Overkill 4

Overkill 4

****

Darkness draws closer. The streets were illuminated by frequent rifle fire and dancing beams of flashlights attached to the ends of their rifles. Screams of agony, barkings of orders and staccato bursts of weaponry echoed across each block, combining as one cacophony of omnipresent noise. Father Guetta stood in the balcony of the surrounded Cathedral, flanked from both sides by two subordinate Priests in black and green armor: the colors of their Order.

Cradled in his hands was a sanctified M249 Squad Automatic Weapon, loaded with ammunition and ordnances coated in a blessed melted candle. Below, he watched Priests and Soldiers took cover behind what little cover remains, forcing them to use the corpses of their dead comrades as cover, stacking them up with the perforated sandbags and damaged vehicles. In the corner of Father Guetta's vision, he saw Demons tearing through the ranks of defenders. It was a miracle that some still managed to survive this long but he doubted that they will last if the assault still continued.

"Have you sent distress calls to the other Parishes?" Father Guetta asked, cocking his head to the left.

"Yes, Father." The Priest to the left replied with an inclined head. "None answered back. Scouts from our forces reported that they were either lost or having communications blackout."

"Yes." Father Guetta replied stoically. Explosions were reflected off from the visor of his helmet. Perhaps it was time to read the Last Rites for the men below and inside the Cathedral should the Demons finally get through. "In Nomine Patris, et Filii..."

Suddenly, a bright explosion erupted in the farther north. Guetta stopped his prayer to see what caused the explosion among enemy ranks. There, he saw a red Technical commandeered by figures clad in PALADIN, Black Squadron SAS and Praetorian Battle Gear armors. His reassured himself that his eyes do not deceive them.

Protectorates.

"The Angels of Death has arrived!" Father Guetta announced abruptly. "God has sent us aid!"

Far ahead, Blackshot, Beartrap, Bladesaw, Eagledoom and a few other surviving Protectorates were sprinting far ahead of the Technical, hosing Void Slashers and Psychic Titans with plasma fire. Sergeant Woodley of the Black Squadron SAS was mounted on the Technical's machinegun, providing overwatch for the advancing Protektovares and firing upon the floating Hellswarms that dared to charge suicidally at their transhuman counterparts.

"Brother!" Blackshot yelled over the earpiece, pointing at Eagledoom. "Advance to that vehicle over there and take out that Psychic Titan!" He then aimed his finger at a skeletal Demon with a weird looking collar attached to its neck. "Bladesaw, on me!" He commanded again.

They broke formation, vaulting over a roadblock and firing at a couple of Void Slashers that happened to block their path. Blackshot genuflected, aimed at a floating head with gouged out eyes, and opened fire. The Hellspawn exploded in bright green and red liquid, covering those below with thick mucus. Bladesaw assisted, stood behind Blackshot and fired upon an advancing Void Slasher, taking its head off with a quartet of plasmablasts before it fell to the ground.

In the distance they heard the crackling of psychic electricity, building up rapidly. Bladesaw turned but heard a wet explosion as Eagledoom carried out his order of destroying the Psychic Titan before it caused havoc upon them or the defenders in the Saint Patrick's Cathedral.

The tide of Demons was slightly pushed back. Ironblood felt her heart quicken as a spray of blood covered her faceplate. The gush of blood that fountained forth from the vertical wound of the Void Slasher's neck eventually stopped, pulling her back into reality. The quartet-limbed Demon thrashed momentarily before fading away, leaving a black coloration from where it hit the ground. She raised her blade, rolled to avoid a purple ball of psionic energy intended for her, and struck horizontally. The armored skeleton was disemboweled but instead of intestines, dark crimson blood and bleached white bones spilled onto the dirty pavement. The Demon was about to whisper a dark prayer when Ironblood grabbed the Demon's lower jaw and pulled it downwards.

She charged, synced with Beartrap, and tossed the lower jaw at him. Beartrap continued the frenzy as he snatched the jaw from the air and swung widely. He laughed as a Hellspawn caught the brunt of his attack. Mollars and tooth were stuck on the floating forearm upon impact and immediately exploded afterward. He swung downwards, hitting a quartet-limbed Demon in the skull. It let out a yell before exploding in ashes.

"Execute Attack Protocol 78-4," Beartrap ordered as he raised his Ray Pistol and fired at the back of a Psychic Titan's head. It collapsed to its knees, blood sputtering from its skull and fell to the side.

"Order denied!" Alacrity yelled over the noise. He raised his Blast Rifle and fired in full-auto. In a span of three seconds, he made a mountain of corpses that belonged from both Void Slashers and Psychic Titans alike. He climbed on the top of it, detaching a magnetic grenade from his bandolier, and tossed it at a large group of enemies. He leaned his head to the right as he avoided a floating fist. He raised his left hand and released a stream of electricity, frying the Hellspawn into toast.

An explosion invigorated Deacon Martins as he fired his M5 Raptor at a charging Psychic Titan. Private Cruise fell to his knees beside him, clutching his heart. He felt his own sank at the sight of his fallen friend. Upon seeing the sight of his murderer, slumping to the ground, he felt cold satisfaction but immediately whisked it away for such thoughts were not in accord with his Lord.

"Brother!" Deacon Martins immediately removed the Soldier's helmet and set it aside. Cruise was vomiting blood, and noticeably, bits of his heart.

The Soldier's brown hair was wet in sweat. His blue eyes were locked onto Martin's. It was a stare of a helpless man wanting revenge against those who wronged him. Cruise remained in that position for a full five seconds before finally drawing his final breath. A stream of tears bursts from Martin's eyes as he returned back to the fight, firing his M5 and muttering a prayer.

"Requiem aeternam dona eis..."

Demons and Hellspawns fell before him as he emptied his entire clip at the advancing tide. As fate would have it, the defenders on Deacon Martin's line suddenly ran out of ammunition and they ended up with empty clicking rifles while the bulk of the Demons were still charging.

"Dammit, fix bayonets!" A Sergeant yelled but Deacon Martins ignored him as he discarded his M5 Raptor to the side and drew his long machete instead. M5 Raptors has no bayonet slots anyway.

"Domine et lux perpeutua, luceat eis..." He continued.

He raised his blade and stood in a fighting stance. He waited for the first one to come close and as soon as it was in melee range, he swung horizontally, splitting the face of the Void Slasher in half. He ducked as one of its four limbs strikes at him. He watched the gigantic Demon fell to the side. He struck downwards, splitting the skeletal head of a Psychic Titan in half. He kicked its body away, ducked to avoid a limb from another Void Slasher, and thrust his machete forward to impale a floating head from the mouth.

"Requiescat in pace, Amen." He almost spat the words as he stared at the eyeless face in front of him. The orifices of its face were excreting yellow mucus, aside from the green ones leaking from its neck. He twisted the blade and pulled it out; the Hellspawn exploded in green and red liquid, covering him and everyone in the vicinity.

Soon, help came as plasma blasts became audible and the sound of Protectorate warriors screaming became loud. Deacon Martins grinned as he killed the last Demon in the horde.

"Fear not, Humans." Protectorate Alacrity yelled as he stood before Martins.

The Deacon was overwhelmed to stand toe in toe with the infamous champions of Heavens. They were known to be vicious than the Angelic choirs and they were even rumored to have been capable of killing one. Alacrity walked past the Human in front of him, casting a sideways glance before tearing his gaze towards Father Guetta on the balcony above. Martins saw the Protektovare's glowing grey eyes behind the eye lenses of his faceplate. He was in awe.

Father Guetta grinned at the sight of the newly arrived defenders. He raised his machinegun and yelled in praise. The defenders around the Cathedral also cheered. Within the hours to come, Guetta knows it will be not without blood spilling on the ground. For the past few minutes, it would be a massacre, justice befalling the soldiers of Hell, judgment issued from Heaven.