[Recommended Music: Jolly Rogers, Schwarzesmarken OST.]


The tattered kakki billows with the breeze with each step into a gentle orange sky showering onto the streets of the core city.

"I've got chrome head. Find it, pound it," Panther intunes, waiting for the light to cross.

Some glances around once the flickers of red pull up in the crossroad, quick are the steps ahead of the other residents and their automatons. For the first time in months, perhaps forever even, Panther push heels into a mild jog, a mild smile mirroring the bountiful warm caress of the red sun. More so as one small bar was filling the more the distance with the tower shortened.

Curiosity killed the cat, in this case the panther, and so the QR Code for the Arena was in the process of being downloaded. Sadly, an MT runs faster than the internet connection of the slums. So, Panther took on the train again and, on ALLMIND's recommendation, decided to pay a visit to the hangars since the JIVES require a pilot to board their machine.

"I've got steel arm. Clang it, beat it," Panther loosely sings, not minding the stares today.

The tune slows down when having to take a detour, a street blockaded in dark and yellow strips and many a one MT worker drone doing their thing. The overcast shine and unceasing operations would truly deceive anyone thinking a fight actually took place here.

"Business goes on, with or without us," Panther reasons, eyes down when hurrying to another street, away from the remnants. "I've got chrome head. Find it, pound it…"

Buying then idly sucking on a synth juice pack, its caramel-addled punch making nest in Panther's mouth despite gulping it fast, the rest of the way to the tower is uneventful much as the day before. After the disinfection and asking for directions, the arrow guides Panther to the floor where the hangars are. Checking the arm terminal for the umpteenth time while continuing to softly coo the song, finally, the icons in the retinal projection swirl into completion.

With it, the monotone voice of ALLMIND returns. "Download complete. Your ID Pass for the ARENA is now fully online. Would you like to hear an introductory course?"

Panther nods twice, huddling onto the elevator's wall and tapping the arm terminal.

One shiver and electric stab in the spine later, the reverse cascade makes the head thrum. Slowly, the whole sight is covered in distant, expanding scanlines of green as the retinal projection enters cinematic mode.

ALLMIND's logo remains active and in a corner while the propaganda montage for the Arena plays out. A large coliseum of stone expands in the sand, trails of dark smoke over the golden sea as jagged machines duke it out.

"In the past, humanity engaged in competitions known as sports. From olden Olympics to-"

"You can skip the history lesson, A/M," Panther hurries. "How does the Arena work as a participant?"

"…Acknowledged."

The scanlines swirl and collide into two large emerald towers, towards a grander gate framed in golden sunshine. From there, the display options appear under the 'TSF ARENA' banner, in the same stylization of the city. A marshal raise drums up once the menu appears, cliché but inspiring in its tune.

One row is highlighted as A/M speaks up. "The Challenge is where you select and send calling cards to your desired opponents. To avoid disputes, surface pilots may only challenge those directly above or below them in the rankings, or any challenger whose current accumulated score is within a ten point radius of their own."

Panther nods and slowly exits the elevator, focusing on the registered profile icon framed in a simple black outline and the letter E. "How many tiers are there?"

"Currently available to all pilots, there are three tiers from E as the lowest up to C Tier. The following Arena tiers are what you could consider inter-colony matches. Therefore, from B Tier onward you require a sponsor to register any challenges."

Panther taps the arm terminal, directing to the scoreboard. The long table showcases Panther in a surprisingly not last place. Owing to the first mission cleared, ten points were awarded which put Panther ahead of other pilots already in service. Checking the datalink of the last battle, none of the cadets just graduated were yet registered in the Arena.

Meaningless callsigns blur as Panther checks the scoreline whole, the jumping points at times between surface pilots denoting those who stood ahead. A few notable icons, some hand-drawn, spark some curiosity, until at the very top Panther gasps when recognizing the image. The skull with a comically large hat.

"So he's the top pilot of D Tier… ALLMIND, what of the overall rankings?"

"Acknowledged," the stoic voice says, immediately after updating the scores.

A second of loading lag later, the ensuing image has Panther give another, slower gasp enough to stop steps altogether.

"So Hustler One truly is number one. And by a wide margin as well… Alright," Panther slips up too large sleeves, inhaling deep when resuming the march towards the hangar's gate.

One check with the silver-haired automatons has the double gate rip its jaw wide, pistons gyrating before the central lock spins and slides out. Slow and delicate steps are taken as the fog of grease and oil snails out of the place, sudden vertigo when a massive never-ending corridor spreads farther the horizon, framed by many different machines to both sides.

Panther almost grows dizzy when realizing there were many of such corridors within the wing-hangars of Helel Tower.

"So that's why the tower is shaped as a cross… This definitely looks larger than it seems from outside," Panther says, letting the arm terminal be scanned before stepping on a platform that whirs away towards the resting place of the Ayanami. Meanwhile peeking and gazing about the many machines, Panther asks. "ALLMIND, what is the best way to get to the higher tiers?"

"To climb the Arena, you must earn your reputation. Be it by besting other pilots during the fights or performing missions adequately, your skills will determine the points awarded to you. The Arena is both an entertainment venue and a sparring ring for surface pilots. Do remember that."

"I see… On the menu here, is there anything I should check?"

"For now, the hangar option can be ignored since you do not possess additional parts or weaponry. However, do take care to check your loadout when accepting or issuing a challenge from now on."

"Got it. By the way, why is the formula front option grayed out?"

"The spots available for TSF racing derbies are few and far between, only given to directly sponsored pilots. To attract a suitable sponsor, it is recommended to aim for B Tier at the very least."

Panther slightly sulks, stepping away from the slide platform slowly. Looking up as overhead lights flicker to life, the Ayanami piloted yesterday stands proud in its row. Already featuring Panther's icon on a shoulder, repaired to pristine condition from the last fight.

A slight shake of the knees when stepping closer, resting a small hand on the cool steel. "It still feels like a dream, somehow… Well, time to check out the options available. Let's-"

Beep!

"You have one new mail," A/M reports.

Panther groans, going out of the Arena's cinematic mode to open the inbox and sitting on a crate nearby. A brow raises as the Arena's icon appears front and center.

Sender: Helel Arena HQ

Greetings, Surface Pilot Rank N 696, Panther.

It is our pleasure to make your acquaintance. The Arena welcomes you to its roster with open arms.

Our services specialize on providing entertainment to both the audience and the participants, as well as valuable experience to the pilots. We know fiery warriors provide the greatest shows so we encourage any and all to let their blows speak on their behalf.

If you've a bone to pick with a fellow pilot, want to try out a new loadout, or simply enjoy fighting without holding back, the Arena will fit you like a glove.

Remember that the Arena still rules itself on the laws passed by the colonies. But at the end of the day, might makes right in the ring.

However, to avoid conflicts of interests as well as pilot infighting, from this point forward you shall be banned from betting on Arena matches. This right shall be returned to you if you ever decide to put an end to your career on the Arena.

Without further ado, here's the featured news for you:

You have received two (2) challenge(s) for the current Arena Standard Season.

Your challenger(s) are:

Rank N 697: Beowulf 12

Rank N 700: Little Bun

Answer the issued request(s) at your earliest convenience.

We await you within the ring!

Arena HQ

(This is an automated message. Do not reply to this mail.)

"Did- Did they just woke up, check the new standings, and immediately challenged me?" Panther asks, eyes wide as watermelons.

"The intel provided in the mail hints at such an outcome," answers ALLMIND.

"It was a rhetorical question… A/M, can I refuse the challenges?"

"Yes, but you are penalized with a point deduction for doing so. Higher Tiers have stricter penalties, to avoid benefiting pilots that may choose to protect their score by not engaging in missions or matches."

"Is there an advantage to do that?"

"At the end of one given Arena Season, monetary prizes are given to all participants owing to their final position on the standings. Match fixing, betting arrangements, as well as pilots refusing to engage with the system once they reaped benefits for themselves saw a decline in the quality of the Arena as both a show and a training regime. Thus, the point deduction penalty aids the Arena's intended goals."

"Wow… I never noticed those things. The Administration must've dealt with that swiftly. Weren't there any problems with the pilots?"

"The revision to the laws came to all colonies through an update," ALLMIND brings up a small pop-up from the system itself, showing most services attached to the terminal are, indeed, reliant on A/M to function. "Those who did not adhere to the law were quickly left unable to access any public services and saw their Arena license revoked for life."

"Isn't that… cruel? I get putting a ban or making them pay up for abusing the loopholes but, blocking their systems?"

The circle of ALLMIND's logo swirls and spins, silent for a moment. The mechanic deadpanning returns one second later, slower.

"…I cannot pass judgment on such topics. ALLMIND is a system created with the goal to maintain order and peace within the colonies, executing the commands of my masters for the sake of supporting humanity as a whole. Such is my designated place in this world. Know yours and the law shall remain on your side."

"…This is getting too complicated for me. You must be really smart to deal with all this at the same time you uphold the law," Panther sighs, looking around at all the crates, drones and repair machines coming and going. One moment of silence later, a nod to the terminal is given. "Anyways, do I lose points if I accept the challenge and lose?"

"Point deduction only occurs if the battle is too one-sided. Should a pilot offer good entertainment, a sufficient sparring, or both, it may be possible to earn a small sum of points even on defeats," A/M says, back to the usual monotone. "The same applies to monetary rewards."

Panther nods at the lock-on circle in the projection, standing from the crate and going to the small locker room in the mini hangar. While changing into the skin-tight suit, the Arena is opened once again.

The row of Challenge now has a small pop-up, with a two inside. Opening this menu showcases the current standings of the E Tier, as well as the inbox to a side along the profiles of those who took the gloves off in haste.

The first one has an icon decorated by an auburn wolf staring into the distance with a small and rusted helmet on its head. Their machine of choice was also revealed in the profile, one Panther was familiar with, an F-4 in the same spotted pattern of the wolf from the profile icon.

"A humble pilot coming from the slums. Despite his Synth origins, hard work and incessant studies while working maintenance got him where he is. Known for contributing to the Arena's hobbyist forums by writing articles and reviews of the brawls, their raise to fame came with their column "Crowscare" following the match that saw Hustler One retain the number one spot in the Arena not long ago.

A diehard fan of Black Raven, straight and dry as the pages those fingers crave so."

"Who wrote this profile?" Panther wonders with a saddened nod.

"All profiles are automated by collecting social data from the pilots' own records," ALLMIND simply answers.

"I-I see…" Panther says, not dousing the thrill and checking anyways, slumping against the wall at the 'cash-starved' stab ALLMIND threw into the description. "I know you're a computer, but there was no need to publicly roast me…"

"All profiles are automated in a way to accurately represent their pilots' situation, to fellow pilots or the audience. Would you like to submit a complain?"

"Siiigh… No, that's fine. Anyways… It'll be fun to spar with experienced pilots, to test where I stand regardless of my mech."

Panther winces when slipping fully into the gear as the slug embrace of the suit takes hold intimately on all sides. Shivering as the system blinks into activation along the arm terminal's sync, a tap to the green button makes a checkmark float up soon enough.

"Please, wait a moment… Your match has been accepted," A/M reports.

"Thanks. Can I accept multiple matches at once?"

"Yes. The schedule will be sorted and reported at a latter date, no longer than three days."

"Alright then, let's see the next one…"

Yet when opening the next profile, brows can't help but to knot down. Rather than a hand-drawn logo or one of A/M's stylized icons, there was a picture.

A photograph of a bunny plushie, with large buttons for eyes. The diluted pink fluff has a white handkerchief attached to its neck like a scarf as it rests onto the wall with a silver chrysanthemum within its stubby hands, dimly framed by a candle of moonlight.

If that was eccentric enough, the machine of the profile was one Panther had never seen but whose name sparks up curious searches, that ALLMIND comes empty on the fetch.

"So this is what a Rapier looks like, huh… A/M, is there no data at all on this machine?"

"Negative."

"Nothing at all? Not even the manufacturer or anything?"

"Negative."

Panther's lips purse with a sigh. The sleek, angular machine had notably more boosters than the usual. While Panther seems some resemblance in the head visor to that of a Strike Eagle's, the rest of the body is more sharp, rugged and framed in triangles as if to break through a hurricane.

"A new pilot hailing from Aleph Colony. Taciturn yet skilled, she's rarely seen mingling in the Arena. Infamous for her reverse blade stance and making her TSF wave goodbye when defeating an opponent, many wonder why she remains on the lowest tiers despite an auspicious debut season.

Not affiliated to any one sponsor, company nor colony, Little Bun chooses to instead dream of the sky."

Panther blinks in deep thought while finishing attaching the outer armor pieces to the fortified suit, rereading the profile.

"The bunny is cute. The pilot is weird. A/M, what do you think?"

"Sparring against unforeseen opponents will improve your adaptability. It is more beneficial than to meet them on the battlefield without intel."

"Hmm… You're right," Panther nods, clicking the agreement. "So how long do I gotta wait?"

"Checking schedule…" the logo updates, the Arena's translucent display on sight shimmering in waves. "Your matches have been approved. Would you wish to partake on them immediately?"

"Wait, that fast?"

"Your opponents are online within the JIVES' servers, awaiting your answer."

"Don't rush me, I'm trying to-"

"There are only five spots remaining for transmissions in the afternoon block. If you-"

"Ah, whatever! Fine, I accept both. Might as well get this done today," Panther sighs, stretching both arms up before activating the pulley from the Ayanami.

"Acknowledged. A small break shall be given between matches," A/M reports.


Heat, and another electric marathon cascade down Panther's backside. The nape tickles, in sync with the slumbering rumble flaring to life in the cockpit.

The shiver of the system sends the retinal projection into full focus. Rather than the hangar that appears at first from the TSF's sensors, a virtual landscape comes folding out. Going through the menus of the Arena with ALLMIND's tutoring, Panther connects into the JIVES simulation and is left awaiting confirmation from the system in a looping loading screen.

Eventually, the gentle thrums turn still to then gear up. The menu dims to a blinding flash, revealing a large if dull cage of steel, adorned with the Arena's logo in the center of the floor. Some pillars on the sides but mostly an open metallic room, the standard location for the Arena.

In front of Panther laid an F-4 some distance away. One shield, one machinegun, and what seems to be rocket launchers on its shoulders, although Panther isn't certain on the last one.

One deep breath, Panther could imagine the chanting of the announcer. There was nothing on the common channel, so all the added chorus of the virtual crowd is blocked to the fighters, Panther assumes.

All the wonderment ends as a countdown appears on sight, response fading in to the controls as all the lights of the cage blister.

"Systems Engaged. COMBAT Mode, Stand-by."

A quick dash sideways rends the immediate trigger of a machinegun null. Skirting Panther's shadow, the tickle of the bullet rain hounds close. Potshots in test make the F-4 hop away, denied of a lane to shorten the distance.

Waves on the shore, Panther's approach. Slow, mosquito bites at the joints of the enemy. Moderate steps backs, missiles as cover while returning the erratic fire. Shark jaws, the blade slices the F-4 rolls forward. Into a backdash and a hop, rebounding off the wall, Panther remains gliding away from a safe distance.

"Typical of a rookie. Flaunting their new toy without moderation," Beowulf 12 seethes, low, aiming for the legs and boosters on following charges.

Yet turned hips send backdashes away from danger, one breath ahead in circling tempo. No slashes meet even the shadow, the machinegun follows close but finds no lethality, and the shield equipped begins to crack at the repeated barrages the Phantom is too slow and heavy to fully dodge. Sharp and tall bunny hops veer away from the lock-on, almost a blur even for the radar. Yet Panther merely dips toes into CQC range, letting byplay exist rather than immediately scythe to the engines.

The curiosity of the rookie to learn from the fight does not amuse the opponent.

"So you're so safe up in the air, eh? Let's see you fly through this," Beowulf 12 snickers, the shoulder pads on the Phantom sliding open.

A custom-modded rocket launcher, sending its stings at Panther. Despite the evasive landing taken, the heads detonate way before impact. Thick enough to block the light, a cloud of heavy metal particles spreads and falls in wide embrace over the Ayanami.

Its systems slow down upon the impediment, joints stuck despite repeated commands.

"Tch… So even the jamming is properly simulated," Panther groans, backdashing into a parry.

Denied of precise maneuvers under a flickering, glitching radar, the Ayanami briefly staggers under constant assault. Grazing hits to the swan's feet, its flapping's ceiling limited. Rasping for fire, a sluggish oscillating, dampening, comes to the Ayanami. None of its fine carved, curved armor shines for its aerial advantages as static and flickers mire radars, and Panther's breaths too.

Locked in place to avoid further turbulence, a few shots angle correctly through the metallic fog but find no target. Elbows find the ribs to avoid slow, certain shots. And a cold stream of static comes to Panther's nape, within the smoke cyclones.

Galloping in arpeggiated boosting, the Phantom honors its name and becomes a blur in the glitching radar as it circles around the Ayanami, ever closer and letting the machinegun roar free.

"If I cannot clear the distance, then…"

Panicked, the flap of wings seem. Another layer of thick, metallic fog showers. The sway of turbines dies cold, forcing the Ayanami to grind onto the floor to not fall. Staggering the torso, barely sending some volleys.

"Heh, anyone flies when there's good weather…" Beowulf scoffs, raising the shield to block the desperate potshots.

Seeing the erratic oscillation continue on land, no longer flying, that then sends the shield forward, boosters flaring to life. Lock-On confirmed, the blast sends the F-4 into a ramming lunge.

Aerially proficient pilots tend to overlook their footing, in favor of boosting and flying about. Beowulf 12 had seen them enough times, those who thought themselves superior by taking the reins of the sky. When sent to crash down, those gallant hawks were no different than ants sprinkled with boiling water.

Such is why the rush to detonate the shield's charges is open and fast, to clip the wings before the mist clears.

But Beowulf 12 is facing no hawk.

Panther curls onto the seat, stomping the pedals and hitting ribs when thrusting controls backwards. Rocket boosters angle forward then down, tongue regresses as once more bolting spikes clamp onto the backside whole.

One step back, into a backflip, nimbly into the air, into a spin. The chained backwards hop flares both boosters, then finds the wall, sends the Ayanami spinning over the F-4. The wall explodes as the shield bashes itself, Beowulf's cussing also does to the point the automatic translator blurs in beeps most of the words.

"Thanks for cutting the distance," Panther giggles, landing on one feet into another pirouette to avoid potshots.

Taking out the daggers, falling down and in range.

Much like during the final trial, Panther's feint of a slash is followed upon despite the Phantom meeting the aggro in its stride. Both blades locked, the descending impulse of Panther swipes off the guard into a stagger.

At point blank, the remaining virtual cartridge of the rifle is emptied for good measure.

"Opponent Defeated. Mission Complete."

All the tension slips alongside Panther, slumping and gasping with an open mouth as the response and the virtual ring fade away. Rubbing eyes and cheeks off excess sweat, one good breath cleanses and washes the shiver away.

"I heard jamming was a real threat but never thought it'd be this bad… Lucky I can handle the thing on manual," Panther smiles, checking the systems were indeed fine. "Lesson learned, though. Never charge in when you can snipe the opponent. That was… fun, though."

Panther lets out a heavy sigh, smiling while checking the system on habit. As the simulation was merely that, no lasting damage is left. At the moment, the seizing tilts felt as real as the sweat coating the slimy suit into function. Disabling assisted piloting is risky, more for cadets, but Panther had always seen those shackles for what they were.

Still, waiting for any response left a gaping hole of nothingness, save for the suit contracting and clamping onto legs and neck to cool down excess body heat. Hugging a slug and coated fully, the sweat and excess temperature is healed off Panther at the expense of a mucus sensation.

"…I hate this stupid suit."

"Panther, your last match's results have been uploaded," A/M reports, the retinal projection fading back to a natural sight.

Shortly after, a small report pop-up appears. Statistics on shots landed, missed, sections hit and other such numbers wash over Panther who slides down to the result. Due to skilled flying and acrobatics, a two-star victory was given. Worthy of $2000 credits and three points to the tally, this sees Panther gain enough points to draw in Rank 695.

"Your next opponent is ready for the match," A/M says.

"Can I have a moment?"

"Acknowledged," A/M acquiesces, promptly opening the cockpit. "For a hasty recovery of stamina, it is recommended to drink the sponsored juice from Eberbach Corporation-"

"I rather have anything other than that," Panther grumbles, latching onto the pulley and getting vertigo.

Not due to the height, but the remembered aftertaste of the strong carbonated unassuming juice box in question.

"ALLMIND, how long do I have before the next match?"

"The rules specify a twenty minute break at most."

"Roger… Let's get a move on, then."

Beep!

"You have one new mail."

Opening the inbox while letting the platform slide towards the small bar in the hangar, Panther finds the icon of the wolf in the snow.

Sender: Beowulf 12

That was a good match. I've rarely seen someone switch to manual to counteract the jamming.

I won't pretend to not be annoyed at being bested by a rookie in the starting gear but it was a fair fight. Better than to get blasted by a bazooka for the umpteenth time.

Will be looking forward to flying with a fellow Manual fan on the missions.

"…Should I reply back? Hm… I guess a small thanks can't hurt. ALLMIND?"

"Engaging with other pilots is left at the discretion of the individuals. Neither the Arena nor I will interfere, so long as no rules are being broken," says the ever stoic helper.

"I see… A small thanks it is. It was fun, seeing the security bot actually put up a fight," Panther nods, stepping down from the platform, slowly writing a message on the arm terminal while waiting on the line to the bar.


[Recommended Music: Storm Vanguard, Muv-Luv Alternative.]


Once again, back in the cockpit. Back to the shiver and the scanlines looping, to the point Panther cannot help but to yawn.

Rubbing both eyes then receiving the confirmation pop-up, the battlefield fades into view along the bracing of the systems.

This time it is not the standard steel cage. Rather, an open area showered in gentle orange skies extends far into the distance. Sand and waves nearby below the rocky formation, the cliffs where both fighters stood framed by grander elevations on the other side, where the red sun is peeking from.

"So this is what a 'beach' is supposed to look like, huh…" Panther whistles, taking a moment to admire the vistas from the cockpit before focusing on what's ahead. "I wonder what kind of TSF this is," Panther sighs, zooming in to the rival of the match.

The Rapier in question was painted in the standard UN light blue, without any other personal identifications available. At first glance, it may even pass as another security sentry. If not for the odd armaments on both arms, not the standard issue CIWS blades nor rifles.

Reversed jaws, chainsaws. Panther had never seen such swords, believed them to be attachments of Eberbach Corp's machines. Yet the Rapier's angular shape does not match. Same for the larger barrel of its massive rifle, paired with its own ammo tank even.

"I've never seen that weapon, in any of the Arena matches I've watched…"

As virtual wind kicks and the red light twinkles beyond the peaks, the countdown begins. No sooner does it end that fire already grazes the Ayanami's bunny ears.

Beeping alarms blast on the ears, followed by pillars of sand and smoke raising nearby. The lock-on sensor flickers erratically much as its intended target, zooming through the rolling hills. A momentary chase of circling about ensues, before only the tailend of those blue, cerulean boosters Panther can see.

Before the blasting alarm of missiles raining down from right above cries out.

"Tch… If this is its style, there's no point to remain on the back foot," Panther braces to remain still, hitting the pedals into a charge.

Explosions blossom in midair, yet the edges meet no mark. Thus, Panther boosts further after the Rapier.

Boosters die cold, allow gravity to let the Rapier slide downhill. The path down to the ground evident, and safe from retaliation, more missiles raise towards the Ayanami.

One jump unit softens its roar, to spin and spray the volleys, killing most missiles, the others missing. Panther leans back, the Ayanami too as the landing turns into a hop forward, to finally get sustained visuals.

"You're not getting away now, mystery mech," Panther smirks, launching another full boost at the stationary enemy at the pit of the hillside.

Much like its namesake, moderate stabs in parry are all the Rapier forwards in quick, evasive gliding. For a moment, both seem evenly matched on their tango up and down the elevations.

The Rapier then suddenly stops, holding the strikes. Cerulean, crystalline fire oozes from its boosters, the Lorentz force growing and growing before, in the blink of an eye, it blooms wings over the machine. Panther closes an eye on the sheer pressure of being pushed backwards by the machine, the other eye's sight beginning to gray out before gulping nothingness and taking the crash onto the ground.

"Cough! Cough! Wh-What the fuck?! That thing almost buried me into the cliffs…" Panther rasps, yanking the controls to stand again.

The Rapier flaps its cerulean wings back to mere feathers as it glides down into range, yet doesn't attack. A heavy, heavy sigh reaches Panther through the common channel as both chainsaw swords are shifted, into a reverse hold stance.

"…I do not understand the motive behind it, but this was enough," a delicate voice says, deadpanning. "There is no need to further prolong this parade."

Sparks fly off starved chainsaws, phoenix wings flaring on the Rapier that stabs much as its name would imply, to fall and impale. Panther's backside molds into the seat as the reins of the sky are taken away from the Ayanami, precise sniping from afar denying adequate landing spots for changes in direction. Locked into a corridor, into a corner, towards the cliff.

"Tch… You may be faster, but in such a narrow landscape… Two can play this game," Panther groans, veering the jump units to glide rather than land, rushing away.

One stomp on the cliffs, everything spins and blurs on sight. Neck hurts and clamps, kept locked unlike the eyes.

Again, elbows crash onto the ribs. To spin the heels forward, to rebound off the cliff. Wingless the Ayanami may be, yet it spins and recoils off the mountain, into another Albright Turn of ballistic speeds towards the mirrored target.

And yet it only meets the sky. A drunken dolphin, the backflip of the Rapier in midair.

Cerulean wings spark and veer, a gallant one-two away. Both chainsaw blades spark away, hitting dead-on, a parry that is felt down to Panther's stomach. One breath behind, shots hit the sand, slashes at the air, everything staggers and burns more so as the Rapier swings and boosts.

This time, the Ayanami is crashed against the cliff.

Tongue burns backwards as Panther's forehead plays pinball, red searing in the vision which grows narrow. Coughing roughly, potshots are still fired and tattered legs forced to step out of the rubble.

The Rapier lands nearby, its chainsaw blades screaming their jaws out of order.

"Nothing but a beginner. I still don't understand."

And yet, the exaggeratedly large rifle is taken out. Much like the boosters, it begins to glow cerulean, the Rapier locked in place. The bullets do not shoot out, not normally. A stream at bursting speeds flows out, a dam breaking apart.

Breaking the mountain, piercing through it and leaving a gaping maw. Few are the machines or fortresses that can withstand a point-blank barrage of the EML-Railgun.

Panther almost passes out as her machine is splintered to pieces, sent flying everywhere as the collision contracts onto the suit as the real deal, constricting her throat and heart.

As all vision dims, grays out and the defeat message pop-up, the common channel beeps out again.

"You suck."

Panther simply headbutts the cockpit, choking the controls before the suit's aftercare sends electric, slow shivers and knocks all lights out.


A/N: Two votes to one, the Arena wins. Maybe this chapter dragged on with the repeated fights but it was fun so, meh.

Sorry for the long wait but between other little projects and the editing of the fights I ended up delaying updating this one. In the end, as I said, I liked how the fights turned out and while I know they could be trimmed further I'm content with both.

Also I get the talks with ALLMIND may drag on a bit but I find it funny to explain how things work, just in case.

The ending may be disappointing, but I don't wanna Mary Sue so soon at the start. I think the hints and foreshadowing bits for who the pilot of the Rapier is are obvious, as a small thing for where stuff is going beyond sight.

From here on in though, the missions start for real. I'll try and split the Mission Select chapters by placing slowdown slice of life moments in between, and showcase the effect the choices have if any. Every now and then, Arena challenges will appear for Panther as opposed to split the choices between sorties and tackling the Arena. Sort of like in MoA where there's Arena-only segments spaced with paid missions.

Originally, I wanted to place the choices here but for pacing and spacing it's better to have a short intermission chap next time imo.

Anyways, the next upload should come faster. Maybe by the weekend, but no promises. Thanks for reading, and stay safe over there o7

Zuoriel