Intermission Four - Darkest Hour

La Trinidad de Manila Academy - 12/1/2022, 5:20, UTC+8



Myron Makraig knew how to make deals with devils, or in this case, a very mysterious person whose secrecy could be mistaken for shadiness. Right now, Director Bathala of La Trinidad de Manila had taken Task Force Obsidian in after it had suffered its first and worst defeat, while Rear Admiral Adrian Absolo and NICA (National Intelligence Coordinating Agency) head Cornelio Malong had been tasked with managing the renewed Chinese offensive.

Director Bathala had been clear on one thing from the start: This was not free, and he would have his due once the team had licked its wounds enough and acquired the minimum of new members needed to be functional again. And he already suspected what the Director would require - After all, the Philippine Government of National Salvation would not exist without him.

The green lawns of Trinidad Academy were devoid of most students and faculty, leaving them deserted except for maintenance staff that picked fruit from the mango and guava trees in the gardens to feed the refugees that congregated outside the facilities. Myron had observed this because he was walking to the dormitory buildings that had been given to Task Force Obsidian with a message from the Director; he wanted to meet all of them in the Trinidad Academy Auditorium.

So Myron Makraig, the highest-ranking remaining member of Task Force Obsidian, went to the dormitory building, La Casarita, which was more lavishly furnished than most other University dorms due to its closeness to the ruins of Malcanang Palace, where the 'Assassin President' who had used a loophole in the Philippine Constitution to get himself elected Vice President in recent elections, then bumped off the President-Elect so he can become President again (this had the approval of the President-Elect's sister and mother, by the way)... Well, let's just say that the 'Assassin President' was dead and so were his accomplices, and the Philippine Government of National Salvation ran things now.

In La Casarita, the members of Task Force Obsidian had been given time, space, and psychological help, as well as the option to take regular trips to Trinidad Academy and its high-tech training facilities, which included a reinforced arena for Arms Master duels and a firing range. The Director had also kept them appraised of the ongoing Chinese offensive against the Philippines and the rest of ASEAN; long story short, it was not going well for either side.

In the Philippines, a Chinese Spy who had infiltrated the islands acquired citizenship through fraudulent means, and even become the Mayor of the town of Bamban, Tarlac Province, had mustered a militia in support of China. This 'Chinese Spy Mayor' had to be attacked by Philippine Special Forces at great cost, even as the 'Assassin President's' daughter in Davao City in Mindanao was throwing dozens of local hired thugs against PGNS machine guns in hopes the survivors would trigger a Noble Arm. Not just that, but in Manila itself, a plan had been discovered to murder the Mayor of Manila to destabilize the defenses of the city with her death.

But all that paled before what Myron believed Director Bathaha was about to reveal, because he knocked on the doors of each dormitory room, telling each member of Task Force Obsidian that they should go to the Trinidad Academy Auditorium with him immediately.

Because he knew that the Director was a sapient Noble Arm, one who got his sapience by having eaten several other Noble Arms before his Master died - And this man was the only one who could provide them an edge against the Big Three and Alan Turing himself...

@Gerlando@Nimbus@QJT@Amidatelion@Digmata@Chiro@Creative Chaos@4wheathRmany@Danyel@Sanity43217@DammitVictor@ctrlsaltdel@Archazen

WO "Mikey" Rangel

---

Aberdeen Proving Ground, Maryland, USA - 2022-11-19, 13:31, UTC-5

Mikey stood staring at the closed office door. She had already been standing there for a good ten seconds too long, and she was still working up the nerve to knock. It wasn't that she was afraid--at least, not exactly. She was, however, both wary and weary. When she had first been press-ganged into the Army, she had known that it would be unpleasant at first, but she had thought--hoped, really--that she would get used to it quickly. With the current administration's foreign policy, there was little chance of her getting sent out to actually fight somewhere, so it was really just a question of the indignities of military life.

What Mikey had found out over the last two years, of course, was that the indignities could be pretty damn undignified, and getting summoned to the CO's office was never a good thing. Even when they pulled you in to tell you something they thought you should be excited about, the main thing that came with it was higher expectations for a job she had never wanted.

Still, there was no point delaying the inevitable any longer. She raised her hand to knock on the door, but before she could, a voice called out from the other side.

"Ms. Rangel. Come in."

Aw, crap. Mikey briefly considered what it would take for an Arms Master to get busted down to Private; she'd miss the extra money, but at least people would stop calling her Miss. Then she opened the door, stepped through, and saluted, eyes straight ahead and over the head of the man behind the desk.

"Warrant Officer Rangel, reporting as ordered."

"At ease. Take a seat." Mikey stepped forward, planting herself in the uncomfortable chair with her hands in her lap. Her face was a mask; outwardly, she remained silent, even as she internally wondered what new training they had cooked up for her to run through.

"First things first. I want to say that you've..." The square man behind the desk looked her up and down, and from Mikey's perspective, he didn't seem to like what he found. "Well, you've definitely improved as a soldier since you were assigned here."

Alarm bells started going off in her head. That was probably the nicest thing a CO had said about her since she had enlisted. Were they prepping her for some new assignment? She had actually managed to make some friends here; were they going to ship her off across the country again?

The man behind the desk slid a manila folder over from a stack on one side. It was heavy with documents, and bore a red stamp across the front reading [TOP SECRET]. One paper stuck out the top of it, and Mikey could just barely make out the heading: Task Force Obsidian.

"Ms. Rangel, what do you know about the Philippines?"

---

La Casarita - Present day, present time

Mikey blinked blearily at Myron. What was the military's obsession with getting out of bed before the sun was up? It didn't help that, despite having been in-country for almost a week, she still felt like crap. Jet-lag and allergies--inevitable coming from Maryland's cold autumn to the warmth and humidity of the Philippines--had been kicking her ass, and were only beginning to let up.

Still, an order was an order. Mikey threw on her ACU trousers and t-shirt. The jacket stayed behind--even at this early hour it was warm and humid enough to make it uncomfortable, and her read on the other members of her new unit was that they wouldn't be terribly concerned with the state of her uniform--but she pulled the hat on to cover her bedhead. So dressed, she left her room at a jog, quickly catching up with Myron and the other members of the task force he was gathering.

"So, uh..." Mikey hadn't known any of the members of the task force for very long, and to tell the truth she found most of them a bit unsettling. Not only were they trained and--unlike her--practiced killers, but many of them were even younger than she was. Their acting CO, at least, was a couple of years older, but he was also the least approachable. So, when she spoke, her question was addressed to the group at large, rather than Myron specifically. "Anyone know what this is about?"

---

For any other normal, non-military, family, receiving a knock on the door at this time in the morning would almost be unheard of but not for the Griffins. Stood at the door was by all regular standards, a military recruiter. His Father was beaming with joy when Archer walked into the room, completely unaware of the implications of happenstance.

"Archer, I knew you'd come around eventually," his father said, clapping him on the back with a broad smile. "This is a proud moment for our family. I’ll leave you to it. Got to head to the base myself."

Archer watched as his father grabbed his coat and left the house, still basking in the moment he believed to be a turning point in his son's life. The door clicked shut, leaving Archer alone with the recruiter, Langley.

Langley stepped forward, his demeanor professional yet approachable. "Good morning, Archer. My name is Langley, and I represent a special task force. I'm here to discuss a unique opportunity, one that requires someone with your specific background and capabilities."

Archer's curiosity was piqued. "A special task force? What's this all about?"

Langley opened his briefcase and pulled out a dossier. "Your academic achievements, physical training, and the legacy of your parents make you an ideal candidate for Task Force Obsidian. But more importantly, your recent emergence of a Noble Arm has caught our attention."

Archer's eyes widened. "My Noble Arm? I didn't think anyone outside my family knew about that. Honestly, I don't even think it's anything special."

Langley raised an eyebrow. "Your Noble Arm has great potential, even if you don't see it yet. Task Force Obsidian has suffered significant losses and is in desperate need of new talent to rebuild and face the challenges ahead. We believe your Noble Arm could be a crucial asset in our operations. This isn't a typical recruitment. You'll be part of an elite team, working on critical missions that have far-reaching implications. It's a chance to contribute to something greater, to be a part of history."

Langley handed Archer a manila folder marked with a red [TOP SECRET] stamp. "Take this folder and discuss it with your parents. I know this is a big decision, and it's important that you have their support and understand the gravity of what we're asking."

Archer stared out of the airplane window, watching the clouds drift by. The decision hadn't been easy, and even now, he was filled with uncertainty. His parents had talked him into considering this, their happiness and pride palpable as they encouraged him. They believed it was a great opportunity, and seeing how proud they were had ultimately swayed him. He still had doubts, unsure of how useful he could really be, but the thought of making a difference and stepping out of his comfort zone had convinced him to take the leap. He was on his way to the Philippines, ready to join Task Force Obsidian and face whatever challenges lay ahead.

Griffin was wide awake, staring at the ceiling of his dormitory room. The soft hum of the air conditioning unit and the faint glow of dawn seeping through the curtains were his only companions. He glanced at the clock on his nightstand – it was just past 5 AM, but his internal clock was still on London time, making it feel like 9 PM.

He hadn't been able to sleep all night, his mind racing with thoughts of the unknown. He slipped into his ACU trousers and a t-shirt, then reluctantly put on his jacket despite the humidity. He hated having his bracers on display and felt almost embarrassed by them. The jacket provided a sense of concealment, even if it made him uncomfortable in the heat.

Griffin quickly splashed some water on his face, hoping to shake off the last remnants of fatigue, and donned his hat to cover his messy hair. A knock echoed through the hallway, pulling Griffin from his thoughts. He opened the door to find Myron, their acting CO, standing there with his usual stern expression.

Griffin nodded and fell in line with the others. They moved through the quiet corridors of Trinidad Academy, the early morning light casting long shadows on the walls. As they neared the auditorium, he spotted Mikey jogging to catch up with the group.

Griffin glanced at her, his own uncertainty reflected in his eyes. "I have no idea," he admitted. "I just got here a few days ago. I guess we'll find out soon enough." He shared a brief, understanding look before continuing on their way.

An early morning workout kept Charles in shape. Up at 4am for a jog around the campus before it got too busy. The jog wasn’t meant to be his full workout but rather a warm up. Something to get him limbered up and heart rate up for the day. So after a quick 20 minute jog, he went to the gym on base. He then spent the next 40 minutes working out. Mainly body weight exercises like push ups, sit ups, pull ups and squats. He preferred to train for sheer volume early in the morning as opposed to lifting heavy weights. That’s not to say he doesn’t train with weights, but normally does it three times a week in the afternoon in addition to the morning training.
All in all, Charles Mallette was showered and back in his room by 5:10am. So he was dressed and ready to go at 5:20 when Myron Makraig knocked on his door to gather the members of Task Force Obsidian.

Charles was out the door in trousers and a button down. As a private contractor he didn’t do uniforms anymore.
Listening to a couple of the others chat while they walked. An American and an Englishman by the accents. He sifted through his mind of the personnel files of the other members. He made it a habit to remain up to date on information. So after a bit of research when they arrived he at least knew names and organisations of the other members. So American and Englishman were Griffin and Rangel. “We are at war. I assume we are getting a new mission.”

La Trinidad de Manila Academy - 11/12/2022, UTC+8

After the day had been won Nil did her best to try and remember the events, after all they liberated a whole city, or conquered or whatever term was correct.

They the diplomats did some great talking about things, and then they did some shooting and Nil was the target then… uhh, Zap?
And finally they stormed the enemy Headquarters, lots of smoke and loud bangs, it wasn’t the best part, plus Myron yanked away some paper from her hands, as if she was going to eat them! Well she did get the idea after the fact but still… she wasn’t eating them yet!

Admittedly, Nil didn’t remember much of that day, a white coat said it could have been the side effects from LoSS oF COnsciOUsNesS and eLectrOConvULsivE tHeraPy without ANestHeSIa, whatever that means.

But it didn’t really matter because Callie was back! Even if Noel and Qingshe were now gone… Still, already the day after the mission she was feeling sorta festive, truly Nil never grieved for long, although it’s hard to say if it’s because of a lack of memory, maladaptive behaviour or just another of her quirks.

---

La Trinidad de Manila Academy - 12/1/2022, 5:20, UTC+8

It was another amazing night for Nil, the Academy was beautiful and quiet in the dark, the soft whooshing of the wind ever reminding of the well-maintained green park, a luxury many places don’t have. Then there’s the others sleeping, oh and there are new faces as well, safe to say they wouldn’t spend a night without the white haired oddity stalking by when they should be sleeping.

But alas, everything has to end, twilight slowly illuminated the outside and soon the giant sky lightbulb would rise from the city… or maybe it was more of a torch, it only illuminated half of the planet so it got to be directed like a torch?

At the end of her musing, Nil saw Myron walking around the dormitory corridors, the man did usually wake up early but this early, and he’s knocking on every room? Even Nil could tell something was up.

When the time came for Myron to knock on Nil’s room he didn’t hear anybody answer, Nil simply slid behind him without saying a word, then following him the moment Myron realised she was here, _{probably thanks to someone he had already got awake.}

---

Cristina's recovery while fast is not instantaneous, while she received the possible medical attention that she could get she simply sustained too many injuries, took too many bullets despite her best efforts and her legs nearly shattered.

Seriously, how did a literal ship became a Noble Arm?

At least she's still alive and free, she wasn't sure how she managed to evade capture but Qingshe and Noel's fates still haunt her mind to this day.

Perhaps that is the reason why, she still haven't thrown the phone away.

---

Cristina made her way to the auditorium taking her time walking around the place, enjoying the peace while it lasted. Who knows when she will get an opportunity to do this once more?

Entering the auditorium she saw a bunch of new faces, 'reinforcements' her mind whispers as reminded herself of how much the peace deal took from the Obsidian.

Whatever it is, she wants it to be over with?

Caroline Lidmann did not fidget. Fidgeting was something of her younger days – too scattered and dulled to have direction. For her contemporary self, her duty, her utility, was too great for wasted focus or energy.

Even as she sat and waited, leant forward on the back of the chair ahead of her for Myron to arrive, her mind was at work. Until now, she and Henri… They had been, to a certain extent, exceptions and caveats. NATO could not afford – so the thinking must have gone – to show its hand to its fullest, to risk turning a ‘regional’ conflict into a full-blown global war between massive and interlinked economies with the full might of their military-industrial complexes and Arms Masters unleashed. Thus: herself, supposedly an unaffiliated foreign volunteer who just happened to be from the US, told to keep her powers in check for now. Thus: Henri, officially present not as military aid but in an anti-AM peacekeeping role. It was only people like Nil, from the Asian sphere itself, who were here because of explicit military backing – no matter how mysterious or misplaced.

(Callie made particular note of that thought. She hadn’t done as good a job at checking on the poor girl as she might have wanted, even if… If there were good excuses for that, on her end.)

But now? Across the room from her, just entering through the door: a US soldier, transferred to Task Force Obsidian. She’d been given Spindle’s mental brief on Warrant Officer Rangel, of course, in her hours of lucidity as she recovered from burning quite so much energy portalling across Phnom Pneh. Her being sent halfway across the world wasn’t a sign of commitment, not truly – given her disposition, it might even be the opposite – but in light of the statements of the newly emboldened President it was certainly climbing to the next rung on the ladder of escalation.

Callie fixed a smile on her face, offered a friendly wave. It would be good, Myron had told her when he’d found her drinking in the peace of the grounds in the early hours of the morning, for her to be visible and present early. She was, unambiguously, one of the most veteran of the Task Force now and, regardless of the circumstances in which it had begun, had survived against the odds and even played a major role in turning what might have been a disaster in the Cambodian capital into at least a strictly tactical non-defeat. Seeing her there, eager, unbowed, would be a boon for morale.

After all, others were not – so roiled the thoughts, forcibly held at arm’s length in the recesses of her mind.

Noel. A young man finding his feet. Thrust into responsibility with little warning by circumstances beyond his control, yet far surer of himself now than he had been even a few months ago. Captured. Callie recalled his spark, his confidence, and the growth it had seen. He could be something special… Would he be, now?

And… Qingshe. Lei Qingshe. Callie remembered her all too well – the fire opal eyes, the hair of spun jade… She had seemed undeniable, one who had carved herself from stone that she might hold back the onrushing tide of the world. And now…

No. She’s not. The part of her mind forming her crush – and oh, how easy it was to admit to herself now, in hindsight – was insistent. Not just because of bias, as a brief internal examination clarified – because that seeming wasn’t wrong. Everything she had been told, had seen, had heard about the woman called Lei Qingshe said that she shouldn’t just die like that.

Nonetheless… Gone.

How easy would it be for similar fates to befall those now taking their seats in the auditorium?

Too easy.

Can’t let it. Must protect them.

Could she?

Arrowheads falling from a palm. A lazy grin. Her rifle’s crack.

She clutched the back of the seat. Caroline Lidmann did not fidget.

Intermission Four - Darkest Hour

La Trinidad de Manila Academy - 12/1/2022, 5:20, UTC+8



Upon approaching The Director in the Trinidad Academy Administration Office, every Arms Master would feel a sense of primal terror, and those who had their Noble Arm drawn/manifested would see that weapon shake, as though it was afraid. As though it was capable of feeling fear. Myron led them to the office anyway, where a brown-skinned man of medium height, slightly wrinkled due to middle age, wearing thick glasses rimmed with artificial tortoiseshell, and wearing a formal business suit that would have made any other person unassumingly professional, waited for them as he sat on a revolving business chair with armrests that emphasized the biting coldness, in the office, that was more than just the electric fans and the early use of air conditioning.

This was Director Bathala of Trinidad Academy, the man who had taken them all in... And was now revealing his price.

"Greetings, Task Force Obdisian," the Director said bitterly. "I am Director Bathala of La Trinidad de Manila, or at least, that's what people know me as."

He then continued to address everyone, "Many of you who should be here are not, thus forcing new blood, new blood not acquainted with the secrets you have touched, to come here. Your leader, the one who despite his flaws, has led you to four successes, one won from the jaws of defeat, has become a captive; the Downward Descent has taken him for their sadistic whims and desires. As for Qingshe, the strongest among you... Her survival is ambiguous; there is every chance she may not be dead and every chance that she is - Limbo is what her situation can be called."

His eyes glinted as he continued, "I was going to give these revelations to four people - Noel, Qingshe, Nico Makri, and Callie Lindemann. But only Callie is here, as well as Qinghse's pupil, Cristina. But beggars cannot be choosers - Not even me."

The Director leaned in close, as an aura of power and a feeling of pressure accompanied the unnatural fear every Arms Master here felt. Then he said, "Let's get the first revelation out of the way - I am not the real Director Bathala, I am his Noble Arm."

Archer's Bracers shook as though to confirm his words, even though they were not sapient, as far as anyone knew.

"Noble Arms can achieve sapience through natural development or by having the right power; I am the latter - I gained sapience by eating other Noble Arms before my Master died. I have their powers as well, and as a sapient being, I can grow my own Noble Arm, although thanks to an Occult Programming Language superscript, that Noble Arm finds it more difficult to gain sapience," Director Bathala then looked at Cristina, knowing full well Qingshe taught her about the existence of OPL, before continuing once more.

"Now, for the final revelation I have to give all of you; China, Russia, Iran and North Korea, as well as the Downward Descent... they may be the enemy right now, but there is another one trying to take their place - False Turing, aka Alan Turing's Noble Arm, who is trying to avenge his dead Master by posing as the real Turing, who has allegedly survived his death, and trying to destroy all Noble Arms by either: Deleting this timeline, which he can only do by finding a workaround through Occult Programming Language's inability to destroy any item or concept, just alter existing ones and create new ones... Or overwrite this timeline with data from the One True Timeline - An Earth without Noble Arms - to erase all Noble Arms without killing those who were born because of the timeline divergence."

Director Bathala's eyes glinted as he spoke, "False Turing tried to recruit me, but he tried to hide the fact that all Noble Arms includes him and me. So you guys will need to get stronger to stop him."

Turning to Cristina, he then said, "Agree to this and I will give you the power needed to fix your sister, not in a week, not in a month, but right now."

@Gerlando@Nimbus@QJT@Amidatelion@Digmata@Chiro@Creative Chaos@4wheathRmany@Danyel@Sanity43217@DammitVictor@ctrlsaltdel@Archazen

WO "Mikey" Rangel

---

“We are at war. I assume we are getting a new mission.”

Mikey rolled her eyes at the Frenchman's back--Charlie? no, Charles--but stayed silent. Half of her knew that already. They wouldn't have woken the whole unit up for anything less important. What she wanted was details. The other half of her... wasn't necessarily convinced that was the wrong conclusion, but it emphatically did not want to know. An actual mission? Where people were going to shoot at her? And she was going to have to shoot them?

Suffice it to say her blood was already running cold by the time their group walked down the corridor to Director Bathala's office; even so, she was not oblivious to the feeling of dread that grew stronger the closer they got.

(Before manifesting her Noble Arm, Mikey would never have described herself as the kind of person who reached for a weapon when she felt afraid. Now, as she entered the office, she had to make a noticeable mental effort not to arm herself. The realization was not a welcome one.)

Mikey wasn't sure whether the school's director was military or civilian, and after the last two and a half years of military discipline that left her a little uneasy, but she decided she could probably get away with just loitering in the background. Even having been in-country for less than a week, she was already getting the impression that Task Force Obsidian didn't exactly stand on military formality. She was still getting to know everyone, but by her count, somewhere between a quarter and a third of their Arms Masters were mercenaries, or at least here in a volunteer capacity, and half of the "regulars" were drawn piecemeal from foreign units. That sort of mix apparently didn't lend itself to strict discipline.

One of their number was already waiting--one of the volunteers, if she remembered right. From the U.S., even, though Mikey would be damned if she had caught which branch. And she was... waving at Mikey? Oh man, what was her name? Carol? No, Caroline, I think... Mikey started to say something to her, glanced back at the group filing into the office, decided against it. Instead she returned the smile and gave Caroline a thumbs-up that even she had to admit looked awkward. Smooth.

She took a spot standing next to the wall as the group gathered, resisting the urge to fidget and squirm despite the nervous energy working its way through her veins and the tingle of fear at the base of her brainstem. She could at least try to look like a proper soldier, as much as she disliked the idea.

A few minutes later, her "proper soldier" pose was being hindered by her slack jaw. Was she cleared to know any of this? Did her superiors even know this? What the hell even was Occult Programming Language? Whatever it was, it was apparently able to erase the world she knew and replace it with... no, she couldn't. She wouldn't. If she tried to wrap her brain around the whole thing she thought she would vomit and pass out, and not necessarily in that order.

Her eyes wide, she looked around the room, taking in everyone else's reactions.

---

'A sentient Noble Arm? Considering how the OPL works, it makes sense.' Cristina thought as she listened to the conversation, gritting her teeth as she heard Qingshe's fate. She was looking forward at learning more about OPL with her but now it appears that she would now work on her own, she still has the book given to her by Qingshe.

She hopes that it will be enough.

Especially now that it looked like there will be a new enemy on the horizon, the one that gave her an offer to join them.

'A world without Noble Arms' she toyed with the concept a lot of times while recovering. 'If that world exist, her sister would be safe even though they will never meet.'

It wasn't a bad idea to be honest.

She stared at the Director offering her as well to join his side as well, one that she will admit to be the better choice.

"How do you plan to do that?" she asked to the Director, feeling the same chill when she first became Qingshe's student. We;;, it doesn't matter how many devils will claim her soul afterwards as long she get what she wants.

Charles listen to the reveal. He had seen plenty of weird Noble Arms, but a sentient autonomous one had always been the realm of fantasy. Now it was revealed there wasn’t one, but two. Wild.
Interesting.
Charles hadn’t fought a sentient Noble Arm before. Most of the anti-Arms training he received was about breaking the human wielding the Noble Arm. After all, a magic weapon was strong, but a human, a human is weak. Humanity had exploitable weaknesses. Now they pitted against an enemy that wasn’t human at all. Truely a unique challenge.
It didn’t help that this False Turing was fanatical enough to be fine with ending itself to achieve its goals. Fanatics were dangerous.
At least their boss was fighting for their own survival. That meant they would pay well. It meant they would provide good support because to them, failure isn’t an option.
“Hang on.”
Charles started.
“If you are a Noble Arm, that can grow a Noble Arm, and eat Noble Arms to gain their powers…”
He paused he went over the math in his head.
“What is stoping you from growing a noble arm. Eating that Noble Arm to free up the spot so you can grow another one. Rinse and repeat.”

“Infinite Noble Arm. So why do you need our help?”

3 Days Ago

Oskar was in the middle of P.T. When his C.O. had sent some private to get him. That had been 30 minutes ago and still he was sitting on these awful plastic chairs he'd seen at every military base he'd been too. 'Seriously,' He thought as he shifted the hundredth time to try and be less uncomfortable 'I think these have to be the worst chairs in the world, I'd take a box over these things.' It wasn't five minutes after having that thought that finally he was called into the office. As he stood in front of the seated officer he watched as the man seemed to look him over. "Lad, I got some new orders for you. Seems like you'll be joining some task force currently stationed in the Philippine's. You have 8 hours to pack your bags."

Current Day

Oskar was already awake and in uniform as Myron knocked on his door. He hadn't gotten much sleep as he was still dealing with jet lag. But as he exited his room and quietly joined the back of the group he listened to the sparse small talk as they headed to the director's office. As they got closer a feeling of dread wormed it's way into Oskar but he forced it down before it could show. 'What type of man is this director?' He thought as they entered the office. A few minutes later he was on the outside still as stone faced as always, yet internally he was running this new information through his head and trying to make heads or tails of it. A sentient Noble Arm was standing in front of him and telling them there was another like them that wanted to erase all Noble Arms.

As new squad asked the director questions Oskar simply listened. He had come to a conclusion, while it was true noble arms hurt people Oskar had seen to many time how they could protect people to accept them being erased. 'How many friends would I have lost if I didn't have juggernaut, how many innocent could I have saved without it.' He thought as he listened for what was to be said next.

Callie sat, eyes subtly wide and posture frozen but otherwise not reacting – seemingly stunned by the revelation.

Of course, her mind had not slowed to a stop. Quite the opposite, in fact; at some point in the last few seconds it had accelerated to several hundred kilometres an hour, filled with a combination of horror, political calculus, the most bizarre sense of half-déjà vu and, perhaps most importantly, rapid tugging on a certain thread in her mind.

Ineffectually.

Of all the times for Spindle to be busy, why in God’s name –

---

Yes, I am sending this to the top. Now. Yes, now, now. No, Jerry, I don’t know how she keeps stumbling onto this, evidently ASEAN’s just the tiniest bit hotter than we thought!

---

– does it have to be now? Damn it… Stay impassive, then – can’t know the scope of this. With some effort, Callie forced the spiral of questions that had suddenly arisen about the nature of the world to the back of her mind. That could be processed later; for now, she had a job to do.

Got to know that this would destroy him too – either fanatical or his sense of… Vengeance? Doesn’t seem right. Trying to put right what went wrong seems closer, if Turing saw his mistake as regrettable…

For a moment, the thought: And, well… Is it? Sure, the first thing’s an abomination and the second might also kill us depending on how you look at the metaphysics, but… We’re so focused on limiting AMs’ impact in the theatre – if they just weren’t there…

It grated. For a moment, she felt and suppressed the urge to summon Charter to her hand. And even besides that… Naïveté. Some other power would have filled the void – no idea what that might look like, how things would transpire…

Not even death, the realisation coursed through Callie with cold certainty. In all likelihood, she simply wouldn’t have been born at all.

In any case, even a best-case scenario would involve fundamental risks to global stability, and that could not be allowed.

Yet… There was the question of how this all interacted with the war they were fighting now. Which she would mention, once Charles had his curiosity salved.

---

Archer's entry into the Director’s office was nothing short of intense. A slow, primal fear clung to his heart; had he been alone and without the need to maintain his composure, he might have fled back to his room. This unsettling sensation was most unwelcome.

As the group was ushered in, Archer chose a spot at the back, close to the acquaintance he had spoken to earlier. He listened intently, despite understanding very little of what was being discussed. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a reminder of the fear that had taken hold of him. This Director, a stern-looking man with an aura of authority, said he was a Noble Arm and Archer’s first thought would have been confusion, had his own Noble Arm, for the very first time, shown some sort of reaction, like a tremble. Thoughts were shooting through his mind,Was his Noble Arm doing something? Finally? After all this time of being nothing more than a hindrance and an embarrassment?

Caught in his musings, Archer realized he had missed parts of the discussion. The Director's mention of his 'final revelation' snapped his attention back. Though worried about what he might have missed, Archer soon learned the shocking news: they were at war with numerous countries but it didn't end there. To add to the chaos, another Noble Arm, masquerading as Alan Turing, was attempting to end the world as he knew it.

Great.

Archer felt a mix of disbelief and dread. The weight of the world seemed to rest on their shoulders, and the gravity of the situation was almost suffocating. As the Director continued to speak, Archer couldn't help but wonder would his Noble Arm prove to be an asset? or a liability as he always suspected.. He clenched his fists, remembering the slight tremor from his bracers.

They were at war. It was obvious now. Unofficial military action had changed to official. Henri Janssens was no longer a peacekeeper, but a clear soldier.

However, he hadn't been called back to Europe to join the rest of Task Force Laelaps. No, his place was here, in the South-East Asia, with his comrades and the largest action.

The meeting was full of revelations and shock, including to Henri. A living Noble Arm? These weapons certainly could do all kinds of strange things, and people had done a lot of research on the matter, but that was new, even for Henri.

He considered his own Noble Arm. Leonidas, an anti-NA shield born from Henri's distrust of Arms Masters. Could it also gain sentience? And if it did, would it be a self-loathing being, conflicted by its contradictory existence?

Then again, Henri hadn't fed Leonidas other Noble Arms, nor had it gone for midnight snack, as far as Henri knew, so there probably wasn't a risk.

However, the other revelation was even more important. Another sentient Noble Arm, and Alan Turing's at that. Henri began to suspect that there was some sort of expansion going on. And this one planned to erase Noble Arms.

In a way, Henri could sympathize. Regular people lived in fear of Arms Masters, and even the benevolent ones possessed powers that could devastate armies or even cities. But he did wonder if False Turing's motives were altruistic.

He did wonder, what this One True Timeline was like? Had it no magic at all, or did it just manifest differently. Not that it really mattered. The Director Bathala was right. They had to prepare for the threats ahead, and so would Henri.

Intermission Four - Darkest Hour

La Trinidad de Manila Academy - 12/1/2022, 5:20, UTC+8



Director Bathala smiled, his glasses glinting as he conjured up his Noble Arm, a Kalis Sword (Ignore the Sheath) that gleamed with warmth, a warmth that drove out the unnatural sense of fear and caused any drawn Noble Arms to stop shaking (Griff's). His next words were, "I used to be a Roman Gladius, one that devoured Noble Arms and their powers. This Kalis, my Noble Arm, allows me to transfer those powers to and from other Noble Arms without diminishing their potential. However, should I eat it, which by the way, is the same as eating one's own skin flakes - possible but gross - Its replacement will have a different power, thus denying me the ability to play with the parameters of various Noble Arms."

He then added, "The Downward Descent can give people two Noble Arms with different powersets by torturing a soul to the point of catatonia and infusing it in another person's body. My method is safer because it moves around the powersets and not the Noble Arms. So Cristina, how would you like, say... Huo Ren's power?"

Huo Ren had been one of the group's most obsessed enemies, driven by a perverse desire to capture Nico Makri, one of the past members of Task Force Obsidian. Nico had managed to kill Huo Ren in the latest mission after one such attempt at capture, but after that, he had stayed quiet, with some people speculating he had left TFO permanently. More importantly, Huo Ren had the power to create and control jets of superheated hydrogen, and can even create miniature suns. For the Director to have this power meant that -

"Huo Ren died and his Noble Arm went to another degenerate, and I ate it before that person could harm anyone," Director Bathala succinctly put before continuing, "Either way, do you want this, or some other ability?"

((Paragraph below contributed by Nimbus.))

"In any case," Callie interjected, her voice carrying from the back, "going after this rogue Arm would take our focus away from the war here, and the strategic position is too unstable right now to compromise operational capacity like that. We'd need to strike a major blow before we could even consider tying ourselves up elsewhere... Which, I'm guessing, is the other reason we're gathered here."

((Nimbus' contribution ends here.))

The Director changed the subject in response to Callie, saying, "This is true. Just a little over four hours ago, we received word that Russia's Pacific Fleet has joined up with several North Korean vessels in an attempt to plow through Tsushima Strait in an act of war - Admiral Yi Yeol of South Korea is trying to stop them with a joint South Korean and Japanese Navy; words that were unlikely to be said as early as two years ago. At the same time, China's 'People's Liberation Army Navy' is gearing up for another offensive just as the US Pacific Fleet has begun to sail towards the West Philippine Sea/South China Sea, picking up vessels from the UK, Australia, and New Zealand on the way."

He then continued, "And finally, there is the matter of First Lieutenant Noel Alonso, Task Force Obsidian's captured leader. Right now, he is being held in the late Huo Ren's PoW camp in Gansu; a gold mine where the heat and humidity are cranked up as much as possible to 'justify' the PoWs being given only the minimum of clothing; bear in mind that the PoWs are mostly men with a few women - You know what I am hinting at. That PoW camp is now run by an Avatar of Superbia, aka Pride, who in turn is the leader of the Downward Descent. This Avatar has been fed with more power than the usual ones, and his minions, too; rescuing your leader will require not just raw force, but an iron stomach to stand the disgusting sights you will see there.

"I have already predicted that Yi Yeol will win a spectacular victory and that the Japanese Navy will sail south once the Russian Pacific Fleet is at the bottom of the ocean," the Director began his conclusion, "So you are to train for when the crucial battle of the ASEAN War - La Naval de Manila - arrives, as well as the rescue mission for Noel, which will be held at the same time. Or you can ask me for new abilities, although unlike with Cristina, I will ask for something in return..."

@Gerlando@Nimbus@QJT@Amidatelion@Digmata@Chiro@Creative Chaos@4wheathRmany@Danyel@Sanity43217@DammitVictor@ctrlsaltdel@Archazen@Goblininamech

WO "Mikey" Rangel

---

Mikey's gaze finished tracking over the faces of her new comrades. For the most part, they looked... pretty well stunned, if maybe not as shocked as she felt. There were a handful of exceptions, which she took note of. The condescending Frenchman--whose suggestion that the director eat his own Noble Arm made Mikey's face wrinkle even before the man in question compared it to eating his own dead skin--was one. Another was the young woman (Mikey repressed the urge to think of her as a kid; Cristina--Crystal? No, definitely Cristina--was maybe a couple or three years younger than her) who the Director addressed directly.

Superior officer or not, Mikey had some ideas on where exactly this "Director" guy could stick his offer to tinker with her Noble Arm. The fact that this younger woman was not only entertaining the offer, but didn't seem particularly disturbed by the prospect...

Mikey shivered and turned her gaze away from Cristina. She wasn't sure she wanted to know what would drive a person to accept that sort of deal.

(Something in the back of her mind understoood that was because she had already been coerced to accept one deal she didn't like; what was to say there was much difference, in that regard, between her and Cristina?)

Her eyes landed on the young soldier standing next to her. In a way, his nervousness was a comfort. At least someone looked as tense as she felt. She glanced around the room one more time and, satisfied that none of the people she thought might fuss at her were looking in her direction, bumped Archer lightly with her shoulder.

"So," she whispered at a volume she hoped wouldn't get her in trouble, "what duty do y'think you're gonna pull? Hostage rescue in a perv dungeon, or Normandy 2: Norm Harder?" Her words were flippant, but the way her voice cracked and wavered betrayed her own nervousness as if she had announced it.

---

Tonka had only met with a volunteer liaison two days before, and was given an preliminary packet on her fellow members. She only recognized one or two faces that were on watch list charters for the SVR, interestingly enough. She had wondered how different things would be ran here in the TFO, versus in the UIL back in Ukraine. There was definitely a different vibe to it's members. The same structure existed, as the UIL similarly, was comprised of a multinational military group. No other Russian's, but those were a dime a dozen, very rarely meeting any other Russian NA's users that weren't actively trying to kill her. They existed, but most that were accounted for were either brainwashed in similar programs like Tonka's, or buried deep beneath Russia soil in subterranean prison camps. Freedom groups were heavily suppressed and moved in small numbers to avoid the Mother's gaze, the CTV and ID system that largely helped keep track of NA users, even if they weren't serving in the military. A lot of this was in large part to the many missions Tonka took as a teenager. Who knew an innocent looking child with an NA would attract the savior types, go figure right?

She had spent most of the first and second day, getting a feel for the campus and grounds she would be living in for the time being. Bound by Shadow allowed her to see, but she had been used to the same locations and mission sites. She could walk easily without her powers on the Military bases of Kiev, just from muscle memory alone, but she welcomed a stark change in scenery, even if she already occasionally bumped tables and hit her arms at the corners of hallways. It would take some time, but she was excited at the prospect of seeing more of SEA. Her missions only let her go as far as the borders of China and Russia before being stationed in Ukraine. Everything she knew from Audio books and documentaries she caught with some of the soldiers she caught a ride down here with. Boy was her snow white skin angry with her sudden choice to volunteer in tropical environments. She had heard, on numerous occasions, that tropical humidity and heat was no joke, and while she believed them, a small part of her felt they might be embellishing a little. They were not, half of her savings she prepared for her stint here, was spent on clothes and sunscreen, the strongest she could find before she would have the opportunity to get something medical grade. At the very least, only the watchful eye and nose would be able to detect the hefty layer of sunscreen on her, but it was the only thing that was going to help with the burning for the time being.

She kind of wish she had decided to go through with her plan of asking some of the other new TFO members if they wanted to drink with her the night prior, ten bottles of Stoli beckoning for new friends to join her. But she was hesitant on account of all the "noise" she has around her at night. It took her comrades in the UIL a month before anyone could bare standing next to it at night, and she didn't blame them either. 25 years with the condition, and even she couldn't handle much of it sober, or heavily preoccupied. She sat on her bed in the early morning, listening to the noises bustling around her, before she caught the sounds of their CO's shoes stopping at each door and telling them they had to be somewhere. She was clothed (a pair of black fatigue pants, a simple black t-shirt, black standard military boots and a pair of black circle sunglasses to spare anyone having to see her blurred irises), with the intentions of going on another walk to familiarize herself with the campus. Opening the door before Myron could knock and saluting to him, she followed behind the group to meet the Director of Academy.

Tonka heard some of the groups tiny interactions, giving her small views into some of the members personalities. Multinational indeed, the accents of those who spoke painted clearer colors for how to approach some of them later. But her focus was very quickly ripped from the others as the met they Director Bathala. Everyone else seemed to feel it too, the pressure he seemed to exude on their Noble Arms. Here there were no whispers, no screams at the edge of Tonka's hearing. The Abyss Bow was silent, almost as if trying to hide in the presence of the headmaster. Tonka hand instinctually went to her heart, a slight smile at the idea that this wretched Noble Arm could know the fear it threatens on it's target. It was a short lived moment as the rest of what the Director had to say. So much said in so little sentences, but the gravity of the content indescribable. She volunteered here on a whim after being told by the General Komar that they were in desperate need of help, and this information was a confirmation that she was destined to be here to help. As others began to speak up for the group with questions, Tonka found herself just behind "Mikey" and "Griff" as their respective profiles listed their nicknames as.

Hearing Mikey's joke, Tonka whispered from behind them "might be in poor taste to call it the perv dungeon in a room of people who just lost their CO to said location, but I definitely would prefer that view over the ocean" making a motion to the back of throat with a quiet throwing up motion.

---

Griff couldn't suppress a stifled chuckle at the vehement objections to the term 'perv dungeon,' though he found it impossible to decide which scenario he would actually prefer to be caught up in. On one hand, embarking on a daring rescue mission seemed undeniably heroic, a chance to prove himself. The thought of sailing on a naval vessel, feeling the salty air whip through his hair, hearing the powerful hum of the ship's engines beneath him, and being part of a coordinated naval effort was something he had never experienced—not to mention the thrill of combat. He visualized the adrenaline rush, the tactical maneuvers against adversaries amidst the vast ocean, and the sophisticated weaponry at his fingertips.

Yet, hesitation gnawed at him. Despite the earlier reaction of his bracers that hinted at some hidden potential, he often felt woefully inadequate compared to his companions. They exuded an air of competence and confidence, their resolute gazes and seasoned hands likely honed through extensive experience. Griff, on the other hand, felt like an imposter, an outsider with little to no practical value. A week into his tenure with the task force, he remained acutely aware of his inexperience and the pressure to quickly adapt.

His eyes darted around the room, wary of drawing unwanted attention and getting reprimanded for speaking out of turn. He glanced at the stern faces of his superiors, their eyes steely with determination, and the casual confidence of his peers as they discussed their strategies with ease. When he was sure it was safe, he turned back to the instigator of the covert conversation. "Honestly, I’m not sure where I fit into all of this. I suppose I’ll just let them decide where I’m best suited. I can’t exactly pinpoint where my... talents would be most useful," he admitted, the word 'talents' leaving a sour taste in his mouth like bitter medicine.

He shuddered, reflecting on his supposed gifts with an air of self-deprecation. Being a Noble Arms user was supposed to be a great honor, a mark of distinction, but Griff had only ever felt an overwhelming sense of shame and embarrassment. The weight of his soul-forged weapon felt burdensome, a constant reminder of his untested abilities. What possible contribution could he make in either scenario? It was as if he was destined to be forever in the background, a mere footnote in the grand tales of heroics and valor.

The room buzzed with anticipation and fervor, but Griff’s mind drifted into darker corners of self-doubt. The pressure to live up to the expectations of his Noble Arms loomed over him like a storm cloud. With each passing day, the gulf between what was expected of him and what he believed he could deliver seemed to widen, leaving him adrift in a sea of impostor syndrome.

Finally, he redirected the question back to his companion, realizing he had perhaps lingered on his own insecurities for too long. "What about you?" he asked, hoping to shift the focus away from his undesired self-reflection. The urge to hear someone else’s story, to see if they too grappled with such heavy burdens and doubts, was almost a desperate need. Within him, a faint glimmer of hope flickered—perhaps, through shared experiences, he might find solace or even a spark of courage to ignite his own path.

Oskar listened as the director seemed to drop yet another bomb on them in the form of the fact, he could grant people's noble arm extra powers. He nearly let his jaw drop at that but was able to just barely hold his professional face in place. After a bit he decided to simply file that away for later processing, along with the fact the man himself wasn't human.

Oskar continued to listen as the Director listed out the two operations they had coming in the future. He thought it over as he listened to his new squad banter. They were discussing among themselves, but he didn't hear most of the conversation, something about a perv dungeon, he guessed they were discussing the mission.......he hoped they were otherwise he'd feel awkward for overhearing. He shook his as he got himself off that thought train.

It seemed he had a choice to make, either help defend a ship from other NAs and maybe man a gun or two, seeing as his talents relied on him being close, or go to a heavily fortified prison that was run by what was no doubt an extremely powerful NA. His frown deepened as he went through the choices in his mind. Both would need all the help they could get but, in the end, the rescue mission could use him better and the naval battle would have warships backing the others up.

"I'd like to volunteer for the rescue mission if you'll have me." He said in a deep baritone. "I think my talents will be much more useful in this debauched mine than out at sea."

He knew what losing comrades felt like, that was bad enough, but the thought of someone in the type of place the director described made his blood boil. This was why he joined the military in the first place, to help though who need it and kill those who deserved it, and this mine seemed like it had plenty of both.