Death rained down upon the avatar of Lasfitot.
Machinegun fire and missiles from the Mironga tore bloody chunks out of the beast's exposed wounds, worsening the existing damage, its blitz-like attack joined by the new arrival, who similarly ran rings about the beast, its knee and elbow mounted blades making targeted incisions that worsened the damage from Onryo's onslaught in a display of teamwork.
The Fabularis' gleaming ice blade smashed clean into the beast's still-ajar throat, spikes of frost erupting out of its various orfices - before the Zankantou of the Grungust came crashing down from above, just as the sun itself became clear in the blue skies, gleaming off its blade. With the force of a War God, the Super Robot's blade slammed down into the behemoth, tearing it almost clean in two in a spray of viscera and otherworldly gore.
Yet, in spite of the horrendous damage..., The two halves refused to part. Strung inbetween them... were glowing threads of bright green, as Dimensional force flowed over the wounded creature, the Sphere atop its body pulsing with raw power. While its Sphere Act had been disabled... it seemed the regenerative powers of the unearthly foe were unimpeded.
"Not yet." Hissed Cassilda from within the monster's "throne room"; "We haven't yet begun to fight."
Her arms spread wide, and tendrils of Prana energy began to stream off her form, as she began to utter a prayer into oblivion:
"O' Lord Lasfitot, with us do 'treat! We implore you - use your Holy vessel, our flesh, to bring peace and tranquility to the unbelievers!"
Yet... Only silence greeted her call beyond. The only response, causing her to stumble in shock, was the Shiseiten rumbling threateningly underfoot.
"Shiseiten…?" She gasped in surprise - but any further words were cut short.
Suddenly, out of the dark... a yellow robed hand placed itself on her shoulder... and a veiled, masked head shook, slowly.
That was all that was needed for the Reactor of the Taciturn Crab to show their displeasure. Their cloaked form was, perhaps thankfully, obscured from view - but even from where she stood, she could see that the wounds visited upon them by the Archbishop of Volkruss were dire indeed... enough that further engagement would be unwise. Were it possible for Cassilda's otherworldly features to have paled... In that moment, they certainly would have, as for the first time in a long while, primal fear threaded its way through her body.
"...Very well." Breathed the priestess of Lasfitot, understanding the message quite clear as she turned her attention back to the assembled Taskforce Upsilon.
"When the planets align... When the Great Leyline rises... We will return, as has been preordained." She said, as the golden fog began to enshroud the bloodied Shiseiten once more, concealing it from view.
"It will be we, the chosen of Lasfitot, the Sirens of Carcossa, who stand victorious... and all of you..?"
Across the battlefield, the same phenomenon occurred - the remaining Trikeras, stumbling their way through the remains of Belfast, began to fade from view, one after another... Until only the last vestiges of the Shiseiten stood before them.
"Will kneel."
...And just like that, it was gone, fading away like a mirage to... Whatever dread dimension had previously contained it, along with its underlings.
Overhead, the sky had returned to its natural form. Waves sloshed below, water pouring into the vast craters left by the conflict... And behind the Air Christmas, fires continued to crackles and blaze in the remains of Belfast, as the distant wail and lights of sirens were clear, winking among the smoke and suffering.
Taskforce Upsilon had survived its first test... but at what price?
On the bridge of the Air Christmas, Brigadier-General Rogers rose out of his seat at last, blinking in the natural, ordinary daylight. It felt to him as if he had been trapped in a nightmare, and he silently uttered a prayer of thanks to any Gods that were watching over him that they had managed to survive. He picked up the receiver that would put him through to the pilots, and gave a simple - yet profoundly sincere - order:
"All teams, please return. Good work out there. You've done us all proud."
With a soft click, it was replaced, and he leaned forward, rubbing his eyes with disbelief, as he begun to think about the devastation left in their wake. His thoughts, however, were interrupted as a supernaturally calm voice made itself known to his left.
"Rogers. How long can we expect this to delay our departure?"
He had almost forgotten the presence of Director Lao, who had watched the spectacle unfold unblinkingly. Even as the Granzon had, for lack of better word, vanished into thin air, he had shown little to no reaction... And now? He almost couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"What?"
As if speaking to a particularly slow child, Lao rephrased his statement.
"How will this affect our schedule?"
Rogers features contorted into first an expression of surprise... then, confusion... and finally, disgust, as his fist began to tremble. All of his life, he'd been harried by bureaucrats, and not once had they stopped him from doing the right thing - not then, and not now.
"Belfast is in ruins, Director. We can't just leave it-"
The Director waved a hand, dismissing his concerns as he raised his voice.
"That is irrelevant. Resolving the Lamalice incident is our priority."
"Irrelevant? These are human lives!"
Lao exhaled, slowly, as the two men stared one another down. To Rogers' surprise, it was the Director who blinked first, simply turning on his heel with a contemptuous sigh, as he began to walk away - only to be interrupted as the old man roared after him in anger, rising out of his chair as he did so:
"DON'T YOU FEEL A GOD-DAMNED THING?"
Perhaps appropriately, only silence greeted his outburst, as the Director disappeared down the hallways of the Air Chiristmas, leaving Rogers alone with his fury.
Lao's footsteps echoed down the empty halls - all the personnel had been scrambled to aid in the rescue efforts, and he was grateful for it. in the dark, he could nurse his thoughts, and begin the arduous process of sweeping this all, he thought, under the rug. He would have to issue instructions to the rest of the apostles of Volkruss as well, that their old enemy had returned after all.
Accompanying him, of course, was the other - who would know what their immediate course of action would be, and as he reached the door to his assigned room, he spoke to them, saying quietly as he passed the threshold into the deeper dark:
"Vayne." He said; "Retrieve the Granzon, and the sacrifice. Do not fail us."
Machinegun fire and missiles from the Mironga tore bloody chunks out of the beast's exposed wounds, worsening the existing damage, its blitz-like attack joined by the new arrival, who similarly ran rings about the beast, its knee and elbow mounted blades making targeted incisions that worsened the damage from Onryo's onslaught in a display of teamwork.
The Fabularis' gleaming ice blade smashed clean into the beast's still-ajar throat, spikes of frost erupting out of its various orfices - before the Zankantou of the Grungust came crashing down from above, just as the sun itself became clear in the blue skies, gleaming off its blade. With the force of a War God, the Super Robot's blade slammed down into the behemoth, tearing it almost clean in two in a spray of viscera and otherworldly gore.
Yet, in spite of the horrendous damage..., The two halves refused to part. Strung inbetween them... were glowing threads of bright green, as Dimensional force flowed over the wounded creature, the Sphere atop its body pulsing with raw power. While its Sphere Act had been disabled... it seemed the regenerative powers of the unearthly foe were unimpeded.
"Not yet." Hissed Cassilda from within the monster's "throne room"; "We haven't yet begun to fight."
Her arms spread wide, and tendrils of Prana energy began to stream off her form, as she began to utter a prayer into oblivion:
"O' Lord Lasfitot, with us do 'treat! We implore you - use your Holy vessel, our flesh, to bring peace and tranquility to the unbelievers!"
Yet... Only silence greeted her call beyond. The only response, causing her to stumble in shock, was the Shiseiten rumbling threateningly underfoot.
"Shiseiten…?" She gasped in surprise - but any further words were cut short.
Suddenly, out of the dark... a yellow robed hand placed itself on her shoulder... and a veiled, masked head shook, slowly.
That was all that was needed for the Reactor of the Taciturn Crab to show their displeasure. Their cloaked form was, perhaps thankfully, obscured from view - but even from where she stood, she could see that the wounds visited upon them by the Archbishop of Volkruss were dire indeed... enough that further engagement would be unwise. Were it possible for Cassilda's otherworldly features to have paled... In that moment, they certainly would have, as for the first time in a long while, primal fear threaded its way through her body.
"...Very well." Breathed the priestess of Lasfitot, understanding the message quite clear as she turned her attention back to the assembled Taskforce Upsilon.
"When the planets align... When the Great Leyline rises... We will return, as has been preordained." She said, as the golden fog began to enshroud the bloodied Shiseiten once more, concealing it from view.
"It will be we, the chosen of Lasfitot, the Sirens of Carcossa, who stand victorious... and all of you..?"
Across the battlefield, the same phenomenon occurred - the remaining Trikeras, stumbling their way through the remains of Belfast, began to fade from view, one after another... Until only the last vestiges of the Shiseiten stood before them.
"Will kneel."
...And just like that, it was gone, fading away like a mirage to... Whatever dread dimension had previously contained it, along with its underlings.
Overhead, the sky had returned to its natural form. Waves sloshed below, water pouring into the vast craters left by the conflict... And behind the Air Christmas, fires continued to crackles and blaze in the remains of Belfast, as the distant wail and lights of sirens were clear, winking among the smoke and suffering.
Taskforce Upsilon had survived its first test... but at what price?
On the bridge of the Air Christmas, Brigadier-General Rogers rose out of his seat at last, blinking in the natural, ordinary daylight. It felt to him as if he had been trapped in a nightmare, and he silently uttered a prayer of thanks to any Gods that were watching over him that they had managed to survive. He picked up the receiver that would put him through to the pilots, and gave a simple - yet profoundly sincere - order:
"All teams, please return. Good work out there. You've done us all proud."
With a soft click, it was replaced, and he leaned forward, rubbing his eyes with disbelief, as he begun to think about the devastation left in their wake. His thoughts, however, were interrupted as a supernaturally calm voice made itself known to his left.
"Rogers. How long can we expect this to delay our departure?"
He had almost forgotten the presence of Director Lao, who had watched the spectacle unfold unblinkingly. Even as the Granzon had, for lack of better word, vanished into thin air, he had shown little to no reaction... And now? He almost couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"What?"
As if speaking to a particularly slow child, Lao rephrased his statement.
"How will this affect our schedule?"
Rogers features contorted into first an expression of surprise... then, confusion... and finally, disgust, as his fist began to tremble. All of his life, he'd been harried by bureaucrats, and not once had they stopped him from doing the right thing - not then, and not now.
"Belfast is in ruins, Director. We can't just leave it-"
The Director waved a hand, dismissing his concerns as he raised his voice.
"That is irrelevant. Resolving the Lamalice incident is our priority."
"Irrelevant? These are human lives!"
Lao exhaled, slowly, as the two men stared one another down. To Rogers' surprise, it was the Director who blinked first, simply turning on his heel with a contemptuous sigh, as he began to walk away - only to be interrupted as the old man roared after him in anger, rising out of his chair as he did so:
"DON'T YOU FEEL A GOD-DAMNED THING?"
Perhaps appropriately, only silence greeted his outburst, as the Director disappeared down the hallways of the Air Chiristmas, leaving Rogers alone with his fury.
Lao's footsteps echoed down the empty halls - all the personnel had been scrambled to aid in the rescue efforts, and he was grateful for it. in the dark, he could nurse his thoughts, and begin the arduous process of sweeping this all, he thought, under the rug. He would have to issue instructions to the rest of the apostles of Volkruss as well, that their old enemy had returned after all.
Accompanying him, of course, was the other - who would know what their immediate course of action would be, and as he reached the door to his assigned room, he spoke to them, saying quietly as he passed the threshold into the deeper dark:
"Vayne." He said; "Retrieve the Granzon, and the sacrifice. Do not fail us."
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