Devourer

O’Neer licked his lips. The wind carried the stink of burnt oil and rust. He raised his binoculars and scanned the camp. The walls were made of scrap metal, rusted sheets, twisted doors, and torn plates from abandoned vehicles. Bolted together, crude and jagged. Ugly in the dying light.
Gun nests. Sandbags, tires, gun barrels poking through slits. Shapes moved behind the walls: scavenger bandits and desperate men. Above the gate, he saw a fortified position where guards paced, rifles loose but ready, eyes flicking at every shadow.
“What do you think?” O’Neer asked as he turned to look at Montis.
Montis was staring through his binoculars, a fancy, ornate thing with gold engravings. The kind of tool that didn’t belong out here. His gloved fingers tapped against the barrel, slow and steady.
“We’ve taken down worse. But I suppose the complication here is the slaves we need to rescue,” Montis replied as he lowered his binoculars.
“So your hive can deal with it?” O’Neer asked.
“It’s not my hive. Yes, it can. But it won’t. At least not alone,” Montis replied. O’Neer narrowed his eyes.
“Explain,” O’Neer said. Montis paused a moment before replying.
“Imperial doctrine dictates that one should never show one's full strength. Use only enough to achieve a decisive defeat. If you seem insurmountable, your enemies will hide. If you seem defeatable, your enemies will invite themselves into your maw.”
“The deception is part of the strategy. For instance,” Montis said, glancing at O’Neer’s men, “you said you wanted to see how we Imperials fight. I will admit I am also interested in how the Vulpina Rangers fight.”
Montis didn’t smile. His gaze drifted back to the camp. “A demonstration. On both sides.”
O’Neer followed his look. The camp seemed quieter now, though the stink of oil and rust felt stronger on the breeze. He could almost taste it.
“My men don’t do shows,” O’Neer said. His voice was low. “We get the job done.”
“Likewise,” Montis said evenly.
O’Neer spat into the dust. He raised his binoculars again, watching the camp with a harder stare. “Nightfall, then.”
Montis gave a small nod. “Nightfall.”
When night fell, O’Neer was waiting behind a ridge as his men gathered. He looked around at his troops, the men and women of the Vulpina Rangers. Brave souls he would trust with his life.
“All right, listen up, you desert foxes. This base, as you know, has been a problem. A mighty problem, if I do say so myself.”
O’Neer’s men nodded at his words, their faces grim.
“They’ve been raiding out of that scrap heap for almost a year. We were tied down elsewhere, and we didn’t take them out earlier before they could harden their defences. Not our fault that happened, we rangers don’t run from risk, but here we are. Now we are gonna solve that problem.
Expect heavy weapons, the general has told me his men and hive will attack from one direction while we hit from another. The idea is that he’ll draw fire and buy us time to get in there.”
O’Neer looked at his second in command, female Vulpus with orange brown fur and an ugly scar running down the right side of her face to her snout.
“Carla, you’re leading team 2, I’ll be leading team 1. Usual playbook, we get in, kill anything that looks like a bandit and search for any good folk that were kidnapped.” O’Neer said, and Carla nodded.
O’Neer reached into his rucksack and pulled out a pair of devices, handing one to Carla. The charge was a flat metal disc, heavy and solid. Dark alloy plates covered its surface, bolted tight. Thin copper lines ran between small vents that gave off a faint hiss. A single dial sat in the centre, marked with numbers, turning with a hard click. At its core, a dull glow showed the power cell buried deep inside. No ornament, no flair. Just a tool made to break through anything in its way. An Imperial breaching charge, designed to cut through steel, stone, or scrap with a shaped blast and shear force. Stick it to a wall, set the timer, and stand clear.
“This new toy is a gift, courtesy of our Imperial friends. The general told me we just stick this against the wall and turn the dial. We've got about thirty seconds before this thing blows a big fat hole in the wall. He assured me this thing can take out walls a lot stronger than those ones, so I say let’s have a gander.” O’Neer said with a grin.
The rest of his men all let out wolfish grins as they heard his words, the kind that spoke of long months in the dust and a hunger for payback.
“Alright, boys and gals, let’s have some fun,” O’Neer said, and on cue, a large explosion rang out on the other side of the base, the ground trembling beneath their boots. A cloud of grit rolled past, carrying the scent of smoke and scorched metal.
“We should move.” A calm voice, steady as stone. O’Neer turned to look at his new observer. This one was called a Knight Enchanter, and his name was Baron Kelias. He stood with the quiet poise of someone who had seen too many battles, dressed in ornate, mithril armour that caught the light in sharp edges. He looked half mage, half swordsman, and entirely dangerous.
O’Neer had posted one of his own men with the Imperials to watch how they fought. This was a mutual test. O’Neer wanted to see if these so-called Imperials could put up a real fight, or if their reputation was just wind and banners.
O’Neer grinned as he flicked his cigarette into the dirt and snubbed it out with his boot.
“Let’s move,” O’Neer said, and his troop moved out. They moved silently across the dark sands. They stuck to the shadows as best they could, darting between the odd rock, mutated tree or metal wreckage.
Luckily for them, the Imperials had drawn off most of the guards on the wall. They were approaching from where they knew the defence was weakest. O’Neer hid behind a rock just as he saw a fireball from the Imperials go flying wide. The fireball slammed into their section of the wall, and it sent burning Bandit Vulpus rolling into the sand below.
“Well, that’s convenient…” O’Neer muttered as he stared at the burning distraction. He raised his hand and did a few quick hand signals, and his men nodded as they moved to avoid the fire. The light would blind their foes in the dark, making them harder to spot.
O’Neer internally grimaced as he was once again reminded how the Vulpus have lost most of their magic knowledge. Most of their magic users were craftsmen, enchanting ammunition, bombs, and rifles. Even the handful of combat mages they had were more support and healers than offensive specialists. The great fall wiped out most of Vulpus' civilisation on the coast, which means all their magical knowledge went with it.
O’Neer had known this weakness would cost them. A people without real magic had no place in the wider world, not anymore. Sooner or later, someone stronger would come looking. And now that world had come knocking, with its armies, its machines, and its hunger. The Vulpus had run out of time.
He gritted his teeth and pushed the thought aside. He was Vulpus, as were his comrades. They were tough people. They didn’t do perfectly. They made do.
A cold grin crossed his snout as he slid an enchanted bullet into his revolver.
“Let’s make some noise,” O’Neer said as he placed the breaching charge and stepped back.
There was a ticking sound for about thirty seconds, then a flash of light. O’Neer did a double-take as the charge hissed and sparks flew from where it touched the wall. A bang followed, blowing a clean hole into the wall. O’Neer could hear screams of alarm and pain from inside the wall.
“Damn… good stuff…” O’Neer said as he raised both revolvers and charged into the gap. His first shot was the enchanted bullet he’d loaded. The round tore into a group of stunned bandits. The glowing bullet hit the one in the centre and burst in a spray of searing metal shards. The bandit’s chest opened in a flash of light, ribs blown apart, lungs torn to ribbons.
Shards sliced into the men around him. One clutched at his throat, blood pumping through his fingers. Another dropped screaming, eyes gone, face a ruin of molten cuts. The rest scattered, blinded and panicked as O’Neer kept firing, closing the gap fast.
O’Neer grinned as he charged ahead, his revolver flashing as he picked his targets. He could hear his own men close behind, their shots ringing out into the night air.
“RANGERS!” he heard a bandit shout nearby.
“They know we’re here, boys and girls!” O’Neer shouted, and his men picked up the pace.
He turned to see Carla kick down a door, point her shotgun into the room, and pull the trigger. A scream came from inside. She charged in. Two more shots followed from within.
O’Neer rolled behind cover as shots slammed into the metal wall behind him. He took a moment to assess the situation. As expected, the place was a dense maze of metal shacks. Dangerous to clear. His men would have to go house to house.
A door burst outward as if the universe meant to prove his point. One of his men crashed through, locked with a bandit. They hit the ground hard. The bandit thrashed, tried to push him off, but the ranger pinned him down and drove the dagger into his side. The blade came up and fell again, punching through cloth, flesh, and bone. Blood sprayed across the dirt, dark and fast. The bandit’s screams turned to wet gasps as the strikes kept coming, quick and ruthless.
“Oi! Get to cover.” O’Neer shouted. His man looked up and rolled clear just as shots cracked down around him. Bullets tore into the gurgling bandit on the ground, finishing him off.
Another of his men slid into cover next to him. O’Neer did a double-take when he saw the bloody shovel in the man’s hands.
“The hell are you doing with that?” O’Neer asked.
The man glanced at the shovel, tossed it aside, and gripped his rifle with both hands.
“Sorry. Brain one with this. Forgot to drop it,” the ranger said.
“Good man…” O’Neer muttered as he lit a cigarette and kept scanning the area. He was in a relatively open space. He needed to spot some landmarks, something that might point to where they were keeping the slaves.
He needed to find the armoury, the medical post, or the underground access. You didn’t keep slaves above ground, so it was too easy for them to run. The medical post had to be close, you couldn’t let the product die. The armoury wouldn’t be right on top of them, too risky if they rose up, but not so far that it couldn’t respond fast. The barracks had to be between the armoury and the underground. That made the most sense.
“Anyone see the armoury?” O’Neer shouted. He looked around. Most of his men shook their heads.
“Fuck. Alright, PUSH!” O’Neer said as he flicked the cigarette away and finished reloading his pistols.
He sprang from cover and drilled a bandit in the head. Then he saw that Knight Enchanter fellow use his magic, yanking six bandits off a raised platform. They crashed to the ground, limbs breaking on impact, but they were still alive. The Rangers didn’t waste time. They shot them where they lay. No mercy for scum like that.
Then he heard screaming. O’Neer turned and saw a bandit burst into the open, a white Hive Beast chasing him. The thing skittered on six legs, fast and low, before leaping. The bandit’s scream turned to a wet gurgle as the beast drove its claws into his chest and tore them free.
O’Neer winced as white ribs snapped loose and clattered to the ground. “Ooooh… that’s gotta hurt,” he muttered, ducking behind cover as gunshots cracked around him.
He spotted the Hive Beast roar and push deeper into the camp. More of the creatures swarmed the walls, roofs, and ground. A few went down to gunfire, but others always took their place. Whatever they were, they didn’t fear death one bit.
“Zealous little things, aren’t they?” O’Neer said, glancing at Carla as she rolled into cover beside him.
“What?” Carla spat, jamming another shell into her sawn-off.
“Those things. Nasty little fuckers,” O’Neer said with a chuckle, lighting a cigarette. He handed her a smoke grenade. “Hold this.”
He peeked out, studying the ground ahead. A wide, open stretch stood between them and what looked like the armoury. Hive Beasts still fought along the walls. If they wanted to cross, they’d need cover.
He scanned for his rangers. All of them waited behind cover, patient, eyes on him. They knew better than to cross open ground without a plan.
O’Neer grabbed the smoke grenade and showed it to his other men, who nodded and pulled out smokes of their own. He ran through hand signs, quick and clear, laying out the plan. They all nodded back. He grabbed the pin and pulled it, then tossed the grenade over the top of his cover. His men did the same. They waited, still as stone. A few seconds later came the hiss as the smoke grenades began to spread their thick, white veil.
O’Neer took one last drag of his cigarette and flicked it aside. “Time to go to work.”
The assault was fast and brutal as his men closed the gap under the cover of smoke. When O’Neer burst into the armoury, he fired one shot at the quartermaster, the bullet striking him clean in the head. The man dropped without a sound. Meanwhile, his runt of an apprentice lunged from the side and tackled O’Neer hard.
O’Neer snarled and drove his armoured knuckles into the apprentice’s face, the blow knocking teeth free and spraying blood. The apprentice reeled but didn’t stop. He drew a knife, eyes wild, and O’Neer barely caught his arm in time, holding it back with a growl. The blade trembled inches from his throat as they struggled.
Then O’Neer saw a shadow loom above him. There was a loud crack. The apprentice’s head snapped to the side, and he crumpled into the dirt next to him, limp and silent.
O’Neer looked up to see one of his men offering a hand, the butt of his rifle slick with blood from the strike that saved him.
“Thanks,” O’Neer said as he took the hand.
“We taking this one prisoner?” the man asked, glancing at the young Vulpus on the ground.
O’Neer drew his pistol and fired, the shot echoing in the armoury. “Nope.”
Then Carla burst into the armoury, her eyes cold and filled with fury. O’Neer knew that look. She’d found something bad.
“You found the slave pens?” O’Neer asked as he reloaded his pistol.
“Not yet. We found the pleasure house and an underground access,” Carla replied, her eyes hard.
O’Neer gave a somber nod as he cocked his revolver.