"Buzz—buzz!"
Inside the Star Destroyer, piercing alarms rang out and echoed down every corridor of the decks.
That high-pitched, shrill sound sent shivers through everyone, and as the alarm volume steadily increased, the entire atmosphere within the vessel was quickly suffused with an overwhelming sense of dread.
Every corner and each warning light above every hatch flickered with a blinding red glow, tinting everything around with an aura of tension and peril.
Every section was plunged into an even more frantic state of mobilization.
The assault troops—dressed in white armor—swiftly converged from all directions into their designated area.
Their commanding officer had issued orders: they were to proceed to the vehicle maintenance bay for ground armored vehicles and launch a clearance and mopping-up operation, as intelligence indicated that an unknown enemy force had launched a surprise attack there.
The assault team strode purposefully through the corridors; the clanging of their boots resounded authoritatively.
The metal plates of their armor clinked softly in the air, and every soldier gripped his explosive arrow gun tightly. Their helmet displays lit up with tactical data and navigational routes.
By all accounts, those selected for the Imperial Shock Troopers were among the elite of the Galactic Empire.
Thus, the moment the order was received, over two hundred shock troopers set off in formation toward the maintenance bay.
In stark contrast, the ordinary crew inside the ship were in complete disarray.
Clad only in simple work uniforms, utterly unprepared for combat and without any real fighting capability, they reacted instinctively when the alarms blared and the ship vibrated. Many spun around in shock, eyes wide, and as they saw the shock troops advancing rapidly into the maintenance zone, chaos erupted.
Since the enemy had not yet appeared, most of the workers—minded only for their own survival—fled in panic toward the station's emergency exits.
The once orderly operating procedures fell into complete disarray.
"Run! Run, now!"
Almost every worker's face was etched with terror and helplessness.
As the footsteps of the assault team drew ever nearer, more and more of the logistics and support personnel began to flee in panic.
Their footsteps became a chaotic stampede; some even slipped on the slick deck, crying out in pain as they fell, yet none dared to stop, as if an unseen hand of death were pursuing them.
They dashed desperately toward the end of the corridor, terrified that a sudden enemy ambush would overrun them.
"Monsters! Monsters!" one worker cried out with every ounce of strength in his body, his voice trembling uncontrollably with fear.
At the same time, a few compassionate souls among the workers, seeing the relentless advance of the shock troopers, turned and shouted urgently,
"Run! Don't go into the maintenance bay!"
Their voices carried unmistakable urgency and warning.
But the over two hundred assault troopers paid no heed to these pleas; they pressed forward methodically, their steps resolute and unwavering.
Their objective was crystal clear—the orders were their sole guide, and no amount of persuasion or kindly advice could alter their march.
At that moment, the air in the maintenance bay turned unbearably acrid; the stench of burning metal and gunpowder mingled with corrosive gases that seemed to make the very air thick and viscous.
The pungent chemical odor and suffocating atmosphere overwhelmed everyone lingering there.
"Cough! Cough, cough!"
Not far off, a worker who had neglected to don his protective mask began to cough violently under the toxic fumes, his lungs seemingly being torn apart; his pained cries reverberated throughout the bay.
He staggered, trying to rise, but the relentless coughing and fatigue left him utterly weak. He collapsed onto the cold, hard metal deck, his hands flailing as if grasping for a lifeline—until he finally succumbed, falling unconscious.
Some workers, unable to escape the sudden change in air pressure, were tossed about like discarded dolls—lifted by the gusts and then harshly slammed back down.
Even the shock troopers who had just entered the maintenance bay might not have witnessed the scene firsthand, but they could easily imagine the sickening crunch of bones as workers hit the deck.
The internal injuries were even more unbearable: as people fell, blood began to seep through their work uniforms, and the pained expressions on their bloodstained faces told of unimaginable agony.
Panic, pain, and total loss of control—these three words cut into every soul like a sharpened blade.
Escape, survival—these were their only instinctual responses.
Otherwise, those who managed to flee the bay would likely run in a crazed frenzy, as though haunted by ghosts—even the shock troopers, whose gear could filter toxins and ignore the poisonous fog, were left trembling at the sight before them.
Meanwhile, the first two hundred or so shock troopers who had reached the maintenance bay, aided by their helmet displays that could see through the toxic haze, clearly discerned something ominous behind the fog.
And what they saw caused their hearts to sink.
Through the thick poisonous mist, they caught a vague glimpse of an unidentified transport ship that had rammed through a standby AT-AT walker, its nose bay doors flung open and docked atop the walker's wreckage.
That colossal AT-AT—once a symbol of overwhelming Imperial might—appeared as fragile as a house of cards; its metal framework had been mercilessly torn apart, exposing a grotesque, twisted mass of internal machinery.
But the most horrifying sight was yet to come.
At the front of that transport ship, over a dozen eerie, luminescent green "eyes" were visible, flickering with a sinister light.
That sickly green glow, as if emerging from the abyss, was cold and utterly chilling—causing everyone who saw those "eyes" to tremble uncontrollably.
Through the aid of their helmet displays, the owners of those "eyes" were revealed: towering giants, standing over two and a half meters tall.
Their forms, bathed in a ghostly green light and bearing the unwavering, malevolent gaze of death itself, stared straight at the shock troopers through the toxic fog.
"??!!"
At the sight, an icy dread gripped the troopers; those who sensed the danger instinctively raised their weapons to fire.
But before the entire squad could complete the sequence—raising, aiming, and pulling the trigger—the maintenance bay was suddenly filled with an ear-splitting barrage of sounds that sent adrenaline skyrocketing:
"Ching—ching—!!"
The "melodious" crackle of explosive arrow gunfire echoed in the stagnant air, sounding like crisp bells tolling with the cold breath of death.
The precision shots from the Main Universe's explosive arrow weapons turned each standard metal-hydrogen explosive arrow round into an instrument of utter devastation.
What followed was a sight so horrifying that no shock trooper could bear to look directly at it:
"Boom—thud—sizzle—!"
Those troopers caught in the initial point-blank volley had their armor and limbs shredded and torn as if paper, as the standard explosive arrow rounds not only penetrated their defenses but also triggered a secondary detonation. The sickening sound of flesh ripping and exploding resounded throughout the bay.
Before any of them could even raise their weapons in retaliation, they were already collapsing.
In truth, their bodies were reduced to fragments—blood and shattered armor pieces flying through the air, eventually scattering across the cold deck.
Within mere moments, almost all of the two hundred troopers who had rushed into the maintenance bay were nearly wiped out.
Those once-proud, disciplined shock troopers—whose very presence once commanded awe—found themselves utterly overwhelmed by the enemy's unexpected, ferocious assault, with no chance to react.
Although their armor and weapons were top-of-the-line, when faced with a deluge of incoming fire, they were as fragile as toys.
Large-caliber solid ammunition, like the merciless scythe of death, tore through their armor and bodies; the shredded, blood-soaked remains of their comrades scattered all over.
Almost every explosion signified the loss of a fellow soldier.
As the first wave of shock troopers collapsed, the remaining members, witnessing their comrades' armor and bodies being ripped apart in an instant—with limbs and heads flung about like rag dolls, blood and debris drifting through the air—found that none could muster the courage to continue the fight.
The violent, flesh-tearing impact brought not only unbearable physical pain but also an overwhelming psychological oppression.
At that moment, the chasm between life and death seemed immeasurably vast.
Even the most well-trained, well-equipped shock troopers, when faced with an enemy they could neither repel nor withstand, lost all confidence. Their hearts were filled with utter shock.
Even the strongest of wills shattered in that instant; they realized that the enemy before them was on a level they could not hope to counter.
Their adversaries did not seem human at all, nor did they resemble any known military force.
They were an incomprehensible source of raw violence—perhaps only a Sith warrior could even hope to match them.
In mere seconds, all tactical thinking and obedience to orders collapsed, leaving only the primal instinct to survive.
And in that desperate moment, their minds, stripped of all other thought, became strangely clear and coldly rational—because the only way out was to...
"Don't fire!"
Almost simultaneously, every surviving shock trooper lowered their weapons.
For a moment, the air was filled only with the oppressive silence of "steel and ammunition."
They all knew they had no strength left to resist; continuing the fight would only bring a more gruesome end.
Without hesitation, every one of them raised their hands to show that they posed no further threat.
"We surrender!"
That cry rang out with raw, undeniable despair—a voice trembling with hopelessness and resignation.
They discarded their explosive arrow guns as if throwing away their last shred of hope, relinquishing any possibility of further resistance.
Though surrender would cost them their dignity, in the face of these "killing machines," their pride and adherence to orders meant nothing; all that remained was the desperate will to survive.
Sure enough, the explosive arrow gunfire—like the tolling of death bells—abruptly ceased once they surrendered, leaving only a heavy, suffocating silence amid the toxic fog.
The surviving shock troopers could hear nothing but the pounding of their own hearts.
Their hands no longer gripped their weapons; those once-deadly explosive arms had become nothing more than burdens.
Oppression and unease weighed down on them, and each person held their breath.
Thump, thump.
Suddenly, a series of heavy footsteps approached from afar.
These steps were not the rapid, frantic pace of combat but rather the slow, deliberate, resonant clanking of heavy steel—a sound that shook their hearts with every measured step.
They looked up toward the source.
One by one, towering, almost grotesquely proportioned "giants" emerged.
Clad in red-painted power armor with gold-trimmed lines, they resembled fearless war deities.
Each "giant," as he strode forward, exuded an unparalleled aura of authority, his silhouette barely discernible through the thick fog.
And these "giants" paid no heed to the surrendering shock troopers—as if their very existence rendered the troopers insignificant.
This left the troopers, who had thrown up their hands in surrender, feeling bewildered.
The "giants" seemed utterly unperturbed by their presence, continuing steadily toward the gate that led to other sectors.
They did not turn back or make any extra movements; their pace, seemingly slow and measured, was in fact closing in on the gate in the blink of an eye, and they would soon exit the maintenance bay.
Could it be that these "giants" were not afraid of a sudden reversal of allegiance—a potential backstab from behind with a re-armed explosive arrow gun?
Barely had that thought formed in their minds when one of the giants suddenly halted and drew from his waist a power sword that pulsed with a red glow.
"Slash—snap—!!"
A crisp, clear sound cut through the silence as the power sword discharged a bolt of "lightning," as if propelled by a devastating pressure, charging straight at them.
In almost no time at all, the "lightning" struck among their ranks, triggering a chain reaction.
"Ah~!"
"Ugh—"
Thud. Thud!
The moment the "lightning" hit them, their muscles convulsed uncontrollably, as if every nerve in their body had been seized by an electric current.
All external sensations were completely numbed in that instant; their limbs no longer obeyed, and their bodies suddenly lost all strength, causing them to collapse helplessly to the ground, falling unconscious.
Seeing this, the "giants"—or rather, the members of the Second Assault Platoon of Scourged Children's 1st Company—continued their "boarding and seizing" assault.
After leaving the maintenance bay and reaching the outer hub area, the eighteen Scourged Children still maintained a silent, determined composure in appearance.
In reality, the commanders of the three squads had just exchanged brief messages via their internal helmet comms.
They nodded to each other, and then—
Thump, thump!!
The three squads then split up and sprinted toward different areas.
The sound of magnetic boots striking the metal deck echoed through the corridors, and these Scourged Children moved so fast they became mere blurs—showing no mercy to anyone trying to block their way.
Clang! Clang-clang!!
Thud—sizzle!!
They unleashed their full firepower without hesitation; anyone who dared to try to intercept them was immediately met with a barrage of explosive arrow rounds, delivering a painless death.
They needed to take control of the Star Destroyer to support the Paris-class and stealth-class ships against the Empire's subsequent reinforcements.
As for how to secure it, they entrusted that entirely to the smart AI accompanying them.
Meanwhile, the struggle for orbital control over Scarif had reached its most intense phase, and the main force of Scourged Children's 1st Company—air-dropped onto the surface—had begun a ferocious assault on Scarif's Imperial base.
—
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