Invasion

An armored boot crushed a fallen skull to the ground, shattering it into tiny fragments. Its owner glanced skywards, the night was drawing closer yet the horizon was lit up as if dusk was approaching. The nearby city was burning; guttural screams and agonizing pleas echoed from the damned battle zone as the fight continues.

Hefting his broken chainsaw, the Protectorate spat a mouthful of blood-mixed saliva to the ground. His glowing brown eyes darted from left to right, looking for any Demons or Fallen Angels that might be lurking. Even in the absence of trees and bushes, Blackshot could not help but to feel paranoid. Their enemies were capable of stealth. They might be walking into an ambush point without their knowledge.

"Brother," Protectorate Trident called from behind. Blackshot casts him a sideways glance.

"Report,"

"The Black SAS were moving to our position. They were among the survivors of The Wreck." Trident reported.

"You mean the fallen C-130 that was supposed to reinforce the detachment from the Order of Saint John?"

"Yes."

"What got them?"

Trident hesitated. "Hellspawns, Swarm of the Fallen Justice. They were assisted by Black King Legionnaires."

Blackshot nodded as he ordered the men behind him to advance. The remnants of the Order of Saint Michael remained unfazed despite having fought large waves of Demon Legionnaires and Knights along the way. The Priests and Soldiers muttered prayers in every step, hoping that God would save them from any harm. The remaining Mark I Protectorates were confident that their Lord would do so.

Scrawled in every surface of their Praetorian Battle Gears were words from the Scriptures. Protectorate Jemwolf believed that the Word of God would help ward the dark ones away from them. He wasn't wrong, they were able to save half of the Relief Force despite their low survival expectancy.

When the nuclear warheads detonated, the Divided States of America was turned into a radiated wasteland inhabited by Mutants and roving bandits. They were the new Monsters created by the Pagan Gods of the old, except they were natural in nature, not thaumaturgical. He felt the hot breeze coming from the city kissed his face. The sand glowed iridescently in the dark thanks to the radiation. He missed the times when they were still Tier-1 Soulbrothers, the world was simpler then with only Monsters and Communists to fight against.

But this time, they were in the middle of the Second Coming, the culling.

"Brother," Blackshot called before suppressing his thoughts and walked past instead. Trident simply ignored it.

Arriving at the city gates, Blackshot spotted a couple of Demons patrolling on foot. They were covered in black robes, dark purple tunic and violet chest and shoulder plates. A crown could be seen on the top of their heads; their faces remained unknown behind the onyx mask they wore. Its eye sockets remained empty, reminding Blackshot of the void of the night.

He stroke his chainsaw but the weapon sputtered and spark. This caught the attention of the Demons, who began screaming in inhuman languages. Blackshot threw the chainsaw to the ground, glanced behind him and barked an order before pulling a Kinetic Rifle from his back and charged head first. Green flames raced towards the charging Protectorate, licking the plates of his armor in rapid succession. As soon as he got close to the nearest one, he swung his right armblade backwards. A sharp blade extended into view. He swung in a wide arc, bisecting the Demon by the midriff. Blood and spinal cord flew in the air, bathing the Protectorate in dark crimson gore.

Whirling to the second nearest, he opened fire. The rifle bucked in his hands as streams of bullets punched through the Demon's armor and spraying the ground with its own gore. He noticed three more appearing ahead and charging straight at them, hurling dark magic at their direction. Protectorate Trident activated the Jump Module on his leg armor, allowing him to jump high. He landed in the middle of the trio with his left fist touching the ground. The earth beneath the Demons sprang upwards, sending them flying in the air. One stomp to the ground from Trident and the risen pillar turned into tiny shrapnel that sped at the direction of the incoming Legionnaires. The dust was mixed with blood, turning it into dark mud. Gurgling sounds and dying noise echoed throughout his mind.

The deaths of the Demons did not cause any impact to the Protectorates or the Remnant Soldiers, with the exception of Blackshot. He remained in a genuflecting position, retching and vomiting as the deeds of the Demons entered his mind.

"Brother, are you alright?" Trident inquired.

"I am," Blackshot replied as he tried to whisk away the thought of a naked woman. "Were these--" He vomited as an image of three decapitated heads flashed in his mind afterwards. "Goddammit, let's move!"

"You will need to see Confessor after this."

"I'll stick with Jemwolf." Blackshot said. He trusted the commander of his own Battleforce because of the conflicts they have fought together. The Tier-6 was somewhere in Earth's orbit, fighting the Archonites summoned by Hell's forces.

The Relief Forces entered the city like parasites invading a rotting flesh. Buildings and structures were leveled with only a few remaining standing but not without damage. Debris and concrete were scattered at its base; some vehicles were scattered throughout the road, providing cover for both combatants. Some vehicles were lit in fire, some were stripped off. Sounds of battle can be heard in the distance.

"Maintain Attack Formation, brothers." Blackshot ordered to the seven Protectorates with him. The others ordered the same with their Human subordinates. "We are moving into the heart of the city, where the Black SAS would rendezvous with us. Then we'll carry out the assassination of the Baron Kiriech of Azazel. That asshole needs to die."
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TBC