Chapter 18: Mortal Despair and Sacrifice: A Seal Forged in Flesh and Blood

The surface of the Moon, utterly torn apart by the rampage of "Primordial Chaos," had transformed into a living hell. The rampant, primal divine power filled the air with the scorching, sulfurous scent of high-energy particles. The Allied Forces' defensive formations crumbled instantly.

Once majestic mechs silently twisted into horrifying scrap metal or disintegrated into dust, as if erased from existence. Only the piercing shriek of tearing metal and the dying electrical hum of internal systems remained on the battlefield.

Those China "Mortal Mechs," originally deployed in the rear and considered "second-line forces," now stood as humanity's sole and final line of defense.

"All 'Mortal Mechs'! Abandon standard formations! Proceed in squads! Immediately execute the 'Saturation Lure Attack Protocol'!"

The China Moon Base Commander's voice, laced with a heartbreaking resolve, exploded through every mech's comms channel. His throat raw from screaming, each word felt impossibly heavy, echoing through the empty command center.

Cross-referencing the latest frontline data from the "Pangu Core" and the "Optimal Solution Protocol," he pressed the confirmation button with a trembling hand—a command that would push mortals to the brink of annihilation.

"Spare no cost! Lure 'Primordial Chaos' back to the core area! Buy time for the 'Seal' to reset!"

This was more than just an order; it was a promise made with their lives. It meant that these steel giants, forged by mortal hands, would have to face the incomprehensible, trans-dimensional power of the divine with their very flesh and will. They had to become bait, shields, to draw "Primordial Chaos'" attention and re-confine it within the seal's boundaries, even if it cost them everything.

Lu Fan, a mech pilot who had survived the 2045 Divine War, was now at the controls of his "Tiangang One." He watched helplessly as Allied mechs around him disintegrated or collapsed under "Primordial Chaos'" conceptual attacks. That kind of destruction, transcending the physical, filled his chest with a tide of icy fear, making it almost impossible to breathe. Inside the cockpit, alarm lights flashed like lightning through the cramped space, each strobe tearing at his nerves. The core structural integrity on his dashboard visibly plummeted, and before his eyes, the call signs of his comrades flickered out one by one, turning into cold, gray squares on the screen. He could hear the silent, soul-piercing wail as space distorted with each of "Primordial Chaos'" "conceptual erasures," causing a sharp, stinging pain deep within his eardrums. His hands gripped the controls tightly, knuckles white from the strain, palms slick with sweat—the cold metal a stark contrast to his burning skin. But he clenched his jaw, his jawline taut, veins throbbing at his temples. His "Pangu Core" calculated with super-limit speed every movement, every energy fluctuation, even every subtle "conceptual erasure" prediction from "Primordial Chaos." Data streamed frantically across his retina, attempting to translate the indescribable "divine" attacks into "threat levels" that mortals could comprehend, even though that threat level consistently remained—"Unsurvivable."

"Tiangang Squad! Charge! Plasma cannons at maximum output! Lure the Divine!"

Lu Fan's roar cut through the sporadic interference in the comms channel, laced with a desperate, all-or-nothing resolve. His voice was hoarse from the dryness in his throat, yet it carried an indomitable will.

The China "Mortal Mechs," supported by the "sacrifice" and "cover" of the Russian mech forces, could no longer hope to inflict substantial damage on "Primordial Chaos."

Their armor, so fragile before the divine power, would flicker, then collapse with every near miss, the plates twisting and deforming to reveal charred internal skeletons. Yet, they displayed the steel-like resilience of mortals. Their mission had been reduced to pure "containment" and "delay." They no longer sought to kill but used the nearly infinite mobility granted by their nuclear fusion engines to perform tactical jumps, extreme evasions, and ultra-high-speed transits across the lunar surface with almost insane abandon.

Every charge was a "suicidal" saturation energy attack, with one goal: to capture "Primordial Chaos'" attention.

Blazing plasma cannon beams and high-energy lasers, like a breached dam, poured down. The beams sliced through the night sky, creating ephemeral ripples at the blurry edges of "Primordial Chaos." While unable to truly harm the colossal, trans-dimensional divine entity, they effectively "provoked" and drew its "attention." Whenever "Primordial Chaos'" countless distorted, profound pupils turned towards a China mech, unleashing its despair-inducing "conceptual erasure," more "Mortal Mechs" would charge in from another direction with even greater determination, using their own bodies to absorb the irresistible impact. Their armor instantly vaporized, internal structures exploding with a piercing shriek as if crushed by an invisible hand.

Or, they would defiantly detonate their next-generation batteries, unleashing a violent high-energy electromagnetic pulse, even if it could only briefly interfere with the divine for a fleeting moment. Each self-detonation was accompanied by a blinding flash of blue-white light, strikingly tragic against the black lunar backdrop, leaving behind only a small patch of scorched regolith.

"Mech Three, energy shield overloaded! Structural collapse! Engine on fire! I can't return, you keep going!" A jarring alarm blared through the comms, accompanied by the shriek of twisting metal and the desperate coughs of the pilot inside.

"Mech Seven, under mental assault, pilot vital signs lost!... Tiangang, Seven is... is silent!" This was followed by a cold, brutal report, laced with a comrade's choked sob.

Through the comms channel, the screams and sacrifice reports of comrades rose and fell. Each lost call sign signified the fall of a vibrant life.

Lu Fan watched as "Mortal Mech" after "Mortal Mech" was annihilated around him, yet not a single mech retreated, not a single pilot chose to flee. They were like cornered beasts, knowing certain death, yet choosing to launch their most desperate, most glorious counterattack against the unconquerable hunter! Every explosion was a wall built of flesh and steel, buying humanity precious seconds.

"We use our lives to buy time for humanity!" This was the final roar of the Chinese mech pilots in the comms, their voices echoing in the cosmic silence, carrying the tragic resolve of mortals challenging a god, before falling silent themselves.

Deep within the Moon Base, in the command center shielded by thick layers of alloy, the foundational "Gravity Suppressors" and "Energy Confinement Field Generators" were active, emitting a deep, resonating hum. The entire base trembled slightly under the immense energy operation.

However, "Primordial Chaos'" current rampage far exceeded expectations; its confinement range and intensity were insufficient to fully suppress it. They urgently needed more direct, more violent "Gravitational Induction" and "Energy Infusion" to draw "Primordial Chaos" back into the core area of the seal.

At the Earth Command Center, General Li Mingguo stared at the massive casualty figures flickering on the screen. Every increase in the numbers felt like a dagger piercing his heart. He watched the fearless charge of the China mech forces, wave after wave, like moths drawn to a flame. His eyes were moist, but as the supreme commander, he knew this was the only way.

This was the only way to mend the vast rift created by humanity's ignorance and arrogance, to atone for repeatedly underestimating divine power, by offering mortal flesh and sacrifice. He took a deep breath, but a sharp pain shot through his lungs—a consequence of excessive tobacco, and a tangible manifestation of the heavy pressure within him.

"Guanghan Base! Initiate 'Guixu Protocol'! Overcharge all backup nuclear fusion units to their absolute limit!"

General Li Mingguo's voice was hoarse, carrying an undeniable command. This was a self-destructive act, funneling all of the Moon Base's stored nuclear fusion energy into the sealed area within a short timeframe, completely draining the base's energy core.

Inside the Moon Base, alarms blared deafeningly. Red warning lights flashed wildly down the narrow corridors, illuminating the sweat-drenched, almost distorted faces of the engineers. Under immense pressure, their hands trembling, they executed these almost insane orders. The energy of the backup nuclear fusion units was forcibly pushed to critical levels, emitting a piercing, overcharged hum, and the air filled with the acrid smell of burnt circuitry. Massive energy streams surged through underground conduits, like subterranean magma, carrying an aura of destruction, roaring as they poured frantically towards the rift where "Primordial Chaos" was located, letting out a soul-chilling growl.

Under the "flesh and blood induction" forged by the "Mortal Mechs'" lives, and the self-destructive energy infusion from the Moon Base's "Guixu Protocol," "Primordial Chaos'" vast, formless body was finally drawn in and confined once more.

That irresistible torrent of immense energy, like an invisible giant hand, forcefully "pushed" "it" back into the depths of the rift! The gaping maw torn open on the Moon's surface roared deafeningly as the energy poured in, as if the very Earth itself was groaning in agony.

The moment "Primordial Chaos" was "re-confined," it seemed to unleash a silent, yet soul-shattering "howl" of ultimate "fury" that instantly disoriented the few surviving soldiers on the battlefield.

Some even bled from their visors, while others collapsed directly, clutching their heads in agonizing screams.

Then, the entire Moon fell into a deathly silence oncemore. But this time, the silence was not a victorious cadence; it was permeated with the thick scent of blood and the looming shadow of despair.

"Report... 'Primordial Chaos'... has been re-suppressed."

The Moon Base Commander's voice carried an almost unbelievable weariness and a deep, bone-crushing grief. Each word was a struggle, as if it took all his strength to utter.

"Real-time data from the energy suppressors, based on our projections, indicate we can only hold 'it' for five years..."

He paused, his voice growing even hoarser, almost desperate, a suppressed sob in his throat.

"But our... our forces... they..."

He didn't finish, because everyone knew it was an unbearable, horrific sacrifice. The Chinese mech forces, at the cost of almost complete annihilation, had once again sealed the divine entity. Other nations in the Allied Forces had been routed in chaos, their losses astronomical. The lunar surface was now littered with mech wreckage and scorched marks from energy burns, like a black elegy cast over the battlefield.

This time, while humanity had once again "sealed" the divine, they clearly understood that this was not a victory, but a "five-year reprieve," bought with the blood and flesh of a mortal civilization, and shortened indefinitely.

These five years would be humanity's last hope, bought in despair, for the next—and possibly final—Divine War.