The metal of his blade twang against the turbulent storm, shards of dust and sand battering against its side.
They had been camped within those craters for what felt like hours, not even the suns embrace to keep them company. The storm pushed from the west, threatening to hinder their assault if it grew worse. It did.
They each wore thick leather coats, all in apparent disrepair as the ends consistently grew tattered and torn. Metallic masks covered their faces; light enough to be of no hinderance, reaching just high enough to touch the roots of their hair. Some laid against the ground, gun or blade in hand, cautiously peering out from their divots to see if anything could be seen.
Vision was scarce, however. Still, their hearts fell when they started to see its silhouette pierce through the storm.
The Nullwalker.
"It's coming!" A nameless man yelled, vigorously leaping from his position to assist those in nearby craters.
They were directly in its path. There was no turning back.
Eamon was at the western-most edge of their scattered battalion, ground slightly higher than the rest as he overlooked the lumbering beast. It was massive.
He took it all in—its dark skin, its featureless form. Almost uncannily human from the waist up, though replaced by nothing but an endless void. It had no arms, instead opting for gargantuan carapace protrusions from its side, almost like the legs of a crab, though forward moving.
Raptorial forelegs led the pack, though reeked of unions of disuse, degraded to the standard role of mobility.
Even the mountains cowered in its wake.
Of course, the main threat wasn't in sight yet... but they were never the goal in the first place.
"Head low, Eamon!" A man muttered to his side, laying just below the rim of the crater. "It's almost time... may our people remember our names."
Eamon lowered himself, briskly gripping his gun in preparation. "Not so fast, Rusk. We're not dying that easily."
"You think?" He roared, giving a subtle chuckle carried by the hint of his words.
"Today's the day. We'll kill it, Rusk. We'll put an end to all of this... and we'll make it back alive."
He didn't respond.... but he didn't have to. There was a subtle understanding between the two, only a firm handshake being given in acknowledgement. Still, there was a lingering feeling of doubt pressed in Rusk's mind. It was hard for there not to be.
It didn't take time for the forces to grow weary. Nullwalker was almost upon them.
The thunderous boom of its steps started to be audible, not even the vicious winds being able to dampen the sound.
"LOWER YOURSELVES!" Rusk commanded, further slumping down the slope of the crater as he echoed his orders. "ASSAULT ON MY WORD!"
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Eamon could hardly concentrate. A sickening pounding in his chest drew most of his attention.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The booms grew closer. The cackle of stone shattering from underneath its feet reminiscent to the cracking of bones.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
For only a moment, he broke orders. Cautiously, he peered his head from beyond the crater, Nullwalker's head almost looking down upon their positions. Now, he could see it; the real threat.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
A wedged stone in its back. The shape of the unnatural blooming from overhead. The notable glint of a figure's eyes, so coincidentally looking upon him.
He had been spotted... and the command was given. "ATTACK!"
Without a second thought, he charged. Blinded by the storm, there wasn't much he could do other than run, so he did.
Now, his ears were covered by a new sound... the sound of roars. Cheers. Cries of battle.
Instinctively, he did the same, running down a mild slope and mingling with his comrades, a deep, guttural cry being expelled from his body. The sounds of filtered steam and blistering bullets cracked through the air, battering against the looming God.
He followed suit, steadily raising the barrel of his musket before pressing against the trigger, a flurry of steam burgeoning from the side as a bullet flung from the chamber.
The beast was unfazed, however. The clattering of bullets seemingly did nothing to hinder its march, the claps of thunder only growing more powerful as it stretched overhead. Against the heat of battle and harsh storm of sand, a charging soldier bashed himself against the still-standing Eamon.
He fell forward, body stumbling and rolling into the bottom of an ancient crater, desperately clenching his head so as to protect himself from the fall.
Slowly did he stand, though much to his dismay, it was too late.
Above him was the monstrous base of Nullwalker, leg a thick-shelled spike which descended from above. For a moment, he could only see his life flash before his eyes before a hefty shove tumbled him to the side, the crumbling of stone from underneath piercing into his chest, the force nothing short of a minor tremor as the earth below shook with its impact.
"Eamon!" He heard a voice call out to him, looking up only to see Rusk had been the one to save him. "Get up Eamon! We need to move!"
Gunshots now became more frequent, metal shells burrowing into the sands at their feet. Eamon looked up, seeing what he had feared the most—the barrel of a distant gun aimed straight for his head.
"EAMON!" Rusk shouted a final time, desperately refusing to leave his side. Eamon finally obeyed, stumbling forward as the crackle of gunfire resonated through the air; bullet flinging just past the edge of his cheek.
What was once the cheers and chants of the brave and battle-hardened had, in a matter of mere seconds, turned to screams and heart-wrenching cries as bloodied corpses painted the sands red.
It was a massacre.
Scattered corpses lined the battlefield, Nullwalker carelessly trudging overhead whilst their attackers repelled from above.
Over a hundred strong, reduced to nothing more than a few ragtag stragglers that simply refused to die.
"Wh- what happened?" Eamon whimpered, only now beginning to feel the true weight of their situation beat against his chest.
"It was only a matter of time..." rusk stated, voice shaky with his run. "It's the Shell-dwellers. They've come to defend their God."
Eamon practically shivered at the thought. They descended from above, chains and winches lowering ramshackle lifts, their guns pointed straight for their heads as they desperately ran for their lives.
Countless bullets flew past their skulls, the storm fortunate enough to obscure and cover their positions against the onslaught. A few soldiers, mostly those uninitiated to the trauma, simply turned tail and left the rest to die.
The skimmers stayed, however, cautiously sifting the earth beneath Nullwalker's feet, the newly-formed craters welling up with pure, raw roth which they hastily stored in large jugs tied to their waists.
"What do we do, Rusk?" Eamon questioned, his stamina beginning to dry thin.
A brief silence, though Rusk had known the answer since the beginning. "We do what we came here for. Our one and only objective." Eamon perked up with those words, though his heart was soon to close once he continued; "We die."
Without a second thought, the stern man halted in his tracks, sand kicking up beneath his feet as he raised his musket to the sky. Almost immediately he fired his gun, bullet bursting through the air before cleanly lodging itself within the skull of one of the descenders.
"Fire, boy!" Rusk yelled, "Fire with everything you have left!"
Countless pressurized canisters dropped to the floor as he continued unleashing hell, now prioritizing speed over accuracy. The defenders ducked and weaved for cover, metal husks twanging against the makeshift defenses as counterfire was soon to be returned.
Eamon didn't hesitate, however. He tugged against Rusk's coat and dragged him to the side, a desperate rush towards Nullwalker's still-planted leg dug into the earth.
"What're you doing?" Rusk resisted, though Eamon was determined. Willed. Even as stray bullets blasted towards him, he kept pushing forward, one of them managing to tuck itself into the side of his shoulder.
Still, he kept moving.
Until, having reached the near-safety that was the underside of Nullwalker, he hastily whipped the barrel of his gun straight towards the hardened foot. He fired.
Barely a notable wound to the beast, though a small crack and hole emerged in its exterior. Not wasting a second, he grabbed his metal blade tied to his waist before jamming its length into the hole, feeling its tip manage to pierce flesh instead of shell.
He held against that handle as hard as he could, the seething wound now agonizing his entire existence. Rusk vigorously clasped himself to Eamon, the massive appendage finally erupting from the ground as they moved with the wretched God.
'One step at a time...' He thought to himself, eyes longingly glimpsing at the corpses of his brethren being buried in the sands below. 'One step at a time... I'll get what I came for.'