Leon knelt in the mud, both hands gripping the repeater like a prayer. His body trembled from exhaustion, nerves shot raw. The gun's barrel steamed. His gloves were gone. His fingers were cut, burned, slick with blood not all his own.
All around him, the line was collapsing.
Ochs was back against the barricade, gasping, one eye swollen shut. Ritter's leg was bleeding through the bandage again. The kid with the jammed rifle sat in the dirt sobbing, blade across his lap, rocking in place like his mind had folded in on itself.
The barricade was mostly intact.
But the men behind it?
Cracked.
Broken.
Dead inside.
"Where's the fucking flare?" someone whispered hoarsely. "They were supposed to send another flare. We're out—"
"Shut up," Leon muttered. "Shut up about the flares."
He turned toward the treeline.
The wolves had stopped.
No movement. No eyes. No panting. No growls.
Just shadows. Still. Watching.
"They're gone?" Ritter asked weakly, trying to stand. "Did we kill enough of them…?"
Leon didn't answer.
Because he knew.
They weren't gone.
They were waiting again.
A flicker of wind passed through the trees.
Someone coughed. A body somewhere gurgled, then fell still.
Leon slowly stood, legs shaking. "Anyone still breathing… reload."
Click. Click. Shuffling. Wet sounds of men dragging themselves toward dropped rifles.
He looked around. His whole force—maybe forty left—looked hollow. Their faces looked like the beasts they were fighting. Gaunt. Wide-eyed. Covered in blood.
And then—
PHWOOOM!
A sudden crack from above.
A flare shot into the sky.Farther south. Brighter. Higher. White-gold.
It floated upward—
—and then came the thunder.
BOOM.BOOM-BOOM-BOOM.
Gunfire. But not like anything they had.
Deep. Echoing. Mechanical.
It wasn't near. Not quite. But not far either.
The forest lit up in bursts of light. Gunfire strobed through the trees from beyond the southern ridge. White muzzle flashes tore through the dark. The ground shuddered.
Leon's eyes widened.
"What… what the fuck is that?" one soldier whispered.
"Is that—artillery?" Ochs asked.
"No," Leon said, slowly. "That's not artillery."
Then came the screams. But not theirs.
The wolves were howling. Dozens. Hundreds. Pain. Panic. And then came a new sound.
A growl.
Not from the forest floor.
From everywhere.
It was wrong. Not animal. Not natural.
A metallic roar. Long. Low. Mechanical. So loud the ground vibrated beneath Leon's boots.
Every man froze.
One soldier dropped to his knees, clutching his ears. Another fell back, hands shaking.
"Was that a beast—? No… no, that's not—"
"I heard that before," someone whispered. "No… no, I've never heard anything like that…"
The wolves stopped howling.
They froze in the trees. Visible now. Dozens of them, frozen in place, heads up, listening.
Then, in the dark, one turned and fled.
Another followed.
And then—like a stampede—they all broke.
They didn't charge. They ran.
Back into the jungle. Away from the line. Away from the flare. Away from whatever they'd heard.
More explosions echoed from the trees. Short bursts. Deep, pounding thunder.
BA-BA-BA-BA-BA-BA—
Guns. Heavy. Repeating. Nothing the humans had ever built.
"Holy shit," Ochs muttered. "Holy shit, they're getting slaughtered."
Leon took one step forward, then fell to his knees.
His legs were numb. His heart was racing. His throat tasted like rust and smoke. He didn't realize he was crying until he felt the hot sting down his cheeks.
He forced his voice out.
"…who the fuck is down there?"
A soldier on the left flank raised a shaking hand. "Should we—should we send a runner? A flare? Anything—?"
Leon just stared forward.
"I don't even know who that is."
More gunfire.
More dying screams.
More beasts collapsing in the trees.
And then—Silence.
Just for a moment.
And then—
WAAAAAAAOOOOOOOOMMMMMM.
Another sound.
This time from above.
It was like the sky had opened. A deep, howling rumble that wasn't thunder, wasn't wind, wasn't animal, wasn't fire.
It was like a beast made of air, growling from the clouds themselves.
Every soldier at the barricade looked up.
"What the fuck is that—?"
"It's in the sky!"
"I don't see anything!"
The sound passed overhead—Not fast. Not slow. Just loud.
And then—silence again.
Nothing.
Not a bird. Not a rustle. Not a wolf.
Gone.
All of them.
The forest beyond the flares…Empty.
No movement.
Just trees.
Just the aftermath.
Ritter whispered, "We're alive?"
Leon didn't respond.
He stepped forward again. Boots squelched in the blood-mud. His repeater still in hand. Still shaking.
He looked at the southern treeline. Still lit faintly by the flare smoke. Faint flashes still blinked through the mist.
Then—
a final growl.
One more scream. Distant. Fading.
And silence returned.
Only the breathing of survivors.
Only the stink of fire, blood, and broken men.
Leon stood barely upright, both hands braced against the shattered barricade. His arms trembled. His wounds stung with cold air. His heart felt like it was beating beneath cracked ribs.
Around him, maybe forty men remained.
Some limped. Some stared vacantly. Some sobbed quietly into their sleeves.
The seventeen-year-old boy Leon saved earlier was curled up near the spikes, still holding his bayonet like he expected the wolves to return.
Ochs leaned against a broken post, face swollen, shirt torn, one sleeve soaked in blood.
Ritter sat with his back to the barricade, leg bandaged, head low, murmuring something Leon couldn't hear.
Then—
"I SEE SOMETHING!" someone called.
It was Riegel, the skinny soldier with a sling on one arm. He lay flat on his stomach, binoculars pressed so tightly to his face it looked like he feared they might fly away.
Leon staggered toward him.
"What is it?" he muttered.
Riegel swallowed, eyes wide.
"I… I don't know, sir."
Leon dropped beside him and grabbed the binoculars.
He focused them past the southern ridge.
And saw—
Iron. Moving.
Not wagons. Not horses. Not siege towers.
These were carriages plated in metal, taller than two men, rolling on enormous wheels, pushed forward by roaring machinery inside their iron bellies. Smoke and steam burst from vents along their sides like the breath of beasts.
On their fronts were mounted great devices—barrels and mechanisms that reminded Leon of cannons, but smaller, faster, deadlier.
Behind them marched hundreds of soldiers in disciplined formation.
Leon lowered the binoculars, stunned.
"What… what am I looking at?"
Before anyone could answer—
The field radio crackled.
Leon grabbed it.
A voice boomed through the static:
"Stützpunkt Eisen, this is Commander Bruno Hartmann. Make way for the motorized divisions."
Leon blinked.
"…The what divisions?"
"Motorized divisions," Bruno repeated calmly, almost casually. "Three minutes out. Hold position."
The line cut.
Leon stared at the radio like it had spoken a foreign language.
Ochs limped to his side. "Motorized what now?"
"I don't know," Leon muttered. "But I think… those iron carriages down there are what he meant."
Ritter coughed weakly. "Since when do we have that?"
Leon didn't answer.
He didn't know.
01:26 Hours – Three Minutes Later
The camp trembled.
A deep, rumbling vibration rolled through the earth as if giants marched beneath the soil.
Men looked up.
Some reached for their weapons. Some took a step back. Some whispered prayers.
The treeline split open.
The first iron carriage emerged.
It towered over the barricades, its wheels crushing roots and branches beneath its weight. Steam hissed from vents along its sides, glowing faintly from the runes etched into its plating. Chains rattled as its iron frame shifted with each rotation of the wheels.
Mounted atop it was a rotating metal device—something between a cannon and a repeating ballista—its barrel thick as a man's arm, its mechanisms humming like a living creature.
Behind it rolled the second. Then the third. Then five more.
Eight total.
Behind them came rank after rank of soldiers—nearly four hundred men—carrying crates, medical gear, tool chests, lamps, poles, runed stakes, and ammunition crates.
"Move! Move!" an officer shouted. "Set up defensive lines along the eastern trench! Clear the wounded!"
"Bring the lamps forward!"
"Carriage crews—anchor wheels and lower shields!"
The iron carriages halted with a heavy metallic thunk, their large wheels locking into place. The side panels unfolded like armored wings, forming instant barricades.
Engineers rushed forward, driving runed stakes into the ground to stabilize the platforms. Lanterns and sky-lamps were hoisted onto poles, flooding the camp in blinding white light.
The dying shadows of the wolves vanished beneath it.
The entire forward base transformed in under five minutes.
Broken barricades were replaced by iron plates. Wooden spikes were reinforced with steel beams. Ammunition piles were stacked neatly under canvas. Medics created makeshift awning shelters for triage.
Men who had been half-dead now stared like they were in a dream.
Ochs let out a shaky laugh. "What in the nine hells did Otto build this time?"
Leon didn't know.
But someone tapped his shoulder.
He turned.
A young engineer stood before him—goggles on his head, gloves scorched black, vest covered in soot and metal filings.
"You must be Commander Leon," the engineer said, offering a salute.
Leon nodded slowly. "And you are?"
"Master Engineer Kaltz. Kruger Company—Eisenmeer Works."
Leon's eyes narrowed. "So you built these… things?"
Kaltz grinned. "Iron carriages. Mark-1 Battle Wagons. Runes in the heartstones power the boilers. The heat pushes the pistons. Pistons turn the wheels. Simple enough."
Leon stared blankly.
Kaltz continued excitedly:
"They carry a full squad, climb slopes a horse couldn't dream of, and the mounted repeater on top fires metal slugs the size of a man's thumb at a pace no rifle can match."
Leon glanced up at the massive mounted device.
The barrel still glowed faintly from the earlier fight deeper in the forest.
Kaltz leaned closer, lowering his voice.
"You heard the growls earlier, yes?"
Leon nodded slowly.
"That was the heartstone heating chamber. When the vent opens, the pent-up steam roars out. Sounds like a beast—frightens anything in the trees."
Leon whispered, "…that's what scared the wolves."
"Partly," Kaltz said. "The other part was the mounted repeater. Once we opened fire… well. You saw the result."
Leon exhaled.
For the first time in hours, he felt a real wave of relief wash over him.
Ochs staggered over, staring at the nearest iron carriage.
"Well, shit," he muttered. "We just went from fighting with sticks and rifles to… this."
Leon nodded.
"This," he said quietly, "changes everything."
Leon glanced at the engineer again, his voice low.
"…Was that you? That sound in the sky?"
Kaltz blinked. "No, sir. That wasn't us."
Leon stared off into the black treeline, the weight of silence settling in again.
"…Then I guess we've got some kind of god in these forests."
Ochs, nearby, muttered under his breath, "Not a God... A demon."