The thunderous rattle of gunfire echoed throughout the battlefield. Inhuman shrieks echoed from beyond the trench as alien creatures were blasted to bits, their organic, armored carapaces punctured by armor-piercing rounds. Those who were hit twitched, their innards spilling out of their perforated bodies before they slumped over, only to be trampled by their brethren.
"Fire! Fire at will!"
The marine commander hollered, and without missing a beat, he set his pulse rifle against the eroded ground and let loose a volley of gauss. The spiked pellets punched through another shrieking hellhound, causing it to screech and flail about before it fell over. Then it vanished under the feet of its brethren, killed underneath the crushing claws of its brethren rather than the deadly gauss rounds.
"Damn it!" the lieutenant cursed under his breath. This time, his voice was not transmitted across the transponder and into the armored helmets of his men. A row of ten marines scythed down another two dozen hellhounds with coordinated firepower, but still they kept coming. There were hundreds of hellhounds bounding across the barren terrain, swarming over the blackened soil like a living carpet of locusts.
"Fall back! We can't hold them!" one of the marines yelled, faltering. Three of his comrades followed him, slightly inching away from the trench.
"Belay that order! Stand your ground!" the lieutenant barked. Command had not given the order to retreat…in fact, they had ordered him and his men to make one final stand…and give up their lives for the Terran Empire. And the officer was going to make damned sure that they sell their lives dearly and made the alien scum pay with copious amounts of blood for every millimeter they gained.
As Marines of the Terran Empire, their loyalty to the Emperor was absolute.
Despite the prodigious amount of firepower poured into the relentless lines of hellhounds, the demonic creatures eventually reached the trench. Bearing some resemblance to wolves or hunting hounds of old Earth, these hellhounds actually spawned on hellish worlds taken over by demonic incursions. Spiked frills spread from around their necks, they snapped at their prey with bio-metal jaws filled with dagger-sized fangs. Their wickedly curved claws could ravage a civilian vehicle without effort, and their blood-red carapace protected them from most small-arms fire. Only military grade weapons were capable of blowing them apart.
And they were just the vanguard troops…the cannon fodder. The lowest life forms, with only the ghouls being ranked lower than them. And those ghouls were never meant to be combat troops to begin with – they were worker-slaves that mined and collected resources to feed the ravenous engine of war to summon more demons into this dimension.
"Kuh!"
In the face of such terrifying beasts, the marines held their ground. Clad in power armor with high tensile microfibers and titanium plating, they weathered the onslaught, slamming the red-hot barrels of their rifles into the midriffs of the first wave of hellhounds and firing pointblank into the monstrous creatures.
"Fix bayonets!" the lieutenant ordered. The marines clicked a switch as one, and diamond-tipped titanium blades slid out underneath the barrels. In a coordinated sequence, the marines took a step forward and swung their rifles, hacking and slashing the next wave of hellhounds stupid enough to leap at them. Their physical strength augmented by their mini-plasma reactor-powered armor, they were able to cleave the wolf-sized beasts into pieces.
"Argh!"
The lieutenant whirled around when he heard the cry and caught sight of one of his soldiers disappearing under a wave of acid. The dreadful hiss that followed chilled him, and he spun to confront a trio of vipers slithering over the charred rock. Over five meters in length, and rearing up to three meters in height, the mutated serpents cackled before spitting another glob of acid at the marines. Another two wailed as they were dissolved into smoking piles of melted bone and flesh.
"Fire! Target the vipers!" the lieutenant bellowed, turning his rifle onto the vipers. Unlike the hellhounds, the vipers were covered in thicker organic armor that absorbed most of the gauss rounds. Snarling furiously, they spat consecutive volleys of acid, forcing the marines to take cover in the trench. Another few cries told the marine officer that he had lost over half of his men.
And then the hellhounds pounced into the trench. Another marine screamed as he was mauled by a trio of the demonic beasts working in concert. Despite eviscerating one with his bayonet, he dropped to his knees, blood gushing out of his throat as the hellhounds' wicked claws tore through the metallic plating that was supposed to protect his neck.
In less than a minute, the marine lieutenant was the only one left. Pinned to the ground by a viper, he grunted as he tried to force the monster's fangs away from his helmet. The servos whined in protest, and even the power armor's augmented physical strength wasn't enough to stop the viper from closing in to finish him off.
"This is it," the lieutenant smiled grimly. He held no resentment against his commander. After all, he was raised to sacrifice his life for the Empire if necessary. But he would be damned if he went down without a fight…
"?!"
"KREEEEEEEEEEEE!"
A gout of superheated flames washed over the viper that had clambered over the lieutenant, incinerating the foul creature. Kicking off the immolated remains, which were flaking away into ashes, the lieutenant stood, his power armor creaking. He ignored the red warning signs that were lighting up all over his visor and caught sight of a row of mechanized robots lumbering forward.
Salamander-class battle armor – vehicle units with a shoulder-mounted incinerator. The Salamanders were roasting the horde of howling hellhounds in liquid fire, their flamethrowers spewing out a superheated torrent that turned the earth into molten lava in seconds. Scrambling out of the treacherous ground, the lieutenant rejoined the heavy mechanized units.
"Lieutenant." The squad leader of the Salamanders greeted him.
"The cavalry has finally arrived, eh?" the officer remarked, though there was no sarcasm or cynicism in his voice.
"That's right. We are to advance and eradicate the enemy's forces, and destroy their bases."
"Understood." The lieutenant cocked his rifle and made to march alongside the Salamanders, intent on seeing this battle to the very end.
"Incoming!"
The Salamanders looked up and caught sight of a flock of gargoyles swooping down on them, hurling parasitic acid-wurms from the organic cannons grown into their arms. The lieutenant brought his rifle up and fired a burst of gauss rounds, taking out one of the gray flying demons, but the Salamanders' short-ranged flamethrowers did not possess anti-air capabilities.
They were vulnerable.
Before the gargoyles could rout the Salamanders, several missiles burst into the air and detonated amidst them. Flak projectiles fanned out in all directions, the deadly, explosive shrapnel tearing the gray, almost humanoid monsters into bits. Lumbering behind the Salamanders were the Titans, massive bipedal machines that towered over ten meters in height. The hellfire missile launchers mounted atop their backs shifted, tracking the surviving gargoyles, who had wheeled and banked around to retreat, but once again they were wiped out by the Titans' sheer firepower.
With the air threat neutralized, the row of mechanized battle armor continued their implacable march forward, toward the creepy biomat and rot that had spread throughout the environment as a result of a demonic incursion. There, foul spawning pools, warped shrines and portals bubbled, glimmered and shimmered. Out of one of them, a Mastodon strode out, a greater demon that strode forward on all fours. Then another. A third, followed by a fourth, until six of the colossal creatures emerged to meet the human invaders. Quadruple scythes clacked incessantly and the elephant-sized behemoths charged the row of robots that silently advanced.
The Titans aimed their dual particle charged cannons at the first Mastodon and fired in concert. A burst of highly charged ions arced from each of their arms and smashed into the heavily armored creature. Though designed to withstand the force of a conventional tank shell, and survive the full brunt of a missile bombardment, even the Mastodon's super-thick carapace buckled under the severe punishment of charged particles. The first went down, its head obliterated almost immediately. The others continued, heedless of the death of their comrades, intent only on the destruction of their foes.
Accompanying the Mastodons was a swarm of hellhounds, but the Salamanders hell strong and bathed the lesser demons in superheated flames, turning the hellish landscape into an inferno. One of the Mastodons bashed through the blazing pile of hellhound carcasses and stomped a Salamander battle armor underfoot while its scythe cleaved another two into pieces.
The Titans turned to deal with this new threat, their charged particle cannons barking. The Mastodon reeled from the tremendous impact, and then fell when another charged particle beam found its mark, baking its brain. Its brethren mercilessly knocked its corpse aside, only to face the same concentrated volley of immense firepower that blew off its head and front two legs. The behemoth stumbled and then crashed downward, squashing a few unfortunate hellhounds that were too slow to get out of the way in time.
With the military forces of the demonic invaders broken, the Terran Empire soldiery set about their grim task of demolishing the corrupted structures that had taken root on their planet. The brave marine lieutenant, by the way, had perished in combat without complaint or protest, being one of the first casualties when the Mastodons attacked.
Deep inside the main temple of the Demonic Incursion, the demonic commander closed his eyes briefly, and then he sighed. Raising his hands, he presented the words "GG" and surrendered.
"He did it! Admech did it! The Mech Emperor has won the Global Spacecraft League, by sticking to his mech strategy! Down 3-0 in a best of 7, he clawed his way to win 4 matches in a row to overcome Dark and be this season's GSL champion!"
Cheers erupted from the audience. Blinking in disbelief, I pulled the headphones off my ears and set it down numbly. My hands were still trembling, cold sweat trickling down my palms.
That last engagement…I was so glad I went for Titans instead of the Panzer tanks, or Dark's Mastodons would have rolled over me. He had expected me to go for Salamander and tanks instead of Salamander and Titans, and had teched up to Mastodons instead, because the splash damage from the Panzer tanks' cannons would have been minimized against the Mastodon's huge footprint. He had also thrown air units at me, spending most of his resources on Gargoyles, because he didn't expect me to build Titans. He thought he could bait out tanks with his horde of vipers, but I noticed the distinct lack of brutes. Usually demon players would go for a viper-brute composition to overwhelm my Salamander-Titan composition, and if he had done so, it would have been in all likelihood my loss.
However, my opponent had gambled that I would build tanks, and he had lost that bet. The lone Salamander buggy mode that I used as a scout had reported back with vital intelligence regarding my opponent's tech, and I was able to prepare accordingly.
"Admech! Hey! You won! You're the champion! Get up here!"
The commentator was calling out to me. I was still in such shock that I wasn't able to get out of my chair. Shaking my head, I pushed myself away from the gaming PC installed within my booth and slowly made my way outside. Once I stepped outside of the glass-walled booth, the noise of the cheering audience struck me like a thunderclap.
I won. I actually won my first GSL championship ever. I couldn't believe it.
Everything flew past so fast and felt so surreal I almost thought I was dreaming. I almost didn't register raising the GSL trophy up high, to the screams and yells of the spectators, and my body was moving on automatic as I accepted the plaque and check (the prize money for winning the tournament) from the sponsors.
"So, Admech…congratulations once again! You must be over the moon, to have finally won your first GSL title after seven years of gaming. Seven! You've been in the esports scene of Spacecraft since the beginning, and your hard work has finally paid off."
I smiled and nodded dumbly. That was true. It had been so long…so damned long, and I never thought I would finally win a trophy. I was on the verge of giving up. I would have, if it wasn't for my parents. My father, especially. I could see him in the front row, along with my mother, the two of them occupying VIP seats and beaming through tears of joy. I bowed my head to thank them.
The commentator continued to say something, probably praising me for my filial piety, mentioning some of my history, which included my incidental all-kill of Team Slayers in the Global Spacecraft Team League finals a few years ago. I just went through the motions, nodding and stammering some incoherent replies, content to let the commentator direct the flow of the conversation.
And then…finally.
"Admech, do you have any last words for your fans?"
This was it. I nodded and cleared my throat.
"Yes. I would like to make an announcement."
"Oh? An announcement? How exciting." The commentator was practically shoving the microphone into my face. I accepted it and took a deep breath.
"First, I would like to thank all of you, my family, my friends and my fans, for the continued encouragement and support. And I hope you would continue supporting me in future. However…"
There were a few whispers and murmurs amongst the crowd, filled with confusion.
Especially at my last word.
"I know this comes at a bad time, and I assure you…it has nothing to do with me finally winning the GSL. I had already made this decision before this season, and I'm afraid I can't change it."
"Eh? What decision?"
"What's going on?"
"No…could it be?"
"I am…announcing my retirement." I paused to allow my declaration to sink in. For the first time ever, the whole hall turned silent. Only my parents knew about my decision, and they weren't surprised. "I am to begin my mandatory military service starting April this year…and I will not be able to participate in any Spacecraft tournaments or leagues for the next two years."
"Huh?"
"What?"
"Mandatory national service? Ah…yeah. He's already eighteen…no, nineteen this year…"
"No way…so soon?"
"I promise that I will be back. Once I complete my military service, I will return to gaming, and I train to become stronger and more skillful than before." I straightened myself, and then bowed deeply. "When the time comes, I will ask you for your support again."
The buzz and murmurs continued for a few seconds, then suddenly one person at the back stood up and shouted something.
At first, I couldn't hear what he said, but the spectators around him caught wind, and they repeated it. Slowly, they got up, a few pockets of fans here and there among the spectators (not all of them were here to support me – the vast majority of them were fans of Dark, my opponent in the finals), and they threw their fists into the air.
"Mech Emperor!"
"Long live the Mech Emperor!"
"We'll wait however long you need!"
"Just you watch, the Mech Emperor will reign in Spacecraft again!"
Blinking back tears, I lowered my head gratefully. I was barely able to raise my hand, with the sole trophy that I had obtained throughout my professional gaming career raised high up.
A sign of promise…and proof that the legacy of the Mech Emperor would live forever.