Chapter 55: The Madness of the Sandhawk Raiders

The war around Black Mountain had already dragged on for several days. The Sandhawk Raiders fought with reckless madness, every last one of them fearless of death. Yet Black Mountain’s army was better organized and far better equipped.

Under the pressure of Black Mountain’s counterattack, the Sandhawk Raiders were steadily driven back.

Their main force was first smothered under mortar fire, then shredded by heavy machine guns. Shoulder-fired missiles and rockets systematically destroyed their heavy weapons one by one, leaving them with devastating losses.

The ground was carpeted with severed limbs and mangled corpses. Artillery fire had baked the blood dry across the wasteland. It was bloody proof that a will of steel could not contend with steel itself.

Even so, the Sandhawk Raiders refused to break. Gaunt and half-starved though they were, they were completely insane. Their bodies were covered in savage tattoos, and their faces were streaked with wild white war paint.

They piled into their garishly patterned technicals—each one reinforced with thick welded iron plates and bristling with countless jagged black spikes, like enraged steel porcupines.

At the same time, Black Mountain’s weaknesses began to show. Their preparations had been rushed, and their heavy ammunition was nearly gone. The water-cooled machine guns had long fallen silent, and the thunder of explosions was growing sporadic.

The Sandhawk Raiders’ battle-crazed warriors stripped to the waist, threw their heads back, and gulped down hallucinogens, whipping their minds into a fever pitch. Standing atop their rigs, they howled and roared like demons.

They topped off their fuel tanks, fired up the engines, and pushed their bomb-packed vehicles to maximum speed. Scattering into smaller groups, they hurled themselves into one final, suicidal charge.

In an instant, across the vast wasteland, more than a hundred armored vehicles scattered in every direction. They kicked up long trails of dust as they launched a desperate charge toward Black Mountain’s defensive positions.

Black Mountain’s soldiers lay prone behind their barricades, firing desperately to hold the line. But the enemy was too many and too spread out. Their own heavy weapons had already run out of ammunition, leaving them momentarily powerless.

Faced with the Sandhawk Raiders’ oncoming assault, quite a few of Black Mountain’s soldiers began to shake. Some even broke and fled. Ordinary people clung to life; no one wanted to die alongside madmen.

Even so, many soldiers refused to yield. They stayed at their posts, not retreating a single step, picking off the charging vehicles with rifle fire.

They understood what would happen if they broke. If no one stopped them, those rigs packed with high explosives and gasoline would smash straight through and turn Black Mountain’s northern district into a slaughterhouse. Countless innocents would be killed. They could not retreat. They could not abandon their defensive line.

Still, it seemed only a matter of time before the position collapsed.

Olivia lay in a shallow trench, eyes half-closed in concentration, sniper rifle steady in her hands. She fired.

A bright yellow tongue of flame spat from the muzzle. The armor-piercing bullet tore through the air and slammed into one of the charging armored pickups. Blood mist exploded inside the steel-plated cab.

The truck veered out of control, spinning wildly across the ground before flipping over. Its fuel tank erupted in a catastrophic detonation, and a crimson fireball rose from the wasteland.

The scorching wind lifted Olivia’s golden hair. The skin between her thumb and forefinger had split and begun to bleed from the brutal recoil and continuous firing.

But Olivia didn’t seem to notice. She worked the bolt without pause, ejecting spent brass casings and chambering fresh rounds as she lined up her next target.

“Olivia, run! Those madmen are about to break through!” A dust-covered female soldier grabbed her arm, trying to drag her away from the battlefield.

All around them, comrades were fleeing in panic, abandoning empty rifles and grenade launchers.

“No—we can’t leave!” Olivia gritted her teeth. “Our home is right behind us! We can’t fall back!”

Even as she spoke, she destroyed another iron-plated truck.

But against the onrushing swarm, it was only a drop in the bucket. Countless armored vehicles were closing in fast. The drivers’ crazed smiles were already visible inside their cabs.

“You’re still young! Don’t die with a bunch of lunatics!” the female soldier shouted. Her helmet sat crooked, and tears of desperation streamed down her face.

“Go!” Olivia said quietly. “The City Lord once said that in any crisis, someone has to step forward and protect everyone.” She stayed prone, calmly pulling the trigger, ejecting the spent casing, chambering the next round.

The female soldier spun anxiously in place. Realizing Olivia wouldn’t move, she turned and ran out of the trench. She righted a nearby off-road motorcycle, twisted the throttle, and sped away.

As the motorcycle’s engine roar faded behind Olivia and the Sandhawk Raiders’ frenzied faces ahead came into sharper view, Olivia’s resolve to die hardened. Yet tears streamed down her cheeks without her realizing.

“If only Finn were here,” she murmured. She wiped her eyes with her bleeding hand and kept firing.

It suddenly dawned on her. She wasn’t hoping Finn would appear and save the day. She simply wanted to see him one last time, to finally tell him how she felt. Even if he rejected her, at least she would have no regrets.

Thick black smoke drifted across the wasteland. Suddenly, a black convertible Jeep burst out from the flank and drove straight toward the charging Sandhawk Raiders.

City Lord Darius Smith sat behind the wheel. Deep wrinkles furrowed his aged face, and his sharp eyes gleamed beneath graying brows. A cigarette dangled from his lips. The wind whipped his silver-gray hair as his calloused, veined hands held the steering wheel steady.

Black Mountain’s only Tier 5 Vanguard, the eighty-six-year-old Darius Smith, had stayed dormant for years. Now, dragging his aging body back into battle, he charged straight into the fray.

Three off-road vehicles raced after him. Officers in black uniforms leaned out, shouting desperately, “City Lord! Don’t go! It’s too dangerous! We’ll make a new stand at the city entrance!”

“Kids, you don’t understand,” Darius said, flicking the cigarette from his fingers. “In any crisis, someone has to step forward and protect everyone.”

The burning cigarette butt arced through the air before an unseen shockwave ripped it apart, scattering sparks.

The ground trembled violently.

As Darius drove the Jeep across the battlefield, the earth suddenly split open. A deep chasm tore through the ground, lengthening with every passing second. Cracks spiderwebbed across the surface. It felt as if a natural disaster had struck.

And Darius was the walking source of the earthquake.

One after another, the suicide-charging vehicles plunged into the chasm, flipping end over end. Dozens more had their tires caught in the widening cracks. They jolted violently as the earth trembled, unable to advance even an inch.

The Sandhawk Raiders’ desperate offensive ground to a halt. They grew frantic, like a pack of rabid dogs running wild, ready to bite anything in reach—only to suddenly find an iron gate blocking their path.

Soon the mad dogs spotted Darius at the center of the battlefield. His Jeep had been shaken to pieces, yet he stood like an iron tower amid the ruins.

The bare-chested madmen opened fire on him. One after another, makeshift rockets streaked toward him on crimson trails.

Darius raised a hand. His silver-gray beard and hair bristled. A shockwave erupted from beneath his feet.

With him at the center, the earth split into countless concentric chasms. The ground shattered into powder. Incoming bullets and rockets were smashed apart mid-flight, bursting into brilliant showers of sparks.

The steel porcupines surrounding him were flipped and crushed by the shockwave, exploding one after another.

Darius Smith had single-handedly halted the Sandhawk Raiders’ suicide assault.

The sight of their aged City Lord charging at the front greatly inspired Black Mountain’s soldiers. Those whose resolve had wavered steadied themselves. Even most of the deserters returned to the battlefield, crying out that they would protect their beloved City Lord.

A group of fearless mutant warriors leaped from the trenches and rushed to Darius’s side, joining the fight.

The brutal slaughter lasted from afternoon into evening. Every last one of the Sandhawk Raiders’ madmen was cut down. Blood soaked deep into the sand while smoke and the stench of gore drifted across the battlefield.