Chapter 96
Shaqar estimated that the length of this metal monster could reach sixteen meters, or even more—a long, elongated body housing a devastating engine compartment at the front, a steel-guarded cabin behind it, and an extremely spacious open bed at the rear for transporting troops and equipment.
Its astonishing width, around three to four meters, made it resemble an iron serpent ready to flatten everything in its path.
Viewed from the side, its profile was low and menacing, with additional armor plates covering vital sections and small apertures for weapon sights lurking from within.
The mere image of its destructive power was enough to inspire dread.
Steel, iron, even gold beams—if they lay in the path of this vehicle's massive tracks—would be crushed into shapeless debris without any meaningful resistance.
Its tremendous weight, combined with the speed that could be unleashed by the supercharged engine inside, transformed it into a colossal mace capable of effortlessly smashing barricades, enemy vehicles, or ordinary structures.
It was not designed for subtlety, but to deliver a crushing first impression even before the troops within disembarked to fight.
This vehicle was the first declaration of war.
'If those engines had been running since the start of the speech, we might already be nearing the city gates by now.'
Time calculations ran through Shaqar's mind with painful clarity.
The journey to Thalyssra, Blessed by the Great Sanse—the heart city they had to defend at all costs—was estimated to take seventy minutes.
One hour and ten precious minutes in which every second could determine strategic positioning, time to observe the terrain, or simply a moment to steady one's breath before the storm.
Yet that considerable duration now felt threatened, slowly eroded by an activity that, in his eyes, was becoming increasingly insubstantial.
Zhulumat Katamtum's sermon had already gone on for more than twenty-five minutes, with no sign of ending anytime soon.
A quarter of their total travel time to the front line had been spent merely standing upright on the field, roasted by their own armor and bombarded by words that, to Shaqar, were beginning to lose their meaning.
Those twenty-five minutes, if redirected, could have been used for final communication checks between vehicles, a brief update on the latest developments at the Thalyssra front, or the distribution of the most recent intelligence on enemy movements.
"Enough. The words have been delivered, and now it is time for you to prove them with action."
Fhooooh!
"Do not look back, do not hesitate along the way.
Depart as Team Xirkushkartum—and return only with results.
With this, the briefing is concluded."
'Good. No one is missing, no one slipped away, no one collapsed from heat or drowsiness.'
At last, Zhulumat Katamtum's voice subsided.
His figure descended from the tall podium with steps still full of authority, hurrying toward a group of other Satanic High Officials who had been waiting beside the stage.
Handshakes and brief nods were exchanged, a formal ritual among leaders marking the end of the oration phase.
On the field, a momentary silence took hold, though it did not last long.
That quiet was soon cut by low voices filled with authority.
The captains of Team Xirkushkartum, including Shaqar, immediately shifted roles from listeners to commanders.
With swift and decisive movements, they began taking attendance of their respective members.
Names were called one by one, followed by short, forceful responses of "present," breaking the field's silence into a mosaic of orderly sound.
This verification process was carried out with pure military efficiency, without embellishment or small talk.
Each captain needed to ensure that not a single subordinate was left behind or missing before the giant convoy moved out.
Once the roll call was complete, the atmosphere shifted again.
The captains promptly pulled their team members into small, separate circles, detached from the larger crowd.
Within these circles, the real discussions—those Shaqar had been waiting for—began at once.
Their voices dropped into serious whispers audible only within each group.
They discussed team strategies, specific role assignments on the Thalyssra battlefield, emergency rally points, and secret communication codes.
This was the moment of genuine preparation, where theories and plans on maps were translated into concrete instructions for every soldier.
'The maps have been read, the zones have been marked.'
In the vacuum before battle, among dust-covered maps, every captain of Team Xirkushkartum had woven their own fate onto paper.
They were not blind pawns, but shadow commanders who had chewed over every possibility, analyzed every street corner, and mapped every shadow that might conceal a threat or an opportunity in the city of Thalyssra, Blessed by the Great Sanse.
Those plans were drawn up in the silence of command rooms, atop tables cluttered with intelligence documents that smelled of ink and fear.
Every line on the map was a silent vow, every cross-mark an acknowledgment of danger to be faced or avoided.
This was a quiet dance of preparation, where courage was tested not through shouts, but through the perseverance of staring down the contours of a ruthless battlefield.
They knew that the real battle had begun long before the first vehicle wheel turned, within their minds, which had already divided the city into zones to be seized, defended, or—reluctantly—sacrificed.
Shaqar, with a cold gaze and a mind trained like a machine, had pierced his mental map with special markers.
The black-market area in the northern district, with its network of secret tunnels, became a primary target to secure as a logistics route and emergency evacuation path.
Conversely, the main plaza before the Great Sanse temple—certain to be packed with ranks of Holy Beings—was marked in dark red, a zone to be avoided until sufficient strength was amassed.
In his mind, the journey to the city's heart was a three-dimensional game of chess, where every movement of his massive vehicle had to be calculated to minimize exposure and maximize shock effect.
The nineteen lives under his command were not statistical figures, but living pieces placed in strategic positions within his thoughts, each with their own role, expertise, and survival path.
This preparation was his first fortress, an attempt to tame the inevitable chaos of the battlefield into something manageable, however slightly.
"Apathy, start the engine now.
Don't wait for me to get aboard—let the heat stabilize first.
Catch this key."
Buuuk!
"Listen carefully, all of you. Once we arrive in Thalyssra, there will be no more confusion.
Do not act outside the guidelines unless I give the order.
Your responsibility is simple, but heavy.
Hold your position, watch the comrades on your left and right, and make sure not a single one of us is lost without a clear reason."
Whuuuuh!
'We move as one body—if one part is careless, the others die with it. Remember that.'
A sudden, rhythmic rumble cut through the field's formerly static silence.
Along with the shrill blast of the final command whistles from the captains, the rigid formations instantly transformed into a satanic vortex moving with perfect discipline.
Thousands of troops who had stood like black statues merged into a dynamic wave, hastily spreading across every corner of the field.
Their run was not a panicked sprint, but a measured charge drilled thousands of times—heavy steps that shook the earth, burdened by creaking exorcism armor that could not slow their resolve.
Like black ants responding to a danger signal, they scattered toward the giant metal monsters that were already throbbing low, preparing to become living cargo within bellies of steel.
To be continued…