Risk

Armed men and women stalked the abandoned urban zone, illuminating their surroundings with green lights issued from the plates of their armors and the wide visors of their helmets. The sound of metal colliding accompanied every movement they made. Their presence was abrupt; their intent was currently unclear. Behind the line of mortal men were their masters, burning bright in the same colors as the light issued from their armors: green fire. The Shaitans’ glowing eyes darted from left to right, utilizing their superhuman thermal vision to find what they were looking for.

Dragging their heavy blades with them, the Shaitans whispered to one another before commanding their subordinates to separate into three groups as soon as they arrived into an intersection. Their Rugarus counterparts were impatient and chastised their cousins of their mindless action.

The Shaitans never backed down to a fight, much less “trampled” upon. Turning to them with a raised blade, the Rugarus grinned, revealing sharp fanged teeth, ready to snap unclean flesh and armor. Before the tension resulted into a great casualty that would cause the Fallen Lightbearer to toss all of them into Tartarus, the Ovinniks intervened. Their wise words and soothing voice had always cleared any conflict between the monsters in the coalition.

Backing away, the Rugarus and the Shaitans returned to their own businesses. The Humans continued in their search of the vault across the abandoned war torn city. Charred burned buildings, stripped vehicles and blackened bones were a common sight when they entered the city. Previously known as “Chicago City”, Zone-57 was isolated in the conclusion of the Riots, feeding its inhabitants a false sense of security that eventually led to their downfall when the Demons first attacked them.

It was reduced from a safe haven to a ghost town.

The Human members of the Lance Phantom Coalition aren’t the only ones looking for the vault. Watching from the rooftops, a Strike Team from the Enochian Guards Protectorate Regiment saw multiple glowing figures in green below. Protectorate Nitrate grinned at the sight.

“Strike Team Kilo-4, attendance check.” The Tier-4 Sergeant-Commissar inquired over the radio attached to the right side of his closed headgear.

“Tier-3 Bladebearer Jarhead, reporting in.”

“Tier-2 Shieldbearer Tireshot, reporting.”

“Tier-1 Soulbrother Boilpoint, reporting.”

“Tier-1 Soulbrother Barbwire, reporting in, brother.”

As soon as he received the responses, Nitrate sent a signal to their display links and began moving towards that location. Clad in Praetorian Battle Armor, the Protectorates descended from rooftops to another until they got to the lower ground. Drawing his sword, Nitrate jumped on the top of a Human and stabbed his back. His colleagues turned and raised their weapons to fire. Nitrate stomped the ground with his armored foot, causing the ground below his would-be attackers to rise, sending them in all directions.


“Enemy contact!” A Human Militia yelled as he began firing at the Protectorate.

He raised his left hand and deflected the bullets telepathically. He sent his right fist at the direction of the enemy, sending a streak of flame that burned his target into ashes. Nitrate approached another Human near the burning corpse and swung in her direction, the sharp edge of the Empyrean blade ripping through metal, fabric and flesh, bisecting her in half.

Jarhead didn’t descend on the street below him where the carnage is taking place. He drew his Blast Rifle from his back and aimed at his target with the weapon set on high setting. He fired a shot, a streak of blue light pierced through a Human’s chest, dropping him down. His aim jumped on another potential target and fired, his enemy spun before falling.

Barbwire joined his superior, swinging his axe at easy targets. The sound of bullets ricocheting against his armor was loud. Some managed to penetrate in the gaps of his armor. Armor fluids spilled onto his wounds and healed it within matter of minutes.  His attack on them was devastating as limbs fly and heads rolled across the pavement. Boilpoint and Tireshot ended the rest of the enemy party with their Blast Rifles, firing balls of plasma at them.

The fight ended within minutes.

Nitrate led his team at the direction where the Human Militia might be heading. Before they could completely step away from the gory scene, a radio from one of the corpses emits static.

Then a voice came.

“Fireteam Oswald, report in.”

The voice was inhuman; it was comparable to a growling lion afflicted with a worse sore throat. The voice repeated its inquiry over the radio. Nitrate stared at it for a minute before breaking into a sprint.

In the distance, the Shaitans saw the corpses of their Human troops. Fury is evident in their otherwise emotionless eyes. Their skeletal face twitched as they caught sight of the perpetrators. One of the Shaitan, the one bigger than the rest of his kin, growled. Swinging his blade backwards, he made a thrusting motion with the tip of the sword facing the direction of the fleeing attackers. Packs of Rugaru sprinted across the street to rip and tear the Protectorates. Sensing this, Nitrate and the Strike Team turned.

He raised his Ray Pistol and fired a shot. Half of his target’s jaw disintegrated when the round hit perfectly. Another shot went to its chest and it toppled over. Nitrate then turned to flee, only to turn and fire a couple more shots at their pursuers.

“Brother!” Barbwire called. “Do we initiate Attack Protocol 46-8?!”

Forty Six dash Eight, Nitrate thought. It was an attack protocol that is to be executed when the situation became dire and every possible solution is inapplicable to it. Their current problem can be solved by many ways; there is no need to execute it.

“Execute Defense Protocol 12-1; meet me in the rendezvous point.” Nitrate replied as he turned to a dark alley. The others have scattered throughout the city, luring the Rugarus into smaller packs before killing them.

Nitrate sensed the pack of five behind him. They were black furred with green stripes dye. He turned at their direction abruptly and fired at the nearest one. The first fell to the ground, chest first without a head. The second tripped over when Nitrate hits its pelvis. The other came to close and was gutted with the Protectorate’s blade. The fourth one came much closer, only to have its face smashed with an armored fist. Three shots went to its chest before Nitrate drilled his blade in the chin of the monster. The final one made a leap at him.

Nitrate moved back a few steps before sending a flaming kick at its throat. Three shots to its body and the Rugaru slumped dead.

He retrieved his blade from one of the corpses, turned and left with a sprint. Some Rugarus might pick up his scent along the way but dealing with them would be easier, unless the Coalition packed more monsters than these ones. The alleyway ended with a fence, which he climbed over. He continued his run until he was far enough.

The city was depressing; grey thin fog reduced the visibility for a slightest degree. Sunrise illuminated the horizon with its rays. Rebars and steel pillars can be seen on the buildings, decaying in rust. Nitrate walked in silence while occasionally hearing transmissions from his other brothers. None of them sounded distressed, which he was thankful for. The sound of running and panting are the only things that could be heard from them.

Seconds turned into minutes, which turned into hours. Nitrate was nearing the rendezvous point: the heart of the city fortified by vehicles belonging from the Watchers, the successors of the National Guard. The remains of armored soldiers lay on the ground and most of their vehicles were riddled with bullet holes that could only be caused by demonic weaponry. Beneath the location they were “defending” was a vault, containing thousands of data. Unlike their competitor, the Protectorates knew exactly where it could be found.

He vaulted over the sandbag and moved the vehicles telepathically to create enough space for him to squeeze through. A hole can be found in the center and beneath it was a wheel connected to a steel door.

He heard shuffling sounds in the background, slowly making its approach. Nitrate aimed at the direction of the sound. When his brothers came into view, he lowered his gun and holstered it.

“Watch my back, brothers.” Nitrate ordered as he bent to turn the wheel beneath him.

He opened the vault; flash drive sticks encased in thermal boxes greeted their view. Cold smoke blew from the interior of the vault. Nitrate looked for the one they need and retrieved it from its casing. He plucked the flash drive stick and examined it. He opened the compartment of his chest armor and hid it inside.


“Let’s move back to Forward Base Alpha.” Nitrate instructed as he shut his chest compartment.

They were about to escape when a pack of Rugarus led by Shaitans began charging at them from all side, they were flanked by Ovinnik monsters and groups of Humans.

“Leave no one alive!” Nitrate ordered as he vaulted over a sandbag and engaged his first enemy, a Shaitan. He swung in the Djinn’s direction, cleaving its neck in half. A Rugaru managed to scratch his faceplate, but his strength was not sufficient enough to tear the faceplate from Nitrate’s face.

Nitrate sent a punch in his gut. He grabbed him by his neck and smashed his face into his knee twice before sending a horizontal left elbow slash in his face. Nitrate raised his left palm and stopped a spinning tube from impaling his chest. He tossed it aside, hitting an Ovinnik in the face. He charged at the Bakeneko responsible for throwing the object at him and swung in her direction. Her left temple sprayed blood as soon as the blade sawed through black fur and flesh and, soaking dark crimson liquid in his yellow armor.


A Shaitan impaled Nitrate in the left breast, lifting him up proudly. Nitrate inversed his grip with his sword so that the tip was pointing down and drilled it inside the Djinn’s left eye socket. The Djinn fell to the ground and he was immediately tossed to the side. Nitrate stood, pulled the blade free from his chest and whirled it.

A Human attempted to engage him in melee. Nitrate swung both swords outwards, decapitating his attacker. He received a punch from a Rugaru, his vision doubled. He lowered his body and slammed his right arm against the Rugaru’s chest before inserting the tip of the Shaitan’s blade into the monster’s gut.

Another Yokai Bakeneko tempted the fury of the Protectorate. It charged at Nitrate with claws outstretched. Nitrate shifted his footing from unorthodox to southpaw and sent a kick upward, breaking its neck.

As soon as the Yokai fell, there was a brief silence. Nitrate and the rest of the Strike Team stood, covered in blood, both belonging to them and their enemies. Nitrate released a relieved sigh before walking off towards the direction of the Forward Base. One by one they glowed, transforming into ten-foot tall armored mechanical Angels. They kicked off the ground and flew, leaving dust and flames behind.