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SCL Chapter 55: Devils Descend from Heaven
🕑 Added 2025-04-27 19:48:53 +0000 UTCFrom the outside looking in, the 34th Detention Center seemed impregnable. The Kel-Morian forces had skillfully used the terrain, transforming the lowlands between the hills into a small fortress that was easy to defend and hard to attack. But an assault from within would throw them into disarray.
Meanwhile, Augustus led First and Second Squads through the prison compounds toward the command center of the 34th Detention Center.
Along the way, scattered Kel-Morian soldiers either died under their gunfire or fled in panic. Augustus, accompanied by Raynor, Tychus, and Harnack, charged ahead, personally shooting down two Kel-Morian soldiers clad in kinetic vests and smashing another soldier’s skull with the butt of his rifle.
The Kel-Morian command center was a massive spired structure, its design leaning heavily toward the Gothic style. The welded seams of Presteel panels were clearly visible on the walls. Beside it stood a rotating communications satellite array.
Only a single squad of Kel-Morian Rippers was guarding the command center’s entrance—and judging by the situation, they had just rushed out, likely to reinforce the defensive line or flee.
The moment the Rippers appeared at the command center entrance, Grenadier Ward hurled two electromagnetic grenades. Within seconds, three Whisperer heavy machine guns, two portable missile launchers, and over a dozen electromagnetic rifles unleashed their fury, killing three of the Rippers who were about to storm out.
The remaining Rippers immediately abandoned their comrades’ bodies and fled back inside, vanishing from Augustus’s sight.
"Harnack, Griffith," Augustus said over the comm channel.
"You got it, boss," the two Firebats replied, striding side by side into the command center’s entrance.
A grenade cannon round struck Harnack’s chestplate just as he crossed the threshold into the foyer, nearly shattering it—but the thickened armor absorbed the impact, leaving the wearer unharmed. At Augustus's request, Armorer Feek had reinforced the plating of all the powered suits in his platoon, with particular attention to the Firebats'.
Before Augustus and the other Marines stepped into the command center, the Kel-Morian soldier who had fired the grenade had already fled without a trace.
The guards stationed here, who spent their years overseeing prisoners, were far from the elite of the Kel-Morian forces. Some were veterans who had retired early due to age or injury, while others were inexperienced recruits who had barely seen any real combat.
What caught Augustus by surprise was that the Kel-Morian command center looked more like an extravagant private villa than a military installation. Inside, there were not only a dining hall, an entertainment room, and quarters for supervisors and foremen, but also a café, an opera hall, and even a pastry shop.
At least fifty Terran Federation prisoners were being used as servants to keep the entertainment facilities clean and operational.
It was clear that the Kel-Morian overseer had turned the detention center into his own private kingdom, indulging himself in every luxury and vice.
It was hard to imagine what these prisoners had endured.
Compared to their fellow captives locked away in cells, they were dressed relatively decently, with at least one set of clean clothes. Yet every one of them seemed utterly hollow, their eyes vacant and lifeless. Even when they saw Marines clad in powered armor, they barely reacted.
"Where is Hanz Brucker, the overseer of the 34th Detention Center?" Augustus demanded.
He found a prisoner sitting in the corner, weeping.
The prisoner, wearing a black-and-white maid uniform and clutching a broom, was a woman.
"Straight ahead, at the end of the hallway," she sobbed. "That devil… he’s there."
Her voice trembled with grief: "Too many of our brothers and sisters have suffered here—better to die than to live like this."
"Kill him!"
"Lundstein," Augustus ordered, "take your men and locate the rest of the Terrans still trapped inside this command center."
After a brief moment of silence, Augustus turned away. Nearly twenty Marines followed him closely.
The luxury of Overseer Hanz Brucker’s private quarters was comparable to the living rooms of Korhal's nobility.
A balding, obese middle-aged man sat behind a redwood desk.
The moment Augustus saw him, the man had a pistol in his hand, poised to put it in his mouth—yet he hesitated, unable to pull the trigger.
"I thought Moria had no cowards," Augustus said.
He held an electromagnetic rifle at the ready, his helmet’s targeting system locked onto the overseer's bald head, which still had a few stubborn wisps of hair.
The Kel-Morian overseer swallowed hard and slowly set the pistol down.
Suddenly, he began to defend himself:
"Those prisoners—those inmates—deserved everything they got," he said.
"Why should I treat with kindness a bunch of demons who butchered my fellow Kel-Morians? Their hands are stained with our blood—they must atone! My brother died in an airstrike! I wanted nothing more than to tear apart the Terran pilot who killed him—your so-called hero!"
"You say all this... hoping I'll spare your life?" Augustus asked, his shoulders shifting slightly.
Upon hearing this, the overseer immediately nodded eagerly, eyes full of desperate hope.
But a gunshot echoed in the next instant.
Augustus calmly watched as the man’s bald head exploded into a mess of shattered bone and blood.
"I disagree," Augustus said coolly.
...
"Sergeant Augustus Mengsk’s unit descended from the skies, successfully rescuing 453 Federation prisoners of war held at the Kel-Morian Containment Facility 34..."
"The soldiers who gloriously escaped from captivity described the scene like this — the sergeant and his warriors descended from the clouds... When the prison gates swung open, beams of light spilled from their shoulders, as if wings had unfurled from their backs... They were angels in my life, summoned by God to fall upon the earth."
"Moria's Television Station also reported the incident, though their absurd anchors labeled our heroes as bloodthirsty butchers, demons who had claimed countless lives!"
"The enemy’s malicious slander is, in truth, a form of praise. Sergeant Mengsk simply laughed it off and accepted it with grace... Now, that heroic squad has earned a new title. To the Kel-Morians, they are demons from Heaven itself. Thus, we now call them the Heaven's Devils!"
"Citizens of the entire Terran Federation, our victory is within reach! The Kel-Morian economy is on the verge of collapse. Every factory and production line has been repurposed to churn out weapons, warships, and armored vehicles — yet their bakeries lack flour, and they can no longer even bake bread. The number of starving Morians is beyond counting..."
"...Today marks the fourth birthday of Miss November Annabella Terra, the youngest daughter of Constantino Terra, the new head of the old family Terra on Tarsonis..."
"At today’s press conference, Senator Williams declared — psionics do not exist, and the so-called 'psionics' are nothing but superstition. He urged the people to place their faith in God and trust in science."
"A group of terrorists attacked a Marine Corps outpost on the Antiga Prime. According to the official Marine spokesperson, the attack is suspected to be connected to Umoja operatives."
"Hahaha!"
Inside the dormitory of Squad One, Third Platoon, First Company, at Fort Howe, Harnack burst into hearty laughter while playing cards.
In the room, a ten-inch wooden-framed holographic projector was broadcasting the UNN news — a gift from Augustus’s older brother, delivered just two weeks ago.
"UNN! Fake news!" someone scoffed.
"I never said I agreed with what the Kel-Morians said," Augustus tossed down his cards and stared at Harnack, whose face had turned ashen. "I made myself very clear."
"I'm no demon."
In fact, Augustus had been entitled to a two-person officer’s quarters, but he had flatly refused, choosing instead to remain in the shared dormitory with Squad One.
"Why is it all about praising you..." muttered Tychus, who was wearing nothing but his boxers, still fiddling with the projector, unable to figure out how to change the channel. "Why can't they say a few nice things about me too?"
"Ugh, this cursed thing isn’t working. Jim, come here and help me with it."
Today, Augustus’s platoon had neither combat nor training assignments but was nonetheless forbidden from leaving the barracks. Even the most restless among them had no choice but to stay inside, playing cards or finding other ways to kill time.
Josephine, who had spent all night partying at the bar, was still fast asleep, hugging his pillow and mumbling in his dreams.
On the top bunk, Lundstein was reading a cooking manual, while Ward, seated below, was watching the news and arguing with Tychus over which channel to watch.
Zander was once again counting his precious few credits, Lee Dong-nyoung was stacking blocks on the table, and Kulovsky was hunched over his personal terminal playing a game called Rise of the Murlocs, in a multiplayer session with Ryk Kydd and Amy Brandon.
Suddenly, the door slammed open with a bang, and in marched Warfield, fully uniformed.
"You there, big guy — put some clothes on," Warfield said, his hands clasped behind his back. "You’ve got a victory banquet to attend."
"I’ve been saving space in my stomach for this!" Harnack cheered — it never took much to make him happy.
"I'm ready!"
"Out of bed, out of bed, Heaven's Devils!" Augustus clapped the table. "Wake Josephine up!"
"What, dinner time?"
Three heads wearing headphones simultaneously popped out from the same spot.
"You didn’t approve of that title, did you?" Tychus asked while pulling a T-shirt over his head.
"I never said that," Augustus shrugged.
At that moment, a new image appeared on the holographic projector — a propaganda poster drawn entirely in red, black, and white.
It depicted a skeleton in a black robe standing at the heart of a white nuclear explosion. Beneath the wide hood, its eyes burned with red flames, and a pair of angelic wings stretched out behind it.
"I think," Tychus said after a brief moment of thought, "at the very least, it’s good enough to earn us a decent meal."
Comments
Viper777
Gr8 work, thx 👍
