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[sub][color=Silver][i]The Siege of Amone, September 27th - [b]The Showdown[/b][/i][/color][/sub]
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[color=Silver]	Wilhelm was not the type of person to feel nothing when he pulled the trigger. Remorse sometimes was a factor that could overwhelm a man, but in this instance...all he could feel was the recoil from his rifle. Padded at the stock and planted firmly into his shoulder, dampening each shot he sparked out. The first was clear. It'd been hours since the rain continued to trickle down upon the barrel of his rifle and the optics of his firearm. The crack was masked by the singular explosion that was unleashed upon his foe, sprawling sound in every direction. And as his plan intended, the nearest victim to his first bullet was a rather foreign looking soldier; of course, its uniform was distinctive and rather feared amongst the Imperial Army in recent months. The Oceanic was caught in the blast radius of the explosive trap, where Wilhelm's bullet struck the case he'd set and threw flames and shrapnel into all different directions. Near endless streams of panic suddenly were inflicted on the surrounding squad mates. As Wilhelm wished, he refused to grant a smirk of satisfaction that his plan was so successful.

	But next came the hard part. Wilhelm was a exemplary marksman, however he wasn't the best that the Empire had to offer of course. Famous, talented and extremely well versed in his art, he was indeed a force to be reckoned with, but something had taken a toll over his judgement. He was angry. Before Amone, the war was a dastardly exhibition of modernised warfare at its finest. Despite this, Wilhelm was used to it. He'd grown up through conventional warfare and settled his mental abode within its trivial battlegrounds. However, before now judgement was rarely clouded by frustration. He'd seen a new weapon that devastated even those who were not directly inflicted by its poisonous air. Gas; a lot of it was used in Amone already. Wilhelm saw people die. He himself even inhaled some of its almost corrosive substances and spluttered like the madness it entailed. With every bolt of the rifle's ejection system, Wilhelm muttered a name of those he'd seen die. The scouting party he'd accustomed himself towards the past few years were gone. Faceless heroes who were overshadowed by Wilhelm's notoriety were now lost into the endless streams of forgotten heroes of the Imperial Front. Now, it was his job to carry their names onward. Not just them, but all the woeful victims of the horrendous gas attack. This was his purpose. His family, his children...all of those at home would be able to remember those he saw fit through his memoirs. If he could just leave Amone, conclude his duty and subjugate his name throughout history. This wasn't for him, it was for [i]them![/i] Everyone counted on him to lead the Empire to victory, but he only sought to run the true heroes of the world into the history books.

	In his rage, he fired a second, more unstable shot when he saw the first body start rushing to the side. It missed, though it successfully smashed one of the few free windows left standing in Amone. He cursed under his breath, slugging in another fresh round with the enemy's name on it. He took his time to scan the area, noticing that they were separating. Of course, the common tactic to overwhelm the sniper. He wasn't entirely sure how reckless these soldiers were, but he knew that one thing was almost certain about leaving a lasting edge on these warriors of hostility: take out the leadership.

	He scanned his scope back over to the first victim, he laid writhing in pain over the loss of his leg. Brutal. Wilhelm despised the brutality of the war but it was how life was, and how it would remain until the end of time itself. Reality was often excruciating. And here, on the fields of battle, it was devastating towards even the aggressive predator. Cycling another round, he shot into the wall that he knew the squad's leading figure was hidden behind. Whilst most would see it as a wasted shot, it was within his interests to see how weak the cover was, hoping to penetrate it. And to his luck, the round went straight through the wall, creating the tiniest hole through its wooden and sand-based remain. A small smirk finally came upon his face as he completed his aggressive assessment, even seeing the NCO crouched behind it jumped and almost scurry backwards into a more concealed position. Keeping them away from the body was one thing, but letting them rush it was going to be his ideal prize. Every situation was to be taken as if it were his last, where his goal was to leave as much damage as humanly possible before the end of his encounter. So far, he'd just been lucky enough to win every other time.

	Whilst his attention was focused on the Franican Corporal in the distance, a sudden blast shuddered his church tower and threw off his accuracy. He flipped, rambling to himself in a cold fashion at his ignorance. With a roll, he tried to adjust his position to get a better angle. Wilhelm became slightly aggravated and lost his focus, collected by the sudden change in the situation. The tower rumbled, and he noticed the field gun. Its wheels were decimated and yet they'd still found the angle to fire a round at the tower. The rush for a second shell was on, and Wilhelm lined up a shot. The bullet narrowly skewered the cape of the second Oceanic before another shot even more angrily missed the helmet of the male. Wilhelm was becoming desperate, and as he prepared to cycle the last round in the chamber another shot rang out, blasting against the tower. Inside, he felt the shuddering of its foundations, and began to scout his way backwards quickly. He turned, looking for the quickest exit before...

	Suddenly, his body was lifted from the floor. Or rather...the tower was. The tilt of its sudden capsize threw Wilhelm at an angle, where he was tossed out of the broken church window and into a fall. His back slammed against the roof of the holy parish and he felt the surge of pain quickly encompass him. Rolling across the slated tiles left him exposed yet again, and the destructive collapse of debris shattered his composure. Finally, he rolled off the edge of the building, entering yet another free-fall as he let out a croaky shout of panic. Slamming against the cold, wet floor, the ground was shrouded in the endless sound of bricks crashing against the buildings. A sprain and a crack was head inside his body as he narrowly dodged the falling bricks, coughing and spluttering as he yelled out in an almost humane pain. His left arm was shattered, broken and twisted into a completely unnatural direction. And yet, the adrenaline kept him going. If they were going to break his advantage, then they would have to fight each other on equal terms. He drew his handgun, the very essence of Imperial engineering. Semi-automatic, and utilising a magazine based storage system, he held every fire-rate advantage in the book. And so, the Green Fox gritted his teeth, leaving his helmet on the ground behind. It was time for him to stalk the prey...[/color]


[centre][sub][@Jacky] [@Smike] [@Yam I Am][/sub][/centre]