Devil of Babel (MGSV:TPP x Arknights) [On Hiatus]

Prologue

Prologue

In the heart of a secluded forest, where the tranquility of nature was once undisturbed, a symphony of birdsong filled the air, their melodious chirps dancing among the leaves. It was a place untouched by the chaos of civilization and catastrophes, where the ancient trees stood tall and proud, guarding secrets older than time itself.

But the serenity of this peaceful sanctuary was about to be shattered. From the distant horizon, a looming black smoke began to billow upwards, a sinister stain on the azure canvas of the sky. It grew larger with each passing moment, creeping closer like an ominous harbinger of doom.

As the haunting plumes advanced, a cacophony of discordant sounds emerged from the depths of the forest. Gunshots rang out like staccato drumbeats, their sharp reports echoing through the trees. Blades clashed and struck, a symphony of steel meeting steel in a deadly dance. The relentless noise of marching boots added a rhythmic undertone, a steady drumroll of impending conflict.

Amidst this chaos, our focus narrowed to an elder man, a stranger to this world, sitting on the mossy ground. His back leaned against the gnarled trunk of an ancient birch tree, its bark rough against his green camouflaged-clad shoulders. In his bionic left hand, he gripped a robust gun, and in his right hand he held a cigar. On his shoulder, a grenade launcher was slung, a weapon of formidable power and destruction.

This figure, aged gracefully into his early forties, bore the weight of experience etched upon his face. One of his eyes was covered by an eyepatch, whilst the other is still open, his gaze is sharp and discerning, scanning the horizon with a mix of resolve and weariness. On his head, was a metal piece that is stuck on his skull, like a horn.

Behind him, a motley assembly of soldiers, each from different backgrounds, some are mercenaries, some are regular soldiers and conscripts, but others, were different from the rest. They all took cover in a shallow natural trench. They were his comrades, bound together by fate and necessity, their allegiances forged in the crucible of adversity for the Babel and its King of Fiends. Amongst them all are the Sarkaz fighters of Babel, formidable allies with their own tales of hardship etched into their weary, yet still fierce eyes.

Together, they huddled in the verdant embrace of the forest, In a makeshift trench as a bastion of resistance against an encroaching darkness. As the distant sounds of conflict drew nearer, they knew that the battle ahead would be unlike any they had faced before. The forest, once a sanctuary, had become their battleground, and the fate of worlds hung in the balance.

The man's gaze remained locked on the unfolding scene before him, his eyes calculating every movement of the approaching enemy. He was a man of discipline, and unwavering focus, a trait forged in countless battles across Terra, and his home far-far away.

Behind him, a white-haired Sarkaz woman, her crimson horns gleaming like jewels, held a crossbow steady in her hands. Her voice, usually laced with cruel sarcasm and other insults, now carried an unusual urgency as she whispered, almost begged, "Snake, get down from there. Get into this pit"

Snake, is the man's initial, was unmoved by her plea, continued to survey the horizon. His silence spoke volumes, a testament to his unyielding resolve. The girl's concern was palpable, and it was extremely rare to see her so openly distressed.

"Snake, the enemy is getting closer," she implored, her voice trembling with worry. "Get into this pit, now!"

Still, Snake remained rooted to the spot, his unblinking eyes locked on a distant point. As the horizon revealed the tip of an enemy Sarkaz's horn, a glint flickered in his gaze. With a steely resolve, Snake dropped his cigar then proceeds to stomp it as he rose to his feet and issued swift, decisive commands to his diverse assembly of warriors, each tasked with a crucial role in the impending battle.