Samuel powered down the TN-150, its hum fading into silence. As the cockpit opened, he stepped out and knelt on the ground, his breath uneven.
"...I…"
"Captain," Harold's voice cut through the haze, steady but tinged with concern.
Samuel turned to face him.
"What are your orders?" Harold asked, his face shadowed by exhaustion and grief.
Samuel met his gaze but felt the weight of the unspoken questions flooding his mind—questions of loss, survival, and responsibility. The faces of fallen men flashed before him, lives snuffed out in an instant.
"…Strap the remaining men into the medical pods," he said finally, his voice heavy but firm. "And let's go."
Harold nodded, wasting no time.
Samuel lingered for a moment, glancing back at the wreckage and the scattered remnants of what once was.
Harold nodded, wasting no time.
Samuel lingered for a moment, his eyes scanning the wreckage—the mangled remnants of battle, the echoes of destruction still fresh in the air. His gaze settled on a broken Naginata armor, its once-proud frame now shattered. He approached it, kneeling beside the twisted remains, and checked the name tag.
"Nobu…" he whispered, his voice cracking.
He stared at the tag for a moment, his fingers brushing against it as if willing it to prove him wrong. Then, with a deep breath, he gripped the armor and began dragging it toward the ship.
"Let's go home," he muttered, his words more to himself than anyone else.
Harold watched in silence, his expression unreadable.
The weight of loss hung heavy in the air, but Samuel knew one thing for certain: they couldn't stay here any longer.
We cut to the expedition fleet bustled with activity. Crew members scrambled across the decks, frantically working to repair systems damaged in the battle. Sparks flew, and the air was filled with shouts, the clatter of tools, and the faint hum of machinery.
A man in a pristine white military uniform stood near the command panels, his hands clasped behind his back as he gazed at the aftermath. The holographic displays in front of him showed the wreckage of the engagement with the beast, the shattered remains of two battleships drifting lifelessly in the void.
"Greetings, Admiral," came a voice from behind.
The admiral turned, his piercing gaze landing on the unexpected visitor —a man clad in a white lab coat. This was Professor Alaric Voss. But Alaric's appearance blurred the line between human and machine. His hands were crafted from Grenum iron, gleaming darkly under the ship's artificial lights, and his left eye glowed faintly, a creation of silicon and advanced optics.
"Professor Voss," the admiral said coldly, his tone sharp enough to cut through the surrounding noise. "Would you mind telling me why two of my battleships are now smoking ruins?"
Voss smirked faintly, his mechanical eye whirring as it adjusted to focus on the admiral.
"I assure you, Admiral, the loss of your ships was not for nothing," he replied, his voice smooth but edged with a clinical detachment. "The data we collected from the engagement will prove invaluable. With every encounter, we learn more about the beast's capabilities."
The admiral's jaw tightened, his hands flexing at his sides. "That data better be worth the lives of the men who went down with those ships, Professor. Or you'll find yourself explaining to Command why this expedition is on the brink of collapse."
Voss's smirk didn't falter. "Admiral, progress always requires sacrifice. I suggest we focus on preparing for the next engagement. The beast won't stop, and neither will we."
The admiral turned back to the panels, his eyes narrowing at the destruction displayed before him. "For your sake, Voss, I hope your experiments yield something tangible soon. I'm running out of patience. And ships."
The professor bowed his head slightly, his mechanical fingers clasping behind his back. "Understood, Admiral. I'll ensure my team accelerates their efforts. The next encounter will be… enlightening."
The admiral stared at the man, his expression unreadable, though a flicker of tension lingered in his eyes. He knew all too well that they didn't see eye to eye. Their approaches were worlds apart—his steeped in military discipline and strategy, while Voss operated with cold, unrelenting pragmatism.
Deciding not to argue further, the admiral turned back to the panels, his jaw tight as he studied the wreckage once more. "Just make sure you deliver, Professor. This fleet can't afford another failure."
Voss's faint smirk returned, but he said nothing. He turned on his heel, the sharp metallic click of his footsteps fading as he walked away.
The admiral opened an old, weathered holder, He retrieved a cigarette, the smell of tobacco familiar and grounding in the chaos surrounding him. With a flick of his lighter, the end glowed brightly, and he took a long drag, inhaling deeply before letting the smoke curl from his lips.
"Looks like I'm growing senile"
Samuel and Harold sat silently in the transport as it ascended, the rhythmic thrum of the engines filling the cabin. Harold couldn't help but glance out through the small viewport near the helipad. Below, the landscape stretched out in desolation—broken vehicles, crumbled buildings, and towns that were now nothing more than ghostly husks.
The sight sent a shiver through him, a cold knot forming in his stomach. He tore his gaze away from the haunting view, turning back to the scene behind him. Men were being carried in, their battered forms strapped to stretchers or propped up by their comrades. Each soldier bore the marks of their ordeal, their faces pale and eyes distant.
Their rescuers moved with precision, a group clad in sleek black combat suits marked with the insignia of Alpha One Group A—known across the fleet as Gabriel's Sword. These men were legends, yet even they bore a grim seriousness, as if the gravity of the situation had struck even their hardened resolve.
"Harold," a voice called out.
He turned sharply to see a young man approaching, holding a pilot's helmet under one arm. His attire was distinct—a space suit that seemed designed more for orbital operations than ground engagements. The man's face was earnest, though the weight of recent losses was evident in his expression.
"Azrael," Harold greeted, stepping forward to shake his hand.
"Harold," Azrael said, his tone somber, "I'm sorry for the loss of your men. You have my heartfelt condolences."
Harold nodded, his jaw tightening. "We've all lost more than we can afford," he replied, his voice steady despite the pain simmering beneath. But then, his eyes sharpened, and his tone turned cold. "Azrael, tell me—why the HELL weren't we informed about any of this in our briefing?"
Azeral stares at them in silence for a brief moment before replying
"Conflict on the side of the Branches"
Harold's glare intensified as Azrael's words hung in the air. The tension was palpable, the faint hum of the transport the only sound in the charged silence.
"Conflict on the side of the Branches?" Harold repeated, his voice low and edged with disbelief. "You're telling me we walked into a slaughter because Command can't keep their house in order?"
Azrael didn't flinch, but his jaw tightened. "It's not that simple," he said, his tone clipped. "The Branches—different factions, different interests. Some wanted this mission to proceed as planned; others didn't think it was worth the risk. By the time a decision was made, it was too late to properly prepare you."
"Too late to prepare us?" Harold's voice rose, his anger barely restrained. "We lost good men, Azrael. Friends. Brothers. And for what? So Command could have a pissing contest?"
Azrael's gaze flicked to the soldiers being carried into the medical bays, his expression softening just slightly. "Do you think I don't see that?" he shot back, his voice dropping. "Do you think I don't know what it cost? My men were turned into pawns in this mess just like yours, Harold—disposable assets for a mission no one fully understood."
Harold's brow furrowed as Azrael's words sank in, the sharp edge of his anger softening just slightly.
"I—"
The ship's alarms roared to life, their shrill blare reverberating through every corridor. Harold's unfinished sentence was swallowed by the chaos as crimson warning lights bathed the room in an ominous glow.
"BOOM!"
The ship shook violently, sending loose equipment clattering to the floor.
"WARNING! VOLATILE ENTITY DETECTED!"
"WARNING! VOLATILE ENTITY DETECTED!"
Harold steadied himself against a railing, his eyes wide. "Ah, crap..." he muttered, the tension in his voice barely masking his growing dread.
Azrael didn't hesitate. Without so much as a glance back, he bolted toward the hangar. "Stay here if you want, Harold, but I've got work to do!"
Harold cursed under his breath but stayed rooted to the spot for a moment, watching Azrael vanish down the corridor.
n the hangar, chaos reigned as engineers and pilots scrambled to their stations. The air buzzed with urgency, every second precious. Among the towering war machines stood Azrael's personal mech—a masterpiece of engineering and destruction.
The mech, dubbed Seraphim, was a marvel of sleek, futuristic design. Its humanoid frame stood nearly 20 meters tall, its angular plating painted in a deep, shimmering black with streaks of glowing crimson running along the edges like veins of molten energy. Its limbs moved with an almost organic fluidity, a testament to its advanced servo systems.
The head of the mech resembled a knight's helm from ancient times, reimagined for the future. Its visor glowed with an intense, pulsing blue, as if it were alive. On its shoulders, holographic projections shimmered into existence, forming a translucent cape that shifted colors subtly, giving it the appearance of a battle-hardened guardian.
Azrael climbed into the cockpit, his movements practiced and precise. The moment he strapped in, the mech roared to life, its systems booting up with a symphony of mechanical clicks and digital tones.
He gripped the controls tightly as the mech's primary weapons came online. In its right hand, the Seraphim held a plasma-edged longsword that pulsed with lethal energy, its blade glowing with a radiant, cutting edge capable of slicing through even the thickest armor. Its left hand raised a shield that hummed with power, energy rippling across its surface in a protective wave.
"Seraphim online," Azrael said, his voice calm and resolute. The mech's AI responded , "All systems operational. Awaiting orders."
Azrael's jaw clenched as he directed the mech toward the hangar's exit. "We're not waiting for them to come to us. Let's meet this thing head-on."
The Seraphim stepped forward, its heavy footfalls echoing through the hangar as it made its way to the battlefield. Behind it, the rest of the crew rushed to deploy reinforcements as one by the war machines left
The Seraphim's massive frame loomed as it strode forward, each heavy footfall resonating through the hangar like the beating of a war drum. The air buzzed with urgency as the rest of the crew scrambled, quickly dispatching reinforcements to their war machines, preparing for what was to come.
Suddenly, the comms crackled to life,
"Azerel, the target—code-named Steel Knight—has begun to move. I repeat, Steel Knight is on the move."
As the Seraphim advanced, each step sent a tremor through the ground, the sheer force of its movement shaking the battlefield. The enemy entity ahead stirred, its presence growing more imminent with every passing second.
The Seraphim moved forward with powerful strides, its massive form cutting through the air, each step shaking the ground beneath it as if the planet itself recoiled in fear. The earth seemed to tremble in response to the presence of the looming force that was now emerging from the distance.
A low, eerie sound pierced the air—a distorted, almost primal laughter.
"OHHHHAHHHHAHHAHHAH!"
The entity came into full view. Towering like a monstrous skyscraper, its hulking frame was a grotesque mixture of rusted, ancient knight's armor. Gaps in the armor exposed the twisted, malformed metal beneath, and the once-glorious plating now stood as a testament to its long-forgotten past. Its head was crowned with a mask—one twisted into a grotesque, weeping smile that seemed to wail in agony, the sound of its pain reverberating through the very air.
In its right hand, it dragged an enormous Zweihänder sword, the blade glowing faintly with energy, as though the weapon was alive and eager to cut down anything in its path. In its other hand, it held the mangled remains of a mech, its lifeless body hanging limply like a discarded toy, torn apart with ease. The sheer size of the entity made it appear unstoppable, an overwhelming force of destruction.
But the Seraphim wasted no time.
"AD INFERNUM ET BACK!" The command rang a battle cry, and the Seraphim's massive sword erupted with bright, crackling energy. The blade hummed to life, its edge glowing fiercely, as the thrusters on its back roared into action.
WOM WOM WOM WOM WOM WOM
The sound of the thrusters igniting filled the air, sending a shockwave through the hangar as the machine shot forward.
The ground beneath Seraphim's feet cracked as it surged into motion, its massive frame a blur of power and determination.
Beside the Seraphim, five other mechs, each just as formidable in their own right, powered up. Their swords sprang to life with similar energy, their thrusters igniting with synchronized precision. They formed a perfect line beside their leader, each one ready to spill blood
The Steel Giant remained unfazed, its towering form exuding an aura of cold menace. Its glowing eyes scanned the charging mechs, almost as if assessing them, before it suddenly shifted its massive Zweihänder.
WOOSH!
The massive blade swung with such speed and force that it shattered the sound barrier, the air screaming in protest as it carved a path toward the advancing line. The sound reverberated like thunder across the battlefield.
Inside the Seraphim, alarms blared.
"WARNING: HIGH VELOCITY DETECTED!" the AI's calm yet urgent voice rang out.
The Seraphim's systems reacted instantly, its enhanced reflexes kicking in just in time. With a burst from its thrusters, it surged forward, its plasma-edged sword raised. Sparks and energy flared as the Seraphim's blade intercepted the incoming strike, the clash of steel and plasma sending a shockwave rippling across the field.
"Hold the line!" Azrael growled through gritted teeth, gripping the controls tightly as the force of the impact vibrated through the cockpit. The Seraphim's arm servos strained but held firm.
The other mechs staggered momentarily from the shockwave but quickly reformed, their glowing swords ready for another charge.
The battlefield erupted into chaos as the mechs closed in around the Steel Giant. The Seraphim surged forward, its plasma sword gleaming as Azrael pushed the thrusters to their limit.
The Steel Giant swung its massive Zweihänder in a deadly arc, its speed defying its hulking size. Azrael's reflexes, aided by the Seraphim's AI, brought his blade up just in time.
CLANG!
The clash of metal and plasma lit up the battlefield like a lightning strike. Azrael pushed back, thrusters flaring to keep the massive force of the Steel Giant's attack at bay. Sparks flew as the Zweihänder scraped along the Seraphim's blade.
The Steel Giant didn't relent. It twisted its body, bringing its massive armored fist around in a backhanded swing. Azrael fired the Seraphim's shoulder boosters, narrowly dodging the blow as it shattered a nearby mech into debris.
"Form up! Pin it down!" Azrael barked into the comms.
The other five mechs moved in unison. One of them, equipped with a grappling cannon, fired a tether that latched onto the Steel Giant's arm. The massive creature stayed silent, yanking its arm and sending the mech flying, but the others closed the gap.
The Steel Giant roared with a guttural fury, its Zweihänder bending impossibly as it twisted the massive blade like a whip. The distortion released a shockwave that sent two mechs flying like ragdolls. One slammed into a nearby rock formation, its armor dented and sparking, while the other was sent careening through the air, smashing into the ground with a deafening crash.
"Regroup!" Azrael shouted, pulling Seraphim back with a burst of thrusters.
The Steel Giant didn't stop. With a single sweep, its twisted sword slammed into another mech, cutting clean through its shields and tearing its arm off in an explosion of fire and metal. The remaining two mechs circled warily, their pilots struggling to find an opening.
Azrael grit his teeth. "We can't take another hit like that!"
The AI chimed in, its voice calm amidst the chaos. "Structural analysis suggests targeting the damaged sections of its armor may reduce its mobility."
"Got it," Azrael muttered, flipping switches and readying Seraphim's next move. "All units, aim for its legs! Bring it down!"
The remaining mechs responded instantly. One fired a barrage of energy missiles at the Steel Giant's knees, the explosions chipping away at the rusted plates and exposing the weaker joints beneath. Another mech darted in with its plasma blade, landing a quick slash that left a glowing scar along the giant's thigh.
The Steel Giant staggered, its massive form shaking the ground with every step. But its retaliation was swift. It hurled the remains of the mech it had been dragging like a projectile, smashing into one of the attackers and knocking it offline.
Azrael seized the moment. "Cover me!"
The Seraphim surged forward, thrusters blazing as it ducked under a wild swing of the Zweihänder. Azrael drove his plasma sword straight into the exposed joint of the Steel Giant's leg, the blade cutting deep and releasing a spray of molten metal.
The Steel Giant howled, its knee buckling under its weight. It slammed its free arm into the ground for balance, but the damage had been done.
"Now! Full assault!" Azrael yelled.
The remaining mechs closed in, each one launching an all-out attack. Plasma blades flashed, missiles roared, and the Steel Giant, though still ferocious, began to falter under the relentless onslaught.
"Almost there," Azrael muttered, his hands gripping the controls tightly. "We just need to—"
The Steel Giant roared again, this time with a desperate fury. Its Zweihänder, still warped and glowing, swung upward in a last-ditch effort, aiming directly for the Seraphim's cockpit.
Azrael's heart pounded. "Evasive maneuvers—!"
The screen lit up with warnings as the Seraphim's thrusters flared, narrowly avoiding the strike that carved a trench into the ground below. Azrael countered with a vicious downward slash, the plasma blade driving deep into the Steel Giant's chest.
With a final, earth-shaking groan, the Steel Giant collapsed, It looked more relived than in pain as it crumble, holding up its hand one last time into the sun before its massive form slammed into the ground in a cloud of dust and debris.
Azrael exhaled, his hands trembling slightly on the controls. The battlefield grew eerily quiet as the remaining mechs stood guard, their weapons ready in case the monstrosity stirred again.
"Target neutralized," the AI reported calmly.
Azrael leaned back in his seat, the tension finally easing from his shoulders. "Good work, everyone. Let's get the wounded out of here and regroup."