Slaughter on the Coastline!

"Roaaar—!!" A resonant roar pierced through the billowing smoke, shattering the fear that hung heavy over the defensive positions. Braced with shrapnel sticking out all over its body, a mutant struggled to crawl up from the jagged trench. Snatching up a machine gun knocked to its feet by the shockwave, it chambered a round with a sharp clatter and propped the barrel back onto the twisted parapet. Stationed along the beach was an entire mutant legion ten thousand strong. Yet these ten thousand-odd mutants were not bunched together on the sand; instead, they formed an echeloned defensive line five kilometers deep. The hyper-saline sand and soil were inhospitable to the propagation of Na fruit hyphae. Consequently, the Church of the Torch had not deployed the "Heaven" domain over this coastal strip, leaving its defense entirely to the mutants. Even though the blue-skinned mutants and the green-skinned mutants were cut from the same cloth, they clearly did not get along. "Stay behind the cover!" a mutant centurion bellowed crudely, grabbing a blue-skinned fishman and hurling it out of the trench. "You, get out of the bunker! Into the sea! Hold them off!" "Ka??" Gunfire rattled from behind as bullets zipped over its head. The fishman scrambled forward on all fours, not forgetting to shoot a vicious glare backward. Yet its pathetic display earned no sympathy from its allies. The greenskins burst into raucous laughter, sending another burst of rounds kicking up sand right next to its scaled feet. Fierce as the naval bombardment had been, it had not actually killed many mutants. These brutes possessed absurdly tenacious vitality. In particular, the rare "zombified mutants" enhanced through biotechnology could regenerate their heads even after decapitation. More than that. Compared to their brethren who had perished on Ten Peaks Mountain, their gear was far better. From the homogeneous steel plates welded over their chests to the fiery iron beasts roaring in their hands, everything was a masterpiece produced by North Island Heavy Industries during Zhalas's reign. It was plain to see that Zhalas had never bet his fortunes on his own marines—or rather, he had never counted on those finicky fishermen to best the Alliance's warriors on the battlefield. He had seen at a glance that the navy was the Northern Federation's sole pillar, and that the only ones capable of going toe-to-toe with Alliance troops on land were these green-skinned brutes. Rather than wasting scarce resources upgrading marine gear, it made far more sense to forge steel and gunpowder into weapons for mutant cannon fodder. In truth, the logic was sound enough. Putting brawn to work and sending the fearless to die had always been fundamental rules of society. Regrettably, on top of their brawn and fearlessness, the mutants had a fatal flaw that derailed his plans. Discipline was nonexistent among them, and implanting microchips into every single mutant for direct control was prohibitively expensive. Thus, right up until the civil war in the Southern Sea concluded, Zhalas had never managed to import this horde of "enemies of mankind" into the trenches of North Island to hold the line—at most deploying them briefly on Sandbar Island. Those green-skinned beasts had simply stood along the Death Coast, watching helplessly as he lost the civil war. Perhaps compared to the Church of the Torch, the Federation was the survivor faction that had needed "saving" by Brahma Province even more. With the Southern Sea's technical prowess paired with Brahma Province's colossal manpower, even the Wilante might have trembled. After all, clones lacked complete minds and peaked as cannon fodder, whereas the people there were living flesh and blood. Yet reality offered no ifs. Zhalas had already lost the war. Now it was these vermin's turn! The amphibious armored vehicles in the lead were the first to roll onto the beach, reaching the battlefield almost hugging the edge of the barrage. "First Battalion has landed on the beach!" "Charge! Crush them!" "Ooooh!" Spirited roars echoed across the communication channel, joined immediately by the roar of the cannons mounted atop the "Alligator" amphibious armored vehicles. The 37mm rapid-fire cannons pounded away. Shell casings clattered incessantly out of the turret flanks, vomiting thick streaks of tracer rounds straight into the beach trenches! Against 37mm armor-piercing incendiary shells, mutant flesh stood no chance. Brutes and armor alike were punched clean through, every muzzle flash kicking up a storm of blood and viscera! In the opening clash alone, dozens more mutants were flattened in the trenches. Suffering heavy casualties, the mutants flew into a savage fury. Roaring, they poked their weapons out of the parapets to return fire at the players storming the beach. Twenty-millimeter heavy machine guns spat tongues of flame, yet the rounds merely scraped the frontal armor of the Alligators like an abrasive scrub, leaving streaks of scratches and dents without dealing real damage. Only one vehicle had its gun barrel clipped and disabled by a stray burst, but that did nothing to halt its grinding advance across the sand. "Use this!" a mutant bellowed, huffing and puffing as it hauled a colossal contraption out of a wooden crate. It was a massive launcher a full two meters long, with a muzzle bore as thick as an adult man's wrist. Poking the muzzle out over the parapet, it aimed at the nearest armored vehicle and squeezed the trigger. *Boom—!* Flames erupted forward in a violent blast. The oversized projectile slammed into the Alligator's frontal armor, instantly injecting a searing jet of molten metal that knocked out the front engine. The vehicle lost power on the spot, dark smoke pouring from the radiator vents at the front of its chassis. Seeing the strike hit home, the mutant cheered in excitement, pulling a black "sweet potato" from the crate to repeat the trick. Yet the moment it ducked its head to reach in, sharp thumps exploded above. Before it could even grunt, the mutant collapsed stiffly to the ground. Several high-explosive grenades, tracing the muzzle flash, plunged into the trench. Raging shrapnel shredded it into a sieve in an instant. At the same time, the damaged Alligator rolled its tires into a reef rock and ground to a permanent halt. Left with no choice, the gunner ceased fire and launched smoke canisters forward. The mutants on the beachhead quickly noticed the stricken target. Heavy machine guns swung around, pounding away with thick tracers clanging violently against the hull. The comms channel erupted in noise. "Fuck!" "Recoilless rifle!" "Dammit—has that thing already rolled out?!" "Probably built it themselves... Zhalas dispatched a handful of North Island specialists to the Torch's territory to assist with research." "Where the hell did they get a factory?!" "Engine's dead!" "Bail out!" "Mei You Jia Ren is down!" "Wait, does someone have family down, or does nobody have family?!" "His ID is Mei You Jia Ren!" "Holy crap, what kind of ridiculous names do you people pick?!" "@%#! I was just stunned by the blast, I'm not down yet!" A disabled vehicle on an open beach was a sitting duck. Everyone knew better than to linger. The rear hatch popped wide open on both sides. Under the covering fire of an adjacent armored vehicle, players clad in exoskeletons quickly evacuated the crew from the compartment. Bullets piercing the smokescreen whistled over their heads, biting into the sand around them from time to time. Yet not a single person showed fear; rather, excitement was written across every face. This game is fucking incredible! Only the squad leader was screaming at the top of his lungs. "Move! Don't look for cover on the spot, goddammit! Charge the trenches ahead! Everyone move!" In truth, for the mutants crouching in the trenches, hitting players in exoskeletons under the suppressing fire of massive naval guns and armored vehicles—using rifles and machine guns they barely knew how to operate—was no easy task. Though blessed with tenacious vitality and regenerative power, they were hardly immune to the shockwaves of exploding shells. Their heads buzzed and their vision blurred just the same. Given their already rudimentary brains, the concussions only made them more chaotic and unhinged. Furthermore, the amphibious armor rolling ashore was not the players' only trump card. Most exoskeletons fielded by the Burning Corps were pre-war Type 5 police models; their polymer breastplates could withstand two to three heavy machine-gun rounds. Most of the players were Awakened as well. Unless struck in a vital organ, taking a stray round or two was barely a scratch. In just a few breaths, the dismounted players caught up with the charging vehicles, using them as mobile cover while pressing forward in their wake. Three hundred meters evaporated in seconds. The Alligators swept up to the lip of the trench, securing the mutants' first line of defense. Beyond the players forced to dismount, the rest of the Burning Corps' First Battalion poured out of their transports, diving into the zig-zagging trenches to engage the entrenched mutants in brutal hand-to-hand combat. "Roaaar!!!" Towering with a burly frame, a zombified mutant swung its heavy-caliber rifle like a club straight at Killing Dagger as he dropped into the trench. Killing Dagger ducked beneath the swing, drew the short axe from his chest plate, and brought it up in a fluid arc. The blade cleaved true through the brute's neck, severing the greenish head clean off. The mutant stood motionless. Then its shoulders jerked, and fleshy red tendrils sprouted from the stump, stretching upward at a speed visible to the naked eye. Seeing this, Killing Dagger stared in shock. "Holy shit! A decapitated head can actually grow back?!" He had thought the guys on the northern front were bullshitting. This thing was the real deal! Even with its head regenerating, the zombified mutant did not stop. Clenching its rifle in one hand and a dagger in the other, it flailed and slashed through the trench like a berserker. It had no eyes, and clearly neither hearing nor smell; it fought entirely on muscle memory and raw instinct. Killing Dagger scrambled back to dodge two lethal swings, pulled a white phosphorus grenade, bit off the pin, and tossed it right onto the half-formed skull. Blinding white light flared, showering the mutant in clinging crimson fire. A sickening sizzle rose, filling the entire trench with the reek of burning meat. The mutant's body spasmed, stumbling backward in a silent contortion of agony. "Better luck being human in your next life." Killing Dagger scooped up the heavy rifle the brute had dropped and pumped two shots into its chest and groin. *Bang!!* Massive chunks of flesh were torn apart by the rounds. The horrific wounds finally surpassed the zombified mutant's regenerative limit. Writhing in flames, the monster ceased its struggles and crashed heavily into the dirt. Having cleanly dispatched his target, Killing Dagger tossed the rifle aside, leveled his own weapon, and pushed forward along the trench. Chatter crackled over the comms. Judging by their leisure to talk smack, the others were having smooth sailing as well. "Trench A-07 is secured. Captured one recoilless rifle... seems to be the experimental model we found in the North Island Heavy Industries warehouse." "They finished the design... not the brightest engineering, though. The muzzle flash and smoke are way too massive." "Heh... noticed that long ago. They've got zero army tradition; only their electronics and shipbuilding are worth anything." "You sure they're even that good?" "Ahem, graded against wasteland standards, obviously. Games and reality are two different things." "Fuck! Can't these mutants even dig a decent trench?!" "Shit, booby trap—" With a deafening blast, flames erupted down the trench, sending a silhouette flying into the air. Killing Dagger snapped his head up just in time to see a mangled body hit the ground. Squad leader Yin Chai Yang Cuo roared over the channel. "Mei You Jia Ren is down! We lost one!" "I'll go check if he needs to be finished off," Ban Sui Cuo Tuo offered eagerly, scrambling out of the trench toward the wreckage with an unmistakable trace of schadenfreude. "...Keep your heads down, dammit! Gear costs money—if it gets wrecked, points are deducted!" Killing Dagger cursed under his breath, his forehead lined with black marks. Switching channels, he reported the situation to the rear: "First Battalion has secured the beach! Requesting further orders!" After a brief burst of static, Lao Bai's voice came through. "Support the armored units, press the advance, and initiate Phase Two!" Invigorated, Killing Dagger snapped back. "Understood!" The booby-trapped casualty was merely a minor hiccup; for most players on the frontline, the assault was proceeding smoothly. The First Battalion's three mechanized infantry companies plus one amphibious armor company had torn open a breach in the beachhead, wiping out nearly a thousand mutants. Preliminary tallies put their casualties at twenty dead, including those with critical injuries requiring more than three days of recovery. One battalion flattening an entire regiment was standard performance for the Burning Corps, the Alliance's elite rapid-response force. After a brief regroup, the First Battalion kicked off the second wave of attacks, leaving the secured beachhead to the follow-up echelons. Fixed-wing drones circling overhead provided targeting guidance for the vanguard while recording the entire battle. Feeds streamed not only to rear headquarters, but also onto the bridge of the cruiser *Harpoon*. The Alliance officers took the Burning Corps' combat effectiveness in stride. Duke Nihak, however, was witnessing these terrors in action for the very first time. Staring at the holographic display, his face was pale, beads of sweat dripping from his forehead, his eyes filled with disbelief and dread. *Is this the Alliance?* *The Burning Corps...* *Wasn't that the very unit that defeated him before?!* He had lost so fast back then that he had been thrown into a cell before fully waking up, leading him to believe they had beaten the Golden Gallon Port garrison only through a cheap sneak attack. Now it was apparent that even if the garrison and the Gray Wolf Army had stood shoulder to shoulder on the shore awaiting them, they still might not have held them back. He wasn't sure if that force had even used its full strength back then. At the very least, he finally understood why Arayan had fallen— No! Against an opponent like this, how was anyone supposed to win?! Nihak swallowed hard, his eyes drifting instinctively toward the destroyers outside the viewport. Clearly. A single battleship was nowhere near enough... The Empire had to forge a fleet to match the Southern Sea Alliance! A fleet with integrated capabilities from reconnaissance to destruction—only then could they prevent the Alliance from making landfall and dragging them into a ground war! No— A fleet alone wasn't enough. He had to find a way to buy North Island's shipyards! Li Minghui glanced sideways at the "wealthy and mysterious" old friend beside him. Seeing the duke's shell-shocked expression, a smug smile tugged at his lips. Look at this uncultured bumpkin, putting scallions up his nose to play the elephant. *Not short on pocket change, eh?* *How's that 'not short' looking now?* Having finally flexed, Li Minghui felt thoroughly pleased. Yet before the smirk could settle, his face suddenly fell. Wait. Could this have scared the pig awake? Just as the thought crossed his mind, Nihak turned toward him with fervent eyes. "Uh... Mr. Li, may I ask a question, if it's convenient?" Li Minghui replied cautiously, "What question?" "The shipyards on North Island... would your side consider selling them?" Fearing Li Minghui might doubt his intentions, Nihak cleared his throat hastily and plastered on a genial smile. "Of course, we primarily need them for fishing..." Li Minghui stared blankly at the transparently disingenuous duke, the corners of his mouth twitching. *Jumped the gun.* *Worrying about this pig waking up was entirely unnecessary...* ... With the Alliance launching Phase Two of the offensive, the Southern Sea Alliance fleet elevated its cannons in unison, unleashing a ferocious bombardment against the Church of the Torch mutants' second defensive line. Simultaneously, a second wave of landing craft lowered from the holds of massive landing ships, parting the churning waves as they surged toward the shore. Accompanying them were twenty Cloud Dragonfly ornithopters. Laden with rocket pods, these aircraft skimmed the crests of the waves like dragonflies skimming water, darting toward the beach. Right then, the fishman units lurking beneath the sea sprang their ambush. Harpoons shot up from the crashing waves, streaking toward the low-flying Cloud Dragonflies! The blue-skinned mutants had assumed that targeting the wings would send the "giant dragonflies" crashing into the sea. Yet they vastly underestimated the ornithopters' agility. With fluid, practiced banks, the Cloud Dragonflies executed impossible maneuvers, cleanly dodging the chained harpoons. "Kaaah—!" Concealed among the spray, the blue-skinned mutants shrieked in frustration. Watching the Cloud Dragonflies pull up out of range, some dived back beneath the surface while others swarmed the landing craft, aiming to drag them down. Yet what these fishmen failed to anticipate was that the players had seen right through them. None of them had shown up during the first wave, leaving many players wondering where they were hiding. It turned out they were waiting for the second wave all along! Bashing in a blue-skinned mutant trying to claw onto a craft, a crouched player barked into his radio. "Jungle Corps, First Battalion, First Company, you're up!" A muffled voice came back over the channel, accompanied by bubbling static. "Copy that!" The instant the words dropped, mechanical crabs lurking on the shallow seabed flicked on their searchlights, exposing their menacing armored shells. The fishmen grappling with the landing craft near the surface had no clue that underwater rifles were already locked onto them. By the time they noticed the glow rising from the seabed, it was too late. Crawling Model Worker roared, "Fire!!" At the command, dense trails of bubbles propelled torpedo-like darts straight into the swarm of fishmen thrashing near the surface. Caught completely off guard, the submerged fishmen were scythed down in droves by the torrent of fire, dark red blood staining the waters. Realizing they were under attack from the depths, the fishmen panicked and turned, diving back down toward the seabed. Yet right then, the second volley from First Company crashed into their faces. Raspy shrieks rang out one after another, painting the water in another storm of gore! Just as the Torch's fishmen launched their assault, the mutants on land mounted their first counterattack. Though their communications had been crippled by the EMP strike, the landing battle had dragged on long enough for mutants on other sectors to spot the gap torn into their line. Two thousand-strong regiments split into two prongs: one charged toward the Burning Corps' First Battalion, which had pushed inland, while the other assaulted the Second and Third Battalions, the combat engineers, and the solo players setting up a makeshift harbor on the beachhead. Tracers drifted like willow catkins across the sand. Players holding the perimeter even spotted the tank they had previously seen in the North Island Heavy Industries warehouse. An Alligator amphibious vehicle was no match for that behemoth. Yet the Alliance had far more than just armored vehicles. High above flew the "Thunder" and "Lightning" fighters, and skimming low were twenty Cloud Dragonflies... to say nothing of the naval guns floating offshore, practically begging for targets to show themselves under drone observation. A four-meter-tall tank was a monstrosity in game or reality, but before 150mm naval guns, it crumpled like paper—practically one hit per kill. Even when a shell failed to score a direct hit, the blast shockwave alone shattered the cobbled-together chassis to pieces. The two charging regiments were torn to shreds in less than half an hour, fleeing in disarray and leaving behind piles of severed limbs and scrap metal. Standing on the beachhead, Lao Bai directed the frontline forces through his tactical helmet while squeezing the trigger of his bolter, gunning down surviving mutants offering stubborn resistance. Seeing the sparks of resistance dwindle, the battle appeared to be winding down. Right then, a report from the First Battalion crackled over his comms. "...First Battalion here. Pushing deep into enemy positions, we uncovered the ruins of a settlement about six kilometers from our landing point, nestled in a ravine between two hills and surrounded by dense woods." "We found signs of mutant activity, but our drones can't see the interior... Requesting permission to detach a squad to scout the area." Lao Bai glanced at his tactical map, verifying the coordinates marked by Killing Dagger. From the topography alone, it looked like a prime spot for something to be hiding. Taking merely two seconds to weigh the options, he gave the order. "Request approved." A crisp, resonant reply echoed across the channel. "Yes, sir!"