The Crusades were waiting... the Saintess's elite.
They lurked in the burning trees, their military-grade cybernetic limbs glinting in the firelight. Their arms and legs, once human, were now precision-forged weapons. Their eyes? Ripped from their skulls, replaced with sensors that saw through the smoke, through the dark, through the chaos.
Their armor was thick; their personal shields were unbreakable. And in the madness of the firestorm with all the screaming and the death... they descended upon the survivors.
A squad of four sprinted through the inferno, their breath ragged, their uniforms slick with sweat and soot. The fire around them crackled and roared, devouring the forest in waves of blistering heat.
They didn't look back. They didn't let themselves think about the horrors unfolding behind them, about the screams of dying comrades, about the crusaders cutting through their ranks as if they were nothing more than weeds to be plucked.
