Mezchenkan started firing with both his pistol and cannon, watching as the tentacle repaired itself. Then, as the monster that had killed his men showed itself, he saw the fist coming down again and prepared himself for death.
Supreme Command Degette listened to the comm speaker fixed to his trawler as the skimmer riders were slaughtered by their target. Had he really underestimated the creature so much? Kalimk and Mezchenkan had been two of his most able Commands. Now they were both dead and as far as he knew the target hadn't even been significantly wounded.
He sent four of the tanks to the front of the force, ahead of the walkers. The remaining seven stayed at the rear of the army. Degette wanted some good armour at the front in case the target came for them. If the creature did show itself he planned to use every bit of firepower the army had.
One of the Squad Commands shouted something through the comm system. Degette looked up and saw the Command pointing. He'd seen something moving, but Degette couldn't see anything. He sent the squad to scout the area that had been pointed out, directing one of the tanks and two of the walkers to cover them. As the units moved away from the bulk force, Degette climbed aboard his personal trawler to get a better view.
As he watched the tank was thrown high into the air. It landed amidst the main force, crushing no less than sixty men as it rolled to a halt. Their strong armour meant nothing against that kind of weight. Standing where the tank had been was a short being, one of the ancient race but lacking their tribal markings. A long mane of crimson hair covered his head but there was none on his face. The ancient race rarely grew facial hair. From Degette's view this man did not seem dangerous. He was barely half the size of a full-grown Miscallan and he couldn't possibly be stronger.
But Degette knew better and this man had the strength of one of the largest creatures alive bottled up in that tiny form.
He shouted the order to fire, hoping that sheer numbers would be enough to destroy the target. But by the time the shards finished flying three foot squads had been torn apart, and both the walkers he'd assigned to cover the scouting foot soldiers were reduced to piles of melting debris after their pulse cores were smashed.
The street fell silent again, but only for a few seconds. The target reappeared ahead of the army and punched through the front of a second tank. Degette watched as he lifted the tank one-handed, a weight to equal seven men, and swung it over his head to crush two more walkers. Before the dust had even started to fall he'd wrenched a plate of armour off the side of the tank and was using it as a shield to block the shards fired at him.
One squad was brave enough to charge him. They died in a matter of seconds. The last to doe was picked up by the target and thrown into another of the walkers with enough force to smash the machines front armour. As soon was the walker fell the target ran towards the foot soldiers, using the makeshift shield to protect himself.
What followed next was sheer butchery. The target ploughed through the squads of foot soldiers, discarding his shield and fighting only with his bare hands. Armour that had proven to withstand mortar shells cracked and shattered under the creature's strikes. Some men were even thrown the full length of the street. One hit the rear of Degette's trawler and he was thrown clear. The vehicle itself crumbled under the impact.
Degette looked up to find that all of his men were dead. The target was now finishing off the final tank. He punched a hand through the front view panel and dragged the tank's operator through. Then, as the turret swivelled round to fire he threw the man at the barrel of the cannon. The operator was incinerated by the blast. His death clouded the view of the gunner and the target climbed up onto the tank. He ripped the turret off and cast it aside, reaching inside and pulling the gunner's head off.
As the target dropped down from the tank, Degette saw a shard rifle within reach. He wrapped his armoured hand around it and stood, aiming at the creature. He fired one shot, sending a spike of red hot metal towards the target. The creature simply caught it in his hand, ignoring the heat. He threw it back and the shard struck Degette in the side, ripping through his armour and tearing into his flesh. He fell, seeing the target heading his way.
Damned Miscallans. They always thought they were the best around. It almost made him want to wipe out the entire race. After all, who could put up with a race of mercs for long? Even their own employers couldn't stand to be associated with them for long.
Speaking of which, he's have to find out who'd sent this lot after him. It wouldn't be easy, what with the war going on. It could have been anyone. He'd made enemies everywhere.
He walked up to the Miscallan Supreme Command, sliding his pulse pistol from its holster. The Miscallan was bleeding heavily from the wound caused by the antique shard weapon. The pulse pistol hissed in anticipation of the kill. This was a worthy kill and it loved to end the strong lives. It gave the weapon some great satisfaction.
“That's impossible.” The Miscallan stammered. Clearly he hadn't been told everything about the man he'd been sent to kill.
“They don't call me the Destroyer for nothing.” Elvorn Darek said, silently pulling the trigger.
