Looks like Rumyantsev's already lit the fuse on this powder keg... Time to make my entrance.
Bionic Whale, surface!
BOOM—
What the hell was that?!
It's the bionic whale! It just breached through the ice!
Open all hatches. Deploy every unit we have.
Target the enemy base!
The arctic wind carries shards of ice that shriek against the metal tents of the base. This frozen expanse, designated the rear line, should have been the alliance's safest refuge, until the black shadow erupts from deep beneath the ice.
Soldiers barely make it out of their tents before countless hatches split open across the bionic whale's belly. Corrupted troops, bodies caked in grimy snow, pour out like a tide. The shriek of alloy scraping against ice fills the air as they advance.
Keep firing! Get the front line on comms, now!
People scream warnings and raise their weapons, but panic has already spread like a plague. For these reserve troops, the sheer number of Corrupted is more than they were ever meant to face.
Heh. Just as planned. However fierce their front may be, their rear's as fragile as a snowflake.
Level this place, link up with Rumyantsev, and this war is done.
Dammit! Watch your backs! Don't let them flank you!
The Corrupted soon swarm the headquarters, their advance underscored by distant screams and the groan of twisting metal.
Perched atop the bionic whale's spine, Fyodor watches the chaos below, his fingers drumming lightly against the blade at his hip.
The operation is proceeding smoothly, yet a persistent unease grips him. His attack was sharp and sudden, but the enemy's response feels... thin. Too thin. A hasty resistance shouldn't be the only answer.
Above all, one detail gnaws at him: he hasn't seen a single person flee from the base tent. Not one.
Wait. Could it be—
Bingo! Detonate!
A woman's cold voice rings out from within the tent. The next instant, flames erupt throughout the base as explosions thunder in rapid succession—
A sharp, cracking detonation followed by a domino effect of shattering booms. Flames wrapped in smoke and dust devour one building after another, each blast hammering a trembling crater into the snow.
The Corrupted have no time to react before the blast swallows them.
As the explosions collapse the ground beneath them, they sink back into the frozen sea, returning to the dark depths from which they came.
Always waiting before we're pushed into a corner! What's that commandant thinking?!
Palma's voice burns with rage as her mantis blades carve twin arcs of cold light through the sun-drenched air. In the same frozen instant, Fyodor spots the green-clad figure.
So the ambush walked into a trap. How... refreshing.
You haven't seen anything yet!
Palma doesn't wait for her words to finish. She launches herself from an ice ridge, her blade aimed straight at Fyodor's face.
I am Fyodor. One of the Frostheart Warlords, the strategist! You think those meager skills can touch me?
He is ready, his own short blade flashing up to meet hers. The clash of steel rings out, sharp and clear across the frozen waste.
I don't introduce myself to dead men!
The battle rages on. Fyodor glances below to see soldiers who had been hiding in the tents rushing out to engage the remaining Corrupted. But he realizes the truth too late: this isn't the real base. Someone anticipated him. The real base—and its personnel—has already been relocated.
You can't just hide a damn whale! Any idiot could guess where it went!
Yet you're here, intercepting me. That means my strategy struck a nerve. You fear me, and that's why you stayed.
To Palma's surprise, Fyodor's skill and speed match her own. She had assumed he was merely a strategist, a mind hiding behind the other Warlords. In reality, he is an agile close-combat specialist, just like her.
You ram-horned prick!
Their battle is a deadly dance atop the bionic whale's spine. Palma drives the assault, her mantis blades striking with surgical, vicious intent. Against her, Fyodor's defense is an art of millimeters. His short blade flashes, not to meet her force, but to deflect it, spilling her lethal energy harmlessly into the void.
Full barrage!
Just as Palma gathers herself for another blow, a deep, resonant hum vibrates up through the whale. Below her, heavy hatch doors begin to part, their seams traced with an eerie blue energy.
An opening!
Palma tries to fall back, but Fyodor spins with shocking speed, driving his short blade straight for her head. She barely crosses her mantis blades in time, but the force still slams her back a few steps.
From below, the bionic whale releases a deep, metallic rumble. Missiles scream from its launch bays, their searing heat scorching the edges of both combatants' clothes.
Struggling? It's not easy fighting on unstable ground like this—
—unless you're me, of course.
Cough!
Fyodor's strikes finally connect, driving Palma backward across the shuddering back of the whale. This is his domain now, a terrain of constant vibration. Using his frame's advantage and combat experience, he systematically presses Palma toward the open missile bays.
There's no escape!
Dammit!
Just as Palma tries to escape from the edge of the launch bay, Fyodor lunges at her. Their blades clash—his short sword locked against her mantis blades—and the mechanical joints in their arms glow a strained, furious red from the force.
Fine! Have it your way!
Trapped, Palma wrenches her right hand free and prepares to shove Fyodor back with all her strength.
Another opening.
What?!
With terrible timing, missiles suddenly roar from the launch bay at their backs. The violent shockwave catches Palma off-guard; her ankle twists and her footing gives way. In an instant, she is falling, pitching headlong toward the open maw of the launch bay.
It's over, Babylonian Construct!
A cold glint flashes in Fyodor's eyes as he retracts his blade, then thrusts it toward her chest—a strike meant to end the battle.
But just before the point pierces Palma's body, the sound of twisting joints suddenly echoes through the air.
Hm?
Fyodor's attack cuts only air. His target has already moved.
In the periphery of his vision, he glimpses Palma—her body bent into an inhuman curve to evade the blow.
Her right arm twists impossibly back, and the mantis blade extends to a length he has never seen.
Its destination is his chest. In the fraction of a second, the tip pierces his armor and drives deep.
A little body-bending's no big deal for a Construct, right?
Vital fluid gushes forth, instantly crystallizing into a spray of ice in the wind. His blade slips from a lifeless hand as his body goes limp, collapsing backward into the snow.
Heh... ha... your mods are more extreme than us hybrid types... cough—!
Palma doesn't let Fyodor finish. She tears her mantis blade from his chest. His figure plummets from the bionic whale's spine, crashes into the freezing ocean, and vanishes, the ripples swallowed almost instantly.
—!
Hnngg...!
A low, pained moan resonates from the bionic whale beneath them, a sound that feels both like relief and a final command. One by one, its launch programs power down, and the Corrupted begin to slow, their movements turning sluggish and uncoordinated.
Phew...
Clean up the rest! Don't let them near the real base!
—!
What's that sound?
Just as Palma thinks the problem is solved, ready to share the good news with her allies, a violent tremor ripples through the ice plains.
Then, a chorus of howls erupts—not the earlier shrieks of ordinary Corrupted, but something deeper, more guttural, as if echoing from the very depths of hell.
Guh!
Her head jerks up. In the distance, the ice plains fracture as dozens of cracks split the horizon. From each fissure, Hetero-Creatures pull themselves free, dragging long, crimson trails across the pale expanse of ice.
Hetero-Creatures... Why are they here?! I thought we were only fighting the Corrupted!
!
Hey! Snap out of it!
Aargh!
Chaos, held at bay for a moment, breaks loose once more. Screams—sharper, more desperate now—pierce the air, and blood begins to stain the virgin ice in vivid, spreading red.
From her vantage, Palma's fists tighten. Her heart plummets with every second. The Warlord is gone. The whale has stopped. But the battle below is only now descending into true hell.
