The Murlan River churned beneath the bridge, its swift waters reflecting the flickering glow of fires consuming Sacra-Hill in the distance. On the bridge, Lt. Charlene Mudpaw’s demolition team worked methodically, planting charges while keeping an eye on the wharf below.
The Austorians had dug in around the warehouses and small buildings that bordered the river. Their battlemages and archers held advantageous positions, firing magic-reinforced arrows that whistled through the air like spectral wails.
"Contact front!" Mudpaw’s team leader shouted as another volley of arrows slammed into the bridge's railings. One pierced a soldier’s leg, sending him tumbling to the ground with a cry of pain.
Black Pawn 3 approached under the cover of smoke and debris, their movements silent, their eyes scanning for threats. As they crept closer, the battlefield came into view. Dagger assessed the situation. Peering through his binoculars, noting the Austorians' scattered positions.
“They’re holding the wharf and firing in volleys,” he said, ducking as a stray arrow splintered against a nearby post. “They’ve got a good setup, but they’re exposed if we hit them from the side.”
“Let’s flank ‘em,” Tanner suggested, his rifle already at the ready.
Dagger nodded and keyed his comms. “Mudpaw, keeping firing. Draw their attention. On my signal, shift fire to the left, We’ll hit them from the right.”
“Copy that,” Mudpaw replied, her voice calm despite the chaos. She barked orders to her team, and soon suppressive fire erupted from the bridge, pinning the Austorians down.
Black Pawn 3 moved quickly, their boots making almost no sound on the stone-paved riverbank as they circled around to the Austorian positions.
“Mudpaw, shift fire” Dagger whispered into the comms. The unit in unison shifted their fire left.
“On my mark,” Dagger whispered. He held up three fingers, then two, then one.
The SF team unleashed a devastating volley, catching the Austorians off guard. Battlemages scrambled to raise shields, but the crossfire was unrelenting. Arrows clattered uselessly as the SF team’s precision forced the defenders back as they flanked the fighters.
The Austorian archers fled into the warehouses, their courage faltering under the sustained assault. A battlemage hurled a fiery spell toward the SF team, but Tanner’s rifle barked once, and the mage fell lifeless to the ground.
“Cease fire!” Dagger ordered, his voice sharp.
The SF team scanned the area, confirming the Austorians had fled. Smoke drifted through the air, mingling with the scent of blood and gunpowder.
Mudpaw climbed down from the bridge to join them, her expression grim as she looked over the scene. “That’s not going to hold them for long,” she said, gesturing toward the warehouses. “We’ve bought time, but they’ll regroup.”
“They always do,” Dagger replied. “Let’s make sure we’re ready.”
With the wharf momentarily secure, Mudpaw’s team returned to their task on the bridge. Charges were placed with precision, each one designed to sever the structure’s critical supports.
Lancer and Dagger stood nearby, keeping watch on the warehouses. The sound of muffled orders and clattering boots drifted down the wharf.
“They’re regrouping,” Lancer noted.
“No doubt,” Dagger said. “We’ll keep them distracted while you finish here.”
As the demolition team worked, a haunting howl echoed across the water, followed by a chorus of inhuman screeches. The demolition team froze, their weapons raised.
“Berserkers,” Dagger confirmed grimly. The unnatural sound carried with it the promise of carnage, growing louder with each passing second.
Littletalon, stationed as a lookout, suddenly called out over the comms, “Sir, you’re going to want to see this.”
Dagger raised his binoculars to scan the far side of the river. A militia of Dwarves had gathered, their armor gleaming faintly in the firelight. Their leader, a broad-shouldered figure wielding a massive battle axe, stepped forward and gestured toward the bridge.
“Damn it,” Lancer muttered. “That’s the last thing we need.”
The Dwarves moved with purpose, their intent clear.
“They’re going to cross,” Littletalon said.
The howls grew closer, accompanied by the sound of shattering wood as something enormous tore through the city streets behind them.
A warning crackled over the comms. “Northpaw to all forward elements, ISR Drones have multiple contacts out of the city to the north. We confirm the Second Army is on its way to Sacra-Hill, I say again, confirmation of Second Army movement towards Sacra-Hill. How copy over?”
“Northpaw this is Alpha 5, Copy. All Alpha Elements and other supporting elements, pull out of the city and defend the contentment area. How copy over?”
Littletalon and Rustclaw exchanged a glance, then over the comms to Lancer.
“We’ll buy you time, Sir” Rustclaw said firmly. “Finish the job and blow the bridge.”
Lancer hesitated, his jaw tightening. “Signal us when you’re clear.”
The two operators sprinted from their bro bridge, stopping at its center. They fired into the air, the sharp cracks echoing across the river.
“This bridge is coming down!” Littletalon shouted toward the Dwarves. “Stand down, or you’ll die here!”
The Dwarves hesitated, their leader narrowing his eyes.
“You’re outnumbered,” the leader bellowed. “What makes you think you can stop us?”
“Because we’re not trying to stop you,” Rustclaw replied. “We’re just giving you a choice—go back, or go down with it.”
Behind them, the Berserkers' howls grew deafening even across the bridge, their howls shaking even the Dwarves.
“What is that? The burly leader asks.
“That’s what we are stopping” Rustclaw smiled. He looked at Littletalon, and nodded.
“Now!” Littletalon barked into his comms. Instantly the charges detonated in a thunderous explosion.
The Austorian half of the bridge crumbled, its supports obliterated as stone and debris plunged into the river below.
Littletalon and Rustclaw disarmed themselves, raising their hands as they knelt.
“We surrender,” Littletalon said evenly. “We request to be taken to your leader.”
The dwarves stood shocked. Then the Leader grabbed them up and pushed them towards the Dwarven settlement. “You’ll answer to the Chief Guild Master.” He said as the rest collected the SF teams rifles, escorting them to the nearby settlement.
As the dust settled, the demolition team and operators regrouped at the bridge’s western side.
“Mudpaw,” Dagger said, his tone sharp, “pack it up. We’ve got to move, that explosion is going to attract attention.”
“Already on it,” she replied, though her gaze lingered on the destroyed bridge, a smile creeped across her face. She didn’t know if it was going to work, but it did.
Lancer keyed his comms. “Alpha 5, This is Showdown One Actual. Be advised: The bridge is down, We are regrouping and heading to the farm.”
“Showdown One This is Alpha 5,” The comm paused for a moment. “Showdown 2 Roger, just get back here.” Came a curt reply.
Lancer raised his eyebrow but signaled his men to move.
The SF team and the demo platoon melted into the shadows, their movements silent as the howls of the Berserkers filled the night.
The streets of Sacra-Hill were eerily silent, the chaos of battle replaced by an oppressive quiet. Lancer and Mudpaw led their teams through the smoke-choked streets, their boots crunching on debris. Every shadow felt like a potential ambush, and every distant sound carried a threat.
“Keep tight,” Lancer ordered over the comms, his voice low but firm. “Eyes on the corners.”
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They moved cautiously until a sharp cry broke the silence. Mudpaw turned to see one of her soldiers stumble, clutching an arrow protruding from his leg. Blood seeped through his uniform, pooling at his boot.
“Damn it, Lewis!” Mudpaw muttered, rushing to his side. “Can you move?”
The soldier nodded through gritted teeth, but his leg buckled when he tried to stand. Another soldier, Corporal Fenn, moved quickly to support him. “I’ve got him, ma’am. We’ll keep up.”
Lancer crouched nearby, scanning their surroundings. “We’re too exposed here. Get him moving, now. We’re not leaving anyone behind.”
Mudpaw nodded, her jaw tightening. “Fenn, keep him steady. Everyone else, cover the rear!”
The operators moved like ghosts, their weapons scanning for threats. The occasional crackle of distant flames and the groan of collapsing structures were the only interruptions to the silence. The team paused at the edge of a shattered intersection, their ears straining against the oppressive silence. Lancer keyed his comms, the soft click barely audible in the stillness.
“Alpha 5 Actual, this is Showdown One Actual. We are at the city Center, no more civilians at this location. Be advised, possible Berserker movement in the vicinity, we have one WIA. over.”
The response came after a long, static-filled pause. “Acknowledged, Showdown 2. You… You need to get to the farm with…” The transmission cut out abruptly.
Lancer’s brow furrowed. “Alpha 5 Actual, say again. You came in broken, over.”
The reply was a garbled mess. “S-S-Showdown Three..er One... Berserkers—Get to the farm! I SAID GET TO THE FARM!!” Swordless’s panicked tone was unmistakable, each word tumbling out with increasing urgency and disarray.
Dagger shot Lancer a sharp look. “What the hell was that? We don’t take orders from him.”
Lancer exhaled slowly, his tone calm but clipped. “Let it go, Dagger. We’ve got bigger priorities, and I’ve seen this before—he’s cracking. It’s only going to get worse.” He toggled his comms again. “Alpha 5 Actual, roger. Showdown One, out.”
As he switched channels, the faint roar of the Invictus 360s echoed overhead. The lead pilot’s voice crackled through the static:
“Command, this is Dragon Flight leader, we are bingo on fuel and black on ammo. Returning to FARP to rearm/ refuel. Return to Station unknown. Good luck down there.”
Lancer clenched his jaw as the sound of retreating rotors faded into the distance. He cursed under his breath as he switched channels. “Mudpaw, Dagger, We need to double-time it. We’re on our own for now.”
The teams pressed on, their pace quickening as the enormity of their mission loomed.
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Meanwhile, in her command tent near the city’s edge, Guards Commander Desgan watched the departing Invictus helicopters with a predatory smile. Her officers stood silently, awaiting her orders.
“The fire-breathing dragons are gone,” Desgan sneered. “Now we hunt the prey hiding in their burrow.”
She turned to a nearby officer and slammed a gauntleted hand onto the map spread before her.
“We strike now. A three-pronged assault—battlemages will bombard the farm, archers will take positions along the wall and rain death, and swordsmen with cavalry will exploit the chaos during the bombardment. Leave nothing standing.”
“But Commander,” an officer hesitated. “They somehow see our movements. Maybe they have flying observers, like what the books about the Demon Lord is said to use.”
Desgan’s eyes narrowed. “If so they are fools. Use the covered paths. I don’t want a single movement in the open. They think their eyes in the sky make them gods? Let’s see how well they see shadows.”
The officers saluted and left to relay her orders. Desgan turned to the map again, her lips curling into a sneer.
“They think they’ve won a victory? I’ll show them the cost of defiance.”
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The farm, once a serene refuge, now buzzed with frantic activity. Soldiers scrambled to fortify defenses, erecting barricades from overturned wagons, barrels, and sandbags. Civilians, pale-faced and trembling, huddled in the barn or helped where they could, their eyes darting toward the horizon.
Lt. Degran Swordless paced furiously, barking orders that grew increasingly erratic. His voice was sharp, but the panic underlying it was clear.
“Get those barricades up! No, not there—over here! What are you, blind?” He turned to a group of soldiers dragging some meager supplies towards the barn. “Move faster! Do you want us all to die?”
A frightened family near the barn caught his eye. The father tried to calm his children while the mother attempted to soothe a crying baby. Swordless stormed over, his face twisted with frustration.
“Get out of the way!” he snapped. “You’re a distraction—go hide somewhere else!”
The mother recoiled, clutching her baby, tears welling in her eyes. The father stepped forward, his voice shaking. “We’re just trying to—”
“Trying to what?” Swordless roared, his face inches from the man’s. “Get us killed? If you can’t help, stay out of the way!”
“Enough.”
The voice cut through the tension like a blade. Captain Johan Redthorn, his arm in a sling and his face pale from blood loss, stepped out of the doorway of the main barn.
“Swordless, stand down.”
Swordless whirled, his eyes wide. “Sir, I’m just trying to—”
“You’re losing control,” Redthorn interrupted, his tone cold. “And it’s costing us. Your fear is contagious, and right now, we can’t afford it.”
Swordless stammered, his hands trembling. “But—”
“No more excuses,” Redthorn said sharply. “You’re relieved of duty.”
Swordless froze, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Then, as the weight of the moment hit him, he crumpled, falling to his knees.
“We’re all going to die,” he sobbed. “We’re all going to die…”
Redthorn signaled with his good hand, “Relive him of his weapons and get him out of here. Get Cramdell in here.”
Two soldiers dragged the sobbing wreck off to a secluded corner of an empty barn and left him as he continued to sob and babble incoherently. The two soldiers left the barn to find the Lieutenant.
Cramdell came in running. “You need me sir?” he asked nearly out of breath.
Redthorn turned to 2nd Lt. Grant Cramdell, his voice steady despite his injuries. “Cramdell, you’re in charge now. Hold this farm.” As he said that the Medic guided him back to the barn to rest.
Cramdell watched as the wounded officer walked wearily back to the barn. He looked around at all the men digging fighting positions and preparing for an attack. “Hold until Relieved.” He murmured and assisted some soldiers flipping over an ox cart.
“Sir, Are we going to make it?” Asked a young soldier, he had been shaken by the XOs words and actions.
“Yes, we will. Check your ammo and keep your head down. We’ll hold. I’m radioing in more support.” He said as the soldier quickly left for his fighting position. “Moore!” he shouted. A tall soldier with a radio pack ran up to him.
“Yes sir” He stated as the pack shifted on his back.
“Get on with command and let them know we are nearly black on ammunition, food and water.”
“Roger sir,” he said as he turned his sleeve to show a small display. He dialed in the proper code and began a SALUTE report, a standard short form Intel report, followed by a LACE report, another short form report stating unit conditions, to command though its text messaging ability. A message came back over the small display.
He walked back over to the Lieutenant.
“Hey sir, They want to talk to you.” He stated sheepishly.
The mixed Special Forces team and the demolition team arrived at the farm to find soldiers digging in and preparing defenses under Cramdell’s calm but firm leadership.
A medic rushed towards the demo team, his kit bouncing against his side.
“He’s over here!” Mudpaw said, guiding the medic toward Lewis.
The soldier winced as the medic inspected the wound. “Arrowhead’s still in,” the medic muttered. “We’ll need to extract it. Can you walk?”
“Barely,” Lewis admitted, his voice strained.
“Then you’re coming with me,” the medic said firmly, motioning for another soldier to help him.
Mudpaw watched them go, her face a mix of relief and frustration. “That’s one less rifle,” she said quietly, turning to Lancer.
“We’ll make do,” Lancer replied. “Your team still in fighting shape?”
“We’ll hold,” Mudpaw said, her tone resolute. “But this is cutting it close.” Lancer nodded and pointed her to check the defensive line.
Lancer and Dagger headed to the where the Executive Officer should be at after the soldiers pointed to a small bunkhouse. When they entered they found Cramdell looking over a JCVAIL Tablet with SFC Draken.
“Lieutenant,” Lancer said, nodding. “What’s the situation, I was coming in to report to your XO but I can seem to find him?”
“Messy,” Cramdell replied. “Swordless lost it, but we’ve got things under control now. Glad you’re here. We need every hand.”
Lancer nodded. “We’ll fortify the perimeter and help rally the troops. What’s the ETA on the civilians?”
“They’re already here,” Cramdell said, gesturing toward the barn. “But we’ve got more trouble coming.”
“Whats that?”
“The Convoy has been delayed. They are estimating 4 hours before they will be at Qu-till. Northpaw just let command know that the Second Army has broken camp and can be here in as little as 3 hours. He looked down, “We are low on everything, ammo, food and water. Command states they have a plan but hell if I know what it is.”
“Well its about to get worse.” Lancer said with his head bowed. “In our mission here for the last 3 weeks, we have discovered around four possible warehouses where they may be hiding Chaos collars and Slaver collars. Well, all four of them were Labs with test subjects,” As Lancer was explaining a faraway roar could be heard in the background followed by many more, which made Lancer sigh “If even half of what we’ve seen shows up here, that force could be unstoppable.”
Cramdell sighed dejectedly, “Damn it. Ok find a hole and plug it. Its all we can do for now.”
“Yep. We’ll be fine, besides we have some friends coming, right? Lets make sure they have a place to come to.” Lancer said with an upbeat smile. “Lets go guys!” He shouted to his men.
The SF operators dispersed, moving to fortify weak points and organize defensive positions. Soldiers visibly relaxed under their experienced presence, their confidence bolstered.
“Sir where do you want us?” 2nd Lt. Mudpaw asked.
“Use whatever you have left to make mines or traps, anything to slow down whats coming.” Cramdell smiled. She nodded and quickly got to work.
The farm grew quiet as everyone settled into position, the tension so thick it was almost suffocating. The sky darkened, the air heavy with anticipation. Then, faintly at first, an ominous hum filled the air.
Cramdell glanced at Lancer. “Did you hear that?”
“Yeah,” Lancer said grimly, his hand tightening on his rifle. “INCOMING!! HIT THE DIRT!!” He yelled, alerting the unit. In seconds the soldiers hit the ground waiting for the impact.
The first volley struck with a deafening roar, shattering the tense silence. Fireballs erupted across the perimeter, sending dirt and debris flying. A wagon burst into flames, splinters raining down on defenders diving for cover.
Arrows followed in a deadly arc, their glowing runes sparking small explosions on impact. A soldier screamed as one exploded near him, the blast throwing him backwards.
“Hold the line!” Cramdell shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos. “We’ve trained for this! Don’t let them break through!”
Through the flames and smoke, a line of swordsmen emerged, their cries slicing through the cacophony. “Swordsmen, front!” a soldier shouted. The defenders opened fire, cutting the charge down before they reached the barricades.
Inside the main barn, the medic and some soldiers moved civilians to the ground floor and into an underground storage area. Many of the people were wide eyed and in a state of shock, first from watching their city being burned around them, and the next from what was happening around them.
A young civilian hugged a tattered doll, her wide eyes fixed on the horizon. She had just watched her whole world burn down before her and she could barely process it. A medic knelt beside her, offering a shaky smile. “Don’t worry, kid. We’ll keep you safe.” She began to cry and the medic hugged her, allowing her to feel safe for the first time in a while.
Outside the barn, Lancer pressed himself against the barricade, his mind racing. The enemy’s strategy was clear—soften the defenses, then overwhelm them in waves. “They’ll push harder next time,” he muttered, scanning the smoke-filled horizon. “We need to hold. Mudpaw, report!”
“Traps are holding for now,” she replied, her voice steady despite the chaos. “But they won’t last forever.”
Another volley landed, shaking the ground beneath their feet. Lancer grimaced. This is only the beginning.