Chapter 10: Fight, Heroes, Fight!
General Hospital:
"Remind me again, exactly why does this always happen to our fearless leader? Cast spells, summon up spirits, fire that weird gun of his, and nothing happens. Start reading from a weird book of black magic, and he gets his ass kicked the next day. Moral of the story? Self-improvement doesn't pay off."
"Speak for yourself, Ryan. You lost to that effeminate homo, didn't you? A little improvement might do you some good."
"Hey! He lost too, alright? Besides, you were in the ring with him for thirty seconds, Andro. Then they had to carry you out on a stretcher."
Fragments of noise swam in and out of Chan's ears, as elusive as light in a glass prism. His entire body felt numb and raw, as if he'd been in the sun for way too long. A wave of lethargy seemed to hold him down, and there was a strange itchiness on Chan's arms and legs, where IV tubes had probably been attached.
"Both of you, stop arguing."
Jiazheng's voice sounded thin and strained, in contrast to his firm words. What little confidence he'd left had been shattered by the day's events.
"Shut up. Great work as a Striker, Jiazheng."
"That…That wasn't my fault. You have to believe me."
"Sure. Your sword didn't even do any-"
Chan sat up, wincing at the brilliant light that seemed to bore straight into his brain. Idly, he scratched at the IV drip plugged into his left arm, feeling a weak as a newborn kitten.
"What-"
His voice was hoarse and cracked, distorted by dehydration and heat. It sounded harsh even to his own ears. Clearing his throat, Chan tried again.
"What..happened?"
Ryan's form, silhouetted against the light, slowly turned towards him. His blurry face was stretched in a tight, forced grin, unlike the usual honest smile that Ryan sported. Several new bandages adorned his arms and legs, and a huge purple bruise obscured the left side of his face.
"Well, it looks like we lost."
Andro let out a hmmph, and turned away in disgust. He was obviously unhappy with the way things had gone.
"To put it simply, they bitchslapped up. Kyo literally kicked your ass without working up a sweat. And, as the last fighter…You can guess the rest."
It was over. The chilling thought slid into Chan's mind, with the finality of a closing tomb. They would never see Ignis now, and their small war was over before it'd began.
"So…What happens now?"
He already knew the answer to that question.
Without turning around, Andro spoke.
"We have a few choices, all of them bad. We could break up here, and each go our individual ways. We could sit out the rest of the tournament, and watch the others go for the finals. We could run home, like whipped dogs. Or…"
Here he paused. An odd spark ignited in his eyes.
"We could take up the offer. One final blow for revenge."
Suddenly feeling very weary, Chan cast a glance around him, trying to think of some alternative. But there was none. Their adventure was over.
All that mattered was how it ended.
"Well then, I…"
He paused.
"You guys have already come to a decision, haven't you?"
Jiazheng nodded, a motion oddly exaggerated by the sword strapped to his back.
"Yep. We're just waiting for the go ahead."
Chan rubbed at the headache that suddenly developed, ignoring the sudden stabs of agony that erupted on his burned skin.
"All right, then. We'll play it till the end."
Andro nodded in satisfaction, a thin smile spreading across his face.
"Looks like we're all agreed then."
**************
Two Days Later, Hotel…
The inside of the small room was dark and damp, due to the partial power failure of the hotel's main generator. A single bare bulb dangled crazily overhead, casting harsh light down onto the table below. Five people clustered round that sturdy structure like moths to light, as much for warmth as anything else.
A huge map lay on the table, already annotated by many red dots and crosses. The main speaker, a young lady dressed in an extremely outlandish armored costume, was busy jabbing energetically at it with a metal pointer, explaining every fine detail to a group of four bored-looking boys.
"We'll go over the plan one more time. The factory is located somewhere north of the main hub, smack middle of the slums. The place seems to be lightly guarded, though we can't be too sure. We'll sneak in, ice the guards, and destroy or steal everything we find. Hopefully, there'll be something explosive or flammable-This is a weapons factory, after all- That'll save us the trouble of going Wrath-Of-God on the place. Failing that-"
A heavy thud on the table signaled Ryan's disapproval.
"You've told us this before, Karmen. I've already memorized the damn plan. But the question is…How the hell do we get in? I'm not up to dodging bullets yet, and neither is anyone else. Is there a reasonably sane way to get it?"
For the first time since arriving, Karmen smiled.
"Every day, a truck travels along the roads, and heads into the warehouse. It's heavily armored: We have no way of knocking it off the road. But…"
"If the driver can be convinced to get out of his car…"
"Exactly. Here's what we're going to do..."
**************
That Night…
The truck rumbled along the slippery road, powerful headlights cutting a wide swathe through the fog. More than half-asleep, Ikawa fiddled with the antique radio, trying to find something sufficiently loud and disruptive.
***CLICK***
"And we present to you-"
***CLICK***
"o/ Hate is very, very, very BAD, we should all-"
***CLICK***
"o/ Dreaming of Zion awake…Sleeping awake…Can't stop sleeping awake…"
***clickclickclickclickclickclickclickCLICK***
With a sigh, Ikawa flipped the radio off. So many channels, nothing worth listening to. He gunned the engine, relishing the rush as the armoured truck sped onwards. Last time he passed through this area, a group of weirdoes had tried taking pot-shots at him with low-calibre firearms. Didn't do nothing against the armour, anyway.
Just a quick trip down to that spooky-looking warehouse, a quick, anonymous cargo dump, and he was in the green for another month. East money. The people there were probably doing seriously illegal, but who gave a damn? It was just business, and he was just a truck driver…
***THUD***
There was a loud thud, as if a crate of fruit had been thrown against the bumper. Cursing, Ikawa screeched to a stop, jamming heavily on the brakes. The hell was that? If he actually hit anyone, his ass was probably on the line.
Whatever it was, he would still have to clear the road. The thought of trailing organic material all the way home was enough to make Ikawa sick. Donning his winter coat, the burly driver opened the door, and stepped into the falling snow. A small-calibre pistol was shoved into his pocket, but he didn't think he was going to need it.
A figure lay sprawled just in front of the truck, wrapped in dark coat. Probably one of the street scum that'd taken a wrong turn, or something. Ikawa approached at a cautious pace, wondering whether he'd hit that person too hard.
There was a brief shudder of movement, so small that Ikawa wondered whether he'd imagined it. He leaned down to get a better look, raising a hand to lift the corpse off the road-
-When Claire drove a four-inch long needle through his throat.
Unbelieving, Ikawa let out a wheeze, hands clutching at the blade in his throat. His eyes bulged, flickering up and down the ornate hilt. An expression somewhere between shock and outrage imprinted itself on his face, as he tried to make sense of what was going on. God, was he dying? This was a sick world they lived in, sick!
Almost gently, Claire drew another needle from some undefined pocket, and plunged it into- and through- his eye. She gave the man a delicate shove, as roughly half his blood supply came gushing out from his brain. The corpse toppled backwards onto the road, spilling the rest of its life out onto the rapidly-freezing floor.
Claire shrugged off the formless black cloak, letting out an innocent, almost childlike giggle. She liked watching people bleed.
"You can come out now, guys! It's over!"
Very slowly, the rest of the DHS cohort emerged from either side of the main road. Andro seemed to materialize from the shadows, taking form from nothing at all. Ryan poked his head out from a snowdrift, shaking off the rest of the powdery snow from his uniform. Yiming and Jiazheng strode out from the nearest building, Karmen in tow.
There was the sound of very loud swearing, and a branch on a nearby tree snapped. Chan plummeted down, and crashed into the snow, looking like a complete idiot. Red-faced, he struggled up, slipped, and went down again.
The rest of the group stared.
"WHAT?"
Ryan hauled him up by the scruff of his black trenchcoat (Especially for this occasion.) and set him down on his feet. He gave Chan a slap on the back that sent him staggering.
"(In a sickeningly cheerful voice) No problem, right? Everything still attached? Now let's GO, before you do anything even more STUPID."
"…Yessir."
Claire got up, giggled again, and set about casually retrieving her needles.
Jiazheng grimaced, looking at the bloody mess. He looked pale, and felt more than slightly sick. It wasn't that he was squeamish: The unnecessary death disgusted him.
"Did you have to do that, Claire? We could've just…"
"Tied him up and left him somewhere? What's the point?"
Jiazheng subsided into silence.
Chan gave him an understanding nod, and gently shoved him in the direction of the truck. He understood all too well how Jiazheng felt, but it was far more important to keep him functioning now.
"Let's just find a way to all fit onto the truck, okay? There might be something useful inside. Besides..."
Chan grimaced.
"I don't feel like sharing a seat with Yiming."
**************
They crowded round the back of the truck, pondering its mysterious contents. An elaborate-looking electronic padlock secured the double-doors, holding them perfectly still.
Alvin took a step forward, examining the plain metal keypad that was the lock's only ornament. The familiar steel vines stretched out from his arms, and then retracted, almost reluctantly.
"Hmmm...Nonstandard. The combination could be anywhere between one to nine digits, or could require a certain sequence-"
Andro promptly cut his technical speech short.
"Can you open it?"
"Maybe. Could take quite some time. Somewhere between one to two days, at the very least."
"Well, assuming that we don't have two days, let me have a shot at it."
Chan took a step forward, drawing the Mage Cannon from its holster. The weapon glowed a deep crimson, letting out a threatening hum that told of the buildup of massive energies. He gave the mechanism three brief fireballs, creating a short-lived flare of power.
The keypad glowed white-hot , sizzling like butter on a hot grill. It melted into an untidy-looking puddle, dripping down the sides of the doors. A brief tug cleared the entrance, causing both massive doors to swing open.
The chill breeze of an internal freezer billowed out, raising a thin layer of frost on every available surface. Ryan shuddered, trying to rub the numbing cold from his bones.
"Whew. Frosty."
Compared to the general local temperature, it was positively freezing inside...And that said a lot. Suspicious-looking slabs of meat hung from hooks tethered to the top, with neatly-packed wooden crates right below.
Ryan took a closer look at one of the many dangling sides of meat, giving them a sniff. Unhooking one, he took a cautious nibble, and swallowed once, aware that the eyes of all others were on him.
"Well? What is it?"
"Ham. High-quality black pepper ham. Not bad."
Feeling slightly peckish, Ryan took another bite.
"You mean they're hauling food?"
"Probably. There's still the crates though. The meat could merely be a front."
Yiming appropriated another ham from the conveniently-placed freezer, hefting a large crate like an oversized egg in one massive hand. For a brief moment, he considered how to open it. Then, evidently coming to some momentous decision, he dashed the thing to the ground, and stomped, shattering the tough wood like a walnut.
Golden packers cascaded from the crate, a veritable flood of them. The rest of team stared, goggle-eyed. They had not been expecting this.
Andro scooped up a single packet, lips twitching in a faint smile.
"Double-decker crispy potato chips."
Karmen triple-blinked.
"Now in a vegetable-and-onion flavour."
Ryan sweatdropped.
"Made in China."
This was followed by the entire group facefaulting, at exactly the same time.
"THEY'RE HAULING JUNK FOOD?!! WTF?"
"Uh...Yeah. Seems like it. Unless this was merely part of some cunning plan, I'd say we just offed the guy in charge of the snacks."
Karmen audibly cleared her throat, bringing their attention back to the topic at hand.
"We're running out of time, folks. We have to get on board, NOW. Two of us drive, everyone else behind. In the freezer."
"One Dunmanian in front, and then one of you freaks. We're still not taking any stupid chances around you guys."
"Fair enough. By the way...Can anyone drive?"
Dead silence.
"No one can drive?"
"Should've thought of this part of the plan, genius."
Alvin raised a hand, anxious to head off the brewing argument.
"I've played Daytona before. How much more difficult can it be?"
"But...But...You've never actually driven!"
"I propose to learn."
**************
Two hours later, a familiar-looking van rumbled to a stop in front of a massive pairs of steel gates, leading to an abandoned warehouse. An entire army of well-armed, hard-eyed man gazed down from above, training a wide variety of advanced military weaponry on it.
Scanners played over the truck, issuing forth a complex set of electronic beeps and whistles. The truck replied in kind, with an even-longer pulse of sound. Its occupants waited in breathless silence, hoping, praying...
Very slowly, the gates slid open, pulling away soundlessly on well-oiled bearings. With Alvin at the wheel, the truck rolled on in. Chan, seated next to the older Stand-wielder, let out a long, thankful sigh of relief. He loosened his deathgrip on the Mage Cannon, slumping back in his seat.
To either side, the scenery flashed past, as Alvin guided the truck through a series of checkpoints, waved on by cheerful guards. His driving skills were up to snuff: Nothing to write home about, but they did get the job done.
"Thank God we're in. Now we just have to lose the truck, and..."
"Get that gun ready, Chan. Big trouble coming."
"What?"
A tough-looking punk, obviously one of the older guards, approached the truck. He held a wide-bore M-60 in his right hand, and began rapping sharply on the side-window, motioning for Chan to open it.
Chan looked at Alvin.
Alvin looked right back.
With no other choice, Chan scrolled his window down, keeping the gun held low. The guard poked his sweaty, ugly face in. His eyes widened in shock, as he realised the new drivers of the vehicle.
"Hey! You're not-"
Big, suet-smelling and unpleasant, the man's face filled Chan's field of vision. Without making the conscious decision to kill him, Chan raised his handgun, and punched it right into the man's mouth. Teeth and blood spattered with the force of impact, and whatever he'd been trying to say ended in a gurgle.
Chan pulled the trigger.
The explosion that followed shook the entire truck, rattling everything and anything not bolted down. The guard's head vanished, flash-boiled in an instant to a red vapour. The round still had enough force to corkscrew off into the night sky, creating a brief flare of light.
There was a brief moment of shock silence, that seemed to stretched on forever.
That was when everything began to happen at once.
Alerted by the flash, the other guards spun around, raising their weapons and drawing beads on the truck. The headless corpse slumped back out, and rolled off the side of the vehicle, twitching spasmodically. Not waiting to see what happened next, Alvin's foot came down hard on the pedal, pushing it all the way down to the metal floor.
With a screech of burning rubber, the truck shuddered, wheels spinning crazily. It leapt forward with a sudden surge of speed, tilting dangerously to one side. In the bag, hams and crates rained down on Ryan from all directions, pummelling him everywhere. Shielding his face from this unexpected volley, Ryan scrabbled to the other side, trying to keep the truck balanced.
Yiming bashed on the wall with one massive fist, denting the very metal of the truck. The big man couldn't take much more of this.
"SLOW DOWN, DAMNIT!! YOU'LL KILL US ALL!!!"
"Screw this," Alvin shot right back in reply. He muscled the wheel to the right, flinging every occupant in that direction. His terrified copilot let out a shriek of pure, unadulterated terror as the world spun crazily outside.
There was a series of incredibly loud noises from behind, as the guards opened fire on the speeding machine. A hail of bullets tore their way into metal, punching line after fine line of holes in the fuel tank. Several actually ploughed on into the back, eliciting another string of curses from Claire or Karmen.
"At least they didn't hit the-"
There was a nasty popping noise, as both back wheels exploded. The truck slewed to one side, over-compensating and suddenly unable to head in a straight line. Alvin managed to straighten his path out, never lifting up on the gas. His face distorted in a rictus of terror, he grappled frantically with the steering wheel, yanking it left and right.
All to no avail. They were heading right towards the large warehouse.
Or more specifically, the massive steel-and-iron padlocked doors that made up the entrance of the weapons factory.
"BRACE YOURSELVES! WE'RE GONNA HIT!!!"
"WE'RE GONNA DIEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!"
It didn't take a tactical genius to see that Chan was right. Amid a chorus of terrified screams, the truck bore down towards the factory gates, a massive battering ram headed for the classic medieval gate.
Another volley of gunfire raked the vehicle, sending it spinning totally out of control. The broad side of the truck collided with the doors, shattering everything and anything in the way.
There was the sound of smashing glass, and the tormented, warping screeched of stressed metal. The doors literally flew off their hinges as the armoured truck, minus two wheels and most of its cargo, ploughed into- and through them.
************
The inside of the NESTS weapon factory was actually a rather nice place. There was a general sense of order and calm about the area, as cheerful workers chatted with each other, staving off boredom as they worked.
The place was both air-conditioned in summertime and well-heated in winter, a pleasant contrast to the biting cold outside. The assembly-line machines were gleaming, sterile and well-oiled, literally radiating efficiency. Due to the intensive automation, all the workers had to do was to keep an eye on the proceedings, and prevent any obvious mistakes from occurring.
On a conveyor belt next to the main workstations, weapons and armour were put together with incredible speed. First the framework, then the circuitry, then the enhancements, and finally to the neatly-stacked rows. The factory was operating at a hundred-and-fifty percent efficiency, way ahead of schedule.
The workers were happy with their lot: They were well-paid, well-fed, and received a large bonus just to keep their mouths shut. All-in-all, it could've been much worse.
It was too bad this easy life was almost at an end.
Like a speeding missile, that harbinger of destruction tore right through the front door like paper, sending metal shards spraying out onto the faces of the men below. The vehicle hit the metal safety railings, rammed through them like they weren't there-
-And plunged right off the edge, turning into a torpedo that fell down, down, down, into the assembled mass of workers below. There was a sudden, wet squishing noise, like a crate of tomatoes being run over by, well, a massive armoured truck. The truck's entire windscreen fogged up with blood and other organic fluids, sending a literal wave of it spraying out to splatter the others nearby.
There was a moment of false calm, as all concerned tried to accept the sudden and bloody deaths that their co-workers had suffered.
Then, huge, massive and furious, Yiming plowed out from the back of the truck, eyes gleaming with menace. Andro quickly followed, pulling his visor down. There was a sharp clicking noise, and his blades appeared in his hands.
Suddenly, a worker dropped, a thrown knife embedded in his craw. Another simply toppled like a puppet with its strings cut, as Claire's poison needle took him in his eye. But, the clincher came when a bolt of lightning streaked out from somewhere, and reduced a third to a mere skeleton, then ashes.
That was when the screaming began.
************
The truck came to rest on its side, wheels still spinning futilely in the air. It shuddered, twitching like a wounded animal lying down to die.
Gasping, Ryan clambered out from the back, his entire face covered in bruises. Sheer good luck and his own extraordinary toughness from the worse of the fall, but not the mild concussion that resulted from roughly half a tonne of assorted meat and wooden crates.
Ryan's gloves smouldered, as blue lightning danced around his fingers. He'd thrown the lightning bolt more out of reflex than anything, only intending to buy himself a few more seconds of life.
Chan and Alvin hung limply in the front seats, suspended only by safety-belts and restraining straps. They'd had the wind knocked from them by the initial impact: Only sheer luck had saved them from going completely through the windscreen. Shattered glass had sliced shallow wounds across their faces and bodies, setting up the slow drip-drip-drip of blood, as drop after drop struck the ground below.
The soft glow of his pentagrammic shield limed Chan, casting an unearthly light on his face. It flickered weakly, at the point of vanishing entirely. It'd blocked off the crash, but the flying glass had sliced nasty gashes in his face, just barely missing his eyes.
Alvin was a bleeding wreck. Razor-sharp needles of glass stippled his hands and his body like quills, covering every available surface. Only Macabre's dark power kept him going: Already, wounds stitched themselves shut, repelling glass and closing neatly to leave only scars.
In the back of the truck, there was a buzzsaw noise, and a brilliant green light. Jiazheng's sword emerged from the side of the truck, as he sliced his way from the truck. Metal flew like shredded paper, and Jiazheng tumbled out, covered in sweat and panting.
Completely serene, Karmen clambered out from the back, as if alighting from a carriage. She motioned for Claire to stand down, performing a fancy flip to the ground.
"Forget the workers. They aren't attacking us!"
Andro shrugged, almost out of hand. He spun around, eviscerating another fleeing wageslave. Blood spurted in all directions. Like a demon of war, Andro grinned, painted in crimson.
"So?"
He tossed another knife, a simple, unhanded toss that simultaneously sliced through fingers and limbs, digging an even deeper groove into the fleeing crowd. Right next to him, Yiming didn't so much as fight his way through as tear a path through the panicked crowd, ripping arms and legs loose as though picking flowers.
Sickened, Ryan glanced away, letting the electricity coursing through him die. He was completely and utterly repelled by this senseless slaughter, but he knew that there was no reasoning with Andro when he was like this.
"What now? Let's just hurry up and get it over with!"
"Just wreck the machines! ALL the machines!"
Suiting deed to words, Karmen flung a huge thunderbolt, blasting a massive furnace to fragments. There was a very satisfying screech, followed by an earthshaking detonation as the thing exploded.
The alarms promptly chose that moment to go off.
Screeches, subsonic whines and a huge, thrumming roar went off at the same time. Evidently, the designers of the base had simply installed every alarm system possible, not giving a damn about the side-effects.
The sheer volume of noise was like sitting at the front row of a punk concert, complete with nasty, clashing echoes. The horrible noise was enough to even manage to raise Chan from his state of unconsciousness. He looked up blearily, blinking grit-filled eyes.
"What? How..."
The place began to resound with the sound of metal feet tromping on stone, as all of the security detail mobilized. Every man grabbed his weapon, and made a beeline for the factory, galvanized by the incredibly loud, and incredibly disruptive alarm.
Back in the very heart of the NESTS weapons factory, all eight of the intruders paused, and looked up. All knew what this meant: Ignis hadn't left this place completely defenceless. The alarm had been sounded.
Very soon, they would be overrun.
************
Truth to be told, the factory wasn't as well-designed as Ignis had probably thought. From far away, it looked imposing enough, and the design was obviously structurally sound. Thick walls, solid gates, multiple checkpoints with overlapping fields of fire.
The entire base had been built to keep people out, a task at which it succeeded admirably. However, when you looked closer, two major flaws soon presented themselves.
First, the place was simply too big. The massive perimeter fence was well-stocked with both men and machinery, placed at each and every portion of the wall. Unfortunately, if sufficient pressure was brought to bear at a single point, the defenders would be effectively alone. It would take some time before news of the attack could be relayed, and even more before extra help could be mobilized.
The other problem was even more glaring: There was no way to counterattack people already inside. Even at full speed (Like now), it would take at least fifteen minutes for the guards to reach the centre facilities.
This was more than enough time for the invaders to brace for the inevitable assault. Chan and Alvin were dragged from the truck: Everyone else took up positions where they could do maximum damage. The last few "innocents", now completely out of their minds with terror, ran like hell. Andro scythed his blades at the last few that passed him. He let the rest go, shoving aside those that got too close.
After all, there would be enough killing to be done very soon. Till then, there was no use in wasting energy.
************
All-too-soon, the cavalry finally arrived. White-armoured soldiers blocked off the main (and only) exit, looking buglike and inhuman in their silver armour. The NESTS flag glinted in the light, painted on helmets and prominently displayed on arms.
Rifle-bolts were racked; assault chainsaws were drawn. The troops had been ordered to close to hand-to-hand, to avoid needlessly damaging/destroying precious machinery. To that end, they all carried low-calibre SMGs, with weak rounds that would simply bounce off metal and steel.
Of course, it was more than capable of tearing flesh apart.
There was a tense calm, slowly stretching to breaking point. No targeted presented itself, with only the sound of scurrying feet telling of movement in the first place.
The leader of the troop, a particularly large and well-armed warrior, took a step forward. His armour's servos whined as he stood, raising a loudhailer.
"WE HAVE YOU SURROUNDED. THERE IS NO ESCAPE, NO WAY OUT. LAY DOWN YOUR ARMS AND SURRENDER."
There was no answer.
Somewhere far off in the dark, something moved. Bullets whistled out from somewhere behind a metal shelf, clanging off the leader's armour. A missile of steel and energy screamed past, tearing through the tight defensive formation at gale speed. A single soldier slumped over, impaled right through his powered armour by the high-velocity bolt.
The leader promptly retreated behind the questionable safety of the entrance, backing away to what he thought was a safe distance.
"Have it your way! First rank, forward!"
He waved a hand, and the first row trooped forward, guns clamped tightly in their hands. They opened fire as they walked, weapons lighting up like blowtorches at close range. Tracers and sparks lit up the darkened inside, casting deep, wavering shadows. Spent casings cascaded to the ground in a constant stream, bouncing off and littering the floor with metal debris.
A bubbling ball of blue fire exploded right in the midst of the NESTS troops, coating them all in a viscous, burning substance. They didn't slow on whit. In fact, the still came on, howling defiance through their helmet speakers. Pumped high on both stimulants and artificial adrenaline, NESTS troops were superior to their fleshly counterparts in every way.
From his hiding place behind his temporary shelter, Chan began to sweat, as they came closer and closer, gunfire sweeping nearer and nearer. All of the spells he'd cast had utterly no effect. He'd expected to at least slow them a bit, but it'd been all for naught.
Holstering his autopistol, he hefted the comforting weight of the Mage Cannon. This was sure to blast a hole through their-
***THHHOOOOMMMM***
The hell was that?
Risking death by ricocheting rounds, Chan looked up.
Yiming stepped from the shadows, already clad in the fearsome Armour Of Stone. With a speed that belied his incredible strength, he lashed out with two massive hands. Closing fists the size of dinner plates around the nearest two helmeted heads, he squeezed.
Armour crunched beneath that merciless grip, and head literally exploded. Suddenly, stone gained a new dye of red. The two unfortunates crumbled out, and were promptly discarded, as Yiming reached out again.
Another machine-gunner folded up and immolated in a burst of green flame, as Jiazheng's sword went right through him. The swordsman followed up with a massive concussive sword attack, blasting all nearby off their feet.
Chan smiled.
Perhaps the odds weren't so uneven after all. Even as he watched, Ryan and Andro hurtled down from above, trailing lightning and shadow, respectively. Bunched together as they were, the troops couldn't use their guns. By the time they'd drawn their weapons, they'd already been dispatched.
Then the counterattack came. More and more soldiers piled in, firing as they ran. Chan flung up Requiem's shield just in time, shielding the others from the worse of the barrage.
Perhaps things were actually worse than he had thought. Or maybe, it had been hopeless from the start, and Chan was merely insane.
**************
Somewhere Else...
A figure sat in a dark room, lit only by the glow of a myriad of monitors. The screens shimmered with image after image of violence: Blood, bullets, corpses...Only the sound of the frantic battle was muted out, giving the flickering figures an odd surreality of motion, as they ran back and forth, captured from every angle by the relentless glare of security cameras.
A gauntleted hand idly tapped the controls, as the seated figure manipulated the view. It was tall, broad, and moved with a strange stiffness, its body partially draped by what looked at first like a cape of feathers.
They weren't feathers. They were blades. Tongues of polished, sharpened metal, interlaced into an armoured design. Beneath it, a melding of burnished chrome and flesh, duralloy and steel, a biomechanical body of marvellous design. This was the work of the now-deceased previous Zero, his last gift to his genetic father.
The figure flipped on the microphone.
"Take them...Alive, if possible. I would wish to examine them personally."
Somewhere else, forces were pulled from stationary outposts, as men rushed to obey the orders from higher up. They all knew the consequences of failure, or even disobedience. The figure cut the connection, zooming his viewpoint in onto the battleground, with an avid interest.
"Especially that one…"
Silhouetted on every screen, Andro fought on, slashing, hacking, destroying. Veterans were unmade in the vortex that surrounded him: Armor was shredded and the occupant eviscerated under the sheer volume of the blows. He'd worked himself into a frenzy, and his never-slowing assault showed that.
"That one, in particular, intrigues me."
Ignis knew nothing. The leader of NESTS was distracted, his attention focused elsewhere. That just gave one of his finest creations the chance to rebel. A lackey of NESTS? No more. Very soon, the world would learn to fear the name of their new master, once that impudent loser was toppled from his throne.
The figure chuckled to himself.
Everything was going according to plan.