Chapter Twenty Two: Tit for Tat
...
Squad 1
...
The containers groaned.
Old metal flexed and sighed beneath the weight of time, and the heavy footsteps of the imp.
The slimes oozed their way forward, following, their gelatinous forms rippling across the rust-bitten surface, and occasionally picking up chipped paint as a little snack.
Eventually they reached the edge, and the Imp paused to take a good look at their surroundings.
Its hollow eyes narrowed as they tracked through the darkness, dust motes catching in the shafts of light like insects trapped mid-flight.
Below, the dim outlines of patrol routes were beginning to make themselves known.
Boots.
Voices.
The scratch of radio static.
And then.
SQUEECH.
A wet nudge from behind shoved the imp slightly off balance. It paused, glancing sideways.
One of the Slimes had nudged him aside, pressing insistently at his feet... and once it was sure it got their attention, it pointed its slime body to the side.
Three figures.
A small squad of White Fang was sprawled across a few chairs, with their rifles slung to the wide.
One lit a cigarette with a shaky hand.
None of them looked up.
Then again, no one ever does.
Squad 1 slinked forward together, crawling like liquid death across the containers until they were directly above. The Imp balanced on the talons of its clawed feet, hatchet gripped low but ready... it didn't even bother looking back at the slimes- they were beneath it.
It didn't take but a moment for them to drop.
The slimes hit first, one landing squarely atop the nearest man's head with a wet splatter, engulfing it entirely. He barely had time to scream before the acidic membrane began to sizzle against flesh and hair. Another slime slapped against the second terrorist's face and clung tight as if it were vacuum-sealed, bubbling and churning with acidic glee.
The third man staggered back, horrified, fumbling to raise his rifle- only to have the imp slam into his shoulders, sending the gun clattering to the ground.
The forked hatchet tore through ribs and shoulder, splitting him like a knife through butter. Blood sprayed in arterial arcs as the man collapsed, gurgling. The Imp stepped over the twitching body, sparing it no more attention than the 1000lb sisters did to the concept of weight loss.
And ever so slowly, it picked up the abandoned rifle.
The Imp sniffed the weapon.
Actually, sniffed it.
Then, after careful consideration
It tossed the rifle to the floor, returning instead to its tried-and-true method of stabbing anything that moved and carving anything that didn't.
The slimes had already finished, leaving nothing but bubbling puddles, gnawed bone, and a faint scent of roasted pork. One of them hiccupped, another burped, and a third began trying to bounce in a circle.
The Imp growled low and started moving again, claws clicking softly against steel as Squad 1 slinked forward, deeper into the maze of forgotten crates and flickering lights.
…
Squad 2
...
The Vorpal Chicken was already doing its part.
Sort of.
It had been on the move, one claw already raised to follow its latest glorious command from the man servant (Quin), when something caught its eye.
Or rather, its nose.
Just off to the side, slightly wedged between two towering stacks of crates, sat an open container. The doors were cracked just enough to let the scent out, like some long-forgotten treasure chest begging to be looted.
The bird stared.
A moment more.
Then immediately turned away from whatever vague directive it had been given and waddled over like a child at a candy shop.
One quick hop, a flutter of wings, and the chicken slipped inside.
The smell hit like a truck.
MREs, piles of them, all stacked atop one another like bricks. Beside them sat towers of non-perishable cans, some unlabeled, others plainly marked SOUP. Tucked near the back, in what might have once been an ammo box, were rows of vials filled with strange powders- red, blue, and one that shifted colours when the light hit it just right.
The chicken clucked once.
And then the carnage began.
Plastic was ripped, boxes shredded, and cans cracked open. It plunged beak-first into the bounty, scarfing down unidentifiable meat chunks, entire rice packets, three peanut butter tubes, and half a glowstick.
Purely by accident, and totally not cause it looked cool.
It cracked open a vial, devouring it's contents and paused, blinking wildly as flames literally puffed from its mouth.
A moment later it devoured another one, wings flapping in euphoric rage.
Somewhere, in the distance, a gun went off.
The chicken didn't notice.
It was busy conquering the food pyramid.
…
Sometime before Squad 2
...
"A blind man walks into the bar... Ow."
As brilliant as Quin thought the pun was, it was met with silence.
Not even a chuckle, which he definitely deserved after that buildup.
He glanced over at Revenant. "You're no fun, y'know that?"
"No, you just suck a jokes," she said flatly, glancing behind to make sure no one was following. Her shoes barely made a sound on the metal flooring, moving so silently he in comparison felt like a coin in a tin can.
"Is it the delivery? Be honest, I could do voices... Maybe give it more of a regional flair?"
"Do that, and I'm leaving you behind."
"Rude" he jabbed a finger at her shoulder... which he instantly regretted, as it bent to the side at an awkward angle.
Up ahead, the lead pike stopped, holding its flag to stop the others from moving. The others froze mid-step, their polearms lowered slightly, waiting.
Quin raised a hand too, for dramatic effect, and whispered, "Contact?"
Revenant shrugged and just as she grabbed for her lyre, two grunts rounded the corner. One was mid-sentence about some maniac with an umbrella, the other adjusting a very loose mask... and both stopped the moment they saw the line of armed soldiers.
There was a moment of stunned silence.
"Sup," Quin gave them a wave.
The pikes took that moment to rush ahead.
The two grunts barely had time to blink.
One reached for his rifle, the other managed to lift his and squeezed off a single shot that dug into the gambeson of a pikemen, turning the surrounding area a deep shade of red.
It wasn't long before the cacophony of metal meeting flesh echoed out.
The first soldier drove his spear clean through the shooter's gut, lifting him from the ground before slamming him into a nearby container like a ragdoll nailed to a post.
Another pike swept low, hooking the other man's legs and dropping him to a knee, just in time for two more spears to skewer him from either side.
He twitched once.
Then the banner-bearer arrived, bringing its flag down with a dull crunch across the man's skull, folding him like cheap laundry.
"Yikes... that was a bit much." Quin winced, and half wondered why he wasn't particularly disgusted...
Oh whatever.
Revenant hummed, peering at the dead before grabbing their weapons. "Indeed... but what's this? Magic?"
He looked over at her as she turned the rifle over in her hands like it was some cursed relic. "Nope."
Revenant gave him a sidelong look, urging him to continue.
"It's a gun," he clarified, tapping the barrel. "It sends a tiny piece of metal flying at Mach Jesus... you point it, you pull that trigger, and whatever's on the other side of the barrel usually regrets existing."
She blinked slowly. "and... what's Mach Jesus?"
"Well," Quin said, bending down to retrieve the less-bloody of the rifles, "Let's just imagine a really angry gnat punching through your ribs at the speed of lightning instead."
"Sounds delightful." She slung one over her shoulder. "Like a crossbow, of sorts."
"Kinda," Quin said, distracted, as he crouched beside one of the slumped bodies and started to rifle through the grunt's vest, fishing out a few spare magazines, the metal cool and greasy. He shoved a couple into his pocket, right next to Mordred, who made a muffled squeal of protest.
"Deal with it," he muttered.
The rest of the ammo vanished into his inventory with a flicker of system light.
Pushing himself up, he gave the corridor ahead a once-over. "Alright. Let's get a move on before someone investigates the gunfire and finds a Jackson Pollock installation inst-"
A harsh shout rang out from afar, followed by the sharp crack of gunfire.
Bullets tore down the corridor, a few snapping past Quin's head and chewing into the wall behind him.
"LIKE RIGHT NOW- GET BEHIND COVER!" he yelled, grabbing Revenant by the arm and yanking both of them behind a shipping container. Shrapnel rang out as the far end of the hallway lit up with muzzle flashes, at least three White Fang grunts were advancing fast.
Peering around the corner, a bullet came within inches of his hairline.
"Okay, rude!" Quin shouted over the din, fumbling to slam a magazine into the rifle he'd just looted. "They didn't even ask if we were friendly!"
Revenant, already out of his grip, tucked her own rifle into her shoulder mimicking the guards she's seen. "Should I return the favor?"
"By all means," Quin said as he heard a few chimes go off in his skull, causing him too look for at the pikes, most made it to cover in time, but several were pooling blood onto the concrete.
[Notification: Unit Lost]
[Notification: Unit Lost]
Well fuck.
And before he could say something about losing them, he was interrupted by a low, vibrating hum from Revenant's lyre... barely a note, then came the second chord, sharp and discordant, like the sound of a fork scraping ceramic.
The very floor beneath them responded, cracking open like jagged veins that poured out smoke.
Thick and oily, it writhed like a living thing, snaking across the ground in unnatural patterns. It pooled and thickened, swirling into a form all too familiar.
Fredrick.
The W.F grunts, much unlike the Xiong family henchmen, didn't freeze up and continued to fire.
A bullet hit the skeleton dead center,
Then a few more smashed into its ribs and arms.
They did practically nothing.
The rounds sparked off the plating across his ribs, some dug shallow gouges into bone but not much else. One even ricocheted off the metal pumpkin with a clang, but that only caused the giant to turn ever so slowly towards the radical who fired it.
"Fredrick... you're slowly becoming my favorite."
Somewhere to his side, Revvie gave an almost imperceptible pout, before focusing back to the battle at hand.
The giant fuck ass skeleton just continued to stare at the gunmen, before suddenly slamming its pumpkin head into the concrete and began walking forward, sparks flew as the metal gourd scraped deep across the floor, using it like a plow.
Quin thought for a second before reaching out to grab Revenant's wrist, and pulled her along with him.
"Come on... we're doing a World War Two.'
"...A what?"
That would take too much time he didn't quite have, so he ignored it.
[Maybe later, Revvie.]
Behind them, the pikes moved. Slowly at first, then steadily falling into line, two columns formed behind Fredrick.
Like a goddamn infantry convoy.
...
Except those who've fallen, the ones who lived just sorta laid there trying to stop their bleeding.
One of them groaned.
Another lifted his head, only to drop it again with a soft clink as his helmet rolled off.
Quin glanced back briefly "Yeah, uh… they're doing great."
His murder doll just shook her head, almost feeling bad for those poor souls.
Almost.
Fredrick, meanwhile, didn't stop being Quin's own personal Killdozer, the occasional clack of a bullet pinging off his frame like rain on a rooftop.
The gunfire was slowing.
Either because they were out of ammo or starting to realize it didn't do anything.
And Quin didn't care which.
He let go of Revenant's wrist and raised a hand. "Forward march, lads! Show 'em the sharp end!"
One of the rear pikes stumbled a little trying to turn.
Another one tripped over his own feet, caught himself, and gave a shaky thumbs up.
...
With a sigh, Quin leaned over to the side of Fredrick, his hands raising the rifle as he began to return fire.
BANG
BANG
BANG
Each shot kicked like a stubborn mule, but Quin barely flinched. The recoil rocked the rifle back only to be pulled back down again with one swift motion.
It only took the fourth bullet to find its mark.
A dog faunus jerked backwards, a sharp crack of bone echoing out as a mist of red dispersed from his chest, then silence as he crumpled behind a crate in a heap of limbs.
"Bad dog," Quin muttered, mostly to himself.
Fredrick didn't so much as flinch, the skeletal soldier continued to march forwards with the same lumbering gait.
Quin ducked back behind him, retreating after drawing too much focus fire.
"Nice," Revenant called out. "You're not half bad with that thing."
Quin huffed, letting the rifle hang off his neck as he flexed his fingers. "Maybe... but my arms feel like they've been dipped into coals."
Turns out, wrestling recoil into submission was still hell on your body, even if you were a Witcher.
Behind them, another Pike fell with a ragged grunt, a bullet buried deep in his thigh. He tried to rise, spear in hand, but his leg gave out under the weight.
The rest didn't break formation.
Yet..
"They're getting chewed up,"
"Yeah," Revenant replied, taking that as a prompt to use her skill to bring them back to peak health...
But screams came first.
It started as one voice, sharp and panicked, before multiplying into a cacophony of terror echoing from the far end of the corridor, but there was more than that mixed into the chaos.
Faint squelched, followed by meat sizzling,
He grinned, just a little, recognizing that sound from when way back in the forest.
"Huh... Forgot about the slimes."
2389 Words
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Let me know if the pacing is right, or if I should just get it done in a chapter or two next time.
Hope you enjoyed the chapter!.
(Note, grammarly subscription ran out so that's fun :3)