Snowtalon: Sacred World, Part II
(Previous: I)
A Rodi descendant who, similarly to Snowtalon, was banished to Earth through powerful dimensional energies. She came from the planet of Rodir, a planet which was largely feudal but possessed some heavy supernatural and magical element to it. Mesira herself was a Rodi Descendent - powerful spirits in humanoid host bodies. However, Rodir's persistent magic energies and lack of sufficiently advanced technology was interesting, considering it was in the same system as Tralonia.
"Mesira Enthyertur here, is my own secret weapon. She is a powerful ally who can turn the tide of battle back in our favour, should Tharne have any particular...tricks, up his sleeve."
Drake's wrist-mounted computer flashed with a blue exclamation mark, his solid-blue eyes darting open. "We're getting close. Send in the Ospreys and Invictus will remain at the entrance to the city. Jormungandr will drop their guys in and Colonel Snowtalon can meet up with them."
"Make sure The Silver Lance hits the ground first, along with White Cobra. I doubt the Darkveil Associates will expect a few Liberavi to come crashing down on their heads." The Liberavi are a genetically-engineered race of avian humanoids, a member of which he had been good friends with. White Cobra, commonly known by his name of White Glint, was naive and somewhat idealistic.
His lack of experience came from being brought up by VIPER - he and his sister were captured by the terrorist organization and raised to be remorseless killers. This changed with time, of course, but it had been a rocky road for the young Liberavi. Now the Silver Lance, was a different story. They were a unique breed of Liberavi, very tall soldiers known as The Greys. They were rare nowadays, but Glint managed to gather four of them for this assault.
"Looks like everyone's done and dusted. Are the men ready to go, Belmonte?"
"Everyone's done and dusted. Just awaiting the order."
Snow's helmet slithered on to his head, rising up from the compartment inside his armor. The visor came on first, before the ventilator mask clamped on behind it. The frill and horn covers sprouted from the sides and top. Now connected over the comm system, he could address Tyrian and Praetor alike.
"All units, converge for Kizameth. I repeat, converge for Kizameth. Corde, get Jormungandr to bank near the undercity and drop in through insertion pods. Illusionista, Gauntlet, Mesira and myself will converge and meet up."
"Papa Four and Papa Three are deploying."
"Papa Six and Papa Five, deploying in an Osprey."
"Papa Two on route, traveling on jump-jets."
Snow began again. "Papa Actual is moving towards Kizameth. Jormungandr is moving to release pods."
A female voice came over comms. "Right, time to release the sealed cans of badass into the city. Tyrians, let's fuck shit up." A fiery woman, Sharilyn Corde was the head director of Tyrian Materials Complex. Rightfully so she was a force to be reckoned with - when the members of Tyrian were under the employ of M.A.C.E, she was far more furious in her rage. Now? Just a little less.
As Jormungandr lumbered forth, she swerved around, aiming her side towards the undercity. Small black pods, visible from Invictus' bridge, were spat out from the side and slammed into Kizameth. First, the gleaming, armoured figure of White Glint stepped out of the pod, gazing around the city for a brief moment under the night sky. Mother and daughter Corde - Sharilyn, "The Ivory Vanguard", and her daughter Lydia Brand, "The Onyx Onslaught", came forth next. Then, the collective of souls known simply as Markus stepped forth, lugging his blade over his shoulder with the other daughter, Selena Brand "Una Nocte", emerging from nearby. The daughters and Markus himself were Forczan, beings with the ability to harness collective energy.
The Silver Lance dropped around White's pod, and four large Liberavi soldiers climbed out of their pods - all in gleaming, dark-grey-and-silver armor. The final pod to arrive contained Slicer, also known as Shir'ith Al'kto, the Steel Warrior of Ben'hai, who pounced from her pod, claws equipped and her Septentrion heavy armor deployed, its yellowy linings crackling.
That would be the Steel Warrior of Ben'hai with a tiny dent in her armor, because a Tralonian Warrior-Servicemen affiliated with the Darkveil Associates just fired one of his autorifle slugs at her shoulder, causing a slight slump in it.
"Scatter!" Called Sharilyn, who dived for cover like just about everyone else.
"Really?! No, I think I'll stay out in the open, thank you!" White quips, flying up to the second story and to the balcony of a residence nearby. Taking cover from the riflemen Warriors who came down from above buildings. The Warrior-Serviceman is the standard soldier, usually equipped with marksmen rifles or autorifles. They were the basic footsoldier, but still capable of putting up a fight.
Markus popped out of cover and fired several blasts of collective energy at them, dropping two of the Warriors with green swirls of energy as they convulsed rather unsettling on the floor, twitching as they drew their last breath. "We would suggest having their asses kicked, not ours!"
"Oh, ya' asked the right person!" Slicer brandished her plasma claws and brought them together in a slashing motion, causing sparks to fly. White popped his head out of cover and finally spoke again.
"Shir'! Lyn and I will keep them suppressed for you and Markus to move in and engage them in close-combat! But watch yourself, we don't know the full capability of these guys!" White's VIP-WC-PRT-001 suit had been updated by none other than Snow himself, who had a history of working with power armour and weaponry.
The young Liberavi's 5mm minigun emerged from his shoulder and whirred up, its muzzle flaring as the terrifying dakkadakkadakkadakka of the weapon sent a hail of bullets towards the Warriors. Corde pulled out two of her assault rifles out and also kept them suppressed with an extra barrage of fire. Not so she could actually aim and hit them, of course, but rather so she kept them in cover. Or so they two thought.
"Wait, White?! Since when did you know strategy?" Slicer called.
"I don't know!" White barked, though somewhat muffled by the constant rattles of gunfire.
In this street which converged into the city proper, there was a barricade on the Darkveil Associates side, and several bits of debris, destroyed vehicle and house which were usable for cover. No concerns for the Silver Lance however, which all four of their members formed an offensive line. They were known as Silver Blast, their ordinance expert, Black Ice, cryokinetic, Stone Grey, geokinetic and Crystal Echoes, who commanded air pressure. The formation of rubble allowed them to move up, in which they did.
"Lancemen! On my mark!" Silver Blast counted to down to one and pointed forward, and released their devastating powers. Silver Blast unloaded what seemed like a third world country's worth of missile barrages, Black Ice made it rain with razor-sharp shards of ice, stabbing into the hapless mooks, while Stone Grey upheaved the very ground under their feet, slingshotting them upwards into the sky. Crystal Echoes fired a tunnel of air pressure at the Tralonians, cracking both their armour and their bodies, after which they were hurled so far that they would land clear of the city and towards the mountains.
With the end of that brief scuffle the undercity of Tralonia was around them. Significantly more gothic than the golden, gleaming architecture of the upper, more funded city. It looked almost like something Cyberpunk. Much of the dark-grey and grit that was common in such a genre.
"Papa One, Tyrian Team encountered a Warrior-Servicemen party and defeated them. No injuries." Campbell's voice was heard yet again.
"Right. I intend to make a flashier entrance than that. AVALANCHE is parked in the bay, correct?" Snow asks of his top Agent.
"Roger. She's battle-ready."
"...Time to wedge them between a rock and a hard place."
Part III