When the defensive lines of Durmoth City collapsed, the main alien forces were forced to retreat deeper into the urban center. Durmoth's regular troops fought desperately through narrow streets, relying on urban tactics and guerrilla-style defenses. But the Penal Legion had a different approach—simpler, more brutal, and far more direct.
> "Tie all civilian prisoners—especially the children—to the fronts of our armored vehicles and tanks. Let's see how brave their forces really are."
A Legion officer issued the order coldly, without a hint of hesitation or mercy.
This savage tactic went beyond even the grim moral limits upheld by the Astra Militarum and other units of the Imperium Caelestis. These shadow soldiers were not mere warriors—they were monsters forged in suffering, guided by one principle alone: survive by any means necessary.
> "ALL UNITS! ADVANCE—USE THE TANKS AS SHIELDS!" "MAKE THE PRISONERS THE BAIT! INJURE THEM FIRST! LET THEM SCREAM!"
High-pitched screams pierced the air. Prisoners bound to the armored plating shrieked in fear and agony. Their voices echoed across the metal hulls, creating a twisted symphony that only killers and executioners could interpret as strategy.
Inside his cockpit, the Legion officer nodded in satisfaction. To them, this wasn't a war crime—it was a method.
And then they made a request that left the rest of the Imperium's commanders in stunned silence:
> "We need Mortifier units. Let the alien children pilot them."
It wasn't a joke. It was psychological warfare—an effort to manipulate emotions and shatter the enemy's will before their bodies even touched the battlefield.
Several prisoners were gathered, bound tightly together in a cluster. Explosives were strapped beneath their bodies.
> "Keep them alive until the alien forces arrive... then blow them all sky high."
> "Plant sniper drones and overwatch units. As soon as they move in—take out their commander."
This was the worst form of living bait. The Penal Legion didn't just fight with weapons—they fought with trauma and guilt. The enemy who dared to rescue would be annihilated. The one who chose apathy would forever be haunted by the screams of their kin.
> "Plant bombs among the rubble. Let the blood and flesh of aliens send a message to their species: humanity is more monstrous than any demon."
And if demons had witnessed what the Penal Legion did that day, they would've fallen to their knees—and worshipped mankind as the true Lords of Hell.
It didn't take long for the Penal Legion to push through the ruins of the city. Their inhumane methods—though utterly devoid of mercy—were brutally effective. Many Durmoth soldiers were lured by the heart-wrenching screams of prisoners tied to the fronts of armored vehicles. The cries echoed through the war-torn streets, stirring sympathy in those who still possessed a shred of conscience. But the moment they emerged from cover or tried to sneak out from hidden bunkers to rescue the hostages, they were met with a storm of precision gunfire from Legion marksmen and a relentless assault from aerial drones circling above.
A few Durmoth soldiers managed to reach the vehicles, desperately attempting to untie the captives. But they never expected the frail-looking children to be strapped with explosives. The resulting explosions vaporized everything in the vicinity—no survivors.
"Good. Keep going," said one of the two armored commanders of the Penal Legion.
These two weren't conventional military officers. They were Pablo Escobar and El Mencho—former criminal overlords, ex-terrorists, and the most ruthless cartel leaders ever to rise in the world of Highschool of the Dead. By all rights, they should have been executed long ago by other divisions of the Imperium Caelestis. But instead, they had been recruited—by the Inquisition.
The Inquisition didn't just tolerate cruelty—they weaponized it. To them, men like Pablo and El Mencho weren't liabilities; they were invaluable assets. Leaders with an instinct for slaughter, extreme adaptability, and a deep understanding of the darkest corners of human nature. After undergoing brutal re-education and specialized training, both were appointed as official commanders of the Penal Legion.
"To Commander Pablo and El Mencho," the voice crackled through central comms, "we've reached the city limits. Operation is proceeding as planned."
"Why the panic?" Pablo sneered. "There are no rules of war in a place like this."
"Exactly," El Mencho replied coldly. "From here on out, we burn through every corner."
Both calmly issued their orders.
"Flamethrower units, focus your fire on every potential hideout. Burn every alien corpse you find. After that, move freely."
To them, the Durmoth aliens were worthless creatures undeserving of mercy. In their minds, there was no difference between ethnic cleansing and military operation—both were just tools to achieve victory.
"Move fast!" El Mencho shouted.
Some troops quickly rounded up Durmoth civilians, dousing their bodies in gasoline. The aliens, speaking in an unknown tongue, begged for mercy. But to the Legion of Crime soldiers, such pleas only reminded them of humanity's history—a history full of similar cries when humans had once been enslaved and sacrificed by other races.
"Serve you right, alien scum."
Without hesitation, one soldier ignited the gasoline-soaked aliens. Their screams tore through the air but stirred no sympathy among the troops.
Watching the flames consume the Durmoth creatures, a soldier reported, "Mission accomplished, boss—uh, I mean, Commanders Pablo and El Mencho."
Several soldiers glanced at the burnt corpses before them, bored.
With no remorse, they continued their task—capturing the survivors and torturing them one by one.
---
The alien prisoners were dragged into an open area, their bodies tightly bound with steel chains still steaming hot, like a blazing inferno. Around them, Legion of Crime soldiers stood guard, armed with far crueller instruments of torture.
The chains were pulled tight, digging into flesh with sounds of tearing and cracking bones, followed by screams of agony shattering the dust and smoke of the battlefield. They weren't just chained—the prisoners were hooked up to electrical conduits, receiving relentless, lethal jolts. Their muscles spasmed uncontrollably, as if whipped by endless hellfire.
That wasn't all. Fiery-hot spiked steel whips were lit ablaze. Each lash burned skin, tore flesh, and let fire crawl into open wounds, filling the air with the stench of charred flesh and burning blood.
Some prisoners were forced to stand on heated iron plates that seared their feet and calves until their screams echoed, as if the battlefield itself trembled in response.
More brutally, huge iron clamps crushed limbs one by one, slowly breaking bones and joints. Bone fragments scattered across the ground like shattered glass.
When one screamed too loudly, a soldier mercilessly sprayed corrosive chemical down the prisoner's throat and mouth. The fire burned from within, a torment with no end, forcing them to hold onto a death they could never reach.
---
"Open your mouth."
Several Legion soldiers gripped Durmoth prisoners still struggling despite their weakened state from previous torture. They laughed wildly, faces smeared with dust and blood, eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction.
"Here, eat this!"
One pulled out a filthy pack of tobacco and forced it into the gaping mouth of a Durmoth. Others followed, dragging dying Durmoth, dismembering their bodies, then roasting the pieces over blazing coals.
Thick smoke mixed with the smell of burning flesh filled the air. Those pieces—their own race's meat—were then shoved forcefully into the mouths of the still-living Durmoth.
"Eat! Eat up!" a soldier shouted, laughing. "Get fat quick, then we can cut you up again!"
Cheers erupted across the battlefield. The soldiers roared with savage delight at the suffering they inflicted. But they were not alone. Former human slaves, once cruelly oppressed by these aliens, joined the cheering—eyes shining with grim satisfaction, witnessing their oppressors finally suffer in kind.
This was not mere revenge. It was the unleashed fury of humanity, pent up for years—payback a hundredfold for past horrors.
---
"Sir! The political commissar requests we deploy armored units to expand the front line immediately!"
A communications officer reported breathlessly.
All main resource mines in this area had been secured by the Legion Concordia Terra forces. The zone was now officially the command center and frontline base for military operations on this planet.
"Activate the Mecha Sentinel units at once," the detachment leader ordered without hesitation. "Combine them with reconnaissance drones. We'll encircle the remaining enemy bases."
He pointed at a three-dimensional holographic map.
"Once we confirm their locations, direct all artillery batteries to obliterate the alien defense points. No prisoners. No warnings. Destroy everything."
The Mecha Sentinel was a bipedal, single-pilot off-road vehicle designed by Astra Militarum to tackle terrain inaccessible to heavy tanks or conventional armored vehicles. It combined high mobility with firing stability, making it lethal for rapid patrols, tactical reconnaissance, and sudden firepower deployment during ambushes.
With powerful legs and modular design, the Sentinel could traverse steep mountains, dense forests, and war-ravaged city ruins. Its durability allowed it to withstand heavy firepower enough to wipe out a platoon of infantry in a single counterattack.
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Tactical Role and Function
Sentinels mainly supported light infantry during assaults or deep reconnaissance. The popular Scout Sentinel variant was widely used across Astra Militarum regiments for lightning-fast ambushes and swift elimination. Equipped with clustroid laser cannons and promethium flame-throwers spewing hellfire, these units could incinerate enemy groups in seconds.
For stealth, Scout Sentinels featured advanced gyro-stabilization and low-noise generators, allowing them to slip through thick bushes or urban ruins undetected by enemy sensors.
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Pilot Terrain Customization
Sentinel pilots were known as tough terrain engineers. They often modified their units to suit operational environments. For example, Valhallan Ice Warriors installed extra steel spikes on their Mecha's feet for grip on slippery ice, while Catachan Jungle Fighters equipped chains and chainsaws to cut through dense tropical foliage.
In combat formation, Sentinels operated in teams of three, each armed with a mix of laser cannons, heavy plasma rifles, and melee weapons like chainswords or hydraulic cutters for close quarters.
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"Attention all units! The alien base lies 100 kilometers from the city perimeter. Full fire support is required!"
Three Sentinel guards responded instantly, dashing across the open grasslands with deadly grace. They locked onto targets while moving in tight formation. After sending coordinates and reconnaissance data, the three Mecha Sentinels swiftly withdrew from the frontline, handing over to a barrage of fire from Astra Militarum artillery ready to raze the alien base to the ground.