Chapter 224: Buzzsaw

December 8th, 625

I vanished before one of the dozen Royals around me could get a lock. Their attacks came anyway, but I used my boots to slide out from my prior position, the attacks hitting the ground. 

There had been some close calls so far, which was scary considering it had only been 11 minutes since our battle started. 

Umara’s squad managed to hold their own against the Authority 10, and since that thing didn’t want to pay attention to me, I was slaughtering its troops by the dozen. 

It would take time to kill all of them single handedly but after my advancement, stamina seemed to be all I had. 

My bullets were endless. I was dumping backpacks like they were magazines but I had my armory within my Mind Space preparing more in overtime. Belts were linked and piled into packs, readying for further use. 

Whenever a barrel started to melt I’d send it to the armory to cool and clamp on another. Even then I was breathing fire more often than not. My finger never left the trigger except to reload and evade. 

The Royals around me were growing frustrated. They couldn’t touch me. I’d always disappear before they could even begin to pin me down. The second I got caught in a single position, I’d be dead. Spells were flying by the hundred and I had no business eating any of them. 

I eyed the last Hog Rider, appearing once more and unloading into it. The rider was shot full of holes, my tracers trailing down to the hog and hitting its vitals before I vanished once more. 

A Royal slammed into my position a half second later. I was cutting it close every time I appeared, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t shoot. 

I sent out three clones, all of them sprinting with the full power of my boots and unloading on the troops. I was among them, watching the Royals in the corner of my eye as they were distracted by fakes, taking one out at a time, buying me valuable seconds to do some heavy damage. 

Yet, I couldn’t help but feel like it wasn’t enough. 

I vanished as soon as I felt some danger, a Royal screaming out in rage and launching its magic anyway, pelting my previous position in fire. Suddenly, I turned toward the Bombardos, letting off some clones to distract the Royals for a while longer. 

I glided up to get in range, then kneeled and took out a new weapon. 

“Baby’s first launcher.”

I hoisted an AT4, ripping the pin, popping the sights, folding the safety lever, and clamping down the second red safety lever. 

I took aim, getting my sights lined up with the head of the first Bombardo, pumping the HEAT round full of Psyka.

Then I pushed the red button lightly, firing the launcher and watching the projectile fly toward the Bombardo. 

It hit just off center of its face, yet it was still close enough to blow a hole through its braincase and dig into the rest of its bulky body. It collapsed with the explosion of the projectile, my next launcher prepared before its body hit the floor, leaking red gases. 

Royals started heading my way, but I got off another launcher before they could reach me, sending another Bombardo to hell and vanishing.

Two of six dead. 

I ran from the Royals, none of them able to keep track of me, and prepared another rocket. I didn’t dump in as much Psyka this time because a full load took a massive chunk of my power. I was already tired. I didn’t need to exhaust myself so early. 

We were only 14 minutes in. 

I shot the rocket from stealth. It gave away my position but I simply relocated before any Royals could even brush me with heat, the snow around me cooling spellfire. 

One after another I took down the Bombardos, none of them able to be protected. The last three let off some shots in a panic but it did nothing of value. 

Just the way I liked it. 

I took a glance back at Umara’s squad. Still alive, but rapidly losing their energy. Evading an Authority 10 was no joke. It would take everything they had. 

I just needed to kill as fast as I could. 

I ran back to the main force and brought out the M240LWS once more, linking it to a backpack and unloading. I could hear and feel every single round when they kicked into my hand and shoulder. My holographic sight snapped from enemy to enemy, sometimes hovering over groups as I peppered them with tracers. 

But the enemies were thinning out after I killed a few hundred, spreading and hiding as much as they could. I was an untouchable enemy slaughtering them dozen by dozen, and none of them knew what to do. 

But they were also getting tougher. All the Scouts were already dead and I had killed all the Hog Riders. Now I was working on their escorts and the Authority 7 and 8 combatants, but each successive enemy took more rounds to kill. 

I could dump tons of Psyka into these machine guns, but no single round took that much. They were all lightly empowered, enough to enable them to do some damage, not enough to drain me of all my Psyka with a single belt. But that meant every enemy was eating rounds like candy. 

I needed to get more out. It felt like 800 rounds a minute was slow. I could count the milliseconds between each shot, feeling the components in the gun shifting and interlocking with every chambering. 

It was too slow. 

Unfortunately, there was only one other weapon that could spit out more. I’d use the M2 Browning but that needed to be mounted somewhere and staying in one place was exactly what I couldn’t do. 

No, I needed the weapon that was just a step below a minigun, one of the most feared machine guns ever made. 

I reached into my Mind Space, looking up at my 7 active Stars, the 7 dimensions of eras and weapons. 

“I don’t care where you need to come from. I know you’re out there. Respond to my Call, and bring me Hitler’s Buzzsaw.”

I saw all 7 Stars light up in response. Then they all dimmed, leaving the 5th star of the World War 2 era. 

Deep within, further than I’d ever explored, it was there. It sat in the deepest recesses of the dimension, not hiding, just waiting. 

I reached out and grabbed it, noticing its uniqueness. This wasn’t just a standard spirit. This one came with powerful memories, ones that I couldn’t avoid. 

I suddenly ran to the side, finding a palace at the top of a hill to sit. Then, I made contact with the spirit. 

My vision blanked, the memories rushing through my mind, and yet I managed to retain my sense of self. I viewed them like a spectator, my Spark set to run my Stealth as I went through this out of body experience. 

I found myself dropped in a frozen hellscape, sitting with other troops behind buildings or snow cover. I was mounted behind my machine gun, the MG42, a long belt of rounds draped over the arm of my partner next to me. 

I looked down and saw the markings on his uniform as well as those on the gear of troops nearby. There were several swastikas, a couple subtle insignas denoting the Waffen SS, and further, I caught a glimpse of something these memories intuitively recognized. 

The icon of this unit. It wasn’t the only unit but this particular one I was among was special. 

The 3rd SS Panzer Division. 

Totenkopf.

My vision flashed, and suddenly I was in heated battle. 

We were surrounded, fighting back the Soviets as they attempted to wipe us out with their encirclement. The MG 42 before me was suppressing one of the incoming enemy units, slaughtering any who dared step out from behind hard cover. The sheer volume of bullets could cut a man in half. 

Behind me there were wounded being loaded into an airlift. Our job was to protect it so it could leave and return with supplies. 

We held the line. 

My memories flashed again. 

More supplies dropped, but more casualties, more deaths mounted as several months passed. I hoisted the machine gun, my left hand gripping the bipod for stability, and marched forward while sweeping across advancing enemies. 

It was difficult to see well with the snow and the trees providing cover, but I knew that I didn’t need to see the enemy to kill them. It only took a moment, just a step away from cover to fill a  man with lead. 

Trees could be whittled down, even cut with enough bullets. It only took one of many bullets to injure and incapacitate a man. Trees only kept you safe for as long as you cowered behind it, or as long as it took for you to become stupid enough to step beyond it into fire. 

Why anyone would advance into my field of fire, I didn’t know. But it was not my job to question. It was my job to kill those who presented themselves to me. I would have no mercy for my enemies. Mercy was a privilege for those already dead. 

In a way, to kill them was to grant them that mercy. 

After many months we found our opportunity to break through the encirclement. Many tens of thousands fell in the process. I didn’t know how many dozens I killed, how many hundreds I wounded, but it was only done with cold malice, that much I knew. 

The encirclement was broken, the bone chilling cold long seeped into my bones. It forged the discipline necessary not just to survive, but to operate at the level demanded of me. 

We were Elites. We were the living weapons that the anvil of this war had forged, every enemy another swing of the hammer to temper our skill and spirit. 

We marched out of the Soviet Union and left for France. 

More enemies to kill, more bullets to fire. No amount of enemies could stand in the way of the MG 42. 

It was a killing machine, not as efficient as many others, but capable of delivering brutality unlike them all. 

There were few weapons greater. 

My vision flashed again, and suddenly I found myself back on the biomat. 

I could see the Scourge in the distance. I looked down and found the MG 42 in my hands. 

There were some faint stains of blood on the frame, scuffed metal and blemishes riddling the body and stock. It certainly wasn’t as refined as the M240LWS I had been using. 

But I could feel the malice coming from it. This thing had killed, had murdered. It had been to many battlefields, had done things that couldn’t be uttered. 

It was death made metal, and there was nothing more comforting as I stared down the hordes before me. 

My armory already had an ALICE frame and stacked belts of 7.92x57mm Mauser ready. The pack was heavy, bulky, but necessary for the volume I needed to put out. 

I glided down toward some clustering monsters. I hadn’t fired for nearly a minute since the memories took hold. The Royals had gone back to harassing Umara’s squad. 

I stepped up to the rear of the monster lines, releasing my stealth and hoisting the machine gun with one hand grabbing a leg of the bipod at its front. 

I didn’t even bring it up to my shoulder. I didn’t need to. I knew exactly where I was aiming. My enemies didn’t have cover. As a consequence of their biomat tainting the surface of this planet I would teach them why bringing down the barriers between us was worse for them than for me. 

“Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.”

My voice carried into the minds of every monster and humanoid on the battlefield, their eyes all turning to me. 

I felt no fear under their disgusting gazes. Those appalling forms instilled only revulsion. 

That which did not belong in this world should be eradicated from it. 

I brought back the trigger, feeling the frame kick back into my arms at a rate that threatened to vibrate out of my control. I tightened my grip, feeling the weapon breathe malevolence and sweep across the faces of my enemies. 

My power, sitting two Authorities above what this weapon should handle, threatened to overload the spirit. Yet it gave no protest. The malice radiating off of it only grew with every second, with every enemy that we sawed in half. A breeze brought the dense stench of acrid blood to my nose and the weapon seemed to drink it in. 

The weapon fired faster, so fast that even the Royals that turned to attack me were repelled. A mere few seconds of concentrated fire was enough to make them reel in pain, bullets often embedding themselves into flesh and muscle, not killing them outright, but threatening to should they continue to pursue recklessly. 

I vanished before a spell could bombard my position, shifting my angle of fire and using my boots to carry me beyond the range of those Royals. 

My fire almost never stopped. I was so engrossed in killing what was before me that I barely noticed the barrel start to spit flame after a full minute of sustained fire. I continued despite the supposed damage I was doing to the gun, heat radiating toward my hand, threatening to scorch my gloves. 

Dozen by dozen I slaughtered the escort forces and any remaining Authority 7 or 8 combatants. Umara’s squad held, but they were tiring faster. 

18 minutes. 

I gripped the bipod harder, willing the weapon to cycle faster. It responded with even greater volume, more fire from the barrel, and raging malice. 

It responded to the hate that I held for the Scourge and what it had done to those I knew. It responded to the hate I held for those who refused to fight for what they needed to. Those who shirked their duty in favor of cowardice or complacency. 

Or worse. The thoughts of the traitors I had killed and the traitors I knew I missed caused the weapon in my hands to redden with wrath and fury. The barrel glowed brightly out of sheer heat and for some time I worried it would melt. 

But I demanded that this spirit meet my expectations. For attempting to punch above its weight class I was demanding performance that no other weapon could give. 

It breathed red-hot hatred, as if each bullet were venting it instead of adding to it. Steam rose from the frame as falling snow boiled away. 

Minute by minute passed, enemy by enemy fell. The Royals chased me with desperation as I reduced their force to ruin but there was nothing they could do before, and there was nothing they could do now, not even with all 15 of them.

And finally, I killed all but those Royals. They screamed in hate when I reappeared a distance away from them. 

Then, I turned toward the Authority 10 chasing my friends. It too moved with bursting fury, attempting to kill those that refused to allow it a single hit, hateful at the one that slaughtered its forces, even more hateful at those that were unable to kill me. 

My Aura reached out, crashing into its mind. I had to admit that it was far more powerful than my Aura but that didn’t mean I couldn’t easily divert its attention. 

It turned to me with a snarl, earning my friends some reprieve. I stared it down and willed my disdain to reach it. The thing screamed at me in defiance. 

“Power is wasted on something as filthy as you. You can’t even kill those you deem weaker. What a fucking disappointment.”

“I will rip out your spine!”

“Empty words. 5th squadron, retreat.”

Umara, Feiden, Tana, and Jaya all shot away. The Authority 10 turned to give chase but a sharp stab with my Aura to its brain was enough to get its attention back. 

“Hey, you worthless insect. Are you a freak of the Anarchy bloodline?”

“Do not speak his great name lest I rip off your jaw!”

“Please, I stared down Anarchy once. I’ll do it again and I’ll laugh at its retarded form as it mindlessly swings those primitive weapons. If you survive today I want you to deliver a message.”

I lowered the barrel of the MG 42, the heat dissipating in the cold atmosphere as my Aura made me flicker away. 

My words were seared into its mind. 

“Tell that thing that I’m waiting for it to come try and kill me again. Tell it to send its minions. Tell it to send its traitorous agents within humanity. Tell it that John Cooper is getting impatient. If I’m not killed soon, then I’ll keep building weapons that will annihilate every last one of you revolting heathens.”

It sneered back at me.

“Hah! Your tiny human brain cannot fathom the might we withhold!”

“No, I know exactly how strong the Scourge is. I’m telling you that the weapons I will build are not something that you could possibly conceive of. What I’ve built thus far is only the beginning, far from the end. I will arm every soldier with machines of war that will eradicate you by the million.”

I vanished before a Royal could try and get to me. 

“The Scourge will learn to fear me, for I will bring unto you a kind of war that will garner you sympathy from those capable of it. One day, I will roll across your territories on treads of steel, level your cities, exterminate your filthy spawn, and crush the necks of your Kings under my boot. You should pray that I die before then.”

I finally left with those words, gliding away on my boots, the weapon still in my hands and glowing with wrath. 

There was one thing on my mind as I crossed the distance silently. 

I hadn’t reloaded once since bringing out my new gun.

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