Buzzing Blues and Turning Hues never forget those Blightful Knights
He stepped quietly, his heavy boots coated in thick and heavy mud. Loud squelching sounds as suction tried to pull him to the ground. His power was noticed. His hands, oh what did he hold?
He held a relatively powerful Light Machine Gun. A Heckler and Koch MG4, also known as HK123. A Weapon of immense power in the hands of a scavenger. A volatile man with knowledge of all trades.
He continued to trudge, the jiggling ammunitions for the weapon making the only sound aside from his boots. Silence. Breathing is audible. His breath is heavy, carrying the burden of courage and of caution. Of the wariness that he may be brought down by a mere horse.
An opening arose, his knees bent as he dropped down behind a small barrier. A barricade of sorts for the now blown dirt ruins of this old city. Whatever it was, it was now known as Warzone quarter nine. Yes, the ninth warzone. The one thing that damages the sanity of Men, Women and Warriors alike. He sat behind the barricade, a metre tall wall of eight kilo sandbags. A small space was open in the middle of it, looking through to reveal a single patrol. His job was hard enough. But these savages were persistent. But they weren't persistent enough.
His barrel came through, the length poking just halfway into the barricade, facing into the two troops. There was one five metres over, the other side of the old street, and the same for the second. The one on the left side: a golden knight, fit with spear and crystal. Learned to be feared. Learned to be wary of. A golden knight, Paladins of the Sun. The self-righteous bastards were in for it this time. The second, a Silver knight. A Soldier of the Night. A Midnight Beast. A creature created of and for darkness itself as a biological creature. Armed with two bat wings, fangs and a wild crossbow. But they were poor weaklings in comparison to the Captain. They were nothing.
Forget it, they were already dead. He never considered the beings alive, just walking puppets under the guise of soldiers. Mindless... Ponies. barely any dare speak of the name, their entire race is a dangerous fluke of evolution. But, us, the Men of the North. The Draugar. We abide the laws of the Galaxy. Races must fall if they don't supercede us. And guess what? This species did no better than the last. We've destroyed most of their world. All that left thrive are the newer races of Dragon and the Equines. But never mind this.
He pulled the trigger, a burst of ten round fly in a couple seconds. No time to react. The Vampyric Guard drops, a screech fills the air. He bleeds, his wings and shoulder plates broken and pulsing a slow, taunting fall of crimson blood. Looks fake, if you ask me. Like pigs blood in films.
"Goodmorning, Mr. Goodmorning... Goodmorning," another burst of five rounds, five shells fly out, the golden paladin, before getting the chance to panic, drops dead. "Goodmorning, Goodmorning, Goodmorning. Now, it's Good Mourning Mr. Bleak. Take a leak Mr. Bleak...Get it out of your system," His eyes peer through the Oculi, a sight with an eye at a centre that detects if he is being seen, peering at the struggling Vampyr. His weapon jingles, the munitions adjusting as he stands valiantly behind the sandbags. A mere metre meeting the man at his hips, climbing over, barrel at the ground as he crouched and sprinted simultaneously towards the injured creature, it's wailing for help met by only the bullet-eyes of a Dragonkin. The bullet-eyes of a Half-Man.
He came close, landing a massive boot on the skull of the Vampyr. Cracking as it begins to fracture. The screaming creature begging, an overwhelming thing. But it had to be done. He deserved not life but death. The hell of this galaxy was not made for a peaceful race. It was created for the prowess of war, the dark of night as sky is lit by artillery fire, Lazar arrays and infantryfire. The last screams Came to a sputtering stop, a loud squishing sound. It was similar to something of stirring pasta. That squishing and squelching sound. "Goodmorning, sweet. The New Dawn Rises for Us," the helms were nothing, aluminum and silver electroplated by oxidized chromium made it it's tint. This was figured out by the study of it's chemical makeup by scientists and Metallurgists. Though. Rumour has it, the Elites have Chromium-Osmium armour.
He brought his foot down on the Paladin of the Sun. A crunch. A Creak. A metallic squeal. His death was moments ago, but he may never rise again with this. Experience with Cryptomancers make this needed. They can't restore knowledge of there is no place to collect it.
He shook his foot off, letting the disgusting chunks of flesh and bone fly off into the dirt some bit ahead. He began to walk, the mud continuing to make noise under his feet until it gets to the leftover of cobblestone roads. Simple streets. Too simple. Relatively useless compared to modern superconducting streets. Cars can go as fast as an Electromotive on steroids. His jingling ammunition colliding with heavy Carbon-laced Titanium chestplate layers. The black and blue armour making a smoother look than a fleshy reptilian. It's sleek gray surface was imbued with Aethium. A mixture of Alterranium and Asphalt sludge. A perfect material for Anti-heat and Anti-freeze. Makes destruction magic users cry themselves to death. Not that Inferno-Magis actually live to tell the tale of the aftereffects of this armour. Only the wearer is suited to survive it. And the fiery death is heavily disliked by all who have economic and ethical correct views. But, that doesn't matter. The world needs burnt and restarted. Needs a Reset.
And, by the Divines, did these creatures believe they would survive us. Our rule. Our invasion. Their destruction. No fate is escaped. No fate is- A loud gunshot sounds, something painful in the back of the thigh. Then nothing. His awakening brought him to a couple minutes later. He had passed out. He was down in the mud, his armour ruined, his ballistic gas-mask covered in mud. His round-helmet coated in mud, as well. Perfect camouflage. But disgusting and hard to clean. But he didn't care. He would get to take it all off when he completed his current Objective.
Project Cataclysm.
The systemic slaughter of all guardians within the vicinity of Quarter Nine. The destruction of all opposing war vehicles and artillery. The annihilation of each and every single bunker and hideout left in this Quarter. He had four bunkers left, as learned by Central Intelligence as of last week. He has two months to destroy them. Then the reinforcements will arrive, and the invasion will restart.
-+=/Frequency Check=+-
"...This is Alpha Omega Niner Niner, requesting permission to begin Raid," a low, commanding voice spoke through the radio.
"Permission Granted, the Infinibunker is now open for attack, A-O Ninety-nine," they responded, a heavy traffic in the coms made it slightly distorted due to radiation interference in The Vacuum.
"Thank you. Alpha Omega Niner Niner, out," His voice rolled and growled into the microphone installed within his helmet, designed and programmed to respond to his voice.
A-O-99 (As we will now refer to him) began walking from behind a charred remain of what seemed to be a Jewelery Store, as it had gems and others of the sort Inside and scattered, stepping into the open ground of the street. He had eyes on him. His Oculi Optics told him so. He lifted his rifle, to hip-fire, since aiming wasn't possible.
Five troops sat before him, armed with a Glave, two with Shields and Spears, and the other two armed with Crystal Crossbows. They were in a V-Formation. Glave in front, then shields, then crossbows. Wonderful. To get the ranged he had to kill the melee. Now how would he do that? Well, let's take a look.
He fired his rifle, seven round pumps into the Glaivemaster. The bladed pole falling with a clang. Two bolts fired, one falling in front of him before exploding in a mass of magical shrapnel. He almost lost his weapon. But he lived. The other bolt struck his hardened Kevlar Breastplate. The mass took the ballistic force of the shattering crystal, but it's detonation made him fall backwards a good metre and a half.
He had dropped his rifle. His hand slipped to a holster on his right hip, lifting up a sweet fifty-caliber revolver. A Smith and Wesson 500 Magnum. He ripped a speedloader as he unlocked the clip from it's position, letting it loll out the side for reload. The speedload pumped six fifty caliber cartridges into the slots, putting it back into the holder and slapping it back into place with a metallic clack.
His hand brushed over the top of the magnum, pulling back the hammer with a snap and his large, black gloved fingers curling around the trigger.
Bang went the cartridge.
The propellant launched the projectile from the recoiling revolver, flying and tearing through the gold-silver armour of a shield and into the flesh of a pony's skull, dropping him dead on the ground. The other's started to scatter but as he lay on the ground, he began to get to work.
AO-99 began to sharpshoot. The ponies that were running away dropped, the last three, to the ground. On screaming as the others kept silent and glazed by death. He flipped the Hammer once again, firing at the screaming horse again, which shatter and ricocheted perfectly. It slaughtered the creature with shrapnel.
He began to climb back to his feet, the heavy mechanical boots of his graded armour began to shift invisible as he did so. his entire form soon turned almost completely transparent. just a very slight change in the visuals due to minor blurring and distortion from light travelling through moving masses.
upon it completely shifting out of the realm of visibility, his heavy form now silently and stealthily moved along. His revolver and HK123 were dismantled. each piece of both weapons, including all but twelve .500 cartridges, and then individually buried in the flesh of the soldiers or hidden in the ground. this would make scavengers like himself have difficulty recovering the weapons.
Then he began his ultimate task of breaking in and killing everything withing the Infinibunker. At this point he had nothing but himself, his armour and sheer brute force. it's time to knock on Hell's door, because there's no way in the layers of oblivion he's going to head to Sovngarde.
"Command, I am about to breach the Infinibunker, Alpha Omega Niner Niner, out," He said quietly into the microphone of his helmet, his low hissing voice was responded to by those back at Headquarters.
"Understood, A-O Ninety-Nine. Backup on the ready, five klicks South-South-West of your location. Give the Signal when you're ready, and good luck. May the Divines keep you safe and your path stay lit," They cut, communications was a one way.
This was going to be so much fun.
He stepped up to the massive iron door, his exoskeleton churning itself to life as he began to pull it open. The steel-brass lock of the second most powerful fortress in Equestria snapping s it was torn open with the force of a god-machine. Never underestimate the abilities of a Dragonkin bound to mortal flesh and fixed to material realms by machine.
"May the Gods of Man and Machine follow me and light my path from beyond the Twilight," he said quietly, after the communications went silent. once he was done tearing the doors open, he was met by a confused swarm of Ponies, a huge wall of guards. he looked around, counting approximately eighty paladins and Vampyrs.
He carefully moved around the wall of paladins of the dark and the light. sliding along the stone-crystalline walls of this Powerful Fortress. This place has survived bunker busters and Space-to-Ground Ordnance. His metallic, invisible form stealthily crawling along until he got to an open door. Quickly, he slid through. to his surprise, it was a corridor.
A corridor lined with cells.
The fortress was huge, spanning the entirety of Ponyville, southeast of Canterlot, Home of the Princesses and location of the most powerful fortress known to The Draugar. Fortress Infinibunker was a project located t the Train station for Ponyville, a huge encampment of ponies hiding under walls and crystal cement. A gate made of steel, locked by a hydraulic system, creating the most difficult barrier to pierce of one of the five that line the way to Canterlot.
Inside the Infinibunker lied about a thousand troops, the front line of the defensive on the Draugar Invasion. It was also heavily weakened by low-maintenance from outside fortresses, it was running low on supplies and information on the enemy. This is all just a foreboding attempt to rip the first of five now-called Fuhrer-bunkers. The fortress itself is then a lobby, which goes down into the ground about five metres, before making a large web of corridors from ammunitions, food supply, living space, communications array and a series of chambers dedicated to holding Slaves and Prisoners of War. Currently, there is one significant figure in that hall of PWs, and She is a very very valuable individual.
He looked along the chambers fearfully as he slowly made way down the chilling corridor. Ponies and dying soldiers lay in a state of suspended animation behind walls of heavily fortified magical barriers. Each one specially designed for the individual prisoner to make sure they all are completely unable to attempt escape.
Except for one.
about forty maybe fifty metres down the corridor, there's a split. one goes into another hallway, a Munitions storage for weapons and spells of the like, and the other towards a singular steel door held by eight magically enhanced hydraulics, illuminated by the powerful enchantments. Of course, the one cell seems to be more alluring than an empty hall with an unknown output point. From afar, about ten maybe twelve metres away, the door gives a vibe like there is a beast on the other side. Like the God of Reality, Kalanath himself, sat behind it.
He got close to it, about half a metre from the door itself, looking at the powerfully held chunk of metal, magic and machine. Something to marvel at considering the known ability and knowledge of the pony species. maybe they can adapt really well under high amounts of pressure, like the Draugar Invasion?
He reached out, the intelligence was still rather savage for the ponies, though. he pulled on the hydraulics, bending them before the steam-pressure chambers burst with a loud hiss. Hopefully it will go unnoticed. The last thing he needs is to be shot on a sudden rescue mission.
The heavy metal door began to fall, so he caught it with the assistance of his exoskeleton. The weight of the door was slowed, but he eventually got it to the ground without a sound, and without yet a peek inside the room. Once he looked up, straight into the room, and back onto his feet and full height, he saw...
..Nothing.
Well, he thought so anyway.
He stepped inside. To his left, against the farthest wall, was a toilet and a sink. the walls, ground and ceiling were white with Silver-Steel. On the far right corner lay a bed, Pale sheets, steel bed frame...
... a Chromium chain link into the middle of the far wall going under the covers.
He wandered over slowly, the large lump in the covers relatively small and humanoid in shape. It had a strong feminine outline. Small, so most likely young or just a trait. he reached out, his cloaking device fading and peeling back his armour face-plating to reveal his elongated skull. a relatively reptillin head. Hazel slitted eyes, small in the bright, reflective white light of the chamber. Dark gray skin from the frail abnormalities of underground life and over saturation of the minerals into his smooth dragon scale. A bit of a long face, thin and long like a dragon's. His eyes wide and his nostrils flaring, picking up the strong scent of...
...The strong scent of Human. Homosapien. The fresh smell of a Pureblood Earthling. Something ancient, something new. Something weak, but simultaneously godlike.
A gray scaly hand peeled back the white covers, slowly revealing the pitch-black body of a young woman. A human maybe in the early twenties, Sizable hips and relatively large calibre breasts. The one thing about her is that she is not traceable to any known race of Draugar from the databases as of the past four thousand years. Which means she is of a Pureblood Human, hitting point around Late-Afrikan decent. Her fair pitch skin was beautiful, shining in the light of the room. her body a negative canvas for the works of tension and efforts.
He felt along the mediocre thick thighs, feeling dense muscle and little to no fat. her body was muscular, but it wasn't toned or chiseled. Smooth, curvy but absolutely healthy. Little to now hair rested on her head, a very short layer of matte black fuzz covered her scalp.
He wrapped her up in the white blankets, making a sort of burrito of her form and of the covers. Something to cover her up a bit from the elements so she isn't hit by a dust storm, or gets ice cold in the rains. her thin form light and limp as he now cradled her in his arms. An arm around her neck, and arm under her legs. holding her nice and firm to keep her safe from any possible hindfire when he would begin his escape. Luckily, on the way into the fortress he had broken the gate. but he could hear the alarms of the gate closing. he had to hurry. he had less than ten minutes to escape.
There was little to no time for him to get along with this, but he could do it.
he reactivated his facial plating and put up his extended electromagnetic plasma window shield, moving along the halls and destroying any attacks from weapons or crossbows. he walked slowly, fyring the walls and cells. killing guards and freeing prisoners and slaves. But no one had too long to escape.
He deactivated the shields, a hissing from behind.
"Gunpowder!"
He sprinted, the girl wrapped in a blanket in his arms, her small body bending and changing a bit to fit with his movements as she stayed limp. he eventually mad it out of the door before it shut, to which when it closed, there was a rumble and a hiss as smoke forced way out through the cracks. The scent of seared flesh filled the smoky and cold air.
Author's Note
This may or may not be extended.
😀
