Cornelius Octavian Bamblefooze, the infamous Hairbinger of Annihilation, clenched in paws in fear and fury as he watched his master plummet from the sky. The human helicopter had unleashed lead and fire upon his glorious master--lead and fire that he'd been certain his indomitable commander would be able to deflect. He'd expected--eagerly awaited, even--for the Great Lord of the Pandas to strike the vain primates down from the sky for their transgression.
Yet now the helicopter flew away victorious, turning its fire upon the swarms of flying swine, unpunished for its heinous sin. The Panda himself was nowhere to be seen, leaving Cornelius to seethe with the rage that could only be summoned by a panda whose faith had been shaken.
A lesser panda approached Cornelius from out of his command tent, bowing low and speaking hesitantly. "Sir," it began in a low, guttural voice. "What are our orders?"
Cornelius hesitated a moment. Could this be a test? Perhaps his magnificent prophet was merely testing their faith, feigning having suffered a fatal wound to gauge their reactions. If that was the case, then he should certainly press forward in the assault on The Dalles, wresting control from the imbecilic corporals and lieutenants that plagued the army and leading the Panda Revolution like he knew only he and his master could truly be capable of.
...But what if it wasn't a test? What if his master genuinely lay broken in a field, severely wounded and in need of aide? What would become of the Revolution without its leader?
He stood frozen on the field, shaking with indecision. His fine-tuned ears picked up the far-off sounds of automatic gunfire and the dying screams of a hundred pandas and flying pigs. Was this how the Glorious Panda Revolution would end? Its leader brought down by pathetic human guns, its forces decimated by the pitiful human Epics? Surely that could not be possible...
"Are you going to answer your subordinate, Cornelius?"
At the sound of the voice, Cornelius almost let out a squeal of delight. He fell to his knees in an instant, prostrating himself before his master.
"Forgive me, O Prophet," he pleaded, his eyes tightly closed and his body shaking. "I doubted your return. I... I doubted the Glorious Panda Revolution itself. I have failed your test."
"Open your eyes, Cornelius," the Panda bade softly to him. Cornelius did what he was told, and stared with his jaw hanging open.
The Panda was whole--mostly. He was barely a fraction of the size he had been before flying into battle, though his voice was the same as ever. He still had wings, but they were spread over his body holding wounds closed as they steadily healed. One of his eyes was white and blind, clearing slowly as the Panda blinked. His beautiful black and white fur was splattered with blood and fragments of bone and muscle. It was clear that the Panda was wounded, taking every ounce of his concentration to keep his body from disintegrating into a mass of burnt giblets.
"But..." Cornelius stuttered. "How... how could the humans do this to you?" He was in shock, disbelieving what he saw with his own eyes.
"Search your memories," the Panda coughed quietly. "You were once human as they were. You know what trapped and limited minds they have, and you know the stings that their weapons can bring. They fight even those who offer them a reprieve from their wretched, verminous existence."
The Panda limped to Cornelius' side, staring out towards the city of The Dalles. "How goes the assault?" he asked in a whisper.
Cornelius hesitated. "Poorly," he admitted silently, turning his head in shame. "Our warriors, skilled and well-crafted though they are, are being slaughtered by the dozen by the humans' Epics. They are being shot, crushed, smashed, frozen, blinded with burning lights, and murdered with their own weapons' wounds. The Reader has been taken back, robbing us of the one source of information that might tell us how to fight back. My lord... we are losing."
The Panda was silent, which only increased Cornelius' shame. If not for the fact that his kind and merciful master would certainly stop him, he would have pulled his blade from his sheath and plunged it straight into his own chest to purge himself of the dishonor.
"How many more warriors do we have remaining, Cornelius?" the Panda asked finally. Some of the blood was beginning to seep back into his body, doubtlessly being reformed within his skeleton and vital systems.
"Of that, I am not sure," Cornelius replied. "But I assure you, we have enough brave pandas to fighting well into tomorrow afternoon, even with this rate of slaughter."
"There will be no more panda blood senselessly spilled over this city," the Panda said firmly. "A drop of panda blood is more precious than gold and more beautiful than a thousand acres' worth of forest. We will withdraw."
"W-withdraw?" Cornelius asked in shock. "But... the Revolution..."
"Will continue," the Panda said firmly. "You did not fail me, Cornelius, but I assure you that we are all of us being tested. The Radiant Panda is testing our minds, bodies, and souls with this war. We have proven our spirits hardy and our bodies solid in the battle thus far. But now we must pass the test of the mind through sound tactics. Is that not what I created you for, Cornelius? Did I not design you to be an engine of strategy?"
"You did," Cornelius affirmed slowly. He thought for a moment, his ears flopping up and down as he considered their options. "We aren't leaving the city, are we? We're merely regrouping--preparing for a coordinated assault under the cover of darkness, perhaps?"
"That is well-thought," the Panda praised solemnly. He reached a paw out, gingerly scratching his tactician behind the ears. Cornelius growled in comfort at the gesture.
"I must recuperate from the sting of the humans," the Panda continued. "Our warriors must regroup, lest their blood be spilled senselessly in the streets any longer. We must have time to ascend our captives to the higher existence of pandaness. We will grant the humans only an hour's reprieve before we strike them with all the force we can muster, directing our might at the choicest targets in their city. When we return, we will not plunder indiscriminately through their streets--rather, we will target their Epics. Their Epics cannot stand against the united armies of the pandas targeted against them at once. I will personally bring them to their knees, and give them the choice between pandaness and death."
Cornelius felt hope flutter within his breast once more. "You are wise, prophet."
"Indeed," agreed the Panda, his voice growing stronger. "As are you. We are pandas--we cannot be any other way."
Cornelius stood up straight, drawing his sword in salute. "I will order a retreat, master," he proclaimed. "And I will fight by your side when we flood the city once more!"
"There will be a glorious reckoning," the Panda rumbled. "Soon the Golden Age of Pandas will be upon us. Soon paradise will rise from the ashes of Oregon. Soon our foes will learn to embrace the sanctity of the panda form."
"Soon..."
