"THE MONOLITH HAS ABANDONED US! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!"
The scum that had manned the improvised artillery broke down in panic, as the gun next to them had been turned into a bloody mist and scrap metal, while shrapnel from the explosion had cut down three of them. Dropping the powder and scrapped explosive, the cultists, raiders and mutants almost had made a run for it, before the Pack-master jumped to it. Two strong hands reached for a raiders head, before with a loud, wet "SNAP" he broke his neck and tossed him away. Cracking his knuckles, the cult warrior stared at the faithless, the metal of his chestplate glittering bloody, and his cutter gun hanging loosly over his shoulders. "I kill every little bastard who tries to make a run for it, now back to your posts!"
One of the more brave souls, a dusty and bloody raider, stormed forward, a pipe in his hand, trying to smash the cult warrior over his head, yet he was faster. His sharp gauntlet connected with the unprotected belly of the raider, and tore it open, before he interlocked the arm of the scum, and broke it with an equally loud snapping noise. Bleeding and groaning, this display of violence and brutallity restored order quickly, and moments later, the crude barrel mortar once more fired back at the advancing legion and Brotherhood..
A grain of sand, trying to stop a flood!
The giant riding molerat scraped hard over the ground below, its sharp claws scratching over the asphalt of the old parking building, as the Iron-Jaw made his way up the parking building. Behind him, his loyal warriors marched, men who had been with him when they had crushed the Überboss of Fredricksburg, felled the lone-tree republic and burned the capital wasteland to the ground. Another explosion, rather closed, shaked the building and for a moment, the molerat hissed in fear, almost standing up, so that the Iron-jaw gave its rings, connecting the leash to the beasts flesh, a hard tug, that restored its balance. Finally, his group reached the roof, and what he saw made him grind his good teeth over his iron ones.
Far down below, he could see the enemy advance, the ad-hoc defenders of this town no match for legion discipline and Brotherhood firepower. "First wave and this scum already breaks...shameful display!" If he had half the men, but proper cult warriors, he would make the enemy bleed for every step. The roaring guns of the Pitt would return death and destruction onto the bombardiers, the trenches would turn red, as the legionaries would met the hardened veterans of the Capital-wasteland and even the Republic wars, fighting in enclosed spaces, man against man, while roaring marauder tanks would return fire. Yet, all he had was the cultists that had flocked to the banner of the missonaires, and the army of Overboss Lee. And Iron-Jaw found them wanting...
The Overboss was strolling around the deck of the parking-building like a mad chicken, barking orders, and tearing on his hair. "THEY ARE RUNNING! WHY ARE THEY RUNNING! TELL THEM TO STAND AND FUCKING FIGHT...AHHHH!" Iron-Jaw snarrled at the sound of fear in the Raiders voice, as the man turned, glaring at the arriving cult warriors, outnummbering the raiders on the roof. "About fucking time! Your men need to attack now! We need to fight a way out of the city now!" Another explosion came down, this time tearing into a nearby building, and the overboss almost fell over. "There will be no retreat, the prophet has ordered me to hold this city, and this i will do! Your men are lacking faith and spirit, yet the sickness of cowardliness starts at the head of an army.." The head of the Raiderboss turned deep red, as he stepped towards the mount of Iron-Jaw. "Listen here you weirdo fuck! THIS IS MY CITY! These are MY FUCKING MEN! I AM IN FUCKING CHARGE..." Spit flew out of the raiders mouth, yet as he looked around, he could see that his men did not dared to move. Like wolves, the Cult warriors moved in, no raider daring to raise their guns at them. "Your lack of faith is disappointing, Lee! I will not have unbelievers in my defense of this city...men, toss this heretic off the roof!"
Lee wanted to pick up his rifle, yet two cult warriors were faster, taking hold of his arms, and with one swift motion, pulled him towards the edge. The raider screamed in blind fear, while the Iron-Jaw already turned around, taking in the scene around them. Multiple lines and trenches were already overrun, red figures cutting down fleeing rabble, while elsewhere disciplined fire was followed by swift bayonnet attacks. Never before, had Iron-Jaw seen such a combination before. A long fading scream signaled the fall of the old boss, and with a sigh, Iron Jaw turned around. "All Pack masters are to abandon their rabble! All my brothers, my faithful warriors of the Holy City are to take all the supply we can carry, and bring it into the tunnels! You..." He pointed with great calm at the remaining raiders. "Food, supply and ammunition are to be brought underground! Let them have this city...a night of long knifes shall follow for them.."
With the last Packmaster abandoning the rabble and the lack of leadership, the defense of the town crumbled quickly. Raiders, mutants and untrained cultist were no match for trained legonaires and the might of the Midwest brotherhood. Soon, even the last barrel mortar was silenced, before being tossed over, and its crew being left behind, cold and dead. The broken body of Overboss Lee was found soon after...shattered on the ground, seemingly fallen from its fortress, the gigantic Indiapolis Mall Parking lot
Iron-Jaw calmly petted the head of his giant riding rat, who nervously chewed on the arm he had given her to eat. "Calm girl...calm!" His men had gathered around burning barrels, far below in the old service tunnels and catacombs of the city. In the dim light, their metal armor reflected the fire in an display that was beautiful to behold. "Up there, the faithless have taken the city! Let them have it! They wont find us down here, not in such short time! We will wait, until their back is turned, and then, they will be faced with the full might of prophet. Now, eat and rest. Save your Miasma for the final assault..."
Slick / The Bloodline-Carrick / The great warcamp of the cult
The warrior jumped down into the ditch, the sand bloody and reeking below his iron plated boots. Naked from his pants up, he grimly stared at the cage in front of him, holding tightly onto the machete in his hand. Slick watched him, as he waited for the signal. One side, the tutors watched, on the other the unproven warriors like him, ready for their "bloodying". "OPEN!" The huge super mutant growled, as he stood behind Slick and another slave, who quickly pulled on the wheels to open the cage below them. Snarling, the ghouls inside began to wake, smelling the blood in the ditch before them, and noticing the single warrior, who would face them, with no way out. A howl went through the mass surrounding the ditch, as the unproven warrior raised his Machete. "Witness me, brothers!"
Then the first ghoul rushed out of the half-open cage, roaring as he ferally moved towards the trapped recruit of the cult. He calmly took the charge, evading in the last second, before decapitating the ghoul with a secure cut to the neck. The rotting body stumbled forward, as the recruit already turned his attention to the fully open cage, still filled with multiple occupants. "SHADAL! SHADAL!" He roared as a challange, swinging the bloody machete in his hand, as his fellow recruits shouted down encouragements. The warcry seemed to be challange, as three ghouls stumbled out of the cage, leaving it empty now. Slick licked his lips, as he looked down into the ditch. He had seen warriors struggle with two ghouls, yet three were a death sentence. Not that he had any sympathy for the recruit down there...
Seemingly aware of the danger, the recruit grabbed his machete tighter and took multiple steps back, hissing as he seemingly new, that once these ferals would surround him, he was as good as done for. Yet fate seemed to smile onto this unproven warrior, as he two of the ghouls charged at him at the same time, allowing him, with a quick side-step, to make them run into each other, before taking off the legs of the third one with a swift, yet brutal cut. Now on the other side of the ditch, the recruits above cheered, before starting to chant. "SHADAL! SHADAL!"
Before the two ghouls could get up, the recruit already had wanted to go at them, yet the ghoul that had lost his legs quickly held onto his boots, snarrling, and making the recruit lose his balance. Screaming, he almost fell, before sending his boot down onto the ferals had crushing it like a ripe mutfruit. For a moment, a cheer broke out, that turned into a shattered mutter, as the ghouls tackled him. Slick was sure, that this would be the end, yet was proven wrong. Skillfully, the recruit burried his machete in the head of the ghoul on top of him, before tossing the dead body over and struggling with the other. The snarrling beast fearally tried to bite him, yet the recruit was able to shift the balance, and ended up falling over, right on top of the beast. Then his fists smashed into the face of the feral, over and over again, the air filled with the loud cheer of the fellow recruits. Finally, after an time that felt endless for Slick, the recruit looked up, coated in feral blood.
The mutant tutor behind Slick took his time, before he roared out his judgement. "WORTHY!" A rope was tossed down, and moments later, the now proven warrior was pulled up on the other side, a new machete pressed into his hand. Slick watched in disgust, as he could see the grin and the pride in his eyes. He would be given an armor, a gun and a rebreather, allowed to breath deep the refined miasma, before being send out, to fight in the great war. The tutor behind him gave Slick a hard kick, almost making him fall over. "Collect the meat, slaves have to eat!"
Standing next to the ditch, Slick had to catch the parts that were thrown upwards by his fellow slave, and place them in a wagon, to be send to the slave barracks, feeding them the remains of the ghouls that were slaughtered to train the warriors of the Monolith. Slick could not count how many it were, yet a group of twenty was here, for their final test, to prove their worth to be called warriors of the Cult. Looking up, he could see the one who´s turn it would be next to enter the pitt. He was young, yet broad shouldered and with a wide array of scars on his naked chest, making it rather clear, that he was one of the slaves who took up the offer of warriors service. "D...done master!" The slave in the ditch croaked, as Slick leaned down, helping him out, almost throwing up from the smell of rotten blood down below. Behind them, was the feral pen, in which countless ferals and trogs were herded, to serve as living training dummies. In the early weeks of training, the recruits would have the luxury of fighting against them chained to poles, or with their limbs cut off. It was to get them used to blood and killing. Seldom, the masters decided to use slaves, yet the purple robed masters of the temples of labor called it a waste of workforce, more so with the tunnels and catacombs of the Pitt still sprawling with ghouls and trogs.
Two other slaves, using long poles, forced four new ghouls into the cage, before Slick and his partner closed the second gate, while the young looking recruit jumped into the ditch. He shivered, as his fellow recruits began to once more chant encouragement down to him. Slick felt a strange pity for him, as the mutant behind them stomped down with his foot. "OPEN!" Once more the two slaves were forced to open the gates. This time, two ghouls charged, yet the young recruit made the mistake to stab for the belly, before pushing the ghoul from him. The machete stuck, leaving him unarmed. Slick felt his stomach turn, as he looked away. A long, pained scream followed, as the recruit was torn to shreds. The recruits hissed and muttered, as the Mutant behind them simply spat out.
Slick thanked the heavens, that this time, he was not asked, to collect the meat...