FOB Doors, Command Center
Inside the command center, officers rushed between consoles, voices overlapping in tightly controlled chaos. Radio chatter stacked over radio chatter. Digital maps flickered with shifting symbols. The spy plane's live-feed screens painted the entire battlefield in ghostly green and white.
An officer stiffened at his station.
"Sir. Enemy center formation is advancing toward the Gate. They're entering the valley now."
General Hanz leaned forward slightly, fingers resting on the edge of the console. A faint smirk tugged at his lips—not amusement, but recognition.
"The enemy commander," he said calmly, "was given every opportunity to retreat and save his men."
His eyes narrowed, gaze fixed on the live feed.
"And yet, he chose to walk straight into the most obvious trap imaginable."
A brief pause.
"I pity the souls who serve under him."
Another pause, colder.
"But I am also deeply grateful for the greatest gift an enemy can offer."
He straightened.
"Stupidity."
The room went silent.
"Tell Mother," Hanz said evenly, "to come out and play."
"Yes, sir."
---
Murica "Bison" Tank Company
The armored column thundered westward at sixty-five kilometers per hour, steel hulls grinding over dirt and stone, engines roaring loud enough to drown out prayer.
Vandorian soldiers along the flanks could only stare as the metal beasts tore past them.
The ground wasn't the problem.
The sky was.
Avian Warriors descended in relentless waves, wings cutting through the air as they dove toward the tanks.
BRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTTT
Four M163 Vulcans roared to life, streams of hot metal carving violent lines through the sky.
"I swear I've killed hundreds of them!" the Vulcan gunner shouted, sweat pouring down his face. "They just keep coming!"
"Because there are thousands of them, you idiot!" the driver snapped. "Do your fucking math!"
"Less chatter, more bullets!" the commander barked, then grabbed the comm. "Bison Leader, this is Noble Leader. These swarmers are getting smart—they're skimming low, using your column as cover. We can't fire without hitting you."
"Copy, Noble Leader," came the reply, calm to the point of being insulting.
Ahead of the column, Avian Warriors dipped even lower, feathers brushing the dirt as they used the Abrams tanks as moving shields.
Eight of them latched onto a tank mid-motion.
Steel rang as swords, spears, and claws hammered against armor plating.
"Bison 2-3 to Bison 2-2! You've got swarmers on top of you!"
"YEAH, NO SHIT, SHERLOCK!" came the frantic reply. "THEY'RE POUNDING SO LOUD IN HE—AAAAGHHH! FUCK! THEY BROKE MY MACHINE GUN!"
The commander's scream cut across the channel as an Avian warrior smashed the top-mounted gun clean off.
"BISON 2-3, SPRAY YOUR COAX ON ME!"
"Are you sure, Bison 2-2? It's gonna—"
"JUST FUCKING DO IT!"
"…Whatever! Fine! And for the record, I am not splitting the bill!"
RATATATATATATATATATATATATATA
The 7.62mm coaxial machine gun raked the tank ahead, shredding Avian bodies mid-screech. Feathers, blood, and armor fragments burst apart, coating the Abrams in red streaks.
What was left of the attackers slid off in wet, broken chunks as the tank kept moving.
---
Vandoria Army, Right Flank
BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTT
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! THAT'S THE SPIRIT! KEEP COMING AT ME!"
Stan laughed like a lunatic god as his custom GAU-8 Avenger carved glowing lines through the Vandorian ranks. Soldiers vanished by the dozens. Arrows slammed into his hide and bounced off harmlessly, clattering to the ground in useless showers.
The regular army wasn't a problem for him.
Occasionally, though, the adventurer parties mixed into Vandoria's ranks could be… annoying.
"Protect me while I chant!" shouted Karen, an A-rank adventurer mage.
"On it! Do your thing, Karen!"
Her party snapped into formation instantly—shield bearer front and center, thief peeling off to flank, healer anchoring the rear, damage dealer glued to her side. Textbook. Clean. Professional.
This was their moment.
Defeating the Demon God of War would skyrocket their reputation.
Karen's chant rose, syllables sharp and ritualistic, twisting into something heavy and oppressive. A glowing magic circle bloomed beneath her feet. Flames sparked above her hands—small at first—then merged, spiraled, and expanded, swelling into a massive, blinding, overdecorated fireball.
It was flashy. Loud.
Which made it impossible to miss.
Stan casually corrected his aim and sent a burst of 30mm high-explosive incendiary rounds straight through the performance.
BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTT
The party ceased to exist.
No scream. No explosion.
Just vapor and drifting red mist.
Stan exhaled.
"Seriously," he sighed, "what part of active battlefield makes people think I'll wait for them to finish the light show?"
Then—
He froze.
A sharp warning crawled up his spine.
Stan lunged sideways.
Something screamed past where his head had been a moment earlier and detonated behind him.
BOOOOM
Electrical arcs crackled violently inside the fresh crater.
"Oh?" Stan blinked. "A fancy bomb."
He turned.
The Holy Knights of the Celes Church had formed a wide semicircle around him. Each position was braced behind a massive white cannon carved with glowing runes—holy artillery styled like early 19th-century 68-pounders. Priests moved among them, chanting in unison, forcing compressed holy energy into the ammunition.
Stan's grin widened.
"Wow," he said, genuinely impressed. "Not only artillery mages, now they also have artillery priests?"
He rolled his shoulders, delighted.
"These humans are way more fun than they were a millennium ago."
BOOOOM
Another cannon fired—its holy shell detonating with at least five times the destructive force of any Earth-made counterpart. The blast forced Stan to leap backward, hooves gouging trenches into the dirt.
He returned fire.
BRRRRRRRTTT
The cannon disintegrated in a spray of splintered wood, shattered runes, and flying bodies.
But the line didn't break.
More cannons were already being re-aimed.
More priests were already chanting.
Holy shells screamed toward him—
BOOOM
BOOOM
BOOOM
BOOOM
Stan sprinted to his right, explosions snapping at his heels, forcing him into constant motion without a single opening to counterattack.
"NOW!" someone shouted.
HUUUUMMM
A massive magic circle erupted beneath Stan's feet.
He skidded to a halt.
Both legs locked in place.
"A holy constraining spell?" he muttered, looking down. "Strange. These usually can't hold me."
He tried lifting his leg.
Nothing. Not an inch.
He swung the autocannon toward the chanting priests.
SPIIIINNN—
Nothing.
Not a single round fired. It's dry.
Stan exhaled slowly. "What a terrible timing…"
"It is not merely an ordinary holy constraining spell—" a voice declared, "—O Demon God of War."
Archbishop Antonio stepped forward, posture immaculate, as if he were walking onto a stage instead of a battlefield.
"It is the latest restraining spell developed by the Celes Church Magical Research Division," he proclaimed. "Designed specifically for powerful demons such as yourself, O Demon God of War."
Stan tested the hold again.
Still nothing.
"Huh," he admitted. "I see you humans have done your research."
"Of course," Antonio said, chest puffing with pride. "Our civilization has reached the pinnacle of magical development. Even normal individuals can now wield advanced spellwork—though I did not expect demons to rely on… technology."
Behind him, a priest suddenly convulsed.
Blood sprayed from every orifice before he collapsed, twitching.
Then another priest dropped.
Then another.
"Uh… excuse me," Stan said casually, nodding past Antonio. "I think your normal individuals are dying back there."
Antonio didn't turn. "…Progress cannot be attained without sacrifices."
Stan sighed, released the now-useless autocannon, and let it crash to the ground. He raised both hands lazily.
"I guess you got me now."
Antonio's smile stretched wider.
"Prepare for your doom, O Satan, Demon of Wrath."
Before he could continue, Stan crossed his raised hands into an X.
"Before you take the kill," Stan said calmly, "tell me the name of the human who managed to defeat me."
"HAHAHAHAHA! Very well!" Antonio roared. "I am honored that you care! I am the future leader of the Church! The one who will exorcise Satan! Archbishop An—"
BOOOM
BOOOM
BOOOM
BOOOM
BOOOM
Multiple explosions tore through the priest formations with surgical precision. Chanting collapsed into screams. The magic circle beneath Stan flickered violently, its glow weakening.
"Well," Stan remarked mildly, "that was fast."
"W-WHAT!? WHO ATTACKED US?!" Antonio screamed.
Stan tilted his head upward and pointed a finger at the sky.
"Oh," he said pleasantly, "that's my sweet guardian angel."
---
Murica AC-130 Spectre, callsign "Angel"
Two thousand meters above the battlefield, an AC-130 gunship banked into a slow, deliberate circle. Its three guns remained fixed downward, calmly tracking the chaos below.
Inside the aircraft, the gun crew worked with methodical focus.
"GUNS LOADED!"
"40mm BOFORS ready!"
The gunner adjusted his aim through the monitor, settling the crosshairs over a clustered formation of chanting priests.
"FIRING 40."
---
Vandoria Army, Right Flank
BOOOM
BOOOM
BOOOM
BOOOM
Explosions tore through the remaining priest formations. Magic circles shattered mid-chant. Bodies flew. Holy light collapsed into nothing.
The restraining spell beneath Stan flickered—then died instantly.
Antonio stared around him, eyes wide, disbelief written across his face.
"Well," Stan said casually, rolling his shoulders, "that's that then. I'm guessing you don't have any fancy tricks up your sleeve anymore."
He grabbed the edge of his fallen autocannon and hoisted it up like a club.
"So," Stan added, "I'm going old school now."
"FIRE THE CANNONS!" Archbishop Antonio shrieked.
A few cannons managed to fire—
Only to be shredded mid-action by precise explosive fire from above.
Stan crouched.
Then leapt.
THUUUMPP
He came down four stories away like a falling meteor, smashing through a cannon crew in a spray of metal and bodies. He swung the GAU-8 like a blunt instrument, sending holy knights flying through the air like bowling pins.
Then—
He turned.
Antonio froze as the towering demon god advanced toward him, each step deliberate.
"No… no…" the archbishop stammered, trembling. "I'm the future pope… the church needs me… I am Archbishop Anto—"
CRUNCH
Stan bit down.
Like a tyrannosaur catching prey, his jaws closed around Antonio. The top half of the archbishop vanished instantly.
"Oh," Stan said, chewing thoughtfully. "This tastes divine."
---
Vandoria Army, Right Flank
BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTT
More Avian Warriors were torn apart mid-air.
From three thousand, only a few hundred remained—wings shredded, formations broken, will completely gone. At last, they turned and fled the battlefield.
"OOOOHH FINALLY—huuufft," the gunner gasped, slumping back into his seat.
After firing at thousands of targets nonstop, he could finally breathe.
"Bison Leader to all Nobles," came the call over comms. "Thanks for the cover. Form up."
The entire column pivoted left in unison and rolled to a halt, locking into a clean file formation. With no Avian Warriors left to harass them, twelve Abrams tanks and four Vulcans now stood before their primary objective.
The Vandoria Cavalry Division.
Two thousand centaurs.
Three thousand horsemen.
Fully armored.
All waiting to smash through demon infantry—
Only there was no demon infantry.
Instead, sixteen massive shapes stared back at them in silence.
Sixteen "demon elephants," some with long noses, some with short, all made of metal.
"They're fast and deadly," one cavalry officer muttered. "Do you think we can do better than the Avian Warriors, sir?"
The commander adjusted his full-face helmet.
"…We have to," he replied. "If we don't stop the demons here, they'll invade the Solis continent next."
A pause.
"Where our families live."
He raised his arm.
"Lancers take point! We charge the demon elephants!"
The knight cavalry shifted into assault formation. Before the charge, every rider bowed their heads, whispering prayers to the goddess.
On the Murican side, tank crews cracked open water bottles and passed around chocolate bars.
The battlefield fell completely still.
"Alright," the tank commander said over comms, "break time's over. Get ready, boys."
Both sides locked eyes in a silent staring contest.
Then—
The Vandorians made the first move.
VOOOOOOOOOOMMM
The horn blast ripped through the silence.
"ATTAAAAAACK!!"
Centaurs and horsemen surged forward, hooves pounding the earth as thousands charged as one, their war cries blending into a single roar.
"Bison Leader to all units!" the command snapped. "REVERSE NOW!"
Sixteen armored beasts rolled backward in perfect coordination, guns still trained forward.
"FIRE AT WILL!"
Spiiinn—
BRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTT
BOOOM
BOOOM
BOOOM
BOOOM
RATATATATATATATATATATATATA
Every cannon and machine gun the tanks carried unleashed its full load into the mass of cavalry ahead. Gun stabilizers hummed as turrets tracked targets with unnatural smoothness. With this many bodies packed together, missing was almost impossible.
"THEY—THEY CAN RUN BACKWARDS?!" a knight shrieked.
Shells erased entire squads in single impacts.
20mm Vulcan fire chewed through flesh, armor, and bone alike.
Blood and dust erupted with every strike.
Hundreds were shredded and pulverized every second.
At forty kilometers per hour in reverse, it was going to be a very long run before the Vandorian cavalry could even get close.
"Oh goddess," the cavalry commander whispered, "please don't let my soul be sent to hell…"
A 120mm shell answered his prayer.
BOOOOM
---
Vandoria Army, Center
The valley leading to the Great Demon Gate stretched seven kilometers wide. Jagged, spiked mountains rose on both sides like monstrous fangs, sending shivers through the thousands of Vandorian soldiers marching toward the gate.
"HURRY UP!" Duke Pierre shouted, safely positioned toward the rear. "KEEP RUNNING BEFORE MORE DEMONS COME!"
"Sir," an officer reported, "Satan and the demon elephants are still engaged. None of them are pursuing us."
"Good!" Pierre snapped. "We continue south and seize the gate! If we can block Satan and the demon elephants from using it, we buy enough time to raid eastward and rendezvous with the fleet!"
He knew it was a trap.
But the valley felt safer than the open field.
More protection from demon fliers.
More protection from demon artillery.
The only risk—
If another group of demon elephants waiting ahead.
But Pierre wanted something. Desperately.
"Please, goddess," he muttered, "let me find a demon village… anything. If I can seize a few hundred slaves, I can still salvage my reputation."
His prayer came easily now, thoughts drifting closer to a raider's greed than a noble's duty.
"I CAN SEE THE GATE!!" someone shouted from the front.
"RRAAAAAAHHH!!"
The entire force roared.
Humiliation burned in their chests after the terror they had endured earlier. They wanted revenge. They needed it.
The Demon Gate loomed ahead.
And they charged toward it.