>>5752723And you see your most hated sight so far, a crazed man, dried black blood all around his mouth and sickly-looking teeth, painted in strange symbols reminiscent to ancient tribal warfare charges ahead of the rest of the pact, mining explosives all across his body, grafted into his skin with painful looking cuts and burnt skin where some of the bombs were quite literally welded into his flesh.
You have no time to play around or hide your skills in such situations, you simply kneel down…brace…aim…fire…
The single shot rings out as the man’s brains are blown out and he drops dead to the floor, the body still twitching but the bombs inactive.
“By the throne.” A laugh. “I knew I had good eyes.” Tared says levelling his own rifle and beginning to simple spray down the tunnel of the now broken and retreating foes, and so do the rest of your men.
A waste of ammo, but you cannot enforce ALL of the discipline standards you’d like.
“Rollcall everyone ! Get the wounded back, secure what ammo you can and set up a perimeter ! These crazy bastards will be back, they always do !” You begin to shout out snap orders, directed to individual men, those of quicker speed to grab the wounded, those of better senses to stand guard, those of whom who have experience to…secure equipment.
“I’ve fought some crazy bastards before, but these, these are nothing like I’ve ever seen before.” Lightly kicking at a corpse Tared says.
And he’s right, clear signs of psychopathy, evidence of cannibalism, ritual mutilation. These <span class="mu-i">Blood Brethren</span> are quite a handful to deal with. You regard one of the corpses, a crude symbol is carved with what you can only assume to be a crude blade right into the forehead.
You avert your gaze from it, once again your system’s reporting unknown damage by simply looking at it. You had wanted to get in contact with your creator, but being so deep underground and with the non-stop fighting, you just never found the chance to.
“Ravens ! Status ?” Tared, your de facto second in command calls out a moment or so later. To that affirmatives come, for past three weeks of the so called <span class="mu-i">Great Enforcement</span>, the mercenaries and arbites had been thrown into a meat grinder. Assault after assault, tunnel after tunnel. Arbitrator Agustius is hell-bent to breakthrough, and if he can’t, to break himself.
“Oi, Herakles, you okay ?”
“I am.” You respond, eventually you had to come up with a name. “How are others doing ?”
“You mean besides us ?”
“Yea.”
“Fucked if I know. The closer we get to, uhhh…”
“Precinct-fortress eight.”
