Tears of Time

The calming blue planet of Fasnakyle was in stark contrast to Zeta as the space zones around the asteroid tightened rife with chaos. The Farragaig colony laser system now lay in utter ruin.

Victoria probed for the worst of the frays: Her head racked with unimaginable migraines. She found herself leashed, rather vaguely, towards the one most intensive of the lot, though Tominosky particles were dense, Victoria was able to get visual confirmation through clouded optic sub-screens that Zeta's atomic engines were the biggest point of contestation. Victoria paid little attention to wayside skirmishes, dodging the occasional spit of laz gun salvos.

“This massed energy of death and destruction,” Victoria said, muttered under her breath. “He has to be here.”

Victoria dive-bombed the Yellow Typhoon through the onslaught for Zeta's atomic engines. The Shinra hurtled on, undaunted by the cocktail of rage and fury shrouding her mind. Victoria rampaged through densely packed Tacoma battalions, killing those unfortunate enough to have their cockpits smeared with sheer, hot plasma precision shots. The remorse and regret released from these damned souls were far detached from Victoria’s consciousness. These were no longer the average rank-and-file from before. These were Churchill’s most devout, the diehards who stripped away what drop of humanity they had. They are what remains of his elite stormtroopers.

Victoria quickly found herself out of ammo. She hurled her laz rifle at a commander-type Tacoma, caught in the middle of delivering orders to an intense dogfight just overhead. Victoria pressed down on the tertiary trigger and the twin vulcan cannons on her Shinra's headpiece belched rounds into the laz gun. The laz gun detonated, engulfed the Commander Tacoma, and incinerated the pilot instantaneously. When Confederate pilots saw the Yellow Typhoon fierce as lightning, her helmet headset picked up the patriotic cries of her comrades as they charged the Imperium lines.

As solar winds swirled and shattered under shrilling solar gusts, drifts of colony chunks and fortress debris piled thick, and solar winds whipped up the stuff in whirling clouds—so the battle broke, storming chaos, troops inflamed, the murderous lot slashed each other with glittering photon swords under the hotly burning Zeta. The carnage-mounting, manslaughtering combat bristled with rangy photon swords and titan-sized battle axes. Victoria’s eyes dazzled now, blinded by the glare of bronze, glittering Mobile Trooper armor flashing, platings freshly burnished, shields fiery in the sunlight as fighters plowed up in a mass. Only a veteran steeled at heart could watch the struggle and still thrill with joy and never feel the terror.

“Where are you, Churchill?” Victoria said, her voice calm. She glanced at Zeta, her probing ever so intense. She dodged attempts on her life effortlessly, counterattacking with such velocity that the battle lines began to falter. She darted and hopped on an unsuspecting Tacoma, drew her photon sword, and plunged it straight into the cockpit: The hallowed ghostly scream phased through her mind. Without a moment to rest, Victoria sprang towards the next struggle between a Shinra with a damaged friendly in tow, retreating from a Tacoma, and sliced the enemy Tacoma upward vertically.

“It’s—it’s really her! The monster!”

“The Yellow Reaper!”

Victoria couldn’t help but crack a smile. Her breathing became short as battle adrenaline kept her momentum. Evidently, like a broken damn, the rest of her allies broke through like an uncompressed storm of fury.

What turned into panic devolved into a route: Churchill’s elite stormtroopers couldn’t hold onto the assorted mess of Zeta engine and Farragaie colony fragments for long and were forced onto Zeta proper. “They plan on going down with the bloody thing, aren’t they? The maniacs,” Victoria said. She slipped off her helmet and ran a hand through her drenched hair. Victoria glanced at a menu showing Zeta’s projectory over Fasnakyle. “Even if we rigged it from the inside with something like explosives or atomics, there’s no telling if it’s capable of burning up in the atmosphere,” Victoria leaned back in her cockpit chair. The hauntings of those dying chilled her. And yet, she felt startlingly relaxed. “Has war become second nature for me, too?”

Something jolted in her spatial matrix. Victoria sprang upward and raised her shield—but the sensation came to a pass. She darted her eyes around the ghostly battlefield and slipped on her helmet. She evened out the pacing of her breathing but presently felt too concerned to risk slipping into a shaman zensunni ritual.

Concerned? Victoria said to herself, frightened?

It was a voice unlike her own. The Yellow Typhoon turned on a dime, but Victoria saw nothing. Tominosky particles were still heavy in this area. “He’s playing games with me,” Victoria said. She took deep breaths, glancing around her monitors. “Who’s provoking who now?”

Victoria tried to pinpoint where she felt the disturbance, and it only magnetically bounded Victoria to Zeta. She touched down on the asteroid fortress, where she advanced with caution. She stopped once she felt a familiar grasp on her spatial awareness: It was Frank Erwin. Victoria steered on and grounded to a halt next to a cliff. Her Mobile Trooper knelt and peered over into the rocky ravine. Victoria saw a battered battalion of Shinra pinned down and nearly encircled by Tacoma and several MT destroyers.

Victoria jumped down and launched between covers of wreckage. Her Yellow Typhoon landed on a hover MT destroyer. Victoria did not spare the crew: She converted them into hamburger paste with the Yellow Typhoon’s Vulcan cannons. Then, she plunged the photon sword into the destroyer and flipped it like a table into the air, where she kicked it into incoming fire from Imperium positions.

The Imperium forces retreated disorderly into the looming darkness of Zeta’s interior.

After she determined the coast was clear, Victoria parked her Mobile Trooper next to Frank’s. She left her cockpit and knocked on his. The cockpit opened, and she saw an exhaustive Frank far beyond normal human condition. “Lieutenant Schwarzenberger! Boy, am I glad to see you’re alive,” Frank said. The weariness convinced Victoria she knew what she had to do. She reached forward, grabbed the dumbstruck Frank by the collar, and slammed her right fist into his side, knocking him out unconscious. There was some nervous murmur on his cockpit’s video calls of shocked onlookers, but none objected.

“Get this man to the Yilan and don’t let him leave until this operation is over,” Victoria swept over the controls and set the system on autopilot, her finger hovered over who would co-synchronize flight paths with. She glanced over Frank’s allies on the video calls, “Who’s your best three wingmen present?”

“Jericho, Bailey, and Sylvester,” one pilot stammered.

“I need Jericho and Sylvester to guide Frank back to the Yilan. Those of you with a death wish, follow me into Zeta,” Victoria said. She finished confirmation of the flight paths and made her way back to her Yellow Typhoon. Once locked in, she equipped Frank’s MT rifle and replenished what ammo canisters she could. Jericho and Sylvester then flew off with Frank in tow.

Victoria paid no attention to the others as she rocketed off into the crevices of Zeta. There was little opposition in the entryway, except for an inexperienced squadron of AMT foot skirmishers and installations. Victoria turned the lot into red chunks of paste with her Vulcan cannons, however, she grew sick to her stomach at their horrid screams haunting her mind, so she stopped. She pressed on, bunny-hopping from each fortified terrace, Victoria paused when she reached the top. Presently, Bailey’s Shinra contingent accompanying her stopped when they realized this.

A fresh cohort of Shinra with atomics poured in, among them Friederika. Victoria was quick to establish a cabled link to Friederika. Friederika told her: “Hello darling, seems they’re going to rigging it to blow. There’s an excess of atomics near the engine they’re going to daisy-chain Zeta from the inside out," Friederika said.

“I reckon that’ll be done soon enough,” Victoria said, then she addressed the rest of the Shinra squads: “You heard the gal. Don’t stick around if you value your life.”

“No sign of the Walpurgis?” Friederika asked. The cavern rumbled.

“Speak of the devil,” Victoria said.

Laz threads sliced through rock and obliterated the densely packed Confederate numbers. The Chizan Duo were quick to dart away and blind fire into the all-encompassing smoke canvas. “Watch the atomics!” Victoria screamed at her allies. The titanic, bipedal clam-shaped Mobile Gear Walpurgis cut through, with Tacoma and AMT assets operating in tandem. The Chizan Duo and remaining allies raced deeper into Zeta. The Duo were left to themselves as the others peeled off into other corridors.

“Blimey, this guy is persistent!” Friederika screamed, “all the wrong things in a man.”

They skirted and zipped around corridors until they came to a screech upon seeing a deployment hanger, where already it was fortified and armed to the teeth with AMT and dug-in MTs. The Chizan Duo ducked into cover. Victoria searched for nearby armaments and found several MT single-shot panzerfausts. She slung them over the Yellow Typhoon’s shoulder and indicated to Friederika: "I'm going to fire one off, get ready!" Friederika jumped out to give cover fire for Victoria so the Yellow Typhoon could dart out of cover into the air and fire the panzerfaust at the fortified trench positions, then discarded it to follow up with another. The Chizan Duo accelerated into cover to avoid the violent tremors.

Just then, Victoria sensed Lawrence as he swooped in and blasted an opening through the ceiling. “No time to rest, let’s go!” Victoria cried. Churchill’s Walpurgis was hot on their trail as the Chizan Duo jumped through Lawrence's opening.

Friederika, however, was struck by a stray shot to one of her Shinra’s boosters, causing her to lose control.

Victoria was stunned by prescient fear. She looked on in horror as the Mobile Gear Walpurgis grabbed Friederika’s Shinra by the leg, then, a sub-arm on the Mobile Gear activated a photon sword. “No!” Victoria screamed. The Yellow Typhoon threw itself towards the Walpurgis, each Chizan Duo Shinra blasted disced shots to no avail: The Walpurgis’s advanced metal coating made it impervious to laz weaponry. “Friederika! Escape with the liberty pod!”

“I-it’s... jammed!” The horror in Friederika’s voice made Victoria shriek, tears wetting her cheeks. The Vulcan cannons accomplished nothing as she fumbled for another panzerfaust, but she tossed it away, igniting her photon sword instead.

The desperation proved futile. The Walpurgis's photon sword plunged center mass into the Shinra, directly into Friederika's cockpit. Victoria was thrown back in her chair. She hyperventilated uncontrollably in sheer, unbelievable agony at her severance with Friederika.

< Duck, duck! >

Victoria jolted up and then fell off the cockpit seat. She struggled to reach for her combat vest with its small arms and explosives. Then, the upper half of the Shinra tore open—the Walpurgis had sliced the Yellow Typhoon in half.

Victoria somersaulted onto the Walpurgis, she heaved out a hook. Victoria slammed against the metal plating and coughed up blood. The Yellow Typhon spiraled down and rammed into nearby Imperium forces, sending more to fill the ranks of Hel.

Victoria grunted as she spat out more blood. She was dazed, exhaustive, and had a spatial matrix gone haywire. Victoria unhooked her photon chromium hilt and activated it: She sliced a small circular hole through the armor. She yanked a grenade from her vest and pulled its pin, then underhand tossed it inside. Victoria then unhooked herself and thrust herself with full force away from the Mobile Gear.

Through sheer determination, Victoria was able to keep herself conscious. She sat up, probing for any signs of Churchill. “Is it over?” Victoria said, she grunted as she tried to stand. Her knees shake and quiver. Her faucet of emotions ran amok down her cheeks. “It wouldn’t be that easily, wouldn’t it, Friederika? Kiki.... I’m... sorry, I... failed you. I ... loved you, darling.”

There was a loud clatter, Victoria turned to see a cloaked figure emerge from the wreckage of the Walpurgis. He raised his left arm and tore off the black cape to reveal a large, muscular build. “Jonathan von Churchill,” Victoria uttered, her hatred stepped on every syllable. The grief and regret channeled into anger of unspeakable magnitude. Her grip on the photon hilt is hydraulic.

Churchill only smiled. A meager smile, but he did not seem the type to smile often at pleasure. Churchill jumped down to her level and approached her with a limp. Within four paces, he stopped short of Victoria. Victoria got to her feet, her finger on the activation button. “Your games end here, Jonathan,” Victoria said.

He took two paces forward. Zeta rumbled and quivered. “You have guts,” Churchill said, his voice hoarse. “To take down not one but two Mobile Gears. Tell me, did you take pleasure in killing my men?” Victoria brandished her photon sword. The purple light radiated both as they began circling each other in opposition. Churchill’s left hand twitched, but he did not procure any weaponry.

Then, Churchill lunged forward. He activated the photon sword midswipe, but Victoria already backstepped. Churchill swung again, upward this time, but Victoria slapped her blade against his and the electrifying friction zapped the two apart. Churchill pointed at her with the photon sword briefly, then lowered his guard again. “We’re both Neo sapiens—there is no need for us to fight,” Church stepped closer, but Victoria warded him off with her sword at the ready.

“You’re a powerful Neo sapiens, more than any I've faced!" Churchill cracked a grin. "You’re more than just a puppet—why be satisfied as a lapdog for your corrupt bureaucrats? Do you think they care about you? Do you think any old types are capable of understanding us? They fear us. They cannot allow the existence of something like us, a chaotic entity in a controlled society. Join me. . . Victoria.”

“Why would I join with the likes of a serial killer?” Victoria asked. She was poised to strike any moment. Zeta quaked fervently. It seems at this time, Zeta was going to enter Fasnakyle’s orbit. Victoria could sense the death and destruction Zeta could cause, and it only steered her thirst to eliminate Jonathan at all costs.

“To overthrow the Emperor, and bring an end to this war!” Churchill said, “The Emperor sent me here to die—not out of his wishes, but by poisoned words borne of his closet advisers and the scheming majordomo. This war is not our war, together—we can bring forth a new era for Neo sapiens.”

“You killed millions at Ben Nevis,” Victoria said, anger getting the best of her. She leaped and swung at Churchill. “Innocent civilians who had done you no wrong. And you intend to kill billions more—I’ll sooner send you to join your comrades firsthand!” Victoria shrieked. Churchill dodged her attempt effortlessly. Victoria expected him to counterattack with a side swipe, but the Black Prince rushed in and sent her flying after a decisive power kick.

Victoria crashed against the wall and was presently blanketed with whited blurs. Her senses muted, Victoria frantically grabbed her photon sword and blocked Churchill’s attempt to impale her. The crackle of photon swords interference put distance between the two again which allowed time for Victoria to regain awareness.

“Old types can change... I know they can, they just need time...”

“Time?!” Churchill blurted, angrily. “They have spent forty thousand years and still cling to their old rotten ways of recycled violence!”

“Are we any different?” Victoria said.

“They use us, Victoria. They use us to fight their little sick war and once we are exhausted and broken, they toss us aside,” Churchill said, clenching his photon sword. “With our superior might, neither the Confederacy nor the Imperium could defeat us—let alone hold back the crashing wave of this new era for Neo sapiens. Our time has come, Victoria... why contain it? Why oppose it? The sign of Zeta will be a beacon for that new hope of Neo sapiens! We can force the evolution of Neo sapiens this way! No more will humanity suffer under the endless cog wheels of war and strife. Heaven is paved with the intentions of Hel!”

“No!” Victoria screamed, she charged at Churchill with her photon sword drawn. Churchill side rolled out of the way, and it was this moment she caught a glimpse of Churchill actively avoiding the opportunity to kill her then and there.

“You’re an absolute bloody lunatic,” Victoria said, her tone chilled.

Zeta experienced its worse quake yet, both Neo sapiens lost balance.

“If you will not join me… then my gambit has truly failed. I have failed my Emperor," a pause, then: "I have failed Neo sapiens everywhere, and by extent the future of humanity,” Churchill said with a gravely stone tone. He pointed his sword at Victoria. “At least grant me the honor of an Imperial kanly. A duel to decide whose idealized Neo sapiens philosophy will embolden our future.”

“There wasn’t going to be any other way!” Victoria lunged at Churchill, she knew his psychic tricks now. She raised her photon blade over her left shoulder. There was no possible entry into his spatial matrix—until Churchill unexpectedly swung diagonally upward. Churchill had slashed early, fooled by his own games now played against him. Victoria fed him false telegrams of her next movement!

Victoria ducked and dived in after Churchill left himself exposed in his upward swing: his posture made him unable to react in time. Victoria swept in wide with the photon sword and sliced off Churchill’s forearms. Churchill screamed—and with this blood-curdling cry, had unleashed an overwhelming materialization of his psychic energy. This last-ditch trump card of Churchill caught Victoria by complete surprise. The full frontal assault on Victoria's mind made her stagger uncontrollably.

“I... am not about to die alone... I will take... your soul with me, Victoria ... Schwarzenberger.” With his last draw of breath, Churchill fell over and perished.

Victoria shuffled onward, her mind left in shambles, not a bit intact. All she could telegraph outwardly was one thing: Lawrence... Lawrence... Lawrence.

Before she knew it, Victoria was drifting away in space. Far from Zeta, further from Fasnakyle. Victoria felt more at peace than she ever had in her life. She was freezing cold until now, to the point of shivering, but soon warmth embraced her.

“Victoria, I’m here, oh god, Vick,” Lawrence hugged her intently, he choked on every word. Victoria couldn’t make sense of why he was sobbing and shaking so hard, but she was at a loss for words—or rather, she just couldn’t speak. Not an utterance. Her gaze swept over the sparkly stars and the carnage sweeping over Zeta.

Then, finally, the catatonic woman said: “There are large stars, turning on and off, like comets... no, that can’t be right.” Victoria fumbled to remove her helmet, an action that alarmed Lawrence.

“Victoria? What’s wrong?” Lawrence asked; the horror heightened in his voice as Victoria chuckled childishly. She wrestled an arm free and reached for Zeta, opening and closing her fist. Lawrence worked to keep her restrained. “Commander Buttermilch, Victoria’s... Victoria’s...!” Lawrence trailed off; he clenched his teeth, and the tears swelled like tears in the rain.

“The shooting stars are pretty, there’s just so many. So colorful, like... comets... swoosh! Just like that.” Lawrence patted her helmet, he squeezed her tightly and nodded, lips curled. Lawrence shielded Victoria from seeing Fasnakyle or Zeta.

A recovery craft shone its light on the drifting two. “It’s finally over Vick,” Lawrence said, choking on each word as he teared up, “We did it.”