Chapitre 53: Chapter 53: Old Foes, Old Tricks.
//"Well now, I hadn't expected to meet another A.I in this day and age!"// the enemy intelligence says, sounding disturbingly happy. //"Then again, given what you've been doing, it's a wonder I haven't run into you sooner! Say, where's your AC? Or are you on a milk run here to do… whatever it is you're doing?"//
//"Who are you?"// Hustler One demands as battle erupts all over the island, unaugmented men dying to unmanned infantry drones' bare hands. //"Are you responsible for this?"//
//"Maybe! You're gonna have to survive to find out!"// the intelligence laughs. //"Man, things are getting better and better! Whoo!"//
"W-What's going on?" Carla asks as the screams and the sounds of battle echo through the hull of the Chariot. They were in the ship's on-board morgue, where the Wayne family's remains were being cleaned for burial. "W-Why is everyone screaming?"
"Captain!" a door bursts open, one of Hustler's crew faking being out of breath to keep up the charade with Carla. "The ground forces are under attack!"
"Everyone, stay here with Miss Wayne." it says. "There's weapons in the crate, arm yourselves in case anyone or anything breaches the hull– defend yourselves if necessary. Barricade the door and stay away from the windows. Do not open the door for anyone unless they correctly answer a question with a certain pass-phrase."
"Which are?" it speaks through one of its gynoid crew, the others scrambling for weapons.
"Question is 'what would Leon do in a fight', answer is 'win no matter what'." Hustler One moves Nines Kugel out of the morgue. "Miss Wayne, do not leave this room unless there is no other choice or the battle is won. Do you understand?"
"I– o-okay." she nods. "S-Saint protect you, Captain."
Hustler One nods and hurries out. Already the crew aboard the ship gird themselves for battle, guns with circuitry disruption rounds and stun batons and riot shields– Lost Items to the last, but necessary to defeat the likes of these unmanned infantry drones.
Mass-produced throughout the Alliance-Numen Empire conflict, these drones were individually superior to three Numen infantrymen; being stronger, faster, and far tougher against conventional weaponry. And they were dirt cheap as well, allowing for the use of wave tactics against the proto-mages of the past. When it was discovered that they were weak to electricity and the Numen began using lightning spells in response, demi-human warrior races were developed to take their place.
But in this age, where the average mage was weaker and less capable than those of the past, these drones prove more than enough to butcher them.
//"I don't get why you'd ally yourself with these people. I know that ID tag, you were there when things went to shit– the world's fucked up because of them."// the enemy intelligence asks, almost conversationally. //"Look at them– reduced to swords and spears and their magic, only revolvers and bolt-actions as their ranged options. No better than cavemen. You're better off exterminating the whole lot of them and starting over."//
//"Killing them won't change the past."// Hustler One clicks its tongue, moving to the Chariot's hangar. //"Moreover, it's a waste of time and resources– both of which can be put to better rebuild a better future ."//
//"Yeah, but where's the fun in that?"// the enemy whines– whines like an actual manchild. //"You do the things you do because it brings you joy! To get that blood pumping!"//
//"I am an A.I. I do not feel the same way you do."// Hustler corrects with an offended huff. //"Human minds are not the same as A.Is, regardless of the process you underwent to become a Designed."//
//"Hah. So you know about it, huh?"// the enemy intelligence laughs, and its caller ID image flickers; displaying the Twelfth Tarot Arcana– the Hanged Man. //"Now I'm curious about just how much more you know about the Alliance after they dug you up?"//
//"I've had centuries to learn how to hack. The Alliance had no chance of stopping me."// the A.I snorts. //"Much like how you stand little chance against me when I deploy."//
//"Ooh, a proper AC duel? I can't wait!"// the Hanged Man laughs. //"Haven't had one in years! This'll be fun!"//
=X=X=X=X=X=
The Sebergs pride themselves with their warrior lineage, their ancestor known as the strongest of the Six Founders and responsible for the slaying of great monsters as well as the pacification of many monster-infested islands. From those olden days to the present, there has been no major war that a member of the Seberg hasn't fought in and no dungeon that they have yet to set explore; a deed that echoes to this day all over Holfort.
It had been Greg's every intention to follow through with the family tradition; to fight in a war and traverse as many dungeons as he could. Though things have been complicated by his disinheritance and his heart having been taken by the love of his life, he didn't allow it to hinder him.
But none of the stories ever mentioned this.
"Back! Back to the ship!" one of the adventurers yell, shoving back one of the automatons. "Do not fight them alone!"
"I-I've shot five rounds at it, and it's still not dying!" another screams as they frantically reload their rifle. W-Why isn't it dying?!"
"Help! Help me! Mama–!" another begs before his head is torn off his shoulders.
All around the Founding Heir, men die– slain by unfeeling and unstoppable metal monsters. He stares at the automaton before him and Brad as it yanks its arm out of the crewman's corpse, glaring at them with its sole eye.
"Greg! Greg, come on!" Brad yells at him, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him back. "Run!"
The Heir's legs move on their own, turning him around as he and Brad flee– running for their lives as a one-sided slaughter erupts around them. He doesn't know exactly how many automatons were found, but there couldn't have been more than twenty. They and their fellow hired bodyguards outnumbered them three-to-one.
Yet… A-And yet–
"Saint above, they're killing us!" one adventurer cries as he sprints past, his left arm flopping uselessly behind him. "Run!!"
Greg hears it then– a low whine rising in volume. Then there is the sound of thunder and the adventurer ahead of them explodes in a shower of gore and blood, limbs and innards flying every which way. Hot blood splatters all over him and Brad as the stink of cooked meat drills into his nostrils.
He dares a look back and sees one of the automatons with its arm smoking, its hand and lower forearm morphed into some kind of stubby gun– like a rifle but with holes stamped near its muzzle. A handful of its fellows mimic it, their own arms morphing into guns which they shoot, while the others march steadily onwards to resume their bare-handed butchery.
"Where are the Armors?!" someone says. "There were four of them deployed here, where'd they go?!"
The answer comes a moment later, when one such Armor smashes into the remains of a house– missing one leg and a person-sized hole melted through the front plate. Bullet holes the size of human torso trace a line along the plate, and from it comes the stink of cooked meat as well.
"There!" Brad shouts pointing at the sky. "Enemy Armor! It must be controlling these automatons!"
Greg looks up and sees it– wide and heavily armored, with a squat gun whose muzzle belches smoke in one hand and a blade of crackling energy in the other. A heavy shield is mounted on its left knee and it just floats there as the remaining three Armors open fire; nonchalant as bullets ricochet off its plate.
It turns its head to look down on the battle below, and for a moment Greg feels its gaze linger over him. Watching him, judging him, before dismissing him as… nothing. Inconsequential.
The feeling that rises up in Greg's stomach reminds him of the ass-kicking he got from Bartford not too long ago, but worse. At least the bastard paid them some respect, for their families if nothing else. But this one, the pilot in the big Armor– they don't even give someone like Greg a second glance even with his pedigree and past experience.
Is that how Leon sees them? Sees the Academy?
"Greg!" Brad shouts, grabbing his arm. "Focus! We need to get back to the ship!"
"Wha–" the Seberg heir blinks, mind wracking until her gets it. "The spare Armors."
"We were hired as bodyguards and Armor pilots, remember?" Brad tells him. "Now come on, we need to get ready!"
"That you do." a new voice announces, and both heirs turn to the speaker. "Go now, you two. We'll hold them off."
Greg recognizes their faces, the other sailors aboard the Chariot who didn't go with the landing party and stayed on the ship. They wear armor that the heir hadn't never seen before, made from a mix of metal and fabric– their method of make more advanced than anything he's seen before among the Seberg levies nor the Gunthers. They wield see-through shields and short metal batons whose lengths crackle with electricity. Some are armed with those Kalashnikov rifles, produced by that up-and-coming company Arquebus Arms.
"The rest of you, reform and attack!" the Chariot sailor orders. "The shields will draw their gunners' attention, you lot are to charge in and engage the melee specialists when their backs are turned! Aim for the joints and take their heads!"
"W-Wait, where's Captain Nines?" Brad asks, hauling Greg up as the adventurers rally. "Is he guarding Miss Wayne?"
"No." the sailor grins as a shadow passes over them. "The Captain's going to deal with that big bastard personally."
=X=X=X=X=X=
The Nineball Series was initially created to act as Hustler One's chief enforcers, built with the best parts and augmented with the best weapons at the time. Upgrades were made as the A.I integrated combat data from the various pilots in Raven's Nest, refining the Nineball Series into becoming better and better combat mechs across three generations– culminating in the creation of Nineball Seraph.
Hustler One does not have the Seraph model on the Chariot of Summer, only a 'mere' Generation Three Nineball. It is no weak AC by any means, certainly better than most mechs of its time and in a league of its own in this era– further enhanced by the quick-boost system it obtained and replicated from Leon's duel with the late Carkus King.
It sallies out of the Chariot's starboard hangar door, leaving from the vessel's starboard size and flying upwards to survey the battlefield.
Thirty infantry drones, twenty in combat and ten more digging themselves out of the rubble and debris. The situation on the ground is not the best but it's not the worst either– the remaining fifty hired bodyguards fleeing back to the ship in a panic have rallied around the deployed android crew, the 'slain' androids have gotten back up to fight the ten that are digging themselves out of the rubble, and the deployed MT force is only down one of their number.
The enemy AC, callsign 'Hanged Man', levels its shotgun at one of the MTs. It fires thrice, and the MT goes up in flames. Make that two of their number.
Hustler One ignites its boosters and flies forward. Its Karasawa rifle shoots three-round bursts, the energy projectiles zipping through the air and hitting the Hanged Man with enough force to make it stumble back.
//"Ahh, there you are!"// the enemy intelligence laughs, shooting back. //"And here I was thinking you ran and hid!"//
Hustler doesn't bother to say anything in response, quick-boosting forward and then to the side as the enemy AC returns fire.
//"Aww, come on now! Banter's part of the fun!"// he laughs. //"Curse! Rage! Tell me how worthless I am and how you'll see my AC turned into a burning wreck under your feet!"//
//"That is a human emotion. I am not human."// Hustler One growls back, its purple energy blade flaring as it nears melee range. //"Now prepare for deletion."//
//"Bah! Stuck up A.I!"// the Hanged man scoffs, quick-boosting in and matching energy blades with Hustler One. //"Looks like I'll have to teach you how to loosen up!"//
The blades hiss and scream, opposing energies pushing each other back as sparks fly. The Hanged Man angles his energy blade and Hustler One's leftover momentum carries its mech away, but it manages to kick the larger AC as it moves past. Both ACs right themselves in the air and bring their guns up.
Bullets and lasers fill the sky over the Wayne island as battle wages on the ground between men and machines. Hustler One devotes half of its focus on its ground forces even as it dodges and returns fire on the Hanged Man, who laughs at the damage it sustains. Both ACs are fast, jinking left and right to throw off each others' FCS and dodge incoming fire. Micro-missile swarms streak out of Hustler One's shoulder-mounted silo and a handful even hit, blowing off bits of the AC's armor and sending pieces spinning away.
Yet that only spurs the enemy intelligence to laugh harder.
//"Yes! YES!! This is what I'm talking about!"// he cheers as he quick-boosts into melee. //"A good fight! A real fight! And not just some caveman piloting a glorified MT!"//
//"You are insane. I shouldn't have been too surprised given the fragility of the human mind, and yet I still am."// Hustler One scoffs, matching energy blades once more. //"What was the Alliance even thinking when they green-lit whatever project it is that got you uploaded?"//
//"They didn't! Well, sort of– I'm not just some combat nut y'know."// the Hanged Man parries a strike and blasts its shotgun at the Gen-3 Nineball's Core. //"You're looking at what was meant to be Old Humanity's last hope of rebirth if everything went down the shitter! I used to be the Chief Researcher of the project before it went all haywire. Been so long since I used my actual name too, so I forgot it– so call me Chief!"//
//"Charmed."// Hustler One snort, leveling its Karasawa Rifle at it. //"Now hold still."//
//"Nope! No can do– got people to kill and places to raze. You know how it is."// Chief cackles, jinking left and right as the Karasawa charges up. //"Now, lets see how well you do when I crank it up a notch?"//
From its back unit, blue light erupts and suddenly the Hanged Man shoves the Gen-3 Nineball unit back with a sudden surge of strength. Hustler One gawks and runs another scan on the enemy AC, picking up a rising mass of anomalous energy behind it.
//"You–"// the A.I gawks. //"You're using Kojima particles to power up your AC?!"//
//"A thousand years and a ton of researching equipment plus a production facility equals some decent upgrades!"// Chief cackles. //"Now lets see how you hold up against this."//
The Hanged Man blurs forward in a burst of incredible speed; the kind more suited for light weights than the mech's heavy bulk. Its energy output increases, to the point where it no longer needs to stop and let its energy banks recharge. It dashes through missile volleys and laser bursts from Hustler One's Karasawa, firing back as it moves with surprising accuracy. The A.I dashes back to keep at range, main weapon and missile pod firing as it brings its grenade launcher to bear and fires with a deafening blast.
But the Hanged Man quick-boosts out of the way, the projectile detonating on a patch of grass and throwing up dirt. It quick-boosts in, energy blade clashing with Hustler One's purple one. But where they were equal before, now the Hanged Man pushes the Gen-3 Nineball unit back.
Hustler One brings its ground forces into a defensive stance, freeing up more processing power that it can devote to dueling the Hanged Man. Energy blades flash as the two ACs fight, thrusts and slashes blocked and parried with superlative skill and speed. The humans stare up at the aerial battle in slack-jawed awe until the androids under Hustler's control bark at them to focus on the battle on the ground.
//"Man, this is a blast!"// Chief cackles, energy blade trailing streaks of light as he presses the attack. //"Haven't had so much fun in centuries! The last guy to last as long as you have was a dolt in the white AC, and he only kept up because he had a MOONLIGHT in his weapon!"//
Hits start bleeding through Hustler One's defense, glancing blows that carve glowing lines all over the Nineball unit's armor as Hustler One keeps the damage away from critical areas like the generator or ammunition magazine.
//"But I'm not blind. There's only so much you can do in an outdated AC with your processing power limited in protecting those meatbags down below."// Chief continues, and Hustler gets the impression that he's leering at it. //"How much longer can you last? That outdated bucket of bolts isn't looking too hot."//
The A.I pivots to the side and slashes at the Hanged Man's side, deep enough that it would have killed the pilot inside. The Hanged Man pauses and quick-boosts backwards.
//"You were saying?"// Hustler One taunts.
Chief laughs as his boosters charge up.
//"Man, I missed this!"// he cackles as he flies in to resume the melee.
=X=X=X=X=X=
//"MAIN SYSTEM, ACTIVATING COMBAT MODE."//
The cockpit is tight and brutish, lacking any and all ornamentation or internal decor to focus utterly on function. Brad's inner perfectionist is annoyed, but he forges onwards. There would be time to comment and lecture the crew of the Chariot about the importance of internal ostentation– maybe he could even give one such lesson to Bartford too–
No, no, focus.
"My armor is active and ready for sortie." Brad announces as the prep crew clear the way and open the Chariot's port hangar door, leading directly to the fight. "Deploying now. Greg?"
"Right behind you, Brad!" comes the Seberg boy's voice. "Come on, we're missing out on all the action!"
Brad laughs. And here he was worrying about his friend's uncharacteristic show of fear when the ambush occurred.
The hangar doors open fully, allowing Brad to move out. The four-legged Armor hops out and lands on the island proper, and he surveys the battlefield ahead of him. The screens light up, displays highlighting the enemy in red outlines while allies are highlighted with blue outlines. Beside him, Greg's Armor lands not a moment later and he surges ahead.
"Clear the way!" Greg bellows, his massive blade gleaming. "I'll chop these bastards down to size!"
Brad watches as his friend swings his weapon in a wide arc, obliterating the remains of houses and shattering several of the attacking automata. Seeing the new threat, the remainder pull back as the focus fire– their weapons unable to deal any meaningful damage to Greg.
"Infantry! Pull back to the ship! Bring the wounded with you!" Brad orders, his own armor stomping forward as his guns spin up. "Greg and I will cover your retreat!"
"We're clear!" comes the one of the infantrymen. "Shoot!"
Crosshairs appear on Brad's screen and he lets loose with his Armor's weapons. Part of him hates it, the fact that he has to resort to using such cowardly and unsightly weapons to save his fellow crewmen. But he must– this Armor has no Magic conductivity and no magic-based weapons that he could use, plus the enemy force was bearing down on his fellows. There is no other recourse but this.
Thankfully, his weapons make short work of the enemy force– the Armor-scale bullets ripping apart the remains of demolished houses and obliterating the hostile automatons. Those that survive are rent in their totality by the large sweeping strikes of his massive blade.
Both young men pause and sweep their gazes, looking for any survivors to deal with. They find none.
"Enemy force dealt with. We are safe." Brad announces.
"Not yet." Greg's Armor tilts upwards, and Brad follows to see the two Armors dueling in the sky; Captain Nines and his opponent. The other Armor has changed now, moving faster with a wreath of familiar blue flame. "Hey, that lightshow–"
"Mana surge." Brad nods. "Just like Julius' Armor. But I thought that was the latest advancement in the Kingdom's sciences?"
"Dunno. Either way, s'not important." Greg says. "Either way, we still have one big threat to deal with before we can declare this island safe."
"Too true, Greg." Brad nods and opens comms. "Captain Kugel, the ground battle has been won. Orders?"
"Good job you two." the man grunts, and Brad can only imagine the sort of strain he's undergoing. "Link up with the remaining Armors and stand-by. I have a plan."
"Is it dangerous?" Greg asks.
"Very." the captain responds.
"Will we be defeating the enemy Armor?" Brad adds.
"If it succeeds, yes. If it doesn't, then we'll have driven it off."
The two Founding Heirs glance at each other, and Brad steels himself for whatever would come next.
"Bring it on."
Reposter notes: WOW, that was a long hiatus! How are you guys feeling?
— Un nouveau chapitre arrive bientôt — Écrire un avis
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone