It was infuriating—absolutely humiliating and pathetic. Zac Van Hush, a Noble, not just any Noble but one wearing G.E.A.R., had been forced to retreat by a filthy undead and a shadow-magic-wielding heretic. How could he ever show his face to the King or the Pope again after this disgrace? As he soared through the air, his frustration mounted. With a swift twist of his wrists, he retracted the chain blade and flamethrower back into the armor, trying to contain his seething rage. But the anger was too much; he slammed a fist into his helmet in a fit of fury. "Goddess damn it! Damn it!" he shouted, the force of his strike causing his hand to jolt against the cracked left yellow orb of his helmet. The pain only fueled his anger further.
He gritted his teeth. Not only had he been forced into retreat, but his armor—his prized G.E.A.R. or the Galvanic Enhanced Arcane Rig—had actually been damaged. This was one of the most advanced pieces of magical technology in all of Veridiania, a symbol of status and power. Even among the Nobles, only a select few were granted the honor of wearing one, and he had allowed his to get damaged in a fight with just two pieces of filth. His frustration boiled over, and he grabbed his head, letting out a primal scream that echoed through the air.
But suddenly, his tantrum was cut short. The yellow circuitry of his armor began to dim and fade. "Shit!" Zac cursed as he felt the power leaving his suit. Without the energy keeping him aloft, he began to plummet toward the ground. Panic set in as the earth rushed up to meet him. He tucked into a roll, trying to mitigate the impact, but the speed of his descent was too great. He hit the road hard, skidding across the rough surface and bouncing several times like a ragdoll before finally coming to a dragging halt.
He lay on his back, breathing heavily, his armor covered in scratches and completely drained of power. The once-mighty G.E.A.R. now felt like a heavy, lifeless shell around him, the humiliation of defeat sinking in deeper with every labored breath.
He clenched his fist and, with a great deal of effort, managed to lift it before smashing it down onto the ground. But the once powerful strike only caused pain to shoot through his hand—without the armor's power, it was useless. Adding insult to injury, just after he hit the ground, the backup power of the armor finally kicked in. It allowed him to move and utilize the basic functions of the G.E.A.R., but none of the enhancements that made the armor a pride of Veridiania.
Grumbling in frustration, Zac sat up on the ground, fumbling with his helmet. He twisted it three times until it came off, revealing.... a green-haired woman in her late twenties, her yellow eyes glaring with frustration, and her sweat-soaked hair clinging to her forehead. "Damn it," she muttered to herself, clutching the helmet tightly. "Just damn it."
Suddenly, the helmet's remaining yellow orb began to flash. Zara's heart skipped a beat. Panicking, she quickly put the helmet back on, and the flashing stopped.
"Why did it take you so long to answer?" came a man's voice through the helmet, cold and authoritative.
Zara stiffened. "I wasn't wearing the helmet, father," she replied, her voice steady but with a faint tremor of fear beneath the surface.
"You failed, didn't you, Zara?" her father demanded, his tone dripping with disappointment.
"I—" she began, but he cut her off sharply.
"I don't want to hear excuses, child. Tell me about the enemy," he ordered, sounding inpatient and disappointed.
Zara swallowed hard, trying to compose herself before speaking. "The shadow tree was created by a black knight, skilled in his heretical affinity for shadow magic. But he wasn't alone. There was an undead—a vampire, not a newborn—and a third person, a woman skilled with knives. I don't know much else about her."
Her father let out a long, exasperated sigh. "So, not only did you fail to eliminate the source of that parasitic tree, but you were also defeated by an undead and failed to gather any substantial information on a third enemy? Is there anything else I should know about?"
Zara's breath hitched as her heart pounded in her chest. She knew this was the moment of truth. "My G.E.A.R. was damaged, Father, and it's out of power."
A heavy silence fell over the comm, more painful than any scolding. The weight of her father's disappointment hung in the air, suffocating her.
"Should I continue to pursue the knight, Father?" Zara asked cautiously, already dreading the answer.
"No. You will return immediately," her father replied sharply. "You will be stripped of your G.E.A.R. and your title. Someone else will take your place."
With a final, ominous flash, the orb dimmed, signaling the end of the conversation. Zara's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Yes, Father," she muttered quietly, her voice barely a whisper. She slowly rose to her feet, the weight of her failure and her father's disapproval pressing down on her like a physical burden. With her heart heavy and her path clear, Zara began the long march back to the capital of Veridiania, every step a reminder of her disgrace.