---

Oh the fight. That was where Rudis felt it most. The pounding of her heart. The heat on her skin. The dust in her lungs. Truly, she was born for this. The straggling pawns that approached her had even even simpler end than the spearman. Without much effort, they were crushed under stone. Left to a bloody paste. Only threats in numbers, really. And even then, it was a matter of exhaustion for Rudis.

She was on the warpath crushing what stood before her. The destruction around her was palpable. And that was her holding back and trying to save as much energy as she could.

Then came the shrimp's fire. Destruction of their surroundings. It was fortunate that shrimp couldn't aim well enough. But to ignore it was leaving it up to chance. If the Shrimp's fire would directly hit them as they advance to the princess, it would be over. Likewise, if the shrimp targeted the damaged pilots, it would be a slaughter. That behemoth couldn't exist. That was the conclusion Rudis reached.

As much as she wanted to slaughter the princess, her old bad habits crept back in. The refusal of others' sacrifice. She wanted everyone alive. And she was going to try to fight something dozens--if not hundreds-- of times larger than herself to do so.

"Pilots!" She yelled. "If you still got some engines left--follow me! Draw this Shrimp's fire! I'll knock it down!"

"And Dan Kirk!" She said--immediately getting his name wrong. "I'm counting on you! Keep 'em safe!"

In an eruption of speed, she sprinted off towards the rook with pillar in front.

---

An explosion followed by the scream of a sonic boom could be heard overhead as the Wyverne zipped across the sky. Vapor cones formed around and trailed behind its wings as the pilot's squadnet was filled with the high pitched sounds of a woman hurling obscenities and taunts at creatures that could neither hear nor understand her. Practically as deadly as her missiles, some of her more colorful insults could've even made a sailor blush. Clearing the skies above them was a tall ask of two fliers, but they were managing, as jetsam after jetsam exploded in balls of fire, debris raining down on the heads above them.

"Fuck! Shit! Fuck! I've got one- no, two on my tail!" A panicked voice cut through the midst of Sabine's chatter. His lit up name on the tacnet identified him as 'Hefron', the other flier in their small ad hoc unit. Sabine glanced over her shoulder and spotted him, his mech trailing after hers, a pair of Jetsams on his ass. His machine was a bit older, and it's shoulder thruster was currently leaking smoke and sputtering as he took a burst of laser fire to the back. Damaged, but still intact, still in the fight. "Increase speed, maintain course, I've gotcha." Sabine cut in, her voice clean and crisp- a marked difference compared to her sailor swearing just moments earlier. As the two jetsams lined up behind Hefron to put him down, Sabine cut speed and yanked up on her controls.

The Wyverne's nose pitched up, the mech suddenly cutting to a fraction of its speed as Sabine initiated an impromptu cobra maneuver, loosing a missile simultaneously. Hefron and one of the jetsams rocketed by her, the jetsam flew headlong into the missile, exploding in a ball of fire, the explosion scorching the armor both Sabine and Hefron's mechs, but superficially at most. The other jetsam found itself with a 30 ton mech flying into its face as Sabine shifted the Wyverne back into its biped mode mid maneuver. A beam saber in the Wyverne's left hand sprang to life as the two machines collided. Sabine's cockpit rattled as the jetsam fired its laser cannons wildly, a few shots scoring hits on her, warning signs flying across her HUD before the Wyverne silenced it with a stab into its core.

The jetsam's core sparked and flared, as Sabine punched her controls and kicked off of the abberrant, strafing away as it exploded.

"I do love me some clear skies," Sabine chuckled, "Hey Howie, did you see-" Sabine's voice and face on the comms disappeared in a wash of static as the shrimp fired, it's waves of light cutting through the area and interfering with the comms for a split second. Just the backwash of the blast was enough to nearly send the fwo fliers into a tailspin. Sabine whistled low as the shrimp made itself known. "Well that's an unpleasant little fucker, isn't it?"

The commander's voice finally cut through the din. They were going to have to split their already thin forces into three. Well, their odds were already bad, but desperate times heralded desperate measures. The damaged mechs were staying in place with the infantry to hold back the tide, with Howie at their lead. Rudis was taking a few to handle the Shrimp before it vaporized their static position. Which meant...

The Wyverne screamed to ground level, shifting to its biped mode and landing with a heavy thud, its rotary gun opening up to clear the immediate area and give the men and women on the ground at least a modicum of breathing room. Its massive thrusters flared, ready to kick off at a moment's notice. She was going for the princess- Sabine didn't much fancy her chances as a solo aircraft flying into the shrimp's AA guns, and while valiant last stands were fun, they didn't exactly suit her mech's specifications.

"All aboard bitches, we're going hunting!" Sabine's voice drawled over both the squadnet and her external speakers. "Take care of the boys, Kirkie- don't die yet." Sabine called out in a sickly sweet voice, swapping back to the squadnet, "I want to go duty-free shopping at the spaceport after this, and it'd be nice to have an entourage."

---

The viewscreens took a moment to adjust as the storm of plasma erupting from his unit's upraised rifle sputtered and died out. With a snap-hiss of steam, the coolant sinks opened to vent their expended contents, even as the now-empty main canister clattered to the ground. A compartment on the Corvo's right arm unfolded, connecting with the now-extended ammo belt as a second canister slid smoothly into the now open loading port of the VESPER. Power was already cycling back to the magnetic accelerators, but not fast enough. The swarm would be upon him momentarily, and in his present overextended position, there was no way he could withstand its onslaught alone.

Jerking backward on the controls, Alto gritted his teeth as a shimmering lattice of blue light bent the air between him and the approaching pawns, and an unseen force began to yank him backward, sending the ash-caked grey frame of the Corvo sliding backward over the rocky terrain with the effortless glide of an ice skater. Not a moment too soon, as, rather than pursuing him, the pawns... split?

"Warning! Multiple incoming high energy signatures detected. Suggest immediate --"

The tactical support interface didn't have time to complete its suggestion before something tore past them at breakneck speeds, sheering effortlessly through the electromagnetic barrier lattice and only narrowly missing a direct impact. The unit's movement suddenly lurched first one way, then the other as Alto frantically tried to adjust the output to compensate for the sudden loss of repulsion on the left hand side -- an only half-intentional maneuver done more out of habit than conscious awareness that probably saved his life as, a moment later, his sensors finally locked in on the unidentified projectiles -- no, the unidentified entities that had just nearly turned him into a pincushion.

Hostility. Denial. Death. The eye of everything was upon him now, a heavy weight bearing down upon his mind, even as the circling horde darted upward, fanned out, circled, and prepared to descend for another pass.

"That's --"

"Targets identified as Knight-Class, Designation: Sparrow."

"You've gotta be shitting me!"

A living guided missile with the destructive yield of an entire warship behind it, condensed into a sphere of perfect erasure. It didn't matter if you were a Constellation, or piloting a cutting edge war machine -- regardless of your defenses, if one of those hit you, then you died -- simple as.

He'd seen them in the sims. He'd been blindsided by them time and time again when he wasn't paying attention. A lone sparrow could spell the untimely end of an otherwise perfect mission. He knew this. He knew it all too well.

He just never thought there'd be a dozen of the damn things chasing him.

All around him, he sensed pain -- panic -- terror. Damage reports were flashing up from both the veteran's Grizzly and the rookie's unit. And somewhere in the back of his mind, that manic frenzy his own partner had been giving off just fell off the edge of a cliff. The iron taste of fear was clawing its way up his throat, choking his every breath with the pain he couldn't feel and the dread he couldn't turn away -- even as the everything that was nothing pounded in his ears as though to drown out the racing of his own heart.

As the Knights descended, it was less like the circling of vultures, and more like the closure of a giant hand. Each one in its place, fanning out and then circling in at a precise angle, to cut off any avenue of escape. Retreat was impossible -- even at top speed, he'd never outrun them -- and the Craft system was still recovering from the first near miss.

...So then what if he didn't run?

He jerked the throttle to the right, allowing the good side of his propulsive shielding to face backward, even if it meant leaving his entire unit wide open. Thumbing down on a toggle, he brought up the Corvo's left arm, as the beam blade stored in its wrist compartment folded outward and blazed to life. Then, he gritted his teeth, held down the trigger, and jammed forward on the throttle.

The Corvo's retreat suddenly reversed in its tracks, sending the unit not away from the descending swarm, but rather towards it. Trying to adjust to this unexpected maneuver, the Sparrows rapidly decelerated -- which put them right into his sights.

With a rapid series of pop-hisses, the beam emitter let loose a pulsing torrent towards the oncoming swarm. The Sparrows were fast -- but that came at the expense of armor. And when confronted by a weapon they hadn't yet seen, devoid of cover and with their momentum rapidly bleeding out as they tried to slow down, for just a split second, they were easy targets. One lost its wing and went careening off to the side, landing in no man's land and erupting into a destructive conflagration. Another was pierced directly through its chassis and went nova right in the middle of its allies, sending them scattering off course, even as the Corvo skidded through the now-opened gap in their formation.

But it wasn't enough. As he pivoted his unit mid-slide and tried to keep firing, the remaining ten targets quickly righted themselves, and began to nimbly climb back into the air again, all-too-easily escaping the range of his sidearm and preparing for another dive. To make matters worse, the pawns had already moved in behind him now that he'd once again been forced away from his own ranks.

"Shit, shit, shit...!" He cursed to himself, his eyes darting frantically over the HUD. The craft system was almost recovered -- not that it would protect him from one of those monsters. The VESPER had finished reloading, but he couldn't fire it -- not in this close proximity. What did that leave him?

...Nothing that could shoot down 10 Sparrows, that was what. But maybe, at the very least, there was a way out. He'd figure the rest out after he managed to break from the encirclement!

Flicking another switch, he swapped sensors to infrared. As he thought, with those insane payloads and that ridiculous speed, those Sparrows were burning like stars on his scanners. His own smart missiles might not be fast enough to actually catch them if they were running, but they'd be able to get a damn good lock!

Prox fuses enabled. All A-EM fields angled downward. Legs braced. VESPER set to maximum dispersal, low speed. He didn't need to hit, just to get close enough to throw them off again.

"Come on, come on, COME ON!"

Six target locks. He held down the trigger. Bursting from his unit's back, a fan of six missiles scattered into the air between him and the oncoming rush of Sparrows, then immediately erupted in a canopy of flames as the Knight-class Aberrants fanned out to pull clear of the blast radius. At the same moment, the Corvo leaped upward, weightless for a single instant as the Craft system poured every ounce of its repulsive force downward, flinging Alto just clear of the swarming pawns that had surrounded him. Then, with a final twist, he pointed the VESPER down at the ground, and thumbed the trigger.

A momentary roar of energy and a flash of light hammered down onto the swarm below, then dispersed just as quickly as the recoil carried him further into the air. Somewhere beneath him, another Sparrow burst, setting off another in a chain of shockwaves. As all the air around the Aberrant was suddenly erased, the air rushed back in to fill the void, yanking his unit downward as the Craft system reached its limit and gravity once again took hold. With one final burst of force, the Corvo righted itself, its legs carving trenches through the ground as he crashed back to earth and skidded to a stop.

Behind the safety of his own lines?

...No. As Alto toggled his sensors back to radar, nearly blinded by the radiant cloud kicked up by his own all-out counterattack, he realized that for all his efforts to shake the enemy... Between charging into their own ranks to escape the Sparrows' second dive and then launching himself blindly back out, he'd only managed to make it around halfway back to the trenches he had left behind in his initial attempts to buy time.

But he wasn't detecting the Spearman anymore. Did that mean his partner won? Then why couldn't he sense her? No time to think about that. Because despite being thrown off-course by the Sparrows' explosions, there was now a friendly unit near him -- the battered but unbroken Grizzly, digging its way with cannonfire out of a mountain of dead pawns. And while his own armaments might have been poorly suited to the task of shooting down those flyers, they'd be more than adequate to cover for his comrade!

The next wave of pawns approaching the downed machine was met with another quick burst from the VESPER, and the stragglers that managed to avoid the worst of it were swiftly cut down by his Espada as the Corvo skated alongside Teddy's fallen unit. Opening the comms, he hastily made to warn his allies. There was probably some concise way to describe his current situation -- a Code 33-Alpha or some similarly over-specific designation. But if there was such a convenient shorthand, in his current haze of adrenaline and near-panic, Alto sure as hell couldn't remember it right now. So instead, he settled for the significantly less dignified but significantly more direct method of just yelling into the microphone as fast and as loud as he could.

"Sparrows! A whole flock of the damn things! Eyes up!"

---

For a moment Selene had allowed herself to believe things had been going well. The spearmen’s ignoble assault had been rebuffed, and the squad seemed to be overwhelmingly alive. In her book, on any other day, that would be considered a clear and decisive victory, warranting some home-cooked celebratory meals and several dozen personalized Thank-You cards. Unfortunately they needed much more than simple survival at this stage, they needed battle-ready and more. The hardest stretch was still ahead of them and there would likely be no moment of respite from here on. Worse, those poor soldiers who had fought and lived but could not continue were stranded here, at the mercy of whatever Aberrant stragglers or reinforcements might circle their way. As valiant as they were, in their state she did not have high hopes for their survival.

As the groups began to divide themselves, her choice seemed clear: stay behind to protect the wounded, and hold off whatever came until evacuation was possible. But among the remainers she spotted Dunkirk—Howie, she recalled—and his purported experience combined with the prowess he’d displayed was enough to convince her that those staying behind would be well protected with him at their side.

So next she turned her attention to the Shrimp. She didn’t much care for shrimp, but perhaps channeling that distaste into physical violence could get her to come around to cocktails or tempura. Quickly though, Rudis was rallying the pilots to lead an assault on the walking fortress, and so she decided she would simply cook the dishes for someone else instead.

That left the princess, then, and Selene hesitated. Something writhed inside her, a bundle of knots winding tighter at the thought of stepping into the nest. What was that, fear? No. Silly. Fear never announced itself to her so boldly. What then—concern? Doubt? The knot twisted, dissatisfied. No. The shortness of breath, the twitch in her fingers, it wasn’t anxiety. It was anticipation. If she’d ever been to school, or knew what a prom was beyond its definition, she thought this might be what it felt like to be invited to dance.

The realization made her uneasy, but Sabine’s excitement focused her before it could do anything else. The pilot landed with every indication that she would not be staying for long, and Selene watched as Odessa wasted no time climbing aboard.

Right. That’s how it was, then.

Selene approached the Wyverne and could feel Nebulae still bristling with energy. She took deep breaths, telling it in their silent way that it was to be absolutely gentle with the friendly woman’s robot, before letting go of her hold with the simple instinct of going up. Several hearty thunks sounded against the metal hull as Nebulae pulled and clambered and indeed lifted her up, up, and finally on top along with Odessa. Selene nodded to her respectfully.

“Always a pleasure, ma'am,” she said, smiling, and then patted the Wyverne appreciatively. “I can’t seem to find the seatbelts. You may have to keep the acrobatics to a minimum, Sabine!”

"Fuck."

Lictor studied the HUD in his vision. The Sparrows. The downed Grizzly. Zhegiang's solo fight. The scattering of their forces. This wasn't how this was supposed to go. This wasn't what they pulled him out of retirement for. The rifle in his grip trembled from the strength of his fingers. The triggerguard shattered, the stock bent, the barrel twisted, and his only outlet for the broiling rage within him was to hurl the now jagged and useless firearm like a meteoric javelin into the boldly leaping body of a particularly cavalier Legionnaire. The way it popped like a balloon scarcely soothed the man. Pressure and duty were compounding upon him. He was pulled to watch over one girl.

He slapped his headset. Toggled his communications to the full company.

"The Lictor speaks."

His voice sounded through the company in a short, authoritative, growl. Asserting itself over the chaotic chatter of firing lines and scrambling orders.

"Playtime is over. We've got aerials and dwellers. We've got downed Pilots. We've got a lot of fucking problems, kids, so I don't want to hear anymore of this panicking bullshit on the comms."

As he spoke, he climbed. Up Kyra's waist, side, and shoulder. Then, even as she ran and maneuvered her arms, he climbed along the right arm with ease and simplicity begat from unbridled strength and experience.

"We need that Grizzly back on its feet, and we need the sky cleared so Eight-Ball isn't playing a game of Bad Touch with those Sparrows. Here's our game plan people; Mechs back to the line, clear space for the infantry. Infantry, focus on those Dwellers, I don't want any more soldiers dragged below ground. That Outlander is mine."

He toggled the communications back to Kyra directly.

"Fastball special, aim for-" He gazes that way. Eyes peering beyond the failure of his technical visor to detect the hidden outline of the Outlander. Beyond the tide of pawns. To the tell-tale shimmer of the Constellation Killer. A concealment that would have been right at home on Thrax. A concealment that Lictor had come to know well. He pointed and pinged its exact location on the HUD, sharing it to Kyra. "-Don't think. Just throw."

He released his grip and allowed his body to yield to her control. Carnifex fell from his shoulder and into his hand. As he gripped the sword and loosened its shroud, he toggled his headset back to the command frequency. He did not speak. Then, the world moved around him. The stress of the G-forces on his body were surmountable only by Constellation; the nanomachines within his body surged to pump blood and alleviate pressure, and the passive resilience of his anomaly and training showed themselves on this day. Through the air, a golden arc carved as Carnifex tore free of its sheathe. Radiant energy built within the blade, flaming from the wind resistance across its depleted uranium edge, colliding with a near-invisible barrier with a cataclysmic shattering sound that exploded along the battlefield- only drowned out by Lictor's landing, which itself carved a trench across the ground.

The heavy sheathe was held in his left hand, braced to slow his landing and carving its own mark upon the earth. Lictor ducked down as Teddy's Prometheus cannon carved its insane fury across the field, but as its arc passed overhead Lictor surged forth. The only sign of his initial strike was one of the scything limbs of the Outlander gushing blood from his misaligned slash. At last, he spoke again;

"Teddy, I want that Grizzly on its feet now. Zhegiang, I want you running interference for Eight-ball. You're the best one we've got for those Sparrows. Alto, keep evading but direct your fire at the breaches. Our boys on the ground need their personal space."

His steps brought him forth to where the Outlander had been- but his instincts brought the blazing blade up in a whirl. A scythed limb erupted from the ground, and Carnifex scarcely caught the anterior edge of a decapitating blow. The monstrous Outlander rose up from the ground, having buried itself in ambush after Lictor's barrier-shattering-strike. Lictor rose with it, riding a tide of earth and abberant strength upwards. Carnifex did not yield even as the powerful limb swiped upwards. Lictor was thrown briefly airborne, where his immense skill and talents held little importance. The Outlander continued to rise, its disk-head cascading loose dirt as it regained its limb from the fiery embrace of Carnifex. It swiped again, and this time Lictor's block sent him slamming into the earth in a cloud of dirt. He grunted into the comms- and the explosive glow of Carnifex disappeared.

The Outlander dove for the kill. The dust settled, revealing Lictor on one knee, Carnifex sheathed- but the defensive coating of the shroud was raised. The scything limb had sliced into the cape, but the sheathe itself held against the blow. Lictor's other arm had risen and grabbed the scythe willingly, blood pouring down his arm as he gripped the wicked blade- refusing to permit his opponent to budge. The sheathe fell. Lictor rose, pulling the Abberant down by its sole bladed limb, and meeting the Outlander's ridiculous disk-head in its downward trajectory with an uppercut that would have put the Grizzly back on its feet. Its head snapped back, but still Lictor did not release its scything arm. He yanked again, pulling the creature down once more-

This time his fist penetrated into its skull. He grunted into the communications channel again, wrenching around to lift the creature by both arm and head, slamming its body down into the earth. His foot braced against its shoulder as it struggled beneath him. Wordlessly he pulled. Pulled. Pulled. Pulled until its remaining scything arm was wrenched out of its socket and torn free from its body, then he slammed it down and impaled the aberrant through its core upon its own limb.

"I don't take questions. Fucking move, all of you." He growled into the communicator. "You know what to do. That Scorpion is priority after the Sparrows. I want to see teamwork in this outfit."

Carnifex rose into his hand as he leapt up onto the Grizzly's shoulder. Clearing off the mech was his next course of action, with pistol and blade until Teddy could rise. His eyes were focused on the HUD, where he noted Dombay and Aissi's positions. They were still. Very still. His fury surged from infernal bonfire into frigidly lethal edge. These pawns on the Grizzly did not stand a chance.