Southern Region of the Deadlands: 936, December 31st, Monday, 1:00 AM.
Stomping across the scorched land of the Deadlands, the army of specters continued its unstoppable advance with the fury of a god behind their assault. Helicopters and armored vehicles provided support to the foot soldiers hiding behind concrete reinforced walls, unleashing a barrage of bullets and missiles against the approaching horde.
No amount of firepower the combined armies of the white uniformed warriors of Heildin, the cobalt soldiers of Hydra, and the bright magenta officers from Chimera could offer proved nearly enough to put even a dent in the powerful army of demons. One by one, humanities outposts and fortresses fell to their barbaric assault, forcing the human forces to retreat constantly while bleeding troops on the field.
It was once again hell on heart for those involved in the conflict, but while the thousands died and suffered in the battlefield, there was an ambitious man eager to prove his experience and knowledge when warfare was involved.
The room was quite vast, painted with the Cobalt of Hydra and decorated like a shooting gallery. Many firearms of distinct calibers were hung on the walls, and a large mech suit was proudly displayed next to the steel desk of Hydra’s CEO. It was an intimidating office that combined the power of technology, and the deadly force of modern weaponry.
Boris Levin—owner of the company, sat behind his desk with a phone in hand. The bright screen of a portable computer illuminated his face with a bright red light, and no distraction in the office could take his eyes off it. The man had a vast amount of knowledge in the technological field despite his age, a fact that would surprise many due to his short grayed-out hair, and large beard of the same color. Wrinkles could be seen around his eyes, and the skin on his face had become quite saggy—showcasing Bori’s many years of experience.
“Implement the prototype units,” he said, but the negative response from the officer in the speaker brought a frown to his face. Even with his many experimental troops, mechanized and automated to face any foe, the ravenous march of the specters had left all his inventions in the dust with their superior power and speed.
The bad news kept flowing into his feed, reporting the dire situation of his units in the Deadlands. Having lived most of his youth and adulthood as a soldier in the Kaldstein army, there was little Boris had seen through the years of a militarized life. Such disparate number of casualties proved more than enough to make the old man feel young once again, as the demons’ onslaught was deemed unstoppable by his officers, and no experience against any man could’ve prepared him to face it.
Boris’ lips quivered lightly as he pressed them together, but his expression was that of a resolute commander, refusing to allow such events to draw a reaction out of him just yet. “Where is Arwen and his units?” the old man asked.
“They have yet to arrive, sir. If this continues… I’m afraid there will be little we can do to stop them.”
“Very well…” Boris began, pressing a few keys on his computer. “We can’t hold back any longer, or we may lose many brave soldiers for nothing.”
“Sir, you mean…”
“Hydra will reveal its hand to the god,” the old CEO stated. “It’s time to release Lerna against the Deadlands. Save as many capable units as you can, general. The rest will serve as bait, and draw the attention of the specters into the center of Lerna’s glory.”
“Y-yes, sir… May the goddess forgive us all.”
Back in the barren fields of the Deadlands, a man dressed in a fancy cobalt and golden uniform observed the battlefield through foggy and broken cameras. He stood at the top of Heildin’s border with the hellish zone, commanding his units from the last line of defense at the walls. A large wooden table was placed in front of him, and multiple screens resting on top of it broadcasted the current battle unfolding many miles away—monitored by a group of officers sitting in front of it.
“How many have we lost…” a woman spoke, covering her mouth with both hands as she observed the harsh environment her comrades were thrown into.
“Listen up!” the general demanded everyone’s attention, adjusting his black cap before continuing. “We cannot allow these demons to break through our defenses and be released into our world.” He announced. “In order to put a stop to their advance, the higher ups had deemed it necessary to release our strongest weapon yet… The Lerna.”
Every soldier present at the gigantic rampart immediately turned towards the old man, eyebrows raised and lips slightly parted. Some looked at each other and back to their general, while others widened their eyes at the mention of the weapon itself.
“There is little time before the specters begin knocking at our doors, but that is why we must act quickly.” The general continued. “I want all of you to contact your respective units, and issue the retreat order immediately. Those who cannot carry their own weight will serve as a distraction to save the life of their comrades, a selfless action that will be remembered and honored by all.”
Before the old man could finish his sentence, every officer in charge of keeping contact with combat units began to desperately call for retreat. The name Lerna was at the front of their words, which sent a clear message to all within its range. Despite its imminent arrival now looming in their heads however, some units protested against the action, and reported the absurd number of injured soldiers still on the field—falling into deaf ears, and be reminded to leave behind all incapable of continuing the fights.
“Their sacrifices will not be in vain,” the general claimed. “Now that Specter’s army had gathered in a single point, Boris’ life long project will finally bear its fruits. With his demons gone, we may stave off the god’s advance for what could be generations in the future.” He continued preaching, trying to calm the nerves of his staff with hypothetical scenarios. “Their deaths will be compensated by the goddess, and our efforts by the champion himself. Believe that the hero of legend is real, and that he will not abandon humanity in its time of need.”
“Nice speech,” a feminine and musky voice suddenly spoke from behind the general and his units—mocking the man’s words as the steps of her boots stomped the concrete. “But you may want to save more lives than you take if you want to speak in such a grandiose manner.” she concluded.
All officers present were enchanted by the woman’s elegant and imposing looks, forgetting about their duties for a short minute to fix their gazes on her tall and strong figure. Gleaming golden armor protected her stunning and athletic body, towering over every man and woman from Hydra’s and Heildin’s combined army at the walls. Her golden straight hair flowed all the way down below her knees, and the mask that concealed her identity only captivated the soldiers even further.
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In her right hand, she clasped the steel body of a long pole with a sharp blade at the top—proudly displaying her glaive with a firm stance. Her eyes could not be seen through the mask, but her attention was fixed on the old general that looked up in awe at her hidden face.
“I’ll deal with those specters,” she stated with confidence. “Focus on getting your people out of there alive, and don’t get in my way.”
“W-who…” Hydra’s general attempted to speak, his eyes wide and jaw dropped at the shiny presence of the blonde knight.
“I am The Golden Lightning,” she proudly announced. “And I’ve arrived to fulfil my duty as a gladean knight, and put an end to this conflict now that Specter has revealed himself.”
“Golden Lightning? Gladean knight…” many voices repeated under their breaths, and the low whispers of the officers debating and theorizing between themselves overtook the awed mind of the general—who snapped back into his senses.
“A gladean knight?” he repeated himself. “Don’t be ridiculous… are you trying to interfere with our mission? We have the key to bring the god’s army to its knees! Some sacrifices may be required, but that’s a trade we must accept in order to save many more lives.”
“I will not repeat myself,” she told him, turning to face the battlefield and steeping at the very edge of the wall. “I can’t waste further time when people are in need of my aid. Stop whatever you are doing, and focus on getting your people out of there… now.”
“Hey, stay away from there! Don’t you know how da—” the general was abruptly interrupted half trough his sentence, left blind and deaf for a quick moment.
Atalanta pressed the sole of her golden boots on the hard concrete floor, propelling herself forward into the Deadlands with such speed that no common person could even come close to perceive. A powerful roaring thunder echoed across the region, and the blazing light of her lightning blinded all present in the rampart for a couple of seconds. It felt as if they were struck by a constant burst of stun grenades, turning their minds and vision into blank empty space, and their hearing into a continuous high-pitched noise.
Their hearts almost pumped out of their chests, and the officers panted with startled eyes and sweat rolling down their faces. The general was the first to speak after the abnormal display showed by the blonde woman, but even he was left with a blur at the sight left behind by The Golden Lightning.
“Wha… what was…”
It was a simple jump, feet pressed on the concrete, and a push forward to leap off the wall. Such enormous height from the top of the rampart to the ground was enough kill a person multiple times over, something that in the officers’ eyes, had only been achieved by automated soldiers from Hydra, as well as the young princess of Heildin—Eutychia.
What remained from the blonde woman’s jump however, was a string of golden sparks that split the crimson fog of the Deadlands in its path. Atalanta jumped into the hellish zone with determined confidence, and her trail of lightning could be seen for miles in the distance by the officers operating the walls—disappearing from view before they could even see it touch the ground.
Nearing the battlefield, The Golden Lightning’s feet moved at intervals that even the fastest of cheetah’s would envy—leaving sparking trails of lightning through the region. Despite her speed however, the vast empty land of the Deadlands felt eternal with every step she took—feeling her efforts bring no actual results in approaching the desperate men and women fighting near the center.
“Its strong…” she muttered—her frustration hidden under the golden mask that covered her face. Atalanta opted to plant her feet on the dirt to stop her rapid advance, lifting a trail of dust in the process. “Dammit… am I making no progress? I can’t afford to be caught here, too many people are counting on me.”
“Lost?” a snarky voice suddenly spoke from behind—prompting the blonde knight to swing her glaive with a sharp turn.
The steel of her blade echoed into the crimson sky as it clashed with the forearm of another knight, who smirked at her with every cell of confidence in his body. He stood in front of Atalanta while pushing against her glaive, which she retaliated by pushing back against his arm.
“Not now, Loki.”
“You swung first,” the knight claimed. “I’m not interested in you.”
Realizing the truth behind his words, Atalanta softened her grip on the steel pole of her weapon, and stepped back from Loki—putting an end to the brief clash. The knight rubbed his forearm with one hand, and simple grinned at the blonde woman with an irritable expression before speaking.
“I thought you’d want to take part of the action,” he told her. “I’m more surprised you didn’t come with him guarding your back.”
“We have no time to sit here and talk,” Atalanta retorted, turning her attention back towards the Deadlands—staring at the empty field of scorched land that seemed to expand forever. “If I don’t make it in time…”
“Ah?” Loki raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth with a puzzled expression. “Don’t tell me you are not here to kill Specter, but to save those spineless humans instead.”
“Don’t waste my time,” the blonde knight snapped at him—managing to not raise her voice at the man’s words.
“Fine,” the knight shrugged. “It is an illusion, one that you may want to break soon if you want to help them.”
“What?”
“The bastard is full of tricks, why do you think is so hard to find him out here? Still, I have no time to waste here either.” Loki bared his teeth with a smirk, and proceeded to stretch his shoulders. “You find a way to deal with this... I’m going after Specter.”
“Wait! What are you talking? Aren’t you trapped here too?”
“Hah!” the knight scoffed at her claims. “As if… don’t stay too long, or you’ll end up a daemon like King.”
His warning now delivered, the man’s body was suddenly enveloped in particles of azure light—becoming translucent for a few short seconds before completely vanishing from view, leaving The Golden Lightning behind. It did not take her long to put two and two together, realizing that she had spoken to one of Loki’s clones, and that the knight had most likely been in the Deadlands for longer.
“Did he really just…” Atalanta shook her head before ending the sentence, focusing on her most pressing task instead. “So, it is an illusion…” she whispered, looking up at the crimson sky. “Fine… There is only one way I’ve learned on how to deal with an obstacle.”
The blonde knight clasped her glaive with both hands before raising it above her head, starting to skillfully spin the weapon around with absurd speed and strength. The motion of Atalanta’s glaive began to gather the lurking fog surrounding her, pulling in closer many particles of crimson light towards its blade. As she continued moving her hands and the weapon, sparks of lightning suddenly overtook the crimson particles assembled together around her blade, and absorbed them into its own golden rays of light instead.
“Is through battle!” Atalanta stopped the spin of her weapon with an abrupt motion—pulling the weapon behind her back, and slamming its body against the ground with a violent swing.
A powerful bolt of lightning struck the scorched land, matching the strength behind the blonde knight’s attack. The impact of both steel and lightning caused the crimson fog to burst far from her position, as if running away in fear at the gladean knight’s formidable might. The earth around her shattered, and the fissures left by her strike continued to spread through the nearby area—leaving sparks of electricity crawling through the land.
Caught by her sudden attack, and now exposed under the clear land free of crimson fog, the hundreds of specters surrounding The Golden Lightning roared and growled furiously under the crimson sky—proceeding to charge their foe with insatiable hunger.
Atalanta spun the glaive above her head once again, swinging its blade downwards before firmly planting herself in position with a fighting stance. Her feet were slightly spread apart, keeping the weapon behind her back while pointing its blade at the ground. One hand at the front, and the other one behind, The Golden Lightning waited for her opponents as the stomped through the lightning waves of electricity left by her powerful attack.
“Begin!”
END OF CHAPTER