Pierce was the first to pull the trigger.
The rest of the unit followed instantly.
Gunfire tore through the air, muzzle flashes strobing against the gore-stained street. Bullet casings clattered onto the blood-soaked ground, bouncing once before settling among the dead. The Saints reacted at once—both launching upward, bodies snapping skyward with inhuman speed as the rounds tore through the space they'd occupied a heartbeat before.
They hovered above the battlefield, forms glowing faintly with corrupted light.
Their hands extended.
A radiant sword and a long, elegant spear took shape in their grasp—both forged of blinding brilliance, marred by jagged crimson cracks that pulsed with something unholy beneath the glow.
Pierce reloaded smoothly, never taking his eyes off them.
"Observe them. Stay sharp—but keep your distance."
"Sir, yes, sir," the unit answered in unison.
The guns roared again.
The Saints circled like carrion birds, drifting and weaving through the opening volleys with infuriating ease, clearly probing—searching for a break in the formation. But the soldiers didn't give them one. Each man covered another's blind spot, the formation shifting fluidly as rounds were fired, magazines swapped, positions adjusted without a word.
Pierce scanned the chaos, voice cutting clean through the noise.
"Hold formation! Rafe—suppress the spear-wielder! Gideon, Mira, flank left—don't give them an opening!"
The sword-wielding Saint sighed, irritation bleeding through its voice.
"What a hassle. This is why we tried using humans."
With a flick of its arm, the spear-wielder hurled its weapon.
The spear screamed through the air and slammed into the earth behind Corporal Rafe Dorian with a metallic crunch, embedding itself deep in the pavement. Rafe didn't flinch—didn't even look back. He kept firing, steady and controlled, trusting his position.
As one soldier ran dry, another stepped in without hesitation—covering fire overlapping seamlessly.
Reload.
Reposition.
Suppress.
Repeat.
The unit moved like a machine.
Then the spear began to pulse.
A split second later, it detonated.
The concussive blast tore outward in a violent ring, hurling blood, dirt, and shattered stone through the air. The shockwave slammed into the unit, breaking their formation and scattering them across the street.
Pierce's ears rang as he hit the ground hard. He forced himself up, shouting through clenched teeth.
"Regroup! Bennett—cover the flank! Nadia, prepare for close combat!"
The stun lasted only a heartbeat.
That was all the Saints needed.
The sword-wielder raised its blade toward the sun. Fractured light gathered at the tip, condensing into a writhing orb that cracked and spat energy like unstable glass.
The Saint grinned.
"I just love the next phase."
It fired.
Beams lanced downward in chaotic streaks—erratic, violent, slicing through air and earth alike. Soldiers dove for cover as scorched debris exploded around them, boots splashing through blood as they moved.
Sergeant Bennett Shaw caught one beam across his left shoulder. His uniform hissed and burned, fabric blackening as skin beneath blistered instantly. He staggered, teeth clenched against the searing pain.
Theo shouted, "You alright, Bennett?"
Bennett didn't slow.
"Don't get hit by those things," he growled. "Feels like a fucking branding iron from hell."
The spear-wielder dove, reclaiming its weapon mid-air in a smooth, practiced motion. It accelerated toward Theo like a falling judgment.
Specialist Nadia Faye intercepted.
She raised her rifle instinctively—too late.
Steel met corrupted light. The impact shattered the rifle, the force throwing her backward across the pavement. A shard of broken metal grazed her lip as she hit the ground, slicing skin. Blood welled immediately.
The Saint sneered as it advanced.
"Your weapon broke. How will you defend yourself now?"
Nadia wiped the blood from her mouth and smirked.
"If you're that worried," she said, rising, "maybe don't attack."
The Saint chuckled, twisting aside as bullets ripped past it from Theo's position.
"But that wouldn't be fun, would it?"
It lunged again.
Nadia was already moving—rolling clear as gunfire rained down from her squad, forcing the Saint back. She sprinted for Bastion, yanked open a side compartment, and returned with twin kukris in hand—curved blades catching the light as if eager.
Pierce saw the shift instantly.
"Form two units!" he barked. "Take them down!"
Team A: Pierce, Mira, Jonah, Ezra, and Alina.
Team B: Gideon, Rafe, Kellan, Nadia, Theo, and Bennett.
"Team A—on me," Pierce ordered. "Sword-wielder is priority. Flank and collapse."
Team A moved immediately, boots cutting through gore and shattered stone as they spread wide under Pierce's direction. The sword-wielder weaved through incoming fire, wings glowing faintly with a light that felt wrong—too smooth, too deliberate. Pierce and his team felt the terrain fight back. Blood and viscera slicked the ground, organs crushed underfoot, forcing each step to be measured or punished with a fall.
"Maintain spacing," Pierce barked. "Don't rush it."
The Saint raised its blade again, corrupted light beginning to gather.
"Now," Pierce said.
Mira exhaled once and fired.
"Not this time."
The round struck the Saint's wrist mid-channel. The blade slipped free and plunged into the soaked earth below, sinking hilt-deep into flesh and mud. The Saint recoiled, wings flaring in rage as gunfire surged to capitalize.
"Press it!" Pierce snapped.
Ezra broke formation—just a step too far.
"Ezra—fall back!" Alina shouted.
Too late.
The Saint reacted instantly, diving like a blade through air.
"You shouldn't have stepped out of formation," it sneered.
Ezra grinned, dropping flat onto his back in the blood-soaked street.
"What a fucking idiot," he said calmly. "Should've checked your angles."
Behind him, Jonah was already mounted on Bastion's heavy gun.
The weapon roared.
.50-caliber rounds ripped through the Saint mid-dive, tearing corrupted flesh apart before it could even scream. Light fractured. The crimson core split—then shattered.
The body hit the ground in pieces.
"One down," Jonah reported, releasing the trigger.
Meanwhile—
"Team B, hold pressure," Pierce ordered over comms. "Don't let the spear-wielder breathe."
The second Saint danced between bullets, wings snapping open and shut as it avoided killing arcs by inches. Nadia raised one of her kukris and pointed it forward—an open challenge.
The Saint noticed.
It accepted.
It dove hard, spear slamming into the ground and detonating on impact. The blast cleared gore from the street in a violent burst, carving a shallow crater as the Saint landed within it.
"Keep firing!" Gideon shouted. "Force it in!"
Bullets chased the Saint as it advanced through blood and debris, closing the distance on Nadia. With Team B's covering fire, she held ground—never committing, never retreating—watching its movements, its timing.
The Saint sneered.
"You're playing dirty. Your team fights for you."
Nadia smirked, blades shifting in her grip.
"You've got a magic spear and wings. I'd say we're being generous."
"Kellan—set it," Gideon ordered.
Kellan hurled the device. It bounced once, skidded, and came to rest behind the Saint—sparking, hissing.
The Saint didn't notice.
"Drive it back!" Gideon shouted.
Team B tightened the noose. Fire pressed from three angles, forcing the Saint to reposition—step by step—closer to the device.
"Mark," Kellan said.
He hit the detonator.
Electricity surged upward in a violent cage, locking the Saint mid-motion. Its wings spasmed. The spear slipped from its grasp.
"Now!" Pierce commanded.
Nadia moved.
She struck in a controlled blur—cutting deep, precise, ruthless. The Saint screamed as its core was exposed.
The rest of Team B unloaded.
The core shattered.
The corrupted light flickered—and died.
Silence fell over the battlefield.
Smoke curled upward. Blood steamed faintly in the heat.
Pierce lowered his weapon, breathing heavily.
"Good work," he said. "Check weapons. Check wounds. Secure the area and prep for extraction."
Gideon stepped up and clapped a hand on Pierce's shoulder.
"Solid command back there, General."
Pierce nodded once.
"We're only as strong as our weakest link. Stay sharp."
Victory.
But the war had only just begun.