[HD] Adrian's Pen (Castle)

[Karl Jak]

The last of the army had arrived at the imposing installation within the last twenty minutes. All throughout Adrian’s Pen, anxious soldiers hustled and bustled throughout the dark corridors of the soulless steel installation that dominated the southwestern approaches of the island. All throughout those hallways, all that could be heard was the echo of boots on steel and the lovely rattle of weapons, armaments, and armors being yanked from shelves and racks as anxious soldiers fitted themselves for the battles that would follow in the weeks ahead.

Near the top of the structure, the armored Flynn McTaggart stared out over the fields that served as the natural approaches to the industrial castle. They were on a peninsula of sorts, which meant they’d know ahead of time if anyone was approaching the focal point of their operations.

Then again … if there was an army marching on Adrian’s Pen, it was more than likely the end of the road for the Doomguy and his metal legion of warriors.

With a final scowl, the marine scooped up his helmet, slipped it on over his countenance, and was off to ensure the cabal of freaks and lunatics assigned to him by Karl were following their orders.

Army overview: For standard gear, it would be based on "industrial" Sci-Fi weapons, so Doom/Halo/Starcraft humans style weapons serve as the gear for the soldiers of the Hell Divers, with similar ‘future-ish’ armored suits available as well, for those that don’t have their own natural means to protect themselves.

Hey, Please Note: All PCs and NPCs in the Hell Diver's (HD) start here at the Castle. Please know that posting is not a requirement to leave your Castle square.

 

[Edward Elric]

When he first descended the gangway he thought he was going to hurl. Mind you, he’d hurled a Hell of a lot on the ride over given that he’d opted to travel via Steamship instead of Helicarrier without knowing, of course, that he’d get seasick as anything and spew guts the entire way over. And if that wasn’t bad enough? The other soldiers had laughed at him! Lookit the shrimp! Lookit the prawn! Look at the scrawny prawny shrimp boy!

But oh had they eaten those words!

Adrian’s Pen was a monument to the growth of humanity in more ways than one. In architecture it was something at which to marvel, and Zenitsu had never seen anything like it. In technology, however, it rivaled the most sophisticated gadgetry the young swordsman had ever seen on Erde Nona. At the entrance moving in line at a snail’s crawl in a row of bodies ready for registry he was left with plenty of time to take in all of its majesties: the techno-luminous buttresses, the marble white exterior that he knew was made of something so much more than marble, the towering spires with windowed paneling, the bunkers, the attachés, the climbing spiraling - all of it! He was in its shadow, in awe, and...inspired?

It was true, despite himself Zenitsu was finding something inside that he hadn’t dreamed was in there. A fully crewed excavationt team might’ve had trouble finding courage inside the puny swordsman; this stronghold, however, had managed to dig up a bit of it. Though he’d built this war up in his mind, paled at every bulky musclehead he’d happened by in the pre-show, and made a right fine showing of himself as the world’s foremost authority in the bold art of cowardice...well, something about actually being here…

It felt different. Like an ant tucking into its hill after a long day’s work, he felt a functioning cog in a great machine larger than himself, and somehow that was comforting instead of terrifying.

“AGATSUMA!” bellowed a voice.

Zenitsu startled from his revelry with an audible gasp, a jerk of his head, and a sudden realization that the line had stopped. Or, more accurately, he had stopped it...because he was the front of it.

He stood before a bookish looking man with a shrewd face who towered over him like a lamppost both in height and build. Peering over his glasses, the man donned a snob’s sneer that was nearly impressive in how comfortably he wore it, and sniffed.

“Agatsuma, Zenitsu,” the man read, droning just enough to sound bored, until he came to the next piece. “...Lieutenant?”

He didn’t looked shocked, exactly, so much as he looked...annoyed? Like the idea that a boy like this appointed to any position of command might jeopardize his own objective livelihood and therefore offended him. That, however, was nothing compared to Zenitsu who felt like he might have to pick his jaw up off the floor before he moved an inch forward.

“Well, hurry up, then, boy. You’ll be needing to collect your equipment, and you’ll want to make an appearance before your men.”

My men?

As he passed by the man in a daze, wondering if the intaglio produced on his list had been a mistake, Zenitsu followed a series of unmissable arrows that ushered him into an armory. It was teeming with soldiers, some chomping at the bit to gather up as much weaponry as possible, some conservative in garnering their arsenal, and some others that looked closer to how he felt that stood a little further away from everything and surveyed with some confusion.

Zenny noted that he scented oiled down gunmetal in the room, and more to his surprise than the comfort he’d initially found in beholding the Castle, he found that he liked the smell.

The next several hours flew by in a frenzied rush. The entire time he was reminded of a busy marketplace, only, more labyrinthian. Everything was pick this up and go here! Oh, you’re here? Better go over there! Look alive, laddie, you’ve almost made it to where you need to be! ...huh? What are you doing here? Go over there!

After much jostling, assembling, disassembling, and asking quietly for directions, the blonde boy found himself standing still. Finally.

Despite himself he was resplendent in an outfit much like that of a traditional Samurai, however, plated down with yellow-green paneling that etched in kind to allow free-flowing movement. At his hip? A blade that rivaled the one they’d stripped from him upon entry into this damnable War-game...it was woven intricately at the hilt, boasted a twisted electric yellow guard that was fashionably modern, and boasted a three and a half foot blade sheathed in something way too ornate for him to ever afford outside of such a contest.

...his eyes roved up to the ramparts, and he remarked to himself silently that the cormorants struck peculiar arabesques up there. Cormorants...only that and the faint scent of salt in the air reminded him that, despite all of the technology, and the metal they were surrounded with...they were very close to the sea. Remembering the map he’d been issued, he recalled that other armies were close to the sea as well. Wondering, pondering, he could not put his finger on whether or not a man like Karl Jak would instrument that as a comfort or not. ...from Zenitsu’s understanding, the man was eternally a showman, even to a fault.

He stood at the head of a column, though, at his back was a far larger and more impressive column. It was assembled, though not with as much discipline as a trained standing army’s platoon, in rank and file. Assorted outfits of various future-industry style contrasted one another, however, breaking the illusion of a unit filed down to a honed point. These were, he could tell, still individuals...just, they’d been told to listen to him.

For whatever reason.

“Uh...hello,” Lieutenant Zenitsu announced himself, raising a hand, unimposing and slight, and looking bemused.

They stopped. They brought their attention to him - four hundred and fifty soldiers...all looking at him.

Oh Lord. I can’t do public speaking! I don’t do this, I can’t do this, I can’t -

He noticed a blonde girl, maybe a couple rows back. The girl from the library! ...she gave him a wink, a little flutter of her fingers, and blew him a kiss.

And Zenitsu was grinning wolfishly, ear to ear, and stood straight like a real military man despite everything in him that was everything but.

“The name’s Lieutenant Zenitsu Agatsuma! ...and we are The Coming Storm!” he bellowed.

He drew out his sword and thrust it into the air with a yell of war - it sounded deep! Part of the scrawny little straw blonde boy wondered if someone else had yelled it!

Oh, and they yelled with him. How they yelled! Brandishing their own weapons, rallying to his confidence. To his confidence! Who’d have thunk it!?

Though to his back there was a much larger force, belonging, he was told, to the man he reported directly to whom also boasted command of this entire army…

Zenitsu swelled with pride at his pocket of soldiers, and felt as if, despite himself, he might yet be able to lead something...and for that moment, he thought not of battle, of cowering, or of death.

That moment, and the feather he’d stashed into the inlay of his uniform, reminded him that he would be going home again at the end of it all.

 

[Strazio Rockwell]

“This is fuckin’ bullshit,” Strazio growled to himself.

The corridors of Adrian’s pen spilled out before him as he stormed through the castle’s innards. Despite his purposeful stride he had little idea of where he was going, but after his encounter with that helmeted asshole “Doomguy” he needed to blow off some steam. Ostensibly the helmet-clad jackass was Strazio’s commander, hand picked by Karl Jak himself, but he’d be damned if he was going to follow such an idiotic bastard. The preceding half hour was stuck on loop inside Strazio’s head and each subsequent replay drove him further into the deep end.

“You’ll be leading the Lake of Fire contingent, Strazio,” Doomguy had said with such a fucking arrogant matter-of-factness that Strazio’s blood immediatly boiled.

“No fucking way,” Strazio protested, “I’m not gonna spend my time babysitting a bunch of morons.”

“Morons?” Doomguy responded, “You haven’t even met them.”

“I don’t need to,” Strazio said, “Look, point me at something and I’ll make it dead, but give that leadership crap to some other schmuck, ‘cause I ain’t interested.”

The bastard had the audacity to laugh as he simply said, “Well, too bad.”

“Too bad?! What the hell do you mean, too bad?”

By that point the two men had started to approach one another. It wasn’t a conscious action by either of them, rather it was the natural course of events when an immovable object met an unrelenting force. They came to a stop mere inches from one another, both of them radiating heat. Strazio snarled at his own reflection in Doomguy’s visor, trying his best to burn a hole through the man’s helmet. He only came up to Doomguy’s chest, but that fact only served to throw more gasoline on the pyre.

“Dunno about you, but where I come from ‘too bad’ means ‘go cry somewhere else’,” Doomguy explained.

“Listen here shithead,” Strazio exclaimed, jabbing a finger at Doomguy’s neck, “Just because Karl Jak gave you some fancy title doesn’t mean you can order me around like a fuckin’ dog.”

“I’m not ordering you around anywhere,” Doomguy seethed, “If we want to win we need pissed off assholes like you leading the charge, but seems like I might’ve judged you wrong, seeing as how your too much of a chickenshit to take the responsibility.”

Silence filled the room. Strazio’s teeth threatened to crack as he clenched his jaw.

“Fine, motherfucker,” Strazio said, withdrawing his finger, “I’ll do it, but don’t come crying to me when this place is burned to the ground.”

--

Eventually Strazio’s temper subsided, becoming a gentle simmer compared to the roaring inferno it was previously. With his anger controlled he made his way towards where the Lake of Fire force was mustered and awaiting his command. A stage had been erected, no doubt where he was expected to make some sort of rallying speech. With a deep sigh of resentment Strazio took the stage. A carpet of glowing orange plasma stretched out before him - originating from the power packs and weapons every soldier carried. The Lake of Fire certainly lived up to its namesake.

“Alright, listen up, my name is Strazio Rockwell,” He said into the microphone, “Our infallible commander has put me in charge, now I’m not the kind of asshole who likes to bark orders, so I’m going to keep this real simple, our reason for existence is to beat the everliving fuck out of anything that stands in our way, got it?”

Where he had expected raucous approval he found only lukewarm acceptance. The dull hum of plastech weaponry drowned what little reaction he received. However, one man appeared from the crowd, apparently driven to action by Strazio’s words. He lumbered forward, his plastech power armor crackling dangerously with each step. The power armor’s visor slid open with a soft hiss and revealed the face of a grizzled veteran.

“What kind of idiot put a scrawny thing like you in charge,?” The heckler demanded, “I should be the one leading this outfit, not some white-haired kid.”

In an instant Strazio’s rage was rekindled. Without a word he jumped down from the stage and stomped towards the heckler. The Lake of Fire parted before him, as soldiers stepped aside to avoid the ensuing conflict. As he pushed through the crowd he snatched a weapon from someone’s hands. It was essentially a metal bat with a filigree of orange energy running along its length. Energy crackled across the weapon, matching the tempo of Strazio’s heartbeat.

“What’s your fucking name?” Strazio demanded.

With a chuckle the power armored behemoth answered, “Charles, but a pup like you should call me ‘sir’.”

“That so?”

“It is,” Charles responded, “I’ve seen more action in a single year than you have in your entire life, and I’ll be damned if I follow some wet-behind-the-”

He never finished his sentence. In one violent motion Strazio reeled back and flung the plastech bat. Like a bolt of lightning it crossed the gap between them, connecting with the man’s unprotected jaw. A plume of blood, teeth, and neon orange sparks shot into the air. Charles stumbled back, his power armor groaning with the sudden momentum shift, before he pitched forward and fell unconscious to the concrete. Strazio sauntered over, scooping up the crackling bat and standing triumphantly atop his fallen foe.

“Like I was saying,” Strazio shouted over the din of whispers, “We’re going to fuck everything that stands in front of us up, friend, foe, we’re here to crack heads and take some fucking names and if anyone has a problem with it, too fucking bad.”

If anyone had a problem with it they kept it to themselves. The Lake of Fire spilled forth from the castle and marched towards the comet’s interior, ready to incinerate anything in its path.

 

[Remilia Scarlet]

As I stared down at the collection of hooligans, freaks, slacked jawed dopes, murderers, wannabe heroes, and at least one demon in my midsts from my stage. It had been so long since I was put in charge of other people, even before my booting to the ass end of Mars. When I was part of the United States Space Marine Corp, I had reached sergeant through a continued proof of competence. Much to my displeasure, as I knew too well that ranks were given responsibility, and proving worthy of that responsibility was the reward of more responsibility. I had eased into it, reluctant to leave the comfort of my preferred lone wolf tactics but ultimately performing above expectancy. It led to my court martial when I broke a superior officer ordering me and my men to fire on civilians, which itself led to my employment at the UAC and the rest of my life.

It was uncomfortable to think I was back to leading rather than fighting as myself, but I couldn’t show it. I had more to do now, and doubt was more of an enemy than the assholes about to push a gun into our faces.

I had arrived at the base by drop ship, a docket of names of each potential soldier in my army thrusted into my arms. Paperwork, my greatest enemy. I could have easily delegated this to someone else, pointed out a name of the most competent person looking there and gone “That guy, he can deal with this bullshit”. But I blitzed through each page, scanning them out. Who they were, what they did. I wasn’t about to treat these men like disposable cogs like so many callous commanders before. By the time I was finally marched out of that ship, I had a good idea who they were. There were some… distasteful choices there, but I had to put aside some of my own feelings if I wanted to make this work.

The castle was like a bolt to my memories, it’s labyrinthian metal interiors like so many UAC buildings before. It stood recessed into a mountain, giving a hard defense in the face of any enemy. It also meant escape was impossible in a siege. That wasn’t so terrible, with the right state of mind, but it was something to remember.

Titles were handed out, names were shared, and I got a better understanding of their character. It would be hard, holy shit would it be hard getting these ragtag bunch of asshats together into a cohesive fighting force. But as I stood out from the stage, looking down at my army in formation, I felt something so rare in my life as I thought back to those USSMC days.

Nostalgia and happiness.

“Alright, you bunch of jackasses.” I yelled out, catching their attention. “I’m not much of a talker,” at least not out loud, “so I’ll keep this short. I’m going to be making a lot of demands from you, because it’s going to be my job to turn you from into one of the fiercest group of men and women and whatever the fuck you are across the whole multiverse. But I have one signal expectation from, one thing that by the end of this fucking game I want to be one hundred present sure on.

“I want to see you fight like Hell.”

I jumped down from the stage, landing amidst them, and started marching toward the gate. Shotgun in hand and a smile behind my helmet.

“Hell Divers, Move out!”

 

[Josuke Higashikata]

Before Caboose can catch up on what was happening around him, he soon realized he's stuck in a military dropship along with other soldiers transported to their designated HQ. In the meantime, the blue spartan enjoyed the ride they were taking. He sat in one of the seats connected to a bench-style seating with movable braces to secure passengers if a bumpy ride happens. The dropship had both benches built on each side in the hull.

Caboose gets up from the seat as the aircraft lands on a landing pad placed outside the highly advanced technological castle, Adrian's Pen. He moves with the herd of mixed soldiers that carries grizzled ones and newly recruit ones. They were all instructed to move inside the castle and find their designated barracks and armories. As the blue power armored soldier moves closer to the HQ, his helmet-covered head looks up to examine how extensive the base appears, compared to his old ones.

Outside, the weather remained typical, with the sun shining down upon the gigantic structure and clouds shading it. Something immediately pops into Caboose's brain that he was looking for earlier, making him speak his thoughts out loud and stopping him in his tracks.

"Wait a minute… This place doesn't look like the ice cream shop! Maybe the ice cream shop is in that big scary-looking base?"

There was no turning back, and the craving for ice cream kept him marching forward to the gigantic metallic structure. Inside, the place was bustling with life like a busy subway underneath a populated city. Caboose wandered around the vast halls, confused about where to go and find the ice cream shop. Soon enough, he comes across a high-ranking officer that finds Caboose is lost.

"You, private! You should be at your post by now, like everyone else. We have a war to win! Now, move your ass to your designation! Double-time it!" The unkind military officer barks at poor Caboose, not knowing about which company he's assigned to join.

"U-um, well, I'm lost in this big scary place with other scary people, and I'm not sure where to go. Also, I don't know how to double time clock thingy." Caboose states while the officer brings out his highly advanced tablet, scanning the soldier's body. "Private, Michael J. Caboose stations in Doom's Marines, you'll be taking commands by our great commander, the Doom Slayer." The officer reads out the information quickly off the tablet's screen.

"Double-time means to move, Jackass!"

"Ok!"

Caboose runs through the halls in a fast manner, on the trail to find the armory he's assigned. His boots screech to a halt on the metallic floor, discovering the arsenal where he's designated. He enters the vast armory that had many soldiers gearing up for the upcoming conquest. Rifles were given to them and pistols for backup weapons alongside combat knives.

"Yeah, this place doesn't look like the ice cream shop." Caboose disappointedly mentions out loud, no one hearing the words he said.

The blue soldier holds an MA37 assault rifle and an M6D pistol at ease, both familiar to carry. Alongside, his armor becomes customed too to fit in with the green-colored army. The shoulder pads had been colored green, and a green decal stripe splits the solid blue color configuration of his helmet. To alongside the theme of the Doom's Marines' armor, the red doom slayer's mark sprayed into his right shoulder pad will remind the opposing teams of who's army he's serving. After gearing up, he stands in an open room with a stage where his commander, Doomguy, spoke out loud to riled up his soldiers for war.

Caboose joins in with the invigorated soldiers to fight, and all were chatty, following the legendary hell's public enemy, the Doom Slayer, to exit the castle.

"Yeah, and we should throw a pizza party too so that we can show the others that our buddy club is the best buddy club!"

 

[Altanis]

Absolutely infuriating.

This entire situation was nothing short of absolutely infuriating.

For the moment, at least, Altanis was able to let go of the fact she was not in command of this entire army. That would have been a chore she could do without at the moment; she was here to study this entire 'unmaking' business directly, so it would have only added needless complications to things. That much she realized and could admit, as much as it made her blood boil to have to imagine following the orders of anyone else at all, regardless of the reasoning behind it. A bitter pill to swallow, but one she could bear.

What she couldn't handle or so easily dismiss, however...was the ones who had been put in charge above her.

The Commander himself, in as much as she could ascertain, was at least...a fair enough pick for the role, given his skills. In terms of that, he was a fine candidate and she had no issues. It was something far more intangible, and personally offensive. His attitude. The sheer, barely-restrained disdain that could be sensed radiating off of him and coloring his tone like someone had shoved a steaming pile of imp offal into his helmet when he had ground out his words during their very brief, very tense conversation. Appointing her as a Lieutenant in this army, and acting like it was some immensely impressive gift. There were still many, many words to be had on that subject...but they could wait. She could bite her tongue, and wait until after this event was over. By then perhaps things would have changed, and the forced edge of tenuous civility could be tossed aside entirely.

...but.

Even more infuriating than the absolute atrocity that was that meeting, was the audacity behind the General she had been placed under. A barely-restrained mass of pure, unbridled anger and rage puppeteering around a sack of meat in the shape of a human. Impressive enough, to imagine the kind of spectacle he might put on when thrown into battle...but the idea of him leading anything at all, let alone such a large group of troops, was equal parts laughable and insulting. Laughable, because of the nigh-certainty he would lead them to a swift and early defeat thanks to his impetuous attitude. Insulting because, for all the soldiers under his banner...she was, by technicality, among them.

If she dwelled on it too long, she knew, her splendid fangs would be ground blunt.

Instead, she had turned her simmering anger to a more useful avenue. Studying the provided maps of the island, such as they had been given, and making preparations to properly lead out her own unit while scouring the armory for provided equipment. A paltry sum of soldiers compared to what she was used to back home, during the wars...but it was sufficient. The relatively small number would be more mobile than a larger force, and it would be suitable for what she had in mind.

The one saving grace she had in this entire affair was that she had, in spite of her best estimates and predictions, actually been granted a request she made of the so-called Doom Slayer. Nearly all of those in her command were those who had some personal issue or vendetta against the Unmaking and other aspects of Darkseid's forces. The type who would be willing to do anything and everything to cause even a little damage to them, and who would be less averse to self-risk if it meant a minor strike back. Only a small number of them had any kind of real experience, and fewer still could be called any kind of actual 'soldier', let alone a veteran...but with the right hand to guide them, such things weren't always needed.

Reckless they might be...but if properly aimed, and given the right targets, that could work to her advantage. It would be the perfect little scheme to skulk about and lay all manner of sabotage to the enemy ranks and positions, leaving them much easier pickings for the more...angry aspects of their army to sweep in and demolish.

The only hard part would be keeping them organized and properly controlled. If they were allowed to run too rampant and free, they would very likely run off entirely as soon as not...but if kept on too tight a leash they might become resentful and turn on her before being of any use at all. A delicate balance; unlike the blindly loyal forces under the banner of her former lord, she could not simply order this entire lot to walk into death just because she said to.

It would be difficult, yes...but matters like this were what she had lived for, back home. Though she wasn't here to play good little soldier girl, or lead this sorry bunch to victory in this absurd game, it was almost refreshing to be back in her proper place. She had been very nearly the second in command, before...but that was for a cause she firmly believed in and cared about. This little slice of authority she had here couldn't possibly compare, but it didn't need to. This wasn't some great cause, just a casual experiment to gather some further information.

The fact it was going to be such a violent one was only an extra bonus.

* * *

From the armory, she had taken what she felt like...appropriate equipment. Though their design was foreign to her, she could recognize them easily enough. An armored suit, worn over her humanoid portion, and with additional armor plating draped over her equine half. For weaponry, she had opted for a simple pair of energy blades, glowing a brilliant red when active but an utterly unassuming hilt when not; they would more than suffice in case anything got close, and her natural powers would serve perfectly at range.

And now, properly equipped, she stood at the head of the force she had been granted command of. 'Something Wicked', it was called...appropriate enough, given what it would be doing. She looked out over the assembled crew, golden eyes sweeping their unblinking stare over each and every individual as they stood at ease and waited, nervously fidgeting and quietly chatting with each other.

"I have very little to say, before we set out," she finally spoke up. Long years of experience let her natural voice carry without any external assistance, drowning out the hum and buzz of the assembled troops and quickly silencing them altogether. "But what I will say is something you should all take great pains to memorize, and remember." She turned to her side and slowly began to pace to and fro, making a deliberate effort to have each step resound in a loud, clear strike of her hooves.

"I am aware that all of you have some personal vendetta against one of our foes here today. The Unmaking." She turned her gaze sideways, out over the crowd, and she could see the restless shifting and scowls now rolling through the ranks. "Rest assured...I have similar issue with them. And they shall be our focus." She let a faint sneer crawl onto her face. "We are not here for things like glory, or honor, or fame, or even victory in this little event. This Dante's Abyss is little more than a means to an end, to strike directly at this little faction of the Unmade, and see how they like being the ones cornered and driven to destruction."

A ripple of murmuring broke out among the crowd, and though it was mostly a dull droning buzz hard to make out from her position, Altanis could nonetheless tell her words had struck a chord with many of the assembled. Her eyes gleamed brightly, with how easy this was turning out to be.

"To such an end, there is a short list of things you should keep in mind." Her voice rose again, and the noise of the troops quickly silenced again. "This will not be a quick affair. We will use the same underhanded, infiltrating and destructive tactics they once used. It will not be a swift vengeance, and the odds of every one of you surviving is slim...but if you retain your composure, and follow my orders, we will see success in the end." Another wave of uneasy murmuring ran through the crowd, some of the especially inexperienced ones looking pale and suddenly incredibly nervous.

"...but rest assured. Your continued survival is a high priority." She went on, her voice dropping slightly in volume and taking on a somber, soothing tone. "Every one of you that falls is a harsh blow to our side, and losses will be kept to a minimum. As hard as it may be, however...you must all be prepared for whoever you march side by side with today to not be there tomorrow., and be ready to fight twice as hard to make up for their loss. I do not expect it will be easy, nor will I lie to you and say that it will be. It will be exactly the opposite."

"But all of you, I believe..." Her expression curled into a vicious smirk. "....have enough fire in you to succeed. Each and every one of you can survive, if you fight hard enough, and follow my plans. The more of you that survive, the more damage we can do in turn to the enemy." All eyes were on her now, and the silence was almost deafening. She had their attention now, and just needed one last push to get them fully on board.

"So now..." She slowly lifted one hand up, palm toward her and fingers splayed out wide. "...let us go show the enemy just what kind of mistake they have made, by leaving so many of you behind to seek revenge." Her fingers curled closed, as she swept her arm out to one side. "Both of our enemies, the forces of the Unmaking and the other army involved in this farce of an event, will soon know terror when something wicked their way comes. We have no friends; we have no allies. We have only targets. Now go; move out, and let us go strike them down!"

The noise that erupted from the assembled ranks was a discordant din impossible to distinguish anything from; intermingled anger, excitement, fear, and pure adrenaline all formed one indistinct mass of droning sound that lingered in echoes long after the the forces making it had spilled forth from the castle in barely-restrained order.

 

[Miyamoto Musashi]

The last few hours had been a drunken breeze. A lovely mess, all in all.
In a matter of moments after signing those papers, she had been ushered into a techy dislocation service. And while she’d been to techy worlds before, this wasn’t exactly a manner of transportation the ronin was familiar with.

Well, regardless. From the techy dislocation device she’d been packed tightly as a sardine into what she could only assume was a military transport of some kind or another. Such deduction based purely on the fact that she’d been among soldiers the whole time.

Not that any of them seemed to use swords. She’d seen guns before. Nothing like these techy contraptions… But they shared the look of falling underneath the description of a “gun”.

So, guns.

Her closest thing to an accessible projectile right now, would’ve been hurling the small sake bottle across the skies. But that would’ve wasted the ever-delicious contents! So, not quite a gun. But, she did have her swords.

Or well. One sword, and the rattly piece of jank she nowadays carried. It could’ve hardly been called a sword by her specifications.

THUMMMMMMP!

The airship quaked as its doors hissed open and the ramp lowered onto the ground.

And so, the soldiers unstrapped themselves - the ronin didn’t, she hadn’t strapped in in the first place - and stood up, all starting their orderly march toward the exit. Except Musashi of course, she was simply flowing along, stumbling slightly here and there as she bumped off of a soldier or two.

“MOVE IT MOVE IT MOVE IT MOVE IT!” howled officer Harris, his black cane with a silver pommel cutting the air as it swung back and forth. “Out of the dropship and into the barracks you louts!” the graying man nagged as a steady stream of soldiers and an extra drunkard gushed forth out of the aircraft and into the landing area.

Of course, war didn’t miss a single man - or a woman, for that matter. But when you were dressed in bright colours and a dress-like contraption of clothing, you were bound to stand out amidst future-clad soldiers.

And of course there was the whole orderly marching versus drunken wobbling.

And so, it took no time at all for the cane to reach forward, snagging the lush by the back of her collar and yank her free from the sidelines of the marching force.

“Hua?!” staggered Musashi, her arms flailing to find balance and to protect her drink with her life, coming to a halt as she spun around to find herself facing an officer.

“And who the hell are you?!” demanded Harris, even as his face began to redden from anger.

“Ahem… Mu-,” began the ronin, after staring in slight confusion for a moment. She still wasn’t quite sure how she’d ended up amidst a mobilizing army.

“Proctor! Who the hell is she?!” Too slow! Cut off, Musashi’s eyes wandered from the vein bulging in the officer’s forehead, to the auburn haired young man beside him. Other than his consistently confused expression, there was little to note aside the techy gizmo in his hands.

“Uhh…” the man droned, his hands tapping away at the gizmo whilst it was briefly waved toward Musashi, some blue rays casting over her for a moment. Techy gizmo’s from her experience, liked to do that. Not that she had ever actually used one herself.

“Her name is Miyamoto Musashi. She should be with Lt. Agatsuma’s troops?” came the slightly sheepish answer moments later.

“The hell’s she doing here then?! To the other barracks, you drunken lush!” barked the silver fox as she grasped her by the collar and threw the line-soldier stumbling toward another exit - assumably to the other barracks.

Glancing behind her, the swordswoman barely ducked below the swing of a cane. “MOVE IT MOVE IT MOVE IT!” howled Thaddeus Harris once more, his voice booming across the courtyard once more.

Naturally, Musashi was not interested in further cane-dodgery from her apparent allies, so she did indeed “move it”.

Still, what the hell had she gotten herself into this time?!

 

[Karl Jak]

Face to Face
???​

A squad was making its rounds when they came across the graffiti.

Fear the Moonlight. It Comes.

 

[Karl Jak]

Face to Face
Sabotage!​

The soldiers were making their patrols around the Pen when they discovered the message on the wall.

"What is this?" One of the armored warriors muttered as he tried to decipher the runic script.

"No, wait!" Another soldier barked before rushing forward to tackle his brother-in-arms just as the first man's boot touched down on the slightly disheveled piece of metal paneling.

In a whoosh of fire and steel, the hallway erupted.

3 Combat soldiers have died. Adrian's Pen is going into lockdown immediately, with its garrison on (even more) active alert.

 

[Karl Jak]

There was a freak accident today where a few magazines went up in flames, causing the deaths of about twenty soldiers. Five bodies, seemingly unaccounted for on the 'castle rolls' and impossible to identify due to the damage, were also retrieved after the salvage operation.

 

[Karl Jak]

Moon light.

A howl.

A pressing wind.

A scent, like basil and freshly sliced tomatoes from nana's garden.

Night's stalwart sentinel preserves.

25 soldiers passed away last night. Their breath had a scent of almonds on it, but the sheets looked a bit too ruffled.

 

[Karl Jak]

In my youth, my mama, she'd always impress upon me the importance of a finely-balanced blade. Pizza, arteries, cannoli -- you don't want to be slicing anything with a dull edge. You ever try to make a crostini with a cheap knife? Rookie mistake.

Then you got these crentinos believing that processed mozzarella cheese is any substitute for fresh ingredients. I know they advertised hell in the name, but I didn't expect it to be this special a circle of hell.

Chissenefrega ... they're all already dead. They just don't know it.

Elsewhere, in the Castle, small figure found himself standing in a pillar of moonlight. A crack in the flooring let the light cascade into the industrial complex, but despite the serene look of the effect, it carried no solace. Only a feeling of uneasy. As if eyes were upon him.

"Back to work."

Efforts to isolate what is going on at the Pen have been met with difficulty, because multiple incidents seem to be occurring in various spots in the 'castle complex.'

80 members of the castle garrison staff and 52 combat soldiers have been found dead in the last thirty six. Twenty corpses of clearly non-human monsters have been discovered along this time frame, triggering a lockdown of the complex.

 

[Karl Jak]

The Hell Diver quartermaster despised spies.

Even worse than they, he abhorred the fact that his bosses hadn’t deemed him worthy enough to be entrusted with his own gaggle of tricksters and cutthroats. The grizzled former noncom knew that the castles came with their own detachment of bodies, but not a single one of them was equipped with a working knowledge of espionage beyond what they may have learned from movies or television (or books, I guess).

“No one cares about us middle management types,” the quartermaster grumbled to no one in particular as he flattened out the blueprints of the Pen and continued to give the documents a detailed looked as he sought out locations where spies might be hiding during the daylight hours.

A knock at his door.

“Come in,” he grumbled as he folded up the papers and slid them under his desk. A young man came into the door and handed him a piece of paper.

“What the fuck is this?” The quartermaster remarked.

“It was … nailed to the outside of your door, Quartermaster.” To prove his point, the private grabbed the door and pulled it open so the seated man could get the angle of view he needed to spot the carpentry nail embedded into it. “You didn’t notice it?”

“No,” the man groaned as he waved away the young man. He was some dumb private from a farm on Erde, so the quartermaster didn’t expect this envelope to be an elaborate trap.

With the paper open, the quartermaster read the contents beneath his breath.

“Hi, Pal! Now listen, you’ve got some dirty mean spies in your castle! Are you aware of this? I think they’re even better than my fellas, and that’s sayin’ something, ah-huh.

Best double up those patrols. Wouldn’t want anyone else to wind up dead on your watch.

-N. Mouse, Your Friend to the End”. Some type of pawprint had been stamped on the paper next to the elaborate signature.

“Don’t tempt me to blow this place sky-high, you damn freaks,” the quartermaster growled.

 

[Karl Jak]

"So, you can see from... this, Mister -- ere, Lieutenant Rock, that was have an issue. There are -"

The Rock placed his palm right in front of the man's face, causing him to immediately fall silent as the Hell Diver officer tilted his head up and took a prolonged pause to survey the room.

"Finally," he intoned. "The Rock ... has come back ... to Adrian's Pen!" The lieutenant turned his head sharply and withered the quartermaster with a raise of his mighty eyebrow. "The Rock sees your candy ass with a pink slip and a booking in the smackdown hotel if you don't sort this out, you jabroni."

"We've been trying, bu-"

"B-b-b-b-but nothing!" The Rock replied in a faux baby voice. "Don't make the Rock turn the castle rolls sideways and shove them where the sun don't shine."

"I don't think that's necessary."

A scowl.

"Son," the Rock inquired. "What's your name?"

"Well, I'm Quartermaster To-"

"It doesn't matter what your name is!"

About 10 members of the garrison militia and 5 soldiers died. About 5 corpses were 'burned out' of some tunnels last night.

 

[Karl Jak]

The Rock had barely been reinstalled at Adrian’s Pen when he heard what sounded like a toy bugle sounding from outside the structure.

Eyebrow cocked; the superstar jogged his way to an observation deck that overlooked the approaches to the Pen. In the night sky, the silly golden mouse and his army of miscreants was still visible. “Who. In the Blue Hell are you? The Rock doesn't remembering taking any LCD tonight, so you can all just march your shiny candy asses back up to Splash Mountain.”

Boss Mouse giggled through his megaphone. “We’re here to accept a surrender of this castle, Mister Rock. This place is more holey than Swiss cheese, but my fellas I figured it nicer to just be upfront.”

The Rock, whose voice seemed to always be capable of projecting to mic-enhanced levels without the use of technology, reached for his sunglasses and slipped them over his scowling eyes. “Excuse me for just one second, the Rock’s cellphone is going off.” The lieutenant tilted his head (for no clearly discernible reason) and hoisted a pantomimed phone up to his ears and mouth. “Hello?” He inquired, pausing for a moment before glancing back down at the mouse. “Hey! It’s Nothing. He says he knows you!”

“You’re a laugh,” Boss Mouse declared. “You sure you don’t want to surrender before we make it real ugly, Pal?”

“Know your role and shut your mouth, Mouse!” The Rock boomed as the anthropomorphic critter craned his neck to look at one of his aides and share a confused look.

“My role?”

“To get those damn ears slapped off and handed to you, if you think you can step up to the Rock!” At that, the lieutenant reached for his assault rifle.

***

Battle Statistics

Hell Divers: 220 Combat Soldiers, 300 Castle garrison troops, Castle Advantage
Babylonia: 500 Combat Soldiers

Someone is free to NPC write as The Rock or any assorted people at the Castle. Pending chicanery, this scene will update/progress in about 2 days.​

 

[Altanis]

Taking his assault rifle firmly into his grasp, the Rock leveled it down at the assembled forms of the gold-clad schmucks with a single flex of his mighty physique. Down below, the Babylonian forces were quick to go from their lax demeanor to a combat ready one, staring daggers back up at the overbearingly confident man standing defiant before them.

The tense standoff held for one second...then two...and then the Rock opened fire. Not with any kind of accuracy, but when shooting at such a large gathering of people it was hard to miss even so. It sent the prepared men scattering and diving for cover to avoid the hail of bullets, and served as a signal for all the forces within the castle to spring into action. Soldiers and garrisoned troops were quick to mobilize, those who weren't prepared quickly grabbing weapons and rushing to their posts and assuming defensive positions.

Their castle might have been damaged, but it was still standing. And by Karl, if the Rock had any say in it, it was gonna stay standing.

"Oh-ho!" The mouse just leered up at the castle as the initial spray of gunfire finally fell silent, the weapon's ammunition expended.. "So that's the way it's gonna be, is it?" He shook his head. "Your funeral then, fellas." And he turned to those standing with him, and gave a wordless gesture to commence the attack as a large, key-shaped weapon appeared in his hand and he leaped into action himself.

"And just look at 'em comin', now!" The Rock hollered, as he discarded the spent magazine of his weapon and drew another from a pocket in the miraculously still-gleaming green armor barely containing his sheer majesty. "All big and bad, all high and mighty, all full of hot air! Thinkin' they can honestly, actually, even possibly come into THIS house, and take on The Rock! Thinking they can just swagger on in, and lay down the law, and take over the place!"

A sharp, satisfying clicking and chunking of metallic parts sounded as his weapon was reloaded and readied to fire. "But this ain't no game; this ain't no playtime! This is the Rock's house, and you do not disrespect the Rock in the Rock's house!" With a flourish, he tossed the rifle aside to a nearby soldier who quickly fumbled to catch it as he turned to storm into the castle.

"Uh, s-sir? SIR? Lieutenant, uh...The Rock!" said soldier called after him. "Where are you going?!"

The Rock didn't even slow his stride, the exaggerated swagger filled with such brimming confidence it was almost inhuman. "The Rock is going down to make sure these jabronis get a proper welcome!" he roared. "Those clowns up north thought they were tough, but the Rock showed 'em he was cookin' enough for everybody!" He pumped a fist in the air. "And now the Rock is gonna go show these gold-plated wannabes just how much green they got in their hides, and serve up what he was cookin'!"

"The Rock is gonna bring the heat and set the stage, and the house is gonna bring the thunder!" He finally cast a glance back over his shoulder, just before disappearing from sight down a flight of steps, and flashed a thumbs up along with his pearly-white smile. "The Rock is countin' on you to squash these fools! Now let's RIP AND TEAR!"

As he disappeared downstairs, the soldier in question and all the others within earshot let out a united, echoing shout of confirmation and agreement, and their voices rose in a steely, thunderous roar that shook the entire castle. "UNTIL IT IS DONE!"

 

[Altanis]

The Rock stormed through the castle at a run, silently charging through the halls and leaping over railings to clear the path and progress more swiftly. There wasn't time to be nice or delicate about this, so more than once he simply smashed clean through doorways or nearly through the floor with his extra-armored weight, but no real damage done overall. A few more dents and dings added to the place would just give it some character, after all.

His flight soon grew to be accompanied by several more pairs of power-armored boots falling in step behind and alongside him. No words were exchanged or spoken, no sound or nod of acknowledgement given. Just the mutual and synchronized pounding of boots on metal as the Rock and his fellow Hell Divers burst out through the main entrance of Adrian's Pen with a vicious fervor.

The fighting had closed in on the castle walls during his run through, but that served just fine. As they exploded onto the scene, the pounding of boots on metal gave way to boots on stone as they charged across the surrounding ground and crashed into the Babylonian forces like a sledgehammer. The first of their troops did something between crumple like a tin roof and scatter like bowling pins, the blood spattered and gleaming green of the suddenly-appearing enemies smashing right through them.

Blades and firearms leapt into action, slashing and stabbing and firing with reckless, wild abandon.

But the Rock's hands were empty, as he simply forced his way through with raw muscle. Armored fists and boots lashed out and met with bone-crunching, pulverizing results. "You come into the Rock's house, try to say you're gonna take over, and this is all you got?!" he boisterously shouted as he hurled a Babylonian rifleman away with zealous glee, bowling over half a dozen of his unfortunate allies. "So the Rock is thinkin' you gotta have something else!" he bellowed.

"The Rock is thinking you can't be this stupid! The Rock is thinkin' he's gonna give you five seconds to bring the beat down!" he threw his arms wide, turning in place to look at the flabbergasted onlookers as the castle defenders continued to rain down everything they had on the encroaching enemies, before pointing directly at the diminutive, scowling form of Boss Mouse with one threateningly outstretched finger. "So is this little pansy-ass spotmonkey gonna come fight the Rock himself, or gonna stand there and leave it to these jobbers?!

Boss Mouse leered angrily at the Rock, tightening his grip on his keyblade. "Oh so you wanna fight fair and square, do ya fella? One on one? Maybe build us up a nice little ring and duke it out man to mouse?" He laughed, a deep and hearty sound that was quite unnatural coming from such a tiny little pipsqueak. "Well, lemme just think about it for a second before I give my answer...." He trailed off and just lazily snapped the fingers of his free hand.

The answer that was delivered to the Rock was vicious and brutal, as he was quickly surrounded and swarmed by enemies. Swords and spears and gunfire and plasma scored the ground and tore into him, bearing him down into a bloody, messy heap.

But beneath it all, the Rock only grinned. And with a sudden swell of his power-armored muscles, the lights and gizmos within that armor suddenly flared to life. A surge of strength filled him, as the titan of glorious samoan muscle was empowered by the wonders of technology and he rose up with an explosive energy, throwing the crowd of soldiers and goons off of him in a flailing mess of bodies that rained down in the surrounding battle chaotically.

Blood marred his formerly perfect features, running down his face in several thin trickles of crimson, but the Rock was undeterred. He advanced on the form of Boss Mouse, his powered up steps seeming to make the earth boom. Compared to the tiny individual, the Rock seemed to tower larger than even his normally larger-than-life self.

The tiny rodent leaped into action, darting to the side and launching a lance of light from his keyblade as the Rock lunged forward for him. Both fighters missed their mark, and as they whirled around for another pass gunfire raked the ground near both of them as soldiers from both sides fired wildly.

Scowling, Rock and Mouse thundered back into melee. Keyblade flashed, and power-armored mitts grasped for their foe.

Blood spattered the ground as Boss Mouse's weapon 'unlocked' a deep gash in the Rock's side, even as the comparative goliath grabbed the mouse by his ears. "Lights out, 'pal'!" he thundered, wrenching the golden pest up and off the ground, over his head, and letting gravity do the work as they both toppled over backward.

The sickening crunch as the mouse was crushed under almost three hundred pounds of unfalteringly charismatic muscle and personality seemed to bring the entire battle to a seconds-long lull before the chaos resumed.

 

[Miyamoto Musashi]

“Adrian’s Pen is under attack. All forces assume battle stations.”

The lights of the barracks flashed red as the announcement echoed from the techno-castle’s speakers. Within it, those who had not been on active duty hastily donned their armor and weapons, flowing out into the hallways as one green, mean killing machine.

“Adrian’s Pen is under attack. All forces assume battle stations.”

The Babylonian’s might’ve come knocking to their gates, but it’d be the Golden Bastards who’d get the knocking. Of that the Helldivers would make certain.

-----

Among those still pulling on their gear, was one Anastasia Gaia, strapping down her assigned Dominion Ghost armor, a massive rifle set onto the bed beside her. The rifle was most definitely cumbersome at over two meters in length, but the enormous bullets capable of tearing through tanks, made the weapon a terribly effective sniper rifle.

On her night-stand, a myriad of empty casings, bullets, blackpowder and other supplies as well as a reloading press bolted onto the side. Just how the hell had this particular private gathered all this here, rather than at the armoury was a mystery, but there they were.

The last of her armor clicking into place, the Terran first hoisted a terribly heavy backpack upon her to begin with - preloaded magazines. Shortly after, the rifle was slung onto her shoulder, with all the agility of a neosteel i-beam. That was to say, it was heavy as hell.

“Phew, couldn’t they have attacked while I was on shift?” the sniper grumbled as she grasped her visor hanging from a bed pole. Seriously. It would’ve reduced the need to haul both ass and gear alike, if the attack had occured like...five hours earlier.

Joining the green stream of death, private Gaia headed for the elevators leading into the castle’s rear guard tower, those promising to provide her with the best vantage point for that BOSUN FN-92 hoisted over her shoulder, the strap of which now painfully pushed down her shoulder pad.

Of course, they kept guns in the towers. And of course, Anastasia could’ve just settled upon using one of those. But none of them were quite like Minnie here. Lower caliber, less accurate, and less range. The C-20A was by far more versatile than her Minnie here. But the service weapon of the Dominion Ghosts’ would lose to the sheer destructive power of Minnie, ten shots out of ten.

And so, as the elevator doors dinged open, private Gaia stuffed into the cramped space along with other snipers, supply runners and the like. But at least, since it was a rear tower; there was no queue to the damn thing.

“To the central guard tower.”

Chimed the uncharacteristically gruff male elevator voice - the hell was with that anyway? - as the doors slid open, revealing the rear guard tower. The supply runners scurried to deliver bullets to the snipers already firing upon the gold-clad invaders glistening in the distance. From below, a hearty “UNTIL IT IS DONE!” echoed, even as the tower joined in moments later, the steel construction echoing moments later with their assault.

Walking upon one of the firing holes of the tower, Anastasia engaged the protective door mechanisms, as they swung open and a surface mounted tripod rose to the opening, ready to accept any Helldiver standard-issue equipment.

Which of course, Minnie wasn’t. So with the press of a button, the measly tripod vanished where it’d come from. It wouldn’t be enough for the recoil anyway.

Caressing the barrel of her beloved gun, the powderhead pulled free first of the three massive legs, the end of which culminated into a sharp spike, designed to dig into even the hardest steel by melting the sucker a tad with lasers first, to purchase true grip.

Two legs later, the massive cannon of a sniper-rifle was set upon the opening, the lasers sizzling into the steel as the tripod securely mounted itself, ready for use. The backpack was slung off her back, set to the side and opened, revealing three humongous magazines, each loaded with what looked like four massive bullets. Just one of the fuckers must’ve weighed a small cat’s worth.

Settling onto the shooter's seat, Anastasia set the stock against her shoulder, before lowering her goggles upon her eyes and drawing a cable from the gun’s side to her temple, jacking the plug in.

The displays whirred to life, providing the gunner with wind, weather, temperature, distance, and a whole host of other environmental parameters to account for without a spotter. Anastasia’s eyes already scanned the battlefield for a suitable target, all the while her hand reached to pull back the bolt.

Muscles flexing as private Gaia drew upon the bolt handle before the metal finally surrendered, sliding back as a non-existent spent casing was ejected, before the motorized assist kicked in and pushed a new bullet into the chamber before the bolt clanged shut.

Krrrrr-CHK-CLANK!

“Oooo I’ve been waiting for this,” the sniper offered a manic grin, even as her trigger finger itched and trembled from excitement. If only James - yes, that James, private Gungho - were here to see this! To see her baby demolish those foolish assailants before them.

To show them the terror of true weaponry and the meaning of pinpoint accuracy.

To show them Minnie.

 

[Karl Jak]

The battle seemed to be progressing as normal.

And then people inside the castle started getting shot by other people inside the castle.

About 200 Babylonia Spies and a little under 100 Unmade Spies have 'activated' within Adrian's Pen, throwing the defense into complete and utter disarray.

 

[Miyamoto Musashi]

Peering through the scope, private Gaia’s finger came to rest upon the trigger as her breathing slowed. That index finger began to slowly, steadily apply pressure upon the mechanism, before her finger was released from the trigger entirely.

“The hell…?” she muttered in confusion as her visor displayed to her what could’ve only been described as bizarre. From within some of the Helldivers upon the walls came suddenly under assault from behind, pushed off, stabbed, gunned down or otherwise.

From a direction that should’ve been utterly safe.

Peering through her scope, Anastasia watched the chaos unfold as the whole shebang had gone from Min-yay to Min-nay in a matter of seconds. And Anastasia didn’t particularly like that. Nor did her trigger finger, for that matter.

Knowing the caliber of her weapon, even if she had shot at the assailants in aid, the bullet would’ve just torn through just as many allies in the process. And so, she was forced to watch in silence as battle fell into utter chaos and the Helldivers fought to gun down foes from within.

Except that…

If they were down there, they might as well be up here as well?
As the lightbulb dinged upon the sniper’s head, a knife shattered it right after, swishing through the air as it dove for the now-somewhat-expecting Helldiver’s neck.

Diving to the side, her left shoulder flared in pain as the knife caught her, leaving a nasty gnash, even as she reached for her sidearm to fire.

Before her a nasty view unflonded with naught but corpses left in the tower, along with her freshly discovered assailant.

“King Gilgamesh sends his regards!” the golden-boy hissed, before the private squeezed her trigger, squeezing it down with all the fury of a wounded beast as the modified handgun sprang to life and fired a hailfire of bullets straight through the assassin.

“Aahh… Donald! You saved me again!” the sniper praised her beloved, even as the gun clicked empty. The hailfire of bullets it had spewed forth formed gun-sounds so gibberish, that they could’ve barely been called gunfire.

Wounded and caught off-guard, the private quickly staggered onto her feet and reloaded her beloved Donald. With the handgun handgun kept close to her body, she crept closer to the elevator, eyes glancing at the signal for any signs of the lift rising toward the top of the tower.

For now, it didn’t. So with all the haste of a woman betrayed, she hurried to the control panel on the elevator’s right side and began to bang on it with all her might, taking advantage of the poor handgun’s butt.

“I’m so sorry, Donald. I promise I’ll repaint you after all this is over,” the woman lamented even as the black paint on the butt of the gun chipped with each strike, before the elevator’s control panel finally clattered free from the wall and hung there, suspended from its wires.

Flicking the emergency door release, the doors mechanically slid open, revealing the bottomless abyss of the elevator shaft. (Actually there was a bottom. The first floor.)

Despite the scarlet hues private Gaia was painting the tower with, with her bleeding shoulder, the slightly woozy soldier continued, determined to secure her perimeter rather than perishing from a sudden renewed rear-end assault.

And so the wounded sniper rushed to and began to ransack through the nearby weapon’s racks.

Rifles, rifles, more rifles… Handguns… A few machine guns…

Grenade launcher… Yet more rifl-...

Launcher? That’d do.

Quickly grasping the already-loaded weapon from the racks, private Gaia returned to the elevator shaft, aiming the poor thing down to the bottom, before squeezing the trigger.

SCHUMP!

The grenade fired forward, whistling down the shaft before it exploded whilst the sniper dived back from the entrance, in a desperate attempt to not have her face blown to smithereens from any potential rising explosions.

BOOM!

The explosion echoed from the bottom of the well, flames rising halfway up the tower before vanishing, even as the hot wave of air and smoke alike rose to the top of the tower, before billowing out of the left-open firing holes.

For all intents and purposes for an outlooker? The tower had fallen. But it was also secure, with no means for outside access from the elevator. And so, Anastasia Gaia had all the means to her madness, to rampage free as she wished.

Well supplied as she was, a lone soldier could last up here for quite a while. A powderhead like private Gaia though? It was anybody’s guess.

All in all? This had been an utter fiasco, if there’d ever been one.

Now that the tower was clear, the elevator panel systematically demolished and the elevator itself out of commission, Anastasia set to patching her shoulder with the tower's medical supplies for immediate aid, first pouring a horrid smelling disinfectant upon it. Wincing, the powderhead began to stuff some good ol’ gauze into the wound, as best she could, before finally packing up the entire thing with some bandages. All done in a day's work.

It would be good enough for now and allowed her to tend to other matters.