I tightened my grip on the Reaper, the greatsword held tightly In my left hand, its weight familiar, comforting.
This was it. One last den of rats to burn out. One final nest of traitors to purge. Lupa's breathing was deep, steady, her powerful frame propelling forward like a war engine.
The way her armor plates clanked with every step, the way her muscles rippled beneath her plates.
She was a beast of war, and I was its rider.
...
Two Terrorist Lookouts. Rooftop Watchpoint.
Smoke curled from the end of a cigarette as Rami leaned lazily against the makeshift sandbag barricade, staring out into the empty street below.
The night air was cold, the distant lights of towns buildings casting eerie shadows against the cracked walls of their hideout.
"F*cking cold,"
He muttered, taking another long drag.
Beside him, Tariq, the heavy machine gun operator, sat slouched behind the .50 caliber anti air gun, his hands loosely gripping the controls.
"We should get outta here, man,"
Tariq muttered, blowing out a cloud of smoke.
"This sh*t ain't worth it anymore."
Rami scoffed.
"What, and go where? The Imperator and his d*gs control every damn city now. There's nowhere left to run."
Silence. Tariq sighed, shaking his head.
"Maybe we could..."
Then, he saw it. Movement. Fast. Unnatural. His cigarette nearly slipped from his lips.
"Wait… the f*ck is that?"
Rami frowned, following his gaze. His eyes narrowed.
In the distance, a group of figures were approaching. Fast. Too fast.
At first, it was just blurry shapes, silhouettes under the dim streetlights.
Then, as they got closer. His face went pale. One giant beast. Ten armored figures. Running.
Not like men. Like f*cking monsters. And then, under the dim glow of the full moon, he saw the red, glowing eyes of the lead figure riding the beast clearly visible even behind his gas masks lenses.His blood ran cold.
His cigarette dropped from his fingers. His breath caught in his throat. He choked out two words.
"What... the… f*c..."
Tariq's hands trembled, his fingers tightening around the machine gun's controls.
"N-No… no way… it's them… it's the f*cking Death Squad Demons!"
Rami's voice cracked, his knees nearly buckling as sheer, primal terror flooded his veins.
"H*ly f*cking s*it! OPEN FIRE! OPEN FIRE!"
MC POV
The world exploded. A sudden burst of yellow muzzle flashes lit up the night as the rooftop machine gun roared to life.
Heavy .50 caliber rounds ripped through the air, tearing chunks out of the ground around us, sparks flying as bullets ricocheted off Lupa's alloy plates.
A normal wolf? She'd be torn to shreds. But Lupa was not normal, she was a xeno bio engineered weapon of war.
Her alloy plates comparable to Interstellar civilizations level two ceramo metal alloy deflected the bullets like rain against steel.
I didn't slow down.Didnt hesitate. I just glued my body to Lupas.I felt alive, like f*cking alive, like never before!
"Hahaha, yes that's It fight, fight back make my blood boil!"
I doared, my voice cutting through the gunfire like a blade.
Behind me, my Death Squad spread out and hit the ground and started sliding forward their boots pulling up weeds and dirt like a tractor, their assault rifles with belt fed ammunition snapping up, their fire suppressors barely muffling the thunder of return fire.
The first terrorist lookout's skull exploded, a single 6.8mm round piercing straight through his temple.
The second gunner screamed, his hands scrambling for the machine gun's trigger. Too late.
Lupa leapt.Hundreds of kilograms of bio engineered muscle and alloy crashed into him like a freight train.
There was a sickening crunch. A scream that was cut short. And then silence. Blood dripped from Lupa's alloy fangs, her eyes glowing like molten gold in the dark.
As she did i dismounted Lupa, the Reaper resting in my left hand, blade angled in reverse, covering my weak points, my rifle placed on my left hand as my right hand squeezed the trigger of my belt fed assault rifle pressed tightly against my armored shoulder.
Single fire. Precise. Calculated. Each 6.8mm round slammed into their chests with brutal force, punching through ribs, tearing through lungs, sending men collapsing into the dirt.
They screamed. They fired back. Bullets rained down on me, striking my armor plate like hailstones against steel.
Ding. Ding. Ding. Each impact left deep dents in my armor, but I felt nothing. No pain. No shock. No hesitation. I disabled my pain receptors for a reason. I kept moving. Kept shooting. Kept killing.
Beside me, Lupa was an avatar of slaughter. She tore through the enemy lines like a force of nature, her massive alloyed fangs sinking into flesh, ripping out throats, snapping bones, sending bodies flying.
One terrorist, still clutching his rifle, screamed as Lupa tackled him mid air, her claws tearing deep gouges across his chest. She didn't stop. She bit down, her iron jaws closing with a sickening crunch, and his head was gone.
Blood splattered across the dirt as she moved to her next target. Behind me, my death squad advanced in perfect unison, weapons firing non stop, their belt fed systems keeping them from ever needing to reload.
No wasted motion. No hesitations. They were a machine of destruction, sweeping through the battlefield with cold, methodical efficiency. The enemy's defenses collapsed instantly.
...
The Terrorists' Perspective
"W-What the fck are these things?!"
One of the terrorists, a young man barely in his twenties, fired blindly, his hands shaking as he emptied his submachineguns magazine into the oncoming monsters.
The bullets bounced off them. The armored figures didn't stop, didn't falter, didn't even react.
One of them, the smallest of them all, his Imperial half cloak billowing beside him, cut down another of their comrades with a single swing of his massive sword, before casually switching back to his rifle, shooting another in the face like it was nothing.
Nothing. His red eyes glowed through the smoke, his face hidden behind his skull shaped face plate, his armor dented but untouched by death.
And the wolf, the f*cking overgrown xeno wolf. It wasn't just an animal. It was a demon. A beast of iron and fury.
It ripped through them like they were paper, its glowing golden eyes reflecting nothing but death, its alloy fangs crushing skulls like ripe fruit.
The terrorists' minds fractured. They weren't fighting humans. They were fighting something else. They were either the chosen warriors of Valhalla, sent to dish out Odin's d*vine justice...
Or… They were the damned of hell itself, sent by Yama to drag them into the abyss for their sins. The gunfire stopped.
One by one, the terrorists' weapons clattered to the ground. One dropped his rifle. Then another. Then another.
Until none remained standing. They collapsed to their knees, shaking violently, sobbing, screaming, begging.
"P-Please!"
"Mercy!"
"G... G*ds above, forgive us!"
"I don't want to die!"
The stench of urine filled the air as some pissed themselves in terror, their minds shattered beyond repair, It seemed like the g*ds listened and the undead demons left those that surrendered alone.
...
MC POV
The last enemy combatant fell, his body riddled with holes, as my death squad gathered around me near the underground entrance.
Behind us, the remnants of the enemy forces we had broken pale, trembling husks of men lay weeping in the dirt.
I turned to my men.
"Tear gas."
The order was calm. Unquestionable.
Without hesitation, I and my death squad reached for their harness pouches, retrieving tear gas grenades, pulling the pins, and lobbing them into the underground entrance.
The canisters clattered down the dark stairwell. Seconds later the sound of hissing followed. Thick, white gas billowed into the underground complex, filling the tunnels like an unstoppable fog.
Screams echoed from within. Coughing. Choking. Panic. I turned back to my men. My supersoldier prototypes.
"Same as earlier kill anyone holding a weapon, leave those that do not allive my army needs every able bodied man."
hearing this my man just nodded, seeing this, without another word, I stepped into the darkness. The death squad followed. And hell followed with us.
inside the tunnels thick, choking tear gas clung to the air, turning the underground hideout into a tomb and we thrived in it.
They suffocated. We breathed. They staggered. We moved like wraiths. They were blind. We saw everything through our gas masks lenses.
Their gunfire was frantic, wild, inaccurate while our bullets struck true.
We moved in single file formation, just like modern special forces, advancing with cold precision. I took point, leading the charge, my belt fed assault rifle roaring, my greatsword ready in my left hand, its reverse grip catching any incoming attacks meant for my throat.
The tunnels were narrow, but it didn't matter. Our superhuman reflexes and physical stats turned every engagement into a slaughter.