Devourer

O’Neer looked around at his team. It was a mixed group. He spotted a few Imperials among them. Two of those Warden fellows, too, in oversized magic armour, massive shields and swords that looked like they could cut a Vulpus in half with one swing.
“You sure you don’t want me to send our hive in first?” Montis asked. His armour was spotless. Probably came in after the fighting was done. Typical officer, never gets his hands dirty.
“Nah. The poor souls down there are traumatised. Don’t want rescue to look like monsters with teeth,” O’Neer replied as he lit a cigarette.
“Alright. Rangers, you know the drill. The rest of you, especially the Imperials with your polished boots and perfect posture, listen up. Close quarters isn’t a ceremony. It’s sweat, panic, and tight spaces that don’t forgive mistakes. So keep quiet and pay attention, because I’m only saying this once.
Rule one. Corners kill. You do not walk into a room like it’s already yours. You clear angles one piece at a time. First in checks low right. Second takes high left. Third scans deep. Fourth watches our backs. Everyone else follows the rhythm. You move like links in a chain. One weak link and the whole line fails.
Rule two. Silence is survival. No talking unless it’s urgent. Use hand signals. If you don’t know them, copy the person ahead of you. Stay light on your feet. No stomping. No fidgeting. No pointless noise. If something’s waiting, we don’t want to warn it.
Rule three. Flow forward. Once we start moving, we do not stop. No freezing in doorways. No hesitating in tight halls. If someone falls, step over them. If the path narrows, tighten up and keep going. Keep the pace. If one of you stalls, the rest get stuck. And stuck means dead.
Rule four. Trust the stack. This is not about you. It’s about the group. You are part of a line. When the line moves, you move. When it holds, you cover. No sudden moves. No splitting off. No freelancing. You don’t think for yourself. You think for the formation.
Rule five. Presence matters. We’re not here to cause panic. You hold your posture. You stay steady. The people down there are already terrified. You don’t need to add to it. Walk with purpose. Look like you know what you’re doing. Calm spreads fast. So does fear.”
“I’m thinking the ones with shields go in first. Don’t see what good you are in the back. You good with that, General?”
Montis nodded in response as he glanced at his Wardens.
“We do not fear combat. We will happily lead the charge,” one Warden said gruffly.
“Like your spunk, metal man. Alright, let’s go. I’ll take point, and we fan out. Remember, no explosives. They have hostages,” O’Neer said as he tossed his cigarette and turned to face the dark stairwell leading to the bowels of the earth.
Carla pulled a flare and tossed it down. The entire space lit up with a crackling orange glow. Those bandits knew they were here, no point in hiding it.
O’Neer hefted his pistols and descended into the dark. He got two steps down before his ear twitched. He pointed his pistol at the door at the bottom. He saw one bandit, and bang, he dropped a hole in his skull.
“Pfft…” O’Neer sneered as he continued downward.
When he reached the door, he braced against the side, listening.
Then he heard it: “YOU RANGER FUCKERS DON’T KNOW WHO YOU’RE MESSING WITH! YOU KNOW WHO WE ARE?”
O’Neer rolled his eyes and glanced at Carla, who did the same. He nodded at the Warden, who approached and raised his shield, ready to go in first.
“WARLORD NILE WILL GUT YOU ALL FOR THIS!” the voice shouted, lilting with fear and panic as it echoed from the sprawling basement.
O’Neer nodded and swiftly approached the door. The moment he turned the corner, bullets struck the Warden’s shield and armour. The Warden grunted and advanced.
Then O’Neer heard a crack and backpedalled as the Warden was hit with an incendiary bomb. The bottle exploded with burning liquid. The Warden calmly stood there as O’Neer heard a calm voice above him in the stairwell:
[Cleanse], and the Warden’s body went out, flames extinguished. Whatever that armour was, it seemed flames and bullets did little to it.
The Warden moved forward, and O’Neer followed close behind, using him as cover.
[Shine], the Warden intoned, and his shield lit up with a bright light, instantly illuminating the hallway and revealing the bandits.
“Got you…” O’Neer said with a grin as he started shooting. Four shots later, four dead bandits crumpled to the ground. He kept watching the sectors as the rest of the group pooled into the hallway behind him.
He adjusted his posture as the other Warden locked shields with his fellow and began advancing.
“This is great,” O’Neer said with a grin, glancing at Carla, who gave him an uncommitted shrug as they hid behind the Wardens.
“Certainly useful. Breach and clear is so much easier with these two,” Carla said.
“I know, right?” O’Neer said. Then he heard rapid automatic fire. The Wardens braced as heavy shots slammed into their shields and armour. They held position, seemingly unbothered.
“Well, that’s expected. Wait for everyone to pool into the hallway, then catch up with us. Lucky we got these two,” O’Neer said.
“Alright, let’s get 'em,” he added, and the Wardens began charging forward into the hail of bullets.
O’Neer watched as they barrelled into the barricade. Their enhanced armour gave them the speed and strength to smash through.
“Damn, they’re fast,” Carla said as they both broke into a sprint.
O’Neer agreed. These Wardens were almost three metres tall in full armour, and twice as wide as a normal Vulpus. He watched their blades flash, coming down in brutal slashes. Whatever bandits were guarding the barricade were butchered; they stood no chance.
One bandit fired blindly into the Warden’s chest as he lay on the ground. The Warden didn’t even flinch and simply stomped onto the bandit, caving in his chest with a wet squelch.
He saw one Warden grab a bandit by the throat and lift him off the ground. The bandit drew his sidearm and emptied it into the Warden’s helm. The Warden simply looked at the flailing man like he was an insect as the bullets sparked off his helm.
Then he threw him backwards bodily, and O’Neer stomped on his hand, breaking it.
“Interrogate,” O’Neer barked, turning away as his men got to work, the telltale sound of knives being drawn echoing ominously behind him.
O’Neer knew these Warden fellows were tough. Their armour looked like it was found in some ancient vault. It was massive, and it obviously didn’t slow the wearer down. In fact, they moved faster than normal people. He figured he could chuck a stick of dynamite at them and they’d just shrug it off.
He scanned the surroundings. They were now in branching hallways. He could hear sobbing and shouting from one direction, the slaves were probably that way. The other direction was silent. He figured some bandits were hiding there. The slaves wouldn’t keep quiet, and some would be smart enough to avoid the noise.
“One each,” O’Neer said to the Wardens. They nodded and each moved down a hallway.
He turned and gave hand signals to the group behind him. They all nodded. Then he followed the Warden toward the crying, as his team split evenly into two groups. Well-oiled like a new wagon. Just the way O’Neer liked it.
As they moved down the hallway, O’Neer saw rooms on the sides. His ear twitched at the sound of movement. He glanced around. Sure enough, his men were already moving to clear the rooms, rifles, pistols, and shotguns at the ready.
“Hold,” O’Neer said, and the Warden paused. O’Neer gestured toward the side rooms. The Warden nodded and held position, guarding the long hallway.
O’Neer moved into the first room, pistol raised. His ear twitched again. He heard movement… somewhere… over… there…
He fired behind a rickety desk. There was a wet gurgle as a bandit collapsed onto the floor. More bandits popped out, but his men were close behind, rifles raised. Shots cracked out and the sound bounced off the walls. There were screams and shouts. When it ended, O’Neer was still standing, breathing in the scent of gunpowder and blood.
“Everyone okay?” O’Neer asked, keeping his eye on the corners.
“No casualties,” one of his rangers reported.
“Clear the room,” O’Neer ordered, and his men flowed forward, checking carefully and finishing off the wounded.
O’Neer reloaded his pistols before stepping back into the hallway. He could hear gunshots echoing in the distance.
He turned and saw the Knight Enchanter throw a slightly better-dressed bandit out into the corridor. The man whimpered, clutching a bleeding stump where his right hand used to be. With a simple wave of the Knight Enchanter’s hand, the stump stopped bleeding but didn’t heal.
“Might be useful,” the Enchanter said calmly.
“Agreed, partner,” O’Neer said with a laugh, kicking the bandit once in the ribs. The man gagged as the air left his lungs.
“Hey Marttia, this one’s yours,” O’Neer said with a grin, and one of his rangers walked over, cool and calm, drawing her knife.
The rest of the raid was calm and surgical. O’Neer grimaced as one of his men took a bullet in the head, dropping dead. These things happen, but they’re never pretty.
They pushed on. More than once, he sent runners to the surface for ammo. The bandits weren’t making it easy. Not surprising, this was their biggest base in the region, and the underground section was huge.
Eventually, they reached a dark, dingy area that reeked of bodily fluids. Sure enough, when checking the rooms, they found the occasional slave hidden under beds, naked and trembling. Rescues were quick and professional. The slaves were escorted to the surface as the team pushed deeper.
O’Neer paused as a naked, shaking Vulpus was escorted past him, a poncho thrown over her shoulders. Nearby, an Imperial rifleman used his cloak to cover another trembling slave.
He had seen things like this too many times. Out here in the Vulpina Wastes, being born pretty ain’t a blessing like one would think.
At last, O’Neer reached what he figured was the main holding area. He could hear crying and whimpering from inside. The breach would be ugly. This was their last stand, and nothing fought harder than a cornered dog.
“Oi, if you give up, I’ll let you live!” O’Neer shouted. He had no intention of doing so. Once they surrendered, he planned to line them up against a wall and have them shot.
“So what? You can line us against a wall and shoot us?” a voice roared from inside the room.
O’Neer grimaced. Sometimes, the predictability of it all kind of worked against you.
Out here in the Wastes, no one really surrendered. Not because they were brave, but because they knew better. Mercy didn’t exist between enemies, and everyone understood that. Lay down your arms, and maybe you’d die faster, maybe slower. Either way, trust was a fool’s currency. O’Neer had seen it too many times: men who begged, pleaded, grovelled, only to be cut down once their use ran out. That was why he asked them to surrender. Not because he expected it, but because it was part of the ritual. You offer the chance, they spit it back in your face, and then you kill them without blinking. Or tell yourself it was fair. Out here, last stands weren’t noble. They were the only ending anyone believed in.
“Ain’t no mercy out here,” O’Neer muttered as he checked his pistols.
“Then why ask?” the Knight Enchanter inquired, casting a defensive spell over him. A shimmering barrier flickered into place.
“That won’t last long. Can’t do it too often. Draining work,” the Enchanter said. O’Neer nodded in thanks.
“To your question, courtesy. We have to act a little civilised, like. If not, we’re monsters,” O’Neer replied gruffly.
“Would you have spared them if they surrendered?” the Knight Enchanter asked.
“The hell would I do that for?” O’Neer replied with a raised brow.
“Explains a lot,” the Enchanter muttered.
“Like I said. We gotta ask. It’s the rules,” O’Neer said as he readied his pistols.
O’Neer nodded. The Warden stepped forward and kicked the door in. It slammed open with a crack. Gunfire met them at once. Rounds struck metal, pinged off shields, sparked against the floor. The Wardens kept moving. O’Neer followed close, pistols up. The air was thick with smoke and piss. The room stretched wide, lined with holding pens. Iron bars. Chain-link. Wire twisted into locks. Men, women, children. No one spoke. They stared through the cages, silent, watching.
Bandits shouted and fired from behind crates and overturned furniture. One grabbed a slave, yanked her close using her as cover. O’Neer shot him clean through the skull. The girl collapsed as he moved past. Carla went left. Marttia went right. The rangers moved in pairs, clearing angles, returning fire. A shotgun blast rang out. A bandit staggered back, ribs torn open. Another rushed with a machete and got dropped with two in the chest. The Enchanter raised both hands. A wave of green light cut through the room, lighting up every shadow. The bandits froze, exposed. The Wardens surged.
One Warden slammed into a barricade, shattering it. His shield caught a bandit in the ribs. A scream, then silence. The other Warden grabbed a man by the leg, dragged him across the floor, crushed his head with a stomp. O’Neer moved with them. He ducked low, fired two rounds into a figure crouched behind a crate. Another popped up to flee, shot in the back by a ranger. A grenade rolled from behind a desk. One Warden kicked it back. It went off midair, light and dust filling the space. No one stopped.
A few bandits broke and ran. They didn’t get far. The rangers cut them down. When it was done, the room held only the living and the caged. The slaves still hadn’t moved. One reached out slowly, touched the cage door, then pulled back. O’Neer swept his eyes across the pens. Blood pooled between the cracks in the floor. He lowered his pistols.
“Cut them out,” he said.
His men got to work. Bolt cutters bit through metal. Blades sawed through rope and wire. Some slaves crawled out on hands and knees. Others stayed inside, unmoving. A ranger tossed a poncho to a girl. She didn’t catch it. Just let it fall on her. Another helped an older man to his feet. The Enchanter passed between the cages, checking for wounds, muttering small spells. One slave sobbed, another threw up.
O’Neer kept his distance. He walked the perimeter, eyes still scanning. He didn’t trust silence. Not here.
He heard a small gurgle from a dying bandit, O’Neer looked down and he weakly raised his hands.
“Surrender…” the bandit croaked, blood dribbling down the sides of his snout.
O’Neer raised his gun and pointed it at his head.