Author's Note: This is the rewritten novelization of a Lego stop motion film I am making. I will post when it is uploaded.
The Legolmo was originally created as a Church. A place of peace and worship. It never had military designs during its construction. Fate however, had its own plans...
Blood is a smell unlike any other. No other smell causes such a strange mixture of emotion and primal instinct. The soldiers who now stood along the walls of the compound could only smell one thing, and that was blood. The blood of their comrades, and their enemies. The battle had begun at dawn, and lasted until just before sunrise. Though it was technically a victory, none of them were in a celebratory mood. They had lost far more than they killed. Outside the walls the ground was almost completely covered in dead. Their dead. Their friends. The "victorious" soldiers did not cheer, or even talk at all. They stared at the aftermath of the previous hours' carnage in horrified silence.
Inside the compound, the scene was just as ghastly. However, here bodies of the defenders could be seen. At the north wall, Steve Rogers, better known as Captain America, could be seen lying on his back, with a vacant expression and a hole in the center of his forehead. Around him were the majority of his troops, who had valiantly attempted to hold the position.
In the plaza, corpses littered the ground everywhere. Panicked defenders, maddened by the simple instinct of self preservation had fallen back across the plaza to the buildings along the east wall. These shelters served as nothing more than large coffins. Once inside, they had nowhere else to go, and with attacking soldiers on their heels, were butchered with saber and bayonet.
The terrible losses suffered storming the walls had infuriated the besiegers, who had spared no one, as per their orders. Inside the infirmary, the wounded and sick had been bayoneted in their beds. The surgeon lay just inside the door, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, with a ball shot through his chest.
In front of and inside the chapel, the last survivors had held as long as they could. They lay where they fell, most still gripping weapons. At a crude barricade set up in front of the chapel, the doomed defenders had been determined to simply make their deaths count as much as possible. In the center of the barricade, a large hole had been blasted with a cannonball. Two defenders had simply been reduced to pulp. Several more had been riddled with chunks of wood. Among them lay Peter Parker. He had been very near a large crate, which had burst at the impact of the ball. A large, jagged chunk of wood was embedded directly in his heart. He had a surprisingly peaceful look on his face, considering the terrible wound.
Inside the chapel, the last ones to fall were lying in a small group. Star-Lord had been stabbed at least three times with bayonets. Percy Jackson had been hit with no fewer than five musket balls. Annabeth's corpse still clutched a sword which was embedded in the body of a grenadier. Groot had a sapper's axe embedded deep in his face.
In a spare building near the kitchen, Haymitch Abernathy, very ill, was laying lifeless in his bed. He had been stabbed so many times that the blankets were saturated with blood. A locket with a picture of his wife Effie was held in his dangling hand.
Outside the chapel by the palisade stood Lord Business and his staff. General Hacienda, General Hayes, General Stephens, Colonel Templeton, and Colonel Griffith. Lord Business was in a good mood. He felt that one of the last obstacles between him and total victory had been removed. The rest of his staff were far less enthusiastic. Too many of their soldiers had fallen taking this damned church. It may have been a victory, but it tasted more bitter than many defeats.
"My god! They're dead! They're all dead! Business killed them all! The Legolmo has fallen!"
Jacob Benford, a Brixian scout, was screaming into the night as he rode into where Tony Stark's surviving army was encamped. People began to leap from their tents, and look around for the source of the shouts. The word soon spread, and panicked shouts of, "We are all doomed!", or "The LRA will come for us next!" could be heard. Benford began to regret his dramatic entrance as he heard another sound. Hysterical weeping. From parentless children, widows, widowers, and… Jacob's heart clenched. And Aunts. He saw someone he recognized, and felt his stomach clench horribly. Suddenly, he heard a voice bark his name. He dismounted, and stood to attention.
Tony Stark approached him, a look of utter murder on his face. "What in God's name are you doing?! Announcing this to the whole damn camp at this hour! Is that the way these poor souls need to be notified of the death of their friends and f-fa-" He seemed unable to finish his sentence. "My tent. Now." These words were monotone and hoarse, but left no room for argument. Benford followed Stark into the tent. He sat down at a chair next to a large table. The table had a detailed map of the region on it, and his eyes were instantly drawn to Brixar.
Jacob had been there when the Legolmo fell. He could see it through his spyglass, and was utterly helpless to prevent the massacre. He had stayed all morning, careful to avoid being spotted. He watched as the flames of the funeral pyres unceremoniously consumed the bodies of the slain defenders. No prisoners had been taken.
Tony Stark was standing in the corner, staring blankly at the wall. Benford was not one to understand the social graces of mourning, and began to speak, "What do we do now, General? How can we stand against the LRA now that they are no longer detained in Brixar? All of our best troops were there! So many good-"
"Shut your mouth or I will shut it for you." Stark began to speak. His voice was calm, but conveyed ice cold fury. The kind of fury that very few experiences can bring on. "Di-did, did they die well?" Stark sounded so utterly devastated that Jacob was rendered speechless. He waited ten whole seconds before answering. "Yes, at least 3 to 4 attackers dead for every defender. I saw the canister shot tear through the LRA ranks. I couldn't see the interior fighting, but they paid a heavy price to even reach the walls."
"What about the defenders? Were there any prisoners at all?" Stark asked, almost desperately.
Benford shook his head sadly. "They burned the bodies of the defenders. After taking souvenirs from the more famous ones." Tony's face looked even more furious than before, if such a thing was possible.
Tony still appeared to be looking for any possible chance of there being survivors. "Is it possible some escaped? Did you get a count of the bodies? Dammit, Jacob! Answer me! Who do you think you are to explain to me that-"
"He is dead, Tony."
"He?! There were close to 200 defenders!"
"He is dead, Tony. I saw his body. I am sorry."
Stark made an inhuman roaring noise, drew his pistol, and fired it into the ground. He then threw it at a mirror, shattering the glass. He collapsed onto his cot, tears streaming down his face. Jacob had no idea what to do. His Commander, the last hope of opposition to the Centralists and a free Brixas, was crying. It did not take long for Stark to compose himself. He stood up, looked at the mirror in disgust, and resumed talking, "Where did we go so wrong, Benford? How has it come to this?"