The longswords reflected the white smoke of burning phosphorus fires beneath the steel sky. Electric flashes ran along the blades, vaporizing filthy blood mixed with phosphorus oxides. The knights stepped over corpses without hesitation, remaining silent as they searched for their next targets to kill. Phosphorus fire was not always effective. Some Inhumans who could control breezes or freeze temperatures could effectively evade this horrifying weapon, but the Gene-modded Warriors preferred to fight with swords and guns. The ruins were strewn with severed limbs and chunks of flesh. Their brutal fighting style drove many Inhumans who had intended to resist to surrender outright, but unless they received orders to gather prisoners, the knights did not care whether anyone surrendered.
They erected spikes along the streets and impaled the severed heads of Mutants upon them.
On this battlefield, the lives of Inhuman soldiers were measured in Earth hours—or perhaps minutes would have been more accurate. The prolonged strain on their nerves had exhausted the Inhuman soldiers. Before taking up weapons, many of them had merely been untrained civilians. Only under the leadership of the Royal Guard had they been organized into effective infantry squads, yet they still lacked training. Some fronts had once received the aid of the King of Attilan, but after a speech meant to raise morale, nothing changed.
Perhaps some had once lived privileged lives and were now unwilling to crouch behind cover, eating ever-dwindling food supplies while enduring increasingly filthy clothes and skin. Perhaps former slum dwellers had been weakened by long-term malnutrition, unable to keep pace with Royal Guard soldiers during rapid redeployments or bear much logistical labor. When these so-called soldiers encountered the steadily advancing Gene-modded Warriors, fewer than one-third truly had the courage to pull the trigger, and even fewer could hit their targets.