Perspective: Sergeant Marcus Jones
A mere three kilometers was a distance that could be covered almost instantly when sprinting at full speed in a "Reinforced Sentinel" interface.
When Sergeant Jones and his "Worker Bee Six" squad burst through a patch of eerie, faintly fluorescent fungal growth and arrived at the edge of the dry riverbed, the brutal scene that unfolded before them made these battle-hardened Federation veterans collectively suck in a sharp breath of cold air.
Coiled at the base of the nearby cliff was a terrifying monstrosity, a behemoth that could not be accurately described in any known terrestrial language.
It was a horrifying "Aggregation," forcibly fused from countless incomplete human and mutated animal limbs mixed with severely twisted, deformed metal armor plates. This mass was held together by a viscous, pitch-black, petroleum-like biomass that constantly and nauseatingly writhes.
Like a small hill on its massive, bloated surface, countless human faces, distorted by extreme pain, continuously emerged and protruded from the roiling tide of black biomass, slowly sinking and disappearing again while emitting a silent scream that directly eroded the mind.
"Son of a bitch..."
Sergeant Jones felt his scalp tingle as a chill shot up from the soles of his feet to the top of his head. Was this the "Above-Spec Grade-A Threat" the rookies had encountered? It was a living, mobile natural disaster that had crawled up from the lowest level of the abyss!
Under the immense pressure of the terrifying monster, the "Pathfinder" squad looked small and helpless.
A commander in an older, modified "Fortress"-series interface—undoubtedly their captain, Gestalt—was struggling to divert some of the Aggregation's attention from the front. However, he was clearly overwhelmed and in constant peril. The other three young figures in standard-issue rookie training fatigues were wretchedly hiding behind several large, teetering rocks from the aftershocks of the battle. Their firepower was so sparse that it was as if they were just scratching the monster's itch.
"Worker Bee Six!"
Sergeant Jones took a deep breath, suppressing the shock and rage he felt when he saw such a horrific sight. He let out a deafening roar over the public combat channel that sounded like a thunderclap on a clear day.
The roar was intended to get the attention of the rookies, who were likely scared out of their wits, and to announce the arrival of these elite Federation veterans to the utterly terrifying "Wailing Aggregation."
"Coordinates 7749! Comms confirmed, 'Pioneer' squad!"
"You filthy mongrels from the bottom of the abyss,"
"are you ready to face the long-accumulated wrath of the Pan-Abyssal Federation?!"
He raised the heavily modified assault rifle in his hands, its muzzle aimed directly at the writhing existence that seemed to be the physical manifestation of all the world's nightmares.
"Listen up, everyone!"
"The target is the 'Turbid-Color Core' inside the monster's body."
"All of you, look closely at the center of the writhing mass of rotten flesh on its chest."
"It's the only thing glowing with that thick, ominous, purplish-black light."
"That's its energy hub and weak point."
"I want you all to beat the living hell out of it!"
"BLOW IT TO PIECES!"
From this moment on, the battle would officially be taken over by the experienced, iron-willed Federation veterans.
"'Worker Bee Six!' Prepare for synchronized transformation."
"Execute the 'Purgatory Cleansing' combat plan!"
Sergeant Jones let out a deafening roar.
Almost simultaneously, the five squad members activated the "Tactical Link Drivers" at their waists with a fluid tactical movement full of power and rhythm that was difficult for the naked eye to follow.
"Sentinel Mod. I! Set!"
Jones was the first to issue the low activation command. His voice was filled with the resolve and madness of someone about to engage in a fight to the death.
"CHUNK! ENGAGE: REINFORCED SENTINEL (FIRE!)"
A cold, synthesized electronic voice sounded in Jones's mind as the "Crimson Core Cartridge" in his driver erupted with unimaginable, scorching energy. A crimson data stream, like a tangible flame of vengeance, spewed forth from his driver and rapidly reconfigured the combat armor on his body.
Allen, Reno, Sarah, and the other squad members immediately followed suit, completing their own "synchronized transformations" in succession. Ice-crystal blue, ochre yellow, and mithril energy glows of different attributes lit up one after another. The characteristic mechanical clicks and hums of their "Reinforced Sentinel" interfaces activating rose and fell across the battlefield like an apocalyptic symphony of iron and slaughter.
In just a few seconds, the five "Reinforced Sentinel" interfaces—each shimmering with a different elemental light—completed their combat form construction, all radiating powerful energy waves. Like an iron torrent, they charged forward without hesitation toward the "Wailing Aggregation," which emanated endless malice.