~October 30th, 138 AH~

~Sector Aries, somewhere above the Intercontinental Sea~

Operation Leviathan was underway, and all Zelen could do—was allowed to do—was hover and watch.

Golf Team was too far away from the action to pick up anything on the radar, let alone get any reliable visuals. Their main avenue to tactical awareness came in the form of clipped messages that streamed through the radio.

“Objective Charlie is down. Repeat, Objective Charlie is down. Who needs help? Over.”

“This is Uppercut. Requesting backup for Objective Echo, over.”

“This is Blizzard. Ditto for Objective Delta. These spinning fucks!”

“Acknowledged. Bearclaw, join up with Delta Team. Patron, you go to Echo Team. If there’re any—”

Tripod, the IC for the whole operation, was cut off mid-message. Whatever had caused it, it couldn’t be good news, and Zelen felt himself tensing against his Nexa-Suit, rearing to join the fray. And then—

“This is Tripod. Objective Alpha is down. Repeat, Objective Alpha is down. But I’ve taken a nasty hit, and shutdown is imminent. Afraid I’m gonna have to sit the rest of this out, boys. I’ll continue to coordinate from a position of safety. I’m sending Jockey over to reinforce Delta Team. Keep me posted.”

Zelen did move then, ‘bending’ his knees to engage forward thrust. As if he’d sensed the younger Reiter’s intentions, Handles and his blue-on-white Eidolon slid across, blocking Zelen’s path.

“The hell do you think you’re doing, Kingfisher?” Terse words came through on a private channel.

“You heard Tripod, things are turning to shit down there! We need to help!”

“All I heard was we’ve taken down two of the objectives already, and only one of ours is out of action. Stick to your orders.”

“How could you just hang around like this? There’re three of us here, doing literally nothing, while our friends are risking their necks!”

“For fuck’s sake… the General warned me about this.”

“What?”

“Wanna know my and Coltsfoot’s real assignment? It’s not to safeguard you from stray Syntropy. It’s to protect you from yourself.”

Zelen fell silent.

“Don’t lecture me about friends, Athelstan. There’re guys down there I’ve known all my life. You think I’m not itching to fly to their aid instead of babysitting your precious ass? But as long as you somehow keep pulling off your miracles, and as long as the General commands it, I’ll stick to my orders. And you will too.”

Zelen hung his head, as his knees also relaxed.

He’d wanted none of this. Megha’s anger, Wong’s jealousy, the General’s ‘special’ treatment of him, and now Captain Leino’s resentment. As far as Zelen was concerned, he only fought and killed as he’d been asked, doing his part to contribute to the war, to humanity’s salvation.

He’d fought and killed for Akropolis, and though Akropolis loved him for it, he felt more alone and isolated than ever.

Captain Leino’s words had also rung familiar alarm bells. There’re guys down there I’ve known all my life. For Zelen, one man fit that description above all others. It so happened that the fog of war, the General’s orders, and even the sky and the sea conspired to separate the two of them. If only Megha would provide updates through the radio… but so far, there hadn’t been a peep from Team Foxtrot.

You’re worried about Glasswing.

Zelen suddenly snapped to attention. Of course! If neither the radar nor the radio could tell him anything, perhaps Silon could?

“Can you sense what’s happening down there?”

It’s a bit hazy, and I can’t get any distinct readings… but yes, Glasswing is still active.

Zelen fell silent again, worries overwriting gratitude. Somehow, knowing that his friend was still in the thick of it didn’t make him feel any better.

I’ve learned during our time together that you tend to become overanxious about factors outside your control. Not too much of a problem, usually, when we’re out on our own, but given the large-scale nature of this mission… Would you like me to distract you, Zelen?

“You’re gonna try even if I say no, aren’t you?”

You know me so well. Tell me about Glasswing, Zelen. I know you hold him in special regard, relative to your estimation of other Reiters. How did that come about?

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“It’s called being friends, Silon. Like, erm, Tripod and Handles. Or Jockey and Patron.”

I’m afraid I’m not familiar with the personal connections between other Reiters.

“Fine, better example: like you and I.”

The briefest of pauses.

You think of me as your friend?

“Yes. Why, you don’t? Don’t tell me if you don’t. It’ll just add to my Psychic disturbance.”

I sense… you are joking, Zelen.

“Maybe about some things, not about others. Guess this distraction thing is working. As for—”

“This is Blizzard. Objective Delta is down. Fucking finally. But… we’ve lost Bearclaw.”

“Acknowledged. Blizzard and Patron, slide over to Echo. Wolfeye and Jockey, go see if Team Bravo needs help. Spindrift’s been quiet, but you know how he can be…”

Zelen’s knees twitched again, and he saw—imagined—the metallic frame of Handles beside him tense. Heart pounding and ears ringing, he forced himself to think his distracting thoughts.

“Yeah, as I was saying… Glasswing and I came up through the same proto-Reiter intake. I was—I mean, I guess I still am—a bit of a loner back then. Fresh off my Ascension Standard. Barely knew anyone on base. Glasswing—Megha—was the first one to talk to me… to invite me to a game of Arenaball after class… back when I didn’t even know the rules.”

“This is Uppercut! Holy fuck, reinforcements are pouring out like crazy. We need all hands on deck over here! What’s the situation with—”

“This is Spindrift. Objective Bravo is down. We lost Lionheart. I… couldn’t save him. Whole group moving to Objective Echo now.”

“This is Blizzard again, taking over for Echo team leader! We lost Uppercut! Request backup now, fucking now!”

“Acknowledged. Hold on, Blizzard. Spindrift’s already on his way…”

Zelen took a long and shuddering breath. Handles slid closer to him again, and this time, Zelen hadn’t imagined it. The entire blue-on-white frame of the Golf team leader’s Eidolon vibrated with its pilot’s barely contained emotion.

You better not fuck up. You better be fucking worth this.

Zelen flinched, despite the voices only being in his head… or were they?

“Megha and I did everything—went through everything—together. All the good times and bad. Mostly bad. We fought a lot too. Were even pretty nasty to each other a few times. I think that’s normal for anyone growing up. But all I know is that, through all the good times and bad—mostly bad—Megha was always by my side. Like… like how you’re by my side now, Silon. That’s what it means to be friends, I think. Friends have each other’s backs. Through thick and thin.”

“This is Glasswing.”

Zelen’s world was a fog of war—and the familiar voice that cut through it.

“Tactical update. Objective Foxtrot is down. Sorry it took so long. Where should I go next?”

“Acknowledged. Glasswing and Violin, you both stand by for now and conserve your energy. We should be moving to the next phase short—”

“This is Blizzard! Get fucked, you synth pieces of shit! Objective Echo is down! Now let’s sink this motherfucker.”

“Acknowledged. Shields are coming down shortly. Infiltration phase is a go. Golf Team, join us!”

“This is Handles. About fucking time…”

The three Eidolons on what was formerly Golf Team launched themselves at the same time, all moving at maximum thrust by unspoken agreement.

As Zelen drew nearer and nearer to his new objective, the fog of war dissipated, first with the ticks of red and blue dots on the radar that showed the battle that still raged on below.

“This is Spindrift. Confirmed shields are down. Got clear access to the bow of the ship. There’s a… All units! Defensive manoeuvres!”

Nearly at the same instant as Spindrift’s warning, [THE INEVITABLE] reared its destructive head.

A flash of white-red energy, centred upon the lowest depths of the fog. Then this flash split into no less than a dozen separate beams that radiated into the sky.

Zelen didn’t shift from his trajectory in the slightest. Barely had any time to react. But one of the beams shot past just metres to his side, and the blue-on-white frame of Handles vanished into the light.

Zelen skidded through the air, reversing his thrust as quickly as he could. He spun toward where Handles had flown just a moment ago, and saw only charred fragments crumbling through the air.

His first instinct was to scream. And were he the young Reiter he’d once been, he very well might have. But he’d fought and killed for Akropolis—for his fellow Reiters—for nearly three years now, and they needed him to stay in the fight, to stay in the hunt.

“This is Kingfisher. Handles is gone. Coltsfoot and I will converge on the objective shortly.”

“… Acknowledged. Spindrift, lead suppressive manoeuvres until Kingfisher’s arrival.”

It’s called being friends. Like Tripod and Handles.

To Silon, he asked frantically, “What the hell was that?”

It’s hard for me to sift through the signals, Zelen, but I believe it’s an enemy unit that doesn’t fit any known patterns.

“Well, no shit!”

But there was no point taking his impotent rage out on his Spiegel. Because a very appropriate target for his ire awaited somewhere beyond the fog of war, and he could hardly wait to meet it.

The fog cleared, and Zelen’s world became pandaemonium.

Smoking chunks of metal flew and zipped amidst pyrotechnics of red and blue. It was difficult at first glance to distinguish friend from foe, and the jumbled signals on the radar hardly helped matters.

Forget visual cues, Zelen, just follow my voice. Bearing zero-niner-six. Forward thrust. Left. Forward again. Incoming from your right. Good. There it is. 200 metres, straight ahead.

And there it was. A monolithic colossus—a Leviathan—that made Eidolons and Syntropy units alike look like mere dots on a sleek obsidian screen. The Mothership’s surfaces were so smooth—so uniform—as to leave no hints of the horrors hidden within. Yet these horrors issued forth all the same, finding nonexistent cracks from which to seep through and add to the storm of death and destruction that raged all around.

One horror among these awaited atop a vast platform that humans had dubbed ‘the bow’ of the Mothership. And despite the unprecedented attack it’d produced seconds ago, this particular enemy proved a familiar sight for Zelen.

Four lumbering legs. Bulbous and lopsided back that carried a larger number and variety of armaments than any of its previous iterations. Two muscular arms, both of which fluxed with barely bridled Syntropic energy, rearing to unleash more destruction.

More death.

Versatile defense unit GC—I suppose -07 now—designation ‘Kentavros’. You don’t need me to tell you this is a new iteration with hitherto unconfirmed features. How will you proceed?

The familiarity and the novelty of the enemy combined and roiled against the fury in Zelen’s heart. His heart pumped with ever greater urgency, invigorating his every muscle, sharpening his hunter’s instincts. From rivers of Blood flow the Body’s nourishment.

How would he proceed?

“This is Kingfisher. Engaging defensive unit at objective. All friendly units stay clear… This thing’s mine.”