"Speedsters, fall out."
Ilyas's voice cut through the formation.
A heavy thud followed as boots hit the ground together. From the main line, selected soldiers stepped out and formed a new rank.
No hesitation. No disorder.
Only discipline.
Ilyas walked along the line. His eyes moved from one soldier to the next. He stopped at the front.
"We send recon first," he said.
He turned slightly toward Eli.
"We take control until we link with Warden Siegel."
Eli gave a small nod.
"We hold command until then. No delays."
Behind them, Remmington and Wasco lowered their heads.
A Warden outranked them. Until they reached Hildebert Siegel, their role was simple.
Follow. Execute. Survive.
Ilyas stepped forward again.
"First rank, move to the smoke."
His voice stayed calm.
"Second rank moves in fifteen minutes. Keep distance between units."
He paused.
"You set a relay chain. No breaks in comms."
A few helmets shifted.
"Avoid contact," Ilyas said. "You are not the strike force. You are the eyes."
His gaze hardened.
"If engaged, break away and report."
He pointed to the smoke on the horizon.
"Air support follows."
Then he looked at Eli.
A silent check.
Eli met his eyes.
"Proceed."
One word.
Final.
Ilyas turned.
"Move."
The first rank launched forward at once, bodies turning into blurs as they crossed the ground.
In seconds, they were gone.
The second rank did not move.
They waited.
Counting time.
Holding position.
At the fifteen minute mark, they started running. The faster speedsters held themselves back so they would not break the relay. They had done this relay network formation hundreds of times. It was muscle memory to them.
After an hour or so, the communication relay was set. Information started pouring in. The speedsters spoke so fast that only Ilyas could understand them.
"21 standard Synthiss combatants and 6 warforms they haven't seen before," Ilyas told the group.
"The six warforms are the new variants we told you about," Remmington said.
"What's their tier?" Dain asked as he loaded his pistols.
"On average, C-tier," Wasco said.
The Synthiss, beasts, and mutants were divided into 6 tiers based on how strong they are, along with some different categories. S, A, B, C, D, E, F.
F being the weakest and S being the strongest. There were very few humans in the universe that could match up to S, such as the emperor and empress.
"Sergeant Korr and Captain Sols will team up to take care of one warform. Me and Defense Administrator Remmington will take care of one," Ilyas said before he was interrupted by Remmington.
Sergeant Korr has killed E-level alone. Together with Captain Rha Sols, they must be able to handle a C-tier.
"My mutation is invisibility. It won't work well with a speedster. I suggest you work with Lieutenant Wasco. He is strong enough to hold his ground with you."
Ilyas looked at the old man. He felt that this was an old man past his prime now commanding troops, but the medals on his chest must be proof he is reliable.
"Very well then. Me and the lieutenant will take care of one."
"I and my troops will take care of one."
"We have three hundred troops. 70 troops for one warform. The remaining 90 go to take care of the Synthiss combatants."
"I will assist the troops against the Synthiss combatants," Eli said. Outnumbering a Synthiss combatant at roughly four to one is not a good ratio to kill them without making sacrifices.
All of them nodded. Remmington and Wasco had doubt. As far as they knew, Eli Zenith was a mutantless warden of Deoxy.
The troops started marching in the same direction the speedsters ran, absorbing the speedsters who were in position as relay nodes for communication.
Soon they reached Outpost 7. It was a storage post used for redistribution to other peripheral outposts. It did not have much defense. Any threat was supposed to be handled by the other outposts.
There were still some infantry troops putting resistance against the Synthiss, but it was obvious they were getting destroyed.
A loud explosion occurred as a cannon fired behind a building. A soldier had shot a plasma cannon at a Synthiss warform.
The plasma cannon did not even leave a scratch on its armor.
The Synthiss warform was more than seven feet tall, with a hunch on its back used to mount artillery. It had seven digits on each hand, each like steel cables used for construction. Its legs were muscular like a T-rex. It had grey skin and a mask covering its entire face, supplying a special gas to keep it active.
Synthiss warforms are specially engineered beings grown in vats. When a Synthiss combatant dies, their brain is transplanted into the warform. The trauma from death makes them nearly unintelligent, but they are still commandable due to years of orders drilled into their brain.
Ilyas and Wasco looked at each other.
Ilyas looked at Eli.
"We will distract this. You guys carry on."
Eli and Wasco moved forward. The rest of the troops passed around the warform.
"What's your mutation?" Ilyas asked Wasco.
"Enhanced senescence," Wasco said. "I don't think you will understand what it means. Basically, I have enhanced strength and healing."
"Well then, you provide support and I will damage it bit by bit."
"No, commander. I will get it in position and land heavy blows. You restrict its movement."
The warform turned.
Its back split open.
Plates slid apart with a hard mechanical sound.
The artillery rose from the hunch, locking into place.
It did not wait.
It fired.
Fast.
Three shots in a tight burst.
The ground exploded where Ilyas stood, dirt and broken stone thrown into the air.
He was already gone.
A blur cutting low across the ground.
He moved left, then right, sharp turns with no pattern.
The warform tracked him.
Too well.
It adjusted mid-fire, correcting faster than expected.
One shot landed close.
The blast caught Ilyas on the side.
It threw him off balance.
He spun once in the air, hit the ground hard, rolled, and pushed himself back up.
"Fast," he said.
It moved.
Not heavy.
Not slow.
Its weight did not slow it at all.
It dashed forward in a single step.
The ground cracked under its foot.
Then it was on Wasco.
No wind-up.
No warning.
It swung.
Wasco raised his arms to block.
Too late.
The hit landed clean across his guard.
A deep crack echoed out.
His body bent from the force and he flew back across the ground, skidding over dirt and broken concrete.
He bounced once.
Twice.
Then stopped.
The warform was already moving again.
It closed the distance instantly.
It grabbed his leg.
Lifted.
Slammed him down.
Hard.
Then again.
Then again.
Each impact drove him deeper into the ground.
The hits came fast, one after another with no gap between them.
The earth beneath him began to break and sink.
Ilyas rushed in.
Full speed.
He aimed for its side and struck.
Nothing.
The impact did not slow it.
He grabbed its arm and pulled, trying to shift its balance.
The warform reacted at once.
Too fast.
It turned mid-motion and let go of Wasco.
Its other arm came around in a wide backhand.
The hit landed clean.
Ilyas was thrown through the air and into a wall.
The impact cracked the surface.
He dropped to the ground.
The warform turned back to Wasco.
It raised its foot.
Paused for less than a second.
Then brought it down.
Direct.
Wasco's chest caved in under the weight.
The sound was dull and heavy.
Dust lifted into the air.
His body went still.
Ilyas pushed himself up.
Slow.
Blood ran down from his forehead.
He forced himself forward again.
Faster this time.
He circled the warform, striking at joints, pulling at its limbs, trying to shift its stance.
Nothing worked.
It did not react.
"Get up," he said.
No response.
The warform's artillery locked into position again.
The barrel lowered.
It aimed straight at Wasco's body.
It fired.
The blast hit directly.
Flames and smoke covered the area.
For a moment, nothing moved.
Only the sound of burning debris.
Then something shifted inside the smoke.
A hand pressed against the ground.
Slow.
Unsteady.
Wasco pushed himself up.
His chest moved as bones forced themselves back into place under the skin.
The sound was sharp.
His shoulder snapped back into alignment.
Burned skin tightened and closed.
His face changed.
Lines deepened.
His skin looked older, rougher.
His eyes sharpened.
He took a deep breath.
"I'm still here."
The warform dashed again.
Faster now.
It crossed the distance in an instant.
It drove a punch straight into Wasco.
Wasco blocked.
The impact forced him back several steps.
His arms cracked under the pressure.
He held, but just barely.
The next hit came immediately.
Stronger.
Faster.
It landed clean.
Wasco dropped to one knee.
His arm bent at a wrong angle, hanging loose.
The warform grabbed his head.
Its fingers tightened.
Slow pressure.
Building.
Ilyas moved.
A blur cutting straight toward them.
He did not slow.
He jumped.
His foot hit the warform's thigh, then pushed off its back.
He reached the artillery mount.
He struck the joint.
Fast.
Again.
Again.
Metal bent.
The cannon misfired.
An explosion burst from one side.
The warform jerked.
Its grip loosened.
Wasco dropped to the ground.
Hard.
Still.
The warform adjusted.
Even faster now.
It dashed toward Ilyas mid-air.
Too fast to follow.
It caught him.
One hand around his torso.
Then drove him into the ground.
The impact shook the area.
Ilyas coughed blood as the air left his lungs.
The warform raised its arm to finish him.
Then Wasco moved.
Fast.
Faster than before.
He stepped in and caught the arm mid-swing.
Stopped it.
His broken arm had already fixed.
It looked thicker now.
Veins stood out under the skin.
His face had aged again.
But his body held firm.
"Hold still," Wasco said.
The warform pulled against his grip.
It could not break free.
Ilyas rolled to the side.
Forced himself up.
Ran again.
Full speed.
He struck the warform's leg from behind and pulled.
At the same time, Wasco twisted the arm he held.
The warform lost balance for a brief moment.
Just enough.
Ilyas ran up its back again.
His strikes landed on the same point at the neck.
Fast.
Precise.
Crack.
The armor split open slightly.
A narrow opening formed.
The warform reacted instantly.
It bent backward with unnatural speed.
It threw Ilyas off.
He hit the ground hard and did not get up at once.
The warform turned toward him.
It dashed.
Wasco stepped in front.
He took the hit directly.
The impact folded his body inward.
His spine shifted under the skin, bending in a way it should not.
For a second, he did not move.
Then it started to fix itself.
Slow.
Painful.
Bone moved back into place.
His posture straightened.
He stood again.
Older.
Much older now.
But heavier.
Stronger.
He grabbed the warform with both hands.
Locked it in place.
"Now," he said.
Ilyas forced himself up.
Every movement slower than before.
He ran anyway.
One last burst of speed.
He struck the cracked point again.
Once.
Twice.
Then moved clear.
Wasco pulled his arm back.
Slow.
Heavy.
Then drove it forward.
Straight into the opening.
His arm pushed through the armor and deep into the warform's body.
All the way in.
The warform froze.
Its body shook once.
Then it collapsed.
Heavy.
Still.
Wasco pulled his arm out.
He stepped back.
Breathing steady.
His face looked much older now.
Ilyas looked at him.
"You proved why you are the old man in a job where young ones die."
Wasco wiped the blood from his mouth.
"I am only turning 28 next month, commander."