Xiro Zean

The Things We Fight For

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13th Batallion, Alora Defense Corps
_{IC 286.08.16 // Petrichor-8 System, Frontier Planet Alora // Approaching planet's surface.
1608 hours // @Raijinslayer@Supermaxx@Lemons@Fading Memory@Feyblue}

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Before the battle had ignited in earnest, it had been collectively decided by the thirteenth battalion that they despised the newest additions to the front line. Not just by the soldiers, nor the captains, not even as a command from the lieutenant colonel in charge. It was a decision made by the whole hearted agreement by each man and woman in the unit, a hatred sprouted by the mere presence of the platoon that guarded the leftmost flank.

Over the past two months, they’d seen thousands come and go in defense of their planet, people from all walks of life fighting alongside them for the sake of humanity’s survival. They laughed, they cried, they died, all in service of the greater cause that they may one day retake their homeland.

The group that settled with them, shoulder to shoulder, could not be counted among those people. Support sent when none had come for several days, just after the orbiting command shuttle had declared the mission effectively lost? Whatever they were on the planet for, it wasn’t to save it, and were it not for the change in the state of the war the soldiers would’ve never seen the new platoon in the first place.

The rumor of what existed within their ranks had spread like wildfire, the bruised Constellations and reprimanded soldiers detained and brought back to base adding fuel to the fire. Some called it a weapon, others a monster, but the through-line of every shared story was that it was nothing like anything they’d seen before. Personal mobile suits were rare but well known, and the use of automated androids had been tested several times before. The thing within the new platoon was neither of those things, and the fact that it was compared to the former two was a frightening mental image.

So when the defensive line was drawn and soldiers got into position, none of the officers attempted to close the several feet long gap between their battalion and the supporting group, understanding that one should never speak an order they knew wouldn’t be followed. Especially when they would be reluctant to follow it themselves.

The battlefield, while terrifying and frantic, was a comfort in comparison, the hundreds of thousands of hours they’d already spent clearing the red wave in previous engagements making the onslaught only slightly worrying. Legionnaires were a dangerous variant of Pawn, unrelenting in ways others were not, and their tenacity only rivaled by the malice they radiated from simply existing. But it was that same durability that made delaying their charges simpler than expected, the pile of bodies formed from each dying Legionnaire an obstacle the others were forced to climb over, their fellows still alive despite their wounds and making themselves a nuisance for the fresh meat that attempted to take their place.

The beginning salvos of gunfire were spent inflicting disabling rather than fatal wounds, the flat plain of the wasteland quickly becoming an obstacle course for the Pawns behind the fallen. Each following barrage piled on the bodies, creating barriers that would protect the Legionnaires further behind from the piercing rounds but delaying the initial rush from crashing against their defenses at full force. Playing a fully defensive long game, the Constellations supporting them preserved their strength, the Bishops that attempted to break through having none of the chaff to obscure their approach and being dispatched swiftly. A coordinated effort forged through trial and error, experienced in ways that at night they wish they weren’t.

In comparison, when the soldiers of the battalion would check on the platoon beside them, they could only scoff at their inability to hold fast. The overwhelming difference in manpower was a factor for certain, but what truly cemented the platoon’s failures were the elite forces. The platoon had prepared for the battlefield with three mechs, yet not a single one had stayed behind the defensive line, leaving the soldiers to fend for themselves while the armored suits threw themselves directly at the tide of red. Their efforts were no doubt as useless as cutting the sea with a knife, and the infantry were going to suffer for it.

With so little to observe of the defensive line on that side, those free to do so watched as the thing of the rumors was dispatched by the Bishop, its swan dive with acceleration boosted by the thrusters on its body unceremoniously halted as the Spearman leapt up to meet her rather than wait for her to reach terminal velocity. The scuffle midair was brief, followable even by the few human infantry who took a chance to watch as the Bishop adjusted mid-air, the weapon’s outstretched blades used as a fulcrum for the tall, lanky figure to flip onto the experiment’s back, sending her crashing to the ground with both wings locked by its spear threaded in the gaps between them.

The eventual fate of that thing was left unobserved, the soldiers’ attentions caught as a loud whirring faintly rose from further up the flank. The following beam was bright enough that the dark sky momentarily resembled the night for those closest to the defensive line and the noise loud enough to develop tinnitus, those soldiers having a front row seat to the concentrated beam of plasma that carved not only through the Pawns by the flank, but into the firing zones of the battalion and the defensive corps beside them. A mech pilot of the latter had just barely gotten out of the way of the following blast, and from the way their frame stared silently in the direction of the beam’s source was indicative of the stream of curses the Pilot inside was no doubt complaining to his squad with. A weapon of that power on a medium-scale mecha was impressive, the devastation inspiring, yet the choice of angle when the user was on the furthest flank made it difficult to think that the Pilot was anything but a rookie.

“Dwellers!” The call rose from within the battalion's ranks, the dirt beneath their feet parting as bulky figures peeked from the soil, sharpened claws stabbing into the legs of unsuspecting infantry before pulling both themselves and their targets beneath the ground. The Pawn-Class Dwellers were an annoyingly effective utilizers of subterfuge, their large sizes barely an issue when it was completely enveloped by the earth. Slipping beneath the soil with one meant certain death for the common foot soldier, and after the first warning several of the soldiers immediately went into overwatch, acting as “mole exterminators” that dispatched the tunneling foes with heavy buckshot into the briefly exposed underbelly when the Dwellers attempted to steal one of their own.

While the initial attack had taken the battalion off-guard, the defenseless infantry of the neighboring platoon were most certainly having it worse, and of the fifty that had come to the battlefield, an officer counted only thirty remaining after the first sneak attack. Which seemed to be the straw that broke the camel’s back. “Men, support those soldiers! We can’t let the enemy take the flank!”

Quickly, a company split off from the battalion to support the remaining members of the platoon, terminating the Dwellers who attempted another pass on the group the alien’s must’ve realized were the easier prey. A wide berth was given to the breach in the front where the weapon existed, but none of the soldiers could continue ignoring their fellowmen when they were dying through circumstances entirely out of their control.

The NCO who led the battalion sent to reinforce the gutted platoon was going to make certain that whomever was responsible for this lack of coordination was getting canned, that was for certain. He grumbled when he heard that the commander of the unit had left to deal with the Outlanders, a respectable reason at the very least, but if by the end of this conflict he didn’t have a list of the others within the chain of command he was going to have someone’s head as compensation.

The Fate of the Subject

Pinned to the earth, the weight of a creature twice her size upon her back, and her weapons locked in place, were she alone the Aberration Integration System Subject’s story would have undoubtedly ended in that very moment. The Bishop’s arm reared back, hand poised to crush her skull with a simple thrust toward the earth, the Constellation known as Dombay thought it intriguing that a simple tug of force was the difference between life and death.

Their influence shot out once more a moment before the Spearman realized that there was someone else aside from the prey beneath them. It was with great speed that the Bishop leapt away from the experimental subject’s prone form, the tangible appendage of force avoided by the barest of margins. A clear miss by a Constellation’s standards. The nineteenth numbered sword carved an arc through the air where the alien had once knelt, their closed gaze focused on the Bishop as it stood at the ready.

“I suggest you dust yourself off.” Dombay’s tone was casual despite the robotic figure’s spear held within its grip once more. Their light, airy voice was difficult to hear over the screams of the dying and blasts of gunfire, yet for Aissi it was clear as day. Pressing their fingers together in front of them, the blade they once held shot forth without a hand to guide it, the Spearman forced to fend it off for a few seconds while the Constellation continued. “The potential energy was fantastic, but the method too direct.”

Dombay grimaced when they felt their influence cut off, the trick of a floating blade only a distraction at their current level of skill as the Bishop deflected their blade to the side and took the opening to close the distance once more. “I shall attempt to give you an opening. Three seconds is all I can afford with this difference in ability.”

And with their lives dangling on the thin line of victory and defeat, the two Stardust faced their rapidly approaching, superior opponent.

The Fate of the Royal and the Bear

Despite her lack of strength behind the strike, the blow against the Outlander’s barrier had garnered its attention, the disk-like head of the Bishop tilted in her general direction. It was the second attempt that made it move, dancing around the prone form of the fallen Grizzly as its several miniature thrusters made the precise movements to both avoid the projected spear and continue to pin the large metal frame possible. The Stardust was not a threat, the first attempt to catch it off guard a failure despite its defensive shell fizzling slightly from the remnant AB particles, but if it ignored the woman long enough she could eventually become one. The bulky heap beneath its legs, while imposing, was even less of an issue, and with only a slash of its blades across the head and from the armpit across it left the mecha where it lay.

The damage, though inflicted semi-casually, were quite severe, with the damaged limb left unoperational and any important systems relegated to the faux head of the frame destroyed. The damage might’ve even affected the cockpit, the scythed blade of the Outlander’s arm having parted the reinforced metal plating like a knife through butter. If he were unlucky enough, the Pilot himself could’ve been injured, but only if he hadn’t taken the proper measures in the few seconds of lull before the inflicted damage.

It did not immediately charge the would-be-Constellation however, stepping forward at a sedate pace as if it had all the time in the world. Despite the Outlanders having a designation that depicted it as a unit of subterfuge, the pale white carapace shone beneath the light of the sun, despite said luster being obscured by the contaminated atmosphere. The purpose of its scales became clear a moment later, its barrier shimmering for a moment before its form vanished as if it were never there. As white is the summation of every color of light, the Aberrant utilized its barrier to simulate the colors of its surroundings, with only the faintest shimmer visible when the Bishop moved. A terrifying prospect for any normal human to deal with, and Constellations without the instincts formed from experience nor the sensory abilities required to ignore the Outlander’s adaptation fared no better.

And as the red tide began to swarm in, attempting to fill the void the Grizzly had made in pursuit of the Outlander, the struggle of the two began in earnest.

The Fate of the Veteran and the Rookie

Effective as their individual efforts may have been, they were just as effective at attracting attention. The unit that approached Lictor and Kyra as the duo attempted to escape was the Bishop-Class Scorpion. Announcing its presence with a barrage of plasma bolts, the mech Pilot of the two utilized her reverse-joint limbs to leap away from the salvo, the shockwaves from the explosions of blue causing the frame to tremble from how closely the attack had come. Alongside it came another Spearman, spinning its spear rapidly to fend off the return-fire of bullets Kyra had attempted to sneak in during her retreat.

Scorpions, similar to Spearmen, had a humanoid shape. Bipedal with two limbs able to grip the large twin plasma casters that smoked from their most recent discharge, the deciding factor that differentiated the two was the dark brown carapace that blended better with rural areas than the Spearmen’s urban grays along with the thick, long tail-like appendage. The tip glowed an angry red, and Kyra cranked her thrusters to the max to avoid the cutting beam that threatened to bisect her frame. The front barrel of her machine gun, barely clipped by the red glow, careened toward the ground below, digging into the soil upon impact and the edge of the cut superheated to the point of melting.

Alto, meanwhile, was forced to deal with the squadron sent to keep his attention away from the Pawn swarm. The Knight-Class Sparrows were much smaller than the Jetsam but built solely for speed, shaped like paper airplanes that flew through the air with faint trails of red exhaust behind them. Lacking any sort of direct fire power, their actual duty was a simple one, the two dozen Sparrows launched in the Pilot’s direction attempting to ram him full force with their bodies. Flying at speeds comparable to fighter jets for the express purpose of crashing into their targets, the fact that they were sent solely to take out his frame was a testament to how the Aberrants perceived the danger level of his weaponry.

And with the flank slowly becoming more and more active with their threat levels risen higher than expected by the enemy, the three far out of position are forced to fight their way back to the defensive line.

The Things We Fight For

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Proto Etta Ishilde
_{IC 286.08.16 // Petrichor-8 System, Frontier Planet Alora // Approaching Princess D-47's Nest
1607 hours // @Eisenhorn@McMolly@Asura@vietmyke@OwO}

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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. “Yes ma’am. I will not let you down!”

“Barry!” 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. “Join the other Pilots’ formation, I’m putting my boots on the ground.”

“Godspeed, star child.” 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.

“Constellation!” 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.

“I’ll keep them off you, keep them off me!” 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.

“Focus, Equuleus.” 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. “It’s deep. Can you move it?”

“Y-Yes Master.” 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. “I’ll bear with it.”

“Everyone, we need to move!” Aurigae’s command reverberated through the ranks, broadcasted through every communication channel within the company. “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-”

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. “Now! They’re deploying a Walking Shrimp!”

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.

“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,” 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. “No delays! If we don’t vacate fast, we’re all dead.”

“We’ve got wounded Commander!” One of the NCOs declared over the general comms, the man himself running up to join Etta and her master a moment later. “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.” A Pilot’s voice chimed in soon after, a damaged frame moving out from behind the leading old mech. “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!” The commander yelled back, the underbelly of the Walking Shrimp lighting up despite the incredible distance between it and the company. “You’ll have to figure it out on the move, pack up what you can and get going!”

“Just go!” 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. “Anyone who can’t keep up just has to stay behind. We’ll keep them off your tail for as long as we can!”

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.

“...Damn it!” 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. “Anyone who can spare it, help these heroes hold out their defensive position for as long as you are able. Then follow our lead.”

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.

“The rest of you,” 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. “Help clear the path. We’ve got a monster to kill.”

The Things We Fight For

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Soldiers of Aurigae’s Company
_{IC 286.08.16 // Petrichor-8 System, Frontier Planet Alora // Approaching Princess D-47's Nest
1604 hours // @Eisenhorn@McMolly@Asura@vietmyke@OwO}

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The situation below was just as dire as on the rooftops, the soldiers immediately finding difficulty in mowing down the Legionnaire swarm. Despite their lack of full body carapaces, their resilience trumped any other species of Pawn, what little armor they did have being all they required to keep up their charge. Mangled limbs, torn muscles, destroyed organs, if it weren’t a killing blow the Aberrant would simply continue moving until it was, their screams a promise that they would return the suffering tenfold if they were to reach the firing line. The numbers were too plentiful for only infantry to deal with, and though the human side had Pilots to support, they too were under duress.

“I need anti-air support!” One yelled over the radio channel, his voice crackling as a laser clipped the head of his mecha and damaged the communication systems. The Jetsam above, while a mere dozen compared to the Legionnaires below, were an annoying presence on the battlefield. Slippery as eels, they dominated the sky, keeping the Pilots’ attention with barrages of small yet dangerous laserfire. While they couldn’t destroy a mech outright, with enough shots the integrity of a machine’s armor could become compromised, and a lucky shot could damage an important system. One of the other Pilots was already in dire straits due to the first barrage disabling the firing mechanism of their main gun, relying on a secondary hand cannon to support the struggling infantry ignoring the waste of heavy ammunition, and a handful of the infantry were drowning in pools of their own blood despite the main force of the enemy being entirely melee-focused.

“Why don’t we get someone to deal with the Bishops first!” Another cried, the six other Spearmen in various forms of progress in closing the distance to the human forces. One, close enough for the Pilot to fire at, deflected the charged rifle beam with a swing of its ‘spear’ before throwing their weapon at the mech with devastating force. The Proto-Class Constellation, who had chosen to interact with a group of Pilots rather than the mingling of both parties that had occurred between the other three Mains with two Pilots, barely managed to divert the path of the thrown spear with their sword, yet the crater that formed around where the rod stabbed into the street only a few dozen feet away spoke volumes to the enemy's strength. Sweat dripping from her face, the Constellation’s hands shook as she felt the Bishop’s gaze lock onto her shivering figure, clutching her blade tightly as the superior being leapt to engage her.

“What about the boots on the ground?” The last of the Main-Class Constellations called over the rest of the chatter, attempting to contact Aurigae and failing as he met a Spearman just as it attempted to eliminate his Pilot by plunging from above, sparks flying as his sword locked with the Bishop’s weapon to keep it from stabbing down atop the mech they dueled upon. His shoulder, visibly burnt by a stray laser blast catching him off-guard, stung as his foe deepened the blade lock, the tip of the spear easily digging a hole into the reinforced metal. “They’re going to get overrun!”

With so many fronts to deal with, and the last of the Spearmen beginning to descend upon the human forces, the chaos of the battlefield sprouted in earnest.

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Main-Class Maximus Solignis
_{IC 286.08.16 // Petrichor-8 System, Frontier Planet Alora // Approaching planet's surface.
1603 hours // @Raijinslayer@Supermaxx@Lemons@Fading Memory@Feyblue}

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”What a farce.”

The Constellation would’ve spit into the dirt beneath his feet if he were a lesser man, his longtime partner standing only a few steps behind as they stared out into the distance, the city proper a mere handful of miles away. The wave of red approaching their position made him finger the pommel of his blade, his eyebrows furrowed as he briefly thought of how they came to this situation.

Not long after the Eorman’s useless attempt to raise morale was stifled by the timing of the artillery barrage, new orders had come in from surface-level command. Rather than the original plan of being directed to deal with stragglers that the main force had neither the time nor resources to eliminate, they were assigned to join the left-most wing in defending against the oncoming Aberrant swarm. After being informed that they were dealing with the aftermath of a diversion tactic to land a decisive strike in the enemy’s heart, Maximus had immediately spoken against allowing their platoon to join the engagement.

Fifty men was not a number worth factoring into plans involving wide-scale tactics, the composition of which held much to be desired. While the quality of infantry was high, his soldiers having survived many combats to still be following him to this day, it was the elite units that he argued were unprepared. Three Stardust-Class Constellations and two greenhorn Pilots were not a sturdy defense force, and although he had full faith in his direct superior in the infamous Lictor and the veteran Pilot of the Grizzly, he could not entrust his back to untested talents in a brutal firefight.

One such figure came to the forefront of his mind, and a glare was sent toward one of the figures over his shoulder. The rest of the force were waiting behind the barricades, the chest-high fortifications just barely enough to take cover from arced plasma and beam weaponry, and his eyes settled on a black and red figure atop the experimental Corvo, her sleek colors striking against the background of the murky sky. As if marketing herself as an easy target.

The Aberrant Integration System, Subject One, should not be on this battlefield. Hell, she should not be anywhere near a site where soldiers, high-strung from battling Aberrants for two months straight, would be confused by such a figure within their presence. Already, both he and the Eorman were forced to suppress several potential incidents with both the infantry and Constellations on site who had attempted to terminate her on sight. After which, none of the other platoons had attempted to approach theirs, keeping to their own sectors and ignoring his to the best of their ability. He was certain that, if their sector were to be overrun, not a single hand would come to their aid until the abomination was snuffed out.

Her existence was a liability to the forces on-planet, and were it his choice she would’ve been shipped right back to orbit if he’d gotten his way in the conference with the acting general. Yet, the Brigadier General wished for her to stay, along with their other experimental project, continuing the testing process despite the change in situation. This was no longer a controlled scenario as they had hoped, but the people in charge wanted to see how their weapons functioned, regardless of the results.

Weapons. Hah. Warned as he might’ve been by the honorable Lictor, Maximus had observed the subject since the moment he was assigned to monitor her abilities, and he saw no weapon in her eyes. A useless civilian in a metal body, too timid when faced with the barest modicum of intimidation, careful with her movements as if finding her body unwieldy. A true warrior treats their swords as part of their body, and yet despite it being a literal case with her own, he could see no cohesion between her spirit and her blades.

There had been a moment of doubt in the hangar, as they prepared to depart from the ship, that he’d sensed a hint of something more. The presence of a caged beast awoken for a brief instant, yet when he turned to check his premonition, all he felt was her diminutive presence once more. If she were to be an abomination, rising above what was designed for her station, the fact that she could not even act like one made the Constellation grit his teeth.

The others tied to machines were no better. A fresh-faced Pilot in a fancy new toy that would crash and burn the second he faced something stronger than a breeze, and the other even more timid than the half-Aberrant, no doubt a shackle her retainer would be forced to babysit. Even the Stardusts were a disappointment. An Orbitae heir struggling with their Anomaly at her age was laughable, and the other…

Maximus shook his head. He could not understand why he continued to be saddled with failed projects.

“It’s not that bad,” his companion finally spoke, the old man grinning despite the rumble of the ground beneath their feet. The mechanical first whirred as the Eorman rose it to pat his back, tapping it with surprising gentleness. So the bastard could control his strength if he tried, huh? “This beats standing in a wasteland, bored out of our minds watching the youth grow without us and nothing else, right?”

“Standing in a wasteland, waiting for death to descend upon us is no better,” the Solignis claimed, eyes narrowed as the first howls of the Legionaires reached their ears. A disgusting lot, bloodthirsty in ways other Pawn variants were not. Could the Princess burrowed in this planet not have produced something more quiet and less resilient?

“Well, you could say something to your men. I can only rally morale for so long.”

“The fact that you waste your breath with such nonsense baffles me. Soldiers follow orders, and I have very good soldiers.”

“They follow you to hell and back, Max. At least show you care a little bit about them.”

“It is not they you are attempting to encourage. I will not be seeing any of these recruits’ faces again after this operation, so why bother.”

Maximus sighted the first wave of targets among the throng, Bishop-Class Outlanders, their distinctive disc-like cranial structure and chrome metal bodies easy to point out in the sea of red. At a similar level of difficulty to Spearmen, their bodily structure was similar to a praying mantis. With scythed arms made for snapping weapons and bodies caught in their grasp like twigs and miniature thrusters replacing wings, they were one of the lower form Bishops designated as “Constellation Killers”, designed solely for targeting a priority target and catching them unawares for a quick and easy termination. Not unlike how Constellations themselves acted. Their actual ability to reach that title, however, was lacking compared to higher form Bishops, at best able to deal with a preoccupied Proto if they were lacking in the awareness department.

A simple matter for someone of his or the Eorman’s caliber. Not so much if they were to isolate one of their wards.

“Ye of little faith,” said Eorman chuckled, yet even with his jovial front Maximus could tell his companion noted the presence of the Outlanders as well, his smile not quite as wide as it usually was. “But isn’t that a strange sight. It’s almost as if they know we have greenhorns in our ranks.”

“You give those monsters too much credit,” the blond growled, his already shot mood lowering further as he unsheathed his silver longsword, tongues of flame climbing from his hand and enwrapping the blade. The familiar noise of mid-range artillery filled the air, the first wave of enemies entering their firing distance as explosions made temporary holes in the swarm, only to be filled again moments later. For a second, he hesitated, stopping his feet from moving just as he was about to go and engage the enemy. He could feel the Eorman blink rather than see it, the surprise radiating off the large man’s figure when he hadn’t immediately departed to deal with the threat.

Instead, with an irritated sigh, Maximus tapped his earpiece, entering the general radio chatter for the first time. The pleased gaze of the Eorman annoyed him even further, and so he was unable to keep the loathing from his voice when he spoke to the platoon.

“Men, prepare to greet the enemy. Pilots, reserve ammunition for stemming the tide in opportune moments. Constellations, work together to deal with any Bishops that get past the Eorman and myself. Sir Lictor and… Teddy Bear, support the recruits if need be, otherwise remain on standby. Keep an eye out for Dwellers. None of you are allowed to die unless I order it. That is all.”

Before he could hear any responses, he pulled the communications device from his ear and threw it to the Eorman, cutting the man’s laughter short and forcing him to fumble to keep the expensive piece of equipment from falling to the ground. “Eorman, you’re with me. Try to keep up.”

“That’s my line!” Maximus heard the grin rather than saw it, already rushing out to deal with the Outlanders he’d sighted among the red wave just as the first of the enemies came within range of the infantry fire. In his periphery, he saw other Constellations with their mech Pilots doing the same, no doubt coming to the same conclusion of dealing with the ambush-type enemies before they could get in range and use their abilities to their advantage. Without a Pilot of his own, his lone figure against the crying wave of Legionnaires looked like suicide, but the presence he felt at his back was all he needed for support.

---

Antares, disappearing along with Rigel into the sea of bodies, waves of flame and explosions caused by kinetic force rather than artillery being the only signs of their continued survival. Well, along with the occasional laugh of Rigel in the radio feed, still connected to the open channels.

Despite their efforts, not only was a sizeable swarm of Legionnaires entering the platoon’s sphere of influence, but in the throng there was occasionally sighted three figures. An Outlander flanked by two Spearmen, not engaging even as the Pawn army began getting chipped away by the infantry. Rather, they were standing just a short distance away, close enough that with but a few leaps they would descend upon the encampment like cats upon mice, yet far enough that their figures were easily lost in the crowd of bodies.

It wasn’t until the Legionnaires, their bodies piling up that the corpses began to act as shields for those that closed the distance to replace them, that they began to move. As the left-most wing, their group had nothing to protect their flank, expected to be the ones defending it all by themselves, and so it was expected that one of the Spearmen attempted to circumvent the firing line entirely to wreck havoc through the backline.

What wasn’t expected was that the other disappeared in the crowd, only to appear moments later crashing through the front, the swing of its rod immediately crushing three men as it closed the distance in an instant. Having defended itself using the corpse wall formed by the climbing bodies, it immediately made itself apparent, threatening to carve a hole for the Pawn swarm to breach through.

But, terrifyingly, the Outlander was nowhere in sight, its presence disappearing as it used the commotion caused by the Spearman to its advantage, its figure no doubt hidden somewhere among the red wave of Aberrants.

The Things We Fight For

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Apprentice Pilot Kyra Newman
_{IC 286.08.16 // Petrichor-8 System, Frontier Planet Alora // Approaching planet's surface.
1426 hours // @Raijinslayer@Supermaxx@Lemons@Fading Memory@Feyblue}

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Approaching her specialized robot, Kyra took a second to marvel at the sight of what must’ve taken dozens if not hundreds of hands to create. A sleek design that focused on maximizing speed and surveillance capabilities, the TC-730 Marble is effectively a repurposed model to suit the requirements for her ability to pilot it. Several features were removed in order to optimize the capturing of environmental information and threat recognition systems, the weight re-configured to support the electronics required for it while still maintaining a high level of mobility relative to other mechs. With a reverse-legged design to minimize energy use on lift-off or a burst movement option without burning fuel, relying on several miniature thrusters for more precise mobility, were it not for the ladders locked in place for a Pilot’s convenience she would’ve had trouble climbing up to the cockpit in the chest compartment, a hatch open on the machine’s shoulder.

The bespectacled woman nearly slipped off the rungs of the ladder when she heard the voice of her retainer call out to her, clinging for dear life as she did her best to listen to the old man’s barks. The veteran wasn’t even looking at her, focused on one of the two VVIPs of their personal mission, yet she was certain he would catch if she didn’t give her full attention to his words. She squirmed when he finished, eyes finally settling on her disheveled figure still wrapped desperately around the ladder, and the brunette had to physically gulp down her nerves before she replied.

“Y-Y-Yes sir!” Kyra physically winced when she heard the squeak that slid into her voice near the end, but thankfully it seemed that was all the old war dog had to hear before he leaped up to perch atop her robot faster than she could’ve even without the momentary distraction. Hurriedly climbing up after him and carefully heading to the hatch of her mech, she slid down the small chute directly into her chair inside, the seat perfectly modeled after the deep dive VR machine she used to play with in the comfort of her home. For a moment, the young woman relaxed, eyelids closed and enjoying the familiar cushions beneath her body despite her bum throbbing slightly from the impact.

Her eyes shot open at the sound of a company jingle, one that she heard thousands of times before when booting up her favorite competitive title. The interior of the cockpit was pitch black, save for the white lettering of the name ‘Emerge Program™’ before the darkness slid away as the Heads-Up Display lit up her surroundings. The screen displaying her surroundings filled her sight, her periphery filled with hovering gauges and meters that near perfectly represented the status of her machine. Others lined the bottom, numbers and bars that notified her of her weapons and movement capabilities, most of them filled to the max save for a grayed out box that signified absent back-mounted equipment. The center of her view was lined with a cross hair, measuring lines helping her gauge the relative distance between her and a target, as well as a smaller simplified version of pertinent information such as energy levels and currently loaded ammunition in a small reticle beside it. Forgetting the time and effort it would’ve taken for the developers of her mech to translate actual systems into gamified stats, Kyra grasped the two controlling mechanisms in her seat and was happy to see her machine raise the automatic rifle in its hands in response. She was home.

The HUD lit up with the words ‘Welcome Back, Agent’, the tagline any player of Ironclad Core would know by heart, just before the right side of her view filled with the portraits and names of those currently keyed to the general radio channel. Her immersion immediately died as soon as she saw the list, the maximum team size within the VR game only reaching around twelve. Though minimized for the sake of visual clarity, she counted over forty names of only half she could recognize, their ranks signifying them as members of the platoon joining the Pilots and Constellations on the mission, as well as Rigel who was currently set to mute and Lictor who was no doubt listening to the conversations thrown about on the open channel.

Another two names added themselves to the list soon after, Eight-Ball and Aberrant Integration System Subject One- she quickly renamed it to ‘Aissi’ -joined the channel. Unlike the other names on her team list, Alto’s displayed what she expected from her VR game, a life bar and small symbols briefly summarizing his diagnostics popping up beneath it. She’d never had a chance to be fielded alongside other mechs before, and the sight made her feel both relieved and nervous. Kyra hoped she wouldn’t have to watch that gauge deplete on-duty.

Though her fellow newbie Pilot attempted to fish for a partner, Aissi had responded before she could, the view she had of the half-Aberrant riding up alongside the experimental machine Alto piloted being a surreal experience. It was like watching a game bug in real time, despite it being very much real and not a recording issue in the slightest, her systems entirely in the green. She polished her glasses anyway, yet another immersion breaking movement Kyra had to ignore as she opened her mic to speak to the two still on the open channel. “Um, due to the disparity between the deployed number of Pilots and Constellations, it was decided before the mission that Mission Control would allow the pla- th-the units on field to decide their own composition of groupings... S-So long as each Pilot had at least one Constellation assigned to them.”

Which wasn’t telling the full story, but the Pilot wasn’t sure how much of the mission briefing she was supposed to share with the rest of the crew. The levels of information between members seemed off, with certain members kept in the dark of things that should’ve been pertinent for all involved, and the young woman didn’t want to step on any toes if she could help it. Besides, the listed pairings were near identical to what eventually formed, if the Orbitae woman standing atop the last unstated mech was any indication, so all happened as it should-

“How interesting.” Kyra just barely stopped herself from physically whirling her mech around to the source of the voice, coming not from the voice comms but from the physical audio picked up by her sensors. Seated atop the opposite shoulder from where she had entered her robot, the figure of Dombay sat atop the metal plating, legs dangling off the side and their sheathed sword politely laid atop their lap. Eyes perpetually closed, they still happened to turn exactly to where her imaging systems were displaying the surroundings from, ‘looking’ directly at her through the screen. “Then, please pardon my sudden arrival, but I prefer to ride alongside Miss Newman and Master Lictor.”

She never saw when or how they got onto her mech, none of her systems reacting until they’d settled onto the shoulder. The small map on the top right corner of her HUD, lighting green with moving dots that symbolized friendlies within her current surroundings, hadn’t registered them until just before they spoke, the small green dot atop her own and next to Lictor’s as if it’d always been there. Kyra wasn’t sure how to react, to respond, but before she could the minimap widened, more information flooding into the reconnaissance systems as the hanger door began to open.

“Ladies and gentlemen, time to head out!” Rigel’s portrait on her screen lit up as she saw the figure of the muscled man approach the slowly opening door, the skies murky with smoke and air that was no doubt as difficult to breathe in as it looked with the level of planet Corrosion their destination suffered from. Turning to the assembled group of soldiers, Constellations and mechs, Rigel threw out his arms to either side, the smile on his face somehow more manic now that they landed as he shouted with his loudest voice yet. “Welcome to Alora!”

Then the skies lit up with missiles, shells and laserfire, the symphony of discharged artillery completely drowning out everything else in the world.

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Red Giant Ahkari Ganju
_{IC 286.08.16 // Petrichor-8 System, Frontier Planet Alora // Approaching Princess D-47's Nest
1430 hours // @Eisenhorn@McMolly@Asura@vietmyke@OwO}

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Though the skies above were murky and dark, the sun shrouded by the clouds formed overhead along with the air being murky and inhospitable, Ahkari watched from the hotel’s cracked windows as it shone bright with the last of humanity’s might.

It wasn’t easy, but through the combined efforts from the desperation of the situation, promises levied that would be upheld even if she were to suffer an untimely demise, and every last bit of familiarity they had as fellow inhabitants of the planet, the Red Giant had convinced the acting general to support her operation. They needed a distraction, and he gave her one, with every last bit of the forward base’s remaining firepower designated with one, singular target: the Nest. The economical cost was immense, and no doubt the shrinks riding in the space cruisers were already chewing the Brigadier General out for wasting precious resources when the planet-side mission was effectively considered a failure. She would have to buy Lenard a case of expensive brandy the next time she saw him for his help, if only to alleviate the migraine he would develop.

Ahkari had a faint hope that perhaps the enemy was weakened enough by the constant battles that the barrage could somehow inflict a decisive blow, but at the end of the day, it was a useless endeavor. Already, she could see several of the discharged shells exploding prematurely, the defensive measures of the Aberrants immediately responding to the oncoming threat as reactionary balls of plasma met the artillery fire halfway and causing both projectiles to end mid-flight. Small shapes in the distance flew up to meet the rest, aerial forces using their very bodies to protect the mother base to force an early detonation. While fewer in number, the devastating beams of light created by stationary rail and laser cannons were much more difficult to intercept, and yet before they could attempt to dent the metallic ‘petals’ of the Nest, the shimmering presence of a powerful barrier stopped them in their tracks, absorbing the energy of the assault until it dwindled to nothing.

Expected, but disappointing. What mattered, however, was the enemy’s response afterward.

The Constellation twitched as she felt the ground rumble, the Aberrant force rising from the urban jungle as if merely awoken by the level of firepower that would’ve leveled several sectors of the city had it reached its target. From her periphery, she saw many of the soldiers raise their weapons, the distant sound of approaching aliens sending them all into high alert. The purple-haired commander had informed the rest of her company the details of what would happen, and even warned them to stay still and not engage with any passing force except on her command, but even she was palming her spear when the enemy came into view.

A colossal force seemed to rise from the streets themselves, a wave of Pawn-Class Legionnaires crowded ear to ear as they filled the city with terrifying numbers, the asphalt of the road disappearing under the mass of the swarm as they progressed toward their destination. At a towering nine feet each, their bodies were covered in a blood red carapace that protected only the most important areas such as joints and vital points, the visible flesh pulsating and raw as if the skin had been peeled off. Baying and shrieking echoed through the surroundings, thousands upon thousands of voices cried for bloodshed, an evolved feature created only to instill terror into the heart of humanity. As Aberrants required neither food nor water, they possessed mouths and vocal cords for no other purpose, empty of even teeth as they stampeded past the hotel without a second glance.

The mass of bodies, so copious they frequently bumped each other into the buildings surrounding their path, would frequently cause the walls of the hotel to crack and the supports to groan while the blades that replaced where hands would be scraped against the concrete, the fearful sounds of certain weak-willed soldiers thankfully drowned out by the haunting wails of the Pawn swarm. Flying above them were several squadrons of surface-based Knights, aerial fighters and drones darkening the skies that were but a moment ago ignited with fire, along with the Bishops that silently commanded the horde. To name every type of Aberrant that passed them by would be a severe undertaking, and after the seventh variant she stopped attempting to keep track, yet knowing that they could’ve brought such a force upon themselves should she have proceeded with her original plan made the commander shudder.

Even after the deluge of bodies had ended, Ahkari didn’t dare make a move until the rumbling stopped, the sight she beheld no doubt mirrored on every street and corner of the city facing the forward base. To think that the Aberrants were able to repopulate their forces to such an extent… It was unlike any other operation of this scale she’d experienced in her many years of serving as a Constellation. An unnatural level of ability for a single Princess.

Perhaps it was the fault of the Queen that birthed D-47. However, the Dorothy bloodline of the Aberrant hivemind were known primarily for their ability to birth an impressive personal guard, not a high reproductive capability. But the thought of said guards reminded the commander that her mission had only just begun, and though she would’ve given it more thought if she had the chance, time was of the essence.

“Alright.” Keyed into a radio frequency reserved only for the squad leaders, platoon commanders, Pilots and Constellations, Ahkari notified them all that it was time for action after a quick check with her surveillance officers. “Move out. We have to reach the target before they figure out what is happening.”

The Constellation wasn’t naive enough to believe they’d drawn out every defending unit situated around the Nest, though the light show almost certainly cut the number by a significant margin. They couldn’t keep up stealth at a quick pace, with seven mechs, twelve mobile vehicle weapons, at least a hundred and fifty soldiers, the sounds of their engines and footsteps at any notch higher than glacial would alert anything with functioning ears, so she eschewed it near entirely. She’d just have to rely on the Aberrants hopefully treating the forward base with a higher threat level than it actually was, and a bit of luck.

With nowhere near as much gravitas as the swarm that passed through minutes ago, Aurigae’s company passed through the war-torn roads, the rumble of wheels on asphalt and grumble of worried soldiers seemed louder than usual, the empty streets devoid of life save their own. Unlike the hotel, the rest of the city was nowhere near as meticulously cleaned, the bodies of humans and Aberrants alike left where they lay. Destroyed infrastructure stayed as it was, fires flickering in any direction one chose to look, and the unmistakable smell of ionized air left behind where plasma weapons were used. Grimly, Ahkari wondered how many piles of ash were once people, and if one day they’d create technology that could piece a disintegrated family back together again.

But that was neither here nor there. Though they were left unmolested for an hour, more than she thought was possible in Aberrant infested territory, their luck ran out by half of the next. So close to the Nest that she could almost see the finer details of the structure in the distance, the Constellation was unsurprised to see the welcoming party that stumbled upon them.

Rounding a building only a block ahead of them, a surge of Legionnaires, thankfully more of a lake than an ocean like what had passed them before yet still numerous in numbers, and the Bishop-Class Spearmen that led them. As their namesake suggested, Spearmen used a long rod of alien metals as long as they were tall, a powerful twelve feet that, while smaller than even the smallest forms of human mecha, they used to dangerous effect. Unlike a human, who would use a dangerous point to defeat opponents with their superior range, an Aberrant needed no such tactics. With overwhelming might, they simply swung their ‘spears’ as if they were mere sticks, buildings torn in half by the sheer strength of their physical prowess. Technique was not a lower form Bishop’s strong suit, but rather relying entirely on their natural ability.

A privilege of the strong.

Ahkari noticed the handful of Jetsam flying along with the Spearmen, and upon sighting the human group, immediately began to wriggle their bodies and reveal the beam weaponry hidden beneath their ‘scales’. With the size of the forces roughly 2:1, with the commander counting upward of two hundred of the Pawns and counting as they surged around the corners of buildings, the Constellation gripped her spear tightly and allowed it to extend to its full size, the hiss of pressurized air exuding from the weapon.

“Engage the enemy!” The commander cried out, the screams of hundreds of Legionnaires melding with the roar of her soldiers as she immediately leapt toward the building ahead of her, the air around her pushing the woman forward rather than slow her approach while she heard the sound of gunfire ring out behind her. Running along the wall, her eyes were set on the Spearmen, who began to simultaneously scale the buildings around them in unison. Eight in total, she barely had just enough Constellations to keep them from descending upon the infantry and ripping them apart, but as they fanned out to avoid her entirely the Constellation grit her teeth.

From first glance, they seemed to have realized the threat she possessed, and were planning to wipe out everything else before dealing with her. And, as she attempted to intercept a duo that were a bit too close to each other to both avoid her entirely, she changed the frequency of her radio to a select few.

“Constellations, catch those Spearmen! Pilots, keep the Pawns off them and get them in position!” The spear in Ahkari’s hand roared, spewing the air built up within it, and she hopped onto the handle just before it began rocketing through the air. With no visible technologies to control it, the spear was entirely piloted by her Anomaly, the air currents guiding her spear as it made its path through the skies toward her two targets. Intercepting them just as they twisted to see her approach, she kicked off her spear as it flew directly into one, the point clashing with the rod raised in time to keep it from skewering the alien through the head while the other wound its ‘spear’ around with a wild swing to remove her head.

A powerful burst of wind adjusted her mid-air so that the weapon swung harmlessly away from her, yet she still felt the air around her warp from the force of the attack. Bringing her hands together, she thrusted them simultaneously palms first toward the assaulting Spearman, the air between her and her target compressing until it violently burst, rocketing her down to a building while careening the Aberrant into the sky, the flash of its barrier indicating the absorption the blow.

Her spear, having kept pressure on the other opponent even during her short scuffle, suddenly retreated as it flew to catch her before she could land, the two Aberrants meeting on a rooftop as Ahkari floated above them, seated on her spear once more. Eyes narrowed, she could only wish her fellow Constellations luck, slowly lowering herself to meet the two rapidly approaching Bishops with her feet on the ground, spear twirled into a readied position.

The Things We Fight For

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Apprentice Pilot Kyra Newman
_{IC 286.08.16 // Petrichor-8 System, Frontier Planet Alora // Approaching planet's surface.
1423 hours // @Raijinslayer@Supermaxx@Lemons@Fading Memory@Feyblue}

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Clack. Clack. Clack.

Upon the metal bird that would bring her to hell, Kyra had been so nerve shot it was almost comical. Her first mission ever got her already regretting the contract she signed with the MHA, missing the comfort of her room and VR pod the second she’d stepped aboard. Surrounded by soldiers from every side, not even allowed to hide within the mech she’d been shipped with, the bespectacled girl chose instead to hide from the galaxy at large the only way she knew how.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

The game system that lit up her face was the latest of the VirtualChild line of handheld devices, a prototype released only to a select few before it would hit the shelves after half an Earth year. Bought using the generous package that came from her signing, it was one of the few luxuries she could continue to enjoy during her training. Though it did not come with a customizable, touch-sensitive control scheme as most game systems of the time are made with, the brunette actually enjoyed the haptic feedback of buttons beneath her fingers, the click of each press helping drown out the sounds of the world around her.

Clack. Clack. Cla-

The constant movement from her right side eventually made the young woman pause her game, popping out one of her earpieces and furtively glancing toward her seatmate, wondering what had gotten him so riled up. The blue-haired Pilot she was seated alongside had been noticeably squeamish throughout the journey, though his nervousness seemed to be from excitement rather than fear, at times wondering if she had heard him pumping himself up underneath the sounds of the game in her ears. Now though, he was moving to and fro next to her, leaning forward and back as if trying to look past her, and it was through his thankless shuffling that Kyra happened to hear the tail end of the commencement happening before them. And a joke she immediately passed off reacting to when she realized whom it was pointed toward.

Nervously, she noticed the two Constellations standing before the seated group, explaining the premise of their mission and calling for names soon after. The name that came from the blonde’s lips made her physically shrink in her seat, recognizing it as the man who would be her warden on-field. She watched the leaders’ expressions as people began their introductions from her seat, noting how they changed as each person stood and announced their presence.

Though the larger man, Rigel, had been a welcoming albeit overbearing sort who had greeted her heartily when she stepped onto the ship, his face became strangely hesitant beneath his glasses when the half-mechanical redhead had stood up and stated her name. The other, Antares, who while dismissive and barely gave Kyra a glance, narrowed his eyes at the young woman in a way that didn’t seem positive. Not that she could blame him, merely the sight of the… whatever she was, had caused the brunette to skitter out of sight, peering out from behind a corner when the subject- no, probably better to think of the metallic girl as ‘Aissi’ now -happened to be walking down the same corridor as her from the other end.

Continuing on, Rigel seemed ready to crack out that boisterous laugh when her seatmate, Alto, had claimed his rig would be the star of the show, the muscle man’s grin crinkling as if barely suppressing a return greeting. Antares didn’t break eye contact with Aissi until the gruff voice of her retainer made him. The grizzled veteran who was effectively the highest ranked member of the operation, Kyra wondered how their first flight together on a planet’s surface would go. Sure, she read his file, knew who he was and what he was capable of in the worst conditions, and even informed that she had been assigned to his side as a favor from a Captain of all things, but it took more than a few words on a screen for her to get an idea of how to work with someone. Just like anyone who has ever queued for a team-based match could tell you, you’ll never know what someone’s like until you see them on the field.

“Hah!” Rigel finally broke his self imposed vigil at Lictor’s jab, his held smile revealing he wasn’t bothered in the slightest as he raised the ‘vaseline-filled’ glove in question, pumping his fist as the various mechanisms inside hissed and clicked. “I cannot say anything about my breath, but this gauntlet of mine was perfectly made for me. No hand products required!”

“Sir.” Antares immediately broke his gaze from the sub- Aissi -and addressed his superior, his tensed shoulders settling slightly as he nodded once in acknowledgement of the command. It was clear that the man set to watch over her performance had more pull than she thought if he could tame his peers with but a word, and the brunette shrunk a little more in her seat.

The next introduction surprised her, not expecting the next Constellation to say her entire name verbatim. She’d seen the file, and thought that the system had bugged, but apparently that string of names was real. Something Rigel mirrored, lowering his shades to reveal dull blue eyes that appraised Zhejiang owlishly. “...Huh.”

“We shall endeavor to live up to your expectations,” Unlike his partner, the blond didn’t visibly react to the name, doing a slight bow as a formal gesture with his sword held at his hip. Realizing it would be her turn next, Kyra unclipped the harness that had strapped her to the chair, rising to stand and say her piece before unceremoniously being cut off by a soft voice.

“Iona Smirnov, Stardust-Class, Callsign Dombay,” they began, mirroring the blond’s gesture with a much deeper bow that went down to the waist. Hair as white as snow aside from a single dark streak, and eyes closed even while greeting their superiors, they continued, “Thank you for guiding us through this mission, masters.”

The exchange was quick enough that when they sat back down without further comment, she was still standing unawares. And, when the two Constellations moved their attention onto her instead, the brunette felt her face burning while she shot up to stand fully and snapped a salute, eyes screwed shut. “A-Apprentice Pilot Kyra Newman. At your s-service sirs!”

“Nervous?” She heard the deep voice of Rigel comment, and she nearly winced when he hit the nail on the head. Bobbing her head slowly, as if afraid that agreeing with them would be a sign of weakness, she heard the man laugh once again and felt her ears heated up when Antares spoke in her defense.

“Enough. At ease, Apprentice Pilot.” Not even attempting to open her eyes to see their expressions, the bespectacled girl plopped back into her seat and covered her face with her hands while keeping her ears open to at least take note of what they were saying. She didn’t want to make another dumb mistake on her first mission.

“Remember those names, marines.” Antares seemed to be addressing the soldiers now, hearing the thud of his boots on the metal floor as he walked over toward the group on the other side. “Those are the VIPs you will be supporting on this mission. Many of them will be the future of mankind. They all come back alive, understood?”

“Sir, yes sir!” A wave of voices cried out, around fifty responding in perfect unison. Kyra couldn’t help but notice his wording, and mentally winced. Hopefully someone else other than her was being subtly excluded from his idea of the future.

“Please be advised that we will be landing in the hot zone shortly,” a female voice from the intercom rang out within the compartment, the smile audible as she proceeded with her announcement. “Thank you for flying with MHA Airlines, we hope to see you again soo-”

Cut off as someone vested the microphone from the woman speaking, Kyra could still hear a faint chuckle in the background before the speakers crackled and silenced themselves.

“Look alive!” Rigel yelled vigorously as the ship began to rumble, the roar of the thrusters growing louder as it began the landing sequence on the planet’s surface. He gestured with his massive gauntlet for everyone to rise, his pearly whites shining. “Get ready to depart! I want Pilots in their mechs and everyone else prepared to move out as soon as that hangar door opens!”

“S-Sir, yes sir!” Not given a chance to think, Kyra nearly forgot to salute the two Constellations in her haste toward her machine, the near forgotten game system turned off and stored in the bag by her waist without bothering to save. Gazing up at a monitor displaying the situation outside, the brunette heard herself gulp at the sight of war, real war, happening not far from the landing zone.

She could only hope that her first mission was just as simple as the briefing made it sound.

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Red Giant Ahkari Ganju
_{IC 286.08.16 // Petrichor-8 System, Frontier Planet Alora // Approaching Princess D-47's Nest
1424 hours // @Eisenhorn@McMolly@Asura@vietmyke@OwO}

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She’d certainly found herself saddled with a colorful cast of personalities.

Ahkari immediately felt her mood improve as she saw the two Pilots play off of one another, close enough that one was comfortable enough to have his cigarette stolen by the other. Or, well, more than likely Sabine had just done as she wished and Howe didn’t have a chance to stop her. Though she didn’t usually key herself in to Pilot chatter, the few times she had to convey orders it was usually the pink haired woman’s voice she had to shout over, a bit too casual with the situation to be healthy.

Rudis’ situation was… it wasn’t great. There was a level of dignity expected of Constellations while off their home worlds, but with how great of a toll the war on Alora had taken on everyone, Ahkari thought it best to just ignore it and accept the help. Pilots generally knew that Constellations were as human as anyone else, but she hoped that the general soldier morale wouldn’t take a hit seeing one of the illustrious Constellations acting like a beast. It wasn’t anything she could hold against the redhead though, if she didn’t have the position of command, she would’ve probably feasted in a similar yet more polite manner herself.

Selene, who seemed more preoccupied with her fellows than the mission, at least voiced her acceptance of the strategy while flitting around the various groups, lending a hand to her comrades no matter the rank or background. Thankfully, the Constellation had something on hand to help with Sabine’s wound, something Ahkari hadn’t noticed herself in her haste to get the various forces to go along with her plan. Perhaps, if she were in a sounder mental state, she would’ve gotten a medic to check on the Pilot and not require someone else to do it for her.

Something like how calm Odessa appeared to be, not only agreeing with the need to speed up the mission, but offering an alternative strategy. That, she could mull over, but the unsaid attempt to comfort her would be something she’d have to do without. The commander knew if she accepted it, allowed herself to be warmed by the concern over not just the planet, but herself, it would only hurt so much more if they were to fail. So she hardened her heart, steeled her mind, and took the words and gestures at face value, as a subordinate approaching their superior with an idea of their own.

The rest of the Constellations and Pilots weighed in as well, lending their swords and mechs to the cause despite the odds. Even the Proto-Class, which in any other circumstance she would’ve sent back to the forward base. However, in this situation she needed every able body she could muster, and reluctantly did nothing but acknowledge their sacrifice with a knowing look.

“...It’s worth a shot,” Ahkari eventually replied to Odessa after a long pause, nodding to herself as she slowly acclimated to the idea. While it stung her pride just a little to think that they weren’t able to complete the mission on their own, with a planet on death’s door that mattered little. It was uncertain just how effective it would be in weakening the forces along their path, but it was better than nothing. At the very least, it would give the people at the command center something to do. She rose her voice as she addressed everyone there as a whole.

“Thank you, all of you.” The Red Giant allowed her gratitude to bleed into her words, the relief that she would not be diving into hell alone the most she allowed herself to feel. “I cannot give you my word that we will all return safely. Even with the help the forward base can give us, the path ahead of us is steep. We will cut a bloody trail to the Nest with everything we have, our bodies the stepping stones for others to walk should we fail. There will be no reprieve until the mission is done, and at the end of all things this planet may need to be abandoned regardless of our efforts.”

She took a breath, not only to allow those heavy words sometime to settle in the minds of her men and women, but to steady herself. To come to terms with the fact that all she was doing could be for nothing, that the people who she will sacrifice for the mission could have lived the rest of their lives had she simply ordered a retreat. To understand that even if the worst came to fruition, and she was forced to leave her home behind, that she could learn to live with that burden for the rest of her life.

When the woman spoke again, it was with such sincerity that any who heard it would believe it to be true. “I can only swear to you this: the Princess of those damnable monsters will not live to see another sunrise.”

Face set with determination, Ahkari heard maybe a handful of voices cheer at the declaration, but she hadn’t said it for morale. Whether their company succeeded or failed, she was certain another would see the trail they’ll blaze and walk the path they’d left behind. It didn’t matter who it was fighting alongside them on this planet, but every human who walked on the soil had the same mind as she. The Aberrants were a poison, a disease within the universe, and they would purge it no matter the cost.

She called over one of the groups of communications staff carrying the various technologies required to radio into the various groups on the planet’s surface. Were she in any less of a serious scenario, she might’ve laughed at how they clumsily moved around with double their numbers’ load of equipment, but all she did was address the highest ranked among them as she ordered, “Staff Sergeant Barnes. I need a direct line to Brigadier General Ackeroid.”

The Staff Sergeant in question looked stunned, staring at her like a deer in headlights for a moment before quickly snapping to reality. “Ma’am, as he’s currently the acting general for the operation, jumping the chain of command is not advised. In this case, it would be best to contact a Colonel beneath him first, or-”

“I know the regulations, Barnes,” Ahkari hissed, disbelief in her voice over the fact that he was playing politics in a time like this. The Staff Sergeant had been a straggler she picked up early on in the war, and while he was very good at his job, he was one of those who liked to stick his nose where it didn’t belong. Stickler for the codes, disliking the idea that a Constellation had taken command over the grunts when an MHA officer should have, and buying into the idea that the Sects and the MHA should power check each other. It was a pain in the ass, and this case was one she wouldn’t let him bully her into changing her mind. “Get me the Brigadier General, now.”

“But-”

“That’s an order, Staff Sergeant.”

Not even allowing him to speak, the Constellation stepped up to him until she was deep within his comfort zone. She may have lost to him somewhat in height, a few inches shorter than the information officer, but the death glare she gave him at such close quarters was enough to cow him as he very quickly paled and nodded. “Yes, commander.”

She let him do his thing, setting up the devices required to reach the Brigadier General through the communications haze caused by the presence of high caste Aberrants. They’d probably only get one shot at it as putting a temporary communications array up in the heat of combat wasn’t happening, and only a brief conversation in order to make certain nothing caught wind of their strategy, but she’d make do with what they had.

“As for the rest of you,” Ahkari turned to the Pilots and Constellations once more, internally wincing over the fact that she busted someone’s ass in front of them but choosing to ignore it as she addressed the small group. “Make your last minute preparations. Hug your friends, lick your wounds, pray to your gods if you have them. We depart as soon as we get the ‘go-ahead’ from the chain of command. ‘May the Constellations light the way, and the Pilots plot the course.’”

She snuck in that last phrase, a line that popped up in propaganda quite often, just before the communications squad gave her a thumbs up. They were ready. Having them move the display further into the hotel, she gave her warriors one last look. After this was all over, she probably wouldn’t see half of them at the end of the journey, if she was lucky enough to survive this endeavor herself. She could only hope that there wasn’t anyone waiting for them off-planet, the dour thought weighing heavily in her mind as she cleared her throat, smoothing her tired appearance the best she could just as the holographic image of the Brigadier General came alive. The man she knew was in his forties seemed to have aged dozens of years over the course of a month, and the expression on his face was grim as his eyes met with hers.

“Lenard,” Ahkari greeted casually, sending the man a salute that he mirrored but a moment later. “Should I congratulate you on the promotion?”

“This better be good, Commander Aurigae,” the Brigadier General replied, his voice colder than she’d ever heard it during their joint training on the planet long ago. It saddened her, just a little bit, but she stomped the feeling down as she put on a serious expression.

“I have a request.”

The Things We Fight For

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First Lieutenant Kris Periwinkle
_{IC 286.08.16 // Petrichor-8 System, Frontier Planet Alora // Approaching planet's surface.
1421 hours // @Raijinslayer@Supermaxx@Lemons@Fading Memory@Feyblue}

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Kris Periwinkle, pilot of a military-issue G-37 Galea Dropship, wrinkled her nose as the details of the planet below grew clearer with their descent into the stratosphere. Even from 70,000 feet above Alora's surface, it was clear that anyone in-charge of rehabilitation was going to need one hell of a cleanup crew, the mega-city once known as Althea that had become the Aberrants' breeding ground a shell of its former self.

War-torn, shell-shocked, ruined. Whatever term one chose, it didn't sufficiently quantify what a mere two months of the Princess' presence had caused to the city and its surroundings. Centered around the giant, bulbous structure that had planted itself in the heart of the city, a massive spot of gray visible from space had spread across the dirt and soil, latched onto the planet's surface like a diseased tumor. Kris was certain that as they drew nearer she'd see that the dark coloration was caused by long dead grasses and plant life, unable to persist without the nutrients they require. In the city itself, buildings were destroyed, businesses dismantled, homes flattened, resembling the site of a hundred warzones rather than just one, the amount of completely intact structures probably no more than a couple dozen. Even now, as their altitude decreased at a steady rate, the pilot watched as several buildings disappeared in a ball of fire and smoke, lights of various colors flashing from both in and out of the megapolis as both Aberrants and military fought over control for sectors of land.

Kris hadn't been around for most of the battle on Alora, but the First Lieutenant had seen enough of these frontier wars to know they would lose if something didn't change soon. The air quality for flight was already suboptimal, the temperature beginning to drop despite being the planet's equivalent of summer, and the visible size of the Corrosion only belying the actual damage to the planet's habitability. Whether it be today or sometime within the week, the fighting would come to an end, one way or another.

Nothing she had any control over, perfectly content with her position as what was effectively a military taxi service, but she couldn't help but feel frustrated at the bleakness of the situation.

"Cover for me," she sighed to her co-pilot, diverting control of the aircraft to the soldier seated beside her with a few switch clicks, her steering wheel retracting into an open panel as she leaned back in her chair. Kris' partner grabbed hold of the wheel that appeared on his side while the First Lieutenant pushed a button, changing one of the monitors in the cockpit that displayed visuals of the ship's interior. The dropship being 350 feet long and 90 feet tall, she had to wait for the screen to flicker through multiple rooms before finally revealing her desired location: the drop-off area.

Made for enough space to fit an entire company of soldiers and several Pilot mechs, only a platoon's worth of people were riding inside, three docked mecha filling the background while the passengers were all strapped to their seats lining the far wall. Changing to another point of view, the camera she switched two had a convenient overhead view at an angle, close enough to catch the details of the people aboard her vessel. The troops were ordered from top rank to bottom, front to back, with the enlisted infantry closer to the mecha while officers and the like ordered closer to the exit. Most of them were people she knew, whether it be before boarding or in previous missions, but there were several who stood out to her.

The Pilots. One for each docked machine, they were similarly ordered in seniority, though the levels of experience seemed to wildly fluctuate between them.

The first being a blue haired young man, the most brightly dressed by fair in some sort of sleek form-fitting suit. She could almost see the green wafting off of his demeanor, clearly new from how brightly his eyes shined, although the fact that he seemed maybe a bit too young to be drafted might've contributed to that. The second was a woman who seemed like she was there as a tourist rather than for war, her eyes flitting about behind her glasses while her fingers fidgeted with... a handheld game system? The First Lieutenant wouldn't bash someone for their hobbies, but surely there was a time and place for that sort of thing. The last was the eldest, and was rigged up in such a manner that he would've looked right at home alongside the other platoon members. She could trust him in-case things went to hell in a handbasket, probably, but with the other two seated next to him Kris couldn't help but wonder if he had something wrong with him as well.

But as her eyes moved to the next group, her inner monologue halted, and she took a second to really process how valuable the cargo aboard her ship truly was. Constellations, their fabled weapons visible near their persons as they sat. Not just one or two, but six, with four of them seated like the rest while the last two stood before the entire group, two of the seats near the end of the line empty. Adjusting the audio levels to just barely hear what was being said, her co-pilot rolled his eyes at his partner's antics as she leaned closer to the monitor.

"-aven't had a chance to introduce ourselves before we took off," the older and taller of the two began, his bald head gleaming beneath the illuminating light, eyes hidden behind a pair of novelty sunglasses with his voice betraying a wide, teeth-revealing grin surrounded by a scruffy, grey circle beard. Large and imposing, though hidden beneath a heavy coat that covered his shoulders and back, the man's musculature could be seen through the few patches of his body visible around his neck and his legs. And, from how one of the soldiers she knew seemed to be eyeing him up, the coat was most likely open on the other side, revealing his chest and abs. "While most of you were already pre-briefed who we were beforehand, I thought it would be best to make sure things were clear to everyone involved. I am the Main-Class Constellation Douglas Eorman, callsign Rigel, and the deputy for our little field trip today!"

He punctuated his statement with a hearty laugh, hands to his hips and his entire torso shaking from the effort. The movement of his hands drew Kris' attention to his weapon, a massive gauntlet larger than most people's heads, complex mechanisms from within visibly clicking into place as Rigel gestured to the man next to him. Of a much more reasonable build, the blond simply sighed when directed to speak. Subdued despite his appearance being somewhat wild, he took a step forward with the hem of his cloak trailing behind him, stabbing his sheathed longsword into the space in front of him as he tersely spoke, "Maximus Solignis. Antares. Main-Class."

"You can just call him 'Max'!" Rigel suggested jovially, his gauntleted hand swinging to pat his peer on the back. Antares, however, had already sidestepped away, letting the larger man swing at open air, visibly disgruntled by the nickname.

"Insufferable," the blond mumbled as he returned to his original place, something the First Lieutenant had just barely overheard before he directed his voice toward the group with a bit more energy. "We will be landing on the planet's surface in five minutes, upon which we will immediately link up with an intelligence gathering group that will direct us to dispatch an area with known Aberrant presence. Our focus is to develop the talents we've brought along with us, and field test equipment that has just exited the experimental stage of development."

Antares' gaze swung over to the group of seated Constellations, whom Kris began to study just as he did. Seated next to the eldest Pilot was... well, she didn't want to call an honored Constellation an Aberrant, but that's what the woman looked like. Red as blood, black as night, and armored to the nines with the metal carapace seemingly bonded to the muscle within the skin itself, if it wasn't for the human face staring out from under it all she might've asked someone to shoot down her ship full of bug-loving freaks. She'd gotten the debrief as to what exactly she'd be carrying, and how important it was for this operation to succeed, but the First Lieutenant couldn't keep herself from reacting to such a sight.

The others, thankfully, were easier on the eyes, the white-haired young man draped in a similarly pale cloak equipped with a saber of some sort, along with a blond woman seated with a spear next to her seat were more along the lines of what Kris expected a Constellation to look like. Exuding a regal air, though they were clearly less experienced than the two standing before them, their mere presences demanded respect, and the pilot couldn't wait to see what they were capable of. But eventually, her eyes landed on the last bound to the furthest seat, older than anyone else in the group by far. She might've mistaken him for a hermit were it not for the way he carried himself, prepared for battle even in the safety of the dropship, a characteristic only held by those who've seen much and done more.

Something that Antares seemed to agree with, as he nodded his head deferentially toward the seated warrior, Rigel letting his smile fall as he mirrored his companion just as respectfully. "While the Eorman and I will be directing the operation, we will also be operating under an observer. Ser Lictor, thank you for accepting the position on such short notice."

"And while Antares brown-noses, I'd like to get to know our recruits!" Rigel immediately regained his grin as he turned his attention toward the Pilots and Constellations, several of the infantry leaning forward in their seats attempting to get a peek at the group of various faces. "I've seen some of your faces once or twice before, but never on the eve of battle. Better to have a name to the blades rather than strangers fighting by your side, no?"

"We have a list of their callsigns right-" Antares began, but cut off as Rigel swept his massive gauntlet around, nearly clipping the blond who ducked away with a pointed glower. The First Lieutenant watching the feed had to bring her hand up to her mouth to keep herself from laughing.

"Which of you would like to volunteer? If I have to call on your names like you're back in training, I'll be sorely disappointed!"

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Red Giant Ahkari Ganju
_{IC 286.08.16 // Petrichor-8 System, Frontier Planet Alora // Approaching Princess D-47's Nest
1423 hours // @Eisenhorn@McMolly@Asura@vietmyke@OwO}

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Pressed against the inner wall of a dilapidated building, Ahkari Ganju observed with bated breath as a patrol of Knight-Class Jetsam circled overhead. Malformed shapes that resembled fish if one squinted, their unorthodox shapes allowed an unparalleled deftness traversing through areas with a high volume of obstacles, slipping around corners and squeezing through holes of buildings despite being larger than a minivan.

She watched as one swiveled its compacted head in her general direction, and the Constellation hefted her twin-headed javelin in preparation. The steel weapon hissed as air pressure built up inside, the compact handle tripling in length while the rounded guard of each spearhead curled inward, the overall shape becoming more aerodynamic as the pieces clicked into their new configuration. Even if the scout sounded the alarm, she had around eight seconds before any of the other Aberrant groups would reach the area for pursuit. With some effort, she could make her escape and draw their attention, but she rather not get to that point.

The violet-haired woman didn't realize she was holding her breath until she released it, her weapon returning to its original shape as she left the wall behind, hopping down a hole in the floor down several levels until she landed next to her group of soldiers with a subdued 'thump'. The group had been gathered within the lobby of an abandoned hotel, the interior turned to rubble and barely held together by what was left of the building's supports. Plasma burns lined the floors and walls, some of them outlining a strangely clean area in the shape of a human being while others were blackened piles of ash, their original shape unconfirmable. The company of infantry had thankfully cleaned away the corpses by the time she returned, but the woman could still smell the underlying stench of dried blood and guts.

"Commander Aurigae," Janice, the company's battlefield analyst, called Ahkari by her callsign, walking up to the Constellation with a holographic display of their current location. A detailed reconstruction of the hotel and the surrounding buildings hovered before the two women, slowly zooming out and revealing more of the landscape until their target became visible. Only twenty-five kilometers away by the hologram's calculations, yet they spent the last few days fighting for only half that distance. A red line passing from the hotel to the destination stretched before them, taking several detours to various rest points while the analyst claimed, "We're getting close. I have devised a path through what we've observed of the enemy's patrol patterns if we wish to proceed. At our current pace, we will be able to reach the Nest by the twenty-third, midday."

"We don't have enough time," Ahkari replied plainly, a hand up to her temple as she attempted to massage the oncoming migraine. The drone support that granted such comprehensive imaging of the Aberrant movements and allowed them to get as far as they have has been nothing but helpful, yet the Constellation couldn't help but wonder if the people operating them cared about anything but the immediate results at times. "Find us a faster route. We will take the Princess down today, or not at all."

Ever since she touched down onto the planet's surface, she'd been counting the days since the Corrosion began, with every precious second of time wasted taking a year off her life from stress. Retaking the planet had already been calculated as unlikely, and at the way things were going, reconstruction of human livelihood was next to impossible. But she couldn't let things end so meekly, allow hope to die when she had a chance to reverse fate. Even if there was only a million in one chance that she could see people running around on her homeworld once again, she'd take it, and damn the consequences.

Her inner monologue halted as the analyst caught her attention, the brunette visibly nervous as she spoke, "There is a way."

Ahkari didn't hesitate. "Speak."

Flicking through the holographic display a few times, Janice adjusted the route into one more direct, with barely any detours on the way to the Nest. Multiple red dots along the path, Aberrant activity, began glowing violently while the woman continued, "From the calculations, we will be passing through the territories of five Bishop patrols, three Knight scouting parties, and at least two Rook encampments. We will have to move at the fastest speed our company can allow, no breaks in-between. We would reach the Nest by 1956 hours, not accounting for any additional units that may be called during our breakneck blitz, and we would have to fight our way into the Princess' chamber immediately afterward, with the lowest accounted for number of Bishops in one Nest historically being seven."

Stressed for an entirely separate reason, Ahkari took a second to look away from the display and toward the people gathered within the hotel. Only 40% were from her own squadron, the rest being soldiers and manpower that had merged with theirs on the way to the Nest, being the closest to it of all the operations playing out to approach. If they waited a day or two, they would be able to regain their strength, their current position easily defensible against most forms of attack bar a Bishop raid and many of the troops tired from the month-long campaign.

Her mouth tightened as she left Janice behind, headed toward one of the smaller groups that had formed within the building. Many of the soldiers had gathered among their fellows, sticking together and mingling regardless of previous affiliation, but few if any approached the party that had formed by the caved-in fireplace. A group of Constellations and Pilots, five and seven strong respectively, the former group comprised of four Main-Class and an unlucky Proto, while the latter were seated among their mecha, the roof of the hotel high enough to acclimate for them and a previous engagement creating a hole for them to enter and exit through.

Only one of them was hers, the rest of her retinue gone in the second week during an ambush, but they were all she had. Clearing her throat to catch their attention, despite having seniority the Red Giant struggled to keep her composure as she called toward them. "So, what will you do?"

She hadn't been very secretive during her conversation, and the hologram had been large enough that most if not everyone in the lobby had been able to see it. Something she did entirely on purpose, regrettably, making it clear what the plan was without outright ordering everyone to follow it. The mission was dangerous, and with only around a hundred and forty men, suicidal.

Ahkari's gaze passed over the group, noting among the Constellations the one rumored to be nearing her rank, the infamous survivalist that returned from every mission she took on, and one she only knew of by name and not achievement. Similarly, the two most reckless Pilots, with one filling comms with various quips during firefights and the other having a mech that's needed the most repairs by far, giving the former a run for her money. While they were various levels of 'quirky', they'd all proven their worth, and she looked each of them in the eye as she asked once more.

"I cannot ask for your lives as I am not your direct commander, so I'll ask for your opinions, as one warrior to another. Do we play things safe, or shall we end the war on this planet here and now?"

The Things We Fight For

After all things, despite the many applicants that have come, there can only be eight.

I have my chosen, and the rest shall be purged. Congratulations to @McMolly, @Fading Memory, @Asura, @Lemons, @vietmyke, @Feyblue, @OwO and @Eisenhorn for joining the RP. Glad to have you aboard, and of course hoping you all stick to the rules of engagement.

As for the rest of you, thank you, and good night.



...Wait. Two of you survived? @Maxx and @Raijinslayer?

Ah fuck it, come along then. Ten's just as good as eight. Means I can run the classic Five Man Bands.

Thank you @Crowvette, @Hero, @Th3King0fChaos, @ERode, @Gunther and @Randomness for putting up sheets, but even after increasing the roster I just can't take all of you. If anyone drops from the RP, I'll make sure to hit you all up to check if you're still interested.

And thank you to @Dr Acula and @Cu Chulainn for showing interest.

The Things We Fight For

The rat race has ended! Submissions are now closed!

I will now be going over and reviewing every sheet one more time to draft a roster with enough interplay between character concepts and personalities that I can pair or even trio players up for events and happenings.

Thank you to everyone who submitted, and all those who showed interest. I will be posting the results soon!

The Things We Fight For

Making a separate message so that all applicants will see a notification on their personal feeds. I had added posting expectations and an expected deadline for posts should you be accepted into this RP.

This is not only as a warning for those in the future who wish to apply, but also to inform those who already have. I’m going to try to run a relatively tight ship. If you can’t keep up with a two week grace period between posts, please do not apply. When the RP starts, and such deadlines come and go with players unable to keep up, I will write you temporarily or permanently out of scenes to keep the plot going.

As my first GM’d forum RP, I want to be able to finish it before I’m old and grey, and I don’t want it to die in its infancy like many others do. If you don’t like me keeping you accountable, and me kept accountable by you in turn, please do not apply. If you already have and wish to change your mind after reading this or the message on the first OOC post, please either remove the sheet from the OOC or mark it in some way to make it clear to me that you are no longer interested.

Thank you for your time, and for those still interested after all of that, good luck in this rat race of an application window.

The Things We Fight For

Thirteen sheets.

Thirty-six (ish) hours.

You people are insane.

Thanks for all the interest but holy shit choosing only eight sheets will be rough.

For people not “in the know”, general timeline of the Interstellar Calendar and more Pilot info are on the way. Had a big “whoops” with the OOC write up and am looking for time to write it again ;-;