We stacked up against the walls, moving from cover to cover, advancing in perfect synchronization.
Each of my death squad troopers covered a sector, their rifles barking in never ending single fire to the point their barrels and fire suppressors just like mine start glowing from overheating, suppressing choke points, flanking enemy positions, and cutting down hostiles with ruthless efficiency.
I barely had to give orders. They knew the plan. Half covered the corners. Another half secured rear guard.
I took the front, my Reaper held low, my rifle blasting apart any fool still clutching a weapon. The enemy? Panic stricken. Blind. Choking.
Some fired wildly into the gas, hitting nothing but walls and empty air. Others ran only to be gunned down.
A group of them tried to set up a barricade, dragging furniture, crates, and sandbags into a makeshift cover.
They didn't even finish before we tore through them with the help of our underbarrel grenade launchers.
I leapt over the barricade, my rifle firing in controlled bursts, each 6.8mm round punching through chests, snapping spines, rupturing organs.
A terrorist lunged at me from the side, his knife flashing in the dim light. Too slow. I parried with The Reaper, redirecting the blade away from my ribs, and sliced upward in the same motion.
His torso split open, blood spraying in an arc as he collapsed, gurgling on his own fluids.
To my right, Zero One ducked behind a pillar, dropping a frag grenade into a cluster of enemies huddled behind cover after pulling out the pin.
The explosion rocked the tunnels, shrapnel ripping through soft flesh, the shockwave leaving nothing but silence.
I stepped over the charred, smoking remains. The deeper we went, the less resistance we met. Not because we were winning.
But because they realized they had already lost.
Some dropped their weapons outright, clutching their heads, screaming. Others collapsed to their knees, surrendering.
The ones who continued fighting? They died where they stood. We gunned them down without hesitation, without emotion.
A man peeked around a corner, his rifle shaking in his grip.
BANG. A single shot punched through his skull, his body crumpling lifelessly. It didnt take long before the tunnel opened up into a massive chamber, the deepest level of the underground hideout.
The leaders were here. A group of pale faced men huddled near the center, surrounded by cowering, weaponless survivors.
Some of them shook in silent terror. Others stared at us, empty eyed, hollow, their hope long since gone. And behind them?
Nothing. No guards. No defenders. No last stand. They knew they couldn't win. I raised my rifle.
For a moment, silence stretched between us, broken only by the soft hissing of lingering gas, the distant groans of the wounded.
The annoying voices that would make most go mad in my head screamed for blood. Kill them. Gun them down. Make them a lesson My fingers twitched against the trigger But I didn't. Because I had a far better plan.
I slowly lowered my rifle, my breathing even, my heart still hammering from the adrenaline. The smoke, the lingering scent of blood, the distant groans of the wounded, it all pressed down on me.
These men would not die yet. I was going to use them. A public trial. A spectacle. The people needed someone to blame for their suffering. They needed monsters to hate.
And I would give them their villains. I turned to Zero-One.
"Put them in chains."
Zero One didn't hesitate. He gestured sharply, and my death squad moved in, pulling iron shackles from their belts, roughly securing the prisoners.
The captured terrorist leaders didn't even resist. They knew it was over. I exhaled sharply, feeling the adrenaline begin to fade. My limbs felt heavier. My chest tightened.
Something's wrong…
I turned on my heel, marching out of the underground bunker, stepping over bodies, spent casings, and pools of fresh blood.
The moment I emerged into the open air, I saw her. Lupa. She was covered in blood, her muzzle dripping red, her golden eyes watching me, a massive chunk of flesh still between her alloy fangs.
She was snacking. A fresh corpse, half-mauled, half-chewed, laid beneath her.
The Cerberus military police were already moving in, clearing the battlefield, dragging bodies into piles, lining up captured weapons, checking the wounded.
I felt my vision blur slightly. My breath came out in uneven, ragged gasps. I frowned.
Not good...
I thought, removing my fully enclosed helmet. The cool night air hit my sweat soaked face. I barely took two steps before I shouted.
"MEDIC!"
A team of field medics rushed over, their white armbands already stained with old blood. I spotted a relatively intact pile of sandbags and walked toward it, collapsing onto them.
The moment I dropped my rifle to my side, my limbs felt like lead. The medics surrounded me, one of them kneeling beside me as another immediately began removing my armor.
"Imperator do you feel any pain anywhere...?"
The first medic asked trying to diagnose my condition.
As they peeled off my armor plates, the bruises were immediately visible. Dark, deep contusions covered my chest, ribs, shoulders, arms basically any place that could have bruises It had.
One of the younger medics muttered in disbelief.
"His entire body is..."
Then, another medic spotted it. A small but steady trickle of blood seeping from my shoulder, arm and waists side.
It wasn't vital wounds, but they were there. A graze, a nick from shrapnel or a lucky bullet, slowly leaking red. The lead medic grimaced.
"You've got bleeding, Imperator. We need to clean and close it."
Another medic held up a syringe of morphine.
"It's going to hurt like hell. We'll give you a dose..."
I grabbed his wrist mid-air.
"No need."
The medics froze. I looked him dead in the eye.
"Just do it. I won't feel a thing."
He swallowed hard but nodded.
"Understood, Imperator."
Then, they got to work. Alcohol didnt burn one bit as they cleaned the wounds, wiping away dirt and blood.
A medic took out a sterilized clamp and began stitching. I watched the needle puncture my skin, pulling the thread through flesh, tightening, pulling again.
I didn't even blink. No flinching. No reaction.
The schocked younger medic couldnt help but run his mouth.
"He really doesn't feel anything."
The older medic grimaced as he finished stitching.
"Yeah It's f*cking unnatural."
They wrapped the wound tight in gauze, checking my bruises one last time.
By the time they finished, the captured terrorist leaders were lined up in chains, marched into formation.
A column of prisoners, their hands bound, their heads down, flanked by my death squad and Cerberus troops.
I watched them shuffle forward, their faces pale, exhausted, broken. Some kept their eyes forward, silent.
Others muttered prayers, begging whatever g*ds they worshipped to spare them. One of them, a former noble looked at me, his lips trembling.
"Please… please, Imperator. Mercy…"
I stood up slowly, puting back on my combat uniform, rolling my shoulders as my fresh stitches pulled slightly. I met his tear filled gaze.
"Nope not gonna happen you reap what you souw asshole."
He shut his eyes tightly, his face twisting in despair. I turned to Zero One.
"Ready to move?"
As I did zero one one saluted while answering.
"Yes, Imperator."
"Good help me put on my armor"
Hearing this zero one and a few others from my death squad did just that and once I was properly dressed once again I mounted Lupa, came to the collumns front with my death squad falling Into two rows, one row on my each side an we started marching back to the capital with cerberus military police flanking the prisoners making sure they dont get the bright Idea of trying to run away.
...
The streets of Nova Roma were alive. The city once choked by corruption and stagnation was awakening.
The people had gathered in massive numbers, flooding the grand boulevards, standing on balconies, rooftops, and terraces, waiting, watching.
A woman in a worn out shawl, her child clinging to her waist, gasped as she saw the first figures marching into view.
"By… the g*ds…"
She whispered. Her son, wide-eyed, barely ten years old, gripped her hand tighter.
"The Imperator…"
The boy murmured, his voice filled with awe. And then, she appeared. A massive, towering figure, a beast from legends and myths herself. Lupa.
Her golden eyes burned like molten fire, her massive, alloy reinforced paws stomping against the hardened dirt streets with thundering authority.
And on her back? Him. Their Imperator.
Clad in black battle scarred armor, dented and smeared with blood, a crimson half cloak ridled with bullets and scorched from explosions billowing behind him.
His helmet hung loosely from his belt, exposing his face, his sharp, commanding features still smudged with soot and war.
But what struck them the most… Was his eyes. Cold. Unyielding. Like a ruler carved from iron and shadow.