Metrics Of Ragnarok

Full Circle

He stood and straightened his clothes. It was the same gear today, but a different strategy. And by Hope's grace, a different outcome.

He stared into the distance, and not long after, the first bullet fired.

Gerrard reset. Like the last five times, he had missed again.

'I'm beginning to wonder if he actually made this group by his merit.'

The MacMillan tore through the mist as it rushed forward, not for the traveller that had supposedly seen it, but for the one that the cosmos wished to break.

Atlas.

Soon, it entered the rigged zone, and Atlas took a deep breath, then jumped off the ridge to meet it.

His dagger swung out the moment he landed, saving his neck from the ferocious slap across. He skidded back and immediately whistled, inviting the rest of the melee fighters into the fray.

Originally, the plan had been for them to stay hidden until the beast was lured their way, but that hadn't worked, so he'd try something different.

Shock and awe!

Figures clad in snow camouflage darted out, fearlessly engaging with the MacMillan.

Two Xhosa ran by, holding a tense razor string as they did, letting it bite into the flesh of the criminal beast.

Atlas pushed forward, feigning commitment to the flank and stopping abruptly. The MacMillan felt for it and swung, leaving itself open, just like the corporal had.

But this wasn't Spartan's game.

Atlas reached into a small compartment in his fishnet vest and threw the tiny ball in it at the MacMillan. The moment the ball left the shade of his shadow, it burst into white fine powder and sprayed into the beast's eye.

Good start.

It screeched and shook violently, trying to push back the fighters until it had cleared its vision.

The melee team obliged and stepped back, giving space to the sniper elites who mercilessly shot down upon it.

They aimed for vital spots and connected with head and chest a few times, but it only seemed to slightly phase the creature.

A sharp whirl sounded, and a shaped stone launched forward out of the snow and into the knee of the beast, just at the right time to impede its run and allow the melees to dodge its lunge.

The terrain control had started to reveal their prior day's work.

Atlas ran for the MacMillan, with Matthew and another Xhosa following closely behind.

It stood before he reached it, but he had expected it to, so he hurled his dagger forward at it, only for it to be helplessly swatted away by the MacMillan.

He was in a bind, but he didn't stop rushing forward. He caught the glint of the thin razor wire in the sunlight and drew his axe out in the second before the MacMillan got caught by it.

The wire snapped, but it didn't fail to tumble the beast forward. Atlas took the opportunity and hacked it across the head, throwing it backwards for the other two melees to get their own pound of flesh.

Something launched just after, exploding just beside the MacMillan, giving the melees time to distance themselves. If they remained too close and let it regain its orientation, they would die swift deaths, due to how it fought, with overwhelming speed.

A few shots left the ridge and crashed into the Macmillan's side, forcing another screech out of it.

No one smiled at its pain, especially not the lieutenant. They had gotten this far before.

Atlas whistled again, and another harsh whirl followed, releasing another shaped rock from the snow.

The MacMillan caught it this time, held it firmly in its grip and rushed forward with its improvised shiv.

The Xhosa didn't fear, and split into different directions, aiming to divide its attention. It was going straight for Atlas, so it didn't care about their side affairs; still, it couldn't resist the urge to glance at the nimble figures as they became partially invisible in the fog.

The moment of distraction was enough for Atlas to steady his axe, but not for a counter.

The shiv crashed against the obsidian side of the axe, scraping across and narrowly missing Atlas' eye as it flashed by.

The MacMillan turned to meet five brutal jabs, followed by quick hack-and-slash movements that drew about a cup of blood each.

More bullets nailed it, across its spine, hunching its posture. It was good aim, but it was barely achieving anything other than to annoy the beast.

"Aim into the wounds!" Atlas screamed, rushed forward, dodged the beast's swing, and immediately made a deep enough wound to validate his command.

The beast turned and tried to hit the head of an Xhosa, but the man ducked sharply, allowing it to smash into the glazier behind him.

Its attempt struck the weak suspension of the black powder bomb inside, igniting the canister and blowing a few of its fingers off.

Still, it had no shortage of them even after the smoke had settled into the usual fog blowing by.

The next moment was awkward. They formed a semi-circle, with the monstrosity cradled in. Right now, this was a frontline that shouldn't be broken, especially since they were quite close to the under of the ridge. But it was never wise to stand head-on with such things.

"A little help here!" Matthew screamed, beckoning to either of the support teams to aid them.

"Strike a foot forward from your left!" echoed an unseen voice through the mist.

Matthew did as he was told, leveraging the second the MacMillan had remained stunned.

As soon as he hit was seemed to be a pressure plate; a devilish version of a mousetrap shot out of the snow and pinned to the leg of the advancing beast, deviating its angle of charge by a few degrees.

Atlas stepped up and, like someone hitting a baseball pitch, shot his axe into the jaw of the creature.

The moment it wailed in pain, Gerrard shot right into its throat.

That was the first attack that truly dazed it.

The melees pushed forward, abandoning caution, and attempting to force it under the ridge.

They managed to push it back several steps, but it soon held its ground. Atlas threw another ball of exploding powder up, but it managed to have one eye closed before the fine powder sprayed in.

An Xhosa jumped, spearing into its leg, buckling it and forcing the MacMillan down on one knee. Another Xhosa followed through, setting and connecting a good punch, mangling its jaw apart even more.

It was heroic from them both, but now, as the MacMillan fell, the melees now had a man under its huge frame. A second later, that man wouldn't be alive, so Atlas' instincts acted for him.

He drew his miniature shotgun out and fired the two bullets at it, then launched a black powder cannister, exploding just at the point of contact between the man and the beast, pushing the MacMillan off the Xhosa member.

"You okay?!" Matthew asked, helping him stand as quickly as he could.

The man fell to a knee, but no one could help, because the battle had already resumed.