Although the fallen soldier's demise was horrific, in reality, with the support of armored vehicles, the casualties sustained by the Guards remained in the single digits when facing a group of traitorous civilians. If the offensive only consisted of these thousands of untrained enemies, holding the tower would not be difficult.
However, the situation was not so simple.
After using those expendable troops as distractions for a while, heavy weapons quietly positioned themselves in the shadows of the district during the exchange of fire.
Not far in front of Zhang Ge, he suddenly caught a glimpse of a bright white flash in the shadows. Instinctively, he adjusted his footing and shifted his body to the side.
The next moment, a column of searing light pierced through the spot where he had just stood. The high-energy laser heated the air, singeing his nostrils. Failing to hit its target, the explosion from the beam struck the ceiling, blasting the ceramite into superheated gas and molten steel.
This sound seemed like a signal, marking the beginning of the next phase.
The bright light of heavy explosives erupted from the opposite building. The explosive shells soared through the heated air, slamming into the cerapace of a nearby comrade like a foot crushing a fragile shell. Flesh and bones could not delay the passage of the armored piercing round even half a second; the shockwave erupting within his body sprayed internal fragments onto his side.
After pulling the trigger to melt down the exposed heavy fire point, he needed to retreat for cover and send the last few remaining rounds of energy in the magazine to the already deceased comrade.
Simultaneously, some lasers and molten beams directly struck the tower itself, creating several gaps through which lasers and projectiles could enter, while others battered the armored vehicles below.
The armor designed to resist conventional weapons was as flimsy as paper against the molten beams and laser cannons. Luckily, the enemy had little professional knowledge, and most attacks failed to hit vital points inside the vehicles.
Inside one Chimera, as the driver turned around, he discovered that the weapon operator and vehicle commander had been reduced to a warm liquid smeared across the cabin walls and scalding steam. Flames were erupting from every crack, and the rapidly heating air made him feel as if he were inside a steamer.
Without hesitation, amidst the burning sensation, he steered the vehicle toward the tower's base, using the nearly wrecked chassis to smash into a breach, blocking an entrance before moving to the weapon station.
Fingers gripped the trigger; with each pull, the nearly depleted battery delivered energy from an unknown source. Currents surged through the melted conduits, and the previously dormant fire control system flickered back to life. It felt as though another pair of hands were slowly wrapping around his own.
The gears of the turret whirred against the encroaching flames. Even though his nerves had been singed by the intense heat, his hands slowly began to move the grip, guiding the sights to track the enemies displayed on the fire control screen.
Beams of flame erupted from the turret until his fingertips burned, enduring until the final detonation ripped apart the last structure, and then the flames began to merge with the chaotic light below.
Above, the friendly forces standing alongside Zhang Ge were dwindling rapidly.
Elite cultists had unknowingly replaced some of the firing positions previously held by the traitorous civilians. Their weapons harvested the lives of the surviving soldiers with precision that was hardly inferior to that of the Guards.
Although the Guardsmen had recognized this, the sheer numbers of the enemy attacking from all directions, under the cover of darkness, made it impossible to effectively identify which attackers were the most precise.
Even Dominika's powered armor had become pockmarked and scorched, filled with burn marks.
She fired her explosive rounds with a near-cold, methodical rhythm, undeterred by anything around her. After each shot, the collar around her neck—an embodiment of the lives of countless comrades—quivered slightly. It wasn't until her magazine was empty that she would momentarily dive for cover and shift her attack position.
During her shooting, any enemy trying to snipe her could not make her eyes flinch. The beams that struck her armor only provoked a swift retaliation from her explosive rounds. Even as a comrade beside her transformed into a cloud of blood one second after appearing whole the next, all she did was adjust her aim to unleash precise explosive rounds into the exposed heavy firepoint.
Noticing Dominika's unusual state, Zhang Ge could no longer ignore her. After disabling another laser cannon that had sprouted legs in front of him with his plasma pistol, he took a moment to pull her into cover, shouting over the noise of gunfire and explosions, "What are you doing?"
Minimizing the target area while maximizing the shooting space—these were the two essentials. Her method of standing in front of a window to shoot was akin to seeking death.
The barrel of her overheated weapon drooped slightly, and the hissing sound of venting gas escaped from her neck seal. She then relinquished one hand from her firearm, reached up to peel off her nearly useless helmet, and suddenly slammed it against the nearby wall. Under the immense force, the ceramite helmet shattered, as if she were venting some internal struggle.
It wasn't anger; it was fear.
Zhang Ge realized this—she hadn't just changed overnight.
Just like that same helpless night not long ago, years of experience, relentless training, and weaponry forged from the blood and sweat of countless lives seemed utterly meaningless. Everything she had sacrificed was shattered into dust within mere minutes or hours.
It felt as if her entire life and efforts were merely for the purpose of burning out in a corner that would have no effect whatsoever. Clad in her armor, she was not the dazzling protagonist of hero tales or even a supporting character beside him; she was merely a pitiful decimal in a long string of numbers.
Her fear stemmed from the inability to change the current state of affairs, even at her utmost strength. This feeling was not exclusive to her at that moment; it permeated all.
Wrapped in a facade of coldness, her numbness merely concealed her fear. But Zhang Ge had no time to console anyone; he could spare only a few words.
He raised his hand, reached into her disheveled silver hair to grasp her cheek, forcing her to look up and meet his gaze with her dull eyes. He then spoke loudly and without reservation:
"Flowers and honor are not things that can be earned through your death. What you see wrapped in floral tributes is hatred and the blood of countless people. Your death will only bring laughter to the enemy. If there's still any hope of taking down even one enemy, then you must find any way to survive... to atone, but not through your death—through theirs."
He lowered his voice for the last part, speaking directly to Dominika.
Zhang Ge patted her cheek and placed the plasma pistol into her hands, then returned to his position, loading another magazine into his explosive weapon.
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