Cylinders were handy for a multitude of effects. Some had greater versatility than others, but they all had a role to play. Take the flash cylinder. Its priority was to blind and disorient Aud, but was this all it could do? Of course not. It was a handy distraction too, even louder upon exploding than the largest sonic emplacements.
That said, the result held greater importance to the First Ray than the function. So that was why, despite the impressive variety of cylinders the Nyx Breaker held in its stores, it launched only one kind. Arguably the simplest at their disposal. The servicemen didn't need a distraction, reroute, or even make space--there weren't enough cylinders in the world for that, not with the horde bearing down on the Titan.
No. They needed chaos. As much of it as possible.
The first salvo detonated, a ring of calcifying stone and fire flaring into being. The heat mirage was strong enough to make the tunnel's walls look like they danced, and made perceiving any details beyond the combustion with the naked eye impossible.
The weaker Aud closest to the cylinders perished. Those further from the explosion radius withstood it better, but their suffering was plain for the world to see. It was easy to differentiate the burns caused by electrics and the burns caused by the concussion cylinders. Where one blanketed targets in painful black, the other pushed past the fur to cook the vulnerable meat beneath. Organs and musculature tightened, and in the weaker Aud, they melted.
Those that survived stumbled around as if blind--some might've been close to it. They knocked into others, and a chain reaction of tumbling broke the charge. The sonics and electrics preyed on the lull to knock more markers off the ledger; there were still thousands to go.
The second salvo hit the ground and exploded. They ruined another half-formed charge, and the Aud suffered more losses while closing distance. Nothing mattered but the behemoth of scutumsteel before them. Not their injuries, not their dead, not their dying. Re-5 persevered through a gag, imagining what it smelled like outside.
"Those at the front are close enough for orbs. Shall I inform the gunnery crew to switch cylinders, sir?"
Her officer climbed back up the edge of their platform. She offered her hands, and he let himself be hoisted the rest of the way.
"Do it."
The third salvo consisted not of metal casings the size of grown humans, but stretchy orbs that flexed wide, carpeting the air. Halfway through their arc, the air resistance was too much and the membranes split, releasing a bouncy gel that intermingled with the horde without notice.
The gels dissolved and turned sticky on impact, coating Aud indiscriminately. They grew warm, absorbing heat from the Aud and jolts from their movements. Then, burning, scalding even. Only then did they explode.
Tacked onto their targets as the gels were, the released concussive shocks were enough to shred through fur and flesh equally. A hundred whites, dozens of oranges, and dozens of yellows vanished in the blaze. An unacknowledged sense of victory made its rounds through the command compartment when three of the green pinpricks even disappeared from the tactical overlay.
As the Aud closed the gap, the crew depleted their concussive ordnance. They put each salvo to good use and undeniably produced fantastic results, but Re-5 was too busy wondering if they would be better spent later if the crew survived. Her assistant shared her concerns.
"If the echo-room doesn't finish soon, they will force us to abandon our position and begin anew elsewhere. Or return?" He was bitter.
Hearing it from someone else made her reevaluate their aim. The Nyx Breaker visited Fort Io, reported its fall, and sent drones ahead of their return to inform the Directory as soon as possible. They had no other obligations. Ze-4 had not received any orders on survivors, or potential survivors at that. This entire side venture had been of his initiative and reasoning, and he already paid a price for it.
Could they do the same? Would they? It would be easy, so easy, to hail the pilots on her communicator and tell them to move, to take the Nyx Breaker back to the Hollow. She could tell the echo-room to shut down its operations, and the crew that their goal was complete. They could go home after collapsing the entrance to the western tunnels.
Did she dare?
No. It wasn't that she had a choice, or that she did dare to make this choice. She was Acting Sitesman Re-5, a serviceman of the First Ray. She pledged her life to humanity as long as she served in the military. The second the crew piloted the Nyx Breaker out of the Last Light's factories, out of its walls, they lost the right to think that way. Humanity, not them, came first.
And suppose there was a slight chance, even a minuscule one, that one of the survivors discovered something that could save the capitol and the last Beacon Fort from destruction or could finally give humanity an edge over the Aud. In that case, she should sacrifice herself and the crew in a heartbeat to see that information brought home safe.
"We're staying. Even if we move, we won't finish the scans in time to save anyone."She couldn't gauge his reaction. They shared gazes longer than they should have and returned to their separate responsibilities. He seemed lighter, at least. They directed the skirmish, going through the motions. A power generator was overloaded, and new parts and a crew of engineers were needed to service it. Their reserves were getting low--they could supplement munitions meant for other turrets.
Their continuous comfort floated above the platforms. The tactical overlay displayed vast grooves running through the Aud horde, and even if they closed seconds after, she took comfort knowing that each--Her communicator buzzed. She snatched it fast enough to hurt, oblivious to the pain. Keying it open, the same Ancient greeted her. Utterly jubilant, he was shouting something.
"--found one! We found one!"