Duel of Aces
A Fan Fiction by ArwingAce21
Disclaimer: I don't own StarFox. I don't own Nintendo. I don't wish to be sued. Savvy?
A/N: This, like most of my fics, came to me on a whim. Duel of Aces is set in a battlefield in Lylat. This is not about one specific event in StarFox, but is set in the aftermath of a devastating battle. This fic is way out of my normal cheery, happy-go-lucky, extremely funny style of writing and definitely is the shortest of any of my fics so far. It's also easily the most depressing, providing a stark contrast to my upbeat humor fics, Who Desires to Attain the Status of a Millionaire and Pirates of the Cornerian. I simply can't summarize this story here, nor anywhere else. I hope you enjoy! Read and Review, please, because I'm way out of my niche in this genre.
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The sky was a war-torn battlefield, filled with twisting contrails, acrid black smoke, and flying debris. The scattered remains of hundreds of Cornerian and Venomian ships littered the ground, like a child's toys, thrown away and forgotten. How many stories will never be told, dying with the brave men whose lives wrote them? How many lives lie there, unceremoniously interred without so much as a good-bye? Such must be the price of a war: a price that many are willing to pay to defend a home, a family, a way of life. However, not all warriors fight for their beliefs.
Above the grisly, debris-strewn field, amid the chaotic sky, only two ships were still actively dueling. The other aircraft had retreated to the safety of their bases, made emergency landings, or most likely, been destroyed. Both ships were on their last legs. Smoke poured from gaping gashes on the fuselages, their wings jagged with damaged control surfaces. Yet they still clashed.
This was a fight to the end. These two valiant combatants were the sole aggressors remaining after the long, horrific battle. Beliefs, tradition, values, all held no value to these enduring antagonists. Foremost, they fought for gold; however both desired nothing more than to see the other lying cold and dead in the twisted metallic wreckage of his mangled fighter.
Flying a silver bullet with sapphire projections on the wings was Fox McCloud, leader and last operational pilot of the StarFox mercenary squadron. His face was invisible through the mirrored canopy, yet the grim determination with which his craft was guided said infinitely more than any facial expression. The cobalt bolts that blazed from his Arwing's gun pods were beautiful to watch, but lethal to feel.
Dodging the cobalt bolts and firing crimson beams of his own was Wolf O'Donnell, flying a Wolfen fighter with ruby gun pods. The final pilot left in the StarWolf squadron faced off with his mortal nemesis in the sky, the element that both felt was their own. From the cockpit of his ship nestled betwixt the four intimidating wings of his ship, Wolf endeavored to engineer the demise of his antagonist.
Together, they made a scene both beautiful and horrible. Flying this way and that, neither gained a clear advantage over the other. Like dueling eagles, the twin fighters tangled and sparred, clashed and quarreled. The sapphire and the ruby, neither greater nor weaker than the other, circled, looking for the slightest error to exploit. Above the battle-scarred landscape, and in the war-torn sky, fire and ice battled.
A break! One misjudged turn and the Arwing was on the Wolfen.
Inside the cockpit of the ruby fighter, the warning lights went on. The ship shuddered and shook, straining to hold together, to withstand the dooming cobalt bolts. Without second chances, without mercy the bolts struck. Everything in the cockpit of Wolf O'Donnell glowed in a bloody crimson as the emergency lights drenched the confined space with their macabre light. All sensors were quiet, no life support came on. The Wolfen was dead and there was nothing that could be done to change that. The Arwing's cobalt bolts, still raining down upon the conquered ship, had destroyed the electrical system, rendering the ship defenseless.
Wolf looked around the lifeless consoles and unlit monitors desperately, trying to find the one device that could save his life.
And still the cobalt bolts struck.
There it was! That life-saving red handle! He pulled and pulled on the cold steel lever, but it would not relinquish its hard metal grip on the doomed pilot's fate.
And still the cobalt bolts struck.
Despair gripped Wolf O'Donnell. No ejection meant no escape. Locked in his metal coffin, hurtling towards the hard, dark, pitiless earth, stained already with blood of a thousand noble men, one malevolent man accepted his fate.
And still the cobalt bolts struck.
The ruby fell from the malicious skies, spinning violently until machine met earth in a cruel explosion that had been repeated a hundred times over on that one day. Above, one sapphire gleamed in the radiant light of victory.