Author Note: Alright, I'm going to be completely honest with everyone here. I really enjoyed watching this anime. For those familiar with my writing, I usually wait until the show is over before writing original characters (OCs). Knowing what's going to happen allows me to better develop the characters. I don't want to simply copy and paste the story, as that would spoil the reader's experience and potentially turn them off.
Considering it's such a popular and celebrated anime, I was surprised to find so few fanfics about it. However, this seems to be the case with many forms of fiction. Now, let's get into the discussion. I'm taking a chance with this story; it's a fusion of Titanfall and Witch of Mercury. While it won't detract from the main plot, there will be elements of Titanfall incorporated.
My goal for this fanfic is to create a compelling romance featuring original characters. This will be my first attempt at writing a drama and romance type of story, and I'm genuinely excited about it. I'm grateful that you'll be joining me on this journey. If you're interested in supporting me with this fanfic, please consider following, favoriting, and reviewing. Your support will not only motivate me to update regularly but also help me understand what's working and what's not. It would mean a lot to me!
Best regards,
The Author
Unknown World: Unknown Year – Heavily Classified
The twin suns stretched their fiery fingers across the desolate remains of the planet, a haunting sight that illuminated the devastation below. "Remains" seemed a strangely inadequate word to describe what was once a thriving world, teeming with life and lush landscapes during the zenith of humanity's age of space travel. In this moment, however, as one surveyed the state of the city, the temptation to laugh bubbled up, bitter and ironic.
The city, now a mere shell of its former glory, lay in ruins. Time had etched deep grooves upon its weathered face, the scars of uncounted years of merciless warfare and the relentless weight of corrupt forces demanding tribute. And now, the city had paid the ultimate price, a heavy toll extracted with ruthless efficiency.
Once-great cities, each a bustling hive that likely housed millions of residents, now stood as skeletal remnants, monuments to a bygone era. The towering skyscrapers, symbols of human ambition, had been mercilessly blown apart and toppled, cascading into one another in a haphazard dance of destruction. Blast marks from artillery fire marred the facades of these shattered behemoths, while sharp fragments jutted out like jagged teeth, testament to the violence that had consumed this world.
The streets themselves bore the scars of countless battles fought upon their broken pavement. Tank treads carved deep furrows into the asphalt, the telltale signs of armored machines that once rumbled through these thoroughfares. Shrapnel, a morbid confetti, littered the ground, glinting like twisted silver in the fading light. And then there were the footprints, imprinted with an otherworldly weight—a colossal testimony to the presence of the mechs that had waged their own battles amidst this forsaken landscape.
A sudden explosion shattered the air, a deafening symphony that sent the ruins of cars hurtling skyward. The concussive force ripped through the remnants of a crumbling building, revealing the two combatants that had been concealed within. Emerging from the chaos, two mechs emerged, their colossal forms radiating power and menace, like ancient titans birthed from the depths of a mythic nightmare.
On one side stood the standard mech, its towering figure casting a dark shadow over the debris-covered streets. Its steel plating gleamed under the faint glow of a dying sun. Equipped with a formidable laser rifle, the mech exuded a sense of raw power. The rifle hummed with energy, ready to unleash a devastating beam of destruction upon its opponent.
Opposing it was the Ion mech, its sleek design cutting through the smoky haze. The Ion stood tall and slender, adorned in a vibrant color scheme that contrasted with the somber surroundings. Its energy shield shimmered with a crackling blue hue, providing a formidable defense against incoming attacks. The Ion's right arm held the Splitter Rifle, a weapon that discharged piercing energy rounds with deadly precision.
As the two mechs locked eyes, tension filled the air. The ground beneath them trembled, a testament to their immense weight and power. Without warning, the standard mech unleashed a searing blast from its laser rifle, the energy beam lancing through the air with blistering speed. The Ion swiftly raised its energy shield, the intense heat and light dispersing harmlessly around it.
With calculated precision, the Ion retaliated by firing a volley of Splitter Rifle rounds. The glowing projectiles streaked through the ruins, leaving trails of energy in their wake. The standard mech deftly evaded the incoming onslaught, ducking and weaving between the crumbling buildings. Explosions erupted around them as the rounds impacted with the surrounding structures, sending debris flying in all directions.
Undeterred, the standard mech charged forward with thunderous footsteps. Its laser rifle pulsed with renewed energy as it closed the distance. The Ion mech held its ground, gauging the enemy's approach. With a flick of its wrist, the Ion unleashed a barrage of laser blasts from its shoulder-mounted Laser Tripwire. The bright beams crisscrossed the battlefield, creating a deadly web of energy.
In a desperate move, the standard mech activated its thrusters, propelling itself into the air. It soared above the Laser Tripwire, narrowly avoiding the lethal trap. The Ion quickly recalibrated its strategy, anticipating the standard mech's trajectory. With pinpoint accuracy, the Ion released a concentrated energy beam from its chest-mounted Splitter Rifle, cutting through the air towards its airborne adversary.
The laser beam struck true, impacting the standard mech's torso with explosive force. Metal screeched and shattered under the assault, sending the mech hurtling to the ground below. Smoke billowed from its damaged frame as it lay motionless amidst the ruins. The Ion stood victorious, its energy shield flickering with a faint glow of triumph.
The Ion mech moved, its footsteps reverberating as it approached the downed mech. It could see the IMC plating of its fallen opponent. The pilot within the standard mech popped out from the ruined chassis, his body bearing the marks of the earlier engagement, wounded and weary.
He lifted his gaze towards the towering titan, contemplating the name given to these massive war machines. Titans, a moniker borrowed from ancient tales of Greek and Roman legends. Once symbols of strength and heroism, now repurposed for the bloody conflicts that plagued humanity among the stars.
The titan raised its blaster, and in an instant, before the man could even register, it released a deadly spray that silenced their lives.
The city fell into silence once again. The titan gazed down at its blaster, seeing the scorched marks as it dropped the still-smoldering laser weapon.
"God dammit!" screamed the pilot within the cockpit, frustration boiling over.
The pilot slumped along the seat within the titan, feeling the weight of their mission. The titan itself was more exposed than ever before, bearing the scars of countless battles fought on this war-torn planet. Both pilot and machine were being pushed to their limits.
The pilot, depending on who you asked, was either a hero fighting against the oppressive corporations like the IMC or a cold-blooded killer seeking conquest and domination. Different factions spun their narratives, painting these men and women as either saints or devils.
They bore the burden of the titan, whether it was to resist the earthly corporations or seize territory claimed by the IMC and other houses. Yet, amidst the turmoil, one thing was certain—the titan pilots were a preferred alternative to the enigmatic and feared gundamn witches.
The pilot within the cockpit was not the heroic figure depicted in militia propaganda. The posters that once adorned his hometown, boasting of proud pilots standing tall with their titans, now felt like distant memories. He knew the truth now.
Within the cramped confines of the cockpit, he sat alongside his titan—an Ion class titan customized to his specifications. He had fought, trained, and killed for the dream of a free galaxy, liberated from the iron grip of super companies that devoured everything in their path, trampling over the little man.
But in the midst of the action, his training had been rushed, and now he felt the discomfort in his spine, the prongs that connected him to his titan causing him pain. Sparks crackled, dancing along the edges of his cockpit as his fingers tightened around the controls.
"Zeke," he called out, addressing his titan. His gaze shifted to the dials by his side, flicking them as he heard the crackling flames subside. "Do a range check."
"Range check," the robotic voice repeated mechanically. "Sorry, Aidan, but range is down. The IMC and the corporation have created an EMP that—"
"Enough," Aidan responded, his breath heavy and strained. "Enough..." he repeated, softer this time.
The titan hummed under his control, straightening its posture as Aidan slowly scanned the surroundings. Aidan sighed, his heart gradually calming as the battle's adrenaline still coursed through his veins. His eyes fell upon the discarded plasma rifle at his feet, but a quick assessment revealed that it was too small to be wielded by his titan's massive hands.
He grimaced at the realization. What more could be done?
A silence settled between them. Aidan reached into his pocket, retrieving a silver carton. "We did good, Zeke," he murmured, a faint smirk gracing his lips. His gaze shifted to a photo—a moment frozen in time. It captured him surrounded by a group of pilots, all wearing smiles, all comrades. Aidan had been one of them.
Faces filled with hope and camaraderie...
He sparked a cigarette within the confines of the cockpit, inhaling the bitter smoke as it invaded his lungs, only to be exhaled in a cloud of gray. The smiling figure that once was Aidan in the photograph, surrounded by his fellow pilots, stared back at him as he looked into the reflection.
But that version of Aidan was gone.
His pilot uniform was tattered, the chestplate riddled with laser and bullet wounds—scars of battle that, fortunately, had not breached the rugged defenses. Yet, he knew it was only luck that had kept him alive.
His wounds were severe. A makeshift tourniquet encircled his left leg, a reminder of the attack he had shielded the civilians from. Another mech armed with an explosive had struck his titan, but with his back turned, the blast had hit him directly. One of Zeke's armor plates now lay embedded in the base of his thigh. He couldn't even be certain if it had grazed an artery.
Did any of it truly matter?
Aidan let out a weary sigh, his head sinking back against the torn cushion of the pilot cockpit as he clenched the controls once more. "Aidan, I..." he started, but Zeke already understood. The prongs embedded in his spine, different from other mechs, carried a crueler essence than the cursed gundams. Even if he managed to survive this ordeal, what would be left for him?
He glanced at his leg, hopeful that it could be saved, but his gaze shifted to his right arm, where a rippling burn marred his flesh. The morphine was doing its job, numbing the pain. He could see it, even through his bloodied vision—his dark hair matted with sweat, an eye sealed shut. A piece of debris had found its way there, and luckily he had bandages to clear it. But the damage was evident, and he knew that part of him was beyond saving.
Aidan winced, his anger bubbling up as he tightened his grip on the controls. The sensation of the burn in his right arm, even with the morphine, left him feeling disoriented. Then, he heard it—a thunderous sound tearing through the air. His titan's view extended, watching a vessel streak across the sky. "Zeke," he whispered softly. "Zeke!" he repeated with growing excitement. "They made it, the civilians..."
A smirk formed on his lips, but there was no time to revel in that victory. He heard them—the sounds of the damage inflicted on his mech and the interference caused by the EMP. Reading the situation was difficult, but he had accomplished his mission. He had saved them. He glanced back at his friends in the photo. "I'll see you soon," he muttered.
They emerged around him, emerging from the remnants of apartments and buildings in the devastated city. Mechs from the IMC and the Earth Corporations that controlled the galaxy—the very enemies the militia fought against. Aidan sighed, his heart growing still as he came to a realization.
This was where he would meet his end.
His features hardened. "I can't believe this," he murmured, his mind racing. "I'm going to die a virgin."
Fury surged within him, causing him to spit out the smoke from his mouth as he swung Zeke's hand behind his back, the sound of a sword being drawn grating in the air. Gripping it with both hands, a blood-soaked smirk played across his face.
He heard the whirring of the Butcher's Blessing within his spine, a primal instinct taking over as he spotted two mechs closing in on him. "Come at me!" he screamed, his voice filled with a wild, untamed rage.
With sword in hand, he charged forward. They aimed their blasters at him, engaging in melee combat with mechs heavily discouraged and deemed foolish in such circumstances. However, Aidan had an ace up his sleeve.
"Zeke!" he bellowed.
Aidan's power surged through him, not from the titan, but from within himself. His psychic might flowed through the blade, pulsating with a bluish-grey beam of lightning plasma. An echoing crackle of electricity followed as the enemy mechs were bathed in the rich, electrifying embrace of his psychic might.
The Ion pilot's weapons short-circuited in their hands as he charged, a whirlwind of fury and desperation. He descended upon them like a feral animal, his screams echoing through the battlefield. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, blending with the Butcher's Blessing and his own psychic might. It was always too much, always giving too much.
With a flick of his wrist, Aidan conjured forth his energy sword—a wicked blade crackling with raw power. He gripped it tightly, feeling its hum of electricity, and lunged forward, defying the odds that sought to crush him. His movements became a deadly dance, a symphony of calculated strikes and desperate parries.
The first enemy mech, a hulking behemoth, swung its massive arm, its metal fist hurtling toward the Ion pilot. Like a nimble specter, he evaded the blow, gracefully sidestepping the attack despite the encumbering weight of his armor. Seizing the fleeting moment, he retaliated, his energy sword slicing through the air with lethal precision. The clash of metal erupted in a shower of sparks as the blade carved a deep gash into the enemy's armor.
Yet, the second mech, smaller and more agile, seized the Ion pilot's momentary distraction. It launched a relentless onslaught, a flurry of devastating blows that pummeled against the Ion's shielding with unyielding force. The Ion pilot fought back, desperately parrying the assault, his sword a blur of defiance. But the enemy mech's attacks were unrelenting, and the Ion's shielding began to crack and falter.
Unfazed by the mounting odds, Aidan pressed on. He fought with savage determination, his energy sword slashing through the enemy mechs' armor, leaving destruction in its wake. With each swing, his blade drank deep of their metallic blood, sowing chaos and inflicting untold agony.
However, the pilot was not unscathed. Each brutal exchange exacted its toll, and the weight of the battle pressed upon him heavily. The enemy mechs' counterattacks found their mark, their mechanical fists hammering into the Ion's frame, denting the once-impenetrable armor and unleashing waves of searing pain throughout the pilot's body.
Bloodied and battered, the Ion pilot refused to yield. The dance of death persisted, a swirling tempest of carnage and unyielding resilience. With every strike, he sacrificed a fragment of himself, the price of victory etched into his flesh. Yet still, he fought, a testament to the unquenchable spirit that burned within him.
With adrenaline coursing through his veins, the Ion pilot faced the final, desperate moments of the battle with unyielding determination. His energy sword shimmered with lethal intent as he focused on his primary target—the towering enemy mech that loomed before him.
In a thunderous roar, the enemy mech lunged forward, its metal appendages poised to crush the Ion pilot. But the Ion, fueled by a primal rage, sidestepped the attack with supernatural speed. In one fluid motion, he closed the distance, his energy sword slashing through the air like a streak of vengeful lightning. The blade found its mark, rending through the enemy mech's defenses and severing it in two. A symphony of sparking chaos erupted as the lifeless halves of the mech crashed to the ground, defeated and motionless.
However, the battle was far from over. Sensing the imminent demise of its companion, the second enemy mech launched a furious counterattack. It charged toward the Ion pilot, a whirlwind of violence and aggression. Unfaltering, the Ion pilot tapped into the remnants of his fading energy reserves, harnessing the latent psychic power that crackled within him.
As the enemy mech closed in, Aidan extended the hand of his mech, palm outstretched, a conduit of power. A surge of raw electricity crackled and surged forth, arcing through the air with malevolent grace. The tendrils of energy coiled around the enemy mech, ensnaring its metallic frame like a vengeful serpent. Writhing and convulsing, the enemy mech succumbed to the relentless assault of the Ion's psychic power, its systems overloaded and overwhelmed.
With a final burst of psychic energy, the pilot unleashed a cataclysmic discharge. The enemy mech convulsed one last time, unable to withstand the overwhelming surge of electricity. Its circuits melted and scorched, its demise a spectacle of smoldering wreckage.
Silence fell upon the ravaged battlefield, punctuated only by the crackling of residual energy and the heavy breaths of the victorious Ion pilot. Amidst the wreckage, Aidan stood, a figure embodying both triumph and devastation. Victory mingled with the bitter realization of sacrifices made, lives lost, and the toll it had taken on his body and psyche.
Yet, as Aidan stood there, the weight of his actions bore down upon him. His breathing grew heavy, the biting pain in his spine cutting through his senses. His mind swirled with the overwhelming power of his psychic might, pushing him to the edge. Visions flickered before his eyes, fragments that defied logic and reason.
"Serves me right," he spoke through blood-filled lips, the taste of his own sacrifice lingering in his mouth.
Zeke's robotic voice echoed, a plea laced with concern. "Please, Aidan," the machine implored. "Your life signs are off the charts. If you continue to push yourself with the Butcher's Nails or your psychic powers, you'll..."
"We're already dead, Zeke," Aidan murmured, the weight of his words heavy in the air.
Silenced by the truth of Aidan's words, the machine remained still. Aidan's deep blue eyes locked onto the cockpit, his grip tightening as searing pain surged through his body.
"Zeke," he whispered, his eyes widening until the whites were visible. "What is happening to me?"
No response came from the machine, leaving Aidan to grapple with his own thoughts. He had heard of others like him, those with special gifts—druids, wizards, even demons. Born in space, their unique abilities had become weapons of combat. Perhaps that was why they favored him, why the Militia fought alongside him so fiercely. Maybe they sought to harness his gift, to turn it into a weapon.
Lost in thoughts of revenge and heroism, Aidan had failed to consider the cost to himself. Bleeding and maimed, he found himself dying on a foreign world, while those he had saved would live on.
The resounding boom of a mech brought Aidan back to the present. Though his lone eye struggled to stay open, blood streaming from his nose, he gripped the controls once more. His gaze fell upon the unfamiliar design before him, and recognition sparked within him.
"Gundam," he murmured to himself, a mixture of awe and realization.
With determination etched across his features, Aidan clicked his lips and tightened his grip on the sword, ready to face the challenges that lay ahead.
He grasped his throbbing head, tormented by searing pain as he redirected his focus toward the enigmatic machine before him. "Dead," he murmured, the words slipping from his lips. "Dead man walking!"
The agony surged through him, a relentless tide, fueled by the weight of the lives he had lost. It was too much, and in the depths of his despair, a feral scream tore from his lips. He propelled Zeke forward, fueled by a maddening fury. He would meet his end on his own terms, standing tall, rather than succumbing to some measly Earth invader!
Aidan, the weary pilot of the Ion titan, found himself embroiled in a dire clash with a formidable Gundam. The confrontation was a vicious onslaught, the Gundam mercilessly pummeling Aidan's titan with an unrelenting barrage of blows. Each fist that rained upon him reverberated with pain and desperation, assaulting his body and soul. The Gundam, seemingly disinterested in employing its advanced weaponry, instead unleashed primal, raw force upon him.
Struggling to mount a defense, Aidan fought back with every ounce of strength he could muster. But his attacks were feeble against the Gundam's impervious armor. In a soul-crushing display of dominance, the Gundam tore off Zeke's arm, leaving Aidan disarmed and vulnerable. His energy sword, once a symbol of his unwavering tenacity, was effortlessly swatted away, lost amidst the chaos of battle. Aidan, burdened by the cruel weight of his imminent doom, tasted the bitter flavor of futility that permeated the air.
Drawing upon the last vestiges of his willpower, Aidan unleashed a desperate surge of electric psychic energy, a final gambit to turn the tide. Yet, the Gundam's electromagnetic barrier deflected his attack effortlessly, dashing his hopes in an instant. With each calculated step, the Gundam advanced, a chilling omen of Aidan's impending demise. The cockpit door was wrenched open, exposing Aidan to the frigid grip of mortality, while Zeke, his loyal companion, succumbed to the final embrace of death.
As Aidan's titan crumbled around him and the veil of unconsciousness descended, a voice reverberated in his ears. It was a voice unfamiliar yet oddly comforting, like a whispered secret from the depths of the unknown. A girl's voice, ethereal and elusive, offered a glimmer of solace amidst the vast sea of despair.
"If you move forward, you gain two; if you run, you gain one."
"What?" Aidan murmured, his mind awash with bewilderment. Now he was hearing voices? It seemed that his predicament only grew direr by the moment.
Aidan's crippled titan careened through desolate streets, its once imposing form now lopsided and crippled. It crashed with a resounding thud, and as consciousness ebbed from Aidan's battered body, his vision blurred, and the world around him dissolved into a haze of ruin. In those waning moments of fading awareness, he cast a weary glance toward the Gundam, its imposing figure peering back through the viewport. His mind briefly wandered, contemplating the identity of the man concealed within that relentless machine, a fleeting curiosity destined to remain unanswered.
But amid the anguish and encroaching darkness, Aidan discovered solace in the simple joys that surrounded him. The air, tainted with the scent of decay and resilience, caressed his skin with a tender touch. The golden rays of sunlight, filtering through the decimated cityscape, bestowed upon him a final embrace of warmth. In that fleeting instant, he allowed himself to bask in the beauty of this world, fully aware that it would be his last.
And so it came to pass, as Aidan's weary eyes teetered on the precipice of eternal slumber, a figure materialized before him, perched upon the shattered remnants of his once-mighty titan. It was a girl, an apparition of ethereal beauty that defied earthly explanation. Her slender figure stood tall, draped in a gown that shimmered with an otherworldly radiance. Cascading locks of fiery auburn framed a face that held both grace and an enigmatic allure.
Aidan's fading consciousness struggled to grasp the sight before him, his lips parting in a whisper as he mustered the strength to utter, "She's... pretty."
Suletta Mercury, her eyes deep pools of inscrutable mystery, locked gazes with Aidan's weary stare. Her voice, a melodic resonance that echoed through the depths of his soul, spoke with a wisdom beyond mortal understanding. "You fought valiantly, Aidan," she declared. "Your strength surpasses your own comprehension."
A flicker of a smile danced upon Aidan's lips, a glimmer of pride amid the overwhelming despair. Those words, simple yet profound, breathed life into his spirit even in the face of his imminent demise. Embracing a newfound serenity, Aidan relinquished himself to the solace of hard-earned peace.
As the scene dissolved into stillness, the unyielding gaze of the Gundam lingered upon the shattered titan and its fallen pilot. The ruins of a war-torn city whispered tales of desolation and loss, a somber symphony of destruction. Amidst the wreckage, Aidan found solace in the presence of the Witch from Mercury, her words reverberating within his heart like a healing balm for his weary soul.