And the Raven cried Nevermore

by ClefJ

Forty years since Silent Line, Kisaragi now takes the upper hand. A former clan leader goes insane as Raven Cross decides to keep the Great Destruction from repeating itself. (This story was taken off earlier due to misunderstandings, sorry.)

1. Wakening

And the Raven cried, Nevermore...

Is life so dear,
or peace so sweet,
as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery?
Forbid it,
Almighty God!
I know not what course others may take,
but as for me,
give me liberty,
or give me death.


PROLOGUE

'After the Controller was destroyed in Layered City 386*, the human race began to resurface to the fertile land. So much to give, yet people still fight over what precious paradise is left.' Thought the weary Armored Core pilot named Raven Cross. He had been challenged by LC 386's second-best fighter, code-name "Exile." They are to meet at the Alaskan territory dam 262, and currently he was at the cockpit of his sister's dropship Anubis. For the past 48 hours he has been in constant transit via dropship, and unluckily for him, they aren't ideally the most graceful airships ever constructed. An infernal cranking of gears, and the continuous clang of internal parts; Raven dreads the daily routine. There is always the stiff scent of grease, and oil in one's nostrils, and no matter how many times he showers, he still feels stained with filth, especially so in the sun.

But this life of seclusion was not originally his, just a shadow that he embraced, and wrapped himself in; an alias. A life where atonement for one's sins is not expected, or given, a world where the line between infamy, and glory is smeared, and one where anyone can vanish from the toiling gears of society.

Raven Cross was LC 086's top Raven, who never accepted missions from the corporations within his city; named Mishima, Corporate Sector Authority (CSA), Pioneer, and the Tenlos Syndicate.
He was leaning back in the pilot's chair, rubbing the right side of his head. He hasn't slept for days (which isn't that hard for him, given the right amount of protein), and is fatigued from continuous title matches against other Layered Cities. He has a dark red uniform, platinum safety pads (for crashes at speeds exceeding mach-1), turquoise fingerless gloves, and little round glasses. His hair is a nicely-combed silver with large, slightly long bangs. His eyes are red with an unusual glow.

His home, among the homes of other Raven's in LC 086, was at the Libra Militant Corporation, a parody of LC 386's Global Cortex. He was logged onto the LMC 'shopping network' for arm parts. His AC's arms were nearly devastated by a recent encounter with a grenade-launcher equipped AC from LC 206. The console imbedded into the desk in front of him boots up with a few electrical clicks, slowly being replaced by a low hum as the launch screen fades in from the concave blackness. With a momentary flash from the monitor, Raven's dismal visage appeared before deflecting the glare with his free hand; his eyes are starting to sting again. The cabin goes dark as he takes a sip of the bland coffee, a few thunderheads drift-by in the small glass window against the wall. A metallic ring drums through the framework of the dropship as it banks a few degrees to the right. Despite the awkward angle, Raven manages to swig his coffee that was on the side without incident. There is a lethargic rap on the console keyboard as Raven enters his pin number, call sign, and password into the blank fields.

The crackle of the console, and the clank of footsteps against metal awoke Raven from his brief trance while he sips the rest of his coffee. His sister walks into the chamber, with a warm expression on her face. She has black pants, boots, and a red tunic-like uniform over a black turtleneck. Her white gloves seem spotless, regardless of the numerous hours working on Raven's AC. Her hair is actually a normal brown, pinned up into a back-length ponytail, and has stunning blue eyes.

She casually falls back in the copilot's chair, and pulls out a can of soda from under the seat. The can opens with a hiss, with a little orange carbonation peaking the rim. She takes a swig and grins at Raven, "Ahh, I can't believe how long I left this here... You know, caffeine will kill ya!"
Raven puts down his Styrofoam cup and closes his eyes. "Kylia, I am in no mood for your humor."

"Aww, come on," she shouts as she cheerfully smacks Ravens shoulder. "This is our big break! So what if we know slim to nil about this competitor, he shouldn't be anything much. Cheer up!"

"He does come from the first liberated Layered, you know."

"That doesn't mean a thing! So what if he's part of a terrorist organization... what was it... oh yeah, Union!"

"I thought you didn't know anything..."

"Heck, that's common sense stuff. If you win this title-match, we'll be set! One-million credits! Finally... I can get that damn King Fisher 9000, and catch the legendary Loch ness Monster!"

"What?" Raven asked with a chuckle, opening his eyes to see how radiant Kylia's face is. "That little myth, made centuries before the Great Catastrophe? I would think that it's been nuked along with the rest of the old world. Besides, a fishing pole can't catch a legendary beast the size of this dropship." A blank stare, "Shit..."

"What?"

"This subject has forced me to lose my current thought patterns."

"Umm, I don't... know... what were we talking about?"

"Nothing important." Raven rose from his chair, and started to walk back into the AC hold. "Heheh... Works every time..."

"And what are YOU doing?" asked Kylia, poking her head around the edge of the chair.
Raven stopped, and didn't turn to face her. "I'm going to get my AC ready. This is taking far too long, so I'll fly to the engagement zone myself. Is the Dalriadan ready?"
Kylia had another proud expression on her. "In tip-top shape, as always! And that's another ten grand you owe me," she said playfully.

"Kylia, you are a threat to tolerance," Raven said as he walked out of the cockpit.
Raven walked down the dark corridor, faced a gray round hatch, and entered a few numbers on a dial pad to his side. The hatch opened with a hiss, leading onto a rickety catwalk. The left area was empty, but on the right...

The AC Dalriadan, named after the first Scottish King, Raven Cross' direct ancestor, was of a light AC design. The lightest arm and leg parts, a blade made for speed, and a custom energy shotgun. The head was an LC 386 model 'SKYEYE' and was very reliable. It has great style, with a mainly red-over-black color scheme. The core was custom built by Kylia; the lightest overboost core, but with twin vulcan cannons between the neck and arm joints; a primitive variation of an exceed-orbit core. With that, there was plenty of room for the ICICLE radiator, the ROZ generator, and the FLEET boosters. It didn't have any shoulder-mounted weapons, instead, it has a pair of custom vernier engines, giving it remarkable maneuverability and a top speed of mach four.

Raven looked in awe, his partner shimmered from the few spotlights that lit the area. It should be no problem to reach the arena in minutes.
Raven headed to the core's hatch, and stopped at the front. "Open," he said, and the mechanical savior hummed to life, the hatch quickly opened, allowing Raven to enter.
This is the only thing that makes it all worthwhile. To him there isn't anything that sounds as beautiful as the song of the AC. It isn't simply a tool, a mere instrument, but rather an extension of himself. Being in the field is only time he feels free, alive, himself. Almost like he fuses with the machine to take on a completely different personality. Raven soon finds himself falling asleep to the stirring, mechanical heartbeat of the Dalriadan.
A moment later, the Raven is startled at his own command of opening the hangar doors. The AC dropped out the back of the craft, and he smiled as it shot off into the horizon.

CHAPTER 1
WAKENING

Gustave can sense the heated anticipation among the ranks, especially swelling in the Beta formation lining the west ridge. His clan, the Engelhaft, has suffered bitter losses as of late, and many of the rosters have been flooded with new recruits to compromise for their diminished force. Supplies and resources have been dwindling too, which is the sole reason for this operation.
With an itchy finger, he opens a private channel with the unfortunate commander of the green Beta squadron. "Alicia, you have my deepest sympathies, but if your goats don't simmer down I'll give them something spicy to chew on."

A static chuckle rumbles through the speaker, as Alicia answers, her irritable tone crackling through the gritty interference. "Gustave, a particular pair of these irksome tyros are really pressing me to question whether or not it's worth the effort to discharge my weapon on subordinates."

Gustave stifles a sharp laugh, and decides to play with Alicia's less than enthusiastic mood, "I'll see to it that the couple are promoted, should they survive the ordeal."
"That's not funny." is her response, sounding more like a growl. Surprised, Gustave can't tell if it indeed was, or if it was just the grainy interference again. "Why did I get stuck with them? Aren't you the favorite?" Alicia complains.

"I've never been good at baby-sitting, and besides, you have that motherly charm about you."

"Oh shut up." she replies, disgusted.

Gustave's attention briefly shifts as a couple of red bleeps flicker into range on his radar display, bathing his cabin in a faint red glow.

"Not to worry Alicia, the scouts have returned. You'll get your space soon enough; chalk it up to accidental friendly-fire if the itch warrants."

Gustave drums his fingers on the dormant console, watching the two dull titans weave through tree and brush alike to reach his position, perched along the east ridge. The scout units are humanoid in shape, supporting sharp, angular, lean frames. Their forms are blotched with natural shades of dark olive and sage, thrown into eerie silhouette by the sun setting low in the west. The sanguine light streams over the shoulders of the scouts' machines—to their advantage, as it obscures Gustave's immediate vision. One of the units comes to a halt before Gustave's dormant machine, while the other continues its haste towards the rear of Alpha force, dancing effortlessly between trees and foliage.

"Leader-1, this is Scout-1 reporting." The pilot's voice is meek, his words quivering. "All the outside defenses are automated, which consist of only those six batteries, two posted on each wall, turrets grouped around them. We couldn't evaluate the defenses beyond the wall. We weren't detected."

"Good, get to the rear and power down. Be sure to remind Charlie company to wait for my signal in case reinforcements arrive." Gustave replies in a firm, instructive tone. With an eager grin tugging at his lips, he reestablishes his connection with Alicia, his fervent fingers already powering up his Core's fusion engine.

"Alicia, it's the typical layout, ready your herd of goats, rockets in single volleys at each battery, spread the word. Cutting communications."

"Yes sir!" Alicia's satisfied voice frizzles out.

Within moments, Gustave's AC, the Maquis, emerges from her forest refuge, turning southward. Gears turn and crackle, actuators flex, testing the weight they bear. She exhibits a cryptic presence, induced partly from the formidable paint scheme. Deep silver encloses the machine, with red wisps flowing about the body and arms. The other half of the AC's striking appearance stems from its sheer size. The Maquis is supported upon powerful quadruped legs, fitted with capable, firm arms, and a stalk head, all mounted on a distinctive, tapered overboost torso. The beast purrs with smug authority, armor gleaming in the last of the dying sunset's light.

A thunderous roar ensues as Alicia's squad leaps up simultaneously from the shadowy forest cover. The Maquis strikes out a path overlooking the base's eastern wall, out of range, making a careful arc in order to swing around and attack from the northern front. Charlie company would provide cover fire on his command in the case enemy reinforcements arrived; that way, the Mirage forces would be overwhelmed between the two threats. A barrage of rocket volleys collides a second later with the Mirage base defenses. Concrete and metal crumble, collapsing under the siege—two batteries successfully destroyed, and a gaping hole left in the wake. Alicia's aggressive AC, the Reinhart, leads the assault. She is a fearsome machine, her strength demanding respect and awe, which is no less evident in her pilot's mastery of the lavender-clad creature.

What am I doing? Am I going to let her have all the glory?

Gustave fiercely tightens his grip on the controls and launches the Maquis forward with previously hidden velocity, his squadron in hot pursuit. Within moments, Gustave enters the fray, his AC easily dodging the enemy's counterattack. Alicia's team thunders forward, trading brilliant emerald and ruby light for machine gun and autocannon fire.

A whip of violent blue energy lashes out from within the confines of the wall breach, almost striking the Maquis's left shoulder armor, but instinct prevails and the Maquis springs clear of the bolt, only for it to slice through a machine trailing him. The cadet staggers, his AC's shoulder actuator ripping free from its metallic socket.

Gustave reels around, engaging the Maquis's booster jets; jade tinted flames spill out from her back. The creature rises high into the air, enemy shells harmlessly missing their mark. With a keen eye, Gustave makes out the gleam of weapon fire reflecting off an enemy's armor. He steadies his aim before a cluster of shells burst from the mouth of his machine gun, nestled in the Maquis's right arm. The automated MT erupts with a ghostly display of flames. Two more cuddle between the cramped gap before they, too, are swiftly stricken down.

The Reinhart's squad reaches the bottleneck first, stepping through a pair at a time. Alicia's larger, bulkier machine has a harder time of it, costing her a half ton of armor lining her right torso by machine gun fire. The Reinhart shakes off the searing fragments, returning the gesture with artificial lightning leaping from her twin-linked shoulder cannons, shuddering backward from the immense recoil of the attack. Once inside the Mirage industrial complex, the fresh-bred pilots mount a somewhat effective offense, now able to bring their mid-range weaponry to bear.
Safe from any immediate danger, Gustave maneuvers to rope off his unit, opening up a private channel.

"All right, it's going to get cramped in there fast, we need to take out those remaining batteries and any other potential threats. Otherwise, Beta formation will be in trouble. Durlan, Owen, Luica, you're with me. Arius, you take charge of Rohen, Lugen, and Amara. Take out the gun batteries on the west perimeter, my wing is taking the east face. Let's move!"
Gustave's party rounds the bend, the Maquis leading the force, staying within a tight diamond formation. His eyes follow his targeting reticule as it clasps with a golden glow over the signature of a fortified gun emplacement looming grimly along the ridge of the complex wall. A group of cannon turrets huddled sulkily at its base. Taking initiative, Gustave breaks formation. He doesn't get far; alarms within his cockpit blast out an empathic wail, several threats suddenly freckling on his HUD radar display. In quick succession, vague profiles of each unit flash across the monitor. Gustave struggles to absorb as much information as possible before he must engage.
A piercingly familiar siren rings within the confines of his machine, indicating a weapon lock. Gustave wrestles vigorously with the controls of his titan, barely escaping the wrath of an autocannon slug grazing his right hind leg, though not swift enough to evade a barrage of machine gun volleys peppering his left foreleg.

Four MTs touch down squarely before Gustave's AC, reinforcing their protective stance with frigid, daunting stares. The clan pilot promptly surveys the potential threat, noticing this specific group of MT's possesses a more hearty set of armor than a typical Mirage unit. They are humanoid in build, having seemingly bland designs, not invoking the sheer awe an AC's presence commands. Still, the pilots of Gustave's wing yield for a brief moment, uncertain.
Suddenly Gustave's train of thought shifts abruptly, a distinct creaking of gears grasping his attention—the gun batteries! Out of the corner of the projected cockpit screen he could make out the north perimeter batteries, turrets rotating to target Alicia's squadron!
Alicia... Suddenly, she was the only thing he could think about. What invoked this sudden emotion, this feeling of anxiety over the well-being of his comrade? Surely it couldn't be an attraction; they'd never shared anything close to being considered romantic. But it is there; foreign as it is, it still binds him still.

A frustrated Durlan channels his emotion into Gustave's ear, his voice rendered inaudible by the channel static, though remaining just as powerful. Gustave's compassion and concern twist, conjuring into a consuming fire as he cuts off his wing men from the enemy opposition, using the Maquis as a barrier.

"They're mine," he growls eerily. "Get to those batteries now, I'll preoccupy these guys. It's the only way."

Gustave prayed that will be enough; Alicia's formation wouldn't be able to hold out if those turrets opened up on them. Gustave shudders at the thought. Sure enough, Durlan and the other wing mates reluctantly back off, turning to scale the concrete fortification, riding superheated jets of plasma. One of the enemy MTs branches off to intercept, but hesitates submissively as the Maquis's linear cannon bellows a stern warning shot. The temperature within Gustave's machine jumps tremendously at the energy-consuming release; Gustave hardly notices though, his body already hot and ready.

"Let's play," Gustave utters through a low-power burst transmission, curious if the automated fiends can understand.

Igniting his Core's booster jets, Gustave races forward, the scream of four lock-on alerts in his ears. His shoulder-mounted linear cannon sizzles with anticipation.

Alicia's circumstances however, are more in her favor. She smiles in satisfaction at her targeting reticule snapping to the crimson red of hard lock. A pair of eager missiles leaps from the Reinhart's extension missile rack, colliding fatally with her acquired target.

The attack is progressing surprisingly smooth; she predicts that in little time her forces would take the facility. She is more so impressed with the ability of her fresh-bred pilots, taking advantage of the urban-like environment. They have utilized the cramped, sharp architecture as a shield to limit energy consumption to a minimum, keeping their temperatures in check.

Well, at least the attack is going well on her front; she can't help but dread the possible fate of Gustave's unit, since they have to maintain radio silence, resorting to only short-burst contacts when necessary. Then Alicia feels quite foolish at her worries— Gustave is a strong soul, always has been, and always able to fend for himself, no matter the situation. Strange that she hadn't thought of him till this moment, having lost sight of his machine from the get-go. Gustave is a wild card, she told herself, usually he doesn't even log a proper engagement plan, Probably one of the many privileges of being Engelhaft clan's rising star, Alicia scoffs sarcastically to herself; sometimes Gustave can really repulse her. Through brash, she couldn't outright ignore his impressive battle record. Then again, protocol is established for a reason, that will be his downfall. It's silly to worry over him, she thinks, I have enough frustration managing my own burdens anyhow.

Seeeeeeth. . . zthang!

Making that one less burden, an enemy MT falters just enough to be caught in the ruby ferocity of the Reinhart's twin laser lances; Alicia wincing from the kickback of her assault.
Stupid!

Gustave rasps for breath in the scorching cockpit, the temperature spiking as the fusion generator strains to meet the energy demand of an eager linear cannon discharge. No matter how much reinforced armor stood between a warrior and the battle, many pilots had in the past been done in by the soaring temperatures that flooded the cockpit, transforming the vessel specially built to protect a pilot's frail life into a flaring hot oven in a mere second.

The clan warrior fights to remain conscious in the blistering heat, only to be rocked savagely against his four-point restraining harness as another salvo of enemy fire bites into the Maquis. The heat sinks installed within his machine slowly bleed off the excess heat, as Gustave's cooling vest delivers instant relief. Mind now clear, he seeks pleasure in sinking his energy-sword deep into the chest cavity of his assailant, sufficiently gutting the MT.

The manic thrill is short-lived, another target presenting itself; its weapon lock setting off a pulsing siren inside Gustave's helmet. Sporting ample speed, he frees his brilliant beam-sword with a crackle, throwing the entire weight of his machine vehemently against the automated aggressor. Gustave's sword surprisingly scores thin across the MT's core; in exchange the Maquis suffers a direct hit to her left torso. An uneven trade, but Gustave's machine possesses a distinct advantage with its sturdier armor. The Maquis's attack, mild as it was, is still enough to have breached the MT's thin mantle of armor, carving into its critical internal components.
Gustave again fights with the awkward controls of his machine, not willing to surrender her to a catastrophic collision if gravity has its current course. That last risky maneuver threw her completely off balance, relying entirely on the mass of the MT to cushion the impact. Unfortunately, the Maquis's strike sent both machines spiraling to the ground, the MT crushing itself under the sheer tonnage of its frame. Gustave will not let his beloved giant suffer the same demise.

Throwing a sharp contortion into the Maquis's gyro, Gustave is able to brace the shock of the fall along the Maquis's left side, armor plating crunching under the tremendous force. Quite rattled and blurting out a very colorful array of curses in his native clan tongue, Gustave battles to restore his creature's equilibrium.

The topple has bruised him badly, especially at the point where his restraint harness crisscrosses over his chest. Ugly red blemishes cover his arms, places where he was battered painfully against the metal shell of his cockpit. Stabbing pains pulse through his body, his arms arching and sore from the strenuous labor of battle.

I'm letting this draw out too long, he thinks, I need to get to Alicia.

The remaining MT couple doesn't sympathize with Gustave's aches and pains, both igniting their booster jets to advance upon their stunned prey. Gustave grins ravenously, his reddened cheek twitching in dull pain. "Juin kayto reit yan," he utters, falling back on his native tongue. I have you now. With new found energy Gustave grips the controls vigorously, only for the Maquis to shudder with a violent convulsion, sending the mighty beast to it's knees. Flashes of crimson red pulse across Gustave's HUD, revealing the grim situation at hand. The Maquis's damage schematic confirms his fears. His machine's left foreleg is completely crippled, a deep fracture running through the internal structure of the limb, her left hind leg is useless too, the actuators frozen from the knee joint down; all because of that fall!

SSSEEEThhhanik!!!

One of the MTs buries its whirring energy-saber into the metallic flesh of Gustave's machine, molten armor oozing from the wound. Luckily, The blade strikes just shy of the vital shoulder joint, along with the power feed to the Maquis's right arm. Gustave screams in rebuke, letting loose with his machine gun at pointblank range. The MT buckles and tumbles backward, its gyro ravaged by the fury of the salvo.

Knowing the last MT must be within close proximity, Gustave summons the Maquis's booster jets, rising somewhat lopsidedly into the air. The painful wail of an enemy lock-on sounds off in his helmet, moments before simmering scarlet light carves deep into the already exposed wound in the Maquis's right shoulder; rendering the arm useless.

Gustave curses, trying to manage his perilous flight with all the dead weight. His own sense of balance feeding through his SRI helmet into the Maquis's struggling gyro, he is able to correct the machine's slack posture, successfully feather boosting out of his enemy's line of sight. Insidiously he drops behind the MT, switching his weapon systems to the Maquis's back-mounted linear cannon.

"No sympathy."

The automated MT barely has time to reel around before it's trampled by a immense surge of pure energy, profusely dealt by the Maquis.

For the next couple minutes Gustave lies sprawled over his cockpit chair, breathing steadily; letting the tremors in his spent body subside. Awhile later, the Maquis staggers off to rejoin its wing.

What a surprise Gustave got once his forces finally penetrated the outer wall, having been preoccupied with the remaining batteries, to find Alicia and her 'goats' standing proudly in formation. They had not lost a single pilot, while Gustave's squadron had suffered two seriously damaged machines,(Not including his own) as well as one with an amputated arm, and another mauled beyond salvage. Fortunately, all four pilots had escaped severe injury, but Gustave could swear there was a smug grin on the Reinhart's tin face.

"Charlie company?" Gustave broadcasts on a standard channel, a hint of bitterness in his tone at Alicia's triumph, "We've mopped up all remaining forces, there isn't any sign of enemy reinforcements, send in the transports."

There is a gritty moment before the Charlie company commander's voice crackles through, "Understood, moving in."

After that, Alpha and Beta formation are divided between surveying each individual Mirage warehouse, browsing through a wide buffet of ammunition stores, spare parts and some new weaponry. Stocking the transports with an ample haul, Clan Engelhaft departs, the Reinhart leading the way. The wounded Maquis drags along the rear, Gustave watching the single proud North Star hang with it's authority in the night, small, more delicate stars hovering close, wishing to be as bright as their idol.

Wait...

Before any of the troops realize it, the sky blazed with fire coming from F-22 fighters and AC bombers.

"Shit! I thought there weren't going to be ANY reinforcements," shouted Gustave, as he raced into the sky. But before he noticed, a bomber let off a bomb right on top of the Engelhaft clan. Right before his eyes, the clan melted away in the explosion. Alicia tried to contact Gustave, but all he heard was her shouting in pain. In an instant, Gustave was the last member of the Engelhaft alive, as he charged the enemy forces alone.