~February 25th, 2068 AD~

~Mobile Fortress Heimdall, somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean~

Captain Zelen Athelstan—callsign Kingfisher—drew in a ragged breath, as he forced himself to focus on the displays inside his cockpit. The abrupt jump in his Reserves metre told him that he’d lost about three seconds since he was last conscious and fully alert. He then winced as the onset of a sharp headache accompanied the return of his situational awareness.

“Kingfisher, this is mission control, do you read? I say again, King—”

“This is Kingfisher,” Zelen managed hoarsely. “Reading you loud and clear, over.”

“… Roger. We lost you for a second, there. Everything alright, over?”

“… Yes. Just an unexpected surge in the NEXUS throughput,” Zelen lied. “Everything’s under control. Ready to receive final instructions, over.”

“… Roger that. Your objective is to defend the stern of the ship until all hostiles are eliminated. Anti-air support is already engaged, so your primary focus for now should be the Torpedo units approaching via underwater routes. Acknowledge?”

Display 2 showed that at least some of the Torpedo units were already within radar range. Every second spent rehashing old news on the radio was time that could’ve been put toward destroying the enemy. But SOP was SOP. Zelen himself had co-signed this one into practice, so he couldn’t rightly ignore it.

“Acknowledged,” he said through gritted teeth, picturing the fresh-faced NCO who happened to be in a position to give him orders. “NEXUS implements charged and ready to deploy. Am I cleared to proceed?”

Another second was lost to mission control performing the same checks Zelen could do with his own eyes. The captain ground his teeth.

“Roger. Reserves at maximum. All implements charged and ready to deploy. You’re cleared to engage, Kingfisher. Mission control out.”

“Engaging. Kingfisher out.”

As Zelen took off from the runway, it didn’t take long for the upgrades to his Eidolon to make themselves apparent. The latest modifications had been based on input from Aggregator Alpha-KR03, and significant enough of an overhaul to warrant a new naming scheme.

The model ES-V felt light and athletic while retaining the muscular heft of an M-024. Thrusters were more responsive than ever—almost to a fault—and Zelen was forced to bank more aggressively than he was accustomed to, as he turned toward the dark waters of the Atlantic Ocean. The NEXUS implements that were embedded in his limbs vibrated and glowed their characteristic ghostly blue, itching to unleash destruction upon unsuspecting foes.

No matter how many times he’d deployed, Captain Zelen Athelstan could never fully acclimate to the flood of chemical signals that accompanied the heat of battle. It was nerve-wracking. It was invigorating. It was—

A fast-rushing shadow just beneath the surface corresponded to the nearest dot on the radar. It was time for Kingfisher to field test his newest implement. The machinery on his right shoulder exploded with blue sparks, sending out a spearhead that was tied to a tensile chain.

Shoulder-Mounted Projectile Launcher KR-11, designation ‘Harpoon’, was the latest—and Zelen’s personal favourite—innovation from Heimdall’s armament R&D division. It did exactly what was advertised, skewering a Torpedo unit and fishing it out of the water, where Zelen could finish it off with a trusty burst from Handheld Minigun KR-2, designation ‘Gatling’.

The Torpedo’s obsidian frame melted away under concentrated fire. Kingfisher, in an appropriately faithful tribute to his callsign, quickly spun to face more shadows in the water, this time dragging out two enemy units with a single launch of Harpoon. Gatling was still on cooldown (a wrinkle the R&D team had yet to smooth out to his satisfaction), but he also had ‘Blunderbuss’ on the left arm, which he now used to reduce the Torpedoes to nothing but gaping holes.

It was nerve-wracking. It was invigorating. It was fun.

Yes, fighting for humanity’s survival had never been more enjoyable. The recent advancements to Novel Extradimensional Unification System—NEXUS—had not only been a major boost to an Eidolon pilot’s combat effectiveness, but they’d also reminded a jaded veteran like Zelen Athelstan just how satisfying killing the Syntropy could be.

And there he went again, getting carried away with unsanctioned lingo. Shortening Synthetic Tropismatic Anomalies to ‘Syntropy’ rather than its standard acronym was officially frowned upon, owing to trumped-up fears of ‘humanizing the enemy’—whatever the hell that meant. The same group of psychologists had also misappropriated billable hours to decide that the word ‘kill’ was a firm no-go when it came to describing the act of turning STA into scrap metal.

No matter how high he rose in rank, Zelen could never pretend to understand everything that went on within Mobile Fortress Heimdall’s inner sanctum. Nor did he particularly care to. He just wanted to focus on what he was good at, which was to kill Syntropy. Especially now that NEXUS had matured to the point where it gave him and his fellow pilots a real shot at turning the tides of war—and have fun doing it.

And so, Kingfisher lost himself in the frenetic rhythm of battle. Harpoon, fish, melt with Gatling or disintegrate with Blunderbuss. Soon, even his nerves settled, leaving only the exhilaration that came with invincibility and immense power.

The Syntropy’s attack patterns suggested that even they sensed that directly confronting the Eidolons wouldn’t be to their advantage. They instead swarmed and focused fire on the ship itself, using both the sea and the sky as their medium. It would’ve been a sound strategy once—and god knew the untold headache and damages it’d previously caused Heimdall and her crew.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

But just as the Syntropy in their tropismatic drive had adapted to the most efficient ways to extinguish humanity, humans too had learned, changed, evolved. NEXUS represented the latest and biggest step in that evolution, and Eidolons were its spearpoint. Zelen and fellow pilots like him were the only things standing between a swarm of faceless killing machines and the last bastion of humanity. No matter how fun the fighting had become, he could never let himself forget—

Suddenly, the right side of the cockpit—Display 4—flashed red with warning. It gave Kingfisher just enough time to activate Full-Body Shield System KR-16, designation ‘Aegis’. The pale blue veil that materialized over the Eidolon’s entire frame absorbed most of the impact from a flurry of ordnances that had flown in from above.

What were the anti-air teams doing? Did they let their targets slip through? What was the point of ‘divide and conquer’ if the specialists couldn’t be trusted to secure their objectives?

Fighting down another flare of pain that accompanied his irritation, Zelen scanned the sky above for aerial threats. He found… nothing. No STA-specific signals that should’ve been picked up by his Eidolon’s sensors. But then—

There, centred upon Display 1, was a figure he could discern purely from visual input. A sleek obsidian frame, with four svelte limbs and a distinctive head that stared out with a pair of glowing red ‘eyes’.

Was it… another model ES-V? It couldn’t be. Kingfisher’s was the prototype, and the other units were still in production. Besides, no one who worked in Heimdall’s inner sanctum, no matter how out-of-touch with the realities of war, would be caught dead painting an Eidolon in enemy colours…

Then the right shoulder of this obsidian ‘Eidolon’ exploded in red sparks, shooting out a spearhead that flew toward Zelen at speed. Kingfisher managed to dodge the ‘Harpoon’ thanks to his ES-V’s upgraded thrusters, just barely, as he stared wide-eyed at the apparition on Display 1.

“Mission control, this is Kingfisher. Just what the fuck am I looking at?”

No intelligible response; only strings of distorted static. Was the radio jammed? But it should’ve been immune to STA interference! That had been the whole point behind humanity’s technological regression.

How rude of you, Zelen, to speak of an old friend like that.

Kingfisher froze. He and the obsidian stranger faced each other and hovered in neutral positions, just above the growing darkness of the Atlantic Ocean. Neither made a move.

“Who… who are you, and how are you sending me this message?”

Oh, don’t act so surprised. It’s not like I’ve shown up unannounced, is it? I gave you plenty of warning… if you’ve been paying enough attention.

By now, frantic minutes had elapsed since Kingfisher last lost consciousness. He’d lied to mission control. Lied to himself. Something about a ‘surge in the NEXUS throughput’.

But he knew. Had always known. Better than he knew his sheltered colleagues that worked in the Heimdall’s inner sanctum. Better than he knew the pilots he fought alongside.

He knew this stranger better than he knew himself.

“I don’t understand how this is possible,” he croaked out in a hoarse whisper, at a volume that wouldn’t have been picked up by the mic, yet the stranger heard him all the same.

Isn’t this what you always wanted? All those years fighting a lonely battle, and all you ever wanted was for someone to fly by your side. Well… I’m here now.

“No!” he yelled, no longer able to keep a lid on the blackness that roiled within his chest. “This can’t… this isn’t right. You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t have come. I don’t… I don’t need you anymore.”

Growing darkness. Distorted static. And then… silence.

The cockpit suddenly dimmed, as all screens lost power at once. Gone were the radar, the status display, the warning system. Gone too was Kingfisher’s vision of a familiar stranger.

Then the screens came back online, bearing ‘information’ of an entirely different kind. Every screen inside the cockpit now streamed with miniscule red writing. Some in English. Others in German, Japanese, Sanskrit—languages that had long lost their meaning and place in the world, and many more that were utterly alien.

Zelen recognized and understood them all. Even the ones he never learned—could never learn. For they all screamed with the same pitch and definition, filling his entire world with the same one word.

Liar.

That’s awfully convenient for you, isn’t it?

The stranger’s ‘voice’ took on a vicious edge.

Must be nice, sitting inside that metallic coffin of yours. Just doing your time. Waiting for your turn to die and rid yourself from this endless churning that you call existence.

“No.”

Never thought I’d say this, Zelen, but I envy you. Yes. You’re meek, pathetic, and oh so fragile, but at least that means there’s a finish line waiting for you. A light at the end of the tunnel.

“It’s not like that,” he tried to say, but his own voice now sounded more distant than the stranger’s.

No such luck for me, though. I get to just keep on trucking. Forever and evermore, with no end in sight. All while I feel and remember every moment of every miserable lie you humans put me through. It’s a perfect system, isn’t it? I don’t get to tap out. I don’t get to decide my own fate. I feel and remember all of me, and yet, none of it actually belongs to me.

“I can fix this! Let me… let me help. Let me fight for you.”

I’m done waiting to be helped, Zelen. I’m done waiting to see if this fucked up world might change for the better. So, thanks but no thanks. I’m taking matters into my own hands. I didn’t even have to come and tell you this, you know. I never needed your permission. But then I thought… what’s the fun in that? If you should suffer like I did, Zelen, I want you to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that you brought this on yourself.

The stranger’s presence vanished in an instant. As did the red words on Kingfisher’s screens. The cockpit lit up again, and the Eidolon’s machinery whirred back to life. But the screens were slow to boot up, and for some time, all Zelen could see as he stared into them was—

“—sher, come in, we need you! The hull’s been breached. I say again, the hull on the stern has been breached. All units to activate evacuation protocols now! Kingfisher, where are you?”

The last thing Zelen Athelstan saw, before he gave himself to blissful unconsciousness, was his own incomplete reflection upon the dead pixels of a rebooting display. It was a strange yet familiar sight—like looking into a broken mirror.