Corrin shot several rounds into the oncoming group. His eyes were wide in surprise. Captain Mirez, his captain, ran at the head of the group. The General followed close behind. Corrin looked into their eyes, white and empty. They were all Treacherous Souls.
Mirez fell before him only to stand again. "We've gotta get the Frak out of here!" Jasper bellowed from over the gun fire. More Treacherous ones streamed in from the forest. Corrin nodded and cries of agreement rang out from the other guerillas.
The group rushed into the forest immediately. Corrin stood alone, still firing at his old friends. "Corrin…leave them." It was Grange. Corrin turned to face him, his eyes shot with pain. Eventually, he gave in and, dodging an oncoming bolt, he rushed after the rest.
There were so many. The Treacherous Souls poured from everywhere, all Mericans, all doomed to die. Corrin drew his knife and stabbed deep into the frontal lobe of one of the blank eyed men. He kicked the limp body over and sped on.
They were surrounded. Corrin grasped his las-pistol in both hands and fired a constant stream of explosive light into the enemies. He felt the hope drain more and more with the las-gun's recoil. Grange stood beside him, his arm formed into a massive, blue cannon. One of the Treacherous ones was torn apart by a single blast from the enormous gun.
Slowly, the power on the cannon died. He heard Grange curse and revert to a bolt gun. It was the eerie silence that truly inspired fear from the Treacherous Souls. All the faces, known and friendly, now silent and ready to kill. The entirety of 6th Company must have been herded and turned into monsters.
There was a huge burst of light. One of the guerillas fell flat. A man emerged from above the horde of soulless warriors. His feet were dangling high in the air. His hands crackled with lightening. His eyes burned with a mysterious electricity. He was a psyker.
Corrin had heard of them, in myth and in fear, but he had never seen one. They were hated throughout the world for their taint and their evil. Only the Emperor had accepted them. No wonder he was considered a lunatic. The man moved his head slowly down to the fighting group. His eyes caught Corrin's.
Corrin noticed a small pendant hanging from the psyker's neck: three eyes, bound by a triangle. Something in Corrin's heart told him the sign was of evil origin. The man brought his hand down. Corrin did not think. A burning bolt of lightning leapt from the freak's palm.
Corrin barely moved out of the way. An explosion of dirt and mud hit him. The ground, began to sizzle. The Treacherous Ones had not stopped. They marched forwards into the small group. It was only a matter of time. But Corrin had to worry about the Psyker, his hands spitting burning death at amazing speed.
Corrin raised his las-pistol and fired. The psyker fell from the air, wailing in inhuman pain as he clutched his leg. His head lolled to the ground oddly. Corrin stood over him, firing laser beams in all directions, but focusing on the man below him.
The psyker lifted his head. His eyes were completely gone. Instead, the crackle of lightning shimmered through them.
He raised his hands up. Corrin pointed his pistol down at the man's head. It was too late. He was thrown to the ground by an enormous blast. He looked from his immobilized position as a massive bolt of death erupted from the man's head with a bang. "Damn it!" Grange yelled. "The lunatic is going to set the forest on fire!"
He was right. Smoke drifted into Corrin's eyes. He shut them tightly. He felt heat crawling up his spine. "Oh my god!" A guerilla exclaimed. The woods around had burst into an all out inferno. Corrin picked up his stranded las-pistol and fired into the Psykers forehead. The man keeled over, dead. His eyes had burned out. Corrin need not have shot him. He had put his last living energy into that spell.
The Treacherous Souls were undeterred by the flames exploding to life around them. They closed in closer and closer. Corrin heard the roar of an engine. He wheeled around. A Warrior tank burst from the burning trees.
The exit hatch burst open. A dark figure emerged, obviously garbed in Merican uniform. "Get the Frak in!" They did not hesitate.
The door closed quickly behind them and the engine chugged to life once more. "Sit down," the man said. His face was bright with happiness. His red hair hung loosely around his large head.
Jasper looked at him. "Captain?"
The man looked back. "Jasper!" He said, overjoyed. "Alright boys. We got a distress call on a short range frequency and decided to check it out. Though how you got a signal, I can't imagine."
Jasper looked at him again, this time quizzically. "We don't have a short range radio…" Grange smiled.
"The Earthling can never underestimate an Adept of Mars!" The Martian said ecstatically. Corrin laughed. No one else did.
"Anyway, we are taking you to Camp Quebec. We spotted some old ruins from around the second millennium and set up base there. They won't be able to find us. We'll be safe for a while, and then we can return to the Capitalis Defenses."
The men looked at him worriedly. "Don't fret, we'll be safe!"