over crushed debris.
"S-shit… we can't fight steam armor with rifles," one guard whispered. "What now?".
"I don't know, dwarf! I don't know!"
"Maybe… maybe we surrender?"
Before either could act, a spider tank rotated its cannon.
BOOM—KABOOOM!
The post disappeared in a spray of splinters and fire.
The black-armored strike force—twenty-five steam armors and eight spider tanks—advanced without slowing. They dispatched stragglers ruthlessly, accepting surrenders only long enough to shoot them.
The lead commander stopped at a cliff overlooking the pit.
"This is Grinch Leader. We're entering Moth Pole," he said into his comm.
"Understood. We need visual confirmation of Dwordoug Axebreaker's body," came the reply.
"And the demons?"
"Signal us with flares. Three bombers are on standby to erase them. No witnesses."
"Roger. Grinch Leader out."
The troops dispersed and began their descent.
---
Below, guards and prisoners crouched in rubble, gripping rifles, pickaxes, and hammers.
"Here they come," whispered a prisoner.
"Let them pass. Our heavies fire first," a guard murmured.
The black armors swept past—
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
Two heavy steam armors opened fire. The invaders dodged, sliding on retractable wheels, zigzagging unpredictably.
One black armor crouched behind rubble—unaware dwarves were already beneath it. A guard aimed through a crack.
BOOM!
The shot struck the armor's hydraulics. Steam vented in a violent hiss as the machine lost power.
Three dwarven prisoners armed with hammer and pickaxe sprang from hiding, swarming the armor and tripping it. It crashed to the ground.
"Welcome to Moth Pole," one prisoner growled.
They set to work.
CLANK—THUD—CLANK—THUD—CLANK—THUD
Pickaxes slammed into the cockpit hatch, the dwarves chanting their work song.
"HEY! HO! HEY! HO! HEY! HO!"
CLANK!
The cockpit finally popped open. Inside, the pilot stared in terror.
"Hey-ho, you bitch!" a prisoner barked, and his pickaxe swung down.
---
Bashington DC, Pentagon
Inside the NMCC, Stan stood before the massive monitor wall displaying the assault.
"What's the Reaper status?" he asked.
"Three Reapers are holding altitude at fifteen thousand meters, sir."
"Good. High enough to avoid Dwargonian patrols. ETA?"
"Forty minutes."
Stan exhaled. "Let's hope Levi doesn't do anything reckless before they get there."
---
Moth Pole, Underground Sewers
"Do we truly have to crawl through this filth?" Dwordoug complained.
The narrow sewage tunnel forced them into single file, with the dwarf leading.
"No real alternative," Levi said cheerfully. "The main tunnel collapsed."
"Ugh… a hundred and fifty years since my soldiering days, and now this… crawling through muck at my age."
"Change of scenery is good for mental health," Levi replied.
"Hmph. What would a demon know of well-being?"
"I only learned after working with the Prime Minister."
The dwarf snorted. "Your prime minister—Alex Solomon. Is he truly as strong as the Demon King?"
Levi laughed. "Oh no, not at all. I'm surprised my ambassador didn't clarify. The Prime Minister is actually the weakest demon in all of Murica."
"What? Impossible."
"Not joking at all. He looks like a tough orc, yes, but a demon teenager could beat him easily."
"…Then why follow him? Is it because he leads you to modern knowledge?"
"That's part of it. But for me personally… He believe true power lies in words, not swords. And I believe the same."
"…Says the demon god of discord and envy."
"That's an outdated title. I'm a humble civil servant now," Levi said with a serene smile.
They reached a three-way junction.
"Which way?" Mara asked.
Dwordoug examined the sloped tunnels. "The right. Slight incline—it leads upward."
Levi nodded approvingly. "We wouldn't know the difference. A dwarf's blessing, hm?"
"And our curse…" Dwordoug muttered darkly.
"Referring to the old slave era?" Mara asked gently.
"…Even after my ancestor fought to save the world, the humans enslaved my grandfather and his brothers," Dwordoug said, voice low, "Built their cathedrals and palaces… many died doing it."
Mara's face darkened. Levi stayed quiet.
"I hate humans almost as much as demons," Dwordoug continued. "But I won't betray my ancestors' work. Dwargonia is a dwarven haven now."
"I'd say they did a fine job," Levi said. "No human kingdom would dare provoke Dwargonia."
"Not unless they want their cities flattened by our airships," Dwordoug grunted.
They moved on—until the tunnel abruptly ended in a wall of collapsed stone.
"Hmm," Levi said. "Troublesome."
Dwordoug tested the rubble. "We're close to the surface…"
"Should I blow it away?" Levi asked.
"No! You'll collapse the whole passage. If only I had a pickaxe—"
"I can help," Mara said.
He summoned a small pocket of darkness — and pulled out a sinister-looking black pickaxe… with a blinking eye and a smiling mouth.
Dwordoug took it—then frowned. "Why does it have a mouth and an eye staring at me?"
Mara coughed. "Ah… a relic from my juvenile phase. Apologies."
"…Better than nothing."
The dwarf hefted the cursed tool and began clearing a path.