As uncountable bullets slice through the tough blackened skin of the towering monster that is slithering toward the blasting gunline like a murderous, raging landslide,
Marshal Elena holds tight an 'SIR-01' rifle in her hands and pulls the trigger in such a refined and precise sequence befitting that of a seasoned warrior, felling them one by one as she sends bullets straight through their supposed heads. Meanwhile, the slews of bullets from her soldiers, taking cover behind layer upon layer of rubble, fly through the air, turning monsters into another pile of corpses on the ground that spew forth the same acidic, tar-like black liquid melting off the ground with a fizzing noise.
As the last body of the remaining monster falls onto the ground, everyone cheers once again in triumph, as they think they have won the battle once more. But as they cheer and shout, someone at the frontline calls out with a cleary panicked voice, "The corpses, they're merging with each other!!!"
Every eye turns once more toward the field of the courtyard, as their cheers turn into horrific silence of terror, as they notice something terribly wrong.
The bodies of the monsters they just slew slowly wiggle like maggots and painstakingly move toward the corpses of another type of monster they had slain before tonight, repulsively merging with each other and rising up once more as a horde of four-meter-tall monstrous juggernauts of twisted, slithering blackened rotten meat piles full of ginormous tentacles and twisting goat hooves, as well as gaping maws full of crushingly big sharp spear-like fangs that slowly slumber their way toward the line of soldiers amidst the withering gunfire.
But now, they no longer collapse easily like those who came before. They slowly yet steadily make their way closer and closer with every grinding step as every bullet hole regenerates and heals with an acidic fizzing noise clamoring from their gapping wounds.
"Gunner, get to the high ground! Jane! Ready your troops for a melee fight!" Elena screams, swallowing her saliva as she organizes the full retreat of the gunline back to the few sections of the castle wall that are still standing miraculously despite their barrage of artillery fire.
"You heard her! Forward, my men!" Jane screams, her face cleary pale and terrified yet determined to do her job. Her men resolutely step forward in response, clearly in defiance of the incoming monsters, their faces gone white in fear, yet courageous enough to follow through with such a suicidal order from up high.
And as the gunline repositions itself, the line of monsters clashes upon solidly built ranks of shields and spears raised high to protect themselves from the crashing tentacles and gaping maws, yet the rank couldn't hold for so long, for the formation itself was designed to hold off line of men and not four meter tall raging eldritch monster. And as the result, some of the men in the line aren't fortunate enough to survive the tide of rampaging monsters.
Some are instantly constricted to death by the waves of raging tentacles that's extends out to grab it's preys, some have their bodies trampled into a paste of finely ground meat by the ginormous goat-like hooves clasing down upon the ground, or even have their heads bitten off by the ravaing maws, which devour and bite like a bloody starving beast.
The number of the Whitehawk Company's men quickly drops like small fruit flies getting swatted by a fly termination machine, as if they were nothing against the tidal waves of such monstrosities, powerless to do any meaningful damage to their foes, which predictably, result in wave of hopelessness and despair stemming forth from their heart and deepest primal instinct.
Seeing that the tide is starting to turn, some of the mercenary men flee the scene in fear for their lives despite the baleful gaze of Jane and the unchanging face of Elena, as she knows that lord Victor does not take kindly at to those who're deserters, even if the situation is this dire, they should just wait for the official retreat order rather than faces with her lord ingeniously terrible way of inhumane punishment.
Elena, watching the situation unfold, commands the gunline to open fire once again, now from an elevated position, but now not a random fire at will order nor in sparse chaotic volleys, but with a surgical focus fire to bring down such beasts one by one, using their pinpoint accuracy combined with such overwhelming firepower.
"Focus fire! Target, furthest to the left! Fire!!!" she shouts in command as she as well shoots at the target, while the slews of bullets *fwsh* through the air and hit the same target over and over again until even its monstrous regenerative abilities are overstretched to the limit, and every cell in its eldritch body collapses like a deflated balloon into a pile of black, acidic sticky goo.
Target after target falls to the same trick, as the momentum of the battle shifts from a hopeless last stand into the holding them off until the guns can win us the day.
Then the situation gets even better as the field guns are miraculously got drawn uphill by the artillery company's mighty working steeds, specially selected and trained for this job, they quickly set themselves up behind the rubble, and sending their accurate solid shot through the monsters' bodies and exploding them into bit and pieces as if they were nothing but a target practice.
After a while, the situation stabilizes as the last monster is put back down onto the dirt like the beast it is, by the might of man and their technological wonders.
Now, the battered forces of Elena and Jane, energized by their repeated victories against even such overwhelming foes, glance forward at the Blackstone Castle keep with determination. Tonight they'll finish off their foes and come out on top. For they now believe wholeheartedly in the 'Wunderwaffe' they possess, and have become those who fear nothing, as they reorganized for one last time for the final assault to reinforce the still missing, 'Third Stormtrooper Squadron'.
Under the gentle moonlight and starry skies, they steel themselves and march once more over the field of corpses trample them with their jackboot, into the battered keep with such a determination rival even the god of war.