The Grey Chronicles Part Two: Under Siege.

Chapter 34: To Life and to Death.

The Blood Forge, surface of Stonehaara One, August of 8096 AL.

Augustus heard the screams from his hiding place in the trees. He took that as his cue and barged through the gates; he got a running start to build momentum, then crashed through the gates like a battering ram. Beyond the walls he found the bridge, a clear path to the spire. He barreled down the path towards the ominous tower, calling over the radio as he went.

"Commence the attack!" he screamed into his headset, "I repeat, all units commence the attack!"

Someone tried to answer, but their voice was drowned out by hounds barking excitedly over the radio. Augustus' minimap showed a mass of movement behind him, catching up quickly. Above his head he heard helicopters, then gunfire as the Wolverines passed overhead. Augustus managed to make it two-thirds of the way across before the dogs caught up with him; he heard their baying and howling as soon as they were within a hundred yards of him, and seconds later they were running alongside him. He picked up speed as the doors came into view; he watched the Nephilim slam the door, he imagined they had some lock or crossbar in place. Not that it would matter.

The plasma cannons flanking the doors turned their barrels towards him, and he responded in kind; the rotary cannon attached to his shoulder revved up and fixed its aim to the turrets, a moment later spitting twenty-millimeter chunks of spent uranium into the wall. The turrets never had the chance to fire before they exploded. Augustus smiled internally.

Thanks, Murphy, he thought to his AI. An exaggerated Scottish brogue replied.

"Aye, can't have the bastards rippin' yer mutts to pieces before they've had their luncheon," the AI said. His accent was an exaggerated version of Augustus' that he had started using to pick on his host. Augustus didn't mind much, he found it funny. "I'll watch yer back, let me handle the big gun."

Sounds like a plan, Augustus thought back as he raised his arms. The double doors were fast approaching, he could hear the Nephilim screaming behind them. Murphy took control of the rotary cannon and turned it on the doors, the shells ripped through the wood with ease and into the soft bodies beyond. Moments later, Augustus threw his shoulder into the weakened barrier, his momentum carrying him through it as if it were paper. Splinters flew in all directions, empty brass spilled from his shoulder as the cannon turned to fire on anything not directly in front of him. Those poor souls caught in front of Augustus were crushed between a rock and a hard place as his momentum carried him into the inner wall like a freight train, squishing several Nephilim against it. The hounds flooded in behind him, racing up and down the stairs to chase the Nephilim that had crowded around the door. The way the Forge was built, a squadron could hold the bridge for an eternity; the bridge was narrow, the doorway even more so. Attackers had to approach two at a time, bottle-necking them at the entrance with plasma cannons firing on their reinforcements. However, this strategy only worked for as long as they could prevent the attackers from getting past the doorway; a task they had quite obviously failed.

Augustus stepped away from the wall and examined the stairwell; a horde of Nephilim stood on either side, pressing forward in a vain attempt to force the attackers out of the spire. several hundred hounds shoved their way through the doors, a flood of teeth and fur and rage that seemed to greatly enjoy dragging the Nephilim away from their ranks one at a time. Many fell to the enemy's swords, but this only urged the others to fight harder; a hound would grab one of the Nephilim by their ankle and drag them away, into the sea of fur where tooth and nail would rip them to shreds. The agonized screams of the Nephilim were no longer fake, but filled with actual fear as they tried to retreat up the stairwell.

Their commanders wouldn't allow it; the higher ranked Nephilim pushed back, forcing their soldiers to face the slobbering maws that threatened to devour them. The Nephilim accepted their fate and fought with greater resolve, beating back the mutts to the best of their abilities, even when Augustus decided to join the fight; Murphy turned the cannon on the horde above and let loose a stream of high-velocity metal as his host waded through the sea of fur. Augustus approached the front of the Nephilim ranks and raised his hands above his head. Spikes shot from his arms, then he crushed a small group of the gray-skinned creatures. He brought the tree trunks back above his head, then swept his arms across their ranks, throwing them several meters in either direction. The cannon kept firing, ripping through the reinforcements that swarmed from the barracks above to replace those he killed. Their formation faltered, regardless of their commander's attempts to force them back into the fray. They prepared to run, to flee the melee, until their true leader came stomping down the stairwell.