[indent][hr][hr][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/EZxSm84.png[/img][/center][hr][hr][b]Proto Etta Ishilde[/b]
[color=silver][sub][b]IC 286.08.16[/b] // Petrichor-8 System, Frontier Planet Alora // Approaching Princess D-47's Nest
1607 hours // [@Eisenhorn][@McMolly][@Asura][@vietmyke][@OwO][/sub][/color][hr][hr][/indent]
[indent][color=silver]Etta was no stranger to the warfront. For thirty-six days she’d been fighting alongside the others upon Alora’s surface, clawing for every inch they could reclaim of the miles taken by the alien threat, working with Constellations, Pilots, and infantry alike for a brighter future. With how much death had happened in that mere month, one would think that by now she’d be used to it, that the thump of her heart beating in her ears had become familiar rather than terrifying.

That was not the case.

With her master fighting elsewhere, the numbered sword felt clammy in her hands, whether that be to the sweat dripping from her every pore or the numbness of deflecting a Bishop’s strike was unclear to her, each breath she took somehow louder than the sounds of conflict below. Her mouth felt incredibly dry, the suffocating air of a dying planet no doubt making it worse and her body shaking from the strain of being alive.

Though the Spearman had no visible eyes, Etta felt it could sense the fear in her gaze. Its head cocked to the side, as if confused by her hesitation, only to close the distance between the building it was perched on and the mech she was using as a platform within seconds. Squared at the ready, teeth grit, the Constellation was as prepared as she possibly could to meet it.

Only for the tension to boil over when a blur knocked the Bishop off-course, the comforting figure of a Main-Class doing her job for her in a whirlwind of motion. Etta barely recognized her superior’s order, eyes fixated on what she one day hoped she could achieve. The curve of the silver-haired woman’s fragmented blade resembled the crescent moon, the conflict concluded with a flash of silver, the Constellation standing as the victor and the Bishop beheaded.

The Proto's attention returned soon after, quickly bowing at the waist and seeing the head of the mecha she stood upon bending in her periphery as a gesture of respect. She had to make certain she wouldn’t be a liability for her savior.[/color] “Yes ma’am. I will not let you down!”

“Barry!” [color=silver]Etta cried soon after, her attention turned to the horde of Pawns that filled the streets with their own blood and gore. The other Pilots had rallied behind one of the older armored units, forming a phalanx as a united front against the red tide. Four frames were a devastating defensive force, but five would do much better. Above, a transforming frame chased down the Jetsam and forced them to abandon their peppering tactics, another joining her in pursuit while a spec of a figure fell from the sky toward a pair of Bishops.[/color] “Join the other Pilots’ formation, I’m putting my boots on the ground.”

“Godspeed, star child.” [color=silver]Her Pilot, referring to an affectionate nickname occasionally stuck to the lower ranked Constellations, sped off as she leapt from the robot’s head, cooling her head during the several dozen feet descent and drawing inward. Her heart stilled, and with it the air around her landing point, a slope of ice forming from the ground up. The peak met her foot, her fall turning into a slide down to the city below, the construct breaking apart from the tip down with the pieces following in her wake. When the ice turned to asphalt, the air around her was replaced by the faces of human soldiers and the screams of the enemy, while a salvo of cold death continued long after she had stopped.

Broken shards, unwieldy and imprecise, had narrowed into precise stakes, spears of frost stemming the assault upon her fellow men while leaving them untouched. A mere dozen foes had fallen with more taking their place, but it had been enough of a delay to allow a half-second to finish reloading, saving precious moments where lives could have been lost. Etta’s sword followed soon after, her feet bringing her to the forefront and her blade saving a man just before he could be gored by a Legionaire’s arm. A Pawn was nowhere near as terrifying as a Bishop.[/color]

“Constellation!” [color=silver]She heard one yell, a mixture of warning for his comrades of a friendly, relief for the support, and awe at her mere presence filling that singular word. [/color]

“I’ll keep them off you, keep them off me!” [color=silver]She shouted back, sword singing once more as alien blood spilled onto the pavement. Frost emanated from the wound that formed, the corpse suddenly exploding as the blood expanded outward, deadly branches of frozen liquid stabbing into the owner's immediate comrades. The barricade of bodies and ice shattered beneath the weight of the wave a handful of seconds later, but the cacophony of reloaded bullets kept them off just long enough for her to swing again. Over and over, this situation played out, her ice constructs maintained shorter and shorter as her heart beat faster from exertion. Despite being consumed in constant combat for the next handful minutes, ears ringing from the constant stream of gunfire too close for comfort and the screams of the hellish foe, the trio of explosions that threatened to make her deaf permanently caught her off-guard. 

One, a destructive shattering, the earth itself torn asunder as the fragments of what was once a terrifying enemy scattered in so many places that even in the pandemonium of cutting down chaff Etta had seen it. Another, an ear-piercing boom, a plume of smoke, flame, and gore as a mecha-sized fragmentation grenade cut down a sizable portion of the swarm, the numbers nearing a countable amount. The last, a thundering roar, the flash of lightning signaling an end to another duo of Bishops that refused to be ignored. Senses overloaded for a mere moment, she hadn’t noticed the scythed arm that got past her guard until it dug into her shoulder, eyes wide when the blade threatened to lop off her arm entirely.[/color]

“Focus, Equuleus.” [color=silver]The pain in her shoulder was still present, yet the immediate threat disappeared as the wind blew past her body, her assailant and the wave of Pawns behind it thrown aloft by a whirlwind. Her master’s spear flew between them, passing through each of the Legionnaires as if they were made of air themselves and leaving their bodies unmoving when they crashed back down onto the ground. By her side, the leader of the operation frowned, hand held out to catch the spear as it returned while the other checked her wound.[/color] “It’s deep. Can you move it?”

“Y-Yes Master.” [color=silver]Every fiber of muscle screamed when she tried, but thankfully none of the important tendons or ligaments were cut. Or if they were, it wouldn’t be a problem for using the limb within the immediate future. Teeth clenched together, she kept the pain from her voice as best as she could, knowing they couldn’t afford it in the present moment.[/color] “I’ll bear with it.”

“Everyone, we need to move!” [color=silver]Aurigae’s command reverberated through the ranks, broadcasted through every communication channel within the company.[/color] “Every second we waste is a second closer to everything we’ve done being for nothing! Clean up as you go, anything we leave behind will die out as soon as we kill the Prin-”

[color=silver]Her master paused, and it wasn’t difficult to see why, the ground beneath their feet rumbling as a portion of the street several miles away began to crumble away. The earth itself parted to greet the colossal figure rising from its depths, and the words her Master said next quickly made Etta open her comms to call over her Pilot for support.[/color] “Now! They’re deploying a Walking Shrimp!”

[color=silver]Mobile Fortress-Type Rook-Class Aberrant ‘Walking Shrimp’. A common sight on large-scale battlefields and distinctive by their tripedal movement and massive size. Towering over cities at an average two hundred feet in height and a length comparable to a military aircraft carrier, their name comes from the several dozen cannons that line the ‘belly’ of the entity in a similar manner to a shrimp’s legs. That is not to say it lacks anti-air capabilities, however, with its shell lined with lower yield rotary cannons meant to deal with aircraft using rapid-fire suppression. With devastating power comparable to a starship but as a ground-based combatant, its presence after a two month war is a shocking development, as the resources left on the planet shouldn’t have been enough for production of such a high material unit. The sleek and untouched red carapace, visible even from a distance, was indicative of the fact that it hadn’t seen a single ounce of combat before this very moment.

To make matters worse, the scuffle seemed to be attracting more Aberrants the longer they stuck around, the baying of incoming Legionnaires already filling the streets once more, the several dozens still around crying out as if to direct them where to go. And more likely than not, they’d be escorting more Bishops along with them.[/color]

“What the hell is that thing doing this far back?”

“Thirty-six legs. Haha, is that a new record?”

“Get your act in gear corporal, that thing can level a city block!”

“The DSG won’t be enough if that thing discharges in our direction. 44% Diffusion ain’t gonna cut it.”

“Don’t mess with me, bastard,” [color=silver]Aurigae growled under her breath among the explosion of radio chatter, near inaudible beneath the dozens of voices clamoring at the sight of the red behemoth. Etta couldn’t think of the last time she’d heard her master swear. The commander reopened her connection after a moment, mounting her spear that hovered a few feet off the ground.[/color] “No delays! If we don’t vacate fast, we’re all dead.”

“We’ve got wounded Commander!” [color=silver]One of the NCOs declared over the general comms, the man himself running up to join Etta and her master a moment later.[/color] “Six down, twenty-three wounded. Four of the APCs got damaged in the scrum, two decommissioned and the other two were jammed. We won’t be able to get everyone out unless we buy some time to get those last two running again.”

“We aren’t doing too hot either, ma’am.” [color=silver]A Pilot’s voice chimed in soon after, a damaged frame moving out from behind the leading old mech.[/color] “The Jetsam got Richie’s main thrusters and left leg. Kindred’s radio’s out and I’m not sure how much of this she can even hear. Hell, I can barely see out of this damn thing, and my guns either ain’t working properly or are out of ammo. We’d need a few minutes to figure out some solutions, otherwise all we’ll be doing is slowing you down.”

“We don’t have time for this!” [color=silver]The commander yelled back, the underbelly of the Walking Shrimp lighting up despite the incredible distance between it and the company.[/color] “You’ll have to figure it out on the move, pack up what you can and get going!”

“Just go!” [color=silver]Another PIlot, assumedly Richie, cut into the conversation, his immobile suit waving the Constellation off with one arm while the other attempted to move the broken leg to mediocre success.[/color] “Anyone who can’t keep up just has to stay behind. We’ll keep them off your tail for as long as we can!”

[color=silver]A barrage of light and sound lit up the streets around the company and made the rest of the conversation forcibly cut off, vaporizing beams of light carving trenches in the city as they passed around and above the human group. Buildings were demolished, streets annihilated, the surroundings near unrecognizable in an instant as the Walking Shrimp’s first salvo just barely missed their position. The incoming patrol became visible, the walls dividing the two groups destroyed in the bombardment as the swarm of Aberrants closed in, filling in through the opening.[/color]

“...Damn it!” [color=silver]After a collective moment of shocked silence, the casual brush with death felt all throughout the company, Etta’s master voiced her anger at the situation. The pain in the commander’s voice was palpable when her next order was announced, a hint of reluctance shining through despite her best efforts.[/color] “Anyone who can spare it, help these heroes hold out their defensive position for as long as you are able. Then follow our lead.”

[color=silver]Etta’s Pilot moved up next to her, the lowered hand scooping her up as she jumped into its palm and setting her back onto the robot’s head. She glanced back at the unit choosing to stay behind, around a third of their ranks using the unusable vehicles as cover with the three damaged mechs acting as fire support. The Constellation knew she'd never see any of their faces again, and her heart froze without her prompting.[/color]

“The rest of you,” [color=silver]Aurigae continued, her spear speeding forth as several Bishops attempted to block the way to the Nest. With a violent twist of her outstretched hands, two of their chest plates caved in various places, and from experience the disciple could tell that the small gaps of air within their armor had compressed and crushed the vulnerable tissue beneath, the victims falling powerlessly to the ground as their cores flickered desperately in an attempt to resuscitate themselves through power alone. The leading Constellation let out a warm breath, shaking from the exertion of her Anomaly, yet her anger was as cold as Etta’s ice.[/color] “Help clear the path. We’ve got a monster to kill.”[/indent]