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墨書 Inktalez
The soldiers stood in formation behind Ezel Moran, each wearing heavy respirators connected by metal tubes to green canisters at their waists. The canisters occasionally released a thick gas that spread like a fine mist in the rain, casting an eerie, hazy glow around them. The gas carried a metallic bitterness that even the small robots could sense from a distance.
The soldiers' gazes were identical—cold and sharp, all focused in one direction. Despite their heavy gear, their concentration radiated a silent pressure. Their fingers rested lightly on the triggers of their weapons, bodies slightly leaned forward, resembling a pack of beasts ready to pounce. Their breathing, filtered through the respirators, sounded deep and mechanical, contrasting with the muddy ground beneath them, like whispers from the abyss.
The small robot also felt the weight of that pressure as its observation lens quickly shifted between the soldiers' focused stares, finally locking onto a vague figure ahead. It turned to concentrate on the man standing there.
He was an unusual man. Even in the rain, his presence was striking enough to be impossible to ignore. He wore a tattered wide-brimmed hat, the fabric hanging down obscuring much of his face and making it hard to discern his expression. A heavy cloak wrapped tightly around his body, with only a few strands of dark hair escaping from beneath the hat, giving him an air of casual secrecy.
Raindrops slid off his hat and cloak, dripping onto the ground with faint sounds. Each drop left its mark on his cloak, which was already tattered and full of holes resembling bullet wounds; each hole seemed to tell a story of life-and-death encounters he had endured. These holes were not merely signs of natural wear but scars from countless battles.
He stood straight and still like a spear deeply embedded in the ground. Yet beneath his calm exterior lay an undeniable aura of danger. His hand slowly rose to press against a spot beneath his cloak; the movement was deliberate and slow, yet it exuded an almost suffocating sense of threat.
The small robot's processor whirred rapidly as it attempted to identify this mysterious man. However, no matter how it searched, it found no matching information in its database. This left it feeling confused and uneasy because within Iron Dome's territory, nearly every target was marked. Yet this man was not only unmarked; his presence seemed to evoke an unusual tension among the soldiers.
The soldiers' focus intensified further as their fingers tightened around their triggers. The sound of rain mixed with the low hum of respirators created an atmosphere taut with anticipation.
The man under the hat seemed to sense all eyes upon him. He slightly lifted his head; raindrops slid off the brim, revealing a pair of cold, piercing eyes. Those eyes seemed to see through everything, carrying an undeniable calmness coupled with destructive power. The corners of his mouth appeared to lift slightly—perhaps just an illusion.
In that moment, the rain felt even colder, and the air on the battlefield grew unbearably heavy. This was not an ordinary target; his presence might change everything that was about to unfold.
As the rain intensified slightly, cold droplets slid down Ezel Moran's faceplate and dripped onto the hard ground below. He stood at the forefront of his squadron, exuding an aura that pressed down on those around him like a weight. The joints of his cybernetic body emitted faint metallic sounds as they moved slightly; despite being covered by a heavy raincoat, they could not conceal the gleaming sheen of high-strength alloy.
He raised his head and scanned across at the man standing in the rain opposite him. His enhanced eyes glimmered with red light, sharp as those of a predator. He stepped forward; his heavy boots sank into the muddy earth with a deep thud that echoed like a battle horn sounding across the field. Each step he took was steady and powerful, proclaiming Iron Dome's resolve—to reclaim this lost land once more.
Ezel's figure loomed larger in the rain. He stepped forward, stopping at the front of the line, and slowly straightened his body, the metal spine supporting him making his posture impeccably upright. Raindrops pounded against his armored body, creating a rhythmic patter. His voice emerged from the synthetic vocal cords, deep and resonant, echoing like thunder in the downpour:
"Whoever stands there! State your identity!" His gaze was sharp as a blade, piercing towards the man in the wide-brimmed hat. "If you are a civilian, kneel now! Surrender! The Iron Dome will grant you protection."
He deliberately lowered his tone, yet each word carried an undeniable authority. This was not a suggestion; it was a command. The rulers of the Iron Dome had always governed with an iron fist, and Ezel, as one of their most formidable weapons, embodied the threat behind those words.
However, the man across from him did not kneel as Ezel had anticipated. He remained rooted to the spot, unmoving. The shadowed eyes beneath the brim of his hat lifted slightly, raindrops cascading down its edges, obscuring his features. The tattered cloak he wore appeared even more ragged in the storm, yet it could not conceal his upright stance.
Ezel's gaze sharpened; he instinctively sensed that this man was no ordinary fugitive. His hand slowly moved to his waist, gripping the hilt of the massive blade attached to his prosthetic arm, the metallic joints clicking softly. He did not repeat his demand; at this moment, no further words were necessary.
"Who are you?" he asked again, but impatience had seeped into his tone, replaced by a warning.
The rain fell heavier, and the mud on the ground gradually swallowed the boot prints of the soldiers. Those behind Ezel tightened their grips on their weapons, pointing them at the unfamiliar figure. The line behind Ezel resembled a silent beast, ready to tear apart everything in front of them at any moment.
Yet the man remained utterly still, his stance as solid as a statue, starkly contrasting with the chaotic rain around him. Each raindrop striking him felt like hitting a cold stone; it could not penetrate his calm.
The rain continued to pour, and while the ground became increasingly muddy, the Warrior among them paid no mind. He wore massive steel shoulder armor that clanged with every movement. In his right hand was a heavy iron scroll that appeared to be some ancient document but was crafted from modern technology. The surface of the scroll was etched with intricate characters, its metallic sheen glimmering faintly in the rain, exuding weight and authority.
The Warrior raised his head slightly to look at Ezel Moran at the forefront as if waiting for permission. He nodded gently with his chin; this gesture seemed both respectful and laden with understanding, as if saying: "It is time for me to take action." However, Ezel clearly did not appreciate such an indication. He frowned and let out an impatient grunt from deep within his nose before stepping back slightly, his expression conveying: "Do as you wish, but do not expect my cooperation."
The Warrior ignored Ezel's displeasure. Standing tall, he lifted the iron scroll above his head; splashes of rain danced like glimmering beads down its surface. His voice rang out loud and clear, as if everyone on this battlefield must hear him.
"According to the resolution of the Iron Dome Council and with unanimous consent from all people of the Iron Dome!" His voice resonated with each word like a hammer striking every listener's eardrum. "Lanzka Hill has long been wantonly ravaged by the Unwoven Nation! Their plundering of this land is an insult to our nation and a betrayal of our people!"
His tone gradually rose, filled with a fervent passion. Each of his words struck like a knife, piercing the emotional core of every listener. "Today! We are here not for revenge, but for justice! It is time to bring Lanzka Hill back into the embrace of our homeland, to restore its glory as the Iron Dome!"
He waved the iron banner, pointing towards the land ahead, as if showcasing the future of this muddy terrain to everyone. His voice was imbued with an unshakeable conviction, as if he were fulfilling a sacred mission. His words carried an irresistible power, igniting the soldiers behind him like a raging fire.
"For the Iron Dome, for justice!" The final words of the Warrior erupted like thunder, and the soldiers behind him immediately responded. They let out a deafening battle roar, akin to the roar of wild beasts, drowning out the sound of the rain. Green mist spewed from the breathing apparatuses at their waists, each breath proclaiming their determination.
Ezel stood quietly to the side, observing it all. His gaze swept over the fervent soldiers before shifting to the man in the wide-brimmed hat who remained standing tall. His hand still rested on his weapon, his brow slightly furrowed as if waiting for something. He knew that the real action had yet to begin and that this uproar was merely a prelude.
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