Chapter 117: Plan Chronus
Leonard observed from a distance as the Ospreys landed, their rotors kicking up clouds of dust in the dim twilight. The rescued hostages were being welcomed, given food, checked over by medical personnel, and wrapped in thermal blankets to ward off the cold. Standing beside Leonard, Graves gave a report in his usual calm tone:
"All hostages accounted for. The operation went smoothly, despite a few minor complications."
Leonard turned to him, raising an eyebrow. "How do you know all that? They've barely touched the ground."
Graves smirked, his expression both amused and slightly smug. "I make a habit of using my reality-bending powers to read the thoughts of those around me like an open book. It helps me quickly assess threats within a five-kilometer radius."
Leonard gave him a sideways glance, envy flashing in his eyes. "Reality benders are pure cheats. Give us regular humans a chance to shine, would you? And I hope you're not reading my thoughts, at least."
Graves laughed. "I wouldn't dare, boss."
Leonard's eyes narrowed suspiciously, but before he could respond, a voice called out from the edge of the camp. Both men turned to see a Foundation aide, clearly out of breath, trying to get past the Resh-1 operatives blocking his path.
The aide saluted Leonard briskly as he approached. "Sir, I have an urgent report from O5-7 regarding Project Chronus."
Leonard gestured for the guards to let the aide through, and the young man hurried to his side, his tone clipped and professional as he continued:
"Sir, O5-7 instructed me to deliver the following message: Project Chronus is complete, and all preparations are ready for inspection."
Behind his mask, Leonard's lips curved into a smile, his tone calm but laced with intrigue. "Very well. Lead the way. Let's see what you've prepared for us."
Leonard and Resh-1 followed the assistant through a heavily secured area patrolled by Alpha-1 operatives. The guards saluted and allowed Leonard's group to pass without question. They soon arrived at a clearing where several large trucks were parked in perfect alignment. Each truck carried an enormous machine on its rear, gleaming under the lights of the staging area.
Intrigued, Leonard stepped closer to inspect one of the machines. Although his expertise in technology and engineering was limited, he could immediately tell these were marvels of cutting-edge science.
"Boss! You're here," called a voice behind him.
Leonard turned to see O5-7 approaching, flanked by a contingent of Alpha-1 operatives. "Good morning, O5-7," Leonard greeted her with his usual calm tone.
"Good morning, boss," she replied, her expression composed but carrying a faint trace of pride. "Shall I walk you through Project Chronus and these little gems?"
Leonard nodded. "Please do."
O5-7 turned toward the machine Leonard had been inspecting and gestured toward it. "This is a Xyank-Anastasakos Constant Temporal Sink, or XACTS for short. This is the Mark I. These machines are designed to stabilize and regulate the temporal characteristics of a given area. Think of them as the temporal counterpart to the Scranton Reality Anchor."
Leonard glanced at the XACTS with newfound interest. "How exactly will this help us against the two reality benders? I remember the briefing, but I didn't fully grasp how it fits into our strategy."
O5-7's face lit up with enthusiasm. "I was hoping you'd ask, boss. Allow me to explain."
She stepped closer to the machine, her voice taking on the measured tone of a seasoned instructor. "A Scranton Reality Anchor, as you know, stabilizes reality within its vicinity. But the problem lies in their limited range and inability to influence larger areas. Moreover, if the reality bender is a Level 4 or higher, they can simply relocate outside the anchor's effective range and wreak havoc elsewhere. Correct?"
Leonard sighed. "Unfortunately, that's true."
O5-7 smirked. "This is where the Foundation's ingenuity comes into play. The XACTS units allow us to stabilize and control the flow of time within a designated area. Now, imagine this: what happens if we create a temporal bubble that isolates the flow of time inside and out?"
Leonard's eyes widened as realization struck him. He jumped to his feet. "I see it now! The plan is to trap the two reality benders within a confined temporal space. That way, the damage is contained within that isolated zone. Then, we deploy Resh-1 equipped with Scranton Reality Anchors and our own reality benders into that space to neutralize their abilities. If I remember correctly, when a reality bender manipulates reality, they're altering the Hume levels in their surroundings. By counteracting those changes, essentially doing the reverse, we can reset the affected area to normal."
O5-7 clapped her hands lightly, her expression triumphant. "Worthy of the boss," she remarked with a wry smile.
Leonard chuckled under his breath, though his focus remained on the XACTS. "Then it's time. Prepare the operation. Let's put these marvels to the test."
---
A few hours later…
Peaceful silence reigned above the rolling hills and dense forests, but it was soon shattered by the thunderous roar of jet engines. Twenty SCPFJ-I, the SCP Foundation's cutting-edge 5.5th-generation fighter jets, sliced through the air like steel predators. Sleek, angular, and armed to the teeth, these machines represented the pinnacle of modern non-abnormal human military technology.
Ace, a seasoned pilot known for his skills under pressure, adjusted his grip on the controls of his jet. The cockpit's HUD displayed a live feed of his surroundings, tactical data, and the formation of his squadron. His radio crackled to life as the team prepared for their mission over the city of Guerin, a towering Gothic metropolis encased by ancient walls:
Hammer-1: "Hammer Actual to all callsigns, radio check. Over."
Hammer-2: "Hammer-2, clear."
Hammer-3: "Hammer-3, loud and clear."
Ace (Hammer-4): "Hammer-4, copy that."
Hammer-5 through Hammer-20: (Acknowledgments follow in quick succession.)
Hammer-1: "All units, maintain formation. Stay at cruising altitude. We're on schedule. Over."
Hammer-7: "Hammer-7, roger. Maintaining position."
Hammer-8: "Hammer-8, radar is clean so far. The target's in visual range."
Hammer-1: "Eyes sharp, Hammer Squadron. Remember the objective, this isn't about firepower; it's about provocation. We strike the gates, flush them out, and kill them in the air to allow ground teams and helicopter teams to act. Do not engage targets unless ordered. Out."
The squadron approached Guerin, its ancient architecture standing stark against the morning light. Massive gates of dark steel framed the city's entrance, their surfaces covered in shimmering runes. The sight was imposing, but Ace's attention remained fixed on his HUD, tracking his squadmates as they maneuvered into their attack formations.
Hammer-1: "Hammer Actual to all callsigns, break formation. Wings One and Two, you're on strike duty. Wings Three and Four, maintain aerial patrol. Weapons hot, but no unnecessary fire. Target those gates with missile strikes. Let's rattle their cage. Over."
Hammer-2: "Hammer-2, roger that. Locking onto the gates."
Ace (Hammer-4): "Hammer-4, weapons armed. Ready to engage."
Hammer-6: "Hammer-6, target locked. Holding for your go, Hammer Actual."
Hammer-1: "Hammer Squadron, synchronize on my mark. Three… two… one… engage!"
The jets unleashed a storm of firepower. Precision-guided missiles screamed through the air, slamming into the towering gates of Guerin with earth-shaking force. Explosions erupted in rapid succession, the blasts shattering the calm of the morning and sending shockwaves rippling across the countryside.
As the smoke began to clear, the gates stood scorched but intact, their runes flickering weakly. A long silence followed, broken only by the crackling of flames.
Then, from deep within the city, a low, guttural screech resonated through the air.
Hammer-3: "Hammer-3, anyone else hear that?"
Hammer-8: "Hammer-8, affirm. Something's moving down there."
Hammer-1: "Hammer Actual to all callsigns, stay sharp. We've stirred the nest. Keep eyes on the city and watch for aerial contacts. Over."
The air grew tense as massive winged shapes began to rise from behind the city walls. One by one, enormous avian beasts emerged, their silhouettes casting dark shadows over the city. Their feathers shimmered with unnatural colors, and their wingspans stretched impossibly wide. Riders clad in obsidian armor sat atop the creatures, wielding long spears crackling with magical energy.
The screeching intensified as more of the beasts took to the skies, circling the city once before turning their predatory gaze toward the squadron.
Hammer-2: "Hammer-2, visual confirmation of hostile contacts. Counting… damn, there's at least a hundred of them. They're heading straight for us!"
Hammer-4 (Ace): "Hammer-4, copy. Looks like they're itching for a fight."
Hammer-1: "Hammer Actual to all callsigns. Maintain discipline. Do not engage until I give the order. Let them come to us. Over."
Ace tightened his grip on the controls as the winged beasts closed in. Their roars echoed across the sky, and the tension in the cockpit was palpable. For a brief moment, there was silence, a calm before the storm. Then the beasts let out deafening cries and surged toward the jets, their riders raising their weapons as they prepared to attack.
The skies over Guerin erupted into chaos.
Ace's HUD lit up with warnings as the massive winged beasts closed the gap, their riders letting loose volleys of arrows and glowing spheres of magic. The air crackled with energy as spells arced across the battlefield, leaving streaks of unnatural light in their wake.
Hammer-1: "All units, this is Hammer Actual! Engage hostiles at will. Prioritize survival and maintain formation integrity. Show them what the Foundation is made of. Over."
Ace's hands moved instinctively, fingers dancing across the controls. His SCPFJ-I banked hard to the left, avoiding an incoming ball of energy that sizzled past, close enough for his cockpit sensors to register the heat signature.
"Too close," he muttered under his breath, pulling back on the stick and climbing into a steep ascent. His radar painted dozens of targets ahead, closing fast.
Hammer-4 (Ace): "Hammer-4, engaging!"
Ace lined up his crosshairs on one of the massive winged beasts, its feathers glinting like metal in the sunlight. The rider, clad in obsidian armor, raised a glowing spear as if to challenge him.
Not today.
With a squeeze of the trigger, his jet unleashed a hailstorm of autocannon fire. The rounds tore through the beast's wings, ripping them apart in a spray of blood and feathers. The rider plummeted, screaming, before the beast exploded into a burst of flames as a follow-up missile struck true.
Hammer-3: "Splash one! These things go down fast if you hit their wings. Keep it clean, people!"
Hammer-7: "Hammer-7, copy that. I've got two on my tail, requesting assistance!"
Ace glanced at his HUD and saw Hammer-7's jet weaving frantically to shake two winged beasts in pursuit. Their riders fired glowing arrows that streaked dangerously close to his wingman.
"I'm on it."
Ace flipped his jet into a tight roll and dove into position. His targeting computer locked onto one of the beasts as he unleashed another missile. The projectile streaked through the air, slamming into the creature's back. It disintegrated in an explosion of fire and smoke, taking its rider with it.
The second beast hesitated, but Ace's autocannon made quick work of it, shredding its body mid-air.
Hammer-7: "Hammer-7, thanks for the assist, Hammer-4."
Hammer-4 (Ace): "Don't mention it. Stay sharp, more incoming."
The battle raged on, the air thick with explosions, debris, and the deafening roar of jet engines. The Foundation pilots were a deadly, synchronized machine, their training and advanced aircraft giving them a decisive edge. For every arrow or magical attack that came their way, a missile or burst of cannon fire met it.
Ace saw one of his squadmates, Hammer-9, execute a stunning maneuver, pulling into a steep climb before flipping back and firing on a group of three beasts in perfect succession. The creatures fell like stones, their riders screaming as they plummeted to their deaths.
Hammer-9: "Hammer-9, three down! These things are no match for us!"
Hammer-1: "Focus, Hammer Squadron! Stay disciplined. We're here to wipe them out, not celebrate. Keep it tight."
Ace gritted his teeth as another group of beasts rushed toward him, their riders hurling glowing orbs of energy. He banked sharply, dodging the attacks, then flipped his jet into an inverted roll. A burst of cannon fire from above shredded two of the creatures.
The third beast veered toward him, its rider drawing a bow glowing with magic. The arrow loosed, speeding toward his cockpit. Ace's reflexes kicked in, he deployed a burst of countermeasures. The arrow exploded harmlessly behind him, and before the rider could draw another, Ace fired his autocannon point-blank, obliterating the beast in a spray of gore.
Hammer-8: "Hammer-8, tally four! They're thinning out!"
Hammer-4 (Ace): "They're desperate. Don't let up!"
Ace's adrenaline surged as he pulled into another sharp climb, scanning the battlefield. The once-overwhelming swarm of winged beasts was now scattered, their numbers rapidly dwindling. The air was filled with the echoes of their dying roars and the distant thuds of their bodies hitting the ground.
One final beast, larger than the rest, streaked toward Ace with terrifying speed. Its rider held a massive spear crackling with arcs of lightning.
"Come on, then," Ace growled, gripping the controls tightly.
He baited the creature into a chase, pulling into a series of tight rolls and loops that tested the limits of his jet's agility. When the beast was locked in pursuit, he cut his thrust, dropping behind it.
"Gotcha."
Ace fired a missile directly into the beast's back. The explosion lit up the sky, sending pieces of the creature raining down.
Hammer-1: "This is Hammer Actual. All callsigns, report status."
Hammer-3: "Hammer-3, all clear. No damage."
Hammer-7: "Hammer-7, clear."
Hammer-4 (Ace): "Hammer-4, skies are clear on my end. Remaining in formation."
One by one, the squadron checked in, confirming the annihilation of the enemy force. The once-crowded skies above Guerin were now eerily silent, the remnants of the battle drifting lazily toward the ground.
Hammer-1: "Hammer Squadron, this is Hammer Actual. The skies are clean. I repeat, the skies are clean. Ground teams are cleared to proceed with the next phase. Good work, everyone. RTB for resupply. Over."
Hammer-4 (Ace): "Hammer-4, copy. Heading back."
Ace let out a deep breath as he eased his jet into formation with the rest of the squadron. Below, the Gothic city of Guerin sprawled out like a ghost town, its towering gates charred from the initial strikes. The next phase of the plan was underway, but for now, the skies belonged to the Foundation.
---
The sky was ablaze, lit by the final flames of the winged riders falling under the overwhelming might of the Foundation's fighter jets. The troops on the ground watched the spectacle unfold, some clapping quietly, others standing in silent awe of the ruthlessness displayed by the air forces.
Commander Thomas MacLean stood on a small mound of earth, a wide grin plastered across his face as he surveyed the aftermath. Turning to the other Mobile Task Force commanders beside him, his eyes sparkled with unabashed arrogance.
"That's my boys!" he exclaimed, almost shouting. "They've never let me down. Nu-7 remains the best, and you all know it."
The commanders of Epsilon-11, Eta-5, and Omega-44 stood nearby, their faces drawn and their eyes shadowed with exhaustion. None of them responded to MacLean's triumphant declaration. One of them, the Epsilon-11 Commander, muttered under his breath, "He's been like this since breakfast. How do you put up with him?"
Another, the Omega-44 commander, nodded, his voice flat. "I don't. I tune him out. Keeps me sane."
Before they could exchange more complaints, their personal radios crackled to life, cutting through the tension like a blade.
"All units, skies are confirmed clear. Chronus Plan is activated. Proceed with artillery strikes to open the path," came the clear, authoritative voice of Overwatch.
MacLean's grin widened. He turned to his artillery crews, who were standing with members of Beta-777. The latter were busily inscribing glowing runes onto the artillery shells, finishing their last enchantments.
The Beta-777 Commander, a sharp-eyed operator, approached MacLean. "Thomas, we've finished enchanting your shells. They should punch right through their thaumaturgic defenses now."
MacLean clapped him on the shoulder with enough force to make the man stagger. "Excellent work! Now, let's get started on… remodeling this city."
MacLean strode toward one of the M777. He placed a hand on the shoulder of the artillery officer in charge, his grin never faltering.
"Son," he said, his voice dripping with a mix of humor and menace, "you see that direction?"
The officer straightened, snapping to attention. "Yes, sir?"
MacLean's grin widened even further. "Remove it."
The officer's face lit up with the same mischievous glee as his commander's. Turning to his crew, he barked, "Load enchanted rounds! Targets set! Fire at will!"
Behind them, the Omega-44 Commander sighed audibly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Remind me to file a request for mandatory psychological evaluations for every member of Nu-7," he muttered to the other commanders.
The Epsilon-11 Commander nodded, arms crossed. "I'll co-sign that request."
The Eta-5 Commander added. "Me too."
The first volley of enchanted artillery shells roared into the sky, streaking toward Guerin like fiery comets. The ground trembled under the thunderous recoil, and the commanders watched as the explosions lit up the city's defenses, shattering magical barriers in spectacular bursts of energy.
"Beautiful," MacLean said, folding his arms and watching the chaos unfold. "Absolutely beautiful."
After over ten minutes of relentless bombardment, the radio crackled to life with a calm but firm voice from Overwatch.
"Overwatch to all artillery units. Cease fire. Conduct a test shot toward the king palace in the air. Confirm trajectory and report results."
Commander MacLean, still basking in the afterglow of the destruction wrought by his artillery crews, turned toward one of the M777 batteries closest to him. "You heard them," he barked. "You, proceed with the test shot. Let's show them what we're made of."
The artillery crew sprang into action with practiced efficiency, their movements synchronized like the inner workings of a well-oiled machine.
"Load HE enchanted round," the officer in charge commanded.
"Round loaded!" one of the crew members confirmed.
"Set elevation to forty-five degrees. Adjust bearing to 275 degrees. Fine-tune by two mils left. Hold steady."
"Elevation set. Bearing adjusted. Gun ready!"
MacLean folded his arms, watching intently as the officer gave the final command.
"Fire!"
The ground shuddered as the M777 roared, sending the glowing enchanted round streaking into the sky. All eyes were on the projectile as it hurtled toward the king palace, a massive structure floating ominously above Guerin. For a moment, it seemed like the shell would connect with its target. But just meters from impact, the shell vanished into thin air, leaving no trace of its presence.
MacLean blinked, caught off guard. "What the hell…?" he muttered, stepping closer to the artillery crew.
One of the crew members checked their instruments, shaking their head. "No detonation. No impact, sir. It just… disappeared."
MacLean frowned and immediately grabbed his radio. "Hammer Lord to Overwatch. Test round fired at the king palace. No impact. The round disappeared mid-air. Requesting further orders."
The response came back quickly, as calm and collected as ever. "Acknowledged, Hammer Lord. Hold your position. Await further instructions. Overwatch out."
MacLean lowered the radio, staring at the distant palace with a mixture of frustration and intrigue. "Now that's a new one," he muttered.
Behind him, the Epsilon-11 commander stepped forward, his expression thoughtful. "That's not a failure on the artillery's part. That's probably one of the two level 4 reality benders, likely one of them made a defensive bubble around the palace designed to displace or nullify incoming projectiles."
MacLean grunted. "Well, they'll have to drop that shield eventually. And when they do…" He gestured to the M777. "We'll be ready to blow that thing out of the sky. Keep the crews on standby."
The artillery crews stood by their guns, tense and ready, waiting for the next step in the unfolding plan.
---
On the floating island that held the grand palace, the atmosphere was serene, almost surreal. The gentle hum of magic that sustained the island was barely audible, and the ornate spires of the castle glittered under the sunlight. This tranquil setting was abruptly interrupted by the arrival of a sleek black transport aircraft, its engines roaring as it descended toward the palace courtyard.
The aircraft landed, its bay door opening to reveal twenty figures clad in black exoskeleton armor, their presence a stark contrast to the gilded splendor of their surroundings. At their head was Graves, his dark visor glinted menacingly as he stepped onto the ornate marble tiles of the courtyard.
In front of them stood an overwhelming force: more than two hundred knights clad in gleaming golden armor. Their weapons, swords, and spears radiated arcane energy, and their shields shimmered with enchantments. Behind them, a row of robed mages prepared spells, their hands glowing with raw magical power.
One of the knights stepped forward, his golden cape billowing in the wind. He pointed his sword at Graves.
"You dare desecrate the sacred grounds of the royal palace? Surrender now, and we may grant you a swift death."
Graves didn't respond immediately. He scanned the opposition, calculating. Then, with deliberate slowness, he drew his combat knife, its blade humming faintly with energy. He pointed it at the knight who had spoken.
"I don't think so."
The air grew tense. The knights braced for battle, their shields locking into formation. The mages began chanting in unison, their spells building to a crescendo. Graves raised his hand in a simple gesture.
"Weapons free. Kill them all."
The courtyard suddenly erupted into chaos.
Resh-1's operators opened fire in unison, their rifles spitting death with every pull of the trigger. Explosive armor-piercing rounds tore through the knights' enchanted shields, shredding their golden armor and leaving gaping holes in their ranks. The first wave of knights barely made it five steps before being obliterated.
Graves charged forward like a force of nature, his knife gleaming as he plunged it into the chest of a knight. The blade pierced the enchanted plate as though it were made of paper. With a brutal twist, he yanked it free and moved on to his next target, a seamless blur of speed and precision.
A group of knights attempted to surround him, their shields raised in a tight phalanx. Graves didn't hesitate. With inhuman strength, he leapt into the air, landing in the middle of the formation. His knife flashed once, twice, three times, and the knights crumpled to the ground, their throats slit and their hearts pierced.
Behind him, the rest of Resh-1 advanced methodically.
One operator fired a grenade launcher into a cluster of knights, the explosion scattering golden shards and broken bodies across the courtyard.
"Clear on my side!" he called out, his voice calm and professional.
"Watch the mages!" shouted another operator as he dodged a bolt of lightning that narrowly missed him.
The mages, seeing their knights fall like wheat before the scythe, unleashed their magic in desperation. Massive fireballs, crackling lightning bolts, and swirling storms of ice rained down on the operators. But Resh-1's exoskeleton armor absorbed the impacts, the advanced systems nullifying the magic energy.
Another operator stepped through a raging inferno unscathed, his rifle barking as he gunned down the mage responsible.
Graves was a whirlwind of destruction at the center of the battlefield. A knight swung a massive enchanted hammer at him, the weapon glowing with enough power to level a small building. Graves sidestepped effortlessly, catching the knight's arm and snapping it with a sickening crack. He followed up with a brutal stab to the throat, the knight collapsing in a heap.
Another knight, this one wielding a flaming spear, charged at him with a battle cry. Graves caught the spear mid-thrust, yanked it free from the knight's grasp, and drove it through the man's chest. He discarded the weapon and turned his attention to the next wave of enemies.
The mages attempted to regroup, forming a massive ritual circle. The air around them crackled with energy as they prepared a devastating spell meant to wipe out Resh-1 in one fell swoop. Graves noticed the gathering power and barked an order.
"SRA's, now!"
Four operators activated their devices on their suits. The ritual circle faltered and then collapsed entirely, the mages recoiling in horror as their spell unraveled. The operators didn't hesitate, cutting them down with precise headshots.
One knight, larger and more heavily armored than the rest, bellowed a challenge and charged at Graves with a glowing greatsword. The ground shook with every step he took. Graves met him head-on, dodging the first swing and stepping inside the knight's guard. With a single, fluid motion, he drove his knife into the joint of the knight's armor, severing tendons and dropping the giant to his knees. Graves finished him with a slash across the throat.
"Is that all you've got?" Graves growled, his voice dripping with contempt.
The remaining knights hesitated, their once-unstoppable advance now reduced to a pitiful retreat. One by one, they fell under Resh-1's relentless assault.
The battlefield suddenly became silent once more. The once-pristine courtyard was now a charred, blood-soaked wasteland. Golden armor lay shattered and scattered, and the bodies of knights and mages littered the ground.
Graves stood amidst the carnage, his armor streaked with blood and soot. He keyed his comms.
"Black Eagle to Overwatch. Courtyard secured. No survivors."
"Copy that, Resh-1," came the reply. "Proceed to breach the palace. Overwatch out."
Graves turned to his team. Despite the ferocity of the battle, they stood unscathed, their gear as pristine as when they had landed.
"Form up," Graves ordered. "We're not done yet."
With the precision of a machine, Resh-1 moved toward the palace doors, leaving behind the ruins of their victory as they prepared for the next phase of their mission.
The towering gates of the palace loomed ahead, gilded with intricate designs that depicted the glorious battles of an ancient kingdom. Now, they were about to bear witness to the might of Resh-1.
Graves raised his fist, signaling his team to halt. His crimson visor scanned the gate for traps or defenses. His voice cut through the comms, calm and cold.
"1-3, breach the door."
1-3, a demolition expert, stepped forward, placing a compact charge at the center of the massive gates. As he worked, the operators formed a perimeter, their rifles trained on every possible angle of attack.
"Charges set," 1-3 announced.
"Blow it," Graves ordered.
The explosion rocked the courtyard, sending golden shards of the once-impenetrable gates flying. The echoes of the blast hadn't even faded before the operators stormed into the palace, their movements precise and coordinated.
The grand hall inside the palace was a testament to the kingdom's opulence. Marble columns soared toward a vaulted ceiling painted with depictions of gods and heroes. A long crimson carpet stretched toward a staircase at the far end. But all this grandeur was marred by the sight of dozens of golden knights standing ready, their weapons drawn and their shields raised.
The knights roared a battle cry and charged.
Graves didn't even flinch. "Engage."
Resh-1 opened fire, their rifles lighting up the dim hall with bursts of muzzle flashes. The explosive rounds tore through the knights' ranks, shattering their enchanted shields and sending fragments of gold and bone flying.
A knight broke through the hail of gunfire, swinging a massive warhammer at Graves. He sidestepped effortlessly, his combat knife flashing as it plunged into the knight's throat. Before the body hit the ground, Graves was already moving toward his next target.
Behind him, the operators worked with ruthless efficiency.
1-4 vaulted over a fallen column, firing mid-air to take out a group of knights attempting to flank them. He landed with the grace of a predator, his knife flashing as he cut down two more enemies.
"Left flank clear," he called out.
1-7, wielding a modified shotgun, blasted through a heavily armored knight, the enchanted plate offering no resistance to the weapon's devastating payload.
"Pushing forward," he said, reloading with practiced ease.
The knights tried to regroup, forming a defensive line at the base of the grand staircase. Behind them, mages began chanting, their spells gathering power.
"1-5, disrupt the mages," Graves ordered.
1-5 casted a strange spell that released a high-frequency pulse. The magical energy the mages had been gathering dissipated instantly, leaving them exposed. Resh-1 capitalized, cutting them down with surgical precision.
Graves led the charge up the staircase, his knife a blur of motion as he dispatched knight after knight. The operators followed, their boots thundering on the marble steps as they advanced.
The palace was a labyrinth of ornate halls, opulent chambers, and hidden corridors. But none of it slowed Resh-1.
In a grand dining hall, knights flipped heavy oak tables to use as cover. Resh-1 didn't hesitate. Grenades sailed through the air, detonating in fiery explosions that left the room filled with smoke and debris. The operators moved through the chaos like specters, their black armor blending with the smoke as they eliminated every enemy in their path.
In a massive library, mages attempted to use the shelves as cover, launching volleys of spells from behind rows of ancient tomes. Resh-1's bullets found them all the same, piercing through wood and paper as if they weren't even there.
In a golden gallery lined with statues of the king, the operators faced their first real challenge: a squad of elite knights clad in black and gold, their weapons crackling with raw magical energy. These knights moved faster and hit harder than their standard counterparts, their enchanted swords leaving glowing arcs in the air as they attacked.
Graves met them head-on. One knight swung a glowing blade at him, aiming to cleave him in two. Graves caught the blade with his combat knife, his exoskeleton amplifying his strength. With a grunt, he twisted the knight's arm, disarming him before driving his knife into the weak point of his armor.
The other operators worked in perfect synchronization. 1-2 distracted one of the elite knights with suppressive fire, allowing 1-8 to flank and deliver a fatal blow.
Despite their enhanced abilities, the elite knights stood no chance. Within minutes, the gallery was silent, the floor littered with broken bodies and shattered armor.
At the end of their bloody path, Resh-1 arrived at an enormous set of double doors, gilded with even more intricate designs than the gates outside. As they approached, the doors creaked open, and a single figure stepped out.
He was massive, clad in an ornate suit of armor that glowed with a faint golden light. His cape billowed behind him, and his sword, a massive, two-handed blade inscribed with glowing runes, rested on his shoulder.
"I am Commander Thalric," the man declared, his voice booming. "Guardian of the royal family and master of the Royal Guard. You will go no further."
Graves stepped forward, gesturing for his team to stand down.
"I'll handle this."
Thalric raised his sword, the runes along its length flaring to life. "You should have turned back while you had the chance."
Graves didn't respond. He lunged forward, his knife flashing toward Thalric's throat.
The commander moved with surprising speed, parrying the attack and countering with a wide swing of his massive blade. Graves ducked under the strike, his movements fluid and precise.
The two clashed in a blur of steel and speed. Thalric's enchanted armor deflected Graves' first few strikes, but the commander quickly realized that Graves was faster, stronger, and far more ruthless.
With a feint to the left, Graves baited Thalric into overextending. Seizing the opportunity, he drove his knife into the gap between the commander's chest plate and shoulder armor. Thalric roared in pain, swinging his sword wildly, but Graves was already behind him.
A brutal kick sent Thalric to his knees. Graves grabbed the commander's helmet, ripping it off to reveal a bloodied, defiant face. Without hesitation, he plunged his knife into Thalric's neck, twisting it before pulling it free.
The commander collapsed, his massive body hitting the ground with a heavy thud.
Graves turned to his team, his voice calm as ever.
"Door's clear. Move in."
With the commander dead and no resistance left to face, Resh-1 pushed open the gilded doors and entered the final chamber.
The throne room stretched out before them, its vastness echoing with the ghostly silence of forgotten power. The ceiling arched high above, adorned with intricate carvings of divine beings locked in battle. Towering columns lined the sides of the room, their surfaces polished to perfection, reflecting the soft glow of chandeliers that bathed the hall in a warm golden light. A long crimson carpet ran down the center, leading directly to the throne.
There, seated like a relic of authority, was the king. His ornate armor shimmered in the dim light, a flowing cape of white and gold draped over the back of his seat. His face was a mask of arrogance, lips curled into a sneer as his piercing gaze met the approaching operators of Resh-1.
Graves took the lead, his boots clicking against the marble floor as he strode forward. His team followed, rifles raised and locked on the king, their every step a testament to their dominance. The air was heavy with tension as they closed the distance, the sound of their movements filling the void.
When they were only a few meters from the throne, the king rose, his presence towering yet hollow. His voice, dripping with disdain, echoed through the chamber.
"I knew you would return, you cowardly scum of Earth. You do not deserve to stand before a god, let alone claim to be one."
Graves stopped, standing tall before the self-proclaimed deity. His helmeted head tilted slightly as he let the king's words hang in the air. Then, with deliberate slowness, he reached up, deactivating the external filter on his voice modulator. His words came cold, sharp, and laced with venom.
"I don't consider myself a god, and you certainly aren't one either. Or maybe…" He paused, letting the edge of a smirk creep into his tone. "You're just the god without balls."
The king's face twisted in fury, his composure cracking under the weight of the insult. His voice thundered through the hall as he took a step forward, pointing a trembling finger at Graves.
"HOW DARE YOU?! YOU INSOLENT-"
But before he could finish, he raised his arm, energy swirling around him as he prepared to bend reality. The operators of Resh-1 didn't flinch. Almost in unison, they pulled compact SRA units. Graves didn't even need to speak the command. His raised hand was enough.
The SRAs hummed to life, their invisible field rippling outward and settling over the throne room like a shroud. The magic coursing through the air sputtered, the light dimmed, and the king's expression twisted from rage to confusion. His hand faltered mid-motion, and he staggered backward, eyes darting as he tried to comprehend the sudden emptiness.
"What is happening?!" he roared, his voice cracking under the weight of his disbelief. "Why… why can't I feel my power?!"
Graves stepped closer, unholstering his pistol, the sleek black barrel catching the faint light. He leveled it at the king's forehead, his movements deliberate, unhurried. The once-mighty ruler stumbled, tripping over the edge of the carpet and collapsing onto the steps of the throne.
"Wait!" the king stammered, his voice trembling now, panic overriding his anger. "Wait, we can talk! Listen to me!"
Graves stared down at him, his expression unreadable beneath the visor. When he spoke, his voice was a cold whisper, devoid of emotion.
"The words of a dead man don't interest me."
BANG.
The shot rang out, deafening in the silence that followed. The king's head snapped back, the gilded crown clattering to the floor as his lifeless body slumped against the steps. Blood pooled beneath him, staining the pristine carpet a deep crimson.
Graves didn't look at the fallen figure. He holstered his pistol, turning to his team as they deactivated their SRAs, the devices returning to their dormant state. The oppressive quiet of the room returned, broken only by the faint hum of their gear.
Graves activated his comms, his voice calm and steady.
"Overwatch, this is Black Eagle. Priority target Crown has been terminated."
The reply was immediate, crisp.
"Copy that, Black Eagle. Mission objective confirmed. Evacuate the operational zone immediately."
Graves turned to his team, nodding once. "We're done here. Move out."
The operators of Resh-1 fell into formation, their movements precise and disciplined as they exited the throne room. They left behind the opulent hall, its silence now eternal, and the lifeless body of a king who had once called himself a god.
---
A few kilometers away in the city, the once-majestic monastery of the Church of the Celestial Vault now echoed with the cacophony of violence. The grand halls, adorned with stained-glass windows depicting celestial gods, were torn asunder by the relentless advance of Resh-1's third group. Leading the charge was Watch Dog, a towering figure clad in the advanced exoskeletal armor of the SCP Foundation, his face obscured by the menacing visage of his helmet. His voice, calm yet commanding, echoed through the comms.
"Maintain formation. Clear every room. No survivors."
The team moved like a machine, rifles raised and firing in controlled bursts. Explosive rounds ripped through the ranks of cultists who charged at them with fanatical zeal. Their robes, once pristine and ceremonial, were now shredded as bodies crumpled to the floor. Some cultists hurled fireballs and bolts of energy, but the SRA devices integrated into the operators' armor rendered the magical attacks impotent, dissipating them like smoke in the air.
"Watch Dog, left corridor clear," reported one operator as he finished off a fallen knight with a quick knife strike through the visor of his golden helm.
"Right corridor secure," came another voice, punctuated by the deafening thud of a heavy knight's armored body hitting the ground, a crater in his chest plate from an explosive round.
"Push forward. The main chamber is just ahead," Watch Dog ordered, his voice carrying the unshakable certainty of someone who had never lost a fight.
They moved as a singular entity, advancing through the sacred halls that now bore the scars of their onslaught. Statues of celestial deities shattered under stray gunfire, and holy relics burned amidst the carnage. The cultists screamed prayers to their god, begging for salvation, but only silence greeted them, followed by the thunderous roar of Resh-1's weapons.
In the antechamber leading to the heart of the monastery, a dozen knights in gilded armor formed a last line of defense. Their leader, a heavily-built paladin wielding a massive glowing hammer, stepped forward, his voice a booming proclamation.
"You heretics dare defile this holy place! You will pay with your lives!"
"Noted," Watch Dog muttered flatly. He raised his rifle, and in one swift motion, put a round through the knight's head before he could finish his next sentence. The paladin's body toppled like a felled tree, his hammer clattering uselessly to the ground.
"Advance," Watch Dog ordered.
The knights, stunned but resolute, charged forward, their golden weapons gleaming with magical energy. Resh-1 met them head-on. Explosive rounds punched through enchanted shields like paper, and when the fighting got close, the operators drew their monomolecular blades. The clash of metal on metal resounded through the chamber, but the precision and speed of Resh-1's exoskeletal movements overwhelmed the knights.
Watch Dog himself waded into the fray with brutal efficiency. One knight lunged at him with a glowing spear, but he sidestepped the thrust and drove his blade through the man's chest. Another swung a massive greatsword at his head, but Watch Dog caught the blade with one hand, the strength of his armor-enhanced grip stopping it cold, before driving a knee into the
The halls of the Church of the Celestial Vault echoed with gunfire, screams, and the relentless march of Resh-1. Watch Dog led his operators, his commands sharp and unyielding as they tore through yet another wave of defenders. Cultists with glowing staves and swords charged forward, their faces twisted with fanatical zeal, only to be cut down by a storm of armor-piercing rounds.
"Move up! Keep your sectors clear!" Watch Dog barked as he fired a burst into a charging knight, the explosive rounds ripping through enchanted armor like paper.
Behind him, an operator shouted, "Three more coming down the left stairs!"
"I got it," replied another, leveling his rifle and dropping the targets in a quick series of shots. The knights barely had time to raise their weapons before their bodies slammed against the stone walls.
The team advanced relentlessly through the sacred corridors, the stained-glass windows shattering under stray gunfire, the once-holy relics now little more than debris under their boots. One cultist, glowing with magical energy, screamed an incantation as he hurled a fiery orb toward the group.
"Incoming thaumic strike!"
"Not today." Watch Dog leveled his sidearm, a sleek pistol designed for anti-thaumaturgical operations. He fired once, the round detonating mid-air and dispersing the magical orb into harmless sparks. Before the cultist could react, another operator's blade pierced his chest, sending him crumpling to the ground.
"Clear the path. We're almost there," Watch Dog ordered.
The team approached a massive pair of gilded doors, their surfaces covered with intricate celestial runes that pulsed faintly with energy. This was it, the final chamber. The operators stacked up, weapons raised and ready.
"Breaching in three… two… one!"
The doors exploded inward, the shockwave sending splinters of gold and stone flying. The room beyond was a grand hall, its vaulted ceilings painted with depictions of celestial deities. At its center stood a figure clad in white robes, a ceremonial blade in hand and a malevolent grin on his face.
"Where is Solemar?" Watch Dog demanded, his rifle aimed squarely at the figure's chest.
The robed figure let out a mocking laugh. "You're too late, heretics. Solemar is beyond your reach now. But I will gladly send you to meet your gods."
The cardinal raised his hands, and a surge of magical energy crackled to life around him. The room seemed to darken as golden runes flared to life on the walls, their power feeding into his growing spell.
"Hostile thaumic activity detected," one operator reported, already activating his SRA unit.
"Suppress him," Watch Dog commanded.
The team opened fire. Explosive rounds tore through the air, detonating against the cardinal's hastily conjured barriers. The room shook as fragments of stone and magic erupted from the onslaught. The cardinal's smug expression faltered as cracks began to form in his shimmering shield.
"Impossible… this can't-"
Before he could finish, Watch Dog closed the distance in a blur, his exoskeletal armor propelling him forward faster than the eye could track. His blade flashed once, cutting through the cardinal's barrier and slashing across his chest.
The cardinal staggered, coughing blood, yet he smiled through the pain. "You think you've won? Solemar… Solemar is already gone. You've failed."
Watch Dog grabbed the dying man by his collar, pulling him close. "Where is he?"
The cardinal's laughter was weak but defiant. "Far… beyond your reach… fools."
With a final, swift motion, Watch Dog drove his blade through the cardinal's chest, ending his life. He let the body fall to the floor as silence descended over the chamber, broken only by the faint hum of the SRAs deactivating.
"Search the area," Watch Dog ordered. His voice remained calm, but there was an edge of urgency now.
The operators quickly swept the room, overturning altars and searching through relics, but it was clear: the cardinal had spoken the truth. Solemar was gone.
"Nothing here, Watch Dog," one of the operators confirmed grimly.
Watch Dog activated his comms, his voice cold and precise. "Overwatch, this is Watch Dog. Target priority Silver is not at Guerin. Repeat, Silver is not at Guerin."
---
Several tens of kilometers away, above the skies of Area-19, a lone figure hovered silently among the clouds. Shrouded in an aura of unnatural energy, Solemar presence exuded a terrifying sense of power. The faint hum of the wind was the only sound as he gazed down upon the sprawling Foundation site below, his eyes gleaming with malicious intent.
A wicked grin spread across his face. "So this is where you've been hiding," he murmured, his voice dripping with anticipation. "Hehehe… It's time for a massacre."