บท 8: Resonance of War
Black Ranger stood like an immovable force at the North corridor, flanked by his heavy commandos. The air was thick with tension, the kind that comes just before the storm breaks. The corridor ahead led directly to the enemy's simulator rooms, notorious for producing the toughest soldiers—heavily armored, heavily armed, and primed for battle. Black knew what was coming, and his mission was clear: hold the line, no matter what emerged from those doors.
His grip tightened on his weapon as he listened to the growing sound of marching footsteps. It was a steady, ominous rhythm, the kind that sent a chill down the spine of lesser men. But not Black. He lived for this kind of fight, thrived in the chaos. The harder the enemy hit, the harder he hit back.
"They're coming," Bastion, his AI, noted with calm certainty, his voice a constant presence in Black's mind.
Black grunted in response, eyes fixed ahead. He was a man of few words, his mind singularly focused on the task at hand. The enemy was close—too close to avoid direct confrontation. But that suited him just fine. Black never backed down from a fight, especially not when the stakes were this high.
Hold the line, break the enemy, don't let them through. Simple. Direct. That was how Black operated.
The first wave of enemy soldiers poured into the corridor. The Elvanurus stepped out of the smoke, their weapons glinting in the dim light—shields, spears, swords, and bows in hand, many of them mix-matched to suit each soldier's preference. It wasn't just their weapons that varied—each group of soldiers wore armor that corresponded to a specific color. Black had seen this before. Each color wasn't just aesthetic; it represented a different trait or innate ability shared by all soldiers of that color. Typically, they didn't mix and match, but something was off. The mismatched armor suggested they had been scrimmaging each other in the simulator rooms, practicing for the very battle they were now facing.
But Black didn't care. Abilities or not, hit them hard enough and fast enough, and it wouldn't matter.
Without a word, Black gave the signal. His commandos moved in unison, their heavy footsteps reverberating through the floor as they met the enemy head-on. The sound of metal striking metal filled the air, each hit producing a strange resonance effect, like a sour note echoing through the corridor. When Black's gauntleted fist collided with an Elvanurus shield, the impact sent a sharp, discordant sound ringing through the air—like a bell struck with too much force, but with a note that was just wrong. Flat, harsh, and jarring.
The vibration from the Elvanurus armor was different depending on the color. Each hit reverberated through their bodies, producing a slightly different sound—some sharp, others duller, depending on the trait associated with the color of their armor. Black noted the differences out of habit, but it didn't change his tactics. Whatever their abilities, it wouldn't save them.
The same resonance pulsed through Black's armor when the enemy struck back. Every punch, every hit of an Elvanurus spear or sword against their suits sent a wave of vibrations through their bodies, the armor singing with off-key notes. Black's chest rattled with the impact, the sound almost musical, but unsettling, like an instrument out of tune. His commandos felt it too, every hit resonating through their suits, sharp and flat notes ringing out with each clash of weapons and shields.
The enemy's spears jabbed forward, their shields raised high, but Black and his commandos countered with brutal efficiency. The corridor became a cacophony of sound—clashing swords, ringing shields, and the strange, discordant music of their armor reverberating with every blow. The resonance effect was almost like a grotesque symphony, a backdrop to the violence unfolding around them.
A heavy commando slammed the butt of his rifle into the chest plate of an Elvanurus soldier, the sound ringing out as a flat, hollow note. The soldier stumbled, and the commando capitalized on the moment, driving the soldier back with another strike, each blow accompanied by that strange, unsettling sound. Another commando deflected a spear with his gauntlet, the reverberation shooting up his arm, the sound a sharp, discordant hiss.
"They'll come harder next time," Bastion warned, scanning the heat signatures beyond the smoke.
But this wasn't just a standard wave. As the smoke parted, something far more terrifying stepped forward. It wasn't an ordinary soldier—it was a construct, a grotesque amalgamation that looked almost half-Edenoite, like a bodybuilder mixed with a giant cicada. Its hulking form towered over the battlefield, with sharp claws that glinted in the dim light and a carapace armor that extended from its back, gleaming like an impenetrable shell. The thing was monstrous, every inch of its frame screaming danger.
But what made it worse was the look in its eyes. The creature made direct eye contact with Black, its insectoid gaze locking onto him with a silent, unspoken message: You're mine.
That look sent a thrill through Black's veins, a surge of excitement that mirrored Bastion's own growing anticipation. This was no ordinary fight. This was the kind of challenge Black lived for. He could feel the tension in his muscles, the urge to charge surging through him, but before he could move, the creature beat him to it.
The cicada-like construct went berserk, charging into Black's commandos with terrifying speed and power. It was like watching a force of nature tear through them. The hulking figure threw them backward, tossing armored soldiers like they were nothing more than toys. One commando was slammed into the wall with a sickening crunch, his vital signs zeroing out on Black's HUD in an instant. Another was flung across the corridor, his body crumpling before he hit the ground.
The team was getting decimated.
Black's eyes narrowed. He had to get in there. The thrill of battle turned into a sharp focus as he prepared to face the monstrosity head-on. This thing was a brute, but that just meant it had a shell waiting to be cracked open.
"Noisemaker," he growled under his breath.
With a thought, his weapon shifted. The familiar hum of energy filled his hands as Noisemaker shifted into its large hammer mode. Black didn't hesitate. He surged forward, the world narrowing to just him and the construct. His commandos were still being thrown around like rag dolls, but Black's target was clear.
The creature's claws slashed through the air as it turned to face him, but Black was faster. He swung Noisemaker with all his might, the hammer coming down hard on the carapace armor that shielded the construct's back. The impact rang out, a sharp, discordant note that echoed through the corridor. The creature let out a screech, its shell absorbing the hit, but Black could feel it—there was a crack. He had made a dent.
It wasn't enough. Not yet.
The creature spun around, its claws slicing through the air toward Black. He barely dodged, feeling the rush of wind as the claws grazed his armor, sending a pulse of sharp vibrations through him. But Black didn't waver. He shifted Noisemaker again, the weapon morphing from hammer to axe in an instant. This time, he aimed for the opening he'd created, swinging with precision and brute force.
The axe blade bit into the crack, carving an opening in the creature's shell. The sound was sharp, like metal on stone, but Black didn't stop. With a final strike, the shell gave way, exposing the vulnerable interior beneath.
"Now," Bastion urged, his voice tinged with excitement.
Black didn't need to be told twice. He switched Noisemaker once more, the weapon transforming into its blaster mode. He leveled it at the exposed wound and fired, a massive blast of energy surging into the construct's insides. The creature let out a final, agonized screech, its body convulsing as the blast tore through it from within.
And then, silence. The hulking form collapsed, its claws twitching as the last remnants of life left its massive body. The corridor was still once more, the only sound the heavy breathing of Black and his remaining commandos.
Black stood over the fallen construct, the thrill of battle still coursing through his veins. He had cracked the shell, just as he knew he would.
"Let 'em send another," Black muttered, eyes narrowing as he surveyed the carnage around him. "We'll break them all."
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