Alarms flashed red. Spotlights and soldiers aimed at the white flare. Sitri's gaze was better than any scope. Like his fellow men, he was built for one thing. Omni-directional vision and control. His control panel kept scanning and piecing together the surroundings at every angle. Ammo and other projectiles were spotted before they left their holders. All the while he scanned the ground for the most optimal step. Preparation was his greatest friend.
Thick rubber and copper plates covered his feet, but even they weren't enough. Unlike humans, he had an advantage they couldn't fathom. Their greatest obstacle pushed him further. Bodies of the failed became stepping stones to victory. Others realized this. Their aim shifted from Sitri to the rotting corpses in stained white and green. Blast after blast. Sitri pounced right. The stepping stone was shot to bits by a ray of superheated plasma; the scent was far from pleasant, moreso after staining the invader. "Oh you have to be-"
Sitri wanted to puke his internals up at the thought of such a horrid plan. Their mole on the inside was a cruel figure even to them. He didn't want to waste his D.D.D. system or reserves on this place, but he limited those choices with anger overtaking his mind, "You want to play!? Then by all means let's go you plastic molded pricks!" he reached to his back. His left arm inserted itself into a port along his spine. An opening of white made his appearance more human, anatomically anyways. The tools he used since his days in Dragonfall never failed him then nor would it now. With stellar aim, his arm stretched forward. A bang called death.
The tips of his wrist were smoking. Psycho-head, the new and improved killer. A monochrome bulb attached itself to his wrist, an octagonal shape with black and orange stripes. At the end was an abnormally thin barrel; slits not even millimeters wide. The concept behind the weapon wasn't unheard of, but very few could truly escape being concepts. Psycho-head didn't need ammunition, Sitri's power source was enough to make a few fall. His arm whirred with another shot winding up. He steered left. Rubber sole torn. He was imbalanced. Another bullet came from the prison's snipers scratching his cheek and almost striking an eye. Sitri pointed back.
The zoom on his eyes led his gaze down the barrel of that blasted plasma canon. Psycho-head screamed again. It fired an invisible projectile that yelled across the air. A banshee was the only thing you could call that tiny tool. Superheated plasma was a finicky thing to master, but Vulcan laid the road to it. How could it stand a candle to something he couldn't even comprehend? The rifle split in twain and the pulse took advantage of the wielder's arm. It was cracked the same. Sitri continued moving.
The copper along his heels was scraping off. His other leg was wearing thin as well. The only optimal way he'd survive now is by using his gift. Scutum Palladium's prowess was a stolen one. Before him Rybark was the ambassador of Tellus. Rock shivered and mud trembled under their words. Now that force lived inside Sitri's D.D.D system. Their right arm glowed with an eye in the middle of palm.
Sitri fell. His fingers touched the ground. Rigid rocks became nothing more than grains of sand. Not one stone, but an entire circle opened up. The land snapped like thunder with the echo heard from the heavenly city. Sitri's knee hit the loose soils. A grin stretched across his face, "You could've just pretended not to notice, but all you younglings just need to show off," the glow stole Sitri's arm. More bullets came one after the next. Neither lead nor plasma made contact. Once Sitri plugged both palms into the sand they rose to protect him. Plasma struck sand turning it into glass. The shuttle was less than two miles away.
Having an active state of emergency both shuttles began for immediate exit; the black was already halfway across the sky with depleted droids ready to crash. Refilled counterparts used the black van as cover with their weaponized limbs picking at Sitri's shield, "I can't have you vanishing on me just yet…"
In an age of metal monsters, there were eight types recorded in history. Everyone knew of the destructive force of Legbusters and the terrain control of Seapavers. Skywings and Minebusters were also among the ranks of the most evil, "In this age of feigned peace ignorance runs rampant. You forgot how the world feared mechanical devils- Let me remind you," eyes peered in all directions and in every timeline for the perfect outcome. Lenses swapped and power flashed. Among the eight combat constructs, many forgot of the last of Vulcan's creations. The Eyesnatchers.
The sun itself burned brightly before them. Sitri heralded a roar of blinding white blotting out the horizon. His voice matched the wavelength of other units. Just for a moment, their senors were brought to a standstill. Every gunman conserved rounds at the blinding white ball that absorbed the horizon. For once the inmates were lucky for not having to witness this travesty. Sitri could tell that the Dyson was ready to break out the big guns.
At the three-mile mark drones kept a border around the perimeter. They were colored like shade to hide appearances; simple pentagonal shapes with circular motors. On their backs, however, was the only thing you could truly spot. Kept inside glass and iron bars were rods spinning perpetually. Each gathered power with every rotation sending it to the tips of the drone's nose. Artificial lightning. Everything held a purpose, and these drones held there own.
One part of the absolute defense.
Under the soil was another trap. A smattering of naval mines layered in black, covered in touch-sensitive pins waiting for their time to shine. Hundreds wrapped around the perimeter covering the underground. After there the prison's tesla came into play. Giant shock guns sitting upon each spotlight like parasites awaited on the peak. Even on the ends of the outer wall defender units like ants. Smaller in scale but strength in countless numbers. Half the size of men with explosives galore waiting to chew on some poor soul attempting to enter.
Grant wasn't pulling any punches. From the peak of the centralized watchtower he barked orders. Sending out the garrison. Securing the prisoners and entering lockdown. Switching on the lightning droids and unrestricted weapon use on the attacker. It was one man, but one can turn the tides. He knew it well because of the prison's most secured criminal, "Shit…" that blinding white harassed his eyes. Eyes, ears, and neuragear failed with that ring. Two of countless soldiers fell; right next to Grant. Amelia stood behind with folded arms enjoying the show. "Oi!"
"Get those shuttles out of here! Wreck the black if you have to!" the warden shouted from the top of his lungs. Sitri's blinding light began to fade, but heat inside the warden stemmed. Grant reached about his coat, muscles and bones popped once it came off. A white covered his wrists, "Mother, can you get a scan on this fool?" he requested, "I want to know the idiot who tried to break into my second home," restrains were released. Grant Dyson's arms were something to fathom. His forearms were the only pale part of him; covering those layers of muscle were billets.
Brass, copper, and silver gauntlets took up his entire forearms. The outer layer was brass, with cylindrical glass panels on the sides revealing the foggy pale skin that covered his arms. Nearing Grant's elbow were three steam valves. One was copper, the other brass, and a third silver; one, two, and three were marked on them respectively. Both of his wrists turned the copper valves. Grant whispered prayers under his breath.
"May Gotche guide me."
The first restriction placed was undone. Purple replaced the ends of his dark fingertips sprouting lattice crystals from stolen moisture. Grant Dyson, a man who walked in the footsteps of his mother and was awarded by the frozen god for his efforts with a fraction of his might; more than most. Every drop of moisture froze the air on contact with his absolute zero fingers. It stretched far and wide, adding others to the pillar he made. Sitri's communication disturbance was finally over. The warden's eyes focused on every detail.
Sitri was gone. No trail left behind. The warden felt his presence. Below the soil the unit traversed, didn't he? Swimming through sand and mud. Where? There was a boom. One of their mines collided with something, the pulse shook the earth and sent rock flying sky high. "There you are!"
The invader used the upward tension to arrow upwards. Jumping from stone to stone reaching closer to the fly he desired. The black shuttle was almost at his fingertips; it couldn't flee now. Above that one the white had gotten out of reach. Sitri saw what was coming closer. Boulders and sand became few and far between. The rubble from around him attempted to protect their commander from the javelin; a wall just big enough for him to duck under. "Oh wait-"
The warden wasn't going to fruitlessly strike a fool that ran into his fields, why would he waste the chance to humiliate? No. The icy javelin of many branching points cleaved through the inmate shuttle.
Right through the back where the branches pierced the armored windows as an added disrespect. The engine and fluid lines met open flame. Plasma and electricity fried the hull and everything within. Sitri was paranoid. His shield went overhead as an umbrella before a cascade of red befell. Some calculations were overlooked. Those lightning droids stole any possible footing with their rays. Those guards finally got some precision shots as well. Those ravenous ants were just hoping he'd come closer. He aimed Psycho-head forward at one of many.
The barrel was dented with a bullet impacting the side. Sitri focused on the furthest of the bunch. The stone-cold warden mocked him. Grant pulled another human-sized spear out of thin air and hurled it at the invader. A flash ensued. The projectile was slow-moving in comparison to everything else; but a direct blow would be humiliating. Sitri's palms laid flat against his chest. In one fell swoop and updraft, Tellus itself reacted.
Father soil heard the plea of a begging heart and dove to defend. Within the artificial heart of the machine was a piece of gold. Just as Grant's pillar flew to meet him, another rose from the ground. A miniature mountain of thorns stood tall. Tall enough to block that second spear, soft enough not to crumble in moments. Sitri gripped unto the end; mud was nothing too big to handle. Bullets from the prison were no issue, but lightning from those damn drones? They'd short him on contact.
Quick thinking was needed. He dug into his pillar, shifting mud behind to seal any entrance made. In complete darkness, new schemes came to life. Every instance scanned seconds ago, formulating their routes and predicting actions before anyone else thought of them. Sitri's plan of silent entry and energy conversion went out of bounds. His ramification chip perhaps? No...too restrictive to use now. Maybe that backup….but it would be far too risky. "Hmm?"
Sitri's arm spun behind the moment he heard that hum. Psycho-head was about to scream before being forced to the sky by another hand. Dark purple fingers. Spotlights pinned themselves on the entryway. Everyone held their ears after the entire mountaintop was blown away, "How did you…." inches away the warden appeared from nothing. Hand pressed over Sitri's face, fingers planting in two of their eyes.
"If you picked another day you'd probably have a chance…" Grant backed away. Another pillar sprung between the pair. Both of Sitri's poked eyes focused on the centralized target. Grant used the barbs on the end to keep himself from falling off the slope. His gauntlets prevented another blow from Sitri. Two forearms clobbered down. Mud slipped from under him. Winds howled the ritual with eyes on the duo. Grant rose his finger to call off the lightning drones.
"What was that Dyson?" Sitri boasted, "I couldn't hear you from that early grave of yours," another bulb grew in the invader's mouth. Another charge of light. Psycho-head's barrel retreated into the frame. Blinding blasts from the Eyesnatcher droid lived up to their audacious name. Upon a hill of mud was desolation. A shout reaching heaven alerting the guards. No bullet was fired into the fray because no unit wanted to be known as the one who struck Grant. All they could do was take aim and ready another shot beyond the communication's disruption.
It was a short-lived one, but the outcome was determined. It didn't matter how much Grant studied his opponent beforehand. He swung and tried to protect himself at the same time. The blare disrupted his capabilities in calling out the atmosphere's moisture. Psycho-head continued to sing to the world while the pillar below returned to Tellus; crumbling to nothing.
Nothing. End of everything. Each person alive reached the finale of zero. Just as Grant did now but a minute after the blind of white went up. Next thing his troops knew they were staring at their champion upon the ground. Bullet in his back and hole in his shoulders; Sitri didn't carry conventional projectiles…."Hmph, that should show you."
In the clearing surrounded by dust a single terrorist droid rested his back on Skylandria's frozen pillar. Arms stretched out with oil pumping for a challenge. Would these droids have their prime objectives kick in and try and stop him? Or would their AI overrule for their own survival? "I welcome the challenge if so accepted, my brothers and sisters trapped in metal minds!"
He called out from the top of his lungs. The frozen lord under his heel. The man worthy of praise by an Astarama was under his heel as no more than a fallen body. He watched the units back away from his superior frame. Armies meant nothing to expertise and adaptability. Upon this battlefield Sitri was the second fiercest warrior. "Oh? Is that an open challenge I hear?"
Something was uprooted from the soil beside him. It resembled hardened light; a spear, "Oh…." a primordial instinct programmed into him took over. Sensors ran the voice that came from that spear through a database and returned with a match. The invader gulped. His foot immediately hopped off Grant's back, "I must be seeing things?" that laugh echoed something nobody could explain. "Because it looked as if you were standing on my son- Nobody can be that foolish."
Things clicked in Sitri's head. Spears of light masked in his own. The Dyson managing to appear behind him so suddenly. This pseudo-stealth mission went too far off the rails to be saved once this woman made her presence. His light was no match to the gift of Helion, nor was his stolen prize. No matter how fast his fingers were to contact his comrades that the plan went awry, fate was decided. Oil leaked off his body.
Amelia Dyson took her stage.