The victory had been swift, almost arrogant. The surviving Acolytes were still reveling in the adrenaline and the easy slaughter of the first Vonger wave when the mountain warned them it was a mistake. The earth began to pulse, a low, resonant thrumming that shook the very rock beneath their boots. Pebbles vibrated furiously. The joy evaporated, replaced by a cold, primal pressure.
Those who knew better—the Looters Crew, the Nuns, the ragged Monks, and the disciplined Watchmen—instantly locked into fighting stances. Solon, Jog-Jog, Hind, Maya, Markas, and Lena also sensed the difference. This next wave was strange, stronger, demanding more than simple brute force.
Thud!
The impact was immediate and localized. Dust and black smoke erupted as the first of the new Vongers landed. A massive, ten-foot-tall behemoth, all rippling muscle and scarred hide, reeking of decay and pain. Three unprepared Acolytes were struck by what looked like a gentle, backhanded slap from the giant and were instantly plastered against a rock face, their lives extinguished with a sickening crunch. Grunting, with black, VETRA-tinged blood dripping from its eyes and ears, the giant surveyed the field.
But he was not alone. From the ridges above and behind, approximately a hundred more of the colossal Vongers charged, their steps shaking the earth. The cry of battle erupted anew, and the second wave of war began.
This time, it was different. Acolytes who had been cocky moments ago now lost their footing and their lives with horrifying speed. These new Vongers moved with a savage, coordinated ferocity. A man's shield was ripped away, and his arm was snapped clean off before the giant crushed his torso. They were dying like flies. Regular Acolytes lost ground and lost their lives in the most grotesque ways. One man was crushed until his ribcage inverted; another was torn limb from limb like kindling. Their weapons useless against the giants' armored hides.
Only a few of the Acolytes stand out admits the massacre......
****The Nuns: Six women dressed in all-white nun habits, now stained with thick, black blood from their arranged carnage.
***** The Looters: Boss, Ashy, Skye, and the Triplets, Max, Maxxie, Maxine.
***** *The Monks of the Grey Path: Three old, bearded men in patched, filthy grey robes. Led by Brother Zephaniah, they fought with unsettling precision, using their knowledge of ancient martial arts.
******* The Watchmen: Zephyr, Ria, Kora, Jax, Penny, and Rob.
Solon, Lena, Maya, Markas, Hind, and Jog-Jog.
The fighting skills of these groups were on another level, creating bizarre, deadly pockets of competence amidst the massacre.
The Blood Nuns. Sister Beatrice, Sister Agnes, Sister Claire, Sister Josephine, Sister Ruth, and Mother Miriam. They were swift, brutal, and fought as a single unit. A high-tech kinetic weapon clearly not Arcanatech, but military-grade pulsed in their hands. They fired with super precision, taking out a giant Vonger's ankle, then its knee, then its ribs. The final blow came from Sister Josephine, who used a beautiful, antique, cursed katana to rip the final cut on the annihilated giant. They fought with the serene, frightening calm of religious zealots.
While the Nuns fought as a single unit The Watchmen on the other hand fought with an overwhelming diversity of techniques, showing no allegiance to any single martial art, only to what gets the life out of the raging vongers. Zephyr directed fire, shouting coordinated takedown patterns. Ria lobbed blinding flash-bombs before Jax charged in, utilizing his hammer to generate kinetic shockwaves that splintered Vonger bone. Kora used her sickles to target tendons and eyes, moving like a shadow, while Penny and Rob covered long-range flanks with disciplined, sustained fire.
The Looters Crew, Boss charged in with a zealotry even Ashy found impressive, establishing a formidable head start for his team. Skye was a blur of whipping rope and acrobatic evasion, turning the melee into a deadly, personalized game. The Triplets Max, Maxxie, and Maxine moved like small, giggling maniacs, touching Vongers. With a subtle pulse of energy, they were reverse-aged back to infancy, or rapidly aged forward into brittle dust, instantly neutralizing them.
Solon and his Friends: They fought with a terrifying mix of power and precision. Lena was a streak of electricity, her whip slicing through limbs. Maya used her raw strength to grapple and throw the Vongers into each other. Hind was a resilient, rapid-striking counter-attacker. The only person visibly struggling was Markas, who kept yelling at the top of his lungs, hacking down Vongers with his bulky, Evangelist-era blade (a Syndicate-issued sword he clearly still carried from his time as a recruit under Jex's watch). The yelling was less out of fear and more out of frustration with the weapon and the sheer unending work.
The battle grew crazier, bigger, and far longer.
The intense, prolonged fighting began to take its toll, even on the elite groups. The Vongers seemed endless, their strength only increasing. The sheer numbers of Acolytes had reduced to the better-equipped groups. Fear and death finally claimed the will of the remaining lesser Acolytes, who abandoned their posts. They hid behind boulders or dove into caves carved by earlier impacts, watching in awed terror as the remaining few fought on. Some fled down the mountain, only to meet swift, savage deaths on the lower slopes.
"Hey!" Ashy yelled from across the widening gap in the Vonger lines. "These beasts are getting harder to kill! Wanna run for it?!"
"Shut up and take down these fucking reeks!" Skye snarled back, whipping a rope around three Vonger necks simultaneously.
Ashy laughed, a genuine, mad sound, before yelling back: "I guess I'd die here today!"
Boss watched his crew. He knew they were nearing their limits. The time-warping triplets could reverse injuries and restore energy, but the cosmic manipulation was draining them quickly. His plan—the loot—was not worth the life of his teammates. At the same time, he couldn't help but be confounded by Solon's group. How the hell are those guys not tired? he thought, referencing Solon and his friends, who moved with consistent, devastating efficiency, except for the "yelling weird one" "Markas, still struggling with his weirdly wielding sword"
The battle was reaching its fever pitch, the air thick with sweat, blood, and ozone.
Then, everything stopped.
A cold wind swept across the battlefield, carrying an ethereal silence and a profound chill. The intensity of the fighting was instantly replaced by an unnerving void. A thick, unnatural fog and mist rolled in, instantly cloaking the battlefield. The pervasive odor of blood was replaced by a strange, metallic ozone.
A figure emerged from the swirling fog and mist—Arike, the Orisha Incarnate, walking with slow, gentle precision, the weight of the souls she had harvested heavy in the air around her.
Jog-Jog's voice was a confused murmur in the sudden quiet. "Why does I feel like I know that person?" He turned to his friends. The Vongers, paralyzed by the residual aura of death and the terrifying sight of souls hanging heavy in the air around the mysterious figure, stopped fighting. The fear that had been beaten out of them by VETRA was now imposed upon them by the presence of a natural cosmic law.