"A hall I saw, far from the sun, standing on Nastrond

It's door faces towards the north

Venom drips down through the smoke vent,

for around these walls the serpent winds

There I saw it wading, through wild currents,

through treacherous men and murderers too,

and those ill ones who accost the wives of another

There, Nidhogg drank the blood of the slain as the wolves tore them apart.

Do you still seek to know more?"

"From below the dragon, darkness comes forth

Nidhogg is flying from Nithafjoll

Carrying the bodies of men on its wings, it flies over the fields

Now, it will sink."

Forgotten Fangs

April 19th, 1973.

That was the day they fell into our planet.

Alien life forms that had taken the moon from us, that had turned it into a living hell. BETA, that's what we called them.

Humanity had struggled with what little technological advancements it could muster, yet the tide of battle did not turn in our favor. Hoping that the cost of the war would lower, our forces began to retreat from the moon. Since no more supplies would have to be sent to outer space, the fight was supposed to become more manageable.

"The moon is hell," were the words of the last commander to evacuate the last standing lunar base.

Perhaps, had we stood together, a single nuclear strike would have sufficed to neutralize the threat. However, the UN had little power compared to what shackles it would later hold. Without reaching an agreement, thirst to gain the alien's technology fueled our infighting, our dissidence, the perhaps predestined implosion. It is quite fair to affirm that the leaders of those years severely underestimated the difference of fighting not only against the aliens but against gravity with the heavy exoskeletons we had at the time, almost as if equaling the sting of oil to a third degree burn.

Underestimating the opponent's firepower, our own capabilities to keep them at bay, refusing to share what little pieces of intel were discovered with one another, this toxic concoction gave our adversaries a chance to make a foothold into our planet, at Kashgar. The time to observe, to analyze.

To overcome.

That time that was misused could have saved China and the rest of Eurasia from the assault, the assault that ended up demolishing billions of people and destroyed an immeasurable amount of cultural heritage. That is why on July 6th of the next year, humanity did not waver. As soon as they landed, powerful nuclear warheads were dropped on top of the aliens.

This did not come without it sacrifices, you'd understand. The eastern side of Canada was turned into an inhabitable wasteland due to the fallout. Equal was the fallout between the US and the Canadian nation, a rift which burns to this very day despite the attempts at peacekeeping the Americans have endowed in since then.

However, thanks to this retaliation, humanity gained access to the remains of the landing unit of the aliens. And through it, hopes of turning the tide of the war began to flourish as the materials obtained from them were researched more and more. Scarce they were, yes, yet in that finite amount of material laid infinity possibilities as for their possible utilization and application.

For the eventual counterattack of Mankind.

From these remains a solution was created, a seed finally bear fruit. From it, two different approaches were planted, forwarded.

One a piercing ray of light, the other a collapsing orb of darkness. Both equally powerful, equally expensive.

Perhaps, in another assortment of events, both seeds would be able to rise to the sunlight side by side, aiding each other, entangling and supporting the other's growth. Sadly, you'd understand, those seeds wound up pitted against each other in a contest of sorts to prove which one was to become the salvation of our race. Driven by pettiness and differing opinions, by pride and dread.

After all, even when staring into the hollow gaze of the Grim Reaper we humans refuse to lay down our differences and extend our hands.

October 19th, 1987.

(An office of a secret location in the US,

so secret not even the author knows where it is.)

The large meeting room had a noble oak table in its middle, around twenty people were currently sitting around it without counting the security personnel, which was more than plentiful.

A dim, cold white illuminated from above, showering upon those present, upon the cascading piles of papers laid on the table, on the folders, the metallic gray walls. The slow, gentle caress of the AC was the sole comfort of those present, what managed to keep things civil as blazes wished to surge forth from under those suits, glasses, and neckties.

Firmly sitting to the right were the representatives of the Hi-MAERF Project, some in appropriate suits for the occasion, others still in their jackets with the project's logo proudly stamped on its back. On the left were representatives from Boening and Rokswell, as well a few scientists and engineers from their teams, leaning back into their chairs, averting their eyes away from the report of their adversaries, postures as tight and compact as if frozen within an Iceberg.

Most notable was the absence of the two most important people of this whole conundrum. Dr. Karls Moorcock and Dr. Ristomatti Lechte were nowhere to be found, absent as petals during winter. Certain offices had placed them in charge of further testing and refining of the engines they had created with the alien's resources, and that meant that they hadn't seen the sun in a very long time. Despite the reservations they had regarding one of the plans presented in the table, it is quite fair to affirm they had little choice but to remain on the sidelines during these key moments. Most curious and convenient, you'd understand.

On the frontal end of the table was the current President of the US along a retinue of secretaries, as well as other high military authorities, shifting through multiple pages at once, yet as slowly as the tickling of the lone clock of the room, mild concern peeking out from within through faint cracks in the gestures, covered lips, feeble gazes and the like which sent shivers and caused shifting in both presenting teams alike. The perfect poker of apathy is an audience no host desires to receive, after all.

The preliminary arguments have been told, with nothing but a slight movement of the arrows, the estimated numbers were shown, thus the clock had ample time to run circles over and over, and now the counterarguments were being debated in a tense, frail peace. By this point, the arrows were in the opposite side from their positions when this meeting started, glasses had been emptied many times over, and what few ashtrays remained resembled miniatures of illegal dumping sites more than anything else.

Grasping a few pages on a hand, a balding man took point to answer a query. "…While the regulation of the Rutherford Field is still an issue, I believe that the spoils that the Hi-MAERF Project has bestowed us despite its setbacks are proof enough of the potential it possesses," Chief Engineer Micheal Fuge stated while waving, shooting a finger towards the images projected from his laptop, eyes lingering for a second on those who would sound the gavel. "It was due to the high output required by the XG-70 line that the ML-Engine was developed in the first place, and I can confirm that its Particle Cannon should reach full functionality in a few years."

"You do realize that with the cost of firing a single shot of that we could procure at least three G-Bombs, do you?" A representative from Boening countered, slithered along a smirk, fingers entwined and rested atop the table.

"Yes, you made that point crystal clear already, sir," Fuge replied without veiling his venom, directing a finger towards a pile of papers further into the table. "Yet, from our testings the Particle Cannon produces no unwanted collateral damage to the area it fires upon."

With a start, another representative fired off immediately. "That claim is a baseless accusation, G-Bombs produce no such effects," and with gusto, she smacked the towers of folders, tumbling down a few in the erupting gesture.

"Perhaps you can continue your argument at another time," the President ordered with a sigh, gesturing towards Fuge to continue while rubbing his large forehead.

The Chief took a moment to inhale, feel the caress of the AC on his nape, before reshuffling his words and posture, giving an upwards nod. "Ahem… As I was saying, the XG line has granted us many advancements that would have been unthinkable a few years before. There are also the fruits gained through the development of the XF-108," the man said with vigor, giving a grand sweeping gesture towards the images shown through a projector operated by his colleagues to his back. "Thanks to its required speed, a building protocol for Operation-by-Wire has already been tried and tested by our manufacturers."

The slideshow showcased a few bars, percentages side by side, the increase in performance from the F-11 Tiger to the F-14 Tomcat as it was upgraded, the vast performance advantage of the A-5 Vigilante over the A-6 Intruder despite its higher cost. All in simple, easy to understand graphs and with clear, concise numbers regarding the costs and time involved. While the graphs decorated the wall, a few of Boening's people shifted on their seats, faking interest in the presentation, in the detailed reports made available to them for this meeting.

Then, at Fuge's click of his fingers, the projection changed as the Chief signaled John Kelly from the weapons department to step up.

Giving a faint salute to the audience, the man began with a smile. "As I am sure you all must be aware, the XF-108 Rapier has also produced its fair share of spoils for us." Patting a few folders in a rhythm, slowly passing them around the table while staring into those who received them, by a tap on his laptop detailed schematics thus adorned the wall behind him in radiant light. "Thanks to the performance we had to achieve with it, our endeavors were crucial for the F-14's success."

As he summarized their workload, the diagrams shown slowly changed to his tune, matching the parts he spoke of. Both the radar and missile systems of the Rapier were inherited by the YF-12 prototype that competed against the F-11 and, again due to concerns over its cost and operational time, was discarded. A few pictures and schematics showcase then what was the prototype GAR-9 missile, that was refined and turned into the AIM-54 Phoenix, and with both the new radars and the inner components made in accordance to meet Operation-By-Wire requirements, the Tomcat became a successful demonstration of the power of the second generation of TSFs. Of course, the telling in itself was perhaps on the dull side, yet the intel presented was already in the known for many, especially for those present.

Taking a moment to stare into their eyes, not dulling his smile upon the frosting reception, Kelly proceeded with the rest of the reports regarding the Rapier, its signature escape pod, the revolutionary ion engine made for its extra boosters, as well as its sharp, aerodynamic shape which allows the machine to remain near the XG despite the speeds the large fortress can achieve due to its unique propulsion system.

"Again, these developments aren't directly tied to the objective of the project," Secretary McNamara sourly protested, throwing the papers he was given moments before with unneeded disdain back to the wood, as if flinging a stray cat off his lawn into the cold concrete. "While all this was produced to meet the requirements you set for the craft, the Hi-MAERF Project has failed in its most vital task," he tapped his glasses, accusingly pointing a finger in Fuge's direction. "Both the XG-70 and the XF-108 are pilot killers, unusable machines that we cannot send into the frontlines. At least your report shows that the money poured into you wasn't wasted, but I believe that to continue the research would only give us diminishing returns at best," setting a hand under his chin, both the man and the people from the left end of the table nodded, some of them without hiding their smirks, the billowing vipers which behind their lips do lurk.

Despite the acid brewing in the Hi-MAERF's team, an almost synchronized sigh spread over their members. It was an open secret that Secretary McNamara was against spending any more money in TSFs and other research that wasn't the G-Bombs. The Tomcat and the Eagle may not have existed if he was the one with the last say in the matter, the F-14 actually skipped part of its development process to avoid the man from interfering. It was a blessing that Grunnan already had vast knowledge of the Navy's requirements after the F-11's flop, and more so for Lockweed to be willing to share the intel of the YF-12 with them. Of course, after receiving a fairly large compensation for it, you'd understand. Business shall always be business, even when we're at the brink of eternal collapse. Which is why the team knew to desist on the confrontation, there was no need to have their eyebrows singed on another tangent.

"I swear, one of these days I'm gonna give you a fast one to the chin, you son of a gun," Chief Fuge shot a brief glance at McNamara as he patted Kelly's shoulder along a nod, taking over the presentation while gulping down the more heavy worded parts of his irritated spiel. The rest of his team imitated their leader while bringing their chairs closer to the table, decorum restricting their actions as much as they didn't want to let the matter rest.

Secretary McNamara, however, leaned forward into the table, quite willing to smash an HSST against the soil in his stride. "In that same sense, the G-Bombs are a much cheaper alternative. Not only from a financial standpoint, but also from the amount of G-11 that is required to make them. I believe their testings have been going well these last months," he affirmed, tapping the respective reports with the back of his hand.

In an immediate follow up, one of the lead engineers from Boening leaned forward, a minute travel of his hands towards the right papers within the stream which was tumbled beforehand. "Indeed, sir. Our testings show that we can detonate the bombs successfully and that the Rutherford Field is maintained until the very last moments before the explosion," A sharp gesture afterwards, images poured from of their projector in quick succession, as if in avalanche.

A bomb that had a minimal shockwave, a bomb that didn't affect the area beyond its original blast radius with radiation. Perhaps comparable to detonating a nuke on the moon, but having no remnants blasted to the surroundings.

Fuge and his crew couldn't help but to grimace, feel ice going down their throats as the people made great emphasis on the cost difference between building a G-Bomb and procuring an XG, waving their hands about as if guiding a concert, some even raising from their seats momentarily. Not only that, they also forward a rather scathing, blazing comparison on the amount of G-Elements needed for both projects, how faster they could build a G-Bomb. The unrequired toxicity almost brings thunders to full bloom, on both sides for different reasons, details and semantics flying about like snowballs in a courtyard. Said childish, pedantic stride spurs some of Fuge's crew to fall into retaliating, both sides now having a few people arguing, the tensing knuckles of a few halted only by the table that laid between them as their companions failed to convince them to sit down or lower their voice. So grave was the situation that Fuge, McNamara, and the lead engineer of Boening all shared a minute gaze, a shallow sigh, the slow shake of their heads as their hands idled on different things, a small cap, the lightning of a new cigarette, or to gather the last drops remaining within a glass.

The President was suddenly envious of not having a wood hammer like the judges do, having to make do with his hands in clapping to restore the protocol in the meeting.

And as bothered as he was, Fuge couldn't bring himself to stop his partners, as those from Boening also refused to do.

"It's true, their numbers do speak the truth. Our project has taken more than expected to properly reach its milestones and yet…" As if he were trapped in a collapsing elevator, parts of his mild lunch began lurching up only to cascade down once more. "No adverse effects were found on the desert where their testings took place. Not evident ones, at least."

Intel is precious when it comes to these projects, as coveted as fresh water in a desert or spare change in a pocket near the end of the month. As such, said reports are more often than not kept behind a thousand bolts, you'd understand. However, I am sure you can imagine the issues that arise when two teams competing for the same resources, the same budget allocation, have to leave a detachment on the same institution to ensure the safe delivery of the papers to the right offices, the appropriate drawers.

Within the silent, sterilized, and deeply stalked hallways of the Rosa Ramos Research Institute, where all matters related to the BETA are being investigated, men from both the Hi-MAERF and G-Bomb teams are left cooperating with each other as well as coordinating the shipment of the precious fuel that is G-11. Their… heated rivalry notwithstanding, this closeness works both ways for each team. For both the aspiring good news… and the dismay that follows upon those days of darkest stars.

It is why now a few folders found their new vocation as birds, why a few sights simply defaulted to red, and why order has to be imposed by force once again, before the table that separates the teams stops being an impediment.

Yet I cannot fault either side, neither the strong phalanx advance of the Hi-MAERF team nor the stalwart downpour of boiling oil cast by Boening's staff. You see, a survey of the Ground Zero of a G-Bomb's detonation test revealed that all wildlife in the area was completely gone after the trial, certain devices couldn't work properly, and the land vehicles that inspected the area found some middling inconveniences to finish their mission, as if their signals were lost and were left rebooting for some seconds. Only those devices are not connected to any network, so the confusion behind the anomaly was dismissed as a random occurrence and nothing else.

However, something was causing all of this, something in the G-Bomb's particular radiation. The rather intense rejection which still spouts at this very moment, the veiling attempts only serve to cast a larger shadow over the matter, not only for the opposing team. Despite not having access to the raw data of Ground Zero, the few people that heard the news were appalled at the consequences of prolonged usage of the G-Bombs. The concerns weren't only due to the rivalry over the G-Elements America had going within itself, mind you.

The G-Bomb tested only had less than one quarter of a kilo of the alien's cerulean soma in the warhead, since it was nothing but the very first working prototype. And yet it caused a gigantic sphere of twisted black, a colossal spiral of stretching darkness to spawn in the middle of the afternoon. And the plans being presented by the people from Boening and Rokswell as of now were projecting that, by 1998, they would be able to operate G-Bombs using a kilo of G-11 and that, if proper founding was given, by 2004 they would be able to do so with two instead.

…If one quarter wipes out all wildlife in the blast radius and generates lasting interference on communications, while the cause remains veiled from the very best researchers the States could hope to ever have…

…Just what could happen should multiple G-Bombs operating with two kilos of G-11 were to be detonated in quick succession? Would the effects be… amplified? Would they spread further?

While to a researcher such inquiries are music to their ears, Fuge and his men were left with their inner alarm systems blaring in red alert, and not because they were on the opposite side of the presentation. The Earth was already sick enough as it was, with all the bombardments required by the war, all the toxic metals polluting the atmosphere, the sea and land. To say nothing of the vicious depravity which the BETA enforce onto the terrain they conquer, that is.

"I want to leave a safe world behind all this struggling. What good is all this progress if all it does is put us to an early grave?" He wondered, listening to the droning on of the opposite team.

Which, noting his sober complexion, one of the researchers couldn't help himself to once again season the wound. "…Furthermore, we have already many working prototypes and field tests done. That's more than what the other side can boast about."

Thus, eyes narrowing, Fuge leveled a stare at the lab coated man, suddenly wishing to fling a folder at him. And a few other blunt objects, you'd understand. "I would finish my explanation first before attacking other teams. If I might, what of the side effects of the G-Bomb? You've been oddly silent regarding such matters."

"…Side effects? There are no reports to give regarding that," the researcher denied, breaking eye contact and pulling up a few graphs on the projector. "As you can see, the environmental impact was minimal and also concentrated to the blast radius. Compared to the supposed destructive power of the Particle Cannon, I am of the opinion that the G-Bombs are a safer option since they effectively narrow the area that we would need to oversee in case collateral damage is caused."

A few secretaries nodded as they shared some words, pointing to the papers, to the graphs, subtle nods and loosening of postures shortly following. McNamara voiced his agreement, a few men of the Pentagon seemed pleased with the following explanation given by the people of Rokswell regarding their plans of recovery of the lands affected.

Comparing it to the dropping of nukes on Berlin during WWII, having a bomb with such a narrow AoE was a blessing for the US. The fear of hitting their own pilots would be no more, issue an order to retreat and the bomb won't cause a large shockwave or spread any radiation. They could finally hamper the overwhelming numbers of the aliens by simply sending one or two bombs, assuming the Laser-Class was taken care of.

By a vice grip, Fuge's stomach was contorted at the turn of events, at how easily the tide had turned. These last months had been hard on his team, yet it wasn't such a one-sided argument, such an unrelenting rock slide what he was expecting.

"…Now then, Chief Fuge?"

"Yes, Ms. President?"

"Have you performed any further tests on these months?"

Solid ice might as well have found its way down Fuge's throat, feeling oils and muck flare to life on his stomach. Taking a moment to inhale through his nose while closing his eyes, tightening a single hand, he decided to face the limit he had found.

"…Not for the XG, sir."

"So, model B is also defective, huh?" the President's words hurt as much as a direct punch to the jaw.

Thus, Fuge took a small step closer. "It is not defective, sir. The last accident was only due to an unexpected error." Recalling that only brought a foul taste to his mouth.

"I should have seen that for what it was, it was too suspicious as it were for a sudden show of support to come our way." Licking his palate, a sigh squeezed through clenched teeth and clamping lips.

As it were, a flight course was arranged to test both the XG-70B and the XF-108. The proposal came to also have a photo shoot of the crafts, to use in a report to counter the rumors of the first field test of the G-Bomb. In hindsight, the proposal was forwarded rather aggressively but the battered Hi-MAERF team saw it as a most needed show of support after months of stagnant air and awful news. One slim thread of light filtering through unchanging stormclouds.

The arranged photo shoot was proceeding rather well, perhaps better than what even Fuge had expected. The large and sharp fortress that Model B resembled was able to take flight and maintain decent speed for the majority of the duration of the run. Despite not having the Particle Cannon equipped and having its Rutherford Field disabled on most of its body, the run was checking all the boxes. The XF-108 prototypes were also performing as expected in their escorting of the XG, in the very first successful trial run of the ion engines in their jump units.

…Until the formation that was asked for the photo shoot was engaged.

While the picture could be taken without trouble, the resulting accident made the test flight an utter failure. One of the XF-108 proceeded with the intended route in the close formation, but it ended up drifting up above the right wing of the XG as it did. It hit its tip and rolled over the top of the fortress, unable to take any evasive maneuvers due to the air vortex created by the XG's unconventional propulsion system. In trying to avoid a collision, the pilot of the XF initiated a dive to avoid the fortress. All that achieved was made the mech collide against the lower side of the XG, that had its force field activated.

The collision caused the field to increase in output to protect the craft, and that expense caused the engine to become unstable. The XG was given just slightly more fuel than required to finish the test flight, the stress the collision put on the engine made it unstable. As the XG descended to make an emergency landing, the pilots decided to shut off the machine to avoid ending up as the first testers of the machine did. This only made the resulting crash all the more severe on the machine.

Halting the poison, returning to the meeting, Fuge receded into a slower tone, "Model B is still being repaired. We performed a few more testings of the XF-108 and we were pleased with its performance. Despite its higher cost, we believe the ion engines are ready for a trial of mass production," Palming a folder once more, sharing what he thought was his ace with the people in the table, what could do his eyes but narrow upon meeting McNamara's gaze.

The Secretary, very dismissively, tapped the papers he was handed with two finger, running his sight over them so fast he didn't actually catch a single word, "However, the craft lacks stealth capabilities, am I correct?"

"…Yes, that is the case," Fuge relented, knowing that he couldn't push solely for the XF-108.

Lockweed had been clear in their wish for the YF-22 to be the next official TSF in their plan. And they had no intention to compromise their already strained budget to incorporate any other technologies from the XF-108.

The secretaries merely glanced over at the data, clearly not interested in what they were seeing. The cost of the Rapier, was obviously bigger than of the prototypes currently contesting to become the next flagship of the USAF. And the Black Widow and Phantasm units were already being looked at with distrust, their larger cost and performance seeming to be their downfall against the Raptor test units.

Fuge, however, held onto his papers, more than willing to manually install some hope into the desolate landscape of the table, "However, I believe that the project still has much to give. While Model C was scrapped early due to over-specing, through its development we managed to polish many of the innate flaws of the earlier models," Pointing to the corresponding data, of their endeavors to fix the architecture's issues with regulating the force field, the type of instructions demanded, as well as the porting and thorough testing of the system, along its manifest full of Top Secret programs, to newer, more compact technologies. With a small smile and a hand to his chest, Fuge showed off the schematics of one XG-70D to the meeting, "This is the projected data for Model D, that is configured to carry more weaponry than just the Particle Cannon. We believe that capturing a hive would be made possible with just one of it and a battalion of Rapiers. Thanks to our efforts in this year, and of those from Lockweed in particular, we believe its size could be reduced considerable when compared to both Model A and B, its energy output should also become far more stable with this new configuration we've been testing."

Clarke coughed, licking over his lips after. Placing a hand on his chin, he tapped the side of his lips as he explained the differences the Model D had with its predecessors, showing the montage of the miniature scale models his team used to craft the fortress' fourth form. How it would use three pilots instead of two, to have someone managing the Rutherford Field at all times. How many slots and what weapons they had planned to equip it with, as well as the free slots they still had not decided what to place in.

For all the fire he exuded in his explanation, more were the stalagmites that began to pile up at the back of his throat as he saw the almost non-existent reaction to his delivery. As if his words were the tumbling noise of a tree being buried by a relentless blizzard, soon to be wholly covered by the snow.

"…However, this would mean a continuation of the same budget allocation, would it not?" A man from the Pentagon asked.

"Indeed, that is what we are proposing," Fuge quickly and politely answered.

"And yet, I think it's clear that our priority should go to the G-Bombs," Most of the men from the government and the army nodded in agreement, "Furthermore, G-Elements are not something we are guaranteed to regain. If Model D were to fail as all its predecessors, we would be wasting more of this irreplaceable resource. Regardless of the billions of dollars that this would cost, we cannot invest more G-Elements over a projected result when the G-Bombs are already delivering tangible proof of their worth."

Instinctively, and also foolishly, Fuge leaned forward, palming a hand over a few folders, "H-However, we still do not know how deep underground the hives go. Successive strikes might not be enough to take down a hive, and the impact in the environment could be amplified by detonating many of them in short succession. There is very little intel on them so far, whereas the XG's Particle Cannon has already been thoroughly tested."

"Be as it may, with the cost of a single test of the cannon we could do ample testing of the G-Bombs, could we not?" Secretary McNamara commented, "Sadly, the time it would take to procure the XG along a sizable amount of Rapiers is also a concern. While I do agree that the G-Bombs require more work, we have a certainty in our hands now."

The men of the government and the Pentagon agreed to the words. The people from Boening produced some more papers and data on their estimated procurement rates, gaining more praise in seconds.

What little argument Clarke and his crew had was again shut down with the time and resources retort. The last accident had eroded much of the trust people had in their plan, and as much as he didn't want to admit, it seemed as if they were merely invited out of a formality. They had already decided to terminate the Hi-MAERF Project.

Despite knowing that, despite the pain in his lips as he began to bite them, despite the canyon that was growing within his stomach, despite how hard it was to keep his head held high, of the pressure he was feeling just below his ears, Chief Engineer Michael Fuge kept trying to bring water to his windmill, tried to make a gale clear away the impending fate of his project.

…And yet, his efforts went unrewarded.