Wyatt led a group forward, stalking through the rain with crouched positions and lowered backs. Many of them held assault rifles, their bodies strapped down with extended magazines.
If one looked closely, their fingers were already twitching over their triggers. The misfiring of their guns would be amped up a great deal in this situation, so they were already prepared to have quick and happy triggers.
Godsfall messed with the chemistry of their guns, and they had already seen this in action. But without Godsfall Steel to rely on like Zarek and Priya, their only solution was to bring more ammo than they needed—even if it meant weighing themselves down.
In this case, though, the added padding probably helped to protect their lives, restricting the flow of the rain from touching them too easily.
Wyatt held up a hand, stopping at the edge of a corner. He was the only one not carrying an excess of guns, his now-gloved hand already on the hilt of his sword.
Standing in silence, there was a frown on his face.
It was too quiet. They should have run into Turned by now, but there was nothing.
He peeked around the corner to look at the bridge. Obstructed by the tall walls of sand and cement bags, he couldn't see much at all. But that was the problem.
There was nothing to see.
How could it be so quiet? This was one of the main points the Turned should be trying to breach.
Though the river was a natural barrier, it didn't stop 100% of Turned—just the vast majority. If nothing else, there should at least be some making their way through that route.
Even if it had somehow stopped all of them, why weren't they climbing over the walls when there was no one to man them? One of the greatest weaknesses of walls built with these bags was just how many footholds they provided. Without GFI personnel gunning down Turned before they could make it over, there should be a flood of them by now.
But still… nothing.
Suspicious. Too suspicious.
Was GFI tricking them? What were they playing at? Was this a trap?
Wyatt's grip around his sword tightened, the heavy crimson rain making him blink behind his goggles as the condensation threatened to fog them over.
He knew there was no going back. The leaders of Pensare had sent him here knowing that a trap was a possibility. This was where he was supposed to earn his keep.
"Ready."
"Ready."
"With me," Wyatt followed up.
Not hesitating anymore, he rounded the corner and shot toward the bridge, his steps swift.
…
Zarek was about to move toward the Hub forming in the distance when he paused, slowly turning back. His Scouting Skill had just picked up on something behind him.
'Not Turned.'
He stood there in silence as one figure after another leapt over the walls, landing heavily on the ground. Crimson rain splashed up from puddles, emitting wisps of smoke that dissipated quickly.
These wisps would increase the Godsfall concentration in the air, marginally accelerating everyone's progression pace once it was all said and done.
Turned might get more acute benefits, but humans benefited in their own ways as well.
'Idiots.'
Zarek didn't believe any of them had the equipment to deal with the Crimson Rain right now. They thought they were delaying something, but within a few hours, they would realize they had gone beyond a point of no return.
If it was so easy, Zarek wouldn't have been so excited to find that Elixir.
Wyatt leapt over the last wall, suddenly coming face to face with Zarek. His body froze, his eyes landing on the sea of red flesh in the surroundings.
Even without having been here, he could see the systematic dismantling that must have taken place. This wasn't a battlefield—it was a butcher's shop, and the land was Zarek's chopping board.
Zarek just stood there, taking a breath and exhaling continuously. Plumes of crimson solar flares rose from his body, smoke billowing from his nose and the corners of his lips.
He didn't look like a human at all, but rather a raging bull ready to rampage at any moment. And yet, he carried the cool calmness of a predator.
There was none of the smiling expression that had once been there before. It wasn't a child Wyatt was facing anymore—it was a towering mountain countless beings far beyond his understanding feared to the deepest depths of their souls.
Wyatt's hand trembled on his blade. He tried to unsheathe it, but he found that his arm didn't have any strength in it at all.
Zarek's gaze lowered to the hilt as though he was waiting for Wyatt to make a move, but that was when Wyatt felt as though the world had gone completely black around him.
'I'm going to die.'
Never in his life had Wyatt had the thought so viscerally. He could practically smell the roses of the underworld tickling his nose, grazing against his neck and leaving their fragrance lingering across his skin.
"Tac—tactical formation… pri-priority threat…" Wyatt squeezed out through chattering teeth.
His team didn't seem to understand. There was only one enemy before them, and the sea of destruction couldn't possibly have been caused by Zarek alone in their view.
But they weren't the ones facing that gaze.
Still, they followed their orders, fanning out and aiming their guns. They positioned themselves in athletic forms that seemed ready to explode forth at any moment.
There were eight of them—not even including Wyatt. With their systematic training, there was little they couldn't accomplish.
"How many other teams are there acting tonight?" Zarek spoke, his voice far deeper now than it had ever been before. Or more accurately… than it had ever been in this life.
"I…" Wyatt caught himself as he realized he was actually about to answer. His cowardice seemed to flip a switch in him, becoming rage instead. But it was an irrational rage, uncontrolled and poorly directed.
His arm finally found some strength and he unsheathed his sword. It glistened in the rain, the crimson droplets falling along its body as though it were covered in the slickest of oils.
It was a beautiful blade, making it feel like just being caught by the reflection of light on its body could cut you in half.
It had the size and length of a katana, just the slightest curve arcing its body, while patterns of smoky black outlined half of it, leaving the other a shimmering, reflective silver.
"Shoot at will!" Wyatt commanded.
Click.
All of the guns misfired.
Every last one of them.
Zarek just stood there, unmoving, his gaze slowly shifting up from Wyatt's sword.
"I'll ask you one more time. How many?" Zarek said slowly.
The team immediately cleared their weapons, snapping rods and sections back into place and aiming again. To their credit, not a single one of them panicked, preparing themselves for another round as quickly as possible.
Click.
They echoed as one, misfiring once more.
"Okay." Zarek spoke again, his voice somehow even deeper than it had already been before.
He took a step forward—and in an instant, he had already appeared before Wyatt.