Imperial Capital of Giad
February 17th, Stellar Year 2139
"Even impure blood deserves a chance to water the battlefield. I will spare your kin the indignity of exile, Yuuna Maika- no, Yuuna Nouzen- if you swear yourself to our clan and to the crown."
Once her clan had called her the Crimson Witch. The name had been given to her on the battlefield. It had been a clear autumn evening as she stood victorious atop her Feldress, tall over the flames licking up above the ruins, tall over the shattered mechs, tall over the corpses. And the wind had rippled her long crimson hair in a fan out behind her, and the molten orange of the sunset had caught each blood-red strand and made them glow, made them burn, and it had seemed to everyone watching her that a crown and cloak of flames had sprung from her scalp.
She had been a hero then.
Now they called her traitor. All the victories she had won on the battlefield were neatly banished from every history. All the glory she had earned turned to shame. All the years she had spent defending the pride of the Maika clan and the many bonds she had forged through the fire of war were all erased. All because she had fallen in love with a man whose eyes were black instead of red.
Yuuna Nouzen regretted nothing. She was saddened only at the thought that her children might grow up as outsiders even among their own kin. But if the choice was between having Shourei and Shinei grow up in an estranged home, or them having no home at all, then the answer was obvious. She would simply have to work harder, fight harder, to ensure her children would have a place.
These thoughts and more crossed her mind as she donned her equipment. Her camouflaged flight suit and impact vest were already cinched tight. The armored exoskeleton worn above them was fully activated, servos whirring faintly with each of her movements. Her distinctive hair had been tied up and mostly covered beneath a sturdy ballistics-computation helmet. Her sidearm sat at her hip, her rifle slung across her back.
Lastly, she affirmed the state of the silver Para-RAID device affixed to her ear and cheek. It was a curious piece of technology, developed in no small part thanks to her and her children - for it was the study of their bloodline ability that had formed the basis of its invention. Though the Para-RAID could not be jammed, and the nature of its sense-synchronization capability vastly reduced miscommunication between units, it was mostly seen as just a slight upgrade over wireless comms, and an expensive one at that.
It was not enough by far to settle her debt.
Seventeen years ago she had been given a place within the Nouzen clan under the condition that, when the chance came to water an honorable battlefield with her blood, she would take it. From then after, her children would be Nouzens forever and always, afforded all the privileges, opportunities, and amenities owed to them as such. It was a steep sacrifice, but one no parent would ever balk at making.
That time had come. The ground was thirsting.
The Empire was at war, inside and out. Just months ago the Legion had been perfected, and the Empire had used the catastrophic power of their fully-autonomous mechanical army to declare war on every surrounding nation. On nearly the same day as that declaration, a rebellion had ignited within the capital. The Legion had little consideration for collateral damage and were poorly equipped to distinguish allied humans from hostile. Thus, it was the Nouzen and Maika clans, the truest warriors of the Empire still oath-bound to the royal family, who were called to suppress the insurrection.
".:Are you ready, Yuuna?:." Reisha asked through the Para-RAID. Through their synchronized senses his voice seemed to echo not beside her, or even from his mouth, but from within her head itself, as if his words had taken a place right beside her own thoughts.
Yuuna favored him with a warm smile. She watched fondly as her husband cinched taut the last two straps of his helmet. He was dressed much the same as her, the tan shades of a flight suit running beneath the joints of his armored exoskeleton. For a moment she wondered if it might have been odd, maybe even a little deranged, that she thought Reisha never looked more attractive than when he was armed and armored.
".:Ready, my love:."
".:Then let's be off:."
In the manor of the Nouzen clan, the armory was a sacred place. It did not sit in some deep recess of the compound, nor was it some dark, cramped space merely for storing weapons. No, the armory lay just behind the clan head's throne, and its entrance was an enormous metal blast-gate painted in intricate shades of black-on-black. Its interior was a rich, beautiful, vast place. The weapon lockers bore silver engravings of past battles, and the armor they wore was taken from two of many upright stands posed like waiting warriors. As Reisha and Yuuna exited the gate, the vastness of the reception hall awaited them, and every Nouzen clansmen who would not enter the battle themselves was in attendance, all stood at attention on both flanks of the center-walkway, hands snapping with salutes as they passed.
For today and today alone, Yuuna was no outsider, and her husband no traitor. Though it was a grave sin for the Maika and Nouzen clans to cross their Pyrope and Onyx blood, it was an even graver sin to disrespect a warrior's departure. She and Reisha stepped in sync, parallel to one another around the Marquis' throne, and the old, black-eyed man gave them both a solemn nod as they passed.
Her two beautiful children stood at the very front of the line, second only to the clan head himself. Shourei was almost a man now, seventeen years old. His longish hair, red just like her own, was swept back today. He set his mouth in a firm, determined line and held his black eyes stalwart against the emotions he couldn't fully hide. Happiness to be seeing them. Grief to be seeing them off.
"Okaa-san… Otou-san... I…" His voice trailed for a moment, faltering. "I wish you the fortunes of war." There was a goodbye in those words, and in his voice that struggled so hard to be strong, and it hurt for them both.
But it hurt more to look at Shinei. He was only seven, and it was clear by looking at him that he didn't fully understand the final, fatal nature of today's ceremony. He tilted his head, looking at them both with his eyes wide and questioning.
"Okaa-san, you'll come back, won't you?"
Yuuna's breath hitched in her throat for a moment. All words escaped her.
And then the hitch was gone, and she breathed, and she decided to break decorum (just this one last time, she thought, realizing how fitting it was to do so after all the taboos she and her husband had broken just to be together) by kneeling down in front of her younger son, by pushing up her helmet's visor to meet her red eyes with his.
"I love you more than all the world, Shin," she said in a hoarse whisper. "I will always love you."
Something flashed in her child's eyes. The beginning of understanding, perhaps, and immediately there were tears welling in those red depths.
"Okaa-san, are you…?"
Shin didn't finish that question, simply letting his voice trail into silence. It was likely a question he didn't want an answer to.
Yuuna disabled her Para-RAID and in its place used something far more powerful. For one last time she opened the connection between herself and her children. She let what lay within her heart speak clearer than words ever could.
She let her mind fill with images of their home. Their beautiful one-story house on the edge of the Nouzen compound, its crossed white walls and shingled roof, its warm oak door and the apple tree that grew in the yard outside. She remembered their 'dog' Fido and the way he'd bark and beep in equal measure, how Shin would play fetch with him during the day and sleep curled into his side in the evening.
She remembered them as babies. All the sleepless nights she and Reisha had spent looking after them. The endless, sickening anxiety whenever they were hurt or ill. The occasional wish to shake them until they could stop screaming for just five minutes. And then those golden, peaceful moments in between where she could simply watch them as they slept. Shourei had been calm as a toddler, at least compared to Shin, who had cried often and loudly for their attention.
Emotions flooded through their shared link. All at once, Shinei broke into a smile as the tears in his eyes vanished, and a weight melted off Shourei's shoulders.
"I'm off, Shin," Yuuna said.
"Goodbye, Okaa-san."
After her husband said his goodbyes, there was nothing left to keep them here. Yuuna Nouzen walked past the rows and rows of waiting clansmen all with their hands held high in salute. Her children grew ever smaller behind her with every step, and the open door to the battlefield ever larger. In that long minute, she discovered something miraculous: she still regretted nothing. The course her life had taken was not an easy one, and neither would it be for her children, who would almost certainly inherit a world at war just as she had. And yet she regretted nothing. For all the faults of the world and its ugliness, she would not change what she had done, nor what she had been given.
She left the compound in step beside her husband. Outside the walls two parallel rows of 2nd generation Vanagandrs were arrayed with their cockpits open, cannons tilted back. These were not the standard, sluggish Feldress afforded to the common military forces. Each of these custom machines were painted in brilliant, shining shades of black with crimson trim - it would have been crimson with black trim for the Maika. Each stood on eight powerful legs with reinforced joints and enhanced drive systems. The engines were tuned for maximum output, and the weapons loaded with superior ammunition. These were true weapons of war, forged personally for the best warriors of the Nouzen clan.
Other pairs of pilots were in the process of boarding. Scavenger units awaited by the sides of their machines like loyal hounds; and their own, especially so. Fido's AI unit had been taken from his dog's body and transferred into one of the mechanized assistant robots. In the time it took for a stock scavenger to reload a Vanagandr's cannon, Fido could finish three. Yuuna only hoped Shin would forgive them for taking his friend ahead with them.
The battle would be one of the fiercest. The rebellion was no small affair; nearly all of Giad beyond the capital's walls had turned their arms against the crown. Yuuna had never been a loyalist like most of her clan. She had neither delusion nor hope that the Empire could prevail against the sheer mass of the uprising.
But it would be a long, brutal slog to that conclusion. The Nouzen and Maika clans might have been few in number compared to Ernst Zimmerman's army, but they were fanatically loyal and would each and all die long before they broke. They, and she, would fight to the bloody last. They would leave behind a great many corpses for each one of them that died.
Yuuna shrugged off her rifle and left it in a compartment beside her gunner's chair. She sank into the seat, which was only just large enough for her armored exoskeleton. To say nothing of comfort. Though these were custom-built machines, their interiors remained as cramped as any other Vanagandr on the field.
".:First Lieutenant Yuuna Nouzen, beginning pre-flight inspection:."
".:Acknowledged:."
".:Drive systems, check:.
".:Armaments loaded:.
".:Heat sinks nominal. All systems green:."
".:How about a good luck kiss?:."
Yuuna grinned. ".:You never stop with just that, dear:."
Reisha's laughter echoed through the Para-RAID, resounding clear in her mind even as the roar of the Vanagandr's engine drowned all other sounds.
".:Crimson Witch, setting out:."
—
People used a lot of different words to describe combat. Frenetic. Blurry. Chaotic. Exhilarating. Nothing was ever quite accurate. The truth of the matter was that it was simply impossible to describe combat with mere words. Combat was sheer sensory overload. It was a billion sights sounds and smells all amplified by the thrum of adrenaline. It was a hundred voices shouting from a dozen directions, the loudest of which was never your own. It was a time where an explosion could detonate an inch from your eyes and you'd only notice it because of the sunspot it left in your field of view.
People had a lot of different ways for coping with combat. The bottom line of it was that something always had to give. During battle the brain might as well have been a bucket beneath a waterfall. If one's mind could possibly hope to cope with all that stimulus, room had to be made. Something would need to be thrown out. If not, the mind would simply crack.
Some people discarded their emotions, closing their eyes and opening them again with a renewed coldness, all their loves and hates forgotten, all that was warm in the world - including human bodies - reduced to nothing but data and vectors. Some people discarded their thoughts, retreating their consciousness solely into hands and motion. `Some discarded their humanity and reveled in the madness, finding joy in brutality, excitement in chaos.
Yuuna Nouzen threw away everything when she fought.
The most she would remember of any battle were a few shuffled images in a confusing, kaleidoscopic sequence, maybe a few islands of memory each about a minute or two long. She would never know the person she became in battle - only that the name she'd earned on that autumn evening, the name now given to her Vanagandr, was related to more than just the color of her hair.
These were the last things she saw.
An enemy formation on the main street, six forest green Vanagandrs cruising at fifty kilometers an hour. She aligns her main gun's sights. Snaps the trigger and the lead unit goes down, scream of steel and belch of fire, spray of blood - such a small puddle compared to the size of the machine, but so vibrantly red in the daylight. The enemy returns fire. Cannons roar. The engine whines as Reisha takes evasive action.
—
One mech explodes, and then another. It's easy when the enemy comes to her like this. They believe they've set an ambush with those six Vanagandr as bait, but they've forgotten which clan they face. Her hands are a blur of motion as she works the sticks and triggers. A pulse of 12.7mm fire into one enemy's rear exhaust, a 120mm cannon shot to the legs of another. Effortless.
—
More pour in from the side-streets. They've killed just over a dozen by now. Crimson Witch pivots on its two back legs to dodge the fire of an enemy cannon, and the shot scores a shallow line across the composite plating. Another fatal blow averted, but the maneuver is too much. Steel creaks; something snaps. One leg goes and Crimson Witch sags downward. Her finger is tight on the trigger, eyes flitting from screen to screen. Another target at the front. Aiming at them while they're staggered. But she shoots first. The enemy's optical sensor shatters in a corona of flame. Her machine guns have never stopped screaming.
—
The main gun clicks dry. Fido was taken down almost an hour ago. No way to reload.
—
A teeth-cracking tremor through the cockpit as Crimson Witch slams its full mass down on an enemy Feldress. Steel, machinery, and flesh merge into one indeterminate shape, crushed into the street.
—
The shell hits Crimson Witch's right side. The pilot's side. In one moment her husband is there. In the next he isn't.
—
No fifty tons of steel to defend her anymore. She runs through an alley with her rifle in her hands. Her exoskeleton bleeds sparks from the right leg. She's soaked in sweat beneath her flight suit. Her hands are dripping with blood.
—
She slams her rifle's stock into the rebel's chin and he drops to the ground, and she shoulders the gun and pumps a burst into his chest. Another comes from behind. She's shot in the back and staggers at the impact. The rifle flies from her hands. But she feels no pain. Doesn't feel anything as she turns and draws her pistol. As she kills him with two clean shots to throat and eyes. And then there's more. Always more.
—
Ammo's dry, armor's broken. Her shattered helmet rolls down the gentle slope of the cobblestone street. She's armed only with the knife in her hands, its steel painted in the same rich, vital shade as her eyes and hair.
—
She has enough time to look down at it. A small green orb about the size of a child's fist. She has enough time to recognize it for what it is. A grenade with its pin pulled. And then her time runs out.
Yuuna Nouzen died believing that her sacrifice would ensure the protection of her children. In all her years, she had known the Marquis of the Nouzen clan to be an honorable man, one who would abide by a promise he made no matter the consequences. And on that, she had been right. Had the old man lived, Shinei and Shourei, though they would not have been able to dispel their stigma as half-bloods, would still have been given every consideration a regular clansmen would enjoy.
But reality has a cruel sense of humor. A week after the deaths of Yuuna and Reisha, the old clan head suffered a heart attack in his sleep. And the man that took his place gave no particular mind for his predecessor's promises, nor did he have any care at all for the two half-breeds wasting space in his compound.
At seventeen years old, Shourei was placed into a Feldress of his own. After a year's training, he was given orders to deploy. Another two years later and his unit was routed in battle and scattered deep into lands outside Imperial control. His Para-RAID signal had faded just a few days after. Of course, there were no rescue missions made for the half-breed, and his existence was soon forgotten.
And Shin, ten by that point, was killed.