Bent Fate (An Arknights Fanfiction)

Chapter 61

One heavy foot moves forward.

"Doctor, do we still go with our plan?" Ch'en asks (Y/N).

The wendigo marches like an unstoppable, heavy war machine, slowly but surely moving towards Kal'tsit and Amiya.

"We do. Just take the others into account." (Y/N) faces the rest of his team, particularly those wielding melee weapons. "All of you, go with Kal'tsit and Amiya, same goes with the snipers."

Mont3r hisses aggressively, parts of its stone body rising, as if trying to make itself look bigger and intimidating than it already is.

Ch'en runs past (Y/N), followed by all of the D.S.G., save for Mostima, standing still and holding a gaze at the Doctor.

"If we have to fight them, at least we'll make it, so that they won't have to do so for a long time." he pondered, before looking up at the sankta caster waiting for him. "Decimate them."

She smiles. "Why that word specifically? You could've just gone with 'finish', or 'destroy'."

"You know I was really hoping if we fight we fight fast. Chat later, okay?"

The sankta gets a hold on both of her staves, and asks him one more question in a teasing manner. "Don't you think you're really a lucky guy, Doctor?"

(Y/N) just sighed, a gesture Mostima can only see and not hear, and she won't even see it.

She walks as casually as she would in a park, going to the middle of the thoroughfare, way past Patriot, while the latter is being targeted by sniper fire and swarmed by guards and vanguards.

The shieldguards marched steadily, not saying a word to the single person standing in between them and their captain.

She takes out a compass. "Wait, no, not this..."

Slipping it back to its pocket, she takes her phone out, checking the time. "O-kay... so... it's already past 1:30?"

Mostima pockets her phone and grabs her staff that was leaning on her, walking a few more meters forward. "That much time passed...?"

She stops, but the guerillas didn't. They shouted, "Shields up!"

(Y/N) stays still where he's at near the side of the road, checking his wristwatch.

"I said make this quick, Mostima."

The sankta's stomach grumbles, making her look down on it.

"Ah, wonder where we'll be eating after this..." she asks herself, as a bright light resembling a cross appears behind her.

She moves the staves in front of her, one staff over the other, then swings them away from each other.

As Mostima moved as if paving a way in front of her, her arts came out in the form of ripples of light, expanding away from the caster.

The ripples passes through the thick metals worn and held by the guerillas, retaining its curved form, while pushing them with a force enough to send them back by a few meters.

The men clad in blast suits, metal armor, all slid backwards, their heads covered by intimidating helmets looking at each other, as they heard the voices of their lighter infantry.

Projectiles from their snipers were nothing against the wave, and were flipped over mid air, with some being snapped into pieces.

They are hurled away, tossed into the buildings or to the hard road where their bones broke if not fractured only. An unbearable suffering, they would rather be killed instantly by Mostima's first attack.