Gods and mortals

Losses and victories

A.N.
Let's go on.

Sovereign System, three months later...

Brogr panted as he continued to move forward, dodging past several einherjar as he made his way to the front lines of the battle.

The main fortress of the capital had been blocked off, its gates closed and barred, its air defenses manned and ready to shoot down an overeager skip.

The Sovereign had bunkered down inside their last bastion, their very last stronghold in an effort to defy the Allfather's rule even now, when all hope was lost.
This had impeded the legion's march, as they were forced to take cover as well from a barrage of energy shots and a sea of missiles and bombs.

And this had been the situation for the past two weeks. After an unnecessary loss of asgardian lives, the commanding warchiefs and generals decided that it was not worth the effort to waste so many good soldiers in an effort to broker a siege.

The firepower of the dying species was simply too great for them to approach with traditional siege weapons. And thus, arose the need to scout out, weaken and ultimately cripple the Soverign.

Naturally, such a task was given to the cohorts and recruits, for they were less formidable and expendable. That was why the newly appointed leader of the cohort was making his way towards the dug up trench that was lined with einherjar.

He arrived, breathing hard as he had been just recently ordered to approach the front line. There was never silence, for both the attackers and defenders harassed each other with long ranged weaponry: the sound of plasma bolts was a constant presence, coupled with the occasional missile.

But in truth, the Sovereign were superior to the asgardians in this regard: had the war been limited to simply close ranged combat, then the opposition would have been destroyed and exterminated long ago.

Unfortunately, a sword was no good if it could not reach its enemy.

And that was why the recruits were tasked daily with finding the small breaches and holes, cracks, or whatever other weaknesses were present in the towering walls.

Brogr patiently waited for the last of his group to arrive. He had lost fifteen of these people since assuming command. And their void, empty faces stared at him in his dreams. The blacksmith apprentice would always try his best to protect the young asgardians under his control.

Though they were not too far away age wise, the gap between mentality could not have been bigger: Brogr felt a duty, a duty to have to safeguard these recruits. He... would not tolerate them to experience the horrors of wars that he had. He knew that he would be eaten alive by the guilt of not doing so.

It would kill him.

The barricade of the trench was cruelly made with the fallen and broken debris of nearby buildings. It was a disadvantage that the clearing that surrounded the keep was devoid of any such buildings. That made them easy picks for the enemy snipers and gunners.

"Sir, I am Brogr Gerrilsson, commander of the- "I know who you fucking are, filth." the lieutenant spat, with such venom that it nearly caused him to double back in shock, as if someone had struck a blow to him.

"S-sir?" he rudely and roughly grabbed him, shoving him to the side, towards the western part of the circular trench. "Get on with it you worthless scum!" he roared, none too gentle with his handling.

The recruits followed their leader as Brogr hastily made his way to his destination, already knowing what was expected to of him.
As they passed, the einherjar would continuously throw them dirty looks, as if they were some sort of plague. But the smith was much used to the treatment, however, a couple of hot headed recruits were not as calm as him.