[The Eye pierced the wasteland, creating a deafening silence of utmost intensity. Shaken to its core, it revealed its mystery]
Rushing through the fields, a Denoran Soldier held with dear life onto his rifle. The helmet on his head kept banging in all directions, being loosely tied underneath his chin. Sweat was left behind in the rush to reach a safe zone- one of the trenches. Within meters of it, he leaped and hugged the weapon midair, closing his eyes and desperately hoping he would wake up on the ground next to his comrades. A blue fireball hurtled through the skies and illuminated the dimly lit dusk covered fields. It would crash onto the last place the soldier had leaped from, setting the ground ablaze and marking the start of a new siege round.
For too many months, for a few years now, an agonizing uphill campaign was conducted by the Denoran government to seize fields rich in metals. In order to bypass the already advantageous and low trades with Kanfaldur, the initiative was to outright take the unexplored mine end and work on their own projects with total secrecy. Bad news was that the terrain had been already in heated debates ever since The Crusade came to an end. What was originally Thamaenas’ land came under Kanfaldur dominion from a hasty bargain to cover other lands. At the time, it was a pretty good business maneuver to exploit the trades with the dwarves, but their slow pace wasn’t enough for the rapidly growing Denoran industry nor for the peacekeeping elven intelligence services. In short- it was a subtle war under the incompetent “government’s” nose to unofficially claim territory.
His vision was blurred and his eardrums boomed with a painful buzz. Slowly, the soldier’s conscience recovered. Making out details through the barely opened eyelashes, foggy circles made out an Umbrella Guard violently shaking him back to the land of the living. So much for the medical department.
“DO. YOU. HEAR. ME?” The attrited guard screamed, hoping that the supplies remaining could be preserved for more hopeful and threatening cases. Luckily, the soldier woke up in due time to prevent any needle from stabbing him.
“Wha…? Y-yeah! I’m fine, jeez, hands off man!” He started recovering rather quickly, pushing against the upfront and aggressive guard with his own hands, reaching for the dropped rifle and resuming attention to the rest of the trench.
Close to him were only Onyx Vipers- the lowest of the low. In the military hierarchy, Onyx Vipers were the most numerous and expendable troopers. He himself was a mere Denoran Soldier, not much better than the military police -Enforcers- patrolling the mainland to maintain peace. The man with white and wide plating as well as one barely functional mechanical appendage shook him. He should’ve had a visor and a shield as well as more equipment to support the troops, but the supply had all run out by this point in the war. Umbrella Guards are specialized in all manners of aid- be it technical, medical or on the battlefield to protect its own. Although demanding, it’s not desired nor respected by many due to the love for destruction and its inherent lack in the Guards.
Other familiar armors that could be spotted around were Prometheus Battalions and Screaming Deaths, the other two typologies of Onyx Vipers. While one used chemical warfare as well as the extensive application of flames for close quarters combat, the other was much lighter and mobile- being capable of low flight as well as thrusters built into their armor frame, fit for anti-personnel and assassination missions. On this front however, all guns needed to be armed, all hands on the trigger and every finger pulling for itself and nine others.
Conventionally, this front was a hate crime, a punishment and a death sentence for any troop that was detached onto it. What once began as a promising infiltration onto elven superiority territory, through parachuting as well as rushdown of Steel Combines- lightly armed and heavily armored transport carriers, ended up as a one almost fully encircled front. The orders were to keep pushing until all died or the front was won. Nobody really dared to disobey, although some deserters still existed. Unfortunately for them, neither the Elves or Denorans look kindly on them. A silent and gentleman’s agreement to exterminate cowards was made since the dawn of time between all races- if it wasn’t outright part of their war doctrine.
“Now what?” The agitated soldier asked, not really expecting an answer but looking to vent out his frustration onto his brothers in arms.
“We wait, there’s reinforcement bound to come sooner or later. I’ve heard that there’s a special prototype of the Shock Sect coming to back us up. Artillery so powerful it’ll rock the ground under their feet and give us free pathing through the enemy ranks. It’s not like their golems can pump out mana for all eternity… right?” The promethean inquired, appearing rather fond of the instructions from higher ups. There was no real leader on the field, but the strong adherence to the teachings of conflict ensured everyone kept each other in check. It was more of whoever managed to register the information from higher ups and distribute it on the fronts. In lucky cases, it was coming through a direct call or radio message.
“Oh yeah, the Shock Sect, the one that worked soooo wonderfully on the mountain terrain. I told them- we need a bunch of Rampart Battalions to maneuver around the field! But they just wouldn’t listen! If I was in charge of the initial supply chain, we wouldn’t have it chewed to bits by summoned greywolves! Golems wouldn’t have rumble to build a structure around and those pesky sages wouldn’t have any grass to grow up their arse! You know why? We’d gas them to death that’s wh-” The Screaming Death argued, proving his obviously superior understanding and why ‘screaming’ was so integral to their name. Interrupted by a straight punch from the Guard however, he was pushed back to a wall and began coughing. The lack of plating in their design was tragic.
“Enough. You can’t change anything and you didn’t even know what the terrain would be like until you’ve pushed deeper into their fortifications. Go on and get upset over our incompetence to shoot them down and then complain about the distribution of arms.”
Chuckling, the Soldier lifted his hands in the air and began laughing slowly, losing his mind. He was going to die. Really, if this was the place he landed in, it was all over fairly soon. In other trenches the situation wasn’t much better. Carcasses of Shock Sects littered the ground under the elven bombardment. There weren’t even archers or close quarters fighters within sight- the sky was raining fire every handful of minutes and occasional hawks scanned through the clouds to gather intelligence and locate incoming ships. Air superiority was a hopeless battle. The air was dominated by long range casters that set up their barriers and talismans to secure a defensive area that covered the entirety of the warfield.
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The ground was quaking from bombardment and whenever a Sect managed to push through, it was burnt to a crisp and its operators murdered with the use of different, vile spells from afar. An empty tank wasn’t going to siege the enemy properly, much less one already broken down. Every few hours Howling Haulers tried to break through the skies, either the bombardment model or the fighter model, none saw much success. Attempts were made to assault potential seal and scroll holdouts to attrition their spell reserves and break the sky barrier, but it never saw much success. If they managed to unleash their attack to begin with.
After a solid minute of constant bombardment from a couple hundred meters away, the weather would calm down momentarily. Whoever spent enough time in the trenches to learn the attack patterns and timing of the arcane siege knew that this was the right time to begin advancing once more. Following a plan established a few days ago, the trench with the unfortunate Vipers would jump from its hiding and begin advancing forward. The Soldier was instructed to keep advancing towards a main front line where others like him and the rest of the Vipers unit would be positioned, building up a mass attack. The rest that had the unpleasant experience of standing more that close to the point of contact already had another plan- dismantling and repurposing.
Synchronised, the Promethean, Screamer and Guard would use short distance radio comms to systematically attack one of the abandoned Shock Sects. What usually is a tank capable of moderate speeds on its railing, a separate module for escalation of difficult terrain and a module dedicated to long distance shelling, was going to be turned into an artisanal mortar. Striking at its main, giant barrel, the Promethean managed to tear it apart while the Guard ensured only the main mechanism remained attached to it.
“You know… I haven’t seen a tank sealed so proper in a hot minute. I don’t… I don’t recon this rigidity being in the base template…” The Promethean started sweating while using condensed bursts of its arm attached flamethrower guns to cut through the steel structure.
“It’s not?? What are you on? They SPECIFICALLY made it so that we could detach modules. Just… not in a controlled manner anyway. Just hurry up already, I can see the sky turning blue. I don’t much like that hue…” The Screamer went on while placing one of his small impact detonating charges onto one of the more reinforced parts of the armored barrel.
“It was probably the last… seven hours of bombardment that melted parts of the chassis to weld the tank tighter. It’s not going anywhere, but at least it’s harder to crack. Which I guess won’t do much now that it’s out of commission, but you know, you gotta look at the bright-” The Guard attempted an explanation while using its extra appendage to apply pressure and burn through the structure and maintain the shell mechanism.
“SHUT UP NERD. JUST KEEP THIS THING TOGETHER.”
Uncourteously interrupted by his fellow Screamer, the Guard added the finishing touches to the dismantling of the entire firing system, just in time when a slight yet loud explosion of the chassis noted the full separation of the barrel. Without a second to waste, the Promethean forcefully pulled the entire hundred kilogram structure and hurled it into the air with the Screamer riding on top of it.
“You sonova-... at least warn me before you attempt a stunt like this!” Complained further the Viper that shouldn’t be anywhere close to a machine… it didn’t sign up for this. Nobody did in reality.
With a swift movement, it used its jetsuit to align the barrel mid flight and detonated the charge to get launched directly into the front trench where many more units awaited for the situation to evolve. Part of the plan was to get the artillery in an operational state as close to the front as possible. The only downside is that by the time the mission was a success, the effects of the weld were felt. Most brutally by the Guard and Promethean that remained behind. Looking up to the skies swarming with a blue hue and fiery storm enroute, the hope in both of them disappeared.
For a moment it didn’t even matter who won and who lost. It all became a hideous joke where there was no real condition for success. The Promethean took off his helmet and disengaged his armored suit, followed by the Guard. Both of them were sweating, bones showing underneath the barely held together skin. Bruised, with blood accumulations in different zones, even their oldest wounds opened up at this point in war. They were fragile, weak, all of their strength consisted of the powered armors.
“Fancy me one last cigar?” The Guard asked, looking at the Promethean using one last swipe of low burn to heat up their final meal. The question was formal, not even needing a response to understand where they were headed.
“These past three years… they’ve been nice. Who cares about a bunch of rocks after all? Now of all the times.” The Promethean asked while his boney hand grasped the brown trunk of the cigar to stick it into his mouth. A tooth fell out, followed by a weak trail of whatever blood was left running in his system.
“To the bitter end, eh?” he replied in kind, staring long at the fuming cigar. His bloodshot eyes dropped a tear onto the heated metal underneath them while the temperature began to rapidly rise. The air was suffocating and the sound without the adaptors of the helmet was horrid, scratching at the eardrums of whoever didn’t have protection. Where did it even come from, it was a senseless question by now. Taking one final smoke, both of their eyes closed as the fireball engulfed the entire area, scorching their skin instantly on contact. Their organs turning to mush and the bones crumbling to ashes. The chassis was invaded by the heat and expanded itself, the stress on the steel forcing it to expand and detonate into a storm of shrapnell all across the battlefield.
Back there, the Soldier was waiting for them and getting instructions from the Vipers that were present and those who managed to reinforce the line with this reload round. Once they were all caught up to the strategy, it seemed stupid. As part of the most recent reinforcement round a few days ago, the Soldier didn’t get to descend into the madness of warfare as the rest. Bringing long range bombardment so close and exposed to the front line was pure insanity, but what could he tell them now.
Looking around, this was only reinforced by the muffled moans of injured soldiers resting around in the trench. Taking his helmet off, the sound returned to its full power and the flames alone were enough to cover all the background noise. Wiping sweat off his forehead, the Soldier started walking along the length of the trench to take a good look at those around him. Tears, fractures, blood and guts spread all over the place, yet the frenzy of the push stopped everyone from seeing it. For a moment, all the training from before this mission crumbled to nothingness. His legs began shaking underneath his frame. No shouting would manage to get him back into the state of combat, no slaps would put him back to sleep when…
When the cannon finally arrived at the trench line in a dynamic entry. The steel structure crushed however many troops were at the edge. It landed conveniently facing towards the sky with its loading mechanism behind, down in the trench. Only the tip of the barrel stuck out threateningly towards the elven lines. Only downside was that the ground turned red from the crushed corpses.
At that point, the Soldier put his helmet back on and ceased to think. His soul was numb and hands cold. At that point, he had managed to lose his individuality just as the rest and they began loading together whatever shells were hoarded over the past few days. Loading them nonstop into the cannon, the artillery never stopped firing. Round after round a line traced towards the main front of artillery golems.
[The Eye beheld, looking down on their existence and with overwhelming tension…]