Alto was hardly an expert on the subject, but he was pretty sure missions usually took longer to derail than two steps out the hangar door. He hadn't even been able to get Corvo to run a battlefield scan before the ground had started shaking as the large city on the horizon started getting pounded into dust from orbit. The higher-ups had played it cool, almost immediately announcing a change of orders as the entire squad rerouted away from its planned deployment running cleanup... and straight towards the front lines. A diversionary tactic -- still just a supporting act for some unseen primary offensive. Hardly anything more to worry about than their original goals, he was assured -- but the unease that slipped into the stale air of even his own sealed cockpit suggested otherwise. The ones who should have known best -- those veterans of a thousand-thousand battles -- were
uncertain of something. That, alone, painted a far more accurate picture of what was to come than any number of calming words.
Yet closer still was a certain intoxicating thrill -- an eager excitement that belied the shyness he had expected from her introduction. He glanced over to the Corvo's shoulder to see the tall redheaded woman perched there, waving her arms and one of her blades almost casually. He was halfway through awkwardly returning the gesture when he realized she couldn't see him anyway -- though the intensity with which her stare focused on him through the Corvo's optics almost made him think otherwise. She might have been a fellow rookie, but it seemed like she was anything but nervous, despite the last-minute switch up.
Of course, Alto wasn't nervous, either. He had never once been nervous. He wasn't just some greenhorn, after all, nor was this just any old machine. He was an elite of Kabral, clad in the finest steel forged by its greatest minds. If they wanted him to take a walk, he'd stomp anything that got in his way. And if they wanted him to fight...
He checked his ammo counts again. One canister in the chamber, five more in the loading rack. More than enough to kill anything that moved, but not if he wasted it. This wasn't some sim where he could just try again if his gun ran dry.
Low output, then. High speed, wide dispersal. He didn't need to level a city block just to kill a few pawns. Missiles first to thin their numbers, then one good sweep to pick off the rest. And if any got through, he could still fall back on his blade. Just like the simulations. A few small fry probably wouldn't even be able to break through the A-EM Field without getting up close and personal anyway.
And yet, that sense of unease in the air only grew as they arrived at their assigned position, and the dust cloud on the horizon started getting closer. Every step his unit took had felt strangely...
light. He'd expected gravity on such a big planet to weight him down far more than it actually did... even if its core
was probably mostly hollow by now. Just how much had the Aberrant fed to push this world to such a deplorable state? And just how many new troops had they birthed to launch the very attack that his unit was now preparing to receive?
His squad, and
only his squad. He'd noticed it as they passed through a forward outpost on their way here -- the way the soldiers he passed by stared up at them, the way their eyes felt set to gouge holes in his unit and its passenger. Again, he thought back to how she'd made her introduction back on the transport, and to the lingering, acrid scent of disgust he could still sense wafting their way from the elite Constellations at the front of the pack. Hell, even without his Anomaly, he probably could have realized it by now. But with it, he'd already long since been able to recognize the familiar weight of their disdain. They were
important people -- people with much better things to do than entertain some disappointments who couldn't meet their lofty standards.
It was a pretty low thing to think of one's own supposed allies, but Alto was more or less certain now. If he or his new partner screwed up, there probably wasn't anyone who'd bother trying to help them out. Maybe the old man might at least make a token effort, but even that was a long shot -- his mind was like a frozen lake. It'd be easier to get mercy from an Aberrant than to rouse his sympathy.
No. He wasn't nervous. And he wasn't going to need help, either. Not from that man. Not from anyone. If anything, they'd be the ones thanking him, when all this was said and done.
It was just that the sky ahead was suddenly terribly dark.
It was just that the air he tasted was suddenly terribly cold.
It was just that he had realized that something else was tasting the same air as him, hearing the same way, but thinking different thoughts.
it was silent.
IT was deafening.
it was empty. Yet
IT filled all emptiness with
ITself.
it was reason, cold and pitiless.
And
IT was passion, burning and all-consuming.
Was
it hunger, or was
IT hate? Was
IT rage, or was
it joy? Was
it one taste, one voice -- or was
IT many?
There was no simulation in any galaxy that could have prepared him for the enormity of that which he felt staring back at him -- staring
through him, upon that horizon. Yet before his resolve could crumble beneath that hideous strength, another sound rejoined the discord, and with it came clarity.
It was the shrill ping of countless radar contacts, and a dozen target locks.
Far too many to be counted. Far too few to be seen. Far too heavy to be endured. Far too fleeting to be known.
No, no.
it could never be known.
IT could never be understood.
But
iT could be
destroyed.Alto's hands clenched around the controls, and his thumb jammed down upon the launch trigger. Upon the Corvo's back, its missile pods unfolded, sending a shower of a dozen missiles scattering into the air, arcing upward, then plunging down into a broad arc of crimson flames. A moment later, a low electric hiss turned to a shrill whine as he dragged his crosshair all along that arc and held down the trigger. Infinity's gaze narrowed upon him, and he answered its provocations in booming thunder and defiant light. The bass thunderclap of the magnetic accelerators joined the thrumming shrill aria of the combusting air and exploding plasma in destructive euphony.
"Eight-Ball, paving the way! How's that for a red carpet?"It was only for a moment, but a moment was surely all that those elites would need. Amidst the shimmering heat haze and the red-hot rubble, a path had been gouged straight down the middle of the enemy's front line -- a path into which Rigel and Antares vanished a moment later, leaving the rest of the squad to hold their ground, conserve their ammo... and stem the red tide which rapidly closed ranks to fill the gap he had momentarily created.
"I hope you all brought earplugs," Alto said quietly, his gritted teeth slowly remembering the shape of their customary grin.
"Because the show's only just begun!"He laughed -- and somewhere in the back of his ears, someone was laughing with him. Laughing with a mad joy that
should have set his soul on edge. And yet, the euphoria beside him proved more familiar than the chaos ahead of him. He could feel it swirling around him, dancing with the adrenaline boiling up in his own veins.
Right. He wasn't nervous. He had never been nervous!
He was just
excited!Another wave. Another shot, thumbing the trigger and sending pulses of searing violet across the tide of red. Carapaces melted, limbs fractured and crumbled, bodies squirmed and writhed, trying to drag themselves clear of the VESPER's scorching rays, only to fall before the firing line. The first canister still had 47% of its fuel left -- another two, maybe three shots if he used it carefully. With five more to go, how many would he fell before the Constellations finished their own bloody work and put this horde to rout?
Yet just as he was beginning to grow complacent, from the glassed wreck of the front lines, a hateful visage burst forth, diving into the defenders' ranks with reckless abandon. Alto scarcely had time to line up his shot before it was already too close to fire, forcing him to pull it again for fear of incinerating his own comrades.
"Warning: Target identified as Bishop-class, designation 'Spearman.' Corvo's voice chimed in, accompanied by the acrid taste of fear from those on the ground in front of the beast -- reminding him of a fact he'd almost forgotten in the heat of the moment.
His weapons would have no effect on that thing. But if he did nothing, then the troops on the ground were about to get slaughtered! Unless --!
A metallic scraping, like nails on a chalkboard, echoed within his unit's hull, and a moment later, a blur of red tore across his vision. He scarcely even registered the word his otherwise nonverbal partner had said before her intentions had already made themselves apparent.
He couldn't hurt that thing... but
she could. And the horde
behind it, which might otherwise have hurt
her...That was a different story.
"Roger! I'll cover for you, Aissi!"Jamming the throttle forward and yanking the joystick to the left, he felt himself suddenly become lighter as the Corvo's finned wing binders shifted, and the Craft system sparked to life. Repelled by a flickering canopy of azure light, gravity and air gave way, and the grey colossus lurched forward, skating sharply across the ground to circle out away from the enemy that had breached their lines, driving himself outward along the farthest edge of the left flank.
It was a position that, in just a few moments, would be completely cut off from the rest of the squadron, if the Spearman wasn't dealt with soon. But it was also a position where he could fire his shots right down the full length of the enemy's advancing front line!
Just a few seconds. One more shot would decimate the ranks of those trying to follow after the Bishop, then he'd have to fall back to the safety of the trenches. But if it gave that experimental girl the opening she needed to shore up their ranks and keep the line from falling... His Corvo could handle that much, right?
He sighted his shot. He thumbed the switch. The output raised, the aperture narrowed. The accelerators whined as their coils burned brighter -- as every last ounce of gas left in the canister catalyzed into a raging storm.
Then he pulled the trigger.
