Battles Beyond (Book 1: The Fleeing Saga)

Forces (6/#1)

Hi everyone. I wanted to break up this chapter into parts due to its length. For those wondering, 6/#1 means Chapter 6, part 1. Same if you see (6/#2). That means chapter 6, part 2, and so on. I hope that's clear enough. With that out of the way, here's the chapter.

At his regular position, a being of dark hue stood. The screams of wind prevented the gallops of twenty thousand from being heard, but he waited in anticipation.

Even more, he waited and waited, his patience wore thin; but then, small punctures pierced the horizon. Defined by a natural border, the nudity of the base's lands was brown and bare and the rest lush with roses, even if many were frail and struggled to stay home. A peculiar craft suspended from the tip piqued his interest. The many clad in War Troupe attire followed to embellish this.

Around Wixin were munitions composed of huge, clear containers filled with razor grass alongside more traditional ones. These ornaments had tubing that led to the earth below.

Wixin, Supreme General Ippe, who was seated in the heart of Grand Station, wanted to hear if he did his job.

Yeah, bossman. He responded on the private communication line through the wire mesh underneath his uniform.

Have you done the inspections on your end? His voice was smooth and clear. This contradicted a three-metre frame of muscular green. He also had three equidistant horns at his chin that slightly hooked towards his throat.

Yeah, sir. All the munitions ready to fire.

Ippe wanted to bombard them as soon they were in range.

The soldiers at the perimeter facing the invaders were prepared on all levels—the munitions not so much. Prior battles took their toll but check-ups ensured they were fine.

"Pop off, fellas!" Wixin descended from his privileged position with appendages straightened and wind spanking his body, causing the stretched sides of his skull cap to flap.

His speed had to be reined in. Such a fast fall could hurt him.

As he neared the bare ground, his shoes swelled with helium. With his descent slowed, he gazed at the impending sight of devastation below.

First up was the Trim with their upright rectangular containers that spat their load through long and thick tubes.
Only a few minutes passed for their contact with flesh. Shed fluids and wails were carried by the wind. The dirt once more became victim to new gashes. They were unable to heal, for the breeze left each to fester.

Throughout this, a soldier named Jeh stumbled upon Cascachu's poor state.
His immense strength meant his wounds were skin deep. Not an ounce of fluid had spilt from his body.

Jeh, with three fellow soldiers he knew well, pressed forward, along with a few dozen less familiar to him.

Their movements ended at that moment. A great grass blade, primed and ready, and still a virgin to murder, tore through the squadron, and more joined to lengthen their agony.

Cascachu ignored what happened in front of him. He knew vengeance and victory were most important.

* * *

Crash imminent! Crash imminent! Doom bellowed from the alarm.

"Damn it, the visual plating is wearing thin. This grass is putting a number on us." Teinova's view of the outside world became more obscured with each plating failure.

"We've lost sight in twenty per cent of them. They're not going to hold for much longer." Zazavin reported this as streams of data ran in front of him.

Caught in the torrential clippings harvested from the grasslands, only one placed them in true distress. This blade of grass cleanly sliced the spike with guidance by a small fracture. The craft began to slide off. Their momentum slowed and they struggled to maintain balance.