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The quick assessment had ended, and Gabriel realized he had two options. One, gun down anything that came his way, and pray that the attack stopped before he ran out of ammunition. Or two, attempt to find a way back over the gate without getting blown to bits by friendly forces.

Judging by the amount of fire coming from the main gate, that second option didn't seem too viable at the moment. So he shouldered his rifle, dropped to a kneeling position, and squeezed the trigger on the weapon.

*Click*

That was right. He never did finish reloading his weapon when he was pushed away from that artillery...round? Well, whatever it was, it cost him a good thirty rounds of ammunition and now he was desperately fishing through a chest pocket for another clip.

"C'mon...c'mon."

It was a good thing these things weren't fast, or he might have been in horrible danger.

Last one...

He pulled the clip out, jammed it in upside down, fumbled it, caught it, inverted the thing, and slammed it into place before pulling back the lever and emptying four rounds into the nearest cocoons head. Ten shots later, and Gabe was already moving along the wall, attempting to get himself in as safe a place as possible.

Which was pretty much relative at this point. The further away he got from the main group, the more chance he had of being bumrushed by a stray group of those things. The closer he was to the main gate, the more chance he had of attracting attention from the main attack force that was now just beginning to descend on the camp.

So he found himself some cozy spot in the middle, made sure that his sidearm was readily accessible, and knelt down.

Then, he prayed.

"Our positions compromised!"

Was followed by:

"Melee support up front!", crackling over the radio his left escort was wearing.

The purple haired teen thought nothing of it. Instead he merely crouched down lower and covered his ears, pistol in lap, as one of the two guards near him leveled a machine gun and started firing again. Long as these guys did their job he had very little worry going on. They were not right on the front lines aft-

Thoughts interrupted by a loud, "********! Dan!", as a bladed monstrosity lunged over the blockade and caught Mr. Radio.

You see they had started out not at the front lines. Obviously continued assault would have pushed it back a bit. Or maybe that one was just a stray that got through, who ******** cared. All Tweak knew was that there was a screaming mercenary being ravaged by a zombie not a foot away and the other guy was yelling. Like two seconds later the other guy was shooting right over Tweak's head into the zombie as the kid rapidly crawled backwards in reverse on all fours.

A bit too late though, Mr. Dan was missing a large portion of his face that the mutant had snatched up with some weird bladed tendrils coming out of it's facial region. Not a pretty sight to see a dead, undead thing with some tiny blade-bearing tentacles on it's face, one of which mounted an eyeball.

Cue Tweak screaming bloody murder as his remaining escort freaked out over the mostly dead one. It would sound something like: "Oh my ******** god!" The rest was spoken way too fast for anyone to possible be able to comprehend it.

Apparently Mr. Dan was still alive...somewhat. As alive as you could be with half of the skin on your face and one eye missing. His mouth kind of looked messed up too, Tweak was trying hard not to look directly at it.

"Kid grab the radio and call a ******** you!"
"Get the ******** rad-"
"NO U."
"He's bleeding to death you sh-"
"I dont ********' ******** do you want to get ******** 'kay."

The medical facility on base got their most interesting call in ever shortly afterwards.
It's not for your eyes though, patient confidentiality. mad

Sewers-------------------

In unison a pack of a dozen dog-virals dropped their tendrils. It didn't take a sensitive organ to hear the sound of a chainsaw bayonet, hell you could probably be nearing deaf and hear that thing. It seemed to be designed to intimidate as much as it was designed to maim.

Instinct was an interesting thing. David was not afraid of a pack of monsters, and the monsters were not afraid of such a horrid weapon.

Tendrils trailed behind the dogs as they ran at top speed down the narrow halls towards the soldier. Mandibles gnashed eagerly awaiting to pull flesh into the black rend of a mouth. Claws pounded through water, as strong limbs pushed them on. Then those same limbs would guide twelve bodies into the air, as they pounced on David as a unit.

As a pack.

As one.

Camp--------------------

The slow moving cocoons were no match for the still able bodied Gabe. As long as he only had to deal with the stupid grunts of the Omnipraga. God, if only that were the case.

The minute that any thought that even remotely resembled safety crossed Gabriel's mind would be the one that he was put back into danger. That moment a foot long hardened spike would barely miss Gabe's head and dig into the wall he was shimmying against. Now what could have shot that.

More of those bipedal biological missileboats from earlier. They had just lumbered over and crested the hill just then. Along with a second wave of cocoons, this perhaps could be an overwhelming force.

And Gabe was the only one to know about it.

A~E Building-----------------

"You don't give me enough credit Stryphe." The words just seemed to smoothly pour out of a smiling mouth, "I wouldn't be inconsiderate enough to give you the sniffles. That's just plain mean, and we're friends now right?"

"Besides the sniffles just aren't me..." There was an slight change in tone, from cordial to condescending.

That was when it would hit the Demon. A mack truck started to scream through his brain as his whole body rebelled. The Migraine was the first symptom, getting increasingly worse as the screeching in his ears picked up pitch. But that wasn't nearly the most dangerous effect of his sudden attack of illness. No, what was bad was his vision dropped to the blur of colour only experienced by those who are about to go blind. Literally Twelve became nothing but a blur of white and black against more blurs of white, black, grey, brown... They swirled and clashed as one moved closer at an alarming rate.

In the world of sight, that blur would be twelve running at a charge towards Stryphe. Using this moment of weakness to attack Twelve took used the momentum to drive his tendril fist into the demons gut. It was never one punch that did damage, no, at moments like this you had to do combos. Before sight or sanity returned, the Virus' other arm lashed forward delivering an elbow to Stryphe's face. Another insult as not even seconds after the elbow would land Twelve would clasp both hands together in an all too fluid and bash the Demon's head a downward diagonal two-handed strike.

The migraine subsided, but if the combo was successful other pains would be just as bad. Vision would clear, but he would only be able to see his attacker steeping back after the barrage. Putting some space between the virus and the battered demon.

"That was me." Variant Twelve finally finished its earlier sentence.

Amidst the dull fleshy wave of Omnipraga 12's advancing drones, Drake stands like a pillar of flame, his katana flashing again and again towards the bladed things that came against him. Normally, a swordsman will dodge or change his footing in reaction to an approaching foe. Drake, however, keeps his feet planted when he faces one, two, or several foes, slicing silver afterimages into the air. His face is a picture of calm, however...a faint smile even seems to creep across his face. Then he seems to straighten, and then a foot-long projectile rockets into the wall. The blade of a cocoon clangs off his own, instinctively raised.

Drake: "Spikes!"

He roars that one word in warning, hoping that the defenders would realize its meaning as he parries the thing's attack and swings his free hand at its chest, hoping to crush its sternum equivalent into its heart with his heavily armored fist.

Gurgles as David began his culling blasts. The viral-dogs hit by the bayonet were utterly decimated, two down. Bullets, however haphazardly shot, could be equally destructive. Heads were blasted off, bodies turned into swiss cheese, and in a few lucky cases only one or two bullets pierced allowing those dogs to back off. Four more dead, three limping away waiting for the Omnipraga's regenerative abilities to kick in.

But that left three.

Quickly kicking off their initial jump those three virals would duck in under the arc of the machine-gun hugging close to the firing man's legs. Fast little buggers they were, and strong too. Rather than the twice failed tackle take down, they would attempt to restrain and bring David to the floor. First it would be his legs, then around his waist, and if he didn't react fast quickly his arms. Entwining around the man were the cold masses of viral muscle that were the dogs tendrils. Three dogs worth of power would pull David towards the muck of the sewers.

There their gnashing maws would do the rest of the work.

Camp---------------

Drake's warning came seconds too late for three poor young men in McCraig's group. One's suffering was short as the spike went through his head, the other two were pinned to the ground by their vital organs. This only seemed to make the stoic commander more determined, he was hoping no young men would pour out their blood on his watch.

"I'll hold them off!" He yelled as the clip fell out of his assault rifle, "Someone go for the supply tent, there's RPGs there!"

He ripped an extra clip off his armour, he had at least a dozen rounds of ammunition dangling off him. He was a military man through and through all right, he made reloading in the midst of chaos look like an art form. In a few seconds he was already ready to blast some more. Yet the moustached commander forwent any chance at a stable shot and began firing one handed. He was peppering the oncoming cocoons with bullets one well muscled arm doing the best job it could keeping control of the gun. Y'see, this was all part of the plan, McCraig liked guns. They were practical, efficient and in most cases killed stuff dead.

Gaia had many times proved that this wasn't always the case.

With that thought in mind the commander yanked his secondary weapon right off the securing clips on his back. Right hand assault rifle, left hand blunt force trauma. It looked like a more modern version of a dark aged maul, not a power-weapon but the heavy steel hammer could smash faces in its own right. Burst fire briefly ceased and that's what he proceeded to do, with a heavy handed swing he knocked the head right off of one of the cocoons.

A second volley of spikes dug into various places around the camp, one dangerously close to McCraig's group.

"Hurry up!" The decked out McCraig barked, "We need some mother ******** heavy support now."

Tower------------------

A sick grin curled across Twelve's artificially human face.

"What did we do to each other Stryphe?" The virus seemed to beam exuberantly as if that was just what he was waiting for, "What did we do to each other..."

The next part was ever so slightly disturbing, a tendril constructed hand reached up to the viral's left breast. Then came the clench, tendrils tearing into the black material as the grip tightened. Tiny streams of viral bile oozed out from the holes in the fabric where the grip got a tad too tight. This whole time Twelve unnervingly staring down the demon and just grinning like a madman. Sounds of fabric being torn contrasted the demon's rhythmic heavy breathing. What was revealed was expected of someone who built their body from scratch, the exposed flesh and muscle tone was pristine... Except for a large and prominent scar from where a halberd had pierced Twelve so long ago.

"How could you forget," The was a mock note of injury in his tone, "I couldn't possibly forget that moment when the two of us should have died. I had to replicate the memory perfectly. There impaled on each other's weapons... Do you remember ripping the tendrils out Stryphe?"

His other arm raised up, open palmed almost reaching out towards Stryphe.

"No?"

His grin expanded to reveal ominously pointed teeth. The open palm slowly clenched into a fist one tendril bending at a time. And with each finger Stryphe would feel his stomach rebel. Just as Twelve had been pierced by the demon's weapon, Stryphe had been impaled by a tendril intwined skeletal arm. If there was a sister scar to Twelve's on Stryphe it would feel like a plugged volcano right now. Burning magma pushing against the Demon's insides.

And Twelve loved every minute.

All I need to do is make it to a corner and...

"s**t!"

Gabriel slid to a stop, that organic spike sticking directly into the wall next to him. He turned just in time to witness a second force moving over the hill, ready to descend upon the camp. Gabriel set his jaw, and turned back to the spike.

It would have to do.

He took a step back, then pushed himself into the air, moving the sole of his right boot against the spike, pressing off of it in another jump, and launching himself upwards to the top of the gate, where his hands caught hold.

Knees bent, and he used his feet to bring the majority of his body up enough that it was relatively easy to haul himself over the gate and to the to the other side.

When he dropped to the ground, Gabriel scrambled across the campsite.

"ENEMY REINFORCEMENTS! TO THE EAST!"

He'd scream over and over again, en-route to the supply tent where he was supposed to garner more ammunition.

It was at that point that someone shoved a large metal object into his chest. Gabe stopped, put his hands on the weapon, and turned his head towards the soldier.

"Captain's orders."

The soldier was nice enough to shove a few extra clips of ammunition into Gabe's chest pocket before sending the mercenary on his way to the gates.

With all the chaos going on there, he didn't have much of a choice but to go up another tower. Climbing one handed, with the RPG clutched tightly in his right hand and his left securing him to the ladder as he ascended rung after run, Gabriel hauled himself to the top.

The single shot launcher moved up to his shoulder as he stood atop the tower. He flipped up a small sighting device, planted his feet, set his sights on one of the walking missile launchers, and fired.

The rocket propelled grenade shot off like...well, a rocket, and Gabe tossed the empty launcher aside before even confirming the kill.

No point in letting that gifted ammo go to waste, as he shoved a fresh clip into the weapon.

Owle seemed bound and determined to carry out the rest of the battle lying on top of the wall, her eyes staring up unseeing at the clouds, her ears hearing the sounds of battle but her mind twisting them into the tableau of battles long ago. A battle in which Flare had gotten her wings ripped off...all for her, because of Owle's stupidity...

Mistaking her for one of the dead, someone snatched the rifle away from her.

Owle only whimpered.

Evil, worthless mutie!

Love? You don't know the meaning of the word.

Are you ever going to be a real person?

Drake's slow stride brings him within hailing range of Commander McCraig, just in time to watch a decapitating swing from the commander's maul. The cocoon head flies towards Drake, who bats it to one side with the flat of his katana.

Drake: "Mercenary Drake reporting for melee defense, sir."

He languidly salutes with his free hand as he moves closer to McCraig's position, noting the staggering of the firing troops and using it to find a spot where his sword reach will overlap slightly with the commander's maul reach without having to worry too much about getting shot from behind. Then he plants his feet and leans forward, his one eye sweeping back and forth as his bladetip flicks with it to dispose of the remaining bladed cocoons.

Drake: I hope this isn't as futile as it appears...