Objective: Extermination
Post One
Osam observed from the balcony of the apartment complex as the fighting went on far below him. He was perhaps six or seven stories off of the ground, and so while the warriors and their armaments were plainly visible below him, they had reduced in their apparent stature until they seemed nothing more than minuscule figurines. Here was a mighty Baedurin whose height had been staggered by the colossal construction near him, and there a loyal Concord ranger who had seen his height halved by a Draelvasier rifle.
In the distance, he could make out the forces of Keldothera - the remnants that had served under her at least - as they fought alongside the Warlord and Emissary
Galak
. The Juggernauts were formidable combatants, and though the planetary defense forces were clearly putting all they could into fighting off the brutish Baedurin, they were badly outgunned and outmatched. The presence of enemy armor was perhaps the only thing that was managing to prevent a complete and utter crushing of their forces, but even these instruments of warfare were gradually being sapped of power and reduced to heaps of scrap metal.
The First of the Risen stretched out his new arm, feeling the way that his fingers closed around the air to clasp at the nothingness there. Seizing the wind had been an impossible task, but there was still sensation associated with it, and so it could hardly be called futility. It had been a remarkably painful few days that had brought him back from the brink of demise. The arrival of the Ashaka healers had been pure chance... his death had been all but a certainty, and yet, here he now stood.
He wondered whether
Keldothera
would have taken the option at survival had she been given the opportunity. She was no Sraelvun, and so the regeneration would not have stimulated as naturally... but there were methods akin to torture that could bring life into a husk, were there not? He was not privy to the secret methods utilized by the Ashaka, but he imagined within their grasp were a number of terrible and frightening alterations that could be performed in order to rejuvenate and renew.
It did not matter what she would have done, because she had left their mortal plane behind. The choice would never be made, nor the question ever uttered to her ears. There would only be stillness associated with her now, and the clamor of "honor" and "glory" that would cease only when the others had gone down into oblivion at her side.
"Keep an eye out for their APCs. There's a type in particular that I'd like to engage. To learn it. To learn their way. To punish it." He commanded to his squadron, returning to his own quiet vigil as the war waged beneath.