The Card With No Name (Kujo)

[MKR]

September 5th, OE 102
Swordian Impact Site Outskirts
Hellas Basin, Shura Controlled Territories
11:43 AM, Martian Standard Time

A silent procession, in the heat filled distant haze of the Martian surface a lone pair of legs marched with purpose. Red lights came from the 'face' of the lone unit, its limbs barely seemed to hold themselves together as they unwound and forced themselves back together, it was like they were made out of shoe laces. A passing cloud of dust obscured the encroaching machine for a moment before it moved aside, giving a clear view for any of the Shura moving about paying attention to the almost matte black thing inside their turf.

Just as it observed them, and then the Swordian. Half buried in the basin with its hull still in a state of disrepair. Whatever the Shura were using it for now didn't matter, the whale was beached and no convoluted method of entry was required any longer. Perhaps this was fulfilling a promise, or duty. Either way it was a frustrating thing. Both the machine's arms firmly took shape again as it marched once more.

There was no effort to conceal itself, almost the opposite as the dark stain on the environ would be even clearer against the picturesque red of Mars. Its make, as well was clearly not that of the Shura. In fact compared to their machines it was a giant, standing over twice as tall as a Flaus as it encroached on the ship with unknown intent and enough confidence to make one believe it wasn't by itself even if no allies could be seen at this instant so as such, the question posed was a theoretically simple one.

Did any of the warriors think themselves hard enough to come and have a go?

Spoiler: ...

 

[Kujo]

"What's with the mummy?"
"Is it the locals again? Maybe some secret weapon."
"No way, just look at that thing. It's probably with that horned guy"
"Should we do something about him?"

A town of tents had sprung up about the shore of the Hellas basin lake, Shurashin looming above their campfires and milling about between the transient structures. Some of the machines turned to look at the approaching figure along with many of the Shura at their feet. One Shura looked to his side as the latest quip came from those around him. The man who said it was one of the various Martian thugs that had wandered in looking to pay respect to the Shura for beating the constables so handily.

The Shura's face shifted in a not so subtle way of hiding amusement as he sized up the goon. "Tell you what, 'Champ'," he said, "Why don't you take that Gremory over there and see what his deal is?" The thug stared in surprise, stammering in confusion and attempting to thank the Shura for the opportunity to which he was promptly waved off towards the Shurashin with a grin. "Just gonna scrap a Gremory like that?" Another Shura came up as the thug left. "Eh, it'll be fine," said the first warrior as the mole-like machine started off with a waddle towards the mysterious unit.

After figuring out the functions of the Shurashin the thug rolled the Gremory up to face the dark machine, creating its own cloud of dust and debris as the serrated shields of the Shurashin tore up the soil.

"Oi!" The Martian exclaimed commandingly in contrast to the beady eyes and dopey look on the Gremory's motionless face. "What's the big idea here? You think you can just walk up here without sayin' nothing? C'mon, as envoy of the Shura I'll hear you out."

 

[MKR]

The so called 'mummy' paused as one of the Shurashin approached, its gaze tracked the peculiar if visually amusing enemy during this time, its gaze firmly aimed down at the tail end of the approach, whether it was metaphorically looking down upon the loud commanding voice as well as literally was as of yet unknown. As it continued its loud blabbering the machine's gaze went around as if awoken from a daze and for the first time taking in the environment around it.

Rows of machines, the so called Shura. Finally the gaze returned to the lone Gremory sent out to test the waters. silence continued as motion resumed this time however it was the arm, stretching out before suddenly sharply folding back in on itself. Where there was once a hand now was covered by a blade. Schools of combat all over the world and beyond would have professed to see ones weapons as an extension of the self for millennia, whether any of them would have ever deigned to consider it to be so literal especially when it came to giant robot combat was another.

And now, a blade equal in height to the Gremory itself was staring it down, inside the weapon pulsed a faint green light. Anyone unfortunate enough to come into contact with DAMON or otherwise would know this could only be one thing. Dimensional Energy. Purple lights began to flare up on the back of the mummy as thrusters activated. The blade would hang by the side of the machine as it engaged in a sudden forward motion. Still silent as the low hanging blade was positioned to slice in between the two shields during its forward momentum.

It was less the camp that was the target and more the looming shadow behind it. The Swordian itself, still if they would bar its path... Thoughts bubbled.

They would of course, perhaps not the Shura, their nature was somewhat a mystery still but humans. Especially those this dime a dozen would try to exact vengeance or make something their business. Thinking 'what happened to the last guy would never happen to me'. Prideful to a fault and thinking they were way more than they actually were.

Dealing with them all personally would take too much time.

A presence began to hang over the battlefield, it was like something was or perhaps more adequately somethings were arriving soon...

 

[GEAR]

OE ???
Christmas Day
L5 Cluster
A dirty, forgotten alleyway



A pale, pallid eye unscrewed itself, weakly in the dingy light.

Even in the cold, there was a sharp sense of pain. With a cry, the young girl's hand lashed out in a panic, meeting soft, warm, mangey fur - and she saw, retreating into the darkness, the black, bloated bodies of several rats.

Shaking, she slid back against her makeshift shelter, culled from remnants of shipping crates and cardboard boxes. Her thin hands shook as she turned them over, feeling the bite wounds from the rodents, the blood running gently down her fingertips. They had even managed to gnaw through the thin fabric of her clothes. At least, she thought, it was a distraction from the growing of her stomach... or, she thought, as her fingers traced her sides, the dark, swollen bruise across her flank from her last attempt at getting food.

How many days now had it been, since she'd eaten?

Tilde Cortaine's head lilted in the direction of the street, gently, and closed her eyes. She could hear the happiness of the crowd. Families, Christmas shopping together. Sometimes she peeked out, trying to get a look at the other children, to imagine - just for a moment - what that kind of life would be like. How different things could be.

So tired.

That was all she felt now. Fatigue, gnawing at her bones, making her eyelids heavy - but she fought it still, without knowing why. As if she knew, somewhere deep down, that she would never open them again if they fell, and she'd be nothing more than another statistic. Nobody would remember her. Nobody would mourn her. She would leave the world the same way she came into it - alone.

Unwanted.

As her eyelids fluttered, there was a sudden sound.

Paf.

Something tugged at her senses urgently - and she was suddenly awake as could be.

A white paper bag, its top folded over. The scent of meat, grease, bread and potatoes - real food. A colorful, garish character adorned the side of the package, and she regarded it with a sense of wonderment, hands touching it, as though it were anything but real.



As she unfurled the top, she became aware of the shadow stretching now, across the alley... and froze.

A man was standing there. His hair was wiry and blonde, his skin tanned and taut, appearing as in his mid fifties, wearing a long coat with his hands stuffed in the pockets. His eyes weren't on her, however - no, he too, was watching the crowd.

For a moment, she hesitated. You heard stories about men like him, who came and took children away from the streets, where they were never seen again. Part of her wondered how he'd managed to get so close without her even hearing him... but hunger, eventually, won out.

The man spoke.

"Life... just ain't fair." He said, dryly. His eyes now flicked to her, as she ripped into the packaging.

"Ain't that right?"

Tilde's hands were a flurry, stuffing everything edible she could find into her mouth, her body practically screaming with happiness for nourishment. All the while the man talked, returning his stare to the outside world.

"You eat right. You work out. Go to the best school. Marry your sweetheart. Get made company vice president. Check every box. Do everything right. And then?" - he snapped his fingers, as if to emphasize the suddenness of the change - "You drop dead, because some minimum wage slave undercooks your burger."

Tilde stopped with a whimper - but the man waved her on, adding:

"...That one's fine."

As she returned to her feast he continued, letting his hands slip into his pockets as he paced, shadow stretching long before him under the dancing, festive lights.

"All that effort, all that work... and your life, in the end, is just the setup for a punchline to some cosmic joke you were never let in on. That whole sense of control, nothing but a comforting illusion."

His hand came down - and patted her head. Tilde looked up at him with starry-eyed awe and reverence, her face smirched with mustard and ketchup. His expression, however, was more... muted. A kind of faint amusement, as though he himself was in on some other "cosmic joke".

"Today, however..." He said, "Let it be unfair in your favor."

At these words, the little girl finally seemed to find the courage to pipe up - a timorous squeak, shaking with newfound energy, as she tugged at his coat with one hand, causing her savior to look down.

"Um." Tilde stammered, eyes as wide as saucers.

"Are you... God?"​

A strange smile crossed the man's features, as he narrowed his eyes. As though he hated the question... but tolerated it, from the mouth of a child.

"Close enough." Said Zivon.​

 

[Kujo]

The Thug tensed as the dark machine lunged. The primitive intelligence of the Retsukyuu Shurashin allowed the human's frantic movement to bring its twin shields together as they rotated. The metal ground madly against the energy blade and eventually wore down and bound against the weapon catching the Martian off guard as the force flung him through the air away from the stranger, screaming all the while. The wails of fear continued as the Gremory used what was left of its shields to bury itself into the ground. Off to the side, the Shura who sent the lone Shurashin out received a small pouch from his fellow warrior with a grin on his face and a scowl on the other's.

Meanwhile, a thin cloud of vapor began to condense around the lower sections of the Swordian just above the water. "Can't you boys be quiet for five minutes? How is a lady supposed to get her rest with all this commotion?" A shrill voice came from the Swordian as a lithe figure appeared from its warped beams and plates.

"Uh oh."
"Get that fire going, would you?"
"I'll be in my tent."

The Shura began to quietly hustle about as the stark white figure gazed down at them, a long mane of blonde hair drifting in the wind. Eyeing the dark stranger for a moment, the feminine Shurashin raised its arm level to the thing. The vapor around the Swordian began to coil its way up and over to the Peirenes, swirling and condensing. "Please, stay your hand, milady," came a deep, solemn voice off to the Peirenes' side. The large form of Andras waddled out of the shadows, wide hands clasped as if in meditation. "The Lord of Black Dragons has seen the coming of this being and bids us to allow its work to go unabated. It is no foe, but also no friend; we will monitor it and study its movements. This the Heavenly one has said to me." Andras bowed as the man finished, its rotund form shaking despite its metallic material. Peirenes simply glared with its usual cold stare for a moment before its pilot clenched the Shurashin's fist with a huff, jewels of ice shattering off its slender arm before it strode back into the depths of the swordian. The cloud of cold moisture dissipated as its mistress left the scene.

 

[MKR]

With the shura machine safely bouncing off into the distance the dark machine laid its gaze on the new arrival the weaponized arm unwound once more, almost dragging across the dusty surface and definitely being partially submerged in the water between it and the swordian. For a moment the presence looming intensified and then relaxed when the Shurashin did, it was distant now but yet to fade. Whatever Andras' intervention had avoided lurked yet beyond a veil.

It's path completely unimpeded for the moment the intruder laid one hand upon partially destroyed plates of the swordian and in one swift motion peeled it open, water flowing forwards through the opening. The figure stepping inside, not bothering to close the 'door' behind it. The shura were not further dissuaded from following except perhaps by the issue of a round shape in a square hole. Nothing however that proper application of martial arts could not alliviate.

The advancing machine, now more than a property trespassers and as such home invader, continued taking a mostly direct route deeper and deeper into the Swordian advancing upon its heart calmly, or well. Mostly calmly, as it properly breached the inside it paused, observing where it arrived first before continuing.

 

[GEAR]

The wind howled.

Tilde Cortaine blinked rapidly, against the sharp, sudden sunlight. The sounds of battle being joined were on the air, and she watched transfixed from atop the dune as the black sentinel advanced, intent on fulfilling some nebulous goal. Something about the very sight of it chilled her to the bone - but she was transfixed, as if paralyzed from head to toe by the aura of power it exuded.

”Don’t be too impressed.”

Thwock.

She gave a start as something arced through the air to her left, vanishing somewhere in the dunes. There was a familiar voice, and a grunt of disapproval.

The man from all those years ago stood before her, virtually unchanged. A tacky umbrella had been hoisted up over a deck chair, under which a plastic tee had been placed precariously into the red sands. As he spoke, another golf ball was placed atop its quivering form, and he took aim with his club - a gleaming driver, its head spotlessly clean.

KRAK!

This time, the ball went sailing into the distance, over the horizon. The man nodded, approvingly.

”Last thing I want is for them to get an ego.“ He finished, now deigning to give her his attention in full as he dusted off his hands.

Tilde’s mouth tried to form words - but he seemed already aware of what she was going to say, waving his hand irritably, as though he wished to “fast forward” through the boring parts.

”Mars, in case you’re wondering, Tilde Cortaine. Don’t worry. I’m not gonna hurt you. You’ll be back home before you know it. As for why you’re here…”

They both turned to watch the violence unfolding not too far away. Once more, Tilde shivered - but couldn’t look away. Zivon, meanwhile, inspected another ball between his fingertips, holding it up to the light as he smirked to himself.

”…Let’s just say: I’m a believer in insurance policies.”

 

[MKR]

As the monstrosity looked around there was a singular moment where it looked back. Tilde and the watching Shura could perhaps feel its gaze narrow as if squinting at something, the former of which may even perceive this glower as being aimed at her... Or was it going for the man besides her. It was tough to tell based on the sheer inhumanity of its origin. Still, with the Shura not impeding its pace the glance continued around before landing on something. A piece of hull, far from where it had been before the ship elected to involuntarily move from its previous position.

Damaged yet intact, stained black with a blast that seemed ancient but in a sense more like a mural. It had survived, of course. A low rumble came from the black machine, its loose arm quickly rose forming a hand as it hung over its face, claws slightly digging into the metal around its eyes before they simple entwined as it seemed to... For lack of a better term scream in rage at the sight of this stained plating. The consciousness within lamented the cruelty of it all, the inevitability of things set in stone and of things yet to pass. Spikes shot out of the back of its arms, reaching out like claws into the air as the limb itself took a silhouette more like a cylindrical tripod and was lowered at the piece of hull.

A ball of red and black energy coalesced in the tripod for but the briefest of moments before erupting forth, likewise it vented from the back spikes that had blossomed like a bouquet of malice as the singular stream of energy carved forth uncaring for who was possibly in its way. Yet for the briefest of moments the shadow this machine cast as the interior was cast in this warped light, seemed so much grander than itself as it seemed to look down at itself from the ceiling, its wrappings like claws that gripped the metal in an embrace of death.

Soon the light vanished, replaced by a more natural source of illumination. The blaze the blow had started.
"Radi Es Radius..." a hollow voice spoke as if emanated from a long plastic tube, for but the briefest of moments as the black machine continued its march, uncaring of the fires stoked by its hand. Worse still, relieved by them. Yet as it continued on, the piece of hull it had fired on remained. A black stain of a deadly angel looming over the Swordian still, obscured by flames but untouched by them.

The path led ever deeper, towards the center of the grand construction lying on the floor of Mars like a beached whale.

 

[Admin]

"Insu...rance?" Murmured Tilde, still somewhat in shock as the scene before her played out, as if in a dream.

Zivon nodded, watching approvingly as the murderous black engine advanced on its - his, rather - objective. Keeping a leash on those things wasn't easy, but beggars couldn't be choosers. He just tried to look at the bright side, and think of them as a sort of... advance payment.

"Like I told you back then: Life just ain't fair."

The golf club was swung up over one shoulder as he regarded her. There was the glimmering of iridiscent irises behind his cheap-looking sunglasses, and the sight of them filled her with a curious mix of terror - and unsurpassed excitement, adrenaline pushing through her veins, such that she could hear her heart beating in her ears.

"The way things are going, you and your savior'll both end up face down in a ditch. Or dangling from nooses. History ain't exactly kind to losers, know what I mean?"

Tilde found herself nodding dumbly, the howl of the Martian winds whipping about their feet as Zivon gave a strange smile.

"But, that's the thing: Who wins... who loses... all these big, important decisions? Sometimes they come down to very, very... small details. As simple as being in the right place, at the right time... or putting the right tool, in the right hands."

He gestured vaguely in the direction of the Swordian, as though to indicate the "tool" in question was what interested him as she listened, spellbound, hanging on his every word. He was, after all, her guardian angel.

"You'll get your wish, Tilde." Said Zivon, with a knowing chuckle.

"The one you're trying so desperately, even now, to deny yourself. The purpose you awoke the moment you touched the Celestial Reactor will be realized. I'm not big on promises... but in your case, I'm making an exception."

His laugh rumbled, reverberated, through the surroundings for a moment. As though his very presence, she thought, offended the world around them. As if the surface of Mars pulled away in fear of this being, who deigned to step foot on its surface so casually, knowing he was far beyond its ability to harm him in any way, shape or form.

 

[MKR]

Smoke began to billow forth from t he damaged exterior of the Swordian, the interior which was set ablaze like a mismanaged campfire was spreading and burning. The monstrosity within continued its march deeper and deeper still, heading in towards the core of the massive structure where its target lay waiting. With the Shura granting free passage.

The 'advance payment' moved from one elementally aligned room to the next, leaving the boiling heat behind for a room where water had encroached. Sinking property ratings in equal measure with the massive tablets that lined the interior. However, if anything the addition of an indoor pool must be quite appealing to prospective buyers or the current owners who were sure to enjoy exercise. Perhaps however, the insurance was feeling less grateful to its 'borrower' than the man thought, or perhaps it would not appreciate this advanced exchange when the hour came.

Could it even experience that feeling? Being 'grateful', 'appreciation', 'respect'? In a similar vein, could it even experience the frustration of being used? Would it even care about these events when that day came or would it move on, uncaring of both the positives and negatives of that exchange. A figment of humanity perhaps envisioned. Nay, bestowed on something beyond it.

Ironic? No?

Purple light bellowed forth from the back of the machine as it stepped into the water, taking off shortly after and speeding up its advance on the target it was given. That man's goal, the insurance. Had anyone considered its thoughts on this process? Would it wish to be taken from its place in the Swordian, was it capable of making such a decision or would it simply lay there awaiting any who dared approach.

Would it guard itself?