Chapter 97
The sound of metal grinding, the thud of combat boots, and heavy breaths that formed a thin mist in the cold air merged into a pre-departure symphony filled with restrained tension and latent energy.
At the center of this vortex, Shaqar stood like a reef splitting the current.
His sharp eyes swept the surroundings, ensuring that each of his nineteen subordinates moved according to the flow instilled during the brief earlier briefing.
Before he himself stepped toward the command cabin, his sturdy hand had already hurled a small, gleaming object through the air, a perfect parabola that ended in the waiting grasp of Apathy's hand.
The heavy steering key was not merely metal, but a symbol of trust and initial responsibility.
With the engine started early by Apathy, the roar of the giant diesel began to bellow, releasing a hoarse sound that promised to crush any obstacle.
As the engine's vibrations crept from the ground into every soldier's shins, Shaqar used this final moment.
His gaze met each subordinate who passed by, a brief yet weighty look that re-engraved their operational guidelines and individual responsibilities into their minds, ensuring that none would stray from their special mission amid the coming chaos of Thalyssra.
"Double-check everything.
Weapons, exorcism equipment, communication devices, energy supplies—don't miss a single thing."
Fhuuuuh!
"Apathy, how's the engine? Any strange vibrations, overheating, or abnormal sounds?"
"Everything's normal. RPM stable, pressure safe, no indications of malfunction.
The vehicle is ready to move."
"Formation moving out, no one left behind."
The massive diesel engine's sound broke loose, initiated by a low growl from Shaqar's vehicle.
Under the control of Apathy, the chosen driver, the steel monster came alive with deep vibrations, like a colossal heart beating for the first time.
Thick black smoke billowed briefly from its exhaust before thinning into a steady plume, a sign of the engine purring through its warm-up phase.
The first ten minutes passed in a vibrating, static rhythm; the temperature gauge needle slowly crept from the blue zone toward green, vital fluids circulated within the engine, and massive metals began to find their ideal operating temperature.
Inside the cabin, Apathy monitored every dial and indicator light with a surgeon's focus, his hand occasionally brushing the leather-and-iron steering wheel, familiarizing himself with its weight and responsiveness.
The next fifteen minutes were added not out of mechanical necessity, but as a collective exercise in patience.
Shaqar's vehicle stood like the first stone in a frozen river, while around it, one by one, similar roars emerged in response, forming a thunderous pre-war chorus.
Apathy looked through the wide rearview mirror, witnessing an almost mythic sight: rows of other giant combat vehicles belonging to the Xirkushkartum captains slowly closing in, forming a tight and intimidating convoy formation.
Their position lights glowed like wolves' eyes in the darkness, red and yellow, blinking in deliberate patterns.
He waited, the engine kept running, ensuring that each unit found its place in the perfect line.
Those twenty-five minutes felt absurd, a limbo between preparation and execution, where the only thing happening was the visual and auditory accumulation of power, a tension build-up that was nearly unbearable.
And then, the order came.
Not through the radio, not through shouted commands, but through a presence that suddenly pressed down on the atmosphere itself.
In the sky, directly before the convoy whose iron teeth were poised to carve forward, Zhulumat Katamtum and the inner circle of other Satanic High Officials appeared.
They floated calmly in the air, defying gravity without wings, without jetpacks, without any visible technological aid.
The fabric of their ritualistic robes did not flutter wildly, but hung motionless as if suspended in a vacuum, carving their silhouettes perfectly against the bleak sky like statues of wrathful gods.
Their gazes, especially Zhulumat's, swept across the rows of vehicles below.
It was a gaze cold, sharp, and heavy with authority, one that felt capable of flaying even layers of steel, peering directly into the souls of every satanist inside the vehicles, weighing readiness and burning away doubt.
Without sound, without clear hand gestures, their will spread like undeniable psychic pressure.
An absolute urge to advance seeped into every driver.
"Wait until vehicle number three moves at full pace—keep a safe distance first, Apathy.
Once they roll forward, we follow, adjusting speed accordingly."
The massive convoy surged ahead like a dragon-serpent awakened from a long slumber.
Hundreds of steel wheels ground against the empty highway, producing a constant low rumble, like an artificial earthquake moving at high speed.
They accelerated quickly, yet the formation remained perfect—a long column of combat vehicles moving in near-machine synchronization, distances between units maintained with precision, none overtaking or falling behind.
Their lights formed two parallel lines of red and white cutting through everything, a sight so orderly it felt unnatural, like a military procession driven by a single collective mind.
Inside each cabin, drivers controlled their metal monsters under full tension, hands locked on the steering wheels, eyes fixed on the vehicle ahead, ensuring none strayed from the designated path.
Their speed was the speed of fleeing ill fate, yet as regulated as a forced heartbeat rhythm.
Within this formation moving like a single organism, the position of Shaqar and Apathy's vehicle was no coincidence.
They were placed fourth in line, a strategic position—not at the most dangerous front, nor in the safest middle, but close enough to leadership to receive rapid orders, while still being part of the main body that would bear the first assault.
Through the thick windshield, Apathy could see the taillights of the third vehicle glowing ahead, a red point serving both as guide and restraint on his speed.
He felt the urge in his foot to press the accelerator harder, to overtake, to be at the forefront where action might erupt sooner.
But his memory returned to Zhulumat's floating gaze earlier, and to Shaqar's firm orders echoing in his ears before departure: to be patient, to obey.
"On top of being assigned somewhere unexpected, this mission is being led directly by Zhulumat, with the High Officials overseeing it?"
"Wh-what are we supposed to do? If we make even the slightest wrong move—"
"Panic won't make us stronger.
We've been trained for situations like this, and fear will only disrupt focus.
As long as we move in formation, cover each other's gaps, and obey the established instructions, there's nothing to fear.
Don't let anyone's presence up there break your resolve."
Fhoooooh!
"We work as one team, and as long as that holds, we will all return safely."
Inside the steel womb violently shaken by engine roars and road tremors, the tension felt real, like a substance thickening the air.
Every member of Shaqar's team, confined within the cabin and the open rear bed, sat in heavy silence.
They could feel their palms sweating inside combat gloves, hear their own heartbeats pounding loudly enough to rival the engine's hum.
Their memories returned to Apathy's earlier phone call, his flat yet pressure-laden voice delivering a mandate that had sounded impossible.
To be continued…