“Hostiles front.” Judge Chase grimly reports. “COVER!”
An immediacy to escalation as Judges move, a position at the end of the hallway opening up with suppressive fire towards the fast approaching unit of three. Rounds screaming towards forms, arcane shielding systems implanted within ceramic armor pulling forth walls of gravimetric force in projected, reality distorting barriers.
A response from the judiciary squad is found as Chase throws an arcane black rod of glowing blue power down the hallway, the grenade’s trajectory halting mid flight as it levitates meters above the ground. Incoming rounds caught in an invisible wall, held in place as the three souls dive into positions of cover behind archways of marble.
For a moment the stopped rounds hang there, a single pause before the unstable barrier explodes at incoming attackers. Lead scattered in a directed grenade blast, arcs of shrapnel tearing through flesh as plates of ceramic armor literally melt against hundreds of molten hot shards of metal.
Bipod deployed upon mirror polished flooring, Cadet Smith sends lines of fire back at the distant position of hostile forces in full automatic bursts. A squad support weapon screaming out rounds in a wall of lead, untrained terrorists instinctively forced back behind marble pillars.
The cadet doesn’t let up in his fire, chunks of stone cover ripped apart as an entire magazine of ammunition is depleted. Rifle choking, smoking barrel depleted of its very essence.
A gap exploited, terrorists reprising their positions suddenly met with accurate fire from two judges. An assault rifle sputtering out lethal streams in short tapping bursts, set against the single shot yet devastating power of the Lawbringer.
The divine weapon blessed by gods and humanity sends forth whistling high velocity rounds through combat space, compressed bullets easily cutting through armor plating and into the souls held within.
Deaths near instantaneous as organs cavitate into pulp; half the hostile position dispatched within just five seconds of a vicious close quarters gunfight.
The entire palace shakes as the first round arrives.
Ancient mortar between marble bricks crushed into dust as an artillery earthquake rips through the very foundation of masterful architecture; massive high explosive rounds shelling the complex from distant cannons.
A moment of confusion from terrorists exploited easily, a cemented push from judges overwhelming hostile positions. Executions at point blank range ending the firefight, the roar of guns suddenly ending against the pulping soundtrack of incoming batteries.
Betrayal at the hands of the military, a new plan required as judges automatically take stock in their current situation.
“They are tearing the complex apart.” Judge Chase grimly notes as he swaps magazines out. “This was not the plan, gods damned Field General…”
“Remain focused.” Judge Murphy confirms, the primary objective still instated. “We need to find the Governor, now. Do we have a timeframe?”
Another wave of shells smashes into the palace as distant artillerymen are given the order, Cadet Smith taking the stand as he recalls architectural plans. “The structure is primarily reinforced concrete with marble tile. The primary chambers should hold for a few hours if they’re using conventional, but the auxiliary ones…”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
As if on cue the magical, bunker buster round strikes true. Inner ears thrown to chaos as gravity inverts reality itself, bodies tossed to weightlessness before utter annihilation. A shell of terrifying caliber and near-divine construction folding time and space as the entire detected freestanding structure of the central palace is lifted three inches off the ground, and subsequently dropped back in freefall.
Pillars crack, roofs collapse; the entire structure screaming in death throes.
Judge Murphy delivers the news, a voice fast as he loads another stripper clip into the Lawbringer. “We have minutes. Move!”
Weapons raised, footsteps upon shattered white tile as the entire judiciary squad accelerates their pace of combat. Eyes of raw training scanning across dust choked battlespace, ironsights prepared against any threat.
Through dead bodies scattered upon the ground, of spilled, shattered glass flutes of whisky. Identification ignored against present threats, three souls moving through the drumbeats of incoming artillery.
Another group attempting to escape in the midst of death, a skirmishing group of terrorists meeting judges in the hallways. Rust wolves in headlights, come face to face with death itself.
“Hostile!” Judge Chase reports as he spots them.
No cover, a duel of guns created in the rawest form of violence beneath enraged gods.
Arcane shields scattering bullets into sparks, their counterparts of ceramic armor fail against incoming fire; the power of humanity against the will of divinity utterly mismatched.
The Judges are augmented by the sheer power of a broken god. The Lawbringer fires forth armor piercing rounds that shred through the very foundation of souls, Judge Chase and Cadet Smith merely holding ground as masterful marksmanship and divine creation completely defines the firefight.
Five rounds fired from a divine fragment, five dead from raw firepower; five more remaining as shields of magic upon judicial souls shatter explosively against fully automatic assault rifles. Energy and heat released in a massive cascade, a flash of light blinding terrorists as judges dive to the ground.
Profiles easily reduced, Judge Chase simply aims for the legs of hostile targets from his prone position. Rounds cutting through weak sheets of fabric, flesh chewed by accurate, semi-automatic firepower. Judge Murphy finishes the fallen, a deadly weapon finding its lethality in execution.
A retreat under fire, a side door taken as a desperate escape route from the raw terror of near godlike power.
Ear shattering sound of a gunfight echoing away into hallways, the Cadet is the first to report his state from the ground. “Gods… I’m hit…!”
Shattered uniform bleeding forth penetrating rounds, a body about to expire against the massive hemorrhaging of multiple gunshot wounds. Pale green eyes wide as lungs try to suck air into shocked diaphragms, a color already draining forth from his face.
“COVER!” Judge Chase yells as he tears open the medical pack upon his waist, kneeling over his dying charge.
One hand unlatching broken armor, another in the midst of stabilization.
A package of bandages marked with a singular green cross, instructions upon plastic tossed aside as the judicial soul simply stuffs gauze into bleeding holes within the young man’s torso.
Spikes of stabilizing needles explode into flesh, life saving medicinal fluids injected into grievous injuries. Chemicals leaking forth cauterization, the soul barely held within a broken mortal shell.
Protocol ignored, the soul of the judiciary speaking a forbidden, sworn name as the ice cold layer of unconsciousness begins to consume his mental processes. “ARSA DAMNED!”
“Do not die on me rookie.” Judge Chase assures him as the towering form of Judge Murphy provides cover for the wounded.
Eyes wide in shock, brutal training managing to maintain consciousness against the shock and scent of his own cooking flesh.
“I’M FINE!!!!” Cadet Smith chokes out. “Gods I can’t feel my legs!!!”
“Evacuate him.” Judge Murphy coldly orders through the pounding of artillery. “I will attempt to retrieve the governor.”
Judge Chase simply stops. “S-sir?”
“Go!”