08-16-2017, 09:48 PM
The heavy smell of ozone and sea salt whipped around the platoon, along with the faint scents of sulfur and oil. Some unholy alternation of rain and hail slapped against the soldiers, as if the storm itself were hoping to brush away these interlopers. The soldiers stood tall in spite, their battle-marked suits taking the brunt of the weather in stride. The Prime in their company, however, stood firm and ready without any sort of armor, or even a shirt to his name. If it were not for the experimental particle shield enveloped over his form, the devil hunter might've even basked in the foul breath of the storm against his bare skin.
Such a sight would've surely been a testament to the tenacity of Omni's chosen. But that was not why they were here.
Having noticed a handful of their fellows shot to bits, another gaggle of Nebula's gargoyles swooped in to cut off the landing party. In prompt response, Dante burst forward and vaulted off the railing of the imperial hydrocraft. The leader of the dark fliers met with the sting of his sword, both halves of the fiend falling into the surf. Two more of the enemies screeched and dove for the Prime; Rebellion batted the first into the hull of the ship, and spiked the other's skull into the ground.
None eager to play second fiddle to the Prime, the Stormtroopers pushed ahead, rattling the winged fiends away with screaming lasers. The team forced their way off the deck in record time, the charge led by none other than Clark. As the initial waves of flying darkspawn were swatted away, the treeline beyond the beach burst open with swathes of new foes. From the robotic programs to recently-turned citizens, the many arms of Nebula bore down on the platoon. The troopers responded in kind, fanning out to spread constant waves of energy fire into the enemy. The commander's own rapid shots tore through the corrupted denizens like paper, most ferocious among the soldiers by far.
Yet these were no normal foes, capable of taking multiple fatal wounds and still pressing on. Armed with little but machetes and rifles, the demonic militia couldn't push back the Stormtroopers, but proved capable enough to keep them at bay.
Of course, this was where Dante came in.
An inhuman flip over the brunt of the battle brought the Son of Sparda behind the charging line of Darklings. A handful of the demons broke off to contend with Dante, to which he responded by whipping his shotgun from his belt and blasting one torso into mincemeat. Two blades came whistling in from the right, but Rebellion's size was able to block both of them as the red-coat ducked. Dante pumped the lever of the shotgun, kicked out the ankle of one swordsman, and shouldered his way into the other.
As the devil hunter moved, a fire axe missed its mark and thudded into the wet earth. Dante stabbed the shouldered Darkling in the head with Rebellion's pointed pommel, turned to blow away the executioner with Terminator, then beheaded the kneeling swordsman in one stroke. Three more Darklings trained the sights of assault rifles on Dante, only to be reduced to two as a blaster shot burnt away the left side of a Navi's head. The red-coat seized the moment and charged ahead, running his sword right through a rifleman's gut as he fired vainly into the treeline.
For anything short of an elite team of soldiers and a practical demigod, the battle might have been a challenge.
"Move up!" the commander barked, urging her company forward, "Don't worry about the Darklings, just break through and focus on evacuation!" Led by their leader, the Stormtroopers forced through the harsh blow of droplets and entered the grove of trees, prepared to enter the township beyond.
Dante, meanwhile, found himself concerned about something completely different. Well, concerned may not be an accurate word- the conflict he senses would not prove an issue to himself. The troopers, however, might be dissuaded. Still jogging at the head of the pack, the Son of Sparda ducked aside the charging commander, prepared to share his mind. "Small problem," he began, not bothering with honorifics, "They were expecting us."
"Expecting an attack on their operation? No shit," the breathy voice behind the helmet spoke, nonplussed.
"I mean us specifically, our platoon," Dante explained further. "Technically your platoon, but you get the point."
"What makes you so certain that they were expecting us?"
They broke through the crescent wall of plant-life, bordering the south half of the small town like a natural palisade. The north half, meanwhile, lay exposed to all manner of attack. The buildings were forced to absorb the full brunt of the unnatural storm, the civilians likely ducked inside for cover. All people otherwise were either freshly converted into new slaves for Nebula, or desperately trying to avoid such a fate.
Just as their well-laid plans entailed, one of the sergeants of the elite platoon cranked up the volume of his voice modulator. The soldiers split into pre-planned squads, breaking up to surround and enter the besieged villa. Only the commander and Dante did not relent in pace, pushing straight ahead into the waiting eyes of the Darkling troops.
Such a sight would've surely been a testament to the tenacity of Omni's chosen. But that was not why they were here.
Having noticed a handful of their fellows shot to bits, another gaggle of Nebula's gargoyles swooped in to cut off the landing party. In prompt response, Dante burst forward and vaulted off the railing of the imperial hydrocraft. The leader of the dark fliers met with the sting of his sword, both halves of the fiend falling into the surf. Two more of the enemies screeched and dove for the Prime; Rebellion batted the first into the hull of the ship, and spiked the other's skull into the ground.
None eager to play second fiddle to the Prime, the Stormtroopers pushed ahead, rattling the winged fiends away with screaming lasers. The team forced their way off the deck in record time, the charge led by none other than Clark. As the initial waves of flying darkspawn were swatted away, the treeline beyond the beach burst open with swathes of new foes. From the robotic programs to recently-turned citizens, the many arms of Nebula bore down on the platoon. The troopers responded in kind, fanning out to spread constant waves of energy fire into the enemy. The commander's own rapid shots tore through the corrupted denizens like paper, most ferocious among the soldiers by far.
Yet these were no normal foes, capable of taking multiple fatal wounds and still pressing on. Armed with little but machetes and rifles, the demonic militia couldn't push back the Stormtroopers, but proved capable enough to keep them at bay.
Of course, this was where Dante came in.
An inhuman flip over the brunt of the battle brought the Son of Sparda behind the charging line of Darklings. A handful of the demons broke off to contend with Dante, to which he responded by whipping his shotgun from his belt and blasting one torso into mincemeat. Two blades came whistling in from the right, but Rebellion's size was able to block both of them as the red-coat ducked. Dante pumped the lever of the shotgun, kicked out the ankle of one swordsman, and shouldered his way into the other.
As the devil hunter moved, a fire axe missed its mark and thudded into the wet earth. Dante stabbed the shouldered Darkling in the head with Rebellion's pointed pommel, turned to blow away the executioner with Terminator, then beheaded the kneeling swordsman in one stroke. Three more Darklings trained the sights of assault rifles on Dante, only to be reduced to two as a blaster shot burnt away the left side of a Navi's head. The red-coat seized the moment and charged ahead, running his sword right through a rifleman's gut as he fired vainly into the treeline.
For anything short of an elite team of soldiers and a practical demigod, the battle might have been a challenge.
"Move up!" the commander barked, urging her company forward, "Don't worry about the Darklings, just break through and focus on evacuation!" Led by their leader, the Stormtroopers forced through the harsh blow of droplets and entered the grove of trees, prepared to enter the township beyond.
Dante, meanwhile, found himself concerned about something completely different. Well, concerned may not be an accurate word- the conflict he senses would not prove an issue to himself. The troopers, however, might be dissuaded. Still jogging at the head of the pack, the Son of Sparda ducked aside the charging commander, prepared to share his mind. "Small problem," he began, not bothering with honorifics, "They were expecting us."
"Expecting an attack on their operation? No shit," the breathy voice behind the helmet spoke, nonplussed.
"I mean us specifically, our platoon," Dante explained further. "Technically your platoon, but you get the point."
"What makes you so certain that they were expecting us?"
They broke through the crescent wall of plant-life, bordering the south half of the small town like a natural palisade. The north half, meanwhile, lay exposed to all manner of attack. The buildings were forced to absorb the full brunt of the unnatural storm, the civilians likely ducked inside for cover. All people otherwise were either freshly converted into new slaves for Nebula, or desperately trying to avoid such a fate.
Just as their well-laid plans entailed, one of the sergeants of the elite platoon cranked up the volume of his voice modulator. The soldiers split into pre-planned squads, breaking up to surround and enter the besieged villa. Only the commander and Dante did not relent in pace, pushing straight ahead into the waiting eyes of the Darkling troops.