DUO: THE SETRIS CHRONICLES---2
The fresh tainted snow capped the peak of the mountain ever so
gracefully. As the dawn brought forth the crimson glow of the
sun, the light of rays fell upon a robotic hand who's last
movement had gone as a chance for freedom. But there was no
movement anymore.
Suddenly, after hours of stillness, the hand jutted to life once
more. It's fingers reached for the surface, pulling its hull
along. But the frigid landscape lay still and silent as the
mobile suit stood, its powerful form illuminated in the morning
glow.
Reylin looked at his surroundings. Gone. His life was buried
beneath that snow world. His home. And the pilot who destroyed it
all. Reylin cursed quietly. Bringing his rockets to life, he
blasted the Setris high into the air, leaving his past and the
Deathscythe pilot to rest for eternity.
A new town. Reylin looked at the screen. Its flickering image
projected a simple message through the cockpit of Setris: Destroy
the plant.
Many ambassadors from the colonies were meeting here to discuss
possible trading rights. Oz knew better. They had infiltrated
secret messages, and now it was up to Setris and its pilot to
take out the traitors. He had to. It was his mission.
Before the Aires suits could react, he was upon them. His cold,
metal beam saber slashing effortlessly through their cores. The
pilots could hardly scream before they became engulfed in the
fires of the explosions.
Setris' head jutted up, focusing on the base. Its eye glowed an
unusual tint of red.
"What the hell?! It's an attack! Vacate the base immediatley!"
shouted one of the ambassadors as he pushed his chair to the
floor and made a dash for the door as the suit grew ever closer.
Ambassadors' expressions turned to terror as the suit descended
upon the base, its beam saber cutting through the walls like a
knife carving a soft slice of meat. As the men watched the
mammoth armor before them, it drew its gun, blasting them and the
remander of the base into oblivion.
Reylin sat in a tavern, sipping lightly on a glass of whiskey.
His eyes were lowered to the mug. His thoughts were of no true
importance. He figured he was merely a vessel to carry out Oz's
plans. But his mind kept falling back on the Gundam pilot. He
couldn't be dead. No Gundam died so easily. He had to be alive.
The fresh tainted snow capped the peak of the mountain ever so
gracefully. As the dawn brought forth the crimson glow of the
sun, the light of rays fell upon a robotic hand who's last
movement had gone as a chance for freedom. But there was no
movement anymore.
Suddenly, after hours of stillness, the hand jutted to life once
more. It's fingers reached for the surface, pulling its hull
along. But the frigid landscape lay still and silent as the
mobile suit stood, its powerful form illuminated in the morning
glow.
Reylin looked at his surroundings. Gone. His life was buried
beneath that snow world. His home. And the pilot who destroyed it
all. Reylin cursed quietly. Bringing his rockets to life, he
blasted the Setris high into the air, leaving his past and the
Deathscythe pilot to rest for eternity.
A new town. Reylin looked at the screen. Its flickering image
projected a simple message through the cockpit of Setris: Destroy
the plant.
Many ambassadors from the colonies were meeting here to discuss
possible trading rights. Oz knew better. They had infiltrated
secret messages, and now it was up to Setris and its pilot to
take out the traitors. He had to. It was his mission.
Before the Aires suits could react, he was upon them. His cold,
metal beam saber slashing effortlessly through their cores. The
pilots could hardly scream before they became engulfed in the
fires of the explosions.
Setris' head jutted up, focusing on the base. Its eye glowed an
unusual tint of red.
"What the hell?! It's an attack! Vacate the base immediatley!"
shouted one of the ambassadors as he pushed his chair to the
floor and made a dash for the door as the suit grew ever closer.
Ambassadors' expressions turned to terror as the suit descended
upon the base, its beam saber cutting through the walls like a
knife carving a soft slice of meat. As the men watched the
mammoth armor before them, it drew its gun, blasting them and the
remander of the base into oblivion.
Reylin sat in a tavern, sipping lightly on a glass of whiskey.
His eyes were lowered to the mug. His thoughts were of no true
importance. He figured he was merely a vessel to carry out Oz's
plans. But his mind kept falling back on the Gundam pilot. He
couldn't be dead. No Gundam died so easily. He had to be alive.