Editing Machina Dei/Writefaggotry (section)

=Roman Patrol=
A Roman patrol was marching through the forest. Several legionaries wearing the unfortunately named lorica faulta accompanied by a dozen Man Machines. The path was narrow, but, for the most part, the men were able to remain in formation.

"I hate this damn forest."

"You and me both."

"Eh, I don't mind the forest, but the women are ugly."

"The wine tastes like piss, too."

"Hey, that just means all the more for me!"

"Why did a fan of Bacchus like yourself join the Legion in the first place?"

"Yeah, shouldn't you be back in Rome or Athens?"

"What, you guys didn't hear? Arturius got himself in trouble with the law. It was either Legion work or the arena."

"... so why the fuck is he here? I'd sooner be in the arena than this hell hole."

"Yeah, women love gladiators."

"Alright, that's enough." The commander shouted out before giving a sigh. "I understand that no one wants this assignment, but we have a job to do, so act like Romans and show some discipline."

"YES SIR!" The entire group responded in unison.

The group of men continued their march, with the clanging of their armor and the occasional animal as the only sounds. But soon a large creaking sound broke the monotony.

"Stand sharp boys! It seems we may have some company."

Suddenly a tree burst from the side of the path, and a large wooden hand came crashing down, scattering the Roman soldiers around it.

A call came out. "STAY. IN. FORMATION!" But, it was too late, as men covered with blue pain poured out from the forest. Their swords and axes quickly burying themselves in Roman flesh.

The Man Machines were the only things to remain in their proper formation as legionaries below them were divided, surrounded, and cut down. The men piloting the machines stood firm against the Celtic attackers, their resolve left unbroken by the sudden attack and damning odds.

One of the pilots muttered under his breath while swinging his massive sword at an oncoming Woaden. The man's body being thrown against a tree where others would have been cut in two. "Oh, Jupiter, Romulus, Mars, Caesar... one of you help us!"

A sharp snap rang through the air as light flashed in the shadows of the forest, and the large treeman who had been terrorizing the dwindling legionaries exploded. Wooden shrapnel flew threw the air, piercing through Roman and Celt alike. Soldiers on both sides of the conflict turned their heads to the source of the light to see a colossal bronze man striding towards them, and behind the God Machine were a number of reinforcing soldiers.