Escapist I

Rhok stood before the withered husk of what used to be a nun, his metal-gloved hands clenching tightly around his bloodied junk. His eyes darted frantically, taking in the devastation around him. Every single body was drained of its soul and life.

"How could this be?" He muttered softly, shocked.

Before he could gather his thoughts, the sky flashed blindingly bright. Moments later, millions of microbombs detonated in the distance. His fleet. His comrades. They scrambled to find cover, but death pursued and reaped them nonetheless.

"Daniel!" Rhok yelled, his scream futile as his silver knight, Daniel Asher, the one who had once watched over him from the sky. The silver knight came crashing down like a fallen angel. All four of Daniel's and five of Rhok's suits freefell, exploding upon impact, leaving behind a pile of composite ash.

Now, only one functional Armatus suit remained, the very suit in which he disembarked from and committed the hideous crime against the nun. Deserted in the ruins he had helped create, the irony was almost comical.

Unfortunately, this was just the beginning of Rhok Wagner's misfortunes.

First, the global communication network collapsed across Germund and its neighbouring countries. Days passed without receiving any orders. Rhok scavenged for food and supplies, sustaining himself on whatever he could find. His suit contained a week's worth of MREs and medpacks, but he reserved them for dire situations.

Veterans like him had learned the dangers of being cut off from information. Wars could drag on for weeks, months — or even years.

Then, one night, a routing message came through, instructing him to rendezvous with the remaining knights. The transmission came via an ancient but reliable system, a radio signal.

"What else is there to do?" Rhok sighed, finishing his dinner in an abandoned house. Soon after, he launched into the night, his Armatus suit hovering just above the ground as he flew undetectedly towards the rendezvous point.

As he reached the warehouse, nothing indicated it was a Dunkelheit base. Odd. Either the base was well-disguised, or this was a trap.

With scepticism creeping in, he proceeded cautiously around the perimeter, scanning for heat signatures. Nothing.

"I hate this…" Rhok grumbled to himself, grinding his teeth.

His dark Armatus suit made a soft landing on the northern side of the warehouse. The thruster lights dimmed as the engine powered down. Disembarking, he moved towards the treeline. To his right, a fallen Armatus suit lay among crushed trees and bushes, its impact having obliterated everything in its path.

"Tsk!" Rhok clicked his tongue, exasperated, before moving on.

A hidden compartment in his gauntlet opened, revealing a pulse gun. The plasma nozzle sprang out, humming as it powered up — fully functional. A tingling sensation gnawed at the back of his mind. He might need it.

He wove through rows of containers and trunks. Nothing seemed out of place. Checking his screen, he confirmed the rendezvous point: the large warehouse ahead. A rectangular structure with massive collapsible metal doors stood eerily still. Flickering fluorescent lamps provided meagre illumination.

"This better not be a sick joke…" He muttered, stepping through the metal doorway. Darkness swallowed him whole.

His metal boots clanked against the cold concrete floor, the sound echoing through the massive hall. The oppressive stillness sent a chill down his spine.

Then it dawned on him, this clear was a setup, "Bloody hell!" He cursed under his breath.

He groaned but refused to retreat. This wasn't something a mage would do, was it? Must've been those Arcanii bastards playing their cheap tricks. Soon, they'd realise how powerful knights were in their personal suits.

Then, the air shifted. A ripple. Rhok spun, but nothing was there. He followed the disturbance, searching for its source.

Rounding a corner, he spotted a trail of blood leading into one of the storage rooms.

"Bloody hell…" He muttered. Hardened by war, yet still, gore unsettled him.

He tapped his visor's scanner, nothing suspicious was detected.

"Fine…" He groaned, pressing his back against the doorframe. His plasma gun hummed to life.

In a swift motion, he swept through the left and right corners. Empty.

Satisfied the room was clear, he followed the blood deeper into the darkness. Night vision could only do so much; the flickering light from his suit barely illuminated the scene ahead.

"F*cking hell…" Rhok cursed softly, his eyes widening at the sight.

A mountain of corpses. Not just any corpses — Armatus knights. Their suits, in various colours, piled in the corners. A grotesque display of destruction. None of them were recognisable — arms, legs, torsos, all mangled together, forming a grotesque heap two metres high.

Rhok took a step back, realising his boot had landed in a pool of thick, splashing crimson liquid.

Then, a sharp disturbance in the air.

Reflexively, he dodged. Something whizzed past, and he caught it — a kunai. A Japanese throwing knife.

A shuffling noise rattled through the warehouse. Immediately, his scanner picked up movement.

Over ten enemies closing in, it pinged.

"F*ck…" Rhok muttered grimly, his grip tightening around his weapon as he steeled himself for the upcoming battle against a league of assassins.