Chapter 33

The thunderous roars of lightning streaked across the dark gray skies. Corpses piled, charred as they were consumed by the scorching glow. Their hair disintegrated, releasing a foul sulfuric odor while the dancing flame remade their bones into ash. Despite the detestable stench, the busied individuals surrounding the carcasses worked tirelessly in preparation for the upcoming battle. Among them, illuminated by the soft light of the torches, a woman stood stern and watched the chaotic scuffle unfold.

“Curse these senseless fools…” She muttered under her breath. Armored from the neck down with a mixture of metal and leather, her attire sacrificed impenetrability for mobility.

She pushed aside the strand of hair that separated itself from her golden, curled plait braid and glared at their detained ambushers with detest and ire. The woman wanted to strangle them with her own bare hands, but she showed restraint, for the dead could not be questioned.

“You should rest while you can, Inquisitor Servia. A greater battle lies ahead.”

Servia turned her head to face the approaching man, her gentle, hazel green eyes contradicted the words that escaped her lips.

“I will rest when we know the Witch is dead. When those that oppose us beg for forgiveness, and when humanity, again, bask under the everlasting embrace of Solis.” She approached the man and pounded her chest, “Or when my body fails me, such that I can fight no more.”

“Impressive conviction, Inquisitor. To think that you were once the fragile child I called ‘sister.’”

The woman sighed and crossed her arms. “We do not speak of those days, Livius. I am no longer the little girl that begged for crumbs.”

“Or snuck from my plate when she believed I was not looking.” The armored man laughed.

“You were aware?!” Flustered, she averted her gaze. “Nevermind that! We were only children.”

“Ha, indeed, Inquisitor. And now, I finally meet the sister I missed so much.” Livius smiled and patted Servia’s shoulder. “Neglect neither your health nor happiness, I will not always be there, my dear sister.”

“Are you here just to taunt me, Livius?”

“Taunt? I merely entertain,” he jested. “I also wish to inform you of the results of the interrogation.”

“The swines spoke? This quickly?”

“Indeed, Inquisitor.” The man straightened his figure as his banter faded. “Their will, it is as weak as they come. Barely finished with one hand before most began to squeal.”

“And what are the fruits of your labor?”

“The intersection ahead, another ambush awaits.” Livius led Servia to a nearby table where a map was laid out and pointed to a cross-section. “Here, they lay burrowed.”

“Their tenacity for such treachery… Are you sure of this, Livius?”

“Of the five, four spoke the same words.”

“And the last?”

“Died with dignity.”

“...” The inquisitor stared at the map, entangled in deep thought.

“Shall I interrogate the rest just to be sure, Inquisitor?”

“No need, we must preserve what little time we have.” Servia traced her index finger along the road until it met with the railroad tracks. “There, the track junctions. We can circle around the ambush from there and catch them off guard.”

“If that is your will.” Right as Livius began to leave, the woman stopped him.

“One thing still bothers me…” She voice with a displeased scowl. “How did they know of our arrival? Of our path? Have any of the captives mentioned this?”

“Very little… But some vaguely mentioned of these informants… If my mind has not yet failed me, I believe our assailants were deceived by the despoilers.”

“Curse it!” Servia slammed her fist on the table. “The Order hinders us at every turn! Do they not know what is to come?! The plight of the Second Witch may soon be upon us and yet, they continue their meaningless squabbles! Humanity should be united together in the presence of such a threat. And yet, they continue to pillage and plunder us for the very resources our people desperately need! How can they be so short-sighted?!”

Livius grabbed his iron helmet and held it in his hands.

“If I may, Inquisitor… The greedy, they do not heed to reason… only to their own shameless desires… I will inform the men to head out.” Livius placed the helmet upon his head and scurried off.

Servia continued to observe the map, it was difficult to plan alternative routes as most of the map was still shrouded in mystery. It was not their first campaign into these lands, but most of the archives from the previous missions were destroyed, forcing them to rely on the accompanying Oracles as scouts.

“Duilius!” She called and quickly, a man hastily arrived.

“Yes, Inquisitor. What do you need of me?”

“Has Oracle Faustus returned?”

The man shook his head. “I’m afraid not, he is way overdue… Shall I send out more?”

“No, I do not wish to condemn any more of the faithful to their deaths.” Servia contemplated her options, “instead, have them watch the outer perimeters as we move. Caution them to immediately inform us of anything suspicious.”

“Yes, Inquisitor. May Solis watch over us.”

When Duilius left, the woman began to massage her temple. Her men were not well adapted to this sort of warfare. Up until now, their opponents faced them openly in the field of battle, which was the preferred way of combat. Although her men were adapting, they still incurred heavy losses. Servia’s mind swayed and wondered. Even if she was to win this engagement, will they be able to face the Witch, if they find her? The thought of retreat slowly crept onto her, forcing her to wonder whether they should return to Ember-Plains.

No! She retorted internally, for she knew if the Witch was left to its own vices, many more will die.

“Check your belongings and ready your weapons!” she yelled. “We are moving out!”

...

To Servia’s dismay, the army traversed at an abysmal rate. One of the first things their ambushers targeted was the supply vehicles. Most of the ammunition and food were still intact, but they were forced to manually haul the materials along.

The Cultists marched in a column formation. Light infantry marched on the outer edges and acted as the first responders. Most of the heavily armored Purifiers guarded the supplies along with the specialists, while the rest of the heavy infantry were dispersed evenly along the column to allow them to provide firepower wherever needed.

Surrounding Servia were her personal guards, a group of handpicked elites hardened by countless battles. Armed with the most devastating of the cult’s arsenal, they were a force to be reckoned with. Leading them was her elder brother and dearest friend, Livius.

“We near the track-junction, Inquisitor,” informed Livius. “Shall we split up the men and strike the enemy from both flanks?”

“That is difficult to say, I am unsure whether a clear path exists in both directions.” Servia pressed her teeth into her lower lip. “We only cripple ourselves if we fight at half potential. A strong blow could not be dealt with a weak hammer.”

“An assault from one direction may not suffice, Inquisitor.”

“I understand your fears, but we will have to make due with what we have.”

“Fears?!” The man snorted, “I know of no fears.”

“Is that so?” Servia crossed her arms. “You wife tells me differently.”

“Well, she is not here, Inquisitor. Thus, I have no fears… here.”

“Inquisitor!” a voice screamed. It belonged to a limping man, supported by one of the Blood Priests.

“Is that…? The woman squinted her eyes. “It’s Oracle Faustus! Let him through.”

As Faustus approached the inquisitor, Livius stepped between them.

“Halt, that is close enough!” Livius demanded. “Explain your tardiness!”

“My deepest apologies, but we were attacked, hunted down mercilessly.” The oracle spoke in a frantic manner with painful gasps of air in between his sentences. “They were skilled hunters with silenced weapons…! We could not spot them!”

“Enough of your excuses! What is your reaso-”

BOOOOOOM!

A loud explosion rocked the formation. Even the elite guards were taken aback by the abrupt spectacle.

“AMBUSH!” A man screamed at the top of his lungs, only to be overwhelmed by the sound of even more explosions.

“Wha-?” The inquisitor glared at the limping man. “DID YOU KNOW OF THIS?!”

“N-No Inquisitor!” Faustus panicked, stumbling on his own tongue. “I-I-I’ve only just returned!”

“No matter!” Servia withdrew her weapon and yelled her commands. “BATTLE FORMATIONS!”

The Guardians, who wielded a curved, rectangular shield, scattered and readied their light machine guns. Since the shield covered the front of them from head to toe, a hole was carved into the reinforced metal to allow the men to fire their weapons.

Servia’s men hurriedly dashed for the nearest cover and scanned the environment for their assailants, some of her men even hid behind the Guardians who steadily advanced to engage their enemies.

“I SEE THEM!” One screamed, pointing to the second floor of a desolate building. The nearby Oracle quickly fired a flare directly into the window of the structure. Several figures were highlighted by the orange light as the flare whistled through the air. Immediately, shots peppered their assailant’s location endlessly. As they focused on one location, an attack surfaced from another. The surviving Oracles launched their flares continuously, eventually transforming the battlefield into a hellscape of demonic red glow. Between the pops of gunpowder and the neverending explosions that rang vigorously, cries of pain-filled screams tested the resolves of men on both sides.

Having taken shelter behind a cluster of rusting vehicles, Servia and her guards attempted to formulate their retaliation.

“Are we completely surrounded?” Servia questioned.

“No, Inquisitor, only the front half of our formation has been engaged,” Livius answered. “It seems they’ve spun their trap a moment too soon.”

“Good.” Servia then directed her attention to the frontlines. They were at a standstill, a constant exchange of bullets with only the occasional unlucky individual struck. What frustrated her was their enemy’s usage of explosives. The mere resulting shockwaves fell some of her most heavily armored men, and a direct hit dismembered them. The once impenetrable Purifiers and Guardians were forced to hide behind walls and piles of concrete.

“Augustus! Felix!” The inquisitor commanded, “Lead the rear reserves and burn these cowards from their wretched coves.”

“As you wish, Inquisitor.” They both responded, before hastily heading toward the rear.

Servia knew that they could not retreat without leaving themselves open to heavy casualties. It was a fight she would have rather avoided, but her hands were tied. Some of the men from the rear arrived, reinforcing their positions. The inquisitor peeked from her cover and surveyed the situation. A well placed molotov cocktail would easily clear their opponent’s positions, and the Purifier's intense flames were even more devastating in cramped spaces, being able to clear entire buildings by themselves with ease. However, the explosives employed by their opponents drenched every inch of ground gained in her legion's blood.

“Curse it!” Servia lamented. “How were they able to acquired such potent explosives?”

Throughout her service to her lord, Bishop Decimus, she had encountered countless variations of the short-fuse weapons. Some even surprised her with their creative use of chemicals. Yet, none were as volatile as the ones she faced today. Usually, scrap metal was wrapped around the explosive to act as the lethal projectile. Those were only devastating to the lightly armored, most of the heavily armored only received light injuries, even when hit directly. These explosives, however, burned at a bright white after their initial blinding flash. Their ignition consumed the ones unlucky enough to be near it, while the resulting toxic smoke seared off any exposed flesh it touched.

“This may be another deed by the despoilers.”

“I would doubt it, Livius. The Order does not share their secrets.”

“That is indeed true, Inquisitor.” Livius twisted the canister on his flamethrower, tightening it. “What are your plans? These barbarians will pick us apart, one by one, if we do not fight back.”

“Bring forth the smoke bombs, we will deny them of their sight and charge them. Have the men take position within the structures after they’ve cleared it. Once Felix and Augustus have successfully secured our flanks, we will bombard the area in smoke once again and advance.”

Her guards acknowledged her orders and moved into position, they used runners to relay their order throughout the frontlines.

When confirmation was received, Servia shot a flare into the skies. As if rehearsed, her men simultaneously threw their smoke bombs, forming a wall of dense, white mist. Then, a symphony of fervent clamor emerged. The men charged fearlessly through the veiling fog and stormed their ambushers’ positions. Building after building was ignited in heated conflict. Blasts of fire and debris gusted out of the windows as bodies fell one after another.

Servia kicked the still standing entrance of a relatively stern structure. She pulled the pin off her concussion grenade and tossed it onto the building while her body pressed against the outer walls for cover. Screams ruptured immediately after the loud bang of the grenade. Her men charged in, without hesitation or remorse, they unleashed their weapons of flame and scorched every room and the content within, sentient or not, they were all charred black.

After checking every room, Servia’s guards gave the all-clear.

“This building has been purified, Inquisitor.” Livius unequipped his helmet. “It seems our brothers face equal success.”

The inquisitor cautiously peeked out of a nearby window and saw that the area was steadily falling under their control. What remained of their assailants that survived the onslaught fled through the gaping orifices of their hideouts. Mercilessly, they were gunned down.

“Degenerates,” she muttered. “Running away with their tail between their legs.”

“Indeed, Inquisitor,” Livius said as he joined Servia in observation of the scenery. “One questions how they mustered the will to attack us in the first place.”

“Have you heard from Augustus and Felix yet, Livius?”

“Their words have not yet reached us, but I have no doubt in their impending success.”

“We must follow these savages.” Servia’s glared at the roads with eyes as sharp as blades. “End this once and for all.”

“Inquisitor? Shall we not wait for our brothers?”

“If we allow them to regroup, it will be just another ambush.” She replaced the clip in her submachine gun. “I tire of these pestering insects.” The woman adjusted her gauntlet and exited the building.

...

Servia’s men were on the move once again. Although they hurried their movements, they did not neglect vigilance. The bulk of the army, along with the heavy infantry, charged forward, moving from cover to cover while the light infantry cleared the surrounding buildings. Oracles, dispersed throughout the spearhead of the formation, scouted the roads ahead, ready to tag their enemies with flares.

“Remain cautious, brothers!” the inquisitor commanded. “Where there is one rat, there is an infestation. Leave no stone unturned!” Although her voice was saturated with confidence, suspicion slowly crept into the back of her mind. The buildings were mostly clear. Occasionally, a few isolated stragglers from the previous encounter would be found and quickly put down, but there was nothing she would have considered as a resistance.

“Have they given up?” her lips mumbled. Just then-

BOOOOOOOOOOM!

A roar of a deafening proportion shattered their eardrums. The unexpected noise startled the inquisitor, causing her body to jolt.

“What was…?!” Servia’s eyes met the source of the noise. One of the buildings that her some of her men were clearing collapsed.

“TAKE COVER!” she ordered.

Her troops ran toward the nearby structures for cover.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

Another structure shattered into rubble with her men inside.

“The buildings…” she stuttered. “They’re booby-trapped.”

Upon hearing Servia, Livius immediately shouted. “Hurry! Warn the men to stay clear of the buildings.”

The Cultists scattered along the stretch of abandoned road, hiding behind what little cover they could find. Tightly packed, the buildings formed a wall that prevented anyone from diverting from the straightforward path.

The crackle of gunfire rang once again as bullets ricochet off the concrete and rusted metal the Cultists used for cover. Not knowing where their opponents hid, the Oracles fired their flares and illuminated the wide stretch of road in hopes of finding their enemy. Despite the uncertainty, the Cultists fired in the general direction of the incoming shots.

HwooooooOOOO-BOOOOM!

From the heavens, whistles fell behind them, ending in a burst of hot gas and smoke. Then another fell, likes droplets from a leaking faucet, they splattered onto the ground below.

“MORTAR!” Servia screamed. “TAKE COVER!” She knew that there was a possibility that another trap could have been set. The whole reasoning behind the rapid chase was to strike at her enemy while they were still preparing. However, nothing went as planned. It seemed as if the trap was already set when the first ambush occurred, and the retreat, just another phase of the plan. They were like trapped mice, entangled by their own greed with death soon to be on their doorsteps.

The shelling from the mortar inched closer, separating her forces in half and forcing her men to advance. Some attempted to charge through the mortar fire but were quickly laced with shrapnel and toxic gas. Others took their gamble and ran into the nearby structures for cover. Only after a few brief moments of peace, a loud, internal rupture pulverized the building.

“Throw every smoke bomb you have! Shroud the roads in mist!” Servia knew that she had only two options: stay put and let the mortar decimate her men or give her enemy what they wanted and charge. Servia tightened her fist and gritted her teeth, for she knew what she had to do.

“Bravery, loyalty, honor, and glory, these are what Solis requires of us! Let us charge through the gates of Hell! Let us sing our choir to the lasts of our breath! LET US SHOW THESE BARBARIANS THE MEANING OF VALOR! WITH OUR MARCH, SOLIS SHINES BRIGHTER, FOR WE ARE THE BRINGERS OF LIGHT!”

The crowd cheered in harmony. Years of fighting and devotion had strengthened their resolve, for they knew that: in darkness, Solis shall give them new light. The Cultists did not fear their deaths, they feared only a pointless death, thus why they fought to the last of their strength.

Servia gripped her weapon tightly and inhaled in a deep breath. Sweat drenched her clothing as unpleasant thoughts gripped her mind. The smoke was now thick enough to be cut with a knife. The Inquisitor took another breath.

“SHOW THEM NO MERCY!” The woman ran out of her cover and into the smoke with every able-bodied man and woman following closely behind her. Their voices roared in unison, drowning out even the continuous streams of gunfire. One fell after another as the hailstorm of shots tore through the densely packed cloud. Even Servia had been struck a few times, however, the adrenaline rushing through her veins allowed her to ignore the pain. Mortar rounds continued to drop behind them, but no one dared to look back. They knew that if they were to trip and fall, they would be confronted by the cold and brutal embrace of twisted metal.

AHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhh…..

As the Cultists exited the smoke, their fervent battle cries quickly dissipated. Servia stared with her eyes gaped wide. They were in an open field where there was no cover, no solace, and no escape. Before them, the stubby, gigantic barrels of motley tanks, built from various welded scrap metal, pointed directly toward them. The smoke had allowed Servia and her men to approach the enemy lines, but it also denied them vision of what was to come.

Servia raised her weapon and aimed it at the armored vehicle. No matter how futile, how hopeless, she had to keep on fighting. She did not choose to be born into this world, no one did. Instead of giving in to the ever-ravenous uncertainty, she fought with all her might. A starved child, an unwanted orphan, a scum of the slums, but a quitter Servia was not.

Before her weapon could even fire, the blunderbuss cannon thundered its munition. The violent gust of the scattered pellets zoomed past her, one, in particular, struck her left arm and rendered it useless. For a brief second, she heard the screams of her men. Yet, when she turned around, only mounds of flesh greeted her.

“No…” she muttered. “Livius…”

Servia clenched her jaw and gawked at the scrap-built tank. With her still functioning arm, she fired continuously at the vehicle’s metal plating; all the while, cursing it with her solemn song.

“CURSE YOU! CURSE YOU AND YOUR GODFORSAKEN KIND! YOU KNOW NOTHING!” The tank ignored her, firing past her to the brave men that followed her as if mocking her powerlessness. Around the tank, her enemy sprayed what was left of the Cultists with lead and shrapnel. “YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IS TO COME! THE WITCH WILL STRIKE AGAIN! YOU’VE DOOMED US! YOU’VE DOOMED US ALL!”

Finally, it was her turn. The barrel turned toward her right when her voice began to waver. Tired and bleeding, Servia fell to her knees. Her face was pale and her arm trembled uncontrollably. Despite all, the woman never stopped firing her weapon until it eventually ran out of ammunition. Now the cannon aimed directly at her, she closed her eyes and accepted her fate.

BOOM!

Servia heard a loud explosion, yet she was still alive. She opened her eyes to see that the vehicle had blown up right in front of her. She did not understand what had happened or had the strength to try. Swaying side to side, the woman collapsed and lost consciousness.

***

After the devastating battle, the victors began to tend to their respective duties amid the piles of corpses. Some maintained their weapons and others checked their equipment. Temporary clinics were set up in the surrounding buildings where the wounded received their much-needed treatments. Food was distributed and the soldiers of the Coalition ate it gleefully, even if the prevalent smell disturbed them. Driving down the road, the custom treads of a scrap-built tank crushed the decaying flesh underneath.

“What?! The boiler’s leakin’ again?” Louis lamented with his raspy voice. “Well, fix it then. I don’t got all day!” He pushed open the top hatch of the tank turret and exited the vehicle. The old man took his sweet time breathing in the fresh air. Compared to the moist, hot interior of the tank, the cold breeze was heavenly.

During the battle, Louis was not sure what would have killed him off first, the charging Cultists or the musky air within the cabin. If he had known the plan would have been this successful, he would have opened all the hatches amidst the fighting.

“Boss, this is going to take a while.” The man’s grandson and compatriot, Ralph, popped his head out of the same hatch. “Two new leaks and a bunch of loose patches.”

“Just tape it like we always do, we’ll give it a proper fix once we get back.”

“Uh… Boss…” Ralph hesitated as he was visibly worried. “Billy’s boiler blew him to shits. I-I don’t want that to happen to us.”

“You sayin’ my baby’s a poorly built sack of shit, like Billy’s?”

“N-No, Boss!”

“Then get back to fixin’, dipshit.”

Louis would have been lying if he had said Billy’s death did not shake him. The four ‘Tea-Kettle Tanks’, as they called them, relied on steam boilers to power the tank’s internal components. Slow and heavy, the ‘Tea-Kettle Tanks’ mostly acted as mobile gun platforms.

Louis released a relieving sigh when the two other tanks rolled in with minimal damage. Each tank was piloted by its creator, losing any more of the skilled craftsman would have been a terrible blunder.

When the Coalition called its members into action, the town of Junkscrap answered with four of its tanks, putting him in charge. Although few in numbers, the vehicles proved to be devastating against the infantry-focused Cultists.

With a dirty rag, Louis began to clean the blood and dirt off his machine. The tank was his pride and he treated it like his own child.

In the town of Junkscrap, it was a tradition for each family to construct their own contraptions. As the name suggests, the settlement was founded on a massive scrapyard initially believed to hold countless valuable artifacts. When it was discovered that nothing but broken junk resided there, the settlers had no choice but to settle down and make do with what they had. Years of experimentation resulted in a colony of innovators and inventors. Their creations were often varied and complex, but more than anything, they were dangerous. Explosions were a common occurrence, their machines often broke down or malfunctioned with disastrous results. The people of Junkscrap were more likely to die in a self-caused explosion than of anything else; hence why the citizens of this town were dubbed as the ‘Hazardous Engineers.’

The old man vehemently attempted to scrub away the stains until one of the Tea-Kettle Tanks pulled up beside him. The hatch opened and an old woman wearing goggles popped her head out.

“Oi!” She yelled over the rumbling of the engine. “The hell happened to Billy?”

Louis spat on his rag and tossed it onto his tank. “His boiler blew him to shit, that’s what.”

“Is he dead?”

“The hell you think, his ass is sky high flying?”

“Shoot!” The old lady wiped her forehead with her sleeve. “That’s no way to go.”

“Well, I told Billy to replace that darn boiler for months now.” The man spat onto the floor. “Another dang engineer lost to some stupid shit.” Louis grumbled to himself for a bit before he changed the subject. “So how things go on your end?”

“Them Cult people sure are some fast runners, a few even got close to hoppin’ on Old Betty here.” She patted the side of the turret. “But them brute boys got them first. I’ll tell you what, they may got nothin’ but muscle for brains, but it’s still muscle.”

“Brute boys?” the man questioned. “You mean them inbreds from Ravenstead?”

The Ravenstead Boys, as they called themselves, were all large and bulky. Food was ample for them as they resided in lands surrounded by rich rivers and fertile soil, therefore the town of Ravenstead held an abnormally high and ‘meaty’ population.

“Inbreds?” The woman scratched her head. “I didn’t know they did somethin’ like that.”

“Why else you think they look like they’ve been dropped in the face and sound like they got only half a brain?”

“Well, Louis, ain’t you a sack of wet cats.”

Louis dismissively waved off the old lady’s comments and continued to clean his vehicle. He had a personal grudge against the Ravenstead folk. In the earlier years of Junkscrap, food was always scarce, thus they had to rack their brains to create supplements. It was not so much that he was jealous of Ravenstead’s surplus in foodstuff but the fact that they used it to produce such idiotic brutes.

“Oi, Louis!”

“What?! You needin’ somethin’?!”

“Just wondering, but what them crazy lookin’ folk doin’?” The woman nudged her chin in the direction of a man digging through a pile of desecrated corpses.

“Who?” Louis glanced behind himself. “Them? The Yellowstone crackheads? Probably looking for body parts to throw into their sulfur pits. I wouldn’t go near them.”

“Man, you got sticks up your ass or somethin’, Louis? Them fellas ain’t look so bad.”

“Well, them fellas as dangerous as we are, except they don’t got a sound mind, ya hear? Ain’t never see someone try to smoke gunpowder before till they join.”

Being the third settlement to join the Coalition of the Outskirts, the town of Yellowstone was uncomfortably near the sulfur mines. Toxic gas often made its way into the town, slowly poisoning the minds of its inhabitants. Eventually, the disturbed citizens developed a liking to the poison. In their quest to find the perfect high, the Yellowstone junkies stumbled across all sorts of volatile explosives by accident. Some of which led to the development of the mortar that forced the Cultists into a corner.

“Well, I’ll leave them to their doin’s. My shoulder’s been hurtin’, so I’m gonna see if them nice ladies from Streamsteable can do something for me.” The old woman pulled herself out of the hatch and left while her driver followed closely behind.

“Finally, some peace,” Louis mumbled. As he finished up with his chore, the man heard a soft groan. Immediately, he pulled out his homemade pistol and scanned the bodies scattered on the ground. The old man approached the unmoving body of a woman who was still in one piece and touched her arm.

“The hell? This one’s still alive.”