Chapter 8: Echoes of the Past

The island is quite large– larger than even the Bartford estate. Trees, tall and strong, cover the landscape with dried leaves covering the forest floor. Animals sing their songs in the far distance, though a tad quieter following the explosive end of his Armor not too long ago.

This place would make for a great addition to the Bartford territory. Lots of land, all of it unclaimed and fertile. There’s even a small lake here, and the scent of minerals informs Leon to the presence of a hotspring. Oh, the moment he gets discharged and his ‘wife’ divorces him, the young man knows exactly what he’ll be doing~

But as Leon travels deeper into the island, he quickly realizes that this place is not normal.

Through the trees, he sees them; shrubs and trees growing up and tangling around on mounds ranging in size from one to four meters tall. Mounds that appear too uniformly shaped and sized to be natural, but he reasons that these could just be boulders or termite mounds that have been retaken by nature. A part of him thinks these things could even be a type of monster that burrows into the earth to ambush prey.

But these mounds do not move, not even when Leon comes close and kicks them to confirm his worries. He even shoots them with his rifle, receiving no response in return.

“What the hell are you…?” He finds himself asking, looking around and finding yet more of these mounds spread out all around his immediate area, and going further still into the island interior where the tall hills loom large over the rest of the landmass. “What is this place…?”

The young man is about to move on when his peripheral vision catches a glimpse of something in the hole his rifle had blasted out on the mound. He blinks thrice and rubs his eyes just to be sure before pulling out his knife and rushing over.

He scrapes at the earth and dirt in the bullet crater with his knife and digs at it with his hands; revealing metal. Shaped metal. Familiar metal.

It is rusted and worn and damaged; from the elements and bullets of both physical and energetic origin. More frantic digging reveals part of a giant metal forearm with some kind of energy weapon replacing the hand and wrist, bearing rust and obvious battle damage. Leon digs more, finding an entire Armored Core arm with its shoulder connection torn; not blown off but seemingly ripped out of its core by something much stronger.

He runs to the next mound and digs, unearthing a rusted and non-functional assault rifle sized for an AC; still clutched in the severed hands of its former wielder. In another mound, he finds half of a headless and armless AC core with reverse jointed legs. In one, he unearths tank treads bearing a line of holes blown clean through its armor.

“Armored Cores… these are all Armored Cores…” Leon whispers to himself as he pants, sweating partly from the effort of digging and partly from rising fear. “There has to be dozens of them. Hundreds. What the fuck…”

Just one AC could turn the tide of an entire battle, and there were dozens here; having been damaged to the point of combat ineffectiveness or outright blown up into pieces. From the degree of wear they sported, they must have been here for decades– centuries even. It brought to question what destroyed them, though he easily dismisses it; whatever killed them can’t possibly be present here anymore.

But there are more questions, more pertinent ones. If Armored Cores were present, then was this place Earth? Or were they brought here in the same way he was, through some divine intervention? And why were they even brought here in the first place, and why in pieces? Why damaged ACs and not whole ones? What happened?!

Leon turns to the hills in the distance, squinting at their shape. Though he said there were three hills, it would be more accurate to say there was only one really big hill; oddly shaped as well. Two suspiciously even shaped slopes flanking a suspiciously tall middle-slope with an unnaturally steep cliff face facing south. Now that he stands ground level and not observing from the air, the greenery on it looks… off. Not unnatural, but rather, it looks to be blanketing something.

Leon swaps his rifle for his shotgun and makes his way to the hill, curiosity and determination burning in his breast.

Returning to his family could wait for the time being; he needed to find answers, whatever they may be.

=X=X=X=X=X=

It takes him two hours to traverse through the forest, having encountered and fought through the monsters that lurk within it; reptile-monkeys that attack from the trees and porcupine-apes that launch quills.

They fall easily to his guns, but even so he makes sure not to waste his shots and takes his time; sniping them at range first before mopping up the survivors himself. He only takes on Juveniles and Adults, for he has neither the mech nor ammunition to challenge Old variants lest he wants an early death. Slowly, methodically, Leon pushes through the forest to his destination.

The further into the island he goes, the more mounds he finds; these one larger than those on the outskirts. Intact ACs, he thinks and yearns so badly to confirm his suspicions; but he is in enemy territory and thus cannot risk attracting unwanted attention. But the thoughts linger still, even as he reaches his destination.

He finds a telling structure nestled behind a particularly large cluster of tomb-mounds and almost completely hidden by shrubbery in the shadow of the cliff-like side. Giant metal doors twice the height of an ordinary AC and five times as wide, partially buried by dirt and covered with moss; the paint lining the exterior worn into nothing through time and the elements. Pock marks and heat-craters, large and small, cover its entire surface; evidencing a fierce battle.

This close, Leon can see the features that distance and shrubbery hid from him; bits of metal and exposed circuitry, jagged but suspiciously uniform ledges along the exterior of ‘cliff’, and jutting outcroppings that Leon past memories told him were mountings for turrets and point defenses.

“Some kind of base…?” Leon muses, looking around. “Just how big is this place?”

He spots an upward incline and quickly clambers up, settling on a suspiciously flat plain. Far ahead, he sees a section of it that suddenly drops off, likely having collapsed. He rushes over and slows down as he nears, shotgun raised in case anything nasty pops out. Nothing does.

The hole is large and overgrown, with tall grass and large shrubs. He doesn’t trust it for a moment, however, but has little choice.

Leon fires his shotgun into the hole three times, watching for any movement and listening for any sounds as well to make sure there was nothing present to impale him on his way down. When nothing reaches his ears and no such impalement risks show themselves, the young man gather's mana in one and ignites it with a word of power; before throwing the fire ball into the hole. Flames spread immediately and much of the greenery is burned away in a few minutes; leaving a clear entrance to the facility. He double checks it one more time before cautiously walking over to the hole and climbing in.

He walks out and beholds a metal hallway, dark and foreboding. Gun still pointed into the darkness, he holds out a hand and casts a quick light spell; illuminating the path forward.

Cold and sterile, painful in how plain it looks. Roots have begun to seep into the ventilation passages and wiring channels from the hole, and small animals scurry here and there.

Leon swallows his building apprehension and forges ahead, slowly and cautiously; creeping as quietly as he can down the hallway,

Monsters are present here, ambush predators that look like humanoid reptiles with squad heads and scaly green skin. They lunge for Leon from open doors and around corners, but the shotgun is king in close quarters; none do much besides landing superficial injuries on him.

He clears the rooms with open doors, hunting down whatever hostile is present and allowing him to see the rooms’ interior; living quarters and communal areas, primarily. On the floor or beds, either alone or huddled together, whole or in pieces, he sees skeletons.

Dozens of them, ancient and brittle and partially disintegrated. Still garbed in the uniforms they wore at the moment of their deaths, which bear an unfamiliar logo made with an inverted ‘V’ with three uneven and separate underscores lining the bottom; forming a stylized ‘A’.

Some are soldiers, clad in powered armor and wielding heavy weapons during their time of death. But a vast majority looked to be civilians or technicians, with little more than small arms and knives or shivs to their hands. Leon even spots a few small skeletons, laying among larger ones. Children and their parents, or whomever was kind enough to comfort them in their final moments.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Leon pushes onwards, hardening his heart to the horror and tragedy that lay around him; determination rising. He could mourn these poor souls later, once he found out more about this place.

The hallway leads deeper into the facility, eventually revealing an elevator door with a written directory sporting English words; a language nobody spoke in the current day and age. From it, he learns that he’s on floor 8B, the East Living Quarters. He gawks at the number and thinks back to the slope he climbed.

“Just how much of this place is buried?” he hisses. “What the hell happened here?!”

No answers come from the hallway.

“Fine, I’ll figure it out myself.” Leon grumbles, looking at the directory. “Okay, this section of the base is connected to the AC Hangar Entrance Area on the ground floor. It has to lead somewhere with information. A command center or something.”

Leon decidedly doesn’t climb into the elevator shaft. Instead, he finds the stairs and starts the long descent; internally thanking his father for all the physical conditioning he made Leon do in his childhood to prepare him for whatever life awaited him when he got to adulthood. It is paying dividends now as he goes down the staircase as fast as he could without breaking a sweat.

Eventually, the stairs end and Leon continues forward; blasting monsters left and right to clear rooms. Now he arrives at what look like locker rooms or changing stations, a majority of the skeletons here being powered armor-wearing soldiers and Ravens.

He recognizes them in those specially designed suits, meant to protect them from the stresses of high-intensity AC combat. Body encompassing but still modest, they came with a feature that let the suit contract to precisely fit with the pilot’s body shape for maximum coverage. Human+ pilots could even use it to interface with the AC for better piloting capability, this Leon knows because Leos Klein used to wear one such suit.

There’s more than a dozen pilots here, laying on the floor or slumped against the lockers. Their suits aren’t damaged in a way that would denote death from an external source, and a few died with their helmets still on; which meant their cause of death must have been internal. A nerve agent or toxin, maybe?

Leon shakes his head and proceeds onwards, out through the big door at the far enough of the room.

He emerges into a cavernous interior. At least 20 to 25 meters in height and a good 150 meters wide, this place had to have been some kind of hangar or production facility. And a heavily guarded one as well, judging from the assortment of defenses set up.

Stationary guns, plasma cannons, missile turrets on the ground and ceiling; all scaled for anti-AC duties. Rusted tanks and APCs are present as well, even infantry positions like sandbags and makeshift bunkers. On the ground as well are dozens of unmanned drones, positioned in such a way that they seemingly dropped out of the air.

Skeletons lay scattered everywhere. Technicians and power-armored soldiers, large and small, lay on the floor or draped over fortifications or sit up against walls. Some are alone, some lay together, some are even huddled close.

They lay in the shadows of giant mechs, 30 to 40 MTs– high-quality custom Combat models, not the light utility one Leon had previously piloted. These were built specifically for combat, with all the necessary parts and attachments; including proper guns and frame-mounted weaponry.

Among them stand 8 Armored Cores.

Leon feels his previous fears melt away as he approaches them, drawn to their presence like a moth to a flame. They each stand taller than the puny Armor he arrived in, the shortest among them standing at 5 meters while the tallest looms high at 8. Some stand on two legs, some on reverse-jointed limbs, and some possess four legs or tank treads outright. They all bear the marks of battle, but Leon knows that all of it is just superficial damage. They could still operate, still fight, such was the durability of their construction.

They wield weapons of a kind Leon only dreams of; energy rifles and large-caliber SMGs and snub-nosed shotguns, shoulder-mounted cannons and missile launchers and additional weapon hangars, forearm mounted energy blades and actual physical blades and pile bunkers. If even one of these weapons were to make it to the Kingdom’s military, it would revolutionize warfare and change how Holfort fights its wars; Leon couldn’t imagine the change that an intact AC could bring.

The mechs all come in a variety of parts and all kinds of colors, with individual pilot emblems displayed prominently on the core or shoulder parts of the mech. The only similarity they share is another emblem; a red raven depicted mid-lunge.

Suddenly, all 8 ACs’ cockpits open simultaneously. Leon tenses, gun raised and waiting for a foe to appear, but none do.

Slowly, he walks forward to the closest AC, a bipedal medium-weight chassis with fading blue-white color scheme, and gives it a proper check. It’s devoid of a pilot, and the displays look functioning…

A screen on the cockpit’s left wall activates, and words start writing themselves– or perhaps were being transmitted from an outside source. Written in the Holfortan language rather than English.

//ready?//

Something cold and foreboding crawls up Leon’s spine. It feels familiar, but not in a good way; like the faint echoes of a terrible nightmare resurfacing in his thoughts after a long moment of silence. But he knows this fear, this foreboding feeling, having felt it many times in his previous life as Leos Klein.

He steps into the cockpit and sits down, buckling up as the entrance closes.

The mech’s engines activate with a rising hum. The many screens light up, lines of code rolling down before a proper display is shown. Readings and numbers, statuses and ammo count, mech integrity and energy gauges– everything a Raven would need to pilot their mech to the fullest.

Leos Klein’s memories step in, and the AC moves for the first time in Saint knows how long. The dust of ages shakes loose and immobile joints creak as Leon runs through a basic diagnostic check– looking to see just how operable his mech is.

“AP at 87%. Energy 100%.” Leon checks. “Arms and legs are good. Both shoulder weapons are unresponsive– probably rusted to hell and back. Right arm weapon still functional, 8 shots left. Left arm weapon…”

He brings the mech’s left arm up and ignites the energy blade. Blue-white light fills the dark interior of the hall for the first time in Saint knows how long.

“Still functional.” Leon grins, wide and toothy. “Alright, I can work with this.”

One of his screens blinks out and a new message writes itself.

//adequate//

Metal groans and Leon turns around to see the far wall of the chamber slowly rise up, revealing an even large chamber beyond.

//move to main hangar area// the screen reads. //the test is about to begin//

“Test?” Leon blinks. “What test?”

The screen is not forthcoming with answers and Leon figures that whomever or whatever’s doing this must not be hearing him. He sighs and obliges, seeing no reason not to.

The AC stomps forward towards the newly-opened gate. Beyond it, he sees a vast hexagonal chamber, bigger than the one he just exited from, with a network of gantries making up the interior. Many of them are empty, but he spots several incomplete frames and many parts hanging from them; MTs or ACs, he can’t tell from this range.

“An assembly line?” Leon muses. “Or some kind of production facility?”

Suddenly the lights come on, illuminating the interior. The massive doors behind him close with deceptive slowness. The gantries activate and move, hauling the incomplete frames and parts with them.

//this place is a Spirit-class Mobile Fortress, designated ‘Motherwill’// the screen reads. //long ago, it fought in a war that saw this world decimated into what it is today//

Leon watches as the gantry puts together the parts onto the incomplete frames; connecting, securing, welding, and bolting various parts onto the frame. Before Leon’s eyes, an MT is built.

//after the sudden conclusion of that war, the personnel in this facility all perished; leaving only me// the screen continues. //long have i languished here, waiting for a time when someone worthy would arrive and earn this last gift and final mission from their ancestors//

Leon watches as two more MTs are built, bringing the total number to 3. Weapons come down on them, a back-mounted howitzer and an arm-mounted energy sword.

//defeat these weapon platforms to gain command rights and leadership verification of this facility// the screen reads. //good luck//

The trio of MTs spread out and prime their guns. In his cockpit, Leon laughs as his AC readies itself for battle.

//ACTIVATING – COMBAT MODE//