Endgame (Taskforce Upsilon & Everglory)

Jun 28, 2018
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#41
A grin of pride spread over the captain of the Fenossa's lips at the sound of General Rodgers' words. Comradery such as this, the fighting spirit of humanity to set differences aside and rally when the world was at stake. It stirred a fire in his heart and a warmth in his soul. His hearty voice echoed back over the line without missing a beat:

Sir Richard: "We welcome you to the fight! And I thank you."


Deep within the thrumming heart of the Fenossa, yet another intellect beheld the exchange. The chamber here was one not meant for habitation - the temperature was bone-chilling, and the only light the unavoidable byproduct of the components arrayed around it. The walls were lined with neatly ordered cables and rack upon rack of bio-neural gel packs. As the ship busily worked to hold the line against the phantom army, information was being relayed in quantities and speeds unfathomable to mortal brains.

Those who knew anything about the Fenossa knew it to be a ship that was largely automated. Much of that was handled by the same sorts of automata that filled the more affluent parts of Everglory. Unlike the clockwork maids so many lords employed, these automata had not been doted upon or engineered for dainty aesthetics. They were walking processors of spartan appearance and only enough intellect to fulfill their precise role. By design they were not only not allowed to make decisions beyond that, they were outright incapable. Because what decisions were not made by the human crew were delegated to the central computer that dwelled in this room.

At any given moment, the computer was 'watching' the entirety of the ship. This attentiveness made it all the better at monitoring situations, status, and events, as well as responsive in real-time to requests. The exchange on the bridge, the ambient conditions in the chapel, the resource request in the secondary hanger as it refueled one unit and patched the armor of another. The images passed as mere ripples in the ever-flowing stream, responded to where needed in kind.

Into this processing now came a request from the bridge. With the Air Christmas joining the fight and the needs of the rallying forces becoming ever more complex, it was getting to be more than the human operators could handle with enough speed. To coordinate the units in realtime would require superhuman levels of tactical forecasting, the exact thing the twins were now engaging. At their request, the relevant program opened in the back of the processor's mind. With it came the cheery opening jingle, a faint memory from the era it had been written in.
𝅘𝅥𝅮~ I have just realized my single / Reason for existing.
It is to fulfill this wish / To keep you from ever disappearing ~𝅘𝅥𝅮


Joseph: "Forecasting coming in now. Dispersing combat advisories to all allied units."

Individual units actively engaged around the Fenossa and Air Christmas would thus begin receiving personal transmissions from the ship, typically popping up as a message box on their screen with a suggested course of action, warning about incoming hostiles, or advisory about impending firing trajectories from surrounding units. Like a conductor leading an well-armed mechanized orchestra, or perhaps just a well-informed navigation app advising where to turn, such were the suggestions now radiating out to help organize the defense. They were not orders, nor were they framed as such, and any who ignored them would merely receive new ones where pertinent.

It wasn't far into this effort that one popped up for the bridge operators themselves: Launch Unit 5 to retrieve Bisen Foris. Almost simultaneously, the readings came in detecting Terra Kaiser's successful Orgone jump to rejoin the other units. And subsequent to that was the updated telemetry from the main unit, advising that they were heading for the surface following the waveform's trail, Unknown in tow. The Rines exchanged glances.

Both: "Uh... sir?"

Before the captain could answer, the castellan intervened.

Virgil: "Take the hint. Send it out on an auto-pilot."
Joseph: "Er... yes sir..."

Still somewhat confused, Joseph keyed in the orders and coordinates to the Order's private hangar. Within a closed berth, the avian form of a large aircraft was already warming its engines, the system having started the process as a precaution. Now that there was approval, one of the countless automata descended into the cockpit, taking the helm for the craft's maiden voyage. In due course the Orgone extractor engaged, pressure built within the chamber, and the craft vanished in a twinkle of emerald cloud.
 
Aug 25, 2018
205
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#42
All joy and excitement poured out of Johan as Boucher's Raftclanz exploded. Such a disappointment the knight had been, he hadn't come even close to meeting his expectations. Fabularis straightened out of Air Christmas' side, gently moving the Raftclanz chunks to the side. Already the damage he had sustained in the short exchange had been repaired completely by the overabundance of negative energy in the battlefield. The Parvus Acies tore themselves free, also coming back to float in a circle around him, and like that Johan and Slask listened to the short exchange between Air Christmas and Fenossa.

He used the rifle as a sword to salute the Lunarians that they had joined forces with - perhaps he'd still have a home to come back to once everything was said and done with if he was so inclined - and studied the endless horde of foes they were facing. And, still bitter at the ease with which he had dispatched the knight, his heart sank at the sight of it. There seemed to be nothing remaining that would excite him.


But fight he would. And so, focusing his attention to the highest concentration of enemies, the circle of Parvus Acies around him began to spin with blinding speed, the angle of the circle of death turning constantly, forming a sphere of destruction all around Fabularis.

One moment they were there, next to Air Christmas, and a blink later they were gone. The only proof that they had ever been there being a cloud of miniature ice crystals in Fabularis' likeness, and a second later even that frozen memory was gone.

The area around Fabularis was a hellish land of endless ice age of death as it was pouring out all the mist it could. And yet despite that the first part of Johan's assault came before even the cloud of ice touched the demonic horde. The sphere that the circle of Parvus Acies were maintaining disappeared for a brief moment, during which, continuously firing with Fabularis' rifle, Johan used said rifle as a sword to deliver a massive horizontal slash to the mass. Just in time for Fabularis to tear into the ranks in the aftermath.

Everything that came inside the mist cloud would freeze, before Parvus Acies tore into them, shattering them into tiny chunks of ice. Each collision of the Parvus Acies shattered the ice surrounding them, but a new layer had already appeared even as the old one's shards flew off in random directions. At the dead center Fabularis came to an abrupt halt. He pulled the left arm close to the chassis, and spun in place once. The spin was near instantaneous, during which the rifle was once more shooting continuously, delivering a horizontal slash in a circle, the slash perfectly going through the tiny openings to avoid all the Parvus Acies.

The attack done, Fabularis accelerated diagonally upwards, breaking through the ranks again.
 
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GEAR

Administrator
Staff member
Jun 15, 2018
1,165
1
18
#43

For the first time in history, Lunarian and Terran fought side by side. The Air Christmas' guns flared, even as its engines burned, sending it sliding slowly to the lunar surface below, batteries blazing in the direction of the beasts so often that their barrels glowed white hot, joining every cascade of fire from the Lunarian Fenossa. The Furfur blurred about the vessel, claws shearing apart ragged cloaks and shattering malevolent blades, soaking its entire bestial form in phantom blood.

Scythe and Thresher fell upon the assembled Spirit Soldiers like the harvest wind, blades sinking deep into screeching mouths and chattering rifles returning the unruly visitors to their deathless coil. Coffins slammed into the surface of the moon, each laden with weapons that were gladly seized up by Terran and Lunarian alike, rekindling the fire of hope in the hearts of the defenders.

The frigid fury of the Fabularis expanded from its form, drinking deep of the remaining negative energy, pulling the foulness from the air, choking the hordes, depriving them of their anchor. Alone it fought, far and away from every other, sending the fear of ruin into the hearts of friend and foe alike, every chilling wave leaving a frozen, howling statue captured at the moment of its greatest agony before being shattered apart under a blade that was as every bit as heartless and uncaring as ice.

From above, the Giganscudo's towering form joined the fight, forming a valiant shield for the defenders below as every hammer-like blow sent tides of the nightmares scattering into dust. Beside it, a flowing cerulean dot in a sea of grey, the Genion's fists flew left and right, each strike finding a willing recipient, picking off those that tried to swarm the giant.

The whirling hammer of the Bemidban smashed holes in the undead ranks, pulverizing abominations as rockets flared across its shoulders, spitting smoke into the void. Queen Selene's Magarga danced to its own tune, flanked by the last of the Royal Guard, gliding daintily over corpses as each strike severed a skeletal limb, or snapped a snarling head into a thousand pieces.

Crimson wrath incarnate, the Compatible Kaiser tore back towards its comrades in a flash of emerald light, rallying the beleaguered defenders to hold their ground for just a few moments longer, a keen sword to the Giganscudo's impenetrable shield.

In the distance, the Granzon loomed, stalwart, and silent. Who could tell what the girl within thought as she waited, now free from the puppet strings of fate? Watching across from her, still very much the instrument of fate itself, the Astranagant lingered, its execution for the day... complete.

Slowly but surely, the undead hordes began to thin. With Volkruss no longer able to feed their insatiable hunger, with Oleander dead and the bloody massacre on the blue planet having been crushed by a song of purity and love that was its antithesis, the black prophecy, the moment that death was supposed to claim the world that had been the cold, cynical ploy of a desperate, grief-ridden man-

...finally drew to a close.

As the last monstrosity fell, a roaring cheer filled the emergency-lighting lit bridge of the Air Christmas. Applause, shaking of hands and hugs filled the room as Brigadier General Rodgers removed his hat, letting it rest on his chest as he closed his eyes. Somehow, he thought... They had made it. Hammar was dead, and the dream of a unified world had died with him. Hyperion was now unopposed, and the door was now open for those that had been eyeballing Lao's position to jockey for power.

"Sir... What now?"

He opened his eyes as quiet fell on the bridge. All eyes were once again on him.

"Something that should have happened a long time ago. We talk." He said with a sigh, rising from his chair. On the monitor, he could see the form of the Earth, rising slowly in the distance.

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"This time... As equals."​
 
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