Author's Note: Hello everyone, it's been too long hasn't it. Fanfiction's bugs and errors certainly don't make things any better, especially during these times.

Anyway, after two busy years that had occupied most of my time, I've decided to come back to some writing, not just to clear my head, but also to jump-start the generator of creation in me, and potentially, in some future constructive readers of this new fic of mine.

In whatever meager free time I had, I've been playing some of the popular games, among them including "Project Wingman" and "Ace Combat 7: Skies Unknown". The latter intrigued me to no end with the lore of Strangereal, which led me back to the previous game of the line, particularly "Ace Combat Zero: The Belkan War" and "Ace Combat 5: The Unsung War". It was these games and characters that triggered the thought of me to read some fanfics that had been uploaded over the years, and I must say, some of them were really inspiring and creativity-inducing.

So, with that in mind and a fighter jet action movie from the early 2000s (You probably know in the description) that is my personal action-flick favorite, I decided to write this new fic, a small experiment you may say. Wherever it leads, even I don't know, but I hope it will be a good journey all the same.

Now, I hope some of you can enjoy the new content and its' future updates while leaving behind any inputs you believe can improve.

And please, don't be elitist dickheads with a superiority complex like some A-holes in my original fic that is in hiatus, being pointlessly negative and aggressive doesn't help anyone.

Prologue

Lord of Ruin

March 31st, 2016

It was on the way to be their grand victory. The Emmeria Liberation Army was taking back their capital Gracemeria, reclaiming Emmeria's independence and driving off the Estovakia Generals' remaining occupying forces out of their home.

The Estovakians were put on the ropes. The alliance of liberation forces and the grand mercenary legion led by Sicario's leader, Arnold Frenken A.K.A Kaiser, invaded the city in full fervor, driving the occupiers into a corner. As the foot soldiers were fighting fiercely on the ground, they sometimes looked up at the sky, watching ally fighters engage the enemy in the air, even catching glimpses of the black and silver-trimmed ACG-01 Chimera with the emblem of a golden crown on its' pelican tail. That crown is accompanied by gold-colored universal mercenary roundels around the aircraft which, ironically with the sun motif, fits in well with the signature of the pilot.

The Crown.

Sicario's Number One.

Hitman Team's Squadron Leader.

A mysterious man with few to no words, even among his comrades in the famous mercenary corp., let alone fellow soldiers of the same war in the Liberation Army. His silent persona and lack of interaction due to constantly wearing his helmet even outside of combat, under normal circumstance, would be viewed as detrimental to any role of leadership that are crucial in every circumstance, and for soldiers, even more so under the horizon of never-ending wars.

Each member of the Hitman Team was a piece of work themselves: a no-nonsense woman with an utterly dry sense of humor that contrasted her TAC name "Comic" and Jester emblem; a quippy, easygoing man whose slight slippery tone that surfaces every now and then matches the political part of his callsign, "Diplomat". And then there's "Prez", a short, feisty woman who is the second most talkative of the sort, who aside from being the Crown's occasional WSO, is also the chief mechanic of Sicario, responsible for all their warcrafts to be in optimal shape all around. Each is easily annoyed by another, with the contrasted personalities certainly not helping the matter. Anyone with a functional pair of eyes, ears, and a brain would go with the first impression: This team would never work properly, especially with a leader who barely ever says anything.

Oh, how wrong all of that was, for such norms do not apply to this man or his team.

Despite his silence, his commanding presence was always felt, a subtle one, but strong and ever-inspiring. The Hitmen's teamwork was always in perfect cohesion, as if they were limbs of a harmonious body. Every pilot works with skills and innovations that rival the true elites of official militaries, if not outright surpass them, and the results of their exploits speak for themselves.

Each team member is qualified as an ace, but none have ever reached the same status as their enigmatic and fearsome flight lead.

If the Ghosts of Razgriz made their name as the team that took down the Yuktobania's fearsome strategic submarine Hrimfaxi without support, then the man above is the monster that had single-handedly taken down the might of the Estovakia's air force in the furball above the Razgriz Straits. From the beginning of Sicario's interventions up until that point, he had racked up hundreds of kills, both air and ground, terrified friends and foes alike. Every run he goes with his guns, every missile, and bomb unleashed from his plane found their marks, guided by the impeccable precision and accuracy of his flying prowess.

"Monarch" was his official callsign, how all of Sicario called him, and how everyone who hired them, including the Emmeria Liberation Army, came to call him once they knew of it.

The title of a king. A king of the skies rivaling the aces of past wars. Not just any aces, but legends such as Usea's Grim Reaper or perhaps much closer, Ustio's Demon Lord of the Round Table.

A Demon Lord whose domain born from blood and death expanded beyond the blue skies and cold waters of Razgriz, to all of the continent of Anea and beyond. His team is his order of knights, praetorian guards who will remain at guard out of absolute confidence and loyalty to their lord.

And now, that lord and his round table are leading the charge from the air above the capital, and all are following them.

The way that the Sicario's number 1 ace had cleared the lines for ally forces was quick and efficient, yet no less magnificent. Perhaps unintentional, but it's undeniable that such deadly grace and precision have caused many to believe that he was the sole reason that the Liberation Army got this far, despite what happened to the founding city, Prospero, months ago.

As the alliance army marched on towards victory, an order was issued from their high command. They were all ordered to cease fire at once, and that meant the one and only obvious thing: They had won. The Generals had surrendered.

Every soldier, sailor, and pilot of the alliance almost felt like cheering to the Dust Mother herself, but there were still a few things left to wrap up, during and after the ceasefire.

The war was yet to be done, but now, the future for not only Emmeria, but also the whole of Anea was looking bright for once after years of continuous wars, and no one was about to let that go to waste.

No one… until that madman showed up.

April 1nd, 2016

An Ace's Journal

Fire… Lightning… The earth's vibration as if to deliver the Dust Mother's final verdict…

Be it a piece of ruined furniture, a picture accidentally taken by one of the survivors, or even the familiar sound of jet engines roaring above the skies, that day remain deeply engraved in my battered mind.

The Chandelier Railgun and its facilities of WMDs were destroyed alongside the remaining warmongers led by Gustav Dvornik, the last of the Generals who led the militaristic regime over Estovakia for years, just hours before.

I, Lieutenant Mitchell Irons, callsign "Talisman", was on my way back to our liberated capital of Gracemeria, alongside all remaining aircrafts of our strike group. Our flight, the REAF's 28th Fighter Squadron, or Garuda Team for short, had survived in full with my wingman, Marcus Lampert A.K.A "Shamrock", rescued shortly after the intense battle. We were showered in cheers and praises from our comrades from both the ground and the air, and it only got more intense as we got closer to the capital. The constant onslaught by the fanatics under the Generals heavily battered the city. Still, it remained standing strong thanks to no small amount of effort of the mercenary legion led by Sicario, particularly their leader, Kaiser, and their number 1 ace, the Crown Mercenary.

Due to our combined efforts, the war was over, we had finally secured Emmeria's victory and independence, with our new, better lives in arms reach. Hopefully, this peace would give my friend Marcus some of the needed clarity to gain closure, as he had lost his wife and daughter in the war. For me, now I'll finally be able to rejoin my love back at our home, far away from the battlefields I had been in. Her image was the only thing on my mind at the time…

Until what happened next turned everything that we worked hard for into nothing.

As the strike group was waiting on the next set of orders from HQ, a cold chill swept over us, or more precisely, over me, something that can only be felt after surviving countless battles. A sonic boom blows past me as my instincts kicked in full, someone, or something, has jammed all of my F-15E's electronics, forcing me to look around the sky with my own eyes as I warned everyone to no avail. Then, a rain of missiles fell from out of nowhere, each glowing an ominous orange glow from the flames of their engines to their warheads.

The glow of Cordium missiles, significantly smaller, but undoubtedly along the same line of missiles that turned Prospero into the Hell on Earth it currently is.

Someone had broken the cease-fire. Before anyone could think anything else, a series of gigantic explosions went off in the city. Shockwaves and dust clouds ensued, debris and cinder flew around chaotically, some hit our fighters, and before I knew it, my Strike Eagle was sent off course out of control, and the crash caused me to black out.

By the time I came to my senses, I found that I was still alive somehow, along with a few of my comrades. We did not know how long we were unconscious. However, before we can even think about that, our eyes were met with a sad horrifying sight. Gracemeria – the very city that we, the Emmeria Liberation Force alongside the Sicario legion fought so hard for – was now reduced to an apocalyptic shell of its former beauty. Our hearts sank when we looked upon the ruined city. From collapsed, shattered buildings to fallen fighters and ground vehicle wreckages, there was nothing alive as far as the eye could see. The only thing that looked alive and angry was the Cordium-polluted landscape. It was Prospero all over again.

A few of us survivors gathered together, wondering what happened and what we were going to do. But our thoughts were disrupted as our senses came back with full capabilities, and we looked up having heard the noise of jet engines and explosions above us. Witnessing from our current position, we could see what could only be described as a final dance of death in the skies: Two fighter jets, both highly technologically advanced, flying like graceful angels and unloading their weapons with the shared determination to outlive the other. I caught a glimpse of the tails on the two fighters, and it did not take me long to be able to recognize the first of the two pilots who were flying them.

The black Chimera, the result of fusing a Su-57, an F-16XL, and an F-23A into one heavy-duty, yet supermaneuverable fighter. It was Monarch, the "Crown Mercenary", the "Demon Lord of Anea". He somehow managed to stay in the air, with the ventral side of his plane revealed to have plenty of ammunition on it for the ongoing duel.

The other plane, however, shook me the most. Upon my first glance, it seems to be a heavy Su-37 Terminator-derived fighter, but much larger, with what clearly to be a pair of miniature Cordium Engines powering it. Every time the plane rolled and moved closer to our position, I was given clearer views to pick up more details that finally put together the most comprehensive theory that I can think of: Rather than a Terminator, it is actually a heavily altered derivative of Ilya Pasternak's CFA-44 Nosferatu that I shot down in these skies a day ago. Only a Nosferatu can fire so many missiles at once, and only that kind of airframe can employ ballistic weapons like the very railgun whose projectiles were trailing across the skies.

The plane's body was dyed in maroon/dark red, with crimson leading edges and engine covers. Its' tail bears the IC-01 code, IUN Peacekeeper logo, and Icarus Armories markings, along with what seems to be a red ominous crown that stood out the most.

IC-01…

Peacekeeper…

Red Crown…

It had to be none other than the "Crimson Squadron" that had hampered our efforts heavily in the war until Sicario and Monarch showed up. Crimson 1, the only survivor of the second battle of Prospero, must be the one currently piloting the current blood-like aircraft.

News of the prior week had made it clear that under the orders of Osea's provisional president Vicent Harling, one of the heroes of the Circum-Pacific War, the Crimson Leader was dishonorably discharged for violent conduct, alongside the former 49th President's condemnation of high treason. Both were said to have gone against the peaceful principles that made Osea what it is and aided the radicals of Estovakia to cause the recent Anea war.

Did he defect and have the backing of the Generals to fly the plane he is in? As the last attempt of spite against us? Unlikely, if that is the case, then why still keep the peacekeeper markings?

And those Icarus Armory markings, there's no way they operate out here after Sicario had destroyed their facilities far out of Mante's coasts.

Then did he instead have the backing of those still aligned with the war-profiting heads of state? Maybe even the very manufacturer of the aircraft, Icarus Armory themselves, who is still thriving in Osea and in the IUN themselves?

Whatever the true case was, it's all just academic now. None of that mattered, for the two "Kings" of Sicario and the Federation were now dueling over a desolate and ruined land.

Despite suffering a severe technological disadvantage, Monarch managed to hold his own against the hails of missile swarms, Cordium-trailed railgun slugs, and even what appeared to be glowing orange orbs of light, all coming together at the ace constantly like a never-ending bullet hell. Slowly but steadily, he managed to get ahead of the fiery storm, and zoom in for the opened windows of attack, all with the undetermined probability of a final blow.

Maneuvers after maneuvers, hits after hits, the "Black King" eventually managed to damage the "Crimson King" to the point where it was catching fire. Yet even after taking all that punishment, the bloody fighter was still fighting, desperate to shoot down its' lesser counterpart. They danced around each other for a couple more minutes, as if everything else around them didn't matter anymore. To them, only one can make it out alive, not both.

The following minutes which felt like an eternity eventually came to an end, the "Crown" nailed one final missile on the "Red King" who was on his last fumes, directly into one of the damaged and wide-open intakes. After what seemed like seconds, as if a second sun was born into existence, an explosion bright and loud enough to be heard and seen from all over the now-fallen city could be seen in the sky. Now it was the "Crown Mercenary" that had become the true king.

Under normal circumstances, we would've cheered the pilot on and given him the best of our praises, not unlike subjects would to their new king who earned his place. But as I looked up at the cockpit of the now slow and lone fighter, the WSO had their head against the control, probably having passed out during the duel. The look of the ace, however, even with his face covered by the shaded visor, felt as if he was sad, sorrowful.

Honestly, who would blame him at that point? The city was in ruins, his allies had fallen, and the people whom he agreed on the contract to liberate now suffered even more because of the destruction of their homes. Whether he wanted all this to happen or not, it didn't matter. What good is the king's crown if he has nothing left to protect?

In a surprising change of events, he turned his fighter around and shot at some of the ruins, and continued to do so over various areas of the city until all of his remaining ammo was expended. Perhaps even now he blames himself for letting the war reach this point and was releasing all his anger out.

His plane then flew away towards the setting sun and disappeared in the orange light. His destination unknown. It was only much later when we scoured through the ruins that we discovered a surprising truth: The demon lord did not lash out in self-guilt, but to save the trapped soldiers and civilians who luckily survived the calamity, and managed to put up open channels.

I still don't know what was really going through his mind after that duel. In the aftermath, many blamed him for the destruction of the capital. Others turned on the Osea Federation, blaming them for the misuse of the Cordium provided to create WMDs and cowardly using them after a ceasefire. Of course, no one would know the real story, at least until a year later with provisional president Harling worked his ass off to mend the relationship between the two countries.

The pilot of Sicario became a king that day, but in the way that most people, even after knowing the truth, would still believe him to be.

He became not a King of the Skies.

Not the King of Sicario.

Not even a King of Emmeria.

For nothing was left but the ruins left behind by madmen who would rather see the world burn than let others have it…

He was now and forevermore, the landless king.

The "Lord of Ruin".