Chapter 519
Isaac Goodman
The sky is bleeding.
That's what it looks like when the Kryll acid mortars hit the atmospheric shield—a shower of toxic green sparks raining down against the pale blue dome of Nea Gaia. The ground beneath my boots is a churned mess of mud and shattered chitin.
"Hold the line!" I roar, my voice amplified by the comms in my helmet. "ARCs, front and center! Shield the infantry!"
I rack the slide on my kinetic rifle, the heavy metal warm in my hands. Around me, the battlefield is a symphony of chaos. The screech of the Kryll—a sound like metal tearing through bone—echoes from the treeline.
And then they break through the trees.
They are massive. Insectoid nightmares of black chitin and razor-sharp limbs. The largest of them, a towering Grass hopper variant, stands nearly fifteen feet tall, its scythe-like arms slicing through the air.
"Commander, on your left!"
