The Rostosov's guns were simply too much for the Phantom Zero and in the end, the lighter frame buckled under the sheer weight of armor-piercing projectiles. Each half-ton of furious steel impacted with the hatred of a god, the armor too thin and easily defeated. Sparks flashed in slow motion at points of impact, before the fuses burnt up and the penetrating hits unleashed their high-explosive playload. There was a scream, that of a woman's, as she died with her mech in a grand fireball.

But Harold did not hear her. The glory of destruction was simply too loud, and spared no room for the whimpers of human suffering.

"Target down!" he said, still on the private comms, while fluidly tracing the crosshairs and his guns to the massive newcomer black mech whose first salvo completely missed the Rostosov. It impacted behind Harold's machine to cast a huge plume of dust and dirt that oddly gave the Frame an ominous, dirty aura. There was indeed no better raiment for something whose entire purpose was to kill, kill and kill again. "Engaging the next target!"

It was a big target. Perhaps a bit too big, he thought. His forehead was now fully wet with adrenaline-laced sweat. His decision was a quick one:

"Firing missiles!"

[b]MK. I CRUISE MISSILE - SELECTED MODE: SACLOS - [color=#FF0000]FIRING[/color][/b]

[b]TYPE 2500 MODEL 3 41CM GATLING - [color=#FF0000]FIRING[/color][/b]

A single cruise missile whose warhead weighed nearly four tons lanced from the Rostosov's shoulder then. At the same moment, Harold's beloved autocannons resumed playing its destructive orchestra.