Panzer Paladin Today

"You deleted my squad," she said through the external speakers, her voice crackling with static and grief.

"Forty-five seconds," Flint said softly.

The warlock-engineer stood at the rear of the Phalanx, surrounded by a rotating shield of hexed plates. He wasn’t fighting. He was observing . Recording. Ariane realized with cold horror that this wasn’t a battle—it was a field test. He was learning how the Paladin fought. Panzer Paladin

Flint’s voice cut through her grief. "Incoming. North ridge. Two heavies, plasma-carapace."

She hurled the dissolving greatsword into a third demon, pinning it to a rock face. The blade shattered into luminous fragments. Without pausing, the Paladin stomped forward and wrenched a war-pike from a fresh corpse. "Gloom Lance, class-B. Leech property. Interesting." "You deleted my squad," she said through the

It fell to one knee in a field of wildflowers no demon had bothered to burn.

So she did something Malachar could not predict. He wasn’t fighting

The demonic horde below had a name whispered by refugees: the Black Phalanx. They were not born; they were rendered —corrupted code given iron flesh. Their leader, a warlock-engineer named Malachar, had spent decades reverse-engineering humanity’s own war-forges. Now his legions marched in perfect, silent lockstep, each carrying a blade that could shear through reinforced bunker walls.