Fresh Blood
Chapter One
Flashing to life the hologram loomed over the small commander on the bridge of the Teslan battleship Shadow Master. "Commander!" boomed the holograms deep voice. "What is your status?"
Shrinking away from the dark projected figure's stinging voice the commander nervously adjusted his cap. "O- our ground troops have suppressed all resistance in Dollet, and are currently working on their communications tower. No casualties on our part." Having finished the report that he had rehearsed a hundred times in his head the commander visibly relaxed.
Leaning forward, the glowing image's face went blank for a moment before it took on a sinister grin. "Balamb, eh?" Chuckling deeply, with laughter like crashing bombs, he said almost conspiratorially, "SeeD will interfere. I thought I had warned that pesky little man Cid to stay away from Tesla operations."
Swallowing hard the commander glanced to his communications officer. "W- we will deal with those 'mercenaries'," he almost spat the word, "the second we can your Lordship."
Smirking again he simply said, "Good Luck," before laughing from the depths of his stomach once more.
With that the transmission crackled and faded into blackness...
* * *
Swinging himself bodily over the dull metal frame, Trigan Nuul landed into the seat for his mounted sentry cannon. Looking through the fore view screen he could see the enemy watercraft approaching. Dragging the scope down he watched the troops checking their weapons and armour before the inevitable battle. At the rear of the small army towered a Goliath of a man, wielding an in-humanly large broadsword.
Swinging the massive barrel of his mounted cannon round and out to sea, he lined up the green cross hairs with a central vessel. Hitting a button and flicking a toggle, the view screen magnified the image of his intended target. In the limited view, obscured partly by a watery spray, Trigan scrutinised the image of a man with a diagonal scar running from forehead to cheek leaning on the prow of the ship. Scanning his eyes down he saw the glint of metal from the handle of a Gun-blade.
Grinning darkly to himself he slowly began to squeeze the trigger of the bulky cannon, ignoring the low whine slowly gaining in pitch and volume, and savoured the moments before he destroyed the Balamb students. No longer able to disregard the incessant noise he quickly ducked his head out of the command pod, and his jaw dropped. Frozen to the spot his eyes widened in shock as the SeeD missile sped its way toward him. The last words of Trigan Nuul were tragically appropriate. "Nice shot..."
Chapter One
Flashing to life the hologram loomed over the small commander on the bridge of the Teslan battleship Shadow Master. "Commander!" boomed the holograms deep voice. "What is your status?"
Shrinking away from the dark projected figure's stinging voice the commander nervously adjusted his cap. "O- our ground troops have suppressed all resistance in Dollet, and are currently working on their communications tower. No casualties on our part." Having finished the report that he had rehearsed a hundred times in his head the commander visibly relaxed.
Leaning forward, the glowing image's face went blank for a moment before it took on a sinister grin. "Balamb, eh?" Chuckling deeply, with laughter like crashing bombs, he said almost conspiratorially, "SeeD will interfere. I thought I had warned that pesky little man Cid to stay away from Tesla operations."
Swallowing hard the commander glanced to his communications officer. "W- we will deal with those 'mercenaries'," he almost spat the word, "the second we can your Lordship."
Smirking again he simply said, "Good Luck," before laughing from the depths of his stomach once more.
With that the transmission crackled and faded into blackness...
* * *
Swinging himself bodily over the dull metal frame, Trigan Nuul landed into the seat for his mounted sentry cannon. Looking through the fore view screen he could see the enemy watercraft approaching. Dragging the scope down he watched the troops checking their weapons and armour before the inevitable battle. At the rear of the small army towered a Goliath of a man, wielding an in-humanly large broadsword.
Swinging the massive barrel of his mounted cannon round and out to sea, he lined up the green cross hairs with a central vessel. Hitting a button and flicking a toggle, the view screen magnified the image of his intended target. In the limited view, obscured partly by a watery spray, Trigan scrutinised the image of a man with a diagonal scar running from forehead to cheek leaning on the prow of the ship. Scanning his eyes down he saw the glint of metal from the handle of a Gun-blade.
Grinning darkly to himself he slowly began to squeeze the trigger of the bulky cannon, ignoring the low whine slowly gaining in pitch and volume, and savoured the moments before he destroyed the Balamb students. No longer able to disregard the incessant noise he quickly ducked his head out of the command pod, and his jaw dropped. Frozen to the spot his eyes widened in shock as the SeeD missile sped its way toward him. The last words of Trigan Nuul were tragically appropriate. "Nice shot..."