Zero Ground 3

The Pantheon stood tall in the middle of the Outer Heaven, surrounded by gold ornate structures that glistened in God's Light. Clouds collected below it, covering a seemingly invisible road that makes them look as of they were walking on the top of the clouds itself but in reality, it was a mystery. To the west, the Tribunate's three towers extends up to the sky even higher. To the east was the domed structure of the Commissariat. To south was the Brotherhood Monastery, a structure made out of crystal rocks and stained glass and to the north was the High Command Barracks, tall in length sturdy in strength. It was connected to a courtyard just behind it where dozens of Legiobo or Legioba of the Legiovus Protektovare stood and assemble in perfect formation.
   In the middle of it all was the Pantheon, the tallest and by far, the largest of all the structures present. Its pillars are covered in gold, the stairs that leads to its porch shines bright and the porch itself was silent that not even a single being could be found wandering in it. The atmosphere could be likened to a monastery but the inhabitants were not monks, but warrior priests who shed blood every day for the security of Mankind and of service to the Lord. It was accessible through the double wooden doors where two crosses are engraved on it. Inside was an enormous space. The appearance outside was deceiving because no one would ever think that the interior of the Pantheon was thrice as big as it was supposed to be. It extends, stretched to a long strip. Each walls are covered in gold just like its exterior surface. The stained glass where the Light of God shines through depicts heroic Angels banishing their foes to Tartarus. Angelic figures include Michael and the Dragon, Raziel and a bull Demon, Raphael destroying Asmodeus in Egypt, Azrael killing Raum, a raven-like Demon, and others.
   The floors were polished in the same color as the walls. Thousands of training mats could be seen lying on it. To the farther left, numerous racks of weapons stood, containing dozens of sanctified weapons. Beside it was a rack that contains small crystal-like stones with Enochian inscriptions. To the right were training dummies and cyborgs that oversees each trainees. It also contains a medical booth and a hologram simulation console.
   The kids whom Sandro  d'Arquebus refers to stood in a marching parade order. They were clad in black armor but some are clad in different colors.
   "Protektovares!" The one in front yelled as he barked an order. "Marches porwade!"
   The Protectorates of the Three Stars and A Sun Company marched in a disciplined manner, moving their foot forward after the other. As soon as they did so, their company leader stopped and they mimicked the movement. They made a final stomp to the ground and stood motionlessly.
   "Brothers," the man was older than the rest. He was clad in white Praetorian Battle Gear with black trimmings. The gaps of his armor that shows strong fabric was black as well. "The day of reckoning has came to us. One of our cities has been under attack with thousands of Demons and hundreds of Monsters wrecking havoc in the land. We were called by the faithful," he stopped as he glanced from left to right, staring directly at the Protectorates' glowing eyes that pulsated rhythmically. "To stop this disaster. We will march straight into battle, carrying the banner of our Lord with us." He says. "God give us strength!" Still, no reply from the Protectorates in front of him.
   "Strike Team Juliet, stand at attention!" He ordered. The Protectorates on his right stood, moving their hands from their backs, to their sides as they placed their feet together, then separated it by inches and held their wrist in front of them. They concluded their sudden movement with a shout.
   "Strike Team Juliet, reporting for duty!" They chorused. Their voices sounded as if it came from thousands of men in chariots.
   "Strike Team November, stand at attention!"
   The Protectorates in the center did the same movement and ended it with a shout.
    "Strike Team November, reporting for duty!"
    "Strike Team Oscar, stand at attention!"
    They repeated it, ended it with a shout.
     "Strike Team Oscar, reporting for duty!"
     There are hints of anger in their voices and their eyes displays savagery and suppressed violence they intended to unleash at the enemies of the Lord. They were ready to fight and bleed for Him and if they were to die, they will not give the enemy a satisfaction of victory, but they will do anything in their power to take them down with them.
    "Solo Operators!" The Company Leader yelled. "Report, each one of you!"
    "Tier-5 Tribune Commander Blackshot, reporting for duty!"
    "Tier-5 Tribune Commander Jeth, reporting for duty!"
    "Tier-4 Sergeant-Commissar JJ, reporting for duty."
    "Tier -5 Tribune Commander JP, reporting as ordered!" They yelled.
    "Tier-6," The Company Leader muttered, catching the attention of many Protectorates in front of him. "Confessor-Paladin Jemwolf, reporting for leadership of Grey Skies Battleforce." He grinned. "Let's march onward, to glory!"
    Then a cheer.

Squad Bravo-Alfa moved across the pavement. Their camouflaged armors allows them remain hidden on sight but it was useless in the grey concrete of the structures of the city. The squad consists of six men, all were riflemen for the Remnant Order of Saint Pio. They moved with silence, undetected between alleys and streets.
   "Bravo-Alfa to Bravo-Actual," Sergeant Fitzgerald radioed as he pressed a button to the side of his helmet. "What's the status?"
    "This is Bravo-Actual, we are in position, Alfa. You know your orders."
    "Yes," Fitzgerald replied as he slid his back against the wall and peeked around the corner, spotting a duo of Insurgents with their backs facing them. "Eliminate the enemy forces around the area and rescue the civilians."
   "Yes, and once we're done, you are to pull out from the area and let the Remnant Order of Saint Michael do the dirty work."
    "Yes, brother. Over and out." He lifted his rifle at arms length, aimed at the neck of the Insurgent and fired. The gunfire simply came out as a suppressed sound of bursting  air. The Insurgent cupped his neck with his hand and saw blood spilling out of it. He fell to the ground with a loud thud. His colleague turned and faced him but two more silenced shots slammed to the left side of his helmet. His visor shattered from the attack. He fell, bleeding and twitching as life slowly seeps out of him.
   "Good shot, Privates." He complimented before silently moving across the open road.
   In front of them, they were greeted by shattered buildings and burning vehicles. They were greeted by an intersection that stretches to the east and west. Further north was nothing but dust and rubbles, obscuring the view of Taal Volcano.
   "Darn it," the Sergeant muttered as he made a turn to the left. "We got to move immediately."
   They walked for a few minutes, encountering nothing but dead bodies. Across the road, he saw a policeman, whose spine was cut open; the rest of his back muscles were missing. To the right, a headless child slumped with his back resting against the wall of a burning storefront. They moved again, ignoring everything they saw.
   From a peaceful city, it became a violent nightmare. Sergeant Harry Fitzgerald has never seen anything like this in his career as a soldier. Before he became a Remnant Soldier, he was serving as an Operator for the Delta Force for ten years. His injury in the calf in a shrapnel explosion back in Afghanistan has concluded with him being honorably discharged. He find it hard to adjust in his civilian life. For six years, he was struggling between life and depression until that particular evening in his hometown of Texas where a Chupacabra invaded his home, killed wife and his three year old son and left his house a wrecked mess. He hunted for the culprit, not knowing that it may be of supernatural origins. It led him to a cult in Texas, Mayan Gods worshippers who attacked him violently. Had it not for that Priest, he would have been dead. That Priest has introduced him to the world of Supernatural. For six months, he was trained in the Cathedral of Saint Eustace and became a Remnant Soldier from then on.
   In the corner of his eyes, he saw a ransacked fashion store. Mannequins toppled to the ground, a man of no more than twenty in age laid, bisected in half and a girl on the side street, dead. Blood flowed out of her genitals.
    "My good lord." A Private behind him muttered as he made the sign of the cross. He was Deacon Ford. A strip on the top of his helmet tells everybody that he was a priest-in-training.
   "Let's move. Those who did this are literally Demons. I wouldn't be surprised." Fitzgerald says as he continued walking.
   "I hope we wouldn't see one." Another one behind him says.
   "Yes, Private. Because you don't want to."
    They trekked forward before turning another left. They were greeted by the sight of an empty intersection; vehicles on the sidewalks were toppled to one side, some were burning some were abandoned. Trails of blood can be seen on the ground. Beside the destroyed spotlight was a girl in her twenties, bound and gagged. A noose was tied tightly on her neck as she swayed back and forth every time the wind blew past. Her hair was tied on a ponytail. Purple collared shirt, grey long skirt and black sandals makes it clear that she was conservative. Her hands and feet were tied, fastened by a thick rope smeared in red blood. A long handkerchief was tied around her mouth. Something bulged on either side of her cheeks, as if something was inside it, stuffed. She was blindfolded; a paper was taped on her back. It was written in blood and was audible enough to be seen even from a distance.
   "Whore." One of the Privates read.
   "Keep moving, brothers." Fitzgerald told them. Whatever you saw, forget about it."
   "Why?" Deacon Ford asked.
   "Because insanity, Deacon." Fitzgerald says. "You don't want to scare your fellow Deacons and Privates back at the base."
   Fitzgerald did not wait for another response as they moved forward. They walked past a destroyed vehicle filled with spikes. They could see a fellow Remnant in green and brown camouflage armor pinned to the vehicle, neck slit apart. Brown dry blood can be seen on his chest plate, down the road.
   After a few minutes of walking, his radio crackled. Fitzgerald frantically reached for the button on the side of his helmet. He heard the voice on the line.
   "Bravo-Alfa, this is Bravo-Charlie. I have receive an instructions from TactiCom. They ordered us to retreat to base."
   "Why?"
   "There are no survivors here. I repeat, no survivors."
   "Oh yeah?" The Sergeant asked. "What about the other squads?"
    "Actual and Bravo are decimated." The voice simply says. "Retreat back to base, brother."
    He was shaking. He gripped his rifle tight and turned. Everyone was looking at him with questioning looks in their faces.
    "There are no survivors down here. Let's go back and let the experts handle this."
    "But sir," another Private protested. "There might be--"
    "Look Private!" The Sergeant turned at him. "If there are indeed survivors out there, they are good as dead. We are facing far mor greater evil that we cannot handle and we are merely a Rescue Brigade. We are not an Auxiliary Unit!" He yelled. "Now follow me. That's a direct order."
   Soon, they started to walk back the way they came in.

Lines of flames streaked across the clear sky, leaving smoking trails in their wake. It was so bright like stars, coming down to Earth. Just as promised in the Book when the Apocalypse neared its approach, "The stars in the sky fell to Earth like figs shaken loose from the tree in a strong fig." (Rev 6:13) Those on the ground was distracted by it. There are many, too many to count as they descended down to Earth.
   Leaving a cratered ground, they slowly stood up from a crouch; their bodies were glowing bright. They were big but their sizes slowly reverted back to normal, revealing black-clad figures.
   "Reporting in, brothers." One of them says. "What's the main objective?"
    "Kill and hold," Another replied. "Exterminate the vermin in the city and make sure no one survives."
     "Affirmative."
     The sounds of weapons clicking and powering up can be heard around them. Their faces were obscured by fearsome looking helmets; eye lenses matches the color of the trims of their armors. It glowed too; the light coming from the irises of their eyes.
    Soon, they marched across the war-torn city.