Editing Machina Dei/Writefaggotry (section)

=Brother Anatole=
Brother Anatole wiped the sweat from his brow as he kept watch on the narrow defile. The cliff fort, a long-abandoned brigand stronghold that was more cave than building, had served them well. They'd held out against the Romans for three days, and, Jehovah willing, they had supplies to continue doing so for several weeks. Brother Elezar emerged from below and joined him on the battlement.

"Any change?"
"No. Since the assault last night, there's been no sight of them. Perhaps they're content to wait us out."
"Then they may know the location of this place, but not the nature. The grain stocks are full, the spring sweet and ever-flowing. So long as the Romans do not breach the walls, we are as safe here as anywhere." Elezar chuckled. "Far safer than the streets of Jerusalem."
Anatole shot him a stern look. "Do not underestimate the Romans. That they even found our stronghold shows that they are resourceful."
"Or that we have a traitor in our midst." Elezar spat. "If so, may he burn in Sheol for all time. And may our blades send him swiftly."
"Peace, Elezar. Did our Lord not say, 'Blessed are the meek,'? If Jehovah wills it, it will be so."

Anatole returned to his vigil, and Elezar turned to go and tend the wounded, then froze. He'd heard - no, he'd felt something, a vibration coming up through his feet. Like an earthquake, or many men marching in step. He turned back to Anatole. "Do you feel that?"
Anatole's mouth hardened into a grim line. "They come again. Warn the others."

Elezar raced below, and returned several minutes later with the contingent that manned the battlement. In the meantime, the vibration grew ever stronger, until it could be felt deep within the rock itself. The men prepared their weapons, as the priests prepared poultices for the inevitable wounded and blessed the fighting men. Finally, after an eternity of creeping dread, the first glint of steel could be seen at the mouth of the defile. Then the battle standard came around the edge and into full view. Anatole gasped and drained to a ghostly pallor.

"Iesu save us, it's the Legio VIII Mechanicus."

Several men groaned aloud as the realization of their imminent death hit them like a hammer blow. Now the monstrosities were in plain view. Twice as tall as a man and emblazoned with the Imperial eagle, these were some of the least of Rome's mechanical works. Still, they were more than a match for anything the Christians had at-hand, and would hew through them like a scythe through wheat. And the men that controlled them were battle-hardened veterans known for their savagery. They had just returned from the sack of Persepolis and had nothing but contempt for the undisciplined Christian partisans. There would be no resurrection for the men here; their bodies would be dismembered and burned, their sanctified tombs defiled. On they came at a near-parade march, as though this were a tree-lined Roman avenue and not a killing field. Behind and around them were the legionnaires, looking like so many armored children beside the steel behemoths.

As they closed, the defenders let loose with arrow and javelin. They wounded a legionnaire or two, but plinked harmlessly off the thick steel carapaces of the great armored suits. The legionaries threw a return volley of javelins, and now it was the defenders' turn to bleed and die. A few men were struck, and a priest went down with a javelin in his neck, gasping like a fish in a net. The armored units had reached the wall and began hacking and battering it into rubble. Brother Baram, the leader of the men on the wall, saw the direness of the situation and ordered the use of their most precious weapon: several amphorae of Greek Fire. The legionaries scattered before the clinging liquid fire, but the armored units stood unfazed. One armored suit took a direct hit from an amphora and was set ablaze. It became a nightmare beast, a burning demon who implacably hammered upon the slowly crumbling wall. As the steel heated, it even began to glow and make an unearthly shrieking sound. Some of the defenders broke and fled at the sight. Eventually the armor fell and was still, but a dozen more still methodically went about reducing the wall to so much broken rock.

Anatole stopped in mid-draw. A strange peace settled over him as he dropped his weapon and strode purposefully away from the face of the wall. He grabbed the highest ranking priest by the shoulder and turned him around. "Gather the elders. We must begin The Ritual with haste if we are to have time."
A look of horror and shock crossed the priest's face. "Surely, brother, the situation is dire, but not so dire that we might need summon a Herald."
Anatole shook his head no. "There is no choice. If we do not, not a man here will survive, nor rise again. We do this, and we do it now."
The priest ran to pass word, and Anatole turned and shouted to the men. "Hold fast! Fight to the last breath, and you shall rise again to serve our Lord! Glory to God in the highest!"
The men shouted back as one, "And to the risen Iesu!"

The old stronghold was well-fortified, but even thick walls of stone could not resist the pummeling of the armored units forever. The wall buckled and fell, crushing defenders and opening a wound through which the Romans could pour. The Christians fought valiantly to defend the breach but were no match for Roman steel and the monstrous suits, which crushed man and rock alike in their effort to widen the hole. The defenders refused to fall back and were slaughtered where they stood. As the Romans gained the breech, the commanding centurion surveyed the scene before him.

The wall and the cliff face created a courtyard that backed onto a cave. Christians continued to throw themselves fearlessly at the legionnaires, fighting men and unarmed clerics alike, singing the praises of the risen Iesu as they died. Beyond them were a group of defenders, obviously elites, their battle scars declaring their hard-earned martial prowess. And beyond them, in front of the cave mouth, stood a single cross with Anatole crucified upon it, surrounded by chanting priests. The centurion shouted orders to his men to kill the man on the cross, but he was too late.

Even as he spoke, Anatole screamed and pulsed with a blinding inner light. His flesh seemed to melt away and vanished, replaced by a pillar of white light. The light coalesced and took on the form of a two-story tall armored man with four wings, beautiful and terrible of visage. He reached into the empty air before him and drew forth a flaming greatsword. His mouth opened, and a voice like a trumpet thundered from everywhere, shaking the very foundations of the mountains and cracking the mortar of the stone wall. "YOU WHO WOULD SEEK TO DESTROY THE FAITHFUL, SHALL DIE TODAY!"

The Herald lashed out with his sword and killed a half dozen legionaries in a single blow. The rest broke and attempted to flee, but were stopped by the bulk of the armored units pushing through the gap. The first armored soldier charged the angelic form alone and was neatly cleaved in two, sparks showering in all directions. Three more came on together, landing hits but not perceptibly slowing the Herald before being similarly dispatched. The remaining living Christians rallied at the sight and threw themselves into battle with a renewed fervor, all the while singing hymns of thanksgiving.

When the battle was won and the Romans had all died or fled, the Christians gathered around the titanic angel. The eldest cleric spoke: "Thanks be to you, servant of Jehovah, for your effort has saved us all."
The Herald, in a far quieter boom, replied, "THE THANKS BELONGS TO ANATOLE, AND IT IS BY HIS SELFLESSNESS THAT YOU STILL LIVE. REMEMBER HIS NAME FOR ALL GENERATIONS, AND THAT HE UNDERTOOK THE GREATEST SACRIFICE IN SERVICE OF THE RISEN LORD."
With that, his gaze turned skyward, and he dimmed and faded from view.

Elezar fell to his knees, weeping openly. Baram placed his hand on the man's head and said, "Weep not for your lost friend, for he sits now at the right hand of Jehovah. Weep for we living, who must continue to struggle against the might of Rome." He then turned and walked away, joining the priests in the duty of entombing his fallen men, that they might rise again.