Dominion The Bryn'adûl | Outbreak at Ylesia

[Primal Architect]

The Bryn'adûl | Outbreak at Ylesia

​

THREE HOURS BEFORE OUTBREAK

Departing the Divine Brutality / Aboard the Chieftains personal Gunboat

The Honour Guard loaded the magazine into his Spike Rifle, looking over his shoulder to his brethren. A nod given to the others, weapons check complete. They had to be silent for the moment as Tathra was speaking to someone over the boats on-board communication array. It wasn't his job to listen, but from what he could hear this was not the usual rodeo. There were discussions of some kind of Sraelvun mutagen, some transformative operations of sorts and cures of the xenophage.

Yurb. Yurb had been a hellish landscape following the battle, and the few infected that had survived were not ones to be looked upon kindly. The only kindness they could be offered was a mercy killing, and all of them received such. Their deformed, twisted corpses had been shipped off to Ylesia, one of their primary satellite research facilities. Just outside of known Bryn space, a world safely tucked away from their population. But it seemed that was for nought, the tone of the scientist the Chieftain was speaking to implied worry.

"Maintain the quarantine, Grendrada. I will arrive within the hour." The Titan spoke, ending the transmissions.


TWO HOURS BEFORE OUTBREAK

There was no security patrol, no delegation ready to meet them. Nothing. It was strange, it didn't feel like they'd forgotten or that maybe a mistake had been made, something felt off. And he wasn't the only one who felt it. The Chieftain seemed to be inspecting the rest of the construct, if there was any sign of life - he couldn't tell, the same went for the Titan and that was what worried him most.

Rare was it the occasion the Chieftain was out of the know in his own territory. They had to keep their guard up. The Honour Guard Ultra, Fermak suggested they try to get inside. He wasn't sure, but Tathra agreed.

They were heading in.

ONE HOUR BEFORE OUTBREAK

The facility was dead. No signals, nothing. They moved through the upper levels room by room, and then onto the next level. They stopped in one of the Zealot barracks, checking for any clues as to what might've happened. Kiosks had been left active, different segments of armour and weaponry were scattered across the room. They'd left in a hurry, but he didn't understand why. There was no sign of attack, no warning of an enemy fleet.

Where was everyone?

OUTBREAK

They found something, a lower segment of the Construct's facilities had been sealed off, barricaded. Along with it, beyond the sealed doors were a number of their own, mostly drones. All dead. At that point, he'd been sent off to check the Sentinel logs. If anything had seen what hit them it would've been the Sentinels, and that information would be in their data archive.

PRESENT TIME

This was the last known positioning of the Chieftain; Tathra Khaeus and his Honour Guard. Last message received is from Honour Guard Argast, detailing of a outbreak that has spread throughout the Super-Construct and infected everyone within. We MUST contain this outbreak, these abominations will NOT be our end!

Objective: A - Contain [Brutes/Drones/Ashaka/Shamans/Seers]
System wide quarantine is in affect, we must destroy these abominations. In an attempt to find a viable cure for the Xenophage, Mutagen Scientist Grendrada has unleashed a terrible plague upon us. One that twists our biology, turning us into strange, animalistic creatures. We must contain this outbreak, the other instillations on Ylesia have already begun this operation, we have built a fortified trench position all around the infected area, hold off the INFECTED so we may begin glassing the surrounding area.

Objective: B - Scour and Destroy [Zealots/Warlocks/]
Zealot Teams will be delivered directly to the source of this infestation, find the facilities armouries and the fuel stores within, arm the Barash charges and set the facility to blow!

Spoiler: Tag List

- Tathra Khaeus | Vertask | Gordrak | Drekarys Kel | Adrian L'lerim-Vandiir | Sarask Hiskt | Vertask | Primarch Drek'ma | Galak | Kereiokh Vraer | Krarolk T'manu | Osam | Sethrak | Sylok'Vanari | Tolfik Aenon | Seer Veralith | Voridus Kerwa |

 

[Osam]

Post 1
Objective A

It took far too many Spiker rounds to kill the target.

Osam had been dispatched along with many others to the entrenched positions on the infected world. He'd marched into position as he had many times in the past alongside a number of Sraelvun and their Risen-Sraelvun leaders, though they had been heavily accompanied by other mightier forces as well. Baedurin and Aeravalin both had been dispatched alongside their drone cousins to assist in the work of annihilating whatever entities they discovered beyond the quarantined zone.

The Risen Major had expected to see a couple of his brethren, corrupted by some unknown pathogen. He had expected them to be on the verge of death, an unfortunate series of symptoms having rendered them neatly incompatible with any reintegration into the Crusade. Even when they had landed and felt the stillness that had resounded throughout so much of the super-structure, he had imagined that there would only be one or two stragglers, barely hanging onto life, ready to be mercifully executed by their healthier comrades.

It had taken the presence of the first... thing to change his mind. It had been wiry and quick, nearly gaunt in many of its features. It'd been an Aeravalin once, apparently, though there was no reason to suspect that it was still one now. The way it had shaken and shuttered with every moment, spasmatic twitches ratcheting through its body like the compulsions of an unseen puppetmaster had been unnerving, but perhaps more disturbing had been the incoherent blabber of half-words and mutilated phrases that had bubbled out of its mouth in a mockery of speech.

The Major took the shot himself. The Spiker round, the superhot flechette that it was struck the corrupted Aeravalin dead in the core, spraying viscera out in a cone.

Most beings had the self-respect to die when their chests had been blown out... the blood filling whatever tatters remained of their lungs and the incredible agony was enough to put sentient beings to death. The Aeravalin was hardly even Draelvasier anymore, he thought when it turned and sprayed blood from its mouth in a mimicry of a scream. Every breath it sucked into its chest was a whistling gurgle, but it still charged at them, choosing to face another series of Spiker rounds instead of curling onto the floor and allowing the terminal wound to kill it off. It was utterly savage, like one of the mindless abominations they utilized in their warfare, but the facsimile of an educated soul made it all the more repugnant.

When the rifles quieted, and the thing lay dead at their feet, Osam began to reload his rifle... it had taken far too many Spiker rounds to kill just one of the things.

 

[Kad]

Objective B
Post: One
Tags: TBD
Equipment: Dual Shredders | Kukri |

When the Gunboat landed, four Zealot Shadows were let loose in various sections of the Super-Construct. The main Zealot squads had the tough jobs, they had to move through this facility - strange creatures and all. But, the Shadows were he to assist. Whenever the Zealots couldn't push through, the Shadows as a smaller unit would try and get the door open.

The Zealot checked his communications stone; Drestar, Grodda, Addivar and himself. Two of them assigned to one of the two Zealot squads, a seemingly simple operation. But something about this world, this place was off. Infections? Outbreaks? Inside their own space? The air was a dull, thick green. Unnervingly quiet, like eyes were on you at every turn.

"This is Gredak, my position is clear. Ready to move into the facility on your mark, Zealots."

The Shadow flinched, turning on his heel as he thought he heard something, rattling in the vents above him. A shiver ran up his spine, turning his rifle to the vent.

"Shadow Grodda, clear."

"Addivar, clear."

-

Static from Drestar.

 

[Kereiokh Vraer]

› OBJECTIVE: CONTAIN THE OUTBREAK
› LOCATION: YLESIA TRENCHES
› POST: ONE
› TAGS: OPEN TO OBJECTIVE A PARTICIPANTS; Osam

Kereiokh does not fear death. They did not rise through the ranks of the Brutes by fear or hesitation. They did it with a battle cry, a mighty swing of their glaive, an unending and lethal dance. All creatures fear. True strength lies in conquering it.

But this ... corruption makes them burn. The galaxy has earned its annihilation: it has succumbed to the vices of technology, submitted itself to a willing weakness, and they will see it reborn in a pure and glorious image. This, they think, is a fate worse.

The containment of Ylesia has only begun, and Kereiokh watches carefully from behind the line of trenches. They sit atop their Skag mount, Vkra, who stands still and attentive as always, but with a different tension in his muscles. The first wave of soldiers have already dispersed into the fray, prodding and testing the strength of their foes, and the sounds of battle have filled the air, but with a new, discordant tone. The garbled screaming of the infected tears through the air, and sits uncomfortably on each soldier's shoulders, listening to these terrible mockeries of their kin.

Kereiokh guides Vkra back into movement, while their eyes remained trained on the fight. They watch as one soldier — a Sraelvun — takes a shot at something that might have once been an Aeravalin, and the Spiker rounds tear through it, one after the next, as it stubbornly refuses to die until eventually there isn't enough body left to continue moving. Vkra makes his way to the next line of soldiers, waiting for their orders, and the officers nearby. Kereiokh's gaze stays focused, but they stand alongside their brethren, and watch, and wait.

 

[Galak]

Post: One
Objective: A - Contain
Location: The Thick of It - North section of the entrenched forces
Tags: Osam | Kereiokh Vraer |

Ripples of blood shot across the closed helmet of the Emissary, his turret tearing into a solid slab of flesh as the twisted creature came for him. Black oozing blood and muscle caked the Tower Shield and the outer layers of his armour. Galak turned to the others of the Phalanx, his forces had been placed at the forefront of the enemy approach. They had been fighting for nearly six hours, it had been long, arduous even. But more than any of that, h was killing his own. This was like nothing he'd seen before, yes Heretics and Tenabraks existed but that was different. They choose to live that life, what choice did these Drael have? Turned into things, monsters and mindless naves - it was a horrible fate he did not wish even the greatest of Heretics.

At least their mistakes were choices.

He felt every muscle, everything was tired, his Turret weighed heavily in his hands. He plied his fingers free of the barrel's connected handle, stretching them out as he felt the creases in his right hand. The armour weighed heavily on his shoulders, slopping into a hunch as he breathed hard and heavy; the only thing that kept him standing were the other Brutes of the Phalanx standing opposite to him. Galak turned his head, looking to Pavium opposite him. The Brute Captain nodded to him and the Emissary returned the nod; Galak could hear communications from across the entire fortified trench. Hastily they moved forces across the battlefield - positions were overrun and others pushed back, others fell entirely silent. The Gunboats overhead encircled overhead every few minutes, scorching the ground with their plasma-throwers and clearing out waves of infected Savage Drones.

Galak only had a moment to breath as the blood curdling cry game from over the edge of the hill. A Rhivak, engorged and twisted rose from the ranks of thousands of twitching, broken Draelvasier. At least they didn't know how to use guns. Their Siege Towers with-held fire, waiting. It was his call.

"We stand! We do not fall!" Galak cried out to his brethren, slamming the Tower-Shield into the mud - a gesture mirrored by all of the Phalanx Brutes still standing. Galak lowered his right hand, grasping the handle of the Turret and forcing it level.

"We are 10th Regiment! We are Phalanx! As long as their is earth beneath our feet, we will stand!" With that, Galak opened fire - switching to explosive shrapnel rounds in his Turret. The weapon shook violently in his tired hands as hundreds of spiker rounds ripped into the enemy lines; tearing apart the Rhivak as another appeared; firing its laser blast directly at Galak.

The blinding red plasma engulfed his Shield, careening around its edges as a Ballista shot from one of the Siege Towers cut the thing in half. Galak fell to one knee, exhausted.

"Artillery - FIRE!" Murdaks and the Grenadiers of the 10th opened fire on the back of the enemy line.

 

[Osam]

Post 2
Objective A

They came like carrion birds. Drawn either by the strong stench of spilled Aeravalin blood, or else by the racket of the rifles, others began to show their presence across portions of the superstructure. Even within the bounds of the entrenched position, Osam suddenly felt surprisingly unsafe. The enemy were their own people, and while it was apparent that they had degraded into something bestial and animalistic, that didn't mean that they hadn't originally been Draelvasier.

What if one of the ones behind him turned and struck them all from behind? What if an expeditionary group was infected with this repulsive illness and condemned to transformation. The Risen-Sraelvun cast his eyes back to allied territory, observing as a prowling Baedurin made the rounds atop his Skag mount. It was evident that he was guaranteeing that strategic and tactical goals were aligning, though in truth he seemed a rather brutish figure. Osam didn't doubt his ability to tear through a number of the infected if he decided to sally forth atop his mount.

Elsewhere, there was the thunderous applause of firepower. It sounded like it was almost directly opposite the position of the Sraelvun band. On the one hand, that meant that whatever they were facing wouldn't likely become a problem for the group... but on the other it meant that they could inexplicably be stricken from the rear at any time if the Brutes failed to hold their own against the threat.

Scouting a number of approaching figures coming towards them, the Drones obediently raised their rifles, the squad Grenadier preparing a salvo of explosive rounds meant to disrupt the encroaching wave.

With a shouted order, the group joined the cacophony of gunfire and shrieks.

 

[Gordrak]

Post 1
Objective A - Containment


" Just die already. "


Gordrak said to himself as he raised his Spiker to deliver the killing blow. One of the creatures was crawling toward him, its legs now in ruin from several well placed shots. He fired and cratered its head with something possibly nearing contempt. He gazed around after dispatching the threat and wondered how long he and the others had left in this particular section of trench. They were cut off and though they were holding, they were only just holding. Gordrak managed a glance to his left and right, his fellow brutes in similar situations. Furthermore, several explosions emanating from other sections of trench told of similar conflicts occurring en mass. A fresh wave of abominations made themselves known and as they charged, Gordrak and his fellow brutes answered in kind. Roaring and shouting as they fired into the creatures.



The cacophony of weapons fire once again prevailed though the enemy drew ever closer with each attempt. So much so that Gordrak anticipated needing to utilize his glaive sooner rather than later. He managed a reload just as a beast that resembled a Baedurin made its way into view. It charged like it was possessed and ran needlessly into the trenches field of fire. Though it absorbed a frightening amount of damage, the crossfire managed the bring it down. " Wretched " Was all Gordrak managed before he was forced to fire at more hostiles. These had the advantage of having the infected Baedurin soak up fire for them and as a result, were poised to reach the trench with their numbers relatively intact. Readying his glaive, Gordrak readied himself for close quarters combat. This or one of the following attacks would likely be what decided the fate of this particular position.



Live or die, Gordrak would kill as many as he could.

 

[Sylok'Vanari]

Objective: A, Kill First & Collect Samples.
Location: Northwest Side of Trenches, Approximately 250 Yards from Osam "The Risen Major."
Threat Zone: Red Zone, High Infection Rate.
Tags: Tathra Khaeus | Galak | Kereiokh Vraer | Gordrak | Kad

"The birth of any threat will remain as it always was...

A threat." -Sylok'Vanari

Science was fickle. Science was above all things, a bowl of predictions formed through years of explanatory research. Science was in the rarest form, Dangerous. Right now, at the very moment of an outbreak on the planet of Ylesia, science was a creation of an unpredictable threat. While many in the galaxy used the garnered knowledge of research results to advance in almost everything, there were always times that the tables of hypothetical could tear the world asunder. Many scientists don't explain the impact of miscalculations, accidents & otherwise, gruesome processes of dissection. Where many feared the unknown, few did not. Of the few, rested Sylok'Vanari. In the sheer span of a Eight hour period, Sylok had been informed of a rapidly expanding infectious process beginning to birth itself in the universe. Obviously, by the great graces of a superior scientist by the name of Grendrada, Mutagen experiments must have gone awry. With the Chieftain at the mercy of it all, Sylok was debriefed and told to stand aside and wait till results were gathered to test the infection at the onsite labs miles from the trenches. With mere hours left before fulfilling his duty, Sylok requested to be on ground. The only way to get to the heart of the mutation and it's origin was to observe, kill & collect. It was as Sylok explained to the rest of the intellects, 'the only way.'​

In truth, Sylok knew of the danger, but the excitement of seeing a full fledged reverse mutation in process, took over. His mind churned through all the possibilities that could have taken place in the short hours. It seemed at the rapid rate it expanded that the infection was transmitted through contact, which meant that many of the Draels in the first response unit could already be mindless monsters by now. Still, their deaths would breed a cure, if Sylok survived. With the few short hours left to prepare, Sylok managed to round up a few others of the Ashaka Order. A group of ten, each dedicated to healing any wounds that weren't related to the infectious process of the outbreak. Some were even considered to be exceptional at other destructive force abilities, ones that would be incredibly useful during the collection process. Some were part of his science division to begin with an understood that the quicker they got results, the faster the Order could technically 'cure' the others...if at all.

It felt like seconds, but in reality it was hours before they finally touched down onto the world of Ylesia. The group of ten were ready for war, preparations had been made. Tools of their trade hunkered down and placed in the trenches through the frenzy of war. They would make a stand for science and the Draelvasier that trusted them to bring an end to it all. Sylok looked out into the reckless positioning of some drones. His only hope was that it didn't backfire against them. a display of wretched monsters stretched through the super-construct like a plague. It was worse than he thought, the feeling of dread washed over him. This was serious, his instincts kicked in and while he wasn't a leader, he looked over to the rest of the order. It was time for war. ​

"Fren, Luka, Gridik, hold your fire till they get closer!" Sylok yelled over the resounding echoes of distant firepower. It sounded like they were trapped in a stadium of death and violence. He looked at another four to his right. "Men'dak, Jadaq, Apoch, & Vesdam. Prevent any advances on our right side. We need to bide our time, if we can't heal our own, we need to be smart about when to kill them." Sylok watched outward, tentacles sprouting out through a blast of debris to their left. It was unlike anything he had seen before, the doors of observation stunning him as he watched batches of pulsing sacs form along the exterior lobe. Clearly, at least from Sylok's deductions, it was once a towering Baedurin. As much as his eyes wanted to stay fixated on the mutation exploding through the infected Baedurin's once great Draelvasier body, his eyes shifted to the only three that weren't given orders. "You three, Haka'Fen, Tuskara, & Crolak." Sylok paused, spitting streams of firepower zipping by as he ducked. Close, he thought. "In need you guys to stay on me, we will focus on the left flank. The rest is up to our brothers and sisters!"

Everything was set in place. He looked down at the large container beside his feet. If he was going to get samples, he was going to have to wait. There were too many too quickly. The ten Ashaka's waited, every encroaching force of mutilated and contorted transformation that rushed them were given slack, until Sylok rose his borrowed Wendigo Spiker. His arm stretched out over the top half of the metal sides, he lined up the shot and held still. During the brief moment before he shouted out the go ahead, he analyzed the infections running for them. Some developed large congealed pods along their thighs, shins, and feet. Others seemed to have more expressive features among the upper torso, developing sharp biological structures and in some cases tentacles, that sprouted from any location. He took it all in and sighed at the thought of killing his own people, he was designed for them to advance. It made him sick the pits of his stomach aching as he pondered on the thought. The sound of both his hearts increased and instead of shouting the order, anger took hold. A perplexing shriek of frustration and emotion escaped him.

Then like a natural, Sylok's lengthy finger caressed the trigger, ripping it backwards as super-heated metal sang a tune of its own over Sylok's furious shrill. ​

Template Made By: Annasari ​

 

[Primarch Drek'ma]

Objective: A
Post: One
Tags: Gordrak | Osam | Kereiokh Vraer | Galak |

The ground trembled, the earth shook and waned. All of Bryn'adûl society wavered in the coming storm. The Chieftain? Gone? Internally, the Primarch wrestled with this notion. It gnawed at him, his friend and leader tore from this earth - the thought of it was something he couldn't bare. The Primarch looked out across the battlefield from a top the Siege Tower, he looked at the great creatures and behemoths of flesh as they trod upon Drael soil.

The idea, the implication that Tathra could be one of these mindless things shook him to his core. Their forefather would not be lost to this scourge, he could feel it. The Primarch directed their forces artillery attention to the outer lines of the enemy forces, just beyond the range of the weaponry of the Emissaries phalanx. On the hills adjacent, the Brumaks would open fire - using their massive spinal columns to chain and compound upon one and other; vaporising hundreds of enemies in a flash of light and energy when the black spheres hit the ground.

The Primarch moved from the exterior of the M'gaelak, walking along its crab-like carapaced shell toward a concealed entrance that lead to its humid innards and the command centre situated where the majority of its lower-functioning organs had once been.

"Update me, now." The Primarch spoke with the authority of a weathered commander, looking to the stone-tables projected synthetic display. It seemed they were holding - seemed.

"They have no presumable tactics, nothing to systemically coordinate against. Its utter chaos, for better or for worse." The Siege Tower Commander replied. The Primarch steadied himself, a row of mutated seekers had just hid their front-line.

 

[Krarolk T'manu]

OBJECTIVE: B
POST: I
EQUIPMENT: IN SIGNATURE
LOCATION: TAILING THE SHADOWS
TAGS: Kad

A single Shard entered the construct, containing three Zealot Elites.
​

The trio emerged silently, entering a hangar that no longer had a functioning light source. Krarolk channeled his spiritual energy into the tip of his glaive, turning it into a makeshift flashlight. Its green glow illuminated the surrounding area for about five meters - more than sufficient for the trio.

The hangar was devoid of life.

Neither Krarolk nor his Commander could detect a single living being in the area. While Abvor lacked the spiritual power of the other two Elites, even he could sense that something was not right. Multiple Phedrak Fighters and Gunships lay neatly arranged across the bay, silent and powerless. Crates of ammunition, biofuel, and rations lay in piles throughout the hangar, unopened and unmarked. It was as if the Bryn had simply disappeared. Yet, in all of his years of service, Krarolk had never heard of a Bryn'adul warrior willfully abandoning his post.

Leaving the ghost of a hangar bay behind them, the trio entered a hallway connected to the main facility. There, they resumed their objective. Supposedly, there was an outbreak of a virus inside the facility. The job of the Elite trio was to trail a group of Zealot Shadows sent in earlier to destroy the facility and assist them, clearing out anything the Shadows left behind before meeting with them and blowing up the structure together. For that purpose, Abvor had nearly fifty Barad Impact Grenades on his waist belt. If they didn't get the job done, there was sure to be plenty of flammable materials in the armory.

The air suddenly felt... wrong. It seemed to become denser, shifting to a shade of green similar to that his glaive was emitting. It felt heavier, as if something invisible resided within it. All three Elites wore full battle gear and had masks over their faces, but nervousness still slowly crept into them.

As the trio rounded a corner, they saw the outline of a shape in the distance. Due to the room's darkness, they could not tell what it was or if it was organic. Still, the Elites approached with caution, their Commander pulling out his Spiker and aiming it at the object ahead. Upon moving the light of his glaive closer, Krarolk noticed the center of the object rise very slowly, as if breathing. He pointed his glaive at the being, and then nearly recoiled in horror.

A Zealot Shadow lay on the floor, with massive chunks of flesh torn out of its torso and legs, the being so dismembered that none of the Elites could determine their gender. It let out a pitiful breath as its eyes moved towards Krarolk, who stood in the front of the group.

"What happened, Shadow?" cried Krarolk desperately.

"R-run." rasped the Zealot weakly, his last words before his eyes shut and his breathing stopped.

With unsteady hands, Krarolk reached for the communications stone on the waist of the Shadow's corpse.

"Shadows, this is Zealot Elite Krarolk T'manu." stated the Elite urgently, speaking into the stone. "The Shadow who had this stone is dead. Something has gone very wrong in here."

 

[Primal Architect]

ENGAGING: Osam | Kereiokh Vraer | Gordrak | Galak | Primarch Drek'ma |

On the front lines of the battlefield, a horrible shriek of alien origin would be echoed by a rumbling underfoot. The earth tore apart in the northeast section of the Bryn'adûl fortifications, swallowing hole entire Rhivaks as a horrid sight rose from the cracks that lead to a dark abyss below. Covered in pulps and torn rock-like skin, a twisted Servitor rose its upper-body into the sky screaming from its maw.

From the depths, strange silhouettes similarly to Savage Drones crawled from the depths, blackened and twisted as they rose from the ground. They clawed, pulling themselves up with strange mutated limbs, long freakish tentacles extended from their back; ribbed like spines as they slithered in the open air, turning to attack those in their immediate vicinity. From the northeast to northwest, Dredge twisted by the infection would rise from the ground as well, attacking the Bryn'adûl artillery.

Whether this was the acts of an intelligent mind or the instincts of a threatened beast, none could tell.

 

[Galak]

Post: Two
Objective: A - Contain
Location: The Thick of It - North section of the entrenched forces
Tags: Gordrak | Osam | Kereiokh Vraer | Primarch Drek'ma |

The ground shook and rumbled, chunks of dirt cut through the air and overhead as Brutes of the Phalanx were torn apart, their shields shredded as acidic blasts of mutated Seekers annihilated a third of their line. Galak fell to one knee, covering his upper half with his Tower Shield as the acid rained down around his position. His ears filled with the sounds of the thunderous approach of the enemy forces, their defensive line had been shattered by the attack of the Seekers. The metal of the shield hissed, melting away slowly - the thickness of his own personalised gear had protected him but he could not say the same for his brethren.

Around him he saw melted faces, limp and broken bodies amongst those who still stood - fighting. They were still in the fight, and so was he. Galak turned his focus to the approach of a infected Brute, firing a dozen spikes directly into its head, but that didn't stop it. He switched to his Bryn Shot - firing an explosive frag from the belt-fed weapon directly into its exposed chest, blasting it to pieces. It seemed whatever had infected them, had also weakened the tissue of the Drael bodies. The Brute Emissary rose to his feet once again; taking up his turret as he marched forward. Wordlessly the remainder of the Phalanx would begin to close their ranks, forming up into a sort of dagger formation behind Galak.

The Phalanx focused fire, pouring out a sea of holt molten spikes, thousands of in minutes - tearing through the infantry as they came forward like a mindless horde. This was be what its like to face off against a force of Savage Drones, or so Galak thought.

"Overhead Ra'mak fire, due west from my position! Concentrate on the infected Rhivaks!" Galak screamed to hear himself as a Rhivak charged at him, its face rapidly disintegrating from the explosive fire of spike rounds entering its face.

He thought maybe they were getting control of the battle again, but then the ground shook. Trembled. He recognised that soumd but he never thought it'd be used against him. Ahead of them, the ground tore open as a mutated infected Servitor rose from the ground among the infected horde and in their lines, Dredge clawed to the surface.

"WHERE ARE THOSE RA'MAKS!"

 

[Vertask]

Post: One
Objective: Scour and Destroy
Krarolk T'manu

Slow, steady and quiet. A shadow, quiet and deadly. Vertask was in her element, the shadows and the quiet. The fighting going on above her as she delved deeper and deeper into the empty halls. More of her kin were moving around, all of them working as one with a single mission. Destroy the source of the infestation. The explosives on her back a constant reminder, failure was not an option. These would be detonated even if it took her with them. She had to stop whatever this was, above all else.
Turning a corner she felt it. The shift of air, the impending corruption that lay ahead. The quicker out the better. Quickening her pace and coming upon a scene that made her stop. Three elites around another hunter. They were scared, rightfully so with the state of her kin.
"What happened here? What beast did this?" Moving closer into the light

 

[Gordrak]

Post 2
Objective A - Containment



All hell had broken loose. Gordrak didn't know just how long it had been since the trench was overrun but he felt it hadn't been very long. Regardless, he couldn't focus on that much anyway. The ordered firing line had become a charnel house in no time flat since the wave had hit. Infected creatures ran headlong into the Drael that had once been their comrades and that fact didn't seem to dawn on them in slightest. The rent forms of friend and foe alike hit the ground as the brutal melee seemed to devolve even more. The first mutated drone leapt at Gordrak only to be skewered to the floor by a downward thrust of the glaive. Firmly pinned, Gordrak turned and fired his spiker at a second coming from his left. The rounds tore the beast asunder and not soon enough. More were pressing in and Gordrak had no time to waste. He wrenched the blade free and brought his right foot down on the pinned drone, ending its existence with a wet crunch.


" You'll work for your kill, abominations. "


What was once an Aeravalin lunged at Gordrak who responded with a thrust of his glaive only for the blow to miss. The creature had adjusted and maneuvered to the right and just out of the way of the thrust. Growling, Gordrak pulled the weapon back quickly just as his target leapt at him. He brought the glaive up and held it horizontally, there he held it against its chest so as to keep it at bay. Meanwhile, another infected drone came at him from behind. This one closed the distance ravenously and left Gordrak with only a scant few moments to act. He turned toward the drone whilst he held the aeravalin at bay still, and fired his spiker.


Click


A shout of annoyance escaped Gordrak as he instead opted to bludgeon his target with the weapon. The plan was for it to die only it lived despite the heavy blow it just took to the head. More so, as the strike ended, the drone batted his arm aside and came at him once more. He acted the only way he knew how. He answered its madness the only way he knew how. He answered it with more violence. Gordrak took a step back and thrust his free hand at the drone. He seized it by the neck and slammed it into the trench wall, his strength being taxed at this point. Meanwhile the aeravalin tore and struck at Gordraks armor, rending but not quite compromising it. Stuck in a losing melee, Gordrak snarled at his attackers as he prepared to further trade blows with the two beasts. It wouldn't end well as dealing with one meant the other got a free hit. Assuming he could deal with one in the first place. Just as the aeravalin got ready to strike, a few well placed spiker rounds tore it apart. Free to act, Gordrak cut down the drone he held with extreme contempt. He turned and saw his savior, a fellow Brute minor who had somehow found a moment to reload despite the chaos. Gordrak gave a simple nod before he turned toward the other infected that littered the trench.


He had hoped they were winning. He was wrong. Gordrak spoke again, echoing a previous statement he had made earlier.


" Just die already. " Then without warning, he charged them.

 

[Kad]

Objective B
Post: Two
Tags: Krarolk T'manu | Vertask |
Equipment: Dual Shredders | Kukri |

Gredak ran his identification through the ventilation interface, moments past as the stillness unnerved the Zealot. When it opened, Gredak activated his flashlight - a white cone of light coming from his shoulder light. Whatever he'd heard, it wasn't there anymore. Gredak slowly made his way into the tunnel, holding one of his Shredders just ahead of himself as he crawled into the entrance ducts.

"Entering the facility now."

- Silence -

There was nothing, not even static. The Zealot Shadow simply moved forward, shifting through the vents. Gredak had to rendevouz with Addivar at the central control suite. They'd be able to establish a revised schematics uplink from there, and hopefully get a better understanding of what had happened here. A few more minutes of crawling and Gredak started picking something up, static and broken words coming from Grodda's communication device.

" - Zealot - T'manu - somethi- shadow is dead - very wrong here - "


Something inside the instillation must've been blocking their signal.

Grodda was dead, then the entire installation shook - as if a Servitor had just tore out from the ground under it. He hoped the battle outside was going on their favour. In here, they were blind. The Zealot took a moment to compose himself, he could hear things moving on the floor below. Not Draelvasier, not enemies but things. Gredak made it a few turns further before reaching an access point; opening the circular sealed vent and leaving the vent behind.

He sealed it behind him, for good measure.

"This is Shadow Tenebris. Moving toward the command suite. Addivar if you can hear me, Grodda is dead. Stay on the objective."

 

[Krarolk T'manu]

OBJECTIVE: B
POST: II
EQUIPMENT: IN SIGNATURE
LOCATION: TAILING THE SHADOWS
TAGS: Kad | Vertask

The Zealots nearly gunned down the newcomer as they approached from behind.

However, they realized at the last moment that the being was a healthy, fit Bryn and withdrew their weapons.
​

"Bloody hell, let us know before you come behind us like that." yelled the Zealot Commander of the trio.

"Anyways, we don't know what killed the Shadow, but it certainly wasn't clean. You should stay with us until this operation is complete so you aren't next."

He silently gestured forwards, and the trio ran further down the hallways, hoping that the other Bryn'adul agent could continue to tail them. Their footsteps seemed louder than normal, something in the green mist filling the air amplifying the volume. The light of Krarolk's glaive revealed no further corpses, but the trio did not dare to ease their guard. Suddenly, something caught Krarolk's eye.

"A staircase! To the right!"

The trio turned to find a small room with spiral stairs leading above and below, with too many to count in either direction. The mist was thicker here, a darker shade of green that concealed untold horrors.

"From here, there's only one way to go." called the Commander.

Down.

The group descended the stairwell, passing floor after floor. Some of the landings were empty aside from the ever thickening fog, but others were littered with Bryn'adul blood. On one landing about twelve floors below their starting point, they passed a glaive that had split in two roughly down the middle, as if it had been shattered from a great fall or a powerful force. Krarolk did not want to stay on the landing for long enough to figure out what resulted in the destruction of the blade.

The group continued their descent.

 

[Osam]

Post 3
Objective A

The tremors from the Northeast could be felt even along the Southern edge of the fortifications, though the exact nature of their cause was lost on the Sraelvun currently busy with driving away swarms of infected. The bestial abominations had been drawn by the noise and the blood and had begun to mass for charges against the fortifications, though there didn't appear to be any substantial intelligence behind these hammering blows. Osam and several of the other Risen had directed their squadrons to hold against the charges, though with every rush, the enemy forces were managing to grow closer.

They'd need to resupply and reload soon or risk running out of munitions. The fact that each of the beasts took so many shots to down had meant that their Spikers had chewed through far more rounds than they had originally intended. Certainly, more could be located near the center of the fortifications, but dispatching anyone to retrieve enough ammo meant essentially taking a squad off of the line. That lack of firepower could certainly lead to difficulties until they had returned, and there was no certainty that they would manage to get back in time for the next wave.

Difficult and risky choices like this one were presented to the Risen-Sraelvun Major. His superior was clearly distracted elsewhere with other portions of the battle if the messages of "Rhivaks" and "Servitor" were any indication. Four squads of Sraelvun were holding this portion of the Southern fortification, along with a few Brutes whose exact position was technically a little down the line -- they were close enough that they occasionally offered a helping shot in the direction of the Drones' immediate foes.

The cunning plans of his kind manifested themselves once more in his head, though looking around, he was uncertain if he had the material to implement it. No matter, he thought, dispatching one of the squads back behind the lines to retrieve Spiker rounds for the rest... it would either work or they'd be over-run.

 

[Primarch Drek'ma]

Objective: A
Post: Two
Tags: Kereiokh Vraer | Sylok'Vanari | Gordrak | Osam |

Bad became worse. Even as their Siege Towers opened fire with their turrets and ballista's, the Seekers and other underground creatures were beyond their reach. Even as the infected infantry was torn apart by the armaments of the Siege Tower, the underground infected once again took them by surprise.

The entire Siege Tower shook violently as the ground beneath it sunk and tore open. Drek'ma grasped onto the edge of the tablet, steadying himself as he looked to the Tower's operators. But they did not need speak before he felt it, a Servitor. Somewhere half way between living and dead, its very essence screamed pain and rage. They would have to destroy it, otherwise the mutated creature would no doubt pose a significant threat to their infantry.

"All Siege Towers, fire Ballistas!" The ballista's would fire massive powerful spikes into the flesh of the Servitor, their smaller weapons turning to also focus fire on the Dregde below.

The Primarch stepped back, reaching into the inner recesses of his mind and summoning forth his own Servitor. It would take at least a minute for the Servitor to arrive from the Dropship.

"Fight fire. With fire."

 

[Kereiokh Vraer]

› OBJECTIVE: CONTAIN THE OUTBREAK
› LOCATION: SOUTHEASTERN BRACKET OF THE YLESIA TRENCHES
› POST: TWO
› TAGS: Galak | Gordrak | Osam | Primarch Drek'ma | Sylok'Vanari

A small and cynical part of them looks at the scene and thinks knowingly that, of course, the only thing that could fell the Bryn'adûl are the Bryn'adûl themselves.

There is a brief and brittle moment where Kereiokh has hope burning in their chest, as the legions fire round after round, tearing through the abominations, and there is a breath where they might be gaining ground.

And then the Servitor roars, and suddenly they are watching the Bryn'adûl unravel. It's a terrible, marrow-trembling sight, to see them being undone, destroyed from the inside out. Around them sing curses on the wretched forms of what was once their people, calls for reinforcements that will not be coming.

Kereiokh, as a Field Marshall, likes to practice the essential art of patience. There will always be more energy that needs to be spent. You will always need a weapon, a legion, ready for the unexpected. Kereiokh's Brutes stand firm alongside the Sraelvun ranks slightly southwest, and they direct two lines of the reserves as reinforcement. It's then they tear their glaive from their back and cry to the next few lines, "BRUTES! WITH ME!" and the southeastern front charges.

Kereiokh and Vkra let out echoing cries as they bound into the fray. The Dredges have not yet reached this far south, but the infected Baedurin have begun to emerge: great rotting things, only held together by their carapaces and their inability to die. They take their double-sided glaive and slice, taking a drone out at the neck, severing its head from its twitching, shuddering body that frantically tries to continue its destruction before it collapses. The next slice catches in a broken piece of carapace, and the infected growls a garbled reply as blood bubbles through the tears in its neck, and attempts to grapple Kereiokh until Vkra snaps at it, finishing the job.

"We need to retake the trenches!" they shout to the legions around them, "Drael, push back!"

 

[Vertask]

Krarolk T'manu
Hissing slightly as the weapons were leveled at her, hands open showing herself as friend.
"Perhaps pay more attention before getting too trigger happy" Looking at the body, moving around the trio "It doesn't look it in the slightest. Lead on and will follow." Giving a slight bow and following the three down the hallway, then turning for the stairs.
"This fog. I do not like it. What makes it and what hides in it."
Down they went, Vertask trying to be slower than the others, a temptation to hop from staircase to staircase and get quicker out of the confined space weighed up against being alone in this place. Still she continued down and down into the abyss.