- PoV: Isabella -
The thunderous blast of her Devastation echoed across the battlefield as Isabella unleashed another volley at the relentless ranks of the Stellar Republic. Inside her helmet, sweat trickled down her face; her ebony hair, usually secured in a tight knot, had come undone at some point and now clung damply to her skin.
Each rotation of the weapon's barrel sent a fresh wave of piercing pain through her battered and beaten body; her muscles aching from the continued stresses of holding the massive weapon steady. Despite Medic Johnsen's best efforts, her injuries continued to hamper her. She had undergone field surgery twice in the same day and was loaded with more medication than she'd personally ever considered safe.
To describe Isabella's feelings about her debut performance as Alpha Squad's offensive heavy as 'frustrated' would be a severe understatement. She was furious.
Given the choice, she'd dash across the battlefield to the Stellar Republic's lines and tear each opponent apart with her bare hands. Unfortunately, a vast expanse of no-man's-land and an array of guns tracking her every move made that impossible. Compounding the situation, she had depleted most of her ammunition in the initial ambush and was now down to her last belt for her Devastation. Once that was gone, she'd be relegated to her sidearm or have to borrow Lucas's backup weapon.
But the most gut-wrenching part of it all was that she had lost Karania.
As the offensive heavy, her role was to be such a formidable threat that the enemy couldn't focus on her more vulnerable teammates. Yet their medic had been the first to fall.
Lucas had fulfilled his role as the defensive heavy flawlessly, providing cover for the squad while laying down supporting fire with his grenade launcher.
Desmond, as the drone operator, had gathered vital intelligence and eliminated key targets whenever his drones were up. He had even spotted and destroyed a large portion of the mortars that had plagued the entire company during the early stages of the second ambush.
Corvus had excelled in his leadership role, coordinating the squad's efforts and communicating with local command to a level that had reminded Isabella of the more experienced commanders of her past, mercenary life.
And then there was Thea.
The young cyan she'd initially wanted to keep at arm's length had not only easily earned a place in her heart but had also shattered all expectations. It was as if Thea were possessed by some ancient deity of war. Isabella had glimpsed her potential during their sparring sessions, but what Thea had displayed on Nova Serene made her feel more than just humbled—it was a revelation.
Her previous stint as a mercenary, which she once believed would make her a cut above the rest in real combat, now felt almost comically irrelevant. She had failed in each of her responsibilities and bore the sole blame for the squad's early loss of their medic.
Corvus had even been forced to request another squad's medic to save her life, all due to her own blunders.
A bitter taste climbed up Isabella's throat as she pondered her shortcomings in this operation. The urge to vanish into oblivion was overwhelming, but her innate competitiveness wouldn't let her succumb to defeat that easily.
'Snap out of it, Ella. You weren't raised to be a quitter! Show them what you're made of,' she mentally rallied herself, dispelling the toxic thoughts clouding her mind.
Releasing another burst from her Devastation, she observed the devastating impact of her rounds, obliterating fortifications and ripping apart enemy troops before disappearing into the Azure Forest.
Gradually, she became more proficient in controlling Devastation's substantial recoil, fine-tuning her aim despite the bullets' inherent variances. Where initially her bursts would hit only a few targets, she was now consistently decimating what amounted to an entire squad with each pull of the trigger.
Under normal circumstances, this rapid improvement would be cause for some satisfaction. But the shadow of her initial failures loomed so large that it marred even these small victories.
As she retreated behind the protection of the Stalwart shield to catch her breath and escape the relentless barrage targeting her heavy armour, Isabella noticed Johnsen wrapping up his treatment of Corvus' injured arm.
"Alright, squad leader, you're set. Administered a painkiller and a stimulant. You've got a five-hour window before the effects wear off, so make it count," he said, nodding in the direction of the enemy lines.
Rising to leave, Johnsen paused as if contemplating something. Just before he dashed back towards the trenches he'd emerged from—presumably to rejoin his own squad or tend to another critical situation—he stopped and asked, "By the way, there's a patch of melted dirt in the trenches behind you and a monstrous gun propped up on knives that's giving off heat like a miniature version of sol itself. Know anything about that?"
The members of Sovereign Alpha all let out a collective sigh. They had a general idea about the situation, though none were privy to the details. Corvus shrugged as he responded, "I suspect that's the aftermath of our scout/sniper's earlier work. She neutralised the heavy las-cannon emplacements and a group of snipers that had Isabella pinned. Probably used the gun in a way it wasn't exactly designed for. Sounds like her style."
As if to think about the implications of their answer for a moment, Johnsen stilled, before finally giving a courteous nod and sprinting off towards the trenches behind them.
After a minute of taking a breather, Isabella took her position again behind her rotary machine gun, Devastation, keenly aware of the dwindling ammunition. The belt-fed rounds were now less than half, a statistic that nagged at her consciousness as she surveyed the field. She had to make every shot count, now more than ever.
Just as she was about to refocus, however, Desmond's voice broke through her thoughts, tinged with urgency. "Heads up! They're gearing up for another push on the far-western flank!"
The Stellar Republic had attempted to outmanoeuvre them twice already, launching diversionary attacks from the far-western side. Now, as smoke grenades blossomed like dark flowers in the no-man's-land between them, the distant clamour of enemy troops rallying for another assault reached her ears.
It was the auditory signal that set Sovereign Alpha into a heightened state of readiness.
Lucas readied his Havoc, which he had previously put aside to continue to alleviate some of the pressure on the Stalwart’s gravity lock. Desmond readied one his drones, of which he now had two, by reloading its internal .303 magazine and Corvus coordinated the squad's movements, making sure everyone was in optimal position, while reloading his AR.
This wasn't just about holding a position; it was about safeguarding the last line of defence on the western edge of the battlefield. If they fell, the 32nd company risked encirclement.
Isabella shifted to the left side of the Stalwart shield, her battered and fractured armour now starkly visible as she lost the cover provided by Lucas's towering T1 defensive shield. Almost immediately, Lucas moved to stand in front of her, shielding her damaged armour with his own body, following Corvus' orders.
'No more mistakes, Ella,' she admonished herself silently, offering Lucas a brief nod of gratitude. Her eyes narrowed as she peered intently into the obscuring smoke, searching for any enemy silhouettes that might emerge.
"Hold this position, Sovereign Alpha! No one gets past us—this is a [Direct Order]," Corvus commanded, his voice resolute beside them.
Instantly, Isabella felt the surge of Corvus' Gold-rarity Ability enhancing her Attributes. The Devastation she held grew noticeably lighter, and the lingering pain throughout her body eased as her Strength and Vitality received a significant boost.
With their preparations in place, Lucas initiated their active defence. He launched a trio of grenades deep into the southern-most smoke. The explosives detonated with precise timing at the centre of each smoky plume, momentarily dispersing the makeshift cover for the advancing troops of the Stellar Republic.
As a phalanx of more than 20 squads from the Stellar Republic burst through the dissipating smoke, Isabella's Devastation roared to life.
The heavy rotary machine gun spewed forth a stream of massive bullets that tore through the enemy formation like a hurricane through a wheat field.
Soldiers were thrown back as if struck by a battering ram, their bodies torn asunder by the sheer kinetic energy of each round. Their weapons and armours simply shattered under the weapon's relentless onslaught. Each pull of the trigger was a symphony of destruction that dominated the battlefield.
Beside her, Lucas' Havoc grenade launcher lobbed devastating volleys of explosive ordnance into the enemy ranks. Each round blossomed into a fiery rose of destruction upon impact, incinerating soldiers and reducing their equipment to nothing but slag.
The enemy advance faltered under this double-hammer of firepower, their momentum blunted by the tandem actions of Alpha Squad's heavies. This momentary reprieve did not last long however, as Isabella’s Devastation suddenly spun empty, its last bullets exhausted and now nothing but a heavy, blunt object in her hands.
‘Shit! Bad fucking timing, Ella!’ she chastised herself, as she tapped Lucas’ back to let him know she was momentarily leaving his side. With quick steps, sped up even further by Corvus’ [Direct Order] enhancing her, already monstrous, Strength, she slid up next to the Stalwart and ripped the AR303 Mk5 from its holster inside the shield.
Stepping back up next to Lucas, she tapped his shoulder to let him know she was back and opened fire with Lucas’ backup weapon. ‘I really need to conserve my ammunition better, next time around. Can’t just rely on Lucas all the time!’
Corvus, meanwhile, coordinated their efforts, his leadership and tactical prowess ensuring that no inch of ground was given to the Stellar Republic’s advance without extracting a heavy price. His eyes scanned the enemy’s push continuously, barking orders to shift fire, reinforce weak spots, and exploit vulnerabilities. His voice acted as both a guide and an anchor for the squad, providing them with invaluable situational awareness that made their every action more lethal.
Hovering above the battlefield, Desmond's drone—now freshly re-armed and ready to kill—picked off enemy squad leaders and medics with surgical precision. Each shot from its .303 module created a momentary vacuum in the enemy ranks, disrupting their cohesion and sowing confusion.
However, despite their best efforts, the situation continued to deteriorate.
Corvus and Desmond found themselves increasingly exposed as the Stellar Republic shifted to focus more of its firepower towards them. Their medium-type armour was ill-suited to sustain the level of incoming fire that Isabella's and Lucas' heavy armour could shrug off. Warning alerts flashed across their visors as their armours reported glancing hits and the plating began to buckle.
Corvus winced as a bullet penetrated his armour, lodging itself into muscle and sinew. Despite collapsing to one knee beside Isabella, he didn't cease firing his weapon, each shot deadlier than the last, as if the pain spurred him on. Meanwhile, Desmond found himself cursing under his breath. An enemy squad had zeroed in on his drone, forcing him to divert his full attention to evasive manoeuvres, leaving him unable to perform his other duties.
It was evident that unless they executed a miraculous manoeuvre soon, the consequences would be dire; not only would they be overrun and face certain death, but the integrity of the 32nd company's line would also collapse, leaving them encircled and overwhelmed.
Isabella's mind raced through the options, and in a split second, she made her decision.
"Lucas, keep firing that grenade launcher and don't you dare stop!" she barked, dropping the Assault Rifle to the ground. Reaching behind her back, she unsheathed the Decimator, the giant two-handed chainsword she had carried with her throughout the entire operation but had yet to use.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
As the Stellar Republic soldiers closed the distance, her opportunity had finally come.
With a grim resolve, she mentally prepared herself for what she was about to do, fully aware that this charge could very likely be both excruciating and fatal.
She revved the Decimator, its motor growling like a beast as the chain of razor-sharp teeth sprang to life. And then, with a burst of adrenaline-fueled speed, she broke into a sprint toward the oncoming enemy lines.
Every ounce of her being focused on the 200 metres that separated her from the enemy, ground she covered in what felt like mere seconds. The actuator modules in her armour and her Attributes boosted by Corvus' Ability, assisted each of her strides, making her feel as if she was flying over the earth. As she closed the gap, she could see the shocked faces of the enemy soldiers finally coming into view through the clearing smoke of a renewed explosion from Lucas’ grenades.
They had just enough time to realise the threat that was barreling toward them.
Then, with a single sweeping motion that channelled all her pent-up frustration, anger, and despair, Isabella's Decimator cleaved through the air, its teeth whirring in a deadly arc. The first three Stellar Republic soldiers in her path were cut in twain as if they were made of paper, their armour and bodies offering no resistance to the chainsword's devastating power.
The moment her Decimator bit through those first soldiers, Isabella felt herself enter a flow-like state, a zone of focused brutality where all that mattered were her instincts, training and the chainsword's path of destruction.
Lucas' Havoc grenade launcher thundered in the distance, each explosion adding to the symphony of chaos as it shook the earth and shattered enemy formations. But amidst it all, Isabella was a singular tempest, every swing of her Decimator a stroke of deadly artistry.
Utilising her [Surging Strike], she invested slashes with a force that seemed to bend the very air around her, amplifying the chainsword's momentum tenfold. Armour and flesh were cleaved asunder as if they were nothing but chaff before the wind. Bodies went flying from the sheer kinetic energy imparted upon them by each of Isabella’s enhanced swings.
Then, tapping into her [Directional Strike], she'd change the arc of her swing in a split second, redirecting her lethal momentum to carve through surprised soldiers who thought they were outside her range.
The result was a fluid, dervish-like dance of devastation, her movements a blur to any who could even follow them.
Her massive chainsword roared and gnashed, each tooth on its chain leaving a scar in the world as it passed. Between strikes, Isabella kicked nearby soldiers hard enough to cave in armour and chests alike. She rolled, and jumped to evade incoming fire and melee attacks as if guided by an invisible hand.
Bullets ricocheted off her heavy armour, and any that found their mark were momentarily ignored; her flow-like state rendered her insensitive to the accumulating wounds and agony.
Every now and then, the world around her would brighten momentarily, a flash of light signalling the detonation of one of Lucas' grenades, and she'd seize the moment to rev the Decimator even higher, cutting through the momentary disorientation of the enemy to claim even more lives. The scent of burning ozone, mixed with the iron tang of freshly spilled blood, filled the air.
Her form was a cyclone of metal and fury, and for those few minutes, she was the embodiment of war itself, a force of nature that consumed everything in its path. Each swing of the Decimator was an inevitable conclusion of her training, her prowess, and her sheer will to prevent her squad from becoming overwhelmed; the will to not let her fail her duty once more.
As she carved through the enemy ranks, her armour increasingly battered and smeared with a grim mosaic of blood and gore, it became evident to all who witnessed it: Isabella had morphed into the harrowing reaper at the heart of the Stellar Republic's doomed assault. The advance faltered, crumbling before the force of her unyielding onslaught.
Every eye was now fixed on this lone juggernaut, her armour continuing to chip, dent and break apart, awash in a mix of her own blood and that of her fallen enemies. Yet she never paused, never took even a single breath, as if driven by some inexorable force that knew neither fatigue, pain nor fear.
As the Stellar Republic's soldiers began to sense the tide turning against them, their formation disintegrated into panicked retreat.
But escape was not an option.
Propelled by her augmented Strength, Isabella charged after the fleeing troops, her speed a blur that none could match. Their uncoordinated retreat was no match for her overwhelming physical prowess, and one by one, they were cut down as they tried to flee, unable to outpace the nightmare that pursued them.
Then, amidst the chaos, a distinct clink rang out near her feet—a sound that sent a shiver up her spine. Years of combat experience had trained her to recognize the ominous noise of a grenade landing nearby. Without a second thought, she activated her signature Ability.
‘Kinetic Redirection.’
To an observer, the subsequent explosion and shockwave would appear to halt mysteriously as they reached her, as if swallowed by an invisible force.
Isabella didn't break stride.
With her stored energy reaching a peak, she unleashed it in a single, devastating backhand against a nearby soldier. The resultant release of pent-up kinetic energy was cataclysmic, instantaneously evaporating both the upper body and armour of the unfortunate soldier, sending the remains of his broken body flying dozens of metres across the bloodied ground.
The power of the contained explosion made clear, in the most visceral way possible, the folly of underestimating Sovereign Alpha's offensive Heavy.
At last, after a span of time that felt both eternal and fleeting, Isabella's onslaught came to a halt. No more enemies were within reach for her Decimator to cleave. She found herself roughly fifty metres away from Sovereign Alpha's position, her armour shredded from the intensity of close-quarters combat and the nearby explosions of Lucas' Havoc.
Isabella's body was a gruesome tapestry of wounds—torn by gunfire, sliced by blades, and punctured by shrapnel, her form almost unrecognisable beneath the wreckage of her armour.
Yet she was alive, still standing on sheer force of will alone.
As she fell to her knees, barely steadying herself with her Decimator stabbed into the ground in front of her, a blood-soaked grin etched itself onto her face. 'I did it. I finally did my job right,' she thought triumphantly. With fierce resolution, she vowed to herself, 'Never again. I won't let another squadmate die because of my shortcomings.'
As if to underscore her vow, a deafening explosion abruptly reverberated from within the Azure Forest. A colossal burst of light and energy illuminated the horizon, casting eerie shadows across the battlefield. The ground shook violently, as if the very planet were contorting in agony.
The shockwave that followed was just as devastating, ripping through the forest and sending debris flying at breakneck speeds. Even at her considerable distance, Isabella could feel the force of it, a secondary punch that threatened to sweep her off her knees.
A choked laugh escaped her lips, sending a spurt of blood flying from her mouth. "Looks like she’s done it again... But I didn't merely sit by and watch this time. How do you like that, Princess?" she rasped with a blood-soaked grin.
As the words left her lips, her strength waned, and darkness closed in around her vision as she collapsed onto the blood-soaked dirt below…
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- PoV: Legate Ferdat Kuan -
The command centre had devolved into utter chaos over the last two hours, but for Ferdat, it felt as though an entire age had elapsed since the onset of the planetary invasion.
Incoming updates about his forces' performance on the battlefield arrived by the minute, and the news was grim.
Utilising his [Accelerated Comprehension] Passive Ability, he skimmed one of the latest reports in a matter of seconds, only to feel his irritation intensify. The content itself was hardly surprising at this point; it was yet another account of an unforeseen ambush by the Stellar Republic's local forces.
With a resounding crash, he hurled the datapad against the nearest wall, reducing the device to shards. “One fucking month! I spent one fucking month preparing for this assessment and I get thrown into this absolute joke of a mission!”
Ferdat leaned heavily on his command table, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the edges. "I've got seasoned soldiers out there, for Emperor's sake, not amateurs! How is it that the entire UHF’s recon missed all of these ambush sites?!" he muttered to himself, scrolling through another holographic screen that popped up in place of the shattered datapad.
His eyes darted across the screen, the data blurring into an almost incomprehensible mess. He took a deep breath to regain his composure. The room was a cacophony of voices—strategists debating tactics, comm officers relaying information, and analysts crunching data.
Yet, amidst all this, Ferdat felt a nagging isolation, the weight of command heavy on his shoulders.
"Legate, the 13th and 16th have successfully made planetfall and are requesting orders," one of his aides approached hesitantly, clearly aware of his superior's simmering frustration.
Ferdat looked up, his eyes meeting the aide's. For a moment, the legate's stern facade cracked, replaced by a look of utter exhaustion. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the vulnerability was gone, replaced by the steel of determination.
“We’re going to show these freaks how little we care about their local forces,” he declared, his voice tinged with newfound resolve. “Send the 13th and 16th towards the Azure Forest to the north. Staff-Sergeant Venn from the 32nd will assume command and spearhead the push to Nova Tertius. I expect progress by week's end.”
As his aide nodded and rushed off to relay the orders, Ferdat breathed a deep sigh once again, before updating the command table in front of him with the troop movements he had just ordered.
The holographic projection on the command table flickered to life at his command, casting a ghostly glow on Ferdat's already grim expression.
The battlefield displayed before him was a labyrinth of chaos and pitfalls. His UHF forces, shown as pale blue markers, were clearly trapped in a series of ambushes—clusters of red Stellar Republic markers encircled them from the North and South and directly toward the West, where Nova Tertius—their primary objective—lay.
Minute-by-minute updates rolled in, each accompanied by the arrival of new UHF markers, signalling fresh troops descending from orbit. Despite the influx of reinforcements, the rate of UHF losses remained alarmingly high. Blue markers vanished at an unsettling pace from the holographic map. While it was true that red markers representing Stellar Republic forces also disappeared, and at an even higher rate, Ferdat knew these losses were practically inconsequential.
The ambushes were mainly carried out by local Stellar Republic forces, who were exempt from the System-imposed deployment limits for each Battlefield. This part of the rules made planetary assaults like the one they were undertaking notoriously difficult.
Each individual UHF marine lost to local combatants represented a significant dent in their fighting capabilities, whereas the Stellar Republic could afford to lose local soldiers without affecting their overall strategy at all.
Sure, his marines could respawn, but most of them only had 2-3 lives going into this assessment. Not to mention, they only had a dozen-or-so respawn pods available this early into the assault. Many of the marines that died during the ambush would not be back up and ready to fight until hours or even days from now.
Ferdat clenched his fists, glaring at the projection.
It was a disaster, and one that should have been entirely avoidable. The intel had been all wrong. They'd been prepared for a minimally defended region, perhaps some basic guerrilla tactics, until they got closer to Nova Tertius itself.
Contrary to their pre-mission intelligence, which had deemed such capabilities impossible for the Stellar Republic, they encountered sophisticated stealth and illusion technology, along with well-prepared ambushes by local forces. The staggered timing of their orbital drops had only magnified these vulnerabilities, allowing the enemy to systematically wear down the marine companies despite their ostensibly weaker firepower, courtesy of the fact that most of the local Stellar Republic forces were unintegrated soldiers.
The past few hours had unfolded like an excruciating nightmare, not just for him, but for the entire command staff. Yet, as he stared at the holographic map, Ferdat knew that they had no choice but to adapt and fight on, making the best out of the mess that this mission had so quickly devolved into. There were no do-overs with the UHF’s assessments.
The quiet chime of a datapad, delicately set at the edge of his holographic table by his aide before, interrupted his deep contemplation. For a moment, he hesitated, wondering if he really wanted to confront another disheartening field report.
But his sense of duty prevailed, compelling him to open the message. As he scanned the text, a rare, faint smile briefly lightened his otherwise stern expression for the first time since the planetary assault commenced.
'Finally, some good news,' he mused to himself. 'While I really don’t know whether to be happy or frustrated about it being Venn who secured our first win, its significance can't be overstated. One of the initial obstacles in the battle for Nova Tertius is finally behind us.'
He read the report again, scrutinising Staff-Sergeant Venn's every move and strategy, searching for hidden insights that might expedite a turnaround on other fronts. However, the more he delved into the report, the deeper his frown grew.
Ferdat's mind raced back to a previous operation where Venn had submitted reports structured in a way that led him to make specific tactical decisions. Those reports had been conspicuously lacking in essential details, designed precisely and effectively to elicit a certain strategic response from him.
Only later did he find out that Venn's omissions had led to what could be called "strategically acceptable losses," at least according to Venn's cost-benefit analysis. This was but one of countless incidents that had revealed the chasm that separated their fundamental approaches to command: Venn was driven by cold, calculated logic, whereas Ferdat valued not just strategy but also honour, empathy, and the integrity that was supposed to come with rank.
This tension between them had created an eternal impasse, each perpetually puzzled by the other's mindset. It wasn't that Venn's approach had inherent flaws; quite the contrary, his tactics were consistently, and in Ferdat’s eyes infuriatingly, effective. So much so that Venn had achieved a T2 Prime Command-Rank while still at a T1 Prime Power-Rank, a rare feat even among the elite ranks of the UHF marines. But the way he went about them left Ferdat questioning his methods, his decisions, and at times, his allegiance to the very principles that guided the military they both served.
And so, staring at the most recent report from Venn, a part of him couldn't help but wonder if the Staff-Sergeant was once again orchestrating an elaborate ruse. His exasperation boiled over as he growled, "Is Venn fucking with me yet again?! We're in the middle of a critical operation, for the Emperor's sake! One does not simply neutralise half a dozen heavy weapon emplacements, eliminate entire squads of snipers trained on your position, and hold off an overwhelming force counting in the thousands with what is essentially just a single squad, unless he's leaving out crucial details again!"
As he reached the end of the report, his eyes landing on the mention of a temporary 'Strike One' squad and their mission, Ferdat had to close his eyes and take several deep breaths to prevent himself from inevitably dooming another datapad.
"Morin and Viladia are involved in this, I'm sure of it," he murmured, scanning the list of squad members. When he saw their names listed prominently, he rolled his eyes. "Who are Private Einor and Private Thea, though? New members of the 32nd? Privates that Venn is interested in…? Why wasn't Johnsen part of the mission? What the fuck is Venn thinking, sending in unknowns for an operation like this?!"
What truly irked Ferdat about the final report, however, was its success. More than that, there was even mention of a squad member returning on their own two feet!
'Maybe it's time to make a trip to the field hospital and investigate this mission firsthand,' he considered as he opened another, newly arriving report…