Incursion (III)

"What is it Cyril, I'm kind of busy right now you know." Alice asked, sounding somewhat exasperated over the phone.

"Alice, about that Longinus convoy you mentioned earlier, did it have anything to do with a double-decker bus?"

He heard Alice's breath hitch over the phone. After a while, she spoke again, the lull of her voice stilling the patter of the falling raindrops. "Cyril...where are you right now?"

"I'm in Ravenspurn—district nine. Two armored Longinus vehicles just used an automated double decker to ram another bus and flip it over, but something doesn't feel right about this, the guys from Longinus killed the driver and are about to leave with the bus he was driving."

"Tsk, they caught up to another one?"

"...Alice?" He wasn't sure what she was talking about, but one thing was certain—this was serious. If the situation could invoke that kind of reaction from someone like her, then it was far beyond the bounds of a simple evening robbery.

"Listen to me, Cyril—I'll keep this short," Alice said, her voice sharpening over the phone. "Those guys aren't with Longinus. They're part of a terrorist group called Cocytus. They hijacked one of Longinus' armories and stole equipment to blend in with the transport convoy—all just to steal the cargo, likely what's inside that bus. The main convoy was only for show; the real cargo might actually be inside that bus you mentioned. It's a military-grade vehicle, one of many disguised to avoid exactly this kind of scenario. But it looks like our entire plan's been compromised. They're not just attacking the dummy convoys—they're targeting the disguised transports too."

Her voice didn't crack, but Cyril had known her long enough to hear the restrained fury behind her words.

"As we speak, Cocytus operatives are tearing through Wharram, creating chaos with decoys and distractions. Their disguises are throwing Longinus' chain of command into complete disarray. I don't know if the bus you're seeing has the real asset inside—and at this rate, I'm not even sure we'll be able to track them in all this chaos—no, I guess this attack is a little too strategic for me to simply denounce it as mindless chaos. 'Incursion' would be a better word to describe the current state of affairs."

"...An incursion huh? I knew something was strange about all of this. What kind of cargo was the bus transporting anyway?"

Alice's breath hitched again, momentarily freezing over the phone. A few seconds passed before her voice would return, this time, it came with a more trepid intonation. "It's carrying the corpse of a new monster we discovered, the boss I encountered in that Genesis gate three days ago—a Nephilim."

The implication lagged in Cyril's mind. He hadn't encountered the creature himself, but the news had been running nonstop coverage of the recent Genesis Gate raid, they had always been a laborious effort but the most recent one defied all logic with a casualty rate of over eighty percent.

As the pieces clicked into place, a dark pressure crept up his spine. With tense, deliberate movements, he slowly turned his head to steal a glance at the military-grade vehicles behind him.

The armed men had yet to depart—it seems their earlier battering tactics weren't without cost. The vehicles needed a bit more time before they were fully functional again. Cyril's eyes scrolled over to the rumbling double decker, dented from the last impact but otherwise unhindered.

Who would have guessed that it was carrying something like that? Cyril mused inwardly, swallowing hard as the acrid taste of ozone clung to the back of his throat.

"You said you were in Ravenspurn right? I need to check on the other disguised transports before I can make my way over to you. The association has deployed a few hunters to assist with the situation, but right now they're spread too thin, there are too many major raids going on today, and it looks like they've managed to disable the tracking mechanisms on the Nephilim's pod somehow. I'll need you to stay on the phone and give me updates on the situation. You think you can follow them from a distance?"

"I guess so, I have a hard time turning down favors from you." Cyril said, unloading his backpack onto the wet roof. "Let me say this from now, tracking isn't really my specialty you know."

A soft chuckle came back over the phone. "I'm sure you'll manage kid, this little game of hide and seek should be nothing for you, it would be nice if we could capture a few of them alive, but I can't have you getting too reckless. Don't hesitate to defend yourself if things go south alright? If push comes to shove, use lethal force, these guys aren't playing around, they won't hesitate to riddle you with holes."

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"Yes, ma'am. You don't need to worry, I've got Ascalon right here."

"I'm counting on you Cyril—when this is all over that ginger beer I've been saving is as good as yours." Alice told him temptingly over the phone.

"Your ginger beer better be worth it. Oh, it looks like they're about to head out now, I'm hanging up. You have my location so that should be enough for you to find me, right?"

"Mhm, good luck." Alice muttered softly, her voice soothing him like the melody of a gentle breeze. With that, Cyril hung up the phone and stashed it away in his uniform pocket. For the sake of efficiency, he'd also discarded the soaked school blazer clinging to his white dress shirt.

He crept closer to the edge of the restaurant's ledge, taking a deep breath and calming himself. The combustion engines roared to life once again, and the small procession—double decker flanked by two armored cars — quickly sped off down the drenched road.

Cyril took a deep breath, tilted his head back, and muttered to himself, 'Here goes nothing.' The cold raindrops slammed mercilessly into his face—an oddly fitting prelude to whatever madness he was about to get himself into.

Upon peering over the ledge once more, he noticed the driver's body was gone—hauled off alongside the commandeered vehicle. Isn't that conscientious? He thought to himself.

He couldn't afford to let them out of his sight. As soon as the procession drifted about thirty meters down the road, Cyril vaulted over the restaurant ledge and landed atop a nearby building, leaping from rooftop to rooftop as he followed the taillights of the enigmatic procession into the night.

Babylon City, Sector Four — Wharram, Industrial District Thirteen.

The district functioned as an operational hub, shaped by its strategic location. It was the one of the few areas in Babylon with direct access to the country's most famous river, connected through a series of man-made diversion channels that formed an inventory port canal along the city wall.

The entire area was dedicated to logistics and operations, a vast expanse filled with warehouses, shipping containers, and heavy machinery. Under normal circumstances, it would have been the perfect fit for Babylon's artificial trading port, designed to facilitate the exchange of commodities with the rest of London. But at that moment, its intended purpose was forgotten. Now, Wharram's District Thirteen had become little more than a battlefield, its identity defined by the distant sounds of shockwaves and explosions echoing across the nightscape.

As soon as Cyril arrived in District Thirteen, one word came to mind: chaos.

He was making his way toward a nearby container yard, and with every step on the slick concrete, it felt as though the very streets trembled beneath him, the buildings quaking as if their foundations were being shaken loose.

That alone would normally have been cause for concern, but he also couldn't ignore the incessant screaming, magical chants, and brilliant flashes of light flaring up on the streets. With Longinus' chain of command being compromised and the hunter association's forces spread thin, it wasn't hard to see why the few members they had stationed here were being pushed back so hard.

They were effectively on their own at the moment.

Even as he dashed through the streets and leaped across rooftops, his eyes never strayed on the ensuing battles for very long, he still had a job to do and as flashy as they were, the flamboyance of the ground level conflicts was being drowned out by the blaring alarms and the flashing red lights atop the towering iron structures scattered across the district.

Dazzling atop the large towers, the siren-looking lights flashed their warning signals for all to see. It wasn't just one or two of them either, all across district thirteen, the same looping message blared from every direction, a feat made possible by the strategic placements of the towers across the cityscape.

[Emergency Alert: All citizens, evacuate immediately. Proceed to the nearest shelter and follow official instructions. This is not a drill. Warning… warning… all citizens, evacuate immediately....]

The alarms were originally intended to warn of major dungeon breaches, but they now served a different purpose. The message blaring from the emergency loudspeakers had become routine—just another signal for citizens to begin their flight.

Almost an hour had passed since Cyril began his shadowy pursuit, and although he managed to remain unseen for most of that time, he was getting impatient.

Damn it, just how many of these guys are there? APC's, MP rounds, submachine guns...they've got it all. He cursed inwardly, landing on top of a container and gritting his teeth at the scene unfolding below.

He had gotten a bit ahead of his targets just now, but that was fine, he knew where they were going, and he had come to realize something throughout the pursuit that saw him hiding in the shadows and leaping off buildings.

This event—an incursion for lack of a better word, was extremely well coordinated. The double decker bus he'd been tailing had joined up with a separate batch of armored vehicles shortly after leaving Ravenspurn, all adorned with Longinus' insignia.

They maintained a steady formation on their way to district thirteen, and whenever the 'real' Longinus units showed up to confront them, their procession broke off into smaller units with some staying behind to hold them off by whatever means necessary—roadblocks, shootouts, and every other means at their disposal.

It wasn't just people from Longinus either, hunters also appeared to confront them, but the showdown never lasted long because of the man—the 'guardian' riding in an adjacent armored vehicle, and tagging along as the bus' primary escort. He was someone Cyril knew he wouldn't be forgetting soon, not after witnessing him dispatch an entire unit with a single spell on the way there.

After looking around for a while, he found refuge on top of the largest container pile he could find. Now, all he had to do was wait.

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