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  The ground shook violently as if the tectonic plate itself was shifting. In the battered city, buildings shook and pavement cracked. Pipelines ruptured while powerlines swung and fell. The most battle damaged buildings collapsed entirely in showers of concrete and glass. The entire Earth groaned and wailed.

  All along the landscape black oily tentacles erupted from the ground. Some were small, no bigger than telephone poles. Other were gargantuan, the size of airliner fuselages. Like weeds, they erupted from beneath concrete and dirt. Immediately, they began to lash out at everything around them. They coiled around cars and crushed them with ease. Anything living was hunted down and either speared through or crushed by the writhing monstrosities. Some tentacles had wide maws that consumed human beings whole.

  From some of these maws emerged creatures. They were black and oily. Their forms were terrifying to behold, often made from seemingly randomized mixtures of bodyparts that had been sown together by madness. Their mouths dripped poison from elongated fangs and they had tongues like whips. Their appendages were clusters of arm, wing, claw and hoof. They bore crude bladed weapons. Like a horde of barbarians they charged against anything that caught their eye and ripped it to shreds in excessive and brutal manner. To kill was not enough for them. They ripped limb from limb and took the time to skin their victims alive. Horror beyond comprehension had entered the battlespace.

  The battlefield was thrown into complete chaos. The frontline between the Terra Vanguard and the vampire cultists was shattered as mutant creatures of darkness attacked both sides. The fighting became a free-for-all.

  A gunship was swarmed by flying monsters. They tore into the fuselage and some flew directly into the intake manifolds. The aircraft pitched and spun as the pilot tried to shake them off. The engines gave out as they spewed flame and fanblades. The foxhound crashed flat on its belly, flaming fuel scattered around the crash sight.

  The crash sent Ground-Commander Reinstead's new headquarters into chaos as personnel ducked and ran.

  An unceasing flood of reports were coming in. Units were calling for help. Everyone was now hemmed in on all sides. There were desperate calls for air support and commanders transmitting "Alamo" alerts.

  Just when Reinstead thought it couldn't get any worse, the water erupted along his beachhead as a vorrkoth made landfall. It's massive form dragged the tide with it, flooding the beach and washing away bodies and loose equipment. It was dragging the battered hull of a submarine with it.

  Reinstead could only stare in awe at the monster that stood several stories tall.

  One of his lieutenants roused his attention. Holding a radio, he screamed over the sound of battle. "Sir! 1st mechanized reports their line has been breached! Right flank is now isolated and we're cutoff from everything south of Torrance! Lieutenant-Commander Kubinski was taken command of the southern pocket! He's reorganizing his perimeter around the port! He says he intends to hold Long Beach to the last!"

  Reinstead cursed internally. His forces were now split in two. He was being defeated in detail.

  Another officer approached them and made a similarly bleak report. "Vorrkoths have come ashore at LAX and Manhattan Beach. Mastodon has been destroyed. Ningyo is missing. Coup de Grace reports railgun inoperative due to hot chamber. If they fire another round the breech will fail. One hour to cool down."

  The lieutenant was in dismay. "One hour?! We'll be holding positions knee-deep in the surf by then!"

  Reinstead opened his mouth, but no words came out. He didn't know what to say.

  "Sir, orders!" The lieutenant prompted him. "What do we do!"

  Reinstead shook his head and told them the only thing he could.

  "Inform High Command. Fire all X-ray rounds they have at the beach. Tell Hornet it'll be danger close. Evacuate all units from the beachhead. They still might get caught in the beam, but it's better than nothing." he ordered.

  "What else, sir?"

  Reinstead found an unattended shotgun and thrust it into the officer's hands. "As of now all personnel are redesignated as frontline infantry!" He drew his sidearm. "We fight to the last and we die standing! Go!"

  Agamemnon's Command Post

  The vampire stood with arms outstretched, an ecstatic smile stretched across his face. Before him millions of souls were being consumed in a cauldron of darkness. He could hear every last one of their screams.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  "My lord!" Mr. Cohen ran up behind him in a panic. "Our forces are being slaughtered! The... tentacles, they are killing everyone. Our machines are being crushed. The air defense battery is in disarray. What is going on?! Both flanks are falling!"

  "Always was inevitable." Agamemnon said, barely above a whisper.

  "Sir, your orders! What do we do?" Cohen pushed him to answer.

  "Nothing." Agamemnon said.

  "N-nothing?!" Cohen looked around, incredulous. He met the gaze of each of the command and control thralls. They all appeared as concerned.

  "Can you not feel it?" Agamemnon told them.

  They all shared looks of confusion and fear at each other.

  "The Vanguard has failed. We have won."

  "Won?!" Cohen was shouting now. "Our forces are being slaughtered! We are winning nothing!"

  Discontent ran through all present. Knives and guns were brandished, ready to be put against Agamemnon's back. None were brave enough to be the first to draw on the vampire.

  Cohen was the one to make a move. He drew a pistol and pointed it at Agamemnon's head.

  "Traitor!" He cried.

  His finger brushed against the trigger but before the pistol could discharge, a massive tentacle burst through the floor. The whole roof disintegrated beneath them. The entire command staff fell and were consumed in its maw. Their screams faded quickly.

  Agamemnon was left the sole survivor, having not moved a muscle. He stood atop on a small concrete finger that was left jutting out from the rubble; the sole wall left standing. He stepped backwards towards the edge and held out his arms.

  "Finally." he whispered and let himself fall into the open maw.

  Whirlwind

  Amidst a fight for their lives, the survivors of Whirlwind battled in the street with cult rearguard soldiers. With the bullets flying in heavy sheets, they struggled to escort the civilians to safety. The fighting took place in narrow streets and alleyways.

  Milo held his machinegun in place while Tora hammered the magazine feed with his fist, trying to unjam the weapon. Amidst this fight, both heard Kurt shout, "What in the hell is even that?!"

  They both turned their attention to a pursuing cult squad that was now fighting against something that had inserted itself into their midst. It fought like a demon and it even looked like one as it cut them down one by one.

  "What in tarnation?" Milo said.

  "A demon?" Tora proposed.

  It turned its attention towards them. It leapt a dozen feet into the air and came down on their position. Landing on a concrete barrier, it roared a shrill tone and raised a club. Before it could bring it down, the sharpened edge of an entrenching tool embedded itself into the creatures head. The shovel had been thrown with great force and cleaved a wide valley into the cranium. It spewed black ichor and that covered the duo. The body toppled over.

  They were all stunned.

  Weber shouted at them from behind. "Keep the fuck up dummkopfs'! Let's fucking go!"

  Milo let the machinegun drop, abandoning it. "Fuck it! We got bigger problems now!"

  Cry Havoc

  The carrier shook from repeated impacts. Despite the chaos on the ground, the anti-aircraft fire was still coming in thick and heavy. The carriers underside was quickly becoming more shrapnel than structural steel. The top of the tower loomed several miles ahead of them. The carrier was moving slowly, but its immense bulk would cleave right through the tower when it hit.

  "Twelve minutes to impact!" Kilmer reported.

  "Keep her stead- AGH!" Tambor suddenly gripped the side of his head and staggered backwards

  "Commander? Are you okay?" Camila moved to his side, a worried note in her voice. "Your nose, it's bleeding."

  Tambor clutched the sides of his head as a massive wave of pain passed through him. He fought to remain standing as every muscle in his body began to spasm.

  Camila didn't know what to do.

  "What is happening?" Kilmer said, alarmed.

  "I don't know!" Camila said.

  "There's something in my brain." Tambor struggled to speak through clenched teeth. "It's... it's-here."

  "What is?!"

  "The Black Sun... It's here! It's trying to take control!" Tambor was anguished. "You-.... you have to shoot me!"

  Camila scowled darkly. She unholstered her sidearm but couldn't bring herself to point it at Tambor.

  "No." She told him. "You have to fight it!"

  "We can't take the risk!" He pleaded. "I am compromised!"

  "Fight it!" She screamed back. "I haven't followed you for years and into death itself just to fucking shoot you! Fight!"

  "I was never human..." Tambor said, struggling to talk.

  "And yet, you have the indomitable human spirit. I won't do it. I refuse the order. You have never taken the easy way, and I won't let you start now. NOW FIGHT!"

  Despite his agony, a hint of a smile crossed Tambors face. "I trust you. If I lose, you WILL do it."

  Camila nodded firmly.

  Salvo Island

  Sky-Admiral Kincade watched the monitors in the control center with mouth agape. So did everyone else. Hands remained frozen over keyboards. They all watched in horror as Los Angeles was consumed in real time. In minutes, the X-ray rounds fired by the Standoff Array would effectively sanitize the beach. Even if they killed the Vorrkoths, the several brigades stuck in the city didn't stand a chance. They were forced to bear witness as tens of thousands of their comrades-in-arms were slaughtered.

  A team of sensor technicians were distracted from the depression that gripped the room as their consoles lit up. They conferred with eachother.

  "You seein' this?" One asked his counterpart. "I've got strange radio traffic offshore. Lots of it. All in different languages."

  "Ya, concur. I see it on my scope. Correlates to... a flotilla... there's no way this is real." Came the reply.

  "Confirmed on SAT imagery. Thirty plus vessels entering local waters."

  Their supervisor was standing between them. He raised a hand to get the Sky-Admiral's attention. "Sir! We got something serious coming through the Channel Islands!"

  "More serious than a vorrkoth?" Kincade asked.

  The supervisor gestured to the screen. "Alot more serious."