Angels in the Abyss – The Empire's Desperate Retreat
The rebels and angels charged without hesitation, their assault crashing like a tidal wave into the imperial ranks. As the forces clashed amid the chaotic melee, the sheer disparity in numbers—more than ten to one—barely registered amid the relentless onslaught.
Burgoyne and the other imperial generals could only stare in stunned disbelief at the chaos unfolding before them.
“What in the name of the gods are these fiends doing?! Stop them at once! They’re nothing but a few hundred at most!”
“Restore the formation! Organize a crack strike force to intercept them!”
Imperial commanders barked orders left and right, desperately trying to rally their scattered troops and counter the enemy’s relentless advance.
Yet every subordinate officer and soldier received those commands in silence. None obeyed.
It was only natural. Even the officers who possessed knowledge of summoning holy power through aura recoiled in terror at the overwhelming numbers of angels materializing before them.
Those with even a basic understanding already felt fear rising in their chests. How much more insurmountable must it have been for soldiers who knew nothing of such things?
“Damn it! Are my orders not getting through?! Block them! Fight, damn it!”
“Hold on, Hessam. The momentum is already broken. With the men’s morale shattered and fear paralyzing them, there’s nothing left to fight for.”
“General! I… but…!”
“Pull the troops back a moment. If we hold here any longer, it’s all over. Right now, before the lines collapse completely, we must regroup and prepare for the next counterstrike.”
“Hah…!”
“Time is critical. We have to finish this before the enemy reinforcements can even mobilize.”
“Understood, General.”
Burgoyne’s response hung in the air, his expression tight with barely contained fury. He glared at Hessam, knowing full well that even a few more minutes of pressure might have allowed them to breach the fortress. Now they were forced to retreat with only five hundred men, the shame burning like a brand on his soul.
“Retreat! Pull back the entire army!”
-BOOM! -BOOM! -BOOM!
Soldiers struck the retreat horns as the imperial forces began their orderly withdrawal.
On the rebel side, Burgoyne watched his own troops fall back with a growing bitterness that twisted his gut.
That… is the power of Edward Cromwell? I’ve heard the rumors for years, but never imagined it would be this devastating… Neto, you bastard… You’ve dragged us into this mess again and again…
His jaw tightened as he swore to himself that he would settle the score with the man who had humiliated him. But as he turned away, the bitter taste lingered on his tongue.
He didn’t yet realize that Cromwell’s scheme was far from over.
*
“Ghh!”
“Kyaaaaah!!”
“G-God… please… save… aaaah!!”
Angels and rebels burst into the imperial camp like a storm of steel and divine wrath. Swords and spears—cold iron weapons that gleamed like lightning—cut down the soldiers in a whirlwind of gore. The imperial troops fell like leaves in a gale, their ranks collapsing in seconds.
“What are you doing?! Snap out of it and fire! Shoot those angels down now!”
“Y-Yes, sir!”
The commander’s voice cracked as he finally forced his trembling troops to aim. But the bullets fired into the heart of the angelic formation struck only empty air. The few that somehow grazed their mark bounced off without so much as a dent, the aura woven into their flesh rendering them virtually untouchable.
If only they had been blades instead of lead.
“They… they won’t even budge…”
“Useless. Completely useless.”
“They’re the army sent by the gods! We have no chance of defeating them!”
To soldiers already broken by terror, angels who refused to fall under gunfire were nothing short of immortal. The illusion of invincibility spread like wildfire, turning fear into outright panic. Men began dropping their weapons and fleeing.
Despite their overwhelming numerical advantage, the imperial army was being driven back with humiliating ease.
Within the chaos, Cromwell and his rebels fought with ferocious joy, their every strike carving fresh death into the enemy ranks.
“Damn it! What the hell are they doing?! There’s only five hundred of them! How can a huge army be toyed with by a handful of bastards like that?!”
William’s roar tore through the air as he watched his soldiers break and run.
He had come here ready to avenge the last defeat, but the scene before him was even worse than before—his men were falling apart faster this time.
“Idiots! Those are just illusions created by holy power! Attack them normally and they’ll fall like anyone else!”
“It’s… already too late.”
“What?”
Richard spoke with grave seriousness to the raging William.
William’s eyes flashed with fury as he turned to her.
“Too late? What kind of nonsense is that? Even if they rampage all they want, they’re still just a handful of troops! If only we could restore the formation, we could—”
“Restore the formation in this situation? The men have already lost their will to fight. Fear has seized them so completely that no orders will be obeyed.”
“Damn it! Then what do we do?! Just stand by and let those bastards roam freely through our camp?!”
“Right now, there’s nothing we can do. At best, we pull back the army. Only after we reorganize and learn how to counter the aura-based angels will we have any hope of a proper counterattack.”
Richard spoke calmly, but her words still meant retreat.
William’s face twisted with lingering anger.
“What the hell is this…? Instead of capturing the fortress in one fell swoop, we’ve been tripped up by nothing but a few dozen enemies. How did everything turn to this garbage?!”
William had once been alone and utterly humiliated. This time, however, every imperial soldier present was being routed like dogs—yet even that small comfort felt hollow.
“It was their trap from the very beginning. They knew we would come out like this.”
“You bastards!!!”
William’s roar shook the battlefield as the weight of their second humiliating defeat crashed down on him.
-BOOM! -BOOM! -BOOM!
The retreat horns blared again.
“As expected… the Grand General thinks the same as I do.”
“Hah… Retreat! Retreat the entire army!!”
From the rear, the drums of withdrawal echoed across the field.
Richard and William, still seething, began leading their men in an orderly retreat.
It must have been Cromwell’s doing… But how…? How can one single man cause something this impossible?
*
“Gyaah!”
“Eli… ca…”
Inside the fortress, militiamen fell one by one under the imperial assault. Their fierce resistance had stalled the enemy’s advance, but the battle had lasted too long. Rain of bullets and magic tore through their lines, claiming half of the front-line defenders and leaving the rebel soldiers equally battered.
Like dying candles after their final flicker, the militiamen collapsed.
Jane McCree lay among them, her body slumped against the wall, blood-soaked and barely conscious.
So… this is it…
A bullet had torn through her shoulder and abdomen. Pain had vanished long ago. Fear of death was gone too. All that remained was a faint chill and an unquenchable fire of vengeance burning deep in her chest.
Just a little more… I should have killed him… One more…
She had already slain over a dozen imperial soldiers earlier that day. Her marksmanship may have been poor, but the sheer number was impressive enough. Yet the thirst for revenge still raged within her.
Sorry… Debbie… I wanted to pay them back for you… Every last dirty imperial bastard… Straight to hell…
Her eyelids grew heavy. She knew she was about to die. In her fading consciousness, she fought to stay awake, clawing at the ground with bloody fingers.
But even her desperate efforts failed. Her body lay still. Her eyes began to close.
Despair settled over her like a shroud.
-WHOOSH!
“Eh?”
In the next instant, a wave of warmth flooded her freezing body. Her fading consciousness snapped back into sharp focus.
What… What is this…?
A phenomenon she had never experienced in her life. The mystical healing light of the angels.
Her eyes fluttered open again, and the first thing she saw was the man standing over her.
“You have endured much, soldier. I am truly grateful.”
“Ah…”
The man she had first seen at the siege was nothing short of extraordinary. Now, bathed in divine light, he smiled with the gentle warmth of a saint receiving a divine blessing.
For Jane, who had been left only with rage and despair, Cromwell’s presence brought a single thread of hope.
Within her heart, something long thought dead began to stir.
Ah… God… my Lord…
Faith—once buried—took root deep inside her soul.