‘Gunfire rattled off of the tattered walls of Old Chicago, shouts and screeches filling the air. Heavy sets of armoured boots plodded through the cracked concrete roads and heavier armoured torsos swivelled around to heave even heavier weaponry to face each new opponent that dared rise from cover to contest them. Idle shots and plasma-fire pinged off of the armour of Earth’s protectors; still, the Iron Lords pushed on fearlessly. Brüic cranked his hand back at the sight of a small platoon of fallen emerging from within an abandoned building, using his Light to materialise an explosive of pure void energy. Throwing the grenade, he watched the purple ball of fire soar through the air before landing at the feet of the aliens - immediately, it exploded into a wall of violet flame, enveloping the squadron before they could save themselves. Turning, the immense man groaned at the sight of yet another squadron of the bug-like humanoids, this time crawling rapidly down the side of a shopping centre. “There are too many,” Brüic began, breathlessly speaking in that thick Scottish accent of his, “we must set up a defensive perimeter! We’re letting them wall us off!” Even as he spoke he could see the gargantuan 8-foot tall form of a fallen Captain, the huge creature leering at him from a distance as it and its platoon of dozens of soldiers walled off Brüic and his much smaller squadron from advancing any further. Looking to side-alleys and other pathways, he quickly saw that other Captains were doing the same with their own squadrons. They had boxed them in. “Er, anyone having any ideas?” Spoke a Warlock, the alien skulls serving as his shoulderpads jiggling frantically as he shot his arms out every which-way to push back the ever-advancing fallen. A mirthful chuckle from behind the man made him briefly turn around, his robes whipping around from the movement. A Titan, adorned in the regal armour befitting of only the strongest of Iron Lords. She crushed the skull of a particularly overconfident dreg in her hand, before turning her head to face the Warlock. “So they wish to wall us in.” Renee remarked simply, her smooth French accent being clear even from behind her thick helmet. She regarded her weapon, a worn khvostov, for just a moment before carelessly throwing it aside, letting it clatter along the hard ground. Clenching her fists, the woman began emitting smoke from her entire body, even as gunfire whizzed around her and barely missed her head. The Warlock couldn’t help but watch; she’d already attained a super? The smoke quickly evolved - soon a fire had engulfed her bulky form, seeming to be emitted by her armour itself. A burning hammer, trailing flames as it fell into her hands, helped in further superheating the woman - soon enough, the air itself was simmering, and even her teammates’ Light-infused armour began to bubble slightly. By now, the fallen had frantically focused fire on her - but what harm was arc energy to the power of the Sun itself? “They ‘ave forgotten one thing,” Renee finally continued, her gentle voice prevailing even as she burned and burned. “All you need to break a wall...is a hammer.”’