In theory, the two combatants involved in a Trial were as evenly matched as was possible under the circumstances.
Both rode in standardized Eidolons with near-identical specs. Both came equipped with the garden variety loadout of RA [FUSILIER], LA [MISERICORDE], RS [BOMBARDIER], and LS [SCUTUM]. Both clocked in at 10,000 Armour Units, the depletion of which was the objective of the game.
The only real differences were between the Reiters themselves.
Ten years Zelen’s senior, Makiri Shiranui was a warrior in the prime of his career, and in peak condition both physically and mentally. In addition to Makiri’s overwhelming advantage in Somatic and Psychic Reserves, there was also the vast gulf in combat experience between the two men.
In theory, even these deficits shouldn’t have been cause for too much concern. After all, no sane examiner would expect a graduating proto-Reiter to be on the same level as a ten-year veteran.
In practice, however, Zelen was positively convinced that there was nothing sane about this examiner.
By the grace of god, the eldest Shiranui son—best known among the Reiter Regiment by his callsign ‘Spindrift’—was too vital to the war effort to be granted much idle time on base. It meant that, in Zelen’s eight years as a proto-Reiter, he’d experienced just two Spindrift-led combat training sessions.
Both occasions ended with him in the infirmary, once from severe dehydration and the other from a broken arm.
Spindrift was mean to everyone, but he seemed to especially have it in for Zelen. Was it because he was an Athelstan? Did he just rub some people the wrong way (he could concede that this was a distinct possibility)? Or was it purely down to the cruel whims of the deadliest man in Akropolis? Whatever the case might be, just the thought of having to face Makiri in Eidolon combat was enough to send all that breakfast in Zelen’s stomach into a spin cycle.
The arena was a rough circle inside an enormous blast crater, demarcated by a series of shielded stanchions that had been installed by the Panzer Corps. The depression made for handy viewing from the raised edges, and a sizeable crowd comprising Instructors, Gauntlet drop-outs, and lower year proto-Reiters had gathered to watch the moment two promising candidates would graduate to full Reiter status.
Or—as was more likely in Zelen’s case now—get pummelled to oblivion before joining the ranks of drop-outs that would have to go again next year.
That was the worst thing about this. Zelen could never quite bring himself to share the zeal for war and service that was common among—and expected of—Tetrarch and Sehermensch youth. As such, he didn’t really care about becoming a full Reiter. He did, however, desperately want to avoid repeating another year of training.
Welp, so much for that.
As he ambled and creaked his way into the arena, however, a funny little thing happened. He saw the full extent of his opponent now: a boxy and rather dumpy training Eidolon that was outdated by at least three generations. He saw this, and began to think he might have a chance after all.
For as terrifying as Makiri was, he was currently hidden from view inside a decidedly unimpressive machine. Model ST-500 lacked all the power and agility of the newest Eidolons: all bulky frame, rusted joints, and lumbering limbs. Granted, Zelen was piloting the exact same model, but surely a shabby piece of kit like this couldn’t leave much room for operator skill expression?
But all too soon—before the terrified Trialist could fully pump himself up—a buzzer sounded to signal the start of the fight. And as Spindrift launched into his first move, all of Zelen’s hopes for victory vanished in an instant. For he no longer saw an obsolete Eidolon creaking and lurching across the battlefield.
Instead, what he saw was death.
With a powerful burst that should’ve been impossible from the leaky thrusters that had generated it, Spindrift closed half the distance between the combatants in what felt like the blink of an eye.
He’d already put his [FUSILIER] up, peppering Zelen’s armor with a sustained barrage of bullets. At the same time, the [BOMBARDIER] on his right shoulder spat out its payload along with a fiery flash.
Snapping himself to full alert, Zelen managed to quickslide out of the rocket’s line of fire, only in the last possible moment. But Spindrift had anticipated this movement, having already re-adjusted his thrust trajectory. He lined himself up with Zelen’s new location, with left arm wound back and the ghostly blue tip of [MISERICORDE] pointed squarely at his opponent’s centre of mass.
More out of panic than anything else, Zelen fumbled for and found the button to deploy [SCUTUM] from his left shoulder. The rectangular shield appeared instantaneously, covering nearly the Eidolon’s full height. He then managed to angle [SCUTUM] just barely into the way of Spindrift’s punch.
[MISERICORDE] glanced off [SCUTUM] with a bright spark of blue energy. Having lost some of its momentum and deviated from its intended trajectory, its edge nevertheless connected with the exposed portion of Zelen’s Eidolon.
Inside the cockpit, Zelen felt the impact on his person: not like the stab from a dagger, but more like a heavy punch in the stomach. He wasn’t sure which was worse.
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In any case, his panic reached new heights, and he engaged the backthrust, shooting out of melee range and re-creating the distance with which the fight had started.
As soon as he did, however, he cursed himself for the mistake.
Just in that opening flurry, Spindrift had deployed all three of his offensive armaments in quick succession. Meaning he was on hard cooldown at the moment Zelen had dashed away.
Meaning Zelen had missed the perfect—perhaps the only—chance to punish his opponent.
Spindrift had clearly intended to finish the fight right there and then, and it was small consolation that Zelen had managed to survive the veteran Reiter’s kill move. But his AU had already dropped down into the 4000s, and he’d managed to trade back a grand total of zero damage from his opponent. Which likely meant that Spindrift could take a more conservative approach for the rest of the fight. It was only a matter of time before Zelen’s AU whittled down to zero.
To his surprise, however, Spindrift immediately rushed forward again, closing the distance despite his weapons still being on cooldown.
Battle instincts now pushing back against panic, Zelen remembered to pepper his on-rushing opponent with [FUSILIER] before quicksliding out of the way. As he turned, he fired off a hopeful rocket from [BOMBARDIER], which Spindrift easily deflected with a casual—almost contemptuous—flick of his own [SCUTUM].
Spindrift then answered Zelen with some more bursts of [FUSILIER] paired with a round of [BOMBARDIER]. Zelen managed to stop the bullets with [SCUTUM] before gliding away from [BOMBARDIER]’s impact point. All the while, he continued to back away from Spindrift, intent on staying out of melee range.
As Zelen backed away, Spindrift chased. Relentless pressure. There was nothing conservative about it! Zelen quickly realized that Makiri Shiranui had no intention of letting his younger opponent breathe for even one moment.
And that gave him the first glimpse of something that resembled a plan.
As the two Model ST-500s traded [FUSILIER] bursts and [BOMBARDIER] rockets, Zelen continued to stay out of [MISERICORDE] range. But he took care to keep the distance just manageable enough to make Spindrift think he could close it in one move and finish the fight.
And Spindrift kept trying, too! As incredibly scary as it was to bait the world’s killingest Reiter’s kill move, Zelen kept at it, settling into a kind of rhythm as he did. All the while, he consciously positioned and re-positioned himself closer and closer to the circular border of the arena, where invisible walls stood between skinny stanchions.
Eventually, Zelen had backed up so far that his back was nearly touching the wall. Seeing this, Spindrift leaned into yet another forward thrust, [MISERICORDE] armed and lateral thrusters readied to catch Zelen, whichever way he dodged.
But this time, Zelen didn’t intend to dodge.
As Spindrift rushed toward him with murderous intent, Zelen stuck his left shoulder and [SCUTUM] forward, hiding the bulk of his body behind the shield. Then, just as the tip of [MISERICORDE] made contact with [SCUTUM]’s surface, he spun.
With [SCUTUM] providing a protective barrier, Zelen rolled out of harm’s way and along Spindrift’s side, until he’d rounded his opponent entirely. Spindrift’s back was now fully exposed, but Zelen knew this wasn’t enough. He leaned in hard with his right side, shoulder-tackling Spindrift and pinning him against the wall. The clash of armored metal rattled Zelen’s teeth inside the cockpit.
Now it was his turn to execute a kill move. At this range, a well-placed [MISERICORDE] should deplete what was left of Spindrift’s AU. All he needed to do was to ensure—to pray—that the veteran Reiter wouldn’t wriggle out of the stranglehold in the last second.
Zelen wound his left arm back, the ghostly blue tip of [MISERICORDE] pointed squarely at his opponent’s centre of mass. But even as he drove the dagger forward, he felt Spindrift push and slide out of his grip. [MISERICORDE] made contact, but only a glancing one, with the brunt of the impact landing upon the now Spindrift-less wall and bouncing back toward Zelen himself.
I’m done for, Zelen thought. Everything had been riding on this sequence, and he’d whiffed. Now he was exposed, on cooldown, and at the mercy of a mobile—and very angry—Makiri Shiranui.
The buzzer sounded a second time, this time signalling the end to the fight.
Zelen snapped to attention, looking about in a wild panic and in severe confusion.
Before him knelt a Model ST-500, its armaments shut down. Its body was mostly intact save for a smoking gash upon its central chassis where [MISERICORDE] had penetrated its defenses. Was this an out-of-body experience? Was Zelen somehow seeing his own defeated figure?
But no. He was still firmly inside the cockpit of his own Model ST-500. The HUD showed that a chunk of his armor still remained, at roughly 2,000 AU or so. He hadn’t lost the fight, which could only mean—
With a sharp popping noise, the radio came online. The cockpit filled with an Instructor’s stoic voice, almost comically matter-of-fact, “This concludes the Trial between examiner Makiri Shiranui and Cadet Zelen Athelstan. Winner: Cadet Zelen Athelstan. Stand by for retrieval.”
Zelen was too stunned to speak, and the radio shut off again after a few seconds of static. The HUD too went into sleep mode, throwing him into near-total darkness despite the daylight outside. As his senses were deprived, his mind continued to replay the final sequence of the fight.
He remembered clearly the moment he’d rounded Spindrift and pinned him against the wall of the arena. He remembered pulling out [MISERICORDE] to deal the finishing blow. He thought he remembered Spindrift slipping out of his grips in the last second, but then the next thing he knew, his opponent was kneeling and he himself had been declared victorious.
Had he just imagined things? That must be it. His lack of self-belief must’ve played tricks on his mind, making him see and feel things that didn’t happen.
What a silly way to win a fight! He should’ve been more confident, more present. He should’ve savoured the moment his dagger drove into Spindrift: the final blow that earned him his graduation.
Earned him a victory against the greatest Reiter that ever lived!
But as he climbed out of the cockpit with the help of the retrieval team, and made his way gingerly onto the ground, he came face to face with his erstwhile opponent, and his jubilation fled him in an instant.
In the flesh, Makiri Shiranui was a giant wraith of a man, impossibly tall and just as thin. His gaunt elongated face was framed by charcoal hair that fell to his chest in frazzled strands. He had the look of a man who could belong only on a hospital bed or inside a battle-crazed Eidolon, and nowhere else in between.
Zelen (and all of his classmates) had always been deathly afraid of Makiri, but the look the older man gave him now inspired something very different from fear.
Makiri wore half a frown with one eyebrow slightly raised, as if he was considering a puzzle, but not one that demanded his undivided attention. It certainly wasn’t anger, nor even consternation, but something closer to… curiosity.
As the two men passed each other, no words were exchanged. Yet instead of relief, what surged within Zelen was a kind of restlessness.
For the erstwhile duellists were in agreement about one thing: neither could quite figure out just how Zelen had won the fight.