[indent][hr][hr][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/EZxSm84.png[/img][/center][hr][hr][b]Soldiers of Aurigae’s Company[/b]
[color=silver][sub][b]IC 286.08.16[/b] // Petrichor-8 System, Frontier Planet Alora // Approaching Princess D-47's Nest
1604 hours // [@Eisenhorn][@McMolly][@Asura][@vietmyke][@OwO][/sub][/color][hr][hr][/indent]
[indent][color=silver]The situation below was just as dire as on the rooftops, the soldiers immediately finding difficulty in mowing down the Legionnaire swarm. Despite their lack of full body carapaces, their resilience trumped any other species of Pawn, what little armor they did have being all they required to keep up their charge. Mangled limbs, torn muscles, destroyed organs, if it weren’t a killing blow the Aberrant would simply continue moving until it was, their screams a promise that they would return the suffering tenfold if they were to reach the firing line. The numbers were too plentiful for only infantry to deal with, and though the human side had Pilots to support, they too were under duress.[/color]

“I need anti-air support!” [color=silver]One yelled over the radio channel, his voice crackling as a laser clipped the head of his mecha and damaged the communication systems. The Jetsam above, while a mere dozen compared to the Legionnaires below, were an annoying presence on the battlefield. Slippery as eels, they dominated the sky, keeping the Pilots’ attention with barrages of small yet dangerous laserfire. While they couldn’t destroy a mech outright, with enough shots the integrity of a machine’s armor could become compromised, and a lucky shot could damage an important system. One of the other Pilots was already in dire straits due to the first barrage disabling the firing mechanism of their main gun, relying on a secondary hand cannon to support the struggling infantry ignoring the waste of heavy ammunition, and a handful of the infantry were drowning in pools of their own blood despite the main force of the enemy being entirely melee-focused.[/color]

“Why don’t we get someone to deal with the Bishops first!” [color=silver]Another cried, the six other Spearmen in various forms of progress in closing the distance to the human forces. One, close enough for the Pilot to fire at, deflected the charged rifle beam with a swing of its ‘spear’ before throwing their weapon at the mech with devastating force. The Proto-Class Constellation, who had chosen to interact with a group of Pilots rather than the mingling of both parties that had occurred between the other three Mains with two Pilots, barely managed to divert the path of the thrown spear with their sword, yet the crater that formed around where the rod stabbed into the street only a few dozen feet away spoke volumes to the enemy's strength. Sweat dripping from her face, the Constellation’s hands shook as she felt the Bishop’s gaze lock onto her shivering figure, clutching her blade tightly as the superior being leapt to engage her.[/color]

“What about the boots on the ground?” [color=silver]The last of the Main-Class Constellations called over the rest of the chatter, attempting to contact Aurigae and failing as he met a Spearman just as it attempted to eliminate his Pilot by plunging from above, sparks flying as his sword locked with the Bishop’s weapon to keep it from stabbing down atop the mech they dueled upon. His shoulder, visibly burnt by a stray laser blast catching him off-guard, stung as his foe deepened the blade lock, the tip of the spear easily digging a hole into the reinforced metal. [/color]“They’re going to get overrun!”

[color=silver]With so many fronts to deal with, and the last of the Spearmen beginning to descend upon the human forces, the chaos of the battlefield sprouted in earnest.[/color][/indent]

[indent][hr][hr][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/qJLhXWW.png[/img][/center][hr][hr][b]Main-Class Maximus Solignis[/b]
[color=silver][sub][b]IC 286.08.16[/b] // Petrichor-8 System, Frontier Planet Alora // Approaching planet's surface.
1603 hours // [@Raijinslayer][@Supermaxx][@Lemons][@Fading Memory][@Feyblue][/sub][/color][hr][hr][/indent]
[indent]”What a [i]farce.[/i]”

[color=silver]The Constellation would’ve spit into the dirt beneath his feet if he were a lesser man, his longtime partner standing only a few steps behind as they stared out into the distance, the city proper a mere handful of miles away. The wave of red approaching their position made him finger the pommel of his blade, his eyebrows furrowed as he briefly thought of how they came to this situation.

Not long after the Eorman’s useless attempt to raise morale was stifled by the timing of the artillery barrage, new orders had come in from surface-level command. Rather than the original plan of being directed to deal with stragglers that the main force had neither the time nor resources to eliminate, they were assigned to join the left-most wing in defending against the oncoming Aberrant swarm. After being informed that they were dealing with the aftermath of a diversion tactic to land a decisive strike in the enemy’s heart, Maximus had immediately spoken against allowing their platoon to join the engagement.

Fifty men was not a number worth factoring into plans involving wide-scale tactics, the composition of which held much to be desired. While the quality of infantry was high, his soldiers having survived many combats to still be following him to this day, it was the elite units that he argued were unprepared. Three Stardust-Class Constellations and two greenhorn Pilots were not a sturdy defense force, and although he had full faith in his direct superior in the infamous Lictor and the veteran Pilot of the Grizzly, he could not entrust his back to untested talents in a brutal firefight. 

One such figure came to the forefront of his mind, and a glare was sent toward one of the figures over his shoulder. The rest of the force were waiting behind the barricades, the chest-high fortifications just barely enough to take cover from arced plasma and beam weaponry, and his eyes settled on a black and red figure atop the experimental Corvo, her sleek colors striking against the background of the murky sky. As if marketing herself as an easy target. 

The Aberrant Integration System, Subject One, should not be on this battlefield. Hell, she should not be anywhere [i]near[/i] a site where soldiers, high-strung from battling Aberrants for two months straight, would be confused by such a figure within their presence. Already, both he and the Eorman were forced to suppress several potential incidents with both the infantry and Constellations on site who had attempted to terminate her on sight. After which, none of the other platoons had attempted to approach theirs, keeping to their own sectors and ignoring his to the best of their ability. He was certain that, if their sector were to be overrun, not a single hand would come to their aid until the abomination was snuffed out.

 Her existence was a liability to the forces on-planet, and were it his choice she would’ve been shipped right back to orbit if he’d gotten his way in the conference with the acting general. Yet, the Brigadier General wished for her to stay, along with their other experimental project, continuing the testing process despite the change in situation. This was no longer a controlled scenario as they had hoped, but the people in charge wanted to see how their weapons functioned, regardless of the results.

Weapons. [i]Hah.[/i] Warned as he might’ve been by the honorable Lictor, Maximus had observed the subject since the moment he was assigned to monitor her abilities, and he saw no weapon in her eyes. A useless civilian in a metal body, too timid when faced with the barest modicum of intimidation, careful with her movements as if finding her body unwieldy. A true warrior treats their swords as part of their body, and yet despite it being a literal case with her own, he could see no cohesion between her spirit and her blades.

There had been a moment of doubt in the hangar, as they prepared to depart from the ship, that he’d sensed a hint of something more. The presence of a caged beast awoken for a brief instant, yet when he turned to check his premonition, all he felt was her diminutive presence once more. If she were to be an abomination, rising above what was designed for her station, the fact that she could not even act like one made the Constellation grit his teeth.

The others tied to machines were no better. A fresh-faced Pilot in a fancy new toy that would crash and burn the second he faced something stronger than a breeze, and the other even more timid than the half-Aberrant, no doubt a shackle her retainer would be forced to babysit. Even the Stardusts were a disappointment. An Orbitae heir struggling with their Anomaly at her age was laughable, and the other…

Maximus shook his head. He could not understand why he continued to be saddled with failed projects.[/color]

“It’s not that bad,”[color=silver] his companion finally spoke, the old man grinning despite the rumble of the ground beneath their feet. The mechanical first whirred as the Eorman rose it to pat his back, tapping it with surprising gentleness. So the bastard could control his strength if he tried, huh? [/color]“This beats standing in a wasteland, bored out of our minds watching the youth grow without us and nothing else, right?”

“Standing in a wasteland, waiting for death to descend upon us is no better,” [color=silver]the Solignis claimed, eyes narrowed as the first howls of the Legionaires reached their ears. A disgusting lot, bloodthirsty in ways other Pawn variants were not. Could the Princess burrowed in this planet not have produced something more quiet and less resilient? [/color]

“Well, you could say something to your men. I can only rally morale for so long.”

“The fact that you waste your breath with such nonsense baffles me. Soldiers follow orders, and I have very good soldiers.”

“They follow you to hell and back, Max. At least show you care a little bit about them.”

“It is not they you are attempting to encourage. I will not be seeing any of these recruits’ faces again after this operation, so why bother.”

[color=silver]Maximus sighted the first wave of targets among the throng, Bishop-Class Outlanders, their distinctive disc-like cranial structure and chrome metal bodies easy to point out in the sea of red. At a similar level of difficulty to Spearmen, their bodily structure was similar to a praying mantis. With scythed arms made for snapping weapons and bodies caught in their grasp like twigs and miniature thrusters replacing wings, they were one of the lower form Bishops designated as “Constellation Killers”, designed solely for targeting a priority target and catching them unawares for a quick and easy termination. Not unlike how Constellations themselves acted. Their actual ability to reach that title, however, was lacking compared to higher form Bishops, at best able to deal with a preoccupied Proto if they were lacking in the awareness department.

A simple matter for someone of his or the Eorman’s caliber. Not so much if they were to isolate one of their wards. [/color]

“Ye of little faith,” [color=silver]said Eorman chuckled, yet even with his jovial front Maximus could tell his companion noted the presence of the Outlanders as well, his smile not quite as wide as it usually was.[/color] “But isn’t that a strange sight. It’s almost as if they know we have greenhorns in our ranks.”

“You give those monsters too much credit,” [color=silver]the blond growled, his already shot mood lowering further as he unsheathed his silver longsword, tongues of flame climbing from his hand and enwrapping the blade. The familiar noise of mid-range artillery filled the air, the first wave of enemies entering their firing distance as explosions made temporary holes in the swarm, only to be filled again moments later. For a second, he hesitated, stopping his feet from moving just as he was about to go and engage the enemy. He could feel the Eorman blink rather than see it, the surprise radiating off the large man’s figure when he hadn’t immediately departed to deal with the threat.

Instead, with an irritated sigh, Maximus tapped his earpiece, entering the general radio chatter for the first time. The pleased gaze of the Eorman annoyed him even further, and so he was unable to keep the loathing from his voice when he spoke to the platoon.[/color]

“Men, prepare to greet the enemy. Pilots, reserve ammunition for stemming the tide in opportune moments. Constellations, work together to deal with any Bishops that get past the Eorman and myself. Sir Lictor and… Teddy Bear, support the recruits if need be, otherwise remain on standby. Keep an eye out for Dwellers. None of you are allowed to die unless I order it. That is all.”

[color=silver]Before he could hear any responses, he pulled the communications device from his ear and threw it to the Eorman, cutting the man’s laughter short and forcing him to fumble to keep the expensive piece of equipment from falling to the ground.[/color] “Eorman, you’re with me. Try to keep up.”

“That’s my line!” [color=silver]Maximus heard the grin rather than saw it, already rushing out to deal with the Outlanders he’d sighted among the red wave just as the first of the enemies came within range of the infantry fire. In his periphery, he saw other Constellations with their mech Pilots doing the same, no doubt coming to the same conclusion of dealing with the ambush-type enemies before they could get in range and use their abilities to their advantage. Without a Pilot of his own, his lone figure against the crying wave of Legionnaires looked like suicide, but the presence he felt at his back was all he needed for support. 

[hr]

Antares, disappearing along with Rigel into the sea of bodies, waves of flame and explosions caused by kinetic force rather than artillery being the only signs of their continued survival. Well, along with the occasional laugh of Rigel in the radio feed, still connected to the open channels.

Despite their efforts, not only was a sizeable swarm of Legionnaires entering the platoon’s sphere of influence, but in the throng there was occasionally sighted three figures. An Outlander flanked by two Spearmen, not engaging even as the Pawn army began getting chipped away by the infantry. Rather, they were standing just a short distance away, close enough that with but a few leaps they would descend upon the encampment like cats upon mice, yet far enough that their figures were easily lost in the crowd of bodies. 

It wasn’t until the Legionnaires, their bodies piling up that the corpses began to act as shields for those that closed the distance to replace them, that they began to move. As the left-most wing, their group had nothing to protect their flank, expected to be the ones defending it all by themselves, and so it was expected that one of the Spearmen attempted to circumvent the firing line entirely to wreck havoc through the backline. 

What wasn’t expected was that the other disappeared in the crowd, only to appear moments later crashing through the front, the swing of its rod immediately crushing three men as it closed the distance in an instant. Having defended itself using the corpse wall formed by the climbing bodies, it immediately made itself apparent, threatening to carve a hole for the Pawn swarm to breach through. 

But, terrifyingly, the Outlander was nowhere in sight, its presence disappearing as it used the commotion caused by the Spearman to its advantage, its figure no doubt hidden somewhere among the red wave of Aberrants.[/color]
[/indent]