The sounds and explosions rattled Javi's teeth in ways that defied description. Rhythmic gunfire and the thunderous roar of cannons and war machines echoed through the night air, a hellish orchestra of destruction. The moon hid its face behind dense clouds that wept a mixture of drizzle and heavy rain. Only the burning trees and occasional flares provided constant illumination, casting flickering shadows across the battlefield. The screams and roars of ungodly things pierced the darkness, transforming the Eastern Line into Hell's own playground.
Javi's hand trembled as he reloaded the long gun, the rain relenting to a tireless drizzle. Despite the warmth of destruction surrounding him, his hands were chilled as he slipped another bullet into the mechanism. He tried to draw a deep breath, hoping for something fresh, but the same lingering stench persisted - a noxious blend of earth, ozone, gunpowder, and urine. All around him, his comrades mirrored his actions, their faces and uniforms caked with black muck as they focused on the grim task at hand.
"GUNS READY!" Captain Gonzalez's voice cracked like a whip as he paced down the line, his pistol gleaming dully in the firelight.
The captain's brown and green uniform, once a symbol of Imperium pride, now bore the true emblems of war - dark stains, scorched fabric, and a dented chest plate that spoke volumes of the horrors they'd faced. Javi had only known the man for a few weeks as they marched eastward, yet he felt no connection. He barely knew the company around him, though perhaps that was a blessing. It was said that those who went to the Eastern Line rarely returned, rendering battle-forged friendships nothing more than a propagandist's dream.
In response to the captain's command, dozens of bolt actions snapped back in unison, creating an eerie chorus that echoed down the line. Less than a hundred soldiers remained in the muddy trench, a stark reminder of the two hundred that had begun this march. Their numbers had been whittled down at a frightening rate over the past few days. Gonzalez's orders were brutally simple: charge 50 yards to the next "treeline," establish a hold, plant the box, and continue to fire. Rinse, reload, and repeat. But the treeline ahead was no sanctuary - it was an inferno of burning timber, a hellish goal that promised only more death.
Suddenly, the air above them thundered. "SPEARS INCOMING!" The warning came too late.
Javi immediately curled into a ball, making himself as small as possible. Everyone around him did the same, a collective flinch against the impending doom.
The sound was almost ear-piercing as a dozen strange spears, crackling with bluish-white energy, spread across their position. Each one simmered for a heartbeat before exploding with astounding force. Bodies and soil were hurled skyward, and dozens of cries of pain and rage mixed with the relentless sound of gunfire.
Javi found himself entombed in dense earth, unable to move, much less breathe. He counted to five, hoping his ears would stop ringing, as he struggled to free himself from the debris.
"SERPENT CONTACT!" Another voice pierced the chaos.
"GUNS AT THE READY!" Gonzalez's command cut through the din.
With a roar born of desperation and adrenaline, Javi burst from his earthen prison. The heaviest weight pinning him had been a woman, her hair a matted, bloody mess. Lifeless eyes stared back at him, and for a moment, he wished their positions were reversed. Drawing his hatchet, he brought it down swiftly, severing her head from her body. From the corner of his eye, he saw other soldiers performing the same grim task. It was a necessary evil - better to ensure a comrade's final rest than risk them rising as a ghoul, hungering for the flesh of the living. While ghouls were rare, the procedure demanded vigilance. Javi often wondered what self-respecting spirit would choose to re-inhabit a body in this hell, only to face death a second time. Yet, orders were orders, and in war, even the dead could become weapons.
"POSITIONS!" Gonzalez barked, crawling up the dirt mound.
Gritting his teeth, Javi snatched up the fallen woman's pistol and gear bag. Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he scaled the mound alongside his comrades. The dead had no use for supplies, nor heads upon their shoulders.
Peering over the top, he saw them - dozens of dark silhouettes backlit by the inferno of burning trees. But among them loomed monstrosities that chilled his blood. Las Sierpes, the military called them - giant snakes as thick as cypress trees and easily fifty feet long. Atop each serpent's back rode a single figure, shouting commands much as Gonzalez did on their side. This was Javi's first close encounter with the beasts, and their presence made the horror of war all too real.
"MARTINEZ, SET BOX FOR 10!" Gonzalez shouted. "COMPANY ON MY MARK..."
Javi's gaze flicked to Martinez, who clutched a strange-looking device - the "Music Box," a Mechanist invention designed to combat the serpents. Its dials gleamed in the firelight, five large drill bores protruding from its base. The operation was deceptively simple: set the timer, plant the box within 10 yards of a serpent, and flee. Once activated, it would emit a sound to sicken or debilitate the massive beasts. But the Mechanists' creation was a double-edged sword - anyone within 30 yards would suffer similar effects, from vertigo to nausea to loss of bowel control. The Music Box was a disconcerting equalizer, effective for only an hour. If the battle raged on, someone would have to risk reactivating it, chancing another brush with its side effects. Leave it to the Guild of Mechanists to create a weapon as dangerous to its users as to the enemy.
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The rain intensified, a watery veil between Javi and the approaching horror. His pulse pounded in his ears as the enemy drew closer, their forms resolving into the face of terror that threatened the Imperium. Gripping his long gun, he dug his foot into the sodden earth and waited, even as the deluge threatened to blind him.
"CHAAAAAAAAAAAARGE!"
image [https://img.wattpad.com/4cb2be823b8a09ddba9a276859c3ea1ad6cb811f/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f52427342524754745275696a37773d3d2d313430393536383734302e313761353637393930613634326162353338303239343634383734352e706e67?s=fit&w=1280&h=1280]
The moans of the wounded and the stench of antiseptic drove Javi from the medical tent into the cold morning air. Dawn's light crept across the horizon, as if Hil themself had come to survey the devastation wrought upon the earth. The landscape before him bore little resemblance to the battlefield of days past - where once stood Mesa Woods, now only the charred remnants of Burning Ridge remained, a grim testament to the war's fury.
Javi watched a fresh company of troops march eastward, their faces set with grim determination. It had been three days since the engagement, three days since fire and blood had reshaped the world around him. Now, this scorched earth served as a fallback position, a stepping stone for the next push into the abyss.
He had been "lucky," they said.
The memory of the battle flashed through his mind - the serpent's severed head crashing down upon him, the warrior's club shattering his nose, the twin pistols bucking in his hands as he unloaded them into his attacker's face. The pain, the rain, the blood - it all blurred together in a nightmarish tableau. His last memory was of a blade sliding into his side before darkness claimed him.
His injuries were "semi-serious but mendable," the medics had declared. A week of rest, then back to the front. As if one could truly rest in this hell.
Javi's gaze fell to his hands, calloused and scarred. All of this - the pain, the horror, the looming specter of death - was the price of his past sins. A simple theft gone wrong, a partner dead, an innocent life taken. The choice had been clear: the hangman's noose or "death with honor" in the Border Defense Corps. Some choice.
"Private Castañeda!" A woman's voice cut through his reverie. A Corporal approached, satchel in hand.
Javi snapped to attention, his body protesting the sudden movement. "Ma'am!"
"Letters for you, Private," she said, producing four neatly tied envelopes. "Hope it's good news."
As the Corporal departed, Javi stared at the familiar handwriting atop the stack. Elena. His heart soared even as tears pricked at his eyes. She had written, just as she'd promised. In the chaos of training and marching and killing, he'd almost forgotten the life he'd left behind.
Elena's face swam before his mind's eye - her sweet smile, her dark, wavy hair. For a moment, he could almost catch her scent on the wind. And Marcos, their son, barely three years old when Javi had left. Did the boy even remember his father's face?
Clutching the letters like a lifeline, Javi made his way back to the barracks, each step a reminder of his wounds. He needed solitude, a moment of peace to hear Elena's voice in his head, to remember the man he'd been before the war had claimed him.
image [https://img.wattpad.com/4cb2be823b8a09ddba9a276859c3ea1ad6cb811f/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f52427342524754745275696a37773d3d2d313430393536383734302e313761353637393930613634326162353338303239343634383734352e706e67?s=fit&w=1280&h=1280]
Javi's hand trembled, the final letter clutched in his grasp as tears streamed down his face. A week ago, they had been alive. A week ago, as he marched further into hell, his family had been safe, happy. Now, they were nothing but ashes, victims of a house fire according to the cold, impersonal death notice.
His eyes burned as he reread Elena's third letter, her words now a cruel echo of a lost future:
Beloved,
I am trying for all our sakes, but we cannot allow ourselves to be bullied by men who would not show their faces. The Garcia family said they saw some men beat old Arturo badly. Arturo left a few days later. Ernesto Garcia said he’s afraid they may send more men, so we are all meeting soon with an Alguacilo to see what can be done. All of us in town have deeds to our land. A few took the offer, but this is our home, our future. You and I built this house to raise our family. Our home and legacy are as much ours as they will be our son's...
The words blurred as fresh tears welled up. Elena's fear, her resolve, her plea for him to return - it all twisted like a knife in his gut. He could almost hear her voice, smell the faint scent of her perfume on the paper.
Please see if you can come home. I need you here. I know why you left and why it must be done… but please come home. I do not want to lose our dream.
With Love, Elena & Marcos
Javi's mind raced, piecing together the tragedy from Elena's earlier letters. The offer from La Familia Moreno, the strange interest in their northern properties, the escalating violence against those who refused to sell. He wanted to scream at the past, to tell Elena to take the money and run, to keep herself and Marcos safe. But the past was as immutable as death, and his family was beyond saving.
He knew the military would never grant him leave, especially not for a dead wife and child. With practiced control, he folded the letters and wiped away his tears, swallowing the inferno of sorrow that raged in his chest. His mind, honed by weeks of warfare, began to formulate a plan.
Tonight, amid the chaos of incoming wounded, he would slip away. His injuries were healing well enough; he could blend in with those being moved from the medical tent to the barracks. From there, it was a couple of miles to the nearest town, where he could secure transportation home.
Until then, he had to bury his grief beneath a mask of war-weary exhaustion. He couldn't afford to draw attention, couldn't let his true intentions show. He needed to get home, to uncover the truth, to find justice - or vengeance - for his family.
Elena's final plea echoed in his mind: ...please come home. I do not want to lose our dream.
In that moment, Javi felt something shift within him.The soldier who had marched east, seeking redemption for past sins, was gone. In his place stood a man with nothing left to lose, driven by a singular purpose. Javi clenched his fists, his voice a hoarse whisper as he addressed the letter, as if speaking to Elena herself. "I will find our dream, mi amor. I will find who took it and make them pay." His eyes hardened, grief crystallizing into cold resolve.
"I will make them all pay."