Sergeant Raed was still thinking about the only words that the Anlova Communications Regiment had managed to decipher; "Attack" and "Demon." The video's image and voice were completely distorted, and they didn't know who had sent the message, but it had been sent from the central building, likely from the control room of the rune-electric plant. Captain Lorenzo had attributed those words to some kind of hallucination caused by fear, or as an attempt to keep troops away from whoever had taken it over. Although Raed agreed with his superior's theory, something about it unnerved him. That word brought back bad memories.

The sergeant pulled out a handwritten note and a small photo from one of his uniform pockets. He looked at the photo and felt a bittersweet nostalgia creeping in among his concerns. In it, his ex-wife was next to him, their arms intertwined. Her radiant smile was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and also what he missed the most.

"Do you miss her, sir?" suddenly asked Soldier Neisa as she drove the V4-1.

The sergeant looked at her, and she returned her gaze to the road.

"A lot," the sergeant replied, also turning his gaze forward. In the distance, the runic towers of the auxiliary plant began to appear. "But leaving me was the best thing she could do. She deserves someone better."

"How did you meet?" asked the soldier after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence.

"Well, I tried to rob her, and she gave me one of her radiant smiles." Raed couldn't help but smile as he remembered that picturesque moment. "I fell in love with her that same day."

"You, a criminal?" Neisa asked with a smile. "I would never have imagined."

"Yes, soldier. Back then, it had only been a few months since my mother had pulled my brother and me out of the hive area where we were raised. If Marian hadn't been a woman, I probably would have stabbed her and taken all her money."

"Wait, sir," said Neisa, surprised this time. "You grew up in a hive area?"

"Yes, soldier. Have you ever been in one?"

"No, but I've heard stories," Neisa replied. "I was raised in one of the slums of Catlon."

"The slums, eh?" Raed said with a mocking smile. "Well, the slums are, let's say, heaven for people from hive areas. There is no law there other than that of the gangs fighting for control. Even the National Defense Corps doesn't enter hive areas unless something very serious happens or the members of a hive cause trouble outside of them."

"I suppose it must have been very tough."

"That's right, soldier. The stigma of being born in a hive area isn't something that disappears quickly. That's why I enlisted in the army. For someone like me, it was the only way to earn a decent and legal salary."

"I understand what you mean, sir. For people from the slums, it's not easy to make a place for themselves in society either," said Neisa. "But in my case, it was mostly out of patriotism, sir."

"Like me…" said André.

Raed thought he detected a hint of sarcasm in the soldier's words. But he didn't dwell on it and prepared to respond to Neisa. Just at that moment, the voice of Soldier Elen, who was on the auxiliary machine gun of the vehicle, came over the general channel.

"Sir, I see something approaching."

Raed tapped the cybertable attached to his left forearm and activated the microphone on his helmet communicator.

"What do you see, soldier?" The sergeant put the photo and the scribbled paper back into his pocket. It wasn't the time for sentimentality.

"Sir, they're savages!"

Raed's mind flashed back to the words that had been deciphered from the message, and then it became clear to him. Whoever had sent the message must have used the word "demon" to refer to a savage. Their terrifying appearance and extreme violence made many confuse them with the demons of horror and fantasy stories. Some Ibelirian historians even claimed that the word itself originated as a representation of the savages.

"How many, soldier?"

"One drum truck, a mortar, two grok cruisers, and five tralf motorcycles," reported Elen as she observed them through binoculars. "Sir, they're carrying the paints and flag of the Skullcrushers."

"Have they taken over the auxiliary plant and sent a small squad to intercept us?" Raed wondered silently. "No, that doesn't add up. Savages usually don't stay in one place. They come, kill, loot, and leave." Questions bombarded Raed's mind one after the other as the enemies approached.

"Sir, orders?"

Neisa's voice snapped the sergeant out of his thoughts.

"Whatever it is, it's best to take them out," Raed muttered quietly. "V4-2 and V4-3, spread to the flanks and prepare for a pincer attack. V4-1, V4-4, and I43 will form a defensive line to block the road. Fire on my signal."

"Understood!"

The vehicles moved according to the sergeant's instructions and prepared for combat with the savages. The passengers of V4-1 and 4, except for those on the machine gun platforms, got out and took cover behind the vehicles to shoot with protection.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

"I43," the sergeant announced while scanning the horizon with binoculars, "fire on the drum truck. We need to destroy it before their music drives the savages into a frenzy."

"You heard the sergeant, gunner. It's time for fireworks!" Corporal Eko said to the cannon operator, and shortly after, the sound of the shot boomed.

The projectile flew at a tremendous speed and turned into a fireball when it struck the drum truck.

The savage motorcycles didn’t even look back to see what had become of their musical vehicle. However, the mortar truck did, swerving to a sudden stop. At the back, a szaik began to give instructions to a pair of groks who were rotating and loading the large mortar.

Szaiks were the most intelligent and curious of the savages. They typically walked hunched over and were about the same height and build as tralfs. Their faces and ears were covered in hair, and their most distinctive feature was a third arm growing from their sternum. They often used implants created or modified by themselves, and some had a long mechanical arm emerging from their backs.

"I43, blow up that mortar truck."

"My pleasure!"

Again, the tank cannon thundered, and the shell hit its target. However, the explosion did not penetrate the heavy, macabre armor of the truck.

"Sir, those bastards have fired."

"I see it," said Raed without taking his eyes off the scene. "Combat Mage Isen, we rely on you."

"Don't worry, sergeant." Isen moved a few steps forward.

The mage's eyes glowed as he invoked magic, and an invisible shield appeared just as the projectile fell upon them. An explosion occurred, and the flaming debris evaporated.

"Gunner, blow them up!" shouted Corporal Eko.

"Yes, sir," the gunner pressed the firing button and this time the truck was blown into the air.

But not before making one last shot.

Unperturbed, Isen manipulated the magical currents again and a huge air current diverted the projectile several dozen meters until it crashed into the devastated land. "V4-1, 4, fire at will," said the sergeant as the bikes were already getting close. "V4-2, 3—support on the flanks."

The machine guns of the V4s roared, and soon the battlefield turned into a sea of large-caliber projectiles. The savage bikes swerved back and forth to dodge bullets and cannon fire as their riders spat curses, and in the case of the tralfs, tried to return fire at the V4s on the flanks.

Within seconds, two tralf motorcyclists and a grok went down leaving a trail of blood, oil, and fire. One of the tralf motorcycles skidded and tried to escape through the right flank, but the projectiles from the V4-3's machine gun mutilated its body before it hit the ground.

The remaining bikes continued their desperate advance and tried to breach the defensive line as a new crossfire began. The submachine gun bullets from one of the tralf motorcyclists hit the helmet of one of the soldiers taking cover behind the V4-4. The Fierce Steward fell to the ground, and his comrades returned fire with more vigor, finally downing the remaining two tralfs and wounding the last grok. However, this last one managed to hold on and let his bike crash into the front of V4-4. The impact caused both the muscular motorcyclist and a soldier taking cover behind the vehicle to be thrown into the air.

The grok rolled on the ground and quickly got up to unload his shotgun on the knee of the soldier who fell near him. Several bullets hit his leather, metal, and fur protections, and others sunk into his flesh. The grok screamed to withstand the pain, threw the shotgun, and ran towards Corporal Dragen while pulling the huge two-handed axe from his back.

As if responding to some kind of challenge, the drauo corporal slung his rifle over his back, pulled out the battle axe he carried magnetically attached, and ran to meet him.

However, before the two could meet, a spear of earth emerged from the ground and impaled the savage. Suspended in the air, and almost breathless, the grok saw the eyes of the Ibelirian mage still glowing.

"Damn it, Combat Mage Isen. That one was mine by right," growled Dragen.

"Like it or not, he's a true-blooded drauo," thought Raed.

"Hand-to-hand combat was an unnecessary risk, corporal."

The drauo corporal furrowed his brow and growled.

"Come on, Dragen. The combat mage is right," said the sergeant, placing a hand on the drauo's shoulder. Then he turned and addressed the entire platoon. "Any casualties?"

"Treir is fine, sir," said André. "He's a bit dazed but the helmet did its job."

"The V4-3 has suffered no damage."

"Neither has the V4-4."

"Rem's leg is shattered, sir," said Miriam.

"Combat Mage Isen, can you do something for Rem's leg?" asked Raed.

"Yes," replied Isen as he approached the soldier. Then he crouched down to his level and asked with his penetrating gaze, "Soldier Rem, have you ever been healed with magic?"

"No, sir," he answered, writhing in pain.

"Then you should know that healing magic comes at a price."

"What? What do you mean?"

"That each time it will cost you more to heal, and there will come a point where, if you resort to it too often, you could die from a simple wound. In short, your life expectancy will decrease, soldier," said the mage as if he were reading from a text.

"Rem?" asked the sergeant.

"Rem, I don't think it's good to rely on magic," said André.

"I don't care, sir. Just heal me, please," replied the soldier, ignoring his comrade's advice.

"Good answer, soldier. I wouldn't want to have to leave you in the V4 like a cripple," said the sergeant, placing a hand on his shoulder—a gesture he often repeated. "Combat Mage Isen, proceed."

"As you wish."

The mage's eyes glowed again. The bullet fragments were expelled, and the tissues and bone began to regenerate.

"Done. Try standing up and moving around."

Soldier Rem followed his healer's instructions, and to his astonishment, tested his knee's recovery.

"It's incredible! It's like new! Thank you, sir!"

Isen looked like he was going to say something but then just nodded.

Sergeant Raed left his soldiers behind and walked over to the body of the impaled grok, while in his head, he still pondered about the auxiliary plant and the savages they had just encountered. There was something about it all that didn't add up.

"How did they know when and where we would come? No, it can't be that. If so, they would have sent a larger group." Another question assaulted his mind. "Are these the remnants of the attack on the plant? But then, why didn't they have vehicles for transporting prisoners and loot? Maybe they took different routes? Or was it simply a group that happened upon us by chance? And what disturbs me the most is... why did they seem so desperate?"

Arriving at the body of the fallen savage, he squatted down and observed it. It bore numerous bullet wounds, but all appeared to be from the encounter that had just occurred. If so, two things were possible: either the grok had not attacked the plant, or, having participated in the assault, he had not received any bullets, which considering the security of the plant, was unlikely.

"What if the Skullcrushers had nothing to do with the attack on the plant?"

Raed inspected the savage's body further, and something caught his attention. On the right side, there were incisions similar to those made by claws. They were recent. He leaned in closer, and a foul smell penetrated his nostrils. But it wasn't the typical smell of dirt and sweat of the savages. Instead, it was more like the smell of decomposition and disease mixed with that of stale blood.

"Mutants..."