"Open fire!" Jason's command was a thunderclap.
The Royal line erupted in a blinding display of red light. Dozens of high-intensity laser rifles hummed in unison, sending beams of concentrated energy screaming across the sand. The first wave of beast-cultivators was riddled with holes in an instant, the smell of burnt hair and cauterized flesh filling the air as they collapsed into the dirt.
Jason lowered his binocular-display and spat on the roof of the truck. "All that circus for so little action. Is this the best the Unions can do?"
The Scavenger Leader didn't look bothered. He let out a low, guttural laugh that sounded like grinding stones. "You think it's over? Boy, we haven't even finished the introductions."
He clapped his hands twice. Behind the enemy line, the rear doors of dozens of rusted trailers slammed open. Men began to pour out like canned sardines—thousands of them, overflowing from the trucks in a tidal wave of ragged armor and feral eyes.
