A soul of armor plating and raw religious fervor, a position beneath five tired gods above; mid-day rage slowing itself to an evening’s crawl, five suns slowly declining in power.
Eyes grasping the gardens of the palace itself, a guarded location placed deep within the forest of palms and ferns. A creation of greenery utterly impossible elsewhere, enraptured by the barely living life here at the very top of the cultural strata of March. Waxy leaves breathing forth the gracious light above, fueled by a richness of water directly from the leylines.
She just stares at the ecosystem, a prayer to a single savior given as she wishes forth a world beyond the rage, the hunger, the suffering.
The blade tears directly into her throat from behind, a weak point within homemade armor found as the Judge sinks warm steel through the thin bones of a spinal column. Pale blue eyes staring at suns above, gurgling blood from filling lungs left to die as Judge Chase gives the hand signal to comrades behind him.
Two forms rip themselves from the camouflaging power of foliage, weapons raised as they clear the space in silence.
A garden of living life, the back entrance of the palace complex now miraculously devoid of hostile guards.
Back route confirmed, Judge Chase gives a short nod towards his counterpart. A hand reaching towards the radio at his shoulder, Judge Murphy sends the readiness alert. “Base, Judge point primary. Ready.”
A suppressed radio directionally whispering out to the sole owners of the devices, the response comes with military notation from federal hands far away.
“Base copies.” The smooth voice of the command controller confirms all units, a readiness in operational values waiting for one element. “All ground, Topec Primary action awaits full deploy.”
“Confirmed, hold.”
Two judges and one cadet, an element of disruption moving towards utter annihilation underneath the coverage of leafy foliage and dead gods.
Massive planter boxes passed, corners checked and cleared by the two seniors as the cadet is left at covering the rear. Weapons raised, lethal armaments ready to take life.
A door of luxurious wood separating the main building from its greenhouses and gardens, the sigil of five gods above holding back the intrusion of foreign souls.
“Smith…” Judge Chase begins the order.
“On it sir.” The young man nods as they approach.
A toolkit simplistic in form yet arcanely enchanted; a creation of ancient empires used in the most base of applications. The key welded within a cylinder of pure black glows as it's exposed to the suns above, placed into the single lock right beneath the two door handles.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
For a moment the silence persists, gravimetric tentacles flowing through locking mechanisms in recognition of a specialized design of arcane origins. A single snap and a following click, the glowing form of the auto-key automatically fading as it completes its assigned duty.
Cadet Smith carefully retrieves his item, a hand on now hot handles opening the massive doors with a supernatural quietness.
Storage for tools and a central heart to the hydroponics system, well lit by a sunroof held above it. Simply an airlock to maintain internal atmospheric conditions, one more door an entrance to the palace.
A cramped killzone recognized, the stout form of Judge Chase moves in first.
Silent steps upon dusty tile, eyes watching for booby traps as he reaches the next terminus. Judges stacking up, another lock automatically picked as the Cadet reinserts the magical device into a much less sophisticated lock.
One nod confirms access, Judge Chase carefully opening the back door and into the well lit palace complex. Undetected still, eyes automatically take in the world of the upper class of March.
Lying dead.
Blood soaked bodies left against the wall, ornate dresses and suits ripped apart by the application of blades instead of gunfire.
“Gods above…” Cadet Smith whispers to himself as eyes gaze upon the massacre, a mind left reeling at the sight.
“Hold point.” Judge Murphy gives the report under his breath, a weapon raised against doorways for incoming. “Base, Judiciary. Multiple dead civilians.”
The voice requires a short moment of processing by the distant commander. “Copy Judiciary.”
A well lit hallway nearly fifty five meters long reaches towards the centralized artery of the central palace complex, a primary objective in view through a massive killzone.
Judge Murphy orders the combat maneuver as the world refuses to reveal hostile positions, voice a whisper as they move forth. “Bounding alpha 19-1.”
Covering positions, an advance with three souls towards the primary location executed with given speed and stealth.
Doors on both sides, multiple dozens of terminals leading to guest rooms, hallways, and storage closets. A literal maze of architecture purposefully designed by minds beyond humanity for a purpose unknown; a cruel martyr’s doings converting a world of luxury into a fortress of…
The sound of footsteps from behind the advancing group sends the forward guard into action, Judge Murphy snapshotting a single terrorist ambusher right at center mass. A chestplate’s backside of weaker ceramic ripped apart by the round, the roar of gunfire taking the life in immediacy.
Divine weapon cycled, a special high velocity cartridge clattering onto the marble floors as the trap is sprung.
A fully armed squad hidden within already passed doorways, an ambush against a judiciary force opening up with fully automatic firepower. Four assault rifles between seven personnel, over a hundred twenty rounds ripped into the forms of three judges, three untouched faces focused and bodies still moving towards a primary objective in the far distance.
A moment of confusion as killing blows receive no effect upon illusory forms, a mental condition interrupted by the roar of bullets from behind the squad.
Ambush against ambushers, animals falling for arcanely cloned bait ripped apart by a barrage of accurate shots. Joints shredded, the space between armored plates targeted by lower caliber munitions. Three souls of justices leaving seven dead hostiles behind them in their assault, a pace now increasing as the silent approach is compromised from within.
Judge Murphy sends the command to the universe as he retakes the rear, a cold voice echoing through a combined soul ready for death. “Base, Judge point contacted. Execute all, repeat, execute all.”