Mass Effect: The New Face of War

by ProfFartBurger

It is said that War never Changes; Men do, through the roads they walk, but War does not. The Humans fought The First War, and alongside the Quarians, the Alliance stands tall against the Galaxy in the face of continued adversity. Now Humanity's place is challenged, their power tested, and age-old beliefs are shattered when a beyond-ancient species is forced onto the playing field.

42. Entr'acte

A/N:

If you find any grammar/punctuation errors in the following monster of a chapter, please allow me a little slack. I'll explain at the end.

Also, hey there!

Without further ado,

We're off!

---

Entr'acte

---

Entr'acte -

N.

An interval between two acts of a play or opera.

---

Preparing for combat, even for a BattleVector, was a solemn experience. It was incomprehensibly difficult to predict when a battle was coming unless one was planning to instigate the battle themselves, but this one time in few was an exception. The Second Temple was currently one of the most heavily protected, heavily watched places this side of Innsua city. For every square meter, there were at least two satellites orbiting geosynchronously to watch over it. For this reason, the BattleVectors manning these satellites were able to see the green sea of heretics roaring across the planet in their planes, trains, and automobiles. At the rate they were travelling, they would reach the Second Temple within twenty hours, and their near constant velocity and lack of any pauses or breaks to sleep and refuel indicated that they had no intention of slowing down until they reached their objective.

So the army of BattleVectors had eight hours to prepare, eight hours to fortify the Second Temple, eight hours to turn it from the second most heavily protected place in the known universe, into the second most fortified, impenetrable structure in known space. The very best of the very best of the BattleVectors were all there to ensure the job would be done. They wanted it to take three war forges, ten HellFire cannons, and even a liquid fire satellite to be able to even have a chance to piece their fortifications.

Unfortunately for us… We have none of those things. Thought Jorban Sal'Naa, as he and several other Lancemen stared at a tactical map of the Second Temple and the surrounding area. The title Lancemen was something of an honor in and of itself - it was the highest possible rank underneath Praetorian. To be a Lancemen meant that one could lead legions of BattleVector and Tyyrahn simultaneously on the field of battle, and be able to utilize both of their skillsets to their absolute maximum potential. One Lancemen could take control of a battle and decide victory, but twelve, in the same room, all dedicated to victory at all costs, could turn the tide of a war.

Twelve Lancemen, in the same room, dedicated to victory at all costs, where victory entailed not letting a single unenlightened being enter the holy grounds, could do exactly what they wished. "Spread the Wraiths out amongst the wooded areas. Tell them to do whatever they desire." Said one BattleVector, "the heretics will know to expect them, but being prepared is a far cry from being able. Thousands of Wraiths in one enclosed area, not even an insect could enter and make it through alive."

"The Winged can keep control of our skies. With ground forces assisting them they would be untouchable." Said another, "their mounted energy cannons would burn anything on land or in sky."

"That could put friendly ground forces and the Wraiths at risk." Said a third, before he was interrupted by Jorban.

"Not if we send the air forces to strike at them preemptively, keeping their air from reaching us." He said, "half of our Winged strike at their heart and keep the Insurrectionist Air from advancing. The remaining half hammer them as they reach our defensive line, leaving their assault forces weakened and unable to break our defense." He explained, gesticulating with his hands, pointing at the map, and drawing lines to illustrate his point. "When they reach us, they will meet a wall of ballistic cannons. Stagger our defense, the outermost wall has the largest caliber weapons. If they breach that, they reach the second wall - energy lances creating a blinding wall of solar heat. The final hardy few who penetrate the second wall reach the Berserkers." He explained.

"Why Berserkers last? Why not have them first, place the ballistic cannons second, make the energy weapons our final line of defense? We've trained with those since we were Oathers - there is no weapon we know better."

"That is exactly why they are second. Every one of us, from the simple BattleVector to the highest Lancemen, to even the Praetorian himself, knows Energy Lances inside and out. We could disassemble, clean, and repair them, missing both eyes, deaf, half dead, and unconscious, and still aim and fire a kill-shot. So they are our second option - when they are the most tired, we are our most skilled. And should they get past that barrier, they shall be unfit and too exhausted to engage the berserkers in a melee."

The other Lancemen looked dubious for a moment, but quickly came around as they saw the logic. First deafened and shell-shocked by the walls of gunfire, then burned alive by a barrier of lasers, then finally slaughtered by fresh and ready to fight berserkers. Escalating force and energy consumption, leading to an exhausted encounter with one of the most feared and brutal melee fighters in the worlds.

"One concern, even if we cut the number of Wraiths in half, the wooded and surrounding areas would still be too saturated with Wraiths. They would begin to hinder each other due to proximity." Another Lanceman brought up. "What if we sent them to harass the army? They could make them exhausted and battle weary before they even hit the first wall."

Several nodded, "make it so." Said one.

"We have eight hours. The fortifications must be the thickest and strongest at the center of the quarry. We must block all possible entrances, and leave guards at them, inside and out, just in case." Said Jorban, "I propose that each layer of the wall has at least one Lanceman participating, and they all feed information and reports to one who controls the battle centrally, from within the temple."

"And who would that be?" Asked one Lanceman, "who would willingly distance themselves from the most glorious battle of the insurrection?"

"You mean -" Another spoke up, leaning forward and pointing a claw at the man, the low, golden light reflecting off of his dull green scales. "- who would have the honor of leading this battle. Win or lose, it shall forever be marked in the history books - the day the BattleVectors discovered, and protected, the second temple of the Hoomanisire. Amen, I would volunteer, but it would take someone of extreme skill and cunning to lead such a massive army of BattleVectors, even more so to ensure that the temple receives as little damage as possible during the violence." He said, placing his hands on the table and leaning upon it heavily. "And given… Our imminent arrival, this is not a battle we can afford to lose, at all."

"Did I miss something?" A Lanceman asked, scanning the crowd for someone willing to give an answer.

"The Praetorian is to arrive within the week. He is to speak again to the Batarians, to give them an answer as to our stance in their war." Said Jorban, "but that matters not. It is merely incentive to win, not our reason. Our reason is that this place… This temple." He took a few steps back, waving his hand around the spacious room, indicating the intricate carvings and ancient metals. "It is holy ground. If but one heretical, unenlightened insurrectionist steps upon it, we have not only failed our charge, but our god. They will ransack this temple, caring not for the countless meanings in every carving, or the hidden lessons in every ancient word, they will only care for weapons they could find, or gifts they could steal." He turned back to the table underneath the room's lone light source. "Think of the damage they could do, even without those things. They won a temple. So many countless people could lose faith, not just in us, but in the Hoomanisire. If he allowed the unenlightened to steal his temple, then surely it is proof that he has abandoned us, and there is no chance to win back his faith and love. It would be chaos.

"This battle could be the deciding factor between a continued age of enlightenment, or a second dark age… And I do not think that even the combined might of the Tyyrahn and the BattleVectors of modern times could prevent it." He said, placing one finger on the center of the map, the very temple they all stood in. "Whether or not the best of all of us approaches… Whether or not we know that we have brothers beyond our stars… Whether or not we even believe such a thing is possible, given its difficulty… We must win. We must show the gods that, no matter how many tests he gives us, we will pass every one."

The room was silent, as the dark-scaled BattleVector's words settled in. All eyes either met his deep red orbs, or stared at the map he touched. Everyone present knew he was correct, everyone present knew just how vast the stakes were. This wasn't a simple battle with the insurrectionists, it was the pen that wrote the title of the next chapter of Saltorian history. The Day the BattleVectors lost, or the Day the Hoomanisire Smiled?

"I volunteer Lanceman Sal'Naa to lead our stand." Said one BattleVector, with confidence in his deep voice.

"I second this motion."

"As do I."

And before Jorban knew what he had done, he found a sense of pride and of duty welling up in his chest, as, one by one, his gun-brothers all supported his right to lead the battle for the second temple. If they won, it was because of his strength and skill. If they lost, it was because he allowed them to. They trusted his skills, enough so that they felt he should lead their efforts.

Jorban clenched his wide jaw, and firmly nodded. "I shall not let down any of you. Amen."

---

The mechanical clanking of the slide of a 1.5 caliber machine gun being racked was once described as the most terrifying sound one would never hear. Before the battle began, it went unheard because the enemy was not yet close enough to be killed. In the middle of battle, the sound went unheard in the chaotic maelstrom of gunfire and explosions. After battle, it went unheard because the weapon was to rest. The thick 'clanks', the metal 'chunks', the sounds of the bullets sliding into position, the click of the safety being removed, and the light groans of metal being stressed as Saltorian hands rested on the triggers, it all resulted in one single message.

Whosoever shall step in front of this weapon… Prayed a young BattleVector of two hundred years, one fist clenched in front of his hearts, I pray they shall know the wrath and fury of the righteous guard. I pray they suffer in their final moments, and are led to the peaceful embrace of the one true god… He heard, in the distance, the thunderous claps of explosions, and the sonic booms of jets breaking the soundbarrier. The roar of the enemy army's vehicles grew closer and closer, as did the screams of those cursed to enter the forests and wooded lands claimed by the Wraiths. I pray we who live and breathe the greatest of ironies are successful in our charge, and to those of us who fall… I pray we find peace, for the first and last time.

"Amen!" He heard someone chant, long and drawn out, trying to draw everyone else into it. "Amen!" The BattleVector called out, emphasizing each syllable, his deep voice struggling to overcome the distant sounds of war.

"Amen!" Another BattleVector responded, soon joined by two more, who were joined by four, and before long, every BattleVector manning every living wall was chanting the ancient word, the sheer number of thundering voices shouting in unison caused chests to shake, ears to ring, and when they arrived, caused the advancing enemy forces to doubt their motives for just a moment. Such was the power of the ancient word, such was the mystery - so few truly knew what it meant, only that it spelled doom when uttered by a BattleVector.

"Amen!" The first living wall roared, as the ground began shaking from the force of all of the vehicles beating it on their path to the Second Temple. "Amen!" Thousands of men, aged from eggborn to twilight eyed, hundreds of vehicles, decades to centuries old and outdated, they all rounded the bend and began rampaging down the long, straight road that divided two forests and the quarry. "Amen!" Whether the heretics knew it or not, they had been bottlenecked - to enter the forests was to subject themselves to the Wraiths, and to continue sprinting down the road was to have them face a wall of gunfire.

"Remember, men." Came the voice of Lanceman Sal'Naa, into the ear-pieces of all assembled BattleVectors.

"AMEN!"

"They abandoned their faith, so we shall abandon our mercy. We fight not for our lives, but for the glory of the Hoomanisire. Stand strong, and let not a single heretic step foot upon these hallowed grounds." His deep, rumbly voice stood in stark contrast to the collective baritone blast of the thousands of gathered BattleVectors.

"AMEN!" They all called, before the first shot from the main wall blasted out, a sniper firing a round the size of his fist.

The young BattleVector curled his tail around his midsection, and with a set face, he roared out loudly, joining the battlecries of the determined warriors before he wrapped his free arm around the barrel of his weapon, steadying it. He pressed his shoulder into the machine gun's stock and ground his foot onto its mount, the metal clinking and clanking before finally he depressed the trigger. The first bullet exploded outwards with a massive gout of fire and a deafening thunderclap, screaming through the air at thousands of meters per second.

The first projectile slammed into its target, dozens of meters away. The sheer force of impact blasted the insurrectionist out of his vehicle in a flying frenzy of blood and shattered glass. The driver of the vehicle swerved to the right, trying to avoid the endless thundering of the wall of machine guns, cannons, and rifles, inadvertently slamming into the vehicle next to it with a loud metallic crunch that went unheard over the sound of gunfire and battle cries. The approaching enemy masses scattered in all directions, attempting to spread themselves out thin so as to make it more difficult for the defenders to destroy them.

"They are trying to slide down the quarry!" The young BattleVector heard.

"They shall do no such thing!" Came the voice of Lanceman Sal'Naa, "extend the barriers. First layer, retreat thirteen meters and facilitate a bottleneck." He ordered.

"Stacked retreat!" Came the voice of the first layer's Lanceman, "Advance guard, prepare to move! Secondary line, prepare to fire!" As he spoke, the young BattleVector removed his foot from the pod of his machine gun, and large metallic walls began extending upwards from the sides of the downward leading slopes of the quarry. Over the gunfire could be heard the sounds of panicked shrieks, as multiple insurrectionists were caught unaware by the barriers and sent tumbling down to their dooms. "Advanced guard, retreat!"

With those words, the young BattleVector hefted his machine gun into the air, cradling it like a battering ram. He unfurled his tail and scooped up the large bag that contained within it his ammunition boxes; he swung the gun and the bag around to the side and turned his body with them, their momentum carrying his arms and tail out to the side, before he barreled forward through a thin path created by the other BattleVectors. He bowed down low and thundered forward, his feet pounding the stone with loud thumps, and the sounds of fresh guns and vengeful souls rapidly retreating behind him.

After he retreated eight meters, the sounds of war sounded much more distant, and the only sounds he could clearly hear were his thundering heartbeat and his rapid breaths of air. He was flanked on all sides by others who had manned that first line of Saltorians, all of them carrying various machine guns, rifles, and ammunition. Not a word was spoken between them as they descended deeper into the pale-stoned quarry, the light from the suns above slowly receding as the barriers grew taller.

The BattleVector skidded to a halt when he reached thirteen meters, marked by another series of sandbags, his boots scraped against the stone and sent small pebbles scattering in all directions. He hopped over the sandbags and made another one hundred and eighty degree turn. His deep brown eyes immediately snapped up as he roughly planted his machine gun mount back on the ground with a loud metal clack, and the scraping sound of metal on stone. Barely a second later, more green blurs came barreling around the bend, these men carrying with them more ammunition and weapons.

The young BattleVector opened up his ammunition box, mentally tallying up the kills he was aware of. He had killed at least eight men in addition to three vehicles, and had burned through half of his first ammunition box. By his math, he would last another hour like this, perhaps two if he practiced better trigger discipline. He nodded and adjusted his helmet, it scraping and pulling at his sweat-slick scales, before he bent his knees and pressed his shoulder into the machine gun.

Twelve levels until the Second Temple. Three living walls. Nine mortar, Anti-Personnel, and Anti-Air emplacements. The BattleVector mentally counted down, as the second line reached the rendezvous point and began stacking up behind cover. Thirteen meters… We are on level two of twelve, the next wall is on stacked from level seven to level three, the final wall, level two to ground level. More BattleVectors came sprinting around the bend, the machine-gunner braced himself against his weapon, knowing that the enemy would soon follow. We do not stop fighting until they retreat. His neutral expression turned into a scowl of multiple sharp, carnivorous teeth. We do not stop killing until they cannot fight. He braced his booted feet against the ground, grinding it up as they sank a few inches back. We will not fail. We will not falter. We will win, for the glory of the Hoomanisire.

"Amen." Said the BattleVector, as several of the runners ducked their heads, insurrectionist fire pouring over them like a wave of angry insects.

The moment the young BattleVector got a shot, it coming in the form of a speeding vehicle, he lined up the sights on his weapon and fired. The recoil slammed repeatedly back into his shoulder, his uniform rippling with each blast, his scales lighting up a brief yellow-white with each flash. The enormous slugs flew through the air, so accurate that they blasted straight past his retreating gun-brothers so easily that it was as if they were not even there. With multiple loud thunks, the projectiles slammed into the front of the speeding vehicle, tearing massive holes in its boxy surface, before finally hitting the engine block and turning the vehicle into a massive paperweight.

The driver quickly lost control, swerving left and right before the vehicle finally went airborne. The BattleVector continued firing, some bullets hitting the bouncing, spinning vehicle, some going past it to obliterate the men not protected by their vehicles, turning them into clouds of red paste, and painting the area around them red and sticky with gore. The vehicle bounced thrice, tearing large divots out of the ground, before it slammed into the extended barrier and skidded to a halt. The heretics didn't even hesitate to use the smoldering corpse of a vehicle as cover, several opting to hide behind it, others using the divots as cover. The advance slowed down considerably as more vehicles arrived and screeched to a halt to be used as cover. The young BattleVector fired in long, sustained bursts, destroying and detonating vehicles, blasting apart the unblessed, and keeping those too cowardly to face him pinned down as they hid from his gunfire.

Blind fire from the approaching insurrectionists zipped past the BattleVector defensive line, the young machine-gunner ducked down, briefly pausing in his fire to dodge the incoming rounds. He waited a moment before he popped back up again and opened fire, his eyes immediately snapping upwards. Grappling hooks and other climbing implements were being thrown over the barrier, and the unblessed were ambling over them as fast as possible.

"They are climbing the barriers!" The young BattleVector called out, and not a second later another BattleVector slid into cover next to him, waiting a moment as more bullets zoomed by, before he popped up and took aim.

The rifleman fired in short, tight bursts, snapping his aim from each target the moment they lost their grip and went tumbling down. As other machine gunners worked to suppress and destroy the encroaching horde, more riflemen worked to shoot down the climbers. The insurrectionists soon mounted a counterattack, all of them ceasing fire and waiting as the BattleVectors suppressed them. Those hiding behind vehicles ignored the scorching flames and red hot metal, those hiding in craters and divots laid low and covered their heads with their arms, and those hiding behind the stacked corpses and body parts of their dead crouched down and kept their heads low.

The Machine Gunner narrowed his eyes, before they flew open in realization, and he dropped behind cover. Barely a second later, as one, the heretics all broke cover and raised their rifles, before a storm of gunfire washed over the BattleVector defensive line. The machine-gunner heard several cries of pain, and saw one or two bodies hit the ground, as dead as their ancestors. The gunner risked a peek over his sandbags, and cursed when he saw another series of insurrectionists ambling over the barriers as quickly as possible.

The insurrectionists were met, however, by snipers resting atop the dull, silver roof of the Second Temple. There were hundreds of sharpshooters taking cover behind various outcroppings and walls on top of the unearthed structure, many of them wearing dull-colored camouflage so as to blend in with the roof's surface. The sniper rounds screamed through the air, not a single one missing its target, each one turning a heretic to paste before they could even cry out.

"Second layer, make ready." Said a sniper, before he pulled the trigger on his rifle and a massive slug blasted outwards. He operated the bolt on his rifle, and slammed it back home. "We can only keep them from moving for so long." He scanned the top of the barrier, found a target that lost his footing and was half on one side, half on the other. With a pull of the trigger, the sniper made certain no half of the unblessed soldier would survive the end of the day, as it turned the poor creature into a red mist. He slid the bolt and slammed it back home, snapping to his next target, before a round buried itself into the ground a few meters to his left.

The sniper's eyes widened and he inhaled deeply through his nose, instantly judging the direction of the round and gauging the distance from which it had been fired. He whipped around to the right and aimed his weapon high. There was nothing, but he narrowed his eyes and fired the weapon anyways, the massive bullet slamming into and through the raised metal barrier, with blood and gore spraying outwards, the figure that had been hanging from the wall falling to his death, his arm blown off at the shoulder. The sniper grunted, and quickly found another target, pulling the trigger with no hesitation. The round went wide, hitting the side of the insurrectionist's chest as opposed to his dead center, blasting the left side of his torso clean off, leaving ribs sticking out, the remaining bits of his spine exposed, gore dripping down to his lower half, and an explosively deflated lung trying and failing to inhale oxygen. The Saltorian fell backwards, a look of unparalleled pain on his face as he gurgled his last.

"The second layer is ready."

"Allow a tactical advance." Came the voice of Lanceman Sal'Naa, "they shall think they have gained ground, and rush into the second layer, foolhardy."

"Lanceman -" Suddenly came the voice of the first layer's Lanceman. "- we will be surrounded!"

"The barriers and quarry walls were coated in tungsten, and are reflective." Came Sal'Naa, as a swarm of miniature drones flew in from the south.

"You worry about your front, sirs. We shall keep cover of your rears." Spoke another voice, "our eyes are not limited to those in our head." A moment passed after the voice spoke, and the barrier lit up as a talon-sized beam of energy hit the wall and reflected off of it. Before any of them could even blink, the single laser beam reflected off of the barrier and onto the quarry's wall, zig-zagging higher and higher before reaching the general area of the first defensive line.

Initially reflected off into the sky, the searing-hot laserbeam was intercepted by one of the stone-sized drones, which split the single beam into multiple smaller ones and reflected each one to a different target. Such was the strength and intensity of the energy beams that they seared the scales and burned the meat of everyone they hit in an instant. The screams of men as they were burned to death filled the air, as did the ash made from their flash-fried bodies. The harsh winds, explosions, and flying projectiles quickly scattered the ash and mixed it with the air, filling it with a faint fog.

Their numbers falling nearly as quickly as the newest arrivals could replenish them, the heretics began bolstering their numbers just behind their main offensive line. They drove a neutered truck, its engine and fuel cells removed, the vehicle was fitted with dozens of shock-absorbing metal plates, and was half as wide as the two meter distance between the stone wall of the quarry and the tungsten barrier that marked the slope's edge. The massive vehicle, adorned in dark metal plates, rumbled forward, pushed by the might of two thickly muscled, dark-scaled Saltorians. The rolling fortress of a vehicle picked up speed as they kept pushing it down the descending slope, more of the insurrectionists' number hopping behind the shield and riding it down, cheers raising into the air as they passed their allies, who felt more invigorated as the shield-truck started taking fire from the machine guns and rifles of the BattleVector defenses, and kept rolling forward. The bullets slammed into the meter thick metal plates, not even slowing the vehicle down as it absorbed the shock of impact and protected the men behind it.

The sound of rock churning underneath thick rubber tires, of the bullets striking and rebounding off of metal, and of men roaring over gunfire all met the ears of the insurrectionists as the speed of the shield overtook the strength of the two pushing it. They hopped onto the truck bed, riding the shielded vehicle down the descending slope. Several heretics hung off of the side of the rolling fortress, firing wildly towards the BattleVectors, but the fools had failed to account for the unparallelled skill of the BattleVectors, and for their trouble they were blasted to pieces by the sharpshooters.

"BRACE YOURSELVES!" Roared a young, light-voiced insurrectionist, as the rolling fortress rumbled towards the BattleVector defensive line, almost instantly attracting the attention of every gun that was available. Thousands of BattleVectors firing hundreds of thousands of bullets, a shower of golden sparks and red-hot shrapnel flying off from the front of the rolling fortress as they slammed into it and shattered into hundreds of pieces. The dark vehicle roared down the winding slope, parting the thin ash cloud and rampaging straight towards the sandbags. "WE ARE COMING THROOOOOOOOUGH!" As he bellowed, before the truck slammed into the sandbags and continued barreling through, scattering hundreds of pounds of sand and dozens of BattleVectors that leapt for cover.

The enormous vehicle shook and rumbled as its tires crunched everything underneath them, from sandbags to ammunition boxes to a few slow BattleVectors. However, to the credit of the Hoomanisire's chosen defenders, it took little less than a moment for them to adapt as the truck kept rumbling down the slope. Several BattleVectors, casting aside their rifles or their machine guns, they took up their hand cannons and leapt onto the front and sides of the out-of-control vehicle. As the vehicle coasted down the slope, and the BattleVectors climbed its surface, the other heretics surged forward, unwary of however many fell to unseen laser fire.

The BattleVectors climbing up the vehicle struggled upwards as they blasted through their defensive line and left it behind. It took them only a few moments to crest over the edges of the metal plate and leap onto the truck bed, startling some and terrifying others. The truck bed, already cramped with how many insurrectionists filled it, was filled to the brim as a dozen holy BattleVectors leapt into the fray to do battle with over a hundred heretics. Each of the BattleVectors held a gun in one hand and had the claws of their other hand extended, and the truck bed quickly became a maelstrom of chaos as the insurrectionists all tried moving as one disorganized mass, hopping, jumping, and dodging this way and that, firing their weapons with a wanton disregard for their allies. The BattleVectors used this chaos to their advantage, and soon the truck-bed lit up as they weaved into and out of melee range, slashing at the throats of the opponents closest to them and blasting apart the chests of those at any distance greater than that of their arm. As the vehicle continued rampaging down the slope, the truck-bed became awash with blood, gore, and stuffed to the brim with corpses, the original number dwindling down to the lower dozens, but they got their chance to counter when the truck came to the first bend.

Without warning or preparation, the semi-truck slammed into the wall of the quarry and bounced off, jarring everyone standing upon the bed and sending a few of the BattleVectors falling to their backs. The insurrectionists, after regaining their balance, leapt into action, bodily throwing themselves forward and towards the recovering BattleVectors. One unlucky chosen warrior was faced with eight rebels at once, four of which pinned his limbs down, and the others retrieved their weapons. They pointed their weapons at the BattleVector, who only managed to disentangle one limb before he was blasted to bits by gunfire. This death would prove to be the heretic's only victory, however, as two other BattleVectors tackled them to the ground and blew apart their chests with their handguns, and sliced apart their necks with their claws,rage consuming them at the loss of their gun-brother.

The maelstrom of blood and gore continued as the truck kept rampaging down the sloped quarry. Deafening gunshots and the gurgles of slit throats filled the air, joining the sounds of gravel and stone churning underneath the tremendous weight of the vehicle. However, the journey down to the Second Temple halted wholesale when they came within eyesight of the second defensive line. Thousands of BattleVectors, each armed with an energy lance, all aimed at the tires of the vehicle. In less than a second, the rubber tires and the steel rims melted to slag. The tremendous weight of the vehicle suddenly dipped down and dug into the stone ground. The vehicle dragged forwards for a few meters before it hit a thicker, denser patch of stone.

All of the vehicle's forward momentum was turned to upward momentum, and it flipped into the air, spilling corpses, blood, and gore, and tossing the remaining living fighters into the air. The insurrectionists panicked as their feet left the ground, but the BattleVectors merely adapted, with the ones that had been separated from their prey merely aiming their guns and firing away. The BattleVectors close enough to grapple their opponents, however, unfurled their tails and wrapped them around the waists of the unfortunate heretics. Some yanked the fighters closer and punched, kicked, kneed, and sliced at them, preferring to kill them themselves rather than let the forces of gravity do the job; others, however, whipped their opponents around through the air, forcing them to face the ground.

The BattleVectors tumbled through the air, the ground growing closer with every moment. The grapplers braced themselves against their screaming body-shields, whilst the ones with no shield merely braced for the inevitable impact. Their gun-brothers on the ground, however, would not sit idly by and allow their fellow BattleVectors to die. Several of the energy-lancemen began sprinting through the ranks, parting them like a sea, trailing underneath the airborne BattleVectors. It took a few seconds longer for them to fall to the ground due to the planet's lighter gravity in comparison to Saltor, but that merely meant the energy-lancemen had more time to lead their gun-brothers and catch them safely. The flying Saltorians landed in the arms of their gun-brothers with loud grunts and jarring impacts. They tumbled and skidded across the ground before finally coming to a halt.

Breathing heavily, his heart in his throat, one BattleVector nodded to his savior. "Thank you, brother." He said, as the two disentangled themselves. He got to his feet and reloaded his hand cannon, before clacking its barrel against the barrel of his savior's energy lance. "I fear what would have happened had I hit the ground without your…" He grinned a sharp-toothed grin. "Soft arms." He pointed at the man's eyes, "I can see it in your eyes." He said, before the two began jogging back to the second layer's front lines. "Mount Hoyorandu?"

"Ninety years of service under the softest mountain on Saltor." The man smiled, "it is a small system." He said as the two picked up speed.

The BattleVector turned his head forward, watching as the smoke, noise, and brief flashes of light from discharged firearms slowly approached them. "It is getting smaller with every passing day." He said, as one side of the quarry wall lit up a bright white, the only mark of the energy beams hitting them and rebounding towards the approaching rebels.

"Second layer, make ready for imminent contact." Came the voice of Lanceman Sal'Naa. "I am working on securing access to a Liquid Fire Satellite. I need just one hour." He spoke, "to all: our winged force is returning to rearm themselves, so the enemy will be unmolested and able to mount a heavy assault. Close air is on its way." Coinciding with his words were the deafening sounds of mortars firing their shells, and the whistling that followed as the mortars flew high into the sky, pale white contrails marking their trail. "Snipers, focus on the climbers and the ridges that could give them a height advantage. Mortars, use our unmanned fliers to find and target any heavy vehicles. First and Second defensive layers, take down every enemy you see, and do not let them breech any further until I give the word. Our most lethal weapon is their own hubris. Individual fighters, prepare to receive orders.

"We have the Hoomanisire on our side." Said the Lanceman, as the two BattleVectors reached the front line and slid into cover. "Fight knowing you fight for righteousness. Amen."

The two BattleVectors waited as the heretic insurrectionists continued approaching. The rumble of the ground being beaten by the feet of the unblessed, and thunderclaps of their weapons tearing apart the air, it all assaulted the ears of every BattleVector waiting for the battle to meet them. Just before they rounded the bend, the BattleVectors raised as one, those at the very front staying low, those behind them barely standing, with a rising tide of BattleVectors until their very rear, who all stood as tall as they could, giving every single living, breathing embodiment of battle a clear shot.

The quarry in front of them went from partially darken and shadowed to as bright as a desert in the afternoon in an instant, as the BattleVectors all pulled the triggers on their energy lances. In scant seconds the stone ground began to smolder visibly, the husk of the shield truck began to bubble and melt to slag, the end result being a ten meter long valley of heat as unforgiving and uncompromising as the twin suns. The first insurrectionists to cross the threshold of cold and hot were turned to ash just as the pain registered and they began to scream. The second group to cross over barely had time to try and slide to a halt before their skin boiled off of their bones and they tumbled forward, the rubber of their boots flash-melting and sticking to the white hot ground.

The insurrectionists wised up fast and halted and reversed their advance, unable to grab cover due to the fact that it just didn't exist within the ten meter no-man's land. Thirty feet of searing hot concrete and disintegrating lasers, no one could pass that in the handful of seconds they had before their scales burned off and their bodies turned to ash. Whenever they tried peering around the bend, a sharpshooter would burn a hole right in between the eyes of the unlucky fighter that had drawn the short straw. The unblessed knew, however, that they could not wait for their enemy's weapons to drink their energy cells, nor could they wait for the weapons to overheat, for no BattleVector was stupid enough to allow such a thing to happen to their sacred and holy weapon.

Their options limited, the heretics instead opted for a third option. The heavy weapons operators had their time to shine by shouldering their rocket launchers and aiming for the uppermost edge of the quarry. They knew that they couldn't afford to be stingy in this situation, if they used only one or two rockets, the BattleVectors could shoot them down, so they had to overwhelm any possible defense with sheer quantity. They launched their explosives, which filled the air with dark smoke and arced through it with a loud roar and a blast of fire, before slamming into the quarry's wall and detonating in enormous, fiery explosions. Debris immediately began raining down in a massive rockslide, forcing a great deal of the BattleVectors to let go of their triggers and run for cover, leaving only a few hundred able to keep up the valley of fire.

Without enough numbers to sustain it, the BattleVectors' trap was ruined, and with the rocks and debris tumbling down on their position, their defenses were weakened. The insurrectionists had a perfect chance to make it over the former valley of fire, all they had to do was cross the partially melted stone. They waited a few moments, listening to the pained cries of the BattleVectors as they were assaulted by the rockslide, and building up the courage to cross the slagged stone. One of them, a burly Saltorian with graying scales, decided the moment was opportune and, with a deep, bellowing battle cry, sprinted away. He rounded the bend and kept thundering forward, the heat of the valley of fire assaulting him with no reservations, instantly coating him in a thin film of sweat. His boots stuck to the ground as they melted, and his clothes started to smoke and smolder, but he kept beating the ground with his feet, the air leaving his lungs as loudly as he could force it to, almost as if he felt he would die if he stopped trying to outdo the volume of the battle.

The burly insurrectionist reached the edge of the valley of fire, and the difference in temperature was like night and day, going from unbearably hot to terrifyingly cold in an anticlimactic second. He grunted deeply and hopped up, before slamming his feet down onto the ground and leaping high into the air, his steaming gun barking out its searing hot ammunition, tearing apart any BattleVectors unlucky enough to be in its path of destruction. Blood and gore splattered all over the ground as he soared through the air and sprayed ammunition everywhere, and whenever his slugs hit body armor, the BattleVector he hit was instantly slammed into the ground with multiple broken ribs. The burly insurrectionist soared for a few seconds before he hit his crest and started falling, but by then, the rockslide was half over, and the more experienced BattleVectors were recovering. Before he could blink, he felt a blinding, burning pain bloom all across his body and burn through his chest. A stabbing, almost electric feeling gripped his body as his primary heart was destroyed by laserfire, and his second heart was grazed by the searing hot laserbeams.

Knowing death was imminent, the burly fighter hit the ground with a roll. He got to his feet and yanked his head backwards, avoiding a lightning-fast kick from a BattleVector. He whipped his gun up and pulled the trigger, but only the click of an empty magazine met him. The gray-scaled heretic growled, though due to his burned, damaged lungs, it came out as a hiss as well as a cough. He gripped his weapon by its stock and pushed forward, swinging it like a blunt instrument and clocking the BattleVector on the head, just hard enough to rip off scales and draw blood. Keeping his momentum going, the burly fighter dropped down low and swung out his tail, catching the BattleVector in the gut and pushing him to the ground. The BattleVector clawed his tail, scraping several inches of scales clean off and soaking his claws in the unblessed blood. Before the burly fighter could do anything else, his already penetrated chest was blown completely apart by a massive caliber bullet that had went wide and missed its original target. He lurched forward and fell to the ground, revealing, mere feet away, two Saltorians locked in a physical struggle, both hands clenched together as they tried to overcome the other through sheer strength.

The two Saltorians, one adorned in patchwork tungsten plates and the other in thick kevlar armor, locked eyes with each other as they pushed against their opponent, trying with all of their might to overpower the man trying to kill them. The heretics, however, lacked the training and the brotherhood afforded to the BattleVectors, and as such none of his allies came to his aid when they noticed his struggle, but on the other side, the moment any BattleVector saw their gun-brother struggling for his life, they all placed theirs on the line to weave through the fight to help him. In a blink-and-you-miss-it moment, three BattleVectors leapt into battle alongside the first, one slamming his fist into the side of the insurrectionist's face, the other came in low, whirling around and slamming him in the midsection with his tail, while the final locked both of his arms around the unblessed heretic's stomach and hauled him into the air, suplexing him with a loud battle cry and the sound of a skull splitting on concrete.

The BattleVector, stunned from the impact with the ground, shook his head and slowly let out the air from his lungs, regaining his composure. When he looked up, he saw a hand extended, and he took it without delay, hauling himself to his feet, before quickly having to duck his head down to avoid incoming fire.

"Seal the breach! Stop their advance!" The second layer's Lanceman called out, his voice barely heard over the sounds of men shouting, guns firing, and fists colliding with skin.

The quartet of BattleVectors turned to the front of their defensive line, seeing, just over the heads of their fighting brethren, many more approaching insurrectionists. The first to run forward bent down low and snatched up a second energy lance with his free hand, and brought to bear the one hanging from his shoulders by a sling. The other three followed suit, sprinting behind him, swinging their cradled weapons and huffing and puffing as their legs flew over the ground.

They reached the line of sandbags, several of which had been toppled by the rampaging rebels. The one with two energy lances took charge, "You!" He pointed at the thinnest one, "take the ones on the left. You!" He pointed at the one whose energy lance had a thinner, more focused barrel. "Take the ones on the right. And you!" He pointed at the man in the center, "take down everyone in the center! I shall worry about our rears." He said, turning his back to the sandbags and pressing against it. He shoved one energy lance in the crook of his knee, twisting its stock clockwise with a loud 'click', and pulling it out, detaching the barrel and turning the lance into an energy pistol. The second one, his own lance, he stuck underneath his armpit, before twisting counterclockwise. He spun it around to a proper grip, just as the barrel went from a cool metal to a bright, glowing white. The lance's bore sealed itself from the outside and pressed itself flat, and in the space of two seconds, his lance went from a ranged weapon to a close-quarters sword. He gripped the former stock tightly, and growled before he stood up, the barrel of his scavenged weapon clattering to the ground; he narrowed his eyes as several insurrectionists noticed what his gun-brothers were preparing to do and approached, weapons drawn.

Before any of them could pull the triggers of their weapons, the BattleVector surged forth, his pistol raised and glowing, its beam drawing a searing hot line across all three heretics, stunning them long enough for him to close the distance and swing his sword. The white-hot blade carved a smoldering wound across the chests of the three, using his momentum to continue spinning, his tail unfurling from around his chest and smacking into their heads, sending them stumbling back. When he finished his spin and faced the three again, he swung his pistol around and fired into the face of the closest insurrectionist to him, burning a hole into his face and killing him before he could scream. The other two, having been given a moment to recover, shouldered their weapons and opened fire.

The BattleVector's eyes widened as far as possible as time slowed to a crawl. He saw the flash of fire explode out from the two barrels and the .50 caliber bullets blast outwards in slow motion. Acting fast and on an instinct bred by centuries of life under the light of the Hoomanisire, the BattleVector swung his burning blade upwards, the white hot blade cutting into the spinning bullet and carving it in two. The bullet split in two and flew off to the sides, grazing against him as opposed to busting him open like a balloon. On the upswing, as the other bullet hit his shoulder, he flicked his wrist and swung the blade in a wide, circular arc. He caught the throat of one of them, sending it spinning to the ground, gurgling through scorched and blackened scales, and the final heretic threw his head back, just managing to dodge the searing hot blade.

The final heretic stumbled onto the backfoot, but threw himself forward, tackling the BattleVector and pushing them several inches back, towards his allies, who were busy burning the approaching insurrectionists to ash. The BattleVector growled, slamming his head into the head of his opponent once, twice, thrice, before his powerful blows drew blood and dizzied the unblessed man, giving him just the time he needed to elbow him in the back and burn him with his gun. The heretic cried out in pain as it felt its innards get scorched black, but its cries were silenced when the BattleVector's blade pierced its back and he yanked it to the side, all but bisecting him, and dragging his organs out of his body. The heretic fell to the ground with a dull thump, and the BattleVector didn't pay him any further mind, his head snapping up and seeing several intense struggles nearby, each with the potential to spill over to his allies should he do nothing. With a deep grimace, he tore off forward, sword held low to the ground and his pistol extended.

Behind the sprinting BattleVector, the three lancemen were holding off the advance of the insurrectionist horde by themselves, as their brothers killed off whoever had breached their defensive line. The three of them fired in tight, three second bursts, focused on felling on those closest to them first, keeping the offensive line moving backwards as opposed to forwards. Bodies fell with a steady staccato of wet smacks on a sizzling, steaming ground. Their bodies slowly grew slick with sweat as the residual heat from the laser beams washed back over them with the changing winds.

"We need more men!" One of the lancemen called out, "their bodies will outlast our rifles!"

"Second Layer, I am repositioning the drone swarm to your position." Came Lanceman Sal'Naa's voice. "Use it, and watch your tails - the enemy is trying to bypass our defenses by lining the edge of the quarry." One of the BattleVectors blasting away at the oncoming insurrectionists chanced a glance above him. "They will be using vehicles." Barely a second after he spoke, did six large trucks speed straight over the edge of the quarry, sailing through the air with dust and pebbles trailing behind them.

"Warn the berserkers!" Called a BattleVector, a second before he disemboweled a heretic with his claws. He turned his gaze upwards and watched several more trucks fly over the edge, "where are our fliers?!"

"The latter is moving as fast as they can. The former already know." Said another voice, as the trucks arced through the air and cleared the multiple barriers. One vehicle's rear tires hit the edge of a barrier and it began spinning vertically through the air, sinking fast before finally slamming into the lowermost level of the quarry, tearing apart the stone as it flipped about and ground to a halt.

The other vehicles did little better, slamming into the ground and popping all of their tires with loud explosions of air. They slid to a halt after grinding apart several meters of stone. The drivers of the vehicles quickly vacated, crouching down low and shouldering their weapons, scanning their surroundings. The base of the quarry was ten kilometers in circumference, with the Second Temple at its center, its front surrounded by BattleVectors, all with their weapons hanging from their hips, all with their arms crossed , and their faces set in a firm scowl, simply watching as the insurrectionists bypassed all of their defenses and made straight for them.

"They're standing in the open!" One called out.

"Then kill them!" Another roared, opening fire.

With a blinding flash, a dome of light appeared out of nowhere, encircling the exposed portions of the Second Temple in a massive array of holy light. The bullets from the insurrectionist slammed into the dome and reflected off, flying into the distance to be lost forever. When the insurrectionists ceased fire, the dome stayed alight for a few brief moments, before vanishing again.

"What… Was - WAS THAT -" Cried one hysteric heretic, before he was cut off by another, calmer man.

"It was a trick of the BattleVectors. A secret they have kept to themselves." He said, calming his ally down. "Nothing more. Though it may explain why their snipers yet live, it does not mean they have the favor of the gods, only their gifts." He straightened his stance and squinted his eyes, watching as the sentinels standing guard slowly began stalking forward, each step marked by a swing of an arm. "And it seems that even gifts cannot be hidden behind. See how they march out to meet us." He shouted over the sounds of more trucks and vehicles sailing through the air and slamming into the ground, several exploding in mid-air due to gun or energy-fire, others hitting barriers and tumbled to an early grave.

"If we cannot shoot them, what shall we do?" A much younger unblessed fighter asked, his voice light and tearing with fear.

The leader scowled, "affix bayonets." He rumbled, digging in his pack to retrieve his rifle-mounted knife. The suns beat down on his scales as he and his allies all fixed their bayonets to the edges of their rifles, whilst those who had not the weapon merely drew their own knives or extended their claws and bared their teeth.

In the distance the BattleVector Berserkers slowly stalked towards their prey, methodically placing one foot in front of the other, their assembled forces creating a wedge shape. The man in the center placed his hand on the stock of his energy lance, his eyes narrowing in a deep scowl as he watched the unblessed make ready to resist. He unclipped the energy lance from his hip, brandishing it as he slowly brought it up and out in a wide arc, letting it come to rest next to his right hip, sticking straight out. As his gun-brothers joined him in drawing their weapons, the impatient insurrectionists began charging forward, their stances low, and their bayonets pointed forward.

"Light your lances!" The BattleVector roared, his voice cutting over the distant sounds of gunfire, and even closer sounds of vehicles smashing into the ground and revealing angry insurrectionists. With his order bellowed, he gripped his energy lance with both hands, like a blunt instrument, and twisted the barrel counter-clockwise with a loud metallic click. The barrel collapsed into a flat, pointed shape, and turned from a dull gray to a bright white in seconds, as the laser lit up the blade, which soon distorted the very air as it radiated its intense heat.

The deep bellows of the heretic horde grew closer to the berserkers, as they calmly stalked forward, the sun gleaming off of the plates of armor that adorned their chests, legs, and arms. The BattleVector at the tip of the wedge growled as the battle cries assaulted his ears. He tilted his head low, his growl building in volume as his pace quickened, increasing from a threatening stalk, to a slow jog, and then again to an all out sprint, his blade humming as it cut through the air. The two opposing forces' feet created a sound similar to a constant drumbeat as they all beat the ground and sprinted across the battlefield, their collected voices creating an incomprehensible roar as they all mixed in with each other.

The BattleVector's bellow continued as he reached the assembled army of insurrectionists. He grabbed the hilt of his sword with both hands and crouched down low as they came within mere meters of each other. He increased the tone and the ferocity of his roar as he swung his superheated sword upwards in a wide vertical arc, his glowing blade meeting little resistance from the patchwork armor, which split in half and hung loosely from the insurrectionist's shoulders as his blade reached the top of its arc. In one fluid motion, he straightened his posture and swung his right foot out on front of him, before slamming it into the insurrectionist's exposed stomach with a vicious front kick.

The insurrectionist stumbled backward, and the berserker had to duck his head low to avoid a sloppy lunge from one of the enemy fighters. He stabbed the fighter through the chest with his superheated blade, and grabbed ahold of his shoulder, before violently tossing him to the side and into two other heretics. The berserker turned back to his original prey and parried a straight stab from the man's bayonet, noting with annoyance that the enemy's blade had been treated with tungsten, so as to avoid being melted by the 'lance' half of BattleVector energy-lances.

The weakened fighter was sent stumbling forward by the parry, and the moment his head passed in front of the berserker's armored chest, the latter struck the back of the former's head with a downward elbow, sending him scrambling to the ground. The berserker whipped around and stabbed downwards into the heretic's head, before he himself was sent stumbling forward as a bayonet slammed into his armor and scraped off. Acting fast, the berserker tore his blade out of the dead man's skull and spun around in a wide circle, carving apart the chest of the insurrectionist that had tried and failed to stab him. With his circular momentum, the BattleVector clenched his fist and slammed it into his opponent's face. His new opponent's head whipped to the side and then back forth, as he swung his heavy rifle around to parry a horizontal slice from the berserker. The berserker's superheated blade rebounded, and the insurrectionist made another attempt to lunge at him, but the berserker merely growled and stood his ground, allowing the blade to slam into his armor with a loud metallic scraping noise.

The blade shattered into thousands of infinitesimal, razor-sharp fragments, and the BattleVector swung his head forward, smacking it into the head of his enemy before slashing in an upward, diagonal arc with his blade held in a reverse grip. Sizzling, scorched scales and burned muscle flew out into the air, dragged out by the searing hot blade. The BattleVector spun around, his back to his stunned enemy. He gripped the white-hot blade by the handle and stabbed backwards, jamming it into his opponent's stomach and twisting it, burning a portion of the man jet black. The berserker scowled and ripped the blade out of the man, before switching his grip to a traditional one and spinning around, slicing the blade through the dark-scaled insurrectionist's throat and putting an end to his life.

His heart beating in his ears and the pale light of the distant twin suns roasting his flesh, the berserker turned his head to his left, watching as more men clashed with each other, the seemingly endless numbers of the insurrectionists violently meeting the similarly unending resolve of the BattleVectors in a deafening clash of steel and deep battle cries. Some of the insurrectionists fought with large, gaping, smoking wounds, while others collapsed when their wounds became too much for them. The sloppy way they fought, and the sluggish ways they swung and stabbed their bayonets told the man that they were clearly not as well versed in fighting a melee as they were shooting their opponents, the end result being that no struggle with a BattleVector Berserker lasted more than a few seconds. Next to the masters of the melee, these pitiful fighters were but children.

The BattleVector's ear twitched, and he hopped backwards, dodging a wild lunge from an enraged insurrectionist. He violently swung upwards and bisected the insurrectionist's arm, before lunging forwards and grabbing the flailing dismembered limb, yanking backwards and gripping the gun. He swung it around and brought it to bear upon his enemy, who barely had time to widen his eyes before his life was ended with a loud flash and a thunderclap. The body hit the stone ground with a dull thump, and the BattleVector charged further into battle, blasting at the enemies that were too far and slicing apart the enemies that came too close. When his gun clicked empty, he tossed it to the side and gripped his superheated blade with both hands, cutting and stabbing with powerful swings.

Too fast for him to dodge, he heard the sounds of approaching feet and a loud bellow, before a bayonet slipped in between the plates of his armor and buried itself deep in the side of his gut. His left side exploded into pain as he felt the cold steel sink deep into his abdomen, but his face remained resolute, and he didn't even hiss, merely clenching the muscles of his stomach as tight as he could. He slowly turned to the unlucky creature that had tried to end his life, watching as it struggled to remove the blade from his stomach. The insurrectionist froze as he realized that the berserker hadn't even flinched from the attack, and he slowly raised his head, his terrified eyes meeting the BattleVector's hardened gaze.

"Are you quite finished?" The BattleVector inquired with a stunning calm, before he stabbed sidewards, his entire blade penetrating the side of the heretic's head. The dead man's body twitched and danced as the final neurons in his brain attempted to fire, even as his brain was scorched jet black by the heat of the BattleVector's blade, steam and smoke visibly drifting out of his sizzling head. He yanked the blade back out, and after the body fell to the ground, he did the same to the bayonet in his gut, which immediately began leaking blood.

The BattleVector looked up, noticing several insurrectionists slowly surrounding him. He made eye contact with each one, making sure they knew he was eying them down specifically. He snarled before leaping forward, blood freely pouring from his wound. He lightly jabbed at the insurrectionist in front of him, catching him in the eye and sending him stumbling back, screaming in abject pain. He jerked his head to the side and avoided a lunge from a bayonet, and quickly followed it up with by twisting around and elbowing the man in the face. He kicked the man in the stomach and sent him stumbling back before falling to his rear; two other insurrectionists made a running leap over the seated one, one with his rifle shouldered, one with a knife held firmly in his hand.

The bleeding berserker narrowed his eyes and threw up his sword in a defensive stance. The armed insurrectionist fired thrice, the first shot missing, the second hitting the armor plate on his arm and bouncing away, and the third grazing the berserker's cheek, before he and his ally hit the ground. The knife-wielding insurrectionist grunted as he made a wide horizontal slash at the berserker's belly. The blood-soaked BattleVector curved his body backwards, before he thrusted it forward again when he heard the air split behind him, narrowly dodging a wide punch from the snarling insurrectionist he'd snapped earlier. He spun around and sliced at the one-eyed insurrectionist, before he dropped to one knee and bent down low, dodging another trio of gunshots from the gunner, each of which hit his one-eyed ally, who stumbled back with each shot and groaned in pain. The berserker's tail unfurled from around his stomach and shot out, tripping the knife-wielding insurrectionist, who jabbed at it upon landing, drawing blood and causing the BattleVector to scream in pain.

The BattleVector rolled to the side, dodging two more bullets but taking another to the leg. He sliced at the feet of the gunner, causing the man to fall to the ground and cry out in pain, and leaving the air clear for the insurrectionist he'd kicked earlier to come sprinting in, claws extended. The BattleVector lurched backward, and kicked upwards with both legs, blocking and parrying each swing from the unarmed insurrectionist, before he swung both legs out to the side and spun them around in a wide circle, his free hand pressed against the ground. His inverse whirl-wind kick struck the unarmed insurrectionist three times, before he shoved against the ground with his free hand, briefly sending him airborne like a spinning top.

The berserker threw both hands over his head, flipping around and sticking his superheated blade into the center of the unarmed heretic's head, splitting it in two. His legs swung down under him and he landed on the ground with a grunt, before he jumped to the side to dodge a downward stab from the knife-wielding rebel. He whirled around and thrust his sword forward, stabbing him several times in the chest, stomach, and even in the jaw and throat. The insurrectionist fell to the ground, his skin smoldering and crackling audibly.

Breathing heavy, rasping gasps, the BattleVector took in his surroundings, his eyes falling on the last standing insurrectionist. The wide-eyed unblessed fighter shifted his horrified gaze rapidly between the bodies gazing the ground, and before he could even try and take on the berserker, a white-hot blade burst forth from his chest, before quickly being ripped back and then sent arcing across his back. The gurgling rebel fell to his knees and then to the ground, revealing a much less tired, less wounded berserker.

"I apologize, brother." The gray-scaled berserker said over the sounds of steel clashing, skin burning, and fighters roaring in battle. "I would have been here sooner, but -"

"It matters not." The berserker shook his head, and pressed his blade against his wound, cauterizing it almost instantly. "They are dead, and there still exists many scores of enemies to defeat." A bright flash of light caught his eye, he turned to it and saw the drone swarm hovering over the second layer, several lasers striking a drone in the center, which itself reflected the lasers to other drones, all of which reflected them off to others, creating a miniature sun which burned anything that crossed underneath it to cinders. "Unfortunately." He added as an afterthought.

"How they always seem to have so many willing to fight and die, I shall never know." The gray-scaled berserker lamented, with a hint of sorrow in his voice, before he nodded at his gun-brother, and then ran back into the battle.

The berserker's eyes snapped back to the fighting around him, and he quickly rejoined it, as another voice entered his ears. "BattleVectors, prepare for aerial dominance." Said Lanceman Sal'Naa, just before several dozen jets blitzed past the battlefield, several blowing straight past, others air-breaking and coming to a halt, hovering over it.

One plane, itself adorned with the marks of several victorious battles, and piloted by a BattleVector wearing a large fishbowl helmet, broke in mid-air, before cutting his engines and angling his plane forward. "Pilot, shift position three degrees and fire forward." Came Sal'Naa's voice, before the pilot did as ordered and flared the engines mere inches off of the ground. He found himself just in front of the bottleneck created by the first layer, and things weren't looking good.

Smoking, destroyed vehicles were piled high like sandbags, and crashed into each other like dead bodies. Insurrectionists were crawling all over them, like insects, using them for cover and hiding behind them like cowards. The pilot snarled, his razor-sharp teeth bared, as he depressed the main trigger on his flight-stick. One tree-trunk sized energy cannon mounted on the nose of his vessel instantly lit up a bright white, burning so hot that the oxygen immediately around the nose flashed to plasma, paving the way for the second weapon, a much smaller, less powerful version of the plane's main engine, which fired incredibly powerful blasts of compressed air at a rate of several pulses a second. The plane splattered the superheated plasma all over the battleground, covering anyone he wasn't strafing over with his energy cannon. He didn't hear the loud cries of men burning to death and being killed by their ammunition prematurely firing off, not over the sound of his engine or the multiple loud puffs of the compressed air gun. He did, however, take pride in seeing the stone ground begin to bubble and boil under the force of his plane's energy cannon.

The sound of metal slamming into and scraping off of his fighter jarred him from his brief domination over the creatures of the land. He grunted and groaned as he pulled back on the stick, angling himself back up to the sky before he blasted upwards, leaving the main defensive line in a much better position than he'd left it. Already the machine gunners and riflemen were coordinating a counterattack, taking down any stragglers and pushing the advancing horde back little by little. He banked hard to the left, not even having a second of quiet before he gained new orders. "Pilot Fez-Twelve. Prioritize approaching enemy heavy artillery." A pop-up appeared on his HUD, a line arcing through the air and guiding him towards his target.

The voice then spoke louder, addressing everyone who would listen. "BattleVectors, continue fighting hard. I have gained access to a Fluid Satellite. Its orbit is being adjusted and it will be over us in five minutes." He said, as more BattleVector Winged blasted through the air, burning everything in their path to ash, and Fez-Twelve followed his path. "I will obliterate the enemy's main offensive force and scatter their remaining fighters. Now is the hour of victory - hold nothing back. The Hoomanisire will smile upon us tonight."

The pilot grinned a vicious, toothy smile as he hit the afterburners and tore through the sky, weaving in and out of the lines of fire of various friendly and insurrectionist weapons. He deftly avoided massive mortar rounds as they arced through the air, on the way to their targets on the ground, and burned to ash any targets of opportunity he flew past. When he got within eyesight of his targets, he instantly began loading missiles. The heavy tanks were the size of small buildings, and they were all rumbling towards the battlefield, two crashing through the wraith-filled forests, one taking the main road.

"Pilot Fez-Twelve, fire an AGM missile at tank three on my mark." Suddenly spoke Lanceman Sal'Naa, "three… two… one… Mark!" The moment it registered, his finger pressed button and an air-to-ground missile soared out from underneath his wing, blasting through the sky and slamming into the tank to his left.

Almost too fast for him to even process, the tank he'd shot exploded, and the fireball began rapidly rotating, before turning into a spinning vortex and flying straight for the tank rolling down the main road. The vortex of fire slammed into the vehicle, a pillar of choking black smoke blasting out in all directions. The tank instantly ground to a halt, its visibility now effectively zero. As Fez-twelve soared over it, he spun his plane around so he could get a look at it even as he passed by. The side of the tank suddenly exploded in a massive fireball, and he saw that the tank taking the other forest had turned on its allies and was shooting all of its weapons wildly, allthewhile exploding from the inside.

The pilot grinned again and spun his plane back around before pulling up. He roared through the sky, turning back to the Second Temple's quarry. His energy cannon flared brightly as he burned a wide swath of fire across the ground, his HUD highlighting large concentrations of heretics and warning him to steer clear of the main defensive lines.

"Requesting air support at Layer Two, rearguard." He heard. The pilot banked hard and hurtled towards the second layer, instantly seeing why they were crying for help - they had enemies on both sides, trying to tear them apart.

The pilot frowned, and targeted the largest concentration of insurrectionists, before he launched a missile towards the ground. The missile hit just before he blasted the unblessed with his energy cannon. "Did that help?"

"Verily."

Fez-Twelve grinned and continued climbing into the air, the fires of war bleeding away to a pale blue sky as he flew higher and higher. As the sky itself began to darken, he pulled back on his flight-stick, flipping the vehicle around in the thinner air. His momentum carried him several more kilometers into the sky, before gravity took ahold of him and he began to fall. He waited until the dark blue sky once again turned pale, before he hit the afterburners and began pulling the familiar G-Forces of planet Saltor, as opposed to the weakened gravity of Hoomanisire. A cloak of fire enveloped his fighter as he kept going, his eyes wide as he searched for his next target, which came in the form of a large ring of insurrectionists surrounding a trio of berserkers, in the center of the quarry.

From his very high vantage point, it seemed as if the other berserkers were trying to breach this ring, but the density of the bodies and the ferocity with which they fought hindered their progress. There seemed to be a dozen insurrectionists for every one berserker they surrounded. The pilot poured more fuel onto the fire and continued accelerating, his finger hovering above the trigger of his energy cannon. When he reached a distance three kilometers above the ground, he pulled the trigger, turning a several meter wide patch of ground jet black as he hurtled towards it, the intensity and strength of the laser beam increasing as he continued accelerating towards the ground.

Now with a wide gap burned into the insurrectionist line, the berserkers streamed inwards with no delay, tearing and slicing apart any unblessed heretics between them and their wounded allies. The pilot pulled out of his dive with a hairpin turn, his plane groaning with the stress he was putting it through, but it would pull through now, as it always had.

His computers started beeping, and he immediately executed evasive maneuvers, weaving this way and that in an effort to throw off his attackers. The computer went quiet after he leveled out and blasted through the air with a sonic-boom. It was then, that he saw beauty.

"The fluid satellite has arrived. Acquiring target." Came Lanceman Sal'Naa's voice, as he positioned the weapons satellite over the insurrectionist's main force, focused and surrounding the bottleneck leading into the quarry. "Wraiths: Evacuate." Barely a second after he spoke did thousands of BattleVector Wraiths appear out of nowhere, streaming out of the wooded areas and fleeing as fast as possible. "Target acquired. Firing main cannon."

For a brief moment, everything, from the smallest bullet spinning through the air, to even Fez-Twelve's fighter, all went still and quiet, as if the universe itself had to take a moment to prepare for the power about to be wrought. When that moment passed, a bright white beam of focused plasma soared down from the heavens and slammed into the ground, tearing it apart and carving a massive path of destruction through the insurrectionist forces. The pilot had to bank hard to avoid the fluid satellite's area of destruction. The plasma scorched the surface of the planet for ten seconds before it vanished, leaving several hundred meters, and thousands more insurrectionists dead.

There was a moment's pause, before another column of blinding white, superheated matter blasted down from space again, this time burning away the unblessed surrounding the quarry before they could flee. The beam was much smaller, more precise, this time, but still had the same effect, and in less than thirty seconds, the Lanceman uttered the magic words: "Their advance has been broken. They are retreating." In tandem with the vanishment of the plasma beam. "We have done it."

---

Four days passed after the battle of the Second Temple of the Hoomanisire. When all was said and done, twelve thousand heretics had been killed, with a further two thousand captured and sentenced to death, compared to the three thousand dead BattleVectors. The Praetorian of the BattleVectors, Jun Mun'Sid, presided over the funeral procession of the honored dead, solemnly maintaining his respectful silence as he watched each casket get loaded individually onto a ramp, and pushed down into a massive bonfire. The crackling, snapping sounds and the bright golden light of the fire could be seen for dozens of kilometers, but the only living creatures that could see it were the ones mourning beside it.

Thunk. A casket was carried to the top of the ramp and loaded onto it.

Skrrrrt. It was pushed down the metal half-tube and left to the devices of gravity.

Crash! It fell into the massive tower of wood and fire, shattering into hundreds of small pieces and sending the body straight into the fire, to roast until it turned to ash, and was spread by the winds of the planet upon which it ceased to function.

The sun had long since set, and the casket carriers had rotated twice, the mass funeral had taken so long. But last rights were never something to be forgone or expedited, and they would stand for a year if it meant each soul would see its final rest.

Three thousand. Six hundred. Ten. Thought the Praetorian, who showed not a hint of exhaustion on his face. Three thousand. Six hundred. Eleven. He continued, as another casket was sent sliding down the ramp. A few minutes passed in relative silence, only the roar of the fire providing a blanket background noise to the funeral. "Three thousand." He called out, his voice amplified by a microphone affixed to his throat; the casket carriers placed the final casket upon the ramp. "Six hundred." They pushed it, their muscles bulging and shaking from the strain. "Twelve." The casket slid down the ramp and crashed into the fire, the Praetorian, a black funeral coat resting over his combat fatigues, strode to the side of the ramp, and stood upon a platform, above all of the assembled veterans of the Battle for the Second Temple.

"The peace of planet Hoomanisire was broken, four days ago. Broken by the discovery of a second temple of the Hoomanisire. Broken by the unblessed, heretic, insurrectionists who sought to steal the temple for themselves and use its gifts and knowledge to send us into a second age of irony. Three thousand, six hundred, and twelve BattleVectors fought and died in defense of this temple. In defense of peace. In defense of our god and everything he taught us to hold dear. I ask you all consider our greatest and most continuous irony: That in fighting this ceaseless war for peace, we do exactly what he taught us not to. That in fighting to maintain this peace, we forever earn some level of his disappointment… But know too that the Hoomanisire is nothing if not wise.

"He sees our effort, and wishes for us to prove it. He sees that we wish for nothing more than to finally attain this peace for ourselves. He sees that we wrestle with our violent nature every day of our lives, and wonders if this isn't merely a temporary, finite answer. He wonders how we would respond… To our next, great, test." His words seemed to echo all across the land, as their weight settled into the chests of everyone present. "As the Lancemen among you know, so too shall I explain to you all the secrets the temple has given us: We are not alone in this universe, as people, and as war-fighters.

"When we first began excavating the temple, we came into contact with brothers, too created by the Hoomanisire, too abandoned by him. But they, unlike we, can travel the stars as He Above All did… And they, unlike we, have not even tried to abandon their violent past. These people, these Batarians, they have come to us to request our aid in an interstellar war of extinction. They ask us to fight alongside them. They ask us to choose to fight.

"Now I ask you… Would you… Would your mates… Would the three thousand, six hundred and twelve BattleVectors who died four days ago… Would any of them choose to fight?" He demanded, his deep voice echoing for kilometers, deeply penetrating the ears and shaking the chests of the thousands of assembled warriors. "Would our god… WANT us to?!"

As one, every single assembled man screamed out, "NO!"

"Would any of them want a second age of irony?!"

"NO!"

"Would any of them WANT to invite, and incite, further violence and warfare? To further earn the ire of He Above All?"

"NO!" Thundered the thousands of BattleVectors.

"Is that - is further war - what these men died for? Is that what they want to tell their god they died for? For us to take their sacrifice, and dishonor it by choosing to fight another war? To volunteer our warriors?!"

"NO!" This final roar was much longer, much more passionate than the previous ones.

"That, my brothers, is what we must tell them. We fought four days ago to protect our way of life. To protect our peace. To protect our god and earn his gifts. To further our society, and bring closer the idea of everlasting peace." The heavily scarred Praetorian spoke. "The men you fought, the men you killed, they would have gladly accepted such a war, knowing no facts than that it was merely war! Than that they could spill more blood! DO WE WANT THAT?!"

"NO!"

"Then join me, brothers. Celebrate your victory, mourn your death. In two days, I shall prove to your god and mine that we are worthy of his love. That we know right and wrong. That we are NO LONGER the violent invalids of the age of darkness! That we are NO… LONGER… UNWORTHY!" He roared out, to the loud, affirmative cries of his brothers in arms. "AMEN!"

---

A/N:

So... Where the fuck have I been?

Well, if you've been following my Twitter, you've been much more up to date with the day-to-day trials and tribulations, and know the general story.

So, I've got two explanations. The first tells why this chapter was so delayed, and the second says why it didn't come out sooner.

The first one is the simplest to explain: As I said in the last A/N, I took a regularly scheduled hiatus. During those days before Christmas, I got bored and decided I wanted to write a fight scene. So, after dusting off a few very old characters [like, they were from before I even wrote, old.], and giving them a re-interpretation/paintjob more befitting of my current skill, I just had fun with it.

Slowly, I found more and more of my time absorbed by this fight, which I've aptly titled: "Round One".

I just kept writing, kept adding, kept changing, the fight kept getting bigger and bigger, and I just kept on having more and more fun with it, to the point that, eventually, I put everything on hold to write it, this chapter included.

Now, to make things clear, it holds LITERALLY no connections to any of the projects I'm currently working on. It's not connected to the WarVerse, The Hopeless War, HtC, or even my OC story, Terra's Sol. It is its own beast.

The best way to succinctly describe Round One is to say it's what would happen if Will Smith's Hancock fought Metal Gear's Gray Fox. In other words, if you liked the SIGMA fights earlier in the story, Round One takes those fights and turns them to eleven. I think, when you read this fight, you'll understand why I put everything on hold to write it. If you'll allow a little self-indulgence, it's freakin' awesome.

I'll be releasing it [as of the time I published this chapter] tomorrow, 2/26/16, to DeviantArt and my FictionPress account, both of which can be found by visiting my FFN profile, and likely a few other websites.

So, as has been floating around my Twitter for the last month... Round One: 2/26/16.

(Edit): Matter of fact, now that the 26th has passed, it can be found right here: www{dot}fictionpress{dot}com/s/3278941/1/Round-One

But, that doesn't explain why this chapter didn't come out sooner, as I'd finished Round One in early February.

Well, in a word? Work.

The long and short of it is, beyond my boss, I'm the only one there who takes the job seriously. The fact that it's a fast food gig aside, it's my job, and I give it the respect and dedication it deserves. My father always told me to give everything my absolute one hundred percent, no matter what it is, going so far as to say that if I wanted to shovel shit for the rest of my life, I better damn-well be the best shit shoveller I can possibly be.

So, naturally, this applies to any job I have too.

But, you see, very few other people I work with share this viewpoint. Even my manager, riding on her high horse, only ever takes it seriously a quarter of the time (read: whenever the boss is around, and she's not wrapped around one of the other employees.). In the last week alone, everyone save myself and my boss has either called out, come in late, or simply not shown up - with more than half of them doing so twice, and one or two showing up late literally every day.

If you're connecting the dots, you've likely hit the nail on the head: Whenever folks call out, I, the hard worker, get called in. Once or twice I worked fifty hour weeks [a full-time week is 40 hours], with the extra hours rolling over to the next week, so I'd work 30 instead of 40, but still get paid for the latter. The running joke is that my roll-over hours will eventually stack up so high that I'll hit 40 hours before the next week even starts, meaning I'd essentially be paid to not show up to work.

But, I digress, my original plan had been to have this chapter up Sunday, 2/21/15.

Needless to say, that didn't happen. Long days at work, unexpected call-outs, dealing with the fallout, my obligations towards work have been playing hell with my obligations to over one thousand people... And that's just if you count the folks who've followed this story alone, with their FFN profiles.

To be frank, that pisses me off. No one - and I mean no one - ever gets angrier than me, when I miss a release date. I feel like I've personally let each and every single one of you down, like I made a promise I could have kept up and just plain didn't. I don't like saying 'Oh, I'll do X, Y, or Z!', and then it doesn't get done. It devalues my word, and further than that, I always feel like I've disappointed you all when things like this happen, and that hits harder than any of you can imagine.

So, needless to say, I'm working on finding a new job. Problem is, I've heard whisperings that the Boss got a better offer, and is getting ready to leave the store. I've also heard, from the same source, that if I stick it out, I'd more or less be guaranteed a job with him in this new place. The oooonly problem is that this came from a source that, while reliable in her own way, isn't entirely trustworthy. The only explanation I'll give is that she's pregnant, and there are multiple likely candidates for the father (none of them are me, don't worry)... The least likely actually being her husband. So you can understand why I have a hard time trusting her.

This all means that I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place: Do I stick things out at a job I'm rapidly learning to hate, that interferes with my other obligations to thousands of people, on the off chance I'll be taken along to another, potentially better paying one? Or do I start hunting around for a better offer?

But, I don't want to bore you all with the whole story [which would likely reach a regular chapter's length if I just sat down and ranted about]. The short version is that everyone else at work doesn't take their job seriously, and nine times out of ten will say, 'Oh, [Burg] will cover for me, so it's okay.'. And me being the kind of guy I am, I don't want to say 'no' unless I absolutely have to.

This week, to write this chapter, I've said a loooooot of 'no's. A looooot of silent 'F. You's to the other employees. I had a chapter to write and a few thousand disappointed people to entertain, and come hell or high water, I was going to do it.

Hell, I've been functioning the last few days on two to three hours of sleep, per day. Absolutely refusing to take any mid-day naps or go to bed early, just to get this chapter out that much sooner. That is how dedicated I am to writing, and that is how dedicated I am to entertaining all of you. I will do it, it is just a matter of time.

.

Okay, biiiiiiiiig breath.

.

So, now I bet you're wondering, what's next?

Well, the next chapter is what's next.

Like I said in the last A/N, I've got extensions to perform. I won't give a solid release date, but it will come out sometime this coming March, so watch your Sundays. Hopefully, following the next chapter, I'll fall back into the old schedule... As long as work doesn't screw me over again.

.

Now, as to this chapter... Aside from it being a chance for me to show off some Saltorian Badassery, it was also a massive experiment for me.

In the film industry, they've got what TV Tropes calls 'The Oner.' A continuous, unbroken, singular shot. No edits, no cuts, no transitions, everything filmed with just one take.

This chapter was both meant to return to the 'multi-POV' style that everyone seemed to like in TFW, and also experiment with a literary equivalent of the Oner. I ran the risk of having it all seem like some overly cramped, discombobulated, uncoordinated mess, but I think I managed to pull it off. On the [likely] chance that I didn't, however, I do apologize, but sometimes you've just gotta stumble and fall, to get back up.

And the title was a last minute change, I'd accidentally used 'Intermission' twice without realizing it, so I looked up a synonym and switched it out, last-minute.

'Till next time!

-PFB