The Marksman froze, percieving the numbers before them. They wouldn't be easy to slay...and they were totally outnumbered. He cursed, and ducked behind a wall.<br/>He unhooked the ammo clip and put in a new canister, the gun hissed as he closed the clip and cocked it.<br/>"I am sorry, Calvalry, but the Prince must be warned, Gods forgive me for doubting him."<br/>The Marksman leaped out into the open and shot thrice, high into the sky.<br/>Fireworks, a past time well enjoyed by the Slayer kind, lit of the sky and screamed as they burned out in the cold air. An answering call came from outside the town, the call of their mounts.<br/>These mounts<span style="font-style: italic">could</span>be called horses, but only because their forms were quadruped, and covered from head to ankle in thick cloth to mask their alien appearance. These mounts were trained from birth the signals and commands of the Slayer, and often the Slayer children kept the same one through their lifetime. These mounts, unlike horses, could run for days, and at a much faster pace, though they could not carry great weight under this pace.<br/>These mounts had not fur, but scales.<br/>As the fireworks exploded with a thick<span style="font-style: italic">boom!</span>the two reared and started running. As they ran they tore off the thick cloaks with sharp teeth and claws, sometimes running on four legs, sometimes on two. As they ran they screamed, mourning their separation from their riders, and charged onward.<br/>They ran SouthEast, towards Coiil.<br/><br/>The Marksman dove behind the wall again, fishing for his bullets, and reloaded. His teammate bellowed as he was struck by something, and the Marksman cursed. He hated resorting to his third ammo round for something like<span style="font-style: italic">this</span>, but mechs meant advanced tech, and they were equipped to deal with primitives.<br/>He locked on a third, heavier cartridge, and swung his weapon up to sight the enemies.<br/>The Calavalry heard the fireworks, and felt his blood run cold. The Screamers were leaving, which meant they were not expected to return. Was the army he was facing so large? Dear Gods, the Prince was right, he had needed more time to scout the Continent.<br/>No matter, the Slayer were bred to die in combat, in conquest, in becoming a World Supremacy. These monstrous mechs and their inhuman soldiers would fall, all the same.<br/>He tried to dodge, but the beast clipped his shoulder, drawing blood, and drawing a battle cry from his lungs. The Calvalry swung the lance with all his strength, and bared his teeth in pleasure as the battle went on.<br/>He doubted these monsters would take captives, which made his job much easier. There was a hissing sound behind him, and he turned to see Marksman crouching behind a door, loading new ammo into his weapon. The man drew a mask over his face, and shot an apologetic look at Calvalry as he locked the ammo into place.<br/>The Lanceman nodded, and hacked at the mechanical beast with renewed vigor. The Slayer's only objective was conquest. They always won, even if they had to perish.