Reincarnated with a Military System in Another World

Chapter 208: Defeated



The battlefield settled into an eerie silence, interrupted only by the groans of the wounded and the distant rumble of Garruk's wings beating against the sky. The coalition forces stood victorious, their battered soldiers exchanging weary glances as they steadied themselves. But Vincent was not satisfied. His eyes followed Garruk's dark silhouette as it receded into the horizon.

"Patriot missile crews, prepare for immediate launch," Vincent commanded through the comms, his voice sharp and urgent. The order crackled to life in the control centers scattered across Akarios Island, where operators sprang into action. The distinct hum of the missile systems powered up, a mechanical whine that resonated through the base as targeting systems locked onto the fleeing Demon General.

High on the cliffs, where the Patriot batteries stood, operators worked quickly, their eyes fixed on the monitors tracking Garruk's position. The radar pinged as it followed the massive form cutting through the sky, wings laboring under the weight of his wounds and exhaustion.

"Target acquired," one operator reported, fingers tapping at the console with practiced efficiency. "Missile one is ready."

"Fire," Vincent ordered, his gaze unflinching.

The first Patriot missile launched with a deafening roar, its propulsion sending a shockwave that rippled across the cliffside. The missile arced into the sky, leaving a trail of smoke as it honed in on Garruk's flight path. The island watched, soldiers raising their heads, eyes narrowing as they tracked the missile's ascent.

Garruk's sharp instincts screamed danger. He twisted mid-flight, turning his head just in time to see the missile hurtling toward him, its flame-tipped body closing the distance with deadly precision. With a grunt, he beat his wings hard, pushing himself into a steep climb. The missile adjusted, its trajectory shifting to match his ascent.

The demon general banked left, then right, each motion sending pain searing through his battered wings. Blood dripped steadily now, staining the sky with dark crimson streaks. The missile stayed on course, relentless in its pursuit.

Another Patriot missile launched from the island, its engines flaring to life as it joined the chase. The dual threat bore down on Garruk, their whistling cries cutting through the wind. He pushed himself harder, summoning what remained of his dark energy to shield his body. A thin, crackling barrier shimmered around him, flickering with the strain of being maintained.

The first missile impacted, hitting the barrier dead on. The explosion lit up the sky, a bright burst of fire and smoke that sent shockwaves across the sea. Garruk roared in pain as the force of the blast shattered his weakened barrier and scorched his left wing. His flight faltered, wings flailing as he struggled to stay airborne. His descent was uneven, more of a desperate glide than controlled flight.

Before he could regain control, the second missile reached him. This time, there was no shield to protect him. The projectile struck his side, detonating in a violent burst that tore through muscle and armor. Garruk's roar turned into a choked scream, cut off as the force of the explosion sent him spiraling downward.

On the ground, the coalition forces erupted in cheers, the sound mingling with the crackling of radio chatter as soldiers relayed the sight of Garruk's descent. Vincent's eyes remained focused, calculating. "Is he down?" he asked through the comms, unwilling to assume victory without confirmation.

"Target is falling fast," an operator confirmed. "Impact in sight."

Above, Garruk tumbled through the sky, wings limp and trailing smoke. The ocean below rushed up to meet him, waves churning as if eager for the fallen general's arrival. He managed a final, desperate beat of his wings, slowing his descent just enough to avoid a fatal impact.

His body slammed into the water, sending up a towering plume of spray.

The coalition forces on the beach held their breath as they watched, waiting for any sign of movement. But the waves swallowed Garruk's massive form, leaving only ripples that spread out across the sea.

Vincent's radio crackled with an update. "No movement detected. Garruk is down."

"No, he is not," Vincent simply replied, eyes never leaving the horizon. He trusted his system's notifications implicitly; the absence of a confirmation gnawed at his certainty. The uneasy silence stretched across the battlefield, broken only by the faint sloshing of waves and the creak of armor as soldiers shifted in place, waiting for further orders.

Elara moved to Vincent's side, her eyes filled with worry and exhaustion. "Vincent, if he's still out there, what more can we do? We've thrown everything at him."

Vincent took a deep breath, scanning the sea for any disturbance, any sign of movement. His mind raced through possibilities. Garruk had taken a severe beating-two Patriot missiles, relentless gunfire, and the force of his own escape had left him battered. But demons like Garruk were relentless, and their capacity for survival was legendary.

"We don't stop," Vincent said, determination hardening his voice as he grabbed his radio again. "Where is the Warthog? I want it on target immediately."

"Command, Warthog is on standby, awaiting orders," came the response.

"Good. I want every last piece of ordnance it has focused on Garruk's last known location," Vincent ordered, his gaze fixed on the horizon where Garruk had disappeared beneath the waves.

The distinct rumble of the A-10 Warthog's engines filled the air as it circled back over the coastline, its unmistakable roar instilling confidence in the coalition soldiers on the ground. The pilot acknowledged Vincent's command, banking the Warthog over the sea and aligning its 30mm GAU-8 Avenger cannon with the ocean surface where Garruk had fallen. "Locking onto target area," the pilot confirmed over the comms. "Engaging now."

The Warthog let loose a torrent of fire, the sound of its cannon a deep, resonant hum that echoed over the waves. The rounds struck the water with explosive force, churning the surface and sending columns of water skyward. The relentless assault continued, each shell tearing through the ocean, ensuring there was no safe haven beneath the surface.

Vincent watched, arms crossed and eyes narrowed, as the Warthog strafed the area, leaving no room for Garruk to escape. Elara stood beside him, fatigue evident in her eyes, but she remained resolute.

"Is this enough?" she asked, her voice tinged with both hope and doubt.

"If he's still down there, he'll be forced to resurface. Demons like him can't last long underwater after taking such damage," Vincent replied, though his tone was cautious. He knew that Garruk was far from a typical enemy.

After another pass, the Warthog pulled up, its pilot waiting for further instructions as the turbulent waters settled once more. The ocean was eerily still, save for the ripples caused by

the Warthog's assault.

"Command, no movement detected," the pilot reported.

Vincent kept his eyes trained on the water, unwilling to let even the slightest ripple go unnoticed. But the moments dragged on, and nothing broke the surface.

"It's possible he's retreated deep enough that he's no longer a threat," Elara suggested, though her tone was far from convinced.

"Or he's waiting us out," Vincent muttered. He knew Garruk's kind-they were cunning, patient, and, most of all, resilient. Lowering his radio, he turned to the nearby artillery crew stationed along the cliffs. "Keep a constant scan on the area. I want radar and sonar watching for any sign of movement. If Garruk resurfaces, we hit him hard and fast."

The operators nodded, quickly inputting commands to monitor the surrounding waters. Vincent knew that any sign of life would be met with another immediate strike, but he also knew that Garruk was likely on his last reserves of strength. The coalition forces had thrown everything at him, and if he was still alive, he was no longer the threat he once was.

***Nôv(el)B\\jnn

Deep beneath the churning waves, Garruk struggled to maintain consciousness. The sea was dark, cold, and unforgiving as it pressed down on him, each movement like dragging himself through thick, suffocating tar. The saltwater stung at the deep gashes torn into his body by the relentless assault, and blood seeped from his wounds, drifting in dark clouds around him. His wings, torn and shredded, hung useless at his sides, dragging him down further.

The roar of explosions above had faded, muffled by the dense water. Garruk's mind raced, calculating his next move. His body ached with a relentless, pulsing pain, each heartbeat sending shockwaves of agony through his battered frame. But it wasn't just pain; it was exhaustion, the kind that clawed at his bones and made every thought feel heavy and slow. With a grimace, he forced himself to think clearly. Staying submerged meant temporary safety from the relentless firepower above, but it was not a refuge he could rely on for long. His lungs burned, straining under the demand for air. Demonic resilience could only stretch so far, and the ocean was no ally to his kind.

Garruk's fingers twitched as he summoned the last reserves of his dark energy. The familiar crackle was weaker now, a shadow of its former strength, but it was enough to form a small barrier around him, giving him the push he needed to maneuver toward the depths where he could escape detection.