traceroute

May we be the sword that cuts away that which is weak, from that which is strong.

ARC death-prayer

Aboard the Airship Taizhong, Over the Gulf of Amerexico, Axis Mundi, 05/20/2230, 0832 hours local

Ka Hanabi waits in the cockpit of the Venus, anxiously tapping her finger on the throttle. After everything, waiting is still hell. But at least she has a co-pilot now. She thinks about the countless times she’s dropped with Venus before. They both know this one is different.

WORRY? The readout on the screen jolts Hanabi back to the moment. Hanabi smiles. Of course Venus knows her anxieties. The sync rate monitor hovers at SYNCHRONIZATION AMPLITUDE: 200%.

“Yes. A little. This is going to be dangerous. We’ll have to be really careful. And we’ll have to fight harder than we’ve ever fought before.”

FIGHT! TOGETHER! The screen shimmers as the words strain to stay on the display.

“Together.”

PROTECT HANABI.

Hanabi runs a hand along the interior of the cockpit.

“I’ve got your back too, Venus. Watch my six and I’ll watch yours.”

Hanabi watches the PLAA soldiers run back and forth, preparing for drop in their own mechanized armors, packing the relatively small hangar in the Airship Taizhong, compared to the behemoth Rumsfeld. 

All of us, together, Hanabi thinks, tenderly watching her comrades prepare to meet death.

Venus and Hanabi land in the streets of Corpus Christi. The city is in mayhem. THRONE corpses litter the streets, chewed full of blistering holes. The eels had already been launched before their arrival — the landing party was set to touch down just after the drones had done their work dismantling the city’s main defenses. Spires taller than Venus herself stand smoking, pockmarked with holes ringed with Thanatic ash. Fires blaze throughout the city, encouraged by the blistering heat. The ARC has doubled down, choosing to fire artillery within the city limits to hold back the advance.

Hanabi and Venus take cover as a Thanatic bolt hurtles past, filling the air with that horrific clicking. It strikes the chest of one of the PLAA mechanized armors, consuming everything it touches. Hanabi offers a quiet prayer for the fallen comrade. In response, Venus highlights the massive railgun in Hanabi’s FOV, jutting out from between retracting plates of street grid.

THERE! GO!

Hanabi and Venus sprint towards the railgun, dodging bolts as they come sailing down the boulevard. Hanabi feels the motions of Venus in her body — her turbines and servos, her hemosynthate pumping through her myofibrillium strands. Hanabi howls, launches herself into the air, flipping forward. Feels the air rush in around her as she kicks down with her heel at supersonic speed, the sensation of the atmosphere tearing underfoot. The pair land with an earth-rumbling boom upon the railgun, obliterating it in moments, liquefying the asphalt of the boulevard.

The march towards the GETHSEMANE is achingly slow, purchasing meter after meter with spilled blood and oil. Attritional. But progress is made. The long march continues. Hanabi and Venus fight like a fallen angel, clawing at Heaven as they plummet.

Venus and Hanabi are a horror to behold. The Empire’s most beautiful angel of death, turned back upon them. Wrists stained with the gore of countless allies-turned-adversaries. No whispered requests for forgiveness for her old comrades, on the wrong side of the line. This is the price. The bonded pair weave in and out of the fight, tearing through artillery, clearing a path for the infantry. Hanabi-Venus sees a flash and a flicker in the corner of her vision. Hanabi-Venus flicks a wrist, swats a plasmic bolt out of the air like it’s a flying pest, flinging it into the ocean behind her.

More abandoned THRONE corpses. Piling up higher as the PLAA forces approach the GETHSEMANE complex. The enemy knows what the target is. They tried to consolidate their forces to mount a defense. They are using an outdated strategic technology. Everywhere — angel corpses pierced by the Eels, the Thanatic worms of the People’s wrath personified.

A few surviving THRONES attempt to resist. Hanabi-Venus quickly dispatches them. A whirling storm of flashing Thanatic vibrablades and immense limbs. One by one, the enemy forces fall back further.

At the terminus of the boulevard stands the immense GETHSEMANE complex. Massive, jagged spires reaching into the heavens, exposed pipes and ducts pumping doloric energy in and out of the smoking mass, the pulsing heart of the Egregore Engine. At the door, the enemy infantry await, in formations a thousand Men strong. The People ready their arms, preparing themselves for the push.

Helming the enemy forces is a single remaining THRONE. A THRONE carrying no weapons. A THRONE drenched in hemosynthate and blood, each of its four arms ending in a clawed, clenched fist. Waiting.

The ISCARIOT has come to reunite with Hanabi-Venus. As promised.