A pained groan echoed throughout the now lifeless lobby as one of the many bodies within began to stir. Laying flat against the floor near to a square window with shattered glass, a figure in sterile white armour stained with blood slowly pushed itself up from the ground. It didn’t stand up straight away, lifting itself into a sitting position with its back rested against the wall next to the window, verdant green eyes fluttering open and closing soon after repeatedly.
The helmet placed atop of its head would begin to flash a red glow from the inside, faintly lighting up the pitch black lobby as it fed the wearer with an incomplete damage report filled with errors. The armoured figure groaned yet again, hands reaching up to his neck to release a few clasps before both of his hands snapped onto the side of his helmet. He raised the helmet off and placed it on his lap, a rough cough leaving him soon after. His bottom lip and chin was caked in a light layer of dry blood, the back of his blonde hair stained with more blood that had appeared to leak down to his neck. Droplets of light rain would occasionally pepper the side of the figure’s face, his eyes closing again as he leaned back against the wall.
The cold bite of a breeze forced his eyes back open, another hacking cough leaving him as he reached for something in his armour’s rigging. A snapping noise was heard as the figure was illuminated by a soft blue glow, a glow stick falling from his hands and rolling over to his feet. The man looked sickly, his already pale skin having lost a lot of the colour that it may have held previously. His face displayed visible discomfort as his head looked down slightly and an armoured hand would press itself against the back of his head, before immediately shooting away as the man winced.
”Blyad...” Nebo cursed with closed eyes, his head feeling as though it had just been smashed up by a twenty pound sledgehammer after multiple repeated strikes. He forced his eyes back open and attempted to look at his surroundings, the blue glow of the glow stick only reaching so far until it was held back by a wall of impenetrable darkness. He clenched his teeth together as he looked down at his helmet, hands almost refusing to move at first before he managed to bring them to grab the helmet. He looked at the faceplate first, seeing no damage at all aside from the dried blood. He turned the helmet around to look at its back, barely having the will to widen his eyes when he saw the small, scorched hole dead in the centre of the backside of his helmet. He reached a hand in through the bottom of the helmet and was able to fit his index finger through the hole, a metal object being pushed out after offering a small amount of resistance.
He raised an eyebrow, placing the helmet back on his lap before picking up the object that had fallen out of it. It was a bullet, and still in perfect shape too. It was about the size of the tip of his thumb, had a pointed tip, a silver colour with splotches of his own dried blood, and held a fair bit of weight to it too. It was tungsten. This should’ve killed him, but it didn’t. How?
Upon closer inspection, the bullet had engravings. It held the sigil of the Shattered Moon and the words “Mortem Eius De Longe”. A Knight’s bullet. No Serf or Man At Arms would have fired a bullet like this and with such precision too, judging by the hole in his helmet. The shot didn’t kill him, but it did a good job at knocking him out.
He carefully placed the bullet into one of his armour’s pouches before slowly lifting himself up to his feet. He gave one final look at his helmet before retrieving a small earth dust crystal from his field repair kit, slapping the crystal over the hole and plugging it full of small amounts of rock. It was a temporary fix, but it should at least be a good enough seal. He spun the helmet around in his hands to stare down at the visor, seeing the faceless image that the Atlesian soldier was known for. He let out a deep breath, steeling himself for what may happen next. He wanted to just lay back down on the floor, give up on the world and just wait for someone to come for him. But he can’t do that.
That’d be giving up.
He spun the helmet back around before lowering it back onto his head, locking in the clasps again without as nearly as much difficulty as he had back on the Carrier. The hiss he heard was enough to tell him that the earth dust patchwork was doing its job. His HUD came back on and the red glow it displayed earlier was back, error messages being all that he could see in the corner of his vision until he turned it off. He didn’t need a HUD, as long as the helmet did its job he was fine. It saved his life before, it will do so again. He took another deep breath, looking down to his side to spot his rifle laid against the floor with the bayonet still attached.
He thanked whatever gods were out there that he didn’t end up impaling himself on his own rifle.
He picked up the fallen firearm and held it with only his right hand, his left hand reaching up to the side of his helmet to flick a small switch. Immediately, a bright beam of light shot out from the top of his helmet as the built in flashlight activated. Now able to look around the lobby without the darkness obscuring everything, he can safely say that another firefight had happened shortly after he fell unconscious. Bullet casings lined the floor and he saw several dead Marines littering the floor amidst the bodies of the Serfs and Men At Arms that had died when they had first entered the lobby.
His left hand clenched into a fist before relaxing as he quickly got a hold of himself, knowing that now wasn’t a good time to get angry. He walked over to the first Marine corpse he saw, resting his assault rifle against his shoulder as he crouched down next to the body. Without his HUD he couldn’t see the name of the Marine, but the cause of death was obvious. Bullet to the back, severing the spine but not quite finishing the job. He wasn’t finished off, left to bleed out whilst paralysed from the neck down. A nasty way to go.
He pushed the body onto its back, seeing the rank of Lance Corporal on the dead Marine’s shoulder. He checked the Marine’s rigging and began retrieving the unspent magazines from it and the single smoke grenade it had left. After that, he grabbed ahold of the dead Marine’s dropped rifle and took off the bayonet. As much as he disliked taking from the dead, he might need the extra ammo and a spare bayonet could be helpful.
He stood back up and gave the lobby another look, before turning to look at the stairs that his battle buddy and his Lieutenant went up. He shouldered his rifle and began to carefully make his way up, checking all sides as he ascended up the building. Once he was on the second floor he saw the results of another firefight, although one that was tipped in the Marine’s favour judging by the lack of Atlesian bodies in the floor. The boys clearing this floor were likely oblivious to what was happening downstairs, their own gunshots drowning out the noise further down.
The whole floor looked like some sort of mess hall, the tables thrown over to provide lacklustre cover judging by the bullet holes. He looked over to the opposite side of the mess hall and saw the massive hole that the Maelstrom gunship had torn into the building earlier, the sight of the fractured moon partially obscured by dark clouds telling him that it was night. How long was he knocked out?
Seeing little of interest he turned back to the stairs and would begin making his way up to the third floor, only to be stopped by a whole lot of debris. The top floor must’ve collapsed judging by the streaks of moonlight that he could see just barely sleeping through the cracks. That didn’t bode well at all, but then again neither did the dead Marines back on the ground floor. He turned away from the rubble and went back down to the second floor, rifle rested on his shoulder as he stepped over the corpses and flipped tables in the mess hole to approach the hole in the wall.
He got a good view of the no man’s land he sprinted across earlier, the white phosphorus having cleared away to revealed it in its entirety. He was already expecting to see the corpses of his comrades, he knew they were there. He also knew about the victims that the white phosphorus had claimed, seeing their skinless bodies laid out everywhere. He took his gaze away and looked directly down. He now knew what happened to the rest of his platoon.
A dozen bodies were piled up on the streets below, some missing limbs whilst others had large arrows of an ornate design sticking out of them, some scorched to hell. Definitely Knights. His comrades were taken by surprised, torn apart by the Huntsmen level warriors that they stood no chance against. The shotgun split in half by a blade and the dust powered pistol crushed by a boot that laid next to the corpses already told him who were down there... and he didn’t want to check to make sure. He just wanted to get out of here now.
He looked up the sky, looking to where the Carrier Fleet would be. He couldn’t see much through the dark clouds, and the rain splattering against his visor made things a bit annoying. He could seen the orange glow of flames, the cracked bow of a Frigate piercing through the clouds but still laid there hanging as its engines still had the power to keep it hovering. Until those clouds cleared, he could not be certain of the Carrier Fleet’s fate. He couldn’t them either, or anyone really. The bullet he took would’ve rendered the radio in his helmet inoperable.
He turned away from the hall and begin heading back down to the lobby, holding his rifle at rest as he made his way down the stairs. With no way to his superiors he had no clue as to what he should do and he didn’t feel particularly confident with the idea of running back to the perimeter wall. For all he could know, the siege was a failure and he would end up walking straight into the enemy. The distant gunshots he heard could just be the Lunies carrying out executions.
He would shake his shake his head, trying to banish away those negative thoughts he had. It’d be best not to think about that. Even if he were to be optimistic, he knew it’d still be best to not think about the current situation of his comrades too much. Less he either be disappointed or be constantly depressed. He walked back over the window he was next to earlier and looked back out again, hoping to see that pristine fountain and courtyard that had calmed him down before.
It wasn’t there.
The fountain was gone. It wasn’t broken, ruined by battle and its water tainted by Human blood. No, it just wasn’t there. Just a vast, open field of dying grass that was most likely used by the Lunies for physical training.
A look of disbelief came across his face as he leaped through the window without a second thought, landing and immediately sprinting over to the centre of the field. It was just grass and mud. The fountain was a lie. Did he simply imagine it all? It made no sense. It was a calming sight, like a piece of his home was displayed right in front of him. His grip on his rifle tightened as he felt a steadily growing headache, head looking down as his left hand instinctively slapped against his visor. It just wasn’t right.
”Another Albus? Bonum est Deus, there‘s no end to you scum!” A youthful voice said with a thick Foedosian accent, drawing Nebo’s gaze to its origin only to see a figure covered in onyx black plate armour come rushing at him with double edged short sword, its tip glowing a bright blue.
Nebo didn’t have to think to know what to do next, his left hand snapping back onto his rifle before he quickly sidestepped the charge. As the armoured figure stepped past him Nebo immediately thrusted the bayonet on his rifle straight towards a gap between the figure’s helmet and the rest of its armour, only for the figure to swing its blade back and catch Nebo’s rifle, the blade pushing the rifle back but continued to push against the rifle as the figure spun around to face Nebo. A hand wearing a gauntlet with spiked fingers would grab the blade and push it further against Nebo’s rifle, although the Marine did not budge all that much.
”I am Xerxes! Junior Knight of the Ordo Lu-“ Xerxes was unable to finish his sentence before Nebo launched a haymaker straight into his face, causing the Junior Knight to double back and lowering his sword just enough to allow Nebo to whip the side of Xerxes’ head with his rifle’s stock. This elicited a loud yelp that was a mixture of both pain and surprise, his body keeling over just far enough to give Nebo the perfect opportunity to ram his knee straight into Xerxes’ visor hard enough to cause his entire body to whip back up.
”Shut the fuck up!” Nebo exclaimed as he jabbed Xerxes’ throat, four hit combo. He would’ve made it a five hit combat if Xerxes’ armour didn’t suddenly realise a purple coloured blast that launched both of them away from each other. Nebo felt himself get launched across the field for brief few seconds, grass and mud being dug up by his armoured body and further staining the bloodied armoured plates. “Blyad!” He would say as his body came to a halt, his rifle thankfully staying within his arms once he began to bring himself back to his feet.
Xerxes’ had gotten back onto his feet just as soon as his body had stopped, briefly choking before coughing as he stood back up on his two feet. “As I was saying before you dishonourably interrupted me!” Xerxes started, pointing the tip of his blade straight at Nebo. They were both on opposite sides of the field now, a good twenty metres of distance between them. “I am Xerxes! Junior Knight of the Ordo Luna Con-“ He was interrupted again by a bullet fired from Nebo’s rifle, Xerxes swiftly deflecting the bullet with a swipe of his blade. “Deodamnatus!” Xerxes snarled as he swung the blade through the air, coming to a stop when the tip was pointing behind him. He was soon enshrouded by a white aura, signifying an impending aura boost before he soon shot off towards Nebo.
”Keep your mouth shut and fight!” Nebo growled back, his own verdant green aura flaring as he hopped to the side; avoiding the upwards, diagonal swing Xerxes tried to bisect Nebo with. Nebo already had his sights back on Xerxes and he opened fire, firing on full automatic towards centre mass and the air either side of Xerxes just as he was instructed to do when fighting Hunstmen level opponents. Though something tells him that this “Xerxes” may not be Hunstmen level.
Xerxes managed to sidestep the gunfire rather quickly, only getting clipped on the arm by three bullets. He sprinted back at Nebo, raising and bringing down his blade towards Nebo’s head, only for Nebo to block the sword strike with his rifle and push it to the side. He was about to go in for a jab, but Xerxes was much quicker there and had already delivered an uppercut straight to Nebo’s jaw. Gritting his teeth, he pulled his rifle down and locked Xerxes’ blade against his bayonet. He sprung up his arm to smack away another strike from Xerxes before kicking at his knees, striking his left knee and causing the Junior Knight to drop down just low enough for Nebo to pull off another knee strike, ramming his right knee straight up Xerxes’ chin.
”The brats back in Sanctum fight better then you!” Nebo insulted, not noticing the large amount of ice forming around his right arm up until he tried to level his rifle down at Xerxes. “Blyad!”
”Futuere!” Xerxes spat back, sweeping Nebo’s legs out from under him with an aura enhanced leg sweep before standing up and lunging atop Nebo. He stabbed his blade in the ground in between Nebo’s legs, a mound of ice forming that froze them both together. Nebo would throw a punch at Xerxes only for it to be smacked away by his gauntlet. “You won’t live another day, Albus!” Xerxes hissed as he grabbed Nebo’s rifle, ripping it out of the ice, and tossing it across the field. “You will die!”
Xerxes’ hands then grabbed ahold of Nebo’s neck, beginning to choke the air out of him. Nebo tried to kick, but couldn’t because his legs were frozen. He managed to free his right arm from the ice, thanks to Xerxes breaking it up, and would grab ahold of Xerxes’ arms in an attempt to pull them off, only for him to be unable to break the choke hold. He began to choke as he felt his windpipe get squashed, his hands still pulling on Xerxes’ arms in a futile effort to remove them. He gritted his teeth as he tried to throw his upper body up but did not have the strength to do so.
Nebo didn’t have much time to waste, so he did the first thing that came to his mind. He let go of Xerxes’ arms and reached for the grenades on his armour’s rigging, grabbing the first one he could feel. He pulled out the pin and would pull up Xerxes’ visor, one of the downsides of a Lunie’s steel plate armour, revealing a pair of silver eyes widened in surprise as Nebo shoved the grenade into his helmet and slammed the visor shut within the span of a second, his own aura flaring violently.
The effects were immediate. Xerxes began to scream out in agony as he fell off Nebo, an all too familiar white smoke seeping through his helmeted visor as he screamed a scream no man should ever scream. He began to frantically claw at his helmet, undoing the straps that held it onto his head all whilst Nebo began to break himself free from the ice that encased his legs. He pried Xerxes’ sword from the ice that imprisoned him, the ice soon falling apart quite easily after that.
Nebo sprung to his feet and turned to look at Xerxes, seeing that he had already thrown his helmet off to reveal a young man with tanned skin and long, red hair. He was frantically trying to push himself off the ground and get away from the white smoke that burned his skin, but Nebo wouldn’t allow it. He jogged on over to him and slam the side of his foot into Xerxes head, knocking the Junior Knight back to the ground. “You can burn here, sukin syn!” Nebo snapped, grabbing ahold of Xerxes’ hair and dragging him back over to the cloud of white phosphorus that was quickly forming. Xerxes began to scream again and began to shout and plead to Nebo in whatever language his kind spoke.
Whatever he was saying, Nebo didn’t pay attention. Really, he had lost all self control. Right now he just wanted to give this Lunie a slow death. He slammed Xerxes’ head against the dirt and grabbed Xerxes’ discarded helmet, the white phosphorus grenade falling out of it. He pulled Xerxes head back up before pushing it back into his helmet, Nebo’s hateful green eyes staring down at Xerxes’ terrified silver ones. “This is for my Platoon!” Nebo said, before grabbing the white phosphorus grenade, shoving it back into the helmet, and slamming it closed again. More screams followed, and Nebo made sure they wouldn’t end until Xerxes was dead. He opened his field repair kit and took out some earth dust crystals, where he would smash them down upon Xerxes’ helmet and armour to make sure he can’t take the helmet off again.
The screams were muffled by the earth dust, but Nebo didn’t care. He gave Xerxes one final kick to the ribs before walking away, fists clenched as he left the cloud of white phosphorus and headed over towards where Xerxes had thrown his rifle. Once that was back in his possession, he left the courtyard. He headed towards the barracks opposite to the one he was in earlier, the one the rest of his company was assaulting earlier.
He didn’t look back at the courtyard nor did he pay anymore attention to Xerxes’ dying screams. Instead, he focused on reloading his rifle and forcing back the tears that threatened to leave him.
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