Chapter 46: Battle of the Black Forest - Part 4

Chapter 46: Battle of the Black Forest - Part 4

The Schwarzwald, deep and foreboding, seemed to close in around the operators as they ventured further north. The ancient forest was thick with silence, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves underfoot. Colonel Isabelle Dumont, a woman of sharp features and sharper intellect, led the unit with her customary composure. Her tactical gear, dark and sleek, blended into the shadows, but her presence was unmistakable.

Julien Dufort, a seasoned operator, moved just behind her, his senses on high alert. He could feel the weight of the mission bearing down on them. This was not just another routine sweep; they were deep in enemy territory, and the stakes had never been higher. The mission parameters had changed rapidly—what was supposed to be a reconnaissance and clearing operation had morphed into an assassination mission targeting a high-ranking sarkic leader.

"Remember your training. Stay sharp," Dumont's voice crackled over the comms, a calm anchor in the sea of uncertainty that surrounded them.

The unit, comprised of seventy-six elite operators from the Gendastrerie, fanned out in a loose formation. Their movements were precise, almost mechanical, the result of countless hours drilled into them. They were the best of the best, and tonight, they would need to be.

The forest seemed to throb with an unnatural energy. The trees, ancient and gnarled, leaned in as if they were whispering secrets to each other. Every now and then, Julien could swear he saw movement in the corner of his eye—a shadow darting between the trees, a flicker of light—but every time he turned his head, there was nothing. It was as if the forest itself was toying with them.

The team moved cautiously, their eyes scanning every inch of the path ahead. The darkness was oppressive, their only illumination coming from the dim glow of their tactical lights. Even these seemed to be swallowed by the blackness around them, offering little comfort.

Dumont signaled a halt as they reached a particularly dense thicket. Her hand moved with practiced ease, issuing commands without a word spoken. The operators fanned out, forming a defensive perimeter as Dumont studied the map on her wrist-mounted display. The supposed location of the sarkic commander was just beyond this thicket, in a clearing that the map indicated was the center of some kind of ritual site.

Julien's breath caught in his throat as they advanced. The forest opened up to reveal a large, circular clearing, bathed in a sickly pale light that seemed to have no source. The ground was bare here, devoid of the thick underbrush that had made their progress so slow. At the center of the clearing stood a massive stone altar, its surface etched with symbols that seemed to writhe and pulse with a life of their own.

Dumont raised her hand, signaling the unit to hold their position at the edge of the clearing. She took a step forward, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the area. The altar was empty, but that did little to ease the tension in her gut. Something was wrong. The air was too still, too quiet, as if the forest itself was holding its breath.

"Dufort, reconnaissance," Dumont ordered, her voice barely above a whisper, but it carried the weight of command.

Julien nodded and moved forward, his steps careful and deliberate. His heart pounded in his chest as he approached the altar, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. There was something deeply unsettling about this place, something that made every instinct in his body scream at him to turn back.

As he reached the altar, Julien noticed something he hadn't seen from a distance—a faint, pulsing light emanating from the grooves in the stone. It was almost hypnotic, drawing him.

Julien's pulse quickened as he leaned closer to the altar. The pulsing light within the grooves intensified, reflecting off the sweat on his brow. He hesitated for a moment, then reached out to touch the stone. The moment his fingers brushed the cold surface, the air around him crackled with energy. A deep, rumbling voice echoed through the clearing, speaking in a language Julien couldn't comprehend. His hand snapped back as the light from the altar flared violently, throwing him to the ground.

The moment Julien hit the ground, the forest erupted in a cacophony of noise. Dark, twisted figures emerged from the shadows, their eyes glowing with an unnatural light. These were the Sarkic cultists, drawn to the altar by the activation of its power. The operators, well-trained and disciplined, immediately opened fire, the sharp cracks of their weapons breaking the eerie silence.

Colonel Dumont barked orders, directing her team with precision. "Defensive positions! Protect the flanks!" Her voice cut through the chaos like a knife.

Julien scrambled to his feet, his mind racing. The cultists moved with terrifying speed, dodging between the trees and closing the distance with unnatural agility. He raised his weapon, firing controlled bursts into the oncoming tide, but for every cultist that fell, two more seemed to take its place.

"Fall back to the tree line!" Dumont ordered, her eyes scanning the battlefield. She could see that the situation was rapidly deteriorating. The Sarkic forces were more numerous and better prepared than they had anticipated. This wasn't just a random patrol; they had walked right into an ambush.

As the operators retreated toward the relative cover of the trees, the ground beneath them began to tremble. Dumont's eyes widened as she realized what was happening. "They're channeling something through the altar! Take it down, now!"

Julien nodded, his fingers already moving to switch his weapon to a grenade launcher. He aimed at the base of the altar and fired. The explosion sent chunks of stone flying in all directions, but the altar remained intact. Instead of crumbling, the runes carved into its surface flared with even greater intensity.

Before Julien could react, a wave of energy erupted from the altar, washing over the entire clearing. The operators cried out as they were thrown off their feet, their minds assaulted by a deafening, incomprehensible chant that seemed to resonate deep within their skulls.

Julien struggled to stay conscious, his vision swimming as he tried to focus on anything other than the agonizing sound. Through the haze, he saw the Sarkic leader standing atop the altar, his robes billowing in the unnatural wind that had sprung up. The man's face was hidden in shadow, but his eyes burned with a malevolent light.

"Welcome, Foundation dogs," the leader's voice was a hiss, barely audible over the chaotic chanting. "You've wandered far from your den, only to find your doom."

Dumont, gritting her teeth against the pain, managed to push herself up on one knee. She leveled her weapon at the leader, but before she could fire, he raised his hand and muttered a single word. A surge of power shot from his palm, striking Dumont square in the chest. She was lifted off the ground and thrown back into the trees, her body slamming into a trunk with bone-shattering force.

"Colonel!" Julien screamed, forcing himself to his feet. He stumbled toward her, but before he could reach her, the ground beneath him erupted in a mass of writhing, fleshy tendrils. They shot up from the earth, wrapping around his legs and pulling him to the ground.

Julien fought desperately, slashing at the tendrils with his combat knife, but they were too strong. They twisted around his arms, his chest, constricting until he could barely breathe. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other operators suffering the same fate, each one ensnared by the living forest.

The Sarkic leader's laugh echoed through the clearing. "You thought you could kill me? Foolish mortals. I am but a conduit for the will of the Grand Karcist. Your lives belong to us now."

With a wave of his hand, the leader summoned more tendrils, which wrapped around the throats of the captured operators, lifting them into the air. Julien struggled, gasping for breath as the tendrils tightened their grip, cutting off his air.

Just as his vision began to fade, he heard a faint, familiar voice crackle over his earpiece.

"Julien... hold on..."

It was Dumont. Somehow, she had survived the leader's attack. He couldn't see her, but he could hear her, her voice a beacon of hope in the darkness.

"Don't give up... Reinforcements are coming... You just have to hold on..." 

But Julien's strength was failing. The world around him was growing dim, the sounds of battle fading to a distant murmur. He could feel the life draining out of him, his mind slipping into unconsciousness.

And then, with one final effort, Julien reached into his vest and pulled out a flare. He fumbled with it, his fingers numb and clumsy, but he managed to ignite it. The bright, burning light pierced the darkness, casting long shadows across the clearing.

The Sarkic leader snarled in anger, momentarily distracted by the sudden flare. That brief lapse in concentration was all Julien needed. With a surge of adrenaline, he tore one arm free from the tendrils and flung the flare toward the altar.

The flare landed on the stone surface and, for a moment, nothing happened. Then, the light from the flare seemed to merge with the pulsing runes, creating a blinding flash that engulfed the entire clearing.

Julien screamed as the light consumed him, feeling his body being torn apart by the raw energy. But just before he lost consciousness, he heard Dumont's voice one last time, clear and strong.

"Reinforcements are here. Hold the line!"

Then, darkness claimed him.

—

The commander of Alpha-6, at the forefront of the battle against the super-Behemoth, unleashed a series of powerful spells alongside his unit. They fought with ferocity, their magical attacks barely holding the massive creature at bay. As he looked toward Omega-7, he saw them finishing off the cultists that had previously attacked. Seizing the moment, eight members of Alpha-6 formed an eight-branched circle, chanting an incantation:

"Terra et saxa, consurgite in gigantem lapideum, protector nostrum!"

The ground trembled as earth and rock rose, forming a colossal stone golem nearly as large as the super-Behemoth. The two giants, one of flesh and the other of stone, faced each other, their eyes locked in a battle of primal fury. The golem, now fully animated, charged at the Behemoth with the force of a landslide, while the Behemoth roared in defiance, swinging its massive fists in retaliation.

Alpha-6 continued to support their creation, hurling spells and projectiles at the Behemoth, trying to weaken it enough for the golem to land a decisive blow. The battlefield was a maelstrom of elemental energy, the air crackling with the power of their combined magic. Every impact between the giants shook the earth, sending shockwaves through the forest, and the members of Alpha-6 moved with precision, coordinating their attacks to exploit any opening in the Behemoth's defenses.

The golem, empowered by the combined will of the thaumaturgists, slammed into the Behemoth with the force of an avalanche, pushing it back inch by inch. The Behemoth responded with a mighty swipe of its arm, sending the golem stumbling but not falling. The battle raged on, a clash of titans with Alpha-6's members tirelessly working to keep their creation standing.

The golem raised its massive stone fist, preparing to deliver a crushing blow to the Behemoth, but before it could strike, the Behemoth let out a guttural roar, gathering its strength for a counterattack. The two titans collided once more, their struggle pushing both to their limits, while Alpha-6 braced themselves for the outcome, ready to unleash their full power to ensure victory.

Each collision sent shockwaves through the battlefield, shaking the ground beneath the feet of Alpha-6. The golem, though powerful, was gradually being worn down by the sheer size and strength of the super-Behemoth. Despite this, the thaumaturgists of Alpha-6 did not relent, their magic fueling the golem with renewed vigor.

The Behemoth roared in frustration as it grappled with the stone giant. Its monstrous hands tore chunks of rock from the golem's body, but each time the golem would reform, the stones knitting together as the thaumaturgists poured their will into keeping their creation alive.

The battlefield was lit by the glow of their magic, the air thick with the scent of burning ozone and the metallic tang of blood.

Seeing the golem falter under the relentless assault, the commander of Alpha-6 barked out orders, urging his unit to concentrate their firepower. "Focus on its legs!" he commanded, realizing that bringing the Behemoth to its knees would be their best chance.

The thaumaturgists responded immediately, launching a barrage of spells aimed at the Behemoth's legs. Fireballs, lightning bolts, and torrents of arcane energy slammed into the beast, searing its flesh and causing it to stagger.

The Behemoth, sensing the shift in the battle, tried to retreat, but the golem pressed the attack, swinging a massive fist into the creature's side with enough force to crack ribs. The Behemoth howled in pain, retaliating with a vicious swipe that shattered part of the golem's arm. The golem, undeterred, drove its other fist into the Behemoth's knee, a sickening crunch echoing across the battlefield as the bone shattered.

The Behemoth stumbled, its massive form swaying as it tried to keep its balance. But Alpha-6 was relentless. Eight thaumaturgists broke off from the main group, their hands glowing with arcane light as they began to chant in unison:

"Terra et saxa, vinculum fortitudinis, destruite hostem

nostrum!"

A circle of runes appeared beneath the Behemoth, glowing with a deep, earthen light. The ground beneath it began to shift and crack, pulling the creature down as if the earth itself sought to swallow it whole. The golem, seizing the opportunity, lunged forward, driving its fist into the Behemoth's chest with the force of a battering ram. The impact was devastating, the stone fist driving deep into the creature's flesh, cracking ribs and pulverizing organs.

The Behemoth let out a final, thunderous roar of defiance as it collapsed to its knees, its strength failing. The golem delivered the finishing blow, a downward strike that crushed the Behemoth's skull into the ground, leaving nothing but a broken, bleeding corpse.

The battlefield fell silent, save for the heavy breathing of the Alpha-6 members as they surveyed the aftermath of the battle.

But there was no time for rest. In the distance, the remaining forces of the enemy were regrouping, and the commander of Alpha-6 knew that this victory, though hard-won, was only a small part of the larger conflict that lay ahead.

As the golem began to crumble back into the earth from which it was formed, the commander turned to his unit.

But there was no time for rest. In the distance, the remaining forces of the enemy were regrouping, and the commander of Alpha-6 knew that this victory, though hard-won, was only a small part of the larger conflict that lay ahead.

As the golem began to crumble back into the earth from which it was formed, the commander turned to his unit.

"Regroup," he ordered, his voice firm but tinged with exhaustion.

"We're not done yet. There's still work to do."

And with that, Alpha-6 prepared to face the next challenge, their resolve hardened by the battle they had just survived.

As the battlefield began to settle, a bone-chilling roar echoed through the forest, cutting through the air like a blade. The ground itself trembled violently under the force of the sound, sending waves of terror through everyone present. The soldiers of Alpha-6, along with the remaining forces, instinctively turned toward the source, their hearts pounding in their chests. From the distance, they could see a massive, grotesque shape rising from the depths of the forest, a writhing mass of flesh and darkness towering above the treetops.

The monstrous form was so vast that it seemed to eclipse the sky itself, and the sight of it left everyone frozen in fear. The battlefield fell into a tense, deathly silence, the previous sounds of combat fading into the background. Then, an ominous voice reverberated across the entire area, deep and filled with malice.

"You, members of the Foundation, who foolishly sacrifice yourselves for the weak—those who are nothing more than lambs waiting to be slaughtered by the strong—you are the true fools," the voice boomed, dripping with disdain. "But fear not, for I shall give you a choice. If your leader reveals themselves within the next hour, I will spare the lives of all others within this forest. But if not, once the hour has passed, I will begin to kill one hostage every minute."

The ground trembled once more as the monstrous entity raised several massive tentacles, revealing hundreds of captives—soldiers, agents of the Foundation, and members of the Gendastrerie—all bound and suspended in the air by their wrists. The sight of the captives, helpless and vulnerable, sent a wave of dread through the ranks of the Foundation forces.

Lina, who had been locked in combat with two cultists, froze at the sight. Her eyes widened in horror, and she felt a cold chill run down her spine. All around her, other operatives reacted similarly, their fear and anger palpable. The battlefield, once filled with the chaotic sounds of battle, was now eerily quiet as the reality of the situation set in.

In the command center of Site-DE-19, Léonard watched the scene unfold on the screens before him. His heart pounded in his chest as he scanned the faces of the captives, searching for any sign of recognition. As he zoomed in on one of the prisoners, an agent of the Gendastrerie, his breath caught in his throat. His eyes locked onto a familiar face, and a wave of shock and fear washed over him.

"Mom ?" he whispered, his voice trembling. The word barely escaped his lips as the gravity of the situation struck him with full force. The command room, filled with the tension of the unfolding crisis, went silent as all eyes turned to Léonard. The sense of dread that had gripped the battlefield was now reflected in the faces of those in the command center, their expressions mirroring the horror and fear that Léonard felt in that moment.