---

Zhejiang paid cursory attention to the introductions given after her own while she traced a finger along the shaft of Brilliant Void. They were all warriors worthy of at least some measure of respect, but she could not bother herself with them too much right now. For no other reason then the fact that she might see them the next day. While they were not heading into the heart of danger, this mission was still an active battlezone. There was no telling what horrors might occur, or what changes to the plan might come about as a result of the abominabtions they face. In her own mind, she offered a silent prayer to both the Void Mother and Stone father to see them through this coming battle.

But if dying here is to be our fate, let our ends be glorious and let those who live remember us.

When the signal went out for them prepare for landing, Zhejiang was one of the first to move, sparing no time to greet or talk with anyone else as Brilliant Void lept to her hand like a loyal hound. IN the bright lights of the ship's corridors, she could swear ti seemed to gleam with an excitmenet rivaling her own as the Thrill surged within. A trick of the light, but one that made her fill at ease. The weight of her predeccessors was held within this artifact, and she would do well not to disappoint them with a poor showing in her first engagement. She would make the abominations bleed, of that she was determined.

Speak of the devil. . .
Zhejiang felt more than she heard the creature as it came into the hanger, the hulking thing seeming all to eager for the slaughter to come. As it approached, Zhejiang did not hide the disgust she felt from showing on her face, but said nothing to it. By the rules of engagement they were equals'and thus she had no stance to reprimand the thing for merely beign too clsoe to her. Much less ending it's miserable existence as would have been merciful. Luckily, it did not spend much time near her, pairing up with the young pilot from before as it floated up onto the back of his mech. Zhejiang was preparing to enter into her typical pre-battle rituals when a voice spoke to her through her com line.

"Hey, eighty-five. Looks like we're the odd ones out. How 'bout it? Wanna be dance partners?"

Zhejiang looked towards the Grizzly, blue eyes seeming to pierce into the cockpit to see the equally grizzled man within. She didn't quite respond at first, tilting her head a bit as if she didn't quite understand his words. Then, a small grin spread across her face as her body followed the tilt of her head,sending her entire form careening to the ground.

or more like into it.

Teddy would only have a moment to note the strange flash of purple and black on the ground were she would have been when a weight suddenly landed atop Grizzly. Before long, the blue eyes that had staring from far away now filled the viewport of one of the mech's cameras.

"Can you keep with anything in this tanker, Pilot Howser." Zhejiang voice took on a teasaing sing-sing as she tapped at the camera before hopping down the mech with an ease that appeared almost weightless. As she landed, she turned to give a small bow to the seasoned veteran before addressing him with a hand on her hip as she leaned against her spear. "If you think you can, then I'll be glad to work with a warrior such as yourself. Might even still let you call me '85'.

---

For what it was worth, Ahkari and Odessa’s strategy had worked well. The patrol they encountered was surely magnitudes smaller than what they would have faced otherwise, though Selene found herself worried for whoever it was on the receiving end of the Aberrant horde. Whatever composed their ranks, the creatures always found a way to compensate for their shortcomings with bestial rage.

For now, however, it would do to focus on the task at hand. The patrol’s vanguard reached them quickly, swarming like locusts around the Pilots and infantry. She moved instinctively towards the latter as the wave of Pawns grew closer and more ravenous, but Ahkari’s orders stayed her feet. Bishop Spearmen. Selene’s eyes darted across the battlefield, searching out the beasts as they began to scale the surrounding buildings. Those who could avoid the commander did so, scattering out with clear intent: devastate the fragile backline of foot soldiers and damaged mechs.

Smart. Rude, but smart.

She looked for the closest one, but found herself distracted by the sonic crack of a spear embedding itself into the road. The Constellation who had deflected it scrambled to recompose herself, shivering like a leaf even with her sword in hand. Selene searched but could not find her name, so she was likely a lower rank, which meant that even disarmed the Bishop had better odds than her—and the Pilot.

Selene was moving before she made the decision, already dashing down the street towards the charging creature. It was, predictably, much faster than she was, and for as much training as she did, no amount of time on the treadmill would make her close distances so quickly without a little assistance. So, she would be assisted.

One hand clutched Pleiades’ hilt, the other extended out towards the stuck spear. Air twisted around the invisible force of her Anomaly as it shot out and took hold of the weapon; she could not feel the coldness of its alien metal, but she could feel the pressure of the grasp as if she were holding it in her own two hands. Another ghostly limb took hold of the haft, then another, and another, and she could feel in the muscles of her soul how they held taut. Selene braced, and some otherworldly force within her flexed.

Nebulae pulled, hard, and wrenched her forward off her feet with the force of an Aberrant-scale line drive that sent her rocketing down the street. Briefly, she did not know where she was. The drab Aloran ruins whipped by her in a meld of gray and brown and pallid blue and at some point in the extended moment of her leap she saw color in her periphery. The angry reds and yellows and oranges of fire, the chromatic splashes of Aberrant blood, the suffocating, brimstone whorl of a dying sky. Althea’s crumbled skyline morphed, she saw spires ablaze and writhing, as if alive, falling into the lake of fire the earth had become. It was easy to become disoriented, but Selene knew these feelings, these visions, and focused on only herself and the Bishop.

They collided, and Alora snapped back into focus around her. Nebulae cushioned the impact, and Selene crouched parallel to the ground with her feet planted on the Aberrant’s invisible barrier. Pleiades’s half-broken blade burst with ethereal AB energy as she drew it, simultaneously slashing and kicking herself away. The barrier fizzled into reality, straining against the blow and force combined. Nebulae pried the spear free as she sailed backwards; Selene clenched her fist, and as she landed she threw her arm forward in a pitching motion. The spear hurtled past her in a near-imperceptible blur and slammed into the Aberrant’s weakened barrier, shattering it like glass. The creature flew onto its back several feet away, skewered through the shoulder. As it scrambled back to its feet, Selene glanced at the Proto Constellation.

“Hello! That was a wonderful save, well done!” She smiled, resisting the urge to ask for her name. She could grab it and the Pilot’s later. “Would you go assist the infantry, please? I think they would appreciate it very much.”

And with that she returned her attention to the enemy. The Bishop pulled its spear free with a furious hiss, but Selene didn’t give it time to regain its composure. She was on it, feigning action that made the creature panic, and swing its spear like a club to try and swat her away. Nebulae caught it, but did not halt or slow its momentum at all. It pushed Selene along the arc, and when the apex of its swing tilted up, the ghostly arms brought her with it and sent her flying high overhead. The world spun and twisted and for a blink everything was fire once more. Nebulae gripped the ground on either side of the Aberrant, and she righted herself in the air, poised above the bewildered spearman like a storm cloud welling with lightning.

███, ████████, ███, █████, █████, ████, ██

Nebulae pulled Selene down with blinding speed and surgical precision, carrying her right past the Bishop’s neck. She slashed out with Pleiades, and her anomalous limbs helped her land with a soft roll back to her feet.

Alora. This was Alora.

The Bishop's head fell away from its body, and it collapsed in a heap.

Selene regarded her surroundings again, as if to reassure herself. Panicked calls for aid still rung through the comms, and with the threat partly reduced, she surveyed the battlefield for anyone else who might need a helping hand. With how small their group was, they couldn’t afford to leave people to fend for themselves. Everyone from the infantry to commander Ahkari counted. Everyone.

"I have to entertain myself somehow Sab, seeing how high of a debt you can build up certainly applies." At the mention of Sabine's last ration pack being with hungry hungry Constellation defeated any hope of claiming a pack of smokes from them a lost cause, and he dismissed it from his mind. Fortunately the medipen was used to alleviate the worst of the burn, though at the comment on being a stick in the mud he shrugged, almost idly, replying in kind. "If having an appropriate outlook in the situation is a stick in the mud, we can call it that, sure." Howe felt like something was off about Selene, watching her and Sabine go back and forth in regards to one night stands and crashing house parties. Neither of which were exactly familiarities to him, he preferred his funds go to drinking and not alimony, even with a certain pilot often footing the bills for the nights out. Especially, if he was being blunt, but that would be something to consider the next time shore leave was granted for drinking to the latest victory or defeat. Or he'd finally a fight that would leave him dead and it would all very suddenly not be his problem, not that he was about to go wandering the city waving a big 'shoot me' sign quite yet.

Hungry hungry Constellation introduced herself as Rudis, Howe immediately blanking on the name actually behind the callsign, he might remember it if they both got out of this alive. The remark on gifts got a cocked eyebrow from the pilot, wondering if this particular batch of Constellations had some fixation on gifts or it was a social expectation he had failed to clue in on this whole time. No, someone would have told him off by now if he was supposed to have a gift shop in Vickie, he had space in the co-pilot module half the time he could theoretically install one there. Assuming there was some tactical advantage to peddling cheap souvenirs to the Aberrant. "If I knew we needed to hand out gifts I'd have installed a gift shop. I'd wager anyone here is plenty bold, given no one is arguing about the impending death or glory thunder run on the Princess."

It turned out their illustrious leader had managed to secure a diversionary attack, powers that be be damned, and at the news of that Howe mounted up, clambering up to Vickie's cockpit while making an offhand remark. "Co-pilot's seat is open for the first Constellation to get up there if they want to hitch a ride before we make contact." Settling into the Frame, Howe had a moment's privacy, brief as it might be, to settle in with a low sigh. The cockpit was, to the eyes of many who peeked inside, heavily industrial. Brose Arsenal tradition, its a lot harder to break a heavy duty lever or switch panel than it was a fancy electronic touch screen. Most everything had several levels of redundancy, though she lacked the customization one might expect from a seasoned pilot. The only thing out of place was a coin on a string, a challenge coin from the last regiment to make it off New Alexandria, tied to the cover that protected the charges that would launch the cockpit, and co-pilot module if it was still attached, out the back of the Frame to relative safety. Or straight into an Aberrant's waiting maw, more likely, but Howe had tied that challenge coin to the cover for one simple reason. A constant reminder that you couldn't just punch out and flee your problems, that was how you got situations like New Alexandria. Having spent enough time, few as the seconds were, reminiscing on the challenge coin Howe brought Vickie from stand by to fully online. About time they got to give the Aberrant a bloody nose again.

---

The order to move out as the incoming barrage was intercepted and worked as a distraction was a welcome one, Howe moving himself to the lead of the pilots currently present. He had the armor and kit to make first contact with any non barrier threat, the clicking of the 20mm sweeping back and forth barely audible over the heavy, thoroughly unsubtle footfalls of the Frame as it moved forward, Howe scanning for contacts alongside everyone else that was operating as part of the task force moving in on the Princess. It was surprising how long it took to actually make contact with the Aberrant forces, nearly an hour by his estimate, but once the order came down to engage, Howe grinned to himself as he pressed forward, 20mm autocannon already opening up in a steady barrage of rounds being sent down into the incoming Legionairres. Howe positioned himself at the fore of the group, providing an anchoring point of the firing line. Close quarters weaponry, up armored, and more than willing to take a few hits for the other pilots, constellations, and infantry meant that was the best place for him. Picking his masses of Legionnaires carefully, he would fire off the Shotgun carefully, maximizing as much of the damage he could do with each shot as possible.

"Rabbit, your on AA duty, clear the skies! Damaged Frame, on me, cover my flanks and use me for cover. We're on infantry support." Howe spoke with a calm tone of voice, though he caught himself smiling as he brought the arm of his frame up, taking the worst of a strafing run by the Jetsam on the thickest of the additional armor, watching the indications show no damage he had to concern himself with. Nothing critical, and he maneuvered Vickie to better support the infantry, ammo feed on the 20mm steadily ticking downwards while he put the shotgun to good use, scything through ranks of the Legionnaires with each blast. Spying an opportunity, he disabled a safety measure on the shotgun and began slam firing, sweeping the shotgun back and forth across the incoming Legionnaires with precise motions. He aimed to maximize the damage he could do in the shortest span possible, 20mm making up for the minor gaps left by each blast of his shotgun that prevented overlapping buckshot.

Howe watched from the corner of his eyes as the power levels on Vickie's reactor surged to meet demand, a song in her own right, a voice long forgotten by the use of Aberrant Cores in everything. The roaring 20mm interrupted by the sheer booming volume of the shotgun announced to the infantry that Mech support had been able to peel off and reinforce their line. In the thickest part of the battle line was where Howe loved to be, and it was where Dunkirk would be easiest to see. Reaching down, an automated mechanism clunked loudly, detaching one of the several Frame sized Fragmentation Grenades the CQB package came equipped with. Now was a perfect time to introduce the Aberrant to an old trick. Rearing an arm back, the rhythmic thumping of the shotgun paused long enough for the grenade to be hurled towards the center of the swarm, far enough away to keep the infantry out of the fragmentation zone but well enough in the middle to maximize damage. If they got too close, or the firefight ran long enough to run low on shotgun ammo, the reinforced manipulators would work wonders making the Legionnaires pay dearly for every one of their lives. Assuming they could muster enough Aberrant carcasses to earn them, which remained to be seen.

---

Alto was hardly an expert on the subject, but he was pretty sure missions usually took longer to derail than two steps out the hangar door. He hadn't even been able to get Corvo to run a battlefield scan before the ground had started shaking as the large city on the horizon started getting pounded into dust from orbit. The higher-ups had played it cool, almost immediately announcing a change of orders as the entire squad rerouted away from its planned deployment running cleanup... and straight towards the front lines. A diversionary tactic -- still just a supporting act for some unseen primary offensive. Hardly anything more to worry about than their original goals, he was assured -- but the unease that slipped into the stale air of even his own sealed cockpit suggested otherwise. The ones who should have known best -- those veterans of a thousand-thousand battles -- were uncertain of something. That, alone, painted a far more accurate picture of what was to come than any number of calming words.

Yet closer still was a certain intoxicating thrill -- an eager excitement that belied the shyness he had expected from her introduction. He glanced over to the Corvo's shoulder to see the tall redheaded woman perched there, waving her arms and one of her blades almost casually. He was halfway through awkwardly returning the gesture when he realized she couldn't see him anyway -- though the intensity with which her stare focused on him through the Corvo's optics almost made him think otherwise. She might have been a fellow rookie, but it seemed like she was anything but nervous, despite the last-minute switch up.

Of course, Alto wasn't nervous, either. He had never once been nervous. He wasn't just some greenhorn, after all, nor was this just any old machine. He was an elite of Kabral, clad in the finest steel forged by its greatest minds. If they wanted him to take a walk, he'd stomp anything that got in his way. And if they wanted him to fight...

He checked his ammo counts again. One canister in the chamber, five more in the loading rack. More than enough to kill anything that moved, but not if he wasted it. This wasn't some sim where he could just try again if his gun ran dry.

Low output, then. High speed, wide dispersal. He didn't need to level a city block just to kill a few pawns. Missiles first to thin their numbers, then one good sweep to pick off the rest. And if any got through, he could still fall back on his blade. Just like the simulations. A few small fry probably wouldn't even be able to break through the A-EM Field without getting up close and personal anyway.

And yet, that sense of unease in the air only grew as they arrived at their assigned position, and the dust cloud on the horizon started getting closer. Every step his unit took had felt strangely... light. He'd expected gravity on such a big planet to weight him down far more than it actually did... even if its core was probably mostly hollow by now. Just how much had the Aberrant fed to push this world to such a deplorable state? And just how many new troops had they birthed to launch the very attack that his unit was now preparing to receive?

His squad, and only his squad. He'd noticed it as they passed through a forward outpost on their way here -- the way the soldiers he passed by stared up at them, the way their eyes felt set to gouge holes in his unit and its passenger. Again, he thought back to how she'd made her introduction back on the transport, and to the lingering, acrid scent of disgust he could still sense wafting their way from the elite Constellations at the front of the pack. Hell, even without his Anomaly, he probably could have realized it by now. But with it, he'd already long since been able to recognize the familiar weight of their disdain. They were important people -- people with much better things to do than entertain some disappointments who couldn't meet their lofty standards.

It was a pretty low thing to think of one's own supposed allies, but Alto was more or less certain now. If he or his new partner screwed up, there probably wasn't anyone who'd bother trying to help them out. Maybe the old man might at least make a token effort, but even that was a long shot -- his mind was like a frozen lake. It'd be easier to get mercy from an Aberrant than to rouse his sympathy.

No. He wasn't nervous. And he wasn't going to need help, either. Not from that man. Not from anyone. If anything, they'd be the ones thanking him, when all this was said and done.

It was just that the sky ahead was suddenly terribly dark.

It was just that the air he tasted was suddenly terribly cold.

It was just that he had realized that something else was tasting the same air as him, hearing the same way, but thinking different thoughts.

it was silent. IT was deafening.

it was empty. Yet IT filled all emptiness with ITself.

it was reason, cold and pitiless.

And IT was passion, burning and all-consuming.

Was it hunger, or was IT hate? Was IT rage, or was it joy? Was it one taste, one voice -- or was IT many?

There was no simulation in any galaxy that could have prepared him for the enormity of that which he felt staring back at him -- staring through him, upon that horizon. Yet before his resolve could crumble beneath that hideous strength, another sound rejoined the discord, and with it came clarity.

It was the shrill ping of countless radar contacts, and a dozen target locks.

Far too many to be counted. Far too few to be seen. Far too heavy to be endured. Far too fleeting to be known.

No, no. it could never be known. IT could never be understood.

But iT could be destroyed.

Alto's hands clenched around the controls, and his thumb jammed down upon the launch trigger. Upon the Corvo's back, its missile pods unfolded, sending a shower of a dozen missiles scattering into the air, arcing upward, then plunging down into a broad arc of crimson flames. A moment later, a low electric hiss turned to a shrill whine as he dragged his crosshair all along that arc and held down the trigger. Infinity's gaze narrowed upon him, and he answered its provocations in booming thunder and defiant light. The bass thunderclap of the magnetic accelerators joined the thrumming shrill aria of the combusting air and exploding plasma in destructive euphony.

"Eight-Ball, paving the way! How's that for a red carpet?"

It was only for a moment, but a moment was surely all that those elites would need. Amidst the shimmering heat haze and the red-hot rubble, a path had been gouged straight down the middle of the enemy's front line -- a path into which Rigel and Antares vanished a moment later, leaving the rest of the squad to hold their ground, conserve their ammo... and stem the red tide which rapidly closed ranks to fill the gap he had momentarily created.

"I hope you all brought earplugs," Alto said quietly, his gritted teeth slowly remembering the shape of their customary grin. "Because the show's only just begun!"

He laughed -- and somewhere in the back of his ears, someone was laughing with him. Laughing with a mad joy that should have set his soul on edge. And yet, the euphoria beside him proved more familiar than the chaos ahead of him. He could feel it swirling around him, dancing with the adrenaline boiling up in his own veins.

Right. He wasn't nervous. He had never been nervous!

He was just excited!

Another wave. Another shot, thumbing the trigger and sending pulses of searing violet across the tide of red. Carapaces melted, limbs fractured and crumbled, bodies squirmed and writhed, trying to drag themselves clear of the VESPER's scorching rays, only to fall before the firing line. The first canister still had 47% of its fuel left -- another two, maybe three shots if he used it carefully. With five more to go, how many would he fell before the Constellations finished their own bloody work and put this horde to rout?

Yet just as he was beginning to grow complacent, from the glassed wreck of the front lines, a hateful visage burst forth, diving into the defenders' ranks with reckless abandon. Alto scarcely had time to line up his shot before it was already too close to fire, forcing him to pull it again for fear of incinerating his own comrades.

"Warning: Target identified as Bishop-class, designation 'Spearman.' Corvo's voice chimed in, accompanied by the acrid taste of fear from those on the ground in front of the beast -- reminding him of a fact he'd almost forgotten in the heat of the moment.

His weapons would have no effect on that thing. But if he did nothing, then the troops on the ground were about to get slaughtered! Unless --!

A metallic scraping, like nails on a chalkboard, echoed within his unit's hull, and a moment later, a blur of red tore across his vision. He scarcely even registered the word his otherwise nonverbal partner had said before her intentions had already made themselves apparent.

He couldn't hurt that thing... but she could. And the horde behind it, which might otherwise have hurt her...

That was a different story.

"Roger! I'll cover for you, Aissi!"

Jamming the throttle forward and yanking the joystick to the left, he felt himself suddenly become lighter as the Corvo's finned wing binders shifted, and the Craft system sparked to life. Repelled by a flickering canopy of azure light, gravity and air gave way, and the grey colossus lurched forward, skating sharply across the ground to circle out away from the enemy that had breached their lines, driving himself outward along the farthest edge of the left flank.

It was a position that, in just a few moments, would be completely cut off from the rest of the squadron, if the Spearman wasn't dealt with soon. But it was also a position where he could fire his shots right down the full length of the enemy's advancing front line!

Just a few seconds. One more shot would decimate the ranks of those trying to follow after the Bishop, then he'd have to fall back to the safety of the trenches. But if it gave that experimental girl the opening she needed to shore up their ranks and keep the line from falling... His Corvo could handle that much, right?

He sighted his shot. He thumbed the switch. The output raised, the aperture narrowed. The accelerators whined as their coils burned brighter -- as every last ounce of gas left in the canister catalyzed into a raging storm.

Then he pulled the trigger.

---

"Aw, Howie, I like her. She's fun~" Sabine said to her fellow pilot, obviously referring to Selene, despite the Constellation still being well and truly still a part of the conversation. "That one too- I love a pair of big, strong arms." The pink haired pilot said about Rudis, "Does that make me sound basic?"

Any confirmation or denials about how basic Sabine mightve been were quickly thrown to the wayside as the Commander's attack was approved, the orbital strike rolling in like thunder and lightning from the heavens. It wasn't the first time Sabine had seen an orbital bombardment, and it wouldn't be the last, but Sabine always enjoyed the occasional combat fireworks display. Though the fireworks did mean it was time to go.

"Sucks to be the poor fucks that have to deal with that mess." Sabine snickered as she quickly broke down her hammock and began packing away her gear back into her mech with practiced efficiency. "Give me a holler if you want a lift!" Sabine called to the Constellations as she climbed into the White Hare's open chest cavity and disappeared within, the door closing moments later, sealing her within the darkness.

Settling in her seat, Sabine flicked a few switches before buckling herself in, the inky darkness of the cockpit giving way to the world around her as the cockpit flickered to life. The walls of the cockpit formed a seamless 360 degree display of the world around her, her helmet glass filling in for some of her HUD elements, as data scrawled over the rest of the screens. Sleek, modern, intuitive, with her years of experience and a control system perhaps tailor made for her, at some point in time the White Hare had eventually started feeling like a second skin to Sabine, her hands falling naturally onto the controls and augments automatically syncing to the systems.

"Good luck boys~" Sabine's voice echoed through both the local tacnet and the mech's external speakers as the White Hare kicked up a mechanical foot and flashed the moving infantrymen a peace sign.

---

It was wishful thinking to hope that they could avoid all the aberrants in their path- not that Sabine in particular wanted to anyway. A more rapid strike with just mechs and Constellations mightve had a chance at slipping through, but with infantry and vehicles, they were moving at the rate of their slowest units. It wasn't long before they were set upon by by a wave of Aberrants.

"Don't blow everything just yet fellas." Sabine's lilting voice crackled over the squad net, the muzzle of the White Hair's beam cannon flaring as she put down some suppression fire. "There's still a royal bitch out there."

Normally, a horde of pawns wouldn't have been an issue, but the Knights that had dropped them off seemed to be sticking around, Sabine ducking into cover as a burst of laser fire streaked past her and into the impromptu foxhole of a trio of unfortunate infantrymen. Howie was quick on the draw, vocalizing Sabine's thoughts before she had a chance to say anything.

"Just admit you like watching my ass when I fly by." Sabine drawled over the squadnet, and while Howe couldn't see her face through the polarized faceplate of her helmet, it was easy to tell she was winking. The proverbial ass of the White Hare was already lifting off the ground as Sabine kicked off into the sky, its limbs folding in as she switched to flight mode. The thrusters flared bright blue as the machine screamed into the sky, rocketing through the formation of Jetsams, sonic boom disrupting their flight path. Her helmet was forced into the back of her seat as the cockpit struggled to deal with the sudden increase in G-force, Sabine relying mostly on her peripherals and her own sense of spatial awareness to keep her hands on the controls, pulling into a stall turn to send her careening back down towards the irritating knights.

Sabine banked her mech, taking herself on a collision course towards the first Jetsam she saw. At the last moment Sabine pulled up hard on her controls, and triggered her unit's transformation sequence again, the aerospace fighter shifting back into a bipedal mech in time to collide with the Jetsam feet first, as though she were on a mech sized skateboard. The White Hare's thrusters flared as Sabine forced the Jetsam to turn with her, putting it between her and another Jetsam. She planted the barrel of her beam cannon against the surface of the Knight and fired once, then twice, the high powered beams punching through one knight to hit the second.

Sabine barely had time to savor her kills when a warning appeared in the corner of her vision, laser fire scraping across her mech's armor as she instinctively kicked off the knight she'd been riding and strafed to the side. The attacking knight screamed past her, the White Hare shifting back into flight mode to give chase. The nose of her mech flared as Sabine pressed down on the firing studs, a stream of bright blue bolts flying after the Knight as Sabine chased it down.

"Howie! Give me a burst of 20s, 2 o'clock high." Sabine called out, her voice like syrup over the tacnet, her mech quickly passing a firing solution over to his Vickie.

---

The sign to prepare came before Rudis could flex and get Sabine to touch her muscles. It was go time. Walking back to the cobblestone pillar where she once sat, she gave it a nice smile as though it were an old friend. Her hand reached down to grab it, the stone parting like liquid as her hand grasped a hold and slung the pillar--one as large as she was--over her shoulder. Her preparations were much shorter than any of the soldiers or pilots. She just needed her baby and she was ready.

As much as Rudis was unsuited for moments of subterfuge, she was at least decent enough to stay still as the initial waves of beasts passed. The ruined hotel cracked, creaked, and groaned as the abberants passed. Really, they were ugly bastards. Maybe that's why they were so angry all the time. Being flayed at birth didn't quite seem like a nice childhood. Now working in the mines with a mining drill in one's hand? That was a good upbringing. But one that Rudis could barely experience before her training began.

The creaking stopped. Orders came in. It was go time. The pilots leapt into their coffins. Howe and Sabine made offers of transport--one that Rudis wouldn't refuse. "Well don't mind if I do." Rudis replied as a wire latched onto Dunkirk's co-pilot module and zipped her up. Of course, Rudis didn't enter. She couldn't be assed to try to fit her lovely big rock pillar inside. Instead, she rodeo'd the thing as it dragged her out to fight.

---

---

It wouldn't be a milk run. No, they were too slow to abuse any sort of shock and awe tactics. Already, they were beset by the horde--a mixture of chaff, jets, and spears. With a smile and two knocks, Rudis leapt off Dunkirk's large frame to meet the enemy deep in front.

The ground nearly creaked as she landed. Though, her landing was nothing compared to the cratering landing of spear to ground. Already, bullets, lasers, and plasma were flying through the air. It was a familiar scent. The burnt powder. The ionization. The aerosolized dirt and dust. Being a constellation was about days like this. Not sitting on base or in a field hospital. Just a simple goal: to move forward and leave an aberrant corpse-filled wake.

But she couldn't dwell on the feelings of a battlefield. No, not as a spearman charged at her.

But Rudis didn't respond in kind. For someone as hotblooded as she was, it was expected that she'd boldly charge into as many bishops as possible. But she was savouring every moment of this. She was subduing her excitement. It didn't do much good for her if she was a brainless mad dog in combat. No, Jean could at least drill that into her head. Always be thinking. Look at the smallest details. Abuse the smallest opportunities. It was the fighting style of someone born with a brain better than their body. Someone born weak. Someone who was intimate with defeat.

The second nearest bishop approached her in a sprint. It didn't attempt to throw its spear. No, it was better served keeping it on hand. It wasn't like Rudis was trying to pepper it with meaningless shots.

In a flash, the distance was closed. A brutal slash from the side came for Rudis' head. It was a brutally quick attempt to end her, but one met by a simple response. Physical-type aberrants were predictable. They, for the most part, still respected some laws of nature. From its foot to its palm, it had to swing as a human did. But it wasn't sly. No, these bishops were much too strong for that. They had been born with immeasurable strength. Strength had never once been combined with thought beyond an animalistic instinct.

With a step and lean back, Rudis dodged the swing by a hairs breadth. The wind generated by the swing screamed as the spear tore through the air. The pressure cut her from ear to nose. It was shallow. She could deal with scratches. What was important was finishing this as fast as possible.

Without so much as pause, the spearman readied itself for another strike. Its muscles tightened as it redirected the force of the initial swing upwards. It coiled and stretched before springing its spear down, an attempt to crush her to a mixture of paste and mist.

Rudis had taken another step as the spearman began to coil. The beast had missed Rudis by another hair's breath. Its spear collided with the ground. The earth shook. It was enough to send any normal person to the ground. Even a constellation would be unbalanced if not prepared. But Rudis didn't move. She didn't brace for the impact nor did she leap to avoid it. No, she calmly stood her ground as a wave of force cratered where she once stood. As the concrete beneath them broke and indented in a wave, the ground beneath Rudis' feet remained unaffected by the powerful blow. Concrete was merely processed rock, after all. It was simple enough to manipulate.

Again without pause, the spearman prepared a third strike. It leapt back, and coiled its body once more. It was going to be a brutal thrust. With all of the force it could muster, the spearman pushed forward to finally try to skewer Rudis.

She dove forward with pillar in hand. Fearless--she was meeting the aberrant head on. Their weapons screeched as she deflected the thrust with one of her own, the alien metal scratching the rocky surface as she rode the inside lane underneath the thrust. Twelve feet were bounded in a single stride that had left her briefly untouched platform of concrete shattered. She now stood feet away from the spearman and dug in. Still carrying the momentum from her leap into danger, she thrust the pillar directly at the torso of the spearman.

It was a cannonshot. Louder than whatever guns the pilots were using. The ground that Rudis stood on cracked and crumbled, her footprints leaving shallow indents in the concrete. Her muscles screamed and strained as she drove the pillar into the barrier. It shattered immediately, a devastating shockwave emitting perpendicular from the strike. Revealing half of a sword, the pillar instantaneously became a tornado of shrapnel that launched at the now defenceless aberrant.

The spearman was still standing.

On a technicality.

Its entire upper torso had vanished, leaving behind a pair of legs that stood in a cone of dust, debris, and destruction.

"One."

Holding the pillar in a brief moment of respite--if one could ignore the gunfire flying overhead--concrete and stone flew and coalesced back around the exposed blade. She'd already begun to work her appetite back up.

Lictor was adjusting the settings of his tactical HUD into a comfortable opacity in the final moments before the disembarkation. It was a familiar and comforting adjustment. One that brought him forth from the fog of memory. Younger hands and younger eyes faded from his senses until his weathered and gloved hands were all that was left to his mind. The same motion, smooth after thousands of identical moments of practice. The act was pure muscle memory, but in this moment he allowed the act to be deliberate and to center him for what was to come. In the same breath he completed the adjustment to perfection, his pistol seemed to rise from its holster and into his hand before rational thought could notice. His hands did not tremble or waver as the sidearm held its lethal trajectory towards Dombay's head. Lictor's finger was not on the trigger. He did not speak. His aura had shifted subtly in the span of that single breath. The sudden presence had triggered something deep within the veteran warrior. For that briefest of moments, a cataclysmic weight had shifted in the universe and driven Lictor's body into action.

His hand relaxed, the pistol deftly flipping in his palm as he returned it to its holster.

"Fucking hell, stardust, take the stairs like the rest of us. Save your energy for this fight. I don't want to be carrying your head back to the Dawn for rejuvenation."

Lictor may be a White Dwarf, but his reflexes were still as lethal as ever. He shifted atop the mech and took a knee. The bay doors opened. Orders came through. It was time to kill. He toggled the safety on his rifle. He touched a hand over the strap of Carnifex's scabbard.

---

His voice rang through the shortwave communications with a rumbling authority after Antares' speech;

"They're a-comin'. Kill them all."

From atop Kyra's steeled vantage, Lictor knelt and surveyed the battlefield. A lot was already happening at once, and he naturally maintained his perch with the incredible speeds the rookie pilot was sustaining. Eight-Ball was on a rampage, and whilst the laughter coming through the shortwave was less than ideal he could see the burst of practical effectiveness the young man was putting on display. A clean swathe had been blown open towards the Bishop, and the girl was moving like a homing missile towards the Spearman currently acting as a battering ram through the front line. Lictor shifted focus to the HUD and the display of area mapping overlayed with friend-or-foe designation pings. Dombay was on the move, and Zhegiang was in the vicinity. Three rookies to the brazen spearman. Lictor shifted and slammed a fist atop the cockpit to get Kyra's attention. His blow reverberated through the machine to physically thrum against her flesh.

"Detour to flank. Get me to that Spearman."

He pinged the location on his HUD and shared the destination to her control rig.

"I want to be back to the front with those kids before they get themselves killed, Newman, so give it some ass. This is the tip of the spear."

The mech lurched, and Lictor rolled with the movement this time. He fell back off the head of the machine and fell down its back, reaching out with a single hand and onto the back of the waist. He swung on his arm and mounted the hip as Kyra sent the machine into its altered course, rifle rising into his hands as he braced back against the metal. Another step, and the optimized machine fell into its blistering stride. Comms chatter echoed in his ears as wind tore at his exposed flesh. Acidic ichor tang filled the air as Aberrant and Human blood mingled in the diminishing atmosphere. Plasmic discharge singed ozone as an Abberant battery cascaded into an adjacent combat sector. Gunsmoke overwhelmed all else.

The gun felt light in his hands. The rumbling of the machine's indescribable stride harmonized with his own braced form. Carnifex was warm on his back, even through the scabbard. He thumbed the fire selector into semi-automatic. Kyra's next mechanized footfall carried them over a tide of Legionnaires. Lictor surged into action.

A sickening squelch of ichor plastered itself across the battlefield as Kyra took a very direct path across the battle line towards the disrupted flank. Those Abberants that did not become mere splatters of flesh underfoot clung to the sides of the mechs legs and began to try and inefficiently gnaw into the armored plating on the legs. A few began to scale up the mech even as the wind tore at their flesh. Those were the first to die.

Lictor leaned over the left leg from his position at the hip, and as its footfall struck the ground he fired two pinpoint shots. The first struck the highest Legionnaire square in a barbed foreleg joint, snapping its grip free mid-climb. This made its maw widen in a scream of rage; the second rifle round went through the roof of its mouth. As its body went limp and tumbled from the mech, Lictor shifted aim and fired a methodical stream of high velocity rounds down the left leg until the Legionnaires that steadily clambered onto the mech's limbs every few steps grew wise to the lethal precipitation. Pressure mounted at Lictor's back. He stopped firing and ducked without looking.

A scything limb struck where he had stood just a moment before- yet his avoidance was languid and relaxed. His duck lead to the release of the rifle, allowing it to fall in its sling against his chest. The next moment he surged upwards with a punch that cracked through carapace and left a viscous detonation in its wake. His momentum did not stop. He followed through with his punch and threw the Legionnaire from the mech and far to the ground below. The next breath he was grasping onto the ladder at the base of the spine and swinging himself around the waist of the machine to the right leg, where the impact of his kick rocketed the next Abberant to scale over the machine's armored legs flying into the horde below. He took the situation in at a glance. His HUD revealed that his desire for speed was being met; Kyra's brazen path across the horde was faster than he had even anticipated. It just meant he was having to get his hands dirty. Another footfall hit the ground. Another few abberants began the climb. More bodies fell from the mech in fruitless endeavors of bestial madness...

Kyra leapt, clearing the last few hundred meters to come hurtling like a meteor through the wall of Abberant corpses on the left flank. Lictor braced for the impact by gripping onto the ladder on the spine and letting his rifle fall limp in its strap. A mist of ichor exploded into existence, painting Kyra's machine a new hue of blood-gunmetal as she stuck the landing and skidded across the oncoming wave of flanking monstrosities. Lictor's visor kept his eyes clear. Discipline kept his mouth shut. Instinct drew him forth towards his foe. This lapse of speed, the skidding, trench-digging, impact of the mech's feet into the ground served as Lictor's dismount.

He dropped into the bloodmist even as Kyra regained her pace. She was free of her taxi duty for sixty seconds. The fall from the mech's waist was long enough for Kyra to already be several paces away before Lictor hit the ground. He fell into a crouch, eyes piercing through the bloodied visor as he pulled the strap of Carnifex and loosened the blade on his shoulder. The weapon slid down his arm where he caught it in his hand, holding the scabbard below the hilt. He rose to his feet and spat onto the ground, Aberrant ichor mixed into his spittle. The mist was settling as the Abberant surge regained its footing.

"Check fire. Lictor on site. Keep fire wide of the breach." He barked into the shortwave communications to the nearby soldiers. "Bishop sighted. Execution in progress."

His visor flared, sighting the telltale warnings of a--

Carnifex glowed as he drew it forth from its scabbard. The partial draw cleared enough of the protective material to reveal two feet of the wide, flat, blade which he raised defensively before his body. The laser struck the flat of the blade squarely. Lictor felt the surge of power radiate into him through the blade. Carnifex cleared the scabbard in full. Lictor pulled the scabbard back up onto his shoulder and tightened the strap as he held the now-bared blade in hand. The mist cleared at last. The tide of Abberants was already nearly upon him-- and his prey was surging with it. Lictor planted his feet and whirled Carnifex in hand.

The first swing arced through the air. With it, Lictor expelled the radiation he channeled. A bright light emanated from Carnifex, the blade itself growing dull as this liquid mono-cord of energy flowed from its edge. The arc radiated out from Lictor, following the sword's swing, into a widening semi-circle of death. It was as if the air were a pond, and Lictor a stone cast into it; the ripple of energy eviscerating the Legionnaires directly before him. The Bishop's barrier held. Lictor's next swing, blade now dull, was to deflect the tip of the spear.

The blow would have pierced through a mech's armor or a bunker's shell- but it did not land where the Spearman intended. What appeared to be an almost lazy circling ward with Carnifex caught the spear just behind the head of its lethal point and smashed the Spearman's aim skyward. The point passed over Lictor's shoulder and buried itself deep into the earth just behind the immobile man. His blade halted against the spearhaft, and his left hand rose to half-sword the wide blade as the Bishop was trapped in this precious moment of inertia. He could feel the strength of the Bishop trying to wrench the spear down and crush him- but he rose against it. His slice followed the spearhaft, Carnifex's edge burning into a glorious blaze as he wrenched forth. Carnifex met the barrier and demolished it, its fiery arc honing the sword to a razor's edge.

The Bishop's spear-arm was split in twain down the length of its forearm where it severed completely at the elbow. The bishop leapt back as Lictor followed through on his slice, the half-sword maneuver whirling into a scything blow as his hand fell back to pair with the other on the hilt of Carnifex. The initial arc missed and the Bishop leapt over Lictor to reclaim its spear- but Lictor planted his foot in an earth-trembling stomp and halted his whirling slash, immediately turning to swing the blade vertically upwards as the Bishop landed with its remaining arm grasping the spearhaft. It pulled its weapon free at the precise moment the foremost six inches of Carnifex carved vertically along its spine from hip to neck at a slight angle. The Bishop collapsed forward. The golden arc behind Lictor faded after these precious few seconds of cleared space.

He stepped forward onto the Bishop's back, stomping down onto its exposed and severed spinal column as the monstrosity still tried to rise despite the complete failure of its body. Carnifex rose aloft-- the dulled blade already beginning to glow again from within. Carnifex fell in a blazing arc. The bishop was split fully in two, its horrible symmetry besmirched only by the devastation of its right arm. Lictor took six paces forward. Each step brought the scabbard down off his shoulder, cleaned the blade on its shroud, then returned it to its secure housing within its leaden home. Each step brought the tide of Abberants through the breach in the flank closer to his position. Each step brought the thunder of Kyra's mech closer.

She only had to slow down slightly for Lictor to leap upwards and catch himself on the hip of the Mech.

"Rejoin the front." He barked to Kyra as he braced to reload his rifle.

---

So this is how it is.

Zhejiang watched the two experienced constellations charge into the throng of monstrosity with rapt attention, every sense heightened to the sounds of combat and slaughter even with the grand distance between them. Carapace beign crushed, guts being rent, limbs going flying. The sight of Aberrant ichor doused the ground around the two like an expressionistic masterpiece, and it sung to the Thrill within her. But from her vantage point atop the Grizzly, she laso noted that things wer enot going to plan. The forces here were in greater number than expected, and while war was never safe, she noticed how they were now down to just one veteran Constellation to maintain the backline.

"Could this be. . ." Zhejiang stopped herself from finishing the sentence, banishing thoughts of that dark silhouette from her mind. She could still hear, she could still feel, she could fight. When the Constellation's eyes opened again, it was too lock sights on the intruding Spearman. The Abomination and its partner had already engaged it, the manic laughter both seemed to share playing over the coms. Despite herself, she had to admit that they were doing well. . . but not well enough. Not against that thing.

"I'm heading over to assist the abomination and the new blood, keep distance and stay safe, Teddy. This junker ain't that maneuveable wouldn't due to have you get caught in it's claws." Zhejiang gave a nod to one of the Mech's camera's before leaping forth to enter the fray, her form vanishing in mid-air as a portal appeared before her. It was not long before she appeaered a fair distance way, her form twirling out of the dimensional tear as she hopped from one to the other, covering an immense amount of distance in the blink of the eye. While the Abomination was faster, reaching the Spearman before Zhejiang could even engage, the Mortus Constellation showed her own combat prowess as she ducked and weaved thro Alto's plasma fire like a shadow.

Behidn the dirt spray of each shot she appeared like a phantom to tear through the weaker abberrant soliders that survived, Shinign Void cutting through carapace and flesh like butter before she slinked back in to the shadow of the Void to appear elsewhere. While the Thrill had her thing in its grip, unlike the Abomination, she knew better to give into it. Aberrant's like the Spearman weren't so foolish as to duck behind enemy lines like this. So, while Alto and the abomination clashed directly with the Bishop-class abberrant, Zhejiang stayed back, picking off stragglers and waiting for the hammer to dro-

"Behind!"

There it is.

Zhejiang turned from impaling an Abberant to see her own partner engaging the missing Outlander head on. A brave tactic that likely saved her or the Abomination's life. But one that seemed ready to cost them there own, as the monstrostiy lifted a bladed arm to tear into the Mech's cockpit.

Zhejiang took a deep breath as she drew her arm back, her will focused entirely on stretching her abilities as far as they would allow and then even further still. She hissed as, even through the Thrill, she felt her body light up with pain as she pushed herself to the very limit. But she pushed through it and, when the black tear in space opened before her she didn't hesitate to launch Shining Void through it with all of her strength. She didn't expect the spear to manage to pierce the field in just one strike, not ofr a BIshop class. But it would hopefully distract the creature as she dove into a portal to appear a bit closer.

From Teddy's perspective, he'd see the Spear clash against the Outlander's barrier before vanishing, hearing a voice both through his Com link and audio link as Zhejiang called out to her Foe from a short distance away.

"Stop playing with unworthy prey, monster. Zhejiang Erica Teteh Almark Trace Aeolia Julianne Nova Trine Alzmille Lenore Chandra Ral Shagia Kycilia Lucille Jacqueline Agrippa Elysia Paraya Verlaine Haro Tieria Kelly Sune Stabity Drasso Visch Milla Romanof Rosso Christine Sys Lichtendahl al Mortuus-Orbitae LXXXV, Stardust class, Callsign Signus and I have come to challenge you." Shining Void appeared in her hand as she once again drew back her arm, launching another dimension-crossing throw at the creature before backing away.

Draw some distance from Teddy, draw it towards either Lictor or the abomination, whoever I can manage. Zhejiang thought as she summoned Shining Void once more to her hand, prepared to either harrass the Aberrant once again, or dive in for a stronger blow if it didn't take the bait. Come on creature, let's see what's quicker: Your blades or my spear.

"Wouldn't have to watch for your ass if it wasn't hanging out for the Aberrant to chase."

Howe's reply was calm and level, contrasting the intensity of the violence he was sending downrange into the oncoming threats. The arrival of a Constellation, shouted by the supporting forces, was well received. Howe altered his firing patterns to account for the gaps in her attacks, the empty space between each swing being met with 20mm and scything blasts of buckshot. Ammo reserves were depleting steadily, but not enough to worry him yet. He would worry when he ran out of options to fight with, which hardly ended when he ran out of ammunition. Sabine requested a burst of 20mm, the firing solution received and processed across the display, a quick glance between reloads of the shotgun confirmed they were good. Vickie, one would think almost begrudgingly, allowed the 20mm to swing and bark a precise burst of rounds on target, shredding the already wounded and beleaguered Jetsam while Howe continued engaging the incoming remains of the current batch of threats. It was during this brief gap in firepower that not only was the constellation wounded, but another Pawn leapt for Dunkirk during the same gap.

Only to meet the reinforced grasp of Vickie, catching it by the torso midleap and squeezing, crushing the life out of it before hurling it forcefully back into the remaining Pawns as they were torn apart by the return of the Constellation Commander. About time, and now that the violence had paused for a brief moment, Howe prepared to get moving when the presence of a new threat threw the entire plan into the dustbin. Walking Shrimp, Rook Class, Howe had a particular disdain for that particular breed of Aberrant, but what didn't add up was it arriving now, after months where it could have done so much more work. It was held in reserve, Howe was increasingly certain, to counter just this sort of maneuver. However, that could be mused on later, right now they had marching orders to keep moving. Problem, the infantry and other pilots were in bad shape and would not be able to keep up as they were. Listening to each pilot's reported issues, Howe began speaking firmly, a touch coldly, as he approached the mech with the damaged leg.

"If you can't see, fight unbuttoned, being blind will kill you even faster than being exposed, check your manipulators for jams, otherwise your going to have to fight up close. Richie, on my mark I want you to rev the broken leg's hip actuators like you were trying to jump, I'm going to hold the leg in place so you can maintain at least some limited mobility by warping the parts together, maintenance crew will hate me for it though. I can't do anything for your thrusters, but you'll be mobile. Get Kindred to salvage one of the down and out APC's radio kit to act as a patched in fix. Ready Richie? MARK!"

On his command, Howe jammed the damaged leg back up into the actuator well that normally held the leg in place and moved it smoothly. This was a patch he saw back on New Alexandria, where any mobility was better than none during the fighting withdraws as the planet died around them, the goal going from reclamation to withdraw, to survival and back to a mad escape that couldn't afford to stop moving. It would keep Richie moving, for what it was worth, and once it was done Howe maneuvered Vickie back towards those still able to move and fight under their own power. Then it was desperate survival, now it was desperate prevention, how little things changed. The Shrimp needed resolved, but right now Howe could not readily help with that. Wrong combat package for engaging the thing, and he lacked the maneuverability to meaningfully help engage the Rook. Given the circumstances, he was best kept here holding the line. Compared to the elements that could keep moving on the Princess, he was the slowest, the rest would be able to move significantly faster without having to wait for him.

"Commander, I'll hold here and buy as much time for repairs as possible. We'll see what happens from there, ideally catch up before things are decided."

With that Howe maneuvered his frame to the best spot to protect the most people as he could, noting the current damage reports from his own diagnostics. His armor had taken a beating, ammo was starting to reach the point where he might have to start worrying about repurposing weapons into bludgeons, reactor was looking good though so there was that. Making sure everything was topped off, Howe listened to the howling Aberrant that surrounded them, the sound of more moving in just deciding things for good as he watched the group head off. No, no now was the time for him to dig his heels in, metaphorically, and put himself squarely between the Aberrant and those who were compromised, and he turned off his outbound comms for a few moments reflection as hostiles closed in. Last stands were tricky things, especially buying time for other people to act. By the time you go down, you can't know whether or not your stand meant anything or not, had to hope or have faith, if you still believed in such things.

"Right then, let's see if the Aberrant take us seriously or not..."

With that Howe reactivated outbound comms and stood ready, armor damaged, munitions lower than anyone would like, but unbowed and in the best shape of all the Frames that stayed behind despite the previous engagements. If it was time for him to join the rest of New Alexandria, he'd make damn sure it would cost the Aberrant dearly. So dearly they couldn't divert to protect their Princess, even if he couldn't keep the Shrimp from engaging further. Let them come and see, then, let them come and see.