Incursion (V)

Cyril leapt down from his container and moved closer towards the transformed bus, finding vantage on another smaller stack of containers. From there, he saw the final stretch of this operation, no— incursion, begin to take shape.

Victor emerged from the transformed vehicle. "Bring the controller!" he demanded, his voice cutting through the rain. Shortly after, someone—the same timid lad from earlier—scuttled over to him with the blinking device in hand. Military grade equipment like that had no issues operating in the rain.

Victor snatched the device away from the man and used his fist to send the masked agent into a stumble. "I gave it to you for safekeeping, next time don't make me wait so long." he audibly tsked and turned away to face the large gate embedded into the great stone wall isolating Babylon form the outside world.

There was little the lacky could do besides suppressing his shriek as he hurriedly shot back to his position.

Victor manipulated the device, and with just a few simple clicks, the Macewalker was active again. It took two steps forward; weapons now trained on the access gate closing off the city's man-made canal.

Victor didn't hesitate—he pressed a few more buttons, prompting the Macewalker into action. A dull click echoed as the missile rack engaged once more. The machine swiveled with precision, locking onto its target before unleashing a barrage of high-speed projectiles. The roar of the missiles shattered the drab lull of the evening rain, each explosive impact slamming into the access gate in rapid succession, shaking the very foundations of the canal.

The rapid flashes of light spread across Cyril's hidden form, his face lighting up more from agitation than the blasts themselves.

After a while, the smoke cleared and the rumbling ceased, revealing a largely dented, but mostly intact access gate.

"So it's magically reinforced as well huh? I didn't hear anything about that." Victor muttered aloud as he stepped closer towards the loading berth near the edge of the yard. This time, the man took aim himself, keeping a hand by his side as he aimed his open palm towards the half-broken gate.

He began chanting, speaking a slew of jumbled, encrypted phrases and words that sounded like utter nonsense to anyone who wasn't a veteran at the magical arts. Proof of Victors proficiency came later, when the environment itself reacted as though it was being willed into action.

The air churned violently around Victor's outstretched arm, whipping and swaying as if a portion of the atmosphere itself were being drawn toward him. Even Cyril could feel it—he wasn't spared from the erratic gales tearing through the container yard. His hair and clothes fluttered wildly, and even the stacked piles of containers, each weighing several tons, rattled under the force of the wind compressing around Victor's arm.

Ordinarily, the structure of air was invisible to the naked eye, but the mass forming in front of the terrorist's palm had been compressed so tightly that it took on a hazy, shifting appearance. The effect was heightened by the current weather conditions—raindrops, drawn in by sheer chance, must have served as a convenient medium for light diffraction.

That sphere... its too dense, if he fires that —

The thought never fully formed in Cyril's mind. The ground jerk deftly beneath him, a powerful impact had toppled his balance and sent him tumbling backwards, but his eyes remained locked on the vague shape of a dense air bullet rocketing across the port and down the canal.

Three seconds later, the compressed bullet ruthlessly slammed into the access gate. On impact, its form collapsed and triggered a shockwave powerful enough to hurl a torrent of water, pieces of concrete, and even the reinforced gates themselves into the air.

It all happened too quickly. By the time Cyril's mind caught up, the iron gates had already come crashing down into the port waters below.

"Now then, we're on the final stretch, time to get out of here!" Victor announced, his command spreading through the yard like a wave.

A few of the armed men began loading three additional pods onto waiting motor yachts that cruised into the port bay and pulled up at the docks. The pod containing the Nephilim's body hadn't been moved as of yet, but it was only a matter of time before it got hauled off somewhere. Four cylindrical pods had been gathered there, and the Nephilim's pod was the only one displaying a silhouette on the other side of the see through glass. Of course, that left Cyril with only one conclusion to draw.

The other pods were fakes—a distraction. Those are the 'dummies' he mentioned earlier. At the thought, Cyril carefully craned his neck up and briefly glanced at the blinking lights floating far above the city.

He hadn't done so out of admiration, this wasn't the time to admire the nighttime scenery. Immediately after realizing the true purpose of the disposable pods, the name of a certain satellite came rushing back to his mind— Sirius MK I.

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The low-orbit station that constantly had the city of Babylon under its watch. Babylon was not a prison by any means, but it was far from the kind of place one could traverse as they liked, and that went for both entering and exiting the city. The massive wall sealing the city off from the rest of the world was under constant surveillance, captured by the watchful eye of a satellite lurking at the edge of the planet's orbit.

With that kind of security literally floating above their heads, it was no wonder the Cocytus operatives had taken care to prepare decoys beforehand. It wasn't enough to completely fool the response teams that were sure to come after them, but it was still good enough to buy time.

Shit, what now? I need to stop them from getting away with that thing somehow...

Cyril's grip hardened on the sword sheath in his hand. The desire to spring into action had been building inside him for a while now, but it was by no means a byproduct of bravery or moral virtue. The real reason was much simpler—Alice had only asked him to tail them unnoticed. But now that he fully understood what was happening, the hidden details compelled him to act, if only to stop the lesser of two evils.

Before he had the chance to see out the foolish idea that had surfaced in the back of his mind, something happened.

Cyril heard an engine roar, followed by the ear-splitting screech of tires scraping against wet asphalt. His head snapped around instinctively—two armored vehicles, resembling humvees, were closing in fast. One of the soldiers was already halfway out a window, an anti-tank grenade launcher braced against his shoulder. The scope flickered, shifting to a deep red as it locked onto the towering war machine.

Cyril exhaled in quiet relief. There was no need to question their allegiance. They were on his side. He clenched his fists, silently vowing not to waste this chance. Starting with the Macewalker, his eyes surveyed the area moments before the inevitable clash, taking note of all the key targets he needed to strike before the brief window of opportunity closed.

Rate of fire, enemy numbers, ranks and classes...not a problem. That Victor guy, he's powerful but if I play my cards right, I can win. Alright, let's do this!

The approaching assault was impossible to miss. Victor was the first to notice the incoming attackers, charging in with weapons drawn. Without hesitation, he barked a sharp command to the men around him. They instantly snapped to attention, forming a defensive perimeter to shield him, and the exposed pod that nestled at the very back of their formation.

With his guard in place, the wind magician resumed his chanting. He widened his stance as the wind roared to life, swirling violently around them in preparation for the magician's assault.

The Longinus response team was well-trained. Several others had taken up positions similar to the lead attacker wielding the launcher, their weapons ranging from magical spells to more anti-materiel launchers, all aimed squarely at the target—even while maintaining awkward stances atop moving vehicles. Yet despite the chaos, the operator wielding the anti-tank launcher managed to secure a clean lock. Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger, sending the projectile soaring through the air, its path traced by a hail of gunfire.

The Macewalker required no further signal to act. The missile rack grafted to its cockpit retaliated instantly, followed by a rapid salvo of gunfire from the armed men standing at its feet—but none found their mark. Transparent shields of light enveloped the vehicles, absorbing the brunt of the assault. Neither the Macewalker's barrage nor enemy gunfire inflicted critical damage. The convoy pressed forward undeterred, enduring the onslaught as their respective weapons clashed midair, igniting a storm of flashes and fireballs that lit up the container yard.

The intense battle had broken out in what seemed like an instant, but thus far, no actual damage had been dealt to either side. Ironically, both sides were using the same method to negate the attacks sent their way. The magicians riding in the armored vehicles had projected shields to protect themselves, and as for the Macewalker—it too had done the same.

A layered structure formed from numerous pentagonal cutouts was deployed by the Macewalker as a defensive countermeasure. Machines developed through magical integration lacked the genuine 'intent' needed to channel mana in sophisticated ways, but simple applications such as barriers and shields were still within their capabilities.

The Longinus agents pressed on, undeterred by the impressive counter. Even though they had failed to land a blow to their main target, a few of the men scrambling around at its feet were not as resourceful. The shield projected by the machine was concentrated at the top, directly in front of the Macewalker—where the scope-looking eye monitor was, hence the reason why several of the men returning fire had been felled so easily.

The officer wielding the anti-tank rifle tsked again and swiftly loaded another round into the barrel, barking a new order as he did so. They were gaining ground, the shields protecting their vehicles from the counter fire were holding strong, the Macewalker's missile barrage wouldn't be able to break through it in time.

Now, the distance between them was the only real obstacle in the way.

With the weapon still braced, the agent arched the muzzle upward, intending to deal the finishing blow to the large polygonal shield that already had a litany of cracks spreading across its surface. His index finger curled around the trigger, less than a second away from deploying the explosive projectile, but before he had the chance, something happened.

The indecipherable chants being drowned out by the sound of pouring rain ceased, and then, the earth itself shuddered from the force of a single invocation.

"Zephyr!!!"

An unstoppable maelstrom was unleashed from Victor's hand.

The blast of wind assumed the vague shape of a vortex, one that twisted and churned as it spiraled towards the two vehicles charging for its caster. In the next instant, the asphalt rattled from a dull boom—torn asunder by the force of the spell as it rippled through the yard. It was too fast, there was no time for the Longinus operatives to execute any evasive maneuvers, and as a result, the entire area jerked deftly from the force of the spell.

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