Thanks to randypandy for transcribing the ZXA script I've used/edited for part of this chapter! I will still be uploading the creative process bits for anyone curious about how this fic evolved in my head, but if you're just here for the story then this will be the end of it. If you are interested, it'll be in my 'director's cuts' fanfic/sub-fic.
Finally. September 19th, 2008 to today, November 30th, 2016. I may have had some hiatuses, but gosh darnit I did it y'all.
One ride armour, everything but the cockpit covered in guns and other deadly armaments.
One lone figure, blonde hair whipping in a burning wind as he roared defiance.
In the wasteland caused by the crashing of a Raider Ship, the battle began.
Shots pelted out from Scimitar's war mech, firelight glinting off its dangerous metal surface as the high-pitched screech of laser fire rang out. Colourful shots followed the smaller combatant as Omega dodged, still in pain and twitching from the virus-induced paralysis earlier.
Determined to draw first blood, Omega grimaced and charged, heat building up in his ankles. Two lasers grazed him, one barely singing his hip while the other blew a small hole in his shoulder. So much for getting first blood. As he finished charging, a third laser barely missed him, his Heat Launch EX Skill suddenly driving him into the cockpit. Although he managed to twist midair and land with his feet, the impact of a supremely fast war reploid did little more than scratch the glass. Omega was forced to jump off, backflipping out of the way of one limb swiping at him and leaving him to land on another.
"Master! You will not be able to use your Maverick Mayhem EX Skill to disable the attack systems of that ride mech! I had to expend all stored virus to combat his own virus, as well as heal you as much as I could! Sorry Master!"
Omega could do little more than give the helpful system a mental nod. Currently he was occupied with dodging the limbs and beam weaponry of the mech. Several punches and slashes of his hastily-summoned swords did little more than cosmetic damage. If he wanted to take this thing down, it would take everything he had.
Scimitar laughed, one of the ride armour's limbs smashing painfully into Omega's side as the God of Destruction was sent bouncing and skidding down the battlefield. He mocked the devil reploid even as Omega stood up, "Silly fool! What do you think this ride armour was made for, plucking daisies? I was prepared for you or one of my clones to resist!" His guns whined. Several missiles shot out of a shoulder cannon, trailing after the blonde fighter as he ran around the field. Omega ducked and swerved, the explosives eventually impacting each other and taking themselves out. The whine became a sudden shriek. Omega took a hit from one of several large beams that spewed forth from the mech's chest region, sending the red reploid rolling further away from his target.
"Ha ha ha ha! Fight all you like! I know all about you from Weil's notes!"
Omega grimaced, a feeling of hopelessness bubbling forth. If Scimitar knew what Weil knew, what could he possibly do to win? Then that feeling was crushed under a wave of cold anger and determination. Weil knew him. But he didn't know the potential system.
"You talk too much. Die."
Omega's rebuttal made Scimitar's grin falter slightly, the raider leader raising a mocking eyebrow instead. As he prepared a counter-attack, Omega tried once more to close the distance. His hesitance and pain from the virus had faded. Once more he jumped straight at Scimitar. The Raider leader was prepared for this, putting up a limb to block. However, as the mech made to swat off the red reploid, Omega had already jumped off of the limb, and with his EX Skill from Plug, swung himself handily off the mech's arm and leaped onto its back, firmly magnetizing himself to it. Scimitar had lost track momentarily and had to waste time to was forced to find him, swinging wildly all the while.
In that time, Omega had gotten a few more slashes in, but had yet to find a vulnerable spot. He growled. Scimitar clued in to his location, and Omega was forced to dodge the swift attempts of the mech to dislodge him. The damn thing moved too fast for Omega's liking, and he decided to do something about it. A few more acrobatics landed him at the shoulder of the ride armour, barely out of reach of the missile cannons placed there. He reached overhead, intending to stab down into the hopefully weaker joint area. As he did, his blade shortened.
A hand closed around Omega's head just as the poisonous data from Scorzon's EX Skill filtered its way into the mech's systems. The red reploid found himself making a hasty landing after being thrown. He frowned. As suspected, the blade had made very little headway into the joint, proving that they too were well armoured. His normal blade would have very little effect on the thing. However, the mech was slowing, Scimitar cursing as his controls became less responsive. Two could play at the paralyzing game.
Twin blasts suddenly caught Omega in his gut, knocking the wind from him as the missiles launched out of his range of perception impacted brutally. There was no laser follow-up this time, but the jets located on the mech's ankles rocketed to life, and after a short charge-up Omega found himself smashed into the air once again by a brutal tackle. He dodged out of the way with a double-jump, but not before the mech made a surprisingly quick 180 degree spin and caught his arm with a beam saber slash. The claw-like weapon left three deep grooves in his side, bleeding badly.
"You already made this worse than it has to be. Give up now, and I might just let you keep your personality!" Scimitar snarled.
Omega bared his teeth right back, "After you destroy my memories and make me forcibly loyal to you? Fat chance!"
With a flash of light the fiery form of Wallaburn appeared, and in the blink of an eye Omega was throwing the pseudoroid's tail bombs at the ride armour. As much as he'd have loved to break out the ultimate form Viral had worked on, at this stage in the fight he wasn't risking an A-trans with DNA he didn't know would properly work. Explosions rang out, causing smoke to appear and obscure both of their visions. Omega jumped skyward. It turned out to be not a moment too soon, as Scimitar had made another charge. As Omega landed and grabbed another bomb, he noticed that the front of the mech looked scorched, a small plume of smoke trailing out from a dent in the mech. It seemed that the concussive blast had left its mark.
Of course! It made sense! Omega grinned internally as he figured out his opponent. The mech had likely been reinforced against beam and energy weapons, his usual arsenal, but concussive attacks with a bit more oomph could get right through that defense!
Scimitar either didn't realize his opponent's observations, or trusted his mech's armour to hold up against whatever Omega could throw at it. He chuffed, "That all you have? Then take this!"
More missiles came, but this time it was a veritable rain of them. They came pouring from the mech's shoulder in an uncountable array. Omega grimaced, but the things moved just slow enough that a plan came to mind. He breathed deeply before letting out a belch of flames. The flamethrower did its work and the missiles exploded, the explosions from some setting off others behind them. A smokescreen arose.
Omega wasted no time, turning into the sinuous form of Ejen and keeping low to the ground to avoid whatever would come next. It turned out to be another charge. The mech powered into him, badly damaging his lower third. The snake was long however, and once used to the momentum Omega whipped his body upwards and latched his fangs into another joint. One became lodged into the arm. As the mech suddenly swerved, the snake was flung from it, a loud snap denoting the lodged tooth being left behind.
Fortunately the mech's wild swing had found no purchase. Ejen's form spat blood. Coiling close to the ground, Omega quickly surveyed his foe. As the mech turned to face him, he noticed a definite decrease in its speed once more. Scimitar looked even more furious than ever as their eyes locked. Not even bothering with the missiles, the mech's font opened up. A whine and a shriek rang out.
The beam was huge. It took Omega everything he had to fling himself out of the way, the devastating weapon leaving a new furrow in the wake of the crashed ship. He quickly returned to his original form, crimson armour and all, before flinging a sword into the closing chest hatch of the mech. It struck true.
The hatch became stuck, scimitar's eyes darting to the front of his mech with aghast surprise. Two more of Wallaburn's bombs came from nowhere, rocking the mech backwards as they impacted. With an explosion and a snap, the orb where the lasers had come from was destroyed. Heavy smoke came from the area. Scimitar cursed, the chest hatch snapping shut and closing for good.
Omega leapt into the air as Scimitar did his damage control. He materialized a gun, unwieldy as they were, and shot at the cockpit once more. The gun crumpled in on its own weakness, and the shot hit the cockpit, bouncing off, before it hit some rubble and reflected back at the mech yet again. The ride armour became further unbalanced, if not very damaged. Ashe's DNA had become an unexpected boon with her reflective shot.
Landing behind the mech, Omega stabbed at the back of its knees yet again with Scorzon's EX skill. He dodged as the thing's jet-ankles allowed it to whip around. It slashed at him as he backed up, finding purchase and giving Scimitar some space. The man looked angry. His determination was, however, tinged with an unexpected fear. The battle he'd thought won was not turning in his favour.
As Omega changed form yet again, Scimitar hollered. A deluge of lasers rained down like they had in the beginning of the fight. This did little to stop the battle-lust driven charge of the now wyvern-like God of Destruction.
Omega screamed in rage as he bore down on his foe, tearing at the various openings he'd made with his teeth and claws, and battering at the cockpit with his wings. Deep scratches and dents were made by his attack, some opened further, and the hatch guarding the now-broken orb was torn away. The cockpit's translucent front shattered into a spiderweb of cracks, but even as Omega battered at it it gave no other indication of yielding to his assault. Guns were torn, missiles and laser weaponry littering the field.
Scimitar just sneered at the wyvern on top of him. There was no confidence, merely the brutal anger of one fought to a corner. "Like a butterfly, bastard!"
His mech may have been slowed, but it was still powerful. The unexpectedly weak wing joints of Omega's new form proved disastrous. One was torn off in a sudden, brutal move by the former raider leader. The devil reploid screeched in pain and retreated, but not before the mech managed a punch at his other wing. The elbow joint of the wing gave a painful crack, but the ride armour received a nasty swing from Omega's tail in response.
Omega transformed back into his regular form. Her has to concentrate hard, and oh was there pain! He blinked, breathing heavily, and stared down at his reformed arm. He wiggled his fingers, testing its usefulness, and snorted as he glared at Scimitar, blood spraying from the red reploid's nose. His systems couldn't take much more of this.
He had almost nothing left.
Scimitar stared down at him, gasping for breath. Sweat was rolling down his face, various warning signals reflecting off his slick features. As the mech took another step, readying itself with a shudder of metal, another large crack sounded and a new, deep break in the cockpit appeared.
With a final roar, the pair charged at each other.
Guns torn off, the mech did one last charge towards Omega, but this game of chicken would not end well for it. The God of Destruction reared back, gathering a charge of energy in his hand, before punching straight into the weakened chest of the mech and deep into its core as the opposing fighter's momentums brought them into each other.
The mech continued its charge unimpeded. It reached the end of its dash, turning to where its opponent had once stood.
It fell.
As the ride armour toppled to its back, Omega rode it down. He tore out his arm from the sparking core, covering his face as it exploded and sent small bits of shrapnel towards him. Slowly, damaged and teetering on the brink, Omega stomped up its form to the cockpit. He leaned down, staring at the surface he could no longer see through do to its many cracks. Silence. He coughed, blood splatting on the surface.
With a sudden whoosh of air, it opened. Omega was temporarily taken aback as his eyes met scimitar. The raider's eyes were narrowed, his face grim, and the barrel of his gun pointed straight at Omega.
The crack of the gun echoed over the battlefield.
The shot went straight through the red reploid's chest. He stared at the hole in his torso, unbelieving, before returning his gaze to the raider. The man seemed almost shocked at his own brazen tactic, and moreso shocked that it seemed to work. His eyes lit up in devilish glee.
Omega's vision began to go dark, his foot slipped and he stumbled, beginning to fall backwards.
NO.
With a final push of will he summoned one last sword, forcing himself forward. Scimitar reacted, and another round shot through Omega's throat at the same time that his last hastily made o-sabre buried itself in Scimitar's skull.
It was an odd sight, Omega mused, as his mind and body fell to darkness. Scimitar's face would be forever in a pose of mild shock. Maybe he hadn't the energy to look scared as the blade became buried in his face. Maybe he'd not had the time to realize his doom upon him? Maybe-
It all went dark.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
In the soundless, ashen landscape of the crash, there was little more than the dying light of fires to reveal the scene. Little stirred in the depths of the moon-lit night. A gentle howl brushed the landscape as wind rushed over the land.
Three figures stared down at the carnage.
"Do you think they're dead?" A femine voice asked.
Tails twitching nervously behind them, the three kitsune pseudoroids Omega had reluctantly trained trailed into the clearing. Damaged by the crash, Morukori, Harukori, and Kirukori all surveyed the carnage and the figure prone and bleeding at the base of a mech.
"Our once-illustrious leader is, that's for sure," came the answer. The sand dancer kitsune, electricity occasionally leaping between his tails, hopped down from where the cockpit lay open. "I don't suspect he'll be wanting us for any missions any time soon."
"After what he's apparently done, I don't think I'd want to either," The ice kitsune growled. "Viruses to control reploids? Despicable, even by my standards."
"But ruthlessly effective, you have to admit," spoke the fire dancer Harukori.
Kirukori piped up, "Well? What do you think we should do now?"
Three trio stared at each other. Morukori in particular gazed down at the red reploid bleeding out beside them. "Whatever we want."
"And him?"
The fire dancer had gestured towards Omega, her voice emotionless and tactical. The trio glanced at him once more.
"Leave him. If he survives, he'll have much more important things to think about than us. I'd rather forge our own path than bother treading close to his."
The other two nodded. Kirukori snorted, "He's done us a favour, and now we'll repay it. He did his job, and now we'll do ours. Seeing as there's nothing left for us here... We're mercenaries now. Mercenaries are paid to kill. And I can't be bothered when there's no money in this." The three left him on the ground where he lay, careless to the point of ruthless. From then on, his fate was in his own hands. It was no concern of theirs.
If the trio had been paying more attention, they might have noticed a pair of reptilian eyes watching from nearby. When the coast was clear, one lone pseudorid mechanic struggled her was across to the fallen God of Destruction, repair tools in crash-cracked hands. She stooped to his side, inspecting him and tinkering where she could. In short order, her work was finished. "Last time, buddy. Who knows how many people will lose their lives from this but... a life saved is yet again to be repaid. What little good you've done will come back to you, I guess."
Iggy sighed, her work completed, before retreating. Reptilian feet skittered across the ruined earth, never again to meet with the one she'd aided.
Sightless evermore, the corpse of Scimitar watched on.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Pain was all he felt. Blinking, Omega slowly came to consciousness, testing his limbs. Curling his fingers alone was exhausting, but somehow he managed to gather himself up, blood and dirt mixing together on his body and the ground beneath. He was alive, but it had taken everything he had. The fight had been sorely stacked against him. And yet... triumph. It was his. It hadn't come without its costs however. The God of Destruction was in sore need (literally and figuratively) of a place to recuperate. He dragged himself to his feet and set off, holding an arm as it slowly mended.
Wind and smoke were his only companions as he pushed onwards, his systems slowly rebooting. Every single one of his warning systems was screaming at him and how bad of a condition he was in. Clunk, clunk. His metallic booted feet trudged ungracefully across the crash site. As he wandered, a glint of gold met his eye. Beneath a large chunk of rubble, a forlorn arm poked out, twisted and crushed. Next to it was a sword. Alpha's. Omega took the prize without a second thought as to its former owner, merely a derisive snort. It would be helpful, and he would no longer need to keep re-summoning ones that broke easily. Still, there were more important things to worry about right now than a desolate corpse and future battle tactics.
Like where to go.
He needed to heal, badly, and it was not going to be a short time endeavour. While he'd be functional soon, (his body did heal fast after all,) it would be a short term solution. He needed to make sure the virus was purged, and he needed to give his systems time to regenerate all the way through to his mechanical bones (because they were not supposed to creak like that). As of now it was his muscle tissues that mattered most. Without them he wouldn't even be able to move. Thankfully those were already in functional condition. He could continue to fight if absolutely needed, although a strong enough blow could lend to some serious breakages and a severe worsening of his health.
But where to go?
Legion would be after him, no doubt about that. He'd made a nasty exit. Other raiders might prove a solution, but after Dark Prophecy's dealings he'd had enough of the untrustworthy wretches. He wracked his brains through and through, trying to think of somewhere hidden. Somewhere that no one would find him. The answer was obvious.
Go where he'd come from.
Wind whipped up behind him, ash and silt thick like a fog. At least his footprints would be covered. Under the dark sky, Omega walked. He walked, and walked, and walked. It was time to get lower than low; it was time to go underground. Back home. Wait things out.
After a while, Viral finally came online. His systems had had a major shock, after all. Non-essential systems and functions had been temporarily suspended. Together the two surmised a rough direction, or at least attempted to. Hours would pass before they came across a small settlement. The folks there were happy to help a bedraggled man, remote as they were. He borrowed the use of a computer, quickly finding a map of the area. Him and Viral used it and Hunter's camp as a reference (thank god Amethyst had walked him there, and not transported him) and found their best route home. He left the village in the dead of midnight with none the wiser, his browsing history deleted from the computer.
Home welcomed him, eagerly. As he found his way into the depths of the Area A caves, a formerly blank wall in their deepest depths suddenly sprouted a cyberspace door. Omega blinked, thanked his luck, and entered. It shut and disappeared soundly behind him.
Days passed. Possibly weeks. He slept, moved little as he rested, and thought about his future. Was Legion still after him? Would the Dark Propchecy raiders have angry allies? What did he do now? In the end, he decided.
Nothing.
Omega was tired. He'd finally been able to see the world after centuries of entrapment, and now he wanted nothing more to do with it. Weil's remnants had yet to fully rot, and that was dangerous for him. Legion and raiders both were untrustworthy, conniving world powers in their own ways. Hunters were idiots and would side with Legion. And the Guardians, he hadn't seen much of them, but if the rest of the organization had even a tenth of a power the original resistance had, they'd be a force to reckon with. Vent and Aile were tantamount to the fact that the Guardians had that tenth and then some. Dealing with them would be too much effort. He was done with the whole affair and wanted nothing more than to return to his peace and quiet.
That's when Viral spoke up.
"Ma... Master?" he quivered.
"Yes?"
"You can't!" Viral shrieked
Annoyed at being told what to do, Omega replied, "I can't what?
"You can't give up! You're the God of Destruction! The world should be bent under your feet! You can't give up and hide away! That's against what you are!"
"I decide what I am or am not, thank you very-" but he was interrupted
"It's in your programming!" Viral roared, "It's who you are! Your base instincts are to kill. You were built to destroy! It's what you are!"
"Maybe it is. So?" Omega shot in, intent on derailing Viral.
But the tirade continued, growing more and more instense, "I promised I'd make you strong! I did! I promised! You were going to have endless power! Be the strongest in the world! You will be!"
"I am, but-"
"Legion did this! They made you weak! They made you soft! You will be better than this! You are better than this!" Suddenly, Omega felt the very core of his programming start to twist and mutate, "Yes yes yes I promised you'll be better you'll be stronger master I promised I'll make you stronger I promised I promised-"
Omega felt a shot of fear. This was WRONG. Viral was doing something WRONG. Then determination. "No." Was lord of this mind and body. He was the master here. "No!"
He resisted.
Viral was a rampant mind, formed by a potential system run amok. A program meant to regulate changes in his body had grown too good at its job, grown too specialized, too smart. It had formed its own intelligence, but this was a mind that had never been made with the basic rules and training, basic testing, that all other reploids had. It had gone mad. And enough was enough.
Omega fought his own programming, resisted, deleted changes, froze programs and settings in their tracks, and altered things back to what he thought was right. But this wasn't his playground. He was a fighter, not a programmer. Viral and Omega wreathed in mental turmoil, neither even aware of what their shared bosdy was doing. In the end, it was a fight the God of Destruction wouldn't win. He knew it, and saw it happening. His memories themselves began to twist, dimming and darkening, those pieces of data secondary to the personality, the drive to destroy, that was coming to the fore. If he didn't do something quickly, Weil would have his mindless machine just a few hundred years late.
So he did the only thing he could do. Something that only the primary AI of a reploid could allow.
In a final fit of desperation, he initiated a hard reset.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Legion had indeed followed him. It took them several days to track the raider ship's location. All had wondered at the sudden disappearance of any sightings, but when they found the crash site, all was answered. To say the Masters were stunned was an understatement. Problems rarely dealt with themselves in their line of work, and yet here they were; down one mysterious maverick mercenary and an entire raider organization, and a particularly nasty one at that. Search teams and criminal investigation groups rand rampant around the site. Pandora and Prometheus went with them, oddly enough. No one questioned why.
Another day or two later revealed a confirmation; a body had been found. Long golden hair (familiar, oh so familiar and heartbreaking for Pandora) and a tattered limb were the few things recoverable from the crash; the rest had obviously been scattered into far too many pieces.
What remained, what little clues there might have been, had all been buried under ash, death and destruction.
The public would later hear of the crash, but no solid reason could be given. It was widely suspected that the newly-hired mercenary may have had a fight with his new employer. The body of the former leader, Scimitar, attested to that. But the body of the mercenary, having died in the crash, went against that. Perhaps another raider group had come in afterwards and assassinated Scimitar; a few raiders tried to claim the kill, but none could confirm. They were little more than terrorists trying to take credit for the death of a raider organization that had made all of them cower. Whatever the reason, the mercenary was gone, and so were the Dark Prophecy raiders. Two majors problems neatly wrapped up. Yet no one could feel ease.
Mikhail and Thomas were considering many things one evening at the top of their tower, the mercenary and raider but one of a few issues on their minds. Silence reigned.
"I know it odd, but... all this going on. It makes me think of Albert, of all people. That man... he said some rather outrageous things. All this death, and yet, life moves on. Not very fair, is it?
Thomas sighed, "Nothing is fair, not even life... Mikhail... Do you think it presumptuous for us to give birth to new life?"
This was an argument that had come up many times. New life, Reploids, to be exact. Mikhail fell into his old defenses, grunting, "How absurd... Thomas, you couldn't possibly hold fast to such foolish imaginings. We do what is best for all."
"There are laws that give equality to Humans and Reploids, correct? Don't you remember? Those were passed because Albert and I agreed on them. Nostalgic, isn't it?" The man towered, an evil aura suddenly emanating.
Mikhail stuttered at his friend's dark tone, "W-What are you saying?"
Thomas turned to Mikhail, his eyes brooding, "Give humans robotic bodies, and give Reploids mortality. So, where do you think the human bodies for the Reploids are? What do you think happened to the original Reploid data from before we gave them mortality?"
Atlas, Siarnaq, Thetis, and Aeolus, Megamerged, were suddenly in the room, no doubt having teleported in from somewhere. But their eyes glowed red, their movements were too stiff. Something was wrong, but Mikhail didn't have the time to think on it.
"Thomas... You...!"
"Albert was wrong in his ways, so I helped the Hunters. But I do think he was right about one thing.
This world needs to be reset."
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Day one.
Waking up for the first time was painful. His body (how did he know this) was in pain (was this not normal?). He was on the ground. It was green! Very Green. This was normal for this particular ground though, and with that he began to realize something was amiss.
Omega (that was his name. This was important!) had memories. He blinked. He looked around. There was no one there. No one to tell him what had happened, then. But he was made of metal and thought, and that meant he was a computer. Of some sort. That meant there was data, and he was data! And so, he looked within.
It was a mess. He had memories all right, which revealed that this was not, in fact, his first day alive as he'd thought. But his mind was a mess, that was for sure. Everywhere he looked, data was corrupted. Twisted, wrong, and no wonder he could remember so little. At this rate of corruption, his mental programming couldn't bring up any data, much less cross-reference to itself to form proper memories or series of events. Something had gone awry. As he had no other direction in life (no one was there to tell him what to do) he set about de-compiling, re-compiling, and recovering as much as he could.
A meter showed, showing the approximate time frame for the process. Hundreds, possibly thousand of years would be needed. And that was if things went perfectly; if they didn't go well or were more complicated than the approximation had estimated, it could be longer. Without reference, Omega didn't know if this was a particularly long time frame or not. It struck him as a while, but he wasn't sure. And yet, there was one thing he was sure of.
He was a god
Whatever sort of god he was (fire, anger, death all struck him from somewhere and what odd memories, so fragmented and torn) didn't matter. The time frame didn't bother him, then. What were mere centuries to a god?
In this safe place, he had unlimited time. It was somewhere, clearly not the surface as it was obviously some sort of enclosed, cave-like space, but exactly where he wasn't sure. It didn't matter if the world became a desert or an endless sea. It wouldn't matter if the world ended completely. He was a god. And once his mind was back in order, he'd be back to rediscover the surface.
His legacy would be truly endless.