The owner of this media, RXY398, hereby permits anyone to use this piece, provided that they credit the owner. Taken from the Modern Warships Wiki.
At this range, even Anti-Aircraft Artillery can be fired at ground targets, and it was flak from that which could clip Cristina's left arm, possibly ruining her leather jacket and necessitating the need for repairs of the supernatural kind. Nevertheless, despite the flow of blood that soaked the limb, skin, and cloth, her arm was good enough to keep moving thanks to Arms Master Survivability while Mikey's quick thinking ensured that no further shots would come her way... Because Nil just struck several canisters of jet fuel, lighting the area on fire.
"Nice!" Wu Shufen said as he teleported back, copying Cristina's 'Blink' power before launching two clones of his quarterstaff at her and Nil - Two copies that had the same speed and hitting power as Stang - That was copied too!
Henri did not need Callie's warning to charge straight at Wu Shufen after that; his shield caught the Stang Copy directed at Nil and utterly dissolved it to nonexistence before directly bashing the Zodiac member and knocking the foe back, forcibly dispelling the latter's Noble Arm in a flash of light. Realizing that his advantage was lost, the Arms Master retreated into the white smoke Mikey herself had covered the area with, vanishing into the increasingly hot hellscape before Viktor Raja, the new member who had been there all along, but had stayed uncharacteristically silent, had a chance of catching him.
Then, the whirring of rotors could be heard; two Helicopters had taken off from the two closest Destroyers and headed for the Guangdong, reaching the area just in time to inconvenience Task Force Obsidian. While it would be risky for the planes and pilots on the deck for them to strafe the area, they can, however, blow away the white smoke while fanning the flames around the group of Arms Masters, threatening to consume them in a localized inferno.
The only saving grace is that the deck and communications tower had been hit; Combat Engineers escorted by PLA Navy Marines were headed to repair the portion of the deck that Nil's second shot had hit some time before, while the stairs leading to the comms room and the decks below were pulverized... but the High Command was intact, though stranded in their stations.
Due to the size of the Type 004 Aircraft Carrier's deck, the initial ambush force Wu Shufen had brought with him had successfully run away too, with minimal injuries, using Mikey's white smoke projectiles as their cover to escape from her and the others. But this was not a full retreat; this was a repositioning to protect the precious planes and pilots the Aircraft Carrier carried, as they hoped that none among Task Force Obsidian could blow out the flames.
But the new member, Viktor Raja, can. Now that the source of the leaks about Task Force Obsidian and its members had been plugged up, the PLA lacked knowledge of how this new member would fight among their foes...
If the nearby US Carrier Strike Group stood by while the PLA Navy shot them down, the chances of defeat rocketed upward. If Task Force Obsidian failed to pin down the Guangdong and its flight of supersonic aircraft, that would be a further increase in the chances of defeat. And if Lotus Squadron and other ASEAN air wings lost the skies to an overwhelming PLA Air Force offensive, that would seal their fate.
Admiral Yi Yeol addressed the point of failure he can influence first from his captain's seat, saying to his aide, "Tell the USS George Washington's Captain that if he still isn't authorized to fire at the PLA Navy or scramble aircraft to help us, that the least he can do is cover our line of retreat once the US is done letting its allies down. As it is, this entire battle is being broadcast to US Audiences everywhere; people like a good underdog story, and every moment we hold against what the foe can throw at us is a moment those audiences can demand that they be authorized to fight the Red Chinese."
Ten PLA Navy Corvettes and twelve Destroyers were headed towards the ASEAN/Allied Flotilla, the first wave of what may be incoming doom. These vessels were reinforced by swarms of PLA Aircraft from the Mainland, where there were reserves of trained pilots for this final offensive.
But if this could be televised, if people all over the world saw their courage in real time and they can hold out long enough to show it... Then it would be worth turning the war into a wretched reality show.
West Philippine Sea Airspace - 12/28/2022, 5:22, UTC+8
Ten early warning and control aircraft that carried mobile radar and comms equipment to ward off attempts at electronic warfare, while at the same time widening the reach of their partners, two hundred fighters dedicated to air superiority above all else. These two hundred were like a shower of flying metallic knives that swarmed like hungry locusts, ready to spit force and fire, thunder and heat, against an enemy that had caused them fear, humiliation, and the loss of comrades that, for all their faults, they had been taught to regard as friends and brothers.
Questions of right and wrong blurred; even if it could be proven they were in the wrong, the pain caused to them still moved their hearts to fight. And now, Lotus Squadron, and the ASEAN Air Wings that came to join them were in for the battle of their lives...
BRP Jose Rizal - 12/28/2022, 5:21, UTC+8
BRP Jose Rizal
Callie was alone to witness all of this, her attention divided between air, sea, and the deck of the PLA Navy's Flagship where her comrades fought for their lives.
The radio crackled to life, and Admiral Yi Yeol's voice firmly commanded, "Save your strength as you will need to evacuate your friends whether they win or lose. The Belgian has proven himself yet again; now is the time for our other wildcard to shine."
Location : Type-004 Nuclear Aircraft Carrier Date : December 25th, 2022 Time : 5:21 (UTC+8)
Alongside the other TFO soldiers was a towering bald man with a toned build and scars all across his upper frame. His name was Viktor Raja, a former cage-fighter from Indonesia who’d been volunteering for the organization for quite some time now. This would be his first mission since his initial recruitment. Initially, he was only kept as a backup in case one of the soldiers was unavailable or injured. However, due to the urgency of the situation, he was finally instructed to join the others at the last minute.
While on the trip to their targeted destination, Raja didn’t really talk with anybody that much. He didn’t seem to be interested in introducing himself, either. All he did was just give the other soldiers what appeared to be a glare, his ferocious face faintly scrunching every now and then. From rude to unfriendly, he could only guess they’d been calling him all kinds of stuff inwardly, but he wasn’t quite bothered. He was never here to make allies. He was here for a greater purpose, and that was to right the wrongs that he did in the past as a former Hammer.
Most of the time, Raja just minded his own business, preferring to keep everything to himself while enjoying the solitude. His ears were keen enough that he managed to overhear what everybody had to say about the mission, taking a mental note of the Cao Bao’s imitation sighted not too long ago. However, it wasn’t the objective of the latest mission that he paid the most attention to, but rather, the picture in his hands. It was an old picture taken over 20 years ago, depicting his younger self and his older brother standing by the shore of a local beach in the far north of Sumatra. Despite the rough exterior, Raja had always had a soft spot for the ones he held the closest to his heart. He’d been missing his hometown, his fellow tribesmen, and most importantly, his family. He missed them more than anything, but he knew he couldn’t come back. They’d been long gone, and what was left of his hometown was the ruins of traditional houses, stalls, and places of worship that used to stand proudly across the island.
Abang… Sometimes, I wonder if I’ve become the next big thing that you thought I’d become, Raja mused, his thumb caressing the partly shredded picture. Sometimes, I wonder if I’ve become the man that our family—our tribe—thought I would’ve been. All I’ve ever wanted is to make bapa and inang proud of their son, but I don’t know… It’s never been the same ever since you all petered out. I’ve done very, very horrible stuff ever since that I thought maybe—just maybe—I’ve become a monster...
Raja seemed hopeless, an unusual hint of vulnerability visible across his rough face. He wished he could’ve found an answer or anything to comfort himself, but his past sins were too great to be overlooked. Being a former Hammer, he’d lost count on the many innocent lives he and his former comrades had claimed. Surely, he never enjoyed all the heinous deeds that he’d committed throughout those years, but he was forced to. He had no choice since they were holding him captive in that moment, turning him into something of a heartless killing machine to help them bring terror and fright across nations. On the other hand, he knew that just dwelling on the past wouldn’t solve anything, let alone bringing his family and fellow tribesmen back. As long as he’d already paid for his sins in the prison—and now volunteered to combat the very act that he despised the most—he still deserved a fraction of forgiveness, didn’t he?
More often than not, even I was disgusted by what I’ve become—by the unforgivable acts that I’d committed all those years—but I know… I know that no matter how hard I try to right the wrongs, nothing will ever change what has been. I’ll still be a felon, and I still can’t bring you all back by my side. Do I deserve forgiveness? Do I even deserve everyone’s mercy? Will joining these folks and redeem myself change everyone’s perception?
Raja had been musing a lot that he didn’t realize just how close they were to their destination already. As he arrived at the carrier, he stowed the picture in his hand into his pocket, then tightened the crimson cloth covering his gouged eye. In his hands, he summoned a pair of Iron Fangs—the Noble Arm that he’d possessed ever since he was close to entering adulthood. In front of him, the notorious Sumatran Tiger would be welcomed by at least two different sights: the dissolving ‘Cao Bao’ and the subsequent Wukong lookalike named Wu Shufen, seemingly taunting them with a wave of his staff. From the looks of it, it seemed that he’d been challenging the TFO into a scuffle.
“Oi, monyet!” Raja finally shouted, his voice deep and threatening as he scoffed back. “You think you’re so tough? Don’t make me laugh! You’re just a pet monkey I’m going to send back to Ragunan Zoo!”
Before Raja could do a thing, Wu Shufen was quick to ambush each and every Arm Master around him. Even worse now that he was accompanied by the enemy aircraft, which, in turn, managed to injure Cristina as the scuffle continued to unfold. His only eye leaped from one side to another, trying to catch up with the tailed staff wielder’s swift movement.
Dammit… he is unbelievably fast! How am I supposed to keep up with this little brat?
Wasting no chance, Raja charged part of his energy into one of his Iron Fangs. A spiral of flame emerged across its thin, sharp frame, his eye covered in auric light. He quickly hurled the spectral blade in Wu Shufen’s direction, turning his greatest weapon into a flying projectile. A loud, guttural scream escaped his mouth.
“RAAHHH—!!”
Unfortunately, the projectile missed.
“Bangsat…” Raja quietly cussed, watching with a furrowed gaze as Wu Shufen vanished into the thick white fog created by Mikey’s smoke grenade. The firing projectile dissipated, the hurled Iron Fang materializing back into his hand in the form of a small, spectral blade. “Coward! He is running away! The hell is he—”
WHOOSH!
The flame surrounding Raja and the other soldiers had only grown, its sudden burst nearly kissing his face when he was about to chase the tailed staff wielder. He grimaced, closed his only eye, and quickly drew back, subsequently blinking. The thick white smoke had only hampered everybody’s vision, filling their nostrils with unpleasant scent. They could’ve suffocated or roasted alive if this situation wasn’t handled well. Raja had suspected the gunships that flew above the carrier to be one of the culprits. Their soaring noises might be far above them, but to somebody with heightened senses like him, it felt like the gunships were traveling right above his head.
“Everybody, stay close!”
As somebody who could create fire and explosions using ki-energy, Raja knew he was most likely one of the few capable of anticipating the heated ordeal they were currently facing. As he commanded so, the Sumatran Tiger tossed one of his Iron Fangs to the ground, its sharp peak piercing through the hard, metallic surface. The spectral blade emitted a fiery light before dissolving, transforming into a ring of flame acting as a barrier keeping himself and the other Arm Masters from the firing assaults. The ring of flame grew and grew, and eventually, before one could expect…
KA–BOOM!!
It erupted rounds of geyser-like bursts surrounding them, fighting back the fanned flame in deafening noises. Speaking of fighting fire with fire, and fortunately, the bigger fire overcame the smaller fire. In this case, the explosive flame that Raja had summoned managed to devour the prior flame gradually. A tremendous quake emerged, rendering everybody and everything on the deck unsteady. A circling fracture was even managed across the metallic ground, yet the still gunships carried by the carrier remained barely scathed. They were, however, pushed out of their initial position due to the quake that the volcanic ring had caused. It didn’t take a while until the flame dissolved and the suffocating smoke extinguished, but not before the volcanic geysers had managed to crawl farther and trigger barrels of fuel perching nearby.
BOOM!
BOOM!!
BOOM!!!
BOOM!!!!
FWOOSH…
The barrels exploded, their explosive sparks taking the form of launching fireworks. The explosions only emphasized the strength that the volcanic geysers wielded, their increasing sizes allowing them to reach both of the gunships overhead. They were detonated, shattered, and torn down, their broken remains sinking deep into the ocean in the most gruesome fashion. At the sight, Raja sighed, summoning the tossed Iron Fang back into his wrapped hand. “Is everybody alright?” the one-eyed Sumatran Tiger made sure, glancing at each and every Arm Master nearby. “Now, now… who’s next?”
At this range, even Anti-Aircraft Artillery can be fired at ground targets, and it was flak from that which could clip Cristina's left arm, possibly ruining her leather jacket and necessitating the need for repairs of the supernatural kind. Nevertheless, despite the flow of blood that soaked the limb, skin, and cloth, her arm was good enough to keep moving thanks to Arms Master Survivability while Mikey's quick thinking ensured that no further shots would come her way... Because Nil just struck several canisters of jet fuel, lighting the area on fire.
A quick pre-planned blink allowed Cristina to easily evade the bullets and let the flak pass through as the gap between her and the Monkey gets shorter and shorter. Time to-
Cristina suddenly pivoted her own sword to parry the incoming sting with her blade. A betrayal? No, it is just the Monkey King living up to his name. So he can create things other than clones, a good thing to take note as the battle progresses.
In a moment a flash of light shined from Cristina's sword and when everything returned to normal, the girl was gone and the chaos of Obsidian's newest member became a perfect cover.
And the freelancer? She is playing a game of hide and seek in the sheep. Looking for the Monkey and the chance to finish the fight in a single strike.
She barely had time to drop the grenade launcher before Nil's first pair of shots went off, bathing the deck of the carrier in fire. "Jesus CHRIST!. The general conflagration she'd hoped to avoid seemed to have started right away; through the smoke she couldn't tell what had set it going, but that really wasn't all that relevant at the moment.
A voice came from over her shoulder, and Mikey took a startled pair of steps forward until she recognized it as Callie's.
"Fuck!" she hissed, with the anger that comes from being caught by surprise. "Threat from our own arms?! What does tha-"
Before she could finish her sentence, a third staff came flying out of the smoke. It smashed into the side of the bridge, leaving an ugly scar on the steel wall. The strike didn't come anywhere close to hitting Mikey, but she was already off balance, and the impact was enough to make her lose her footing and tumble off the side of the carrier's command tower.
Her world became a whirl of color and noise--for a terrifying second she couldn't make any sense of it, but acting on instinct she extended her hands and Angel Duster came to her call. Looking down the weapon's simple iron sights steadied her (in a way she wouldn't care to think about later), and crack she found herself rolling to her feet on the carrier's deck, thrown clear of the fire and the smoke.
Mikey ducked behind a nearby crate, taking a moment to get her bearings. Her hands began to shake just a little, as did her breath. Good news, didn't fall to my death. Bad news-- She peeked over the crate and saw the wall of smoke--white and black mingling together--between her and the rest of the task force. --no backup.
She had choices to make, and presumably very little time to make them. Going through the smoke was a no-go--the chances of shooting herself out of the frying pan and into the quite literal fire were too high. From her current position she couldn't get a clean shot back up to the vantage point she'd intended to use, and even if she broke cover to try it, damage control crews were swarming all over it, so her chances of getting spotted were high.
Then, like water poured on the ash of her hope, she saw the shapes of Wu Shufen and his squad emerge from the smoke. They mostly had their backs to her--still focused on the potential threat from the actually dangerous more visible members of the task force--but they were falling back with discipline, and they would definitely spot her in no more than a few moments.
Mikey gripped the wood of her Arm so hard her knuckles went white, turned to move further down the deck, and found herself looking into the eyes of a PLA soldier no more than a few yards away.
The soldier didn't have his sidearm drawn, but he wasted no time reaching for it. Mikey didn't give him the chance--Angel Duster fired three times, as fast as she could pull the trigger, and a spray of blood came from the soldier's unarmored shoulder. Then she spun around, aiming the carbine over the crate she had just been hiding behind, and found one of the ambushing soldiers, now turning to see where the gunfire was coming from.
Angel Duster might be able to bend space like a pool toy, but it fired what were still just .30 carbine rounds. There was no real chance of a small round like that piercing anyone's body armor at distance. The 12 gauge slug that came from the shortened shotgun Mikey had on her sling was a different story--especially fired directly into center mass, from where she had fallen at his feet.
Mikey yanked her finger off the trigger as she rolled to one side, brought up her Noble Arm, and shot herself past another one of the soldiers. He flinched at the gunfire, giving her the opportunity to plug him in the back, and then she shot herself again across the deck, looking to hide behind a still-parked jet.
Thick tar-like substance invaded his lungs, spewing forth visions of fire and force, of volcanic waste blistering his senses. At least, that was how it felt. The chaos, already overwhelming before it began, had spiralled into something worse, something louder, heavier, more alive. And he was drowning in it.
The fire, the noise, the raw presence from his fellow Task Force Obsidians, all forged in sharper flames than he’d ever known. Then came the Zodiac, the arrival of a greater adversary, a new class entirely. It crushed the air from his chest, left him static in place, movement reduced to blurred water-logged cascades of pandemonium.
He swallowed hard. His mouth dry, his throat burned, both clawing at him like a hundred hungry dogs.
The bracers tugged on him, urging him to action, begging him to use them, to activate them once more and become greater than he was, just like before, when he went from useless to becoming danger himself. His mind spiralled, full of options, and the louder absence of them. Letting the gauntlets rise again, allowing himself to use them again after what happened last time, it grated on him like iron in bone. Sooner or later, he’d not likely have a choice, but now, right now, he could choose. But what if he did nothing? What if standing still was just becoming what he had always feared, a waste within. A weight for others to burden. A shadow cast by people doing the real work.
His fists clenched, nails digging into palms, knuckles whitening with tension.
No.
All around him, others surged. Their Noble Arms roared to life, some shining, some cracking the air, some bending light and reality. Each one moved forward. Not all cleanly, or heroically, but forward.
His fingers unfurled, not by conscious thought, but by something else. Metal braced his hands, surging to greet him like a long lost friend. Armour laced itself over skin, not summoned, not commanded. He hadn’t called them, he had needed it, and that was enough.
His gauntlets returned, born before he willed it. No. because he willed it. Steel, weight, presence. They didn’t hum, nor shine. But they were there once again when he needed them. Quiet, heavy, and unrelenting. Just like him.
And with them came the noise, the storm inside. The gauntlets didn’t just respond to his body. They surfaced everything else too. Anger, fear, fury, frustration, it all rose to the top like oil on water. The grief didn’t vanish; it sharpened. Became a blade to carry forward.
A breath. A beat. Then…
Griff burst forward, the moment too sharp for hesitation, too loud for thought. The gauntlets didn’t weigh him down, they propelled him forward. Every step slammed against the deck, shockwaves thrumming through his bones.
Gunfire snapped in his direction. Muzzle flashes flared through the smoke like fireflies with teeth. He threw himself behind a broken chunk of bulkhead plating, one gauntlet raised to shield his face as concrete and sparks bit the air around him. He wasn’t just hiding. He was moving.
His hand found a jagged slab of runway concrete, jagged, heavy, scorched, and with a grunt, he hurled it. The makeshift missile cartwheeled through the air and smashed into the ground between two gunmen, shattering and spraying rock and force in every direction. One soldier stumbled. The other flinched.
That was all the invitation he needed.
He broke cover in a blur, low and fast. One was mid-reload, fumbling with a mag but Griff didn’t let him finish. He shoulder-checked a low crate mid-run, angling the impact to shove it into a second gunman while vaulting over it at speed. His gauntlet slammed the first man's rifle sideways, and his other fist hammered directly into the soldier’s ribs. There was a sound like a branch snapping underfoot, and the man went down, screaming.
More shouts. Another volley of shots. Griff dove behind a cargo container and hooked one arm through a cracked mooring chain. Using the leverage, he threw himself upward, just enough to land on top of the container with a clang. He hit hard on one knee, rolling to absorb the jolt, and immediately launched forward again.
Down below, one of the soldiers tracked upward, weapon raised. Griff vaulted off the edge, dropping like a hammer, feet first, but with all his body weight behind a downward punch.
CRACK.
He didn’t just floor the soldier, he cratered the deck beneath them.
Smoke. Screams. Sparks. Still more enemies coming. He couldn’t think about numbers. Couldn’t think about pain. It all blurred into the raw pressure of battle. The roar in his blood.
A crate slammed open behind him, another soldier, shotgun raised.
Griff grabbed a metal barrel from the debris beside him, and hurled it like a javelin. It slammed into the man, sending him reeling just long enough for Griff to surge forward and crush his helmet under one iron fist.
This wasn’t the same boy who flinched at Nil’s power. This wasn’t the kid afraid of the edges of his own strength. This was something else. Something grim and fast and burning. The fear, the doubt, the grief, it all still hurt. But this? This was something he could do.
The owner of this media, RXY398, hereby permits anyone to use this piece, provided that they credit the owner. Taken from the Modern Warships Wiki.
Viktor Raja and Cristina Bernardino followed Wu Shufen and his group of mundane troops as they ran from the spreading flames of the melting deck, towards a relatively open space at the center of the floor. He then turned around to face them as his bodyguards formed a closely-packed, square-ish formation just behind him, then grinned.
And from nozzles on the flight deck gushed a mix of water and specialized firefighting foam, foam that covered flammable liquids and prevented them from igniting once more. The water was strong enough to knock several grown men overboard, and would be enough to fling Mikey and Nil off the deck unless they found a way to avoid the full force of the 'wash-down system'.
Viktor and Cristina were thus in a position to see their comrades in trouble; sprayed with water and fire extinguisher at best and flung off the ship at worst. But their troubles were not over yet, as Wu Shufen slammed his staff onto the ground, duplicating Viktor's shockwave from before and buffeting the two TFO members with an ergokinetic wave that had the force of two trucks.
Then he 'blinked' in front of Viktor, teleporting close to him using a duplicate of one of Cristina's powers, and swung at him with his staff even as his bodyguards fired to suppress Cristina.
Small firefighting vehicles laden with hoses, dry powder, and more foam were rolling through the decks; each of them had dedicated firefighters as well as PLA Marines with assault rifles with armor-piercing ammunition. These doubled as crowd control now, as they were firing their hoses not just at the fires set, but also at the members of Task Force Obsidian, and the hoses and dry powder were joined by the PLA Marines' bullets...
Admiral Yi Yeol knew that the ASEAN/Allied Flotilla can withstand the twelve corvettes and ten destroyers of the enemy's first wave. What was important was to keep the Guangdong and Lioning - The other PLA Navy Aircraft Carrier - pinned down or destroyed so that the enemy's second wave would lack strength, coordination, or the morale that came from having two Capital Ships at their backs.
This was a job made much harder by the fact that the Liaoning was untouched, ready to support the potential second wave as the first one began to crumble underneath the determined fire of ASEAN ordnance. As Lotus Squadron and the various ASEAN Air Wings that had deployed to support it held the skies in vicious combat against an overwhelming flock of PLA Air Force fighters, the Admiral knew he had to remove the other Aircraft Carrier as a factor.
The ongoing fight between Wu Shufen and his assailants was tempting to continue, same for the ongoing engagement between the Guangdong deck's defenders and the rest of Task Force Obsidian. But he knew that Cao Bao was not there, or had been ordered to let his comrades die in droves to sharpen a surrpise, and so keeping TFO on the now-damaged Guangdong was a gamble.
And Admiral Yi Yeol knew when an offered prize was just tempting enough to sieze, yet a distraction from the real goal, Victory. While he sympathized with the individual Arms Masters' desire to destroy Wu Shufen and the Guangdong's compliment of aircraft, he knew that sometimes, one just had to let go of bait that had lost its value to the ones grabbing it.
So he opened a line to Callie as she focused on overwatch, while sending a message to Myron...
BRP Jose Rizal - 12/28/2022, 5:21, UTC+8
BRP Jose Rizal
"Specialist Lindmann," the Admiral's voice could be heard from Callie's speakers, interrupting her presumed observation of the situation. "We have established that Cao Bao isn't on the Guangdong, while the Liaoning - Their other Aircraft Carrier - is in full fighting form. We've seen what you can do back in Lingayen; destroy both Aircraft Carriers. Then evacuate Task Force Obsidian back to the BRP Jose Rizal's infirmary afterward."
Special Agent Myron in the BRP Jose Rizal's control room received a similar message through text, If Specialist Lindmann is somehow unable to evacuate Task Force Obsidian, do so.
La Trinidad de Manila Academy - 12/25/2022, 5:21, UTC+8
Far Eastern University In Real Life; the location and structures are used for La Trinidad de Manila in this timeline for convenience
Cornelio Malong of the Philippine Government of National Salvation's intelligence agency faced Director Bathala as both looked at the bladed mirror that was the former's Noble Arm, but it was the latter who spoke a cold, terrifying truth.
"Lei Qingshe, Cao Bao, and many others on both sides of this conflict have vanished. It appears to be a variation of Japan's Crown Prince's ability to retcon himself from this plane of Reality, only people still remember them. The New Disablers and False Turing are growing in strength."
The response from Cornelio in his wooden seat was, "How long till the endgame, then?"
Director Bathala's expression was dour, very much grim, as he said, "A few more months; enough time for the People's Republic of China to either crumble in an uprising or overrun the Philippine Archipelago. Either way, False Turing will break the wheel by Easter 2023 next year..."
For just an instant, Callie screwed her eyes shut. “Solid copy, HQ; relaying.”
No sense in risking comms interception, plenty in the tank – same as before. Another small portal out, to Cristina and her radio. “Obsidian, warning: ship’s about to lose stability. Portal medevac is ordered and inbound; confirm collection point.” They just need to get close enough together. They’ll manage that, Callie affirmed to herself in a worried corner of her mind, even as she waited the precious moments for the response.
If it deepened the conflict, forced the Chinese to lean further into Arms Masters and the organisations that found or made them, in place of the ships and tanks and soldiers that those Arms Masters could so easily lay low… Perhaps many, many more.
No other option – direct order. Plus, the Navy’s here now; China need conventional forces to face them. Can’t rely on AMs alone. This won’t change that.
So she thought. Echoing and resonating across it: a prayer, its forms and tones half-buried and half-remembered, that those thoughts were true.
Letting the communication portal fall shut, Callie redirected her gaze and focus, the need to give her team as much chance as possible dictating the order of operations – namely, starting to sink the ship they weren’t on first. Charter picked out the details around CNS Liaoning: the aircraft, the technicians rushing about to prepare them for their duel against Lotus Squadron, officers standing behind toughened glass on the bridge… The waters stretching out beneath its visible hull.
And in those waters, ahead of the sections of hull that laid beneath them, formed a wide, net-like lattice of atom-width portal, bowed slightly upwards at either edge.
Two hundred kilometres away, Callie took a breath. Then, with the tiniest motion of her hand, she slammed it back into the ship’s bow.
Steel came apart, diced into neat parallelograms that fell away into the sea and let the sea, in turn, rush in. Where Callie met resistance, the result of the lattice finding some poor soul on the ship’s lowest decks before the explosion of oncoming water and rending shards knocked them out cold or worse, she adjusted fractionally downwards and carried on, dragging it along the length of the ship from front to back, ribbons of cleanly cut metal left in its wake…
That was the first second. In the next, with a horrifying satisfaction and finality, she adjusted her wrist’s angle and dragged it back the other way.
By that next second’s conclusion, the Liaoning’s hull no longer had a base.
Even under those circumstances, a ship the size of an aircraft carrier does not sink quickly. (Callie knew that – the agency’s techs back at home did computer simulations testing exactly this application of her powers.) The water simply has too much to subsume and push out of the way to swallow the hulk in an instant. Nonetheless, as she dismissed the lattice and turned her focus away, Callie was aware that it was only a matter of minutes before the multi-billion-dollar construct, seaworthy moments ago, was consumed by the ocean.
Her sense of dread did not ease as she formed another, then did exactly the same to the hull of the carrier on which her teammates stood.
“Good effect on enemy naval assets,” Callie intoned quietly, gathering her energy once again to summon the portal that would, would, return said teammates to safety. “Admiral… Requesting broadcast to hostile fleet so they can task vessels for search and rescue as soon as possible.”
They, after all, were but a fraction of the lives aboard.
Location : Type-004 Nuclear Aircraft Carrier Date : December 25th, 2022 Time : 5:21 (UTC+8)
While the rest was occupied, Raja was still eager to hunt down Wu Shufen. Normally, he would’ve treated animals like monkeys rather gently, but this time? Let God have mercy on the Wukong wannabe because he sure as hell wouldn’t.
Cristina was with him, too, the sight of the fellow Arms Master getting wounded still vivid in his memories. It impressed him how she was still able to shrug the injury off like it did her little to no harm, but then again, Arms Masters like both himself and Cristina were more resilient than an average human being.
“Cristina, are you alright?” Raja asked, his strides swift yet steady as they fell fairly close to his comrade’s. “I thought you were seriously wounded back there. Any clue as to where the monkey—”
Speaking of the devil, Wu Shufen emerged just in time, blocking their path. Raja was quick to halt his strides, eye widening when he took the sight of the many accompanying bodyguards standing behind the Monkey King in an orderly coordinated square. Despite the threatening sight, the Sumatran Tiger showed no fear. After all, he’d tackled worse during his tenure in Hammer of Masters, having survived agonizing torments and adversaries as deadly as Wu Shufen and his stooges.
“Heh. There you are, monyet kecil,” he scoffed, tightening his grips around the Iron Fangs. “I knew you weren’t man enough to face either of us by yourself. Well, I suppose you’re not even a man to begin with. You’re just a terrified little boy trying to hold his own against an army of grown men. Better grow a pair now, or else, you will never—”
A loud cough abruptly left his mouth, disrupting his belittling words. The foam that the nuzzles on the deck emitted managed to reach his nostrils, albeit faintly. Though even if it was just a faint scent, it stung his nose more than it was supposed to be capable of doing, successfully serving as a distraction for the ferocious Sumatran Tiger. And by the time he managed to recover from the suffocating scent, it was all too late. A shockwave was sent in his direction, mimicking his own as it staggered and launched him to the back. A harsh collision was formed between his back and the metal floor.
THUD!
“Urgh! Dammit!!” Raja cussed, trying to pick himself up with his forearm over his back.
The Sumatran Tiger hadn’t even fully recovered, but Wu Shufen had already closed in, as swift as a speeding bullet when he mimicked Cristina’s teleportation quirk. His Iron Fangs had already dissipated when his prior stance faltered upon the impact of the Earth-shattering shockwave, but it was nothing to be worried about, though, for he could always summon them back into his hands in a blink of an eye.
“Cheater! First, you ran away, and now, you stole my technique?” Raja asked furiously, as critical and uncompromising as ever. “Is that the best you can do or are you as incompetent as I assume you are?”
Either way, as much as he wouldn’t like it, Raja had to admit that Wu Shufen imitated his move perfectly well, as though they’d learned the same chi-gathering technique from the same master. Knowing this in mind, the Sumatran Tiger had to be careful. Tackling his furred adversary with unpredictable moves should be considered one of the tactics if he wanted to gain the upper hand.
With the Iron Fangs now materializing back into his wrapped hands, Raja wasted no chance and lunged in Wu Shufen’s direction. He swung both of his blades alternately, aiming to leave the furred staff wielder wounded and bled.
SLASH!
SLASH!
SLASH!
WHACK!
Once connected, the former cage-fighting champion would ride his instep towards the staff that the monkey boy had been holding, utilizing a silat-styled crescent kick to, hopefully, knock the lengthy weapon out of its wielder’s grip. He didn’t forget to check out the other Arms Master nearby, finding out that she’d been ambushed by the ape lord’s stooges.
“Cristina, defend yourself!” Raja urged, then—out of instinct—hurled one of his Iron Fangs towards the closest row of bodyguards, the soaring spectral blade shifting into a sizable projectile that disintegrated into smaller, scorching blasts traveling towards each and every attacking adversaries in their proximity.
Cristina didn't waste anytime as she immediately made use of her own powers. The bullets are too slow against her honed reactions, a simple blink made her closer to guards compared to their guns. She couldn't rely on her flames due to the fire suppressing systems so she will do this the old fashioned way.
A slash would cut one of the bodyguard's arms cutting it off, there won't be a time for a shout before she slashed another's head off. A blink will send her to the back stabbing another man's chest. A bullet landed on her shoulder and was promptly ignored. This is not a fight, it a one sided slaughter.
She didn't need to defend, if no one can keep up with her attack.
She would continue her assault, if not for a timely message.
"Time to leave." her voice muttered as she blinked to Victor silently held him with her blooded arm and blink to the range where she could Mirage space on everyone.
Labored breaths can heard from Cristina as she checked if everyone is ready to leave.
Mikey half-dived, half-rolled under the fuselage of the fighter. As she came up to a low crouch, her head twisted back over her shoulder. She had a moment to watch the melee that had ensued behind her, and found it frightening--her allies as much as her enemies. That bodyguard she had briefly engaged was now formed up and training their fire on Ashley, but they might as well have been shooting blind. Her technique was an infinitely more graceful version of the fumbling Mikey herself had just engaged in, and the older woman could hardly follow it.
Then, of course, there was the Zodiac soldier and that huge man--Vic?--trading blasts of fire back and forth like they were dodgeballs.
And somewhere beyond them--crashing sounds, and the screech of rending metal--and the screams of soldiers.
Griff? Some of the color drained from Mikey face, but her chance to appreciate the spectacle was cut short as Callie's voice once again came from the area of her radio.
'About to lose stability'? Is there a missile inbound? No, she would have just said as much... Mikey's eyes went wide, and her mind flashed back to the refugee camp--how she'd watched from the rooftop as Callie disabled a dozen motorcycles with a wave of her hand.
"Moving!", she shouted--to no one, since in her panic she forgot to key her radio. The word had barely left her lips when the metal above her head was struck by gunfire.
Mikey fell to one side, Angel Duster appearing in her hands. While she'd been watching her allies, the fire teams with their attached marines had come up behind her. The one who had just shot at her was tracking her with his rifle, but she didn't give him a second chance. Her shot went between his legs, and Mikey rolled to her feet behind him, then spun around and shot the ground between them.
Instead of a ricocheted bullet, what flew up to meet the marine--and his comrades--was the payload of a Claymore antipersonnel mine. The shrapnel blew a hole in the ranks of the fighting fire crew, and gave her a half second in which she could retrieve another grenade launcher.
Holding that in one hand, she pointed Angel Duster straight up then--clenching her teeth--fired.
The sensation of free-fall was still terrifying, but she was expecting it this time--and, thankfully, her aim had been true. She was falling down directly above the little phalanx of soldiers.
(Out of curiosity, Mikey had once looked up how long it would take her to fall from her maximum range. The answer had turned out to be anywhere from 8 to 11 seconds, which she had found both reassuring and terrifying. If she'd known that, one day, that would be useful information to have, she probably would have felt less of the former and more of the latter.)
8, 7-
Angel Duster disappeared in ribbons of color and Mikey grabbed the launcher in two hands.
6, 5-
She pointed the barrel down, pulling her feet back from the line of fire.
4, 3-
Pwmp-pwmp-pwmp--the launcher kicked against her shoulder, rapid-fire, and high-explosive rounds shot down into the tightly packed soldiers below.
2, 1-
She released the weapon--wasteful, but necessary--and Angel Duster again appeared as her hand tracked up. Barely more than a hundred feet from the deck, the rifle cracked, and Mikey appeared--Shaky, but standing--off to one side.
Ta-fucking-da!
Turning to Cristina, her voice husky with smoke, and panting with adrenaline: "Let's get the hell out of here!"
It became increasingly difficult to orderly plan as a team amongst the chaos on the deck, Wu Shufen continued to hide in the smoke and the ever increasing fire. Nil couldn’t really acquire and shoot any targets behind Raja’s wall of fire, besides the monkey wouldn’t show his face so easily.
When the obstruction was gone (along with the two helicopters unfortunate enough to fly nearby), Raja and half of the allied Arms Masters rushed forward to try and catch Wu Shufen. Meanwhile Nil did a whole bunch of nothing, shifting a few steps back and failing to come up with a plan of action.
The best thing is to wait out the smoke… a terrible situation.
Next thing the aircraft carrier’s firefighting systems were activated to deal with the fire on-deck, plus send Nil and Mikey overboard (presumably because they stayed in the back).
The foam assaulted Nil just as the Monkey of the Zodiac had come back in sight and traded blows with Raja and Cristina, what terrible timing, the following water was indeed strong enough to flush out grown up sailors still on deck, surely it could flush out the not-that-heavy Nil. The girl blinked and coughed out as she was washed out by the foam and water, Stang and its copies flying around above her as she was fighting the water.
A smart Arms Master could have used Stang’s telekinesis to fix it in place or fly above the foam and water streams. Unfortunately Nil is not a smart Arms Master.
And if there was any possibility of resisting the water washing, Callie soon after made the entire deck even more unstable by annihilating the ship’s keel.
This sequence ends with Nil in the sea and struggling to stay afloat, to be fair she was doing a good job keeping her head above the water but she’s panicking the entire time.
The following details events in Syria during the Second Chinese Invasion of the Philippines and Task Force Obsidian’s Mission Five. ((@Letter Bee oversees the Free Syrian Army and @QJT oversees the Syrian Arab Armed Forces.))
Part 1: Palmyra
Al-Tanf Base and Deconfliction Zone
The Hammer of Masters had been broken, but the tide of rapid change they had unleashed in a region already prone to rapid changes had resulted in the 'Formation' of new Arms Masters, some rendered outcasts due to the Hammer's actions, but others were accepted because there was no other choice. Now, despite the new, weaker President of the US, the base at Al-Tanf continued to hold a rump garrison of US Troops, a few 'foreign intelligence agents' from France and Britain, and now, a 'Syrian Free Army' invigorated by help from the Paragons of Science and Seven Virtues was preparing for a surprise offensive on Palmyra, held by the hated Assad Regime.
The Syrian Arab Armed Forces had plans gathering dust about dealing with the Free Syrian Army, but as the country was lulled into a tenuous peace the loss of a city so close to YPG (Kurdish) territory hadn't yet crossed its mind. Most SAAF forces were positioned close to Homs, Dara, and Damascus. The garrison at Palmyra didn't even have tanks, just a handful of infantry in a loosely fortified position.
Technicals and Trucks filled with what looked to be mundane troops were headed west, relying not just on Arms Masters, but also on the distraction of the Assadists' Russian supporters. These were screened by aerial drones, which provided valuable reconnaissance for this force.
Palmyra wasn’t completely defenseless, however. The incumbent Syrian government maintained a hundred fighters for just such purposes. A dozen aircraft were launched from bases around Damascus to patrol and harass the technicals as they crossed the desert sands. They would give back key intelligence on the strength of this upstart resurgence of rebels. Two dozen more were on the way in case the vanguard required support.
There were over two dozen Technicals accompanying a convoy of eighteen or so trucks of various models, as well as motorcycle scouts and even one or two self-propelled mortars, jury-rigged to function in the desert environment.
And of course, several of the Technicals held a few specialized operators with Stinger Missiles, which though fast becoming obsolete, were still a threat when used right...
Having accomplished their reconnaissance, the aircraft were recalled. Palmyra could always be recovered, but the jet fighters were irreplaceable. Two dozen technicals and eighteen trucks were hardly a large army, but they might herald or even conceal a much, much larger threat.
This was a concern. Bashir al-Assad immediately summoned his top generals across the Syrian Arab Armed Forces to Damascus post-haste. He gave a brief speech to the Palmyran garrison about how their defense was crucial for God and country, but of course this was only to boost morale. Most importantly, thought, they were to report everything that the enemy rebels had and did when they assaulted the garrison: the weapons they used, their composition, and the Arms Masters they fielded.
The SFA force was relatively lightly-equipped, but outnumbered the Assadist forces by at least twelve-to-one. The Palmyra garrison would be hailed and given one choice over the radio: Surrender or defect or be destroyed - They had thirty minutes.
At the same time, in Al-Tanf, a second column of reinforcements was being prepared and deployed; more technicals, drones, and trucks, some with extra supplies of American and Polish weapons needed to press the offensive.
One of the disadvantages of relative peace and authoritarian tyranny is the fragility of morale. Generals were growing ever more neglected, troops were paid increasingly less, and suddenly the thought of maintaining the regime became a lot less convincing when faced with overwhelming odds.
A few loyal guardsmen, such as the one on the comms, kept to their duties. Nonetheless, a steady trickle of troops streamed out of defensive positions within Palmyra. Among them was the garrison commander, a disgruntled colonel looking to increase his status under different colors. It would take a manhunt to root out all the loyalists and secure this city permanently, but for now they didn’t have to worry about any threat along the Euphrates.
Bashir al-Assad, in his majestic brilliance, had foreseen this, of course. This was the reason why he gathered his elite club of generals to Damascus, along with some of his most capable confidants, and a few other well paid unknowns as well.
Part 2: Moving Pieces
The rebel offensive continued; the Syrian Free Army had to move faster than the so-called 'Ex-Jihadi' forces in the northwest region of Syria. More forces were streaming out of Al-Tanf, while communications were opened up with the remaining Opposition groups in the Daara Governatorate. This time, more sophisticated equipment was being deployed, such as IAG Guardian IMVs (Infantry Mobility Vehicles), along with what artillery the SFA had.
Some SAAF generals arrived. Some SAAF generals refused to leave their post. The rebels were acting up, after all, and they didn’t exactly know what they did to kick this hornet’s nest so badly.
The military brass in Damascus had a better understanding of the situation. Half its fleet, some four dozen jet fighters, stood by for launch. One dozen of these took to the sky as the initial reconnaissance patrol returned. These were equipped with conventional bombs and missiles. If only the unconventional weaponry hadn’t been given away to Russia. It would have proven useful in crises like this. They moved to engage; their 80’s era equipment should match, perhaps even surpass the Stinger missiles. If not, that’s what the following wings were for.
And in the background, the President’s personal appointees arrived to meet the generals.
A lance of light shone from one of the trucks; an Arms Master made his appearance.
Al-Haqq, one of the SFA's veteran personnel, was shooting down planes with his Noble Arm, a spear that blasted lasers at such a rate of fire, with immense accuracy, against airborne targets.
A hawk, a seemingly mundane bird, flew above the Syrian Armed Forces' battalions; it was the transformed form of another spear, one used by an SFA scout who was also an Arms Master.
It was clear that the rebellion was committing resources to a full-on attack, with expeditionary forces headed for the towns of Al-Qaryatyn and Al-Sukhna, aiming to take both to secure the flanks of the main offensive.
The ball was in the Syrian Armed Forces' court now.
Bashir al-Assad walked down the line of his assembled generals. He had a vague understanding of backroom deals, of private reservations, of hidden ambitions. He placed a hand on about half of his select generals.
A figure emerged from the shadows. He gave no name; the rumors that spread throughout the military did for him. He’s Nebuchadnezzar’s younger brother - what was his name? - right, Belshazzar. In rapid succession, purple and red fabric covered the generals head to toe. The generals wriggled uneasily, desperate for air.
Then she emerged: Ishtar. With a graceful smile, she scanned the room. In groups of three, she focused her scepter upon the hapless victims. Their struggles mellowed until they possessed neither wits nor strength to resist. The bundled carpets fell to the ground in quiet thuds.
Bashir al-Assad didn’t speak. His underling Nebuchadnezzar would instead: "The rest of you: swear loyalty to the President. The fallen are to be replaced with men of great skill in this dark hour. With good leadership, we shall prevail. Long live Bashir al-Assad!"
Their was fear in the echo of the new leadership. Good. A soldier entered the room, stepping over the bodies. "President, the jet fighters take heavy losses. They say something about blasts of light taking out the planes."
“Light? That doesn’t describe the Stinger missile system," denoted one general.
“Must be a Noble Arm. Let’s intercept them on the ground before we recommit our Air Force. Where are they headed?" asked a second.
“al-Qaryatyn and al-Sukhna, best as we can tell, sir!"
Nebuchadnezzar commanded with authority under the shadow of his leader. "I will protect the first city. Belshazzar and Ishtar, you two shall protect the second. God bless you both."
Large committed convoys of troops spewed from the capital, with fresh Arms Masters and fresher generals eager to prove themselves at the helm. Tanks, self-propelled and rocket artillery, and of course tens of thousands of troops apiece.
Part 3a: The Battle of al-Qaryatyn
As Assad's Air Force continued to be decimated, the Syrian Free Army brought out more equipment as they reinforced, then entrenched, their positions. Though barely on par to their foes in hardware, they were boosting their edge thanks to the Seven Virtues' and Paragons' aid.
The forces spat out by Damascus were large, enough to overwhelm the advancing SFA forces once contact was made. But the fresh-faced generals who were leading them did not appear to see the hawk flying above their largest force as a threat.
Now, the SFA brought out drones, not just for reconnaissance, but also for raining down hellfire missiles on the convoys of Assadist troops. These UAVs had only a relatively small stockpile, but assuming these forces were closely packed, even that ought to inflict disproportionate casualties.
“Spread out! Spread out!" The generals were caught slightly off guard. They knew the SAAF couldn’t project its own air superiority; they didn’t expect the FSA to project its own.
The vehicles in the convoy began to distance themselves from each other, too late for no damage, but enough to drive around the unlucky first victims of the volley.
Nebuchadnezzar and Ishtar were helpless against the onslaught from above; they simply pressed on in their respective convoys and tried to keep their heads down. Belshazzar, meanwhile, found great joy in covering the little drones in fabric. The rotors inevitably sucked up the thick cloth, jamming their blades and sending them hurtling down. He and Ishtar were safe. As a bonus, he got to listen to his brother suffer in the other convoy!
As chaos spread, the experienced SFA troops in their Technicals and the occasional Guardian IMV drove out of the countryside, harrying the now-halted convoys with small arms and rocket fire; these were followed up by light mortars and another few Unmanned Aerial Vehicles firing another wave of hellfire missiles.
And this time, Nebuchadnezzar was a direct target.
Desperate men do desperate things. The calculus should have been that striking the chain of command would be disastrous both to the morale and the cohesion of the convoy, so the protection of the kingpin would inevitably save the common soldier later on from getting picked apart by drones.
That wasn't his thinking, though. He just wanted to save his own skin. Thankfully, his split second decision making was still sound. If he built a gold or bronze statue, the shrapnel would undoubtedly cause damage, probably beyond the capabilities of a single drone, even to the vehicle he tried to protect. No, instead he fabricated a statue of clay between himself and the UAV.
The Hellfire missiles struck the statue, which exploded upon the missile's touch. The missile was gone, but chunks of clay dented and damaged many cars in front of him along the convoy. They peeled off as they were able, falling off my the roadside as the generals continued. Guns from the downed vehicles took potshots at the drones, not that they could hit many at this distance.
Nebuchadnezzar’s convoy continued to be harried by drones, technicals, and an increasing number of snipers and rocket troops; the intent was to inflict a death of a thousand cuts, even as another drone launched a Hellfire Missile at his car; he had given away his location when he had made the statue of clay.
Nebuchadnezzar ordered the driver to drive to the side. A missile landed just to the side, flipping the car with the impact of the percussion but not directly hitting it. It flipped over, and the passengers got out. Nebuchadnezzar waved the vehicles on from a position behind cover but stopped after releasing several dozen of them. In the meantime, he placed one statue at a time of bronze, directly in the path of the technicals. They wouldn't have time to break before the statues exploded upon impact, so he calculated. If they wanted to play ball out here, so be it.
That means al-Qaryatyn was undefended, and ripe for securing.
It was time for the Arms Masters on the SFA's side to shine.
A beam of light lanced out from a person standing on the back of one of the technicals facing Nebuchadnezzar, hoping to slice apart the bronze statues before impact; if this didn't work, it would at least buy time for another contingent of technicals to flank around and blast Nebuchadnezzar’s location with a jury-rigged Heavy Machine Gun.
Nebuchadnezzar smiled. He smiled often, but this particular smile was rare. Turns out, it doesn't matter what his statues are struck by, only that they're struck. Shrapnel still came off, but it wasn't just one car that would absorb most of the damage. Nebuchadnezzar grabbed the coat of his former car buddy, shouting, "Signal Damascus! The light beams of the rebel dogs are here. Send the jets to al-Sukhna!"
A hawk flew beneath the sun, and above Nebuchadnezzar. Then, from the wreckage of the Technicals that had faced down the bronze statue lanced a beam of light directed at his center of mass.
The bronze statue exploded upon impact by the beam of light, and Nebuchadnezzar had to scramble for further cover. The hawk provided an odd shade for him. He called to what peers remained and pointed upward at the bird. "Shoot that thing! Bring it down!" Rifles began to take pot shots at the creature. In the world of men and monsters, no measure was too paranoid.
Nebuchadnezzar’s orders were vindicated by the Hawk being able to fly faster than any bird can, evading the shots fired with a speed that was unnatural.
Further lances of light were spat at him, but he can see that only a small number of SFA technicals and trucks, plus infantry, were in the region; the main force of the offensive was elsewhere.
Nebuchadnezzar had clarity enough to count the visible threats to his position. They weren't that many, but he was also stuck in a ditch and not readily available to get out of it. "Just... shoot the bird if it returns," he told his cohorts. "The rest of us must hold out until the President's tanks arrive. Ah, yes, and call for the President's tanks."
Part 3b: The Battle of al-Sukhna
Meanwhile, Ishtar and Belshazzar were tearing down the road towards al-Sukhna. It wasn't too long before the trucks came within sight.
Ishtar snapped her fingers. "Give me binoculars," she spoke to a soldier in the backseat.
She peered through them until she could get a good look at the drivers of the Technicals and big rigs. Indiscriminately, three at a time, she gave the drivers the effects of strong drunkenness. "It falls to me to give these rebels their rightful demeanor. So be it."
By this time, al-Sukhna was garrisoned by hundreds more men who had set up ditches and barbed wire, and more dangerously, mortars just out of range of Ishtar's Noble Arm.
And now, those mortars were firing at the counteroffensive force sent there.
If Belshazzar was in range, which was a big "if," those mortars could probably punch their cargo through his cloth quite easily. It'll throw the accuracy off, but mortars weren't known for accuracy anyways.
Nope, the solution was to gun it. Lead feet. Flood the engines with gas. And spread out, of course. Belshazzar kept looking out his window. He could see them, and he kept flexing his goblet so that he'd be able to cover the mortars at the earliest possible time. That time finally came as they closed enough distance. That meant it was time for small arms fire.
Meanwhile, Ishtar and a small contingent wheeled around to strike the city in the flank, looking for weak points to harass the enemy on a new front. Three drunk enemy soldiers were three more saved of her own, after all.
Ishtar could see heavier reinforcements; more technicals, trucks, Guardian IMVs, and most ominously, a Self-Propelled Gun and a couple of French tanks from the 60s and 70s - The exact model was hard to tell due to the modifications and retrofits made afterwards by the Paragons of Science.
A drone circled towards her, but instead of the depleting number of Hellfire missiles, it fired a jury-rigged light machine gun at her vehicle.
As for Belshazzar, the Self-Propelled Gun would fire at his convoy and his rough coordinates...
The light machine guns peppered the car. Turns out, cars are made of metal, and cold pressed steel is, at least enough, bullet resistant. Ishtar ducked while her comrades in the cars behind her fired at the drone. After all, something within accurate machine gun range was certainly within rifle range. She continued to close the distance, surrounded by other vehicles.
Turns out, Self-Propelled Guns have a rather hard time zeroing in on a fleet of vehicles closing in at 150 kilometers an hour. Like the cataphracts of old, the vehicles drove into the enemy lines, while the rear guard decelerated to fire on the confused defenders. Surrounded by his comrades, Belshazzar felt confident throwing cloth after cloth on the faces of the rebel garrison.
No attention was paid to the French Tanks entering Al-Sukhna to reinforce the defenders, and which were moving with unheard-of speed, almost as though they were pristine models fresh off the assembly line. One of them fired at Belshazzar, another fired at the rest of the enemy strike force as Ishtar chased the drone, which was trying to circle away from them, leading her force on a chase towards... what?
As for Belshazzar, he'd see dust on the horizon as more reinforcements headed towards him; the main force of the offensive; Guardian IFVs, more French Tanks, salvaged Kaytushas from some old stockpile, and self-propelled Anti-Aircraft Guns obviously modified from a British-made model and chassis. And behind them were more technicals and trucks, intending to catch his force between hammer and anvil.
The SPAAGs were little bits of poison in an otherwise tasty meal of enemy armor. Still, the whole assortment was too delectable to pass up. Several dozen supersonic MiG-23s had taken to the skies at Nebuchadnezzar's behest and now rained fire down on the preoccupied French tanks that flanked Belshazzar. Belshazzar himself exited his vehicle with a firearm and advanced upon the garrison, as his vehicle had fulfilled its purpose. Its purpose, but not its final use. The metal inside absorbed the impact of a French tank shell, just as Belshazzar was out of range.
Ishtar kept in radio contact with all the fronts she could. As the air force started relaying the details of incoming armor, she realized that defense was paramount in times like these. "Stop," she announced with a great and calm voice. "Dismount, and advance upon the city on foot." She kept an eye out for any humans she could influence.
Ishtar dismounted from her vehicle, only to find the drone from before, which had failed to get the foe to chase it, doubling back and trying to strafe her infantry.
The SPAAGs began firing at the MiG-25s, hopefully bringing a few down and teaching their pilots a lesson in caution. The other forces engaged in the SFA's Offensive kept going, presenting themselves as juicy bait for the MiGs, but still bait as the SPAAGs were still there.
Some MiG-23s fell to the SPAAGs, and most pilots were able to eject before the plane crashes. Not all, of course, but most. The ones that remained directly targeted the SPAAGs as the one obstacle to air supremacy over al-Sukhna.
In a moment of relative peace on the battlefield, Belshazzar checked the air force whizzing by. When the jets returned, they would level al-Sukhna. They’d pushed the dogs back into their corners. He waved his comrades over and began the evacuation of loyal forces from the city, into what vehicles could still be driven after the charge.
Ishtar was a tad preoccupied with shooting this annoying drone. Upon hearing her ally, she calmly reenters her vehicle, bullet holes and all. "Take us west, back to the capital. al-Qaryatyn is on the way." Upon finding her driver dead outside, she simply muttered, "Ah," and shifted seats to drive the car herself. Ignoble, but necessary under present circumstances.
The SPAAGs, though seemingly obsolete, had been given prototype 'refinements' by the Paragons of Science that allowed them to fire faster than they usually should, and they seemed to be less in need of extra ammunition than their baseline models. Nevertheless, they, and the main force of the SFA offensive, would be mauled, with one SPAAG destroyed, while another was damaged to the very limits of operability.
But there could be no question of retreat, not when the enemy were themselves departing for al-Qaryatyn. Leaving behind a small garrison to entrench themselves in al-Sukhna's public buildings, the SFA force, which was able to scrape a few Guardian IMVs, Technicals, Trucks and Light Artillery, moved to pursue Belshazzar and Ishtar.
Part 4: Forces Reunite
Nebuchadnezzar, in al-Qaryatyn, was being sniped in his ditch by SFA commandos, many of whom had Anti-Materiel Rifles that can bring down even an Arms Master. Haqq, meanwhile, had switched to another Technical, ready to drive to al-Sukhna to bring down the Syrian Regime's jets, when he heard news that the offensive's main force was headed to reinforce his position.
The endgame had arrived, and two SFA Arms Masters hadn't yet been put in play.
The confidence of the Syrian Arab Air Force had granted them victory from annihilation by the "mutated" SPAAGs but vastly underestimated the toll such a victory would cost. The MiG-23s in the sky were few in number, less than a dozen, and their missiles were mostly spent. Air supremacy was theirs, but a very sickly one. They began their limp strikes on al-Sukhna.
Ishtar approached al-Qaryatyn but didn't see Nebuchadnezzar's presence there, nor any vehicles she recognized as allies. That battle was still ongoing. She gave the city a wide berth and tried to locate Nebuchadnezzar along the wayside. Seeing a big glut of allied and enemy vehicles, she directed her convoy to beeline in that location. She knew Belshazzar was close behind him, and perhaps the rebel armor would be on his tail, assuming that the MiGs were preoccupied. They would have to be quick, but nobility did count for something in the face of unknown, uncomfortably steep odds.
Nebuchadnezzar could hear but not see the increased activity behind enemy lines. He knew that the tanks would arrive soon. And so, he made the call. "Come, sons of Syria! Let us break out of this stranglehold!" He grabbed a gun and threw up a bronze statue of defiance where he knew an enemy machine gun was blat-blat-blatting away.
This was going to be the decisive battle of the offensive; Nebuchadnezzar had to be blasted to bits while Haqq had to be kept safe.
So as al-Sukhna began to burn, although a few last stinger missiles were spat onto the air against the remaining MiGs, the main force of the offensive pressed on, taking potshots at Belshazzar and his convoy, hoping to wear them down once more.
And when their Self Propelled Mortar was in range of the ditch Nebuchadnezzar was in, it fired at that ditch, even as the enemy Arms Master was focusing on the machine gunners and snipers trying to suppress him.
The mortar wasn't accurate, but it didn't need to be. Nebuchadnezzar was thrown against the ditch as rocks and shrapnel burst in a nearby vicinity. One rock opened a nasty wound in his arm, and he clutched it with grit teeth. His ears were ringing. You can't really fight explosions with explosions, and Nebuchadnezzar realized this full well.
Fortunately, the machine gunner apparently didn't stop shooting, and the blast created a decent hole in the line. The MiGs flew overhead, though only to restock and refuel. The sound of small arms fire and roaring engines meant that either Ishtar or Belshazzar had returned. Above all that, the heavenly howl of T-72s was headed in the direction of his besiegers. All of Syria was coming together. It was time to move.
"Cover me!" he called to whoever would listen. He charged forward, throwing up a statue of gold by the largest concentration of infantry. He held his gun firm, ready to shoot at any rebel who would get in his way.
Al-Haqq fired lances of light at the restocking and refueling MiGs; if he succeeded in bringing down more of them, the Syrian Regime's air superiority would be gone, whoever won the battle.
The SFA Main offensive force kept moving, launching everything they had left at Nebuchadnezzar, Ishtar and Belshazzar's combined force; bullets, grenades from grenade launchers, rockets from Bazookas, incendiaries. And as their Infantry fled from the statue of gold, and Nebuchadnezzar pressed his advantage...
...The SFA sent out their last two Arms Masters - Yunus, whose sword emitted waves of healing that knitted injuries and replenished blood, reducing infantry casualties, and Hamza, whose gauntlet allowed him to reshape half a ton of earth and related materials.
Hamza, from a technical, began flinging boulders at the incoming T-72s, hoping to delay them long enough for Al-Haqq and the SFA Main Offensive to grind down Nebuchadnezzar and his force.
If this failed, the SFA would call for one last wave of explosive kamikaze drones to cover their retreat back to Palmyra and Al-Tanf.
Six landed. Six MiG-23s. The SAAF general shrugged from his white air base tower. He'd sent out, what, fifty of them? Had none of them come back, he would have null information. Yet now was a perfectly suitable empirical estimate for his return on investment. "All right. Launch the MiG-29s, the remaining MiG-23s we can scrounge up, and throw in the helicopters too. You have fifteen minutes to prepare the lot."
One boulder when launched fast enough could eliminate a T-72 entirely: strike its engine or hit its ammunition and render the vehicle inoperable. If this boulder-mancer worked fast enough, he could probably eliminate a whole company. Good luck taking out 200. The small vehicles were pushed aside by the metal mammoths, and the treads allowed the tanks to divert off the road when their vanguard was decimated. This allowed them to fan out and direct their fire towards the technicals. Which one was it? They couldn't quite tell; they'd fire on all of them.
Very little remained of Nebuchadnezzar's own convoy, however. There was simply too much firepower placed on him and him alone. While his allies surrounded his enemy, he was surrounded by foes. When his gold statue crumbled, he struck up another. Whether he hid or no, there wasn't much hope for him left. "I am Nebuchadnezzar, the Mighty! Look upon me and despair!"
Belshazzar and Ishtar could from each portion of their convoy see the soldiers healed back to strength. Ishtar was now in range; Belshazzar had yet to catch up. Ishtar worked her wiles, picking the freshest and strongest to intoxicate with her charm. It would give Nebuchadnezzar perhaps a few spare minutes to wreak havoc.
Hamza knew he could not slow down the tanks enough with thrown rocks, not when he can only move half a ton of earth/soil/metal/concrete with his Noble Arm - Wait, tanks counted as metal, right?
Best to give it a shot, he thought as he focused on the foremost tank... and tore its top half apart and threw it at the next.
But it won't be enough; the enemy was too overwhelming.
Ishtar, meanwhile, was stalked by that drone from before, which fired one burst of light machine gun fire at her.
Then, the kamikaze drones called in by the SFA arrived, crashing into the Syrian Regime forces with their explosive payload.
This meant that it was time for their offensive as a whole to retreat to Palmyra...
Between the tanks flipping and the drones, the Syrian Arab Armed Forces had lost cohesion, but not to the point of disarray. The captains, drivers, and gunners of the half-tanks, now with no functional purpose for their vehicle, grabbed their small arms and advanced on foot. The tanks that still operated outpaced them, of course, but every bit counted.
Belshazzar followed behind Ishtar, close enough to see the annoying drone striking the back of her vehicle. He tried his best to reach out and wrap the drone in cloth, but whether he was in range, who could tell?
Ishtar was utterly helpless against the harassment. It just wasn't possible to get a drone drunk. She had to hope that Belshazzar could arrive in time. Perhaps... She turned broadly, occasionally drifting in the steppe. It would make her vehicle harder to hit and in turning around close the distance between the drone and Belshazzar.
In what seemed like a miracle (which hopefully he could recount as an act of heroism), Nebuchadnezzar was left largely alone, with only his surroundings exploding around him. What good fortune! He must use the most of this opportunity. He checked his gun. It was time that the pesky people were hunted down: the light beamer, the tank flipper, everyone with supernatural powers greater than his.
By then, the SFA was retreating to Palmyra, and it took all the charisma and leadership of its officers to keep the retreat from becoming a rout. They had mauled the Syrian Arab Army and the Assadists, but lacked the materiel, including vehicles, to press their momentary advantage.
Now, a rearguard of Guardian IMVs and Technicals were protecting against any attempt at pursuit, even as a few drones with jury-rigged guns began to strafe anyone who made attempts at doing so, prioritizing Ishtar, Nebuchadnezzar, and Belshazzar.
That drone finally touched Belshazzar's cloth, and Ishtar breathed a sigh of relief, even against her normally calm composure. She parked her vehicle alongside the tanks that were still intact. The two sides of the Syrian Arab Army reunited for the first time since the launch of the campaign. And oh, were they sights to see for each other's eyes.
Nebuchadnezzar felt very manly to see his enemy flee after such a brash move, though he knew in his heart of hearts that such a maneuver was more likely a tactical decision. He erected a statue of silver, far away from Syrian soldiers, as a brief commemoration of the... well,"victory" felt too strong of a word.
The Syrian Arab Army had barely enough cohesion to keep in loose formation, let alone create a new front. The rebel dogs took Palmyra, and they could have the ruins of al-Sukhna if they so chose. Doubtless, though, al-Sukhna would become a no man's land as this war expanded. In the meantime, though, The Syrian Arab Air Force could no longer play tricks against the rebel army, not when the strengths of the Arms Masters covered the weaknesses of the AAA and vice versa. Nebuchadnezzar called into his radio. "Enough for today! Let us regroup in Dimasq and figure out what we lost and what we have left."
Syria had been lured to sleep from months of peace and quiet. She awoke in time to catch the assassins who tried to murder her in her slumber. And that was comfort enough.
The owner of this media, RXY398, hereby permits anyone to use this piece, provided that they credit the owner. Taken from the Modern Warships Wiki.
Cristina was able to cast Mirage Space without a hitch; it would seem to her that the members of Task Force Obsidian were gathered in her pocket dimension to fly out of here and then be scooped up by Callie's portal as the Guangdong joined the Liaoning in shared death; both of their hulls had their bottoms cut, rendering them inoperable and their crew sitting ducks.
Nil, who had not been able to join Cristina, was soon joined by her enemies as they splashed onto the waters around the sinking wrecks of the PLA Navy Carriers, churning up sea foam, oil, and more noise. Search and rescue operations had begun; four more helicopters were dispatched from nearby destroyers and other ships, along with lifeboats, longboats, and dedicated teams of first responders.
Admiral Yi Yeol had followed the laws of war and sent a broadcast to the enemy fleet, telling them that their pride and joy had been lost. But to TFO and ASEAN in general, Nil was gone, unless a last-minute save was pulled out of nowhere. On the plus side, with Huo Ren and Ai Chen dead and Superbia/Yulian receiving a beating in Gansu, she may 'merely' be shot if captured, or if she were lucky, exchanged for the prisoners of war ASEAN expected to take in droves should they take an increasingly likely victory.
ROKS Sejong the Great - 12/28/2022, 5: 29, UTC+8
ROKS Sejong the Great
Just because victory was likely now did not mean he could afford to be complacent. Admiral Yi Yeol had complied with Callie's request, but he realized that the presence of Wu Shufen around Cristina opened up a new course of action for China. If the Monkey of the Zodiac had access to one Power from each member of each Arms Master close to his position, he had an interest in keeping the members of Task Force Obsidian close to him and bunched up. Mirage Space, as a getaway mechanism, required them all to bunch up together. If the Monkey of the Zodiac was caught up in Mirage Space -
He can win the ASEAN War in one move.
Mirage Space - 12/28/2022, 5: 29, UTC+8
Here was how he managed to follow Task Force Obsidian into Mirage Space; he copied Cristina's blink yet again, originally to stay close to her so that he could strike a few more blows with his staff, but as he realized that Task Force Obsidian was about to escape, he scented opportunity and as the others fled to her side, he blinked again, timing his teleport with Cristina's casting of Mirage Space.
They were trapped in it with him, just as Callie was about to take Cristina in Mirage Space into one of her portals. He had to time this right, knowing that it would take only a few seconds before the portal took them all to Task Force Obsidian's current base of operations.
Once they were in Mirage Space, Wu Shufen copied Griff's power first; it was a single power, but comprehensive, while also being strong. And by that, he armored himself in strength-enhancing metal and began swinging.
Then he copied Raja's power, combining every swing of his staff with waves of pure fire and force. After that, he copied Mikey's power and combined it with Cristina's to teleport twice; this would allow him to hit Cristina first, then Mikey, and both of those hits would be with overwhelming concussive force.
But the last assault would be aimed at Henri - Knowing the Belgian's Anti-Magic NA, Wu Shufen just pulled out a Machine Pistol and unloaded all of its clip into the man's center of mass.
Callie's portal would then scoop him and Task Force Obsidian up, whether the latter stayed conscious or not.
BRP Jose Rizal - 12/28/2022, 5:30, UTC+8
BRP Jose Rizal
The BRP Jose Rizal had taken only a few hits, thanks to the ROKS Sejong the Great instructing the other ships of the Allied Fleet to defend it. The Infirmary thus had an abundance of empty beds and space, and few injured patients and medics who would be harmed if a major fight broke out in the Infirmary.
Good, because Wu Shufen, the Monkey of the Zodiac, did not want to harm helpless victims. His side had committed enough war crimes already.
'Sister' Marta Rocha had been invited to return here so that she could take care of those wounded in this crucial battle. Would she have accepted the invitation, and if so, would she be alone if Wu Shufen were portaled here along with Task Force Obsidian?
And if Henri was still conscious, perhaps it was time for him to save the day again?
Nil splashed next to the now wreckage of an aircraft carrier, the metal giant slowly tumbled on its side and was dragged down into the abyss. If any unfortunate souls remained trapped and left to drown and get dragged down with their ship, well that could only be known after counting all the survivors and casualties.
Everyone was doing their best to stay afloat on the open seas, Nil was particularly struggling, flailing her arms and barely keeping the head above the water, at times hardly even that as she ended swallowing foam and saltwater. Her entire perspective was chaos, filled with the loud sounds of steel giants sinking, vision blocked by a layer of foam and the moving waves, and uneven footing in the water where the only solution was thrashing around (the more controlled form called swimming).
Luckily the first rescue teams arrived quickly and well-prepared. Had it taken longer the girl would have stayed panicked, barely staying afloat and eventually she would not.
Rescuers from the PLA Navy were intelligent enough to know she was an Arms Master from their enemy’s side, they had been informed about their own deployed Arms Masters and perhaps even Task Force Obsidian. Regardless, Nil didn’t look like a regular soldier, and she wasn’t one of their Arms Masters, that was all they needed to connect the dots.
Nil was picked up by a lifeboat, feeling being picked up and then immediately coughing up foam as she was on the boat. Just as she was relieved to have been rescued, the PLA rescue team injected her with a sedative, in case it wasn’t enough they prepared a tranquilizer gun as well, but they would not need to use it.
Nil was already feeling extremely meek, confused and pretty much deaf, she was easily constrained and barely put up resistance against the enemies… allies? She couldn’t even tell at this point, after a few minutes the tranquilizer would take effect and she was unconscious by the time she was put on one of the rescue helicopters and transported away.
The dose Nil received would be a little more than necessary, after all the PLA soldiers don’t know how much she weighs, plus she isn’t that heavy and had little energy left.
As something like that is dangerous and could potentially kill someone (sedatives are like that, you have to be careful) Nil is unconscious both cuz of the sedatives but also in ‘Arms Master Survival Mode’. for details look at the first OOC page and the hider Arms Master Survivability
A figure stands on the deck of the Jose Rizal, arms crossed, looking out across the waves. The gauntlet on her right hand glows with a soft, warm light as she impatiently grips her left sleeve. She taps her rough boots on the floor.
"It's been a moment since I've been on the frontlines... not since that mess."
Brushing her hazel-brown hair out of the way, Self-Proclaimed Sister Marta Rocha stands near the infirmary, on standby for the moment anyone injured might suddenly come by.
"I hope they're doing well... I doubt that colorful bunch would get killed that easily."
Location : Type-004 Nuclear Aircraft Carrier Date : December 28th, 2022 Time : 5:21 (UTC+8)
“Leave? Now??”
After seemingly managing to take the Zodiac chimp down, Raja scanned his vicinity, taking the sight of the severe damages caused by himself and the team while battling the opposing army. Having witnessed the explosion that Mikey had caused with the grenade launcher, he knew that the ship wouldn’t have lasted longer. Somebody needed to evacuate them before the tides washed them away. He nodded his head at both Cristina and the arriving Mikey, his facial expression softening.
“Fine. Let’s go!”
The ferocious Sumatran Tiger joined the others, as the Mirage Space was constructed, though he couldn’t help but sense that something wasn’t right. It felt like something was tailing them, and it smelled like… Wu Shufen, perhaps? No way! He saw firsthand how the malicious chimp was tackled, vanishing into thin air without a single trace. He’d petered out, hadn’t he? Hopefully. And so, he gave the gradually sinking ship one final glance over his shoulder before following the rest into the pocket dimension.
Location : Mirage Space Date : December 28th, 2022 Time : 5:29 (UTC+8)
As the Mirage Space gradually brought them back home, Raja took a moment to contemplate, crossing his arms. He couldn’t tell whether his first mission with the TFO had been a success or a failure. All he could do was take a moment to evaluate his actions. The carrier was obliterated, the opposing army eliminated, and the obnoxious chimp defeated. In hindsight, it seemed like a success, wasn’t it? Or so, he thought? Still, he couldn’t help but sense that something had been clinging close to them on their way back home. Or maybe it was just him regretting that he hadn’t gotten to bring Nil with them, not noticing that she was striving against the bustling tides when he was still at the scene.
“Just saying, but I think we should’ve brought the girl with us. Her name is Nil, isn’t it?” Raja asked, trying to attract the attention of the other Arms Masters. “I just hope she’ll survive out there. Do you think she’ll be fine?”
Part of him actually encouraged himself to return to the scene just to prevent Nil from drowning. He didn’t mind having to be the one staying behind if it meant that others would’ve been safe. After all, having lived in the wilderness for most of his life, the Sumatran Tiger knew a bunch of survival hacks to keep himself alive in the midst of a dangerous environment. But alas, it was too late. He’d already entered the Mirage Space alongside Cristina, Mikey, and the likes.
“!!?”
All a sudden, he found himself alarmed, his ferocious face tensing. When he felt that something was off, he knew it wasn’t just a hunch. Rather, it was his heightened senses cautioning him that a danger was, in fact, imminent. And he couldn’t be any truer. As it turned out, Wu Shufen hadn’t been completely defeated. Rather, he’d now joined the team to the Mirage Space, pulling out another cheap tactic to take them down one by one. What was worse, he even imitated their combined capabilities to execute his malicious plan.
“Cristina, Mikey, look out!”
The sight of Wu Shufen attempting to ambush Cristina then Mikey didn’t leave his watchful gaze. Seconds before both ambushes could connect, Raja quickly summoned his pair of Noble Arms, spectral blades materializing in a split second. He instinctively hurled one of them in the chimp’s direction, hoping that it’d pierce through his torso to trigger a flare of explosion. But if it failed to connect, then, well, he always had a plan B, of course. He might drop the other blade like a lit-up lighter, turning it into a torrent of pummeling force capable of forcing the fire-laced staff out of his grip.
“Goddammit! I thought we’ve gotten rid of you, monyet kecil. How did you get in!?”
The Mirage Space pressed in around him like a cage. His chest still burned, his arms still shook, and the gauntlets clung to him like iron weights chained to rage itself. He couldn’t let it go. Couldn’t come down. Not yet. Not when his blood still screamed for more.
And then Wu Shufen stepped into view.
That smug face, that damned staff, still standing, still breathing. The sight alone was enough to tear open every raw nerve inside Griff. His vision tunneled, the edges blurring into nothing but black and red. His heartbeat pounded like war drums. His gauntlets dragged every emotion up to the surface until it all blurred into fury.
He didn’t wait. Didn’t think.
With a roar, Griff launched himself forward, boots slamming against the ground hard enough to rattle the space itself. His fists came up, and then they fell, not in one clean strike, but in a storm. A flurry. Left, right, low, high, again and again, each swing driven by everything boiling inside of him. Every blow was a demand, a punishment, a refusal to stop.
Steel met air with the sound of thunder as he threw himself into the Monkey King, gauntlets flashing like the teeth of some rabid beast. His shoulders burned but he didn’t care. All that mattered was breaking the enemy in front of him, beating him until there was nothing left to stand against.
Whether his fists found flesh, bone, or nothing at all, Griff didn’t notice. He didn’t want to notice. He just wanted to swing until the he couldn't anymore.
“Sir,” Callie intoned rapidly, even as she continued to gather power, “target is in Mirage Space and Obsidian have not re-emerged for evac! Requesting preparations for through-portal cover fire and to receive hostile antiquarian on deck if necessary!”
She shuddered at the possibility, giving a glance to the helicopter pilot and a quick gesture to find a new position in the thick of the clouds. A piece of her subconscious had been watching the flurry of violence throughout, working on dissecting their opponent’s abilities. If there was any chance that his power copying wasn’t based entirely on proximity to the Arms Master and he could, in fact, copy from her portals themselves – meaning he could, at least theoretically, reach her position… Well, better to keep it ambiguous, in any case.
Unsummoning as a counter? Major risk… Last resort.
Nil. Swept away. Clawing desperately for air and buoyancy.
A woman, thrashing at the water, watched from safety on the lakeshore.
She cared now more than she ever did then.
Callie wrenched at her power, will exerted, redirecting its prior momentum and calling it, urging it to her command, fear and duty and hope united and compelling in a way that had only ever manifested once in her life. It gripped, it surged, it subsumed her.
STEADY. NO HESITATION. YOU ARE SO MUCH MORE OF YOURSELF NOW THAN YOU WERE.
“Relay message: incapacitated Obsidian member incoming! Prepare to repel any who follow!”
No room for doubt, not after everything, not when she was needed. She directed energy in a torrent, more than she ever had before, prior limits pushed back and back in the face of that need. Even as her will exerted itself, her mind worked: observing Nil’s surroundings and keeping the power from truly coalescing for as long as she could to preserve flexibility in the portal’s ultimate location; shaping the aperture to be as small as reasonably possible while accommodating Nil’s slight form; timing the manifestation, revising her estimate downwards faster than the passing seconds – 32.3, 29.6, 26.1…
Not fast enough. PLA boats. Nil hauled aboard, sodden, shivering, retching.
One of the soldiers reaching over with a syringe. Callie flinched, her eyes screwing near-shut…
NO HESITATION.
NO FEAR.
…and opening again, ablaze.
The torrent became a cascade. Was she or Charter the conduit, now? The power cared not, funnelling through one and both, building connection, bridging not merely physical space but there and here, danger and safety. It flowed strong and true, intense, burning in its clarity.
Time shrank to nothing. How could it remain, in the face of her will to protect?
When space folded open on the Chinese rescue boat, it did so with an intensity that drove back all about it – all except one. And so, with an irresistible gravity, Nil fell through the portal on the deck of the Rizal, tumbling and gently settling with providential surety, as if written upon the universe: in this moment, she would return unharmed.
Henri allowed himself a sigh of relief, as Christina activated Mirage Space for return journey. Although the mission was far from over, the knowledge that this part had succeeded in its goals was a relief.
However, that relief was quickly shattered as a message came through radio.
“Obsidian, imminent threat from your own Arms! Sergeant Janssens, you are unaffected – neutralise that antiquarian, now!”
"Son of a-" Henri exclaimed at the realization and turned around.
It is said that when all you have is a hammer, everything will start to look like a nail. Many arms-masters had that same problem. If you have a weapon attached to your… Existence 24/7, you start seeing it as an end all solution.
Due to the anti-NA nature of Leonidas, Henri didn't dare to utilize it in the Mirage Space like all the others. Never would he had thought it would end up being a blessing in disguise. Wu Shufen, also known as Monkey, had followed Task Force Obsidian into Christina's Mirage Space and was rapidly copying the powers of each member of the task force.
Henri did what he could think of doing at that moment and dodged to the left. The sergeant wore armor at the center of his mass, but that the bullets could pierce. In fact, the pain in his right thigh told that at least one shot had hit a mark.
When Henri hit the ground on his side, he took his pistol from the holster and through the pain fired at Shufen's direction.
As Mirage space disappeared from sight and Henri's sight began spinning, he hoped he had made at least some damage to the monkey.
Mission Five - La Naval de Manila, Segunda Vez/Segundo Beses/Second Time
Mirage Space - 12/28/2022, 5: 31, UTC+8
Wu Shufen was only able to copy the physical manifestations of the powers he copied if a physical form was needed for the copied power to function. And by that, if Griff's armor was needed for his copy to work properly, he could copy the armor.
But it was not and so he did not.
So, due to that, he had to use the stat boost he got anyway to 'tank' Raja's blade as it only pierced partway into his ribcage. This stopped him from hitting Cristina and Mikey as he had intended to, and set back his plans as his powers began to weaken due to Arms Master Survivability.
Then the real Griff began hitting him again and again, and it was all Wu could do to dodge or match every blow before Henri's shot hit his center of mass, staggering him back.
For a moment, he thought he was going to lose. But something spurred him on, memories of those he had lost. It was a war his nation had wanted, a war that they were in the wrong in. But that did not change the fact that he had lost people he cherished to these enemies.
With his copy of Raja's power and a snarl of rage, he caused an explosion of pure force that radiated from him, hopefully blowing his foes off their feet. Pointing his staff at Mikey, he copied her remote teleportation power, and disappeared...
Only to reappear behind her and knock her out with a blow from his staff, before striking Cristina again. This time, it'd hit, and Mirage Space would vanish...
...Dropping the entire party onto the Carrier as it sank into the sea.
Admiral Yi Yeol cursed under his breath. Nil was the only one retrieved safely; Callie was tired out, and even though the PLA Navy had their most important assets, including Wu Shufen, sunk into the sea or on a wrecked vessel in the process of sinking into the sea, most of Task Force Obsidian was about to meet the same fate. Now, the battle was between ship to ship, aircraft to aircraft, and sailor to sailor.
Part of him thought that this was as it should be, but he squashed that nostalgia as evil, short-sighted, and dismissive of both lives lost and fairly serviceable means of victory.
He prided himself on being decisive; before being asked, he gave the orders, "All ships; advance. Send out every helicopter we have towards Task Force Obsidian's last known position; we need to rescue them if we're going to win this round."
This was not quite right; Pyrrhic victories were a thing. Nevertheless, the joint fleet sailed forth, ready to face the enemy's remaining forces...
BRP Jose Rizal - 12/28/2022, 5:37, UTC+8
BRP Jose Rizal
Nil was rescued and plopped on the deck by Callie's last move before unconsciousness, where Marta, now back in fighting shape, should be ready to heal the Scandinavian Arms Master. But where were the rest of Task Force Obsidian? The radio said that they had fallen off Mirage Space and were thrown back onto the deck of a wrecked PLA Navy Carrier along with Wu Shufen. Now, the fleet is rescuing them, but will they arrive soon enough? And are they able to save the members of Task Force Obsidian once they reach them?
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