[SYSTEM REBOOT...][Status: Critical Stiffness Detected in Lumbar Region.][Recommendation: Yoga. Or violence.]
Gamma's optical sensors flared to life, the digital HUD flickering from red to blue. The first thing he saw was a pair of massive, crimson eyes staring mere inches from his faceplate.
"Good morning," Rie whispered, blinking her puppy-dog eyes.
Gamma jolted, his armored knee hitting the underside of the desk with a metallic clang.
"Mother of—!" Gamma straightened up, his servos whirring in protest. "Don't sneak up on a guy when his motion sensors are rebooting, kid. You almost got a tactical chop to the throat."
Rie giggled, unbothered. "You've been sleeping for a long time."
"Define long," Gamma groaned, cracking his neck. It sounded like a bag of gravel being crushed. "And why does my spine feel like it's been welded into a jagged curve?"
"A whole day," she replied innocently. "You slept in the chair. Sitting up."
"A day?" Gamma looked at the leather chair. It now had a permanent, armor-shaped dent in the backrest. "God, that feels like a century. You know what cryo-sleep feels like? Imagine being frozen in a tin can while having the world's worst hangover, and you wake up wanting to eat a horse. Raw."
Rie tilted her head. "Cryo... pod?"
"Right. Sticks and stones world. Never mind," Gamma waved his hand dismissively. "Just know that my back hates me, and I'm pretty sure my left leg is still buffering."
Before he could explain the wonders of space travel further, the door creaked open. Roz, the young minister, stepped in. He looked immaculate, but the hesitation in his eyes was visible even without a tactical scanner.
"Good morning, my Lord," Roz bowed. "I trust you and your sister have been doing we—" He paused, staring at the dented chair. "Excuse me, but... did you sleep sitting up?"
"Efficiency, Roz," Gamma said, standing up. "Also, I don't trust your beds. Too soft. Makes a soldier soft." (Lie. He just passed out).
"Right..." Roz cleared his throat.
"So, talk to me, suit," Gamma said, leaning against the desk. "I assume you're here to tell me my elite army of super-killers is ready? A legion of heroes? Maybe a squad of genetically modified super-nerds?"
Roz flinched. He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Well... about that."
Gamma's visor glowed brighter. "Oh, I love sentences that start with 'well'. They usually end with 'we screwed up'."
"The Council denied the request for the Royal Guard," Roz admitted, his voice dropping. "They... they do not believe your claims, Lord Gamma. Even with the display of power, they think you are merely a powerful... 'Lower Devil' with grand delusions."
Gamma froze.
"Lower. Devil?"
"Yes, my Lord."
"Lower devil my ass!" Gamma threw his hands up. "I blew a hole in their castle! I have a suit that costs more than their entire GDP! And they call me a Lower Devil?!"
He paced around the room, muttering curses that didn't exist in this language. Then, he stopped. A dark chuckle escaped his helmet.
"Fine. You know what? Fine. I love being the underdog. It makes the montage sequence better." He turned to Roz. "What did you get me?"
"A small strike team. Regular troops," Roz said apologetic. "They were the only ones... available."
"Available means 'unwanted'," Gamma translated. "Perfect. Take me to them. I'll teach them how a real devil fights wars. I used to be a Combat Medic, Roz. I know exactly how to take a body apart and put it back together... usually in that order."
The journey to the barracks took hours. They rode in a caravan toward Ironwood Village, a rustic settlement nestled between rolling hills and a dense, ominous forest.
"So, Ironwood," Roz explained as the carriage rattled along. "Home of blacksmiths and farmers. The best we have... though most of the young men have been drafted to the capital. We are left with the... reserves."
"Reserves. Fantastic," Gamma muttered, looking out the window at the peaceful farmland.
When the caravan finally stopped in front of a rundown barracks, Gamma kicked the door open. He stepped out, his boots hitting the mud with a heavy THUD.
The carriage suddenly lurched upward. The horses, freed from the half-ton weight of his power armor, whinnied in relief and practically bolted forward.
"Whoops," Gamma said, stabilizing himself. "Forgot I weigh as much as a small car."
Rie hopped out after him, bouncing with energy. She seemed to treat this whole war campaign as a family road trip. Gamma didn't have the heart to correct her.
In the center of the muddy training yard stood four figures. They looked less like a military unit and more like the punchline of a bad joke.
"Line up!" Roz barked.
The four scrambled into a crooked line. Gamma folded his arms, his HUD instantly scanning their vitals and gear.
"So," Gamma drawled, walking down the line. "This is the 'Devil's Own', huh? Introduce yourselves. Name, Rank, and Species. And don't lie, my scanners can smell fear. And elevated heart rates."
The first one, a demon with thick glasses and messy hair, saluted nervously. "W-William, my Lord! Mage Class, Rank 3! I specialize in theoretical spell-crafting!" (Analysis: High intellect, zero muscle mass. Cortisol levels high. Needs a haircut and a protein shake.)
The second one didn't salute. He leaned against a wooden post, cleaning a jagged dagger. An Oni with a single horn. "Kenta," he grunted. "Assassin. Infiltration specialist." (Analysis: Edgy. Trying too hard to be cool. resting heart rate is calm, though. Killer instinct confirmed.)
The third was a blur of green motion. "Gobby, sir! Gobby is here! Gobby is a Goblin, sir! Sir!" (Analysis: Adrenaline overload. Likely ADHD. useful for suicide missions or fitting in vents.)
The last one was a mountain of muscle. Seven feet tall. "I am Org," the Orc boomed. He held a shield that looked like a castle door. "I am... Shield." (Analysis: Walking tank. Bone density 300% above average. Brain activity... minimal.)
Gamma stared at them. A nerd, an emo kid, a crackhead goblin, and a wall.
"Okay," Gamma sighed, rubbing his faceplate. "I've worked with worse. Once had a squadmate who was just a sentient cloud of gas. He was a great guy."
Suddenly, a high-pitched ping echoed inside his helmet.
// ALERT: PERSEUS SIGNAL DETECTED //// MAGNITUDE: MASSIVE //// LOCATION: 2.5km NORTH - FOREST SECTOR //
Gamma froze. His HUD overlaid a wireframe map of the forest behind the ranch. It wasn't just a crate. The energy signature was huge. A Cargo Bay. Or maybe a Hull Section.
Jackpot.
He needed to get there. Tonight. But he couldn't just leave his new "students" unsupervised, and he needed a cover story.
A twisted idea formed in his mind. The kind of idea that usually got people hurt.
"Alright, listen up, ladies and accidents!" Gamma's voice amplified, booming across the ranch. "You know who I am. I'm Gamma. Marshal of Hell's Third Company. I'm here to kill angels and chew bubblegum, and I'm all out of gum."
He paced in front of them, his voice shifting from joking to command.
"I appreciate you showing up. But right now? You suck. You're raw. You're weak. And if you go up against an Angel, you will be turned into red paste within three seconds. I'm a medic—I know what red paste looks like. It's hard to clean off armor."
Rie ran up to his side, looking serious. Gamma placed a hand on her head.
"This is Rie. She's my sister. Adopted. Don't ask. If anything happens to her, I will dismantle you while you are still conscious. Understood?"
"Yes, my Lord!" William squeaked.
"Good. Now, for your first exam."
Gamma turned and pointed a gauntleted finger toward the dark, dense forest to the north—exactly where the signal was coming from.
"Tonight, I am going for a walk in those woods."
The squad looked confused.
"Your mission," Gamma said, his visor glowing with a menacing red light, "is to hunt me down."
Kenta raised an eyebrow. "Hunt... you?"
"Yes. Use your magic. Your daggers. Your big-ass shields. Come at me with the intent to kill. Do not hold back."
He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a mechanical growl that sent shivers down William's spine.
"Because I promise you... I won't be holding back either."