/lit/ - Literature

>>19428186
He wasn't supposed to let the Claws know he was there, not under any circumstances, but he now knew that this entire convoy must be a sort of trap. He panned back over to the Claws, they were now only 30 feet away. He moved his fingers to his forearm computer, mounted into his camouflaged armor to hail them. It was too late.

An anti-material rifle boomed, then another. Two huge armored forms near the caravan staggered and fell. The heads of the others turned to the east as bottles of malt liquor dropped in shock.

The came the cry of the Claws, booming in one masculine, throaty voice. "Invictus! Triumphus! Trumparum!" Out of the gray brown of the chaparral the Claws emerged, resplendent in their heavy tactical plate. They wielded fierce diamond tipped chain swords, heavy depleted uranium hammers, plasma torches, and various high caliber ARs designed to punch through tactical plate. The best the armories of the Imperium had to offer.

The defenders, caught unawares, were still a force to be reckoned with. They had large high caliber gats, crude handguns, which they held sideways and sprayed at the attackers, creating a deadly, if inaccurate hail in their direction. They also had large chainsaw swords and plasma hurlers, as well as powerful pump shotguns designed for piercing tactical plate.

Still, it seemed an easy victory for the Claws. They would pick off most of the Bix Nubians before they reached melee range, where they were more dangerous.

But then the doors of a bus blew open and a dark clad figure emerged. He had begun chanting as soon as the Claws had exposed themselves with their first shot. It was an unearthly sound that carried unnaturally, filling Gregory's ears even from his far off vantage. The Hebrew erupted from his mouth in an unending stream, filled with both linguistic and mathematical meaning.

The Kabbalah! This was no mere rabbi, this was a full Ashkenazim Warfiend.

The man's eyes took on an unearthly glow, fire seemed to froth from his mouth as he ascended into the sky. His Kabbalic manipulations of reality spewing from his form.

He rose into the sky, great arcs of plasma exploding from around his body as the energies of his spell escaped. The Claws were doomed and there was nothing Gregory could do to save them.

The Claws' remaining sniper fire crashed into the Talmudic intradiction field, and the high caliber rounds fell harmlessly to the ground.

Guns would be useless here, for the Claws at least. Meanwhile, the Bix Nubians had begun laying down a hail of inaccurate, but still deadly fire as the Claws charged. It caught four men before they closed with the enemy, toppling them to the ground.

"Trump! Invictus!" The brave men boomed as they charged to their glory, and their doom.

"Unga bunga motha fucka, bix nood sheiiiiiiiit," the slavers screamed in response. The two sides flew at each other and Kabbalahic sorceries flashed overhead.