The crackle of an announcer over the colosseum.
It watched from it's seat, surrounded by more voices, starving as this would be the first course.
It's the 2nd Bracket Match, the event will start shortly I know you've all been eagerly waiting, first match of the day after all. The staring Preeminent's for your gazes are Lingying Huang flying the G3-BARDO. The showman's leer, one that can discuss the going on of the world with the right interlaced wit. It needed to replicate, improve balance between the indulgence of enjoyability and optimization.
The representative mentioned was hanging back, with their slack arms to the side and feet floating driftlessly in the air like fabric hung on a clothesline. It's a round figure, floating on its side. A caricature of the human body made of abstract armillary spheres hollow and covered in ever constant rotation, the largest in the center that carried the pilot in it's nucleus.
Their Aide Is Bhavna Jīvata riding on a G2-Sikh a CQC Model.
Large stilts clamped to a person. The swords it wields are almost clamping onto the suit, meant to use their Hiss and Buzz, each of them so delicately complex while keeping it's mass production. The shield towering behind it's head curved but split, ready to expand and defend for it's purpose of denial.
"Along with our newcomer. Ichika Orimura flying their own G3."
One of her newfound favorites. The cheering and ego as he cheers and dances through the sky in his bird of prey, shows the confidence given by his tools. Those claws and hooks in the hands of those more deserving... what would it be like if she had it.
]
"Aide is Charles Dubois. Flying in their G2.5- Prévôt."
The pronunciation was accurate, without falling flat, fluid. The buzz of the onlookers sitting down was raised as they looked on to see his face shown. The result of words done well. It needed to tip the scale to find it's balance.
Staaaaarting the clock. Begin! It could tell the person saying these lines was smiling their face off. Good for them in finding the equilibrium.
Hovering drones projecting out moving numbers. Minutes turned on, timing itself, before the meal expired.
The cheering, bravado of the sharpened claws disappeared with the whirling twirling in the air changing to an outstretched dive down, claws out.
Let's try this again and again until we're finally satisfied.
It looked on to savor the visual perceptual appetizer.
The Storm wanted to start yelling thunderbolts, bright sparks that jolted the storm, charging it, steaming it, creating more momentum to it's turning.
Shuddering Waves, cold ice in the sky about to Hail down. The frozen crystals haven't fallen yet. The humidity in the air is strangling but it isn't a noose, yet.
As in the sky, so in the ocean below.
The red Lantern was still, drifting in the air, nearest to the Storm matching the tempo of the winds brought by the eager Clouds. The Diyah farthest bellow rocking back and forth on the stirring water.
Give the reason. Aim, and shoot or claw and swipe. Consequences will follow only then those actions are taken. The chains strangling bloated wrists and ankles would loosen only in that moment.
The Waves dancing and twirling were cut the second the static crashed and announced the start of the Storm breaking the imitating calm to strike first.
The concentric shards of cutting came falling whistling out Hailing down.
The Lanterns wick lit, and readied itself for illumination to show what seemed to be the Storm's way.
Chains that banded together on it released their constriction melting off slowly just as liquid wax fell down the candle. Free and now flowing into droplets these hollow bangles of sharpened crescents spun floating just the right distance away whenever an arm moved.
The dark blue Wave had risen. Churning foam angrily, every single second only growing in altitude until it rose to the height needed to easily crush down the Lantern.
The Diya went forward to try to climb up to the crest, to reach the peak and force it back down into the sea. But its icy spray almost flickered it's own candle. Forcing them to move back for fear of loss of self.
The Lantern was rising higher, to the clouds that all Buzzed with energy. This would be another upset, and it needed to illuminate the grey sky to be seen. Let there be no doubt from the crackling sky to the Ocean bellow.
The Diya rushed to pause the warpath of the Wave climbing to it's peak. Standing forward bearing its flower to shield the Lantern against the maliciousness.
But still it was not enough, the Wave hurled down, clawing to grab and maul and bring one into the Ocean's depths. Petals flying in the air were befallen to that fate, barely managing to keep it's heated breath. The wave did not care for the Diya yet, it wanted to extinguish the Lantern in its entirety, to seal it away and cast it to erode.
Only in that moment before contact that gap that entered them both in the space between life and death, the melted wax chains hardened. The circlets around it flew to expand, a hollow net wrapping around the Wave constricting it tighter than any snake or knot in soft wax.
The Wave was immobile, motionless, rigid stuck in that one outstretched moment for a small eternity. Only tapping the paper skin of the Lantern in that last breath of control with it's tip. The lantern exhaled it's melting wax dropping down to it's arms, forming chakrams of glowing orange, still imbedded with the heat of it's flame.
Qiú rén bù rú qiú jǐ.
(It's more effective to depend on one's own efforts than on others' help.) But then that doesn't mean help can't be taken, one simply needs to expend effort to use it.
Yelling with an unuttering mouth in the moment before blackout, the second a dream muddled itself with nightmares and all control was lost as movement bled out. Six layers surrounded him as he flew through them as a rabbit into an easy snare.
There was no snapping to bind him, or a spark that wreathed him in agony to think as he passed through these rings. Nothing, just passing through these aired circles he just turned off, the light switch in his head flicked off.
This state of sentience in comatose any mental attempt at action just increasing the contrast of the paralysis between mind and matter.
The last action taken before loss was a small clinking tap on that smug face as his sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity was used against him to riddle him in disadvantage.
His com crackled with the beep of input, but it was all smothered, this perfect fit that disallowed even mentality.
There was no void he could stew in unadulterated pain. This was just absence.
A buzzing sword struck him down to the deepest echelons of this sphere, he could see it jamming downward from the Sikh.
That little doubt in his head told him this was it. Of all the things in his life, this was it. Drilling, thumping. The hissing of a saber draining until it cracked inwards as he looked at the bleak ground bellow him.
No glorious disappearance. This is it, there will never be anything afterwards except the oncoming sight of the textured floor bellow paused to only gaze upon it. It was calm, but there was no fading.
Cruel vibrations and shuddering, as he could tell his Assistant was weakly shooting their weapons to get the Sikh off before more reinforcements came.
The sibilance from the Sikh's saber curling in ever closer with the teeth of the blade digging, chewing it's way to the core, his only invisible protection growing more and more cracked and stained, his only working pair of eyes having their vision impaled until there was nothing left for him to do except remain in fixed place.
At least he said goodbye.
In that moment, a crescent disc with an edge spinning so fast that it blurred into a yellow sun burning into his retinas dug into one of her numb hooks as he gladly focused on how much he despised watching one of his closest get hurt.
The ever slowing whirring and the clack of cable falling to the near floor felt like a tooth ripped out with the finest opium to dull the pain just seeing an integral limb being disregarded that easily with the phantom of it still remaining there telling of nothing even changing, motion was still possible even if the stump of the leg didn't even touch the floor.
The body was dying but the brain could only experience nothing as it was dulled away in it's own thoughts. Bleeding from a stump.
A click and the void was filled with the voice of his Assistant.
"VA-VAS T'EMMERD-DERDERERVASVAS T'EMMERDERVAS T'EMMERDER-ERV-VAS T'EMMERDER-" The only thing he could do was try at this moment to reassure the only person he could talk to.
"I'm fine. Look, Look-" He was about to continue but was interrupted by the roar of his Assistant.
"Oh- Look. Look, that's your favorite word right now isn't it? You dumb-"
It clicked off without his willing. Thank you Fukuro.
Right. This was here. He was still stuck there. Deep charging breaths. Deep charging breaths.
Breathe in-
BANG.
A punch to the gut filling the vacuum of his cockpit as his GUI flooded him with alert warnings of integrity.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breath in before he enunciated the fact that he was
"GOING TO BE-" Interrupted. "oh so now you're-" "IF YOU DON'T GET THEM OFF OF ME. I WISH I COULD BREAK YOUR TEETH MYSELF BUT THE CONCRETE YOU'RE CHEWING ON GOT THERE FIRST. YOU'RE BELLOW STUPID. YOU THINK YOU HAVE A RIGHT TO EVEN COMPLAIN TO ME? " He had enough material and examples given and directed to him to replicate a decent enough imitation.
"...c'est une connerie CONNARD. I'm on my way. faucking asshole..." That last bit was made so he could understand that she was insulting him.
(Connard.) Asshole. Swear words are fun because people are finally upfront to him.
The sound of bullets digging and engraving themselves into netting came with the heavy sound of a large metal casing falling. And the unending spray sound in the air landing right next to him.
A large orange canaster leaking pitch black smoke drowning him in the darkness it leaked In this moment he focused everything he could to even flex a singular part of himself, to even the smallest tip of his claws, to that end he managed to activate his peripheral view just in time to see a blade Buzzing the entirety of the air around it, before instinctively trying to draw all the power he had on hand to block the point of impact.
The hit compressed the energy it landed on, burrowing itself into the resistance before bouncing back, plumes of smoke parted as he was thrown away, but not far enough to surround him again. His first breath surrounded was held in to avoid the toxins that would be leaking in, so he wouldn't vomit his lungs out of his body with the blood and bile that comes of Scrub.
This is an arena, an imitation. Breathing. Keep it at a regular tempo. Breath in, breathe out. Regulate the oxygen. Oxygen to the brain kept it fresh. Trained, ingrained, used processes that he relied on.
Now he could properly see what was happening behind his back. The Trapper was focusing down his Assistant these sawed rings that were thrown as it rotated it's hands and feet interchangeably, each time they made a full rotation a new crescent cutter grasping it's hand at a blurring speed. it aimed to cut at bearing hands and drawn weapons Each move likewise in their standardized trajectories made to confuse and distract as overshoots were merely roundabout paths to violence in unexplainable curves.
His Assistant was rushing him down in the straightest path possible firing at everything but their Opponents. Wildly thrashing their guns into a blind fire around in a struggle to get as close as they can to him.
Each second, a new curling saw ripping through the air Infront of them as he watched as they withdrew and slid an object into it's grasp, a knife with a shimmer of buzz.
A click on his Com. "You deserve this." Ominous, but probably thought out.
Then there was nothing as pitch black smoke gladly surrounded him fully, taking him away from this place to watch it's rising into the air, each plume having it's own personality and depth of shade in it's color.
The fog was cut, the saws making notches and holes through the coming air striking out, and burrowing into it's smoke filling it with lighting. Descending to reinstate it again.
That disconnection that was running into an issue he knew he could solve only if he wasn't going to be broken again. The Sikh guarding their better.
But another larger obelisk pushed through the smoke. Buzzing knife in hand, his Assistant slashed upward and hurled it at the Trapper in an idiotic move to confront it directly, even from him too late.
It's out stretched palms melted layers of these circlets to face him, to bring him back into that cycle of placidity and rigidity as he was struck by his Assistant fields away into the wall of the arena into the hexagonal pattern of the Vienna's wall.
It was like icicles regaining their edged points, blood circulating through his veins. Control over something part of him. He checked his metal nails, clacking them on their palm as they worked as created.
And turned to face his Assistant their existence tearing down as both opponents were taking their opportunity.
They were reaching the threshold to leave. And his Assistant looked content. They had excuses on their behavior, he was at fault.
Good thing he ruined it by slashing a path forward, claws bearing ill intentioned rescue as with his one remaining hook grasoed his savior and torn them from their release back into the plumes of smoke, to the view of the cheering adoring audience begging for more.
The Lantern put it's bangled wax on the Hail, the storm of falling ice gripping desperately to the thrashing waves, avoiding the Lantern until they can rejoin the clouds.
Dazed and slowly losing strength in every attempt to rise back up, the Wave ran, its water funneling around the Lantern standing above with the Hail's ice churning in its motion.
Creative arcs of sharpened wax would easily remove the slowed flow, cutting it to descend.
Pause it.
Seizing what their Opponent holds most dear. Now they are amiable to the her will. Check. What one must do in a situation of advantage is to take it. Check.
What else does it say in the manual for this supposed art? The thinking heat, lit the words on the pages in her head.
Victory is reserved for those who are willing to pay its price. Sort of.
It is more important to outthink your enemy, than to outfight him. Not bad.
If you are strong, appear weak. But if you are weak, appear strong. Wow. That one had layers to it.
Alright, she put enough effort it, only all the moves she was taught were used. Don't do a free fall. Glide slowly face first into the ground.
She smushed the Blueberry hard enough. Squeezed l'Orangerie. By the books, followed the manual to a key.
kōng huà, kōng huà and kōng huà.
(Empty words.) Yadda yadda yadda in practicality. Empty words, empty actions.
Unpause.
The clouds were near the wave, but not on the water where they would drown in an instant.
The lantern knew it was no longer time to be impenetrable as night itself but there was still a need to keep it all dark. The Lantern prepared to fall like a thunderbolt and drown in the Sea.
His Assistant was clenched in the grasp of his only operating claw, the slashing crescents of the Trapper yelling at them to stop trying, each missing as he flew counting until the lockjaw of her snares settled down and they both could win.
The Trapper had a pattens to their movement.
Every curve thrown at him was aimed to where he would expect it to go now, what was optimal to aim at on him or his Assistant, from their inventory to the one remaining claw in his grasp.
There were patterns and repeats, free form was rigid, it was reacting to them.
Everything went back to its normality of control, even if he couldn't hard kill any of the projectiles that advanced and angled to him. He was awake again.
The Sikh was advancing in every move he made his cargo, slowing him to a legless crawl. A sawing disc forces him to dodge, they come closer in his time of avoidance.
Flicker guns throwing fire everywhere blocked and absorbed by a shield that was running on far more power than the wasted motion used in meaningless attempts.
He was running himself to a bone while wasting fat on his flesh, festering and boiling out the calories they contained.
Another seething saw that made him use more energy he didn't have pinning him to the curved viewing rafters of the arena. With a flipping throw he threw his Assistant past the Sikh, slamming them into the energy that separated them from the looking glass.
In that paused moment, he grasped the Sikh in his last trailing hook and started slashing, tearing and ripping into their shield they raised in a failed hope to stop him. He dug and tunneled his claws through the material before splitting it in half. Then batting away the drawn sabre with a swipe that could rip through buildings breaking the sword away. The other was thrown away as he tore it straight out of its sheath to the ground.
With nothing left to defend themselves with the Sikh was a mouse ripped apart from it's pierced skin, to the broken bones and bleeding muscles underneath in the instant they were vulnerable. Ripping and ripping until-
KO THRESHOLD PASSED. EVACUATE CADET JIVATA. DO NOT CONTINUE AGGRESSION. The claws didn't easily give way, to either him or FUKURO.
He threw his clawed prey away to slowly. And stared at the one thing left to stop him, the Trapper standing, snares and saws in hand and foot ready to throw to make this arena a slaughterhouse.
Throttle was pushed as he climbed altitude, saw after saw was thrown in swirling formations made to ensure cuts were made as he regretfully retreated. His com clicked again.
"I'll- I'll smoke them then you bring them here where I'll shoot them down. F-fine?" He was thankful for the lick of common sense in this confusing world.
"Do it, make a path for me." And the request was answered with orange canisters shot upwards turning the space into a smoker's lung. Filled with grey mist obscuring the air.
The second the air was saturated with the gas, more discs cut threw in rapid succession adjusting the smoke and clearing the air by their rapid speed all but distracting them as he rose upward to catch the source of the disruption.
He cut and grabbed the air as more and more swarms of unending crescent paths dug into him, as each barrage was met by his own responding swipes to cut their momentum creeping closer and closer until he reached them finally. Finally. Each move they made however intentionally unexpectedly turned systematic, each one was met by his countering and expectancy of their textbook attempts to stop him. Until he reared his last barely latching hook and thanked the skies when it latched on as it slowed their escape.
More discs were thrown and thrown, but wildly losing the accuracy that they inflicted. Until he was close and ready to screech his claws right into the Trapper his vision flooded with red as he raised his claw to dash down and strike.
FORFEIT. EVACUATE PREEMINENT CADET HUANG. MATCH OVER.
Into the relieved face of who he grasped. There was no fear in her eyes, or malice. The eyes were wide, the mouth was agape at her loss. But there was nothing there but the alleviation.
As the arena glowed in the ever present harsh red that dyed them all.
And then the Lantern blew out its own light.
The clouds could no longer see anything, the Sea quieted with churned waves falling back to the tide.
The Lantern with no motivation drifted back to the island it left and landed gently back onto the ground as Lingying walked on the floor. She got out of the thing that held her like grasping mud as all the exhaustion of a match matured and stewed.
She gave Bardo a knock and waited as the glowing process happened making noises that noised and special effects that people took too long designing.
The wait was too long, she was almost tempted to leave this blank check of a military budget and hurry up to get dressed out of her armor, or just sit down for a few seconds.
Bhavna's suit was a pile of trash about to fall in on itself. The machines would go and get whatever scrap was left but it still very much had a few claw marks left from Blueberry and L'Orangerie. She wished they would give bardo a larger lashing but oh well, next far off time.
Already she could see practicing engineers surrounding it, and packing it up for evacuation to Mauretania to fix it up so it could do it all over again. She passed off Bardo to one of the technicians, who had the very special leather box to hold it in, and gave it away before doing a good turn to the down set of stairs to the locker room.
And opened it just in time to watch a plastic boot smash against the wall in front of her as Bhavna brutalized the plastic chestplate she wore and kicked it in the gut before jumping on it for a while before backing a good enough distance to start a running kick with a smile.
Did it affect her that deeply?
Lingying spoke.
"We fought hard enough. Please. There's no need to stress out." That paused the action Bhavna would have taken as she slowly turned to look at her and kicked it toward her, missing by a large margin intentionally.
It slid on the floor before bumping into the wall, dragging and scraping the floor with such horrid utterance that made her feel it's pain.
She tried to compose herself and felt the need to bring Bhavna down, she needed to control herself more like her.
"Look. I know. I just want you to remember that to be calm-"
Bhavna raised her pointer finger to pause her and just left, waving her hands cutting up the words that were bouncing around in the air.
"I know but-"
She raised both now, only lowering one to grasp the handle to the door leading her out of the arena before ensuring she was seen as she left. As the door slammed and Lingying was left to wonder if she should've reacted earlier.
The Lantern forgot it could be blinded by it's own light.