Six years earlier

The act of wearing a ghillie suit only seemed cool to those who'd never been forced to wear one for an extended period of time, Justin mused as he dragged his face along the ground, doing his best to avoid any goatheads that he could be unlucky enough to have in the middle of his path. The very last thing he needed right now was to get too careless and have one of those fucking curses upon mankind stick him right in the eyeball.

Nothing about this was fun. The heavy ghillie suit seemed like it was baking him alive in the blazing heat, sweat was stinging both his eyeballs and every open scratch and sore he had on his body, and that wasn't counting the number of snakes and other unpleasant wildlife he'd been forced to avoid during this little outing. It was all topped off by the fact that Justin had to move so slowly that he was betting a determined snail would have been able to make his destination in half the time.

But there was nothing he could do about the pace. If he went too fast, he'd almost certainly be spotted, an outcome he desired even less than being bitten by one of the diamondbacks.

Finally, the paradise of his desired position was reached, a large patch of yellow grass that would have gone up to waste level if he'd been standing. He very carefully rolled onto his stomach, and pulled forward the sniper rifle, setting himself into a shooting position. Blinking several times to clear the sweat away from his eyes, he zeroed in on his target. There, nearly three hundred meters distant, Justin could see it clear as day through the tall bush he was using as concealment. Exhaling with the same slow caution he'd used while moving here, Justin fired.

Then he waited, not daring to even breathe as he heard footsteps crunching underbrush headed his way.

"Standby, Pig!" The voice came, as the figure of a uniformed Marine morphed itself within the very edges of his vision to the right.

Shit, it was Gunny Mills. Out of all the instructors here, he was the least likely to cut anyone even the slightest bit of slack. The exact walker that Justin had been hoping NOT to have nearby when he made the shot. It could prove to be his last.

It had been over six weeks since he'd arrived for Sniper School. The early days were the usual kind of tough and miserable conditioning that was in place to make sure that all the candidates were actually serious about wanting to be there and wouldn't quit the moment the going got tough. Next had followed intensive learning, everything from how to calculate wind speed at variable distances to making your own ghillie suit that suited the current environment, the essence of being a good Scout-Sniper.

And Justin had been proving he had the makings to be a great one. He'd got the highest score at known distance shooting, and currently sat in second place at unknown distance shooting. His natural talent with mathematics and perception made him a solid Spotter whenever assisting someone else or during the games of "I Spy" the instructors liked to play at long ranges. Any other circumstances, he could have expected the closest thing to breezing into graduation the schoolhouse offered.

If it wasn't for the fact he'd been completely bombing the "stalking" examination.

The test itself was simple enough to understand, one had to make their own ghillie suit and then carefully make their way across a field over six hundred meters long to reach a designated firing line where you'd have to find the perfect shooting location. The trick was that instructors at the far end of the field would be on the lookout for any of the candidates who didn't successfully sneak their way up to the firing line. You had to make it all the way without being caught in order to pass with a perfect score.

And trying to stealth your way around experienced sharpshooters with binoculars was an even tougher challenge than any of them could have guessed.

A candidate needed to average a passing score over ten stalking attempts in order to graduate, with a minimum of two perfect stalks being an extra requirement. Justin had so far managed to only complete one flawlessly, his other attempts being failures of one kind or another. Ironically, he'd been under the impression that this would be the easiest part of the course for him. After all, he was an experienced hunter, having stalked animals in the woods since he was old enough to hold a gun. He already knew how to blend in with the environment and get within range of his target like it was second nature to him. That arrogance had led to more than one slap in the face from reality. The smallest things had gotten him caught, details he never would have even considered like the way brush moves just enough to look unnatural when someone is crawling next to it, or how tall grass would sway when just touched by the edge of the ghillie suit whenever there wasn't any wind. Whatever confidence Justin had about being the best in the class had been thoroughly obliterated by this point.

He was one of only three of the remaining candidates to have not passed this exam yet, and this was their last chance. If he didn't do this perfectly, then it was the end of the line.

Gunny Mills looked towards the direction of Justin's "target", a truck with a hooded bed that offered shade to a pair of instructors who were constantly scanning the area with their high powered binoculars. Currently, those binoculars were laser focused on the exact area he now sat, trying to find where he was.

"Alright, I'm within ten feet." Mills called over a radio. "Go ahead and throw up the IDs."

Through the scope, Justin saw both of the snipers put up signs that held two symbols, a random mixture of letters and numbers. It was to prove that he could actually see where his target was, and therefor was in a position to actually shoot. He zeroed in on the leftmost instructor.

"K Nine." Justin said, doing his best to not move his lips or jaw as he spoke. "Kilo-Niner."

"Shooter says Kilo-Niner." Mills reported, and he saw the two in the truck bed nod and put down the signs.

"Good ID, standby."

Their binoculars swept back and forth almost imperceptibly, searching for any irregularities that may give away the presence of a human being. That was one of the reasons why this particular test was so hard, because he didn't have the same kind of view as the spotters that searched for them, all he had was his own limited senses on what was going on around him. If something didn't look right behind him, or if something on his suit was now bending at an unnatural angle, he had no way of seeing that now, let alone fixing them. All he could do was wait and pray.

"Go ahead and face left." He heard the radio say, as Gunny Mills did as instructed. "Take two steps forward."

"One, two." The older marine counted out the steps, putting him less than a meter away from where Justin now lay.

That was it it then, they'd found him, even after everything he'd done and all the work he'd put in, the last six weeks had been for absolutely nothing.

'Dammit…' He felt tears burning in his eyes with the sweat despite himself.

"Now face right and take two more steps forward."

Then, just as quickly as it seemed like his dreams of being a scout sniper were over, the Gunny was gone again, now walking away from him in a completely wrong direction.

"Stop there, and I'm gonna call it at your feet."

Mills looked down, making a show of seeing if anyone was on the ground in front of him before looking back up.

"That'd be a negative."

They hadn't seen him. They hadn't seen him!

"Copy that, have him shoot."

Justin's heart was now beating so fast it felt like it was about to leap out of his throat. Only one more test stood between him and passing, one last obstacle. He'd have to fire a blank shot from his current position, to make sure his concealing was so good that not even the shockwave from the barrel could give him away. It was a tricky thing, in fact it was the reason Justin had failed last time, but he'd busted his ass trying to figure out a solution to the problem, and the spot he selected had been the fruits of that labor. He hoped.

"Pig firing on two." Mills said to both the spotters and Justin. "Five, four, three, two-"

He pulled the trigger, seeing the dead grass nearest him move just slightly in the blast from his muzzle, but if he had done this right, the spotters view of that would be blocked by the bush in front of him and its shadow. More seconds ticked by, every moment sending his anxiety higher and higher. Finally, the Gunny's radio came to life once more.

"We've got nothing." The voice came back. "Where is he?"

Justin's eyes widened, and he didn't dare move an inch even as Gunny stepped to where he was right beside him.

"Shooter is, Salter." The older man said, beginning to tap Justin with the end of his walking stick. "His veil, scope, and the tip of his barrel right here."

"Damn, I thought for sure I had him that time." The other instructor snorted. "Tell Salter he's all good, and that he just cost me twenty bucks."

Only now did Justin risk looking up, worried that this all might have been a dream or maybe some kind of elaborate prank even as his common sense tried to clamp down on those kinds of negative emotions. The Senior Instructor just gave him a simple nod.

"Not bad, Joker." The Gunny said, before continuing on his way like it was just a relaxing Sunday walk.

That had been the greatest compliment he'd ever gotten from the man. One that would burn into his memory every little bit as the success he'd just made. He was going to be a Scout Sniper.

As he took off his veil, he started to laugh, the sheer happiness bubbling within him coming to the surface. Joker continued laughing while he lumbered his way back to the rally point, tears flowing down his filthy face.

~oOo~

Present day

"We'll pause here for a few hours!" Hexen called over his shoulder. "Give the rest of the army time to catch up."

There were no objections to this, the few dozen cavalrymen accompanying the young lord either nodding or pulling their mounts to the sides of the road as to not block the way for any other travelers. He climbed off his own horse with the loud clattering of his polished armor accompanying his every move. Hexen offered to aid Myron in doing the same, as dismounting was just another horseback task that was far tougher with his one arm, but the old knight waved away the offer and began the long process of doing it on his own.

"It may not be wise to stop here, my Lord." He said after finally getting his feet on the ground. "Time is not our ally in this fight."

"No doubt, but it won't do us any good if we outpace the others by so much Besides which, the horses need water, and the men need to stretch their bodies."

Hexen had tried, rather feebly if he was being honest with himself, to convince his teacher to stay behind at the estate during conflict with the orcs. He planned on being in the thick of fighting when the moment came, the drive to live up to the legacy of his family name and to achieve glory on the field of battle melding together to make any other course of action unthinkable. Myron was a hero to the House, and arguably one of the finest warriors of his day, but even he could not overcome the handicap of his missing limb or the ravages of age upon the rest of his body. There was simply no way he could reasonably join in the rage of war against the ferocious orc warband. But Myron had stubbornly insisted on coming along anyway, pointing out that it was his place as Hexen's advisor to be at his side while out on campaign, even if he could not clash against the enemy head-to-head. Hexen had relented after very little argument, silently relieved at his refusal to stay behind. The nobleman was still so inexperienced when it came to large scale fighting, let alone the other rigors of rulership that the thought of not having the seasoned Myron at his side to help nearly made him sick to the stomach.

"You do have a point." Myron conceded. "I just hope that Duke Raia doesn't get into any trouble in our absence."

"We both know he's not exactly the bold type. Raia won't take any decisive action on his own." Hexen responded, trying not to let his own concern be too obvious. There were so few Nobles left within Duron lands that he'd not been given many choices as to who would help lead this so called "army" made up from the remnants of their men-at-arms and militias. "Just be thankful we didn't give Duchess Elyse that particular command."

"Ha! The old bat would probably charge right into the horde with little more than her House Guard assisting." Myron snorted, either forgetting or just choosing not to bring up the fact that said House Guard had perished along with her Husband in the attempt to defend Alnus Hill.

That seemed to be commonplace among the forces who'd answered the call. Moral appeared to be high on the surface, with many smiles and jokes about how they would drive the orcs away like a mass of confused cattle. But it was plainly obvious to all just how untrue that would be. There had already been a small number of skirmishes against the forward elements of the warband, and most of them hadn't gone well for the soldiers of House Duron. The orcs were simply larger, stronger, and more durable than the average human, and their threat had always been kept in check by a dysfunctional society that made most of them more interested in fighting one another or hiring themselves out to the highest bidder rather than come together to lash out against the wider world. When in in the past where a particularly strong-willed leader HAD managed to rally together a warband of considerable size, it had been the duty of the ruling nobility or the Empire to crush it quickly before it reached dangerous levels. The Empire had no soldiers left in the area to accomplish such tasks of course, having long since withdrawn them to rally in the Capital, and the current weakness of House Duron had made it impossible to deal with them before it had come stampeding through their lands.

Though no one spoke of it out loud, it didn't take a brilliant mind to see just how badly the absence of the fallen veteran troops and commanders were being felt. The glorious army that had gone marching through the Gate would have been given little trouble by the Orcs, or even if just his father or brother had managed to return alive, they could have given badly needed wisdom in how to deal with this crisis and confidence among the gathered. Instead, it fell upon Hexen to do what he could to stop this internal bleeding, given the council of a handful of others whose experience in fighting ranged from having not stepped foot on a battlefield for well over a decade to having none at all. Even if they didn't dare say such words aloud, Hexen could see the truth in the eyes of his soldiers. They were worried for themselves and their families and doubted whether the whelp of their ruling family had what it took to bring them victory.

It would have made Hexen angry, if he wasn't feeling much the same concerns himself.

"You've made better time than I thought you would." A voice said from behind him, and Hexen turned to see one of their new allies among the Forest Rangers walking past his entourage. "That or I'm getting a lot slower."

"Lady Kat'lana." He gave her a respectful nod. She was dressed a bit differently than their first meeting at the estate, her tunic and cloak now accompanied by a sheathed short sword along with bow and quiver, well equipped for war. "I didn't think we'd be meeting again so soon."

"After I delivered your response back to Joakim, he sent me and a couple others to tell the camps to rally their hunters for the fight. I hoped I might find him among your party here."

"Your Camp Master with the rest of our forces near the Estate, girl." Myron grunted. "Along with the rest of your kind."

Hexen couldn't see Myron's face from where he was currently looking, and he could only hope the old knight wasn't scowling at the half elf. The two of them had gotten into a long and bitter argument after Hexen had decided to accept the offer of a temporary alliance with the Forest Rangers, Myron practically spitting fire as he proclaimed he would rather die to an orc's blade sooner than sully his honor and those of his fallen comrades by fighting alongside them. It had been one of the few times where Hexen had been forced to put his foot down rather hard and remind his advisor that he was the High Lord, his word was law and by the gods it would be followed.

There hadn't been any discussions about it since then, Myron reluctantly accepting the decree but could give little more than icy civility whenever forced to interact with one of the Rangers. Hexen had decided not to push the issue any further, since that was probably the best he could reasonably hope for.

Not that the animosity was entirely one sided, as he'd plenty of sour looks from a number of the "Hunters" that had been sent to join the fight, likely not any happier with the situation than Myron was. But it had fortunately never progressed beyond that, as Camp Master Joakim had been surprisingly respectful and courteous to those he'd once done battle against, and had cracked down hard on anyone within his own ranks that attempted to stir trouble or complained too loudly. Hexen, for his part, had not been given any reason to regret his earlier choice. The Rangers were proving to be excellent scouts and skirmishers, working alongside smaller formations in ways that allowed them to hit harder than would otherwise be possible. He was starting to feel a growing respect for their methods and tactics, though he'd never admit that to Myron.

"We rode south to gather the forces that had already been rallied in our more distant holdings." Hexen explained, hoping further explanation would head off any argument. "The warband has slowed since entering our lands, so we've been using the time to gather as much fighting men and women as possible for the coming battles."

"No doubt they've been pausing to raid and plunder." Kat nodded, not sparing so much as a glance at Myron. "How bad is the damage so far?"

"We managed to get nearly everyone from the border villages away to safety, thanks to your warning. Beyond that, we just don't know for certain. We've been forced to concentrate our defenses around the central part of our region to protect the most crucial farmlands. That has unfortunately left much of the southern and western settlements without protection, but we don't have the numbers to counter everything the orcs might do."

"What about the North?"

"That part of our territory is overseen by my cousin, Edwin." Hexen hesitated. "They are safe from the orcs, as far as I know. That's not the direction the warband is headed it seems."

"As far as you know?" Kat echoed, frowning. "Has your cousin not answered the call to arms?"

"That is none of your concern." Myron answered, obviously wanting to shut down this talk and dismiss the Ranger.

"Peace, Myron." Now Hexen looked over his shoulder to give the other a warning glance. If Kat was going to join the larger army, she'd find out the truth sooner or later. Alienating her could cause undo problems he'd rather avoid if possible "Edwin has been…difficult to contact since we last met. He's raised his own forces and departed from the northern manor, but beyond that, no one seems to know exactly where he is. Whenever any of his officials are located, they claim he is off dealing with a major peasant uprising and cannot be reached until he returns. I've sent riders to track him down, but so far none have returned. I'm not optimistic that he'll be joining this fight."

"Interesting that he disappears right at the moment he's needed to help."

She didn't outright call him a coward, but her opinion was clear as day. Hexen couldn't really blame her, as the thought had crossed his own mind on more than one occasion. It just didn't make any sense. Edwin had never acted the coward before, at least not to his memory, but neither did it seem likely that there was a peasant uprising so large that it required so much attention being paid to it without Hexen ever hearing anything to prove such a thing. The only other option seemed to be that Edwin was purposefully dodging the call to arms, not out of cowardliness, but out of spite. That he was hoping Hexen would die in battle and leave him as the sole heir to House Duron and therefor free to do whatever he wished. Such treachery and vindictiveness were not unheard of among Imperial Nobility, nor even among the Durons of generation's past, but even so such a plan would have teetered on the brink of lunacy. Even if Edwin was outraged enough at Hexen to want him dead for refusing to march off in the footsteps of their fathers, letting the orcs runt rampant through their territory couldn't possibly be considered a fair trade in response. He'd lose so many of the soldiers he'd need to use retaking Alnus Hill. And all of that was assuming that the orcs wouldn't simply turn north and attack the settlements there as soon as they were done in the south, leaving them well and truly doomed without anyone else coming to their aid.

Nothing about that plan of action made sense, and Hexen had been forced to push it aside his wandering thoughts on the matter in order to focus on far more pressing issues. Perhaps Edwin would come marching south with his forces soon, a good reason as to why he was so frustratingly delayed ready to be given. Or perhaps he wouldn't. It was out of his hands now either way, something Hexen would just have to deal with after he finished off the orcs. Assuming he survived the ordeal.

"Regardless, that is the situation as it now stands." He said aloud.

"I almost hate to ask this, but do we actually have a plan on how to win?" Kat asked, a hint of the same doubt he'd seen in the others coming to her eyes. "Because things don't look good for us from where I'm standing."

"We might." Hexen nodded, forcing himself to sound more confident than he really felt. "Once we combine our forces here with the main army, there's a chance we could-"

"My Lord!"

All eyes turned back to the road, where what looked to be a peasant on horseback was thundering towards them at full speed from the direction they had been going not long before, panic written as clearly on his face as it had been in his voice. He came to an abrupt stop just a few meters away from where they stood, pulling on the reins so hard that Hexen thought his mount would buck him off.

"No closer!" Myron ordered, drawing his sword, but the man didn't seem to notice.

"You must come help us, please my lord!" he begged, tears in his eyes as he gasped for air in his panic.

"Breathe, sir." Hexen held up a hand. "Help who? What's going on?"

The man didn't take the advice, trying to get off his horse and collapsing into a heap. Kat went over to his side, kneeling down next to him and trying to help him back up, but he didn't seem to acknowledge her existence either.

"It's Joyce Hamlet, sire!" His words were barely understood through fits of painful coughs. "The orcs…a group of orcs are descending upon it! I saw them approaching!

"What?!" Myron demanded, his shock mirroring Hexen's own "Have they truly advanced so far in our absence?!"

"How many?" Kat asked, her voice not a demand, but firm nonetheless.

"I don't know…dozens at least."

"A raiding party then, or perhaps even a vanguard of the warband proper." Hexen pointed to one of the cavalrymen. "Ride back to the others and tell them we're making haste for Joyce Hamlet and to meet us there! The rest of you, remount! We ride to their rescue!"

Hexen followed his own command by clambering somewhat awkwardly back up to his own saddle, thankful that Edmund had taken the time to teach him how to do so without needing assistance. Kat pulled the hyperventilating man to the side of the road before running over to his side.

"Are you sure about this?" She asked. "If there's as many orcs as he's saying-"

"I know." He cut her off. "But we're not going to try to win a fight, just buy time for the people to escape. If we do nothing now, then their blood will be on our hands."

"…Alright, but I'm coming with you. That Hamlet is close to Lonham Forest."

"Do you have your own horse?"

She shook her head, and Hexen hissed between his teeth. This wasn't the kind of thing someone of his status was supposed to do, especially with one like Kat, but there was not time to waste right now on the usual pleasantries. Besides, they'd need all the help they could get.

"Climb on." He said, extending a gauntleted hand down to her. He expected her to hesitate or maybe even ask if that was alright, instead Kat clasped his wrist immediately and used him to haul herself up to a sitting position behind him.

He spared a couple more seconds to ensure the others in his part were prepared, then held up his hand.

"Forward!" He shouted, urging his horse as it started forward at a gallop, the sounds of thundering hooves coming from behind as he led the group forward.

It was only after a minute of this that Hexen suddenly realized he didn't know exactly where Joyce Hamlet actually was. He had a vague notion, having seen it on a map of the area when they have come through the first time but not having paid much attention to it at the time.

Fortunately, Kat seemed to know exactly where they were going, and was giving directions whenever they needed to turn off onto a different path. The thought of her having figured out his ignorance embarrassed Hexen somewhat, and he was thankful for the noise all around him preventing her words from carrying to the other riders.

It was about a fifteen-minute ride to the Hamlet going full speed as they were, Hexen not requiring any more directions when they drew close. The mongrel savages were everywhere, over twenty coming into the Hamlet from the north while others were already within its limits, conducting their terrible business. The situation was a grim one indeed, and Hexen had to sort out a plan in his mind fast

The first priority had to be the orc reinforcements that hadn't yet entered the Hamlet. If he and his troops tried to force their way through without dealing with them first, they could be easily cut off. Giving a silent prayer for the gods to protect the poor souls still trapped within, Hexen threw out his hand to motion his Calvary to fan out then drew his sword with his right hand.

The orcs, having spotted the new oncoming threat, were starting to turn their way and countered with a charge of their own. Hexen swallowed hard and drew his own sword, setting his sights on the dead center of the enemies coming towards them.

When they reached thirty meters apart from one another, Kat made her move. She grabbed the saddle with both hands and lifted herself up just enough to bring both her feet together in a crouch where she had just been sitting. Hexen was about to demand just what the hell she was doing when the Half Elf leapt upwards and away from the saddle. A few heartbeats later, he watched as an arrow came streaking from above to pierce one of the charging orcs right in one of its eyes. He didn't have time to marvel at this brilliant feat, however, as his own target was rapidly coming into range.

The green-skinned beast was swinging a jagged blade down in an overheated strike intended to cleave his horse's head into two pieces. He yanked the reins to the side, changing the horse's direction and letting the strike go harmlessly into the grass to his right. Hexen made a slash of his own, using the orc's current defenselessness to go right form the back of its neck. Steel bit flesh as the blade tore through bone and decapitate the savage in one fell swoop.

But it had left Hexen himself vulnerable, having to use a precious second to bring his body out of the twist the strike had required to look back at his front. Too late to avoid the axe that had been thrown right at him. He tried to pull in vain at the reins anyway, barely getting any response from his horse before the sharp end dug itself right into its chest. His mount gave a cry of agony before tumbling to the ground and sending Hexen crashing and rolling away.

Hexen's landing on the grassy soil wasn't as bad as it could have been, but it still left him more than a little dazed as he tried to bring himself back upright. Another orc was coming at him, likely the one who'd thrown the axe as he had drawn out a sort of club rather than any weapon of metal. He brought up his hands in a defensive stance, only to belatedly realize that he'd lost his sword somewhere along the way.

All he could do was duck and run as the brute attempted to cleave his head off in one swoop, sprinting to get back to his fallen mount. The orc made a sound that sounded like laughter before following behind him, the touch of air coming from his swings making the hair on Hexen's neck stand on end. But he was just fast enough to reach the dead horse and grab the shield that was still slung across its side.

He turned around to face his tormentor and raised the shield to block another blow. The club smashed against the steel kite, the sturdy wood somehow not splintering as the force of the blow sent painful vibrations wracking through Hexen's body. He'd barely registered what had just happened before the orc struck yet again, forcing the Nobleman to a knee as the throbbing threatened to overtake his senses. His free hand dropped numbly to his side… and found the hilt of his dropped sword.

Fighting through the pain, Hexen endured one final strike that finally forced him to drop the shield. Then struck when the orc wound up to deliver the finishing blow, driving the end of his blade through the bottom of its chin and out through the other side of its head. It made only a single gurgle before toppling over, leaving Hexen a moment to recover from the agonizing assault.

Others of his party seemed to be failing no better, several far worse. Kat had taken down another with her bow, but two others had closed the distance and had forced her to resort to her short sword as she tried to put distance between them. Myron could do little else besides continue riding on his own mount, shouting and trying to distract some of the orcs to allow a moment of respite or to make a killing blow. Some of his own men were already dead, or close enough to it, having been also taken off their horses or struck while they were still riding, sometimes in more than one piece. Two orcs seemed to be joining the fight for every one that was felled.

Hexen took in a few deep breaths, then ran to join the fighting once more, hoping that this reckless attempt at heroism wouldn't result in all their deaths.

~oOo~

"What in the in the actual fuck?!" Reaper hissed quietly; a sentiment Joker could wholeheartedly agree with.

It had been the sound of screaming that had drawn them to the chaos, the noise carrying far and wide in the absence of any real noise pollution. The scout team had hurriedly moved from the forest to set up an observation post with the long gun in the shadow of a large oak tree that offered a good view of the Hamlet's southeastern flank while still allowing them a reasonable degree of concealment. Not that anyone was even looking in their direction right now, with all attention of those within completely focused on just surviving.

The residents were being attacked by large humanoids with skin colors that ranged from bone white to an almost sickly green. They wielded evil-looking swords and axes that they used in hacking apart any unfortunate people they could get their hands on, cheering gleefully while they chased down their prey whenever any tried to run. A handful of brave souls looked like they were trying to make a fight of it, but none of them seemed to be armed with anything beyond hatchets or farming equipment, none of which seemed to even tickle their murderers.

"They're Orcs." Joker realized, suddenly remembering the intelligence briefings they'd all been forced to study before passing through the Gate. Apparently there had been a lot of these guys in the Battle of Ginza, and he could vaguely recall seeing a few during the fighting around Alnus Hill. "Those nasty bastards that were part of the axillary attack force."

"And now they're suddenly attacking the guys who they're supposed to be pals with? How the hell does that work?"

"I don't know. Maybe they were mercenaries, and the money finally dried up." Joker pursed his lips, an unsettling feeling starting to grip his gut. People were being killed right in front of him, not soldiers but unarmed civilians.

He had to work on keeping his mind focused, to not let the similarities with what happened before force its way into his mind.

"Are we just going to let them die? It doesn't look like these guys are taking any prisoners."

"If we go loud, our cover will be blown. Anyone who lives will tell everyone about what happened." Joker answered automatically, not buying his own BS even slightly as his teeth began to press together so hard his jaw ached. "We were ordered to keep a low profile."

"Only as much as we reasonably could!" Reaper countered. "This seems like a pretty fucking reasonable excuse to me!"

He didn't say anything in response, feeling his own grip tighten on the rifle to prevent himself from shaking. It was happening all over again, people dying within his view while he sat at a safe distance away, watching it all unfold through his scope and hearing their cries reach his ears.

"Joker! What the fuck are we doing man?!"

Around one of the homes ran a child, no older than eight years old, tears streaming down his face as his legs worked desperately to get away from the orc that was right behind him. It was a race the orc would win, closing the distance while racing his bloody axe and letting out a bone chilling bellow.

The entire scene swam before his eyes, mixing with flashes of a different place and a different time. A village, the screaming, a running child, a vest-

Joker felt the recoil go into his shoulder before the realization that he'd pulled the trigger, the loud crack of the firing weapon having been drowned out by the noise in his mind. His body let out a shaky breath he didn't know he'd been holding, as he brought the image of his scope back into focus. The little boy had fallen over now, looking up at his would-be killer in sheer horror. But the orc wasn't moving, its arms dropped to its sides and its mouth open thanks to a slack jaw. A dark hole sat where its nose once was, leaking out an oily looking substance before collapsing onto its back.

Vaguely, he was aware that Reaper was now looking at him.

"…Well, guess that answers that." He said, clearly relieved.

"Shut up and do your job, will you?" Joker loaded in the next round to the chamber. "I need a wind speed calculation."

"Coming right up." The other said, looking through his Spotter's scope with a satisfied smile on his face.

Though neither of them said it, it was clear that they'd need to move into the Hamlet proper if they were going to drive these sick fucks away for good, since there was no good vantage point around that would grant them a complete view of the area. That meant they'd almost certainly be seen, adding even more fuel to the stories the survivors here would tell.

'In for a penny, in for a pound.' Joker thought. 'We're not the kind to leave a job half-finished anyway.'